#good god though the credit roll of muse names here I am so sorry about that

[soulsxng]

Royalty verse info: The four kingdoms, pt 2

Ahnia

- Technically, it was third to be considered a kingdom of its own, though the Aifaen (who are technically the second) don't actually refer to themselves as a kingdom. Anyway, Ahnia's capital...which is just referred to as Ahnia, is one of the only settlements in the kingdom. The precious few other settlements that they have are generally small farming villages, military outposts, forest covens, and other such places.

- Ahnia's capital, on the other hand, is a super massive city that is broken down into multiple different districts-- each one is approximately the size of an average city, if not a bit bigger.

- Though Ahnia is primarily inhabited by the Ahniri, they have a much wider variety of species that reside in the kingdom than Setia, for example. (Side note: Ahniri have a lifespan of ~1200 - 1500, though in rare cases they can live up to 2000 years old)

- Just as the other 3 kingdoms have their own crystal monoliths, Ahnia has Innaius; a gigantic cream and gold colored crystal that hovers above the city at all times. Innaius, as well as the Ahniri/other worshippers of Innaius, are heavily aligned with light and death based energies and magics.

- Lierik vir si Ahnia (That's past life Jaspern!) is the current ruler of Ahnia, and is the first of his line after having been chosen by Innaius as its Speaker when the Ahniri left Setia years ago.

- Ahnia is a powerful kingdom, but ultimately in a rather precarious position, due to the currently raging coup against Lierik, as the state of Ahnia for a long while there wasn't the greatest. Some parts of the coup are trying to usurp Lierik and reinstate his eldest son, Jawyr, as the new ruler in his place, while others are looking to put another on the throne, instead-- one of the most prevalent candidates at the moment being Tahariel Elohim, who has been a high standing member of the coup for some time, now.

- Lierik has since reformed a lot of Ahnia's structuring for the better, and begun to make major changes in how things are run-- proving to the people his love for they and the realm despite his mistakes. While some members of the coup are contented by it for the moment, many others feel as though it's too little, too late.

- As insinuated above, Jawyr, Lierik's eldest son, is viewed in a more positive light overall by Ahnia's people, as well as one of his younger sisters, Cirisa.

- Ahnia is something of a cultural melting pot, and as such, has a wide variety of goods and services that can be offered to other allies and trade partners. Weather here is rather mild, though some areas are prone to flooding due to the abundance of rivers, lakes, etc, and proximity to the ocean. Either way, it's easily accessible by a number of routes, and has tons of people passing through each day.

- Allied with the Aifaen, who are ultimately more loyal to Ahnia's Queen, Kalliah, and the Vash-Aifaen, who are ultimately more loyal to Lierik. The Aifaen have some settlements and packs that live on Ahnia's land, and vice versa.

- Allied with Setia...sort of. Lierik doesn't get along with his brother-in-law, and vice versa, so there are plenty of personal altercations between them. Some Ahnians and Setians think it's more serious than it is, and will fight amongst themselves too, but the two kingdoms ultimately have each other's back if needed.

- Neutral with Vasyri, for the time being. Tensions have been running higher as of late, and some speculate that soon, relations between these two kingdoms will be anything but friendly.

Muses involved (brief, includes minor characters for the sake of people knowing where everyone goes if they're mentioned for one reason or another):

Lierik Ravi vir si Ahnia - Ahniri - King of Ahnia, Speaker of Innaius Jawyr Ene si Ahnia - Ahniri/Setana halfling (He's actually a full Setana, but shh nobody knows that) Crown Prince of Ahnia, Lead strategist of Ahnia's military Cirisa Lisrya si Ahnia (@feraecor) - Ahniri/Setana halfling - Princess of Ahnia, Head ambassador of Ahnia Liuri Alea si Ahnia - Ahniri/Setana halfling - Princess of Ahnia, Head correspondent and organizer Zavir Eirel si Ahnia (@feraecor) - Ahniri/Setana halfling - Prince of Ahnia, Head of Ahnia's guard Avello Ravi - Ahniri - Duke of Ahnia, Father of Lierik (Some people refer to him as King Father because of this, though good luck to you if you say it within earshot of Lierik) Nolka Ravi - Ahniri - Duchess of Ahnia, Mother of Lierik (Some people refer to her as Queen Mother, but like with her husband, don't say that within earshot of Lierik. As you can tell, he doesn't get along with his parents) Rourke Azes - Ahniri - Royal guardsman, personal guard to Lierik, younger brother of Phelan, former Ahnian nobility Phelan Azes (@feracor) - Ahniri - Royal guardsman, personal guard to Lierik, older brother of Rourke, former Ahnian nobility Alteo Eul - Ahniri/Setana halfling - General of Ahnia's military, formerly engaged to be married to Prince Jawyr. Nielis (@feraecor) - Ahniri/Vasyrus halfling - Head adviser to Lierik. Some speculate that he was in a relationship with Lierik some time ago. Minuis - Ahniri - Head royal doctor and healer Lerato - Elvish??? - Innaius, Head court mage and adviser to Lierik. Nobody seems to know for sure who or what he is, aside from that he's a close friend to the king and his family. Ber Bireth - Elvish - Lerato's son. He's something of a wanderer, and though he's not technically part of the royal court like his father, he's sometimes called in for consultations. Sef - Paisyni (sort of like an elemental and fae cross) - Court mage, was once a student under Lerato. Azazel - Ahniri - "Watcher", works for Enoch Ouza - Ahniri - "Watcher, works for Enoch Ysa Amorin - Ahniri - "Watcher", works for Enoch Hana Amorin - Ahniri - Royal tutor Amali Amorin - Ahniri - Royal guard Ophan - Ahniri - Part of Ahnia's military, loyal to Tahariel Elohim though, so he's part of the coup Sophie - Ahniri - Part of Ahnia's military, also loyal to Tahariel Elohim, and is part of the coup Helai Luelach - Aifaen/Vasyrus halfling - One of Ahnia's nobles, and a leading figure in the black market and underground rings of the four kingdoms (and likely beyond). Sometimes helps the coup, sometimes helps the royal family-- it's money dependent for him. Cilatyve Luelach - Incubus - Was once a prominent member of the coup, and has since been given a position as one of Lierik's advisers Enoch Elohim Vretil - Ahniri? Pirodeti? I can't decide if the Pirodeti are gonna be a thing in royalty AU or not - Even though he's an Elohim, nobody knows that-- including his siblings. Runs a major spy/espionage network via his Watchers. Zikiriel Elohim - Ahniri - One of the Elohim that is loyal to Lierik and Kalliah; works as one of Ahnia's ambassadors. Sarakael Elohim - Ahniri - Though he's not technically part of the coup, he's one that would rather see Jawyr on the throne than Lierik (or Tahariel). Works as part of Ahnia's military. Tahariel Elohim - Ahniri - One of the leading figures of Ahnia's coup, as well as one of the major contenders to replace Lierik on the throne...though as cruel as he's known to be, it's hard saying whether this backing is legitimate, or if it's due to bribery/threats/etc. ...Is it a crime if I just write "the rest of the Elohim family" here, because I don't want to write out all 18 or 19 of these bastards. The angels! The angels are Ahniri here! Some of them are allied with the coup, some aren't! Some are still "Tzowld" tainted here, others aren't! I'll make a more specific post about them later, maybe! orz

[fruitcoops]

After the wedding, coops plays the newly wed game and Marlene is just like 😍😍

The newlywed game is so cute and Neil Patrick Harris did one with his husband a few years ago that is just adorable. SW credit goes to @lumosinlove!

“Welcome back, Lions!” Marlene said with a broad smile. “After a brief summertime hiatus, we’re back with Captain Sirius Black and our brand-new winger, Remus Lupin. Do you guys want to tell the viewers why you’re here?”

“You threatened us,” Remus said.

“Also, we got married,” Sirius added, holding up his left hand.

“Oh, yeah, that too.”

Marlene rolled her eyes as they turned to her with matching grins. “You two are hopeless. You’re here today to play the newlywed game, which will test how well you know each other. I’ll be asking each of you eleven questions that the other person has already answered, and you get a point for each answer that matches. Does that make sense?”

Remus gave her a thumbs-up. “Crystal clear.”

“Loops, because you slandered my good name earlier, you’re going first. I hope your husband wins.”

“Oh, I will,” Sirius promised, kicking the leg of Remus’ chair lightly as he tapped his cue cards on his thighs. “Alright, first one: what did we do on our first date?”

“Pizza at Sid’s,” Remus answered.

Sirius held up a small posterboard with ‘pizza’ written on it. “Correct! What was the last thing we bickered about?”

Remus thought for a moment. “You answered these today, right?”

“Yeah, honey, we did this in adjacent rooms,” Sirius laughed.

“Right, sorry. In that case, it was parallel parking because there weren’t any spots outside the building.”

“Correct! If our love life was a candy bar, what would it be?”

Remus frowned. “What?”

“If our love life was a candy bar, what would it be?” Sirius repeated with a devilish smile. “What, you don’t know this one?”

“Shit, what would you say to this?” Remus muttered. “Um…hell, I don’t know, a Snickers?”

The smile slipped off Sirius’ face. “Are you kidding me?”

“Did I get it right?” Remus’ eyes widened when Sirius held up the posterboard with ‘Snickers’ scrawled across it, and pumped both fists in the air. “Ha! I don’t even care who wins now!”

“Good, because it’s going to be me. Next question: If I could describe you in one word, what would it be?”

“If you could describe me?” Remus exhaled slowly. “That’s tough. Uh, chatty?”

“What?” Sirius asked through his laughter. “Chatty?”

“It’s true!”

“I said ‘sweet’!” He showed the board to the camera and they both burst out laughing. “Jesus, who do you think I am? Just rolling up to Marlene like, ‘hey, did you know my husband talks a lot?’”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

“You’ve only made it through four questions,” Marlene informed them, clearly amused.

“What is your weirdest quirk?” Sirius read off the board.

Remus paused. “Like, what do I think my weirdest quirk is?”

“I think so. It threw me off at first, too.”

“This is not grammar correction hour,” Marlene called.

“I think my weirdest quirk is that I can’t end stairs on my left foot,” Remus said after a moment. “I’ll skip a step if I have to.”

Sirius hummed. “I didn’t even think of that one.”

“What did you put?”

“Pre-game superstitions.”

“Hypocrite,” Remus said with a grin.

“Perhaps. Who is my celebrity crush?”

Remus raised his eyebrows. “Are you sure you want me to tell them?”

“It’s not that weird!”

“Freddie Mercury.”

“That is a little odd,” Marlene agreed when he showed the board.

Sirius looked between them in disbelief. “Why?”

Marlene snorted. “Because the person you married is basically the exact opposite.”

“There’s a difference between thinking someone’s hot and wanting to marry them.”

Remus pouted slightly. “You don’t think I’m hot?”

“Oh my god,” Sirius groaned. “Next question. What is my favorite book?”

“The Hobbit.”

“Nope.”

“Three Musketeers?”

“Nope.”

“Winnie the Pooh?”

“What the fuck?” Sirius laughed. “It’s To Kill A Mockingbird. Marlene, can I skip the next one?”

Remus leaned closer. “Well, now I’m curious.”

“Which of us would win at Trivial Pursuit?”

“Oh, baby, I would wipe the floor with you.”

He sighed heavily. “Yeah, I know. If I needed a lift at 3 am, who would I call?”

“James.”

“Yep. What is my silliest fear?” There was a brief pause. “Really? I thought this was one of the easier ones.”

“There are several to choose from,” Remus mused. “But I think you would say your silliest fear is dishsoap bubbles.”

Sirius held the final board up. “Unfortunately, you’re correct. They’re all slimy and gross. Last question: what is our favorite activity to do together?”

A smile twitched at Remus’ lips for half a second before he regained his poker face. “I would say hockey, but I think it’s actually road trips.”

“Incorrect,” Sirius said smugly.

“We literally had this conversation two days ago. What did you put down?”

He flipped the board around. “Movie night. You’re not entirely wrong about road trips, but bonus points helped you win last time, so I’m never doing that again.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Remus waved him off, as if he wasn’t having the time of his life. “Okay, number one: who is the better driver?”

“Me,” Sirius said without hesitation.

“Indeed. What did I wear on our first date?”

Sirius bit his lip in concentration. “You wore jeans and a sweater. Your green one, right?”

Remus glanced to the camera, clearly stunned, then held up his board. “Yeah, you nailed it.”

They high-fived and Sirius leaned back in his chair, grinning. “You thought you were so smart with that Snickers answer, huh? I know things, sweetheart!”

“Who is the tidiest?” Remus continued with a faint blush on his cheeks.

“Me, but you clean more often.”

“True. Who is the funniest?”

“You.” Remus shook his head and Sirius gave him an offended look. “You’re way funnier than I am!”

“We’re funny in different ways,” Remus conceded. “You make really good puns, but I’m just sarcastic and people think I’m kidding. Who does the most cooking?”

“You, for sure.”

“Marley, these questions are too easy. You’re rigging the game against me.” Remus shot her a teasing glare as he set the used boards on the ground. “What is my ideal date?”

“Going to the bookstore and staying there for at least four hours.”

“I don’t know about four hours—”

“Re, I love you, but that is exactly what we did last weekend.”

Remus hesitated, then nodded. “Fair. What is my favorite junk food?”

“You are an Oreo hound. We have, what, three boxes stashed in the house right now?”

“Five,” Remus muttered.

Sirius’ jaw went a little slack. “Where? I only saw three in the pantry.”

“I’m not telling you, you’ll steal them!”

He turned to Marlene with a disbelieving look and she shrugged. “Hey, I’m just here to moderate. This is reality tv for me.”

“If I was a Disney princess, who would I be?” Remus asked before things could devolve further.

“Belle, obviously.”

“Hell yeah. What do I think your best feature is?”

“Again with the wording,” Sirius sighed. “Hmm. You’re always messing with my hair.”

“It is very soft,” Remus agreed. “But that’s the wrong answer. I think you have the prettiest eyes.”

His cheeks went pink. “Really?”

“Babe, I’ve told you this a million times,” Remus laughed.

“Still.”

He shook his head and moved on to the next question. “Which of us has the worst handwriting?”

Sirius frowned. “Neither of us has bad handwriting.”

“Which one is worse than the other?” Marlene clarified.

“You, maybe?” he guessed. “I really like your handwriting, though.”

“Yeah, I put myself for that one. It’s kind of a weird half-cursive with a bunch of loops. Which is fitting, I suppose.” He shrugged. “Ready for the last one? You’re totally going to get this.”

“Don’t jinx me.”

“What was our last date, and when?”

“Last Thursday,” Sirius said. “We got takeout and watched The Princess and the Frog.”

“Did you sing along?” Marlene asked.

“Of course we did,” Remus said with a playful scoff. “Alright, who won?”

Behind the camera, Dorcas cleared her throat. “Remus, you got seven out of eleven correct, and Sirius, you scored a grand total of…nine.”

Sirius whipped back around to face him. “I told you I would win!”

“I’m crushed,” Remus said drily, though he couldn’t keep down his smile. “Oh, no, my husband knows me too well!”

“Did you guys have fun?” Marlene asked.

“We always do.” Sirius slid the boards across the floor to her before looking up to the camera. “Thanks for joining us today to see my victory at last, Lions! Be sure to like and subscribe to Lion Pride for more content like this.”

[heyitssmiller]

Chop It Like It’s Hot

A Worst Cooks in America O’Knutzy AU

The Sweater Weather Discord group helped me come up with this idea like two months ago, and I haven’t stopped thinking about it since. All credit goes to @lumosinlove for her amazing characters!

Chop It Like It’s Hot Masterlist

Chapter 1: Don’t Go Bacon My Heart

The Day Before the Competition

Interviewer (off camera): Finn O’Hara and Logan Tremblay for their introductions.

Logan: * taps on microphone* Is this mic working?

Finn: How do you still not know how to work a mic? You deal with them all time.

Logan: I signed up to compete in a cooking show, not to deal with your chirps.

Finn: You love ‘em. *winks*

Interviewer: So basically all we want from you guys is a brief introduction for the viewers. I’ll ask some questions, but most of this should be you guys just talking. We can edit things out later, so don’t worry about anything like that. Why don’t you guys start with your names and careers and we’ll go from there.

Finn: Yo, I’m Finn O’Hara, and I’m a terrible cook. *finger guns* Although I guess that’s a given, seeing that I’m on this show.

Logan: *mumbles in French, head in hands*

Finn: This asshole – shit, no – fuck! Sorry, I probably shouldn’t be cussing. This is a family-friendly show.

Logan: Dear God, please stop talking. I’m Logan Tremblay, the unfortunate boyfriend.

*Finn pouts*

Interviewer: And you guys play hockey?

Logan: Yeah, we play in the NHL. Gryffindor Lions.

Finn: That’s how we met, actually. Through hockey. We played together at Harvard, then got drafted to the Lions about a year apart. We’ve known each other for eight years and have been together for three of them. Can’t seem to get rid of this one.

Interviewer: And you’re not worried about being rivals on this show?

Finn: Rivals is a strong word… I mean yes we’ll be competing against each other instead of being teammates, but we know going in that it’s not personal. Just a little healthy competition.

Interviewer: So what made the two of you sign up for this show?

Logan: We didn’t. Our teammate Dumo and his wife Celeste did. They thought it would be funny. *pause* They’re probably right.

Interviewer: Out of the two of you, who is the worst cook?

*Finn and Logan point to each other*

Logan: You can’t be serious.

Finn: You once cooked pasta so much that it turned into literal paste!

Logan: You tried to cook pizza rolls in a toaster.

Finn: That’s what it said in the instructions!

Logan: It said toaster oven, you - *more French*

Finn: English, Tremz. How many times do I have to tell you that? I guess we’ll find out once and for all who the better cook is by the end of the next eight weeks, right? *mouths “it’s me” to the camera*

Logan: Whatever, Fish.

Interviewer: I think we’ve got all we need guys, thanks. Start time for tomorrow is 10:00 am, but plan on being here forty-five minutes to an hour early to get ready. We’ll see you then.

Competition Day

“Are you nervous? I’m nervous.” Finn stated, running a hand through his hair and looking around at the studio they’d be in and out of for the foreseeable future. There were cooking stations everywhere and he could already see tools and machines that he had no clue how to use. There were twelve other contestants that he didn’t know and the crew scattered everywhere, running back and forth trying to get everything ready. “God, how am I sweaty already? Is this normal?”

Logan rolled his eyes but still reached over to grab Finn’s hand, squeezing it lightly. “Relax. It’s not so bad.” Finn smiled down at him, glad that they were at least here together. How in the hell did he get so lucky?

“Besides, you’ll be sent home soon enough. So don’t stress too much.”

Finn laughed. “Wow, I hate you so much right now.” He betrayed his words with a quick kiss. “You’re going down.”

Those green eyes flashed at the challenge, but right as he opened his mouth to respond-

“Good morning, recruits!”

All heads turned towards the voice. Three figures stood towards the front of the room: one they both recognized as the producer, who was flanked by who Finn assumed to be the chefs, seeing that they were wearing chef’s outfits. Chef’s uniforms? Did their uniforms have a technical name? Finn made a mental note to google that later.

Anyways, one was a short woman with dark ringlets tied back in a ponytail and an undiscernible expression on her face. The other was tall, blond, and had legs for days Jesus Christ-

“Welcome to your first day of boot camp! This is chef Dorcas Meadowes and chef Leo Knut; they’ll be your team leaders. We’re going to start with some footage of you all walking into the kitchen, so if you all would wait out there until you’re allowed to come back in. Cameras will be rolling, so be ready! After that, our chefs will explain the first challenge and then you’ll start cooking.” He clapped his hands together. “Alright, let’s get this show started!”

“Why did they make us come in here just to send us back out?” Logan grumbled, following the other shuffling contestants out into the hall.

“Probably easier to give directions to the main studio instead of saying ‘hey, just wait out in the hall.’”

Logan hummed noncommittally. “I guess.” He wasn’t overly excited to be here; most of this (besides the initial push by Dumo and Celeste) was Finn’s idea. And god knows he could never say no to Finn. One look at that pout and brown puppy-dog eyes and he was done for. Logan didn’t like cooking, but he did like Finn. And they’d probably remember this for years to come. It didn’t matter what he was doing, as long as he was with Finn and making memories with him he’d do just about anything.

“Wonder what the first challenge is.” Finn mused, his eyes locked on the doors.

Logan laughed. “Always so impatient.”

“I’m a New Yorker,” Finn grinned, leaning into his accent. “It’s in my blood.”

The doors opened and contestants began filing back into the kitchen. Finn made sure to wave enthusiastically at the chefs with a wide smile. Logan noticed the tall one (god, he’d already forgotten the guy’s name) give a little wave in return as the other chef commanded the attention of everyone else in the room.

“Good morning, recruits, and welcome to boot camp! I’m chef Dorcas Meadowes, and this is chef Leo Knut. He’s the rookie of our crew, but don’t worry – he’s still qualified to teach all of you. Even though that’s not saying much.”

There was a smattering of laughter and chef Leo smiled, revealing dimples Logan could see from where he stood. “Hey, y’all. I’m very excited to see what makes all of you qualified to be put on this show. Who knows? Maybe you’ll give me more gray hair.” Dorcas laughed and ran her fingers through the tuft of gray hair at his temple.

“When did you get this? I don’t remember seeing it when we were in culinary school. Is it from Iron Chef?”

“Nah, this is from having Gordon Ramsay come to my restaurant.”

“Truly a terrifying man.” She shuddered. “Anyways, you guys be nice to this giant ball of sunshine. Even if he’s new, he’s still able to eliminate you from this competition.”

“In order to pick our teams, we need to see what kind of skills you have.” Leo winced. “Or don’t have. So today, we want you to make your favorite dish. Easy enough, right?”

“Oh god,” Finn murmured into Logan’s ear. “What’s my favorite dish? Do I even have one?”

“Finn.”

“You all have an hour to complete this task.” Dorcas said, glancing down at her watch. “And your time starts… now!”

“Fuck.” Finn stated emphatically, dashing off to the pantry.

Fuck was right. God, what was Logan going to make? He was wracking his brain for something while he grabbed two aprons from the back. He tossed one to Finn and took the station beside him before hurrying to the pantry. Chicken was always a safe bet, right? Celeste made a barbeque chicken recipe that was to die for. That couldn’t be too hard. It was just chicken and barbeque sauce. And maybe green beans on the side? He could get those canned ones and they’d taste fine if he rinsed them. This was fine.

He guessed on the temperature for the oven. 350 seemed good. Then he dumped two chicken breasts into a pan, poured the barbeque sauce over them, and put them into the oven.

“What are you making?” Logan startled at the soft voice, turning to see chef Leo at his station.

Blue eyes.

Logan blinked, Leo’s question forgotten. “Quoi?”

“You speak French?”

Why was his brain refusing to work all of a sudden? Get it together, Tremblay. “Uh, yeah.”

“What are you making?” Leo asked for the second time, but now it was in French. Weirdly worded French.

“Barbeque chicken.” Logan responded in French, then switched back to English. “What in the world was that?”

Leo flashed him a grin. “New Orleans, born and raised. We speak French there, too. Now tell me how you’re making that chicken.”

“Uh.” He had never said the word ‘uh’ so much in one sitting. Merde. “I put it in a pan, spread barbeque sauce over it, and I’m cooking it at 350.”

“How do you know when it’s done?”

Was this a trick question? It felt like a trick question. “Uh.” Fuck. “It has to get to a specific internal temperature, right?”

The chef nodded. “And what’s that?”

“145?"

Something in Leo’s expression flickered, but Logan couldn’t figure out what it meant. “Well, good luck. Logan, right?”

“Yeah.”

“See you at the judging table.” He said with a dimpled smile before moving to Finn’s station, which was already a mess. “Oh my. How are you doing over here?”

Finn laughed a bit hysterically. “Not good. Not good at all.”

“Ok. What’s going on?”

“Well I’m trying to make carbo’hara, and –“

“Really, Fish?” Logan called from his station. “That’s what you’re making?”

