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phantomrose96 · 4 years ago

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Old Wounds

Danny’s secret is not a secret anymore.

The lines between Fenton and Phantom have long since blurred. And it’s a common occurrence for news reporters to trip over their tongue when flagging him down, mid-transformation, for a post-fight interview. “Phanton.” “Fentom.” So often that, to most now, he is just Danny.

When Danny wants upgrades to his gear, he comes to his mother. When Danny learns a quirky new element of Ghost Zone lore, he brings it to his father. When the Amity Park Ghost Alarm is raised, he’s first on the scene with the Fenton RV right on his non-corporeal heels.

When he’s injured, Danny comes only to his friends and sister.

Jazz notices the pattern. How it is only her, or only Sam, or only Tucker who receives the late-night knock at the window glass, with her brother on the other side, corny sheepish smile on display and arm or leg or shoulder held up in explanation.

Jazz notices how hushed Danny remains, day or night, when he comes to her for first aid. How he speaks in that same hesitant muted tone as he did when all of this was still a secret. How he quiets himself in the way injured prey animals do.

Jazz doesn’t feel it’s her place to ask. Not yet, at least. Eventually. But not yet.

The window is open. Honeysuckle-sweet gusts of late-spring air swirl through Jazz’s room and tease away the sheen of sweat that has collected on her brow. She cannot wipe it away herself, not with both hands meticulously occupied in tweezering out the singed fabric from her brother’s arm.

Danny winces, and hisses, and Jazz frees another thread from its embedded hold in Danny’s burn wound.

“It’s kind of like… summer vacation when we were kids and we’d get splinters visiting Aunt Alicia’s lake house,” Jazz remarks with another careful tug. “…If we can call it a lake house.”

“Lake shed,” Danny replies, grinning through the sweat shining on his pale face. “And I think every part of that dock was an OSHA violation.” He laughs through another wince.

“Dad was the king of tweezers. I think he got out every splinter that dock ever gave me.” Jazz pauses. “I wonder why that was. Think it’s the needlepoint?”

“It’s definitely the needlepoint,” Danny agrees.

Jazz hesitates on the question lingering behind her tongue. Just a little too long. Just a little too obviously.

“What?” Danny asks.

Jazz’s hand falters. She puts the tweezers down. “Danny, I will always always be happy to help you like this. Same goes for Sam, same goes for Tucker, I know. I’m positive. But I wonder why… not Mom or Dad?” Jazz eyes the tweezers, glinting in the moonlight. “I’m just… I’m thinking how much cleaner this might be if you got Dad to do it. And Mom’s got like, wilderness survival level first aid expertise. I can’t help thinking I’m hurting you more by it being… me, you know?”

Danny looks at her, and looks past her a moment. His grin slips a fraction into discomfort as his eyes leave hers. “Maybe I just like the excuse to invade your room.”

“Danny…” Jazz waits until he looks at her again. “Are you afraid they’ll make you stop if they realize you’re getting injured?”

Danny lets out a puff of air from behind his lips. “No, never. I mean, maybe if I got really really injured they’d say something. But just getting a little roughed up? I think it’s about on par with a kid coming home from football practice with a few scrapes, at least, in their eyes. They get more banged up than me these days. I’m not worried.”

Jazz reaches for the bottle of disinfectant. She unscrews the cap to a biting alcohol smell. “…So will you tell me why?”

“Why what?”

“Why you won’t ever go to them with injuries? Ever?”

Cotton swab, pure silver under the moonlight. Jazz douses it gently, a muted glug-glug from the bottle.

“…I’m that obvious about it, huh?”

“You’re obvious about most things. This’ll be cold.” Jazz applies the swab to the open wound, and Danny hisses in turn.

“Yeah. Cold. And stingy. Cold and stingy.” After a few seconds, the tension eases out of Danny’s body. He droops a little, shoulders slumped, and Jazz pulls the cotton swab away.

“Are you ashamed of your injuries?”

“No.”

“Are you worried Mom and Dad’ll make them worse?”

“Nah. You said it yourself, those two are weird, unconventional medical experts.”

“Then why not?”

A beat of silence follows. A moment of trepidation. Awash in moonlight, Danny looks up at her, and the glow in his green eyes has a life of its own. “I don’t want them to see the injuries that have already healed.”

“Why would that be a problem?” Jazz looks again. Danny’s suit covers most everything, save now for the one sleeve that’s been rolled back. She sees what she already knew was there – what isn’t obvious to the eye not searching – threads of white ridges, puckers of skin, a faded rashy texture of what had once been an ectoblast burn. Old injuries. Long healed. Faded and fading further. “Those are all healed now. Just some scars, right…?”

Danny hesitates.

“I don’t want them to figure out how many of those scars they caused.”

A gust of wind steals the antiseptic smell from the room. Jazz sits with the silence. She thinks, and she processes.

“Oh…”

Danny straightens. “They kind of… live in this world where hunting ghosts is all fun and games, you know? Like it’s a sport, like they can just get into go-mode and jump into the fun. I don’t think they’ve figured out yet that they can—could—did …cause damage.”

Danny adjusts himself on Jazz’s bed, one leg pulled up, body angled to face her directly. He doesn’t let his eye contact wander now. “They both apologized. Definitely. Like that definitely happened, back at the start of this. But it was kind of like ‘We must’ve given you so much trouble Danny! How’d you come home every day and not bite our heads off over that?’ Like. Again. Like it’s a game. Like they’d been knocking my chess pieces over for a year and not—”

Danny falters. He raises his uninjured arm and tucks the hair away from his face. “And I don’t… want it to click for them. What I have right now with Mom and Dad is so nice… It’s so much better than I even imagined. I want it to stay like this. Forever, if possible.”

“Danny…”

“And even that actually—maybe I’m actually wrong about that. Completely wrong. About their reaction, I mean. It’s possible maybe they’d see everything and just go,” Danny deepens his voice, “‘Wow! We did a number on you, huh? Man Danny I don’t know how you didn’t just smack us over the breakfast table every morning.’ you know? Like that. Like this was all just always a game. And they—and I-- …I like how relaxed ghost hunting is with them. I actually like that it feels like a game. I don’t ever want to go back to feeling how scared and afraid and unsafe and hurt I was that first year. ...But I’m afraid of how it would feel to know that maybe they’d see that, look at it all, everything they did and the scars like the actual proof and it—if it wouldn't ever be real to them. If they'd never get that it was like that. If they still wouldn’t realize—you know? That they—if they—I don’t uh…” Danny drops his eyes, and he shrinks in on himself. “I don’t know how to explain it…”

“No I—Danny I know what you’re saying. Don’t worry. Danny, I—”

“Either answer. Any answer. I don’t want to know… I don’t actually want to know.” Danny angles himself away again, feet dropped over the side of Jazz’s bed, staring down at the hands in his lap. “If it would horrify them, then I’d be ruining all the good things I have with them right now. And if it wouldn’t horrify them—” Danny falls quiet. The breeze has stilled. The room is colder now. “…then I think I just don’t ever want to know.”

Jazz nods, and nods harder.

“I get it. I get it. That’s a good enough answer for me, Danny, I promise. I’m your first aid person, okay? I won’t ask again. Thanks for… thanks for telling me, Danny.”

"Can always trust you to bring up the difficult conversations huh? Of course that's always been your thing. Talking to you is--well I'd say it's like pulling teeth, but maybe it's more like pulling ecto-demolished hazmat suit fabric out of a burn wound."

Danny offers a sheepish grin - it's an olive branch, a request to lighten the mood. Jazz meets it with her own small grin that does not touch her eyes.

"Yeah yeah, I'm your older sister. It's my job to be a pain. Now sit still, I need to be more of a pain if we're gonna de-hazmat suit your injury."

She picks the tweezers back up. The silence rings with an echo in her head now. Jazz focuses her attention back on her task, and she finds something she was wrong about before:

There is nothing faded about the scars that web up and down her little brother’s arm. They are stark streaks of lightning, glowing silver under the moonlight. And Jazz wonders how many others—how many that flaked away and melded back with healthy skin—how many of those might still be living, lingering, a permanent part of her little brother, buried well beneath the surface…

#danny phantom #dp #dp fanfiction #long post #wanted to write A Thing so here is A Thing!

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sandradoodles · 2 years ago

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So since you asked for asks, thought I'd throw one out there. What do you think Adrien's personal style might be if he didn't have to wear his dad's designs or dress to his approval? Do you think dating or being closer to Marinette might influence his personal style?

Oooooh good question. I am not super knowledgeable about clothing and style but I will answer to the best of my ability!

To the surprise of no one, this is long and full of rambling.

Knowing that the only time we see him for sure wearing something he actually wants to wear is when he's transformed into Chat Noir is either highly informative or not informative at all lol. Personally I believe parts of his daily outfit are actually representative of him (the stripes on his shirt, both because they are used in his "Adrien vision" in Oblivio and because Marinette sews them onto That Hat in Chat Blanc; and also his orange sneakers because I want to believe he thinks they are very cool.) The crispy white overshirt is all Gabe though. He dresses Adrien in white too much and the vibe is icky. "Look at my flawless son, a perfect blank slate for me to design myself." Do not want.

Dating Marinette would be great for Adrien in all ways, including developing personal style because she could encourage him to try new things and she's the person he's most comfortable around, so he can be honest with her about what he likes. He would be SUPER into wearing anything she gifted him as often as possible (and being borderline obnoxious about it like "MY GIRLFRIEND MADE THIS WITH HER OWN HANDS".) I can also imagine them having cheesy private fashion show dates where he models her other designs, poses over dramatically on purpose, and makes repeated ~catwalk~ jokes, but that's just for the two of them. Professional modeling is pointless, but supporting your girlfriend and treasuring her talent is anything but!

As for exactly where I think he'd land in terms of personal style... This is all gonna veer wildly into my own aesthetic and what I want to draw him wearing BUT ANYWAY I think a wider range of color and relaxed fit are the main things, which I realize is the exact opposite of Chat Noir but listen. His clothing should provide maximum comfort and freedom. Nothing that has to be starched, ironed, or fully tailored unless he has no other choice. (Obviously he's going to wear a very nice suit to Alya's and Nino's future wedding.)

For color schemes I'm again leaning hard into my own aesthetic but I think he'd be comfortable in the colorful neutrals: olive green, burnt orange, navy blue, etc. They're fun but not so loud that he's the first person you'd pick out of a crowd, which he deserves after being in an unwanted spotlight for so long. (More hats for the same reason, esp slouchy beanies that Marinette knits for him.) He punches up the color and accessorizes more when he's going to be hanging out with friends.

Extremely specific thing that I want him to wear: satin bomber jackets with striped cuffs. Some floral accents because he asked Marinette to add her own touch. Like:

I accept constructive criticism but this really does feel right to me.

#miraculous ladybug #adrien agreste #sandra talks #ask #scarlet-curls #also future adrien definitely has pierced ears #both for personal expression and in case there's an emergency and the world needs mister bug #you guys really came through with the asks ilu #I got a lot and I will be answering them over the next few days!!

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dragon-kazansky · 4 years ago

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Made with love | Helmut Zemo

Chef Zemo AU! 👨‍🍳

Gender neutral reader

Collage by @realremyd

Huge thank you to @rumblelibrary for helping me out with this chapter!

[Previous chapter] - [Next chapter]

Part 5

Wanda basically threw you out after breakfast. You were at Escorpión Morado bright and early. The restaurant wasn't open for another hour yet.

It was as if he had been waiting for you. The moment you reached the door, Zemo opened them and let you in. He was smiling at you instantly.

"Morning."

"Good morning."

You smile back and let him lock up again before he leads you into the back. He lets you put your things down and takes you into the kitchen.

There's no one about. Just the two of you.

Suddenly you're feeling rather nervous.

On the counter is everything you needed for today, but Zemo ignored all of that as he brought in some coffee for you. You smiled as he handed over the cup, his fingers brushing against yours. You tried not to let it show that the little touch had affected you.

He had done it on purpose, not that he would tell you that. He just wanted an excuse to touch you a little. Zemo's way of flirting was less obvious sometimes.

He smiles that charming smile at you.

"I'm glad you agreed to help," he says, smile not once faltering.

"You're hard to say no to."

He likes that answer. He chuckles and sips his coffee.

"What are we making?"

"Paella! A proper paella."

"A proper paella?"

"A good paella takes a couple hours to make. I have everything I need, we just have to make it. I'm going to teach you how to cook like a chef," he winks at you.

"When is he coming?"

"This afternoon. That's why I asked you here so early."

"I don't mind. I'm happy to help, though I'm not sure how helpful I'll actually be," you offer and awkward smile. You feel out of place in his kitchen.

His kitchen. This was his domain. Helmut knew it inside and out. He knew every corner. He knew where every utensil lived, every pot and pan, every herb and spice. This was his kingdom and he had let you in.

It felt like an honour to be here.

"Should we start?" You ask, looking at the items he had set out. You felt rather intimidated.

Zemo glances up at the clock.

"Not yet. We have time."

"Alright, I trust you," you smile softly.

"Good. I have one condition while you're in my kitchen."

"What is it?" You felt even more nervous now.

"You have to call me chef. It's the only name I have in here," he grins, mischievously.

Your face felt warm.

"Yes, chef," you say, almost shyly.

"That's more like it," he says, sipping more of the delicious coffee he had made.

You had no idea how you were going to survive in here. With the constant concentration you would be putting in, to the way he looked at you, and now calling him chef, you're not sure your heart could handle it all. It felt as if there was a spell over you and you couldn't break it.

When you had both finished your coffee, he took the cups and put them to the side. He disappeared for a moment, only to return with aprons in hand. He smiles as be holds one out to you. You take it and put it on.

"Are you ready to make something so delicious, you'll never want to eat anything else again?" He asks, chuckling.

"That's quite the statement, chef."

For now he will pretend you actually calling him that wasn't sending his heart soaring and his mind racing. Instead he will act as normally as he can as he spends these next few hours with you.

"It's the truth. Until you have tried a real paella, you haven't experienced anything," he winks at you.

Helmut preps the paella pan.

"I've prepped everything, we just have to cook it."

"I've never cooked paella before," you tell him, looking at him in worry.

"Don't panic, I'm right here. I'll guide you."

That smile he gives you reassures you. You're in good hands.

He pours in the olive oil and sprinkles salt in a circle around the edge of the pan. He's smiling as he does it. You should be watching his cooking, but your eyes are drawn to his face instead. You could look at him for hours.

He knows you're looking. He can feel your eyes on him. He turns his head slightly, eyes flicking to you. His smile becomes a smirk as he meets your gaze.

You become flustered.

"The chicken and rabbit, if you would," he nods over to where meat was waiting.

You hand them over. He pops them into the pan with a flourish and looks at you with a little grin.

"We're going to brown the meat, so in the meantime, tell me what you and your friend have been up to."

"She took me bowling yesterday. She used to go with her brother."

"Ah yes, I know where she took you. I've never actually been."

"No?"

"No. I have spent a majority of my life in a kitchen," he chuckles. The sound makes you smile.

"I can believe that. Have you always wanted to be a chef?"

"Yes. Ever since I was a boy. I take pride in what I do. If it's not perfect, it doesn't get served, and nothing I have ever made has never not been perfect."

You smile as he grins at you. Those are easy words to believe.

"I wish I could cook like you."

"You could if you learnt how."

"I never seem to have the time to learn," you say, softly. He glances at you, seeing a longing look in your eyes as you look at the meat in the pan.

"Would you like a go at turning them? They need to be brown on both sides."

"Uh, sure."

"Don't worry, I'll be right here."

You take over from him. Zemo stands so close next to you, eyes on the food as you turn the meat over. You're so very aware of how close he is to you. You're doing everything you can to keep focused on the cooking.

After 20 minutes pass by, he takes over again. He pushes all the meat the sides of the pan and nods over to the green beans he had prepped earlier.

"Could you pass me those, please?"

You nod and hand them over. He puts them into it the centre of the pan, right in the middle of the ring of chicken and rabbit.

He sautès them.

"I could teach you to cook. Honestly. It would be my pleasure to be your teacher."

"That's a nice offer, but I'm here with Wanda. I should spend as much time as possible with her."

"Except, you're here now," he smirks.

"Well, yeah... you asked me here."

"And I'm asking you again."

"I'll have to go back home at some point. How much could you teach me in just a few days?"

He looks you in the eye.

"A lot, but what if you didn't go home. What if you stayed here. You could find a home in Sokovia, I could see you every day."

You look away with a chuckle.

"I would say you're crazy."

"Somebody has to be. Without crazy people, nothing would get done. If you go home, I'll be left here missing you."

"You would miss me?"

"Of course I would. You're special."

He says this without looking at you, concentrating on the cooking, but you knew he meant it. It was the way he said it.

Helmut adds garlic and then butter beans.

"This already looks so good," you say, smiling at the both the look and scent of the food.

"Wait until it's finished."

It feels a shame to know this was for Tony Stark. You would love nothing more than to dig in to this paella yourself.

"Would you like the honours of adding the paprika?"

You nod and add it to his instructions. You add the crushed tomatoes and watch as he mixes everything together.

Now he adds the water. Being the professional he is, he knows exactly the ratio to add. He has very obviously done this many times before. You're almost mesmerized by him.

He lets it simmer.

"If you did move here, you wouldn't have to worry about a job. You would be very welcome in my restaurant."

"You're serious about this, aren't you?" You look at him.

"Sí."

You smile softly.

"I can't just up and leave everything."

"Do you have someone waiting for you back home?" He asks, avoiding looking at you. It would make sense to him that you would have. He should have checked before hand, because now he feels a fool.

"No."

Nevermind. He's over the moon.

"Then why are you hesitating?"

"Because I don't know what I would do here. You're offering me a job, you're asking me to move out here. You don't even really know me. I'm just someone you met last year while on my holiday."

"I know enough about you to know you're special and magnificent. I know enough to like you. I would hate to say goodbye not knowing when or if you would return."

"I've really made an impact on you, haven't I?"

"Sí," he grins at you again.

"Since you're being so honest with me, then I suppose it's only fair I'm honest with you."

"Please."

"You have also made an impact on me. I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since we met. I'm in love with your food, your restaurant. I admire everything you have done to keep your father's business alive. I love your country and want nothing more than to stay."

"So stay."

"I... I don't think I can."

He looks back at the food, lowering the heat to let it simmer some more. He thought he was so close to having you, but perhaps it's just not meant to be.

"Can't blame a man for trying."

You hate the way he sounded so defeated. It didn't suit him at all.

"Helmut..."

"Ah ah, what did I say?" He looks at you, turning that confidence back on.

"Chef, right."

"Yes. I only have one name in my kitchen, remember it."

Helmut adds the rice to perfection. He puts down the wooden spoon, that he had used to mix everything, and stands over it. Now it's all about the heat.

Zemo glances at you. You're looking at the pan. He uses your distraction as a moment to admire you.

You're so beautiful. So stunning.

He wants you to stay so badly. It's so very selfish of him, but he wants it. He's not prepared to let you go, not when he wants to see you every single day, speak to you every single day, teach you, work with you, be around you every single day.

You're something so special and this chef is so worried he will lose you.

You're looking at him. He turns his head quickly to adjust the heat.

He knows the exact moment it's done.

"This is a paella," he says, smiling down at the finished project. You smile at it. It smells wonderful.

