#catalina breeze

[fandomtransmandom]

The Blue Jean Committee Vinyl is Back in Stock!

https://www.dragcity.com/products/catalina-breeze

[simmyblue4]

I wonder what it's going to be like rereading AFTG when the next book comes out and in, I think it's The King's Men, reading the semi-final game between the Foxes and the Trojans. Who am I going to be rooting for?

P.S I haven't reread the first trilogy since before reading The Sunshine Court.

P.P.S Maybe it's a dumb thought because I already know the results but I know both teams now. I just can't wait.

I will most definitely reread AFTG way before the next book.

[sixaus-meaa]

SIX THE MUSICAL - MODERN!AU: illustration

Anne's family tree

[snckt]

a tuesday sunset for you ✨🌅💕

[lolacelest101]

No Need For Privacy

18+ MDNI

Hii!!! This is my first story or anything like this that I write and publish so I am sure it will be bad. I would love to get your feedback and let me know if I missed anything in the TWs. I am a big fan of F1 and other mainstream spaces so I will try to do more in the future.

Happy Reading!

Word Count: 6131

Themes: Lando!Norris x Fem!American!reader, Embarrassing moment turn spicy, next door neighbor, close proximity

Smutty tings: wall pinning, voyeurism, exhibitionism, masturbation, mirror sex, p in v, unprotected sex (please practice safe sex!!!!), spanking, oral sex, slight edging, fingering, gagging, praise and degradation kink.

Your POV

I moved to Monaco a week ago with my two best friends from work, Liana and Aaliyah. It’s been a dream come true for all of us, especially since our company launched a new project in the Monaco branch and requested our expertise.

Settling in has been a breeze, mostly thanks to Alexander Qasemi, the top manager of the Monaco office. He has multiple investments in the area and offered to rent out one of his properties to us at a discount. It’s conveniently close to the office, and his wife, Catalina, has been a lifesaver, helping us get set up, showing us around, and pointing out all the spots we need to check out. Coming from Florida, Monaco feels like a mix of Palm Beach and Miami, but it’s still a world apart from Tampa, where we grew up.

The house has three bedrooms, each with its own view from the second floor. We picked rooms based on the views, but I ended up going for the one with extra closet space—even if it has a “boring” view of the street and a direct line of sight into the house next door. And judging by what I’ve seen, the neighbor isn’t big on privacy; I can see right into what looks like the main bedroom.

I wake up to Liana singing loudly to what sounds like a new song by The Weeknd, her voice filling the house. Squinting as sunlight streams into my room, I reluctantly drag myself up and into the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth, choosing to ignore my messy bed hair. Liana’s door is open, and she spots me staggering around like a zombie.

“Good morning, sunshine!” she shouts, singing along with the song. All I can think is, It’s way too early for this.

I shuffle back to my room and glance at the clock on my nightstand. It flashes 10:32 AM, and panic hits—I remember that Catalina mentioned she’d be here around 10:45 AM to show us more of the area, and she insisted we make time for it.

I rush back into the hallway, suddenly wide awake. “Liana, why didn’t you wake us up? Catalina’s gonna be here any minute!”

Liana smirks and says, “I did, about 30 minutes ago. Aaliyah’s already up and made coffee. You told me I was ‘handsome and sexy’ and asked for five more minutes.” She’s trying not to laugh, and my face goes red as I realize I was probably having an almost wet dream.

“Well… he sure was, wasn’t he?” I say, trying to brush it off. “But we still need to hurry.”

After a quick change into something suitable for the weather, I throw on some black skinny jeans that hug my curves, a short flowy black-and-white striped top, and sneakers.

“Y/N, come down! Catalina’s here,” Aaliyah calls up the stairs.

I see her car pulling up from my window, so I run down to grab a quick sip of coffee before she knocks on the door. Liana’s sitting on the couch, putting her shoes on, and I lean against the counter, downing my coffee like it’s a race. Aaliyah opens the door, greeting Catalina with hugs and kisses. I set my mug down, go over to greet her, and offer to make her a coffee before we start the tour.

Catalina’s dressed in a floral top and white pants, looking like the definition of “aging like fine wine.” Despite being in her 60s, she doesn’t look a day over 40. She radiates warmth, like a grandmother everyone wishes they had.

Liana goes back to grab her phone, and as Catalina and I step outside, we bump into a man with dark hair and intense eyes. Catalina lights up as soon as she sees him, opening her arms for a hug.

“Oh, Max! I didn’t know you’d be here!” she says, surprised, pulling him in for an embrace.

“It was very last-minute for the Monaco GP,” he replies, hugging her back. When he lets go, he glances at me expectantly.

“Max, this is Y/N,” Catalina says. “She moved here a week ago with her friends.”

Max extends his hand, and I shake it, trying to keep my cool. “Nice to meet you. I guess we’ll be running into each other a lot,” I say, smiling.

Holy shit, Max Fewtrell is staying next door! My mind races, and I make a mental note to change my Quadrant phone case ASAP—I don’t want him thinking I’m some obsessive fan.

Max’s voice snaps me back. “Ah, an American accent! Nice to meet you, Y/N.”

I laugh lightly as Liana and Aaliyah join us. I introduce them, and Max shakes their hands before introducing himself.

“Nice to meet you,” he says. “I’m not exactly your neighbor, but my best friend lives here, so you’ll probably see him more often than me. Oh—there he is now,” he adds, looking over my shoulder.

My heart skips. The only person this could be is Lando Norris, and I’m about to pretend I’m way cooler than I actually am.

I snap back to see Lando Norris, head down, fiddling with his car keys. When he looks up, he immediately spots Catalina, a smile breaking across his face.

“Hey, you! How’ve you been? I already miss having you as my neighbor,” he says, giving her a hug.

She laughs, “I’ve missed you too, but I brought you some new company, so you won’t miss me too much.” Catalina turns to us with a smile. “Lando, these are the new neighbors: Liana, Aaliyah, and Y/N.”

Lando shakes each of our hands. His grip is firm, his fingers slightly calloused, probably from hours on the simulator. When he gets to me, I feel his gaze linger a bit longer, like he’s trying to place me.

“I don’t mean to sound creepy, but… you’re the one sleeping in that room, right?” He nods toward my bedroom window.

Caught off guard, I stammer, “Uh… yeah, that’s mine. Why?”

A faint blush crosses his face, a sly grin forming as he glances back at me. “You might want to, uh… move your mirror. Just saying.”

It takes a second for the realization to hit, but when it does, I’m mortified. I remember putting my large gold mirror directly across from the window and how, last night, after a long day of rearranging, I decided to… “treat” myself, lights on and all.

My mind races back to that memory—me stripping down, lying on my bed, a vibrator in one hand…

I force myself back to the present, trying to salvage what little dignity I have left. “Oh! I didn’t realize anyone was home over there… It looked empty all week.”

Lando chuckles, his grin widening. “Yeah, I just got back last night. And… well, let’s just say I got quite the welcome back.”

The heat rising in my cheeks is unbearable, and I quickly turn to Catalina. “So, Catalina, you mentioned we have a lot of places to see today?”

I feel Lando’s eyes on me, making my skin prickle with heat.

“Yes! Let’s get going.” Catalina waves goodbye to the guys, and we start heading toward her SUV. As I walk away, I can still feel Lando’s gaze burning into me, like he’s savoring every second of my embarrassment.

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

Later That Night

The night air is warm and slightly humid, with a faint breeze blowing in from the sea. We’d just gotten back from the club, laughing and chattering as we climbed out of the cab. Aaliyah and Liana are still buzzing with energy, but I hang back a bit, enjoying the cool air on my flushed skin.

Liana nudges my shoulder. “We’re going inside to get some water. You good out here?”

I nod, waving them off. “Yeah, I just need a moment to cool down. I’ll be right behind you.”

They head inside, leaving me alone in the quiet of the street. I close my eyes, letting the night’s calm settle around me, when I hear footsteps. I look up, and there’s Lando, standing just a few feet away with Max at his side. Max offers a friendly nod before slipping inside, leaving Lando and me alone on the sidewalk.

“Well, look who it is,” Lando drawls, a smirk playing on his lips. “Didn’t expect to see you out here this late.”

I shrug, trying to act nonchalant. “Just needed some air. The club was loud.”

He steps closer, his gaze intense. “So, have you moved that mirror yet?”

I feel my cheeks heat up despite the cool night air. “Why do you keep bringing that up?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he says, his tone teasing. “Maybe because it’s hard to forget. Didn’t realize you were such an exhibitionist, but hey, I’m not complaining.”

I scoff, rolling my eyes. “I didn’t know anyone was watching. And I’m not an exhibitionist.”

He raises an eyebrow, the smirk never leaving his face. “Could’ve fooled me. You looked pretty comfortable up there, totally absorbed… didn’t even close the blinds.”

The tension between us is thick, the memory of last night making my pulse race. I cross my arms, feeling his gaze linger on me. “Well, you could’ve looked away.”

“Could’ve,” he agrees, stepping even closer until he’s barely a foot away. His voice drops lower, his tone laced with something dark and enticing. “But I didn’t want to.”

A shiver runs through me as his words sink in. We’re standing close enough now that I can feel his warmth, his eyes scanning my face, searching for something. His gaze drops briefly to my lips, and I can feel the air crackling between us, heavy and charged.

I tilt my head, giving him a challenging look. “You get off on watching your neighbors, then?”

His smirk deepens. “Not usually. But you’re not just any neighbor, are you?”

I swallow, feeling my resolve slipping. “And what makes me so special?”

Lando’s hand lifts, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from my face, lingering just a second too long. “Something about you… can’t quite put my finger on it.”

His voice is rougher now, barely above a whisper. Every nerve in my body is on fire, my breath hitching as his gaze drops to my lips again.

“What are you waiting for, then?” I murmur, my voice betraying a hint of a dare.

He chuckles softly, his fingers trailing down my cheek. “You sure you can handle it?”

I lean forward, closing the space between us just enough that I can feel the heat of his breath against my lips. “I think I can manage.”

Lando’s hand moves to my waist, pulling me a fraction closer until there’s barely any space left between us. “Careful, princess. Once we start, I might not stop.”

His words are a warning, but his eyes tell a different story—one that has me aching to close the distance, to see just how far this tension can go.

Just as Lando leans in, his hand firmly on my waist and his eyes locked on mine, the front door swings open, breaking the moment.

“Y/N!” Aaliyah calls out, her voice bright and oblivious. “You coming? We need you to settle a debate on which of us danced better tonight!”

I pull back, startled, and glance over at the girls standing in the doorway. They don’t notice Lando standing in the shadows just out of their line of sight.

“Uh, yeah, I’ll be right in,” I call, trying to keep my voice steady, heart still racing from the almost-kiss.

Lando chuckles softly, his hand slipping from my waist, though his gaze doesn’t leave mine. There’s a mischievous glint in his eyes as he leans down, his lips grazing my ear, voice low and teasing. “Guess we’ll have to pick this up some other time, hmm?”

My breath catches, and I turn to give him a playful glare, but he’s already smirking, enjoying every second of my flustered expression. I can barely think straight, still caught up in the heated moment we were just sharing.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he murmurs, his tone laced with a promise that has my heart thudding against my chest. He steps back, giving me one last lingering look before turning toward his house. He pauses, glancing over his shoulder with that signature smirk.

“Don’t let those blinds stay open tonight,” he says, voice dripping with suggestion. “Or do. Your call.”

I feel a blush rising to my cheeks as he disappears into the darkness, leaving me there with my heart pounding and my mind racing.

I turn back toward the house, trying to regain my composure as I walk inside. Aaliyah and Liana are too caught up in their dance debate to notice the flush on my face or the slight tremble in my hands.

But as I head upstairs, all I can think about is Lando’s words, his hand on my waist, the almost-kiss that left me wanting so much more. That smirk, that challenge—it’s all burned into my mind, and I can still feel the heat of his touch lingering on my skin.

I lie in bed, staring at my mirror across from the window, replaying the night in my mind. And, despite my better judgment, I leave the blinds just a little open.

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

The Next Morning

I wake up to a quiet house, the morning sun streaming in through my half-open blinds. Liana and Aaliyah left early to grab some groceries, promising to be back soon, but I decided to stay and sleep in. After a while, though, I find myself wide awake and craving something sweet—specifically, chocolate chip cookies.

I slip into some cozy clothes and head downstairs, popping on some music as I pull ingredients from the cupboards. Soon, the smell of warm cookies fills the air, and I feel a little proud of my spontaneous baking session. Figuring it’d be a nice way to break the ice, I plate a few to bring next door later.

Just as I pull out the last tray from the oven, there’s a knock at the door. I wipe my hands on a towel, open it, and, sure enough, there’s Lando, standing there with his signature smirk.

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” he says, stepping in before I can even invite him. “Saw the girls head out and figured you’d still be here. Thought you’d sleep all day after last night’s… excitement.”

I feel my cheeks heat instantly, but I roll my eyes, trying to brush it off. “Good morning to you, too. And no, I don’t sleep all day. I’m actually productive.”

He glances at the mixing bowls and cooling cookies. “Productive, huh? Baking cookies for the new neighbors?” He reaches over, snagging one from the plate. “Are these just for me?”

“They’re for the neighbors,” I say, crossing my arms with a smirk. “But you’re welcome to have one.”

He takes a bite, savoring it with an approving nod. “Alright, alright—not bad. Didn’t peg you as a homemaker.”

“I’ve got layers,” I tease, nudging him lightly.

He chuckles, but his gaze drifts around the kitchen, taking in the scattered ingredients and my little baking mess. His eyes eventually settle back on me, a glint of mischief lighting them up.

“So, I gotta ask,” he says, leaning against the counter, “did you actually move that mirror? Or should I go check?”

I feel a flicker of heat under his gaze, but I keep my tone even, hoping he won’t catch on. “Of course I did. You were right—it needed to be moved.”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “Oh, yeah? Somehow, I don’t quite believe you.”

Before I can stop him, he’s already heading for the stairs, and my heart leaps. “Lando!” I laugh nervously, following after him. “You don’t need to go up there!”

“Need to see for myself,” he says over his shoulder, that smirk still on his face. “If you really moved it, then you shouldn’t mind me checking.”

He starts toward the stairs, and I blink, realizing what he means. “Wait, Lando—”

But he’s already halfway up, glancing back with that mischievous glint in his eye. “Come on, Y/N. Don’t tell me you’re shy now.”

I trail him up the stairs, heart racing. The truth is, I didn’t move the mirror—it’s still in the exact same spot, right across from the bed. And now he’s about to see it.

He steps into my room and glances around, his gaze landing on the mirror across from the bed, right where he left it in his memory. The corner of his mouth lifts, and he lets out a low chuckle, clearly amused.

“You didn’t move it,” he murmurs, his voice low and pleased.

I cross my arms, trying to play it off. “I like it where it is. Why should I change it just because you got an eyeful?”

Lando steps closer, his gaze never wavering from mine, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Maybe I want another one.”

The tension between us thickens, the air electric. He’s close enough now that I can feel his warmth, his gaze dropping to my lips before returning to my eyes. His hand moves up to gently brush a strand of hair from my face, lingering just a moment too long, fingers tracing down my jaw.

“You’re not afraid of a little attention, are you?” he asks, his voice soft, teasing.

I swallow, trying to steady my breathing. “Depends on who’s watching.”

He leans in even closer, his breath warm against my skin. “Then tonight… don’t close those blinds. And don’t move that mirror.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and filled with promise. My heart races, every nerve tingling as I meet his gaze, a challenge sparking between us that’s impossible to ignore.

Lando’s fingers linger on my jaw for just a moment longer, then he pulls back, that smirk still on his lips as he steps away.

“Enjoy your cookies, Y/N,” he says, glancing over his shoulder as he heads back downstairs, leaving me standing there, breathless, the echo of his words replaying in my mind.

As I watch him leave, I can still feel the heat of his touch, the thrill of his words searing into my memory. And tonight? Well, let’s just say I don’t plan on closing those blinds.

----------

Later That Night

As the sun dips below the horizon, casting Monaco in a warm, golden glow, I stand in front of my bedroom mirror, adjusting the last few things on my dresser. The blinds are open just enough, casting a soft reflection of the room and inviting in a sliver of the night. I glance over my shoulder at the window, knowing full well who might be watching.

I breathe in, feeling the excitement build. Tonight, I’m ready to give him that “show” he teased me about. I settle onto my bed, relaxing against the pillows, and allow myself to sink into the evening’s quiet. There’s an awareness in the air, the thrill of knowing that maybe, just maybe, I’m being watched.

I reach over to my nightstand, casually bringing out my favorite toys, a purple vibrating dildo and a vibrating toy in the shape of a tongue. Slowly, I begin to lose myself in the moment, all too aware of the tantalizing possibility that Lando might be watching from his window.

Just as I’m truly relaxing into the scene, there’s a firm knock at the door, shattering the silence. My heart jumps as I glance at the door, pulse racing. I hesitate, but something inside pushes me to go see who it is.

I make my way downstairs, opening the door just wide enough to see Lando standing there, his eyes dark, filled with that same mischievous look that’s been driving me crazy. He raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth lifting in a smirk.

“You left your blinds open,” he murmurs, his voice low and laced with suggestion. “Thought I’d come by and… check on you.”

In one swift motion, he closes the space between us, his hands sliding around my waist, pressing me firmly against the wall, his body heat igniting every inch of me. His gaze locks onto mine, daring me to pull away, but there’s no chance I would. He dips his head, his lips grazing my ear as he whispers, “You knew exactly what you were doing, didn’t you?”

I shiver, the thrill of his words sparking something wild and eager between us. His hands roam, fingers slipping under my shirt, exploring every curve as his lips capture mine in a kiss that’s hungry and unapologetic, each movement demanding a response.

As he carries me to the bedroom, there’s an electric anticipation, an unspoken promise that fills the space between us. The moment we reached my room, he pressed me against the wall, his hands firm on my waist, holding me steady. His gaze meets mine in the mirror across from us, dark and intense, every look fueling the thrill building between us.

He leans in, his voice a low murmur against my neck. “You knew I couldn’t stay away, didn’t you?” His words send a shiver through me, and he slides his hands along my waist, drawing me even closer, his touch both possessive and gentle, filled with the heat we’ve been holding back.

“I did—but I didn’t anticipate you barging in at this hour,” I manage to say between kisses, each one feeling more primal than the last. My core seems to have a mind of its own, my hips grinding against him, wanting more. Needing more.

He grins against my lips. “Didn’t take you for the needy type, princess.” He pulls back, sitting on the bed, leaving me craving the contact.

“Well, princess, not everything comes easy,” he murmurs, his gaze growing hungrier. “You teased me, so now it’s time you learn your lesson.”

I rise from his lap, tugging his shirt off in one motion, my hands exploring his toned chest and feeling his muscles tense under my touch. I trail kisses from his jaw down his neck, my lips grazing every inch, each one making my core ache with anticipation.

Sliding to my knees between his thighs, I reach the waistband of his trousers and boxers, sliding them down to let his hard cock spring free. My eyes, full of lust and need, are fixed on him, my mouth craving the feel of him. I waste no time wrapping my hand around his length, bringing my mouth to the tip, letting my tongue swirl slowly around the head before sliding down, inch by inch.

His moans and grunts grow stronger, more primal by the second. His hands grip my hair, pulling it into a makeshift ponytail, giving both of us a clearer view in the mirror.

“Fuck, princess, look at you, being such a good girl for me,” he growls, tilting my head to see his cock sliding deep into my mouth, the tip pressing at the back of my throat. Our eyes meet in the reflection, his grin never fading, eyes bright with satisfaction at the sight.

I try hard not to choke or gag as he picks up the pace, using my mouth for his pleasure. I can feel my own need intensifying, wetness pooling as I slip my free hand between my legs, seeking a hint of relief from the ache.

Just as I feel his cum on my tongue, sliding down my throat, my moans vibrate around his length, making him twitch in my mouth. His gaze shifts to the mirror, catching sight of my hand as I touch myself. In that instant, he releases his hold on my head and pulls his cock from my mouth, leaving a mix of confusion and hunger on my face.

“Princess… did I tell you that you could touch yourself?” Lando leans in, lifting my chin so our faces are close, his breath warm against my lips.

