#i love the sheer amount of people who just see the clothes and the accent and go 'what the fuck do you want?'

[trulycertain]

Reid, swishing in dramatically in fancy coat: Hallo, I’m Doctor Jonathan Reid, and I’m here to solve all you peasants’ problems and only perhaps eat you in your sleep. Why are you looking at me like that?

East Enders, quite understandably: Fack orf.

Reid: *sniff* I say, that’s a tad rude. If this is about class I assure you I’ve worked very hard and I only have one valet, I’m really just like everybody else - 

East Enders: ...Fack orf.

Reid: ...I see. That’s an interesting point of view you have there, my good fellow, perhaps if we just examine it - 

East Enders: ...

Reid: I’ll just turn around then, shall I. Lovely weather we’re having.

[alinastracker]

Infuriating: Part Two (ao3)

Part One was Mal and Alina’s camp love story. Now it’s Zoya and Nikolai’s turn.

For Zoya Nazyalensky, it was hate at first sight when she met Nikolai Lantsov at Kamp Keramzin. But as she learns who the spoiled blond really is through the years, Zoya has to sort out feelings she never expected having. 

Before

Zoya Nazyalensky hated Nikolai Lantsov.

She hated him before she had even known his name. Perhaps hate was a strong word for someone she had only one, brief interaction with. But Zoya had always been more inclined to feel more intensely than most children, and so she found it a perfectly fitting description.

Zoya was bouncing in the back of her aunt’s beat up SUV the entire way to Kamp Keramzin. Up until two weeks ago, she had been preparing to spend another miserable summer with her mother and her alcoholic boyfriend, hoping that her father would visit her in between business trips. Then one afternoon, Aunt Liliyana had stopped in for an unexpected visit. Zoya had hoped she would take her back to the tiny coastal town Liliyana called home, at least until school started up in the fall, but she had come with something even better: a registration pamphlet for Keramzin.

Her mother had scoffed. “You know I can’t afford that shit.”

But you can afford the drugs, Zoya thought but didn’t say. Despite everything, she loved her mother. She wanted to make her proud. But it seemed like nothing Zoya did was ever good enough for Sabina to turn away from the allure of the drugs and the liquor, or worse, the abusive men she brought home.

“I’m paying for it,” Liliyana said. “That is, if you want to go?”

Zoya had absolutely wanted to go.

Though now that she was here, hugging her aunt for dear life, she found herself filled with nerves. She knew Liliyana had scraped together nickels and dimes to send Zoya to camp. Looking around, she could already see, just from the state of their clothes, that the other children here had more than she did. Could she even survive a whole summer away from her family? Maybe she had been naive, hoping to escape.

“My little storm,” Liliyana sighed. “This is going to be so good for you. Free that troubled mind of yours.” She tipped the young girl's chin up, locking eyes with her. “Remember, you are Zoya Nazyalensky, and you are worthy.”

Zoya tried to hold the thought in her mind as she walked past the line of other cars and parents dropping their children off for the summer, her duffle bag of belongings slung over her shoulder. A bored driver waited in a car near the front of the line as a blond woman who reeked of money patted the head of an equally blond boy who looked to be around Zoya’s age. The expression on his face was as sour as spoiled milk.

“It’s not fair,” the boy huffed. “Vasily doesn’t have to—”

“Your brother has his horses, and you will have this.”

“I was fine at home! I wanted to spend the summer on—”

“Yes, on your little gadgets.” The woman sighed. “And how well did that work out last summer? Mrs. Ivanov’s dog needs anxiety medication now.”

“The thing with Feliks was an accident!”

“Regardless, you are here because of your own actions, Nikolai. This is your last chance, or next year it’s boarding school. No more hijinks, do you understand me?”

The boy — Nikolai — pouted, but grumbled out a semi-respectful, “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good, now run along.”

Zoya, realizing she had stopped to listen, picked up her pace as naturally as possible. Mentally, she scoffed. How privileged this boy was, huffing and puffing. Didn’t he know how much her aunt had sacrificed just to send her here? How thankful Zoya was, and she hadn’t even stepped foot in the place yet?

She decided then and there that she would stay far away from the spoiled brat.

So naturally, he was put into her group for orientation. There were six of them in total, and as they went around introducing themselves, Zoya wasn’t sure she liked any of them. One girl, Marie, seemed tolerable enough, she supposed.

“Nikolai Lantsov,” the blond boy said when his turn came. A couple of the others exchanged glances that Zoya couldn’t interpret. If Nikolai was surprised by their reaction, he didn’t show it.

Her turn came, and she tried to remember what her aunt had told her as she said, “Zoya Nazyalensky.”

One of the boys frowned. “Nazyalensky? That’s a mouthful.”

She was half-ready to show him what a mouthful really was when Nikolai said with a casual shrug, “I like it.”

Maybe the boy wouldn’t be so bad after all—

Nikolai had turned to her then, a frown tugging at his lips. “You have something on your shirt, Nazyalensky.”

Zoya looked down at herself and sure enough, there was a stain, likely from one of her grandmother’s meals that were almost always served with a rich sauce. Most of her clothes had some kind of stain or little holes from the sheer number of years she’d owned them.

She was back to hating him.

Their first summer had been more of the same. Nikolai would say something almost nice, only to follow it up with something that made her want to punch him. Zoya ignored him as much as humanly possible, but like any invasive species, he kept popping up.

Regardless of the ever annoying Nikolai Lantsov, Zoya loved every second at Keramzin. She wrote multiple postcards to her aunt with updates, and even a couple to her mother. Despite not being as well off as most of the other kids, Zoya always kept her aunt’s parting message close to her chest.

You are Zoya Nazyalensky, and you are worthy.

And she quickly learned that half of being popular was believing that you should be. She walked through camp with her head held high, and if that made her a little intimidating to the others, so be it. At least when it came to her age group, Zoya found herself holding court. The girls wanted to be her, the boys (and some of the girls, too) wanted to kiss her — all the more so during her second year at Keramzin as she further grew into her looks. She was naturally gifted at most of the camp activities. Everyone wanted her on their team for games like kickball and tug of war. She could swim laps around everyone in the lake. Finally given the opportunity, Zoya simply thrived.

As the years went on, the only one who matched Zoya’s popularity at Keramzin was Nikolai, much to her dismay. But unlike Zoya, Nikolai hadn’t had to work for his level of adoration from the other campers. He wasn’t good at most of the activities, but everyone still wanted him on their team. He didn’t need to be good. Rather, Nikolai capitalized off of his good looks, his money, and his natural charm — though Zoya would dispute him having any of the latter. But she couldn’t deny his money. His father was some big shot in the business world, the Lantsov name apparently rather well known. And, as much as she wanted to deny it, he was attractive. Golden blond hair, hazel eyes that always held a wink of something mischievous. He was annoyingly smart and worldly, though she would never tell him that. She would never tell him most of her deeper feelings regarding him. For him.

Because despite her best effort, Zoya found herself by Nikolai’s side again and again every summer, like clockwork. Despite being well loved, neither of them had really bonded strongly with the campers in their year. It didn’t help that he was the only one who could handle her jabs and withering glares, laughing them off as if she couldn’t possibly mean anything she said. But she definitely meant every word.

Mostly every word.

Instead, they had found themselves entangled with a group that had formed in the year below them. Alina Starkov and Malyen Oretsev, the two most oblivious people to ever live. Genya Safin, so naturally gorgeous and put together that Zoya had let her jealousy convince her she hated the girl at first. But then Genya had shown her how to do her hair in more ways than Zoya's usual ponytail, and helped her make something out of her meager clothing selections, even going as far to stitch up holes in some of her more worn tee shirts. Why she looked at David Kostyk of all people with puppy eyes she would never understand, though Nikolai was rather obsessed with the genius boy, too. Nadia Zhabin, one of the funniest people she had ever met with an incredible amount of wit. Mikhael and Dubrov, two textbook definitions of himbos.

And if the group had looked up to Zoya and Nikolai as their cool older friends, at least for a couple years, they pretended like it didn’t go to their heads.

Zoya tried to explain to the girls why she hated Nikolai during one of the camp’s Sleep Under the Stars nights, ditching her group to pull her sleeping bag over to where Alina, Genya, and Nadia were camped out.

“He’s arrogant, spoiled rotten, and downright infuriating,” she’d said.

Genya had been the one to bravely raise a brow and ask, “Are you sure you don’t just have a crush on him?”

“Absolutely not! I can't stand him.”

Zoya had kept up the same attitude, even as her traitorous hormones had begun to notice the strong line of his jaw, the hard muscles of his back when they were swimming at the lake. He was still an asshole — even if it was mostly accidentally. He was still spoiled. Cocky. Often deserving of a good punch to his pretty face.

Until her fourth year of camp, when everything in Zoya’s life changed.

When Zoya was called to the camp’s main office one day halfway through the summer, she assumed someone had ratted about her sneaking off into Maxim’s cabin last night. He was a year older and quite the kisser. But as soon as she had seen the look on Mr. Botkin’s face, she knew something was terribly wrong.

“Miss Nazyalensky, I’m so sorry to have to share this news with you,” he said in his thick accent, his face softer than she had ever seen it. “Your mother called. There was an accident involving your aunt.”

Zoya barely heard the next words out of his mouth. Drunk driver. It happened fast. Funeral in a couple days. Can’t afford the bus ticket for home and Novokribirsk, so—

She ran out of the office after that, all the way back to her cabin, ignoring other camper’s worried glances and calls for her. Of course, her stingy, selfish mother would only pay for one ticket. Zoya knew the woman expected her to stay at camp and use that one ticket to get home at the end of the summer. But screw that. Zoya would use it to go to her aunt’s funeral, even if she had no way home afterwards.

Zoya was in the middle of stuffing her bag, too frantic to care about folding her clothes or being gentle with fragile items, when the cabin door opened. She barely noticed. Zoya couldn’t stay here another second, the place she had come to love more than her own home, the place she had only been able to attend because her aunt had paid for her stay the past four summers.

Her thoughts were as panicked as her packing. Had Aunt Liliyana been driving home from an extra shift when she had been hit? Or from her first job to the second she had taken on? Would she have needed to do either of those if she hadn’t paid for Keramzin? Was her aunt gone because of her?

Zoya ignored the footsteps, assuming one of the girls was coming to grab a hair tie or change into a swimsuit. Or maybe one of them had seen her run from the office and had come to ask about her. She had no time for that.

But the hand that gently — albeit firmly — closed around her wrist, halting her movement, definitely didn’t belong to Alina, Genya, or Nadia.

“Zoya?” Nikolai said, his voice taking on a gentle tone she’d never heard from him before. “What’s going on?”

Zoya pulled away from him. “I don’t have time to pander to your needs, Lantsov,” she snarled.

Never deterred by her icy demeanor, he perched on the edge of her bed. “You’re quite capable of working and speaking at the same time, if all those insults you’ve thrown at me over crafts serve as proof.”

“Fuck off, Nikolai.”

He sighed. “Zoya, please,” Nikolai said, bringing her to a momentary pause. Please was not often found in his vocabulary, not in such a genuine manner. “The others are worried, too.”

The words came out in a tumble as she stuffed the last few items into her bag. “My aunt was in a car accident and now she’s dead and the funeral is in a couple days and I have to go but my mother will only buy me one bus ticket so I have to decide between going home or going to the funeral and of course I’m going to the funeral, I’ll fucking walk the miles home if I have to but I just have to go—”

Nikolai took hold of both of her wrists now, and only then did Zoya realize the zipper she was hopelessly trying to close was stuck. “Breathe, Zoya.”

She shook her head. Tears had been building behind her eyes since Botkin had said the words your aunt was in a car accident and at any moment they were going to spill over. She couldn’t cry in front of Nikolai Lantsov. “I can’t,” she whispered, and cried anyway.

Nikolai let go of her hands, taking a moment to carefully zip up her bag, before he pulled her into his chest. Later, Zoya would curse herself, but all she could do in that moment was let Nikolai hold her as her body shook with sobs.

“I’ll call my driver,” he murmured eventually. “He’ll take you to Novokribirsk and home to Pachina and anywhere else you want to go.”

“No—”

“Yes. I’m stupidly rich, Zoya. Let me at least do something good with it.”

The next morning, a friendly older man named Igor waited for her in a brand new Rolls Royce outside the gates of Keramzin. Botkin took her bag to the trunk while she said goodbye to the friends that had walked out with her. It was the most vulnerable she had been with them, and were the situation not so heartbreaking, she knew they would have teased her about it. Instead she only got hugs and promises of texts and pictures. To everyone’s surprise, she saved Nikolai for last.

“Thank you, Lantsov,” she murmured into the crook of his shoulder. Were she not so miserable, she might’ve noticed how good he smelled for a sixteen year old boy in ninety degree weather.

“Don’t be a stranger, Nazyalensky.”

To Zoya’s surprise, she wasn’t.

  Now

Zoya Nazyalensky still hated Nikolai Lantsov.

At least, she pretended to, because admitting the truth was much more terrifying.

“Are you even paying attention, Zoya?” Genya sighed.

No, she wasn’t, because she was watching Nikolai bend over to tie his shoe, marveling at his ass. How he had only managed to get hotter through the years was a sin, and nineteen was already looking to be his best year yet.

Genya shifted, purposely blocking her view of Nikolai’s tight behind. “Focus! This is only going to work if we’re all on board.”

Zoya waved her off. “Yes, yes, I’ve got it. I’ll send Oretsev into the shed for you when the time arises. I still don’t think this is going to work. Both of them are too stubborn for their own good.”

“I don’t know,” Nadia countered. “They’ll never get over their problems if they keep avoiding each other. Never underestimate the power of forced bonding.”

“Exactly!” Genya said. Out of all of them, Zoya knew Genya wanted this plan to work most of all, convinced that Mal and Alina were destined lovers. And sure, the feelings between those two had been obvious — until last summer when they’d shown up hating each other. Personally, Zoya thought love and fate and all that sappy nonsense was utter bullshit. But she cared for Alina, too, so fine, she would help with this silly plan, even if she didn’t believe in it.

When they finally pulled it off a week later, however, Zoya couldn’t regret it more.

“Find somewhere else to sleep, I want the room to myself tonight!” Alina had barked as she stomped away from the activities shed, Mal grumbling off in the other direction.

“Wonderful,” Zoya deadpanned. “How long until she cools off?”

Genya bit her lip, shrugging. “I don’t know. I think we should give her the room tonight.”

“We should what?”

Nadia nodded in agreement. “Yeah, we can sneak into the boys cabin. I can probably con Mikhael out of his bed.”

“I’ll just sleep with David,” Genya agreed.

“And what about me?”

The two of them gave her quizzical looks. “You’ve shared Nikolai’s bed before, Zoya. I’m sure he won’t mind,” Nadia said.

They were right, of course.

The dynamic of her relationship had changed with Nikolai after the year her aunt died. She had spent the rest of the summer in bed most days, barely able to get herself dressed. Surprisingly, her texts with Nikolai had been the bright spots of her days.

The service at Keramzin was horrible, so he must have been sneaking into Botkin’s office — the one building with wifi on the grounds — to send her stupid photos and relay all the goings-on of the day. Lost tug of war, again he’d captioned a photo of himself covered in mud. Another day he wrote, Group is discussing Alina and Mal’s “ship name” which is apparently something people do for couples????? (which they still aren’t, btw) Idk, Genya and Nadia are pushing for “malina” which is just so lazy to me. Oretskov is much more sophisticated, and as a woman of taste, I think you’ll agree.

For the rest of that summer — no, for the rest of that year, most of her laughs and smiles had been brought on by Nikolai Lantsov, which was absolutely fucking mind-boggling.

nikolai: nazyalensky you will not BELIEVE

zoya: this better be something actually unbelievable, lantsov

Nikolai proceeded to send a video of his brother, Vasily, getting absolutely yeeted off of one of his prized horses with the caption “MERRY FUCKIN CHRISTMAS TO MEEEEEEE.” Zoya only responded with you are going to HELL, but she laughed so hard her stomach hurt, so she supposed she’d be joining him.

Zoya worked her ass off during her junior year to be able to afford Keramzin in the summer. It felt good to be back with her friends after the painful year she'd had since losing her aunt, and she had found herself being excited to see Nikolai most of all. Though nothing on the outside had changed — Nikolai was still a pompous rich boy and Zoya still took jabs at him at every opportunity — there was plenty changing under the surface.

A week before the start of holiday break during her senior year, Zoya's phone lit up with Nikolai’s stupid face. She had made his contact photo one she'd taken over the summer after Dubrov had smashed an egg over his head, yolk dripping down his face. Zoya had a policy of not answering unplanned FaceTime calls. But for whatever reason, she made an exception, answering with a scowl on her face so he at least understood the offense.

“What the hell are you FaceTiming me for, Lantsov?”

“Hello to you too, Nazyalensky.”

Nikolai looked to be in the treehouse in his backyard. When he had first called her from the place, she had laughed, because what eighteen year old still had a treehouse? Then he had showed her around the place. It was more workshop than treehouse, a number of little inventions and other products of his mind scattered around the wooden structure. Couldn’t you have found a room in your mansion for this stuff? she had asked. Nikolai had shrugged. “I like being outside. And away from everyone.”

“Only psychopaths FaceTime with no warning.”

“Noted,” Nikolai said, entirely unbothered. “Anyway, what are your holiday break plans?”

“I’m working and finalizing uni applications.”

“Can you . . . not do that?”

Zoya’s glare would send most people running, even given through a screen, but Nikolai only waited for an answer. “I need the money for Keramzin.”

“What if Keramzin was taken care of?”

“Why are you even asking?”

“Ah, right. I was hoping you would come on holiday with me.”

She laughed, because surely he must be joking. But his face was serious. “What?”

“My family is going to Bora Bora. Sort of a work thing for my father. Anyway, all the families are going, and I got my mother to agree to me taking a friend, so . . .”

“You’re seriously asking me to go to Bora Bora with you?”

“Uh, yes?”

Zoya shook her head. “I have to work. And do my uni shit. Why are you even asking me of all people? You have other friends.”

“None of them are as pretty as you, Nazyalensky.”

“You know flattery doesn’t work on me, Lantsov.”

Nikolai frowned, bringing the phone obnoxiously close to his face. “Please, please, please? I’ll go absolutely mental if I have to spend the whole week on my own with these privileged, white assholes.”

“Nikolai, you’re a privileged, white asshole.”

“Exactly! So you’ll come along then?”

“No.”

Naturally, Zoya went.

At first, she thought it might actually be a good decision, going with Nikolai. They sat next to each other on the plane ride there — in first fucking class — sharing Nikolai’s AirPods as they scrolled through stupid TikTok videos. It was strange, seeing him at this time of year when she had only ever seen him during the summer months. But it was nice, too.

And god, Bora fucking Bora! It was beautiful and warm and somewhere she never would have visited on her own. Certainly not staying at the fancy hotel that they were at, a stretch of the beach rented out for this company thing of his father’s. Privileged white asshole friends had their purposes, it seemed.

But she too quickly realized exactly why Nikolai had chosen her to come along.

She’d come back out from using the restroom on their second day there to find Nikolai standing with his father, another older man, and a girl that had to be around her and Nikolai’s age. Zoya had just decided to wait for him at their beachside table, having no desire to get caught up in whatever rich people things they were surely discussing, when she was waved over.

Had they not all turned to look at her, she might have ignored him. Instead, she put on her best friendly face as she joined the group.

“This is Zoya, my friend from camp.” As casually as if it were normal for them, Nikolai slung an arm around her. “We’ve been close for years now. Zoya, this is Rose, and her father, Ruslan.”

Rose glanced between the two of them, looking slightly disappointed. “Oh, I thought . . . Well, nice to meet you.”

Zoya smiled, seething on the inside. Nikolai’s father didn’t look too happy, either.

As soon as she got Nikolai alone, Zoya turned on him. “What the fuck was that, Lantsov?”

Nikolai sighed, “Look, Zoya—”

“You brought me here to what? Be the pretty thing on your arm?”

“No! I mean, that’s a benefit, yes. My father wants to set me up with that girl and I’m just not interested, so I thought—”

“So you thought, bring your poor camp friend! She’ll have to be grateful to live the rich life for a week!”

“That’s not it!”

Zoya shook her head. “To think I thought you actually wanted me here.”

“I do!” Nikolai stepped toward her, and damn the rocky wall at her back for not allowing her to move away from him. He took both of her wrists in his hands, just as he had that day in her cabin. But this felt different, intimate in a way that sent heat rushing through her. “I want you here, Zoya.”

Was he looking at her lips, or was she looking at his? Was he leaning in, or was she? The heat must be getting to her, because she didn’t let herself think the way she was thinking about him right now. Nikolai was cocky and spoiled and maybe she had allowed herself to begrudgingly become his friend, but this was something else entirely. Zoya couldn’t let him kiss her, so she didn’t, tugging out of his grasp and stalking down the beach. He didn’t follow, and she prided herself on being strong enough to resist his pretty hazel eyes and his stupid kissable looking lips.

Strong enough sober, anyway.

On their last night in Bora Bora, Zoya and Nikolai joined the rest of the kids on the trip, who indeed were privileged white assholes, for a boozy bonfire on the beach.

“So, your name is Zoya Nazzzalienski?” one of the boys slurred, screwing up her last name so badly she knew he wouldn’t have said it right sober, either.

“Nazyalensky,” she corrected sharply, too many drinks in to play nice.

“Mm, it’s a mouthful,” Rose, the girl Nikolai’s father apparently found ideal for him, said.

The other boy nodded. “So foreign.”

“She’s just as foreign as you or I, asshole,” Nikolai snapped.

Zoya was surprised to see actual anger on his face. Part of her wanted to punch him for playing the white savior, but another part was incredibly turned on by the way his eyes had darkened.

Vasily, who was as insufferable as Nikolai had described him throughout the years, laughed, disregarding the look on his brother’s face. “Aw, calm down, Niko. He didn’t mean anything bad about your little girlfriend.” Vasily covered his mouth in a mock whisper, “My brother has always had a thing for charity cases.”

Nikolai seethed beside her. “Watch your tongue before I remove it.”

“It’s okay, Nikolai,” Zoya said coolly, resting her hand on his arm. She needed no one to fight her battles for her. “I know your brother is still learning how to socialize with people, his usual company being those horses of his and all.”

The group cackled as Vasily flushed, but said nothing. Zoya stood, leaving them to their drunken bullshit. Nikolai followed.

Halfway down the beach, he stopped them. “Fuck, Zoya, I’m so sorry. I knew they were assholes but I didn’t think—”

Zoya cut him off with her lips.

“Oh,” he breathed when they pulled apart. It was the first time she had ever seen him speechless.

From there, they found their way to Nikolai’s room, stopping every now and then to continue their fervent kissing. The luxurious four poster bed became a mess as they sprawled onto it, working off their clothes, rattling the headboard well into the night. Zoya left Bora Bora with love bites on her neck and the best orgasm of her life.

After waking up sober with an ache between her legs the next morning, however, the first thing out of her mouth was, “It was just sex. It didn’t mean anything.”

Nikolai paused, then nodded. “It didn’t mean anything.”

So yes, Zoya had shared Nikolai’s bed before. Bora Bora had been the first, but not the last. They had spent last summer, their first as full on counselors — and therefore having the much nicer cabins that came with the position — fooling around whenever the flask came out. Drunken fuck buddies, that’s all they were. That’s all they were supposed to be.

But that was before the voicemail.

Zoya hadn’t told the girls about said voicemail, though, and apparently none of them had caught on to her and Nikolai subtly avoiding each other these past two weeks of their last year at Keramzin.

Before she could think of an excuse, the devil himself came around the corner.

Nikolai smoothly avoided eye contact with her. “Just passed Oretsev. Guessing the plan didn’t go over too well.”

Genya sighed. “Don’t you dare say I told you so,” she grumbled.

He held his hands up in defense. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Perfect timing, Nik,” Nadia said, and panic rose in Zoya’s chest. “Alina’s demanding the room to herself tonight, so we’re castaways.” She sang the last part in the tune of that god-awful song that was plastered all over TikTok. “And Zoya needs a bed. You don’t mind sharing, right?”

Nikolai’s perfect face flashed with his own panic for the briefest second, fast enough that she might have just imagined it, and then he broke into one of his charming smiles. “‘Course not.”

That was how Zoya found herself in Nikolai’s bed a few hours later, the damned thing too small for any real space between them. She knew they were sharing the same thoughts. He could offer to take the floor, but then their friends would know something was off. And when Mal ended up leaving his bed to go camp in the woods for the night, they let Mikhael, who had given up his bed to Nadia, jump into it. Both of them pretending they were fine, that they might get any sleep like this. Neither of them had spoken much tonight, let alone the last two weeks, besides casual greetings and Zoya’s usual snide remarks in group settings to keep up pretenses. Nothing of the suffocating weight that had been crushing their relationship since New Year’s Eve.

While most college freshmen she knew had spent the night getting wasted, Zoya had worked a double and was so exhausted, she hadn’t even made it to midnight before passing out. She had woken up to a missed call and a voicemail from a very drunk Nikolai.

“Hi Zoya, it’s Nikolai!” He paused to laugh. “Guess you know that. Happy New Year! I’m so drunk.” Another pause, the sound of the phone hitting the ground as he dropped it, muffled music somewhere in the distance. “Oops, dropped the phone. Fuck, I had a really shitty night. My father won’t stop getting on me about choosing a major already, but he can piss off, because he wants me to do business and follow in his footsteps, but god I’d rather jump off this mountain. Did I mention I’m on a mountain? Nothing crazy, just snow and skiing and rich people nonsense. Anyway.” Another pause, accompanied with a hiccup. “You’re probably wondering why I called and I don’t know I just — It’s New Years and my family is pissing me off and the people at this party suck and I just want to kiss you. That’s what you do on New Years, right? You kiss someone. But I didn’t kiss anyone, ‘cause you’re not here. And if you were here, it still wouldn’t be right, ‘cause I don’t want to kiss you like in Bora Bora or camp last summer. I want to kiss you and shout about it to the world. I want to kiss you because you’re mine. I want it to mean something. I want—”

Zoya never learned what else he wanted, because the messaging system cut him off. She had listened to that voicemail about a hundred times since then, still not knowing what the fuck to say or feel. Exactly two messages had passed between them the next morning, and not a single one since.

nikolai: sorry, ignore the vm. was rather plastered, haha

zoya: right, ok

Now she had her back pressed to his front as if nothing had happened. When Genya popped up, apparently unable to sleep either, and suggested they go check on Alina, Zoya thanked the damn saints.

That is, until they barged in only to find Mal standing in nothing but his boxers, constraining an insane erection (wow, he was bigger than she’d guessed) and Alina hiding under the covers, clearly naked. Zoya was going to kill them.

“You little liar!” she spat. “You conned us out of our beds so you could get dicked down?!”

Genya seemed thrilled at the turn of events, and maybe Zoya would be too, if she wasn’t spending her night pressed against the chest of the boy who had confessed to — to something and left her brain endlessly screaming about it since.

Her anger at Alina and anxiety about returning to Nikolai’s bed must have shown on her face as they left their cabin behind, because Genya stopped them before they could reach the boys’.

“All right, what’s going on with you?”

“Yeah, come on Zoya, you should be happy for them,” Nadia said. “I mean, the plan worked.”

“I know it did and I am happy for them!”

Genya raised a brow. “Yes, you sound so very happy.��

Zoya let out a frustrated huff, and right there in the middle of the night, she finally spilled about everything that had happened between her and Nikolai. They knew about the friends with benefits kind of situation they had going on last summer, but in addition to not telling them about the voicemail, she had never mentioned Bora Bora, either.

“What the fuck, Nazyalensky!” Nadia whisper-yelled when she finished.

“You’ve been keeping all of this in for two years?!”

Zoya shrugged. So Alina wasn’t the only one with a secret. She had never shared what had come between her and Oretsev in the first place, after all.

“I can’t believe he took you to Bora Bora,” Nadia moaned. “Missing out on Nikolai is now the only time I’ve regretted being a lesbian.”

Genya patted Nadia’s back in comfort, but said, “And y’all never talked about the voicemail? Seriously?”

Zoya groaned. “Can we please talk about this tomorrow? It’s like, one in the morning.”

They agreed, albeit whining as they did, and when they made it back into the boys’ cabin, Zoya climbed into Mikhael's bed with Nadia.

The next morning, the three of them kicked Mal out of their cabin bright and early.