“What’s carbo’hara?” Leo asked as he watched Finn put bacon in a pan.

“Oh,” Finn waved a hand carelessly. “It’s just carbonara, but a pun on my name, O’Hara. Get it?”

Leo laughed, crossing long arms over his chest. “That’s terrible.”

“Yeah, but it makes me happy. My parents used to make it every night before my brother or I had hockey games.”

“Oh, that’s right. You guys are hockey players.”

“Go Lions!” Finn cheered, taking a spoonful of butter and throwing it into the pan with the bacon.

“Are you putting butter on bacon?” Leo asked with a raised eyebrow.

Finn responded with full confidence, “I didn’t want it to stick to the pan.”

“Ok. Got it. I… I look forward to seeing what you make.” Finn watched as Leo bit his lip and tried his hardest not to laugh.

Cute.

Finn felt his cheeks flush and blamed it on the steam from the pasta.

The last thirty minutes of the task were absolute chaos, but both boys got it done. Finn’s looked messy, which accurately summed up his cooking style. Logan was pretty proud of how his looked; he just hoped it tasted good. He gave Finn a smile and a fist bump. “Ready to be judged?”

Finn laughed, looking down at his plate. He grimaced. “Not really.”

“We’re all bad cooks. Chances are someone else’s dish is worse than yours.”

“That… actually helped. Thanks.”

***

 Finn was chosen to be judged before Logan. He brought up his plate with a sheepish smile and placed it on the table in front of the chefs. Dorcas raised an eyebrow while Leo prodded the pasta with his fork.

“It’s carbo’hara.” Finn stated with pride.

“Well, Finn…” Dorcas met his eyes. “This looks like a mess, but let’s see how it tastes.”

Finn cringed as they both took a bite of his food. Dorcas frowned as she chewed and Leo tilted his head, a confused expression on his face.

“I don’t know how you did it, but this solidifies in my mouth like glue.”

“Oh god, please don’t eat any more.”

“You definitely put a lot of effort in and you have a lot of potential,” Leo said with a small smile. “I think you were just a little too ambitious for this first round and it got away from you.”

“That’s fair. Thanks for the input.” Finn grabbed his plate and made his way back to his station. He wasn’t too upset by those reviews – he already knew he was a bad cook. But he had potential, so at least he had that going for him.

Logan grinned at him back at his station. “I can’t believe you served the judges glue pasta.”

“At least I’m not serving them canned green beans.”

“They taste just fine, thank you very much.”

“Lo, they’re professionals. You’re not getting away with something lazy like that.”

He definitely got in trouble for using the canned green beans. Dorcas looked down at them like they were worms. Leo gave him the ‘I’m not mad, I’m disappointed’ look, which was even worse, please don’t look at me like that.

“Canned food is a no-go, huh?”

“Definitely.”

“And this chicken isn’t cooked all the way.” Leo said, showing him the pink meat. “You said earlier that you’d cook it until it reached 145 degrees, but chicken needs to reach 165 at a minimum.”

“I’m sure it tasted fine, though.” Dorcas added. “You can’t really go wrong with pre-made barbeque sauce and chicken.”

Ouch. Logan grabbed his plate. “Right. Thanks.”

Finn was predictably cackling at his station. “Tremz, they couldn’t even eat yours. Celeste is going to be so disappointed in you.”

“Shut up.”

 ***

As soon as they were back into their hotel room, Finn kicked his shoes off and faceplanted into the couch. “I can’t believe that took so long.”

“Yeah,” Logan sat down and grabbed his take-out. “Who knew cooking all day would make us so hungry?”

Finn made grabby hands at the other food container. Logan laughed and handed it to him. “I haven’t been this hungry since playoffs, fuck.”

They ate in silence and were finished in record-setting time. Finn collected their trash and stood up to throw it away. “So blue team, huh? I’m kind of surprised they put us on the same team.”

“Me too. But Leo seems like a good teacher, so I’m glad we’re on his team.”

“Yeah, he seems so young, too.” Which sounded ridiculous to say; Leo couldn’t be that much younger than them. “If he’s already winning competitions and starring in cooking shows at that age, he must be pretty good.”

“Winner of Iron Chef America, Chopped, Guy’s Grocery Games…” Logan read off his phone with a low whistle. “He graduated culinary school early and opened his own restaurant a year later.”

“Damn.”

“There’s a video of one of his competitions on here.”

“Play it!” Finn said excitedly, flopping back down on the couch and peering over his boyfriend’s shoulder. Logan gave him a strange look. “What? Maybe we’ll learn something useful.”

“I think this is going to be way too complicated for us, but ok.”

So they sat on the couch watching cooking competitions for hours, learning skills and techniques that went way over their heads. Logan wordlessly switched to Leo’s cooking show Cajun Cooking, watching episode after episode of the blue-eyed chef teaching traditional New Orleans recipes.

Little did they know that halfway across the city in his own apartment, Leo Knut was watching Youtube highlights of the Gryffindor Lions, keeping a sharp eye out for number seventeen and number ten.

[writemydaydreams]

Work In Progress Wednesday 

So! I’m releasing the first chapter of a new fic tomorrow so how about a preview? The first 4 and a half of 6 (or possibly 7) chapters are written so I’ll do a chapter a week. I’ll put the preview below the cut.

Rating: M

Chapters: 6 or 7

Title: In This Lifetime or the Next

Pairing: InuKag

Summary: The dreams have started. Inuyasha knows what it means, knows what comes next. His soulmate is alive and she’s ready to be found; but this time, he is not ready to find her. Because he is cursed. Because every time he finds her, she dies. Because she’s never lived more than a year after the first dream.

It shouldn’t be possible to get a demon this drunk.

“What do you mean you’re not going to look for her?” Koga asked, leaning over the bar and eyeing the woman serving drinks, again. His speech wasn’t slurred but he had no volume control and he was swaying dangerously on the flimsy barstool.

“Will you keep your eyes in your fucking skull for five minutes?” Inuyasha asked, snapping his fingers in Koga’s face to draw his attention. “Aren’t you seeing someone?”

Koga scowled and turned back to his friend, swatting at the offending hand. “She kicked me to the curb. Said I wasn’t spending enough time with her or some shit. Whatever, you didn’t answer my question.”

The bartender came over to check on them and gave Koga the stink-eye when he tried to wiggle his eyebrows at her. When she walked away, Inuyasha said, “No wonder you dragged me out tonight. And seriously, the bartender isn’t interested. She can probably spot an asshole a mile away and you’re a giant flashing sign that just screams ‘asshole.’”

Koga scowled. “Fuck off and answer my question. You’ve done this, what, like five times now?”

He sighed, trying not to think about the specifics and failing. “Seven and I can’t fucking do it again. I’d rather be alone than-”

“Oh, cry me a fuckin’ river,” Koga growled and downed the rest of his drink in a single gulp. He slammed his glass back on the bar, drawing a few angry looks from other bar goers and the bartender. “What if this time is different?” He swayed dangerously on his stool and Inuyasha tensed, waiting to see if he’d have to play catch.

“You’re really fucking drunk,” Inuyasha pointed out. “Which is amazing for a full demon. And what if it isn’t? Why the fuck would it be any different this time around?” He put a hand up for the bartender to settle their tab. The wolf had had enough.

“You think...fuck. I should call her,” Koga mused, his mind jumping topics at a speed only achievable when shit-faced.

Inuyasha rolled his eyes, knowing where this was going and asking anyway. “Call who?”

“My woman.” Koga started to tilt and Inuyasha shot a hand out to steady him. He should have just let the asshole fall. Luckily, the bartender was already there, taking Inuyasha’s credit card.

“Fucking hell, wolf shit. You’re not drunk calling your god damn ex.” One hand on his drunk friend’s shoulder, Inuyasha fished two 20s out of his wallet to throw to the bartender. She earned it dealing with Koga the last few hours. She took it with a grateful smile, handing his card back.

“Good luck with him,” she said, pointing at Koga without taking her eyes off Inuyasha. “Be safe and enjoy the rest of your night.” She shot one more look at him before sauntering off to wait on other customers. He was used to the looks his silver hair and gold eyes earned him. Even among demons he was exotic, an attractive novelty with fluffy fucking ears.

“Let’s get out of here.” Inuyasha stood and dragged Koga out of the bar.

When they were safely outside, he pulled out his phone to call for a ride. Carrying an inebriated demon halfway across the city was not high on his list of things he wanted to do on a Friday night. He debated who his best option would be. Miroku was spending the night with his girlfriend, probably being gross, so that was a no-go. Jinenji would be up but the guy was way too nice to put him through drunk-Koga hell and his wife would give Inuyasha an earful for dragging him out. Ginta or Hakaku would be ignoring calls, knowing how Koga got after a break-up. Shiori would do it but he didn’t want a woman for Koga to focus his attention on. Fuck.

He was gonna have to call the fox.

He popped in his custom-made earpiece (because it’s impossible to find earbuds that fit when you have dog ears) and scrolled through his contacts until he found who he was looking for. Shippo answered and it was clear he had been informed of things that Inuyasha had not. “Yo. Lemme guess: Koga’s break-up hammered and you need a ride?”

“How am I the last to hear about him getting dumped?” He growled and scowled at Koga. It was definitely a conspiracy.

“Someone had to deal with it and you seemed like the best option.” He could practically hear the fucker smirking. Yep, they’d set him up.

“Just get your ass down here.” He gave Shippo the address, keeping one eye and ear focused on Koga. At least Shippo was close by.

Turning his full attention back to Koga, he noticed the phone in his hand a little too late.

"Listen, I’m not even mad about that anymore. How about I come over there now and we can make up. I learned this new trick with my tongue and-" Koga didn't get to finish his sentence because Inuyasha snatched his phone away.

"First, gross. Second, what'd I fucking tell you? No drunk calls to your fucking ex." He glared at Koga, contemplating murder and the best place to dump a body, until a quiet voice distracted him. The ex was still on the phone.

"Hey, anyone still there?"

Shit. 

“Hey,” Inuyasha said, holding the phone so they could hear each other more clearly. It was awkward at best with his ears on top of his head but his half-dog-demon hearing made up for it. “Sorry about the asshat, I wasn’t paying enough attention.”

“Oh, it’s alright. I was kinda expecting it anyway,” she said and sighed. “I shouldn’t have answered my phone in the first place so it’s partially my fault.”

Inuyasha growled, fighting the urge to punch Koga in the throat. The woman’s voice was soft and sweet, gently caressing his sensitive ears. The thought of Koga getting anywhere near someone who sounded so...so pure made Inuyasha’s blood boil. “Keh, not your fault he’s an asshole.” Said asshole was making grabbing motions for his phone but Inuyasha swept a leg out casually, Koga’s ass meeting the ground hard enough that Inuyasha heard his teeth clack together. “Don’t worry, I’m not giving him his phone back until he’s sobered up a bit.”

“How much has he had to drink? It takes a lot to get a demon that drunk,” she commented.

“Too much, clearly. I can’t promise he won’t try to call you again when I’m done babysitting his ass. Want me to delete your number from his phone?”

“Hmm, it’s tempting but no.” She sniffled and he wondered briefly if she’d been crying. Just because she was the one doing the dumping didn’t mean she couldn’t be upset about it. “Is he...well, really upset? It wasn’t a...a nice breakup. I kind of...um...well, I accidentally shocked him with my reiki when he wouldn’t leave and I uh, I feel kinda bad.”

Inuyasha couldn’t stop the bark of laughter that escaped his throat. “You what? I mean, I’m sure he deserved it.” Koga grumbled from the ground beside him but Inuyasha ignored him.

“Don’t laugh,” she said but he could hear the amusement in her voice and the poorly stifled giggle. “I never trained beyond keeping it in so sometimes it just...escapes.”

He shook his head and chuckled but reigned in his mirth quickly. “You, uh...are you alright?” he asked, genuinely concerned for the woman even though he’d never met her.

“Oh, yeah.” She sighed and sniffled again. “I mean, I’m as good as I can be after something like that. Thank you though, for asking. Um...what was your name?”

“Oh, uh Inuyasha.” Should he have been on the phone this long with his friend’s ex? Absolutely not. Did he care at the moment? Also absolutely not. His brain was scrambling for a way to keep her talking so he could hear more of her melodic voice. His instincts were shouting at him to comfort and protect the woman on the other end of the phone. He needed to put a stop to that and soon.

“Well uh Inuyasha, my name’s Kagome. Thank you and, um...it was nice to meet you, kind of. Oh, I mean, it was nice to meet you but we only kind of met. Not ‘it was kind of nice to meet you’...um, shit. I’m rambling, sorry.” She giggled and he could feel his ears twitching at the sound. It was fucking adorable.

The awkwardness of it all made him chuckle. “I get it. You too, Kagome.” He liked how it felt saying her name. “And if asshat bothers you again, just let me know and I’ll deal with him for you.”

She giggled again and it just wasn’t fair what it was doing to him. “Will do. I...um, I gotta go. Bye, Inuyasha.” 

“Bye, Kagome.” He was sure he was grinning like an idiot by the time he hit the end call button. Hopefully, Koga was too drunk to notice.

“Gimme my phone back, shit-breath.” Koga had managed to get himself back to his feet at some point and was making a more focused grab for his phone. His scowl was a good indicator that he’d heard a good bit of the conversion. Inuyasha didn’t miss the way his eyes narrowed when Inuyasha finally let the smile fall.

“Here, fuckface.” He tossed the phone in the air, Koga catching it with ease despite his drunkenness; he was already starting to sober up.

The blare of a car horn made them both jump. “You two assholes call for a ride?” Shippo yelled out the window. “Hope you know, I charge by the minute.”

Inuyasha pushed Koga into the car, trying and failing to not think of Kagome, thoughts of his soulmate forgotten for the time being.

[whereisstevethestove]

Sight Chapter Two

Link to Chapter One here

AO3

Summary: In which we meet the Wicca, the Phantom, the Sighted, and the Boyfriend.

There is a wicca who has lived in the forest for far longer than any creature.  They watch over the forest and they wait, wait for someone to come asking for help.  There is a wicca that took a boy’s face in his hands and cursed him with Sight, at the cost of his vision.

This wicca has a simple name and October is not one to remember them.  

…

Logan is carrying Virgil through the forest, steps heavy as he holds his unconscious friends close, Roman and Remus helping guide him in their own way.  The two of them alone are loud enough to help the teen navigate to where he knows the wicca still lives.

Remus stops abruptly, chittering and Logan almost trips over him.

“My apologies Remus.  Is the wicca there?” Footsteps.

“Well, I am now.  What are you doing here darlin?”

Logan stiffens.  The wicca’s voice is sugar sweet but there’s an undertone that makes  him want to step back, leave Virgil and run, because it’s not safe, the wicca isn’t safe.

“My friend needs help.”

“Oh, you’re that blind kid.  I forgot about you.”  The wicca muses and Logan flinches as the steps start again, until he can feel the wicca’s breath crossing his face.

“Phantom touched, strange.  He should be dead.”

“I know.”  Logan’s breath hitched with an aborted sob.  “I don’t want him to die.”

There’s a hand caressing his forehead and Logan’s mind feels like it’s splintering, fragmented memories belonging to the wicca making him dizzy.

“Huh.  You love him.”  The voice is softer now.  Logan nods.

“Very well, come on, give me him and the sprites will guide you.”  The wicca moves his hand from Logan’s head and they carefully transfer to holding Virgil.

Remus is almost immediately wrapped around Logan’s neck, Roman slithering up to settle across his hips and they begin to all walk again, blindly following, trusting that the wicca will figure something out.

…

October looks down at the body in his arms as they near the home.  This...Virgil is smaller, looks like he’s not from the country and his fingers are greying, and October is almost worried that if he can’t revive the child, he’ll fade and become a Haunt.

They get to the door and October waves their hand to open it, the sighted child and his familiars close behind as the five of them make it to the brewing table and October gently places Virgil down.

“How long have you two known each other?”

“Six months?”  Logan’s voice is shaky and October spares a glance to see that the sighted child is crying without bothering to wipe at his tears.  “He survived a Kelpie as a child and I saw it when he touched me.  He gets me.”

October sighed.  “Fickle mortals.  God, why did I decide to help?”  He turned back to Virgil and didn’t see the tightening of Logan’s jaw.  October pressed a finger to Virgil’s pinky and the limb dissolved.

“Oh, that’s not good.”

“What?”  Logan demanded and the sprites began to nervously trill.

“Get the fire sprite to wrap around his core, the poison one around his hand where I point, okay?”  October looked to Logan.  “He needs warmth and we might have to use the poison to counteract the phantom touch.”

Logan nodded and he gestured in the wrong direction, but the sprites got the memo, unraveling and going to follow the wicca’s instructions.

“I’m going to give you a stool to sit on.”  October waved a hand and the stool scooted across the room, gently bumping into Logan’s side.  “Now keep quiet.”

Logan, bless his soul, didn’t respond.  October reached for his pestle and then grabbed a quartz rock, dropping it in with a few Eurydice petals.  

“So, sighted child, I assume that life has been fine, considering you’ve found a few familiars for you and your friend.”

Logan, to his credit, shrugged.  October grabbed a hollyhock root and started to slice it before dumping it in the pestle.

“I need one of your hairs and some spit.”  

Logan grimaced, but he pulled out a chunk of his hair and held it out, which October took and put in.  He then waited for the pestle to be placed under his chin before spitting.  October grinned when the mixture flashed a royal blue.  He added a generous amount of beeswax, some of Virgil’s rapidly greying hair and added it, using a swab to get a minuscule amount of spit.

The mixture flashed violet, then grey, before settling on a beautiful gold color, now a paste that could easily mimic chapstick.  October spread a liberal amount over Virgil’s lips, then on his arms where the grey was creeping up.

They turned to Logan. 

“So, how far would you go to save your ‘friend’?  Would you do anything?”

“If it was within my power, then yes.”  Logan said.

October smiled.  “Excellent!!  You get to kiss him!” The look on Logan’s face was priceless and October cackled as he slid the pestle to Logan, so that it was touching the teen’s hands.

“Rub that on your lips and give him a smooch.  It’ll probably fix it.  True love and soulmates or whatever you want to call it.”

Logan dipped his hand into the pestle and drew out a bit of the paste, smearing it on his lips carefully, before standing and shuffling forward, hands guiding him.  He felt the sprites, up Virgil’s neck until he was gently cupping his friend’s face.  Logan took a breath and…

October wouldn’t say that it was magic, but the gentleness that Logan used when he kissed Virgil definitely seemed to be that way, even as the phantom touch receded, color returning to Virgil’s lips as he breathed in deeply.  The grey half of his hair did not return to color, nor did the missing finger, but October called that a win.

“Wicca?”  Logan sounded fragile and October looked at him.

“It’s October child.”

“I’m pretty sure that it’s February.”  Logan shot him a glare- three feet in the wrong direction.  “Did it work?” 

“I know it’s Feb-- fuck it, yeah, he’ll wake in a few minutes, I’m going to transfer him to my bed, you’re both welcome to sleep there for the night, it’s a pretty big bed, I’m going to crash on the couch.”  October brushed a hand to Logan’s and forced enough memories through so the sighted would be able to navigate to the nondescript bedroom in the back of the home.   He then scooped up the still sleeping Virgil, sprites and all before making his way to the back and dumping Virgil on the bed.

“He needs to be constantly warm, as to not trigger any residue phantom soul.  Phantoms feed off of the lonely and unloved- hence why the kiss cleared the majority.”  October turned to Logan.  “Cuddle him or something.  I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Thank you wicca.”  Logan murmured and October found himself holding an armful of sighted.  “Thank you.”

“Sure, whatever.  Oh, my boyfriend might be by in the morning, he’ll make sure that you and Virgil will get an actual breakfast.”

Logan let go and crawled into the bed, arms going up to wrap around Virgil, the sprites tangling themselves into the pile.  All four were out within seconds and October smiled softly before shutting the door to leave them to rest.

…

Virgil woke up to see Logan's glassy eyes were open, gaze not quite staring at him, but he had a nice smile on his face.

“Hey Lo.”  He croaked out and Logan closed his eyes before squeezing him softly.

“Idiot.  Running off and getting phantom touched.”

“Sorry.”  Virgil murmured as a cooing reached his ears.  His chest heated up and he looked down to see that Roman was heating up slowly, his acid green eyes half lidded.  “Hey Ro.”

The sprite coo’d again and Virgil grinned.

“They were very helpful in finding you.”  Logan smiled.  “And the wicca of course, we’re resting in their house.”

“Ah.  That explains why this bed smells like sage and teakwood.”  Virgil sniffed and wrinkled his nose.  “I’m hungry.”

“The wicca’s boyfriend said he’d make us something.”

“Cool.”  Virgil’s head lolled a bit and he had to force himself to stay awake.  “Cool, cool.”

“You can go back to sleep Vee.”  Logan whispered.  “I’ll keep us safe.”

Virgil didn’t have time to respond before grey was clawing at the edge of his vision and sleep called him back, warm and safe.

…

Remy wouldn’t call himself October’s boyfriend, but hey, after three centuries of exclusively dating him, he had to guess that fine, they were dating.

Which is why he found it odd that the wicca was up early.  October was a lot of things, but an early riser was not one of them.

“Babes?  Please don’t tell me you pulled an all nighter.”  Remy plopped a grocery bag on the kitchen counter as October rolled his eyes.

“Nah, the sighted child came around last night with a phantom touched.  He’s fine now, oh, they’re soulmates btw, but they spent last night in my bed, and you know how lumpy the couch is.  I didn’t get much sleep.”

Remy shook his head.  “You never fail to surprise me.”  He pulled out a pan and bacon, slapping it on before throwing October a look.  “Can you light the stove?”

“What you can’t?”

“Please?”  Remy begged and after a moment, the stove lit up.  “Thank you!!”

The bacon was happily frying when he heard a sound, and as Remy looked up, he saw a limping phantom touched, the sighted one next to him, both leaning on each other, familiars winding around them like cats.

Oh, Remy really wanted to adopt these two- look at them, they were so cute with each other and the phantom touched carefully pulled out a stool, guiding the sighted one’s hand to it before finding a seat himself.

Remy pulled the bacon off and added the next slices.

“Hey boys.  Sleep well?”  

The sighted one shrugged.  “It was adequate.  I can’t speak for Virgil though.”

Ah, so the phantom touched one was Virgil.  Remy nodded and filled up two water glasses from the pitcher in the fridge before sliding it to the pair.  “I’m Remy.  I’m sure that October told you about me Sighted, but Virgil, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Who’s October?”

“The wicca.”  Remy said cheerfully.  “I picked it for him after they told me about how obsessed they were with pumpkin spice.”

The Sighted snorted and Virgil let out a snicker as well.

“Our conversation makes more sense from last night.”  The Sighted mused as he reached and delicately picked up his water.

“What happened Lo?”  Virgil asked.  “I really only remember this morning before the sun was up.”

“We kissed.  Well, I kissed you, and it was only to seal the spell, so I’m sorry for not asking your consent.”

“Eh, it’s…”  Virgil stopped talking.

Remy looked back to see that the teen was staring at his hand in horror.  

“Logan, where’s my pinky?”

Logan looked confused.  “I was unaware that you were missing a finger.  Is anything else wrong?”

Virgil pulled out his phone before Remy could stop him and he dropped it once he saw his hair.

“I.. Logan--”  

Virgil collapsed and Logan lunged towards the sound, but Remy was throwing out a hand and freezing the teen’s body with a minor spell.

“Sighted, don’t touch him.  He’s been phantom touched and the residue shows up with strong emotions.  Let me and October deal with this.”

He turned off the stove the same time that October was entering the room and the both of them carefully moved Virgil back to the brew table, where they could see that Virgil’s veins were turning grey, heart pounding loud enough that it could be heard in the quiet of the room.

“Remy, go free Logan.”  October murmured as he began to mash up another concoction.  “Virgil will wake in a panic, and he needs a familiar face.”

…

Pain, pain, pain

Hunger

Feed me

LONELY.

Virgil could feel the other mind in his and the more he pushed against it, the worse it hurt, the louder it got….

Patton.

My name’s Patton.

