#my phone sometimes suggests a selection of pictures of you and it used to make my heart stop a little bit

[redflannelsheets]

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[ilvansims3conversion]

Conversion process/tutorial for freefall water wall

As inquired by @dailycard​​, I’m sharing the conversion process for my recent creation: Freefall Water Wall. This guide is NOT intended for beginners as I only show what I think the important steps. If this is the first time you tried to make a conversion, I suggest you try something like Pixel Jackpot’s 4to3 wall decor video tutorial first.

This tutorial will cover:

Using counter shader (part C step 9)

Using phong alpha shader and UV scroll parameter (part C step 6-8)

Making occluder shadow (Part D step 4-15)

This tutorial will NOT cover:

Setting up TSR Workshop (TSRW)

Making object mask

Tools used:

1. Older TSRW (I used the 2.0.86.0 version) for:

Cloning TS3 object base item you want to work on

Importing mesh, because sometimes you can get an error when doing this in the newer TSRW

Changing shader

Adding shader parameter

2. Newer TSRW (I used the latest 2.2.114 version) for:

Exporting TS4 mesh & maps

Changing footprint

Changing bones position

Changing occluder shadow

3. Milkshape & its plugin for TSR Workshop 4. Photoshop

Part A. Prepare the required resources. 

A1. In NEWER TSRW:

1. Open the Sims 4 small freefall water wall object. Copy the object’s name,  description & price information to a notepad txt file.

2. Export the object mesh. In my case, there is only hLOD available. Considering the mesh is quite low poly anyway, I believe it can be used for as the mLOD as well. The sunshadow is not necessary whatsoever.

3. Export the diffuse map of material 1 (fountain body) & 2 (waterfall effect) as png. Material 0 diffuse map is not necessary because it’s just for drop shadow.

4. Open a similar looking object that has an occluder shadow. I used TS4 Romantic Garden’s Thriumphal Arch of Gluteus Maximus because it has an empty center & covered the upper part (I tested them in game first). Note the value for each of occluder entry (number 3). For this, I just took a photo each with my phone for convenience.

A2. In OLDER TSRW:

Open a Sims 3 object that fit perfectly against a wall. I used the bookshelf modern high 1x1. Export its hLOD mesh and name it along the line of “Wall Fit Reference Mesh”. I suggest using the older TSRW because sometimes I got an error when exporting in the newer version.

Part A check list:

Object’s name, description & price in a notepad txt file.

Small freefall water wall TS4 hLOD mesh as wso file.

Fountain body diffuse map as png file.

Waterfall effect diffuse map as png file.

EACH of occluder shadow entries value as notes/pictures.

Wall fit reference TS3 object mesh as wso file.

Part B. Editing the resources. 

B1. In milkshape:

1. Import the small freefall water wall TS4 hLOD mesh. Then import the wall fit reference TS3 object mesh. Your workspace will looked like this:

2. Go to Groups tab. Double click each of the upper “Group 0″,  “Group 1″, and “Group 2″ to select them.

3. Go to Model tabs. Choose Move (Number 2). Change the Z value to 0.08 and click Move (Number 3). The waterfall should clip slightly through the reference bookshelf.

4. Go back to the groups tab. Double click each group again to deselect the upper group 0-2 (Number 1). Select the lower group 0 and click delete. Select the lower group 1 and click delete (Number 2&3).

5. Export as “hLOD edit”.

6. Delete the “Group 0″ (red box). Select “Group 1″, rename to “Group 0”.  Select “Group 2″, rename to “Group 1” (green box). Export as “mLOD edit”.

B2. In photoshop:

1. Import your fountain body diffuse map png file. Your workspace should looked like this:

2. Add the hue/saturation & levels adjustment layer. 

3. In the hue/saturation adjustment layer, under the master control I changed the saturation value to -100 and lightness to -15. Save as “multiplier map” in png format.

4. You can also use the level adjustment layer to tweak its brightness and make the (optional) “specular map” in png format. I didn’t do this step as the lion fountain I’m using as clone doesn’t require it.

5. Make the masking map in png format. This is more of trial & error though, so I will not explain much. Here’s the mask map comparison I created as reference against the original diffuse map:

Part B check list:

1. Combined these item in milkshape:

Small freefall water wall TS4 hLOD mesh as wso file.

Wall fit reference TS3 object mesh as wso file.

To make:

hLOD edit mesh as wso file.

mLOD edit mesh as wso file.

2. Edited the “fountain body diffuse map as png file” in photoshop to make:

Multiplier map as png file.

Specular map as png file (optional).

Mask map as png file.

3. Unused part A items:

Object’s name, description & price in a notepad txt file.

Waterfall effect diffuse map as png file.

EACH of occluder shadow entries value as notes/pictures.

Part C. Building the object. In OLDER TSRW:

1. Clone the fountain france statue 2x2 TS3 object. Under the project tab, input the object’s name, description & price. Change the item flags. In my case, I do not change anything because I want the waterfall fountain to be found and placed similarly to the lion fountain. Save your project!

2. Go to textures. Choose the 2nd swatch dropdown option. Click on the smaller dropdown option on the left of it and choose delete.

3. Import your mask map. Do the same to your multiplier & (optional) specular map. Make sure your overlay & stencil maps is empty. You can also change the pattern now or just leave it the same as default. Save your file.

4. Go to mesh tab. Import your “hLOD edit” and “mLOD edit” mesh.

5. Select the “Shadow high level of detail”. Click on the generate shadow mesh. Choose the “160 vertices, 92 faces”. In my case, I can do the same for “Shadow medium level of detail”. Ignore the weird white square for now. We will remove it later. Save your file.

6. Select the “High level of detail” from the drop down menu again (Number 1). Edit the Group 2 material (Number 2). Choose the Phong alpha shader (Number 3). When prompted, choose YES! (Number 4)

7. Click the blue “+ Add” to show a new property window. Choose the UVScrollSpeed from the drop down menu. Click OK.

8. Replace the alpha map & diffuse map with “waterfall effect diffuse map” (Number 1&2). Make empty the Specular map (Number 3). Change the UV scroll speed parameter to 0 ; -0,8 (Number 4). When prompted to update the material definition to all LOD, choose YES (Number 5).

NOTE: If the object animation played in a different direction than intended here, change the UV Scroll Speed Parameter to positive or vice versa.

9. Go back to the main mesh tab, now choose to edit the group 1 material (number 1). Change the phong shader to counters shader (Number 2 & 3). If prompted to use the common values for this shader, choose NO! (Number 4). Click Done (Number 5). When prompted to update the material definition to all LOD, choose YES! (Number 6). Don’t forget to check if the changes has been made in the Medium Level of Detail. Save your file.

Part C check list:

1. In the “Project” tab: Edited the object’s name, description & price.

2. In the “Textures” tab:

Imported multiplier, specular (optional), and mask map.

Make sure your overlay & stencil maps is empty or disabled.

Change the pattern (optional).

3. In the “Mesh” tab:

Imported hLOD and mLOD edit mesh.

Generated the sunshadow in “Shadow High” and “Shadow Medium Level of Detail”.

Change the Group 2 Material to phong alpha shader, add the UV Scroll Speed parameter to 0 ; -0,8, import the alpha & diffuse map,  and empty the specular map.

Change the Group 1 Material to counter shader.

Part D. Finishing the object. In NEWER TSRW:

1. Open your saved project. Go to the Slots tab (Number 1). Edit the Footprints (Number 2). Select the first 160 vertices (Number 3&4) and click calculate (Number 5). Change the Z value of 0,0114142708 to exactly 0. Change the value of -0,425990343 to exactly -0,425 (Number 6). Click OK (Number 7).

2. Expand the bones group (Number 1). Select the fountainTop entry to edit (Number 2). Change the Translation Y to -0,1 (Number 3). Click OK (Number 4). Save your project. 

3. In the Misc tab, change the floor cutout bounds length to 0. This will remove the weird white square from before. 

4. It’s recommended to create a new save file now as we will be editing the occulders. Expand the lights section and edit the Light 0 to show the Lite Editor Window (Number 1). Manually replace every occlusion entry value with the ones you noted/took photo of (Number 2). In my case the entry listed here is up to 8 occulders while the reference only had 6, so you can just delete the entry 7 & 8 using the - button.

NOTE: When manually inputing the value, use the tab key to quickly switch to the next value. You can also opt out the last zeroes from the value. If the original value was 1,51974000; you can just input 1,51974 and the zeroes will be automatically added after clicking OK.

5. The occluders should looked like this now. Try familiarizing yourself with each of the occluders by clicking on the light 56 entries one by one before we edit them to fit the object.

6. This is what I think how the occluder value works. Since I couldn’t find other sources, please let me know if I am incorrect. This is based on our occluder #1. 

7. Now I want to change the starting point z value so it could fit much better. This whole part is a trial and error process. I changed the value from 0,444477 to -0,1.

8. Referencing to Pocci’s Blog, for the green note I wrote the value are more accurately called inversely proportional (as in 1/n). For example if I know the height of the object is exactly 3 tiles (n), equate 1/3 and I can input the value 0,3333333 to get the perfect height.

9. Next, I think the thickness of the object was 1/3 tiles, so using the equation 1/n and input 3 as the Y-axis z value without changing the - mark.

10. Lastly, I want the pair occluder to be closer, so I changed the pair offset value from 0,733... to just 0,28. Now we are finished with occluder #1.

11. Let’s jump to occluder #3 as it was the mirror of occluder #1. We can change the value similar to the occluder #1 while preserving the - value only for the orange circle shown below:

Occluder #3 result:

12.For occluder #6, the starting point is okay. We just need to change the plane size, shown red below:

13. Occluder #5 is similar to occluder #6, but with extra step fixing the starting point. Shown red below:

14. For occluder #2, I wanted to move it to the ground because when placed near the ceiling, the shadow they cast seemed less noticeable anyway. The values changed are shown red below:

15. For the final occluder #4, you can either delete them or fixing a few value shown red below. They intersect with the ceiling anyway so they won’t be noticeable if you delete them.

16. DONE! Export your file & test in game :)

thanks for @sims3tutorialhub​ for a few initial references I used :3

PS: this tutorial does not fully reflect the final published version of the conversion object I made, i.e. it has 2 more variations than described here.

[thebookreader12345]

Crossing Lines

Pairing: Jay Halstead x reader

Summary: Y/N is kidnapped, and when Jay tries to do everything he can to get her back, he discovers that he may be going too far

Requested: Yes, by @dreamingmanip

Warnings: slight swearing, mentions of a beating, blood, and kidnapping

Word Count: 1,824 Words

I stirred in bed as the sun hit my face and rolled over to bury my face in my boyfriend’s side, only to realize that his side of the bed was empty. I glanced over at the clock, and upon seeing how early it was, I groaned and dropped my head back down onto my pillow. That’s when Jay appeared at the entrance to the bedroom and leaned against the doorframe.

“Hey,” I mutter. “What are you doing up this early?”

“Hailey and I have a boatload of paperwork to catch up on, so we figured we’d finish it before shift starts,” Jay answered. “Go back to bed. You don’t need to be up for another hour or two.”

“Okay,” I murmur sleepily and snuggle deeper into the blanket that was covering my whole body. “See you later.” Jay then appeared at my side and leaned down to place a kiss on my cheek. I smiled softly at the gesture, loving how sweet and amazing my boyfriend was.

“See you at work,” Jay said before leaving the room. About an hour and a half later, it was time for me to get up, and even though I didn’t want to leave the bed, I had to go to work. It didn’t take me long to get ready, but then again, it never did, and once I was all set, I threw on a jacket, grabbed my car keys, and left the apartment. Because I had a bit of time left before I had to get to work, I decided to go and get some coffee. It wasn’t unusual for me to go out and get coffee in the morning. The coffee back at the district wasn’t that good, and sometimes, I had a taste for something different. Therefore, I went to the cafe a few blocks from my apartment. At first, everything was normal. I walked inside the coffee shop, ordered my drink, waited for said drink, and walked out. However, this is where things went wrong. As I passed by an alleyway to get to my car, a man reached out and grabbed me, pulling me towards his body. On instinct, I fought back and tried to reach for my gun, only to realize that I left it in the front compartment of my car. No matter how much I struggled in the arms of my captor, he overpowered me. I tried to throw a punch, but I missed, and in return, the man attacked back, landing a punch to my mouth that produced blood. And once I had a bag thrown over my head, and my hands were tied tightly behind my back, there wasn’t much that I could do. All I could think about when I was tossed into the trunk of a car was Jay, and I just hoped that him and unit would find me before something bad happened.

Jay’s POV

My stomach sunk even deeper as Y/N didn’t answer her phone for the 5th time. She was supposed to be at work half an hour ago but never showed up, and now I was worried. I sighed and put my phone in my back pocket before walking back into the bullpen where everyone was sitting doing work.

“Any word from L/N yet?” Voight questioned. Everyone in the bullpen glanced up at Voight’s question and looked towards me for an answer.

I shook my head. “She still isn’t answering my calls, and she hasn’t responded to any of my texts. Voight, I’m getting worried. Really worried.”

“All right, everyone stop what you’re doing,” Voight ordered. “Right now, Y/N is our number one priority. I want the case we’re working on passed over to the Gang Unit, and I want everyone focused on finding Y/N. Got it?” Everyone in the bullpen nodded. “Okay, Jay, tell us everything you know.”

“I saw Y/N this morning before I came into work. I told her to go back to bed, and that I’d see her here. Then I left the apartment, and I haven’t seen her since,” I explain.

“Can we check her car’s GPS?” Kevin questioned.

Adam shook his head. “Y/N’s GPS was damaged in that car accident last week, and she hasn’t had it fixed yet. What if we split up and go to places she could be?”

“That’s not a bad plan. You guys figure that out, and I’m going to talk to Trudy to see if we can get some more bodies on the street,” Voight declared and headed down the stairs.

“Kev, Adam, and I could check her apartment,” Kim suggested.

“Okay,” I breathe out and take my keys out of my pocket. I took the house key off of the chain and handed it to them before turning to Hailey.

“You and I can check out the coffee shop she likes a few blocks from her apartment. Maybe a barista saw her this morning and can give us more info,” I say. 

Hailey nodded. “Sounds like a plan. Lets do it.�� Hailey and I climbed into my truck and left the district, heading towards the cafe Y/N visited often. Upon pulling into a parking spot, my eyes caught something on the other side of the street.

“Look,” I tell Hailey and nod to what I was staring at. “That’s Y/N’s car.”

“Lets go inside,” Hailey proposed and hopped out of the passenger seat of my truck. Inside of the building, we showed the barista our badges and asked her if she could answer a few questions about this morning, to which she agreed. I pulled out my phone and selected a picture of Y/N, showing it to the barista.

“Have you seen her today?” I ask.

The barista thought for a moment, but then nodded. “Yeah. She came in earlier today. Her order was a black coffee with two shots of milk and three sugars.” I smiled softly at the mention of my girlfriend’s coffee order. She always got the same thing.

“Was she with anyone?” Hailey quizzed.

“Uh, no. She came in, got her coffee, and then left,” the woman answered.

“Great. Thank you,” I exclaim and lead Hailey out of the coffee shop. “Well, that was a dead end.”

“Uh, Jay,” Hailey spoke and tapped on my shoulder. I turned around to face my partner, and when I saw that she was looking at something, I followed her gaze. That’s when I spotted a coffee cup lying on the floor, it’s lid inches away, with the light colored coffee spilled around it. I didn’t need to see the name of the cup to know that it belonged to my girlfriend. I stepped closer to where the coffee was spilled and scanned the surrounding area, hoping to pick up some other clues, and thankfully, I did, but they weren’t the kind I was hoping for. In the alley where the abandoned cup was laying, there were a few blood splatters on the concrete, and feet away from that was a jacket. And I recognized the jacket instantly because it was my own. But most importantly, it was the jacket that Y/N loved to where from time to time. Hailey appeared at my side, and based on her expression, I’m assuming she had come to the same conclusion as me. My girlfriend had been kidnapped. “I’m going to call the rest of the team,” Hailey mumbled and pulled out her phone.

...................................................

The investigation was going well, but we were at a dead end. We found a security camera that was pointed at the alleyway where the abduction took place, and while it pained me seeing my girlfriend get beaten and shoved into the trunk of the car, we had the guy that took her. The problem was, he wasn’t talking.

“Why don’t we lie to him and offer him a deal?” I suggest.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Jay,” Hailey stated.

“Okay, then lets put him in the cage,” I offer. “Give me a minute alone with the guy. I can make him talk.” No one said anything, and that was making me angry. Really angry. “Guys, he kidnapped Y/N! He beat her, and then shoved her into a trunk. So why is no one agreeing with me here?”

“Because you’re taking things a bit too far,” Voight commented.

I scoffed. “I’m taking things too far? That’s rich coming from you.”

“I’ve done some bad things, Jay. Things that I regret,” Voight admitted. “You don’t want to follow in my footsteps. And right now, what you’re suggesting... Jay, you’re crossing lines that you do not want to cross.”

I sighed and slumped down into my desk chair, defeated. “Then what the hell do we do?”

“I don’t know,” Voight confessed. “But we’re going to figure it out.”

Y/N’s POV

I winced in pain for the one hundredth time as I moved my jaw. There was most likely a bruise there, and a pretty decent sized one at that. I had been sitting in this house for who knows how long, a day at the most, just waiting, hoping, that the team would come and find me. And it looked like my wish was granted, because minutes later, someone bust the front door down, and I heard Jay calling out my name.

“I’m in here!” I shout as much as I was able, seeing as my jaw throbbed whenever it was jostled, which happened a lot when I talked. In seconds, I was being untied from the chair I was sitting in, and I was being engulfed in a hug by my boyfriend. He squeezed me softly, placing a kiss on the top of my head as I buried my face into his chest to inhale his familiar smell.

“Are you okay?” Jay asked and examined my figure, scowling when he saw the mark on my chin.

“I’m fine,” I assure him. “Just a few bruises. Nothing I can’t handle. What the hell happened?”

“We can talk about that later. Right now, I’m going to take you to Med, get you checked out, and then we are going to go home and get some much needed rest,” Jay explained. “You don’t know how worried I was about you. The lengths I was willing to go to get you back...”

“Hey,” I say and cup his cheeks with my hands. “You are the most morally just cop I know. So whatever you had to do, I’m sure it was justified. Now, if that whole rest thing is still on the table, I would like to take it.”

Jay smiled softly. “The offer is definitely still on the table. Come on. I’ll drive you to Med, and then we can pick up your car and head back to my place. Pizza and beers are on me.”

“I have the best boyfriend ever,” I note. “Now, lets get going. The longer we stand here, the hungrier I get.”

________________________

Tag List:

@prettypyschoinpink @securityfriendly-jay @scarletsoldierrr @lorenakaspersen @virtualreader @carnationworld @caitsymichelle13 @dreamingmanip @campingmonkey @winterberryfox @nevertoofarfromivar @anotherfan07 @giagma @mrspeacem1nusone @i-like-sparkly-things

[zhanyes]

19 days pandemic version / living together headcannons

I just want to imagine the boys living together because let’s be honest it’s going to be so chaotic but they deserve each other’s company

P.s. I know nothing about how China dealt with the pandemic so this is purely self-indulgent

- When the lockdown happened they were all at He Tian’s for a sleepover so they were forced to stay there for a few weeks until everything settled

- Mo guanshan kicked up a fuss over it but was actually just worried about his mom being left alone at home

Mo guanshan, already taking note of what to put in the pantry: “THE FUCK YOU MEAN WE’RE STAYING HERE?! NO!”

- Zheng xi is surprisingly okay with staying at He Tian’s for the time being, Jian yi says it’s because He tian has a ps5 (He’s not wrong)

-Mo Guanshan lost all respect for Zhengxi when he said “It could be fun.”

- Both Zhengxi and Guanshan’s parents agreed that they should stay for a bit just to be safe

- Jian yi is a panic buyer and with He Tian’s money they bought enough food to feed an army

- He forgot to buy necessities and Guanshan wacked his ass

Mo guanshan looking at the 9 full plastic bags of groceries: “You’re telling me OUT OF ALL OF THIS, you didn’t buy a single toothbrush?”

Jian yi, a dumbass: “I didn’t know we were having toothbrush for dinner?”

Mo guanshan brandishing a knife out of thin air: “Come ‘ere I’ll show you what's for dinner.”

- He tian is a menace in the grocery store, he’s bought about 4 pots, 2 pans, a new dish set AND knives set, 6 new mugs of different colors (Yellow for jian yi, blue for zhengxi, red for guanshan and black for him; the other two just looked nice) and a dozen of scented candles

Zheng xi, trying to keep Guanshan from committing murder in a grocery: “Why did you do this?”

He tian: “They were in sale! Buy one-take-one!”

Mo guanshan: “WHY WOULD YOU BUY 4 POTS OF THE SAME SIZE?!”

- They make it out of the store and Guanshan vows to never let jian yi and he tian do groceries

- Guanshan mostly cooks for everyone and Zhengxi helps out but jian yi is surprisingly a decent cook???

- He needs to be supervised tho because his attention span is limited to 5 seconds and he’ll forget he was boiling water

- He tian canonically can not cook. He is BANNED from the kitchen after he put sake in a pan thinking it was water

- He tian has 2 guestrooms in his apartment but he locks the other one and assigned Zhan Zhengxi and Jian yi to the other room

- Mo guanshan forces his way into Zhanyi’s room and He tian follows. That’s how all of them ended up sleeping in a single guestroom on the floor with mattresses stacked and pushed together

- Zhengxi introduces them to anime and Jian yi’s favorite genre is surprisingly action with a lot of fighting scenes and Mo guanshan (and He tian) likes slice-of-life

- He tian and Jian yi strays away from animes and movies related to the mafia and Zhengxi and Guanshan never asks, it’s an unspoken rule that those types of stuff are banned

- They have game nights because Jian yi thinks bonding is key to make their friendship last longer (and to avoid having anyone murdered)

- Every board game turns into a disaster. There’s no exception.

The boys playing monopoly:

Jian yi: “THAT WAS MINE YOU DICK! I WAS SAVING UP MONEY TO BUY IT!”

He tian: “Have you tried not being poor? No? Well that’s too bad.”

Zhengxi, is safe in jail and has the most land: “Lmao losers.”

The boys playing uno:

Mo guanshan: “Don’t do it…”

He Tian: “I’m sorry Mo this is the only way”

Mo guanshan: “No please you can find another way…”

He tian: “Goodbye, my love *puts a plus 4 down* Uno.”

Mo guanshan: *unintelligible noises of a loser* 

Playing scrabble:

Jian yi: “The fuck you mean gorjeus isn’t a word? That’s what I am.”

He tian: “You’re right, that's what you are. An absolute idiot.”

Chess:

Mo Guanshan to He tian: “You might be smart and winning but I have the power of violence and nothing is stopping me from flipping this table over.”

Word guessing game:

Jian yi: “It’s loud, annoying, depended and cries a lot.”

Zhengxi, guessing the word baby: “Is this you?”

Jian yi: “I- okay yeah that’s valid.”

- Zhengxi is very observant, he knows Jian yi well enough to know when he’s having anxieties about the pandemic, he knows when Guanshan needs some time alone, and when He tian is getting too lost in negative thoughts. He does what he can to help

- His bonding moments with Guanshan consists of listening to pop music and staying quiet

- The apartment is almost always alive and noisy, whether it’s Jian yi suggesting another game or Guanshan screaming about something, He tian takes joy in the fact that he’s with people he cares about

- He’s thankful for the noise after living in silence all alone for a long time. Jian yi knows the feeling of going home to an empty apartment and vows to visit more often with Zhengxi once this is all over (and drag Guanshan along assuming he’s not here already)

- Over time He tian smiles and laughs become a lot more genuine. Once, He tian laughed loudly at something Mo guanshan did and the only thing he can think of is, “Oh shit, happiness looks good on him.”

- Queue gay panic to Jian yi

Mo guanshan: “WHAT IS THIS?!”

Jian yi, remembering He tian doing the same thing yesterday: “Natural selection.”

- Jian yi loves all of them, really, but sometimes he feels claustrophobic from being kept inside for so long

- Zhan Zhengxi always notices, and he would sneak Jian yi up to the rooftop and they would stay there for a while so they can look at the stars, the city lights and Jian yi can breathe easier

- During those times, He tian relishes the alone time he gets with Guanshan, sometimes they talk and banter, but sometimes they just stay quiet and secretly enjoy each other’s presence (they steal glances at each other when they think the other isn’t looking)

- They grew so used to living with each other that they developed a shower schedule and Zhengxi wakes up the same time as Guanshan to help prepare breakfast

- He tian and Jian yi tends to wake up a little later and Jian yi gravitates closer for warmth so they end up cuddling until they’re forced to get up and eat

- Zhengxi takes a picture of them and sends it to their group chat

- He tian has hundreds of pictures of him and Mo, just Mo, the group, Zhengxi and Jian yi, and a lot more stolen shots that he keeps in a separate album in his phone

- He prints out his favorites, hangs them around the bedroom and frames some of them to put it in the living room. None of the other boys have the heart to take them down after seeing how happy He tian looks every time he sees the pictures

- Jian yi asks He tian to share the pictures to him too, he doesn’t print it out but he uses one of the pictures of all of them together as his lockscreen (his wallpaper is a stolen picture of him and Zhengxi He tian took when they were stargazing on the rooftop)

- When everything settles down enough for them to go home, they’re actually reluctant to go

- Still, Mo Guanshan and Zhengxi go home to their families. Jian yi stays with He tian since he knew his mom wasn’t at home anyway, at least this way they’ll both have company

- Guanshan claims (loudly) that he’s glad to get away from them but still video calls with them everyday anyway

Mo Guanshan, in the videocall for the nth time: “I’m SO GLAD. Those were the WORST weeks of my life.”

The others, hearing the same lie for the nth time: “Mhm. Whatever you say, Mo.”

- They have discord sleepovers because they all miss sleeping in the same room with each other (they never mention it but everyone knows)

- Mo Guanshan cooks meals for more than him and his mom and have it delivered to He tian’s and Zhan Zhengxi’s. When asked he claims it’s just leftovers

- Zhan Zhengxi’s body clock is fucked, he grew too used to waking up early so he just went with it and helps his mom prepare breakfast

- They all silently agree that they wouldn’t mind living with each other again in the future (again none of them ever mentions it but everyone is aware)

[blu-joons]

When You Support Them During The House Party Comeback ~ Super Junior Reaction

Leeteuk:

Your expression softened the moment you walked into the dressing room and saw Jeongsu sat with his head in his hands. “Everything going alright?” You asked him, noticing the chaos of the other members who sat around, frowning as he looked across at you.