“Seriously?” he groaned.

“Sorry, dude,” Nadia said. “Girl emergency.”

He and Alina shared a hesitant look before Mal dropped a careful kiss to her lips, as if he hadn’t been railing her a few hours ago, and left.

Alina watched him go, then turned to the three of them with a growl. “Okay, I know I lied, but you had to kick him out so early?”

“Surprisingly, this isn’t about you, though we will get back to that.” Genya sat cautiously on her bed, as if the bodily fluids might have jumped from Alina’s bed over to hers. “Zoya shared some very interesting news with us last night.”

With a sigh, Zoya relayed the story all over again. The next hour was just a lot of screaming about the free trip to Bora Bora and Nikolai’s — in Alina’s words — very obvious love confession, which resulted in the three of them telling her she was the last person allowed to speak on obvious love.

“This all comes down to two things,” Genya said as they got ready, since they still had campers to take care of today. “How do you feel about him, and what are you going to do about it?”

Both were valid questions, but Zoya scowled anyway.

In true Zoya fashion, she spent the next week thinking about her answer. Every time the girls bugged her about it, she glared until they shut up. But it was good that they knew, because they helped her avoid him when she needed to, not that Nikolai was making it hard. She supposed her ditching him for Nadia’s bed hadn’t been very encouraging.

When she finally came to a conclusion, Zoya switched shifts with Dubrov one afternoon so that she was working one on one with Nikolai. Considering the shift in question, Dubrov had been more than happy to trade places.

The spot Zoya and Nikolai had found themselves in was shitty, so there really was no better place to finally have it out with each other than the horse stables on mucking duty.

When she reached the stables, Nikolai was already at work.

“‘Bout time you got here, Dubrov,” he said without looking up. “I was going to bring some horse shit back to the cabin for you if you didn’t — Oh.” He had finally looked up. “You’re not Dubrov.”

“No,” she said. “Not Dubrov. I switched shifts with him.”

Nikolai blinked. “You took mucking duty on purpose.”

“Yes.”

“Zoya would-die-before-letting-a-horse-sniff-her Nazyalensky chose—”

“Yes,” she growled. “And if you don’t shut up, I’m going to push you into the shit you're scooping.”

Nikolai shut up after that, and minutes passed as they worked in silence.

Unsurprisingly, Nikolai was the first to break it. “Why are you here, Zoya?” he asked quietly, as if he was scared of the answer.

Zoya swallowed the lump in her throat. “We can’t keep going on like this. Pretending New Years didn’t happen.”

“No, I suppose we can’t.”

She cleared her throat. “Nikolai—”

But he cut her off. “Must we do this here? Break my heart, Nazyalensky. Just don’t do it while I’m standing in a pile of literal horse shit.”

Break my heart, Nazyalensky. But the problem wasn’t Nikolai’s heart, it was her own. Zoya had always had a problem with feeling too much, the good and the bad. Her complicated relationship with love only made it worse. She thought of her mother, who’s love Zoya had tried so hard to earn only to come up short again and again. Aunt Liliyana, who she had loved more than life itself, taken from her far too soon. The desolation she had felt afterwards, wondering if she could ever dare love someone again. She had no positive examples of romantic love in her life, either. Liliyana had always been single as far as Zoya knew. Her parents had divorced, and Zoya could only ever watch as her mother brought toxic and abusive men into their home again and again. She wasn’t sure she even believed in love, or if she deserved it.

But then she thought of the people here at Keramzin. Of Genya and David, a couple that made no logical sense, but her gorgeous friend looked at the genius boy as if he personally hung the stars in the sky. Nadia, writing her love letters to her girlfriend back home. Even Mal and Alina, as oblivious they had been, were so clearly in love they were sickening to look at. They were all young, so maybe none of them would make it in the end, but wasn’t love still worth something even if it didn’t last a lifetime? Could she have something like what her friends had?

I am Zoya Nazyalensky, and I am worthy.

Zoya stalked across the stables and pulled Nikolai — pompous, entitled, infuriating Nikolai — into a fierce kiss.

Once he got past his shock, Nikolai kissed her back with just as much force. The tension between them finally snapped now that she had made her decision. They didn’t need to talk about it, Nikolai just knew. He always knew. This kiss was the answer to the voicemail she had never given him. Nikolai had wanted to kiss her. He’d wanted it to mean something.

And Zoya wanted it, too.

“Fuck, Nazyalensky,” Nikolai breathed between kisses, taking her bottom lip between his teeth. Zoya hummed her approval. “If we hurry . . .”

She understood, so as hard as it was to pull away, she did. They worked as if their lives depended on cleaning out the stables as fast as humanly possible. Had they not been literally handling shit for the past twenty minutes, Zoya would have gone straight to Nikolai’s cabin. Instead, she went to her own, aware of each passing minute as she changed and washed up.

Zoya had only taken one step into the boys’ cabin five minutes later before Nikolai pounced. Closing the cabin door, he pushed Zoya against it and kissed her like a starving man. She moaned against his lips, the surprise and force of it sending heat straight to her core. Her hands found his golden hair, his hands found her ass, and though they had been here before, it felt different. Besides being completely sober, the difference was in the way they held each other, like they had no plans of letting go. It was the way they kissed, desperate and deep, but knowing there were so many more on the horizon.

Nikolai scooped her into his arms, bringing her to the bed. The lack of space was no issue now. His lips started their descent down her neck, and she knew from experience that her makeup routine would have an extra step for the rest of the summer.

“I don’t know how much time we have before the guys get back,” he murmured. Zoya nodded, ready to tell him he’d better hurry up and fuck her then, when Nikolai continued, “But I’m still going to take my time licking you until you scream.”

Oh.

Clothes were discarded, and Nikolai moved down her body, murmuring about how he couldn’t wait to mark every inch of her. Then he was between her thighs, and quickly made good on his promise. Zoya couldn’t believe his tongue could be this good at something other than talking about himself.

“Fuck me,” she groaned.

Nikolai popped his head up. “All in due time, darling.”

Growling, she pushed his head back down, and before she knew it, she was screaming into his pillow as her orgasm quite literally left her shaking.

Nikolai shifted, but before he could crawl back over her, Zoya used her weight to push him onto his back, taking her place on top. He still had his damned boxers on, so she quickly fixed that problem. His cock sprang free, and god, she could be drooling for all she knew. Never would she let him know that she mentally referred to his member as massive.

Needing to taste him, Zoya dipped her head and dragged her tongue up the length of him. Nikolai swore, then swore some more as she sucked him into her mouth. She would also never admit how much she loved sucking dick. There was something powerful about it that turned her on almost as much as it did the men she took into her mouth.

“Zoya,” Nikolai breathed, and she understood the warning in his tone. With a sigh, she let him fall from between her lips with an audible pop. Their limited time meant she’d have to wait until next time to let him spill inside her mouth. Shame.

Nikolai supplied a condom from his bedside drawer and Zoya rolled it onto him. Before he could get her on her back, she straddled him, making her intentions clear. He raised a brow, surprised, but didn’t object. Zoya braced one hand on the headboard, the other twining with one of Nikolai’s, and lowered herself onto his cock. They moaned in unison as she took in every inch of him.

Her rhythm started slow but quickly gained speed, her hips rolling and her breathing ragged as she brought herself down on him again and again. As she bounced, so did her tits, and Zoya didn’t miss the way Nikolai kept staring greedily at her chest. When looking wasn’t enough, he sat up as much as he needed to get his mouth on her breast, taking her nipple between his teeth and soothing the bite he gave it with his tongue afterwards. That damned tongue again. When Zoya tired, Nikolai was happy to take over even from underneath her, thrusting his hips against hers over and over.

It was perfect. It was glorious. Zoya was an idiot for waiting three weeks to figure out what she wanted. And she knew she wanted this — not just the fucking, but the exasperating boy beneath her, too. All of him. All of it. She had told Nadia that love was for suckers, and she supposed she should have known that included herself, considering how much she loved giving blowjobs.

It was perfect, until the cabin door opened and in walked Malyen Oretsev. He made it halfway inside before he caught sight of them on Nikolai’s bed and froze.

Nikolai groaned. “Malyen, does your timing always suck so much?”

Mal visibly swallowed, and Zoya realized he was making a concentrated effort not to look at her tits. Maybe she should be embarrassed, but she wasn’t. Smirking, she said, “Payback’s a bitch, Oretsev. Now scram and tell everyone else to stay gone for a while, too.”

He nodded, still avoiding even the smallest glance in her direction, and ran out the door faster than she thought him possible.

Nikolai sighed. “Did that ruin the mood for you?”

In answer, Zoya lifted herself until only the very tip of him was inside of her, then took all of him in one swoop. Their moans mingled once more.

Breathing hard, she asked, “What do you think?”

Nikolai moved so suddenly, Zoya didn’t have time to process it until she was flat on her stomach. Behind her, Nikolai slammed his full length into her so hard, so deep that she thought she might come from that one thrust alone. He leaned forward, letting most of his weight settle onto her, pinning her down. It was oddly comforting.

Lips beside her ear, Nikolai whispered, “I think that I’m never going to have enough of this. I’m never going to have enough of you, Zoya Nazyalensky.”

Her twelve year old self never would have believed it, but she didn’t think she’d ever have enough of Nikolai Lantsov, either.

  One Year Later

It was the start of the summer holiday, and for the first time in seven years, Zoya wasn’t making her way to Keramzin. Instead, she was lazing on the sofa in the flat she shared with her arrogant, spoiled (and funny and smart and a bunch of other things she would never admit out loud), always infuriating boyfriend.

Said boyfriend strolled into the living room, handing a piece of mail to her. “Looks like the lovebirds made it to Russia safely.”

Zoya groaned as she read the postcard written in Alina’s neat handwriting, the only evidence of Mal being with her the sloppy signature next to hers. “They just got there and they’re already sending out postcards? Saps.”

“Absolute saps,” Nikolai agreed, lifting her legs to make room for himself beside her, letting her feet settle nicely on his lap.

After a stressful second year of university and having their first summer outside of Keramzin, they planned to do absolutely nothing all break long. Except they both had internships starting next week. Nikolai had settled on an engineering major, though he was still dabbling on what to do for his minor. Zoya was studying climate science and had an internship with the local news station’s weather team, though she had no intention of being the kind of meteorologist that reported the forecast for the masses each night. How dull.

Nikolai had given his father an ultimatum at the end of camp last summer. He would stay at the university his father had chosen for him if and only if he accepted his choice to pursue engineering — and let Zoya move into the flat. Otherwise, he was withdrawing and enrolling into Zoya’s uni, which was not exactly the first, or hundredth, choice of the wealthier class.

Surprisingly, his father had agreed, but the joke was on him. Nikolai was never going to switch universities, because Zoya was transferring to his. Not in the name of something as sappy as romance, but because it had an outstanding climate science program and — most importantly — her excellent grades and extracurricular activities had earned her quite the hefty scholarship.

But at least for this first week of the summer, they were staying in their flat, vegging out as they caught up on Netflix and fucking until their neighbors complained on NextDoor.

“Should we do pizza tonight?” he asked, gently rubbing the soles of her feet.

Before she could answer, her phone rhythmically buzzed on the table. A FaceTime call from Genya. When Zoya went to answer it, Nikolai frowned. “I thought you didn’t do unplanned FaceTime calls.”

“It’s Genya,” Zoya said, as if that explained everything.

The red haired girl’s face filled the screen, albeit a little grainy from the less than stellar reception at Keramzin. She could see David beside her, nose in a book as usual.

“Guess what!” she whisper-yelled, a grin on her pretty face.

“Botkin has finally admitted his past as a secret ninja assassin?” Nikolai piped up from beside her. Zoya scowled in his direction.

“Oh, hi Nikolai. And no. Look!” Genya flipped the camera, and two children came into view, a boy and a girl studying a piece of paper together. From the look of it, they were in the crafts room.

“I haven’t forgotten what twelve year old campers look like, Genya.”

She turned the camera back so Zoya could see her eye roll. “No, smart ass. It’s Alina’s map!” Genya whispered the last part, apparently not wanting the kids to hear her. “She must have left it for a camper to find. And I swear, these two are like Malina incarnate.”

“Oretskov,” Zoya and Nikolai said together.

Genya very casually flipped them off. “Anyway, I wish y’all could see them. Running off into the woods and all that shit they used to do. It’s uncanny.”

Zoya shook her head. “No thanks, living that storyline once was enough for me.”

Nikolai, always thinking of the important things, asked, “Hey, what’s our couple name?”

“Zoyalai,” said Genya and an off-screen Nadia in unison. The latter continued, “And don’t try to give us shit about it, because there’s no way you’re coming up with something better out of Nazyalensky and Lantsov.”

Nikolai frowned. “Nazyalsov? Lantensky?”

Zoya wrinkled her nose. “Okay, fine, you guys win this round.”

She couldn’t deny it. Zoyalai had a nice ring to it.

[mooniefics]

in the grand scheme of things [ 3 ]

pairings : zeke jaeger / reader, referenced eren jaeger / reader

word count : 5.5k

tags : unhealthy relationships, relationship discussions, implied cheating, drinking, break ups, mutual infidelity, dubious morality, love triangles

warning : descriptions of alcohol and drug use

summary : you and eren hadn't been doing the best these past few months, and no one that you knew seemed to have any answers for you, or pointers in the right direction. who better to offer you some sound, insightful relationship advice than his older brother. or so you thought.

— originally posted 1 / 28 / 21 on ao3 —

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sasha  3:47 pm hey u down to party tonight?? jean told connie he could get us into another one of the azo parties again

you sighed at the sight of the notifications on your phone from its place on the passenger's seat, pensively drumming your fingers on your steering wheel. the most recent party of the most popular fraternity chapter on your campus you'd attended had been the last party you'd subjected yourself to attending—the halloween party where you'd gotten ditched out and subsequently cheated on. though you could admit that it had been fun in the moment, especially when you had caught the struggle between sasha and historia when she saw your roommate snap a picture of her kissing the standoffish sophomore that always helped her with her english lit homework, ymir, rather than the fraternity guy she was meant to be with.

the memory of that night, at least the time before you'd realized your boyfriend and his annoyingly attractive best friend were nowhere to be found, made you consider. classes did start back up next week, and the most eventful thing you'd done over the break was your quaint little family get-together for new year's eve—and your two rendezvous with zeke, meetings that you were slowly beginning to feel more and more skeptical about as time went on—and you were sure that your second semester would drown you in work just as much—if not more—than you'd had in your first semester. so as soon as you came to a stop at a red light, you picked your phone up to shoot her back a message, laughing to yourself when she replied instantly.

               you  3:51 pm party on a wednesday?                            really?

sasha   3:51 pm come onnnn please??? i heard nikos gonna be there! ur rlly gonna make me go all alone??

so that was why she wanted to go, to see the foreign culinary major that somehow always managed to send her back to the dorm with a large plate of food and a blinding smile plastered on her face for at least the next hour. you were honestly surprised that they hadn't gotten together yet, considering how many common interests they'd shared.

a pleasant thought suddenly popped into your head, the thought that she was probably asking you because mikasa had already declined, meaning that she wouldn't be in attendance. armin was out in turkey with eren, ensuring his absence. that fact made you feel a bit less anxious about accepting sasha's invitation. you could catch up with the friends you'd been unable to see while you were off-campus—or too swamped with work to be able to reach out to—let loose one last time before you were trapped back in the monotonous cycle of working, sleeping, crying, and eating for the next couple months until spring break. your mind had been made up.

                          you  3:52 pm    fine. i'll go as moral support. but no promises u won't have  to babysit after you've had ur                          fun with nikolo  this break has been rough for                                       me lol

sasha  3:53 pm oh god my i loveyou so much already picking out our outfits

you chuckled to yourself, slipping your phone into the cupholder as the brake lights of the car in front of you flashed off and you eased your foot onto the gas. you made it back to the dorm relatively quickly, sasha more than elated to see you even though you didn't have any food to bring back for her. and just as her text message had read, she'd already laid out one of your nicer dresses and a set of heels that didn't absolutely kill your feet by the end of the night by your bed, digging through the closet with a pile of discarded clothes growing on the floor.

"thanks sash," you giggled, "but don't you think it's a little to be getting ready? what time's the party?"

"connie told me seven-thirty, but jean said for us to come an hour later so we aren't the only ones there." she spoke over her shoulder, huffing as she tossed another piece of clothing aside, "but i wanna look good! i'm gonna hop in the shower as soon as i find the right thing to wear."

holding out your dress before you, you frowned. it was simple, black and made of a sheer, clingy material with lace accents decorating the low neckline, thin straps that bared the entirety of your shoulders and a modest amount of cleavage. it was one of your favorites, but the half-healed bruises scattered across the skin that would be exposed by it wasn't ideal.

"oh, don't forget to take a cheap coat that you don't mind forgetting. it's kinda chilly out, and i always end up losing track of mine during the night."

you let out a breath of relief, remembering that covering up a bit more would be weather appropriate. "yeah, i'll wear a long-sleeved undershirt and something light on top." perfect.

you waited until sasha had gathered her toiletries and scurried off to the nearest bathroom to change clothes, feeling your face heat up at the thought of zeke, the initial deep pigmentation having faded out over the last two days but still a very visible shade of faint red. you were fully dressed upon your roommate's return, earning an excited slew of compliments from her as she wrapped up her hair in a towel and settled down beside you to get started on her makeup.

you were actually grateful for how early she'd insisted on getting ready considering how long she'd agonized over her eyeliner, or how many times she'd applied and removed her lashes, complaining that "something was off" or "it just didn't look right". your suggested time of arrival came in no time at all, and by then sasha was more than eager to start rushing you despite the pace she'd been moving at earlier.

"hurry!! if niko brings food, i don't wanna get there by the time it's all gone!" she whined, jiggling the doorknob to your room impatiently, "for the thanksgiving party, he brought a charcuterie board with all these nice cheeses on it and it was so good, he looked so happy watching me eat it, it was so cute!"

you chuckled softly at her enthusiasm, shoving the last of your things into your clutch, zipping up your phone in the small inner pocket to insure that you didn't drop it and forget on the floor of someone's house this time. "i'm sure that even if we got there late, he'd set aside plenty of food for you."

the walk to the fraternity's designated house was made much shorter by sasha's insistence, practically dragging you along by the wrist the whole way at a near jog. you couldn't deny that you were feeling a bit nervous about the whole ordeal, knowing that you would have sasha, connie, and jean at the very least, but unaware as to what you would really do besides mill around. at the halloween party, you'd been able to play the variety of drinking games that had been set out for the guests with eren and his friends, but now you weren't entirely sure who to stick to for the majority of the night.

you didn't want to bother jean or connie after they'd gotten secured you an invite, and you were sure that sasha was expecting to be able to spend some time alone with the guy she'd came to see in the first place, meaning you'd have to spend a majority of the night alone, or the unfavorable option of mingling with unfamiliar people. but you realized that was a pill you'd have to swallow as you approached the steps of the house, nearly tripping up over your feet from the speed that sasha was hauling you along at, watching her furiously knock at the door.

there were people wandering about in the yard, some on their phones, most likely waiting for their own friends to arrive, and a smoky stench of something that definitely wasn't just tobacco wafting from the group of men camped out on the porch murmuring amongst each other. you could hear the volume of the music inside the house, almost able to feel it thrumming across the floor if you focused enough.

"thomas!" she exclaimed at the sight of a younger-looking blonde boy when the door opened, whose existence you honestly had no idea about until just now, grinning so broadly it made your own cheeks hurt for her, "jean invited us!"

"oh, come right in." he beamed right back, calling loudly over his shoulder, "yo, jean, your friends are here!"

the inside of the house looked just as you expected, already crowded to max capacity, jean having to maneuver past the throng of people gathered near the front to approach the two of you. "damn, i feel like i haven't seen you in forever." he did his best to speak over the music, wrapping you up in a friendly squeeze, "glad to see you could finally make it." he turned to sasha. "niko's already in the kitchen, by the way. asked when you were coming just a few minutes ago."

sasha's face lit up with glee, turning to you, silently asking for permission to go off on her own as if you could ever deny her and her overly-eager expression. "go get 'em, tiger." you smiled, giving her a few pats on her shoulder to send her off on her way, watching her disappear into the crowd in record time.

but before apprehension of her absence could set in, you felt jean's arm sling around your shoulder, pulling you into his side. "c'mon, you didn't think i was gonna ditch out and let you hang alone all night?" you giggled, turning your head up to look at him properly for the first time.

you'd first met jean in your statistics class, an unfortunate requirement for your major of choice, and initially bonded over your mutual connection through sasha. they'd been good friends in high school, and you'd just moved into a room for at least the next year with her, so you figured it'd do you well to have someone who could get you in her good graces in the event that you two didn't get along. but, thankfully, you two were just fine on your own, and sasha and jean became your first friends outside of the small group you and eren shared.

the only real conflict of interest between the two of you seemed to be your aforementioned boyfriend, and you couldn't really be upset at him for that. eren could be difficult to get along with even at the best of times, he wasn't a terrible person—at least before he'd cheated—but he wasn't exactly the most friendly either.

"is this piercing new?" you asked, reaching up to brush your thumb over the small earring hugging the shell of jean's ear.

"yeah, got it for new year's. pretty hot, right?" you snorted, earning a grin from him, "by the way, if you need to use the bathroom just tell me, the one on the main floor is fucking filthy. and also probably has no toilet paper."

"will do." you could feel the tension ebbing away in his company, at least when you ignored the annoyed glances other girls were sending your way when they noticed his arm around you, "so, what's on the menu for tonight?"

"well, we probably have every kind of alcohol known to man," he said, leaning down to speak into your ear as he began to guide you through the crowded first floor, "beer kegs are out back, junk food and all the inexpensive shit is in the kitchen." he stopped at the opening to a hallway, smile evident in his voice. "but i'm feeling pretty generous tonight, so if you want some of the good stuff we have stashed, just say the word."

"wow, such a gentleman. do you say that to every girl that comes in?" you playfully replied, thankfully far enough away from the music now that you didn't have to talk at nearly a shout.

"only the ones i like." he added a terribly over-exaggerated wink, earning another small laugh from you, "so, what'll it be? vodka, tequila, or triple sec?"

you blinked up at him. "that's it? when you said 'good stuff', i imagined a little more variety."

"beggars can't be choosers, sweetheart. and anyways we're a frat, not a restaurant, so either take your pick or go enjoy some cheap wine while you watch nikolo and sasha drool over each other."

you rolled your eyes, feigning anger in the face of his attitude, huffing out your answer. "surprise me then, frat boy."

"good answer." he said with a grin, "wait here."

he disappeared down the hall, leaving you to stare in silence at the wall before you and listen to the barely muffled sounds of the party going on just a few meters away. you opened up your clutch to fish out your phone, opening it to find your text conversation still open, catching a glimpse of connie's name. you felt a little guilty that you'd almost forgotten about his expected presence, seeing as he had messaged you and you hadn't heard anything from sasha or jean yet. you decided to shoot him a quick text letting him know that you and sasha had arrived, not surprised when he didn't respond as quickly as he usually did, knowing that he was already wrapped up in getting high out of his mind somewhere here or doing so elsewhere.

you opted to kill time tapping through your feed, making it a point to quickly scroll past any posts with armin's handle attached to them. the thought of eren having fun halfway across the world was both pleasant and disheartening at the same time. you felt stupid for still clinging on to the second thoughts about ending things the second he got back. sure, all the dots connected suspiciously well to create a picture that led to the clear conclusion of cheating, but eren wasn't good at hiding things. you remembered the time in your junior year when he'd barely been able to keep your surprise party that your friends had organized you a secret before one of them slipped up about it and exonerated him from blame, and you couldn't help but ask yourself if he was really capable of hiding such a terrible deed when he couldn't even conceal the harmless types of secrets from you.

the more confrontational part of you said that that was ages ago, that both you and him had changed so much since your time in high school, and maybe one of those changes was what made him put so much distance between the two of you these last months rather than hang around you and risk airing out his dirty laundry. you knew you should be angry with him, you would be more than right to be angry with him, but you force yourself to stop clinging to the simpler times, the days when he'd look at you like you'd put the stars in the sky and said all he ever wanted to do was be around you. you couldn't believe how much had changed in so little time.

"ta-da!" jean's voice interrupted your self-pity, a tall plastic cup suddenly occupying your vision, "long island iced tea for the lady. with a straw."

"christ, jean, are you trying to kill me?" you guffawed, taking the cup from him anyways, "my first real party in months and this is what you start me off with?"

"at least give it a try! after i took all that time to make it for you.." he furrowed his brows at you, only relaxing after you took a tentative sip. it was surprisingly not as strong as you thought it would be, a little on the sweeter side, but it served as a good distraction for the burn of five different alcohols sliding down your throat. "pretty good, isn't it?"

"meh. five out of ten." you snarked, giggling around the straw between your lips.

"typical," he lamented, clutching his hands over his heart, "all you and sasha ever do is use me."

"don't lie to yourself, jean. you love us."

you didn't know if it was the dim lighting casting a shadow over his face, but you could swear that you saw his cheeks flush at your assertion. "anyways.. speaking of love, you still dating that asshole? eric?"

"eren." you corrected, laughing at the error, "and, well, it's complicated."

"complicated? then i'm assuming he fucked up big time, considering he's not even here with you this time around."

you took a long sip of your drink, fiddling with the bendy part of your straw, the thought of his infidelity weighing heavily on your heart. "well he'd probably be here if he wasn't out of town, he's been planning to take his trip for a while now.."

jean shot you a displeased look. "i seriously don't know how you put up with that guy, you're selling yourself short honestly. planning on breaking up with him anytime soon?"

you cast your gaze to the floor, thankful that the warmth of the alcohol in your stomach was helping to ease the cool hollowness settling deep into your chest. "oh hush. you don't even know the whole story, jean."

"well i know enough. if you're in the market for any new guys, i'll scout out someone nice for you." you scoffed at his offer, but didn't outright deny it either, unable to help smiling along with him when he smirked and nodded over to the party in the other room, "now, come play me in beer pong, then you'll really have something to complain about."

─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

zeke could confidently say that his night had been utterly unremarkable.

another quiet day spent working at the library, where he'd actually glanced at the door more times than he was willing to admit with the hope that it would be you walking in. he'd actually been quite tempted to message you, to ask what you were doing, if you had anywhere between two and three so that maybe he could see you, but he'd ultimately decided against it. he couldn't quite figure out the exact cause of his newly-found infatuation with you, but the rationality of it didn't concern him as much as it probably should've, he was simply pleased to relive the very recent memories of your encounters together and anticipate your next meeting—at least until his younger brother returned.

eren had attempted to goad a reaction out of him with an assortment of unsavory texts calling him just about every name in the book, a constant stream of questions asking why he did it, or what he'd done to deserve such a thing, and even a few desperate pleas begging him to say that it wasn't really you. of course, he'd ignored all of them, and he wondered if eren was trying to contact you as well, knowing that you wouldn't be able to see the messages even if that was the case, though still curious nonetheless.

but for the moment, he was lounging at his usual downtown bar, seated in a booth beside reiner and across from porco at their rescheduled night out, since both marcel and porco were unable to make it yesterday, the latter sulking after his noisy attempt to flag down the waitress ended in failure.

"is marcel actually gonna make it tonight?" reiner asked, plucking a stick of celery from the appetizer platter in the middle of the table.

"no clue." porco replied, sipping his mojito, "said he got caught up at work again, so either the let down text is gonna come any minute now, or he's gonna show up for an hour and then disappear."

zeke chuckled. "post-marriage life sure is tough, i guess."

"you can say that again. he's always calling me, freaking about the idea of kids and his mortgage and stuff that i didn't even think about until he complained about it, scary shit."

"you say that like you're not two years away from being his age."

porco began what was sure to be one of his smart-ass replies, but the waitress had finally approached their booth, hiding her annoyance with his friend with a forced smile as she took the orders for their entrées. zeke pulled his phone from the back pocket of his jeans when he felt it buzz, feeling the slightest hint of disappointment by the fact that it wasn't you.

"who is it? your new girlfriend?" reiner grumbled, smirking when porco shot up in his seat.

"girlfriend?!" he exclaimed far too loudly.

"yup. zeke didn't tell you he's dating a high-schooler?"

so much for "your business", zeke thought to himself. "oh, fuck off. she's in college." he frowned at his roommate, only met with another tired expression of disappointment.