“NO!”  Virgil pushed against it and he felt an ink cold sweep over him.

YES.

[firewoodfigs]

letters to a young poet 

Summary: Riza Hawkeye, a young, aspiring poet, exchanges letters with her fiancé, Roy Mustang during his time in the military academy. He attempts to write her poems and prose about life and love, and occasionally sends her presents to remind her of him. Like his boxers.

read on ao3  

(a/n: (i) title is taken from Rilke's book. (ii) tw: the timeline of this is largely based on yet another man's battlefield, so there are brief mentions of racism here. (iii) I recommend reading on ao3 instead because... formatting issues, again xD (iv) original poetry at the end)

for @royaiweek 2020 - thank you to the lovely mods for organising!! 💖 

~x~

“Promise you’ll write to me when I’m away?”

“Of course, Roy,” Riza drawls idly as she adjusts his coat and ensures that his tie is neatly in place.

“Thank you. I’m going to miss you terribly, you know,” he says, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead before stretching his arms out invitingly. Smiling, she leans in and allows herself to be crushed to his chest in a warm, firm embrace.

God, I’m really going to miss her, he thinks, as he inhales her scent - a lovely mix of gunpowder and peonies and old books - and incarcerates it in his memory.

Roy steps back to admire her pretty countenance properly. Pride and admiration swells in his heart, and he can't help but run his fingers gently through her flaxen tresses once more before resting them on her lips.  

“Let me be your muse,” Roy declares with a triumphant grin, pressing a hand to his heart with a melodramatic flourish that earns an amused eye roll from his fiancée. “For parting is such sweet sorrow, and -“

“Shut up.” She pulls him by his tie to kiss him roughly, before flashing a wicked grin and kicking him out of the door. “Get going, you lovesick, histrionic fool.”

Riza throws his belongings out and slams the door as he stares at the wood longingly with an endearing pout.

~x~

June 8th

Dear Riza,

How doth your literary endeavours come along? I hope all is well with thee. Whenever I close my eyes, I see you Like a midsummer’s night dream, exquisite And when I open my eyes to sunlight I cannot wait to see you once again.

All my love, Roy.

~x~

June 12th

Roy,

Stop trying to imitate Shakespeare and force all your sentences into iambic pentameters. It makes me shudder - in disgust, not delight, lest you misconstrue what I’m saying.

Anyway, my literary endeavours are coming along fine. I’ve been spending my time reading some of the books you got me for my birthday, and for someone who writes so incorrigibly you sure do have impeccable taste. All is well on my end. What about you? How are you adjusting to the academy?

Thanks for the pressed flowers that you sent over, by the way. They’re surprisingly lovely, though I’m sure all credit goes to Vanessa’s guidance.

I also enclosed a scarf that I personally knitted for you in case it gets cold at night. Because you have an uncanny tendency to misplace your things, I embroidered a few water droplets in blue at the bottom for clearer identification (if you lose it I’m never making you anything ever again, this took me days to complete).

Hopefully, they serve as a reminder to you that you’re useless in the rain as well, so that you’ll refrain from doing anything reckless or stupid in my absence.

All my love, Riza.

~x~

Roy tears the package open with all the enthusiasm of a child opening his presents on Christmas morning the instant it lands in his hands. His eyes light up appreciatively at the lovely scarf, laughing at the tiny water droplets at the bottom that she’d added as a personal touch.

When he reads her letter and realises its intended meaning, though, an indignant frown makes its way to his handsome features.

Nevertheless, he dons it on immediately, relishing in the warm comfort and how it smelt like her, like flowers blooming in spring (even if his fiancée didn’t appreciate his poetic attempts, he very much liked to believe he was capable of using a simile properly).

June 16th

Dear Riza,

Thank you for the lovely gift, although your harsh words wound me terribly. Nevertheless, I understand that underneath your acerbic tongue lies a tender heart full of love, and I am a lucky man to be the sole recipient of it. I’m glad you liked the flowers. One day I’ll buy you a carful of them, I promise.

Things are going fine here. I’m adjusting well to the ridiculous sleep schedule (you’re the only person I know who willingly wakes up at seven in the morning daily), and with the rigorous physical training we have to endure I believe you’ll have a glorious set of washboard abs to admire the next time you see me.

I must say, though, the food here is pretty bad. Spinach quiche is pretty much the only edible thing, but this man - I think his name was Huggles or something. Sorry, Hughes - had the audacity to take the last piece of quiche right under my nose.

(Per your commands, though, I refrained from trying anything stupid.)

What’s even worse is the racial prejudice. The other day I saw an Ishvalan getting bullied by a trio of ugly men, but they left before I realised what was really happening… So I helped him out after that. I can’t bear it, to this day - they picked on him just because of his skin colour, for goodness sake! It was completely unwarranted.  

It’s only been a week but I already miss you terribly. Can’t wait till I see you again.

All my love, which extends from one end of Amestris to Xing, Roy.

~x~

June 21st

Dear Roy,

Sure, keep deluding yourself however you like if it makes you happy. You’re not the only recipient, by the way - I made a cute little scarf for Hayate, too, who has replaced your ‘snuggling spot’ in my bed, as you like to call it. Between the both of you I sometimes can’t tell who smells worse.

Also, don’t be ridiculous - what would I even do with a carful of flowers?

I’m glad to hear that things are fine on your end. Waking up at seven is a wonderful thing, especially when you get to see the sunrise, no? I look forward to seeing those abs, though with your drinking habits I’m sure you’ll probably end up with a beer belly in the foreseeable future. Don’t drink too much.

I’m sorry to hear about the quiche. I’ll make you one when you’re back. If it makes you feel better, though, I’ve sent some cookies I made the other day to you as well. Express delivery, in case they go bad.

Also, even if you haven’t already punched the Hughes guy I can already envision you slamming your tray down on the table, turning around to scowl at him like a petulant child and competing with him in just about everything you do.

All I will say is this: relax, it’s just a bloody quiche.

Good to know that you did that! The Ishvalans most certainly don’t deserve such treatment. No one does, of course, but it’s frustrating that certain ethnicities still continue to be singled out and ostracised in Amestris, despite the state’s proclamation that it’s a cosmopolitan society accepting of different cultures and whatnot… Until then, we have to stand with them, stand up for what’s right, and -- oh, I don’t mean to ramble. Just know that I’m proud of you, Roy. Keep at it.  

If it does make you feel better I suppose a tiny part of me does miss you too. Just the slightest.

All my love, Riza (not interested in your silly competitions) Hawkeye.

~x~

Roy blanched at the bag of cookies she’d sent him and the thought of Riza’s quiche. Cooking had never been her strongest suit, and while she was talented in many areas somehow all of that seemed to go away every time she entered a kitchen.

Nevertheless, it was Riza who’d painstakingly made them, and because he appreciates his fiancée’s efforts he vows to eat every single one of them even in her absence.

He bites down on a cookie apprehensively, and is pleasantly surprised to discover that it’s edible. It bears emphasising that this is an incredible feat for Riza Hawkeye - considering how she’d managed to almost burn the entire kitchen down when she tried to make a simple pasta dish for his birthday.

(Fortunately, they’d managed to extinguish it, but afterwards Roy mentally designated himself as head chef for the rest of their lives.)

Deeply touched by the gesture, he wraps one of his shirts to send back as a gift. The thought of her dressed in his apparel has him grinning like the lovesick, histrionic fool that Riza said he was.

June 26th 

Dear Riza,

Don’t say that, I definitely smell better than Hayate. And I know for a fact that you love me, although maybe not as much as I love you -- my love for you knows no territorial boundaries.

You could curate your own gardens with a carful of flowers, I suppose. And we could… Well, smell the flowers and procrastinate together?

It is - the sunlight reminds me of you, and I appreciate that. A lot. I also haven’t been drinking, so don’t worry - these glorious abs are definitely en route to you.

Thank you for the cookies - they were delicious, and I look forward to your quiche when I return. Baby steps, alright? I hope the kitchen will still be intact when I come home.

… It’s sometimes creepy how well you know me… But I think you’ll be pleased to at least know that I became friends with Hughes, after we confronted said trio.

We also made a new friend today - Heathcliff! He’s the Ishvalan I told you about in my last letter. He told us he joined the military because he wanted to change and empower the people’s perceptions of Ishval and its culture from a point of leadership. I think that’s an admirable dream - one that I’d like to assist in, too. He’s been a great friend, and I can’t stand to see him be the recipient of so many pejorative remarks. It’s completely unjustified, and you’re absolutely right on that point.

I take that as an admission that you miss me ‘most ardently’ - have you been writing poems about me in my absence?  

On that note, you’ll be pleased to know that I have a break on the 8th of July for a couple of days. Want to do something fun? I know you’ve been dying to check out that shooting range, and I’ve been training in the academy for my victory.

All my love, kisses and glorious abs, Roy

P.S. I’ve also enclosed a token of my own affection herein for you - hopefully it reminds you of me whenever you wear it.

~x~

Riza stared confusedly at the oddly-shaped lump that surfaced after she opened the package. After reading his letter she was expecting one of his shirts, maybe one of his button-downs that would’ve been perfect as an oversized sleeping top on her, but she certainly wasn’t expecting his…

Boxers.

His boxers, of all things. She holds it up to scrutinise it in its full glory, and it’s peppered with little puppies - his favorite pair.

To say Riza is surprised is an understatement. She’s not quite sure why he’d sent her his boxers or how she’s supposed to even wear it, but she chucks it aside in the laundry for him to retrieve it when he returns.

July the 8th. The date's circled in bold, bright red on her calendar.  

She’d never admit this out loud to any living person, not even her best friend Rebecca. The only person who’d heard her let out an almost-giggle (almost, because Riza Hawkeye did not do giggles) in excitement was Hayate. Because God, did she miss him terribly, and true to his predictions he’d been her muse for quite a number of her recent poetic endeavours.

July 3rd

Dear Roy,

Whatever, you insane idiot. I miss you and I love you too. That is all.

For the record, the kitchen is still intact, and will continue to be so. My cooking skills aren’t that bad.  

That’s great to hear. You’re an honorable and intelligent (this is questionable) man, Roy, and I would definitely like to see that kind of change happening. I hope Heathcliff is well, too - send him my regards.

… I refuse to lower myself to drawing smiley faces on my letters, but you’ll see one on July the 8th in person.

And yes, it would be nice to check out that shooting range, though let’s be real - we both know you can’t defeat me no matter how hard you try. I do live up to my namesake, after all.

All my love, Riza

P.S I don’t know if it was intentional, but I never knew you had a thing for me wearing your boxers. Unfortunately, they are way too loose for me and I won’t be wearing them any time soon. Your underwear and I eagerly await your return.

~x~

The 8th of July finally comes around. Everyone in the academy is astonished at just how fast Roy Mustang is capable of running. He might’ve been the golden boy, and he generally outran most, if not all, of them during their training sessions, but now he looked like his pants were on fire as he made a dash for the gate and boarded the first train in a sweaty mess.

Roy continues running like a madman after alighting the train, desperate to reach their home as soon as possible to explain his predicament. He certainly hadn’t intended to send his underwear over, and was sure that one of the other men must have done so as a practical joke on him.

(Fortunately for the culprit, Roy didn’t manage to identify who he was, but there would certainly be hell to pay when he did so.)

As if on cue, Riza opens the door with a beatific smile adorning her features. “I can hear you panting all the way from the other end of Amestris, Roy.”

He chuckles awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head in embarrassment. “Well, I’m excited to see you, for starters. And, uh…”

“You want your underwear back?”

“Yes, of course I do.” He pants, struggling to catch his breath while trying to formulate a coherent explanation. “Look, I swear it wasn’t deliberate - I intended to send you one of my shirts, and I definitely don’t have a thing for you wearing my boxers. I don’t know which idiot in the academy substituted my shirt for my underwear to sabotage -” She lets out a laugh. It's loud, unrestrained. Roy thinks it’s the most beautiful sound he’s heard in a month. “You really are hopeless, Roy. It’s fine. Defeat me at the shooting range, and you can have it back tonight.”

~x~

In the end, his favorite pair of boxers sits at the bottom of the laundry for the rest of the day, because Riza Hawkeye is an indomitable force of nature at the shooting range.

She does, however, have a poem written for him, and he’s so enraptured by it that he forgets all about the underwear fiasco. “I’m back home, ma chérie,” he whispers as he runs his fingers down the groove of her spine, as if he’s tracing constellations on the canvas of her back while they lay together on satin, hearts thrumming in harmony. “I’d like to keep holding you close, too -” he recites, but he’s quickly interrupted by her.

“You sound best when you don’t speak, Roy,” and with that Riza silences him with a fiery kiss that rouses an overwhelming conflagration in him.

One that can only be put out by her.

Roy grins delightfully into the kiss, all too willing to oblige. Her lips are an inviting chamber of unbridled affection and unsatisfied desire, and he finds himself exploring her eagerly, fingers tracing her sharp cheekbones in reverent adoration.

Riza responds in kind, trailing a hand down his shirt and notes, somewhat gleefully, that he has indeed returned with said glorious abs. She makes a move to untuck his shirt, humming to herself in amusement as she feels his bare stomach quiver beneath her curious palm.

He’s quick to make a comeback, though. Unwilling to be teased by her Roy draws her deeper into the kiss - she’s utterly incredible, he thinks, as he cards his fingers through her flaxen tresses - and he tastes traces of eggs and pastries and -

- and spinach?

“You made spinach quiche?” Roy asks curiously, breaking away from the kiss for the briefest of moments.

“What on earth,” she huffs. “Way to ruin the moment, Roy.” A scarlet blush makes its way to her cheeks - equal parts breathlessness from the vigour with which he kisses her, and embarrassment at being found out.

He laughs, and quotes yet another line teasingly. “Didn’t you say you’ll even listen to my silly moonshine?”

Riza scowls. “I do regret writing that now. Perhaps I will -”

“No, no, please continue writing more,” Roy pleads in earnest, and before she can make a decision he’ll live to regret he kisses her again with such an ardent love, such a fervent passion that it completely derails her train of thought.

The quiche rests in the oven, burnt and forgotten.

~x~ 

adieu, mon chéri. may you fare well. in my heart, you will always dwell. (won’t you please come home soon, or will it only be after june?)

you write to me, letters (hidden within are flowers) to abate my need for you. i knit scarves in a room candlelit;

holding a heavy weight within from empty spaces on satin. i’d like to hold you close again -- hurry, love, won’t you run to the train?

i’ll let you place your weight on mine oh, i’ll even listen to your silly moonshine (come home to me, darling my soul is aching in longing)

~x~ 

*moonshine: foolish talk or ideas.

[sweetcatmintea]

Dogwood & Co scene 1

So I started writing a new wip and figured, hey, why not post it? So, here’s the first scene so far. (It doesn’t have a title yet so the place holder is Dogwood and co.) Image credits are in a reblog so tumblr doesn’t hide this post :v Feedback is always very much appreciated

[image description: a mood board of three images on a herb background. The first is a photo of pair of copper crane shaped scissors. The second is a digital illustration of a person’s eyes. They have brown skin, dark eyes, and curly hair that’s shaved on their right side. They have orange makeup under their eyes. The third image is a photo of a dogwood flower, a white four petalled flower with a yellow centre and dark stem. description end.]

Words: 1858 Trigger warning(s): None. Ask to tag Character(s): Dogwood, Suecica, Hosta, Niobe, and Dogwood’s mother.

---

This is not one of the greats, an epic adventure of brave heroes bringing long overdue justice to an ancient evil. There is no shining knight, nor corrupt monarchy felled. It is a simple story of a young witch and the trials they never imagined themself facing. There is triumph, loss, magic, and food. There is a baker with a wild glint in her eye and a smile so infectious even the cantankerous little dragon is swayed to joy. There is danger, of course, but, at its core, this is a story about love. You may not agree with that at first. That’s fine. This story is not one of the greats, but you have some time and I have a tale so would you lend me your ear and hear Dogwood’s plight?

--

Death will always follow in your footsteps, an inevitable shadow at your heels, but Dogwood, it will never take you.

--

To start at the beginning is to start much too early. Instead, we come to meet our protagonist midway through their morning chores, kneeling in clovers and dewy soil, gently snipping countryside herbs with ornate scissors. Brass, carved in a crane’s image, they sat light in Dogwood’s grasp. Suecica, the youngest of Dogwood’s brothers, crouched as close as Dogwood’s movements allowed, eagerly thrusting a basket towards them at the first hint of its necessity. Though his enthusiastic help was in name only, Dogwood was happy for the company. They placed the cuttings with the others, a single fluid movement, never breaking the flow of their work. They mused an explanation here and there, the function of this herb, the necessity of that ritual. For many, it may not have been the fun side of magic, but for Dogwood, it felt like home. Magic was their heartbeat. To teach it was a fulfilment they knew they would not be able to indulge in for much longer. Suecica was a young lad of eight, in but a few more seasons, his own magic would begin to manifest. It was only a matter of time until he made his vows with Nes. Dogwood wondered idly what form Suecica’s Dustmorph would take. A cat like their mother? A fox like their father and brother? They thought a dog might suit him better but there was no way to tell. There was an element of inheritability, to be sure, but the shape of a person’s essence has many hands moulding it. Until he was ready, it was a secret between his soul and the Gods.  

The tug of magic pulled them out of their thoughts. Followed quickly by the appearance of The Respected Hosta. Dogwood rose to greet her, wiping their hand on their pants as they stood. Although it was not uncommon to see a witch of Hosta’s status in the countryside, or that she might seek out an apprentice in person, it was strange to see her usual mischievous graces shadowed by a worried brow and stiff gait. Shoulders rigid and back straight, her natural flow was entirely absent. Her robes battled at her ankles as she approached, raising a hand in greeting as soon as she made out the pair. Sharp vision was not a blessing she had claim to. Dogwood wondered, not for the first time, if the snake draped around her neck was a cause or a coincidence.

“Hosta, Niobe, your presence blesses us. What brings you to the country?”

Never one to be left out, Suecica parroted Dogwood’s greeting. “Your presence blesses us!”

Hosta nodded in return. “Your company is appreciated, Dogwood, as is yours young Suecica.” Niobe curved around her wrist, sliding the dimming location charm Hosta had used to find them over his head until it might be needed once more. As he reclaimed it, the magic pull faded to nothing.

“Unfortunately, I am not here for pleasantries. In regard to your recent behaviour, the Council has deemed it appropriate that you are to report to the catacombs on the ninth hour of this night for disciplinary action.” Hosta’s voice was sharp, leaving no room for argument.

The drastic change a slap in the face to Dogwood. They blinked at her, eyebrows arching in surprise. Her stony gaze gave nothing away. Moments lapsed before they remembered they should respond.

“Oh, okay… Will I need to bring anything?”

“No. Do not be late.” With a dip of her head, she turned and left. Niobe stared from her shoulder as she went, studying their reactions with an emotion Dogwood couldn’t place.

The siblings exchanged a look, broken by Suecica jabbing Dogwood in the ribs, laughing as they jolted.

“Ooooh, you’re in TRouBle~”

“It would certainly seem so.” Dogwood shook their head, taking on a mock stern expression. “If you don’t want me to turn you into a toad for that, you’d better run!”

Of course, they weren’t capable of that kind of magic, but that really wasn’t the point. Following a threat through was never the point with siblings.

Suecica shrieked in delight, taking of in the direction of their home. “You can’t run with scissors!!”

Dogwood pocketed the scissors and took off after him. “Don’t think you can escape so easily Sue! You’d better not drop those herbs unless you want to be the one picking them all up again!”

They ran through fields, spooking chickens and amusing friendly neighbours until they arrived, panting, out of breath, at the pink picket fence lining their family property. Sue clamoured through the hard wood door, kicking off his shoes and nearly upending his basket in his haste to enter the house. Fortunately for the pair, Dogwood caught it in time. They followed him inside, slipping their shoes neatly beside the brick wall, and setting the herbs aside to be properly prepared later. Though a chore to some, Dogwood enjoyed each and every First Moon Ritual, the ceremonial burning of hand-picked herbs at the height of night under a new moon to thank the stars for their continued guardianship. There was such a monotonous peace to it, a feeling of belonging and purpose they could seldom word, let alone explain, even to fellow witches. Would they still be able to perform it tonight? Would three hours be long enough for the Council’s intent? Even in punishment, they had always respected the rituals. But then, the whole situation was not quite right, what sway would ‘always’ have here?

Sue thumped down the hallway, nearly barrelling into their mother as she left the nursery. “Mum! Muuumm!! Save me! Dogwood’s gonna turn me into a toad!!” He feigned terror at his sibling’s approach, tucking himself behind her for safety.

Porlock, the sturdy white and red striped cat sitting on her shoulder puffed their fur and hissed at him while their mother scolded his noise.

“Hush, you silly monkey! I just got your sister down!”

“Oops!” He dropped his tone to a stage whisper, grinning sheepishly. “Sorry!”

She sighed, rolling her eyes just as dramatically as his antics, and ruffled his hair. She ushered them away from the sleeping baby. Porlock’s fur settled back to the almost tabby pattern as they left. With a huff, the cat leapt to the floor, plodding back to nursery, their red tail a flag behind them.

The three gathered in the kitchen, Sue fishing a honey biscuit from the tin and offering one to his sibling. Their mother nodded towards the basket.

“How did you go?”

“Good. The plants have grown well this cycle. We found plenty for the First Moon, as well as some to eat. Sue listened to instructions but, unfortunately, will have to live the rest of his life as a toad.”

“That is a shame,” she laughed as Sue whined, “I suppose he will have to develop a taste for flies.”

“Muumm, no! I don’t want to be a toad!” He crumpled into her, the mockery too much to bear.

“Maybe we can work something out. I doubt a toad will be as useful as our little Sue.”

“Muuuuummmm.”

She laughed again. Dogwood’s mother had the warmest smile they had ever seen. Her brown eyes sparkled with so much joy and life, the tired lines running through her skin could do nothing to dampen her spirits. She had always been a lively woman, but fatigue was unavoidable at the moment. Nuttallii, the youngest member of their family, had proven herself a difficult sleeper. She seemed to be committed to keeping their parents awake as long as possible and had shown no signs of slowing her tirade yet. It was only a matter of time until she would though. Just like her siblings before her, Dogwood knew she would learn peace eventually.

Dogwood was the second born and eldest of their three siblings. They did not mirror their mother as Sue and Nut did, sharing her coppery hair and soft face, nor were they made in their father’s image like Cornel, their other brother, carrying his dark locks and straight features. Rather, they were somewhere in between. On multiple occasions, they had been compared to their Grandmother, a portrait of her youth. The same warm russet skin, deep brown, near black hair, and the same ebony eyes that seemed to say more than their face ever could. They missed her dearly, a weakened constitution taking her long before they were ready to say goodbye. It was not the first Memoria Bell they had received but it was the one that truly introduced them to loss.

“Besides, I shouldn’t get punished!” Sue’s face lit up in a treacherous grin, “Since Dogwood was the one who got in ~tRoUbLe~!”

What a brat. Siblings. Honestly.

Their mother paused her teasing, looking to them for an explanation. They’d like one too if it was on offer. Instead, they kind of shrugged.

“Hosta asked-”

“Ordered!”

“… Ordered my presence in the catacombs at ninth hour tonight. I am to be reprimanded for my recent behaviour. She didn’t say what I had done, or really anything else.”

“Except not to be late!”

“Except that. I’m not sure what this is about. The only thing I can think of is falling asleep in the library during studies, but I doubt that would amount to such formal measures…”

A worried moment passed between them. The kind that is all consuming between adults yet hardly noteworthy to children. Though witches may command change from their fingertips, it would seem they turn shy when it is thrust upon them.

Their mother tried to gather herself, putting on faux airs for her children. “Well, there’s nothing much we can do until tonight. I’m sure it is a simple mix up, nothing to fret about.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

She put a comforting hand on their shoulder. It would be okay. They would get through it together if it wasn’t.

“In the meantime, I have some deliveries that need to be made. The Roselia family have several pots to be delivered and Ms. Prunus has a mortar and pestle. Can you take them? If the pots are too heavy, leave them. I’ll get your brother to take them when he gets back.”

