#i have no way of knowing where she is or contacting her

[lostatsea-blog]

Bringing Home the Gold (Part 4)

Alexia Putellas x England Reader

Will Y/N and Alexia find their happy ending?

For a brief moment time stood still. The two of you were frozen, unable to take your eyes off each other. Alexia looked tired and was dressed in her Spain tracksuit with a cap; your heart ached at how utterly beautiful she looked even when dressed so casually. Realising that you had frozen at the top of the stairs just staring at her, you took a step forward and Alexia saw that as her cue to stand. As you took in her appearance, you were drawn to how nervous she looked. She was finding it difficult to keep eye contact, her gaze drifting down to the carpet at her feet. Your heart clenched causing your stomach to roll while your mind filled with a million different reasons why she looked so nervous – none of the reasons your mind conjured were good.  

“Why are you here?” the words were out of your mouth before you could stop them and you frowned at how harsh you sounded. You opened your mouth again, fully intending to correct the tone you had just used, but your mouth was now in control and taking absolutely no direction from you “Your supposed to be in Ibiza enjoying your holiday with Jenni” You knew it was a low blow when you saw the hurt flash across Alexia’s face. It was only there for a second before she regained her composure.  

“No one has been able to contact you for four days and this is what you say?” Alexia challenged “You told me not now and not here and then you just disappear. Did you expect me to just not care?” her voice demanded no longer trying to hide the hurt and frustration she was feeling.

“In all honesty, I didn’t think you would care! It would mean you no longer had to pretend and you could give all of your time to Jenni” You replied. You watched the words hit the Spanish captain and could see her body recoil at the implication behind them. You knew you were being unfair, Alexia had never given you any reason to believe that she would cheat but you were hurt, you were humiliated and you wanted her to feel even a fraction of what you had been feeling.  

A door slamming on the floor above reminded you that you were stood outside your flat, which was not the best place for this conversation.

“Let’s do this inside” You sigh moving past her and opening the door. You walked in and took your coat off assuming that Aleixa was following you – it took a moment to realise that she hadn’t. She remained in a state of uncertainty at the threshold “You can come in Aleixa” you sighed

“I didn’t want to assume” she whispered and you knew, in that moment, Alexia was unsure of her place; something very new to the Spanish midfielder. She did not know how to behave in this space that was only yours or how to interact with this version of you. She followed you in and you led her into the kitchen. You observed her, without being obvious, as she took in your little flat. There were different collectables on the walls and signs of your achievements over the years. You saw the briefest of smiles as her eyes landed on your framed photo from the Euros. You busied yourself making coffee for the two of you, delaying this conversation as long as possible. When you finished making the drinks, you placed hers in front of her. She smiled softly; you had made her favourite drink just the way she liked it. It gave her a renewed sense of hope, like you were thawing a little and were open to what needed to be said.

“You didn’t go to Ibiza” you stated but she understood the question

“Did you think I would go when I had no idea where you were or what was going on” she asked

“And yet, for someone who didn’t know where I was, you seem to have had no trouble finding me” You snarked and again you wanted to kick yourself and tell yourself to shut up! What the fuck was wrong with you? She had come looking for you and somehow tracked you down and you wire sniping like a petulant child

“Y/N” she sighed heavily “Please stop! I used every contact I knew to try and find out where you might be” Your heart swelled at her admission as you understood the effort she made to find you. This had never been a test. You had not done this to see if she would try and find you (you had genuinely felt so overwhelmed you didn’t know how to function) but the fact that she had made you feel like you mattered to her. The other side of your brain wouldn’t allow you the luxury of letting down your guard, reminding you that she could have tracked your down to end your relationship in person. Alexia would not end things in a message or over the phone.

“Alexia, I don’t know what you want me to say” You respond your brashness suddenly deflating

“I hate when you say my name like that” She muttered with a quiet huff

“it is your name” You retort

“Not usually with you” and she was right. It was very rare that you used her full name, preferring to use terms of endearment or just a shortened Lex.

You genuinely wanted to scream. There was no one in the world who could get you as agitated and wound up as Alexia Putellas. The painful irony being that she was also the only person who could calm you down and alleviate the pain you had been feeling the last four days. Your snark came from fear. If you could give her a reason to end the relationship, then it wouldn’t have been about Jenni; It wouldn’t have been that you were second best or just not good enough. You were about to open your mouth to ask her to just get on with it, so you could begin the process of getting over her when she muttered “I’m sorry”

You blinked rapidly trying to process those two small words. Two words that could mean anything. I’m sorry I can’t do this, I’m sorry it’s not worth it, I’m sorry you’re not who I want. She must have seen the confusion and apprehension on your face because she continued “I’m sorry for hurting you the way that I did! My actions, I did not realise at the time what they implied or how it would look to you”

“Look,” you began “I know you and Jenni have history..”

“Don’t excuse what I did” She interrupts “You do that often, allow me to behave selfishly and excuse my actions”

“Lex,” You begin and watch how she swallows at the use of her pet name “I just want you to be happy – what ever that looks like” you step forward and take hold of her hand. You had always found it hard to stay mad at Alexia and when you thought about it, it was probably why you had turned off your phone. What you felt for the blond ran so deep that all it would have taken was a conversation and you needed to be mad at her for a little while.

“My happy is you” she leaned forward and brushed her nose with yours sending shivers down your spine. From the very first night you kissed her, she had the ability to take your breath away with barely a touch. Feeling bolder, she caught your lips in a soft kiss “You are more important than any history or any team. Jenni is my past but you are my forever” her hand reached up and swiped at tears you did not even realise were falling “I would never betray you Y/N, I swear. With everything that has been happening inside the team, In my mind I was showing support and solidarity; Alba helped me realise the implications behind the actions.”

Unable to maintain the distance any longer you surged forward cashing your lips together in a desperate kiss that longed to forget the hurt of the past few days. As you broke apart, you pulled her into your arms, something you had wanted to do since the end of the final. Her arms slipped further around your middle and you felt her grip on the back of your shirt tighten as she held you in a desperate grip afraid that you would pull away.  

“I am so proud of you” you whispered the words you had longer to say before the medal ceremony; the words she had said to you as you spotted the shirt “You are a World Cup Winner and I am so immensely proud of you Lex – Your brought home gold!”

You knew that there was much more to talk about. You knew you would have to tell her about your fears and insecurities but that could wait. The situation with the Spanish National Team was complicated and while you desperately wished you could protect Alexia from all the shit, it was not your fight; it was hers. Your job was to stand by her side while she showed the world just how incredible she truly was; while she made history and while she took strides to improve the game for the girls who would come after her.  

@wosof1

[zepskies]

A SIMPLE TOUCH

Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x Reader

Summary: Annie still has reservations about Ben, and you dating him for that matter…until she sees it.

AN: Surprise drabble! Dipping back into the BMD-verse for a sec. Chronologically, it's set sometime after In the Dark.

Prompt from @lifeonawhim: The reader is physically affectionate. (BMD) Ben sees this, tries to give her that comfort, and it just surprises everyone—how Ben is a source of comfort for her, even though he’s quite literally the strongest man.

Originally posted on Patreon: 1/01/25

Word Count: 600

Tags/Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort, fluff

Break Me Down Masterlist

Annie was loyal to a fault. For that reason, she was still skeptical about Soldier Boy—about Ben, even after Vought Tower collapsed.

You might’ve been living with him now, but that didn’t mean he was safe, or even a good enough man for you.

She watched you closely in concern while the team filed onto the small private plane. It was set to take you all from northern Pennsylvania back down to New York. You weren’t injured, but in a way, you were still walking wounded.

The rogue supe that the Supe Affairs team was called in to catch had destroyed an office building. You, M.M., and Frenchie had saved a handful of people while Ben and the rest of the team handled the supe. But a young woman slipped right through your fingers off a balcony, falling to the pavement from three stories high.

You still remembered the look of shock cross her face. It was frozen there, even after her body lay prone on the cement. Her blue eyes, perfect mirrors of didn’t see that coming.

That was the picture you couldn’t get out of your head.

Now, you were moving slow, your face tired and drawn. Annie was about to ask if you were okay, even though she knew the answer full well.

Ben reached out his hand to you first. He was ahead of you in the aisle, having put his carry-on bag and yours in the overhead bin. You looked at his hand, and then up at him.

“Come ‘ere,” he said, his voice deep and steady. It steadied you, along with his hand around yours. He guided you not into the seat next to him, but onto his lap. By now he’d changed out of his suit, leaving him in jeans and a dark gray sweater you picked out for him, rolled up to his elbows.

Annie sat with Hughie across the aisle, but she had you and Ben in the corner of her eye. She marveled at the way he was holding you, seeming to know you needed the contact. With a sigh, you allowed yourself to lay against his chest while his warm hand ran up and down your back. A simple touch was all you needed to relax in his arms.

“Don’t mind me. Just gonna sleep for about ten years,” you murmured against his chest. You laid a hand over his heart, silently thanking him as your fingers drifted back and forth.

Ben’s lips quirked upwards. “Just try not to drool on me. New shirt, you know.”

Despite yourself, that managed to make you smile, huffing a laugh. You shoved his shoulder in retaliation. “I don’t drool.”

He knew for a fact that you did, but he just smirked. He sunk his fingers into your hair and inhaled the familiar floral scent of your shampoo.

“Get some shut-eye,” he rumbled. “We’ll be home soon.”

His thumb brushed your cheek, encouraging you to rest. So you did. Your eyes closed on you after you let go of a deep, even breath.

In the grand scheme of things, it was a nothing moment. This was a man who had crumbled two skyscrapers and scarred Hughie for life. (He’d never be able to listen to Air Supply again, pretty much for as long as he lived.)

And yet, maybe it meant Annie could stop worrying so much about your judgment where Ben was concerned.

Only much later, she would realize that this was the moment she actually started to trust him.

AN: I want to get back into BMD world for a longer visit, hopefully soon. 💚💚

Keep Reading in the BMD-verse:

Next in line, we have a fun, fluffy, angsty, smutty, 3-part Christmas special, Love Actually:

Summary: Ben gets in late on Christmas Eve with a Grinch-like attitude, but you’re determined to force some holiday cheer into his system. At least, you hope you can, before he meets the rest of your dysfunctional family on Christmas Day.

▶️ Next Story: Love Actually

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[dcxdpdabbles]

#holiday request Hi, I love your writing! Could you please update either "Danny's grill", "Congratulations! It's Triplets!" or "Phantom's number 1 fan"? Please and thank you

Jason is once again reviewing the map of potential areas Alvin could have been operating in when his burner phone rings. He snatches it up before it can pass the fourth ring, pressing it gently against his ear.

He offers no greeting. It's a tactic he uses to ensure that whoever is calling him has permission to do so. If someone attempts to conform his informants' and allies connection with him, Jason is not about to give them away by speaking first.

"Hey Boss," Honeycomb's voice filters through, edged by that familiar overdramatic southern draw she did when working. Apparently, the clients like listening to her use her accent. "I got eyes on that doll you've been searching for."

Jason sits up straighter. "Where and when?"

Honeycomb is one of the working girls who's been with him since his return to Gotham. She was the first to sign up for his protection, long before he did the whole heads in a duffle bag thing, and was one of his best eyes and ears on the street in exchange.

He didn't know her real name or age- but he was sure she wasn't underage. He made it clear he wouldn't allow it. All Jason knew about Honeycomb was that she had run away from her home in the southern states with nothing but her pretty face, blond curls, hazel eyes, and the clothes on her back.

She was feisty and could charm her way out of most problems with her silver tongue. Her manipulation of her clients was almost an art form, and she could get any information out of anyone with a well-placed hand on the air and a sweet little "darling" on her grubby lips. He often thought she would have been a lawyer if life had been fair to her.

"Just now, on Ruby Street. He was with a man in his late teenage to early twenties. About six feet five inches, black hair, blue eyes, and Caucasian. Alvin was wearing black tights and a red hoodie. The man is in jeans and a white zip-up." Honeycomb rattles in one smooth report, the huskiness of her accent making her articulation more pleasant to the ear. "Seems they were doing a photo shoot."

Jason is already moving towards his bike, switching her call to his helmet. His stomach turns slightly as he grunts, "What kind of photoshoot?"

"Not that kind, Darling. Seemed more like a scavenger hunt, according to Alvin. They are finding specific landscapes and making posses that are answers to some riddles." Honeycomb responds. Distantly, her heels clicking against the concrete echo a little louder, letting Jason know she has wandered into an alley. "I approached Alvin when the man with him went up a fire escape to take a picture with a gargoyle. I offered him my service to him as a cover. Once he confirmed his name was Alvin and he was already with a client, I left before he could get the idea I was attempting to steal his work."

"Good job." Jason boots up his bike, flying out of his hideout without hesitation. He was still twenty minutes away from Ruby Street, but if the pair was going to be a moment, he could close the distance between them and find a trail to follow once on scene.

He questions as he flies through two lanes, ignoring the honking of angry divers. "How did Alvin look? He's supposed to be with one of my contacts, so if he's with someone, it might be a John roughing him up."

I'll deal with Victorian later. He mentally swears How dare he not tell me, Alvin went back to the field after hiding out for so long without a ounce of protection.

"The sweetheart doesn't seem hurt, but I can tell his client is one of those problematic kinds." Honeycombs sighs, the edges of unease slipping into her voice. "He looks at Alvin like he's in love."

Shit. It's never suitable for working folks to meet someone who "loves" them. Nine out of ten times, it was just a wacko who became violent the moment the prostitute so much as hinted that this was only a job to them. Jason had pulled out three women's bodies from the Brown River the last time one of those clients fell in love.

Jason pressed harder on the accelerator. "Are they still there?"

