#i like how the last photo has more dramatic lighting like this scene called for it

[michaelsfavgirl]

freaky friday

Pairing: Michael Jackson x fem!actress!reader

Synopsis: One ordinary night, you and Michael unexpectedly switch bodies, forcing him to navigate life as you. With no choice, he has to go on set and do his best to act like you.

Tags: switching bodies, established relationship, bit of fluff, jealousy.

Word Count: 9.1k

Requested: yes/no

Author’s Note: hey...*crickets*

Links: navigation | masterlist | taglist

The clock on the wall ticks loudly, but it’s barely audible over Quentin Tarantino’s voice as he rambles on about some minute detail in the script, his words now a constant, steady stream of sound that filters through your ears but doesn't quite register. You've been in this room for hours, long enough for the sunlight streaming through the blinds to fade into the amber hue of early evening. You sit in a chair at the head of a large wooden table, posture more relaxed now, legs crossed, fingers lazily spinning a pen between them. Across from you, Quentin is pacing back and forth, script in hand, gesturing wildly as he talks. His energy seems endless, as if he could do this for days, while you feel the weight of exhaustion creeping in after such a long day.

“…and in this scene, I really want the tension to build, you know? Like, build, build, build, until it just explodes!” Quentin exclaims, throwing his hands up dramatically, making you wonder how his arms don't tire from all the gesturing. His face lights up with an excitement that borders on obsessive, eyes wide, pacing faster now. His energy is contagious in some moments, but tonight, it’s hard to keep up.

You nod absently, eyes drifting from him to the shelf behind his head. It’s cluttered, filled with mementos from over the years: awards, photographs, and odd little trinkets from his film sets. Your gaze lands on a photo, one you’ve seen many times before but somehow always pulls you in. It’s a candid shot taken at the Oscars last year. You and Quentin are at the center, surrounded by other actors, all of you dressed to the nines. You’d won your second Best Actress Oscar that night, a moment forever immortalized in that photo.

But what you remember more than the cheers or the weight of the golden statue in your hand is the way Michael, your husband, had looked at you from the audience. You can still picture his face, glowing with pride, those deep brown eyes locked on you with a tenderness that made your heart skip a beat. He had been your plus one, and even in the crowd of Hollywood’s finest, no one else had mattered in that moment. The applause, the cameras, the stage, it had all blurred into the background as you looked down at him, your heart swelling with love and gratitude. 

“…and then we cut to the next shot. It’s gotta be quick, right? We don’t wanna linger too long. Keep the pace moving. Keep the audience on their toes.”

Quentin’s voice cuts through the haze of your memories, pulling you back into the present. You blink, refocusing on him. He’s still pacing, still talking a mile a minute, but you can’t help but feel the fatigue in your bones. The weariness of running through this script for what feels like the hundredth time today. 

You shift in your seat, fighting the urge to yawn, and give him a small nod as if you’ve been following every word. He’s grumbling now, something about the studio and time limits, and you watch as his expression darkens, his tone becoming more irritated.

"Those bastards are putting a time limit on this film," he growls, finally stopping his pacing to look at you directly, expecting some kind of outrage or agreement.

You can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips. Quentin and his disdain for anything that constrains his creative process is almost comical at this point. The man would make a ten-hour film if he could, and still call it concise.

“Oh, how cruel,” you tease lightly, your voice dripping with faux concern. “Three hours is basically a short film.”

His eyes narrow into a glare, though you know it’s all in good fun. He pauses for a moment, mouth twitching as if he’s holding back a retort, but the glare softens just slightly. You’ve spent enough time with him over the years to know how to push his buttons in just the right way, and he enjoys the back-and-forth.

He opens his mouth to respond, but the words die on his lips as you stretch your arms over your head, standing up slowly, letting out a sigh. You glance at the clock—half past seven—and wonder how the hell you’re still here. The set’s calling your name, and tomorrow you’ll be there, in the thick of it, channeling everything into the role that’s consumed your life for the last few months. But tonight? Tonight you need to rest, to recharge, to find your center again.

You look back at Quentin, who’s still watching you, waiting, expecting something more. He’s always pushing, always wanting to squeeze out every last drop of energy you have for his vision. But not tonight.

“I think we should wrap this up, tin tin,” you say, voice firm but gentle. You meet his gaze, your expression softening just enough to let him know you appreciate his drive, but you’re done for the night. “We’ve been through this a hundred times. I need to get home.”

He bristles, his frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. “But what about-”

You cut him off, taking a step toward the door, grabbing your coat from the back of the chair as you do. “Do you want me to give a perfect performance tomorrow?” you ask, your voice filled with a knowing tone. The words linger in the air, the challenge in your voice unmistakable.

He hesitates, blinking at you, and you can see the wheels turning in his head. He knows where this is going. Of course he wants a perfect performance—he demands nothing less. But he’s also not one to let go easily, not when he’s on a roll. You give him a small, raised eyebrow, waiting for him to catch up.

“Obviously,” he mutters, crossing his arms, a faint pout forming on his lips like a petulant child who didn’t get his way. 

“Then I need to rest in order to do that,” you say, pulling your coat around your shoulders and moving toward the door. There’s a finality to your tone, one that brooks no argument, and Quentin, despite his tenacity, knows when to concede. 

He opens his mouth, but you’re already one step ahead. You flash him a playful smile as your hand grips the door handle. 

“Arrivederci,” you say with a dramatic flair, throwing the goodbye over your shoulder like it’s the end of one of his own films. And before he can utter a single word in response, you pull the door open and step through, closing it firmly behind you.

With a soft chuckle, you adjust your coat and make your way toward the exit. Your thoughts drift back to Michael, to the way his eyes had sparkled that night at the Oscars, and you find yourself eager to get home. To slip into the warmth of his embrace, to hear his voice, to recharge in the comfort of your shared life before the madness of filming begins again tomorrow.

The gravel crunches softly under your feet as you walk along the familiar path that winds through Neverland Ranch. The late afternoon sun bathes everything in a golden glow, casting long shadows across the sprawling landscape. It’s peaceful here, a serene retreat away from the chaos of your everyday life. You smile at the sight of the gardeners, working diligently as always, their hands tending to the earth with precision and pride. You wave hello, receiving a warm smile in return, and for a moment, everything feels right with the world.

Without hesitation, you reach the front door and let yourself in. You’ve long since stopped ringing the bell; this is your home too, after all. The door clicks shut behind you, and as soon as you step inside, you’re greeted by the mouthwatering aroma of dinner. The rich smell of herbs and spices fills the air, making your stomach rumble in anticipation. You know immediately that Michael has been in the kitchen, cooking up something special for the two of you. 

You follow the scent like a trail of breadcrumbs. The light in the house is soft and warm, casting everything in a cozy glow. It feels like home—safe, welcoming, and full of love.

In the kitchen, you see the spread he’s prepared—a feast for the senses. Without thinking, you grab a fork and take a bite of the nearest plate, the mouth watering taste hitting your tongue in a perfect combination. You close your eyes for a second, savoring the flavor.

But before you can take a second bite, you feel his presence behind you. His arms snake around your waist, his chest pressing gently into your back. You stiffen slightly in surprise, not having heard him approach. Startled, you almost drop the fork, and in your jolt, you nearly knock him off balance. His chuckle, low and soft, vibrates against you as his grip tightens, steadying you both.

“Easy, easy there, sweet girl,” he coos in your ear, his voice a soothing whisper, filled with amusement and affection. His breath is warm against your neck, sending a shiver down your spine, and you can’t help but laugh at your reaction. 

You turn in his arms, your body relaxing as you face him. Michael’s eyes sparkle with mischief, that familiar boyish grin tugging at his lips, and before you can say anything, he bends his head down, placing a series of slow, deliberate kisses along your neck. The sensation is electric, and you feel your muscles go lax as his lips trail up and down your skin, his kisses gentle, unhurried, as if he’s savoring every inch of you. Your head falls back onto his shoulder, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt for support as you melt into his embrace. 

“Hmm,” you hum softly, leaning into him, your body pressing closer to his lean frame, completely at ease in his arms. His touch has always had that effect on you—grounding you, making the world disappear until it’s just the two of you.

“Tired, baby?” he murmurs against your skin, his voice a quiet, tender note of concern. His lips brush the curve of your jaw, and you hum again, the sound barely more than a sleepy sigh. You don’t have the energy to answer in full sentences, the weight of the day’s exhaustion catching up with you now that you’re in his arms.

Noticing how you’re practically sagging against him, he chuckles softly and shifts his hold on you. One arm slides around your back while the other scoops under your knees, and before you know it, he’s lifting you effortlessly into his arms.

“Let’s get you into something more comfortable,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your forehead. You don’t protest, your head resting against his chest, the steady beat of his heart lulling you into a peaceful haze. 

He carries you through the wide hallways to your shared bedroom. Michael sets you down gently on the edge of the bed, his hands lingering at your waist as he kneels in front of you, looking up with those dark, expressive eyes that always seem to see straight into your soul. He starts to help you out of your clothes, his fingers deftly unbuttoning your blouse, moving with slow, deliberate care.

“You were amazing today,” he says softly as he slides the fabric off your shoulders, his fingers brushing against your skin in the process. “I know it.” His praise is sincere, his voice filled with admiration. Even though he wasn’t there with you at the meeting, he always knows how to make you feel like you’ve conquered the world.

His hands move down to your shoes next, gently removing them one by one as he continues his soft praise. “You’ve been working so hard. You deserve to rest. Let me take care of you, okay?”

You smile down at him, your heart swelling with love and gratitude for this man who knows you so well, who always seems to know exactly what you need, even when you don’t say it out loud. He’s careful, meticulous as he helps you into a comfortable pair of sweatpants and a soft t-shirt, all the while whispering sweet words of encouragement, each touch and each word meant to soothe you into complete relaxation.

Once you’re dressed, he stands and pulls you back into his arms for a moment, his hand running up and down your back in long, gentle strokes. “There,” he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Now you’re ready to eat.”

Back in the dining room, you settle at the table, the delicious meal spread out before you like a banquet. Michael sits across from you, and the two of you dig in, the quiet comfort of home surrounding you as you enjoy the meal together.

“So,” he begins after a few bites, leaning back in his chair, his gaze fixed on you with a soft smile. “How was the meeting with Quentin?”

You roll your eyes playfully as you swallow your food, already anticipating the subtle interrogation that’s about to follow. “It was long,” you say with a sigh. “We went over the script again for what felt like the hundredth time. But it went well. We’re ready to start shooting tomorrow.”

Michael nods thoughtfully, taking another bite of his food. There’s a pause, just a beat too long, and you can see the wheels turning in his head. He’s never been great at hiding his feelings, and you can sense the question coming before he even asks it.

“And… How's André?” he asks casually, too casually, as if he’s just making conversation. But the slight raise of his eyebrow, the way his eyes flicker with something more than curiosity, gives him away. 

You can’t help but laugh, the sound light and teasing as you set your fork down and meet his gaze with an amused look. “Michael,” you say, your tone playful but firm. “Are you really asking about him?”

He shrugs, trying to maintain his nonchalant air, but there’s a spark of jealousy in his eyes that he can’t quite hide. “Just… curious. You know, he’s your co-star. You two have some pretty… close scenes together.”

You laugh again, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?” You lean back in your chair, crossing your arms as you study him, a soft smile playing on your lips. “You’re never good at hiding your jealousy.”

He chuckles, looking down at his plate for a moment before meeting your eyes again. “I’m not jealous,” he says, but there’s a playful lilt in his voice, and you know he’s not being entirely truthful. “I just… want to make sure everything’s professional. That’s all.”

You reach across the table, placing your hand over his, giving it a gentle squeeze. “You don’t have to worry about André. He’s a professional, and so am I. It’s just acting, Michael.”

He nods, but you can still see the way his jaw tenses slightly, the protective edge that always seems to come out when he talks about your work, especially when it involves other men. It’s endearing, in a way—his fierce devotion to you, the way he always wants to make sure you’re safe, loved, and protected. 

“Besides,” you add, your voice softening as you meet his gaze. “There’s only one person I’m coming home to at the end of the day.” 

The tension in his face melts away at that, and his smile returns, warm and genuine. He lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. “I know,” he says quietly, his eyes filled with love. “I just can’t help it sometimes.”

You smile back at him, your heart swelling with affection. “I know. And I love you for it.” The rest of dinner passes in comfortable conversation, the two of you talking about everything and nothing all at once. 

The ticking of the clock grows softer, fading into the background as the night deepens. It’s close to midnight, and the exhaustion of the day is catching up to you both. After a long, relaxing dinner and some quiet moments together, there’s only one thing left to do before you can finally collapse into bed: shower.

You two move in sync, heading to the spacious, marbled bathroom that’s become a familiar haven. The cool air in the room brushes against your skin, but the anticipation of the warm water about to cascade over you is enough to chase away the chill. Michael moves ahead of you, twisting the faucet, adjusting the temperature until steam starts to rise, filling the room with warmth. He steps inside first, and as the water begins to rain down over his lean frame, you can’t help but stare.

Droplets of water cling to his skin, gliding down his body, tracing the contours of his muscles. His curls loosen under the stream, sticking to his forehead. You stand frozen for a moment, captivated by the sight of him. There’s something about seeing him like this, vulnerable and intimate, that makes your breath hitch.

He looks at you, a teasing grin on his face. “You planning to stand there all night or are you getting in?”

You blink, snapping out of your daze, and laugh softly. “Just admiring the view.”

His grin widens, and he steps aside to make room for you. You join him under the shower’s warm spray, feeling the water wash away the day’s tension, soothing your sore muscles. The heat envelopes you both, the glass walls fogging up quickly.

He smiles softly, knowing exactly what you need without you having to say a word. His arms wrap around you, pulling you close, and you let out a contented sigh as you rest your head against his chest. The feel of his skin against yours, the warmth of his embrace, it all feels so right. You stay like that for a while, just letting the water wash over you, enjoying the quiet intimacy of the moment.

After a while, you both step out, toweling off and heading to bed. The sheets are cool against your skin as you settle into the plush pillows, and the comforting hum of the TV in the background lulls you into a sense of peace. Michael curls up beside you, the two of you cuddling close as the “The Nanny” plays softly in the background. You’re not really paying attention to the show anymore, too focused on the steady rhythm of Michael’s hand rubbing your back.

His touch is gentle, soothing in its familiarity, but when he stops, you immediately feel the absence. You whine softly, the sound barely a murmur, but enough to get his attention.

He rolls his eyes playfully. “Alright. alright” he teases, his voice low and affectionate.

You pout in response, pressing closer to him. “Don’t stop…”

With a soft laugh, he resumes, his warm palm sliding across your back, fingers moving in slow, gentle strokes. His touch is everything—comforting, grounding, a constant reminder of his presence beside you. You shift slightly, settling deeper into the sheets.

“A little to the left,” you mumble sleepily, eyes closed as you surrender to the growing drowsiness.

Obligingly, he scratches your back to the left, his fingers grazing the spot that has been bothering you all day. His touch feels heavenly, chasing away any lingering tension in your body. 

“And a little lower…” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper as sleep begins to pull you under.

He complies, his smile audible in his voice as he says, “Anything else, your majesty?”

You hum softly, too tired to respond, already halfway asleep. His hand moves in slow, soothing circles, the warmth of his body against yours lulling you further into unconsciousness. With a contented sigh, you let yourself drift, the comfort of the moment enveloping you completely. This has been such an ordinary day, right? Nothing special, nothing out of the ordinary—just another day in your life with Michael. Right?

Little do you know, something extraordinary is about to happen.

Morning comes too soon, and the first thing you hear is the blaring sound of your alarm. Groggily, you reach over to your nightstand to turn it off, but your hand meets… nothing. Your brow furrows in confusion, and you fumble around blindly, your eyes still half-closed, trying to find the alarm. When your fingers finally close around the clock, it’s on Michael’s side of the bed. 

Why is it over there?

The thought is slow to form in your sleepy brain, but something feels off. You groan softly, not yet opening your eyes as you roll onto your back, rubbing your face to try to shake off the remnants of sleep. But the moment your hands touch your face, you freeze.

Your eyes snap open, and what you see makes your heart skip a beat. The hands in front of you… they’re not yours. They’re larger, rougher, with long fingers and a noticeable strength to them. Panic rises in your chest as you stare at them, and in a desperate move, you sit up and look down at your body.

Oh. Shit.

The body you’re looking at—it’s not yours. It’s Michael’s. Your breath catches in your throat, and your mind races, trying to process what the hell is going on. 

No, no, no. This can’t be happening. 

You whip your head to the side, your heart pounding in your chest, and that’s when you see yourself—your actual body—sleeping peacefully beside you. Your chest tightens as you take in the sight of your own face, eyes closed, looking as serene as ever. But it’s not you. It’s not your consciousness inside that body. 

You’re in Michael’s body.

Your hand instinctively goes to your chest, and the moment your palm flattens against the unfamiliar, muscular plane of your torso, a wave of shock hits you. “What the fuck,” you whisper under your breath, your voice sounding completely foreign to your ears. Deep. Michael’s voice. 

Your eyes widen, and you glance down, your hands trembling slightly as they hover over the sheets. Curiosity, mixed with utter disbelief, gets the better of you, and before you can stop yourself, your hand slips under the covers, and you feel…it. 

You jerk your hand back immediately, your cheeks flushing with heat. “Oh my God,” you mutter, suddenly feeling like you’ve invaded his privacy in the most intimate way possible. Your mind is spinning, unable to wrap itself around what’s happening. You’re in his body. This can’t be real.

You leap out of bed, your heart racing as you start pacing back and forth, your hands running through Michael’s hair as you try to make sense of this bizarre situation. “I have to be dreaming,” you mutter to yourself. “This isn’t possible.”

But it feels real. Too real. The floor under your feet is solid, the cool air hitting your skin feels normal, and every move you make is controlled by Michael’s body. You glance back at the bed, at your body, still sleeping peacefully. How did this happen? How is this even possible?

Your alarm blares again, and you freeze. Set. The set! You have to be on set today.

“Oh god,” you groan, rubbing your face. You have to be on set in a few hours, and you’re stuck in Michael’s body. How are you supposed to shoot your scenes when you’re like this? 

Michael’s voice comes out in a groggy mumble as he snuggles his face into the pillow. “What’s all the fuss about?” he grumbles, clearly still half-asleep, his voice soft and pitched higher than usual. He shifts slightly, his hand lazily reaching out for the blanket, but then he freezes. The sound of his own voice – or rather, the sound of your voice – pulls him out of the last remnants of sleep. His eyes snap open in confusion.

He lifts his head slowly, blinking against the morning light, and when he finally looks over at you, his jaw drops. He stares at your(his) body, standing there looking every bit as stunned as he feels. His eyes widen in disbelief, and for a few seconds, it’s like his brain can’t catch up to the reality of what’s happening. He looks down at himself, or rather, at your body, and back up at you, back and forth in stunned silence.

“The hell…” he whispers, his voice coming out higher, more pitched. It sounds completely foreign to him, like someone else is speaking through his mouth.

You’re already pacing, hands running through his hair. Your body language is full of anxious energy, and he can tell right away you’re freaking out. Michael takes a deep breath and forces himself to move. Slowly, as calmly as possible, he slides out of the bed, every movement cautious like he’s trying not to break something.

Once on his feet, he takes a few shaky steps toward you. It feels weird and when he looks up at you he has to tilt his head to meet your eyes. The shift in perspective is jarring. He’s never realized how much taller he is than you until now. Is this what it’s like for you every day, looking up at him like this?

“Damn,” he mutters under his breath, still trying to keep calm. “Is this what I look like to you?”

You glance at him, still pacing in his body, and for a split second, your stress breaks. You can’t help but giggle. “How does it feel to be the short one now?”

He shoots you a look, your own sharp stare coming right back at you. “Not the time,” he says, his tone clipped. 

The giggle dies on your lips, and you nod, understanding this is serious. Michael begins pacing now, mirroring the frantic energy you had just moments before. Watching your own body pace back and forth is surreal. You’ve never seen yourself like this, and there’s something bizarre about seeing your body from an outsider’s perspective, especially when you’re inside someone else.

He rubs his hands over his face, feeling your softer skin, the shape of your cheeks, and the delicate jawline he knows so well, just not from this angle. He takes a deep breath, then another, as if trying to ground himself.

“It’s fine,” he says, more to himself than to you. “It’s all fine. We can figure this out.” He’s pacing faster now, his arms moving in that exaggerated way that always happens when he’s nervous. “We’ll just… call Deepak.” His voice is quiet, more like he’s thinking out loud. “He knows about this kind of stuff, right? Spirituality, body…switching?” His voice falters at the end, and you can tell he’s grasping for something, anything to make sense of this.

“Mike,” you say, stepping forward in his body, trying to stop his pacing. But he keeps going, muttering under his breath about having all day to figure this out, that everything will be okay by tonight. You watch him, knowing he’s doing that thing where he tries to rationalize everything, even when things are wildly out of control.

You step forward and place your—no, his—strong hands on his shoulders, stopping him in his tracks. The contrast between your hand’s size and the feel of your own body beneath them is striking, and it gives you a moment of pause, but you quickly focus on the situation at hand.

“Michael,” you say again, a little more firmly this time. “We don’t have all day.”

He frowns, still confused. “What do you mean?”

“I have to be on set in two hours.”

That’s when the realization hits. His eyes widen, which is weird to see on your own face. “Oh shit,” he mutters, sitting down heavily on the edge of the bed. His hands drop into his lap, and he stares blankly ahead, his mind obviously racing as he processes what you just said.

You sit down next to him, the bed dipping under your combined weight. For a long moment, neither of you says anything. The silence stretches, heavy with the weight of what this means. You have to be on set today. He has to be on set today. In your body. And as that thought fully settles in, you can see the dawning horror on his face.

He’s going to have to act.

Trying to break the tension, you give him a small, teasing smile. “Maybe now’s your time to finally become an actor.”

“Not funny sweetheart.” He groans, flopping back onto the bed in exasperation, your arm flinging dramatically over his face. “This isn’t happening,” he mutters, his voice muffled. “I can’t do this.”

You chuckle softly and nudge him with your elbow. “Come on, there’s no way around it. You already know the words from helping me rehearse. You’ve practically memorized the whole script.”

He peeks at you from under his arm, his expression somewhere between resigned and panicked. “Memorizing the lines is one thing. Actually being you on set in front of Quentin and the whole crew is… insane.”

You sigh, knowing he’s right. This is insane. But there’s no other option. “Look, we don’t have a choice. And you know how I behave. Just… do what I do.”

He groans again but sits up, running a hand through your hair, which looks bizarre from this perspective. He finally seems to accept that there’s no way out of this. With a deep breath, he stands up and squares his—your—shoulders.

“Okay,” he says, exhaling slowly. “I got this. I just have to act like you.”

You smile, relieved that he’s getting on board with the plan. “Yeah. Easy.”

He nods, his expression determined as he heads toward the bathroom. But then, as you watch him go, you notice the way he’s walking—his usual confident, masculine stride. It looks completely out of place in your body, and it takes everything in you not to burst out laughing. Watching your body walk like that, like a man, is almost too much.

Shaking your head, you flop back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. “Maybe not so easy,” you mutter to yourself, a wry smile playing on your lips.

Michael disappears into the bathroom, and you hear the water running as he splashes his face, probably trying to snap himself out of the weirdness of the situation. Meanwhile, you lay there, your mind spinning with everything that’s about to happen.

You can’t help but wonder how this day is going to play out. You’re stuck in Michael’s body, and he’s stuck in yours, and somehow you’re both going to have to survive the day without anyone figuring out what’s happened. 

—

Michael steps out of the walk-in closet, fidgeting slightly as he tugs on the sleeves of the outfit he’s just put together. It’s a far cry from what you’d usually wear, but he’s trying his best to look like you, or at the very least, like a version of you that could exist on a casual day. He looks down at himself, feeling awkward as the clothes hang a little differently on your body than he imagined.

As soon as he steps into the bedroom, you take one look at him and blurt out, “What is that outfit?” 

His brow furrows, clearly a little offended. He glances down at the clothes he’s chosen and frowns. “What’s wrong with it?” he asks, arms spreading out as if to showcase the full look.

You fold your arms across your chest, tilting your head with an exasperated sigh. “Michael, you can’t go on set looking like that. No way. Come on, I’ll get you dressed.”

He huffs in protest, standing his ground. “I think it looks fine. It’s your stuff. What’s wrong with it?”

Rolling your eyes playfully, you move forward and start rifling through the closet, your movements confident and sure, despite being in his body. “Trust me, now’s not the time to argue about this. You’ve got less than an hour before you’re supposed to be on set, and you can’t be out there looking like…” You trail off, gesturing at his body. “…like that. Just—come on, let me fix it.”

Reluctantly, Michael steps back as you start throwing together an outfit—something that actually looks like you. As he watches you, he mutters under his breath, “So, what? Were you lying every time you complimented my outfits?” he grumbles as you sift through the hangers, picking out clothes that feel more like you.

Rolling your eyes, you toss a shirt at him. “I wasn’t lying. I like your outfits… on you. But right now, you’re supposed to look like me, remember?”

Michael grumbles but complies, changing into the outfit you’ve picked out with a few more muttered complaints. Once he’s dressed, he gives you a reluctant nod, clearly not thrilled but knowing better than to argue further. The clothes fit better, at least, and when he checks his reflection in the mirror, he has to admit that he looks more like you now than he did before.

With a deep breath, he finally heads out, ready, or as ready as he’ll ever be, to tackle the day ahead.

—

At your shared home, you're reclining on a deck chair, trying to relax despite the nagging feeling of unease that’s settled in your stomach. The ranch is gorgeous as always, the sun filtering through the trees and casting a warm glow over the rolling hills. But even with the idyllic setting, you can’t fully relax. Michael’s on set, in your body, about to spend the day pretending to be you. 

You trust him, of course. But still… it’s your job, your reputation on the line. What if something goes wrong? What if he messes up? What if-

You shake your head, trying to push the worries aside. There’s nothing you can do about it now. All you can do is wait.

—

Michael arrives on set, and the moment he steps out of the car, he can feel his heart rate spike. He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but it’s hard when everything around him feels so foreign. He’s been to set with you a million times before, but never like this, never as you.

You make this look so effortless—walking onto set, greeting everyone with that natural charm, slipping into character like it’s second nature. But for him, it’s like stepping into a battlefield without any armor.

As he heads toward the dressing rooms, he mentally rehearses what little he knows. Smile. Be friendly. Act like nothing’s wrong. He can do that. Right?

Walking into the building, he forces a bright smile and greets the crew, trying to channel your energy. “Morning everyone.” The words feel awkward, but no one seems to notice.

He’s ushered into the makeup chair almost immediately, and the team starts fussing over him, brushing his hair, applying your makeup. Michael watches himself in the mirror, seeing your face reflected back at him. It’s a bizarre feeling, being on the other side of this.