"just barely." reiner turned back to the man across the table, "it's one of his brother's ex-girlfriends too."

porco stared at him incredulously, eyes wide and judgmental, falling back against the cushion of the seat with a low whistle. "shit zeke.. that's kinda fucked up, don't you think?" he seemed uncomfortable by the unexpected revelation, "you're almost thirty and you're screwing around with someone who's probably not even twenty? is this an afraid-of-getting-old thing? mid-life crisis??"

"she's an adult, she can make her own choices." zeke didn't appreciate the sudden scrutiny, finishing off his old fashioned in the hopes that the bourbon would wash away the self-conscious feeling settling unpleasantly in his gut, "not my fault that her choice happens to be wanting to be around me rather than the guys her age."

"what ever happened to you and pieck? she's hot—"

"and actually over the legal drinking age."

both porco and zeke pointedly ignored reiner's interaction as the former continued. "—i thought it was working out between you two.. what happened?"

zeke shrugged. "just wasn't the right fit for me. but you liked her, didn't you? before we had our thing." he looked up at his friend, forcing a casual grin, "maybe you could give that shot now."

he felt a bit more at ease seeing porco's ears and cheeks flush red, now fiddling with the lime garnish on the rim of his glass. "we still talk here and there.. i don't really know much about what she's up to these days."

before he could answer with more words of encouragement that detracted from the previous, morally-incriminating topic, his phone began to vibrate, and he felt his heart leap into his throat at the sight of your name on the screen. "sorry, gotta take this."

he tugged on his jacket and slid out of the booth, ignoring reiner's chastising glance and porco's bewildered look, passing the waitress who was now carrying a platter with their food and refills on his way out. the cool night breeze was refreshing in comparison to the awkward, almost cramped atmosphere that had developed over their discussion, his breath coming is foggy puffs in the chilled, january air as he pressed the answer button. immediately upon raising the phone to his ear, he was met with a blurred assortment of background noise, able to discern the muffled sound of music and the sound of footsteps outside of whatever room you were in.

"hello?"

"oh, zeke, you answered!!" he could hear in your voice that you were clearly intoxicated, much more than you had been when you were at his house, words stringing together and ending syllables unnecessarily drawn out.

he felt uncharacteristically worried at the realization that you were at a party, one that sounded quite large and crowded, most likely crawling with unsavory individuals that he knew prowled around those sorts of events when he himself was in college. "are you alright? where are you right now? do you need me to pick you up?"

zeke was already digging around in his coat pocket to check if he had his keys, more than prepared to take off without his meal or saying goodbye to his friends inside. "'m at a party on campus, 's okay. in the bathroom. just thinking."

zeke didn't feel eased at all at the sound of loud knocking coming from somewhere, hearing you becoming distant for a moment as you presumably pulled the phone away from your ear to call out that the bathroom was occupied. there was shuffling on the other line, then silence for a short moment. "can i ask you something?"

zeke frowned. the idea of not being able to know who was monitoring you in this state wasn't sitting well with him. "go ahead."

"but don't call me stupid, ok? i already know it's a stupid question, but i still wanna ask it."

"there's no such thing as stupid questions." he assured you, ignoring the buzz of a text notification, most likely porco or reiner telling him to come back in before the burger he ordered got cold.

"do i really have to break up with eren?"

zeke felt something odd flicker in his chest, that unfamiliar feeling he'd felt when he caught you staring at you and his brother's one-sided chat logs, but yet the affirmative answer he thought he would be able to give with no problem sat on the tip of his tongue, undelivered. he thought back to that face reiner had made when he told him who you were, and porco's hesitant words trying to rationalize his actions but ultimately failing to do so.

zeke didn't understand why he felt so conflicted all of a sudden. this was meant to be a simple ordeal, one where he got what he needed to teach eren a lesson and moved on with his life. but now here he was, concerned about your whereabouts, focusing hard enough on your muddled words that he managed to catch the wobble in your voice that betrayed your own state of emotional unrest. he realized a moment too late that he hadn't said anything, hearing a small sniffle on your end before we began speaking.

"god, i can't believe i said that out loud, you must really think i'm dumb r'now, but.. i just can't let go of what we had." he was sure that you were crying now. "i keep thinking about what you said, an' you're right. he's been an ass to me, he practically ignored me for, like, three months, probably fuckin' cheated on me with his hot best friend, so i can't understand why i just wanna keep trying to fix things... and its so confusing 'cause everyone just keeps telling me to enjoy myself an' have fun, but i have no idea what i even want anymore, and i don't even know what we are right now and i can't fuckin' believe i cheated on my boyfriend with his fuckin' older brother and i don't know what i'd ever do if he found out."

by the end of it, you were letting out small, hiccuped sobs, breath fast and uneven just as it had been the night he'd invited you over. he honestly didn't know what to say, listening to you cry, staring at the steam of his breath as it dissipated out into the night. you were a good person, someone who was undeserving of such treatment from either him or eren, but it was simply an unfortunate coincidence that you had been caught in the fray.

he took a deep breath and gathered his thoughts, preparing to deliver an affirmation similar to the one he'd given you a few days ago when you first laid all your relationship troubles out on the table, but there was a rapid, more insistent knocking at the bathroom door on your end. he could hear a female voice calling out your name, and the jiggling of the door knob.

"hold on," you paused, sniffling, "it's my roommate."

you steadied yourself enough to say that, tossing the phone somewhere before he heard the sound of the door unlocking. "there you are!! are you seriously wasted already? it's only, like, eleven?! why are you crying???" your roommate sounded tipsy, but nowhere near as intoxicated as you currently were, which eased zeke's initial worry, "jean! can you c'mere for a sec! wait, were you calling someone?"

there was a brief pause, and zeke could practically see your tiny nod and teary eyes in his head, then heels clicking over tile and the sound of the phone being lifted, followed by a hurried, "hey, this is her roommate! she's fine, gotta go!"

then silence, just him and the faint noise coming from inside the bar behind him. he didn't know what to think. from the sounds of it, it seemed like your friends were taking care of you for the time being, friends who names he vaguely remembered you speaking of when you'd been detailing your time at the halloween party—people that were unfamiliar to him, people he wasn't sure that he could trust. and a small part of him, a tiny voice at the back of his head, scoffed at his flimsy mask of worry that barely hid the true emotion, his possessive nature, driving his desire to go pick you up and bring you back to the apartment to take care of so you'd have to be there with him another morning with your thankful gazes and blunt, half-awake words.

he knew he was in no place to begin laying judgement at these unknown people in your life considering what he'd done, but it was an innate sort of feeling, the thought that always clouded his mind when he laid eyes on people that were younger than him, that he knew more than them, that somehow he would always be above them in an invisible hierarchy. that same feeling that he felt when he found himself looking down at you.

"zeke?" a warm, friendly voice broke him out of his thoughts, his eyes turning up from the ground to find a tired-looking marcel standing before him, "what are you doing out here by yourself?"

"smoke break." the lie slipped between his lips before he even thought of the fact that there was no cigarette between his fingers, no scent of smoke in the air or clinging to his clothes, "glad you could make it, everyone's inside. pretty sure porco already ordered you something."

but instead of immediately heading inside for zeke to come after him, marcel stood for a moment, lips drawing back and eyebrows knitting into a concerned expression. "is everything okay?"

zeke thought for a moment, giving a non-committal shrug in response.

"still having family troubles?"

despite having been quite fixated on his negative feelings revolving his own younger brother for the last few days, zeke had almost pushed out a majority of the sordid details of the entire situation out of his head, which now seemed to all flood back with such a short, simple question.

"you could say that." zeke scratched the back of his neck, now wishing he'd actually had a cigarette to take his mind off of all these turbulent thoughts, "all the arguing and shit subsided already, but..."

"anything from your dad?" marcel's voice was almost tentative asking that, frowning when zeke said nothing, "sorry.. didn't mean to be insensitive about it."

"it's not insensitive. just," he swallowed, tucking his phone back into his pocket and reaching out to push open the bar door, a silent, less embarrassing way to signal that he no longer wanted to talk about it anymore, "just kind of fresh. that's all."

they both stood in silence for a moment, marcel's eyes wandering his face, features expressing a clear concern, but thankfully, he didn't push the issue any further, simply following him inside like zeke wished he would've done minutes earlier to save him the trouble, proceeding to the booth housing their friends. the conversation didn't wander back to the topic of him and his morally dubious relations nor his current familial situation, much to his relief, making it much easier for him to just allow the conversation to flow around him, finding himself not having much of an appetite or desire to speak much with so much on his mind.

for a moment, zeke wondered to himself if this was a punishment from the universe, feeling so downtrodden on what was usually one of his more enjoyable nights in the week. not to say that they were always amazing to be around, but spending time with porco, reiner, marcel, and sometimes bertholdt made up most of the meaningful social interactions he had, and to have lost out on it today of all days just seemed like some odd form of karmic justice as a result of him behaving so selfishly.

but he held out for the rest of the evening anyways, going through more drinks that he probably should've, finding easier to tune in to porco and reiner's usual bickering, marcel's attempts to quell them, the ambient sound of bustling waiters and clinking glasses and plates to bury down any thought of you or his family or what was to come at the end of the week, the consequences with much more magnitude in his life than an just an unpleasant night out.

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previous chapter⥽

[savagenutella46]

And Thus With A Kiss I Die

Jasonette 1/1 - A fic I wrote for @moonlitceleste because she’s amazing

All quotes/title in bold italics derived from Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet.

"Banishèd' is banished from the world, and world's exile is death."

There's no finite end to where white and black meet. Everything is shades of grey; infinite on a foreboding scale of fate and destiny: entities that push you to make the choices you do.

It had ended with a flash of light—real or her imagination, she had witnessed it between her own eyes. The kind of flashing light that tells you, "you've died."

Ladybug could still hear the shrieks and screams of civilians echoing ringingly around her, confused, scared, as to why an akumatized villain was hurting them the way that it was; this wasn't how akumatizations usually went, maybe a few scratches, worn out knees, but never this.

(—And to think, it had started out as a normal day.

Marinette rose out of bed with the same grogginess lingering at the corner of her eyes, brushed her teeth, kissed her Maman on the cheek as she ran to school, late.

You'd never suspect you were going to die on a day so normal, so domestic.)

What had this person been through before submitting to Hawkmoth with such a vicinity? How had Hawkmoth prayed to a cacophony of emotions like this—to kill, order, destroy everything in its path? Marinette would never catch an inkling, dying and all that jazz.

It's easy to see the world through a rose-colored lens. To believe that people do the things they do because they're bad. (but no one ever talks about why they do the things they do because they're good.)

And Marinette, masked in all her red-and-black glory, had pushed a frozen-with-fear civilian out of harm's way, an absurd amount of unleashed dark magic from the akuma hurtling its way toward them, and she'd taken the hit. Rolled on the ground for yards from the sheer force that the akuma's magic had flew and stricken her and pierced the skin, blood splattering and trailing as she slapped and hit the street from every possible angle.

Ladybug can't move, can't call for help when she desperately needs to, because her partner is miles away trying to fight what has her plastered to the ground, laying limp underneath her dead weight, breathing muffled and heavy underneath her physical detriment.

Ladybug's eyes droop under the weight of exhaustion, barely running on fumes before she had run out in an attempt to defeat what was supposed to be an everyday activity.—Crazy, how something can seem so domestic until its so, so much more.—A hemothorax forming in her chest where Marinette had been hit, a very open thoracic cavity filling up with blood, and she's spluttering for breath, because her throat is closed up, filled with blood from where the akuma hit her to where it burned.

It burns real bad, almost like an explosion stemming from her chest to the nerve endings on her toes. Marinette feels like she's being tortured with every meek twitch of her wrist as she lays on the ground, unable to see over the car shouldering her path, the pain burning behind her eyes, the white-hot disappointment in her heart.

—And she knows it's time. Because this is the work of fate. Her life in its hands. It had seemed miles away from Marinette just this morning, and how she wished she could go back and cherish the moments since she'd arisen from unpremeditated slumber.

She cannot. This is her destiny, as it seems. No one can be saved if Ladybug cannot save herself, can't will herself to detransform and heal herself because she can't, and she feels a gripping amount of remorse before emotions hit her all around—she should've told Adrien something, she can't recall what it is—should've told her Maman she loved her before running out the door in such a rush—should've squealed about the hot superheroes in America with Alya one last time, before she feels nothing.

Nothing except for the white light. And then dark again. Absolutely nothing.

                                               _________________

It's dark when she opens her eyes, and she blinks to make sure her eyes are actually open, and sees a big, fat, load of nothing.

Marinette's—the ladybug suit had disappeared, her normal clothes taking its place—body feels light, floaty, and utterly weightless against the dark mass she's standing atop of. Her head feels eerily light, calm without the weight of the world on her shoulders, and a calm feeling washes over her.

Her voice echoes against endless sound barriers as she utters her first words since death.

"This is what death feels like, huh?" Utterly amazing. Marinette can't believe she didn't do this earlier.

—But, for a moment, she feels empathy. Empathy for the people stuck in Paris, wondering if this was the day they were going to die, the people all around the world living in fear of something so inevitable.

She closes her eyes for just a second, a moment of vengeful peace. Opens them again, and this time, she's somewhere different.

She's in a library. Unfamiliar, but welcoming all the same. The smell of crisp, unopened books float idly in her senses, a synthetic warm feeling creeping up behind her back. Distantly, she realizes that she recognizes the place, tables placed and shelves abundantly filled with books, ranging from science fiction to classic literature, and it feels exactly how it did all those years ago.

Years ago, when she'd first visited the United States of America, the first place her Maman and Papa took her was a public library in Gotham City, New Jersey. It had welcomed her so openly that she couldn't help but smile a little, slip under from her parent's grasp, and wander toward a vast section of William Shakespeare, someone she'd heard so much about in her eight—nine years, she couldn't help but be pulled toward the ordain shelf.

She'd even met someone, too. Her mother would forever deny—if Marinette had still been alive, but Marinette was convinced the little boy sitting against the mass of wooden shelves had been very, very real. Marinette had smiled at him, sat down next to him, even if he gave her a wary, and borderline aggressive look, she'd introduced herself.

"Hi, I'm Marinette." She'd said with a horrible stutter and an almost unintelligible accent. The boy closed his book—a black and white cover with words she couldn't quite understand the meaning of as well as a simple name like Shakespeare's, and she smiled a little harder.

"Jason," He'd said in a heedful voice, staring at her curiously. "Whadda' you want?"

Marinette shrugged as best she could with weak shoulders, and turned her head from the person next to her to drink in every corner of the library that she could see without moving from her increasingly-uncomfortable crouch on the ground.

"Nothing. Just wanted to see what you're reading." She leaned over his shoulder, monosyllabic and complex English text alike filling her view, so many words that blurred together, and she felt a heat at the top of her head in frustration.

She couldn't read English.

The boy next to her—Jason, had seemed to recognize her distress and pull the book closer to him, floundering for a moment before he exhaled loudly, and started to read.

Words flowed out of the him, smooth and languid, and she found herself trapped in the moment, mesmerized by such an eloquent reading from a boy who looked just her age.

"What cursèd foot wanders this way tonight to cross my obsequies and true love's rite?" He reads off, breaking unevenly for gulps of air, and dove back right where he stopped without much distraction, and moments, minutes passed under his voice.

And the memory fell away from view. She opened eyes she didn't realize had closed when a voice seemed to float from the corner of her vision, a body stepping into view and a realized this wasn't imagination.

Another boy, dressed in tattered—but comfortable looking jeans finds his way over to her, a curious glint in his magnificent blue eye and a raised eyebrow, though he looks troubled, aged where he ought to look youthful.

"Who're you?" He mumbles, lips barely moving around syllables as he stares at Marinette, defensive, yet hopeful.

His voice. Despite the clearly street-wise accent, his voice is beautiful. A voice that could recite hundreds of words and never get old in the canals of her ears. Marinette found herself wanting to hear more.

"Marinette." She blinks, seems to realize the way he seems nervous, and, "You like jazz?" Blurts out the first thing that comes to mind, which, just so happens to be the only sentence capable of such utterance in damning—literally—times like this one.

Jason finally cracks a smile after a few more moments of cricket-inducing silence, and the newfound tension in her shoulders seems to melt away again, just as it did with her entrance to a magnificent limbo such as this. "Not in particular, but I do like to read." His smile is utterly contagious, and Marinette feels it spread its way along her own face, eyes crinkling under the weight of emotion.

They spend their days in an endless limbo like that, reading, laughing, sometimes in the comfortable chair in the library, and sometimes they're gazing upon clouds, feeling the prickly sensation of grass under their backs as they lie next to one another under a cool breeze and warm sun—which is the scene they're settling in, when Marinette turns her head toward the boy next to her.

"It's been," She pauses for a moment, adding up the days since they've both died—it had to be around the same time—and Jason turns his head toward her in a similar fashion, an eyebrow raised. "A few months? And..." She trails off, suddenly feeling less confident in a horrid question.

She knows the way she had died hadn't been peaceful, and if the boy she'd grown so close to in months of passing had died as painfully, he might doubt their budding friendship, as new as it is.

But then Jason reaches over and covers her hand with his, a blooming warmth enveloping her hand all the way to her heart, her vision snaps back to where it had wandered down to the rest of her body, reliving a turret of emotions. "Marinette," Jason stares at her in earnest, "You can ask."

Another thing she'd never understand was Jason's ability to read people so well. He'd always know her intentions, as bad or good as they may be, like something mundane, a book she'd eyed for a few minutes before he'd sighed heavily and got up to get it for her, or when Marinette wanted to be left alone. Just for a minute, to pull herself back together.

"How did you die?" She watches as Jason closes his eyes, curling in on himself despite the foretold question, and waits.

She's good at waiting. (A familiar feeling of heat creeping up to her cheeks, the same way it did with someone else, not so long ago, but in a different lifetime.)

"It started out when I tried to steal Batman's tires—" Marinette widens her eyes in surprise.

Oh, so they're going way back then, huh?

But by the time Jason finishes speaking, pats his sweaty hands down on the slacks he wore that day that came from God knows where, Marinette finds the humor and her mood had dimmed significantly.

And Jason, he looks terrible. Like it was the first time he'd said something about it since, well, death. Almost hyperventilating, Jason is breathing heavily, gripping onto his pants with malice and intent, almost as if stopping himself from something. He'd told his beginning to end with an increasingly shaky voice, cracking at the edges where he'd relived the fear and abandonment he felt when trapped in an unfamiliar country, in a dirty warehouse, trapped in his own feelings in a suit that he thought would always protect him.

Without a dad that he'd thought would always protect him.  

Marinette feels a little sick. The boy next to her had died so brutally, alone, scared and slowly.

"I don't regret it. Being Robin." He adds quietly after a moment of hesitation. It's small, but it's there and plain. He doesn't regret something that changed his life, but— "Just the death part."

He would want to change his death, and she couldn't agree more.

If only it meant they could've still met despite living, that is.

She doesn't say that. Instead, she laughs a little. "You and me both." Marinette reaches over to hold his hand once more, and pretends not to see the tears climbing out of his eyes.

"So early waking, what with loathsome smells, and shrieks like mandrakes torn out of the earth, that living mortals, hearing them, run mad—?"

How it felt to tear his way out of the ground, shivering, shaking, flinching at the way his fingernails tore away with every claw and scratch at the unyielding wood before him. Jason was vaguely aware of a horrible groaning noise that might've been his own, but when his hand stuck through to crisp Gotham air, dirt flinging and spilling down on his face as he gasped and choked for breath, he could only think of a single quote from such a cliche play.

He thought of it while tearing out the bloody uvula of his victim, spurred on by the Pit and Talia's ruthless training, starving for the sound of screaming that rung in his ear, continued to clang loudly even in sleep, when it bestowed itself upon him.

Because he couldn't think about anything else. Wouldn't allow himself to, because then he would start thinking about her.

About how she left him.

Jason had turned to retrieve a book from their peaceful library limbo one day, muttering to himself about something so mundane that he didn't even remember, but he'd grabbed the book—a simple fiction, because they were both bored of astronomy—and turned around to silence, instead of the shiny mop of dark hair he was expecting.

"Marinette?" Jason calls, swiveling his head around when the chair previously occupied by her stood empty.

Jason waits.

He doesn't know how long he waits, searches, but she isn't there.

And the feeling of disappointment and fear runs up his spine again, before he knows it, he's kneeling on the ground, trying to catch his breath as tears run down because he's been abandoned again, and it's just as damning as the first time.

His father, his brother, his mother, his birth mother, and now his friend.

Jason breaks down again, gripping harshly onto his hair while he cries, where he'd usually hold onto Marinette's hand.

So he doesn't think of much at all, really. Not when he turns on murder mode, not when he forces himself to stare into the eyes of the person he's killing while they die, because he wants to remember how it felt. How it felt before he met another superhero torn away from her life almost as harshly as he was ripped away from his own.

He wants to go back. Before he flew to Ethiopia unsupervised and unprepared, before he took the Robin mantle, before he decided to make quick cash off of the Batmobile, before his mother died by her own hands, loosely holding a syringe and shaking, shuddering from her overdose.

Jason wants to go back to Before. He can't stand living in the After, where he makes the choices he does.

He’s supposed to be good.

permanent taglist: @nathleigh @stainedglassm @officiallydarkgeek @certainmuffinbagelcalzone @buterflies-and-ladybugs @maskedpainter

[jpegjade]

Smile for the Camera - Spencer

it’s 2 days late but i havE A NEW FIC! i don’t really know what else to say this time so yeah here you go!

gender: not mentioned/neutral

type: fluff

warnings: none

______

You hoped you weren’t going to be late. There was an accident on the highway when you were on your way over to Rossi’s house and you kept praying to whatever was out there for you to make it on time. 

Pulling up to the driveway, you saw lights on in the house but the blinds were closed. so you couldn't tell if anything was happening. You heaved a big sigh and grabbed your camera bag. 

“Here we go.” You said to yourself. 

It was always a big production to go to weddings, no matter how small they are. Weddings were draining in the best ways. You loved seeing people in love but it was hard with how little was going in your life sometimes. 

You got a text from Will that read, ’Just walk straight to the backyard when you get here. That’s where we will do the ceremony.’ 

You quietly walked to the back gate and gasped. The decorations were simple but beautiful. String lights, candles, lightly decorated chairs. You felt the urge to cry coming on but you held back. You had a job to do while everyone was gone at the end of the night, then you could cry out of happiness. 

Click. One picture down. Click click. More photos loaded as you got shots in. This was the most calming moment, when there was no one around and you got to be by yourself and get your jitters out. The sound of the camera shutter was so loud in your head but so quiet when you worked. 

“Well look who it is!” A southern New Orleans accent drawled from behind you as you wrapped up shooting. 

“Wil!” You turned, opening your arms to hug your best friend’s fiance. 

You and Will had always been reasonably close because of your bonds with JJ. You didn’t meet the people in her life often but you heard stories and when Will officially came into the picture, you were in love with his chemistry with JJ. You knew this day would happen, especially after Henry, it was only a matter of time.

“Are you ready, big guy?” You asked, taking in his dapper appearance. 

He looked so nice that you knew JJ was going to cry when she saw him. Hell, you were going to cry when you see her and you get to see her before everyone else. Let’s face it… You were just going to cry over everything. Everything was cry-worthy because you knew it was all done in love. Everything here was about love.

“No. I mean yes, I get to call her my wife but I have been practicing my vows for an hour and I still don’t know what to say.” Will chucked as you smiled with him. 

“I think you’ve got it.” You comforted him. 

You were about to say something when someone yelled about JJ pulling up in the driveway. This was Will’s cue to greet JJ at the door with Henry. They arrived in separate cars so Will could get the surprise together but the ruse was that Will was picking up a specific wine as a gift to Rossi since it was his party and you always bring the party host wine. It was a ruse because in reality, Will got to Rossi’s place early to make sure that everything was up and running as smoothly as possible. 

Suddenly, a group of people came walking out of the backdoor. You started taking photos of them coming out as if they were the bridal party, the bridesmaids and groomsmen who stand on the altar with the couple, but you knew they were the guests. 

The first guy out of the door winked at you, causing you to feel your face get hot. Whenever people gave themselves attention through the camera, you felt like it was attention towards you because you were the person behind the camera. You often had to remind yourself that it’s all for the camera, not you. 

“Hey, y/n!” Emily called as she grew closer to you. She was right behind the guy so you didn’t see her until she was standing right in front of you.

“You look really nice.” You said, taking a picture of Emily. She looked slightly bashful at the sight of the camera on her but she went with it anyway. 

You met Emily before at a dinner party that JJ invited you to. Emily, JJ, and Penelope sat around JJ’s kitchen table drinking wine and JJ invited you over because she knew you could use the break to chit chat and be with people without being under pressure to mingle and make business connections like at weddings. You always thought she was a bit brash but you also appreciated how straight-forward Emily always was. 

“Thank you. Are you going to photograph the wedding?” Emily asked as you walked to the middle of the aisle together. Emily was on her way to talk to someone else in the yard and you were waiting for JJ, Will and Henry to come out the back door. 

“Yeah. Will asked me to do it. “ You smiled. 

“I know you’ll do great. You always do.” Emily was genuinely complimenting you and it was your turn to be bashful. 

Being a friend of JJ, she always had you take their family photos so she could post them to Facebook and frame them. Emily obviously saw your photos, along with JJ’s many friends and family, so she kept up with you. 

Emily walked to her seat while you noticed Rossi and JJ’s mother walking to the back door. You followed at a distance, your longest distance lens ready to capture JJ’s face. All you could see was mouths moving but you kept the camera going until it hit her. click click click clickˆ. There was the recognition on JJ’s face about what was happening. 

“Y/n!” JJ noticed you behind Rossi, who you knew as the rich older guy whose house hosted many dinner nights that you were often invited to but you were too busy with weddings and other events on the weekends to go. It was nice to actually attend for once. 

“JJ!” You said, a big smile spreading on your face. 

You can JJ hugged before her mom ushered the two of you off to a room. 

“You knew?” JJ asked as you got pictures of her and her mom getting her dressed in that gorgeous gown. 

It fit her so nicely that it was almost like it was made for JJ… Little did she know that you had a hand in making sure it was fitted to her perfectly leading up to the wedding. It was a challenge but you were able to figure out her measurements through compiling a series of images, some of her clothes, and a special 3D rendering program that Penelope helped program. It sounds easy but it was incredibly difficult to put together in a short amount of time to ensure that the dress was going to be a perfect fit.

“Kinda. It was a last minute thing, which gave me no time to spoil it.” You weren’t the best at secrets but you were by far better than Penelope. You learned that pretty soon after you met her for the first time. 

“Well, I’m glad you’re here. I wouldn’t want to be here without you.” JJ said, her mom zipping her up finally. 

You gave the two of them time alone while you went and looked for a good place to set up. You could feel the tears coming on as you closed the door to the bedroom but you took a deep breath. It was a happy day and you were just feeling overwhelmed. Weddings could be stressful and a lot to handle a lot of the time but they made you happy at the end of the day. 

As you stood in the front row, waiting for JJ to walk down the aisle, you noticed a boy out of the corner of your eye, just talking to Emily. He glanced over at you for a moment, fixing his hair, before focusing on Emily again. You wondered if he worked with JJ… 

The ceremony came and went. From JJ’s gorgeous dress under the stars to Henry and WIll looking nice and the photos of the first kiss, you couldn’t stop crying between shots. It was hard to see but thank the lord for autofocus because you wouldn’t be able to nail the manual focus through your tears. You had never seen her so happy, other than when you saw her in the hospital holding Henry for the first time, so this was an amazing occasion. You missed being a guest for a special moment like this but you would be sobbing if you weren’t doing a job. 

As JJ, Will and Henry walked inside for a little bit for a private moment after the ceremony, you were left outside by yourself as everyone started to mingle. Out of sheer anxiety, you flipped through your preview screen with all of your shots on your camera. With JJ inside, Penelope at the snack table, and Emily dancing with a tall, commanding man with dark hair, you were left not knowing anyone. 

You decided to go sit down at a table and take a break when you heard Henry’s laugh. Looking up, you noticed the cute guy doing magic tricks with Henry over by the table. You couldn’t help but stare at the two of them, a pang in your heart. 

With all of your friends getting married or engaged, you found yourself getting lonlier. They were all pairing off and getting on with their lives while you were committed to your job. That was perfectly fine but your photos couldn’t talk back to you when you were alone at night, needing an emotional connection. 