Honeycomb hums "The John is on the roof now, but Alvin is waiting for him under the street pole-Oh shit!"

Jason nearly slams into a nearby car at her sudden yell. "What happened?"

She doesn't answer, but he can pick up the sound of her running and her fast breathing. He knows she is getting out of danger because if there is one thing Honeycomb is as a person, she's a survivor. He wants answers but would rather she focus on getting herself safe first.

He meanwhile, concentrates on the phone calls and the vehicles he's flying between.

It's a few minutes before she gasps. "Sorry, Darling, I had to run. Batman was on the roof with the John."

What.

"Batman just appeared out of nowhere and threw a bucket of mud at the john. Alvin didn't seem to notice, but I did. Batman made eye contact with me, so I ran." She concludes, pushing through her uneven breathing. "I have to go, Darling. Hideout before the Bats lock me up."

"That's alright. Stay safe." Jason tells her, taking a turn sharply as she hangs up the call without another word. The second she does, he double-taps his helmet to connect to the Bat communications.

"Barbie. I need to know what B is up to now."

_________________________________________________________

Bruce watches the Fae shake the mud out of his face after he has scrambled down the fire escape. Tim was at his side in a second, using a handkerchief to gently clean up the Fae's face.

There were a lot of whispered words, but based on what Bruce could pick up from lip reading, Tim had no idea he was up here. He just assumed the Fae got caught up in a juvenile prank.

Oddly enough, that was primarily due to the Fae covering for Bruce.

It was rather disappointing the repealing spell hadn't worked, but the Justice League Dark the mixture of John's Wort, primroses, and marsh marigolds mushed together with water socked in iron during the full moon should have made it possible to force the contact with Tim to break down.

Of course, this had been a desperate attempt, seeing as all the JL Dark had been unsure which method was best when he asked how to get a Fae to leave a human alone.

A lot of debate went into finding a solution, but in the end, Bruce had chosen a mixture repellent. He had even decided to use some holy water and trough in blessed soil and blessed iron just to make it extra powerful.

The magic users had all assured him it would work as long as it touched the Fae skin while Bruce chanted Tim's full legal name. It had felt rather ridiculous dragging a bucket half the size of himself through the city, trying to spot where Tim and his companion were, and even more so when he had sprinted across the rooftop screaming.

"Timothy Jackson Drake! Timothy Jackson Drake! Timothy Jackson Drake!"

The Fae had been in the middle of taking a photo. He set up his camera on a little tripod and, after pressing the time, had run to face the city- back facing Bruce- raising his arms to form a triangle above his head. Based on fact the camera was slightly lower then the Fae's torso, Bruce could deduct her was attempting to capture himself making the triangle top of one of the most iconic buildings in Gotham.

Spear tower.

He waited only long enough for the flash to go off, so by the time the Fae turned around, he had a face full of mud.

It splat all over his front, covering every inch of what should have set Tim free. The silence followed was louder than anything Bruce had ever heard, even as the Fae calmly picked up his camera and scurried to the ground.

Bruce let him go, wondering why he had failed. Thankfully, it seemed Tim and the Fae were getting back in their car- not the food truck for some reason- and were driving away.

Tonight, Bruce would find its lair and get his son home because letting him take a relaxing vacation was alarming to the rest of his children.

He rushed to the Batmobile, climbing into the driver seat and taking off after the pair. As he was driving, he could have sworn Jason just passed by him, moving like the devil was after him.

Bruce wondered briefly if he should check in on his third oldest but thought better of it when he noticed Cass, Dick, and Duke driving right behind Jason on their own bikes. His children had each other backs.

A few hours later, Bruce stood before a large empty field. He had watched the Fae drive into it and vanish from sight. None of his machines could pick up any hint on where they might have gone, but he was reasonably sure there wasn't any teleportation involved.

Sometimes teleportation left some traces in the airwaves. It's how Bruce could track people using the boom tub or find the Flash whenever Barry went on a craze.

Bruce was thinking that this was the Fae's court and his magical home was being protected by supernatural means. He just had to figure out how to get in and Tim out.

As he was considering the field, a soft, distant roar made him reach for his weapons. He turns one hand poise for a throw, his trusted batarangs in between his fingers, only to become surprised when he recognizes the vehicles driving towards him.

It was his spare Batmobile and four bird-themed motorbikes. His children.

"B?" Dick questions after spinning to a stop and sliding right in front of Bruce. He lowers his window, looking at him with apparent confusion despite the Nightwing mask blocking his eyes. "What are you doing here?"

"Following a lead on the Fae. What are you doing here?" Bruce asks, lowering his arm but keeping his weapon. He could never be too sure this isn't a trick.

"Following a lead on Tim." Dick responds, stepping out of his car. Two other doors open, and out steps Steph and Damian, both looking posed for a fight. Of all his children, those two tend to be the most territorial and have not taken to Tim being a semi-held hostage well. "Oracle was able to track him through the city cameras after he popped up taking photos."

"hmm"

Jason jogged over to them with Cass not far behind. "Wait,, you got a lead on your cases too? We would check in on Victorian and see if he knew anything about Alvin."

He gestures to those behind him, indicating Cass and Duke, but the daytime hero is not paying attention. Duke was staring at the field, mouth slightly open as if in awe. Bruce straightens once he realizes Duke can probably see or at least detect the magical castle.

"Victorian?" Damian asks, crossing his arms. "Who is that?"

"The owner of the giant mansion we're standing in front of. He's one of my contacts."

"Ugh, not to make you feel crazy, Hoodie," Steph speaks up, placing a hand on the crook of her hip and waving her hand to the field. "But there is literally nothing there

"What are you talking about. This place is bigger than Wayne Manor."

Bruce heard about this. Guests who have been here before or have permission to enter can see glimpses of the Otherworld that Fae deals in. However, it is surprising to know Jason has already been in contact with the Fae before and has not been kept.

Did that throw a wrench in his theory of Tim and Alvin being the same person? Why would the Fae ask Jason to find Tim if he was in the creature's home?

Before anyone could say anything else, a giant gate entrance suddenly manifested mere feet from where Bruce stood. A soft creek was heard as it was thrown open, and a glowing woman in an old mail outfit floated just a foot off the ground on the other side. She eyed them all in an eerie, emotionless face before bending her own into a low bow. "Welcome. My King wishes to invite you in."

Well, that's not ominous at all.

His children shared a look between them, silently letting each other know to be cautious as they followed the floating woman. She led them down an impressive driveway that slowly gave way to a massive mansion.

Bruce fought to keep the surprise off his face. Jason was right. This place was more prominent and grander than his manor. It didn't just scream wealth. It screamed nobility; it screamed royalty.

The group walked into the main hall, some muttering thanks to the bowing woman who opened the doors. "Of course. The King stated that his home would always be open to Master Alvin's kin."

She vanished from sight like mist fading away as soon as they crossed the doorway.

Bruce's eyes instantly landed on the figure standing atop the grand stairs. Tim was gawking at them, wearing nothing but a long, seductive black robe with fluffy collars and wrists. The front of the rob was open, displaying a large amount of chest and thigh, but keeping the significant bits out of sight.

Thankfully.

His skin was glowing, his hair tussled stylishly, and a dozen red roses were in his hands. Tim looked like he was planning a romantic evening in his get-up.

"Oh," He said dumbly. "You're not Danny."

"What the fuck is going on" Jason demanded after a long period of silence.

"Um...I was planning on seducing my friend. What are you all doing?"

"Regretting waking up this morning," Damian demands, pressing a hand over his eyes. "Please get decent. My nightmares are horrid enough."

Bruce nods. "You were Alvin Draper and are romantically involved with the Fae. He seems to be treating you well. That's good."

All of his children stared at him for a long moment before the hall erupted with displeased noises. Bruce was taken aback.

Did none of them know any of this? It seemed obvious to him.

[vigilante-3073]

Right Where You Left Me

Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Summary: There had always been something lingering between them, an unspoken connection that could destroy everything.

TW: Boss/Employee relationship, tension, angst, mentions of death/loss, resignation, right person wrong time.

Y/N L/N had been a member of the BAU for years. Y/N looked through case files, arranging them in priority order based on victim amount and methodology. Y/N presented the cases to the team while JJ contacted local officials and interacted with the media. As a result of her role, Y/N spent quite a bit of time with Hotch.

Y/N reviewed cases with him, allowing Hotch to decide which unsub posed the most risk based on his profiling expertise. Y/N was incredibly good at her job, she saw a great deal of darkness and tried her best to prioritize and compartmentalize.

There would always be those cases that made it feel like there was no point in trying to stop bad things from happening. Humanity would always find different despicable ways to harm one another.

Hotch could always tell when the work was beginning to get to her. He was kind, willing to set aside the work and have a serious talk with her about their jobs. There were people out there who counted on them, victims who wouldn't be alive today if it weren't for the BAU.

Hotch always managed to bring her comfort, reminding her why they do what they do and making her entire day better. He was a good man and Y/N trusted him more than anyone. She would do absolutely anything he asked without question.

Some people may call it loyalty, but that's not what it was.

It was love.

Y/N had been in love with him for years, she knew that she could never tell him how she felt. He was married and he had a family at home. Y/N saw Haley and Jack on multiple occasions, each time left her with an uneasy feeling of guilt that settled in her stomach like a rock.

Y/N tried to remain professional, but loving him was ruining her life. Y/N went home every day to an empty house, sleeping alone before returning to the same tortuous place.

Y/N began to look forward to every moment she was able to spend in his orbit. Hotch was a light in the darkness, he burned like the brightest flame and Y/N could only get so close without getting burned.

Y/N knew that what she was doing wasn't healthy, she had an attachment to him that was inappropriate. She should quit, turn in her resignation and leave to save herself the pain of loving someone she could never have.

A selfish part of her didn't want to give him up, he was the one good thing in her life and she wouldn't be able to handle the loss.

Y/N was stuck.

She had taken a step back from Hotch, closing herself off to him and keeping things as professional as possible. Hotch knew that something had changed but Y/N assured him that everything was fine with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

Y/N sat at her desk, silently reading through potential case files at almost three o'clock in the morning. A gentle knock on the door made her jump, "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," Rossi said.

"It's fine," Y/N assured.

"Do you have a minute to chat?" Rossi asked.

"Of course," She nodded, he stepped into her office and sat down on the chair in front of her desk.

"Have I ever told you about why I left the BAU in 1997?" Rossi asked.

"No, I don't think so," Y/N replied, closing her file.

"I told everyone that it was because I wanted to write and got sick of the FBI bureaucracy, but none of that is true... The real reason is that I had feelings for Gideon's wife," Rossi said.

"You did?" Y/N asked.

He nodded, "I would have these thoughts that Jason wasn't good enough for her, so I stepped away from the BAU... I thought it would be best if they went on as a family," He said.

Y/N gulped, trying to blink away the tears that gathered in her eyes.

"I know you're in love with him and I can see what it's doing to you... I know it's hard, but sometimes you have to let go," Rossi said.

"What if I can't let go?" Y/N asked shakily, a tear escaping and rolling down her cheek.

"I'm not gonna lie to you, kid, it's not going to be easy but you'll be better off for it," Rossi said.

Y/N's chest stuttered as she held back a sob, holding her head in her hands as she cried. Rossi stood up from his chair and made his way around the desk. He set his hand on her shoulder, providing silent comfort to her as she broke down.

Rossi watched Y/N go through exactly what he had all those years ago, wanting someone he could never have and getting his heart broken. Y/N was such a kind person and he could see how much loving Hotch had hurt her.

Years of watching the one you love be happy with someone else was a cruel punishment. It was like a knife to the gut, draining the life out of you until there is nothing left to give.

Rossi couldn't stand by and watch her lose herself for any longer. He hoped that she'd be smarter than he was, that she would realize how her feelings for Hotch were affecting her and leave. But love was a powerful thing and it could blind even the smartest person in the world.

...

Y/N made her way over to Hotch's office with a white envelope settled on top of a case file. Rossi was right and Y/N knew that she needed to make some changes in her life. Y/N slowed to a stop outside his office and knocked on the door gently, taking a breath to steady herself and calm her racing heart.

"Come in," Hotch called from inside.

Y/N opened the door and stepped inside, closing the door gently behind herself. She stepped over to his desk, taking off the envelope and holding out the case file to him.

"I think this should be our next case, but I wanted your opinion before briefing the team. The unsub is obviously escalating and is desperate to get the media's attention," Y/N said.

Hotch took the file from her hand, opening it and scanning over the information briefly, "It sounds like they could definitely use our help. Have you given it to Garcia?" He asked.

"Yes, Sir, she can have everyone briefed and on the plane within the hour," Y/N replied.

"Perfect," He nodded, closing the file and standing from his desk.

"Um, Hotch... I also have this for you," Y/N said, holding out the envelope.

He took it from her hand, "What is it?" He asked.

"My resignation," Y/N stated.

A look of confusion passed over his face before he quickly regained his composure, "Is there anything in particular that brought this on?" Hotch questioned.

"No, Sir, I just needed a change... I've already spoken to JJ and she'll be able to take over for me so there isn't any need to search for a replacement," Y/N said, glancing at her watch before moving towards the door.

"Y/N, hold on. I- Can we talk about this?" Hotch questioned, setting the envelope down on his desk.

"Hotch, the briefing," Y/N said, her hand settling on the door handle.

"Have I done something to upset or offend you? I thought that we were close, but recently things have changed and I just want to know if you're leaving because of something I did," Hotch said.

"No, I'm not leaving because of you," Y/N stated.

His shoulders sunk slightly as he looked over her, "You're lying to me," He said.

Y/N opened her mouth before closing it, letting out a soft breath as she moved over to him, "You are the best boss that anyone could ask for, Hotch. You did absolutely nothing wrong, I promise," Y/N assured.