Before you can day anything, Sam enters the kitchen.

"It's almost time."

Looking up at the clock, you hadn't noticed how much time had passed. Helmut had cute a lot of the time off by preparing the ingredients before hand, but cooking the paella took up quite a bit of time.

"You make sure the table is perfect, Sam. We will bring out the rest momentarily."

Sam nods and heads back out front. You removes your apron, placing it next to Helmut's on the counter and watch as he sorts himself out.

"How do I look?" He asks, looking at you.

"Handsome as always, chef."

He grins, winking at you. He swipes at your cheek quickly, brushing away something you couldn't see. He won't tell you there wasn't anything there, he just wanted an excuse to touch you in some way.

"Shall we?"

"You want me to come with you?" You ask, shocked me would even want you there.

"Of course. We did this together, we should see it through together."

You smile.

Helmut holds out his hand. You take it. It's bigger than yours, warm too. He leads you out front.

Tony Stark enters the building with another man. They both look around the place. You both stop to greet them near the entrance. Zemo doesn't let go of your hand as he smiles at the two men.

"Welcome to Escorpión Morado. I am Helmut Zemo, the owner and the chef," he smiles as introduces himself.

"We've met, but this Stephen Strange. He's investing in my restaurant. Who is this?" Stark turns to you.

Zemo let's go of your hand in favour of placing it on your back as he smiles at you.

"This is Y/N, a dear friend of mine who has helped me prepare your meal for the day."

Tony looks you up and down.

"This way, if you would." Sam guides the two men to the table that been set up specifically for them. With a nod from Sam, Zemo goes back into the kitchen to fetch the paella. Sam serves them drinks.

You stand there, looking between them both.

Both men a wearing expensive looking suits, and they smell expensive too. It seems strange to you that these two men are opening a restaurant. They didn't come off as the foodie types... more businessmen.

Sure, owning a restaurant is half business, but it should also be full of passion, love and life. It's more than just business.

"Does he pay you well?"

"I'm sorry?" You look at Stark.

"Does he pay well?"

"I, uh... I don't work for him. I'm just helping him today."

"Do you cook?"

"Not on this scale."

"At least you're good looking," he sighs, looking at you over the frame of his shades.

Sam clears his throat, looking at you. You find yourself moving to stand next to him. He smiles softly at you, so you smile back, silently thanking him.

Helmut returns.

Stark and Strange watch as places the paella pan on the table and stands back.

"What's this?"

You frown. How could he not recognise such an iconic dish. Even if you hadn't been travelling around Europe last year, you would know how to recognise a paella.

"Paella. A real paella. Dig in."

"From the pan?"

"No other way to eat it. This is traditionally how paella is eaten. You'll enjoy it."

Stark and Strange look at each other.

They dig in.

"Make sure to get some of the socarrat from the bottom. It's delicious!"

You smile at the way he encourages them, but neither man looks impressed.

Helmut stands with you and Sam as the two gentleman eat.

The seconds tick by incredibly slowly. The two men look at one another as they eat. There's a silent conversation taking place, you can feel Zemo becoming nervous the longer it goes on. You reach out and brush your hand with his. He looks down at your hands, taking yours in his softly.

You offer him a smile.

Both men stand from the table, you both turn to look at them, burrowing your brow at them. They dab at their mouths with their fancy handkerchiefs and turn to you.

"Well, that's something anyway. Good to know we don't have much competition around here. Thank you for your time, we shall be on our way now."

Stark drops an envelope on the table.

You can feel Zemo's hand grip yours a bit tighter now. He's angry.

Both men make their leave without saying anything more. Once they cross the threshold, Zemo storms off into the kitchen without a word.

"Helmut!"

He doesn't look back.

Glancing at Sam, he nods at you. You hurry after Zemo, but stop when you reach the door. Crashing sounds come from within. An angry yell. Things clattering to the floor.

You push open the door quickly.

Helmut pushes everything off the countertops, throwing dishes at the wall. He grips his hair with one hand, messing up the neat style it had previously been resting in.

"Mierda!"

You would find his Spanish endearing if not for the word itself, or the fact he was beyond angry.

Tony Stark had insulted him in the worst way possible.

"Helmut..."

He stops, back turned to you. He runs a hand down his face, using the other one to hold his weight as he leans against the nearest counter.

"He's wrong. You are competition. No food compares to what you make, and I'm not just saying that. He will never be able to make anything that compares to anything you make. Do you know how I know? Because you make your food with love. You enjoy every dish you put out. You make your own food in your own restaurant."

He doesn't say anything, just listens.

"Tony Stark has nothing compared to Helmut Zemo, and soon he will see that."

Zemo turns around slowly. He looks at you. All rage melts from his eyes when they land on you. He sighs softly.

"Thank you."

You smile.

He doesn't smile back, but you know he is truly grateful.

Sam enters the kitchen, the envelope from before now open in his hand. You look at him, taking in the expression on his face.

"I think you'll want to read this."

"What is it?" Helmut asks.

"An invitation."

You share a look with Zemo. Suddenly a cold sweat runs down your back. Dread fills every bone in your body.

Helmut steps forward and takes it from Sam.

You wait as he silently reads it.

He looks up at you.

"We're invited to dinner."

@namethathasnotbeentaken @belle82devart @cathrin2405 @lieutenantn @wilder-fangirl @latenightartist-author @lucky-luck-lucky @hb8301 @charistory @thatoneartgalsstuff @thesuitkovian @malkaviangirl @zemosimp420 @realremyd @the-chaotic-cow @lostghostgirl94 @zafiro-draco @lazygurl05 @pinkcutiepiee @goddessofmischief03 @whovianayesha @myybebe @awesomesauce-abbie @that-stupid-head-tilt-thing @zemo-is-my-muse @nonamec0s @apparrio @scuttle-buttle @alex-the-nb @my-blood-is-maple-syrup

#helmut zemo x reader #zemo x reader #baron helmut zemo #helmut zemo #marvel #au #chef zemo au

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wienerbarnes · 4 years ago

Text

Much Ado About Nothing (5/6)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 2,747

Warnings: none! wedding stuff?

A/N: happy new year yall hope everyone had a safe one! das all imma say tho im keeping my mouth shut about 2021 i aint risking shit anyway enjoy this chapter :P

MAIN MASTERLIST | MUCH ADO MASTERLIST

For being given a week, the ballroom looks immaculate. Satin drapes and tablecloths of cream and white cover the room, gold and olive green accents strewn throughout. The handful of tables in the room have large centerpieces of small white flowers, thin branches, and delicate leaves, as well as a lace trim around the vase they rest in. A warm toned light makes the room look bigger than it is and the dancefloor welcoming for everyone.

The wedding guests include the team, of course, some of Sharon’s family that were able to make it in such short notice, and anyone’s dates were welcomed. Sam brought a date himself, Sharon extended the invitation to some agents she’d been training over the last few months, and she told you invite those who worked in the lab with you.

She insisted, in fact.

Sharon banished you and Nat to the ballroom, while she finished getting ready, wanting to have a few minutes by herself before the wedding started. You assume Steve felt similarly when you see Sam and Bucky enter the ballroom and merge together with the rest of the team. You linger by the bar, hoping to get a bit of liquid courage before the party starts, but to your dismay, the bar doesn’t open until after the ceremony.

You also don’t want to take a seat because you’ll be one of Sharon’s bridesmaids, along with Nat. You and her wear matching warm brown dresses with a slit on the side, tying in with the neutral and woodsy tones going on throughout the rest of the wedding. Sam and Bucky wear brown bow ties and you assume they’re taking the role of Steve’s groomsmen. You pray you don’t have to walk with Bucky.

As more and more people take their seats, you find Nat and meet the other boys at the back of the room.

“Sam already claimed me.” She tells you cheekily as she loops her arm through Sam’s bent elbow.

Of course he did. You sigh and begrudgingly loop your own arm through Bucky’s as he smirks. While the group of you wait for the music to start to indicate your time to begin walking, you take in the man standing next to you.

He smells crisp and clean, his cologne smelling fresh and flooding your senses with lavender, rosemary, and cedarwood. His bicep is ginormous in your hand and you can feel the warmth radiating off of him through his suit jacket that he wears. He cleans up really nicely. Not that you’ll tell him, but you’ll definitely be thinking about it for the rest of the night.

Bucky’s mind goes through a similar thought process. Your skin is shiny and smooth, and he imagines you applied lotion while getting ready with the other girls. Maybe there hints of glitter in whatever cream you use, because to him, it looks like you’re glowing. You smell like the sweetest of roses and juiciest of fruits, and you look good enough for him to take a bite. He won’t give you the satisfaction of a compliment - God knows the argument that would lead to - but he imprints this vision of you in his mind to remember.

Finally, Steve enters the ballroom and makes his way towards the front of the room and any few people left standing take their seats. As people settle, Steve adjusts his jacket and glances over the room to take in all of his loved ones in one room. He glances over to where John sits alongside Leila and Kennedy, the two other lab interns that work under you, he’s come to learn about. He briefly wonders what John is thinking about, if he thinks his plan worked, if he thinks Steve is going to cause a huge scene in front of everyone, accusing Sharon of cheating in some big explosion. He wonders what John’s reaction will be when he witnesses him marry the most beautiful woman in the world, kissing her to solidify their love.

He can’t wait.

Soon enough the music starts and Nat and Sam begin down the aisle, you and Bucky following after. For someone that has hated the idea of love for so long, walking down the aisle like this feels really great. You’re not sure if it's the anticipation for the bride, or the decorations, or the huge hunk of handsome soldier guiding you down to the front of the room, but it makes you feel tingly all over. Almost makes you want a wedding of your own. Almost.

As Bucky makes his way down the aisle with you on his arm, he meets Steve’s eye, who gives him a smirk that looks a lot like I told you so. He ignores it, though. He knows he’ll get picked on later, but for now, he enjoys having you so close to him. You’re close to him outside of the lab, outside of a mission, outside of an argument. You’re close to him, holding onto his arm like you’re his girl in a sweet silence. He can almost get used to this. Almost.

Once everyone’s in their place, the rest of the guests rise as the music changes and Sharon enters the ballroom. Her dress is beautiful; a lacy brassiere top to connect the flowing train, all of the silk following her walk, making her elegant and glowing. Her hair is lightly curled and there are a few white flowers pinned around the back of her head, matching the rest of the room.

The officiant reads everything they have to and Steve and Sharon share their vows, causing everyone in the room to shed a tear or two. Nat and Sam find it particularly amusing to see you and Bucky wipe a few tears as well, seeming to get foggy eyed in spite of their hatred for love. They’re too busy silently teasing their friends to notice the fume coming from John’s ears, realizing his plan didn’t work the way he wanted it to.

There’s still time, he thinks. Maybe Steve didn’t want to make a big, public fuss. Yeah, once everything is over, he’ll take her upstairs and they’ll talk and soon enough they’ll announce that they’re marriage is over! Shorter than the Kardashians.

Finally, Steve and Sharon kiss to seal their marriage, sharing their official first kiss as husband and wife. Cheers and clapping erupt in the room as the couple makes their way back down the aisle, Nat, Sam, you, and Bucky following after. The lights dim a bit and the bar opens as the music changes to encourage people to mingle and dance until the couple emerges once more.

“What’s the matter, don’t like weddings?” You tease John, coming up behind him, your voice making him jump from leaning against the bar the way he was.

“Uh - No, not really.” He says, turning to face you, feeling awkward as he talks to his boss after trying to sabotage her best friend’s wedding.

“They grow on you.” Bucky’s deep voice makes him jump once more as it comes behind him, forcing him to turn away from you and face him, staring at his towering stance.

“Uhm -” John stumbles as he realizes he’s cornered against the bar by you and Bucky.

“Did you really think you’d get away with it? I mean, you’re surrounded by spies and an artificial intelligence system that records everything in the tower.” Bucky tells him.

John’s eyes widen as they glance between you and Bucky, realizing where he went wrong in his plan. I should’ve figured out a way to hack F.R.I.D.A.Y.! Or at least get rid of any footage of what I did!

“Not to mention the fact that Steve and Sharon are too disgustingly in love with each other to even fall for the kind of charade you put on. In my lab, nonetheless,” You add, “Some kind of unfunny joke by an ex-lab intern.”

“Ex?” John confirms.

“Oh, yea. Leila and Kennedy, too. I don’t want to waste my time training and giving experience and advice to the kind of people that lie, play around, and cause mischief in a lab and in a tower where some of the most important and delicate information in the world is handled. If I wanted that, I’d have Barnes, here, as an intern.” You tell him.

“Hey, I thought we were on the same team here -” Bucky tries to interject, but you smack his arm to get him back into the focus of their conversation with John.

“Anyway,” Bucky continues, “Why don’t you do us the favor of getting out of here? We’ll tell Steve and Sharon that you’re sorry you weren’t feelin’ well and had to head out early. Unless, you’d like for me to get them and bring ‘em over here?” He slings an arm over John’s shoulder, leading him over to one of the exit doors, as John nods his head in agreement, accepting his defeat.

Once John has left and the wedding is officially safe again, Bucky meets you back at where you wait at the bar.

“Nice job, McGeek.” He tells you, leaning on the bar next to you as you turn to face him better.

“Could say the same to you. He looked real scared there at the end.” You giggle.

“He should be, he almost got Steve’s ass kicked by me when Sharon first told us the whole situation.” Bucky tells you, leaning just a bit closer to you.

The bartender comes over to them asking what they’d like to drink. “Whiskey, neat, please. How bout you, Geeky?” Bucky says.

“Vodka cran.” You order.

“Really? That’s your drink of choice?” Bucky teases.

“What? What’s wrong with it?”

“Well, I thought you’d pick a drink that’s actually good, is all.”

“And here I was revelling in the fact that this was the longest conversation we’ve had where we’re not at each other’s throats.” You tell him.

“Well -” Bucky’s cut off by the dimming of the lights and change in music as Sharon and Steve enter the room again to share their first dance.

His words are forgotten as he watches his best friend dance with his bride, the two of them looking happier than Bucky’s ever seen. Bucky feels a smile bloom on his own face as he watches on; he’s so happy for Steve. He knows this is all he’s ever wanted. The girl, the marriage, the house together, the kids in the future. The happy ending. And he’s happy that despite things - or people - trying to get in the way of that, Steve still got the happy ending he deserves.

He peeks over to see you have a similar smile, admiring the love shared between your best friend and his. He gets lost staring at you as the DJ is heard inviting anyone else to join the newlyweds on the dancefloor.

He asks before his brain can filter his mouth, “Do you want to dance?”

Your head snaps over at him, a surprised expression on your face, and Bucky prepares for you to make fun of him.

“Sure.” You tell him.

He doesn’t risk saying anything that might change your mind, only grabbing your hand softly and leading you to the dancefloor where other couples have begun to fill in. The slow music continues as his hands find their place on the curve of your waist and yours rest on the tops of his shoulders. He feels warmth and tingles flow from the placement of your hands through his suit jacket, down his arms, and through his entire body. He looks at you and how close your face is to his, quite enjoying having you so close in his arms like this.

“Do you remember what we were talking about last night?” She finally breaks the silence.

He hums in indication that he does and for her to continue, “So, you really don’t hate me or anything?” You ask.

“No. I don’t. Actually,” He chuckles humorlessly, “I know you like me.” He confesses.

Tension floods your body. How does he know?! “No, I don't! Not anymore than reasonable, I mean.” You deny.

Bucky’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, his body still swaying with yours with the music, “Oh. Well, you have Steve and Sam fooled, then, because they, uh, had me convinced.” He tells you, trying to play off his incorrect assumption.

“Do you like me?” You ask, drawing yourself just a bit closer to him, his arms moving from your waist to the small of your back.

“Uh, no, no more than a friend, I mean.” Bucky lies.

“Oh. Well, you have Sharon and Nat fooled, as well.” You tell him.

The two of you chuckle softly with each other at the whole situation, an attempt to hide the disappointment in each of your chests at the thought of unrequited feelings. Bucky glances back up to meet your eyes once more, eyes flickering down to look at your lips, in time to see you take your bottom lip into your mouth with your teeth. He looks back up at your eyes to catch you staring at his own lips. When your eyes meet his again, it's as though the two of you have a silent understanding. An understanding that you were both lying, and an understanding that you both really want to kiss each other right now.

So he does. Bucky leans in seemingly at the same time you do and presses his lips against yours in a sweet yet fiery kiss. His hands push a little harder into your back to bring you closer and your hands move to touch his neck and cheek, ensuring that his face won’t leave yours anytime soon. Everyone in the room has since disappeared; there are no wedding guests, there are no decorations, there is no music, only you and Bucky.

His lips are soft, softer than you were expecting, and he tastes of peppermint and the sip of whiskey he had, all mixed with a taste that’s so him. His taste and his smell and the feel of his hands on your back and his chest against yours makes you want to melt to the ground in a puddle of mush. You can’t believe you waited so long to kiss him.

Your lips are plump and soft. Your lipstick is fruity but he can taste the sweetness of cranberry behind it and a sweetness that’s all you. You’re the rarest candy he’s ever tried and he’s not sure he’ll ever get enough of it. A part of his mind wants to ignore that they’re still in public, though it certainly doesn’t feel like it, and just kiss you silly for the rest of time.

The two of you finally pull away after what feels like forever and you both can’t help but lick at your own lips, savoring the taste of each other. Before either of you can say anything to follow what just happened, another voice interrupts, “About time.”

You both turn to see Tony and Pepper, her with an admiring smile and Tony with a shit-eating grin. The two of you feel warm as you realize the rest of your friends that occupy the dancefloor are also staring at the both of you. Nat smirks from her place in Bruce’s arms, Sam winks at Bucky over the shoulder of his date, and Sharon and Steve are almost on the verge of happy tears at the sight of their best friends finally getting to be happy with each other. Even Clint and his wife smile at the two of you.

“What are you guys looking at, huh? Never seen a guy and gal dance together?” Bucky barks, Brooklyn accent slipping out as he chooses to pretend none of them saw the kiss that you and him shared.

“Not you two.” Steve says.

“Oh, whatever! What are you guys, five years old?” Bucky asks only to be met with his friends giggling.

“Whatever. Make fun of us all you want. I don’t care.” You speak up, curling your hands around the back of Bucky’s neck.

He looks back at you to meet your kind eyes with a gentle smile. Their friends continue to tease on, but you and Bucky only have eyes for each other. He ignores them and chooses to kiss you again, already craving the taste of your lips on his and the feel of your body in his arms.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes series #marvel #yay they kithed #:D #what are yalls new years resolutions #i wanna learn how to knit/crochet #and make myself a blanket #and a bucket hat #also kinda wanna learn how to sew but like make clothes kinda sew #like i already know how to fix holes and put on buttons but mamas tryna make a pair of PANTS #but i feel like knitting/crocheting will be easier so imma conquer that first

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girlboss-molina · 4 years ago

Text

Be Who You Are (No Compromise)

A Julie and the Phantoms Modern Royalty AU

Chapter 1: Introductions

AO3 Link

Words: 5543

-----

Alex POV

...

Of course.

Of fucking course.

He’d known it was coming, yeah, but that didn’t change the fact that, despite his friendship with Princess Julie, Alex had no desire to marry her. And now, after begging not to be married off, he was still stuck in this deal.