---

Tag list

@snobbysnekboi, @inkovert, @kainablue, @i-rove-rock-n-roll , and @goblin-writer

[angrylizardjacket]

sabotage {Machine Gun Kelly}

Summary: MGK has a Lot of tattoos, and Tommy Lee does not, at least not for most of when The Dirt is set. It’s no small task covering them all, but being assistant to the man who does cover them means you’re spending a good deal of time with the actor himself, and he’s not what you’re expecting... that is, if you actually knew what to expect.

A/N: 6477 words. alright so i went to im-fucking-db for Accuracy; shout out to: Christine Wada (costume designer), Corey Castellano (makeup department head), and Jorie Malan (key makeup artist). i reference these people in the fic, and i’ll be sure to explain who they are in the fic, but just in case you need a reminder, they’re also here. requested by my dear @luciana-galvez. under a read more because it’s a Monster of a fic. Please give me feedback, and also let me know if you want a part 2??

“You want me to order how much foundation?” It’s nine in the morning and you’ve barely stepped foot into the production meeting when Corey, the head of the makeup department, is tasking you with buying far more foundation than any one production should reasonably need. There’s overestimating and then there’s... this. “What shade?” It’s with an air of defeat that you accept the company credit card and open your laptop.

“Not now; the cast have a fitting at midday, we’ll get shade match them then.” Corey assures, but you keep your laptop open anyways to make notes during the meeting. It passes by fairly uneventfully, at least for you, and by the time you break, it’s already eleven and you’re starving. The corner store a few blocks away serves as a good a place to get lunch as any, and when you turn up to the fitting, half an hour early, you sit yourself in a corner to wait, and start on your sandwich of questionable quality.

You’re pricing bulk order foundation on your phone, still marvelling at the estimate you’d been given for how much you’d need, when the cast starts to filter in, well, the leads. Aside from being one of the makeup artists, you were also Corey’s assistant, which essentially just made you a glorified errand girl for the rest of the makeup team.

Half the costume department was already here, buzzing and agitated like wasps whose nest had been disturbed, and you’re careful to stay out of their way lest you get stung, or smacked for touching the wrong thing. So you’re grateful when the key makeup artist, Jorie, bursts in with ten minutes to spare, and gives a sigh of relief when she sees you. She’s holding a makeup kit in her hands, and when she begins to set up by a mirror out of the way of the costume department, you can see it’s mostly different shades of foundation, a few tubes of lipstick, more smokey eyeshadow-quad pallets than you can shake a stick at, some eyeliner, and a few face paint sticks.

She’s sticking photos to the mirror of the original band in full makeup, and that’s when you start to accept the fact that it’s going to be a very long day.

“You’re late.” The costume department is not about to fuck around, and despite the fact that there’s still five minutes to midday, the costume designer is already reprimanding the newcomer. “And you can’t smoke in here.”

“It’s not midday-” whoever’s walked in is already arguing back, though as you look up, you see him - god he’s so tall, all limbs - backtracking to stub his cigarette out on the screen door frame outside, you think you recognise him. Well, recognise him beyond the fact that you know he’s playing Tommy; you’d seen his bleach blonde head shot with the drummer’s name beneath it on the document Corey had sent out a few months ago, not that you’d given it a detailed look over. You just did what you were told, you could get to know the actors in the process. But as you’re looking at him, something about him does seem... familiar.

“On time is late; five minutes early is cutting it too close,” Christine, the costume designer was fierce, fiercer than any of the actors had expected, though the rest were already trying to hold back their snickers as he got reprimanded before they’d even started, “ten minutes early is on time; gives us all time to get ready.” She finishes, and disappears into another room to start collecting costumes. 

“Fucking hell,” he breathes, rolling his eyes and running a hand through his hair, as the tension dropped the moment she had left. The others were grinning, poking fun at him for getting in trouble before they’d even gotten on set.

“’Stina,” Jorie shouts to the costume designer, “who can we start with?” There’s a long pause, and much shuffling and clicking of coat hangers from the costume department.

“The tall one,” Christine shouts back, and reemerges with an arm full of outfits, “Mister Booth, you first.” And the guy playing Nikki Sixx is lead to a dressing room. After a moment, an assistant carrying another set of outfits makes her way towards you and Jorie, but stops short, gesturing for the guy who had just been getting yelled at to step towards you.

“She meant you, Mister - uh, Kelly?” The nervous assistant doesn’t stay long, and scurries off to collect the two remaining actors, leading them through to the costume room as ‘the tall one’ gives a thin smile as he makes his way towards you.

“Not a fan of being called Mister Kelly?” Jorie asks with a knowing smile, and the tension breaks as he sits in the chair in front of the mirror, half smiling, “what about the tall one?” And he actually laughs at that.

“Fuck no, just Colson’s fine,” he relaxes into the chair, gaze meeting yours where you’re scrutinising him in the mirror, partially because, damn, he really is familiar and you can’t put your finger on why, and partially because you’re trying to figure out what foundation he’d use. 

“Where do I know you from?”

“Y/N tell me you’re kidding,” Jorie mutters to you, looking up from where she’s leafing through a stack of photos of Tommy, “did you not read the brief-”

“Dude,” you hissed at her, ducking your head and bobbing down to rifle through the makeup box, “I read it months ago, sorry I don’t remember every actor whose name and headshot I see once.” 

“You’re so clueless sometimes; you’re meant to be the young one. Hip to the jive, etcetera?” Jorie’s laughing at her own phrasing, not that you can blame her. When you resurface, holding a makeup sponge and five little bottles of foundation all roughly the same shade with slight variations, she’s looking expectantly at you, one eyebrow raised, hand out and gesturing to the blonde in the makeup chair. “It’s- what is it? - Machine Gun Kelly?” She says it like it’s meant to mean something.

“Gesundheit.”

“It’s his name,” she sighed deeply, pulling out a black stick of facepaint.

“Oh. Your parents hippies?” You ask, kneeling beside his chair and gently taking his arm so you could begin swatching the foundations on the back of his hand. After a beat you reconsider before he can get a word in edgewise, “I guess not if machine gun is in there.” 

“Stage name,” he explains, but there’s a smile you can hear in his words, amused, and it doesn’t leave his face as he watches you work in the mirror as Jorie is applying the face paint in two stripes on both his cheeks. 

“Hence, Colson?” You ask, not looking up, feeling a little foolish, though the stage name is starting to sound familiar to you.

“Yeah, hence, Colson.”

“Stage name for what?” You ask, but the thought is quickly taken over by the next and words spill from you before he can response, “were you all over Twitter a few months ago? I know I know you from somewhere.” 

He’s quick to clarify; he’s a rapper, sort of an actor, yes he was ‘all over twitter’ a few months ago because of a ‘thing with Eminem’, his words not yours.

“So you’re kind of famous, huh,” you muse, which makes him chuckle, “well sorry for my terrible introduction; I’m Y/N, by the way.” And you hold out your hand to shake his free one.

“Flirt on your own time, Y/N, did you get a colour match?” Jorie snaps, advancing on him with an eyeshadow brush held threateningly before her. He closes his eyes, but not before seeing you fluster at the accusation. “You’re the one with all the tattoos, aren’t you?” Jorie’s voice is quieter as she focuses on her work, and Colson tells her he is. The makeup artist steps back for a moment, her gaze appraising as she looks him over. “Could we get you to take your shirt off so Y/N can make sure she’s got the right colour foundation for your chest?” 

“I wasn’t flirting, I was shaking his damn hand, this isn’t the forties.” You fire back playfully, sitting back on your heels as Colson pulls off his sweater.

“The forties? How old do you think I am?” Jorie squawks, raising her eyebrows at you.

“For your sake, I’m not going to answer,” you say sweetly, accepting it as the makeup artist cuffs you gently on the back of the head, though both she and Colson are laughing at the exchange. 

As you look to him, it all starts to finally make sense, recognition dawning on your face as you take in the tattoos painting their way across his skin. All of it would need to be covered for certain scenes in the movie, which would require a lot of foundation. 

“You mind if I-” you awkwardly gesture to his chest with the sponge in your hand, and he sits back in the chair.

“Go for it,” and he closes his eyes again as Jorie comes in with the eyeshadow once more. As you apply the foundation near his collar, where there was a patch of uninked skin large enough to get a good comparison from, from the corner of your eye you see his lips twitch into a grimace for the barest moment.

“Sorry it’s cold,” you murmur, and he gives a smile, shrugging it off easily. You find a colour match easily, and it doesn’t take long, so you hand him a makeup wipe as Jorie starts talking at you, about how Corey himself would be handling the tattoo covering but that he wanted you there to help out. Of course you knew you’d need to be there, you’re his assistant after all, and after you note the shade required, you stand back and watch Jorie do her work. 

“I wish we had one of the wigs,” she muses, finally stepping away after she’d finished touching up his eyebrows, and you join her where she moves to stand behind his chair, all three of you looking at him in the mirror.

“You did good though,” you nod approvingly, leaning in a little to compare Colson’s reflection to the picture of Tommy taped to the mirror. 

“‘Stina,” Jorie calls, “do we have hair coming in later today?” 

“At three,” Christine calls back, and finally you look to where she’s standing by the changing room, putting pins into a leather harness that Douglas was wearing; it looked equal parts uncomfortable and sexy, though you know the second part was on purpose the first part would probably be helped by being surrounded by everyone in their own eighties, bordering-on-fetish costumes. You give him a thumbs up, expression pensive as you look him over, and look back to the photo of Nikki by the mirror. It does not seem to ease his discomfort. 

“Alright, sounds good, are you ready to send the next one over to us?” Jorie calls back, and after Christine tells Douglas to get changed out of his costume, you send Colson over to her.

“Don’t wipe that off, we can touch it up but we wanna see it with the wig,” you instruct, and he gives a mock salute and a grin, and you feel yourself smiling back. He was a lot... less than his stage name lead you to believe; he had a lot of energy just under the surface, that much you could tell, which meant he had great potential for his role as the over the top drummer, but he had an easy confidence, a level of professionalism that you’re grateful for, and a tattoo of a spider over his nipple, which you’re not sure of the significance of but it amuses you.

And, not to be shallow, though in this industry sometimes you can let yourself be, he’s hot. Though maybe you just had a thing for guys in eyeliner.

Stop.

You were going to be getting up close and personal with him for the next few months as you would probably be helping Corey cover all his tattoos; thirsting over him in eyeliner is the last thing you’re allowed to think about doing. Above all else, you had to stay professional.

And, as the weeks went on, you were successful in that.

Mostly.

“What’s that one about?” You ask, poking at the tattoo of a London bus on his side. He jumped a little at the prod, giving you an amused but rather tired grin as Corey said your name like a warning. It was almost eight in the morning and he was trying to airbrush an even base coat of darker makeup across Colson’s back that you could apply foundation on top of. It was one of the days where he’d be filming shirtless, and ‘even’ was hard to achieve if he kept moving.

“I got hit by a bus.”

“No you didn’t; shut up!” Your eyes shine bright with amusement as you give him a disbelieving grin. He smiles back, sharp, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Did you think I got it immortalised on my fuckin’ body for fun? It hit me full force; I cracked the windshield,” and he sounds almost proud of it, and maybe he is, but you don’t seem to notice how his smile gets a little wider when he hears you laugh.

“And what about this one?” You poke at the spider over his nipple and he squirms a little. Corey says your name, more insistent this time, and you mutter out a half-assed apology, moreso waiting for Colson’s reply.

“That one’s just cool.” 

Maybe it’s the fact that you spend three hours with him a day at least, being weirdly close, which is par for the course when you’re applying foundation to his whole chest and sometimes his legs, but you’re becoming fast friends. Corey’s adamant that you don’t need to come in for the full three hours every day, but you’re there with a smile; rain, hail, or shine, just proclaiming that you enjoy your job when Colson asks about it. He calls you dedicated, and he’s mostly right; though if you’re being honest, part of you just enjoys spending time with him.

“Do you listen to any rap?” He asks, curious one day; Corey’s finished the airbrushing stage and has stepped out to grab a coffee from craft services, leaving you to start on the foundation.

“You mean, do I listen to you?” You smirked, not looking away from where you’re dabbing the foundation down his arm.

“I know you don’t listen to me; you didn’t even know who I was ‘first time we met,” he snickered, and you considered for a moment, humming as you turn his arm over gently and start working on his forearm. 

“Well, okay, you’ve got me there, it’s just not my style, you know?” 

“That wasn’t really the question,” he’s smiling a little, and you huff out a laugh, conceding.

“I mean, I don’t hate it; if you’re really twisting my arm I’d say I sometimes listen to some of The Beastie Boys earlier stuff; Slow Ride, Posse in Effect, Paul Revere? That I can jam out to.” And you look at him, guaging his reaction, biting back a laugh at his exaggerated wince.

“Not even Sabotage; so you really don’t listen to anything from this century?” He’s teasing you now, and you have to chuckle at that.

“Sabotage is okay.” You roll your eyes, looking back at your work. “When you guys stopped using a brass section as accompaniment, that’s when you lost me; it just adds a certain...” you hum thoughtfully for a moment, taping your chin as if in deep thought. He actually laughs at that, and when you look up, you think your heart might skip a beat at the sight of his smile, “gravitas? Je ne sais quoi?”

“So what do you listen to? What modern music has that,” and he puts on a terrible french accent to gently mock your earlier words, “je ne sais quoi?” You shove him lightly, though there’s no malice in the move, or in your grin as you’re moving to stand in front of him. You start dabbing makeup across his chest and collar. It’s getting harder and harder to keep your thoughts professional when you’re so damn close to him, and he won’t stop smiling at you like that.

Listing off a few bands from this decade seems to placate his curiosity enough, even if he rolls his eyes at some of your choices. Pausing for a moment, you tip your head side to side, considering.

“And classic rock, of course; not just the music, like the people behind it are fascinating, you know?”

Surprisingly, he’s quiet for a long moment.

“You must be enjoying this then,” he muses, though you can hear the suggestiveness in his tone and you swallow hard, refusing to take your eyes off your work.

“This production?” You deliberately refuse to read into his tone, though he was making it difficult when you could hear his smirk in his words, “yeah it’s been pretty great. Get to listen to a bunch of Crue all day? There’s definitely worse jobs in the world.” Snickering, you chance a look at him, though he’s not meeting your gaze, he’s still smiling as watches you work in the reflection of the mirror.

“What about you? Enjoying yourself?”

“Yeah, I mean it’s a challenge at times, but it’s a good one, you know? And I’m getting up at six every morning which is kind of a drag,” he grins though as you mutter out a quiet apology, “nah, don’t worry about it, ‘just part of the job. It’s good, it’s one-hundred.” And he’s looking at you, gaze a little unreadable where you’ve gone quiet as you work, focusing. 

It becomes a routine that you fall easily into; wake up at some ungodly hour, smash a coffee or an energy drink before spending three hours covering Colson’s tattoos with Corey, spend an extra hour and a half helping paint on Tommy’s tattoos if the scenes calls for it. Once he’s done, you tell Corey you’re going to get breakfast but you actually take a nap before you’re woken up by one of the production assistants telling you that you have twenty minutes before you need to be on set, so you race to the corner store and grab something cheap and eat it in a distracted haze as you head back to Corey’s trailer to pick up your makeup bag, before heading to set to be on standby for if any of the boys need touch-ups as filming starts. You’re there longer than most of the cast, staying back after filming’s wrapped for the day to help Colson take off his makeup and get the workspace prepped for the following day, crashing into bed almost immediately after getting home to rinse and repeat all over again. It was fun to begin with, but it was wearing you down quickly.

“Dude, you look dead on your feet.” Colson frowns as you yawn loudly, haphazardly blotting foundation onto his back.

“Y/N, it’s looking patchy, I need you to focus,” Corey’s frowning, but for a different reason as he looks over from where he’s made a start on the actor’s shoulder. You wave Corey off with a mumbled apology, rubbing at your eyes before recentering yourself and getting back to work. You meet Colson’s gaze in the mirror for a beat; he actually looks concerned, but you’re too tired to really care.

And okay, maybe, just maybe, seeing pretty girls drape themselves over the cast, over Colson, over all your hard work, it got irritating. Not that you begrudged those beautiful girls their job, it’s just that sometimes the oil or body glitter they’re covered in to play strippers would end up exposing some of Colson’s tattoos as they were all over him in certain scenes. Next to them, you were the one wearing jeans and a sweater, carrying a tote bag and looking like a child when you had to touch up his makeup. Everyone was always kind to you, of course, and you to them, but you think it’s more pity on their part; it’s common knowledge within the first week of filming how early you had to arrive, and how late you stayed back.

Some of the girls were incredibly talented actors. Probably. They were wasted in this film, reduced to eye candy and sex dolls, pretty beyond belief but not with any real substance. More than a few of them were dismissive of you, mean and sharp, because you weren’t the one responsible for their makeup, so you didn’t matter, and yeah, they were in intense, physically demanding scenes at times, but some of them seemed to just be catty for the sake of being catty. You tried not to let it get to you.

You really fucking tried.

Some of the extras had formed a sort of clique against you, which you found absolutely ridiculous, but they seemed to resent the fact that you and Colson got along. It had been a few weeks, starting with just snide comments in your general vicinity, but by now it had moved on to straight-up bullying. It was never around anyone important, least of all Colson, and when you’d told Corey about it, he’d just advised you to ignore it, as if it would help. 

So you were tired, both physically and mentally, and this actor had the gall to come up to you and call you desperate. For doing your job.

“Hey, can you kindly fuck off?” You snapped, fury blazing in your eyes as you fought to keep your tone level, “I’m trying to do my fucking job, it’s not my damn fault the director won’t give you any screentime-”

“Wow, harsh.” Colson’s voice comes from somewhere to the left of you, and he doesn’t sound impressed. Of course he has to come in at the worst possible moment, just when you sound like a villain. It feels like you’re on the verge of tears, exhausted and stunned, and the extra’s expression flickers to something smug for the barest moment before looking almost painfully innocent.

“I’m really sorry,” she sighs softly, hanging her head; it’s an act, and not a very good one, but she’s pretty, “I just know you work in makeup and I thought you could help me find someone in costume to talk to; it’s okay, I’m sure I could find someone else.” It’s painfully scripted, and she plucks at the string of the bikini she was wearing nervously for effect, turning and heading away. 

“Take a break or something, you’re acting like a tool,” Colson says, and doesn’t let you get a word in edgewise, going after the girl, whose ruse had manipulated him just as she’d wanted. He’s introducing himself and you feel like death standing; you hear a snicker from behind you, and when you turn there’s one of the extra’s friends, another from the clique, smiling triumphant. 

When you get back to Corey’s trailer, he pauses where he’s eating a sandwich from Craft Services, and raises an eyebrow at you. You bite back your bitterness and pull your sweater from your bag, balling it up and using it as a pillow as you resigned yourself to napping beneath the row of makeup mirrors. Corey goes back to his lunch.

“You wanna talk about whatever this is?” Corey asks. You’re struggling to untangle your earphones after pulling them from your pockets.

“Unless you can do something about the asshole actors on set, no, I don’t want to talk about it.” You sigh, resigned and resolute. Corey nods, taking another bite of his sandwich.

“Fuckin’ actors.” He muses.

“Fuckin’ actors.” You agree. It’s not an honest statement regarding your feelings towards actors as a whole, but sometimes a few bad apples really did spoil the bunch, even if it was only for a moment. 

You get to nap, heart aching where you’re pretty sure Colson thinks you’re some work-obsessed asshole who thinks you’re better than the actors you work with. Which you obviously don’t, but daily bullying can wear down the nerves. It only takes a moment, one careless comment that came out too harsh for the likes of onlookers, and any good will you’d been building up seems to evaporate. Not to mention the lies you know the extra had probably been feeding him since the moment you left.

When Colson comes in to get his makeup removed for the day, the tension is so thick that to you it felt solid. You’re sitting in one of the makeup chairs, spinning idly, scrolling through your phone when the door opens; his gaze finds yours the moment he steps in, but he gives you a look, scrutinising, almost disbelieving, and he looks away.

“Do you need my help?” You asked Corey pointedly, your gaze shallow and tired. Colson was tying his wig into a bun already, a look you quietly adored, though he was refusing to look at you. God, the clique really had managed to slander you in only a few hours.

“No dear, go home and rest, you need it,” Corey smiles at you, and you’re already moving around, pulling on your sweater and collecting your things. You want to say something, say anything to the man who’s now regarding you icily, but soon enough some of the other members of the makeup team are here, like always to help speed up the removal process, and your voice gets caught in your throat.

“Hey,” by the door, you finally stop, “I don’t-” but your breath catches on a sigh, “I don’t have the energy for this; I’m not the asshole.” And you sound so defeated, but he doesn’t answer, just rolls his eyes and keeps scrubbing at the foundation on his skin. 

The moment you step into the trailer the next morning, same time as always, at the crack of dawn, you can already feel exhaustion settling into your bones.

“Take the day off,” Corey frowns at you, “Colson told me what those assholes told him; I’m gonna have a word with him about it this morning.”

“No, dude, I’ve gotta explain myself, if I take the day off it looks like I’m running away; I’m an adult, I don’t need you stepping in for me.” It takes you a moment, and you sigh, defeated, “listen, Corey, I actually really like Colson, okay? And I don’t want him to think less of me, so if that means I have to be up at too-fucking-early-o’clock convincing him I’m not a complete bitch, then so be it.” Corey can’t help the pitying look he gives you, but doesn’t say anything more on the subject.

You’ve worked in this industry for years, it’s not the first time something like this has happened; while working in close proximity to talented, famous individuals, outsiders sometimes get jealous. It’s easy to be told to try and ignore it, but it doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt when someone you thought you were getting along well with completely ices you out because someone who’s jealous twists their opinion of you. 

It takes a full hour, the silence thick and heavily as Colson stood patiently as the makeup was applied, before you can work up the courage to say something.

“What did she say to you?” It takes him a few moments to register what you’d said, but he frowns a little in confusion. “What did she say to you about me?” You reiterate, voice calm and level, focusing on your work as you speak, and his mouth opens as he goes to tentatively respond, but you don’t give him the chance, “because I can promise you she’s lying.” His mouth closes again, frown deepening. Corey is silent too.

“Well, I was told that you treat her like shit and don’t take her seriously just because she’s an actor, which is pretty fucked,” he admits with surprising candor. You have to take a moment to stop yourself from rolling your eyes. 

“It would be fucked if it was true.”

“But you don’t take her seriously. Apparently you ignore her when she comes to you for help.” And it hurts to hear him spout the slanderous rhetoric the extra had poisoned him with.

“It’s not Y/N’s job to help her,” Corey cuts in, much to both Colson’s and your own surprise, “and I’m sure if she had a real question, she would point her in the direction of someone who could help her. ” His tone doesn’t leave room for arguments, though Colson doesn’t exactly seem convinced; perhaps he assumed that you really were some heinous bitch who had turned the makeup department head to your side.

“I do take actors seriously, obviously,” you gesture to him, and he makes an expression that’s a little unreadable, “but if you have to know, she and a group of other extras have been harassing me for weeks now, so yeah, I tend to ignore her.” 

Your hands are shaking. When did that start? God, when did you start caring so much about what he thought of you? When did the idea of him thinking badly of you start making your chest hurt. When did schoolyard bullying start getting to you so much? Things are moving in a blur, and you think you mumble something about getting a coffee before you leave the trailer. 

Corey finds you half an hour later at the corner store, staring blankly at the coffee machine, cup of undrunk, now cold coffee in hand.

“Go home. Please.”

You look at him, but his words aren’t really registering; he realises he may have interrupted a micronap. It appears you need rest far more badly than he realised. He sends you home for the rest of the week, and it’s a Wednesday. You want to protest, but you cut yourself off with a yawn and he calls an Uber for you without letting you get a word in edgewise. 

It’s practically radio silence for almost five days. 