His eyes searched her face for any indication of a lie, reluctantly nodding when he found none.

"How long before you go?" He asked.

"I'll stay until the end of this case," Y/N said.

"And there's nothing I can say to change your mind?" Hotch questioned.

Y/N smiled softly, "No, there isn't," She said.

He took a breath, "I'm going to miss you," Hotch stated.

"I know... I'm gonna miss you too," Y/N replied.

They made their way to the conference room, everyone had already settled in their seats as Garcia passed the remote to Y/N.

"Just before we start, I have a bit of an announcement... I'm resigning from the BAU after this case," Y/N said.

"What?" Emily asked.

"Are you serious?" Morgan questioned.

"Where are you going?" Spencer asked.

"I don't really know yet, but I have some promising offers," Y/N said.

"Seems kinda quick. Is everything okay?" Morgan asked.

"I just need a change," Y/N said simply.

"Change is a good thing, kid," Rossi said, Y/N nodded.

"So, let's get started," Y/N said, clicking to the first set of photos.

...

It had been a few years since Y/N had resigned from the BAU, she managed to get a job with the CIA Office of Public Affairs. Hotch saw her on the news occasionally and he always stopped to watch. He had been incredibly close with Y/N and her abrupt resignation left him feeling confused.

Hotch missed her.

Y/N had become an incredibly close friend to him over the years and he wished that they still worked together. Y/N sent him flowers with a kind message when Haley passed away, but there was no other communication between them.

Things had been challenging since she died, Jack wasn't coping well and Hotch didn't know how to help. Hotch had never been an emotional man and he found himself feeling helpless in the face of such a complex situation.

Jack had always been closer to his mother, he felt her loss deeply and struggled to adjust to life without her. He was slowly returning to the happy little boy that he had been before her death, but Hotch would still catch him watching home movies occasionally just to hear Haley's voice.

It had been almost a year since her passing when Hotch made his way through the bullpen, "Hey, Hotch. Check it out, our girl is well on her way to becoming the face of the CIA," Morgan said.

Hotch looked up at the television, smiling softly when he saw the footage of Y/N holding a press conference for the CIA.

"She looks good," Hotch stated, continuing across the bullpen and up the stairs to his office.

Morgan looked over at Emily and Rossi, "Did I just hear that right?" Morgan asked.

"You did," Emily nodded.

"You think Hotch is ready to put himself back out there? Get a little something something?" Morgan questioned, wiggling his eyebrows.

"I don't know... He seems happy, it could definitely be something he's starting to think about," Emily said.

"I'll get to the bottom of it," Rossi said.

"Wing man to the rescue," Morgan smirked.

Rossi made his way up to Hotch's office, gently knocking on the open door. Hotch stood at his desk, eyes downcast as he looked over a case file.

"You got a minute, Aaron?" Rossi questioned.

"Of course," He nodded, closing the file and setting it down.

Rossi stepped into the office, closing the door behind himself, "Are you thinking about putting yourself back out there? Maybe going on a date or two?" Rossi questioned.

"I don't know. It hasn't even been a year since Haley passed," Hotch said.

"Listen, Aaron, Haley wouldn't want you to be alone. If you feel like you're ready to get back out there, you should do it," Rossi said.

"I'll think about it," Hotch stated.

"If you're serious about this, I have a good place for you to start," Rossi said, slipping a hand into the inside pocket of his blazer.

Rossi pulled out a business card, holding it out to Hotch. He glanced at him before taking the card from his hand, looking down at the name on it.

'Y/N L/N '

"Why do you have this?" Hotch asked.

"We get together for coffee a few times a month," He shrugged.

"I don't think she wants to hear from me, Dave," Hotch said, shaking his head and holding the card out to Rossi.

"Trust me, she does... Give her a call, Aaron," Rossi said, making his way out of the office.

Hotch stared down at the business card, brushing his thumb across the paper before opening his drawer and setting it inside. He closed the drawer, picking up his file and making his way down to the conference room for the morning briefing.

It took the team three days to apprehend the unsub, rescuing a few victims and reuniting them with their loved ones. There was a bittersweet feeling when only a few people were saved but a multitude of lives had been lost. These kind of cases made everyone cling to their loved ones a little tighter.

Hotch sat at his desk, diligently completing his report long after everyone had already gone home. He sat back in his chair, fidgeting with his pen before he reached over and opened his desk drawer.

Hotch easily located the business card, pulling it out and staring down at it. Hotch took a breath, picking up his phone and dialing the number.

The line rang, he honestly hoped to end up on an answering machine but the soft click caught him off guard.

"Y/N L/N," She said.

"Hi, it's Aaron Hotchner," He replied.

"Hotch? How did you get this number?" Y/N asked.

"Dave gave it to me... I hope that's not a problem," Hotch said.

"That depends on what you're calling about," Y/N replied.

"Do you want to go out for dinner with me tomorrow night? Or, I guess it's today now," He said, glancing at the clock.

"Like a date?" Y/N questioned.

"Yes, a date," Hotch nodded, fidgeting with her business card.

"I'd love to," Y/N said.

"Really?" Hotch questioned.

Y/N let out a soft laugh, "Were you expecting a different answer?" She asked.

"I was, actually... After you left, I kept thinking about your last few weeks at the BAU. I was wracking my brain trying to figure out what I'd done to make you hate me all of a sudden," Hotch started.

"Aaron, I didn't hate you... I left because I was in love with you," Y/N said.

"You loved me?" Hotch asked.

"I did... But you were my boss and you had a wife at home. I couldn't stay there and keep getting my heart broken," Y/N stated.

"I'm so sorry," Hotch said.

"Don't be. I had to do what was best for me. None of it was your fault, Aaron," Y/N assured.

He let out a shaky exhale, "I really miss having you around," Hotch said.

"I miss the BAU," Y/N replied.

"Enough to have coffee with Dave a few times a month?" Hotch questioned.

"Hey, that was all his idea. If I'm being honest, I think he was just making sure I was still single," Y/N said.

"I wouldn't put it past him," Hotch nodded.

"I missed these conversations," Y/N said.

"I did too," Hotch replied with a small smile.

"For tonight, you can pick the restaurant and text me on this number. I don't really know what my day will look like and I know it's the same way at the BAU," Y/N said.

"Okay, I will make a reservation for us and send you a message... Have a good night, Y/N," Hotch said.

"You too, Aaron," Y/N replied.

He hung up the phone, unable to keep the smile off his face as he packed up his things to head home for a few hours of sleep. Hotch knew that he would have to thank Rossi for his help when he saw him in the morning.

[rei-ismyname]

Cyclops, Masculinity, and the Hellfire Club

After Jean walks in on Emma's 'therapy session' with Scott, the two women have a long discussion in which he is not welcome. Scott deals with his feelings by getting drunk by himself at the Hellfire Club. People just will not leave him alone though, starting with this unnamed psychic dancer. She's presumably doing her job under the assumption that this is what men are here for. It's a normative and reasonable assumption, but Scott is pointedly uninterested in participating in this marker of masculinity.

The dancer's words remind us of Emma - telepathy, seduction, and a call to let loose - though there's markers of Jean there too, the wife he hasn't been able to communicate with. He rejects the whole thing as 'sexless and unarousing' instead of a 'no thanks, I'm not in the mood' or similar. Instead of rejecting Emma by proxy, my read is that he's rejecting the physicality of it, compared to the mind sex that's been going on. Also, Scott does a lot of 'calling the shots' - too much even. Exercising sexual, gendered power doesn't appeal to him.

This is nothing Scott hasn't been told before. I'm reminded of the butte sex incident specifically, where Phoenix urged him to 'get out of [his] head' so they could have sex. The dynamic and the power differential made the traditional gender roles hazy.

I think Scott agrees with the dancer here in some ways. He's been viewed as uptight his whole life and there's so many instances where Scott isn't the instigator of sex and intimacy. Here in the Hellfire Club with their regency cosplay the gender roles are super patriarchal. Scott rejects or tries to escape the expectations of traditional gender roles and the art reflects that - shifting from the male gaze to Scott's famous gaze. Interestingly we never see the dancer's face so we don't know who she's presenting as. It's Jean who has the significant association with black lingerie and red hair but it's Emma who's associated with BDSM.

Scott gives an awkward apology and explanation, doing his best to strip the illusions away. I can't help but feel like he's trying to convince himself that his complicated feelings for Emma aren't real but he's not doing a very good job. Why did he even come to the Hellfire Club? There's plenty of places to get drunk without running into people he knows or people that know him. He's wearing his X-Men jacket and his unique visor, not exactly incognito.

He completely avoids eye contact with the dancer and everything is tinted red, suggesting we're seeing everything through his POV. His gaze has a long association with angst and self doubt - I have to wonder how well he 'sees' the person he's making assumptions about. He's not exactly denying her personhood, but he's not especially interested in it either. It's ironic that he'd go to the one club that has a intimacy-free version of both his significant relationships with women at this point. One thing's for sure, he's not interested in performing masculinity, but he's in a space where he can't escape the expectation.

The faceless, nameless dancer eventually leaves. Scott's brief solitude is interrupted by a particular kind of toxic masculinity turned up to 11 - Sabertooth. He approaches from a dominant position in the ancient greek sense, from behind - while pointedly calling Scott 'boy.' He ignores this, and Sabertooth gets in really close to smell his drink, describing it as 'gay.' Deeply childish, but explicitly challenging Scott's masculinity. Creed accuses Scott of 'having issues' in a pretty egregious pot/kettle situation.

Scott responds, but simply by telling him to get out of his face. 'Seriously.' Creed switches to that other marker of masculinity - violence, or at least threats of it. Scott ignores that too, rejecting chest beating and puerile verbal sparring. Sebastian Shaw intervenes and orders Creed to leave Scott alone. Shaw has his own thoughts on exercising patriarchal power, but leaves when Scott isn't interested.

Scott is about to leave because 'his pride can't take it anymore.' He doesn't elaborate on this because he's accosted by probably the most prominent uber masculine person in his life - Logan. Logan accuses Scott of 'making the X-Men look like losers' and it's hard to read this as anything but a gendered challenge. He expands on Creed's judgment of Scott's choice of beverage by implying it's not 'real' (ly masculine) - slamming a bottle of Jack Daniels on the table. Scott's not interested in that either.

Logan doesn't really give Scott a choice, framing it in the context of a challenge. Denying that he's here to convince him to return to the X-Men, he tells Scott that Emma was murdered after he left. Leaving him to chew on that, Logan lays out the stakes of the challenge and departs for the urinal - that most bioessentialist of masculine spaces.

Making the subtext text, Creed follows him in for some insecure dick measuring. Rejecting any kind of serious discussion with an uncharacteristically cerebral Sabertooth, Logan issues violent threats and returns to Scott. It's got massive ex vibes in the best Creed/Logan homoerotic manchild way.

Scott finally opens up, discussing his relationship woes with Logan of all people. He shares how each of them makes him feel, explicitly tying the tension to the boy/man dichotomy. The 'pressure' and 'expectations' feel significant, something he should really talk to Jean about. Unfortunately he's got Logan instead, who's not especially interested in listening at all. He chimes in about Jean, of course, but he's here for tough love.

Scott ponders how anyone could think he'd shoot Emma. Above all he's not going back to the mansion and he's not drunk (or so he claims.) Logan, asshole that he is, suggests Scott should be grateful for what he has. 'You always get the best girls' which has got to be the worst possible thing to say (and super gross). Sure, he's having relationship troubles, but he's trying to figure out his emotions and his trauma. Logan frames this as 'all you do is whine' which is both not true and very rich coming from him.

I've never identified with Scott more than when he says 'I hate you.' Logan manages to make it all about himself, explicitly stating his jealousy. 'All I ever wanted was what you got' accusing him of throwing 'it all away to run wild with the White Queen.' He's right that Jean would like it if he came out of his shell, to a degree, but their problem is one of trauma and communication. Logan's possessive, reductive, and frankly ignorant diagnosis misses the forest for the trees. Scott's problems aren't his problems yet he gets the kind of advice one might expect from this hypermasculine space.

Further minimising Scott's issues, Logan shifts the conversation focus entirely to him. He outright says that Scott's problems are nothing compared to his and guilts him into helping assault The World to uncover Logan's past. He probably would have said yes if he just asked as a friend, but instead he kidnaps him when he passes out. Logan says he's 'trying hard' but doesn't finish the sentence before urging him to put aside his problems.

So instead of talking with his wife or getting to brood alone, Scott ends up hungover on a black ops mission. He got to verbalise some things he'd been keeping bottled up, but in a sense he was assaulted by masculinity and toxic expectations at every turn. Dude needs better friends. The narrative doesn't portray this as a positive thing - in fact it's pretty messed up. I wonder if he regrets going to the Hellfire Club.

Despite the superhero context, Grant Morrison does a swell job of portraying an AMAB person withdrawing from masculine-coded spaces and expectations, at least in my experience. Especially when you're friends with people like Logan, whose only mode is toxic hypermasculinity. I think if he was framed as being unequivocally right it'd be overpowering. Morrison's issues with writing women are on display, but overall this issue is powerful, especially for the time.