“I’m just doing a lot of thinking,” he admitted, encouraging you to take a seat beside him.

You nodded understandingly, studying his face closely, “anything that you happen to be thinking about particularly?”

“Just how lucky I am,” he whispered, not wanting any of the others to here. “I never imagined when we released Twins that I’d still be sitting in dressing rooms fifteen years later preparing to perform on music shows still.”

Whilst Jeongsu had always been one to reflect as the leader, you were well aware that their recent anniversary had triggered a new wave of feelings in him. “It’s nice to see you perform without the rookie pressure these days.”

“I’m definitely starting to feel my age,” he chuckled in response to you, “one run through of House Party and I’m ready for a nap.”

“Just at least try and look young in front of the cameras,” you teased.

His hand reached out to push against your arm, “as long as everyone else still thinks I’m young, you can be the one to deal with my old bones at the end of the show.”

“You know that I’ll take the best care of you!”

Heechul:

As you walked in on Heechul running through his rap once again, a proud smile graced your face, noticing his eyes fall on you once he’d finished. “Sounds good,” you complimented, walking into his open arms as he reached out for you to approach him.

“I wish that I could do more,” he admitted, kissing softly against the top of your head.

Your brows furrowed instantly, “you do as much as you can, and I know the fans and the boys all appreciate it too.”

“At times I wonder how different things could be if I was able to perform on the stage though,” he sighed, “it still never quite feels the same only being able to spend a few moments on stage, it wasn’t supposed to be the way.”

You reached across and placed your hand into his tightly, “just being on the stage is huge for you, whilst you can’t change the years you’ve spent on the side-line, you’re here for this comeback, which I’m sure means the world.”

“It does feel nice to be around the group for a comeback again,” he confessed, taking a quick look around the room.

“And I know they’re all happy to see you too,” you noted.

His head nodded proudly, “I don’t want to get myself upset, I know that I should just be thankful for the chance to even be on the stage right now.”

“There’s nothing wrong with getting upset, it’s understandable.”

Yesung:

As Jungwoon placed his camera in front of you yet again, your hand reached out and pushed it away to face the members beside you. “I’m not a part of this,” you reminded him, pointing out to the carnage that was surrounding you both instead.

“You’re here supporting me, it’s a big deal,” he replied, turning his camera back around again.

Your eyes rolled at how persistent he was, “at least take some pictures of the group so that you can remember this time.”

“We’ve been together for weeks, I’ve got plenty with those losers,” he laughed, “but it’s my first time having you at one of our music shows, so I want the chance to take a photograph of you to remember this time.”

Despite your protests, you soon ended up smiling for Jungwoon to take a photo of you, only to be quickly interrupted by Hyukjae by your side. “I don’t remember asking for a group photo to be taken of us all.”

“I just want a picture of Y/N,” Jungwoon complained, pushing Hyukjae to one side, “my whole album is full of your ugly face.”

“I’ll have you know my face is very photogenic,” Hyukjae argued.

Jungwoon’s head shook, taking your hand and dragging you to somewhere where he could get you alone. “I’m determined to get a picture of you today.”

“Good luck with all of these guys around us.”

Shindong:

Your hand came over your mouth as you spotted Donghee miming against the mirror. It didn’t disguise the small squeal that came from you. “Sorry,” you whispered as his head snapped around to see where the noise had come from, grinning when he saw you.

“I’m just trying to create the perfect ending fairy,” he announced to you.

Your eyes rolled at his smile, “just smile and you’ll be perfect. What exactly are you trying to come up with for it anyway?”

“I thought I’d try and mime,” he spoke, repeating his actions once again so you could see what he was working on. “It’s something I’ve not seen anyone do before, even SHINee didn’t come up with something like that.”

You couldn’t help but be impressed not only by his creative mind, but also his high skills when it came to dance. “I think the fans will love it, and I know that you’re enjoying yourself whilst you’re creating it too.”

“I’ve definitely missed performing live,” he smiled, “I’ve just got the camera block to make sure that this looks as good as I want it too.”

“From what I’ve seen, it’ll be brilliant on the show,” you hummed.

His arm moved to wrap tightly around your shoulders, “if nothing else, knowing that I’ve put a smile on your face by doing it has already made it a good decision to make.”

“Everyone will smile watching you, I just know it.”

Eunhyuk:

His eyes fell on you as soon as you found him hidden away in the corridor of M Countdown, pausing his phone as you approached him. “You know the routine Hyukjae, there’s no need to worry,” you quickly tried to comfort him before he started again.

“I just want to make sure everything is perfect,” he frowned, letting go of a sigh.

You walked over and took a hold of his hands before he could continue, “you’ve danced for years, as soon as you step on the stage, you’ll be fine.”

“I know,” he frowned, leaning forwards to rest his forehead against yours, “I’ve been going through it so much with everyone else that suddenly it just feels like I’m the one who has no idea how the routine goes anymore.”

Your hand moved up to cup the side of his face, “why don’t you go over it once, with me? If you’re perfect, then you stop practicing, and if you make a mistake, you still stop practicing because you know you’ll be fine.”

“How’s that fair?” He laughed, “either way you end up getting your way, but what happens if I truly make a mistake Y/N?”

“I know that you won’t, that’s why,” you assured him.

His smile grew as you squeezed his hands, “I don’t know how you manage to make me feel better so often when I’m so full of self-doubt. How do you do it Y/N?”

“Because I know exactly what you’re like Hyukjae.”

Siwon:

Sweaty arms wrapped around you as soon as Siwon made his way off the stage, pressing a soft kiss against your forehead. “You’re gross,” you remarked, trying to wriggle out of his grip, but his strong arms kept you against his chest despite your protests.

“You should be telling me you’re proud of me,” he quickly retaliated against you.

Your eyes rolled, “you know that I’m proud of you, but not when you’re stuck to me, at least go and get a shower first.”

“You don’t normally complain like this,” he teased, unwrapping himself from around you as a member of staff began to remove his mic pack. “What did you think of the stage. anyway, did you enjoy being a part of our House Party.”

Without a thought, your head nodded excitedly. “You were centre a lot, but you absolutely killed it. Sometimes I watch you and I still feel like I’m watching you back in 2010, the last decade all feels like a blur.”

“My body is certainly starting to feel it,” he grinned, grabbing onto your shoulder, “can you believe we always used to perform at that intensity?”

“I reckon you still could if you tried hard enough,” you wisely responded.

Siwon’s eyebrows raised in surprise at your sudden remark, “this is my workplace, I can’t believe you’d even dare try and suggest such things right now.”

“I have no idea what you could be talking about.”

Donghae:

You sat back as Donghae moved around the dressing room, making sure to record as much as he could for his vlog. “Have you got any footage of yourself?” You asked as he passed you by again to record the mountain of food that was on the table.

“The fans don’t want to see me,” Donghae argued, keeping his camera out of your reach.

Your head shook, trying to grab onto it, “let me record you for a minute, you’ve at least got to show off that ponytail you’re rocking.”

“The fans have already seen my hair,” he tried to argue, but it was too late, you finally had a hold of his camera and quickly started following him around. “Are you really going to be alright with your voice being in the vlog.”

Your head nodded as you moved with him around the dressing room, “I’m sure the fans will thank me for filling them up on Donghae content, don’t you worry. Now, tell the fans a bit about what you’re doing right now.”

“I’m finding the right bandana to go with my outfit,” he informed the camera, holding up the selection that he’d picked out.

“What about the one that I bought for you?” You quickly suggested.

Donghae reached in and pulled out the black and white bandana you bought when he first started growing his hair out. “I was leaning towards this one anyway.”

“I know you were, because I bought it for you.”

Ryeowook:

His silence instantly concerned you as you walked back into the dressing room once everyone was changed and prepared for the comeback stage. “Feeling good?” You asked Ryeowook, desperate to get even a couple of words out of him to reassure yourself.

“It’s been a little while, even if there’s no audience,” he admitted in response.

Your head nodded, “I’m sure it feels strange without Elf there to support you guys, but they’ll all be watching, around the world.”

“I still feel like a rookie,” he sighed, brushing his hand gently through his fringe, “I look around and see all these younger singers, and that still feels like me, but it’s not. How have our fans stuck around with us for so many years?”

Your smile softened, taking a tight hold of his hand, “your fans have stuck around because you guys are amazing. Even if you’re far from rookies, you still have that rookie mind that makes people always fall in love with you.”

“I feel a lot better after talking to you,” he whispered, straightening out his suit jacket, “will you be there watching?”

“Of course, just have a little confidence in yourself,” you smiled.

His head nodded, unable to hide the growing smile that developed on his face, “I know what you’re trying to do, but I’m confident of putting on a good show.

“That’s what I love to hear from you.”

Kyuhyun:

The flash of a light coming across your face yet again caused you to groan, your eyes flickered up and pushed Kyuhyun to one side. “You’ll drain the battery of that before you get on the stage,” you sighed, knowing how bad of an idea it was to trust him with a prop.

“They’ve got hundreds of lights for Burn the Floor,” he smugly teased back at you.

Your eyes rolled, trying to reach out to take the light, “I’ll be blind before I get to see you guys perform the song too.”

“So dramatic,” Kyuhyun scoffed, placing the light down on the table. “If you play your cards right, I could try and steal one of these to take back to the dorm and give you your own private performance of the song.”

Your hand pushed against his shoulder, sending him stumbling back, “why would I want to watch it at the dorm when I could watch all of you here, live? And the proper dancers are here then, I don’t have to watch you.

“How dare you,” he chuckled, stepping back towards you, “do you not remember I was a lead dancer in Bonamana all those years ago?”

“Many years ago,” you laughed, “I think a lot has changed since then.”

Kyuhyun’s head shook, picking the light back up, “you just wait, the performance I give you simply won’t compare to what you’ll see on the stage in a while.”

“It won’t compare, but not in a good way Kyu.”

---

Masterlist

[justthehiddleswrites]

Follow My Lead | Tom Hiddleston x OFC | Chapter 7 | Do you talk to all your clients so callously, or is Tom special?

A/N: This will update every Thursday.  There are 13 chapters.  There are all sorts of kinds of D/s relationships.  This is the one I choose to write this time.  

MASTERLIST HERE

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Vivian Swann)

Summary: Tom and Vivian have both been unlucky in love, searching for something outside of the bounds of a typical relationship.  When the two of them connect via a dating app, Tom is introduced to the idea of being submissive to Vivian.  Which is the one thing he never knew he needed.  Under the firm hand of Vivian, Tom learns what it means to submit and Vivian learns what it means to be in a loving dominant relationship.  But not everyone seems to understand what they have and the best intentions can destroy the strongest relationship.

This Chapter: Vivian meets Luke and they decide to take their relationship public via a trip to Centre Court.  

Warnings for story: Dominant/submissive relationship (sub!Tom), lots of smut including but not limited to: vaginal sex, oral sex (male and female receiving), edging, denial, teasing, use of restraints, spanking, multiple orgasm, anal play, use of toys.

Tag Lists Are Open!  Let me know if you want to be added.  Thank you for reading!

-

Vivian made plans to pick up Tom at his house on Friday night and go to see a movie. He did pretty well with the protocols, although he needed prompting to send Vivian text about his meals. Tom answered the door in just his jeans.

“Ma’am.” He held at his hand to Vivian.

“Sunshine.” She kissed, hand on his neck.

“I’ll finish getting dressed.” She followed him through the house and into the master bedroom. Vivian stopped as she took into the scene. Clothes everywhere. In piles on the floor and on a chair.

“Sunshine. Is this how this always looks?”

Tom shrugged his shoulders. “More or less, ma’am.” He dug through the closet for a shirt to wear.

“Clean it up now, please.”

“But we’re going to the movies. I can do it when we get back.”

“No, you’re doing it now.” She dropped her purse.

“It can really wait until after the movie. We’ll be late.” Tom continued to protest. He realized his mistake too late, spying the frown on Vivian’s face. “Sorry, ma’am.” His eyes cast downward.

“Get your hamper.” She sat down on the edge of the armchair in the room. Tom disappeared into the bathroom and brought out a large hamper.

“Put the clothes into the hamper.” She crossed her arms as Tom scoffed. With a sigh, he gathered all the clothes, not sure which were clean and which were dirty, not that it mattered at this point.

He smiled as he put all the clothes in the hamper and shut the lid.

“Now take them out.”

Tom’s mouth dropped open but complied reluctantly, pulling the clothes out into a pile.

“Now repeat that twenty times.”

“But the movie, ma’am.”

“Then I suggest you hurry, sunshine. And count it out loud.”

Tom grumbled as he repeated the task, counting it out. As Vivian tapped her foot, staring down at her phone. He picked up his pace as he could sense her irritation growing.

“Twenty.” He worked up a bit of a sweat and closed the lid to the hamper.

Vivian stood and kissed his cheek. “Good job, sunshine. Keep the place picked up. Now let’s go to the movie, we can still make it if we hurry.”

Tom threw on a pair of shoes and grabbed his phone and wallet while Vivian walked to the front door. They made it to the movie in time to grab concessions, but they missed a few previews. Vivian selected seats at the back with her hand on the inside of Tom’s thigh the entire time. Her fingers grazing his cock, causing Tom to jump.

“Do I distract you, sunshine?” Vivian whispered into his ear, nibbling behind the lobe.

“A bit, ma’am.” Tom hissed, squirming in his seat.

“If you stay still for the rest of the movie, you can have a reward when we return home.”

“What kind of reward, ma’am?” He smirked at her in the dark.

She squeezed his leg tight. “The kind that uses my mouth.”

Tom hissed. “Yes ma’am.”

Vivian’s interest in the movie waned as she found it much more entertaining to tease Tom. He did a much better job than she expected him to do so. Tom impressed her.

They waited until everyone else left the theater, in part to allow them some privacy and in part for Tom to cool down.

“Did I earn a reward, darling?” He wore a smug smile on his face.

Vivian sized him up as though turning the decision over in her head, before squeezing his arm. “Yes you did, darling. Now let’s head home.”

-

Tom didn’t let go of Vivian’s hand as they walked up the front steps to his house. He may or may not have dropped his keys trying to open the door in excitement.

“Living room, sunshine. Strip, hands behind your head.”

She swore Tom skipped into the living room and stripped off his pants, shirt and underpants, cock already semi-hard in anticipation. He folded them and put them on the same table as that first night.

“Good boy, sunshine.” Tom’s chest puffed. Her nail ran along his chest, trailing down his torso until running along his shaft. He inhaled sharply. “Very good boy.”

Vivian pulled off her own dress and panties and unhooked her bra. She folded them and handed them to Tom, who placed them on the same table as his own clothes.

Vivian lowered in front of him. “You will not move or touch me. If you do, I stop.”

“Yes ma’am.” Tom shifted his feet.

“Now for your reward.”

She licked the tip of his cock and he moaned. Vivian kissed along his shaft and cupped his balls, heavy in her palm.

“Yes, ma’am.” Tom hummed, his head falling back.

Tom’s moan made Vivian’s own arousal grow. She took him into her mouth and sucked hard. His hands clenched at his sides. Vivian hollowed her cheeks and sucked off Tom, sliding her lips and tongue along him while fondling him with her other hand. Tom grew close, his balls tightening in Vivian’s hand, and she popped off his cock and jerked his cock until he came in spurts on her chest.

Tom stood still and gazed down at Vivian, covered in him. It was beautiful.

“May I, ma’am?” Tom raised a knowing eyebrow.

Vivian nodded and laid back onto the floor. Tom crawled towards her. He nipped along her inner thigh, her hand grabbing the back of his head, steering him toward her core. His tongue licked along her, already wet.

“That’s it, sunshine.” She moaned.

Tom’s nose nudged along her clit and he pushed her legs wider. He pushed two fingers into Vivian. As he thrusted into her, Tom licked and sucked her clit. She tugged at his hair, sending jabs of pain through him, her nails digging into his scalp. Vivian ground against Tom’s face. The slight stubble rubbing against the delicate skin of her thighs.

“Yes, fuck your mouth, sunshine. So good!” Vivian moaned.

Tom pressed and rubbed against her clit and she came, shuddering against Tom’s mouth, which did not stop. Vivian pulled him away from her. Tom curled up against her leg, hugging it tight. She sat up and petted his hair. Tom hummed.

“I need to go home, sunshine.” Vivian cooed.

“I wish you would stay, ma’am. It is better when you stay.”

Vivian chuckled. “But I have nothing with me.”

Tom stood up. “One moment, ma’am.”

He hustled away and Vivian giggled at how his bare ass swayed as he walked away. He came back with a cosmetic bag and a pair of pajamas, identical to her favorites. Inside the bag were twins of the toiletries in her shower.

“How did you—”

“I took pictures one morning while you slept and then of the label of your pajamas. These seemed to be your favorites. I wanted you to be comfortable.”

She pulled him into a passionate kiss. “That is the sweetest thing, sunshine. You are so thoughtful.” Tom blushed. “Help me up, please.” He extended his hand to her and helped her to her feet.

“You’re welcome, ma’am.”

They both showered and slipped into pajamas and then tucked under the sheets, Tom’s arm wrapped around Vivian’s waist.

-

Tom woke up to Vivian draped across his torso, her hair tickling along his jaw. He ran his fingers up and down her back and she nuzzled into his neck. Tom realized the relationship was still new. Hell, there hadn’t even been paparazzi photos yet or the obligatory Daily Mail article filled with innuendo and gossip. But everything felt right, like home. He appreciated how Vivian looked after him, not because it was her job, but because she genuinely cared.

Tom closed his eyes and enjoyed the heavy weight of her body on his chest until his stomach growled. He tapped on Vivian’s shoulder.

“Ma’am, what would you like for breakfast?” he whispered, drawing circles on her back.

“Hmmmm?” Vivian moaned, rolling onto her side. “Coffee…”

“Anything else?” He kissed her head.

“Food.” she grumbled.

“I think I can oblige. I am going to get up now.”

“Okay…”

Tom took care to lift Vivian’s head up and place it back on the pillow and cover her with the duvet, before tugging on a pair of boxer briefs and heading to the kitchen. He cooked up a quick breakfast of eggs, bacon, and toast while the coffee brewed. Once everything was ready, Tom placed two plates on a tray along with coffee.

“Ma’am…” He leaned down and kissed behind her ear. “Breakfast is ready.”

Vivan stretched and sat up with a smile. Tom set the tray down and adjusted the pillows behind Vivian. He placed the tray over her lap and she inhaled the aroma of coffee and eggs.

“Smells divine, sunshine. Thank you.”

She handed him a cup of coffee before sipping her own. Made sweet just how she liked it. Tom sipped his own coffee. Vivian grabbed a piece of toast and held it out for Tom. He bit down on the corner, the crispy bread and butter coating his mouth. She followed with a piece of bacon.

“Thank you, ma’am.” He offered her a piece of toast and she snapped at it. They laughed and ate the entire breakfast. Tom moved the tray out of the way and curled next to Vivian.

“So what are your plans today?” She petted his head.

Tom shrugged his shoulders. “Nothing.” He gazed up at her. “Luke wants to meet sometime this week with you and me.”

Vivian frowned. “Did he say why?”

Tom stood to clear the dishes. “He mentioned something about going over what to expect at Wimbledon. The pictures, the fallout, what not.” He ducked out of the room.

Vivian furrowed her brow and tugged on one of Tom’s shirts and followed him. “Fallout?”

“I am sure once I show up on the arm of a stunningly beautiful woman at Centre Court, people will talk.”

Vivian raised an eyebrow. She was well aware of the notoriety of Tom’s relationships in the press. She did her research before jumping into the relationship.

“To be honest, I am surprised there haven’t been photos already.” She hopped onto the counter while Tom washed the dishes.

“I am as well, ma’am. Should I have Luke call you?”

“Hand me your phone, sunshine.”

Tom hesitantly reached across the counter and handed Vivian his mobile. She scrolled through his contacts and pushed one.

“Why are you calling me on a Saturday morning? What kind of problem did you create and now I have to solve, you tit?”

“Do you talk to all your clients so callously, or is Tom special?” Vivian snapped back. Tom reached for his mobile, but Vivian waved him off and smirked.

“Who is this and why do you have Tom’s mobile?” Luke questioned back.

“It’s Vivian Swann and I have his mobile because he gave it to me.”

“Well… I… I…” Luke sputtered.

“I don’t need your apologies. You wanted to meet with me this week. I’m available Monday at 10 a.m. Does that work for you?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Luke snapped.

“I’ll see you then. I hope you have a lovely weekend, Mr. Windsor.”

“You too. Give my hellos to Tom.”

Vivian glanced over at Tom, who had a look of absolute horror on his face as his publicist talked with his domme girlfriend.

“I will, thank you. Bye.”

“Bye.”

Vivian grabbed his hand and pulled Tom close, kissing his lips. “Luke gives his hellos.” She purred at him.

Tom chuckled, his arms wrapping around her waist. His lips curled into a smile while he kissed her back. “Wow, Luke is really forward today. I must have a talk with him.”

“I have taken some liberties.” Vivian collapsed into giggles, peppering kisses on Tom’s face. “What do you say we have a lazy weekend, sunshine? Lie on the couch watching movies, ordering takeaway and just being lumps?”

“I like this plan, ma’am. May I suggest we start with a leisurely shower for two?”

“You read my mind.”

-

The two of them didn’t leave Tom’s house for the next two days. They made love on the couch, the bed and even the kitchen counter, when Tom waylaid Vivian as she put away the leftovers from lunch on Sunday.

“I can’t get enough of you, ma’am.” he growled as he thrusted into her.

“Me too, sunshine.” Her nails dug into the skin on his shoulders, leaving red crescent marks. Tom came and slumped against her after Vivian orgasmed.

Vivian should have gone home on Sunday night so she could get ready for work, but she didn’t want to leave Tom. She didn’t want to leave the comfort of his arms or the view of his boyish smile. So instead set her alarm to an obscene time and slipped under the covers to curl over Tom’s back.

-

Vivian needed three cups of coffee on Monday morning and was still a grump arriving at the office. Mary shooed away any unnecessary appointments and screened all Vivian’s phone calls.

“Ms. Swann.” Mary popped her head in at 9:30.

“Yes, Mary?” Vivian groaned, the coffee kicking in.

“You have that personal meeting at 10 a.m. and you emailed me on Saturday to remind you…”

Vivian jumped up and grabbed her suit jacket and purse. “Thank you, Mary.” She hustled out of the building, hoping traffic wouldn’t be too bad.

-

Tom paced inside Luke’s office, waiting for Vivian to arrive. Luke sat behind his enormous glass and steel desk, his eyes following Tom’s path.

“Are you nervous?” Tom jumped at the noise and laughed nervously. He ran his hands through his hair.

“What? No! Just hoping she didn’t get caught in traffic, that’s all.” His closed lip smile doing nothing to dissuade Luke.

“New suit?” Tom glanced down. Vivian had picked it out for him during a shopping trip. He had other suits, but he wanted to wear this one today.

“Yes, I believe it is.” Tom smiled.

“Bit fancy for a meeting with me. You usually turn up in that same fucking sweater and jeans. Trying to impress the girl?”

“No. I have other meetings today.” Tom lied. “And she is not “the girl” or “a girl” she is a woman, my girlfriend, and her name is Vivian. And I would expect you to speak about her in the tone and respect she deserves.”

“Lord, I hope he would.” Vivian kissed Tom’s cheek. “I like the suit, darling.”

Tom blushed. “I like your suit too.” He returned the kiss. Luke rolled his eyes.

“Okay, lovebirds take a seat.” He gestured at the two chairs in front of the desk.” Vivian sat, and then Tom. She reached out to touch his arm.

“So Mr. Windsor, I imagine this meeting has several purposes…”

“Well, actually—”

Vivian cut him off. “Please don’t patronize me with any spin talk. I’m a lawyer, bullshit is my business. Now I believe you wanted this meeting to discuss our upcoming outing to Wimbledon. Which is all fine and good, but I suspect you have also called this meeting to suss me out?”

Luke sat silently for a moment. “Yes, that’s correct. I’d rather know about any potential pitfalls ahead of time. You can’t be too careful.”

Vivian smiled. “I can assure you, I only have Tom’s best interests at heart. In fact, I even offered to sign a NDA, but he refused.”

Luke’s mouth dropped open, and he narrowed his eyes at Tom. “You—”

“It was rather romantic.” Vivian squeezed Tom’s arm. “Wasn’t it, darling?”

Tom sat dumbstruck. He wasn’t sure what was happening, but he was in no position to argue. “It was, darling.”

Vivian returned her gaze to Luke. “I am a junior partner at Watkins, Price, and Forbes, I graduated with my law degree from Oxford, attended Wycombe Abbey on scholarship, grew up in Sheffield, lost the accent. I have been sued three times, all due to work. Every time I prevailed. But you knew all of that, Mr. Windsor, because you do your job and do it well. So ask me what you want to ask?”

Luke blinked, his gaze darting between Tom and Vivian. “I like her, Thomas.” He wagged his finger at Vivian. “I like her a lot.” Tom beamed with pride. “You’re right. Now tell me what a basic Google search won’t. Tell what your best mate from Oxford might say to a reporter if offered enough money to clear her overdraft. Those dark secrets no one knows.”

Vivian gazed at Tom, looking for the silent assent to proceed. “Tell him everything, darling.” Tom reached out and squeezed her hand. “He’ll need to know sooner or later.”

“So I kissed a girl a few times at Oxford, no pictures and I can’t even remember her name. I had an ex who I needed to get a restraining order against about seven years ago. He is now in prison for assaulting another woman. I’ve had a few online dating profiles that are now deactivated. And…” She glanced at Tom one more time and he nodded. “… Tom and I engage in a D/s lifestyle relationship.”

“Well, that is not all that bad… Wait, what? A D/s lifestyle relationship? Tom would you like to explain?” Luke glared, nostrils flaring.

“I only brought it up because I have had a couple of similar relationships in the past. They all ended amicably, but you never know.” Vivian interjected. “D/s is dominant/submissive.”

Luke leaned back in his chair, processing the information. “Do the two, use like whips and masks and that sort of thing? Because Tom, your sex life is really…”

Tom and Vivian burst into laughter. “Luke, if you could see your face. Not yet.” He winked at Vivian. “But I will be certain to take photos.” Luke shot up. “Kidding! It just means an exchange of power. I have given the power to Vivian and in return she takes care of me.” Tom’s face softened. “Quite well I may so.”

“And you of me, darling.” They leaned over and kissed. Luke gagged in the background.

“Ok, enough, please stop making out in my office. I would like to keep my breakfast in my stomach. Now this D/s does it interfere with Tom’s job?” He directed his questions towards Vivian.

