#i shudder to think this might be how kids these days are introduced to it (yes. even Scandinavian kids)

[cherry-leclerc]

we never talk about it ☆ op81

genre: humor, angst, yearning, massive crushes, and lots and lots of miscommunication, assistant!reader

word count: 11k

It's unwise—longing for someone like Oscar. While he's the epitome of someone anyone can easily fall in love with, you're the epitome of a devoted girl who will fall in love with him. You might not even care too much about all the heartbreak you endure along the way.

inspired by this !

cherry here!... based on real events.

Do you remember the day we first met?

The wind doesn’t do its job in blocking him out, the way you prayed and wished it would. You’re still able to catch the crack in his voice—a distant reminder of the way it once made you giggle. Even his nose is beet red, matching the Christmas lights. But apart from all that, you still hear him. You still see him. 

You always have.

“A little bit. Yeah.”

He flinches, then tries to play it off with a soft smile. Like he doesn’t want you to uncover the slight hurt he feels. But he can’t read your mind. He never could. And that was the problem.

Oscar nods, feigning indifference. “I do. Remember it all, I mean.  Think back to it quite often."

-

It’s utterly useless to try and ignore him, really.

His hair is too fluffy, his eyes are too bright, and his accent is making you want to flaunt the way some loony character would with a hand over their heart. It was honestly a tad bit demeaning.

But you can't help it. You admire the way his brown locks fall in a lousy manner when he towers down to sign the contract. You blush when his eyes get that twinkle in them. And you swoon over almost anything he says with a shy smile.

“You’re drooling.”

Mortified, you briskly run the back of your hand against your mouth before sending a harsh glare. Lando snickers. “Would you please stop?”

His jaw drops, theatrically. “You’re not actually into him—are you?”

He says it with a trace of humor, but also shock, and you can't help but have your mouth run dry. A loose grin starts to expand across his lips as you hurriedly shake your head. “O-of course not. Are you crazy?”

But if anything, you feel crazy. You must be, right? With every passing second of your heart beating faster and faster against your chest simply just by looking at the young Australian, you’re sure you fall straight into the category like some love fool.

Lando squints his eyes. “I don’t know.” He leans in straight into your face, nearly hissing. “Am I?”

“Am I interrupting?” 

Flinching hard, you turn quickly to face Anastasia. You’d initially met the black haired girl back in 2019. As you started off as the Brits personal assistant, she took over as Carlos’ and later also Daniel’s. Over the course of time, you two came to be as close as sisters. 

“No! Not at all,” you squeak, nervously before pushing the McLaren driver away and patting towards the open chair next to you. She giggles, rolling her eyes and adjusting herself. “How was the flight over?”

A shrug. “As good as it can get. Sat next to a silver fox, so I guess that must count for something, no?” Lando shudders. She leans in closer, plopping her head against your shoulder. “What’d I miss?”

“Not much.” Only, that’s not true. She missed the way he laughed awkwardly when the doors wouldn’t slide open and let him into the headquarters. She missed the way he rolled his R’s a little too hard when saying ‘sorry’. She missed the way he grabbed the pen with a certain glow on his face, like he almost couldn’t believe any of this was happening. Lazy fingers pat her head gently once before sighing. “He seems nice.”

“How do you know?”

You know because of the way he talks to everyone. Like he cares about what they have to say. Whether it’s about how great his career is going to be here in McLaren or if they introduce their kids to him via FaceTime. He always wore the same smile, talked in the same warm tone. So, could your guess be far off? Yes. It could be completely far off. But you would bet money that it wasn’t. 

“Just a wild hypothesis.”

Her laugh isn’t too loud, not ridiculously so, at least, but the fact that it echoes is what makes it appear as such. Anastasia is quick to slap her hand over her mouth, the Brit turns fast to face her with panic evident in his eyes, and you simply blink with a shade of red slowly creeping towards your cheekbones. 

Zak grins. “You three.”

“Oh, we’re out,” Lando mumbles in monotone, already grabbing your wrist and dragging you to the exit. You follow numbly, like you don’t have any strength left in your body. 

“You’re leaving me?” Anastasia hisses.

“She’s my assistant,” he says like a matter-of-fact. “Where I go, she goes.”

“Oh, you Judas—”

“All of you,” Zak clarifies, narrowing his eyes over to you and the Brit. You gulp.

With a soft curse, Anastasia stands up, tall and firm, and makes her way over with all the confidence in the world. You frown, craving to be the same way, even just a small percentage. Instead, you have to be forced by the McLaren driver. 

With every step, your head just spins faster because now, he’s more than real. You can smell his cologne. You can count all the moles that cover his face if you really wanted to. You can spot how his hair is still a bit wet, indicating an early shower. 

He’s just becoming— too real. 

“Lando, buddy, meet your new teammate!”

“Nice to meet you,” the blue eyed boy declares with a loopy grin, letting go of your hand in order to shake his. 

“Likewise.”

Zak claps once. “Oh! And meet your personal assistant, Anastasia.”

“Here for anything you might need,” she cheers with a bright smile.

“Fantastic.”

A wave of silence overlaps your four before Lando clears his throat. “And even though you might not be working with her one-on-one, this is my Anastasia.” A snicker. “My assistant, if you will.”

“Nice to meet you—”

“Nice to meet you—”

You both freeze, hands intertwined for a second longer before abruptly letting go. He lets out a dry laugh while you do the same. The way your skin tingles makes you blush. 

“This is fun and all, but we actually have somewhere to be,” the Brit claims with a suspicious look slashed across his usual laid back expression. You nod. “But we’ll see each other soon, man. Can’t wait to race together!”

In a flash, you two are out the door, leaving a dumbfounded Oscar blinking slowly.

-

“He fucks with you.”

“Excuse me?”

Another bench press. “As in, he likes you. He’s into you.”

You don’t dare ask who he is because you already know who the Brit’s referring to and that would only inflate your ego. Snapping your fingers, you narrow your eyes. “Focus. Two more sets left to go.” He groans, flipping you off.

It would be a lie to say that this didn’t make your self-esteem skyrocket. Could he be right? Could someone like Oscar ever lay eyes on you? Somewhere in your dreams, you’d like to say yes. Yes. That is a possibility. But the longer you think about it, the more unrealistic it gets.

You don’t have what others do. And that itself is enough to pop the bubble. 

-

The start of the season is always tough. 

“He’s extremely nervous.”

For some more than others.

You frown. “Really? But he’s usually so…relaxed.”

Anastasia shrugs, hair falling over her shoulder as she continues typing. “I mean, I tried talking to him but with everything I said, he’d just reply—'that's nice’. It was sarcastic, if anything. I would have laughed if I didn’t feel for him. Poor boy.” Her fingers freeze mid-air. “Wait—do you think you could talk to him?”

“I’m not sure that’s a great idea—”

“Come on! Maybe it’ll help him ease his nerves!”

“Ana—”

“Please.”

You huff. “Okay. Fine. Yeah. I’ll see what I can do.”

As soon as you knock, you almost want to turn away. Maybe it was all an exaggeration. Plus, it’s not like he’s going to die from having butterflies in his stomach. Yeah, surely he’ll be fine and he doesn’t really even need you to—

“Come in.”

He wasn't expecting you, that much you can tell by the way his brows go up. But he’s quick to erase the confusion, settling with a fond expression. “Hey.”

“Hi,” you squeak before cringing at the sound. He chuckles, returning to his warm-up exercises. “How are you feeling?”

Another chuckle, this time amused. “Anastasia sent you, didn’t she?”

“What?” A beat. “No.”

He hums. “Tsk. I’m a bit nervous, that's all.”

You lick your lips, kicking your foot up against the doorframe. What could you possibly say that she hasn’t already? If she couldn’t ease him, then how can you? The thought of messing up and making it worse makes your stomach churn. 

“You’re going to do g—”

“Great?” He sighs, blowing his cheeks. “That’s exactly what she said.”

“And what’s wrong with it? She’s only trying to help.”

“No. I know she is, but…” He looks down onto his lap, pausing all movements. “Look, I appreciate you both. What you’re trying to do for me, but I can’t stand hearing what others think I want to hear.”

“It doesn’t do it for you?”

His eyes grow slightly wide with the way you go about and ask. He’s never seen you be anything other than sweet and reserved. But this—right now—is stern and very coach-like. Something and someone you aren’t. Not even close.

“It doesn’t,” he admits, finally looking away. “Never liked it. Always sounds too forced.”

You nod, crossing your arms. “Fine. I can tell you the truth. I can be truthful.” He perks. “Oscar, you’re a terrific driver.” He groans, covering his face with his hands. “But just because you’re great doesn’t mean you’ll be great all the time.” The Australian frowns, uncovering and looking up at you with attentive eyes. “You’re going to mess up. You’re going to be second, or third, or sometimes even twentieth, but that doesn’t matter, you know why?”

“Why?”

“Because you signed that contract, so you sort of have to suck it up, either way.” He lets out a loud laugh. Very unlike him. A weak smile threatens to fall as you try your best to push it back. “There’s going to be bad races, but there’s also going to be very good races. It all depends on you and how hard you work. Sometimes you’ll have a good car, a good strat, and others you’ll have a shitbox and a bad strat. That’s just the way this sport works, okay?”

Oscar blinks slowly, as if trying to decipher who you are, and that itself makes you dizzy. “I-I-I don’t care if you’re nervous, I don’t care if you’re sure—all we care is that you drive that car, and that you try your best no matter what. Can you do that?”

It’s foreign. The feeling in his chest. He’s not used to hearing any of this. As of recently, everyones been texting him to say how great he’s going to be. How far he’ll go. And while he was grateful for having unconditional support, he also dreaded hearing it sometimes because he doesn’t even want to picture letting any of  them down. He’ll act like he’s fine, he’ll act like he doesn’t care—but none of that would be true.

The brunette tilts his head to the side, slightly squinting. “I can. I can always try my best. Even if I fall short.”

“Good.” A beat. “We all believe in you. No matter what, okay?”

A timid smile. “I know…”

He ends up having to retire the car by lap fifteen, but the most astonishing part is that he’s not even upset. He tried his best. He listened to every single advice his engineer would alert him with. He practiced long hours in the stimulator.

This is just the way things go sometimes. Just like you said.

-

“I’m bored. Can I get a ten minute break or something?” Lando grimaces, rolling his wrist like it's the worst pain in the world. 

You hum, fixing the signed hats back into the box. With eyes screwed, you shrug. “Fine. But only ten! I’m serious. We need to have this done by one.”

“Yes! Ten—got it.”

He doesn’t come back in ten. For the matter, he actually goes missing. 

You narrow your eyes towards the clock, watching as it clicks like some mockery. You’re going to strangle him. You vow at that very moment that you’ll strangle the Brit as soon as you lay hands on him. With one final huff of desperation, you stand up, rubbing your eyes. People frolic through the paddock—you’re sure you even catch a glimpse of Lewis being papped—but that’s not what catches all of your attention. 

Instead, you find yourself leaning against the rail, squinting down to where the man of the hour sits, microphones huddled all around him like some interrogation. Anastasia smiles politely, back straight, and voice-recorder in hand. 

It’s faint—you almost can’t hear a thing—but it’s just enough. 

How does it feel to be back home? Enjoying it, no?

Oscar hums, straight brows slightly furrowed due to the bright sun, but just one adjustment of his hat makes that all go away. “Feels good. I’m able to sleep in my own bed, so that’s pretty cool. And yes. It may be a bit biased, but I am enjoying my time here more than the last two races.” Everyone chuckles. 

Can we talk about your expectations for this weekend? 

You can see him pause, and from where you’re standing, the way his fingers drum against his chair. “Well, I, uh…I hope for a good car.” The joke is supposed to be there, but you can tell everyone was expecting more with the way they murmur to one another. You wince.

Will raises the microphone up to his lips, along with his hand in order to catch the brunette’s attention. “I’m sure there’s been lots of people reaching out to you since this is your first home race, but has there been someone’s advice that has stuck like no other?”

Oscar smiles gently. “There has been, actually.”

You freeze, gripping the steel bar with anticipation. Your knuckles nearly feel like they’re about to snap, and you feel like you’re probably leaning a bit too far over the edge to hear it all, but you don’t even care. Will chuckles. “If it’s not too much to ask, would you mind sharing with us all? I’m sure it’ll help a lot of youngsters watching.”

Anastasia slides the recorder closer. Oscar visibly swallows. “I’m not sure I can. I never asked her for permission to talk about it. And quite frankly, I’d like to keep it between us.”

Will perks up. “Her?”

The black-haired girl is quick to whisper into his ear, turning the opposite way so no one can even attempt to read her lips. He nods, eyes trained forward like some guard. “Any more questions?” But everyone’s intrigued at this point, so all the questions that follow remain the same. Something that makes Anastasia panic and Oscar regret his choice of words. 

“Can we get a name?” some blurts out, nearly seeming desperate to get the inside scoop.

Only, his face remains still, jaw slacked. “No.”

Will raises his hand. “Very well, we don’t have any right to know, but are you willing to share a bit about what she said?”

And it’s almost as if the Australian can foresee that the only way to get out of this situation is by giving them what they want. Even if it’s a stupid little crumb. He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “She told me to try my best. That’s all I can really do.”

The mix of photographers and journalists deflate. “I-I’m sorry,” Lawrence Barretto slides in with a light tone and an ever lighter smile. “Don’t mean to lessen its meaning, but isn’t that a common thing to say? To hear?” An awkward laugh. “I mean, I just thought it’d be something a bit more…deep. Inspiring, perhaps.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks and you’re grateful to whatever God may exist that you’re not down there. On the other hand, Oscar is a bit bothered by the innocent comment, but then realizes he doesn't have to be. They weren’t there. They don’t know just how much more you said. How upfront you were with him without sounding condescending. Something most people did without even realizing. 

The brown eyed boy spares a smile. “Like I said—some things I’d like to keep between her and I. And even if it was just that, it’s the way she said it.” A beat. “It’s quite a lavish thing to have. A sincere person to talk to, I mean.”

Will tilts his head suspiciously. “It appears she might be someone special to you, yes?”

The Australian freezes at the unwanted interpretation. Suddenly, the atmosphere is far too crowded. He lets out a forced chuckle, rolling his neck before messaging it gently. “Well, yes. I’d agree.” 

A mix of giddiness and shock rushes through your veins as you refrain yourself from jumping up and down with excitement. 

“You’d be lucky if you had her as a friend too.”

-

“Is everything okay?”

Biting down on the churro he had gifted you as an apology for not getting back on time, you growl. “Yes. Why wouldn’t it be?”

Lando raises a thick brow. “Dunno. Maybe the fact that you’re moping.”

Your jaw goes slack, immediately turning to face him. “I am not moping.”

The sound he lets out indicates he doesn’t quite believe you, but is choosing to let it go. Also, he doesn’t want to see your patience run out, too scared of what you might do. The curly haired driver plops down onto his bed that stands in his motorhome, closing his eyes. You nearly envy the indifference in him. The lack of worry. 

“I can hear your teeth clenching. Gross.”

A grunt. “I’m gonna go grab a coffee. Need anything?”

“Only a nap. It’s a good thing you’ll be gone.” He turns over to his side, bringing your jacket over his face to block out any light. You bite the air, swinging silently for a minute or two before exiting the cramped room. 

The sun hurts, you remember thinking, but the upcoming migraine you’re getting is even worse. You should be used to this by now, given you’ve suffered from them since elementary, but based on the way you zig zag without meaning to is enough proof to know that you’re not. Everyone's voices are suddenly muffled, even the sound of engines roaring is as soft as a feather. You wince, massaging your temples as if that might help. 

Woah, are you feeling alright? 

“I’m fine,” you respond meekly, to who even knows. You wave them off rudely. “I’ll be fine. Just. Leave me alone.” 

Anastasia frowns, all while fanning your face. “No. You need to lay down.” She nudges the Australian, who up until now, you had no clue he had his arm clung around your waist. If you weren’t too busy feeling like shit, you’d definitely be making a fool out of yourself. Her green eyes fill up with worry. “I’m gonna go look for a paramedic.”

“You’re doing too much,” you slur, body letting loose and making the brunette shriek as he grips you harder, trying to keep you upright. 

A deadpan expression. “Oscar, take her back to your motorhome and have her lay down.”

He nods, hesitantly. “Y-yeah, okay. Okay.” Once she runs off like a headless chicken, you let out a dramatic gag. Sharp brows knit together with horror. “Do I smell bad?”

A giggle. “No. As a matter of fact, you smell rich.”

With his arm still wrapped around you securely, and warm eyes flickering from to you back to see where he’s heading, he grins, eyes crinkling. “Rich? That just so happens to have a scent?”

You purse your lips, wincing at the fact that your peripheral vision has gone completely dark. “Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe I’m a terrific liar and I’m only stroking your ego for my benefit.”

Another chuckle. “Benefit? What benefit may that be?”

Tsk. “How else am I gonna get you to take me to bed?”

The Australian instantly chokes hard on a string of his own saliva, causing you to flinch at the loud sound. Loud to you, at least. He apologizes, but not before taking a glance down, like it’s the first time meeting you. 

As soon as you lay down on the miniature mattress, you release a groan. Even just having your eyes closed makes you dizzy. You let out a loud groan, kicking your feet against the cushion in desperation.

“That bad?”

“That annoying.”

And even though you can’t see him, he nods, internally freaking out, trying to think of ways to help. “Does this happen to you often?”

“Yes.”

He nods, sheepishly. “W-what do you normally do? You know? To help?”

Tossing over to lay on your side, you pinch your eyes, grinding your molars. For a minute, you sort of thought your teeth might crack. Everything about this situation was becoming unbearable. “My mom, she, um…she’d normally braid my hair. It helped sometimes. Others it didn’t.” Messy hair dangles over your face as you let you out a loud exhale, as if you were in the middle of releasing some demon. “I moved too much, she said.”

Oscar smiles, coming across like a faint memory locked in the back of your mind. “I-I-I can try…” Loopy eyes flicker up to face him, and he’s quick to scrunch his nose. The sight alone makes you breathe easier, though he doesn’t know that. Of course he doesn’t. “Only if you want me to…”

“You know how?”

“Sort of? When I was younger, I used to sit across from my sisters at the breakfast table. I was bound to learn a thing or two.”

The subtle proud smile makes your heart beat flutter, smitten at the insight to his childhood. You wish you knew more. Like what was his favorite show? Did he have any imaginary friends, just like you did? Or maybe his favorite superhero? But you swallow all those questions down your throat as soon as he kneels down next to you. The whiff of soft musk distinctively adds to your headache, but you’re too focused on him for something as dumb as that to matter. 

“Just…close your eyes.”

Taking one last glance at him, you comply, lashes fanning slowly before going completely dark. You can still hear him adjusting, you can feel him take your hair into his hands, but nothing makes you stop breathing like his touch that grazes your cheek. 

It’s almost ghostlike—doesn’t really stay on the same spot for too long—but you know it’s real. Long fingers calmly push strands of hair behind your ear, tranquility expanding over your body. The slight tickle it causes helps ease your pounding migraine, little by little. 

“Are my hands too cold?” he whispers, not trying to intrude, but at the same time, wanting to know. You twist, bottom lip jutting out. Not at all. Keep going. And he does. He ends up tangling your hair a bit, because as it turns out, he doesn’t remember much, but he’s sure to delicately fix his mess, brows drawn in with heavy concentration. 

As soon as your hair is back to flowing free, he relaxes, wincing a bit at the pain in his knees. Your hair feels soft. Just what he would imagine a cloud would feel like. For a second, he begins to wonder, who’s this really for? He feels like this might be soothing him more than you. 

Just then, his finger catches on a knot, and he freezes, stopping all movements. “Holy crap, I am so sorry, I—”

You let out a low whimper, but don’t do so much as bat an eye. You’re sound asleep. The brunette lets out a breath of relief, falling back to sit on the ground. 

Your face is a bit squashed—and you’re drooling just a tad bit—but for some odd reason, he finds himself admiring. You’re full lips. You’re lashes. God, even the way you breathe. He feels a tender smile itching, but it never truly gets to see the light of day, because before he knows it, the door is swung wide open. 

Anastasia stops dead in her tracks. “What happe—is she asleep?”

Oscar opens his mouth, then snaps it shut. He does this a couple of times, awkwardly turning to face you and his assistant, back and forth, back and forth. “She, um…just did. A minute ago.”

She pouts, scratching her head. “Weird. Usually when this happens it prolongs for at least ten minutes before it gets any better.” The green eyed girl sheepishly waves the group of paramedics away. A trail of sighs echo as they turn away. As soon as they’re gone, she gently shuts the door, then tippy toes towards the edge of the small bed. Neat brows furrow. “At least she’s feeling better, no?”

Brown eyes follow her gaze. “Yeah. At least.”

-

Lando ends up throwing—and according to him— “The World’s Coolest Jamboree”. You beg for him to call it anything but jamboree, but he’s too attached to it by the time he sends the last text invite, which so happens to be to the rookie driver. 

“Has anyone RSVPed?” you question over his shoulder. He’s in the middle of mixing some mysterious liquid, but by the looks of it, doesn’t look any good. You grimace. 

He lets out a bleh before dropping his utensils. “No one RSVPs these days. They either show up, or they don’t.” 

A slow nod. “So, you don’t know who’s coming?”

“Not a clue. But most likely everyone.”

You scoff. “How are you so sure?”

He gives you an ‘are you kidding me?’ type glare before sending a sly grin. “First of all, it’s my party. They’d be crazy to miss out. And second of all…it’s only the biggest, funnest, coolest jamboree!”

“Funnest is not a word.”

“And party-poopers aren’t welcomed.” You gasp, smacking his chest harshly. He lets out a snicker, picking up a bag of ice and spilling it into the glass bowl. “But I’ll make an exception. Just this once.”

“Just this once,” you mimic before dipping your pinky in. He instantly slaps your hand away. Smacking your lips, you let out a yelp at the bitter taste. “This tastes like ass. God—not even Daniel will drink this, and that guy drinks anything in his way. I’m surprised he hasn’t been accidentally roofied.”

Lando claps his hands with amusement. “God forbid. And please, pay your respect to Lando’s Best Worst Decision.” A beat. “™.” 

“™?” you deadpan. “What? Are you planning on adding a trademark to this sewage water?”

“It’s good, okay?” Mixing the clear liquid once more, he smiles fondly down at it. “And maybe. I’m seriously considering it.”

You sneer, already walking away.

He ends up being right. Not even an hour later, the party is in full swing. Sure, a couple drivers aren’t able to make it, but it’s still jammed packed. It's honestly a miracle to get through the Monaco flat. 

You’re still sober?

Laughing, you nod, raising your water up in the air like some toast. Daniel frowns. “Considering I have to make sure my number one client doesn’t make any bad choices tonight, then nope. Can’t have a sip of alcohol.” 

Brown eyes flutter slowly. “I’m sure there’s other beverage choices. Have you tried Lando’s Best Worst Decision?” He leans in, winking. “™.”

“Oh no. Don’t tell me you actually like it?” He shrugs and you shudder in disgust. “I’m sure I saw him add ten energy shots and God knows what else.”

“No wonder I feel kinda funky.” Your face drops. “Hey, if you pass out, can I crash tonight?”

“Daniel!” you groan, covering your face. “I swear, I’m going to spill that stupid drin—” Only, Daniel is gone. Craning your head, you circle the room. From where you stand, you’re able to see Carlos and Lando taking part in a heated round of pool, all while Charles sways back and forth, infamous red cup in hand.

Marching over to the kitchen island, you pick up the glass bowl and carry it over to the sink before tipping it over. You huff, hair fanning across your nose. 

“Stupid, stupid boys—”

“Hey.”

You shriek, dropping the bowl, and wincing at the sound of glass shattering. 

Oscar grimaces. “Shit. Sorry. Are you hurt?”

“No.” You sigh. “Lando’s gonna kill me.”

Grabbing the nearby broom, the Australian sweeps carefully while knitting his brows. “Why?”

“It’s a family heirloom.”

“A glass bowl?”

You giggle. “I wonder why too.”

Despite the blaring music, and constant chattering, the room feels rather silent. You fiddle with the hem of your dress, and that seems to catch his eye as it dawns on him that he hasn’t really seen you in anything other than your usual uniform. To be fair, you could say the same. He likes it. 

You clear your throat. “Halfway done. How do you feel?”

He sips on his water, jaw clicking before settling with a sharp tsk. “Good. I think I’m finally getting the hang of it. Anastasia even congratulated me the other day when I diverted a series of questions with ease.”

Impressed, you raise your brows. “Bravo. Wish that was the case with Lando. I swear, sometimes I think he does and says things to make me look bad on purpose.”

“He should stop,” he says with a goofy smile. “Does he not know how lucky he is to get to call you his assistant?”

You blush. “Best friend, actually. I’ve been promoted ever since I pretended to be his girlfriend last New Year's Eve.”

The brunette inches forward with curiosity. “Wish to clarify?”

You hop onto the island, fixing your dress and crossing your legs. “Don’t tell him that I told you any of this, but I secretly think he was embarrassed of not having a midnight’s kiss. Especially since his ex was there with her new boyfriend. Talk about the unexpected.”

His chest tightens. “You two, um…kissed, then?”

“Yes,” you confirm with a childlike grin, and for some reason, it makes him want to puke. “Oh God, I haven’t thought about this in forever!”

He pretends to find interest in the crowded room, but really, it all remains on you. “Was it any good?”

You blush this time and he swears he’s close to walking away. “Yes and no. I mean, it wasn’t bad, but it just didn’t feel right.”

He perks up then, floppy hair bouncing at the sudden speed. “Really?” He coughs, then fixes his watch, training his eyes towards the floor. “Erm, I mean, is that so?”

A nose scrunch. “It felt like kissing someone you’re not supposed to. Which I suppose is true. We’re better off as friends.” He relaxes. “Thinking about it, we might’ve gagged each other's mouths.” You grimace. “If that doesn't show our discomfort, then I don’t know what will.”

“Good to know.” Oscar rubs his arm, up and down, then steps closer to you. You blink. “Hey, I was meaning to ask—”

Strippers? I didn’t order any strippers. 

Hire, a male voice interjects. He means to say he didn’t—hire—any strippers. 

“Son of a…” You wince apologetically, to which he shrugs. Don’t worry. Go. Biting your lip, you nod, rushing to the living room, where Lando, Daniel, and a bunch of other randoms circle the almost nude girls with long legs. 

“I mean, I won’t turn you away, ladies,” the Brit mumbled, already wrapping his arms around their waists. They all giggle, inching closer until he’s a blushing mess. 