It had nothing to do with Julie herself, of course; Julie was a kind, loving, musical girl around his age. The issue was that he was gay. Marrying a girl was not something he was interested in.

Julie knew Alex was gay; he’d come out to her after he was sure she would accept him, which he knew she would after she mentioned her best friend being a lesbian, and her being bisexual herself. Needless to say, neither of them had been thrilled by the announcement a couple years back that they would be getting married, for more reasons than the fact that nobody wants to be in an arranged marriage.

And now, in three months time, he would be at the alter with a girl he wasn’t in love with.

Alex knew it wouldn’t be that bad; in fact, he and Julie were quite close friends. Their kingdoms, Tambor and Dahlia respectively, were close allies. But for some godforsaken reason, their leaders had felt the need to strengthen their allyship by setting up their heirs in an arranged marriage. Had Alex been the oldest, this wouldn’t have been the case. However, it wouldn’t be him, but his older sister, Ava, taking the throne of Tambor.

He, along with his guards, would be travelling to Dahlia this evening. He hated that it was so soon. Not that he wasn’t excited to see Julie, he was, but it was the reason that put a knot in his stomach.

Alex allowed himself one more panic attack before getting ready. As a treat.

The warm sun streaming into his room felt out of place with the dread settling in his stomach, and his breath choked, his heart racing, salty tears streaming down his face. He clenched his hands into fists and back out, trying to calm himself despite the emotional release. His nails dug into his palm, not hard enough to cut, but enough to leave little indents that he then ran his fingertips across.

Trying to pull himself together, he stood - albeit shakily - and walked across the soft, carpeted floor to his full-length mirror, pleasantly surprised as he noted that he wasn’t as big of a mess as he’d expected, given his previous panic.

A knock on his door alerted him that his head butler was there to help him get ready for the jet ride.

“Your highness, are you alright?”

Alex didn’t answer, grateful for Luke’s steady voice outside his door.

“He’s a little panicky at the moment. Maybe give him a few minutes to settle?” he suggested, and Alex hoped Luke was receiving the strong thank you vibes he was trying to transmit telepathically.

Any time Alex had a panic attack, he was semi-verbal. He could speak if he really, really tried, but it generally took a great deal of effort. He and Luke had a system, though; if Alex needed support during a panic attack, he would fake-sneeze three times, and Luke would come in from his station outside Alex’s door.

Alex allowed himself another minute to calm his breathing and wipe the tears from his face, practicing the grounding exercise Julie had taught him.

Inhale- 1, 2, 3, 4

Hold- 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

Exhale- 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8

It helped a lot, and soon he was able to straighten his hair and begin changing into the suit his tailors had made just for this occasion.

Another knock echoed from his door, and Alex took one final deep breath to compose himself.

“Come in,” he said, proud of how steady his voice was.

The butler entered; a kind man named Erik, who Alex had gotten to know over the past month or so. His olive skin shone in the afternoon light streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Alex dressed himself, for the most part; having butlers help him dress was never something he particularly enjoyed. He allowed Erik to smooth his white dress shirt, though; no matter how many times Alex had practiced tucking in his shirts, they always ended up wrinkled.

He slid the navy suit vest over the shirt once it was nice and smooth, fastening the thick buttons over his stomach. Minimalistic gold embroidery on the vest sparkled in the light, and Alex couldn’t help but smile at the bit of flair. He’d been half-hoping that his matching navy pants would have a bit of sparkle as well, but to no avail. Probably for the best, he decided. Just a little touch was enough.

He fixed the cuff of his sleeve, taking a breath as Erik reached up with a comb to fix his hair. It was simple but refined, how it always was.

“Erik, you’ve outdone yourself with this one, bro!” Alex said excitedly. He might not be very pleased about being in an arranged marriage, but he could appreciate a good suit. “I love the details.”

“I’m glad you like it!” Erik beamed with the praise. “May I?” he asked, reaching for Alex’s shoulders. Alex nodded, and Erik smoothed the vest’s warm fabric, readjusting the hem until it was aligned perfectly.

He might not have been the type of guy to always wear suits, unless necessary, but Alex had to admit it. He looked good. The slim fit outlined his muscles, and the deep blue of the vest and pants brought out the bluish tints in his blue-green-grey eyes. (nobody could seem to decide what color they actually were). The small touches of golden embroidery shone and somehow managed to accentuate the sun-born highlights in his hair.

“You look wonderful, your highness.”

“Thanks, Erik. And you can call me Alex, we’re chill.” Alex had been insisting to Erik that he could be casual around him for months, but Erik still generally referred to him as “your highness.”

“Alex,” he corrected with a broad smile. “Well, Alex, you have a photoshoot for the press in ten minutes, so if there’s anything else I can do to get you ready, don’t hesitate to ask. Though I must say, you look awesome.” Alex let out a small laugh.

“Thanks, dude. Oh, wait, before you go, could you tell me something?”

“Of course,” Erik replied. Alex put on his Serious Face.

“Do these pants make my butt look big?” Erik bust out laughing, and Alex couldn’t help but do the same.

...

Three hours later, Alex was finally done with an exhaustive photoshoot. He hated having his picture taken; add that to the list of anxieties. He had to make sure he looked perfect, or everything could go wrong; that was what his parents had drilled into him from the moment he had his first real photoshoot.

Of course, he still had to endure an interview with the Tambor Times Magazine, which he was dreading. Speaking to an overeager journalist with no respect for privacy was never something he looked forward to.

“What are your thoughts on the marriage that has been arranged between you and Her Royal Highness, Princess Julie of Dahlia?” Alex cleared his throat.

“It’s definitely a unique situation,” he started. “I mean, not every nineteen-year-old is part of an arranged marriage.” He did his best to keep his voice light, and it must’ve worked, because the journalist gave a laugh and moved on.

“If I may, what is your current relationship with her?”

“The princess and I share a close bond,” was the only answer he gave. “If you’ll excuse me, I must be going,” he added. “I have a flight to catch.” He grinned - He didn’t have to catch any flight. He would be on the royal family private jet. But the journalist smiled and shook his hand, instructing him to have a wonderful evening, and he did the same.

The bit about catching a flight wasn’t entirely false, though; soon, he had wished his parents a good evening and boarded the jet with his suitcases, hoping to leave his anxiety in Tambor.

-----

Julie POV

...

So.

Here’s the thing.

Julie liked Alex, she really did. He was one of her closest friends (princesses don’t get out much). But he was gay, And Julie was decidedly Not A Guy. Plus, they both knew their connection was strongest platonically, anyway.

Of course, none of that matters in diplomacy.

Julie had tried many, many times to get out of the arranged marriage. But she’d just turned eighteen, and Alex nineteen, and apparently their kingdoms had no such qualms about marrying off teenagers.

At least her dad, King Ray, had tried to get her out of it. But even as king, there was only so much he could do; everybody except for him thought it was a grand idea, because Of Course They Did. And once the public had heard the news, when she was sixteen, Julie couldn’t look out her window without seeing photographers outside the palace gates for a week.

She supposed there was nothing she could do about it now, though, no matter how much she wanted to, for her sake and Alex’s.

At least he was someone she got along with well. She knew they would never be in love, for multiple reasons, but she wouldn’t be unhappy. Alex might, though. They’d stayed up late on many a night, him rambling about cute guys he’d seen amongst the palace staff or on his occasional trip to the city, her chatting about songs she’d been writing and the one guy she’d had a crush on, Nick.

Nick was the son of a nobleman her dad was very close with, and they were good friends, but she’d never acted on her little crush. Her feelings for Nick hadn’t really gone anywhere, it was just a lingering crush she’d had for a few years, but one that had faded with time.

Julie sighed, smoothing out her dress. It was simple but elegant, with a little bit of Julie flair. The silky violet fabric was cut in a slim fit to her waist, before gently flaring outwards towards her ankles. Off-the-shoulder straps revealed the dark skin of her shoulders, and the pearly embroidery of dahlia flowers around her waist shone in the light, tapering off as she twirled, though as she practiced her camera smile, it didn’t reach her eyes.

Alex was her friend, but neither of them wanted to get married. But she’d tried her hardest to get them out of it, to no avail.

So, as she sat down at her vanity, Julie closed her eyes and reminded herself the words her mother used to tell her every time she was scared.

It’ll all be okay, Jules. You’re strong, and you’re a diamond in the rough.

The words settled her stomach a little bit.

Her lady-in-waiting, Mira, knocked on her door.

“Come in,” Julie said. Mira bustled in, her flaming red hair pulled into a messy bun, her brown eyes sparkling.

“Oh, Jules, you look lovely.” Julie smiled.

“Thanks, Mira. How’s my hair?” Julie reached up to smooth her curls, which had been combed back and woven into a thick, braided knot at the base of her neck.

“Almost perfect, but it needs a little something,” Mira decided with a smirk. Julie had no idea what Mira had in mind, but she knew she would love it.

Before either of them could say another word, Flynn walked into Julie’s room, followed by her girlfriend, Carrie.

“Hey, underachiever,” Flynn greeted with a smile.

“Hey, disappointment!”

“Dude,” Flynn said, a serious look on her face. “That dress is the shit!” Carrie nodded enthusiastically.

“A definite look.”

“Thanks guys,” Julie said with a grin. “I love it, too! Mira’s got some sort of magic in her hands, because this is one of my favorites for sure.” Mira blushed.

“Well, I’m not quite done,” she admitted. “Jules, your color scheme is pink, purple, and blue, usually, right?”

“Yeah, usually! I can always get behind some other colors, though.”

“Of course. But I think for this dress, the pink-purple-blue scheme would fit the best.”

“Definitely,” Carrie jumped in. “The purple mediates the pink and blue, so those are like side accents.”

“I like this one,” Mira decided, pointing at Carrie. Carrie flipped her hair and smiled. “But yes. So, I was thinking for your hair, we could weave in some thin ribbons in those colors? It would be super simple, wouldn’t even have to take it out and restyle it.”

“Work your magic,” Julie instructed. Mira grinned excitedly and set to work, sitting Julie down at the vanity.

“Okay, Jules,” Flynn sighed. “I know you don’t want me to ask this, but are you doing okay?” Carrie took Flynn’s arm and nodded. “I know this isn’t what you wanted. Either of you.”

“I’ll be fine,” Julie decided. She didn’t want to marry Alex, and she knew he felt the same way. “At least it’s not somebody I hate, though. Alex and I get along really well.”

“I know,” Carrie added. “But that doesn’t mean you have to be okay.” A single tear rolled down Julie’s cheek, and she was grateful she hadn’t done her makeup yet.

“Thanks. To be honest, I’m not really okay, but I’ll live. And besides, it’s not for another three months. And having another friend around for a few months will be nice. Before, you know, I have to marry him.” Flynn let out a sad laugh.

“If I may add my input,” Mira began, “I’ve always hated the prospect of arranged marriages. At the very least, both people should have to agree with it.” Julie nodded, quickly stopping when she felt the ribbons Mira was weaving into her hair tug. “Sorry,” she added. “I’ll be done in just a moment.”

“I agree,” Carrie said. “It’s stupid. Dahlia and Tambor are already allies, so why are they even doing this?”

“I’m not sure, to be honest. My dad says it’s to ‘strengthen agreeability between our separate civilians.’ But at least tried to get me out of it,” she added. “King Xavier and Queen Claire both thought it was a great idea.” Julie had always held some bitterness towards Alex’s parents, given their closed-mindedness and apathy towards minorities and less fortunate people. Alex had always felt the same, and avoided coming out to them for those reasons.

“Well, I personally think it’s homophobic that my best friend is being forced to be part of an arranged marriage,” Flynn decided, “because I’m gay and it annoys me. Plus, you know, she doesn’t want to be part of it.” Julie couldn’t help but laugh at that, as did Mira.

“All done with the ribbons,” she said, handing Julie a mirror to see the back of her head.

“Oh, Mira, I love it!” The ribbons were braided through her thick hair, swooping around the knot, twisting through her own curls and holding the hairstyle together perfectly. Both pretty and practical.

“I’m glad!” Mira looked very proud of herself, for a good reason. Julie’s lady-in-waiting was definitely a woman to be admired (and feared - she’d taken down a full-grown man in a self defense class, while wearing heels). Julie could walk in heels, even run in them, but she’d tried fighting in them, and failed miserably. She might’ve been competent fighting in regular shoes, but heels were a different story. Mira, though, could do it all.

Mira’s phone dinged.

“Oh, Jules, it’s time for the pre-meetup photoshoot!”

“Got it. Thanks, Mira, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Forget about your photoshoots, probably.”

…

The photoshoot involved lots of candid shots of her in the garden, doing her best to look serene, and not show the anxiety bubbling in her stomach. But somehow, she actually managed to get through it without losing it.

“Wonderful, miss. Turn towards me, look to your left- yes, perfect.” The photographer’s voice faded as she obeyed his instructions, a human robot running correctly but with wandering thoughts.

“You look so natural, miss!” he complimented. Julie offered a smile, returning to her thoughts. There had to be a way to get her and Alex out of this. But she couldn’t think of any that wasn’t treasonous, illegal, or flat-out stupid. Of course, as a teenage girl, she felt she deserved to be a little stupid sometimes, but apparently that was “unbecoming of a princess” and “a bad influence.” Personally, she just thought that was biphobic.

-----

Luke POV

...

Luke hadn’t ever traveled much, let alone to a neighboring kingdom, so needless to say, he was pumped to get to visit Dahlia for three months at least. His hope was that, even though no one involved wanted the marriage to happen, they could find a bright side in him getting to stay with his best friend.

Of course, that didn’t change the fact that he felt bad for his charge and best friend, Alex. He knew Alex was gay; in fact, they’d “dated” for a few weeks when they were fourteen. But even after deciding they were better as friends, they were close, maybe even closer afterwards. Luke told Alex everything; he didn’t know if he had a secret that Alex didn’t know.

Everyone in the palace was used to seeing him and Alex wandering the grounds, goofing off, messing around in the music studio, what have you. Technically, Luke was a junior guardsman, and given his bond with the prince, had been assigned (along with an actual guard) to be his security detail. That had evolved into an even stronger friendship, though. Years passed, and soon they were inseparable.

Luke had done his best to cheer up Alex; seeing his best friend that upset was heartbreaking. But there was nothing he could actually do to help, so he settled for laying next to Alex on the floor and staring at the high ceilings.

An hour passed, and soon the afternoon sun was streaming into Alex’s room. Luke saw Alex drag a hand down his face.

“I guess you should start getting ready, then?” he asked.

“Probably.” Luke patted his shoulder. “Do you think it would be too drastic to fake my death?” Luke laughed, knowing Alex was joking, though it wouldn’t have actually surprised him. Alex and Julie were friends, but neither of them wanted to get married. Especially not the gay guy, very publicly, to a girl.

Luke stood up, giving Alex a mock salute, and walked out the door, closing it behind him.

He stood there for a few minutes, straightening his back as a senior guardsman passed him. He ducked his head in a nod, relaxing a moment later. As much as he might’ve come off as a chill guy, he was worried for Alex; even more so when he heard Alex’s breathing quicken from the other side of the wall, his footsteps pacing back and forth.

The panic attack shouldn’t have surprised him. Alex had clinical anxiety, and this was probably one of the most stress-inducing times of his life. Being forced into an arranged marriage - even if you’re friends with the other person - is no fun for anybody. And today he would be going to the Dahlia palace to stay for three months before the ceremony.

Luke fiddled with the hem of his jacket; it was charcoal black, and thick and protective, with eight buttons on the wide front, crossing his chest. He’d gotten used to it, but despite that, he still started sweating in the warm weather of Tambor. The red sash crossing over the jacket had golden embroidery on the edges, and he quite enjoyed running his fingers over the textured thread.

Luke could still hear Alex panicking, but there were no sets of three fake sneezes in between the rapid breaths, so he stayed. Alex was able to recognize when he needed support, and when he needed to be left alone.

Luke spotted Erik nearing him. He couldn’t stop him, but Erik was aware of Alex’s anxiety, so Luke wasn’t concerned. He smiled at Erik, giving him a look, warning him that Alex was having a panic attack. Erik nodded, knocking gently on the door.

“Your highness, are you alright?” When Alex didn’t respond, Luke jumped in.

“He’s a little panicky at the moment. Maybe give him a few minutes to settle?” Erik nodded, and Luke gave a relieved smile.

“You look nervous as well,” Erik noted.

“Well, I am, a little bit,” Luke admitted. “I’ve never been to Dahlia, but I’m going with Alex since I’m his head guard and Royal Best Dude™.” Erik grinned. “I’m excited, though! I bet it’ll be a lot of fun.”

“I’m so jealous,” Erik told him. “I’ve never been outside of Tambor.”

“I’m worried for Alex, though. He’s really nervous.”

“Yeah,” Erik agreed, a flicker of understanding rushing across his face that made Luke smile despite himself. If he was being honest, Luke had a tiny crush on Erik, but nothing substantial. “I mean, it’s gotta suck being closeted to everyone but a few people, and having to marry a girl.” Luke nodded.

“I wish there was something we could do about it.”

…

Luke stood guard off-camera while Alex had his pre-meetup photoshoot and interview. It was what he always did, though this time it felt different, like he was a silent supporter during a tough time, now more than ever.

If nothing else, he could reassure Alex that he looked fabulous in his suit - it wasn’t a lie, either. The navy blue fabric complimented his eyes perfectly, and the golden details were a stunning addition. Tie that with his sharp jaw and awkward, endearing personality? Anybody would simp for him. He had a feeling that many people did, too; Some of Alex’s best photos from these shoots would be printed in the Tambor Times Magazine, and he would also post some - as well as his own selfies - on his instagram. Luke had seen the comments, and always smirked at Alex given the amount of heart-eyed emojis and key smashes there were.

Luke stood behind the cameraman for the candid shots where they needed Alex to be smiling or laughing. No matter how much he practiced, Alex could never get a good candid smile, so Luke took it upon himself to stand behind the photographer making faces, or occasionally imitating their every move with mock seriousness.

When Alex’s musical laugh rang through the air, Luke patted himself on the back.

Worked every time.

He worked his magic for a few more shots afterwards, doing his best to make Alex laugh. It wasn’t just for the photos, though, it was to help him settle down. Luke knew this was a horrible situation, but there was nothing he could do to stop it, so he’d have to try to make it more bearable.

After Alex’s interview, Luke could tell that the reality of the situation was hitting him even more, as a flicker of fear shadowed his face, his hands clenched into fists. Luke walked towards him slowly, making sure Alex was okay with it, and when he didn’t retract, he put his hand on his shoulder and gave a reassuring squeeze.

“It’ll be okay,” he promised. And as Alex seemed to relax, nodding and pulling Luke into a hug, that was when he knew.

Alex was his best friend, and didn’t deserve any of this pain or fear. He deserved for things to be okay.

Luke would keep that promise, no matter what.

-----

Reggie POV

...

Reggie knew he was Princess Julie’s honorary older brother; it had been that way for years, after he ran away from his own pathetic excuse for a home. He was lucky King Ray was a kind man; he could’ve just as easily left him there where he’d found him, a nine-year-old in the street of the raining Dahlia capital city. But he’d taken Reggie in, and soon, Reggie was part of the royal family, even if not by blood.

