#no happy endings in this installment folks

[ghostfacd]

SHE WAS LIKE A SHOT OF EPRESSO

pairing. tom blyth x actress!fem!reader (mentions of other actors x fem!reader platonically)

summary. in which you are the epitome of sunshine and radiance within your co stars OR all the times your co stars have talked interviewers’ ears off about you

installment of this au | read for context!

Time 1: Tom Blyth

“How’s Y/N as a cast mate?”

That question shouldn’t make Tom Blyth smile that wide — but he does — because he’s so utterly and unconditionally inlove with you.

“Oh gosh, I wouldn’t even know where to start,” Tom begins. “As her boyfriend, I think I’m being pretty biased when I say this, but Y/N Avocot as a cast mate has honestly been the best experience of my life. There has not been a day where she doesn’t make me laugh so hard that my ribs start hurting, and there hasn’t been a day where she hasn’t made me smile.” He pauses for a moment, pondering the next words to say.

“Y/N’s just that type of person, you know? She’s like the warm sunlight that engulfs you every morning you open your curtains, she’s like that newly brewed coffee that helps hydrate and bring you back to life. She’s everything.” And he says this in such a loving manner that the interviewer practically awes, the cameraman zooming the camera to show Tom’s dilated pupil.

“Your pupils are dilated!” The interviewer mentions, laughing as she points towards his eyes.

“Oxytocin is a warm hormone that’s released when you talk about someone you love,” Tom shrugs. “All my friends say my pupils dilate when I’m near Y/N, that’s just the effect she has on people.”

“Well there it is folks! Tom Blyth is truly inlove with Y/N Avocot!”

Time 2: Sean Kaufman and Lola Tung

It was an interview discussing the new season of The Summer I Turned Pretty, and it consisted of Sean and Lola who’s schedules were the only ones that were open that day.

“Guys! We’re so happy to have you today,” the interviewer starts.

“Why thank you,” Lola smiles brightly into the camera, smoothing out her dress.

“So obviously, this season is very important to the plot, it contains so much new exciting storylines including Sean’s character, Steven Conklin, and Y/N’s character, Ella!”

“Yes,” Sean laughs, his eyes crinkling. “It was very fun filming the scenes with Y/N, she’s like that little rush of happiness that you just wanna keep inside a jar.”

“Actually!” Lola speaks up, crossing one leg over the other as she leans forward to the interviewer. “Now that Sean’s mentioning it, Y/N really is a rush of happiness. God, everyday on set, I always think ‘I’m gonna probably have to say my lines over a thousand times and be tired by the time I’m done’ but Y/N comes right in, and she’s always making funny faces behind the director which just fills my heart with joy and it’s those little moments that make acting really worth it you know? Like even though I’m dying re filming the same scene over and over again — I know that Y/N’s always going to cheer me up by the end of it.”

“Wow,” the interviewer laughs. “I haven’t even asked you guys about Y/N yet but she seems to be very loved by the crew.”

“Oh yeah,” Sean nods. “Everyone filming loves her. I mean, how could you not?”

And the interviewer thinks the same question, because after interviewing Tom Blyth, she really believes that you really cannot not love Y/N Avocot.

Time 3: Timothee Chalamet

“Timo!” The interviewer greets Timothee excitedly, moving the chair so he could sit.

“Jacob! My favorite interviewer,” and maybe Timothee’s lying, because he’s seen about a million interviewers by now, but it makes Jacob smile, not so much hating his job anymore.

“Your new movie, Miracles in Love, can you tell me more about that?”

“Yes,” Timothee takes a deep breath. “It’s about a boy and girl in their early twenties figuring out what they wanna be in life. My character, Louie Marcel, falls inlove with my co star — Y/N’s character — Maeve Jones after they bump into each other at the bar and talk about how depressing their lives are. It’s pretty funny, y’know. How easy it was to film with Y/N, in fact, it came all naturally.” Timothee pauses, a small smile playing on his lips.

“When you say naturally, what exactly do you mean by that?”

“Oh you know Jacob,” Timothee grins. “It’s easy to fall inlove with Y/N Avocot. She’s a remarkable actress, and everything that I filmed with her feels so real that it feels like I’m really Louie and I’m really falling inlove with a girl named Maeve at the local bar near my university.”

“Oh wow,” Jacob, the interviewer, can’t help but gush at Timothee’s endearing statement. “You must be very good friends.”

“Us? Of course!” He laughs as if it was one of the funniest statements on earth. “I’m really good friends with her boyfriend too, Tom. They’re honestly the sweetest couple, don’t know if I’m inlove with him or her. Maybe both,” he jokes.

bellyapologist oh to be yn avocot and be so loved by her cast mates that they’re smiling each time they talk about her

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user1 literally like how do you not cry when you’re being called a literal rush of happiness

user2 lola and sean being so excited to talk about her even though the interviewer didn’t start the interview yet 😭

user3 shows that yn is rly a good person

timotheesgf YN AVOCOT LET ME BE YOU PLEASEEEE LOOK AT HOW TIMOTHEE TALKS ABT HER GOD LIFE IS NOT FAIR

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user4 “it’s easy to fall inlove with yn avocot” FUCKKKKK

user5 “everything I filmed with her feels so real” oh tom and kylie are punching the air rn

user9 she must’ve saved a planet in her past life cause..

user10 same energy as “she was like a shot of espresso” 😭😭😭😔😔😔

[yuespropagandablog]

Hello esteemed mutual. If you are reading this, then that means my propaganda is working. But you might still have questions, so I am here to answer them.

What is Falsettos?

A damn good musical.

But time to get serious. It's a sung-through musical written by William Finn and James Lapine, with Lapine also writing the music and lyrics. Falsettos is a two-act musical, like many, but it's important here because Falsettos is actually two musicals in one. The first act is March of the Falsettos, and the second act is Falsettoland. These are the last two installments of the Marvin Trilogy. The first part, In Trousers, flopped on off-Broadway and is also not part of Falsettos. Are you following?

The first acts centers on a Jewish man named Marvin (the main character of the Marvin Trilogy, who would've thought) and his homosexual relation with Whizzer, and how that impacts the family. He's left his wife Trina and son Jason to be with Whizzer, but Marvin is also Marvin, and loves to have a tight-knit family that includes all of them, but fails to see how his wish impacts the others. The second act takes place two years after the first and it's all about Jason's bar mitzvah, but oh, oh no, it's a homosexual story set in the 80s. Yeah folks, I am going to be upfront: this musical does not have a happy ending. Spoiler. I know. But I just want people to know what they're getting themselves into.

The show has a lot to say about gay life in the 70s and 80s, gender roles and masculinity, traditional family, illness, and Judaism. Yes, you cannot separate the Judaism from this show, no matter how hard a Spanish production tries.

Where can I watch it?

The original Falsettos debuted in 1992 on Broadway. I know it from its 2016 Broadway revival. There are, uh, slime tutorials for both (and also for In Trousers if you're interested), and the 2016 version also got a proshot that was aired on PBS, so they did have to censor some language. RIP "You save lives and I save chicken fat, I can't fucking deal with that", you will forever be missed. This link totally definitely does not lead to a YouTube upload of that proshot, what do you mean?

There are also a bunch of other productions, sometimes with footage, sometimes not. I actually saw the Dutch version in 2021 in Amsterdam (probably while I had COVID, but in my defense, I tested negative before I boarded my train!)

Is there a trailer or something?

Yes, here's a trailer for the proshot.

Here is their Tony performance, which is also my favourite song of the show:

(They did take out the "Lighbulb up the ass" and "I can't fucking deal with that", because America is America. But at least we got Andrew Rannell's boner in return?)

And for funsies, here's the Tony Awards performance of the OBC:

(They did censor the words "homosexuals" and "lesbians", unless that was the original lyrics. I dunno. I am not very familiar with the original one.)

You implied AIDS. Are there other content warnings?

Yes. AIDS will be the main theme of the second act. You can ignore it by just turning off the show after the song What More Can I Say, but that is obviously not the full show. There's also some period-typical homophobia, as in in act one, Jason is afraid that his father's homosexuality is a fatal hereditary disease. There are also a lot of dysfunctional relationship dynamics in act one, including one instance of physical abuse. Act two has the AIDS of it all and because of that, the major character death warning.

But is there also fun to be had?

Yes, definitely! One thing that makes Falsettos a good show is the tonal whipslash. Both act one and act two start out as the funniest shit you've ever seen and then BAM, drama. It is kind of impressive how the show does that. It has stellar comedic songs like Four Jews in a Room Bitching, My Father's A Homo/Everyone Tells Jason to See a Psychiatrist, I'm Breaking Down, Jason's Therapy, Year of the Child, Miracle of Judaism, The Baseball Game, A Day in Falsettoland, Everybody Hates His Parents and whatever the fuck March of the Falsettos (the song) is.

The first half of both acts you can't stop laughing and the second half of both acts you can't stop crying. That's Falsettos, baby!

Does the music slap?

Oh yeah. It is a fully sung-through musical. If that's not your jam, then you're better off skipping it. It also has a more "traditional" musical theatre sound, whatever that might mean. As you saw in the previous section, it has a lot of great comedic songs, with stellar lyrics like "Look, look, look, look, look, it's a lesbian from next door!/Followed by her lover who's a lesbian from next door too!", "Hepa-hepa-hepatitis-hepatitis?", "We're watching Jewish boys who cannot play baseball play baseball", "You have paintings of dicks!/Don't talk to me about taste!", "Lightbulbs in the ass!", the entire "You are going to kill your mother" section, "Homosexuals!!!!!" and of course the opening line of the entire show "Four Jews in a room bitching". And many more. But don't be fooled, because this song also has some emotional bangers (mostly in the second part of the acts due to the aforementioned tonal shift).

Are there German characters in this musical?

Mendel's last name Weisenbachfeld sounds German. Is that close enough?

[callmelittlesunshinefics]

Dancing On My Own (Gambit X Reader, Part One)

Alrighty folks, this was meant to be a quick fluffy one shot that keeps getting longer and more angsty and has been sitting in my drafts for entirely too long now. Still very much a WIP that will be continued this week or next, PG13 for the time being with potential to take a turn for spicy down the line :)

A/N: Some quick background, the reader (Y/N in fic, described with she/her pronouns) is based off of an OC I tend to pull out pretty frequently. Half human, half angel, displaced from their home universe and dropped into this one (in which Lucifer, the tv show, is also cannon because why not maybe do a crossover down the line?). Gambit x Reader is the main ship we're sailing towards, but there's definitely some Logan x Reader if you squint. OH and last last thing, there's a party and I'm shamelessly linking the dress I had in mind for the reader here.

gif credit :) : @counterspelling

Dropping below a read more, don't be shy, come say hi when you're done reading! :)

“‘Stay for the summer!’ they said, ‘quiet and relaxing’ they said!” You throw the words you were told back at Jubilee who looks back at you completely unfazed as you continue untangling string lights to hang in the garden. 

“Honestly Y/N if you had stopped for two seconds to think about who was telling you that, you probably would’ve gone back to LA.” 

She was completely right, of course. You showed up to Xavier’s school not a mutant, not fully human either, and just looking for a place on the east coast to stay. Your uncle Lucifer made a few calls, found a friend willing to host a universe-displaced nephilim, and the rest was history. You might not be a mutant, but you were a partial human with powers you couldn’t always understand, and even other angels in this universe weren’t always able to help. Charles met and understood you quicker than anyone you’ve ever encountered in this universe or the next, so when you were asked to extend your stay and take on some guardian duties over the summer you were happy enough to agree. 

“Jean is the one who told you it would be relaxing, and Jean’s idea of relaxing is staying at a constant level 8 of activity.” 

“How is that not like the school year?” You rolled your eyes, dropping the lights. 

“Well during the school year she bounces between a 9 and 10, reserving 7s and 8s for the weekend. I can make you a diagram or something if you need it.” 

“I’m going to need a lot more than that by the time we’re done here.” 

“Maybe Gambit can help you with that?” Remy had sauntered over from the basketball court, at least that’s what you assumed given his current state of undress. 

“Unless you’re here to help decorate, I don’t think so handsome. If Jean catches us behind schedule the phoenix might make a reappearance…” You looked around and took a deep breath, realizing that other than the lights, everything looked pretty set. There was a reasonable sized clearing in the garden and Jean had hired a company to install a temporary dance floor. Chairs and tables were scattered around picnic style, and Jubilee had done an amazing job of setting up the bar despite being the only one unable to drink, legally.

“I think it’s actually just the lights,” Jubilee nodded to the messy pile at your feet, “And I think Gambit would be more help with that than me anyway, so?” 

“Go ahead,” you nodded smiling and she ran over to hug you, “And if you go to the mall, bring me back a pretzel!!!” You yelled after her knowing it was useless, she’d bring you a pretzel whether she heard you or not. 

“Avoiding me, chere?” Gambit eyed you with his usual flirtatious undertone that you couldn’t make heads or tails of. 

“In fact, I am. Grab that end?” You handed him the lights as he waited for an explanation, “Okay, I’m going to sit in the tree, I just need you to feed me the lights as we move. Ready?” You didn’t give him a chance to answer, disappearing and reappearing in the branch just above his head. 

Gambit stared back troubled and suspicious, so you nodded and gave him the sarcastic, albeit not entirely untrue, answer he was waiting for, “Oh Remy my attraction to you is just so strong and all consuming that I had to avoid you in order to get anything done at all. Every second I can’t throw myself at you is torture. Et cetera, et cetera, please start passing me the lights so I can go inside and shower.” 

He laughed and finally did as you said, “You know if you wanted ol’Gambit all you had to do was ask.” 

The two of you worked in a comfortable silence passing the lights through the trees. Just as you finished wrapping the last string, your footing slipped and you let out a quick yelp before bracing yourself for a fall that never came. 

“I never would have guessed angels could be so clumsy.” 

“If we weren’t you’d be short of a pickup line. Tell me honestly, how many times have you asked a lady if she fell from heaven?” Remy laughed and began walking away with you still in his arms. 

“Not as many as you think, chere. Are we about done out here?” 