You snap your fingers, pointing towards the exit. “All of you need to leave.”

Is that your sister? the one with a cowboy hat whispers into his ear. He quickly shakes his head, narrowing his eyes at you like a deadly weapon. 

“No. That’s his girlfriend,” Daniel yodels, face pressed up against the couch, admiring the group of girls. “But they’re in an open relationship.”

“I’m not his girlfriend—”

“She’s not my girlfriend—”

Oscar’s jaw clenches, eyes focused on the entire commotion. The older Australian rolls his eyes. “Right. We don’t talk about it.”

“Would you stop trying to help?” you shoot back, sarcastically, and clap your hands as if you’re rounding up a new high school cheer. “I need you all out. You want money? Fine. He’ll give you money,” you declare, signaling towards Lando. 

“Hey,” he groans, instantly letting go and stepping closer to you. “They haven’t even done anything to earn it….”

Your eye twitches. “I swear to God—”

“Deal,” the redhead shoots out. “But we need a moment to come to an agreement. You know? On how much we want to ask for.”

“Perfect,” you chirp, rolling your heels. “Take out your wallet, Big Boy.”

“You used to be fun.”

“And you used to be terrified over a pair of tits when I first met you. Whatever happened?” Lando blushes profoundly before pushing you away. “Want them gone, Lando, gone!”

“Yes! Jesus Christ—let me deal with this.”

“I’m done,” you promise with your hands raised up in surrender. “But just remember what happened last time.” He frowns, cocking his head to the side. You wiggle your brows. “São Paulo.” 

Color drains his face before letting out an unhinged laugh and motioning you away. You giggle, heading back to where Oscar stands. 

“I see what you mean,” he announces. What? “How he can have a bit of a headache.” 

“See! I told you! Four years of this!” A dramatic yawn. “I’m tired.” 

A string of boo’s follow once the strippers prance out the door, waving all their money in the air. Specifically Daniel, who genuinely looks upset to see them go. Oscar leans down against the counter, the proximity between you becoming smaller. “You should get some rest, then.” But he selfishly doesn’t  mean it. He wants you to stay—to keep talking to him. 

You let out a snort, grabbing your sides. “I mean, I'm tired of being Lando’s assistant. It’s a full time job, y’know?”

“Oh.” He stands up straight again. “Right. Of course.”

You purse your lips, looking down to your shoes. “But that was actually quite thoughtful.”

She thinks I’m thoughtful, he internally swoons because that must be a good sign, right? Not everyone is thoughtful, but he is, and that must count for something. Gathering all the strength he has left—which is not much considering you blink up at him like some angel—he licks his pink lips. “Back to what I was going to say earlier before you left—”

“I wasn’t trying to step on him! I already said I was sorry!” you hear a familiar voice, instantly turning to find Anastasia kicking Daniel’s face back into place, well, since he now lays asleep on the floor. You curse beneath your breath, jumping off the island once again. 

“His head did a complete 360!” Yuki accuses, clearly panicked. “That's not normal, is it?”

“No, it is,” Pierre replies with a bored tone. “I’ve seen it happen before.”

Crouching down next to the curly haired driver, you jab his cheek before motioning Oscar and Anastasia closer. “Help me carry him to the guest room,” you instruct, already taking off your cardigan. 

The black haired girl is quick on her feet, grabbing the Australians right leg as you grab the left. Oscar, however, swallows hard at the amount of cleavage you’re suddenly displaying, but instantly snaps out of it when both you and Anastasia blink back at him. He picks up the Alpha Tauri driver’s upper body before puffing. 

You blush bright pink at the sight of his muscles pulsing against his t-shirt. “I-It’s just around the corner.” 

As soon as you make it into the room, you three carefully place Daniel onto the bed, to which he squirms before flipping over and snoring away. You motion a finger over your lips before pushing them both out. Gently closing the door behind you,you let out a breath of relief. 

Anastasia lets out a whistle. “Surprisingly not that heavy.”

Oscar scoffs. “Easy for you to say. I had to carry most of his weight.” 

She shrugs, hugging you hello and apologizing for being so late, and you’re quick to reassure her that it’s fine, though she missed the chance to see strippers give Lando a tough time. She sneers. “I didn’t even know there existed strippers in Monaco.” And then she’s off, clapping loudly at the sight of Lando giving out a round of jello shots. You sigh, rubbing your temples.

“I-I’m sorry. What were you going to say?”

He freezes. “Oh. Just that—” He panics. “Only that I like your shoes!”

You blink, deflating from within. But you try to cover it up with a soft smile. “Thanks, I guess?” Orbs flicker down toward your white Sambas. “Lando says they are overrated, but I like ‘em.”

He nods. “Yeah. I like them too.”

-

It happens one Friday afternoon—the decision. 

You’re in between races, you’re in between headaches, and you’re ready to self-implode. So, before any of that happens, you make your first decision. To go on a walk. 

It’s getting rather chilly these days, something you love, but also hate. You love it because there is a certain coziness that comes along with it, but you also hate it because you can’t always be cozy, so you’re left shivering. Much like now. But to be fair, this was your own choosing. 

The pounding that takes over your head lessens the longer you stroll, the longer you breathe actual fresh air. You don’t really think much, you mainly remain blank, but the sound of tires screeching rips you away. Squinting hard, you catch a glimpse of a lady with grocery bags flipping off the fellow driver, who shares nothing but an apologetic smile before driving off. 

“What happened? Do I have something on my face?”

Dusting your nose, then your cheek, you blush faintly. You instantly assume it’s the powdered donuts fault—the one you had gobbled up in a hurry during the drive back to the paddock. It was an early morning, and no one really made it on time when it came to early days, but you always did. And so did Oscar. So, a sleepy Zak gave you a wad of cash, and sent you two to the nearest donut shop. 

The Australian shakes his head, blinking straight ahead. “N-no, I was just checking my blind spot.”

That only makes you blush harder because in what crazy world would he be looking at you? 

A single nod. The car is quiet apart from the sound of his hands moving against the steering wheel, and the sound of the blinker clicking. It’s gloomy, too. You clear your throat. “I love it when it rains.” He hums, calmly, encouraging you to continue. “It just makes me happy.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.” You purse your lips. “I sort of wish I were home. That way I can snuggle near the window and fall asleep to the sound of light drizzle.”

The brunette quirks a brow towards the road. “That sounds nice. Like…really nice.” A pause. “Why can’t you do that here, though?”

Here—here means where you are right now. Here means this place that’s not home. Here is not close to being enough, but he doesn’t figure that one out. You blink, dragging your finger along the pink box sitting on your lap. “Trust me, I’ve tried.” A small shrug. “But it’s just not the same, y’know? There’s always something missing.”

He doesn’t waste a moment in asking. “What do you think that is?”

Taken aback by his inquiry, you let yourself surmise for a second or two before licking your lips. “Maybe a pup. To keep me company”

He semi-frowns, cocking his head to send you a deadpan expression. “A dog?”

Now it’s your turn to frown, sending him a glare. “What were you thinking?”

The red light lets him take focus on you. “Dunno. A boyfriend, maybe?”

You’re sure you’re nearly as tomato red as the light staring at you both. “What? You instantly just assume I don't have one already?”

He freezes. “Well, I, um…t-that’s not what I meant—”

“Look, I know I’m not a guys’ typical ‘dream girl’, but sheesh I’m not that unlovable. At least, I hope not, but now you’re making me second guess. I mean, your opinion must indicate everyone sees me as some sort of lonely widow.”

Oscar shakes his head, adamantly. “I don’t see you as such.” A slow pause. “A lonely widow, I mean. I find your words to not be all that true, really. You’re nice. You’re persevering, You’re beautiful. And you have a good heart.” The light translates back to green, and you’re freakishly thankful, that way he can’t see you burn up. “You could easily be anyone's dream. Whoever makes you think otherwise is a phony.”

It’s getting harder not to laugh—most likely out of skeptic shock—but you refrain. He’s simply being kind with you, but that doesn’t stop you from nearly going into cardiac arrest. His words should have been labeled with a warning. 

“Guess this world is filled with lots of phonies.”

He scoffs. “There shouldn’t be. Not when it comes to a girl like you.”

Your breath catches. “Os—”

All of a sudden, the car comes to a harsh stop, sending you flying, but not the Australian, who remains sitting up straight. An older man flips him off before riding off on his bike. You both breath hard, turning to face each other. 

“Are you okay?” he questions, voice laced with worry. 

You nod, slightly dazed. “I, um—yeah. Are you?”

A nod. “I didn’t even see where he came from.”

A weak laugh finally erupts. “Blame it on the poor innocent man— clever.”

Brown eyes soften. They flicker from your orbs back to your pouty lips. He’s only checking if you’re okay, of course. You send him a reassuring bow and he releases a heavy breath. 

“Guess I was too focused on my blind spot, once again.”

The next decision comes when you opt in to join your neighbor, Mr. Lennon, for a cup of tea after he finds you shivering. By that time, it’s raining hard, you're soaking wet, and it only makes sense to accept his kind offer. 

“Mint. To hopefully push back any upcoming cold. God, what were you thinking?”

You let out a laugh. “Not much. That’s why I was aimlessly roaming.”

“What about now?”

You halt, mug raised up to your chapped lips. “What about now?”

He smiles, softly, mixing his own tea with a heavy spoon of honey. “Did the walk help? Were you able to get the wheels rolling?”

Now you giggle loudly. “That’s not very nice! The wheels are working just fine, thank you very much.”

The light scent of pine trees enter the room as soon as he stands up to open his window, the sound of soft rain singing to you as some much needed therapy. “So? What were you pondering about out there?”

“I wasn’t pondering.”

“Walking alone in the middle of a thunderstorm?” A sore laugh. “Been there. Done that. There’s always something on someone’s mind when that happens. Which isn’t often, or usual, so that must mean you’re really stuck up on something.”

“Or someone,” you mumble beneath your breath. His brows dart up, and you sheepishly settle the mug down. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

You blink. You don’t really talk about him out loud. Not with Lando. Not with Anastasia. Not even with your own reflection. Everything has always remained with you. A place you knew to be safe because you made it safe. But Mr. Lennon’s eyes prove to you that he’s lived enough lives—enough scenarios—to maybe understand. Even just a fraction. He watches you visibly gulp. And he knows that look. The confusion, the yearning. 

“I’m in love with this boy.”

He hums, leaning back against his wooden chair. “There’s always a boy.”

You look down. “He’s a friend of mine, which makes everything much worse because I can’t ruin that. But for the first time in all my years of living…” Round, glossy eyes stare back at him with a hopeless expression. “I really—really—want to.”

He’s attentive, he listens like some frozen statue, and maybe that’s what fuels your courage to continue speaking. “My entire life, I’ve had crushes, sure, but I’ve never loved someone. Not seriously. So, of course I’m caught off guard when I do feel that for someone who I’m not even in a relationship with.” A playful snort. “God, I feel so stupid.”

The silence that lingers is comforting. Your nerves flow away with the rain, and you feel at peace. Quietly, he clears his throat. “Can I tell you a story?”

A soft sigh. “I’m all ears.”

Gray brows furrow as if trying to recover a distant memory. “I once loved a boy, too.” Your eyes widen. Sure, you knew he was never married, never even had a kid, but you never thought of any reason as to why not. He nods, faintly. “Not many know, and not because I’m ashamed, not by any means…” A single beat. “But because real, sincere feelings are easier to ignore. Because who wants to deal with reality, right? Who wants to confess and be turned away like some dog at your door?”

Exactly, you think, nodding along. “Everyone is always going to be scared of something, but avoidant people like us are terrified about the what-ifs.” He sends a wink. “And I’m living proof that being that way won’t get you nowhere. And you'll realize sooner or later in life that you’d rather be nowhere with someone you love, than nowhere…” His eyes circle the nearly empty kitchen, despite living there for the past twenty years. “...all alone.”

Your chin wobbles. “You know you have me, right? I’m always next door.” A wet laugh follows. “Anyways, I might even join you in this lonely life, eh? Doesn’t sound half bad if I’m doing it with you.”

Tender eyes close slowly before blinking back at you. “No. I want you to be the complete opposite from me. Be different. Tell him how you feel. Even if it costs you a broken heart, tell him. Because I’m telling you right now that a broken heart is always better than the constant desire that will always follow you like the devil.”

A warm droplet rolls down your cheek as you sheepishly laugh, but he doesn’t judge. He never has. Instead, ever the true gentleman, he hands you his handkerchief. “Did you ever get the chance to tell him that you…”

His wrinkles imprint more vividly as he breathes out. “I did, but it didn’t really make the difference I had hoped for. He was already married to someone else.”

A loud sob escapes. “That’s not f-fair. You deserve to be happy with the man you love.”

“I do. But you know what?” You rub the tears away, eyes connecting. “I’ve made peace with the consequences of my own actions.”

By now the rain has died down, and so have you. With one last smile, Mr. Lennon gives your cold hand a soft squeeze.   

“Learn from my mistakes, won���t you?”

-

That same night, as you cried over a bottle of wine, you made your third and final decision. And you would execute it all the next time you saw him, no matter the outcome. 

But now that you spoke about it once to someone, you felt almost invincible. Which is why you called Lando. 

You what? 

A wince. “You can’t tell him, okay? I’m legitimately trusting you with this!” He opens his mouth, but you’re quick to signal him off. “Including Ana.”

“Wow. I thought she’d know.” You shrug because you don’t really have an explanation for not having had confided in her, but you know deep down that you’re not really into playing a game of Cupid, and that’s exactly what she'd turn this into. The Brit nods, sympathetically. “Alright. I won’t tell a single soul.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you going to tell him how you feel?”

His question comes out hesitant—like he’s afraid of scaring you away from the possibility—but it doesn’t. Instead, you nod, to which he’s extra surprised because you’ve never been the kind to. “That’s the main reason I told you any of this. Because I wanted to ask you if you knew if he has a girlfriend or not? Someone he’s trying to pursue? I’d hate to…intervene.”

Lando let’s put a soft smile, dimples imprinting neatly onto his face. “I mean, he’s particularly private—you know him—but I’ve never heard him mention having a girl. It doesn’t seem like he does. Go for it. What do you have to lose?”

“My dignity? A good friend?”

Silently, he grimaces because even he can see how much this all means to you—how much you’re scared. So, to boost up your confidence—which is something he definitely doesn’t lack—he flashes a loopy grin. “He probably likes you, anyways.”

You come to a fast halt. Suddenly, painting your nails isn’t your top priority. “Really? You think so?” He nods, and you can’t help but smile back. “What’d he say?”

“Well, as I already stated before, he keeps his things locked up pretty well. But I do recall one time…” He closes his eyes harshly. Then, he snaps his fingers loudly. “I believe in Hungary. He was on a high. And we shared a bottle of champagne to celebrate. So, he sort of let loose. Like insanely loose.”

“And?” you push, eagerly trying to get whatever he has stuck in his throat out of him. The green eyed boy snickers. 

“He wasn’t very clear, but he did say he had a crush on a girl. Someone he really wanted to get to know. But that  things were a little bit difficult.” You nod, urging him to continue. “I asked why, and he said it was because she had a good heart, or something of that sort? Good intentions? Can’t remember—and that he didn’t want to ruin it.”

Your breath hitches.

And you have a good heart. You could easily be anyone’s dream. 

-

Ironically, you’re huddled in Lando’s flat once again when it happens. Well. Almost happens. It’s filled with a few McLaren members because he insisted on hosting a nice brunch. And it was. Nice, you mean. 

“Pretty,” Anastasia says, sending a soft smack towards your ass. You yelp, swatting her hand away, and pulling your skirt downward. She snickers. “You should tie your hair up more often. Let’s everyone admire such an angel face.”

“Stop it,” you hiss, but can’t hide the pink flush. “But thank you.” 

She grins, eyes crinkling. Black hair sways as she moves to the beat of the music, nursing her drink. “Nice to have a break…”

“Definitely.”

At some point, she slithers away, leaving you all alone on the balcony. Which was quite lonesome until he came along. Oscar scrunched his nose, meekly. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright. Don’t own this place, do I?”

He lets off a raw chuckle. Deeper than when you first met him, and you come to the realization that a lot about him has changed. His hair is longer, his neck is thicker, and his shoulders are wider. But his smile and eyes remain the same. Boyish.

“Thinking?”

You sigh, admiring the ocean set out right in front of you. “Thinking, yes. A lot these days.”

And if he’s patient enough, he’d notice the way your hands shake. Tiny vibrates, but still.. He’d notice the way you bite down on your lip, brushing it along the way. He’d notice the way you blink feverishly, like even the wind hurts. 

And he is. He is a patient person. So, he does notice. 

“Do you know what song this is?”

Brows furrow, deep in thought. And he’s quick to note that the ticks you had are coming to an easy halt. Mentally, though, you’re cursing yourself out because you do know. You do know the song that flows nicely into your ears, but simply having him next to you is what’s making you forget. How dare me have that kind of power over you?

“I know it,” you start. “But I can’t seem to remember right now...”

The brunette gently nods his head along to the beat. His eyes close, and his hair delicately tussles, and suddenly he’s the only thing you see. “Sex,” he says. You blush, ripping your gaze away before he catches you in the act. Oscar laughs. “It’s Sex by The 1975. How could I forget?”

“Oh yeah.”

The guitar screeches when the volume somehow gets louder, despite not being inside. “Would have killed me not to get it right. My sister listens to it all the time.”

Plump lips pressed together. “You have a sister?” But you know the answer to that question, of course you do. You’re a girl. You’ve done your research, even when you pinched yourself not to. 

He nods. “Three, actually. Talk about a headache, am I right?”

And it’s almost nostalgic—your laugh. Like it might be one he heard in his past life, but in his current one, can't remember. But it’s okay if he doesn’t because at least he knows he can learn it. And he has. 

“You look really pretty when you laugh that way. Insanely so.”

You can’t seem to register his words. The way they come off as soft and ginger as they could possibly get. As if he really means it. And for the first time since your first interaction with him almost two years ago—you sort of believe he might. 

“You’re just saying that?” you question as some test, does eyes challenging him into finally spitting out the truth. The same truth you carry. He shakes his head, taking a step closer.

“I mean it.” 

Like a sudden magnet, you two are hesitantly connecting closer and closer together before either of you could stop it. Not that either of you would. The Australian towers over you, almost caging you like some endangered species he’s afraid of slipping away and going extinct. 

You swallow, lashes fluttering, and he smiles at the sight—melts. You’ve always been reserved. Quiet. Shy. And so has he, so he can’t really judge you, but he’s willing to be different—just once in his life—to get what he’s been wanting for a long time now. 

His eyes follow your lips. Admires how plump they are. How they’re the perfect shade of pink. So, when he leans in and you don’t pull away? He thinks he might explode with the need to kiss you. One time. If he’s lucky, just—once. 

“You’ve always been my dre—”

“There you two are!” Anastasia cheers, zigzagging to you both as an apologetic Lando follows right after. By now, Oscar has jumped far away from you, and you’re left feeling empty and lost, blinking at an alarming rate. “We’ve been looking all over!” A hiccup. “What were you doing?” Your lips remain open but Oscar is the first to let out an awkward cough.

“We were just talking about…logistics!” He turns to you, sparing you a pleading look. “W-weren’t we?”

You finally come to, nodding slowly, eyes buzzing between the two McLaren drivers and your best friend, who wobbles from left to right. “Yeah, I….we—logistics, and whatnot.” A beat. “Doesn’t matter.”

He flinches, avoiding your doleful stare. Oscar forces such a bright smile—the kind that can’t go unnoticed by even the biggest idiot on earth—and nods in agreement. “She’s right. It doesn’t matter.”

Lando analyzes you, then his teammate, and wishes he had done more to keep Anastasia from barging in. But really, was this some sign? Maybe you were some delusional little girl who truly believed she had a chance with the boy next door. The one everyone wants, but only one will get to have.

And let’s face it. 

It was never going to be you.

-

You’d make an excellent detective in your next life, you’re sure of it. But for now, you’re just some brokenhearted assistant who mourns the death of her what-ifs. Someone who is really good at picking up on clues. 

It’s right before Christmas—right before Anastasia’s birthday party—and you’re curling your hair quite poorly. You daze off every now and then, you apply mascara almost zombie-like, and you’re dreading even showing up. Have you been avoiding him? Yes. Yes, you have. Have you been good at it? Only the best, if we’re being truthful here. And were you ready to face him without feeling the need to bolt? 

Nope. Not in this lifetime nor the next.

But still, you force yourself to finish getting ready because this isn’t about you. This isn’t about him. It’s about being there for your friend. 

Mindlessly, on the drive there, pouting in the back of the yellow cab, you click onto Instagram and the first thing you do is smile at the birthday post Anastasia had posted not even five minutes ago. You scroll, smile wider, and then come to a harsh pause. The kind that makes your throat close up. The kind that makes you stop breathing. 

The kind that lets you know—

You’ve lost.

His arms are tied around her waist, his head his nuzzles between her neck, but you can still tell it’s him. His hazel hair can’t go unnoticed. Maybe to someone else, but not you. 

Then, as if all odds are against you, your feed refreshes and you’re left far more dumbfounded. 

She appears in most of his pictures because why not? It’s his girlfriend's birthday, it goes as expected. Museum dates. Pictures of them with each other's families. And you feel greedy like never before because—why couldn't that be you? 

Venmo or cash? You look up, making eye contact with your taxi driver who looks as tired as you are. You press your lips together into a fine line. Digging into your purse, you grab all that you have and jump out of the cab. 

It’s chilly out and the lights are beautifully hung, but it doesn’t do you any good. You just want to go home. Curl up in bed and die. Dig a hole—self-suffocate—who cares. And you’re ready to turn around, go back and apologize to Mr. Lennon for not doing better. You really thought you had it in you, but it just wasn’t enough. 

But then, the door swings open and Pierre curls a brow. Kika waves from behind “He thought you were some serial killer. He’s been watching too much Dateline.” The brunette scurries over, throwing her arms around you and takes a step back. “Come in before you freeze to death.”

But even that didn’t sound too bad. You sheepishly thank her, following the couple back in. A string of jazz cradles the warm lit living room and the scent of apple pie makes you inhale sharply. A giggle stirs up behind you. Anastasia grins.

“You’re here!”

All of a sudden, you hate her smile. You hate her laugh. You hate her entirely. But you also don’t. You can’t hate her smile. You can’t hate her laugh. You can’t hate her entirely. Because even though you feel like she owes you loyalty, that’s not really true. She had zero idea about your feelings towards Oscar and she won. Fair and square. That doesn’t mean you had to like it.

“Happy birthday, Annie.” Hugging her, you giggle against her ear when she jumps up and down, nearly knocking you two over. “For you. From me.”

She wiggles her neat brows, green eyes buzzing with suspicion. “Is it a vibrator again?”

You blush. “No. Even better.”

“Wow! Even better?” She rips the small bag open, eyes widened double in their size. “Oh my God, you got me the Mary Jane’s I wanted?”

“Well, you kept bugging me, and so I thought—”

“D'accord, je comprends. I love them, thank you.” Grabbing your wrist, she tugged you into the empty hallway, and you can already feel her buzzing with excitement. Your stomach churns. “I wanted to tell you as soon as he asked me out—I really did—but he insisted on keeping it between us two for a while, and I told him no, I had to tell you, but then I understood that maybe it was for the best, and I’ve always liked him—”

Every word makes you feel smaller and smaller because the light in her eyes gives it all away. She, too—much like you—is in love with Oscar Piastri. You shake your head, sharing a light laugh. “I totally get it. There’s no need to explain.” 

The green eyed girl visibly relaxes, shoulders rolling back. “I knew you’d understand. Oscar was right—you have a good heart.”

Ana, Yuki just spilled wine on your coach, Daniel rattles from the other side of the room, pointing accusingly towards his teammate who rubs the cushion with his Dior sweatshirt. She sighs. Be right back!

At that moment, you don’t care if you wind up with a deadly case of hypothermia, you simply walk out of the warm house.

“What are you doing? You’re going to get sick.”

Screwing your eyes shut seems to be the only answer to help your mending heart into not breaking completely. And fuck him—fuck him for sounding so goddamn caring. 

You turn with a soft smile, shrugging nonchalantly. “Won’t really make a difference, I already feel sick.” You cough for emphasis. “See?” Oscar rolls his eyes, ignoring the poor excuse, and hands you his puffer jacket. You shake your head. Take it. “No.” He frowns. Why not? Rocks crunch with every step he takes. “It wouldn’t be right.”

“What? Borrowing a jacket from a friend?”

“Borrowing my best friend's boyfriend’s jacket.”

His stomach drops, rolling with a wave of anxiety as he tries to not show his uncomfort. “She told you?”

Your teeth grind harder. “That, and you both posted about a thousand pictures together. Wasn’t that difficult to understand what was going on.” A sore laugh. “I’m happy for you two, though. Really. I am.”

“You are?”

Sending a nasty glare that you tried to keep in for the life in you, you turn over to face him, nose rosy. “Yes. Over the fucking moon.”

He flinches. “Listen, about that day at Lando’s house. I-I-I was caught up in the moment. I shouldn’t have said what I said, o-or tried to kiss you—”

“You’re a phony, you know that, right?”

Another flinch. “I’m trying to apologize to you. I’m sorry. I feel bad, okay?”

Tears well up inside your eyes. Somewhere deep inside your chest, you feel a harsh sting, and still that doesn’t compare to his pity. You let out a scoff, crossing your arms. “You feel bad, for what? For messing with my emotions, or for getting with my best friend?” You poke his chest hard, but he remains as still as a brick wall, a pained expression mapped out. “Which one is it?”

“For all of it!” He grabs your face, making you freeze under his fire-like touch. “I loved you—God—I loved every inch of you. Your humor, your heart, your jokes that never land, the awkward giggles that follow afterward—everything. There was not a single thing you could do that could have pushed me away.”

“Then what happened?” you whisper, eyes tracing his pink lips, trying to enjoy his hands. They’re calloused, sure, but they’re by far the closest thing you’ve had, so nothing else matters. His breath hitches, soft eyes looking down at you in complete defeat. You grimace. “Why was I not enough for you to try?”

His hands drop. Brown locks shakes as he rubs his eyes, like this is all some part of a fever dream. Maybe it was. The Australian frowns. “I could ask you the same thing.”

It’s a slap in the face, and it burns like never before because you know he’s right. “I wanted to tell you!” A shaky breath. “I was going to tell you.”

Leaves rustle. “You were?”