Now, given that he was Julie’s honorary older brother, he hated that she was being put into an arranged marriage. She was eighteen, for God’s sake! Reggie was nineteen, and knew for a fact he wouldn’t have been able to handle it nearly as gracefully as she did. Then again, while she was young, playful, and vibrant, Julie was also the epitome of grace and poise; she’d grown up in a palace, after all.

Needless to say, though, Reggie was sure he wouldn’t be able to not be protective of Julie when Prince Alexander came. He’d met him before, but only briefly; in passing after dinner during visits, mostly. It did help Reggie’s nerves to remember that Alexander was a very sweet, reserved person from his own interactions with the man. But that was his little sister, and while she wasn’t completely devastated, Reggie knew she didn’t want it to happen.

He dragged a hand down his face, flopping down on his bed. He wanted so badly to help Julie out of this, but he couldn’t.

Hey, at least he could cheer her up with his jokes! She always said they were awful, but Reggie knew better. Only the finest of jokes could make Her Royal Highness, Princess Julie Molina of Dahlia, laugh until her sides hurt, even coming from her honorary older brother, Sir Reginald Molina.

He smiled to himself. He might not be able to stop this whole predicament, but he could help her through it.

Reggie hopped up, fixing his suit. The silky red fabric of the vest hadn’t creased at all, nor had his grey suit pants, and yet he still felt the need. He did, however, roll the sleeves of his black dress shirt to expose his forearms, because come on. Even with Dahlia’s cool climate, he still got hot, especially when the sun was streaming through his windows, and he had a few photos outside before Prince Alexander’s arrival. Plus, it didn’t hurt that, according to his Instagram followers, the rolled sleeves made him look “personable” and “hotter than the sun.”

Reggie ran a finger over the shimmering black embroidery of the vest, then winking at the mirror and pulling his best finger guns. It was his god-given right as a fancy bisexual.

He ran his hand through his expertly-styled hair, letting some of his waves free from their stiff hold. It wasn’t the perfect style it had been when his butler styled it a couple hours ago, but it was more of his own style, which he liked a bit better. Spinning on his heel and slipping a hand in his pocket, Reggie walked out his door and down the light-filled corridor, down to the front steps, waving to Mira along the way. As he stepped outside, he heard people outside of the palace gates start shouting. He gave a wink and playful salute, even daring to blow a kiss in the general direction of a cute girl. He noticed Julie rolling her eyes, the photographer seizing the moment to take some shots of him on the palace steps.

He jogged over to Julie, wrapping his arm around her.

“How are you doing, your highness?”

“I’m doing okay,” she said, though both of them knew it was a lie. “How about you, Reg?”

“I’m okay as well. Just popping in to see my fangirls-” he winked at the crowd behind the gate, and a chorus of teenage girls (and a few boys) all sighed dreamily- “and check on you. We both know you’re lying.” Julie groaned.

“This whole thing just sucks.”

“Tell me about it,” he agreed. “But I’ll be here for you every step of the way. You know that, right dude?”

“You’re such a sappy loser,” she told him, and he put her in a playful headlock, posing for the camera.

“I know.” Reggie might’ve been a “sappy loser” of a brother, but he knew that, in Julie’s book, he was a sappy loser (affectionate), and that she understood that he was there for her.

Hopefully that would be enough.

-----

Willie POV

...

Willie had never actually gotten to know Princess Julie, but he’d met her a couple times. He was a chef in the palace kitchens, and on occasion, Julie would come down to try to get to know people. He’d never truly had a long conversation with her, but in the interactions they’d had, she was kind, and had a musical air to her.

He’d seen pictures of the prince she was set to marry, Prince Alexander of Tambor. If Willie was being honest, he was kind of cute.

Okay, really cute.

He’d never actually met the guy, but he seemed nice. His photos on Instagram had good vibes, at least. Willie couldn’t help but hope he’d get to meet him when he came to visit. If it was just because his brain was screaming cute boy, that was nobody’s business but his.

Willie sprinkled more flour on the dough he was kneading, folding it in some more. It was cathartic, this repetitive motion. It helped calm his ADHD sometimes. He kept going.

Sprinkle. Fold. Roll.

Kneading the dough until it wasn’t sticky, he listened to the head chef, Lilian, shout orders at the rest of them. She was a very intimidating woman, tall and muscular, with raven black hair in a sleek ponytail, and fair skin flecked with flour. But she was quite kind, Willie had come to learn over the years. She was just one of those people who scared you if you didn’t know them.

He put the dough in a pan, setting it in the oven and flicking on the light so he could monitor its progress, as could anyone else walking by. Wiping the flour from his hands to his apron, he then put his dishes and utensils in the giant dishwasher, finally washing his hands and grabbing a new bowl.

Tonight was the welcome feast for Prince Alexander. Willie and a few others were in charge of baking loaves of bread for the appetizers, as well as making the desserts; today, mini chocolate mousse cakes.

Dessert was always Willie’s favorite course to prepare, and not just because he could steal bits of frosting from the spatulas after he was finished. It was also because of how making desserts seemed to put everyone in the kitchens in a good mood. Maybe it was the smell of rising sugar, or the bright colors of the tubs of sprinkles, but he adored it.

He cracked the eggs into the mixture of butter and sugar, adding the milk and flour soon after. As he poured in the cocoa powder, a little bit poofed up, creating a chocolatey cloud. The noise of the mixture did nothing to silence his racing thoughts, though.

Would he get to meet Prince Alexander?

Would he like him?

And most importantly, why did he want to so badly?

Willie shook his head, doling the batter into mini cake pans and tapping them on the counter to get rid of any air bubbles, sticking them in an oven after it beeped to temperature.

Another oven beeped.

“Hey, Alyssa?” he called to a plump woman a few meters away. “Could you check on the bread in that oven to your right?” She nodded and leaned down, giving him a thumbs up.

“Probably needs another minute or so, but it looks great.”

“Sick, thanks!” Alyssa nodded and smiled, her dyed-purple hair shimmering in its bun.

Willie grabbed the ingredients he would need for the mousse, arranged them on the counter, then jogged over to the other oven and pulled out the bread - without putting on oven mitts.

He hissed in pain but didn’t let go, quickly putting it on the stovetop and running to a sink to run his fingers under cold water.

Willie already had tons of scars and calluses on his hands, both from cooking and skateboarding on his off-days, so the burn didn’t hurt nearly as bad as it would’ve a few years ago. And by some miracle, it didn’t blister - though it did swell and turn red. Willie cursed under his breath, heading to the first-aid kit and smearing some ointment on it and covering it with a bandage.

“Let me guess,” said Lilian from behind him. “You forgot oven mitts again?”

“Guilty,” he said with a grin. Lilian sighed, but didn’t manage to hide her smile.

“Willie, you need to be more careful. I know your brain always has, like twenty thoughts going at all times, but you could hurt yourself.”

“Twenty-three,” he corrected. “And I know, but you only live once, and I didn’t want the bread to burn.”

“Five seconds to grab a mitt wouldn’t burn the bread.”

“Hey, there’s a first time for everything.” Lilian rolled her eyes and gently swatted him on the shoulder. It wasn’t a mean move, of course, it was her saying she was exasperated but that she cared about you. Willie laughed and went back to his mixing bowl, getting ready to prepare the mousse.

This would be perfect.

#blue writes #be who you are (no compromise)#jatp #julie and the phantoms #juke #willex #flarrie #julie molina #alex mercer #willie nolastname #luke patterson #reggie peters #carrie wilson #flynn nolastname #royalty au #bwya tag

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canary3d-obsessed · 4 years ago

Text

Lost Tomb Lewks: Reboot Part 11

(LTL Masterpost) (All Canary Masterposts)(Part 10)

I’m making my post titles more specific because I’m loving the clothes in The Mystic Nine and in Ultimate Note, so I expect I’ll continue this series with other shows when I get to the end of Reboot Season 2.

Look 56 is - surprise! - a cozy sweater. This one is a deep, huggable brown in a sort of waffle stitch (OP is not a knitter; knitters pls feel free to elaborate in comments). He wears this with loose blue jeans and...shoes. This show doesn’t feature his feet often enough for proper shoe commentary.

This is a perfect look for pacing and talking, half to yourself and half to your buddy, as he gets absolutely, completely baked.

Wu Xie is doing his pacing while he gazes at an enormous pin board filled with pictures linked together with red string. The red string board is becoming one of my favorite CDrama tropes. I’ve seen it in Detective L, Mystic Nine, that new show with Wue Xie number 2 Psych Hunter, and probably a couple more shows. It’s a thing in older American detective dramas, too, but not in modern ones and not nearly as often.

It does look cooler than a whiteboard with magnets, but it seems like a lot of work. For this pin board, Wu Xie Wang Meng had to cut a bunch of red string and print out a bazillion cell phone pictures, which someone managed to take during all of the running around & death defying action. All so Wu Xie could theorize that everything connects to...some random point in the middle of the board? I don’t know who these guys are in the middle picture, but I don’t think they’re responsible for all of the rocks in the other pictures.

If you change your mind about a connection, and move a pin, do you have to re-loop all the string to keep everything taut? What if you need to move an end pin when you’ve already cut the string? Perhaps OP is overthinking this.

This look is a comfortable one for lying on the couch when you’ve exhausted yourself with string management.

(more behind the cut!)

I love the aesthetic of this apartment. It appears to be full of furniture taken from Wu Xie’s study in Wushanju, but because it isn’t mixed in with the fancy older antiques, the vibe is totally different. The furniture is midcentury modern, with a lot of warm tones and leather, which matches Wu Xie’s clothing choices. This quality of furniture subtly reminds us that these guys are antique dealers. Even when they’re down and out, they have discerning taste.

The textiles, cushions, the throw blanket on the table, are all colorful, tactile, and comfortable, matching Pangzi’s clothing and overall vibe. Overall the space is a nice mix of both of their looks, which is appropriate for an old married couple long-term roommates.

He completes this outfit with a olive-green hooded jacket with lots of flaps and pockets.

Side note: their buddy Jin Wan Tang (on the left) might be officially gay? Unlike the blatant subtle queer coding that appears in a lot of CDramas, this character (and that one guy in the Rain Village section) seems flamboyant in a stereotypical “gay best friend” way. But I’ve only ever seen one acknowledged gay character in Chinese cinema--the very stereotypical tailor in Kung Fu Hustle--so I don’t know if the semiotics are the same as in western media.

Anyway, I dig his mix of business suit and funky jewelry, and I share his appreciation of shirtless Xiao Ge (in Season 1, not today, sorry).

Look 57 is actually a rerun of Look 45, but it’s one of my favorites, featuring a beautiful soft suede jacket in a warm camel color. This time we get a much better look at the jacket, so I’m featuring it a second time. (Previously he wore this to hijack Li Jiale’s truck.) The jacket features detailed tailoring, with pleated pockets with flaps and buttons, and a nice strong collar and lapel that contrast with the softness of the material.

Under this lovely jacket he wears a cream colored sweater, jeans that fit really well for a change, and work boots.

This outfit is good for mournfully looking at a heap of smashed ceramics.

It’s also good for struggling through a gas attack designed specifically to destroy your unhealthy lungs...

...and make you hork up blood, because it’s not a Zhu Yilong show if there’s no mouth blood, and it’s been at least a couple of episodes since we’ve had any.

This look is perfect for going to visit your snippy ex-boyfriend while you’re unconscious, so he can bitchily save your life.

“Hey, Canary,” you might have thought up above, “with all these above-the waist shots, how can you tell his jeans fit well?”

This. This is how.

Oh and hey, we finally get a really good look at his shoes. His shoes, people.

Look 58 belongs to bitchy doctor/chef Huo Daofu.

He’s wearing a white double-breasted chef’s coat featuring contrasting piping and buttons. It is perfectly fitted, which will will learn is true of everything this man wears.

Over the jacket he’s got an immaculate work apron, and under it he’s wearing a thin grey turtleneck sweater with ribbed collar and cuffs. He wears turtlenecks a lot. Whoever is giving him hickeys, it’s not Wu Xie any more because he hates Wu Xie. Hates him!

Cue endless tender medical care and eventual deep abiding friendship. Also possibly shacking up, it’s hard to tell how many people really live in Wushanju at any given time.

The first part of Look 59 is a deep olive-green long-sleeve tee shirt worn over a grey undershirt.

It’s a shirt. It’s green.

He looks really fucking good in it, okay? His arms are beautiful even when they’re covered up. This shirt needs three gifs because...it just does.

Look 60 is Bai Haotian’s awesome green satin roller-disco jacket.

The styling is straight out of 1979, which is long before she was born, making this a fun retro throwback. Or possibly she borrowed it from her grandma. The collar and cuffs have sporty black-and-white ribbing.

The jacket has nice contemporary details to give it a fresh look. These include suns, moons, and mountains (I think) running down the arms in a contrast stripe, and the words “magical altitudes” in embroidered sections on the back and chest.

Wu Xie’s Look 59, Part 2 is also featured in these caps. He’s put a strangely short waisted grey jacket over his nice green shirt. Other than the short waist, it fits nicely.

Those jeans, on the other hand. Wu Xie’s ass deserves better treatment than this. Paging Xiao Ge

Periodic reminder: Xiao Bai is absurdly, absurdly pretty.

So is Wu Xie.

Bonus Look 1: Okay, Xue Wu is a bad bad man but damn, his clothes are always amazing. He favors emphatically Chinese looks, but always with contemporary tailoring details, so he doesn’t look old fashioned. For his daughter’s wedding he’s wearing a deep blue suit with blue embroidery and this cool gold collar pin.

Bonus Look 2 is Wu Xie in his favorite blue marl sweater. Or he has a few blue marl sweaters. Anyway, this time he’s lying down and resting his eyelashes while he wears it.

#reunion: the sound of the providence #the lost tomb reboot #the lost tomb reboot spoilers #zhu yilong #wu xie #bai haotian #lost tomb lewks #canary3d-original #my gifs #huo daofu

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angst-fairygodmother · 3 years ago

Note

37 and 66 from I love you things with Ollie and Jess?

A/N: Hi Nonny! Thank you so much for this prompt. I’m so sorry it took me a while to write, but I hope it was worth the wait. I went back and forth while writing this between making it a reader-insert and using Jess as an actual OC and finally settled on the latter, because it just felt right. (Which is probably how I will continue to write this pair going forward also.) Word Count: 3493 Rating: G - mostly fluff - heights (and fear of influencing how it’s written), a little swearing, referenced/implied panic attack

Jess closed the shop at 6pm on the dot, giving herself an hour to get ready for...whatever Ollie had planned. There weren’t a lot of places to go out to dinner in the area, and she desperately hoped he wouldn’t start out by inviting her home to meet the infamous Charlie Sway. She chewed nervously on her nail, staring at her closet. She knew she needed something that would work for anything, but her mind continued to run in circles trying to decide exactly what that meant.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d given this much thought to what she looked like on someone else’s account. It felt strange to say the least. But, she mused, not a bad kind of strange. Eventually, she settled on a cute cream-colored sweater and jeans, hoping that the evening temperature dropped enough to make them reasonable.

There was a soft knock on the door and she frantically cast one last look over herself in the mirror, smoothing down her shirt and hair, stomach twisting nervously.

She threw open the door perhaps a bit overenthusiastically, a warm expression on her face.

“Hi,” she greeted him, the single syllable all she could get out as she met those soft blue eyes.

Ollie grinned when he saw her, the excited, adoring expression making her heart flutter. It was hard for Jess not to scoff at the cliché, when she was behaving like the protagonists of the romances she sold by the dozen. But at least he was looking at her the same way, and seemed at least momentarily speechless.

“Uh, do you want to come in?” she offered meekly after a moment, gesturing over her shoulder. “Or I can come out, and we can...I mean...um...”

The two of them stood there, staring at each other dumbly for a moment, on either side of the doorway.

“So...where are we going?” she asked after a long pause ripe with awkward tension. She wanted to kick herself. Ollie had been so easy to talk to from the moment he walked into her store, but now, suddenly they were going on a proper date and everything felt different?

“I have a picnic bag in the back of my car, and I thought we could drive somewhere, and then maybe hike a bit?”

“A hike?” she asked nervously. “Like, up into the mountains?”

“Yeah. There’s a point up there that has great views of the entire town and the lake. Nik heard about it from one of the girls at the bar we were flirting with…I mean he was flirting with mostly. It wasn’t...I mean I didn’t...and this was before I met you…”

“Ollie,” she laughed lightly, tilting her head to one side to look at him. “I’m not the blushing, swooning virginal maiden, and I don’t expect you to be either.”

He coughed, face turning crimson and she couldn’t help smiling fondly. Finally, things were feeling a little more normal, this was still the same Ollie she had come to adore.

“You’re also only here for the summer, or however long it takes you to find your Dad’s record. So I hadn’t set my hopes on serious, or exclusive. I just think you’re cute, and fun to be around, so why not enjoy something and see what happens with it?”

“Oh.” His face twisted as he considered her words.

“However, I don’t think a hike is a good idea. It’s going to be dark soon.”

“There’s still almost two hours before sunset, and I brought flashlights so we can get back down the mountain.”

Of course, he had planned ahead. It would be stupid to plan a hiking date and not account for that, and he was far from stupid. And they were both dressed fine for the occasion. Her mind quested desperately for some other reason that they shouldn’t go and came up blank. So instead she held up a finger for him to wait, and went back to collect her camera. If she were going to do this, she might as well get some good photographs out of it, she rationed. Maybe even one she could sell prints of, if she was incredibly lucky. (She already felt insanely so, when such a wonderful boy wanted to go out with her, so why not see how far that streak ran?)

The first part of the hike went surprisingly smoothly, and it didn’t take long before Jess and Ollie were joking and laughing, scrabbling over rocks like young goats, playing eye-spy with the woods, any weirdness melting away in the evening sun. She barely noticed the way their path climbed, and felt completely relaxed.

Gradually, without her noticing, the trail narrowed and became steeper, until it rounded a tight bend up ahead, nothing but air off to her left and solid rock to the right. She swallowed nervously, trying to keep her eyes from the empty space. All of her joviality dropped away like the ground.

“Jess?” Ollie asked, noticing her discomfort as she edged very slowly along. “Are you alright?”

“Yes. Yeah. Fine. I just...don’t like heights.” She answered, breath and words coming in short bursts.

“Oh. Shit. Um, we can turn back if you want? I didn't realize you--”

“No. No, it's fine. We're here now. I'll make it through. You just might have to hold my hand for the way back down.”

She’d meant it as a joke, a light flirtation to distract her from the many, many feet she could fall with one misstep. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to be doing any good, as her mind found a way to focus on both the space and how cheesy the sentence was.

“Do...you want me to now?” he countered, holding one slim hand out.

She flashed him a small smile, taking it with her own and trying not to think too much about how nice, how right it felt. “You’ve been taking lessons with Nikolai haven’t you?”

“What?”

“That was smooth, Oliver,” she teased, enjoying the way he turned red all the way to the tips of his ears.

Eventually, the young couple made it to the overlook, with much gentle guidance from Ollie to keep Jess’s nerves from overwhelming her, and she gasped. The lake stretched out below them, still and silver in the evening light, shining like a mirror. Tiny specks of color, moving too fast or too far for the eye to really track marked the boaters and jetskis, and kites flown from the small public beach. Most of the buildings disappeared into the verdant green surroundings, and the ones she could still spot looked like houses and shops and mansions for Polly Pockets, not people. The sun was just starting to dip behind the mountains on the far side of the lake, hazy outlines of shadow against the sherbert sky.

