#err or for the past few days

[rose-tinted-kalopsia]

alright...... this will determine the wip i will COMMIT to getting done this week, choose wisely 😭 (this is a plea for help. help me choose.)

[kinos-fortress-2]

what does one unfinished fic from like 2022 of a very rareshipp does a to a mf

and also a trashy playlist that got me in my own feelings...

[pandemic-info]

"Any chance we're wrong about Covid?"

It's a valid question many people earnestly think about — even the very cautious.

'it becomes important to ask: "what does the data actually say?"'

Quoting a few good answers from a thread:

"Covid left me disabled in 2020. I know with 100% certainty that I am not wrong about Covid. I live with the proof every minute of every day for the rest of my life."

"The insurance companies and government statisticians care, or rather they have taken an objective interest." > https://fred.stlouisfed.org/series/LNU01074597 > https://insurancenewsnet.com/innarticle/insurance-industry-coalition-forms-non-profit-to-study-excess-mortality

"There are parallels between how governments are responding to COVID-19 and how they responded to tobacco back in the day. “it would be a mistake to assume governments would automatically protect people from a public health threat in the face of more immediate economic considerations…there would be resistance to change that might be costly until evidence to justify it was overwhelming.”" > https://johnsnowproject.org/insights/merchants-of-doubt/

"I suspect most of us entertain this thought from time to time, especially when it’s this absurdly difficult and lonely to maintain a Covid Conscious lifestyle. But it’s important to remember that history is littered with people making terrible choices en masse: with handling past pandemics, the holocaust, slavery, witch burnings, etc. Hell pretty much everyone used to smoke and putting lead in everything was A-ok. Just because a lot of people believe something doesn’t mean they’re right. So it becomes important to ask what does the data actually say? The research and the statistical data on this subject paint an ugly but fairly quantifiable picture by which we can gauge our understanding of the situation and our choices in response to it. Read the science. Look at the data on things like Long Covid. There are also many of us who have already had our health absolutely ravaged by this virus or lost loved ones to it etc., and everyone in that position has first hand evidence for how dangerous this virus is. It’s tremendously difficult to swim against the current like we are and self-doubt is natural in those conditions, but that’s when seeking out factual information on the subject is the best course of action."

"But what it all comes back to for me is - say we're wrong, and covid is a big nothingburger and lockdowns are the root of all evil. Ok, well, what I'm doing is acting on the best information available to me at this time to protect my family. I can't regret that. I will always be able to look my kids in the eye and say "I did my best with what I had."" ... So if we're wrong - well, we wore masks, changed our social habits, reduced our consumerism and our contribution to the destruction of our planet, and reduced how often we got sick. None of those things are bad. If they're wrong, they and their kids are screwed. I'd rather err on the side of caution.

[dipperscavern]

dippy I’m sorry I’m a bit stupid I did not read either of the prompt bit 😭 but if possible could I just add a prompt to my previous Cregan bit? If so, ‘voices change around each other’, bc pookie would be all ‘👹👺fuck y’all I am the lord of winterfall RAGGHHH- Oh hi darling 🤗😘’

urs truly, ur very stupid cheeky anon

you’re ALL GOOD!! thank u for your congrats & i hope u enjoy!!

9. voices changing around each other (whether it deepens or their tone in which they speak changes)

ʚ‎‏ ͜ ̩͙ ︵ ̩͙ ୨ ♡ ୧ ̩͙ ‏︵ ̩͙ ͜ ɞ

in cregans defense, he was usually ever level-headed.

being lord of winterfell and warden of the north, you had to be — patience and understanding is cregans middle name. it’s not often he loses his temper, even less often is it unjustified when it happens, and right now, his men had royally fucked up.

winter is approaching, and with it, cregans main task has been securing enough food to last winterfell & its inhabitants for as long as necessary. the maesters can foretell when winter comes and summers ended, but how long winter lasts is never known. strengthening alliances with other houses, expanding food stores, implementing more farms and crop production — cregan had pushed everything else aside to ensure the security of the people.

even if it put pressure on cregans soldiers, his hard work had made it so winterfells’ food stores were filled to the brim — and cregan was looking forward to being able to cease his constant worrying about having enough to eat.

unfortunately for him, the gods see fit to test him once more.

one of his men hadn’t closed a food store properly, and wasn’t aware until cregan himself checked on it a few days later. by then, the food inside of it had rotted.

it wasn’t the guard himselfs fault, as one of cregans council members had failed to instruct the newly appointed guards on how to close the stores properly. in cregans opinion, error truly laid with his council. you cannot expect people to perform properly if not taught or instructed, and this was so simple a lesson, cregan felt frustration at the prospect of having to teach it.

“Am I to understand, that because of your err, we’ve been lessened an entire store?”

the men in front of him glance at one another, attempting to swallow their nerves. the food store was now being emptied in the background, as cregan had not waited to “properly” assemble in the council room. they stood outside, where cregans tone had deepened, the way it does when lord stark is angered (which is, thankfully, not often)

cregan pauses, waiting for a response, and is only offered a- “Yes, I’m afraid so, my lord….”

“Winter is almost upon us, and you intend on crippling me further. How are you meant to advise me if I must coddle you as a babe?” his tone is harsh, unforgiving. he thinks to hear ideas of solution, about what could be done, but cregan notices something else.

instead of looking at him, every man is looking past him instead. ‘have they no respect for their liege lord?’, a part of him whispers; but curiosity takes over. he turns around, and is met with you.

he blinks in surprise. “Wife.” he says, not expecting your presence. his tone is light now, airy — alike to the cregan that usually graces winterfell. the contrast in his voice from a moment ago to now would make some grin if they weren’t afraid of inciting more of their lords anger.

“I missed my lord husband at supper,” you say, as if nothing was even amiss. “You worried me, Cregan.”

cregans tongue darts out to wet his lip, momentarily forgetting about the men behind him. “That was not my intention, I-“ he cuts himself off, turning back for a moment to glance at the food store being emptied. he sighs, choosing his next words carefully.

“I shall join you momentarily.” he says, turning to face you once more.

you hum, reaching to interlock pinkies (you’re close enough to be discreet). you lean to look past cregans shoulders (a hard task), and you’re met with the faces of cregans council. instead of their usual smug-ness, their faces are a mix of awkwardness, discontent, and embarrassment. the sight of it only makes you smirk, and when you return to cregans gaze, you find a hint of bashfulness swimming in his pupils.

“Behave yourself, my love.”

cregan nods, and you shoot him one last knowing smile before you move to return to the castle.

your presence has calmed him, allowing him to think without the cloud of emotions hanging over his head. he turns back around, and shoots a look at his council before focusing all his attention on the nearby food store.

“What can be done?” he says, tone still edgy, but nowhere near what it was before. his council share an equal relief, grateful to their lady stark for her rescue.

ʚ‎‏ ͜ ̩͙ ︵ ̩͙ ୨ ♡ ୧ ̩͙ ‏︵ ̩͙ ͜ ɞ

[ninzied]

and that's how it works

a co-worker au. based on the prompt: kiss out of spite. ~2.4k.

Alex can’t stand him from the start.

He tries not to actively dislike any co-workers, as a general rule. It takes effort, and time, neither of which he wants to spend on this guy—unless said work has been affected, which, Alex has to admit that it hasn’t.

But there’s something about him that rubs Alex the wrong way the moment they get introduced.

He’s hard-working, Alex supposes, and the quality of the work isn’t lacking. He’s punctual, and to-the-point in his emails. None of those things are an issue. He does make a habit of helping himself to Alex’s office supplies, but a few missing staples and running out of printer paper don’t exactly justify a grudge.

The guy’s personality is, objectively, annoying. He has the worst taste in ties, which to Alex says a lot, and he can’t go more than five minutes without alluding to his pedigree in some way (Alex knows this because he and Nora have made a drinking game out of it at work functions).

Still, it doesn’t explain the weird surge of resentment he gets every time he looks at the guy. And not understanding it might be the most annoying part of all.

He just wishes he knew why.

.

Alex works in the legal department, but the coffee’s way better in HR down the hall, so most mornings he’s using their break room. Most mornings, and at lunchtime too, and in the afternoons more than once until Nora starts cutting him off, which. Fair.

Apparently he’s not the only one who’s discovered HR’s superior coffee, though, because he’s always there too, and always at the same time as Alex. Seriously, can he not? It’s bad enough that they share a cubicle. Now Alex has to suffer the insult of watching him fucking microwave his coffee like some kind of sociopath, too?

“Are you following me?” Alex demands to know one morning, a little ridiculously. He’s aware that HR is not the best place to be throwing accusations around, but he’s kind of had it with this guy. “Because—”

At that exact moment, the door is opening, and Henry Fox is walking into the room.

“Oh, hey,” says Alex.

Henry glances at him the way he always does, that is to say, a little bemused as to what Alex is doing here. But Henry had been his point person when he was hired six months ago, so he must know Alex works here, right? Besides, he’s been coming to drink their coffee every day of those past six months now, and he knows Henry knows this because their breaks usually overlap and the way Henry barely says two words to him half the time is starting to feel kind of personal.

“It’s Alex,” says Alex, because, well, just in case.

“Yes, I’m aware,” says Henry. After a beat that’s long enough to get awkward, he says, “Err. Right then.”

And then he smiles and waves at Hunter, who isn’t even supposed to be here either, and walks over to take the seat Hunter has saved him like they’re all in fucking high school.

Hunter says something smarmy about a new art gallery or what-the-fuck-ever he went to last night, using a slightly too-loud voice that’s clearly meant to be overheard. Alex grits his teeth.

“Oh, I’ve been meaning to go,” says Henry. “What did you think?”

Alex scowls. Fuck, he fucking hates Hunter.

.

“So how’s the transfer going?” asks Hunter one day.

Alex jerks involuntarily and splashes hot coffee all over his hand. “Motherfucker,” he says, and then, because his filter is fully shot now anyway, he glances over at Henry. “You’re transferring? Like, jobs?”

“Oh. Um. No. Departments,” says Henry. Alex supposes that’s all he’s getting—four whole words must be some kind of record—but then Henry continues. “To editing. Starting first thing next week.”

“Oh,” says Alex. “Cool. That’s…a big move.” Literally. That’s, like, whole floors away. He opens the freezer door with his good hand, and wonders what the coffee tastes like up there in editing, if it would be weird to find out sometime. He grabs a fistful of ice.

“Yes,” Henry is saying. “It will be quite the change, and I—wait. Sorry.” He stands abruptly, and Alex stares in surprise as Henry comes over and stops right in front of him. “Please put the ice down.”

“Um,” says Alex. “O…kay?”

“You should use lukewarm water,” says Henry. “Cool, at best. For your hand.”

“Oh,” says Alex. “Right. Thanks.” He turns to the sink, feeling weirdly aware of the fact that Henry is still standing there. “It’s too bad,” Alex says before Henry can decide to sit down next to Hunter again. “Kind of a big loss for HR.”

Henry’s brows knit back together. “Is it?”

Alex shrugs. “To my knowledge, no one else personally escorts new employees to their cubicles on the first day of work. Like you did with Hunter here, for example.” He levels Henry with a grin. “I was there when you showed him around, in case you don’t remember.”

Henry’s expression is inscrutable. “I do,” he says.

Alex makes a point to not look away. “Guess that wasn’t a thing back when I started.”

“Ah,” says Henry. He’s flushing for some reason now. “No, I suppose not.”

Alex considers him. He can’t decide if Henry’s playing dumb, or if he really doesn’t remember that he’d been the one to help hire Alex. Then he decides he doesn’t care, because both options make him feel like something on the bottom of Hunter’s shoe, which he hates.

“Think I’m gonna head back.” Alex looks expectantly at Hunter, who only lifts his mug like he’s still planning on being a while. Fucking fine.

He can still see the two of them through the glass pane in the door when Nora walks by with a stack of folders.

“You okay?” she asks, in a tone that says she’s guessed the answer.

“Fucking no,” says Alex anyway. “What are they even doing? Talking?”

Nora sneaks a peek through the window. “Appears so,” she deadpans. “Talking in the break room. Unbelievable.”

“I know, right?” Alex scowls, then realizes he’s left without his coffee, which makes him scowl even harder.

Nora sighs, then slips her free arm through his. “Let’s walk.”

“Do you think Hunter likes him?” asks Alex. Because—not that he’s spent a lot of time on this—Alex thinks that Hunter does, and nothing is worse than the thought of Henry liking him back because he doesn’t know any better.

Maybe Alex should say something.

Nora is looking sideways at him. Alex isn’t sure why. “I think what Hunter likes is people with a pedigree,” she says. “Anyway, what’s not to like? Henry’s a snack.”

“What?” says Alex. Objectively, Henry looks a bit like an Adonis, but, “That is so beside the point. And just because Hunter’s like Harvard royalty or whatever doesn’t give him the right to come in here and trick people into liking him when—”

“When you were here first?” Nora supplies.

“What?” Now Nora is really missing the point. “This has nothing to do with me, or with Henry. I just meant, like, you know. In general.”

“Right,” says Nora. “I must have misunderstood.”

.

Alex keeps going back to the break room, of course. The coffee’s still better, and he can keep bothering Nora even though she’s transferring soon too (to marketing two floors down, the traitor). None of those things have changed just because Henry is no longer there every day.

The one thing that does change, Alex notices with a dark kind of satisfaction, is that Hunter does not go back to the break room. In fact, he starts bringing his own coffee each morning (Starbucks, which seems very on-brand). If anything, Alex only has more reason now to escape to HR and not spend any more time around Hunter than necessary.

About a week after Henry’s transfer, Alex realizes he’s used the last of the break room’s cinnamon. Again. Goddamn it, he thinks. He’s just spent the morning in back-to-back meetings, he’s getting his coffee hours later than usual, and now this?

He rifles through the cupboards for a second and then a third time just in case there's a rogue bottle somewhere. “Fuck me,” he mutters.

“What’s the occasion?” comes a voice from the door, and Alex turns to find Henry leaning against it. His arms are crossed, and he’s doing that chin-tilty thing that apparently means Alex has zero control over what comes out of his mouth.

“What are you doing here?” Alex blurts.

Henry raises an eyebrow. “I could’ve been asking you the same thing for the past six months or so, but I haven’t.” He uncrosses his arms and comes over. “Would you believe me if I said I came here for the coffee?”

“No,” says Alex, with absolute certainty. “You don’t drink coffee.”

Henry blinks. “I could,” he argues after a moment, then straightens a little. “In fact, maybe I planned to start today.”