“No, you didn’t,” I reply, a hint of rebellion mixed with anticipation flashing across my face.

“Well, bad girls need punishments, so let me think of something.” An idea lights up his eyes as he guides me up onto the bed, positioning me on my hands and knees, facing the mirror. My mascara has smudged, trailing down my cheeks from the tears shed while he was in my mouth.

Part of me craves for him to finally take me and fill me up, while another part wants to see just what punishment he has in store.

He stands beside the bed and instructs me to keep my ass up and face down, so I adjust to ensure we’re both visible in the mirror. Once I settle, Lando’s hand trails from my hair down the arch of my back and onto my ass. He rubs my cheeks, his fingers dipping lower to feel my wetness, sticky and creamy, dripping onto the mattress.

“Look at you. So wet and needy for me,” he murmurs, bringing two fingers coated in my arousal back to my lips. I open my mouth, ready for a taste, and he slides his fingers in, letting me lick them clean. His breath is warm on my neck as he leans close to whisper in my ear.

“Good girls don’t touch themselves unless I say so.” He nibbles on my earlobe. “But it seems like you might just be my needy little slut instead.”

He steps away, the cool air hitting my sensitive core, sending shivers down my spine and adding a thrill to the moment.

Without warning, a sharp smack lands on one of my ass cheeks, the pain mixing with a tingling heat. He rubs over the reddened spot before delivering another smack, this time to the other side.

“Since you teased me twice, you’ll be getting four spanks—unless I see you haven’t learned your lesson.” He counts, “One,” landing a solid smack, then “Two,” and repeats on both sides. By the time he finishes the fourth, his hand has left my skin bright red, each touch leaving a sensitive, electric throb. A mix of pleasure and pain shows on my face with each strike.

“That’s it, my perfect princess,” he murmurs, brushing his fingertips gently over my sore, reddened skin. “You did so well. I think you’ve earned a reward, don’t you?”

“Yes, please,” I breathe, arching my back and raising my hips higher, my aching core desperate for attention. A grin spreads across his face as his fingers slip into my folds, rubbing my swollen clit, drawing a moan from my lips with every heavy breath.

Lando’s hunger grows more possessive as he slips a finger inside me, filling my tight heat. The sensation sends my body into overdrive, and the pleasure on his face only fuels the fire inside me. He slides another finger in, his free hand roaming along the curve of my arching spine.

His thumb continues to circle my sensitive clit, his pace quickening as he pumps his fingers in and out, each movement leaving me trembling with need. I bite my lip, trying to muffle my moans, but the pleasure is too much.

“Lando… I’m—close,” I manage to breathe out between gasps and moans.

“Oh, princess, I can see that,” he murmurs, sliding his fingers out of me suddenly, leaving an unbearable emptiness in their wake.

My wetness clings to his fingers in a glistening string as he pulls them away. “Fuck, you look so good on my fingers,” he growls, his gaze fixed on the sight of my arousal. Slowly, he brings his fingers to his lips, wrapping his tongue around them and sucking them clean.

“FUCK. And you taste ten thousand times better.” His eyes flutter shut for a moment as he savors the taste, the heat in the room climbing higher. The sight of him tasting me sends my brain spiraling into bliss, my gaping mouth wordlessly wishing for more.

Moments later, he leans down, his tongue sliding through my folds, the sensation stealing the air from my lungs. He places a light, teasing kiss on my core before beginning to suck and eat every inch of my pussy with eager determination.

“Fuck, you’re addictive, princess,” he murmurs against my entrance, the vibration of his voice making me shiver. His hands grip my ass firmly, spreading me wider, giving him full access to devour me.

His tongue teases my entrance, flicking and dipping inside, making my body twitch and ache for more. My hips start to move on their own, thrusting slightly, begging for him to go deeper.

Without warning, he flips me onto my back, positioning me for a better view. His hands grasp my thighs, and with quick precision, he pulls me to the edge of the bed. Dropping to his knees, he toys with my clit, his fingers circling and pressing before diving back between my legs, tongue working with unrelenting fervor.

“Now this, princess,” he murmurs between kisses and licks, his voice dripping with satisfaction, “I’d eat for breakfast, lunch, and dinner for the rest of my life.”

His words push me closer to the edge, my climax approaching rapidly as my legs begin to tremble. His grip tightens on me, holding me in place, preventing me from pulling away from his relentless mouth. My body shudders suddenly as the wave of relief I’ve been craving washes over me.

My fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as I grind against his mouth, riding out every pulse of my orgasm, my breaths coming in ragged gasps.

I feel my arousal spill into his mouth as he greedily licks and sucks, not letting a single drop go to waste. He stands, his eyes dark and filled with hunger, leaning in to kiss me. The taste of my release lingers on his lips, and I moan softly, lost in the sensation.

His hard cock presses against my core, grinding against me with desperate need, and I instinctively move my hips, craving to feel him inside me. His kiss grows rough and possessive, his hand sliding down from my neck to my breasts. He pinches one of my nipples, sending a jolt of pleasure through me and drawing a gasp that he swallows into the kiss, his grin wicked and satisfied.

“If my needy princess wants something, she has to ask for it,” he whispers, his lips parting from mine with a teasing grin, his breath warm against my ear.

His hand slides down to my clit, his fingers circling and flicking, sending jolts of pleasure through my body. My breath hitches, and a soft moan escapes my lips, my mind struggling to process his words.

“Use your words, princess. Tell me what you want,” he growls, his voice firm yet tantalizing, his fingers working me into a frenzy.

“Fuck me, please,” I murmur, my voice trembling as the heat builds in my core, every nerve in my body begging for him.

“Say that again, princess,” he demands, his tone dripping with playful dominance. “A little louder for me.”

“Fuck! I need you to fuck me—to feel you inside me. Please!” The frustration and raw need are evident in my voice, my body aching for him to claim me.

“That’s my good little slut,” he murmurs, satisfaction clear in his tone. He adjusts himself at my entrance, teasing me for a moment before slowly sliding inside, letting me adjust to his size. The stretch is overwhelming, and my fingers instinctively trail down his back, nails digging in and leaving marks. He jolts forward at the sensation, filling me deeper and making my head fall back, my back arching as I gasp at the sudden invasion.

He growls into my neck, leaving a trail of kisses and soft bites as he begins to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate at first. The rhythm shifts, his chest lifting from mine, giving him a full view of my bare body beneath him. One hand slides to my stomach, pressing down lightly as he picks up speed, fucking me harder and faster, his thrusts deep and commanding.

“That’s it, princess,” he growls, his voice raw with pleasure. “Fuck, you’re so tight. Let me stretch you just enough to make your pussy become a ring on my cock.” His hips slam into mine with a hunger that matches my own, the sound of our skin meeting echoing through the room.

As his thrusts grow more desperate, his hand reaches for the vibrating tongue toy on the nightstand. Without missing a beat, he presses it against my clit, the sudden overload of sensation making me throw my head back, a loud moan of his name escaping my lips as my hands clutch the sheets for dear life.

A wicked glint of satisfaction flashes across Lando’s face, his grin smug and proud. He leans in close, his lips brushing against my ear as he whispers, “Princess, as much as your moans are music to my ears, we can’t have your friends interrupting us right now—or finding out that their sweet little friend is such a good slut for the guy next door.”

Before I can respond, he grabs my black lace panties by the bed—the ones I’d removed during my earlier “show”—and gently pushes them into my mouth, muffling my cries of ecstasy as he continues to claim me.

My pussy clenches and twitches around his cock as his thrusts grow wetter, the sound of our movements filling the room. My orgasm teeters on the edge, his cum seeping into me, intensifying the sensation.

His growls and moans grow deeper and more primal. “Fuck, princess, you must be close,” he murmurs, his face satisfied as he watches my trembling legs and the euphoria written all over my face.

My muffled cries escape past the panties still in my mouth, vibrating softly in the heated air. “Cum for me, princess,” Lando commands, thrusting into me twice more. His words send me hurtling into my second orgasm of the night, my body convulsing around him as waves of pleasure consume me.

Lando’s thrusts grow sloppy, his grip on my waist tightening as he buries himself deep inside me. My pussy milks every last drop of his release, the warmth of his cum splashing against my inner walls. With a low growl, he slides out of me, both of our arousals dripping down my thighs and pooling onto the mattress.

He steps back, his eyes lighting up as he takes in the sight of my used, naked body, glistening and dripping with his cum. Slowly, his gaze traces every inch of me, savoring the evidence of what we’d just done.

“You know,” he says, his voice still thick with lust, “I might want this view every hour of the day from now on.” His tone is intoxicating, and he steps closer, gently removing the panties from my mouth before placing a soft kiss on my lips. “What do you think? You agree?” His smirk deepens, a dimple just beginning to peek through.

“I think that can be arranged,” I reply, wrapping my arms around his neck, a cheeky smile spreading across my face.

“Perfect,” he says, brushing his lips along my skin in a trail of butterfly kisses. “Let me start a shower for you, and then you can get some rest.” His voice is softer now, but still filled with care.

As he moves toward the bathroom, I pull myself up onto shaky feet, my body sore in all the best ways. Each ache is a reminder of every moment we’d just shared. I follow him, leaning on the sink in front of the mirror, catching a glimpse of my reflection—flushed, satisfied, and completely undone. The sensation of his cum still seeping out of me draws my attention, and I can’t help but slide a finger down to catch a drop, bringing it to my lips. I shut my eyes, savoring the taste.

Fuck, I need more.

Lando calls to me, his voice echoing softly under the sound of the shower. I walk toward him, wrapping my arms around his neck as he turns to face me. Pulling him into a sensual kiss, I whisper against his lips, “Are you up for a round two?” A glimmer of mischief dances in my eyes.

Lando grins at my request, his hands sliding down to rest on my hips. Leaning close, he murmurs under the steam of the shower, “I could never deny you a request like that, princess.”

The End

[taintandviolent]

Drives Me Insane ; Jimmy Darling x Reader

summary: What started off as an innocent, summer picnic at the beach turned into a naughty dalliance with the one and only Jimmy Darling. 🦞 Reader is from Southern California.

word count: 2.4K words!

w a r n i n g s: SMUT, as per usual, kissing, PDA and semi-public sex (sort of), oral sex.

a/n: I just had this brainrot idea of Jimmy Darling at the beach and I had to get it down. I hope everyone enjoys this as much as I did writing and daydreaming about it!!! not beta-read.

full fic under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! / written to this

Your feet kicked water up towards the dry sand as you walked, hand in hand with The Lobster Boy. Outside of the circus tent, he was as normal as every other guy. Better, in fact, than most of the guys you'd tried to go steady with. From his manners to his looks, he had you wrapped around one of his conjoined fingers. And he'd done it in only a day. To be fair, you knew that he likely did this with every girl he met in every town he travelled in, but he was sure making you feel special.

Butterflies still flapped their excited little wings in your stomach from you and Jimmy's closeness in the ocean. You two had gone out just far enough, the tips of your toes still hitting sand. He had hoisted you up out of the water each time a big wave came, gripping you firmly at the waist with his big hands. You couldn't help but laugh each time, holding on tight to the curve of his shoulders. At one point, he'd pulled you in for a kiss and wrapped both arms around you, his hands just grazing the top of your ass. You shivered and blamed the cold water.

Jimmy dropped down to the blanket, lounging happily. You towelled yourself off delicately, wicking away the crystalline drops that dotted your skin. His hair was only damp at the nape of his neck, but Jimmy didn't seem to mind his body being wet. You didn't mind it either - not after seeing the way the water glistened on his abdomen. After taking your hair out of the swimcap, you shook your head lightly, your lush curls bouncing with the motion. Thankfully, your style had maintained itself. Finally, you joined him on the blanket, stretching your legs out over the edge to dip your toes into the warm sand.

A seagull sang its shrill song above you, and you watched through squinted eyes as it flew towards the horizon, gliding over the breeze. With the sand between your red-tipped toes, the briny sea air tousling your locks, and a handsome guy by your side, you were in heaven. Everything about this felt like a movie, from the cute little picnic basket he'd brought, to the way that the sun glittered, reflecting off the waves as they crashed onto the shore. You looked over, watching Jimmy Darling as he lazily watched the sea, propping himself up on his elbows. He was still shirtless and wore a pair of yellow Catalina swim trunks that complimented the tanness of his skin beautifully. His muscles were on display for you to ogle, which you did willingly. He really was handsome; an All-American Boy with his chocolatey eyes and sugar-sweet smile.

Noticing that your attention was on him, he immediately sat up, reaching for the picnic basket. "You want a sandwich or somethin'? A soda? What can I getcha', doll?"

He was so attentive to your needs – butterflies fluttered again in your stomach at the thought. With a demure, red-lipped smile, you shook your head and with the back of your hand, brushed away the strand of hair that had blown across your face. 

"No, nothing, Jimmy. I was just looking at you..." Your voice was soft, sweet, and to Jimmy, had a hint of that Southern California accent. 

"Oh yea?" He asks, shifting his weight to lean closer to you. His eyes darted to your lips and with a cheeky grin, his tongue pressed against the back of his teeth, wanting to taste you. 

"Yeah!" you said back, playfully stern. You pivoted your body to face his, daring him to counter you. And... He did, by dipping his head down to plant a quick kiss on your waiting lips. You tittered, delighted, licking the remnants of him off your lips. 

"Mmh," he hummed, kissing you again. And again. "Mmmh! Baby! You taste like a.. like a cupcake or somethin', you know that?" 

His big, strong hands roamed your body, starting at your thighs and moving up and around to the small of your back. His touch was feverish and hungry, and you watched them as they moved. He heard your breath hitch and redirected his kisses to your collarbone, suddenly hungrier. He sucked at the skin, surely leaving hickeys in his path.

"Jimmy– Jimmy!" You bowed your head, almost ducking away from him.

"Sorry, baby, I just can't keep my hands off of ya'."

"...drives me insane..." you whispered, before turning your eyes to the horizon. You were getting too turned on to think clearly, and the knot in your stomach wound tighter around itself. You wanted him. Bad.

Your eyes lifted, looking sheepishly up at the other beachy patrons as they passed, their feet leaving imprints on the sand in front of you. Some of them watched as Jimmy nuzzled into your neck, smearing hungry kisses along your skin. His hands were wrapped around you and hiding behind your back, so to most, you assumed you looked like a normal couple, happily canoodling by the seaside. You felt the sting of disapproval from some older onlookers, but the way that Jimmy was kissing and sucking on the nape of your neck was too distracting -- you couldn't find it in you to care enough to stop him a second time.

Jimmy – now Jimmy was on cloud nine. The sun was warm on his shoulders, the breeze fluffing his caramel locks, and a pretty girl was in his arms. Nothin' better in his mind. As soon as the troupe had pulled into Santa Monica, parking their caravans and setting up in an empty lot near the beach, Jimmy's radar was up. He'd heard rumours of how pretty the West Coast girls were, and after spending so much time on the East Coast, he'd been hankering to taste their sunkissed, salty skin. When he'd spotted you in line with your perfect red pout and shimmering locks, he'd made a beeline for you, schmoozing and talking about how much you were gonna' enjoy the show. He, of course, wasn't wrong and it might've been because he paid special attention to you during his musical number. Whatever the reason was, he'd asked you out on a picnic date, and much to his delight, you accepted (although perhaps a little too quickly for your liking).

"Baby," he murmured into your skin, just below your ear. The closeness sent a shiver down your spine. "Whaddya' say we go back in one of those tents and have a little fun, huh?"

You looked behind him, following his gaze. There was a row of striped changing tents near the top of the beach, some of which were unoccupied. You couldn't help but cover your mouth as a gasp escaped; what he was proposing seemed so naughty. In public? You'd never... oh, but with him? You would. You'd do anything in the world with him and all he had to do was ask.

"You promise we won't get caught?"

"I promise."

Jimmy got up first, hand extended towards you to lift you up. You took it without another thought, and after being hoisted up, he took off, running giddily towards the tents. Giggling, you followed behind Jimmy as he ran, his hands wrapped firmly around your wrist, practically dragging you up the bank.

Once you made it to the tents, you popped your head in, taking a curious peek. The rest of your body followed shortly after. There was a small stool inside, intended for people to sit on while they changed. It wouldn't be utilized for that purpose, you thought.

Jimmy stood outside the tent, casually rocking back and forth on his heels, his fingers locked behind his back. He even whistled a happy little tune until no one would suspect that he was going to pop inside with you. To any passerbys, it just looked like he was waiting for his girlfriend to exit the tent. No funny business happening there. Heck no. 

When Jimmy finally ducked into the tent, he had a starved glimmer in his eyes and headed straight for you, his hands connecting to your hips. Your mouths collided, tongues wrestling each other for dominance like two horny teenagers. He took fistfuls of your breasts through the fabric of your swim top, kneading them hungrily. Abruptly, he dug underneath the elastic and tweaked your nipple, rubbing at it with his thumb. You broke the kiss to glance down. Smiled coyly. Jimmy's yellow shorts weren't doing much to hide his erection; the thin fabric had a clear outline of his quickly hardening cock, and a wet spot grew at the tip.

The sun shone through the red and white striped fabric, casting a warm, ruddy glow on Jimmy's face. You wondered if he felt at home in this miniature circus tent. "Hang on a sec, wait..." you whispered, as you reached around his back, tying the panels of fabric shut.

"You're that worried, huh?" Jimmy's hand slipped from your top.

"I don't know what kinda' freaky stuff you're into, but I don't want anyone walking in."

With a hushed tone, he replied: ,"Nobody is gonna' walk in, dollface."

He wrapped one arm around your back, pulling you tight to his hip and kissed you again. Jimmy's other hand trailed down your bare stomach until he came to the hem of your ruched shorts, where the tips of his fingers delved behind the elastic, creeping closer and closer to your folds. Once he found your slit, he slipped in between and immediately applied pressure to your clit, teasing you. You gasped, your breath hitching in your throat. Shortly after, he started drawing small circles around the bundle of nerves, hot and swelling with each passing second. Everything he did felt so good.

Feeling confident, Jimmy teased your entrance with his fingers. His deformity certainly hadn't inhibited him from gaining experience in pleasuring women. In fact, Jimmy swore up and down it made him better. Women across the US craved his conjoined fingers with all their girth and length, moaning desperately as they hit all the right spots when he fingered them.

In fear of making you scream his name, Jimmy couldn't give you the full Lobster Boy treatment - not here. He inserted just the tips of his fingers, up to the first knuckles, pumping slowly in and out. His thumb massaged your clit still, the dual stimulation sending to the skies and back again. At this rate, it wouldn't be long before you came. You were wetter than the ocean, and he loved it. Jimmy's tongue ran along his bottom lip, watching you as you writhed in his grip.

"Feel good?"

Breathlessly, you nodded. Jimmy withdrew his slick fingers from your cunt, his weighted gaze on you. He hummed in satisfaction. The dirty, wanton look in your eyes made his cock twitch.

"Baby, you wanna'....?" His eyes scanned over your pretty red lips before dropping to his groin. With one hand, Jimmy tugged his shorts down, letting out a breathy groan as his heavy cock bobbed in front of your tummy. Velvet heat pressed into your flesh, the pre-cum that oozed from the slit sliding against your stomach as he breathed. You knew what he was asking.

You sunk to your knees, settling into the shade-cooled sand. With Jimmy's cock in front of your face, you swallowed, wetting your throat. His conjoined digits wrapped around the base of it, squeezing it tightly. Your lips parted and Jimmy smiled, ready for what came next. You leaned forward, extending your tongue over your bottom lip and carefully, Jimmy slapped the tip of his dick against it. As your fingers wrapped around the shaft, he let out a throaty groan, jerking his head back. You worked it with your hand, and closed your lips around the tip of it, sucking gently. Looking up at him with those big, bright eyes, you watched Jimmy's breaths go from even to haphazard, his chest rising and falling quickly. Your tongue massaged at the underside of his cock, taking it deeper into your mouth.

You gagged softly, quietly and Jimmy clenched his teeth, feeling your throat close around his dick. It was hot and wet and strong – he swallowed again, watching you as worked. The urges were getting too strong, and the tension in his abdomen wound tighter. Without a word, Jimmy bent down and pulled you to your feet, his cock slipping wetly from your mouth. With a grunt, he yanked your shorts down just enough to expose your cunt. 