“Yes,” you confess, nodding adamantly. “That day at Lando’s place—I wanted to tell you.”

The McLaren driver bites his tongue hard, blinking rapidly. “W-what would you have said?”

“That I loved you too.”

He can’t hide his pain just by hearing those words. He scrunches his nose. He nods robotically. And he keeps his eyes trained towards the ground, like he’s in the middle of solving a puzzle. 

“I really did like you. From the moment we met.” Finally, he looks up, round eyes searching for any sign of intimacy. If there’s any left—any you still save for him. “Do you remember the day we first met?”

“A little bit. Yeah.”

A second ticks by. “I do. Remember it all, I mean. Think back to it quite often.” He lets out a boyish grin, crinkles forming, making your heart flutter. “You took my breath away.” 

And as if humanly possible, despite the icy air, your cheekbones flush harder as you bite back a giddy smile. “You barely even noticed me—”

“You wore a white ribbon. Hair half up, half down. Denim overalls with your initials sewn onto them. Emerald earrings.” You blink, clearly taken aback by his polished memory. His eyes soften. “I’ll always notice you.”

-

Anastasia pecks the Australians cheek, giggling after each one. Oscar smiles, letting out a sheepish laugh. From the corner, seated next to Lando, you sigh sadly. The Brit bumps his shoulder up against yours. What’s wrong? But you must not have heard him, or you ignore him, but he, too, has eyes. 

“I swear I didn’t know a thing about them,” he whispers. “If I had, I would have warned you, you know that—”

“Lando,” you cut him off, voice weak and mellow. “It’s okay, it’s not your fault.”

He frowns. “I know that, but—”

“It’s not your fault,” you repeat, this time more firm. He swallows, nodding hesitantly. With a soft laugh, you poke his ribs and he’s quick to let out a yelp. “Just want to forget, you know?”

Lando hums. “Understood.”

Anastasia clinks her spoon against her mug. The one you each painted differently in that one pottery class years ago. She grins. “I’m so glad all of you could make it, really, it means a lot.” Her eyes crinkle sweetly towards Oscar who traces shapes down her back. She blushes for him—the same way you do. “I feel like…I finally have everything I ever wanted.”

A string of oohh's echo the room, whistles ringing. She laughs, head falling back, and he lets out a single chuckle, rosy cheeks making everyone grow louder. Meanwhile, you stay silent, focusing on Lando’s shoes. The Brit winces, rubbing your shoulder awkwardly. 

Daniel yodels, raising his beer. “Well, in that case, I feel like I do too!” He hiccups, making Pierre and Yuki snicker. “A hot girlfriend, good ‘ol friends, and a nice pair of abs.”

“They are nice,” Lily mumbles, earning her a soft smack from Alex who rolls his eyes. 

Carlos cackles. “Me next—um, okay. A good team, my girlfriend, and…and—my hair.”

“Narcissist,” Lando whispers, trying to get a good laugh out of you. And it works. You giggle, muffling the sound with the back of your hand. Oscar perks up, orbs floating over to where you and the Brit whisper to one another, smiles only growing wider. His jaw clenches. Either way, you tune out all the constant chatter after hearing how Pierre was grateful for having a massive cock. 

“I really hope nothing changes between us.”

You laugh. “I think it might be a bit too late for that.”

The Australian scratches his shoes against the wet pavement. He agrees. He won’t admit it, but he agrees. Everything has changed. Timidly, he glances over at you, biting the inside of his cheek. His gaze burns—just like always—and you turn to face him.

By now your tears have dried, but your heartbreak still continues. Something deep inside tells you that it’ll continue for as long as you live. You despise yourself for letting any of this get out of hand. For letting your fear of rejection play a big part in losing him. He smiles.

“I love you, okay?”

You smile. “I love you, too.”

Your voice sounds sweet—just like honey. And if it’s a lie, just to make him feel better, then he’s a grateful bloke. He might not have your heart—not completely—and he might not have your hand in his, but he’s fine with that. Because he’s heard all he’s needed to hear. And he can live at peace.

Oscar grins, leaning down to kiss your cheek. It’s tender, just the way you pictured it. You smell like flowers, just like he had dreamt. He pulls away. “You can always talk to me. Whenever. I’ll always be there for you.”

“Thank you. But I won’t bother you too much.” His brows furrow, mouth opening to protest before you wave him off with a tired smile. “Don’t want to vent to you about…well—you.”

“What about you?” Anastasia squeals, making your jump in place. 

“What about me?” 

She rolls her eyes, theatrically. Oscar remains as still as a statue, enjoying the moment to admire you without having to explain why—all eyes were on you, after all. “Have you ever gotten everything you ever wanted?”

Wistfully, your eyes look up, connecting with the ones you know so well. You admire his boyish features one last time before looking down onto your lap and then focusing on Anastasia.

“No. But I once got very close.”

taglist: @blueflorals @starmanv @coolio2195 @lovrsm @weekendlusting@chanshintien @brune77e @myownwritings @timmychalametsstuff @milasexutoire@alesainz @c-losur3 @darleneslane @togazzo @urfavnoirette @namgification @lpab @d3kstar @anniee-mr @nebarious @notkaryna

[seijorhi]

ok ok i have been thinking about oikawa <33

tw: baby trapping, infertility, yandere vibes, oikawa is an awful, terrible man

namely, oikawa with a darling who for whatever reason can't have kids.

he wants a family with you more than almost anything else. a pretty wife, a nice big house, a wall for his trophies and medals, and a couple of adorable looking kids to tie the whole picture together. that's the dream.

you not being able to get (or stay) pregnant naturally throws a kink in that plan, but not to worry, where there's a will, there's a way. surrogacy is out of the question, he can't have too many people prying too closely into his relationship with you.

adoption's a little easier to manage, especially if he's not tied up with the red tape of the 'official' channels.

he'll just come home one day, two little bundles of joy in arms, and introduce you to your babies; a boy and a girl, how sweet!

and no, you don't need to worry your pretty little head about where he got them from, they're your babies now, that's all that matters.

except, no amount of him telling you that makes you feel anything maternal towards the twins. you're concerned about them, absolutely, you're not some cold, unfeeling monster. you'll take care of them when oikawa leaves, read to them, feed them, hold and soothe them when they cry – but that doesn't make you their mother.

(and you shudder to think about what happened there)

unfortunately, seeing you look after his children awakens something inside of him. he's always been insatiable, but when he fucks you now, your thighs pushed back, his cock driving into you with a relentless pace, he gets this manic, intense look in his eyes, starts talking about how he's going to fuck another kid into you, how he's gonna keep you barefoot and pregnant. you're such a good mama, aren't you, he'll give you all the kids you want. he'll give you everything, you just have to take it.

and you know he knows that's an impossibility, but in the heat of the moment you get this sick, twisty feeling inside of you.

you can't just wait around for him to find a way to follow through on that promise. you have to get out. it's bad enough that you have to leave those poor babies with him, but on paper at the very least, they are his kids, and you're not their mother.

but your husband is nothing if not perceptive. he turns to you one night, a sweet smile on his handsome face, 'you know i'd be beside myself without you, i don't know what i'd do if i lost you.' he laces his fingers with yours, brings you hand to his lips and kisses it softly, holding your gaze the entire time. '… what'd happen to those kids without their mama around.'

you hear it for the undeniable threat that it is.

your blood runs cold.

he wouldn't... he wouldn't hurt the babies, right?

oikawa's many things; jealous, perverse, possessive, with a mean streak that borders on sadistic at times, but that's always been directed solely towards you. you... and anyone he deemed a threat to your relationship.

he's already done awful, illegal things to get you here, is it really such a stretch to think he'd do worse to keep you tethered?

while you might not view the babies as yours per se, the same can't be said for oikawa. he's a doting father, he adores them – whether they're his blood or not.

he wouldn't hurt them.

he wouldn't.

but the next time you see him with his daughter in his arms, lifting her up to blow raspberries against her stomach as she giggles and squirms in delight, you can't help the bolt of fear that shoots through you, the sudden urge to rush forward and take her from his arms. to protect her.

even if doing so only makes your husband grin.

[eldorr1e]

PILOT: To See A Familiar Face [Lookism x Transmigrated!OC]

Sypnosis: After realizing Avery was in the PTJverse, she decided to have a little fun and become more involved in the story as one would think.

OR:

In which a fangirl gets plopped into a country full of hot people, and decided to go full fangirl.

WARNINGS: None.

Chatter lingers around the classroom as certain students or friend groups go to one corner to another as they talk about numerous topics. One group was full of girls, all circled around one person’s desk, Avery Hwang.

As she humorlessly talked to her friends, her mind was in a different place. Today… She thought. Today is the day I will meet the main character of this world, or more accurately, one of the main characters of this universe, Daniel Park!  The olive skin-toned girl excitedly taps her feet as she musters up the courage to finally talk to him in person.

Yes, that’s right. She’s aware of everything around her, and for the longest time too. After getting in an accident at the ripe age of 5, she remembered all of the memories from her past life and even got the nearly-the-same powers of a certain MC from Questism. Instead of giving her cards as a reward, it gives her points to put on different aspects of herself in which she can upgrade.

She got 50 points from a previous quest? Great! Now she can choose to put in any stats on her that she sees fit. Intelligence? Put 3 in there! A hobby shes never done before suddenly becomes available in the shop that requires 300 points to master? Put in 12 points in there!

This is how her life has been for the past 16 years. At some point in her life, she managed to unlock a tiny creature (which she considers to be her mascot if she had any), to talk to!

There were many stories here in the Pak Tae Jun  verse she could have chosen, but she chose to be close within the story of lookism. Why?

Cuz it was more fun that way, Duh.

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

“Alright class, settle down!” The teacher drops his text books to his desk to gain  everyone’s attention. The students quickly went to their seats to get ready for class.

“We have a new transfer student who will be joining us today. Now I know we’re halfway towards the semester, but I still expect all of you to greet them a warm welcome!” Hushed whispers were passed out and about trying to figure out who the new students might be.

“A new student?”

“At our school?”

“Is it a guy? Or a girl?”

Holy shit! This is it! Avery excitedly awaited for Daniel Park’s appearance to J high for the first time. I’ll finally get to meet him!

The teacher signals the new kid to get in to introduce himself.

“Hello. I’m Daniel Park, nice to meet all of you.” The new kid smiles to the rest of the class as everyone gapes in booth horror and amazement. Gasps and mutters are heard from everywhere in the class, much to the teacher’s disappointment.

“Gosh! Even his voice is cute!”

“Is he a trainee?”

“Look how tall he is.”

The teacher instructs Daniel to sit on the empty seat at the back as Daniel followed suit.

One girl was cleaning her classes and coincidentally put it on the exact same time as Daniel walked by. A sudden gust of wind comes whipflashing at the girl’s face, cracking her glasses. Daniel walks pass her not noticing before the girl mutters next to her seatmate.

“I bet he’s over 180cm!”

“Is he an undercover idol?”

Daniel sat down and remembered how his first day of middle school was back in his old body and school. He was so excited to open up a new chapter in his life, only to be threatened by his seatmate not to talk to him or else.

He shudders over the fear of his seatmate being the same. His eyes linger over to his left side to see his eventual demise.

“Hey, I’m Zack Lee. Nice meeting you.” The student nonchalantly responds with his hands on his pockets. Daniel’s eyes widened as he realized who he was seated next to.

“O-oh, yeah! Hi!” Daniel stuttered as he stiffly waved his hand to the mean looking raven haired boy.

It was the guy who beat me up at Central Seoul yesterday! His eyes quickly darted around the classroom only to see the dreaded brunette girl he accidentally bumped into…

Oh no. His face paled at the thought while covering half his face with his hand.

“Hi there.” His body jumped at the new voice to his right. He looked over to see a half brunette half blonde with a complicated long hair style. “My name is Avery Hwang. Welcome to our class! Hope you don’t get too spooked here…” Her lips ruptured a laugh and nudged her head towards the guys in front of their row, a bunch of tough and scary looking kids sending him daggers.

Daniel’s body shivers over the thought of being beaten up again, even in his new body. Just as he was having an internal battle within himself, a new player was added into the battle grounds. A girl was walking towards his direction after she introduced herself.

“Daniel, right? Hi! I’m Zoe.” She gives Daniel her most sweetest smile before waving a small hello. Mutters could be heard around the classroom once again, only this time it was directed to the bob cut girl.

“Zoe Park…” One grimaced.

“I knew she would do that.”

“As soon as she sees someone good-looking…”

“She’s at it again!”

“C’mon guys, let’s be positive now-“ Avery tried to save Zoe’s reputation.

Wow, she’s hot! Daniel looked at her with his mouth agape, a blush creeping up his cheeks.

Zoe feigns surprise as she points at his face. “Hey, you’ve got something on your face!” Daniel touches his face trying to look for the supposed thing. “Where?” He asks.

“A hand-some-thing! Hehe~” She giggles as the rest of the class blanches at her sorry excuse of a flirt. The girl right next to Daniel sighs in disgust while hiding her face in second-hand embarrassment.

“I knew it!”

“Just expect Zoe to come in like a damn buffalo..”

“Wish that was me frfr”

“Get a life man!”

A click of a tongue could be heard as Zack stares at Zoe with a disgusted look on his face. “Hey, Zoe. Stop flirting and sit down already. It’s annoying.” His eyes twitches an annoyance and embarrassment.

Zoe pretend to get scared as she ducks down Daniel’s desk. “Oh Zack! You’re so scary~” Zack’s gaze at her alters from cringe and gets even more furious. “Jesus! Why do you women act so weird?! Ugh, all of you are the same.” Wait! Not Mira! Mira is different! Zack looks over to Mira to apologize, only to see her blushing and staring at Daniel’s figure.

Suddenly, all his bare minimum respect for the new kid suddenly vanished away as he glares at Daniel.  I hate the new transfer dickhead!

“Come on, guys! I’m not even done talking yet! Zoe, get back to your seat.” The teacher instructs to Zoe as she grumbles while walking back to her seat, a few of the kids laughing and giggling at her failed attempt.

As the teacher continues talking, Daniel is left on a sour mood as he realizes he’s done fucked up. A tap on his shoulder breaks his inner turmoil as he looks over to the girl beside him, Avery Hwang.

“Sorry you had to experience that. Zoe has a knack for trying to weed out good looking guys for god knows why, and Zack is a rather… Interesting individual.” They both look over to Zoe who’s acting all cute and pristine in class as she know has a reason to finally act properly. “Please forgive them. And don’t get shaken up too much! I’ve seen your face and its not looking so well.”

Daniel scratches his cheek before chuckling humorlessly. “Oh, yes. Of course. I don’t mean too much trouble.” His eyes goes to look at the board to distract himself from his thoughts as he thinks of a hundred ways to live his new life.

Unbeknownst to him, Avery’s honey colored eyes still lingers on his figure, her face veiled in mystery. After all, this isn’t the first time she met Daniel Park. She knew him from long ago, from a past life.

Just divided between a screen.

….

Ew this is cringe help

Decided to mix in the dialogue in the anime and in the webcomic! If I were to shift to lookism, I imagine it’s in the anime style but everyone gets to keep their original character designs, like Zoe with her bob cut and more cuter and softer look. But I’d let Mira’s appearances stay as in the anime and vasco cuz I like him tan like that ong

I decided to write a long-ish(?) pilot of a story idea I came up with! It’s noting interesting, just my oc being involved in the story. I wanted to go to a x OC approach if that’s okay! If any of you would like me to turn this into a x reader, feel free to tell!

Should I finally make a proper Chapter 1?

This is my first time publicly sharing my fanfiction so please be gentle with me in the comments-

[duckapus]

(this would obviously be after Emulator's corruption has progressed significantly, to the point where she's well aware of the problem but the malware has such a firm grip that it can force her to keep it hidden from the others, though it doesn't yet have full control. Key word being yet.)

Deep within the horrific fleshy caverns beneath the Mushroom Kingdom, Emulator stands amongst the ruins of the old castle, where the infection wracking her code is at its strongest. Here, she can drop the illusions that she's been forced to apply, revealing a web of pulsing, glowing fuchsia veins covering her model and a twitching photorealistic eye where her brooch should be. Her face is twisted in both pain and concentration, eyes firmly shut. Floating in a circle around her are seven different-colored Wonder Flowers, each with several lines of pink-and-yellow code spinning around them in thin cylinders.

This will only delay the inevitable you know.

She shuts out the voice, and she has every moment of every day since it became clear enough to understand.

Plus, are you really gonna drag a bunch of randos into your mess?

Focus Emmy, you're almost done.

And of course there's the fact that you'll just be trading one known flavor of corruption for seven different mystery flavors at once. Bet that'll go over well.

Just tune it out, girl. You got this.

And while they're all dealing with this mess you're making, I'll still be right here, chip-chip-CHIPping away at your mind.

Focus.

You're already so tired, Lovely. We could be so good together if you'd just let me in.

Another assault on the parts of her mind that are still her own, this time forming the impression of a gentle, delicate hand brushing along her jawline, and she can't help but shudder before stubbornly, desperately picturing a vivid memory of a fluffy purple tail performing the same action.

FOCUS damnit!

Still thinking about other girls, are we Lovely? Don't worry, when we're finished here we can go liven up that stuffy office and let her join our fun~!

She very firmly does not think about that, thank you very much, instead transporting the modified Wonder Flowers to random, scattered locations throughout the kingdom, before sitting down on what's left of one of the staircases to wait.

'I'm sorry everyone, I wish I could've done more.'

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

Meanwhile, up in the Showgrounds, Domain and Forum are telling the Crew (or at least some of them. A few aren't there right now due to prior obligations...or a nap in Melony's case) about the SAA/Diamind 6 fused universe.

3 winces, "Yikes, and here I thought you couldn't get any worse than our activation."

"Oh, ours is still considered the worst. This one was pretty bad, though."

"Anyway, we were wondering if a few of you would be willing to visit their world. You know, introduce them to the multiverse, see how they're settling in, that sort of thing."

4 smiles, "That sounds like a great idea. Guys?"

"Mario's ready to go! How about you, bro?"

Luigi nods, "Sure! November's pretty slow for flower sales anyway."

"Hell yeah, maybe I can make deals on some new kinds of space drugs!" Bob...will be Bob, I suppose.

Marcy raises a sword, "could I come as well? I usually miss the interdimensional adventures."

Meggy side-eyes the two of them and leans over so she can whisper to 4, "I'll try to keep the wonder twins from getting us arrested again."

"Good call. Juliano, Tari, how about you?"

"I'd love to, but I'm having a bad leg day at the moment," sure enough, Juliano's leaning on his cane more than usual.

Tari, however, has no such issue, "sure, it sounds like fun!"

Toad...is still in his house, not having bothered to show up to the meeting. Even if he now likes the Crew enough to live with them like this, he still very much values his "Me Time" and not getting caught up in Adventures if he doesn't have to.

As you might expect, the kids (just the three who live in the castle, since the Haltmanns are with their mom this week and everyone else is still at their own homes) are pretty excited, "Space trip! Space trip! Space-"

"Now hold on there!" 3 gives them a stern look, "These kinds of trips usually take multiple days since we don't know exactly where our destination is, and tonight's a school night. So the four of us are staying right here."

The three deflate a bit, "Figures."

At this his gaze softens, and he kneels down to their eye level, "Sorry, but I've gotta put my foot down this time. You kids already miss enough school from the adventures we can't keep you home from. Besides, it's not like this trip's a one-off. We already visit the other SMG universes all the time, and this won't be any different."

4 looks at this exchange with great fondness, then turns to the group, "So that's everyone set, right?" At the various sounds and gestures of affirmation, he grins, "Then there's no time like the present."

He opens up a portal to the new universe, and the typical goodbyes are had all around, with one longer exchange between the SMGs.

"Don't have too much fun over there without me, Scrub."

"Only if you try not to destroy the place while we're gone, Edgelord."

"Hey, you're the one who's gonna have three Avatars to deal with."

Predictably, Mario leans back out of the portal in his SM64 model, "HEY! You two should kiss!"

The two turn to glare at him, "Shut up Mario!"

Once he's gone, they end up laughing, "Okay, but seriously. Be careful out there, alright?"

"I'll do my best," he goes to step through the portal, then pauses partway through, "Oh, and I know you can handle things just fine, but you do your best to be safe too, alright? I've got a weird feeling."

"Roger that." as he finally leaves and the portal closes, 3 rolls his eyes, "right, like the world's gonna get flipped upside-down or something just because a third of the team's gone. We'll be fine!"

Right as he makes that assertion, the scene changes to one of Emmy's modified Wonder Flowers appearing beneath the Ferris Wheel in the deeper parts of the Showgrounds...

[cartoonemotion]

(guy wearing a hat that says PRESS on it holding an old timey flashbulb camera voice) sofa! sofa! if you had to make a class of 3000 reboot for 2024, how would you go about it??

EEP !!! oh my goodness, what a tall order....

reboots are hard for me i think because i have a particular philosophy about them i suppose. while nobody can really stop you from just making the same thing again, but more/maybe slightly modernized, its really rather boring and frankly gouache to do in my opinion; yes, even in the case of things that were cancelled prematurely. however being fully honest my own limits to this get tested when its something i really like and thought was super well executed, only for it to get cancelled prematurely, and class of 3000 might be the ultimate test for this for me because i think just 28 episodes is unreasonably short even by today's standards, not just mid-2000s standards. i feel like it would be really hard to fight the impulse to just be like "just pretend the show was never cancelled, lets just pick it back up from where it was left off" for the most part, with some elements of modernization clearly but overall not much

class of 3000 also almost feels like a time capsule not because its particularly dated, i actually think a lot of the humor and gags still hold up really well by todays standards, and some other elements also feel even a little ahead of their time, but you know. it was still made for a mid-2000s audience, and one of the biggest aspects of that is sunny, who is. i mean yes hes pretty much intended to be a fictionalized andre 3000 stand in, but that sort of developed later on in the process of the show as andre 3000 became more and more intrinsic to the process (he didnt want it to just be something he licensed but was otherwise mostly uninvolved in), as initially he was also directly inspired by/based on sonny rollins, so to me with these two compounding inspirations he exists as a kind of interesting element of celebrity culture at the time which is soooooo so deeply different than the celebrity culture of today. like, to the point where sunny bridges being a world-renowned musical legend is almost kind of just set dressing, after the pilot episode it just kind of becomes an element of what makes sunny So Cool and maybe helps establish a plot or some kind of series of hijinks for an episode or two, i just dont think you could really approach it in such an almost understated and whimsical way today given the ubiquitous social media nightmare we all exist under

i also definitely wouldnt want to change the art and animation style. there was a BTS interview i saw where somebody on the team said "nothing out there today looks like this" and to be quite frank i think that still holds true, class of 3000 draws from a lot of both visual and musical inspirations that i dont think you see get utilized very much in animation (probably other things but we're focusing on animation !) even still to this day, it just really kind of exists in its own niche and it does so well. like i shudder to think of them trying to adapt this to a 3D animation style of some kind not to sound like a hater because i definitely think theres gorgeous 3D animation out there (and examples where both styles are utilized together to enhance the elements of both !!!!!) maybe for like a guest animated music video it could work i think mixing mediums would align well with the ethos of class of 3000 but for the whole show ??? noooooo fucking wayyyyy

this is a lot of preamble to say maybe i would take a Modernization-But-Not kind of approach to it. maybe keep the setting in atlanta in the mid-2000s but use it to still speak to more modern ideas and messages because i feel like a lot of the stuff class of 3000 was trying to introduce (understanding and appreciating diversity, expanding your creative horizons, getting kids invested in music and especially the presence and history of genres and instruments they may not be more familiar with) is still very relevant to today ! maybe again i would beef up some of the explorations of celebrity culture and its pitfalls and shortcomings because again in the influencer era thats become even more topical and complicated than it was in the mid-aughts. i mean as long as theres been a concept of celebrity there have been little kids who want to grow up to be famous so thats not new but the sort of, idk, hyper-visibility of it and the way other people market it to children i think is something worth exploring; and also i think keeping it to 2007 type mediums and technology would serve as a good shield against making to obvious, self-referential, and preachy. also just take out the more distasteful 2000s era jokes centering transmisogyny and letting a white guy do a bad impression of a latino man that would probably be good

oh and also this joke i made in discord since andre 3000 being involved would absolutely be a gimmie. non-negotiable

[jundlcndwastes]

August never wanted to think of himself as a shitty father, but there had been a time when his own ex, the mother of his child, thought that he had put his career before being a parent. He had come from a long line of mechanics that worked hard from the moment the sun came up to finishing the day with their hands coated in black motor oil. They lived their lives dedicated to fixing vehicles like it was a family tradition. Of course, it had been his own father that had introduced him to the unconventional career of smuggling people across the border. Smuggler, coyote, whatever you wanted to call him, that was how he made his living. That kind of lifestyle didn't exactly bode well with starting a family.

He and Joleen had loved each other to the ends of the earth, but that didn't mean his criminal activity didn't scare her into thinking about what that could do to their growing family. The thought of him being caught by police illegally taking people across the border one way or the other, or even someone taking advantage of him and killing him on the job, it was enough for her to finally stand up for herself and tell him that they had to separate. It broke his heart but despite such woes, he promised to be there for their little girl. Then tragedy struck not three years later when Joleen was killed in an accident and every bit of parenting responsibility fell on his shoulders.

August had promised her the day they called their relationship quits that he would always be the father their kid needed and he would see it through to his dying day that he kept that promise. She might have always been an independent person where it counted, but right now she needed him, just like she did twenty years ago when she found out her mama wasn't coming home from the hospital. While she was laying up in that infirmary bed, all he could see was that innocent little girl that he needed to protect.