“Uh huh.” Alex gestures for him to have at the machine. “Do you even know how to use it?”

“Can’t be that difficult,” says Henry. He gives the machine a dubious look, and Alex doesn’t mean to but he starts to laugh.

“Here, I got it. Was about to make some for myself anyway.”

“Ah.” Henry looks abashed suddenly. Even the tips of his ears have turned pink. “Suppose you’ll be wanting this, then.” He pulls a ground cinnamon bottle from his pants pocket.

Alex shakes his head in disbelief. He could actually kiss Henry right now. “How did you—?”

“Well, you were running low last I was here,” says Henry, like that’s a totally normal thing to have noticed when Alex has never seen him touch the spice rack once. “Figured you'd be out by now, so I nicked some from the break room upstairs. No one’s been using it there anyway.”

The shock on Alex’s face makes him backtrack. “Sorry,” he says, flushing an even deeper pink now. “I—didn’t know you’d be here. You’re usually, um. Earlier. I can return it, if you’d like.” He says all this in a rush.

“No, it’s great,” Alex says emphatically. “Don’t you dare take it back.” He’s still staring a little, but that can’t be helped. Henry knows how he likes his coffee. And Henry had planned to restock the cinnamon without Alex ever knowing.

Henry clears his throat, looking around them. “You didn’t bring Hunter with you today,” he notes.

“No,” says Alex immediately. “God, no. And I don’t bring him anywhere, he just. Shows up. Honestly, I can’t stand the guy.” Shit. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that.

“Oh, thank Christ,” Henry says, looking immensely relieved. “Now that I don’t work in HR anymore, can I just say how little I enjoy his company?”

This is way better news than when Henry had first reached out to Alex with his offer letter and starting salary. He grins. “You can. In fact, please say more.”

Henry looks rueful. “I really shouldn’t.”

“It’s just that—” Alex sobers a little. “He was the only person you seemed willing to talk to.”

“It was easier, for me.” Henry takes a breath. “I feel less shy around people whose opinion of me doesn’t matter as much.” He pauses, something meaningful in the way he looks sidelong at Alex now. “I do want to be better about it.”

Alex nods, considering this. He tries hard not to smile. Probably not hard enough. “I can work with that.”

.

“You do realize neither of you work in this department,” says Nora, pulling food from the fridge.

Henry sips the tea Alex has just made him. Coffee, turns out, had been a lost cause. They’re both leaning against the counter, elbows not-quite-touching but getting closer to it every day, by Alex’s estimation.

“Do any of us, at this point?” Henry muses.

Nora shrugs. “Fair.”

“Just don’t tell You Know Who,” says Alex.

“Who’s You Know Who?” Hunter asks from the doorway. He has a confused smile on his face as he looks from Henry to Alex back to Henry again. Normally the sight of Hunter fills Alex with the most profound irritation, but now he’s feeling kind of pleased.

That’s right, he thinks smugly at Hunter: Henry is mine.

Huh. Suddenly things make a lot more sense now.

“Hey, did you get my email about the museum opening this Friday?” Hunter asks Henry, and Alex bristles instantly. Did Hunter not get the look Alex just gave him?

“Ah,” says Henry awkwardly, and it would be endearing if he didn’t also look so deeply uncomfortable. His awkwardness now is so different from the bashful kind of awkward he used to be around Alex; honestly, Alex can’t believe he’d never been able to tell between the two until now. “Actually, I’m—”

“Going,” says Alex, “already. With me.”

Henry looks at him in happy surprise. “Really?”

“Really,” Alex says firmly. And then, because he likes how dumbstruck Hunter looks right now, and because Henry doesn’t pull away when Alex puts an arm around his shoulders and he really, really likes that too, he does the only thing left that makes sense to him, which is to lean in and kiss Henry. He kind of feels like he might die when Henry kisses him back.

Fuuuuuuck.

Henry’s eyes are still closed when Alex leans back. He’s dimly aware that Nora has shooed Hunter out and closed the door behind them. He’s more acutely aware of how Henry licks his lips, then opens his eyes with an oddly vulnerable expression and says, “Alex, please tell me you didn’t just kiss me for Hunter’s benefit.”

“What? No. I mean—not exactly.” Fuck. Why can’t he use only the words that he needs? “The answer’s still no, but I might’ve used it as an excuse if I’d kissed you like two weeks ago. But that’s not why I kissed you just now, and it’s not why I’m going to kiss you again.”

“Oh, you think you’re going to kiss me again, do you,” Henry says with a hint of a smile, lifting his chin in a kind of challenge that Alex does not intend to back away from.

“One-hundred-percent,” he says, then pauses. “Unless you plan on reporting me to HR.”

“Honestly,” says Henry, “I might have to report you if you don’t.”

“Well, we can’t have that,” Alex says, very seriously, and he pulls Henry back in.

[polaroidpascal]

let me || frankie morales

AO3 || MASTERLIST

pairing : frankie morales x f!reader

summary : after two weeks of frankie coming home knocking on death’s door from exhaustion, you decide to give him a break.

tags : fluff !!, no use of y/n, you taking care of frankie, very small nods to sex, undressing, showering together, cuddling, short and sweet glimpse into domestic life with frankie 🥹

WC : ~1.8k

a/n : i’ve never written pure fluff before, but the frankie brainrot has reached an all-time high and i desperately need to take care of this man. hope you like this little slice of domestic life with frankie 🫶 (not beta read or proofread much, just psa!)

You’re cozied up on your recliner reading a book in the soft light from your lamp when Frankie finally comes home from work.

He opens the door gently, tiredly. He never knows if you’re going to be asleep or not, so he errs on the side of caution just in case. Plus, he’s too exhausted to make more noise anyway.

You watch him from the corner as he sets down his keys. They clink against the ceramic dish that he made for you forever ago after you had moved in together. He sets down his backpack opting to unpack it tomorrow and hangs up his hat, running his hand and fingers through his curls with a long, tired sigh before he kicks off his boots.

He turns around to see you in your pajamas wrapped in a fuzzy blanket, book in hand, the lamp illuminating you from behind like an angel descending from heaven.

No amount of exhaustion can keep the tired smile from blooming across his face. “Hey, baby,” he says, his hand now rubbing the back of his neck to soothe the sore muscles there.

“Hi, love,” you say back sweetly. “How was work?”

He answers with another sigh and tired eyes, his smile fading just a bit remembering the absolutely packed couple of weeks he’s had. “It was alright, just tired.”

Frankie has come home beyond exhausted every day for the past two weeks. The first few nights, you were already asleep by the time he came home, unable to keep your eyes open any longer to wait for him. You had sent him a text telling him to wake you up when he got home, but of course your sweet boyfriend would never do that, not when you look so peaceful in your sleep.

One night, you happened to be awake when he came home, much to his surprise. He tried to play off how drained he was, bringing you in for a hug that swallowed you whole in his broad figure, whisking you off to your bedroom to try and ignore his exhaustion. But you could see it in his eyes from the moment he walked in that he was barely hanging on, and he definitely slept hard that night.

After that, you made sure you were up every night long enough to catch him walking through the door, picking up a new novel series to pass the time while you waited.

You rise from the recliner and shuffle over to Frankie in your fuzzy socks and his t-shirt loosely fitting your frame, the wide neckline exposing your collarbones. “You look tired, Frankie. And I’m not saying that in a mean way.”

He takes you in his arms and kisses the top of your head breathing another sigh, like he’s relearning how to breathe after being so busy all day. “I know, baby.”

You stay wrapped in each other's arms for a minute, Frankie’s head resting atop your own. His dead weight grows each second that passes and you let him stay until you can’t hold him up anymore. You rub and pat his back gently before you whisper, “Why don’t we go take a shower, hm?” looking up when he lifts his head again.

He looks back at you with his big, brown, pouty eyes and mumbles, “But you’re already in your pajamas…”

“I know,” you nod, reaching your hand up to cup his cheek and glancing across his face at his tired and beautiful features. “You’re always taking care of me. Can you let me take care of you this time?”

His eyes are still pouting and nearly half closed now as he pauses, then gently nods, letting you lead him to your bedroom.

He stands in the middle of the room reaching down to the hem of his shirt to undress but your hands stop him. He looks at you confused.

“Let me,” you say. He has no protests.

He watches you lift his shirt exposing his stomach and chest, raising his arms so you can slip it over his head. You toss it to the side while Frankie reaches down to take his socks off. Your hands move down to his belt, slipping it out of the loops of his jeans. It clinks to the floor and you unbutton his pants, slipping them down with his underwear. He watches you the whole time, stepping out when you reach the bottom before you stand up again.

When you meet his gaze, the love radiating from his eyes almost makes your heart burst from your chest. You smile gently at him, reaching up to give him a soft kiss before leading him to the shower.

You run the water warm, more on the hot side, and start to undress yourself. Frankie watches you strip, the way your shoulder blades move as you pull your shirt over your head and unhook your bra. The way your spine flexes as you reach down to pull your pants off and shimmy out of them. How angelically perfect the curves of your body look.

You turn around to look at him and see tears welling in his eyes.

Immediately, your heart drops and you rush to cup his face in your hands. “Oh, Frankie, what’s wrong?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing, nothing, I just…” He looks your face up and down examining all the features he finds so beautiful and takes a breath. “I love you so much,” he says, the end of his sentence getting quiet, tapering off choked in emotion.

You stare at the gorgeous boy in front of you, exhausted from his hard work, so full of emotion that he’s brought to tears, and you feel your own eyes start to sting. All you can do is hug him and bury your face into his chest, his warm, soft skin pressed against you as your arms clasp around him. “I love you too, Frankie.”

You feel his breath get a little quicker as he tries to keep himself in check, the fight against his tears getting harder and harder. You pull back and wipe away a few strays that started rolling down his cheeks before pulling him into the shower.

You wash Frankie head to toe helping him clean the day off. He leans down some so you can wash his hair, making sure to give his scalp a little massage while you suds up his curls. His eyes close and he softly hums as your fingers card through each strand. He loves when you play with his hair.

You gently wash his back, watching the soap slowly roll down his body as you rub circles into his skin. The muscles look tight, flexing some just with the slow breaths he’s taking. You reach up and dig your thumbs into the visible knots you see near the base of his neck where he was rubbing before. His head drops forward a bit, a soft groan leaving his lips at the relief.

You turn him around and wash his chest, watching the soapy water cascade down his pecs and stomach.

He watches you as best he can, wanting to savor every second, and he can’t help but close his eyes at the soothing feeling of the warm water flowing across his skin… the soap erasing the dirt from the day… and most importantly of all, your feather-light, loving touch behind every movement.

You rinse his chest a little and give him a soft kiss to his sternum, handing him the sponge to wash the rest of his body while you wash your own.

He silently watches you move, feeling himself get emotional again thinking about how lucky he feels to have you. That you’d do this for him. That you care so much about him. The love in his heart threatens to burst at the seams.

When you’re both done, Frankie grabs your hips and carefully spins you around before leaning down for a kiss. A kiss that’s worth a million words all condensed into one little action. A kiss that screams I love you, endlessly and eternally.

You stay under the shower head, lips locked with the silent words of affection being exchanged. You only think to get out when you feel the water starting to run cold.

When you get out, you loosely wrap a towel around yourself before grabbing another to dry off Frankie. You rub his hair and his face, draping it around his shoulders and tip-toeing up to kiss his nose before you finish drying yourself off.

You slip back into your pajamas and Frankie puts on his sweatpants before you both climb into bed together. Frankie immediately plops down on his side of the bed, lying on his back and draping his arms over his eyes as he sighs deep, finally comfortable after the long, long day he’s had.

He feels you crawl into bed with him, your weight shifting the mattress around him as you climb on top of him, legs straddled over his sides.

He moves his arms to look up at you staring at his chest tracing circles onto his skin. His hands rest on the tops of your thighs and he rests his head back on his pillow, but you swear you can feel his entire energy shift.

“You okay?” you ask, resting your palms on his skin.

“I…” he starts, looking up at you with sad eyes. “I love you so much, you know that… I’m just… I’m really tired, baby. I don’t know if I can—“

“Frankie,” you cut him off. “I’m not in the mood either.”

He looks at you with his pouty doe eyes again. “You’re not?”

“No,” you assure him. “I just wanted to look at you. How pretty you are. How lucky I am to have you.”

Frankie’s chest gets tight, the tears stinging in his eyes again as he wonders what he could have possibly done to deserve someone like you. Who loves him unconditionally. Who takes care of him so tenderly. Who is straddled on top of him just because she wants to look at him.

Before you can catch his eyes getting redder, he pulls you down to lay by his side, cradling you in his arms and kissing the top of your head. “It’s me who’s lucky to have you, amor.”

You hum and settle into his embrace, inhaling his clean scent and relaxing against his soft skin. Just as you’re starting to drift off, you hear a faint mumble, “Thank you.”

And you don’t even need to respond. You just press your body closer somehow, planting a kiss to his chin before nuzzling into his neck.

And it’s the only answer Frankie needs.

[adventuresofalgy]

Although it had rained for most of the night, the clouds began to clear as the next day dawned, and by the time Algy had finished his hearty breakfast of fruit, nuts and seeds, the sun was shining once again, albeit intermittently.

It was a cool morning with a great deal of dampness suspended in the atmosphere, but there was a pleasant, invigorating freshness in the autumn air which inspired a fluffy bird to seek new adventures. However, Algy felt worried.

In the past few days he had heard from some of his friends that they were feeling excessivley hot. Determined to look into the matter further, Algy had engaged in a wee bit of research and discovered that the south-western United States, for example, was suffering an unprecedented heatwave… in October! He was truly flabbergasted to learn that the thermometers over there were reading well over 40℃ in many places… Algy had never in his life experienced heat of that kind, and sincerely hoped that he never would!

Of course the chances of such temperatures on the wild west coast of the Scottish Highlands were slim to say the least. The few hot days that Algy could remember just barely reached 30℃, and this year the thermometer had struggled to reach 20℃ at any time, even at the height of the summer.

He had to concede that the West Highlands did perhaps err a wee bit too far the other way when it came to temperature, but one thing in which the area undoubtedly excelled was the supply of fresh water. There was water, water everywhere, and many a drop to drink… In the thousands of burns, in the lochans, in the peat bogs, and in the great freshwater lochs – even in common or garden rivers – there was truly an abundance of good, fresh water. And in the odd moments when it was not actually falling out of the sky, the water continued to tumble down the hillsides and wind its way across moorland and bog until it reached the sea… where it didn't stop to rest, but started the cycle all over again.