“Oh, Ollie,” she breathed, stunned. “It’s beautiful.”

He mumbled something she didn’t catch and started unpacking the picnic he’d brought in his backpack. Not wanting to disturb him, and clearly left to her own devices for the moment, she took out her camera, adjusting the lens carefully, capturing as much of the view as she could. Then, on an impulse she turned around and snapped one of Ollie, silhouetted against the forest and the peeks of sunset between the trees, before he could notice. The sound of the shutter, or the finishing touches being put on dinner, made him look up.

“What are you doing, Jess?” he asked, confusion written across his features.

“Taking pictures of beautiful things,” she answered with a shrug, bringing the camera to her eye again.

“No,” he held up his hand to block it, laughing.

“I’m serious. This place, up here away from it all, suits you.”

“You’re full of shit, Jess.” He shook his head, his hair falling across his face.

She took another photo while his guard was down.

“Come sit down. Marlena put together a good meal.”

Relenting after another photo out into the distance, almost wishing she dared to get closer to the edge of the overlook, she carefully disassembled her camera, storing each piece with reverence back in its bag, before sitting across from him. He had set up quite the array on the blanket: simple but delicious looking toasted sandwiches, glasses and lemonade, berries and chunks of watermelon, and what looked like very freshly baked chocolate-chip cookies.

“Ollie, it looks amazing,” she said with a smile, popping a sweet, juicy blackberry into her mouth with a small, exaggerated moan. “And tastes even better.”

He blushed, shrugging and laughing sheepishly. “All I did was carry it up here.”

She rolled her eyes as he deflected yet another compliment. He seemed to always be doing that, much to her frustration, and she made a mental note to find a way to make him see how much she meant them, how true each one was.

Silence fell over the two of them as they started picking at the buffet between them, but it was an easy one, a pause rather than an interruption, and eventually conversation resumed. She asked him about his search for his father’s record and listened as he spoke of the things he had found, which weren’t what he was looking for but seemed to bring (mostly) happy memories of his childhood. He asked for stories of her family, and of what the town was like when summer-people left.

“Sway Lake is a different place,” she concluded eventually, casting her eyes about her on the clifftop, “just like it is from up here. Or frozen in a moment in your record.”

By now the remains of the food had been set aside, and the pair had scooted closer on the picnic blanket, sitting side by side and facing out, instead of across from one another. Hesitantly, Jess shifted her hand closer so that their pinkies brushed, daring him to take action and hold her hand again. He didn’t seem to notice as he turned to face her, eyebrows knitted in confusion.

“I…” he cleared his throat and started over. “You have a really unique view of the world.”

Something in the way he said it made it feel like the kindest compliment someone could give, and it was finally her turn to blush, ducking her head to hide as her cheeks heated furiously.

“I mean I guess,” she fiddled with the edge of the picnic blanket beside her, plucking at a loose thread so she didn’t have to meet his eyes just yet. “I’ve never really thought about it like that...”

“The view up here must be great for photos,” he said, making her laugh at his abrupt change of subject, obviously picking up on her embarrassment and knowing it well.

“Yeah, it is. I’m hoping they come out well. Thank you for showing it to me.”

“The way people were talking, it’s pretty well known...how come you haven’t been up here before?”

“Heights, remember?” she flashed him a half-smile as she tilted her head to one side. “I’ve never had someone invite me before who seemed worth the risk.”

“How do you know if something’s worth it without ever seeing it?”

“You know your record is without hearing it don’t you? Besides, I said someone, not something.”

He froze, blinking owlishly at her.

“Ollie?” she asked after a long pause, wondering what was going on with him suddenly.

“Can I kiss you?” he blurted, and now it was her turn to freeze, the question momentarily incomprehensible.

“Yes,” she breathed, barely getting the word out before his lips were pressed against hers.

The contact was abrupt, almost a headbutt but more romantic. There was a moment of awkward fumbling, of bumping noses and clashing teeth, until their mouths finally slotted together properly. Even after finding the right way to connect, there was a split second of hesitation, and then his hands came up to frame her jaw, pulling her closer, the tips of his fingers teasing at her hairline and the small hairs that had escaped the scrunchie holding most of it back. Keeping one of her own hands on the blanket to hold herself steady, Jess wrapped the other around the back of his neck like an anchor and leaned into the pressure of his soft lips on hers.

All too soon he pulled away, panting breathlessly, and staring at her with an awe that made her own breath catch in her throat. She was half tempted to pull him back into another kiss, if only to make him stop looking at her like that.

A distant roll of thunder shattered the moment, and her eyes flickered toward the clouds gathering on the blue-purple horizon.

“We should probably head back, before that gets here,” she said reluctantly, wishing she had more time.

Ollie nodded in agreement, and the two of them made quick work of packing back up the remains of the picnic. He handed her a heavy black flashlight (that, she noted gratefully, and then laughed internally at her own thought, would double as a decent weapon against a rogue mountain lion at least long enough to run) and set off down the mountain. She tried to follow him without looking down, but the uneven terrain in the growing darkness made that too difficult to maintain. Soon the very idea filled her with just as much fear as looking. The edge of the path seemed to drop sharply, drawing ever closer to her feet in the narrow beam of yellow light, until it felt like she was walking along the very line of the drop.

She stopped short with a yelp, head spinning from the sensation and whole body trembling. The sound made Ollie turn around sharply, placing himself as a barrier between her and the fall as she pressed her back firmly against the rock.

He took her by the shoulders, trying to get her to make eye contact instead of staring blankly at the sight, or lack of sight beyond him.

“Jess? Can you hear me?” he asked. “It’s alright, Jess. I’m right here, I won’t let you fall.”

Her blood roared in her ears and she saw his lips move but it was too loud for her to hear him.

When talking didn’t seem to work, he wrapped his arms around her, drawing her into a tight hug. Her fingers curled into his sweatshirt, clinging to him like a lifeline. Face pressed into the side of his neck she let out a sob, as the world spun around her much too fast.

The rest of the journey down to Ollie’s station wagon and much of the drive were a blur. Jess wasn’t completely unconvinced that he had somehow found a way to carry her down, although that was giving his physical strength more credit than he looked like it deserved. The storm picked up as they drove, clouds turning the sky to black, lit only by the occasional crash of lightning, and rain slamming against the roof and windows.

All too soon, the car stopped, parking in the narrow street in front of her building. They exited the car and promptly Ollie took her by the hand, lacing their fingers together. Not wanting to stand in the rain, she used the point of contact to drag him along, running as if she could dodge the water falling from the sky until they made it to her door. They stood there under the eaves, hair and clothing dripping, facing each other reluctantly, not wanting to say goodnight just yet.

“Tonight was…” he said, pausing.

“Amazing?” she finished, smiling and feeling the light heat of a blush on her cheeks.

“Yeah. That.” He smiled back, and looked for a moment (during which her heart beat like a bird trying to escape her chest) like he was going to kiss her again. “I should let you go inside…”

“Stay over,” she blurted out before she could consider the words.

“W-what?” he stared at her like she’d just grown an extra head or twelve. “Jess I can’t do that…”

“It’s late. And the weather’s bad. And I saw you yawning while we were driving back. I’d worry about you if you tried to go home now.”

“It’s just around the other side of the lake…”

“Yeah, but that’s like half an hour unless you drive recklessly. All it takes is drifting off for a second...please stay?”

“But...what will people think?”

“People,” she raised an eyebrow, “or your grandmother?”

“I don’t just mean her. I don’t want you to be treated like--”

“A slut?”

He shuffled and looked away.

“People aren’t that bad, you know. There are a handful of dicks, but most of town doesn’t give a shit.”

“I didn’t mean…” he frowned. “I’m a Sway. I know people don’t like my family. If you’re seen with me like that...I know what being an outcast feels like, and I don’t want you to have to feel that way.”

“Well I guess you'll just have to make sure no one sees, then.” She smirked, before she sighed. “Look, Ollie. We're grown adults. What we do at night, or any other time, or with whom is no one's business but our own.”

“I know but--”

“No. No buts. I wouldn't have invited you to sleep over if I didn't mean it, or I wasn't prepared for gossip and fallout. It’s up to you. I just would feel a lot better if you did.”

“You really want me to stay?”

She rolled her eyes and fixed him with a look rather than actually answering. The wet breeze sent a shiver over her as she turned to unlock the door, not waiting anymore for him to make a decision.

“And it’s not...too fast?”

She shrugged, taking him by the arm to pull him into the house and into a kiss. Her other hand threaded into his hair and his hovered over her hips as if he wasn’t quite sure he was allowed to touch her .

“Too fast is a myth,” she murmured, breath ghosting across his face. “Besides, I was inviting you into my house, not my bed.”

She’d lost count by now of the number of times she’d managed to make Ollie blush tonight, but each time you did was just as adorable as the first.

“Although, I was going to offer to take the couch,” she said over your shoulder as she led the way toward the furniture in question, “so I guess it was...also...into my bed…this is...I’m making it weird.”

“What? No!” he fumbled to reassure her. “I mean, no. You’re not, not no I won’t sleep in...I don’t want to, without you. Not that we have to sleep together. It’s just. It’s your bed.”

“God we’re a pair,” she said, laughing now as she dropped down and motioned for him to sit beside her. “Tripping over ourselves like romantic baby deer.”

“I just don’t want to mess this up,” he admitted sheepishly, sitting awkwardly perched on the edge of the cushion as if he was going to run at any moment.

“Is there...something to mess up?” she asked, reaching over to take his hand and lacing her fingers through his.

“I think so,” the words may have been a statement but his face was a question as he turned toward her a little more. “I don't want this to be some summer fling, Jess. I want it to be real.”

“Hey, summer flings can also be real. There was this one guy who…” she paused at Ollie's expression and shook her head, “never mind. The point is they're not mutually exclusive. But I appreciate the sentiment. And I’d really like that too.”

“What does that mean though?” he asked.

She paused. “That’s what we have to decide. But...not tonight. It’s late. We should go to bed and talk about it when we’re rested.” She fought back a yawn that emphasized her point as she stood.

He nodded, watching her turn and cross the room, eyes lingering low. It took him a moment to realize when she had stopped moving again.

“Well aren't you coming?”

“What?” he squeaked out.

“It occurs to me, the bed is big enough for two and way more comfortable than the couch.”

“I…”

“I just mean to sleep, for real. And, I guess, maybe cuddling?” She bit her lip nervously. “Unless you're not good with that…”

He stared for another long, awkward moment. “Even with my nightmares?”

She shrugged. “Yeah. I’ll deal. Or maybe having someone else beside you will help.”

Ollie scrambled to his feet, nearly tripping over himself in his rush to join her by the doorway. She laughed, lacing her fingers with his and leading him further through the apartment, silently marveling at how well things had gone, for a first date.

#it only took...almost 2 months to get to this. that's totally fine...#I had to do a lot of tweaking and pronoun conversion #so please (politely) hit me up if I missed anything #Oliver Sway x Jess O'Neill #Oliver Sway x OC #Song of Sway Lake fic #The Song of Sway Lake

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nottheweirdest · 3 years ago

Text

Sonadowtober Day 11: Picnic

When a first date gives you lemons you...

Have a picnic of course!!! :-P

I had fun being goofy with this one, but it's also sweet ;-). Read below or on Ao3!

“I still can’t believe he said yes.”

Amy smiled without looking up from straightening her best friend’s tie. “Of course he did.”

Sonic felt his stomach twist. “Oh, I’m gonna be sick....”

“You’ll be fine.”

“How do you know?”

Amy stood back and booped his nose. “I was right about Shadow, wasn’t I? He said yes, didn’t he?”

Sonic rubbed his nose and glared at his pink friend before turning to face his reflection. He shifted his shoulders under his new blazer uncomfortably. “What if he thinks it’s just a friendly dinner? What if he’s not actually into me? What if I just made him feel so weird he had to say yes?”

Amy rolled her eyes and crossed her arms as her green eyes met Sonic’s in the mirror. “Does Shadow strike you as the kind of person to do anything if he didn’t really want to?”

“Well… no, but--”

“No buts! Plus, you’re taking him to the Olive Garden, so he has to know it’s a date.”

“I plan to woo him with never ending pasta bowls and breadsticks.”

“You’re gonna woo him right into a nap with all those carbs.”

Sonic laughed, nerves momentarily eased by his friend’s teasing support. He glanced down at his communicator and cringed. “Nerts! I gotta get goin’!”

“Wait!” Amy called out, darting to her purse. She pulled out a roll of mints and handed them to him. “Just in case. Can’t have your first kiss reek of garlic.”

Red blossomed across Sonic’s face, but he awkwardly snagged the mints and slid them into his quills.

Just in case.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Much to Sonic’s surprise, he arrived before Shadow. He paced the building’s stucco exterior, ignoring the buzz of traffic that traversed the city streets around him. He didn’t think he’d ever felt so nervous. This changed everything. A date. With Shadow! His enemy, his rival, his ally, his… friend?

He’d never been entirely sure where he stood with the broody hybrid, but one thing was for certain. He’d been head over heels for the other since almost the very beginning of their complicated and ever changing relationship. He just hadn’t realized until Amy stated the obvious.

That had been a fun conversation….

“Hedgehog.”

Sonic whipped around, heart coming to a full and complete stop because… Shadow looked amazing. If Shadow was gorgeous normally, in a suit he was jaw droppingly beautiful.

And with that thought, Sonic realized his jaw actually had dropped and his mouth was hanging open like a fool. He snapped it closed and cleared his throat. “Hey, Shadow. You look, um, nice!”

Shadow actually dropped his gaze for a moment, pulling at his suit jacket’s sleeve. “You as well,” he said finally.

“An actual compliment? No insults?” Sonic teased.

Crimson eyes narrowed. “I’m sure you’ll give me a reason to insult you shortly.”

Sonic grinned despite the agent’s words and motioned for Shadow to follow him to the double doors that led to the restaurant. “Have a little faith, Shads! Besides-- Oh….”

“Oh what?”

Sonic pointed at the sign taped to the establishment’s door and cringed. “They’re closed. They ran out of soup and salad.”

Shadow turned toward the blue hedgehog, irritated and about to throw an insult, but stopped when he saw how deflated the hero appeared. He softened before grabbing Sonic’s arm and pulling him down the sidewalk.

“Hey! What are you doing?”

“Getting us food.”

Sonic’s legs finally caught up with Shadow’s pulling and the agent released him, both stepping into a run. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

“A surprise?”

The striped hedgehog shot him a dry look as they shot toward the city limits in unison. Sonic grinned and let it go. Truth was… he’d follow Shadow anywhere. Surprise or not.

A handful of seconds later the duo slowed, moving into a walk as they approached a gleaming red food truck. A middle aged man popped his head over the counter and grinned, waving wildly. “Shadow! Good to see ya!”

Sonic watched in awe as an actual real life smile made its way across Shadow’s face. “Carl,” the agent said with a tip of his head.

“Want your usual?”

Shadow nodded. “And a few extra things. A torta ahogada and two orders of esquites, and a grape soda.”

The man jotted everything down and then handed the paper off to another who manned the kitchen. He leaned forward and gestured toward Sonic. “I see you’ve brought a friend. Bringing us business, eh, Shadow?”

“I imagine he’ll be back after this.”

The man waved to Sonic who had moved up beside Shadow. “Be sure he shares his pozole sopa,” the man, Carl apparently, said. “And then you come back and see us. Okay, hero?”

Sonic laughed, amused by the man’s warm demeanor. “You got it.”

“It’s on the house then!”

Shadow frowned and shook his head. “Carl--”

“You tell him to do what he’s told,” Carl said, looking at Sonic, but jerking his thumb at Shadow. “If anyone can make him listen, it’s the Hero of Mobius.”

“Don’t worry,” Sonic grinned, “I’ll keep him in line.”

Dark ears pinned back, arms crossing over his chest. “We’ll see about that, hedgehog.”

Carl laughed and disappeared to gather their food, returning a minute later with a drink carrier and large bag of food. “You boys enjoy your meal! We’ll see you soon, yeah?”

“You bet!” Sonic agreed, grabbing the bag while Shadow accepted their drinks. “Thank you!”

“Least we can do for two heroes!”

Shadow seemed taken aback for a moment, his normal stoicism overwhelmed momentarily by surprise at a title he rarely, if ever, heard in reference to himself. Sonic smiled softly to himself as they left the food truck. He’d be sure to set the other straight. Shadow should know exactly how remarkable he was.

“There’s a park with a small seating area,” Shadow said, tipping his head forward. “We can eat there.”

Sonic nodded, mouth watering at the delicious smells that wafted from the bag. “This smells amazing… How long you been going there?”

Shadow shrugged. “A few years.”

“And you’re just now sharing!?”

“I wasn’t sure you ate anything besides chili dogs until you mentioned Olive Garden.”

“I eat other things!” Sonic mumbled defensively.

Shadow raised an eyebrow. “I guess we’ll find out. We’re here.”

The park wasn’t huge, just a small green area along a man made pond with a handful of gazebos and a small playground. In the dark water a pair of mallards paddled between lily pads whose flowers had already come and gone, heads occasionally breaking the surface and dipping down in search of food.

The duo of black and blue walked the single path that wound through the park, stopping once or twice to admire the butterfly bushes and native wildflowers that were made picturesque in the golden hues of fading light.

Finally Shadow sighed in frustration. “All the tables are taken.”

Sonic shrugged as they walked by the last gazebo. “No big deal!” He stopped and walked off the path, setting their food down in the grass at the edge of the pond.

“What are you doing?”

The cobalt male shrugged off his fancy new suit jacket and spread it on the ground facing the sunset. “Having a picnic!”

Shadow furrowed his brows and looked at Sonic like he was crazy. “You’ll ruin your blazer.”

“So?” Sonic said, loosening his tie and patting the vacant fabric right beside him. “I’m not much for fancy clothes anyway.”

A corner of Shadow’s mouth lifted. “That makes two of us.” He sat their drinks down and slipped off his own suit jacket, laying it on the ground next to Sonic’s.

“Do you have to wear them often? For G.U.N.?” Sonic asked as he unpacked their dinner.

“More often than I’d like.”

“For what it's worth… you look amazing in a suit.”

With the warmth provided by the sun it was hard to tell if the pink tinge to Shadow’s muzzle was heat or a blush, but Sonic decided to go with the latter. “I’m glad you said yes,” he said softly. “I really didn’t think you would.”

Shadow looked up from his sandwich and shook out a napkin, wiping his mouth politely. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Sonic took a sip of his soda and picked up his torta ahogada, realizing Shadow had nailed it when he’d ordered for him. It was delicious. He took another bite before explaining. “I didn’t think you liked me at all, let alone romantically. And I didn’t know if you were even into guys…”

“I didn’t know you were.”

Sonic let out a short laugh through a mouthful, repeating Shadow’s words. “That makes two of us.”

Shadow cocked his head in confusion, reaching for their street corn and handing Sonic his portion. “I don’t understand.”

“Well, I didn’t really… understand what I was feeling? I guess? Amy’s the one who pointed it out.”

“Rose? Who’s had her eyes on you since--”

“Yeah, I know. Weird, but she’s the one who pushed me to ask you out.”

