#oh how the tables have turned (​girl who inherited her taste in music from her dad now introducing him to new artists)

[nelsonwoodlane]

i seem to have converted my father into a joywave fan after last night

[shintorikhazumi]

“Daydream.”

A/N: I have NOT written in a while. Or posted rather. It’s been.... a month??? I’m sorry. It’s been.. hard. I also have summer classes which are slowly choking me. Yey.

Anyway, I hope... you all enjoy? I think I’m rusty. There are a lotta plotholes and some... hhrnnghh characterization that i feel iffy about. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. 

Anywhooooo. Thank you to my lovely platonic crushie @tanuki-pyon hihi for allowing me to use your drawing for inspiration ;-;. Thank youuu <3 Hope you like this.

Enjoy?

~Shintori Khazumi

It is a bustling city, full of life and vivid color. The songs of the late afternoon played- their notes produced by that independent street musician, backed by the passing cars beneath the balcony, the rhythmic dripping of a loose faucet in the bath, and the rustle of leaves caused by a passing breeze that caresses her cheek.

 Life, color, music, and a touch.

 They all paint a particular picture- one of wine-red eyes, and a charming smile; brown locks that she had tucked behind a heated ear, adorned with exotic jewelry she had purchased for her.

 As she draws the cup away from her lips, she sighs in contentment, the distinctive taste of Boldo tea and the dimming rays of light blanketing the expanse of what she could see making her smile bittersweet.

 It's getting late.

 She knows she has to finish her packing. After all, this fleeting vacation is a dream she'd have to wake up from, come the morning rays of tomorrow. It was short-lived, but she'd like to think these few moments in the city or Buenos Aires are moments worth remembering forever.

 Even if there was a possibility that they were but a daydream.

 That she is her daydream.

 Her phone rings, and she sighs a different sigh. It's one of disappointment and reluctance as walks into the room, swiping the blinking gadget off the table. She taps the green icon, placing the device by her ear, eyes dulling as she listens to the speaker on the other end with poorly-veiled disinterest.

 ["-Are you listening?! Do you understand? The moment you step off that plane, your fiance will be there to greet you. Then he will drive you to work, and you will-"]

 Her face contorts in disgust at the statement. "He's not my fiance." She says, voice cold and adamant.

 ["Diana! How could you say that- about Andrew Hanbridge, no less! The man who has not once given up on you, unlike all the other low-life suitors out there. He's rich, intelligent, charming, and well-mannered."]

 Diana scoffs at the very first descriptor of the man she was to marry supposedly. 'Rich'. Of course he had to be.

 "Listen here, and listen well. You've been off on these silly trips, writing god knows what for well over ten years. It's time you grew up and got married, and inherited the corporation!"

 Diana grits her teeth, hands crumpling a few papers on the table. She immediately regrets that action as she realizes her manuscripts now have ugly creases in them, much like her own plans for life. Not that those were any easier to iron out.

 ["Then dinner at the Hanbridges will be at seven-thirty. Sharp. I have a dress prepared for you in your room. We will be discussing your wedding with And-"]

 And she hangs up.

 Turning her phone off, she throws it onto her mattress, the silken covers causing the device to slide right off and onto the floor with a thud.

 Diana curses as she rushes over, checking for any cracks or damage. She hasn't turned the lights on, and her open balcony does not give her much light, so she opts to run her fingers over the screen, praying she hadn't broken anything. As able as she was to afford a phone, that doesn't mean she wanted a change at any time.

 ...also, her number was saved here. Diana isn’t good enough with phones to know how to retrieve that.

 Diana sighs again. This time it is of relief. She leans back with a plop against the side of the bed, staring blankly at her wall.

 Tomorrow... she leaves.

 Tomorrow, she never sees her again.

 Tomorrow, she talks of marriage plans with two families who couldn't care less about what she actually desires in life.

 Tomorrow... she's gone. She may as well be dead if she wouldn't even be 'living' in the first place.

 Tomorrow...

 What would she be doing?

 Where would she be at?

 Would she still have the same smile on her face as she greeted the passersby who would freeze in place, stand in awe as time stilled for them as they become entranced in the magic that was her dance?

 Diana frowns.

 Would someone else fall in love with her?

 Like Diana has?

 ...Would she... fall in love with them back...?

 Diana feels a pang in her heart as she slumps to the floor, now lying against the hard wood. If she were back in the UK, she wouldn't be caught *dead* in this position. Her aunt would have her head.

 She blinks, staring at the ceiling.

 Oh? It's quite comfortable, she thinks, consciousness slipping into nothingness.

 //

 -It's a slap to her cheek that has her sitting up in haste, body moving in a trained way of self-defense as she arrests the perpetrator in a hold face-down onto the floors.

 "Diana! Diana! Fu- shit! Waitwaitwaitwait-owowowowow it huuurtsss, it hurtsssss!!!"

 And it’s a familiar voice that cuts through her panic, and makes her let go rather clumsily, resulting in more hurt for Diana’s victim.

 “Akko!” She exclaims, happiness and concern in her voice.

 “Well, you sure look happy. Are you into this sort of play?” The girl chuckles wryly, rubbing at her joints as she fixes herself into a seated position on the floor as Diana kneels in front of her, confused at the words.

 “Play?”

 “Yeah. BDSM, that kind of stuff.” 

 Diana flushes at the bold remark, floundering helplessly as her mind ceases to produce a coherent response.

 Akko watches her with open amusement, head resting against her one propped up knee. She hugs the limb, keeping her steady as she stares at Diana unabashedly.

 Diana stares back.

 “Wh-what.”

 “You’re beautiful.”

 “I-! Ah-uh, nnggh?!” Diana doesn’t know if she’s going into a seizure. Maybe she is. Maybe she should have gone to med school after all, to confirm-

 “Pff-” Akko begins giggling, then cackling, then just falling onto her back, hollering in laughter on the floor.

 “Wh-what! What… why are you laughing? I- Did i do something silly?”

 Akko wipes a tear from her eyes, laying on her stomach and propping her head up on both hands as she faces Diana. “You’re silly.” She teases, tongue poking out, eyes crinkled moons.

 Diana can’t help herself, biting onto the bait.

 It’s a deep kiss, and Diana didn’t know she knew how to do it.

 What do people call it? French kissing?

 They pull apart and Akko presses her sweaty forehead to Diana’s, chuckling breathlessly against her lips.

 “Many types of attacks today, Miss Cavendish. You are one powerful woman with a vast arsenal.” She jests, a hand reaching to cup Diana’s face and pull her back in for a chaster peck on the lips that turns into two, then three.

 “I like to have many options at my disposal.” Diana sighs into every brush of their lips, returning a few of her own, nipping at Akko’s bottom lip as she leads her into a submissive position, lying on her back with Diana hovering over her.

 “Boy, am I glad you do…” Akko whispers, eyes glued to Diana’s glistening mouth, the pair leaning closer and closer and- “OHMYGOSH-WAIT. THIS. This is not what I came here to do!” Akko yelps, pushing Diana’s face away and accidentally spraining her neck.

 Diana groans as she rubs at her nape, cursing quietly.

 “SHIT SORRY”

 Diana waves her concern away as she offers a crooked grin.

 “Sorry, sorry, sorry. I’m sorry, Diana. Sorry, I-”

 “Akko.” Diana giggles, carefully nearing the girl once again. She leans in slowly this time- just in case-, and plants a kiss on her cheek. “How and why did you come find me?” She asks, tone joyful, yet pained. 

 “Because I know you’re leaving tomorrow.” 

 Diana hears a record scratch, and the city’s music comes to a pause. It’s deathly silent, and her breath catches in her lungs, heart painful.

 Diana’s smile falls, as she places distance between them, sitting formally in front of Akko.

 “You…”

 “You told me in your sleep…” Akko murmurs, her words playing flashbacks in Diana’s mind- memories of a night that was not supposed to exist.

 “No- I… I… Akko…”

 Voices in her head play back all her duties, her realities that tell her that the woman in front of her is not a part of them. She’s a daydream, and she’s- as all daydreams are- a fleeting one.

 Diana has to wake up tomorrow morning. She has to go back tomorrow.

 She has to be ‘the real Diana Cavendish’ again. Not because she wants to be. But because she is.

 “Diana, I need to say that-”

 “Then- then…” Diana cuts Akko off before she can deal more damage to her mental state. “Then you must know… that being here… makes it harder for me not to leave.” Diana replied with a crack in her voice. “I can’t stay, Akko. I can’t. Even if I wanted to…” She whispered, unable to project her voice.

 “Diana, that’s not what this is abou-”

 “I can’t stay here, Akko! I’m supposed to go home and get married!”

 Her eyes widen, and so do Akko’s. Diana… doesn’t know what to say. Neither does Akko. They both remain frozen in time and in place.

 “I can’t… stay here… with you…” She feels a tear slip past her cheek… then another, and another, until they dribble down her chin and onto the back of her hands that are clenched on her lap. “You’re a daydream… and… and…”

 “A reality you won’t face?” Akko asks, voice surprisingly steady and clear. “I’m not a daydream, Diana Cavendish. I’m not a figment of your imagination.” She speaks, voice bolder as she gets up and walks up to Diana, making the girl crawl backwards as she hits her back against the foot of the bed.

 Diana gasps as Akko grips her collar, pulling her closer to her. She instinctively closes her eyes, awaiting a hit- a punch, a slap, whatever it was.

 And she gasps again as the soft caress, much like the gentle winds soothe her skin and her pounding heart.

 “I’m not your summer getaway, or your escape from real life. I’m not a fairytale to lull you to bedtime that you forget once the sun rises.” Akko explains with a crooked smile, tears staining her cheeks as she buries her face into the crook of Diana’s neck. Her breaths tickle Diana there, and her tears pain Diana’s heart.

Diana moves to wrap her arms around Akko, but stops midway. She… doesn’t deserve to do that.

 “...hold me…”

 But Akko deserves to be listened to. 

 And so, Diana holds her. She holds her tight, and she doesn’t let go. Not until Akko wants her to.

 “I’m not asking you to stay.” Akko murmurs against Diana’s skin as the latter runs her fingers through smooth strands of hair.

 Diana admits that hearing that statement hurts as much as it relieves her.

 Her sense of duty tells her she has to go back to her home in England and run her company, and yet her heart told her that Akko was her home, and that not staying would mean losing something that she might never be able to earn back again.

 As much as it pained her to know more, she needs to. For both their sakes. “Then what must I do? What can I- we… what do you want me to do? What do you want us to do?”

 Akko pulls back slightly, grinning sheepishly as she presses her feelings into a kiss against Diana’s lips, before pulling her up with her to head towards the door.

 Upon opening it, Diana sees a few bags lined up against the wall, ready for a trip to god-knows-where.

Her mind wasn’t registering this at all-

“Bloody fuck.”

“Took you long enough to figure that one out, huh?” Akko laughs, bringing their joined hands to her lips, and kissing Diana’s palm. “Weren’t you supposed to be the smart one?”

 “Well… I… holy shit…”

 “I had no idea you could curse like that.”

 “Mother of… my… arse…”

 “Mother of your arse? Really?”

 “Akko.”

 “Yes?”

 “Akko.”

 “Yes, Diana.” Akko rolls her eyes, as she pats Diana’s cheek with her free hand. “You’re supposed to take me with you.”

 “Bloody hell…” Diana murmurs. “Just marry me.” 

 “...”

 “...”

 “EH?! Really?!”

 //

 Bonus :>

 “So why were you in my room that night in the first place?” Diana laughs, running her fingers along Akko’s cool arm, holding her close as they snuggled together in a hammock, reminiscing a daydream so long ago.

 “Ehh... are you really asking me this right now? Diana, it’s been years since that happened.”

“And yet, I know you remember it as well as I do.” Diana laughs, knowing that Akko was rolling her eyes as she scoffs against her neck. “I’m right, aren’t I.”

“Cheeky.” Diana chuckles as Akko pokes her cheek in annoyance, but explains anyway. “I was knocking on the door, but you weren’t answering. I rang, and spoke through the intercom too. Then room service came by and I said I just forgot my key and they let me in.”

Diana feels slightly concerned about the security of that hotel. But wait, there are better questions that need answering.

 “... then why did you slap me?”

“...”

“Akko?”

 “Because you were asleep.”