Click. Click. Click. You took more shots of Henry smiling from afar, pausing to look at the previews, before you went inside to get something to drink. If anyone needed a shot right now, it was you.

Two shots in, you heard a door closing behind you. 

“You should say hi to him.” JJ said, smiling. 

Instinctively, she was playing with her wedding ring. It was a foreign object on her hand so of course she would play with it between her fingers. 

“I should not do that. I’m here to work.” You smiled back. 

The smile was a little bit forced because you had this conversation with JJ before. You see a cute person and JJ encourages you to go for it. You shoot her down and tell her all the reasons it wouldn’t work out. The two of you laugh about it and move on. 

“Spence is a nice guy.” JJ chuckled, looking out to the backyard. 

“His name is Spence?” You asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Spencer Reid is his name.” JJ corrected. “But I’ve always called him Spence when no one would give him a nickname when he first got to the BAU.” 

“Oh, that’s cute.” You said, distractedly. 

Looking over at Spencer, he was still playing with Henry. Another magic trick that piqued your interest as you tried to see how he did it. He was just too smooth because you couldn’t see the switcheroo moment. 

“Go, talk to him! Take a break for a little bit. You’ve been working this entire time and I know the shots aren’t going to cure the lonely feeling.” JJ said, a soft smile on her face. 

You thought about it for a second, slowly feeling the effects of the shots flowing to your head. It wasn’t enough to knock you off balance but enough to loosen you up a little bit. 

“I just might.” You said, your resolve hitting you. 

JJ smiled at you as you went outside to where Spencer sat. One. Two. One. Two. You counted your steps, looking down at your feet as you felt the nerves threatening to come back up. Where was the confidence you felt a minute ago? You could do this. 

Just when you were about to open your mouth, Henry spotted you and came running up to hold your leg. 

“Y/N!” He yelled, looking up at you. 

In the second you paused to gain your balance and look down at Henry, you looked back up to see Spencer talking to the guy that winked at your camera in the beginning of the wedding. They seemed to be talking about something serious so you gave up and decided to dance with Henry. 

“Hey buddy, will you dance with me?” You asked Henry, who was still clinging to your leg. You took your camera from it’s resting place on your chest and placed it in your shoulder bag. 

Henry nodded his head and the two of you went out to the dance floor, him holding onto your hands and swaying off tempo. You were looking at Henry, who occasionally let go of your hand to push the hair out of his face, and sneaking glances at Spencer, who was starting to look deflated in his conversation. You wondered what he was talking about that made him deflate at a wedding. 

“Mind if I cut in?” Will’s voice shook you out of your wandering thoughts about Spencer. 

“Of course. I’m sure you guys should have a family dance.” You said, stepping away. 

“I wanted to dance with you, not him.” Will chuckled.

Henry ran over to his mom, who was at the snack table with Spencer, while you and will had a dance. You didn’t even notice Spencer get up and move. 

“This is beautiful.” You said, looking around. You noticed the air get a little chilly but you were still moving so it didn’t bother you. 

“It really came together in time.” Will chuckled, knowing how much of a hassle it was to pull everything together. 

“No thanks to you, of course.” You smiled. 

Over Will’s shoulder, you could see JJ and Spencer still talking. They looked so light and fun. You wondered what they were talking about. You couldn’t see JJ’s face but Spencer was looking up at the stars until he wasn’t. Suddenly, he was making eye contact with you. 

You felt your face grow hot as you looked away, Will’s voice calling you back from your thoughts. 

“You should go talk to him. You’ll enjoy his… Quirks.” Will chuckled, continuing to sway with you. 

“Quirks, huh? He’s that bad? Maybe I shouldn’t go for it…” You said, thinking about how your previous experiences with guys with quirks landed you more single than an amoeba. 

“I think you would like him. He knows a lot about… Well everything.” He said as the song came to an end. 

“Well, I’ll see. I want to get more shots of you, JJ and Henry dancing together.” You said, grabbing your camera out of your shoulder bag and taking a few steps back to capture Will smiling. 

Click. Click. 

You checked the images and were satisfied enough to move on… Almost. 

“Can I borrow that?” Will asked, pointing to your camera. 

“For what?” You asked, genuinely curious what he could use it for at his own wedding when he literally paid you to take care of photos. 

“I want to show JJ how I see her, with the help of your camera.” Will said, dreamily as the two of you stared at JJ and Henry dancing together. 

“Okay… I don’t know what I’ll do now, though.” You nervously chuckled. 

It was a little bit deflating to give up your camera. You really wanted a reason to talk to Spencer and you typically used taking pictures of someone as an excuse to actually talk to them. Without your camera, how are you supposed to do that?

“Here, I’ll be your wingman.” Will nudged you before you could realize that Spencer was walking toward the two of you. 

Before you had time to react, Will put the camera up to his face and started taking pictures.

“This is harder than I expected…” Will muttered, watching you smile. 

“What’s hard?” Spencer asked, standing arms length away from you. 

The three of you stood in a triangle, staring at each other for a moment. You felt naked and defenseless against the situation without your camera. Will was trying to understand it before he went over to JJ. 

“You know, the first photo of a person was an accident. So by taking pictures of me, you’re doing more than the first technical portrait photographer was doing, in terms of effort and intention. The art of photography really is a numbers game, if you think about it. Along the x and y-axis, you’re attempting to capture a moment of time on a plane of existence that is completely irrelevant to the numbers related to the…” 

“Spence.” JJ said, seemingly coming out of nowhere. She smiled and shook her head as if the two of them went through that routine normally. 

“Related to the plane of imagery.” You mumbled, knowing you heard that from somewhere but not sure where. 

Will, JJ, and Spencer all heard you finish Spencer’s sentence, although it was natural. 

“You listened to my ted talk.” Spencer said, smiling. 

“That was you?” You asked, meeting Spencer’s eyes. They looked so pretty up close, when the light hit them a certain way. 

“Yes! It was supposed to be a regular lecture but they were trying a new format and wanted to know if I would be willing to do it that way. I didn’t mind but it was hard to…” Spencer trailed off when he looked over at JJ. 

“Will, I think we should let them work out the logistics of...cameras… While you and I hang out with Henry. The night seems to be winding down. I think there’s one song left before Rossi kicks us out.” JJ chuckled. 

Spencer shifted on his feet as JJ, Will, and your camera went to the dance floor, where Henry was talking to Emily. 

“Your name is Spencer, right?” You asked, rocking on the heels of your shoes. 

“Dr. Spencer Reid.” He said, looking at you with a small smile.

“Oh. You’re a doctor…” You said, trying to figure out how old he was. 

“I’m not that old, no. I was accelerated in my learning as a child so I finished everything earlier than expected.” He said, seemingly reading into what you were thinking. 

There was an awkward silence that fell between the two of you. You wanted to fill it so badly but you didn’t want to actually think about what to fill it with. You spent yet another night pining over a boy who wasn’t going to have any interest in you, just like every other wedding you go to. 

“So… How about those stars…” You chuckled. 

“Do you think… Maybe... Would you be interested in dancing with me?” Spencer was stumbling over his words as the last song of the night came on through the speakers. One of your favorite songs…

“Finally.” You breathed out before realizing what you said. “I mean yes, I would love to dance with you.” 

Leading you out to the empty makeshift dance floor, the music played softly in the background as Spencer slipped his hand around your waist. 

“Garcia said you would be someone nice to know.” Spencer said, swaying with you. 

“I beg to differ but I guess I shouldn’t say those things to cute boys.” 

It was different from dancing with Will. Dancing with Will was wasting time, just doing something to do it. Dancing with Spencer had a little purpose. The last song of the night wasn’t even slow but you and Spencer were the last ones on the dancefloor, just swaying in tune with one another. It was relaxing, if not excessively calming. 

“You think I’m cute?” Spencer asked, his eyebrows furrowing. 

“You don’t?” You followed up, genuinely confused at how he didn’t see it. 

“Well the term ‘cute’ cannot be scientifically described although the golden ratio is believed to…” Spencer squinted at something past your head, causing you to turn around. 

Behind the glassdoor of the house was the BAU, watching you and Spencer dance. As soon as they realized you were turning around, they all pretended to be talking to one another. It was a pretty bad attempt. 

“Do they always watch you do stuff like this?” You turned back to Spencer and he solemnly nodded. 

“That’s weird.” You said, glancing over your shoulder again. 

Half of the team was giving Spencer a thumbs up, including JJ. 

“What if we got out of here?” Spencer said, looking down at you. 

“Hmm?” You asked, looking at his eyes. You noticed they were warm and inviting, soft even. 

“You and I could get out of here. Get coffee, maybe?” He smiled slightly. It looked a little forced but that could be because he was nervous. 

“RIght now?” You asked, lifting your arm as he slowly spun you around. 

“RIght now. If that’s okay with you. If not, that’s fine. I get it. It’s like…” Spencer was still going when you cut him off. 

“Let’s get out of here.” You said, “I don’t want the night to end with a last dance like this.”

[hockey-prose]

Bitty Breaks the Internet

Summary: The AC in Jack and Bitty’s apartment is broken. So what better way to beat the heat than go out on the water? Bitty wears a new swimsuit, Jack takes his picture, and the picture ends up online. (Cross posted to AO3.)

It all started with that blasted weather. Simply put, it was stifling. Bitty was used to dry Southern summers and slight humidity. But he wasn’t prepared for this years incredibly humid Eastern summer. It made it worse that the AC in his and Jack’s apartment was broken and wouldn’t be fixed until next week.

So, while the two of them were boiling in their apartment, Bitty got a text from his mama.

Mama: Dicky, why don’t y’all just rent a boat and stay near the water for a few days?

That’s a great idea! Thanks Mama!

“Jack, honey,” Bitty said, adopting his extra thick accent. He knew it meant Jack would give him anything he wanted because he was sweet on his Southern side.

“Yeah, bud? What’s up?”

Bitty sat up, allowing the washcloth soaked in ice water to fall to his lap. He looked to his fiancé across the couch from him. It was so hot that the only parts of them that had been touching were their feet and ankles. There were at least 10 fans angled towards them.

“How about we rent a boat for the weekend? It’s the off season for you, and my deadline isn’t until next week.”

Jack lowered his phone, revealing the hair plastered to his forehead. Bitty’s heart squeezed with love for his man.

“I don’t know how to drive a boat.”

Bitty smacked Jack gently on the thigh.

“I do, honey! I spent I don’t know how many hours on boats in Georgia. Good Lord, the sunburns I’ve gotten. The point is that I know how to drive and I could teach you.”

“Do we want to invite other people or just have it be us?”

Bitty thought. As much as he loved every one of their shared friends, it would be nice to be just the two of them. Quiet.

“I think just us for this first time would be nice. Just the two of us?”

Bitty heaved himself forward to slide between Jack’s open legs. Jack’s eyes widened, but he covered Bitty’s hands where he’d placed them on his chest. Jack hummed.

“I like the sound of that. Want me to see if I can find any boat rental places?”

“How about we look together, huh handsome?”

The week came and went, and on Friday afternoon, Jack and Bitty took to the water at Providence Marina. Turns out, Marty had a boat docked there and gave Jack the keys to use it. The cooler that was clutched in each of their hands contained beer, soda, chips, sandwich fixings, fruit, and lemon blueberry mini pies.

After everything had been situated on the boat, and they’d had an awkward conversation with one of Marty’s dock neighbors, Bitty pulled them out to sea. They didn’t go very far, just out of view of the docks, and dropped the anchor.

Bitty turned on his portable speaker to some soft pop music, stripped off his clothes, and began making house on the boat. He could hear Jack snapping pictures with his camera. A quick look revealed that the subject was him.

“Well, now, Mr. Zimmermann. Who said you could take pictures of me just before I was about to fix you a sandwich,” Bitty sassed, planting his hands on his hips.

Jack took the camera away from his face, a love struck smile on his lips. He was also shirtless, and had laid himself on the deck of the boat to get a good angle.

“Sorry, Bits, you’re just so gorgeous I couldn’t help it. That swim suit is definitely doing you a favor.”

Bitty felt his cheeks warm, and a smile cross his own mouth. He’d bought the suit as soon as the boat was secured. It was almost a Speedo with just a bit more length. The print on them was white with light and dark blue sail boats.

“Oh hush now.”

A click.

“Jack Laurent Zimmermann!”

The afternoon passed with Bitty alternating between sunning himself on the deck and taking dips in the water. Jack kept mostly on the boat, occasionally dipping his legs in when Bitty swam. By the time they pulled into the dock, his shoulders were bright pink and he winced when he lifted the cooler.

“I told you to put on some more sunscreen, honey. There’s some aloe at home, but it’s gonna take more than that.”

“Bits, bud, don’t feel too bad. I’ll wear sunscreen tomorrow and bring a shirt too.”

“You still want to go out tomorrow?”

The couple buckled themselves into Jack’s car.

“Of course, Bits. You looked like you were loving it out there. As long as it makes you happy.”

Bitty leaned across the center console and planted a kiss on the underside of Jack’s jaw.

“You’re so sweet, honey. As long as you’re up for it.”

By the end of the weekend, Jack had taken over 100 pictures. At least 50 of them were Bitty. There was a handful of scenery, other boats and the ocean. And then a few were of the two of them. One for each day. They had gotten progressively pinker as the days went on.

Sunday night, the couple went to a nice seafood just off the water before heading home to fall into bed for a restful night sleep.

Wednesday rolled around quietly, and Bitty woke to about a thousand notifications on his phone. Some were texts. Some were notifications on Twitter. By far the most notifications came from Instagram. Even though he’d made an account, Bitty barely posted to Instagram except to promote his cookbook.

Deciding to look at the texts first, he was greeted with no context chirps from his Samwell friends. All of them were about him in a swimsuit?

What?

Bitty continued to flick through his messages. There were individual messages from everyone on his former team, but also in the big “Haus 4.0” group chat.

Holster (Adam Birkholtz): dUDE BITTY MY GOD HOW HAVE YOU STAYED SO HOT????

Ransom (Justin Oluransi): Jack’s lucky that nobody saw your ass or the internet would be broken brah

Lardo (Larissa Duan): bro, bitty DID break the internet have you seen his insta and twitter??

Shitty (BS Knight): I swear on the gods above if Bitty was not single and I was not straight, I would sweep him off his feet

Nursey (Derek Nurse): chill. was truly a kim k moment for Bitty

Dex (Will Pointdexter): Love the confidence my dude. Was really a monumental picture tbh

Honey 💞: Can we not talk about Bitty like a piece of meat?

ERB: What on earth are y’all talking about?

Lardo (Larissa Duan): bits, you gotta check jacks insta first before you come in here and ask questions

So that’s exactly what Bitty did. Goodness knows where Jack was because he was not currently in bed with him. The last text he sent was at 8:45 am and it was now 9.

Instagram proved to be a tough navigator. Not because Bitty was media illiterate, but because the sheer amount of new followers he got prevented the app from running properly. After three app crashes, Bitty grew frustrated. He logged out of his public account and into his private one.

Once on his smaller scale Instagram, he searched Jack’s name. The most recent post was of their weekend relaxation trip. It was one of those collections of images. The first three were of the ocean, some seagulls, and the view from the front of Marty’s ship. The next six were of Bitty and Jack in various stages of couple poses. Somehow Jack had even managed to capture Bitty feeding him some grapes. But the last image was what set a fire under Bitty.

The picture was of that first day. Bitty was wearing his, now scandalous in his eyes, swim suit. His sunglasses were perched on the edge of his nose. You could see the heat he held in his eyes for Jack, who had been behind the camera. Admittedly, Bitty had not been thinking of his body image at the time of wearing that swimsuit. But now that he had attracted so much attention to himself due to his body, he figured a once over couldn’t hurt.

The Bitty in the picture had a firm stomach, no defined abs to speak of. What was the need for them? He was perfectly healthy. The cut of the swimsuit allowed the camera to see the faint lines that traveled down from Bitty’s hips past the line of his swimsuit. His hair was shining in the sun. The skin of the Bitty in the picture looked a little pale, but he had no qualms otherwise.

He looked good.

Putting the praise of his body aside, Bitty knew he needed to find Jack.

ERB: Thank y’all for your kind words. It means the world to me. Now I have to find Jack and have a word with him

Shitty (BS Knight): AAH SHIT JACKS IN TROUBLE WITH BITTY AHAHAHAHA

Lardo (Larissa Duan): pls don’t kill jack

Bitty locked his phone and went out into the living room. No Jack. The entire open concept apartment was empty. Bitty knew the bathrooms and home office were empty. The doors always stayed open unless there was someone in there.

As Bitty pondered how to find his fiancé, the door unlocked with a small click. Jack emerged with several bags of groceries in hand. Bitty assumed position with his fists on his hips, but this time around, it was not nearly as tempting.

“Jack Laurent Zimmermann.”

“Bits! Uh, hey.”

Bitty tapped a foot on the floor.

“Euh, I didn’t know that post would go viral. I tried to soften the blow by bringing home everything you’d need to stress bake.”

Bitty came forward, taking the bags from Jack and going to the kitchen.

“Crisse,” Jack muttered before following Bitty.

“Bittle? I’m really sorry.”

“I know,” Bitty replied, his tone light. “I’m not mad, Jack. I only wish you’d told me you were going to post that where my mother could see it.”

Jack made a groan of displeasure as he approached Bitty from behind. Firm, warm hands pressed themselves into Bitty’s hips.

“Sorry, Bits.”

“Stop apologizing, honey! I’m just gonna have to field a call from my mama. I don’t think this’ll be worse than the cup, but I guarantee my family will chirp her for the rest of time.”

Jack buried his nose in the crook between Bitty’s neck and shoulder.

“George said the PR was good. We didn’t really need any more positive additions, but it doesn’t hurt.”

“Well I certainly hope not,” Bitty said with a scoff. “You didn’t post a picture of me nearly naked on the Internet for nothing!”

Jack laughed, and Bitty followed not long after. Together the couple baked breakfast pastries and Bitty got his own revenge.

Jack’s picture was also shirtless, but he was wearing his sweatpants reserved for lounging at home. His arms and stomach were so much more than Bitty’s. He had a workout routine to keep up with.

Once again, the Internet broke because of Eric Richard Bittle.

[poepoe-thebunny]

Damien The Littlest Brother

Or: Stuff Damian does with his siblings.

Dick

Dick in some ways was another form of idolization for Damian. Damian was so very young when they first met, younger still when Ra's and the league sunk their teeth into his heart and tried their best to tear it to shreds. Dick's role, part sibling part guardian, was the first major form of stability Damian had. Little Damian had been born with the mythos of The Bat hanging overhead, and the hope of measuring up to first his grandfather's and then his father's standards had nearly broken him.

Like a lot of children Damian didn't necessarily understand or appreciate what Dick was trying to do for him until he was older. But just like other children Damian clung to the emotional support and care Dick gave him, the care he had so often been deprived of.

Damian wasn't necessarily there for the events that shaped Dick and the rest of their family, but he is growing up in the aftereffects of it. Dick chose to give Damian the love he deserved, Dick chose not to punish a child for the situation he was born into. But Dick isn't perfect. He loses his temper, he gets frustrated, he gets things wrong, he makes mistakes, he bleeds. Dick, at least initially, was real and human in a way Bruce wasn't to a little boy who already had his future decided for him.

While he may not admit it, Damian looks up to Dick because in a lot of ways Dick is a better person than most. Dick is a good man, a better man than Bruce in some ways. He shows Damian what a hero actually is, and that the concept of being a hero isn't tied to the suit. Dick shows Damian that he can and is a good person, that he can make those decisions for himself and that his own emotional needs are not anything to be ashamed of. Damian is a boy first, not a weapon.

So Damian leans into his affection. There are shared naps after patrol, and days out getting ice cream or going to the zoo. Damian wakes a tired Dick up with a pillow to the face, and pillow fights and laughter ensues. Dick comes along to the school showcases, where an embarrassed Damian has pictures and paintings of their family up for all to see. He never once mocks Damian's desires, instead listening with seriousness to every moment of Damian's vulnerability.

That's what sticks with Damian the most. That Dick wholeheartedly believes Damian is a good person, that Damian can be good and kind and soft. He sees Damian fumble with his cool demeanor, growing shy and embarrassed when chatting with students his own age. Damian knows the names of most of his classmates, takes down random details that shouldn't be important to a stranger "We're NOT friends Grayson," but Damian talks to the youngest students about animals, and how to properly hold puppies. Damian has lists of underfunded animal shelters and regularly sends them to Bruce and Tim when preparations for the Wayne Foundation charity events come up. Damian knows most of the officers in Bludhaven since he occasionally stops by with something for Dick, a late lunch or hot drink or Dick's spare clothes in case he needs out of his police uniform. After many coos, head pats and cheek pinches, Damian is occasionally "babysat" by some of them while Dick is out on patrol of the police variety. He does not realize how much he has charmed Dick's co-workers, talking about his pets or his brothers.

Dick is the kind of hero, the kind of person, Damian was told wasn't real. That heroes were childish nonsense, that mercy and love were weak. The concept that someone could love him, that he was deserving of love instead of being forced to earn it, was foreign. But Dick Grayson was all of that. So Damian puts up less and less of a fight over the silly pictures they take together. Dick buys books about animals, and Damian grudgingly wears the cute stupid animal ear headbands Dick buys him. While part of Damian knows he won't be, the part that viciously beats "heroes" and "love" and "ice cream" back with a vengeance, another part of Damian, a very small fragile part, thinks that maybe if he grew up becoming like Dick Grayson the Person (TM) it wouldn't be so bad. "Awww thanks Dami!"

Jason:

Next to Tim, the Cain Instincts are strongest with Jason. Jason is constantly ruffling his hair, calling him names, and sitting on him. Jason does not give a single iota of a damn for any sort of authority except Alfred. Jason is not afraid of Damian.

So when Damian latches onto Jason's neck ready to strangle him, he laughs like it's the best thing he's ever seen, and a wrestling match ensues. They bond over it, over the goading and the competition.

They bond over books too, over stories and musicals and words Damian shouldn't care about but he does. Damian says he's too old for fairy tales even though he never had them to begin with, never had stories told when tucked into bed unless it was for a harsh life lesson. And yet Damian will find books as gifts for Jason, and Jason will read them aloud after Damian annoys him by pressing his feet into Jason's side. He swears up and down that the exaggerated voices and accented narration from Jason are done purely to annoy him. Damian constantly interrupts him, always asking questions and Jason tells him to shut up and be patient, "learn to listen demon brat."

They watch Disney and Ghibli, Laika and Illumination, and after a very enlightening conversation with one Tim Drake, Jason introduces Damian to theater. From Antigone to Romeo and Juliet, from West Side Story to Hadestown to Heathers the Musical. Bruce has walked in on them recreating various iconic sword fights too many times to count, quoting lines while dressed in blanket robes and crowns made of craft feathers and stick on jewels. Alfred thorough enjoys their riveting performances.

Like a lion teaching his cubs through play, Jason teaches him that he's never too mature for anything and screw anyone else who doesn't like it. Jason teaches him fun in a way Damian never allowed himself to have before, to look past his mission, and do things for enjoyment. He teaches Damian defiance and rebellion, two very important things for him to learn even if it's only interrupting rude rich people and disagreeing with his father over whether he needs to attend another gala.

Damian and Jason have a strange relationship, and initially aren't quite sure how to act around one another. Such large parts of their identity and experiences were formed by an indirect overlapping influence. Jason's death and the effect it had on the family and how they treat Damian, Jason's time with the league and the lazarus pit. But at the same time they understand each other in a way some of their other siblings don't. The strength and struggle in establishing their independence and identity means that their grudging respect turns into fondness with time.

Tim:

It appears that Cain Instincts don't particularly care if one is related or not, given the sheer amount of times Tim and Damian are at each other's throats initially. But with time they settle and grow more comfortable with each other, the words turn from anger to a grumbly sort of discontent, like irritated puppy's more than anything.

They bond over pride. They bond over failure. The two aren't that different really. They've seen each other at their worst. Missions with too many close calls, where the knife wounds cut too close and the bullets bit to deep, when the snap of Gotham's jaw came to close to closing over them and the only thing saving Gotham's Rogues from the collective wrath of two angry Robin's was the weight of their family's morals.

They had to learn to trust each other. But they do.

The insults are more to fill the silence, partially affection and partially with the need to annoy. They watch reruns of Star Trek and play Legend of Zelda in pajama pants (Tim) and hoody's (Damian), half draped over each other with his feet in Tim's lap. When Damian couldn't find one to his satisfaction, he gifted Tim a new skateboard with his own hand drawn and painted design. He sends a video to the family group chat of him laughing when Tim faceplants.

They are the DEFINITION of annoying to each other. Damian chucks clothes at Tim to make him shower, they get into slap fights over breakfast, they sneer at each other's drinks. "With all the coffee it's no wonder you don't grow Drake," While handing a sick Tim herbal tea for his throat.

It's an underlying trust that rarely needs to be affirmed. But when it does Damian won't hesitate to let his opinion be known. Whether it be high school bullies mocking his gangly brother, reporters trying to pit the "blood son" against the "Boy CEO", or shady members of the Gotham elite with too much interest in his family and his company, Damian's blunt attitude comes back with a vengeance. There will be no Wayne Charm, no shop talk, no backhanded compliments, when Damian Wayne gets between them and his brother. It's "I trust my brother," and "No business with the likes of you," or even "When I said you two weren't on the same level, I meant that you were the incompetent one."

Tim always tries to scold him, tells him he shouldn't be petty, I can protect myself demon, but he smiles while he says it.

Stephanie

She teases him mercilessly, will smile sweetly while "blackmailing" him and challenges him to do things he has never done before. Damian won't admit he enjoys any of it even upon threat of death. She's loud, annoying, and demanding and unapologetically so and Damian is convinced she was dropped on her head as a child. Stephanie is his sister and he loves her as a younger brother would, hurling insults at each other while fighting over french fries drinking smoothies in some fast food restaurant at 2 in the afternoon on a day out.

What strikes him about Stephanie is that she demands respect because she knows on a fundamental level that she deserves it, that all of her hard work was her own and she knew she could do it even when everyone else thought she didn't belong. As he grows Damian comes not only to admire her, but finds this a very important lesson to learn for himself.

Stephanie pushes him, she encourages him even if it's hidden under mutually shared insults. On days where she "babysits him" (she does not, Damian tells himself he doesn't need a babysitter he doesn't) she's perfectly happy to work on their motorcycles together, or have random picnics in the park with bags of fast food, or challenge him to rounds of ping pong. They learn eventually that they make a very good team together. Either destroying Tim and Jason in video games, the occasional local ping pong or DDR tournament when visiting Gotham U, or spur of the moment plans in a night time fight. Stephanie is crazy enough to believe it will work, and Damian is crazy enough to believe Stephanie will follow.

Stephanie understands what it feels like to constantly have to justify yourself, to be told you can't measure up and that you're place isn't here, even though you know it is. To have the weight of your family's decisions hanging overhead for the judgment of others.

So they learn to love each other through healthy competition and teasing remarks. Stephanie shoos him off to "talk to kids your own age, don't be so serious!". It's normal, in some ways the closest to normal Damian has had in a long time. And though they won't say it out loud, it's nice to know someone else agrees that they are entitled to these moments of happiness, these moments they were stripped of and denied for so long. They believe in each other and their right to happiness. Damian will never doubt Stephanie's strength, as spoiler or Batgirl or robin or Stephanie, and in return she will never doubt him or his place in their family.

...

Even if that means trying to escape when she wants to play dress up. "I am not your doll Brown," "Fine fine, whatever you say short stack."

Cass:

The moments between Damian and Cass are silent, but if you believe nothing is said then you are entirely wrong. They speak to each other quite often even if they don't use words.

He watches her dance, and thinks she is so strong. Damian swears she could have been a princess in another life, if life had not sunk its fangs in and poisoned her with pain instead. Just as he would have been a prince. While he initially tried to hide it, Cass always knew he was there. Damian watches her. Damian hears her words, her joy and her tears, and puts it down on to charcoal and paper. I hear you, and he shows them to her, how her form litters his pages as she pats his head. There is, Damian thinks, a poetic irony in seeing something so dangerous create something so beautiful. She is art and deserves to be heard, and Damian is grateful that she hears him too. He lets her look at pages of charcoal and ink, at canvases of paint full of everything Damian can't put into words quite yet, and finds understanding.