“Nope, I stay completely out of his work. It is imperative he remain autonomous in that regard. I do pick out his clothes for events and what not, but whether or not he chooses to attend something or film a project or not is entirely his purview. Just as he wouldn’t tell me how to prepare for trial.”

“And otherwise, you do what?” Luke asked. “I’m not talking in bed, but you said lifestyle. What else do you do for Tom?”

“Make sure he is eating properly, getting enough, keeping to his schedule.”

“That makes two of us.” Luke interjected.

“If you share his schedule with me, I am more than happy to help. He…” she pinched Tom’s side. “… has refused to share his calendar with me thus far. I’m stuck with the schedule he emails me on Sunday.” Tom glanced away.

“Done. Tom. I take it back.” Luke commented, straightfaced. “I don’t like her. I love her. In fact, if you screw this up, I might date her myself.”

Vivian blushed. She appreciated her efforts being valued but someone other than Tom, although it wasn’t necessary. She cleared her throat.

“So now that all the dirty laundry is out for all to see, let’s talk tennis.”

Luke slammed his hands on the desk. “Right, so the two of you will definitely be photographed. We have two options, deny a relationship or be honest about the two of you dating. If you want to deny, I can’t have the two of you kissing at the event. We can spin you two as just good friends until you are ready to reveal. But regardless, the papers are likely to post something. Vivian, I would tell you not to read the comments.”

“I would support that.” Tom piped in.

Vivian nodded. “Anything else?”

“Not that I can think of. I would like your email and phone number in case I need to get a hold of you or Boy Wonder over here.” Tom grinned.

“I like that nickname.” Vivian fished out a business card and wrote on the back. “There is my business information and my personal information is on the back.” Luke set the card down by his monitor.

“Luke…” Tom extended his hand. The two shook hands and embraced before Luke extended his hand to Vivian.

“I don’t know where he found you, but I’m glad he did.” Luke pulled Vivian into a hug. “If you break his heart, I will kill you.” he whispered in her ear.

“The same goes for you, Luke, old boy.” she smiled back, she squeezed his hand hard.

“You have some grip.” Luke commented, shaking out his hand.

“Thanks. Now if you don’t mind, I have some paperwork that needs my attention back at the office.” She grabbed her purse.

“I’ll walk you out.” Tom followed her. They walked in silence to the elevator, waiting for the doors to close behind them.

Once they did, Vivian grabbed the back of Tom’s neck and kissed him. “I do love you in that suit.”

“I wore it for you.” Tom tugged at her lower lip. “Do you have to get back to the office right now?” His hands teased along her side.

“What did you have in mind, sunshine?”

“Lunch.” Tom wiggled his eyebrows.

Vivian burst into laughter. “Are you ever not hungry?”

“Not when I am around you.”

-

“You’re wearing the tennis racquet tie?” Vivian called out from the living room. She leaned against a chair and fiddled with her swan necklace. She was nervous. This was a big deal. And after today, everything would change.

“Yes, ma’am.” Tom’s voice rang out. He stepped into the living room in his dark blue pinstriped suit and light blue shirt. His brown oxfords shining in the light.

“Has anyone ever told you how sexy you look in a suit, sunshine?” Vivian straightened his tie and picked off a piece of lint from the lapel.

“Ever heard of Tumblr?” He grabbed her purse. “We’ll be late, ma’am.”

Vivian wasn’t used to seeing so many celebrities. She did her best to not gawk. She clung to Tom as he smiled on his way into the stadium. Tom leaned to whisper into her ear.

“You are going to put holes into my jacket with your nails, darling. Relax and smile. You are doing great.” He kissed her cheek.

“Thank you, darling.” She kissed his cheek back.

“I hope the photographers got that.” Tom chuckled.

They made their way to their seats at the Centre Court. “You didn’t say Sophie and Ben would be here.” Vivian nudged Tom’s arm.

“Huh?” His head snapped toward Vivian’s hand to see Benedict and Sophie making their way to them.

“Sophie!” Vivian stood up to envelope Sophie into a hug. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

Sophie frowned. “I told Ben to have Tom tell you.”

“I may have forgotten to text Tom.” Ben shrugged his shoulders sheepishly.

Sophie smacked Benedict hard on the arm. “Ow! Do you mind, there are cameras everywhere?” he hissed.

“Good, then they’ll know I’m mad at you. You are looking dapper, Thomas.” Sophie smiled.

“Vivian picked out at the outfit.”

“So sweet. And Vivian. that dress is divine.”

Vivian blushed. “Tom bought it for me.”

“Way to make me look bad, mate.” Benedict commented, still rubbing his shoulder. “You know you can tone down the perfect gentleman, Disney prince routine every once in the while? Give us mere mortals a chance.”

Tom smirked. “Now why would I do that?”

“I like him just fine the way he is.” Vivian piped up. Tom’s arm wrapped around Vivian’s waist as he tilted his head to kiss her. She reached up to cup his face.

“That goes double for me, darling.” Tom beamed down at her.

“I see the two of you have decided to go public. I heard camera shutters from here.” Sophie commented. “We’ll be back.” Sophie tugged Ben away.

Tom and Vivian settled into their seats to watch Nadal and Djokovic play in the finals. Vivian’s hand lighted on the back of Tom’s neck and shoulders. His knees tilted towards her, touching against her bare skin. Tom described the play in animated gestures, causing Vivian to laugh.

“I love when you get excited like this.” she commented.

“Like a puppy?” Tom offered.

“No, like an excited child. It is beyond sweet how your face lights up.”

“Thank you, darling.”

“When we get home,” Vivian leaned over to whisper in Tom’s ear, her voice low so the surrounding spectators couldn’t hear. “I’m going to blindfold you with that tie and spank your cute little ass with a tennis racquet. Is that understood?”

Tom crossed his legs, no easy feat in the cramped seating area and covered his mouth with his hand in case the paparazzi were watching. He bit his lower lip and leaned over to whisper back. “Yes, ma’am.”

Vivian smiled as she rubbed Tom’s shoulders and neck and kissed his cheek. “Thank you, darling. Now let’s enjoy the game.”

Tom shifted in his seat.

“Miss anything?” Benedict asked.

Vivian smiled up at Ben and Sophie. “Just making plans for later tonight.”

Sophie sat down next to Vivian. “Can we join in?” she asked innocently. Tom coughed.

“Darling,” Vivian turned her attention back to Tom, rubbing his back. “Are you alright? Have some water.” She handed him a water bottle. Tom took a long swig.

“I don’t see why not? I was trying to decide where to go for dinner. Unless the two of you need to get back home to the kids?”

Sophie grabbed Vivian’s arm. “I know a delightful little place not too far away.”

“Sounds delicious.” Vivian glanced over at Tom, whose face was an uncomely shade of white. “What do you say, boys? Want to join us?”

“Whatever you say, dear.” Benedict commented.

“Of course, darling.”

Vivian chuckled. “Isn’t it lovely when people just do what we want, Sophie?”

“Indeed it is.”

-

The rest of the match was torture for Tom. Vivian kept squeezing his knee and rubbing his neck which caused blood to rush to body parts he would rather not in public. She was doing it on purpose and there wasn’t much Tom could do to stop it.

“You’re teasing me, darling.” Tom hissed into her ear.

“Yes I am, darling. It’s not my fault, your mind is in the gutter.”

“Who put it there?”

Vivian shrugged her shoulders. “Guilty. But you know you love it.”

The match dragged on and Tom wanted nothing more than to beg off dinner and returned Vivians’ apartment but he knew she would never let him. She was enjoying torturing him too much.

Vivian made a point of ordering not only an appetizer and entrée but dessert and coffee. Tom picked at their dessert.

“Tom, are you okay?” Benedict asked as he sipped a decaf coffee. “You’ve been awfully quiet.”

“Not going to lie, Ben. I am rather eager to get home.” He stretched and yawned for effect. He shot a glare over at Benedict while Vivian chatted with Sophie about her necklace.

“Right. Sophs…. we really should be going.”

“But I was—”

“I mean we should be going.” Benedict leaned over and whispered in his wife’s ear.

“Right, dear. The boys will need us. Vivian….” The women hugged. “… a delight as always. Tom…” Tom reached over the table to hug Sophie and Benedict.

“Love you, Soph. You too, Ben.” The couple quickly left the restaurant giving their goodbyes and promises to get together soon.

Vivian turned to Tom. “Did you just shoo away our friends so that you can get home sooner?”

“Yes, darling.” Tom smirked. “I am….” He tugged on his tie. “…. looking forward to the evening’s activities.”

Vivian’s hand grazed Tom’s crotch, and she noticed his cock already semi-hard.

“It would appear you are.”

[waywardfangirl]

For the fantastic @fight-surrender: You are a wonderful person with a brilliant mind and a kind heart, and I am so happy to know you! I really enjoyed the prompts you suggested for the Secret Snowflake exchange this year, so to give you something fluffy and happy for your birthday I combined a few of them into one sweet and silly fic - I hope that you like it! 🖤

A big thank you goes out to @carryonvisinata for her wonderful beta work and for making this fic even better for such an incredible friend 🖤 Purr-fect Strangers

Rated: General Audiences Word Count: 3208 Chapters: 1/1 Simon

"Die Hard? Really?"

I'm struggling to make the Redbox give me my DVD. Video vending machines sounded like a good idea when I couldn't find anywhere to stream my favorite movie, but the obstinate thing in front of me and the condescending voice behind me are now making me reconsider my choices.

"What's wrong with Die Hard?" I demand, momentarily giving up on retrieving my video to take some of my frustration out on the prick watching me.

Unfortunately, when I turn around to scowl at him, I make eye contact with one of the most attractive people I've ever seen. He's tall, with dark hair escaping the bun on top of his head and falling around his face, and a perfectly tailored suit hugging every inch of his body right on down to his shiny Chelsea boots. My brain shorts out, and he sneers at me.

"There’s nothing wrong with it, per se. But you have a near unlimited assortment of cinema to choose from, and you've selected Die Hard?"

(Read the rest on ao3, or keep reading here)

I scoff.

"Look, mate, some of us don't feel the need to watch pretentious films just to feel better than other people. I like Die Hard. I'm going to watch it while eating pizza and relaxing in joggers, and I refuse to feel bad about enjoying that."

He looks a bit startled, and his cheeks take on a slightly pink tinge, but he just arches an eyebrow at me. (And manages to make that look unfairly hot too, the prat.)

"What movie are you renting?" I say it like a challenge, and he pushes past me.

He deftly removes my DVD from the stubborn machine and thrusts it at me, before turning back around to get his own. I loiter behind him, just like he did to me, ready to see what movie he thinks is better than Die Hard.

"Two Weeks Notice?" I exclaim, when I see the poster pop up on the screen. "You're ridiculing Die Hard, but getting a rom-com for yourself? Unbelievable."

He pushes past me and turns up his nose. My blood boils for so many different reasons, and it's work to hold myself still.

"This has Hugh Grant in it. My tastes are superior."

Then he swans off, and I'm left standing on the kerb.

Baz

A year into my time at university, I started treating myself to a monthly visit to Sephora. It was easily excusable then, with parties every weekend to justify each new purchase, but I've kept up the tradition since graduating. (Retail therapy and good skin care never hurt anyone. And a little eyeliner does wonders for one's self esteem.)

This month, I'm browsing for something sparkly. My eyes are grey, but with a dark, glittery liner I think they might stand out a little more. I'm just testing one of the pencils on the back of my hand when I see him.

Blond hair, plain blue eyes, and a constellation of freckles and moles across his skin. The most lovely man I have ever seen, with the worst taste in movies, and (I'm sure) a well-deserved hatred for me.

For all that I try to appear cool and confident, my facade sometimes fails me. When I get flustered, I become cruel. The man renting Die Hard was so pretty that all I could do was insult him and then curse myself for it the entire way home. I couldn't even properly enjoy Hugh Grant, as mired as I was in self-loathing. And now, whatever second chance to impress him I've been granted with has surely been ruined by my actions last time.

I keep my head down and steal glances at him through my eyelashes.

He is entirely out of his element, that much is obvious right away. I watch him ask one of the shop assistants for help, and she points him in the direction of a display. His brow furrows as he picks up different containers, and he’s ridiculously precious and hopeless as he holds a lipstick tube next to a garish eyeshadow palette and closes one eye to look at them. (What is he even doing?)

Finally, his confusion seems to win out, and he turns to look around for help, when he suddenly spots me. I've been caught out; I can't pretend now like I haven't been staring, and he scowls a little as we make eye contact. I arch an eyebrow, watch as his face grows pink in anger, and decide I hate myself enough to try talking to him again.

"That's really not your shade."

"What?" It's a simple word, horribly enunciated, and does nothing to quell the wrinkle between his eyes.

"The purple. I don't think it would flatter you. Furthermore, that lipstick clashes horribly with every color in that palette."

He turns a bright red and starts to splutter. I am hopelessly endeared.

"That's not- I, I don't- it isn't-"

"Oh, calm down, there's nothing wrong with wearing makeup," I say, flashing him the back of my hand with the eyeliner tests on it. "You just need to pick a better shade." I pluck a different palette (for blue eyes) and a lipstick in a true red from the display and hand them over. "Something like this."

He stares at them dumbly for a moment, his mouth hanging open. (Mouth breather.)

"You think I should wear this?"

"I think it would flatter you if you chose to wear makeup. That purple will do you no favors." I sneer at the garish eyeshadow still in his hand.

"It's for my friend!" he finally bursts out.

"Are you mad at her?" It's a reasonable question, that eyeshadow is truly appalling.

"No? It's her birthday next week, and she said that she wanted to have some makeup for date nights and things."

"Are you in love with her?"

"No!" No hesitation at all. "No, no way. Penny is like my sister. She's my best friend. We're not…" he trails off, and I'm strangely reassured. He still probably hates me, but at least there is one woman in the world that he’s not dating, so my odds have improved marginally.

"Don't get your pants in a twist. I just thought you might be, since that eyeshadow would certainly drive away her current boyfriend."

He sticks out his chin and seems to decide something.

"Fine. What should I get for her, then?" The “if you know so much” is left unsaid.

I'm not really an expert, despite my monthly purchases, but I'll take any excuse I can get to linger around this starburst of a boy for a few moments more.

"Does she wear makeup normally?" He shakes his head no. "Then perhaps start with something more subtle for her." I take the offending palette away and hand him a more subdued one, with a faint shimmer. "Do you think this would look nice on her?"

He thinks hard for a moment, then pulls out his phone, swiping at the lock screen and turning it to face me.

"This is her."

His home screen background is a picture of the two of them, cheeks pressed together and grinning like crazy under the summer sun. His curls are being tossed by the wind, and he looks like a bronze Adonis. I think my heart actually skips a beat at the sight.

"That palette will be fine then. This lipstick, too," I add, handing him a plum shade. "Do you need anything else?" I ask, and then cringe when I sound like I'm working instead of flirting.

He shakes his head.

"No, this is brilliant, thanks."

He still looks a bit confused, and he bites his lip as he looks down at the makeup in his hand - the makeup for his friend, and the things I picked out for him.

I don't want to go, but I can't figure out any way to prolong our conversation.

"You should get that one," he says, pointing to one of the lines on my hand. I raise an eyebrow in question. He's right, but what does this mean? Is he flirting? Does he want me to wear eyeliner? Is he just trying to repay me for helping him? "Yeah. Definitely that one."

He raps his knuckles on the counter beside us twice, and then wanders towards the check out.

It's not until I'm trying to fall asleep that I realize - he bought the makeup for himself too.

Simon

One of my foster fathers had a workshop, and I spent a happy summer watching him build a table and matching chairs for the dining room. I didn't get to stay to see it completed, because one of his biological children kept stealing money out of his mom's purse and blaming me, but I still enjoyed the time I had spent watching woodworking. I liked it so much that when Penny and I graduated and got a flat together, I saved up to buy a few tools. I don't make anything major, but I've built small shelves and a side table and a pan organizer for the flat, and I really like it.

Recently, Penny has been complaining about not being able to reach everything in the kitchen, so while she's still at work I stop by the B&Q to pick up some wood for a step stool. I'm heading to the check out when I see him - the mean makeup guy. (Although he was actually quite nice when we were talking about makeup. He was just rude when we were getting our movies.)

He's dressed casually today, in tight dark jeans and a warm grey sweater, with his hair falling in loose waves around his face. He's glaring down at two wrenches, and I hate that he still looks so good when he's glowering.

Before I even register what's happening, my feet have carried me over to him.

"D'ya need help?"

He startles, and turns lovely grey eyes up to look at me. It's work not to gasp. He’s wearing eyeliner. I'm not entirely sure, but I think it may even be the eyeliner I told him to buy.

"The sink in my kitchen is leaking. I watched a tutorial on YouTube, and it should be easy enough to fix, but I don't have the proper tools."

He goes back to glaring at the wrenches, and I lean over to take a look.

“You want that one.”

“Why? How do you know?”

“Well, it’s adjustable. You can change it within reason, so as long as your plumbing isn’t something incredibly out of the ordinary it should fit just fine.”

He looks surprised (and maybe a bit like he wants to attack me, although I try to ignore that).

“How do you know that?”

I laugh.

“Basic home maintenance, mate, I’ve had to fix a leaky sink before too, believe it or not.”

I grin at him until one corner of his mouth tips upward in response.

“Thanks,” he says, his cheeks flushing a little. “I’ll get this one then. Yes. Thank you. Have a nice evening.”

He strides off, once again leaving me feeling a bit dazed.

He looks really good in eyeliner.

Baz

When Fiona discovered I hadn’t left the apartment in a week, she called in the cavalry. Daphne showed up at my door with a casserole and some flowers, and within minutes she had the kitchen feeling like a place that was less utility space and more home.

“Basil, Fiona is worried about you.” I rolled my eyes, despite knowing it wouldn’t get me anywhere. “I’m worried about you, too. You spend so much time by yourself, and you hardly ever go out to see your friends or enjoy the city.”

“I’m fine. Thank you for your concern.”

“Basil,” she had said, and that time it was a warning. “It’s not healthy for anyone to spend this much time alone.”

“What, do you expect me to get a cat?”

Daphne smiled, and I knew that I had said the wrong thing.

“Yes, actually. And,” she said, before I could object, “Fiona thought you should too. In fact, she made it a condition of your continued occupancy of this flat. We both think it might be nice for you to have someone else around to talk to.”

I arched an eyebrow.

“And you want me to talk to a cat?”

Daphne just gave me a Mona Lisa smile, handed me a plate filled with food, and told me when she left later that evening that I had forty-eight hours to send her a picture of a cat. (I asked what I should do if I didn’t like any of the cats I saw. Or if they didn’t like me. She said I had to at least prove that I tried.)

So, this morning, I made my way to the nearest RSPCA and talked to strangers for the first time in over a week. I told them that I was looking to adopt a cat, and they immediately led me to a room filled with individual cages and an assortment of felines. They said I could play with any of the cats that I wanted, and now I’m staring into the eyes of a fluffy orange tabby.

The tabby meows at me, and I swear that she’s telling me to get lost. I guess cats can tell when you’re out of your depth.

I stroll down the aisle and read the names given to each cat. It’s been years since I last had a pet and even then, the husky my family had wasn’t my sole responsibility. I was in charge of feeding him, but there was always someone else making sure that I did. And really, we only adopted him when my pediatrician suggested that an animal might help me after my mother died. Daphne is probably trying to do the same thing again now. (Is this how one becomes a crazy cat lady? Depression, anxiety, OCD, and an unwillingness to tolerate therapy?)

I keep walking slowly until I feel a tug on my sleeve. I look down, and a little orange paw ending in one very sharp claw has latched on to me. I unhook it before my sweater can snag, and then look into the kennel. There are two kittens, each only about ten weeks old according to their cards, and the orange one is peering up at me with big blue eyes. Its littermate is asleep in the corner, curled into a fluffy black puffball, but the tabby is ready to play. His tail twitches, and he pounces immediately when I wiggle a finger between the bars. He catches my fingertip in a far more gentle grasp than I would have imagined, then looks at me with what can only be described as pure adoration.

“Excuse me,” I say, moving my finger some more and feeling small claws dig in. Then again, louder, to get the attention of the woman, “Excuse me. Can I see this one?”

The woman comes over and flips the latch, then reaches in and comes out with a handful of fur and knives. The kitten opens its mouth in a fierce imitation of a vampire, then stretches it further as it lapses into a yawn. We spend the better part of an hour in a bright, cheerful room, just the kitten and I. At first it chases a string that I drag along the ground and runs after balls with bells in them, but then it calms down and curls up in my lap to sleep.

I’m petting it and cooing softly to it, trying to ignore the fact that Daphne and Fiona were both right about this whole thing, when the door to the room opens again.

“Oh. It’s you,” says the most beautiful man I have ever seen. My face flushes when I remember our last encounter and I pray he doesn’t remember my ignorance. (Of course he does. I didn’t know how to select a wrench. I am incapable of basic home repair and he knows it.)

“Do you two know each other?” The woman from before is back, this time holding the other kitten from the same cage, and looking between the two of us. “These kittens aren’t technically a bonded pair, but they are siblings, the only two remaining from their litter, and it would be lovely if they could still see each other.”

“Err…” the man says, shifting his weight.

“We’ve met in passing a few times now,” I say, trying to avoid encouraging this line of questioning.

“Great!” she says, clapping her hands brightly after handing the kitten off. “I’ll leave all of you to get better acquainted then!”

For a moment, there’s just awkward silence. Neither of us are looking at each other, both focusing on our respective kittens. Then, his kitten turns into the feline equivalent of a slinky, oozes out of his grasp, and runs over to tap my leg once before running away again. It hides behind his legs, and all I can see is a black tail winding around his ankles.

We both laugh, and the ice is broken.

“I’m Simon,” he says, and smiles at me. It’s the same radiant smile I remember from his lockscreen. It feels like looking into the sun, and I bask in it.

“Basil. Although my friends call me Baz.”

“Are you going to…” he trails off, but gestures to my cat.

“Yes,” I look down and give it a scratch under the chin. “I’m going to adopt it.”

“Same here,” Simon says, and then he blushes. “I mean, unless it rips my face off in the next few minutes, but I think this is the one.”

“Do you know which one you have?” Their names and genders were on the cage, but it didn’t specify who was who.

“No idea. I’m going to rename mine anyway though, I didn’t like either of those names.”

“I was planning on doing the same thing. If I’m going to have a pet, it needs to have a proper name befitting its personality. Not something mundane like Fluffy.” I scowl, and he laughs.

As his kitten comes over to touch its nose to my kitten, Simon clears his throat.

“So, um, like she said, they’d probably be happy to have playdates or whatever. I mean, since we’re getting them. And since we keep running into each other. It might make sense to, you know, exchange numbers?”

“Yes!” I say, far too eagerly. “I mean, that seems reasonable. It would be more convenient than waiting to happen upon you in the Waitrose choosing inferior crisps to set up a future meeting.”

He smiles. “Well, yeah, there’s that. And this way, it’ll be easier for me to ask you out, ”

Then the absolute nightmare sits down beside me and hands me his phone. He texts me immediately once I enter my contact info.

Unknown Number (11:27 AM) This is Simon Snow

Unknown Number (11:27 AM) Your cat is cute.

Unknown Number (11:27 AM) So are you

Unknown Number (11:28 AM) Wanna get dinner sometime? ;)

I blush, and send him a reply.

Baz (11:29 AM) I thought you’d never ask.

[jokertrap-ran]

(光与夜之恋 Light and Night) Main Story Chapter 3-3: 海水与火焰 Seawater & Flames Translation

“Secretly snapping shots of me again? What, was last time not enough?"

*Light and Night Master-list *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Join the Light & Night Discord (＾▽＾)~ ♪ *Main story tag will be #For Light and Night

The original plan for Lin Yao’s fitting session was postponed by her agency at the very last minute. After busying for a couple more days, the weekends were here in a blink of an eye.

Following Evan’s suggestion, I’d selected a new apartment that was small, but pretty good in every other aspect, and moved in without a hitch.

It was coincidentally sundown by the time I’d finished decorating my new home. The setting sun was lazily snuggled up high amongst the clouds that touched the building. Guangqi City was dyed in a beautiful pinkish-purple, assimilating into the very glow of the sunset itself.

I was nestled up comfortably on my sofa, admiring the beautiful scenery and enjoying the rare moment of peace.

Ding-dong!

The doorbell rang.

Delivery Man: Hello. Fresh flowers for you.

MC: ?

An’an had sent me a huge bouquet of baby's breath. It had a card attached to it, wishing me a smooth move into my new apartment.

❖☆———————————★❖

An'an: Got the flowers yet?

MC: Yeah! They're especially pretty~

An'an: You're welcome! But, seeing as you've already received them… I have a teeny-tiny request~

MC: Why do I have a bad feeling about this already…?

An'an: Aw, come on, man. Didn't I tell you that I was going to be interviewing my idol's race team next week?

An'an: It’s their test run tomorrow and it’s also a Sunday, so I’m asking you to come and check them out with me!

An'an: Please? Pretty please? Pretty please with a cherry on top? You know I love you best, baby!

MC: ...Fine.

An'an: I’ll send you the location later and see you at their training location at 10 AM tomorrow! Be there, or be square!

❖☆———————————★❖

Hence, I woke up early the next day due to the location being somewhere out in the outskirts of the city.

MC: Turn left at 998 Sunset Street and go straight till the end…

MC: Then you’ll see the Glitter Bullet race team's name… Oh, here it is.

A real race track was much more of a spectacular sight to behold compared to what I’d seen on television.

The long and winding race track was akin to that of a python’s body; so long that it seemed never-ending, surrounding a square plot of grass. The dark red tented fabric canopy bearing the team’s name stood right in the centre of the racetrack like an open umbrella.

❖☆———————————★❖

MC: What a spectacle…

Everything about the racetrack marvelled me, almost as if I’d accidentally stepped into a whole new world.

Training racecars raced past me, roaring as they went. The visceral heat and the deafening roars of the engines as they zipped past were so exciting that they made everyone's heart race.

I walked to the auditorium, finding a shaded area to sit.

Down at the tracks was what was probably a mock competition. The roaring of the racecars that zipped past was sometimes high-pitched, and sometimes low.

❖☆———————————★❖

The one at the head of them all was a red racecar that was both steady and equally speedy. After a couple of laps, it had firmly locked its place as No.1 on the racetrack.

I stared at the skull pattern on it. It looked really familiar…

I whipped out my phone and zoomed in on it using the camera and confirmed it. My eyes weren’t fooling me after all.

MC: The pattern on it looks exactly just like the pendant Osborn wears!

❖☆———————————★❖

Is that his racecar? As the thought flashed past my mind, I was compelled to raise my phone and press the button on the shutter.

Suddenly, a sharp sound rang out in the chaos of noise.