You looked around and nodded, “Finally, yes. It was a good catch by the way, but I think I can walk on my own.” 

Placing you back on the ground, the two of you walked towards the mansion in another comfortable silence. Remy was probably tied with Jubilee as your closest friend in the school. You could remember the first day you arrived, how he couldn’t stop watching you. It wasn’t until later that same night, you were out in the garden and could still sense him watching you, that you decided to do something about it. You walked right up to him, introduced yourself, and asked him to kindly explain why he was staring at you like he’s seeing a ghost. 

It turned out the boy who grew up being told he was a demon had a lot of mixed feelings discovering angels and demons were not only real, but one of them was living under his roof. Remy felt a bit silly admitting it to you, but he owed you an honest answer when you confronted him so directly. And when he told you what people had said about him, what he suspected his own parents must have thought of him, your heart broke. You told him stories of all the demons and monsters you’ve encountered, and reassured him that he didn’t come close to fitting the bill.

“What’s on your mind, Remy?” There was quiet and then there was Quiet. You were still pretty new, but you knew well enough when something was bothering him.   

“Are you heading back?” You stopped short, and he stopped to face you. 

“Back where, Rem?” 

“Anywhere that’s not here.” He was facing you but he wouldn’t quite look at you, as if he didn’t actually want to hear the answer.

You took a deep breath, “The honest answer is that I don’t know. I don’t really feel like LA is where I belong, but I’m not a mutant or a gifted youngster either. I mean, I’m not even from this u-” 

“Okay, okay.” Gambit interrupted you with a hug, correctly sensing an impending panic attack from you, “Gambit just worried he won’t get to see you s’all.” 

You took a deep breath, sighing into the hug, “Well that’s really stupid.”  He pulled back to look at you, full of confusion. “It’s really stupid because if I were going anywhere you’d be the first person I tell, and because it takes me about 5 seconds flat to get anywhere. I’d be back before you even knew I was gone.”

You smiled wistfully and he returned it, “I’d know.” 

The two of you continued heading in and you finally felt brave enough to ask the question you’ve really been wanting to ask. 

“Well, I have to head up and start getting ready for tonight. What about you, getting ready for your date?” Of course, you weren’t sure he actually had one, but that was as direct as you could bring yourself to be. 

“Suppose I should be doing the same. Save Gambit a dance?” He kissed your hand and walked away, leaving you flustered and confused. You immediately pulled out your phone.

Y/N: okay so i said ‘gotta go get ready! what about you, getting ready for your date?’ and he said ‘suppose i should do the same’ what do we do with that??

JB: does he think you have a date?? 

Y/N: SHOULD i have a date??? 

JB: yeah, one of you should have asked the other out by now 

You dropped your phone on your bed, having finally made it to your room after a flurry of texts. Complicated feelings for your maybe best friend aside, it was still important to you to be slightly better than presentable tonight. 

Tonight was the first time all summer the adults of the mansion could relax and have a good time, and some non-residential mutants would also be joining the mix. You had never really been to anything so strictly social with the gang, and you didn’t take your invitation lightly. 

It wasn’t exactly formal, but Jubilee was able to confirm your suspicion that it wasn’t exactly casual either. You showered, taking more time than usual to exfoliate and moisturize, trying to pamper yourself into relaxing and getting excited for the night ahead, trying to ignore Remy’s words from earlier bouncing around your head. 

Two simple words that have had you in a tailspin since he said them so casually. ‘I’d know.’

The trouble maker in you wanted to test him on it, and you did a quick assessment of yourself to see if you could. Fresh out of the shower but mostly dressed, you were presentable. Should you take a quick trip overseas, hop over to France for some wine for tonight and back in a blink? You closed your eyes and heard a knock on your door just as you were about to take off. 

You opened your door more suspicious than you’d care to admit, suddenly paranoid that Gambit sniffed you out, but you were met with Jubilee instead, weighed down with garment and shopping bags from the mall. 

“You never answered me! I have your pretzel and you promised we’d do makeup together so-“ it was all the preamble she gave before forcing the pretzel on you and making herself at home in your room. 

“I was showering! And I really thought you were going to be gone longer?” 

“I just had to pick up some stuff I ordered for tonight, plus giving you and Gambit some time to flirt didn’t seem like a bad thing.” 

You rolled your eyes, “We have banter, definitely, but I’m not sure I’d call it flirting. He flirts with everyone.” 

“So you realize that what he does with you is different?” She turns it on you but you’ve heard it before. 

“Yes, different as in he’s not interested!” 

Jubilee made a sound of frustration before giving up and asking for help with contour. You dropped the subject and fell back into your usual routine, an easy friendship that reminded you more of sisters than friends. You showed up at the mansion looking for a place to stay while you visited old haunts, and you made a friend in Jubilee who was willing to venture into those places with you, even if it meant confronting ghosts.

“Lucky for you I think I found the perfect way to test his level of interest. You didn’t pick out what you’re wearing yet, did you?” 

“Well yeah, I was just going to wear-” You started motioning to the dress you picked for tonight, but Jubilee was moving and cutting you off before you even finished.

“Okay so scrap that, I grabbed something for you at the mall,” she reached for one of the garment bags she had laid across your bed, “and if this doesn’t get a reaction out of him, I’m at a loss. What do you think?”

She unzipped the bag and your eyebrows flew up so fast you wondered if they were still there. It was hot pink, sequined, and most noticeably, short and backless. You reached out to touch it and couldn’t deny how beautiful it was. Sure, the pink was a lot and it showed more skin than you were strictly comfortable with, but you couldn’t deny that the striped details of the sequins were gorgeous, or that the dress would hug and accentuate your curves…dangerously. 

“Now tell me what’s really going on because there’s no way you were able to afford this dress.” 

Jubilee snorted, “You got me, it comes with a letter.” She handed you a small envelope you promptly opened and started reading. 

‘Your young friend told me you planned to attend a party wearing some frumpy thing off a rack and that’s simply unacceptable for my niece, I have a reputation to uphold, Y/N ;) Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do! Sincerely, your Fairy DevilFather (p.s. TRY to have fun?)’

“Lucifer intervened to send me a dress?? How did you two even contact each other?” 

“I answered your phone once when he called while you were showering. We really hit it off, he actually sent me one too!” She excitedly pulled out another bag and showed you an equally gorgeous, albeit much more modest dress. Part of you wanted to argue, but another part of you realized how exciting this was for your friend and you weren’t about to let her down when she was waiting for you to join her excitement. 

“I think we might be best dressed tonight?” You smirked and she whooped, celebrating her victory. 

“Oh I’m ready, maybe everyone will finally accept the fact that I’m 20 and stop treating me like I’m still 15.” 

You knew it was a sore point for her, but you still smiled. The way all of the x-men treated Jubilee as their adopted child was something that endlessly warmed your heart, even if it frustrated your friend. The two of you took your time helping each other get your hair and makeup perfect before donning your dresses and leaving your bedroom, having already started to hear the arrival of a few guests and the slight murmur of conversation. 

You stopped just short of the stairs, turning to face Jubilee, “Don’t they say ‘fashionably late’ is a good thing?” Your anxiety was starting to get the best of you, wearing such a risque dress to attend a party with lots of new faces. 

“I think we’ve already reached fashionably late, babe, if we wait any longer they’ll think something is wrong.” You took a deep breath and started to make your way down the stairs. The mansion was empty, signalling that everyone else had already made their way out to the garden. 

The sun was just beginning to set when the two of you arrived to find the party already in full swing. Jean and Scott were dancing, Logan and Hank sharing a drink by the bar, and around 20 faces you had never seen interspersed with the rest of the team. You heard a low wolf whistle behind you and felt a hand on your lower back. 

“Breaking hearts tonight, chere?” Remy was on you before you could even turn to look at the sound. 

“If I’m lucky.” You shrugged. 

“Think I have enough of that for the both of us.” He winked and you tried and failed to suppress a snort that only made him grin wider. 

You turned to say something to Jubilee and your eyes narrowed when you realized the little traitor had run over to greet her friends, leaving you and Gambit alone. She looked your way and winked as you openly glared at her. 

“Well it looks like I’ve been ditched so I’ll need to borrow some of it.” You grimaced in the direction of the crowd, not needing to elaborate.  

“All yours, chere.” He offered you his arm and you accepted, making your way into the party and jumping right into a flurry of introductions, hugs and handshakes that Remy led you through, guiding you away when it was time to move on. 

It seemed innocent enough but you couldn’t stop focusing on the fact that Remy’s hands never left you. Whether it was an arm wrapped protectively around your waist or his hand on your exposed lower back, lazily tracing shapes you couldn’t make out, it was becoming increasingly distracting. He introduced you to Kurt and you only caught 30% of the conversation, too distracted by Remy’s hand tracing the curve of the dip at the back of your dress. You were relieved when Remy excused the two of you to go grab a drink.

“Admit it, not as bad as you thought.” Gambit smirked at you, leading you to a table where Logan and Jubilee were catching up. 

You rolled your eyes, “I never thought it would be bad, I just,” You took a deep breath, “I don’t know, I guess I was worried I wouldn’t fit in here, or that everyone would be wondering why I’m even here but too polite to say anything.” 

Logan and Jubilee both looked in your direction, hearing the tail end of your conversation that you didn’t bother hiding from them. Logan very openly looked you up and down before chuckling and taking a sip of what you suspected to be whiskey. 

“No one’s kicking you out of here looking like that, that’s for sure.” It was maybe the first time the wolverine had ever given you a compliment and you blushed. 

“You clean up rather nicely yourself, Logan.” 

“Then why are you spending all night with the cajun instead of talking to me?” You were surprised but did your best to cover it up, meanwhile Jubilee was fighting off a laugh herself by taking a sip of her drink.

“Because the cajun knows how a lady should be treated.” Gambit grumbled, leveling Logan with a look before departing briefly to get the both of you drinks.  

“Does he?” Logan asked you while you sat to join them, shooting him a quizzical look before he continued, “Know how to treat a lady?” 

“How much have you had, Logan?” You asked, eyeing his drink. 

“Not that much, darlin’. Answer the question.” If there was one thing you loved about Logan it was his lack of bullshit, and judging by the look on Jubilee’s face as she waited for your answer, right now it was probably her favorite thing about him too, 

“He’s been a perfect gentleman, but we’re just friends.” You tried to say it in a way that wouldn’t reveal how much that bothered you, but both of them knew better. Gambit returned a second later with your drinks and you only got two sips in before Logan insisted on a round of shots. 

One round turned into two, turned into three, turned into…you lost count. Jubilee was swaying happily in her seat, having convinced the two men to let her join in with half shots somewhere around round three. Everyone’s judgement was impaired by that point, but she made a great argument about drinking for the first at home where she’s safe or something else you couldn’t remember anymore in your happily inebriated state.

A song came on and you gasped, turning towards the dancefloor and excitedly announcing your love for the song. What it was called? You couldn’t remember if your life depended on it, but you needed to dance. You locked eyes with Remy who smiled but shifted his eyes away awkwardly, causing you to quickly deflate. 

“Have you even had a dance yet tonight, Y/N?” Logan asked you suspiciously. 

“Not yet.” You pouted, considering heading out on your own, dance partner be damned. 

“Knows how to treat a lady my ass.” Logan grumbled in Gambit’s direction, shooting a glare at him before getting up and begrudgingly but kindly offering you his hand. 

“Oh. my. GOD.” Jubilee squealed, far too gone to contain her excitement at the drama, as she would say.  

You beamed at Logan, accepting his hand and making a run for the dance floor, pulling him along behind you. 

“That crazy cajun might try to take my head off later for this.” Logan grumbled, settling his arms at your waist while you threw yours around his neck, getting closer than was strictly necessary so the two of you could continue your talk while dancing. Your eyes shifted over to where you just left your friends and you felt a stabbing pain in your chest when you looked for Remy just to see he had also made his way over to the dance floor, with Rogue. 

“I don’t think you have anything to worry about, Logan.” Your eyes were starting to tear up and you looked up trying to stop it as Logan became worried, turning to figure out what made you so upset. His eyes landed on Gambit and he growled, holding you a little closer as he actively tried to calm down. 

“I’ll kill him.” 

“You won’t.” You laughed, “He’s allowed to be with whoever he wants.”

“Yeah, but he’s not allowed to follow you around all night like a lovesick puppy just to ditch you when he catches another scent.” 

You smiled sadly, “He was being a good friend earlier, that’s it.” 

Logan pulled you closer and leaned down to whisper in your ear, “I watched his hands stray all over you, Y/N,” He touched your bare back to emphasize his point, “He’s not a friend, he’s a coward.” You couldn’t take it anymore and hugged Logan, hiding your face in his chest to let a few tears escape, hoping you would feel a bit better if you could get some of your distress out. 

“Might have to kill em for making you cry.” Logan grumbled and you laughed, smiling up at him despite yourself. 

“Believe it or not you’re helping enough like this.” The two of you continued dancing and Logan’s discomfort wasn’t wasted on you, but he’d be damned if he let the two of you leave that dance floor before Gambit and Rogue. He was making a point. 

The music began to slow down and Rogue and Gambit finally went their separate ways. You watched as Remy found Jubilee again and made their way back over to the table, you turned to Logan.

“Think we should head back?” He looked behind you and shook his head.

“We finally get a song that’s more my speed and you want to leave?” He shook his head no and pulled you closer, making you laugh and rest your head on his chest as the two of you swayed lazily. 

“Thank you, Logan. It’s not how I expected the night to go but I wouldn’t have gotten through it without you.” 

“Dancing with you looking like that isn’t exactly a punishment.” He snarked and you chuckled.

“Mind if I cut in?” You looked up to meet red eyes, Remy looking between you and Logan harshly before addressing you again more quietly, “Didn’t Gambit ask you to save him a dance?” 

You hesitated and Logan took that as his cue, “Bad timing cajun, Y/N just said she was getting dizzy, we’re heading back to the table.” Logan put his arm around you and lead you out of there, leaving Gambit to grumble and trail the two of you back. 

Jean had joined Jubilee to rest and eyed the three of you quizzically as you made your return.