Shadow grew thoughtful, taking smaller bites of food and watching the pair of mallards out on the water bob and swim in synchrony, never drifting too far from the other’s side. It was just like him and Sonic. No matter the situation, no matter the battle, the fight, the catastrophe, it didn’t matter. They were subtly conscious of the other constantly when in each other’s presence.

“You okay?” Sonic asked, waving his hand in front of Shadow’s face.

Crimson eyes refocused on his palm before narrowing. “I’ve always liked you. In fact, I was drawn to you the moment we met.”

“You were?”

Shadow turned to answer, but then stopped, sputtering for a moment before breaking into laughter.

Sonic froze, stunned. He’d never heard Shadow laugh before. Never. It was the most beautiful, endearing sound he’d ever heard and he found himself grinning broadly in response.

Oddly enough that only seemed to make Shadow laugh harder.

“What?” Sonic asked, looking over his shoulder. “What’d I miss?”

“You,” Shadow wheezed, “have an obscene amount of cilantro in your teeth.”

Sonic paled, hand immediately covering his mouth, face flushing with embarrassment. “Oh, Chaos,” he mumbled through his glove. He ran his tongue over his teeth several times and took a swig of soda. “Did I get it?” He showed his teeth.

Shadow leaned back on his hands, belting out more laughter with a shake of his head. “Not even close.”

Sonic repeated the actions he’d already taken, so focused on his embarrassment that he didn’t see Shadow’s face soften, his eyes warming with something just past friendship. Something without a name for the moment, but powerful all the same.

It was the foundation of something. Something strong and beautiful. Something epic and whimsical.

Something marvelously magical.

#sonadowtober #sonadow #are these getting longer?#why can't i just keep thing short?!#I blame hedgie brain rot #first dates gone wrong gone right #sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog #my writing #fanficiton

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svu-ncis-criminalminds · 4 years ago

Text

Auction

The Rafael Barba x Reader fic that no one asked for but I had a wonderful time writing. (will be proof reading better tomorrow :) )

“Barba” He turned his head to watch as one of coworkers caught up with him.

“Yes?” He answered drily, he was late.

“Are you going to the benefit dinner on Saturday?” Barba frowned. That was this Saturday? The man patted his shoulder and Barba attempted not to look too displeased. “Come on man, bring a date! Buy a new one, it's for charity.” He grinned and Rafael wasn’t a fan of the glint in the man's eyes.

“Not sure any of the women in my life are willing to be auctioned off. Even for charity. Sorry Wilkins.” The man just continued to grin.

“What about that one cutie always hanging around? Y/N? Bring her, I’m sure she’d fetch a pretty penny.” Rafael narrowed his eyes at that but chose to bite his tongue.

“I’m sure she’s busy. Excuse me, I have to get this to the station.” Without listening for a response Barba was off towards SVU to drop off some paperwork for a case just going to court. On his brisk walk over he got thinking to himself. He really /should/ show his face at the auction for the Association to Benefit Children considering he hadn’t been to a benefit in ages. But he needed a date, the point of this benefit, as barbaric as it was, is for the gentleman to attempt to bid each other out for their dates. The money all went to a good cause but it wasn’t an idea Rafael was particularly fond of. But he should go. And he should try and bring a date.

----

“Hey Mr. Barba,” You bounced up to the man once he stepped foot off the elevator, “Are those my Phillips files?” You grabbed for them and Barba shifted his coffee to one hand to allow you to snatch them from him.

“Always so patient.” He snarked and you grinned, already moving back to your desk as you shifted through the papers. Rafael paused at your desk watching you momentarily.

“Can I help you?” You asked, tossing the files down onto your desk and turning to the man with a slightly crooked smile. He cleared his throat.

“Saturday, there is an auction benefit for the Association to Benefit Children and I’m supposed to bring a date, would you like to go?” He tried to seem more nonchalant than he felt, crossing his arms over his chest. You smiled and shifted from foot to foot and Rafael had to admit Wilkins was right, men would be falling over each other to out bid him for you.

“Sure, I doubt I’ll be able to buy anything. Far too fancy for me.” You laughed and he smiled wincing slightly.

“Actually.” He sighed, “It’s the dates that get auctioned.” You made a little o with your mouth and nodded before laughing again.

“You want me to be your date so you can sell me for charity?” You asked, smiling. He nodded. “But I get to get all dressed up right?” You asked and he nodded again.

“Of course, black tie event.” You nodded your head and shrugged your shoulders.

“Alright.”

“Really?”

“Sure, but you better be bidding for me, I don’t wanna get stuck with some uptight lawyer.” you paused, grinning, “No offense.” Barba smirked.

“None taken. Though I think I'll have to battle Wilkins for you-” You groaned.

“The creep from your office with the beard? Gross. You better win, or I’ll be mad.” He nodded at you and crossed a finger over his heart.

“Promise, though 5 grand is my limit for the evening so anything above that and you’re on your own.” He was only partially joking.

----------

The uber pulled up to your apartment and Barba got out, doing the gentlemanly thing and going to the other side to open the door for you. You burst out of your apartment buildings front door and Rafael was stopped in his tracks. You looked beautiful with hair and makeup done and wearing a floor length golden dress that was currently hidden under a long dark green coat.

“It’s freezing,” You practically ran towards him and Barba shook himself getting his attention back on the car door. You stopped next to him, planting a quick kiss on his cheek as you tossed yourself into the car. “Thank you.” Barba shut the door and came back to his side getting in and turning to you, his hands felt clammy despite the weather.

“You look lovely,” He assured you, and you smiled, reaching over to brush some snow from his shoulder.

“So do you! I’m excited for tonight, I haven’t been out in ages.”

“I wouldn’t call this out. More like pulling teeth.” You rolled your eyes.

“Try and have some fun, Mr. Barba, loosen up. We look nice, we’re gonna drink nice alcohol, and eat nice food. You’re gonna purchase me!” You grinned and he couldn’t help but smile slightly, your joy was contagious. Everything about you was.

“I will try. There will be plenty of richer men there, and I’m sure you’ll be top of everyone's list.” You blushed slightly and shrugged.

“Nah,” You brushed the comment off before turning back to talking about how you were looking forward to the evening. Rafael wanted to press the topic, to make sure you understood he was serious and that you’d most likely be bought from under him. But he didn’t want you to change your mind so he kept his mouth shut.

-------

Thirty or so minutes later and you were inside the party, drinks in hang as you stood with some of Barba’s coworkers and their dates they brought. Wilinks tried and failed several times to start a conversation with you, and while you were polite you were doing your best to make it clear you weren’t very interested.

Every time you got too close to Rafael, or heaven forbid, touched him he felt his skin prickle. He couldn’t help it, you looked absolutely stunning. Rafael excused you both to go get another drink before the auction began, he was gonna need it and he was sure you would too.

“So, you’re gonna buy me right?” You teased, sitting together at Rafael’s table, facing each other as you spoke. Barba smiled and shrugged, taking a sip of his whiskey.

“I’m gonna try, but I mean it my cut off has to be 5,000 tonight and you’re worth at least a million.” He hoped he wasn’t laying it on too thick, or passing some sort of boundary but you threw your head back and laughed.

“Why don’t they auction the men?”

“No one wants to buy an earpiece in a suit.” You grinned and someone got onto the stage calling everyone back to their seats. Rafael put an arm around the back of your chair and settled in to watch the show. It was good natured at least. Husbands buying their wives before tossing them over their shoulder, old ladies being scooped up by young lawyers looking for brownie points. You were smiling and clapping along and laughing and that made Rafael feel content enough to participate, smiling along with you. Finally they called your name and you got up, patting Barba on the arm as you went.

“Let’s start the bidding at $500.” Rafael raised his hand.

“A grand,” Wilkins raised his own from two tables over and so did a couple of other men, some Barba recognized and some he didn’t. “Two grand,” Barba called again. The price went up and up and you stood there looking sheepish on stage in front of everyone. Wilkins dropped out when you hit 4,000 but a partner from some white collar crimes business kept one upping Barba and he was starting to get fed up.

“43 hundred.” The man was calm as he raised his hand, Barba’s brows were drawn angrily over his eyes, you thought he looked cute and it made you smile down at him. Barba caught you eye and smiled back slightly, mouthing ‘I told you so,’

“$5,000.” Rafael tossed in all his chips, metaphorically of course.

“52 hundred.” The man out bid him again.

“$5,500.” Barba called again. Plan be damned.

“8 thousand.” The man nailed Rafael into his coffin. Barba floundered and looked apologetically at you, and you smiled sweetly in return. You were too good natured for him.

“We’ve got a winner!” The MC announced and Barba had to watch you climb gracefully from the stage. Instead of walking towards him, you walked towards the other man who stood up to greet you, kissing you cheek and pulling your chair out. Barba wasn’t to toss him out the front door. But he wouldn’t. He turned back sullenly to the auction. His money would unfortunately have to go elsewhere.

----

“Y/N,” The man was handsome, that was for sure, older than you but still young to have the salt and pepper hair he donned. Being a lawyer made you go grey, at least that’s what Sonny told you. “I’m Oliver White.” You smiled politely, laughed at his jokes when he made them, danced when he asked. It wasn’t unpleasant, and he seemed like a nice enough man but you couldn’t help but to continue to steal glances of Barba with his new date across the room.

Barba didn’t bother with small talk. He was sulking. And the girl who had won wasn’t up for dancing, not that Barba partially wanted to dance with her. He rather alternate between staring at his whiskey and gazing at you.

After several dances you finally sat back at your table with Oliver, glancing over at Rafael again who met your eye this time. You smiled and offered a small wave which he returned.

“Is he your boyfriend?” Oliver asked and you turned your head shaking it and a small laugh.

“No. We’re work friends. I just feel bad, he was supposed to win my auction so he wasn’t stuck bored all night.” You admitted and Oliver nodded.

“I assumed the way he was trying to outbid everyone he had to be your boyfriend.” You blushed slightly.

“He’s not.” Oliver smiled nodding his own head.

“Alright good. So I can ask for your number then?” You tried not to glance over at Barba again, that was rude, you had to remind yourself. You smiled.

“Sure, but I’m not totally in the market right now..” Oliver nodded his head and raised his hands in mock surrender.

“I can wait.” With that he dropped it and you were thankful so you took another glance over. Rafael was already watching you. You looked down first then away again. God what had you gotten yourself into. Towards the end of the night to MC announced there was only a few more dances. By this point in the night most couples had reunited so you smiled at Olivier and slowly gathered your bag.

“Do you mind,” You nodded towards Rafael, “I promised him at least one dance,” You lied. Really you were done keeping up formalities. You wanted to go back to where you were comfortable. Oliver smiled and nodded his head towards the dejected looking man.

“Only if you give him a chance.” You laughed.

“He doesn’t- It’s not like that.” Oliver smirked and shook his head.

“Whatever you say,” He shrugged and you frowned, gathering the rest of your stuff.

“It was nice to meet you.” You said goodnight and made your way over to Barba, plopping down beside him with a smile.

“Hey,”

“Hey,” He answered surprised, looking behind you back to where you’d just been sitting, “Everything alright?” You nodded your head.

“You looked like you could need some fun.” The girl beside him snorted and gathered her own things before rushing out a goodnight and storming off. You both watched her go and Rafael turned back to you smiling slightly.

“I’m a bad date.” He admitted and you laughed. You dropped your purse onto the table and stood up again holding out a hand. “What?” He asked, confused.

“Come on, let's dance. I didn’t see you out there once tonight. Why do you think I came?” You joked and Barba took your hand, letting you pull him up. Once on the dance floor, Rafael spun you around before pulling you a polite distance towards him, one hand taking yours the other resting on your hip. You held his hand back and placed your free one on his shoulder. Together you swayed to the music. Rafael was a good dancer, just like you had expected him to be. He moved effortlessly and moved you with him. You slipped closer to him until you were swaying together- no room left for jesus. Rafael spun you again at the end of the last song and you grinned, letting out a giggle.

----

“Ready to go?” Barba asked you, helping you to put your coat on before handing you your purse. You smiled and thanked him, grabbing his arm to take some of the weight of your feet.

“My feet are killing me,” You admitted.

“I’ll carry you,” He joked and you tossed your head back into his shoulder laughing. All the champagne you had made you feel lighter then you were, it was nice. You got outside and shivered pulling the coat tighter around you. Rafael withdrew his arm from yours and wrapped it around you, helping you walk and hopefully keeping you arm. The lyft he ordered was already outside waiting for you.

“Thank you for coming tonight,” Barba smiled once you were huddled into the warm backseat and on your way towards your apartment. “Sorry you had to spend it with a stranger. At least he was good looking.” Rafael tried not to spit out the words, “Did you get along well.” You shrugged and leaned on Barba slightly.

“Meh. It was fine, not unpleasant. Nothing really there though besides a decent face.” Barba put his arm around you nervously but you just relaxed further into him. He bruised some hair over your shoulder and sighed. “How was your date. She was pretty.”

“Pretty dull.” He replied and you rolled your eyes. You sat in silence for the rest of the drive, Barba’s arm around you shoulder playing with your hair. The lyft pulled up to your apartment and you untangled yourself from him.

“Goodnight.”

“Y/N. Wait.” Rafael caught your hand. He cleared his throat, “Do you want to go on a date sometime, a time where I don’t have to watch another man flirt with you for most of it?” He asked and you laughed. You paused for a moment before leaning over to kiss him on the cheek.

“Call me,” You murmured into his ear, “I’d love that.”

#law and order #law and order svu #Law and Order: Special Victims Unit #law and order special victims unit #svu x reader #svu x y/n #rafael barba #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba x you #rafael barba x yn

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definegodliness · 4 years ago

Text

The Tragic Story of the Tumble of Icarus

There once was a boy called Icarus. He, and his dad...

Well, we're not off to a good start. I always forget the name of the dad. Let's call him 'Dadalus'. That has a nice ring to it. Right? Good. Back to the story.

There once was a boy, Icarus. He and his dad Dadalus got stranded on one of those picturesque Greek islands last summer. His mother Momalus had warned them not to go to the island, as it was the last orange covid zone within a red region. Therefore, bound to become red; meaning flight restrictions. But Dadalus was all like:

"Can it, woman. Ain't no government tell me what to do. I work hard all year and deserve a vacation!"

So they went anyway, Dadalus and Icarus, and, of course, right upon arriving the island was flagged a red zone. Restaurants and bars closed, the beach off limits... you know? Lockdown. The works. All they had left was one daily trip to the supermarket, which had to be undertaken alone. Then, back to the hotel room. Flights to and from the island were restricted until further notice, and their government had already stated there'd be no repatriation for vacationers taking risks. So Icarus and Dadalus were very much stuck. Boredom soon struck, and Icarus tried to whine about it to his dad. But Dadalus was all like:

"Shut your trap, boy! Can't you see I'm staring out of the window?"

Icarus wept. Big tears flowed over his cheeks. And Dadalus took pity on the boy.

"Okay, fine. Tell you what. Today's my turn to get to the store, you can have it. But don't you come 'round back here whining. Buy a crossword puzzle book or something."

This cheered up Icarus instantly. He liked crossword puzzles, and from high above in their hotel room he had seen an alternative route to the store which would grant him at least five whole minutes extra outside time! He grabbed his rucksack and flew down the hotel's stairs not to wait for the elevator. Outside, instead of taking a left, he took a right. And all too soon he found himself wandering the island's back alleys. Things looked a lot different down on the ground. He had to keep a keen eye on Google Maps not to get lost. Focused on his phone's screen, Icarus was not aware he ventured into the bad part of town. Till all of the sudden he jumped at the sound of histing.

"Psst, ya wanna buy some weed?"

"Sure!"

Icarus liked weed. Almost as much as he liked crossword puzzles. But he reckoned that if he'd be stuck on Bore-island, he'd better kill the time cool as a capybara. So, Icarus rolled up the fattest one you'll ever see, and immediately proceeded to get baked like a Galaktoboureko. The sun's warmth caressed his face, and, for a moment, everything was good. Icarus whoozed in dreams of Greek's divine beauties, dressed in fine white robes. He dreamt of ouzo flowing from the cornucopia, figs and oranges, and soon drifted off in visions of perky centaur tiddies. In his mind resounded the playful tunes of a bouzouki, and he fantasized about dancing on the beach till sunrise. Free, in a world that was free.

All of the sudden he heard a well-known intrusive noise that immediately popped him out of his dazed, Disney's Fantasia-inspired daydream. His phone rang. And brightly flashing on the screen: Dadalus. Icarus tried really hard to compose himself, looking at his dad's ever stern and grumpy face flashing before him, thinking: 'don't laugh, don't laugh', as he picked up the phone.

"Finally! When are you gonna learn to pick up the damn phone, boy. Get your ass back here immediat--"

Icarus could not hear the rest.

As Dadalus once again spurted in unleashed pent up frustration, all he managed this time was trigger his son's kite-high cackling laughter. Icarus quickly slid the phone symbol to red not to make things worse. And when his dad immediately called again, he decided it'd be best not to answer. He was feeling pretty good there in the back alleys, and felt no urge to return to his grumpy overworked dad for an ass beating, and another window staring session.

Instead, he put his phone on silent and pocketed it. Then, inhaled his sweet green deliverer again, till his lungs reached peak volume. And as he kept it in all he did was think: back to the dream; back to freedom; back to centaur tiddies.

So it went on. Icarus kept rolling and lighting up fat ones, escaping to his own world of fantasy. Trying to maintain and elongate his high for as long as he could, till ultimately and inevitably all his daydreams revolved around figs and oranges, fresh from the tree; olives and feta cheese; all kinds of sweet pastries! And, of course, gyros. Heaps and heaps of gyros. Where upon, like snow on mountainous peaks, lay slathered the freshest tzatziki. His stomach growled, loud and demandingly. Icarus slapped his knees.

“Right. Time to head home and order something to eat.”

He pulled out his phone to Google Maps his way back, and to his shock discovered the notifications of twenty-six missed calls. Three from Dadalus, and a whopping twenty-three from Momalus. Along with the missed calls were several text messages, the ones sent by Dadalus filled with profanities. And as Icarus scrolled back to the first message sent that day, he read, to his dread, that the island's authorities had arranged a small plane to fetch stranded tourists and fly them to the last bastion of orange zoned mainland, where travel company Sunweb had arranged a new hotel, and, for those who'd so choose, a way back home.

One plane. Icarus scrolled on, and through strings of dumbasses, deadbeats and synonyms of the sorts, he read that Dadalus was already on it. Panic stuck, but before he could actually begin to wrap his last two functioning brain cells around the text messages, Icarus heard an ominous buzz in the distance. There, high above, in those Mediterranean skies of perfect blue, flew a small single-engine plane. Destination, liberty. Well, under the respective rules of whatever new normal's there applicable. But in any case freer than the island, which was put in total lock down.

He followed the plane misty-eyed, till it was no more than a dot. And when it finally faded into the horizon, the reality of his situation at long last managed to sink in: there was no telling how or when he'd ever get back home.

"Suit yourself!"

He reread Dadalus last message, the climax after many a threat he would leave his son to fend on his own. And Icarus knew it could take weeks or even months before Momalus calmed down his dad enough to send help in any shape or form. He fucked up big time, this time. Dadalus had always warned him about the dangers of getting too high.

