#god to a friend whos been nothing but nice to me and has graciously offered her place and her bed

[yongseungkim]

.

[suuuupernovaaa]

‘awlie [ʔaw.ˈli.ɛ] adv. once (in the past)

Anonymous Request: Maybe one with reader who was an avatar that did the consciousness transfer and while moving some of her stuff from the lab to stay with the clan, Neteyam finds a picture of her with an ex boyfriend that she's kept and thinks that maybe she still likes human men or that maybe he's unattractive/ugly to her?

1,680 words

Even though I was used to being in this body, I was only used to being in it in a temporary sense. There was always a deadline, and when I closed my eyes, I would wake up in my human body.

Now, when I close my eyes, I stay here, in this avatar, as one of the Na'vi. I know I'm lucky to be one of the few who even has an avatar, and one of the even fewer to pass through the eye of Ewya and return.

Watching my human form be lowered into the ground and buried was... weird. It was exactly like attending my own funeral, and it felt like I should be mourning, but instead, I was rejoicing.

I was ready to be one of The People, to live in Home Tree, to learn everything I possibly could with the new hours in the day I'd been given. To spend every spare moment with Neteyam.

There were just a few things I needed from the lab first, and Neteyam had graciously offered to come along.

I couldn't bring much with me, but there was a journal I wanted, and a small photo album with pictures my parents had brought from earth.

It was a quick trip, in and out, and as we exited the lab, Neteyam flipped carefully through the photo book that was dwarfed by his hands. He asked me questions about my parents, our family back on earth, and as he turned near the last page, a picture fell on the ground.

It was of me and David, years ago as teenagers together in the lab, our arms around each other's shoulders, smiling at the camera.

He stopped walking, and handed it to me.

I took it and smiled. David and I hadn't spoken in a while, especially since I'd met Neteyam, but it was nice to see the picture; he'd been my only friend for a long time, and something more than that for a little while, but we'd been better off as friends in the end.

"This is David. We grew up together, in the lab. We sort of dated for a while, too. He's really nice, you'd like him."

Neteyam handed me the photo album, and I tucked it away in the back.

I extended my hand to him, and he took it. "Ready?"

He smiled at me. "Ready."

--

Though it was an evening of celebration, welcoming Y/N as one of the people with food, drink, music and dancing, Neteyam had something weighing on him.

He could not get the picture of Y/N and David out of his mind. He tried to remember if she had ever mentioned him before, but it didn't seem that she had.

Why had she smiled so fondly at that picture? Where was David now? Did she miss her human life, was she having regrets about leaving her human body behind?

If David was still in the picture, would she have chosen differently? Was Neteyam a second choice behind someone he didn't even know?

He knew he was being foolish, but there wasn't anything he could do to stop it. Y/N had given up an entire human life for him, and for his people, but he could not shake the feeling he got when she had taken that picture gently into her hands and smiled.

She pulled him away from his thoughts to join in on a dance together, but he still felt uneasy.

--

Eventually, I felt a little overwhelmed with the celebration. It had been going on for hours, and even though it was in my honor, I still needed to get away - just for a few minutes.

I pulled Neteyam from the dancing, up through home tree, to the large, embroidered hammock we were now sharing together. Even though we were not mated yet, there was really no need for us to live separately, not when we would be finding our way to each other every night anyway.

Sitting down, I pulled Neteyam down with me, and took his hands into mine.

"Tell me what's bothering you, and I swear to god, if you say nothing-"

Neteyam cut me off, "David."

I leaned back, wrinkling my brow. "David? My ex-boyfriend David?"

He leaned over, grabbing the photo album where it lay. He flipped right to the back, and pulled out the photo of me and David, handing it over to me.

Holding it tightly in my hand, I looked up at him.

"Did this upset you? That I have this?"

He shook his head. "No, I... wonder if you feel like you made a mistake."

A little jealously, I could understand - after all, a lot of men would be bothered if their woman kept a picture of herself and an ex around. But he thought I was regretting my life choices?

That was absurd.

"You mean, choosing to stay as one of The People?"

He looked to the side, clearly a little embarrassed. "Choosing us. Choosing, um, me."

I tried my very hardest not to laugh. It started as a small smile, and then it spread, and even though I was trying my best not to laugh, a little bit of a chuckle escaped.

"Oh, Neteyam, I'm sorry!" I got onto my knees, crawling forward towards him, putting my hands on his shoulders. "It's just, that's the dumbest thing I've ever heard! You don't realize that I fell in love with you the first time we met? And I thought I was being ridiculous, that you could never love me, you could never choose some Sky Person to be your mate and... and the first time you held my hand. Well, hold on."

Along with the photo album, I'd brought a journal of my last few years on Pandora. I flipped through until I found the page I was looking for, and began to read aloud.

"I went on a hunt today, for the first time. I didn't catch anything but, it was still really fun, and Neteyam was really patient with me. On the way back, he held my hand. I can't describe how happy it made me. I never thought he would think of me that way, but he squeezed my hand before we said goodbye, and it almost seemed like he wanted to kiss me."

I flipped a few pages forward.

"I told Neteyam I love him today, and he said it back! I can't believe it. I don't understand what I could have done to deserve this. I feel happy all the time. I dream about him at night, and I think about him first thing when I wake up. I have never felt like this before. Holy shit, I'm so in love."

A few more pages. I was too nervous to look up at Neteyam now.

"Tonight, I'm going to ask Ewya to allow me to live out the rest of my days in my Avatar. It feels really strange, knowing this could be my last day as a human. I feel sad, in a way. I think I'd feel more sad if mom and dad were alive, but it feels like Neteyam and his family are my family now. He hasn't asked me to be his mate but, I think he might want that. Either way, I know I belong with The People. I hope I don't fucking die."

I closed the book, and handed it to him, finally finding the courage to look into his eyes. "It's all in here, Neteyam. David was a friend, but I certainly wouldn't have given my life up for him. And, to be honest, I didn't do it just for you. I feel like I belong here. I feel really happy. And I can't imagine my life any other way."

Neteyam stared at me, his mouth hanging open slightly, his eyes a little misty. Finally, he reached out and put his hand on my cheek, and I leaned into his touch.

"I do want you to be my mate, Y/N. I didn't want to... overwhelm you, by asking too soon."

This time, I didn't have to try and stifle the laugh that rose quickly in my throat and out past my lips. "Neteyam! If you had asked me the day we met, I might have said yes." I grabbed the journal from his hands, and opened it to one of the first pages. I handed it back to him. "Read it. Out loud."

He rolled his eyes, but brought the small journal close to his face. "I met the Sully family today. Neytiri and Jake are intense, but the kids are all so nice. Kiri is my age, Neteyam just a few months older, and I hope I get to see them again. Especially Neteyam. He's so handsome, and so strong... I have a massive crush on him. Obviously nothing could ever happen, with me being human but, wow. I've never met anyone so incredible."

I took it from his hands before he could read anything more embarrassing than that. He playfully tried to get it back, but I held it behind my back and as he leaned over, captured him in a kiss.

He relaxed, giving up chase, and wrapped his arms around me.

"Do you see now, how much I have always loved you?" I whispered when I pulled away.

He pressed another quick, chaste kiss to my lips. "I should never have doubted you. If I had a... what do you call this?"

With no word in his language for it, I told him, "Journal."

"If I had a journal, and I had written about the day we'd met... I would have written that my life changed that day. That I met the most beautiful woman on the planet, and my brother had teased me that night that I was going to try to mate with a Sky Woman. And he was right."

I sighed. "I wish you had a journal."

He laughed. "Me too."

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Finding Something More

Prompt: Is there such thing as Loki with the Avengers found family hurt/comfort? And if so...may I has? - anon

Gonna be honest, folks, this one's weird.

Read on Ao3

Warnings: implied/referenced child abuse, mind control recovery, odin's a+ parenting

Pairings: none

Word Count: 3213

After the Battle of New York, everyone expects the Tesseract to be taken back to Asgard, along with Loki, the perpetrator of the battle and the reason for the loss of so many lives. 

It comes as quite a surprise, then, when the god refuses to go back to Asgard and unconditionally surrenders to stay on Earth. 

But if they've learned anything over the past few weeks, it's that they're nothing if not adaptable. So Avengers Tower finds itself playing host to an Asgardian who seems...well. 

Isn't what he seems.

  The Man of Iron is his first friend. 

It’s admittedly strange to describe them as friends, especially when their first proper interaction was the man striding around and telling him he’s planning to threaten him and offering him a drink in the same breath. Still, there are only so many pointed quips and barbs they can throw at each other before a small amount of camaraderie begins to form. 

And, of course, there is his cell. 

It’s not one of the prison cells on Asgard, certainly, and it’s not the massive glass cylinder they held him in on the Helicarrier, but a cell nonetheless. A penthouse, if Stark is to be believed, complete with all the amenities a rich man on Midgard can offer. Except, of course, the freedom to leave. 

The words freedom is life’s great lie did one exit his mouth, however, so he’ll take what he can get. At least here, he’s not subject to the whims and wishes of the All-Father. 

So here he is, a prisoner on a planet he once tried to rule, listening to the idle prattle of a hero who stopped him. 

“I don’t know, I think it’s a bit too flashy.” Stark turns the screen around, on which is what passes for worthy of worship on Midgard, a human who looks digitally altered even when they move in real-time. “What do you think?”

“The gold doesn’t compliment their undertones. What was the stylist thinking?”

“Mm. You a tailor?”

“Most of my wardrobe used to be bespoke. And unlike Thor, I paid attention.”

Stark snorts. “So I was right. You are a prima donna.”

“Not a prima donna,” Loki corrects, leaning back against the couch, “the prima donna. I’m the original.”

Stark snorts again, waving his hand until the screen vanishes. “That why you came to Earth? To inspire the masses with your fancy Asgardian ways?”

Loki toys with the glass in his hand. The liquor isn’t strong enough to affect him, but the taste is nice. “Earth was supposed to be conquerable. Easy to subjugate. A primitive race of peoples designed to serve.”

“And how’d that go for you?” Loki gestures aimlessly around. “Mhm.”

“It’s hardly the first time I’ve been lied to about a people,” he sighs, “I suppose I should’ve expected it.”

Stark is quiet for a moment. He takes a sip of his own drink. “Meaning?”

“Surely it didn’t escape your notice that Thor so graciously pointed out that I was adopted?”

“Came up in conversation.”

“And I suppose he told you the oh-so aggrandizing tale of how the ever-benevolent All-Father found me, a babe of his enemy, on the remains of a battleground?” He raises his hands. “And took me in under the guise of an Asgardian babe, a tool to be used to rule the Frost Giants if they so much as dared raise a hand against him?”

A sardonic smile twists his face.

“Was it a testament to the mercy of Asgard? Or a warning about how I was always destined to become a monster?”

Stark stares at him for a long moment. “Actually, he just said you were adopted.”

Loki pauses. “Ah.”

Well. 

That’s…inconvenient. 

Stark hums, looking down at his drink, swirling it around as well. “You know, my dad hated me too.”

“What?”

“Oh, he loved the attention,” Stark says, “loved having a protege, loved having proof that he was such a genius, even his children were savants. But actual me? No, couldn’t be bothered. I was sent off to nannies and governesses and boarding schools. Shipped me off like a product to be manufactured somewhere else.”

Loki narrows his eyes. “Why are you telling me this?”

“One, because you’re never leaving this room and who else are you going to tell?”

“Fair point.”

“And two,” Stark says, standing, “because maybe you and I have a bit more in common than we thought.”

Loki looks up at him. “Perhaps we do.”

2.   Next is the Captain. The Soldier, the Man out of Time. 

Stark was right, it’s too easy to come up with nicknames for Steve Rogers. 

At first, he’s painfully boring. What did you want? Who sent you? What were your plans? Honestly, he’s half-tempted to tell the man that this is all part of his plan and the rest is just waiting for the other shoe to drop. But there’s something horribly earnest about the man’s expression and so he finds himself offering little kernels of truth, just enough to make him go away and leave him in peace. 

Then he’s having a bad day when the Captain walks in. He should’ve learned his lesson with Stark, about not sharing information about himself, not unprompted, but he’s no different from any other creature in a cage, lashing out. 

“Is this entertaining for you,” he spits before he can so much as sit down, “to poke and prod at me like some great wonder? If you push the right button will a prize fall out?”

To his credit, Rogers doesn’t even flinch. He just finishes sitting down. “What makes you say that?”

Loki scoffs. “Don’t play dumb, Captain. I know why you’re holding me here. I’m too much of a threat to be left alone and you managed to convince Thor not to take me back to Asgard.”

Rogers doesn’t say anything. 

“That’s all you humans know, isn’t it?” He sits forward, glaring daggers into the man’s skull. “Lock up what you don’t understand, poke it until you do, banish it away forever if it proves to be a threat? Are you to strap a collar to me as well, strip me of my magic?”

“No.”

He scoffs. “Am I to perform tricks for you, then? Am I your dancing monkey?”

Finally. The Captain’s expression tightens. Loki braces himself, ready for whatever punishment the Captain chooses to dish out, perhaps he can sneak past, make it to the door—

“You know, the first thing SHIELD did to me when I got out of the ice was stick me in a dummy room to see what I would do.”

He blinks. Rogers is still staring at him, but not in anger. 

“They made up a room to look like it was from the 1940s,” he continues, “they even dressed up an agent to look like one of the SSR ones.” 

“…what for?”

“Fury wanted to see what I would do.” Rogers leans his weight onto his elbows. “Was I some dumb hick they dressed up in a spangly uniform, or could I look at things and figure out what was really going on? And if I did find out they were lying to me, what would I do?”

Loki swallows. “And what did you do?”

“I broke through the fake wall and ran out into the street until they had to stop me with a squadron of cars.”

He snorts. “I can’t imagine Fury was very pleased.”

“Oh, he was.” A bitterness enters his voice. “Because that meant I was smart enough to be used. I was once again useful enough to be their dancing monkey.”

Loki frowns. “And you worked for SHIELD anyway.”

“Yeah.” Rogers looks down. “Yeah, I did.”

“…why?”

He looks back up. “Because it was what I was used to. I’m a soldier. I fight battles. It’s what was expected of me.”

What was expected of me. 

He has a memory. A memory of staring up into the face of someone he once called Father who told him that he was nothing more than another stolen relic, locked up only to serve a use. 

Rogers stands up. “I’ll talk to Tony about getting your access changed so you can move about the Tower. And for the record, I never said you couldn’t ask me questions either.”

Loki stares after him as he leaves. 

3.   He raises an eyebrow when Dr. Banner walks in next. 

“Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“No,” he says as he sits down, “which is why JARVIS is on standby and Cap’s right outside the door.”

“Mm.” He sits up, setting his book down and folding his hands. “And what is it that I can do for you, Bruce?”

“When did you first find out you were a Frost Giant?”

He blinks. Well. That certainly was…unexpected. “Not here to ask some science question?”

“What for? It’s not like you’d give me an answer that’s helpful. You’d explain it in Asgardian terms I’d need Thor to translate and I’m not willing to have that conversation yet.”

“Is there some animosity I’m sensing, Bruce?”

“Why, so you can pry us apart?” Bruce shakes his head. “No. I just prefer dealing with one Asgardian at a time.”

Loki hums. “Jumping straight into it, then? What would you like to hear? About how during an invasion of Thor’s coronation, a Frost Giant grabbed my arm and I turned as blue as they? Or how I held the very heart of winter and let it turn me into the monster I had always been?”

He leans forward. 

“Or the terrified look on my poor mother’s face when she saw what I had become? The darkness that lurked deep inside of me?”

Bruce doesn’t flinch. “Or when you found out that the man who was supposed to be your father lied to you for your entire life?”

This time it’s Loki who flinches. Bruce just watches him. 

“What do you hope to gain, Dr. Banner?”

“Perspective.”

“Of what?”

“You.” 

“Why?” He instinctively draws his arms in. “Is it my turn to become the monster everyone fears? Were you not satisfied with throwing me around already?”

“No, that was plenty satisfying.” 

Loki scoffs. “So what, now you mean to flay me alive?”

“I didn’t ask to become the Hulk, you didn’t ask to be a Frost Giant. I was lied to, so were you.”

He doesn’t respond. 

Bruce sighs, already standing. “Maybe we can make our own choices about what to do with them.”

“How noble.”

“Nothing noble about trying to survive,” he calls over his shoulder, “you should come down to the living room sometime.”

4. “You know, I believe you’re still the only person who can sneak up on me like that.”

Agent Romanoff smiles at him as he sits down. He spreads his hands. 

“How shall I cooperate with you this time?”

“You can tell me who hurt you.”

He frowns. “I beg your pardon?”

“No one makes a threat like the one you did without understanding exactly how to hurt someone.” She stares at him knowingly. Too knowingly. “And you don’t learn something like that without being hurt first.”

He shifts. “You sound like you speak from experience.”

“I do.” She tilts her head. “And so do you.”

There’s no trick here. No lies, no deception. They have enough mutual respect to know that whatever dance one of them begins would never end unless there was a knife buried in between their ribs. 

He could stay quiet. She wouldn’t hold it against him. But she is patient, he knows, he doesn’t know if he is. Not like this. 

“…you were made,” he says finally, “you were created for a purpose. And you decided it wouldn’t be yours when someone showed you that you could be different.”

She doesn’t acknowledge his statement, just that he has spoken. “You were a trigger, ready to be pulled.” He hesitates. “…as was I.”

“A trigger?”

“A weapon. A bargaining chip. A token,” he spits, “and something to be regarded only as such.”

She watches him closely. 

“I was a vessel. For the guilt of an old man, for the fear of a kingdom, and for the hatred of many. To be filled and used up when useful and then discarded.” He smiles mirthlessly. “It would never do to have a Frost Giant on the throne of Asgard.”

“And before?”

“Before what?”

“Before you found out that you were a Frost Giant, what were you?”

His mouth twists at the memory of bruises, harsh fingertips, and half-darkness. 

“Convenient.”

For perhaps the first time since he has arrived, he doesn’t feel uncomfortable sitting in silence with another person. 

Slowly, she stands and comes to sit next to him. 

“They won’t touch you,” she says in a very quiet voice, “not again.”

“You either.”

5. Barton knocks. 

He’s the only one to do so. 

Now, where Bruce definitely had some grounds on which to be angry at him, Barton had enough to put an arrow through his skull. He thinks he can’t really be blamed for the way he hesitates before allowing him entry. 

“Hey, man.”

“Barton.”

Barton looks around. “Nice place you got here. Tony really tricked it out.”

He glances about the room. It’s…fine, really, he can’t find a thing to complain about, but that doesn’t explain why Barton’s making…small talk. 

“Can I sit?”

He nods. 

“Thanks.”

He waits for the interrogation, the words, something, but it never comes. Barton just drums his fingers together, seemingly content to sit in the silence. 

“…did you want something?”

Barton looks at him. “Yeah, actually, now that you mention it.”

He shifts a little. 

“How long were you being controlled?”

Loki stiffens. “What?”

“You were being controlled, same as I was.” Barton gestured to his eyes. “You had the same look I did. Your eyes changed color at the end of the fight. So how long did they have you?”

“I…I don’t know,” he says slowly, trying to figure out the trap, “I don’t know how long it was.”

“Okay, what’s the last thing you remember before?”

“Pain.” He clenches his fist. “Just pain. Pain and the great ugly face of the titan Thanos.”

“Thanos?”

“A mad titan that wants to destroy the universe, yes. He’s who wanted the Tesseract.”