Diana guffaws, disbelieving. There was no way she was that hard to awaken. She pulls back slightly, looking Akko in the eyes.

 “You couldn’t have woken me up other ways?”

 Akko looks away momentarily, feet already swung off to the side, as if she is about to step out. Which she did. 

“...no?”

Diana watches her skeptically, now also sitting up.

“Akko?”

“Well, you know. It was nice chatting and all, but maybe I should get back to my practice for my road show and...”

 “Akko? Akko… Akko why are you walking away? Akko- hey! Come back here- AKKO!-”

And she was gone, bolting like the wind, leaving Diana stunned and comically livid.

 “ATSUKO KAGARI-CAVENDISH, YOU COME BACK HERE RIGHT. THIS. INSTANT!”

[wylanvnneck]

Hi!! I was wondering if you could write the angst prompt number 1 with jurdan??🥰

Angst Prompt #1: “The worst part is you didn’t even notice.”

Fandom: TFOTA

Ship: Jurdan

Masterlist | Prompt List

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High pitched giggles peal through the air and the noise makes the 21 year old Cardan Greenbriar wince. He’d been away from his hometown of Elfhame for 2 years now, having happily left it and his controlling family behind after graduation to go live in his dorm room back at Insmire University with his crazy roommates. Yet here he was, back again for a week-long visit in honour of his old friend Locke’s engagement.

He and Locke had never been all that close to begin with, but he had been his oldest friend, and it did seem like a good idea to come back for a bit and see how much things had changed in the years since he’d be gone, which didn’t seem to be all that much. 

Locke was still the same fox-faced wastrel that he had been, except that he was now engaged and the other member of their old gang, Valerian was still as snarky as usual, a perpetual sneer on his face whenever someone attempted to speak to him. Seated at a round outdoors table surrounded by his High School acquaintances, Cardan feels nothing but boredom.

He grips the neck of his wine glass even tighter when he sees the source of the giggling emerge from Locke’s house where his engagement party was being hosted. Taryn Duarte the Bride to Be and her posse of friends strut out into the garden from the inside of the house where they’d been gathered together doing goodness knows what for the past half hour. A glimpse of blue hair catches his eye and he recognises it as belonging to a girl named Nicasia that he used to be friends with back in High School, a million years ago.

Taryn’s six inch heels click against the asphalt of the garden path and the sight of her familiar icy brown eyes and dark hair brings up a volley of almost forgotten feelings within him. Not feelings for the rather cold female before him, but for who she reminded him of. Her twin.

Involuntarily he finds himself scanning the group of women for any sign of Taryn’s sister before coming up short and then chastising himself for looking in the first place. Jude belonged in the past where he had buried her. He takes another sip of the red wine in his hand before shifting his attention back to the conversations happening at his table, a politely unimpressed looking Garrett talked in low tones with his friend Van, both of them engrossed in whatever they were discussing, and a slightly inebriated Valerian was attempting to flirt with the disgusted woman seated next to him. 

Resisting the urge to let out a growl he downs the contents of his glass in one go before standing up to re-enter the house and get a refill, needing some kind of distraction.

He’s just finished pouring some more Merlot into his glass from the otherwise empty bar table when a rustling sound travels from somewhere nearby. He glances up at the staircase by the other end of the room, catching sight of a silky white fabric and dark brown hair before whoever it was disappears from view. Stange, he’d thought all of the other guests were outside. Setting his glass down on the table he climbs up the stairs, curiosity getting the better of him. 

Having reached the landing he searches for any sign of where the person might have gone, walking a little further down the hallway on the left before seeing the big French windows leading out to the balcony flung open, the cool night air drifting in.

Cautiously, he approaches, his body going on high alert when he notices who it is that’s standing out on the balcony, hands loosely clutching the metal rails and face turned up towards the starlit sky. Her chestnut hair is tied in an intricate braid hanging down her back and she’s wearing a slim fitting black top and flowy white pants which sway gently around her legs and she looks even more gorgeous than she had in their High School days. He takes a moment to catch his breath before slowly trudging forwards to join her.

She turns when she hears footsteps approaching, a slight frown marring her expression before she recognises him and it clears. Her gaze is as disarming as it used to be.

"Shit, man, don't just sneak up on people like that," a corner of her lip quirks.

He holds up his hands in mock surrender, "Oops, sorry."

“I didn’t know you were coming.” He catches the questioning lilt in her statement.

“It was a last minute kind of thing, I wasn’t sure if I’d be coming either, until yesterday.”

She nods and he positions himself next to her but at a safe distance, one hand coming to rest carelessly on the balcony rail next to hers.

He watches her let out a soft whoosh of breath, looking down at the garden where people were now dancing to the music that had started playing on the expensive speaker set under the bright fairy lights. There’s laughter and cigarette smoke wafting upwards, but from their little spot up above, everything seemed to be much farther away than it really was. 

Eventually, he breaks the silence. “So, Taryn and Locke, huh?”

“Yep.” She replies. The look on her face is one he can’t quite decipher.

He clears his throat and speaks in a tight voice. “Are you...upset by that? I know you and Locke used to be close.” 

He recalls the rumour that used to fly around during their senior year, people whispering about Jude and Locke having a thing. He also remembers the sharp pain that he’d felt when he’d heard that Locke had asked Jude to be his date to their Senior prom and that she’d accepted. Cardan vaguely remembers asking Nicasia to be his date to that very same prom, but the only thing that comes to mind when he thinks about that night is the haze of jealousy that had clouded his mind when he’d seen Locke twirling a grinning Jude around the dance floor.

“Me and Locke? God no. He was just a friend. Although, I think even that was only because he kept showing up and trying to talk to me in Senior Year for no apparent reason.” 

Cardan feels a surprisingly strong sense of relief wash over him at the fact that Jude was never interested in Locke that way, before his eyebrows knit together a moment later. He’d drunkenly confessed his ginormous crush on Jude to Locke at the start of their senior year, and immediately regretted it the next day. It wouldn’t surprise him if Locke had been cozying up to Jude simply to get on his nerves. It definitely seemed like something the manipulative scoundrel would do.

Not that it mattered anymore. Years had passed and he’d probably lost his chance. If he’d ever had the chance in the first place.

“I heard you’ve been off at uni all this time. Insmire, huh?” Her words are light but he’s slightly astonished that she’d been keeping track of where he’d been for the past few years. 

“Yeah, it was the break I needed.”

“What are you studying?”

“My dad wanted me to do Business for when I inherit his company, but I’m also doing a course on Classical and Ancient Languages, purely because I wanted to.”

“That’s great, Cardan.” Her sincerity is clear. “I remember how controlling your dad was. It’s great that you’re finally getting to be your own person.”

He’s sure that his astonishment at her words is blatantly obvious because a barely detectable flush travels up her neck and she averts her gaze. Not only had Jude Duarte been keeping track of where he’d been, she’d also noticed his strained relationship with his father all those years ago. A thrill rises up inside of him.

“Thank you.” He pauses. “So what have you been up to these days?” he asks, like he hasn’t been checking her social media pages at least once every few months, unwittingly grinning whenever he came across one of her rare posts with her and her few friends hanging out together outside of her own University in Nightfell. 

“Oh, same as you actually, getting a taste of independence at Uni. Doing a course on Criminal Justice.”

“That sounds amazing. Tell me all about it.”

And she does, her eyes lighting up as she talks about a subject that she enjoys studying and half of his attention is taken up by what she’s saying and the other half is just focused on her, on the way the moon illuminates one half of her and how the breeze is playing with a few loose strands of her hair and the way her mouth is moving whilst she speaks. They chat for what feels like ages before the conversation eventually flows to a comfortable halt and they hear the clanging of plates and glasses below as the other guests start on dinner, and he knows they’ll have to leave this place of idyll at some point.

He hates that. That they’re on borrowed time and that they were separated by too many years and very separate lives for their situation to be anything different now. And yet, he needs to tell her, to let her know, even if it can’t change anything.

“You know, back in High School I used to daydream about this. You and I, just talking.” He knows that the tips of his ears are probably flaming red, just like the rest of his head, but he forces himself not to look down and to keep meeting her stare. Her eyes widen when she registers what he’d said.

“I-What?” Her shock is apparent.

He breaks eye contact with her, withdrawing his hand from the spot next to hers on the rail, the disappointment coursing through him undeniable. He’d known that she’d never noticed him, but it still hurt to see the bafflement in her reaction.  

“I had a crush on you for ages, pathetic pining and all, and the worst part is you didn’t even notice.”

She flounders, mouth slightly agape, for once not having a response and the smile that curls his lips is one without mirth.

“Well, it’s been nice talking to you Jude,” he grits out, swiftly turning in an attempt to flee with what was left of his dignity.

He’d made it to the top of the staircase before hearing her voice calling after him. 

“Cardan! Cardan wait, goddammit.”

Reluctantly, he stops, bracing himself for the awkwardness of the next few minutes. She’d look at him with pity, explain to him that she wasn’t interested, or maybe that she had someone else. That last thought lances through him like a punch to the gut. During his self-indulgent social media searches he had never seen any posts that indicated that there was someone special in her life, but that didn’t necessarily mean that there wasn’t anyone. After all, Jude Duarte was a special type of woman, the type of woman that you fought for.

Too bad that he’d figured that out too late.

The sound of her boots clacking on the floor gets closer and closer and he turns around just in time for her to throw her arms around his neck and drag his head down to connect their lips, their noses bumping together in the process. Time stops, and his every High School fantasy comes true when he feels her tangle her tongue with his and it’s a little sloppy at first, especially since she had caught him off guard, but they find their rhythm and flames lick through his entire being. Frantically, he grabs a hold of her waist and pushes her until she’s against the wall, her fingers coming up to tangle in his locks as he strokes her sides.

She pulls away to breathe and they’re both panting harshly as if they had run a marathon. 

“I had a crush on you too. I hated it and I tried to fight it because you used to pick on me in middle school.” 

Had he? It was so long ago that he really couldn’t remember, but he also knew that he was precisely the type of person who’d want to hurt the girl that got under his skin.

“Really?” He grins ruefully.

“Yes, really.” She reaches up and playfully smacks the back of his head before carding her fingers through his hair in the same spot to soothe it.

‘Well, my middle school self humbly begs for your forgiveness.” He leans forward and presses their foreheads together, locking his gaze with hers.

“Apology accepted.”

And then they’re kissing once more. He may not have been prepared for a moment like this, but he was sure as hell going to hold on to it and never let go.

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Some soft boi Cardan for you lovely peeps. I hope you see this and that you enjoy, Anon. Thanks for the ask!

Tagging: @cupcakesandkittens , @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln, @thewickedkings , @kittkatandbooboo , @min-unicorn, @fangirlprincess09, @thefolkofthefic

Let me know if you’d like to be added to or taken off of the tag list🌻

[effymaybe]

Once you get a taste

Pairing: Jennie x Rosé

Prompt: Rosé whispers a secret Jennie finds herself quite interested in. Under the weight of soft music, dim lights, and a few glasses of soju, the groupmates get to know each other better.

Warnings: Slight mature content

(cr: pinterest)

“…And the guy asked me to jump. In the middle of the photoshoot. In eight-inch heels. Wearing jewelry four men with surgical gloves had just put around my neck as it was, I don’t know, made of crystal or something. I swear I don’t know who looked at the photographer with the most ‘fuck no’ expression: me or them”.

Jennie chuckles vividly, titling her head back in a sharp motion.

Slightly tipsy Rosé is always a wonder.

They are celebrating their first free day after long months of work in the dorm, just the two of them. Lisa had taken advantage of the relieving weekend to see her parents and Jisoo had done exactly the same, eager to spend time with her nephew to teach him invaluable lessons, she had claimed. Jennie had wondered faintly whether she was talking about true values or some secret curse words, and she had quickly decided that her friend intended to do both.

The big house seemed somehow empty without the loudest members, but Rosé’s casual singing and their short conversations, the ones that have flowed between them swiftly since the moment they met, were enough for the upbeat atmosphere of the place to remain strong.

Their recent success was of course of great help. The boost they received both from fans and critics gave the group a warm shower of confidence that made their smiles grow larger still every now and then. They worked hard, and their efforts did not get wasted.