“Y/N!! I found out that shots of vodka with cranberry juice is amazing, look!” She held out a shot for you and you grabbed it and threw it back before Logan and Remy could even finish their protests.

“Chere! Didn’t you say you were dizzy?” Gambit took the shot glass out of your hand, leading you to a chair. 

“From the dancing, Rem! I definitely haven’t had enough to drink yet.” 

Jubilee whooped and passed you another shot, clinking it to her own before you both threw them back. Jean looked at you even more confused and you tapped your temple with a wink, an agreed upon gesture inviting her to read your mind. 

“Rough night but I promise everything is okay, just need to drown my sorrows a little with you guys. Logan’s been doing his best.” 

You heard Jean’s response in your head, “Fair enough. I’ve been cutting Jubilee’s shots with a lot of cranberry juice. Seriously, a LOT.” 

You struggled to mask your laugh, “As I was saying, definitely not enough to drink, I’m gonna go-“ You stood and made your way to the bar on your own before anyone else could say anything, but you could feel a few sets of eyes watching you leave. 

Someone had been manning the bar, but as the night wore on and the guests dwindled, those of you remaining were left to fend for yourself. You assessed your options and reached for the gin, giving that a generous pour before adding sprite, a splash of cranberry juice, and a lime wedge before you can talk yourself out of it. 

“That looks amazing, can you make me one too?” Jubilee had appeared at your side and you smiled before making her a much more restrained version of yours. “Now I need you to tell me eeeeevery detail of you and Wolvie dancing I mean I neeeever-“ 

“To be clear,” you interrupted, sipping at your drink, “It was a pity save when it became painfully obvious Remy wasn’t going to ask.” 

“After spending literally all night following you around and basically growling at anyone that tried to get near you, what’s up with that??” She made a good point but you weren’t sure what she meant by that first part. 

“Pause, rewind, what are you talking about ‘basically growling’?” 

“You seriously didn’t realize how handsy he got with you when Kurt started getting friendly?” 

You realized you were drunk when you couldn’t stop the words from coming out of your mouth, “I was so distracted by him being handsy I didn’t even hear whatever Kurt was saying to make the connection.” 

Jubilee nearly spat her drink in your face and she started smacking you excitedly, “Can you please please go tell him that??” 

“But then he didn’t ask me to dance!! He pointedly looked away!!” 

“So Logan? What happened there?” You were starting to suspect your friend wasn’t nearly as inebriated as you thought, her tone sounding surprisingly sharp shifting gears. 

“I really don’t think there’s anything more than his mother-hen instincts going on there.” 

Her eyes rolled and she shrugged, “I’d agree if it was just one dance, but-“ 

“Again, pretty sure that was to save me from being zeroed in on Gambit’s dance with Rogue..” 

She didn’t have a response for that one and she simply clinked your drink before you both took generous sips, “Don’t tell Jean.” You whispered as you topped both of your glasses off before heading back to the group.

Jean had left to track down Scott who was mingling in the small groups that remained, some still dancing but most everyone else was doing the same as your small group. Jubilee bounced into the seat next to Logan and you drifted a beat too long before sitting next to Gambit. The silence that stretched between the two of you was no longer as comfortable as it was earlier, so you broke and piped up first. 

“I almost tested you earlier, you know.” 

“Almost?” Remy squinted at you, “Been testing me all night, chere.” 

You narrowed your eyes back but decided not to engage, continuing your thought instead, “When you said you’d know if I left?” His playful glare dropped and he waited on your next words, “Just a quick trip before the party but still, decided against it.” 

Remy chewed on what you were saying and not saying, wondering how the night had gotten so far away from him. Everything started out better than he expected, getting to show you around the party, not letting you too far out of sight in that dress, and then the hesitation. His own doubt sneaking in, reminding him that Y/N is quite literally an angel, he knew her place in the world, but his? He looked over at you waiting for a response and decided that didn’t matter right now.

“Still have sea legs or are you about ready for that dance, chere?” He didn’t leave you much room to answer, already standing with his arm extended. 

“You know I literally just sat back down, right?” He rolled his eyes at you, grabbing your hand and pulling you to your feet alongside him. Your night was clearly nowhere near over and you gave in, letting Remy lead you back onto the dance floor and into his arms. 

[atinylittlepain]

Born in the USA - Part One of Hungry Hearts

no outbreak!joel miller x fem!reader

Hungry Hearts masterlist

warnings | 18+ cursing, eventual smut, young joel is a goddamn menace

a/n | hellooooo, folks, and welcome to the first installation of my Hungry Hearts series! i'm so stoked to share this one with y'all, as always let me know what you think!

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

The radio DJ called for record-breaking heat simmering the streets of Austin this week, and he certainly delivered. Too hot to think, too hot work, too hot to do much of anything until the sun starts to melt down in the late afternoons. She swears that she can feel the rubber soles of her sneakers sticking to the sidewalk with each step, the heat pressing humid hands to the back of her neck, sweat pooling in all the soft dips of her body. And it’s not like she wants to be out here in the first place. In fact, she would much rather be sitting in front of the box fan in her room right now, calculating how many days, hours, and minutes until she’ll be leaving again for school. It can’t come soon enough.

Nothing much has changed around her neighborhood since she was home in December for her holiday break. Same houses with the sleepy looking windows and basketball hoops in the driveways, same families with the nosey wives and oblivious husbands, same kids getting older and taller and more socially awkward. And the same empty lot at the end of the cul-de-sac that had been turned into patchy baseball field when she was in the first grade.

“Outfield, bring it in a little for this next one!”

“Fuck you, Miller! You’re gonna be eating those words!”

“Yeah, we’ll see about that, kid. Show us what you got, why don’t you?” And that’s the same too, unfortunately.

“That’s a strike, wouldn’t you say, Tommy?”

“Sure looked like a strike to me, Joel.” All a bit juvenile, though she would expect nothing less from the Miller brothers. They’re in fine form this afternoon, she thinks, and it seems that all the other girls home from college think the same thing as well, hanging off the chain-link fence and tittering to each other about every ball Joel fields or every fifteen-year-old Tommy stamps out on first. Joel’s idea, no doubt, his eighteen-year-old brother always too happy to hang onto his shirttails and terrorize the pubescent neighborhood kids.

And for his part, Joel seems to know he’s garnered a small audience, just a touch too much flare when the teams switch out and he steps up to bat. He’s dressed in an obscenely short pair of cut-offs, frayed hems grazing along the tan, corded muscles of his thighs. Hi-tops and tube socks, and what once could have been called a shirt, now cropped and unbuttoned so it doesn’t do much but blow in the breeze and expose the lean tautness of his torso. Stance wide, leaning down low in his hips, he winds up the bat right behind his head and lets it rip entirely too hard on the lob he was pitched by that poor fifteen-year-old, sending the ball soaring right over the fence. She has to scoff when the girls she’s standing next to actually clap for him while he drinks it up as he takes a leisurely jog around the plates before jumping down on home with both his feet. And yeah, she thinks, not much has changed, at all.

“Will! Mom wants you home for dinner, let’s go!” Her baby brother, who has decided he is definitely not a baby anymore, does not like her shouting at him one bit, entirely ignoring her with a roll of his eyes and a shake of his head from where he’s standing covering first base. Someone else, however, is more than happy to take notice of her.

“Is that? Oh shit! Cherry!” Long and drawn out, Cherryyyyyyyy, with a low whistle at the end. She hasn’t been called that since the last time she saw him, which was last summer in about this same position. Though if there’s one thing she’s gotten good at, it’s ignoring Joel Miller.

“Will, let’s go please!”

“Oh c’mon, Cherry! Why don’t you come over here and show these kids how it’s done? From what I remember you always had a mean little swing.” That gets most of the kids on the field laughing as Joel and Tommy snicker to each other in the makeshift dug out, more of a dirt ditch with a sheet of metal over top of it than anything else.

“Will, I’m not asking, I’m telling. Now.” Maybe she looks like a bitch stomping out onto the field to grab her brother by the arm. She doesn’t care. She’s hot and has sweat dripping in places that sweat should never drip and is coming dangerously close to throttling Joel in front of his little fan club if he doesn’t shut his smug mouth real soon. 

“Stop, you’re embarrassing me.” Will doesn’t budge from first when she hooks her hand around his bicep, brooding at her from beneath his bowl cut.

“Do you think I want to be taking you home? Just do me a favor and stop trying to act all tough in front of your little friends so I can go home and get mom off my ass.” 

“Hey, Cherry, he’s already got one mom. He doesn’t need you nagging him too!” Joel’s dig drums up another round of laughs from the whole field, and suddenly she’s reconsidering that whole throttling thing. Fine, she thinks, she can do nagging, just wait and see how good she can do nagging. She shifts her tactic, grabbing her brother by the back of his neck instead and starting to haul him along beside her, not giving him time to do anything but trip over his feet in a stilted shuffle to keep up. And of course, it is at that moment that Joel gets the whole crowd of kids started in a chorus of boos. 

“Damn, Cherry, when did you become such a tight-ass?” Maybe it’s the heat, maybe it’s the girls still standing along the fence shooting her daggers, maybe it’s just a little bit of all of it that makes her stop dead in her tracks when Joel says that. But before she really knows what she’s doing, she has let go of her brother to march right over to home plate. Seeming a bit surprised that she did, Joel scrambles out of the dug out still too smug for her taste when he comes chest to chest with her. 

“Well are you going to give me a bat or what?” His smirk slips into a full grin at that, and for a moment she remembers how pretty she always thought he was. Strong jaw, dark eyes, and that shock of thick, brown hair of his. Such a shame that he’s an enormous tool, really. 

“I tell you what, Cherry, what time does your mom want Will home every night?” She knows that look he has in his eyes, all squinted up with his mouth screwed to one side. Always a sucker for a challenge, and she’s all too happy to play along.

“Seven o’clock, why?” He leans in a little closer, ducking his head down like he has the most delicious secret to tell her. She can see the sweat beading and pooling in the hollow of his throat he’s so close.

“Seven o’clock, alright, Cherry. If you can hit a homerun, I will personally see to it that Will is home at seven o’clock on the dot every night for the rest of the summer. How’s that sound?” She tilts her head, hands on her hips like she’s giving it a good think before finally answering him.

“Does he really hang out with you every night?” Joel snorts, his smile going slanted at her.

“Well, someone’s got to keep the kid entertained since you got all boring, miss college.”

“Fine, give me a bat.” That gets her a big grin from him as he backpedals to the dug out to grab a bat for her.

“Let’s switch out who’s fielding. I wanna be on short stop for this hit.” Of course he does. But she thinks to herself that that’s just fine, she’s going to give him a hit to remember. 

Tommy was always the nicer of the pair, and as he walks out of the dugout to cover first, he offers her a smile and a shrug as if to apologize for his brother’s dramatics. She always liked Tommy better, even as kids.

She hasn’t done this in a long time. Not since before puberty, probably. She used to play every summer with the Millers and all the other neighborhood kids in this exact lot, and it starts to come back to her as she toes the rubber of her sneakers against home plate. Her palms twist up on the bat, hips shimmying down and back a little to get into the stance, trying her best to focus on the pitcher and not the drawling heckling going on between second and third. He’s doing a warbling rendition of that old Four Seasons song, and she’s pretty sure that the name in the lyrics is Sherry, not Cherry. But he has made it fit with his own demented drone, crooning as he sways a little side to side.

Cherryyyyy, Cherry, baby, Cherryyyyy, can you come out tonight

Youuuuu better ask your mama, Cherry baby

Deep breath in, deep breath out, she has her eyes focused on the ball leaving the soft cradle of the pitcher’s fingers. Like riding a bike, really, the quick swing in her hips and the satisfying crack of the ball hitting the middle of her bat, and, oh. Oh. 

“Motherfucker!” It’s not like she meant to, but it’s also not like she’s mad that she did. It was a nice hit, strong and straight, right between second and third. And, well, straight into Joel’s groin. 

“What are you doing? Get up, man!” Tommy is all but shrieking at his brother. Joel, however, is still crumpled on the ground and groaning, his hands clenched between his thighs from what she can tell with her quick glances as she jogs from first to second. But she quickly realizes that it’s not just his hands clutched between his legs, but the ball too. And, well, it doesn’t look like he’ll be getting up anytime soon to field that one. 

“If you could have him home more around ten till that’d be great, thanks.” If he hears her talking over his curled up body, he makes no show of it, still groaning and writhing around in the dirt with his eyes scrunched shut. She steps over him and continues a much more leisurely pace through third and home. 

“Will, let’s go.” Her brother, slack-jawed with his eyes practically popping out of his head, finally listens to her, falling into step alongside her as she can’t help a smirk sliding over her lips. She has to roll her eyes when several of the girls rush out onto the field to fawn over Joel who still seems to be incapacitated and on his knees. 

“I can’t believe you just did that.” She tries not to laugh at Will’s exclamation, bumping his shoulder with her own as they start to head home.

“He’ll live.”

…

Sure, he’s always had a competitive streak, he’s not about to deny that. But that competitive streak may, emphasis on may, have gotten a little out of hand now that it’s his baby girl that’s in the competition and not him. Sarah has a talk with him before every game about it. About not yelling at the umpire, about not constantly asking her if she’s staying hydrated in the dugout, and, what she calls the most important point, about not trying to heckle the other team. And everytime, Joel promises her that, yes, he’s going to keep his cool and stay on the bleachers like every other normal and sane parent. And he tries, he really does. But, well, try is the operative word.

“Alright, babygirl, just like we practiced. Keep your eye on the ball and let your hips lead.” It’s the middle of June, the sun bright and beating down hard on the local ball fields where Joel spends most of his weekends cheering Sarah on in her softball matches. He is not sitting on the bleachers like every other normal and sane parent. He is hovering at the side of the dug-out with his head stuck out just enough that the umpire won’t yell at him to get back while he coaches Sarah on her swing. Sarah, however, does not seem particularly grateful for his pointers, glaring at him from beneath her helmet as she steps up to the plate.

“Strike!” Swing and a miss. Joel has to remind himself that no, it is not appropriate to swear at a little league softball game, settling instead for a quick clap of his hands.