“Mm. So he mind-controlled you to, what, get it for him?” When Loki doesn’t respond, Barton sighs. “Look, man, do you know what the others have been doing?”

“Deciding whether or not to kill me?”

“No. They’re trying to figure out the magic of your scepter. Except it’s not really yours, is it?”

A chill slams through him and he sits up straight. “Tampering with that will only lead to darkness and despair. Don’t play with forces you cannot hope to control.”

“Whoa, easy,” Barton says, holding up a hand, “don’t shoot the messenger. Thor wants to know what happened to you, that’s why he’s okay with it.”

“…to me?”

“Yeah. You were being controlled, he’s not happy about it, and wants to know why.”

Loki stares at him. “How can you stand to be in the same room as me?”

Barton shrugs. “We all have to deal with our shit. I’m dealing with mine my way, you deal with yours your way.”

He just stares at him for a long moment. 

“Any help you can give us,” Barton continues, “is good. We’re not—your life here is not contingent upon you…I dunno, being the villain. You’re here now. You gotta live with it like we all do.”

Loki’s jaw stays on the floor long after Barton leaves. 

+1.

Through it all, Thor is there. 

He comes to sit with Loki when he’s first getting used to the boundaries of his room, checking up on his injuries. He talks with Loki when he needs to yell and scream, an immovable shield that catches thrown objects and flailing fists. He’s a shoulder to cry on when Loki wakes up screaming from phantom pain and grinning six-fingered creatures.

When Stark changes his access protocols, he gives him a tour. Then he insists on walking with Loki every day, even going up to the roof deck for fresh air. He offers to train with him, read with him, just…spend time together. 

Loki doesn’t understand why. 

Why is Thor doing this? Why is Thor acting like nothing happened? Why is Thor acting like he didn’t betray him, didn’t become a monster, didn’t hurt him?

And why did Thor agree not to take him back to Asgard?

It all comes to a head during another nightmare, one that has Loki bolting upright with sweat soaking his sheets, breath going faster than his heart. He clutches a hand to his chest with the memory of something skewering through it, trying to calm down. 

He is not with the Other. He is not with Thanos. He is not on Asgard. 

He is on Midgard.

No one will touch him here.

A soft chime at his door and he looks up to see Thor already there, draping a warm blanket over one arm and a tankard of something steaming in the other. 

“I brought your favorite,” he says quietly, helping Loki pull the blanket over himself, “all for you.”

It’s a warm sweet drink, the steam wafting up his nose as he drinks. He tries to breathe slower, leaning into the warmth of Thor’s hand rubbing circles into his back. He’s safe. He’s safe. He’s safe. 

“Better?”

Loki nods and Thor hums, scooting closer so Loki can rest his head on his shoulder. They stay like that until the drink grows cold. 

Loki swallows. “Why didn’t you take me back to Asgard?”

“Hmm?”

“You knew it would be safer if I were in their cells,” he continues, staring at the dark floor, “and it would give Midgard a chance to heal. Why didn’t you bring me back?”

Thor is quiet for a moment, then he moves to look at Loki’s face. “Why didn’t you want to go back?”

“What?”

“You had just been beaten,” Thor says, the dim lighting making it difficult to see his features, “and shot, and, well, you’d had the brainwashing power of the Mind Stone inflicted upon you. And you knew that whoever did that to you would come after you if you failed.”

Loki nods. Thor takes a deep breath. 

“You knew that Asgard would have fought off any invading forces with a much higher chance of success than Midgard,” Thor says, staring at him, “and that Frigga would’ve done her best to protect you.”

His mother’s name adds a new ache to the twist in his chest. 

“And there was something on Asgard that scared you worse than any of that.”

“I’m not scared.”

It sounds like a child. In many ways, it is. 

“I wasn’t going to take you back to somewhere that scared you more than the threats of a mad titan,” Thor says lowly, “not when I had just gotten you back.”

“…you must think very little of me.”

“Loki, I thought the world of you.” He runs a hand through Loki’s hair. “I still do.”

“Even after everything,” he can’t help but say, “you still think of me as your brother?”

“You are my brother,” Thor says firmly, “I choose you to be.”

Oh. 

Oh. 

“And what,” he says, swallowing, “what if I choose you to be my brother in return?”

Thor smiles and leans down to rest their foreheads together. “Then I will celebrate that my brother has come home.”

His fingers twist shyly into Thor’s shirt. “Is this home, brother?”

“It can be.”

…perhaps he can live with that. 

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Bound Blood (Cassandra Dimitrescu/Reader, Soulmate AU) Pt. 4

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T+ for language, nudity (but, like, for art), and violence Warnings: Unhealthy dynamics, including violence between the shipped pair, leaning heavily into the "enemies" part of "enemies to friends to lovers" Summary: Local vampire discusses art, depictions of certain anatomy, and enjoys the company of her feral soulmate for 4.5 minutes. Then it goes to shit (as things tend to do). 0-60 Real goddamn quick. Previous Chapters: 1: Sharing Is (Not) Caring; 2: Bloodbath, Baby!, 3: Haunt Me Dearly

4: Portraits For Ghosts

“Am I really supposed to just… stay here? Did she honestly think that I, of all people, would behave? The universe gave me two good hands, and by God, I intend to make that someone else’s problem,” you mutter to yourself as you get dressed. It’s not that you necessarily had anything in mind, rather that you hated the idea of waiting around for who knows how long for Cassandra to return. Especially considering what she had done prior to leaving. Sure, you had laughed, but that hadn’t meant much in the end. At this point, you hadn’t even been out of the dungeon for a full day yet, and the memories of what happened there were fresh in your mind. Nightmares, too, even if you had pushed them aside to deal with Cassandra’s. Why did I bother? You wonder, frowning. There was hardly any point to comforting a monster, no matter the way they trembled.

Or at least that’s the lie you sold yourself.

Soon enough, a knock at the door brings you out of your head. Daphne, maybe, you think, remembering the maiden from yesterday. When you open the door, however, you’re met with an unfamiliar woman. She’s a few years your senior, at the very least, and appears surprised to see you. In her hands is a very enticing tray of food.

“Lady Cassandra wanted me to bring this to you. I am… I am glad to see you are feeling better already,” she says, voice shaking. What was with these maidens and assuming you were anything like your soulmate? Though that last part did catch your interest. Something told you that she wasn’t at all referring to your time in the dungeon. If you had learned anything from Daphne, it was that the best way to get information was to be indirect. So you graciously accepted the food, before speaking, dodging your way around your ignorance.

“Yes, it’s amazing what a bit of meditating can do for the soul- and body, that is,” you start, watching closely for any veiled reactions. Even within the first few words you can tell that this stranger wasn’t expecting you to be pleasant. “Out of curiosity, what did my Lady say about my condition? There are, uh, a few details that I hope she did not share. I’m sure you understand.” As soon as the words leave your mouth, the maiden is nodding, appearing eager to satisfy you. Maybe a hint of fear can be useful, after all.

“No worries, Lady Cassandra did well to respect your privacy, and we would not dare question her further. She simply explained, to her family, that you were dealing with a migraine. I only heard this because I was helping serve breakfast,” she explained, smiling softly. You’re quick to nod, mimicking her expression for maximum empathy. “Do you require anything else? I am here to serve, you must only ask.” Ah, perfect. Would she have offered this even if you hadn’t attempted to be charming? Probably, but your politeness certainly didn't hurt.

“Well, there is one thing… as long as it’s no trouble.”

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

It had been a risk, asking the servant to take you to a room you weren’t sure existed, but one that had paid off brilliantly. Even if said room was nothing like you had anticipated. Who would have thought that Cassandra, you think, would be an artist? What’s far less surprising is the fact that the studio (or ‘study’, as you had called it) is a disorganized disaster. Discarded papers lie scattered around an overflowing trash can, a cabinet with an attached tool rack is missing pieces, and in one corner there are literally random shards of broken glass lying about. What is this, performance art? Part of you feels tempted to clean up the mess, if only to occupy your time. Instead, you decide to examine some of the pieces within the room. Maybe somehow they’d tell you something noteworthy about your soulmate.

First, you move to your left, where a workbench houses strange sculptures. For the most part they’re abstract, jagged edges contrasting with gentle curves, but there is one you think you understand. It’s very clearly a bust… of someone’s ‘bust’. Guess that solves the age old question of ‘boobs or ass’, you think, stifling a giggle. Moving on, you shift your attention to the exposed section of the cabinet. One row is dedicated to small vials, each labeled with a concerning ‘blood’, despite the fact that it’s clearly not refrigerated. Still, you have heard of artists painting with blood before, but you seem to recall them mixing it with something else. Perhaps Cassandra had done the same? Though you did wonder if she had any difficulty resisting the urge to drink the blood, at least prior to mixing it.

Shrugging, you continue to the other side of the studio, squatting to get a closer look at the broken glass. As expected, there’s no discernable pattern or purpose. Huh, you think, wonder why she doesn’t clean up. Maybe she’s waiting for a servant to do it? Guessing her reasoning was rather difficult, especially considering your lack of context, such as how long the mess had been here. Deciding that this was a pointless distraction, you move on to the only other thing of note in the room: An easel, in the center, with a canvas nearly as tall as yourself. So far, there’s little on it other than pencil lines, a sketch marking where to paint certain details. Only the (start of) the background has been colored. Understandably, it’s hard to make out what exactly the finished project would end up representing. Based on what you know of Cassandra and her family, however, you infer that this- with four figures, one larger than the others, protective- is a painting of the castle residents.

“Family means something to you, hmm?... I hope that mine does not miss me much, for I will never see them again,” you say to yourself, instinctively reaching out towards the art. Before you can touch it, or think better of it, the door to the studio is flying open. In storms Cassandra, fists clenched at her sides. As soon as she sees you, she’s rushing forward, pulling you away from the easel. “Hello, darling. Glad to see me feeling better, yes?” You teased, smiling wide at her. Feeling a bit emboldened by your earlier success, you go a step further, leaning in to give her a quick kiss on the cheek.

“I swear to fuck, if you touched any of my stuff-” Cassandra starts to say, intentionally ignoring the kiss, even though her cheeks get flush at the contact.

“Nope, not a single thing. Not even the broken glass. Nice touch, by the way, makes the whole space feel a helluva lot cozier,” you interject. For a few moments she holds you by your shirt collar, staring you in the eyes as if determining whether or not to believe you. Somehow, some way, she declares you innocent, releasing you with an irritated sigh. After pretending to dust yourself off, you return your attention to the central canvas. “Do you do a lot of art of your family? I passed by several pieces on my way here, though they were certainly in a different style.” Another pause, with Cassandra waiting for you to spring a verbal trap.

“Some of those are mother’s work,” she answers, tentatively, eying you closely. When you merely nod in reply, expecting her to elaborate, she starts to relax, little by little. “I doubt you passed any of mine. Mother tends to keep those closer to her quarters, or near the main entrance.” Interesting, you think, why hasn’t she addressed my original question?

“It sounds like she’s very proud of you,” you muse, still facing away from your soulmate. There’s a slight shakiness to your voice, as your mind starts to dwell on memories of your own family. Perhaps noticing this, Cassandra takes a few steps closer, one hand hovering over your shoulder, not quite sure if you needed (or perhaps deserved) any comfort. In this moment, you feel far more vulnerable than you had the day before. Taking a deep breath, you try to center yourself, before perfectly ruining whatever trust you had just established with Cassandra. “Something tells me she doesn’t know about the titty sculpture though, right? Can’t quite imagine that one being displayed where everyone can see it.”

To your immense surprise, Cassandra gives you a blank stare.

“You… you really don’t know anything about my mother, do you?” She says, after several awkward seconds. It feels strange to think that she had been furious, merely a handful of minutes ago. “If you actually behave for a while, I can show you some of her favorite pieces around the castle. Then maybe you’ll understand.” Intrigued, you debate how exactly to respond. On one hand, you did want to see the art, but on the other hand… misbehaving was your goal of the day.

“Sounds like a nice date to me. Why not start the tour right now?” You suggest, hoping to meet your ‘politeness quota’ earlier rather than later. Still, it is in your very nature to be chaotic, and you find yourself giving Cassandra an affectionate shoulder touch. It’s not at all genuine, but the two of you blush nonetheless. How could you not, when your blood was bound together, hearts made to race in sync?

“Don’t get friendly with me,” Cassandra stammers, unadjusted to the way her pulse pounded. “This isn’t a date. We’re just- it doesn’t matter, actually. As long as it means getting you out of my studio, I don’t care.” With that said, she takes your hand in her own, pulling you towards the exit. If she has any feelings about the soft touch, she hides them well… unlike yourself. Cheeks flushed, you’re half tempted to yank yourself out of her grip, hating the way your heart skips a few beats. Would I still feel this way if I didn’t know we were soulmates? You wonder, biting your lower lip to prevent any unwanted comments from slipping out. Soon enough you’d have art aplenty to distract yourself with. Hopefully.

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

“My God, you were not kidding. I don’t- I can’t even think of anything clever to say,” you chime, staring dumbfounded at the several statuettes of naked women. They seemed to fulfill some other purpose, one you couldn’t parse at the moment, but you could hardly think about the details right now. “I mean, good for your mother, for sticking to a theme, I suppose,” you continue, tripping over your own tongue, uncharacteristically quiet. Clearly amused by your flustered display, Cassandra lets out a hearty laugh.

“Good to know some things can shut you up. I’ll have to keep this in mind for next time you bother me,” she teases, light-heartedly. Her words only fluster you more, though they quickly give you room to counter, much to your joy.

“Is that so? Planning on carrying around a busty bust for the rest of your life, or thinking of going the more au naturel route?” You asked, briefly sticking your tongue out at Cassandra. It takes her a moment to understand what you’re getting at, but as soon as she does she’s smacking your arm with an offended huff. Despite her irritation, the blow is relatively soft, and you swear you can see her fighting to hide a smile. “Starting to go soft on me, are you? I hardly even felt that one.”

“So you’d prefer I hit you harder? And to think you called me kinky,” Cassandra fires back, without a hint of hesitation. Now both of you are laughing, softly, like old friends sharing fond memories. It’s… weirdly nice. A warmth fills your chest, even as you try to remind yourself that you shouldn’t be happy right now. Damn it, you think, suddenly frowning, hands clenching. We shouldn’t be having fun banter, back and forth like a real couple. Not when I’ve still got wounds from her hands on my skin. Instinctively you reach up to your face, thumb running over the marks Cassandra’s nails had left behind. The touch stings, bad, no matter how gentle you try to be. Noticing your shift in expression, your soulmate inches closer. “If your wounds are bothering you, I can have one of the servants get more ointment or whatever it is we have around. I don’t want you to-... There’s no reason for you to suffer more than you need to, besides, I don’t want you complaining all day.” Of course she couldn’t bring herself to imply that she cared. Of course. It wasn’t like the two of you were actually capable of being soft for each other, obviously. All of your confusion melts down, boiled by the warmth in your chest, turning to a familiar, albeit painful, rage.

“Right, right! Because you care so fucking much, yeah? What the fuck am I doing? Why am I-” you jab a finger towards her chest, accusatory- “talking to you? Why am I pretending you're not the one who did this to me? You’re the fucking reason my face hurts, my shoulder hurts, my brain-... I can’t stop thinking about everything that happened down there. I can’t get those goddamn images out of my head, every time I close my eyes, every time I look at you. I…” You trail off, chest heaving a little, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. Cassandra’s standing tall, unflinching, but there’s a noticeable regret in her expression.

“What. Are. You… going to do about it?” She asks, through clenched teeth, fighting back the full force of her emotions. You can’t tell what exactly she’s feeling, but you know that you want her to show you. Every part of you is itching for a fist fight, regardless of how stupid you know the idea is.

“Depends, dickwad, on whether or not these statuettes are properly secured,” you snap, already moving, fully abandoning all impulse control. By the time your hand grips the first sculpture, Cassandra has put you in a headlock, forcefully tugging you backwards. Panic sets in, making you try to jam your elbows into her stomach. Before long both of you are tumbling to the floor, bodies already aching, limbs flailing wildly in an attempt to hit a target, any target. In the end the air is knocked from your lungs as your head smacks against the ground. “Shit, shit, shit,” you grumble, coughing, finally processing just how much of a dumbass you were. It’s clear that at least one of the previous day’s wounds has reopened, and you feel something wet and sticky on your shirt.

“Finished, asshole?” Cassandra wheezes, sounding dazed, roughly pulling you up by your shirt collar. You nod, refusing to meet her gaze. Then she’s sighing in relief, letting you lean on her for support, holding you surprisingly close, considering the circumstances. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Again…”

[dynyamight]

meet cute number 47 is interesting!

send me a writting ask

47. Texting the incorrect number but continuing the conversation.

“You got all that, right?” Shinsou asks, readjusting his stance, so others can leave their classroom door easily.

Midoriya hums absentmindedly. He’s still quickly jotting down the last few digits onto his planner. “And, you said tomorrow morning, around 7? At the library?”

“Yeah,” Shinsou shrugs, “Or anytime really. The deadline isn’t until next month, you know.”

“I kinda just want to get it done, as soon as possible.”

Shinsou breathes out a snort. “Figured you’d say that much. Just make sure you got my number. Repeat it, if you need to.”

“No time.” Midoriya drops his bag to the side, shoving his now closed notebook inside. “Thank you! I’ll text you later tonight!” He offers hurriedly, before taking off down the campus halls.

Shinsou’s warning falls deaf to his rushed mind.

He has to run the entire way, in order to graciously catch the last bus for the hour. Sweaty and flushed, Midoriya slumps into his seat in relief. Fortunately, he was able to cop a seat for himself, settling by the window and his backpack right next to him.

Staring out, Midoriya tries to remind himself of the rest of his priorities he needed to do.

He still needed to start on Doctor Chiyo’s online Physiology exam, and gather his notes for the open book portion. It was a bit bothersome to handle tests online, but if the rest of class prefers it, there’s nothing Midoriya can do about it.

Speaking of which, Ochako had requested for copies of those exact same notes, since apparently she barely writes anything during lectures. He wants to suggest to her to just simply take better notes, but alas, he will gladly help her out.

And, finally, Midoriya has to collect reliable, approved research articles for his and Shinsou’s debate, in their argumentative project in Communications. Being assigned “PRO SOCIAL MEDIA INFLUENCE”, while being the most uninvolved people on the internet, Midoriya and Shinsou had a lot of work to do.

Not to mention it was already 18:00 by the time he reached the school’s dormitories. And yet, he needed to shower, make dinner, water his plants, and watch the newest episode of his favorite drama, airing tonight.

University was eating him alive.

Thankfully, he’s able to complete half of his list.

He finishes the exam with a 98%, and quickly snaps the pages of his notes over to Ochako and Iida, making sure to highlight the main topics questioned in the exam. Ochako sends a ‘thank you’ gif, and Iida texts a long, yet endearing message of gratitude.

Midoriya doesn’t have time to shower, instead blasting the TV volume loud, as he waters his indoor plants at the same time. He overwaters them a little bit, busy glancing back at the screen for too long. But, at least he’s able to watch the episode. He pouts when it ends on a cliffhanger, almost drowning his bonsai tree in frustration.

He’s only able to warm up a plate of leftovers, and read through only one research article, by the time it’s already blinking 21:30 on his phone. Sighing, Midoriya closes his laptop and grabs his cell phone instead.

An all nighter wasn’t preferable. But, if Shinsou is working overtime at his late night job, Midoriya supposes he can stay up and keep looking through more articles, until he has at least the required ten.