Icarus wept. For the second time that day, and once again big tears flowed down his cheeks. Yet this time they were not tears of boredom. They were tears of bitter shame. For ignoring his dad’s words. For the call ending in cackling hyena giggling, betraying his spaced-out state. Woe was he. Icarus tumbled. Down from his cloud nine kite-high, all the way to the dismal depths of paranoia. Poor Icarus, caught in the back alleys of a foreign country as the dark of evening fell. Poor, poor, Icarus, who was too high to fly to the Sunweb hotel.

#absurdism #prose #icarus #story #creative writing #words #spilled ink #writing #writers on tumblr #long read #alt lit #lit #writers #writeblr

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hermannsthumb · 4 years ago

Note

Please write 20 (just dumped by partner before the holidays, please be fake partner I'm desperate)

20. i’ve spent the last nine months telling my family about my amazing partner and they just dumped me before the winter break; please be my fake partner

from winter writing prompts here

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

It’s a rare occasion upon which Hermann admits to himself that he could use a shoulder to cry on. It’s an even rarer occasion when that shoulder happens to belong to Newton. Though, strictly speaking, he’s not actually crying. Just…feeling exceedingly miserable. For a very good reason. He’s not actually on Newton’s shoulder, either, though he is sitting on the edge of Newton’s bed in Newton’s Shatterdome quarters, with Newton’s spare blanket wrapped around him.

“So he dumped you?” Newton says.

“No,” Hermann says. “Don’t be so…prosaic. He, er, simply expressed to me that our relationship was not working out, and that we should consider ending it to pursue better alternatives, and I agreed. It was wholly mutual. It was mature.”

“He dumped you, dude,” Newton says.

Hermann sighs, and hides his face in Newton’s blanket.. “He did.”

The worst of it is that Hermann isn’t even upset about Oliver breaking up with him for the reasons he should be upset. He’s not here in Newton’s bunk wailing about not knowing where it all went wrong (he does know), or wishing he’d asked for a second chance (he doesn’t), or simply mourning the loss of a healthy, long-term relationship (well, it wasn’t unhealthy). He’s in Newton’s bunk because he knows his family is going to be horrendously disappointed in him. “You don’t understand,” Hermann moans. “He’s the son of my father’s colleague—my family were all so very pleased when we began seeing each other. He was meant to meet my grandmother, Newton.”

“Ouch,” Newton says. He pats Hermann’s shoulder. His touch is warm, and strong. Newton’s hands are always so warm and strong. “That’s rough. But, hey, other fish in the sea?”

(“I’m sorry, Hermann,” Oliver had finally said, after a spectacular failure of a date, in which Hermann confused Oliver’s favorite dish with Newton’s at the restaurant, and, er, perhaps called out the wrong name during their more intimate coupling in Hermann’s bunk later. “It’s blatantly obvious you have some weird, unresolved feelings for your lab partner, and I’m not going to stick around for you to figure them out. Maybe you can take him home to meet your parents instead.”

“Blatantly?” Hermann had squeaked.)

“Yes,” Hermann says. “Er. I suppose.”

Hermann (having no one else to turn to) showed up at Newton’s door immediately after Oliver packed up his simple overnight bag and stormed out of the Shatterdome, promptly ending what was meant to be their weekend together and their relationship. Newton (in pajamas, clearly just woken up from sleep) had been so kind, showing him to the unmade bed, plying him with a lukewarm cup of fruity tea, spouting all the sorts of things that a friend was meant to spout (he’s not worth it, you’re better than him, want me to key his car for you?). Hermann had never seen him exhibit that sort of kindness before. It made his heart flutter, and his chest tight, and—oh, bugger. “No, it’s not that,” Hermann says. “It’s that they think I’m bringing him home in a week. They’ve got the guest room made up for us and everything. I’m fairly certain Mother has already made a place card for him at the dinner table.”

“So?” Newton says. “Just break the news tomorrow that you’ll be solo. Better sooner than later, man.” He frowns. “Your mom makes place cards?”

“The only reason I’m going home is for them to meet him!” Hermann half-shouts. Months upon months of feeding them stories about Oliver, lies about Oliver—about how charming and intelligent he was, and what a marvelous match they were, and how pleased Hermann was that father suggested he engage Oliver’s company in the first place—all so they’d stop prying into his bloody personal life—of course it was bound to backfire.

“Then don’t go home,” Newton says. “Holy shit, dude, you’re making this a way bigger deal than it needs to be. Either tell them you guys split and it’s just you this year, or don’t go at all.” He yawns, and does a poor job of pretending he’s not sneaking a glance at his Godzilla alarm clock. Two in the morning; Newton makes a habit of getting to the lab at six. Hermann is being rather discourteous keeping up so late, isn’t he? Though it really was kind of Newton to comfort him the way he did. Newton can really be considerate, when he tries—considerate, and caring, and such a good friend to Hermann. Hermann’s only friend, who none of his family have ever met, or would recognize, just as they wouldn’t recognize Oliver…Newton, who’s American like Oliver…who’s brunette like Oliver...who wears glasses like Oliver...

“Er, Newton,” Hermann says. He touches Newton’s hand. “What are your holiday plans?”

Newton is a bundle of erratic motion during the taxi ride from the airport to the Gottlieb family farmhouse: his leg bouncing up and down, his fingers tapping on it, his eyes darting constantly between Hermann, the driver, and the German countryside. Even his voice trembles when he speaks. “This isn’t going to work,” he mutters to Hermann. He shakes his head. “It’s not, it’s not.”

(“They’ve never met him,” Hermann had said, “and they’ve certainly never met you! You could easily pass yourself off as him!”

“There is no fucking way your dad hasn’t Googled me by now,” Newton had said. “Or do you not remember when that reporter asked me about the wall last spring?”)

Really, there’s no need for Newton to be this nervous. At the very worst, they’re found out, and Hermann is utterly humiliated, but Newton will be walking away all but unscathed. He’s not the one trying to pass off his lab partner as his partner partner to his family, after all. “It will,” Hermann tells him calmly. He reaches over and smooths out the lapels of Newton’s good suit. It’s stiff, and smells faintly of dust; Hermann wonders how long it’s been hanging in the back of his closet. He cuts a nice figure in it. “Right,” Hermann adds, before his mind can wander too far. “Now, remind me again who you are?”

Newton looks vaguely green in the face, and he swallows twice. “I’m…Oliver,” he says. “I’m the son of your dad’s old friend. I recently relocated to Hong Kong for work. I’m an engineer. I like yoga, and...baseball?”

“More or less,” Hermann says. The baseball part may be an embellishment, but he knows Oliver played some sort of sport.

He reaches out and smooths down Newton’s hair this time. His glasses are crooked, but there’s not much to do for that; besides, it makes him look oddly charming, like Oliver is supposed to be. Newton, to his surprise, goes pink in the face. “Uh. Can you give me anything else to go on?” he says. “I feel like I’m not getting enough into character. Like, what’s Oliver’s favorite color? Is he a cat person? Coffee or tea? Boxers or briefs?”

“Well,” Hermann says. “I. Er.” He shifts in his seat. Embarrassingly enough, he doesn’t know. “Just because Oliver and I dated for...half a year, or so,” he continues, “doesn’t mean we knew everything about each other. I think you’d be hard-pressed to get him to answer those questions about me, too. It’s nothing—”

“Do I wear boxers or briefs, Hermann?” Newton says.

“Boxers,” Hermann says automatically.

Newton stares at him. Hermann flushes.

“Oh, that’s not fair,” Hermann says. “You have to use the bloody decontamination shower every other—”

“Kinda feeling like maybe he wasn’t the neglectful one in the relationship, dude,” Newton interrupts. “Alright, God, let’s get this over with. You owe me big time.’

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #Anonymous

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octalove · 4 years ago

Text

VII: By Invitation Only

(Batgirl/Red Hood)

Description: Reader and Jason go undercover in a Mafia den. Part one, two, three, four, five, and six.

My mind buzzed with the sights and sounds of Little Italy. Boots scuffing sidewalk, and the persistent hum of the moving parts within the heart of the city. Quiet, serious conversations mumbled low between men of business, and enthused gossip among thick-accented women at every café and park. The ever-present stream of conversation in the townhouses and shops was exciting. I fell in seamlessly to the strange mix of wealth among poverty, the stringent immigrant culture surpassing both.

The mission itself was straightforward- the kind of business I actually didn’t expect the Red Hood to bother with himself. He got some info from one of his contacts, Giuseppe Bianchi, whose job was to, according to Jason, “sing like a fuckin’ canary”. Bianchi informed him a week ago that one Adriano Cliffs was trying to strike a deal between two mafia families under Red Hood’s control. It was in the realm of real estate; ‘property’ investments that were actually investments into the nefarious affairs that would be taking place on said properties. According to Bianchi, moving chemicals. Red Hood didn’t care about chemicals; it was part of drug trade or domestic biowarfare or what have you, but it was the principle of them moving under his nose. Trying to grub up some deals he wasn’t a part of.

“With the mafia,” He said. “You give ‘em an inch, they take the whole fuckin’ county.” Thus, our job was to go to a dinner party, unassuming guests, and try to figure out who else was involved, so Red Hood could later pay them a visit.

I didn’t ask if he’d kill them.

I had the invitations in my clutch; beautiful little parchment cards with gold lettering. Thank you, Bianchi. There was a stark contrast between going on a mission in my Batgirl suit, and going on one in a green silk dress. I had no trouble dressing the part of the socialite- and apparently Jason didn’t either. He wore a red satin dress shirt, unbuttoned to feature a plunging neckline, paired with a black blazer that had an asymmetric stand collar. Frankly, I was impressed. It looked better than the suits Bruce used to put him in.

The location of the party was a quaint little townhouse nestled in upper Luskan Square. The building was all cream paint and red brick, with pretty green vines cascading from window planters. I could hear music from inside; raspy strings and jaunty horns in a dixieland, swinging tempo.

The two mafia families were Pellegrino and D’amici; two bloodlines that were previously in a feud so contentious that 1/4 of Gotham City Morgue was full of its casualties at any given time. All that until around four months ago when Kane Pellegrino married Penelope D’amici like something straight out of Romeo and Juliet, but with more guns, cocaine and happy endings.

Jason leaned over to me as we approached, whispering lowly in my ear, “The matriarch- Olivier D’amici- she’s a touch odd. Paranoid. Just keep her busy durin’ the party, and I’ll do the rest. Cliffs should be here, too.” I nodded, and flashed a blue-ribbon smile at the doorman.

“Invitations?” He asked. I gave him the cards, and after a brief inspection, he nodded. We entered the foyer, welcomed by the smell of warm food and laughter. The living room was lit by an elegant and tasteful chandelier. It had a more antique and eclectic charm than the manor’s modern refine. Able to attract less attention if we split up, Jason vanished into dining room while I stayed in the living area, mumbling the occasional polite “excuse me” as I tried to make it seem as though I were a frequent guest of mafia dens. I looked around for a woman matching Olivier D’amici’s description- old, blonde, haggish. I silently kicked myself for not asking Jason to be more specific, because as it turns out, old, blonde and haggish was the memo for tonight’s event.

“Oof-“ I smacked right into what felt like a brick wall in a Versace suit. At least, I was right about the suit. I looked up to see a man of about forty peering down at me. His hair was a rusted gold, and he sported magnificently manicured facial hair- it made him appear very leonine.

“My apologies, dear.”

“Oh, it was my fault. I should be the one apologizing.” I said, suddenly nervous with the idea of being roped into a conversation. I was a fighter, not a liar. He chuckled, took a drink of his undisturbed wine.

“That’s sweet of you. It’s refreshing to find someone around here that isn’t too stubborn for their own good.” He said. “You aren’t from one of the families, are you? I don’t know that I’ve seen you around before.”

“I’m a friend of Penelope’s.” I quickly supplied the lie. Something like surprise flashed in his blue eyes, before his face steeled back agreeably.

“I see.”

“I was actually just looking for her. You wouldn’t happen to know where...?” I trailed off as he nodded his head, gesturing to the opposite corner, where a beautiful olive-skinned brunette appeared to be object of adoration in a small circle of people. I’d never actually seen her before- anyone who entered to living room would’ve notice her immediately.

“Oh!” I laughed. “I don’t know how I missed her! Please, excuse me.”

I took my time inching through the crowd, stalling. But the man didn’t take his gaze off of me until I reached Penelope D’amici, and her pool of admirers. Damn. He was going to keep watching until I talked to her. It would be utterly obvious it was an introduction and not an anticipated reunion. I took a deep breath and dug in my heels.

If you’re going to lie, I could hear Bruce’s voice in my mind. Dedicate yourself to it.

“Penelope!” I called. She turned, planting her stunning, doey brown eyes on me. I pressed a couple friendly kisses to her cheeks.

“Hello!” She said, clearly inured in the art of greeting. I stole a glance to the man, who had moved along just as Penelope gave me a politely curious look.

“Have we- um,” She looked so apologetic, I almost felt bad.

“Louise Casteñes?” I said encouragingly, giving her my fake name. “We met at the wedding.” Penelope’s face went a shade of pink, and she gave me a bashful laugh.

“Oh- the wedding was quite the evening, I’m really sorry if I forgot. You must think I’m so rude.”

“Oh, it was months ago, no need to feel bad.” I offered.

“I saw you talking to Mr. Cliffs. Are you two familiar?” I blinked. Adriano Cliffs. The man trying to sabotage Red Hood- and now was suspicious of me within fifteen minutes of the party. Good fucking going.

“Not really, I just accidentally ran into him. I’m lucky he didn’t spill his wine.” I replied. Penelope laughed, the sound like wind chimes.

“If you asked my grandmother,“ She said. “She’d say he’d deserve it.”

“Olivier, right? Your grandmother?” Penelope nodded.

“Did you meet her at the wedding as well?”

“I didn’t get the chance, I’m afraid.”

Her face lit up and she looped her arm in mine. Together we waltzed through the bodies and expensive antique furniture into the dining room. Jason was nowhere to be seen; he must have begun his hunt for information.

“Oh, you have to meet her! She’s the host.” Once away from the crowd, she leaned close in cospiracy, and added. “And I need an excuse to get away from those people. Looks like you’re my savior tonight.” She winked, and I laughed as she pulled me into a small, secluded reading room.

Olivier D’amici was- well- old, blonde, and haggish. She had pale skin like worn leather and powdery makeup, but her fashionable ensemble of emerald green silk and sapphire jewelry was stylish and unconventionally attractive. She was like a peacock personified. She was indeed a touch odd, and more than a touch paranoid- though not of me. After thirty minutes cradled in scandalous conversation about everything from the horderves to Kane Pellegrino’s bedroom habits, I learned that Olivier stuck her poignantly upturned nose away from the likes of Adriano Cliffs and his slimy business deals. She made no mention of Red Hood, but complained in great detail that real estate competition between the Pellegrinos and D’amicis was a problem solved by the marriage and that was that. Cliffs had been pestering her for months, but she wouldn’t sign a thing. When thirty minutes turned into an hour, I finally caught Jason’s face amidst the party. I hadn’t expected the following relief that washed over me as I excused myself.

We reconvened, settling on a chaise in the lounge.

“I got everything I need.” He said simply, with no further indulgence as to what he’d been up to for the past two and a half hours. I lowered my voice as I updated him on my end.

“Olivier doesn’t want to work with Cliffs- she thinks he wants to break up the families again. Penelope’s marriage was bad for his business.”

Jason nodded thoughtfully. “Good work, little bird.”

“She’s nice.” I added.

“Hm?”

“Penelope. She’s nice. And innocent.”

A beat passed before Jason sighed lightly, and leaned close, eyes moving across the crowd.

“You see that woman over there?” I followed his gaze to a pudgy, but frail woman in a wheelchair who had to be in her late eighties. Her purple blouse was adorned with a matching silk bow on the neckline, as she smiled as she cupped the face of a young boy. A grandchild, perhaps.

“Pepper de LeShapelle.” Jason’s lips grazed my ear for the closeness of them. “If the D’amicis enlist the help of some third party goons- guys just tryin’ to whip up some extra cash, feed their families- and those guys wind up in Finger River afterward, de LeShapelle signed the order. She pays the legal team, too. Been doing it since the eighties.” My gaze fell away from her. “Nobody’s innocent here, dollface. If Penelope is now- which I doubt- she won’t be in a couple years. Maybe she won’t gun anyone down, but she’ll sure as hell be signing the orders for somebody else to do it. That’s D’amici tradition.” I didn’t respond, letting my silence speak for itself. I still couldn’t get the picture of Red Hood pointing a gun at Penelope out of my head.

“Andre! Come, come.” A voice interrupted my thoughts. Jason turned and gave a charming smile to a man with a thick accent in a monochrome black suit. “Pardon, my dear, but I must steal your companion for a moment.” He addressed me. I smiled agreeably.

“He’s all yours.”

Jason- Andre, as it were- left in a blur of suits and pocket watches, and I wandered around the townhouse for a while, busying myself with scones and inspecting baby pictures until ten minutes passed, and the air began to dizzy me.

Nights in Gotham were always pretty; the shadows filled all the cracks and made the flaws too dark to see. In Little Italy, the view from the balcony was particularly breathtaking, with colors like oil paints against a dusk canvas. Stars hung low in the fading light, competing with the twinkling lights of the city below. I could see a ferry steaming along in Finger River. The shade of blue made me realize how the chaos had worn on me. Stepping onto the terrace was a cool and much-needed repose.

After a while, footsteps sounded behind me. They were heavy and relaxed; lazy strides that could only be Jason’s. He was intimidating in his armor, lurching into a fight with fistfuls of firepower and that daunting stance he always took. But somehow, he was more intimidating here, out of his element, with wine and music and satin blouses, affluent society moving around him like water in a stream. He was uncharacteristically poised to pretend. In a fight, I could see the anger, the strain, the stubborn willfulness in the way he trusted completely the momentum of his own body. He was a great combatant, but I knew his moves. I always knew what he wanted. Here, even though I could see his face, I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Everyone was his enemy, everyone was his friend. He could smile at a mafia goon and scowl at servant, and feel the exact opposite way. I felt like he was always lying.

Jason sauntered over and leaned against the Romanesque stone railing. He smelled like cologne and wine, and in fact tipped his glass to his lips for a sip.

“Hope it wasn’t too overwhelmin’.” He muttered, eyes falling on the city. He looked apologetic- but perhaps it was the lighting.

“No, it’s fine. I just needed some air.”

Something like glass breaking sounded from inside, followed by a chorus of laughter. He glanced back, amusement dancing on his lips. I wondered if he’d rather be back there; he did so seem to love the fray.

I ran a finger across a crack in the railing. Dick would have loved to know I’d attended a party with the upper echelon of mafia society. I thought I’d remembered a stupid story about his escapades with congressman’s daughter at the G.C. Opera House.

“What’s wrong?” Jason’s low voice broke through my thoughts, and I looked at him, surprised at the expression of interest he wore. I hesitated, shifting my weight as I stalled. Of course I didn’t want to tell him I’d been thinking of Dick.

“It’s stupid.” A beat.

“Yeah? Tell me anyway.” He said, with some finality. Again, I paused.

“Go on, little bird.” He said, drawing almost imperceptibly nearer, dipping his head close, drawing a line between ourselves and the mansionful of strangers. “Tell me.”

I was agonizingly aware of the modest inches between us. “My moms… they loved to travel. Everywhere they went, they always did something- something memorable. They were the life of the party, everywhere. They had a lot of stories.”