You watch Netflix and eat junk and take baths and claim self care when really you’re wallowing, dreading going back to work. Sometimes you catch yourself just staring at your phone; you and Colson have each other’s numbers ‘in case of emergency’, though what would constitute a makeup related emergency you’re not sure, it was his suggestion. Emergencies turned out to be him asking about call times, sending selfies from on-set where his face makeup was running from how much he was sweating, he’s grinning and bright and Douglas or Iwan or Daniel are pulling a face in the background, blurry photos of you on set that you hadn’t realised he’d been taking at the time. 

There’s one you stop at when you’re looking back through them, it’s another selfie, he’s squinting, having just woken up, and half cut out of the shot where he’s focused the camera on a smudge of foundation and a bit of eyeliner on his white pillowcase where he hadn’t managed to get all of the makeup off the night before. It’s surprisingly intimate, despite the fact that he’s followed it up with [💀😢].

You wanted to send something, to say something, but you weren’t sure what you had left to say. You weren’t in the wrong. You didn’t need to apologise. 

Sometimes you thought you saw the typing bubble appear, but it would disappear just as quickly.

You’re refreshed by the time you step back into the trailer on Monday morning, feeling almost chirpy, that is until you see that Colson’s arrived before you, and Corey’s nowhere around.

It’s not the same as last time, there’s no anger, no hostility in the way he’s regarding you, just a surprising pensiveness. He’s lounging in his makeup chair, watching as you put down your things and start rifling through the collection of makeup on the counter.

“Where’s Corey?” You ask, carefully neutral.

“Said he’s getting coffee.”

“That’s kind of him.” 

There’s a long pause that follow, and when you finally look at him, Colson seems to be considering you seriously.

“Do you have to be here?” Despite the words that are said, they don’t feel like an attack, instead they feel like a genuine question, bordering on concerned.

“It’s my job,” you start, but he smiles a little, and something in your heart eases.

“Yeah, no, I know, but you don’t always have to arrive this early, do you? I wouldn’t if I had the choice,” he snickers, and you sit back on one of the other chairs scattered about the edge of the room, waiting for Corey to get back, playing with a makeup sponge.

“Well you don’t, and neither does Corey, and...” hesitating a little, you fidget, avoiding his gaze, “it didn’t seem fair.” You shrug, laughing a little awkwardly, “leaving you here with him all that time.” Though you’re trying to clarify by means of a joke, he sees through it clearly, expression quickly morphing into a grin.

“So he was right.”

“About what?” You ask, looking at him with surprise and confusion written all over your face; this wasn’t the reaction you were expecting. 

“Corey’s pretty convinced you just like spending time with me,” you can feel yourself getting flustered, looking down at your fidgeting fingers.

“He’s such a snitch.” You mutter, and Colson actually laughs, and though you feel your anxiety holding tight in your chest, you force your next words from your mouth; “yes, okay, if we’re going full middle-school about this, I enjoy your company. A lot.” You pause for a moment. “Are we good?”

“Yeah, of course; I’m sorry I was a dick last week,” he actually gets serious for a moment, tone surprisingly humble as he speaks, “I just- there’s like this long history of people shitting on me and not taking me seriously, so it touched a nerve, but I should know you better than that, right? Like we’ve spent enough time together that I should know you’re not some entitled dick.” 

It’s enough to make you smile.

“Corey gave you a talking to, didn’t he?” You teased, and Colson rolled his eyes.

“Practically the moment you left; turns out those girls have had a few complaints from HR, situations like yours,” he sighs, before grinning a little, “but yeah, we’re good.” 

It’s as if a sudden elation comes over you, and you have to work to not let it show on your face, else you’re pretty sure you’re going to embarrass yourself at how happy that makes you. 

“And of course I take you seriously,” you hear yourself saying as you turn to rearrange the makeup on the counter, though you both know he can still see your pleased grin in the mirror, “I take all actors seriously, and you’re wonderful to work with-”

“Oh, so I’m wonderful now?” He snickers, though it’s not unkind, and you accidentally knock over a bottle in your embarrassment.

“Wonderful to work with,” you clarify, but he still takes the win, just as Corey finally walks in with three mugs of corner store coffee in hand.

“You were right, and she thinks I’m wonderful.” Colson practically preens, and Corey makes a face, before turning that face on you.

“I take it back; you’re the worst client I’ve had.” You deadpan, and Colson can’t help but laugh.

“No way, you’re not living this down,” he muses, smiling fondly at you. “I’m gonna tell everyone-”

“Christ, tell me you’ve at least asked her out,” Corey sighs, putting down the coffees, and that shuts Colson up quickly, “or do I need to go on another twenty minute coffee run to give you two some space?” He doesn’t even wait for an answer, just heads towards the door, announcing that he’s going to get a spare airbrush head from the other makeup trailer and that you have ten minutes.

“Sorry about him.” You say into the silence that follows in the wake of Corey’s departure. Colson’s surprisingly tight-lipped, avoiding looking at you. “He makes a lot of assumptions.” You add, getting to your feet and crossing to where the coffees sat in their little, cardboard carry-tray. Each cup has a name, and you take both yours and Colson’s, heading over to him with an expression that you hope is something akin to a friendly smile, and not a grimace of embarrassment.

“He’s right though,” Colson reaches out for his coffee when you offer it; his fingers brush your as he meets your gaze and it feels like a moment. “You wanna grab dinner or something after today?” 

Mind whirling, part of you thinks he’s made a mistake, that he hadn’t meant to say it, another part worries about what the rest of the cast and crew will think, and part of you is worried it’s a joke. But you’re so sick of doubt.

“Yeah, actually I’d love to.”

The morning passes in a breeze, passes much more easily than it’s seemed to for the past month, and there’s butterflies in your stomach the entire time. There’s an electricity in the air during filming, though you’re pretty sure you’re the only one who can feel it. He’s wearing the wig with the undercut, sitting behind the drums up on the risers for most of the day, wearing only a pair of underwear, boots, and suspenders; it’s quiet a look. Somehow he’s still managed to sneak his phone up there because you’re zoning out at the side of the set, and he takes a photo of you, sending it to you; your eyes are glassy by you’re grinning to yourself, and once you get it, you look to him, and he’s grinning as if he’s waiting for your reaction. You roll your eyes at him, but you’re still smiling; you’ve missed this.

“You’re actually kind of sweet, aren’t you?” After filming wraps for the day, you’re crammed into a booth of the only restaurant open in town past ten. You’ve just ordered, and he’s leaning back, regarding you with amusement.

“I don’t know why that surprises people, most of my asshole act is just, you know, an act, for show or whatever,” he shrugs a little, smirking, “most of it; sometimes I am just an asshole.”

“I don’t know your asshole act,” you remind, smiling a little; there’s butterflies in your stomach but they’re excited rather than nervous, relishing in the way he’s smiling at you, “but I guess I should have know you better anyways; after all, we’ve spent enough time together, haven’t we?”

[ghost-of-jupiter]

Not My Name (Part 1)

Summary: soulmate au with Jason Todd. People have their soulmate’s name on them from birth. When the reader meets Jason Todd, they recognize his name as the one sprawled across their inner thigh. However, the reader has been going by a pseudonym. How long will it be until they give in to the urge to outs themselves and potentially be put at risk?

Warnings: cursing. Some angst and thriller.

The burner phone wedged between your ear and shoulder rang as you waited for your friend to pick up. Acrid odors greeted your nostrils as you stepped off the subway, piss most likely. You were still surprised that cell phone coverage had extended even this far down. Gotham just didn’t seem to be the type of place to have tech in their subway stations. At all.

Paranoia slowly sunk it’s claws into you as you glanced around. You pulled the bill of your cap down further. You tried to seem as grounded and not, well,  scared as you were. Stay invisible.

“Hey,” the gentle voice of your friend greeted as he picked up, pushing your anxieties aside just a bit. “I take it you just got off the subway?”

“Yeah... at 14th,” you responded quietly.

“Okay, head south,” he paused. “You still have the address?” You responded affirmatively. “Good, keys under the mat. Shitty hiding spot I know but it’s only been there like an hour.” He attempted to lighten the mood and you appreciated it, a small smile lighting face.

“Remember to avoid cameras! ATMs have them so I had the bank send a second credit card to the apartment. They’ll think I’m on a business trip to Gotham so no problems there.”

“I’ll pay you back I-“

He scoffed. “None of that. I’m a fucking lawyer working for the biggest firm in America. I think I can take on some financial burden to protect my best friend.” The emphasis on the word ‘burden’ made your lips twitched into a small smile. Sarcastic bastard. A beat of silence passed as you ascended the stairs. It had been so long since you had been to this city and you paused to look around. The promise of impending fall lingered in the air as you noted a slight chill go through your body. Good, you thought, more layers would be easier to hid in.

“I-” you cut yourself off with a sigh, knowing how stubborn he could be. “Thank you, Tom.”

You could tell from his chuckle that he was pleased. “Security at the building knows you’re staying in my apartment and won’t bother you. Be warned, there are cameras in the lobby but try not to seem suspicious, alright?”

“Did you give them my fake name?”

“Yeah...” you could hear him shuffling around a bit, his dog barking in the distance. “Make sure to check in frequently. Nick and I will look into our next options, alright?” You agreed. “Alright, gotta go. Love you, call me soon!”

“Love you too,” you mumbled while hanging up.

As you moved through the dreary city, you kept your head down and simply dodged any oncoming people. The dark towering buildings of Gotham caged you in but at the same time, gave you a little hope that you would be hidden within it’s shadows. The walk was short and easy, but unnerving. The hair on the back of your neck stood on end, it felt like eyes were on you at all times. You didn’t breath easily until you were in the comfort of Tom’s apartment.

Even though you were happy to be away from people, you still did a sweep of the apartment, making sure nothing was out of place and nothing was suspicious. You knew it was unlikely that anyone knew you were here or that it had been bugged, it helped easy your nerves just a little bit. The second thing you did was unpack your large duffle bag. Beyond clothing and necessities, all it really had was your official papers (id, passport, etc), a phone charger, and a pistol. You let out an uneven breath as you placed the weapon on the table. This is the safety lock. Be careful there is recoil with it. Arms like this, yeah. Nick’s words rang in your head, this was real. You were shocked by how heavy it was and still couldn’t see yourself using it even in self defense.

“Credit card,” you mumbled to yourself, breaking the spell of the glinting metal. You needed food and food required money so unfortunately that meant braving the world one more time. “Fuck.” With a sigh, you rubbed your hand over your face, tired and drained.

You grabbed the hat one more time, a common Gotham Knights baseball cap and fixed it to cover your face. The plain, baggy navy hoodie worked to obscure your figure. One more look over confirmed that you looked like an everyday Gothamite. Deep breaths.

You avoided the elevator, less chance of being on camera, bonus: less people. The card was in the mail, just like promised and you headed once more out to the streets.

About an hour later you were a block away from the apartment building, arms laden with bags. It was going fine, no one paid you attention (though the burning feeling of eyes on you persisted). A sharp hit to your shoulder sent your bags flying, eliciting curses from you, directed at the man that bumped you. He looked at you, surprised as though you had materialized out of nowhere.

“Seriously dude?”

“Shit, sorry,” his voice was rough. He shoved a hand through his black hair a shock of white in the front, looking flustered. You gave him a roll of your eyes but mumbled something along the lines of ‘yeah it’s fine.’

He awkwardly helped you gather the strewn groceries. Had your anxieties not been going haywire, you would have noted that he was attractive with blue eyes, and a tall, muscular body. When you had all your bags back, you walked away, ignoring the fact that he looked like he wanted to say something else.

Back in the apartment you kept yourself together long enough to put away the groceries. By then you were too tired to cook and the anxiety had left you with no hunger.

You paced in the living room, which was an open concept with the kitchen, giving you a direct eye line to the daunting gun on the table. By the time your feet were tired, you were able to at least sit down and realize pacing solved nothing. Unfortunately. You decided another sweep of the apartment may help though, so thats what you did.

After debating it for far too long, you took the gun into the bedroom and placed it in the nightstand. The bedroom was typical with white walls and nice furniture. The comfortable looking sky blue duvet was no surprise. Suddenly you were appreciative of Tom’s taste for the finer things. The apartment overall was very nice and you couldn’t fault it. Thankfully he was also concerned with security, you mused. Your nightly routine was short and you quickly got into bed before you could get yourself stuck in another loop of bad coping mechanisms. Maybe something else would help you relax, the tense muscles of your shoulders beginning to ache.

You picked up the book on the opposite nightstand and began to read. The words ran together and you couldn’t untangle them, causing you to re-read the same paragraph over and over. Then you attempted to meditate. All you saw was red and yellow and orange. You glanced to the nightstand where his white noise machine sat. When in Rome... Almost immediately you regretted that decision as the noise simply overwhelmed you.

After a few minutes of sitting in silence, the room dark, your eyes felt heavy, but your anxieties spiked. You tried to sleep anyway. Eventually, the world faded away and you slept. It was not restful.

You hummed as you stirred the ingredients in a bowl. A song played that you kind of knew - not enough to sing but enough to sway your hips. Your apartment was cozy and exactly how you wanted it. Intense eyes stared at you from the window of your apartment, you could feel his fiery gaze.

Burning. Burning. Burning.

The bowl slipped from your hands, flames rose from the stove, the oven roared to life.

“Mine.” His voice melded with the sound of the flames. “You are mine. Do not run from me.”

As the flames spread around you and your apartment fell away, he rose before you. Intimidating figure cut from stone, eyes of fire, hair of gold. The god he thought himself to be, brought to life.

Breathe.

The roar and crackle of the fire intensified until it was so loud you had to clamp your hands over your ears. The god’s lips move, smiling as he does. The words his lips formed repeated. Over and over. Over and over.

Slowly, you removed your hands to be met by not a roar but deafening silence. You couldn’t hear the god. Now, you could read his lips, “I will find you. Do not worry. I am coming. I love you.”

Breathe, fucking breathe.

[seanfalco]

A Perfect Proposal

Fandom: The Witcher Punk!AU Pairing: Valdo Marx x oc (Aevryn Swift) Word Count: 2810 Rating: T Taglist: @ficsandcatsandficsandcats​ @nevadawolfe​ @magic-multicolored-miracle​

a/n: here it is, the Valdryn proposal (ofc i would write the proposal scene after writing the wedding, ah well)

“Are you ready for the trip tomorrow?” Valdo asked as he walked into the bedroom, toweling off his damp curls, pausing to let his gaze sweep over his girlfriend on the bed.  Aevryn looked up from her phone as he entered; lounging against her pillows, bare legs tucked up under her and head propped up in her hand as their little french bulldog, Romeo curled up against her side.

“What?” she gasped sarcastically, “we’re going on a trip?  But I haven’t even packed yet!”

“Oh, very funny Swift,” Valdo replied, balling up the sodden towel before tossing it at her and missing -- the towel landing instead on Romeo.  The puppy gave an affronted yip before jumping off the bed and padding away, probably to his own doggy bed, where there was less danger of projectiles.

“Hey!” Aev whined, chucking the towel back at Valdo.  “Look what you did, you made him leave me!”  Reaching out in the direction their dog had ran off in, she called after him dramatically.  “Romeo!  Romeo!  Wherefore art thou, Romeo?”

Flopping down on the bed next to her, Valdo pulled her into his arms, pressing a kiss to her laughing lips.

“Your Romeo’s right here, Juliet” he purred; the water from his hair dripping down her cheek.

“Mmm, so you are” she murmured, the words muffled as she kissed him back, snaking her arms around his bare shoulders and tangling her legs with his; relishing the feel of his silken pyjama pants on her smooth legs.

“Of course I’m ready for our trip tomorrow,” she said after they’d settled, resting her forehead against his.  “It’s not like you didn’t remind me about twenty times already today.”

As he pulled back to look at her Valdo grinned sheepishly before his gaze dropped and he frowned slightly.

“Is that my shirt?” he asked, suddenly recognizing it.

“Nooo…?” Aev replied slowly, shrinking back in his arms while fighting to keep from grinning, and failing spectacularly.

Valdo snorted in amusement, his green eyes crinkling.  “You have a terrible poker face, love.”

“I know,” she replied simply, still grinning.

“I wondered where that shirt went, y’know,” he grumped for a moment before his eyes traveled downward pointedly.  “Though, I suppose it looks better on you anyway,” he mused with a smirk.

“Y’sure?” Aevryn asked innocently.  “Because I could be persuaded to give it back to you right now… if you wanted,” she purred with a small shrug, the look she gave him more than suggestive.

“What would that leave you to wear then?” he asked, his brows raising in faux concern.

Hooking a finger at the edge of the collar and tugging it out, Aevryn glanced down.  “Looks like nothing,” she replied cheekily, leaving Valdo to wet his lips as he deliberated.

“Alright then, give it here,” he said expectantly.

“Oh no, that’s not how this works, you have to take it from m--”

Before Aevryn could finish, her words turning into a surprised squeal, Valdo had rolled her astride him and was pushing the shirt up over her head, her arms raised to help him; his hands traveling up her body til cold air prickled her bare skin.

“There, now what?” he asked smugly, gazing up at his naked girlfriend.

“As if you have to ask,” she murmured leaning down to kiss him, her hands cupping his face before sliding up to tangle in his unruly curls.

—

Morning came much too early for Aev’s liking and she threw her arm over her eyes as Valdo tried gently to wake her.  

“Nooo, you can’t make me,” she cried plaintively, the words muffled against the back of her arm.

“Just remember, I tried to be nice,” Valdo said before tugging the blankets away completely, baring Aevryn to the chill morning air.

“Oh you bastard,” she groaned, curling up around herself in an attempt to contain some of her body heat, finally giving up and opening her eyes to sit up, directing her fiercest glower at him.

Valdo merely grinned down at her, fully dressed already.  “I did warn you,” he replied matter-of-factly, helping her into her robe as she stood, stumbling slightly.

“No you didn’t,” she grumbled, but didn’t protest when he kissed her cheek and patted her wild hair.

“Once you take a shower I’ll have coffee ready,” he sang, gently steering her toward the bathroom.  

The promise of caffeine helped Aevryn finish getting ready and soon they were in the car on their way to Jaskier and [Y/N]’s to drop off Romeo, and then to the airport.

“So, are you gunna tell me where we’re going on this mystery trip yet?” she asked, sipping her coffee and glancing over at Valdo behind the wheel.

“Nope,” he answered, his eyes flicking over long enough for him to grin before returning to the road.

“You know I’m gunna find out once we get to the airport anyway, right?”

“Not if I blindfold you and cover your ears with noise cancelling headphones,” he quipped back and Aev threw him a flat stare.

“Oh yeah, because that won’t look suspicious,” she teased.

When Valdo didn’t respond, just smiled to himself as he continued to drive, Aevryn sighed, settling back into the seat and closing her eyes.  “Alright, alright, keep your secrets then.”

—

Luckily the TSA line wasn’t very busy and they got through security fairly smoothly.  And what was more, by some miracle, Valdo was able to throw his hands over Aev’s ears playfully as the flight attendants announced the destination before boarding, and like a good sport Aevryn played along, letting Valdo keep his secret until they boarded their connecting flight in London.  

At the pilot’s announcement before take off Aev turned to Valdo, her face lighting up as she finally learned their final destination.

“We’re going to Cork?” she exclaimed, her surprise evident in her reaction and Valdo grinned back proudly.  “Gods, I haven’t been back there in ages.  I think maybe once since we were children?” she mused, her eyes glassing over as if lost in memory.  “That’s where we first met,” she murmured more to herself than him, her hand finding his.

“Mhmm,” he hummed, giving her hand a squeeze in return.

“What’s the occasion?” she asked suddenly, fixing Valdo with a sharp look, her keen eyes studying him as if she could figure out his secrets by reading them on his face.

“No occasion,” he replied smoothly, though his hand itched to reach for the velvet box in his pocket.  “I just thought it would be nice to take a little break.  We’ve both been so busy lately and I just… wanted to keep you all to myself for a bit,” Valdo admitted, his expression softening.

Aevryn smiled softly as she rested her cheek against his shoulder, still holding his hand; twining their fingers together.

“That sounds perfect,” she sighed.

—

Well it would have been perfect, but upon landing Valdo was informed that there’d been a bit of a mix up and their luggage had been left in London. 

“You have got to be kidding me,” Valdo exclaimed, running his hands through his hair.  “This is ridiculous!”

“I’m incredibly sorry for the inconvenience, sir.  We will be retrieving your luggage as soon as possible and we’ll issue you a credit --”

“A credit?  How is that supposed to help me right now?”

The man behind the counter flinched at Valdo’s icy glare and Aevryn quickly jumped in to smooth the situation over.

“V, we’ve still got our carry-on luggage, so all the essentials are there and we’re both tired, so let’s go back to the hotel and rest until tomorrow and then hopefully our bags will be here, right?” she asked, turning to the airline worker for confirmation.

“Y-yes, ma’am,” he replied quickly, nudging his glasses up while trying to avoid glancing at Valdo for too long.

“See,” Aev said, turning back to Valdo and leaning in close, resting her hand on his chest as she whispered in his ear.  “You said yourself you wanted me all to yourself and while we’re in our room at the hotel, we won’t need clothes anyway.”

Valdo swallowed, opened and closed his mouth... and found nothing he could disagree with -- her argument was compelling and the image she’d placed in his mind was more than enough incentive to calm down.

“Alright, fine,” he gave in, letting Aevryn give the man their info so they could be contacted when their bags arrived.

—

After a long night and most of the next day spent luxuriating in their hotel room, their luggage had finally arrived, and while Valdo was still slightly annoyed that so much time had been lost, he couldn’t really complain either.  However, now his plans could proceed, unhindered.  

The next few days spent in Cork were lovely and the couple ambled the streets, visiting several places they used to love as children; Aevryn’s excitement fueling Valdo and he kept reaching into his coat pocket to feel for the ring, impatience nearly spoiling all his plans several times.  He just had to wait one more night.

Their dinner reservation was at eight, and as Valdo held the door for Aev, little did he know that his plans were about to be dashed once again.

“What do you mean you can’t find my name?” he hissed, attempting to keep from snapping at the hostess.  “I made this reservation weeks ago,” he insisted, his usual nerves of steels beginning to fray.

“I’m sorry, sir, I just don’t see your name here.  I’m not sure how this happened.”

“Do you have any idea who I am?”  Valdo exclaimed before Aevryn could stop him.

As the hostess shook her head, gaping at him as if she might be able to recognize him, Aevryn grabbed his hand and pulled him off to the side.

“Valdo, what are you doing?” 

“I’m attempting to get us a table,” he replied, clearly agitated.

“You were really gunna play that card?” Aev asked, placing her hands on her hips.  “The ‘I’m famous, so I should get whatever I want’ card -- really, V?”

Valdo sighed, knowing she was right and that he looked like an ass.

“Why is it so important we eat here?” she wondered, fixing him with a curious look.

Again, Valdo floundered, pushing his hair from his face.  “I just -- I thought it would be nice, and I wanted it to be… romantic,” he admitted sheepishly.

A smile stole across Aev’s lips and she reached up to take Valdo’s face between her hands.  “That is incredibly sweet, V, but it’s not necessary.  No matter where we go it’ll be romantic, because we’re together.  Besides, this place is a little stuffy for us -- this ain’t our scene,” she pointed out and Valdo glanced around at the classy, yet conservative decor and winced, knowing she had a point.

Why didn’t he think of that?

“What d’you say we get outta here and find someplace more our speed, hm?’

“You’re right, of course you’re right,” Valdo murmured smiling.  He’d just have to alter his plans slightly, but this could still work.  He could be flexible.  Spontaneous.

They found a little dive bar down by the docks that featured local underground acts and the band that was headlining for the night was only a couple songs into their set as the couple took a seat.  

Instantly Valdo felt more comfortable and it was obvious Aev did as well.

“Look at this place,” Aevryn said, gesturing to the bar around them, an awed grin on her face.  “This reminds me of the joints we used to frequent in uni.  We saw so many great shows in places like this, do you remember, V?”

“How could I forget?” he mused, sitting back, his long fingers tracing the edge of his glass.

“Feather Fall would have fit in perfectly here,” he joked and Aev nodded, remembering the band’s first gig, opening for another local band -- Aevryn the only one on the floor, screaming her head off for them as they took the stage.