So Algy had more than enough water to spare for all his friends, and a great deal of clean, cool, refreshing air besides, but there was just one wee technical hitch… how to send "Earth's loveliset daughter" across thousands of miles of ocean and land, to where she was needed most?

Even if he could fly that far – which frankly he doubted – the amount of water he could carry was very, very small, and although he could perhaps elicit the help of his local feathered friends, the quantity would still be woefully inadequate.

Algy decided that there was only one possible solution. He would have to send the water in the form of photographs, in the hope that when it reached his friends in faraway places it would be realeased as the real thing in a magical process which reversed the way in which it had been captured in the first place 😀

So without further ado, Algy set out on a special mission to find plenty of water to send to any and all of his friends – and indeed strangers – who might be in need, together with a good, healthy dose of cool, fresh Scottish air besides…

The Sun courted Water, Earth's loveliest daughter, And strove to abduct her in vain: For, when he had caught her, And to the clouds brought her, Home she came running in rain.

[Algy is quoting the poem A Sunstroke by the 19th poet (also professor of literature and Roman Catholic priest!) John B. Tabb.]

[arsenal-womens-1]

Im gay

It has been a week since I kissed a girl for the first time. I couldn't get it out of my head. 

 

I only did it for a dare, if I'm being honest. I have wanted to kiss a girl for a long time now. 

 

I don't get what I'm feeling. I have had multiple boyfriends, but I've never felt in love. They have felt more like friends than a boyfriend, but when it comes to girls, I feel more attracted to them, and it's kind of scary to me because I can't be...

 

"Y/n!"" I snap out of my daydream and see a few of the team members at the door saying, "Come on, or we are going to be late to training." 

 

I get up and walk out. The few that were waiting at the door run out to the pitch to not get the wrong form. Emma I walk,

 

I know I probably should run , but my head is so loud and busy trying to figure shit out that I don't give a shit if I get shouted at, "y/n hurry up." I jog to the pitch, where everyone is sent off to do the stuff they have to do. 

 

But Emma asks to speak with me, "Lilly, are you okay? You normally are one of the first to be here, and you have been zoning out a lot." looking down at the ground, then pass Emma. "I'm good, all good, nothing to worry about." 

 

She looks at me a bit worried. "You can tell me anything if you want to; you know where to find me or one of the others." I nod my head and join the rest of the players. 

 

We have been out here for a bit now. We are in 4s and are passing the ball. I'm not really listening to them. I'm thinking about my life. I think no. I know I like women and not men. 

 

But I'm scared to say it out loud. I know I can trust the girls. I mean, I know they won't have anything to say because some of them are in relationships with each other.

 

I think it's because if I say it out loud, it makes it real. I don't know if I want it to be. 

 

 

3 days later 

 

We are on the bus to Manchester. We are playing at Old Trafford. I'm sitting in a seat next to Guro Magdalena Pernille, and to my left is Sam. Lauren Millie and Fran 

 

I have decided I was going to tell one of my teammates, but I was scared. What if my mom and dad fined out? 

 

They would kick me out of the family. I knew they would because they said if any of their kids were gay, they would 

 

I'm snapped out of my thoughts by Guro snapping her fingers in my face. "Y/n, you ok?" 

 

I look at her, then out the window, . "Yeah, I'm good. I was just thinking about something, that's all." 

 

She looks at Pernille and Magda says, "What were you thinking about?" I lean my head back on the chair and look at them .

 

"Nothing interesting." looking out the window, putting my headphones on, and listen to music . 

 

We get to the place we are staying at. And go to our rooms. We were lucky to get one each.

I decided I'm going to tell somebody. Now I don't know who I am going to tell . I get up and go out of my room. walking to room 125. It was the room Magda and Pernille were staying in. Standing out there for about 5 minutes, then knocking on the door. 

 

I hear moving from inside as the door opens. Magda is standing in front of me. I must have looked sick. "Y/n, are you ok? You look sick." staying quiet for a minute. "Hey, err, can I come inside please? I need to tell you something." 

 

She looks worried and opens the door fully. going in and see Pernille sitting on the bed on her phone. She looks up and sees me. She must have got the feeling that I was here to say something. 

 

Magda sits next to her. I pace back and forth. letting a few tears fall. I hear one of them get up. "Y/n, what's wrong? What do you need to tell us?" 

 

The person who now I know is Magda. Sits me down on the bed. "All of this just because I went to a party.

 

There was silence for a minute. "What happened because of a party?" looking at them then I lay back on the bed

 

"I went to a party where we were playing truth or dare, and I picked dare, and I was dared to kiss someone. The person got to pick who I have had boyfriends in the past, and I've not felt anything from them; they felt more like a friend than a person I was meant to love. The person dared me to kiss a girl, so I did, but when I did, it hit me that the reason I didn't feel in love with the boys I dated was because I liked girls, but I don't want to because I will lose my family if I tell them or anyone else." 

 

I was having a full-blown panic attack. I can't believe I had just said that. Omg, I had actually told someone. No, I had told two people. I felt their arms wrap around me I just brack down. I knew my life would never truly be the same now. I know that I will be kicked out of the family. I know that new people were going to look at me differently. 

But I know I was definitely going to be happy. For the first time in my life .

[totowlff]

chapter forty-eight — starcrossed (again)

➝ their paths had led them to that moment, and they regretted nothing.

➝ word count: 2,2k

➝ warnings: birth description

➝ author’s note: i finally had the balls to post this chapter. i hope you like it and forgive me for the delay. these have not been very easy weeks for me in my personal life.

DECEMBER, 2018

As she opened her eyes, Elisabeth had the distinct impression that she’d been hit by a truck, but even through the haze of pain, her vision immediately focused on the small empty bassinet next to her bed. 

  Panic surged through Elisabeth’s body as she bolted upright from. All she felt for a moment was her heart pounding against her sternum, until the searing pain in her pelvis registered. Once it did, she couldn’t help but groan in agony.  

  — Fuck — Elisabeth gasped, trying to continue moving. She had to do something, she couldn’t just lie in bed all day. She had to…

 Hissing in pain, she had just managed to get her toes barely touching the floor when she heard the handle to the room’s door turning. She looked up to see Toto, holding a cup of something dark and steaming - hospital coffee, no doubt. 

— Liesl, what are you doing? — he asked, setting the drink down haphazardly on the rolling tray next to her bed so he could help her  — You heard what the nurses said, you can’t get up on your own, especially after a cesarean section.

  — The baby’s not in the crib, I just… I want — Elisabeth stammered, as Toto guided her back into bed. 

  — My love, the nurse took the baby to the nursery so you could get some sleep, don't you remember? — Toto said gently, brushing a stray curl out of her eyes. 

  Elisabeth blinked. She felt disoriented. She couldn’t remember even talking to the nurse, never mind talking to her about taking her baby to the nursery.

  — I want my baby — she stammered, as fat tears leaked from her eyes  — I'm the mother, I want my baby here by my side, I want…

  Toto took Elisabeth’s face gently in his hands, trying to soothe her.

  — My love, you need to rest…

  — I don't want to rest, I want my baby…

  — You need to rest, Elisabeth  — he replied, a bit more firmness in his voice.

  — But…

  — Please, my love. You spent 24 hours in labor, and had to have surgery on top of it. 

  Elisabeth blinked again. Toto was right, and it was the first time she realized the magnitude of what the past two days had wrought. Her life — and Toto's — had completely changed, and it was the most exhausting two days of her life.

Her water broke while she was at home. That part of the process was much more peaceful than what she had imagined. There was no panic, no mad dash to the hospital. She was more than ready, at least mentally, and her doula arrived in practically no time, keeping her calm and reassuring her that everything was going as expected. 

  However, the pain soon became more than could be managed at home, and a comment from Toto about how pale Elisabeth looked had the doula making the call to err on the side of caution. The obstetrician examined her, and noted that she was only halfway through the process at five centimeters dilated. 

She tried to be optimistic about her progress in those last six hours, after all, it was her first birth. But with each hour that passed, she grew more anxious, and the pain got much worse; the Pilates ball and the warm water bath in her room did little to help.

As the sun was coming up, the doctor examined Elisabeth again to check on her progress, declaring that she was fully dilated and that she could begin pushing before long. Her doula assured her that everything would be over in the next few hours, and Elisabeth felt encouraged.

However, things didn’t go quite as planned.

Although her body was ready to push, Elisabeth couldn’t do so without feeling excruciating pain, which neither the doula's techniques nor the powerful drugs in her IV line could alleviate. The obstetrician soon discovered what the problem was: the baby’s head was stuck against Elisabeth’s pelvic bone — fetal asynclitism, the obstetrician explained, the remedy for which was a cesarean section.

Elisabeth couldn't hold back her tears when she heard the doctor's words. She wasn’t sure if she was crying more from pain or from frustration; she’d already been in labor for several hours, along with the anxiety and anticipation, and in the end, she needed to have surgery anyway. Tears filled her eyes as she was wheeled into the operating room, trying to focus on what really mattered - the hope that her baby would come safely into the world.

As she settled back into bed, Elisabeth did her best to focus on the motion of Toto's fingers, which were drawing circles on the back of her hand.

— You need to rest as much as possible — he murmured, bringing her hand to his lips to place a kiss — I’ll be right here the whole time.

— You will?

— Yes, my love. Always.

With a small smile, Elisabeth allowed herself to close her eyes again, falling into a peaceful and dreamless sleep.

She was woken up by a loud cry — it sounded like an infant, which made Elisabeth snap her eyes open. She looked around the room until she saw Toto standing by the window. In his arms, he was holding a squalling infant, wrapped in a white blanket with a crocheted cap. Even though the baby looked far too small in Toto’s long arms, he looked like a practiced professional, despite his previous child being born fifteen years ago.

— It's okay, my little aprikose — he cooed, gently bouncing the bundle up and down — We just changed your diaper, what's bothering you now?

— …Hungry, maybe? — Elisabeth mumbled, adjusting herself to sit up a bit. Upon hearing her voice, Toto turned around, giving a small smile.

— Maybe — he replied, bringing the baby closer— Want to see?

Elisabeth nodded and adjusted herself a bit more so Toto could hand the baby over, as carefully as possible. As soon as the baby was securely in Elisabeth’s arms, she positioned herself so the child could suck on her breast. As the baby managed to latch, Elisabeth pressed her mouth into a thin line.

— Is everything okay?

— Yes, just sensitive — she murmured, looking into the baby's open and attentive eyes.

— Does it hurt? — Toto asked.

— It's not pain, it's just discomfort. It's weird.

— I can imagine — he said, placing a hand on her head, stroking her messy curls.

Elisabeth looked at her baby with an almost childish enchantment. She couldn't believe that she was holding the materialization of everything she felt for Toto in her arms. Despite the pain, anxiety, and exhaustion, it felt wonderful.

— Liesl — Toto said, after a few minutes of silence. Eliasbeth looked up at him, and he continued — Your parents are already here, they'll be up soon.

— Did you talk to them?

— Your mother sent me a message…

— I mean about — she hesitated for a few seconds — Him.

Toto looked thoughtfully at the baby.

It was not as if Toto and Elisabeth cared if they were having a boy or a girl, but they were keenly aware of Niki’s desire to have a granddaughter at last, but those dreams were dashed in the operating room when Elisabeth's obstetrician triumphantly announced that they were the parents of a big boy with especially strong lungs - considering the way he cried.

When they saw the baby for the first time, still covered in blood and squirming in the doctor's hands, Elisabeth and Toto began to laugh. Neither of them could really believe that their baby had turned out to be a boy, especially because they were so sure that they would be having a girl. As the adrenaline wore off in the recovery room, Elisabeth realized that she would have to tell Niki that he had another grandson afterall. It wasn’t as if she thought Niki would be upset, but he had been so excited about the prospect of a little girl, and Elisabeth didn’t want to disappoint him, especially given how fragile his health was these days.

— No, I didn't tell them.

She pursed her lips.

— He's going to be disappointed — Elisabeth murmured, looking at the boy who was still latched to her breast.

— I'm sure he won’t, my love — Toto replied, kissing her forehead — He'll love having another little Lauda boy.

The baby was back in the crib next to Elisabeth's bed when she heard a knock on the door. As Toto went to open it, she adjusted herself on the bed, running a hand through her hair. She was sure she looked like a disaster. “Don’t worry, everything will be fine”, she thought to herself, taking one last look at her son.

When her parents appeared in the doorway, Elisabeth couldn’t help but smile. She felt her heart pounding again as she saw the big bouquet of pastel flowers that her mother was holding. Behind her, her father trundled into the room with a black bag slung around his shoulder. There was a portable oxygen concentrator inside the bag that he needed to take everywhere now, connected to a cannula that looped around his ears and into his nose.

— Hi, my love — Marlene said softly, placing the flowers on the table before approaching her — How are you?

— Well, so far, so good — Elisabeth replied, while her mother placed a kiss on her face — In quite a bit of pain because of the incision, but everything else is fine.

— I can only imagine  — her mother murmured, smoothing down the strands of Elisabeth’s hair — Toto told us that things didn’t go quite as planned.

— Yes — Elisabeth sighed  — Let's say the baby got stuck and we had to go to plan B.

— But everything worked out, and that's what matters — Toto said, standing next to Marlene and putting an encouraging hand on Elisabeth’s shoulder.

 Elisabeth turned her head to the left and saw her father looking at the newborn in the crib with a contemplative expression. After a few seconds of silence, he looked up at her, sparkling with curiosity under his red cap.

— A boy?

Elisabeth nodded. Niki looked down at the baby.

— I think you and your brothers don't know how to make girls — he murmured, seriously.

— I thought you would be disappointed…

Her father let out a snort, interrupting her.

— Disappointed? Do you really think I would be disappointed in having another grandchild?

— Well — Elisabeth stammered, as he approached the bed — Toto and I thought that…

— Please, Mauslein, I could never be disappointed in you, especially at a time like this. Not to mention, you two can always try again, right?

She smiled, feeling her cheeks heat up.

— If you let me keep my balls — Toto murmured, winking at his partner.

— Maybe I will, I'll still think about it — Niki grumbled.

After a few more questionable jokes and Elisabeth discovering the hard way that she couldn't laugh without feeling pain, Toto asked the proud grandparents if they wanted to hold their new grandson. As Toto placed the sleeping baby in Niki’s arms, Elisabeth couldn’t help but feel her heart filling with a joy that was almost unbearable.

— He's beautiful, my love — Marlene said with a choked voice — Simply beautiful.