❝ I think she knows she's always had me, ❞ he exhaled a slow sigh, a statement that he was mostly musing to himself, sure of it. Their bond was something unbreakable. ❝ I just know that right now she needs me where it counts. ❞

The ex-smuggler turned his eyes away from the sky above and looked back to Daryl. Mentioning Alexandria to her back there in those woods, well, there was really no amount of thanking that he could do to show his friend just how grateful he was. Say he hadn't told her about this place. She could be dead, something he didn't want to think about, something that made him shudder. ❝ She did though . . . cause of you. Ain't enough I can do to repay you for that. I want you to know that. ❞

Blue eyes stared hard at Daryl, hoping he understood the weight of his sentiment. There was the question of what had stopped Juni from coming here though. She had only spoken bits and pieces about what had happened to her but he didn't know the whole picture yet. She just needed time to heal and pull herself together enough to be able to confide in him. That was something he knew would take time. ❝ I don't much yet, ❞ he started, brows slowly coming together to form a small frown. ❝ I know she was held somewhere all this time and she got away somehow. By the looks of it, it nearly killed her. ❞

daryl has never had children of his own. he doesn't know what it means to be a father, or a parent at all, and he didn't exactly have the greatest examples growing up. as the saying goes, though, it takes a village; and daryl is never opposed to helping with the kids around alexandria. he's no expert, but he knows that they enjoy his company. they seem to, at least, especially when he agrees to play tag, or hide and seek— although they always say that he's too good at finding them.

and then there's judith. she's another story entirely. if anything ever happened, if daryl suddenly needed to be that father figure for her, he knows he could. that little girl is everything to him— to uncle daryl. it's still not the same, he knows, but it's something he can begin to relate to in a way. there's nothing on planet earth he wouldn't do for judith.

daryl nods, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. he contemplates august's words for a long minute as smoke exhales from his nose. ‘ she's got you now, ’ he says. a breeze wafts gently against the skin of his arms and daryl looks to the sky, observing the lazily passing clouds. august has been guarding the infirmary door for a while now, and daryl knows there will be no convincing him to leave and rest— but that doesn't mean he can't offer some momentary company.

‘ she'll be good. eventually. y'know— she almost didn't come. ’

[amandabe11man]

marvel:

scandinavians having their folklore appropriated for this ridiculousness:

[sleptwithinthesun]

this was supposed to be a very simple cold denial scenario. however, i ended up fucking around and now it's 2.8K words and probably a bit Not Good i feel. i could be wrong though so enjoy.

"Hey, Byers, are you alright?" 

Jonathan jerks at the sound of his last name, hard enough that the speaker reaches out and places their hand on his shoulder to steady him. "Shit, man, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you." 

"It's okay," he breathes, chest shuddering. "Really. I'm fine." The time it takes for him to calm down after something like this feels uncomfortably disproportionate, and almost a full minute passes before he can look up and into the eyes of the one and only Eddie Munson. 

Jonathan knows about him, of course. It's hard not to at Hawkins High, where the average grade size is only about one hundred and fifty people. Eddie's been known as the King of Freaks for as long as Jonathan can remember, collecting loners like they were baseball cards. He'd even invited Jonathan to sit with him on his first day on the high school cafeteria, an offer that he'd declined. That move had gotten him branded as someone too freakish to even hang out with the King, and everything had gone downhill from there. 

He bites on his knuckle anxiously and Eddie's hand draws back to rest at his side. "I don't know if we've been properly introduced yet, with all the…" He gestures wildly, effectively capturing the essence of everything that happened over spring break. "You know. I'm Eddie Munson." 

"Jonathan Byers, but I'm assuming you already knew that." 

Eddie laughs a little, nodding. "Yeah. Will told me to tell you that we're finishing up in about ten minutes. They're just taking some time to figure out their final decision of the night." 

"Sounds good," he replies. Jonathan starts to inhale, wanting to ask about the campaign, but his lungs constrict halfway through and he's tossed into the deep end of a rough coughing jag. When he manages to catch his breath again, Eddie's staring at him, wide-eyed with worry. 

"Sounds bad is more like it. You okay?" he asks. 

Jonathan shrugs, willfully ignoring the tickle that's suddenly taken up residence in the back of his throat. "Fine. It's probably just something in the air." 

"Ooh, yeah. Steve and I were smoking a bit before we got here, that might be it," Eddie says, wincing. "I'm headed back downstairs, but I can send Will outside when we're done to meet you if you want?" 

"No, that's okay," Jonathan says, probably a bit too fast. "I mean. Thank you for offering, but I'm okay." He smiles tightly. The anxiety he feels whenever Will is alone isn't ever going to go away, he knows that, and it still grips him by the throat whenever he thinks too long about its trigger.

"Are you sure?"

He nods, resolute. "Yeah. I'll be fine, don't worry about it."

Eddie eyes him skeptically, but concedes. "Okay. Now..." He spins on his heel, adopting the Dungeon Master persona that Mike, Lucas, and Dustin have been talking about since he and Will arrived in Hawkins. "Let's see what decision you've made!"

The door shuts behind him, and Jonathan lets himself cough into his elbow again once he hears Eddie's steps reach the bottom of the steps. The fit is a bit lighter this time, probably because it doesn't catch him quite as off-guard as the first, but it doesn't hurt any less.

Jonathan knows it's not anything in the air; it's early summer, and his allergies always rear their ugly little head around August. Normally, he'd chalk it up to a dry throat, but because this was a fit in multiples, he's starting to suspect he might be catching a summer cold.

He can't afford to be sick, though, and when Will comes out with bright eyes and real happiness on his face, Jonathan just smiles at him. "How was the campaign?"

"It was awesome. Eddie's such a great DM, like, he's better than any of us ever were when we played together as kids," he enthuses. "The campaign is amazing, too. We're playing in the Underdark, so we started in a dungeon enslaved by the Drow and everything..."

His excited chatter is almost enough to make Jonathan forget about the weight in his chest.

Almost.

-

When he wakes up the next morning, it's to yet another jag of coughing that he barely manages to muffle into his pillow. An itch scrapes desperately at the lining of his lungs and Jonathan can barely draw the air in between coughs to get the next one out, not with his face buried in the pillow the way it is. The last thing he needs is for Hopper or Joyce to figure out that he's kind of feeling like shit. 

Congestion presses at his sinuses, which throb fully as he sits up. Jonathan's always hated being sick, more so because it meant he wasn't allowed to take care of Will or help out at all than how a cold or the flu actually made him feel. He'd really rather just pretend this whole thing isn't happening, and when he presses his hand to his face to check for a fever, he's relieved that he's not overly warm. A glass of orange juice wouldn't hurt, though. 

Hopper's been kind enough to allow the four of them to stay in his house, with Joyce in his room, Will and El staying together in her bedroom, and Jonathan on the couch in the living room. He'd been almost certain that El had spent the night with Max, which is why he flinches and stumbles when he sees her sitting at the kitchen table with a plate of Eggo waffles in front of her. 

"Sorry," he says immediately, aware of her sensitivities about being perceived as someone (and at times, something) dangerous. "I thought you had a sleepover with Max?" 

El smiles with only half of her mouth. "Tonight."

Jonathan nods his understanding, stepping further into the kitchen and opening the fridge to assess its contents. At least Hopper keeps it well-stocked, more than he'd expect from him. It must be because of El and the rest of the Party. "What time is it?" 

She glances down at the black watch on her wrist, mouthing the numbers to herself before looking back to Jonathan and saying, "Seven-two-eight." 

It takes him a second to translate in his head, but once he gets it, he nods again. "Thanks."

The carton he pulls out of the fridge feels only half-full, but there's no pulp in the orange juice, so he's not about to start complaining. Under El's watchful eye, he pours himself a glass and sets it down on the counter before moving towards the stove, taking a pan on the way. Jonathan places the pan over the burner and turns on the flame, going back to the fridge a second later and rummaging around for the eggs and a loaf of bread.

"What are you doing?" El asks.

"Making breakfast." He cracks two of the eggs into a bowl, then glances around the kitchen. Spying the drawer he wants, Jonathan pulls it open and grabs a fork, then starts whisking the eggs.

El tilts her head, reminding him of Chester from years ago. "What are you making?"

"Eggs... and toast," Jonathan replies absentmindedly, holding his hand over the pan to test the heat. It hovers there for a second too long, and his shoulders jerk once with a perfectly suppressed sneeze before he pulls it away. "Sorry, what were you saying?"

She shakes her head, bedhead calming down slightly with the motion. "I didn't ask anything else."

"Oh. Sorry."

"You apologize a lot." El regards him not with judgement, but rather a simple statement of fact.

"Sorry," Jonathan says again, then winces. "I mean, uh. Yeah."

She smiles a bit at him, then turns back to her breakfast as Jonathan places two slices of bread on the now-heated pan, making toast. Breakfast goes smoothly, without much more interruption from his blooming cold, and by the time Joyce enters the kitchen, he has toast and a plate of scrambled eggs ready for her, and is working on Hopper's. Will won't be up for another hour, at least.

"Morning El, Jonathan," she says, smiling at the two of them.

"Hey, Mom," Jonathan greets.

"Morning, Ms. Byers," El replies, not looking up from her plate. Jonathan managed to convince her to have a glass of orange juice as well, adding something fairly healthy to her breakfast.

Jonathan lifts Joyce's plate and sets it on the table for her, then points to the cabinet across from him. "I think there's tea there, if you want any. Mugs are to the right. Is Hopper going to be up soon?"

Her hand comes up to rub at his shoulder. "Jonathan, don't worry about it. It's summer; take some time to relax a bit. You're supposed to hang out with Steve and Nancy today, aren't you?"

Shit, he is. He really doesn't feel good enough to spend even a few hours around other people, not right now, but he hasn't seen them alone in a few days. Sure, Nancy was around last night because D&D is hosted at her house, but she was busy talking with Robin and Steve wasn't even there. Out of the very few people he's still friends with in Hawkins, they're the two he's closest to.

"Yeah, they're picking me up around ten, I think." Jonathan swallows against a cough, breathing deeply to try and calm it down. "I have some time before they get here."

"Well, then, eat some food," Joyce tells him, gesturing towards the stove. "Hopper can make his own breakfast before he goes to work, and Will's old enough. He knows how to make eggs and toast."

He's not winning this argument. "Alright," Jonathan says, cracking an egg directly onto the pan instead of beating it, then waits anxiously for it to cook as he mentally prepares himself for the day.

-

"We'll introduce you to Robin sometime soon," Nancy says happily, pulling out of the Hopper's driveway, "but Steve and I wanted the day to just be the three of us."

"We we're thinking we could go to the bookstore, then out for lunch," Steve tells him, twisting around in the passenger seat to face Jonathan. "Does that work?" 

He nods. "Yeah, that would be really nice." As long as he can go home and sleep afterwards, then he'll be fine. 

Steve turns back to face the front seconds before Nancy hits a pothole dead-on. They all jerk with the force, seatbelts locking, and Steve curses softly as Nancy continues on like nothing happened. Judging by her and Steve's lack of genuine surprise, this probably happens a lot. 

"How on Earth did you get your license?" Steve asks, shaking his head. Nancy smacks him lightly on the arm at that, and Steve shoots her an affronted look.

"What?"

"That hurts." He rubs at his arm, obviously playing up his injury, and she laughs as she sees right through it.

The rest of the drive is fairly quiet, with small talk between the three of them and a mock-argument about Steve's questionably mainstream music taste. Jonathan even manages to get into it, asking Steve how many Duran Duran tapes he owns, and then which ones he actually listens to before launching into a talk on why vinyls are going to make a comeback at some point once people realize that their tapes aren't going to last nearly as long.

Speaking of, Jonathan points to the Tower Records store as they pass by it. "See? Right there. I'm telling you, these stores are never going to die out."

"If you say so," Steve says, putting in a new cassette. WHAM! starts playing, an album Jonathan recognizes only from begrudging familiarity with the sound, rather than from actually listening to their music.

"We're going to Borders, Jon," Nancy says. "They'll have records."

And that really shouldn't distract him as much as it does, Nancy calling him "Jon", but he's never had a nickname. His entire life, he's been Jonathan; to his mother, to his father, to Will, to everyone. Jonathan has never been considered childish enough to have a nickname. Even now, it doesn't feel like he's a child, or like Nancy's condescending to him. It just feels friendly.

He realizes he's been silent too long, that he's run out of time to respond. Still, he's grateful to both Steve and Nancy for what they're doing for him. It's not often Jonathan goes out for… anything, really.

Nancy's parking job is surprisingly decent, if one counts being only slightly crooked and having one wheel over the line as a decent parking job. The second Jonathan stands up after getting out of the car, though, the entirety of this cold slams into him. His chest burns for a second and congestion shifts forward in his head, sinus pressure clinging to his temples. He's lightheaded for more than just a moment, one hand clinging to the door for stability.

To put it plainly, he's fucked.

Jonathan manages to blink the blackness out of his vision, floaters dancing around for a few moments more before he glances around and meets Steve's worried gaze.

"You okay, Jon?" he asks, brows halfway up his forehead. "You just... went totally blank for a second, there."

"I'm okay," Jonathan says, voice coming out a little too raspy for his liking. He clears his throat, pursing his lips inwards for a second. "Was trying to remember if Will has Hellfire again tonight."

Steve grimaces slightly. "Oh, yeah. Eddie's been pushing to get the entire campaign in this week, because he's psycho." He grins at Jonathan, then turns to follow Nancy into the store.

They flip through the vinyls for a few minutes, the three of them lined up among the shelves based on music taste. Jonathan doesn't have Cut the Crap on vinyl yet, plus, it's just barely over eight dollars. He can afford to get that, and maybe even a book if it's paperback.

He and Nancy are looking through the political fiction when it, inevitable as it was, finally happens.

"Bless you," Nancy says absently, still running her fingers over the spines of the books. 

"Thanks." He sniffles as quietly as he can, really wishing they weren't in a bookstore right now, where quiet is an expectation and any noise above a whisper counts as a disruption. His sneezes aren't even that loud; Jonathan simply feels like he's interrupting conversations he doesn't even want to be a part of.

The tickle crests again, barely even bothering to back down before he's sneezing into his elbow again, stifling it into silence with the only tell being the jerk of his shoulder and little kick-up from his knee.

She blesses Jonathan again, fingers teasing at another book before she pulls it out and starts flipping through it. As she does, Jonathan's stuck with quiet hitching breaths and on the cusp of another sneeze. It's with the third one that she turns and looks at him.

"Oh, shit." Nancy grabs his arm and starts pulling him through the aisles. "You're not going to stop, are you." She doesn't even bother phrasing it as a question, just continues to drag him out of the store. 

They run into Steve in the cassette and his head whips up as he sees the two of them. "Uh, Nance? Why're you—" 

Jonathan interrupts him with a desperate but still near-silent hitch to his breath, the following sneezes taken from a single inhale. It's not the normal five, but instead accompanied by an extra sixth that completely empties the air from his lungs. He gasps when the fit is over, and Steve says, "Oh" so quietly Jonathan almost doesn't hear it. "Okay, yeah, yeah, let's—"

They get him out to the parking lot where the sun just makes it even worse, triggering whatever fucking response Jonathan has to it and forcing another handful of sneezes out. Steve's cursing at this point, asking Nancy what was happening while the other insists she has no clue and Jonathan just lets them shove him into the car because God the exhaustion is well and truly hitting him now, sinking into his bones. He's always been like this, resisting until he can't anymore and then crashing hard enough it's concerning.

He's still stifling every handful of seconds when Steve squishes into the backseat next to him, worry painted onto his face. "Jon, dude. What's going on?"

"I don't know," Jonathan says, guilt swelling in his gut. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," Steve tells him, placing a hand on his shoulder as Nancy slides into her seat. She turns around, staring back at the two of them from the driver's seat with a complete lack of judgement in her gaze. He meets her eyes for just a second before turning away to sneeze again, but even in that second, he can tell that she's not mad at him. Neither of them are. They're just worried about him.

"Let them out, Jonathan, it's just us," Nancy says quietly.

He nods without hesitating, jaw dropping slightly as he finally allows himself the relief of a full sneeze. "uk'tschuu! huh'uktshh!"

Steve rubs his knee, buckling his seat belt as Jonathan fumbles for his own. "Let's get you home, Jon."

[jaskiersvalley]

Witchers didn't have daemons, that was a known fact. They were terrifying in their solitude, unfeeling and unaffected. Monsters made to fight monsters, they didn't need part of their soul for that. What the general public didn't know though was that the daemons weren't imprisoned somewhere, nor were they dead. The mages had figured out a way to separate daemon from child and force it into the most unnatural of shapes, another human. It meant two Witchers from a single child and the best part was, neither child nor daemon felt any connection to their counterpart once the process of the trials was complete.

In an effort to make sure full separation was certain and not even a sentimental link remained, daemons and children were separated and trained in different schools. Lambert had arrived at Kaer Morhen, still tripping over unfamiliar human feet and seething at being separated from his human. Over the years he tried to remember his human but, like all Witchers, they were given new names when they got their medallions and Lambert didn't think Luca still went by that name, nor would he be the scrawny kid Lambert remembered him as.

Whenever Lambert met another Witcher, he couldn't help but wonder whether it was his Luca that he was meeting. Though he wanted to believe that there would be a spark some kind of recognition there. He had been a little relieved when he met Letho and there was nothing there between them.

Of course Geralt had to be the first one to find his daemon. The smug bastard had found a bard who told people his daemon was a flea which was just like him; unnoticeable until he causes a nuisance. Most pitied him but Geralt had seen through the charade. He watched the bard without a daemon, curiosity and caution allowed him to permit Jaskier to tag along. The story tumbled out eventually.

"My great grandparents bought me. I was some kind of freak novelty some merchants were selling."

That was all Geralt had needed to hear and he was all but dragging Jaskier back to Kaer Morhen in the winter. Nobody had expected Vesemir's face to close off completely.

"I remember you!" Jaskier said in way of greeting. "You were a dick."

"Julian." The reply was terse and tight.

Lambert got a front view seat to seeing Geralt's face flit through more emotions in one second than he usually did in a whole year. The embrace was tight, Geralt's nose buried in Jaskier's hair.

Jealousy trickled through Lambert's veins. For all he knew, his human was already a dead Witcher. There was no link between Witcher and daemon, the trials severed it all completely so when one died, the other didn't even notice, let alone die from it.

"Why isn't he a Witcher?" Eskel asked, eyes glued to the happy reunion.

"Kaer Morhen needed money. Your cohort, the daemons didn't become Witchers. We sold them to the highest bigger."

Lambert didn't expect Eskel to punch Vesemir across the jaw but he was sure as shit glad he saw it. It meant he didn't need to do it on behalf of Geralt and Eskel. For the first time though, Lambert had an optimistic thought.

"It might mean he's living a happy life somewhere. I mean, look at Jaskier. He's had it better than us."

That was a topic that came up repeatedly over the next few weeks. They dreamed up all sorts of fancy lives Eskel's daemon could have lived, the wonders he would have seen. Through it all, Lambert bitterly wished his daemon could have been anything but a Witcher. Alas, Vesemir rapidly disillusioned him from that idea.

"He's become a Witcher, probably dead by now. And if you met him, you'd probably wish he was."

"Is that so?" Lambert drawled, emptying his tankard with a disappointed sigh. He couldn't believe it was empty again.

"You suffered the same shit fate I did. Your human was trained by Cats. Guxart turned into an utter dick."

The words were muttered darkly and Lambert tried not to take it to heart how much hatred Vesemir oozed. It made him all that much more determined to not go the same way as the bitter old man. Instead, he turned to Geralt with a leer. "So, is it gay or is it masturbation to want to get off with your own daemon?"

To say the table erupted in uproar was an understatement. Geralt was scowling somewhat fierce, arms crossed over his chest in protest. It only egged Lambert on further.

"I think it's incest," he declared with a shit eating grin. "Technically it's part of your family because you have the same parents."

"It's masturbation at most." Geralt was growling and glowering. "Because the daemon was still part of you."

Through it all, Eskel stayed rather quiet. It was only when the other two looked to him for opinion that he leaned forward, propping himself up on the table with a serious crease to his brows.

"I think-" the words were low and measured, "-that as long as everyone involved consents, it's fucking hot is what it is."

"The only thing it is," Vesemir finally butted in, "is a disaster waiting to happen. You don't want to meet your counterparts. Trust me."

Except that only made Lambert all the more keen. He wanted to both prove Vesemir wrong and also have what Geralt and Jaskier seemed to be hurtling towards. So, come spring, he set out with the intent of fulfilling one contract only. It was one that he would pay himself for in emotional fulfilment. He was going to find every Cat he could until he found Luca.

He met Gaetan along his travels who laughed in his face and said he was much more into snakes than wolves. That was an encounter Lambert was more than eager to cut short because he did not want to think about how Letho and Gaetan were oddly complementary. It was also another jolt of bitter jealousy, another Witcher and daemon had been reunited while he was still out there looking for his own. Assuming Luca had survived.

Meeting Guxart was a bit of an accident and Lambert wished he'd not encountered the old Cat. He growled and hissed about his stupid daemon who would probably have turned into a useless pigeon if left alone. There was obviously no love lost between them and Lambert desperately hoped he wasn't going to have the same fate.

Third time lucky, as the saying went. Lambert had trailed the new Cat for a few days, learning his habits and watching him work. There was no ounce of recognition or familiarity. But then again, the last time Lambert saw Luca, they were being dragged away from each other, foreign hands on his rapidly shifting body so his eyes could barely adjust enough to see the screaming, tear filled face of his human. It was quite possibly the worst last image he could have had of Luca.

Satisfied that the Cat wasn't someone Lambert wouldn't want to associate with, he approached in the evening when the campfire was still bright but slowly settling.

"I was wondering when my shadow would make himself known," the Cat said easily enough, barely glancing up from where he was whittling something.

The last two times Lambert had tried to be careful with exploring the idea of the Cat Witcher being his human. He was tired and cut straight to the point.

"Luca?"

By the fire the man froze. It was only luck that meant Lambert could hear the shuddering exhales of someone trying to keep up the façade of calm and collected. Finally, the man set his carving aside and stood with an easy smile that felt like a thousand lies.

"I go by Aiden." It wasn't a reply and Lambert knew it.

"I don't remember my name," he admitted softly, desperately hoping he wasn't about to make an utter tit of himself. "People call me Lambert. But I'm looking for my Luca."

He didn't expect to suddenly have an armful of Witcher clinging to him like their very lives depended on it.

"It's really you!" Aiden sounded close to tears. "You never did have a single name, usually going by Idiot, Pain In The Butt, Menace and so many other equally flattering names."

"Guess that never changed," Lambert laughed wetly. He held Aiden close, wishing he could feel as he used to when they were connected. "We have a lot of catching up to do."

It was just that start of something Lambert never thought he'd have. Easy companionship, shared disdain for the whole Witcher thing, stories upon stories of contracts gone well, gone wrong, or just plain gone. By the time winter rolled round, Lambert was firmly of the opinion that he and Aiden would travel together, fuck the Path and all the teachings about it being lonely. If Geralt could have his bard then they sure as hell could have each other.

Getting to Kaer Morhen, Lambert gleefully had an arm slung around Aiden's shoulder, introducing him to the rest of his family. He especially delighted in the flaring of Vesemir's nostrils as he took in the situation.

"Cats and Wolves don't mix. You of all people should know that."

"And you should know it's my life's mission to prove you wrong, old man," Lambert shot back.

Perhaps the most curious part of the whole winter was that Geralt was already back with not one, but two guests. Jaskier was a known quantity and Lambert greeted him warmly. The other though was a near silent man who watched them through eyes that looked way too old for his body.

"This is Cahir," Geralt said when the man didn't even introduce himself. "We'd heard rumours of a Nilfgaardian without a daemon and went to investigate."

"Not a Nilfgaardian," Cahir grumbled with a half-hearted glare.

It took Lambert a moment to figure out just why Geralt would bring such a man back before his eyes widened in delighted realisation.

"You think that-"

"Mhm."

That was the extent of their conversation because Lambert was cackling in delight. He looked Cahir over with a newfound interest. Young, like Jaskier but so very different in behaviour. As much as they'd wondered about Eskel's daemon's fate, this wasn't one they'd predicted.

Three days later Eskel was leading Scorpion into Kaer Morhen's courtyard. Lambert and Aiden were all but bouncing with excitement, not wanting to miss the moment Eskel met his daemon. In their opinion Geralt was drawing things out and making it less fun by not having them all meet in the stables. Instead, Eskel was allowed to venture into the kitchen in the company of Lambert and Aiden who were vibrating in anticipation.

"Eskel," Geralt greeted him with a warm hug. Jaskier and Cahir were behind him, even Vesemir had ventured out to see what the outcome would be. "It's good to have you home. Allow me to introduce you to Cahir."

The two looked at each other with guarded gazes and Eskel gave a terse nod. It was as anticlimactic as fuck. No recognition, not interest, nothing. Just a slow once over which, if Lambert had thought about it, was pretty much a mirror image of each other, equally considering and closed off.

Despondent, he dragged Aiden off, helping lay the table for a shared meal. Vesemir was quick to follow, there was no way to tell whether he was disappointed or relieved by the lack of drama. Geralt and Jaskier wandered out, oddly deflated. Not two seconds later there was an almighty crash from the kitchen and they were all racing back. Only to turn right around and flee after a glimpse of Cahir pinning Eskel to a wall and kissing him like Eskel was the last gasp of air for a drowning man.

"So, are they?" Jaskier asked, glancing towards the kitchen. Something else crashed and thumped but it was best not to investigate.

After a moment it was Vesemir who tiredly said, "Does it matter? It doesn't seem like they much care."

All in all, Lambert didn't think he cared either. Cahir and Eskel seemed happy enough in their new acquaintanceship, trying to figure out their past could wait, if they even wanted to explore it. Though Lambert had a hard time imagining Cahir as a goat. Over the years he'd heard Eskel lament enough about how his daemon preferred to take the form of a goat.

Regret came the next morning at breakfast when Eskel and Cahir appeared at the table, seemingly indifferent. If the rest of them hadn't see the two almost violently making out in the kitchen before disappearing to a bedroom, they wouldn't have guessed anything had gone on between them.

"Hey Geralt," Eskel called, face passive. "You know the difference between a goldfish and a mountain goat?"

"A mountain goat could live in Kaer Morhen but a goldfish couldn't?"

Eskel rolled his eyes. "No, a goldfish mucks around a fountain."

"And a mountain goat fucks around a mountain," Cahir finished the joke. He and Eskel high fived without looking at each other. Lambert only smacked his head on the table when Cahir continued, "And I am no goldfish."

[sp00kworm]

Black Oak (Part 2)

Pairing: Alcott Glyn (Headless Horseman) x Gender Neutral Reader

Warnings: Body Horror, Murder

PART 1 

---

---

The police arrived about an hour after you had woke-up the whole village screaming. Peswick was far away from the nearest city’s response, and you sat shivering, wrapped in a blanket from the house, clutching it close as Mrs Shaw rushed to bring you a hot drink. She and her husband were dressed, but neither went into your house. They rushed back home, bringing you a cup of tea from their own kitchen along with a foil blanket for the shock. You weren’t allowed to touch the body, and you tried to ignore the swinging noise of the corpse as you sat perched on the front doorstep to your home, sniffling into the cup of tea. The police took off their hats as they stepped past your gate, and you watched as the crime scene investigation and forensic van pulled up behind them. The two officers nodded at Mr and Mrs Shaw before smiling as best they could.