"Sorry, I just... I gotta'..."

"We can't go all the way here, are you –"

"No-no, baby, we're not gonna', I just gotta' be closer to you, I'm gonna' –"

He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. With his cock still wet from your mouth, Jimmy began jerking it, right into your folds. Pre-cum dripped from the slit, providing more lubrication. The tip bumped against your puffy clit over and over again and before you could stop it, the pulsing wave rushed over you. You wrapped both arms around his neck, hanging on him as your legs quivered with the powerful orgasm that shook your core. You moaned softly into his ear, riding out the sensation by grinding against his cock. With his head filled with lewd thoughts of pushing his dick deep inside your pussy, Jimmy was fast behind you, exploding over you in hot, white ropes of ecstasy.

Finally feeling like you could stand on your own again, you rested your head against his bare chest, listening to his heartbeat as it slowed. Jimmy rested his chin atop your head, panting and pet the small of your back.

"See? No one caught us." He teased. You slapped at his bicep and disconnected from him, moving around him to exit the tent. Jimmy followed behind, this time, not putting any distance between the two of you. Thankfully, no one noticed. Everyone was too busy enjoying their beach day.

Everything was as you left it, except that the blanket had blown over slightly. You toed the edge of it back into place. Jimmy approached you from behind, wrapping his arms around your hips. He kissed your ear, nuzzling into you.

"You wanna' see the show again tonight, pretty baby?"

You nodded. You did. And you wanted whatever was going to happen after the show, too.

[6saints]

Delicate

Yandere! Merman x Reader

Chapter One - check master list for chapter links

Contains smut, gore, and other heavy themes.

18+

—

Many deduce evil as malicious intent emanating from greed, others gleaned that evil is nothing more than a sin found from ancient scriptures. The most accepted opinion, at least in modern history, is that it derives from a natural instinct. A part of the brain rejects sympathy and empathy, creating what we know as immorality. The pernicious effects of greed and hatred gradually create malign people.

And thus; People—humans, are evil.

Catalina sat atop some of the rocks, staring into the pitch blackness of the ocean. She was tying her hair in a bun, singing lightly to old tunes she could barely recognize over the distance. The lack of a reflection made it difficult to tie around her loose curls. She dropped the hair tie and bent down to pick it back up, paying no mind to the jagged rocks. The alcohol seemed to be affecting her harshly as her vision staggered momentarily. Catalina felt a cold breeze behind her, causing her to immediately jolt up.

"(Y/N)...?" She whispered, turning her head from left to right slowly. A silence enveloped her for just a moment. She shrugged off the strange sensation and turned back to the ocean to see a blurry figure in the water. She squinted, unsure if it was only a shadow cast from the rocks or perhaps a large fish swimming idly.

"Catalina!" Your voice called out to her. You had climbed over the boulders and situated yourself right next to the drunken girl. You had decided to bring your shoulder bag over, a woven tote bag that was falling apart at the seams, and placed it just below your feet, only a short distance above the calm waves. "You took too long," you scolded, "What are you doing all the way over here?"

"I saw something in the water." She accused, looking forward again only to be met with a dark emptiness. You beamed your flashlight in the direction she pointed at.

"A mermaid?" You teased.

Catalina looked at you, suppressing a small laugh before a louder one took precedence. Giggles erupted between the two of you, light and airy and almost innocent. "You think mermaids actually exist?" Catalina asked.

You pondered for a moment, a hint of a smile dancing across your lips. "Maybe. I'd like it if they did."

"You think they'd like humans?"

You glanced at Catalina and then at the dusky horizon. "I think humans would hunt them."

Humans are evil.

Catalina's only response was a silent hm before she began recollecting herself.

"I miss Billy," she said, stumbling over the rocks.

"The boys aren't in the water anymore," you recalled, "They're eating."

Catalina waved at you to signify she understood, bear crawling over the rocks because she swore if she tried to stand it wouldn't be for long. She looked like a fish out of water, or perhaps Ariel when she first received her legs. You chuckled as Catalina's form disappeared into the night and turned to look at your own legs, dangling over the edge just above the water line. Your eyes travelled from the mossy rocks to the blackness of the water, the only light shining from your flashlight in small, circular sections.

You felt contented, gazing out at the nature you had overlooked for years. Had this area always been home to an astonishing beach such as this one? I might ask them to sneak in here more often, you pondered. The grim moonlight entering your view gave you an eery feeling. You never liked the darkness despite how comforting it could be. You shook your head and opened your bag.

Mermaids: A Guide to Communication, the unfinished book you were planning on returning back to the library was idly deriding you. Its torn, brown pages seemed empty despite the countless words fitted on the sheets. You rummaged through your bag before lifting it, letting the hard cover lay stagnantly against your fingertips. "Mermaids and sirens are one and the same," you read aloud. "Contrary to popular belief, mermaids are also capable of killing humans. Unlike sirens, however, mermaids do not use sound, but beauty." You began mumbling the words as you read further.

You managed to read through a few paragraphs more before stumbling across a chapter titled Cuisine. "No way you can eat mermaids!" You laughed, flipping through random recipes that you swore just swapped out regular fish for the word mermaid.

Humans are so fucking evil.

A splash and sharp noise resounded across from you, causing your head to shift in search of the one responsible. "Hello?" You called out, flashlight pointing to the other side of the boulders. "Cat?" No response. "Dean?" No response. "Richie..?" Yet again, no response.

Your nerves resonated within you, spilling out through the goosebumps littering your skin and the imperceptible shivers of your body. The sweater you sported was wet and sticking to your practically bare limbs, your damp hair was heavy and weighted as you tried to straighten yourself, focusing on the little shadows your eyes made up dancing across the darkness. The book mentioned mermaids having night vision, the males in particular being exceptionally good with their perception due to hunting, or something along those lines, you thought. You really wished you had that ability right now.

A bellow came from the same spot, guttural and animalistic with a few pitter patters echoing over the wet rocks. You froze, flashlight dragging from one side to the other in an attempt at getting a view of what the fuck you were hearing. When nothing came, you decided you weren't going to wait and find out. You hurriedly scrambled upward, balancing against jagged rocks as the alcohol's buzz just barely wore off your clumsiness. As you turned to fetch your belongings your foot slipped forward unexpectedly, kicking your bag into the water with a raucous splash. "Shit." You muttered.

It hadn't been dragged out to sea just yet. Instead, the denim material was situated just between two rocks, a small pool of water stirring as the waves encompassed more water around it. You flashed a light to where you had heard the noise and then back to your bag. Was it worth it? Probably not. But your laptop was inside and you would much rather deal with some cannibalistic hillbilly over having to drop hundreds of dollars, that you did not have, on a new one.

Placing your flashlight atop a patch of moss, you began pursuit.

You etched yourself as close to the edge of the turf as possible, zealously extending your arm downward while your free hand gripped onto an immobile piece of a boulder. You groaned as you continued stretching yourself downward, just a few more inches and you would be close enough to grab it. Please possible axe murderer, don't grab me until I get my laptop!

You definitely should have been taking this situation more seriously. Though in the back of your mind, you had already chalked the noise up to being a wild animal or perhaps your friends playing an awfully elaborate joke on you. Not to mention the alcohol still fuzzing your mind.

Therefore, when another pitter patter sounded beside yourself, you lacked any wits about you to react.

A webbed hand made quick use of your tousled hair, letting the soft (h/c) strands twirl around his fingers before yanking you off the rocks. You yelped, the fabric of your sweater entangling between your knees as you slipped before being able to garner yourself back. Your arms flailed hastily, attempting to push yourself further and prevent you from having your entire body fall into the serrated edges below. The rocks below had just barely made impact, your knee scraping against the side of one of the edges before you plummeted into the salty water. Though you weren't the best swimmer, you had enough understanding to know how to propel yourself upwards when underwater.

A breath of fresh air engulfed your burning lungs. A hazy mix of oxygen and carbon dioxide allowing your lungs to rest after the strain the water put on them. Your bleeding fingers took hold of one of the extended rocks, red covering the green moss.

Breathe in, breathe out; you practiced this for a mere few seconds before another guttural mewl reverberated against your ear. You could barely make out the translucent flakes of indigo nor the matching strands of hair, long and wet and wispy, that fell over your shoulders and down your back. A cold body pressed against your smaller one nominally. His hand snaked over your threat as the other pulled at your bruised arm, turning you over to take in a sight you never would have expected.

His talons, charcoal and coarse, dug into your skin, blood seeping from the cuts and surrounding his cuticles. The crimson liquid dripped into the ocean causing a contrast of browns and pinks faintly churning around his scales. Scales? You nebulously thought. The azure shade in his eyes darkened, a morose expression casting over his slitted irises.  You scrutinized his scintillate tail. His pale, almost sickly, skin was embellished in beautifully permanent artwork, crusading down his arms and stopping at his wrists.

From the translucent little flakes trailing down his body to the webbed caudal fins; he looked inhumane and unnatural. Your wide eyes almost admired the freckles of light that reflected from his tail against the water. "Pretty.." You whispered, only to be met with his talons digging further into your arm.  You screamed out a loud "Fuck!" before using ur free hand to take hold of his wrist as hard as your weakened state permitted. He eyed your quivering fingers, the purples and reds across your knuckles and joints presenting just how extensive the damage from the fall had been.

He noticed your chest rising as you heaved a notable breath. With every ounce of your being, you lunged yourself at him, a sharp jolt of pain coursing through your body and causing you to scream out. You bit the inside of your cheek, hoping to censor yourself from cursing at the strange being. His hand let go of your throat, instead opting to enclose behind you, his arms keeping a generous amount of space from you as he realized what you had done. You shoved moss in his face.

Yeah, not your proudest moment.

You could feel his torso judder as a laugh resonated. "Humans are so weak," was all he could sputter out, sharpened teeth taunting you as he continued to laugh at your expense. It was a mockery, like a dog playing with its' food.

And it seriously pissed you off.

You wound your better arm back, knuckles whitening into a fist as you punched the creature straight in the jaw. The sound of his teeth knocking against each other was just barely audible as his head thumped backward. Tears pricked at the corner of your eyes as you continued jabbing and striking him, each punch getting weaker and weaker as your adrenaline quickly waned. For a moment you hadn't realized his grip loosening around your waist, until a voice sounded from above and grounded you once again.

"(Y/N)?" Dean's voice was laced with concern, the light from his flashlight beaming against the rocks just above you.

"Dean.." You said in a hushed tone, almost unable to believe it was actually him. "Dean!" You repeated, this time louder. Could he hear you? You weren't sure. You kicked against the creature and ventured over the mossy boulders, waves flailing you back and forth. One leg made it over and just as you were about to prop yourself up, those familiar pale arms pulled you back in. "DE-" Was all you managed to spur out before you were submerged in the water once again.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Comet Donati [Chapter 2: Story Of My Life]

Series Summary: Sex, drugs, boy bands. You are a kinda-therapist recruited (via nepotism) to help Comet Donati through a recent crisis. Things are casual with Aegon, very not-casual with Aemond. Loosely inspired by One Direction.

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to sexual content (18+), drugs, alcohol, smoking, mental health struggles, cryptic song lyrics, tattoos, motorcycles, pretentious veganism, the return of the Cookie Monster pajama pants.

Selected Chapter Quote: “I’m not interested in therapy. But I’m somewhat interested in you.”

Word count: 6.9k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @doingfondue​ @catalina-howard​ @randomdragonfires​ @myspotofcraziness​ @arcielee​ @fan-goddess​ @talesofoldandnew​ @marvelescvpe​ @tinykryptonitewerewolf​ @mariahossain​ @chainsawsangel​ @darkenchantress​ @not-a-glad-gladiator​ @gemini-mama​ @trifoliumviridi​ @herfantasyworldd​ @babyblue711​ @namelesslosers​ @thelittleswanao3​ @daenysx​ @moonlightfoxx​ @libroparaiso​ @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics​ @mizfortuna​ @florent1s​ @heimtathurs​ @tclegane​ @poohxlove​ @narwhal-swimmingintheocean​ @heavenly1927​

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! 💜

Under the stars, under the canopy of incandescent string lights, you tilt a Salty Dog against your lips: clinking ice, rosemary, a wedge of grapefruit, salt on the rim. The indigo wind raises goosebumps on your arms. From the speakers flow notes muffled by car horns and ambient conversation: Coldplay, Life In Technicolor ii. The Missouri River is a snake in the distance, twisting and glimmering, silver scales built of reflected moonlight. It is one year before you fly to Rome. It is the prologue of a book you never thought you’d write.

“I hope you’re not cheating on anybody,” you say to Aegon. Your voice has that drowsy, unguarded honestly that follows good sex with someone you might have the capacity to love under the right circumstances. His does too.

Aegon snorts and shakes his head. There is sunburn on his cheeks like a stain of spilled wine; summer in the Lower Midwest doesn’t agree with him. It’s too hot, too primal. It’ll bite you if you’re not careful. “No. There’s no one.”

“Is there ever?” you ask. “I remember seeing paparazzi photos of Jace and Luke with their girlfriends, Aemond with Shelby, Cregan with…plentiful, interchangeable Victoria’s Secret models. But I don’t think I’ve ever seen you attached to anyone.”

“Look, can I be honest for a second? I mean, I don’t want to offend you. But you seem cool, you seem like you might get it. Can I be real with you?”

“Yeah. Be real, I’d like that.”

“I love what we’re doing right now,” Aegon says. He takes a swig of his Salty Dog, your suggestion. His blond hair, nearly shoulder-length, whips in the night breeze. There’s something about Missouri that feels old, prehistoric almost, and you know because you’ve left it and come back: untamed, unrefined, brown recluses and black bears, copperheads and water moccasins, droughts and floods and tornados, humid and buggy like the earth the dinosaurs knew. “And I loved what I was doing last week in Boston and Philly, and I’ll probably love what I’m doing a few days from now in Houston. But if I knew I had to do it, I wouldn’t love it anymore, you know? That’s just how I am. It’s not a reflection on anyone but me. I can’t handle obligations, commitment, chains. I feel the weight of expectations settling on me and I run.” He rests his chin on his knuckles as he gazes at you like a distant constellation. “I don’t think my worth is determined by who or how I fuck. I don’t think yours is either. I think there are sluts who are angels and virgins who are demons. And I think to believe otherwise is not just archaic or puritanical or ignorant. I think it’s deeply, catastrophically harmful.”

You’re smiling; tears brim in your eyes. “Thank you, Aegon,” you say softly.

He is mystified. “For what?”

“Nothing. Never mind.”

Coldplay recedes from the speakers. Next—for no less than the fourth time this evening—is the Weeknd’s Starboy. Aegon groans and drums his Salty Dog on the tabletop. “Oh my God, this song again?!”

“They’re obsessed!”

“They really are.”

“It’s for you,” you tease. “You’re the big star. The boy band star. The Starboy.”

He takes your right hand, flattens your palm, and lays it against his chest. Through his t-shirt—Nirvana, grey, short-sleeved, from Target—you can feel muscle, bone, rushing blood. “Starboy,” he tells you, grinning. Then he presses his own palm to your heart, beating calm and slow beneath your dress the color of emeralds. “Stargirl.”

“Oh no. Wrong. I’m definitely a nobody.”

“You’re not,” Aegon says. And then again, to make sure you’ve heard him: “You’re not.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“So I only have to talk to two people?” Rhaena says suspiciously, like she’s waiting for you to pull the lever of a trapdoor.

“Exactly.” You take another bite of your carbonara, an Italian invention that would be at home in the Midwest: heavy, cheesy, lots of pork products. “At the meet-and-greet before the show tonight, I want you to pick two people. Just two. And they can be anyone you want. 13-year-old girls, frat boys, soccer moms, grandmas, whoever. And I want you to chat with each of those two people for two minutes. That’s four minutes total. And then you’re done!”

“I’m really done? You promise?”

“I promise.”

“Okay. Two people, two minutes. I can do that.” Rhaena turns to Luke, who has bits of lasagna all over his shirt and one wayward shred of a noodle in his dark curly hair. “I can do that, right?”

He nods encouragingly. “You can totally do that.”

Aemond is watching; you can see him on the periphery of your vision, short blond hair and a black t-shirt. He wears a lot of black, few accessories, like he’s trying not to be noticed. You look across the table at him. The band is enjoying a late lunch—everyone sleeps in until at least 1 p.m.—on the patio of a restaurant that overlooks the Palatine Hill. Intense midday sunbeams stream, in threads like tinsel on a Christmas tree, through the gaps in the pergola of grapevines, climbing roses, and ivy. In the daylight, Aemond’s scar is jarring—red, wrathful—and his sightless blue dreamscape of a left eye all the more peculiar. He fixes his gaze on you, daring you to flinch away, to be disgusted, to wilt like something parched and dying. You stare steadily back. Aemond sips his white wine, half-smiling, and twirls spaghetti onto his fork. You have white wine too. You keep choosing whatever drinks he does.

“You came all the way to Rome only to order the most basic, fifth-grader version of pasta imaginable?”

“It has marinara sauce,” Aemond replies. “I’m a vegan.”

“Uh oh,” you say. “For health reasons or the environment, or…?”

He shrugs, like it’s obvious. “I just feel that the world has enough suffering in it already without me contributing to the mass torture and execution of sentient beings.”

“Okay. Pretentious.”

Aemond chuckles, covering his mouth with one hand so he can chew his spaghetti with dignity. “What do your parents do in Kansas?”

“Missouri,” you correct, like a reflex.

“I know, it’s so confusing,” Aegon tells him. He’s wearing aviator sunglasses and a salmon-colored tank top that matches his sunburn. “It’s Kansas City, but apparently it’s in Missouri, not Kansas. But there is a different, smaller, much worse Kansas City in actual Kansas.”

“It’s confusing for your little hamster brain,” you say.

Aegon holds up a dark green bottle of olive oil that he’s been drenching his salad with: lettuce, tomatoes, black olives, skinless boneless chicken. “This is healthy, right?”

“Yeah, it’s really good for you. Antioxidants and anti-inflammatory properties.”

Jace snickers. “Dude, that has like 100 calories per tablespoon.”

Aegon frowns dejectedly down at his salad. “Fuck.”

Aemond asks you: “So what do your parents do in Missouri?”

“They have a farm just outside the city.”

“Oh. Nice.” Some apprehension now. “What do they raise?”

“Beef cattle.”

The rest of the table bursts out laughing. Aemond’s cheeks—one smooth and pristine, one cut in two by a rust-colored cord of bitter corporal memory like barbed wire—flush pink. He is happy in a way that he hasn’t been in a long time; you can see that in the warmth that glows on the others’ faces. He is alarmingly, breathtakingly beautiful. He has the sort of features that belong carved into marble, in myths, in museums. “I mean…I’m sure they do a great job.”

“You should visit one day. You can help brand the herd.”

“Absolutely,” Aemond quips.

“Nothing gets one’s deepest, darkest revelations flowing like hard labor.”

“I’m not interested in therapy.” He peers around the table for the basket of bread. “Jace, can you pass me some of that?”

Jace picks up a piece of crunchy Italian bread and lobs it through the air. It goes sailing right past Aemond, at least a foot from his fumbling, futile hands.

Aegon is exasperated. “Jace, bruh, you know he’s got no depth perception!”

“It’s fine,” Aemond says quickly, like he wants the conversation to be over.

“It’s not fine.” Aegon stands up and leans across the table to jab his index finger menacingly at Jace. “Have some consideration for anyone besides yourself. Have some fucking respect.”

Jace is more entertained than intimidated. “I’m sorry, I was under the impression that I outrank you now.”

“Yeah. And how’d you get there?” In the uneasy quiet that falls over the table, Aegon—quite tipsy already—lurches inside the restaurant to use their bathroom.

Daeron slides the basket of bread over to Aemond. Luke studies him sympathetically without knowing what to say. So much of what settles in us—accumulating like radiation, cooking malignancies into our bones—are things we cannot speak of. This is the great supposition of therapy. It’s what first inspired Sigmund Freud to get that fateful ball rolling in the latter half of the 1800s, before television or radio or record players, before airplanes, before Alaska or Hawaii were added to the Union.