“That’s alright, baby, that’s alright. Shake it off, baby, focus.” 

“Dad, please.” She says it with a dejected tap of her bat against the plate, the universal sign for back off, now. And sure, he thinks, he can back off, a few feet back toward the bleachers so his girl can focus on her swing, sure. 

“Strike two!” 

“Goddamnit.” He says it quietly enough that he’s pretty sure no one else hears it before stepping back closer to the plate, because obviously Sarah needs a little help here.

“C’mon, baby, you got this. Shake it off. Don’t choke up on the bat like that, baby, nice and easy.” 

“Strike three, you’re–”

“Hey, that wasn’t a strike!” Sarah is going to be so mad at him on the drive home, but he’s too busy stepping over to the umpire to yell at him to be worried about that right now. 

“Sir, please go sit down on the bleachers.”

“That pitch was way to the right, I saw it, that wasn’t a strike.” 

“Dad, it’s fine, I’m out. Just go sit down, please.” Sarah has already taken her helmet off, nudging her bat into the toe of his boot like, hello, you’re embarrassing me here. But Joel knows what he saw, and what he saw was a way to the right pitch that most certainly was not a strike. 

“Baby, you are not out, okay? Put your helmet back on.” 

“Sir, your daughter is out, now please go sit–”

“Just give her one more shot, man. C’mon.”

“Hey! Three strikes and you’re out, buddy.” It’s a woman’s voice, coming from somewhere behind him, a parent from the other team most likely, though he doesn’t turn around to see who it is, still staring down the umpire.

“That wasn’t a strike!” He tosses the exclamation over his shoulder, but the woman doesn’t seem ready to back down either.

“Are you saying my daughter doesn’t know how to pitch?” Alright, lady, if you want in on the action, be his guest. He turns around slowly, ready to deliver some sort of clever reply that he hasn’t quite worked out in his mind when–

“Oh shit. Cherry?”

“Wow, I haven’t been called that in nearly two decades.” So it is her. And of course it’s her. He’d recognize her anywhere, even seventeen years later. Still that little jut of her hip when she’s pissed, still that little crook of her chin like a challenge, even seventeen years later.

“So you’re still a competitive bastard then?” Yeah, and still that too, seventeen years later.

“I– you– that wasn’t a strike.”

“Oh, yes it was.”

“It was not.”

“My daughter doesn’t pitch balls on two strikes, okay? That was a strike.” With that, she leans to the side to talk to Sarah standing behind him.

“My condolences to you for having to deal with him, kid.”

“Thanks, you’re catching him on a good day, actually.”

“Hey.” He whips around to scold Sarah, but she’s still focused on Cherry.

“How do you know my dad?”

“Oh, me and him go way back. Don’t we, Joel?” He finds himself opening and closing his mouth a few times, looking between Sarah and a woman he thought he would never see again, though before he can get a reply out, the umpire mercifully cuts off their little reunion.

“Folks, there is still an active game going on here. Sir, your daughter is out, so if you could all please get off of home plate so we can keep this game going that’d be great.” Sarah has to tug him back to her team’s dugout, promptly pushing him over and onto the bleachers while he continues to stare at Cherry like she might disappear. She has walked back to the bleachers for her daughter’s team, though she stands on the sideline with her hands on her hips now. 

“You’re all good, Els. Just keep them coming, babe.” His attention draws over to the pitcher to whom Cherry is talking to because, right, she’s Cherry’s daughter. Cherry has a daughter, holy shit. Well, so does he. He has to laugh to himself, a little shake to his head.

A lot can certainly happen in seventeen years.

…

The thing that she hadn’t considered in agreeing to Joel Miller’s little deal was that it would still mean seeing a good amount of Joel Miller. Seven o’clock every night to be exact. Actually, ten till, so he did listen, at least. And of course he’s all smiles and charm, and of course her mother invites him in for dinner every night, and of course he says yes, and of course she has to sit across from him, kicking away his foot every time it encroaches on her space.

“So, Joel, are you still over at Thatcher’s full time?” She tries not to scoff at her mother’s question, the subtle turn of her nose and the slight tinge of judgment quirking up the end of her words. Her mother and her penchant for pedigree, something that the Miller family definitively does not have. If it bothers him, however, Joel doesn’t show it, smiling and thumbing the corner of his mouth as he finishes chewing.

“Yes, ma’am, seven days a week.”

“And does that pay well, son?” Ah yes, the one-two tag team of her mother and father both jumping in now, her father doing that thing where he pretends not to know, his eyebrows falling in mock curiosity. When, really, she’s nearly certain he has already calculated in his head exactly how much Joel makes in a week, month, and year busting his ass in that mechanic shop.

“Well, sir, I’ve got no complaints. Roof over my head and food on my table. And, uh, the tips are pretty good.” That one flies right over both her parents’ heads, but he says it looking directly at her, his eyes crinkling up with a smile that only tugs one corner of his mouth, sleaze and smarm. She is well aware of the tips he pulls in from all the bored little housewives and their daughters, something that always seems to be the topic of conversation on the loungers at the community pool. 

If he’s trying to get a rise out of her right now, she’s going to make sure he fails at it, giving him a tight-lipped smile and kicking his shin hard under the table where his foot has started to nudge against hers again. Joel lets out a hard cough, the table shaking a bit when his knee jumps up in reaction.

“Alright, son?”

“Yessir, I think all this heat is finally getting to me is all. I better head on home, but thank y’all for the meal, it’s very kind of you.” Her mother frets and fusses over him, insisting he take a tupperware of meatloaf and salad home and telling him to bring Tommy along next time. Great, she thinks, frick and frack both coming for dinner will be double the fun. Though she’s quickly distracted from that thought when her father lets out a long sigh from the head of the table. 

“Such a shame that young man is working like that. It’s a waste of potential, honestly.” 

“Oh, honey, don’t.”

“I’m serious, Carol. He was always a smart kid, probably could have gone to college, but instead he’s working in that car shop with seemingly no drive for anything more for himself. I just can’t believe Deedee and Hank are letting him carry on like that.” She knows this spiel well. Next her father will angle his chair toward Will and level his finger at him and–

“Will, you know what I was doing when I was Joel’s age?” Will huffs and rolls his eyes, slumping back in his chair like this is the hundredth time he has heard this, probably because it is.

“Getting ready for law school, dad.”

“I was getting ready for– yes, son, that’s right. And now look at me. Beautiful home, beautiful family, and a good job. Do you know what Joel Miller is going to have to show for himself at my age if he keeps going the way he is now?” 

“A whole lot of nothing, dad.”

“A whole lot of– yes, son, that’s right. At this rate, he’s probably still going to be living in that shoebox apartment above Thatcher’s when he’s forty.” 

“Can I be excused please?” She tries to hold back the contempt snapping through her words, already getting out of her seat before her mother can ask her what’s wrong. For as much as Joel Miller gets on her nerves, she hates this more, this faux pity her father so easily slips into, turning him into a lesson. And not a very good one at that, because while Joel may not be in college or raking in money, he at least seems happy, and she thinks that’s more than her father can say. She knows it’s more than she can say, staring up at the ceiling in her bedroom, this time trying to calculate the minutes until she gets to go back to school. She only makes it through tallying up the rest of June though before something tapping on her window distracts her.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Hey, Cherry.” He’s lucky her room is on the first floor, or else she would have already shut her window. Though she can’t really do that when he’s standing right there in her mother’s shrubs with a wide grin that glints in the hazy dusk. 

“What do you want, Joel?”

“Mikey Donahue is having a party at his house. You wanna come? Have a little fun?”

“Uh, no, thanks.” She goes to shut her window again, but Joel holds it in place, not letting it budge no matter how hard she pushes down on it.

“Oh, c’mon. You used to be fun, what happened to that girl, huh?”

“I grew up, which seems to be more than you can say.”

“Oh, how you wound me, Cherry baby.”

“When are you going to stop calling me that? Nobody else calls me that these days except for you.”

“When you do something funnier than snorting cherry cola out of your nose.” At this point, she has given up on trying to close the window, resting her palms along the sill to lean out so she can whisper yell right into his entirely too smug face.

“I was nine, Joel. And it was your fault for making me laugh that hard.” 

“So you admit that I make you laugh?”

“You’re impossible.”

“That wasn’t a no, Cher.” All she can do is huff at him and his relentless grin, taking a moment to look him over. A little more dressed than usual, still in those cut-offs of his, but with an actual flannel shirt on top, sleeves rucked up to his elbows and with a few more buttons undone than what had been during dinner, slipping open even more when he leans down with his hands spread wide on the sill.

“Come on, it’s summer, and I know you’re not having any fun up in Chicago–”

“I have plenty of fun in Chicago.” His eyebrows shoot up his forehead when she interrupts him so quick, the snap of her words telling him just how untrue that statement actually is.

“Yeah, sure, whatever you say. Just do an old friend a favor, Cherry, and come out with me tonight, huh? Really, it’s the least you can do after you almost busted my balls.”

“I was doing a public good by lessening the chances of little Joel Millers running around here in the future.” He lets out a long laugh at that, tossing his head back, the long line of his neck bobbing with the sound.

“Touché, but fine, if you don’t wanna come I guess I could always go knock on Lisa-Anne’s window. She got home last week.” He knows exactly what he’s doing by saying that, already pushing off the window and starting to walk away. Fine, she thinks, he can go have fun with stupid fucking Lisa-Anne from down the block. It’ll probably make her whole summer considering that she’s had a crush on him since his front teeth came in in the second grade. 

“Joel, wait!” He stops dead in his tracks, one foot still stuck in the shrubs outside her window as he turns around, his lips pursed to stave off what she’s sure would be a shit-eating grin. She’s already swinging one leg out of her window, trying to do so with as much grace as she can, though she still stumbles a bit in the shrubs,grabbing onto Joel’s arm to steady herself before quickly letting go with a huff.

“Just for a little while, okay?”

“Whatever you say, Cherry baby.” 

…

He’s not sure what the appropriate thing to do is in this situation. Not really any rules of etiquette for seeing a woman you didn’t think you’d ever see again, seventeen years later, and with a kid no less. All he knows is that he can’t let her drive off without saying something, so even as Sarah is calling his name like a question, he’s walking through the ballfield parking lot toward where she’s helping her daughter pack her bags into the trunk of their minivan.

“Uh, hey.” Great start, man, Jesus Christ. She turns around and smiles, smiles, and suddenly it’s summer of ‘86 all over again.

“Woah, old man, back off a little.” And suddenly it is most definitely not summer of ‘86, her kid stepping between the two of them and giving him a look that could kill. 

“Ellie, manners please. Why don’t you wait in the car?” 

“But, mom–”

“No buts, it’s fine, alright? I’ll just be a minute.” Her daughter, Ellie, huffs, giving him one more squinted look before she shuffles over to the side of the car, getting in with a hard slam of her door.

“So, mom, huh?” She tilts her head at him, her hands tucked into the pockets of her jeans and her shoulders shrugging up.

“It looks that way. And dad?” She jerks her chin over his shoulder and he turns around to see Sarah standing by their car with one hand held over her eyes for shade as she squints at them. She’s never going to let him live this down.

“Looks that way, yeah. Are you– I didn’t– you’re back in town?” He’s trying to subtly look for a ring on her left hand, though her knuckles are still tucked into her jean pockets, and he’s pretty sure squinting at her pelvis is not a good way to make an impression in this unexpected reunion. 

“Yeah, we moved back at the start of June.”

“And when you say we, that’s– that’s you and–”

“Just Ellie and I, yep.” He has to try really hard not to smile at that, dragging a palm down his scruff to keep it at bay. 

“So you never left, huh?” 

“Uh, no, nope. Hopped a few neighborhoods over though. I don’t know if you heard, but the old block got torn down.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Wish I was, they put in a bunch of condos over it.” 

“Well I guess the times really have changed.” He should probably say something else, should probably get back to Sarah, but he can’t stop looking at her, and it seems like she can’t stop looking at him. Both of them studying all the places that time and life has settled. Her hair is shorter, he likes it, though he probably should keep that to himself. Before he can say anything, however, the blare of a car horn startles them both out of each other’s gaze. 

“Mom, let’s go.” Ellie has stuck her head out of the driver side window, the source of their interruption, already tucking back inside the car with another groan. Cherry just shakes her head.

“That’s my cue. I guess we’ll see each other around then, since our daughters are playing in the same league and all.” It still gives him pause, our daughters, and he has to clear his throat before responding. 

“I guess so, reckon we’re gonna give the umps a summer to remember.” She laughs, and he remembers that sound, still the same. He didn’t think he’d ever get to hear it again, but now he’s glad that he does. 

“For the record, that was a strike.”

“Whatever you say, Cherry.”

“Can’t believe you’re still calling me that.”

“Can’t believe you never did anything funnier than snorting cherry coke out of your nose.” All he gets from her at that is another shake of her head before she turns around to get in her car. Luckily, she doesn’t see the way he runs right into the open trunk of someone else’s car because of the way he’s slowly shuffling backward to get one more look at those jeans of hers from behind. He only realizes that he’s smiling like a fool when he gets into the car and Sarah shoots him a look from the passenger seat.

“Okay, you’re acting weird. Who was that?”

“Just a very old friend.”

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

tags for the moots and folks i think are interested - lmk if you want added or dropped : @casa-boiardi @tieronecrush @swiftispunk @beskarandblasters @trulybetty @amanitacowboy @pr0ximamidnight

[magpiefngrl]

halfway through 2024 book review

June isn't over yet but I'm looking at a couple of very busy weeks so it's unlikely I'll read a gazillion new books or something by end of month. So we do this now!

books I enjoyed so far

Aliette de Bodard's Dominion of the Fallen series, set in a post-apocalyptic Paris with fallen angels and magic and dragons in the Seine. I didn't quite love the three main novels, but I enjoyed how unique the world-building was. However, I REALLY loved the last two novellas about Asmodeus and his husband Thuan, who are a delicious pairing. The novellas are: Of Charms, Ghosts and Grievances and Of Dragons, Feasts and Murders.