The real test comes when he steps out of makeup and catches sight of Quentin across the set. His heart lurches. Oh no. Quentin’s eyes lock onto him, and Michael turns on his heel, hoping to slip away unnoticed. But before he can make his escape, Quentin’s voice booms across the room.

“Hey! There she is!” Quentin’s excitement is palpable, and Michael has no choice but to turn back, plastering a smile on his face.

“Hi, Quentin!” he calls, trying to mimic your usual enthusiasm. Inside, he’s screaming.

Quentin strides over, grinning widely. “We’re starting with the scene we worked on yesterday. Got everything prepped?”

Michael’s mind races. The scene we worked on yesterday? You hadn’t mentioned anything specific about yesterday’s rehearsals. He nods, playing along, though he has no clue what Quentin is talking about. “Yeah, of course. All good.”

Quentin gives him a thumbs-up and turns to the crew, calling for everyone to quiet down. “All right, everyone! Let’s get ready for the first shot!”

As the set falls into hushed activity, Michael makes his way toward the stage, scanning the room for any sign of what’s coming next. And then he spots Andre. Great. Michael narrows his eyes. If there’s any silver lining to this ridiculous situation, it’s that he finally gets to see firsthand if Andre has a thing for you.

Andre is already in position, lounging casually in a chair, his charming smile aimed right at you. As Michael approaches, Andre stands and strides over with a relaxed confidence. “Hey, you,” Andre says, flashing that charming smile. He goes in for a hug, pulling Michael in close. Does he always hug you like this? 

Michael stiffens, his mind spinning. He’s so lost in the flood of jealousy that he doesn’t even notice Andre’s hand reach up to adjust the collar of your shirt. It’s only when he feels fingers brush his neck that he snaps out of it, stepping back abruptly.

“What are you doing?” Michael blurts out, his tone more accusatory than he intended.

Andre chuckles, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Forgot what scene we’re shooting today?”

Michael’s stomach drops. “No, I- of course I remember. We’re shooting the… uh…” He trails off, hoping for some miraculous divine intervention. None comes.

Andre gives him a knowing look, his voice dropping to a playful murmur. “The confession scene.”

Michael’s throat tightens. Oh, that scene. How wonderful.

“Right. That one,” he mutters, trying to keep his composure.

Andre mumbles under his breath, just enough to be heard but not enough to draw attention. “The kiss scene.”

Michael’s mind reels. The kiss?! He didn’t know about this. But before he can respond, Quentin’s voice shouts, “Action!”

The scene begins, and Michael’s instincts kick in. He’s watched you act a thousand times; he’s even helped you rehearse your lines. But now, actually performing? It’s a whole different ballgame. He tries to remember how you carry yourself, how you deliver lines with that natural charisma.

Andre begins, his voice low and filled with emotion. “I can’t keep this inside anymore. Every time I see you, it’s like… like I’m drowning in everything I feel for you.” His eyes are locked on Michael, stepping closer with every word. “It’s not just want. It’s need. You have me enchanted.”

Michael tries to respond, his voice trembling slightly. “I… I didn’t know you felt that way.”

“Don’t lie. You always knew,” Andre says, his tone softening. “I’ve wanted you since the first moment we met. And now, I can’t wait anymore. I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel this.”

Andre leans in, his hand brushing against Michael’s arm, and Michael feels his body tense. Oh God. The kiss.

Panicking, Michael stumbles back a step, and in the process, his elbow knocks into a vase on a nearby table. It tips and crashes to the ground, shattering into a million pieces.

“Cut!” Quentin’s voice roars across the set, filled with frustration. The entire crew freezes, staring at the broken vase, then at Michael.

Michael’s heart is pounding in his chest as he tries to breathe. He feels a surge of embarrassment flood through him, but before he can explain, Quentin marches over, rubbing his forehead.

“Are you okay?” Quentin asks, exasperated but not yet furious. “You were doing fine, and then…” He gestures to the broken vase. “What happened?”

“I’m sorry,” Michael stammers, “I just… got distracted for a second.”

Andre smirks, clearly enjoying this far more than he should be. “You good, babe? You’re not usually this jumpy.”

Babe?! Who the hell is this bitch calling babe?

Michael clenches his jaw, resisting the urge to snap back. He forces a smile, trying to keep it together. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… got a little too into it, I guess.”

Quentin waves it off, already moving back to his director’s chair. “All right, let’s reset and go again.”

As the crew rushes to clean up the broken vase and reset the scene, Michael takes a deep breath, feeling the pressure mounting. He glances at Andre, who’s watching him with an unreadable expression. The kiss. It’s coming, and there’s no way around it.

Michael glances around, trying to steady his breathing as he walks back to his mark. He’s dreading this moment. Out of all the scenes in the script, why did they have to start with this one? It’s the first time André’s character confesses his feelings for yours, and of course, it culminates in a passionate kiss. Michael grits his teeth. He’s already feeling defensive just thinking about it.

André, ever the professional, strolls over, adjusting his shirt as he gets into position. He gives Michael a quick smile, one that seems way too charming for Michael’s liking.

“Ready?” André asks, flashing that same disarming grin that Michael now finds infuriating. He’s been watching this man flirt with you for days, and now he’s got to endure him up close—way too close.

Michael forces a nod, doing his best to look calm. “Yeah, let’s get this over with.”

Quentin’s voice cuts through the air. “And… action!”

The scene begins, and Michael tries to focus on the lines he’s practiced, mentally repeating them as he watches André deliver his dialogue with intense emotion. André’s character is pouring his heart out, stepping closer and closer with each sentence. Michael can feel the weight of the scene, but it’s hard to concentrate when he knows what’s coming.

And then it happens. André leans in, his face just inches away from Michael’s. Their lips touch, and Michael fights the urge to pull back. He tries to stay in character, tries to be professional. He can feel André’s hands sliding over your body, gently caressing your arms and then moving lower, fingertips grazing your waist. This definitely wasn’t in the script.

What the fuck? Michael thinks, his mind racing. He swears you told him this kiss was just supposed to be a brief peck, but here he is, locked in what feels like a full-on makeout session. André’s lips press harder against yours, the kiss deepening as if the two characters are consumed by the moment. Michael is struggling to keep it together. He stiffens, resisting the instinct to shove André away.

From the corner of his eye, Michael sees Quentin nodding approvingly, almost entranced by the scene. He’s probably thinking it’s going better than planned. But Michael is ready to crawl out of his own skin.

“Cut!” Quentin finally calls, his voice filled with satisfaction. “That was great! Really great!”

The moment Quentin’s voice echoes across the set, Michael pulls away, nearly stumbling as he breaks free from André’s hold. He wipes at his mouth instinctively, a grimace twisting his features as he meets André’s eyes.

André, seemingly unfazed, just smirks. “Nice job,” he says, his voice dripping with allure.

Michael shoots him a look that would’ve melted steel, but before he can say anything, Quentin announces, “Alright, five-minute break, everyone.”

Michael turns on his heel without a word, heading straight for your dressing room. He’s barely able to keep it together, anger simmering beneath the surface. His phone is in his hand before he even realizes it, and he’s dialing your number. The moment you pick up, he doesn’t wait for you to speak.

“You didn’t tell me I’d have to do the kissing scene today!” he says sharply, his voice laced with sass.

On the other end, you try to suppress a laugh, but Michael can hear the amusement in your tone when you respond, “Well, I didn’t want to stress you out more than you already were.”

He rolls his eyes, running a hand through your hair in frustration. “That’s real considerate of you,” he mutters sarcastically. “But can we talk about that mo-... him? Why is he so touchy-feely with you?”

You sigh, and Michael can picture you rolling your eyes in return. “Michael, that’s just the way he is. He’s an actor, he’s in the moment. No need to worry about it.”

“No need to worry?” Michael huffs. “He’s clearly into you. The way he was all over me—well, you—just now? That wasn’t acting.”

You groan on the other end of the line, clearly over this conversation. “Michael, please. We’ll talk about this nonsense when you get home, okay?”

“Nonsense?” He starts to protest, but you cut him off with a quick, “Love you,” and then the line goes dead.

Michael stares at the phone, groaning as he leans back against the wall of your dressing room. He lets out a long breath, staring into the mirror. There’s your face looking back at him, but it doesn’t feel like you. It feels alien, like he’s wearing a mask that’s too tight. He tries to calm down, closing his eyes for a second before pulling himself back together. He can’t afford to lose it now, not when he’s still got a full day of shooting ahead.

With another deep breath, he heads back to the set.

—

The shooting continues, and Michael does his best to stay in character, though it’s hard. He makes a few minor mistakes—forgetting to tilt his head just right, not delivering lines with the same nuance you do—but nothing too disastrous. Quentin doesn’t seem to notice, or if he does, he’s not calling Michael out on it. Still, every time Michael stumbles over a line or misses a cue, his stomach clenches. He feels like he’s walking a tightrope, balancing between passing as you and being found out.

But what bothers him more than the minor acting slip-ups is André. The guy is infuriating. Every time they reset the scene, André finds some excuse to get close to you, whether it’s fixing your wardrobe, brushing a stray hair behind your ear, or even offering casual compliments about how well you’re doing. To anyone else, it might look like André is just being friendly, but Michael knows better.

There’s an intensity in his eyes when he looks at you—an intensity that Michael’s certain he’s aimed at you a hundred times before. It makes his blood boil.

At one point, when they’re setting up for another scene, André sidles up to Michael, standing just a little too close for comfort. “You’re doing so well today,” he says, his voice low and smooth. “I knew you were talented, but this… this is something else.”

Michael grits his teeth, trying to keep his expression neutral. “Thanks,” he mutters, not wanting to engage more than necessary.

André leans in slightly, lowering his voice even more. “You know, I’ve always admired your dedication. It’s… inspiring.” His face is so close to yours that Michael feels his warm breath against his neck.

Michael glances at him out of the corner of his eye, his jaw tightening. He wants to say something, wants to tell André to back off, to stop being so damn flirty, but he knows he can’t afford to blow up here. Not in front of the crew. So instead, he forces a tight smile and steps away, pretending to check something on his phone.

André watches him for a moment, that same charming smile still on his face, before finally walking off to talk to one of the crew members.

Michael exhales, his heart pounding in his chest. He doesn’t know how much longer he can take this. If André pulls something like that again, he’s not sure he’ll be able to hold back.

As the day drags on, Michael somehow manages to get through the rest of the scenes without any major disasters. He stumbles a few more times, forgetting small details you’d usually nail without thinking, but overall, he manages to hold his own. The crew seems satisfied, and even Quentin gives him a few nods of approval.

But throughout it all, Michael’s focus is split. Half of his mind is on the task at hand—delivering lines, hitting marks, staying in character—but the other half is constantly tuned in to André. Every time the other actor gets too close, every time he touches Michael or says something with that smooth, flirtatious tone, Michael feels his frustration bubbling just beneath the surface.

By the time Quentin finally calls a wrap on the day’s shoot, Michael is more than ready to get the hell out of there. As soon as he hears those magical words, “That’s a wrap!” He practically bolts for your dressing room, eager to escape André’s lingering presence.

He pulls out his phone, sending you a quick text: Coming home. 

He doesn’t wait for a reply before grabbing his things and heading for the car. Today has been exhausting in more ways than one, and all he wants to do is get back to the ranch, collapse into bed, and forget this whole bizarre day ever happened.

—

As you lounge on the plush couch in the living room you stretch your legs, sinking deeper into the luxurious cushions, savoring the calmness that comes with being home. Thank god he had a day off today. 

The door swings open gently, and Michael walks in. His steps are a little heavier than usual, his shoulders slightly hunched in that familiar way he gets when he’s both tired and annoyed.

You raise your eyebrow, sensing his mood before he even says a word. “How did it go?” you ask, your voice laced with curiosity and a bit of playful teasing.

Michael doesn’t respond immediately, just sighs deeply, making his way over to the couch. He collapses next to you, laying his head against your chest, burying his face in what is now his own body. You chuckle softly at the sight—it’s still bizarre seeing him in your body, his movements awkward and slightly off, but endearing all the same.

“I think I didn’t do too bad,” he mutters, his voice muffled against your skin. His arm drapes lazily over your waist, and you stroke his hair gently.

You nod, encouraging him to continue, but something tells you there’s more. His expression gives it away, the way his brows are furrowed and his jaw is tight. He’s holding something back.

And then, as expected, he brings up André.

You let out a soft breath, your lips twitching into a smirk. You knew this was coming. “What about him?” you ask casually, trying to hide your amusement as Michael continues his jealous rant.

“He just—ugh, he’s so obvious! He keeps finding reasons to get close to you. Like, during the scene, he had his hands all over me, and I’m pretty damn sure it wasn’t in the script!” Michael grumbles, his head still resting on your chest. “It’s like he doesn’t even care that you’re married. He’s got no respect.”

You can’t help it, you breathe out a chuckle, the corner of your mouth lifting as you watch him get more worked up. His jealousy is kind of adorable, and you’ve always known he’s been protective of you, but seeing him like this—seeing him experience it firsthand—is on another level.

Interrupting his tangent, you sigh, your voice soft but knowing. “I know,” you say.

Michael’s head jerks up suddenly, his eyes wide as he looks at you in shock. “Wait, what? You know?”

You nod, giving him a shrug. “Yeah, I’m not blind, Michael. I know he likes me. It’s pretty obvious.”

He stares at you, looking like he’s just had the rug pulled out from under him. “You knew? And you didn’t say anything?”

You smile, brushing your hand through his hair. “What was I supposed to say? It’s not like I pay him any mind.”

He sits up now, fully engaged in the conversation, eyes narrowed slightly. “You don’t?” he asks, and you can hear the underlying tension in his voice.

You tilt your head, smirking a little. “Of course not. Yeah, he’s cute—” you can see the slight shock flash across Michael’s face at that admission, “—but he doesn’t compare to you.”

Michael’s expression softens slightly at that, his shoulders relaxing a little as the words sink in. For a second, his jealousy seems to ease, and you can see the corners of his lips twitch, though he tries to hide it.

“So, he’s cute now, huh?” he mutters, but there’s no real bite to his words anymore, just a little playful teasing.

You laugh softly, giving his arm a squeeze. “Don’t worry, doo doo head. He’s not the one I’m married to,” you say with a wink. And that seems to settle him down, his head leaning back against the couch as he sighs, though his eyes still flicker with traces of that protective spark.

After a few moments of comfortable silence, you break it with a new topic. “By the way, I called Deepak.”

Michael glances at you, now intrigued. “Yeah? What did he say?”

“He’ll be here in an hour or two,” you explain, your tone casual. “Says he can help us figure this out and hopefully get us back into our own bodies.”

Michael nods, seeming relieved. “Good. This whole thing is starting to really mess with my head.”

You let out a small sigh, leaning back into the cushions, and the silence stretches for a moment. Then, feeling a sudden mischievous urge, you turn to him with a grin and ask, “So… you gonna let me fuck you?”

Michael’s eyes widen in pure shock, his mouth dropping open as he stares at you, clearly taken aback. “What? No!” he blurts out, his voice shooting up an octave.

You pout playfully, leaning closer to him. “Come on,” you tease, your voice lilting with amusement. “I wanna know how I looks when you fuck me.”

His face heats up, and he shakes his head vigorously, his body tensing at the mere suggestion. “No. Absolutely not.”

You let out a groan of disappointment, falling back against the couch dramatically. “You’re no fun,” you grumble, casting him a playful glance out of the corner of your eye.

Michael finally lets out a chuckle, the tension easing as he watches you with that familiar smile of his. “I can’t believe you even suggested that,” he mutters, shaking his head in disbelief, though his laughter betrays his amusement.

“What? It was just an idea!” you defend, giggling as you nudge him with your shoulder.

He rolls his eyes, but his smile remains, and the tension from the day seems to melt away, replaced by the familiar comfort of being with you, his wife, even if you’re in his body for now.

The clock ticks softly in the background as the two of you settle into a comfortable silence, waiting for Deepak to arrive, but for now, content to just be here, together, even if things are a little upside down.

© michaelsfavgirl 2024

Taglist: @theladyinmoscow @yeriminist @yeaiamme2 @helloaugustmoon @cinnamoncunt @theladyofmylife @minekarina @kionaaa @theskinniestjackson-denny @leociinta @graciegizmo3184 @theasexual-jackson @mrsmikaelsxn @fallinlovewithevil @armasbw @b3rk1ey @sirusxx @maybe7tommorow @falllovesomemichealjackson @virgomjj @michaels-nonbinary-child @veavixen @elthoughtzos @kingayanna

[wings-of-sapphire]

ANNY ANNY OHMIGOSH

LIVE CHAPTER 16 REACTION

GO CHECK OUT @annymation’s “KINGDOM OF WISHES” REWRITE

(Spoiler warning for Wish and ig some Hazbin Hotel and The Owl House too since I reference them)

(Regular warning bc MATE THIS IS LONG AS FUCK)

(Oh also swear warning)

That gif of Magnifico in the beginning looks way too adorable to be a psychopath

SCREAMS YES instead of “ow my chest has heartburn” I NEED THE GUT-WRENCHING SCREAMS

LIKE VAGGIE HAVING HER WINGS RIPPED OFF SCREAMS

UGH he’s evil but he loves his wife

WAIT IS HE GONNA BRAINWASH HER INTO BEING A PRINCESS

DRAWING YES IS IT GONNA BE THE MAGIC CARPET

Oh bubbles that works too (also irony)

Imma trust that Valentino made it in a bubble too bc YOU ARE NOT killing off the animal sidekick okay I would rather Magmaya win than Val be killed

YES BABY IS OKAY

Man Dahlia you gonna leave your mother behind?

”ANOTHER PERSON I LOVE” YES GIVE US THAT CONFESSION ASHA

Disney Channel

It’s giving Onward

OOH or Frozen yk Elsa and the staircase scene

NOOO ASTER BABY

“Love of his life” DAM YOU ANNY WHY MAKE OUR BOY SUFFER

Amaya is channeling her inner Gothel rn

Ooh I love Lydia the Bard!

ARGH THEY’RE EVIL BUT THEY LOVE EACH OTHER

Mysterious language? Star dialect?

”Last star I see tonight” ANNY

AHAKSJAKS THIS IN A MINOR KEY

ASTER BABY THE SCREAMS

Oh so they’re becoming Stars interesting

CALLING HER A WITCH OUTRIGHT

Dam Eris was one of my first fictional crushes (bisexual ass) so now I’m wondering if Amaya should be one too

”Hate but also love” it’s giving “Out For Love” by Carmilla

But Magmaya is out for love too… SHEJWJSKJS COUPLE GOALS IF THEY WEREN’T MENTALLY DERANGED

SINGING AT THE SAME TIME >>>>>

THE TROPE EVER

LIKE A MADRIGAL BUT SAME VIBES

Noooo Aster

Hey orchestra of stars above where the heck are you

Aster I love you but they have no humanity left

HE’S DYING ASHA GIVE HIM THE TRUE LOVE’S KISS

YOU BOTH CONFESSED MAKE IT BEAUTY AND THE BEAST

Yikes Amaya you’re usually the brains now you’re choosing to spare her?

Ig since you’re in love it would be torture for you but cmon girl

FUCKING “I LOVE YOU” NO WHERE’S THE FUCKING MAGIC OF TRUE LOVE WHY IS HE NOT REVIVING

AGSJAJSKSJS IT’S GIVING LUZ NOCEDA

Oop gotta add a ToH spoiler warning now too ig

Brb

Okay back YK THE LIGHT ORB SHE FADES INTO

AND WE GOT ASHA PARALLEL TO AMITY HOLDING HER SOULMATE’S SOUL GLOW THING

AHSJAJSKS HAVE ASHA GO EDA/ KING FERAL

SHE FUCKING CONFESSED BACK ANNY MAKE THEM ALIVE AGAIN

Omfg battle outfit (AND MORE! THAN! JUST! SPARKLES!)

Omg yeah the dress fits so well with the star-chest thing

SHE HAS PUPILS idk why I was so hyped about that

IT’S GIVING “You’ll Be in My Heart”

VAL BABY

Wait next chapter? This seems like the conclusion Anny I’m scared

Omigosh these two royal idiots in love

I I bet they’re giggling and holding hands while destroying precious memories of their citizens

”Feels something changing” eh? Sorry it’s just canon!Wish didn’t give us much but the novelization is very AshaxDahlia heavy

YES SIMON HELPS THAT WOULD’VE MADE HIS MOVIE COUNTERPART BETTER

HE STANDS UP AND SINGS AND PROVES HE’S WILLING TO GO AGAINST MAGGIE

THE YOUNG GENERATION IS SINGING IT, BREAKING THE CYCLE OF VIOLENCE

Although Asha has her Sabino… maybe ghosts/ spirits of her loved ones? I always imagined the scene “A Wish Worth Keeping” would have her family’s spirits (in blue) smiling and cheering her on… sparkly ofc

YES this scene in the movie was my favorite bc it FELT DRAMATIC

I said before “Knowing What I Know Now” was my fav but Anny I changed my mind “Wish (Reprise)” is my favorite

YES TAKE BACK YOUR KINGDOM FROM THE STRAIGHT WHITE FOLK (Amaya is Greek… what is Magnus? I’m assuming white too)

SWORD YES make it Prince Phillip’s

Gotta admit that falling wish scene in the movie was gorgeous, reminded me of Wall-E

Wait omigosh Asha looks so pretty in that photo where did you get that

*stares at it for hours bc she looks gorgeous*

Referenced as a wand now!

Smiling as she falls bc she knows HER BAE WILL CATCH HER

HOW are they not dead. The gays only have the power of plot armor

So it was nighttime okay

AW HE CARES FOR HER

Yep definitely giving Belos

NOW I WANT TO SEE A KOWxTOH CROSSOVER

Told you idiots you shouldn’t have spared her. Pride really does come before the fall

Seriously Gothel wasn’t a pussy she stabbed Flynn why didn’t you stab Asha (sorry bby just wondering how they’re so stupid)

THAT’S what you’re worried about man

HE WANTS TO KEEP AMAYA SAFE IN HIS ARMS AND PROTECT HER AT ALL COSTS

Lol I’m just imagining a giant whoosh of power and light and Amagnus squeezes their eyes shut waiting for a painful death and then they just. Sneeze. Itchy magic glitter poof

Is this a reference to a past Disney movie? They’re really going the PJO route huh

DAM ANNY THAT’S HARSH

Uh. Wow. Okay Aster I guess they did kill you

Yay we have the citizens standing up!

Wait you make your wish at 18 was this women pregnant really early orrrr

Later? Oh goodness I’m worried for the next chapter

Uh Starsha is being a bit sadistic and Amaya is sobbing for her love…

MAGGIE TURN AND COMFORT YOUR WIFE

Oh btw is Magnus part Spanish? “Mi vida” since Amaya is Greek…

NO NO DANCE PARTY I DON’T TRUST YOU YET

Someone get Gabo some therapy mate

NO WHAT

ASTER WHAT

NO THE STARS WILL COME DOWN AND LEGO BATMAN HIS ASS

VIOLIN-STAR TELL THEM THAT THEY FOUND LOVE AND THEREFORE THEY WILL STAY

WHY DID HE SAY IT SO SOFT AND MATURE WHERE IS MY GOLDEN RETRIEVER BOY

DID HE HEAR ASHA TELL THEM SHE LOVED THEM? DOES SHE HAVE TO DO IT TO MAKE HIM STAY?

”Love is all they needed” Amaya you’re clever but this was all sort of your fault witch

FUCK YOU MAGNUS COMFORT YOUR WIFE OFH WAIT TOO LATE

Tbh I would’ve agreed with Gabo had they injured Val in some way

YEAH THEY DESERVE IT BUT THEY GOT THE PERCY JACKSON HEPHAESTUS CHAIR TREATMENT

Discord DID turn to stone too… how about they turn to stone and THEN get pushed off a cliff

OKAY that was long but it was good

Uh I’m scared for the next chapter? We get Amable’s backstory so do they escape? Will Asha become the FG? Will Aster get LEGO Batman-d by the school marching band of Stars? Is their magic the North Star magic? SO MANY QUESTIONS

Overall though great job Anny! This has been an amazing journey and I can’t wait for the final chapter!

[unknownjpegs]

carrot

Nick’s round the corner of the hallway leading to medical, smoking. Just out of range of one of the smoke detectors. 

Not a single care in the world, Benji would think, if he hadn’t spotted that photo of his pretty, pretty wife. 

Real old-school sort of beautiful, Benji remembers. Reminded him of, oh, what was her name — Bergman, maybe? Stunning in that way, but with a grim set to her mouth that Benji respected. Tough. 

He’d slid that photo out of the doctor’s wallet, wallet slid from pocket. Held it up to the light and assessed her uniquely gray eyes — wondered how much the doctor liked them. If, maybe, the desire to keep them right where they were would be enough leverage. 

“What’s up, doc?” Benji calls. Offers a salute and then gnaws at an imaginary carrot when he gets attention. 

Dr. Toussaint has a carefully controlled composure, but even down the hall the slight descendant tug of his mouth is noticeable. The doctor does not like Benji. 

Benji likes that he does not like him.

He says nothing, offers no greeting. He rarely speaks, when they do this. Carve somebody up for intel or punishment. That’s fine — Benji fills silence well. And there’s something intimate and powerful about making the man clean up his mess, wordless.

And Benji gets messy, sometimes. 

“I was thinking,” Benji says as he approaches, tucking his hands into his pockets. “That we could get creative, mate. Switch up the good cop, bad cop.” His eyes are sparkling — glinting, more like. Slice of light across a kitchen knife in the drawer. Pretty and sharp. “Maybe you do the cutting this time? I’ll feed ‘em the drip real slow. Hold the pill out, keep ‘em awake.”

The doctor pulls the last of his cigarette and regards Benji neutrally. Always so neutral. Careful and neutral. Benji can tell that sometimes, he’s gotta put effort into that stillness. The set of his mouth, uninterested and emotionless, is placed there rather than the natural expression.

And Benji feeds on that. Because he’s having an effect. As much as the press of a blade or tear of a bullet. The same way that a brow twisted in pleasure or pain says: Benji was here. 

He wonders what sort of thing might crawl across Nick’s mouth, otherwise. A disgusted scowl? Maybe a frown of deliberate appraisal-turned-judgment. Predatory bird in a tree, head tilting this way and that watching the claws of some big cat tear into a deer or antelope.

Hm, the doctor seems think. Maybe I will wait to come down from this branch until the thing is gone. 

They’re staring at each other — Nick’s neutral, set face and Benji’s toothy grin, when one of the sergeants opens the door to the infirmary. Gestures them inside.

Within, under a stereotypical flickering yellow light, sits a captive tied to that wooden chair.

Rises his hackles, that. Not quite sure why. Anyway, it's such a dramatic scene, Benji thinks with his eyes fit to the ceiling. Might as well keep it up. Make it fun. Make it a spectacle.

Benji slides to the side and raises his arm, bows real deep — keeps his chin tilted up, never breaking eye contact with the doctor. 

“Après-vous, doc,” he purrs. 

Dr. Toussaint…hesitates. Like most intelligent creatures, he does not enjoy offering his back to Benji. 