— He looks like you — Niki murmured, looking at Toto.

— Is that a good thing? — Toto asked.

— I still don't know — her father replied, looking back down at his grandson.

— I think it’s wonderful, Toto is a very handsome man — Marlene added — Besides, without the Lauda chin, maybe you won’t have to call him mausi.

The baby squirmed slightly in his grandfather's arms, the white blanket he was bundled in drawing a sharp contrast to Niki’s ever-present red cap. There was something beautiful and poetic about all of it, at least in Elisabeth's eyes. It was innocence in the face of wisdom, a life that began in the hands of one that had almost come to an end months before, both of them connected by something in common.

— What's his name? — her mother finally asked.

Elisabeth smiled.

— Andreas.

Niki looked up suddenly, looking like she couldn't believe his ears.

— What did you say?

— I said his name is Andreas — Elisabeth repeated, feeling her eyes fill with tears.

— Andreas Sven, actually — Toto added — We thought it would be appropriate to pay homage to both of our fathers. I hope you don't mind that, Niki.

A long silence filled the room. Marlene wiped her eyes, her lips pressed together in an attempt to avoid making any sound that might wake Andreas. Her father, on the other hand, seemed frozen in place, staring at the baby without saying a word.

— Dad — Elisabeth said softly — We can choose another name if you want...

— No, no — he murmured, looking at his daughter. That's when she noticed his eyes were wet — Andreas Sven is good, very good.

— Perfect, actually — Marlene added — And we can call him Andi, right?

She nodded as Niki handed the baby to Marlene and got up from the couch. Stopping in front of Toto, he seemed to hesitate for a few seconds before placing a hand on Toto's shoulder.

— Would you mind if I said something that’s probably sentimental bullshit?

— Of course not.

— Your father would be proud of the man you've become. And, if I may say so, I am too. You've grown a lot since I met you and, honestly, there's no one better than you to be by my daughter's side. Thank you for making her happy.

Toto smiled, before pulling Niki into a hug.

— And that goes double for you, Mauslein — her father added, as he moved away from Toto's hug — I couldn't be more proud of you, especially now. I love you.

It was Elisabeth's turn to smile, tears streaming down her cheeks.

— Thank you, dad. I love you too.

[silverameco]

Travel AU - @wolfstarmicrofic - 698 words

CW : suicide joke, implied past abuse

It was a normal friday night. They had a marauders' gathering, but Prongs and Wormy left quite early, like they tended to do these days. So it was just him and Moony. Sirius couldn't be bothered. They were smoking weed on the windowsill. Sirius always loved Remus' apartment because it was close to the train station, and you could hear and see the trains. Sirius found it soothing.

"Do you ever just watch a train about to leave and think 'what if I get into it' ?" he asked randomly.

They were always having weirdly deep conversations when they smoked together. Sirius loved it.

"Err- not really ?" Remus answered, but it was more a question than anything.

"I used to think that all the time when I was still living with my parents. Anywhere better than there, y'know ?"

Remus nodded and gave him a comforting smile. Just enough to make him know he was listening, not enough to make him feel pressured to say more, or weird for oversharing. Just perfect, like it always was with Remus.

"Well, I mean, it was either that or the urge to jump under the train." he joked.

"Oh my god, Sirius !" Remus said with a startled kind of laugh and wide eyes like he didn't know if he was supposed to laugh or not.

But Sirius chuckled so Remus visibly relaxed and huffed, before turning his gaze out the window. Sirius kept looking at him. The night breeze was softly messing up his curls, and the moonlight made his features look softer than usual. He was even more soothing to look at than the trains.

"Where would you even go?"

"Mh ?" Sirius didn't listen, too enraptured by his observation.

Remus looked at him once again and suddendly, Sirius realized how close they were. Their legs were touching because the windowsill wasn't designed for two grown men to sit on it.

"If you took a train. Where would you go ?"

"Anywhere. That's the good thing. The adventure." he spoke the last part with a wild kind of grin which made Remus smile back. So he felt positively adventurous and didn't stop there.

"You know what ? We should do it. Take a train."

"What ?" Remus asked in disbelief.

But Sirius was on a ride that couldn't be stopped. "Yes ! Just, any train, as soon as there is one."

Remus just laughed. "You're mad. You're actually mad. I don't even know if there's any train leaving London we could take. It's literally two o'clock."

"So ? I don't see what the issue is." And then, making sure to look Remus in the eyes and to pout just a little. "Come on, Moony. Don't you want to go on an adventure with me ? It'd be just you and me."

He saw a furtive glint in Remus' eyes at the last part and knew he won. In fact, his friend took out his phone and seemed to be looking for something on it for a few seconds. Sirius was hooked on whatever he was going to say next.

"There is only one train with seats available. It takes off at 6 and goes to some random ass village in Scotland."

Sirius leaned forward, closer to Remus, and whispered, "Let's take it". Remus smiled and whispered back, "Okay, Pads. Let's do it."

After that, Sirius' smile couldn't be larger. He took a drag and blowed the smoke in Remus' face, who swatted at him. That was going to be a good trip.

That's how, four hours later, they found themselves on an old train, ready to leave for Scotland. The seats were rather small so their thighs were touching. Neither were making any effort to keep them apart. They hadn't slept so Sirius was dozing off on Remus' shoulder. In his sleepy and drug clouded mind, everything was perfect.

"Dear travelers, welcome aboard this train to Hogsmeade station, Scotland."

[ticklystuff]

Day 30: Paint (Beautiful Red)

a/n: ler!boothill, lee!argenti — from the ticklecrowber2024 list!

———

"Which one is this one?"

"Green, of course."

Boothill shook his head at the confidence behind the answer, grinning as he placed the brush aside on the coffee table, allowing the thin droplets of paint to drip from the tip. "The paint is red. Ya really can't see it at all?"

"That's not quite how it works," Argenti smiled, his voice unwavering. "Colorblindness is not the same as absence of color. Rather, certain colors will look off to me compared to others."

"Well, I'll be darned," Boothill chuckled, shifting his body to face the knight. "Yer version of beauty ain't even the right one, then."

Argenti scoffed, looking Boothill straight in the eye, as if personally offended. "Quite the contrary. Are you not familiar with the phrase 'beauty is in the eye of the beholder'? There are many versions of beauty to consider and none are lesser than the other, just like my version of red is no worse than yours. For me, a beautiful red might mean the freshly sprouted leaves at the early dawn of spring, the slices of cucumber in a refreshing glass of water, even the scarf wrapped around your neck that you wear so well. What to you is a beautiful red, my dear cowboy?"

Boothill's mouth hung slightly agape, his brain struggling to process the array of words that was just thrown at him. "Err, I suppose when I think of red—"

"Beautiful red."

"Red," he insisted, leaning in to press a finger against Argenti's chest, "is the first thing I see when my bullet pierces right through my target's chest."

Argenti smiles, unphased. "And?"

"And?" Boothill stumbled over his own thoughts, unsure of how to answer the follow-up. Why was he expected to put so much thought into this?

"What is a beauti-"

"Alright, I get it, I get it!" Boothill huffed, before inhaling, wrangling his thoughts together. "When I think of red," he paused momentarily, shifting his eyes between Argenti and his open palm, his fingers curling nervously, before reaching forward and lifting a lock of Argenti's hair, allowing a few strands to spill in between his fingers, showing Argenti his answer, "I think of this here. Your darned hair that I can see all the way from another galaxy."

"And?"

"God!" Boothill's eye twitched, seething through his teeth. "What more do you want me to say?!"

"Just one more," Argenti nodded, awaiting an answer.

Boothill clicked his tongue irritatedly, peering past Argenti's figure, only to shift his gaze downward, sighing as he spoke. "You won't like my answer."

"I won't like your answer or you don't like your answer?" Argenti scoffed with a smile. "For I appreciate all forms of beauty."

"Well, if you insist," Boothill muttered, leaning forward again in hesitation, taking in a brief glance of the confusion crossing Argenti's face as his hands placed themselves around his waist, applying gentle pressure to the surface. He observed as Argenti's expression shifted from perplexed to a soft smile, his lips quivering into an upturn as Boothill's fingers began scribbling away, forcing the first bouts of laughter from the knight.

"I-I don't understahahahand!" Argenti bellowed, yet his laughter was easy on the ears, almost enjoyable as it rang throughout the room.

"When I think of red," Boothill began softly, his fingers worming under Argenti's arms as the knight clutched his sides in self-defense, "I think of how you look.. when I do this and well, how red your cheeks become."

"I-I ahahahaheheheahahaha!" The two fell to the floor as Argenti threw his head back, succumbing to the fingers that explored his upper body, giving Boothill full control. And the more he continued, the tinter Argenti's face grew, transitioning from a soft pink to rose red, just the way Boothill liked it.

"There, ya see?" Boothill removed his hands, allowing Argenti to breathe. "Red.. like your face."

Argenti sat back up, brushing the disheveled locks of hair behind his shoulder, clearing his throat, as he faced Boothill once more. "Thank you, my dear cowboy."

"Yer thanking me?" Well, that certainly wasn't what Boothill was expecting.

"Yes," Argenti smiled, placing a hand to his chest, "for allowing me to envision your kind of beautiful red."

"Err," Boothill scratched the back of his head awkwardly, unsure how to answer, only to nod. "Sure, anytime."

[queenshelby]

An Illicit Affair

Part 23: Stalker

Pairing: Cillian Murphy (46) x Reader (23)

Warning: Age-Gap, Taboo Relationship, Infidelity

One week on...

Several days had passed since your affair with Cillian came to light and it came much to your surprise when, on Friday morning you saw something strange by the side of your block.

For the past four days now, there had been a black Mercedes lurking in the shadows of wherever you went and, if it wasn't for one part of your mind telling you not to be delusional, you thought that you were being followed. 

Thinking about how absurd being followed sounded though you almost shook it off as a figment of your imagination or perhaps your guilty conscience exaggerating, but something about all this felt rather odd and even your best friend Enna agreed. 

"The car is there again," you pointed out to Lucy as the two of you walked to the hospital together for your shift. " And I swear, it's been there the entire time. I could see it from the window upstairs."

Lucy raised an eyebrow at you, her curiosity piqued. "Are you sure it's the same car?" she asked, skepticism clear in her voice.

"Yes, I'm sure," you replied firmly. "Look, it's right there," you said, gesturing towards the parking lot. "It was parked outside the hospital yesterday too when I finished up my shift and I have seen it before in front of Cillian's unit," 

Lucy glanced over in the direction you were pointing and noticed the black Mercedes parked a few rows over. "Okay, fine. It does seem strange," Lucy conceded reluctantly. "But maybe it's just a coincidence?" she suggested, the doubt evident in her voice.

You shook your head adamantly. "No way, Em. It even parkes in the same spot every day. I'm telling you, someone is watching me."

Lucy gave you a concerned look, her normally bright and cheerful expression replaced with a more somber one. "Have you reported this to the police?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

You sighed heavily, your shoulders slumping in defeat. "I can't really go to the police with this, Em. I mean, what am I going to tell them?" you asked, sighing deeply. "That I have been having an affair with my ex-boyfriend's father and now I suspect that his crazy ass wife might be stalking me?" you said, feeling utterly ridiculous at the mere prospect of uttering such ridiculous and scandalous words out loud. "Oh, and by the way, he is a famous actor too and she almost leaked a sex-tape of us after hiding a camera in his bedroom," you added sarcastically, rolling your eyes.

Lucy nodded understandingly. "Yeah, maybe not the best approach," she admitted. "But have you tried talking to Cillian about it?"

"No, because he already has enough shit to worry about," you told her, thinking about the turmoil that your affair had caused in his life. From the moment that Max had walked in on the two of you, nearly everything had spiraled out of control. Max had was refusing to speak to his father, and Danielle had threatened to ruin his career by leaking the sex-tapes if he didn't end things with you immediately. In the end, Cillian's attorney filed for an emergency injunction to prevent her from leaking the tape whilst, at the same time, serving her with divorce papers. 

"I get that Y/N, but his wife is a nutcase. I read the medical files and whilst I do think that you are a little paranoid right now, you should at least talk to him about your concerns, just to err on the side of caution I mean," Lucy implored, her eyes fixed on yours, searching for understanding.

"I know, Em, but I don't even know where we will go from here," you confided, feeling the tight knot in your throat as you spoke. "We aren't in a relationship or anything and I feel like I need to give him some space right now. I don't want to burden him with my paranoia," you added, the words heavy with resignation.

Lucy nodded sympathetically, her heart going out to you in this moment. She knew how much you cared for Cillian, but she also knew the impact of the situation and the weight of the decisions that now lay before you both.

"I know Y/N, but you are still sleeping with him, are you not?" Lucy asked, concern clouding her features as she looked over at you.  "Because his ex could have gotten wind of it and do something stupid now," Lucy worried. 

"Yes, we slept with each other once since the incident at his house. He's been in Ireland mostly," you admitted, your voice barely audible. Emotion clogged your throat as you recalled the tenderness in Cillian's touch, the gentle brush of his lips on yours that had made you feel wanted and desired despite the turmoil in your lives. But that one time together had only added fuel to the wildfire of passion that could not be contained anymore. In spite of the chaos, you couldn't resist the temptation, and neither could he.

"And what did his lawyer say? Didn't he make it clear that you should keep your distance from each other at least until the separation hearing was over?" Lucy asked, another wave of concern sweeping over her.

"He did, I know. But we were careful. We met at a hotel, not his apartment," you explained, sighing deeply as you reflected on the intense, passionate encounter. "Cillian was upset and asked if he could see me. I could hear it in his voice that he was struggling so I said yes," you admitted with a shrug, your tone nonchalant and yet, cracking with emotion, evidence that you were still reeling from the gravity of the situation.

Lucy shifted her weight towards you. She hadn't seen you this distraught since your father's death and witnessing your heartbreak now made her feel helpless and frustrated.

"Okay, let me ask you something, Y/N," Lucy stated, searching deep into your eyes as she chose her words carefully. "Do you truly love him? I mean, enough to deal with all this drama and keep seeing him despite the potential backlash to your career if this comes out?" Lucy's voice was soft and sincere, her gaze steady on yours.

You let out a pained sigh, your shoulders slumping with the weight of the question. "I don't know, Em. All I know is that I've never felt this way before, and I can't seem to shake him off. Not that I even want to. I just wish things were different, you know? That we had met under other circumstances, which wouldn't make it so bad," you sighed, your voice trembling as you spoke the words.