Pacat's Dark Heir, which I enjoyed so much that I went back to reread Dark Rise and then again, Dark Heir. I liked the second novel a lot more than the first (and I actually ended up appreciating the first novel more on my reread). Needless to say, I am very, very impatient about the end of the series.

A Nobleman's Guide to Seducing a Scoundrel. KJC has done it again. The sequel to her Doomsday Books series is fantastic, with a vivid cast, an excellent main pairing, and superb pacing. Couldn't put it down. A great historical m/m romance.

The Warrior's Apprentice by Lois McMaster Bujold. I'd heard a lot about Miles and it was fun seeing him bullshit his way across the galaxy.

The Mountains of Mourning by Lois McMaster Bujold. A novella in the Vorkosigan saga. Very touching and emotional and a great character study of Miles. Really loved this.

Newcomer by Keigo Higashino. This dude is seriously amazing at crafting unusual murder mysteries. This one is structured as vignettes of shop-owners in a Tokyo neighbourhood and, as the stories progress, more light is shed on the mystery of a strangled woman.

Faithful Place and The Secret Place by Tana French. Fantastic prose, absorbing murder mysteries that are more like deep character studies as well as an incisive portrait of contemporary Ireland.

The Lady of the Lake by Andrzej Sapkowski. This is pretty grim at times, ngl, but it has a daring structure with lots of POVs, switching between numerous timelines, a frame device, lots of found materials (essays and chapters from fictional books). All that worked for me very well. I love some experimentation with craft. I wouldn't say it was my fave read, but I'm happy that I finally reached the end; completing a series always gives me a dopamine rush so yay

progress on my reading goals

A reminder that my two goals for the year are:

to read (some or all of) the Vorkosigan saga

to read less or no US authors

I'm doing pretty well on those two scores. Read a few installments of the Vorkosigan saga, and (besides Bujold and a poetry anthology by Maggie Smith) have read no other US-based authors. My intention was to diversify my reading and, indeed, so far, I've read French, Japanese, Polish, UK, Australian, Irish, and currently reading a Ukrainian author.

fics I loved

I've not read as many books as I normally do so far, esp in the last couple of months, but I read a lot more fic than recent years. I've read some fab stuff in a variety of fandoms. The fics I'm going to rec below are the longer ones that I read on my ereader:

Tarnished Gold by Prim_the_Amazing (bingqiu/svsss, M, 118k) Inventive premise. Couldn't put it down.

Memory (T, 23k) and Out of the Dead Land (M, 62k), both stucky, both orphaned by one of my top authors ever. The second one gave me the worst fic hangover I had in ages. I had to go and rewatch Captain America.

contrapasso by damagecontrol (jegulus, E, 41k) Very horny. I like that.

Fire Burn and Caldron Bubble by pastapug (jegulus, E, 40k) Lush language, fascinating setting.

Beholden by Faith Wood (faithwood) (drarry, E, 123k) Gave me all the drarry feels.

Shout out to @hoko-onchi-writes's WIP: To Hold You in the Earth's Unholy Din, which I am loving <3

That's all, folks. Here's hoping for more wonderful reads till December!

[vomitspit2]

concept with dullahan! dire crowley OR dullahan! floyd leech, you can imagine either ⁽(◍˃̵͈̑ᴗ˂̵͈̑)⁽

now playing harley poe’s vengeance the demon / close the door / outcrowd

part i. vengeance the demon.

it always starts with you running. it has never once changed; you, desperate and panting, throw yourself across the earth on two lunging legs.

sometimes, you trip. sometimes, you crash into things. but you always keep running and running away from the sound of clomping hooves in pursuit. they echo in the mine ruins that you always find yourself in, sounding like an army of horses instead of the single one giving chase.

one time, you finally manage to reach the end of the mine shaft as you can see these polka dot patterns of light just ahead. you break out into a sprint.

the air is less humid when you burst out of the mines like a bullet passing through a body. you make a wild run for the houses lit by lanterns. pumpkins are on each porch. you end up stumbling into one, acquiring a new shoe, as you throw yourself against the door.

“please! he’ll kill me! he’ll kill me he’ll kill me!”

the only response you get is the window by the door opening just slightly. you almost miss the motion, so focused on pounding your fist against the wood. but through your eyes and the blood and the mud, you manage to spy it. two fingers opening up a crack in the blinds and one single eye peeking at you.

“please … please …” you sniffle, blood and snot a thick mélange running down your lips.

the eye stares at you. it looks like an immovable stone, something that has already made its decision. the light of the glowing pumpkin and lanterns pale in comparison to how bright the eye is.

“i can’t help you, yous folk is marked.”

ii. close the door

the girls and boys at your university hate you. your parents don’t hate you but they don’t like you either. you’re not even sure you like yourself.

the only person (and he’s not even a person) who loves you is your black cat, grim.

grim purrs at you which you take as validation as sweet as boyfriend saying he loves you or as validation as heartwarming as a best friend saying she’s grateful that two of you have become friends because no one gets her like you do. in him, you find validation that you have been missing since you were seven and that boy died at your birthday party.

it wasn’t your fault. your hands were only on the reins because the handler asked you, the birthday girl, if you wanted to hold and guide the horse. you must’ve fucked it up somehow because the horse reeled up, a black stallion of huge proportions looking like something carved into a monolith, before the stallion kicked back his legs and struck a boy in the head.

blood paints over the grass as the first adult came outside with the cake, the beginning of happy birthday on his tongue.

which is why some girls corner you in the bathroom, one wearing a party city horse mask and getting in your face. another kicks the stall, mimicking clop-clop noises with her mouth.

because the town hates you. everyone has always hated you.

it causes you little stress besides tears. what causes you the biggest stress is returning to your dorm, finding your window open yet not finding grim.

you search the streets like mad, shaking tuna treats in your hands.

eventually, you come across paw prints that have found their way into a water storm drain tunnel, those ones cities and towns install to minimize flooding risk. the paw prints are wet and small but you know deep down grim’s in there somewhere.

after some hesitation, you walk in.

it’s dark and humid. and you mean dark as in the only way to tell where walls are is to move your hands outward to check where they lie, you can barely make out shapes in this nebulous black. and you mean humid as your hair is starting to stick to the back of your neck and the place where your inner thighs touch are sweating with a passion.

but you have to find the only person who loves you.

you keep going till your foot catches on something. you don’t trip but you feel around with the sole of your foot, coming to conclusion you are stepping on none other than mine-tracks.

you have to go back. you have to go back! you think with a blinding panic.

but then you hear a meow, soft and faint. gradually, you calm down and call out for grim. please, grim come, you have been traveling too far down this rabbit-hole, both of you need to go home safe and sound.

but he doesn’t come, continuously meowing. a little farther, you can risk going that much for grim.

so you keep going, one of each shoe placed on the sides of the tracks, shaking your bag of tuna treats.

eventually, you come across light. not sparse light like polka dots but bright light that almost blinds you.

they’re celebrating something in a town just a two minute walk away. they are celebrating halloween.

the door on your old life is permanently shut.

iii. outcrowd

grim, you see him. just a bit down the way, he’s weaving through the crowd of people lined up on each side of a giant parade.

you pass by a man breathing fire, another on an elephant, one who is clipping roses from his skin and handing them out to children, another who is — your sight suddenly blurs when two forces hit you with surprising force.

“mama!!” they cry in unison. and two twins with your face but golden eyes gaze up at with love you have never been shown to before by human features.

“i told you two, not to run off during the parade; must i keep you on a leash,” a man with hair split black and white breaks through the crowd.

“oh well now i see why they ran so swiftly,” this mysterious man says as he addresses you. “welcome back, (name); i was worried you weren’t going to make it this year.”

“mama was gonna come this year! dad promised!” the twin on your right says, taking the easy opportunity to slip his hand into yours.

“dad never breaks his promise, uncle crewel! never!” the one on the left clings to your entire arm like a snake.

“i see,” the man tuts, giving you a mischievous wink. “come on then; he also promised to attain this parade,” mumbled under his breath, “if only he stays in the mood to attend this one and not chase his beloved wife around.”

the twins, with a surprising amount of strength, drag you along.

so, against your will, you watch this halloween parade pass by. finally apart of the crowd, loved and cared about by people. not part of that outcrowd that has kept you isolated.

it comes and goes until finally the star of the show arrives, a man cloaked in black, a pumpkin as a head, riding the black stallion from your childhood.

you try to pull away. the twins hold on tight. you watch in betrayal as grim walks up to the horse, only to be scooped lovingly in the arms of the rider, purring away.

that man is going to kill me, you think as he draws closer on that ebony stead of nightmares.

then, finally, he stops his horse in front of you and offers his hand up to you like a man offering up his entire heart, body, and soul. the twin on the right slots your numb hand into the rider’s easily. you are lifted onto the horse, sandwiched between the neck and a warm body, resisting the urge to cry like a baby.

“my wife,” the man behind you breathes amorous on your neck, removing the pumpkin from his face.

a single gold/two gold eyes greet you with such love you almost cry. “how lovely of you to finally join us.”

when he kisses you, you do cry.

[cowplant-snacks]

How to Play the Sims 4 Offline:

I saw some folks talking about this issue recently so I wanted to pass this solution along. @fiftymilehighclub is the one who told me how to do this. Applies to windows machines using the EA app.

Log in to the EA app.

Click on the 3 dashes located in the top left of the EA app, and select Go Offline.

Next, in file explorer, navigate to the bin folder (usually located in Program Files (x86)\Origin Games\The Sims 4\Game\Bin).

Lastly, launch the game by clicking on the TS4_x64 application file (has the sims 4 icon).

Tips:

The EA app may give you a popup that this didn't work. Ignore it.

You can verify that the game has actually launched by checking in task manager. The game may take a while to load depending on the number of mods you have installed.

Edit* - periodically I receive a notification that my game has disconnected from the Internet while playing. But I just ignore this and continue playing.  It’s a little annoying because it does minimize the game, and I have to pop it back open to continue playing, but it isn’t the end of the world. 

Why do this?

I haven't wanted to go through the process of updating my mods folder so this allows me to wait. The only drawbacks, as far as I can tell, is that the gallery isn't available in offline mode, and I have to sign back in the EA app every time I restart my computer (I didn't have to do this before).

happy simming!

[oliveoilcorp]

Happy 2024! 

A new year has started so I wanted to give a quick primer to newer followers about my Patreon offerings and how you can support my ongoing comic, DARLIN’ AND HER OTHER NAMES...

DARLIN’ AND HER OTHER NAMES is a werewolf-western-horror-romance comic set in 1881. The story follows two strangers who meet in a moment of mutual desperation and forge a vengeful partnership. The first installment, Part 1: Marta, was self-published online in March 2023. Since then, DARLIN’ has won an Ignatz Award and I’ve been bowled over by folks’ enthusiasm for the comic!

At the end of the day, DARLIN’ is a passion project created in my free time and it relies on reader support to continue. In addition to helping me dedicate more time to DARLIN’, pledging to my Patreon includes perks! 

For $1+ a month, you receive access to:

Weekly process posts about progress on DARLIN’ and various other projects

50% off discount code on all PDFs

For $5+ a month, you *also* receive access to:

100% off discount code on all PDFs

Weekly “Director’s Commentary” posts: I serialize Part 1 of DARLIN' a page or two at a time alongside my notes, reflections, challenges, and influences for each specific page/scene. It’s a chance to dive even deeper into the nitty gritty of my process. I’ve unlocked the very first Director’s Commentary post for the public as an example: https://www.patreon.com/posts/part-1-marta-000-87167548

I’m excited to keep making comics independently this year. But the amount of time I’ll be able to pursue them depends largely on the support of readers, so consider pledging if you want to see more DARLIN’ (and other weird comics) from me in the future! 

And even if you aren’t able to pledge, it’s always massively helpful to share posts and tell your friends about indie work that you love, especially in our current social media nightmare. 

Thank you! Every bit truly helps. 

[delopsia]

so we’ve all agreed that Miles is a beautiful shy boy who just wants be to taken care of. I’ve always imagined a world where he gets “rescued” (aka a wonderful person helps him see his worth and he runs away from the bad people back to the lovely little house his love owns) and because the world’s best house husband. he’s happy to cook and clean (big acts of service guy) and his love is thrilled that Miles is in therapy and trying things that interest him (he’s a phenomenal gardener and he loves to volunteer at the local library during storytime. because kids aren’t for him but he’s amazing at doing different voices and making all the little ones giggle.) instead of slowly withering away at that nasty hotel. I don’t really know what my question is here…. actually. Miles surprising his love with a nice home cooked meal for Valentine’s Day but he’s only wearing a frilly little apron and a plug with a heart on the end. that was he can eat them out, get fucked, and still have dinner be warm.

I've never wanted to rescue a character from a plot so much in my life. He's just a little guy! :( He didn't deserve all of that.

Miles would make such a wonderful little house husband 💕 cleaning, in general, is one of those things he's learned to master back at the El Royale, starting as one of the many housekeepers right before they started losing more employees than they hired.

Suddenly he was being pulled into the kitchen to help out, then he was put up at the front desk when the last clerk quit, and all of a sudden, he was the only employee there. He's a jack of all trades when it comes to the house, and it's so much easier than working at the hotel. Dinner? Cleaning the shower? Making the bed? He's got it, don't you worry about it.

But, omg, the gardening! He's got a little bit of everything going on out there, strawberries, lettuce, carrots (those aren't going particularly well, but he's..trying), okra, pumpkins. There are some marigolds, sunflowers, and other flowers scattered in there, too.

It's all surrounded by an adorable white picket fence that he installed because the neighbor's kid kept plucking his daffodils. He didn't wanna get the little guy in trouble, but God, he hates when folks mess with his flowers. Indoors, he's got a little corner dedicated to the plants he's rescued from folks who couldn't take care of them.

The way that Miles is so torn between wearing that little Valentine's apron, getting fucked, and cooking that he winds up trying to do all three at once 😌to be fair, he was clothed when the food went in the oven, but it was just taking so long. How could he not get up to a little trouble during that downtime?