“Definitely,” Valdo mused, remembering the same show.

Drink in hand and food on the way, Aev settled in to watch the band, but Valdo only had eyes for her.

By the time the band was playing their final song for the night, Valdo had finally worked up the courage to ask her, attempting to veer their conversation toward the little speech he had planned when suddenly a handful of twenty-somethings were gathered around their table, breathlessly clamouring for photos or autographs.

Valdo sighed while Aevryn threw him a bemused grin, cutting off their conversation to shake their fans’ hands.  Throughout the entire ordeal Valdo grinned and bore it, wanting to be done so he could whisk Aevryn away; unreasonably jealous any time another fan threw their arm around her or hugged her.

Finally the bartender announced last call and they were able to slip away.  

Standing on the sidewalk, Aevryn stretched, taking a deep breath of night air.  “Smells like rain,” she mused, and sure enough thunder rumbled ominously somewhere in the distance.  

“Wanna go for a walk before we call a cab?” Valdo asked, wrapping his arm around her waist.

“What about the impending rain?” she asked, cocking an eyebrow at him and holding out her hand, palm up, certain she’d just felt a sprinkle.

Valdo merely shrugged.  “At this point I’m past caring if we get rained on or not.”

Aevryn laughed and fell into step with him, taking his arm.  They shared one of Valdo’s cigarettes as they walked, the sound of the surf lapping against the docks soothing, despite the gathering thunder that was slowly growing closer and louder.

“Hey V, I think --” Without warning the clouds seemed to open, dumping a sudden downpour over them, effectively cutting off Aevryn’s words, which turned into a surprised shriek.  Grasping hands the two took off running, searching for someplace dry to shelter, their laughter echoing into the still night. 

By the time Valdo pulled them under the overhang of a nearby awning, they were both already completely soaked through.  Breathing heavily, they leaned against each other to catch their breath, until Aev’s broad grin chased all of Valdo’s doubts away.  Taking her wet face between his hands he leaned in, kissing her as if it were the only thing he ever wanted to do.

“What was that for?” she asked, breathless and somewhat dazed, her fingertips resting against his jaw.

“Nothing has gone smoothly since we got here, especially tonight, and I just wanted something to go right,” he explained.  “I wanted this week to be perfect.  I’d planned it out in minute detail for months now and when it came down to it the universe saw fit to throw a wrench in all those carefully laid plans. Well, y’know what — fuck it,” he announced, getting down on one knee in the middle of the wet pavement.

“What, Valdo…?” Aevryn gasped, her eyes growing wide as he took her hands in his and she gaped down at him kneeling before her, his dark curls sopping and plastered to his face; the most beautiful sight in the world.

“Aevryn Swift, I have been in love with you since the first day I met you and that has never changed, not for even a moment -- even when we were apart and I fucked everything up; thinking I’d never get a second chance.  And yet you came back to me, and I don’t deserve you, I want to.  Gods, I want to.  I’ve never wanted anything so badly.  You make me want to be better, do better.” 

He paused, his emerald eyes searching hers hopefully and he took a shaky breath.

“So what d’you say?  You and me babe, how about it?”

Reaching into his pocket he produced the ring, holding it out to her as if it were his own beating heart offered up to her to do with what she would.

“Yes,” she whispered, voice hoarse, yet with no shred of hesitation.  “Yes, fuck yes,” she repeated louder, her voice strengthening; the dampness on her cheeks not all from the rain alone and Valdo could have sworn his heart stopped for a moment.

“You’re sure?” he asked, unable to keep the question from springing to his lips.

“Of course I’m sure!” Aevryn exclaimed and an incredulous grin tugged at Valdo’s lips as he took Aev’s hand and slipped the ring onto her finger, drawing her knuckles to his lips before she pulled him to his feet and launched herself into his wet arms, kissing him without reserve as the rain continued to fall.

Despite all the setbacks and the rain and his impulsive proposal, in that moment Valdo couldn’t care if it had gone exactly according to his original plan or not, because this, this was perfect.

[fruitcoops]

Hey, I love your writing! Could you maybe do like Marlene makes Sirius and Remus do the boyfriend tag for the lions media page and the questions are just a mix of cute, normal things and then really really not so cute normal things 👀

I may have gotten a little carried away with this ideas, whoops! There isn’t much ~spicy~ stuff here, but if you guys liked it I’ll do a part 2! Writing this was easily the best part of my day. Credit for Coops and Sweater Weather goes to @lumosinlove!

“Hello, everyone, I’m Dorcas Meadowes, and welcome back to Lion Pride!” Dorcas smiled at the camera and waved. “Today I’m here with team captain Sirius Black and our newest player, Remus Lupin, for the boyfriend tag. They’ll be asking each other a series of questions and they are legally obligated to answer honestly!”

“Wait, really?” Remus asked, his eyes wide.

“No, but it’s a good idea anyway.” Dorcas shuffled the small stack of notecards in her hands and passed half to each of them. “I’m here to supervise and clarify if you need it.”

“Alright, first question: how did we meet?” Sirius grinned. “Take your time on this one.”

“We met in the PT room before I was formally introduced to the team because Pots unscrewed the lids of the Gatorade bottles and the spout hit you in the eye.”

“Oh my god, I forgot about that!” Sirius turned to the camera. “Watch out, Pots, vengeance is coming.”

“Question number two,” Remus laughed. “If we’re going out to eat, where are we going?”

“Sid’s.” They said in unison.

“Number three: What’s one food I don’t like?”

Remus paused and bit his lip. “That’s a tough one. You’re kind of like a black hole for food. Uh, maybe pickles?”

“Yeah, I hate pickles.” Sirius shuddered dramatically. “Leave the poor zucchini alone.”

“Pickles are made from cucumbers.”

“Same difference.”

“No, it’s not!”

“Moving on!” Dorcas interrupted. “Remus, you’re up.”

“This is why we need a supervisor,” he said to the camera. “Okay, question four. How many siblings do I have?”

Sirius lit up and beamed at him. “One! Jules!”

“Your number-one fan,” Remus teased.

Sirius glanced down at the next card and barked out a laugh. “Oh, I’m going to get roasted so hard here. Am I a morning person or a night person?”

“You are the earliest early bird of all time and it’s terrible,” Remus groaned. “Six a.m. rolls around and he’s wide awake while I’m barely a person until eight, and that’s assuming I’ve had coffee.”

“You’re the cutest zombie I’ve ever seen at seven in the morning,” Sirius said.

“Aw, babe. Question six: what’s our song?”

Sirius thought for a moment. “Hmm, I don’t know.”

“I was going to say, I don’t think we have one yet.”

“We’re taking suggestions if anyone has ideas,” Sirius said to the camera. “What’s my best friend’s name.”

“Harry Potter,” Remus answered without hesitating. “You only like Pots for his baby.”

“True.”

Remus started to read the next card, then looked to Dorcas. “Do I have to ask this one?”

“Yes!”

“Cover your ears, everyone. What’s my nickname?”

“LOOPS!” Sirius shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth. “But to me it’s mon loup. What’s my weirdest habit?”

Remus dropped his face into his hands. “Your order of operations. To anyone out there who still thinks Sirius Black is cool—stop kicking me!—last night he got stuck in his t-shirt because he was brushing his teeth at the same time.”

“It’s efficient!” Sirius protested, poking him in the calf one more time. “You don’t appreciate me.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Remus kissed him on the cheek. “Okay, what’s one of my special talents?”

“Hockey.”

“That doesn’t count,” Dorcas said.

“Bummer. You can sing really well.”

Remus’ ears went pink. “I don’t know about really well.”

“You do it all the time!”

“That doesn’t mean I’m good at it!” They both laughed until Dorcas cleared her throat.

“Sorry, sorry. Question number…something. If you were baking me a birthday cake, what flavor would it be?”

Remus snorted. “Bold of you to assume I can bake. But if I could, I’d do a vanilla cake with chocolate frosting.”

“You’d steal all the frosting off it, wouldn’t you.”

“Oh, definitely. Next question! Where was I born?”

Sirius was quiet for a solid ten seconds. “…Wisconsin?”

“What, the entire state?”

“I know you were born in a hospital.”

“Do you have any idea how many Wisconsin hospitals there are?”

“Well, you were only born in one of them.” Sirius shrugged. “I give up, what city?”

“I’m not telling you. You can call my mom and ask when we’re done here.”

“She’d tease me for days. I’ll get it out of you eventually.” Sirius shook his head and turned back to the cards. “Oh, here’s a good one: could you tell I liked you?”

Remus burst out laughing. “Are you kidding me? No!”

Sirius turned to face the camera. “If anyone out there doesn’t know the whole situation, we basically just stared at each other for, like, a year before anything happened.”

“I think the first time I started picking up on it was when I came back from vacation and got a fifteen-second hug from this one,” Remus said, pointing his thumb toward Sirius. “At that point I kind of went ‘…wait a minute’.”

“Let’s do the next question before you spill any more embarrassing stories.” Remus’ smile turned sharp. “Oh, no.”

“What was your first impression of me?”

“Hot.” Sirius’ eyebrows shot up. “Woah, I said that way too fast, didn’t I?”

“A little bit, but I appreciate it.”

“Are you comfortable with PDA?” Sirius looked over at Dorcas. In lieu of an answer, Remus scooted over on their shared couch and settled down in Sirius’ lap. “Hello.”

“Hi. As you can see, I can’t stand it if you even breathe on me in public.”

“God forbid we make eye contact.”

“In all honesty, I think we’ve already crossed the PDA bridge,” Remus said. “Once pictures of you and your boyfriend making out go viral, there’s really no incentive to tone it down. My turn: who’s my favorite musician?”

“Fucking ABBA.” Sirius let his head fall on the back of the couch. “Sorry, I mean ABBA.” Remus started whistling the intro to ‘Gimme, Gimme, Gimme’ and Sirius scrambled for his notecards. “What’s my favorite time of the year?”

It took Remus a minute to catch his breath from laughing. “Uh, fall. Autumn. We have the same favorite, actually.”

“It’s a great season. You get hockey, big sweaters, and there’s still a little bit of sunshine.”

“Halloween, too,” Remus added. “Oh, shit, you’re going to have a field day with this one. What word do I use the most?”

“Jeez.” Sirius gave him a big smooch on the cheek. “Such a Midwesterner. Where was our first kiss?”

“Pascal Dumais’ guest room, on a dark and stormy night,’ Remus said. “We got snowed in for Sirius’ birthday party.”

“It was really romantic though.”

“Yeah.” Remus planted a quick kiss on his lips before grabbing the next card. “Who would win in an argument?”

“What’s the argument about?” Sirius asked. “Dorcas, is there a specification?”

“I think we trade off,” Remus mused. “We don’t fight much.”

“Nah. Kissing or cuddling?”

“What about it?”

“Which one do each of you prefer?” Dorcas clarified. She hadn’t stopped smiling since the interview started.

“Ohhhhh.” Remus readjusted himself in Sirius’ lap so he was leaning against the armrest more. “I mean, both are great.”

“Agreed.”

“Last question for me!” Remus waved his final notecard in Sirius’ face. “How would you describe my style? Tread carefully, Cap.”

Sirius thought hard for a moment. “This is a dangerous question, Dorcas. Um, you’re going to hate me for this.”

“Spit it out, Black.”

“Sexy librarian?”

“Fuck off.”

“See! I told you!”

“Sexy librarian? Really? At least I own clothing other than monochrome t-shirts!”

“I have my game day suit, too.”

“…the suit is nice.”

Dorcas was laughing too hard to get them back on track, so Marlene had to motion at them from behind the camera. “Sorry, Marlene, we’ll finish up. Okay, Fruit Loop, am I a dog or a cat person?”

“I think you love dogs more than you love me,” Remus said. “You don’t hate cats, though.”

“First of all, that’s not true, I love you most.” Sirius kissed him soundly on the lips. “Second of all, Regulus is enough of a cat person for both of us.”

“I was genuinely afraid we’d come home and find out he’d adopted eight kittens while he was still living with us. Dorcas, is that it?”

“That’s it,” she confirmed, still dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. “Great job, you guys killed it. Thanks for watching everyone, and make sure to stay updated with Lion Pride social media!”

[lonely-bored-writer]

Winchester meet the Phantoms Ch. 5

All they wanted was some pecan pie. Sweet and simple. Of course Danny should have figured since he was with the Winchesters, something that simple wouldn't be so simple.

He was to distracted by the story Sam and Dean were spewing about some Wendigo they had to deal with that found it's way into a rural neighborhood, that he didn't catch the sounds of the footsteps outside of the diner. Or notice the armed men carefully surrounding the diner. Or the stiffness of their waiter. That was until those men did come storming into the diner.

That's where Danny found himself sitting in an interrogation room, no doubt the Winchesters were too. Although Danny wasn't handcuffed, but he was sure the other two were. He estimated about eleven minutes passed after being placed there that a man walked in.

"Hello, I'm special agent Robertson with the FBI." Jake Robertson introduced, flashing his badge to the teen before sitting across from him. "What's you name?"

"Axl Rose." Danny responded, tilting his head to the side when the agent's eyes narrowed. "Also those fingerprints you took? You wont get anything out of them."

"AC/DC vocal, okay." Robertson nodded, looking down at the file before him. "Look kid, do you even know who it is your traveling around with? I'm sure it isn't someone your parents would want you to hang out with." Danny paused, before he realized where he could go with this.

"My dad wouldn't mind, after all I'm road tripping with him." It took every once of self control for Danny not to burst out laughing at the shocked look that crossed Robertson's face.

"Sam Winchester." Robertson spoke, sitting before the taller Winchester. "You've got quite the rap sheet. But there is one thing I need to know."

"You've got nothing on me, I know." Sam countered, sitting relaxed in the seat.

"It's not about the case exactly, but who is the kid I have seated in the other room." Robertson asked, trying to play his cards right. Get one of them to slip.

"You mean Danny?" Sam asked, realizing his slip of the name. Than again, the Winchesters are always great at improve.

"So that's his name?"

"Yea, Danny Winchester." Sam shrugged, keeping eye contact the agent. "He's Dean's kid." By the annoyed and confused look on the agent's face, Sam knew he picked the right lie.

"Dean Winchester, you can't stay dead can you?" Robertson asked, taking a spot across from the oldest Winchester. Looking down at the folder he looked back up. "We have you Dean, there is no getting out of this. We have a bus on it's way to transport you and your brother to a maximum security prison."

"What about my son?" Dean responded without hesitation, not bothering to mask the smirk at the annoyance on the agent's face. "From what I remember Sammy saying, you guys can't question him without his guardian present."

"We can if we suspect foul play between you two." Robertson bit back, a glare settling on the smug Winchester. "I don't care how much you brainwashed that kid, he is sure as hell not getting back in your custody."

"I'll beg a differ." Dean leaned back. "We'll be out of here by day break."

"So, Danny Winchester." Robertson mused, eyes trained on the teen before him. "You never show up anywhere on record, and your what fifteen, you were there when you father did those horrid things in St. Louis am I right?"

"I'm seventeen." Danny corrected, glaring softly at the other man "And my dad didn't do anything wrong." Danny emphasized the word dad, taking slight pleasure in the way it caused the agents eye to twitch.

"Really, because last I checked he tortured and murdered multiple woman in St. Louis." Robertson hummed, eyes scanning the file. "He's facing charges of mail fraud, credit card fraud, grave desecration, breaking and entering, armed robbery, kidnapping, and three counts of first degree murder. He won't be seeing the light of day."

Danny wasn't an idiot, he knew who he was traveling with. He knows all about the shapeshifter in St. Louis, knew all about how the Winchesters payed for their motel rooms and food for the most part. He knows all those charges were from saving peoples lives, which means one simple thing. One thing that actually could keep Dean from going to prison.

"Really? They did all that?" Danny started, catching the smug look that crossed the agents face. "Than answer me one thing agent, why do all the witnesses and supposed victims say that my dad and uncle saved their life?" That wiped that smug look of the agents face.

"Also, don't I get a phone call?"

"So Sam, how did your brother manage to hide a seventeen year old kid all these years?" Robertson questioned, eyes trained on the Winchester, hoping to catch a slip up. "Where was he when you guys have been arrested?"

"Friend's house, hard to save lives with a kid on your hands"

"Ah yes, because apparently you save people from demons, ghosts, werewolves, and even a wendigo?" Robertson rose an eyebrow, eyes trained on the list of supposed things the Winchesters believed were real. Sam simply nodded. "Which was this you sent him off to?"

"Axl Rose." The way the agents jaw clenched and frustration settled on his features told Sam that one of the others used that name already. He'll chalk it up to Dean.

"Usually we have a lawyer at this point." Dean mused once the agent entered his room once again. "When is she getting here?"

"Soon." Robertson said, placing a seat across from the handcuffed man. " I just have a few more questions to ask."

"I don't know man, maybe I should wait for my lawyer." Dean smirked, Robertson's patience was thinning.

"Look-" A knock on the door dragged the attention of both men to it, it opened to reveal a tall man dressed in a plain suit, carrying a briefcase. His green eyes landed on the agent.

"I would like a moment with all my clients."

"You stole someone?" Danny gaped, staring at their 'attorney'. "You hate doing that!"

"I asked him first, if that helps." He responded, placing his brief case down. He turned to the two older man who looks beyond confused. "It's nice to finally meet you two, I am will be your attorney. Although this won't be going that far."

"Who are you really?" Sam asked, eyes narrowed. The brothers had the clear idea that whoever it was wasn't human and was possessing the man.

"My name is Ghostwriter, I happen to owe Clockwork a favor and so when Pha-Daniel called his sister, she contacted Clockwork and here I am." Ghostwriter nodded, looking forward at the three. "In about ten minutes, all record of you being in this station will be removed and agent Robertson will come here and set you free."

"Someone's going to possess him?" Dean asked, eyes trained on the stranger.

"Not exactly." Ghostwriter shook his head. "I happen to have a good friend whose great at hypnosis. However, by then I will be gone. I promised Derek here that I wouldn't take more than two hours and the travel here wasn't easy. I forget how it is to be human."

Danny yawned from his spot at a deputies desk, eyes scanning the area. His right hand handcuffed to the desk from the Agent's fear that he would try to break his "dad and uncle" out. Though Robertson didn't think about the fact that Danny had a clear view of the holding cells. Although with the knowledge that they will be leaving soon helped to keep the three at ease.

Danny smirked, before looking around. He figured they would put someone to watch them but no one was in the immediate area. But they didn't and he was unbelievably bored, so...

"Nine one one, what is your emergency?"

"Hi, yea, so I'm currently handcuffed to a desk in the police station with no supervision and I kinda have to pee?"

"Sir, this an emergency line."

"Well, it is an emergency." At that moment Robertson decided it would be best to walk in and see the teen chatting on the phone.

"Who did you call?!" The agent growled, taking the phone. "Who is this?"

"Nine one one operator"

"I'm sorry for this call, I'll keep him away from phones" Robertson sighed into the phone, hanging it up immediately. "Why did you do that?"

"I have to pee." Danny bit back a smirk at the more annoyed sigh that left the older man as he undid the handcuff, instead going for a more innocent look. It didn't help when he heard Dean and Sam laughing.

"Thanks Robertson." Dean grinned as the older man opened the holding cell doors, letting them out.

"God, we need to have you around more often" Dean watched as Robertson handed Sam a brown bag that held the things that were on their immediate person. Now showing them to the impala. "Things would be so much easier"

"Actually, once I'm back home Clockwork promised to teach me how to hypnotize people" Danny mused, getting into the backseat. "It's than overshadowing."

"Can we keep him?" Dean joked, peeling out of the impound lot.

"Who used Axl Rose?" Sam questioned, remembering how annoyed the agent was at it. "He hated it when I used that name."

"I did actually." Danny laughed. "I told him that was my name."

"We're keeping him." Dean said, looking over and Sam who rolled his eyes. "Now where we off to?"

"I've always wanted to try this pizza place in New York, it's supposed to be the best pizza place ever." Danny offered, getting agreeing nods from both the Winchesters.

"I'll see if we find a case, we'll make our way there until I do" Sam concluded.

[theheartofpenelope]

SIMPLE THINGS - Chapter one

Here it is - chapter one. Enjoy gentleman!Tom. Feedback always appreciated. ;-)

Tag list: @winterisakiller, @devikafernando, @scorpionchild81, @messy-insomniac-bookgirl, @smutsausage, @hiddlesbitch1

Author’s Notes/Warnings: Not beta’d.

Also on AO3 through this link

Bonus: click here for the pinterest moodboard:

Chapter 1

London – day eleven continued

1. His presence was unexpected to her, yet not unwelcome. And while it warmed Charlotte’s heart to see a familiar face, her mind was thrown in a loop. Would she be allowed to define Tom Hiddleston as a ‘familiar face’? Granted, they had – very- pleasantly crossed paths a short while ago but afterwards they – naturally - went their separate ways. And that was no cause for concern; it was merely the way things were bound to evolve. You come together in a professional atmosphere; you meet each other’s acquaintance before your respective paths unsurprisingly part into two different directions. Such is life.

Yet, against all odds, 10 days or so later - there he was again. Leaning back in his seat, his one foot propped up on his other knee. Head slightly slanted and looking onto her with nothing but sympathy in his eyes, slightly amused even.

“Well hello,” he said with a kind and polite smile as he rose to his feet. “Hello, I erm,” Charlotte mirrored, not even bothering to hide the surprise in her voice, “I had no idea you would be here….”

“I apologize, I was late,” he paused and shook his head as he looked towards his feet suddenly, supressing a soft chuckle, “that’s a lie, I’m afraid.” “Is it?” she couldn’t help but smile at his sometimes-boyish charm. “I slipped in when the lights had already died…” “Craving privacy?” It was a sincere, albeit clichéd, question on her part. Though when she laid her eyes upon the talented actor once more, he only countered her query with a mysterious smile she could not quite place.

They walked up to one another to exchange a polite peck on the cheek when Tom absent-mindedly gently caressed her arm. A warm spark of familiarity hit her.

“Are you enjoying the play?” he kindly wondered, but Charlotte took more note of his skilful effort to steer the conversation into a different direction “Very much so,” she smiled, “I want to thank you again for arranging me a ticket.” “You’re very welcome,” he answered in honesty, “it was the least I could do for your professional assistance at ComiCon.” “I’m afraid I was just doing my job there,” she answered truthfully with an innocent shrug. “Was it still your job when you and your colleagues invited us the see the World-Cup Semi Final on the Big Screen at what’s his name’s house?” he rallied back in good fun, tempting her into that soft chuckle of hers again. “Thàt was not,” she confessed, “but I’m very pleased you all enjoyed that evening.” “We most certainly did,” a pause, “I know I did,” he couldn’t resist emphasizing that. “Even though your country lost to mine?” she teased. “Even though my country lost to yours,” he grinned in good humour.

Noting her fascination with the building, Tom kindly enlightened Charlotte on the history and architecture of the Globe Theatre. His enthusiasm was clear and enthralling to her,- and she found herself - very quickly - enjoying his company again. But that came as no surprise to her. When the lights flickered, announcing the end of intermission, they chuckled in unison at the realisation they had chatted through the interval without even setting one foot outside of the box.

His kind query on whether or not Charlotte would allow him to sit next by her side for the second part of the play, was easily answered. As he took a seat right next to her, he hesitated for a slight second, “Are you…. ” “Yes?” she urged. “I know you’re not a native speaker, and … this ìs Shakespeare,” he chuckled,  “are you able to follow?” Charlotte playfully cocked her right brow, before reciting :

           O, reason not the need! Our basest beggars            Are in the poorest thing superfluous.            Allow not nature more than nature need.            Man’s life is cheap as beast’s.

A hearty laugh escaped his lips before her excused himself for even daring to think the opposite of her. Charlotte blushed as she credited her mother matter-of-factly. In his mind Tom was pleased to take note that she wasn’t just charming and kind, her intelligence might just give him a run for his money .