Flipping open his planner, Midoriya inputs Shinsou’s number into his phone. He adds his name, a contact photo of him sleeping, and finally taps a quick message.

(21:38) < You working?

When Shinsou doesn’t respond right away, Midoriya simply sets aside his phone on his desk. Stretching his arms, he sighs in defeat, now expecting Shinsou to be stuck at work.

He’s never worked at a restaurant, but he bets Friday nights can get pretty busy. And, Shinsou always complains that group outings and dates tend to stay over, even after the place is supposed to close. And, Midoriya trusts his word.

So, by the time his phone dings, Midoriya has been clicking through more articles on social media, bookmarking a few to go over later, as he went.

He lifts his phone, and with a bright screen, a message stares back at him.

shinsou hitoshi (21:58) > Who’s this

Oh, he did forget to specify. But, Midoriya smiles, having a small prank in mind. There was no harm in teasing his friends, let alone Shinsou, who definitely needed a good laugh, now and then.

(21:58) < It's the cutie from your communications class ;)

shinsou hitoshi (21:58) > So, no one

(21:59) < Haha! I guess you’re right about that

(21:59) < Anyways, it’s Izuku! You still working late, Hitoshi?

shinsou hitoshi (21:59) > This ain’t Hitoshi

Midoriya's face drops, blinking. Oh god, did he mistype the number?

(21:38) < Wait, you’re not???

Another text pops up, shortly after.

shinsou hitoshi (22:02) > You got the wrong number

Embarrassment burning his entire face red, Midoriya wishes he could delete himself from the world.

(22:03) < I’m so so so so sorry!

(22:03) < God, I thought I wrote down my friend’s number right

(22:03) < But, I was in this stupid rush to get on the bus that I didn’t make sure

(22:04) < And, listen, if I had missed that bus, I would’ve had to wait

(22:04) < Not like a few minutes wait

(22:04) < Like, a whole two hours wait!

shinsou hitoshi (22:05) > I didn’t ask

Deleting the conversation, Midoriya erases the new contact completely. And instead, he looks back to his planner, and retypes the numbers in his phone onto a new conversation.

Hopefully, he has typed the correct series of digits.

(22:07) < Hey, Hitoshi! It’s Izuku

unknown (22:08) > ...

unknown (22:08) > What the actual fuck

unknown (22:08) > You've still got the wrong number, you goddamn idiot

Slamming his phone onto his desk, Midoriya grabs a pillow off his bed and shoves it in his face. The temptation to scream sounds awfully pleasant, but it’s too late at night to do so. His dorm neighbors would definitely wonder what the hell is wrong with him.

What’s wrong? Oh, he has completely done one of the most dreaded imaginary scenarios in his head; text a complete stranger. Twice.

What was he supposed to do now? Never text back? Delete it? Block it?

How is he supposed to contact Shinsou now?

His phone dings again.

Lifting the pillow off his face slightly, Midoriya eyes his phone warily from his swivel chair.

That definitely wasn’t supposed to happen. Another text from the same stranger sounds a bit unheard of.

After a seconds-long hesitation, Midoriya lifts his phone and opens it once more.

unknown (22:13) > Double check next time

unknown (22:13) > You can fucking wait the two hours, dumbass

Midoriya grows a little irked. He has a bad feeling that his stranger isn’t too friendly, to say that least.

There was literally no reason to text back something so rude.

(22:14) < Well, that wasn’t nice

unknown (22:15) > Wasn’t trying to be

(22:15) < ..Are you always like this?

unknown (22:16) > Pretty much

(22:16) < That’s sad

unknown (22:17) > What’s fucking sad is that I was woken up from my sleep

unknown (22:17) > Because a damn moron didn’t write down the right number

Midoriya winces. He hadn’t even thought about the other person’s predicament, let alone if he had interrupted anything.

(22:20) > I really didn’t mean to do that, I’m sorry :(

unknown (22:22) > Yeah whatever

(22:24) > You should try to go back to sleep, then

unknown (22:25) > I was

unknown (22:25) > But the same moron from before keeps texting me

(22:27) > Who?

(22:33) > Oh.

(22:33) > It’s me, huh?

unknown (22:34) > No shit

(22:35) > Right, of course. My bad!

(22:35) > I’m going to just stop now

unknown (22:36) > Thanks

(22:36) > For the umpteenth time, sorry! ><

(22:37) > Okay, Okay! I’m stopping now, for real

Midoriya desperately needs to call it a night.

After going through his nightly routine, he slips under his bedsheets, exhausted. He sets an alarm for 5:00 on his phone, hoping Shinsou will show up at the library, regardless of the missing confirmation text on Midoriya’s end.

He keeps his phone on awhile longer, swiping through his professors’ emails, before a surprising text notification pops in front of him.

unknown (23:01) > FUCK YOU FUCK YOU

(23:02) > …

(23:02) > What was that for??

unknown (23:04) > I CAN’T SLEEP

unknown (23:04) > GOD, I CAN’T GO BACK TO FUCKING SLEEP

unknown (23:05) > AND IT’S YOUR FAULT

(23:06) > What do you expect me to do????

unknown (23:07) > HAHAHAHA OH DON’T WORRY

unknown (23:07) > IF I CAN’T SLEEP, NEITHER CAN YOU

unknown (23:08) > AND IF YOU TURN YOUR PHONE OFF I WILL SEND HELLFIRE

(23:09) > Wait

(23:09) > No, please

(23:09) > My alarm is on my phone, I need it on

(23:10) > I need to go to an important meeting for a group project at 7:00!

unknown (23:10) > Aw, really? :0?!

(23:11) > Yeah! I really do!

unknown (23:11) > Sike. I don’t fucking care

unknown (23:12) > Hope you eat shit tomorrow

(23:13) > ..Why are you like this?

(23:13) > I could literally be a twelve year old, for all you know

unknown (23:14) > I doubt fucking twelve years do group projects

unknown (23:15) > But whether you’re a damn infant, or grown adult, I hate you

(23:16) > I wouldn’t say I hate you. That’s too harsh

(23:16) > But, wow, you are very unlikable :/

unknown (23:17) > That’s the fucking nicest thing anyone has said about me

(23:18) > It wasn’t supposed

(23:19) > Nevermind.

(23:19) > Do you have any friends? Just might as well ask

unknown (23:21) > Surprisingly yeah

(23:22) > Oh, so you also agree. That it’s a surprise

(23:22) > At least you’re self aware :0

unknown (23:23) > Yeah, they are annoying as hell

unknown (23:24) > But, also pretty good people, I guess

(23:25) > Pretty good or pretty dumb?

unknown (23:26) > SHUT IT

unknown (23:27) > Only I can make fun of them

unknown (23:27) > You. Don’t.

(23:28) > You’re right, I shouldn’t have said that

(23:29) > I’m sorry :(

unknown (23:30) > You like apologizing, huh

(23:29) > There’s a lot to apologize for tonight

unknown (23:30) > Still, you don’t have to say it every damn minute

(23:32) > You probably don’t ever apologize

unknown (23:33) > Fuck no

(23:35) > Right, of course

(23:36) > Well, you know what I need to do tomorrow

unknown (23:37) > Unfortunately

(23:38) > What about you?

unknown (23:39) > I’m covering a shift at my shit job at the ass crack of dawn

(23:40) > Unnecessary visual, but I digress

(23:40) > Uh, where do you work?

unknown (23:42) > No. I don’t even know your damn name

(23:43) > I told you?? It was in my first text

unknown (23:44) > Yeah, I ain’t scrolling

(23:48) > Well, it’s Izuku. Midoriya Izuku :)

unknown (23:49) > Great. I still ain’t giving you mine

(23:50) > ?? Is there anything I can know about you??

(23:50) > You know more about me, than I do about you

unknown (23:51) > You know I hate you

unknown (23:51) > That’s plenty

(23:52) > But, I have been staying up for you :(

unknown (23:53) > Because it’s your fault I can’t sleep

(23:54) > You aren’t feeling sleepy yet?

unknown (23:56) > ..Are you

(23:57) > I asked you first

unknown (23:58) > I asked you second

(23:59) > That

(23:59) > Look, it’s almost midnight

(24:00) > Oh, now, it’s actually midnight

unknown (00:01) > I have fucking eyes. I can see the time

(00:02) > And we BOTH have places to be tomorrow

(00:02) > So, let’s just sleep. Call a truce, please

unknown (00:03) > What about my petty retribution

(00:04) > PLEASE LET ME SLEEP

unknown (00:10) > FUCK

unknown (00:10) > FINE

unknown (00:11) > I STILL CAN’T SLEEP BUT WHATEVER

unknown (00:12) > HOPE YOU FUCKING OVERSLEEP TOMORROW

The rest of the night, Midoriya hears his phone go off, but he doesn’t bother to open the messages. Fortunately for him, the time staying awake quickly catches up to his body, the moment he shuts his eyes. And, in an instant, he falls asleep, heavy.

However, he’s jolted awake by the ringing of his phone, the tone alerting him of an incoming phone call. Banging his head on the headboard, Midoriya blindly grabs and answers his phone. “Uh, H-Hello?” He blurts quickly.

“Tch.” A low voice emits, “You owe me, Deku.”

Click. The phone call ends.

Confused, Midoriya hurriedly rubs his eyes open. Running his messy curls through his fingers, he lifts his bangs up, in order to correctly look at the time.

The time was 5:10. And, his 5:00 alarm had been off the entire time.

And, instead, that same unknown number from last night was his saving grace.

[moon-kn1ght]

toes in the water

pairing: frankie morales x reader

word count: 2k 

warnings: kindergarten should def be a warning, maybe also incredibly unvaried sentence structure? rated E for everyone :)

a/n: this is going to be a small series surrounding a single father frankie morales and reader who is a kindergarten teacher. semi-slow burning, super cute and will def have storage closet / after-hours classroom sex at some point. thank you @wyn-dixie for the beta and for quelling my anxieties about literally everything. 

masterlist || tag form

Were you supposed to be using the kindergarten enrollment forms to sus out potential cute, single parents? No, definitely not. 

But the process of going through the individual forms and comparing them to the database for possible clerical errors was tedious at best, and grueling at its worst. Sitting on those tiny kindergarten chairs, you and the other four members of your team of teachers had already rehashed all of the gossip from the summer, including how Jessica the first year teacher from the 3rd grade cohort had hooked up with that sleazy geometry teacher from the high school at the end of the year district-wide social last May. 

“God, I remember when he was student teaching at the middle school,” Dora, your most senior coworker who had ‘been around the block a few times’ and also held onto every piece of gossip that circulated in your district for the last 17 years, drawled, “He had the grossest little rat mustache, you could hardly tell him apart from the 8th graders!” 

The group laughs in response to that joke, always ready to make of the holier-than-thou high school teachers. “You know what?” Dora adds, “You’d think after so many years, I’d be used to these tiny fucking chairs, but I am not. I need a walk and a Diet Coke.” 

“I’ll join you!” chimed Joanne, the second-oldest teacher in your cohort. The two leaders of your team left the room, leaving you, Claudia, and Andrés, the youngest teachers in the kindergarten cohort. Andrés and you had gone through your credential program together and had known each other for upwards of five years now as best friends. When the two of you arrived at Franklin Elementary, fresh out of school, Claudia had just completed her first year so she welcomed more young teachers with open arms. The three of you have been inseparable for the past several years now. 

“Okay, pull out your stacks!” Andrés orders, citing your group’s earlier plan to use this menial labor to check for potential single parents. You were just looking on the forms to see who did not have both parents listed. It wasn’t a perfect system. And yeah, it was probably inappropriate but y’all were just messing around and killing time on this sweltering August day. 

“I have one in my class!” you offer. “Student: Grace Miller. Parent: Susan Miller. Occupation: Landscape architect.” 

“Oooo, intriguing. Love someone who works with their hands,” Claudia remarks in a silly, sultry voice. “I have one, the student is named Peter, mom is Karen. She’s an accountant.” 

“I don’t like the sound of that. Karen? Yeah no thank you. Glad she’s in your class, not mine.” Andrés laughs and you join him. Kindergarten was just as much of a transition for students as it was for parents, and sometimes they took it harder than the kids. “Here’s to hoping she doesn’t live up to her name...” he continues, “Ooh, I have one! He's single dad--” 

Oooh, you and Claudia purr.

“Rosalia Morales is the daughter of single dad Francisco; form says he's a small business owner,” Andrés presents this crown jewel piece of information to a round of applause from you and Claudia. 

“Ugh, let’s hope he’s cute!” Claudia adds and the three of you dissolve into giggles as the older women  return from their Diet Coke run. 

—X—

Rosalia Morales was ready for kindergarten. Frankie Morales, on the other hand, was not. 

The younger Morales had spent the first weeks of August carefully preparing for this new (and very important) chapter in her life. She carefully deliberated over decisions like what backpack and lunchbox to get from Target (she chose a matching Sofia the First set, so that it could be a topic of conversation for her and her potential new friends at school) to what she was instructing her father to pack in her lunchbox (no PB&J’s in case her new friends were allergic, she wanted to be able to sit at the same lunch table with them and not have these seminal weeks defined by the separation of Peanut vs Peanut free lunches). Rosalia was very meticulous, and she always had been. She was well-prepared to face all the challenges kindergarten wanted to throw at her. 

While Rosalia had spent weeks preparing, Frankie had spent weeks dreading the imminent separation from his favorite person in the universe. Yes, he had sent Rosalia to preschool and pre-K but those had all been half-day programs. He would drop her off on his way to work and then pick her up at lunchtime. That only meant four hours apart but full-day Kindergarten was drop-off at 7:45am and pick up at 3:30pm. Seven and a half hours. How am I going to do it? he thought to himself. 

—X—

At Franklin, they implemented a very specific first day schedule. Parents walked their kids to their classrooms to hang up their bags, then the students got to go play on the playground while the parents left. The older teachers designed this system to reinforce to the students that school = fun. Yes, of course there were always students who had a rougher first day, but it usually took a couple of hours for the fatigue to set in before the students realized how long the day (and year was going to be). 

This system most importantly allowed for a clean break with the parents, a solid ‘goodbye!’ point that the teachers could enforce. But, always, there were some straggler parents (either loitering inside, near the front door or in their cars in the parking lot). The administrative team would let the indoor stragglers know that it was time to leave, but they would have two of the teachers go into the parking lot to make sure all the parents had cleared out. 

This year, you and Claudia had pulled those short straws, so while the rest of your team monitored the early recess, you two roamed the parking lot with reassuring waves and “I’m sorry, it’s district policy, you have to leave the parking lot after drop off.” Everyone usually took it graciously—it’s like ripping off a band-aid, it’s better to just get it done. 

You had almost cleared the lot of loitering vehicles when you came upon an older, red truck with a man inside it. His window was down so you began to speak to him a little before he noticed you, causing him to jump. 

“Hi, I'm one of the teachers in the Kindergarten cohort," you say as you run your bare left hand through your hair. “Are you a parent?” 

As he turns to look at you, you can notice that even with his cap pulled low, he has definitely been crying a little. “Hey, yes sorry. I’m Frankie Morales, Rosalia’s dad,” the man stammers, “I’m sorry, I know the policy, I think I’m just having a little bit of separation anxiety.” HIs brown eyes look a little bloodshot as he gives you a half-hearted smile. 

You search his face and see no traces of dishonesty, this is just a man very nervous to be sending his kid to school. And a cute one at that too. Claudia called it, you think. 

Before you can let your mind wander too far about this stranger, you have to say something. “Mr. Morales...” you start. 

“Please call me Frankie. Mr. Morales is my dad,” he interjects nervously.         

“Okay, Frankie,” you say. “I understand how nerve-wracking sending your kid to school can be. I may not be a parent myself, but I can empathize. But I can also offer to you that in my years in kindergarten, I’ve never seen a student not adjust to the classroom,” you offer. 

“But I also understand that our anxieties can be irrational and don’t like when presented with things that might undermine them. So it’s okay to still be nervous or anxious right now,” you add. “Do you think there’s something that I could do to help you feel better about leaving school property in the next ten minutes or so?” you smile a little to help this last bit come off as nice as possible. 

“I…” he mumbles, “I… I’m not sure, my parental intuition is telling me that something will happen in the middle of the day and it’ll take me too long to get here, which I know isn’t going to happen but… I’m worried that I won’t be able to be enough for her”  

“You worry because you care, and I can already tell that you care about her a lot. Hey, like I said, our worries don’t have to be rational to get at us.”

“She’s just all I have, she’s the center of my universe,” he adds. With this, you can see the shift in his eyes, from worry to love. You can tell that he loves his daughter with his whole heart. 

“Rosalia is in Andrés', I mean, Mr. Gonzales’s class, right?” 

“Yeah, she is.” 

“I think I might have a solution, a little band-aid just for today,” you bid and Frankie looks hopeful. “This is very much against district policy so you have to promise not to tell on me.”  

He laughs with this, and promises not to tell. “How about I give you my phone number, and any time that your fatherly intuition is telling you that something bad is going to happen, you can text me and then I’ll peek across the hall to Rosalia’s classroom, and I can factually assure you that nothing bad is happening?” 

Frankie actually smiles, for the first time in this whole conversation, “That would be great,” he says.

—X—

As you knew would happen, the day passed without incident. Frankie didn’t even text you, which you felt good about. But also a little sad because you wanted to start a little texting thing with this single dad. But you knew it would be a little inappropriate, in your heart of hearts. 

After all the students get picked up, Claudia and Andrés migrate into your classroom. 

“Don’t you think the first day of school calls for a celebratory drink out this afternoon?” Andrés probes. He always was down for happy hour (and to be truthful, you were too). “We should go to the brewery down the road, they have some nice outdoor seating.” 

“I’m in,” you state, “And I may or may not have some other good news..” you tease. 

“What? What good news could have happened in a room full of 6 year-olds?” Claudia jokes. 

“Y’all can’t tell anyone but I got the phone number of that single dad from Andrés’s class,” you say as quickly as you can. 

Claudia and Andrés both break into shrieks with this news. 

“Oh my god, I can’t believe our prowling on the enrollment forms WORKED!!” Andrés exclaims. 

“He was nervous at drop off so I gave him my number but he didn’t end up texting me, so nothing will probably ever come of it. But still, small win in my book.” 

Claudia throws her head back, “You deserve all the wins you get, whatever happens, we’re psyched for you.” 

Later, during happy hour you check your phone and notice a new text from an unsaved number. 

Hey, thanks for your help this morning, having this line of communication made me feel a lot better. Rosalia had a great day today. -Frankie 

You try to keep your facial expressions minimal as you read the message. They don’t need to know about this, you think to yourself before shooting back a quick message. 

That makes me so happy Frankie. Feel free to reach out whenever you need! About whatever :) 

You add that last line hastily and hit send. I can thank this liquid courage for that, you think as you down the rest of your pint. 

TAG LIST: @wyn-dixie | @empress-palpat1ne | @marvelousmermaid | @knivesareout | @sleep-tight1 | @justanotherblonde23​ | 

[fbfh]

hoo hogwarts house hcs

I have some very hot takes on who’s in what house 

And no I’m not taking constructive criticism

So let’s get into it

Percy: hufflepuff 

His fatal flaw is loyalty for christ’s sake

He’s 100% a hufflepuff 

And he’s a little mad about it

Cares the most about winning house cup out of any other hufflepuffs

Classic “we can win this if we ban together and work hard! Let’s show them!” speeches

Literally anyone: are you sure you’re not supposed to be in gryffindor?