[quibbs126]

I didn’t mean for this page to have like, the exact same format as the last one, but it does

I tried to design the kids from that one TFA fanfic I read once because they come into my brain every now and then. I feel like I’m undermining the fic by saying that. It’s part of a collection, called Blessings in Disguise by Quiet_Shadow on Ao3 (idk if they have a tumblr), where basically post Archa 7 and being kicked out of the Academy, Optimus finds out he’s sparked, and later has twins who were sired by both Elita and Sentinel, one for each, and he’s basically raising them with his space bridge crew, since Elita’s supposedly dead and Sentinel keeps ignoring Optimus’ repeated attempts to contact him. The kids are named Ariel and Dion, in reference to the War Dawn characters, and I think are also supposed to somewhat resemble them

I felt I should give a summary for anyone who doesn’t have yesterday’s context. The fics are both relatively short and the second one remains unfinished, but I liked it well enough

But yeah, as alluded to yesterday, I’ve been debating whether or not to draw the kids, and after yesterday I decided “screw it, why not”

As it turns out, the first fic actually did have descriptions for each of the kids, so I had more to work with, which honestly I probably needed

I don’t know how to draw sparklings, so I think I ended up making them look older than they’re supposed to be in the fic. Sorry

And also, while Ariel I think turned out really well, Dion isn’t the best. I actually had to redo him partially because I was trying to give him a Sentinel chin (though far smaller), while also trying to give him a helmet like he was supposed to have (in the fic he has both), but it wasn’t looking right so I changed it to what it is now, which is still kind of wonky. He’s also described as looking a lot like Sentinel, but because I wanted to give him Optimus’ blue skin, among other traits, he ended up resembling Optimus far more than Sentinel

I also gave them both Optimus’ chin thing, initially as coincidence but screw it, shared trait

Ariel was described as pink, so I conceded that she’s pink, but I gave her a more peach tone instead, and overall I quite like her color scheme. Dion too, just not as much

I’m not super sure about the bodies though, particularly the arms. I was drawing that part while bored at work, so it may have affected my creativity. I mean, I guess they’re fine, but I don’t know

But yeah I’m not sure I have more to say, so just know that I did this

Honestly it actually was a lot of fun, at least until the struggle with Dion’s head came into play. I really do need to get around to making my own fankids at some point

And also with this and yesterday, I really do see why people like the TFA style, it’s pretty fun to draw. I need to incorporate it more, but my AU already has another style it’s trying to emulate

*sigh*, if only I had a way to incorporate the TFA style more while also drawing characters and designs separate from the continuity, just borrowing a similar style. I don’t know

[woofwoofwolf]

Meeting the parents (ch.1)

Misc. masterlist: [link]

Bachira Meguru x Reader

Summary:

You fall down the stairs and into Bachira's arms. In your eyes, he sees the similarities and differences the two of you share and it touches him deeply. He sees it as a challenge he can't help but accept, no matter what it might bring. Or maybe he's just looking for a way to distract him from the boring party he was at, that too.

Notes: Fake/Pretend Relationship, toxic parents, Bachira Meguru is a Ray of Sunshine, Bachira Meguru is a Little Shit, both can be true but at first ch. it's mostly the second one loll, reader hates soccer, I call it soccer here for clarity but just so you know, It's football not soccer, No Beta, proffesional soccer AU, Aged Up

Rating: G

Word count: 2,290

AO3 link: [link]

Bachira iddly stood next to Isagi and Reo, waiting for their conversation with some old CEO big shot to end. He was glad Reo was there with them. As expected he knew how to handle the conversation elegantly and professionally, with the occasional back up from Isagi. Bachira knew the look he’d receive from these types of people if he were to open his mouth and he wasn’t really feeling like having to deal with that at the moment. 

‘What a shit party…’

They were standing just outside of the big venue hall where a big charity gala was being held. A bunch of the former Blue lock players had been invited to promote it and rake in more cash. Bachira had failed to find an excuse to not attend, so he spent most of the night sticking to Isagi’s side. The three of them had just escorted a rather drunk Igarashi to a taxi when they were stopped by a rather enthusiastic old man smoking just outside the venue. 

Bachira missed the days of Blue Lock, when dealing with these annoying people wasn’t part of the job and they were able to focus on only the sport.

‘Maybe I should try and get shitfaced too to get an excuse to leave,’ he thought as they finally said goodbye to the man. 

Just as he turned around, a woman dressed in a fancy dress, namely you, quite literally fell down from the stairs into his arms. Shocked, Bachira took a hold of your arms to steady you against his frame. Stumbling you grabbed a hold of his forearm to not face plant onto the concrete.

“(Y/N)!” a woman on top of the stairs shrieked and your hold on Bachira’s arm tightened. The lady herself almost tripped down the stairs chasing after you with what Bachira assumed to be her husband.

Bachira looked down at you, who was still secured in his arms. You stood frozen against him, teeth clenched looking down at your feet.

“This is all because you refuse to listen to us!” the lady hissed once she reached the bottom of the stairs. “Silly girl!”

Isagi, Reo and Bachira stood and watched in uncomfortable silence as your father nodded along to your mothers berating comments. All the while you wouldn’t spare a look their way.

“First you lie to us about some nonsense boyfriend in front of that poor Watanabe-kun, and then you have the gall to run away from us, I’ve had more than enough of your antics for tonight!”

Wow. Majorly uncomfortable. Did this woman not see Bachira and his friends standing there or something? 

He felt really bad for you, who finally turned to face them, though your hand was still unconsciously gripping at his arm.

Bachira then got a good look at your face. And more importantly, a look into your eyes.

‘Oh no, she’s CUTE cute…’

Bachira believed that a person's eyes were a window to the soul, as cliché as it sounds. In your eyes he saw a storm, a desire to break free and a willingness to believe in that freedom. He also recognised that pang of loneliness you carried all too well. 

“I’m not lying! He’s–” You made panicked, seemingly accidental eye contact with Bachira, who blinked back at you. You finally seemed aware that you were still holding onto him and you let go as if he was burning hot.

Your mother gasped loudly enough to pull all eyes back on her. “Don’t tell me–” she said in a whisper. “This is him?”

“What–” your head whipped back to Bachira. Looking into your eyes, Bachira thought he saw you do a panicked assessment. Your hand flew back to his arm and you squeezed it, hard. “YES! This is my boyfriend who I told you about!”

Oh. This party very suddenly wasn’t so boring anymore. 

In those few seconds of eye contact, what about him had convinced you you could pull this stunt? The way you were bruising his arm, was that your way of threatening him to play along?

‘How cute…’ Bachira grinned. He didn’t know why you, an adult woman, were in this situation that felt like a shoujo manga set in a highschool, but he didn’t really care either.

“That’s right,” he said sweetly, taking a respectful bow towards your parents. “It’s very nice to meet you, your daughter has told me great things about you.”

He heard Reo behind him disguise a laugh as a cough, while Isagi muttered a soft “Oh no…”

”Oh! So polite,” your mother giggled. “It’s alright, you don’t have to tell such an obvious lie about this rude child.” 

If you were to ask Bachira, it was your parents who were being the rude ones.

“Oh no no, she’s been wonderful!” You flinched at his wide smile directed your way. “Right, darling?”

“I, uh, sure.”

“I can see why you wouldn’t tell us his name,” your father finally spoke up. “Out of everyone, I would’ve never expected it to be Bachira Meguru. It’s a shame, but you we won’t be able to go public with this for a while.”

“Oh,” you responded, your voice a bit higher than before. “You know him.”

“Of course darling, you know he’s in your fathers favourite club, right?” Your mother laughed in a condescending way that really irked Bachira. 

“It’s very nice to meet you, I’m a big fan,” your father said.

You looked at Bachira with a forced smile “Club… Right. Soccer… Haha…”

“I’m really sorry about that, it’s so like her to not have interest in other people’s lives, she’ll make for an awful wife, I’m sure.”

Did they want you to have a relationship or not? He found the situation to be rather confusing.

“She’s been nothing but supportive, ma’m.”

“Really? But (Y/N) hates soccer!”

‘Is that so?’ Bachira could only see this information as a challenge.

He laughed loudly. “I must’ve convinced her otherwise with my overflowing charm.”

Your grip on his arm stuttered and he felt the disgusted glares of his friends on his neck. He could try to not be annoying, but he was having so much fun with this. There was that annoying laugh again from your mother.

“A-anyways, mom, dad, there you have it. So. Ehm, you can leave us alone for now.” You glared at Bachira, probably to tell him to keep silent.

“But I want to get to know him!” your mother whined.

“H-he can come by another time, right Machira-san? I really think he ought to bring me home for now, since I’m not feeling well…”

Bachira was amazed that your parents failed to notice that you got his name wrong, or even that they fell for your awful acting in the first place since your distaste of the situation was more than palpable.

“That sounds like a wonderful idea,” your father said. “We’ll be expecting the two of you at the estate within the month. You got that, (Y/N)?” He gave you a stern look.

“Yes father,” you muttered. Bachira detected a hint of fear. 

‘This won’t do,’ he thought, clenching his fists.

“W-well, in that case–” your mother started. “I guess that’s alright.”

God, he wanted to tell them off so badly. But he didn’t want to put you in an even worse spot, so he didn’t. After all, he didn’t know what was at stake for you. So instead he bowed and smiled pleasantly as your parents made their way back up the stairs.

Then, when they were finally out of view, you dropped your hands from his arm.

Damn, it was sore. You had for sure bruised him. Hot.

You glared at him in silence, as Isagi and Reo closed back in on the two of you.

Isagi shook his head at his friend. “I can’t believe you did that.”

“That was hilarious,” Reo laughed. “I hope that went as you had planned, (Y/N).”

“What plan?” You sighed deeply. “And hello to you too, Mikage-kun…”

“You two know each other?” Bachira asked, a hint of a weird feeling rising in his chest. Reo shrugged. 

“We just went to the same high school. We’re not close,” you said, quick to be defensive for some reason. “So what, this guy is one of your little friends from– what was it called again? ‘Blue Lock’? I should’ve realised that before I opened my stupid mouth.”

Bachira feigned hurt by placing his hand on his chest. “‘This guy’? How cold, I’m your boyfriend, you know!”

You groaned. “I’m such an idiot! Why did I say that!”

“Can’t you just tell them the truth?” Reo asked, an eyebrow raised in your direction.

“Tsk, don’t you think I tried? But they threatened me to go to this event and when I got here they introduced me to a marriage candidate!” you pulled at your hair. “I can’t believe they pulled a stunt like that.”

“Damn,” Reo whistled. “I knew your parents were bad, but that’s some mediaeval shit.”

Isagi awkwardly looked on while you conversed.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you said with a small bow. “My name is (L/N) (Y/N), I’m very sorry for disturbing your evening.”

“Ah! My name is Isagi Yoichi,” Isagi bowed in return. “Don’t apologise. I’m very sorry to hear of your situation.”

Bachira took his chance. “And I’m Bachira Meguru! Ba-Chi-Ra!” He sounded out his name to ensure you would remember this time.

“Nice to meet you,” you avoided eye contact out of clear embarrassment. He was going to have to fix that. “I’m sorry about… all that.”

“You love apologising, don’t you miss girlfriend?” 

Your expression turned flustered and you looked back at him a little startled. “Miss– huh?”

‘Cute. So cute.’

“If you don’t mind me asking, why don’t you just cut contact with them?” Isagi blurted out. His eyes widened in realisation. “I mean- that was a rude question, I appologise.”

“It’s alright,” you said, plucking at your dress to avoid eye contact. “I know it looks like I’m just tolerating all of this so I can mooch off of them for money. But the truth is that if I cut contact with them, they’ll do everything they can to make my life miserable. With their influence, they can make sure I’ll never find a job…”

Bachira felt disgusted hearing this. He couldn’t imagine a parent treating their kid like that, especially since his relationship with his own mom was so great.

“Scumbags…” Reo muttered. 

You sighed again. “It’s whatever. I can avoid them well enough in my daily life. I’ll just have to find a way out of this. At least I avoided getting engaged to that Watanabe Keisuke brat…”

You stumbled a bit when turning around. You’d clearly been drinking a bit. Bachira couldn’t blame you.

“Don’t tell me you’re planning on driving home like that?” Reo asked, voicing his concern moments before Bachira could himself. 

“No, you idiot, I’m here with my parents, I’m going home using public transit.” You grumbled.

“Why don’t you let me bring you home?” Bachira smiled. “That’s what you told your parents anyways.”

“Huh? I just said that to get them off my case, obviously,” you snapped back, still on guard every time he spoke.

“The nearest train station is a 20 minute walk, you know,” Reo said. “Where do you live?”

You muttered the general area of your residence and Bachira recognised it as a not so nice area to live in. Your situation got more complicated the more he heard.

“That’s so far! Should we call you a taxi?” Isagi offered.

“I-I can’t pay for that…” you mumbled.

“Then it’s decided, I’ll bring you home!” Bachira cheered, excited to be able to talk to you for longer and to get away from the event. 

You eyed him suspiciously, clearly still unconvinced. “Haven’t you been drinking yourself?”

Bachira giggled. “I won’t be driving, I have a chauffeur, obviously.”

“Right. I forgot all you Blue Lock boys were loaded…”

Bachira looked at his friends, an amused grin on his face. “‘Blue lock boys’, she said.”

You took a step towards Reo, grabbing a hold of his shoulder. “Mikage-kun, I need you to be honest here, can I trust this guy?”

Reo looked up towards Bachira, who put on his best ‘innocent’ face. “He’s just an idiot who only cares about soccer, I don’t think you have to worry.”

You continued to glare at him. Reo sighed.

“He’s a good guy, (Y/N), you don’t have to worry, promise.”

Bachira slung an arm around Reo’s shoulder. “Shucks man, I love you too!”

“Get off of me, you idiot!” Reo shoved him back and Bachira held his hands up in defeat, a wide grin on his face.

“Well then, there you have it,” he laughed. “Tell my coach that I had to leave due to circumstances beyond my control, okay?”

“Tell him yourself!” Reo protested red faced, but Isagi nodded.

“I’ll do it. You take care, alright?” He then nodded towards you. “You too, (L/N)-san. It was nice to meet you.”