Criston sighs loudly and stabs at his carne alla pizzaiola. Cregan stares indifferently out over the Palatine Hill: the Palace of Domitian, the House of Tiberius, the Temple of Apollo, ruins of gods and men. He slips a minibar-sized bottle of Absolut Vodka out of his sweatpants, empties it into his San Pellegrino, and gulps it all down. Jace has one arm slung across the back of his girlfriend Baela’s chair. She whispers something to him, clearly irritated. He replies briskly back. They have the look of a couple that has spent more time trying to claw their way back to a good place than they ever spent happy to begin with. Jace steals a glimpse of you, smirking. He turns away as soon as you notice him watching. His arms and chest, visible through his unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt, are a mosaic of tattoos: the Eiffel tower, cherry blossoms, Christ the Redeemer, an alligator, a pair of dice.

After a few minutes, Aegon returns to the table, noticeably more peppy. He starts collecting everyone’s silverware and piling it on a plate for when the servers clear the table. He sorts the utensils by type—forks, knives, spoons—and then by size.

“What is on your face?” Criston demands.

Aegon feigns innocence. Badly. “Huh? What? Face? Huh?”

“Your face. What the hell is all over your face?”

Aegon touches his fingertips to his nose. They come away dusted with white residue. “Um. Donuts.”

“What?”

“Powdered sugar donuts.”

“That’s what you were doing in the bathroom? Eating donuts?”

“…Yes.”

“Aegon,” Criston says sternly.

“They’re called zeppole here.”

Criston claps his hands together and rises from the table. “Okay, time for soundcheck!”

There are groans and complaints, but the band obeys, mopping stray sauce from their lips with cloth napkins and then heading for the black Escalades parked outside the restaurant…everyone except Aemond. He sips his wine leisurely, like he hasn’t heard Criston. You don’t leave either.

Criston regards Aemond with fatherly concern, a hand rested on his shoulder. “You okay?”

“Yeah. We’ll catch up with you later.”

“Really?”

“If memory serves, you don’t need me for this part anymore.”

“Right,” Criston admits awkwardly. “Well one of the Escalades will be waiting out front whenever you’re ready.”

“Sounds good.”

Criston and the rest of the band vanish towards the front of the restaurant. You can hear the slamming of doors and Criston shouting: “Get in the car…get in the fucking car…put your seatbelt on…Aegon, right now, put it on—!”

Aemond takes a pack of Benson & Hedges cigarettes out of the pocket of his dark jeans, puts one between his lips, ignites it with a small square metal lighter—vintage? heirloom?—and then throws the glittery gold pack onto the table. “Okay. Go ahead.”

You smile at him, bars of shadow and sunlight across both of your faces. The restaurant speakers, breaking the spell of the ever-ancient Roman mirage, are playing Foster The People’s Pumped Up Kicks. “I thought you weren’t interested.”

“I’m not interested in therapy. But I’m somewhat interested in you.” He exhales smoke like a dragon. “So go on, ask your questions so I can theatrically unburden myself and emerge from the wreckage like a phoenix, all shiny and redeemed.”

You gesture broadly. “How did this happen?”

“This?”

“You getting kicked out of Comet. Daeron being added to the lineup, Jace being promoted.”

He speaks nonchalantly as if discussing ancient history or the weather, like that’s just the way the world works, a morally ambiguous eventuality. Every once in a while a tsunami or a mudslide comes along and gobbles up a couple thousand lives, but the planet keeps on spinning. “The label made the call. An executive decision, they said. A boy band is a fantasy. It has to be light, fun, erotic without being scandalous or threatening. No one wants to watch some mutilated, half-blind guy strutting around a stage trying to reclaim some long-gone, better version of himself.”

You are at once immeasurably vengeful on his behalf, but you can’t show this. “That must have been difficult. To be treated mercilessly when you were vulnerable. To realize that something you poured your heart and soul into was so transactional.”

He shakes his head, smoking, not looking at you. He gazes out over the Palatine Hill instead.

“Aemond?”

“What do you want me to say?” he answers abruptly. “That I’m angry? I am. That I wish the accident had never happened? Yeah, I wish that. I wish it every goddamn day. But there’s nothing I can do about any of it. Of course I’m furious. Of course I’m resentful. I built this band. I got us together, kept us together, wrote virtually every hit we ever had. Comet was mine. It was my whole life, my past, my future, my legacy. And they took it from me. You want to know how I really feel about that? I couldn’t tell you in words. I’d have to hit something until my knuckles split through the skin.”

He puts out his cigarette in the ashtray with trembling hands, then he drags his fingers—long, uncalloused, dexterous, though you wish you could stop staring at them—through his hair. He glances at you, embarrassed. You look calmly back.

“Jesus Christ,” Aemond says shakily. “I don’t know where that came from.”

“The band was yours,” you agree. “So you’re the one who named it?”

“Yeah.”

“Comet Donati. The first comet ever photographed. 1858.”

He is impressed. “You’ve studied astronomy?”

“Well…I Googled it,” you confess, and he laughs. He’s relaxed again, he’s sunny like the sky. “But I really like it. A disproportionate number of astronomers are from the Midwest, you know.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Because there’s nothing to do there, so people watch the stars instead.”

He nods, thoughtful. “Better than livestock farming or teen pregnancies, I guess.”

“What is it about the comet that inspires you?”

Aemond lights himself a fresh cigarette. His last name is etched into the side of the steel lighter, you see now: Targaryen. “It has an orbital period of 1,740 years. That last time Comet Donati clipped by Earth, Abraham Lincoln was watching it from the front porch of his hotel. It won’t come back until the late-3000s. I’ll never see it. You’ll never see it. But it’s always there. And to me, there’s something really beautiful about that. So many things in life are invisible, silent, unspoken, unacknowledged, unknown, misunderstood. But that doesn’t mean they’re not real.”

You recall the woman you’ve seen standing beside him in countless paparazzi photos: an actress and influencer, 20 million Instagram followers, California blond, Ibiza clubs and Met Galas. “Where’s Shelby?”

“Not around anymore, obviously.”

“She left you or you left her?”

He flicks away ashes, vague, evasive. “She couldn’t handle it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” It isn’t, that’s clear. It’s marked him somewhere deeper than the flesh.

“No, Aemond.” You reach across the table to take his free hand, his left hand, in your own. “I’m really, really sorry.”

He’s watching you, but he isn’t just watching; he’s a little bewildered, and little captivated, a little impishly proud like he’s won a bet. When you release his hand, he says: “Don’t worry about it. I don’t want someone who’s repulsed by me. Or worse, someone who can only see me as something damaged and pitiful. I don’t want to be fucked out of pity.”

Oh no, you think, gazing helplessly at his face, his fingers, his wrists, the slope of his throat. Oh no, I don’t think pity would be anywhere in my mind, not even a whisper of it, not even a ghost.

Aemond notices. His lips pull up at the edges into a sly smile…and then he grows solemn again. “Are you going to ask me about what happened at the Budokan?”

“No. I don’t want to talk about the past anymore.”

“Why?”

“Because I think what happened to you was horrible and senseless and unfair. And the worst part isn’t that you look different. It’s that you are different. You can’t ever unlearn how people treated you afterwards, what their true motivations were. People who discarded you, people who forgot about you. You didn’t deserve that. You were worthy then and you’re worthy now. I don’t want to talk about your past. I want to talk about where you’re going next.”

“I have no idea. When I said the band was my whole life, I meant it.”

“You’ll figure something out. And maybe I can help.”

“Maybe.” He takes a long drag off his cigarette, intrigued. “What made you want to be a therapist?”

That nervous drop in your stomach; a sensation like falling. You disguise it expertly. “No no, I’m asking the questions here. I’m the one with the master’s degree.”

“Now who’s pretentious?”