But while he is a Wayne, he was an Al Ghul at one point and his mother gave him the training every prince should have, skills beyond his sword. So one day, as she stretches, he brings in a case and sets it down with a clunk. He tunes the strings and plays Tomaso Albinoni's Adagio in G Minor, as she watches him with eyes that understand far too much, eyes that say I know, I hear you baby brother. Damian almost wishes she didn't, partially due to the struggle of his own pride, but also because no one should ever have to understand that kind of pain.

Moments with Cass are quiet, but they are never silent. Cass teaches him understanding, helps teach him empathy. And while Damian knows he can never dance the way she can, he can play and sketch and paint and between them their secrets can no longer be secrets. Cass doesn't teach him how to feel ,no, he's always been too good at that. Instead she teaches him ways to coax them out when the words won't come, to look around him with the wonder he wasn't allowed to have before, to let him be defined by a different set of skills that shows he can create something beautiful too.

Duke:

Damien thinks Duke is "cool", like the kind of cool you see in movies and TV shows, the average teenage boys in jeans and sneakers who fight for the underdog and stand up to bullies in a 3-on-1 fight even if they know they won't win. There is a conviction in Duke that rivals Damian's own, and Damian can't help but admire someone willing to strike out on their own and do something when they felt others were failing.

Duke is "Chill" as Jason likes to say, he's low pressure and not pushy in a way that Damian appreciates. He's calm, not in the stoic way of some of the others, but in a way that doesn't put Damian out of his comfort zone with expectations.

Time spent with Duke often consists of puzzles and card games, or movies. Duke is very good at using Damian's own pride against him to "trick" him into playing, but together they do everything from DnD to Yu-Gi-Oh Duel Monsters. It's relaxing.

Duke tells him about school and if Damian is having trouble with the more normal things of being a tween, like worrying whether other kids like him, or wearing something embarrasing, Duke brings him out of his own head. Duke plays along with his competitive nature, challenging him to races the few times they patrol together. He finds Damian outside drawing, and teaches him soccer. Other times they sit there together, Duke writing whatever comes to mind while Damian sketches. Damian gifts Duke a detailed portrait of himself; standing in the center of the crowded streets, body spliced into neat clockwork-style segments with patches of his Signal uniform, the red jacket from his time in the "We R Robin" crew, his sports uniforms, and casual clothing, the bright light of his powers bursting from within in a halo under the Gotham smog. He is Gotham's daylight protector, unique and gifted, and Damian respects that.

It's not easy, Damian is still young and cocky, still isn't very good at saying what he feels. But Duke sees right through his attempts to play it off, and it's always met with head pats and a "Whatever you say lil' D." Damian won't say it out loud but he thinks that the sheer conviction Duke has for doing what's right bleeds into every aspect of him, and that maybe with time it will do the same for himself. Damian admires his strength of will and determination, and the work Duke is willing to put in to get what he wants.

[we-always-hit-our-ass]

Could I request something with Liebgott where you’re going through a tough pregnancy and how you deal with it together please

Author’s Note: Ohohoho- This request right here has me imagining things, like oh my gosh I was so hyped to write this. But oh dear, I’m actually... Really not sure about this one???? Idk why- I still hope you enjoy, lovely anon!

Words: 5.0k (eye-)

Disclaimers: Swearingggg also I made it Modern!AU because I feel like it’s easier to write than pregnancy in the mid-to-late 40s. There’s also just the teenist hint of angst so yeah-

Description: As happy as you and Joe were when you found out you were pregnant, you knew it was going to be difficult--who were you kidding? With stress high enough, one day the two of you broke out into an argument. However in the end, you and Joe knew that no matter what--the both of you will get through this together.

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Taglist:  @deldontplay​, @thatsonefishyboi​,@noneofurbusinez​, @meteora-fc​, @gutsandgloryhere​, @hihosilvers​, @rayleighshughes​, @floydtab​, @wexhappyxfew​, @sherlollydramoine​, @meganthesunflower​, @3milesup​, @jamie506101​, @sunflowerchuck​, @softlieb​, @k-websters​, @punkgeekchic​, @speirs-crazy-ass​, @hellitwasyoufirstsergeant​, @runtdrummer​, @fromtheoldtimes​​, @liebegott​

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The powerful rush of glee and joy washing over you that one fateful day was unforgettable, to say the least. Holding the pregnancy test in your fingers brought a certain kind of happiness to your whole entire being. 

You and Joe had always wanted children, with your husband going on his cute rambles about how he wants to spend the rest of his life with you--with a few or more children along the way. The both of you always seemed to talk about the aspect of having children, it excited you to whole other levels and seeing Joe’s warm brown eyes light up would make it all worth it. 

He would always grasp your hands in his, his mouth running a thousand miles a minute when the topic of children came up. The small action bringing a genuine smile across your face as you two discuss more about what it’d be like. The name, whether it’d be a boy or a girl, the new room, clothing, and oh so much more. 

Your mind was always buzzing during those moments, scene after scene of your new life flashed between your head before a new one replaced the previous one.

Of course you noticed signs, like your period not coming up or tiny bits of nausea here and there. It’d been two and a half weeks since you and Joe had done things in the bedroom and when the signs kept on happening you called your mom. Every time you said another one of the things happening to you, the first thing that came to her mind was pregnancy. 

Your mom instantly gave you all sorts of advice, telling you the do’s and don’ts--which you immediately took note of. With the call now ended, you decided to head over to a pharmacy and buy a few different brands of tests.

So when you peered at the test in the restroom, turning it over with your dainty fingers shaking slightly--you were more than antsy for the result. The anticipation was real and you debated on taking your time or immediately looking at the test to figure out the results faster. Not willing to wait, you chose the latter and you were instantly glad that you did. How two lines changed your life, the idea of it was thrilling. Something so ordinary when taken into the right circumstances truly can be remarkable. 

Your hands were shaking uncontrollably from excitement. They almost threatened to drop the test you held carefully in your fingers and you raised two of your hands to hold it in your grasp. You then tighten your grip on it, your bright (E/C) widening larger than you can ever imagine. 

Sitting there for what felt like forever, you brought your right hand to cover your mouth from squealing loudly because of sheer and utter thrill and happiness. You found yourself doing a little sort of dance of celebration, positive pregnancy test still in hand.

Ecstatic, you rushed to make yourself presentable and got up. You felt like you could’ve almost broke down the wooden bathroom door when you swiftly tried to get to your husband.

Attempting to not trip over your feet as you quickly padded over the hardwood floor of your spacious home, you found Joe in the dining room, tinkering with a few knick-knacks he found in a nearby store. With your breath hitching as you trailed your gaze over your husband’s features and admiring him, you almost forget the test you held in your hand. It was only when Joe cleared his throat did you remember.

“Do ya need anythin’, darlin’?”

His signature voice and accent snapping you out of your stupor and you nodded your head in response. To say Joe was curious about why you seemed to be speeding trying to get with him was an understatement. He noticed how you were out of breath and how you were clutching something in your hands, however it was obscured by the angle. He leaned to the side to try to catch a glimpse of what it is, but to no avail. 

He stood up to walk towards you and as the wooden chair screeched on the floor but with the first step that he took he was stopped by your voice.

“I’m pregnant! I’m pregnant, Joe, we’re having a baby.”

Those words hit him like a dozen trucks, but in a very good way. Slowly his gaping jaw and mouth bloomed into a wide grin and he bounced towards you like no tomorrow, his arms hooking around your arms to spin you in a circle. Giggles erupted from your mouth as he gently put you down and you brought your hand up to show him the positive test.

With his warm honey eyes widening and his smile only getting bigger by the second. His orbs seemed to yell ‘we did it, we’re having a baby, I can’t wait to spend my life with you two!’ and you could see his brown hair bouncing with each energetic step he took around the area. The strands falling around his face, framing it perfectly.

“(Y/N)--Holy shit, can you imagine? We’re goin’ to be parents!” He had excitedly said, his hands running through his full head of hair, that beautiful beam of his never leaving his lips for even a second. 

He could’ve bursted through the roof by this point, Joe really was excited and thrilled about the idea of having a family with you.

“I’m goin’ to be a dad,” pointing at himself then grasping your shoulders to land a swift kiss on your cheek, “and you’re goin’ to be a mom!”

“Yeah, Joe, that’s generally how it works.” You teasingly said, the test still clenched between your hand. You slightly chuckled but he just gave you a cheeky grin in return.

Your husband was just so pumped on adrenaline and internally squealing to mash together a clever remark like usual. You offered the test to him, and he took it up with eager fingers, and straight away he ogled the two lines displayed there. His beautiful brown eyes glancing between the test and your bright face. 

You began, your eyes glancing at your stomach, “I just can’t believ-”

“That we’re finally going to be parents? Me neither.” 

Your husband remarked, completing the sentence for you. He gingerly placed the test on the dining room table, the hollow clack of it echoing in the room.

You nodded enthusiastically, you felt tears of joy welling up in your (E/C) eyes and Joe walked over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist so he could pull you closer. Separating for a while, the two of you looked at your belly, the possibility of a newer and better future inside of you. It hit a chord within your being, how you were now responsible for the life of another. 

Pushing the thoughts away, you gazed up and stood on your tippy-toes to press a kiss on your husbands lips as you pulled away, Joe snapped his hands to bring your lips to his again. Melting into his hold, you could feel his hand grasping your head cautiously. The sunlight is filtering through the open curtains, giving the room an umber glow. 

This was exactly how you pictured you breaking the news to Joe would look like. And you treasured this moment, keeping it snug in your mind to look back upon. Closing your eyes, Joe rested his hand on your abdomen and you raised your hand to lay it over his.

---------

The first trimester of your pregnancy was a living hell. Of course you knew about the symptoms and all, your mom or any of your friends wouldn’t stop talking about it. Even when you weren’t experiencing it yet, the stories the people around you recalled gave you overwhelming amounts of anxiety. 

So you did as much research, putting in many hours to look at websites and read books about what will happen during pregnancy--but nothing really did anything to prepare you when they actually occurred.

There was the morning sickness and despite its name, it happened all throughout the day. Either you’d wake up feeling like your head was banged with rocks and pans or you’d go to bed feeling your stomach was going to burst open. It was disorienting and the world kept on spinning you even though when it was in fact still. Waves of dizziness would hit you and Joe would find you heaving everything in your system into the toilet bowl.

Whether it’d be 2 A.M., in the morning or afternoon, or in the late evening--you found yourself kneeling on the cool tile floors as Joe soothingly ran his hand up and down your feverish back. The sickness continued for days on end and on the occasions you didn’t throw up or feel incredibly dizzy, you’d just lay in bed all day--thankful for finally having a break. 

Joe was always there to comfort you and when your cravings hit the roof, he’d always try his best to comfort you and provide you with anything you needed. Every single time, Joe made you happy and you made him too in return. Relishing in the loving moments you shared together, the tough symptoms of pregnancy seemed to be a bit easier to handle when he was around. It was like the heavy baggage on your back was lightened, and it all became more bearable.

You also had to go to the restroom more and more, and you’d stumble in the dead of night heading there. Mood swings were another key factor of making you grouchy, first you’d be happy and with a snap you’d be crying or frustrated. You were easily annoyed then when you’d lash out at Joe, you’d immediately apologize profusely. 

Joe reassured you that it was always alright, and the two of you would put it in the past. Of course Joe understood and never took your statements personally, but he too snapped one day. 

Rolling your eyes that one time didn’t help that moment. Joe had just come back from work, an exasperated sigh leaving his mouth as he frustratedly ran his hands through his thick chestnut hair. Standing near the doorway you huffed, you did feel a bit upset that morning and while you were fine for most of the day--the negative feeling seemed to find its way back. You didn’t notice how tense your husband was, and while obviously stressed, Joe didn’t seem to voice it like he usually did. Still standing there with nothing to do, Joe finally took notice.

With a gruff he dropped his things near the floor as he took off his shoes. In a clearly upset tone, he began to talk.

“What’s your problem?”

“Oh you know… Just being pregnant.” You sarcastically said, obviously taking his different attitude and demeanor lightly.

“No, (Y/N), I’m serious.”

Sighing, you sat down on the big sofa in your living room. The small bump you had then still growing but not getting in the way.

“It’s the mood swings, Joe. God I fucking hate them so much. And just everything else. I’m always so tired, I haven’t been able to eat and when I do eat, I end up barfing it all out like some dispense-”

“Love, I’m tired too, but can you just try to tone it down a bit.” He sounded so nonchalant then, and it tore your insides. In your bitter mood, you took it to heart. Obviously if you had a clear head, then maybe you wouldn’t have acted so recklessly and impulsively then.

“Wow, why didn’t I think of that? It’s way easier said than done, Joe.” Crossing your arms, you held a slightly indignant look in your (E/C) eyes. It was really getting to you, and it seemed to be getting to your husband too. 

Scoffing and crossing his arms like you, he hastily turned to you, “I was tryna help, no need to be so fuckin’ sarcastic. I’m havin’ just a hard time as you ar--”

Something inside you just broke, and all you wanted to do was to just yell at him. Looking back at it, you regretted what you had said to him. Thinking that if you just took a breather and ignored him instead of yelling perhaps it wouldn’t have escalated as fast as it did. You would’ve screamed at your past self and Joseph to just break it up, but what was done was done.

“Well, you’re not the one that’s pregnant.” You firmly said then and then that’s when it all went downhill. 

“And because of that I don’t have the right to be stressed as well? I don’t get why you’re acting so stuck up. Calm down, will you?”

He really did have the audacity to ask you to ‘calm down’, the utter nerve-- Both of you were wound up after weeks of being pressed down by the stress and responsibilities of being future parents. You loved being pregnant, you were so glad and happy when you first found out. While it was sunshine and rainbows for the most part, some days were less than desirable. These happened to be one of those days.

Like a tight coil waiting to break, this was the breaking point for you at that moment.

“Calm down? I have to carry our baby for nine months, how about you try doing that, huh?”

“Can’t you see the I’m trying my best, maybe if you’d appreciate it more than maybe I wouldn’t be here wasting my time.” Joe responded, his mouth downturned in a sour scowl.

Rolling your eyes once again, you walked towards him, “Jesus Christ, Joe. are you serious? You’re being so fucking petty.”

You got up, your hands flying in the air. More than fired up, you stood your ground as you glared at your husband. His ordinarily warm and consoling eyes were filled with fury, his shoulders standing tall as his chest heaved up and down.

“Get a grip, (Y/N), do you even hear yourself right now? If I knew that you were going to be like this, then maybe I wouldn’t have wanted you pregnant!”

His words hit you deep, cutting through the rage and anger that had built up. Instantaneously, Joe’s orbs had widened and he wished that he hadn’t uttered a single thing when he saw your hurt expression. Staggering back you sat back down at the couch, a look of disbelief and sadness whirling in your eyes. The nausea you felt was stronger than any sickness you had experienced in the last few weeks, and you sat still in surprise and shock--the words still resonating within you.

They sounded so true… And you couldn’t but wonder if they came from a place of honesty.

Joe almost covered his mouth then too, wishing to take those words back. The ire he expressed melted away like ice on a hot day and he made his way towards you with fast strides. Still in denial about what happened, your anger had also disappeared and while hurt you couldn’t bring yourself to push Joe away. 

You couldn’t even bring yourself to feel angry as you felt the familiar warmth of Joe’s arm wrapping around your silent figure. With all the previous vexation seething around just mere minutes ago, it was a miracle that you seemed to calm down so swiftly.

“Oh fuck, (Y/N)-- I didn’t mean it, really! I just… God, I was so insensitive.”

“Joe--”

“I am so fuckin’ sorry, how can you even forgive me at this point? Y’know what? You deserve every right to be angry, Jesus, I don’t know what came over me--” He resumed rambling, genuine apologies spilling over his lips like a waterfall.

“Joe, please--”

His brows were furrowed and you could hear his heart thumping with him pressed so closely against you. Trying to get his attention by tugging on his shirt, he was far too busy spouting ‘sorries’ and you smiled kindly at him before speaking just a tad firmer.

“No, I need to apologize, I was being a huge dick--”

“Please, Joe. Just… Stop.”

Clearing his throat just a bit, he stared at you with wide doe eyes. His back then stood straighter like a fresh candle wick, his attention all put on you.

“Yes, love...?” Finally giving in, he quieted down and replied. It was quiet--his voice. It was so soft and not at all like the fiery and passionate Joe you loved, this tender and intimate side of him hidden so well from the world only for you to see.

The palms of your hands rubbed your raw eyes trying to prevent tears from spilling out from them. Hiccuping and feeling your chest becoming heavy, you dove into the deep pool of his amorous embrace, it immediately brought you a consolation that made your heart sing. The brunet man cooed in your ear, reassuring you and softly goading you to tell him your worries without even having to speak a syllable.

“I’m just so stressed. I thought I was all this and all that when in reality, I’m not. And all of these symptoms, Joe, they’re getting to me. The first few weeks were fine, I expected that. But then it just kept on going and it’s all so exhausting… I just thought that… I’d be strong enough to take it.” 

Nodding solemnly at your statement, Joe tucked your hair behind your ears, giving him a clear view of your face. He understood your words, and he let it sink deep within him. Joe was a sympathetic guy, even if he doesn’t admit sometimes. So he got up from the couch, telling you to wait for a moment. 

Joe left the room, his footsteps growing quieter and the ticking of the wall clock was all that accompanied you. He returned, the big and fluffy comforter that occupied your bed in his arms. He laid it over your back, the soft material enveloping you and him as the two of you got under it. 

Joe settled in, his hand placed flush against your baby bump, “You’re strong, (Y/N). You’re stronger than anyone I’ve ever met.” 

You retaliated, “But you’re a soldier, Joe! I’m just… Me.”

“Exactly! You’re (Y/N)--the same woman I fell in love with, the same woman that can get through any obstacle, the same woman who I want to spend my entire life with.” The hurtful words he had said barely had an effect on you now, and your gleaming grin made Joe reciprocate the action.

“We can get through this, I know we can. I’ll be here for you all the way. It’ll all be worth it, (Y/N), believe me.” Scooping up your hand in his, he cradled it compassionately.

“You really think that?” Voice still slightly quavering, you hopefully looked up at Joe as you inquired him.

“Of course I do. What kind of husband would I be if I didn’t?”

Focusing your (E/C) orbs at his warm sepia ones, it seemed as if you two had silently forgiven each other. You two are both willing to easily put it all behind you, for the sake of your baby and your relationship. Letting go of the words he had just spoken, you compassionately wrapped your arms around him, Joe returning the favor.

You two will be alright, you kept thinking. You two will be alright.

---------

In a way, that argument you had with Joe made your relationship stronger and harder to crumble. When in face with difficult tasks, the both of you would come help the other and continue to face the obstacle side by side. The symptoms still pursued and hung around, but so did Joe. He continued to take care of you, always promising to get you what you need. Joe really was sweet, and you could daydream for hours about just how good of a father he’ll be.

The mood swings you had were showing up less frequently but the cravings skyrocketed. You really didn’t want to bother him by asking but he had insisted constantly. Of course it was no surprise that he constantly brought Hershey bars, he’d show that same cheeky smirk as he’d pull out a few bars from behind his back.

If you were tired, for example, those sleepless nights being the bane of your existence--your husband would lay you gently on his lap while running his long fingers through your scalp. Countless nights were spent tossing and turning and no matter what position you laid in, you couldn’t sleep. Sighs of content would leave your lips and you would melt like butter right then and there. 

Other nights when you couldn’t even get a single blink of sleep, Joe would tell you fun little stories about his friends, sometimes obscure subjects. He talked about his passion for being a barber and Joe never failed to make it all sound so interesting.

Though undoubtedly, your favorite talks when you couldn’t seem to rest were the talks when he gushed about his future with you. He’d make up all these scenarios and he just seemed so truly happy when he went on and on about the endless possibilities. 

Joe talked about how you two would decorate the room, asking you ever so often what you would like to put in it. Then he’d go on about the clothes you’d buy for your child, and all the seemingly regular things were turned into something magical.

Pausing, he would glance down at you with a sheepish laugh, “God, i’m bein’ sappy, aren’t I?”

“Joseph D. Liebgott, I find it very adorable that you’re being sappy right now.”

“Thank goodness, as I was sayin’--”

You lay there starry-eyed, both your hands laying on top of your stomach as his voice would relax your stiff muscles. Even after going on for hours, he still had more to say but by then you’d already have fallen asleep.

Joe would look down, pausing for a moment and his eyes would soften as he took in your dozing being. Sparing one last chaste kiss on your lips, he whispers a ‘good night’ before spooning you comfortably until the morning comes.

The morning sickness had faded away and was growing sparse as your pregnancy continued and you’d never been more glad. They did show up here and there a few times, but not at all like the constant waves of dizziness and vomiting that you had during the first few weeks. Joe comforted you throughout the whole thing, he even offered to set up a movie night every time you became upset just so he could cheer you up.

Sitting down, you recalled that moment 4 months ago, where you had revealed to your husband that you were pregnant. The bump was more prominent, stretching your shirts. You carefully plopped yourself on the sofa, taking attentive notice of your belly. A sigh released your lips and every so often you casted your eyes downwards. While you were never a really reckless person in the first place, you were noticeably way more cautious than you used to be. How could you not? You were now carrying a baby.

The days quickly went by and before you knew it, here you were. 

“Have you thought of a name yet, (Y/N)?” Your husband asked you from across the room, his voice raised louder as to catch your attention because of the distance.

“They’re not even born yet, you really are impatient aren’t you?” Playfully scoffing at Joe’s words, you said and questioned, one eyebrow raising up teasingly at the brunet man. 

Your hands glided over your stomach, the slight bump then not even comparing to the baby bump you had now. Your eyes softened when you ran your palms on your stomach, your eyelids lowering as you gently caressed it. You truly did feel like the luckiest woman in the world at that short moment in your home.

“I can’t help it, okay! It’s a baby, our baby.” Joe had quickly replied, his leg bouncing up and down at the speed of light. The ‘our’ was enunciated, sending a warm and welcoming feeling to your chest.  

“Well, I was thinking about ‘Gabriel’. Y’know--like the angel.” You answered, your hands as your deft fingers still absentmindedly caressing your stomach as you gazed upon the back-turned head of your husband.

“Gabriel… Gabriel,” your husband repeated, testing it out on his tongue. After a few more attempts he turns to meet your stare, a pondering expression ingrained on his face. “I like that name; Gabriel…” He trailed off once again before giving you an electrified smile which lit up the whole room.

Turning to your direction once again Joe asked, “Well what happens if it’s a girl?”

Biting down at your bottom lip at the thought, you pondered hard. What would you name her? Digging deep into the back of your mind, you tried to figure out which name caught your attention. Letting your mind run, you were stopped in your tracks when Joe softly called out your name.

“What about ‘Celine’?” Joe softly inquired and the corners of your lips turned upward at the name.

“Celine and Gabriel, don’t those two sound pretty?”

“When our baby is born, (Y/N), I can see where they’ll got their beauty from.” 

With your cheeks warming up, you turned away while grinning as Joe smiled. Looking at the time, you cast a glance at the calendar on the wall. The bright red letters in Joe’s handwriting sprawled out on a square, stating ‘Doctor’s Appointment’. Joe even went to put it a little more effort and drew a simple baby face. 

Getting on your feet slowly, your husband stretched out his arms to grab yours to instantly ensure your stability. The drive to the hospital was filled with questions as Joe repeatedly wanted to ask you about how you’ve been feeling. It was the usual cravings, cramps, and sickness, you had told him as he nodded in understanding.

The two of you made sure to constantly visit the doctor’s, getting weekly updates about your pregnancy really was exciting. You would fiddle with the hem of your top, nervously chewing at your lip. Joe held your hand comfortably, sometimes reaching to put loose strands of hair between your ears. Your nerves never settled though and they only went haywire when the doctor had called your names. 

Waiting in the bright white room made your mind race and shut down at the same time. Occasionally you would space out, your eyes focusing on nothing really peculiar as your mind muffled any sounds around you. The doctor came in, introducing himself and explaining the ultrasound process. There he took you to a different room where you saw the ultrasound machine and chair where you’d lie on, you quickly grabbed Joe’s hand. 

Squeezing back, he leaned down slightly to give you a brief peck on the top of your head.

Listening to the doctor, you laid back on the examination table and pulled up your top to reveal the four month baby bump. The process was quick and quite obviously painless, the entire procedure only taking about 30 minutes. The ultrasound showing up on the computer right beside you made you excited to see the results. 

Fixing yourself, the doctor had told you to wait in the room as they examined the results. Joe sitting beside you, he lifted his arm and ushered you close to his side and he closed it around you--pulling you in.

The door to the room opened and there revealed your doctor with a professional yet welcoming grin on her face.

“Well, we got the results back from the ultrasound, I hope I didn’t keep you waiting.” She had said, taking a seat next to you. The words ‘results’ and ‘ultrasounds’ made your heart do flips and somersaults, Joe next to you also giving you a knowing glance.

“Starting things off, your baby is very healthy and we didn’t pick up any complications. The heart rate is good and we see no physical abnormalities whatsoever.”

Grinning with each word, you excitedly looked to Joe, who was already looking your way. The doctor’s nimble fingers dashed on the keyboard, showing you the black and white images of the baby inside of you. Your eyebrows were raised high on your face and you knew that your smile was just as big as Joe’s. Tightening your hold on his hand, you waited patiently for the big reveal. Joe was ahead of you though, and decided to ask the doctor himself.

“That’s amazing. But--if you don’t mind answering, what’s the gender?” The question hung up in the air and the doctor nodded in acknowledgement, her eyes gleaming with happiness and recognition.

You were bouncing your leg up and down, and the time span of a few seconds you anxiously bit down on the tips of your nails. Joe was obviously antsy too, his body on the edge of his seat as you were on the edge of the examination table. Leaning forward in excitement, you drummed your fingers against your thigh.

“Ah yes, of course, well, I’m very happy to announce that you two are the proud parents of a beautiful, healthy boy. Congratulations!”

Blood was rushing through your ears and it wasn’t until your husband reacted did you ever move too. Eyes growing wide, you practically squealed in excitement, your whole form bouncing up and down the examination table as you looked at your husband. The two of you were exuberant, the doctor letting out a small smile just by looking at how absolutely joyous you two were. 

Turning each other’s forms to each other, Joe’s hands gripped your upper arms while leaning in. He leaned forward to press his forehead against yours like he always did. You felt your mind creating pictures of your future life with Joe and your baby, flashing them like a slideshow.

You knew Joe never really let out tears, but you could seem some welling up in his eyes. 

Casting a downwards glance at your stomach and setting his hands there, Joe cooed affectionately, “Hello Gabriel, me and your mama love you so much...”

Removing his hands from your belly, he brought them upwards to cup your face. Your eyes met and your heart raced faster as his next words. He beamed uncontrollably as his mouth opened, his eyes threatening to burst with tears as yours was the same.

“See, darlin’? I told you we could get through this. I’ll always be here for you, (Y/N). Forever and always.”

There in that moment, it was just you three. You, Joe, and your beautiful baby boy and you couldn’t imagine trading away this moment for even the entire world.

---------

Author’s Note: Oh jeez, I hope I didn’t bore you with this fic! I guess I also changed some things, so ahh I’m sorry if it’s not what you imagined. If I made a few mistakes with either writing or portrayal, I apologize for that. But thank you all for reading, have a great day, my loves! <3

[iwantitiwriteit]

Slow Burn: Act I - Part 5

The Lip Sync Battle 

Pairing: Chris Evans x Famous!Reader

Summary: Growing tensions between you and Chris overflow in the most musical of battles.

Warnings: Profanity, drunken silliness

Notes: Oh my fucking gosh, I fucking finished it! This part was a BEAST to write! It’s hella long so it’ll be in two posts. Before you dive in, set the mood with the moodboard + music specially curated to go with this part! Read the previous part here.

“How about this one?”

“No, not neon enough!”

“Ok…” you hold up another top option, “this one?”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Alright. This?“

“Uh—”

“Uggggghhhhh!!!” It’s been 45 minutes of trying to decide on an outfit and your patience is running thin. “I’m this close,” you put up a microscopic amount of space between your pointer finger and thumb, “THIS CLOSE to leaving in my pajamas. Don’t think I won’t do it!”