“L-likewise,” you mumbled with a pout. “And just (Y/N) is fine.”

She turned to Bachira, shoulders tense. “L-let’s just get this over with, so I can stop bothering you.”

Bachira smiled at you. Oh, but he wasn’t ready to let you go yet.

“Aye aye sir!” he saluted.

And so the two of you left towards the parking garage, where Bachira’s driver had parked his car.

Isagi and Reo watched after them in astonishment.

“We haven’t heard the last of this, have we?” Reo sighed.

“I’m afraid not,” Isagi said. “The way he was looking at her, we’lll definitely be seeing her again…”

A/N: OKAY SO, Honestly I usually prewrite all of my fics, but I just wanted to write this so I did. It was meant to be a one shot, but because I can only ever write long fics it seems, the ideas for how to continue this just kept flowing and I didn't do anything to stop it lol. So that's why I left it open for a chapter 2. (I might come to regret posting this since I'm a bit of a control freak when it comes to writing lol, who knows I might edit and repost, we'll see) I'll be really honest here: if you want a chapter two for this, engagement and comments will really help. It's not to hold this hostage I'd never do that, but I have other fics to work on and this isn't a priority unfortunately. Even though I love Bachira. A lot. So please let me know what you think! ALSO let me know if I should open a tag list for this..?

[amuseintime]

A Stage of Healing

The Play is Over but the Script Remains/Scriptfrin Saga

For anyone who doesn't know, "Scriptfrin" is a Siffrin who sometimes goes semi-verbal after the loops, (mostly) only able to repeat the "script" from his time in there. I have a bit of it up here, but most of it is in this series on AO3 (though for the general concept, you can just read "Line, Please.")

Months after the loops, Siffrin and their family are walking around a town and Bonnie happens to notice samosas in the window… the thing that they had basically every blinding night in the loops. Siffrin is clearly bothered, but not in the way you'd expect. All this leads to a long talk, a one man performance, and a lot of laughs. Humor and Hurt/Comfort (heavier on the comfort).

Crossposted here on AO3.

(And always, if you like what I do, reblog, leave a comment, or maybe buy me a Kofi?)

“Oh oh oh! Guys! Look, this place has samosas!” Bonnie said, tugging them through the streets of Bagon. Even amongst Vaugaurde, the area was known for its cooking. The smells of food filled the streets, enough to make even the pickiest child consider trying something new, and the outdoor market was in full swing now that it was warming up again!

It was that perfect time of year where spring made it warm enough to travel, but still cold enough to enjoy some nice, hot food (and oh Change, being medicated again made her hungry!), or at least Mirabelle thought so! It was still too cold for Bonnie and Odile, and Siffrin kept pretty warm with his cloak, but she and Isabeau seemed to like it! 

And speaking of Siffrin, he was staring at where Bonnie had seen samosas on the menu. While they were all getting better at reading Siffrin, sometimes it was still a little difficult. This was one of those times. His head was tilted, an odd look in his eye. Not necessarily upset, but not exactly happy either. He opened his mouth like he was about to say something, but only a breath came out.

It wasn’t just her that noticed. Isabeau put a gentle hand on their shoulder, not minding that Siffrin jumped before settling into the contact. “You alright, Sif?” 

“Huh?” Siffrin blinked owlishly. “Ah, sorry. Was just remembering something.”

Odile’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh? Remembering what?”

“Remembering loop stuff…

Loop stuff? From samosas?

Bonnie jolted. “OH RIGHT!!! Crab, sorry Frin! I forgot that’s why I stopped making Samosas! ‘Cause you had ‘em every day in forever school.” 

Oh that’s right! Mirabelle had forgotten that Bonnie made samosas that day, but makes sense Siffrin wouldn’t have…

Bonnie took Siffrin’s hand to start tugging him away. “We can go somewhere else-“

“No.” He said it a bit too seriously, which he must’ve noticed as he smiled and mussed up Bonnie’s hair. “I can’t deny my Bonbon TWO of their three favorite foods!” He looked back to the shop. “Besides, I’m pretty sure they sell more than JUST Samosas. Though they might not be as… as…” They scrunched up their eye, glaring at the sign for a moment. Then their eye widened and they puffed themselves up as they said, “DE~LI~CIOUS as yours would be.”

“Why’d you say it weird?” Bonnie asked.

“I was trying to sound like Isa? It’s, uh… been a while. Since I heard that.” He trailed off again, staring into space…

Odile went over to the door and said, “Would you like to have this talk on a chair with some hot food, or would you rather keep staring through the window like an incompetent stalker?”

“Madame!” Mirabelle squealed. You can’t just?! Say that?!

But say it she did, and everyone else was laughing, even as Siffrin also tried to sink into his cloak like a turtle. 

“Yeah yeah, we should go in. But, um… I need time. To get thoughts together first? And not do this in public?”

“Reasonable enough. Now get in, I’m cold.”

They all filed inside. Only Bonnie ended up ordering the samosas, but none of them entirely missed the way that Siffrin eyed them.

————

They were all back at the nearest inn… which was fairly packed, given that spring was here. Mirabelle wasn’t the least bit surprised. After all, Spring was quite important in the Change religion! A time for new growth, a fresh start, and a reminder that while Change was destruction, it was creation too! A lot of people celebrated by picking up new hobbies, clearing out some space for those hobbies and just tidying in general (Spring Cleaning!), travel, and bonding ceremonies. 

All of this to say, there was only one room available… but Madame Odile was pretty insistent on NOT having only one bed, and somehow they ended up with three. Mirabelle made sure to slip extra tips to the poor staff, that was mortifying! Though the space was nice…

“I call Mira!” Bonnie said, grabbing her hand. She could only yelp in shock as they were both catapulted to the nearest bed, making it thunk against the wall. 

“Can I call Sif?” Isabeau said, chuckling at the not-actually-a-question. Even in the days before they saved Vaugaurde, it was rarer that they didn’t sleep together. 

Siffrin stuck his tongue out and, “Nah. Isa…” they trailed, took a quick breath in, and smirked, “Isa has to sleep on the floor.” They looked over to Odile for a moment, then jumped a few inches when Bonnie laughed instead.

“FINALLY! No more being gross!” Bonnie cheered.

“I was just joking,” Siffrin said.

“BOOOOOO!”

“Yaaaaaay!” Isabeau said, even clapping his hands and looking all sparkle-eyed at Siffrin (how had she missed that they liked each other?!) 

“Heh! Heh…” Siffrin trailed off again.

Oh Change. “Hey, Siffrin? Are you okay?” Mirabelle walked over and… wait, crab, what does she do with her hands now? Um… “Pat Pat!” Head pats, sure! Wait… Oh Change, he actually leaned in that’s??? So??? Cute?!?!

Siffrin smiled, eye shutting, and let out a sigh. “I’m alright, just…” He shuffled his feet, looking down, then up again, staring at the ceiling.

“Is this related to earlier in any way?” Odile asked.

Siffrin looked aside. “… maaaaaybe…” 

“We aren’t doing anything too close to the loops, are we?” Isabeau said. “I’m willing to actually sleep on the floor if-“

“NO! I mean, kinda, but also no? You don’t have to sleep on the floor, Isa. And it’s, um… weird.”

“Yeah, well, you’re weird! And we like you that way,” Bonnie huffed. “So out with it!” They scampered over to the door and held their arms out. “No escape!”

Siffrin blinked dumbly. Once. Twice. “Snrk-“ He plopped down on bed and started laughing. “Oh come on! I’m not that bad at talking…” he looked around the room and added, “…anymore!” 

Odile nodded, “I will concede, you’ve gotten better. But Boniface, stay there.”

“Sorry ‘Za! I’m the Defender now! Ehehe.”

“Oh nooooo!” Isabeau said, dramatically swooning onto the ground in exaggerated defeat. Everyone laughed. Some a little, some a lot, but they all laughed, even Isabeau!

Change, she loved these people.

“So then… Siffrin…” Mirabelle stepped closer with the utmost seriousness. Siffrin trembled before her! “You will…” Pause for dramatic effect, hand on her currently missing sword (she was in pajamas after all)… “Talk about your feelings!!!”

“NOOOOOOO!” Siffrin moaned, collapsing onto the bed and snickering. Though he sighed and rolled to look at all of them. “… but okay. Just… promise you won’t find it weird or wrong?”

“Of course, young one.”

“Sif, we aren’t going to judge you!”

“Never! Never ever!”

“I mean, you are weird, Stupidfrin, but tell! Us!” 

Siffrin squeaked and rolled into a ball like a little hedgehog.

Mirabelle couldn’t help but giggle, “Oh no! We came on too strong!” She sat down in bed next to him.

“Scared like the stray animal he is,” Odile tutted.

Maybe it was a little mean to poke this much fun when he was having problems… but it seemed to relax him, actually? She could say from experience that treating it too seriously was anxiety inducing itself!!! A cornered animal bites! 

Siffrin pushed himself up, shuffling close enough that their knees and elbows bumped together, but not much else. “Thanks guys.” In… out. “I dunno how you guys are so sweet when I’m so weird…”

“Like Boniface said, we already know that. It’s going to take more than a few new quirks to scare us off.” 

Blushing, Siffrin tried to bury into their collar, but he was in night clothes. No cloak! So cute! Everyone was nice enough not to mention it.

They continued, “It’s just…” He looked around as though looking for a distraction, but no one was interrupting. “With the samosas, it, uh… Took me a moment. To remember. What you guys said.”

Odile raised an eyebrow. “And that’s… bad?”

“It shouldn’t be…?” Siffrin squirmed. One of his hands found one of Mirabelle’s. She gave it a little squeeze, and he gave one back. “I mean. I… Let’s talking about something. Stars-!” 

Mirabelle squeezed his hand again. “There’s no rush.”

In… out. In. And out. “Thank you.” One more time. Big breath in… big breath out. “I guess it surprised me more than anything. Which is? Kinda dumb???”

Isabeau tried to cut in, “It’s not-“

But Siffrin kept talking, “I was careful! No wishes! No ‘Hi Isa, I need to do the Favor Tree thing!’ Even though I thought I wis- though I wanted to forget. But I didn’t mean those parts!” He held tighter to her hand, breath quickening. “I wanted to forget the King and the Sadnesses and the Head Housemaiden! Not you guys!”

Everyone tried to act at once, tried to protest, but Mirabelle was closest. She took his face in her hands—ignore the way he jumped, the moment of panic, the memory of a slap—and made him look her in the eyes. “Siffrin. You are NOT forgetting us! We’re right here, okay?” 

Bonnie barreled into him, Isabeau showed a little more restraint and just opened his arms for the group hug, and Odile messed up his hair a bit from the side. 

“Yeah! No way you can forget me!!!” Bonnie shouted.

“I would hug the memory back into you,” Isabeau said. 

Siffrin snorted, relaxing into the group hug. “Thanks guys, heh. Sorry, like I said. It’s a little bit weird, but I guess…” he had to stop to breathe again. “I guess a lot of things. I don’t want to forget more. Some part of me’s scared I’ll somehow forget my scripts and just go entirely mute. And it’s- it’s the only proof I have that it happened, because it didn’t! It didn’t happen to anyone else. Not on the loop that stuck!” His grasp on them tightened. Not painfully so, not when spread out across three people, but it was noticeable. “And it’s kind of not blinding fair! I- I… ‘I’d rather you ask everyone else if they need help, first.’ And I did! And- and THANK YOU SNACK LEADER FOR THIS DELICIOUS MEAL! and Fromage and… and it… How can I help you on this wonderful new loop…”

He let out a bitter laugh. “… it didn’t happen.” 

No one knew what to say. What even could they say? There was a heaviness in the air, an oppressive silence. It felt like if something broke it, everything might shatter…

But Change is destruction, and Mirabelle was a Housemaiden. “It happened to you.”

“But-“

“No, Mirabelle is right,” Odile said. “Even if it didn’t technically happen to anyone else, it happened to you for the equivalent of months. And if I recall correctly, you’ve mentioned before that that was your rock bottom, as it were.”

“I don’t think anyone blames you for feeling cheated, Sif,” Isabeau said. “Or for missing good memories, or, uh… wishing things went better.”

Siffrin sighed, resting his head on Isabeau’s shoulder. “I just, I just wish- wait! No. I want you guys to remember too. But I know that can’t happen without, um, actually wishing it. And no thank you. I think sharpening my dagger is the most wishcraft I want anymore.”

“Fair and valid,” Isabeau said. 

“Yeah… though I feel like it’d get confusing, having two memories of the same day,” Mirabelle said.

Siffrin gave her the most deadpan look and-

“Oh Change, I guess you technically do have a lot of the same day huh,” Mirabelle said one quiet breath. 

Siffrin chuckled, “Understatement. Though for better or worse, the fact that I, uh, didn’t change much made parts of it less confusing? Like…” He looked around and his eye widened. “Y’know, if you push that bed off the far wall to be more in the middle, it looks like the clock tower…” He trailed into mumbles as he just… apparently decided to do that! Without much issue! Sometimes Mirabelle forgot how strong they were now.

Isabeau, regardless, decided to pick up the other end and help. “Uh. I am going with this because you started it, but why are we doing a thing that seems kinda tailor made to trigger you, Sif?”

“I have, like, half an idea. Working on it,” Siffrin said as he set the bed down.

“Curious as I am, I’m with Isabeau on this one. This seems ill-advised,” Odile said. 

“That took, like, five seconds. We can move it back!” Siffrin huffed, sitting on the newly moved bed. “Besides. They’re way closer.” The room was quite a bit smaller than the clock tower after all, not really meant to shove all five of them in there.

“Oh! Are we making one BIG bed?” Mirabelle said. “Ultimate bed!!!”