You’re giggling, and then Aemond is too, like mirror images of each other: sipping white wine and averting your eyes—those so-called windows to the soul—towards the Palatine Hill before they can reveal too much.

~~~~~~~~~~

When Comet Donati performs now, Aemond isn’t on stage. But he never misses a show. He paces around with a black notebook and a white gel pen—Luke learned that from him, you realize—jotting down suggestions and critiques to share with the others afterwards. You follow him, trailing soundlessly like a shadow, through hallways and down aisles and across sky-high catwalks like ancient aqueducts. You’re wearing the only dress you brought from home: short, black lace, cold shoulders. Unconsciously, Aemond takes your hand to make sure you don’t fall behind. Wordlessly, he points out things that make you laugh: Aegon repeatedly slipping on a puddle of beer that he spilled, Daeron’s improvised dance moves (the Mailman, the Beached Whale, the Reckless Uber Driver, etc.), screaming middle-aged women flashing Cregan, Luke giving little crochet stars and planets and comets—handmade by Baela and Rhaena—to children in the audience. But Aemond rarely acknowledges Jace.

As you and Aemond lurk just offstage, the band is performing A Song I’ve Never Heard, the lead single off their first album and an enduring fan favorite.

“If you disappear, I’m going under

Telling you right now, there is no other

Who could ever replace you, no need to wonder

Your name is a song I’ve never heard before.”

“They’re really good live,” you shout, barely audible over the noise. You stand on your tiptoes and lean against Aemond’s shoulder so he can hear you. You are struck by the dormant power beneath your palms, his tense muscles, his radiating heat. You can’t help but imagine what sort of rhythm you might fall into together.

“Yeah,” he says distractedly.

“They’d be even better with you.”

Aemond turns, startled, then smiles. He passes you his notebook and gel pen so you can read his comments and add any of your own. You skim through his scribbled, pearlescent observations.

Cregan – Good smolder. Pay attention to every fan in the crowd, not just the fuckable ones. Thumbs up and high fives for kids. Fist bumps for dudes. Wear less clothes, maybe? If you’re cool with that.

Luke – Don’t be afraid to move around the stage more. Weave. Prowl. Pretend you are a shark.

Aegon – Wrong lyrics during Space-Time Continuum. And Lake Effect. And A Girl Named After A Car!! And The Worst Way To Be!!!! Please for the love of God the words are on Genius.com if you don’t know them.

Daeron – Really great overall. Missed verse during If You’re Summer I’m The Rain. Beware of handshakes with crowd, they could pull you in. Invent a new dance move, something inspired by Kansas City. The Tornado Watch? The Oppressed Beef Cow?

You write at the bottom:

Aemond – Cultivate at minimum one (1) hobby not directly related to Comet Donati. Or pretentious veganism.

You hand the notebook to him, and then he scrawls back:

Already have it. I’ll show you later.

When the concert ends, Aemond leads you backstage to reunite with the band, along with Baela and Rhaena who spent the past two hours dancing and shrieking in the front row.

“I did it!” Rhaena trumpets when she sees you, eyes alight and hands waving in the air. “At the meet-and-greet before the show! I talked to people for four whole minutes and then I got to sit in the corner and drink champagne all by myself and it was amazing!”

“That’s so great!” you exclaim, hugging her. “See?! We knew you could do it. But next time you have to talk to people for ten minutes.”

“Ugh,” Rhaena says, but she’s still beaming. She knows she’s capable of it. It might hurt, but it won’t kill her. And that’s true for a lot of things, isn’t it? The trick is figuring out which of our brains’ frantic doom-signals are misfires, exaggerations, genetic malformations…and which are warnings of something actually lethal.

Everyone piles into the Escalades for the short journey back to the Anantara Palazzo Naiadi Rome Hotel. You and Aemond end up sharing a car with Aegon, Luke, and Rhaena. Luke sits right next to Aemond, wants to see all his notes, wants to rehash every detail of the night with him: Did you like this little move I came up with? Was I too extra when I did that? Am I too low in the harmonies? Did you see how psyched that one kid was when I gave him a stuffed comet? As you watch them, streetlights passing by overhead like miniature suns, it occurs to you that Luke is the only person who still treats Aemond like he’s an essential part of the band, not a progenitor to be paid occasional pennies of homage but a heart or a spinal cord, something that can’t be excised without killing the host.

Aegon is lying on his back across the floor of the Escalade and scrolling through his phone. “Oh my God, guess who else is in Rome right now!” he gasps.

“Who?” Rhaena asks, but she rolls her doe-like eyes in a way that tells you this happens a lot.

“Selena Gomez!”

“Great,” Aemond says. “I don’t think she wants to see you.”

Aegon is typing manically with both thumbs. “We’re about to find out.”

Back at the hotel, a force like gravity—stringless, unthinking—pulls everyone towards Jace’s suite. The lights are low, the air smokey, the drinks misty with condensation, the balcony door open as people—friends and roadies and label executives—drift in and out of the starlit night breeze, the music loud and rumbling, lots of bass, Lifestyles Of The Rich & Famous by Good Charlotte. Crowded together in one corner of the room, illuminated by an end table lamp, are Jace, Baela, Daeron, Cregan, and Criston, who is observing with arms crossed over his chest and an exhausted, long-suffering sort of disapproval. There is a tattoo artist getting set up on the coffee table, laying out the needles and ink cartridges, latex gloves, sanitizer, a squeeze bottle of green soap.

“Get the Pantheon!” Baela is telling Jace. She’s sitting in his lap on the white leather couch, his arms locked around her waist but his eyes roaming around the room. “Or laurels, maybe. Or an eagle.”

“Get a gladiator!” Daeron says.

Baela grimaces. “Please don’t.”

“Get the Colosseum!” Luke says as he hurries over to join them.

“What’s going on?” you ask.

“He gets a new tattoo for every city we play in,” Daeron explains.

“Some are better than others,” Baela adds. “There were so many gorgeous possibilities for Miami and you chose an alligator?!”

“Every single city, huh?” you say to Jace. “You must have a lot of tattoos.”

He grins crookedly up at you through locks of dark, messy curls. He’s wearing a black and white striped shirt that is mostly unbuttoned. Aemond’s gaze flits anxiously between you and Jace. “I do. But believe it or not, we’ve never been to Rome until now.”

“Get the Leaning Tower of Pisa!” Aegon says.

Criston snaps: “Really? The one that’s in Pisa? Which is a completely different city? The one that’s four hours north of Rome? That Leaning Tower of Pisa? That one?”

“Well fuck, don’t let me inconvenience you with my presence!” Aegon thumps a fist against Cregan’s brawny shoulder and they disappear together, peering down at their phones, faces painted by the white-blue glow of the screens.

“What should I get?” Jace asks Aemond. It sounds like a loaded question.

“Julius Caesar. A usurper.”

Jace winks up at him, arrogant and taunting.

Baela rubs Jace’s bare, ink-adorned chest. “Baby, don’t.”

“I want the Pantheon,” he declares suddenly. “Right here on the back of my right hand. Prime real estate. I won’t be able to do anything without remembering this city, this show.” He turns to Aemond, victorious. “They were filming, you know. They’re going to make it a Netflix special.”

“I’m aware,” Aemond replies, flat, cold.

The tattoo artist is nodding agreeably at Jace. “Si signore, I do the Pantheon all the time. Tourists love to have a picture to take home with them. Nessun problema. You want it on this hand? You are sure? Va bene, place it here on the table. Si, si. I will clean the area and then we will begin.”

Soon the needle of the humming tattoo gun meets the skin: metal, blood, Jace hissing in pain as black lines spring to life across his metacarpals. Baela passes the time by chatting with you. She is clever and kind like Rhaena, but louder, tougher, beautiful yet barbed like a lionfish. She can talk to anyone and never drops her eyes. It amazes you how siblings, built of the same genetic Legos, can grow up to be so different: Baela and Rhaena, Jace and Luke, Aegon and Aemond and Daeron.

When Jace’s tiny Pantheon tattoo is complete and his hand bandaged, he goads you: “Now you’re getting one too, right?”

“Sure,” you say, and you are delighted to see the shock leap into his face.

“What?!” Baela cries.

“You’re joking,” Aemond says uncertainly. “She’s joking.”

“No, I really want one.”

“Get a gladiator!” Daeron bellows, jumping on top of the couch and flexing his muscles like Hercules.

“Get my name on the side of your face like Post Malone,” Jace says. And then, when Baela and Aemond glare at him: “What?!”

“I definitely don’t want that. But I do want something.”

“I will do whatever you like, signora,” the tattoo artist says, changing out needles.

“You’re actually serious?” Aemond asks. And what he means is: You don’t have to do this. It would be reckless. It would be permanent.

“Yeah.” You smile up at him. “I want to remember this little adventure. When I’m back in Kansas City…in a few weeks, or a few months, or whatever…I want to be able to look in the mirror and know that it wasn’t all something I made up. A fantasy, a dream.”

“You should get Comet lyrics,” Luke says excitedly. “Aemond’s lyrics.”

You tap Luke’s notebook: black paper, white gel pen, just like Aemond’s. “Absolutely. Help me choose them.”

Within ten minutes, you’ve settled on a design that Luke has sketched in starlight-colored ink and a location: upper back, equidistant between your shoulder blades, someplace you can easily conceal it when you’re working. It will be a small, minimalist comet—nucleus, coma, and tail—with cursive lyrics from a hidden gem off the band’s most recent album encircling it like the rings of Saturn:

I’ll come back for you if it kills me

Comets clip by again after eons and so can I

Somewhat clumsily, you manage to unzip your dress, shimmy the top part down to around the line of your bra strap, and then lie on your belly across the couch. Baela and Rhaena giggle at the way the men bashfully avert their eyes…all except Aemond. He is speechless, blinking, fascinated. He shakes it off and turns away when he realizes he’s been staring.

“I’m sorry, is this too unprofessional?”

“No, you were perfectly clear,” Daeron says. “You’re a therapist, but not our therapist. So feel free to walk around in just your bra anytime.”

“For real,” Jace adds.

Baela shoos him away: “Go, get us more drinks. Go! Bar! Now!” And Jace reluctantly retreats.

Using Luke’s rough sketch as a reference, the tattoo artist begins working once he’s thoroughly cleaned the area of perfume, shining perspiration, invisible fingerprints, tobacco, other remnants of life’s general untidiness. The pain is bad but not overwhelming, worst when the needle nears your spine. Aemond sits on the floor beside you and observes thoughtfully, sipping a rosy-pink Bramble. Aegon and Cregan wander back into the suite—white powder on their palms, more on their shirts, their pupils dilated and glassy—and are extremely amused by this turn of events. They stay for a while and then are gone again, forever both here and there, comets zooming around their elliptical orbits, Schrodinger’s cats.

“How’s it look?” you ask Aemond as he studies your back. You can’t see anything; you can only feel it.

“The tattoo, or…?”

You laugh and shove him away with your very limited range of motion; then, when you wince at the stinging pain, Aemond grips your hand in his. “I know I’m being pathetic. I know it’s not that bad.” Not compared to what you endured: blunt force trauma, partial blindness, your face stitched back together, your life’s work stolen from you.

“You’re not that pathetic. Louis Tomlinson probably would have cried.”

You laugh again, louder, and the tattoo artist scolds you: “Signora, per favore! Stay as still as you can, I beg you. We are almost done.”

Aemond’s iPhone rings and he glides it out of his pocket with his free hand. His ringtone is Mr. Brightside. “Oh. I should take this.”

“Go ahead,” you tell him. “Go, I’m fine.”

“Who is it?” Criston asks Aemond with curiously intense interest.

“It’s my mom.”

“Does she want to talk to me? To see how the tour is going?”

“No, Criston.”

“Fine,” Criston says testily. “I’m gonna go make sure Aegon isn’t on the roof or something.”

He departs from the crowded suite, momentarily parting the miasma of cigarette and cigar smoke like Moses split the Red Sea. Aemond goes out onto the balcony. Baela and Rhaena take his place next to the couch, fawning over your almost-finished tattoo and showing you their own: Baela has a ring of roses around one ankle, a quote from her grandmother across her ribs, and a compass on her forearm; Rhaena has a tiny L behind one ear for Luke. Even over the buzzing of the tattoo gun, the reverberating music, the chattering of new friends and perfect strangers, and the backdrop of traffic noises outside on the winding streets of Rome, you can hear chaos: yelling, banging, the pounding of sprinting footsteps.

When your tattoo is completed and bandaged, you fix your dress and follow the commotion out into the hallway. Several doors down, you find Criston in Aegon’s suite. He’s standing on top of the mattress and attempting to handcuff Aegon to the bedpost. Aegon, thrashing and yowling and shirtless for some reason, rips away from him.

“Give me your hand!” Criston roars. “Give me your fucking hand! You want to act like Motley Crue, you’re gonna get treated like Motley Crue.” He finally clicks a cuff around Aegon’s left wrist, fastens him to the bed, and then doubles over gasping for air.

You say from the doorway: “This is not what I, personally, would call effective conflict resolution.”

“Oh good, you’re here.” Criston wipes fat beads of sweat from his forehead with the back of one hand. “You talk to him. Meditation, yoga, hypnosis, a lobotomy, read him bedtime stories, get him a shock collar, I don’t care what you do, just give me fifteen minutes of peace. I need a goddamn San Pellegrino.” He stomps out of the room and is gone.

Aegon sighs listlessly. “I’d like to say I don’t deserve this, but I probably do.”

“Hey, Aegon?”

“Yeah?”

“What was up with your salad at lunch today? And the skinless boneless chicken?”

He smirks, an expression you can’t quite read. Nervousness? Cynicism? Shame? “I’ve gained like twenty pounds since last summer.”

“So?”

“So almost none of my tour wardrobe fits.”

“Can you not afford new clothes? Have you snorted that much coke?”

He chuckles, but his large blue eyes are sad, defenseless, watery. “The label doesn’t want a chunky popstar. Girls won’t spend thousands of dollars on tickets to see me anymore.”

“Yes they will. And I would too. In a hypothetical alternate universe where I was rich.”

He smiles, for real this time. “You wanna stay? I still have one hand free.”

“That’s a super tempting offer, but I think I’ll pass.”

He blinks up at you with groggy, drunken realization. “You got your eye on someone else, Stargirl?”

“I didn’t say that.”

He’s grinning, toothy, playful. “You didn’t have to.”

There is a knock against the doorframe. When you spin around, Aemond stands there. “Hey,” he says. “Found you.”

“How’s your mom?”

“Fine. Do you want to see something?”

“…Okay?”

“It’s outside.”

“Oh, no way,” Aegon tells him, still handcuffed to the bed, cackling. “No way is she gonna be down for that.”

“She might be,” Aemond replies evenly.

“You still got a second helmet?”

“Of course.”

“Helmet…?” you venture.

Aemond smiles, nodding towards the hall. “Let’s go.”

Aegon waves goodbye with his free hand. “Good luck, Stargirl. Hope your last will and testament is in order.”

“Like I’d leave you anything.” You set several bottles of water and a box of Nutella snacks on the end table where Aegon can reach them.

“Wait wait wait!” he cries when you are about to depart. “Bring me a trashcan too.”

You are puzzled. “Why?”

“So I can piss in it, obviously.”

“You’re an animal.”

He howls like a wolf, rolling around on the mattress. You supply him with a trashcan, as requested, and then follow Aemond out into the hallway.

“Stargirl?” he asks once the two of you are alone in the elevator and headed down.

“It’s a the Weeknd reference. It’s hard to explain.”

“And you and Aegon are…” Aemond raises an eyebrow, the scarred one, the one that’s cut in two. “Friends?”

“Yeah. Friends.” You’re worried your voice will squeak, but it is traitorously steady. Aemond seems mollified. And is that really such a lie? What would be closer to the truth? Yes, Aemond, your brother and I are friends. But we’re less than that, and we’re also more, because I’ve fucked him but somehow that was the very least of it. He looks at me and I feel understood like a language the rest of humanity has forgotten. I look at him and I see someone who I care for deeply, irrationally, who I could fall in love with in a slightly different world. But that’s not the world we live in. And in this world, the real one, you’re the person I’m falling in love with.

Aemond takes you all the way down to the ground floor and then out front to the entranceway, fountains, cobblestones, taxis, Ubers, stars. He speaks to the valet and within minutes, they ferry it out of the garage for him, growling and puffing like some kind of mythical beast, a dragon or the Minotaur or the Cerberus. The valet lowers the kickstand and then hands the keys over to Aemond.

“What is that?!” you exclaim.

“It’s a 1960 Gold Star, made by the Birmingham Small Arms Company.”

“Alabama?”

He is amused. “No, the English Birmingham. The original one.”

“Oh. Right.” The valet brings two helmets and two jackets. “You travel with a motorcycle?”

“It fits on the jet,” Aemond replies casually.

“You are so freaking pretentious.”

Aemond offers you a helmet and jacket, and he’s trying to keep the fear from his face but it’s there, because he keeps waiting for the spell to break, for the illusion of who he thinks you are to shatter like glass and reveal that all along you’ve been disgusted by him too, that you misunderstand or patronize or pity him. He surveys you with two eyes, one wary and clear and searching, the other a cloudy planet of misty blue like Neptune. And he waits for you to ask one of those fateful questions—Can you really drive this? Is it safe? Can you see well enough? Can I trust you?—and look at him with bleak, sympathetic skepticism.

Instead, you look at the motorcycle. There are extra mirrors on the left side, you notice, capturing angles that he would otherwise miss. He doesn’t need to be reminded of his maiming. He couldn’t forget it for a second. You don the helmet and jacket and say: “Are those leather seats, Mr. Vegan?”

He beams and straddles the motorcycle. “Shut up and get on the bike.”

You climb on behind Aemond, your arms around his waist, your lungs capturing pieces of him to absorb into your bloodstream: smoke, cologne, hair gel, gin, molecules that become your own. He starts the engine, flicks on the headlight, and steers his Gold Star out into the late-night traffic.

You fly through a nightscape of car horns and streetlights and babbling tourists clustered together on the sidewalks like prey animals, ancient landmarks whirling by like comets: the Piazza Navona, the Trevi Fountain, the Arch of Constantine, the Pantheon that Jace now has inked irrevocably to his flesh. The sky is freckled with constellations you couldn’t name. The moon is full and brilliant. There is a black limo cruising nearby full of hooting, half-naked frat boys and blaring Coldplay’s Every Teardrop Is A Waterfall. At stop signs and red lights, Aemond reaches down to rest a palm lightly on your bare thigh, just an inch or two above the knee—his wrist brushing against the black lace of your dress—but enough to pillage your mind of anything else, enough to rip the door to your skull off its hinges and build a home there in the web of neurons and flashbulb surges of electricity that we call memory, emotion, instinct, desire. When you close your eyes as the wind rushes by, you can imagine that you’ve always known Aemond and that you always will. When you press yourself against him as hard as you dare to, you can feel everything else dissolving away: pasts, futures, doubts, every other person on this planet, scars that mar the soul with jagged rifts and knots as red as blood.

In the abandoned, golden halls of the Anantara Palazzo Naiadi Rome Hotel, Aemond walks you back to your suite. His hands are in his pockets, his head down, his steps swift. He doesn’t speak. Neither do you. Your thoughts are deafeningly loud with clattering impossibilities: Me? Aemond? Lust? Love?

You arrive at your door, swipe your keycard, and open it. You stand at the threshold, but you don’t vanish inside. You don’t want to be apart from him. You gaze up at him, dazed with longing, resting your head against the doorframe, fresh ink burning between your shoulder blades.

“Hey, Aemond?”

“Yeah?”

“I wouldn’t fuck you out of pity.”

There’s satisfaction on his face, there’s pride, there’s hunger, but there’s trepidation too. He hesitates in the doorway. “Look, I, uh…” He sighs, resigned, perhaps warring with himself. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” But he doesn’t leave.

“Are you lost? Need a map back to your room? I can try to draw one for you. We could get one tattooed on the back of your hand.”

He laughs, marveling at you. “No, I’m good. Thanks.” He makes it halfway down the hall, glances back, shakes his head to himself, keeps walking until he’s disappeared.

You shut the door and say to your empty suite: “I don’t even like him that much.”

But I do. I do, I do, I do.

“Oh no,” you moan, covering your face with both hands. But you can’t stop smiling.

You take a shower, pull on an oversized Backstreet Boys t-shirt and your favorite Cookie Monster pajama pants, then crawl into your hotel bed: scratchy comforter, a mattress that’s too firm, pillows that are too squishy. You turn on your laptop, open YouTube, and start searching for Comet Donati performances before Aemond left the band, scenes from a different lifetime under the same stars.

[v1ct0la]

kindergarten - abby tlou2 x reader oneshot [SFW]

Months after landing on Catalina island with Abby and Lev, many of those months spent recovering from your injuries (both mental and physical), you decide to volunteer at the fireflies’ kindergarten. When Abby visits you one afternoon while you’re teaching, you and the kids force her to join in your game of hopscotch…

SFW oneshot

1,719 words (I GOT CARRIED AWAY HAHA SORRY)

TLOU2 au, set on Catalina island after the events of TLOU2

Inspired by the WLF school and someone who headcannoned Abby playing hopscotch (I can’t remember whose blog it was so if you know please tell me so I can tag them!!!)

TWs: description of injuries in the beginning 2 paragraphs - other than that, just pure joy, love, and peace 😊

let me know about any mistakes!

After you, Abby, and Lev reached the island in the spluttering boat, the three of you collapsed onto the rickety Catalina boardwalk. Blood gushed from the stab wound in your side, mixing with the salty brine of the ocean, running in rivulets down to where it dripped off your fingers and splattered onto the wood. You spat the rusty taste of old blood from your mouth, struggling against the pain, and hauled yourself to your knees. Your wound pounded, and you shot your hand up to clamp it down in an attempt to stop the bleeding after your sudden movements. You looked up at Abby, who already was on her feet and staggering to pick up Lev’s limp form.

You stood, swayed with lightheadedness from loss of blood, and stumbled towards the pair. Abby heaved Lev into her arms and started shouting for help, causing the boy to stir through his unconsciousness. After her repeated calls, other voices stirred and began to ring out, but the blood pounding in your ears, muffled it. You couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, could only hope they would help. Heavy footsteps made the boardwalk beneath you shudder and before you properly registered them, the ground beneath you suddenly felt much too far away. 

Your vision swam, your legs buckled, and as you collapsed onto the ground, you heard Abby shriek your name. All you could feel was hands grabbing onto you before you sank into the inky black of unconsciousness. 

* * *

Sunrays filtered through the grimy windows, throwing the cozy classroom into a glittering spectacle of glowing afternoon light. It had been almost a year since you escaped the violence of Santa Barbara, months you had spent recovering with Abby and Lev at your side. Most recently, however, you had asked to take up the position of teacher at the island’s kindergarten. It was a little classroom of about 15 young kids that you absolutely loved. Before you met Lev, you didn’t really like kids - found them sticky and loud. But they had grown on you, always little faces beaming with joy and curiosity, despite the state of the world. 

Today had been as fun as always, albeit long. You had been teaching the kids about various marine animals, and presently, were showing them old images of spotted seals. 

“Okay, now, who call tell me where to find spotted seals?” You asked the children.

A chubby little hand shot up, and you called on the little girl to answer. 

“Spacific Ocean!” She shouts, and you giggle.

“Pacific Ocean,” you say to her, “but yes, good job!”

You hear a knock on the door, and you look up to check the clock. It was nearly 2pm, which meant it was time for a break. You smile at the other teacher through the door’s glass, nodding to let him know you’d take the kids out.

“Alright goobers, it’s break time,” You call out over their little voices, “everyone, line up by the door, double file!”

Outside in the warm sunlight, you guided the children over to the playground. Once you gave them the go-ahead, they all scattered, splitting off to play their little hearts out. You stood off to the side in the shade with your hands propped on your hips, surveying. A cool breeze rustled through the foliage, and you were grateful for the relief it brought you.

A tug on your pants caught your attention, and you looked down. The girl from before, Natalie, was staring up at you with big brown eyes. “Play hopscotch with us pleeeeease?” She asked. You grin at her cuteness and agreed. She grabbed your hand and dragged you off to the chalked concrete where a few other kids were already hopping along. 

It was your turn. Little Natalie clapped and cheered loudly as you jumped forwards and into each square. As you got to the other end, you held your hands out in triumph, and the kids all laughed with you. 

“Reigning champion, are we?” You spun around at the sound of her voice, face already breaking out into a grin.

Abby stood a few feet in front of you, arms crossed. “How long have you been standing there?” You asked, stepping towards her. A sheepish smile and warmth spread across your features in slight embarrassment at yourself. 

“Only long enough to watch your turn” Abby smirked, uncrossing her arms to pull you into a tight embrace. Her chin nestled into the crook of your neck and your breathed in the comforting scent of pine that clung to her short braid.