The sergeant holding the door open for them clears an impatient throat. Dr. Toussaint glances at him. Glances at Benji. His eyes narrow.

Benji bites down on that carrot again. Chews and swallows. Winks.

[jrueships]

they're trying to jersey swap so they can both get what they wanted

people will learn two men are rivals and take the worst photos imaginable of them

[kamotoshi]

reminders [fushiguro tōji x reader]

pairing: fushiguro tōji x fem reader

genre: fluff

warnings: a bit of swearing; brief mentions of past trauma, manipulation, and financial instability/struggles

word count: 2.3k

overview: a sunset picnic reminds him to stop for a moment and remind his wife how he truly feels about her

note: just another fic to serve as evidence for my obsession with making big, beefy 2d men with tough exteriors completely soft for their significant others (wives especially)

“Aren’t we just the cutest couple ever?”

Tōji’s eyes move from the spread of food laid out across the patterned blanket beneath the two of you over to either side of him, where a few other couples and families have set up their picnic spots for the evening, then, to your phone. A glance at the screen displaying the timed photo you’d just spent the past five to ten minutes setting the scene for and perfecting brings a smirk to his face.

“Just the right amount of nauseating.”

“Like, to the point where people are a little envious, but they don’t think we’re being too over the top, right?”

“Right.”

You hum in understanding as you pop a piece of fruit into your mouth.

“But, I would say err on the side of caution and don’t post the super lovey-dovey ones. Actually, please don’t. That’s a request now.”

Your hand flies to your chest to match the look of feigned shock on your face at his words. He doesn’t miss how the diamond on your finger sparkles in the amber glow of the setting sun. The thought crosses his mind that he wants to buy you a bigger one when he has enough money to set aside—something that would shine just a bit brighter. Almost as brightly as that beautiful smile of yours he had the pleasure of seeing each day, if he was lucky.

“You mean… I can actually post a picture that I took with my notoriously elusive husband?”

With a nod, he shifts his gaze to the horizon—or whatever he can see of it peeking around the sides of each building—for a moment. “Just know it’ll probably end my job,” is his response given with a sigh, “Nobody’ll fear me after they see that I enjoy sunset picnics with my adorable wife, now, will they?”

“Or,” you offer with a grin, scooting closer to him so his arm can snake around your waist, “it could give you an advantage, people thinking you’re kinda sweet. Like, oh, he’s a cold-blooded killer who takes care of business, but he’s got a soft side, too. And then, bam! You swoop in and they’ll never even know what hit ‘em.” Sweeping a hand dramatically across the landscape in front of you, as if you want him to picture the scene in your head, you add, “Suddenly, you’re the talk of the town. Women want you. Men want to be you. Hell, they’d probably want you too.”

“And that’s the story of how I end up on the front covers of magazines, right?”

“Exactly. This is just the start of your success story, baby.” Tenderly, you place a hand on the side of his face to bring it closer to your lips. After pecking him on the cheek, you whisper, “Just try not to forget about me when you’re famous, okay?”

He turns to look directly at you, his eyebrow raised with incredulousness in an expression you’ve seen many times before. “You kidding me? I would never. Be famous, I mean.”

The teasing smack you land on his chest doesn’t deter him from leaning down towards you to press a kiss against your lips that you readily return in spite of your complaints at his devious comment. He relishes in the sweet taste lingering on his tongue when he pulls away, and the affection present in your half-lidded gaze brings a comforting warmth over him akin to the feeling of finally crawling into bed after a long day. In his moment of distraction, you’re able to sneak in another meeting of your lips before grabbing one of the snack boxes you’d meticulously crafted and dropping it into his lap.

“Since I’m nice, unlike you, I’ll still let you eat the food lovingly prepared by your loving wife.”

“C’mon, baby,” he murmurs, giving your thigh an appreciative squeeze, “You know I love you.”

“I mean, I hope you do. You did marry me, and stick with me all these years, after all, you weirdo.”

He chuckles and pats your leg before shifting his attention to the delicious food you’d put together for the two of you, and you settle down beside him after collecting your own. His free hand plants on the ground beside your opposite hip, closing the gap between you.

Each day that he gets to spend with you he’s thankful for. But there’s something different about those where the sight of the sun slowly descending toward the horizon is beautiful enough to draw both of you out of the house to sit and watch it. He can’t quite explain it, but everything about these days feels different. The harshness of the city seems to fade away for a bit. The air smells sweeter. His breaths come a bit more deeply. The absence of your body against his in some way is felt more intensely.

In between gazing ahead at the sunset—allowing his eyes to flicker to his meal, the kids zipping past every now and then on their bikes, or other passersby—he finds his attention being drawn back to you. Each feature of your face bathed in the golden light of the sun’s last rays brings an unexpected flutter to his heart. He’s never surprised by how gorgeous you are, but, still finds himself in awe of just how lucky he is each time he stops to take it all in.

Lucky that he gets to wake up next to you and see you in those quiet moments of the morning when your eyes are still struggling to focus and your cheek is stamped with each wrinkle of your pillowcase, but you look beautiful all the same. Lucky that the arms and legs he has draped around him until you both wake up sweaty in the middle of the night are yours. Lucky to be offered a refuge wherever you are. Lucky you’re one he promised to love for the rest of his life.

In the busyness of your days, sometimes things are assumed rather than said. He assumes the parting kiss he presses to your lips each time he leaves the house translates into a small, “I love you, I’ll be back soon.” Just like he assumes the way he pulls you onto his lap while you’re sitting together, watching a movie, sends a small message of, “I need you here, close to me.” Or the pause he takes to gaze into your eyes after your more passionate displays of affection means, “I love you more than I know how to say.”

He realizes, given the risky nature of his work, that thought alone isn’t enough, though. Maybe he’s too afraid of saying something that’ll curse you for his lips to form the words he’s thinking as often as they should, but if he was one to let his life be ruled by fear, he wouldn’t be sitting with you in the first place. He would’ve let his family wreak havoc on him for the entirety of his life, weighing it down with constant reminders of his failures. He would’ve let his fear of being vulnerable keep him from getting close enough to you to fall in love with you.

Yet, here he is, making relaxed conversation with you—his wife—as the two of you sit together beneath a sea of brilliant oranges, candied pinks, and the gentlest hues of lavender. With the way you use your steadily built and strongly maintained trust in him to speak so freely and be so vulnerable without fear of judgment, he feels it’s only fair that he shows his trust in you by doing the same. That he reminds you of his feelings rather than lets the implications behind his actions speak for him.

When he decides to mention it, most of the sky has lost its fire and quite a few of the other picknickers have packed up and returned home. But the two of you choose to remain out just a bit longer in the warmth of the summer night, bathed in the sound of cicadas chirping incessantly. “Hey babe?” he calls, giving your hand resting in his a gentle squeeze as his cheek drops to the blanket so he can look at you.

“Mm?” You shift onto your side and scoot closer to him, moving your interlaced hands to your chest, holding the back of his against your gently beating heart. On instinct, your other set of fingers find his face to brush a few strands of dark hair away from his eyes, and he presses feathery kisses to your palm.

Sighing against your skin, he asks, “Do I tell you I love you enough?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, you assure him, “I know you do.”

“Because I say it?”

You hum with uncertainty, fingers gliding from the scar at the side of his mouth down his neck, and to one of his broad shoulders. “More because I can see it in the way you look at me. But, then again, I also see you look at a really good meal the same way. Makes me kinda jealous sometimes,” is your answer given with a small, teasing smile, “Besides, I feel like I can safely assume that you’ve stayed with me all these years because you love me, right?”

“Of course,” he says, the strength in his voice contrasting the subtle, pained look behind his eyes, “But I don’t say it enough, do I?”

There’s a short pause before you murmur, “Not usually unless I say it first. But it tends to be more of a reflex for both of us, anyway. Like, ‘I’m heading out now, love you!’ or, ‘Goodnight, I love you,’ y’know?”

A gentle tug on your wrist pulls you towards him, until you’re propped up on both elbows, body leaning over his. Wrapping an arm around your waist brings your chests flush against one another and your faces mere centimeters apart. The way he’s regarding you as nothing else is as important as you are to him in this moment has you melting into the kiss he plants on your lips.

“You’re the love of my life.” Heat radiates from your chest all the way up to your face at his tenderly spoken words accompanied by his thumb skimming along your cheekbone. “And you deserve to hear me tell you how much I care about you more often because you’re the only person who’s made me feel deserving of love.”

The hand on your back slowly moves up and down, his fingers tracing along your spine. It was once deemed as a mindless behavior in your eyes, but after many years with him, you’ve come to learn that sometimes it’s a means of comforting himself or finding the courage to speak about something that’s been on his mind. To reassure him, you place a soft peck against the corner of his mouth and run your fingertips across his jaw.

He seems to find the strength he needs to speak the rest of his truth, since he continues, “I remember being terrified when I first realized how much I loved you. Because here I was, thinking I was only gonna marry someone as a way of erasing my connections to my family, and that falling in love would weaken me—make me easier to be manipulated—but you changed my mind. And I don’t think there’s a damn thing that could ever happen to make me wish I did things differently, even though we got married young, when we barely had enough money to our names to get ourselves through the week.”

A pang of somewhat bittersweet nostalgia ripples through you at the memories of sleeping on the floor, clinging to one another to keep warm during the cold, winter nights. Of how you’d both worked so tirelessly to make a living that sometimes all you’d do was cry into his shoulder when you got home. But soon, there was a couch. A bed. A table. A lamp that didn’t flicker. Then, a new place in a safer part of the city, filled with all the furniture and appliances you could need. Jobs that paid enough for the tears to subside.

The impulsiveness the two of you had displayed in your early twenties had gotten you into a lot of sometimes unbearable situations, but you wouldn’t have changed a thing had you somehow been granted the power to alter the past. While unpleasant, those events had helped the two of you get to where you are today, happier and more in love than ever.

“After all we’ve been through, and that you’ve stuck with me through, I at least owe it to you to remind you how much you mean to me instead of just assuming you know. Because you really do mean the world to me. So, this is me telling you that I love and appreciate you a lot more than I might feel capable of saying sometimes, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try.”

With that same, bright smile of yours that he adores, you take your weight off your elbows to wrap your arms around him while he gives your body a tight squeeze in return. “I love you so much, Tōji,” you hum, heart swelling with joy.

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

There’s a few moments of peaceful silence while the two of you remain wrapped up in a tight and much-needed embrace. Eventually, a deep exhale fans across your neck before he mentions, “That was pretty cheesy, huh?”

“Just a bit. But I promise not to tell anyone you’re secretly a bit of a sap, okay?” you comment, sending the two of you into a small fit of snickers. Your tone is more serious, however, when you mention, “It made me really happy to hear, though.”

“Good,” is his response as he moves his head so he can press his mouth to your temple. His next words are spoken quietly, as if just to himself, and nearly lost beneath the layers of environmental noise surrounding you, but you’re glad you hear them.

“That’s all that matters to me.”

[hoodieofholland]

Maybe can u write something like reader and Tom broke up a while ago and Tom finds sex tape so he gets emotional and horny at the same time and he realise how much he misses her ?

a/n: sad and horny sounds like how i feel whenever thinking about tom and the fact that my fics are just fics lol jk anyways, hope you like it and thanks for requesting :)

NSFW CONTENT BELLOW

Warnings: angst and sad stuff, mentions of smut, language, broke up

The house was quiet, filled with the feeling of lost that has consuming Tom for the last two months. It's been hard, he made no attempt to lie to anyone who asked. It was hard to face the fact that you were no longer there.

You and Tom were in a relationship for three beautiful years, until... you weren't. Something was off, but he couldn't say what. Both of you just split apart gradually, till the day you said goodbye.

Tom tried to come up with something to distract his mind from the thought of you. He played golf twice a week, spent some time with Harrison and his brothers, watched some movies alone. And it was starting to work. He felt like moving on for the past three weeks, not thinking about you all the time.

But there was one thing he started doing tonight that seemed to bring him down again. He sat down with his laptop and scrolled through some of your memories together. It wasn't his intention at first, but he had nothing to do and was too off to watch a movie or hang with his mates, so he just thought about organizing his files when his eyes crossed with the fold that held some of his old photos. There were plenty of pictures and videos that you took. He promised himself he would drop it off, but he just couldn't take his eyes from the screen when a video came to his view.

"Stop filming me!", you yelled in a high-pitched voice while giggling at the camera Tom was holding.

"Well, miss, would you mind telling me why I thought it was so interesting filming you in this lovely evening?" Tom's voice came through the speaker, and he smiled when you bite your lips to hide a sheepishly smile.

"I burned a whole batch of cookies down", you muttered, quite amused for your lack of skills in the kitchen. Your boyfriend laughed hard and you did the same. "Shut up, dork. I'm calling Sam".

"Yeah, you better, or we're not gonna eat anything", Tom teased and you shoved his chest. "Just kiddin', love. C'mere".

And then Tom, sat on bed, lost the smile on his lips. In the video, you two were kissing, and you had an amazing smile while pecking his lips.

"Love you, darling".

"Love you too, Tommy. Now, stop this video and make this british ass useful".

He breathed heavily, determined to stop it. He was doing good now. Or at least the best he has done since you went away. But it was good enough to carry on, and he was risking it again.

But then he saw a couple of interesting frames from other records and decide to click on each one of them.

"Oh, what is it that we have here?", he said to the camera, walking inside the room and pointing it at you. You were in front of a mirror, a new lingerie playing in display for him and the camera. "Wow, darling. Didn't tell me you were putting on a show tonight".

Tom was amazed by the way both of you were so bold to each other, so comfortable with talking to a camera, while you bounced your hips in a sensual manner to him with a teasing yet sweet smile on your lips.

"It was supposed to be a surprise, Tommy", you say, resting your hands on your hips. "What you think, though?"

"Well...", he sighed dramatically and you laughed. "Can you turn around one more time for me, love? So I can give my final opinion".

You shake your head in disbelief, half laughing at his attempt, but oblige his ask.

"I think you're bloody stunning, darling. Fucking hell, how did I get so lucky?"

Tom shifts on his spot uncomfortably, feeling a light pressure on his chest at the memory of your laughing and blushing at his sassy comments.

"Yeah?", you smiled, and by the way your arms were stretched in the video, he can tell you were tugging on the collar of his shirt. "Mind stop recording it and showing me how much of a lucky man you are?"

"Fuck, dar-" and the video ended. Sat there, Tom knew pretty way what happened next. He remembered the taste of your skin when he tried to take your panties with only his teeth, tongue tracing a wet path on the softness of your hipbone.

He takes a deep breath, too aware of how fucked up he was feeling right now. He should have stopped, he knew that, but now, he just felt like another video couldn't hurt much more.

He was definitely wrong.

Bringing himself to play the next one, an older video, he realized he didn't remember about that one. It started with your face, smiling at the camera while fixing something behind it.

"Okay, I think it's alright...", you said, licking your lips as you clasped your hands together. When you stepped back, you were wearing only bra and panties, and Tom was laid on the mattress, hand over his visible bulge, stroking himself lazily over his boxers as his free arm rested behind his head.

"You look so beautiful right now" he said, groaning a little. "C'mere here, baby, can't wait much longer".

"Patience, eager boy. Save some for the camera", you giggled while crawling on bed to sit on his lap.

"Fuck, can't believe we doing this", he said, hands automatically running down from your hips to your ass. He gives it a firm slap and squeeze. "Gonna treat you just right, so you won't need any video to remind you who made you feel this good, baby".

Tom had completely forgotten that he still had that video saved in his laptop. He suddenly felt flushed for watching it after you broke up, but then again he couldn't take his eyes off the screen when you were taking out your bra, freeing your pretty boobs.

The sounds of your whines and moans filled the room now, and Tom could swear he felt your touch just by the way he remembered of how good it was. Watching you so intense, so given to him, he started to feel his cock hardening by the thought of you riding him like you did that night.

"Fuck", he mutters to himself as he watched you being flipped on the mattress when the pleasure was too much to take and your legs too weak to keep going. In the video, Tom started to fuck you, one of your legs wide open for him and your eyes rolled back as you tugged hard on his biceps to keep yourself steady. Watching the scene, Tom brought his hand over his crotch and started to feel a bit of what he was feeling that night, as he palmed himself.

Right now, Tom knew he had taken a path that was no longer healthy. He so desperately needed to feel you, to touch you. He missed you. He missed the way you would moan his name, they way your hands would grip on his hair when he was eating you out, the way you laughed when something came wrong in the moment, but kept so horny that it wouldn't matter. He missed you and all the affection that you both shared when having sex.

"Tom, I'm gonna-" you moaned loud. It was almost pornographic, but surely was better than porn. For a second, Tom thought about getting off with the video. He was fucking horny at this point, after all, and he knew damn well that if he touched himself it'd be you on his mind all the time anyways. Besides, he hadn't fucked since you went away. But then again, when it was coming to an end, he felt sad, watching you both reaching your highs and holding each other for dear life. It was intimate and beautiful. He missed that too.

"Need to turn off the camera, darling", he said, breath still heavy as he propped his hand on the mattress. You held him closer, not giving him a chance to move.

"Not yet", you breathed out. You still wanted to keep yourself full of him, feel his cock inside of you. "I'm not ready", you bite your lips and smile when he nodded and gave you a kiss on your cheek. "I love you, Tom".

"Love you so fucking mu-"

Tom shot the laptop down, eyes tearing up as he felt the clench on his chest. Fuck, he missed you more than he was willing to admit, more than he wanted to. The images of you close to him, whispering his name, it wouldn't leave his mind even if he closed his eyes tightly.

Tom knew that night would be long, and he just hoped that he might feel you close to him in that way again.

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

Taglist:

@pinkrockstar19 @onyourgoddamnleft @spideyspeaches

@miraclesoflove @zspideyy

[yoontaethings]

normal kind of love — jjk (1)

pairing: jungkook x reader 

rating: explicit

word count: 2.5k

warnings: a lot of cussing and some teasing if you squint, but other than that none really (the warnings will come next chapter lmao)

you’re one half of hollywood’s on-screen it couple. the greatest chemistry known on-screen with the one and only, jeon jungkook, the bane of your existence.

a/n: this was supposed to be a longer chapter but i decided to split it in half to tease potential readers mwahaha btw this chapter is very very unedited, though i did postpone the upload because i had to remove some parts because i just thought the story didn’t need those bits anymore lol but the rest of this story i haven’t even read through yet, i just wrote and wrote and wrote so please excuse any errors (my tenses might also not be consistent but i’ll edit this soon)

taglist: @min-nicoleee @thisartemisnevermisses @ggukkieland @kokoandkookie @somelazysundays

There was no way.

There was no way in hell they were pairing you up with him. Again.

You were confirmed to be cast as the female lead in the movie before any other characters were casted. They should have chosen a different male lead for this romance film. Heck, even Kim Taehyung, a friend of yours, received an offer for the role and you were certain he planned to take it. Unfortunately for you, even if Taehyung wanted the role, he couldn’t accept it because of scheduling conflict with another film he’s already working on.

Jeon Jungkook, an actor you starred alongside in “Dangerous Illusion”, was just confirmed as the male lead of your upcoming movie “Chosen for Pleasure”. The same man who seemed to make it his life goal to ruin you. After Jungkook was confirmed to play the male lead in your upcoming movie, fans on Twitter have been blowing up about it and made you two a trending topic worldwide. Elated fans mentioned you in their tweets expressing how happy they were to see you two again together. You wish you could say you felt the same.

The previous movie you worked on was a thriller/mystery. You played the part of Jungkook's wife in the film. The film was a blockbuster hit, as a result of the well-thought storyline, yet additionally because of its leads. Fans adored the chemistry between you and Jungkook, regardless of not having a lot of romantic scenes in the film. There were a lot of fans who wanted to see you two on-screen once more, this time, in a romance focused film. Looks like their wishes were coming true.

To add insult to injury, your impending film was going to be an adult romance. It required some steamy scenes that normally didn't trouble you because you were a true professional, yet absolutely irritates you now since you need to do them with Jeon Jungkook.

The script reading was to be done today and your eyes opened an hour later than the time you set for your alarm because of the fucking snooze button. Seriously, why were snooze buttons even invented? They just allowed people to sleep through their alarms continuously.

Hand reaching for the phone on your nightstand, you knocked over a booklet that was over it. It was the script you spent hours reading to grab a sense of the character you were going to portray. Obviously, you already knew the basics about the part you were going to play, but knowing the entire story helped in portraying your character.

Your eyes squinted at the bright light of your phone that had the numbers 8:33 glaring at you, unlocking it to see a couple of texts and missed calls from your manager.

‘Are you awake yet?’

‘Please don’t tell me you forgot about the script reading today’

‘Ok I know you’re still asleep but just make sure you get ready on time, being late won’t do you and your image any favors’

‘I’ll pick you up at 9’

You rolled your eyes at his messages. You loved Hoseok and he was the best manager you could have been given from your agency, but he nagged too much. He was also your friend and his endless nags made you want to rip your eyeballs out sometimes because even when you’re supposed to unwind with him, he never forgets to remind you of your job.

‘I’m the fucking lead, Hobi, they’ll wait for me’

You slapped your phone back onto the nightstand and started going about with your morning routine. You didn’t have a lot of time, and even though you knew they would definitely wait for you, you hated being that bitch who made people wait so you took a quick shower and slapped on some sunscreen, powder, and finishing off with your go-to lipstick. You didn’t bother with makeup and dressing up. This was just going to be a script reading and sure, there were going to be photos taken but the thousands of dollars you’ve spent on facials and treatments already made sure your face was at least flawless despite the lack of effort.

Bringing only your phone, wallet and script, you exited your building and as usual, a shiny black van already awaited outside. Hoseok was leaning on it, scrolling through his phone when he sensed your presence and looked up.

“Oh, thank god you’re on time.” He exhaled in relief, pocketing his phone.

“I value sleep but you’re well aware I also value my career.”

Hoseok grinned. “Now there’s the y/n I know.” He then slid the van door open and you entered without another word.

The drive was pretty much uneventful, with you scrolling through your social media, seeing what fans have been tweeting about recently and with Hoseok humming along to the random pop music playing.

You longed for a distraction, something much more interesting than working your thumb throughout the drive because of the chasm that you were about to jump into when you arrived on set. You weren’t stupid enough to forget about the man who got the role of your romantic interest in the film. But you were wise enough to not let it haunt you for the past weeks. Now though, you can’t really avoid it anymore since you were supposed to be seeing him in person again after almost 2 years. You didn’t exactly leave on the best terms with Jungkook but who knows, maybe you’ll be able to act civil around each other.

At least you were sure you were going to act civil around him, already decided on taking the higher path. You’re not so sure about him, but fingers crossed he’ll at least be an adult about the situation and pretend he can stand being in the same room as you.

Soon enough, you were entering the room the script reading was to be held in. Bowing and greeting the actors and staff seated around the table as you passed by to get to the last vacant seat. You caught Jungkook’s eyes following your movements as you sat down. Luckily, he was seated across from you and it was easier to ignore his presence with the staff members greeting and coddling you.

As always, script reading began with actors introducing themselves and the role they’re going to play. As the female lead, you started off.

“Hello everyone. I’m y/n y/l/n and I’m going to take on the role of Yuri.” Hands clapped around you as you sat back down.

“Hello, I’m Jeon Jungkook and I’ll be playing Ryan.”

You didn’t bother clapping unlike the rest and avoided the eyes of the voice’s origin.

The script reading continued without a hitch– for the most part. The other cast members were very friendly, and laughter was exchanged during the read. The same couldn’t be said for you and Jungkook though.

When lines between your characters were exchanged, there was a weird tension in the room. It felt like everyone else were holding their breaths and waiting for either of you two explode and announce that you can’t do this film anymore. As dramatic as that would be, none of that happened. Instead, cheesy romantic lines sounded flat and bored from both you and Jungkook. The director made a tsk-ing sound whenever that happened.

“It’s always been you.” You read. The script said that Yuri and Ryan stared in adoration towards each other before Ryan uttered his next words.

“Marry me?” Jungkook asked.

You nodded your head as a wrap for the script reading. According to the script, there was supposed to be a kissing scene at the end, so you make ridiculous smooching noises. The cast burst into giggles before the director stood from his seat.

“…and that’s a wrap!” He clasped his hands together. “Hopefully when we start shooting things only look up from there.” He flitted his eyes between you and Jungkook.

Honestly, you wish that too but from yours and Jungkook’s history, you don’t really think that’s possible.

You were both professionals though and you’re sure you could at least count on him to make the on-screen romance feel real.

“I’m sorry.” Hoseok said with pity in his eyes.

“Wha- but… why?” You asked, confused with what was happening.

Your part in the new film ‘The Notebook: Remake’ has apparently been withdrawn. As one of the rising stars in Hollywood, this was a really great opportunity for you. It’s one of the most anticipated films and accepting the offer of being the female lead in the movie was a no-brainer. Anyone who refuses that role is just stupid.

But now they were apparently taking it back.

Hoseok sighed. “There were too many scandals surrounding you recently. It doesn’t matter if they’re true or not, but you’ve been seen in hotels that Jeon Jungkook has been in too, and in everyone’s eyes you’re now secretly seeing him.”

“But we’ve never even been seen together in any of those photos. Don’t people know the word fucking coincidence?” Your brows furrowed, fists clenching at your sides. “And what does this have to do with my role in the film?”

“It seems they wanted someone with a ‘cleaner image’ and someone who’ll get the film to be a hit. Apparently, the romance won't be convincing if the female lead is dating someone in real life.”

You stared at Hoseok. He stared back waiting for a lash out, an angry outburst, anything really, but you remained silent, eyes unmoving. Soon enough, the dam doors burst open and the tears suddenly came streaming down your face. Hoseok exhaled and wrapped his arms around you.

“Hobi what did I do so wrong to deserve this?” you sobbed into his chest.

“Shh, it’s not your fault they’re all dumbasses. But you know the industry, y/n. We’ll find better films for you, okay?”

“Why is Jeon Jungkook such a thorn on my side? Why is he always ruining everything for me?”

“We can’t blame him, honey. He’s probably a victim in this too because of those damn rumor outlets.” Hoseok rubbed his hands along your back.

“But I’m getting the short end of the stick! The rumor is probably just feeding his bad boy persona!”

“Life’s unfair, y/n. Surely by now you’re aware of that. Just remember, karma’s going to bite them in the ass someday, okay? For now, do you want to call it a day and go home? I’ll drive you back and I’ll just report to the agency that you’re not feeling well.”

You nod your head, too listless to bother answering with words because there was only one thing on your mind right now.

Fuck Jeon Jungkook and his good looks. He just ruined the best opportunity for you. You were going to get him back for this. Like Hoseok said, karma’s going to bite him in the ass someday. And that karma was going to be you.

You were supposed to be looking forward to filming one of your dream movies with your dream director. But all you felt was dread when you arrived on set. You promised yourself that you’d stay unaffected to Jeon Jungkook, but you couldn’t help the distaste for him to be left on your face while filming.