“Gross, Frin! I don’t wanna be next to you and Za KISSING!”

“I agree with the preteen,” Odile said. “Veto’d.”

“That’s not-!” Siffrin huffed and pulled his legs in to sulk.

Oh no! “C’mon, we should probably let Siffrin think! And then tell us, um, what he’s thinking,” Mirabelle said.

“Thank you!” Siffrin said, flopping onto his back with an overdramatic huff. There were a few chuckles, but then they let the poor guy think. 

Siffrin took a deep breath. “So… I know I’ve been, uh, a little skittish. With play stuff.” They’d tried to see one once or twice, but he couldn’t step foot into a theatre without looking like he was just… empty. “But maybe I could act it out…?” His voice hoy quieter until it was a near whisper, eye averted…

And she couldn’t blame him. Isabeau and Odile both looked like he’d suggested going to swim with Sadnesses, and Bonnie looked to Odile and tried to mimic it.

“Sif, I don’t think-“

“Don’t be stupid, Frin-“

“Young one, this might not-“

“I THINK IT’S A GREAT IDEA!” Mirabelle shouted… and jumped, surprised at just how loud that came out. And oh Change, all eyes were on her now! But… oh, just pretend they’re in their underwear… hmm, that doesn’t work as well when you’ve had to wash clothes and bathe in rivers and have actually seen that. 

Deep breath, like Siffrin! They’re her friends, and it’s her turn to help. She walks over to Siffrin, sitting beside him and pulling them up enough to take their hands in hers. “I know it might sound a little counter-intuitive, to do something relating to what scares you, or, um, trauma in your case, but sometimes it’s good to? In little ways where you have control!”

She rubbed the backs of his palms with her thumbs. “It’s kind of like reading horror books? Getting to be a little scared, but safely? Or, hmm… no. Not reading… writing fanfiction! All the control is in my hands! I can make it horrible if I want, or can make them live happily ever after, or can have them face my greatest fears in front of an audience and make out over the gorey remains! And yeah, maybe it’s scary, but it’s safe scary? My, um… some of the other Housemaidens who are good at medicine and therapy and stuff recommended it, actually.”

She smiled at Siffrin, putting a hand on his cheek. The rest are probably staring at her, but this is no grand stage. It’s… “It’s us, our family! Not a whole theatre, not Dormont, or a House or anything like that. You’re safe here with us, and you can stop or break the script whenever you want, okay?“

He was looking at her like she was the one who made the seasons change and sun move across the sky. “Okay.”

She stood up and clapped. “Good!” And then dared look around. Everyone was staring!

“So, did you take a class on psychology, then?” Odile asked. 

“Three. One of which was actually theatre related!”

“Crab yeah Mira!” Isabeau pumped his fist for her. 

“You guys are nerds,” Bonnie said.

They couldn’t refute that! 

“Snrk- yeah, we can’t all be as cool as you, Bonbon,” Siffrin said. “So… if we’re good, do I just, like, do it…? I mean, the scene setting is already here.”

“What, by yourself?” Odile said.

“I’m not writing you a script and having you do it. If I see you guys say and do those things again, it might actually give me a panic attack,” Siffrin said. He stood up on the bed. “Sorry guys! One man show!”

“One! Man! Show!!!” Bonnie cheered. “Should I make popcorn?”

“I mean, yes, always,” Isabeau said. “But how long should this take?”

“Not long. Two minutes or so? Provided you don’t combust, Isa~”

“Wait, why would I combust???” Isabeau was already blushing some, holding his hands up defensively.

“EW! I don’t wanna hear you pretend to be Za being mushy! We get enough of that!” 

Siffrin smirked. “Okay, but, then you can laugh at me being Isa being mushy. And you’re in this scene too!”

Bonnie’s eyes went wide, mouth open in childish awe. “Am I yelling at you?”

“Mmmmmmaybe~” Pause. “Yes.”

“I KNEW IT!”

“Oh I’m going to have to give the neighbors something to make up for this,” Mirabelle whispered to herself. It wasn’t too late though, so hopefully they weren’t in, or at least weren’t trying to sleep.

“Dile! Get the tea heater!” They pulled out a small pan and lid from their bag. “I’m making POPCORN!” 

“Guess we’ve got a few minutes before the show. Everyone take your seats~”

“There is only one chair, and I claim it,” Odile said. 

“Overbooked! A tragedy!” Isabeau said with an exaggerated gasp and hand over his heart. 

Mirabelle, meanwhile, felt some of her theatre classes coming back. Just the rehearsals though! There was a play, but she panicked so hard that poor Junette had to just throw on the bonnet she was supposed to wear and, well, improving that that mother requesting help was the secretly the villain in disguise was sheer genius, actually! 

Wait… “Oh!” She pulled an extra bow from her bag and gave it to Siffrin. “Here! To play me! Um, assuming I’m here?” 

“You were!”

“Hmm, probably better than you attempting to do accents. Because, young one, if I didn’t know you, I’d think your attempt at mimicking me was offensive on purpose,” Odile said, smirking at Siffrin.

“Sorry Madame.”

“Here,” she passed him those weird, opaque glasses that they’d… wait… when did she get those??? 

“What about you, Bonbon. Should I steal your hat~?” Siffrin teased, inching to where it was piled atop their things.

“No. Borrow a spatula.” 

“Bon yes bon!” They pulled a spatula. Brilliant!

“Wait! What can I give you…?” Isabeau said, making a sad puppy dog face. And that was fair! Siffrin’s ears weren’t pierced, and putting earrings on and off would be a chore anyways. And Isabeau’s gloves were just too big for Siffrin’s hands!

It apparently stumped everyone as they just stared… 

Until Bonnie said, “Make your hair stand up like a bird’s.”

That alone got a chuckle out of some of them, and it turned to outright laughs when Isabeau fake cried, “So MEAN! I’m not a bird. I’m buff!”

“The buffest of birds,” Siffrin said, pressing again Isa and standing on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. 

Bonnie threw some corn at them. 

“Worth it!” Isabeau chirped.

The popcorn was ready shortly afterwards, salted and put in a little bowl in front of everyone. Siffrin was on the bed, stage right. He spit in his hand to spike up his hair, like a bird!

“Sif…” Siffrin deepened his voice, prompting snorts from all of them at his attempt to sound like Isabeau. “Hey… hey Sif. Siffrin. Siffarooni.” 

Siffrin then scooted over and tamped his hair down just to look behind him then quickly scoot back and fluff his hair again. If the ridiculousness of such an act weren’t silly enough, it was clear he was aware of this, trying not to laugh. 

He took a deep breath and got back “in character,” looking at the empty space in front of him with the biggest, puppiest eye he could muster. “Um… Sorry? To wake you? I just have to tell you something. If that’s okay?”

“Oh crab, I didn’t!!!” Isabeau groaned, pressing his hands into his eyes. 

“In front of my Belle?!” Bonnie said, gesturing to Mirabelle like she was an art piece.

Siffrin once more played “himself” and nodded before doing his silly little scoot back to being Isabeau. “Okay, okay, okay. Then I shall tell you the thing! The thing I woke you up to tell you!”

“Siiiiiif I take it back let’s end this!” Isabeau groaned. 

“Quiet, I’m watching the show,” Pdile said, taking a handful of popcorn.

Bonnie seemed considerably more interested in laughing at Isabeau, but Siffrin didn’t seem to mind.

Siffrin continued, unmoved by the begging. “Haha! Um. So.”

“The thing I have to tell you. Is. That…” Siffrin looked off to the side, a snort escaping as he caught Isabeau’s clearly shaded face. Still, he delivered his line. “I don’t have anything to tell you right now. But I will, when, uh, we beat the King, okay?”

“Oh Change and I said this every night, didn’t I? Aaaaargh that must’ve gotten so crabbing annoying!” Isabeau moaned. 

“Now you know how I feel!” Bonnie said.

Siffrin was back in his place, but… “Uh… hmm. Breaking character of, uh… myself? A sec? Eventually I just got quiet but that’s more sad than funny, so we’re doing the funny one. Okay back to it!” He cleared his throat. “That is still SO ominous, Isa.”

Back to Isa and oh Change he actually did a really good impression of Isabeau’s flustered face! “I, uh, just don’t wanna tell you right now when it might distract you! Wouldn’t want that! So, uh, I’ll tell you when we beat the, um, King, okay?”

Siffrin looked at them, opened his mouth to say something, then it split into a head manic grin as an idea hit. Oh Change here we go. 

Siffrin bolted up, snapped, grabbed the spatula and a pillow, threw it, dropped the spatula, and lunged for the bed so it hit him in the face. 

“SIF?!”

“Pfffft, hahaha!”

“PILLOW! THROW!”

“Hahahaha! Oh noooooo!” 

They had to take a short intermission from everyone laughing too hard. Once, even twice it almost ended, but someone snickered and started it again! But third time’s the charm.

Siffrin picked the dropped spatula back up, “I’ll wash this after,” and then got on the middle bed and pointed accusingly at the empty bed, “SOME PEOPLE ARE TRYING TO SLEEP!” 

“HEY I DON’T SOUND LIKE THAT!” Bonnie huffed.

“Oh he’s trying,” Mira said. Though truthfully, the squeaky voice Siffrin had chosen was awful.

“You hit me with a pillow?!” Isabeau said.

“I would’ve used a book,” Odile said.

Siffrin hit the bed and set the bow on his hair. “YEAH ISABEAU! SOME PEOPLE ARE TRYING TO SLEEP! CLOSE YOUR MOUTH AND SLEEP!”

“PFFFT, Belle sounds like a mouse!” Bonnie said. “Belle’s on my side Belle’s on my side!”

Then Siffrin rushed over to stage right once more, slicking hair in the midst of a fit of giggles. “CLOSE YOUR MOUTH HOUSEMAIDEN! YOU’RE GONNA WAKE UP M’DAME ODILE!”

“How could I have slept through this?” Odile said. 

Siffrin went to the far bed, stifling giggles behind his hand before putting on the dark glasses and somehow managing to be utterly serious as he said, “I’m already up.” He didn’t bother with a voice, but got the tone scarily serious. 

“Oh, so I didn’t,” Odile remarked.

“And if the noise continues, I will stand up. You do not want to know what will happen if I stand up.”

Aaaand right back to the energy. He looked exaggeratedly spooked as he picked up the spatula and dove under the covers. “Sorry.” Then tried to roll over, presumably to be Mirabelle, and-

THUMP! “NYA!”

“Did you-?”

“Did he-?”

“Did Sif-?”

“Did they-?”

“Stars- YES I JUST SAID NYA!” Tangled in the sheets, Siffrin had hit the floor, and now was hiding in the covers, wiggling futilely for a few seconds before giving up. “… for the record. That did not happen. Uh… crew? A little help? Rather not cut these.”

Mirabelle giggled as she got up, helping get the sheets off without having to resort the scissors craft. 

Siffrin brushed the dust off of him, held the bow up, and gave a quick little, “Sorry.”

Then went back to be Isabeau. “Sorry m’dame…” He looked appropriately abashed, but the look turned into one of a familiar, adoring smile. “Good night, Sif!” 

“Aaaaaand scene!” Siffrin said, standing back up and giving a little bow.

They all clapped for him, even if Bonnie was breathless from laughing and Isabeau was still dark-cheeked. 

“Good job, Siffrin!” Mirabelle said, going over and playfully spinning him… and forgetting their current lack of space, squawking as they both tumbled onto a bed, laughing and breathless.

Isabeau must’ve gotten jealous as he scooped Siffrin into his arms and started kissing his cheek! “Mwah mwah mwah mwah mwah!”

“GROOOOOOSSSS!” Bonnie whined.

Siffrin was laughing so much that both he and Isa had to sit down a minute, but eventually Siffrin got back up to put the bed back, then munch on some popcorn. “Mmmmm, good as always, Bonbon~” They mussed up Bonnie’s hair with a smile as more salty snacks disappeared into their mouth. 

“I AM the best chef cooker after all!” Bonnie said, little chest puffed out.

“You are!” Siffrin said. He went a bit quiet for a moment before saying, “Speaking of that, we’re near a market anyways… wanna try making those fritters again? Maybe with a few spicy peppers?”

“YEAH!!!”

“We might wanna grab something for the neighbors too, if only to apologize…” Mirabelle said. 

“And we haven’t been kicked out yet, so to bribe the inkeepers as well,” Odile said.

“MADAME!”

They went into another bout of giggles and finished up the popcorn before going to brush teeth and settle in…

And in the dark and quiet, as she was starting to drift off to sleep, she could hear Isabeau say, “And hey Sif, just gonna tell it this time… I love you!”

“I love you too!”

Mwah!

And that night, everyone slept well.

-----

I prefer tea, but buy me a Kofi?

[yesimwriting]

Phantom Lurking

A/n This is a story set in the bestie reader verse that I briefly mentioned in an ask, but there's no specific context needed outside of the fact that reader and louis are extremely close best friends

Warnings: nothing too crazy (especially when compared to the source material) but there's mentions/implications of someone putting something in reader's drink but, within the fic, reader is never actually in danger of being physically hurt, reader feeling sick/anxious, Armand being emotionally manipulative as a way of expressing affection

Summary: After an argument with Louis, you decide to go out with an old friend. Once you're home again, you're forced to deal with two realizations. The first is that you feel a lot worse than you should, and the second is that Armand isn't the worst at being helpful when he wants to be.

----

The world feels flat, like one of the three dimensions you're used to being able to perceive has slipped into nonexistence. You frown, letting the thought inch its way up your spine.

You blink. Once and then twice, as if the familiarity of the gesture will be enough to remind you of what you were doing--of the reason for the phone in your hand.