You missed her long hair, but after Santa Barbara, she was still growing it out again. It sat just beneath her collarbone, and you thought it was perfectly endearing, even though she still opted to have it pulled away in a tight braid. 

“How was your day?” She asked softly, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. 

You pulled back to reply when you were cut off with the shouting off the kids behind you. You turned to them. 

“Miss y/n! It’s your turn again!” one of them whined, and you looked back at Abby with an eyeroll. She untangled herself from your embrace and pushed you away gently.

“Go,” she smirked, “I’ll be right here, watching you.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” you reply, a grin spreading across your face. Her brows furrowed, and you grabbed her wrist before she could realise what you meant. You spun on your heel, dragging Abby with you.

“No- I’m not- y/n!” Abby protested, trying to pull herself free, but you were on a roll. 

“Oh yes!” You say in a sing-song, “it’s your turn.”

You pulled her forward and pushed her towards the starting square. The little kids had all gathered around the two of you to watch. “Look, it’s Abby’s turn! Look!” a little boy shouted out, much to Abby’s dismay. 

She looked back at you with an exasperated, making your laughter ring out across the playground. “C’mon Abs! Show us what you can do,” you giggle as you speak, egging her on.

She takes a tentative jump forwards, and you clap along with your students. She jumps again, and again, wobbling slightly each time she lands. She looks at you with a confident smile and your heart warms at the sight of her. The sunlight catches softly on her hair, haloing her in gold. 

The Catalina sun has been good to her the past year or so - her freckles are more visible than ever, her hair has lightened considerably, and you loved it. The recovery months had been long and painful - and not just physically. She sat by your and Lev’s beds for the first few weeks, only getting up when she was dragged away for meals by the nurses. Being inside for so long made her look gaunt and drawn, but now she shone with newfound radiance and peace. She was safe, and so were you. 

In a few more jumps, Abby was near the end of the hopscotch. As she leapt for the final square, she made a fatal mistake. She tilted her head to look at you right as she jumped - and lost her footing as she landed. Abby stumbled, falling right on her ass.

You burst into laughter, as did your students, and Abby’s head snapped to you. It was so ridiculous, the way she tumbled and looked absolutely mortified, and the more you replayed it in your head, the more you doubled over. You howled and fell to your knees - you had been so serious all day, and all your pent-up tiredness finally caught up to you. Tears streamed down your cheeks and your midsection started to hurt with your laughter. You watched Abby, who’s back was to you, as she slowly got to her feet.

Her head turned, and she glared at you. That shut you up. Her brows were knit together when she said “Oh, it’s over for you now!” The kids all screamed and laughed and cheered. She grinned evilly and stalked towards you. You jumped to your feet, shrieking and giggling. You spun towards the open field next to the school, and bolted.

You were never very fast, but then again, neither was Abby. Right now, however, you wished you had taken sprinting practice a little more seriously back at the WLF stadium. You could hear her heavy footfall behind you as she got closer and closer. The tall grass of the field whipped at your legs as you laughed and ran as fast as you could. “Get back here!” Abby shouted, which made you squeal loudly.

“Got you!” Abby’s hand caught your arm, and she yanked you back into her. You struggled against her, shouting and laughing, but you were fighting a losing battle. She pulled you to her chest, right as you tried to yank yourself free, and the two of you tumbled.

You both fell into the soft grass, and Abby’s hand shot out around your head to stop herself from crushing you. She had a huge grin on her face and you huffed a breath. “Not so fast anymore, huh,” she puffed. Abby trapped you in, encasing you in her warm body.

“Shut up, I almost escaped,” you smiled up at her.

You could feel your heart beating rapidly in your chest, both from your running and her closeness. She never ceased to make your head spin and your heart flutter, even after the past year the two of you had been dating. 

You tucked away a strand of her honey-coloured hair that had fallen loose from her braid during your scuffle. You watched her piercing eyes as they snapped down to your lips.

You trailed your hands up to cup her face, smiling as you pulled her into a soft kiss. You could feel her smile against your mouth as the two of you connected. It was sweet and slow, full of love. You brought a hand to rest on her forearm, and she trailed a hand to your waist. 

“Ewwwwww!” You heard a little voice call out, and the two of you pulled away from each other with a giggle.

“Oh shut it,” Abby called to the little boy and leaned down to plant a kiss on your forehead.

[cloveroctobers]

BURN — DANTE TORRES: [Summer Writings]

A/N: Don’t fall over, yes this is a part two to one of my previous works which can be found here + we only saw a sprinkle of Mr. Bambi eyes since the last time I wrote the first piece because we clearly know who the show is catered to but we won’t go too deep on that lol.

🏷️: @darqchilddaydreamz

WARNINGS: Dante taking his job seriously, slight crossover with other shows such as: Chicago fire (character mentioned at best) + Abbott Elementary, language, she/reader now has a name for story purposes, mentions of addiction, mental health and drugs, slight plot with references to the final episodes of this last season, and me bringing you nothing but angst!

ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚ ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚ ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚ ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚ ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚ ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚ ོ༘

June’s air is a great contrast to what March once was. She can smell the grilling of food in the warm breeze as her face is turned towards the open passenger window and…shes hesitant. Which is a foreign feeling but it demanded to be felt. She can hear the squeal of laughter from children as they patter down the sidewalks, simply being children and that makes her heart swell to see they that still had their innocence.

There’s a mixture of Reggaeton and 2000’s r&b playing on different sides of the block and she’s reminiscent to many summer days on this same street as a teen, no JLO. Her fingertips are resting on the door handle, staring at the brick home and she knows she’s always welcome but things have been different since that night. It’s not like Dante would ever be nonexistent in her life, there was no timeline where she could imagine that happening but life really happened since then.

Dante went off and dug deeper into his case so communication was a bit tougher until it was all over. The only way she knew that was mainly from Momma Catalina who had called to chat with her, wondering when she was going to stop by (since the older woman missed her son’s friend’s pretty face—her words) and have dinner with the both of them soon because she also liked hearing the praises on her go to dish: Jocón from the younger woman. She also knew Dante’s case was over because the texts weren’t just a simple sentence and he would incorporate voice notes like he used to do. Yet the friends made no plans to come around despite being on each other’s minds. However she kept busy, like she always did when Dante got caught up in a case and she was a working woman herself, so she also knew how to keep her head on what she strived to do in life.

They were still parallel even if they weren’t face to face.

Now she has a case of her own, being brought in and working with forensics to figure out this new fatal strand that’s been killing kids as young as being in their preteens and may or may not have a connection to a serial killer as well. She already guessed that it did before a certain someone got in contact with her. It was heavy work and not typically the field she worked close with in years—since triggers were a thing—yet it was also the reason why she wanted to be a chemist. To make a loooong story short, she was to “blame” for her severely depressed mother’s addiction (granted her mother was now thirteen years sober) bringing opioids, unknowingly laced at the time, into the house with the intent to sell and also to try at just fourteen was the start of a lengthy journey. The reason she felt like she was to blame was her father not letting her forget it even now in her thirties. Which brings us to life in the now, being a “know-it-all,” chemist who always felt like she had a lot to prove.

Normally she did the basic boring tasks working with businesses and ensuring that their products were deemed safe for consumers rather than another serious level of crimes like murder, however she initially started out as a forensics chemist until she switched paths after it became too much on her mental. Her father felt that was a terrible decision, only thinking of the income rather than how that screwed with his daughter’s brain but she always learned how to take his words with a shard of glass. That’s right, glass. In spite of that anyone would be lying if they said she wasn’t one of the most well known in the city, going above and beyond—just behind the scenes now—to solve many cases. She preferred it that way, to herself, some may even say safe, being out of the way and she still got her thrill from figuring out what most couldn’t. And here she was over the last two weeks working this slowly building case, finding a balance of catering to her own self care by leaving the work solely behind at the lab and even engaging in a few more dates—just not with the salt and pepper haired SWAT member anymore.

Which didn’t turn sour, there was no need for that and she respected that Deacon also wanted to keep his mind on his work and his kids. He was still a good man in her eyes. Ultimately she knew that she didn’t see it working in the long run and that she didn’t have to take dating so seriously…at least that’s what she tried to tell herself.

“You seem stressed,” a voice says to her left, reminding her that she was in fact sitting beside another male that wasn’t her best friend, “you gotta roll that tension away, smell the lilacs, and then realize that there shouldn’t be any nerves right? You talk so highly about the guy…unless you want me come with?”

Immediately her eyes widen and she’s shaking her head, although the brunette means well she tells him, “no…I appreciate it though, Manny. it’s just the caffeine wearing off I guess. I’ll only be five to ten minutes tops, I need to get back home anyway and into a eucalyptus bath.”

Manny raises his brows, “a bath you say? You do know that it’s eighty degrees out here right?”

It was the woman’s turn to raise her own brows, silently challenging the man who breathes out a laugh with his signature wicked grin.

“Alright, alright.” Manny’s hands are raised in surrender, “I’m sensing hot showers are a thing too all year around? Which I don’t get if summer is here but if that’s your thing then I’ll accept it.”

“As you should.”

“I do.” He places a large hand against his chest still grinning, “there’s no static on my end.”

“Oh you’re such an east coaster,” she playfully rolls her eyes, “but you’re kinda great.”

“That’s what they tell me.” He winks as he reaches over to give her shoulder a light squeeze, “you’ll be fine out there I don’t doubt it. Now go and celebrate your best friend’s birthday and don’t forget the two slices of cake.”

She leans against the outside of the door, frowning at the man who shakes his head, “yeah that would be too much, considering we haven’t even met, right?”

She gives him a small smile in response and a point before she spins on her heels, taking the short walk towards the Torres’ household. Dante didn’t have much family here in Chicago, most being spread all over the globe, leaving it to always be just Catalina and Dante. From as long as she’s known the mother and son, Momma Catalina was always on the phone having long distance calls with family members but they seemed to be missing in action when she was being beat on nearly every day.

Moving along the side of the house towards the music and charcoal, her hands are behind her back as she nervously makes her way to the backyard. She likes to say it’s the social anxiety rather than seeing Dante but perhaps it was a mixture of both. Most of the faces are probably neighbors but it’s a nice crowd as she instantly spots the buzzed man up ahead, dressed in a short sleeve white loose fitting button up v-neck, tattoos on his arms are on full display, along with the chain that sways from his neck as he dumps chunks of ice into a cooler that Upton is holding open for him.

“Whaaat? Who let you out the cage? I thought they kept experiments locked down, Coty.” The voice of Atwater pulls her gaze to the man who’s smirking down at her with a beer in one hand.

Coty scoffed although there’s a smile on her lips, “You always know how to give the most warmest welcomes, Kev.”

He laughs as he swoops in with a side hug, “Well I had to say something with you sneaking in here like you about to steal something and roll out.”

“Not my style.”

“Yeah, just like you not interacting with nobody.”

“I just got here!”

Kevin nods his head letting the woman have that one before adding, “and how long do you plan on staying?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

His round eyes give her a look of disbelief while she shields her eyes from his stare. Laughing to himself he taps her arm, “well in that case, I won’t hold you any longer to go talk to your boy. Just as a fair warning to you, don’t touch that potato salad. Somebody made it and it got peas, carrots, and I think I even saw some apples all up in it.”

Tilting your head to the side you say, “…sounds like a Russian salad.”

“A what?” Kevin cups a hand over his ear although he’s sure he’s heard Coty correctly.

She just smiles at him, giving his arm a squeeze before she turns to make her way to Dante, who is not where she’s last seen him. Coty pauses, scanning the backyard again and sends a wave to Burgess and Ruzek who are sitting thigh to thigh on the picnic bench with a face full of smiles. They echo a wave back in Coty’s direction before some hands plop down on her forearms.

“Seraphina, mija! You made it.” Momma Catalina greets before sinking into Coty’s frame.

She was a tiny woman who still managed to have the kindest of hearts given what she’s been through. Coty grips the woman back in a sweet embrace before they’re eye to eye again.

“Of course! Had to see the best lady in town,” Coty tells the cedar brown haired woman with a blunt bob full of ringlets.

Her grin reaches her summer green eyes which mirrors her son’s as she almost bounced on her toes, “that’s right! Didn’t know it had to take you forever and a day to come see about me.”

“I’m sorry about that…”

She blows a raspberry, “no need to dwell on that because I already know and all is forgiven now that you’re here! Let’s get you something to eat so you can enjoy the party.”

“Oh no, Momma Cat. I can’t stay.”

Her usual soft stare darkens for a moment and it’s actually scary to witness when you irk this pocket full of sunshine’s nerves, “you will stay, eat, and dance. You are family. Then you and my son will fix whatever this bullshit is.”

“Dante and I are fine.” It sounded weak coming from Coty’s lips but she knew she couldn’t fool Catalina. Momma Cat was the first to see something special between her son and Seraphina (even before Séan) before they ever did so hearing this felt like a big insult.

That’s when the woman shifts in her slippers, fists digging into her hips as she peers up at the woman in front of her, “Seraphina! do not lie to me in my own home, mija. I will not have it and you will do as I say.” Catalina clapped her hands as if she was dusting off Coty’s worries, although this was only adding to it.

Coty felt like she was being scolded and her own mother wasn’t even here! Sure she was grown and didn’t have to take being yelled at but she would never disrespect Catalina, especially when she’s done so much for her growing up and when her own parents didn’t want to be bothered with her when she was up to no good.

“Ma…is everything okay?” Dante’s quiet tone could be heard over the music, along with his body heat from behind the pair.

Coty can feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand up just from Dante speaking and she’s been sweating since she got out of Manny’s car.

Catalina flashes a smile at her son, reaching to cup his face as Coty steps to the side for the two to have their moment, “Everything’s perfect! Your best gift is here so enjoy it.”

She whispers the last part to him with a wink while Dante just scoffs with a shake of his head as he watches his mother start to dance with a neighbor on her way by. He turns to face his old friend and let’s out a sigh, “see what you started? I was expecting the dancing to start the moment I woke up but you seem to always bring it out of her.”

Momma Catalina came from a background of dancers and it was a dream that became distant once she gave birth to Dante and knew that passion wouldn’t pay the bills. Dante’s birth father passed when he was around six so everything really fell onto Catalina’s shoulders and seemed to keep piling up.

She was never regretful over how her life played out but rather thankful that Dante chose her to show her how to truly love. There was never sadness in her words when she showed the stack of photos of herself in her younger years and her joy shined whenever she still broke out into a move. In the end, you do what you have to do for family.

“Me?” Coty points to herself innocently although she’s not really at fault this time, “Maybe you should check if the Aguardiente is still available.”

Dante nods in realization, “you’re right…that could be it. I’ve been running around since this thing started so who knows how much is left and it’s supposed to be my day.”

“I thought you loved birthday’s?” Coty’s response is sarcastic, knowing just how much Dante dreaded his birthday but was right with Catalina in honoring your special day around the sun.

The look Dante sends his friend makes her snort out some laughter, “We still have six more hours at least.”

Letting out a low whistle, she lightly grips his shoulder, “you still have six hours. I can disappear with ease.”

Dante groans, “you’ll take me with you, won’t you?”

His light green’s were pleading as Coty slipped an arm across his waist, leaning into his shoulder, “stop being a little turd, have some more drinks and you’ll get through it.”

Dante grumbles, “I’ll remember that when it’s your birthday.”

“Uh…i’m going to Vegas.”

“When did we decide that?”

Coty lifts her head from his shoulder, “You should have gone to France with all this we talk.”

“Nah, not my vibe.” He says before peering down at her, “…thanks for coming. I was beginning to lose my mind.”

“Why?” Coty questions as she looks around at all the faces in the backyard, “You had the team here with you at least.”

“Yeah…but that’s not the same and you know it.” He honestly says as his eyes begins to trace over Coty’s features.

She couldn’t stomach the way he was looking at her and it made her guess how many drinks he’s had himself this evening. The amount of tenderness and care in his green hues was the same reason why they were in a constant battle in the first place.

“How’s Gloria?” Flies out of her mouth before she can even comprehend it.

Dante sharply inhales at this, looking elsewhere in slight annoyance before shrugging, “gone.”

“Gone where?”

“Can’t discuss that with you, Nina.” The way he’s the only one that uses her name this way, is enough to let her know that he means business.

Mostly everyone calls her by her last name: Coty, which she preferred (he’s not everyone) but he’s firm in his stance—closing himself off to that part of him and that’s not like Dante. Sure he’s not this open book by any means but it’s not like he has a piece of him that she hasn’t seen. That particular piece was still there but reopened by someone like Gloria. Someone that could bring out his skeletons and glamorize it to match her own pain. Coty knew Gloria was not the answer to whatever it is Dante was looking for and now that Gloria was suddenly gone, it will hold a weight he was willing to carry on his back—that he shouldn’t have to—but Coty was not willing to help him with that.

She said that months ago and she still meant that shit. She never wanted to pay for someone else’s mistakes. Coty knew how to love Dante but he wouldn’t let her, not in that way.

Only Dante and Gloria know what they’ve been up to since they decided to fuck around.

And perhaps they found out.

“…who’s this?” Dante suddenly lifted his chin, stepping forward a bit as Coty stood to the side of him.

Her eyes follow his line of sight to see Manny, searching around the backyard for her. Once he found her, he smiles, waving a bit before he starts making his way over. She deeply sighs as Dante sends a look her way, silently questioning her before the brunette gets closer.

“Hey, Having fun?”

Coty molds her lips together while Manny looks back and forth between the two, either oblivious to the tension or trying this best to ignore it.

“Phina-Mena, you left something—

Manny starts but Dante cuts him off, “sorry man, who are you?”

“Oh! How rude of me.” He frees one of his hands, “I’m Manny, friend of Seraphina’s. And you must be Dante! I’ve heard good things about you so it’s nice to finally meet you, bro.”

‘Finally?’ He cautiously puts his hand out to shake Manny’s but his eyes are hot on Seraphina’s who shifts on her feet, lightly swaying from one foot to the other.

“Can’t say the same…Nina hasn’t mentioned you at all.”

“Oh well…don’t worry about it, y’all been busy.” Manny shrugs it off, not the least bit phased.

Dante nods his head and folds his arms, “right but…I’ve got time now. So you said you’re Manny. What do you do Manny?”

“I proudly work for the Philadelphia school district and I’m just here for a conference but it also doesn’t hurt that I get to hang out with Phina-Mena!” He boasts as he sends finger-guns at Seraphina while Dante finds his personality to be a lot.

And that was saying enough since Seraphina was mostly introverted and easily got exhausted around people…except for him.

Dante rounds off another inquiry, “where did you two meet?”

She huffs but Dante ignores her, awaiting all the information he can get.

Manny talks with his hands, “Down at that bar with the sticky floors along with one of the floorboards being this naturally strange color of purple that takes up a good portion of the place? My apologies, I forgot the name.”

That gets Dante frowning as he casts a glance over at Seraphina who’s chewing on her bottom lip now, “A bar? You’re not really a bar kinda woman.”

Manny shrugs his shoulders, “eh…people can surprise you.”

“Did you go alone…were you alone?” The second half of that question is directed at Seraphina and now she was getting agitated, this Dante could tell as she side eyed him.

Manny also gazed at the woman, picking up on the tension now. “You know my dad was an officer too so this is feelin’ a little too familiar for me.”

“Really, what precinct?”

“Dante, cut the shit.” Coty bites but the buzzed haired man just blinks not missing a beat.

“It’s only right I get to know your new friend since he already seems to know so much about me.”

“Well not everything…” Manny laughs, trying to ease the heaviness in the air but Dante’s not backing off.

Dante was suspicious and his guard had to be up so he redirects the conversation back, “so you said you two met at the bar…I’m assuming the Violet Branch?”

“Yeah,” Manny snaps with amazement crossing his bearded face, “that’s right! You know the place?”

Dante hardened his stare as he turns his head to Seraphina, “uh huh. That’s Sarge’s spot.”

Manny turns his eyes into slits, “sarge? As in sergeant. Oh was that the guy you were—

“Manny!” Coty interjects, “I think this interrogation is over. Why don’t you go mingle with the rest for a little, while I finish talking to the birthday boy.”

“No, No.” Dante shakes his head, “Let him finish, Nina.”

Manny’s eyes are moving back and forth between the two who are holding each other’s stare, “oh…I see what’s happening here. I’m doing that thing where I’m talking too much. I’m just gonna leave this…on that lovely gift table over there.”

And with that Manny swiftly points and drags himself to the left where most of the party goers are eating or dancing.

“He’s…interesting.” Dante’s stare lingers on the man who quickly strikes up a conversation with one of his nosy neighbors.

Coty scoffs, “the hell is your problem?”

“I don’t have one.”

“So you think it’s cool that you just grilled into my friend like that?”

“Is that really all he is? Because you didn’t tell me about him at all.” Dante’s jaw is tight, almost like he’s irritated with the woman for leaving this out over a few phone calls and then also bringing him here to his house with no type of heads up.

She attempts to reason with him, “We just started being somewhat normal again, Tay.”

“That didn’t stop you from telling me about things ending with Deacon.”

“You asked. I didn’t just bring him up.”

“I see so that was your way of what? Being fair by bringing up Gloria? Why bring her up if you know that topic bothers you so much?” Dante searched Coty’s eyes, trying to understand what she was doing and up to although his gut was telling him everything he needed to know.

Coty furrows her brows, “Because I’m being a good friend and checking in on you since you know? I can’t exactly do that when you’re undercover.”

Dante rubs at his jaw, “I can’t say I fully believe that. I feel like this was a tactic to get me riled up because I developed a relationship with Gloria—as if I don’t already know who you’ve been around since you’re that important to me. First it was Deacon, then it was that firefighter Jake Gibson, and now this Manny guy? It’s a game for you and I don’t want to play.”

Coty laughs in shock as Dante walks away from her, “are you fucking serious? And then you’re gonna walk away from me after that?”

“Yup.” Dante says over his shoulder as he makes his way back to the cooler.

Coty isn’t having that as she charges after him, watching as he squats and begins searching through the ice. She desperately tries to keep her voice leveled but she can feel her skin getting hot and her eyes beginning to burn out of frustration.

“I don’t even want to know how you know about Jake ghosting me—

Dante looks up at her, “he didn’t ghost you, he checked himself into rehab. Stop selling yourself short.”

Her mouth can’t help but to drop open at that.

“Dante.”

“Yes?”

“You can’t go searching up every guy that I might want to give a chance…I shouldn’t even have to tell you that,” her frown is so deep that it should be permanent for the rest of this conversation, “and I wouldn’t just bring a random stranger to your house. I told him to wait in the car but I left your gift.”

Dante snickers and drops his head with a shake of his head, “that’s no better, Nina! You don’t know him and I don’t know him.”

“Well I’m getting to because that’s my choice! He doesn’t even live here and you’re acting like this. And you don’t have the right to get upset with who I spend time with while you do whatever the hell you want anyway, clearly.” Coty crosses her arms while Dante is upright now.