Percy: fuckin TELL ME ABOUT IT

Can never remember which barrel isn’t the vinegar one

Annabeth: slytherin

Her fatal flaw is thinking she can do everything better

It’s almost like she’s very

Ambitious

And i’m sorry

You think Annabeth “my mom is the goddess of battle strategy” “I survived on the streets by myself as a literal child” Chase isn’t at least a little cunning????

Also a little po’ed that she’s not in the “wise” house

“For gods’ sake, my nickname is wise girl!”

“I know, this whole thing is rigged,” -Percy, probably

Figured out the barrel trick to sneak into the hufflepuff common room to visit percy by smelling the barrels and not touching the ones that smell like vinegar

Jason: gryffindor

Anyone who is/has been a praetor is probably going to be a gryffindor

Real shit

He’s a local superman

The poster child for chivalry 

Gets offered the position of head boy/prefect almost immediately 

Graciously turns it down

Tries really hard to just fly under the radar and it actually works sometimes

Piper: hufflepuff 

This bitch is so loyal

She couldn’t choose between her dad and the friends she made two weeks ago

It would have been so easy for anyone else to be like

Y’all ugly

[sacrifices classmates to free workaholic famous dad from evil kidnappers]

But no

She found a way to save everybody 

Also taking down Drew as cabin leader bc she’s a bad leader and becoming a fair cabin head is a very hufflepuff thing to do

Helps give confidence boosts sometimes if someone needs it

Leo: ravenclaw

He has the mind of a mastermind

Fr you think an engineering protoje like that is just not gonna be in the smart house

Huge boost to his self esteem

Literally thinks it’s a mistake

Has a weird bond with Luna as the miscast ravenclaws

Also hello 

Wit has entered the chat

No one believes he’s a ravenclaw at first

Then he roasts a teacher so hard and so creatively they take a leave of absence 

Immediately accepted

Probably makes a bunch of cool shit for the common room

No one believes him when he says it’s not magic

Hazel: gryffindor

Puts the helping others in gryffindor

Mom friend of the entire house

Also simultaneously baby

Hagrid’s favorite bc she’s so good with magical creatures

Some dick tried to pick on neville in front of her once cause they thought he was an easy target and she verbally annihilated them without a moment’s hesitation

Seconds later she almost cried cause she nearly stepped on a ladybug

It was actually a red mnm

Frank: gryffindor

“Anyone who has been/is a praetor is probably a gryffindor”

Further proof

Immediately gets recruited for the quidditch team

Takes a little practice but ends up as a fucking amazing beater

He already has great aim from archery

And looks very intimidating to people outside his house

Which definitely helps lmao

Nico: ravenclaw

All the shit he’s been through has made him wise beyond his years

Has the least school spirit of literally anyone

Constantly sneaking into Will’s common room

Nothing fazes him ever

Not afraid of anyone there

To the point where some kids are afraid of him

Gets really sick of people assuming he’s a slytherin

“I don’t see it”

Will: slytherin

Ambitious and resourceful 

Best healer there

Fixed like three people during a quidditch mishap before madam pomfrey even got there

Great at herbology and potions

Also gets sick of people assuming he’s a hufflepuff

“Cause I’m nice? There’s tons of nice slytherins, what the fuck, man?”

No one even questions him in the ravenclaw common room at this point

Somehow brings out the best in his housemates

Very good influence

Thalia: gryffindor

Does not stop rubbing it in Percy’s face

He’s very salty abt it

Very pro house solidarity

Thinks dividing people into houses is kind of stupid to begin with

Doesn’t realize that’s a very gryffindor thing to say 

Practices with Frank a lot

She really just likes beating flying objects with a bat

Who can blame her

Astronomy tower is her favorite place

Tldr:

  gryffindor: jason, hazel, frank, thalia

  ravenclaw: leo, nico

  hufflepuff: percy, piper

  slytherin: annabeth, will

[thebadboyfanclub]

I Got You (Napoleon x Reader)

This is the third time i’m trying to post this fucking thing, tumblr won’t let the posts I do from my laptop under search results but they will show posts I do from my phone. Anyways, enjoy!

“This better be worth it Waverly”

“Ohhh (y/n) dear trust me it will. Let me introduce you to your new colleagues”

As she walked in the room with one big desk and a few chairs, three of them were occupied by two men and one woman, probably in her 20s. Her eyes however focused on one particular man.... The man that was one of the reasons you thrived in the illegal field.

“This is Miss Gaby Teller, the most important person in this case, next to her is mister Illya  Kuryakin, her supposed fiance and-”

“Napoleon Solo. The thief”

She bitterly interrupted Waverly, he was of course aware of (y/n)’s past with Napoleon, it was one of the reasons he requested her to join this case, keeping from her that piece of information of course. 

“(y/f/n), you’ve grown up”

“you got old”

“Right, now that everyone knows each other, (y/n) please take a seat and i’ll explain the plan”

As she took a seat from the other side of the table, directly in front of Napoleon, she tried to focus on Waverly and ignore Napoleons intense stare that almost drilled a hole on the side of her head.

“Ok, so since Illya is here to be the love interest for Gaby and Napoleon is here to just get some Italian legs in the air, what am I here for?”

“You dear (y/l/n), you will be portraying miss Brigitte Richard, an heir to the Richard well know Cigar, he is a close friend of mine and graciously agreed to take his daughters name”

“Won’t they know what his daughter looks like?”

“His daughter has been kept away from the public eye and she had transferred in Britain during high school, that’s also where she went to College and recently decided to stay there. I will give you a file of hers to study. Your goal is to get close to Victoria vinciguerra during the event, maybe even seem interested in mister Solo, of course for show, nothing more”

“Of course, everything is only just for show when it has to do with Napoleon”

-

(Y/n) was dressed in her best attire, her long red dress that hugged her waist so beautifully, of course some silver diamond earrings on her ears and her hair up in a perfect updo, her heels were comfortable at least, but if she had to run the dress would not hold for long until it gives a show to anyone around her, she prays that it didn’t have to happen, or she would be royally screwed,

“Miss Richard , your father was right you do have your mothers eyes”

What a fool, she thought, this is who she was hiding from? a woman that complimented her for the resemblance in her eyes.... she wasn’t even close to being related to this people. However, on the outside, she smiled brightly at the tall blonde lady

“Thank you so much, god rest her soul she at least she was generous enough to pass them down to me, my dads brown eyes are great but a tad bit boring don’t you think?”

The blonde gave a tight lip smile to her comment. Of course, if she knew that her real parent had never seen this type of luxury, the lady wouldn’t even spare a glance.

“I don’t believe we’ve met, Victoria Vinciguerra”

“Brigitte Richard, my father made sure to keep me away from all of... this, he wanted his kids to be humble”

“I’m really sorry for your brother”

“It’s alright, I miss him but... c’est la vie”

(Y/n) had almost swallowed the file Waverly had given her, she even looked into the cigar company, just in case anyone asked questions. As the two ladies kept talking, she started hearing commotion,she turned her head  towards the direction it was coming from and saw one familiar man falling to the ground.

“What is going on over there?”

“Excuse me dear”

Victoria started walking towards him and of course (y/n) followed. When they finally reached the crowd that was already forming a circle around him, there he was fanning himself the invitation dramatically, in true Napoleon fashion. (Y/n) kissed her teeth in annoyance, he was supposed to discreetly blend in, not cause a god damn ruckus the minute he walks in.

“Thank you, Thank you”

“I wonder what they do to people without invitations”

That is when she decided to take actions. She weaseled her way out of the crowd and kneeled in front of him to his level, offering her glass of champagne to him.

“Are you alright sir?”

“Yes, thank you very much Darling”

“I’m Victoria Vinciguerra, she is (y/f/n). I do believe an apology is in order. I’ll take it from here”

You helped him get up on his feet and took two steps to lean in and talked to her.

“of course miss Vinciguerra... next one is mine”

She giggled as she walked away in triumphant. To be frank the rest of your job was to keep an eye on these two, yet she could still say she completed the most important part.What she didn’t expect was the growing fire in the pit of her stomach that was directed to Victoria, looking at her talking to Napoleon so nonchalantly made her teeth hurt and her breasts ached with rage.

“It’s such a lovely day to be so pouty miss”

“Well sir... there is nothing really here for me to smile about”

“Not even me?”

“I think I am better off being the reason for someone to smile”

“Roberto  Russo, charmed”

“Brigitte Richard”

Roberto was a handsome man, tall, light brown hair, hazel eyes, sharp jawline, full lips and extremely well dressed, no doubt he knew his way around women and money. What a better distraction and cover up than him?

What (y/n) had not calculated was Napoleon picking up at her “strategic” flirt and filling like punching the hell out of this pretentious little Italian boy that grew up spending daddy’s money. He restrained himself from walking over to her and taking her hand, guiding her away from everyone, keeping her all to herself.

“I saw you were talking to my aunt”

“Oh you are related to Victoria?”

“Yes, my dad is her brother. I actually haven’t spoken to her today, come with me?”

“How could I ever refuse?”

As he offered his arm she smiled and linked hers with his, walking over with her head held high as they got close to Napoleon and Victoria

“My dearest Roberto, how are you?”

she kissed her nephew at both of his cheeks and yet no smile was shown. She really was cold, Roberto however smiled brightly, feeling excited to show his knew “catch” to his aunt.

“I’m doing well... who might he be?”

“Jack Devinsky, Nice to meet you”

Roberto looked at Napoleon up and down, almost well not almost... judging him harshly. Napoleons sure looked rich but there were levels to how rich you were, especially when men judged one another.

“Roberto Russo. Well... aunt Victoria may I occupy you for a minute”

“Of course, anything for my nephew”

“It will only take a minute dear”

“I am counting”

She replied at him, he took her hand and placed a gentle kiss as he stared directly in her eyes, winking at her as she left her with Napoleon. They stood there in awkward silence for a few moments, they haven’t really spoken since the case started, (y/n) made sure to avoid him.

“You look stunning if that isn’t obvious”

“Thanks”

She said dryly. She barely even looked him in the eye, all she could see was that damn night, the night she lost everything, the night her heart shuttered, the night he showed her all the cruelty of the world he always talked about.

“You are mad at me”

“Do you blame me?”

“No, it still upsets me though”

“That sounds like a personal issue to me”

-

The event was a success. which meant (y/n) could finally relax and wear her pajamas, pour a drink for herself and lounge in the couch her room had. She still wore his necklace, the gold star necklace he had bought her way back when... she took the charm in her hands and felt the cold metal.

How much more could she take with him around? it took her so much time to heal and now here he was again, scratching the wounds she had closed up all by herself. She was pulled out of her thoughts when she heard a knock at her door. She got up to answer it and was met with the man of the hour.

“Napoleon”

“May I come in?”

She sighed before stepping aside to let him in. Even when all she wanted was to punch him in the face, her heart took over her and let him walk into her room and her life once again, even when she had swore to take revenge when she saw him again.

“What do you want?”

“To talk”

“About what?”

She was well aware she was snapping at him, could you blame her? He had swore to protect her, help her when she had nothing and no one, taught her everything and then one night she came home to find all his belongings missing... and that damn letter tore her apart, she didn’t sleep for days, she waited for him to return for months and yet he never did.

“(Y/n) I know-”

“YOU KNOW NOTHING

”her voice booming through the entire room, it was like a glass of emotions was overflowing, threating to spill and make a mess. He saw the pain in her face, her lower lips trembling, her hands forming fists... still what caught his eye was one thing, the necklace. She was wearing his necklace, after all these years she didn’t throw it away. He took a breath through his nose before continuing.

“(y/n) you have every right to be upset-”

“Damn right I do”

“Will you just listen?”

“listen to what Napoleon?! What?!What?!What?!”

Next thing that was heard was her glass smashing at the wall, Vodka dripping down and small pieces of glass going everywhere. Napoleon was shocked, he should have known this wouldn’t be easy, he had wanted to reach out to her over the years, he had even went through with finding her, yet every time he chickened out last minute and walked away from it. Now, here she was in pain, yelling and smashing things... she had become his enemy

“I’m sorry”

“You are sorry? Sorry? for what Napoleon? for leaving me? for doing it in such cruel way? for lying to me?”

“I never lied”

“You swore to me that you loved me, that you... cared”

There it was, tears. She couldn’t even control it, as her voice cracked and the waterfalls started, she didn’t also want to cover them, she wanted him to see what he had done... to hell with being the bigger person. He wanted to hug her, comfort her, make her feel loved but now all he could do was to try and reason with her.

“I had to leave”

“Why? What could possibly be the reason... money? paintings? women?”

“You know I would never cheat on you”

“Oh yeah, cause leaving our house in the middle of the night is so much better”

She tried wipe away her tears, silence falling between them once again. As a way to calm and hide her emotions, she kneeled and started picking up pieces of glass, her back turned to him. Napoleon went to her side and even when he wanted to pick her up and kiss her, he controlled his desire

“(Y/n) stop, you’ll cut yourself”

“I’m fine Napoleon”

“(Y/n) the maid can do it”

“I said I’m- FUCK”

a piece of sharp glass had cut her as she accidentally gripped it a bit too hard. Napoleon saw the blood and got up immediately to find some tissues, while (y/n) got on her feet and brought her hand close to her chest, closing it to a fist as a way to stop the pain. When Napoleon approached she turned her back once again

 “I said I’m fine”

“(Y/n) you are bleeding, let me care for you”

She had started crying again. As she turned around and opened her hand to him Napoleon gently placed the tissues on the wound, dabbing away the blood carefully.

“Why did you leave?”

“I thought I was protecting you, a way to keep you away from all of the things I was doing”

“Yet... here we are”

He looked up at her. Her lower lip was in between her teeth, tears freshly running down, her beautiful eyes were now red and puffy, her nose was running and he still found her heavenly.

“You kept the necklace”

“I tried throwing it away, or ponding it... I couldn’t find the courage... it’s too pretty”

“I tried coming back to you... multiple times”

“Why didn’t you do it?”

“I don’t know, I just didn’t”

She finally kept eye contact with him, getting lost once again in those ocean blue eyes, the eyes she looked at when they were laying naked on their bed, the eyes that looked at her when she woke up. With his one hand Napoleon slowly reached over and wiped a few tears with his thumb

“You are too pretty to cry over me”

“I missed you Napoleon”

She whispered looking down on the ground in embarrassment. She was everything he ever wanted, a woman that loved him and had his back and he tossed that all away, his intentions were pure yet the damage was gigantic. He hesitated for a minute, before taking her in his arms for a hug, her head nuzzling on his neck as she held on to him for the first time in what felt like centuries. Napoleon kissed her head, smelling her shampoo that was always the same, lavender.

“I missed you too munchkin”

She giggled at the nickname. Napoleon had met her when she was struggling to survive, she was this delicate little thing that looked everyone with kind eyes, yet once he got to know her he saw the passion, the fire, the potential she had to become something great, he didn’t want all that potential to go on illegal things that could possibly get her in jail or worse kill her. So from the beginning of the relationship he called her munchkin.

“Will we be alright?”

“I got you munchkin, I got you”

[hookedonapirate]

Book Sneak Peek

A/N: For those of you who don’t know, I’ve been converting A Helping Hand to an original novel. After months of frustration from not knowing what to leave and what to take out because of the ridiculous length of this story, I’m finally close to being finished with it. It’s currently in the process of being edited and polished. This is a sneak peek of my new book. Unlike my first novel, this one is set in "The Big Apple” just like AHH. It features Harper and Audrey (Emma and Elsa in AHH) from Follow My Lead, and Derrick, Elisa and their daughter, Gracie, make an appearance at the end. 

I also wanted to let everyone know I will most likely be taking A Helping Hand down, even though I’ll be self-publishing. I know I said I wouldn’t, and actually I’m really sad about it, but after going through it, I realized it’s completely full of errors, misspellings and whatnot. Plus, I didn’t just change the names of characters and remove ouat elements; even though it’s the same story and the scenes pretty much follow the same sequence, apart from what I took out or added, I’ve made A LOT of changes to it, and I don't really want another version of my book out there. I encourage you to download A Helping Hand while you still can. But I will definitely let everyone know before that happens.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy another sneak peek!

I groan into the fluffy pillow my face is burrowed in. My head’s pounding, I feel like someone drilled a hole through my skull, my throat is dry and nausea lingers in my stomach. Slowly dragging my arm away from under my face, I open my eyes to a dim room, the curtains shielding any sunlight trying to burst through.

I take a minute to roll over, my eyes adjusting to the room as I lift my head slowly, taking in my surroundings. 

Nothing seems familiar. 

Granted, the guest room in my brother’s apartment is not very familiar either, but at least it reminds me of Brady. This room does not. It’s too pink and girly.

“Where the hell am I?” I grumble hoarsely.

I’m surrounded by pale pink walls and white furniture—a chair decorated with pink, frilly pillows, a bookcase lined with romance novels, a vanity and a nightstand with a pink, furry lamp. The curtains are made of white lace and there’s a large wall hanging that reads in large, cursive writing, Be your own kind of beautiful. 

My eyes scan the comforter, which is also pink, along with more frilly pillows.

This is definitely not my brother’s guestroom.

This is definitely a chick’s room.

My eyes widen in horror at the revelation.

This cannot be happening.

Gathering further evidence to solve the mystery as to how I ended up in some woman’s bed, I sharply lift the covers and peer underneath them, seeing that, yep, I’m bare-ass naked.

“Fuck.”

I let my head sink back into the pillow as I drag my hands over my face. I can’t believe my first night in New York, I hooked up with some random woman.

I went to the bar with those intentions in my dispirited condition, but I don’t recall picking up anyone. In fact, I have no recollection of last night beyond the bar. Which means I was way too smashed to hook up with anyone.

I need to leave. I’m not the type of guy to fuck someone and run off the next morning without at least buying her coffee or getting her phone number. To be honest, I’m not the type of guy who does one-night stands, but I’m in no shape to be involved in anything resembling a relationship. 

 Judging by the breakfast she’s making, this woman has other plans. The door is closed but I can hear dishes clanking around in the kitchen. And as I spot my clothes across the room, I doubt a woman expecting nothing more than a one-night stand would go to the trouble of picking up my clothes from the floor, folding them neatly and setting them in the chair. She certainly wouldn’t be making me breakfast.

I sit up slowly and place my feet on the floor, hoping this will stop the room from spinning around me. I drop my face in my hands and groan. I haven’t felt this hungover in years. I eventually stand up and grab the knitted blanket I’ve been sleeping on, securing it around my waist. I go to the window and pull back the curtain.

I’m on the third floor, judging by the number of windows beneath her unit. I remember little about the surroundings, but I do remember seeing the pancake house directly across the street and I remember thinking about how much I missed my mom’s chocolate chip pancakes. I also remember the bar I went to last night and seeing the barbershop next to it and thinking how badly I need a haircut. The names of the establishments are all the same. Which means only one thing. 

The woman I slept with last night lives in the same building and floor as my brother. 

Fuck.

I have a feeling this won’t end well. I let the curtain fall into place and turn around when I hear a gentle knock on the door.

Shit. 

I swallow thickly as the door opens. Panic flares inside me as I try to think up a way to get out of the pickle I’m in. I scramble toward the chair which holds my clothes.

“Owen, you awake?” 

I whirl around until I’m face to face with the most beautiful green eyes and golden hair I’ve ever seen in my life. I drag a hand through my disheveled hair, my eyes traveling down her body. She’s wearing a thin, pink bathrobe, exposing a pair of long, sexy legs that go on for days.

Legs I can definitely imagine wrapped around me.