The scene you were shooting was when your characters first met and the first takes were a total disaster. You and Jungkook barely spared each other a glance, even when your character was supposed to be enticed by him, breaking down Yuri’s cold exterior. A break was called after the 6th take because the director was so frustrated that he looked like he was about to call the casting director and replace his two leads.

You sighed, not knowing what to do with yourself after the announcement of a break. Your feet led you to your dressing room, ready to pass out on the couch but before you could, someone barged in. Your head turned towards the door, expecting it to be your manager or the director or anyone really, just not the person who currently stood at the doorway.

“Can we talk?” Jungkook asked. Your eyes were suddenly drawn to his biceps which bulged from his shirt as he crossed his arms. The damn arms looked delicious. Too bad they belonged to someone you would never ever be attracted to.

“Sure.” You shrugged your shoulders. You were sure he came here to talk to you about filming and how to work out your indifferences and shit like that and honestly, you were so tired of hating him you’re ready to just go along with whatever. Hating someone actually takes a lot of effort, you realize.

Jungkook stepped towards you until he’s close enough that you had to tilt your head upwards to look at his eyes. His eyes locked on yours for a moment before his arms uncrossed and one of his hands landed on the wall behind you. He successfully caged you in with no way out. His lips part and your eyes are drawn to the movement, feeling his exhales on your nose. You swallowed nervously.

Good lord his breath smelled so good.

“Babe, I’m sure you’re just as thrilled as I am to be working with you again as you are with me, but let’s not mess this up okay? Let’s get this over with perfectly and quickly so we don’t have to deal with each other again after. Deal?” His eyebrows raised in question and you nodded dumbly, unable to form a coherent sentence with how close he was to you.

You felt a sudden rush of heat down there and was mentally cursing the man in front of you for how much he was affecting you. He tilted his head to the side and leaned in closer to your face as if he was about to kiss you then he suddenly stopped, his mouth forming a smirk, taunting you.

That smirk was all it took for you to snap back to reality. No, you were not going to let him take the upper hand here. A burst of confidence surged through you as you leaned closer to him too and allowed your lips to brush lightly against his cheek.

“Deal.”

You pulled away, satisfied with how his lips drooped apparently not expecting that. You looked down and there it was, the tenting of his pants that brought a coy smile to your lips. Ha, take that.

You glanced back up at him, your fingers trailing over his thighs. “Aw, didn’t realize you saw me that way Jeon.” You abruptly pulled away and walked out of the room without another word, leaving him hard and defeated.

This is the beginning of his karma, you thought as you grinned to yourself.

[sofreddie]

High School Reunion 2

Summary: Someone at the reunion has a big mouth.

Characters: Jensen x Reader, Jared

Warnings: Fluff

Word Count: 2,087

A/N: Inspiration struck out of nowhere and this piece was born. I have a very rough outline for a small series, maybe about 6 parts? We'll see. It's gonna happen randomly, no planned schedule for this one.

PART 1

Y/N bit her lip in excitement and saw a message from Lana. She immediately opened Skype to call her best friend…and thank her.

"Hey you! How was the reunion?" Lana smiled as her face appeared on screen.

"Oh my fucking God I can't believe you!" Y/N screamed, though it was mostly excitement as she blushed profusely.

"So…I take it you had a good night then?" Lana grinned cheekily.

"How could you not tell me you met Jensen Freaking Ackles?! I thought we were friends?" Y/N pouted dramatically as she plopped back on her couch, phone still in hand.

"Do you have any idea how hard it was to keep it from you?" Lana screeched in response, "You remember my last night at the convention, I went to that place for dinner that had the amazing burger?"

"Yeah, I remember. You said you loved the place, that it was a perfect ending to the trip," Y/N remembered, "Now I get why."

"Ok, yeah, so I'm sat at the bar with my burger and a beer and he comes in and sits with a chair between us. I instantly recognized him, but was trying to keep my cool, you know. But he remember me! From the photo op! So we just got to talking and you had just split with Chase and I was so worried about you-"

"Oh Lana, you didn't," Y/N groaned.

"I was just venting about how much I hated that douchebag and what he did to you and what you were going through and how I was so worried about the reunion but thought it could be a good thing for you after Chase-" she rambled on, her words quickly tumbling forth as she pleaded her case to her best friend.

"You're not mad, right?" Lana asked timidly.

"How can I be?" Y/N shouted, "He walked in there all suave and shut down my high school bullies - who were trying to start some shit let me tell you-"

"No!" Lana gasped, "Amanda?"

"And the others," Y/N sighed, "And they were trying to cut in on me and I was gonna run, I'm not gonna lie," Y/N chuckled lightly, "But then he was just there. And she introduced himself as my boyfriend….Oh my god, Lana! What if that gets out?" Y/N sat bolt upright on her couch in a panic.

"Whoa, Y/N, calm down," Lana insisted, "More important than that…he introduced himself as your boyfriend?!"

"Lana!"

"I'm just sayin'-"

Y/N sighed dreamily, "Then we danced. Then he took me for a drive and we parked up at the spot and ate burgers while chatting and watching stars," she sighed again, as if it were a scene from a romantic film she had just watched.

"That sounds like a date," Lana helpfully noted.

"I thought that too!" Y/N squealed, "But that's just the fangirl right? I mean, there's no way."

"How many times I gotta tell you you're a catch, woman?" Lana laughed, "I'm not surprised at all. In fact, I'm taking credit. You're welcome," Y/N groaned once more and Lana chuckled.

"Did I mention we exchanged numbers?" Y/N added with a grin.

"And now I hate you," Lana huffed.

"Yeah, love you too you meddler."

Y/N sighed happily to herself once more as they ended the call. She tossed her phone on the coffee table as she relaxed back into the couch. Her eyes fluttered closed as she replayed the evenings events in her mind.

She had to be dreaming. There was no way this was real, right?

Too tired and content to carry herself off to the bedroom, Y/N laid down on the couch, settling into the plush cushions and dragging the throw from the back of the couch to cover herself, falling asleep quickly and dreaming of shimmering green eyes.

Jensen groaned as he slowly came awake to the incessant ringing and chimes of his phone. He opened his eyes, grabbing for the phone and peeking at the time.

6am.

He and Y/N were out past midnight. After he made it back to the hotel, he had spent the better part of an hour sipping on a beer as he thought over the night he had with her.

He wasn't sure what compelled him to talk to Lana in the bar that night. He could tell she was a nervous fan, and he remembered her from the photo op, just as nervous and shy. But after a beer or two with her dinner, she relaxed and their conversation flowed. It was nice, to be chatting away with someone new, different.

When she went on about her best friend Y/N, Jensen felt something. Apparently the way if affected her friend was severe enough to have Lana in real turmoil over it. Jensen knew what that was like. He'd worried over Jared a time or two just the same.

When Lana gave him a picture, however, his heart skipped a beat. She was beautiful, with a charming smile. But he could see her eyes were sad and guarded.

When he realized the reunion was a few hours drive and a few days ahead of his schedule to be at another convention, he decided to make the stop to see Y/N at the reunion. At the very least he could chalk it up to a memorable fan moment.

Jensen rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he reluctantly sat against the headboard, checking to see why his phone was blowing up.

It took only a quick glance through the various calls and text and emails from various persons all talking about the same thing. Jensen opened the text thread from Jared, scrolling through the messages and clicking on a picture that was include.

It was him and Y/N dancing together at the reunion the night before. She looked as amazing as he remembered. Her smile was bright and genuine, but so was his. Apparently word had spread from the reunion that he and Y/N were together. That's when he remembered introducing himself to those girls as Y/N's boyfriend.

He wasn't so bothered by the turn of events, which surprised him. He had decided the night before that he wanted to ask her out on a date. Their chemistry was too intense to not pursue.

What bothered him was how she'd react. They'd literally just met and had a friendly, albeit great, evening and now she was possibly going to be bombarded with paparazzi and everyone in her business.

So much for that date.

He knew it was early, but he wanted Y/N to hear from him first. He opened the new message thread between them, seeing her text from the night before and smiling once more, before typing out his message.

Hey, Y/N. Hope you slept well. Was hoping to talk to you about something.

He sent the message, noting the time, and figured he'd give it some time. He didn't know her schedule, or anything about her really. With a groan, Jensen hit the green button to return one of Jared's missed calls.

"Dude!" Jared exclaimed as he answered after one ring, "I've been trying to get ahold of you for two hours!"

"Yes, Mom, I'm aware," Jensen said with a yawn.

"Did you see the picture?"

"Yeah."

"And?" Jared pressed for more, "Why aren't you freaking out about this?" Jared scoffed. Since his last major relationship ended, Jensen hadn't been with anyone really. An occasional date here and there for an event. But he hadn't seemed interested in anyone at all, and was quick to shut down any insuinuations to the contrary.

"I guess I should of seen it coming," Jensen shrugged, "I did introduce myself as her boyfriend after all."

"You what?" Jared was shocked, trying to wrap his head around it, "Why would you do that? Is there something you aren't telling me? Have you been dating her for a while? Who is she anyway?"

Jared fired off the questions in rapid succession like an excited puppy.

"I gotta talk to her first," Jensen said, "I'll see you at the convention in a couple days. You can interrogate me then."

"I want all the details."

"Don't you always?"

Jensen ended the call, taking a deep breath. He felt so stupid for what he did. He wasn't sure why he did that other than to shut those girls down. He really hated bullies.

He decided to get dressed and grab a couple of coffees on his way to Y/N's house. A quick look at his social media had told him that picture was blowing up. She was bound to find out sooner rather than later. He had to tell her first.

Y/N slowly roused from her deep sleep on the comfy couch, hearing an incessant rapping coming from her front door. She stretched, reaching for her phone on the coffee table and finding it dead.

She rolled her eyes as she threw off the throw, climbing from the couch and shuffling to the door and she rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

She flung open the door, the morning's cresting light just bright enough to assault her eyes. It took her a second to focus, but then she saw Jensen, a small smile on his face and two tall coffees in hand.

"Jensen?" she asked, so very confused and wondering if she was still asleep.

"Hey, uh, I know it's early. But I really needed to see you this morning."

The smile he gave was sweet, but she could tell something was up. Was he worried that maybe she'd go blabbing about their night together? She'd never do that. But she guessed he didn't know that.

"Sure, come in," she smiled warmly, stepping aside and gesturing him into her home. She accepted the coffee as Jensen passed it to her on his way in. She shut the door behind him, taking a whiff of her drink before taking a long gulp, closing her eyes and sighing at the flavor.

"So, what's up?" she asked, shuffling on her feet, "Thanks for the coffee, by the way."

"You're welcome," he smiled, now genuine and inviting and Y/N's heart stuttered slightly at the sight, "I was hoping to talk to you, about last night."

She shook her head, "I won't talk about it with anyone, I promise. Well, other then Lana. I had to call her last night. Yell at her a little," she blushed.

He laughed, nodding his head, "No, I get it. But I wasn't worried about that or anything," he was quick to correct, "Actually, someone else already did."

"Did what?"

"Someone got a picture of us on the dance floor last night and might have said I mentioned I was your boyfriend," he said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Oh," she responded, clearly shocked and not sure what to say.

"I just wanted you to hear it from me first, you know? Before seeing it online or whatever."

"Online-" she echoed, her eyes going wide, "So, you can just post a Tweet or something that it's a mistake."

"Okay, well, to be fair, I did introduce myself as your boyfriend to those other women last night."

"Yeah…why'd you do that again?" Y/N smirked despite herself.

He shrugged, "Seemed like the right thing to do. Shut 'em up didn't it?" he grinned, "Besides," he chanced, stepping closer to her," Feels like we had a date last night."

She blushed hard, ducking her head before meeting his eyes once again, "Yeah, it did."

"And I was hoping you'd like to do it again."

"Really?" she asked. She couldn't help the dreamy look in her eye. She still couldn't believe this was happening.

"Yeah. So if you say yes, then we'd be dating, which is practically boyfriend and girlfriend," he explained casually, "So I think we should just keep doing what we're doing and let it ride. What do you think?"

"I think you might be a little bit crazy," she nervously laughed, "Let's start with a second date," she grinned, seeing him brighten up, "And go from there."

"And the press?" Jensen chanced.

"Let them think what they wanna think," she shrugged.

"You're freakin' perfect," he chuckled, tucking a stray hair behind her ear, even though she still had bedhead. He smiled at the cuteness of it.

"I should go freshen up!" she realized, seeing him look over her disheveled state, "Uh…be right back." she rushed off down the hall and Jensen laughed to himself.

He had a good feeling about this.

Forevers:

@sis-tafics

@lyarr24

@calaofnoldor

@hobby27

@spnbaby-67

@fangirlxwritesx67

RPF:

@smoothdogsgirl

JENSEN TAGS:

@akshi8278

@jerkbitchidjitassbutt

@slamminmine

[sdmnluvs]

Everything will be alright ~ Olajide Olatunji/Tobi Brown

Olajide Olatunji x Female oc

But also Tobi Brown x Female oc

Unrequited love

1,000 words :)

There’s a lot of dialogue but it’s not my strongest point so bear with me here

Jordan was never really one for clubs. Would much rather sit at home with a good book or rewatching a show on Netflix. But here she is at a stupid club in the middle of London and it’s all JJ’s fault.

He’d convinced her to come. Told her that he’d buy all of her drinks if she came. Promised that he wouldn’t completely abandon her for their other friends.

But she should’ve known that wasn’t going to happen. She really should’ve listened to her gut because walking in with Simon and Talia to see JJ’s arm draped around his new girlfriend could’ve made her sick.

It took her everything not to tell Talia that she left her straighteners on in her bedroom and that she needed to go. But JJ did promise her and he never broke his promises.

Yet here she is, 2 hours later sipping on a vodka and orange (that she bought herself). She’s sat at a booth away from the prying eyes of normal club goers and barely in the sight of her friends.

Call her dramatic or whatever but clubs just weren’t her scene. And she can’t even count on two hands the amount of times she’s told JJ this but every time he’d tell her that she’d have fun.

She usually does to be fair to him but just seeing him with another girl. A girl that she’d pay an arm and a leg to look like really just ruined her night.

Because it was like the sun followed his new girlfriend. She just seemed to glow, even in the dim lights of the shitty club she glew, brighter than anything and everything Jordan will ever accomplish.

Jordans eyes are glued to the couple when they get up to dance. She’s met his girlfriend once or twice before and it boils her blood that she’s genuinely so nice.

She followed Jordan on Instagram hours after they met and has continued to hype up her photos. She wants to scream every time the notifications pop up because why couldn’t JJ have had picked a horrible girl. A girl that glared at her at every chance and judged her for existing.

But he picked her, tall and thin with blue eyes and blonde hair. Big tits and a pretty face with an even prettier personality. She was everything Jordan wasn’t. (Jordan wonders if that’s why JJ picked her)

She wonders some days if she’d spoken to JJ about how she felt and that if he’d felt the same way, maybe she’d be the one he’d look at as if she held the secrets to the world in her smile. He’d spin her around and kiss her and his heart would ache for how much he loved Jordan. Not her

But she also knows that if she had to choose between herself or JJ’s girlfriend, she’d pick JJ’s girlfriend. Because all she was ever destined to be was his second if not last choice.

“You ok?” Someone asks sitting down beside her. She tears her eyes away from the couple to see Tobi. He’s smiling sadly at her and she doesn’t know what to say.

So they sit in silence. She returns her gaze to the happy couple and watch as they make their way to an empty booth. Watches how she whispers something in his ear and he laughs that loud and stupid laugh and how-

“You really love him don’t you?” Her head turns so quickly she’s surprised she doesn’t have whip lash. Her eyes are wide and once again she doesn’t know what to say. Because she made sure that she wasn’t obvious! Made sure that-

“You look at him the same way I used to look at my friend when she got a boyfriend. God I used to want to gauge my eyes out whenever I saw them,” he laughs, smile on his face and interrupting her thoughts for the 3rd time in 5 minutes.

“What changed?” She questions because if anyone was to know about her unrequited love, she’s glad it’s Tobi.

“I realized that she loved him more than she’ll ever love me and once I got to know him I realized that if I never got the chance to love her, then I’m glad he does”.

“I wish I could be like you. I know it’s selfish to wonder if I had just told him maybe I’d be the one dancing with him right now. He’d tell me that he loves me and it’d mean something unlike every other I love you he’s ever said to me,” she says, head in hands and tears threatening to fall.

“Hey, please don’t cry Jordan, I already know your makeup took you too long!” She giggles slightly as he wraps his arms around her.

“I know exactly how you’re feeling. It’s hard and heartbreaking and you never feel like enough but Jordan I swear to you, you are enough. You always have been and you always will be!”

She lifts her head and returns the hug. They sit like that for a few minutes, silently hugging each other but everything unsaid is being exchanged and it means a lot, more than they’ll ever know.

She pulls away a few minutes later. He wipes away the tears that had managed to escape her eyes and she smiles at him. “Are they, your friends I mean, are they still together?”.

“Oh yeah! They’re getting married in a few weeks, they really know how to rub salt in a wound. But and you can say no, would you like to come with me? As a friend, Josh and Freya are going to be there too,” he says with a shy smile.

She grins in return. ��I’d love to!” She downs her drink, grabs his hand and drags him to the dance floor. They’re smiling at each other, it’s the happiest she’s felt and days and she thinks that maybe, just maybe she might be alright.

[bevioletskies]

the first time (ever i saw your face)

summary: On their six-month anniversary, Apollo and Klavier decide to pose a seemingly harmless question: what did they think of each other when they first met? As it turns out, the topic is a little more complicated than they originally thought.

word count: 4.9k | read on ao3

a/n: For @klapollo-week, day one of seven (prompt: "firsts"). All seven of my fics take place in the same continuity! However, each can be read as a stand-alone, with the exception of day seven being a sequel to day five.

This fic takes place at some distant point in time after Spirit of Justice where Apollo and Trucy have learned that they’re siblings. Mild spoiler warning for the end of Apollo Justice; warning for brief mentions of alcohol. Fic title is from the song The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face by Roberta Flack.

“...why does this look like something out of a direct-to-streaming movie adaptation of a YA novel that has a three-star average rating on Goodreads?”

“If you’re trying to say you don’t like it, baby, you could just say so.”

“No, no, I - I’m actually kinda into it. It’s like we’ve walked onto the set of a staged proposal, though if you ask me to marry you right now, I will start laughing.”

Klavier sighed. “I’m starting to think the phrase ‘romance is dead’ was invented specifically for you.” Nevertheless, he tugged gently on Apollo’s hand. “Come on, liebe, I got our favorite snacks, I queued our favorite movies...and before you ask, nein, there is no engagement ring, so stop looking at me like that.”

“I’m not...totally opposed to getting married, you know,” Apollo added as he followed Klavier. “It’s just...it’s a little early for me. This is only our six-month anniversary, after all.”

“Fair enough,” Klavier hummed, the two of them settling down in their spots. He’d learned long ago that Apollo wasn’t one for flashy, photo op-worthy dates, that he preferred more intimate, low-key settings. And so, for their six-month anniversary, Klavier had taken them to his family estate. He had cleared out the conservatory overlooking the garden of all its furniture, filling it with blankets and pillows, drapes and string lights, and a projector whose screen covered the entire back wall. It reminded Apollo of what he himself had done for their three-month anniversary - because apparently, he was that kind of person now - when he’d planned a weekend’s stay in a cozy lakeside cabin. “A conversation for another time, ja?”

“Yeah, definitely.” Apollo draped one of the blankets over his and Klavier’s laps, then lowered his head to rest on Klavier’s shoulder. Smiling, Klavier turned to briefly kiss Apollo’s temples, then reached for his laptop so he could start the movie. They spent the first fifteen or so minutes in companionable silence, sharing a bag of popcorn and a bottle of wine while they watched, until Apollo eventually spoke again. “...weird, isn’t it?”

“The movie? Not particularly,” Klavier shrugged. “If anything, I’d say the plot twist is a bit predictable.”

“No, not the movie. I mean...this.” Apollo gestured aimlessly. “You and me. Us.”

Klavier’s expression darkened somewhat. “Are you...having doubts about our relationship, Apollo?”

“Wh - no, no, not at all!” Apollo protested, sitting up. “It’s just...I guess it’s mostly weird for me. Like, if someone told me, say, a couple years ago, that I was gonna be in a relationship with you, of all people...hell, can you imagine if someone told me that on the day we met? I-I wouldn’t believe it!”

“You weren’t shy about your distaste for me, true,” Klavier agreed, his slight frown relaxing into an amused smile.

“I don’t think that’s an...entirely accurate assessment of, uh, of how I felt,” Apollo said carefully.

Now it was Klavier’s turn to straighten up, looking at him curiously. “Really?” he asked. “Then what did you think of me when we first met?”

“You first,” Apollo retorted, seemingly on instinct. He then softened. “I mean, only if you want to. I’m kinda curious.”

“I don’t mind,” Klavier reassured him, setting down his wine glass so he could squeeze Apollo’s hand. He hesitated, thinking it over. “...I expected to hate you from the very beginning, to be perfectly honest. And, for a moment there...I did.”

Apollo’s eyes widened. “Wh...what?”

“‘Disgraced Defense Attorney Dismantled By His Disciple’, I believe the headline was,” Klavier continued. He then smiled wryly. “A bit dramatic, if you ask me. But then again, I’m not a big fan of alliteration, so I might just be biased.”

“Did you really hate me?” Apollo’s shout had dropped to a mere whisper. “Because...because you didn’t wanna believe it, did you? About…what had happened. What he’d done.”

“It wasn’t all bad memories, all the time, you know.” Klavier gently released Apollo’s hand so he could brush his hair out of his eyes, though he kept his head ducked low. “We had our moments, him and I. We weren’t close, but...we weren’t estranged, either. In fact, I...I first heard your name from him, not from the papers.”

“He told you about me.” It wasn’t a question. “I guess I should’ve suspected, but I never really knew what your relationship was like...before. I mean, he never once mentioned having a brother, so I kinda assumed…”

“As everyone does,” Klavier shrugged, far too casually for Apollo’s liking. “Anyway, your question was about you and me, not me and him, ja? He told me all the usual things people have to say about you - loud, eager to please, a little bit sensitive. I didn’t think much of it at the time, other than the fact you had a strange name.”

Apollo rolled his eyes, sinking back into the cushions. “Wonderful. Fantastic. Glad to know I made a great first impression.”

“And then when the headlines came along...and Mama and Papa called…” Klavier’s face darkened once more; he cleared his throat. “I looked you up. I hadn’t bothered when I first heard your name, but I had to know. Still, I...I found almost nothing. No photos, no social accounts...nichts. Just a single line on a college graduate roster and the same articles I’d been reading before.”

“...I see.” Apollo fiddled with the ends of his blanket, just so he would have something to do with his hands. “So, when we finally met in person…”

_____

The first thing Klavier noticed was Apollo’s eyes - large, round, expressive to a fault. The color of melted chocolate, though in the sunlight, more akin to the color of honey. Those eyes of Apollo’s, curious and maybe a little bit accusatory, narrowed right at him as he arrived at the entrance of People Park. He internally winced at the sight of Apollo’s companion, who was arguing with the police officer standing guard at the scene. Despite the time that had passed since he last saw her, he could never forget Trucy Enigmar-now-Wright.

Are you working for Phoenix Wright now? Klavier wanted to ask as he approached them. Why? Don’t you know what he’s done? Don’t you see what he’s become?

“I must say I'm used to being inspected by the ladies...but this is the first time I've felt this way with a man,” he said instead, leaning forward to smile somewhat condescendingly at them. Klavier was momentarily struck by how similar they were - how their hair was the exact same shade of brown, how the dusting of freckles across their identically shaped noses matched too perfectly, how their furrowed brows and perplexed frowns were one and the same. The only difference was their eyes, hers more the color of a stormy sea. Perhaps there’s a song lyric there? Klavier mused to himself. Ach, now is not the time.

“Mr...Gavin?” Apollo said disbelievingly, his eyes now widening. His arms, previously crossed tightly against his chest, fell to his sides. The motion caught Klavier’s eye, drawing his attention to the glint of the golden bracelet sitting on Apollo’s left wrist. He wondered if there was some sort of significance to it, what with the way Apollo clutched it tightly with his right hand.

“Ah, fräulein,” Klavier continued, his eyes flickering back upwards. He wondered if she knew him, if she recognized him at all. Clearly, Apollo had no idea who he was; he wasn’t sure how to feel about that just yet. “What is a sweet morsel like you doing in such a dismal place? Can I help?”

“Yes! The police man officer fellow here won't let us in!” Trucy complained, huffing. She brandished an envelope in Klavier’s face, nearly swatting him on the nose as she did. He flinched slightly, surprised by how brazen she was. “We even have a letter of request!”

Klavier’s smile softened into one that was a little more genuine. He couldn’t help but be instantly charmed by her. “You must be exhausted, standing out here. I will take you to the scene of the crime.”

“Ooh! Really?” Trucy exclaimed, brightening. Apollo looked skeptical in comparison, his intense gaze traversing the length of Klavier’s body. Usually, he would have preened at the attention, been flattered by the obvious interest and maybe made a show of looking back, but he knew that wasn’t what Apollo was looking for. I am not him, Klavier thought fiercely. I am not the one you trusted, the one who taught you everything you know. I could never -

“By your leave, officer,” Klavier said with a nod and a wink. He barely heard the officer’s affirmation over his own thoughts. Then, he turned back to Trucy and tilted his head towards the park. “Very well. This way, fräulein.”

Trucy’s giggle was sweet, melodic, as she happily followed him through the entrance. He made a show of lifting the police tape for her to duck under, which she seemed easily amused by. Apollo, meanwhile, was left standing on the street, staring at them incredulously, before he finally seemed to register what was happening. “Hey! What about me?!” he cried. His voice gets raspier the louder he gets, Klavier couldn’t help but observe. Interesting.

Once Apollo had caught up, Klavier turned to grin at them both, teeth clenched beneath his lips. Trucy was rocking back and forth on her heels, beaming back, while Apollo had braced his hands on his hips indignantly, like he had something he wanted to say and was just waiting for the opportune moment to say it. Ach, those eyes, those hands, those freckles, Klavier thought rather stupidly. Wait - you’re not supposed to think he’s cute, Klavier, hör auf!

“On that note, enjoy your investigation,” he remarked. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the flash of a white lab coat further into the park that told him he needed to leave if he didn’t want to be reprimanded - or worse, Snackoo-ed.

“Thank you! Will we see you again?” Trucy asked, hopeful.

Klavier hesitated. Apollo still hadn’t said a thing about the obvious elephant in the room, still staring at Klavier like he was a ghost. He wanted Apollo to say something, anything, to ask questions, to start the conversation that he himself admittedly didn’t want to take responsibility for. But Apollo was clearly stunned into silence, and any courage Klavier had had when he first walked up to them moments ago was long gone.

“Ask the wind, fräulein. I'll be riding on it,” he said, shooting them one last saccharine smile. He could hear the click-click of Ema’s shoes against the cobblestone as she approached. With that, he turned and left, his chest aching in confusion.