His heat is radiating again as he stands in front of Coty, “I know.”

“You know?”

“Yes and I wish I could say I’m sorry, as if that’ll ever be enough when I know it’ll never be especially when you’re the one who said you’re not over me.”

“That was how many weeks ago? I didn’t think you’d still be worrying about what was said when who knows what you’ve been up to with Gloria. You say a relationship but judging by the fresh burn mark on your neck, tells me it’s been anything but loving.”

Dante exhales, “stop.”

“Stop what? Caring?”

“No, stop trying to tell me you told me so.”

“I wouldn’t gloat yet I’m not sure what it is exactly you want from me, as your friend?” Coty quizzed him, “To stay by your side and just continue accepting everything for what it is? I did that before and now look where we are.”

Dante blinks, trying to get his thoughts together.

“She was wrong from the start and you knew that. And that burn is enough to remind you of that forever.”

“And what about me huh? What about what I’ve done to you all these years, those scars I gave to you and you still stayed while she had to leave. You don’t think I’m not dealing with all that?”

That alone leaves Coty stunned.

To know Dante from his late preteen years all throughout many phases of their lives to this point now, was so much at times that Dante knew just how much it stung. He couldn’t give Coty what she wanted and not in the way she wanted because of his own issues. If it stung for him, he had to know that it burned for his dear friend Seraphina Coty. He tried to be alone, almost begged Coty to get out of his life by the time they were eighteen but there was a constant need for their souls to be intertwined.

It felt like bleeding internally when they were apart but somehow they were still functioning. It’s been a minute since that damp spring day but the earth never stopped spinning. When the good was present, it felt like a summer sunrise compared to a fire tornado the two of them could unleash.

“I—

Coty starts but stomps against the grass, catches both of the two’s attention, revealing Kevin who’s appears to be getting off his phone, “My fault for breaking this up but Voight needs us.”

“Now?” Dante asks, practically forcing his eye contact to his team member.

“Pronto.”

Dante dips his head, his hand going out to gently touch Coty’s elbow, “Looks like I have to go.”

Kevin glances between the two before adding, “Uh, he needs all of us. Including Coty.”

Dante’s widens his eyes at this news and this confirms what his gut was saying all along when Manny dropped the crumbs. Coty was about to get wrapped up in the same danger she warned him about. He couldn’t say what he felt in that moment since time was always of the essence but he’s aware that Coty saw the eruption in his eyes just then.

She sparked the flame that Dante didn’t want to spread.

He wasn’t sure how he could protect her after this. His blood was boiling in the passenger side of Kevin’s car and he wanted nothing more than to tell Kevin to pull the car over and to leave Coty on the side of the road, sending a ride to bring her back home and away from it all like she conditioned herself to be.

Dante knew Seraphina like the ink on his back and with her stare burning into the back of his neck, eyes probably focused on his new mark, he peered over his shoulder at her, meeting her view and was aware that she always finished what she started, whether he liked it or not.

“Happy birthday,” she mouths to him with a small smile but it’s anything but comforting.

The glare on Dante’s face is evident as he turns back to face the front with a roll of his eyes, rubbing at the tightness in his jaw once more while slouching down in the passenger seat.

June’s air is a great contrast to what March once was.

ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚ ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚ ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚ ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚ ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚ ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚ ོ༘

-> Part Three!

[tangledbea]

Do you have any headcanons for the birthdays of Tangled and TTS characters?

I headcanon that Rapunzel's is June 21st, because the summer solstice can be from June 20th to June 22nd, so I put it on the date that's right in the middle of that. Why not have the sun princess have her birthday be on the day that has the most sunlight falling on the earth? Plus, "When Will My Life Begin (Reprise)" implies her birthday's in the summer: Just feel that summer breeze/ The way it's calling me

The only other two birthdays we see in the series are Eugene's and Arianna's, so they're the only other headcanons I have.

Since the series doesn’t show Corona experiencing extreme weather pattern changes for most of the year, it’s difficult to mentally account for when Eugene’s and Arianna’s birthdays might be as compared to Rapunzel's. 

However, for Eugene’s birthday, I headcanon he was born in spring, since his birthday is about six months from Arianna and Frederic’s anniversary (as stated in “Cassandra’s Revenge”), which took place in “Queen For a Day,” which seems to have taken place in winter, but could have been fall (it totally snows in the fall in lots of places). And since Eugene’s birthday is between the “almost a year” of “Destinies Collide” and Rapunzel’s 21st birthday (at the end of “Plus Est En Vous”), I headcanon it as being in the spring.

Arianna’s birthday (”The Way of the Willow”) takes place at a time when it’s warm enough to camp at night without taking extreme measures for being out at night, like coats. According to production order (as opposed to airing order), “The Way of the Willow” happens only three episodes before “Secret of the Sundrop” (which is Rapunzel’s 19th birthday). Since “The Quest for Varian” happens mere days before Rapunzel’s birthday, it’s safe to say that Arianna’s birthday is also in spring, but specifically late spring.

So I put Eugene’s birthday in April and Arianna’s in May. (Which would, in turn, put Arianna and Frederic’s anniversary in October.)

Oh, but I do headcanon that Lance neither knows nor cares when his birthday is. (But if Kiera and Catalina decided to assign him one, like Rapunzel did for Eugene, he'd be thrilled.)

[wedielikemen]

Unhinged thoughts on the Sunshine Court Chaps 10 to 15

Jean Valjean learns to CLEAN. THE APARTMENT ❤️

I’m too excited for in depth analysis rn give Nora your .99 cents and COME JOIN ME

Spoilers below

I know I said I was too excited but now I’m just… sad.

The psychology of cult survivors is always quite interesting because it hinges on belief of something greater. There’s something higher to look toward that can absolve whatever flagellation they’re subject to and without that higher something (god, heaven exy) the system and often it’s believers simply crumble under the weight of what they’ve endured. Case in point the remaining ravens.

It explains not only the vicious hold of hope on the human psyche but the reason Jean (Kevin too) dedicates himself to exy so ardently because if you don’t have exy then what was it for???

What was it FOR ?

And as Jeremy learns more he has to know why?? What was it for ? And Jean can’t explain because a starving man won’t eat his own fist but a devotee will cut off his own hand.

There’s no explanation that wasn’t felt in the bite of a cane or the crack of his ribs. There’s no explanation that makes sense unless you’ve been abused as badly as the ravens have.

Catalina Alvarez has a MOTORCYCLE

Kill list unchanged but for the addition of

GRAYSON a second time.

Jean’s List of things that make life worth living :

A cool evening breeze.

Rainbows.

Open roads.

Chapters 16 to end

[kiss2012]

tsc thoughts under the cut cause i finished

i literally cannot wrap my thoughts around my overall opinion of it i feel like i absolutely need to reread it first

but also i need to reread tfc because I MISS TFC SO BAD ➡️ girl who reread it last may. i do think i spoke tsc into existence by doing this because i hadn’t looked at the trilogy since 2019 and then all of a sudden i decided to reread and found that unfortunately they still make me batshit crazy. what is in those books.

however i do like tfc better 🤷🏽‍♀️ so if i did reread tfc after this and read tsc again i would just want to read tfc again

this is not fair to say at all because tfc is a whole trilogy and this was only book 1. and i rlly need to start saying aftg instead of tfc cause it’s getting confusing because like i do think tsc is better than tfc (the first book). however i just…like aftg better? i feel like it’s more fun which is probably a weird thing to say considering it’s a lot More than tsc is. and obviously this book was more about jean’s recovery. but more happens in aftg. idk we’ll see tho

i do love jean and the trojans but i miss neil and the foxes every page. i feel like it’s harder to connect to the trojans because there r so many of them. and idk sports so the three coaches is probably normal for a team of this size i really wouldn’t know lol but i couldn’t keep the coaches straight in my head either

point is the foxes r my everything 4ever. i love jean jeremy cat and laila and i see what she was trying to do by introducing the floozy line (cute name) however i dont really have a strong feeling about them because we met them for like 5 minutes

i do love nabil tho why is he not part of the floozy line :(((((

i think cat and laila were absolutely perfect. they’re given a lot of depth especially cat and they’re so important to me. they’re better here than in fanon i think but i feel like fanon did get their personalities and relationship down mostly right. apart from cat not just being called alvarez LMAO bless neil only calling her that and fanon having no choice but to do the same because no one agreed on one single name. i remember sara was one that i saw a lot but i like catalina way way better i love cat <3 i love laila <3 their friendship with jeremy <3

an evening breeze rainbows open roads friends 😭😭😭😭😭😭

bi jean is so dear to me

also jean rooming with cat and laila (and then jean) literally perfect omg. no one ever put that in fics but i think it was the best thing to do. sorry for having to compare tsc to fanon im not trying to say one is better than the other at all but what you have to understand is how many fics about jean post tkm are out there and how many of them i read so my mind is going to go there. i wasn’t rlly obsessed with jerejean but i was (and am) a jerejean girl. and i had (have lmao) very high standards for fic so i stand by a lot of those fics WHILE still standing by everything tsc is

by which i mean i cannot get poc jean out of my head thanks to that one fic where he is moroccan. in that same fic jeremy was also spanish and i sort of adopted that into my image of them so i am trying to let go of it but i mean even the hatfords being pakistani still lives in my head despite how unlikely it is. and most of the time i pictured jeremy with golden hair (sometimes curls) so even though i think nora’s compromise being to have naturally brown-haired jeremy bleaching his hair is hilarious and iconic. sort of impossible for me not to picture him with golden hair.

however when jean was all startled and went “blond” when he saw jeremy’s hair. reader i died

english major jeremy is still a gift to me personally

kevin bargaining and arguing for his history major..my baby…the mentions of kevin and kevin’s actual appearances in tsc are everything. the postcards and magnets…kill me

every time neil showed up i lost my mind i love him SO MUCH!!!

see my problem is i wish the foxes showed up more even though it makes no sense for them to. i want kevin jeremy and jean in a room together. i will kill for jean and allison interaction especially if they talk about renee (yes i am holding onto renison still). i want jeremy and cat and matt and dan to hang out. i need laila to meet andrew. i need more renee I LOVE RENEE we did get a good amount of her though i think. she was everything.

genuinely think the way jean and renee was handled here was so perfect. i totally see the merit of it if they end the series together. i also see why jean might end the series without being with anyone romantically. but narratively i cant help but feel jerejean is what makes the most sense. the reason i liked them in the first place is their narrative appeal. and they were genuinely so good in this. so. idk. can’t think about that too much.

i have some problems with the writing like i did with the og series but um the thing is i cannot view these books objectively because they impacted me so much at a young age. i will say i wish tsc could have had a professional editor lol.

i also have some issues with the pacing tho because i did not expect it to end there at all? im so glad she started it where she did but when it ended i was like WAIT WHAT

i have a feeling the reason riko did what he did with the backliners is because he saw jean looking at kevin. could be wrong here but judging from how often jean talks about learning his lesson about looking at guys too long. well.

the main thing for me is that i don’t see how we’re going to get to championships in 2 books if this book only covered till the summer. you could argue exy games arent that important for jean’s story but i do think they are insanely important for jeremy’s story. and if he’s a pov character i want more about him!! that man is keeping his issues locked up (I NEED TO KNOW WHAT THEY R) but we can tell he loves exy and he needs to win his last year

my memory of the extra content is so dim and some of it i have voluntarily chosen to forget or just not consider plus i think some of it will/has changed. but i think i remember reading that trojans win for their last year and i Need that to happen. cause in my head it went: foxes win neil’s first year and trojans win neil’s second year and jeremy’s last year. idc for the rest i want neil to have won championships twice or at least once as captain so that’s what happens in my head.

like i need more about jeremy teaching jean to love exy again and more about jeremy’s apparently complicated family issues with exy???? jeremy let me in.

anywayy. this book feels like a fever dream and im going insane

[everyones-fangirl]

Delectable Little Pet

Warnings: 18+ This will be about after ascension Astarion so expect some extreme dark romance and future triggers.

Word Count: 3,919

Chapter 2

Cassara

My journey took me to where I learned most all roads in the West lead to: Baldur’s Gate. During my travels, I met someone willing to fill me in on the place’s history—a fiery redhead with a heart of gold named Catalina, though she preferred to be called Caty. She had chosen to leave her home to follow her dream of becoming a bard and proudly told me she already had a job lined up. Her confidence gave me pause; I hadn’t even considered how I would make money. I had no trades. I could heal, but was that even needed in a bustling city like Baldur’s Gate?

Caty and I continued our walk, the summer air filled mostly with her enthusiastic chatter about the city. I didn’t mind, as I was eager to learn about the place I would call home for now. She painted a vivid picture of Baldur’s Gate, describing it as the largest metropolis and city-state on the Sword Coast, within the greater Western Heartlands. It was a crowded city of commerce and opportunity, one of the most prosperous and influential merchant cities on the western coast of Faerûn. She explained that despite its long-standing presence as a neutral power, the leaders of Baldur's Gate were members of the Lords' Alliance of powers in the west. The city’s strong peace-keeping force, known as the Watch, along with the powerful Flaming Fists mercenary company, kept the city generally peaceful and safe. This sense of security allowed the Gate to maintain a tolerant and welcoming attitude towards outsiders, whether they were wealthy merchants, poor refugees, or, as it historically attracted, less-scrupulous individuals such as pirates and smugglers.

As we walked, I took in the sights and sounds of the outskirts of the city. The roads were bustling with travelers and merchants, their wagons laden with goods. The air was thick with the mingling scents of exotic spices, fresh produce, and the faint tang of sea salt from the nearby docks. We continued our way through Wyrm’s crossing before descending into the Lower City, the bustling heart of commerce and daily life. The streets here were a maze of narrow, winding alleys and broad avenues, teeming with activity at all hours. Cobblestones, worn smooth by countless feet and wagon wheels, glistened under the flickering light of lanterns hung from wrought iron brackets on the buildings. The buildings in the Lower City were a mishmash of architectural styles, their facades reflecting the city's long and storied history. Tall, narrow houses with steeply pitched roofs leaned precariously against each other, their upper stories jutting out over the street below. Wooden shutters, painted in bright but weathered colors, clattered in the breeze. Small shops and stalls lined the streets, their awnings flapping, and their goods spilling out into the thoroughfares.

The air was thick with a medley of scents—freshly baked bread from a nearby bakery, the sharp tang of sea salt from the docks, the earthy aroma of herbs and spices from a bustling market. Merchants hawked their wares loudly, their voices blending into a cacophony of sound that filled the streets. Shoppers haggled over prices, children darted through the crowds playing games, and street performers entertained with music and acrobatics, their performances adding a lively rhythm to the city's pulse.

The Lower City was a melting pot of cultures and races. Humans, dwarves, elves, halflings, and even the occasional tiefling mingled together, their different languages and dialects creating a vibrant tapestry of conversation. Many wore practical, everyday clothing suited to their trades, while others donned the distinctive garb of their homelands, adding splashes of color and variety to the scene. Despite the vibrant life of the Lower City, there was an undercurrent of tension and unease. In shadowy corners and down less-traveled alleys, figures lurked, their eyes watching the crowds with a predatory gleam. The Flaming Fists, the city's mercenary force, patrolled the streets, their presence a constant reminder of the city's need for order and protection. They moved with practiced ease, their armor gleaming in the lantern light, keeping a close eye on the proceedings and ready to step in at the first sign of trouble.

The docks of the Lower City were particularly lively, a chaotic hub of activity where goods from all over Faerûn were loaded and unloaded. Ships of various sizes and designs crowded the harbor, their masts swaying gently with the tide. Sailors shouted orders and curses as they worked, their movements a well-rehearsed dance of efficiency. Crates and barrels were stacked high, and the air was filled with the sounds of creaking wood, the splash of water against the hulls, and the calls of seabirds overhead. Caty led me through the maze of streets with practiced ease, pointing out notable landmarks as we went. The Wide, the largest market in the city, was a sprawling expanse of stalls and tents, offering everything from exotic spices to finely crafted jewelry. The smell of roasted meats and freshly baked pastries was nearly irresistible, and I made a mental note to explore it more thoroughly later.

We stopped in front of the Blushing Mermaid, a notorious tavern known for its rowdy clientele and frequent brawls. Its raucous laughter and off-key singing spilled out into the street, a sharp contrast to the more refined establishments we had seen in the Upper City. Yet, it had a certain charm, a rough-and-tumble spirit that was undeniably part of Baldur's Gate's character. I couldn't help but be both overwhelmed and fascinated by its energy. This was a place of endless possibilities, where fortunes could be made and lost in a single day. Despite the challenges and dangers, it was clear that Baldur's Gate was a city where one could truly start anew. And for the first time since leaving my village, I felt a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, I could find my place here.

Caty’s lively narration continued uninterrupted. She spoke of the sprawling markets where one could find anything from rare magical artifacts to the finest silks. She described the grandiose temples dedicated to various gods, each one a marvel of architecture and devotion. The taverns and inns sounded particularly enticing, places where stories were exchanged over mugs of ale and the music of bards like Caty filled the air. I found myself both excited and apprehensive. The city promised endless possibilities, but I was acutely aware of my lack of preparation. Caty’s words about having a job lined up gnawed at me. I had skills as a healer, but I doubted whether that would be enough in a place like Baldur’s Gate. My mind raced with thoughts of how I could make a living, how I could carve out a place for myself in this sprawling, vibrant city.

Caty finally stopped and turned to me, she was a striking figure easily catching the eye in any crowd. Her fiery red hair cascaded down her back in loose, wild waves, a vibrant contrast to her pale, freckled skin. The freckles dotted her cheeks and nose, adding a youthful charm to her otherwise ethereal appearance. Her pale blue eyes were her most captivating feature, often described as being as clear and deep as the summer sky. They held an intensity and warmth that made everyone she spoke to feel seen and understood. Standing taller than most elves, Caty had a slender yet strong build, her movements graceful and fluid, a testament to her elven heritage. She carried herself with an air of confidence and ease, her presence exuding both kindness and a hint of mischievousness. Her long, nimble fingers, calloused from years of playing the lute, moved effortlessly across the strings, creating melodies that seemed to flow directly from her heart.

Her attire was both practical and artistic, reflecting her dual nature as a wanderer and a performer. She wore a simple but elegantly cut tunic of deep green, adorned with intricate patterns of leaves and vines embroidered in silver thread, reminiscent of her woodland origins. Her trousers were sturdy leather, ideal for traveling, yet tailored to fit her form perfectly. Around her waist, she wore a wide, ornate belt with small pouches and trinkets attached, each one a memento from her travels. A lute, her constant companion, hung from a strap slung over her shoulder. The instrument was beautifully crafted, its polished wood gleaming in the light. Caty had decorated it with tiny, hand-painted designs of flowers and stars, making it uniquely hers. She often played it as she walked, her music a soothing accompaniment to her journey.

Despite her refined appearance, Caty was anything but aloof. She had an infectious laugh that bubbled up easily, and her smile was a beacon of warmth and friendliness. She had a natural ability to put people at ease, her voice soft and melodious, capable of conveying both empathy and exuberance. She was genuinely curious about the world and the people in it, always ready to lend an ear or a helping hand. Caty's personality was a blend of passionate determination and gentle compassion. She had left her home to pursue her dream of becoming a bard, a journey that required immense courage and resilience. Yet, she never let the hardships of the road dampen her spirit. She embraced each new experience with an open heart, finding joy in the smallest moments and beauty in the most unexpected places.

Her dream was not just to perform but to connect with others through her music, to share stories and emotions that transcended words. In every town and village she visited, she made friends easily, her songs weaving a tapestry of shared experiences and dreams. She believed in the power of music to heal and unite, a belief that drove her to keep moving forward, despite the challenges she faced. In the dim light of the Blushing Mermaid, with the sounds of laughter and music all around, Caty seemed to glow with an inner light.

"This is me," she said, her voice flitting from her mouth like the delicate wings of a butterfly. She gestured to the Blushing Mermaid, a lively building filled with light, laughter, and music. The sounds of clinking mugs and raucous singing spilled out into the night air, creating an inviting yet chaotic atmosphere.

I bit down on my lip as I watched her wave her hand toward the tavern. Caty seemed so nice, but I had learned many times on the road that people often took before they gave. My stomach flipped with anxiety, and I shouted out for her to stop. "I-I know you don’t owe me anything, but you are the first person to show me an ounce of kindness." My voice trembled as I let out a shaky breath. "I don’t have anywhere to go. No plan for a job or place to stay." My words trailed off, uncertainty gripping me. I didn't know what I was even expecting from her.

Caty paused, her gaze softening as she took in my desperation. The light from the tavern illuminated her face, casting a gentle glow on her features. She looked at me thoughtfully, her expression shifting from surprise to understanding. “Can you sing?” Her voice finally pierced the silence, gentle yet probing.

I blinked, taken aback by the question. Singing? It was something I had never considered. Back in my village, my voice had been reserved for healing chants and lullabies, not for entertainment. Yet, there was something about Caty's question that sparked a glimmer of hope. “I-I can try,” I stammered, feeling a mix of apprehension and curiosity.

Caty’s smile widened, and she extended a hand to me. “Come on, then. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

She led me into the Blushing Mermaid, the noise and energy enveloping us as we stepped inside. The tavern was a lively and inviting establishment, its interior bustling with energy and warmth. As soon as we stepped inside, we were enveloped by the rich, intoxicating aroma of roasted meats, freshly baked bread, and the faint, sweet scent of ale. The tavern was a sensory overload, a stark contrast to the quiet solitude of the forest I once called home. The main room was spacious but felt intimate, thanks to the low-hanging wooden beams and the soft, warm glow of lanterns suspended from the ceiling. These lanterns cast a golden light, illuminating the faces of the patrons and creating a cozy, almost magical atmosphere. The walls were paneled with dark, polished wood, adorned with an eclectic mix of decorations: old maps of Faerûn, intricately woven tapestries, and the occasional mounted animal head, trophies from long-forgotten hunts.

The heart of the tavern was its grand, circular bar, made from rich mahogany and polished to a high sheen. Behind it, shelves were lined with an impressive array of bottles, each filled with colorful and exotic liquids. The bartenders, efficient and friendly, moved with practiced ease, pouring drinks and engaging in lively banter with the customers. Large kegs of ale and barrels of wine were stacked nearby, ready to quench the thirst of the tavern's many visitors. Tables and chairs of various shapes and sizes were scattered throughout the room, each one occupied by groups of patrons engrossed in animated conversation or hearty laughter. The furniture was sturdy and well-worn, bearing the marks of countless evenings spent in good company. In one corner, a group of dwarves clinked their mugs together, their booming voices rising above the din. At another table, a pair of halflings shared a quiet, conspiratorial whisper, their eyes twinkling with mischief.