Your older sister, Lynn, laughs at your dramatics from her spot on the end of your bed in her guestroom. “Oooo won’t the paps love that! I just want to make sure you slay tonight! You never know what Hottie McDotties might be in there…”

You scoff, “I’m trying to be low key tonight and not draw any attention to myself. Tonight is not about me.” You look over to your sister who is distractedly sorting through the pile of clothes that’s accumulated on the bed. “Do you hear me?” 

“I hear what you're saying… I just don’t care. Now c’mon, let’s find you something sexy! I know we’re close!” You and Lynn turn back to your almost empty closet one last time. “What about that furry, hot pink thing?”

“Oh, you mean the jacket I impulse bought with the birthday boy?” You laugh thinking back to that day. It was the day you first met Scott before filming. We were only supposed to go out for lunch, and damn near bought out the whole plaza!

“Yeah, that one! That could be cute.”

“With my black, skin tight leather pants…”

“Your black, sheer and lacy corset top…”

“And the black knee highs to top it off!” You two say simultaneously making you giggle like school girls. You settle into a comfortable silence as you pull out the pieces of your outfit.

“I missed this— these moments with you, big sis. Laughing, being silly— “

“Talking about boys,” she finishes for you. You roll your eyes, but smile in agreement as Lynn continues. “Me too… god, why’d we both have to be successful?” she says mockingly, making you both laugh again. 

“Honestly, the real question is why'd you have to move to Boston?” You asked a lot less like an inquiring adult and more like a pouting toddler. 

It’s Lynn’s turn to roll her eyes as she sighs deeply. “You sound like dad.”  

“You’ve got some nerve,” she starts in a playful tone. “You’re literally the one who is never in one city for more than a day. You being here for these months is unprecedented.” It’s true; your touring schedule made it where you’d been any- and everywhere, except with family as of late.

“Now who sounds like dad.” 

“Sorry, but you opened yourself up for it!”

You huff out a sigh, “Yeah, I guess so.”

Lynn hopped up from the bed and headed for the door, “Uh-huh. I’m gonna warm up the car. Be down in 20.”

“Sure, I can do that.”

“I wasn’t asking. I was instructing.”

“And I oop— she said she’s being a big sister tonight!” you laughed out as you turned around to start getting dressed, hair and makeup already done. Lynn began to leave the room, rolling her eyes at you not taking her seriously. 

Suddenly, you were met with a pillow to the back of your head. “What the hell!” The sound of your sister running down the hall and laughing maniacally fill the house. “Hey! Not the curls!” you yelled after her, closing the door.

Just then your phone vibrated with a FaceTime call. You went over to it on the dresser and tapped the screen to answer, the view fixed on the ceiling. The screen filled with a visibly excited Scott, his face a little red from excitement, face a little sweaty from dancing. There was music and loud chatter on his end. Shit! He’s already there! I’m late! “Heeelllooooo? Anybody there?”

“Yeah, sorry,” you peek one eye into the frame, “I’m getting dressed. What’s up?”

“What’s up is that everybody is here, and you are not,” he tapped his camera for emphasis. 

“I’ll be there soon. Beauty takes time, ya know!” Each sarcastic word accented with a huff and jump to get in your tight pants. “Whew!”

“What the hell are you doing?” Scott’s eyes peered with genuine curiosity as he sipped a fruity drink.

“I already told you I’m getting dressed.”

“It takes all of that?”

“Listen, as the great philosopher Beyoncé once said, ‘if you don't jump to put jeans on, baby, you don't feel my pain!’ Ok?”

Scott laughed, “OK, yes ma’am!”

“So… who all is there?” Scott knows just what you're asking; if Chris is there. 

Chosing to play dumb and not give you defenitive answer, Scott asks. “Is there anybody in particular you’re looking forward to seeing?”

“More like who I’m not looking forward to seeing…” you mumbled.

“What was that?”

“Nothing!” You said for a quick cover, Scott giving you a knowing look. “You know I’m looking forward to seeing your ‘Ma’; I love that y’all call her that. It’s so New England!”

Scott chuckles, “She’s looking forward to seeing you too. She calls you her ‘lovely lunch buddy’.” Being close with Scott on set meant that you’d gotten to meet his mom. She’d taken a liking to you after joining you and Scott for lunch one day, and started joining you as often as she could.  

“Awwww, she’s too sweet! I’m gonna let you go now; I gotta finish getting cute for her.”

“Only her?” Scott said with a smirk. Please… Chris could kiss my a—

“Only her. I’ll see you later Scott, and happy birthday for the gazillionth time!”

“Thanks love, see you later!”

With one last fluff of your fro, pop of your lipstick, and once over in the mirror, and you felt ready. Collecting your phone and bag, you headed out for the night.

——————————————————————————

“Sooo....” Lynn turned the down the music as she drove. “How do you feel about possibly seeing you-know-who tonight?” The eyeroll and groan that escaped you were almost involuntary. “What?! It wouldn’t be far fetched; it IS his brother’s birthday.”

“I know, but… do we have to talk about him? I just wanna have a good time tonight,” you whined, throwing your head back on your seat.

“You already know the answer to that.” You let out a long sigh. You hadn’t seen Chris since your game night tell-off a few weeks back, and as much as you tried to forget about him and how you lost your cool, not talking about it was starting to gnaw at you, especially knowing it was only a matter of time before you saw him again. “So, how are we feeling?”

“I…” you took a breath, “I can’t help but feel annoyed! Like, sure I ignored his apology attempts, but he’s the one that passed unfounded judgments on ME. How the hell does that make me a diva? God I hate that word! You know how that word just triggers me,” Lynn nods in response, letting you continue. “And you know what's the most annoying part of it all?”

‘What?”

“Mackie and Scott talk about him incessantly. How smart he is, how caring he is, how fun he is. I mean, I saw it, when we met in New York. But I haven't seen it since. We’re their friends, so I get what they're trying to do, but at some point, like, give it up. It’s obviously not working, nor will it ever.” You let out a sound of frustration, “I don’t know what to do. Do I keep it to myself for the sake of our mutual friendships, or—”

“Be the diva he thinks you are?” You know Lynn is joking, but that’s not a bad idea… I mean, he already thinks it of me, might as well have some fun with it…  Lynn looks over to see you mischievously smiling into the Boston night and she begins to fear for the idea she’s just given you. “Oh God,” she mutters.

You look at her with a goofy grin and shrug. “What?” you try to say innocently.

“C’mon! Don’t actually consider that! Look, you weren’t expecting to see him last time, and that’s probably why it didn’t go so well. But now that you are, you can show up as the composed, level-headed woman I know is somewhere in that thick, thick skull of yours.” You give her no indication that you’ll heed her advice and she can tell. “Fine, just don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she half laughs out.

The car comes to a stop in front of the venue and you check the time. 30 minutes after the invitation time, not TOO bad. You arrived at Majesty’s, a unique, swanky lounge in a trendy area of Boston you’ve never been before. I’ll have to come back and explore sometime. You lean over to give your sister a quick hug, thanking her for dropping you off, then briskly make for the curbside entrance, needing to escape the nippy Boston air. 

Once inside, you’re warmed by neon lights that illuminate the otherwise dim room. To your right is a full-service bar with a plethora of drink options on the wall behind it. Tables staggered up the middle of the room lead to a medium sized dancefloor just before a stage. Velvet curtains hang at the back wall behind a neon sign of the venue's logo. The place is packed. It is Saturday night after all. Music and conversation buzz around you as you scan the room looking for your friends.

“Hi there!” a cheery hostess approaches, her face beat to the gods, making you wish you’d opted for more makeup yourself. “Here with Scott Evans’ party?”

“Yeah! How’d you know?” She gives you a weird look, as if to say, ‘you're joking, right?’. It dawns on you that she knows who you are, hence why she knows who you’re here to see.

“Right…” It’ll be awhile before I get used to people recognizing me.

“HeeeEEeey!! There she is!” You hear Mackie’s voice but aren’t sure where it’s coming from. The hostess points up to a balcony where Mackie is hanging over the railing, flailing his arms to get your attention. 

The hostess escorts you to your party, leading you through the tables on the main floor. The walk there is spent with her talking about how “tonight is like the Oscars” because she’s “never seen so many big stars in one place” but she assures you she “isn’t a creepy fan” and that there’s a no recording policy for guests’ privacy. You smile and nod politely, but you’re not fully listening to her. You’re too in your head wondering if one of those “big stars” is Chris. You’re led up a staircase near the dancefloor that takes you to a roped off VIP balcony area where you can overlook the entire venue.

You give hello’s to the people in the section; some you know from set, but most are Scott’s longtime friends you’ve never met. Feeling a bit shy, you look for a familiar face when Mackie pulls you into a bear hug. “How ya doing, Kid? I’m glad you came out tonight!” You could be reading too far into it, but it feels like he means ‘glad you came despite the possibility Chris will be here.’ You suppress your urge to give a look of disdain and just smile and avert your gaze around the section. You notice that Chris isn’t there, or at least not yet, and you’re not sure if that makes you uneasy or not. Relax girl.

You still haven’t decided on what your disposition towards Chris will be tonight, but needed to choose quickly to get in the right headspace. Before you could process what was happening, you were whisked up into a hug by Lisa. Shit. I can’t be salty to him with his mother here. She’s so sweet. Ugh, guess it’s decided.

“How’s my lovely lunch buddy doing?” she asks with a genuine smile and kind eyes. 

You chuckle at the title she’s given you. “I’m doing great! How are you?”

“Better now that you’re here! Now we can get this party started!” She does a “raise the roof” motion with her hands as she bobs her head causing you to raise your brows. It would be a sure way to embarrass her children, but just makes you laugh. “I should stop before the birthday boy kicks me out,” she laughs out.

“Where is Scott by the way?”

“Oh, he should be around here somewhere...” she scans the section, squinting her eyes with her index finger tapping her upper lip. “There he is!” she points to a corner on the other side. You follow her finger to see a glittery Scott, adorned in a birthday hat and sash. He’s in conversation with a brown-haired woman, the pair laughing and slapping their knees.

As you approach, you notice someone else on the velvet cushion with them, but not at all in the conversation. Sat next to them is Chris, eyes fixed on you, expression blank. It was a matter of time. You tense up, clenching your jaw and holding his gaze.

When you reach them, you embrace Scott. “You look great!” he compliments your outfit and you give a couple poses to show it off.

“Thanks, it’s just a lil somethin’, somethin’ I threw together! Remember this jacket?”

“Yeah! You blew, what? Like, eight hun—”

“Shhh…” you stop him before he could blow up your spot, “Let’s not talk about it. Not the best show of my judgement.” Everyone laughs, except Chris who just scoffs and shakes his head unamused, making your laughter dissipate. 

“We all have those moments of weakness. Hi, I’m Shanna,” she greets with a handshake.

“Yes, she is my youngest, and this is my other son Chris. Chris honey, this is—“

“We’ve met, Ma,” he offers a fake but polite smile, one you just know he wouldn’t have if his mother wasn’t right there.

“Oh, really? When?” There’s a beat of silence that’s only uncomfortable for you and Chris as you both go through your brief, sordid history silently.

“At an industry thing not too long ago,” you offer, not meeting Chris’ eyes.

“Of course, I often forget that that world is even smaller than the real world,” Lisa chuckles. “I hope he was on his best behavior!” Chris looks up at you in panic, a look that says you wouldn’t rat me out to my mom, would you? You know she’s only joking, but the opportunity is too good to pass up on.

“Well, actually,’ you turn to Lisa as she looks at you quizzically, “He’s quite the rascal on the dancefloor; get a couple of Stella’s in him, could out dance the Rockettes!” the group laughs heartily, clearly knowing the truth of your words. Chris laughs nervously but is slightly relieved you didn’t reveal the truth of his behavior towards you since you two met. “But he’s been nothing but a perfect gentleman,” you say, looking at Chris with a facetious smile. He’s clenching his teeth into a pained smile himself.

“Really?” Scott says, ready to call you on your BS, “‘cos game night was kinda… intense. Or am I remembering it wrong?”

“Well, a little trash talk never hurt anybody,” Chris states while sipping his drink. And just like that, a silent pact was made between the two of you; to be cordial for the sake of all involved. Maybe there’s no need for the diva disposition after all…

“Right…” Scott is unconvinced, but is too in party mode to press on. Turning to you now, Scott asks, “How’s the soundtrack stuff coming along?”

“So great! I actually just got the final mix for the song I did with Miguel in New York, and I gotta say, it smells like a hit!”

“Oooo! And I bet it is! You’re literally a hit machine, am I right?” Shanna hits Chris’ arm seeking endorsement from him. He just raises his brows and shrugs as if to say, ‘yeah, sure, whatever’.

Scott isn’t amused by his brother’s disinterest. “Oh, don’t act so unimpressed! She’s literally an award-winning artist! Just the other day, you were literally—”

“Ok, Scott, that’s.... sheesh,” Chris interrupts what sounds like would’ve been a great story. “It’s not that, just that I don’t believe in creating to get awards; I believe you should create for the love of it.”

“I agree,” you chime in. “Even though I put my art out into the world for consumption, it doesn’t make or break me if others applaud it or not. What’s most important is that I do.”

“But you gotta admit it feels good,” Shanna taunts with a grin.

“Sure... but, I don't know… I love what I do so much, I'd do it even  if no one gave a damn. Hell, I have for years! Only recently the recognition started rolling in. And, not to sound self-loathing or anything, but it’s been… a challenge dealing with it all. I kinda miss the days when nobody knew my name.”

Lisa nudges Chris with her elbow, “She sounds like you.” He was thinking the same thing. “How’s filming going? You guys are on Harvard campus, right?”

“Mostly, yeah. It’s kinda funny being back at a college. I kinda forgot what it was like, but memories of those years have just been flooding back.”

“All those fond memories of studying coming back to ya, huh?” Chris digs. Walked into that one. 

Before you could form a petty rebuttal, Mackie called Chris over. Soon after, Shanna and Lisa excuse themselves, leaving you and Scott in the corner. 

Scott checked his phone for the time, “Ooo it’s almost time for my performance!”

“Performance?”

“Yeah there’s lip syncing!”

“Lip syncing? Not karaoke?”

“I asked that too. Apparently the owner was tired of hearing drunk people screech and butcher songs.”

“Understandable. What are you gonna perform?”

“I’m thinking ‘Birthday’ by Selena Gomez, but then there’s also ‘Birthday’ by Katy Perry, so I’m torn.”

“Both great choices! And I’m fully prepared to join you for either, do a little back up, whatever you need.”

“Uh-uh, nope.”

“Whaa— why not?” you put your hands on your hips.

“Because you’re a professional performer. You will get up there and literally intimidate anyone else from giving it a try and having some fun.” A pout was all you could muster as a response. “Oh don’t look at me like that! You know it’s true. Take a backseat tonight, ok?”

“Fine, whatever.” It wasn’t fine, but you did want to keep a low profile tonight. Performing would be the exact opposite of that.

“Thanks, love!” Scott gave you a hug, which you didn’t reciprocate out of feigned annoyance. “So, what the hell was that? With you and Chris?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” you say, hoping he’d drop it.

“Well, I know that you two had some... words, and you’re not super fond of him even though you won’t say it out loud, and—” he paused to collect his confusion. “You know what? Doesn’t matter. Tonight isn’t about you two acting hella weird towards each other. Tonight is about my favorite people coming together and enjoying being around each other. Even if they’re faking it.”

“Yes, exactly!” relieved you don’t have to talk about it any further.

“Wanna know something?” You slightly raise your brows. “The other day, I caught Chris not just listening, but dancing to your music. I mean full on rocking out to it!” Scott laughs.

Your face heats up at the thought, but you play it off like you don’t care. “So?”

“So, you’ve obviously been on his mind. And if I know my brother, I think he wants to make things right but doesn’t know how. He may just be nervous.” You just sigh and look over to Chris and Mackie across the way, roughhousing one another and laughing. If he was nervous, it’s not like you made it any easier with your actions toward him. “He’s a good man. Silly, and sometimes stupid, but good nonetheless.” Maybe we did just get off on the wrong foot…

Some of Scott’s other friends pull him into conversation, and you make your way to the bar to get some libations to sort out your thoughts.

——————————————————————————

“And that’s when I said ‘Sis, what are you doing?’” The group crowded around drinks laughed at Jaden’s story from set, something about how you got stuck under some bleachers or something. Chris wasn’t listening. He’d long tuned out the cringey storyteller. Instead, his attention was with where you were with his mother across the way, deep in conversation. 

You sat with your legs crossed, hands moving around animatedly. Chris looks you up from the heels of your knee highs, to your shiny leather clad thighs, your lacy corset that leaves just enough to the imagination and shows off your collar bone, any man’s subconscious weakness. Goddamn.

“Careful of those wandering eyes,” Chris turned to see Mackie handing him one of the two beers in his hands.

“I don’t remember asking for this.”

“It’s to quench your obvious thirst.” Mackie motions his head in the direction Chris had been staring for the past 15 minutes; in your direction.

Chris rolls his eyes. “I’m not ‘thirsting’ over her,” he takes a sip of the drink, “and I think you’ve been hanging out with those kids on set a little too much.”

“Maybe,” Mackie chuckles, taking a sip himself, “but you know I’m not wrong.”

“She’s not even my type.”

“‘Your type?’ Since when do you have a type?”

“I have a type,” Chris tries to defend himself. “Kind, humorous, humble…”

“She’s literally all of those things!” Chris just offers him a side-eye in response. “Look, I don’t know what happened between New York and now—”

“Cos nothing really happened! So what, we had a good time when we hung out once. Means nothing. Not to me, and obviously not to her.”

“You couldn’t be further from the truth my man.” Chris looks from Mackie to you. “She’ll surprise you if you let her.” I hoped she would.

——————————————————————————

“Ladies and gentleman!” A loud voice, booms from the PA system, commanding everyone’s attention. You, Lisa, and everyone in your section approach the railing to look down to the stage where a spotlight had been cast on the speaker. “Here at Majesty’s, we don’t karaoke. We don’t want to hear you drunk motherfuckers screech!” The crowd erupts in laughter, but you look over to Lisa to see if the language offended her. She doesn’t seem to mind as she’s laughing along with ever else.

“At Majesty’s,” the speaker walks around dramatically motioning their hands like a magician's assistant, “We perform, we put on a show, we lip sync like you’ve never seen before!” There’s a chorus of claps, cheers, and ‘yass queen’s. 

“We have a special birthday performance by the birthday boy himself! Everybody give it up for Scott Evans!!!” Your section filled with Scott’s friends and family go crazy cheering him on. I wonder what song he decided on. 

Come and put cha name on it, put cha name on it

Come and put cha name on it, ya name

Don't chu wanna put ya name on it, put cha name on it

Come and put cha name on it, bay-bay-bay-bay-uh

“Oh my goodness! He would!” Scott surprised everyone with ‘Birthday Cake’ by Rihanna, and you have to say, he did it justice. Ansel and Jaden are his back up, twerking and being silly hype men. You look around to see everyone in hysterics and cheering, enjoying the clownery and having a good time. 

In your scan of the section, you notice Chris standing beside you. You admire his profile; the way his eyes scrunch up when he smiles genuinely, the lucious length of his lashes, the sharp angle of his nose, the slack of his jaw when he brings his beer to his plump lips. Before he poured the liquid in his mouth, he looked at you from the corner of his eye, the corner of his mouth quirking up around the neck of the bottle. You whip your head back to the stage below, kicking yourself for getting caught. You can’t bring yourself to look at him, but his cheeks take on a slight rosy hue.

When Scott’s performance is over, everyone cheers and claps for the guest of honor, who takes his center stage bow and makes his way back to the section.

You and Chris look at one another, both of you mid smile, gazing at each other. Your smiles fade and you clear your throat, readying yourself to speak, although unsure of what to say.

“That was...”

“Yeah, it was…”

“Cool…”

“Entertaining even…”

“Uh huh.”

“Yep.”

You both stand there awkwardly. You’re looking everywhere but at Chris, while Chris is rocking back and forth on his heels, swinging his hands in front then behind himself.

“What a riveting conversation we’re having,” you joke, hoping to loosen up the tension.

It seems to work because Chris breathes out a light laugh before testing some humor himself. “Going better than our last conversation, that’s for sure.” He peeks at your expression tentatively to see if the joke landed, and it seems so by the small smile you offer him.

“Yeah… yeah, you’re right,” is all you could think to say. A lull enters your exchange again, but this time it feels a little less rigid, but still not comfortable or cozy. You both have the same idea to interrupt the quiet with a start of a sentence, then share a laugh for simultaneously speaking.

“Ladies first,” he says.

“No, you can. I don’t even know what I was gonna say.”

“Well, if we were thinking the same thing, you were probably gonna start with ‘I’m sorry…’,” he punctuated with a smile. 

You, however, are not smiling. Your face is contorted in complete confusion. “What exactly should I be apologizing for?”

Now Chris is confused. Your face and your tone say that you are serious. He’s searching your face for any sign of humor, and when he doesn’t find any, says, “Oh, I don’t know, maybe for acting all high and mighty like you’re too good for a peace offering?”

“There wouldn’t need to be a peace offering if you weren’t judgemental in the first place!”

“Maybe, but my judgments weren’t wrong. You parade around like you’re queen of everything!” You glare at him as he continues his tangent.  “‘OOooooOoO look at me, I’ve won a bunch of statues for my poppy-pop songs and spend my money on fufu jackets, but also don’t look at me cos I’m kinda awkward and might turn to putty at any given second.’” He mocks you in a high pitched, “woman” voice. 

You scoff at his foolery and to feel enraged by his stupidly silly drunken display. “First of all, I do not talk like that!”

“Yeah, ok.”

“And secondly, I’m not about to apologize for being proud of my accomplishments that I worked really fucking hard to achieve. I’m not afraid to clap for my damn self. We can’t all be overly-humble and self deprecating and blessed with the ability to be great with everybody. I refuse to shrink myself for anyone any longer!”

‘Any longer’? What’s she mean by that? Chris’ expression softens, as does yours. You’ve realized that you've once again been brought out your box, by a practical stranger no less. The two of you share similar expressions; anger tinged with a bit of hurt. Before either of you could say anything else, not that either of you wanted to, a commotion coming toward the two of you takes your attention away from the heated moment.

Scott is making his rounds through the section, receiving celebratory high fives, kisses, and smacks on the ass. “That was incredible dear!” Lisa punctuated with kisses all over her his face, causing you to laugh at the affection she showed her grown son.

“Ok, ok, thanks Ma!” Scott said, removing his mother’s hands from either side of her face. As he proceeded to wipe off the lipstick from his face, he turned to Chris. “Bro, are you gonna go up there?”

“Nah, just gonna hang back tonight,” Chris says, sounding defeated.

“What? Why? You love karaoke!”

“This isn’t karaoke. Besides, I’m not really feeling it tonight.” That sounds a lot like what you told him as an excuse to leave the game night. You felt like he was baiting you. To bite or not to bite? That is the question. After some intense and uncomfortable pouting from Scott, Chris caved. “Maybe, and that’s a hard maybe!” Chris slurred and gesticulated as he said so.

Satisfied and then distracted, Scott wandered off to his other party guests, his mother following closely behind him. You, however, feeling particularly petty, were not satisfied with his answer. “Too cool for this, are you?” You instigate.

Chris scoffs and swigs his beer, eyes fixed ahead. “Why don’t you go up there? You’re supposedly a big shot rockstar,” you roll your eyes at the title, “and I’ve yet to see what you can do.” A lie, but only he knows that.

You narrow your eyes at him. “I would, but I’ve been told I can’t because I’m a ‘professional’ and will ‘intimidate’ others from having fun, so, whatever…” you say, mocking Scott’s request.

“Yep… sounds about right.”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” The liquor made you bold, but Chris barely bats an eye at your brutish behavior. He only winks and walks away. You find yourself trying to manage the butterflies that arise at his slight act, the fluttering cutting through your irritation. What the hell body! We’re not supposed to feel this way towards him!

As you watch Chris disappear down the stairs, there’s a hand on your shoulder that you harshly shrug out of. You turn around to face the offender, but soften at the confused face you meet. “Oh, Lisa. I’m sorry, I didn’t know it was you.”

“Well, I wouldn’t expect you to. Not unless you’ve got eyes in the back of your head,” she chuckles. “Are you ok, darling? You look… pissed.”

You lightly laugh, “Yeah… no… I mean yes, I’m fine.”

Lisa looks at you with an eyebrow raised, unconvinced. “Uh huh… I won’t push only because it’s a party, but I want you to know you can tell me anything that troubles you.” Even if it’s your son? You nod, knowing she’s sincere. “So, Scott said that you all are free on Monday.”

“Yep, first full free day in a while!”

“Great! Well, I wanted to invite you to the art museum with me on Monday. There’s a new exhibit opening up and seniors and friends get a special viewing. What do ya say?”

“Aw, I’d love to, Lisa! What’s the—“

“Guys, gals, and non-binary pals! May I have your attention again!” Everyone returns to the railing to look at the host on the stage downstairs. “Our next performer is somewhat unsuspecting, however, a Boston boy through and through. Says he’s a huge fan of the Patriots,” there’s some “woops” for the home team, “and a big fan of singing some Billy Joel…”

“No, he’s not!” you look at Lisa confusedly, as she covers her mouth.

“Who’s not?”

“…and goes by the name of ‘Sassy Cevans’…” the host continues.

“Oh yes he is!” Scott says from your left, inexplicably giddy.

“WHO IS?!” Your question has yet to be answered as the song's guitar riff ripples through the venue. The performer explodes onto the stage, back to the crowd, air strumming along. They turn around as the first lyrics come in and your question is answered, but now you have so, so many more. What in the hell??

Part 5 cont.

[doingthingsthewriteway]

Thorns pt. 2

Summary: Dom realizes that magic is most certainly afoot in the castle and he definitely should not have gone to the west wing. 

Warnings: 

The suite was far nicer than any room he had stayed in before. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting little rainbows of light onto the powder blue walls. Golden accents were scattered across the room, dull from years without care, but still impressive nonetheless. 

Dom awoke with a start. His eyes, puffy from crying all night, slowly adjusted to the light that seemed to pour into this suite. From what he had seen of the castle the night before, this amount of sunlight seemed very unusual. He sniffled once or twice before sitting upright in bed. 

“Ah, you’re awake!” The door to his suite swung open revealing a young woman with light brown skin and long curling red hair. “I’ve brought goodies!” 

It was far too earlier and he was still far too traumatized to really care about goodies. The only good thing would be the ability to leave. So, he settled with a grunt of acknowledgement in hopes that would speed up whatever exchange this was going to be. 

“Allow me to introduce myself,” the young women bent forward in a bow, “I’m Ashley, resident witch and homemaker here.” Upon her return upright, she flourished a cup and saucer filled with tea and milk just the way he liked it. 

With a quirked brow, he stared at the cup in his hands. “Princess poisoning me already?” 

Ashley laughed, a sound Dom had to admit was certainly not unpleasant to hear. “She’s harmless.” She added under her breath, “most of the time.” 

Dom let out a sound of disbelief as he raised the cup to his lips to sip. Smelled fine. Tasted even better. He reckoned it was fine to finish the cup. Ashley seemed content by this and went about the room flicking and swishing her wrists or muttering little versus of latin? He didn’t know, never paid enough attention in school. 

The room tended to itself, inanimate objects suddenly coming to life and cleaning the room at her command. She hummed softly as she entered the wardrobe and pulled out a variety of clothes. “Haven’t had a guest like you in ages.” 

“Hard to imagine why.” 

The mood in the room shifted making the large ensuite suddenly feel two sizes too small. “I assure you, Dom, that things are not as they appear. When it’s right, you will learn what you need.” 

Ashley threw a wad of clothes his way. “This shirt and pants should fit you just fine. Harry’s got some suspenders should you want to wear those.” She collected her things and lingered by the door. “Well don’t just lay there, get dressed and follow me! Breakfast is served.” 

Stumbling into the hallway, Dom frantically tucked in his shirt as he struggled to keep up with Ashley. The people here were absolutely mental-hot as hell, absolutely gorgeous- but mental. Keeping him prisoner and now serving him breakfast? Nuts. 

The kitchen was not as staffed as he would he assumed. He was certain the pub back in the village was more staffed with bar maids than this. The village. Just the smallest thought of home sent a pang through him that made his eyes water. No, he couldn’t think of home, couldn’t allow himself to fall apart in front of these people, that would have to wait until he could return to his room. 