_____

The silence was heavy, heavier than Apollo expected. Klavier had turned the movie volume down long ago, leaving them with nothing but the sound of their own quiet breaths. “Makes sense,” Apollo finally said, shooting Klavier a sympathetic smile. “To you, I...I jumped ship from one corrupt defense attorney to another. At least, that’s what it seemed like at the time, right?”

“Part of me wanted to confront you right then and there, but I didn’t want to do it. Not in front of everyone, especially not in front of her. But the other part of me...I just wanted to learn more about you. To get to know you before I decided whether it was a battle worth fighting. Whether he was worth defending.” Klavier then smiled back; now it was his turn to drop his head onto Apollo’s shoulder. “Besides, you were cute, and I’m weak.”

“‘Were’, huh?” Apollo teased, nudging him. “Well, I’m glad Trucy’s presence, your curiosity, and my cuteness apparently deterred you enough to walk away. To think, what would you have done if you didn’t think I was cute - ”

“Achtung, you’re such an arschgeige sometimes,” Klavier groaned, laughing. “Anyway...I got my answer in court soon enough. I could trust you, and he...he wasn’t worth defending. Not one bit.”

“No, not at all,” Apollo agreed. “Still, I’m...I’m sorry, Klav. Not for what I did, I mean, I-I had to, but just...how it all played out. How messy things got. Whenever we, y’know, come here to see your parents, I still see that look in their eyes. It’s that face that you make when you think no one’s looking.” He swallowed. “Mr. Wright says Trucy does that, too. Less now that she’s got me and Mom, but…well.”

“It wasn’t you, Apollo, it was me. It all started with me believing he wouldn’t lie to me.” Klavier’s laughter was bitter now. “Anyway, I’m starting to think we’re all a little too observant for our own good. None of us can ever let things go, nein?”

“We’d be horrible lawyers if we could,” Apollo chuckled, rubbing Klavier’s arm reassuringly. “But fine, fine, I’ll stop psychoanalyzing you now. It’s my turn, anyway.”

“I want to hear this,” Klavier said, snuggling closer. “Lay it on me, baby. Tell me how you fell for me in two seconds flat.”

“I’m gonna lay into you in two seconds flat if you don’t let me talk,” Apollo said dryly, elbowing him again. “I, uh, I don’t think I remember it as clearly as you do, but…”

_____

“Excuse me, coming through.”

It was a voice, a smooth, musical voice, polite but firm, that caught Apollo’s attention first. He turned in its direction, confused by how familiar it felt, how similar it sounded to another voice he knew, but with a light, lilting cadence and a strangely affected accent whose origins he couldn’t quite place.

“Ah! It’s you! Mr. Gavin!”

Apollo’s eyes widened, his heart pounding wildly in his chest, then narrowed at the sight before him. Striding towards them with a swagger in his step was a man who, as far as Apollo could tell, was supposed to be behind bars. Only, his skin was a few shades darker, his hair a shade or two lighter, and he was wearing, for reasons Apollo couldn’t fathom, eyeliner and leather and chains instead of a neatly-pressed suit and wire-rimmed glasses. Who’s THIS guy? Apollo thought, his stomach turning.

“I must say I'm used to being inspected by the ladies...but this is the first time I've felt this way with a man,” the man said, leaning in close; his smile was a little wider than Apollo would have liked. Apollo also didn’t want to think about how pretty he was, how long his eyelashes were or how smooth his skin seemed to be. This can’t be him, Apollo decided, though he was still frozen in place. He could only vaguely feel Trucy’s fingers tugging gently on his shirt sleeve. No, it can’t be - it’s not - but who -

“Mr...Gavin?” Apollo said stupidly. He felt a phantom pinch on his left wrist; he released his arms from where they were crossed so he could rub the spot where it hurt, though the moment he touched it, he realized he hadn’t been in pain at all. The man’s eyes flickered down, following his fingers in curiosity, before moving back up to continue smiling beatifically at Trucy.

“Ah, fräulein,” he said; he was practically simpering now. “What is a sweet morsel like you doing in such a dismal place? Can I help?” Apollo barely managed to refrain from rolling his eyes. Of course, he internally sighed, he’s one of those guys.

“Yes! The police man officer fellow here won't let us in!” Trucy whined, shoving the envelope in the man’s face. Apollo had to bite back a laugh at his startled expression, a contrast to his otherwise indifferent smile. “We even have a letter of request!”

“You must be exhausted, standing out here,” the man murmured sympathetically, eyes sparkling. He seemed intrigued, though Apollo couldn't blame him. He supposed he and Trucy looked like a completely mismatched pair. “I will take you to the scene of the crime.”

“Ooh! Really?” Trucy exclaimed, her entire face lighting up. Apollo tried not to smile himself; her energy was infectious. Then, the man’s words finally clicked in his mind. Wait - really?! But why would he - how can he - who is he?

“By your leave, officer,” the man ordered, winking. A pleasant shiver went down Apollo’s spine, one that he was trying his best to ignore. No good was going to come out of that train of thought, not when this man was clearly someone he needed to worry about - though in what way, he wasn’t sure yet. He seemed too generous, too open. Whether he was a police officer, a detective, or, god forbid, a prosecutor, Apollo didn’t trust him not to lead them astray, not one bit. “Very well. This way, fräulein.”

Before Apollo knew it, the man was walking away with Trucy in tow, leaving him behind. “Hey! What about me?!” he shouted, jogging after them. By the time he caught up, both of them were grinning at him amusedly, as if watching him trip over his own feet was some hysterical inside joke. Huffing, he braced his hands on his hips, ready to open his mouth and protest. The man’s gaze briefly travelled down to his hands once more. What’s that all about? Apollo wondered, confused. What’s he looking at? Is it my bracelet? It’s not that weird, is it? Wait, or can he tell that it’s -

“On that note, enjoy your investigation,” the man said, speaking a little quicker than he did before. He suddenly seemed distracted, like he couldn’t wait to get away from them.

“Thank you!” Trucy chirped, bouncing up and down on her toes. “Will we see you again?”

“Ask the wind, fräulein,” the man said, recovering. He seemed almost too focused on Trucy, like something about Apollo bothered him. Maybe he already knew who Apollo was, what Apollo had done. Was he angry? Resentful? Waiting for the right moment to strike? A shiver of a different kind tingled throughout Apollo’s body at the very thought; the phrase “kill them with kindness” was coming to mind. “I'll be riding on it.” He then left without another word, leaving Apollo to stare stupidly after him, his heartbeat in his throat.

“...who was that?” Apollo exclaimed, stunned, as if he wasn’t confused enough by everything else that was going on. His mind was racing with possibility, with anxiety that he really, really didn’t need. Before he could get into it, however, his jumbled thoughts were quickly cut off by Trucy’s surprised cry.

“Eek! Apollo, look - a c-corpse!”

_____

“...interesting,” Klavier said after a moment’s silence. “Did she really think the mannequin was a dead body?”

“Seriously, Klav?” Apollo groaned. “Surprised you didn’t fixate on the part where I thought you were pretty.”

“‘Were’?” Klavier echoed mockingly, grinning. His expression then sobered. “So...mixed feelings all around, it seems. I suppose it shouldn’t be all that shocking, though. We weren’t...total strangers, after all.”

“You practically were to me,” Apollo murmured, tangling his fingers in Klavier’s hair. Klavier leaned into his touch, his eyes fluttering closed in contentment. “At least you knew I existed, while I...he never…” He then shook his head. “Y’know, I-I’m not sure if I really wanna think about this anymore. Not if it makes us think about him.”

“It’s not one of our happiest memories, nein,” Klavier agreed, humming. “I like where we are now...where we can trust each other. There’s little I hate more than ambiguity. And not knowing how I was supposed to feel about you…”

“Sucks, right?” Apollo let out a hollow laugh. “But at least we were on the same page, in a, uh, weird way. I guess that’s always been our thing. Even when you’re driving me up the wall in court - which is all the time, so don’t even question me, I see that look on your face - we’re, y’know, generally working towards the same goal.”

Klavier’s fingers danced along the length of Apollo’s forearm, tapping out a rhythm that Apollo couldn’t quite pick out. “I’d like to think so. I was never really sure until...ach, well. You remember.”

_____

Apollo was still trembling as he exited the courtroom with Trucy by his side. She was putting on a brave face for them both, but he had a feeling that she was more torn up about what had happened than he was. He wanted to comfort her, to reassure her somehow after they’d learned the truth behind her biological father’s death, but for once, he was completely speechless.

“Polly?” Trucy’s voice was tentative. “I’m...kinda hungry.”

“I...oh.” Apollo looked at her curiously. Out of all the things he’d expected her to say, that hadn’t been one of them. “Do you wanna get something to eat? We could go to Eldoon’s if you want.”

“No, that’s okay,” Trucy reassured him. Her face then lit up. “I was actually thinking about the courthouse café! We can get cake and drinks and stuff. A little sugar goes a long way!”

Apollo smiled softly. “Sure, Trucy. Whatever you’d like.”

And so, they found themselves a small table at the courthouse café - and maybe calling it that was rather generous on Trucy’s part - with two thick slices of Swiss rolls and tall glasses of milk tea. Admittedly, Apollo still felt numb, but Trucy’s running commentary of her thoughts on the trial kept him going. “Now all we need is for Vera to wake up,” Trucy said, gripping her fork with determination. “I’m still so worried about her! What if she doesn’t - ”

“We can’t think like that, okay?” Apollo said, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand. “We gotta have hope. That’s all we can do, you know?”

“I guess,” Trucy murmured, chewing her bottom lip fretfully. She went quiet for a minute or so, poking at the last bits of her drink’s half-melted ice with her straw. “Hey, um...Daddy says he’s meeting up with a friend later today, and he wants to have dinner. And when he says ‘friend’, he usually means Mr. Edgeworth. You know, the prosecutor?”

“Yeah, I’ve definitely heard of him.” Apollo sat up a little straighter at the word ‘prosecutor’. In his stupor over the whole ordeal, he’d barely spared a thought for Klavier; he could only vaguely guess how he was doing. “What about him?”

“I was just wondering if, maybe, you’d wanna...join us?” Trucy suggested. He’d never seen her so hesitant before. “For dinner, I mean.”

“...oh.” Apollo paused. “No, uh - not today, sorry. I should really go home and sleep all of this - ” he gestured aimlessly “ - off. I feel like I need to sleep for, like, three days straight.”

“Sure, of course,” Trucy nodded, smiling faintly. “But….you’re still coming back to the agency, right? Maybe not tomorrow, but like...in a few days?”

“Yeah. Yeah, definitely,” Apollo promised, surprised by how quickly he’d responded. In all his hesitation, his doubts about law and what it was meant to be, what it could be, he was finally starting to feel like the Wright Anything Agency was where he belonged.

After they finished eating, he and Trucy parted ways after a long, much-needed hug on the courthouse steps. Apollo then went to fetch his bike from the rack adjacent to the courthouse parking lot, only to spot a familiar face lingering nearby, seemingly in no rush to leave.

“...Gavin?” Apollo said carefully.

Klavier turned sharply at the sound of Apollo’s voice. His smile was a touch too wide, his eyes suspiciously glossy. “Ah, Herr Forehead,” he greeted, ducking his head; his voice sounded trapped in his own throat. “Good show in there, as always. You never fail to impress.”

“Thanks. Hey, um - I’m surprised to see you’re still here,” Apollo commented, taking a few tentative steps closer. “Don’t you have somewhere...better to be?”

“Not really, nein.” Klavier let out a short, forced laugh. “I have paperwork to do, I’m sure. But it can wait.”

“...right.” Apollo cleared his throat awkwardly. “Thanks, by the way.”

Klavier blinked. “Entschuldigung? What for?”

“For agreeing to summon your brother, and...y’know, everything after that.” Apollo found himself oddly fascinated with a few stray pebbles on the ground, nudging them around with the toes of his loafers so he wouldn’t have to look at Klavier’s face. “Look, I-I’m not gonna pretend like I know what you, or Trucy, or Mr. Wright are going through. I’m mostly on the outside looking in, so. All I really know, if I know anything at all, is that, uh...we did the right thing. Yeah?”

“Ja.” When Apollo looked up, Klavier was also deliberately looking elsewhere, staring off into the distance at nothing in particular. He’d displayed a whirlwind of emotions back in the courtroom, but none of them were quite the same as the bitter expression he was wearing right now. “...Apollo?”

Now it was Apollo’s turn to do double-take. “Huh? Wh-what is it?”

“Danke schön. For...everything. I honestly don’t think I could’ve done...any of that on my own,” Klavier confessed, his voice thick with emotion. “And I think I...I think I’m going to take a little time away from the prosecutor’s office. Not for long, mind you. Just...I need some time off. A week, maybe two. Some distance, some perspective...it would make a world of difference, achtung.” He then turned to face Apollo directly for the first time since they started talking. He looked tired, defeated, even. His posture, his expression - Apollo felt as if he was seeing an entirely different person standing before him.

Without thinking, Apollo took the last few steps forward and closed the gap between them, wrapping his arms around Klavier and pulling him close. Klavier let out a startled noise; then, he hugged Apollo back, sinking his weight against Apollo’s, his forehead dropping to Apollo’s shoulder. His exhale was long, unsteady. “Take care of yourself, okay?” Apollo said, fingers digging into Klavier’s back, his face buried against Klavier’s bicep. “And if you ever wanna talk about it...I-I mean, I’m sure I’m not your first choice, but still. I’m, uh, I’m around.”

“Danke,” Klavier murmured, barely above a whisper. They stayed like that for a moment, maybe a moment too long, just holding each other in the middle of the courthouse parking lot for anyone and everyone to see. Klavier’s breath trembled against Apollo’s ear; Apollo half-expected his knees to give out from underneath him. Then, he slowly detached himself from Apollo’s grasp, carefully schooling his expression into something more Klavier-like, something brighter and blander, his teeth blindingly white in the mid-afternoon sun. “Anyway, I should really get going. That paperwork isn’t going to take care of itself, ja?”

“Oh, uh. Yeah, don’t I know it,” Apollo said, letting out another strained chuckle.

“Until next time, then,” Klavier said smoothly, winking. “Auf Wiedersehen, Herr Forehead.” He didn’t wait for Apollo’s send-off, instead turning and heading over to his motorcycle, humming and twirling his keychain expertly between his practiced fingers. Apollo watched him peel out of the parking lot, silently wondering if he’d said all he wanted - no, needed - to say.

_____

“Of course I remember.” Apollo held Klavier just a little bit tighter. “But, y’know, again - not our best moment. Not by a long shot.”

Klavier lifted his head from Apollo’s shoulder so he could kiss him briefly, gently. Apollo smiled against Klavier’s lips, cupping his jaw so he could bring him closer. “But I’d still say our first kiss is more of a memory worth reminiscing over. Wouldn’t you agree, liebe?”

“It was a little dramatic for my taste,” Apollo teased, pulling back so he could affectionately nudge his nose against Klavier’s cheek, his fingers lightly pressed into Klavier’s sides. “But you’re into that sort of thing, so I’ll give it a pass. Still, let’s just agree not to cry all over each other ever again, okay? It was honestly kinda gross. And wet. And not in a fun way.”

“You’re saying you won’t cry when I propose?” Klavier asked, pouting exaggeratedly. “Because ach, I know I will.”

“Who says you’re proposing?” Apollo retorted, grinning as he prodded Klavier in the chest. “What if I get there first? What if, while you’re getting down on one knee, I just whip a ring box out of my pocket - ”

“Then I really will lose my scheisse,” Klavier murmured, his lips ghosting across Apollo’s skin. “I’m going to hold you to it, baby.”

“Can’t guarantee it’ll happen, but I’m definitely gonna try,” Apollo said, turning his head to capture Klavier’s lips once more. The two of them exchanged slow, lazy kisses for a few minutes, fingers loosely tangled in each other’s hair. In the background, the movie continued on, long forgotten; not that it mattered, seeing as they’d watched it together many times before.

Eventually, Klavier carefully detangled himself from Apollo. He passed him his wine glass, still half-full, then reached for his own and lifted it above his head. “To making new memories, ja?”

“Are we really cheers-ing ourselves? That’s pretty self-serving, literally,” Apollo said dubiously, though he still raised his glass all the same, amused by Klavier’s dramatics. “But hell, why not? To new memories that don’t involve us crying, sneezing, yelling - ”

“You make us sound like absolute disasters, achtung,” Klavier protested, chuckling. “We’re not that bad, are we?”

Apollo took a sip of his drink, then leaned in close, so close that his nose brushed against Klavier’s, his wine-stained, kiss-bitten lips stretched into a fond grin. “Nah. I think we’re doing just fine.”

_____

a/n: Welcome to my first entry for Klapollo Week 2021! I've never participated in any fandom challenges/events before, so I'm super excited to see how this goes. My plan is a little overambitious, with all seven fics set in the same continuity, but in a different order. For example, this fic is actually the last, chronologically speaking, while day seven's fic is set in the middle. If you're wondering why they were crying during their first kiss, you'll have to wait until then 😉

Don't worry about any of that, though, you don't need to read the others to follow along! Day seven is technically a sequel to day five, but it can be read as a stand-alone, though I think it packs more punch if you read it after day five. They're also the longest; every other fic averages out to about four to five thousand words, whereas five and seven are over ten thousand words each. Brevity is the soul of wit? Not in my Google Docs, I am wordy as hell.

Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed! Likes and reblogs would be much appreciated. Hoping you're all safe and healthy and doing well ❤️

[secret-engima]

Team Gremlin verse: The Reunion

(So this is ... a very rough draft so to speak of what I wanna do for the reunion scene with Oscar and Ozpin. I’m not dubbing it ‘canon’ yet because I’d have to wait for the actual fic to catch up and then tweak accordingly but so far- this is what is in my head and I figured I should let others enjoy the angst :D)

...

     Ozpin slipped away from the crowd exiting the tent with a pounding heart. He could feel his fingers shake on the hilt of Long Memory as he managed to duck into the shadows outside the large emerald and gold tent. He had found him. All this time searching, all this time praying and hoping and looking only to be too late and he had found him. He had sat in the stands and seen the boy in action, heard the music and seen the magic both fake and real, and felt the sheer energy and joy the little Ringmaster felt in his performance like lightning in Ozpin’s own bones. And then- the song. The final song. Because Oscar always rounded off with a song, ones not meant for spectacle, but instead for the heart. A sincere wish and message for those fortunate to sit beneath the ceiling of the Emerald City for the night.

     The song alone could have brought him to tears. But to hear it sung by the little boy in the ring, the impossible, wonderful, miracle child who had every right to lash out at the world in hate, yet instead chose to fill it with wonders … it had been all he could do to keep from crying with there in the stands. To not try to climb down the makeshift seating and into the ring because all he’d wanted was to hold him.

     His son. The son he had never seen outside of grainy photos and shaky recordings, who he had tried desperately to find the more he learned what the child had lived through. And now Ozpin had found him. Now Ozpin had a chance to meet him. He just had to get backstage.

     It wasn’t hard to escape the eyes of the crowd, and it wasn’t much more difficult to slip through the shadows to the little ring of emerald tents set up behind the big top, the tents where the various performers of the rare and popular Emerald City act stayed. He hesitated on the boundary, trying to pick out which one of the colorful, green-themed tents belonged to the Ringmaster —his son, his child that he had never gotten to meet, would never have known about save a series of accidents—. He heard laughter and activity behind him, the performers returning to their temporary homes, and he ducked forward into the shadows of a tent at random. They would run him off if they found him, he was certain of that. He was a stranger to them at best, or worse, a known player in the war that had created the boy he hoped to meet, that had no doubt hurt many of those who followed him —such as Hazel, and how the man had ever been swayed from Salem’s promise of revenge, Ozpin could not fathom but did not want to test—.

     He heard no activity from the tent he was hiding behind, and while the air whispered with hints of magic, it wasn’t coming from this tent, so he moved on to another. This time, he dared peak into the tent flap, but saw nothing but the vague shadows of personal belongings. No sign of the little Ringmaster —his son, his child—.

     Ozpin backed away from that tent, heart drumming anxiously in his chest. Then he turned and froze.

     The massive Grimm, the strange one that Qrow called Hound. The monster that for some reason Ozpin never wanted to contemplate —but had spent many hours doing just that— followed his son everywhere. Behaved like it was tame and natural rather than a creature of Darkness that longed only for destruction. It stood just a few feet away, so large it’s head was even with Ozpin’s chin as it watched him with flat, glowing red lights for eyes.

     His fingers tightened on the hilt of Long Memory, lifetimes of instinct screaming to raise his weapon and attack first before it could kill him or anyone else here. But he had seen recordings of this same Grimm, dressed up in ridiculous costumes to hide its true nature from unpracticed eyes, parading around in the circus ring like a big dog. He had seen his son ride on its back and balance on its head and Qrow had recounted more than one instance of Oscar and the other children escaping on its back. It hadn’t been present for this particular show, but he had seen multiple recordings of previous ones where it entered the ring and no one had been harmed. Of course, Ozpin’s son —Salem’s son, for all the second half of that coin tore at his guts— had been close by all those times, but here there was no one in sight but the two of them.

     The Grimm tilted its head slowly to one side, a ragged ear pricking like an actual dog’s. It wasn’t attacking. Even though Ozpin knew he must stink of so many different types of fear he could attract an entire pack of Beowolves all on his own. It just … studied him.

     Slowly, it’s jaws opened, and Ozpin prepared to dodge some attack. Instead, the large, blood red tongue slid out from between massive teeth and lolled there, a slow, thoughtful trio of pants before it licked its teeth and shut its jaws again. Without any further reaction, it lowered its head and turned away, walking slow and ponderously toward one of the tents that had light peaking through the bottom. Ozpin watched it leave with a blank, confused mind, then startled when it stopped and twisted around to look over its shoulder at him.

     It looked like it was waiting.

     It looked like it wanted him to follow.

     Inhaling raggedly —this was the stupidest thing he had done in lifetimes he was sure—, Ozpin started following in the Grimm’s footsteps.

     It led him to the tent farthest from the bigtop, nudged open the flap with something like practiced ease, and shouldered its way in. Ozpin lingered outside, suddenly too afraid to go a step further. There was a Grimm in there, but somehow, the realization that his son might be in there was even more terrifying than that. If he stood out here too long, he would be caught, he knew that, and yet…

     “Hey, Sondor,” murmured a voice through the tent fabric and Ozpin’s world crystalized, “Everything alright? You left in a bit of a hurry.” A deep rumble, inhuman and bass and … oddly content sounding. The voice —a child’s voice, a gentle voice, a voice he’d just heard laughing and waxing dramatic for a show of fake magic and real mysteries— laughed faintly, “Checking on someone then? You know everyone has to stay up late on performance nights.”

     If he held on any tighter to his cane, he thought it might shatter, but the feel of it grounded him like it always had, and with the last bit of courage he possessed in this lifetime, he pushed the tent flap open and slipped inside as the voice —his son— finished saying, “We’ll be sure to take long naps in the morning.”

     Ozpin was here. He was standing in the same space as his child, without a crowd to be wary of or a performance to keep them apart. He was standing in some kind of makeshift workshop, with a cot on the floor on the far side and the vast majority of space taken up by a battered, foldable metal table that seemed to be a desk and all the tools of a magician’s trade. Cards and wands and hats, gloves and fanciful outfits and a hundred thousand other things that didn’t matter, because amid all the mess, with his back mostly to the entrance and a massive Grimm lying contentedly next to his feet, was the Ringmaster.

     His child.

     The Grimm raised its head again to stare at him, a low noise he’d never heard the monsters make before rumbling from its chest, and the boy tilted his head toward the tent entrance absently, still not looking away from the Dust gem he was setting in his elaborate cane, “Hey Neo, you’re back early. I thought you were still scoping … out…” he finished setting the Dust in his cane, looked up and saw Ozpin standing there. Neither of them moved. Green-gold eyes in a young face —he looked ten had Qrow really been correct on estimating his age closer to twelve or thirteen?— went wide, and the magic passively swirling through the tent shrunk in on itself until he couldn’t feel it.

     It occurred belatedly to Ozpin that while he had essentially been stalking his son for the last few years in an attempt to meet him and make sure he was okay, the boy wouldn’t know him at all. Or worse, had only heard of him from people who hated him —from Salem herself even—. And now Ozpin had just shown up in the boy’s living space without warning or invitation.

     Terror and nerves tangled up all the words he wanted to say, all the ones he’d longed to say, and instead he found himself folding both of his shaking hands on the pommel of his cane and bleating out the first, most habitual line currently living in his brain, “Hello, I’m Professor Ozpin-.”

     A shout, loud and gutted, and all his words died in his throat again as the boy threw himself off his little camp chair and at Ozpin. Long Memory clattered to the ground unnoticed as Ozpin instinctively raised his hands to wrap around the little body that collided with his waist, slender arms tightening like a vise around him and Ozpin couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe-.

     Had he really said-?

     A hiccuping sob from the child in his arms, a fully body thing that shook him from his tousled black hair to his shoes while that word spun endlessly in Ozpin’s mind, haunting him and confusing him because he couldn’t have heard that right. He couldn’t have heard…

     “Dad.”

     The word echoed between them again, muffled by a young face buried in his suit jacket, and Ozpin felt his own breath start to stammer as he clung tighter to the boy in his arms, sinking down to his knees despite the screaming in his leg and burying his face in flyaway black hair, “I’m here.” He choked out, “I’m right here. I’ve got you. You’re alright. I’m right … I’m right here.”

     Magic pressed against his skin, burrowed into his soul, needy and desperate and fearful in a way his daughters’ had never been until the very end —until the moment his shield broke and he could no longer protect them—. It begged him and Ozpin forgot about everything else, forgot every other concern or person in the world as he let his own magic unspool and twine with the younger, needy magic begging him for comfort. Behind his closed eyelids he could see it, the colors spinning and twisting in the space between their souls. His ever-dwindling green wrapping around a younger, deeper, stronger wellspring of emerald laced with snapping red, whispering black and dancing flickers of purple, gold, blue, and white.

     The younger magic coiled tightly in his, desperate and pained, crying in relief and fear just as loudly as the sobs that shook his son’s body. It was open to him, painfully open and raw, trusting despite how this boy had every reason to fear another’s magic. In the breath between crying and comforting and accepting, Ozpin’s magic brushed up against what could only be called a crack in his child’s soul. A jagged old wound that had never properly healed. Glass sharp and weeping and-.

     Pain-pain-pain-fear-fear-please-pleasedon’tleavedon’tleaveme-.

     Magic, green and old, bodiless and desperate and half-mad with agony sinking inside and locking in place in a message that screamed all the way down to bone marrow and soul fiber.

    Mine-my-child-I-love-you-I-loveyoumychildmy-

     “Oscar.” Ozpin choked out, struggling to shake off the remnants of memory hidden in soul shards and old wounds. Realization reeled, pulled at the fabric of reality beneath his feet. “Oscar,” he repeated, rolling the name of his son over his tongue and wondering at the sensation of right, of familiarity even though he had never met this child before. He had, of course, known his name. The boy made a little joke of it at the beginning of all his performances, but now the name had weight. Had an echo of knowledge to it that he couldn’t quite grasp.