That is the reason, mainly, why Jennie and Rosé are currently sitting on a soft mattress on the floor, soju glasses filling and emptying on the sturdy coffee table just in front of them, both girls laughing openly at shared stories that make their chests spurt affection.

“So, did you jump?” Jennie asks then, happy tears prickling at the corner of her sharp eyes, leaning forward intentionally and letting her shoulder bump against her groupmate’s.

“Fuck no, I- don’t laugh! It was difficult!”

Jennie breaks out laughing again, squeezing the glass she’s holding on her left hand and using the other to grasp Rosé’s arm as if to anchor herself. The silver-haired girl follows suit, sharing the shortest girl’s pure excitement, somewhat glad to be the source of such demonstration of contentment.

“God. I would’ve loved to be there. Remind me to go with you to your next photoshoot”.

Rosé keeps smiling, now her expressive eyes growing softer.

“I will”.

There is a moment of comfortable silence filled by the deep beat of a slow, electric song. The girls have decided to give in their indie cravings just half an hour ago, and now the chosen playlist is serving as an enjoyable background for their encounter.

“I like that”, Rosé comments softly, turning her head up to stare at the thousand colorful dots tracing patterns on the ceiling.

“A fan gift. One of my favorites. I use it when I can’t sleep”.

The silver-haired girl admires the light for a while longer, feeling a fuzzy sensation crawling up in her stomach.

She feels so, so fitting.

She turns around to talk to her friend, and she is kind of surprised to find the brunette her staring mutely into her eyes. Jennie’s cat-like stare burns somehow, caressing her features tenderly.

Something flashes in her coffee gaze, a bright emotion that catches Rosé out of guard, like a soft pang making her heartbeat pick up.

Just as it comes, it leaves quickly, and Jennie smiles lazily again.

“You have your own galaxy”, Rosé jokes weakly, then, rushing to drown the soju that still waits in her cup.

The shortest girl lets her hand run through her own silky dark locks still grinning, almost as if for herself, and reaching forward to catch the definitely too expensive bottle in front of her, she turns towards her friend almost as if on the verge of revealing a secret.

“It’s ours, now. Isn’t it, Rosie?”

Rosé might have as well chocked on her spit only by hearing Jennie’s low voice, but now, with alcohol dancing daringly through her veins, she merely blushes slightly before giggling in sudden joy.

“True”. The blonde watches Jennie’s delicate hands refilling both their glasses with a delicacy she firmly believes can only be inherited, and then lets her ears catch on the soft tune vibrating from the speakers. “How are you, by the way? I’m surprised you didn’t want to say home tonight”.

With home Rosé means home home, as in her mother’s home, and Jennie seems to understand perfectly.

“It seemed just right to stay here. I prefer it, sometimes. It’s familiar, too”.

The silver-haired hums in agreement, letting bold liquid run hot through her throat. “Me too. I love my parents, but this also feels right. After all we went through… well…” she looks down at her glass and then lets her coffee gaze meet Jennie’s intense stare. “I don’t know. I like spending time with you”.

“Almost like sisters…” Jennie comments, but her voice comes out a bit too breathy to appear certain. It’s more like a question, exploring, like her hand inching closer Rose’s thigh.

The tallest girl licks her lips unintentionally, her body sinking deeper against the feet of the couch.

“Yes, but… Not quite, really”, there is a tense pause, and Rosé can almost hear the faint beat growing deeper, “right”?

Jennie hums in a sound that comes closer to a purr and finally lets her fingertips press against Rose´s exposed skin.

The tallest girl suppresses a surprising shiver as she wonders whether she should have worn a longer dress.

Or a shorter one.

“Not quite”, the brunette agrees, still staring at her friend with a sparkling stare.

Rosé swallows, feeling a hot flush heating up her neck, and rushes to drink a bit more of the transparent beverage already making her limbs feel lighter.

There is no way, Rosé. Come on. This is fucking Jennie, dam it.

There is another pause. The dim lights change slowly, creating another pattern that becomes bluish. Jennie inhales deeply, feeling pleasantly warm, the fabric of her simple white shirt sticking against her collarbones, and she takes another sip before analyzing her friend’s features again.

Gorgeous, she thinks, and lets her fingers caress a bit more of the tender skin of her thigh.

“Do you miss Australia, Rosie?”

The silver-haired girl tilts her head as if pulled away from her own thoughts. She looks at Jennie with pensive eyes and a cute pout drawing on her reddened lips.

“A bit… some things”, she whispers.

Jennie catches the sound of one of her favorite songs. Rose’s scent flowery grows somehow stronger, dazzling.

“Like what?” the brunette asks.

Rosé squirms almost imperceptibly. A thought, an unwanted one crosses her mind immediately. She scrunches her nose in an attempt to put it away, to find a reasonable answer to Jennie’s enquiries, but the soju has already started to occupy her mind with a pleasant yet undefeatable mist.

“Oh... Uh- the climate”, she blurts out, putting a strand of hair behind her ear in a nervous gesture.

The shortest girl licks her lips as her sharp gaze turns predatory. She tries to soften the immediate smirk that reaches her mouth, observing as Rosé twitches in her place with terribly concealed nervousness.

“Oh, come on. You must miss something else. A country with such different culture… I’m sure there’s a call burning inside you. Tell me”, she speaks softly, trying to keep her tone light, “I can keep a secret”.

The silver-haired girl lets her wide gaze fall on her friend’s calm expression, trying to ignore the sneaky fingers caressing up her upper thigh.

There is something that she has been missing, definitely. Something she was never courageous enough to bring up. Something that she has buried deep in the back of her mind to keep it there until her career is secure enough.

But Jennie’s cat eyes are still tracing her features in affectionate patience, and her nails are now scratching circles in her waist. She feels light, slightly dizzy, with alcohol warming up her cheeks comfortably. The night is stiffy and the bright shapes on the ceiling are so beautiful that she feels as if secluded, safe in the refugee they created whilst breaking in giggles.

She considers that she can trust Jennie. There is very little she has heard the brunette judging other people for.

“I”, she starts with a cough, “There is something. Back in Australia, when I was still a teenager I had this… friend. Female friend”.

Jennie hums as pure amusement begins to dance in her stare.

“We would… you know. Just… explore… each other”.

“Oh”, the brunette murmurs, and Rosé turns to face her eyes in a mixture of embarrassment and fear. The fingertips caressing her waist move to her left hipbone. It feels nice.

Jennie’s expression, rather than showing disgust, drips interest as she tilts her head softly. When her light-brown hair falls onto her shoulder, the pale expanse of her neck is displayed like a prize. The tallest girl needs to remind herself that she doesn’t do it in purpose.

“Yeah. It was… fun”

The brunette snorts lightly. Rosé sips onto her glass once again.

“I bet it was, darling. I thought you were a church girl, though”.

Rosé, suddenly animated both by her friend’s heady voice and the liquid burning through her veins breaks in a slow smirk.

Jennie licks her lips again, gazing into enticing red.

“Yeah… where do you think I met her?”

Jennie gasps slightly before letting out a surprised chuckle. It sounds deep and satisfied, and it mixes perfectly with the slow beat playing in the room.

“My, my, Rosie. Aren’t you… risky?”

Rosé shrugs, smiling in sudden pride. She feels Jennie’s hand twitching against her hips, so she decides to caress the length of her arm in return.

“I don’t know. It was quite natural. Then I got here and… well. It’s not like I could continue”.

There is a moment of silence that, although not uncomfortable, is suddenly charged with a shift in the air. It gets hotter. The lights turn red and purple. Rosé’s heartbeat starts to gain speed against her chest, as now unrepressed memories of  playtime hours with her childhood friend swirl in her hazy mind.

“So you’ve never made out with any of the other trainees back when we were living all together?”

Rosé stares at Jennie almost as if confused. Her blunt nails trace the path marked by the brunette’s veins. She feels the way her touch raises goosebumps.

“Huh, no… did… you?”

Jennie’s eyes burn into Rose’s coffee stare.

“No. As a matter of fact…” she is showing off that damn smirk and the tallest girl can barely hold it together, “I’ve never kissed a girl. I’m curious”.

Rosé makes an effort not to squeeze her thighs together. She sees how Jennie’s pupils grow darker, wider, more cat-like than ever. She is enjoying herself openly; everything from her bold body language and the way her fingers run through her friend’s inner thighs makes wild desire bloom in the silver-haired girl’s stomach.

In any other situation, Rosé would be blushing madly, making her way out of the room hastily.

At that moment, with the heavy atmosphere attaching hypnotically against her skin, she decides that she might as well give Jennie what she seems to be asking for.

“Oh, it’s wonderful”, she plays, smothering her voice in a very appetizing tone, “soft and sexy. Very feminine”, she lets the warm pads of her touch run up her friend’s arms, sliding across her pointy shoulders.

“Rosie…” Jennie answers breathily, shinning with her pulse running high, “Shouldn’t you share with your unnie some of your vast knowledge? Seems only fair…”

She inches closer to her friend, her face tilted captivatingly, already letting her gaze fix on the tallest girl’s lips.

“Unnie, of course”, Rosé answers, and lets her worries drown in the alcohol blazing her blood, “Anything you’d like”.

And just like that, Jennie leans forwards to catch Rosé’s open mouth in a deep kiss.

It is immediately heated. The tallest girl’s warm, ragged breath invades the brunette’s space like a spell. A firm hand grasping her neck keeps her in place, and a slim arm wraps around her waist urgently.

In response, Jennie feels her own pulse palpitating against her eardrums. She lets her hand caress her friend’s collarbones before sliding them into her rich silver hair when the tallest girl angles her jaw differently.

The lights grow darker in a blissful moment and the brunette finds herself being guided by Rosés insistent indents. Her thighs come to trap Rose’s as she seeks comfort on the tallest girl’s lap. When the silver-haired girl sucks lightly on her lower lip, Jennie grinds down instinctively, a mewl-like sound bursting from her throat.

They both know that they should be thinking about their current situation further. It’s a thought shadowing the very, very back of their hazy minds, but it’s difficult to give it presence when the warmth of their bodies grows steadily in a boost of pure want.

Jennie has to gasp when Rosés plump lips descend lower, grazing her cheek, her chin, her jaw. Her fingers tangle in soft blonde hair as she tilts her head up to grant her more access, asking her silently to comply with the deep desire that has just born low in her stomach.

Rosé does not need to be told twice. She runs her mouth down her friend’s throat, delighting in her expensive scent, running blunt nails through luscious thighs.

“Oh”, Jennie murmurs, and it’s enough for the blonde’s foggy mind to find some clearance.

She pulls away almost as if terrified, her movements put into a halt. She feels the tickles of panic and slight shame heating up her cheeks.

In exchange, the brunette opens her eyes lazily, revealing a stern expression behind her sharp eyes, her mouth curling downwards in visible annoyance.

Rosé is about to beg for forgiveness, but Jennie speaks first.

“What’s going on?” she asks, her hand pressing against the tallest girl’s nape, “Thought you were going to be my teacher”, she adds then, her voice searching for a lower, much more suggestive tone.

It takes the blonde two seconds to catch on with the reality that Jennie wants this, too. Very much so, given by the way her hips grind down again, almost as if on their own accord.

Rosé smiles, then, slow, and dangerous, feeling the last shreds of the self-control she was so desperately holding into getting looser in her chest. Her hands inch forwards, nails slipping under the hem of the brunette’s shorts. She looks up at her with an analyzing stare, delighting on Jennie’s compliant expression.

“Well, of course”, she answers, her words coming breathier as her wide eyes reflect a playful darkness, “but I must warn you, this might be a long lesson, unnie”.

Jennie finds herself chuckling lowly, closing her eyes as Rosé’s teeth run just sharp enough against her shoulder.

“Of course”, she lets out, and forces herself to choke a whining sound when the blonde tongues her stuttering pulse point, “I’ll be a good student”.

Rosé just smiles widely before pulling the shortest girl down for another toe-curling kiss.

Jennie turns out to be quite a brilliant student, indeed.

[mollymauk-teafleak]

that thunder in your lungs

A valentines day present for @spiky-lesbian, love you so much, glad you like this! From our Jupeter dads au but a little bit in the future 

Also on Ao3 where you can find the other fics featuring their daughter

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Nureyev rarely felt so free as he did on a job.