Damn, I hit the jackpot last night. 

She’s beautiful, which is either a relief or extremely dangerous; I can’t decide which one.

She strides over to me, bearing a glass of water and a cheerful smile. I’m still stunned by how beautiful she is. “Morning, sunshine. Sleep well?” 

She’s teasing me and I like it.

How in the hell did I forget a night with a woman like her? I must’ve been out of it. “I have a splitting headache and the room is still spinning.” I press my fingertips against my temples, feeling them pounding underneath my touch, “Other than that, I’m perfect.”

“I can imagine,” she says with a giggle. 

Her giggle is the most delightful sound I’ve ever heard in my entire life, even with a splitting headache. 

“Here, I got you something that might help with that.” She offers me a glass of water and some aspirin.

“Thank you.” I graciously accept the aspirin and water, deciding this isn’t so bad. 

“What, no ‘thank you, beautiful’? Guess you’re really not feeling well,” she says playfully. 

Fuck. I even called her beautiful, which means I was laying on the charm pretty thick last night. I offer a frail smile, despite feeling terrible. Not only because of the alcohol. I feel terrible for getting her into bed while I was inebriated and miserable from my breakup. And she was probably drunk too, which makes me feel even worse. Although, she doesn’t appear to have a hangover. Maybe she’s one of those people who doesn’t get hangovers after they get drunk. If she is, she’s pretty lucky.

I swallow the pills, and as I wash them down with water, I know the right thing to do is tell her I’m not ready for a relationship or a woman in my life, but how can I? I don’t really want to see her smile dissipate, especially since she turned out to be so nice and sweet and beautiful.

I lower the glass and close my eyes briefly, the coolness of the liquid feeling quite soothing against my cracked lips and dry throat. Damn, if only I could remember exactly what I did to this woman with my mouth as my tongue slashes along my lips. If only I could remember what she did to me with that lush mouth of hers. A shiver skates down my spine. I try to shake the thoughts from my mind and try to speak but struggle to find the words. It’s difficult when this woman is staring at me with those intense green eyes. I desperately want to scoop her into my arms and kiss her senselessly, creating new memories of having her in bed, but I know that would only end very badly. Even more so than it’s already going to. The last thing I want to do is lead her on.

Somehow, I manage to refrain from kissing her. “Listen...I don’t remember much about last night and you’re…” My hand makes a grand, sweeping gesture down her form, “drop-dead gorgeous...and I’m sure last night was incredible...but my girlfriend just dumped me and my head’s a mess right now, so, I...” she eyeballs me in confusion as I will myself to continue, “I think we should just be friends.” At the same time, I reason with myself that we’ve already done God knows what, so there’s no harm in a quick kiss on the cheek, right? Besides, I may not be ready for a relationship, but I’m still a gentleman.

I step into her space and casually lean in to kiss her cheek. She smells like strawberries and cream and I can hear her breath hitch as my lips brush along her skin.

“Whoa, what are you doing?” She places her hands on my chest to push me away.

I quickly pull back to give her space, apologies leaving my lips. “Sorry, I just figured since we had sex—”

Her eyes practically pop out of her head. “Wait, you think we had sex?!” 

Well, duh. I shrug. Why else would I have slept naked in her bed and why else wouldn’t she be fazed by my nakedness underneath the blanket? “Didn’t we?”

She dissolves into laughter, to my complete and utter humiliation. “Oh no, no, no, no! We did not have sex.”

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[stillbandofbrothersthirsty]

As Far As Friends Go

Chapter 5 (Chapter 1; Chapter 2; Chapter 3; Chapter 4; Chapter 6; ... Chapter 18)

Summary: Emily Rooney has always wanted more than what her family wanted for her; to get married to a nice, wealthy young man and have lots of well-raised Catholic babies. So when her fiancee enlists with the marines she decides this is her chance to have an adventure before she has to get married. She finds herself outfitted with the 506th working alongside a flippant intelligence officer.

Emily - November 1943

Emily and Luz beat their final opponents by 50. She walked home that night with a new sense of pride bolstered by her new soldier friends’ praise.

Their first opponents had been Joe Liebgott and Moe Alley. Their speedy victory had been chalked up to beginners luck on Emily’s part. So, she graciously accepted a second invitation to play, this time against Donald Malarkey and Skip Muck. After another inevitable win the men grew rowdy with the idea that Emily Rooney was seemingly unbeatable.

After another three games in a row Nixon had come over to let Emily know that he and Welsh were headed back to base, if she wanted to walk back with them. Luz and the other soldiers around her whined for her to stay. After their time together, Emily felt she could trust the men. She at least felt she could trust Luz so she told Nixon to go on without her.

“How’d you get so good?” Luz asked as they walked back.

“Played a lot in college.”

“How was college?”

“College was,” Emily hesitated, “fine.”

“Just fine?” Luz’s figure was barely visible in the darkness. A few paces ahead of them walked Joe Toye and Frank Perconte.

“I really enjoyed learning!”

“Oh yeah? What’d you study?” George sounded genuinely interested.

“Geography and History.”

“Smart girl, eh?” Emily thought she could make out the flash of George’s smile.

“I love those subjects, it’s easy when you love it,” she said.

“That makes sense why you’re here then! Teaching us common soldiers all about maps and such,” George said, “so why just fine then? Since you got to study what you love?”

Emily focused on the gravel crunching beneath their steps as she tried to formulate the best way to explain herself. She didn’t know why she felt so comfortable being vulnerable with George right now, but she did. Maybe it was the alcohol or maybe it was just because he was being so friendly. “I don’t think anyone wanted me there, not to learn at least.”

“Whaddya mean?” George’s warm shoulder brushed hers briefly as he moved closer to listen.

Emily exhaled, “I was so excited to learn and to get to go to college! But when I got there I quickly realized that it was just one giant pantomime.” She paused. George remained silent, waiting for her to continue. “We were encouraged to spend time with the Notre Dame boys, and it wasn’t subtle. I didn’t really feel challenged academically or that my scores or assignments mattered. All my classmates were consumed with the latest hair styles, their boyfriends, dances, and as far as academics went,” Emily scoffed, “they didn’t really care about learning or thinking critically,” she was ranting now, “as long as they appeared to be a ‘successful’ student, that’s as far as it mattered. A respectable young woman with a formal education. That moves you up in life. But no one actually cares if you learn anything or have any thoughts of your own!”

George was quiet and Emily felt a flush taking over her cheeks. She was grateful for the shield of darkness.

“Well, good thing you didn’t listen to them,” George finally said.

“What?” Emily turned to look at him, despite the low visibility.

“Well, you’re here aren’t ya. You’re actually doing something with your education. You’re doing everything they didn’t want you too and that’s gutsy.”

Emily allowed herself to smile slightly, “yeah, I guess so.”

“Not a lot of dames would leave everything behind to join the European front. I mean, how many women do you see around you right now?” Emily chuckled, “there’s plenty of other brave women here.”

“Yeah, and you’re one of them.” They were approaching base at this point and the few dim lamps that hung on the front of the buildings illuminated George’s face slightly.

“Thank you, George,” Emily smiled softly at him.

“Anytime.” He bumped her gently with his shoulder. “You want me to walk you back to HQ?”

“That’s okay, we’re fifty feet away,” she gestured, “though I appreciate the offer.”

“Sure, see you later.” George disappeared into the darkness with Joe and Frank.

The next morning Emily felt more exhausted than she had in a long time. She wasn’t hungover - or at least she thought. To be fair she hadn’t experienced that sensation before.

“Alright kid?” Nixon asked as he trudged into the intelligence room.

“Kid?” she asked dryly. He shot her a look that said, yeah and? 
“Yeah I’m good, thanks. You alright?”

“I’m up aren’t I.”

“Indeed,” Emily chuckled, “coffee?”

“Sure,” he accepted the drink, “is this..?”

“Regular,” Emily didn’t have the energy to elaborate until she had consumed her own cup of coffee. Luckily, her and Nixon’s shorthand had evolved into a clear language.

After a few quiet minutes of mutual existence Nixon finally said, “we’re getting you on the rifle range today.”

“Okay,” Emily said dully.

Nixon squinted at her, “okay?”

“Yeah, okay, just tell me what time so I can change into my pants.”

“Okay,” Nixon drawled suspiciously.

“What?”

“I was expecting a little more pushback or more questions.”

“What’s there to ask?”
 “I don’t know, you always seem to come up with something!”

“Well I just said let me know so I can change.”

“Right, well are you nervous?”

Emily raised her eyebrows at him, “I’ve shot a gun before, Captain.”

Nixon winced into his coffee.

“What?” Emily asked, “don’t like women shooting guns?” 
“No,” Nixon said defensively, “god, you make me sound like a misogynist. I don’t like that title.” 
“Captain?” Emily was confused.

Nixon waived his hand is disgust, “yeah that.”

“Why?”

“I just don’t care for it. I don’t care for the frou-frou and fanfare of it all.”

“This is coming from a man who has an exclusive drink preference?”

Nixon gave her a cool look which caved into a little chuckle. “I’m here to do a job, a job I don’t particularly want to do, and that’s it,” he said with finality.

His attitude came as a surprise to Emily. Her impression of Lewis Nixon thus far had been that of an out of touch but clever and capable officer. She never had any sense that he took his military career seriously, like Winters for example; Nixon’s flippant attitude made that clear. But before now she would’ve guessed that title and rank meant something to him. Their conversation revealed a surprising humility Emily hadn’t expected to find in him. He was here out of duty to his nation just as much as any other foot soldier who had enlisted, not for glory. Guilt tugged slightly in Emily’s stomach. What was she here for? Not glory, but if she was being honest, not in humble service of her country either. Between the two of them, she was the opportunistic one using the events of war to seek adventure.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Nixon interrupted her introspection.

“Sorry,” Emily shook her head to clear the fog of her mind, “I’m tired.”

“Wild night?”

“Not really,” she said innocently.

“Really? I’m disappointed in George Luz.” Nixon smiled devilishly.

Emily couldn’t help the red flush that crept up her cheeks. There was nothing to be embarrassed about but Emily was Irish, so her blushes were frequent and beyond her control.

Nixon clocked it immediately and wasn’t about to be gracious enough to let it go ignored, “what?” he demanded with a half-smile, “what are you keeping from me?”

“Nothing!” Emily insisted.

“Aw come on, you know I’ll find out.”

“There’s nothing to find out!”

“There isn’t? Why are you so red then?” Nixon was unrelenting.

“I don’t know! I can’t help it!” Emily pressed her hands against her cheeks, desperately trying to cool her face, “I’m not hiding anything!”
 Nixon raised his eyebrows in doubt. Quickly, Emily collected herself and straightened, determined to get her power back from him, “There’s nothing to hide. Besides, I am spoken for, Captain,” she said haughtily.

Nixon wrinkled his nose in distaste at her pointed use of the title he had just admitted he hated.  Emily smiled smugly back at him and the conversation was put to rest. The pair ditched their empty mugs and were about to start out for their morning duties when Private Allen Vest stopped them in the doorway.

“A letter for Miss Rooney,” he said holding out an envelope.

“Thank you,” Emily took it and Vest was gone as quickly as he arrived.

“Finally a letter from that boyfriend of yours?”

“Fiancee,” Emily corrected, opening the letter.

“Hey ask him if he’s had a chance to try the local cuisine yet. If he’s anywhere close to Turin, I know this lovely little hilltop place I’d love to recommend.”

Emily looked up from the letter to shoot Nixon a disgusted look. He raised his eyebrows in mock offense, “at least say hi for me!”, then he swaggered out leaving Emily shaking her head and smiling. She had barely comprehended the few words she had already read, having been distracted by Nixon. She began again,

Dearest Emily,

I’m glad to hear you’ve settled in England easily. I apologize for the time since my last letter. I can’t begin to describe to you how difficult things are over here and frankly, I’ve had more to worry about than our correspondence. I do appreciate each of your letters, and your enduring loyalty to me…

A slight pang of guilt hit Emily at those words. Why though? She asked herself, had she been unfaithful? Not in the slightest. She had done nothing wrong or untoward since she’d been separated from John. But, though not explicitly wrong, she had done things she knew he wouldn’t approve of. She had played darts and cards, she’d drank and socialized with men without a female companion. She had been alone in a room with who John would consider a strange man on more than one occasion. This was on top of the liberties he had already been a good sport about; her working, shooting, and potentially being sent to the continent. These were all things that were acceptable from women who were single and not from her class, especially when there was plenty of dignified work to do on the home-front. And so Emily had omitted the details of her relationships and aspirations in her letters to John. She most definitely would not be conveying a hello to him from Nixon.

Emily finished the letter, folded it up, and stuffed it in her breast pocket. From her desk on the far left of the room she collected a box of maps and hurried out of the room. She was running late. Emily walked as quickly along the pebbled road as she could while still maintaining her poise. The box hadn’t seemed to weigh much when she first picked it up but it grew heavier in her arms with every step. The edge of the cardboard dug into her stomach, pulling on her skirt. A sudden anxiety of how her skirt may be twisted around when she entered the classroom came over her. She bounced the box on her hip which provided some momentary respite and room to desperately pull at her skirt in an effort to straighten it. She was roughly twenty-five yards away when two hands reached out for the box, accompanied by a friendly voice

“Em, let me take that for you,” George Luz said.

Emily’s initial instinct was to protest the help. She was more than capable but George was already taking the box from her and she couldn’t deny her relief.

She straightened and smoothed her skirt before she looked up at her rescuer, “thank you, George. You sure it’s not too much? You’ve got a lot on you right now.”

“Another couple pounds won’t hurt, whoa!” George feigned dropping the box and laughed when Emily lunged to support him. “Seriously, no sweat. Where are we going?”

Emily pointed straight ahead to the building they were approaching. “Perfect, that’s where I’m supposed to be anyways,” George said.

Emily grinned at the trouble maker, “you running late too?”

George smiled crookedly back at her, “I left for the bathroom while we were getting settled in. I don’t think they got up to much without me if we were waiting on these.” George lifted the box in indication.

Emily flushed, “I know, I know, I got distracted and lost track of time.”

“By anything good?” George’s question was innocent but there was something about it that felt probative.

“Letter from John,” Emily patted her breast pocket, doing her best to keep her voice nonchalant. She noticed that George took the opportunity to glance at her chest and redness flared in her cheeks again. George quickly looked away and said, “nice, how’s he doing? Remind me, brother or boyfriend?”

“Fiancee, and he’s doing well.”

“Nice,” George stepped aside to let Emily enter first through the already open doorway. Inside, Welsh was already lecturing.

“Yesterday we talked about magnetic declination and the left add right subtract rule,” Welsh noticed her enter with George close behind, “today,” he continued, “we’re gonna put it into practice.”

“Thanks George,” Emily whispered her thanks and took the box from him. Trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, Emily walked around the soldiers, occasionally having to step over a canteen or helmet, until she reached the front of the classroom. As Welsh continued to speak, Emily took out gridded maps from her box and began to distribute them to the soldiers.

“Glad you could join us,” Welsh grinned a gapped tooth smile at her once the lesson was ended. His hands were stuffed deep into his pants pockets and he rocked back and forth on his heels as Emily re-organized the maps in her box.

“I’m so sorry I was late,” she grimaced, “I - I don’t have any excuse just lost track of time.”

Welsh gave a shrug that told her it wasn’t a big deal. He didn’t say anything more but remained standing only feet from her, watching her work.

“That was a good lesson,” she said to break the silence, “they seemed to really get it.”

“Yeah, it always makes more sense when once can practice it on their own,” Welsh said.

“Agreed, best way to learn is by doing.”

“I’m relieved to think you went well though,” Welsh said settling himself on the edge of the table. He folded his arms across his chest and looked at her with those disarming blue eyes, “I only learned all of this a couple days ago. It really should’ve been you teaching them.”

Emily smiled at the ground in response to his slight compliment, “you did a fine job. Besides, you’re their leader. It’s important to establish that you’re the one they should go to for information and support.”

“Pfft,” Welsh scoffed, “I’m sure that’s true, but no one wants to look at my ugly mug at the front of a classroom. All of those guys would have paid better attention to a beautiful lady like you.”

Emily fully flushed at this blatant compliment.

Welsh bit at his bottom lip, “anyways, time to get on to the next thing,” he stood, “want to leave that there for this afternoon?”

Emily nodded, “that was the plan. Just tidying things up a bit so you can easily find everything you need later.”

“Thanks,” Welsh said. Emily watched his lean figure walk out the door, silhouetted by the mid-morning sun streaming in. A little shiver ran through her body. Thoughts were creeping up in her mind that she was afraid to touch. If she acknowledged them there would be no denying them. She refused to be distracted from her plan; make the most of her career now before she had to return home and settle down. She couldn’t give anyone an excuse to send her home, not her parents or John or Nixon or any of the soldiers she worked alongside. Any acknowledgement of her growing crush would only lead to trouble.

[malewifegrantaire]

The Birthday Thing

READ PART ONE HERE

PART TWO: Guess who’s coming to dinner hang out for no apparent reason (as far as Grantaire can tell)?

Combeferre had inadvertently ruined the rest of Grantaire’s week. It wasn’t his fault, of course. He couldn’t be blamed for Grantaire’s Incredibly Bad Brain. But still, “I just know Enjolras and I know he likes you” is a very reckless phrase to pepper into a conversation with someone of Grantaire’s constitution. He could hardly fall asleep that night because the words I know he likes you were clanging too loudly against the bars of the jail cell he called a mind. He didn’t mind too much though. The clanging was because Enjolras liked him, which made all of the noise sound a bit like music.

Grantaire picked out an outfit for the party and laid it out like he was a little kid excited for a school trip. Embarrassed with himself, he threw the entire outfit into his clothing hamper so he wouldn’t have to look at it lying out on his dresser anymore. Which was obviously a mistake, because now the clothes were are wrinkled and they were touching his actually dirty clothes. Which meant now he had to do a half load of laundry on a weekday, which he really didn’t like doing.

As he folded his laundry, Grantaire felt his phone buzz in his pocket. Huh. It was from Combeferre. Odd.

hey, are u free? sorry lol i am bored and wanted to know if u wanna hang out ??

Very odd. Maybe the wrong number? Just to be safe, Grantaire texted back:

grantaire is folding laundry right now, like a responsible adult.

Two texts back:

very interesting use of third person..

i can help if u want! i love 2 fold things

So this was Grantaire’s life. He used to be young and wild, and now he’s the sort of person that makes plans with people who text him sentences like “i love 2 fold things.” He typed his response.

uh, sure? might get boring, but i’ll never say no to an extra set of hands.

About fifteen minutes later, Combeferre was inside of Grantaire’s apartment. “You got here fast.” Grantaire said.

“I was in the neighborhood.”

“Aren’t you always?”

Combeferre took in Grantaire’s apartment, which gave Grantaire such a wave of self-consciousness that he thought he might be sick. It was a fine apartment, kept clean mostly because Grantaire hardly spent any time in it. The ceilings were far too low for Combeferre.

“This is a really nice place.” Combeferre said. “Have you lived here long?”

“Five years, I think.” Grantaire said. “I think the landlord thought I’d have left by now, but, well. I’m still here.”

“Yeah, I mean, it’s nice. Good windows. Not easy to come by.”

Grantaire laughed at that. “Hey, was there something you wanted to talk about? Or are you just here to admire my big beautiful windows?”

Combeferre looked slightly embarrassed. “Uh, the latter, I guess.” he said. “I mean, just what I texted, I was bored, and I guess . . . I don’t know. I guess I thought we could just hang out?”