“Would you like to come with us, please?” The male officer asked gently, “Lets go inside and we’ll get your statement of events, okay?” The female officer with him looked back at the tree and swallowed hard as Forensics suited up to remove the body and take evidence.

“Come on, Sully.” He ushered his companion as he helped you to your feet and nodded to your neighbours. He whistled and smiled as he opened the door for you, “Nice old place you’ve got here.” He complimented kindly, the corners of his eyes wrinkled with crows’ feet, “Mrs Finch used to live here. Are you a relative?”

 You shook as the officer led you gently into the front room, “It…She was my aunty, distantly.” You whispered as you eased yourself back onto the sofa, clutching the lukewarm tea tightly, as though it was a lifeline in your grasp.

“She was a kind woman. Made a lot of oils out of her garden, but she had nothing but trouble and vandalism with this place. Kids used to make a mess of the sides of the house regularly.” He tipped his head to the wall where the fireplace was, “It was always on the chimney. She never did anything, but the kids called her a witch and all that trollop.” He shook his head.

“You haven’t introduced yourself.” Sue gave him a lopsided smile as she pulled out the clipboards full of paperwork to be completed.

“Ah, so I haven’t!” The officer dipped his head, “I’m Officer Perks.” He pointed to the blond woman with him, “And this is my partner Officer Sullivan.”

You nodded shakily licked your lips, “It was nice to meet you. Thank you for coming. I know...Its far.” A breathy sigh left you as Sullivan took out her pens from her vest and smiled.

“We just need an account of what you did this morning and if you knew the victim.” Percy offered as he sat on your couch, “Spare no details. Even something small to you might be important to us.”

 Conflict burned in your throat and gut as you thought about what had happened, “I don’t remember anything of relevance from last night. I spent the night in bed. I’ve only just moved in, so I was exhausted.” You took a shuddering breath and continued, “I went out this morning to the tree and…and I looked up… and he was hanging there, without his head.” You looked into the tea in your hands, noting that it was now ice cold.

“How long have you been here?” Sullivan asked as she shorthand filled in the details on the paperwork, “You said you moved in recently?” Perks looked from the paper to you and smiled reassuringly.

“I moved in yesterday afternoon.” You whispered and Sullivan gave you a pitying look.

Perks shifted against the cushions, “Did you have anyone with a grudge against you or motive from where you used to live?” He asked.

“No one that I know of.” You answered as you put down the cup of tea, fighting the tears and upset.

“Okay so what time did you find the body?” Perks asked. You took a deep sigh and continued to answer the police officer’s questions well into the afternoon.

 Perks and Sullivan could drink their weight in tea, it turned out, and you offered them many drinks over the course of the few hours. They had a couple each, pens scratching papers as they took notes and an official account of the events for the records. You looked out of the window as Sue and Percy signed the bottom of the page. Crime Scene Investigations were hoisting the body down from the thick black branch of the oak, working to preserve the noose he was swinging by. Three people held the corpse up as they cut the rope carefully, keeping the knot intact and bagging the rope before they got the body down into the bag on the stretcher.

“He’ll need to go to pathology to determine cause of death…though I think I have a pretty good idea.” Sullivan whispered, trying not to be heard as she eyed you sat across from them. Perks rolled his eyes and elbowed his colleague.

“Here. Let me draw the curtains.” Perks stood and reached for the curtains before drawing them over the forensics team dragging the body into the bag, impassive to the blood that stained their tunics and gloves.

“I think we have everything.” Sullivan announced as she stood up and took hold of both their mugs, “I’ll put these in the kitchen for you.” She offered with a small, pathetic smile.

 Perks nodded his head as Sullivan as she left towards the kitchen. You heard her bang the cup on the countertop before you tugged the blanket closer and shifted uncomfortably.

“Thank you for your cooperation today.” Perks took his hat and tucked it under his arm, “I know these kinds of cases are very difficult to talk about. I have this card for you.” He held you out a green printed business card, “That’s the helpline for a couple of organisations and the other side has someone you can seek out if you would like some help talking through all this.”

You looked at the numbers vaguely before nodding and placing the card on the coffee table, “Thank you.” You replied quietly before Perks replaced his hat on his head.

“We’ll see ourselves out. Thank you once again and good afternoon.” He looked at his watch before he opened the lounge door and quietly exited.

Sue scoffed at him in the hall, “Come on. We’ve got these reports to write up.”

“Coming, coming.” Perks grumbled, “Nothing wrong with being nice. They just witnessed a damn corpse…” The voices trailed off as the front door closed behind the two of them with a bang.

 Silence.

 You looked to the curtains and stood up, letting the blankets finally fall from your shoulders as you fisted each side of the heavy curtains. They were old and embroidered with curling leaves. You tugged them open with a heave and watched the police vans trundle away back down the old stone roads, back towards the hills where they had come from this morning. With a deep breath, you tied the curtains back before taking one last long look at the gnarled, black oak in the garden, and heading towards the stairs for a shower and to get dressed. You hoped that a shower would wash away the sticky feeling of malaise on your skin and mind. Hot water usually purged bad thoughts, or so you hoped as you tried to erase the memory of the swinging corpse from the shrivelled branches of the old oak tree.

 You shivered through the house after your shower, wrapped in a jumper and heavy jeans as you tried to navigate the halls without looking out into the garden. The memory of the body lingered with the burning feeling of the heavy box in the other room, filled with an old skull. It was a skull inside. A perfectly preserved ivory skull. The teeth were yellow with age on the enamel, and you looked to the table where the muddy box sat with the key in the lock. The headless creature had moaned and groaned as its head screamed from the other room. You turned and looked at the ornate metal decorations before daring to turn the key again. The lid popped open and flew back to reveal the skull again.

 It sat perfectly still on the cushion, staring at you with empty eyes. With a deep breath, you dared to reach out and touch the skulls surface. It didn’t move. No magical energies tore out of the eye holes. It was perfectly still. It was just a skull. But the memory of it screaming and cursing inside the box was burned into your memory and you carefully picked the skull up, cushioning the bottom of its jaw before your strokes over the place where the eyebrows had once been when it was a man. It had to belong to the headless horseman, but why your aunt had it locked away in her home was another question entirely. You held the skull up to your eyes and peered into the bone of the eye sockets as you pondered your decision. There was a glimmer of gold inside the mouth which caught your eyes, and you dared to open the jaw wide enough to snatch at the shiny object. It was a single heavy golden coin which had been wedge between the back teeth. You looked at the old print and then quickly replaced it, wedging the jaw back shut as you placed the skull away on its pillow.

 It sat and stared at you, and you stared at it, wondering what happened last night as you clutched at your head and sighed. You slammed the lid closed and snapped the lock closed before you placed the box in the centre of the table.

“What the fuck were you up to aunty?” You asked the air as you rushed to the kitchen to make yourself another drink. As you set the water to boil you continued to curse, thinking about the headless man who what invaded your home chasing the poor man who had ended up hanging from the tree in your front yard. The head had screamed ‘witch’ from its confines, but you had no knowledge about what it could mean. You took the hot water and made a drink before looking at the last few boxes of unpacking and scoffing, deciding that the day would be better spent researching what had slaughtered the man and hung him from your tree.

 The village library was barely a few bookshelves put together and you sighed looking at the poor collection of books before you dated to approach the old librarian sat next to the desk. She had her own book open, some trashy romance novel set in the Victorian era, and she looked engrossed as she flipped the page and took another bite of her current tea cake.

“Hello?” You asked quietly in front of her.

The librarian jumped in her seat before she clutched at her chest and adjusted her glasses, “Dearie me! You scared the soul right out of me, love.” she took a moment to take a breath and close her book before she stood with a small wince and smiled, “What can I do for you?”

You could see the questions burning in her eyes. She no doubt knew you were the new person in town, and about what had happened at your home.

“I’m looking for some history books about the town. I wanted to try and get to know the place, but I don’t think there’s anything on the shelves.”

Her face pursed a little before she smiled again and pointed to the last one of the small walls of shelves, “There isn’t a lot but there’s a couple of books on the bottom shelf of the end one. For the records and such I’m afraid you will have to ask at the village hall. Rose keeps them in good nick there, lovely woman she is.”

“Ah, thank you.” You returned her smile and left her to her book as you went to the last set of shelves in the wall and started to rummage through the folklore and history books.

 There wasn’t a lot, she was right, and you sighed after about twenty minutes of pulling out books. You tugged the last, thick history book from the shelf and dusted the cover to reveal a history of the local mines and hills. It wasn’t what you were looking for. You peered at the shelf again and huffed before there was a glimmer of silver lining at the back of the bookcase. You squirmed your hand to the back and plucked the small book from behind the tattered paperbacks. It was a pocketbook, stencilled with an old name in cursive, faded and marred with cage.

‘Maria Theresa Glyn’

You dusted the front and followed the name before looking around and tucking the book into your bag. You felt bad just taking it, but obviously the Librarian had no idea it was there, and the name was familiar to you. You remembered the coat of arms on the old teapot. If this was the diary of someone with the same name it might have clues, or so you reasoned as you plucked a few books from the shelf and took them to the counter after replacing the rest.

 “Did you find what you were looking for, pet?” The librarian asked as you placed the books on the counter. She smiled and pulled out an old paper ticket to write your name onto. She poised the pen over the paper, and you told her your name before she copied it onto another for you and jotted the book codes down. She tutted at the date stamper and fiddled with it to get it to the correct date. Obviously not many people used the library.

“Yes, I found a few interesting things to have a flick through.” You told her as she stamped the tickets inside the books and stacked them in front of you.

“Well, you have fun...and be careful, huh? There’s a lot of weird and wonderful things that go on around here. It would be a shame if you forgot that, and something happened.” She smiled sweetly, but it sent shivers down your spine.

“Thanks. I’ll try.” You smiled awkwardly back at her before you took your arm full of books and made a quick exit back into the chilly air.

 The village seemed to watch you as you wove between the avenue of trees, crunching autumn orange and brown leaves underfoot. The chill in the air mimicked their icy feelings. You were the outsider among them, and soon enough they’d come to hound you out of their home. You only hoped to solve what you had seen. There was no way a headless man was riding around taking heads...right? You tried to console yourself as you made it to your home, and past the gnarled black tree in the front garden. It was twisted and old, and the branches seemed to creak as a greeting on your return. A glare silenced it, or so it seemed, perhaps it was just the wind dying, but the tree went silent as you walked up to the door with your keys in hand. The door swung open when you unlocked it and you clutched at your books as the wind howled into the mouth of the house, screaming down the hall like a ghost before you kicked the front door shut, shivering. The old back boiler chugged in the background as you kicked off your boots and placed the books in the lounge on the small table by the chest.

 When the chest remained still and silent you left to place away your bags and get a drink. You returned, rubbing your eyes as you opened the little journal you had found. It was penned with ink and quill, that much was obvious, and you ran your fingers over the woman’s name again before you touched the crest and went to find the teapot. You grabbed the porcelain handle and placed the two together over your lap. They were the same. The Glyn coat of arms. You placed the teapot down and opened the diary to look at the first passage. It was dated back three centuries ago, back when the alliance was beginning to form between the different races, monsters and humans alike, though you could tell this village hadn’t had such luxury. The entire populace was human, apart from the dairy farmers four miles outside the walls of the village. They were large goblins of some kind, cave dwelling and gangly limbed from years in the dark, but you had only seen them.

 The first passage was written in neat, printed cursive, echoing the care the woman had taken to write her feelings and events down.

‘Today is the day of my birth. My birthday rather. I was given this journal by the kind Mister Glynn, as a gift, and so I find myself beginning to write down the events of my daily life, so perhaps I can look back on it and reminisce when I am old and grey.

 Mister Glyn is a kind soul. He is part of the King’s Royal Entourage and the Commander of a large cavalry unit. Why he is in this small village is unknown to us all, but my father suspects it is because of the Wood Witch. Perhaps he has been tasked with taking her head? It is rumoured the armour he has is enchanted against such magic, but I feel as though those are rumours made about a dangerous and powerful man to excite fear.

 He is nothing but polite to me. I suppose my father will want to marry me off to this one as well.’

 The passages were perhaps a couple of pages maximum, and you flicked through the dates quickly, watching her words change from cold and indifferent to soft and loving of the man see always called Mister Glyn. It wasn’t until a year later in the diary that you saw his true name.

 ‘Alcott escorted me to the capital atop Mallor, his beast of a horse, though the creature seems to like me now that I bring him sugar lumps. Alcott wished to show me the city and its fruits though there is rather less fruit and more muck and grime. I am used to mud on my shoes, but I despised the odour of the place, much to his amusement. As I write, I can hear him snickering at me across the table.’

 There was a few blotches of ink and another set of handwriting.

 ‘She stood in a man’s excrement.’

 Their trip seemed peaceful, and Maria even attended a gathering at court. It seemed well until you found the final page in the diary, written across a page in shaky ink.

 ‘They took his head.’

 There was no fond farewell at the bottom of the page or a cursive signature. It was stark and naked on the yellowed paper, like a bad omen forever preserved. You ran your fingers over the words before you flicked through the last pages seeing nothing but blood splodges and blackened dark blood at the corners. It smelt faintly of rot, and you recoiled from the smell as you looked at the empty bare pages. The back of the book was burned across the inside of the cover. It was mysterious but it seemed like Alcott Glyn had been killed. But by who? You had no idea but as you looked at the chest again and thought of the head inside you shuddered.

 Alcott Glyn. There had to be a grave. You tugged your bag open and stuffed the book inside before you rushed out of the door, locking it quickly as you rushed towards the little church. It was at the top of the hill, sat in a mound of earth, subsiding on one side with props and scaffolding to try and hold it up. It wasn’t used anymore, the town hall was used to any religious needs, but it was haunting. The stained glass was dirty, and the front doors bolted and chained to prevent anyone entering. You rushed around the side of the church and looked at the dates on the graves and the dates in the diary. It had to be the 1700s. You thought back to your history lessons and tried to recall the date of the alliance war. 1774. You rushed around the small paths and glanced at the years, 1770, 1772, 1773... you looked at the gap where the 1774 stone should have stood. There was nothing, just unchurned earth and a set of roses growing from the floor. A troubling feeling settled in your gut as you meandered down the path to the back of the overgrown graveyard. There were old stones, crumbling and forgotten under blackberry vines and leaves. It was chance that you leaned down next to a short stone and looked at the faded name.

 Alcott Glyn.  

 The name was chipped and faded, like the memory of the man. Vines grew in wild abandon over the grave, and the blackberry vines had taken over the base, winding around the whole stone with wide dying leaves. It was perfectly hidden and forgotten about. The village’s little secret in the secluded corner of the graveyard, forgotten and buried. Or apparently, not buried completely. The earth was turned over, like something had ruptured from the ground and burst free. It was a long patch of upturned soil, as long as you were tall, or even longer, and the earth and stones were wet, fresh with the rain from the evening and being upturned, as though someone had run a plower through it.  Carefully, you ran your fingers through the earth, feeling the soil between your fingers before you took a steadying breath.

“Someone came out of this…” You breathed into the chilly air, your breath making mist with the cold as you stood and looked over the grave. You said it again before turning and bolting from the graveyard before the night could fall over the village.

 When you reached home, you threw your bag onto the couch and grabbed the chest, prising the lock open to peer at the skull inside. It was sat, still as a statue, on the cushion, with the glimmer of gold between its jaws. You lifted it from the cushion, carefully, pulling it up to your face level as the sun set over the horizon, bathing you in a golden glow with the skull clasped between your hands. There was nothing but the distant hum of the hot water pipes in the old house to answer your stare. The skull did nothing. It sat in your hands as the sunlight died over the horizon and the night began to settle in. In your gut, disappointment settled with the cold reminder that you were holding a dead man’s skull. A real human skull. Carefully, you placed it back down on the cushion and sighed as you went to draw the curtains, ignoring the creaking of the gnarled oak tree outside your door.

 The wind blew as you looked back at the head in the chest, positioned slightly skewed on the cushion. You chewed your lip and sighed before you stood over it again.

“Alcott Glyn.” You whispered to the skull. Nothing. The old electrics flickered for a moment, dimming before they brightened again. Silence, except for the hum of the back boiler. The breath you had been holding escaped and you turned away with a grumble before the lights surged bright and yellow, like the sun, before the bulbs exploded in a sudden thunder of noise. Glass shattered and flew across the carpet in a shower, and you gasped, covering your ears before you looked back at the cushion.

 The head was sat, jaw agape, with two lights in the blackened sockets, rolling side to side. The little lights rolled like stoned before they settled on you and the open jaw began to jitter, chattering the yellowed teeth together loudly. The skull didn’t move, just snapped it’s teeth like a scared dog before it stopped, and the eyes dimmed. It was only a moment of silence before there were three heavy pounds on your door. With a gasp you rushed to draw the curtains, and gazed upon the creature stood on your doorstep, his steed kicking and throwing it’s head by the twisted roots of the black tree. The body stood there, breathing, its undead chest moving as though it needed the air.

“Alcott Glyn.” You whispered again with a dry mouth. All the moisture dried up from you and you tried not to shake as the skull slammed against the side of the box, it’s eyes glowing.

It shook and chattered its teeth before a voice screamed from between the open jaw, “Let me in, witch!”

Fear twisted your guts as you rushed to slam the chest shut on the screaming skull. It chanted inside the decorative metal, hollering about burning you at the stake before you took it to the front door. The horseman slammed his fist on the door again, repeatedly, as though he was going to tear it open, and you shivered as your fingers shook by the latch and keys.

 The horseman began to bang repeatedly and the head in the chest slammed around, shaking your arms as you struggled to keep hold of it. You took a stuttering breath and unlatched the door, turning the keys before you wrenched it open. The headless horseman heaved puffs of misty breath up from the stump of his neck, his trachea flexing with the movement as the nerves of his spinal cord twitched and thrummed behind it, imitating life in his corpse body.

“Witch!” the skull screamed again, his head you realised as you stepped back, and the creature followed. His boots left muddy smeared marks on the wooden floors, and you looked down to see the crushed blackberries over the soles. Your heart pounded as you realised, he had crawled from the grave you had sat by earlier.

“I saw you by my grave. I will not do business with you again.” His voice came from his body this time, contorted and dark as it leaked from his lungs like a wisp.

“Business? What business have you?” You asked, voice shaking with fear.

The skull laughed in its box, a malicious and evil noise, dark and tempting, as though you were truly stupid for asking, “What business did we not have? Have you forgotten in your age, crone? Death and blood, that’s what you wanted, and I delivered it.”

“Who did you have the deal with?” You steeled yourself.

“You, you pathetic soothsayer.” He droned before his dead fist slammed the door closed, “Now give me my head. Our bargain is met.”

“I am not my aunty.” You tried, “I have no deal with you.”

 The horseman stopped, his body stiffening as his horse brayed and screamed outside, kicking its hooves at the black oak with a great smash. The tree shook, shedding twigs, but didn’t fall. He stalked closer, the bulk of his frame blocking out the light from the moon and the electric fitting overhead.

“But you have my head.” The skull whispered from inside the box before he grabbed for the chest. He touched the metal of the latch and screamed, the noise escaping the corpse before you and the skull inside the box. It was an ear piercing, unholy noise which burned your ears and made your head swim in agony. The horseman clutched at his chest and the stump of his neck, his gloved fingers pressing into the gored wound of his neck as he wobbled towards the wall and grasped at it for balance.

 “Fuck.” You cursed before you whipped the chest open and grabbed his skull by its eye sockets, hanging it over him as he slid down the wall and screamed again in agony, twitching against the wood.

“If I give you your head, horseman, will you indebt yourself to me? Your previous contract will be null, and you will only serve me.” You announced.

The horseman writhed before going deathly still. He laid like a corpse for a moment or two before shakily he braced his arm against the floor and pushed himself up. With a shudder he got onto his knees and kneeled before you, his neck dipped to expose the sore, congealed wound of his decapitation.

“I... I will serve.” The horseman gurgled.

“Then I give you your head to end your torment, Alcott Glyn.” You promised before you held his skull between your palms and lowered it to the spinal column of his body.

 There was a great groan as the spine extended from Alcott’s body and snapped to the skull, holding it in place as the eyes burned bright with purple light, the colour of blackberries, rolling in his skull as he reached and clasped at the bone, howling as light burned from the base of his neck and enveloped his skull with a whoosh of purple fire. The fire abated quickly as the moonlight disappeared behind the curtains and the skull shimmered as muscle and tendons swarmed the bone, linking and covering the surface before the he howled, and skin crept from his neck to his face, covering the surface in a perfect alabaster coating. His eyes however, remained voids of black, the centres beautiful blackberry lights in the dimness of your home. Black waves of hair grew from his head, dripping over his shoulders like ink as he howled, leaned against the old wallpaper. They finished growing with a crackle of fire, purple flames licking at the ends before it disappeared, leaving a heaving, black eyed creature curled against the wooden floor.

 Your mouth hung open as you watched the horseman shake against the wood, heaving as he reached to clutch at the hair that draped from his previously naked skull. The inky waves slid through his gloved hands and was quickly marred with dirt and blood before he peered at you through the curtain, looking at you with the purple lights in his irises which were sunken back into his skull. His lips parted before he took a deep breath, wheezing out dust and muck, coughing like a goose before he kicked the chapped skin and crawled closer to your feet. He only looked at you, staring before one gloved hand whipped out and snatched your ankle, holding it tightly in an iron grip.

“Bound to your bloodline again...” he growled, “Humiliating.” Before he pushed himself back and stood, swaying on his legs like a new-born deer as his balance came back to him. Having a head was a heavy burden.

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” You breathed as Alcott slammed the side of his head and beat dirt out of his ears.

“Of course, you don’t. None of you ever do. Now I’m bound here to you until the day you drop dead and rot. Why can you never let me die?” He growled in a worked-up fury, flinging his hands to the windows before he stalked to the door, his boots slamming against the wood. He swung it open, and his mount brayed in greeting, throwing its giant head back before it caught sight of you and snorted, bowing it’s neck like a graceful Swan.

 “You are all the same!” The horseman shouted before the moon was revealed, a cloud moving away from its white surface. He shuddered and you watched the skin on his face disappear with the muscle, revealing the purple lights in a bare, burning skull. As the cloud recovered the moon, the base of his neck flared with purple smoke and fire, revealing the scar where he was decapitated, and his face reappeared.

“I gave you your head back, Alcott!” You shouted after him.

The horseman shivered and turned back to you, looking at you with his haunting eyes, both hands gripping the pommel and stand of the saddle, “How do you know my name?” He whispered in questioning.

With a small breath, you locked your lips nervously and ducked back to the table, grabbing the little diary from you bag before you stood on your porch and held it out to the wraith, “Maria wrote about you.”

He growled and snatched at the book, and you let him take it with a painful smile, “I know the townspeople killed you. They betrayed you. I don’t know what happened to Maria.” You confessed.

Alcott opened the diary and flicked through it before he looked at the night sky, “She lived in mourning the rest of her life. They institutionalised her after they found her carrying my head, wailing through the town. She died, high on cocktails of medicines, with her head buried in the soft soil of a flower bed.”

 The revelation was something of a shock and you looked at the undead man in front of you with a bitter, pitying look.

“You watched her die, didn’t you?” You asked, barely above a whisper.

The horseman scoffed, “That was the curse after all. To terrorise the town for their betrayal. But not her. I used to try call to her from the window, but she never could bare to look at me. Eventually they gave her more cocktails and she stopped coming to the window all together.”

“Jesus Christ.” You cursed.

“Such foul language.” Alcott sneered as he snapped the diary shut in his gloved hand, “She died from the madness and grief. That is the fault of the town and its yet another reason to run into each of these homes and tear their heads from their bodies.” Alcott spat furiously. As fury overtook him you could see the white scarred seem of where his head had been replaced burning with smoke the purple fumes puffing from it like a new wound before his neck popped and cracked, sending his head to the left, hanging on by a thread of flesh to the other side. You let out a screech and clasped your mouth as the horseman gurgled and reached for his head, grasping it by the hair before he groaned and dragged it back into place, snapping the vertebrae back into place with a twist and a squelch of bloodied tissue. It cracked again quickly, and Alcott held the top of his hair tightly with a groan as the smoke poured from his mouth and his head twisted backwards like a ghoul, spinning on his neck before it snapped again and came free, rolling over the floor to your feet as a skull. The flesh and hair melted in waves of muck from its surface, and you shakily took hold of the skull again.

 The horseman stumbled left and right as he reached towards you for his head.

“MY HEAD, WITCH!” He howled at you, but you dashed back up the porch steps and held it protectively.

“You are under my command. Anything against my wishes is against our contract...so you lose your head. Do you hear me horseman?” You blagged, hoping you were right, “So there will be no killing.”

“Evil, corrupt creature. I'll hang you by your feet and bleed you from the neck!” Alcott threatened as fire and smoke poured from his throbbing trachea. The smoke puffed before he went sent to the floor in agony, the black oak behind him creaking and swaying left and right as though the roots were snaking towards him. Sure enough, the ground rumbled, and the black oak’s roots exploded from the ground, snagging the horseman by his wrists and ankles hoisting him into the air as the branches hissed and his mount, Mallor, brayed and screamed, blood spraying over the fence from the horses broken throat.

 It was a curse. You should have expected as much, but you shook as the tree cinched the man’s limbs, holding them tight before it pulled, making him scream in agony as his joints were pulled tight.

“Stop!” You screamed, and the tree stopped pulling, holding the horseman aloft still as it swayed and bent towards you, its branches touching your head as though trying to figure out who you were.

“He is mine.” You told the tree, “He will obey and submit to the laws of his contract.”

The tree groaned, it’s roots wiggling in the cold, hard earth for a moment before it dropped Alcott like a sack of grain and settled down quietly, smacking at the horse inching closer to its trunk.

Alcott touched at his neck as he rose, swaying as he cracked and snapped his joints back into place like a disjointed puppet.

“Are you going to play nice now?” You asked as the man wheezed in front of you. When he nodded you offered him his skull back and watched the skin and flesh cover its surface again before he snarled behind his curtain of overgrown hair, blackberry-coloured lights burning the void of his eyes.