"Woah," the voice is sharp enough in its happiness to jab at your stomach. You lift your head, ignoring the rigidness of the movement as you look to the source of the sound. Grace--your friend, Grace. A part of you is almost complacent enough to be eased by the realization that she's here. "You look so sad."

You can feel your eyebrows draw together. Do you? And then, as your fingers tighten around your cell phone, a second thought latches itself onto the first: Are you?

"Don't worry," she says, voice so chipper it almost stings. "He'll be over it tomorrow."

Right. On instinct, you let your head fall downwards. You unlock your phone, eyes narrowing at the screen's brightness as you open your messages. No new ones. Just the last texts you managed to send to Louis before you started feeling too nauseous to type: Not feeling. Okkay.

The lack of response presses itself into your lungs, making it impossible to breathe right. Louis was upset , but you can't imagine him ever being mad enough to not text you back. "But Louis answers."

Grace watches you for a second, her head tilting curiously at your phrasing. "Maybe he's sleeping." When the suggestion doesn't seem to sway you, she places a hand on your bare shoulder. Your mind is aware enough to acknowledge the intentions behind the contact, but her skin is so warm and sweaty against yours it's nearly nauseating. "It's late."

Louis keeps different hours than the general population, but that's not something you can fault her for not knowing. Besides, maybe it is so late that the night is morphing into morning. It wouldn't be the first time you and Grace lost an entire night to partying, and it would explain why you feel so incredibly out of it.

And...if Louis was really upset, he might have gone to bed early. He mentioned once that sometimes vampires enclose themselves in their coffins to avoid dealing with discomfort. It sounds deeply dramatic to you, but it's possible he's doing something similar.

You exhale, nodding so slowly the motion feels like more of a caricature of a human response than anything else. She laughs, the sound full in its certainty. Your stomach doesn't know how to digest her easiness.

"You'll feel better tomorrow." Grace's hand pulls itself away from your arm. "Okay--keys." When all you do is stare at her, she sighs. "First, I have to stop you from going home with that weird guy you met while waiting for the bathroom..." She trails off as she reaches for your purse. "And now you don't even remember where you are."

Hm. Grace's chastising gives you something to focus on. You blink, lifting your gaze as you glance around the building. The pale walls and warm lighting are familiar...this is your apartment building. How did you get to your apartment building?

Grace rifles through your purse, the contents of your bag clinking together as she searches through it. After a second, she seems to find what she's looking for. She turns away from you and towards the door.

"Okay," she hums triumphantly, "We're in."

You take the words as a sign to step forward. Your thoughts don't align with your movements. The delay is enough to make you stumble, your foot missing the base of your heel.

Grace is next to you in a second, her hands latching onto your arms to keep you stable. "How much did you drink?" The question lacks her earlier amusement.

You're not sure you're meant to respond, but you think about it anyway. It didn't feel like that much...but you don't exactly remember every moment, every drink--and you were mad at Louis.

She watches you for a second, her eyes wide and much too focused. "Are you okay?" It's a question your mind refuses to dwell on. Of course you're okay. "Like--okay to be left alone."

"Mhm," the answer feels hollow, "Yeah." Grace continues to stare, her lips pressed together in a way that conveys her uncertainty. "I'm just gonna go to sleep."

She studies you for another beat, and then sighs, "Okay--but straight to bed. And no more texting." Easy enough to follow. Grace lets go of you slowly. "And maybe try to drink some water--and--and try to sleep on your side."

You nod blankly, your hands reaching for the door in front of you. "Water, side, no texting."

Grace sighs as she walks forward. "And call me in the morning, okay?"

You squeeze the side of the door in an attempt to feel more stable. Tomorrow morning feels so far...so impossible. "Okay. Yeah."

She turns her head to look at you one last time before continuing down the hall. You step into your apartment before shutting the door behind you.

The darkness of your apartment immediately pushes itself to the front of your mind, blending into your unease in a way that's dizzying. You exhale, letting your weight rest against the door. You shut your eyes, inhaling as you force yourself to focus on the concrete. The ground beneath your feet is steady, the wood against your back is stable.

"You turned off your location."

The tension that takes over your body is so sharp, so heavy it briefly leaves you paralyzed. You open your eyes, pushing yourself further against the door.

Wait. The voice. You know that voice. The recognition doesn't ease you until a familiar figure pulls itself away from the shadows enshrouding your living room in darkness.

"Oh my god," you manage a second too late, the words devoid of the necessary bite needed to turn the phrase into a warning. "I thought you were a serial killer."

Armand doesn't care about your reaction. He just continues walking towards you with slow, even steps. Your mind is too foggy for his theatrics. "What..." Your questions feel too inadequate for you to make them mean anything. "Is Louis--is he okay?"

He stills at that, but it doesn't really matter. He's close enough now that the darkness isn't obscuring his features. For a moment, you think the question might have softened his expression. "Now you can find it in yourself to worry about him? After the way you spoke to him?"

Of course Louis told him. The haziness clinging to your thoughts has turned everything into sludge. Your lips part, some barely coherent defense-apology hybrid attempting to crawl its way up your throat. All you can manage is a slurred, "He was--dramatic, and I--" You push a hand against the door in an attempt to make yourself stand on your own. "I'm sorry." You're not sure why you're apologizing. It's not like Louis can hear it.

Armand continues forward. You don't think about where he might be going until you feel his hand on your arm. He's a lot less careful than Grace was, but something about the feel of his skin against yours is also a lot less overwhelming. If anything, the coolness of his touch is almost alievating.

"I don't--" You're not sure there's much point in explaining anything. Not when the only thing tethering you to consciousness is your nausea. You can't remember ever feeling so separate from yourself. "I don't feel good. If you're gonna lecture me, do it tomorrow."

Tomorrow. It feels more like a concept than a date. Things would be so much better if you could just fade out of existence until then.

Armand pulls you away from the door. Your limbs are too stiff to protest. His eyebrows draw together, and something behind his expression shifts. "I'm not here to lecture you."

"Then why are you here?"

His thumb moves out of place, brushing against your skin soothingly. "After your argument--Louis came back to me, he told me about what you said, how you treated him, and then he went to bed. Hours later, you sent him a message saying you didn't feel well..." He squeezes your arm a little tighter. "And you turned off your location."

It had been an extremely petty move, but in the moment, a few drinks in, it had felt so reasonable. If Louis was going to see you as fragile, you'd have to show him that you felt no interest in being looked after. "I was mad."

"And now you're experiencing natural consequence." His hold on you morphs into something that borders on uncomfortable, his nails pressing into your skin. "Do you know what people see when they look at you?" You can't do anything but stare at him. "You refuse to acknowledge your vulnerability, and then you stumble home like this."

Okay--you're drunk, but not--not horrible. You’re standing (mostly), and you haven't said anything weird to him. "You're not clueless." The words almost feel like a compliment. "How much did you have to drink?" You don't have an answer. "You don't know? Because I've seen you with Louis, and even when alcohol makes you sick, it's never like this."

Your limbs seem to grow heavier at the implication of his words. Did someone drug you? There was that one guy that hung around you and Grace a little too long, but he never got you a drink.

"Maybe you'll learn to appreciate Louis's warnings instead of running off with the first girl that offers you something simple."

Louis--when he learns about what happened, when he learns that you tried to call him...and that he wasn't there. "Don't tell him."

He angles his head towards you. "You're asking me to keep a secret from my companion for you?"

Ugh. "No." You didn't mean it that way, or at the very least, you didn't want to mean it that way. You can't make sense of things for yourself let alone for another person. "I don't know." Your head is starting to ache. "I just don't--I don't want him to feel bad."

Armand lets go of you slowly, his fingertips brushing against your arm as he straightens. "We'll worry about him tomorrow." There's a certainty there that leaves no room for argument.

The thought of delaying your worry doesn't feel as simple as he's making it out to be, but you can't find the words or energy to disagree. You're not sure what you'd be arguing for, anyway.

He turns with no warning, walking down the hall like this is his apartment. His decisiveness might have bothered you if it didn't make things feel a little easier. Even with Armand serving as a guiding force, your mind seems to buffer. It takes you a second to think to act on the desire to follow him.

It shouldn't be surprising that Armand seems so comfortable moving through your apartment. He's nowhere near as familiar with this space as Louis, but you find it hard to imagine Armand uncomfortable anywhere.

He finds your room. A more coherent version of yourself would have had the energy to worry about the last minute outfits you rejected and didn't have time to put away sitting on your desk chair.

The familiarity of your bedroom is enough to get you to move forward. You approach your bed, half-sitting-half-stumbling onto the mattress. You're not given the chance to settle before your muscles slump out of place. It's an unraveling of tension that offers you no peace.

Dread pools in your stomach. You blink, screwing your eyes shut before forcing them open again in an attempt to fight against the drowsiness blurring your vision. It's too sudden, too heavy.

"You can't fall asleep like that." The words are gentle enough to reach you through your panic.

You want to tell him that you can't be falling asleep, that falling asleep doesn't hold this kind of weight. Instead of struggling to piece your thoughts into something intelligible, you lift your head slightly and mumble a flat, "I'm not."

Armand's back is to you, his attention focused on your dresser. When he turns to face you again, he's holding a familiar piece of fabric. One of the oversized T-shirts you sleep in.

It takes much more focus than it should for you to press your elbows into your bedding. The edges of your vision grow spotty as you stand. You're managing, but everything about your positioning feels circumstantial, like the slightest shift could push you into unconsciousness.

He hands you your shirt. You squeeze the fabric between your fingers. Before you can think to do anything else, Armand's hand finds your wrist. You still at the contact. He moves towards you with slow, deliberate steps.

Armand stops directly behind you. He sets his palm against your shoulder, his thumb smoothing patterns against your shoulder. His other hand settles against your upper back. Something about the contact makes it a little easier to breathe.

You're just getting used to his proximity making things feel easier when he pulls his palm away from you. Before you can overthink the shift, you realize what he's doing. The zipper of your dress has been tugged out of its place.

Armand's slow to release you, his fingertips dragging against your skin as he steps away from you. He walks forward until he's in front of you again, his attention firmly focused on the wall. It takes you a moment to realize that this is him offering you privacy.

You pull the T-shirt over your head with a tact that feels similar to that of a toddler dressing themselves for the first time. You adjust the shirt's hem before pulling the straps of your dress off of your shoulders and down your arms. The material pools at your feet. You step out of the puddle of sequined fabric.

You tilt your head downwards, frowning at the discarded dress. You need to pick it up.

"Sit." The instruction is presented with a directness that leaves no room for resistance, and yet all you can bring yourself to do is blink at him. He turns to face you again. "The last thing you need is proximity to the ground."

His voice is implying a level of irritation you can't handle right now, so you step away from the dress and move to sit on your bed. Armand walks forward. He bends down, picking up the dress before approaching your desk. He lays the dress over the back of your desk chair neatly.

He approaches your bed again, this time sitting down next to you. The return of his proximity is strangely easing. When he doesn't say anything else, you give in to the need to break the silence, "Thanks."

Armand nods once in acknowledgement of the sentiment. "Lie down." The thought immediately digs at you. If you lay down, if you lose consciousness, you'll be letting go of the little control you still have. Anything could happen to you, and--and you'd be so alone.

When you don't move, Armand straightens, his arm extending towards you. His hand finds your shoulder. "I can stay..." The offer feels fragile, like the slightest mistake on your end could force it to crumble into dust. "But only if you listen to me." He turns his hand over as you let his words sink in. He drags his knuckles against your arm patiently. "Are you going to listen to me?"

You nod, if for no other reason than to keep him here. If your acceptance means anything to him, his expression gives no indication of it. "Lie down."

You give in with a sigh, pushing your bedding back as best as you can from your position on the bed. You move beneath your sheets before relaxing against a pillow. After a second, Armand begins to shift. You're not sure what he's doing until he's lying down next to you. The return of his proximity is unexpected, but not unwelcome.

He adjusts your comforter just enough to expose your forearm. Before you can think about the change, he begins to trace patterns against your inner arm. The gesture is oddly grounding...and considerate...which, even in your current state, you can tell is odd.

"Can I ask you something?"

He continues to drag his fingertips against your skin. "A lack of permission has never stopped you before."

A fair point. "Why are you being so nice to me?"

He tilts his head slightly as he considers the question. "Am I usually cruel to you?"

That's not exactly the difference. Armand is never particularly cruel to you. He's never made you feel like you're in physical danger, which means a lot when considering what he is. You've never even had much of a reason to fear arguing with him. However, you can't recall him ever being so understanding.

"No," you find yourself hoping he can feel how much you mean the answer. "But you're usually less patient."

His hand briefly stills against your arm. "I prefer a fair fight."

The sentiment roots itself in your chest, leaving your skin a little warmer than it was a moment again. "We can have one tomorrow."

"I don't doubt it," he says, voice much flatter than before.

Hm. The comment isn't exactly aggressive, but it implies an annoyance that doesn't suit his actions. Something uneasy wedges itself between your lungs and ribs. "Are you mad at me?"

You turn your head as best as you can, staring at him with an openness that a more sober version of yourself would have never allowed. "Mad at you, the darling sun?"

You sigh, letting your eyes fall shut. "Don't start."

"I'm not starting anything," his defense, though already weak, is further softened by the easiness of his tone. "I'm only recognizing what you are."

Opening your eyes, you turn your head to face him again. "What am I?"

He's quiet for a moment before angling his head towards you. It's a subtle shift, but something about it seems to amplify his proximity. Armand's eyes look a little softer than you remember them being, his irises closer to a brown-tinged ember than their usual amber hue. Maybe it's the limited lighting.

"Worthwhile suffering."

The answer feels much too soft to be considered an insult. You're not sure what to think of it. "You're very dramatic."