It was almost giddying, wearing someone else’s face and someone else’s name, knowing that in a few hours he wouldn’t exist and could do anything he liked until then completely free of consequences. The waiting between jobs, the planning, that was the hard part, where he could only be himself- something that had never been an entirely safe haven. When he worked, he was unstoppable.

Or he had been. This time was proving to be very, very different.

Nureyev was dressed to the nines, armoured in makeup and jewels that weren’t his own, wearing a pretty, airy, glittery name and a life to match. His brightly painted nails were filed to points and his fingers had that greedy, confident itch to them, the security in knowing they would soon be holding something that didn’t belong to them. He should be having fun.

But he wasn’t. He carried a knot of anxiety inside him, one that refused to shift even as the plans came together and clicked comfortably into place.

Because across the almost sickeningly fancy party, a stunningly beautiful young woman moved through the crowd, looking devastating in her sharp tuxedo, hair pulled back into twin clouds of curls behind both of her heavily pierced ears. She was turning heads left, right and centre, pulling people’s gazes into her orbit as she sipped champagne and breezed through circles of young socialites like some glittering comet.

Which was not exactly great. Given that she had just as little right to be here as Nureyev did.

He stifled a sigh and made some excuse to the gaggle of people he’d been keeping at the edges of, leaving them to their idle and irritatingly wrong chatter about modern art. He made for the drinks table, meeting the young woman’s eyes and giving her a brief, stern look, giving her little choice but to head that way too.

Once there, he poured himself a tall flute of blue champagne and took a long pull until she appeared, leaning casually near him, enough that they could have an inconspicuous conversation under the lilting music.

“Having fun, daddy?” she hummed softly, eyes shining with innocence, “Your dress is very pretty.”

“I’d be having more fun if you were sticking a little closer to our directive, sweetling,” he muttered with what he thought was rather impressive patience, “...and thank you.”

Bianca tilted her head so the fine threads of gossamer thin gold that she’d weaved into her curls shone, “I don’t know what you mean, daddy. Seems like everything’s going well to me.”

He took a long, slow breath, “Darling, no one whose met you tonight is going to forget your face in a hurry. And seeing as we’re here to steal a necklace off the neck of the host, that isn’t a good thing. We need to be inconspicuous.”

“In that dress? Aw, daddy,” Bianca rolled her eyes in that infuriating way she’d inherited from her mother, like Nureyev had no idea what he was talking about, “I’m only having fun. This is my first proper run out, I’m just looking to enjoy myself. There’s so many pretty girls...”

“As long as it’s not at the expense of your safety, that’s fine,” Nureyev frowned, rolling his eyes and making a show of refilling his glass so the irritated note in his voice would be covered by the trickle of the drink.

“You’re so silly, daddy,” Bianca grinned playfully, “You told me all the time how much fun you had at places like this!”

Nureyev knew she was right and it only made his mouth set tighter, “Just...just be careful. We have to grab the jewels and be gone in another hour.”

“Of course I’ll be careful, daddy,” Bianca stood up straight, her gaze already roving over the crowds, her deep brown eyes lighting up with a mischief he knew all too well, “That’s what you taught me, right?”

And then she was off, she’d caught the eye of a young woman her age who was already smiling in welcoming anticipation. Nureyev was left to fume silently while letting none of it touch his face. He couldn’t decide which of the two of them she was being irritatingly similar to, himself or Juno, but it was raising his blood pressure to unsafe levels. Likely they were both partly to blame.

There was nothing for it then but to make his usual sweeping circles of the party- fortunately these private orbital stations had large, open rooms with few places to conceal nasty surprises- and be as twice as alert as he normally would be.

If you’re this bad now, how on earth are you ever going to let her go out on her own? A voice that sounded like his wife questioned in a voice that wasn’t unkind. Nureyev frowned and let his eyes pass lightly over her again, catching the moment as the latest girl who’d fallen into her orbit touched her hair and complimented it in a way that made his daughter grin dazzlingly.

He wasn’t a fool. He knew his daughter wouldn’t be content to stay with them on the Carte Blanche forever, only pulling jobs with one of her parents or her aunts watching like hawks from the opposite corner. She was too good for it and he was very aware of that, recognising the hunger in her eyes and the sparks of her brilliant mind. One thing Nureyev was certain of, he would nurture her talent and he would be ready to let her go.

It was just so hard.

Looking at her now, he couldn’t help but think of the very first job he’d ever taken her out on. She’d only been a few weeks old, small enough that he could hold her in one hand. Driven to desperation by only having one craft he was truly good at and now needing to feed two people rather than one, he’d strapped her to sling across his chest, made sure her face would always be covered by his own body and planned a very simple heist. It had only been breaking and entering to pilfer the jewellery box of some fabulously rich socialite without the sense to even post a proper guard, it was as easy to him as going to the supermarket would have been for someone else.

But still, Nureyev had been more terrified for that job than he had been to steal his very first apple from a street cart on a Brahman street at just five years old. He’d checked, double checked, triple checked every possible facet of the task and still it hadn’t felt like enough, his heart had been in his mouth every moment of the simple, smooth as silk job.

It had all fallen into sharp relief then, as Nureyev had agonised and fretted over things he’d been certain of how to do since before his twelfth birthday. He wasn’t just one man anymore, with only himself to look out for and worry about. There had been that second heartbeat, just a flicker against his own, stronger one, leaning towards his for support and comfort. There was his daughter.

Nureyev hadn’t run away from the change then and he wouldn't now. He’d gotten very good at accepting it but he didn’t have to like it.

So rather than giving his daughter another stern reminder to stay inconspicuous, he let her have her night. He got himself another glass of champagne and leaned against one wall to watch her sparkle, tasting pride with each sip of her drink. Melancholy too, but he could put that to one side for now, save it for a good, long cry in his wife’s arms when they got back to the ship. All part of being a father, he supposed.

Though time was soon ticking on, it always seemed to go so fast when wrapped in sparkling lights and fine drinks and dancing. Nureyev knew the telling off they’d get if they went back to the Carte Blanche without this necklace, seeing as it had the map to the family’s personal safe engraved in it’s stones. They couldn’t exactly drain the thing if they didn’t know where it was.

Bianca had been dancing with a succession of beautiful young ladies and as soon as she whirled out of the arms of the latest, Nureyev gave her another steady look and inclined his head. She pulled a bit of a face but was back in their same position at the drinks table before too long.

“Do we have to go already?” she murmured in a regretful tone, swirling her glass to watch the glitter dance inside the liquid.

“Go?” Nureyev gave her an uncomprehending look, “We haven’t even done what we came here to do! Would you like to go back to your Auntie Buddy empty handed and tell her you spent the whole party socialising, sweetling?”

His daughter gave him another smug smile and this time he knew it was all his traitorous genes at work, “Oh sorry, I tried to be obvious. Check your pockets, daddy.”

Nureyev did, as subtle as he could be, sinking his hand into the pockets of his sleek figure hugging dress and finding cold, square cut stones. He didn’t need to bring them out to know it was exactly the necklace they were here to acquire.

“I...how…” he could only stand and blink, not really caring how idiotic he looked.

Bianca grinned, clearly delighted with herself, “Careful, daddy, you’re being rather conspicuous.”

He quickly rearranged his face into indifference, though his daughter clearly knew him well enough to read the mix of shock, awe and incredulousness in his posture and keep grinning into her drink.

“Well. In that case, yes, we really do need to make a sharp exit. Any goodbyes you’d like to make before we do that?”

“Oh, I got all their numbers, don’t worry. Shuttle in five minutes?”

She didn’t wait for his reply, sauntering off into the crowd.

The trip back to the ship was a quick one, the Carte Blanche hovered behind one of Jupiter’s moons just a little ways away from the private station, happily cloaked in one of Rita’s shields. Bianca sat in the passenger seat, looking a little shamefaced now she was out of the music and the glitter, like she expected a telling off.

Instead, Nureyev waited until they’d passed out of any possible signal range the station might have and turned to her, reaching over and tucking a curl of hair behind her ear.

“You did very well tonight, darling,” he smiled, “I’m proud of you.”

“Yeah?” Bianca’s whole face illuminated, her smile returning.

“Of course. You did magnificently. And…” he cleared his throat and swallowed, “If I seemed a little...hard on you, I apologise. I suppose it’s hard for me not to worry about you. Please don’t take it as me thinking less of your skills, I just…”

“I get it, daddy,” Bianca’s voice softened and she leaned into his hand, “It’s okay.”

“Yes,” Nureyev smiled tiredly and nodded gratefully, “And whenever you choose to go out on your own, you will be amazing. I know you will.”

Bianca’s cheeks darkened and she smiled coyly, “I mean...I’m not in any rush, right? There’s still a lot I need to learn. Mama still says my aim needs work sometimes and Auntie Rita’s only just started showing me how to take down firewalls and Auntie Vespa said she’d teach me how to set a bone…”

“Of course,” Nureyev couldn’t help but feel a wash of relief as he leaned over and kissed her forehead, “Of course, my darling.”

But the day would come. And Nureyev would be ready, as ready as he had been to turn his life upside down and inside out for the tiny baby she used to be.

He could never stop worrying about his Bianca. But he would never stop being proud of her either.

[thebmatt]

FFXIV Write 2021 prompt #21: Feckless

Feckless – lacking initiative or strength of character; irresponsible.

Since confessing to her how she had felt about her daughter all those years, ago, F’lhaminn had insisted that Fearless have a meal with her at least one time a week, unless she had world-saving that she couldn’t get away from. Aside from their exile to Ishgard, where F’lhaminn herself had to flee to Radz-at-Han, the pair hadn’t missed one yet.

F’lhaminn often told stories of Minfilia growing up or of her own exploits as a younger woman. Fearless passed on stories of the sights she saw in the far east or crazy tales of living with two girlfriends. F’lhaminn loved those, happy to laugh at the trio’s exploits or give advice when they encountered problems.

Today the pair were sharing a meal over the cafe’s Doman specialities. Fearless had been curious to see just how good Raulf had gotten with his wife’s traditional dishes, mostly to see how well Makoto would enjoy herself if Fearless would ever be able to bring her here.

Her first taste of the ramen had convinced her that he had gotten really good.

She was just about the comment on it to F’lhaminn when a Lalafell approached their table. “Feckless Willow?”

The two women shared a look, then Fearless turned to angrily address him. “It’s Fearless. Now what do you want?”

“Oh, Twelve, I’m so sorry! The writing on this envelope is atrocious, I honestly could not tell what the name said! I meant no offense, I swear!”

Fearless sighed. “It’s fine. You have something for me?”

“Yes, ma’am. Please sign here.” He handed her a clipboard. Fearless looked it over, but she only grasped a few phrases such as “signee agrees that parcel was delivered intact” and the like before she wrote her name on the line indicated.

She handed it back to him. “Excellent, ma’am, thank you very much. And here you are!”

He passed a thick envelope to her. She frowned. “Why have someone deliver this to me? Don’t most people rely on the Moogle Post?”

The Lalafell smiled proudly. “Afraid the Moogle Post hasn’t quite caught on in Aerslant, ma’am. People over there still trust Mariner Couriers to handle their mail and deliveries! After all, moogles are known to get distracted occasionally, not to mention become prey for any number of vicious predators! Wouldn’t you rather trust a professional?”

His beaming expression was met with expressions of distaste from the two women, but he either didn’t notice or didn’t care as he spun smartly on his heels and walked off.

Fearless turned to look at the envelope, inwardly sighing. Aerslant doubtless meant her parents. She’d thought that chapter of her life was over when Rheika had stopped their final attempt to bring her home against her will. What the hells did they want now?

“Are you going to see what it is?: F’lhaminn asked.

“I don’t know if I really want to. It’s probably from my parents” Fearless replied.

F’lhaminn looked at her with a mixture of concern and curiosity. “You…haven’t spoken of them. Not with me, at least. Unless I’m not recalling it?”

Fearless shook her head. “No, I prefer talking about good things with you. They…are very much not.” She tore open the envelope. Inside was a literal ream of parchment, all bearing very official looking printing, except the top sheet, which was handwritten in her father’s very blocky, no nonsense writing style.