"I will always have your back Y/N, but just think about it for a minute," she began, her tone gentle yet firm. "Cillian is over twenty years older than you. His family dynamics are a mess, and he is your ex-boyfriend's father nonetheless which means that, if it was to come out - and it will come out eventually - then the press will have a field day with it. Your life and career will be covered in headlines that will ruin everything you've worked for thus far," Lucy warned, and she was right.

But you struggled to push Cillian out of your mind. He was charming, experienced, passionate, and so unlike Max. The attraction was instant and undeniable.

"I know that, Lucy. I know that it is reckless, but he makes me feel things I can't even describe. He is not just a fling, not just a temporary high, but someone who understands me, someone who fills in the spaces that no one else ever could," you confessed while walking side by side with Lucy, the hospital already in sight.

Lucy nodded, letting out a deep breath. "Then you need to protect yourself and be prepared for whatever comes next," she advised, as she touched your arm comfortingly. "That includes talking with Cillian about your potential stalker," she told you and, just as you approached the hospital entrance, the black Mercedes pulled up as well. 

"This is ridiculous. I am going to confront this woman," you declared, breaking away from Lucy to stride towards the parked car but Lucy stopped you. 

"No, you won't! It could make things worse," Lucy warned, grabbing your arm to stop you. 

You paused, considering her words. "You have a point," you said, taking a deep breath. 

"Talk to Cillian about it and let him deal with his crazy ass wife," Lucy told you. She knew how dangerous Danielle could be as well after having read her medical files and knowing about the threats she had made against you and Cillian.

"I will talk to him tonight," you assured Lucy, making up your mind but, just as you walked into the hospital's reception area, you were met with yet another surprise as Max was standing there, seemingly waiting for you.

"Max!" you exclaimed, your heart sinking to the bottom of your stomach as you saw the cold, hard look in his eyes. "What are you doing here?" you wanted to know, hoping that he wouldn't make a scene as, seemingly, he appeared somewhat intoxicated. 

Max simply stared at you for a moment, his blue eyes full of anger and hurt before he blurted out something rather inappropriate to upset you. 

"You are such a fucking home wrecker, you know that?" Max spat bitterly, with a drunken slur, causing you to wince at his unforgivable choice of words. "My father is divorcing my mother because of you!" Max snapped, jabbing a finger at you as his anger started to boil over. 

"Max, please! Not here!" you told him sternly, looking around at the people in the hospital lobby who were casting curious glances your way. "Let's go somewhere private and talk."

"Oh, of course," he chuckled drunkenly. "You don't want anyone else to hear that you fucked my fucking father," he snarled, the hurt and anger in his voice palpable.

People around you had started to stare as Max's voice had risen. You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks, the discomfort and shame building up in the pit of your stomach.

"Come with me. Now," you hissed firmly under your breath, gripping tight onto Max's forearm as you dragged him away from the prying eyes in the hospital lobby, his words stinging your heart with an unbearable pain.

You had never intended for such chaos to unfurl when you became entangled with Cillian, knowing fully that your actions carried the potential for significant collateral damage. But yet, here you were—plunged into murky waters, powerless to stem the tide of destruction.

In a small consultancy room, a few corners away from the main lobby, you closed the door behind you and spun around to face Max, whom you hadn't seen since the disastrous confrontation in Cillian's apartment.

"Max, listen to me," you began, your voice low and soothing as you tried to reason with him. "I never meant for any of this to happen. Your father and I—we never planned for any of this. We just connected and one thing led to another," you continued before Max interrupted you.

"You slept with my father! Do you know how fucked up that is?" Max said, his words slurring together. "Is that like a thing you are into? Some kind of fetish?" Max sneered, his dark eyes flashing angrily at your words. "Or did you sleep with him because he is famous? Is that it?" Max went on, unable to contain his disgust. " What the hell is wrong with you, Y/N?" Max demanded, his voice shaking with emotion.

You swallowed hard, the lump forming in your throat as you struggled to find the right words to defend yourself but nothing came out.

"This is so disgusting," Max muttered, his anger slowly giving way to sadness as he slumped down into one of the faded leather consulting chairs, staring blankly ahead as he tried to process the turn of events. "God, we used to date and now you are sleeping with my dad. How low can you get?"

You took in a sharp breath at his words, trying to find purchase in the face of his bitterness yet being unable to deny the devastating truth behind it. You couldn't explain to him the intimacy and the connection you shared with Cillian—things that went beyond sex. Things that Max was not privy to. Things that you had never experienced in your previous relationships either.

So, you decided not to divulge too much at that moment.

Instead, you opted to stand there, silent for a while, allowing Max to gather his thoughts. The atmosphere in the room had grown thick and heavy.

Finally, you took a deep breath. "You have every right to feel angry, betrayed, and confused," you began to explain. "I can assure you that what happened between your father and me was never intended. It just... well, it happened and I, uhm, I am in love with him," you admitted softly. You buried your gaze into the carpeted floor, the weight of your guilt and embarrassment making it difficult for you to face him. You could feel the temperature in the room drop significantly, as if it shares the same discomfort he felt.

"Are you fucking serious?" Max suddenly exploded, jumping up from his chair in disbelief and shock.  "He's nearly twenty years older than you, for Christ's sake!" he was almost shouting now, his words reverberating off the walls of the small room, causing you to jump in your seat. "Fuck, I know," he then said, chuckling. "You have daddy issues," he asserted before explaining himself. "Your father died and now you are fucking mine. It's like a sick fucking fantasy coming to life, isn't it?" Max said, a mixture of bitterness and disgust in his voice.

You couldn't help but feel as though he had slapped you across the face. The words he had just spoken to you were beyond cruel, and they cut you like a knife. Your whole body trembled with shock and anger, your hands shaking like a leaf.

Standing up to confront you some more, Max approached you. "So, tell me Y/N, seriously, how does it feel to have someone old enough to be your father between your legs? Does it give you a twisted sense of pleasure or fulfillment? Because, Jesus, that is some seriously twisted stuff you have going on there in your head," Max went on. "It's a shame your own father couldn't fulfill those fantasies for you before he died and you had to go after mine instead," he then added with a sarcastic snicker, the cruelty in his voice visibly increasing and, by this point, you couldn't take it anymore and lashed out and slapped him right across the cheek.

​"Enough!" you said with great emotion in your voice at the mentioning of your father. 

Max had struck a nerve with his insensitive and derogatory words ad you stared at him in disbelief. His cheek was now flushed red from the force of your slap and, for a moment, neither of you spoke, caught up in the stunned silence that hung in the air.

"I never intended to hurt you or your family, Max. I deeply regret what has happened and I am truly sorry for the pain I have caused," you told him, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill down your cheeks.

"Save it Y/N! Just know that you ruined not only mine, but also my mother's life," Max spat bitterly, his words cutting you deeply as he turned around and stormed out the room.

Hot, angry tears trailed down your cheeks as you watched him leave, your heart heavy with guilt, regret, and sadness and when Lucy came to check on you, she found you slumped over the cold steel of the examination table in the consultancy room, your body trembling with sobs, your heart shattered into a million pieces.

You didn't need to tell her what happened, Lucy could read you like an open book. She took you into her arms and held you close as you cried for the hurt you had inflicted and the relationship that could never be salvaged.

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[tjbanni]

Emil has got to go.

Recently the news came out that Emil Pagliarulo was responding to criticism of the new Starfield expansion pack by coping and arguing with people who have legitimate concerns about what the hell is going on at Bethesda. Since day one people have wondered why big empty worlds are supposed to be appealing, why the writing is as lackluster as it is, and now: why the Shattered Space DLC feels like it’s just an underwhelming part of the base game that was ripped out and sold separately a year later.

To briefly go over Emil’s history: he’s been working at BGS since the days of Oblivion and has been credited with writing the Dark Brotherhood questline of Oblivion, the main quest of Skyrim, the main quests of Fallout 3 and 4, and is now the design director of Fallout 76 and Starfield. And I swear the only reason he got as far as he is now is because of people praising the Oblivion DB quest (which I’ll get into, don’t worry).

These days Emil likes to talk about how Starfield is the best game that Bethesda has ever made and that the DLC may not be everyone’s cup of tea, but that’s okay, because the small fanbase of Starfield is growing, I guess.

Starfield is the best game we’ve ever made

How’s that, again? What’s it best at?

Biggest world Bethesda has made? Debatably; there’s still Daggerfall.

Is it the best because of the combat? Sure, but the combat system for Fallout 4 was 10 years out of date on arrival.

The facial animation? Sometimes breaks and looks like Bioshock Infinite when it actually does work.

The characters? Safe and inoffensive when you’ve made literal psychopaths likeable in the past.

The save file management system? Doesn’t even bother to save a screenshot of where you were in the game when you saved.

If this is the best Bethesda game, it didn’t have anything to do with Emil Pagliarulo.

When it comes to the new DLC: a lot of people (myself included) thought this would be like the Far Harbor DLC of Fallout 4, where it featured some great content that made up for the lacking core content. That was our cope for the last few months.

Now the DLC is out and not only does it somehow perform horrendously, but people are talking about how Andreja — a character who should have some interesting things to say about the setting of this DLC — is barely utilized, how the DLC contains about five hours of worthwhile hand-crafted content surrounded by procedurally-crafted slop. Who was in charge of the design of the DLC? It wasn’t Will Shen; it was Emil Pagliarulo.

And why was Emil Pagliarulo put in a position to handle such big projects? Honestly, I don’t know, because he never proved that he could handle something like this.

Starfield doesn’t have any intelligent alien life, political conflict, hard-hitting questions, or NPCs you can kill unless the script says you can. It’s a game about being a nobody who happens upon a rock that unlocks superpowers and the secret of inter-universal travel — and the reason why is because Bethesda unironically believes people want to live in their games.

Fallout 4 is about a parent who wakes up in the post-apocalypse and tries to weave their way through contrivances and side quests to find that their son is now in charge of a robot-making company.

Skyrim is about a person of prophecy who has superpowers for some reason because a dragon wants to eat the world for some reason and also you must either kill the only good dragon in the world or leave the person telling you to kill him stuck in a cave for eight years — or at least that’s what I did.

Fallout 3 is about a kid trying to find their dad — an inversion of Fallout 4. Originally this game ended with that kid dying, which led Bethesda to learn the wrong lesson about how to make people keep playing their games beyond the main story when they added DLC that spared this kid character’s life. This game also introduced a morality system because ERR MEH GERD SHOULD I BLOW UP THESE INNOCENT TOWN PEOPLE OR NO??

And then there is Oblivion. Emil didn’t write the contrived main quest for that, but he was in charge of the Dark Brotherhood questline: a questline that starts if you murder an NPC for no reason. This quest was highly praised, but I’m starting to think people are only praising this quest in hindsight because of how lackluster the Skyrim version of it was. This quest introduced the classic Emil Pagliarulo twist: where, in this game’s case, you find out you’ve been a pawn in the game of an edgy Hot Topic customer who lives with rotting animal carcasses — someone who orders you to get all the stupid quirky two-dimensional people in the DB hideout out of his way.

Everyone loves this questline because a lot of people think a narrative twist is a substitute for good writing. Sorry to tell you this, but: no.

I’m speaking as someone who liked all the games I criticized here when I say once more: Emil Pagliarulo has got to go.

[court-of-forever-undone]

Something Precious | Jurdan Baby Fic

Chapter Two

Summary : After three years of exile, Cardan is determined to bring Jude back home with him. When he arrives, the last thing he expects to find is a dark-haired toddler looking up at him.

Tags: Jurdan baby, Jude’s exile, Dad!Cardan

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Cardan made good on his promise to assign more guards. They kept their distance, but Jude noted their presence. At first, it was bothersome, but with the reminder of how dangerous it could be for a king’s heir, it was nice to have additional eyes watching out for Everly. At least she no longer had to worry about hiding her from Cardan. 

Jude had replayed the entire conversation over and over in her head, trying to find any hint of a trick. But Cardan’s words left very little room for interpretation. There was still the matter of ruling together and returning to Elfhame, something she would deal with later. 

A week after Cardan’s unexpected visit, a number of packages with various faerie children’s toys, beautiful clothing, and food arrived on their front porch. Most of the presents were for Everly, but Jude found several boxes with her name on them too, including a new sword. The hilt was exquisitely decorated with tiny rubies, and the guard was made of golden twin snakes. After testing it out during one of Everly’s naps, Jude found the balance was equally extraordinary to the design. Beautiful gifts were not going to sway her decision to return, but she could appreciate them. At the very least, she could consider it child support and reparations for her loss of station after being exiled. 

A third week passed before Cardan sent a letter requesting to visit again. Jude considered the request. If she refused, Cardan could always show up anyway. It would be easier just to say yes, and truthfully, the little enjoyment she had found in her mundane human experience had dimmed since being granted an opportunity to go home. Grief that had subsided after so long ago came back and pitted in Jude’s stomach. If it were only her, she would have returned back with Cardan the night he showed up. She would have faced whatever difficulties that came with returning as they arose. 

Her sweet child changed everything, though. Jude had lived a childhood in Faerie, and it had been filled with too many close calls. Whether motivated by hatred, politics, or on a simple whim, the fae were ruthless. Vivi pointed out that Everly was half-faerie and, on top of that, would be a princess; she surely wouldn’t be as vulnerable as Taryn and Jude had been. Oak had nodded in agreement when she brought her dilemma to them. However, neither of them were present every time she had witnessed attempts on Cardan’s life in just a single year.

It was a battle between what she wanted and what she knew was best. A worrisome mother against the calculated crown’s strategist. Two roles that were entirely foreign to her just a few years prior, but both so ingrained in her personality now, that it was hard to separate the two. Jude didn’t want to make her final decision just yet. So, for now, she was content to let Cardan visit and see how their daughter would take to him a second time. 

Three days after she sent the letter, Cardan arrived around dawn, impeccably dressed but not entirely inconspicuous in his royal tunic and pants. By all accounts, he should look exhausted, given that it was well past sleeping hours in Elfhame. Yet, he greeted Jude at the door with a soft smile and another armful of gifts.

“Err.. Good morning.” 

The tension between them was palpable. Enemies. Schemers. Lovers. Husband and Wife.   They had been all of those things. After years of silence, they were … co-parenting?

Jude set the boxes down and led Cardan down the hall to the nursery. As they entered the room, Everly, awake and wearing her purple and black striped onesie, beamed up at them. She reached over to the bars and hauled herself up into a standing position.

“Mumma!”