The yellow racecar that had been snapping at the red one’s heels the entire time had suddenly started accelerating, just like a lion that had just woken up, radiating an unstoppable and unrelenting aura as it went. It swerved with astonishing speed and a sharp screech of its tires, perfectly bypassing the bend in the road before swiftly overtaking the red racecar!

It was like a dash of gold light in the middle of a group, making everything in the surroundings lose out in comparison.

In a blink of an eye, that racecar put a huge distance between itself and the others.

MC: The red racecar got overtaken!

Only the last lap remained before this competition was over. I couldn't help gripping tightly to the railings as I silently rooted for the red racecar.

However, it was the yellow racecar that had been first to cross the finish line in the end.

MC: He still lost out…

I sighed, growing increasingly curious about just which godly being was behind the wheel of the yellow racecar.

MC: ...Osborn's so good at this; I wonder who won against him?

A tall and big figure came out of the yellow racecar, removing his helmet and reaching a hand up to somewhat fix his helmet-mussed hair.

MC: ...Osborn!? That red racecar isn't being driven by him!?

❖☆———————————★❖

It was at that moment that my phone vibrated to life.

An'an: I needa tell you something very important… Please don't smack me!

An'an: A last-minute issue cropped up with the latest issue of the magazine I'm on, so I've got to rush back to the publishing company right now...

MC: I'm… already here, though…

An'an: I'm so, so, sorry for making you go there for nothing…

MC: Don't worry about it. I don't have any plans for today anyway. Besides, I just saw their test run.

An'an: For real!? Did you snap any pics of my idol? Can you send them to me!?

MC: Sure thing. I snapped one aplenty…

Suddenly, I recalled the big, horrid, and terrible screw-up that had transpired earlier. My voice had never died that quickly right then and there. Not only did I fail to get a single shot of her idol, but I'd also taken pictures of EVERYTHING but him.

MC: ...Err, I'll snap a couple more and send them all to you later.

An'an: You're really the bestest bestie! Gotta go, the editor-in-chief's after my arse. Bye bye~

After hanging up, I immediately fell into a moment of depression as I stared at the stream of pictures of the red racecar in the gallery. Is there a second mock competition, by any chance? Otherwise, how am I going to explain this to her…?

??: And whose fangirl is this? What are you squatting here for?

MC: !

The sudden voice that came out of nowhere startled me. I shot up immediately only to meet a pair of eyes that had been half-narrowed into a smile.

I didn't know when he came here, but Osborn was now standing by my side. There he stood under the dazzling sunlight with both hands in his pockets, leaning lazily against the railings with his eyebrows raised.

I felt a little light-headed. Perhaps it was because I had my head down for too long and had gotten up way too quickly, but I abruptly stumbled two steps backwards.

He grabbed onto my arm with a small chuckle.

MC: ...Thanks.

Osborn: Secretly snapping shots of me again? What, was last time not enough?

He leaned down, his gaze landing on the camera interface that was still open on my phone, the smile playing at his lips never once falling.

MC: As if! I’m helping my friend take some pictures. She needs to use it for her interviews!

Osborn: Oh? So what did you take?

MC: Uh, well…

MC: I just casually snapped a couple of pictures of things like your racecar and… the red one… and all…

Osborn: Really? Then what do you think of my driving?

MC: Amazing! Never thought that you'd clinch first in the end like that!

MC: You drove fast and furious during the last lap, but you were also very steady at the wheel! And the part where you finally overtook your opponent at the very last moment was also way too brilliant!

Osborn: Then why'd you only take photos of one who came in 2nd?

I froze. That was when it finally hit me that he'd already seen the camera interface that had been on my phone display earlier.

Osborn causally folded his arms, awaiting my answer with a playful look on his face.

I could only look to the side ever so awkwardly, softly muttering in response.

MC: Because they were leading at the start, so I thought…

MC: Plus, the skull pattern that was on it was just like your pendant, so that's why I...

Osborn was stunned for a while before he let out a laugh.

Osborn: That was the pattern for the last season.

Osborn: I never knew that you'd done your research on me that well.

There was an obvious teasing lilt to his voice. I flushed red, immediately snapping in denial.

MC: I only take extra notice when it comes to patterns! I blame my work habits!

MC: Who told you to be so slow at the start…

Utterly amused, Osborn narrowed his eyes into a smile, leaning down towards me.

Osborn: Do you know that you should never say "slow" to a racer?

MC: ……

I subconsciously shook my head. Osborn nodded moments after he'd leaned in closer.

Osborn: Boy, you sure are easy to intimidate.

Moments after he backed away, he casually placed his hands into his pockets, his smile growing bigger.

Osborn: Come on.

MC:

...Where to?

Osborn: Don't you wanna snap some shots? I'll lead the way.

❖☆————— ⊹ For Light & Night⊹ —————★❖

Previous Part: (Chapter 3-1) | Next Part: (Chapter 3-5)

[ericsonclan]

Evening ASMR

Summary: James records a video for his ASMR channel and settles in for the evening.

Word Count: 1702

Read on AO3:

“Evening, everyone,” James’ soft voice whispered, his mouth hovering over the mic. “Groggy and I hope you all had a good day,” His fingers lightly drummed against his rubber frog nightlight, the pleasant rhythm creating the exact sort of calming bliss that was James’ signature when recording for his channel. “My day wasn’t very eventful, but it was calm, pleasant. I’ve been drinking a new blend of tea today from Sarita’s Teashop - Evening Breeze,” James took a sip of hot tea then placed the mug on the table between both of his mics, his painted black fingernails continuing their steady, soothing rhythm, this time along the outside of the mug. “The offer from my last video still stands by the way: use the code Tranquilitime15 at checkout online for a 15 percent discount on your order from Sarita’s Teashop. Now let’s get to the main part of our video. It’s Tuesday so you know what that means. It’s time for Weekly Walk,”

Leaning back in his chair, James reached behind himself to pick something from his bag of finds. “Jesse and I went for a walk along the lake. Along the way I picked a few strands of grass since the texture intrigued me. Jesse told me it’s common reed grass. It makes quite a lovely sound. Let’s listen,” Lifting up the grass, James softly ran it along his mic, letting the equipment pick up the faint rustling sounds the grass made as it ran along the mic’s surface. James continued this motion for about five minutes, letting the moment last as he too became entranced by the sound the reed grass made. Finally he pulled his hand back, ready to share his next find.

“I also spotted another rock to add to our collection. The lines of white quartz running through it are really lovely,” James held the stone up close to the camera so his viewers could see the details themselves. “Into the rock bucket it goes,” With his free hand, James lifted up a small pale blue pail full of rocks and dropped his latest one in, running his fingers through the collection of stones in silence. There was no sound round him, only the soft rumble of the stones tumbling against once another. James was grateful there were no parties going on in the dorms tonight. Sometimes, even with the padding and soundproofing he’d done to his room, it was still difficult to find recording times where his surroundings were quiet enough to properly do ASMR.

Several minutes passed before James set aside his rock bucket and picked up his next find: a curved piece of driftwood from the lake. Holding the piece up to the camera, James turned it slowly so his audience could have time to admire it properly. “This was right along the shore near the end of our walk. I love the depth of color in it. Such a rich brown,” James’ fingers trailed along the branch, inadvertently tapping against it. It had become second nature for James to tap any object of interest he came across, always on the search for new sounds that he could bring to the channel that might give his audience the tingles.

As he tapped along the wood, James hummed softly, transitioning to another segment his viewers were especially fond of. The tune he chose this time was one Jesse had taught him, a Cherokee lullaby. Though James hadn’t been able to learn the words yet the tune was still fresh in his mind. Switching back to the reed grass, James softly hummed the lullaby, closing his eyes and getting lost in the moment. He could almost imagine that Jesse was here with him, sitting upon the floor and letting James brush his hair. The sound of Jesse’s hair would make great ASMR. James didn’t want to push him into anything he was uncomfortable though. He knew how much Jesse hated feeling as though he was performing for others. Perhaps that was a sound that was reserved for James then, one only he got to hear.

Finishing the tune, James picked up Groggy once more. Turning on the nightlight, James drummed his fingers along the little frog’s back, enjoying the bounce of the rubber under his fingertips. His ASMR wasn’t only for his audience. It calmed him as well. He looked toward the camera. “I went on a hike a few days ago with a couple friends of mine. My friend Clem brought her little brother. He was really curious to learn about what ASMR was exactly. He picked out some items on our walk for me to share as well. He wanted to be here himself, but it’s past his bedtime. Hi, AJ,” James waved at the camera, knowing Clementine would show the video to AJ as soon as it was posted.

Picking up the pinecones AJ had given him, James began to run his fingernails along them. The light scratching sound that produced sent a tingle up his spine. James smiled softly to himself as he continued, rolling the pinecones slowly in his hands then against one another. He then picked up a few of the countless leaves AJ had scavenged from him. These were drier and produced a hollow sound as James tapped upon them. He alternated between tapping and running his fingerpads along the leaves’ surface.

As he did, the memories of that day reached the surface of his mind. AJ had been so excited that day, running ahead of them on the trail despite Clementine’s warnings to stay nearby. He’d simply been too excited to remember to keep his word though whenever his promise did reach his mind AJ would freeze and look back guiltily. On the times when he didn’t remember, Clementine would have to barrel ahead to catch up with him, leaving James and Brody alone to chat. Brody would sometimes pause to grab a flower or other plant to press when she got home. She and James also kept their eyes open for interesting leaves that Clementine could use for leaf rubbing though AJ by far gave her the most finds.

Finally, James drew back. Setting aside the pinecones and leaves, he brought out Groggy once more. As his fingers tattooed a calming rhythm upon the little frog, James smiled warmly at his audience. “Thank you for staying with me tonight and hearing my stories. I hope you all sleep well and have a beautiful day tomorrow. Till next time, like, share and subscribe and I’ll see you next time for Tranquilitime,” With that James ended the recording. Cleaning up his workspace first, James then settled in to get the video uploaded. It was a bit of a process but one he was familiar with.

While the video uploaded, James poured another cup of Evening Breeze for himself and took a thoughtful sip. The tea had a clarity to it, a freshness that reminded him of being by the lake. He’d have to pick up some more next time he dropped by the teashop. He hoped the promotion was going well for Sarita. He’d only recently gotten his channel big enough to merit sponsorship and he’d wanted to start with a brand he trusted. Perhaps if this went well he could reach out to Tripp as well and promote his sweet shop.

His phone lit up and James glanced over to check the notification. It was a text from Louis. Hey hey! Just checking if we’re still on for this Saturday.

James set down his tea and texted back. Wouldn’t miss it. A few weeks ago on a visit to Ericson’s Diner when Louis had dropped by the table to strike up a conversation with James and Jesse, he and James had somehow gotten onto a tangent about Tokyo Ghoul. Louis had been wanting to watch it but was a self-professed wimp when it came to anything horror so he’d asked if James could be his watching buddy. Since then they’d VCed on Discord each Saturday afternoon to watch another episode. Louis had been loving the series so far though there had been several moments that had made him scream and James had enjoyed revisiting the series. Maybe if Louis had the patience for it James could suggest they buddy read some of the manga together next.

With some time left to kill while he waited for the upload to finish, James opened up a new tab to peruse Picrew. Maybe he’d make another chibi version of Jesse. His boyfriend was easy to make in most Picrews with his dark eyes and long, black hair. Finding a picrew he liked, James settled in to look through the different options. He hoped Jesse never stumbled across the Picrew folder on his computer. Though he’d sent Jesse a few that he’d made, the sheer amount of picrews of his boyfriend James had saved to his computer was downright embarrassing.

Finally the upload was complete. Powering down his computer for the night, James set it aside and headed over to his bed. He immediately faceplanted upon it before rolling up in the covers and letting out a content sigh. His phone lit up again – another message. James checked it and found it was a notification from Prisha this time. She’d finished her turn in Scrabble Go and now it was his. Opening the app, James pondered his options. He didn’t have a great selection of letters but he could make something of them if he found the right opportunity. After a few minutes he’d made his selection.

Sending it off, James closed the app then opened his music library. His selection was habitual by now. Nature sounds filled the room: the gentle rush of wind, the subtle flow of water and the faint call of birds as the grass rustled gently. James set his phone upon its charging pad and reached up to turn off the light. As he closed his eyes, he could almost picture that he was there on the walk with Jesse once more. Everything was calm, peaceful. Serene. A faint smile stayed on James’ lips as he started to drift off to sleep, walking once more in his dreams.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

Today the U.S. House Select Committee to Investigate the January 6th Attack on the United States Capitol asked eight federal agencies for records. The chair of the committee, Representative Bennie G. Thompson (D-MS), gave the agencies two weeks to produce a sweeping range of material that showed the committee is conducting a thorough investigation of the last days of the Trump administration.

Thompson sent letters to the National Archives and Records Administration (NARA), which keeps the records for the government; the Defense Department; the Department of Homeland Security; the Interior Department; the Department of Justice; the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI); the National Counterterrorism Center; and the Office of the Director of National Intelligence.

While the House had previously asked the National Archives for all the records it had covering the events and federal actors involved in the events of January 6 itself, the select committee is using a much wider lens. It has asked the departments not just for records covering January 6, but also for those reaching back as far as April 1, 2020, to see if the Trump administration had plans to contest and ultimately, should he lose, overturn the election.

The committee has asked the departments for any records about plans to derail the electoral count, organize violent rallies, declare martial law, or use the government positions to overturn the election results. It has also asked for any “documents and communications” about foreign influence in the 2020 election through social media and misinformation.

And then there was this tidbit. The last items the committee asked NARA to produce were: “All documents and communications related to the January 3, 2021, letter from 10 former Defense Secretaries warning of use of the military in election disputes.”

That letter, which was published in the Washington Post and signed by all ten of the living former defense secretaries, warned that “[e]fforts to involve the U.S. armed forces in resolving election disputes would take us into dangerous, unlawful and unconstitutional territory. Civilian and military officials who direct or carry out such measures would be accountable, including potentially facing criminal penalties, for the grave consequences of their actions on our republic.” The letter reminded then–acting defense secretary Christopher C. Miller and his subordinates that they were “each bound by oath, law and precedent to facilitate the entry into office of the incoming administration, and to do so wholeheartedly. They must also refrain from any political actions that undermine the results of the election or hinder the success of the new team.”

It was an extraordinary letter, and its authors thought it was important enough to write it over the holidays, for publication three days before the January 6 electoral count. The driving force behind the letter was former vice president Dick Cheney.

Cheney’s daughter Liz Cheney (R-WY) sits on the House select committee.

Trump has threatened to invoke executive privilege to stop the release of the documents.

House Minority Leader Kevin McCarthy (R-CA) said the committee’s action proved it is not looking for truth but rather is engaging in politics. The committee asked NARA for records of communications between the president and “any Member of Congress or congressional staff.” This will sweep in McCarthy, who had a heated conversation with Trump on the phone as rioters invaded the Capitol. “They come for members of Congress, they are coming for everybody,” he said.

But, in fact, such a sweep is precisely how scholars actually figure out what has happened in historical events. Limiting research before you know the lay of the land simply obscures the larger picture.

Just such a limiting view is on the table for the Republicans right now as they are proposing to investigate President Biden’s exit from Afghanistan if they regain control of the House in 2022, saying it “makes Benghazi look like a much smaller issue.”

The first days of the evacuation after the Afghan army crumbled and the Taliban swept into control of the country in nine days were chaotic, indeed, but since August 14, the U.S. has evacuated more than 82,300 people, bringing out 19,000 people yesterday alone. It has evacuated at least 4500 U.S. citizens and has sent more than 20,000 emails and made more than 45,000 phone calls to Americans who had notified the embassy they were in the country (since Americans do not have to register with the embassy, it is unclear how many citizens are there). A rough estimate says there are probably 500 U.S. citizens who want to leave, while another 1000 are not certain or want to stay.

Today, Secretary of State Antony Blinken gave a press conference pointing out that the evacuation “is one of the largest airlifts in history, a massive military, diplomatic, security, and humanitarian undertaking,” and noted that “[o]nly the United States could organize and execute a mission of this scale and this complexity.”

Blinken said that the success of the airlift to date has been “a testament both to U.S. leadership and to the strength of our alliances and partnerships.” He reiterated that the Biden administration is not abandoning Afghanistan but is shifting its focus from military power to diplomacy, cybersecurity, and financial pressure. He said that the administration has worked hard to build alliances and that the U.S. will continue to work with allies both in Afghanistan and elsewhere going forward. He pointed out that the Taliban has made both public and private assurances that they will continue to allow people to leave the country, and that 114 countries—more than half of the countries in the world—have warned the Taliban that they must honor that commitment.

Tonight, it appears the situation in Afghanistan is deteriorating. Russia, which backed the Taliban in its struggle against the U.S. and which originally said Taliban control would restore stability to Afghanistan, has begun to evacuate its citizens from Kabul. And tonight, the U.S. government warned of security threats and urged U.S. citizens to leave the area around the airport immediately. According to a State Department spokesperson: "This is a dynamic and volatile security situation on the ground.”

When asked by a reporter about investigations into the evacuation, Blinken said he and the president accepted responsibility for it. He seemed fine with scrutiny of the last few months but suggested that that period should not be looked at in isolation if we are going to learn from our experience in Afghanistan. “[T]here will be plenty of time to look back at the last six or seven months, to look back at the last 20 years,” he said, “and to look to see what we might have done differently, what we might have done sooner, what we might have done more effectively.  But I have to tell you that right now, my entire focus is on the mission at hand.”

Today, President Biden signed into law H.R. 3642, the “Harlem Hellfighters Congressional Gold Medal Act,” giving the Congressional Gold Medal to the 369th Infantry Regiment, commonly known as the “Harlem Hellfighters,” in recognition of their bravery and outstanding service during World War I.

In that war, the 369th Infantry was made up of 2000 Black men, 70% of whom were from Harlem. Since many white men in Jim Crow America refused to serve with their Black comrades, army leaders assigned the unit to the French Army, where, although they still wore the U.S. uniform, they were outfitted with French weapons.

Sent into the field, they stayed out for 191 days, the longest combat deployment of any unit in the war. At the Second Battle of the Marne and Meuse-Argonne, the unit had some of the worst casualties of that mangling war, suffering 144 dead and about 1,000 wounded. “My men never retire, they go forward or they die,” said their commander, Colonel William Hayward. Germans called them the “Bloodthirsty Black Men.” The French called them “hell-fighters.” A month after the armistice, the French government awarded the entire 369th the Croix de Guerre.

And now, in 2021, the unit has, at long last, been awarded a U.S. Congressional Gold Medal.

Sometimes it takes a while, but accurate history has a way of coming out.

—-

Notes:

https://january6th.house.gov/news/press-releases/select-committee-issues-sweeping-demand-executive-branch-records

https://january6th.house.gov/sites/democrats.january6th.house.gov/files/20210825%20Exec%20Branch%20One%20Pager.pdf

https://thehill.com/homenews/532486-idea-for-former-defense-secretaries-warning-to-pentagon-originated-from-cheney-perry

https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/10-former-defense-secretaries-military-peaceful-transfer-of-power/2021/01/03/2a23d52e-4c4d-11eb-a9f4-0e668b9772ba_story.html

https://january6th.house.gov/sites/democrats.january6th.house.gov/files/NARA.8.25.pdf

https://news.yahoo.com/january-6-committee-issues-sweeping-records-requests-to-federal-agencies-170505915.html

https://www.cnn.com/2021/08/20/politics/house-republicans-afghanistan-biden-benghazi/index.html

https://www.washingtonpost.com/powerpost/january-6-committee-trump/2021/08/25/cd356794-059a-11ec-a654-900a78538242_story.html

https://www.state.gov/secretary-antony-j-blinken-on-afghanistan/

https://amp.cnn.com/cnn/2021/08/25/politics/january-6-house-documents-investigation/index.html

http://werehistory.org/harlem-hellfighters/

https://www.military.com/daily-news/2021/08/24/storied-harlem-hellfighter-regiment-receive-congressional-gold-medal.html

https://www.npr.org/2021/08/25/1031088877/as-many-as-1-500-americans-in-afghanistan

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

[quickspinner]

Guard My Heart - Ch 2 Bright as Ever

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Read on AO3

“It looks so great, Marinette!” Tikki squealed and Marinette sat back on her heels and looked up, smiling as she rubbed a forearm across her forehead. 

“It really does,” Marinette agreed, her voice slightly muffled by the mask she was wearing to filter out some of the paint fumes. She laid her paintbrush carefully aside and looked up. “How’s it going up there?” she asked, and dodged a glob of black paint just in time. “Careful,” she scolded, scrubbing at the spot with a rag even though she had a drop cloth on the floor for just this reason.

“My apologies,” Wayzz said above her, moving so that his paintbrush was hovering over the paint can and not Marinette’s head. “You startled me. I am almost done.” 

“Good,” Marinette smiled, and resisted the urge to tell him to hurry up. Wayzz was careful, which was why she had selected him to help her with this final stage, filling in the last of the narrow curlicues and flowers she had roughed in days ago. His care came at the price of speed, though, and sometimes his slowness made Marinette want to scream.

It was still more efficient to have Wayzz filling in the upper portion than for Marinette to get up on a ladder to do it, and the kwami was so happy to be helping that she didn’t have the heart to rush him, so she throttled down her impatience and walked out to the middle of the room to spin a slow circle and take it all in. She’d had most of the kwamis in here helping at one time or another, because this would be their home as well and she wanted them to feel some ownership and investment in it. The walls that surrounded her were now a soft pink, with her signature flowers in darker pink and black at all the corners and coordinating scrollwork anywhere that seemed too empty. Framed photographs from her portfolio were stacked in a corner and covered with a cloth. She’d hang those tomorrow, once the paint was dry. The back wall that they were finishing up now had her flower design on a much larger scale, framing the little sales counter. Fixtures and clothing racks were all shoved to the center of the room at the moment, but now that the painting was done, she could start getting that arranged. She wasn’t ahead of her plan by any means, but she was on track.

She noticed a shadow against the paper covering the shop’s front door just before there was a rap on the glass. Marinette waited for Wayzz and Tikki to zip out of sight, and then went to answer it. She was pretty sure she recognized the silhouette, and sure enough, Luka’s friendly grin greeted her as she opened the door. 

“Hi,” he said, a little sheepishly. “I’m trying to move a table and I could use a hand. Would you mind coming over when you have a second?” 

Marinette smiled. “I have a second now,” she said, stepping out and checking her pocket for her key before she let the door close behind her.

Luka chuckled and tapped the mask Marinette was still wearing, and she blushed beneath it. “Oh. Right.” She took it off, embarrassed as she rubbed at the lines she was sure it had left on her face. She opened the door again and dropped the mask back inside, knowing that one of the kwamis would retrieve it for her.

“You could just prop the doors open,” Luka suggested as they walked over to his space. 

Marinette huffed. “I don’t like being watched while I work,” she replied, which was only half a lie. It was true she didn’t especially want people looking in on her while she was contorted around, potentially with her ass in the air, trying to find a good position to do what she needed without leaning into wet paint. Mostly, though, she didn’t want the kwamis on display for any passers-by. 

She smiled a little as Luka held the door of his own shop open and motioned her inside. It had a more industrial warehouse feel, with exposed beams in the walls and ceiling, and low voltage lighting strung over the crowded space. Marinette wouldn’t have been at all surprised to find out the multicolor slat wood flooring had come from the Liberty (it hadn’t, Luka had laughingly assured her when she asked, but he had picked it because it reminded him of home). Really, the whole place felt like the Liberty, and Marinette loved it, right down to the friendly, grinning cement turtle statue sitting by the door. The thing was knee high to Luka and while one couldn’t exactly call him pretty, his shell twinkled with embedded pieces of mosaic tile in many colors, and there was an air of mischievousness in his grinning face that made Marinette smile back every time she saw him. He looked exactly like the kind of thing Anarka would go wild for, regardless of the fact that he was incredibly, impractically heavy. She couldn’t imagine what shipping him had originally cost, and Luka’s story of actually getting it to its place by the door had left Marinette giggling uncontrollably. She was positive from the look on Luka’s face while he told the tale that it was never moving from that spot unless someone both bought it, and was willing to carry it away. 

The whole shop was full of fun, eclectic things like that, as well as some more valuable antiques. Marinette loved it, and could picture in her mind the type of customer Luka was likely to bring in. She hadn’t told him that she’d already started a few sketches for his branding, based around a stylized boat. It had taken her a few days to get over the fact that he’d named his shop Second Chance Antiques and Curiosities . She had nearly laughed in his face when he told her, and that would have been really hard to explain. She’d managed to hold it in until she was alone, and then she and Sass had had a good laugh over it. 

“Sorry I have to keep asking for your help,” Luka grunted, as they both took an end of the table he needed moved and shifted it. “I thought I had a plan, but there’s just so much stuff, I keep having to rearrange.”

“It’ll be easier when you get some customers in here and get some of this stuff—oof—out of your hair.” Marinette sighed as they set the table down in the area Luka had cleared out for it. “Maybe if you used the bigger pieces as sort of...display cases for some of the smaller stuff?” she suggested, stretching her back slightly as she looked around. 

“Yeah, maybe,” Luka sighed, giving her a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m sure I’ll figure it out eventually.” 

Marinette put her hand on his arm and rubbed it gently. “You will. We’ve both got a lot of lessons to learn, but we’re both adaptable. We’ll make it happen.” 

Luka made an affirmative noise, but sighed again.  

“Luka,” Marinette said gently, and he looked at her with that same not-quite-there smile. 

“I’m okay. Freaking out a little, but I’ll manage. I’ll be fine once the shop opens and things start happening, it’s just...the waiting is getting to me, I guess. It’s not like I don’t have a thousand things left to do to get ready, but...I don’t know, I’m not explaining myself well.” He looked away from her, and ran his fingers through his hair. It was hanging loose today, and the blue looked bright and fresh. He must have done a touch up for opening week, she thought absently, reaching up to tuck a lock behind his ear. His eyes darted to her with something like surprise and she drew her hand back quickly, self-conscious.

“You won’t know what the right choices are until you can get people in and see their reactions,” Marinette suggested, and the smile he gave her was real this time, real and grateful, and she smiled back. “You’re better at reading people in the moment rather than predicting people you don’t know—o-or at least you used to be—so I can see how you’d be frustrated trying to do this without any way to get feedback.”

“You’re not like that,” he muttered, smile falling as he looked back at the shop and sighed. “You’ve probably had a vision and a plan since before you signed the contract.”

Marinette bumped her shoulder against his. “You’re not me, though. It’s okay to do things your way, and not mine. Opening week is important, but it isn’t everything.” 

Luka grinned at her, and Marinette felt her shoulders curl under his knowing look. “It caused you physical pain to say that, didn’t it,” he chuckled.