The stage, though small, was the focal point of the room. It was slightly elevated and framed by heavy, dark curtains that could be drawn closed when performances were not underway. Tonight, the stage was bathed in soft light, and a bard strummed a lively tune on his lute, his voice weaving tales of adventure and romance. The audience clapped and tapped their feet in time with the music, their faces alight with enjoyment.

To one side of the main room, a grand stone fireplace crackled and roared, its flames casting flickering shadows across the walls. A large, intricately carved mantelpiece held an assortment of curiosities: a collection of old, dusty books, a few tarnished goblets, and a pair of ornate candlesticks. The heat from the fire added to the tavern's inviting warmth, making it a perfect refuge from the cool night outside.

Caty introduced me to the tavern’s owner, a burly, good-natured man named Jareth. He eyed me with curiosity but nodded in approval at Caty's introduction. “Always room for another bard, especially if Caty vouches for you,” he said with a wink.

Caty squeezed my hand reassuringly. “Don’t worry. Just follow my lead.” She led me to a small stage where the current bard finished his set to enthusiastic applause. Caty took her place, and with a nod to the crowd, she began to play her lute, the familiar melody soothing my nerves.

I took a deep breath and started to sing, my voice trembling at first but growing stronger with each note. The tavern fell silent as the patrons turned their attention to the stage. The song flowed through me, and for a moment, I forgot my fears and the devastation of my past. I was lost in the music, the melody weaving a spell that seemed to captivate everyone in the room.

When we finished, the tavern erupted in applause, and I felt a warmth spread through me that had nothing to do with the firelight. Caty grinned at me, her eyes sparkling with approval. “See? You’ve got it in you.”

As the night wore on, we sang more songs, my confidence growing with each performance. The patrons of the Blushing Mermaid cheered and clapped, their enthusiasm infectious. By the end of the night, Caty and I sat at a corner table, exhausted but exhilarated. The warm glow of the tavern's lanterns cast a comforting light over us, and the remnants of our last song still echoed in the lively chatter around us.

“You did great,” Caty said, raising her mug in a toast. Her pale blue eyes sparkled with pride and encouragement. “Welcome to Baldur’s Gate, my friend. I think you’ll do just fine here. Are you sure you aren’t part nymph?”

I smiled, a genuine smile that reached my eyes. The tension and fear of the past days seemed to melt away as I lifted my own mug and took a large drink. The ale was rich and smooth, a perfect end to an unexpectedly wonderful night.

Jareth, the burly owner of the Blushing Mermaid, approached our table with two small pouches. He tossed them onto the table with a light clink of coin, his grin wide and infectious. “You two are hired!” he announced, his deep voice carrying a note of genuine excitement. “Your voices made people stop in their tracks and come inside. I’ve never seen anything like it.” His large arms crossed over his broad chest as he looked down at us, clearly pleased. “We can go over the particulars tomorrow,” Jareth continued, his eyes twinkling. “But you get paid by tips, and we provide you with a room upstairs.”

I felt a rush of relief and gratitude. The thought of having a safe place to sleep, even if just for one night, was more than I had dared to hope for. I picked up the pouch of coins, feeling the weight of it in my hand. It was a small fortune compared to the empty pockets I had arrived with. “Thank you, Jareth,” I said, my voice steady despite the surge of emotions. “I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”

Jareth nodded, his expression softening slightly. “You earned it,” he said simply. “Get some rest, and we’ll talk in the morning.”

As he walked away, Caty leaned back in her chair, a satisfied smile on her face. “See? I told you, you’ve got it in you.”

I laughed softly, the sound almost foreign to my ears after so much recent sorrow. “I guess I do,” I admitted. “Thank you, Caty. For everything.”

She shrugged modestly, but her smile remained. “That’s what friends are for. Now, let’s get some rest. Tomorrow’s a new day, and who knows what adventures it will bring?”

We made our way upstairs, the old wooden steps creaking beneath our feet. The room we entered was a small but cozy haven, not what I was used to but definitely better than a mat on the ground. The walls were paneled with warm, dark wood, giving the room a rustic and inviting feel. Soft, golden light from a lantern on the nightstand bathed the space in a gentle glow, casting flickering shadows that danced across the walls. Two small beds, neatly made with simple, homespun quilts, occupied opposite sides of the room. The quilts were a patchwork of muted earth tones, their worn but clean fabric hinting at years of use and care. Each bed had a thick, feather-stuffed pillow that looked wonderfully soft, promising a restful night’s sleep after the exhaustion of the day.

Between the beds, a sturdy wooden nightstand held a washbasin and a pitcher of water. The washbasin was made of polished copper, its surface gleaming in the lantern light. Next to it, a small stack of neatly folded towels awaited, their edges embroidered with delicate, leafy patterns that spoke of a craftsman’s touch. At the foot of each bed were simple wooden chests, likely for storing personal belongings. Mine was old and slightly scuffed, a testament to the many travelers who had passed through this room before me. Caty's chest, like mine, bore marks of time but was solid and dependable. A narrow window on the far wall allowed a sliver of moonlight to filter in, the silver beam creating a tranquil contrast to the warm interior lighting. The window overlooked the bustling streets of Baldur’s Gate, and the muffled sounds of the city—a distant murmur of voices, the occasional clatter of a cart—drifted up, a constant reminder of the life teeming just outside.

In one corner of the room stood a small writing desk and chair, the surface of the desk slightly worn from years of use. A quill and inkwell sat ready, alongside a few sheets of parchment, inviting thoughts to be penned in the quiet of the night. A simple but sturdy wardrobe occupied another corner, its doors slightly ajar to reveal a few hangers and shelves for clothes. The wood of the wardrobe matched the other furnishings, its dark grain adding to the room’s cohesive, earthy aesthetic. Above each bed hung a small, framed painting. Mine depicted a serene woodland scene, with tall, ancient trees and a sun-dappled forest floor. It reminded me of my home, a bittersweet touch that tugged at my heart. Caty’s painting showed a lively coastal village, with brightly painted boats bobbing in a sparkling harbor under a clear blue sky.

As I lay down on the bed, the mattress yielded just enough to cradle my weary body, the quilt’s soft texture comforting against my skin. The scent of fresh linens mingled with the faint aroma of polished wood, creating a soothing, homely atmosphere. The gentle flicker of the lantern light cast dancing shadows on the walls, adding to the room's cozy warmth. The bed was a welcome contrast to the harsh realities I had faced. The pillow, soft and supportive, cradled my head, and I could feel the tension in my muscles begin to melt away. Each breath I took was filled with the clean scent of the linens, and the faint, earthy aroma of the wooden beams overhead. It was a sanctuary of tranquility in the midst of chaos, a haven I hadn't realized I needed so desperately.

For the first time in a long time, I felt truly safe from the outside evils. The four walls acted like a security blanket, lulling me into a false sense of security. The soft murmurs of the city outside faded into the background, a distant hum that only added to the feeling of being cocooned in safety. My eyelids grew heavy as I let myself sink deeper into the bed’s embrace. If only I could go back and tell myself to leave now, to escape before the shadow of Astarion's presence fell over my life. But in that moment, wrapped in the comforting quilt and the gentle peace of the room, I allowed myself to believe in the illusion of safety.

The warmth of the quilt and the gentle rhythm of my breath began to weave a web of drowsiness around me. My thoughts grew sluggish, the events of the day blending into a haze of images and sounds. Caty's reassuring smile, the lively tunes of the Blushing Mermaid, Jareth's booming approval—all swirled together as my mind drifted.

The last coherent thought I had was a fleeting wish for this peace to last forever. As sleep claimed me, I let go of the lingering fears and doubts, surrendering to the comforting darkness. For now, in this small room above the bustling tavern, I was safe, and that was enough. Little did I know, this night of restful slumber would be one of the last moments of true peace I would experience for a long time. The shadows were gathering, and my journey was far from over. But for now, I fell asleep, cradled in the comforting illusion of security.

[thesunshinecourts]

countdown to tsc: apr 8., 2024, 23:51 pdt

63. indigo skies just before dawn // jeremy knox, in the early morning light

“Why are you – Jesus, Cat, would you turn that off?” Jeremy says, holding a hand over his eyes.

“Whoops, my b,” Catalina says, flicking off her torch. She gives Jeremy a smile, one that doesn’t shift off her face even when Laila snorts and Catalina drives an elbow into her side.

“Ow! Bitch,” Laila mutters, no heat.

“Why are we out here?” Jeremy asks before they can start up again. He loves them dearly, down to his bones, but they’re like a runaway train sometimes, and he’d really like to get an answer for why they’re up and huddled on the roof access at fuck o’clock in the morning.

Laila points. Jeremy’s gaze follows her finger, over the air vents and powerboards and whatever the fuck else is encased in metal boxes on the roof (Jeremy wouldn’t know, but his sister might), all the way through to a solitary figure sitting on the edge of the roof, one knee pulled up and tucked beneath his chin, the other leg dangling over the side.

Ah.

“Your room literally has a TV,” Jeremy says to Catalina, even as he slides past them on the roof access stairs to head properly towards Jean. She scoffs.

“This is way more entertaining,” she says, then turns to her girlfriend. “Babe, we should have brought popcorn.”

“What happened to your meal plan with Xavier?” Laila asks, snorting.

Jeremy can’t hear Cat’s response, only that the tone is vaguely indignant, because he’s halfway across the roof now. The wind isn’t very strong, but the light breeze snatches her words away, carrying them out towards the ocean.

They’re some thirteen miles from the beach right now. Jeremy wishes he were closer. Historically, the only thing he gets up this early for—unless one of the coaches is calling for an especially early practice for drills—is to catch the best waves before the rest of the city wakes up.

Jean Moreau isn’t so bad, though, as far as new habits go.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Jeremy says, stepping onto the raised edge next to Jean.

Jean, predictably, ignores this, just tilting his head back to look at Jeremy. “They’re not very subtle,” he says dryly.

“No,” Jeremy agrees, folding his legs in a complicated single movement to end up sitting beside Jean. “They’re not known for that.”

With a hum and a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it glance at Jeremy’s bare knees, Jean returns his gaze to the horizon. This high up, they can see the blue of the ocean, but only just. It’s not enough for Jeremy, who immediately misses it. He wishes they were at the pier, or the beach, or in the backseat of Cat’s van down the I-5, with her stubborn manual wind down windows and the salt air in their face as they approach San Diego.

Jean’s eyes are on the sky, the deep purples and blues of a world before the sun decides to show her face. Sometimes, when they sit here like this, Jeremy wonders what Jean thinks about. If he’s still angry to be here, if he thinks about Riko, about Kevin, about Renee. If he misses his family, or if they even count as that to him anymore. Sometimes Jeremy thinks maybe he’s thinking about Exy. He’s never been able to decide if that’s a sad or happy thought; on almost anyone, Jeremy would think Exy could be a good thought in moderation, but sad when it’s all you can think about. Jean is something different.

Sometimes Jeremy thinks it would be sad, if that were what Jean was thinking about so intently as he stared out into a sky full of possibility, because there should be something that matters more than a sport Jeremy isn’t sure he even likes. Sometimes Jeremy thinks it would be a relief; he’s known Jean for several years now, though only really since he came to USC, and even the last few months has been enough for Jeremy to know, bone-deep, that there have been many other things Jean has lived through that would be worse to think about.

Exy, for Jeremy, is a sport. It’s a game. He loves it, and he’s good at it, and he leads a team for it, but at the end of the day, it’s a game and he gets to choose to get up and play it.

He’s not sure Jean has ever really had that choice, but he doesn’t know how to ask. He’s not sure if he should, even.

The last time he spoke to Kevin, he’d started, a little hesitantly, “So, Jean doesn’t really l—” and Kevin’s face had shut down so fast—eyes big and green and mournful, jaw tight, lips drawn closed, like he didn’t know what would emerge if they didn’t—that Jeremy had immediately shut up, shaken his head, and said, “You know what, never mind. Hey, where’s the nearest vending machine? I need gummy worms.” That had drawn Kevin out of his head enough to pull out his phone and text Aaron—get fucked, came the reply, but Kevin just kept texting until Jeremy assumes Aaron gave up just to make him stop, because nine minutes later there was stomping outside and then, in quick succession, a scowling blond emerging in the doorway and a small plastic packet whizzing at Kevin’s head; Jeremy thinks that the one thing everyone in the world must agree Kevin Day possesses, other than the best hands in the game and the most handsome smile on the planet, is more tenacity than anyone else would know what to do with—whilst simultaneously lecturing Jeremy about his body being a temple.

(Jeremy’s heard the unabridged version of that lecture, where Kevin gets increasingly irate with Nicky, Andrew and Aaron as they one-by-one pull things out of the kitchen pantry that make him prone to cardiac arrest; he gets off pretty lucky. Maybe Nicky has a point about Trojans privilege.)

“I’m surprised they got you up,” Jean says, and Jeremy smiles ruefully.

“I think it would be worse if they didn’t,” he says. “It’s weirder if they’re just watching you by themselves.”

Jean shoots him a look, mostly blank, but something wry and amused flickering in his eyes. “And with you here instead, we’ll, what, give them a show?”

Jeremy chokes on saliva, his own tongue, and approximately any shred of dignity he’s managed to repossess since he was seventeen and he was trying to unzip his neighbour’s bra under her guidance and he accidentally got it stuck half-undone.

There’s a smirk on Jean’s face when he turns back to the sky, but his tone is impressively neutral when he says, “Yes, this must be endlessly entertaining for them. A much better decision than sleeping in, I’m sure.”

Jeremy forcibly pushes the flirting—was it flirting? He thinks so. He hopes so, maybe, but that’s a whole other can of worms to deal with later in the privacy of the shower—aside to clear his throat and say, “Hey, if it works for you…”

There’s a beat. Two. Then Jean says, a little quieter, even though he was already quiet to begin with, “At the Nest, we never got to see the sunrise.”

Well, now Jeremy feels like a dick.

“Not that anyone would have seen it with me,” Jean adds. “Kevin is terrible at waking up, Riko was terrible at being away from Kevin unless it suited his whims to be, and my roommate—” He breaks off. It sounds like a pause, but Jeremy waits, and no more comes.

“Would you have wanted company?” Jeremy asks. He’s aware it’s a loaded question, given he is company right now, but it’s a real one. He hopes Jean knows that.

Jean furrows his brow. “It wouldn’t have mattered,” he says. He looks at his hands, then Jeremy’s knees again, then the sky once more. “My wants did not enter into equations. It never occurred to me to think about that.”

It’s maybe the saddest thing Jean has ever said. Jeremy has this thought at least a dozen times per month.

“Well,” Jeremy says, injecting a little more brightness into his voice than he actually feels, “now you can think about it. You’ve got company. How does it feel?”

Jean glances back from the sky, eyes roving over Jeremy’s legs, then his knees, staying there for a beat longer than Jeremy knows what to do with, then all the way up to Jeremy’s face.

“It’s not so bad,” Jean says, and Jeremy smiles.

[mobscene-london]

BASIC INFORMATION:

NAME: Catalina Rojas. AGE: 33. PLACE OF BIRTH: Porto Velho, California, United States. AFFILIATION: The Rutherford Family. OCCUPATION: Manager of The Underground. Drug dealer. FACE CLAIM: Diane Guerrero. AVAILABILITY: TAKEN.

BIOGRAPHY:

“If you studied law, how the fuck did you end up working behind a bar?”

Funny how they always asked like it was any of their damn business…

“Because making bank flashing my fantastic cleavage to idiots who ask stupid questions—you’re welcome for the honour, by the way—is much less time consuming.”

Not to mention upholding the law felt slightly hypocritical given her ties to the Rutherfords.

The number of people coming to resent them might’ve been growing by the day, but she adored her second family with her entire soul. From her early childhood, when she’d first met Lara Rutherford at their fancy Porto Velho private school, the two girls had been inseparable. Though to a much lesser degree, Catalina had also been born into privilege and boy, did she enjoy every fucking minute of it. Some people felt it crass to flaunt what they hadn’t earned, but life was fucking short. Her parents hadn’t worked their asses off for their only daughter to live like a peasant.

Even as a child, she had been insufferably rambunctious; wise beyond her years and ready to step on whomever it took to achieve what she wanted from life. And perhaps that was why she and Lara were drawn to each other so immediately. Their similarities were vast. In fact, the only real difference between the two was that Lara hid it all behind an angelic façade, whereas Catalina had never cared what people thought. Nor would she start caring any time soon.

Catalina’s parents had often scolded her for her lifestyle—even if half-heartedly—purely because they thought she could do better. An abundance of natural intelligence and wit had been wasted on her, apparently. The absolute cheek. When she’d applied to Harvard Law, it wasn’t because she wanted to be a lawyer like Lara did. Instead, it was an attempt to prove to her parents that she could do anything they could do whilst being able to keep her best friend at her side during the best years of their lives. School had been an absolute breeze—perhaps, even more so than it had been for the Rutherford—and she supposed maybe that was unfair. It took a special kind of privileged asshole to be able to ‘fall back’ on graduating from Harvard if things didn’t pan out the way she wanted.

During her university days, she had always been the life of the party. Notorious for it, in fact, for long after her years there had passed. Lara was tamer in that respect, but her brother sure wasn’t. Whenever she and Damon got together? Trouble was sure to follow.

When they’d all headed back to the city they called home—a social stomping ground that belonged solely to them—she had continued the same party lifestyle she’d grown so accustomed to back in Massachusetts. Eventually, though, and rather unsurprisingly, her parents became frustrated with her leeching off their wealth whilst offering them very little in return. Staying out until six in the morning, stumbling home coked up and drunker than anybody else on the strip, was not becoming. Or so she was told. Catalina could’ve argued she was doing the Lord’s work and people would’ve believed her because it damn well felt good to her.

But they were persistent.

Terrified by the prospect of a legal career weighing down her carefree existence, however, she instead sought another path entirely. And that was where the relationship that she’d grown so fond of over the years with Damon came in handy. Where else could you make a living being the life of the party, if not the Porto Velho strip? Catalina hadn’t even had to ask for a job. One subtle hint, and she was working at his casino with a snap of his fingers. So much for university being the best years of her life, because she was just getting started…

It was hard to pinpoint an exact time where she realised that the Rutherford family was not all it seemed to be. Perhaps Lara had been scared to be honest with her; wrongly assuming that Catalina would be put off by the less than legal means that the majority of their wealth stemmed from. Like she’d honestly give a fuck. Andrew was like a second father to her—only ever pretending to be irked when she referred to him as ‘dad’ as she made herself at home in his certifiable mansion—and he could do what he damn well pleased. Catalina would defend any of them to the death, because she was sure they would do the same for her.

Strangely enough, it was he who had approached her personally about an entirely new source of income aside from working for Damon.

Whilst she’d never been a particularly heavy drug user—and only the partying kind, thanks very much—she knew her way around the circles well enough that it wasn’t outside of her comfort zone. The reputation she had built within the upper echelons of Porto’s social circle, and not to mention the rapport she had with some of the city’s highest rollers thanks to her work as a hostess at The Empire Hotel & Casino, made her the perfect candidate for peddling drugs. Only the best for the best, and they’d damn well pay for it when she smiled at them the way she did.

The money she was taking home from her casino work was fucking fantastic, but it didn’t even compare to what she could make taking a slice of the Rutherford’s drug business. Andrew trusted her, and he knew she had enough of a spine not to shy away from something a little sketchier. It was a perfect match up that served them both well for years.

Of course, when Lara and Adriana had made the move to London, Catalina had initially hesitated. Whilst she adored her friends more than anything, she’d built such a cushy lifestyle for herself in California that she wasn’t entirely convinced it would translate to a whole new city. And a miserable, warring city, at that… To nobody’s surprise, though, she’d only lasted a few months without her family. Whilst she might’ve declined the offer at first—to deal in the same business courtesy of Andrew, once again—she was on a private jet like a lost puppy before Porto could even begin to miss her sisters.

London wasn’t entirely unfamiliar to her. Catalina had often taken trips with Lara when she would visit her home country, and occasionally, even went to visit her good friend, Diana, on her own dime. The people weren’t entirely dissimilar from those back in the States. If anything, the rich folk seemed even more tightly wound this side of the ocean, and it made them much easier targets so far as a suggesting a little pick me up was concerned. Though Damon had offered her a comparable role at London’s version of the Empire to the one she’d held previously, she’d politely declined when Lara had approached her to manage the string of bars she was planning to open. The crowning jewel? The Underground. Given that she’d always been an eager attendee of Fight Club back when it’d be starting out in Porto, she was more than happy to help run things here.

Things in the city are getting testy, and she’d be a fucking idiot not to be concerned. Porto Velho had been left on fairly bad terms when the Italians and Russians started shooting each other in the streets, though, so at least she has yet another reminder for when she’s feeling homesick, eh? Just like always, she tries her best to push it from her mind, and not only favour enjoying life to its absolute fullest in spite of everyone else’s bullshit, but making sure others do the same.

SOCIAL CONNECTIONS:

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Single. FAMILY: None playable. CONNECTIONS:

Lara Rutherford: Best friend. Oldest friend. Sister. Closest confidant. All terms she could use to describe the woman she will never be without. Lara has given her so much in life without even realising, and Catalina will always be grateful for her. Things have been tough the last few years, and certainly not without bumps in the road, but no matter what happens, what decisions she makes about the fate of their new home, Catalina will always stand loyally at her side.

Adriana Amaro & Diana Sehgal: Best friends. Forever the inseparable foursome. The best part about being in London, without doubt, is that they can finally all be together permanently, instead of missing Diana. Like Lara, she has known Adriana for almost as long as she can remember, but whilst her relationship with Diana is shorter lived, they're arguably closer. They're her go-to girls for a good time. She would literally die for these bitches, okay?

Damon Rutherford: Good friend. Catalina sees Damon like the brother she never had. Whenever they get together, there's never a dull moment. Truly, an infamous duo back in Porto, and she's intent on cultivating the same reputation in London. Offering her the job at his casino is what shot her into the life she adores, and she will bend over backwards to repay him for the faith he showed in her.

Eleanor Shipley: Friend. Though she often gets in trouble for attempting to lead perhaps the nicest member of their friendship group astray, Catalina has grown to like her over the years. Not so much in the beginning, mind you, but given her relationship with Lara, there was really no way of getting away from her. Eleanor is a little tame for her liking, but she's endearing enough in her own way to stop Catalina disliking her, at least...

Henry García: Friend. It was hard to avoid him when he was Lara's bodyguard, but even more so now that they're in a relationship. Henry isn't the typical type of person she would befriend, but perhaps that's why it works so well. Opposites attract and all that. Catalina is fairly sure she drives him up the wall with her attitude, but if he's in it for the long-haul with Lara, then he's stuck with her for life.

Ayaz Ateş: Friend. Annoying the fuck out of him is quite possibly her favourite pastime, especially now they're in the same city on a permanent basis. Man has a stick shoved so firmly up his ass, Catalina doesn't know how Lara (or herself, for that matter) puts up with him, but she tries her level-best every day to make him regret it. In an affectionate way, of course...