“Hello, little one,” Jude cooed. She scooped the squirming child from the crib and held her out to Cardan, without second-guessing herself. He fumbled for a second as if he had been expecting only to watch, but quickly regained his composure and held her securely. 

“Hi! Hi!” The child chanted over and over, excited to see another face during the morning routine. Jude stood back and watched the look on his face, similar to the one when he first held her. It was impossible to pinpoint the exact emotion he was feeling, but he clearly wanted to be there. Cardan rocked her gently as she babbled some and then used her chubby little hand to pull on his curls again. The third yank was hard enough to jerk his head, but Cardan only laughed and twisted his hair out of her hand before opening his palm to reveal seeds in his hands. 

“Would you like to see a trick?” He asked. Slowly, the seeds began to bloom into vibrant wildflowers with an unnaturally strong perfume. The child’s eyes opened wide with amazement; her full attention turned to the magic at Cardan’s fingertips. His focus, however, remained on the child, taking in every detail. 

“Fwowers!” Everly said, reaching to touch them. Cardan repeated the trick once more before Jude gestured for Cardan to follow her into the kitchen. She grabbed ingredients from the fridge and cupboard and laid them all out on the counter. Cardan, with Everly still in his arms, took a seat on the barstool across from her. She began preparing breakfast, taking extra care to cut the fruit into bite-sized pieces. Cardan, who never cooked a meal in his life, nor likely ever would, watched intently and nodded every so often as if making mental notes. 

“For breakfast, she likes to eat strawberries and yogurt. I also give her some eggs that I make for myself.” 

“Is that what you are making now?” He asked as Jude moved back and forth from the oven to the plates. 

She nodded. “Sometimes, I give her a half piece of toast if she’s hungry. It all depends.”  

“Depends on what exactly?” Cardan asked, having switched his attention briefly back to Everly, who began blowing bubbles with her mouth. 

She shrugged, “I don’t know. Every day is different, but you just learn to read what she wants.” Jude moved around the kitchen bar and slid her arm around Everly, moving her into the highchair and placing the breakfast plate down. “Plus, she is talking so much more now, so it is easy enough just to ask.”

On cue, Everly said, “Tank youuu,” before shoving a berry into her mouth.

Upon making her own plate, Jude sat down next to Cardan, offering the carton of strawberries to him. They all ate in silence for a few moments, before Cardan spoke again. 

“I’d like…” he began, “...to learn to know what she needs… and wants.”

A twist of guilt formed in Jude’s stomach. Devastation was written in the hard lines of his face. It pained him to know he had a daughter, who he functionally knew nothing about. Jude let the silence grow for another minute before she began listing off things about their daughter; She was born on March 13th. Her favorite foods were grapes and cheese. She hated carrots and would throw them across the dining room if they were on her plate. Her favorite toys were blocks and a rainbow unicorn stuffed animal. She had a nap after lunch around 12:30, and dinner was at 5. She always fell asleep in the car after playing at the park and always played with other kids. Once she had started crawling, she discovered how to play hide-and-seek on her own, and frequently tried to scare Jude after finding it hilarious the first time Jude jumped in surprise. She had developed Cardan’s coy smirk, purely from genetics. Some “only magic could explain” events had happened in recent months, so it was very likely that she possessed her father’s fae gifts. 

The corners of Cardan’s beautiful mouth turned up with each tidbit he learned and was practically beaming when Jude started to tell stories about what it was like during the teething stages, when she took her first steps, and other moments where she acted so much like both of them. Jude let herself take in the small enjoyment of being able to share so many of the moments that she had experienced with their daughter alone. While she had often shared these things with her sister and little brother, it felt different sharing it with Cardan. Jude never planned to share Everly with Cardan, but things had changed dramatically over the last few weeks. The fact remained that she was their daughter, and it was something that would bond them forever. 

Before either of them realized it, it was almost dusk. Cardan had followed her around through a typical day at home routine with a trip to the park, a nap, and he even helped with potty training and preparing dinner. Cardan held her when she was fussy and didn’t mind the occasional smack to the face when she got too excited and threw her arms out. 

She shouldn’t be impressed. These were things she did every day, alone. If Cardan wanted to know his daughter, then he should have to participate in everything that went into being a parent.  But Cardan grew up in a palace. He had maids and cooks. He was king . Every need was taken care of at a single command. In the castle, Everly would likely have a maid tend to her. None of the skills she was teaching him really mattered, but he learned them anyway.

Unless he thought she would never allow Everly back to the castle, and this was the only way he would get to see her. The thought made her feel a flurry of emotions. 

Everly was fighting sleep as she watched Cardan’s magic light up and dissipate from his palm. As much as she was in awe of the colorful lights he created, her eyelids dropped lower and lower until she fell asleep in the crook of his arm. 

“She is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Cardan murmured finally, brushing her dark bangs out of her eyes. 

Jude rolled her eyes and laughed, “Well, she is the spitting image of you, so of course you’d think that.” 

Cardan just shook his head, “I cannot deny we share the most obvious similarities, but when you look closely, she looks just like you.” He traced Everly’s tiny ear, much like he had with Jude’s that day lying in the grass. “She has your smile. Have you noticed?”  

He looked back to Jude, who shook her head slowly. She had never noticed before. All she saw was Cardan in her beautiful features. Some days it had been a painful reminder of the past that she could never entirely escape. Their eyes met, and Jude noted the way Cardan’s eyes dropped to her lips before returning again. She mimicked the motion herself. His lips were as perfect as the rest of his features.  Jude’s breath caught as she noticed Cardan had gone preternaturally still. Suddenly, the oxygen in the room had run out.  

Meeting Everly had stolen the focus of their reunion. Without a moment by themselves, the true reunion between the former lovers ( and enemies ) had not yet happened. They needed to talk. They needed to be at each other’s throats; in violence or want, Jude wasn’t sure. It was standing at a precipice, balancing before that falling sensation that would be the future neither of them knew the outcome of yet. A future as united rulers, raising Everly in a loving environment was still a fever dream Jude wouldn’t let herself believe in. 

Jude broke her eyes away first, jumping to her feet and walking over to the dresser to get her can of soda. The action gave her a moment to resume a normal breathing pattern again. When she returned, she reached for the baby, but Cardan pulled back ever so slightly. 

“Would it be alright to hold her a few minutes longer? I haven’t got much time before I must go.” 

Jude hesitated, shoving down the rage that boiled when he had moved away. She searched his face and found no malice in it, just a bit of exhaustion peeking up. A calming breath had her thinking rationally again. Nodding, Jude moved back to her original spot. 

The king and queen sat quietly, watching the sleeping child, all the while ignoring the almost moment they had. After a few minutes, Cardan rose gently from the couch and carried the child to the nursery. He returned to the living room a moment later. “May I return next week?” Cardan asked. 

“Next weekend is Halloween. We are going to be out for most of the day Sunday.” 

Cardan looked puzzled for a moment before recognition hit. “The mortal holiday of candy and tricks? Such a day does not seem suitable for a babe.” 

Jude laughed. Leave it to Cardan, who grew up in Faerie of all places, to think Halloween was dangerous. “It is hardly as dangerous as it sounds. It is mostly families who dress up in silly costumes and walk around the neighborhood getting candy.” 

A spark lit in Cardan’s gaze. “Families?” he asked softly, “So… you intend to wear a costume along with Everly?” 

Realization dawned on Jude, causing her to fidget. They still had not really established what type of dynamic they would have raising Everly. Being a “family” seemed too personal of a term, although they were bound together in more ways than one.  

“Everly is going as a pumpkin. Vivi bought her the costume last week. I can show it to you if you’d like.” Cardan nodded, and Jude retrieved the costume from the closet. She handed it to Cardan, who held it gingerly. It was utterly adorable with its puffy bottom and matching hat. “Oak insisted that I dress up too, but I will probably just put on a witch hat.” 

“Are you going with them?” Cardan set down the costume and walked to the door. He recognized her diversion for what it was. 

“Yeah. Neither Oak nor Vivi have to wear their glamour on Halloween. So Oak is going as a devil, Vivi as a cat, and I think Heather is going as a mad scientist.” She trailed off as guilt washed over her in waves. The entire conversation felt wrong, especially when she knew what Cardan wanted. A different Cardan would have made demands and threats, but the three years she had been gone had changed him. He was more patient, more willing to give her space. She was waiting for something… for the cruel young boy she had known to make an appearance, but he wasn’t there. 

Cardan took one look back towards Everly’s nursery door, before turning the handle and stepping out into the night. Sadness not well hidden on his face. Jude mentally berated him. He shouldn’t forget to wear a mask among his enemies otherwise they would take advantage of him and the kingdom. But... perhaps he didn’t bother because they weren’t enemies anymore. 

“I’ll send a letter next-”

“You should come,” she blurted out. 

Cardan turned to face her, equally shocked at her words. “I-” He starts, but Jude interrupts again. 

“We are leaving at 4. You can wear a costume or drop your glamour, whichever you prefer. But…” she swallowed. “It would be nice for you to be there. Everly would like it if you were there.” 

Heat burned across her cheeks. It was a silly thing to be embarrassed about. Cardan was Everly’s father. Parents go with their kids on Halloween. But the redness was not only from her words. Cardan was staring at her with an unrecognizable emotion. She met his gaze, and the intensity behind his eyes felt too intimate like it had on the couch. It brought up too many feelings that Jude had not allowed herself to feel in years. 

Her lips parted, attempting to fill the silence that had grown too long when Cardan bent down and placed a chaste kiss on her warm cheek before saying his goodbye and leaving. 

The spot where his lips had met her cheek continued to warm as she returned to the living room and threw herself face down on the couch. 

________________________

Jude walked through the door into Heather’s apartment and was overcome with a thick wall of fall scents. The entire apartment had been decorated with Halloween and fall decorations. It looked like Heather and Vivi had not decided on a cohesive theme, as each room appeared to be at war with each other. Dismembered bloody figures were wrapped in glitter pumpkin-themed garland. Skulls lined the shelves and were accompanied by “Friends Gather Here” signs. It was utterly horrifying and amusing at the same time. 

Everly didn’t mind and squealed at the string of purple and orange lights that covered the ceiling. She walked into the middle of the room where the lights were lowest and reached up for the lights. The child’s face exploded with joy when her little body was lifted into the air, close enough to the lights she could grasp them in her hands. Cardan had swooped into the room, drawn by the sound of Everly’s laughter, and lifted her above his head before Jude had a chance to track the movement. 

“Good afternoon, my loves,” Cardan said while bringing Everly back down into his arms.

She smiled up at him, “Daaa.” The word was still unfamiliar in her mouth. Cardan looked to Jude for help. Without meeting his eyes, Jude walked over to them and smiled encouragingly. 

“That’s right! This is Daddy.” 

Everly repeated the word over and over, still missing the second syllable, but Jude continued to praise her as she had over the last week teaching it. Finally, she glanced up to meet his eyes and felt butterflies in her own stomach. Cardan’s cheeks had reddened, and silver lined his eyes. He continued to bounce her lightly in his arms and nod encouragingly. Any words that he might have spoken were cut off by emotion. 

“I wanted to surprise you.” She said as a way of explanation. 

Cardan nodded again, eyes glistening. He leaned over and gently pressed a kiss to Jude’s cheek, making it her turn to blush. 

“Jude…” his voice came out hoarse. Before he could continue, the moment was interrupted by the rest of the house. 

Oak ran over and hugged Jude, “Can we play together now?” 

Jude looked to Cardan for the answer, and begrudgingly, he set her back on the ground. Taking her by the hand, Oak led Everly to his room, where the two often played together. Vivi had brought out two large steaming cups of cider and placed them in Jude and Cardan’s hands before Heather motioned for everyone to sit down in the living room. Heather took the beanbag chair and clasped her hands together. 

“So, look at you too. Co-parenting like pros. I wish my parents did holidays together. Instead, I just had to celebrate every holiday twice, which I suppose wasn’t the worst thing in the world.” 

A blush spread furiously across Jude’s face, and she refused to look in Cardan’s direction, but judging from his sudden stiffness, he too, was trying to process the comment. 

Co-parenting. 

Two twenty-somethings. High King and Queen of Elfhame. Parents of a two-year-old. Their lives had never been simple, but their current circumstances were especially new territory. Halloween was not the time to talk, but Jude wondered how much longer she could find an excuse to delay a conversation. 

A half-hour later, the six of them left the apartment in search of candy. Cardan had managed to find a pumpkin costume himself in the short period he knew of their plans, but when he realized how unflattering he looked in it, he opted for an even more obnoxious orange suit instead, while Jude decided to wear a black skeleton costume. 

With the King of Elfhame walking around in the open, Jude made sure to keep an eye on each and every ghoul, zombie, and vampire that crossed their path. Liliver and the Court of Shadows lurked, undercover and from the unsuspecting places around them, but Jude still kept vigilant herself. It was a taste of what their future would look like. Even as queen, she would still look out for Cardan and now their child too. 

Everly didn’t make it long into Trick or Treating. Oak tried to walk with her up to each house, but her little steps made the process slow, and Oak’s excitement had him basically dragging her along after the first street. Eventually, Cardan swooped in and carried Everly up to each house, until her eyes dropped and she completely fell asleep. 

Oak’s energy, on the other hand, was limitless, and it wasn’t until his bag was so full he had to resort to dragging the bag that he agreed to go home. Once it was time, Heather, Vivi, and Oak said their goodbyes and headed toward their house. 

Cardan and Jude walked down the dark street and up to Jude’s apartment, remarking on the events of the evening. Once inside, Cardan helped remove the costume and wiped off the orange spots on Everly’s cheeks before laying her down in bed. She stirred for a moment before sleep took over once again. The two walked back to the entryway before Cardan interrupted the silence that had loomed over them. 

“Are you coming home?” 

There was no anger or sadness in his words. Rather, a carefully delivered question, not revealing any of his thoughts. 

She considered the question. Yes, she wanted to. No, it was dangerous.  How long before Cardan’s patience wore thin? How long before the desperation to return home would overtake her? How long before some enemy court found them here anyway with limited protection?  

“It can’t just be about what I want anymore.” 

A non-answer, but Cardan did not back down this time. “What does the mortal world have that makes it a better place to raise her?” 

Jude’s brow furrowed. “Less would-be assassins or kidnappers, happy to snatch a royal baby.” 

“I would like to remind you, that I survived a childhood in Elfhame utterly neglected and without any protection.” Jude started to object, but Cardan continued, “And that would not be the case with her. She will have all the protection our kingdom can offer.” 