Marinette scoffed and folded her arms, and then muttered, “Maybe.” 

Luka laughed and put his arm around her shoulders, giving her a little squeeze before letting his arm drop. “Thanks for the pep talk, Marinette.” 

He was smiling now for real, and it didn’t fade, and Marinette felt unreasonably proud about it. She opened her mouth to say something, though she had no idea what, when Luka’s phone beeped a familiar tone. He frowned and pulled it out of his pocket, checking the akuma alert. Marinette leaned over without thinking to look as well, dread curling in her gut even as her heart pumped faster.

“It’s not nearby,” Luka assured her, and Marinette sighed, and then her eyes widened and she jerked back a bit as she suddenly realized how she was crowding him. 

“Well, that’s a relief,” she said, quickly, backing up. “I should—”

“Watch out!” Luka was lunging forward before she even registered her calf hitting something hard, and he grabbed her arms just as she pitched backwards with a yelp. “I got you,” he said breathlessly, as he braced his feet and pulled her upright. “Sorry, that scared me,” he said, letting go of her quickly, his hands moving to tug the tail of his shirt nervously and nodding at the glass-top coffee table she had almost fallen into. “You could have really gotten hurt. Please be careful.” He grinned sheepishly. “At least until I get this place a little more organized.” 

“Luka.” Marinette stepped forward and hugged him, and though his arms wrapped immediately back around her, she felt herself blushing, the feel of a man’s body against her instead of a half-grown boy’s suddenly forcibly reminding her that they weren’t teenagers anymore. “Couffaines don’t do organized,” she teased, keeping her head down so he couldn’t see her embarrassment. “Stop trying to make it look like you think it’s supposed to, and do it your way. It’ll be fine, and you can adjust from there.” She let go quickly and straightened without looking at him. 

“I have to, um, go finish my painting before it all dries out or...something,” she said quickly, making sure she watched where she was going this time as she walked away from him, face burning. Stupid, why had she done that? Sure, they were friendly, and yeah, they’d fallen fairly easily into something like their old friendship. Luka had clearly meant what he said, about the way friendships come and go, and he seemed perfectly ready to let her take back her place in his life, and it was so easy to just go with it... 

Not exactly her old place, she reminded herself firmly. That was hardly to be expected. He’d always been touch-oriented though, and had been touching her shoulder or her arm or her back just as casually as he ever had, so maybe the hug wasn’t a big deal to him. He probably hugged his friends all the time, and it’s not like he knew that she didn’t. Besides, she used to, and she probably would, if she still had friends—real friends. And Luka was a real friend, so there was nothing wrong with hugging him, especially when he was clearly so worried about whether he could pull off this new business venture. She was freaking out over nothing, surely. She could comfort him; he’d do the same for her—he had done the same for her, so it was her turn , after all, especially being the more experienced when it came to business and marketing, so... 

Marinette rushed through the door of her shop and locked it quickly, and then put her hands over her face and shrieked into them. 

“Marinette,” Tikki said sympathetically, flying up from her purse to pat her shoulder. 

“I know,” Marinette mumbled. “Okay, um...I don’t think I can leave in spots just now without being seen so...let’s go out the back and try that alley a couple blocks over.” 

Transformed and with her mind focused on the goal, she followed the general direction of the alert, and then the screaming, to a fancy restaurant on the roof of a high-rise. Chat was already there, crouched in the remains of the outdoor dining, clearly regrouping. 

“What’s up?” she asked, landing next to him.

“This restaurant’s nearly impossible to get a table at,” Chat said grimly, with none of the joking humor he would have used once. “Big snob energy. Guess they snubbed the wrong person today. Best guess is the akuma’s target is the maitre’d or the manager, unless there was some random civilian that was especially rude. Looks like your standard entitled rich lady to me, though, so I’m betting on a beef with the restaurant.” He glanced at her. “You got here pretty quick today.” 

“I’ve made some changes in my personal life,” she said carefully. “I’m hoping it’ll give me a little more freedom and you won’t have to wait for me so often.”

“Not like I have anything better to do, but I’m not complaining,” Chat grunted. “Give me the plan and let’s go.” 

Ladybug sighed to herself. She had always wished he would take this job more seriously, but something had changed in Chat when they took Hawkmoth down, and while he had improved somewhat since then, clearly he’d been having one of the bad days before the akuma struck. Grim and cynical wasn’t an especially good look on him, and it worried her. 

No time to worry about that now though. “Distract and evacuate,” she said. “We need to get the civilians out of there. Hopefully in the process we can figure out which one it’s specifically targeting.” 

“Works for me.” Chat launched himself forward, ready to go as always, and Ladybug moved only an instant later. 

The akuma was obnoxious and destructive, with heeled shoes that could shatter concrete and a banshee-like scream that left Ladybug’s ears ringing even after the cure. Ladybug winced as she looked back at the trail of destruction. Chat just flopped on his back on the  rooftop. 

“Could’ve used some backup for that one,” he muttered.

“I’m sorry, there was no opening,” Ladybug panted, putting her hands on her knees. “I was afraid to leave.” 

“Not blaming you,” he said, with a hint of his old humor in the half smile he managed as he turned his head to look at her. “Just saying. We could really use a hand more often.” 

Ladybug made a neutral noise. She didn’t disagree with him, but…

But, but, but. There was always a but. But the rules . But identities . But it was her responsibility.

“Ladybug,” Chat said, the smile falling away as he watched her expression. “I really didn’t mean it that way.” 

“I know,” she said, her voice coming out a tad too high. “It’s fine.” She held out her fist to him and he rolled over on his side to bump his against it. “I gotta get back.”

“I’m just gonna lay here for a while,” he muttered, and Ladybug sighed, reaching down to ruffle his hair affectionately.

“Don’t stay out too long, Kitty.”

“Yeah, yeah, beep beep. I got it.” He waved his ringed hand at her and then flopped back down to the roof. “Don’t worry, I don’t plan on getting stuck on top of this building.”

Ladybug huffed a laugh, and tossed her yoyo.

She transformed a couple of streets away, and glancing at the time, she went up to the apartment instead of back into the shop. Several pairs of large eyes in small faces peeped out as soon as they were sure it was her, and came to circle around her.

“I finished the pieces you asked me to,” Wayzz told her

“We cleaned up the paint and sealed the cans that were left,” Pollen piped up. 

“That’s great,” Marinette said with a tired smile, giving them each a cuddle. “Thanks so much. I don’t know what I would do without you.” 

“It is the leassst we can do,” Sass observed mildly, bringing a damp cloth to her. Marinette took it gratefully. 

“Where?” she asked, and wiped at the spot Sass patted. The cloth came away smeared with flecks of half-dry pink paint. Ugh, did she have that on her face the whole time she was talking to Luka? How embarrassing. She handed the cloth back when Sass nodded that she was clean. 

“I should go finish,” Marinette sighed, but instead she sat down on the couch. 

“You should eat first, Guardian,” Pollen told her, hovering. “And rest. There isn’t much left to be done. You can finish it tomorrow.”

“She’s right, Marinette,” Tikki piped up, perching on Marinette’s shoulder. “You can finish the paint in the morning, and it’s on the other side from the dressing area, so it won’t keep you from getting the curtains up over there or any of the other things you had planned.” 

“It’ll just delay everything by a couple of hours,” Marinette sighed, slumping on the arm of the couch. “I’ll see how I feel after dinner. I’d rather finish it tonight if I can.” 

“Then you’d better go make dinner before you fall asleep on the couch,” Tikki giggled, and Pollen agreed, tugging at Marinette’s fingers. 

“It won’t do for you to be skipping meals!” Pollen scolded. 

“All right, all right,” Marinette giggled, getting up. “I’ll make dinner.” 

The kitchen in her apartment was separated from the living room by a small but usable breakfast bar, so Marinette hadn’t bothered to get a separate table. Instead, she lined up the kwami’s plates on the inside edge and pulled up a stool on the other side of the counter to sit at her own plate. 

She was just finishing up, her thoughts already running on the next things she had to do, when she was distracted by the muffled sound of...a guitar. The kwamis paused in their chatter, and Marinette sat with her fork halfway to her mouth, listening. After a moment she smiled. “It’s Luka,” she murmured. “His apartment probably mirrors ours, so his kitchen and living room must be on the other side of this wall.” Her eyes widened slightly in alarm. “If we can hear him, he can probably hear us if we get too loud. I can pass some noise off as the tv or the radio, but we’ll have to be careful.” The kwamis nodded, but Marinette shot pointed looks at Xuppu, Orikki, and Ziggy in particular. They all made faces at her, but nodded along with the others. 

Everyone was quiet as she finished her meal, smiling as she listened to the wandering guitar. “It’s nice,” she observed to no one in particular. “It’s been a long time since I heard Luka play.” 

It was funny, the effect it had on her. She could feel her shoulders sliding down, and a pleasant calm seeping into her. Had he really made such an impression all those years ago, that she responded so easily to the sound of his guitar even now? She took her dishes to the sink and stood a moment, laying a hand over her heart, and for a moment she heard a different song, 

When she took a breath, though, instead of the scent of metal and river wind, the scent of lemon dish soap filled her nose and brought her back to the present. She smiled at the kwamis, who had busily stacked their little plates next to the sink and were filling it with water and soapsuds. 

Right . All of that was a long time ago, and they were different people now. Still, maybe sometime soon she could come to one of his gigs and hear him play for real, and not through a wall. Though...it was kind of nice, knowing she was the only one who was hearing him right now. She wondered if he knew she could hear him. 

The tune changed, took on a little more purpose, and Marinette smothered a giggle. No, she doubted he realized she could hear, because he probably wouldn’t be caught dead playing Love Me Like You Do with an audience, even if he did give it a bit of a metal makeover. 

She’d have to let him know. Eventually. When she could think of a way to tell him that wouldn’t make him think he had to stop. 

She hummed quietly along as she and the kwami finished washing the dishes.

“Are you going to go back downstairs?” Tikki asked, tilting her head. 

“Mmm...no,” Marinette decided. “There’s still plenty to unpack and put away up here, and you’re right. I can finish the shop in the morning.” 

The next few days were a blur of hard work as opening day got closer and closer. The shop was coming together, and Marinette took comfort in, for once, being able to get everything just right, without anybody telling her it should be different, or complaining that she was too fussy. 

It was exhausting, though, and led to some pretty silly late night giggling with the kwamis as they tried to get her to rest before she made herself totally delirious. 

The day before opening, she walked into Second Chance with a box in her hands, trying not to giggle openly.  

“Hey, Marinette," Luka greeted, looking up from where he was loading up some display shelves near the counter.

“Wow, Luka, it looks great in here,” Marinette said, looking around.

“You were right. When I stopped trying to be strategic and just put things in where they felt like home, it all came together. I’m still not sure it’s the best arrangement, at least it feels comfortable. ” He looked much more relaxed, and his smile was easy and true. 

“I think that will work the best for you in the end,” Marinette smiled. “The right customers will like it, and the ones who don’t, well.” She patted the big cement turtle on the head. “Probably aren’t looking for the kinds of things you’re selling anyway.”

Luka chuckled. “Fair enough. What can I do for you, Marinette?” He slid the case closed and stood, turning to face her. 

Marinette bit her lip, and then held up the small box in her hands. “Well, I...maybe stayed up a little late last night, and I got kind of loopy, and then instead of going to bed like a smart person, I...did something silly. And if you hate it you can say so and I’ll walk right back out and we don’t ever have to speak of this again.”

Luka raised his eyebrows. “That sounds a little dramatic. What, did you make me a lace nightie with matching slippers?”

Marinette burst out laughing. “Okay, you’re right, that would be sillier,” she giggled, setting the box down carefully on a nearby table. “No, it’s not for you actually.” 

“Not for me?” Luka put his hand to his chest. “I’m hurt.” 

Marinette giggled again, pulling some things out of the box and turning away from him. “You might not be when you see it.” Impulsively she added, “Turn around.” Luka did, and Marinette hurriedly went to work.

“Okay, you can look now.” She was barely holding back laughter, and when Luka turned around his mouth dropped open.

“You’re kidding me,” he said, covering his mouth with one hand as he approached, trying to smother his laughter. “Marinette. Oh my God.” 

The cement turtle now sported a pair of Eiffel tower sunglasses the exact match to the ones Marinette had made for Jagged years ago. He had a choker of studded leather around his long neck and another cuff around one ankle, and Marinette had hung a guitar made of cardboard and purple glitter on him as well. 

“Tada!” she said, throwing out her hands. “He’s a rock turtle, Luka. Because he’s, you know, rock, I mean I know he’s concrete but it still counts. So now he’s a rock turtle for real.” 

“I think those paint fumes are getting to you,” Luka laughed, and then threw one arm around her neck and kissed her forehead before letting her go. “I love it, thank you. It’s amazing.” 

“He can be your mascot,” Marinette giggled, unreasonably pleased and trying to resist the urge to touch her forehead. He’d done that the way he used to do it to Juleka, after all, and how touch-starved was she, that she kept dwelling on every little gesture of affection he made? It was Luka, after all, and he was just like that. 

But he was smiling, wider than he had in days, and it gave Marinette a sense of accomplishment that more than made up for her tiredness. 

“Ready for the big day?” Luka asked as he crouched to examine the turtle’s new guitar. 

“I think so. Yeah, I am.” Marinette brought her hands up and rubbed her arms. “It feels like I’m going to jinx it, saying that. Like one of those dreams I’m always having where I walk into a class or a client meeting and realize suddenly that I forgot to cover half of what they asked for in my presentation, and I forgot my bra on top of it.” 

Luka laughed, rocking back on his heels to look up at her. “Seriously?”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “All the time. Even my subconscious won’t cut me any slack.” 

Luka shook his head. “Marinette, if that ever happened to you in real life, by the end of it you’d have them convinced that they didn’t need all that stuff anyway and wearing bras would immediately go out of style.” 

“What,” said a dry voice, “the hell did I just walk in to?”

Marinette’s head whipped around to look at the door, and her mouth dropped open at the sight of the tall, slender woman standing there with her arms loosely crossed and an amused smirk on her face. 

“Hey, Jules,” Luka said, getting up and turning towards her with his arms out. “You made it.” 

“Of course I did, idiot,” Juleka mumbled, but Marinette saw her hide her smile in Luka’s shoulder as she hugged him back. Then, to her mild surprise, Juleka peeked over his shoulder. “Hi, Marinette.” 

“It’s really good to see you, Juleka,” Marinette said warmly. “You look fantastic,” she added, as Juleka came to take her hands and exchange a bise.  

“I have good stylists,” Juleka shrugged. Her hair was still long, but the purple was gone and it was pulled back into a shining French braid, leaving both her amber eyes bare to stare at Marinette. Her makeup was perfect and Marinette remembered that Juleka was a cosmetics model now. Of course she always had to look her best in public. “Luka told me you were opening your own place. I can’t make the opening, but maybe...maybe I could make an appointment to come take a look?” There was something in the old Juleka in the way she asked that question, a slight curl of her shoulders and drop of her head, and the way she pinched one thumb and forefinger tightly together at her side. 

Impulsively Marinette said, “Why don’t you just come over now? Everything’s set up and you can get first pick if there’s anything you like. Not that you should feel like you need to buy anything,” Marinette added hurriedly. “Just, if anything catches your eye or—okay I’m shutting up now, you probably don’t even have time, it doesn’t have to be now—just, whenever is good! If you want.” She closed her mouth abruptly before she could trip into another line of babble.

Juleka smiled, her head tilting slightly as if she were still peeking through that curtain of bangs. “I’d love to come over now, if that’s okay.” 

“Really?” Marinette brightened, embarrassment forgotten. “Awesome! I’d love to have your opinion on—well, everything, to be honest.” 

“I can’t wait to see it.” 

“Oh sure,” Luka mocked, and Marinette jumped a little, looking at him. “You said you were coming to see me, but really you just wanted a sneak peek at Marinette’s clothes. I see where I rate.”

“As long as we’re clear,” Juleka huffed, and walked out of the door. Marinette stood gaping like a fish for a moment, and then followed her, shooting Luka an apologetic look over her shoulder.

“I’m sure it won’t take long,” she said, but Luka, smiling, just rolled his eyes and waved her on. 

Juleka didn’t exactly gush; she was too collected for that, but her quiet smile and nod of approval as she looked around was more encouraging than a flood of compliments. “It has good energy,” she murmured. “Very you. Gives a sense of your brand from the beginning. I like it.” 

“Thank you,” Marinette smiled, sincerely grateful.

“It looks like a lot of work.” 

“It was,” Marinette sighed, “But it’s so worth it to see it come together. It’s scary to be doing this all my own, but at least I can make things exactly the way I want them.” She pointed out the curtained dressing rooms, and the pedestal in front of the (very expensive, even second hand) full-length three-way mirror. “I’m planning to do alterations and fittings as well,” Marinette explained, “On anything, not just my clothes. In a limited capacity, of course, so that I still have time to keep the shop stocked. I’m actually hoping to bring in lines from a couple of other independent designers—people I met in school that have an aesthetic that will fit in with mine, just to broaden the range of what I can offer, but...well, I kind of wanted to open with my own things first.” She smiled ruefully and wrinkled her nose. “I don’t want to drag anybody down with me if I go under in the first month.” 

Juleka laughed, and Marinette smiled at the sound of it. “I’m sure that won’t happen,” Juleka assured her, still smiling. “These pieces are gorgeous,” she added, motioning to the photographs on the wall. 

“It’s nice to see you happy,” Marinette said without thinking, and then bit her lip. 

Juleka seemed to freeze for a long moment, and then she took a long breath that reminded Marinette of Luka. “It’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other, hasn’t it,” Juleka said quietly, that slight curl in her shoulders again. “I—I’m...sorry, that we gave you such a hard time back when we were kids. I...understand better now. This is a tough industry and you have to be dedicated and motivated to succeed. I’m sorry that we...well, I don’t think any of us meant to be holding you back, but I understand how it might have felt that way to you.” 

“Oh…” Marinette said lamely, looking away and moving to fiddle with the nearest garment rack. “I didn’t—I mean, I felt bad that I had to bail on you guys so much, but I didn’t feel that way. I just thought, you know, you guys were right and if I wasn’t being the kind of friend you needed...it was okay. You’d have every right to be just as mad at me for choosing my career over you even at such a young age. I was ditching you a lot, and...I could have done things differently. Handled it better.”

“You had a life beyond school and beyond us,” Juleka insisted, folding her arms uncomfortably. “It was wrong of us to try and take that from you. I don’t know, maybe we felt guilty that we weren’t working as hard, or something, but...we could have made it work. We always made exceptions for Adrien because he was working a career outside of school. We should have at least extended the same courtesy to you. Especially when it was obvious even then how talented and driven you were. You’ve got what it takes to really make it, and it was wrong of us to get in the way of that when we should have been cheering you on.”

Marinette’s hands stilled for a moment, and it was her turn to take a slow breath. She felt a twinge of guilt, because Juleka of course didn’t know the whole story. It hadn’t been wholly for the sake of her future career that she’d bailed on her friends so often, and it hadn’t been determination to drive forward at all costs that had caused her to stop trying so hard to meet her friends halfway. Her reasons had neither been selfish nor noble. She just hadn’t had the energy to keep up the front any longer.

But she couldn’t explain it now any more than she could then, so all she could say was a quiet, “Thank you, Juleka.” She took another breath and lifted her head, trying to smile. “You really don’t need to apologize, though. I never held anything against you guys. Besides, we were kids.” Juleka relaxed a little, though she still held herself a bit stiffly. 

Time to change the mood. Marinette rallied her spirits and put the most genuine grin on her face that she could muster as she faced Juleka. “Come on,” she said brightly, moving over to one of the other racks and gesturing enthusiastically for Juleka to follow her. “I have some things that I bet will look great on you.” 

They already had several outfits laid aside for Juleka to purchase when Luka knocked and came in the door, the little bell Marinette had hung over it chiming cheerfully. 

“Hi Luka,” Marinette smiled, looking up from where she was laying another dress across the sales counter. “Sorry, I guess we took up more time than I realized. Did you get bored?”

“Just wondering if my sister is still going to buy me dinner,” Luka grinned. “I’m starving here.” 

“Then hurry up and die so we don’t have to listen to you,” Juleka called from the dressing room. 

“I’m wasting away slowly ,” he called back. “I’ll continue to exist on spite until you feed me.” 

“Do you need any help, Juleka?” Marinette asked, trying to keep her giggles out of her voice.

“No, I think I’ve—there. Oh, I like this one, Marinette!” Juleka pushed the curtain aside and stepped out. 

“Hm, needs a little tailoring, but only a little,” Marinette said, eyes fastened on the garment, as Juleka made a slow turn. “Let me just—” She stepped over with a couple of clips in her hand and took the slack out of the dress in a couple of key places, clipping it in place. “There. And of course I can adjust the hem if you need it, but I think this length is pretty good on you actually. What do you think, Luka?” She turned and blinked at the look on his face as he stared at his sister. He looked...happy, but his face was crinkling up in a weird way that she didn’t understand. 

“You look beautiful, Juleka,” Luka said, and had to clear his throat. 

“Don’t you dare,” Juleka warned, tilting her head and narrowing her eyes. “Don’t you dare get mushy on me again.”

“Better,” Luka continued, as if she hadn’t spoken. “You’re poised and confident and...I’m just so proud of you. Five years ago that dress would have overpowered you and now look at you.” 

“You’re not going to cry again, are you?” Juleka asked, rolling her eyes.

“I might,” Luka said, and his voice did sound a little thick. “There’s nothing wrong with that.” 

“I swear he’s cried at every single one of the photo shoots I was dumb enough to bring him to,” Juleka grumbled, giving Marinette a look of longsuffering. 

Marinette giggled as she stepped close again and adjusted a clip. “He loves you.” 

“He’s a sap,” Juleka groaned. 

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Luka and Marinette said in unison, and Juleka snorted. 

“You two are made for each other,” she muttered, and then looked back with concern when Marinette somehow got the web of her thumb pinched in the clip and yelped.

“Fine, I’m fine,” she said hurriedly, fixing the clip. “There. Take a look.”

She helped Juleka up onto the pedestal in front of the three-way mirror, and Juleka sighed. “I love it,” she said, glancing at the two dresses and the suit that were already on the counter. “I better not try on anything else though. It’d be a pain dragging Luka’s corpse out of the shop, and I’m going to go broke if you pull out any more perfect outfits. Can you check me out for these, and we can make an appointment for the tailoring later?” 

“Sure! Give me just a second.” Marinette gave her a sheepish smile. “The POS system is new and it might take me a minute to figure it out. Actually you’re doing me an extra favor by letting me try this thing out before I put it through its paces tomorrow.”

“Hey, can I take a look?” Luka asked, moving around the counter at her gesture. “I still haven’t settled on one yet. I’ve got some ancient thing a buddy loaned me, but I’m hoping I can upgrade in a few months.” He leaned on the counter next to her and grinned. “I’m not above profiting from the months of research I’m sure you did before settling on one.”

Marinette giggled, shoving him with her elbow. “Off the counter,” she ordered. “You have no idea how many practice runs I had to do with the resin to get good enough to do a project this size.”

“I can tell,” Luka said, straightening. ”It looks really cool.” 

“You’ve really made the shop yours in such a short time,” Juleka said, looking at the countertop. “Everything about it just screams Marinette.” 

Marinette blushed, and picked up the tablet, tried to focus on walking Luka through the steps of the POS system, explaining the features that had made her go with this system as he leaned close to watch. He smelled different than he used to, she thought absently. Not so much sunscreen and fresh air and teenage boy. He wore cologne now, pleasantly subtle, and only noticeable when he was close like this. It was a more mature scent but it suited him. 

“And then Juleka can put her card in here,” Marinette said, pointing to the slot in a stand on the counter. Juleka did so, and after a moment the machine beeped. “And...there we go.” She showed Luka the screen. 

“Huh. Do you use it for inventory management much?” Luka asked, leaning one hand on the counter next to her as he watched her navigate the menus. She jumped a little when her shoulder brushed his chest, but he didn’t seem to notice. 

Marinette cleared her throat. “W-well like you, I don’t really have standard inventory, everything is unique, so it’s a bit more work to keep the system updated, but—uh—” He was looking at her and not the screen, attentive, and Marinette’s thoughts began to scatter.   

“Shameless,” Juleka sighed, shaking her head, and they both looked up at her. She smirked at Luka, and Marinette felt her face redden though she couldn’t have said why. 

“Me?” Luka said innocently, straightening away from Marinette and putting his hand on his chest. Marinette was surprised to see his ears were red, and it only made her feel more flustered.

Juleka snorted. “I can’t believe you’re taking advantage of Marinette like this, you lazy jerk. I bet you cheated on your tests at school too.”

“I sat next to Dingo ,” Luka reminded her, rolling his eyes. “Believe me, I wasn’t the one cheating.” 

“Whatever,” Juleka rolled her eyes. “So can we go now? I thought you were so—” Her lips curled in a smirk. “Hungry. Or was it thirsty?”

“I’m ready when you are,” Luka said quickly, coming back around the counter. “Thanks, Marinette.” 

Marinette moved quickly to get a garment bag and package up Juleka’s purchases. It was Luka, though who took them from her with a warm smile. “Congrats on your first sale,” he told her with a wink, and Marinette felt that blush again. 

“It’s hardly her first sale,” Juleka pointed out, picking up a small stack of Marinette’s business cards from the holder on the counter and slipping them into her pocket. “She’s been selling since collége.” 

Luka rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “First sale from your first shop—first brick and mortar shop,” he hastily corrected, when Juleka opened her mouth again. “Juleka, you’re such a pain.” 

“I’m just saying, if you’re going to compliment a girl, you need to be accurate,” Juleka smirked, as Luka began shoving her toward the door. “Good luck with your grand opening, Marinette,” she called back. “I’ll pass your info around the next time I’m in the studio!”

“That would be great. Thanks for coming by, Juleka!” Marinette called, waving. 

“Why do you have to make everything weird?” she heard Luka mutter as he pushed the door open for his sister and nearly shoved her out of it.

“It’s not my fault you just are weird,” Juleka retorted, and gave Marinette one more wave before the door closed behind them. “Especially around—” The door cut her off, and Marinette turned and buried her face in her hands, not at all relaxed by the giggling that began in several hidden corners of the shop.

“Traitors,” she mumbled, and took a deep breath. 

“It’s okay, Marinette,” Pollen said kindly, coming to light on her arm. “You should be proud!”

“Yes!” Tikki agreed, popping out of Marinette’s purse and coming to sit next to Pollen.  “That was your first client consult for your brand new shop! And it went amazing! Four outfits!”