Now it was Grantaire’s turn to be embarrassed. Of course. Combeferre is the sort of person who’s actually, you know, decent. He was just trying to be nice and Grantaire was accusing him of having an ulterior motive. Way to go. Grantaire cleared his throat. “Well, thanks for coming. Feel free to park wherever. I only did a half load of laundry so I’m finished folding, sorry. I know how much you love to fold.”

“I went through a very intense Marie Kondo phase.” Combeferre grinned. “Let me know if you ever need your closet to be reorganized.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Grantaire said. It was dawning on him that, being more of the roaming type than the nesting type, Grantaire almost never had people over his apartment, and therefore had very little hosting experience. So he did what he always did in situations like this - said what people say in movies and books and all that.

“Can I offer you a beverage of some kind? I’ve got . . . tap water. And orange juice. And maybe beer?”

“I’m alright, thanks.” Combeferre said kindly. Combeferre’s fridge was probably fully stocked with sparkling water in every flavor for guests to sip on, the bastard. He sat down in a little chair by the kitchenette. “What, what is it?” he asked, looking at Grantaire’s expression. “Why are you - what’s funny?”

“Everything is too small for you in here. It’s like shoving a Barbie doll into a Polly Pocket house.” Grantaire said with a laugh. Combeferre tucked his long legs a bit closer to himself.

“Well, Barbie is a good role model, so I’ll take that.”

“I think an averaged sized woman or two might disagree. Anyways, you’ve got impeccable timing.”

“What do you mean?” Combeferre inquired.

“I mean that someone must have wanted us to hang out today. God, the Fates, some non-denominational arbiter of Destiny.” Grantaire was doing that thing he always did where he ended sentences in a way that begged the listener to ask him to explain himself. Why he chose to speak in these irritating circles? We will likely never know. Grantaire sure as hell didn’t.

Combeferre rolled his eyes, but he seemed more amused than annoyed. “You’re impossible.”

“It’s been said before.” was Grantaire’s reply. “What I mean to say is I’m literally never home. Not literally-literally, but, you know. This apartment is basically a glorified storage unit that I visit when there is absolutely nothing else to do. So the fact that you happened to be passing by on a laundry day...”

“... a work of divine intervention?” Combeferre finished.

“I’d go so far as to call it a miracle if I believed in that sort of thing.” Grantaire said.

Combeferre’s next question caught Grantaire off-guard somewhat. “So you’re an atheist, then?”

Grantaire had never actually seen a shrink, but he had the passing sensation of being sprawled out on some brown leather fainting sofa. Maybe that’s what this was, a psych eval. He’d get a message from the official Les Amis de l’ABC e-mail account later in the week saying “sorry, R, you’ve been deemed mentally unfit to be a part of this organization. We know the Musain is public property, but if you could avoid the premises during our scheduled meeting times we all think that’d be for the best.”

“Well, yeah, aren’t all of the lefties heathens nowadays? At least that’s what Twitter tells me.” he said. His paranoia would not rob him of his (debatable) sense of humor.

Combeferre just shrugged. “I guess if I had to call myself something I’d say I’m agnostic.”

“Huh!” Grantaire said, genuinely surprised. “A member of the ‘namby-pamby, mushy pap, weak-tea, weedy, pallid fence-sitter’ brigade, are we?”

Two things occurred to Combeferre at once: One, that Grantaire was quoting Richard Dawkins, and two, that Grantaire could not have been certain that Combeferre would recognize the quote when he said it. Grantaire was both the sort of person that committed Dawkins to memory and the sort that didn’t really care if someone mistook his references for a string of improvised insults. The more Grantaire spoke, the more Combeferre became aware of how little speaking they’d ever done.

“I guess I just think one can never be sure.” Combeferre said.

Grantaire thought now would be a good time for a subject change. “So, how is party planning going?” he asked.

Combeferre sighed. “It’s . . . it’s going.” he said. “Well, okay, I’m being dramatic. Courfeyrac is actually the one doing most of the planning. I just get weird about stuff like this. I want Enjolras to like everything, you know?”

“I don’t think Enjolras is capable of disliking anything you do.” Grantaire said in a way that to the untrained ear might sound like a veiled insult, but that Combeferre suspected was an attempt at genuine sincerity.

“Well, thanks.” Combeferre smiled gratefully. “I just want him to have a good time.”

“He will. It’s the rest of us you’ll have to work to entertain.”

“Well, Courfeyrac has a slew of party games he’s preparing. Oh, and, uh, Enjolras mentioned he’s glad you’ll be able to make it. By the way.” Combeferre said, which made Grantaire blush, which made Combeferre smile.

Grantaire hated that. Not just when Combeferre did it, when any of them did. Making faces or little comments, as if they were in on some big secret. It’s like they were proud of themselves for noticing Grantaire’s little crush, like they knew something funny or scandalous or cute. But they didn’t know anything, not really. Grantaire didn’t have a crush on Enjolras at all. It was more like a religion. Maybe he’d been too quick to brand himself an atheist earlier.

His annoyance with Combeferre soured the rest of their conversation. He became mean, curt, and downright humorless. This wasn’t at all fair, he knew. Grantaire probably annoyed Combeferre every third sentence (maybe every third word) and that had never stopped Combeferre from being his usual amiable self. There was another difference between the two: Grantaire lacked both grace and graciousness, and Combeferre, it seemed, never ran out of either.

“Well, I guess I should be leaving.” Combeferre said after a while, rising from the squat chair he was sitting in.

“I guess.”

“Uh, thank you for having me over. We should do this again some time. I had fun.” Combeferre lied.

Grantaire smiled, but the smile did not reach his eyes. “Yeah, why don’t we all do brunch some time? You can bring your friends, it’ll be a real party. Everyone can sit around admiring my huge windows. What a blast!”

Combeferre knew he was joking, but he couldn’t decipher the punchline. What would be so bad about having all of their friends over for brunch? Why did he say the word “friends” like that, all sardonic and italicized? Combeferre almost asked him, but instead he just shook his head and smiled.

“Okay. Well. Bye!”

Grantaire waved lazily. “See you around.”

Under normal circumstances, the phrase “Enjolras mentioned he’s glad you’ll be able to make it” would have found itself fluttering in the pit of Grantaire’s stomach. Instead, there was something else sitting in there. Something that felt a bit like failure, a bit like guilt, and - most surprising of all - a bit like affection.

This is precisely why he didn’t like having people over.

[jackambrosemodeling]

Boy Talk || Jack & Brandon

When: May 2, 2021

Where: Jack’s apartment, Santa Monica, California

Featuring: Brandon Kelly (dialogue provided by Katie @itsbrandonkelly)

Triggers: Allusion to alcoholism

After firing off a You’d better be home. text to Jack, he realised that he really should have checked first to save him from waiting outside their apartment but that’s why there were so many saying about hindsight. Still, he knocked to let his presence be known instead of texting again, hoping he’d timed his visit well.

Jack was coincidentally home when they received Brandon's text. They got out of the shower when they saw the message. After texting him back with a 'bitch I might be', Jack unlocked their door as well as the entrance door to the apartment building. They followed up with a 'door's open' text and went to go find clothes to put on before Brandon came inside.

He huffed out in amusement at the first response he got and then knocked again at the second before letting himself in. “Who leaves their door open? This is the start to every horror film ever, then again just letting yourself into someone’s home is also how they start.” He called out, heading to the kitchen instead of looking for Jack. He figured they would have answered the door if they weren’t occupied with something else and so they’d join him when they were done. When he found glasses, he settled himself on the couch and shrugged off his jacket.

"I do when I know someone's coming over!" they yelled from behind their closed bedroom door. If someone had actually broken into their apartment for nefarious purposes, Jack was more than prepared to deal with the situation. Once they were presentable, they looked around until they found Brandon in the living room. "Comfy there?" they teased. "You know I love seeing you, but a little more of a heads up would've been nice. I could've still been in the shower. I could've been actively having sex!"

“Who’s supposed to be coming over? I can’t believe you were inviting people to chill and I wasn’t one of them?” Brandon had taken out his phone to sit on the couch with him and had even gotten as far as pouring them both a drink before Jack had come to meet him. “Yep. I made myself at home.” He gave Jack his best smile, even fluttering his eyelashes for good measure. “If you loved seeing me that much you would invite me over to do those things with you. Besides, it’s not much of a surprise visit if I tell you about it, is it?”

“You! I opened the door for you, silly!” Jack looked at the two glasses, then back to Brandon. “Oh shit, the wine that Nyle sent as a moving present! I forgot I had that.” They didn’t want to be rude and throw it out, and figured it would be good to have in case of guests, so they hid it. The fact that they managed to not drink any of it themself was a miracle. “Yeah, I’m not sure how Viv would feel about that... speaking of which. Fun update in my life. I’m kind of seeing someone? Still figuring out labels and whatnot.” Though there were rumors floating around the gossip sphere, Brandon was the first person they confirmed the rumor to.

“Then the door wouldn’t be open so it wouldn’t matter if you were showering or fucking, would it?” Jack’s comment had Brandon looking at the bottle again and picking up the glass closest to it. “Mine is alcoholic. I brought you some appley juice recommended by the best palate I know.” He patted the space beside him before his eyebrows raised in surprise. “You settled before you boned me? Disgusting. Unacceptable.” Despite his words, he started grinning. “I’m so happy for you, babe. That’s cute.”

“Brandon, stop making good points,” they huffed, sitting down on the couch next to Brandon. “Oh, thanks.” While Jack had never explicitly told Brandon why they quit drinking, it appeared that he had gotten the hint. “I’m sorry. It turns out I have a SIMP gene that was activated by me moving to Santa Monica. Who would’ve thunk it?” they joked, knowing damn well that they’ve simped over every person they’ve ever dated.

“I can’t help that I’m brilliant. Sorry buddy; you just gotta live with that I’m afraid.” He hummed quietly in amusement. Brandon simply offered them a smile at their thanks. They never joined in whenever B was drinking and he was nothing if not attentive. Sometimes, at least. “Literally no one because the simp gene has always been in you and always been active but I’ll keep that to myself if it really makes you feel better.”

"All my friends are hot and smart, but I'm just hot. Story of my life." Jack sighed, taking a sip of the juice that was so graciously provided to them. "Excuse me?!" Jack exclaimed overdramatically. "Are you calling me a simp? In the comfort of my own apartment?! I don't know what I did to deserve this treatment. I don't know how I'll go on!" They busted into  laughter, unable to keep the act up.

“You’re hot and smart. What the fuck are you talking about? Be nice to my friend or I’ll kick your ass.” He reached his foot out to nudge Jack with, an amused smile on his face. “Plus, you’re also super hot, own it. And yes. I’m calling you a simp. You’re the themperor of simpington. Population... Uh, I don’t know how many people are in Santa Monica but that’s the population.”

“Brandon, I was a straight-C student in high school and have the common sense of a bag of potato chips. I know my strengths and weaknesses.” Jack knew they weren’t book smart and it didn’t bother them. “Excuse me, I am not Themperor Simpington. That title belongs to Sunwoo Seong. Have you met them? But they did skip town a while back... shit. I didn’t ask for this title. I need to find a new non-binary friend to bestow this title on. I just need more enby friends in general.”

“You don’t have the common sense of a bag of potato chips, Jesus Christ Jack.” Brandon laughed as he slapped Jack’s arm. “You’ve survived this long in this industry, babe. That’s not down to potato chip brain, even I nearly crashed out a couple of years in.” He raised an eyebrow, head tilted as he fixed them a look of disapproval. “You are Themperor Simpington. The queen has spoken. I met Sunwoo once and obviously offered to climb that tree but they left and Joonie was sad so I’m no longer a fan of tall, hot and dimpled. If it makes you feel any better, I’m a huge simp for my sweet boy.”

“Hey, I’m funny. Fuck you,” they retorted, chuckling. “I’ve been told that I’m charismatic, and that’s helped me out in the industry. I’m still not that famous though.” While Jack was relatively well-known in queer circles, heterosexual circles were a whole other ballpark. Being friends with Brandon and recently befriending Vanessa did help their social standing though. “Themperor Simpington my butt,” they grumbled. “Wait, when you say ‘my sweet boy,’ do you mean Minjoon or do you have another boo I should know about?”

“Bitch, I been trying to get you to for so long now. I was starting to think you needed glasses.” Bee broke into a laugh before he even finished his sentence, nudging Jack’s arm in his giggling. “Yeah, you have to have a look and you have to be charming to start work in this industry but to survive in it? You have to be smart. About that though, I know I keep promising you a space on my next project and it’s had a few.. speed bumps I guess? Not really speed bumps but personal delays? Either way, I know enough now to be able to tell you that Queen B’s.. that I’m releasing a trial perfume.. fragrance line. Five scents to start, each will have its own colour have theme shots with, each will have its own model to associate with and I want you, if you’re interested?” Their mumbling made Brandon grin, coughing as a terrible fake attempt at covering up the ‘Simp.’ he titled them with again. “Minjoon is my sweet boy. I don’t have another boo, not even a little bit but if you hear simp alarms going off whenever I like the instas of a very beautiful friend of mine then mind ya business.”

"Oh my god. Brandooooon!" Though Jack had quite a few friends with benefits in their days, whenever the thought of doing anything with Brandon crossed their mind, they thought about the bright-eyed, bushy-tailed seventeen-year-old they met all those years ago. Jack's eyes lit up when he started talking about his fragrance line project. "Oh hell yeah I'm interested. Just remember, my favorite colors are purple and pink." They winked at Brandon. Aside from one photoshoot in L.A. that they did after fashion weeks, their work schedule was dryer than a desert. Of course they wouldn't tell him that though. They didn't want to sound desperate. Jack would've taken this job even if they weren't in need of work. "B, you're gonna have to be a little more specific than that. I know you. You don't befriend ugly people."

The laugh that left him this time was more of a giggle and he scrunched his nose up, shaking his head. “I tease but honestly, you’re practically family. Did you know that my parents ask after you? They know as much about you as I do but.. Well, they’re embarrassing. Eh, mom’s okay. Dad’s embarrassing so you’ll probably never meet them but yeah.. They get told about the important people in my life and you’ve been in it longer than Joonie.” Brandon groaned, setting his glass down. “Can’t believe I’m being gross and emotional already. Moving on..” He said, a little louder. “Purple would be fantastic for you. It’s a very royal colour and I’m going to do the obvious and lean into that a little but silk, not velvet. Pink was going to have a sweet-candy-lace vibe to it but if you want pink I can give you pink.” Brandon rolled his eyes, despite the heat he could feel spreading up his neck. “I have a... friend called Kian and he’s... There hasn’t been a word invented yet for how beautiful he is and it’s ridiculous and gross because I don’t lose my mind over pretty boys but he’s.. He makes me blush, Jack. I don’t blush.”

"Brandooooooooon! Stop, you're gonna make me blush. I'd love to meet your parents. Parents love me. Well, actually, I just love milfs and dilfs," Jack cackled at their own dumb joke. "But in all seriousness, let me know when they come to town!" As much as they wanted to meet Mr. and Mrs. Kelly, they didn't want to go to the Kelly home to do so. Jack knew that they shared a home state with Brandon, and didn't want to reenter North Carolina at the risk of running into their family. "Ooh, purple and silk? Now you're speaking my language!" Jack wiggled their eyebrows when Brandon mentioned Kian by name. "A yes, the cute delivery boy. You've mentioned him before. We're Instagram mutuals!"

“Do it! Blush, you coward!” Brandon laughed, leaning against Jack’s arm to nudge them. “Oh my god. I can’t believe I have to say this but if you’re gonna fuck my parents, please don’t date them and wait until I’m out of the room if you’re going to flirt, I don’t need to see that. They really would love to meet you though, they’ve been waiting for permission to come to town.” Brandon grinned at Jack at their approval, giving a small nod. “I’ll get some things drawn up for you. I do have a few already as rough drafts but now I know you’re taking it, I can design something a little more tailored to you.” The warmth spreading across his cheeks and colouring his face a darker shade of pink only grew worse as Jack wiggled their brows at him. “Yeah.. Well.. He’s almost perfect. The only thing I’d change about him is his last name.” His reaction to himself was instant, throwing himself against the cushions to yell out a laugh. “And I keep saying dumb cheesy shit like that! I’m a bumbling mess around him. Like.. Like I start off all smooth and collected and then he smiles and I’m just.. fucking applying to be hired by hallmark. It’s.. It’s so cringe and gross and... I’m happy.”

"Brandon, I'll become your new step-parent and ground you, don't tempt me," Jack joked, cackling. "Well give it to them! Don't deprive me of your loving parents!" Jack didn't have loving parents of their own, so if Brandon's parents were anything like Brandon, Jack was going to latch to them like nobody's business. "Oh my goooooooooooood, that was so coooooorrrrnnnnnyyyyy! Damn, and you call me a simp! I'm not out here reciting poetry on main about my crush. And if you bring up the fact that we have keys to each others' apartments, mind your business." Jack knew they were simping hard over Vivian, but now it was Brandon's turn to be in the hot seat. "So have you considered, you know, talking to him?"

“Their ex girlfriend actually tried that once. Oh my god, it was kind of funny though. You’ll have to treat me better when our guests arrive and do as you’re told or I’ll have you cut off until you learn some damn respect.” He mimicked in a too high voice, rolling his eyes afterwards. “Like.. Honey, I’ve only just noticed you’re not the last guy they were dating and that’s only because you started pterodactyl screeching.” Despite his playful tone, Brandon could feel warmth spreading across his face. “Yeah, okay. I’ll.. I’ll invite them up to meet you.” Having made peace with the fact that he‘d made himself into a product, his parents were off limits when it came to the people in his life, knowing how fickle and superficial a lot of his relationships with people were. It was different with Jack though, Jack really was his friend. “Honestly, I’ve been an absolute mess. I pulled the whole ‘My friends call me B, you can call me any time.’ Thing on him when we met and now I just blush all the time and feel nauseous over butterflies.” He waved his hand quickly at Jack’s news, shaking his head. “NUH uh.. We are not going to just gloss over that? Oh my god? Keys? You’re entering domesticity. Like.. Me and Joonie levels of domesticity and my parents are the founders of the BranJoon wedding fan club. Like.. You’re getting into that territory..” There was a small pause before a smile spread across his face. “I’m happy for you, babe. Honestly. You deserve this.” He couldn’t help but sigh at the question, sinking into his seat a little with a pout on his features and a small shrug. “I’ve been so obvious about it. Short of getting a neon sign to carry around, I don’t know how much more obvious I could be and sometimes it feels like he’s being obvious back? Like.. It feels like it’s not just one sided? And then I start having a gay panic and do something dumb because he’s way out of my league which is a new thing for me. I do want to though. Should I?”

"Hold up, hold up. I said that as a joke. You're telling me that your parents are actually non-monogamous?! And you didn't tell me until now?! I came out as polyam like, 2-3 years ago! And now I'm in a monogamous set-up again. I missed my shot. I'm hurt." Jack put their hands over their chest and sniffled, but almost immediately returned to their usual cheerful demeanor. "I'm kidding, I'm not gonna become your step-daddy, or... I don't know what a gender-neutral equivalent would be besides 'parent,' and that doesn't roll of the tongue as well." This wasn't something they had to think about right away. It wasn't like they were going to wake up tomorrow with a child. "Ah yes, your infamous pick-up line." Jack's face turned pink when Brandon acknowledged the keys. "Okay, I actually do have an explanation! I initially gave her my spare key because I asked her to water my plants when I was away for Fashion Week. Granted, she didn't do a good job and managed to kill both plants, but that's an aside. But yeah, I just never asked for the spare key back." Jack gave Brandon a shoulder pat. They really didn't know Kian, so couldn't tell what the full situation was. "What I've learned from my many years of dating men is that men are dumb and sometimes you literally need to spell things out for them."