His hand stills against your arm. "I'm dramatic, when you're the one that turned off your location."

You don't have a decent response. Even as a teenager, you knew better than to completely turn off your location without letting anyone know where you were going during a night out. You're lucky that Grace was there and aware enough to get you back home, but things could have gone so much worse.

The thought of how incredibly stupid you've been burrows itself into your stomach, adding a sharpness to the underlying nausea you've almost been able to forget. Knowing that you're wrong and Armand's right isn't helping things, either.

And Louis--your Louis. Who cares if sometimes he worries so much it makes you feel like burden? At least he cares about you.

"I was mean to Louis."

Armand's hand stills against your forearm, his fingers pressing into your skin in a way that somehow feels both reassuring and resentful. "He'll let it pass."

You let out a self deprecating sigh. There's no reason to believe that Louis won't forgive you, but that doesn't make things okay. "He shouldn't."

"Don't be a martyr." His dismissal isn't enough to diminish your angst. You frown, shifting away from him so that you can lie flat on your back. He's quick to counter your resistance, adjusting his position so that he's sitting up a lot more than you are. He's practically leaning over you, and all you can think to do is stare.

"He loves you," Armand's voice is a lot quieter than you thought it'd be, "There isn't a single thing you could do that he wouldn't forgive."

His certainty is enough for both of you. After a second of blankness, you find it in yourself to nod. The gesture is stiff and uneasy, but it seems to be enough for him. He relaxes slowly, moving to rest his head against your ribs.

His closeness is more of a surprise than it should be. You and Louis have fallen asleep like this more times than you can count. The shock takes a moment to subside, but once it does, you realize that you're... not uncomfortable.

Slowly, as if approaching a wounded animal, you move a hand to rest against his upper back. Neither of you move.

"You should go to sleep," he whispers after what could be a long or short stretch of silence, "You'll be yourself in the morning."

The suggestion is a lot less overwhelming now. Maybe it's because you feel a lot more concrete now. You shut your eyes, but before you can try to find rest, you remember where you are and who you're with.

"Wait," you mumble, "The window--" You're not managing the urgency you feel. While your room isn't exactly flooded with light in the morning, the sun does reach your bed in the mornings if you don't remember to fully shut your curtains.

"The curtains are fine." Armand shifts slightly, his hand settling against the arm not bent against his back. "Rest."

You close your eyes again, this time finding it in yourself to relax fully.

----

@joong-of-gold this is the fic i mentioned having in my drafts a little while ago!!

[emotionalhottiee]

Made For Each Other!

Chapter 3: No Second Chances!

Aleah

After listening to that voicemail, i immediately blocked that number. Still processing that voicemail i couldn’t help but wonder why he was calling me.

I mean i know why, but did he really think that he could talk his way back into my life? After such a HUGE mistake. An unforgivable fuck up. Like all i can do is shake my head, trying to hold back the tears. I was not trying to break down crying in front of all my new co workers, but as hard as i was fighting back the tears were winning.

Making my way out of catering i tried to find the nearest restroom, through blurred vision. I found a bathroom which was thankfully a single and trudged inside. Letting the tears flow down my cheek. My mind wondered back to a time when things were good. When we were happy.

*Flashback*

“Do you know what today is?

It's our anniversary

Made for you and me.”

I was singing along to Tony Toni Tone’s Anniversary in the passenger seat, as Dominic drove us to our reservation. Celebrating us dating for 2 years, this moment was so special to me. Dominic was so special to me. Of course he wouldn’t tell me where we were going. So i just sat back & watched as we passed by the buildings and the backdrop of downtown Atlanta passed us by. It was only another 20 minutes had gone by. When we arrived at a fancy five star restaurant.

Walking inside the place was vibrantly lit. Soft jazz music played in the background, while a nice older woman directed us to our table. “My name is Helen, i will be your waitress for the night. Here are your menus, while you guys are deciding on your food, what can i get you for your drinks?” She asked ever so sweet with her southern accent thick. “I’ll just have a water, with lemons” i replied. “I’ll have a jack & coke” Dominic said, never looking up from his menu. Sometimes i hated his lack of manners, but i decided to bite my tongue tonight and not make a fuss. It is our anniversary. “Sure thing, i’ll be right out with those drinks” She stated seemingly unbothered by Dominic not looking at her. “Thank you so much” i replied making eye contact with her so i could apologize without words. She smiled genuinely letting me know it was fine, before she proceeded back into the kitchen.

As the night went on we got our food, the atmosphere shifted. Which i was grateful for. Instead of focusing on his lack of manners, we talked about our relationship. Just laughing at the memories we’ve made in two years. Talking about where our future will take us. Even talking about our boundaries. Which usually tends to tick me off, because i have simply stated mine from the very beginning. And they have not changed. But that doesn’t stop Dom from being Mr. Forgetful and constantly bringing them up. He knows having the same conversation over and over and over is a pet peeve of mine.

The night continued on, as i buried my frustrations in the back of my mind. I didn’t want to let one little annoyance ruin our anniversary. We continued to enjoy our food, exchanging funny stories & loving moments between the two of us.

*Flashback Over*

Wiping away the rest of my tears i swore to myself that i was done crying over Dominic… So why was i still such an emotional wreck? But the truth is i was forcing myself to get over it, instead of tunneling through the barrage of emotions i felt. I just didn’t wanna deal with this. I mean what was the point when the relationship was over. Why keep being sad over the past, when it’s the past. Questions that kept replaying in my mind, because i just wanted to move on from him. But it’s not as cut and dry as i thought it would be.

I made a mental note to myself, to call my therapist about my little emotional dilemma.

As i finished rinsing my face with cold water, trying to conceal my red puffy eyes. I grabbed my bags heading out of the bathroom. My head was completely in my purse and not paying attention to what’s in front of me, which caused me to collide into them. Or more specifically him.

“Whoa sweetie, are you okay”. He asked holding his arms out, to prevent me from falling. Even tho i was totally not gonna fall. “You gotta watch where you going babygirl, i wouldn’t wanna knock you over.” He said flashing a pearly white smile at me. “My bad” i simply retorted giving him a faint smile while turning to walk away. I heard him mumble a “DAMN”, but i just let out a little chuckle as i kept walking away.

Don’t get me wrong he was cute, But he wasn’t completely my type not to mention Jey was the one holding my attention right now. And i am not trying to jump from man to man around here, especially because this is my job.

Gotta keep it somewhat professional.

Catch Up!

Disclaimer

tag list:

@prettypink-princesss @isabella-2025

@sheaabuttaababyy @uceyliyahh @mindairy @yana3sworld @christinabae

[gifimay]

Differences Between female and male rovers with an S/O

*headcannons*

Male Rover would cry if his S/O died, female rover would keep it all in until she shows no emotion at all.

Male rover would carry his S/O by piggyback while female rover would prefer bridal carry.

Male rover would be really jealous in a cute way anytime a person flirts with his S/O, female rover would be more jealous in a terrifying way where the offender gets the death glare.

Male rover gets flustered, female rover does the flustering.

Male rover would use cheesy nicknames like “sweetie pie” and “honey” female rover would stick to traditional like “darling” or “my love”

Male rover would be more gentle with his S/O than female rover would be.

Female rover would be better at reading their S/O's emotions though, better at knowing something is wrong.

Male rover would be better at making dates go well. Female rover would be better company at 1 on 1 time. 

Male rover would prefer hand holding.

Female rover would rather use eye contact as a way of bonding.

Both rovers would tuck their S/O into bed if they fell asleep but Male rover would go to sleep with their S/O while female rover would watch their S/O sleep and stand guard. 

But both rovers would rewrite destiny for their S/O and that doesn't change for either of them.

P.S. I know i'm biased for female rover but have you seen her in a suit. oh my god. also I might write yandere headcannons soon because im obsessed with knight rover

[hurlumerlu]

A mother always knows

A short THK fic. (AO3)

The boy is good, she’ll give him that. He has a knack for making himself small, when he should be towering above her, so that it barely takes any strain to reach his mouth. It’s almost always right where she wants it – and travels with zeal when it’s not.

Then there are his hands, firm but humble, their strength at her service. She has no doubt he’d show more initiative if he had determined she wanted that – by now he would already have lifted Anusara on the chest of drawers, and probably apologized for getting carried away, all bashful enthusiasm – but he thinks he’s got her pinned in other ways. Besides, he admitted to her face that he wasn’t interested in women, so even though he’s given her a few moans – quickly cut off as if they’d taken him by surprise, a nice touch – he knows she doesn’t expect passion.

He must think this is the appeal, for her, all the things she can make him do regardless of his own wants – he’s been sickeningly deferential all evening, but with a hint of comradery, as if they both knew what this was really about. He’s not entirely wrong, of course.

Just wrong enough.

He falls with a mix of grace and artlessness, when she shoves him toward the bed, and looks up at her with wide, obedient eyes, lips slightly parted. It’s so charmingly artificial that she considers pushing it all further, to tear a real moan or two from him. Stain that silver tongue a little.

But she’s a busy woman.

"Ma’am?" he asks, when she opens the top right drawer. Then again, when she trains the gun on him: "Ma’am. What – why are you –" The nervousness is real, the confusion isn’t. She would have thought him a better actor than that.

"Imagine my surprise the other day," – his recoil at her tone isn’t discreet enough – "when my driver told me how nice it was that my son joined me for golf. Imagine how it grew, when she described the man he left with."

"I don’t –"

"Tall, rather pale... Would it please you to know that she found him handsome? Not a very bright woman, my driver, but she would make an excellent eyewitness. Of course, tattoos help with identification."

She sees it pass through him, the urge to button up his shirt, to pull down his sleeves. He raises a placating palm instead. "Ma’am, please, calm down." Even at gunpoint, men can never stop themselves from telling others to calm down. "He hired me, I’m not –"

"Did he hire you to kiss him on the cheek too?" He closes his eyes with a sigh, self-recreminations evident, and she can’t resist pouring salt on the wound. "I know this isn’t your world, but security cameras are not for show in these places, boy."

When he looks up again, there’s no trace of obedience left in him, the eagerness fallen from his shoulders. It makes him seem almost relaxed – sullen only in the set of his jaw. Did her son fall for the pleading eyes, or for that assessing stare? Knowing Bison and his escapades, the fake moans might have sufficed.

"Give me your phone." A flash of something on his face, sharp enough that she adjusts her shooting stance, yet he pulls the phone out of his pocket with slow, cautious movements, and unlocks it. Hands it over.

It’s not the phone he uses habitually, that much is certain: the list of contacts mostly consisting of the strapping young men he brought with him, and four influential ladies that were drinking in the lounge when they left for her room. He added an emoji next to each one – a star, a flower, a butterfly, cherries: the devil in the detail.

Three names, on this list, do not belong to the aforementioned categories.

"Which one is my son? Penguin, Rome, or Sunshine?" His jaw shifts, locks. She doesn’t have time for this. "If you don’t answer, I’ll simply text all three numbers the same picture of your corpse."

His gaze holds hers for a handful of seconds before falling to the floor in shame. "Sunshine," he replies, and the vindication almost tastes bitter: her youngest – whiny, ungrateful little backstabber though he may be – deserves more of a fight than that. If only he'd listened.

She puts the phone between them, on speaker. It doesn’t ring for long.

"Sorry, I messed up." The boy says when the call is picked up. He sounds so resigned, she realizes too slowly that he made sure to speak first. There was an emoji next to Penguin, too. "Don’t let him come for me, Fadel."

[time-travel-trio]

(Twilight giggles, happily petting Snowstorm as she laughs at Skyfire's predicament.)

"Sorry, Uncle. Them's the rules. You have been glomped. You cannot get up now."

(Kieran sighs, looking at the floor, shifting his ankle with a wince.)

"Fff- I-I know she's strong, but... I just wish I knew how she's doin'. I 'unno how to contact her. I told her to run away, an' she did, but I got no clue where she is now. Still in that world, I know that much. Still in danger from Dokutaro."

"Kiki, cheer up. Carmine's strong, no matter the world. She'll be fine."

"I... yeah, guess you're both right. Sis'll be fine. Maybe she'll find a way to contact us."

(Kieran moves to change his sitting position, only to gasp sharply as his ankle throbs in pain, making tears prick at his eyes as he quickly halts himself.)

"AH- nope, no, okay, no more movin', ain't doin' that."

// new thread with @alolaveralabs and @time-travel-trio since the other one was getting long and since the tw should be over//

"I didn't think your's would work. But I guess any of those flutes would work. And I forgot you had to go through all of hisui to get the azure flute. I just found mines when I went to sinnoh randomly. But looking back I think Arceus wanted me to find it." Skyfire shared "I really have a lot of stories to share. Maybe it's best if we head back now. Despite how beautiful this place is I can't stand it here. Also I need to wash the blood off myself."

"having ichor for blood is weird, like why is my blood gold. " They added

// @/alolaveralabs

[boycritter]

where is my grandmother.

[theimpossiblescheme]

Staging concept: Ophelia carries around a book that she uses to press different flowers and plants. At one point we see her actually pressing one of the flowers Hamlet's given her before, and we get the impression that she wouldn't part with this book for the world. During the "Get thee to a nunnery" scene, Hamlet rips the book out of her hands, and she goes diving after it to make sure he didn't damage it. And during her final "mad scene", she starts tearing out the relevant pages (rosemary, pansies, fennel, columbines, etc.) to give to everyone present. Laertes is the only one to get the significance of his sister giving away parts of her prized possession, and it adds an extra layer to his grief.

[musubiki]

The one day Mochi is cocky enough to say he’s not strong enough to bench her and then he DOES. Both of them are thinking about ███████████████ but will never admit it.

absolutely killer that at multiple points both of them were thinking about it but neither of them do anything about it