“And you impressed Luka,” Mullo pointed out, emerging from one of the garment racks. “He seemed to think you were very knowledgeable. ” The kwami giggled and poked Marinette’s blushing cheek. Marinette swatted at him, pouting, but he just phased through her hand with a toothy grin.

“Luka just needed some information,” Marinette countered, ignoring the snorting giggles that came from all three kwamis. “And Juleka was just being nice. “Though...I suppose she could have been nice without spending quite so much money,” she conceded. “It’ll be great for business if she wears the clothes, too...she works in exactly the kind of circles where word of mouth will be really valuable.” Marinette picked up her tablet and smiled as she punched up her sales history, and looked at the transaction there. “Well...I guess this does make us official, doesn’t it.” She held out her fist and Tikki, Pollen, and Mullo bumped it all in turn. “Come on, let’s get back to work and see how much we can finish up. I want to try and take it easy tonight. I can’t show up at the big opening looking like death.”

Fiction Master Post | LBSC 2021 Exchange Collection

[lady-charinette]

Adrien Agreste =/= Sociopath - About Adrien Salt

I've seen a lot of posts going around about Adrien being a sociopath or the other (harasser, abuser...etc.)

What I find most of those posts lacking is looking at the big picture, or just zeroing in on certain moments of the show and even disregarding the context of those selected moments to unfairly rule judgement on a child (in canon) no less.

Definition of sociopath: A sociopath is a term used to describe someone who has antisocial personality disorder (ASPD). People with ASPD can’t understand others’ feelings. They’ll often break rules or make impulsive decisions without feeling guilty for the harm they cause.

People with ASPD may also use “mind games” to control friends, family members, co-workers, and even strangers. They may also be perceived as charismatic or charming.

We have to analyze the context and the surroundings Adrien is in.

Family, social life, relationships (platonic and romantic), personality, age, environment...etc.

Family:

We know Adrien has a father who is controlling, preferring to micro-manage every aspect of his son's life to continue to have a semblance of control at all times. We assume (heavily implied in the show), that his mother was kind, warm and emotional (whether that emotional is the "out-there" kind her twin sister has, it remains to be seen.)

According to a snippet from "Simon Says", Adrien also has "Quite a temper, you remind me of someone" according to Gabriel's own words, we can assume the "someone" is Emilie, Gabriel says this when Chat Noir refused to follow his orders and told him to basically "get off his high horse". In this context, anyone who defies Gabriel in such a way would either be branded as "disobedient" or to "have quite a temper".

According to Adrien himself in "Adrien's Double Life" (from Miraculous Secrets) he describes being Chat Noir as "...I can finally do whatever I want to do, say whatever comes to mind." He doesnt feel as restricted and controlled since that's the one aspect of his life his father has no knowledge of.

Social life:

Adrien has had no or very little interaction with peers.

Evidence: Chloe being his childhood friend. Felix commenting on Chloe's appearance in the video she sent for Adrien's birthday, saying "Chloe. Just as annoying as usual." suggests he knows her from before, maybe even as early on as their childhood days.

This makes Felix and Chloe the only kids, of spoiled and rich background, with whom Adrien interacted.

Felix is shown to be good at manipulating people and keeping up appearances (potentially connected to insecurities within the family? Not confirmed), Chloe is openly mean and bullies others (with underlying insecurities also connected to her parents).

The only positive adult (if Gorilla isn't as involved and Nathalie had been solely Gabriel's secretary and not Adrien's caretaker since there was Emilie) in Adrien's life would be his mother, who also fell into a coma during Adrien's formative years (and still during a time where he's figuring himself and his emotions out: puberty), leaving him with his father.

Moving on, even if the writer's sometimes may not always successfully show Adrien being awkward in social interactions, it doesnt mean they dont exist.

This interaction between him and Marinette, asking for her autograph, very formal in his question, awkward in posture:

He's picked up on some speech patterns from his frequent interactions with Nino ("dude", "Hey man." "Totally dude.") showing he's, like many people, mimicking his friend's behavior and speech to grow more favorably in their eyes.

The same pattern can be observed with Gabriel and Adrien: Adrien adopts his father's formal speech whenever talking to him, since that appeases him.

Adrien has had very limited friendly interactions with his peers, romantic interactions are basically non-existent. The scenes where Adrien is being chased by his fans, who obsessively adore him, cant be linked to Adrien experiencing healthy romantic contact (Lila doesn't count since she only uses Adrien to further her goals). Marinette doesn't count since Adrien's isn't even aware of her romantic feelings for him. (Again, difficulties picking up social cues due to only ever being homeschooled > limited social contact with peers)

So no, in my humble opinion, Adrien sometimes doesn't understand other people's feelings not because he's a sociopath, but because he's an awkward kid with very little experience about making friends and having healthy relationships with them.

Relationships:

Let's be direct here: Gabriel is an abusive as*hole.

If the writer's wanted to show Gabriel struggling or having remorse for his actions being Hawkmoth and putting his son through danger, well... They blew it. "Gorizilla" was a 5 second reaction of Hawkmoth showing concern after letting Adrien fall from a skyscraper. Applause. After that? Not much.

Nathalie: Adrien likes, she takes care of him, his schedule, was the one to convince Gabriel to let him attend public school. There are moments in the show where she softens up towards Adrien, but always carries that air of professionalism on her to (possibly, assumption) not grow too close. Gorilla is...Gorilla, but at least the man tries with his nonverbal support and affectionate grunts. Lol.

Gabriel: He loves his father. It's his parent, after all. However, Adrien's reactions to him are vastly different than to how he reacts when thinking of his mother. He shows signs of fear (tensing up, growing obedient...etc.), he excuses his father's excessive controlling tendencies to just be "he's just worried about me", "that's the way he always was", "father cares and protects me". Adrien shows to be frequently disappointed with Gabriel, one of the first scenes being that Gabriel couldn't attend parent's day at school, Adrien was talking on the phone alone in the school hallway. He was genuinely surprised by the blue scarf his father gifted him (not knowing it was Marinette), since all he used to get were pens (again, not even from Gabriel, but Nathalie). This is my assumption but: Adrien has previously begged his father to go outside more or attend public school, but this time it worked only because Nathalie managed to convince him.

Friends from school: Nino is his best friend, Adrien seems to be good friends with Alya too, basically everyone in class, with varying degrees of closeness. Chloe is a childhood friend whom Adrien is fond of but also grows exasperated with and corrects her behavior if she's too harsh.

Marinette: likes and respects her, but can't read her well or at least when he thinks he's got her figured out, she claims the opposite. Marinette has been sending mixed signals, on one hand even making Adrien believe (and fear) they weren't friends. "Chat Blanc" contrary to popular belief, showed that Adrien is delighted at the prospect of Marinette being Ladybug (he'd severe doubts when Chloe or anyone else was brought up as a possible option).

Kagami: likes her, respects her, admires her fencing skills, learned to have fun hanging out with her and playing as kids usually do since she also has a controlling parent and they both know some ways/tricks around their boundaries to sneak off and meet their friends. Adrien and Kagami have similarities in that respect, Gabriel pushing Adrien to be a model, Mrs. Tsurugi pushing Kagami to be a master fencer.

Lila: At first defended her, was friendly towards her since she was a new student from overseas he sympathized because surely it would be lonely? The new girl would need a friend who supported her through all this things that were new for him too. However, as soon as he caught wind of Lila's schemes, he changes his tune. He feels uncomfortable around her overstepping his boundaries, expresses anger when Lila accused Marinette of crimes she didn't commit and even makes a deal with her to not bother Marinette again (but use him instead, doing photoshoots together...etc.) to keep her safe.

Age:

A 14-15 year old, having lost his mother, the only positive, healthy relationship in his life. Surrounded by a controlling father, not much free time, many extracurricular activities and being a superhero alongside Ladybug.

Some of the signs of being a sociopath include: Breaking rules and being impulsive.... Didn't Ladybug do those too?

Breaking the rules: (since LB and Marinette are the same) stealing phones, sneaking into places where she shouldn't, using the miraculous for personal gain (latest example: getting Kagami away from Adrien), giving Adrien the snake miraculous due to personal preference instead of drawing logical conclusions. Sneaked into the Agreste mansion.

Impulsiveness: Marinette's daily fantasies (sharing a future life with Adrien and their hamster-who-must-not-be-named), when Lila's "precious family heirloom necklace" was "stolen", Marinette was quick to include her classmates in the list of potential perpetrators for it (without ill intent, but still..)

You know who the real potential sociopath in the show is?

Gabriel

Some of you might include Lila too (since she fits all the criteria for being a sociopath), but the key difference is: Lila is still just a kid.

We don't know much about her family life. Just that her mother is busy with work, we don't know where her father is, who her friends were/if she even had them. She might be lying and manipulating people to follow her own agenda, but she thrives in attention, when people notice and praise her. In some aspects, that could've been Adrien. With one neglectful parent, a missing parent, no friends (prior to going to school)...etc. There is also a lot we don't know about her.

[etherrealoblivion]

A Joint Effort

Prompt: I just thought of this for some reason, but imagine everyone in the bau all high as fuck, in one room together.

Words: 1,905

A/N: for the bad b*tches in my MGG group chat. Love y’all.

Content Warning!!!!: Drugs (weed)

MASTERLIST

~

It had started out a regular Friday evening. Well, as regular as a Friday evening could be for the sorry few that worked in the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI.

After a particularly draining case, the team decided a night out would be the best way to unwind. More precisely, Morgan decided and convinced the others with much help from Garcia.

So that’s how a mother, a genius, a spy, a hacker, a playboy, a boss, and a millionaire all ended up stumbling home, drunk off their asses down the empty streets of D.C.

Sadly, J.J, who had been the designated driver, didn’t get the memo until after her fourth drink. Garcia, the messenger, was a little late on delivering it. By then, everyone else was already wasted so Hotch figured it was time to go home. Or, actually, to crash at Rossi’s place. He was nearby and had enough bedrooms for everyone to rest peacefully, although the team had a slight notion that the party wasn’t quite over.

This thought was confirmed quite quickly for as everyone plopped down amongst the plethora of cozy chairs in Rossi’s living room, Morgan found the millionaires liquor cabinet, shamelessly helping himself to the array of drinks there.

However, before he could indulge too far, a small wooden box caught his eye as he was about to select a fifty-year scotch.

Alcohol didn’t seem to affect his profiling skills as he deduced what was in the box as if there was a note written on it.

Smirking, Morgan wondered whether or not his team members would. Rossi would, for sure. Garcia, definitely probably. Hotch? Reid? Hmm.

“Hey, Rossi,” Morgan said, putting on a voice of drunken interest, “what’s this box, here?”

Rossi’s head snapped to where he was standing, confirming his suspicions. Before he could speak, Reid piped up, stammering slightly.

“That’s an 1870’s oakwood Captain James box. Collectors quality. Only four hundred were made.”

“Isn’t that a lot?” Garcia asked, taking off her heels.

“Yes, for the era. But three hundred and seventeen were lost to the ocean on the shipwreck of the Casterberous. Interestingly enough--”

“Actually,” Morgan butted in, slowly opening the box and smiling as he saw what was in it, “What I was more interested in was what was in the box.”

Rossi, always composed, shrugged and stood walking towards morgan.

“What can I say? In our line of work, one tends to need to . . . destress every now and again.”

Hotch snorted, finally realizing what the mystery box contained. Dave had told him of his habit, but Hotch never really given it much thought. Everyone had their vices.

“What’s in it?” Prentiss said, trying to steal a glimpse.

“Wait . . .” Garcia paused for a moment, shot Morgan a look to which he smirked knowingly, then burst into laughter, clutching her sides and rolling back on the couch.

J.J looked from Garcia to Rossi, the latter standing with his hands in his pockets, looking sheepish. She quickly put two and two together.

“Oh my god!”

“What?” Reid was still confused. “What, what is it? What have I missed?”

Morgan raised his eyebrows at Rossi questioningly to which the older man nodded softly. So Morgan placed the box, lid open, on the coffee table. So that everyone could see the set of pre-rolled cigarettes laying on purple satin within.

Prentiss smiled.

“Well, well, well. David Rossi, do my eyes deceive me, or is that Acapulco gold?”

Everyone but Reid laughed, who was looking at the cigarette curiously.

“I don’t understand. Cigarettes? Prentiss used to smoke, I don’t see the big deal.”

J.J. pat his head.

“You’ll learn, Spence. You’ll learn. May I?” she directed the last part to Rossi, gesturing toward the box.

He waved a hand.

“Be my guest. As long as no one is uncomfortable?” he phrased it as a question.

Murmurs of assent filled the room, everyone but Reid and Hotch reaching for one of the neatly rolled cigarettes in the box and Rossi going to fetch his lighter and put on a quiet record for background noise.

“J.J? You don’t smoke tobacco?”

Morgan laughed. Pretty boy was a genius at most things. This not being one of them.

“Spence,” J.J. took the lighter from Rossi and lit her cigarette, a pungent smell quickly filling the room, “it’s not tobacco.”

A look of comprehension finally found its way onto Reid’s face, causing everyone looking at him to shake with laughter.

“Oh.”

Morgan slapped him on the back, handing him a lit joint. “‘Oh’ is right. Now listen, no peer pressure, Pretty Boy. You get uncomfortable, stand up, and go to bed, no judgment. But, if you wanna chill out for a while, get that genius mind to calm down, take a puff of this.” And Morgan brought his joint to his lips, steadily taking a drag and blowing it out with practiced expertise.

A moment of hesitation was all Spencer needed, quickly reassured by the ease with which his friends and colleagues began to smoke. Then, he brought the joint to his mouth and took a deep breath.

As expected, he coughed immediately, a horrible hacking noise as blue-ish smoke expelled from his mouth and nose.

His friends started to giggle, already feeling the high hit them.

Hotch finally decided to join in after a few minutes of watching everyone enjoy themselves. Reid recovered surprisingly quickly, barely coughing the second and third times and not at all by the fourth.

It suddenly occurred to everyone that they’d all been silent the whole time. Garcia, of course, was the first to rectify this.

“Okay, when was the last time everybody got high? Go.” She pointed to her left where J.J sat sprawled out against her.

“Um. Oh god. Three months before I found out I was pregnant with Henry. Although I’m not sure you’d count that as ‘high’. It was one hit from a bong at this party I went to.”

“A party?!” Prentiss said, surprised. “When? Where?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes!” everyone exclaimed.

“Okay! Jeez. It was when we had that weekend off after the Garner case. I went down to New Orleans to see Will and . . . one thing led to another.”

“Is that why you kept texting me asking for pictures of my cat?” Garcia giggled, absentmindedly petting J.J’s hair.

“Yeah. . . I wanted to make sure it wasn’t a robot. Don’t ask.”

After a bit of laughter, everyone recovered and it was Hotch’s turn next.

“Four years ago. After the Nieman case in Tampa. Haley was the one who suggested it. It did help me relax, but the taste is something I couldn’t stand.”

Everyone nodded slightly, accepting this answer as valid.

Rossi shrugged, gesturing to the now empty box. Clearly he had smoked recently, probably within the month so the question passed to Morgan.

“I’m gonna be honest. I . . . partake whenever we have free time.”

“So. . . ?” J.J asked.

Morgan sighed.

“Last weekend.”

Wow. Garcia started to laugh which caused a domino effect on the rest of the team. Reid was finally relaxing into the feeling, laughing along with his friends.

“Y’all think that’s real funny, huh?” Morgan said, unable to stop the smile forming on his face.

“Yep,” Reid said through another puff, suppressing a cough. “Only because it makes so much sense.”

“Oh yeah?” Morgan got a mischievous look in his eye. “Okay, Prentiss. Your turn.”

Emily, who had been laughing heartily, suddenly froze, looking nervously around the room.

“I, er, I don’t recall.”

Morgan chuckled.

“Well then, allow me to refresh your memory. Last weekend I’m minding my own business when I get a call from Emily here. She’s going off about how expensive movie tickets are and how it’s cheaper to buy back-alley weed. I tell her not to worry, I’ve got my hands on the good stuff right here. Needless to say, within the hour we were both high off our asses.”

Prentiss had turned bright pink, taking a sip from a water bottle she’d withdrawn from her purse. Looking back, she should have known better than to hide her face from a group of seasoned profilers.

“Oh, damn, Emily!” Garcia bounced on the couch, shaking J.J who groaned. “Why didn’t you tell me! You know I am always one phone call and thirty-five minutes away.”

Emily glanced at Derek, smirking. “That’s the problem, Pen. Sometimes you can be a little . . . much.”

Garcia gasped softly, “Emilia, you offend me. I’m offended. I’m chill! I’m a chill person,” she added, a little shrilly, sending the group into yet another fit of laughter.

“What? Look at me now! I’m relaxing on the couch, totally at peace.”

In her defense, she was. Absentmindedly braiding J.J’s hair and working out the knots in it. One sharp pull made J.J wince.

“Ow! Yeah, ‘at peace’ my ass.”    

“Shush! Reid, go.”

Spencer opened his mouth but Morgan spoke first.

“Aw, come on, Baby Girl. You saw how Pretty Boy here coughed. He hasn’t touched a drug in his life.”

“I-”

“Oh, come on. People don’t only cough when they’ve never smoked before. Besides, he went to Caltech AND got a doctorate at MIT. Those Ivy Leagues have the most toked up students anyway.”

“Well, I-”

“Nah,” Morgan interrupted. “Pretty Boy’s been sober his whole life.”

“Actually . . .”

Morgan’s head snapped to Reid, as quick as he could under the influence. Which, in retrospect was not all that quick.

“Kid. You’re telling me you’ve done this before?”

Reid went even pinker than Emily had.

“Not, uh. Not exactly. I’ve certainly never smoked a joint with anyone. But, well. That wasn’t the question.”

“What was the question?” Garcia asked.

“You’re the one who asked it!”

She simply shrugged, reapplying her lipstick smoothly. The high was slowly wearing off everyone.

“You asked when the last time everyone got high was,” Reid explained, his hands gesticulating wildly. “While I have never smoked - really no one should, the things it does to your lungs - I have ingested marijuana before.”

“What!?” Morgan and Garcia exclaimed, prompting an even louder Shh from Rossi. Hotch was smirking softly, lighting several candelabras around the room, attempting to clear the air of the stench.

“What?” Reid asked, annoyed at their shock. “I might be nerdy but I’m not a prude.”

Prentiss laughed and remarked to J.J, “Next thing he’s gonna be telling us he’s not a virgin.”

“Actual-”

“Stop, right there, kid,” Morgan butted in, settling down on the couch for the night. “That’s not the kinda thing I wanna hear about right now.”

“But you were curious about me getting high before!”

“Yeah, that’s your business.”

Prentiss butted in, “Besides, we should just focus on the now. It seems while we’ve all partook before, but never together like this. This time it’s a… a…”

“A joint effort,” Reid said, glancing around the room with a playful smile.

A collective groan followed his quip and several pillows were thrown his way.

“You’re lucky I’m barely stoned,” Garcia said. “I’d come over there and give you a proper pillow fight.”

Rossi leaned forward over the old box.

“Ladies, gents,” he lifted the purple satin lining revealing several more pre-rolled marijuana cigarettes, “the night is still young.”

And so, the FBI profilers hotboxed David Rossi’s living room, laughing about nonsense and learning much more than they’d wanted to about Spencer Reid’s sexual history

[mulletcal]

words with friends - ashton irwin blurb.

a/n: okay so i got this dumb idea when i saw lau ( @sexgodashton​ )’s tags on this post pls forgive me 

word count: ~1.8k

warnings: none

****

At first, Ashton thought that the lockdown with his 14-year-old niece wouldn’t be so bad - he’d have someone to talk to, crack jokes with, and binge Netflix with.  But about a week into them being told they couldn’t leave the house at all is when things started to get a little rocky.

“Uncle Ash, your WiFi is the absolute worst.  This is the 10th time it’s buffered for this episode of Peaky Blinders.  It’s too much,” she sighed, pausing the TV so that she could turn to him, “You need to look into getting a better service provider.”

Ashton frowned, glancing up from the game he had just lost on his phone, “Is that why I just lost this game of Words with Friends against Calum?”

“Probably! You both have terrible WiFi - so it was one of you,” On her screen, Ashton could see her looking up potential service providers that could be newly set up without them having to enter your home.

“I think it’s his, I’d put my money on it.  My internet’s been fine all this time,” Ashton typed up a message to Calum that said ‘bro your wifi is shit get it fixed’. 

“Fine, or were you just never home long enough for it to become a problem?” 

“Wow, hard hitting facts for a 14 year old.” Ashton’s phone pinged, a simple middle finger emoji as a response from Calum.

“Look, I found one that has contactless set up, and their reviews are great.  Just think about it - you don’t know how long this is going to last, and you don’t want to be in the middle of kicking Calum’s ass--”

“Language!” He laughed, placing a hand to his forehead, “Alright, alright. I hear you.  Send me the number so I can contact them about it.”

Within a few hours, everything had been arranged - Ashton realized he had a weird sense of attachment to his internet service provider, feeling guilty that he was cancelling on them, especially during a hard time like this.  Some reassurance from his niece helped though, and he accepted that his life would likely be better if when he was home he could watch a movie straight through without needing to pause it, go make a snack or two, and come back to see if it had loaded enough.

The next day, the new router arrived on his doorstep, and the man who delivered it was outside in his van, phone at the ready so he could walk Ashton through the setup.  Overall it was easier than expected, everything ready to go in less than an hour - he had expected some type of all day event; but much to his delight he was back settled into his couch, underneath a cozy blanket as he opened Words with Friends once again.

He was eager to be able to call his friend out on his poor WiFi, now knowing (hoping) that it would go rather seamlessly.  Unfortunately though, Calum was busy at the moment, so Ashton was left to select playing against a stranger the game suggested was his match of the day.  It wasn’t often he did that, trying to keep it to just the people he knew - but just this once couldn’t hurt.  What did hurt was the fact that this person was absolutely kicking his ass, making his jaw drop with every word they made.

At the end of their game, Ashton frowned when he realized he lost by almost 100 points - how was that even possible? His phone notified that this person wanted to go again, and he wondered for a moment if they wanted to face him again because he seemed like an easy person to win against.  His competitive side came out tenfold for this round though, trying his best to think of words that would give him the most bang for his buck, as it were.  He almost had them, a few points ahead - but then they put down a word that completely obliterated him.

Ashton almost threw his phone, he did, not used to losing so easily against someone.  He liked to think of himself as a wordsmith, he was a songwriter after all, he should be able to be better at this. Tapping the ‘chat’ option, his fingers hesitated over the keys before typing out ‘HOW?’.  Aggressive? Maybe, but he needed to know what their secret was.

Their reply was quick, a casual ‘😇’ and somehow that frustrated Ashton more.  Maybe he needed to go for a walk.  There was no reason why he should be such a sore loser about a game, maybe being on lockdown was driving him slowly stir crazy. His phone buzzes with another notification and the person asked ‘Another round, or are you too scared to lose again?’.  Oh, now it was on.

A couple hours, and many rounds later with some occasional banter back and forth between the two of them, Ashton finally needed to stop - his eyes felt like they had gone dry from staring at his phone for hours on end.  His niece came into the living room, her head cocking to the side.

“You’re in the same position that you were when I last came down here - have you finally turned into a couch potato? Should I call mom that I’m gonna have to start using you as our produce?” she asked, a grin on her lips.  His niece was a mirror image of his sister, and it made him frown - missing her more and more every day. “Why is your face so red? You feeling okay?”

Ashton hadn’t even realized that his face was warm - was he getting sick? Or was it the witty banter back and forth with the person from the game that had gotten to him? He hoped it was the latter, he’d feel incredibly guilty if his niece was stuck in his house with him while he was fighting what was likely the common cold, but the times were uncertain.

“D’know, doesn’t matter.  What do you want for dinner?” He asked, brushing off her questions as he followed her into the kitchen.

***

Days later, Ashton had kept up the banter with this stranger.  Their conversations were more frequent, and their games less so.  It was kind of nice to talk to someone new, someone who didn’t already know what to expect from him, or things to say.  His stranger friend seemed off today, and it made him frown slightly, thinking that maybe they were growing tired of talking to him.

‘Your wittiness is off today, friend, you doing alright?’ He typed out, pausing for a second before he pressed send - was it weird to ask that of someone? 

It wasn’t long before his phone lit up with a response, ‘Sorry, just tired. My neighbour likes to stay up until ungodly hours playing music, or drums.  Sometimes both at the same time.’

Ashton was mid-yawn as he read the words, a small laugh falling from his lips as he recalled his night; staying up until 3 am in his studio playing drums.  ‘Wow. Sounds like me and your neighbour could be buds, you should put in a good word for me.’

‘Would if I knew them, I moved in not long before all of this started.  Didn’t get a chance to be the weird neighbour that pops by with cookies.’ 

Ashton bit his tongue at that, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips, ‘Do it anyways, be even weirder and leave them on the doorstep, give em a scare and a treat.’

‘Should I leave a nice note saying ‘please keep any and all banging prior to midnight’?’

‘I’d leave out the banging part, but that sounds like an amusing idea.’

Ashton left their conversation at that, figuring he could continue with his day.  Not that his day would consist of much, just attempting to write songs, and test out new recipes with his niece that she always ultimately hated, but it was worth a try.  She decided they should go for a walk around their neighbourhood in the afternoon, and after some contemplation he agreed.  He never ended up going for a walk the other day like he had meant to.

The sun was warm on their skin as they walked, and his nose picked up the faint smell of apples, making him smile.  He thought of his Words with Friends friend, hoping their baking was going well too if they had decided to bake a treat for their new neighbour. 

Ashton hadn’t realized how long he and his niece had been gone until his phone buzzed with a new notification from his RING app, alerting of someone at the door as well as making him aware of the time.  Wasn’t uncommon, he was waiting on a couple packages - but when he opened the app, he saw someone set something down on his doorstep before walking away.  They didn’t appear to be dressed in any type of mail carrier uniform, and Ashton grew a bit distressed by the idea of a foreign item being left on his doorstep.

In an attempt not to worry his niece, he didn’t voice his concerns, instead voicing they should head back.  It wasn’t much of a ways away, them already on their way back - but when they arrived Ashton saw a small red tupperware container sitting there with a note on top.

“What’s that?” His niece asked, leaning down to pick up the note - a smirk spread across her lips, eyes flickering towards Ashton, “Seems like your neighbour doesn’t appreciate your late night drum covers,” she spoke, handing him the note.

Reading over the note, Ashton made the connection almost instantly, his heart racing.  

“What’s wrong? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

“That person that’s been annihilating me in Words with Friends, apparently they are our neighbour.  We were talking earlier and they mentioned making cookies for their neighbour since they’d just moved to the area.”