Tucking in at a table with Ashley, he watched as Harry all but floated into the room. Everyone turning to the long haired man with respect, admiration, and certainly lust. “Bonjour mi amors!” 

Settling in next to Dom, Harry offered a cheeky grin. “And how is our guest doing today?” 

“Our guest thought the princess was poisoning him with his tea.” 

“Our guest would like to not be talked about like I’m not bloody here!” 

The other two laughed at Dom’s outburst. “Of course.” Harry paused for the briefest of moments. “How would you like a tour of the castle? I’m sure Ashley would be happy to provide it. “

He got the feeling the tour was nonnegotiable, no he complied. Harry downed a cup of coffee quickly before assembling breakfast (duplicates of everything) on a tray. If Dom noticed that some of the bacon seemed a little underdone he said nothing and waved as Harry scurried off. 

“He and the princess eat every meal together.” Ashley whispered in Dom’s ear, tickling the hair that fell around it. “But that is none of our business, no? Come let’s go explore.” 

Dom took her outstretched hand and relished in the comfort of another human touch. 

----

Harry pushed the trolly into the master chambers. Y/N was already up, wearing nothing but a deep red silk robe. “Good morning, love.” 

“It took ten minutes longer to shift back this morning.” Y/N turned to face Harry, eyes wild in panic. “I’m getting worse.” 

Strong arms held her tightly, “I’m not going anywhere. None of us are.” 

She still trembled ever so slightly as they tucked into breakfast. “How’s the prisoner?”

Harry through her a pointed look. “Dominic is doing just fine. Ashley has given him so clothes and they’re eating breakfast together as we speak.” 

“He’s a prisoner.”

“He’s a guest.” 

“No, for fuck’s sake.”

“Don’t you want to be happy!” Harry hadn’t meant to yell, to poke the beast that lay beneath her. 

“I’ve accepted my fate it’s time you do to.” Y/N wiped her chin, the blood from the bacon staining her skin ever so faintly. 

“Well, princess, I’m nothing if not persistent.” He poured another cup of tea before he collected the plates. “I’m going to give our guest the grand tour, I’ll see you for lunch my lady.” 

Harry left with his trolley, bumping into Ashley and Dom in the kitchen. “Just the couple I was looking for. I’m going to put these away and offer you the grand tour.” 

“Oh joy. Showing off the capitalistic bullshit of royals.” 

Snickers were stifled behind coughs. Dom reminded them so much of the Y/N before the curse, the gentle one that was passionate about the rights of others. That was the Y/N they hoped to have back someday. 

Dom appeased the overly eccentric Ashley and Harry if only to better his chances of leaving. He couldn’t deny the beauty of the castle. It was impressive in a way that was terrifying. The sheer power that seeped through the walls and the endless portraits and armor. 

“And here we have my portrait, commissioned after my first concert for the family, I don’t think they got my nose right it looks rather phallic.” 

Dom couldn’t give a damn of the portrait. He was much more intrigued by the dark and looming west wing. “What’s there?”

Ashley’s eyes grew wide. “No, that’s just...”

“Storage!” Harry sang with a big swooping gesture. “We LOVE storage, can’t get enough. Any who, let’s continue to the grand lavatory I had an orgy there once.” 

An orgy did sound fun, Dom wasn’t one to discriminate. But the dark looking west wing was clearly more exciting. Silently, he slipped away from the duo, carefully running up the stairs to the west wing. 

“Bloody hell.” He swore under his breath, nudging the stiff door open. The room, which clearly wasn’t used for storage, was in tatters. Drapes were torn with long slashes. 

“Storage my ass.” He grumbled entering the room fully. Eyes immediately drawn to the fine portrait on the wall. 

A crash of thunder startled him, but didn’t distract him from his stare. There were three people in the painting, two faces apparently burned away, one slashed through. Tenderly, he pieced the face back together, gasping at the face of Y/N at a younger age. Beautiful, gently, eyes warm and a smile on her face. Nothing like the women who locked him up. 

Venturing further, he saw it. A rose encased in glass. It was a beautiful rose, or had been at one point. Petals littered the area surrounding the thorns. The hell? He didn’t know. 

His fingers picked up the glass without thought-

“What the hell are you doing here?!” The princess rushed toward him grabbing the glass and placing it back over the rose immediately. “Are you trying to damn us all?” 

“I-” Dom backed into the room, edging closer to the door to leave. Y/N looked practically feral. Eyes blown wide, chest heaving, body shaking. 

“Leave!” Y/N approached him closer. “Go!” She was growling now. 

Dom didn’t need to be told twice. He turned and quickly rushed out of the room, flying past Harry and Ashley. 

“Where are you going?” “Wait!” Their cries fell on deaf ears. All Dom could hear was his heart pounding out of his chest. 

Harry called for the doors to be locked but Dom managed to squeeze out and turn toward the stables. Grabbing Bubba and his reigns, he wiped away a tear he didn’t know he shed. 

“C’mon Bubba, we’re getting out of here.” 

[nataliedanovelist]

GF - How A Star Is Born. ch.VI

A Hercules AU, founded by @evaroze, whom this fic is a gift for. I hope y’all like it!

ch.V - ch.VII

AO3 link

~~~~~~~~~~

The little sailboat gently glided along the river that would eventually pool into the sea. There, just as the river touched the vast salty body of water, there was a harbor that began the huge troublesome town of Thebes.

“Wow,” Dipper awed as he tied up the boat. “Is that all one town?”

“One town, a million troubles.” Stan quipped as he walked along the dock and his student hurried to catch up. “The Big Olive herself: Thebes. They say if you can make it here, you can make it anywhere.”

“Cool!” Dipper said as they entered the city. Never before had the farmboy seen so many temples and buildings clumped together, so many people in one place, so many speeding carts and horses and stray cats and the occasional mice that kept the cats fat and happy.

“Stick with me, kid,” Stan warned as they stopped with a group of people waiting to cross the street. “This place is dangerous.”

The horse-pulled carts came to a stop and some guy turned a red-hand vase so it showed a green walking man. They began to cross, but one cart sped by them and Stan had to dive on top of Dipper to push them both out of the way in time.

“Watch where you’re doing!”

“HEY I’M WALKING HERE!” Stan screamed back and made a rude gesture and he got up from Dipper, somehow miraculously getting a slight hint of a Latin accent. “See what I mean? Knuckleheads, all of them.”

“Then you should feel right at home.” Dipper sneered playfully, earning him a firm punch on the shoulder as they walked on.

A few minutes into town, after passing a shady conman that Stan saw right-through, a cute lady at a corner asking if anyone was wanting a good time, and a naked guy singing about accepting yourself, loving yourself, while waving around a dead chicken, the two men walked up to a fountain, taking notice of a group of people talking woefully.

“It was horrible.” A whiny troll-looking guy said as he rinsed his cap into the fountain, trying to get the soot off his clothes. “I lost everything in the fire. All of my beautiful vases and stone tablets.”

“Now were the fires before or after the earthquakes?” A big red-haired guy asked.

“They were after the fires.” A red-haired girl a few years older than Dipper answered with. “But before the flood.”

“Not to mention the crime-rate.” A skinny guy with a small mustache added in. “Seems every time I turn around, there’s some new monster running havoc!”

“1220 has got to be the worst year I’ve ever heard of.” The red-haired woman said as she kicked a rock harshly and crossed her arms over her chest. “Can’t we just move to Sparta, Dad?”

The entire time the locals were complaining, Stan was elbowing Dipper encouragingly and gesturing for him to go ahead. Dipper cleared his throat and said, “Excuse me.” When all the eyes were on him, he felt a little nervous, but he went ahead. “It seems to me that what you need is a hero.” He said confidently and puffed his chest out with his hands on his hips.

The crowd did not look impressed. “Yeah,” The big guy snorted. “And who are you?”

“Um, I’m Dipper.” The young man said, trying to keep his confidence up, but was failing. “But I happen to be a hero, and…”

The four laughed at him and Stan narrowed his eyes as the townsfolk had their doubts if this young man could possibly help them.

“Have you ever saved a town before?” The small troll-like man asked.

“Uh… n-no, not yet…”

“Or reversed a natural disaster?” The big guy asked.

“Uh… n-n-no, but…”

“Ugh,” The red-haired woman groaned. “He’s just another chariot chaser.”

“Don’t you knuckleheads get it!” Stan yelled, placing a hand on Dipper’s shoulder. “This kid’s the genuine article!”

The little ugly man narrowed his eyes and adjusted his thick glasses to get a good look at the old man. “Hey… isn’t that the fallen god that trained Achelles?”

Stan’s whole face turned red and he began to shake with anger. “Watch it, pal.” He growled like an angry dog.

“Stan…”

“Hey, you’re right, Toby.” The big guy said and laughed harshly. “Oh boy! I needed this! Some amateur hero trained by the worst god of existence!”

Stan let go of Dipper and began cracking his knuckles. “You wanna go, buddy, c’mon…”

“Stan, Stan!” Dipper had to use his god-like strength to hold his teacher back as it looked like he was going to pounce on the big guy who looked like he could rip a tree out from the ground if he wanted to. “He’s not worth it, let’s just go.”

Stan, still growing, allowed Dipper to lead him to a large set of stairs while the four walked away. Soon Stan swatted Dipper’s hands off of him and they sat to try to think.

Dipper, meanwhile, was thinking about what that guy had said. A fallen god? That may very well have only been a cheap insult for the Trainer of Heroes, but Dipper had first-hand experience in the matter. Gods can fall. Was it possible that someone who had practically raised him and trained him to be a hero so he could be a god again knew exactly what it felt like to be someone you’re not?

“Stan, wh-what those guys were saying…”

“Listen, kid,” Stan said tiredly and held his head. “You’re gonna hear some really bad stuff about me in this town, and some of it is true, but I need you to trust that everything I’ve ever done has been so that family sticks together, okay? I’m gonna get you to your twin, okay? I’m gonna help you become a true hero if it’s the last thing I do, okay? All I ask is that you trust me. Please.” And he looked up at the teenager heavily.

Dipper swallowed as he saw a million and one emotions in his eyes. After everything this guy has done for him and planned to do for him, Dipper decided that trusting him was the least he could do, so the younger of the two nodded, but their moment was interrupted by a cry for help.

“Help! Help, please! Help!”

“Pacifica?” Dipper muttered as he saw a lush amount of blonde hair try to make its way through the crowd. “Pacifica!” He stood and hurried to her as her eyes lit up at the sight of him and hurried.

“Wonderboy… Dipper, thank goodness! Outside of town, by the sea, this little boy was playing and there was a horrible rockslide! He’s trapped!”

“Quick, show me where he’s at!”

Pacifica grabbed Dipper’s hand, making his whole face turn red, and she led the way through town back towards the sea, north of the harbor and just below a mountain that led to Thebes’ Temple of the Gods. Stan quickly followed behind them and a few townsfolk decided to keep an eye for entertainment purposes mostly.

On the damp sand there was a rocky wall side from where the tide often comes in and forms a wall, separating the town from the ocean. Dipper could hear a boy’s cries coming from behind a rock and he hurried across the beach, leaving Pacifica, Stan, and the townsfolk on the sidewalk.

“Help! I can’t breathe!” The boy coughed and desperately pleaded, “Somebody call I-X-I-I!”

Dipper stood by the big boulder and said calmly, “Don’t worry, I’m gonna get you out.”

“Hurry, please!”

Dipper looked up at the giant boulder and took in a deep breath. This rock was huge, one of the biggest things he had ever had to lift, but if he could accidentally destroy half of his hometown, he can lift a boulder. Right?

He grabbed on from the bottom and struggled for a moment, but with gritted, deep breaths, and sheer determination (Stan’s calls of encouragement also helped tremendously), Dipper was able to slowly lift the boulder up from the tiny cave in which the white haired boy was trapped behind.

The boy ran out quickly and Dipper asked in a strained voice, “Y-You okay?”

“Yeah… J-Jeepers, mister.” The boy awed. “You’re really strong!”

Dipper smiled and said after he threw the boulder into the ocean, “Just try to be a little more careful, okay?”

“I sure will!” The boy replied as he ran off into the town.

Stan cheered and hollered, only stopping when he was coughing and he bent over a little to cough sharply into his fist. The townsfolk gave a small applause for him, only a little impressed, as the boy climbed up the side of the mountain and went into the mouth of a large cave, where he was met with Bill in his throne, sipping on live worms, and Pacifica, who sat with her legs dangling over the edge.

“Jeepers? Mister?” Pacifica sneered.

“I was going for innocence.” Gideon said as she changed back into his older self and sat next to Pacifica to watch the show.

“You both did good.” Bill said coldly. “I was really moved by your performances. Great opening act.”

Meanwhile, Stan was at Dipper’s side and patted him hardly on the back. “Great job, kid! They even applauded! Sorta, but still!”

Dipper heard something and turned to look out at the dark and dreary sea. Bubbles. “I-I don’t think that’s applause, Stan.”

Stan looked out at the ocean and saw a shadow form under the bubbles, and soon they were shocked to find a big green head emerge from the water with sharp teeth and small eyes, followed by a long neck and a fat body, the monster roaring like a horrible siren.

“St-Stan! What the heck is that!?” Dipper asked his mentor.

“The Gobblewonker!” Stan yelled as he pointed at the monster. He pulled out Dipper’s sword from his scabbard, put it in his hand, and ran back to the screaming crowd for safety.

“Let’s get ready to rumble!” Gideon cheered and Bill snapped his fingers to make a ringing bell appeared.

~~~~~~~~~~

Ford and Mabel were sitting on the front steps of their temple, having tea, as the young muse happily chatted and the aged god happily listened, but they were interrupted by Fiddleford’s wind-breaking running as he hurried up to his dearest friends and was short of breath.

“St-St-Stanford! It’s Mason! He’s battlin’ the Gobblewonker on the beach o’Thebes!”

Ford choked on his tea and had to spit it out. “WHAT?!”

Mabel punched the air. “Alright! He can take down that big dummy! I wanna see him do it!” And the young muse got up and started to run out of Olympus.

“Wait!” Ford called as he and his best friend ran after her. “Mabel, wait!”

~~~~~~~~~~

Dipper slowly watched as the Gobblewonker’s neck positioned itself for attack, like an angry snake. This was no different than those garden snakes at the orphanage, right? The monster attempted to strike, but Dipper dodged swiftly on the beach. Again, and another dodge. Again, another dodge.

“That’s it,” Stan coached. “That’s it, kid, dance around, look for an opening.”

The Gobblewonker struck again, digging it’s sharp teeth into the sand, and Dipper was almost hit, but managed to spit out some sand and stand strong, unfortunately realizing a second too late that his sword was no longer in his hand, but lying behind him. Now having to multitask running the opposite direction and dodging a monster, as if this battle wasn’t difficult enough.

To distract it and buy some time, Dipper used his super strength and threw a huge rock at the Gobblewonker, who crushed it in his jaws while Dipper retrieved his weapon. He stood proud and ready to strike, but in one instant the monster engulfed the hero in it’s mouth and held its head up high to swallow Dipper like he was a pill.

Pacifica held her throat and cringed as the Gobblewonker licked his chops, but soon it was wincing, like it was in pain, and a gruesome scene of Dipper cutting the monster’s neck from the inside appeared before the audience and the Gobblewonker’s head and half its neck flew into the ocean, leaving red in the water and on his body.

“YES! THAT’S MY BOY, THAT’S MY BOY!” Stan cheered as the Gobblewonker’s body fell onto the beach with a loud splash and the dizzy hero fell to his knees. Stan was right by Dipper’s side and helped him up, lightly tapping his face. “Good job, kid, good job. C’mon, let’s getcha cleaned up.” And the old man helped his student get on his feet and shake away his dizziness from the acid that had been in the neck.

Up in the cave, Bill was turning red and shaking. Pacifica smiled, ready to see Gideon be burned to a crisp, but the young man was still, miraculously, perfectly calm.

“Gideon, your plan…”

“Bill, Bill buddy, relax.” Gideon rested his hands behind his neck as rain started to trickle down on the mortal world. “It’s only half time.”

The Gobblewonker’s body twitched behind the two men. They both turned and were very disturbed to find it standing up on its own and suddenly three heads emerged from the opened neck, ready to attack the hero again.

“HOLY HERA!” Stan yelled and ran aside to give the hero his chance.

Dipper backed away until his back was against the rocks, smiling. “Ha! You’re trapped in water, huh?”

The three-headed-Gobblewonker must have understood the young man and decided to prove him wrong, because the sea monsters climbed up out of the water and onto the same to better attack the human.

“Oh, jeez.” Dipper groaned before letting instincts take over and he chopped an incoming head off to dodge and get out of being cornered against the rocky wall.

Dipper allowed his adrenaline to take over and soon he was swinging at anything that came towards him. This, of course, was a bad idea and soon Dipper stood with his back to the sea at a thirty-headed-Gobblewonker, bigger and meaner and more powerful than ever before.

“WILL YOU FORGET THE HEAD-SLICING THING?!” Stan yelled from the sidelines.

Dipper swallowed as a clawed-flipper scooped him up and pinned him against the mountain side, all thirty heads getting closer and closer and ready to rip him apart limb from limb.

“C’mon, kid!” Stan cheered. “Use that big head of yours! C’mon!”

Dipper did some quick thinking, looking up at the mountain, and without a second to lose, he pounded his combined fists against the mountain on his left side, causing an avalanche. One by one the heads were crushed and more red stained the rainy beach, leaving only a fisted-up claw in the clear, unnoticed by the audience.

“NO!” Stan screamed and hurried to the rockpile. “C’mon, c’mon kid, stay with me. Stay with me!” The old man fell to his knees and started to move rocks out of the way, trying to find his student. “No, no, no! Please!”

Meanwhile, Gideon and Bill were smiling twisted smiles. “Hm, nice job, kiddo.” Bill said to Gideon. “You’ve redeemed yourself.”

“Told you it would work.” Gideon said calmly.

Pacifica looked down at the old man trying to get the young hero back with sad blue eyes.

“I… I can’t…” Stan panted under his breath. “I can’t lose…” But then he heard something that made him stop digging.

The fist was wiggling, finally noticed. The townsfolk were worried it was the Gobblewonker, still alive, and Stan stood ready to die trying to kill the monster that took his kid away, but everyone who was watching was beyond surprised to find Dipper priding the monster’s dead fingers off of him and standing tiredly with his clothes in rags.

Cheer erupted, everyone deaf to the yells of anger from Bill and the yells of pain from Gideon, or the dark cloud that appeared by the small cave as the three vanished.

The townsfolk yelled and celebrated and ran down to Dipper and Stan, but Stan was the first to congratulate the new hero, holding him in his arms and giving him noogies and yelling to the top of his lungs. “YOU DID IT, KID! YOU WON BY A LANDSLIDE! HAHA!”

And there, up in the dark rainy clouds, Fiddleford danced with Mabel cheerfully for Dipper’s first victory, leaving Ford standing there, mouth open, speechless with pride. “I… I can’t believe it… my boy… he…”

“I told you!” Mabel cheered and punched her uncle on the shoulder. “I was right, you were wrong! Looks like somebody has to sing the Ford Was Wrong Song!”

Ford chuckled and smiled down proudly at his nephew, who was now being carried away by the other humans. To congratulate him, Ford threw down joyous lightning bolts to dance among the jubilant rain.

Dipper caught the lightning striking the ocean and he smiled to himself, daring to believe that his family might be proud of him.

~~~~~~~~~~

In the Underworld, Gideon was on his hands and knees, weak from pain and whimpering. This was the fifth time he was being punished, and Bill wasn’t done. The young white-haired man looked up at his boss and pleaded. “Bill, I…”

With a snap of the triangle’s fingers, Gideon’s tongue burst into flame and the teenager cried out and clawed at his mouth. Bill glared maliciously as he snapped his fingers again and Gideon’s whole body was suffocated in flames. Again.

Soon a sad pile of burning flesh was at Bill’s feet slowly healing again. “First you couldn’t even turn both twins into mortals. Then the one left mortal you let live. And now he lives and kills off one of my most powerful allies for taking this dimension!” Bill snapped his fingers again, burning Gideon alive again, sentencing him to pain that would kill a mortal.

Halfway through healing again, Gideon whimpered through tears, “I can still kill him. He’s still mortal. He got lucky.”

“You better.” Bill said coldly. “You’ve got one year to kill Pinetree, and every time you fail, I’ll kill you again until either he’s dead or you wish you could stay dead.” And the triangle left his minion alone to cry on the floor and think of how he was going to kill the man destined to defeat Bill.

[bjorntheluckybastard]

Amnesiac

it'd been four years since Rayla's disappearance, and three since she'd been assumed dead.

when the news that rayla was assumed to be dead hit Callum's ears he couldn't take it, he'd already suffered her sudden disappearance a year prior and now with the possibility, she'd never come back he couldn't cope, it took him years to mourn her loss, going through the stages of grief and finally accepting the fact that if she were alive, she'd have come back by now.

the last time she'd been seen was when villagers of a small town had seen a " woman with half of her hair white and the other half black attack a Moonshadow elf with dark magic and take her away" the woman was assumed to be Claudia but no one could know for sure because the location they were suspected to be in was completely abandoned by the time they'd arrived there.

the only evidence of rayla ever being there was in a small room in the dungeon of the place, a chair with cuffs on the arms and legs for holding people in place in the middle of the room, torn pieces of the fabric of her clothes, blood splatters on the chair and floor, and a chunk of the end of her horn was found in the room. Callum had to be consoled for days after what he'd seen and imagined what they'd done to Rayla.

now three years after that Callum was beginning to heal after her loss but still not being able to love anyone other than her, so to distract himself he dedicated himself to helping his brother in whatever way he needed him.

today he, Ezran, and Soren were traveling to a camp of Vikings in the mountains, they'd been raiding small towns and fighting other clans so Ezran wanted to see if a peace treaty could be made and get them to convince other clans to sign it too.

the task was going to be a hard one but this clan, in particular, was known for being a lot less brutal than some of the others so it was a decent place to start.

" so how'd you convince Corvus and Opeli that you only needed me and Soren on this trip?" Callum asked "well 1 I'm their king and 2 it'd be better if there were fewer of us so that they don't feel threatened by us to keep this as peaceful as possible" Ezran mainly wanted to spend time with Callum to help him get over rayla but there was truth in his statement. " eh who cares I'm the only protection you guys will need anyway," Soren said with a smug grin.

they arrived at the camp a few hours after dawn, for a small place it was extremely loud and active, the warriors were either training, drinking, talking, or just fighting, well there were other things but those were the main things.

" Hej!" the three turned to see a tall dark-skinned man covered in tattoos and scars " you must be the king that wishes to have me and my kin bow at your feet" he laughed " I am Kludd Jarl welcome" he put out his hand for Ezran to shake and grabbed his forearm and slapping the other arm with his hand, a bit shocked by the sudden rough greeting Ezran smiles back at Kludd " its an honour to be here sir". Kludd stands back and points at Soren " so is this one your Drengr?" the three look at Kludd puzzled " my what?" Ezran asks confused, " Drengr, it means courageous warrior in our tongue, I assume that's what he is because of the few members of your party", " well I would consider myself pretty courageous" Kluss smiles " Glad to meet a fellow warrior" kludd puts his hand out for Soren to grab and pulls him into a back slap hug, whacking Soren on the back.

now Kludd turns his attention to Callum " Hej friend, what's your purpose in this party?" kludd once again puts out his hand to greet him, Callum grabs it expecting the rough pat on the opposite arm " I'm the king's brother, and a mage" Kludd looked impressed " I should introduce you to our seer at some point, but for now I will allow you to acquaint yourselves and look around we shall speak again soon".

Soren goes with Ezran as he's the one guarding him on this trip so Callum explores on his own, the men and women are loud and intimidating but are very friendly towards him, it's odd he thinks, ' they seem so friendly already I don't know why we really need a peace treaty'.

he wanders around greeting the warriors and acquaints himself with the blacksmith, Gunnar, he's an absolutely massive man with impressive arms for building weapons and armor, he kind of reminded him of Ethari, ' damn I've not seen Ethari in almost a year I should send him a letter asking him how he is' he thought to himself. Callum tried to keep as much contact with him as possible after Rayla was assumed dead Ethari had lost all of his family and was heartbroken further. during his thought of what he should say in his letter, he notices one of the warriors looks distinctly different than the rest, with horns and white hair they were an elf, a Moonshadow one. Callum only saw the back of their head but they had an undercut with a scar on the back of their head and a chunk of their left horn missing replaced by a piece of metal, ' huh kinda looks like the same amount of Raylas horn that we fou-' the realization dawned on his face, there's no way it's one little similarity it couldn't be the dead assumed love of his life, could it?

then the elf turned around, he'd recognize her beautiful violet eyes anywhere, and her voice and accent were slightly different but there's no way he wouldn't know, that's rayla.

the overwhelming feeling of excitement, anger, dread, and sheer relief felt like he'd just been shot through the chest , he runs up to her and places his hand on her shoulder " I cant believe it, after all these years you're alive!" he expects her to be excited to see him or at least be shocked that he's there but she looked so confused " uh yeah I'm alive, whats it to you?" that's not what he was expecting, he hadn't expected her to be so neutral about it "cmon rayla you know me" he hopes she'll at least know who he is " Rayla? who the fuck is that?" how could she ask that? he thinks to himself she has to be joking, and if she is it's certainly not a funny " wha- you are!" he says trying to keep his temper in check, " no I'm definitely not my name is Randvi and I've never seen your sorry mug in my life" her words shattered Callum's heart, she turned to leave but he grabbed her arm involuntarily " do you fucking mind, piss off you bacraut" she jerks her arm away from him and walks off leaving poor callum just stood there trying to comprehend what just happened.

" so I just get over the fact my girlfriend was assumed dead and I've finally found her and she doesn't remember me? fantastic" he mumbles the bitter statement to himself as he searches for kludd, hopefully, he will have the answers Callum needs.

[dragonshoard]

Don’t Leave Me (With a Smile) Chapter 1

Charlastor 1920s AU AO3 Link

Summary: New Orleans, 1926. Charlie Magne was the daughter of old money. From the city to the stock market her family had their hands in every pot. In her parent’s ideal world, she was to marry into a wealthy family for connections and continue her mother’s work with the city’s richest, but Charlie never wanted that. Her father was a reasonable man, she could make him see things her way... maybe (though her time was ticking).  

Alistair was a coincidence, a happy happenstance. And her way out. She shouldn’t have been surprised when she fell in love with him. Before, it had been enough to know that he had loved her. 

(If you could call the dark, twisted thing in his chest love)

i’m sorry for any typos ahh

--x--x--x--x--

From the glittering skyline to the bustling streets, New Orleans was truly the place to be if you were anybody. Jazz was the city’s lifeblood and the nightlife was flooded with the clarinets and trumpets playing in tune, drawing in people from miles away. 

Men and women dressed to the nines walked the streets, laughing and sometimes dancing their way to their destinations whether it be to another club or the coffee shop still open down the block. 

Similarly, a small group consisting of one man and two women, just at the start of adulthood, barely squeezed their way past the door of a small cafe into the winter air, clutching onto their hats and fur coats respectively. 

“I don’t know why we don’t do this more often!” The blonde with a brilliantly powdered face smiled through the cold, viciously happy to be surrounded by friends and free of the demands of her parents, however temporary it may have been. 

Her clothing was, perhaps, slightly too conservative to have someone call her a “flapper”, but was well within the style. She was fitted in a gorgeous black dress with golden accents and embroidery in a geometric pattern that shimmered in the streetlight. It covered her arms with sheer golden lace and came up to cover her collar bone. The signature sequin tassels swayed at the cut off just below her knees. Covering it was a beige fur coat that screamed wealth. 

Perhaps she was a bit sheltered, but it had yet to cause any issues. Well, besides the teasing from her friends that ranged from funny to rather ruthless at times. 

“You want me to answer that or ya wanna keep walking, Charlie?” The laugh that followed was loud enough to turn heads. 

The young man in question was visibly taller than most people, in general. He was roughly a head taller than his companions. White hairs artfully laced through his slicked back brown hair despite his obvious youth. His eyes were a warm brown, complementing the slightly tanned skin. 

“I know I don’t get out a lot, but things are changin’, Angel! Daddy’s been getting more clients downtown, so he doesn’t come home as much as he used to… Mama’s been really busy too but she’s also willing to give me some leeway…” The girl directed her beaming smile at him as she hurried along down the sidewalk, nearly running into a pole when she turned back around. 