 2. Through the second part both him and her were entranced within the world of King Lear. Only once was his attention brought back to her, when he noticed Charlotte discretely wiped a tear out of the corner of her eye. His gaze drooped down to the hand that lay in her lap and he wondered if he should – just momentarily - place his hand over hersor would she consider that inappropriate? He opted to do so anyway. The palm of his hand rested on the back of her hand, the tips of his long fingers softly caressing the soft cobalt-blue textile in the process. He had admired her and her dress the moment she’d walked over to him yet didn’t feel comfortable enough to compliment her on it. Tom was rewarded with her surprised smile and – he guessed - a hint of a blush. His thumb tenderly stroked the back of her hand, his fingertips curled along hers, gently drawing them in for a soft squeeze before both parties retreated.

All first dates should be held in a theatre, he mused, in surroundings that demanded soft touches and silent whispers. Where you were perfectly allowed, even expected to lean in close to show consideration to your date and, at the same time, were able to subtly take note of each other’s behaviour both consciously and subconsciously. The way she smells, the way she smiles, discovering what moves her and what shocks her, … but this wasn’t a first date now was it?

It was around the end of the play when Charlotte softly placed her hand on his arm. Tom gladly and curiously leant her his ear.

“Where’s Edmund?” she whispered. “Who?” “Edmund,” she emphasized, before adding with clear hesitation, “the son of the Count?” “That’s Edgar, love,” a soft smile crept across his lips, happy to be of assistance. “Oh,” was all that escaped her lips before she moved away in silence, but still in complete disarray. “He’s in disguise in this scene. The one they call Tom of Bedlam,” Tom leaned close as he subtly pointed towards the actor on stage, “there.” “Oooh yes,” she apologized, “sorry about that.” “That’s alright,” he whispered in her ear with a soft smile.

She smelled of jasmine, musk and a touch of vanilla.

3. When the applause had died down at the end of the play, after asking whether or not she had enjoyed the play, yet again, Charlotte had confessed to Tom that she, in fact, did lose track somewhere around the end. But her knowledge of the story was enough to guide her on. Somewhat. They shared an amused smile.

Charlotte followed his lead as Tom graciously guided her out into the hallway. She observed him exchanging pleasantries with plenty familiar faces that were unknown to her. Not that this would come as a surprise. Charlotte was the odd one out here, in this environment. She moved in different circles than Tom.  

She felt herself fade into the background but was all the more flattered when she unexpectedly heard Tom whisper quietly into her ear if she - perhaps - wanted to go out for drinks. With him. Together.

Oh yes, gladly.

They had barely set foot outside when some fans had caught wind of his presence. A group of young women had laid eyes upon Tom, yet Charlotte’s presence seemed to have gone by unnoticed. For which she was thankful. Charlotte observed the group making their way towards their favourite actor - curious for his review of the play, secretly hoping for a selfie or an autograph, a handshake or perhaps a kiss on the cheek.

Tom withdrew his hand that rested on the small of her back and swiftly locked eyes with her. “I am sò sorry,” he apologized in advance.

“That’s alright, duty calls. I completely understand,” Charlotte shook her head, adamant to make clear she wouldn’t expect anything less from a public persona such as him to want to make some time for his admirers.

 Truth be told, Charlotte had been quite surprised to run into this fine man again. Pleasantly surprised, let that be clear. But now that she was out of the comfort zone of the Theatre, where your interaction was per definition restricted to silence and maybe a stolen whisper here or there, she now became very aware of the fact that her mind was in turmoil as to how she ought to compose herself around him. So there she stood, right next to him, suddenly a bit tongue-tied, a bit apprehensive. It was a blessing and a curse at the same time.

How oddly conflicting, she thought. About 10 days ago she had thoroughly enjoyed his company. And as it became apparent back then, the feeling was mutual. They were both mature enough to quickly express to one another that ‘the incident’ that ensued later that night was a silly, yet quite pleasurable, occurrence. And though Charlotte couldn’t speak for him, shé had moved along just nicely … up until the point those blue eyes looked into hers again earlier this evening. And when Tom had thoughtfully placed his hand on hers earlier that night, something inside of her stirred. Little sparks of electricity.

My god, I’ve been one the road alone for too long, she’d cursed to herself.

 “Thank you for a lovely evening,” Charlotte added swiftly as she was certain that he would surely take this opportunity to end his evening with her.

“No,” he stood corrected, much to her surprise, “don’t leave just yet.”

Tom continued with a quickly spoken whisper, “would you be willing to take a taxi and ask the driver to drop you off at ‘The last call’?” he paused, “I will find you.”

It sounded like a promise. Charlotte chuckled and rolled her eyes, questioning whether he was at all serious. Apparently he was. And he did find her at ‘the last call’, an establishment that looked like a plain brown pub but in fact disclosed quite a picturesque garden.

She opted to sit at the very end of the garden, far away from the door opening where waiters rushed to and fro as they waited on the clientele. It was also the perfect place to offer her an almost panoramic view over the terrace and allowing her to spot his silhouette promenading down to where she was.

He stood tall and elegant as he strolled down casually. It was as if in the last half hour a cloak had fallen from his shoulders and suddenly the Tom she’d gotten to know earlier that month emerged again. It immediately eased her mind.

And when Tom slid onto the chair right across hers, Charlotte could no longer hide her amusement.

“This is all very MI6, I must confess,” she shook her tilted head. Her eyes sparkled in good humour, triggering a chuckle from him.

“I know,” he gestured, “and I apologize once more. Thank you for obliging with me. It’s not really my style to order people around.”

He ordered an Old Fashioned and huddled over it when he confessed he truly was delighted to see her again. She smiled and returned the compliment.

It wasn’t a lie.

 4. London had been groaning under a heat wave for days now. Even at night the temperatures didn’t really drop as long as one would. Like Tom, Charlotte craved for the crisp fresh air. Leaving ‘The Last Call’ they aimlessly wandered about in London, until stumbling across Hyde Park and the Kensington Gardens where a plethora of trees provided cool and fresh air.

Tom pulled the cap of his hoodie over his head tucking his gorgeous curls away. He flashed her a broad and hearty smile as he did just that. That smile melted her, time and time again. That hoodie however… She raised one eyebrow before shaking her head under a soft chuckle, “it’s probably about 21°C in the middle of the night. If I were you I’d be melting…”

“… so all of this because you took on a case that stirred up national interest?” Tom continued his questioning. He was curious, intrigued and interested.

A bitter laugh escaped her lips.

“I take it this is not what you wanted then?”

Charlotte vehemently shook her head, “not really no. The case, yes. The attention, no. I feel there is a sense of privacy and serenity that has to be respected in these situations. It shouldn’t matter who the requesting party is. At the end of the day we’re all flesh and blood, aren’t we?”

 “Still, you did choose to step into the limelight…” He didn’t mean it in a harsh or hurtful way. It was a mere realisation  

“True,” she paused, “but only because I felt I did not have a choice anymore. There was so much slander coming at me, I hàd to stand up and speak up. Do you know what I mean?” she frowned and shook her head, “of course you know what I mean…”

He nodded while his lips curved themselves into a small smile, “But apparently you struck a nerve with the public.”

“It would appear so…”

 It still left Charlotte astounded how the public had reacted to her first public interview. There was still some defamation to her address, but suddenly the sensitive topic was out in the open and it got people talking. And not necessarily in a negative way. The public craved for information and suddenly Charlotte’s work and vision became a point of interest. Before she realised it she was invited at several international conferences to debate about end-of-life decisions and assistance and to share her experiences. It was mind-boggling, flattering and scary.

Her father was beyond proud. The partners at her firm were very positive and encouraged her to accept the invitations that were being extended to her, and to engage in the offers that were being made to her. Besides, it wasn’t as if she had a partner or family of her own that demanded her presence back home. In all fairness, after ‘separating’ from her husband the previous year Charlotte had easily slipped into her own little comfort zone. Any friend of her could (and would) vouch that Charlotte was outgoing and spontaneous, empathic and enthusiastic. But she had kept her heart locked. Much to the frustration of her closest friends. Maybe that was the final trigger that urged Charlotte to embraced this sudden unknown path that stretched before her with her arms open wide, but with quite some trepidation.

 “And here you are,” Tom added quietly. It almost sounded redundant.  

“Here I am,…”

Tom’s eyes met hers again. He nodded with a soft smile.

“I’m glad you are. Here.”

Charlotte smiled, feeling her apprehension rise at the sudden silence in the conversation.

Start talking.

Start talking. Now.

Any minute now.

“And I’m flattered beyond words for this opportunity really, it’s quite surreal. But it feels right. As if I’m doing something that matters, you know?” she nervously babbled on until she caught Tom, standing still next to her, smiling at her absent-mindedly.

“I’m sorry,” she shook her head with a smile, “we ought to talk about more pleasant things,”

“Don’t be. You’re passionate about your work. I like that.”

“What are you working on?” she insisted

“Nothing,” he answered truthfully.

“Sounds wonderful,” she couldn’t resist a good tease .

“It is though,” he chuckled, “there’s no one monopolising my schedule, so for once I have ‘the gift of time’, to catch up with family, friends. That was long overdue to be honest. Reading books, slowly going through some scripts,”

“Want to trade places with me for a day?”

He dropped his head back and lead out a hearty laugh.

 Their conversation ran without effort, alternating small talk, an in-depth discussion, trivial jokes and random thoughts. Time seemed to fly by. One loop in the park was followed by another, and another, and another. Until…

 “Well, this is my stop,” Charlotte pointed towards the hotel across the park, “I should head back. Get some sleep.”

“Right, you’re speaking at the Conference tomorrow. I think?”

Charlotte sighed, “don’t remind me…”

“You’ll be fine,” he assured her.

She nodded quietly, “I hope so.”

“Shall I walk you up?”

“I’m not sure if that’s a good plan, I know you like your privacy. I’ll just cross the street myself, leave you in the mystery of the park,”

She slanted her head, “so thank you for a wonderful evening. It was nice seeing you again.”

“Likewise, it was erm.. nice catching up with you. For lack of a better word.”

As Charlotte bid him farewell she felt unsure on how she should behave. She settled for a casual kiss on the cheek, which he kindly returned. His arms closed around to hold her in a tender hug, a gesture she gladly accepted. Her hand unconcernedly ran over his back in a reassuring caress. He smelled of some expensive citrusy cologne. His scent was dizzying, his embrace heart-warming that had Charlotte biting her lip out of remorse for not being able to keep him there longer.

Say good night, not goodbye.

“Good night Tom,” she murmured into his arms.

“Good night Charlotte,” he replied into her soft hair, the scent of her flowery shampoo sending his mind into a trip down memory lane. As he released her from his hug, he held on to her hand a little while longer, giving it a soft squeeze before wishing her a pleasant night as she made her leave

“Charlotte?”

“Yeah?” she spun around curiously.

“Good luck tomorrow…”

A warm smile, “thank you.”

A gust of wind swept up her long hair; she tucked the loose strands behind her ear before checking traffic. He watched her a little while longer as she made her way across the road towards her hotel and out of his life. Intelligent, grounded, feminine. He smiled. Never in a million years would he have guessed how bittersweet this very moment could make him feel.

 Silly me, he cursed himself, I’ve been on the road for too long…

[buckywintersoldierbarnes2017]

I Want You.

Request from @bellasett: Hello this idea just came to me I was wondering if u could do a Steve rogers where he just got unfrozen and his sex drive is up (bc it's like a side effect from the ice) and the reader has had a crush on captain America for like ever and they meet at stark tower and he ignores her and she thinks it's her but he just can't be alone with her without wanting to do the deed and maybe he's think of all the place he could have sex with her sorry this is really long if u don't do smut it's fine tho.

Note: I am soooooo sorry that it has taken me a while to get this written. Between my mind deciding to hate me and a whole lot of changes in my life everything has been a little too hectic for my muse to work. I hope this is what you were looking for! <3 I didn’t do too much smut though as my muse is very slowly coming back lol!

Steve x Reader

Words: 2,225

Warnings: Mild language and some minor smut. I haven’t gone into full detail with it and the majority is simply implied but figured I should warn you anyway....if I have missed anything please let me know :)

Disclaimer: GIF used is not mine so all credit goes to it’s creator. <3

You couldn’t believe it, not one bit. He was within arm’s reach of you, currently sleeping on the hospital bed in the room, his chest clearing rising up and then falling back down again at a steady pace….but still there was a part of you that was convinced you were going to wake up soon and be pulled back to reality.

Ever since you were a child you had grown up knowing his face, his name, and he was the very reason you now had the job that you did – working for Shield. He had made it his life mission to save others, never once expecting anything in return, and he had made the ultimate sacrifice in doing so. As far as you were concerned doing this job was your way of thanking him, something you never thought you would get to do in person.

Not only that but you were just like any other red blooded woman and you had developed quite the crush on him despite having never been in the same room as him until now.

A tired groan interrupted your thoughts and the rather perverted gaze you’d had on him as his eyes started to open.

“Captain Rogers?”

All hints of admiration faded from your face as a look of concern replaced it. This guy had been frozen for over 70 years, so he was going to have no idea where he was, who you were, or what year it even was. Agent Hill and Director Fury had both considered creating a façade to make him believe that he was still in his own time but you had quickly put the idea down; if you start with a lie how could you possibly expect him to ever trust you?

“Wh-Where am I?”

“You’re somewhere safe.” You sat yourself down onto the edge of his bed and although the temptation to take his hand was hard to resist you knew that it wouldn’t be the right course of action. He didn’t know you and when someone was both confused and scared they become unpredictable. “Now I know it is easier said than done but I need you to remain calm and just listen to me okay? You have been through quite the ordeal.”

As his eyes finally opened fully and his blue hues fell on you, confusion etched itself onto his face.

“What do you mean?”

Here it was, the moment you had been dreading, your next words were going to change his life forever and you couldn’t even begin to think how he would react.

“You’ve been asleep Captain…..for 70 years. Now I kn-“

You had started to rush into the reassuring part of your speech, noticing the glint of worry igniting in his eyes, and the reservations you’d had just moments before about placing your hand onto his flew out of the window completely as you encased one of his strong hands, but your words were cut short as he shot upright in the bed and his free hand gripped onto your arm hard.

Panic quickly built up inside of you but when you saw his cheeks beginning to glow a deep crimson colour confusion soon overrode it. He was…..blushing? Out of all the scenarios you had pictured in your head of how this conversation would go this was most certainly not one of them. Anger? Yes. Confusion? Absolutely! Maybe even a little sadness at the fact that everyone he had once known was either dead or dying. But what reason could there be for him to be embarrassed or nervous?

His eyes weren’t meeting your gaze at all, not even for a split second, and after a moment or two you finally followed his line of sight and immediately noticed the bulge that had formed underneath the sheets. Now it was your turn to feel the heat rising in your cheeks.

“You need to leave.”

The tone of his voice had you pulling your eyes away from the rather unexpected sight of his arousal and in a rather flustered manner you left the room. Your heart was racing as you silently signalled for two other Shield agents to head in and speak with the Captain

Things only got even more weird after that day…

                                                * * * * * * * * * *

ONE YEAR LATER

Your job at Shield was becoming increasingly harder to achieve with each day that had passed since Captain Rogers had woken up. Every time he entered the same room as you his entire body stiffened, and his eyes frantically looked at anything but you…or he simply left the room before he had even finished stepping through the door.

The first few times this had happened you simply shrugged it off and put it down to the fact that he was nervous and unsure of all the new people are him but now, a whole year down the line, it was just getting stupid….and rather hurtful if you were perfectly honest with yourself.

“Did you ever find out what it was you did?”

It barely registered with you that someone had taken a seat on the sofa next to you, or that it was your closest friend, as you continued to watch for any other reactions from the Captain.

“Earth to [y/n]!” A hand waving itself in front of your face snapped you out of your little surveillance mission. “Starting to think you have seriously insulted Rogers you know. You’re the only one here he doesn’t speak to.”

“Tell me about it…” Your words showed your annoyance at the situation and rather reluctantly you pulled your gaze away from the blonde Avenger and placed it onto the redhead sat beside you instead. “Maybe he blames me. I was the first person he saw when he woke up after decades of being frozen…he might think that it was me who woke him up.”

You didn’t even bother to hide both the fear and the panic you felt at such a scenario being true and the volume of your voice rose enough to start gaining the attention of others currently in the room – except the one person who was causing this turmoil for you.

“Fury has already explained all that to him [y/n]. He knows full well that you were not responsible for that.”

Her words went through one ear and then straight out of the other as the sound of footsteps stole your attention. Surprise, surprise! Steve was yet again leaving the room with a rather flushed look on his face. Well he wasn’t going to get very far this time because you’d just about had enough now.

“Then maybe it is about damn time I get the truth out of him.”

“[y/n] wa-“

In athletic fashion you had jumped over the back of the sofa you had been sitting on, Nat’s hand only grazing your shoulder and failing miserably in her attempts to stop you from going after Steve.

“He is definitely about to get his arse handed to him.” She sighed in defeat.

                                              * * * * * * * * * *

“Steve!”

Your voice echoed through the corridor as the door to the shared living area closed behind you.

“Not now [y/n].”

Everyone else in the tower got the kind-hearted Steve Rogers, the one that would crack a joke whether it was funny or not, but you got nothing like that, quite the opposite in fact. His words were always cold and even on the days where you knew full well he wasn’t busy he would push you away as though he didn’t have the time to talk with you.

“NO!” That made him stop dead in his tracks. No one had ever heard you shout with such an anger but it still didn’t seem to be enough to make him turn and face you…something which only fuelled your anger even more. “You don’t get to walk away from me until you tell me what the fuck your problem is!”

“Language.”

“Seriously? You’re going to scold me for my cuss word while you have been ignoring me for going on a year now?!”

He must have been out of his mind. It was an apology you had been expecting from him, an explanation even, but a scolding? He had literally just rid you of any hint of patience you’d had, which was made apparent when you stormed towards him and took a rough hold of his arm. Up until now you had only ever seen his body tensing but now you were feeling it with your own hand and it made you feel worse than you had ever done so before….sick even.

How could someone hate you this much?

Everything that happened next did so at a speed which left your mind still trying to catch up after your back had hit the wall and an animalistic growl rolled from the Captain’s lips. Thanks to his enhanced speed he had managed to pin you to the wall of the corridor and now you were the one who wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

“You should have just left it [y/n]. You have no idea how hard it is for me to be around you.”

“Why?! I haven’t done anything to you! It wasn’t me who decided on unfreezing you.”

The only response you received from him was a quiet laugh laced with a mischief that was completely foreign to you as one of his hands glided down the length of your arm.

“What the hell is so amusing Captain?”

“Oh just the little fact that all this time you have been thinking that I hate you my mind has gone in the complete opposite direction.”

His hand continued to make its way down your arm until it came to rest on your hip, the sharp blue hues of his eyes never once leaving you. Never had you been this close to him, not even when he had woken up a year ago, and it was only now that you noticed the flecks of green in his eyes….good god he was incredible…

“Ever since the day I woke up and saw you for the first time I haven’t been able to control myself.”

“Wh-What?”

Out of all the scenarios you had pictured in your mind as to how this conversation would go the words that he had just spoken hadn’t been in a single one….there was no way that Captain America, the poster boy of World War Two himself, would see you in that kind of way.

“Don’t believe me?” With a single raised eyebrow, the hand of his that wasn’t resting on your hip reached for one of yours and slowly moved it nearer to his body. “This is what you do to me. This is what I have been trying to stay away from.”

You didn’t need to ask him to clarify what he was talking about because the bulge in his trousers currently pressing up against your hand was more than enough for it all to click into place. Of course you were still rather annoyed at him for the way that he had handled it, for ignoring you all this time, but right now you couldn’t focus enough to devise a plan to punish him…..not when his arousal was growing even more underneath your touch.

“I don’t….I don’t understand..”

“Did they stop teaching sex education in schools while I was frozen or something?”

A playful smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he left your hand where it was, enjoying the sensation building up inside of him, and his lips started to lay gentle kisses onto the crook of your neck.

“No I didn-“

All your childhood you had fantasised about being in such a situation with Captain America, just as all the girls now did, but feeling his lips pressing up against your bare skin blew all of those thoughts you had conjured up right out of the window…..they paled in comparison to the reality. Biting down onto your bottom lip while you tried to compose yourself enough to continue speaking you refrained from letting a groan slip from you.

“I meant how….and why hide it?”

If he had noticed you reacting to him he didn’t mention anything, only pulling away from you after you had voiced your question.

“Because every time I saw you I could do nothing but picture you…and me…inside every room of this building. I hid it because I didn’t want you to think I was a sleaze ball. This is hardly the image of me that you grew up with [y/n].” Both of his hands rested themselves onto your hips as the pads of his thumbs traced light patterns onto the vest top you were wearing. “Even now…when I know you deserve better….I can’t keep my hands off you.”

“Who says I want you to keep them off me?”

Now it was his turn to look surprised but before a single word could escape his lips you were dragging him down the corridor; a task that wasn’t at all easy given his muscular frame but you didn’t care….you had fancied this man for the majority of your life and now you knew he’d thought of you in that way for a whole year you weren’t about to waste another minute.

                                        ~~~~~~~~~~

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[boymeetsweevil]

Hell’s Kitchen

Grouping: Reader x Seokjin

Word Count: 2.2k, the closest thing to crack i’ve ever written, warning for lots of cursing and mentions of a bj but in, like, the least sexy way

Summary: Its Jin’s birthday and its a hot ass mess because you can’t keep a secret

happy jin day!! :)

At 7:00am on December 4th, Kim Seokjin is woken from his slumber by the sound of pots and pans being banged together. Oh god, he thinks, its finally happening—the aliens. 

“Get that tight ass of yours out of bed. Happy birthday, Mr. Worldwide Handsome!”

He rolls to the edge of the bed, groaning and curling into fetal position to cover his ears. A particularly loud bang of the pans has him tipping over the edge and narrowly avoiding the corner of the bed frame as he face plants roughly onto the floor.

You slowly stop banging the pans and wonder if maybe you should have planned this better.

Birthdays are not your thing. That is, you’re all for letting your friends and family spoil you, if they call first so you can schedule them in. But, other people’s birthdays are not your thing. 

When their birthdays roll around, the people closest to you know to expect a hefty check in the mail and a slightly breathless early morning voicemail that you recorded on your way to the office.

You are fully aware that to people who don’t know you, a phone call and a drugstore card with money shoved in it may seem impersonal and cold. You do care, though. You do. It’s just that birthdays have never appealed to you. A birthday is, in theory, a day you’re supposed to enjoy. But in reality, they’re full of people trying to scare you when you walk into your apartment late at night or drag you to clubs when you got 3 hours of sleep the night before. And they always want to give you sex toys as presents in front of your mother. 

You wrinkle your nose at the bad memories resurfacing as you watch Jin try to resume his sleep on the floor of his bedroom. Jin and you were compatible in that you both liked no-fuss birthdays. All he ever wanted was a home-cooked meal that he didn’t make.

“Jin? Jinnie? Wake up, Honey, I made food for you.”

“I’m not really hungry.”

“But didn’t you say you didn’t have dinner because it got too busy at the restaurant?”

He groans at the thought of having to eat your cooking but stands up anyway. You grin manically and take him by the arm to guide him to the kitchen where you’ve set up the food. Once the fully stocked table comes into view, his eyes widen.

“You said you made this?”

“Mhmm.”

He takes a cautious seat and picks up the steaming bowl in front of him to inhale the scent.

“Oh my god. This smells better than my jjigae.”

“I just looked up a recipe online and this one was really highly recommended. Try it,” you urge him, eager to see the reaction.

He removes his personal chopsticks from their pouch by the place setting and digs in. The response is instantaneous and he whips his head around to glare at you.

“There’s no way you made this. This has to be catered.”

“Kim Seokjin, why would I lie to you? Don’t you think it would be hard for me to sneak a caterer in here? And do you not see the dishes in the sink, huh?”

Jin has the decency to look scolded and lowers his head.

“I’m sorry. It’s just really, really good. And, well...normally you burn toast.”

“Everyone makes mistakes, it’s alright. Just don’t underestimate me ever again.” 