     Even though, somehow, his son knew him. And perhaps that should terrify him. Because his son was a child still, yet somewhere in the spaces between incarnations, or in the moments between life and death and dreams, his child remembered him and clung to a message of love even though it had been tangled up in so much pain.

     “I tried,” Oscar sobbed into his chest, “I tried, I’m- I’m so sorry-.”

     Ozpin hushed him, ran shaking fingers through his son’s hair and ignored the way his glasses had completely blurred over from the tears they caught, “I know. It’s alright. You’re alright. You’re alive, Oscar.” He guided his son’s face to his scarf and pressed his cheek against the top of Oscar’s head, “You’re alive. That’s all that matters to me.” He inhaled raggedly and set aside the spinning theories trying to take root, the odd mix of age-youth-age and time-turned-back in Oscar’s magic that made him wonder. He had long assumed that Oscar’s aging was … strange, a byproduct of being the child of two immortals. Yet feeling Oscar’s magic, the soft echo of bells and clockwork gears hidden inside it, he couldn’t help but remember that gravity and its magic was an aspect of space and space was a partner of time. There had been spells that toyed with time long ago that left impressions on the souls that used them, though never on such a large scale as what Ozpin was contemplating.

     But if anyone could reinvent a way to turn back the hands of the world’s clock, it would be the child of Ozma and Salem, surely —had his son known a previous incarnation, or had his son met Ozpin himself in the future, had he lived a prisoner of Salem until he was a teen or even an adult, only meeting his father to see him die in agony at his mother’s hands, had a single dying message of love amid a lifetime of darkness truly been enough to make him fight time itself to make things right—.

     But that didn’t matter right now.

     He was here. Oscar was here. They were both alive and safe and his little boy was tucked trustingly in his arms, and that was what mattered right now. It mattered more than anything else in the world.

     “I love you, Oscar,” he whispered into his son’s hair as he rocked them back and forth, uncaring of his jacket and scarf becoming soaked with tears, or the way Oscar’s magic coiled around his soul so tightly it was almost burning, “I love you. I’m here.”

     “I missed you,” Oscar choked out between sobs, another piece to Ozpin’s puzzle set aside for later times, “I love y-you t-too.” A hiccup, loud and ugly, a shiver in Ozpin’s arms, “Don’t go.”

     “I won’t,” Ozpin promised, hand cradling the back of Oscar’s head, trying to shield him from the nightmares he could sense lurking within, “I won’t go. I’m right here.” He exhaled wetly, “I’m right here.”

[dansnaturepictures]

25/07/2022-Lakeside and home 

I had a nice little session watching the garden birds before my lunch time walk, seeing Collared Dove out the back and front on feeders and the bird table, Woodpigeon, House Sparrows and squabbling Starlings in a feeding frenzy. It was great to hear the noises of the birds as I worked today. 

At Lakeside on beach lake it was good to see a few more juvenile gulls than those present late last week with their distinctive grey plumage. I called them Herring Gulls last week and did again today when posting pictures I got including the first in this photoset elsewhere on social media I am not an expert on gulls, but I actually think they could be Lesser Black-backed Gull as there was an adult one on the lake and there seems to be a real influx of them in the area lately with one seen from home tonight they are usually around at this time of year anyway so it makes sense. I liked seeing the three Great Crested Grebes chicks once again with two on Concorde lake and one on Kornwestheim lake with the adult. I took the fifth picture in this photoset of the one on Kornwestheim lake with the adult. It has been notable to see the family across two lakes albeit two that join each other for three days now, perhaps it is to share the food out a bit. I also enjoyed seeing the Coot still present on Concorde lake it hadn’t struck me until I started seeing this one again last week just how long it was since I’d regularly seen them on the lakes here so its been good to have a nice run of seeing this bird. I took the second picture in this photoset of it. I saw Moorhen nearby well and on beach lake. Its that time of year when a group of eclipsed male Mallards with only small glimpses of their green head feathers gather on Kornwestheim lake on the water and taking cover under the trees of the island in the lake. This was a pleasing sight today as the sun started to re-emerge after a shower.

The star bird today was a brilliant close view of a Kingfisher at the back of beach lake an area at Lakeside I’d not seen one yet this year I don’t think and not for a while. It made a nice chirping sounds which I heard as I walked in between the lakes too.

There were a nice array of butterflies around on the walk between the lakes, the southern fenced off nature reserve area and the bowl and eastern meadows, with lots of Speckled Woods again including the one in the tenth and final picture in this photoset I counted nine in a Big Butterfly Count I did alongside ten lovely Gatekeepers, six Meadow Browns, two Small Whites, a Ringlet and a dazzling Common Blue. 

Key flowers I saw on my lunch time walk were water mint coming out a lot now I took the sixth picture in this photoset of one, fleabane looking really nice, pineappleweed, hemp agrimony, lots of beautiful red bartsia, poppy in the flower bed out the front, great willowherb and pretty little forget-me-not in the boggy areas north of the lakes. It was nice to enjoy pretty flowers at home on the balcony again. It was interesting to see the delicious mixture of bright light green leaves of the tree near the visitor centre the one that goes gloriously red in autumn with some red leaves now out too. This does feel early but I can’t believe its time for them to come out already. I took the seventh picture in this photoset of the tree. It was nice to appreciate and make the most of the green all around in the landscape it was a nice mixture of seeing the green well lit up by the sun and also looking dramatic during and after the shower with dramatic sky scenes the backdrop. I took the third, fourth, eighth and ninth pictures in this photoset of views here today. I enjoyed nice dramatic sky scenes at home as the day went on too. At one point I noticed a very small piece of cloud not too high over the tree line and a pylon in the distance nicely lit by the sun but it didn’t quite feel right for a photo. I said what would make me likely to photograph a scene like this were bigger clouds like it and sure enough just as the sun was starting to set I did see a scene like this with bigger clouds lit up well which I photographed. There was a nice bit of red at sunset too.

Wildlife Sightings Summary: Two of my favourite birds the Kingfisher and Great Crested Grebe, Mallard, Moorhen, Coot, Greylag Goose, Canada Goose, Black-headed Gull, Lesser Black-backed Gull, possible Herring Gull, I seem to recall Magpie, Jackdaw well out the back at home, Woodpigeon, Collared Dove, Starling, House Sparrow, Goldfinch, Speckled Wood, Common Blue, Small White, Gatekeeper, Meadow Brown and Ringlet. 

[hmslusitania]

Prompt: AU to 2.01. during the workout scene Eddie brings up Abby and Buck feels hurt and betrayed that Chim would share his private life with basically a stranger. When Chim says Eddie’s cool Buck says he can be wary of the new guy who gets so comfortable right off the bat when Buck himself got hazed like crazy as a probie. When Chim says Abby’s not a big deal Buck turns to Eddie and asks if he found his abandonment amusing. Eddie feels horrible and Chim finally understands his screw up. Buddie

Hi Anon! I’m not 100% sure this will satisfy your prompt, for which I apologise. That said, in a longer fic I’m currently working on, this scene gets examined hardcore from both Buck and Eddie’s POV and I hope to post that fic soon, so if this does not quite do it, hopefully that will. All that said, I do hope you enjoy this:

--

The kid is like a brother to him, but good god. It’s only Eddie’s second shift and they haven’t even all clocked in yet, and Buck is already being a dick. Chimney sighs – on the inside – and keeps buttoning his shirt while Buck slams locker doors and Eddie just tries to change.

When Buck finally stomps out of the locker room, Eddie takes a second and then turns to Chim.

“So, is it just me, or…”

“Try not to take it personally,” Chim recommends. He likes Eddie, has liked him since they met. It’s nice to have another medic on the shift, even if Eddie isn’t certified as a paramedic like him and Hen. Bobby’s and Buck’s EMT certification is great and useful but sometimes that little bit of extra medical knowledge comes in handy.

“So he’s just a dick to everyone?” Eddie asks.

Chim sighs. “Nah,” he says. “He’s just – look, the kid’s got a heart of gold, he really does, and most of the time he’s the sweetest guy you’ll meet, like a giant 6’2 golden retriever, but his first serious girlfriend just dumped him and then ghosted him, and he’s been a bit…in a bad mood.”

Although, now that he thinks about it, Buck’s straight up denial about Abby having dumped him has kept his mood afloat well enough. Up until Eddie showed up at the 118. But Chimney can’t fathom how the two would be related.

Eddie nods like that makes sense and they continue getting ready for their shift.

Chimney does his best to stay out of Buck’s way for most of the morning. It’s only by coincidence he finds himself in the gym at the same time as Buck and Eddie. Buck, clearly trying to comfort himself with the hot firefighter calendar, starts taking selfies over by the bench press.

Chimney does not know why Eddie decides to start something.

“You’re in the wrong light, man,” Eddie says. Chim frowns. Light? For a selfie?

“Some of us don’t need lighting to look good,” Buck shoots back.

Chim glances at Buck, but he’s distracted by himself.

“Hey, Eddie? What did you mean by the wrong light?” Chim asks.

Eddie explains about warm side lighting as opposed to flat blue light, and shows off the pictures his niece had taken for him. Chimney doubts that most of the effect is just because of lighting. As he’d pointed out on Eddie’s first shift, that is a beautiful man.

Still, having well done photos can’t hurt.

“You think she’d be willing to take my pictures for me? I’m told I photograph like an Asian Fabio,” Chim says, which gets him a laugh from Eddie.

“Sure she would,” he says.

And then, of course, Hurricane Buck.

“You shouldn’t get his hopes up,” he says to Eddie, all glower. “No offence, Chim.”

Chimney isn’t sure how he’s supposed to take that as anything but offensive. But—

He’s got a heart of gold, Chim reminds himself. He’s got a goddamn heart of gold.

“None taken,” he says, heading back to his bench dips. “Evan.”

He gets maybe two reps in before he hears Eddie say, “Okay, man, what’s your problem?”

Chimney winces and looks over to see Buck getting up in Eddie’s face.

“Okay, you,” Buck says. Chimney frowns. Eddie? It really is personal? “You’re my problem. Your comfort level. You’re – you’re not supposed to just walk in here like you’ve been here for years. There’s supposed to be a getting-to-know-you period. You’re meant to respect your elders.”

That’s what Buck is pissed about?

“You’re not his elder, Buck,” Chim points out. As he says it, he realises he doesn’t actually know how old Eddie is. He’s been assuming due to his work history that he’s on the other side of thirty from Buck, but he doesn’t actually know.

“Look,” Eddie says. He sounds calm and rational, in complete contrast to Buck’s anger and irritation, which Chim takes as a good sign. “I in no way meant to, uh, be too familiar or step on anybody’s toes. I know you’re going through some personal stuff right now.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Chimney can see Buck flinch.

“What personal stuff?” he asks.

Whoops.

“I know your girlfriend recently broke up with you and you’re coming to terms with that,” Eddie says.

“No, I’m not,” Buck says. Which, points for honesty, Chim thinks. “And she didn’t break up with me. Who told you that?”

When they both turn to look at him, Chim tries to melt into his exercise equipment.

“I’m just saying, I hear you’re a good guy, and I’m sorry you’re going through pain but you don’t need to take it out on me,” Eddie says.

“I’m not in pain,” Buck snaps, wounded.

Chim doesn’t mean to heave a dramatic sigh, but it happens. Buck rounds on him.

“And why are you telling all of my personal shit to strangers?” Buck asks.

Chim winces. There are a lot of reasons – Eddie asked; Eddie is already a clear part of the team, not a stranger; because Chimney’s worried about him and gossip is how they deal with things at the 118; but he doesn’t think Buck’s in a mood to accept any of those.

“I asked if you were pissed at me or something else,” Eddie says. “And I’m sorry about your girlfriend, man, I know what it’s like to have someone you thought loved you disappear on you in the dead of night.”

Chimney stops doing his dips and turns to scan Eddie, concerned. But Eddie’s just looking at Buck.

“She didn’t – I drove her to the airport,” Buck says.

He sounds so damn small and vulnerable that despite how much of a dick he’s been recently, Chim kind of wants to just hug him. He’s spent so much of the past four months since Abby left acting like he was completely fine most of the time, and so they hadn’t really…

Well, they hadn’t been there for him. Bobby’s got his reasons, Chim knows, since Hen’s almost certainly right about the secret Bobby-Athena relationship going on in the background. But Chim and Hen could’ve done better.

“Look, man, all I can tell you is that staying in denial isn’t gonna help,” Eddie says. “You’re still gonna get the divorce papers in the mail eventually.”

“We weren’t—” Buck starts and Chimney almost jumps into the conversation to make sure Buck isn’t actually that stupid. “Oh.”

“Truce?” Eddie asks, taking off one of his boxing gloves and holding his hand out in Buck’s direction.

Buck swallows and, after a long, awkward moment, takes Eddie’s hand. “You’re still a probie.”

“I promise you, there is no worse hazing you can do to me than the guys in Afghanistan already did,” Eddie says.

Chimney wonders if he feels like eating those words later that night when Eddie and Buck get into an ambulance with a live grenade. Chim and Hen aren’t on the call with them, since they were already doing a transport from the previous call, but when they all get back to the station, something has clearly shifted between Buck and Eddie.

“You two idiots got in an ambulance with a live grenade?” Hen demands, hands on her hips. Chim has seen her deploy this expression at Denny before. It usually gets her immediate apologies and chagrin.

“Eddie was an army medic,” Buck says. “We were totally safe.”

“Until the ambulance exploded,” Eddie points out.

“Yeah, but we weren’t in it anymore,” Buck says, knocking his shoulder into Eddie’s while they sit at the kitchen counter together. Hen shakes her head slowly, like she can’t believe what she’s hearing. “And besides! We saved the patient.”

“Which is what matters,” Eddie adds.

Hen throws her hands up, exasperated. “I’m so glad there are two of you now.”

She stalks off and Chim watches while Buck and Eddie exchange bright smiles. Chim couldn’t say for sure, but he thinks the last time Buck smiled like that, he was talking to Abby. Which is certainly a development Chim didn’t see coming.

He finds Buck later in the bunks.

“Hey,” he says, knocking on Buck’s partition. Buck isn’t asleep, he’s just scrolling through his phone. “Got a sec?”

“Sure,” Buck says, sitting up and dropping his phone into his lap.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” Chim says. “Telling Eddie about Abby, I mean. I don’t think any of us really realised how much you’re still hurting over that.”

“I’m fine,” Buck says. It’s too quick, and just a bit too sharp to be genuine.

Chim just waits.

“I’m – I’ve – I’ve been single for four months, haven’t I?” Buck asks quietly.

“Yeah,” Chim says, because Eddie had pointed out, denial just hurts more.

“Great,” Buck says. He clears his throat a couple times like he’s trying to get rid of a blockage. Chimney takes that as an opportunity to clap him on the shoulder.

“You’ve still got your family,” Chim says. “By which I mean the 118, because as far as you’ve said, you may as well have sprung out of the ground fully formed.”

Buck snorts. “I’ve got a sister,” he says, which is the first biological family member Chimney has ever heard Buck mention. “Maddie. She’s actually sleeping on my couch right now.”

“God, a female Buck,” Chim says. “I can’t even imagine how terrifying that must be.”

Buck scoffs and elbows him. “She’s not like me at all. You might even like her. She’s basically the best person ever, just a heart of pure gold.”

Chimney doesn’t quite trust Buck’s judgement when it comes to his sister, but if he’s right, well…

“Certain shitty comments you’ve made recently aside, that sounds exactly like you, Buckaroo,” Chim says.

“Thanks, Chim,” Buck says and sounds like he means it. “And I’m sorry for being a dick.”

Chim nods and claps him on the shoulder again before turning to head back to his own bunk.

“Hey, Chim?”

Chimney pauses.

“Do you think Eddie’s—”

Chimney waits, but all Buck says is “never mind.”

Their next call isn’t until morning when they find a group of idiots who have cemented their friend’s head into a microwave. When the kid falls into a pool, Buck jumps in to save him without hesitation and Eddie is only a split second behind him.

Chim doesn’t think about it until they’re all back at the station and changing out for the end of shift, but he thinks that this particular level of drift compatibility between Buck and Eddie might be a bit of a dangerous thing.

When they’re all back in civvies, Eddie says goodbye to everyone and starts to leave, only for Buck to follow him out, calling, “Hey! Eddie! There’s a really great brunch place down the street if you want to grab something, maybe?”

Chim and Hen watch them go, and wait until they’ve both driven off – together, even if in separate vehicles – before commenting.

“They’re gonna give us all heart attacks, aren’t they,” Hen says, resigned.

“Oh yeah,” Chim agrees.

“At least Buck seems happier?” Hen asks.

“Small victories,” Chim replies. “I’ll see you on Thursday.”

“See you then,” she says, going back to cleaning her locker.

Chimney only makes it as far as the parking lot before he’s stopped dead in his tracks by a breathtakingly beautiful woman. He’s never been a poetry kind of guy, but he’s pretty sure he could wax poetic about the bright stars in her eyes for several days if pressed. It doesn’t hurt that she’s holding a large Tupperware of baked goods.

“How can I help?” Chim asks, swallowing his gum. There’s nowhere to spit it out and no way to do that in front of a pretty girl that doesn’t look tacky.

“I was actually looking for Evan Buckley,” she says. “I wanted to surprise him. He said he was having a kind of intense shift.”

Chimney feels an instant spike of envy, and then realises who she is.

“You must be Buck’s sister,” he says.

“I am,” she agrees. “Maddie Kendall. Well, Buckley, again, I guess.”

“I’m Chimney,” he says, offering her his hand to shake.

She balances the container of baked goods on one forearm and shakes his hand. “It’s nice to put a face to a name. Buck says you’re one of the best guys at the station.”

Chimney can’t help but smile at that. “That’s funny, I was just saying the same thing about him.”

Maddie laughs and Chimney is struck by the desire to make her laugh always.

He stands there, grinning at her like an idiot, for much longer than he should until Maddie finally says, “So, where would I find him?”

“Oh! Sorry! You just missed him,” Chimney says. “He already left for a brunch date with the probie.”

Maddie’s eyebrows lift, delighted. “A date?”

Chim shrugs. “I’m not sure either of them knows that part, but definitely.”

“How about I put these down somewhere and you tell me absolutely everything,” Maddie suggests, holding up the box of muffins.

“I don’t know if I should,” Chim says, showing her up the stairs to the loft where D shift are working on the coffee maker. “I kinda got in trouble for telling people things about him recently.”

“Mm, big sister’s prerogative,” Maddie says, happily accepting the cup of coffee Chimney offers her.

“Okay, but if he yells at me again, I’m blaming you,” Chimney says. He takes one of the muffins from the now open container and groans. So not only is she gorgeous and the best person ever by Buck’s estimation, she can also cook and she thinks Chimney is funny. “These are amazing.”

“Thank you,” Maddie says. “And I’m sure we can work something out about Buck re blame. So long as you dish.”

Chimney grins. “Deal.”

[atalho-s]

Sweet Sugar

3 | Cruel Summer

pairing: tom holland x reader

warnings: swear words, underage drinking (not much tho, nothing descritive and nothing like “Skins” lmao), suggestive scenes in some chapters, not smut!! but minors be aware. Fluff/angst/drama/ Y/n and Tom being stupid teenagers with feelings.

words: 1.6

a/n: english it's not my first language, Sorry for any mistakes! If you want to be tag on the next chapters, please let me know

Summary: Y/n, Harrison and Tom has always been best friends. Since childhood they’ve always been close, but what happens if after a break up with her first boyfriend, she starts to feel something more about Tom?

PART 3! If you want to read the other parts click here

Don’t forget to check out the playlist by @petesrparker​ created for the series! here

❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁

After a few minutes of crying I felt someone approaching and sitting beside me. I looked up, wiping my eyes, and saw a worried-looking Haz in front of me.

- What happened? Are you okay? I noticed you were missing from the dance floor. - he asked and wrapped one of his arms around me hugging me sideways.

- I’m okay Haz, I think I just got sick, that's all, it must have been the drink.

- Y/n... as you said: I know you from other life, and you didn't even drink much, now tell me, why are you crying? - I hated when he insisted like that, but it was fair, after all he was my brother at heart.

- Haz... I don't want to talk about it, it's so immature I don't even know how to explain it to you, I think it was just something of the moment.

- Did some idiot hurt you? Because I can go back there and...

- No! Nobody did any harm, it's okay... - I said, wiping some tears that insisted on falling.

- Y/n please tell me, I swear I won't tell anyone. You're not one to cry like that...

- I saw Tom kissing Meghan and I felt bad, ok? - I interrupted him, looking at the ground with shame that I had admitted that out loud.

Haz was silent for an infinite number of minutes, processing what I had just said, until he touched my shoulder, I looked at him and I could see the confusion in his eyes.

- Since when do you like Tom that way?

- I don't know the exact date, I just... I started to feel different about him a while after I broke up with Steven... But I think it's just something temporary, you know? Maybe because he is my best friend and treats me well, I ended up having a crush on him, I think that was it, but it will pass, I just need to distract myself with something else...

- Y/n are you sure it's something temporary? Well, I'm your best friend too and you never felt that way about me.

- Yeah, but I always saw you as my brother and Tom as my best friend... I can't explain it, I just know it's different, it always has been, but I'm sure this stronger feeling must be temporary, I just need some time.

- Darling... I'm so sorry. How about we go home? We can watch tv shows and forget about it.

- Are you sure Haz? You were talking to Gracie, I don't want to take you out of the party like that, especially from the side of your other half who I know one day you two will get married, live in a cabin in the woods, have several children and I'll be godmother to them. - I said and Haz laughed and I followed. Laughing after crying is one of the best feelings.

- Damn, you created a whole fanfic. - He said and now I wiped the tears of laughter. - But seriously, we can go, it's already midnight. - He said looking at the watch on his wrist - I'm just going to tell Gracie, so she doesn't think I forget about her and say that you're not feeling well and want to go home, how about that?

- Okay... but only because I'm feeling like crap. - I said pouting and he kissed my head hugging me tight.- I'll be right back, madam.

Haz then got up and went back inside and I took the opportunity to text my mother saying I would be at the Osterfields' house and she sent me an ok.

It took a few minutes and he came back waving for me to join him. I got up, going after him in the parking lot, as he didn’t drink, because he came with his car. We walked in, turning on the radio, and we heard Taylor Swift's Cruel Summer start to play, how ironic.

- Did Tom say something about us leaving? - I asked looking at him.

- No, actually he was busy... but I told Tuwaine and Gracie. - Haz said stopping at the red light.

-Hmm- I sighed trying not to imagine what Tom could be "busy" with. - And Gracie wasn't upset?

- No, I said it was an emergency and she understood. - He smiled in my direction squeezing my hand and I smiled.

- Thank you Haz, I don't know what it would be without you.

- I know, I'm awesome. - He spoke blinking.

- Oh god, I can't even try to say something nice for once. - I said rolling my eyes - But you're really awesome. - and he blew me a kiss in the air and I gave him a laugh shaking my head.

We arrived at Haz's house and Jenna welcomed me with open arms as usual.

We went to Haz's room and I helped him pull up and make the bed besides his own and he gave me a pair of pajamas that I could wear. I went into the bathroom and took off my defeat-smudged makeup and came back lying next to Haz on the top bed as we turned on the tv to a random show that was on. But, of course, we don't pay any attention, because we are talking the whole time.

-... So, Gracie said she liked my eyes a lot, and I didn't know what to do. - He said while we discussed the events of the night, ignoring Tom and company.

- Aww Hazzy, what a cute little cliché. - I said making a melted face. - And you didn't say anything?

- I just said thank you and I said hers were beautiful too, but I got nervous, that's when I realized you were gone and I went after you.

- Wow, I can't believe I ruined this perfect moment.

- Nah, don't even worry, I have all the time in the world, in fact she's from my class, so we still have a lot of opportunity to talk. - he said and I nodded yawning.

- Let's go to sleep? It's almost 3 in the morning. - He said turning off the TV and I gave a thumbs up scratching my eyes.

I jumped down to the bottom bed and covered myself, turning to the other side.

- Haz?

- Yeah?

- If you tell Thomas anything I'll kill you and desert you. - I said listening to him laugh and fell asleep right away.

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

The other day I woke up and looked to the side, seeing that Haz was still sleeping. I picked up my cell phone, stretching, and saw that it was almost noon. I got up quietly making sure that I was not making too much noise, went into the bathroom and put on my clothes from the night before. I needed to go home to take a shower and take the rest of that weird night.

I sat next to Haz nudging him until he blinked awake.

- Haz, I'm going, thanks for everything. - I said while he was returning to planet earth little by little.

- Already? Don't you want to have lunch first? - He said sitting on the bed.

- Thanks, but I need to go home, I have some work to finish too, see you tomorrow at school?

- Okay, but if you need anything call me. - He said and I agreed hugging him going towards the door.

- And promise you'll keep your mouth shut?

- I swear, cross my heart. -He said zipping his mouth and I pointed my index finger at him intimidating him.

I went downstairs and thanked Jenna, greeting Charlotte who had already woken up. I said goodbye to them and went out into the sun on a Sunday that I was miraculously doing in London. I walked home, went in, had lunch and went straight to my room, I wanted to stay in alone with my feelings. Was my period coming up? It's not possible that I'm feeling so bad.

I took a shower, changed into comfortable clothes and fell into bed, putting on some sad music to play, closed my eyes, trying to concentrate on the sadness.

A few minutes later I felt my cell phone vibrate with a message coming through.

I unlocked the screen and saw "Tommy 🤓 send you a message" written. I took a deep breath and opened it to look at what he had sent.

Tommy 🤓 says "Hi stranger! Why did you and Haz disappear yesterday? 😭"

Tommy 🤓 says "Tuwaine told me you weren't okay, I tried calling you guys and nothing..."

Tommy 🤓 says "Is everything alright?"

I rolled my eyes reading the messages and at the same time not wanting to respond, but started typing.

Y/N 🌻 says "Everything it’s okay, don’ worry 😊 I think some drink went wrong and I felt a little sick, but nothing to worry about, rlx"

Y/N 🌻 says "The party was great! Too bad I couldn't stay longer..."

I think I was a good liar.

Tommy 🤓 says "Damn it, but I'm glad you're ok, the party was really great! I've already posted the photos on insta. There some really weird ones... 😂"

Y/N 🌻 says "I can imagine 😂"

Tommy 🤓 says "I have a really strong hangover right now, I'm going back to sleep, want to come over later? I want to tell you some things that happened 👀"

Sure Tom, I'm going to your house so you can tell me everything about your wonderful night with Meghan, sure.

Y/N 🌻 says I'd like to, but my stomach's still kind of bad from yesterday 😭 so I'll just stay here, see you tomorrow?"

I told him to avoid him to come at my house.

Tommy 🤓 says "Okay 🥺, take care! See you tomorrow shortie!"