“Careful! You don’t need a bump on the head to ruin your night! And, honestly, do we have to call you that Martin?” 

‘Angel’ gave her a sharp smile, looking every bit the shark that many had claimed him to be. Charlie was, of course, aware but chose to redirect the two of them to other topics. Even if it meant drawing attention back to herself. 

“I’m fine, Vaggie! You worry too much!” Charlie smiled down brightly at the dark haired woman who had pulled her away from what may have resulted in a very tedious evening. Vaggie had sun-kissed skin with dark eyes that looked nearly black in the low lighting. She had been her first (and at times her only) friend that her father had approved of. 

“Says the one who tried to slip in past the broads that you know you couldn’t have fit a quarter in between the three they were so close together.” Angel smiled even wider, before looking over to the side and waving at a group of people across the street.

Charlie’s smile dimmed to a more mute, yet still appropriately impish, grin before she tucked into Vaggie’s side. “It’s just - I’m so excited! Can you blame me?” 

The answer differed from the faces her two friends made at her. One entirely endearing while the other was more… over it, for lack of better words. Charlie frowned a bit, mostly for show. 

She tried to justify herself. “Lights, crowds of dancers, and all the latest music.” She popped up, almost twirling in place. “It’s just so glamorous, and Daddy has been home for days now, and you know how he is,” she drawled, smirking almost innocently up at the tall “Angel”.  

When “Lucifer” (as many of his business partners had taken to calling him) was home, he preferred older tunes that practically put Charlie to sleep. She could barely find moments where she could put in her records or turn on the radio to listen in without her Daddy hollering for her to turn that trash off. 

Charlie’s father was a charming and charismatic man, when he wanted to be. He treated his daughter as if she was the most precious object in the entire universe. The amount of photos stuffed in nearly ten photo albums from ages zero to three showed the dedication he had towards his little girl. 

And perhaps that was the reason it had become a problem, especially as of lately. The only good thing that came out of the attention these days was that it extended the time she spent in the house and not out finding a husband. Even now, he was hesitant about giving her away and having her no longer in his sights (perhaps that was why he was looking so meticulously, to find someone that may easily fit under his thumb). 

“If you ask me, your pops has got a few screws loose up in his noggin. I mean, come on, you’re twenty-one! Practically an old maid, and he hasn’t even let you go out on a date!” He laughed, hand casually hooking her away from Vaggie and into his side, squashing her into his fashionably striped suit. 

They were nearing the club, the music growing audibly louder from the sidewalk. 

“I’ve been on dates before!” 

“Honey, being chaperoned by Daddy dearest who makes it a point to play with the steak knife ain’t exactly what I would call a date.” He flipped his hair up, tilting his head down so Charlie could see the near mocking grin painted across his features. 

“Lay off her, Angel. I don’t see anyone coming to ask to date you.” Vaggie put a protective hand on Charlie’s shoulder and practically yanked her away from him. 

“Aw come on; don’t be such a tart, I didn’t mean any harm by it! I’m just saying that’s it’s not natural. She should be goin’ out! Having the time of her life! Not sitting home all day doin’ whatever her ‘daddy’ wants her doin’,” he made a derisive hand motion, rolling his eyes.

A sly grin took over and Charlie knew exactly what he was going to say. 

“If you’d just let me introduce you to some of my friends - “ 

“You mean some of your family, Matra - “ 

“Shhush!” He nearly jumped over them to cover both of their mouths, regardless of the fact that Charlie wasn’t even saying anything to begin with. It drew a few lingering eyes to their party. “You want me to get ganked? You can’t say that type of shit in these parts.” 

Vaggie didn’t look particularly apologetic and simply shrugged him off, opting to pull Charlie along with her. She gave him a smug look as they stepped up to doors that barely seemed to contain the music inside. 

“‘K, but seriously toots. I got a cousin that goes by Arlo. He’s a bit of a sap, but he’d treat you right.” 

“None of you would get Daddy’s money if he didn’t approve, and I’m not so sure he’d be happy getting involved with your family.” 

New Orleans wasn’t as bad as, say, Chicago or New York when it came to gang or mafioso violence, but it wasn’t the cleanest either. A politician had been mysteriously “removed” when he’d attempted to go after one of the organized crime rings. 

Angel pouted at that, “Come on, you’ve known me for ages! You think I’d set you up just for the money?” 

They both looked at him with the most unimpressed face they could individually pull. Charlie was the first to let up and laughed as she waited for the entryway to clear. 

A man smoking against the wall gave Charlie a second glance, confused but with a look of vague recognition crossing his features. He opened his mouth, likely to ask if they’d met before, only to be cut off by the tall mafioso whose eyes felt like daggers going into his skin. 

The man quickly turned away and Angel seemed to do a one-eighty, once again smiling at his friends as they were finally able to push open the doors. 

“Welcome to the Lodge! It’s been open for a few years but they added a few ah features that made it more popular over the last couple months.” 

Charlie’s eyes seemed to glimmer as she took in the large space, absentmindedly taking off her coat and hanging it to the side. The Lodge was absolutely luxurious, from the wallpaper to the nearly reflective wood flooring. The band was booming, but not loud enough to drown out the laughter and chatter that was a testament to the hall’s popularity.  

“Oh my - “ Charlie was practically hopping in place, excitement practically vibrating off of her. 

“Hey! Careful, lets not get separated, okay?” Vaggie, being the voice of reason and caution, was quick to hook elbows with Charlie, the only thing that had kept the girl from shooting off into the crowd. 

“Aw, come on, there’s a ton of people here! Not to mention the bulls in literally every corner.” Angel discreetly let his eyes wander around the room as he leaned against a pillar. 

If anyone were to pay close attention, they would notice the men in unremarkable suits lingering near the bar and every little hideyhole you could think of. It made Charlie shift, unsure of how to feel about the knowledge and and slightly concerned. If any of them were in her father’s pockets she was so dead. She ducked her head at the thought, almost attempting to hide via Vaggie despite their height difference. 

“Speaking of the ‘bulls’, should we be concerned,” Vaggie questioned. “I’d rather not get arrested or hauled away in a cab tonight.” 

“Don’t worry about it! They’re the reason the club gets to keep their juice.” Angel was quick to get distracted by a handsome fellow on the other side of the club. “I hate to cut this gaggle short, but I got some tail to catch, if you get my drift. See ya ladies later!” And with that he was off in the other direction. 

Vaggie was thoroughly unimpressed and neither of them looked surprised. Charlie couldn’t help but shake her head. It was a common trick he pulled after they’d all been to a few places; always looking for a guy to end the night with. Charlie admired his boldness; however, couldn’t imagine herself dating so many men, much less having sex with them. 

And it wasn’t like she was there for any of that nonsense to begin with. She was there to dance.

“Come on, Vaggie!” 

The look of sheer panic on her friends face was telling, but it didn’t stop Charlie from dragging her to the packed dance floor. Charlie knew that her dancing was a bit intense for her friend’s (most people, really) liking, which is why she usually ended up dancing solo, but it didn’t mean that she couldn’t make them try for a while before they wore out. 

Charlie tapped her slight heels to the dance floor, tuning into the beat and began shimmying sideways until her hip bumped Vaggie’s. Her glittering smile almost effortlessly brought her friend out of the doom and gloom the thought of dancing with Charlie had put Vaggie in. There was some exasperation, but it was mostly fond. Charlie would take what she got.  

Giggling, she did a small spin. Her feet followed the basic steps of the Charleston to warm up, surprisingly considerate of her reluctant dance partner. Charlie gave Vaggie a mischievous smile that Vaggie had come to know as the turning of the tide against her favor. 

Heart pounding already as Charlie began to speed up, smiling so wide that her face was beginning to hurt: one foot to the side, back and forward. The music seemed louder like this, as if it had drowned out everything else: from the slight static of the stereo someone seemed to be playing in the background to the dancers who seemed to have begun to back away. 

So engrossed in her own movements, she didn’t notice when Vaggie tapped out, unwilling to try and compete with her. And even had she been paying attention, she wouldn’t have noticed that she had caught someone’s eye in a unique way. 

A man, who had taken the invitation for a night on the town by a fellow colleague and had been regretting it deeply, was watching her with the hungriest gaze anyone on that side of New Orleans had ever seen. A tall man with slicked back dark brown hair in a fairly tailored pinstripe suit with a burgundy tie to match similarly colored dress pants. His eyes looked nearly red in a certain light, pulling the look together flawlessly. 

A few years ago, no one would have noticed him, but these days he was too public for at least a few people to recognize the voice of the Alistair Trahan. 

He watched as she pulled up her dress every now and then to perform a kick or jump. His grin grew in glee as she practically leaped across the dance floor, feigning falling a few times only to skip and tap away unscathed. The grace in her movements was uncanny. 

She teetered in between stages of nearly falling and stability so often, he wondered how she hadn’t become dizzy from the whiplash. Perhaps it was the danger that bid her to prefer the dance style (or maybe she just enjoyed it). 

Her energy was something he had rarely seen before. What made it even more energizing was how she never stopped smiling no matter how her dress clung from the sweat that must have been pouring off her in waves or how those heels must have been a pain to dance in. 

She caught his gaze for a split second and those eyes. Dark and piercing as they were compared to his own dreadful gaze. He imagined what it would be like to have those eyes on him and only him. 

He raised a hand to his face, surprising himself when he noticed how flushed he was. He was brought back to reality when he noticed that the band had stopped playing. She was practically glowing as she panted, looking victorious in her stance (and a part of him imagined it as a form of armor, and he wondered what she would look like bound in steel). 

It would be a pleasure to pull apart that cheerful manner and see what was underneath it; see if she was just as golden inside as she was out. 

His mood dimmed slightly (though his smile didn’t show it) when he noticed that another woman had tucked herself into the personified sunshine’s side. 

It seemed there were obstacles that needed to be removed.

[bill-skarsgalactic]

Fifty questions

I was tagged by the lovely @kathryn-jane (Thank you, love. This was fun)

what color is your hairbrush? - mainly black with a hint of silver.

name a food you never eat? - Eggplant can suck it.

are you typically too warm or too cold? - I have terrible circulation, so I’m pretty much always cold.

what were you doing 45 minutes ago? - Working on a script for work.

what’s your favorite candy bar? - Do I have to pick? Crunchies are pretty bomb.

have you ever been to a professional sports game? - A few. Mainly rugby games.

what’s the last thing you said out loud? - Alright, I’m gonna get back to work.

what’s your favorite ice cream? - The pumpkin pie flavour from my local ice cream shop.

what was the last thing you had to drink? - Water.

do you like your wallet? - I’m not precious about it, but it’s kinda cute. It’s a vintage, mustard coloured wallet with Winnie The Pooh on it that I picked up at a vintage store years ago. It’s kind of falling apart now.

what’s the last thing you ate? - Chicken strips (FUCK YA CHICKEN STRIPS!).

did you buy any new clothes last weekend? - I did actually! I bought a t-shirt from Hell on Shirts with a Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining graphic on the front and back.

what’s the last sporting event you watched? - Probably the rugby world cup, whenever that was.

what is your favorite flavor of popcorn? - Okay so there’s this brand of popcorn where I’m from that’s like ‘strawberries and cream’ flavoured and that stuff is so addictive!!!

who’s the last person you sent a text to? - An actual fuck boi.

ever go camping? - We used to go camping a lot when I was a kid but not so much now. I’ve got a camping trip planned with some friends though once the virus craziness is over.

do you take vitamins? - Occasionally? Only when I feel like I need them.

do you go to church every Sunday? - Haven’t been to church in years. I’m not particularly religious and neither is the rest of my family, so...

do you have a tan? - I am so fucking pale it’s not even a joke.

do you prefer Chinese or pizza? - Pizza ‘til the day I die.

do you drink soda through a straw? - I don’t drink a lot of soda to begin with but I suppose only when I go to the movies or order a takeaway drink.

what color socks do you usually wear? - My socks are pretty much all black secret socks.

do you ever drive above the speed limit? - Sometimes :/ 

what terrifies you? - Spiders and the thought that I might never be successful or might die alone.

look to your left, what do you see? - A lamp and a book of post-it notes  shaped like a thumbs-up.

what chore do you hate the most? - Dishes. Dishes. Dishes.

what do you think of when you hear an Australian accent? - Haven’t really given it much thought to be honest, lol.

what’s your favorite soda? - Mmm... not a huge soda drinker but Bundaberg Peach Soda is pretty good.

do you go in fast food or just hit the drive thru? - Uber eats but if I have to get in my car, I’m hitting up the drive thru.

what’s your favorite number? - Probably 13 or 27.

who’s the last person you talked to? - My mother.

favorite cut of beef? - All the beef. 

last song you listened to? - Supermassive Black Hole - Muse.

last book you read? - The Outsider by Stephen King. It was great and I definitely recommend it to others who enjoy King’s stuff.

can you say the alphabet backwards? - I tried. I can’t.

favorite day of the week? - Friday.

how do you like your coffee? - Due to the sheer amount of coffee I drink, I usually have it black with no sugar, but if I’m treating myself it’s one sugar and a splash of milk.

favorite pair of shoes? - Black converse forever and always <3

time you normally wake up? - Back when things were normal, 6AM. These days I try to be up by 8:30AM the latest.

sunrise or sunset? - Sunset. I’m the polar opposite of a morning person.

how many blankets on your bed? - Currently? A duvet and a thin throw-type thing.

describe your kitchen plates - I’m currently staying with my mom and she has these vintage, country-style plates that match the vintage of our kitchen, but back home I’ve just got standard white plates.

describe your kitchen at the moment - My kitchen is pretty much exclusively white. White counters, white tiles on the floor, cream walls. A built-in four-plate stove, a free standing, black mini-oven, a silver fridge (that came with the apartment), a white kettle, a white microwave, sink in the corner and a washing machine (also came with the apartment) under the counter next to the sink. It’s pretty basic.

do you have a favorite alcoholic drink? - When I’m out it’s usually beer. Vodka and a mix when it’s on special and nearing the end of the night.

do you play cards? - Not really.

what color is your car? - Red and black, but I’m upgrading to a plain black soon.

can you change a tire? - Yes, but it would probably take me a while.

your favorite state, province, country, etc. - I really enjoy most parts of the UK that I’ve visited and would love to go back to Canada some day. 

favorite job you’ve had? - The one I currently have. I get to write every day and be creative and I’m surrounded by creative people who I love like family.

how did you get your biggest scar? - None of my scars are super prominent, but if I pull my bottom lip really tight, there’s a scar from where I chewed on my mom’s razor. Apparently, as a toddler, my goofy ass climbed into the bathtub, grabbed my mom’s razor that she used to shave her legs and decided that it looked good enough to monch on.

Tagging: @honeysugacube @ill-skillsgard @dreamtherapy @lihikainanea @draculafangirl42 and anyone else who wants to give it a whirl.

[slothgiirl]

Shadowplay (alex turner x reader)

Ottoman's was the only coffee shop you were willing to splurge on. 

Their coffee a delight even without all the milk and sugar you could add when you needed a kick to keep up. There had been a rush of orders this week and even after waking up past noon today you still felt tired. 

As per usual, there was a line. People sitting around, working on their laptops. An old man reading the papers.  A woman in a sleek suit typing quickly on her phone as she waited for her order. 

The bells chimed and you couldn't help but glance over at the man who walked in. Clad in black fitted jeans, a leather jacket despite the turn in weather over a crisp white shirt and shiny leather boots. Hair gelled back with what looked like a whole tub of gel. 

With a confident swagger he took his place in line behind you. He was undeniably attractive. But you were more interested in getting your cuppa and getting all your errands done for the day than anything else.

The next few people in line went up. You were probably going to go for your usual. With just a splash of oat milk. 

Two people made a bee line for the man behind you. An incredibly beautiful woman, the type that become influencers on instagram, who got free drinks at bars. She had a golden glow and her hand in the man next to her.

"Al," she greets him, hugging him with ease. She's loud and you can't help but overhear them as you scroll through the sales page on net a porter. "It's so good to see you."

"Arielle," the man behind you greets stiffly, not leaning into the hug at all. You can't see his eyes from behind his aviators. "Didn't 'spect to see you here."

"Just a weekend trip really," she tells him, "the wedding plannings been crazy."

"Aaah, yes. The wedding. Congrats 'bout that again." 

Arielle doesn't seem to sense any of his discomfort, too caught up in her own happiness. Probably an ex boyfriend then. 

You're not even trying to pretend not to listen anymore, their drama better than anything on the telly since downtown abbey ended. 

The man at the til calls up, "next in line." 

You're about to go up when the man behind you throws an arm around your neck, pulling you into his side and smiling down at you as he tells Arielle, "gonna order. Wait for us?"

Arielle smiles at you warmly, "of course Al just don't take to long."

And before you can say anything he's pulling you along forward to order. "I'll 'ave a earl grey creme and whatever the lady wants." His loose hold is the only reason I don't move away instantly. 

Al turns to you, a devilishly confident smile on his lips, the type people promising a good time and more trouble than their worth give, as he asks, "please go along with it for a couple of minutes?"

Not wanting to bother the man at the register by taking forever you add, "and a cafe au lait with oat milk." Before looking back at Al as he finally lets go and slides his card, "and what's in it for me?" 

He chuckles, "the coffee."

"Least you could do."

"Listening in on people's conversations is very rude love," Al says, wagging his finger playfully.

You snort. "Maybe you shouldn't have those conversations in public if you don't want people to overhear."

"It's just a couple of minutes love." His deep voice smooth as you both move to wait for your order. 

"All right," you nod, letting yourself be charmed by him. 

"I'm Alex."

You introduce yourself as well, finding it funny that everything seems to be going in the wrong order with you both. 

"So," Arielle asks, joining you both along with her fiancé. "Who's this Al?" She's light and genuine and you think it would be all to easy to be friends with her. 

"My girlfriend," Alex replies back casually, as if remarking on the weather. You roll your eyes at him. He's a terrible actor or maybe he's just that much of an arse. 

"That enthusiasm," you tease, putting your arm through his, "it's too much."

Alex shakes his head, smiling. 

"Are you two going to make it too my wedding," Arielle asks, "it's in Palm springs. Just a few hours from yours."

So he doesn't live in the city despite his accent and we won't ever have to talk about this again. It's a relief. Lets you ease up from whatever this was. It said something about Alex, despite his confident demeanor that he didn't want to be alone while his ex got married. 

"We shall see," he says noncommintantly. 

"Got to get going," she adds, "hope we can get lunch before I go back to LA or when we're in LA."

Alex looks like he would rather die than do either one of those things, so you answer for him. "Love too but maybe this weekends a little short notice." 

"Oh okay." She looks genuinely disappointed. They both leave and the barista calls your order out. Alex grabs them both. 

"Thank you love. Really saved my arse."

"It would've been easier just to tell the truth," you note. Lies got all tangled up quickly. 

He shrugs, "a lot less fun though." Alex finally takes off his aviators. It's frankly unfair. His wide brown eyes only adding to his already well formed features. A softness to them that ruins the idea that he's a debonair devil the way he fronts. 

"What are you going to do when she asks?"

"Lie."

"So she's your," You raise a brow.

"Ex. She wanted to get married and I-," he fiddled with the ring around his finger, a silver garish thing that he pulls off through sheer confidence, "I didn't want to."

"To marry her or get married at all?""

Her. . .both?" He pouts, looking into your eyes. 

"And what? You don't want to look like the loser in the breakup or are you actually regretting not marrying her." 

Alex runs a hand through his hair, ruinning the carefully done style. "No. I don't regret breaking up with her. I just. . .I guess I'm feeling particularly old today," he jokes. 

You shake your head. "Honestly I've been feeling old since I finished school." 

"So what about you love? Any boyfriends that I should worry about?"

Laughing, you explain, "not but it's me you should be worried about. Did years of krav maga."

"Really," Alex says, looking your small form over. You might have a full figure, but you also have lots of toned muscle. 

"Yeah. My dad was very into martial arts. Boxing was more his thing though. What about you Alex? Arielle said you lived in LA?"

Alex takes his time to answer, dipping from his drink. Looking thoughtfully around before replying. "I do have a place there."

"But?"

"But I'm currently staying in London. Thought a change of scenery might be nice."

"Are you like a drug dealer or something," you ask unable to help yourself. London was expensive. Let alone having a place in Los Angeles too. "Or some trust fund posh kid?"

Alex laughs, almost choking on his tea. Rubbing his nose bride, before looking over at you and laughing again. "Neither. I promise love. I'm a musician."

"So a rich kid," you state, "all the musicians I know are broke."

"A successful musician," he amends. 

"Like Beyoncé?"

"Not quite," Alex says shyly. It makes you even more curious, having to wrestle this information out of him. "What do you do for a living love?"

"I'm a tailor. Mostly do handmade stuff. I always liked sewing. Even as a kid. In college I made my clothes a lot of the times and sometimes had to stitch things up throughout the day." It had been embarrassing to have a seam unravel during class. 

"Tailors make the world go round," Alex notes, "Though the fittings are annoying, the results are undeniable." He puffs out his chest and straightens out his leather jacket. 

You laugh at his faux posh face, one you know very well from work. It took a certain type of customer to afford suits starting at 2000 pounds. "Most people ask if people really still need tailors what with poshmark and h&m."

We finish our drinks, easily going back and forth. Alex is charming and sweet. The lull between his responses worth it, his voice holding the same quality as a good dark chocolate and just as addicting. 

He tells you about LA, a place you've never been too. About music, going off on tangents about instruments and records you've never heard off and will be googling as soon as you get home. 

It's easy to fall into conversation with him. Telling him about your small family. Your sister still in uni. Your parents down by the coast. The amount of work you currently have, and all the ridiculous request you get from your customers. "I'm all for making people look as fit as they want me too and having clothes that make them feel good but there's a limit. No cut will make you loose ten stone. Of have you suddenly look twenty years younger."

"I admire your ability to but up with all those posh fookers."

"I do too. Not that everyone's bad. There's also business people that are more middle class but a good suit is everything. Counts for more than having twent my prada ones."

"Well," he states, finally leaning back and ending the magic of the afternoon, reality coming flooding back because you both have things to do and he's still just a stranger, "it's been lovely talking to you darling but I'm afraid I already made plans for tonight." 

"And I have errands to run before lazying about all day tomorrow." You might still make it to the bank if you rush. Hail a cab. 

"You've been the best fake girlfriend I could ask for."

"How many have you had Alex," you tease him, watching the heat rise to his cheeks. Feeling emboldened, you give him your number, scribbling it out on napkin, "in case you ever need a fake girlfriend. I hear it's much easier than a real one. Not that you look like you have any trouble getting women."

He smiles, looking over at you in amazement, as if he's not sure your real. That he'd been lucky to run into a woman like you while getting coffee. It was too entente of a gaze for you to hold for long. 

You look away, feeling surprised at yourself. It wasn't like you to hand out your number. But you hoped that you might see him again. That it wasn't just a one off. 

"See you around love." 

[luwianskies]

Bonus ‘Vulture Magic’ excerpt

Because somebody showed the kind of interest that tickles me inside (*poke poke* looking at you Peeeeaaaar <3), here’s a passage that I’ve re-read and cleaned up because it came out so good in the first draft of it. Love it when that happens.

Anyway, here’s wonderwall :

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When she arrived at sunset, everyone could see her. From a distance, she had seemed almost unexceptional. Up close, she was obviously a strongly built woman. And tall, so tall she dwarfed everyone around by at least a full head and torso’s height.

Siltsan knew that Vultures, and especially Condors, were long-lived and tended to slide away from human as they aged, growing ever taller and larger. But having never seen any Vultures, she had no idea what to expect. And Tarmer Rong, it was said, had passed her fourth century decades ago. What could such a long-lived Condor look like? Act like?

Her brown skin seemed ordinary enough, and her short, short hair was cut for efficiency. Her clothes were those of traveler: trousers, a sleeveless shirt that looked to be turning a bit small for her and looked tight on her skin. Though not barefoot, her feet were only somewhat wrapped in bands of fabric that left her toes and heels open. Her traveling pack was small, likely not carrying much beyond her needs. A long dark coat, tattered with use and age, was slung over one shoulder.

It wasn’t until she was close enough to look in the face that Siltsan understood why those near gave way to her: they were blacker than the night itself.

Black eyes were not unusual in and of themselves. Lots of people even in her little town had black eyes. No, what made people uneasy was how they seemed like bottomless pits, two dark holes in the world that no amount of light could block or fill…or escape.

And when she came closer to Siltsan, she had felt the need to meet her gaze. To see for herself…

“Welcome, Condor Tarmer Rong!”

All heads turned to none other than Shirhi, dressed in her finest and strutting towards the mage with no fear at all. A wide smile on her face, the colors of her clothes shone in the sunset light, and her glittering gold bangles shimmered as she moved.

The Condor’s motions did not falter even a little. She was still walking towards them, silently and steadily, though now her gaze was focused on Shirhi in a lazy but curious way.

“Welcome and be well! We are honored to have you here.”

They both stopped in front of each other simultaneously. Shirhi’s arms were open in welcome, hiding nothing. Tarmer Rong loomed before her and almost bent down to see her clearly, and Shirhi’s neck was craned upward to look the mage in the eyes.

Siltsan felt a pang of envy, wishing she had been the one to meet her first, but it quickly faded. She was never one to hold a grudge. The sound of the Condor’s voice captured her attention faster than a flash of lightning:

“Good evening to you, and thank you. May I have the honor of knowing your name...?”

The voice was low, and deep, and spoke to Siltsan of deep caves, dark nights, the rumbles of the earth and stories told under the stars. She spoke slowly and with an accent in Ruditi that she could not place, though still clearly and fluently.

Shirhi’s voice, when she answered, was a tingle of bells, with her clear notes made by a sing-song voice:

“I am Shirhi of clan Zemni honored Condor, and I am to be your attendant for the duration of your stay. The clan mothers wish for your visit to be as pleasant as possible, with your every need attended to. It is my honor to fulfill all of these for as long as you may wish.”

She bowed slightly as she said this, but kept her own gaze locked with Tarmer’s throughout. When she righted herself, she stepped even closer to the mage, still utterly fearless.

Tarmer Rong’s silence seemed to stretch after these words. Siltsan was suddenly worried that this may have been a bad idea. Would a Condor, a mage used to freedom of movement, be offended by the idea of being followed everywhere she went by Shirhi? Had they miscalculated?

But she just looked at Shirhi calmly and without a hint of disapproval, and a small smile appeared in her expression as she spoke slowly again:

“Your attendance is unnecessary but still appreciated, Shirhi of Zemni. Would you be so kind as to show me where I may rest until the sun sets?”

Shirhi reached for Tarmer’s hand as she settled herself at her side, and started to lead her towards the town:

“Of course honored Condor! Several places have been put aside for you should you be in need of variety, and you may choose to move anywhere you please at any time. Water and meals will be brought to you whenever you desire, and any questions you my have I will endeavor to answer…”

She chattered and asked Tarmer questions all the way into town like this. As they passed near Siltsan on their way, she saw Tarmer’s face had a kind expression on it. It was a tenderness she hadn’t expected.

Her face was towards Siltsan as they went by her, and when they did, Tarmer’s gaze lifted from Shirhi to look at Siltsan. Their eyes met.

The recognition, the meeting of like to like, the two shadows melding together of the magery they shared was like an eclipse coming suddenly. Something deep resonated through them both, and for the single second they saw each other, it was as if the night had come sooner. Colors were dampened, there was a cool breeze, silence filled the space between them, and the river of time seemed to slow, s l o w, s  l  o  w…

Patience…

Siltsan blinked. The light was back to normal. There was no breeze. Tarmer’s eyes were back on Shirhi, and they were walking into town on a leisurely stroll.

As the small crowd parted, Siltsan followed them with her eyes. She would wait. There was no rush, and night was coming.

She could wait.

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Tah-dah! The first appearance of Tarmer Rong the Condor! Arriving just before sunset’s end. (she likes sunsets, despite how draining it can be to be in their light. the colors are very charming.)

And we have here a new character! Shirhi (sheer-hee), an ambitious young lady with no fear and the kind of confidence that makes you love her or hate her. Despite this, she’s actually very nice and self-aware, and her confidence stems from being the kind of person who knows exactly what they’re about, what they like and want, and what they’re willing to do to achieve their goals.

Let’s see where that takes her, shall we?

Hope you enjoy, and feedback is welcome!