You place a firm hand on his shoulder as he eats. While you didn’t mean for it to be threatening, he gulps down his bite of food a bit harder than normal.

When he finishes his bowl, he looks more satisfied than you’ve seen him in a while. Which is saying something since you blew him last week after a 16-hour shift and he still didn’t look as peaceful.

“Are you all done? How about I run you a nice long bath and then—where are you going?” You try and fail to hide your panic.

“I’m going to take out the trash. I was gonna throw my napkins away but the bin looks too full.”

“Y-you don’t have to. Sit down. I’ll take care of it. It’s your birthday.”

“Come on,” he smiles, “You don’t have to baby me just because it’s my birthday. Plus, you hate taking out the trash and you always put the paper recycling out on container day.”

“Just sit down, damn it,” you shout. He narrows his eyes at you and then looks over to the trash again. He says your name in a low warning tone and begins to make his way over to the bin.

“Jin, stop! Just sit down. There’s nothing wrong with the trash. Why are you going over there?” You grab his elbow and pull, trying to stop him from seeing.

“I didn’t even say I was going to the trash. Why are you bringing it up, huh? What are you hiding?”

“Nothing! Just sit the fuck down, please!” You’ve resorted to sliding down his body and grabbing his leg, going boneless to create some drag.

“Jesus, why don’t you just admit there’s take out containers in the trash?” 

He drags the leg carrying you with a muted grunt but continues his shuffle over to the corner of the kitchen where the trash bin stands. Good thing he never skips leg day at the gym.

“I made that jjigae, fuck you!”

“Bull. Shit.” He hisses down at you, his face red from exertion and determination.

Somehow you lose your grasp on his pants leg and he takes that moment to run over to the bin while you’re still on the ground. All you can do is give a sorrowful shout. When he finally lifts the lid of the trash, all he sees is tupperware. 

“What? If you didn’t order out, where the hell did you get this?” He’s almost ready to admit defeat and beg forgiveness when he sees a sticky note attached to one of the discarded lids. He picks it up and sees familiar bubbly handwriting detailing cooking instructions on the paper. He sighs and turns to you.

“You’re really going to take credit for old lady Jung’s jjigae? Really?” His smug chuckle has your blood boiling.

“Goddamn it, Jin, I just wanted to do something nice for you. You’re always whining about how working at the restaurant ruins cooking at home for you and I wanted to feed you, but you know I can’t cook for shit. Why couldn’t you just let me have this?”

“You could have just said ‘Here, Jin, I had Mrs. Jung make this jjigae for you because I know her jjigae gives you wet dreams and I—” some movement in his peripheral vision stops him mid-sentence.

You turn to see a very shaken looking Mrs. Jung holding a cake carrier. You both fumble and bow before addressing the elephant in the room.

“Mrs. Jung, h-how long have you been standing there,” Jin asks with shame blooming like roses on his cheeks.

“I’ve been here since you dragged that poor child across the floor, dearie. I was coming to deliver the cake while you took your bath, but that didn’t happen.” She laughs and you have to force yourself not to ask if she enjoyed the show. This whole morning is going to shit, you remark sadly.

“Were you going to take credit for that cake too?” You can feel the tension headache coming on and you begin to rub your temples.

“Look, I paid her fee, so that cake might as well be mine.”

“You mean to tell me you paid her,” he turns to stare wide-eyed at Mrs. Jung, “You received payment for the jjigae and cake, Mrs. Jung?”

“Of course, dearie. You may be sweet but, with my arthritis, I can’t afford to be making things like this for free.” She levels him with a no-nonsense stare.

“I see. Well, if you don’t mind, I’ll take that cake pan off your hands, Mrs. Jung. Oh, is this that strawberry cake you brought to my parents’ anniversary? That’s my favorite.”

“I know. Or rather, I know from the order slip your little sweetheart filled out with the request.”

He turns to you inquisitively and mouths ‘an order form’ and you can only close your eyes and nod.

“Thank you for delivering so early in the morning, Mrs. Jung, I’ll be sure to wire you a big tip. I’ll see you later, ma’am.” You gently usher the old lady out of the door before leaning on it once its closed and locked.

“I’m sorry,” you sigh. “It just seemed like it would have meant more if I made it myself.”

“I would have agreed with that statement a day ago,” he admits as he pops the top off the cake carrier and sniffs the pink icing on the surface, “But knowing how much effort you put into this makes me change my mind. As long as I can eat it with you, I don’t care who makes the food.”

He walks over to you and holds the cake up to you face. You lift shining eyes up to look up at him in awe.

“Are you-are you giving me the first bite?”

“You deserve it after the morning you’ve had.”

“But, Jin, it’s your birthday.”

“It’s okay. I plan on eating 80% of this cake by myself before noon anyway.”

You take as big a bite as your mouth will allow from the body of the cake, smearing frosting all over your cheeks, nose, and chin. Even though she charged an arm and a leg for the food, it was worth the price, you muse.

The landline by the front door rings and Jin kindly reaches over to put the call on speaker since you’re chewing and your hands are now covered in frosting.

“Hewwo” you hum over a mouthful of cake.

“Hi, honey, its Mrs. Kim. I just wanted to update you about the steaks.”

“Oh, um, Mrs. Kim about that—”

“Jin’s father is putting them on the grill now. When did you say were going to lunch?”

“Well, I think we’re going at 1, and I was thinking that maybe you don’t have to—”

“I have the key you gave me and I was just going to come over and drop them off while you two were out. I left instructions for cooking them, but if you have any trouble I’m sure Mrs. Jung next door could help you out.”

Jin looks on with an amused expression and takes a giant bite from the cake you’re still holding.

“And I’m really grateful for that since you know how I am with cooking but I don’t think—” This time it’s Jin who cuts you off.

“Mom, you don’t have to worry, I’ll be there to help with the steaks. Did you make enough for you and dad to have some? You should come over.”

“Oh! Jinnie baby, I thought you would still be in the bath. Why isn’t he still in the bath?”

“He blew my cover, Mrs. Kim.”

“You blew your own cover. You couldn’t make a poker face to save your life...But I love you for it.”

“Aw, that’s so sweet, you two. Don’t worry, Jinnie, I’ll tell your father to pack up the picnic basket and we’ll see you later. Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

The call ends and you can feel his judgmental stare on the back of your head.

“Just say it. You know you want to.”

“I just can’t believe you think I wouldn’t know my dad’s steaks.”

“I wasn’t going to say they weren’t. I was just going to say I made them under his tutelage.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“I know,” you reach up and wipe some lingering pink frosting from the tip of his nose, “Are you mad?”

“No. I just have a feeling that all of this is the restaurant’s fault.”

“Yeah, let’s go with that. It’s not your fault or my fault. You should just quit your job,” you chuckle.

“If I’m being honest, though, I kind of want to. The hours are terrible and I don’t even enjoy it anymore. I’d much rather have my own business so I could work on my own terms.” You nod sagely.

“Then maybe that’s what you should look into this year. Not that you should throw all caution to the wind or anything, but it would be better for everyone if you were happier.”

“Yeah,” he snorted, “Then stuff like this wouldn’t happen.”

“And I wouldn’t have to pay Mrs. Jung’s $50 discretion fee.” Jin’s gaze softens and he puts a soothing hand on your shoulder.

“You know she scammed you, right? 

“What? No, she didn’t. A discretion fee is important because your reputation could get ruined.”

“Okay, first of all, everyone knows you can’t cook. So, no reputation to uphold. Second, you’re not an adulterous CEO. Why would you really need a discretion fee?” 

You’re quiet for a moment. “I guess that means the shipping and handling fee was unnecessary too, huh?”

“Oh my god,” he says, pain clear in his voice.

“What?” You blink confusedly at his back as he walks away from, hands up as a universal sign of resignation. “What?”

[cicinicole-14]

jvsvau 1

So... its currently 4am... and I'm just posting this now. to clarify, Gus is the youngest of 4 kids in the Sloan family (including Sofia) and Shelly is the 3rd out of 4 kids in the Hunt family. anyway, they have so many more things I could talk about because Gus and Shelly have a very complicated yet adorable relationship. and hats off to @only-freakin-sunflowers for letting me steal a good chunk of the original fic this story belonged to. this is technically the AU version of Shelly’s story, yet we created a whole life story behind it, oops? anyway, enough rambling... 

if you want to know more about Gus, Shelly, or their families, feel free to leave some requests! @only-freakin-sunflowers owns Shelly and the Hunt fam, and I own the Sloan fam. if you have any questions about them too, we will be happy to answer! onto the fic! 

also: these really don't have titles, sorry. and they’ll be numbered if I keep posting them but by no means are in chronological order... 

Everything was all lined up. It was going to be picture perfect.

On August 31st, when Shelly went into labour, Laurie and Roger Chapman were to meet her at the hospital, and once the baby was born, nurses would hand it over and it would be theirs. Forever. Shelly would never know it’s gender, or it’s name, or what it looked like or acted like or grew up to be. Her baby would be out there in the world, without her. That’s what she had chosen.

But her baby would be okay, he or she would have Laurie and Roger. Her baby would have an actual father in Roger. And Laurie would be a better mom than she ever could; she was a teacher, and a Christian, and she baked, and she liked to garden. On paper, she was your stereotypical, storybook mother…

“Augustus, you home?” Shelly calls into the apartment as she squats down and places the spare key back under the welcome mat outside and stands back up.

“Living room!” He responds, watching her appear from around the corner of the hallway.

Shelly walks over to the couch and plops down not-so-gracefully next to him as he’s typing away on his laptop. “Work?” She questions. He shakes his head.

“No, video game. I’m trying to finish up the one I was creating. I have a few more details to add into it but I can’t figure out what exactly I need to make it feel like it’s complete.” He muses and she shrugs her shoulders. “What were you doing today?” He asks, looking up at her.

“I’m bored!” She whined. “There’s nothing to do at home because both my parents are at work, Dee still kinda hates me and Evie’s back in school now.” She complains. “I was hoping you were home, and I seriously don’t know what I would’ve done if you weren’t home. Actually I probably would’ve went to your office to bug you, because I’m bored. Maternity leave is boring. This baby can just makes it’s way out any day now. That way I can get my body back and go back to work. I will be so much happier when that happens.” She rolls her eyes at the last sentence.

Gus laughs shaking his head. “Sometimes I don’t know why I’m friends with you.” He shakes his head. “You want something to drink?”

“Because you love me and yes, a beer please.”

“That’s not even funny, Michelle.” He says in a serious tone, turning and walking into the kitchen to pour hr a glass of ice water. He returned to the couch, handing her the glass and sitting back down next to her with his laptop on his lap.

“Thank you. Do you want to watch a movie?” She asked and he shrugs before picking up the remote.

“Sure, pick something, just–”

“I know, no scary movies and no movies where a dog dies.” She says taking the remote from him and flipping through the tv guide searching for a movie. “Oh, since I’m here we can finish catching up on Supergirl.”

---

“I still can’t believe Maggie just turned Alex down! That was so sad.” Shelly rants, watching her show. “I am so glad Alex finally told Kara she was gay,  though. Hopefully Maggie will come to her senses. Also, I still think Alex looks like your mom.” Shelly says, smiling at Gus.

“Not at all. If anything, Maggie looks like your mom.” Gus replies.

“No! For one, Maggie is Puerto Rican. My mom is not. Alex so looks like your mom. Now hurry and click play.” Shelly urges.

“I am… Shelly, did you spill your drink?” Gus questions, feeling the puddle of liquid seeping into his pants on the couch.

“No my water broke.” Shelly answered, shoveling popcorn into her mouth, too engrossed in the show. Her eyes widen and she looks at Gus. “OH MY GOD I’m going into labour! What do we do?!” She screams at him.

“How am I supposed to know? I’m the baby of the family. And please don’t yell.” He says softly.

“I’m sorry, I’m just freaking out. I didn’t really think these were real contractions because my mom said they start out slow and light, and they have been going on since last night. I didn’t think anything of it.” She rambled on.

Gus stands up, helping Shelly to her feet before grabbing the redhead’s purse for her along with his keys and leading her out the door to head to the hospital.

“Shit, I need to call Laurie and Roger." Shelly groaned.

---

Gus walks her into Grey Sloan, one arm holding her hand and the other arm wrapped around her waist. He spots the Chapmans and can see the mixed look of excitement and worry across both Laurie and Roger’s faces. He walks up to the nurses station in the maternity wing of the hospital and helps her nurse get her settled in the room. Stepping out when she goes to change into the hospital gown.

Looking in the mirror, standing sideways to fully assess her grown belly, Shelly couldn’t imagine not being a mother in a few months. She already felt like one, if she was being honest; and while on the surface it looked like a horrible idea… she couldn’t imagine not following this through, not being there for the rest of her baby’s life.

But Laurie and Roger were just out there in the waiting room waiting for her to hand over her child to them. She had to do this, right?

---

Gus had been sitting with her, keeping her company as her labour progressed and got more intense as the hours passed. Shelly reached over, squeezing his hand lightly, knowing it would get his attention. Gus looked up from his phone and smiled, knowing something was on her mind.

“What’s up?” He asks softly.

“What if I could do it?” Shelly asks. “I always thought i just couldn’t keep this baby and I need to give it up for adoption, but what if I could do it? The whole ‘raising a baby’ thing.” She thought aloud.

“If you really wanted this, I think you could make it work,” Gus admits gently. “You can do a lot more than you give yourself credit for, Shell. You’ve been in and out of rehab four times now? You’ve had the effort to step back up to the plate and keep batting every time; you’re not a quitter, and you’re not weak. But you know inside what you can and can’t handle. Raising a kid is not an easy thing to do. If you really want it though, then you could do it.” Gus tells her.

“It’s too late though, Gussy.” She says with tears in her eyes.

“Have you handed over your baby yet? Have you signed the final papers?” He asked, a bit harshly.

“No.”

“It’s not too late, Michelle.”

“It is, Augustus. Laurie and Roger are right outside in the waiting room, waiting for me to pop this baby out and hand it over to them. It’s too late.” Shelly argued back, the tears rolling down her cheeks.

“It’s not, Michelle, but I really don’t want to argue with you now. I’ll come back later.” He said standing up and leaving.

“Augustus, you’re seriously leaving right now?”

“I need to cool down, Shell. I need a minute. I’ll be back, I promise.” He stated, before walking out of her hospital room.

“Great! Now both of my best friends kinda hate me right now.” She stated, the tears falling harder down her face.

---

Amelia can see the pain across her daughter’s face. Not just physical pain, but the emotional pain of not having Dee or Gus in the room with her right now. Half listening to the obstetrician, Amelia picks up her daughter’s leg, as Shelly takes a deep breath, getting ready to push when the door swings open and crashes against the wall behind it.

“I’m here, I’m here I’m here I’m here,” Dee announces quickly, running into the delivery room. Shelly lets go of the breath she just inhaled and smiles, tears falling down her face again. “Gus called me, I’m sorry I’m late. He’s in the waiting room, by the way. He said he’ll see you after. He didn’t want to be in with all the loud noises.” Dee told her. Shelly just nods appreciatively.

Dee takes Amelia’s spot as Amelia leaves the room and Shelly looks up at the brunette with a smile. “Thank you for being here, still.” She whispers, inhaling a deep breath, getting ready to push again.

“You’re welcome.”

---

“You’re doing great, Shelly, just give me one more big push,” the obstetrician instructs. “One more big push” turned into six, but then, there was a cry, and when Shelly looked up, she saw Dee smiling. “Do you want to see the baby?” the OB asks.

Shelly shakes her head. She was wordless, with everything that had happened, and everything that was still happening, but she shakes her head. She can’t; if she gets to see the product of these long nine months, all the nights she’d spent awake thinking and questioning and crying… she would never want to let it go. And she had to let it go.

“Will you go let my mom know she’s a grandmother to a child she won’t ever know about and let the Chapmans know they have a kid now?” Shelly asks Dee. Dee nods. “And go see the baby, i know you want to. You can hold it, if they let you, and take Gus with you too, i need a minute to myself.” With that, Dee gives Shelly a smile and walks out of the hospital room, following the nurse pushing the tiny basinet.

---

Dee stayed in the nursery with the baby, Gus and the new parents oogling over the new baby until Shelly was moved from the delivery room to recovery. She comes back in awe, with a smile on her face, trying so hard not to show it. She doesn’t want Shelly to feel bad. “She’s beautiful,” Dee says simply. “She’s got red hair just like you…”

“It’s a she?” Shelly asks, a little bit of sadness mixed with shock in her voice. She hadn’t wanted to know she was abandoning a little girl in this world. Dee realizes her mistake instantly, her mouth slightly agape as she tries to figure out how to fix it. “Uhhh… no….”

“It’s a he, then?” Shelly asks again, this time more sadness in her voice. She hadn’t wanted to know she was abandoning a little boy in the world either.

“Uhhh….no….” Dee repeats again.

“It doesn’t have private parts and it’s an alien?” Shelly asks, this time she’s crying. Not about her genderless alien baby, not in particular, just about everything. Dee can’t help but laugh a little. “It’s not an alien Shelly, I’m sorry,” she comforts her. “It’s a girl. I didn’t mean to tell you.”

“It’s okay,” Shelly whimpers, wiping her eyes.  

“I’m so proud of you,” Dee says as she sits down on the edge of the bed and leans in for a hug. “I’m so, so proud of you.” She says again.

Shelly closes her eyes, trying to conceal the tears. “Dee, can I have another minute alone?” Dee stands up from the bed, nodding.

“No problem. I’m going to go find Gus for you, but I’ll give you some time first. Anything you need?” She asks before she leaves but Shelly just shakes her head.

---

The door to Shelly’s room opens up again, not even five minutes after Dee leaves and Shelly doesn’t even open her eyes. “Gus, Dee said she would give me a few minutes before she found you and sent you over.” Shelly breathes.

“I’m not Gus, but I can come back.” The social worker says. Shellys eyes open as she recognizes the voice.

“No, wait, I need to talk to you.” Shelly says, sure of her next statement.

---

There’s a knock at her door and Shelly looks up as he walks in. Gus raises his eyebrows as he sees the sight before him. There was Shelly, sitting upright in her hospital bed, her arm propped up on a pillow with a pink bundle cradled in her arms. “Gussy, I want you to meet Lyla.”

“Is that what Laurie and Roger are naming her?” Gus asks, walking over to the side of the bed.

Shelly looks back down at the baby, avoiding eye contact. She swallows and clears her throat before speaking up. “No. No that’s not what they’re naming her. They aren’t naming her because they aren’t her parents. I am. Because some stupid friend of mine told me it wasn’t too late to keep her, and now I have a daughter named Lyla, who has absolutely nothing, because I was planning on giving her up for adoption.”

Gus just stares between the baby and Shelly, a smile spread widely across his face. “Well, who would do that?” He asks innocently. She elbows him with her free arm, playfully.

“Can you go get my mom and Dee?” She asks.

“Can I hold her first?” Gus asks tentatively. Shelly gasps quietly, forgetting to offer that.

“Oh, yeah, sorry. I forgot to ask you if you wanted to hold her. Here,” She said, passing over the baby. “Just support her head like that.”

Gus stared down at the little baby, smiling. “Hi, Lyla. Welcome to the world.”

---

“Shelly, what’s wrong?” Amelia asks, bursting into the room. “Gus said you needed us to come immediately.”

“Shhh.” Shelly hushed her mother as the woman walked in, followed by Dee and Gus, both women staring with their mouths hanging wide open at the sight. “She just fell asleep.”

“How’d this happen?” Dee asked, taking one side of the hospital bed, while Amelia stood at the other side and Gus stood at the foot.

Shelly looked up at Dee. “After you left, the social worker came in and was going to ask me to sign and I told her I couldn’t. I made sure it wasn’t too late and I told the nurse I wanted to hold her. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t give her up.” Shelly said, looking back down at the baby. “Mom, Dee, I’d like you to meet Lyla.” Dee gasped.

“Lyla.”  Dee whispered, looking at Shelly.

“I hope you don’t mind.” Shelly said, wondering if Dee would hate that she named a child after her.

“Thank you. I love it. C-Can I hold her?” Dee held the baby, walking around the room, gently rocking the infant as Shelly looked up at her mom.

“I know I still live at home and I didn’t talk to you about this, but we have room. We can turn Charlie’s room into a nursery. Mom, I can’t give her up. I’ll make this work, I promise.”

Amelia just nods, with tears in her eyes. “I’m a grandma. Oh, your father is going to have a cow.”

---

“What if I break her? She’s too tiny, Gus, I can’t do this!” Shelly says frantically, laying the sleeping baby back onto the hospital bed.

“Will you bite my head off if I do it?” He asks and Shelly shakes her head, stepping back.  Gus steps closer, picking up the baby and laying her gently into the carseat and buckling it over her tiny frame. “There. Was that so hard? She didn’t even wake up.”

“Thank you. And thank you again for driving us home. Mom and dad both got called into emergency surgery and Thea couldn’t get off work.”

“You’re very welcome. Now into your seat.” He said pointing to the wheelchair. Shelly rolled her eyes and groaned in disgust.

“Why do I have to ride in this?” She whined.

“It’s protocol.”

“Both my parents and your parents work here and your parents own part of it, as well as my aunt and uncle, you’d think i could get away with not riding in a friggin’ wheelchair and embarrassing myself.” Shelly grumbled.

“Michelle, just humor me?”

“Fine, but only for you, Augustus.”

---

They made it back to the Hunt home, almost an hour later, because the whole way there, Shelly made Gus drive ten miles under the speed limit, but he did it to please her, anything to ease her mind of worry.

Gus smiled as he opened the back door to grab the carrier. “No heavy lifting.” He reminded her as she reached to grab Lyla’s carrier and Gus took it from her. She rolled her eyes but took his hand instead and walked into her house, leading Gus upstairs towards her room.

“Surprise.” Everyone whispered, lighting up Shelly’s face. Everyone was there. Her mom and dad, her sisters, Dee, even Jesse and Gus’s parents and siblings were there to welcome her home.

“We’re going to leave soon so you can adjust with the baby, we all just wanted to welcome you home.” Thea smiled, hugging her little sister. “Congrats, Shelly.”

Everyone filed out of Shelly’s room, giving her and the baby a minute to relax and for her to take Lyla out of the carseat since she woke up and began to fuss. She just finished feeding the baby when there wa a soft tap on the door and it opened.

“Everyone left, but we have one more surprise for you.” Owen told his daughter. Shelly carefully stood up and followed her mom, dad and Gus down the hall towards her brother’s room.  “Open it.”

She pushed open the door with one hand, amazed by the nursery. “Wow. How’d you do this so fast?” Shelly asked, walking in, admiring the crib and running her hand along the smooth wood. She peeked in the drawers, finding them filled with baby clothes and everything stocked full of baby items.

“You can thank this boy right here.” Amelia said, patting Gus’s back.

“You did this?” Shelly asked, still astonished. She watched as her parent backed out of the nursery slowly, shutting the door on their way out, giving them privacy.

“Michelle, you’re my best friend. You help me through all the rough times in my life, and were my friend when no one else was because of my condition. You’re always there for me when I needed you to be, I’m just returning the favor.”

“How’d you get all this though? You were with me in the hospital the whole time?” She questioned.

“I had it. I knew you wouldn’t be able to give her up. Michelle, you’re strong, but you aren’t strong enough to give your child away. You’re stronger for raising her. I knew you would.”

“You should’ve told me. Why didn’t you just tell me to keep her in the first place? This would’ve been a whole hell of a lot easier.”

“I couldn’t do that. This had to be your choice, your decision on your own terms. You had to decide to be strong enough to raise her. You can do this.”

“Thanks for believing in me, Augustus.”

“Always, Michelle.”

Shelly looked down at her daughter. “Welcome home, Lyla.”

But Laurie Chapman wasn’t her baby’s mother. She was.

this started from one of those sentence prompt things, this one was ‘OH mY GOD I'm going into labour what do we do?!’ and... well.... thus Lyla... aka kinda the beginning point of the AU part in this series verses Shelly’s original plan of letting the Chapmans raise Lyla. 

again, if you have any questions, let me know. any future pics posted in this verse will be tagged as below.