You just so happened to walk in the door when he was tying the apron around his waist and got so nervous that he had to be coaxed out from hiding behind the kitchen island. Hands clasped behind his back, trying to hide that tiny little glittering heart on the end of his plug. He's not entirely certain why he's so nervous because none of this is new, but it still takes him some time to draw his heated face out of his palms.

Of course, the counter is right there. It would be a shame if you didn't bend him over the side of it and fuck him on your strap; gotta keep an eye on the timer, right? Those cute little knees of his keep knocking into the cupboard doors, chest flat against the cool countertop, struggling to peek at you from over his shoulder.

That initial shyness melts from him like ice cream in the summer sun, leaning back into the thrust of your hips, so vocal that you worry the neighbors across the street may hear him. He's barely quit shaking from his orgasm when he falls to his knees, a little too insistent that you take this dumb strap off so that he can eat you proper. Winds up between your thighs while you sit in the kitchen chair, stroking his hair.

Dinner is slightly burnt because that damn timer went off right as you started getting close, and Miles was too stubborn to let either of you move 🎀 he makes up for it pretty quickly, though, luring you into the shower with a little grin on his face.

It takes him until nightfall to realize that you got him a new plant for Valentine's Day, a little rescued orchid who hasn't shown her colors yet, still recovering from grocery store neglect. The plants who need a little love and care are Miles's favorite 🌷 they're just like him

Send Miles, Rhett & Bob thoughts!

[hiro-h0taru]

MY FIRST SELF-INTRODUCTION POST

Hello! My name is Hiro.

(This is not my real name. This is only a nickname)

I'm 26 years old, and I just joined this platform. Why, you may ask? Well... Earlier, I saw my friend using this app and told me it's a form of social media app where we can post our arts and stories and even share our hyperfixations and interact with people. So, I installed it as soon as I got home so I could share all my stories and hyperfixations here!

I love to write stories and sometimes unsent confession letters/poems

Writer and an artist

Introverted extrovert

Hopeless Romantic

Literature smart

Academic smart (sometimes)

Visual learner (can understand a topic clearly with video/photo or live demonstrations)

Loves Folk-lore, ballad, hindi, and pop music

Can play piano/keyboard/flute

—FANDOMS I'M IN—

The owl House

Gravity falls

Star vs. The forces of evil

Amphibia

Horimiya

My happy Marriage

Studio Ghibli films

Mary and the witch's flower

The Music Freaks

Royal Fairy Academy

A Memory's Recipe

Kaitou Joker

Servamp

Your Name

Genshin Impact

Honkai Starrail

Pjsekai

Obey Me

Tears Of Themis

Greek Mythologies

Epic The Musical

Ride the Cyclone

Heathers

Six The musical

Death is the only ending for the villainess

Who made me a princess

For a fairytail ending

My in-laws are obsessed with me

Marionetta

Homesick

Morgana and Oz

How to get my husband on my side

-The male lead won't let me be!

-Stuck with the protagonist

-The tyrant's translator

-Trapped in a game that flopped

-Can we become family?

-I was tricked into this fake marriage!

-Peony: Dreaming of the dangerous grand duke

-How to survive as a maid in a horror game

-Not-sew-wicked stepmom

-Being loved for the first time

-The villainess is a marionette

-How to hide the emperor's son

-The lady and the beast

-King the land

-Actually I am the real one

-I didn't mean to seduce the male lead!

-The villainess captured the grand duke

-I fell into a reverse harem game!

-Kill the villainess

-Princess maid

-Baby prisoner of the winter castle

-I accidentally tamed the duke

-No place for the fake princess

-My lord was already into me when I noticed

-The Apothecary prince

-My deepest secret

-Boy-Friend's Rule

-unlovable replacement

-1HP club

-Degree of Love

Maria clara at ibarra

That kind of love

Maging Sino ka man

Pulang araw

There's a lot I want to share with all of you, and I'm looking forward with our future interactions <3

[worldsewage]

Kingyoto 6, 10, 11, 23, 30, GO (is this what we mean by ask game am I doing this right) (also this is all from the surface tier 0 my brain got overloaded with information when i tried reading the rest)

6. Living situation; where do they live? How did they end up there?

Kingyoto lives in an extremely cheap apartment area outside of Inkopolis, sort of in an awkward area at the outskirts of the city, close enough to Inkopolis to get there in an 30 minute drive, but not far enough to be in the Calamari County / Farmland region at the far east… one day I’ll redo my Homerun Map so this makes more sense hehe. The area he lives in already has a few salmonids in the apartment, so it’s designed for semi-aquatic gill having water-folk. So he doesn’t need to install any new beds and stuff. The water pressure is high, has one of the tank beds, has a few humidifiers… etc..,

I think Fido has definitely almost accidentally killed himself in this shower before since the water pressure is high, there’s a large crank in the shower you can switch to turn the water into a fine mist so it’s not heavy water, this is a requirement of houses in Inkling Heavy Areas.

10. Any hobbies? Where did they begin?

Plant life botany and assembling terrariums + tanks. It just in general makes him happier, and since he loves to cook he likes to use his tanks to cultivate richer plantlife and veggies. They spruce up the place and he likes having something to look after or he’ll get pretty depressed.

11. What do their hobbies mean to them?

It’s in a way a taste of home away from home, sure it’s not exclusively a Salmonid Thing— but the humid-heavy environments, maintaining temperature, it kind of reminds him of the shoddy always-breaking house he grew up in that was always leaky and had tubes that were clogged. He likes to take care of these little pain-in-the-ass set ups because he likes to feel a sense of control in what he sees as a mini-household. And his shrimps need him.

23. Do they have a daily routine? Do they enjoy it, did they choose it?

For sure, he’s got a calendar, work, chores, errands, repeat. It’s not really the life he ever intended to want but he’s never really had big plans for himself. He likes it, I think, I don’t think he ever tries to think too hard about it 😭…he stays active and does what makes him happy, he’s not a pastry chef or whatever he dreamed of as a kid but it works.

30. Are they easily amused? Or is it a lost cause trying to entertain them?

FOR SURE ME THINKS. I mean Yes as in hes easy to please and if you crack even like a SEMBLANCE of a joke he’ll start snickering. People usually don’t talk to him since he’s a Salmonid living in Inkopolis so his existence is seen as a “sore subject”, but I think if anyone’s nice to him or gets a little silly he’d get giddy and sort of have an overreaction and would later apologize for it like a weirdo…. What are u doing Kingyoto… you are Alive and with EMOTIONS.

[averagejoesolomon]

We made it, friends. Welcome to the final installment of Full Circle: 1986. It has been an absolute delight sharing this one with you. It is a downright gift to finally be able to commit this all to paper, after having been in my head for probably close to a decade now. This will probably be the last Full Circle chapter until ~November/December. I know this is longer than usual, but I've finally finished an original manuscript, and I'm going to take an honest shot at publishing it this fall. I so appreciate your patience while I follow that dream. I'll be back as soon as I can with more of Full Circle. There may be some surprises in the meantime (ahem—Listen Series 10-year anniversary), but as always, I can't wait to share what comes next. Those of you doing some math may have already realized we have a very familiar face coming in 1988 👀🍼 Until then, please enjoy. If you're new here, you can read all of Full Circle on Ao3.

Chapter Fourteen

“You’ve got to be goddamn kidding me.”

Joe Solomon can find a way to hide in just about every environment on earth. Anywhere he goes, he’s the figure at the back of the bar, the shadow at the end of the street, the ghost sitting in a blind spot security swears they don’t have. His face is never caught on camera. His name is never on any lists. If there’s darkness around, you can bet Joe’s managed to sink into it. Maybe it’s his New York roots, or old foster kid habits, or Blackthorne training he can’t quite shake, but one thing’s for sure—if Joe don’t want to be found, there’s not a soul on earth who can find him.

But something about the gray-speckled walls of Langley’s third floor draws him out, as though this place was designed to expose all the secrets it collects, starting with men like him. Of course, the hollering doesn’t help either. “Look at yourself.”

Matt turns just in time to see Joe barrel scowl-first down the hall. “Joe,” Matt says, smile wide and welcoming. “Nice to see you up and walking again.”

“Don’t start,” he barks. “You made me stay home, meanwhile you looked like this?”

Joe’s still got a slight limp to his gait, but that’s not much compared to the laundry list of fresh injuries Matt’s working with. He’s officially lost all leverage in this argument. “To be fair,” he says, trying his luck anyway, “I’ve only looked like this for the last 48 hours.”

Joe closes the distance between them, but his voice still stays at that same outraged level. “What the hell happened to you?”

This particular question can’t be answered in the lobby of Director Smith’s main office, which is almost certainly monitored by folks outside of their extremely limited task force—if not bugged by less friendly players. With one look, Matt’s able to tap into their shared shorthand and convey caution. “Details later.”

Joe catches the hint, even if he doesn’t look happy about it. He scans Matt up and down in that even, no-nonsense sort of way Joe scans everything. His voice drops to Matt’s level when he grumbles, “You just get to have all the fun, I guess.”

“If it helps,” Matt says, “I don’t remember most of it.”

“Jesus,” Joe sympathizes. “Would you at least sit down, already? It hurts just looking at you.”

The two of them usually share the same stick-straight posture, a habit leftover from their Army days that proves impossible to break. Joe’s wearing it now, softened over the years, but still there. The subtle draw of his shoulders. The top-to-bottom stacking of his spine. When Matt tries to mimic it, he comes up against the strain in his ribs and curls right back up. He hasn’t been able to pull himself upright since his third helicopter across the Alps, and Joe’s presence ain’t gonna change that, even if Joe’s always made him feel just a little bit invincible. “If I sit down,” says Matt, “I’m not gonna be able to stand back up.”

Joe’s jaw grinds. “I told you I’d get on a flight—”

Matt says, nice and easy, “And I told you I had it handled.”

“You’re never going solo on one of these things again.”

“I didn’t go solo. I had Rachel, and Rachel had a whole team.”

This ain’t much of a comfort in Joe’s book, and it shows. This is the same look Joe gives him anytime Rachel gets mentioned—and as it so happens, it’s also the same look Rachel gives him anytime Joe gets mentioned. Matt’s got no clue how the two most observant people he knows can be this blind to their own similarities. 

No doubt Joe’s got plenty to say when it comes to Rachel Cameron and her team, but he bites his tongue because good guys don’t bad-talk ladies when they’re not around to defend themselves. Instead, he keeps his frustrations broad. “It never should’ve gotten this close.”

“We’ve made some powerful enemies,” Matt says with a shrug. The movement aches, but no more than sitting, or standing, or breathing already does. “They were bound to get a couple hits on us one of these days.”

Joe gives him another surveying glance. “This is more than a couple.”

“It’s worse than it looks.”

“And they didn’t get hits on us. They got hits on you.”

Of all his hiding spots, Joe’s favorite is his own guilt. He retreats into it every chance he gets. Lingers in its shadow, sometimes for days at a time. Guilt is the thing that keeps Joe up at night and when he does finally fall asleep, guilt is the thing that brings him back to his feet, wandering down empty hotel halls well into the witching hour. Joe keeps a running list of sins in his head at all times, some small part of him always repenting for the orders he’s followed, the lies he’s told, the lives he’s taken, and a moment of weakness one Christmas Eve night when his own secrets finally became too heavy to hold all on his own. 

It’s constant, and Joe’s an old pro at finding new things to take the blame for. He’s doing it right now. Guilt that he wasn’t there to take his own beating. Guilt that Matt was.

This is all a load of hooey, according to Matt. A bunch of shame and remorse put there by the Circle of Cavan, because shame and remorse is exactly what turns Circle recruits into Circle agents. He’s said as much to Joe, but it’s never received well—doesn’t seem to help, anyway, so Matt focuses on something that will. “It’s worse than it looks,” he says again, and he meets Joe’s eyes this time. Lets the words settle how they need to for Joe to really believe it.  “Honest.”

Joe squints, assessing Matt with that sharp and attentive look he has. “Chrissake,” he finally sighs. “You lie to Soviet dignitaries with that mouth? Honestly Morgan, you’ve got a godawful tell.”

“Alright, so I’m gonna head down to the docs when we’re done here,” Matt admits. “But Joe, look at me. I’m fine. And if I’m not fine, then I’ll be fine.” Joe looks like he wants to protest and takes in a breath to do exactly that. But Matt’s in no shape for a fight right now, so he interrupts this one before it can even start. “Did you get to my safety deposit box while I was gone?”

This is a lot like asking if Joe got around to sleeping or eating while he was gone, which might be why Joe rolls his eyes. “You asked me to go,” he says, “so I went.”

“And?” Matt prompts.

Joe spots the change in subject, but Matt must look pitiful enough to let it slide. “Nothing,” he says. “No sign of a break-in—passport right where it was supposed to be.”

Matt’s heart drops into his battered gut, landing among the dread that’s been churning there for days. It takes every ounce of training he’s got to keep his face neutral, composed, when he lets out a matter-of-fact, “Huh.”

“Huh?” Joe presses. “What, huh?”

“One of my passports was in Moscow. Saw it with my own two eyes.” 

The lobby is empty around them, lined with unoccupied seats and filled with unread magazines. There’s no one to hide from. There’s not a sound to be heard. Not even the plant in the corner is alive, faded plastic leaves feeding off the fluorescents above. Even so, neither one of them risks a scene for fear that someone, somewhere is watching.

Joe’s words are quiet. Barely there. “If it wasn’t from your deposit box…”

“Someone at Langley is selling the passports they have on file,” Matt says. “And if we track them down…”

They don’t dare finish the thought aloud. They don’t have to. This has always been the endgame. The sole objective Director Smith gave them years ago, back when Joe still had an allegiance to the Circle and Matt didn’t know the name Ioseph Cavan. Find the moles, protect the agency, and save Joe’s reputation in the process. All these years, they’ve been tracking Circle agents from the outside in, working with any informant they could to get back to a source at Langley. This may be their one and only shot at an internal investigation.

But Matt’s ribs twinge against his breath, and the timing reeks of a trap. After all these years of looking, they finally reach a breakthrough on this op days after he takes a beating designed to intimidate. Maybe it’s working, because Matt’s not so sure they should follow this one.  “Conversation for another time,” he hints. “We’ll talk when we get back to the apartment.”