“As momma dearest says, monogamy is for the weak. Anyway, they were already in a relationship when you came out. Also? I don’t want to be hooking my parents up with my hotties?” Brandon pulled a face at Jack, nose scrunched up in disapproval. “To be fair though, you and Viv wouldn’t even be the first couple they’ve dated. You’d be the first I’d... somewhat approve of but..” He shrugged before laughing. “Oh my god. There are a couple.. Zaza or zeze instead of dada and mama but given the chance I’d mash up dad and mom and just refer to you as my dom to make everyone in the room uncomfortable.” He shook his head, laughing quietly. “I hate this so much, Jack please.” “I think it’s funny, definitely in my top 3 introductions.” He found himself sitting up straighter when he noticed the blush on Jack’s cheeks, a grin forming on his own features. “Oh my god. She killed your plants and you let her keep your key? Say it with me, babe. Simp. You’re cute though. I’m totally 100% on board with the two of you. She was one of my heroes.” When the conversation turned back to him, Brandon tilted his head as he weighed his options. “Not Kiki but... You’re right, I guess. He’s probably so used to everyone being in love with him that my flirting is just baseline niceties. Okay, yeah. I’ll.. I’ll tell him that I’m crazy about him. Or I’ll just text him that aggressive meme about wanting to hold hands.”

"Aaaaah, your parents are so cool! I wish my parents were cool like that. Mine are just homophobic." There was a lot more to Sofia and Tony Corleone than just that, but very few people knew about them. This was very much intentional. They made a face at 'zaza' and 'zeze.' "Yeah, not really digging those ones... Wait. Dom?!" Jack paused to laugh. "Fucking hell. Yes. That's definitely what my future kids are gonna call me." Jack never brought up the topic of kids to Vivian. They were still very early in their relationship and Jack was afraid they were too old to be a parent. It was still a nice thought though. "Yeah. I got back from Paris and she was having a bad day, so I ordered a pizza and we just... talked. Had a real heart-to-heart. I ended up staying the night, and we've basically had an open-door policy with each other ever since. And then the next day I went back into my apartment and found out about the plants."  Jack grabbed a pillow from the couch and lightly smacked Brandon's arm with it. "I know, I know! I'm a big sappy simpy mush. I'm a Cancer, I don't know what you expect from me." It took Jack a long time to accept their emotional side, but now they openly embraced it. "Or he might not know how to recognize flirting. I've met many people like that. Like the cute DJ at that bar where Minjoon used to work. Or Minjoon himself!”

“My parents have a big bank balance and even bigger hearts. That’s why I don’t approve of a lot of their partners but yeah.. As much as I give them shit for being lame, they’re the coolest. I mean, they’re the only reason I’m even.. y’know... Around.” Brandon let out an unattractive snort and sat forward to retrieve his glass, pouting when he realised it was empty but simply sat back instead of refilling it. “Please, I am begging you, think carefully as to why I’d find calling you my dom funny before you commit to that decision.” He pressed his lips together to fight his laugh before he let out a soft hum. “Do you think that’s where you’re headed with her? Is she someone you can see yourself having kids with?” He asked softly, his whole demeanour changing from playful now that they had ventured into serious topics. “You don’t have to say yes and you don’t have to have an answer right now. Things are still new with you both and y’know... Take it from the adopted, some people don’t want kids and some do.” He shrugged a little.

“Ew. You talked to each other over pizza because one of you had a bad day? That’s disgusting.” When hit with the pillow, Brandon grabbed it to tug it away from Jack so they couldn’t attack him again and he hugged it to his chest, propping his chin on it. “I live for that kind of domesticity.” He sighed wistfully. “You are a big simpy mush and I love that about you. It’s gross and honest and just very sweet. I’m really glad you have someone who makes you feel that way, babe.” Brandon  rolled his eyes and gave the pillow a small squeeze. “Vito really doesn’t recognise flirting? The dude wants to be an actor! With a face like that a lot of his roles are probably going to have it. I wanted to ask if he wanted any help getting into it because he was good to Joonie when they worked together and I always appreciate people taking care of the babie but I also feel like I don’t know him well enough to just give him a shout about a job. Eh. Maybe I’ll get Joonie to text him about this perfume thing and actually see what skills he has. Joonbug doesn’t count for the whole flirting thing though, attraction isn’t really his thing.”

"I gotcha," Jack stated, nodding. They had a similar problem when they first started modeling. They loved to spoil their loved ones-- and still do-- and people often took advantage of their generosity. As Jack grew older, they learned how to weed out the moochers. Of course Brandon was never a moocher; he wasn't the type to take without giving, plus he had plenty of his own money. Jack watched for Brandon's reaction, then chuckled in response to his face. "Babe, I know. I was joking. Could you imagine?!" They shrugged at Brandon's question. "Honestly, I have no idea. I think it's too soon to talk about that kinda stuff. I thought I was never gonna become a parent because Sage didn't want kids, but, you know, they're not my fiancé anymore." Sage not wanting kids wasn't the main reason the engagement was broken off, but it was a bone of contention in the relationship.

"Oh hush. One day you'll have a heart-to-heart over pizza too. Well, maybe not because of the whole gluten thing, but some food that you enjoy." They stuck their tongue out at Brandon. "Ohh, that's his name! At least he didn't recognize me flirting with him. Could just be that he wasn't into me because he's straight, but I'm hot so that's dumb." Jack didn't want to have sex with straight dudes anyways, so they didn't consider it a major loss. "Attraction isn't his thing? Is he asexual or something?" they asked curiously. "Wait a minute, you're deflecting!"

[herstoryherlegacy]

Expect the unexpected

(Trigger warning - lots of throw ups)

This has never really been my motto. Most things in my life have been expected or I’ve had signs pointed out to me that gives me a hint of what lies ahead. I was not expecting to be in the ER tonight. Actually I was just about to put my makeup on and do a lovely couples photoshoot with my husband when I got the call to come to the ER for possible blood clot in my lungs. Let me back up..

I had been healing from my port placement 3 days ago. Yesterday I was texting Juan updates on how I was feeling. I’m extremely thankful he was so diligent on checking in on me. My main concern was the tightness in my chest, pressure where the port is. I couldn’t take a deep breath. I felt better resting. I had even been doing light housework to stay up and active. Today he checked in again. The chest pressure was better. I could actually take a deep breath with little to no problem. Fast forward to this afternoon. I had went down to my best friend Sam’s salon to get my hair styled for my photoshoot. She’s on the 2nd floor and we took the stairs. My favorite part. I hadn’t exercised since my diagnosis and it’s been killing me. I was so active. Upon reaching the 2nd floor which was not far, I was winded. I text Juan letting him know, and he didn’t respond right away. I sat down, caught my breath, and got my hair done. As soon as I parked at home Juan called. He was consulting his doctor and advised I go in ASAP to an urgent care to be seen. I needed an x-ray, EKG, oxygen levels checked to rule out a possible blood clot in the lungs. Fuck me..

Disappointed to say the least. I walked into my home filled with laughter from my girls and their cousins, everyone gathered at the table for a meal, my in laws were visiting. All I could say was, we have to go to urgent care. I didn’t even kiss my babies goodbye 😕 I said goodbye to them but not thinking I wouldn’t be back tonight didn’t cross my mind. Now I wish I had. I arrived at a local urgent care before closing and the first thing I noticed in the lobby were vases of fake sunflowers. By pure coincidence, I use a sunflower background when I update my stories about my disease. I immediately knew this was God’s way of telling me he was with me and that I would be okay. I went into a room to be evaluated, and guess what kind of shoes the nurse was wearing? I’d never seen these before, but white vans with yellow sunflowers all over. There are no coincidences! However I wasn’t helped and was told to go to the ER.

No one likes to be in the ER, especially not right now. I had labs drawn, and an x-ray which showed proper placement of the port. Luckily Juan was here working and able to be there for my x-ray. He came to see me once more before he left to tell me he was going to communicate with the doctor about my CT and insulin complications. I had mentioned I was waiting for my husband to bring my charger because I was basically on E, and he graciously went to retrieve his charger to give to me. So extremely thankful for that gesture because alone, with no connection to my family in this place, is NOT the business. A charged phone is a precious lifeline so please always keep yours charged! So now..I wait for the CT.

I had been moved all over that ER. First I came to a bed and talked with a nurse. Then another nurse came in demanding she needed the bed. Once I was done I was booted off that bed so fast and into a chair in a hallway. The place was littered with sick people inside and outside rooms. It was so sad and crowded. I do believe I was mixed with both normal sick people and possible covid patients. To say I was nervous is an understatement. Back and forth I went between rooms, chairs, main waiting room, and scans. The longest wait was waiting to have my CT scan. I was in a room with chemo type reclining chairs. This poor girl in front of me was dealing with pain, bad. I felt so sorry for her. She was doing a good job being quiet but her face and body language looked like she was in active labor, though she was not. After watching I assumed she was suffering some sort of abdominal pain. When it was just us two, I didn’t want to make her talk, but I told her that I didn’t know what she was going through but that I was going to cover her in prayer. Her eyes lit up. She said thank you a bunch and I just assured her that I had her taken care of. I prayed with healing words. No matter what situation I’m in, I would never turn down the opportunity to put myself aside and pray for someone else who needed it more. I have failed this test before many times being too shy to pray, but you never know how those simple words of offering someone prayer may help them feel better. I wanted to cry, yeah I was in here for a possible life threatening issue, but I was nowhere as bad off as these people.

So I prayed for her, and eventually it was my turn to go to my CT. I had an IV put in, flushed, and had 3 medications to help me with my scan. One was Benadryl. I was actually glad to have it because I’ll be receiving it in my Pre-chemo cocktail and I wasn’t sure how I would feel on it. Yes it made me woozy immediately, but it was tolerable. Almost enjoyable in the correct setting. Waiting again, and was wheeled over by this super nice guy who eased the stress with good conversation. If you’ve ever done an MRI with contrast..it’s a fucking insane feeling. I laid down, the nurse flushed my IV and added the contrast. She loaded me in and waited a few minutes for it to kick in. I was in the machine for another few minutes and immediately when I was done I felt the warm rush. I’ve previously been warned it makes you feel really warm and almost like you’ve pee’d yourself. Thank god they reminded me because the warm sensation is explosive. It simultaneously felt like hot water was exploding from both my chest outward and my crotch 😂 indeed I clenched my body in case I did pee, but that’s exactly how it felt!!! So odd. Off to wait again for the results. This is where it for torturous. I am SO thankful for my AirPods and this charger. I have a very sensitive trigger to throwing up. Myself, other people, I can’t handle it. I actually did a good job this last week because both my girls got a virus, and I wasn’t second hand nauseous at all, that’s a victory. But in this ER literally 90% of the patients were vomiting 😑 I cranked those air pods to the max to drown out the sound. Closed my eyes. I don’t want what they got. So I’m in the big chair room again, my poor friend comes back in. Still in pain desperate for relief. Then another person, and another until the whole room was filled with us 5 people. 3/5 with vomiting 😕. Poor baby I prayed for got sick first, she was telling a nurse she was getting sick from the pain itself. Then the girl directly next to me. As she was getting her IV meds she started to get sick. It was a constant rush of nurses trying to get those sick bags in time..bless their quickness. I winced and turned to my left as to avoid being there. There wasn’t anywhere I could go where I wasn’t in the direct line of someone getting sick. I was miserable. Benadryl still kicking, I tried to nap, but had to keep my eyes open waiting for my name to be called. Eventually the time came, I was put in a draw chair outside the big chair room and my doctor read me the good news! I had my IV’s taken out and asked if they wanted me to go back into the big chair room (I don’t want to hog the draw chair in case someone needed it) and he said sure, just as I stood up the first poor girl started wrenching and I said “you know what I’ll stay here” and with a laugh the nurse walked back to their station and printed my discharge papers. I was R E L I E V E D. I was as calm in this situation as I needed to be, panicking and stressing weren’t going to help me. Easier said than done, to just not stress, but knowing how much trauma your body goes through WHEN you stress, it just wasn’t going to work in my favor. I came home famished, ate my dinner at 11:30pm, followed by a bag of popcorn, followed by a small serving of ice cream. Then my blood sugars sky rocketed all night 🙃 eh, not a good thing but I will hopefully have that very taken care of soon. Praise God nothing came out of this, each day has its own surprises, not all good, but also not all bad. The day started well with me sharing that my CT showed no cancer anywhere else in my body. This is EXTREMELY good news, and ended with me in the ER. You just never know how things will play out. So hug your kids, tell them you love them, do something fun. Enjoy the day given, because in a flash it could all be taken away ✌🏻

[deanstop13billyjoeltraxx]

Superposition

a deancas college roommates AU

Dean Winchester had it all at Wichita State University — a second chance, a future devoid of his father, and a roommate-turned-best friend who understands him inside and out.

But his father dies, he fails out in his second semester, and Castiel Novak leaves without so much as a goodbye.

Three years later, Dean has picked up the pieces. He works at the most trusted auto-shop in Lawrence, he’s putting Sam through college. Dean thinks it can’t get much better than that.

Then Castiel Novak gives him a concussion, and everything falls apart. Again.

Chapter 2 is up on AO3 (and below the cut)! Tumblr chapter masterlist here.

Classic Rock and Other Foreign Concepts

Three Years Earlier

Castiel Novak was ready for his second chance. 

Sure, the name “Wichita State University” held no cache, and sure, it was only two hours away from home. But it was a full ride, it was free of old high school acquaintances. It was enough. 

Castiel stood at the door of his empty dorm room, hope blooming in his chest as he regarded the dingy bunks and linoleum floors. 

He didn’t have much in the way of belongings, so moving in was quick and easy, even by himself. Castiel made his bed, hung up his limited outfits in the dresser, and filled his desk with his books and paper. Only one thing remained in his suitcase — a picture of his family, two Christmases ago. Castiel took it out and looked at it for a moment, before deciding to place it on his desk. 

He decided it might be a good idea to familiarize himself with his new surroundings. That was sure to calm down the inevitable anxiety that his first trip to the showers would bring. Castiel strolled down the hallway, doing his best to stay out of the way of all of the other freshmen moving in on his floor. 

After successfully discovering the bathroom and the water fountain, as well as narrowly avoiding an awkward encounter with two giggling girls who were apparently intent upon introducing themselves to him, he returned to his room with a sigh.

Castiel moved to his desk and opened his computer. He pulled up his course schedule, reviewing it again, despite having already committed it to memory. Tuesdays and Thursdays would be difficult, he thought, with financial accounting, economics, and an intro to business. The other days were more interesting, holding philosophy, creative writing, and nineteenth century British literature. 

Castiel was about to read the class descriptions for the millionth time when a loud thud and a grunt interrupted his thoughts. He stood up, fast, almost knocking his head on the bottom of his bed. Castiel got to his open door just in time to almost run into someone. 

“Shit! Watch it, man!”

Castiel found himself face to face with… Plastic storage bins. The man holding them shifted to reveal a mild scowl. Castiel cleared out of his way, and the man set the three boxes down. 

“Sorry,” Castiel muttered. 

“You’re fine,” the man grumbled. “Sorry, long drive.”

“Dean Winchester, I presume?” Castiel said, cautiously. He had seen his roommate assignment online weeks earlier.

“Damn straight,” Dean said, and he offered a hand out to Castiel, who accepted it graciously. “Sorry, man, I’m terrible with names. Have we met?” 

“I’m Castiel Novak,” Castiel replied, then added, “We haven’t met, but the website informed me of your name and email address. I emailed you a few weeks back.” 

Dean nodded. “I definitely didn’t respond. Sorry ‘bout that, I kind of haven’t had access to the internet in… Well, it’s a long story. Anyway, good to meet you.” 

“You as well. Do you need any help unpacking?” 

“Least you can do after nearly killing me.” Castiel tensed, but then Dean clapped him on the back. “Kidding. Help would be great.”

Castiel moved to unpack the box nearest him, but Dean stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“No! Uh, not that one. No offense, but that’s the most important thing I own. Give me a second, you can start on this one.” 

Castiel tilted his head in inquisition, but Dean said nothing more, just got to unpacking the bin. Castiel set to work on the second of the three, first grabbing the sheets to make the bed. 

When Castiel had finished with Dean’s bed, he turned to see Dean had set up a record player and a pair of bookshelf speakers on the floor. 

“Behold,” Dean announced. “My prized possession.” 

“A record player?” Castiel asked. 

“Not just the record player,” Dean said. He went back to the box, which Castiel could now see was filled with vinyl LPs. “The whole collection.”

“It’s quite impressive.”

“Fuckin’ A-right,” Dean said. “Here, you like Zeppelin?” 

“Embarrassingly, I have no idea who that is,” Castiel said, blushing.

Dean’s eyes widened. “Dude! No way! Oh man, it’s time to educate you. How have you survived this long Zeppelin-less?” 

“My father was strict about music.” Castiel felt suddenly very nervous that this, combined with his near-toppling of Dean moments earlier, would have him solidly fixed on Dean’s bad side. But Dean was flipping through his records with animation, as if Castiel’s ignorance was a game to be won. 

“That’s utter bullshit,” Dean declared. “Here, listen to this.”

Dean put on Led Zeppelin IV. Castiel turned back to the plastic bins, intent upon doing something while the record played. He was quiet as he worked, setting up first an ancient-looking coffee maker, then a small, LCD monitor. Dean unpacked his clothes, quietly singing along to the music.

“Do you need help with the rest?” Castiel asked when they had finished, assuming there had to be more than just those three boxes. Dean chuckled quietly. 

“Nah, this is it. Thanks for the help, Castiel.” 

Castiel raised an eyebrow, but only said, “You’re welcome.” Dean had brought even less than he had. 

“That’s a weird name, by the way,” Dean said, turning the volume down on the speakers. “Castiel. It sounds kind of --” 

“Ancient?” Castiel supplied, and Dean nodded. “That’s because it is. It’s adapted from the name of an angel in the third book of Enoch.” At Dean’s blank look, Castiel added, “Christian apocryphal lore. My parents are very religious.” 

“Ah,” Dean said. “And you…?”

“Haven’t been to church since I was fourteen,” Castiel finished. “We are very different, my family and I.” 

Dean nodded. “That them?” He asked, pointing at the picture on Castiel’s desk. 

“Yes,” Castiel said. 

“That’s a lot of kids.” 

“Yes, there’s five of us.” 

“Road trips must have been fun,” Dean said.

This actually got a laugh out of Castiel. 

“I’ve only got one. My kid brother, Sam,” Dean said.

“How old is Sam?”

“God.” Dean rubbed his face, considering. “I guess he’s fourteen now. It’s weird — I feel like I can never see him as any older than, like, eight.”

“I can’t say I understand,” Castiel replied. “I’m the youngest.” 

“Damn, that must suck, four older siblings. What’re their names?”

Castiel picked up the picture. “The boy on the left — he’s the oldest — that’s Gabriel. The other is Bartholomew. The redhead is Anna. And then there’s Hannah, she’s just a couple years older than me.” 

Dean nodded, moving to his record player. He pulled a small, worn piece of paper from the inside. 

“This is old as hell,” he said, showing Castiel the picture, “but that’s my dad, and that’s Sam when he was… ten, maybe?” 