“You truly are her kin if that disgusting thing listens to you.” He snapped as he headed for his horse and mounted the saddle with a quick bounce on one powerful leg, his thighs locking tight around the beast’s sides as it bucked and brayed. Alcott turned his horse and tipped his head with a wave of purple smoke and fire, “Call on me then, witch, and see what havoc I can wreak for you.” Alcott laughed bitterly as he turned Mallor onto the cobbled drive and rode onto the road, his face becoming bone and flesh intermittently as the clouds passed overhead.

“I’m not a witch!” You screamed after the horseman, but he was gone into the mist and the trees, unlikely to have heard you cursing against the stairs of the porch as you collapsed.

[smells-like-mettaton]

Rating: T (for inherent neutral ending angst)

Summary: Toriel's old house feels like a mausoleum. She will gladly ignore chisp crumbs and lumpy mattresses for a place that feels more like home.  (Queen Toriel ending fic for Soriel Week 2021.)

Word Count: 5211

XXX

The bedroom was exactly how she left it. Her bed pushed up against the gray wall. A book about snails on the wooden desk. A knit sweater with the embroidered words "Mrs. Mom Lady" in the wardrobe.

Even after all this time, she could barely look at it without her soul splitting in two.

She'd known this wouldn't be easy. She hadn't seen this house in over a century. Still, she wasn't prepared for how Asgore had sealed up her old room like a tomb, a photograph of the day that everything went terribly, horribly wrong.

At least the last child was safe. They should not have had to take a life to save their own, but she doubted Asgore had given them a choice.  Her own soul felt more numb than anything.  To her, Asgore had died a century ago.

What was done, was done. And as usual, she was too late to do anything but sweep up the dust.

She backed through the doorframe, shutting the door with a quiet click. She would have to return eventually, but for now, she yearned for a place with fewer painful memories.

"Hey, Your Majesty." A voice startled her as she attempted to escape the foyer. Luckily it was a voice she would always recognize.

"Hello, old friend." She turned and smiled at the monster leaning against the stair railing.

He was smaller than she expected, with that deep voice. Not that that was a bad thing. As for him being a skeleton, that had been apparent from the abundance of bone puns.

"You know the formality is unnecessary," she told him softly.

"Is it?" He shuffled from foot to slippered foot. 

In all her time of joking with him through the door, she had never expected him to be so cute. 

"Didn't want to assume, old lady."

He winked, and she felt a weight lift from her chest. At least one monster would still treat her like a person, and not like a mythical figure returned to save them.

"Toriel," she introduced herself for the first time. He had to have heard already, but between rushing to the palace, scattering Asgore's dust, comforting their—her people… she hadn't had time to seek out her friend.

He seemed to feel comfortable walking right into her home, though. Did he ever visit Asgore when he was here? Her friend seemed like the type of monster who went wherever he felt like, and Asgore, for all his flaws, had never turned a monster away from his home.

"Sans." He held out a bony hand. "Sans the skeleton."

"Nice to meet you, Sans," she tested out the name and clasped his hand with her paw.

A loud pthbbbbbt echoed through the empty hall. Her eyes widened.

"Wow, Toriel. That's, uh, some way to make an introduction." He winked.

She squinted down at the inflatable object in his hand, the source of the farting noise. Then she pretended to ignore it.

"It certainly is. I was not aware that skeletons were capable of flatulence."

His eyelights gutted for a moment before he burst out laughing.

"Your jokes are even better in person," he said once he composed himself.

His laugh set her soul fluttering. In all their conversations through the door, he'd never laughed like that. Maybe she should have tried fart jokes sooner.

"I am always happy to tickle your funny bone." She smiled, and his face tinged blue.

"Happy to be tickled. But, uh. I guess that's not all I'm here for?"

Her breath caught in her lungs. Of course he would not visit without a reason. 

"I suppose not. Would you like to have a seat?"

"It's nothing that serious," he assured her quickly. "I just thought you'd want an update on the kid."

"You've spoken with them? They are still here?"  She tried to keep the hysteria from her voice.

How could they have taken Asgore’s soul and not returned home?  Had the Barrier proven too powerful?

"No—geez, I'm making this sound worse." He ran a bony palm down his face. "They’re definitely gone.  Papyrus tried to call them nonstop.  Besides that, you know the big stuff. The king's dead."

Her lips drew to a thin line, pulling tight across her fangs.

"I can hardly fault them for that."

"Right." He stuck his hands back in his pockets. "I gotta be honest. The way the kid looked when I last saw them… I don't think they did it."

Her brow furrowed. She was inclined to hope that the child had not chosen violence.  They had been so sweet, so eager to talk and joke with the monsters of the Ruins, so quick to hug her even after she’d fought them.  It was hard to imagine them striking down Asgore.

"But… then what do you think happened?"

Sans shrugged. "Wish I knew. I kept watch best I could, but…"

"I could not expect you to come between them and your king." As much as she wished he could have. She had hardly expected him to agree to watch over the human at all.

“Couldn’t have even if I wanted to.  These bones aren’t as sturdy as they look.  Maybe I shoulda listened to my bro and drank more milk...” He grimaced and glanced away.  “Anyway.  Like I said, I don’t know what happened.  Just.  Be careful, okay?”

“Careful?” She blinked.

“Yeah.  You never know.” His gaze flickered to a potted golden flower on the end table next to the stairs.

“Sans.  If I did not know better, that would sound like a threat.” She crouched down, so she could better meet his eyesockets. “Is there something you are trying to tell me?”

“Man. First I rip one in front of a lady, then I threaten her.  I’m makin’ a great first impression.”  He rocked back and forth on his slippers. “Look. Toriel. I don’t wanna scare you, ‘specially since today must’ve been hard. Real hard.”

His eyelights bored into her irises. She found herself needing to look away.

“It has certainly been… interesting. Moreso than any day since I last saw this place.” She suppressed a shudder.

Change. Her life had been constant for so long.  There would be no more of that, now. Hopefully that would be for the better, but only time would tell.

“Yeah. Being flung away from everything you’re used to… don’t imagine that’s a cakewalk. Don’t want you to worry about freaks hiding in the shadows on top of that.”

Somehow, she felt he made more sense when he was on the other side of a door. Knock-knock jokes had a formula. Just another normalcy she had forfeited, she supposed.

“Please, Sans. If you believe I am in danger, you may say so.”

“Fine. So.” He grinned, and she couldn’t help a snort.

“Alright, I suppose I walked into that one.” She smiled, despite his warning. “Under normal circumstances, I would say I could handle myself. But I must admit you are more updated on the state of the kingdom than I.  Do you have any information that could help?”

“...Not really?” His grin turned sheepish.  “You look like a tough lady. I bet my bones are rattling over nothing.”

“I would still humer-us you.”

He gave her a funny look. “You’re actually taking me seriously?”

“Why would I not? You are my friend.  Perhaps… my only friend, at this point,” she admitted.  It would be foolish to ignore a warning, even if it was based on gut feeling. Or, whatever skeletons had in place of a gut.

“Well.  Uh.  If someone, something, was behind the king’s… yeah. If it wasn’t the kid, whoever else it was might still be around. So.” He coughed. “Sounds stupid when I say it like that, huh.”

“It does not.  I think it is sweet that you are worried.” He wouldn’t be able to see her blush, thankfully. It had been a long time since anyone had looked out for her.

“Geez, Toriel.” He rubbed the back of his skull. “You’re gonna ruin my reputation.”

“What reputation? Are you typically a monster with a heart of bone?” she teased.

“Nah. I just don’t worry. Too much work.”  It was difficult to tell if he was joking.  “Guess I can make an exception this once, though.”

“Why, thank you, my friend.”  She had the sudden urge to reach out and squeeze his hand.  It would be more for her own comfort than his, so she did not act on it. “To be honest, your words are a relief. I do not mind the excuse to avoid this place.”

“Oh.” He sounded surprised. “You got somewhere else you’d rather be?”

She both did, and did not. How could she explain without sounding like a clinging child?

...Perhaps that was the wrong metaphor. She would have preferred her children to be a little clingier.

“‘Cause, uh, if you don’t mind a bit of mess… my door’s always open.”

She blinked at the offer. Had he felt the thoughts stirring in her soul?

She didn’t want to be alone. Not again. And she had told him the truth: there were unlikely to be any other monsters she knew still around. Perhaps Gerson; she and Asgore had always joked that he would outlive them.

That joke seemed awfully morbid now.

“Sorry. Was that too forward? Our friendship’s built off closed doors; guess we should just take 'em one at a—"

"No," she interjected too forcefully. “No. I would love to visit your home.”

Though she had never set foot there, she already suspected it would feel more like a home than this place.

“You really—? Great.” His skull tinged the faintest blue. “Just, uh, know that it’s nothing fancy.”

Toriel smiled. “‘Nothing fancy’ sounds wonderful at the moment.”

Perhaps wherever he lived would be out of the way enough that news of her return would be delayed. If she could be lucky enough to pass for an ordinary monster… well, that was likely too much to wish for. It certainly wasn’t becoming of a queen to hide from her subjects.

Stars, there was so much to get used to. So many formalities to reacquaint herself with.  She hoped such things would wait until tomorrow.

Sans returned her smile.

“In that case, I know a shortcut.”

XXX

She handled the shortcut well for a first-timer. No stumbling on the other end, no complaints of nausea or dizziness. Of course, she was a Queen. A Boss Monster. Why would a magic trick ruin her composure?

Sans wanted to laugh. All this time, he'd been joking with the Queen. She didn't seem to mind, but she could just be “humerus”ing him.

...Nah. She had every excuse to ignore him if she really wanted to. Instead she'd actually taken him up on his offer.

He almost forgot to drop her hand once their feet landed in the soft snow. Heh. Who was he kidding? It was just nice to feel her fur under his fingers. To touch her, and know that she was real.

"Oh!" Her eyes lit up, reflecting the gyftmas lights strung haphazardly around the house's columns. "I remember this place!"

"You do?" Sans's browbone furrowed.

"I saw it while travelling from the Ruins to…" she trailed off.  To stop the kid from fighting Asgore.

Sans felt stupid for not trying to stop them himself.  Not that a kid that determined would’ve listened, anyway.  Still… he’d believed in them.  Hoped that by some miracle, they’d get ‘em out of this mess.

Heh. That was too much pressure to put on a kid, even a determined one.

"Yeah." He coughed quietly. "Guess we're hard to miss. Papyrus did something to the Gyftmas lights���even when the CORE lights go out for the night, ours stay on. Never figured out how he pulled that off."

Toriel laughed before seeming to realize something.

"I will get to meet your brother!" She clasped her hands together. "I wish it had not come about for such an unhappy reason, but I am excited nonetheless."

He chuckled. Her excitement was contagious. That was something she and Papyrus had in common already.

He pushed the door open, called out for his brother—and noticed the monster sprawled out on his couch.

"Oh." Sans blinked at Undyne, who was snoring so loudly, he should've heard it from outside. Guess he'd been a little distracted. "Uh. This is awkward."

"What is it?" Toriel hung back, her head ducking through the doorframe. "Is your brother sleeping? I would not wish to wake him. You said he rarely sleeps, did you not?"

"Nah, it's not him. Forgot his pal's house burned down. Actually, I'm sure you met her. Undyne? Captain of the Royal Guard?"

"I… yes, we met." Toriel edged inside, closing the door behind her with a soft click. "She looks far more peaceful now than she did this morning. From what I understand, my ex-husband was something of a father to her."

"Something like that." Sans nodded in agreement. There hadn't even been a Royal Guard until Asgore created the position for her. Sans wondered if Toriel would keep it around now that Asgore was gone.

Welp. It wouldn't hurt, what with his suspicions about Papyrus's friend "Flowery." 

(Maybe Sans should let Toriel sleep on the top floor rather than the couch anyway. No dirt for stray flowers to get into up there.)

"Should we be staring?" Toriel said with a soft chuckle.

Sans shook his thoughts away. "Sorry. Just thinking. I, uh…"

There wasn't room on the top floor. Sans's lumpy, crumb-dusted mattress was out of the question. That left only Papyrus's bed, which while rarely in use, had too much sentimental value to give to Toriel without asking. Where was Papyrus, anyway?

"Undyne!" His brother practically kicked in the door. "I have returned with nutritious—oh!"

Papyrus's sockets blinked at Toriel. Then at Sans. Then at Toriel again.

(Undyne let out another loud snore.)

"Sans?”  Papyrus dropped his groceries on the table next to the pet rock. “Why didn't you tell me we had another guest??"  

Because he was an idiot who hadn't planned past one impulsive offer. His face went a little blue.

"I guest you would figure it out," he managed to joke. 

Toriel let out a bleating laugh at that. The suddenness of it was enough to jolt Undyne awake.

"NGAHH!!" She tried to leap off the couch, but ended up rolling onto the floor. "I'm here, Asgore! I won't—oh."

Her single eye blinked up at Toriel. 

"Papyrus?" Undyne hissed through her teeth. "Why didn't you tell me the Queen was coming??"

"Because I didn't know!" Papyrus replied brightly. 

"I, uh, promise I'm usually more professional than this." Undyne summoned an energy spear and used it to push herself to her feet. The attack left a small char mark on the carpet. "I am at your service, Your Majesty."

Sans thought she looked real professional in a pair of Papyrus's MTT-brand crop top pajamas. Toriel didn't comment on that though, instead opting for a matronly smile.

"There is no need for that, Captain. I am not here on business, but as a friend."

That smile turned towards Sans, and he fought back a blush.

"Yeah. I was just gonna, uh, make some dinner. Y'know, welcome our queen back with some Snowdin hospitality."

"Dinner?" Papyrus squinted suspiciously. "You don't cook dinner. I cook dinner."

"First time for everything, right?" Sans winked to hide his embarrassment. 

Of course Papyrus wouldn't buy his excuse. But he really didn't want his brother and Undyne worrying on top of Toriel. Granted, it was Undyne's job to worry about security threats… but she'd tear up the house's foundation if she thought an enemy might be hiding anywhere in a five-mile radius. 

"Sans," Toriel chided him. "You do not owe me that."

"Wowie! You must be a great influence on him, Bald Asgore!"

Toriel blinked before bursting out laughing. Sans's grin widened. 

"Her name is Toriel, bro."

"Of course!! Where are my manners?" Papyrus bustled past him to shake Toriel's paws. "I am the Great Papyrus! It's an honor to meet you, Queen Toriel!"

"The honor is mine. Sans has told me so much about you," she said, and Papyrus blushed pink.

"You? Know the new queen?" Undyne whispered to Sans while Papyrus and Toriel got acquainted.

"You know me. I know everyone." He winked.

"She came out of nowhere."

"Yeah. My bro and I know what that's like."

Undyne huffed, but Sans didn't offer a more thorough explanation.

Papyrus's affronted shout signalled that Toriel had dropped her first pun.

"I take it back! This is the worst day of my life!!" 

Sans met Toriel's eyes, and they both laughed.

"I suppose I will have to help Sans in the kitchen as my pun-ishment," she said with a coy wink.

"Normally I would object to a guest cooking, but in this case I will make an exception!" Papyrus turned on his heel and grabbed Undyne's arm. "We will clean up the living room in the meantime! Try not to corrupt the queen any further, Sans!!"

"Wouldn't dream of it, bro."

He gave a quick wink to Toriel behind Papyrus's back, and they moved to the kitchen.

"Did I actually upset him…?" She asked once they were out of earshot.

"Nah. He's just dramatic like that. He'll drop three puns per sentence when he thinks I'm not listening."

He turned away, rummaging through the fridge for something edible they could cook.  Discreetly, he tucked his empty chisp bag behind Papyrus’s spaghetti-filled tupperware.

“Oh, good.  I would not want to make a bad first impression.”

“Pfft. You’d have to try real hard to do that, Tori.  My bro sees the best in everyone.”  He smiled and pulled a “pupperoni” pizza out of the freezer.  It wasn’t anything fancy, but at least it would be edible.

He turned around, pizza in hand, and found Toriel staring at him oddly.

“What?”  His sockets widened.  “Uh, you’re not vegetarian, are you?”

She shook her head quickly, her gaze skimming off of his like oil from water.

“Pizza sounds lovely.  It has been quite some time since I had one.”

Sans didn’t pry, but he couldn’t help wondering what her expression had meant.  Had he said something weird?

...Oh.  He’d called her Tori, hadn’t he?  He should know better than to use nicknames without asking.  Papyrus hated them.

“Please, allow me.”  She held out her paws, so she couldn’t be too upset.

He handed over the pizza, and he jumped when fire flared to life in her palms.  For a moment he thought the fire would scorch the pizza beyond recognition, but the flames were just pleasantly warm.  He’d never known a monster other than Grillby to have such careful control of fire magic.

“Heh.  I didn’t know you were so hot, Toriel.”

As soon as he said it, he clamped his jaw shut.  Geez, how stupid could he be?  Making bad jokes was one thing, but flirting with bad jokes?

The fire went out.  She looked up abruptly—er, looked away from the pizza.  He was still a good two feet shorter than her.

“Tori was fine,” she said, her voice soft.

“Uh,” he replied intelligently. 

She suppressed a giggle, and he was pretty sure his face burned hotter than her fire had.  He could stand to take notes from Alphys and throw himself in the trash.

“Or not.  Whatever is comfortable for you,” she reassured him.  “Now, should we eat dinner before it gets cold?”

Eating was hardly something he could screw up at.

“Sure,” then after a pause, he tested, “Tori.”

Forget her fire magic.  Her smile could’ve heated the pizza all on its own.

XXX

For once in a hundred years, dinner was a warm and energetic affair.  In addition to the pizza, Papyrus had tossed together a salad from his fresh groceries, and Sans had briefly stepped out to grab a few orders of wings and fries.  In the end there was plenty of food for four hungry monsters.

Papyrus apologized for the lack of seating, but Toriel didn’t mind sitting on the couch squeezed between Sans and Undyne, eating off of paper plates.  She couldn’t imagine anywhere she would have felt more comfortable.

Before long, though, the day’s fatigue caught up with her.  She supposed it was to be expected—she wouldn’t regain her social stamina all at once.  

Sans caught her eye, and he nodded towards the stairs as Undyne and Papyrus “owned” each other in an MTT-Brand fighting game.

“Sorry.  I know they can be a bit much.” Sans rubbed the back of his skull.  

“They’re lovely.  I wish I had the energy to keep up with them.”  She smiled.

He leaned against the banister, smiling down at them.  Papyrus had gotten the upper hand this time, and was punching the air with joy.

“Me too,” Sans said, still looking away.  “I was thinking.  If you want a place to rest for the night, my bed’s open.”

She blinked.  Her face seemed to catch fire.  That was rather more… forward than she was expecting.  Sure, she had enjoyed his lighthearted flirting, and much as she tried to deny it, feelings had been growing in her for a long time.  But to have him return those feelings? And so boldly? It was as unfathomable as it was unlikely.

“I can get ya some fresh sheets, and I’ll crash in the shed.  My bro set up an, uh, guest room there when the human was in town.”

Oh.  She rubbed the heat from her face while he wasn’t looking.  How foolish could she be, to think he would be implying…? Well.

“I would not force you out of your room,” she said.  “If your brother prepared a guest room, I am sure that would be adequate.”

He let out a quick laugh.  “Uh, you’re not used to my brother’s… decorating.  Seriously, I don’t mind.”

She sighed.  If he insisted, she supposed it would be rude to deny his hospitality.

“Alright.  Thank you very much, Sans.”

“Great.”  He smiled back at her, then went into his brother’s room.  She waited patiently, and only jumped a little when he suddenly reappeared from the right hand door.  Perhaps the two rooms were connected in the back by a bathroom.

“Hotel Sans, one vacancy.”  He winked while holding the door open.

She chuckled behind her hand.  “You really did not have to resort to this.”

“Heh, I wouldn’t call it much of a resort.  The bed’s not even queen sized.”  He rubbed the back of his skull.

The bed was smaller than she was used to, but it did have fresh sheets.  That was the only fresh thing about the room.  Chisp crumbs had been brushed under the dresser, and… that was a tornado.  A self-sustaining trash tornado.  Though at least there was a pine-scented air freshener suspended in it.

“Sorry, it’s… really not much.  Uh.  Probably kinda insulting, expecting the Queen to sleep—”

“It’s perfect.”

He blinked.  “Huh?” 

“I am no stranger to a few crumbs, Sans.”

She remembered days that bled into weeks that bled into months.  Months where she couldn’t bring herself to clean, could hardly bring herself to care at all.  Months that had grown fewer and farther between since she’d met a friendly voice behind a door.

“I would’ve vacuumed,” he said sheepishly, “but I suck at it.”

More embarrassingly loud laughter burst from her.  In front of Sans, though, she didn’t feel the need to curtail her joy.

“Thank you.” She poured as much sincerity as she could into her voice.  

“‘S no problem, Tori.”  A light blue tinge warmed his cheekbones.  How could he possibly look so adorable? “Bathroom’s down the hall if you wanna wash up or anything.  And Undyne’ll be on the couch, so this is probably the safest place in the Underground right now.”

Her brow furrowed.  Sure enough, there was no bathroom door inside the room—he must have used one of his “shortcuts” to move from his brother’s room to here.

“So, uh.  I’ll be in the shed—uh, guest room if you need me.”  He flashed one more tense grin before turning to leave.

“Wait.” She stepped towards him without thinking.  

He looked up, one brow ridge raised.  She found herself biting her lip, wondering if she dared ask what her soul wanted.  It was silly, really.  She’d been on her own for years, decades.

Maybe that was why she was so hesitant to lose this one taste of companionship.

“I would feel… safer, if you would stay too.”  Her face burned beneath her fur, but she projected her usual composure.

“...Welp. Can’t say no to that, huh?”

She was about to reassure him that he could say no—that she was asking as his friend, not as his queen—but the soft smile on his face told her he already knew.  

He briefly left to grab a few things, then returned with a few pillows and, for some reason, a dog bed.

“You are not going to sleep on that,” she said in disbelief.

He flopped the dog bed in the middle of the floor and started fluffing it.  “Why not?  Gotta throw a dog bed a bone, right?”

“Sans.”  

The outdoor lights dimmed, as if at her command.  Only the colored Gyftmas lights outside and one dim indoor bulb lit the room.

Her confidence waned with the light.  What had she expected him to do?  She’d asked him to stay.  Unless she wanted to…

Oh, to hell with it.  She was too old to be so shy about these things.

“If you are not opposed,” she swallowed, “we could… share this mattress.”

When he looked up, she couldn’t make out his eyelights at all.  Their glow returned slowly, like the rising of the sun from her memories.

“Heh… you sure?  You don’t even know if I snore.”

She laughed and sat on the bed, patting the space beside her.  “You do not know if I snore, either.”

“Fair enough, Tori.”

They took turns cleaning up in the bathroom—she was imposing on Sans enough without adding the smell of dirty fur to his bed.  Then she did her best to ignore the flutterings in her soul as he slipped off his hoodie and climbed up onto the mattress.  She insisted he stay under the sheets; her fur would keep her warm enough with just the light blanket on top.  

The sheets were a barrier in name only.  There was only so much space on the mattress, so no matter how he adjusted and apologized, she could still feel the curve of his spine against hers.

It felt amazing.  It felt terrifying.  It felt like a mistake.  It felt like the only thing she’d ever done right.

The one saving grace of the whole situation was that it didn’t stir memories of Asgore.  Her royal beds had been triple the size of Sans’s lumpy mattress. She and her ex-husband had rarely slept back to back, and if they had, the feeling would have much different.

“...Tori?” Sans’s voice was just above a whisper.  “You, uh, still awake?”

As if she could sleep while enduring the wonderful agony of friendly touch for the first time in a century.

“Yes,” she replied softly.  “Am I taking up too much space?”

“No, ‘course not. I was just, uh… geez.” He sounded embarrassed.

Risking their precarious balance, she rolled over to face him.  Or to face the back of his skull, at least.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“Doin’ sans-sational.” He chuckled to himself.  “Sorry.  Never got to use that one with you before.”

She would have laughed, had she not worried about shaking the whole mattress.

“It was sans-tastic,” she joked back, and he laughed again.

Then abruptly, his laughter cut off.

“Thanks, Tori,” he said in a quiet but firm voice.

“What for?” She wished she could take his hand, see his face, learn what thoughts were passing through his skull.  Instead she gave him as much space as physically possible… which still was not much.

A long, silent moment passed.  Had he fallen asleep?

“I know it’s not how you wanted,” he finally said, “but I’m glad I got to meet you.  So.  Thanks.”

Warmth spread outward from her soul to fill her whole body.  Sans could probably feel it radiating from her.

“Thank you, Sans.  If I had to return, knowing no one…”

He rolled to face her.  His eyelights were mere inches from her pupils.

“You would’ve been fine.  All you had to do was tell a few of your amazing jokes, and the whole Underground would’ve been linin’ up to be your pals.”

She suppressed a laugh.  “I hardly think that would be appropriate, under the circumstances.”

“Eh.”  He shrugged.  “Plenty of monsters in town cope with jokes.  You’d just be relating to the common folk.”

She stared into his sockets a little too intently.  At this distance, it easily made her dizzy.

“Would you be included in that demographic?” she couldn’t help asking.

“When I first met you?  For sure.” His gaze darted away.  “But it’s crazy.  Between you and the kid… I’m startin’ to think there’s more to life than good food and bad laughs.”

“Really?”  She and the child had made such an impact on him?

“I know.  Don’t tell Papyrus.  He wouldn’t believe you, anyway.” He winked.

“My lips are sealed.” She smiled.

Silence hung between them.  It should have felt awkward, but she couldn’t bring herself to turn away.  In the end it was Sans who yawned in her face and then hurriedly flipped back onto his other side.

She laughed, and clearly she was exhausted too, because she pressed a kiss to the back of his skull without thinking.

He froze.  She froze.  There was no way to play that off gracefully.  And there was no way she could fall asleep and pretend that it had not happened.

“Heh… those didn’t feel very sealed to me,” he finally rasped out.

It took her a moment to process what he meant.  Meanwhile her embarrassment only burned hotter.

“I am so sorry—”

“I’m not.” When he rolled back to face her, his face was bright blue.  “You’ll still be here when I wake up, right?”

His question was tinged with desperation.

“Of course,” she answered automatically, despite the many responsibilities that she would have to attend to in the morning.  She was the Queen once more.  If she had to, she could adjust the schedule of meetings and speeches to accommodate… this.

Whatever this was to be.

“Remind me in the morning,” he squeezed her hand, “that this is real.”

His hand quickly went limp.  She was worried for a moment, before she heard the faint snore escape his nasal cavity.

She gave him a fond smile, and allowed her own eyes to close.  She did not know if sleep would come or not.  She did not know what challenges the new day would bring, or what old challenges would continue to rear their heads.