And Joe doesn’t miss a trick. “There’s more?”

When it comes to the Circle, there’s always more. No one knows that better than Joe Solomon. “There’s no such thing as coincidence, right?” 

Joe nods. “Right.”

“Let’s just say,” Matt cautions, “I don’t think it’s a coincidence I was there.”

Matt keeps this theory vague on purpose, trusting Joe to decode the rest.  There’s a glint in his eyes as he runs the numbers and plays out every hypothetical. Joe may not have been in Moscow, but that doesn’t mean he can’t piece together what happened. “Jesus,” he spits, realization playing out in his features. “You think Rachel set you up?”

Well. That sure ain’t the conclusion Matt expected him to make. “What? No. God, no,” Matt sputters. They don’t have time to walk back the math on this particular miscalculation, so Matt cuts to the chase before Joe can go any further down that path. “But Joe, listen. I think Catherine might have.”

This has Joe running a whole new set of numbers through his head, pulling the corners of his mouth into a hard, stoic frown. “No,” he says, definite. “Not a chance. You’re sure it wasn’t Rachel—?”

“Morning, Joe.”

With timing too perfect to be accidental, Rachel chooses this moment to round the corner and join their conversation. She has a cup of vending machine coffee in each hand, steam still rising from the slim notches in each plastic cap. As she sips from one, she holds the other out to Matt, and he’s been awake for too many consecutive hours to decline. It ain’t Joe’s coffee, but it’ll do.

“Glad to see you’re feeling better,” she says, and Matt has to hand it to her—she’s got this way of making something perfectly pleasant sound like utter devastation. “I heard you’ve been indisposed as of late.”

Joe’s answering glance is aimed directly at Matt, a scathing pout from someone who ain't above using his highly specialized skill set on a girl, just as long as his best friend gives him permission first.

Matt replies with his own warning look and a placating, “Play nice.” To keep the game fair, he turns to Rachel too. “Both of you.”

“What the hell is she doing here?” Joe asks.

Matt throws a thumb in her direction. “Talk to Rachel, when you’re talking to Rachel.”

“Alright.” His eyes flash to her. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Rachel takes another sip of her coffee, entirely unruffled. “A pleasure, as always, Joe.”

Joe crosses his arms over his chest. Settles into a wider stance. “You’ll have to excuse me if I’m not at my friendliest,” he says. “It’s just that I gave Matt to you in pretty good shape, and you didn’t exactly return him in pristine condition.”

“All things considered, I’d say he’s in pretty excellent condition, actually.” She’s the cool and collected counter to Joe’s stinging emotion. “Despite your best efforts to put him in the ground.”

Joe huffs, a bull seeing red. “Excuse me?”

Matt physically steps between the two of them. “Alright,” he says. “A little civility, please. I’ll remind you both that there are plenty of things I need your help with, but getting myself into trouble ain’t one of them. If you wanna be mad at someone, you can be mad at me.”

They both look ready to follow through on that offer, so Matt holds out his hands in either direction. Before they can speak he says, “But you can’t be mad at me yet—I’m injured, remember? So, so very injured.”

Joe rolls his eyes and spits out a, “Chrissake,” at the same time Rachel says, “Oh honestly, Matthew.” The two of them seem to find some tentative common ground in their shared annoyance, temporarily refraining from any further bickering. That’s fine. Matt can be a common enemy for now. Maybe it’ll remind them that what they’ve actually got is a common friend. There may be hope for them yet.

He lowers his hands slowly, trying not to disturb the peace. “Rachel’s here on orders from the Director,” he explains, “on account of how she’s recently learned some new information.”

Joe deciphers this in a matter of seconds. “You told her?”

“What I could,” Matt confirms. “It was the only way to get her out of Moscow.”

For all his grumbling, Joe knows the same thing every spy knows—that Moscow is a desperate place in a desperate time, always calling for desperate measures. He won’t begrudge any decisions made within the city’s borders, because he knows firsthand how Moscow can wring a fella out and force him to find alliances in the damnedest places. 

So rather than holler any more than he already has, he turns to Rachel. Looks at her with a deadly serious intensity. “Then he must have told you that you’ve raised some flags?”

Rachel matches his gaze. “He did.”

“That these are dangerous people?”

“He said that too.”

Joe glaces at Matt, then lands back on Rachel one more time. He looks like he wants to hide, but instead he holds strong. “He told you that if you keep looking for them, they’re going to find you first?”

Guilt for pulling Matt into all this. Guilt for pulling in Rachel by proxy.

Rachel’s chin is in its usual place, high and strong. “I’m not afraid of making a few more enemies.”

“I’m not saying it to scare you,” Joe insists. “I’m saying it because it’s the truth, and because you’re smart enough to walk away while you still can.”

Joe Solomon can hide anywhere in the world, but there are some people not even he can hide from, even if he’s spent most of his adult life trying to do exactly that. His words lack all the signs of their usual squabbles, replaced by a man who has been running for as long as he can remember, and wouldn’t wish it on his worst enemy.

Rachel Cameron is not his worst enemy, but she knows their rivalry well enough to understand this must be important, if Joe’s decided to put it aside for now. She surrenders her own fight, just temporarily, and grants him a nod. “I’ll do what the agency asks of me,” she says. Then, with some consideration.  “What’s best for Matt. And I suppose, by association, that means I’ll do what’s best for you, too.”

Sometimes Matt forgets that Joe is older than Rachel, by just under two years. In damn near every aspect of espionage and beyond, the two are evenly matched. But right then, Joe’s experience weighs down his every feature and makes him look horribly, achingly old. When it comes to understanding the toll the Circle can take on a person’s soul, few people know more than Joe.

“Do whatever you want,” he says, letting his head fall into a shameful shake. “But just know, as soon as you walk in those doors, you aren’t making decisions for yourself. You’re making them for Abby and your dad. For any friends you have back in Baltimore. For any future family you might want to have someday. Because once these people find out you’re onto them, they won't just stop at you.”

The best way to send Rachel into an uneasy spiral is to dig up her sense of helplessness. It’s something Matt’s only just started to learn, but something Joe seems to have known for a while now, given how easily he leverages her own fears against her. There’s some irony to the idea that a manipulation technique Joe learned in the Circle is the only thing keeping Rachel out of it.

She glances at Matt, but it’s quick. Like she can’t quite help herself. It’s gone before Matt can decide what it means, hidden behind another sip of coffee. “Fine,” she says, bored as she wipes the corner of her lip with her thumb. “Anything else?”

Joe starts to answer one way or the other, but he doesn’t get the chance. They’re interrupted by a petite woman in a pencil skirt, emerging from the office at their backs. She peers over horn-rimmed glasses as she says, “The Director will see you now.”

Best not to keep the boss waiting.

Rachel straightens her shoulders and starts to turn, leading the pack. “Ladies first,” she reminds them both, looking distinctly Abby-like as she shoots a carefree smile over her shoulder.

Matt starts to follow, the way he always follows her lead, but Joe hooks a hand around his arm instead, keeping Matt planted in place. He waits until Rachel is out of earshot and then, in the most covert voice Matt’s ever heard from him, asks, “Are you sleeping with Rachel Cameron?”

Spy training or not, Matt feels a flush crawl up his neck, as fresh flashes catch along his breath. Rachel’s cool hand on his hot chest. Rachel’s moan in his mouth. “Am I—?” he sputters. “Am I sleeping with—?”

But Joe’s just got this look on his face. Cover blown. 

So Matt drops the act. They’ve talked about matters of national security with less urgency when he asks, “How did you know?”

Joe points to the coffee cup in Matt’s hand. “You hate vending machine coffee,” he says. “Which I know, because every time you drink it, you bitch and moan about how my coffee is better.”

“Your coffee is better,” Matt contests.

“And yet, you’re drinking hers,” Joe says. “And the only way you’d ever drink that shit is if you were—”

“Yeah.”

“So you are.”

“Yeah.”

“About time.”

This is so wildly off-base from the response Matt expects that he has to do a double-take. Make sure he heard right. “Wait,” he says. “What’s that supposed to—?”

“Are you boys coming, or what?”

Rachel pops her head around the doorway and Matt resists the completely unspylike urge to throw both hands over Joe’s mouth. “Yep,” he says. “Be right there.”

She retreats back to the office, and Matt turns back toward Joe. “Not a word.”

Joe holds up both hands in faux innocence. “My lips are sealed,” he says, but he’s biting back a grin, and Matt knows he hasn’t heard the last of this. “Now let’s get this over with. The sooner we get out of here, the sooner we can watch the Royals game.”

Matt really is having a hard time deciding how to feel about Joe, right this moment. “You taped the Royals game for me?”

Joe shrugs. “‘Course I taped the Royals game for you.”

But Matt forgives easy, and Joe’s easy to forgive anyway. “Joe Solomon,” he says, with a grin of his own. “Did you miss me?”

“Alright,” Joe drones. “Get in there, or I’m gonna tell you the scores.”

Matt does as he’s told, because it’s Joe telling him to do it. Plus, the woman with the glasses is tapping her heel in their direction. Even though Matt regularly squares up against arms dealers and armed guards, he's still not willing to tick off the Langley secretaries.

They file into the familiar beige and black office, ready to give their usual debrief and sort out which details should be committed to paper and which should be left to rot in the wind. This process is routine enough that it’s practically scripted, and Matt feels a certain sense of comfort in the repetition, even with Rachel’s presence. In fact, some part of him is relieved for her to finally see all this. To finally understand a part of his life that’s been kept from her for so long.

But the moment he enters the room, he realizes that Rachel ain’t the office’s only new addition.

Director Smith is tucked behind his desk, just like always, shuffling through a stack of paper that never seems to get any smaller, no matter how many times they visit. Like always, his black jacket hangs on the back of his chair and his tie is loose at the collar. He’s filled out the mustache he started growing a few years back, in an attempt to look more like Tom Selleck. He looks mostly the same as he always has, except where age and stress make him look a little more weary.

The man across from him is unfamiliar—at least, Matt thinks he is. But a second glance triggers some deep down certainty that they’ve met before, somewhere, sometime, when Matt was least expecting him. 

The Director looks up at them all. Smiles. “Ah, welcome home, boys,” he says, in his easy Virginian accent. “And Ms. Cameron. I’ve heard wonderful things.”

“Likewise, sir,” Rachel replies, always the perfect lady.

“How is your sister?” he wonders. “Bored to tears, I suppose.”

“And healing up just fine,” she says. “Which, I keep reminding her, is the important part.”

“Yes, well, as soon as she’s ready to go again, we’ll be happy to have her,” he says. “Send my best to her—and to your father, while you’re at it.”

“Will do, sir.”

The mystery man turns to face them head-on, and Matt gets that feeling again. It’s the eyes that strike him first, dark in a way that makes them look endless. Something about the cut of his jaw, the angle of his nose, the furrow of his brow. It all sends a surge of hot familiarity through Matt’s veins, landing like metal in his mouth.

“I’m eager to hear about your latest findings,” Smith goes on. “But first, I suppose you’ve all noticed we’re not alone.”

It’s the start of an introduction and the mystery man stands to meet it, buttoning the front of his jacket as he goes. His movements strike more familiarity into Matt, resonating at a single frequency in his bones.

“Trusting that you’re all able to keep a secret until the news is made official,” says Smith, with some humor, “I’d like to introduce you to the new Director of Operations for the CIA—Mr. Max Edwards.”

Max Edwards’ dark eyes settle onto Matt, holding a hand out to shake. Matt takes it with a flinch, hand still sore from fighting off memories he can’t remember. “Nice to meet you,” says Max, in low southern drawl just barely above a whisper. “Alexander has told me great things about this task force.”

Max moves on to the next hand, and it’s Joe who has the wherewithal to ask, “New, sir?”

Director Smith stands to join the rest of the room, rounding his desk and leaning against its front. “I’ve been called up the ranks, Mr. Solomon,” he says, arms crossing casually across his chest. “Come autumn, I will be serving as the Deputy Director of the CIA.”

“Congratulations,” says Rachel, sincerely.

“That’s great,” Matt mutters, distracted.

Leave it to Joe to ask, “What does that mean for—?”

Director Smith holds up a hand, already well ahead of Joe and not afraid to show it. “We will, of course, have some details to work out. Rest assured we will have time to do so, though I’d prefer not to speak in great detail with Ms. Cameron present.” He turns to Rachel. “No offense intended.”

“None taken,” Rachel replies. Her gaze meets Joe’s, one final debate between the two of them. She must let him win, because she turns back to Smith and says, “As I understand it, my involvement is better left at need-to-know.”

Matt should be relieved. He should be thankful that something Joe said got through to her. That she isn't pushing for more. That she won’t be the Circle’s next target, and that she won’t have to spend a lifetime in this fight. But he’s just too caught up in the way Max walks. In the way he speaks, and moves, and looks.

Smith nods in her direction. “Unfortunately, I believe that’s a wise decision,” he says. “While your skills would be more than welcome, I’m certain I don’t have to share that the consequences could be quite dire.”

“No sir,” Rachel agrees. “That’s been made clear.”

“Then we will save our discussion for another time,” he concludes.  “Until then, the only thing you three need to know is that I will no longer serve as your primary contact on this case. I simply won’t have the time. But I do still hope to stay involved, which is why I wanted to ensure I had someone I trusted in this position.”

All three of them turn to study Max, the man to be trusted. He stands tall. Confident. Certain that he is exactly where he is supposed to be.

“Mr. Edwards will train at my side in the coming months, learning the ins-and-outs of our objectives here,” says Director Smith. “Boys, you’ll be asked to pursue new leads as they come in—no different than before. Ms. Cameron, we’ll work closely with you on your upcoming reports to ensure we commit the correct details to paper. This is among my top priorities as I transition, and Max has expressed similar dedication.”

This all feels so critical and immediate. Matt wishes he could focus, but his brain is caught on repeat, trying to fill the Max Edwards sized hole in his head.

Max clears his throat. “Everything alright, son?” he asks Matt. “You look shaken.”