Jude didn’t miss the emphasis he had placed on “our” kingdom. 

“Surely, someone will notice the rotation of spies and guards that are sent here, and our enemies will wonder why. We are being careful, but it is foolish to think someone won’t pick up on it. Not to mention, the risk we take with my absences.” 

“Then stop coming.” The venomous words slipped out of her before she could stop them. The anger rising in her was from the truth of his words She had been foolish to think there was a way to continue this inbetween situation. They would either have to disappear again and cut off the connection to Cardan and the court completely, or they would have to return. 

“I-” she began, wanting to take the words back. Cardan kept his features blank. His words were more clipped than before, the only reaction he would show to her words. 

“I said before I want to be in her life, and I mean it. I want to be in both your lives,” he stressed. “I will not miss this time with her. And if you continue to live in the mortal world, I will not miss the limited time we have together.” 

Jude flinched so violently that it was like an invisible blow struck her. He was right, though; she would keep aging in the mortal world, and Everly would only be a faction of the way through her long life before Jude passed from old age. The thought had her shaking slightly.

Her head emptied as he stalked up to her. It had her automatically stepping backward, pinning her back against the wall. His intensity didn’t waiver, but as he noted her body language, he took a small step back. 

His eyes searched hers, despair burning his features. “I will have you however you decide. Rule me again as you once did. Take a lover if you won’t have me. But know, I will bend to your will with or without a bargain. Name your price, and I will meet it; just don’t torture me with your absence or delay any longer.”

A sob built in her throat; her words came out with unexpected anguish, “Cardan, I don’t want a new lover. I don’t need another bargain.” 

This time, when he advanced, he did so slowly, and Jude didn’t move away. He brought his hand up to cup her cheek. It burned under his touch. Cardan gently tilted her head up until they were eye level, “Jude…” He closed his eyes in silent prayer before looking down at her again. Almost too quiet to hear, he whispered, “I just want you home.” 

Her resolve had melted, and she didn’t have the strength to fight the truth anymore. She wanted to go home too, with Cardan, with Everly. 

It was time to reclaim her throne and her life with the family she never could have imagined. 

“Take me home.” The words were barely off her lips before Cardan’s mouth was crashing over hers. He wrapped his free arm around her as they continued the kiss, her hands gripping his tunic. Before long, their cheeks were damp with tears of joy and release from all the years of waiting. 

"Take me home, Cardan," Jude murmured again, "Take us home."

Cardan only nodded before leaning in to kiss her again. 

[goldenseresinretriever]

You Catch More Bees With Honey: Chapter 3

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader

Part of the San Diego Dogfighters universe

Summary: Bradley Bradshaw, blindsided by a team he trusted like family has been traded to the San Diego Dogfighters. Across the country from the place he calls home, Bradley feels lost and betrayed. Not to mention the familiar faces and ghosts from his past that he now has to face every day at work. Bradley’s caught between wanting to show his former team the mistake they made in double-crossing him and wondering if it’s time to hang up his skates after one final season. You’re living your dream as the PR representative for the Dogfighters. When Coach Maverick made a bid to bring his godson to the team, you hadn’t batted an eye. Bradley was a good teammate, and a good player. Unfortunately, the Bradley that shows up in San Diego is nothing like your research suggested. He’s moody, irritable, aggressive, and angry, throwing a wrench in all your careful planning. What’s caused such a drastic change in him? And can you figure out how to help him before he makes a mistake you can’t fix?

Series CW: 18+ ONLY, swearing, dead parents, drunkenness, alcohol consumption, violence, sports violence, blood probably, angst, fluff, eventual smut, age gap (28 and 38), enemies to lovers, suggestive language, hockey inaccuracies etc. There will be individual chapter warnings. No use of Y/N.

Word Count: 3.7k

A/N: This is a repost of my completed series, You Catch More Bees With Honey. It was originally posted in November-March 2023, and was lost when my blog was deleted.

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Bradley Bradshaw’s going to pay for this. You glare at your reflection in the mirror, tentatively poking at the discolored and swollen skin on your jaw where Bradley’s fist connected last night. You wince slightly at the pain. You’ll probably have Bugs look at it once you get to work. You glance down at the tube of concealer in your hand, torn between covering up the mark for the sake of your dignity and leaving it exposed to send a message to Bradley. You err on the side of leaving it be as you get ready for your day. You can’t help but wonder if the lavender suit you’re wearing today mixes well with the color on your jaw.

By the time you make it to work, your injury is far from your mind, that is until you pass through the training room on your way to the office and Mickey stops you instantly, his usually carefree smile falling away into barely-concealed fury. “Zam, what happened to your face?” He reaches a gentle hand to skim the bruised skin and you wince slightly at the pain that radiates from the contact. “It wasn’t that guy was it?” The guy in question is a stranger on a dating app that Mickey insisted you give a shot to in an effort to diversify your life beyond work. You shake your head.

“No no, that’s later this week.” He nods, his concern not fading as he scrutinizes your jaw and you’re touched by the fierce protectiveness from your best friend. You wouldn’t expect any less.

“Zam, what the fuck?” Jake comes over now, taking your face gently in his hands and inspecting the bruise. “Who did this to you?”

You hesitate, not wanting to cause a scene. You hadn’t meant to cause a scene like this, not considering how it would look to everyone else not involved. You consider lying but as you look into Jake’s green eyes, you see them dancing with concern and fury, the sheer protectiveness in them, directed at you of all people and it makes your heart squeeze. A few months ago Jake was reserved, hiding in a shell of himself until Bugs pulled him out of it and you’ve watched him grow back into his normal self, full of love and protectiveness that extends to everyone around him, you included.

He and Mickey are still waiting for your answer so you draw your eyes away from Jake’s, avoiding either of their gazes as you murmur, “Bradley…” and you feel Jake’s fingers tighten involuntarily on your cheeks. When you gaze back at him, there’s fury in his eyes.

“Bradley did this?” His voice is ice cold and you suppress a shudder as your eyes flick to Mickey’s matching expression.

“Bradley did what? Fuck, Zam, what happened to you?” Javy joins the three of you and you watch his eyes widen in surprise when he sees the bruise on your jaw. You jerk your chin from Jake’s grasp, suddenly self-conscious about the amount of attention you’re drawing.

“It’s not what you think!” You blurt. “He wasn’t aiming at me, I just stepped in front of him on instinct and I didn’t really think it through and yeah, I got hit.”

“When did this even happen?” Mickey asks brows tight in confusion.

“Last night, Cyclone asked me to pick him up from a bar after the paparazzi found him. He was drunk off his ass and fighting with these three other guys.”

“You should have called one of us to go with you,” Jake says firmly, crossing his arms across his chest in full captain mode. You roll your eyes giving him a tired shrug.

“I didn’t want to bother you. Plus this is my job, remember?”

“The press stuff, yes, but I thought we established that the babysitting was mine.” You return his worried smile with a tired one of your own, nodding in acquiescence.

“I’m gonna have Bugs look at it but I’m sure it’s fine.” Jake nods, satisfied to leave you in her care. You excuse yourself from the boys and head to Bugs’s office to get checked out.

~~~~~

Bugs gives you the all-clear and confirms that it’s just a nasty bruise and nothing to worry about so you go about your regular work for about an hour or two until the door to your office bursts open, hitting the walls and rattling your shelves of tchotchkes. You look up from your work to see Bradley Bradshaw in your doorway, seething. You don’t get paid enough for this.

“You just left my Bronco in that parking lot?! It got fucking towed!” He snaps, stamping across the room to leer over where you’re sitting. You scowl up at him.

“Boo fucking hoo, Bradshaw. If you’re going to go out and get plastered, maybe you shouldn’t drive or at least arrange someone to drive you home.” Normally you’d be poised, and calm, and you definitely wouldn’t be swearing but Bradley sends every bit of your self-control out the nearest window. “Instead I have to come and drag your sorry ass home.”

“No one asked you to do that!”

“They did, actually. Cyclone texted me because you were causing a scene! TMZ published an article, Bradshaw! TM-FUCKING-Z!”

“That’s not my problem.” He scoffs, his face still red as he growls at you.

“Well, your beloved Bronco getting towed isn’t mine.” You growl back, crossing your arms across your chest defensively. “And by the way, if you want to avoid the press, maybe get a less conspicuous ride.” His eyes flash and his open palms meet the surface of your desk in a noise so loud and startling that you flinch back, instinctively, fear running through you before you see the flicker in Bradley’s eyes cutting through the blind rage and he removes his hands instantly, backing up a couple of steps. His shoulders are still rising and falling in anger but he’s forcibly reeling himself in.

Then you watch the confusion spread across his face as he actually takes a good look at you and you feel the urge to squirm under the intensity of his whisky gaze. His brow furrows as he asks, voice softer. “What happened to your face?” You blink up at him, dumbstruck.

“So you don’t remember hitting it?” You ask, the venom in your voice falling short of what you’d intended at the confused concern in his eyes.

���I hit you?!” His voice is full of shock and something else, maybe a hint of regret.

“Well more accurately you were trying to hit another guy and I got in the way because we don’t really need to add battery to the laundry list of problems you’ve been causing.”

“Fuck.” He rasps and you shrug, trying to appear nonchalant even as you’re feeling all kinds of confused by this new Bradley that you’ve never seen. “I’m sorry.”

Now you really have seen it all. Bradley Bradshaw just APOLOGIZED TO YOU.

“It’s fine, it’s not exactly your fault. I wasn’t thinking.” You’re actively uncomfortable now, scrambling for your mask or your anger, anything to cover up this vulnerable feeling, the way he’s looking at you. Like you’re a wounded animal, a wrong he’s trying to right, like you’re HUMAN. You hate it. “Maybe we stop with the bar fights, whaddya say, big guy?” You hate how awkward you sound but you don’t have time to dwell on it as the storm clouds roll back through Bradley’s eyes.

“I told you to stay out of it, Honey.” His voice is hard, the Bradley you’ve just seen disappearing so quickly that you’re not even sure it was there in the first place.

“I told you, no can do, Bradshaw. You keep this up and it’s going to get ugly.”

He tilts his head slightly at the bite in your tone before he smirks. “I think it already has, Honey.” You watch his eyes flick down to your jaw and you clench it, ignoring the pain that flares through the taut skin. The twinkle in his eyes is new and it makes anger lick at your stomach. Before, he was just lashing out taking his anger on you because you were conveniently there, caught in the crossfire, but this? This is casually cruel and aimed right for the kill and you have a zero-tolerance policy for that.

“If you want to quit, Bradshaw then just fucking quit.” Your voice is ice cold as you glare daggers back into rolling brown seas that warn “there be dragons.” If he wants to be cruel, you’re more than capable of meeting him halfway. “There’s a thousand other players waiting for someone to give them their shot if you’re so intent on wasting yours.”

He leans in then, his voice low and rumbling, calm and collected despite the flush of his cheeks. The wildness in his eyes tames for a second, the eye of the storm, as he delivers the kill shot. “You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?” When he says your name you feel a chill run down your spine. It’s been years since someone other than your father called you by it. Ever since you joined the world of hockey, it’s always been Zamboni or Zam, even amongst your colleagues and professional relations. That’s how everyone knows you. “Quitting? Wasting your shot? You’re speaking from experience, right?” Each question punches the air from your lungs as you cower against the back of your chair, nowhere to run as Bradley pries you open like he’s manually pulling the nails out of the coffin in your mind, one by one. “Nothing to say, Honey? That’s what I thought.” He leans back and goes to leave, only pausing in the doorway to look back at where you’re frozen. “Like I said, stay out of it if you know what’s good for you, Honey.”

When the door closes behind him, you try your best to take a shaking breath but it’s like he’s pinned the air in your lungs and it can’t move. Your fingers scramble for your phone, shaking so hard that you can barely unlock the screen and click the contact you need most as your body shuts down. The panic attack pulls you fully into its grasp as you listen to the sound of the line ringing, praying that they pick up. When you finally hear the voice it’s like a light at the end of the tunnel that you’ve lost yourself in. You can’t form the words, but you know they’ll know. They’ll come. They know what you need.

~~~~~

You weren’t always Zamboni. In the grand scheme of things, you’ve spent more of your life NOT being her. However, you’ve locked as much of that time as you could up in a dark corner of your mind. It had been eight years since you’d become Zamboni not necessarily to escape that part of yourself but rather as a direct effect of the alienation that had come with losing that part of yourself. Only one person other than your father truly knew what had happened that turned your world upside down and sent you running from your past. Mickey Garcia had saved you, giving you something to live for that ended up creating the person that you are now.

Hockey was something that you and your mother whispered about in the middle of the night while she told you fantastic stories about her youth at the height of her career. She’d been an Olympic figure skater. She had medals and trophies filling glass cases in your home to prove it but above all the fortune and glory, she loved the sport. She loved being on the ice and had passed down that love to you. You remember her bringing you with her to the local rinks, and watching her move with such grace and poise while you teetered around at the edge of the rink, still finding your footing at such a young age.

You’d grown up, though, and you were every bit your mother’s daughter from the way you looked to the way you skated. When you were on the ice there was nothing you couldn’t do, no move you couldn’t master, just a matter of how many hours you spent on it. Your mother’s Olympic fame opened doors to rinks much later than they should have been, and even when those closed for the night, you’d spend even more hours on the frozen lake behind your house, perfecting every turn and jump.

By the time you were off to college at the University of Wisconsin, you were pretty much a shoo-in for the Olympics. The only reason you hadn’t already competed in one yet was that your mother was indignant that you fully enjoyed your life as a child before being thrust into the international spotlight. It didn’t stop you from topping various other competitions, however, and when you went to college on a figure skating scholarship, you were chomping at the bit to kickstart your Olympic career, however, the next Olympics wouldn’t be for another two years.

You spent every spare moment at the university’s rink, staying late after official practices. The biggest source of your irritation was the University of Wisconsin’s ice hockey team. They shared the rink with the figure skaters and conveniently seemed to have practice whenever you wanted to use the ice. You had complained loudly to your mom over the phone when she gave you a suggestion that would change your life for the better. Even if they weren’t figure skaters, you could learn a thing or two from watching the hockey players move on the ice, so that’s what you did. If they had practice when you wanted to use the ice, you’d plant yourself in the stands and watch them skate. As soon as the ice was cleaned after practice you’d lace up your skates and start applying what you’d observed and you had to hand it to your mom, you were learning new things by watching them. That’s how you met Mickey Garcia. Well, not exactly. One night you were stuck on a particular turn and had been practicing it for so long that you’d lost track of time, the lack of windows in the rink creating a liminal space. The main lights had since been turned on with only the rink lights remaining. You were so focused on what you were doing that it didn’t occur to you to worry about getting locked into the rink that is until your work was interrupted.