But she did know that she was not alone.  For tonight, that was enough.

[phykios]

Ain’t No Sunshine, modern royalty, 1970s au [read on ao3] thank you as always to my darling @darkmagyk for taking a true story off the rails

May 3rd, 1979. The date seemed to jump off the page, the loud, bold text almost mocking her. 

Not that she was keeping track, but it was just about four years to the day.

She’d woken up this morning, feeling kind of off, wandering around her apartment in a daze as she hustled her children out the door for daycare, losing time on her bus commute to work. It wasn’t until lunch, as she took the time to go through her day planner, that she realized: four years ago was when she had last seen Percy Jackson.

Though why Annabeth was thinking about him right this second was anyone’s guess.

Oh, sure, she’d thought about him a lot all throughout her pregnancy--thought about him, cursed his name, dreamed of strangling him for leaving her alone with these two absolute terrors--but as the years had gone by, and she had lost all hope of ever making contact with him again, he’d sort of fallen by the wayside of her thoughts. Something must have been going on with the navy mail system, because absolutely none of the letters or postcards she’d sent had ever been received, and she couldn’t reach out to Sally, since Annabeth had lost her address as well. 

There was always the possibility that he… well, that he wasn’t around to receive letters anymore. But she tried not to think about it. 

She tried her best not to think about him at all, these days.

Today, however, her childhood best friend turned US navy midshipman had popped up on her internal radar, and had just decided to take up residence in her brain. Her normally mind-numbing job couldn’t even properly distract her, and she spent all afternoon daydreaming about his messy, perpetually windswept hair, and his toothy, contagious smile, and his gorgeous green eyes like she was some kind of pathetic, lovestruck teenager, obsessing over her rockstar crush. Taking calls, scheduling appointments, and dodging the creepy advances of the assistant CFO were slightly more palatable if she had something pleasant to think about. 

Old-fashioned romance was for suckers, anyway. Who needed it? 

At least it was Friday. Fridays were KFC days, and she really did not need to accidentally burn dinner today. Again.

She hated it, but her kids loved it. God knows they could barely stomach whatever she usually attempted.

She sent them to bed early-ish, and settled down in front of the TV with a glass of wine. She didn’t usually indulge, but she had had such a weird day, she felt she deserved it. 

Taking a long, long sip, she could no longer deny it: she really fucking missed Percy.

She missed him like she’d miss a missing limb, and it was all the more cruel because she’d lost him once, and miraculously found him again, on that fateful trip home from Athens. A military brat stuck at the American naval base in Spain to save money, waiting for a spare seat to open up on a plane so she could go home, by the sheer force of luck, she’d practically tripped and fallen into the lap of her childhood best friend. 

And then she did trip into his lap. And then into his bed. And stupid, stupid, Annabeth, she’d always been so bad with her birth control.

Her little boy, he had blond hair, but sometimes he would look at her, or laugh at something, or drool in his sleep just like his daddy, and Annabeth thought she might just fucking die from it.

She loved her children, of course, how could she not? But she wasn’t about to deny it--sometimes, alone in parenthood, juggling dishes and laundry and schoolwork and life, she felt like she was drowning.

Sharp, piercing, the doorbell rang, knocking her out of her reverie. A little tipsy, still in her rumpled work clothes, she set the glass aside, and made her way to the door. “Mr. D,” she said, opening it, prepared speech all ready to go, “I told you, I’d have the rent for you by--”

She stopped, blinking, speechless. It was not Mr. D.

“Hey,” said the man outside her door. The ghost from another world that she had, apparently, conjured with her thoughts.

“...Hey.”

He smiled, a little strained, the light of the streetlamps casting harsh shadows on his face. “It’s good to see you.” 

“How did you know where I lived?” It was, perhaps, not the most elegant thing to say, but she hadn’t exactly planned for what would happen when Percy Jackson, love of her life, father of her children, long-lost best friend wandered back into her life.

“Can I come in? Maybe for a Coke or something?” he asked, not answering her question. 

She almost wanted to say no. For every letter never returned, for every month gone by without a word, for every day spent raising their children without him, not knowing if he was alive or dead--she almost said no. 

But this was Percy. She could spare him a Coca Cola at least. “Sure,” she said, leaning away, “come on.”

“Great,” he said, and this time, his smile was all real. 

So focused had she been on him, she hadn’t even clocked the older man who stood behind him. “Sir,” said the other man, with the air of a beleaguered secretary--and Annabeth would know, “I really must advise--”

“I’ll just be a minute,” said Percy, not even bothering to look back at him, pushing past Annabeth’s half-extended arm.

“But, sir, your father--”

Percy let the door shut in his face.

Annabeth raised an eyebrow. “Harsh.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, well… I’ll make it up to him later.”

“Who is he?”

But Percy didn’t answer. “Nice place you got here.”

He was being nice, of course. It was a craphole apartment in a craphole side of town--but the rent was cheap and the bus was convenient, and she only felt the slightest bit of shame as she led him to the craphole couch, handing him a coke from her craphole fridge. Christ, his suit looked like it cost more than her TV.

“Is your… husband home?” he asked, delicate.

“My what?”

“Your husband. I saw, um…” Embarrassed, he flicked his eyes to the ring on her left hand. 

“Oh, this? It’s--it’s not--” Hastily, clumsily, she fumbles it off, pulling around the knuckle. “I’m not--I’m not.”

He blinked. “Oh.”

“Yeah, I just--it’s to ward off creepy guys, right? Like, they won’t take no for an answer unless they think they’ll have to deal with an angry husband, so I just…” 

In her more pathetic moments, she pretended that it had been given to her by the man before her. She had picked something small and simple, something that she thought he might have gone with, and pretended he had slipped it into her pocket the day she left the naval base. 

“That’s--cool. That’s great, I mean. I mean, that’s--”

“What do you want, Percy?”

Not at all bothered by the shortness of her tone, he sighed, closing his eyes. “I have a… personal question I need to ask you. And I’m sorry to bother you with this, I just--I have to ask.”

Ominous. “Okay?”

“Did we…” He sighed again, mouth twisting. “Did you, as a result of our repeated sexual encounters four years ago, happen to have any children by me?”

He just rattled it off, as if it was something he’d said over and over and over again, tired of receiving the same answer, but never expecting anything different.

“Excuse me?”

“I know, I know, it’s an extremely rude question, and I know I have no right to ask you, especially since it’s been so long, but I swear, there’s a reason I--”

“Did you never get any of the letters I sent you?”

At that, his head shot up. The look in his eyes could only be described as ‘terror.’ “What?”

“I must have sent you half a dozen,” she said, crossing to the kitchen, the wine making her a little bit short. She had, in fact, sent him eight letters, with pictures, and never received a single response, but since he seemed genuinely lost, she decided not to tell him. Plucking the most recent photo down from the fridge, she returned to the man in her living room, his knuckles white around the can. 

Standing before him, she handed him the photograph. He took it, fingers shaking. “We… you…” 

“Percy Jackson,” she said, like she was introducing him to someone at a party, “meet your children.”

Even after they had just been born, Annabeth had seen how obviously they were his. Only their daughter had the same messy black hair, both both had the same long, straight nose, the same intense, brooding brow as their father--and when her son smiled, or her daughter laughed, it was hard not to see the shades of Percy so strongly in them. It was hard to see them, too. 

Percy’s mouth was trembling. His eyes were wide, glassy, fixed on the photo. “My--” he swallowed. “What--what are their names?”

“Alexander,” she said, softly, “and Anne--”

“Annemarie,” he breathed. “Alexander and Annemarie.” He looked up at her, his eyes shining. “You remembered?”

Of course she remembered. Two lonely kids, she and Percy had spent so much of their childhood together, playing house, building their perfect family, even if only in their imagination. Alexander for his mother’s cousin, and Annemarie because he had wanted to name their  daughter Annabeth, and she wouldn’t let him. Twenty years later, alone and in pain, holding her newborn children and alternately cursing the man who made them and desperately wishing he were with her, Annabeth had known that they could only have one set of names, even if their father might never meet them. 

His face crumpled. He dropped his head into his hand, and groaned, like someone had pressed on an open wound. 

“Percy!” Annabeth sat down next to him, one hand on his shoulder, the other on his leg. Four years later and it still felt so natural to touch him like this. “Are you okay?”

Nodding, he grunted. “Yeah,” he croaked, voice hoarse, “I’m okay. I’m fine. I just--” And then he shuddered, a hand coming up to scrub at his eyes. 

He was crying, she realized suddenly. Annabeth used to be the one that cried. She could count on one hand how many times she’d seen him cry. He hadn’t even cried when she had finally left the naval base. 

Taking a shaking breath, he wiped his nose on the sleeve of his expensive suit. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, shattered. “I didn’t--I never--if I had known, I swear, I would have left the navy. I would have come home.”

The silent, unspoken “to you” echoed in the dead air of her apartment. “Why didn’t you?” she asked, quietly.

They held each other’s eyes, an eternity passing in a heartbeat. Neither wanted to break the sacred silence, to bring words into the crystalline moment that hung in the balance between them. 

“I never got your letters,” he said, tears in his eyes. “I… after you--left, I…” he sighed, aching. “I… got hurt. Bad.” 

Annabeth couldn’t breathe. 

“And,” he huffed a laugh, wet and messy, “and then I met my father. Can you believe it?”

Her eyes bugged out of her head. “You what?”

He nodded.

“He’s alive?” 

Sally rarely spoke of him, and Percy had always refused to. Annabeth had just assumed he had died, years and years and years ago. 

Percy laughed again, humorless. “He’s the king of Thera.”

Her jaw dropped. “He…”

“Yeah.”

“Are you shitting me?”

Shaking his head, he smiled, rueful. “I wish.”

Words from a half-remembered newscast floated through her mind. Alexander and Annemarie had been right terrors that night, and she had only been half-listening as the reporter informed the world that Triton, hereditary prince of Thera, had died, killed in military action. “He… found you?”

Percy nodded, miserable. “He told me--asked--told me to--to find anyone I might have…” And then he swallowed, tears in his eyes again, real, glistening tears. “And I am so, so sorry, I know--I know your job is here, and your whole life, and the children, but I--”

She took his hand in hers, squeezing gently so he didn’t fly away. “It’s okay,” she said. “Just say it.”

“I’m supposed to--I’m supposed to… if you would… come with me,” he trailed off, suddenly shy. 

For the second time tonight, she felt like she’d been hit with a sledgehammer. “...What?”

“He… my father… the king wants--needs heirs. He… he asked for a list of women, and I… gave him your name.” Stomach hot, Annabeth wished she had the courage to know about the other women on that list. Or to ask  why Percy, young and handsome as he’d been at both twelve and twenty, wasn’t out there making some new ones himself. Why was he chasing down old leads? Why was he chasing down Chase bastards? “You’d--you’d live in the castle,” he said, like he was trying to sell her on it, though she could tell his heart wasn’t really in it, “and we, well, we’d technically have to get married, but that doesn’t need to be a big deal. You’d get your own rooms. You can set them up however you want. And you’d have a personal staff, a stipend, and the kids would get private teachers, and--”

“Staff?”

He blinked, caught off guard. “Yes?”

Staff. Someone to do the laundry and clean the dishes. Someone to cook dinner and look after the house. Someone to help. Someone to do all the parental things that she just could not do, not by herself. Not without him. 

“I know I have no right to ask this of you,” he said, squeezing her hand. His hand was just as big as she remembered, and just as warm. “And I would never, ever force you to do anything that you wouldn’t want to--”

“Yes,” she said, interrupting him. 

He blinked, dumbly. “What?”

“Yes. I’ll come with you. We all will.”

“...Oh. Uh, great. That’s--that’s good. Are you sure?” He looked like a lost little dolphin, eyes huge and uncertain, and then, Annabeth did the one thing that she’d been desperately wanting to do for the last four years. 

She pulled his face to hers, and she kissed him. Shocked, he stiffened, almost pulling away--before relaxing into her, cupping her face in his big, warm hand. Eyes closed, they leaned their heads against each other, sharing air once more for the first time in years. She had lost him twice already: once as a child, when her father had decided to move her across the country, and once as a lovestruck college girl, when she had to leave the naval base, four years ago. She wasn’t about to lose him for a third time. 

And for the first time in forever, she no longer felt like she was drowning.

[mosswillow]

Come back (Dark!Steve Rogers x Reader)

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: Dark! 18+, stalking, cults, kidnapping, blood, drugging, bondage.

Summary: Your father's death brings you back to your childhood home and the cult you grew up in. You just need a few days to pack things up before selling the place and leaving forever.

A/N This is for @tansypoisoning​ spooky challenge. I picked the words nostalgia and ritual as a prompt. It’s supposed to have a horror element. I was going for more of a suspenseful/creepy vibe.

It’s been eight years since you left. You walked away and never looked back, at least not until you got the call that your father had passed away in his sleep. His only possession, the small cabin you grew up in, was willed to you. So now you stand outside the cabin, suitcase in hand, taking deep breaths before opening the door and walking in. You look around the one room cabin, taking it all in. you’re surprised to feel nostalgia creep into your bones. A blanket on the couch reminds you of forts you used to build. The smell of the forest brings back memories of climbing trees and picking wild fruit. You notice a knife sitting on the kitchen counter and imagine your father whittling figures out of wood. You look back on your childhood with mixed emotions. It was a cult, plain and simple. Leaving was the hardest thing you ever did but it was necessary. You feel happy and free now. You’ve made new friends and family. You’ve gotten an education, a job. You’ve fallen in and out of love multiple times. You’ve lived life to the fullest. So looking around now and feeling loss is both unexpected and unwelcome.

“Y/N?”

A voice brings you out of your head. You look over to see a mountain of a man standing in the doorway. The last time you saw him was right before you left. The cult had told you that you and him were chosen to marry. It’s not that you hadn’t liked Steve or anything, you just couldn’t do it. You had made friends in the city who had helped you get out. They introduced you to the internet and taught you that there’s more to the world than the little community in the woods. You were to marry him as soon as you turned eighteen but instead you left without a word.

Steve stares at you with an intensity you’ve never seen before. His eyes travel down your body, stopping at your breasts for a few seconds. You cover them by crossing your arms and force yourself not to step back. You don’t owe him anything and shouldn’t feel intimidated by his presence.

“You look good Steve.”

“So do you.”

The two of you stand in silence for several moments longer than is comfortable.

“What are you doing here Steve?”

“Come back Y/N.”

Steve cuts in without interlude, his voice strong and commanding. You close your eyes and brace yourself. He’s always been like this, all of the men you grew up with had the same attitude, Stubborn and assertive. You had hoped you wouldn’t see Steve because you knew exactly what his reaction would be, that he would aggressively try to make you stay.

People in the cult can’t remarry. They have the belief that soulmates exist and once yours is picked that’s it. When you left you were condemning Steve to a lifetime alone. The price of your freedom was Steve's. He would not be allowed to rise in the cult without being married, would never have children or have what the cult deems is a fulfilled life. You remind yourself again that you don’t owe Steve anything. He can leave just like you did.  

“No.”

you make your voice sound as strong as you can. you were taught from childhood that women are supposed to be submissive and docile. It comes back now in full force, pushing you down like an invisible hand. You’re a boss now, having worked hard to create the life you have. You’re strong and confident but here, under the watch of Steve's cold blue eyes you feel like a child.

A look of apathy moves across Steve's face before his expression lands in a controlled smile.  Your body language wavers and you take a step back. Steve smirks at you, leaning against the doorframe.

“How long are you staying?”

“Just a few days, I’m just going through some stuff before I sell the place.”

Steve nods and places his hand on his chin, scratching the stubble that surrounds his jaw.

“Stay safe Y/N”

With that he leaves, shutting the door softly behind him. You walk to the window and look out to see a group of cult members dressed in white cloaks surrounding the cabin, half hidden in the woods. They just stand there, unmoving like zombies. You shudder and close the blinds, locking the door quickly. You need to get out of this place as soon as possible.

---

That evening you hear a knock on your door. You walk to the window and peak out. Nobody is there. You open your door and find a dead rat. A steak knife punctures through the eyeball into its head. You gasp and close the door quickly, locking it and stepping back. You check every window to make sure they’re all locked and look out at the woods only to see darkness.

After the sun rises you open your door and run to your car. It won’t start. You curse, returning to the cabin and grabbing your cell phone. There’s no reception and you curse again. You had reception yesterday. A knock makes you jump and you see Steve in the doorway, eyebrows knitted in concern. You could have sworn you had locked the door when you came back in.

“You ok doll?”

You always hated when he called you that.

“My car won’t start and my phone doesn’t have reception.”

“You want a ride to town?”

You eye Steve wearily.

“Do you think I’m going to kidnap you or something? I could do that right now if that’s what I wanted to do.”

He looks at you like he might pounce at any second. You can tell that’s exactly what he wants to do and the thought of him kidnapping you makes you want to lock yourself away. You’re in a tight spot though and don’t know what else to do.

“Ok, thanks Steve.”

You get in Steve’s truck and he drives you to a mechanic. He puts his right arm on the back of your seat casually, brushing his hand over your hair. the action is purposeful and you both know it.

“Did the cult, uh, leave a dead rat on my doorstep?”

Steve scrunches his face in disgust.

“Um, no we didn’t.”

You look out the window, not totally convinced Steve is telling the truth but also not sure that he’s lying. You never experienced any of the cults rituals as only married adults were allowed to do them. You have no idea if the dead rat is a cult thing or not but can’t really think of any other reason for the events of the evening prior.

You park at the mechanics and get out. It looks the same as when you were a kid. you remember running around playing hide and seek with other children in the woods nearby, coming over for a soda after an afternoon of playing.

“Y/N, long time no see.”

You smile sweetly at the mechanic, Mr. Stark.

“My car isn’t starting and I need to leave tonight.”

“Soonest I can come look at it is tomorrow sweetheart.”

You shift uncomfortably on your feet but nod. One more night won’t hurt. Steve drives you back to your cabin and walks you to the door. He leans over, placing his shoulder beside the door and looking at you. You refuse to make eye contact and unlock the door, opening it and walking in.

“Thanks for the ride.” you say, shutting the door and locking it.

“I’ll see you later.” Steve yells through the door. You hear him whistling as he walks to his truck and you watch though the window as he drives away.

---

That evening you sit at the kitchen table, hugging your knees and biting your nails. As soon as you hear any noise you stand up and open the front door confidently.

“Go away!” You yell to the empty yard.

You slam the door and lock it, moving to the window to look out. Shadows move through the woods but you can’t make out any defined shapes.

You find a baseball bat in the closet and check all of the doors and windows once more before getting in bed. You fall asleep cuddling the bat.

Half way through the night you hear whispering outside your window. It doesn’t sound like talking, more like chanting. You clutch onto the bat and sit up in bed waiting. There’s rustling outside and then suddenly banging on all sides of the cabin. You cry, holding onto the bat for dear life like it can save you. The banging stops as suddenly as it started and the cabin becomes eerily quiet. You run to the window and pull the curtain back but nothing’s there. The rest of the night is spent awake and shaking. You’re not sure if they’re just trying to scare you or do something more nefarious. You’re not going to wait to find out. Tomorrow you’re leaving and never coming back, if you stay here any longer you may never leave again.

---

Mr. Stark drives up around noon and you meet him outside. He takes a look at your car and you sit on the porch watching.

“I need to order a special part.” He yells and you walk to him.

“I can’t stay here any longer.”

“It’ll be in tomorrow and I’ll come as soon as I can.”

You’re stuck. Panic starts rising in you but you push it down. One more night. As soon as your car is fixed you’re getting in and leaving. You don’t care anymore about finishing work on the cabin. You’ll sell it as it, heck give it away. You’re sure the cult will take it.

Mr. Stark gets in his truck and drives away. You spend the rest of the evening working in the cabin, sorting and boxing things. You’re just trying to pass time by at this point and not actually trying to finish everything you originally wanted to.

You check all of the windows and doors obsessively. They’re always locked but that voice in your head tells you to check again and again. As the sun sets, your anxiety rises, finally falling asleep out of pure exhaustion.

“Y/N”

You jolt awake to find Steve standing over your bed.

“What the fuck are you doing here Steve?”

“I won’t tolerate that language once we’re married.”

“Get out!”

“It’s our wedding night Doll.”

Steve reaches out to grab your arm and you pull away, falling out of the bed and scrambling up. Steve looks like a monster in the dark. His tall frame blocks the light coming from the window, blurring most of his features. The only thing you see aside from his outline are his eyes. They glow in the dark, ethereal and terrifying. You run past him and out the door. The woods are familiar, having played in them all growing up and you take a well worn path. You hear Steve calling after you.

“You can’t fight this. We’re soulmates.”

You keep running and crouch down behind a fallen tree. You peak your head over to look back toward the house and see a white figure walking towards you. You stand again and run only to see another ghost like person. Every time you turn in another direction someone is there, walking slowly towards you. You’re surrounded and soon you’re standing in the middle of a circle of people, dressed in white cloaks. You kneel down, tears streaming down your face. Steve breaks the circle and walks toward you, needle in his hand. He sticks it into you and your eye’s flutter before closing.

---

When you wake up you’re strapped to a large stone slab. Memories come back of being told over and over never to touch it, never come near it. It feels wrong to be strapped onto it now and you wiggle trying to get away.  you look down and see that you’re wearing matching clothing to everyone else. How long have you been out? It’s dark outside so you assume it’s the same night. Everything is fuzzy and you look around at the people’s unintelligible faces.

“Steve, do you promise to love, to care for, and to control Y/N” You recognize the voice as an elder of the cult.

“I do.” Steve speaks clearly and you perceive a hint of pride in his speech, like he knows he’s won.

The elder brings a knife to your hand, making a small cut, doing the same to Steve. Your head becomes more and more clear and you pull on the restraints.

“You may kiss your bride.”

“No!” You yell before Steve’s lips cover yours.

When he finally pulls away you yell at him again.

“Leave me the fuck alone Steve, you have no right.”

Steve ignores your cries, undoing your restraints. You try to fight against him but he leans over and whispers in your ear.

“It’s done Y/N, your mine. Do you really want me to punish you now in front of all these people? You know I will.”

You still long enough for him to carry you to his cabin. You’ve never been here before, have never wanted to be here.  He sets you on the bed and you back into the headboard.

“Let me go Steve.”

“It’s done now Doll, you can’t leave ever. I own you.”

“You don’t own me Steve, none of it is real. It’s a cult. I’ll run away the first moment I can.”

Steve's eyes darken and he stalks toward you. You roll off the bed and try to run making it out the door but  fall as soon as you hit the treeline. It feels like something is stabbing your chest and you cry out in pain. Steve slowly walks toward you, letting out a displeased sigh before picking you up. The pain disappears as soon as you’re in his arms.

“It’s ok doll, You’ve just gotten false teachings in your head but you’ve been brought back to me like it’s always meant to be. I’m here to help you learn your place. Soon you won’t even be thinking about leaving.”

“This can’t be happening.”

Steve gives you a look of pure joy.

“Oh, trust me it is.”

[endlessly-rambling]

The Twins From New York: Chapter Two

September 29, 1985

6:30 am

The sun was threatening to break through the sky. Soft hues of orange and yellow bled through the darkness of the night sky. Rose awoke to the sound birds singing outside her window.  She sighed. As much as she wanted to stay in her warm bed and sleep, she knew she’d feel guilty if she strayed from her routine. Since she was 11 years old, she and her father would wake up and go for a run first thing each morning. ‘To appreciate each day’, he would always tell her. While everyone was still sleeping, she was embracing the early hours of a new day.

Rose slipped on a pair of running shorts and a sweatshirt before grabbing her sneakers. She shuddered as she stepped out of the house. It was a cool 47 degrees. Even if her father no longer ran with her, it was a way for her to clear her mind. Though today was a brisk day, the chill of the wind motivates her to run.

Thirty minutes later, Rose returned home. The Sun was shining bright in the sky, and the chill from earlier had turned into a soft warmth.

Time for the day to start.

-

Quinn stretched as she woke up to the sound of a lawn mower outside. Ugh, Dad. She groaned as she rolled over to check the time. 11:00. Might as well get up. Eddie had invited Quinn to watch band practice today in an hour or so and she wanted to look somewhat presentable. Rolling out of bed, she slipped on her bathrobe and headed to the kitchen. Rose sat at the table, reading while an English muffin sat on a plate getting cold. Quinn poured herself a cup of coffee and strolled over to the table.

“So when did you get in last night?” Rose questioned as Quinn sat down, not looking up from her book.

“A little after midnight.” Quinn mumbled quickly.

“Oh,” Rose closed her book and looked up at her sister, thoroughly intrigued. “So you and Eddie had a lot to go over, huh?” She teased.

Quinn felt her cheeks getting hot as she thought back about the night before. “Okay so maybe we did a little more than just going over a couple things.”

“Please tell.” Rose chuckled, watching Quinn’s gaze drift into the distance.

“Well, we ended up going back to his car to smoke and let’s just say Eddie’s a pretty decent kisser.” Quinn looked down as she was full on blushing now. What a night.

“I saw the way you two were looking at each other at Hellfire. Damn. Good for you, girl.” Quinn noticed the vacant, longing expression on her sister’s face.

“What about you and Gareth? He seemed to be eyeing you.” Quinn asked. Rose scoffed.

“What? Gareth? I don’t think so. He was just being nice because we’re new. Probably just wanted to make sure I felt included or something.” She secretly hoped what she was saying wasn’t true, but she didn’t want to get her own hopes up.

Quinn shrugged, rising out of her seat. “I have to get ready. Eddie will probably be here around noon.”

-

The girl’s went their separate ways and both began to get ready for their day. Today was Rose’s first day of work. Shortly after arriving in Hawkins, Dustin had introduced the twins to a couple of his friends. One friend being Steve Harrington. Steve seemed to really enjoy being around Rose and they spent quite a bit of time talking when they first met. She had been talking about wanting to save up some money so she could move out when she turned eighteen. It was almost as if the universe was listening in on them. Steve told her that Family Video was hiring and he could see if she could start the following week.

She was always so nervous about starting at a new job. She felt especially nervous today though. Steve had offered to pick her up and go over a few things so she would be a little more prepared for her first day. Steve. He wasn’t typically her type, but for some reason she couldn’t help but feel some type of way when she thought about him. Maybe it was the fact that he was a little older, more independent, or maybe it was how he was so good with the younger kids and acted goofy with them. God. She let out an exasperated huff as she tried to push the thought away and focus on getting ready.