To: Ms. Syhrwyda Ahldblaetwyn aka ‘Fearless Willow’ Re: Rights of Inheritance and Succession

This letter is to inform you that, per your wishes, as expressed via one Rheika Aliapoh, your status as legal inheritor of the Lost Mountain Shipping Company and of the personal fortunes of its owners, Master Ahldblaet Fyrilberksyn and Lady Usynwyda Holaszirnwyn has been rescinded.

Attached is a copy of the paperwork that has been filed with all relevant government bodies.

Signed, Ahldblaet Fyrilberksyn

Fearless reads it then wordlessly hands it off to F’lhaminn. She reads through it, then looks up to Fearless in horror. “What…what happened, Fearless?”

Fearless tells her the full story. How her parents showed her nothing in the way of love, unless she met their exacting, strict standards. How they’d removed her from school far too early and into an apprenticeship with her father. How when she’d failed to meet his even more exacting standards over his business within mere weeks of the new arrangement, he’d declared her useless. How her mother had forced her in etiquette c lasses following that debacle, intending only to marry her off so that the company could pass to a son they would trust to lead the company when they could no longer do so.

She’d kept her head down for most of it. When she finally was able to look up, she saw something she’d never witnessed before.

F’lhaminn was furious.

“That is….I just….Oh, my GODS what a horrible pair of fools! How…how does someone value a living person they created so little as to not care about them beyond what they can do for you? Useless? USELESS? Literally, look at what you have accomplished with the love and support of your friends! And….and they not only can’t be bothered to be proud of you, they don’t even believe it? I…I’m sorry, Fearless, but your parents are absolutely the worst. You don’t deserve what they’ve done to you, and they don’t deserve the brilliant, compassionate, and stalwart daughter they were given.”

Fearless smiles, eyes watered. “T-thank you, Lhaminn. That means a great deal, coming from you.”

The pair hugged. When Fearless did finally let go, she wiped a tear from her eye that had managed to escape. “You know, it’s rather funny, but my mom was quite the admirer of yours. You were popular even that far from Ul’dah, and her friends were all devotees of your songs, so of course she had to be. My father considered your music…frivolous, I think he said, but he couldn’t ever deny mother anything, so all of your orchestrion rolls eventually made their way into our home.”

*”Is that so?” Lhaminn’s face smiled into an evil grin

“And you’re certain of the identity of the sender, creature?”

“Absolutely, kupo! Any moogle worth his pom that’s worked in and around Ul’dah would know the Songstress by sight, and I have for a good number of years! It was definitely her that gave me this letter and bade me make the journey to you, kupo.”

Ahldblaet looked at the letter. A missive from this Songstress of Ul’dah his wife was always raving about. Well, used to, he supposed. She’d retired some time ago, and while she was still somewhat popular, other, newer performers had come to occupy most of the conversations of the social elite. Still, this should make her happy. “Thank you, moogle. Now begone before you shed on my floor or something.”

“How rude! Very well, a good day to you!” With a huff, the moogle activated a teleportation spell and then winked out of sight.

“Wife! We’ve a letter!” he called

His wife, Usynwyda, soon joined him in his office. “Who is it from?”

He simply handed her the sealed envelope. She gasped “The Songstress herself?? What….whatever could this be? Oh, perhaps she is touring again and has given us a personal invitation? Or maybe we are to be her guests at a formal dinner?”

He nodded. Certainly it would be something of that nature, they were quite important people after all. “Well, go on then. Open it and let us find out!”

She opened the envelope and began reading. Her gleeful expression soon turned to shock, then slid into horror as she made her way through the letter’s contents. She dropped the letter and fled the room, screeching in abject horror.

Perplexed, Ahldblaet picked up the letter and began reading.

To Ahldblaet Fyrilberksyn and Usynwyda Holaszirnwyn,

It has come to my attention that the pair of you are great admirers of my performances. I was thus inspired to pen you this missive to express my feelings on your contributions to the world.

Unfortunately, I am but a well trained vocalist, and have little knowledge on the worlds of business or cargo shipping, so I feel I am unqualified to speak on your successes there. However, there is a challenge that all of us have undertaken that I can speak on, that of parenthood. While I have given birth to no children of my own, I did adopt and raise an orphaned young woman to adulthood to become a brilliant woman determined to see the threats to our star defeated and it’s people saved.

You, on the other hand, have a daughter who has become equally brilliant and determined in spite of your parental failures.

I cannot even begin to comprehend how someone can look at a child that they created and brought into this world and see her as you have seen yours. I have heard the tales of your lack of warmth, of caring for this girl. How you derided her as worthless, useless, in the face of a single failure, regardless of its nature. How you wielded her like she was mere property for any chance it would increase your own profits.

Is it any wonder, then, that the moment she fled your presence, she blossomed? That she has become a hero to people not only across Eorzea, but the far eastern lands of Othard and Hingashi as well? I have heard, however, that you do not believe these claims. That she is a Warrior of Light, chosen by the Mothercrystal herself as a champion. That she has risen to this lofty title multiple times over, slaying summoned gods that would drain this star’s very life, driven Garlean forces out of Ala Mhigo and Doma and other former Imperial provinces, ended a thousand-year war between Ishgard and Dravania, and far more.

I do not comprehend how you can so utterly fail to see the truth of your daughter, but the fact is that I, and many others, are quite capable of doing so. You see, our daughters were became close before mine unfortunately passed, and during our shared grieving, I have come to regard her as my own as well. If you are so willing to discard the absolutely beautiful treasure that is Fearless Willow, then I shall be happy to care for her as best I can. Any mother worth the name would be proud of her for what she has become.

Retired though I am, I still have a number of friends in the publishing business, and I still talk with them often. During these conversations, I will more than likely end up speaking of Fearless. You know how mothers get, we can’t help but gush about our children’s successes and the hardships they’ve overcome. The Warriors of Light are always a newsworthy topic, and I imagine more than a few of them will run stories on her. Of course, they’ll all do their due diligence and dig up as much as they can in the name of getting all of the details right. They’re very thorough that way. Why, I’d expect articles about her in any number of periodicals soon.

Ones that I know for a fact have circulation on your own shores.

I’m curious how your social peers and business partners will react when they doubtless see your names in the story. Aren’t you?

I’d wish you the best of luck, but I would be lying.

Sincerely, F’lhaminn Qesh

PS. I wouldn’t bother saving this missive. I had an alchemist prepare the ink. Within a few minutes of it being opened, it will dissolve entirely. Don’t be holding it when that happens.

Even as he read the postscript, Ahldblaet saw the paper begin crumbling as the alchemical concoction did its work. He threw it to the stone floor, and within seconds, it had vanished as though it had never existed.

He hmphed. They could get in front of this. Who would believe the word of some woman from a far-off land over important people such as they? Perhaps his wife’s social standing might suffer, but eventually those parasites would come crawling back. Their trading partners were intelligent, savvy folk that were well trained in spotting truth from fiction, they’d see through such a ridiculous hatchet job. Honestly, he’d be surprised if anyone would believe this fiction about their runaway feckless former daughter.

Time to go reassure his wife.

[rapperkookz]

broadcasted | jhs | fluff, slight angst

summary: after a fight with your boyfriend, you suck up your pride and try to apologize to him, if only he would stop giving you the silent treatment.

genre: fluff, slight angst

word count: 2.6k ________________________________________________

Your POV

It took a lot to get your boyfriend angry. Understandably so, he was the embodiment of sunshine, an angel sent from heaven above. You know when he called your name, all looks of love and kindness in his eyes gone, did you fuck up badly.

In your defense, it wasn’t your fault. You both went to a university where money meant status, so when a friend of yours had the audacity to look down upon Hoseok because of his lack of wealth in comparison to the two of you, long story short: you went batshit ruthless. 

You could recall the situation vividly, the memory only two days ago and still a fresh wound causing a strain in your relationship with Hoseok.

~

“Why do you keep checking your phone? Hoseok hasn’t texted you back yet?”

You nodded, a pout playing on your lips as you rested your head on your palm, “He has a big exam for his philosophy class that he was worrying about, I wonder how it went.”

“I guess he has to study hard huh? Sucks to actually have to work just so he can survive after university.” Your friend quipped backhandedly. You furrowed your eyebrows, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m just saying y/n. We have trust funds and inheritance from our families, even if we fail all our classes, we’re already set for life. Hoseok has to actually study and work hard to keep his scholarship here and somehow get a good paying job after we graduate. I don’t know why you’re dating him of all people in his friend group.” 

“Why are you saying him like he’s less than us? I never thought I deserved better than Hoseok, Yoo Jeongyeon. Take it back right now.” You said offended. Jeongyeon only shrugged, “I mean, he is less than us y/n. He won’t amount to anything close to what we will end up doing in the future.”

“Hoseok may not come from our background, but at least his family isn’t full of cheaters and filthy tax evaders, you ignorant bitch.” You practically snarled at your so-called friend, “And who are you to talk to me about my relationship and who I date? You can’t even keep a boyfriend for more than a month, why huh? Cheating runs in your blood?”

At this point, the crowd of students around your table were giving the two of you looks, whispering no doubt about your argument. Family matters were a sensitive topic for everyone, especially those of you with a high-ranking lineage. Anything said can be used as an attack and can ruin reputation with a snap of a finger. Jeongyeon looked around embarrassed, unsure of what to say in response to your words. She scoffed after a few seconds, “You’re right. My family is full of cheaters, but in the end you probably will do the same once you realize that Hoseok isn’t good enough for you. Let’s be real, he’s only using you for your money-”

You couldn’t help yourself at this point, immediately reaching forward and taking a fistful of her hair, the girl yelping in surprise. You were beyond angry at this point, your blood boiling. You tugged harshly, “Take it back, you have no fucking right to-”

“y/n stop!” Your boyfriend said shocked as he and one of his friends, Namjoon, came into view, quickly separating the two of you. “Jeongyeon, are you okay?”

“Don’t fucking talk to her Hoseok, she’s a two-headed snake, that bitch-”

“I’ll fucking sue you, y/n!”

“Do it! Talk to my fucking lawyer. Can’t promise you’ll get what you want since your family’s dealing with your father’s sexual assault lawsuit, right?” You said with a mean smirk, unphased as Jeongyeon’s eyes started to water. Hoseok gripped your hand, “that’s enough, y/n.”

You were still fuming as Hoseok pulled you away from the scene, telling Namjoon that he would catch up with him later, as Hoseok led you to his car so that you two could talk without ears listening in. “Seok, why did you stop me? Jeongyeon was talking shit and badmouthing you right to my face-”

“That doesn’t give you the permission to pull her hair out, y/n.” He said staring at the dashboard, trying to collect his thoughts. You couldn’t believe his lack of anger, why wasn’t he as mad as you?

“She fucking said you didn’t deserve me and that you wouldn’t amount to anything close to us after graduation, the fucking audacity-”

“She’s right,” He said cutting you off, much to your surprise, “I don’t deserve you and I probably won’t succeed as much as you would, the fact that you’re angry about it means you’re embarrassed. How did you manage to date me for this long if you were ashamed of our different wealth classes?”

“What?” You said in disbelief, “Jung Hoseok do you even know what you’re saying right now? I’m not ashamed or embarrassed of you! Our different backgrounds don’t mean anything to me at all—what, why are you angry at me? It was Jeongyeon who fucking started it!”

“You didn’t have to roast the living shit out of her because she insulted me. I thought you would have been the bigger person and that you don’t bring family matters into arguments. I’m just disappointed that I had to see you act like that.” He said pinching the bridge of his nose. You called his name, shocked at the emotionless gaze he gave you, one you’ve never seen before. You scoffed, opening the passenger door, “I can’t believe you’re mad at me right now. I’ll see you later, I’ll ask my chauffeur to drive me home.”

~

And that’s how you ended up here. It’s been two days since you’ve seen each other besides passing the grounds at university, both of you quickly averting eyes after a glance at the latter. You didn’t regret what you did or said to Jeongyeon, considering you were only defending your boyfriend and your relationship. Still, you couldn’t help but at least feel guilty towards Hoseok, and towards his disappointment in you. He wasn’t a fighter, peace and fairness was in his nature, so to see you get physical like that, you suppose he had every right to feel the way he did.

You tried calling and apologizing to him hours after the altercation, but were met with missed calls and messages left on read. Not going to lie, you were hurt, but he did nothing wrong, it was all on you to self reflect and bridge your relationship.