“It’s just the three of you?”

“Yeah, my mom died when I was, like, four.”

“I apologize, I didn’t mean to --” 

“No worries, man,” Dean said. “Long time ago.”

There was an awkward pause that made Castiel want to open his computer just to look preoccupied, but Dean spoke. 

“I’m sorry, I can’t get over this name stuff. I can’t be roommates with a dude named after an angel.” 

Castiel felt his entire body deflate. Day one, and just his name was already making things difficult. “I’m… Sure there’s a way to switch roommates. But, what’s wrong with being named after an angel?”

“Dude, I was totally joking,” Dean said, putting his hands up defensively. “I’m not switching roommates — unless you’re secretly a vampire or something.” Castiel smiled at that. “And there’s nothing wrong with it, I’m just not into the whole religion thing. Makes me feel weird. Nah, I’ll just have to call you something else. Any suggestions?” 

“I’ve always just been ‘Castiel.’” 

“Man, haven’t had many creative friends,” Dean said. “Cas it is, then.” 

“Cas?” Castiel replied. He considered the new nickname. Castiel actually found it strange that no one had ever thought of it before, now that he had heard it. “I suppose it is a great deal shorter.”

“Easier to say, too,” Dean said. “It fits.”

Castiel smiled tentatively. “Sure.” 

The music faded, and Dean flipped the record to the B-side. 

“What do you think so far?” He asked. 

“It’s certainly different than what I’m used to. In a good way,” Castiel added. 

Dean beamed at him. “Awesome. I have more in here, too, and it’s not just Zep. Mostly the classics — the Stones, Rush, AC/DC… And a shit load of grunge, too. Man, wait til you hear Alice in Chains…” 

Castiel smiled at his animation. “Music is important to you?” 

“Dude, I couldn’t function without music. I feel like every time I listen to a song I like, I find something new that makes it even better.” Dean chuckled to himself. “Sorry, I’m geeking out about classic rock.”

“I don’t mind,” Castiel said, and he found that it was true. “I feel similarly about books.” 

“You like to read?”

“Immensely.” 

“You’ll have to give me some recommendations. I read Vonnegut in high school, and that was cool, but other than that and Harry Potter I think I’m pretty hopeless.”

“I will,” Castiel said, even though he knew he wouldn’t, even though he knew Dean was simply saying the polite thing. He had learned by now that when people asked about him to talk about the things he liked, they were just being nice. 

Dean asked Castiel which end of the hall the bathrooms were on, and excused himself.

When he returned, Dean clapped his hands together. “So,” he said. “I gotta ask you the Freshman Questions.” At Castiel’s confused look, he elaborated: “You know, the two things you ask everyone for your whole freshman year. Where are you from, what are you majoring in?” 

Castiel nodded. “I see. I didn’t know there was a procedure.” 

Dean looked at him for a moment. “It’s not — I was kinda joking.” 

“Oh. Right,” Castiel said, rubbing his neck. “Well, I’m from Guthrie — it’s a small town in Oklahoma, just a few hours south of here. And I’m studying accounting and creative writing.” 

“Guthrie… I’ve driven through there, on our way to Oklahoma City for a job my dad worked once,” Dean said. 

“It’s not very impressive.” 

Dean laughed. “Nah, not really.” 

“What about you, Dean?”

“I’m from Lawrence — it’s northeast of here. And I have no fucking idea what I’m gonna major in,” he said. “I’m not really… Well, Sam is the smart one. That kid is gonna kick ass when he goes to school. I’m kinda just here to…” Dean trailed off. 

“Experience it?” Castiel suggested. Dean shrugged. 

“Yeah, I guess.” He cleared his throat. “Why accounting? I get the writing thing, you said you like books — but accounting? I feel like those two don’t mix.”

“They don’t,” Castiel agreed. “But I don’t want to be a starving author. I do want to be able to take care of myself.” I want to be far, far away from everything I’ve ever known. I want to leave and never look back.

“Fair,” Dean said. “I don’t know about you, Cas, but I’m starving. Wanna grab some dinner?” 

“Sure,” Castiel said with a smile.

 The next day, in his first creative writing class, the professor asked each of them to share their major, their hometown, and a fun fact. He called, “Novak, Castiel?” 

“Double major in accounting and writing. I’m from Guthrie, Oklahoma. I suppose a fun fact is that I’m named after an angel, but you can just call me Cas.” 

[letshaikyuu]

𝐁𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐞 É𝐩𝐨𝐪𝐮𝐞

«𝐁𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐞 É𝐩𝐨𝐪𝐮𝐞 - French for “beautiful era,” a term that describes the period in French history beginning in 1890 and ending at the start of World War I in 1914, which was characterized by optimism, relative peace across Europe, and new discoveries in technology and science.»

𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 - 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞 - 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐰𝐨

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: profanities, abusive parents, mentioned depression and anxiety

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.7k

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

There were numerous things Semi hated about working at a coffee shop. The loud noise, the crowded space, spilled drinks on the floor when people can't keep their eyes open and arms that intentionally flail around and knock glasses off the table. He can't say that 'Primavera' is a slow-running and old coffee shop, not at all. He has been working here for the past two years and can only turn his head away when any accidents happen. But, the main problem with working in a coffee shop was the low payment.

In his hand was a small envelope that contained this month's payment. In it was the same, small amount of money, not a dollar down and not a dollar up.

'Fucking hell, I can't live like this anymore!?' He let out an exasperated sigh and aggressively raked a hand through his dyed hair. Looking around the empty coffee shop, Semi looked at his friends that were joking around and talking about how to spend this month's paycheck. If only Semi could live a, seemingly, carefree life like them.

After attending the same high school, Semi's friend group (which is equivalent to their school's volleyball team) went their separate ways. All the third years found themselves in one university program or another, the second years were all flourishing in the science field, and chose programs that made your head hurt. The only first-year chose to chase after his volleyball dreams, alongside their former captain.

'God knows where they are in the world now...,' Semi looked at his right fist that was unconsciously gripping the white envelope. Loosening his hold on the crimpled white paper, he angrily gazed at it.

High school was not a time he was extremely proud of in his life. It had more downs than ups and was constantly giving him a headache. Yes, he was part of the school’s volleyball team, but his happiness was cut short after he sustained an elbow injury that wasn't planning on healing any time soon. Out of all the body parts, his elbow was the last part he'd pick would get injured. But, there he was. Sitting on the bench during his entire third year and watching his other teammates lining up victories. He didn't know what to do after high school. His mind was empty and out of ideas to help him overcome this obstacle. When everyone was talking about their chosen programs, Semi's response would always be: 'I'm taking a gap year.'

Now, a year after that, Semi still wasn't any closer to deciding on a program he'd be content with. A program he knew he’d love and find solace in, maybe find a good job in the same field. He paid minimal rent at 'La casa de Tendou.' His best friend from high school was also a barista at 'Primavera' and offered Semi to stay at his small one-bedroom apartment close to his university. His back accommodated to the thrifted couch in the living room, but he was in no place to complain. The only thing Semi paid for was the groceries and part of the bills. Tendou was too nice to him sometimes.

The only thing he found irritating and not very comfortable are the times Tendou’s fling and he meet up in the bathroom. Yes, he is straight, but seeing the naked body of a chick his bestfriend had been fucking a few hours prior was never a nice sight to wake up to. By now, the two of them have met up countless of times that Semi doesn’t even blink. Thankfully, she remembers to put some clothes on now.

'Speaking of the devil,' he whispered under his breath as excited footsteps approached his lonely figure.

'Hey, Semi-semi! What are you sulking about now, we're eating good tonight!' He waved his still intact envelope in front of his face and stood proudly in front of him. Behind him, Yamagata and Reon were nodding in agreement. 'We're heading to an izakaya later, you know, to treat ourselves,' Yamagata's usual deep voice had an extra kick of excitement to it and Reon simply agreed.

Reon was the cashier at the coffee shop because he is the only one out of the four that can be trusted with money. Yamagata works as the baker and part-time musician whenever there's an open gig at the coffee shop. Both of them were from Semi's old volleyball team and studying at the nearby university. Of course, Semi was the only one working full-time at the coffee shop because he was the only one who doesn't have any lectures and exams to prepare for.

'Semi-semi-,' Tendou's confused voice called out to his friend who slung a bag over his shoulder, not before shoving the envelope in his bag. 'I can't come with you tonight. Have fun without me.'

Pushing past his friends and before they could even stop him and ask him what's wrong, Semi was already out the door and into the night. Sighing, Tendou looked back at the remaining two and spoke:

'Guys, we gotta do something about Semi-semi.' Evoking hums of agreement and nods, Tendou stood there for a few seconds before raising his head. A small smirk was plastered on his face. 'Satori? People can't trust you when you look like that,' chuckling at the 'scary-looking' face of their friend, Yamagata and Reon knew that Tendou was definitely up to no good. But, with Tendou, if you're not on the receiving end of said ideas, you sit back and enjoy the show.

'I have just the thing to get Semi-semi out of his slump.' Somewhat graciously turning on his heel, he picked up his bag and jacket and headed towards the door. 'Follow me, peasants! We have shit to organize! Chop chop!'

'If we're the peasants, then why do you like a badly drawn cartoon character?' Yamagata called out to him. ’Nobody appreciates the first drafts enough!’ Yelling over his shoulder, Tendou impatiently waited for the two to join him outside. Joking about how his, non-existent may I add, pet snail moved faster than them, the walk to their favorite izakaya was filled with a very euphoric atmosphere.

Can’t say the same for poor Semi.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

’You’ve fallen behind on your school work and your paintings are getting worse, yet you still find the need to disagree with me and argue!?’ The loud voice of your mother bounced off the small studio apartment you moved into a few weeks prior. It was still bare and decorated with minimal furniture and a tiny cactus was seated on the coffee table. Your mobile phone’s speaker was suffering and could hardly keep up with the volume of your mother’s loud screaming.

’I need to shove this cactus down her throat now,’ you muttered under your breath and put your face in your hands. The lecture continued for a good few minutes and she ended the call before you could voice out your own opinion. Groaning, you leaned back on the small couch and stared at the ceiling.

This was nothing new. Your talent ultimately became a curse because your parents were always funding you and sending you to the best artists in the area. Even at a young age, you were covered in paints, chalk, and various art supplies that they made sure you have. You showed remarkable talent at drawing and painting, always showing off your skill in art competitions. What your parents loved the most about your talent is not what people think. To them, you were a walking dollar sign and title that had the chance of excelling and becoming famous in a few years. Of course, that was not a far-fetched idea at all, what are you talking about. That’s why they’ve always been trying to ’support’ you when it came to your dreams, but all they wanted to have was the money you were going to earn in a handful of years.

It was in the middle of junior high when you started to lose interest in art because of the enormous pressure building up on your young shoulders. After school, you’d always be forced to draw and better your talent, but after countless of days, you’ve had enough. That didn’t sit well with your parents who weren’t letting you have a say in this situation.

’You do know we’re the ones that made you who you are today.’’How can you be so damn ungrateful after everything we’ve done!?’

Your lovely parents applied for a spot at this humble art institute close to your small studio apartment, hoping that you would get in. It was known for having numerous secrets talents that’d later flourish into the most beautiful of flowers. Unfortunately for you, you did get a spot and now are suffering through your first semester at university. You’ve made one friend and she was thankfully willing to put up with your sarcastic and depressed ass. And now, you’re suffering together with someone.

Classes regarding art history, painting classes, drawing classes, and lots of other shit took up most of the hours in your day. Art was not something you liked to learn. Institutes hardly teach you anything and most of the professors have nothing nice to say about your art and style. You’ve gotten numerous comments from teachers and peers alike that with an attitude like that you don’t deserve to be part of the institute. Yes, you may have commented a nasty thing or two, but your art was not bad. It started to suck awhile ago because of the loss of love and inspiration. But that was not your fault, your parents were to blame.

’Ye, you turned me into a huge ball of depression and anxiety,’ you commented while glaring at the white ceiling. The night was still young, but your non-existent friendships didn’t allow you to go outside. Or was it the anxiety? ’Fuck it, I’m making some ramen,’ getting up and heading towards the kitchen, you missed the buzzing of your phone on the table.

Returning to the couch, you picked up your phone to see the countless of messages on it. You chuckled as you went through each message. ’Ye right, when was a figure model ever hot F/N,’ you typed a short reply and tossed your phone aside. Munching on your ramen, you turned on the TV, but paid zero attention to the screen and noise.

’New figure model, huh...Maybe this will be good.’

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

«𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭:  @pirate-diary​, @of-heroes-and-dreams​, @ukaiwachin​, @kawaiibaka96​, @proplayer-kenma​, @shinsukestan​, @brokutoforever​, @mysticrainpain​, @bareeganbaree​ and if you wish to be added to the taglist, either DM me or slip into my ask box ;3»

[notcanoncompliant]

Rookie

Hey hey, just a little nothing-drabble, the prequel to Don't Wanna Miss A Thing

(takes place nine years before DWMAT; Peter's 20)

**************************************************

Tony hates these things.

“Okay, it’s been two hours. Can I retreat to my fortress of solitude now, wash off the sleaze?”

“But why would you waste a perfect opportunity to continue showcasing your effortless charm.”

“...Sarcasm doesn’t become you.”

Pepper smiles like he said something particularly funny, loops an arm through his. “Come on, another hour of schmoozing and then they’ll all leave and you can complain to JARVIS for the rest of the night.”

Tony sighs, puts on his ‘schmooze’ affect, and lets himself be pulled back into the crowd.

Since he’s been sober, hosting these little shindigs has become significantly less fun. It’s easier to be ‘effortlessly charming’ after a few glasses of champagne, but he’s still going to put on a good enough show to appease his business partner and every bureaucrat and/or military man that approaches. If only to avoid Pepper’s wrath.

The next half hour passes slowly, making nice with every stuffed suit and their wives (or lovers, or escorts; it’s hard to tell, sometimes), discussing politics Tony cares nothing about, gossip he cares even less about, and occasionally business. Nothing interesting, nothing to make this gala stand out from any other.

He's most of the way into social lethargy when he and Pepper are approached by someone new.

“Ms. Potts, Mr. Stark, I hope the evening’s treating you well?”

The man before them is forgettable in a way that feels too perfect; simple black suit, government-special haircut, mildly attractive features (but nothing that would immediately draw the eye). Tony has no idea who he is, and according to the bemusement hidden under the pleasantry of Pepper’s smile, she doesn’t either.

“Very well, actually,” Pepper says, extending a hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“We haven’t,” the man says, just as pleasantly, taking the proffered hand in brief shake. “Special Agent Phil Coulson. This is Peter Parker, soon to be agent.”

Pepper smiles graciously, and the two embark on a conversation that’s one part small talk and one part business that Tony tunes out almost entirely in favor of taking in the very much eye-catching young man standing beside the agent.

Peter looks uncomfortable, a little awkward, like he wants to tug at his shirt collar or his tie, adjust himself in some way that will erase the stuffiness of the room, but he’s beautiful. A little on the smaller side, but the sleeves and shoulders of the suit jacket are just a little tight, same as the fabric of the pants around his thighs; there’s definitely something worth seeing under all that generic government nothingness. Looks to be fresh out of college, if that; a very new recruit. He’s certainly something special from where Tony’s standing. That dark chocolate hair, intelligent honey-brown eyes, peachy-pale skin.Tony wonders if he’d taste as sweet.

He doesn’t need champagne to want to put on the charm for this one.

He steps a little closer, ignoring the covert warning pinch Pepper delivers to his arm (she does it without breaking the flow of conversation; his best friend is a consummate professional, and it works out for Tony in moments like this...not that there have been many lately).

“First time?” he asks, quiet but casual.

The kid’s cheeks turn a little pink, the corners of his mouth quirking up. “That obvious?”

“You look about ready to peel that suit off.”

Whoops. He hadn’t meant to play his hand quite so quickly, but the words were out before he could stop them. Tony blames his lack of alcohol and lack of recent ‘activity’, nothing to do with those gorgeous eyes, that gorgeous everything--

“You look about ready to do it for me.”

It’s quick and quiet, but confident.

Okay.

“That obvious?” Tony says, fighting a smile, and Peter’s face colors a little further.

God, the kid’s going to be a terrible agent if he doesn’t get that under control, but Tony’s certainly not going to count it against him, not right here, not right now. Not when Tony’s being about as subtle as an anvil to the head, laying all his cards out like he’s nineteen and trying to piss off his dad by wheedling his way into some stuffed suit’s pants.

“How about a tour?”

Peter looks like he’s going to laugh, but he just clears his throat.

“Yes, thank you, Mr. Stark.”

Tony very nearly offers his arm to the younger, just to see the vein in Pepper’s temple throb, but he’s already going to get an earful for this later.

He’s a little surprised Agent Senior hasn’t reacted, until Coulson smiles and says, “A moment, please,” and Peter goes to his side. Whatever the agent says makes Peter nod shortly, looking slightly sheepish and a little more flushed.

Peter rejoins him, and Tony smirks. “Shall we?”

***

They shall.

The tour is quick, a redundant round about the gala space, and a brief peek inside the public lab on the same floor (the one containing zero access to sensitive info, of course), lots of tense, bullshit small talk (lots of ‘oo’ and ‘oh’ and ‘that’s interesting’) and it ends in the elevator.

Tony slaps the lock button when they’re inside (it’s his building, he can monopolize the elevator if he wants) and then there are hands wandering under his jacket, shoving it off his shoulders, and he’s being pushed up against the wall, Peter’s mouth finding his.

It’s been a long time since anyone manhandled Tony at all (since anyone ‘anything’ed him at all), so he can’t be held responsible for the gasping moan that slips out into the kiss, the groan when Peter plants one hand in the center of his chest, holds him in place and uses the other to massage him just the right side of rough through his suit pants.

“I thought I was the one doing the peeling,” Tony rasps when they break apart for air.

Peter smirks at him, “Do you want me to stop?”

“Absolutely not.”

He absolutely doesn’t. And Peter doesn’t stop, until Tony’s gasping his name and bucking into the younger man’s mouth.

And what kind of host would Tony be if he didn’t return the favor?

***

After, when they’ve left the elevator (looking very debauched), Peter’s handed him his jacket and his phone that’d ended up on the floor in the scuffle and they’re about to re-enter the fray, Tony makes another impulsive decision.

“I think we should do this again sometime. In a bed. Maybe with dinner first. If you’re amenable.”

Peter smiles at him, a little bashful, a little amused. “How about we revisit that when we see each other again?”

Oh, well. “And when’s that gonna be, rookie?”

If anything, Peter looks even more amused. “Pretty soon.” And then he’s gone, melting into the crowd more seamlessly than Tony would’ve expected from someone so unused to it all.

Sighing internally in a blend of post-orgasmic pleasure and lightly stinging disappointment, he goes to find Pepper.

***

They do meet up ‘pretty soon’. A week later, Tony’s sitting in Pepper’s office with Agent Coulson and soon-to-be Agent Parker, going over exactly how Peter managed to break through SI’s impenetrable security network with nothing but some brief contact with Tony’s phone.

Tony would’ve been more upset about the breach if it hadn’t come to his attention in the form of Peter’s phone number and the words ‘See you soon - The Rookie’ scrolling across every screen in his personal lab.

He might just be in love.

********

Everything Tag List: @starkercrossedlovers, @silkystark, @hoeforthegays, @the-amazing-spidertwink

@starkerstories (I know you wanted to see the sequel, but in case you were down for the prequel, too lol)