His niece nodded, a knowing smile on her lips, “Seems like you guys talk about more than just what is basically Scrabble.”

Swatting at her arm gently, he shooed her inside, picking up the container and opening it - he realized then that the smell of apples that had invaded his senses earlier was them, and it made his heart warm at the thought they were so close.

Taking out his phone, he snapped a quick picture of the container to send to them, simply adding a ‘Thanks for the cookies, I’ll try and keep it down.’ Below it before tucking his phone into his pocket to enjoy one of the cookies they had made.

That’s one way to socially distance meet new people, he supposed.

tag list: @haikucal​ @talkfastromance4​ @softbabiestan​ @boyfriend-cal​ @calum-uncrowned​ @wildflowerirwin​ @irwindoll​ @gosh-im-short​ @atlcalm​ @thesubtweeter​ @heavenisapeach​ @ridingcthood​ @loveroflrh​ @wokeupinjapanisabop​ @mantlereid​ @inlovehoodx​

[heli0s-writes]

IV. The First Taste*

Summary: NSFW Chapter. Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader A/N: Modern AU, Teacher reader, Dad/Baker Steve… lots of pining, slow burn, romance. Enjoy!

Slow Like Honey Masterpost

Since you kissed Steve Rogers in your classroom on that Thursday afternoon, you’ve kissed him again and again after each meeting. It’s been precisely two more lunch dates, one more dinner date, and one long walk in the park on his day off before he was suddenly called in for an emergency pastry situation. That’s five kisses. Five dates. Five moments you lie in bed and think about while trying desperately not to scream.

You scold yourself every time because a part of you is embarrassed that you’re so—thirsty! But good God, the man is a tall glass of water you want to drown in. It’s been two stupid years since you’ve kissed anyone, and when you’re in bed at night, you hope that it’s not your lack of practice that’s been keeping him from moving forward.

You can’t be that bad, right? … Right?

But it’s always you who initiates, and Steve always keeps it short and sweet. Once, you felt the slightest flick of his tongue against your bottom lip, but then as quickly as he’d done it, he pulled away.

Grumbling, you press your pillow over your face and punch it a couple of times before settling back down into bed. You peer at the back of your hand in the darkness of your room and contemplate on trying it just like you used to when you were a kid. God, this feels stupid.

Tomorrow, you’ll just ask. Because you’re both adults and because he was your… boyfriend. You smother yourself with the pillow again, because that was an even more mortifying thought than making out with your own hand.

 In the morning you go for a jog and make yourself a quick protein and fruit shake breakfast afterward. Then you head to the pool for about an hour before coming back home. Everything is quiet, and the world is peaceful, now that you don’t have the lives of twenty-five children hovering over your every waking moment. You shower and lie down on the couch before turning on a baking show. Looking around, you survey your apartment. It is so damn barren and cream-colored. You’re not strong nor brave enough to go get a bunch of furniture by yourself and start arranging.

Sighing, you settle on an easier task: maybe today you’ll go buy some houseplants.

Steve texts you a picture of a cheesecake around noon as you’re spraying water into the soil of two new succulents and a hanging fern. You show him your fern, placing your hand next to it for size reference. The messages between you are short and brief, since you see each other pretty often.

Summer break unravels you a little bit, but you’ll be damned if you let your new (very adult) boyfriend know. You play video games and browse the internet with a bottle of wine on the weekends, and your summer is just a giant weekend. It’s almost troubling, really, because every summer you have to either find a new hobby to keep yourself entertained.

Last year you took up rock-climbing and baked a lot… but with Steve around, that just seemed like a good way to get laughed at. And of course, the summer before that one was spent moving out of your ex’s apartment and trying to keep your head above water. You shudder at the thought. If it wasn’t for the very fortuitous call back from your current workplace, you would have probably had to move back home or continued spiraling into credit-card debt.

You text Steve, asking him to suggest a new hobby to you.

Right away, he responds and recommends that you join his watercolor session at the bakery:

I’m teaching a two-hour workshop Sunday after we close. The sign up sheet is already full but… it helps knowing the teacher personally doesn’t it? I do a ceramics one in the winter, too!

You blink.

Steve… I can only draw if I invoke the spirit of Other Steve from Blue’s Clues.

Oh perfect, now he’s calling.

“Yes?” You answer. His laughter is ringing on the other line.

“Hey! Blue’s Clues is an excellent show! And, I gotta admit, that guy can really draw.”

You huff and sputter at him, “Stop messin’ with me. Last year I baked a lot but now that you’re here… I really need a new hobby- a doable hobby!”

He chuckles again before his voice grows quieter. Bossa nova plays in the background, and the coffee grinder is buzzing intensely. “Oh honey,” He whispers, and you’re nearly gasping at the way his voice sounds—low, deliberate—like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Come to the workshop, won’t ya? It’s just a beginner’s thing. I think you’ll really like it. For me?”

The quick-draw refusal you were so sure you could unholster on time is nowhere to be found, not with him asking you so sweetly like that. You grouse jokingly and accept, warning him that if he laughs at your unskilled hand, you’ll never take his advice again.

“Me? Laugh at you? Never, sweetheart. I can’t believe you would think that of me.”

“Oh hush, Steven.”

A puff of air escapes him and everything grows quiet. Steve mutters something you can’t quite make out, and then, even louder than before, the coffee grinder screeches. “Everything okay?” You ask, worried.

“Yeah. Um, yeah. Everything’s good.”

You’re suddenly reminded of the way he pulls away after a good night kiss and reach to unholster that gun.

“Hey—uh wha—why do you--- um.” What the hell is the right way to ask this question? Why have our tongues not fought for dominance? Why haven’t both my hands gotten lost in the front of your button-up shirt? Why have you not pressed your hard, broad chest against me?

Maybe you’ve been reading too much Cosmo or Buzzfeed Relationships in your quest to find the right answers.

“Huh?” Steve asks. “What’s that?”

You holster the gun.

“Nothing! Ha! I’ll see you Sunday!”

“Okay, hon… See you then. Don’t be nervous! It’ll be great!”

 You squeeze your eyes shut as you place your phone on the coffee table. Crisis averted. Then, you search for basic video tutorials on watercolors as well as tips for beginning artists on your phone before casting it to the T.V. It’s entirely baffling and when you pick up a pencil and try to draw your new succulent on a nearby notepad, the voice coming through the speaker sternly states that you should “make marks deliberately-- not fiddling about with sketchy, hairy lines like a fuzzy caterpillar!”

What you’ve been working on looks exactly like a fuzzy caterpillar, and your cheeks heat up with embarrassment.

So you try again, erasing furiously before attempting those “deliberate” lines. After nearly fifteen minutes, you sit back and peer at your creations.

“Jesus.”

Your smooth, plump, glossy plant looks like one of those inflatable tubes outside of an auto dealership in the middle of deflating.

You feel deflated, too.

Over your dinner table is a corkboard of photos and postcards, and you walk over to snag Steve’s thank you card from its place in the corner. You study his technique and peer at the delicate forest green line of each stem- just a single, continuous stroke. The petals seem to be merely blobs of color if you’re looking closely, and where the flowers touch, sometimes the pigments bleed over each other.

No, it’s not a perfect thing. But it is gorgeous, still.

So, you try… again. This time, you tear off the deflated succulent drawing and place it on your coffee table in the left corner. Just for good luck, you chant “Steve, Steve, Steve!” as if he’s Beetlejuice, and get to work. Half your brain is thinking of the striped green shirt and oversized crayon, and the other half is thinking of a striped blue shirt and oversized pecs. Either way, both of them could art.

You’ve drawn all year for your students- especially your ESL kids who struggled with codeswitching. Sometimes, when they were unable to find the right word, or you were, you’d draw a picture instead. According to twenty-five first graders, you were an amazing artist, so… what the hell!

Ten minutes later, you tear off the top of the notepad and set it down next to its brother.

The two are stark differences, and your second one is little bit better. You’re almost proud of it—smooth flowing lines, rounded edges, and even a flat plane of the table to ground the pot.

Sitting back, you click around some more, making sure to choose videos that are most helpful to your current ability. Those speed-up painting videos were hella tempting, but you do not want to get lost in the rabbit hole.

Sunday is two days away. At the very least, you were going to be able to draw a damn good succulent.

---

You come in early to help him close before the workshop begins. Cap&Co. closes on Sundays right at six, and the workshop would start half an hour later.

The baristas say hello to you and smile, and you do the same back before you grab a rag and spray a counter down. The leftover pastries and sandwiches are placed on a tray and put in the middle of the room, where the tables and chairs have been pushed together by Steve.

“Snacks!” He smiles, “For the students.”

“Does that make me your student too?” You tease, finding the situation a bit ironic.

He winks at you before hanging up his apron. Between the four of you and the work that’s left, it’s quickly finished in the next ten minutes and the employees leave, wishing you a good night as they go.

Steve lets you choose the music for the night as he brightens the lights, and you randomly scroll through the shop’s selection before picking an old album you used to like as a younger girl—Fiona Apple’s 1996 Tidal. Right away, the singer’s brassy voice catches his attention.

“Who is this?” He asks excitedly, “I think I heard her on the radio the other day!”

You tell him, and he nods along to the music as he sets out sheets of watercolor paper clipped neatly on boards. Then he lays out five travel-sized round palettes already filled with an array of colors. By the time all the paintbrushes are next to each clipboard, people are starting to arrive and Steve is back and forth saying hello and giving hugs. You finish the end of the preparation and fill up heavy mason jars with water and set them at each spot. Then, you take your seat with a cake pop and eagerly and watch him lead the demonstration.

“Thanks for coming, everyone!” He smiles widely at the end of the table. “Good to see some of you again!”

 This must be what your students feel like, you think—you hope, because you are absolutely enthralled with everything that pours from his mouth. Even the way he stumbles over his words fascinates you, and the fact that he is so animated and engaged makes you love it even more.

Steve tells the group that he’ll demonstrate for about twenty-five minutes before everyone can start either trying out various techniques, or if they’ve done it before, can begin on painting whatever they please and he’ll come around to offer help. He suggests the plants for a nice still life, or other knick-knacks around the shop. Some returning students have even brought their own objects and you want to pinch yourself because you could have brought your succulent!

Then, he begins, showing you the right way to load the paintbrush with paint and water, and how water tension is so important to the medium. He shows you the difference between a wet brush and a dry brush. He shows you how to layer the colors. Your brain can hardly keep up with your eyes as they enthusiastically soak up the colors over his paper and the way his wrist moves easily back and forth from the mason jar where he cleans the bristles, to the palette saturated with pigment, to the paper where strokes are being placed.

“Here is a quick and easy way to make a flower.”

Steve loads a fat brush with water and pulls two shades of orange onto the white of the palette. In one swift motion, he streaks a daub of it onto the paper, letting the water gather more heavily on one side.

“We’ll let that dry for just a second— but we can do this for now.” He presses the tip of the brush into a tiny bit of red and makes another mark similar to the first one. The edges of the paint that touches leaks into each other, creating a tiny blossom of red into the first petal.

“This is what will happen when your paint is still wet—but that’s okay!” He makes two more petals—slightly more yellow than the last and touches his finger to the one with the accidental red bloom.

“It’s pretty dry now.” He blows softly on it for good measure and mixes a rosy coral shade into his brush.

The last petal is swept over the first, and the overlapping area where they touch turns into a vibrant shade of ripe orange. Then, quickly, he sticks the wood handle of the brush sideways between his teeth and picks up a smaller brush, wetting it, loading it with a deep purple that’s almost black, and makes a spray of dots in the middle.

“There ya go!” He takes the brush out of his mouth.

A part of you thinks that you are fucked because you may have just fallen in some deep shit here, as you stare at him, grinning widely—so proud of himself and somehow proud of you, too, for listening.

He’s made it seem impossibly easy. An absurdly beautiful blossom from his imagination stares at you from the watercolor pad in his hand as you shakily pick up the brush next to your hand.

“Well… shit, Steve.” You whisper before breaking out into a silly laugh and putting your forehead into your palm at the thought of the herculean task at hand. The woman to your right laughs along with you as she makes scribbly marks and drips globules of blue water onto her paper. Steve beams at you lovingly as you try to imitate the way he made the first petal, steering the water where you want it to go.

It doesn’t.

But you’re determined, damn it. Because one, you really want to impress him, and two, you really need a summer hobby.

The next hour flies by as you paint diligently, occasionally humming along to Fiona Apple’s resonant vocals in the background, chatting with the other painters. They’re all regulars at Cap&Co., and they adore the Rogers family.

Steve circles the room and answers questions, giving pointers, and sometimes putting his hand over yours to lead your paintbrush. He even kisses you on the top of your head when you finish your first flower—a lavender five-petaled ...cephalopod.

The affectionate gesture doesn’t go unnoticed by the others as they smile and quietly ask him questions when they think you’re not listening. Your ears go hot the rest of the night—just as hot as the top of your head because Steve!

Before you know it, it’s time to pack up. The album has already repeated, and it’s back to an early track. No one seems to mind, however, as they take their papers and wave goodbye. You linger in the area, pouring out dirty water and putting the jars back under the sink. Steve puts away the paints, fixes the rest of the tables, and you return to the café area to join him. He’s patting his thighs with his wet hands when you come in, nodding along to the music.

You gaze at the damp spots on his legs, the fabric of his trousers slightly clinging onto his muscles. Quickly, before he sees you, you look away.

“This exact song was on in the car.” He mutters amusedly, “I really like this… she’s got a great voice.”

Steve walks closer to you, stopping a few steps away and leans against the edge of a wooden booth. He crosses his arms and press his lips together, eyelashes fluttering as he smiles.

“What now?” He asks. His voice echoes the same low and deliberate tone you’ve heard before, and you think that the question isn’t really a question at all. But you’re not really sure what to make of it—tonight may have been the most forward he’s ever been.

The lights are dimmed. The piano melody crescendos before the song ends. There’s a pause of silence before the next song begins, and you feel your heart leap as the first few words start.

I lie in an early bed, thinking late thoughts.

“Um…” Your voice cracks.

I do not struggle in your web because it was my aim to get caught. But daddy long-legs, I feel that I’m finally growing weary of waiting to be consumed by you.

Steve cocks his head to the side, also listening—to the music, perhaps to your now uncomfortably loud heartbeat. You run your hand through your hair. The music chimes into a more upbeat tone as the chorus starts.

Give me the first taste. Let it begin. Heaven cannot wait forever.

“Why don’t you ever kiss me first?”

His eyebrows raise briefly before he blinks a couple of times. You tilt your chin to your chest and lace your fingers together, foot tapping anxiously as you stand in wait. “I mean, I think I’m just a little confused. We’ve seen each other for like, two weeks now. I feel like it’s always me who initiates—but tonight you did a little bit more of that. And… I guess we’ve only kissed—Am I bad kisser? Steve? Am I?”

You’re full of rambling, nervous energy but you try your best to play it off. It was such an awkward thing to say out loud, and there was no way you could come out and spit: Why have we not had sex yet?

Steve surges forward and takes your hand in his, “No!” His head his shaking wildly, “You’re a great kisser! The best!”

His blabbering catches you off-guard and the snort of laughter that comes from you is anything but attractive. “Jesus, Steven, that’s too much.”

Steve slaps his palm to his forehead. “Ah… I’m sorry. I think I’m just nervous.”

“About what?” You ask, leaning forward and looking up at him, “Steve, I just… snorted. You can’t be nervous about this. I should be the one who’s nervous! Look at you!”

He takes a step back and puts one hand on his hip, the other reaching forward to signal to you. “Look at me? Look at you!” He gawks.

The two of you stand there, pointing at each other, making scoffing noises of disbelief for a good two minutes before you put up your hand. “Okay. Pause, mister. You look like someone Photoshopped a rugged Ken Doll and then 3-D printed it. Westworld-style. You bake, you paint, you’re a ceramic---ist? Ceramicist? What! Steve!” You throw your hands up in exasperation, “Come on! Your fuckin’ arms!”

He rolls his eyes, “I’m thirty-five and divorced. I sleep four hours a night. I’m a walking disaster.” Then he narrows his eyes at you.

“You’re gorgeous! You’re funny, you’re kind, you’re so sweet…! You’re honest?” He ticks off each adjective using his fingers, “You’re patient? God, Sarah throws half a tantrum and my world collapses. You’re dedicated. You’re---“

“Okay. Stop.” You mutter, cheeks burning hot, “I sleep on the couch next to a bottle of wine and have three pieces of furniture. We’re both disasters.”

Steve laughs and steps forward again, putting his hand over yours. “I just… didn’t want to mess anything up.” He whispers, “I like you so much… and… if we’re… talking about that. I haven’t… been with anyone in … two years. Other than you, I’ve only kissed one person my entire life… So, the question is—am I a bad kisser?”

You giggle as he gives you an apologetic smirk, shaking his head at the way you two have been aggressively complimenting each other. Standing on your tiptoes, you move to nuzzle your nose against his. “You’re a great kisser, Steve. The best.”

Darkness flutters over his eyes briefly before Steve expertly dodges your nose and catches your mouth with his instead. With a half-whimper, half-moan, Steve Rogers grabs the back of your neck in one large, warm hand and your lower back with the other and presses your body flush against his.

Oh.

He’s so tall he has to bend over and you’re so small against him that he’s nearly picking you up. A brief parting of your lips give you a moment to catch your breath, but he’s back again, tongue sliding against yours sweetly, as if asking a silent question.

Is this okay?

With a sigh of pleasure, you ask him to continue in the same, secret language. Your chest his burning hot, tummy quivering with nerves and delight as his hands roam your body. Firm. Strong. Almost desperate. Your own hands rest against his chest before one reaches up and cups his face, trailing your fingertips through his beard.

“D-does it bother you?” He mutters against your mouth before he slides down past your jaw and lands his lips on your neck, “My beard?”

“Mmm—no—” you’re breathless as he kneads his fingers into your waist, moving up to position them just below your breasts, “I like it—mmm-- lots.” You sigh, as his scruff tickles your shoulder, sending tingles all over your body. “I’d like to feel it… elsewhere, too.”

He freezes and pulls away. His hands place you back down on your feet-- back to Earth-- as he swallows hard, looking at you with open, red lips. Steve rolls the bottom one between his teeth and clenches his jaw, eyes half-lidded and lustful. You’re probably a wreck, too, you think as you catch yourself against a table.

“Can we---”

You cut him off. Your purse is already in your hands, keys swinging around your finger.

“God. Yes. I’ll follow you.”

 Steve tugs you from the driver’s seat of your car, hand entwined with yours as he leads you up the walkway and over the step. Once the front door shuts behind him and he’s made sure it’s locked, you’re pressed up against the wall, purse, shoes, keys, clattering onto the hardwood.

“Oh, honey,” he mumbles as he presses his face into your collar, scooping you up into his arms. “Oh, Jesus, sweetheart.”

You’re glad he knows how to navigate his house with his eyes closed because the whole way there, you can’t stop kissing him. Your hands tug his hair and your teeth pinch his bottom lip. Steve responds by growling softly, biting you back, squeezing your thighs before slowly easing you onto his bed.

It’s dark in his room, but you feel the bed dip as he climbs on too. Both your eyes are trying to adjust—trying to find each other. Your hands fumble around until you catch him, his knee. His hands find your stomach. Slowly, he reaches for the hem of your shirt and peels it up over your head. Then he does the same to his own shirt and both of you shimmy out of your pants.

He is hard and hot when your bare skin touches his. Steve lies down on his side to face you, panting slightly as you glide your hand up and down his arm. Oh fuck, it’s been two years and the first man you touch is more like a mythical creature than any man. It should be illegal for someone to feel this good.

Trembling, you touch the hard planes of his torso, the ridges in his abdomen, the swell of his chest taking hard breaths. You shut your eyes and imagine the way he looks right now—breathless and wild. His knee parts your legs easily and one hand descends to feel your center, saturating your underwear.

“Jesus, baby,” Steve sighs into your neck. “You’re makin’ me crazy. This--” He begins to slide his digits up and down, getting the slippery wetness all over his fingers, “Already...”

A shudder rolls through your body upon hearing his words and you arch into his touch, moaning when he rubs your clit in perfect pulsing circles. He moves forward, kissing the tops of your breasts through your bra, nipping at the soft flesh spilling from the cups.

“Steve, you’ll make me come.” You admit, a little shyly even as your hips rock consciously into his hand. You paw at his arms, squeezing the ridges of thick muscles.

The mischievous chuckle that pours from his throat vibrates against your chest. Steve grabs onto your thigh and eases your leg over his hips inching closer and straightening himself until you’re aligned perfectly. He tilts back and guides you against him until your center slides against his bulge.

Just as you find the elastic of his waistband, he jerks away and places himself in-between your legs as he moves you onto your back. You scoot until your head hits the wall, propping yourself up on your elbows, giving him more room at the foot of the bed.

“You wanted to feel this?” Steve caresses your thighs with his cheek, the hairs on his beard tickling your sensitive skin. Your toes curl up reflexively as he moves back and forth, trailing his lips and face all over.

You squeal when the tip of his nose touches your mound, mouth hovering over your soaked panties. His mouth latches on, almost in a bite before he takes them off. Both his hands slide beneath your bottom, squeezing the soft flesh of your ass before he pulls your hips forward. You land on his face, eyes rolling back in ecstasy.  

“Steve,” You gasp, “This is unfair.” Your body jerks with every teasing kiss he presses to your folds. His breath comes out in a smug puff of air that purposefully continues to drive you unbelievably closer to what feels like breaking entirely.

“Baby…” he mutters—right into your cunt, Jesus! You groan at the way his face is nestled there. “Baby---mm— It’s been two years for me.” He whispers, “If I don’t get you off now, in a really good way—it’s not gonna be good at all.”

“Steve—you know—ah! It’s been the same amount of time for me too, right?!”

He ignores you, crawling his hands around onto your hips to keep you from squirming. When you settle finally, he moves one hand to your center, sliding a finger up and down your slippery folds. His mouth latches onto your clit as his finger continues their trail. You fist his hair with both hands at the same time he slips a digit inside.

But he doesn’t move. Other than his tongue’s soft licks on your swollen clit, Steve doesn’t move at all. He happily lets his finger rest inside of you, gathering your juices all over his hand.

You whimper, trying to shimmy against them, anything to create more contact. Its intrusion builds a terrible itch inside of your body, and goddamn it, you want to scratch.

It feels like an eternity passes before he finally lets you have another—adding one more thick finger inside, stretching you as he moves them both around, curling them, pumping them in and out. He sucks enthusiastically on your sensitive bud, fucks you with two fingers almost wildly, and your body responds with fervor. You gasp and moan, arching your back into his hand and face, goosebumps blooming all over your shoulders and down your arms and legs.

“C’mon, that’s it. Thassa good girl. You’re so close. Almost there… Good girl… Good girl.”

With a cry, you come undone, rolling your hips every which way as you reach orgasm on Steve’s hand. His voice continues to praise you, lips kissing your sweat-slicked thighs, beard tickling your sensitive skin.

Instead of pulling away, Steve continues to stroke you with his fingers, slowly prodding at your entrance with a third.

“Just trying to get you ready.” He murmurs, and your heart stills. Ready?

You voice your concern, “What do you mean?”

With a slight chuckle, he sits up, wiping his mouth and parts of his beard with the back of his hand. In the dark, Steve reaches for your arm, guiding you to feel exactly what he’s talking about. A strangled cry escapes your throat as you wrap your fingers around his cock. Hot. Throbbing. Big.

Sweet, sensitive, divorced, baker, artist, ceramicist, father Steve fuckin’ Rogers was packing. And it isn’t until you nervously grip him in both hands do you realize the importance of his last statement.

“Can I get you ready, baby?” He asks again.

For the millionth time that night, your eyes roll back and get lost in your head as you lean against the headboard with a whimper. Steve crawls over on top of you, scoops you up once again in his arms, and places you on his lap. Your legs wrap around his back loosely as he holds you still, previous two fingers pushing inside gently.

You rest your head on his shoulder as your body shakes under his ministrations, already tired and overstimulated. Your hands find their way to grip him, massaging his length tenderly, savoring the temperature of his body, spreading the beaded precum at the tip of his cock up and down his shaft. Steve groans, scissoring his fingers inside of you, spreading your walls.

The third finger meets resistance as you tense up.

“S-sorry,” You whisper, “I’m… I’m pretty nervous…” But you move his hand back and try again. He’s so tender and sweet with you as he turns his head to place kisses on your cheek and ear. It’s a few minutes of this exploration before you feel brave enough to shift and stroke him with determination. Steve takes the message as a confirmation and reaches into the end table for a condom.

It’s slipped on and you follow suit, gasping as Steve guides your hips with one hand, and grips himself with the other. Slowly, he fills you inch by inch until he’s so deep inside you think he could emerge from your throat.

“Oh… my… God!” You cry. There aren’t enough words to describe it— the sweetest sting, an all-encompassing and chilling burn, a mystifying and utter fullness that nearly brings tears to your eyes. You’re afraid to move, to lose this sensation, and afraid to feel what comes next. But you know that you want it.

Steve kisses your lips tenderly, babbling praise, whispering affirmations, soothing the shock that surges up your spine with his warm palm. Slowly, he rocks you back, holding onto your body with one hand, smoothing the hair that falls over your face with the other.

You’re gripping him so tightly it takes some effort to slide even an inch of him out— and there’s many inches of him. Sweat collects on your brow as you grind, dragging against his length, forcing shudders to course all over both your bodies. “Is this okay?” you mutter, delirious, “Steve? You feel so good.”

He flexes within you, grunts into your ear. A dry chuckle escapes him as his hand squeezes your back just a little too hard. He’s holding back, trying to prolong your pleasure, but his own is chasing him down, only a few steps away from pouncing.

You coax it towards him with faster snapping of your hips against his, clawing at his back, nibbling on his ear. “Come on, my love… just a little more.”

With a grunt and a shudder, and a hard kiss to your lips that makes your teeth clack against each other, Steve thrusts one last time as deeply as possible, riding out his orgasm as he pulls your hips against his. The two of you feel welded together, sticky with sweat and so tightly flushed that you’re not sure where he ends and you begin. You body slumps as you drape your arms over his neck. Steve turns his head to kiss your shoulder before making the effort to pull away and clean himself up. He goes into the bathroom first, lying you down and covering you with the blanket.

 When he returns, Steve finds you already dozed off. You palm rests under your cheek as you lie on your side, breathing deeply.

As quietly as he can, he squeezes in beside you, fitting himself against your back. He’s read it somewhere, that falling in love was a little bit like falling asleep. As his eyes slip shut, he feels it happening, just like that quote had said: slowly at first, then… all at once.

In the darkness behind his lids, there is strangely so much light.