He said and I sent a "😘" blocking the screen. I lay on my stomach and buried my head on the pillow wanting to scream. Tom seemed happy and excited to tell me the "things" from last night, why couldn't I be happy for him? Damn feelings!

I think what I had to do was sleep, eat chocolate, put on a really cliche romantic comedy movie, wait to see if my period would come down (why was I being so dramatic? It could only be that) and pray that monday I would be better.

❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁

[iron--spider]

I woke up at 3am yesterday to watch The Devil All the Time and I’ve been thinking about it since. I’m gonna put my thoughts and feelings and a review of sorts behind the cut, because I am gonna talk about it freely, so there will be spoilers! So don’t click if you don’t wanna see. I’ll also be discussing the content of the film and I know that might bother people, so that stuff is in here, too! And it’ll be really long because you know I can’t shut up.

So, I loved it. I loved it loved it loved it. I read the book a long time ago when I first found out Tom was gonna be in it, and the only problem I had with the book was that the POVs would change in the middle of a paragraph lmao, but other than that I thought it was pretty perfect. I knew the movie was gonna be pretty brutal, because the book is brutal, so I was prepared.

-BUT I think the critics HIGHLY HIGHLY exaggerated how bad the content was. Like, seriously, they acted as if this was gonna be a Saw movie. I was preparing for blatant, horrific gore, but it didn’t live up to their dramatics at all. There’s blood and nasty situations, but every single episode of Game of Thrones is worse than this movie, as are most episodes of any crime drama on a paid network. I actually thought they were super, super tactful of all their horrific shit. The dog death was off screen and the shot of the body (described by the critics as literally traumatic) was so quick (enough to shut your eyes) and in the dark. I also argue that particular moment is extremely important for Arvin’s journey, because it’s the moment he truly turns on his father and turns on religion entirely, and he carries it with him his whole life (it’s what he flashes back to when he says “I know what my daddy did” because it’s the marker of all Willard’s mistakes) and it winds up being one of the last things he does before he leaves everything behind. Burying Jack’s bones. So, like, I despise dog death or any animal death in my entertainment, but it’s important here and handled well. And all the worst death scenes are either extremely fast (Helen’s and Gary Matthew’s) or shown in negative (all the photos). I think Bodecker’s headshot with Bobo is probably the worst and is also pretty quick. I don’t know if this means I’m a jaded bitch, but God the way they were all whining and crying, I thought it’d be a million times worse. It could have been, with the book’s descriptions, so it was actually pretty tame. Lenora’s death affected me the most and they cut away from that, too. I guess it’ll still bother some people, but there are many, many mainstream things that are far more violent and gory than this was.

-I thought it was a beautiful movie. I never mind films that are slightly slower but I love ones that use their time to lay things out and really show us what’s going on, build the ambiance and the relationships. I loved the narration (which I was worried about), and it really made me feel like we were visiting a moment in time that was important. Like something that was written and should be learned about. Rumors in a town you’re passing through. The ghosts of past trauma and transgressions looming over everyone that’s left.

-I liked the changes they made with Roy and Theodore because I thought that storyline kinda meandered in the book and I’m glad that Roy was actually gone the whole time and not just neglecting to come back to Lenora.

-The only real complaints I can make, I’ll get out of the way here: I wanted a little bit more time with Carl and Sandy. Carl was really creepy, but he could have been much creepier. In the book he was the one looking at the pictures constantly, Not Sandy, and that really showed that he was the one with the sickness, the one pushing them forward and orchestrating it all. I thought they did well with showing how Sandy deteriorated in her efforts with him through the years, but I would have liked to see a bit more of their personal lives together and her fear of him and her genuine feelings about what they’re doing, because the book goes into that a lot more. I also wasn’t a fan of Lee finding the picture early and knowing some about what they were doing, because I liked how it was a surprise to him in the book and yet he still did all he could to cover it up. And lastly, in the book there’s a scene with Arvin after he kills Sandy and Carl where he’s in a motel and he takes like 18 showers because he can’t get the grime of what he’s done off of him, and he looks at the picture and has a nightmare about killing Sandy, and I really would have loved if they’d kept it in. It would have been another ‘acting’ moment for Tom, and it would have been nice for us to see his direct trauma and reaction to everything that’s piling on top of him.

-BUT that’s it. I loved pretty much every single other thing and decision that they made. The cinematography was TOP NOTCH. You could tell they filmed on 35mm film, you could see the grain, and it really, really added to it. Antonio Campos is a very skilled director and I trusted him at the helm of this story. Everything looked so authentic, all the sets and the costumes. The soundtrack and score were AMAZING and enhanced the film. Technically it was just perfect in every regard to me.

-Acting! Acting! God this was like...a massive testament to the casting department and the talent of these people. Everyone was on their A game. Bill Skarsgård has been on my radar since Castle Rock (which I recommend to everybody, both seasons) and he was so natural and great in this role. Haley Bennet was absolutely adorable as Charlotte, I loved her cute face and her sweet relationship with little Arvin. Riley Keough was so great as Sandy with the limited amount of time she had, and Jason Clarke is one of my favorites but he was unrecognizable in this as creepy ass Carl. Harry Melling was a far cry from Dudley Dursley and he did a great job with his screen time, too. Same with Mia Wasikowska, who didn’t have much to do (same as poor Helen in the book) but she was able to garner our sympathy anyway. Seb Stan was slimy and gross but he pulled it off so well. Eliza Scanlen has been one of my favorites since Sharp Objects (another one that’s brutal as hell but I recommend it, she’s so scary) and she was so, so great here. Robert Pattinson was ALRIGHT, everybody talks him up over this but he felt a little hammy to me and a little too over the top, but there’s no denying his talent.

-Now, the reason we’re all here. Tom. My God. As soon as it was over I just didn’t know what the hell to do, I didn’t even know how to....go on, lmfao. We all know he’s talented, that’s why we’re here, that’s why we love him, but his performance in this is just BEYOND all that. Beyond comprehension. The man is only 24 years old and he’s out here outacting people who have been in the industry for longer than he’s been alive. He is SHOCKINGLY good. I knew he’d be perfect for Arvin as soon as I read the book, but he just completely embodied this role in a way that I couldn’t have imagined. He doesn’t show up in the movie until about 45 minutes in (which doesn’t hurt it because of the strength of the leadup, Bill’s performance and the performance of little Arvin’s actor) but God, as soon as he’s there the whole thing comes to life in a way that it hadn’t before. Tom is literally just a shining light, and he draws your eye in every single scene he’s in, and when he’s not there you’re wondering when he’s gonna come back. Arvin, to me, is a very complex character—he has been inherently changed by how his father twisted religion in his childhood, how deeply he betrayed him by his behavior, but he still has a kind heart and a protective streak and the need to be strong despite the pain nearly breaking him apart from moment to moment. Tom is just outrageously good at portraying all Arvin’s little nuances, how he clenches his jaw, how his voice breaks when he’s afraid or trying to convince someone of something or get his point across, how his hands tremble after he’s done something he wishes he didn’t have to do, how his whole body wilts when he realizes he’s emulating his father. And his eyes. Tom can do so, so much with his eyes that it’s unbelievable. He tells you so much with just a simple look, a glance, a wince, a long blink. I’m not exaggerating when I say he’s just an absolute revelation in this, he cements his place in Hollywood with a firm hand and a tender look, and I will not be forgetting what he did here anytime soon. There’s a reason that everyone called him out for being so stunning in this. He is magnificent. He has a gift.

-I wanna say, in particular, how much I love Arvin’s relationship with Lenora. Their lives were both marked by such tragedy and pain and Arvin just took up the torch of protecting her from the moment he said hello as a child. He wants so badly to be tough, and he IS, but there’s just miles and miles of love in this boy’s heart, and it manifests itself for his family—for his uncle, for his grandma, but for Lenora in particular. I loved how he just showed up when she was being harassed and just ran in there without thinking, and it’s purely devastating that he was out taking care of her bullies while a worse predator was cornering her. The scene where she was sick wasn’t in the book but it was a beautiful addition. Tom sometimes wears this very open, unguarded, honest expression, and this is the only scene in which he shows it, and it really expresses the love between them and how much she means to him. Arvin didn’t find Lenora’s body in the book, but it was the right change for them to make. Tom was devastating here, and that pain and that moment truly fuel every second of his journey through the rest of the film. “My Lenora”. The saddest siblings. Both Eliza and Tom did so beautifully with this relationship and I hope they work together again.

-Favorite acting moments for Tom: when he’s in the car in the rain after beating up the bullies, when he’s in the church crowd and realizes Preston is insulting his Grandma (the way his face changes oh my GOD), when he finds Lenora, when the cop comes to tell him Lenora was pregnant (this is just....so damn good), when he was telling his uncle to look after his Grandma, THE ENTIRE CHURCH CONFRONTATION (the way he trembles when he’s trying to get his attention, how he speaks the whole time, how he slowly gathers his strength), when he thinks Sandy has shot him, the moment where he’s over Lee’s body and just....pleading with his eyes for him to listen and realize what he’s done. And the last scene, in the car, all the emphasis on his face....once again, he can do so, so much with a look, with his eyes. Someone called out the beautiful last shot in the film, and of course, it’s Arvin’s sleeping face. And it was so beautiful (and devastating, to think of him enlisting. Tom draws so much sympathy that you just want Arvin to have a normal life so badly. He deserves it, he does, but will he get it?)

-Last thing I’ll say, I really loved how, despite turning his back on religion, that God seems to be protecting Arvin the whole time. He’s terribly afraid confronting the preacher and that could have easily gone badly, especially when he tosses the book, but Arvin was somehow able to get a shot off and get the upper hand. And with Carl and Sandy, he senses something is off immediately once they pull off the road, and he would have absolutely been killed had Carl not switched out Sandy’s bullets for blanks. And in the confrontation with Lee, he once again shoots at the same time as him, shoots without looking, and manages to come out unscathed and on top. A few spoiler reviews pointed out that the last person that picks Arvin up is supposed to be a Jesus-like figure, almost like he’s finally been saved. It hurts that everyone around him that he loved is almost forsaken by God, but he himself is protected. It’s such a complicated commentary on religion throughout the entire piece, but it’s so interesting and engrossing.

So I’d recommend this movie to anyone that loves movies, loves Tom, can deal with a gritty story that takes its time laying out all the chess pieces. It is definitely heavy subject matter but it doesn’t go overboard with the horror as it easily could have. Yes, there are triggers to look for, but the critics hugely over exaggerated how awful it was. I can probably go get time stamps for certain things if people wanna ask me after reading this, but if you can get through a Tarantino film or any HBO drama, you can do this. And Tom’s performance is one for the ages and not one that deserves to be passed over or downplayed. It is beautiful and heart-wrenching—a magnificent turn that displays his monumental ability to reach out and guide you into any world he decides to make his own.

I loved The Devil All the Time.

[angrylizardjacket]

dirtbags // 3: Charlotte

Summary: High school AU, 1985, Winter. The year’s off to a strange start as Charlotte and her friends find out that not only does Lola work at the new diner that opened up in town, but her dad owns it! Charlotte humbles Nikki in a very un-Charlotte manor, and Vince’s parents decide to host an English exchange student in an attempt to give him a good role model; instead, they get Razzle.

A/N: 8466 words. Do I care too much about this AU? Yes. as always, for my dears @misscharlottelee and @newyeareva ft. a softer world quotes

the city sometimes feels like a movie set. maybe this is the big scene. maybe i can be an extra at least.

Charlotte’s only a few practice hours away from being able to get her provisional license, and she berates her past self for not getting it sooner, especially not when her Winter Break has been kind of a shit-show and she’d rather tear off her own arms than ride in Tommy’s shitbox of a car with Vince Neil. 

Since his blowout house party, Vince had essentially been grounded for the rest of the school year, had his car privileges revoked, and the only people his parents apparently trusted him to hang around with outside of school, were Tommy, Charlotte, Eileen, and Peach. Tommy was delighted. The girls, unsurprisingly, were not. Vince himself was downright somber, and had sulked for the remainder of the semester, and well into the break.

He had been in a particularly sour mood since last night, New Year’s Eve, when his parents had announced they were going to be hosting an exchange student from England for six months. Vince is convinced it’s an attempt to give him some sort of role model his own age, and spent most of his parents’ New Year’s Eve party ranting to Tommy and the girls while they played cards in his basement.

Her saving grace is Eileen, of course, who’s father had bought her mother a shiny, new car for Christmas, and had given Eileen the keys to her mother’s old station wagon. 

“It’s kinda dumb that we’re taking two cars,” Peach, Eileen’s little sister, pipes up from the back seat, hands fiddling in her lap. It’s New Year’s Day, and while their various parents were sleeping off their hangovers, they’d suggested the kids check out the new diner that was opening today. Vince jumped at the suggestion of freedom, and everyone was in agreement, but Eileen and Charlotte took Peach in Eileen’s car the moment Vince slid into Tommy’s front seat, holding the flyer he’d gotten at the mall that told them all about the diner’s opening day, “just saying, we could all fit in one.” But she’s met with silence, “are you going to be mad at him forever?” She finally sighs.

“Yes.” Both Charlotte and Eileen answer automatically. Peach sighs as dramatically as she’s able, and sinks as low into the seat as she can. Charlotte turns on the radio, and hums along to something familiar, but that she doesn’t quite recognize, staring out the front window at the back of Tommy’s car. Vince turns around in the front seat and flips them off.

“I’m gonna ram them,” Eileen says, with absolute sincerity and serenity, leveling an intense glare at where Vince was now waving.

“Don’t,” Charlotte advises, equally level.

“I don’t get why you’re still mad, I’m not even mad,” Peach huffed, pouting. Charlotte and Eileen share a look; at sixteen years old, Peach was top of almost all of her math and science classes, but she was still a teenage girl, and an absolute fool for a blonde boy who made her cry. Charlotte knew that feeling all too well, but thankfully she’d moved on from the ‘wondering why she wasn’t enough’ stage to the ‘realizing her ex is a cheating douchebag and it was never her fault’ stage. She really hopes Peach can move on to ‘realizing Vince made her cry and hasn’t even tried to change since then and deserved to get his car keyed’ stage quickly.

The diner was bustling when they arrived, a large decal on the inside of window, black, thick and flowing lettering, outlined in gold, reading Leo’s. Through the window, several booths were already filled, as were a host of the stools along the counter. It looked warm inside, inviting in golds, yellows, peaches and oranges, neon signs and rusted street signs, band and comic book memorabilia, and photos. Behind the counter -

Lola. Smiling.

“I’m freezing my butt off, can we go in?” Peach asks, hands shoved deep in the pockets of her parker, the only person who did not recognize the girl currently pouring coffee for an elderly gentleman at the counter. 

Inside, the diner is warm, filled with the sounds pleasant chatter, and of the Beatles coming from a cherry wood jukebox in the corner.

“Lola!” Tommy can’t help himself, lighting up at the sight of her, and once Lola finishes pouring her customer coffee, she looks to their confused little group, and waves.

“Find yourselves a seat, I’ll be with you in a moment,” she calls back, smiling bright and wide, hair tied back with a bright, red bandana. 

The teens do as they’re told, pulling off jackets and gloves and scarves, sliding into a booth by the window, looking around, wrapped up in the smell of warm food, and the confusion of Lola’s presence, and completely unfamiliar demeanor. There’s an uncertain kind of quiet among them, having just expected to spend lunch at a cool new diner, but this has shift everything, only Peach, blissfully unaware of who Lola even was, seemed at ease, rearranging the sugar packets in their little holder.

Lola comes by with menus, and cups, and a pitcher of water for the table, looking pristine and put together in a tight, black blouse, skirt, and scuffed black combat boots, little peach-coloured apron tied around her waist. She pulls a notebook and pen from the pocket of the apron, looking around at them all, as if finally taking a moment to assess the situation.

Charlotte picked up a menu.

“You work here?” Tommy asked, and Lola confirms brightly, but doesn’t give any further details. She does, however, thank them all for coming, and recommend a few of her favourites.

“I’m also partial to The Lola, for obvious reasons,” she gives an actual laugh at that, as if implying one of the burgers was named after her was giving away too much information, and Charlotte was quickly scouring the menu.

Beef patty, double bacon, American cheese, lettuce, tomato, and a home-made smokey maple-barbeque sauce, on a toasted bun.

“The menu’s kind of misleading,” Lola admits, moving to look down over Charlotte’s shoulder as she was reading, “all the patties are home made too, with Leo’s signature blend of herbs and spices.” That asked more questions than it answered. No-one’s quite sure what to say.

“Can I get a milkshake?” Peach pipes up, and Lola’s smile grew wide as she asked what flavour, “chocolate, please, and do you have curly fries or regular?”

“Hand cut,” Lola tells her proudly, but that means very little to Peach, who’s just glad to be having food, “still need time to think?” Lola asks the rest, and they all give her awkward, quiet smiles and nods. 

Lola leaves, heading back to the counter, and the moment she’s gone, the whole table explodes with whispered confusion, leaning in, asking questions and not getting any answers. 

“You guys are being super fucking weird,” Peach hisses loudly at them all, while Charlotte and Tommy argue about how the other should have known. Eileen, quietly delighted by the chaos, demands to know if anyone else thinks Lola might secretly have a twin, and Vince, who’s had the least contact with her aside from Peach, is babbling about how it’s weird to see Lola so chipper; their mutual confusion is enough to set aside Eileen and Charlotte’s hatred of him, at least for the moment. 

When Peach demands they explain what they’re all whisper-shouting about, disturbing the booth behind her, they all quiet down, and Tommy and Eileen take it in turns explaining their full understanding of Lola. Charlotte takes the time to actually look around the diner now that she was inside.

There’s two other waitress, one behind the counter, the other always moving on about the various tables and booths on one side, making sure the customers are happy and food and drinks are delivered, both in the same outfit as Lola, though with varying footwear. 

The view to the kitchen is unobstructed behind the counter, a half wall where meals ready to be delivered were sat, but a clear view to where three people in the kitchen, two by the grills and fryers, turned away; a broad-shouldered man towering over the grill with the longest hair Charlotte’s ever seen braided neatly down his back, and a comparatively shorter man, also with far shorter hair, though enough to be pulled up into a messy pony tail. The shorter man’s working the fryer, and putting together burgers as the taller man cooked up their various ingredients. There was also a strangely familiar kid with a mop of dark, curly hair washing dishes on the other side of the kitchen, barely visible.

Lola worked diligently, smiling and chatting away; she collected dishes, and ferried meals, and handed out slices of desert from the cute, multi-tiered desserts display on the counter. When she came back, milkshake in one hand, basket of fries in the other, Peach is fully caught up on each of her friend’s short but confusing histories with her, and blurts out -

“You’re Lola?” Injecting new meaning into the words, into the name, as if anyone else at their entire school had the same name. Lola’s smile goes a little tight as she places the fries and the milkshake before the redhead. Standing back up, she taps her nametag, which reads Lola, with little flowers drawn around it, and confirms, though it’s clear she’s more on edge than she was before.

“You guys ready to order?” She asks, still trying to keep up her chipper attitude, pulling out her notebook again. Everyone’s quieter this time, looking over the menu and finally deciding on food.

“My mom heard the owner was a chef, is that true?” Tommy asks, looking up from the menu to Lola again, and the tense set of her shoulders loosens considerably at the question.

“Leo is a chef,” Lola nodded, grinning broadly, “trained at the Culinary Institute of America back in the sixties, and worked his way up to being the head chef of Parker House in Boston, which I know probably doesn’t mean much to you guys, but it’s,” Lola laughs a little struggling to describe it, “it’s fine dining at it’s finest, but for the past twelve years, he’s been running Leo’s in Salem, and now he’s here, still using all that fine dining training for the anyone who wants a good meal at a good price.”

“Is that something they have you memorize in training?” Vince says, a little awed, and Lola gives a strange little smile.

“Leo’s my dad.”

Everything kind of fell into place after that, finally making sense, and the gang’s confusion quickly shifted to understanding, and the air around the table seemed to clear. It was easier after that, the teens in the booth ordering quickly, and the chatter picked up to a normal level as she moved away, shouting their order back to the kitchen once she was back at the counter.

She doesn’t spend much time at their table, still in charge of waitressing half of the tables and booths, but she always gives them a nod as she passes, and their meals are being delivered efficiently, so there’s no reason to complain.

The food itself, for diner food, is nothing short of spectacular, which kind of just raises more questions - why if Leo can cook food that tastes this good, and with all the experience he evidentially has, would he open a diner in suburban LA, and not a high-end restaurant? But it feels kind of intrusive to ask, so Charlotte simply enjoys her food, and her friends’ company.

Up until Vince starts complaining about the exchange student again.

“His name’s Nicholas, he shows up in a week, and mom’s making me clear out the basement so he can sleep there,” he’s despondently poking his milkshake with one of his fries, head propped up on one hand, “I’ve been asking for years if I could move into the basement, and this fucking Nicholas just gets it?” His whole expression scrunches up at the thought, and he angrily eats his fry.

“Wait, so the issue isn’t that you have to clean up the basement, it’s that he gets to use it as a bedroom and you don’t?” Charlotte frowned, lowering her own burger, “why would you even want to sleep in the basement?”

“Privacy!” Vince throws his hands in the air, eyes wide, “Tammi keeps complaining about getting cramps in the back of my car, but my bedroom walls are paper thin,” he huffs, “I need my own space.”

“Tammi?” Peach asks, her voice high and almost painfully chipper, “Tammi Frisk? She scored the winning goal in the softball final, right?” She’s not looking at Vince, when Charlotte looks over to her, she’s looking at her plate of fries, pushing the few left around without eating any, smiling in a way that’s clearly forced.

“You were at the softball final?” Tommy asked, frowning slightly. Peach did not look up.

“For the school paper,” she explained, voice still strange.

“You’re still with Tammi Frisk?” Eileen asks, making sure the disgust is clear in her voice as she draws the table’s attention away from the clearly uncomfortable Peach. Charlotte’s lip curled; she wanted to make sure her expression was as judgmental as possible when Vince turned back to her. 

It’s not that she cared about who he was dating, she was mostly apathetic to Tammi, and knew little more about her than the fact that she was on the softball team, but Charlotte knew Vince had been dating Tammi when he’d decided to crush Peach’s heart publicly at the start of the last semester.

Neither Peach nor Eileen had told any of them exactly how, but apparently Eileen’s hatred was well warranted, both against Vince, and according to Eileen, Tammi too.

Vince, immediately sensing Eileen’s shift in tone, and seeing the look on her face, frowns.

“Kind of,” he responds flatly, and his gaze flicks to Peach, “not really,” he backtracks, and his indignation at the whole situation seems to fizzle out with a sigh, and he slouches, going back to paying attention to his burger, “she’s sort of hanging out with one of the second-string football guys, but they’re not... and we’re not really...” he trails off, despondent once more.

At least Vince seemed to be self-aware of the fact that he was an asshole to Peach, at least he had the decency to feel bad about it. Why he kept inviting Peach to hang out, despite the fact that he knew Eileen, who hated his guts, would come along too - invited or not - baffled Charlotte. 

Tommy was his friend, and a guy, Charlotte was a cheerleader and technically popular, and so was usually begrudgingly invited too, but Peach, sweet Peach, recent Science Fair Winner, junior reporter for the school paper, treasurer for the AV Club, by all accounts ‘a nerd’ when judged by her interests, was still on the guest list of Vince Neil’s life, even if he wouldn’t admit that out loud. 

It kind of made Charlotte want to punch him in the face.

But that’s not news.

“I hope the English exchange student is a decent influence on you,” Charlotte tells him. Vince scowls.

“You sound like my parents.”

you make me want to pretend to be a better man.

Now that school has started back up, Vince has thankfully had his car privileges returned, and Charlotte can return to not glowering in the back seat of Tommy’s car when he picks her up on the way to school, and drops her home on the days they both have practice. 

But it’s Wednesday, first week back, and he’s uncharacteristically quiet. Usually he’s babbling about practice, or cheerleaders he thinks are pretty, or Lola, but today, he meets Charlotte in the carpark, leaning against the trunk of his car, hands in his pockets, quiet. It’s decidedly unnerving.

“What’s wrong, Tom?” Charlotte asks, yanking the passenger door open once he unlocks it, sliding into the seat and putting her bag by her feet.

“Nothing,” Tommy voice betrays the lie, the thoughts so clearly on his mind that he was trying to avoid talking about. Charlotte won’t push him, if he wanted to tell her, he would, and he usually does, “put on some music, will you?” And Charlotte obligingly opens the glove compartment in front of her to look through the collection of 8track tapes he keeps in there, several of which had been Christmas gifts from Charlotte herself.

Feet on the dashboard, Charlotte’s more than content listening to Bon Jovi, bopping her head to the beat, when Tommy finally finds the words for his thoughts.

“Lola and Nikki Sixx are friends.” 

Up until now, Charlotte was under the impression that Tommy, like her, thought Nikki and Lola would be great as friends, Tommy’s current tone implies otherwise. 

“Is that not good?” Charlotte’s careful about her words, still not sure where Tommy’s hesitation was coming from.

“No, they make sense,” he’s quick to try and backtrack, words spilling from him almost too fast, “they make sense as friends.” He deliberates, before asking, “Charlie, you’re not friends with Nikki Sixx are you?” And it sounds like he already knows the answer. Charlotte hesitates.

“He keeps bothering me during my free periods, I wouldn’t exactly call us friends -”

“He called you Charlie,” its deadpan and accusatory in equal measure, and Charlotte shrinks back into her seat as Tommy keeps talking, “he called me ‘Charlie’s cousin’. It was weird.”

“I thought you wanted to be his friend -” she tries, right as they pull up to a red light, and Tommy fixes her with an unamused look, the only expression that makes him seem older than his years.

“Did you tell him I was obsessed with him?”

“No!” Charlotte snaps, automatically defensive.

“Because I’m not -”

“I never said - I told him you were a fan! That’s all! Like Duff was!” Charlotte tries to clear up, and Tommy looks back at the road, though this time he thankfully looks more pensive than angry. Only Bon Jovi cuts through the tense air between them for the rest of the drive back to Charlotte’s house, and when Tommy pulls up outside, he doesn’t say anything to her when she gets out. 

The next day, like clockwork, fifteen minutes into her free period, Nikki Sixx comes climbing over the school’s fence, into the garden Charlotte had been trying to force herself to study in. In all honesty, she’d been waiting for him, picking at her nail polish beneath the table and reading the same sentence in Moby Dick over and over again.

“Miss Lee,” Nikki nods to her, a little gruffer than usual, “you seem more tense than usual; I can help you with that if you want,” but he still manages to smirk his way through an unsubtle come-on, and Charlotte rolls her eyes, not in the mood for their usual banter.

“I’d rather sit on a cactus,” she tells him icily, without even a teasing edge. Nikki’s eyebrows shoot up at the hostility, and he puts the packet of cigarettes that he’d about to offer her on the table, knowing she’d turn them down anyway, “I thought people weren’t meant to know that we know each other.”