“Hey, are you supposed to be in here?” The voice broke through your concentration and you turned to see a familiar face looking back at you from the edge of the rink. You recognized the guy as one of the hockey players even though he was just wearing a hoodie and sweats.

“Are YOU?” You shot back, placing your hands on your hips.

“No, that’s the point.” He said with a rueful grin and a shrug. “I left a binder in the locker room on accident so I got the captain’s keys to let me in. How were you planning to get out?”

“The doors aren’t locked.”

“They are at 1 am.” When you gaped at him as you realized the time he laughed. “Listen, I need to study but I don’t really care where so I can do it here until you’re ready to leave and then I can lock up behind us.” And that’s how you met Mickey Garcia.

You started going to his games and he started coming to your competitions. Some nights he’d give you pointers about your skating and some nights you’d do your best to tend the goal or scrimmage with him if he needed the extra practice. Slowly you became a regular amongst his teammates as well, as Mickey invited you to watch practices up class and even skate with them during warmups. He had you point out certain techniques they could apply to their movement.

Two years flew by and suddenly Olympic qualifiers were almost upon you. You were busier than ever and you spent night after night late at the rink to practice your routine with Mickey to keep you company. Even you knew it was only a matter of showing up on the day for you to qualify, it didn’t keep you from spending every waking moment skating.

By that logic, it wasn’t a surprise that you were skating when you got the call. It was Thanksgiving break. You’d turned down your parents’ incessant invitations to come home for the break, afraid to surrender any time you could spend practicing. You don’t remember much about the day looking back but you don’t want to. You only remember answering the call, expecting to hear your father asking you to reconsider coming home once again. Instead, you only heard his sobs. Your mother had an unexpected heart attack. She died instantly. There was nothing they could do to save her. And you could have been there. You should have been there. You couldn’t remember the last thing she had said to you. You’d talked to her just last night and yet you couldn’t remember.

It wasn’t that you blamed yourself per se, but after that day you could never bring yourself to step on the ice. The Olympic qualifiers came and went as you were frozen in that moment when you’d gotten the phone call. It hadn’t been easy to thaw and return to your life, and in many ways you never truly did, but Mickey had held your hand every step of the way as he brought you to his practices, his games, and slowly you’d come back. You took a leave of absence from school for a semester as you decided what to do next as your skates hung in the back of your closet for good. Figure skating had been your whole life so finding something new seemed daunting and boundless.

~~~~~

You’re shaking and curled in your chair, teetering close to falling to the floor but too frozen to right yourself when Mickey finds you. His arms go around you instantly, grounding you with his touch as you try your best to grasp onto the beat of his heart. He’s saying words into your ear, doing his best to break you out of this state but you don’t hear them. All you can hear is your father’s screams from that day eight years ago. They bounce around your head and get louder and louder until you realize that they aren’t. That’s the sound of you screaming. Your wordless pain has found a voice and it’s heartbreaking as you fall apart in Mickey’s arms. Absently you hear the sound of footsteps drawn by the sound of your screams. Your voice breaks from strain. You’re all screamed out and your breath still feels trapped in your lungs as you heave against Mickey and his words are slowly audible. You hear the gentle reassurances and feel his hands stroking your hair and back, the repetitive motion soothing your shakes until you’re simply still, lying in his arms.

“What was she screaming about?” You hear Bradley’s voice and feel Mickey’s body stiffen against yours protectively.

“What the FUCK did you say to her?” His voice is pure fury, leaving him in a growl you’ve never heard from him. You’ve seen a lot of Mickey Garcia’s various sides, but you’ve never seen him really, truly angry until now.

“Me? Nothing.”

“You fucking liar, WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU SAY TO HER?!” Mickey’s shouting and you shudder at the vitriol in his voice as he screams at Bradley. You barely register more footsteps approaching over the commotion.

“She accused me of giving up and I told her she’d know a lot about that given that she just up and quit skating-” Then Mickey’s moving and you think you call out after him as he grabs Bradley by the collar and slams him into the wall. It only really works because the taller man is so startled by Mickey’s sudden attack.

“She didn’t up and quit skating!” Mickey growls into Bradley’s face as you watch his fist swing, connecting with Bradley’s nose, hard as he shouts. “HER MOM DIED, YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!” You could hear a pin drop or maybe that’s just the sound of Bradley’s blood hitting the tile floor as it drips from his nose until Jake’s pulling Mickey off of Bradley, his face a mask of quiet fury. Javy’s behind him, his eyes on where you’re still curled up in your chair, your cheeks soaked with tears. They’re not the ones you’re watching though. Your eyes are locked onto Bradley’s whisky ones. There’s something unreadable in them but amidst all that you see as much as you feel the regret. Regret and something else. It almost feels like he’s reaching for you with his eyes. You don’t get a chance to read him, however as Dare’s voice, full of fury cuts through the room.

“Bradshaw, go home, you’re done for the day.” Her jaw is set and her eyes are flashing with something unreadable as she jerks her chin to indicate that he should leave now. He nods silently, giving you one last lingering look before he leaves. Mickey is breathing heavily in Jake’s grasp, Bradley’s blood on his knuckles. Dare turns to him, giving him a sympathetic look. “Mickey, let’s chat in my office. Jake, Javy, walk him over.” Jake nods and he and Javy lead Mickey out. Mickey shoots you a look and you mouth THANK YOU to him and he just gives you a grim look as he nods.

“Zam, are you alright?” You don’t notice her come up to you and while she stays respectfully on the other side of your desk, giving you space, you can see the concern in her eyes.

“I don’t know.” You answer honestly. You’re still shaken up. It’s been a long time since you’ve had a panic attack and you’re almost unfamiliar with what to do afterwards. “I’m going to call Bugs over and she can take you home for the day, how does that sound?” Mickey once told you that the greatest strength you can get is from leaning on your friends and right now you know that’s what you need so you leave your pride on the floor and nod. You can’t battle without an army and Bradley Bradshaw just declared war.

[rendy-a]

For the event i was thinking in the self aware au that mc would probably get nervous knowing alot of eyes were going to be on them so they would want to get advice on how not to embarrass themselves and who better to go to then our resident fairest queen Vil

I was starting to think all my requests were going to end up being the “ask to dance” variety but then I thankfully started getting some different types, starting with yours!  This is a fun idea as I feel like Self-Aware AU Vil would somehow be personally invested in the publicity of the Player.  He isn’t just a fan; he is the Player’s agent, stylist, and publicist all in one!

The hot sun beat down on you as you sat in a folding chair on the lawns of NRC listening to Crowley give some sort of welcome speech.  At least, you think that was what it was supposed to be.  Crowley’s ramblings had sort of veered off into rubbing his “Goodwill Dance” success into his rival Ambrose’s face.  For at least the past thirty minutes.  It was not only the NRC students, who were long since used to Crowely’s antics, but even the polite Fair Maiden girls and kindly Royal Sword boys who seemed to be at the end of their patience. 

At least you had people watching to amuse you.  The students of NRC were mostly used to you and you to them.  These newcomers offered you a chance to observe some new things.  You enjoyed seeing how the girls of FMA wore their hair and deciding if you could see any of the trends from your own world reflected in this one.  The RSA students were also refreshing to watch.  It had been so long since you’d seen a boy your age hold the door open for someone that you’d gasped out loud when you saw a polite RSA student grab the door for Professor Trein.  Each a delightful change of pace compared to your average NRC student’s behavior. 

You weren’t the only one people watching, though.  Whatever strange interest the students of NRC had in you extended to these newcomers as well.  You’d smile and they’d panic and faint or trip down a flight of stairs.  It was alarming really, so you’d tried to limit your interactions with them outside of events like this one.  For that reason, the number of students in FMA and RSA that could recognize you was limited.  Many of the eager students were having their first opportunity to see you now, but only if they could find you.  They had a searching gaze that swept over the NRC section, and you could practically imagine the whispered conversations that matched the pointing, ‘Do you think it’s that one?  No, maybe this one?’  You smiled to yourself, there were at least a few more days of anonymity before the big dance where you were sure everyone would discover who you were. 

“And finally,” Crowely boomed out, “I’d like to thank our very special guest who is like a child to me.  I am thankful everyday that such an illustrious person as the Play..err, ahem, as Yourself chooses to call Night Raven home.” You crouch down lower in your seat, hoping the various looks you are getting from the NRC students aren’t drawing too much attention; this wasn’t your plan at all.  “In fact, where…Ah!  There you are!  RIGHT THERE!  Second row, I’m pointing right at you!  Yes, YOU!  How very grateful you are to be witness to my boundless generosity in person.  Ah, I am so wonderful.” Well, so much for anonymity.

The assembly ended and, as you had predicted, a wave of RSA and FMA students swept over to gawk at you.  You forced a polite smile on your face and greeted all your unusual fans.  “Wow!  I can’t believe it’s really you!” one boy shouted while gently patting you on the back.  “Yup, it sure is me, I guess?” you reply.  “Oooh!” cooed a long-haired girl, “I have imagined this day for so long and now I finally get to bask in your presence.  You are just so…so…ahhh…” As she trails off you gaze down at yourself and understand.  Your uniform is old enough that it is more grey than black and the treads on the edge of your shirt are unravelling slightly.  Not to mention that you are so perfectly ordinary and not say, a regal dragon prince, or anything.  “Sorry?” you awkwardly reply.

“Oh! NO! I didn’t…I mean…well your…ah…I mean…you look…hmm…” you try to smile politely at all the not-quite-compliments she attempts, “Oh! Yes, you smell wonderful.”  At this the girl heaves a sigh of relief at finding one thing she could positively focus on.  It was a strange compliment though and it left you momentarily puzzled until you remembered putting on some of the scent Vil had gifted you for your birthday.  Of course, you smell good; anything Vil picked out was bound to be top quality.  In fact, that gives you an idea.

The walls of Pomefiore towered over you as you approached the regal dorm based on the Beautiful Queen.  Inside was its own beautiful queen, Vil, and the students he guided.  You were still embarrassed by the happenings of this morning.  Sure, you’d never really tried before to measure up to the mysterious persona you’d been granted in TWST but the way you’d had to stand there as you underwhelmed everyone excited to meet you…well, you didn’t want that repeated.  There was only one thing they had found impressive and that had been due to Vil’s influence, so you reasoned that if you wanted to change their impression of you, this was the place to start.

When you entered the foyer of Pomefiore, you were touched to find a collection of students waiting for you.  They were quick to criticize the FMA and RSA students who had made light of you earlier.  You were sure this wasn’t a healthy way to address the issue, but you still felt happy to hear it.  “I don’t get where she gets off acting like the fashion police in last season’s lipstick.”  This earns the nods of several angry students.  “And that RSA goon?  He was wearing socks with sandals.  SOCKS!  With SANDALS!”  That elicited a gasp from the outraged students over such an offence.  “Come with us, Prefect, and we will give you a makeover until no one can deny the way you shine!”  The crowd gathers around you and starts to usher you into the lounge when a slow clapping is heard from the stairs.

“Je regrette, mes amis,” Rook begins from the landing of the stairs, “but Vil himself is requesting to personally handle this transformation.” There were sighs of bitter disappointment, but no one dared question the will of the Queen of Pomefiore, least of all you.  You followed Rook up the stairs and down several hallways until you reached an elaborately decorated door that, you assumed, would lead to Vil’s room.  “Would that I could follow you and see you emerge from your cocoon in person,” Rook lamented with a dramatic hand placed to his forehead, “but alas, I must remain out here.”  You give him a wide-eyed look, unsure of how to respond to his dramatics.  “Go Trickster, go and become an even more beautiful butterfly!”  Then he flings open the door and practically pushes you inside. 

You carefully crept further into the room; carefully because it was quite dark inside.  Then, with a sudden dramatic flair, the curtains were cast open and your eyes beheld Vil.  The change in light caused you to focus on the only brightest point in the room and that was where Vil stood.  It was if he’d arranged for the sun itself to be his spotlight just to impress you, but you supposed that was just you being dramatic.  Although, when you calmed down enough to really take his expression in, you wondered if that was the intention after all.  He seemed far too pleased with the way you were gazing directly and only at him.

You force yourself to look away and remark, “That was quite an entrance there, Vil.  I almost thought you were onstage.”  He clucks his tongue at you, “Sweet Potato, for those of us in our position, the entire world is a stage.  You’d do well to realize that.”  You smile sadly, “I think I learned that this morning.  You might say my act bombed.”  He approaches you quietly until he stands right before you, “I heard.  All I can say about that is How. Dare. They!”  The final words were spoken with such a hiss of venom that it took you aback.  “Well, I guess I do understand.  I mean, just look at me,” you say as you gesture to your shabby clothing.

“No.” Vil replies simply, “A star is a star, whether they play the Prince or the Pauper.  I feel personally offended that these simpletons were unable to recognize your appeal.”  It was ridiculous enough that it drags a laugh from you, “I keep my appeal hidden inside, deep inside.” Vil is not amused, “Well then, we will need to force it out and put it on display.”  You wipe the smile off your face, “Yes sir!”  He gets an evil smirk on his face, “You can mock now but you better prepare yourself for my training.  When I’m done with you, no one anywhere will be able to look down on you.” 

If you thought Vil was brutal over the boys at the Fairy Gala, it felt like nothing compared to the regimen he prepared for you.  Clothing, manners, dancing, and socializing; all these topics were part of your time with Vil.  He worked your mercilessly up until the day of the dance.  After your final lesson, he presented you with a gift.  “Heels?” you ask unsure, “I don’t know if I’m exactly the heel type.”  Vil gives you a condescending look, “Heels are for everyone, Sweet Potato, and these aren’t just heels.  They are stilettos.  Do you know what a stiletto is?” 

You take the heel from the box and point to the back of the shoe, “Its this part, right?”  He rolls his eyes, “No Potato, I mean a real stiletto.”  You shake your head no.  “A stiletto is a kind of dagger; the sort you’d pierce someone’s heart with.  Just remember that next time anyone dares insult you.  If that happens, use these heels to grind them into dust.”  You decided Vil was less like your Fairy Godmother and more like your Mafia Godfather, but you weren’t complaining.  Watchout RSA and FMA, the Prefect of Ramshackle dorm was about to make an entrance to this dance.  And this time, everyone would know it was all about you.