Next Chapter

[eury--dice]

history, huh?

chapter 2: prope

(check the rb for chapter 1 on tumblr + ao3 links!)

Blue’s gum popped loudly on the other line. Adam couldn’t remember the last time he saw her chew gum, but somehow it seemed fitting that she picked up the habit then, with him overseas. “Any weird paintings?”

“I’m legally obligated not to tell you,” Adam replied, flicking his eyes over a textbook. He scanned his eyes over a page, but the fonts and colors all blurred together, creating a grey and red mass of string in front of him instead of a helpful breakdown of France’s pre-revolution economy. His phone, propped up on a tiny potted fern, revealed Blue Sargent in all of her early-evening glory. He wondered what the tabloids might think of her like this: her thick and short black hair held back by clashing vibrant hair clips, dressed in one of Gansey’s old Aglionby sweaters she converted into a halter top, felt-tip pen ink somehow smudged on her cheek. There was something wonderfully grounding about her familiar chaos.

“Contracts are a suggestion and nothing more.”

“Don’t let your mother hear that. She’ll have us both thrown in jail.” Ronan’s words from earlier popped into his head, but he had the luxury of ignoring them with the prince out of sight, and so he did. 

“C’mon, Adam, you know she’s a softie. You’re in Kensington Palace. You have to tell me something exciting.”

Adam scrounged for something to tell her. He glanced around his room again, still caught off-guard by how much it felt like a castle. Admittedly, he didn’t have a great reference for what castles were supposed to feel like; the only other castle he had been in was the Bishop Palace on a tour with his mother at age eight. His hair raised on end at random moments here the same way it did then, the draftiness leaving him feeling exposed and vulnerable. He couldn't quite shake the idea that someone was watching him, caught between air molecules and screaming for someone to hear them. The White House sometimes gave him the same feeling. Realistically, he knew people passed over every spot on the earth and nothing made the walls of the White House or Kensington Palace any different in that regard. But the history in them intimidated him. The presence of greats, from founding fathers to celebrity politicians to monarchs, was a guarantee rather than a possibility. He couldn’t help but feel watched by them, feel their expectations and disappointment thick in the air.

Living there all the time as Ronan did must be lonely, surrounded only by ghosts. 

He pushed his feet against the floor, leaning back in his chair so that it balanced on two legs. His leg swung back and forth to dully hit the wooden underside of the seat while the other braced him. Adam didn’t quite want to tell Blue any of that. He knew she would understand, both because she was Blue and because her family was a big believer in the supernatural and psychic. But he didn’t know how to say it without a long-winded rant. “There’s a coat of armor outside my room,” he admitted in a low tone. “I’ve been waiting for it to twitch its finger and beckon me closer.”

“I’m sure if you ask nicely it will let you pursue your weird metal fantasies.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Adam said without heat, finally flipping the textbook shut. “No kink-shaming over the phone.”

“I watched the Wizard of Oz with you at age eight, Adam. You can’t hide your reaction to the Tin Man from me.”

Adam rubbed his eyes. “I need ice cream to deal with this bullying,” he announced, standing from the borrowed desk and snatching his phone up.

“Aw, at least I know that the English haven’t been able to suck all the life out of you if you’re complaining and want ice cream.”

“They haven’t managed it yet, but we’re only one photo op in.”

“Well, if the excess of British does manage to sideline you, let me know. I know Gansey will want the heads-up for the tabloids.”

“As long as you don’t feed them headlines again, I’d be happy to.” Adam rounded the corner into the spacious kitchen reserved for guests of the Crown. He’d roll his eyes at the needless expense if the White House didn’t provide the exact same accommodations. 

“I’m telling you again, I know nothing of the allegation.”

Adam gave her a flat look. “Who else would pen ‘First Son Denies Fur Son Residence in the Residence?’ Besides the obvious reason for it being bad, it was clearly you.”

Blue blew a strand of hair out of her eyes. “Sometimes I hate your intimate knowledge of my love of wordplay.”

“And I yours of the diplomatic taxidermy gifts I receive.”

“I’m sure the Minister of Foreign Affairs’ son meant well, he was just...creepy.”

Adam sighed, opening the freezer with one hand to reveal a box of pre-packaged ice cream cones. “They always mean well.”

He pulled the box from the freezer and shut the door, turning on his heel to face the counter. But he stopped short when he noticed it was no longer just him and Blue alone in the kitchen. 

Prince Ronan stood in the entryway to the kitchen, disarmed in the half-light with his flannel pajama pants and black t-shirt combination. Over-the-ear headphones sat on his head, but he pushed them down to loop around his neck. The music was so loud it bled into the air, carrying the harsh sound of drums until they reached Ronan across the kitchen. On his screen, Blue studied Adam and his sudden pause, and the voice of Gansey carried over from somewhere far away - “I’ve got a new article,” it sounded like, though Adam could barely hear anything. 

“Call you back,” he said quietly, disconnecting from the call. Ronan looked almost apologetic when Adam looked back up towards him.

“I thought you’d be asleep,” he confessed. “Goody-two-shoes like you.”

Adam wanted to take offense to it, but something stopped him. “I could say the same for you.”

“Yes, well, insomnia calls.”

“Doesn’t it always?” The two shared a tight smile. 

“I was out,” Ronan explained, gesturing to the box in Adam’s hand. “Knew there’d be a stock here. I’m...sorry.” The word sounded bitter and foreign on his tongue.

“It’s fine,” Adam said. “Midnight snacks are to be taken seriously or not at all.” He slid the box across the counter, suddenly very aware of his threadbare, faded crimson coca-cola tee shirt and GU sweatpants. He couldn’t stop feeling the slide of them against his skin. 

Ronan clutched the box once it reached him, looking to Adam with something close to surprise. Still, he opened the box and selected an ice cream. 

While he was distracted, Adam snapped a picture, the flash bright in the dim kitchen. 

The stare leveled at him by Ronan should’ve been enough to pin any self-preserving person in place, but Adam rarely did what was best for him personally. “What the fuck is that for?”

“Two social media posts a day,” Adam replied, speeding through the filtering process and tapping to the captioning. “It’s part of the contract.”

“Of course it would be,” Ronan mutters with great disdain. “Fucking social media addicted hounds.”

“Not a fan of technology?”

“Oh, sure, other than the fact that it’s a blight consuming the world by slaughtering brain cells and slowly giving us radiation poisoning.”

“You could’ve just said ‘yes.’”

“Ah, but where’s the fun in that?”

Adam smiled brightly. “Not giving me a headache from all of the pomposity?” 

“Exactly. No fun.” When Adam continued to stare blankly at his screen, Ronan rolled his eyes. “Does it take you this long to caption everything you do? If so, I understand why so little governing takes place.”

“Because the monarchy is oh-so-powerful,” Adam replied, but then decided to cut them off before it could turn into a full-blown fight. “It always takes me a minute to think of something good.”

Ronan grabbed the phone from his hands. “You’re overthinking it,” he dismissed, making a few decisive taps before handing the phone back to Adam, photo captioned but not yet posted. insomnia ice cream ft. @PrinceRonan. 

“Thought you hated technology?”

“Hate and lack of proficiency are two different things.” “...Of course,” Adam said, clicking post on the photo. Ronan turned and walked toward the door, the song on his headphones audibly changing. Not one for goodbyes, then. The feeling he had in his room was back then, the idea that ghosts clung to the air around him and stole oxygen with their demands. Although Ronan had not yet left, Adam already felt as though he were lonely. Lonely, but not alone, still technically with Ronan and all of the ghosts thickening the air.

Adam, in a fluid movement he didn’t really plan, dumped half of the ice creams on the counter and held out the box across the marble countertop as though bridging some wide ocean. The coolness of the marble inched closer to the skin of his forearm where it hovered a few inches in the air.

“You can take these if you’d like.”

Ronan froze, his back straightened and still before he turned ninety degrees back to look at Adam. “Pardon?”

“The ice cream cones. It’s probably better you do, honestly. I just eat them when I’m bored. Calories I don’t really need.”

Ronan’s startlingly blue eyes studied him for a moment, roaming every line of Adam’s face as though searching for some trickery and then jumping to the box in Adam’s outstretched hand. “Thank you,” he said at last in an undertone, accepting the offered box. And, leaving Adam with some hint of a smile, Prince Ronan was gone, Adam all by himself and the faint memory of intense guitar music leaking from expensive headphones still lingering in the air. 

  Once they landed firmly in PR territory, Adam felt a bit steadier on his feet.

PR he knew like the back of his hand, armed with years of experience from campaigns and political terms. It was not innate for him like for Gansey, but like everything else in his life, Adam was a star pupil and quick to pick it up thoroughly. He studied diligently, examining the facial expressions of everyone around him, examining each furrow of brow and twitch of lips and bellow of a laugh, practicing and perfecting on his own to ensure that he blended in seamlessly and, when necessary, stood out brilliantly. America’s First Son, valedictorian-intelligent and attractive enough to stop hearts for a moment upon seeing him. By the time he sat on ITV This Morning next to his enemy, he certainly knew all the tips and tricks and expertise ensuring a successful interview, and luckily Ronan seemed to know his way around a talk show as well. His thoroughly British host seemed appropriately charmed by their dynamic, a golden-child American and England’s simultaneously proper and wild Royal. 

Adam excelled at PR not because he was natural but because he was over-prepared, and so he was comfortable with the rhythm he and Ronan fell into - referencing each other’s favorites, cracking dry, sarcastic jokes about ice cream, fist-bumping and throwing arms around each other’s shoulders for effect when needed.

He counted it as a win that his resentment never made it into his words or his actions. Instead, he distracted himself with what they were doing, savoring the news alerts of their “clearly natural” friendship and the thumbs-up and “!!!” texts from Gansey and Blue whenever something exciting reached the press. He ignored Ronan for the most part, and Ronan mostly ignored him. He clenched his teeth and smiled at how rough-and-tumble Ronan looked under stage lighting, as wickedly handsome as a poisoned and sharpened dagger, unfairly attractive even with his head closely shaved. 

Then the time for their second photo op rolled around, sometime after Adam posted an empty-feeling snapshot of Ronan on a deserted London sidewalk with the caption love a nice mid-afternoon walk, and his mood plummeted sharply. 

As well as people and hospitals generally went together, Adam did not have a particularly terrible relationship with any hospitals, especially the Royal Marsden NHS Foundation Trust. He did not enjoy them, sure, but who did? And his discomfort may have gone below the surface-level “death and sickness occur here” jitteriness most people felt, but the majority of the unease coiling in his stomach came from the utterly staged feeling to everything. The First Son and Prince came bearing gifts of books, but they probably did more harm than good for all of the children by displacing all the medical professionals and disrupting their steady routines with full camera crews.

It felt hypocritical, and Adam definitely didn’t want to be shoving cameras in the faces of cancer patient children, but the decisions weren’t up to him, and so he slipped back into PR mode. He shook the hands of nurses and posed faux-candidly for cameras. The only real things he did were with the kids - once they knew who he was, they asked for stories of celebrities and monuments, and although Adam was no fantastic storyteller, he did his best to answer every question and then some. He read to them, too, from the new and donated books, even when the cameras left in search of Ronan. Anger was hard to hold onto when he looked into their faces and resolved to cheer them up. 

He read until his voice began to grind at itself, tucked next to kids on narrow hospital cots. They were all ages, and all perfectly suited to throw Adam back into memories he didn’t want to relive. Looking at the books, with the gaudily-colored pictures and ridiculous rhymes, was easier than looking at the children. They all looked to him with similar looks painted across their faces and twinkling in their eyes, one that made Adam’s heart twist, because he knew that he’d worn that expression so often as a child when he thought someone could help him or save him. They looked at him like he was hope itself, some savior come to grant them a wish and a recovery. He didn’t want to disappoint them.

The visit of the First Son and Prince of England must have cut into naptime because at some point Adam looked up from the book to realize that the camera crews had retreated and all the patients in his ward had dozed off.  He slowly unfurled himself, gangly limbs and all, to stand without disturbing the child who rested so fitfully on the hospital cot. His steps were soft and random against the tile, mostly just a blind search to try and find Ronan. It wasn’t long before he heard Ronan’s voice stretching over space from the next room over. Adam slowed, hoping to stay just out of sight while still observing Ronan.

The Prince perched on the edge of a narrow hospital bed, reminding Adam ridiculously of a bird poised to take flight. Since there were no cameras near him, his posture was slightly relaxed like it had been in the kitchen the night previously. A little girl clung tightly to his hand while he gestured wildly with his other, her eyes wide and hanging onto his every word. Ronan’s voice was somehow hushed and grand at the same time, his posh accent dulled to something a little more rural.

“When three hundred years had come and gone, the four swans traveled South to the sea of Moyle, braving the turbulent tides that wanted to draw them under.” He leaned closer to her and tugged lightly on her free hand with his free hand, perhaps to echo the water he mentioned in the story, and she gripped it tightly, nearing laughter with every second. “They swam past the cold and stormy seas, their feathers ruffled but unharmed when they reached Inis Glora. The swans had grown tired over their long journey, the years of their lives catching up to slow them down.”

Adam, without thinking, felt a bit of a smile take over his face. He was taken aback by the change in Ronan. The boy sitting on the bed seemed lightyears away from any other version - he’d gone a little hazy at the edges, as though he were made of smoke, as though Adam was dreaming and viewing some kind of apparition. His tailored lines still stuck out jaggedly, cutting a harsh figure, but he seemed at ease and gentle for the first time Adam had ever seen. One hell of a storyteller, too. Adam wasn’t sure he wanted to know why, as the Prince of England, Ronan could let all of those Irish words roll off of his tongue as though they came naturally.

An Irish children’s tale. An Irish children’s tale. Why would he know any of those? The answer nagged at Adam’s brain, but he couldn’t find it in himself to dig.

The girl was quiet as Ronan’s voice trailed off until it became nothing. The swans had returned to elderly humans and lived with a priest who blessed them for the rest of their days, and Adam assumed that she was processing the anticlimactic ending. Finally, she said, “I like those endings best.”

“You do?” Ronan asked, patience yielding in his tone. “Why do you like them?”

“Sad endings are too sad, but happy endings aren’t real.”

Adam could only see the back of Ronan’s head, but he could hear him clear his throat and see him squeeze the girl’s hand in his much larger one. “Me, too.” He leaned away from her a little, letting go of one of her hands. When he spoke again, a smile was in his voice. “You’re much wiser than the adults I know. I might have to offer you a position advising me.”

The girl laughed again, a giddy and wild and hopeful thing. “You’re very silly,” she informed Ronan, likely too young to realize any breaches in etiquette. Luckily for her, Ronan didn’t care, either.

“I am very serious,” he said, his face no doubt translating that sentiment very well. He squeezed her hand again. “I’ll be back with an offer in fifteen or so years, don’t you worry.”

“Is that a promise?”

Ronan stilled at once, the muscles in his back set just as they had been in the kitchen. Adam didn’t envy the situation she’d inadvertently put Ronan into. As childish and silly as her question was, there was a little too much weight to the response for him to casually offer a yes or a no.

“Do your best to get better,” he said at length, “and I’ll see what I can do.”

And, oh, that expression of hope was back shining on her face, and Adam had to shuffle to his other foot, looking away. The people were the reason he liked politics, liked the idea of trying to help build a world even a fraction better than the one he was raised in, and yet he couldn’t look. Couldn’t bear the thought of letting anyone down.

Ronan glanced behind him, clearly catching sight of Adam, just as a nurse bustled into the room and cheerfully announced that it was time for medicine.

“Thank you,” the little girl said before releasing his hand.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Ella,” Ronan said with a stiff formality that made her giggle again. “And of course,” he added, a little more softly.

It was perhaps not a polite enough exit for a prince, but after Ronan clumsily thanked the nurse and stepped back into the ward to meet Adam, he knew it was the best they would get. Ronan continued moving past him in the direction Adam assumed the cameras must have gone.

“Ah, so you do have feelings other than anger,” Adam said, trailing Ronan into the hall. 

“Don’t act so fu... completely surprised,” Ronan replied, turning his head towards Adam. At first, he thought Ronan might have been uncomfortable with the idea of Adam seeing the interaction, but instead, his face started to squeeze into something close to a smile, his eyes crinkling and the corners of his mouth lifting. A pop from down the hallway shuttered the expression before it could become fully formed. A shout cut through the air just as Persephone appeared between Ronan and Adam as though materializing from thin air. Her impossibly long, white hair clung to the sleeves of their sweaters with static friction as she shoved them with surprising strength into a closet. 

Her voice was still serene and airy despite the sudden tension settling on everyone’s chests. “Wait for the all-clear.” And the door shut with a thunk behind her. 

Adam leaned his head against it with a sigh, before very rapidly remembering that they were two high-profile targets in a possible active shooter scenario and doors weren’t exactly safe. He scrambled backward, accidentally knocking into Ronan and sending them tumbling into the wall. Of all the closets to be unceremoniously shoved into, they had to be stuck in one barely large enough for the brooms stacked to his right. 

“Can you stop falling into me, please?” came Ronan’s voice, taut with something close to fury but probably closer to anxiety.

“But you love it so much,” Adam bit out, trying to backtrack. Ronan’s face had somehow ended up in Adam’s hair, and he could feel Ronan’s long lashes close, paired with a troubled exhale. Adam managed to extract himself from Ronan and slide against one of the walls, crouching beside something he suspected was a bucket. Ronan followed his example, leaning against the opposite wall until he slid to the ground. Adam couldn’t see Ronan very well, but judging from the faint rustling sounds of buzzed hair against cotton and quick, deep breaths, he wasn’t handling the situation very well.

“This is a new one,” Adam said. “Assassination attempts, I mean. Is this common for the royalty?”

“Shut up,” Ronan said, his voice faint from his position closer to the ground.

“I’m blaming you if we die, you know.” When he received no response, Adam continued. “I probably could have made it at least a couple more years. No one’s ever tried to shoot me before. Guess I’m not important enough on my own. Who knew our fake friendship could be so deadly?”

“Fuck off,” Ronan replied, his breaths still deep.

“I’d love to, mate,” Adam said, forcing faux-jolly British inflection into the last word, “But we’re stuck in this closet for the foreseeable future, or until we get shot.”

“I meant shut up before that happens.”

“What, you’re not keen on life-threatening scenarios?” Ronan didn’t respond, and Adam felt a bit of genuine concern leak into his other thoughts. “Are you doing alright? I thought you of all people would be used to this.”

“Not keen on tight spaces,” he grit out, his teeth likely bared in that dangerous way that made Adam’s hands curl into fists. “Now fucking stop for a minute.”

They sat in silence, nothing but their breaths filling the space between them. The silence must have started to grate on Ronan because he broke it first.

“It doesn’t happen all the time, you know.”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, I’m telling you.” Ronan breathed something that sounded like dumbass. “Once, when I was small and out in public with my father. Declan was there, too. I can’t remember much of it. That’s the only other time.”

“Suppose it’s as good a story as any,” Adam said, his voice just a hint louder than Ronan’s whisper had been. “Glad I can hear it trapped in this minuscule closet with you.”

“You’re the one with the foot digging into my hip, not the other way around.”

“Where the hell am I supposed to put it, Your Highness?” He nudged his foot and Ronan surged forward, clamping a hand around Adam’s mouth and the other clenching in Adam’s collar, practically hovering above where Adam stretched out uncomfortably. Adam much preferred this almost-fighting to their pretending to be friends.

“Shut the fuck up. I don’t want to die today.” Adam tried shifting to free himself, but Ronan had a firm grip and he couldn’t gain any ground. Instead, he licked Ronan’s palm, and Ronan was quick to drop his hand in disgust with a quiet noise of discontent. He found himself pinned with one of Ronan’s glares, the intensity tangible even in the dark.

“I don’t want you to die either, you sodding idiot. I’m not the only one in here. You talking is ruining both of us.” “Clearly you’re not, this might actually be comfortable without you and your ridiculous, showy muscles. But I didn’t realize you cared, sugar,” he said, thinking fleetingly of his mother, “if I was breathing or not.”

“Right now, your life is tied very closely to mine, and so I do.”

“Sweet as honey,” Adam taunted, thickening his drawl. Most of the time he tried to school his words into something a little more Northern, but he enjoyed the way the southern accent bothered Ronan.

“No peace, none at all,” Ronan muttered. “Not even in the looming face of death.”

Adam could have said the same, really. The last thing he expected to see from Ronan while shoved into a dark closet with him was any genuine emotion. But the stories, the fear in the enclosed space, the story of his father-

His father. Of course. 

“Was that story from your father?” He asked, although he already was sure of the answer.

Ronan’s response clipped. “Yes.”

His conscience was still mostly intact, and so Adam began to feel a little bad for picking a fight while in a stressful situation and then bringing up Ronan’s grief. “You’re a good storyteller.” Ronan’s silence was judgemental and disbelieving, so he persisted. “What, I can’t give a compliment? You are.” 

“My siblings and I had stories read to us like everyone else, Parrish. We’re not programmed, bland colonialism robots.” A pause. “Well, Mathew and I aren’t.”

“Of course not, imperialism comes first.”

“You’re welcome for the country, then.”

A brief silence followed. It felt, inexplicably, like the two of them had been toeing a line ever since Adam stood outside of Ella’s door and heard Ronan speak to her. They were inching closer with every word spoken.

“My father was the real storyteller,” he admitted, and Adam internally marked another inch traveled. “Since he was an actor and all. He always told us those stories even though he wasn’t technically supposed to. I just...imitate.”

“Imitate?”

“Yes,” Ronan said, providing no other explanation. “Why do you give a damn, anyway? You don’t want childhood tales and neither do I. You hate me.”

“We’re stuck like this forever,” Adam admitted. He’d known it before, but speaking the words made them feel more real. “Neither of us likes it, but here we are, shoved in a closet together. We have to pull off this act for the rest of our lives, Ronan, and I need something more than a cheat sheet your PR team slapped together.”

Ronan was eerily still for a long moment before he finally spoke. “Then why do you hate me?”

The question caught Adam off guard. “What?”

“Why do you hate me?” Off of Adam’s wary look, he threw the words back in his face. “We’re stuck together just like you said. I need some kind of answer.”

Adam sighed, acquiescing. “Do you remember what you said in Rio?”

“The fuck are you talking about, Parrish?”

“The Olympics?”

“When you threatened to push me into the River Thames?”

“No. You being a condescending dick at diving finals.”

Ronan was still for a long moment before bringing a hand to his shoulder and easing himself back away and off of Adam. “Oh. Shit.”

“So. You remember?”

“Vaguely.” A pause, elongated in the dark. “You heard?”

“Yes.” 

“So that did it, then?”

“Yes.”

But Ronan must have known he had more to say because he stayed silent. 

“I probably would have hated you no matter what,” Adam finally admitted, some low part of his gut feeling heavier with the admission. “It’s just - I wasn’t even the First Son then, and everyone was already comparing us. And it didn’t matter if they thought I was better or you were better or whatever, it was just - the idea of you bothered me, a white boy born with the power to make such change and unquestioning support from millions who was throwing it all away instead. And I’ve been compared to a shit ton of people in my life, from my mother to Blue and Gansey to just - everyone, but somehow with you, it was always the worst. So yes, it was the diving finals.”

“But it was also you being self-conscious?”

“But it was also you being an asshole.” 

“Yeah, it was,” Ronan admitted lowly, and Adam blinked at the admission. “I was - I definitely was one. I think I was one all the fucking time back then. It doesn’t excuse anything, but my father passed on...not long before, if you can understand.”

Adam didn’t understand, couldn’t understand, but he nodded all the same. He felt something in his throat tighten. “Of course. I don’t think I’d realized.”

“It doesn’t excuse it,” Ronan repeated. “I’m sorry.”

This was something heavier, truer than his other apologies - something beyond deeply-ingrained politeness that allowed him to apologize for petty things. It was as though he genuinely asked for forgiveness, like Adam had any real choice in the matter, like Adam’s forgiveness was something Ronan actually wanted. Adam never expected to receive a genuine apology from the Prince of England.

“I appreciate it. And I’m sorry as well. For...not realizing.” Ronan’s figure visibly relaxed even though it was barely visible.

“So, depressing Irish stories. Is that your default?”

“I’m afraid the Irish don’t have a lot of serotonin-filled stories.”

“There’s the English in you,” Adam said to a breathy laugh from Ronan. “Do you remember any more?”

“Probably couldn’t forget them, if we’re being honest. And not speaking to the press.”

“They hate me at the moment, so you have nothing to worry about.” He paused before he continued. “Would you tell one?”

“...why?”

“I don’t know. We’re stuck in here, aren’t we?”

“Be careful what you wish for. I’ll write you in as a Celtic witch.”

“I always thought I’d make a very dashing villainous magician. If that’s the price to pay, I can live with it.”

Ronan was silent, and Adam thought that he had given up on any conversation. However, he spoke again, his voice oddly light. “Once, the fierce Fianna believed in many things, none as much as the beautiful Eden laying in the Western Sea. Tir na nÒg, it was called, and the name passed between them like a secret.” Suddenly breaking character, Ronan said in his normal whisper, “That means “land of the living” for any uneducated parties.”

“Dick. Go on.”

There was something captivating in this new way Ronan spoke paired with the near-darkness and tight space of their closet. “Fionn, the leader of the Fianna-”

“Great naming process, by the way.”

“Shut the hell up or no story.”

Adam shut up.

“The leader of the Fianna led them to hunt the deer along the shores in County Kerry, including his son, Oisín. But Oisín soon caught sight of a single, bright light in the distance, all the way through the thick green of tree foliage. As it drew closer, he saw that the light was, instead, a beautiful girl with hair of spun gold astride a snow-colored mare. When Fionn inquired as to who she was, she informed them that she was Niamh of the Golden Hair, daughter of the King of  Tir na nÒg, and she had come to take Oisín as her husband-”

Ronan cut off abruptly, and Adam almost asked why, but a moment later he heard the source of the silence - heavy footsteps outside the door. Suddenly, neither of them breathed, instead choosing to sit in total petrified silence.

And slowly, mercifully, the door crept open, spilling cold white light along the floor of the cupboard and across their splayed legs. Persephone stood in the doorway, her expression relaxed once again.

“False alarm,” she said breezily, reaching out her hands to haul them back to their feet. Adam shifted uncomfortably on pins and needles as his legs shot back to life. “Fireworks, not guns.”

“Fireworks in a hospital?”

Persephone shrugged. “It was some teenager.”

“Always is,” Ronan said, dangerously close to a joke. He blinked rapidly, setting his shoulders back to stand at his full height. He slanted a look towards Adam, his mouth curving into something wicked but not intimidating, all bark and no bite. “Bonding is over, then.”

“Thank God.”