“What people do?” Nikki frowned, raising his lighter to the cigarette between his lips, “is this about yesterday? I talked to your cousin, big deal. Everyone knows you two are related, and everyone knows you,” he looks pointedly to the embroidered logo on her cheer uniform, “I wasn’t even looking for him -”

“Dude,” Charlotte felt as though she was about to tear her hair out, “you called me Charlie to him, people don’t just call me that!”

“Plenty of people call you that! That leggy redhead you’re always hanging around calls you Charlie -”

“My friends call me that -” Charlotte snaps, “and I know you know that’s Eileen Austen.” And Nikki’s wearing a dreamy look, like he’s thinking unholy thoughts about Eileen as Charlotte speaks, before snapping out of it as the first of her words register like a bucket of ice water to the face.

“I’ve called you Charlie before. To your face.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” Charlotte tells him dryly, crossing her arms, “it’s less effort if I don’t correct you. We’re so not friends that I don’t even care about correcting you.” Back when this school year started, Charlotte wouldn’t have dreamed saying half the nasty shit she’s thrown at Nikki Sixx, and at some point she may have to confront the idea that being around him has made her meaner, “but did you tell my cousin that I told you he was obsessed with you? Because I never -”

“I said I was glad he was a fan!” Nikki scowled, sitting back and glowering at her across the table, “all I wanted was to ask Lola if she wanted to sit on the roof with the rest of the smokers, and your fuckin’ yappy, dumbass of a cousin -”

Punching someone in the face hurts a lot more than Charlotte had been anticipating, but it’s worth it to see Nikki toppling backwards off of the picnic bench and onto the cold grass. His cigarette lies some few feet away while he lays groaning, clutching his cheek, and Charlotte’s standing, leaning, thighs pressed against the picnic table for support as she’s staring down at him, breathing heavy through her nose while the adrenaline rushes through her system.

“What the fuck, Charlie?”

“Don’t talk shit about Tommy,” her heart’s thundering in her chest, she can feel the blood rushing in her ears, and when she looks at her hand, she sees the skin of one of her knuckles has split enough to draw blood, “he has done fucking nothing to you apart from support you, and think you’re really fucking cool, for whatever dumbass reason, so don’t you dare talk shit about him.”

“Jesus Christ,” Nikki groaned, eyes closed, trying to catch his breath after being winded so thoroughly, hand still cradling his cheek. That’s how Charlotte leaves him, slinging her bag onto her shoulder, and stalking towards the library to finish the rest of her free period in peace.

When Tommy drives Charlotte, Eileen, and Peach home after school that day, he’s quiet once again, but it somehow feels completely different to the oppressively accusatory air of the day before. The three girls were chattering away, trying to plan a trip to the mall for the upcoming weekend, and only when Peach and Eileen were waving goodbye in the rearview mirror did Tommy speak up.

“Did you punch Nikki Sixx in the face?” There’s a smile in her cousin’s voice, and Charlotte’s not quite sure how to react.

“I had good reason to,” she says, carefully guarded.

“He said you guys were friends, and then he thanked me for being coming to the gig a while back; told me he’d asked you to bring me specifically,” Tommy’s tone was oozing pride, and if Charlotte had been looking at him, and not frowning out the window, she would have seen how he was all but preening.

“He told you all that?” Charlotte’s anger at her memory’s of the morning’s altercation was fading fast.

“He hung out with me and Lola by the carpark for lunch,” Tommy paused, snorting a laugh, “didn’t want his buddies to find out a cheerleader gave him a black eye.”

“I - what? No I didn’t...” Charlotte’s eyes went wide, and finally she looked at her cousin’s beaming face.

“You definitely did; Lola laughed at him for a full ten minutes because of it.”

“Serves him right,” Charlotte said, with a begrudging little smile.

Nikki sits with Tommy and Lola on Friday too, which Tommy is delighted to inform Charlotte on Saturday while he’s driving them both to Vince’s, where his parents have invited them over to meet the exchange student. Nicholas.

He arrived on Wednesday, but Vince’s parents have given him the rest of the week to settle in, and had invited around the few friends Vince has that they deem to be a positive influence, if only so he knew a few faces around school. 

Charlotte had been picturing some over-gelled boarding-school boy, used to itchy uniforms and strict rules, and about to get a good deal of culture shock hanging around Vince and the rest of their motley little pack, but when Charlotte brings this speculation up in the car, Tommy’s quick to dismiss it. Vince, from the little Tommy had spoken to him in the past two days, was over the moon, claimed that Nicholas - Vince had called him Razzle - was amazing. If Charlotte felt an quiet sense of foreboding at that sentiment, she felt it was justified.

The first thing either of them hear after being directed down to the basement by Vince’s mother, is Alice Cooper playing almost obnoxiously loud; Charlotte’s not sure why, but it eases something in her chest. 

Nicholas’s - Razzle’s? - room, first and foremost, is possibly the coolest bedroom Charlotte’s ever been in. He’s decked it out with movie and band posters, though most of the band’s she’s never heard of. There’s string-lights above a desk, a bed crammed into one corner with a bright duvet, and even a sofa, and a few beanbags all crowded around a low, wooden table that had mostly been taken up with a record player, which is where they found their friends. 

The name Razzle suited him, Charlotte considered, as she took in the newcomer’s appearance, all spiked up dark hair and ostentatious clothing, animatedly telling a story while Peach and Vince hung onto his every word. He looked almost wild, like collection of half-thought ideas all vying to become a reality through the texture of his clothes, the height of his hair, the hint of amusement that tailed his words, the passion shining in the blue of his eyes when they flicked to look at her and her cousin, standing on the stairs and watching him.

His words grow quiet as he takes them in, as if waiting for something to happen, for someone to introduce them.

“You must be Charlie and Tommy!” His accent, thick and bright, made her nickname sound so familiar on his lips.

“Charlotte,” Vince corrects, giving a surprisingly respectful nod to Charlotte, who tries to shrug nonchalantly.

“Charlie’s fine. You’re,” and Charlotte hesitates for a moment, ignoring Vince’s eyeroll, “Razzle, right?” Razzle’s smile is blinding at her immediate use of the nickname, and he waves them in.

Peach throws Tommy a cushion from the sofa when he asks, and he settles himself on the floor next to Vince, while Peach and Eileen squeeze over to make room for Charlotte on the sofa clearly only made for two people.

“I was just telling these guys ‘bout my band’s very first gig, ‘nd how I had to sneak out just to get there,” Razzle settled back into his own beanbag, hands out and ready to return to his story, eyes still shining with anticipation at the memory, or possibly just glad to have an audience. 

Oh, Charlotte thought, looking at this boy she barely knew, already fighting off a smile in the face of his infectious enthusiasm, maybe Vince was becoming a better judge of character.

“You’re in a band?” Tommy’s eyes light up, and Charlotte gives her cousin a fond smile; Razzle has already won his seal of approval.

we need more good crazy. it'd be nice to watch the news, and think, 'that's fucking insane', but feel a little jealous instead of just alone.

Heather hasn’t been glowering as much at lunch, and the rumour is that it’s because she’s getting laid. Well, it’s less of a rumour to Charlotte, since Heather confirmed as much to the rest of the cheer squad when one of the girls asked her, but she’s being coy and secretive about who she’s with, which is the really weird part; Heather won’t say, and no-one’s coming forward, and lord knows that most guys at their school would jump at the opportunity to claim they’re banging the Vice Captain of the Cheerleading Squad. 

But Charlotte knows not to look a gift horse in the mouth, and instead just smiles back when Heather gives her a sunny smile in the cafeteria.

Tommy is less than thrilled with the news when Charlotte brings it up in the car after school. Nikki’s still sitting with him and Lola during lunch, despite his bruising going down considerably over the weekend, and Tommy is equal parts delighted and uncomfortable, for reasons he can’t seem to put into words. 

“At least Pam’s single,” he says it with as much of a dreamy sigh as he can manage, though it comes out more forlorn than anything else. Charlotte pets his shoulder, and reminds him that so is over half the squad; he perks up a little at that. 

They pull into Mick’s gas station, and Charlotte waves to Mick and Lola, who are sitting on the step by the door sharing a cigarette. Lola waves back.

“Meant to give this to you,” Lola says to Charlotte, still sitting while Mick begrudgingly heads inside. Tommy follows him in, not needing to fill up the tank, but rather just looking to drown his sorrows regarding Heather in a jumbo slurpee. Outside, Charlotte waits with her hands in her pockets, giving Lola an amused smile, watching as the dark haired girl pulls a pin off of the jacket she practically lives in, and hands it over.

It’s a piece of black card stock cut into the shape of a star, barely an inch in diameter, taped to a safety pin. It say Punched Nikki Sixx in silver pen, one of the points of the star already a little bit crumpled. 

“You’re a little bit punk, so you get a pin,” Lola tells her, smiling around her cigarette, looking quietly pleased, and perhaps even a little bit proud; whether of herself or of Charlotte, Charlotte can’t tell, but it still makes her flush.

“I thought Nikki didn’t want anyone knowing that a cheerleader gave him a black eye,” Charlotte mused, looking at the little pin, and Lola’s face scrunched up, expression falling.

“So? Who gives a shit?” She shrugs, looking away tone having shifted to almost forcibly neutral in an instant, “wear the pin or don’t, I don’t care.” Lola stands with a groan, without giving Charlotte a chance to respond, and calls to Mick that she’s heading to the diner. Mick waves, Tommy calls out a farewell, and Charlotte frowns, wondering what just happened.

“I hate that,” Nikki says flatly, the moment he spots the pin where Charlotte’s fixed it to the strap of her backpack. There’s no hard feelings between them after last week’s altercation, thankfully, though they don’t talk about it. If Charlotte’s glad that he still showed up, if she’s realised she may, in fact, enjoy his company, she keeps that information to herself.

“Lola made it for me,” Charlotte tells him. Nikki leans in, squinting at the handmade pin.

“Of course she did,” he sighs, leaning back. Surprisingly, there’s quiet between them for a few, long moments; maybe, Charlotte considers, this will be one of those mornings where Nikki uses their time together to catch up on sleep, and Charlotte can actually use her free period for it’s intended, study-related purpose, but then Nikki sighs like he wants her to ask what’s wrong.

So she does.

“I need a new band.”

“I can’t help you.”

“I know,” Nikki nods with resignation, “I was gonna ask this guy I work with, Slash, he plays guitar, but he’s already in one -”

“Wait, you don’t mean Duff’s friend Saul Hudson, do you?” Charlotte frowned, intrigued despite the stab of anger she felt at the mere mention of her ex. Nikki seemed taken aback by her question.

“You know Duff McKagan?”

“I dated him for a year and a half,” Charlotte finds herself suddenly very interested in drawing connecting triangles in the back of her notebook, not looking at Nikki, who’s quietly processing this information.

“He’s in a band now,” and neither of them seem to be quite sure why he offered that information, but they both let is hang between them for a moment.

“Makes sense,” Charlotte nods, tone flat, “with Saul - Slash?”

“Yeah,” is all Nikki has to say.

“Slash is a good kid, I always liked him,” Charlotte offered, and finally she looks up, “Tommy plays drums.”

“Marching band isn’t exactly -” Nikki begins, but Charlotte’s shaking her head.

“No, like, legit drums,” she enthuses, “his parents fixed up their whole garage to make it sound proof for him,” but she doesn’t want Nikki to think she’s pushing her cousin on him too hard, not after last week, so she sits back, and crosses her arms, trying to play it cool, “I mean, you can ask him yourself, see if he’s any good.” She shrugs, but Nikki looks like he’s already considering it. 

“How many musicians do you know, Charlie?” He finally asks, giving her a faint, amused smile.

“Probably too many,” Charlotte responds with a longsuffering smile, before her mind turns to the things Tommy himself had told her, “I heard you and Lola are getting along; what’d I tell you?” She teased, and much to her surprise, what she could see of Nikki’s face, for his hair, was turning pink.

“She’s a bitch; you know she’s a bitch, right?” He asks, but he’s grinning, all sharp and dangerously amused.

“I knew you guys would get along,” Charlotte gives a pleased little sigh, as if she’d manufactured their whole friendship herself. Nikki rolls his eyes at her, and the bell goes.

Tommy, as it turns out, thinks they’re sleeping together, at least that’s what he tells Charlotte when they’re on their way to Leo’s after school to meet up with Vince, Razzle, Peach, and Eileen. The news of Nikki and Lola’s potential affair surprises Charlotte at first, but after a moment of consideration, she thinks she should have seen it coming. 

Tommy’s reasoning is that they’ve become friends far quicker than he’d realised, and Nikki’s always giving Lola lifts after work, like they’re going in the same direction, even though he’d pretty sure Nikki doesn’t live near Leo’s. It also turns out that that was what had been bothering him about Nikki and Lola being friends; he still tries to insist he doesn’t have a crush on Lola, but he and Charlotte both know that’s mostly a lie.

So Charlotte can see how conflicted he is when he tells her that Nikki’s looking to start a new band, and that he asked about Tommy possibly playing drums. A beat of silence follows, and then, without looking away from the road, Tommy mutters a quiet thanks, knowing without asking that Charlotte had been the one to recommend him. Charlotte leans over and bumps her forehead against his shoulder in unspoken acknowledgment. 

“Duff’s in a band,” Charlotte’s voice is soft and a little unreadable.

“Sorry,” Tommy mutters, tone somber like it’s the worst news in the world, “we could throw rotten tomatoes at him?” He suggested, at the mental picture alone was enough to make Charlotte laugh, “or is that just in the movies?”

“I think that’s just in the movies,” Charlotte says, amid giggles, “besides, the rest of his band doesn’t deserve that.”

In the week that Razzle’s been in LA, Vince and his family have taken him to several, sophisticated restaurants in the vicinity, and Razzle had apparently loved them all; Leo’s was no different. He was sitting across from Charlotte in the booth, at the end of the table, reading the menu intently as the others chattered away about their day, making noises of intrigue every time he spotted something new he wanted to try. His knee knocked hers under the table, but it barely seemed to register, so engrossed in the menu that he muttered the faintest apology.

“Afternoon, guys, welcome,” Lola at work never failed to startle Charlotte, despite the fact that she’d been here once already since the first time. At least her chipper introduction seemed to bring Razzle back to reality. 

“Hi, yes - oh! I know you!” Razzle lit up at the sight of Lola, and the rest of the gathered teens watched with interest, trying not to give away how intrigued they were to see Lola’s reaction, “Miss Honky Cat, you work here?”

What?

“Alright, Razzle, you found me, did you wanna order something?” Lola says, with a good-natured eyeroll, and an easy grin, hip cocked to one side. Razzle asks her what she recommends, and orders that, and then the rest of them, who had been sitting in stunned silence, are quick to order for themselves.

When she leaves, it’s mere moments before Tommy asks what that was all about, and Razzle’s eyes go wide.

“That’s Lola, innit? From school? She’s in my music class, was playing Honky Cat on the piano in the second music room, the Elton song, you know, when we had some free this morning,” he explained, confused, “she called me Rocketman when I picked what she’d been playing, but I told her my name’s Razzle.” 

“You’re an enigma,” ironically, it’s Eileen who says this, wearing a fond little smile, while Razzle just looked bemused.

“I think it’s the accent, chicks fuckin’ love it,” Vince pipes up, smirking, and Razzle tries to hide his own pleased little grin since he can’t very well deny it, “Pam was all over him in Phys Ed yesterday -”

“We were just having a conversation -” Razzle was quickly turning red, while Vince clutched at his arm, putting on a high voice, twirling his blonde hair around one finger as he pretended to be Pam.

“Oh Nicholas, tell me more about The Clash, please, I want to know more!” He ended with a fake moan, which had Eileen and Peach laughing, while Razzle grabbed Charlotte’s hand and exaggeratedly mouthed ‘help me’. 

“Pam’s into Razzle?” Tommy groaned, breaking the moment, falling dejectedly against Vince, who was already leaning pretty heavily on Razzle, who was then ejected from his seat and onto the floor, while Vince was draped over where he was just sitting, and Tommy was draped over Vince, “I’m gonna die alone.”

Despite Tommy’s despair, the rest of the table was greatly amused.

Thankfully for Razzle, it wasn’t a far fall, and he’d held tight to Charlotte’s hand, so at least he hadn’t ended up flat on his back, and Charlotte gave him an apologetic grin as she helped him to his feet. He lets go to dust himself off, and it’s here Charlotte notices his maroon, velvet pants, and black and white leather shoes with their little heel.

“Fancy threads,” Charlotte points out, notes of approval in her voice. Razzle makes a move to straightening a jacket he’s not wearing, and clicks his heels together, drawing the attention of the rest of the table to his shoes, of which they all make various noises of approval, or at least interest.

“I dress to impress,” and judging by his tone, if he were as crass as Vince or Nikki, he would have winked, but Charlotte’s kind of glad he refrained. He then shoves Vince, and by extension Tommy, back up to a sitting position, retaking his seat across from Charlotte, this time purposefully knocking his knee against hers.

Charlotte’s glad that Lola’s back with their drinks, so she can look at something that’s not Razzle’s sunny smile, because she doesn’t want to think about how pretty it makes him look. Stupid, British, band boy and his stupid, blue eyes.

But then she’s looking at Lola, and all she can remember is Tommy’s dejected expression when he told her that Lola and Nikki were possibly sleeping together, and Nikki’s half-hidden, bashful grin when he calls a bitch with a kind of fondness that Charlotte had never heard from him before. The urge to protect her cousin, from harm, from heartbreak, is carved into her bones, but part of her knows it would him hurt more to let him keep falling for Lola when she’d never really end up catching him. Suddenly staring into the depths of her soda became the safest option.

i have loved since you. but when the new paint gets scratched, there you are underneath.

Heather, of all people, is holding a party, and she tries to limit the amount of people she tells - the squad and her friends were the first to be invited - but of course, the guest list spirals out of control, and it’s exactly one and a half days before Tommy’s mooning over the fact that he’s been invited to a party at an actual cheerleader’s house.

“Dude, you’re killing me here,” Charlotte tells him at lunch; she’s finally sitting with him, Lola, and Nikki, though Nikki’s late. Heather had coyly asked her to ask Vince to bring Razzle - the cute English guy, specifically - and Charlotte had picked up her bag and left. Something about Heather in a good mood was worse than when she was being catty.

“You don’t count, you’re my cousin,” Tommy waived her off, and Lola snorted a laugh from where she was laying in the grass, using her backpack as a pillow. “You going?” Tommy pokes Lola in the ribs and she smacks his hand away, but makes an affirmative noise, and throws her arm over her eyes to shield them from the sun.

Something about how that makes Tommy smile, almost pleased, has worry sinking heavy in Charlotte’s gut. 

“Heather asked me to ask Vince to invite Razzle,” Charlotte’s not quite sure why she says it, or why it makes Lola bark a laugh of her own, but at least it get’s Tommy’s mind off of last time he and Lola were at a party.

“Of course -” Tommy sighs, but then, in the very same breath, he lights up like a lightbulb, “wait! If Heather’s preoccupied with Razzle, and Pam’s going, then I -” he turned sharply to Charlotte, eyes wide, “is Pam seeing anyone?” Charlotte gives him an amused, but longsuffering look, shaking her head.

“You gonna put the moves on her?” Lola’s smirking, and Tommy’s steadily turning red, but refusing to be embarrassed.

“It’s now or never, you know? She’s graduating in a few months, will go to college and date some meathead, college footballer, this is my chance,” he enthused, and Charlotte pet his shoulder in solidarity. 

Nikki joins them halfway through lunch, right as Lola and Charlotte find themselves playing angel and devil on Tommy’s shoulders regarding how he should dress for the party. Charlotte’s firmly of the opinion that he should be be wearing bright, eye-catching things - “Come on, you know Pam likes those new-wave guys!” - while Lola was adamantly recommending to go all-out punk. 

“Don’t ask Nikki’s opinion, you know who he’s going to side with,” Charlotte implored, and as if to prove a point, Nikki throws his bag to the side, and lays down with his head pillowed on Lola’s stomach. 

“Because Nikki has taste,” Lola throws her arm above her head, into the grass, neck at an awkward angle as she looks, wide-eyed to Tommy. 

“Thank you,” Nikki grumbles, and immediately closes his eyes, “what are we arguing about?” A pause, then, “and why is Charlie here?”

“Heather asked Charlie to bring Razz to the party next weekend,” Tommy says, the words sounding rote off his tongue, before he gets into the meat of the argument, laying himself back in the grass. Somehow it makes Charlotte feel left out, being the only one left marginally upright, and she slouches a little lower against the fence. 

Tommy explains his conundrum, and much to everyone’s surprise, Nikki refrains from giving his opinion, sighting that he has no clue what Pam would like, and that he’s not taking the fall if Tommy looks like a dickhead and crashes and burns while talking to, arguably, the most popular girl in school.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, asshole,” Tommy groans, without really thinking, and as the realization and subsequent horror took over his expression, Lola barked a laugh, and even Nikki was grinning.

The moment was surprisingly light, Tommy’s face buried in his hands, though he’s now hiding a smile, and Charlotte is surprised at how easy it is to smile and laugh here, these people accepting her presence without another thought. The politics of the cafeteria make it all feel so foreign, but Tommy said ‘Charlie’s sitting here now’ and Nikki and Lola took it in stride.

And later, Eileen will ask her where she was at lunch, will go on to sigh and roll her eyes as she recounts barely sitting through five minutes of the cheerleaders buzzing like cheerful, little hornets, discussing who would be at the party, and how they would coordinate their outfits. She’d spent another five minutes with the swim team, who spent the entire time picking apart her backstroke technique since she ‘finally decided to join them’.

“This is why I don’t sit with them,” Eileen had frowned, sitting in the McDonalds carpark, absentmindedly violating her soda with it’s straw out of frustration, Charlotte, wide-eyed, quietly eats her terrible, oily fries, and lets Eileen vent, “if I have to listen to one more five-am-gym-going-wannabe-sports-scholarship tell me my form is off, I’m going to go full Carrie-At-The-Prom at our next meet,” Eileen warned, and reached over to snatch a fry. Very few people were ever privy to Eileen’s frustration, as the redhead seemed to do a rather good job of bottling it up, but Charlotte personally felt honored that her friend could be so honest around her.

“I was thinking of joining yearbook, maybe? Or the school paper with...” a strange moment of hesitation, “with Peach,” Eileen paused, taking a long moment to think, and take a sip of her drink, eyes glass as she stared out at the highway as cars passed before them, “auditions for the school play are on Friday,” she adds, like she’s seriously considering it, “it’s Singin’ In The Rain, Keanu actually suggested I should audition.” The idea that Keanu and Eileen have talked enough for him to suggest that she audition for a musical and for her to serious consider it is kind of baffling; Charlotte doesn’t process the meaning behind any of this now, however, just files it away in the back of her mind for later.

“Macy moved to Portland over the Summer,” Charlotte feigns seriousness with her suggestion instead, trying not to give away how amused she is, already anticipating Eileen’s response, “we’re holding cheer tryouts to replace her on Tuesday,” Eileen’s expression is already souring, almost comedically disgusted at Charlotte’s implied suggestion, though she lets the blonde finish, “you were the best bottom-right to the pyramid we’ve ever had,” she said, barely stifling giggles as Eileen turns to her.

“I’d rather die,” her lip curled, and Charlotte leaned over the center console of the minivan to press her forehead against Eileen’s shoulder, and Eileen reaches up with her free hand to scratch gently at Charlotte’s scalp, before bursting out with, “and my form’s not even bad! The coach loves me, Charlie, she loves me, they just think they’re better than me, bunch of clique-y, insular, webbed-toe bitches.”

The words hang in the air, a surprising outburst from the usually reserved and thoughtful girl.

“Do they really have webbed toes?” Charlotte asks, turning so her temple still pressed against the soft cashmere of Eileen’s sweater, but she was following the ginger’s gaze out to the highway ahead. Eileen gives a tired, little laugh, as if her outburst had left her exhausted.

“No.”

Charlotte wants more than anything to ask her what’s wrong, but knows better than anyone that Eileen only says exactly what she wants someone else to know. Instead, she offers her fries silently. Eileen takes one.

“Peach and I got into a fight today,” voice barely above a whisper, Eileen follows her words with a sigh, and suddenly her out of character frustration made complete, and utter sense. For all that she’s known both Peach and Eileen, Charlotte has never known their altercations to be quick or painless affairs, “Vince invited her to Heather’s party.”

“He invited her himself?” Charlotte’s not sure what the issue is beyond their general dislike of Vince, but if Vince himself is starting to possibly change, then it’s hard to see the issue. 

“Yeah,” Eileen seems to know what Charlotte’s thinking, and pauses to find the right words, “I don’t trust him, and I don’t know how she can trust him either.” There’s a quality to her voice that Charlotte’s only heard rarely; uncertainty, “and I don’t want her going to Heather’s party, I barely want to go myself, and what if she drinks, and what if she does terrible things she regrets -?” Eileen cuts herself off, squeezing her eyes shut and leaning her head back against the headrest.

“I get it,” Charlotte says, so gentle, so understanding, but Eileen’s still quiet.

“She’s my little sister, Charlie,” Eileen sighed, “and it’s like our parents couldn’t care less, so I have to protect her, and I have to keep her from the guy she thinks is the love of her life, and I have to be the one to always remind her of all the shitty things he’s done and remind her that life isn’t a goddamn fairytale.” She sounds close to tears, soda cup between her knees and hands clutching, white knuckled, at the steering wheel, or else she may have been tearing her hair out. 

There was a shake in her voice, tight and exhausted in equal measure, like the words had sat, unspoken, pressed against her teeth, for far longer than Charlotte had realized she’d been thinking them. Charlotte rests her hand on Eileen’s. 

“She loves you more than anyone else in the world, you know that right? She’s just sixteen, you know all the drama and shit we went through last year -”

“I can’t watch her go through what you went through with Duff,” the words escaped Eileen in a rush, and she clamps her mouth shut, sitting forward in the driver’s seat, lips pressed into a thin line, as Charlotte’s heart sank in her chest, “I’m sorry.”

“No, I know what you mean,” Charlotte sat back in her own seat, nodding dejectedly, fiddling with her bracelet. 

“You... Charlie, you know you’re my best friend, and I love you, and seeing you in pain with no way to help,” Eileen’s hands slid down the sides of the steering wheel as she forced herself to relax, though her words have Charlotte’s heart swelling with fondness, “it fucking killed me,” she admitted, leaning back, letting her shoulders sags with the weight of her words, like the weight of the world, and as she leaned back, she looked to Charlotte, so unguarded, so sincere, “I can’t let Vince break Peach’s heart like that.”

Eileen has always looked and seemed older than her seventeen years, but it’s strange to see her like this, to be reminded that she holds within her this unassuming duality. To protect is her first instinct, herself, her feelings, her friends, her family, but she’s still so young, just a kid; she still deserves to be protected too.

“I’m so tired,” Eileen murmurs, gaze dropping to her hands, now folded in her lap, and she huffs a humorless laugh, “I’m seventeen, Charlie, I’m fucking tired of feeling thirty.”