The set of his shoulders. The crease in his forehead. “I’m sorry sir, it’s just—” he starts, but he hesitates, worried he’ll sound foolish. The whole room watches him, waiting for an answer he ain’t sure about. “I can’t shake the feeling we’ve met before.”

A small sigh rises and falls in Max’s broad chest, something close to a laugh, although Matt can’t imagine this man ever laughing. Max glances toward Director Smith, who grants a permissive node, and Max holds his hands out, putting himself on full display. “You caught me,” he says, simply.  “You have seen me before. At the Bolshoi Theatre.”

With the Bolshoi as a background, Matt’s brain handily fills in the rest of the memory. A bag of passports in his hands, Townsend’s voice at his back, and a mysterious man looking up at him from the ground floor. That must be it. “You spotted us,” Matt remembers. “In the balcony. Before we ran.”

To Matt’s credit, Max didn’t look at all like himself in Moscow, done up in a disguise that relied on dark facial hair and heavy Russian garb. That must be why Matt couldn’t identify him on sight. “You were not too hard to spot, I’m afraid.”

This sounds like it could be a joke, but Matt’s not sure, so he replies in earnest, just in case. “Yes, well,” he says. “Moscow has a way of bringing out unexpected circumstances.”

“I’d like to hear more, when we have time,” says Max. “Learn how we can do better in the future.”

“Yessir.”

When Max Edwards smiles, a chill runs down Matt’s spine, and it must be left over from Moscow. From that feeling of having eyes on his back, and not trusting a single step he takes. It always takes a few days to shake off the Soviet Union and this is no exception. 

Matt meets Max’s eyes once more, and he's got this strange urge to hide. Slip into a crowd, the way he always does. Let the world dissolve at his back, then come up for air once its safe again.

But Max already found him once, back on a balcony in the the Bolshoi. Who's to say it couldn't happen again? Matt may be a natural Pavement Artist, but Max seems like the type who can see straight through anything. “Gentlemen,” Max says, clasping his hands together. “I think this is the start of a beautiful partnership.”

[earlgreyinpajamas]

merthur fic recs: arranged marriage pt 2

1. kiss with a sword by Aro_Tarot (@aro-tarot), princessoftheworlds (@princess-of-the-worlds)

Queen Morgana rules Mount Olympus with an iron fist, and when she proposes a match between god of spring Emrys and her estranged brother — the god of death Arthur —there can be no refusing.But in the Underworld, Emrys, who prefers to be called Merlin, discovers that his marriage comes with a catch: his new husband resents his sister and her realm, and has no time for Merlin. Quickly, their mutual apathy turns to mutual loathing. Arthur grapples with his new marriage and holding onto his resentments while Merlin seemingly finds himself with only one option — to overthrow Arthur and install himself as the ruler of the Underworld.

~~~

merlin literally tries to overthrow his husband and it’s a the great meets persephone and hades au so you have to read it

2. It Was One Kingdom, Once by queerofthedagger (@queerofthedagger)

   “He cursed me. I’m coughing up flowers, Gaius—what other possible explanation is there?”  

   “Well, there is—”  

   “He was mad at me, it’s exactly something he would do. Infuriating, obnoxious, goddamned sorcerer that he is probably finds it funny to—”  

It is said that the sins of the father should not be cast upon the son. Unfortunately, a father's miscalculated bargain can still come back to haunt you—Arthur is twenty-one, has a kingdom to rule, and apparently, a magically binding marriage contract with the Prince of Escetir. Prince Merlin, who has magic, a dragon, great dislike for Arthur, and still no intention to back out of the contract.

The worst part is, to a degree, Arthur understands—as a sorcerer, he wouldn't trust Uther Pendragon's son either. So he simply has to convince Merlin that he can be trusted, and the contract can be broken while they secure peace between Camelot and Escetir. It's a good plan.

Right up until forces conspire against both their kingdoms, more secrets come to light, and Arthur starts coughing up flowers.

~~~

fjhfhajlkf hanahaki + royal au!!!!!

3. To Love, Honor, and Piss Off by thenerdyindividual (@thenerdyindividual)    

King Arthur, Newly Crowned, Conqueror of Essetir, has been informed that he is out of touch with the common folk. In order for that to change he must take on a Common Consort for three years, a spouse that will help him keep the interest of his poorest subjects in mind. Unfortunately, he winds up with Merlin.

~~~

ugh the separation angst TT (but don’t worry there’s a happy ending!)

[scarlet--wiccan]

This week’s voices unlimited issue seems like something you’d enjoy (Idk if you keep up with it).

I’d love to hear your thoughts on walpurgis but I don’t want to spoil anything

Oh, I absolutely loved it. Oliveira has proven himself as one of, if not the strongest writers on the Unlimited platform, and he usually has a really good approach to young adult and teen characters, so I'm looking forward to seeing where this new run is going.

For anyone who missed it, Oliveira is writing a new run of the Marvel's Voices Infinity Comic. Each installment features a different young hero who ends up being recruited, for unknown reasons, by an older established hero. Last week, it was Aaron Fischer and Captain Marvel, this week, it was Brielle Brooks and Doctor Voodoo. The issue opens with Brielle saving her friend Jayden from the Temple of the Shifting Sun-- a vampire cult that's obsessed with finding ways to cure their vampirism and/or become daywalkers, which, unfortunately, usually involves human sacrifice.

It turns out that Agatha Harkness recently became the Temple's leader, and the whole thing was an elaborate ruse to draw Brielle out of hiding so that Agatha could offer to tutor Brielle and help her expand her powers... which is an extremely Agatha stunt to pull. Fostering young supernatural talent-- and dictating their choices whenever possible-- is her favorite pastime, and she's very interesting in anything to do with the Darkhold these days, so it makes sense that she'd set her sights on a young half-vampire. Agatha leaves without much complaint when Brielle turns her down, but before she leaves, she gives Brielle a cute little purple kitten named Walpurgis!

Obviously, the stuff with Brielle and Jayden was great, and seeing Brielle link up with Jericho was really cool, too-- there's an immediate sense of solidarity between them, and they get some good digs in on white folks in the magic scene, like Agatha and Stephen. But there are were a lot of other cool details and continuity pulls that I want to highlight--

The Temple of the Shifting Sun first appeared in West Coast Avengers (2018), where they tried to sacrifice America Chavez for similar reasons. Kate Bishop's mother, Eleanor, is a vampire herself and was working with the Temple at that time. Eleanor's storyline was picked up in Voices Infinity #17, also by Oliveira.

According to Agatha, the Temple vampires worship the Demiurge. This is another instance where Earth's Demiurge is clearly being conflated with Billy Kaplan, which is a continuity error and, in my opinion, a really bad choice, but Oliveira seems to be committed to it. That said, at the time that WCA was written, there was a direct connection between Billy-as-Demiurge and America's mystical powers, so that is a clever through-line.

This is honestly some of the best writing Agatha's had in years, probably since before Midnight Suns. She feels more in-character than she did in Contest of Chaos, or even in that Hulkling & Wiccan series. It also re-established that she's centuries old and has had many names, which I thought was neat.

I'm very curious about Walpurgis the cat. First of all, I was just happy to see Ebony again, and I love the idea of her having a litter of magic kittens, but Walpurgis is suspiciously... purple. It might just be to match Brielle's hair, but purple is also Agatha's signature color, and I wonder if she created and/or enchanted the cat to spy on Brielle and Jericho.

Agatha's going to be the antagonist in the Strange Academy tie-in for Blood Hunt, so this might be an early prelude to that. Vampires and witches and headmasters!

[therottenkingsreckoning]

Here it is, the chapter for which the whole story was named! Really had fun writing this, I'm having fun with all of them.

Don't be surprised if future installments take the teensiest bit longer to get done- I'd had a rough draft for these four going in, but everything past it will be brand new. Will still try to get things done as soon as I can- I'm excited to share what I've made, just as you're probably excited to read it!

~Little Flame, Chapter 4~

It took several more minutes to convince Eddie that his mate really wasn't sick, and a few more days trapped in the house to convince other folks that they were. But when Julie called them up excitedly asking if Frank felt ok enough to come by for lunch, how could he resist? She was their best friend after all!

So, off they went, and soon Frank found himself at Sally's theater, happily listening to the two girlfriends chatter away.

"It must be natural lighting this time," the star declared. "Candlelight if we may. Harsher stage lamps just won't do for the mood!"

"Forgive my saying it, but I'm not sure I trust you around open flame," Frank half-joked.

At this, Sally spun around, dramatic finger in his direction before turning it on herself. "Francisco, darling, I am open flame! If my set hasn't burned down by now, then surely a few measly lights won't pose a much greater risk."

"You've let us help you light menorah candles too," Julie chimed in. "Why would that be allowed and this isn't?"

Frank rolled their eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. "That's different. I'm there to watch you then, and make sure you don't hurt yourselves."

"So you can help us now!" Sally said assertively, stamping her foot down close to them. So close, in fact, that he could feel the intense heat her presence naturally gave off, and they had to admit she was right before. If her natural starborn radiance hadn't caught things on fire by now, nothing would.

"Will you help us Frank? Please?" Julie pleaded.

Frank looked from the star to the monster and back, finally letting out a groan as he flopped backwards onto the wood of the stage. "Fine!" They grumbled, far too exhausted these days to even try arguing. "I suppose I can help you."

The next hour was spent getting candles together from each of their houses and those of their neighbors, along with the various cups, jars, and vases that fit the collection. In the end, they had 34 small burning lights, set up to test their effect in the darkest back corner of Sally's backstage.

"I will say, this looks good," Frank said, bending to light the last candle. "You're right Sally, the warm tones feel...cozy."

"Of course!" the star beamed. "You should know you can always rely on my genius in matters of art!"

Julie walked up to her, giggling, and placed a small kiss on her cheek. "It's what I like about you. You're smart, funny, really pretty-"

"Alright stop!" Frank shouted playfully, "before she gets any more of a big head about it."

"You're jealous."

"Am not."

As he watched the two wandering off to make props, both were practically gleaming (one literally so.) It made Frank smile. After all they'd been through, here they were, happy lives so full of love for each other. Julie and Sally, Wally & Howdy, Barbie with her lovely boyfriend & Poppy with both of her girls.

He & Eddie, and the beautiful child they'd soon welcome home. Looking at the flickering, soft candlelight, their hand gently rested over his belly, heart full of contented joy. "I'll have my own little flame to take care of soon," he thought to themselves.

A gasp. He turned to see them both staring at him wide-eyed in shock, and Frank's blood ran cold.

He hadn't thought it. They had said it.

And now she had heard.

Moments passed in a razor-edged silence between them, mere seconds that felt like eons, and then Frank cleared his dry, raspy throat. "I-I didn't..."

Julie was the first to speak, a few gentle steps towards them & words spoken softly even though he could tell she was vibrating with contained emotion. "Frank? You're...you're pregnant?"

Their hands flew up now, one in his hair and the other making desperate attempts to wave off her comment. "D-don't be ridiculous Julie, I can't-"

"Hey," Sally spoke up now, equally awkward as she fumbled for the right words to not upset him. "I-It's alright dear, I...already knew about that. Or...I'd had my suspicions at least."

Frank stared into her eyes, anxieties scanning them for any possible sign of judgement. But there was none, only quiet and warm reassurance, solid ground on which to stand. "You didn't say anything?" To which she merely shrugged. "It's not my place to say. You'd tell us when you were ready to."

A barely compressed squeal shot out of Julie now, finally breaking the thick atmosphere. "Oh, but is it true? Is it really real that you're having a baby my guy???"

Frank could hug her right now. And they did, holding tight through the dizzying drop in his blood pressure. He was laughing, nerves and relief tangled up together in their head. "Yes, yes. It's...a few weeks along now, I think."

The rest of the afternoon was spent in excited chatter as before, his friends offering all the congratulations, questions and advice they could muster and to which Frank felt comfy responding. As they said their goodbyes, sunset bathing the trio in the same lovely glow as before, a soft rumble of laughter rang out from the door.

"Guessin' they know about it too now, huh?" Eddie asked, stepping out to embrace his partner.

"Yes," Frank replied with a chuckle of his own. "Sort of slipped out when we were testing the candlelight for Sally's play."

"Candles?" Eddie raised an eyebrow at that. "Don't know if I trust her around open flame."

[xx-completely-in-ur-car-xx-blog]

do you write MBAV fanfiction?

Yes =D

Post-it note crazy planning board isn't just for show, fools! I am actually writing a season three to the show, if anyone's interested... And the first episode is available to read already! It picks up right where the show left off (literally), and proceeds like an episode of the show (to the extent of which I am capable). You can literally read it now!

The Date To End All Dates (Part Three) (43595 words) by Xx_Self_Anointed_Trash_xX Chapters: 16/16 Fandom: My Babysitter's A Vampire Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Sarah Fox/Ethan Morgan, Erica Jones/Benny Weir Characters: Ethan Morgan, Benny Weir, Sarah Fox, Erica Jones, Rory Keaner, Jesse (My Babysitter's a A Vampire), Vice Principal Stern, Anastasia (My Babysitter's a Vampire), Grandma Weir (My Babysitter's A Vampire) Additional Tags: Happy Ending, Fluff, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Canon Compliant, Post-Canon, Canon Era Summary: It's circa December 2011, and Whitechapel's ragtag team of supernatural high-schoolers are left divided between the battlefield and a literal field, with Rory and Erica forced to flee the city against their wills. The mighty Lucifractor is now in the hands of nefarious Vice-Principal Stern; failure feels as inevitable as the next dreaded installment in the Dusk series. Picking up from the end of The Date To End All Dates (Part Two), a nostalgic fan attempts to console likeminded folks who long for a real ending to such an iconic series. Written in 3rd Person (Limited) to capture the feel of the show— changes POV.

The post-it... post (for lack of a better word) tracks arcs and monsters-of-the-week for a planned additional 12 episodes— stories of about the same length and calibre (ideally) as the one above. Ambitious? Maybe. But I'm optimistic.

PS. Kudos to anyone who can match my Ao3 & Tumblr usernames to their shared origin