Quinn was in her room, sitting on the edge of her bed fiddling with her rings. She too was nervous. What if last night wasn’t real? They had been smoking. What if he just kissed her because he was high? What if she was just someone new for him to get his hands on? Ugh. What if he acts differently now that they’ve kissed? She felt a pit in her stomach as the thoughts kept coming and coming. She sighed, looking herself over in the mirror one more time. Whatever happens, happens. A knock at the door snapped her from her thoughts. Shit.

-

Standing at the door was Eddie, waiting with a smile on his face. Quinn had quickly run down the stairs to the door before her parents could answer it.

“Hey!” Quinn said quickly, and a bit louder than she meant. ‘Great job not looking too eager’ she thought.

“Hey back at you.” Eddie said with a slight chuckle, his curls dancing in his face from the wind.

She glanced past him at the driveway. His van wasn’t there.

“Um. Where is your ride?”

“Oh! Next door.” Eddie stated, pointing to the driveway next door. “I’m so used to driving to Gareth’s for practice that I didn’t even realize you lived next door when I dropped you off last night.”

“Shhhh,” Quinn hushed him as she quickly shut the door behind her. “I wasn’t supposed to be out so late last night.”

Eddie laughed as they started walking over to Gareth’s, slinging his arm around Quinn’s shoulder. He started going over what the guys normally do at practice, but she was barely listening. She couldn’t help but feel butterflies bubbling inside of her and her thoughts raced as they walked over.

-

Rose sighed as she looked in the bathroom mirror. She just finished up with her makeup and hair but wasn’t sure if she was happy with the result. Oh well. Steve was supposed to be here anytime now. She decided to look for her sister while she waited. After taking a lap around the house, she was unable to find any sign of Quinn.

“Hey, mom. Where’s Quinn?”

“I think she left. It sounded like someone came by for her…” she was suddenly interrupted by a loud clash of drums that was followed by guitar playing “Goodness, that neighbor boy is making too much noise. I thought we were moving to a quiet neighborhood.”

Rose rolled her eyes as she grabbed her purse and stepped out the door. She looked next door to find Eddie’s van. Figures. She made her way over to the garage and waved as she made eye contact with Quinn.

“Hey, Rose! I didn’t realize you guys lived next door.” Gareth flashed her a smile and a little wink. Or did he? Maybe he didn’t. Maybe she was just imagining it.

“Oh, yeah. We’ll be seeing a lot of each other.” Her cheeks were burning hot as she was cursing herself at the poor attempt at a response.

Before the conversation could continue, a car screeching to a stop caused everyone’s attention to turn to the driveway.

“Hey! Rose right? New girl?”

It was Jason and two other guys from the basketball team. Rose felt her heart stop and fall into her stomach. What did they want? Especially with her?

“I saw you running this morning. You should try out for the cheer squad. I think you’ll fit right in.” Jason jeered with a smirk.

“You definitely have the legs for it. The uniform would be perfect on you.” One of the other players chimed in.

She felt nauseous at the thought of someone watching her. Jason especially. Gareth and the other guys were seething. Even just from the seat of his car, Jason had Rose feeling cornered. Like he was a wolf about to tear up a little lost lamb.

In the corner of her eye, Rose spotted a car pulling into her driveway. Out stepped Steve. Once he caught eye of the driver, he stormed over.  

“Hey, princess.” Steve called out in a firm tone as he stepped beside Rose placing his hand on her back. “Is there something you needed, Carver?”

Gareth was taken aback by both the appearance of Steve and what he just called Rose. First Jason, now Steve too? He could feel himself filling with rage. Not only was Rose’s attention torn from his, now it’s being fought for by Mr. Popular 1 and Mr. Popular 2.

��I was just telling Rose that she should try out for the cheer squad. It’ll keep her away from these freaks.” Jason looked towards the boys and Quinn in disgust, lingering on Eddie.

“She’s free to hangout with whoever she pleases. If she wants to be here, then she will be.” Gareth shouted, a burst of confidence him and the others weren’t expecting. Jason, surprised by the outburst, turned his attention back to Steve.

“Don’t come crying to me when they corrupt that pretty little head of hers.” He sneered.

Steve moved his hand from Rose’s back to her waist and pulled her close to him. She felt safe.

“Fuck off, Carver” Steve shouted, giving Rose a slight squeeze and he did so.

Jason shot Steve a little wink as he pulled away. Quinn rushed over to her sister, furious by what just happened.

“I’m gonna knock his teeth in, I swear to god,” she flipped off Jason’s car as it turned the corner “Shit, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I think so.” She stated in more of a question, leaning into Steve.

Rose checked her watch. Shit. She had to get to work. Steve noticed and nodded to his car.

“We should probably get going. See you guys later.”  Rose called out to the group, giving Gareth a departing wave and she and Steve made their way to the car.

-

“So, yeah. That’s pretty much that. Not too crazy of a job, right?” Steve was locking up Family Video as Rose stood patiently beside him.

“Not bad at all,” she replied. And it really hadn’t been. He was so patient with her as she was learning how to use the computer system, teaching her how to check and put away the DVD’s, even helping her give customers recommendations when they came in. “And, thank you again for driving me. I really appreciate it. I really enjoy spending time with you.”

“No need to thank me. I was looking forward to it.” He gave her a smile as he gestured to his car. “After you.”

Rose felt her heart flutter as she began to blush. The two hopped in the car and off they went, heading to the Henderson’s.

-

Steve’s car rolled into the driveway just past midnight. Rose sighed as he put the car in park.

“What’s wrong? Don’t want to go in?” Steve asked.

“Yes and no. My bed is calling me, but I really enjoyed spending time with you. Even if it was just at work.”

“Well, you know, you could always call me up. I would love to hangout with you. Even if it was outside of work.” Steve laughed at his little joke.

“I would love that.” Rose couldn’t help but look longingly into Steve’s eyes. She didn’t want the night to come to an end.

Steve leaned in towards her. “Goodnight, Rose.” He placed a gentle kiss on her lips. The heat rose to her stomach again.

“Goodnight, Steve.” Rose couldn’t help but smile as she began to climb out of the car.

“Hey,” Rose looked back at Steve, imagining what he might say to her. But, when she looked, he was staring up at the roof.  “Is that Eddie?”

She looked up too. Sure enough, Eddie was attempting to climb through the window into Quinn’s room. He was surely struggling. He finally noticed the headlights and gave the two an awkward smile and a little wave.

Rose sighed, “yeah.” She wished someone would sneak into her room to meet her.

She waved to Steve as she reached the front door. Watching as he pulled away. Once she was finally left alone to her thoughts, she finally realized how exhausted she was. She made her way to her room. The light from Quinn’s room creeped out from under the door illuminating the hall floor.

Rose reached her room, closing the door gently, trying not to wake her parents or disturb Quinn and Eddie. She turned on a dim light in the corner of her room, illuminating just enough for her to make out the furniture. Not caring, or simply being too exhausted to think of it, Rose let the curtains open. Little did she know, Gareth’s room sat facing hers.

He didn’t notice at first but earlier that night, Gareth was alerted to the sound of something rustling in the bushes outside. That something being Eddie at Quinn’s window. Gareth shook his head as he began to shut his curtains but stopped. Something moving in the window next to Quinn’s caught his eye. No. Not something. Someone. Rose. His breath hitched. If he wasn’t looking directly at her, he wouldn’t have seen her with how poorly lit the room was, but there she stood.

She crossed the room to set her purse down then removed her shoes. He backed away from the window slightly. Surely she would go to close the curtains and he did not want to get caught when she did, but that didn’t happen. She never moved to the window. Instead, she stood in place and began undoing her belt. Shit. This was wrong. I shouldn’t be looking, Gareth kept telling himself but he couldn’t stop watching her. He watched as she undid her jeans and slid them down her thighs to her ankles. Her pale skin was vibrant in the darkness of her room. She made her way over to a dresser and pulled out an article of clothing. Rose slipped her work vest off and pulled her sweater over her head. There she stood. Nothing but her bra and underwear. Gareth felt like a sinner. There was no doubt in his mind he would be going to Hell after tonight. Gareth’s heart stopped as Rose moved her hands behind her back, unhooking her bra. He couldn’t make anything out as her back was turned, but he was fine with that. He already felt so dirty after what he had already seen. She then slipped a large shirt on, falling just at the top of her thighs, hugging her hips just right.

She was gorgeous. Gareth couldn't take his eyes off her. She looked so exhausted as she crawled into bed. He wished he was there. He wanted to hold her. To rub her shoulders and make the pain of the day wash away. Gareth wanted to feel her in his arms, feel her melt into him. He couldn’t help but let his thoughts wander as he watched her tossed in bed. He needed to be there. To feel her against him. He wanted to discover every inch of her body. To hear the noi- What is he doing? He groaned and sharply pulled the curtains closed. He’s definitely going to Hell.

-

Quinn bopped around her room as Orgasmatron by Motörhead banged against the four walls. As the song began to fade, she stopped. She heard a lot of rustling outside her window. Out of curiosity, she decided to peer out to see what kind of animal was rummaging around.

“Eddie?” Quinn said in shock.

“Yeah. Hi. I, um, was trying to knock on your window but these bushes are getting the best of me.” He scratched his head. Fuck this is embarrassing, he thought.

“Well get up here.” Quinn giggled as she backed away from the window, allowing Eddie to crawl inside.

He looked around the room. A pile of dark clothes sat on the floor in the corner. Various band tees and undergarments strayed from the pile. Band posters were plastered all over the walls and cassettes were scattered all over her dresser. A stack of vinyls was piled high next to her record player in the corner.  If she would have known he’d been coming over, she would've tidied up a bit.

“Sorry. I wasn’t expecting anyone over.” Quinn said sheepishly, embarrassed by the mess.

“No, no. It’s all good. Loads cleaner than my place.” He chuckled.

Eddie plopped down onto the bed, letting out an exasperated sigh.

“So what are you doing here anyways? You know, trying to crawl into an unsuspecting girl’s window in the middle of the night is kind of perv behavior.” She elbowed him playfully in the shoulder.

Eddie covered his face and smiled as he laughed and groaned. “You wouldn't believe me.”

“No? You’re in my house, remember? I could scream and you would be caught.” She stared at him down with a raised eyebrow.

“Fine, fine. I just couldn’t stop thinking about you and… I came over to see if you maybe wanted to hangout?” Eddie said in more of a question. Quinn just kept staring at him, making Eddie think for a split second that he made a huge mistake. Then she bursted out in a large grin.

“I would definitely like to hangout.”

“Good” Eddied breathed a sigh of relief.

“Want to watch a movie?”

-

Quinn and Eddie sat up against her headboard as Rocky Horror Picture Show played on the tv. It was one of her favorite movies. As the two sat in the darkness, she couldn’t help but want to fall into Eddie. He was so close. So warm. She shivered realizing how cold she had felt. Eddie noticed and wrapped his arm around her as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. Her heart was racing. In an attempt to relax, she rested her head on his shoulder and laid her knees against his thigh. She wouldn’t get to relax though. He moved his other hand to her knee, holding it in place. The warmth of him on her skin felt like hot coals. It felt scandalous. She couldn’t help but hope he makes another move. Prove to her that last night wasn’t just a one off. His eyes followed her gaze to his hand.

“You okay? I can let go if you want me to.. Just say the word. Do you want me to stop?”

She hesitated. She wanted him to touch her. To keep going. She just didn’t want to sound so desperate or needy.

“No, it’s okay. Don’t stop.”

She looked at him with such pleading eyes. He couldn’t help but be drawn in. He leaned in close to her and grazed her lips.

“Just tell me if I go too far,” he whispered against her.

With a gasp from Quinn, their lips crashed. This kiss wasn’t as gentle as the first one from yesterday. This one was heated and filled with urgency as if their lives depended on it. Quinn wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him in closer, deepening the kiss. Eddie bit down on her bottom lip catching her off guard. He used this as an opportunity to glide his tongue gently over hers. She couldn’t help but moan. She squirmed against Eddie as his hands traveled from her knee slowly up to her hip, pulling her even closer to him. He switched his focus. Quinn began to feel dizzy and Eddie planted little kisses in a trail from her mouth down to her neck. Once his lips reached her carotid, he began to suck, eliciting a moan from Quinn. He licked the bruise in an effort to sooth the now sore spot then proceeded to rub his thumb to dry her of his saliva.

She grabbed his wrist, keeping it in place. She didn’t want to seem too eager, but Eddie looked into her eyes. It wasn’t hard to see how needy she was beginning to feel. He took the hint. Instead of removing his hand, he continued to move his hand up her neck. Once his fingers were flush around her neck, he gave a little squeeze. If her head wasn’t buzzing before, it was buzzing now. Quinn’s eyes involuntarily rolled back as she began to feel heat in her core. She felt like she was under his spell. He was in control.

Eddie released his grip and his lips went back to Quinn’s. He was driving her crazy. With a burst of confidence, Quinn rolled her hips over so that she was now straddling his lap. Eddie was taken aback by Quinn’s moves, but if anything, it riled him up even more. They fought for dominance with their kiss but Quinn’s efforts would be fruitless. His hands firmly gripped her hips, pulling her core against his strained jeans. Fuck. She was melting into his touch.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered against her ear, sending shivers down her spine.

He pulled her down onto him again. She was falling apart into a mewling mess. As he continued to grind her onto him, Quinn was gripping his shirt. Eddie was loving every minute of this. She was falling apart. All because of him. She was his.

Eddie flipped the two of them over. He was now on top. Fully in control of the situation. His fingers hook around the waistband of her sleep shorts.

“Is this okay?”

Quinn nodded, desperately missing his touch. He pulled her shorts off slowly. Suddenly, she felt very bare and tried to cover herself with her hands.

“You don’t need to be shy, sweetheart,” he cooed.

Eddie lifted her wrists and held them above her head with one hand. He used his other hand to massage her breasts under her shirt. She moaned under his touch. But, when she opened her eyes, she noticed that there was light coming from under her door. Suddenly, her mother's voice came from behind the door.

“Quinn? What are you doing up this late?”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

Eddie and Quinn scrambled. The television must have been too loud and woke her parents.

“Open the door now, young lady.” her mother said sternly.

“Just a second mom!” she softly called out, as to not wake anyone else. “I’m so sorry. Go out the window. Hurry,” Quinn whispered urgently to Eddie.

He gave her a quick kiss before climbing over the ledge.

“Make it up to me.” He smiled devilishly up at her. ‘He is going to be the end of me, I swear’ she thought.

With a wink, Eddie was out of sight. Quinn’s mother was knocking at the door. She rolled her eyes, sighing. She was in for it.

-

“Yes, mom?” Quinn asked sweetly, opening the door just enough to peak her head through.

“What is all the racket going on in there?” She opened the door quickly and scanned Quinn’s room. Quinn’s bed was all disheveled, but she assumed that was from her getting up to answer her. She noticed the TV was on and glared at Quinn. “Really? Rocky Horror at this time of night? And so loud too?”

“Sorry, I didn’t realize how loud it was.” Quinn replied, looking at the floor. She was trying not to look too guilty so as to raise suspicion. Her mother sighed.

“Please just turn it off and go to bed.” she replied. Quinn nodded her head and turned off the TV, getting back into her bed. Right as her mom turned to leave and close the door, she stuck her head back in. “And next time you want to watch TV and not get caught, turn it down and put on the captioning.” she said with a slight smile.

“Yes ma’am.” Quinn replied with a half-smile.

Once her door was closed and she saw the light out in the hallway, she let out a huge sigh. She didn’t realize she had practically been holding her breath this whole time. She didn’t get caught, this time. But, her fear soon turned into longing as her mind wandered back to before her mother knocked. He really did like her. Or, liked her enough to climb through her window. She chuckled to herself remembering the sight. She turned over in her bed, trying to get comfortable and fall asleep. However, it would be a restless night for her. All she could think about was how he felt, the words he whispered to her, the ghost of his kiss on her lips, the way he looked into her eyes. She wondered if Eddie was thinking about her like she was him.

He surely was. After he finally made it home and changed, he plopped on his bed, head spinning. Did he really climb into her room? He couldn’t even believe he did that. And the rest of the night, shit. He also couldn’t sleep. All he could think about was how beautiful she looked even in her pj’s, how soft her lips felt against his, how her body felt on his. And when she flipped him over? Fuck. No one had asserted dominance over him like that before, even if it was for a split second. And, he liked it. A lot. It was like she was made for him, and he needed more.

[asexualone]

Signs I should have known I was aro: Marriage edition

My aunt got married last weekend. It had been a dream of mine ever since I was 10, to have a married aunt (and with kids) like everyone else. Almost a decade later, I don't particularly care anymore. It was a childish dream anyway, it doesn't affect me in any way. I do hope my aunt is happy, though. I want what's best for her.

BUT her wedding had me thinking — or rather, remembering — how much I don't want to get married.

As a child, I used to daydream of my own wedding day. Not in detail, just the idea of it. As I grew up, that idea started loosing its appeal to me. To the point where I just couldn't see myself married one day, let alone with kids *shudders*

At the age of 15, I decided I wouldn't marry at all. The possibility that I might find someone special and change my mind is something I never dismissed entirely, of course. I still used to get "crushes" back then, which I thought meant I could get a partner some day.

Less than 5 years later, I still don't want to get married. That decision is now dabbed up by my aroace identity. But it also serves as a living proof that no one is "too young and immature" to discover such things or make such decisions about oneself. I didn't "change my mind as I grew up" like adults say, and I doubt I'm ever going to.

I haven't told my family, though. Just like I haven't come out to them and probably never will. But I'm constantly slipping my distaste for a partner into our conversations. My relatives probably brush me off, but they'll remember my words when I truly don't get myself a spouse. Hopefully, they won't be as surprised or disappointed. I don't care, as long as they don't make me feel like shit about it and force me to distance myself from them.

If you are from Eastern Europe or know a few things about our culture, then you know exactly what kind of wedding I attended. Marriage is veryyyy important where I'm from. As such, everyone who congratulated my aunt's marriage to me, always managed to add a wish or two about my supposedly future wedding. Saying things like, "It's your turn now" or "I hope you too find someone special" and similar crap to that.

It's just how things are in my country. Everyone likes to play matchmaker. And not the cute "can I introduce you to someone" version. The one where the matchmaker slips your name, age and address to a suitor they are acquainted with and next thing you know, that man is in your house for a "visit", checking you out like a cow for sale in the market and seeing if you'd make a good wife or not.

Messed up, I know. To those relatives and their wishes, I only gave a pinched smile, trying to keep my disrespect levels at a minimum. Usually, I don't think ill of their words. But when they get repetitive, they tend to hurt because they imply that a spouse means ultimate happiness. And that's just NOT TRUE. I can be happy and complete just fine on my own. I can't explain this to them — it'd be like talking to a rock.

Anyway, to recap my opinion on marriage: unnecessary. I see no need for anyone to get married. It seems like an excuse people in failing relationships use to stay together. My aunt married that man after knowing him for less than two years, without so much as trying to co-live with him for a while and especially after they had many fights that were never truly resolved. I don't know how their marriage will turn out, but I just hope for the best. Either way, it's not my problem.

I've despised the idea of marriage for a while now. And not just because I've always been surrounded by people in unhappy, failed marriages. There are many other reasons, some of them aforementioned.

But what I didn't see is that it wasn't marriage. It is the idea of a partner I didn't like. The idea of being tied to someone like that, while freedom is something I've been craving ever since I realized how shitty and suffocating my life was. I should have realized my romantic orientation wasn't all that "normal", for lack of a better word.

P.S This post is NOT meant to invalidate the institution of marriage, nor the people who love it or are married and content. I adore it when I see couples, happily married and in love. It makes me feel like happiness is real and can be achieved in all forms. If you want to get married, good for you. I hope you find your happiness. This post is meant to be relatable to aros like me. To us who think that a relationship would be restricting instead of liberating.

Also, not wanting to get married doesn't necessarily mean one is aromantic. There are many allos who chose to avoid marriage, it isn't solely an aro thing. But, as all my aro/ace editions are, this too depicts one more way that helped me on the discovery of my orientation.

[kevindayscrown]

The one where Kevin Day falls in love with an ice hockey player.

Part 7 Night Lights

(TW: Awkward first dates with Andrew watching from a distance)

Anything included in this head canon takes place the semester after the Foxes won the championship against the Ravens.

Disclaimer: I know next to nothing about varsity teams in the United States so excuse any false information. Head over to the directory to find the previous parts.

Kevin knew that wherever they went in Palmetto, someone was bound to recognize either one or both of them. It didn’t matter where their date would take place, as long as people saw them.

He’d been to dates before. With Thea, after he left the Nest and whenever the two of them had time. It had been less than ideal. But, being the only experience that he had, Kevin used it as an example and booked a table at a restaurant.

It was obvious that Eric was hesitant about it but he agreed nonetheless.

“I think I might have a suit buried somewhere.”

Of course, he had to book two tables, seeing as Andrew and Neil would be joining them. He’d told Andrew that he didn’t need a fucking chaperone, but Andrew had ignored him completely.

Eric offered to pick Kevin up at the parking lot, half an hour before their reservation. Kevin had gone with the suit he’d worn at the last banquet, figuring this wasn’t something he should put too much thought or effort into.

Kevin realized, upon meeting with Eric in the parking lot, that he had had a different idea.

Suit brand new, hair brushed back, freshly shaved, the goaltender looked less like the jock he was and more like the proper date for someone like Kevin.

That thought made Kevin halt. Obviously, his ideal date would have been a woman. Obviously. He wasn’t even attracted to men.

“Come on Day, give me that one million-dollar smile all those fans of yours go crazy over,” Eric said and laughed as he opened the door so that Kevin could get in the car.

Kevin simply glared at him and got in the car. As Eric closed the door, Kevin watched Andrew and Neil heading over to the former’s Maserati.

“This is going to be a long night,” he muttered under his breath as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

The restaurant was packed, which made sense since it was Sunday night. Their tables weren’t as close to one another, which Kevin was grateful for. He sat down across from Eric an picked up his menu.

“Are you going to give me the silent treatment all night?” Eric asked once they’d ordered.

Kevin looked at him and put his hands down on the table. He found himself wishing he had the puck, which had proven to be quite useful as a stress reliever.

“We have nothing to say.”

“I thought you loved hearing yourself talk.”

Kevin narrowed his eyes at him, but decided to let it slide. He almost clenched his left hand again but Eric reached for it and stopped him.

“I told you not to do that.”

Kevin would have pulled away, but the warmth of it reminded him of their night practices, when Eric would take his hand and guide him forward on the ice.

He wasn’t sure if Andrew would come out of nowhere and use the table knife to stab Eric’s hand, but they’d made a new deal and Kevin hoped he would keep it.

“Day, relax. You are too tense. We are supposed to be on a date, no?”

“Why are you enjoying this?” Kevin finally asked as he stared at him, although he tried to not let his anger show.

Eric looked surprised by the question, but quickly shook it off with a shrug.

“I don’t care what people think, Day. They can make assumptions about me all they want. That’s on them. I just want to have a good time.”

He said it so casually, that Kevin was almost jealous of it.

“Are you-,”

“Gay?” Eric completed the sentence for him and then shrugged his shoulders a second time. “I don’t like labels. And I’ve never thought about it really. I’ve only ever dated girls but honestly, who knows?”

Kevin stared at him as if Eric was speaking a foreign language but said nothing else as their food arrived. Eric pulled his hand away; Kevin’s own almost instinctively reaching for it until he forced it to stop.

They ate in silence.

Eric shifted in his seat when they were done.

“I have an idea. But you’ll have to trust me.”

Kevin didn’t like the sound of that so he only arched an eyebrow at him.

“Look, no offense, but this is kinda boring and I want both of us to enjoy this. Plus, we may manage to get rid of your legal guardian over there,” Eric said as he glanced at the table where Neil and Andrew were at.

Kevin thought for a moment but nodded. They both insisted on paying but eventually settled with each of them paying for what they’d ordered.

Sneaking out of the restaurant without being seen was easier than expected, but perhaps it was because Neil and Andrew unexpectedly ended up having their own date, which kept Andrew occupied.

Eric wouldn’t tell Kevin where they were going, but Kevin was just glad to be out of there and not have Andrew on his back, watching them.

The building they stopped at was not enough on the outside to alert Kevin of what was waiting for him. Eric looked excited, which scared Kevin further as they made their way inside.

“Seriously? A public rink?”

Children yelling and laughing as they slid and fell across the ice, couples holding hands, groups of friends messing around, amatueurs holding onto the ledge. It was loud and busy.

Eric grinned at him. “I brought our skates just in case,” he said as he held up the duffel bag he’d taken from the trunk of his car.

The goaltender seemed to know his way around. He found them lockers after talking with some people he was quite friendly with and Kevin removed the blazer of his suit and the tie, shoving them inside, with no care whether they’ll get wrinkled.

Eric handed him his skates and as Kevin put them on, the other reached forward and undid a few buttons from Kevin’s shirt.  

“It’s not ideal to skate in this but let’s make the most of it.”

People in and out of the rink instantly recognized them as they slid on the ice. Kevin told himself that that was the only reason Eric reached to take his hand again.

“Relax,” he whispered in his ear as he leaned closer to him. Feeling Eric’s warmth breath against his skin in an otherwise cold room made Kevin shudder.

He turned his head to look at him, but almost fell back at how close their faces were. Thankfully, he had practiced enough to keep his balance.

Eric smiled at him and then moved forward, taking Kevin with him. Kevin tried to dodge all the kids and anyone who was in their way. Some would come up to him on purpose, introducing themselves, saying they were big fans. Kevin gave them all his flashing press smile, saying he was glad to meet them, while still holding onto Eric’s hand.

“If you’d excuse us, we are on a date,” Eric eventually told yet another person who had approached them. Despite the words, the way he went about it reminded Kevin of how calm he was on the rink during games.

People mostly left them alone after that. Kevin was grateful for it. Sometimes, he got too lost in the persona, in the ‘who he was supposed to be’ that he lost the meaning of what he did.

Besides that, however, Kevin realized that he was genuinely having fun. The two of them would challenge each other as to who would skate a certain number of circles faster, and in the end, they’d banter about it while still holding hands.

Kevin forgot which part of it was an act and which was real, the lines blurred.

It dragged on long enough that they’d have to leave because the rink was closing for the night.

“The night doesn’t have to end here, you know?” Eric said when they were both in the car.

Kevin smiled. It was a genuine smile, nothing more than one of the corners of his lips quirked upwards. But it was still there.

“No. No, it doesn’t have to end here.”