“Have you tried buying him dinner? What about that steakhouse we love?” Jimin asked as you sat with him and Yoongi in the eldest’s studio. You scoffed and threw your Apple pencil at the boy. “I’m not going to buy his forgiveness with money, Park. He’s not materialistic like you.”

“Maybe not, but he has rich taste like the rest of us. I know your boyfriend like the back of my hand y/n, I am his roommate after all.” Jimin said. You rolled your eyes, Jimin was how you and Hoseok met in the first place. You and the boy met as children, your parents being business partners—and by now, in-laws since your elder brother and his sister were married last year in order to merge companies and raise stock prices.

“Don’t listen to him, y/n.” Yoongi chuckled lightly hitting the back of Jimin’s head. “Hoseok’s just been thinking, he’s not actually mad at you. It’s just a bit hard for him to comprehend since he’s never been in a situation like this before.”

“I told him, Yoongi. I don’t care about his status or how wealthy his family is, I just care about...him.” You sulked, feeling frustrated with yourself. Yoongi gave you a sympathetic smile, “Don’t take this the wrong way y/n, we all know you don’t think of Hoseok any different like the rest of us. But he gets insecure and inferior, you don’t get any shit because you’re the one with a higher economic status. Hoseok gets the short end of the stick in situations like this. Now c’mon, we’re airing in three minutes.”

Yoongi was the dj for the most popular podcast on campus. Students from all majors listened in because of his impeccable music taste, blunt personality, and charming voice. You and the other boys in their friend group guest-starred often, Yoongi only letting his close friends join in on his fun every Thursday afternoon.

“So he’s mentioned me at least?” You whined at the two, the boys chuckling and conspiring amongst themselves much to your oblivion. You were starting to go crazy, missing Hoseok so much and craving to at least hear his voice.

---

“Huh? Yoongi hyung’s airing already? Isn’t it a bit early?” Jungkook said turning up the volume of the speaker as he, Namjoon, Seokjin, Taehyung, and Hoseok lounged around Seokjin’s living room.

“Yeah, I guess so.” Taehyung nodded in curiousity, “Aren’t Jimin-ie and y/n guests today?”

Hoseok nodded, of course he missed you like crazy too, but it was endearing to him whenever he read your texts of apology and listening to the guys tell their encounters with you over the past two days, making cute excuses to try and get him to notice you. “Just talk to y/n already, dumbass.” Seokjin remarked from the side. “You’re not doing either of you any good by ignoring ‘em, y/n apologized already too.”

“I know, I just think y/n’s cute when they’re pouty.” Hoseok grinned fondly.

“Hm? Wait everyone shut up-”

“Jimin please, tell Seok-ie that I’m sorry and that I’m self reflecting! I feel like I’m suffocating and Hoseok’s my air, I can’t breathe without him! Why are you two laughing—oh my God the light is on, are we live right now?! Min Yoongi I’m going to fucking kill you-”

“Alright everybody welcome to your weekly dose of D2, I’m DJ Suga as you all know, and we have two special guests today, my dear friends Jimin and y/n-ow! Stop hitting me!”

“Oooh,” Jungkook snickered as the four boys started teasing Hoseok, an embarrassed blush on your boyfriend’s cheeks at your accidental live confession.

--

“And that’s it for today’s podcast, my favorite fuckers. We’re closing off today with Missing You by BtoB because y/n misses Hoseok. Make up already please, I think I embarrassed y/n enough for a lifetime-”

“I will never forget you did this to me,”

“See you next time on D2 everyone! Have a good night, don’t max out your bank accounts, and remember, I’m single.” Jimin said flirtatiously as Yoongi cut off the mics and started playing the song. God you feel like you aged ten years after this thirty minute podcast, you had no doubt that Hoseok heard your confession, you were pretty sure everyone heard your confession. There wasn’t a single student you knew of that didn’t listen in to Yoongi’s podcast every week.

“I did you a favor y/n, c’mon. There’s no way Hoseok would keep ignoring you after that.” Yoongi said lightheartedly. You grimaced at him, running your hands through your hair in stress. Swiftly, Jimin grabbed your phone and bag, “You’re coming with us to Seokjin hyung’s, in-law. No backing out because I have your stuff, time to face your boyfriend.”

You tried retaliating but were urged to follow them to Yoongi’s car anyway, your desire to see your boyfriend trumping your humiliation. The ride from Yoongi’s studio to Seokjin’s hotel flew by, your mind coming up with all kinds of scenarios and preparing for the worst as you walked towards Seokjin’s hotel room.

“Ah here’s our favorite DJ,” Seokjin said excitedly as the three of you entered. “Gotta say, this week’s podcast was one of your best ones Yoongi.”

You shot the eldest a look, glancing at the rest of the bodies that were dispersed in the living room. Immediately you met eyes with your boyfriend, body freezing as you stuttered and excused yourself to the bathroom.

“Go get ‘em tiger,” Jimin snickered as he patted Hoseok on the back, the boy grinning as he walked in the direction you went off. Seokjin crossed his arms, “Just don’t fuck in my bathroom, please—actually, if you do, just let me fucking know so I can get the cleaners to disinfect that place.”

“If I hear one thud from the bathroom, I’m blasting some cursed Wii music, I hope you know that hyung!” Jungkook yelled.

You splashed your face, hoping the cold water would bring down your body temperature and rid your flushed cheeks. You flinched as a knock sounded on the door, “y/n, can I come in?”

“I-uh yeah, it’s unlocked.” You said shyly as Hoseok entered the bathroom, closing the door behind him. You refused to meet his gaze, eyes downcast on the marble flooring as he put his hands in his pockets and leaned back against the door. You didn’t need to look at him to know he looked incredibly attractive right now. “I’m your air, huh baby?”

You cringed, bringing your hands up to cover your face. Hoseok let out a laugh, his voice sweet and melodic to your ears, your stomach doing somersaults at his mere presence. The boy gently took your hands, revealing your face to him, “I’m sorry for ignoring you baby,”

“Why are you saying sorry?” You muttered finally gathering the courage to look him in the eyes, “I was the one that disappointed you Seok,”

“I know you did all that to defend us, y/n. I don’t blame you for lashing out at Jeongyeon,” He said softly as he cupped one of your cheeks, instantly nuzzling into his warm palm. “Thank you baby,”

You pouted and wrapped your arms around his waist as he pulled you in for a hug. You felt a huge weight lift off your shoulders as he buried his face in your hair. God how you missed his scent. “I know I said it all in my texts Seok-ie, but I hope you do know that I’m so happy to be yours. I mean it when I say that I don’t give a fuck about your status and that I’m not at all ashamed to be dating you.”

“I know, y/n.” He said pressing a kiss to your crown, “I can’t help but get insecure sometimes because you really are too good for me-”

“shut up,” You denied tilting your head up to peck his lips. “I am not, if anything it’s the other way around. I can’t believe you really didn’t text me for two days, I was going crazy over here.”

“I was too,” He retorted rubbing your sides, “I was going to text you yesterday, but you were just so cute being all pouty, I wanted to drag it out a little longer.”

“Evil,” You scoffed lightly punching his chest. He only laughed and squeezed you tighter, “I love you y/n.”

“I love you too,” You mumbled relaxing in his embrace. “We should probably go back out there or else the guys will probably think we’re fucking in Seokjin’s bathroom.”

“I mean, Seokjin hyung gave us the okay, baby.” He smirked winking at you. You scoffed, rolling your eyes, though you couldn’t help the slight churn of heat that shot through your body, “I am not having sex in Seokjin’s hotel bathroom.”

“You’re no fun,” Hoseok said, this time his turn to pout. You lightly slapped his mouth, “Why do it here when we have a perfectly empty king-sized bed at my apartment?” 

He chuckled, snaking a hand down to squeeze your ass as you both exited the bathroom and rejoined the guys in the living room. The six looked at your interlocked hands and gave you claps of approval. “Can’t believe it took Yoongi hyung publicly outting y/n for you both to make up,”

“Yeah, can you breathe now, y/n?” Taehyung smirked at you as he agreed with Namjoon. You raised your fist to threaten Taehyung, cursing at him. The boys only laughed, Hoseok bringing your hands up to kiss the backside of your palm.

“You are so welcome, you fuckers.” ______________________________________________

a/n I got this idea after rewatching heirs and just mmmm i love hoseok goodnight.

7-11-20

[wheresmynaya]

Two Ghosts Ch. 27 | Brittana

I must’ve been in a Soft!Riz mood when writing this so enjoy that. 

 Also available on ff.net (x) ao3 (x) & below the cut! 

Everyone – mainly Quinn – said she wouldn’t last a day, but here she is a whole week later still going strong! Well technically, she’s starting to slowly lose her mind but with all things considered, she thinks lasting this long without spontaneously booking a flight to San Francisco is actually pretty good! She has done well by keeping her mind busy and revisiting some old hobbies.

Surprisingly, one of those hobbies involves the old piano she inherited from her Abuelo that’s been left untouched for months now. She kept it and the record player he left to her here at Maribel’s until she was ready to settle down somewhere permanent and move them properly but she hasn’t felt like settling down anywhere yet. It felt weird to do it alone, but things are changing now that she has found Brittany again.

It’s a surprise she even remembers how to play the thing, but there’s something about it that makes her feel a little closer to her Abuelo. Maybe it’s the holiday season and Brittany’s absence and the loneliness settling in, but Santana finds herself reminiscing a lot lately.

As a little girl, she use to sit on this very bench next to her Abuelo and watch him play. Always so captivated by him and the way his fingers danced along the keys so effortlessly, Santana would watch with a child-like curiosity and try to mimic his movements. He would smile proudly and encourage her to sing along, even when she didn’t know how to control her voice just yet.

They were quite the pair and sometimes Santana thinks that maybe she got her musical genes from him too. He cultivated her passion for music without even trying. When he introduced her to the glorious sounds of Fleetwood Mac, it was like an awakening. She loved her Abuelo dearly; he would always be first in line to congratulate her after a performance, a giant bouquet of flowers in hand and a proud smile on his face.  

Santana finds herself wishing her Abuela could look at her like that again before she shoves the thought away. She doesn’t want to think about her, about someone so quick to judge. Her Abuelo only met Brittany in passing once the night Santana performed Valerie, but Santana’s convinced he would’ve loved her if there was more time to get to know her.

He would’ve loved that Santana was loved by Brittany too.

It’s that thought that causes a tear to roll down her cheek. With everything that happened with her Abuela and her dad, Santana just wishes her Abuelo was still around. She just needs one other person from her family to be happy for her and what she has found in Brittany, because that’s what family is supposed to do. They’re supposed to love you and celebrate with you and when she marries Brittany one day, she doesn’t want Maribel to sit alone at the Lopez table.

If her Abuelo was still around, he would make sure Maribel wasn’t alone. Santana is certain of that.

She misses him and a part of her will always regret not visiting more before his health started to turn. She regrets not talking to him about her feelings for Brittany before –

Santana wipes away another tear and continues to play. She can almost hear his voice telling her how beautiful she sounds and that she should play for him more often.

She thinks now is the perfect time to do just that.

\\

It’s a couple hours later and Santana has maxed out on watching reality tv. She has now ventured into the Hallmark movie territory which is nothing but straight people doing holiday things and all the sappy, cheesy love stories that have been set to Christmas music play on all of Santana’s feelings.

Like if she wasn’t a little emotional before, she is now. But like, don’t tell anyone.

She just really misses Brittany, okay? They’ve done a pretty good job of keeping in touch through phone calls and texts and the occasional video chat, but Santana has been trying to limit how often they talk. She doesn’t want to intrude on the time Brittany is meant to be spending with her family, but it gets hard sometimes. Especially when she keeps subjecting herself to watching hetero couples fall in love over and over again.

Honestly, it’s so cringe-worthy but she can’t take her eyes off of the screen. Though, she’s certain of one thing: her and Brittany’s love story is so much better than the crap Hallmark churns out!

Santana’s already camped out on the couch with a cozy blanket and she’s having an entire carton of coffee ice cream for lunch while she watches re-runs of Chopped: The Holiday Edition. She’s really into it to be honest – it’s way better than A Christmas Prince – and even starts shouting at the tv when a chef forgets to include a basket ingredient.