He didn’t say anything. It made me nervous, so I kept going to fill the silence.

“They probably came to Little Italy a lot. Probably before I was born. Ma used to tease me, because I never did anything. Or went anywhere. I just studied and… stayed home.”

More silence. I didn’t even want to look at him. He was the Red fucking Hood and I was telling him about my dead moms like he was alcoholics anonymous.

“I can’t help but feel like… I don’t know. I guess I wasn’t disappointing them, really. But I keep thinking how happy and proud they’d be now if they… if I could tell them all the stories I have now.” I concluded, watching cars with golden yellow headlights file like ants down the cobblestone streets.

“Huh.”

I blinked- not really sure what I was expecting out of him. Emotional intelligence-wise, he did die when he was a 15 year old boy. I never really yearned for him to offer me solace; but the way he just looked at me and listened made me feel like I could say anything.

I looked over at him, and he flashed me a toothy, wolfish grin and sipped his wine.

“So, if they were here, what tales would you tell em, darlin’?” He asked, eyeing me with some unreadable plan formulating in his head.

“I… well, I don’t know. I guess I don’t have anything that impressive yet. I’m spending my first ever mafia party on a balcony.”

“Easily remedied. Come on, I’ll get ya another glass.” He stood.

“Well, I‘ve never drank wine either.”

He looked at me with genuine surprise. “Ever?”

I shrugged. He settled back against the railing. “Do you want to?”

“I don’t know…” I hesitated. I’d had beer before, and burning liquor in the dark quells of some distant classmate’s basement party. But that, I could barely remember. I added quietly, “It smells bad.” He laughed his uncanny, jagged laugh.

“Yeah?” He gave me a vexatious look. “How ‘bout just a taste?” I glanced at the empty glass hanging in his fingers.

“Too bad you drank it all.” I said teasingly.

“I said a taste, not a sip.”

He drew closer. Leaning on the railing like we were, it was easy to forget my height reached only his chest. Before I could give any forethought to what any of this would mean for me, his calloused fingers were tilting my chin upward, tipping my face toward his. I could feel the warmth of his body and breath- it made the night seem colder, though I knew it was tepid at worst. His lips were soft and considerate when they met mine, gently adding pressure. It was a feather-light, brief thing. What startled me more than the kiss itself was the gentleness of it.

When he pulled away, I breathed, realizing I’d forgotten to. I blinked as he let go of my chin, a small grin playing at his lips as he surveyed my reaction. Realizing he wasn’t going to kiss me again himself, I leaned in this time, butterflies fluttering in my stomach as I did. Jason kissed me back, more enthusiastically this time. His tongue danced against my lips until I parted them, whereupon he slipped it past my teeth. The intimacy cradled me like a blurry dream- I hadn’t at all been expecting to be here with him, tonight, like this; and yet here I was, and not wishing to be anywhere else. Jason was with me- tall, strong, gorgeous Jason Todd- choosing me over all the rich and beautiful people of Little Italy beyond the stained glass french doors of the terrace. Choosing me over the criminals and vagrants he had the power to puppeteer for any purpose he so chose. The way his mouth and tongue felt was dizzying. And he was right; I could taste the wine. Fruity and tangy, with a more earnest, earthy bitterness just below the surface. When my breath hitched, asking for air, he pulled away. After a deep sigh, I leaned into him, letting his arms encircle me, laying my head against the fabric of his shirt.

Our mission was over. We could’ve left any time. But there, then, I couldn’t even associate with the idea of pulling away from him.

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madllamamomma · 4 years ago

Text

The Cave~ Part 2 (Muriel x OC)

[This chapter is actually SWF, other than profanity and adult themes. Still, no trash pandas under 18. Thanks.]

Part 2~

Swimsuits and Sandwiches~

Still a bit taken by surprise, Rhemi tilts her head thinking about what Asra just asked her. A..... beach day? She thought. That’s a little random. The last time I went to the beach was almost a year after I woke up. The sounds of the ocean waves crashing to the shore and the smells of salty air come to her mind. A faint smile twitches up in the corners of her mouth as she continues to ponder on the thought of being in the warm sun.

“.... The beach?...” Muriel mutters warily, sounding to not be the biggest fan of that idea and he sneers a little. “Why there???”

Asra takes a step back, letting go of Rhemi, exchanging it for Julian’s hand and leans affectionately into his arm making him flounder as he lazily closes his eyes to explain. “Well, Rhemi’s Aunt Athena used to take her every year on this date.”

Rhemi glances between all her friend’s faces then back to Asra’s, tilting her head cluelessly and raising an eyebrow. “She…. We did??” Thoughtfully she glances to the wooden floor boards with her pointer finger resting on her bottom lip. She still can’t really recall any of those things.

Asra stifles a chuckle at her adorable puzzled expression. “Yeah. It was like a little tradition you both had. Athena said you liked to look for ingredients for potions, powders, things like that. She used to make a day of it, played games, packed a lunch, sometimes you even went swimming.”

“...Did you go too?”

A shrug rolls smoothly off his shoulders. “A couple of times, yeah. Especially when we were younger. It was a lot of fun.”

“Hmmmmmm.” Rhemi folds her arms, and taps her chin with her finger looking towards the shelves eyeing the large conch shell that lived there that she always admired. It was huge, about half the size of Muriel’s hand. Visualizing the crispy blue-ish green water, the smell of the salty ocean breeze, and the wonderful feeling of the hot sun beating down on her skin makes her smile even wider. “Ya know? A beach day does sound pretty nice actually. I’m sure the water would be nice, too.”

“Then what are we waiting for?? I have a good suit that I've been dying to use back at the clinic!” Julian says with a cheer tone walking towards the door.

A swimsuit….Oh no. “Ooooh wait..... I don’t think I have anything to wear anymore…”

Suddenly Julian stops dead in his tracks, spins around dramatically, his one eye lights up with pure excitement, and Rhemi starts to slightly grimace, realizing what she just said out loud. “OOOOO! We are gonna go shhhhhhoooooopppppppiiiiinnnnnngggggggggggg!!!!” He sings whimsically wiggling his hands and fingers.

“Oh noooooooooo….” Rhemi huffs unenthusiastically. She despise clothes shopping. That’s why she wore such baggy clothes (other than her tight pants and under shirt) and fastened them all together with a corset belt.

The silly Doctor quickly whisks Rhemi away out the door, Portia tailing behind with a large goofy smile. “Oooo! Ooo!! OOOO!!!! I’m coming too!! I’m coming too!! Wait for meee! I know the perfect place to find one!”

Trapped between the two, Rhemi had nowhere to go but with them. She groans, helplessly rolling her eyes knowing that there is no real way out of it, and when you think about it, shopping is a lot more tolerable with good company. “Just…. Just nothing too revealing, please!!” She murmurs.

“YAAAYYYY!” The Devoraks cheer together merrily, leaving Muriel and Asra alone in the shop with the door wide open.

Asra snickers a bit and shouts, “Take it easy on her, you two!” And they wave without looking behind them, still dropping their friend down the street. The magician just shakes his head and shuts the door and waves his friend along. Muriel just scowls grumbling into his fur cloak, and Asra just smile at him. “Come on. I can probably whip something up for you.”

“Thanks….” Muriel unenthusiastically grumbles. He feels a bit uncomfortable with going back to the shores. The last time he was there wasn’t the best of memories, but it’s for Rhemi’s sake so he’ll deal with it. She did seem happy to be going, and that's really all that matters to him.

--------

While Portia and Julian go shopping with Rhemi for the perfect swimsuit for her, Asra swiftly makes his friend something he could wear as well. He makes him a long brown wrap-around cloth that stops around his knees. Knowing that he would be uncomfortable showing that much skin, (well more than he already is) Asra also made him a thin olive colored cloak to put him at ease. Muriel tries on the outfit and Asra places his hand on his hips proudly. “Whatcha think?”

“Tall friend handsome!” Faust hisses cutely.

Muriel looks all around and looks in the long mirror and nods slowly in approval with a faint blush. “It’s, ah... a-acceptable… I guess… T-Thanks, Asra.”

The magician laughs a little then goes in a flash he changes into a white with gold trim short shorts. As he comes out of his room, he dons a cover for now, a cute little lavender flowy dress.

Now mid morning, Asra and Muriel start to pack up a picnic basket and start to fill it with small plates, a couple of forks, a few napkins, a dozen or so small sandwiches, three loaves of bread, some cheese, a small jar of olive oil and of course Agrippa’s cake so they can all enjoy it at the beach. Asra then notices Muriel is just staring at the picnic basket, his mind miles away. By the looks of it, not somewhere pleasant.

“...Muriel?” Asra whispers, making his friend snap back to reality. “You ok?”

“Oh… Sorry.” He mumbles shaking himself out of his thoughts and returns back to his task of making sandwiches.

Asra flutters his eyes softly. “What’s wrong?”

“I-I’m fine...”

Asra looks at the picnic basket pondering on if for a minute. It’s nothing particularly special, just a large wicker picnic basket. They have seen hundreds of them before.... in fact... Finally it dawns on him exactly what is weighing so heavily on the hermit’s mind. Asra exhales sharply through his nose. “...Thinking about what happened the last time we were there together?”

His tall friend stiffens for a moment, sticking out his bottom lip, and his face turns a little pink. “...No..” He fibs.

Asra stifles a chuckle and a small reassuring smile sprouts across his lips. “The beach is actually a lot more fun when you aren’t forced to sleep there.”

Muriel’s shoulder’s relax a bit, knowing that his friend can read right through his lie. He scratches his left ear a little, feeling a tad bit embarrassed. “... A lot of stuff is actually fun now…. with the right people I guess.”

Rather touched with his statement, Asra places his hand over his chest. “Awwwww, Muriel! You’ve grown so much!—”

“—S-shut up.” Muriel grumpily moans going back to the sandwiches, turning away to hide his smile. “...Why do you have to make things weird?”

Asra laughs and starts back on wrapping up the sandwiches in napkins. “No, really! I mean it. You and Rhemi both have grown so much. The two have just brought out the best in each other. And... And I never want to see you two apart. You belong together.”

“I know…. I don’t know where I’d be if it weren't for her. Probably still wanting to be alone in the forest…. Still wanting everyone to forget that I even existed.” He pauses again, but this time his eyes are glowing with warmth and love as he think about Rhemi’s pretty face. “I… I want to be with her forever…” Muriel flushes a little harder and sheepishly looks at the half made sandwich in his hand. “Asra.... I…. ahh…. I’ve been meaning to ask you…..”

“‘Bout what?”

Muriel's large strong hands start to slightly tremble and he swallows hard. “...What… if….I… I dunno….” Crimson red now engulfs the top of his head down to his chest and a little bit of sweat beading at his brow placing the half made sandwich to the counter top. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, makes vague gestures with his hands then somehow beams even more red. Frustrated, he turns his entire body away to pretend to fetch some more cucumbers, despite the fact there are still three whole ones on the counter.

With a large sigh, Asra places his hand on his shoulder reassuringly. “You can tell me anything, Muriel. I’m your friend and I will never judge you for it.”

Taking a large terrified inhale, Muriel turns himself back to face him and twiddles his thumbs. “..... How would you feel… If…. I asked Rhemi… to… to—”

Slowly the white haired magician starts to realize that he’s trying to ask, and his eyes start to get wider and his lips stretch up into a large toothy smile, and Muriel’s words die in his throat. “Murieeeellllll~ Do you want to pop the question?”

“N-No…….” He scoffs. But then his face softens and he quickly grumbles, rubbing the back of his neck. “...Alrightmaybealittlebit.”

“AAHHHHHHHH! OHMYGOODNESS—MURIEL!!!!!!” Asra squeals, throwing his arms around Muriel’s waist making him just groan and flush even more. “Wait—Wait-wait!!! A-Are you asking for my blessing?!”

Muriel throws up his hand and shrugs awkwardly and shuts his eyes, trying not to stammer. “I—I dunno!.. I don’t know h-how to do any of—” He vaguely gestures to all around him and to Asra making him smile even wider. “I—I n-never thought…. I’d be in this p-p-position!”

“Of course you have my blessing, Muriel!! No one in the world is more deserving of her then you!!!” Muriel makes a strange shocked mumble, his hands hover over Asra’s shoulders. Slowly they come to rest on his back accepting his affection. “HA! Now I can’t stop thinking about how beautiful your babies are going to be~”

“HUH????” Muriel suddenly covers his face with his hands, but smiles secretly liking the idea of it. “—Wait a minute!—Sl-slow down a bit! I haven't even asked yet! She might tell me no…. I mean… We’ve only known each other for little over a year!... She might think it’s weird. Say ‘no’.” His smile falls, it’s clear that he’s terrified of what she might say or even think about him.

“But you know she’s the one—I can see how you look at her! And I’m pretty sure she feels the same about you. I have known Rhemi for years. I have seen her with a couple of different guys before she came back. She has never looked at any of them the way she looks at you! Rhemi loves you, Muriel. With every fiber of her being--”

Muriel suddenly lifts Asra up in a huge bear hug that takes him by surprise, but loves at the same time and he squeezes his large barreling chest. A few seconds later, Muriel sets him down, realizing himself and clears his throat. “.... D….Don’t we have some sandwiches to make?” Asra holds his stomach and laughs at the hermit’s sheepish face. He then takes pity on the man and pats him on the arm. “Thanks…” He whispers with a small grin, feeling so relieved that his friend approves. Asra has been there for him so long, even though he may never admit it, their opinion is very important to him.

The two finally go back to their rhythm making sandwiches and wrapping them up, and there is a comfortable silence for a while. But then Asra snickers a little without looking at Muriel. “So…. when are you gonna ask her?” He whispers loudly.

“A-ASRA!!” Muriel scowls.

Suddenly the door flies open and in walks Rhemi, Portia, and Julian all carrying a canvas tote of some kind. “—I really wish you’d stop saying that, Portia!” Rhemi says opening the door to the shop with her cheeks hot and pink. Apparently the three of them are continuing on their conversation.

“What~?? You should be proud to have such nice big ones!—I was just a bit shocked because you always hide them with these loose shirts of yours!” Portia teases and Rhemi gets even more red.

“Ugggggghhhh!!!! SHUSH!!!” She gripes then covers her mouth with the back of her hand. “I know they're big!!!” She loudly whispers.

Julian just is holding in his laughter, snickering all the way back from the market and Rhemi holds in the urge to punch him. Muriel and Asra stick their heads out the door frame holding the picnic basket eyes wide and confused. “...Do we wanna know?” Asra chuckles while Julian trots over.

“—NO!” Rhemi quickly snaps with her bottom lip out freezing in place. The magician’s eyes light up as his partner hands him a tiny straw sun hat for Faust and she slithers around his neck giving him a loving squeeze, and he only flinches a little.

“Yeah, you‘ll just see.” Julian loudly whispers, gently peeling Faust off his neck with a large grin while heading to Asra’s room to get changed.

Embarrassed, Rhemi covers her face with her hands, her words muffled by her fingers, “HolyfuckIhateyoubothrightnow.”

Muriel ducks out of the kitchen and trundles over to his lover. As soon as she notices his presence, she drops her hands and she gives him a warm hug and he returns it. “Find something?” Muriel asks as she pulls away to look in his mossy emerald eyes.

“Ahhhh… I guess I did.” Rhemi mumbles with her hands still around his waist. “Not...uhh.. Exactly what I was expecting to find… buuuuuut—” She finally notices his outfit and glances back down changing the subject. “Well you look cute!! Asra, did you make this for him? I love the color!” Asra nods proudly and Muriel scratches the back of his neck shyly.

Giddily, Portia skips over, tugging Rhemi’s shoulder towards the stairs. “Hey, we’re burning daylight! Let’s get changed!” She says so giggly like a young school girl.

Rhemi whips her head towards her direction. “Oh—Okay!” Using Muriel’s forearm as leverage, she jumps up and steals a quick peck on his cheek making him flush ridiculously, then she zips up the stairs to get changed with Portia as he tries to hide a love drunk expression. “Be back in a minute!” She says with a wink.

Muriel’s attention then goes to Julian as he dramatically bursts out of Asra’s room with a puffy long sleeved, but lite, burgundy embroidered shirt with a deep cut V and a black pair of very short trunks. “Ta-da~” He sings trying to embody a fabulous pose. Muriel stares at him blankly while Asra sputters into laughter at the doctor's goofiness. Finally, Muriel turns grumbling loudly and rolling his eyes, heading back to the kitchen to finish the last of the sandwiches.

Portia is the first to come down stairs, dressed in a large sun hat and an off-the-shoulder scarlet tankini. “Come on, Rem!” She excitedly calls to her as she brushes out the wrinkles in her short orange cover-up around her waist.

“I’m coming, I’m coming! Hang on!” Rhemi comes hopping down trying to get her dark blue slip on shoes on her feet. Asra and Muriel feel slightly disappointed as they see her coming down in an ombré green wrap tied around her neck that covers all the way down to her knees, not yet getting a chance to catch a glimpse at her new swimsuit that the Devoraks were raving about. She quickly pulls her hair up into a bun and cutely says, “Ready!” It’s good to see her looking happy again.

Muriel silently grabs the picnic basket and pulls his hood over his head. Asra, fetches a large blanket and places in a large canvas tote. Portia takes a beach ball and Julian has an umbrella. Rhemi also is carrying another umbrella, along with her trusty crossbody bag filled with glass jars with tops on them so she can collect items that they need. This was the main point of this trip after all.

As the group of friends head out of the shop, Rhemi closes the door tight and swiftly places the protection spell, securing it safely. Key in hand, she spins around as she drops it into her bag, and finds herself starting at them all.

Just the other day, she felt such dread like she had an empty void tugging away at her chest. Fixated and upset that she didn’t remember why she hates August 15th so much and what exactly she lost that day. But today, all of the anxiety, the emptiness, and the nausea all but disappeared as if it never existed in the first place. She might not remember her childhood, but she does remember what it feels to be terribly lonely. Yet watching her friends joke and laugh and carry on amongst themselves as they wait for her, this was something she always wanted. At one point she even envied what she has now. But now this is all her’s. Surrounded by love, understanding, and never ending kindness. People who love her. The real her. She can’t help her as she smiles stupidly, thinking to herself, “What did I deserve to have so many wonderful people who care about in my life?”

Muriel turns around and his eyes meet with her’s. Seeing the corny grin on her face, he knows exactly what she’s thinking and he smiles back. How can you not smile back at a ray of sunshine? Nodding his head, gesturing for her to hurry over, she hops merrily off the step and over to her friends, excited for the day they're going to have together. She loops her arm around Muriel’s left bicep and he gives her a gentle little squeeze. “Let’s go everyone!!” Rhemi happily shouts, tugging Muriel ahead of the pack, nearly sprinting, pointing towards the shores of Vesuvia like she’s going into battle.

“Today is going to be a good day… What happened in the past doesn’t matter… All that does matter is that I’m here now, in this moment. Loving every minute of it.”

To be continued…

I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG. But holidays, am I right?? Anyways, lets hope that 2021 is a better year that this dumpster fire. Thank you all for being the lovely trash pandas that you are and making 2020 bearable. I really don’t know what i would have done without The Arcana, this fandom and all of you guys you read my hot trash. I love you all, have a great night, and as always...

Thanks for reading my hot garbage. <3

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