“See? Didn’t I say?” Santana shakes her head after another spoonful of ice cream. She listens as Alex Guarnaschelli points out a contestant’s technical error then starts to nod along with her, “Exactly, Alex, I completely agree with you. Marcus is such a dumbass for that.”

Another ten minutes go by and it’s time for tasting. Santana eagerly awaits the judge’s criticism, it’s her favorite part of the whole show. Sometimes she thinks she could do this one day for a living – she wasn’t gifted with impeccable wit for nothing – but she’s sure she’d probably get fired pretty quickly for making a contestant cry.

Aarón Sánchez starts to complain about lack of spice and Santana shakes her head disappointedly, “You should’ve used the gingerbread in the stuffing like I told you. Maybe it would’ve helped out your bland ass dish! Pathetic. Where did you even go to culinary school?”

“Like you even cook,” Quinn smirks which causes Santana to nearly jump out of her blanket burrito.

“What the fuck, Q? How’d you get in here?” Santana gasps at the sight of Quinn dressed in her soft grey peacoat standing near the front door.

“The door was wide open?” Quinn quirked her brow as she untied her scarf, “I literally said ‘Hey Santana!’ did you really not hear me?”

Santana tried to backtrack but ended up shaking her head, “Does it look like I heard you? Jesus…can’t just roll up on a girl during a Chopped marathon. Have you no respect?”

“A what marathon?” Quinn glances at the tv then to Santana’s set up on the couch and frowns, “Uh…when’s the last time you’ve left the house?”

Santana ponders, “How long has it been since Britt’s left?”

“Oh my God...” Quinn laughs, “Seriously?”

Santana rolls her eyes, “No. I went out to get this ice cream.”

Quinn shakes her head as she rounds the couch to swipe the remote off the coffee table and turns off the tv.

“Excuse me, I was watching that!” Santana huffs, “I needz to know if Cecile makes it to the next round, she’s the underdog!”

“Get up, we’re going out.” Quinn says with no room for argument, but Santana tries anyway.

“I don’t feel like going out, hence the pjs and ice cream.”

“Right,” Quinn smirks, “And this is why Brittany wanted me to check up on you.”

Santana rounds on her, “She did not.”

“She totally did,” Quinn assures her, “So go get dressed, we’re going out. I know just what you need.”

Santana snorted, “I highly doubt that.”

Quinn rolled her eyes and ripped the blankets from Santana, “Move it, Lopez. I don’t have all day.”

Santana let out a heavy sigh and thrust her carton of ice cream into Quinn’s hands before stomping up the stairs to her room. Through the echo of the staircase, Santana yelled out, “You suck!”

“Drama Queen!” Quinn smirked then she stole a spoonful of ice cream.

\\

“I’m…oddly impressed,” Santana comments as she and Quinn sit on a bench in front of Old Navy with their lattes in hand. They had been people-watching for awhile now, alternating with what shops they wanted to observe.

It was Christmas Eve in Lima and people were stressed the fuck out.

It was great.

“Yeah, I thought you’d like this,” Quinn says before taking a sip, “You love watching people suffer.”

“In theory,” Santana grins. They had seen about three instances now where a fight nearly broke out over something ridiculous like a scarf or the last cable knit sweater that was on sale. Santana was loving every minute of it but she didn’t want the compliment to boost Quinn’s ego.

“Uh-oh, check that one out,” Quinn nods over to another argument breaking out.

“This is awesome,” Santana smirks, “I wouldn’t fight over anything Old Navy has to offer, but if it were like Gucci or Prada then I could understand. I’d cut a bitch for some Burberry.”

“Of course you would,” Quinn chuckles and they knock their coffee cups together in one swift motion. They sit there captivated by all the action for a moment longer before Quinn turns to Santana, “So how are you holding up while Britt’s away?”

Santana’s smile falters slightly before she shrugs, “It’s hard and it brings back some shitty memories of when we did long distance once, but I’m okay. We’re okay. We talk often so it’s fine.”

“That’s good. She’ll be back soon enough.”

“Yeah, it’s only temporary,” Santana agrees, “I don’t want to make it about me. I know she has missed being near her family so I’m just keeping busy.”

Quinn just nods and they go back to watching the drama unfold before them.

It totally beats sitting on the couch and watching it through a tv screen, that’s for sure! And although Brittany can’t be here for this, Quinn isn’t so bad to be around. In fact, it’s kind of nice to hang out with her. Maribel’s been so busy with work lately, Santana’s had to spend a lot of time alone and we’ve seen what happens when she’s left alone with her thoughts for too long.

\\

“Oh look who it is!” Quinn jabs her pointy elbow into Santana’s bicep.

“Ow! Watch where you shove that thing,” Santana grumbles and looks to the direction of where Quinn’s pointing. Her eyes widen at a familiar face and watch as the blonde makes his way over to the pretzel stand. Santana almost forgot how much of a small town Lima was and how it’s almost impossible to go out anywhere without running into someone you know.

“Is this weird? Do you want to leave?” Quinn asks when Santana doesn’t say anything more.

She shakes her head, “No, it’s okay. He’s Britt’s best friend.”

Just as she said that, another familiar face joins his side and her jaw drops.

“Is that,” Quinn gasps and she’s on her feet before she’s finished her sentence.

Santana scrambles after, also happily surprised by the other Glee Club alumni.

“Mercedes!” Quinn squeals and it makes her and Sam jump at the sound, but soon their faces fill with delight as they see who it is.

“Quinn! Hey girl!” Mercedes beams and pulls her into a tight hug, “Is that Satan with you too?”

Santana smirks, “Hey ‘Cedes.” And then she’s pulled into a bone-crushing hug along with Quinn. It’s nice, she secretly kind of likes hugs like these.

“Hey guys,” Sam chuckles as he holds a pretzel in each hand, “I’d get in on that group hug too but…pretzels.”

For some reason that makes Santana laugh and she’s reminded of a time before everything happened where she actually didn’t mind Sam too much. Afterall, they sort of dated once but it was purely to hide the fact that she was brokenhearted. He was a dork and a nerd but he was alright in her book for the most part. She also remembers the time he and Quinn dated and it makes her smirk, to think she was the reason they broke up in the first place. Yikes!

They’re all just funny memories now though.

“Hey Sam,” Santana greets as Mercedes finally pulls away.

“Sorry! Hi Sam,” Quinn waves too before looking to them both, “What are you guys doing here? Last minute shopping?”

“Yeah,” Mercedes’ rolls her eyes, “Someone didn’t get his own mother a gift yet so we’ve had to brave the crowds which is exactly how I want to spend my Christmas Eve.”

“Hey,” Sam frowned, “How am I supposed to figure out what to get a woman that deserves everything? It’s hard.”

“Trouty has a point,” Santana nods and thinks about her own gift for her mother. It’s not nearly enough for what she actually deserves but she hopes she’ll like it anyway.

“I’m just messing with you,” Mercedes teases and presses a kiss to his cheek which makes Santana and Quinn’s brows rise.

They didn’t know they were a thing still, it kind of makes Santana swell with pride. She always liked those two together and genuinely hoped that they’d work it out at some point. Mercedes was her Troubletones home girl and Santana remembered how she use to light up around him.

She’d never admit it aloud, but it was kind of cute or whatever.

“Is Brittany with you somewhere too?” Mercedes asks Santana while Quinn talks to Sam about some jewelry store sale that he might find luck in.

“No, she’s visiting her family in San Francisco for the holidays this year,” Santana tells her with a shrug.

Mercedes looks surprised, “And you didn’t go with? I’m shocked.”

Santana chuckles at that and wonders if Mercedes thinks she and Brittany have been together all this time. She can’t remember the last time she even spoke to Mercedes, maybe the last time she was back in Lima for Thanksgiving? She isn’t sure, maybe Sam told her something. Either way, she likes the fact that Mercedes still thinks they’re joined at the hip.

“Couldn’t leave my mom alone for Christmas,” Santana replies and quickly changes the subject, “How about you? Have you been living here this whole time or are you just visiting?”

Mercedes sends her a look of disbelief, “Girl no, I’m only here visiting my family and my man. L.A. is my home now. I’ve been trying to get Sam to move out there with me for awhile but it really is a different pace out there.”

“That’s awesome,” Santana says and she’s genuinely happy for her, “You know, Nationals are in L.A. this year. Might see you around!”

“Nationals? You take over the Glee Club?” Mercedes asks.

“No way, Mr. Schue is still all over that,” Santana laughs, “Britt, Quinn and I coach the Cheerios now. It’s a long story.”

“Ah, that’s right,” Mercedes nods, “Sam did mention something about it. I couldn’t make it to Sue’s funeral. How are you liking it? The coaching thing? Make anyone cry yet?”

“Maybe,” Santana smirks devilishly, “You know me.”

“Unfortunately I do,” Mercedes chuckles, “Well, when you guys make it to L.A. let me know! I’ll show you around or something.”

“Deal!” Santana grins before Quinn’s interjecting about scheduling a day to catch up before Mercedes heads home. Of all the people that Santana could possibly run into at the Lima Mall, she’s happy that it was Mercedes and Sam. Well, mostly Mercedes.

“So Trouty, hitting up a jewelry store for your mom?” Santana asks once Quinn and Mercedes get to talking about some church service they want to attend together. Sam looks a little surprised that Santana’s making small talk with him, but he just wipes away the pretzel salt with the back of his hand.

“Yeah, Quinn was telling me about it. I hadn’t even thought about jewelry,” Sam answers, “How about you? Got all your shopping done already?”

Santana nods, “My list of people I needed to shop for was pretty short. Just needed to get things for my mom, Q and Britt.”

“Awh, you got me a present?” Quinn teases and reaches around Mercedes to poke at Santana’s shoulder.

“Yeah so you better have gotten me one too,” Santana quips making Sam and Mercedes chuckle.

“Well, we better get going. Don’t want be here when all hell breaks loose,” Mercedes says and hooks her arm with Sam’s.

They all exchange hugs again and bid each other a Merry Christmas. Santana even hugs Sam in the end which she’s sure would make Brittany so proud if she was around to see it. She’s just chalking it up to the Christmas Spirit though.

“I can’t believe they’re still together!” Quinn gasps once they’re far enough from the couple, “I wonder if Britt has known this whole time and just didn’t tell us?”

“Look, probably…she’s sneaky like that,” Santana replies, a small smile creeping up at the mention of her name, “She’d probably say well you guys didn’t ask so…”

“Ugh, she so would!” Quinn groans playfully.

\\

They spend another hour or so people-watching before Quinn drops Santana home again and tells her she’ll be checking up on her in a few days.

“Yeah okay, whatever,” Santana brushes her off but then they both go in for a hug, “Merry Christmas, Q.”

“Merry Christmas, Santana,” Quinn says with a pat on her back before Santana heads inside.

She’s surprised to see Maribel home relatively early and calls out to her, “Hey Mami!”

“Hi mija!” Maribel greets and her voice is coming from the kitchen. Santana follows after it and finds a collection of various Chinese takeout boxes.

Santana is in awe, “Woah, did you order everything on the menu?”

“We have to keep our tradition alive, right?” Maribel laughs.

“Oh yeah!” Santana beams and they both dive in and pile their plates high before wandering into the living room to watch Love, Actually. It’s something that they usually do when Maribel visits Santana in New York, but she’s glad that the tradition has carried over to Lima too. It’s something that’s just for them and Santana sits contently through the movie with her mom at her side.

\\

Maribel had said goodnight awhile ago, but Santana decided to finish the movie in the living room while she awaited Brittany’s nightly phone call. She doesn’t realize she has fallen asleep on the couch until she feels something vibrating at her side. When she blinks her tired eyes open, she finds the fleece throw draped over her and the tv turned low. The Christmas tree lights cast a warm glow around the room and she feels so comfy cozy that Santana almost forgets why she woke up in the first place.

She reaches for her phone tucked under her hip and quickly swipes the screen before the call goes to voicemail.

“Hey Britt,” Santana chuckles with her voice a little raspy from just waking up.

“Hi Santana,” Brittany’s cheery voice greets down the line. There’s a soft gasp, “I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

Santana stretches and cranes her neck back to rest against the decorative pillow, “No, I was just resting my eyes.”

“Are you sure? I can call back in the morning?”

Santana smiles softly, “Talk to me. How was your day?”

“Well, my day…it was so much fun. I got to hang out with my cousins – who aren’t as mean as when we were younger – and we helped my grandma bake cookies for tomorrow,” Brittany tells her excitedly, “Did you see the pictures I sent?”

Santana smiles and remembers Brittany’s text she received while she was out with Quinn. It was a picture of a very colorful pair of gingerbread women that she was holding up proudly by either side of her head, a great big smile rounding out the adorableness.

“Yeah I saw it,” Santana tells her, “It was very cute. Sounds like you’re having a great time over there.”

“Yeah, but it’s not all that great since you’re not here too,” Brittany answers without missing a beat, “How about your day? Did…you have any visitors?”

“Ah so you did enlist Quinn to kidnap me,” Santana smirks.

“What? No. Wait, did she kidnap you because that’s not what I asked her to do?”

Santana laughs at that, “No she didn’t, but she did interrupt my Chopped marathon. I never did find out who won the dessert round…” She could hear Brittany snort as she continues, “But it wasn’t so bad hanging out with her. We actually ran into Sam and Mercedes at the mall.”

“No way! I thought Mercedes was only going to be in Lima for New Years?”

“Well I didn’t know she was going to be in Lima at all,” Santana jokes, “Have you known they’ve been dating this whole time?”

“I wouldn’t say whole time…they’re on and off. You know how tough long distance is, but they always end up back together.”

Santana ponders her words, “Huh, sounds familiar. Can’t believe you’ve been holding out on me all this time.”

Brittany chuckles, “Honestly I didn’t think you’d care, but I don’t want to talk about them. What are you doing right now?”

Santana notices a shift in Brittany’s tone – something mischievous – and it makes Santana sit up a little straighter, “Uhh…I’m just lying on the couch watching tv.”

“Right…” Brittany drawls out and suddenly Santana’s intrigued to see where this goes because she might have an idea, “Same couch we made out on on Thanksgiving?”

Santana’s suspicions are confirmed when she hears that, “We’ve made out many times on this couch, Britt, not just Thanksgiving.”

“Mmm, and we’ve done a lot more than make out there too.”

Santana feels a flush cover her cheeks at the memory but she presses further, “You should see what I’ve got on right now too.”

She thinks she can hear Brittany audibly gulp which is hilarious because in reality, she’s just dressed in leggings and Brittany’s sweater from Homecoming. It’s nothing too risqué, but who is she if she doesn’t play along and paint Britt a lovely picture?

Brittany’s voice is husky when she says, “Tell me.”

“I don’t know, Britt, Santa’s coming to town any minute now,” Santana teases, loving how easy it is for them to turn their conversations flirtatious, “Wouldn’t want to get a free show and risk missing out on my presents. I’ve been a very good girl this year.”

“Fuck a present, I can give you something better.”

Santana has to bite her lip to keep from snorting at the sound of Brittany cursing. It’s rare but when it happens, it’s the greatest thing ever because Britt kind of has a potty mouth during certain situations.

It’s kind of hot actually.

“Hmm…I’ll hold you to that, Britt-Britt,” Santana says just as the grandfather clock chimes from the other room, signaling midnight. At least, for Santana it is. Brittany still has a few more hours to go with the time difference.

“It’s officially Christmas!” Brittany cheers excitedly – the huskiness completely gone – and she’s so loud about it that it nearly deafens Santana. The lusty tone has been replaced with a child-like delight as a familiar ringtone replaces static.

When Santana looks down at her phone, she sees Brittany requesting a video call. She swipes at it and soon her screen is filled with a rosy-cheeked Brittany wearing an elf hat.

“Merry Christmas!” Brittany sings accompanied with this cute shoulder shimmy that would put Kurt Hummel to shame. She’s all kinds of adorable and Santana really can’t help but feel smitten.

“Merry Christmas!” Santana replies breathlessly and watches as Brittany’s eyes scan her up and down. She tilts her head at the way Brittany is not-so-subtly checking her out and asks, “Uhm, can I help you?”

“You’re wearing my sweater again,” Brittany points out through a smirk, “Not as risky as what I was imagining you wearing, but I’m not mad at it. You’re cute.”

“Do I even want to know what you were imagining?” Santana asks and watches Brittany wiggle her brows.

“Let’s just say it didn’t involve a sweater…or any clothing for that matter.”

“You’re a horny mess,” Santana giggles.

“Can you blame me?” Brittany jokes, “My girlfriend is hot and all I want for Christmas is to put my – ”

“Hey, don’t start something you can’t finish,” Santana cuts in and suddenly her eyes feel heavy again.

“You’re right. You look tired,” Brittany comments through a soft smile, “You should head up to bed.”

“I will, just wanted to talk to you for a bit more before I did. I’ve missed you today,” Santana says shyly as she picks at the fabric of the blanket across her lap, “Well, I’ve missed you everyday but a little more so today.”

“Awh, look at you,” Brittany coos and Santana’s cheeks instantly flush.

“I’ve been playing the piano again,” Santana tells her then suddenly she feels a kind of sadness, “It reminds me of things and makes me miss people.”

She knows she’s being really vague but she also knows Brittany gets it.

“Oh honey,” Brittany says tenderly and there’s this apologetic smile on her face, “I’ll be home before you know it, only one more week left now. Maybe you can play something for me?”

Santana melts at the sound of home and wonders if Brittany considers that to be Lima or her or both. It’s a silly thought because she thinks she knows the answer to that already. It’s just nice to hear her say it out loud and it makes Santana rethink who or where she considers home too.

“Maybe I will,” Santana beams but just as she was about to continue, a yawn escapes her.

“San, go to bed…” Brittany says and she’s giving her this cross between a smile and a pout so of course Santana has to listen.

She rubs at her eye and nods, “Yeah okay, I’m going. You think…we can stay on the phone tonight?”

There’s something familiar about the request and it seems like they both pick up on it because Brittany nods and soon she’s up too. A moment later and they’re both doing their nightly routine together.

It’s something they use to do when they were doing long distance just to make them feel a little closer together although it was never as good as the real thing. Back then, Santana hated that feeling but now she doesn’t mind it so much. She knows it’s only temporary and soon Brittany will be here in person trying to leave toothpaste-coated kisses on her cheek again.

A moment later, Santana is tucked away in bed with her phone propped up next to her. She watches Brittany through half-lidded eyes as she tells her more about the day she has had with her family. There’s this warmth or softness or something that surrounds Santana while she listens to Brittany gush over her cousin’s two year old daughter. Santana’s really biting her cheek, hoping nothing slips out like it did with Maribel but imagining Brittany with this toddler does something to Santana’s fluttery insides.

She’s blaming the lack of sleep for this one.

“You should’ve seen it, San. She was so cute! Sprinkles were going everywhere,” Brittany giggles, “Then I had to clean up after her which was a little less exciting, but I didn’t mind. It was her first time decorating cookies, it was bound to get messy.”

“Sounds like fun,” Santana replies. She’s shocked that she’s managed to say just that although her head fills with images of what their family would look like a little ways down the line. She imagines a little blonde with Santana’s complexion and Brittany’s smile toddling around their living room. She imagines coming home from work to that same little blonde head curled up at Brittany’s side as they nap on the couch. She imagines the first words and first steps and she realizes something: she can’t wait to have a family with Brittany.

She also realizes that she’s about to be caught in her daydreaming.

“What are you smiling about over there?” Brittany asks, her smile matching Santana’s

Santana feels like a deer caught in the headlights, but she manages recover before her truth comes tumbling out on her again. Letting her thoughts on marriage slip out is one thing, but talking about a family? Way too soon, Lopez!

“Just thinking about how cute you would’ve looked decorating cookies,” Santana says, “There’s this face you pull when you’re concentrating really hard…just adorable.”

Brittany rolls her eyes as she smiles bashfully, “I don’t know how anyone thinks you’re so big and bad when you’re actually the gushiest and mushiest person I know.”

“You take that back,” Santana narrows her eyes playfully. She ends softening a moment later, “You bring it out of me, I can’t help myself around you.”

“I know,” Brittany replies as she tucks her hand under her pillow, mirroring Santana’s position, “It’s my favorite thing.”

Santana sighs and snuggles deep against her pillow as their conversation lulls. She’s really feeling the heaviness in her eyelids now, but she finds herself trying to fight to stay awake. She just wants to be present and listen to any and every story Brittany has to tell, she doesn’t want to miss anything.

“You wanna know something?” Brittany whispers a bit later and the sudden sound of her voice has Santana struggling to look up. She finds Brittany’s eyes closed and if she didn’t know any better, she would’ve assumed she had fallen asleep already.

Santana’s not sure she’s coherent enough herself to form actual words, so she just hums out in response.

There’s a long pause and Santana almost falls asleep while waiting when Brittany begins to mumble sleepily, “We’re gonna make some cute babies.”

Santana’s eyes go wide at that.

Here she was, forcing herself to stay quiet in fear that she was going to scare Brittany off or something. She looks back to her and finds she’s still lying there with her eyes closed which makes her wonder if that was the sleep talking or if it was Brittany? She doesn’t know, but she finds comfort in at least being on the same page about something like this. She wants to laugh, but stifles it so she doesn’t wake Brittany. It makes her heart swell and nearly burst free from her chest though, because if Brittany’s thinking about what their family could look like then maybe Santana’s on to something here.

She hadn’t considered proposing anytime soon, but if Brittany keeps this up she doesn’t know how long she’ll actually last. If anything, she can at least be a little prepared. Right?

“One day, Britt-Britt.” Santana says and it’s the last thing she does before she falls into a deep sleep.

\\

Maybe it has something to do with the New Year just around the corner, but in the days leading up to Brittany’s return, Santana does a lot of thinking.

She thinks about the conversation she had with Maribel the night before Brittany left for San Francisco. She thinks about her family, her Abuela and Abuelo, and the difference in the ways they showed their love for her. She thinks about her father and how easy it was for him to vanish from her life. She thinks about the people in her life at this very moment who love her unconditionally and have repeatedly come through for her, whether it has been all of her life or again in only the last year.

She thinks a lot about love and remembers a time long, long ago when she didn’t think she was worthy of it. She was harsh and tore people down with her vicious words without a second thought so she didn’t think anyone would ever break through that and attempt to understand the real Santana Lopez.

Then Brittany came into her life and everything started to change.

She was still harsh and tore people down with her vicious words, but with Brittany it was different. Brittany accepted all of the parts that Santana was made of and she never shied away, she only ever wanted Santana to be herself and embrace all of her awesome.

It makes her think about something her Abuelo once said to her a long time ago. She was only in middle school when she first experienced heartbreak, her boyfriend of three weeks had broken up with her for someone more popular and Santana was wrecked. Maybe not so much because a boy broke up with her, but more so because he didn’t want her anymore. She felt replaceable and it sucked.

She had cried with her Abuelo during their weekly piano lesson and he said, “Santana, the easy part of life is finding someone to love. The hard part is finding someone to love you back.” He reminded her of how she still had so much time and that she was better off without that stupid boy. Those words always stuck with her throughout her life.

Little did they both know, Santana would find her person just a couple years later.

She remembered standing in the hall in front of her locker, tears in her eyes, begging Brittany to love her back. She had been so sure this time, she had found her person, but things didn’t come easy for them at first. She thought she had made a mistake again and gave her heart to the wrong one, but then something crazy happened…

“I do love you! Clearly you don’t love you as much as I do or you'd put this shirt on and dance with me!”

Brittany was pissed – probably the most pissed she had ever seen – but it was in that moment that Santana realized something: Brittany just wanted Santana to love herself first. She could see straight through Santana’s bullshit and even after that she wasn’t afraid to call her out on it. Even more importantly, Brittany still loved her anyway.

A lot of their relationship had been full of moments like that, like sudden clarity where all the drama and hurt suddenly made sense because on the other side of that was this…happiness.

She wouldn’t trade it for the world.  

\\

It’s New Year’s Eve and Santana’s desperately trying to ghost Quinn.

A couple days ago, Quinn got word of a New Year’s Eve party being hosted at Breadstix and has been trying to convince Santana to go ever since.

“Come on, it’ll be fun! Mercedes is going and she’ll perform at midnight, you have to go.” Quinn had urged but Santana wasn’t budging. She didn’t feel like celebrating when her person wasn’t going to be there to celebrate with. She didn’t have to say that for Quinn to pick up on it though, “You can’t ring in the New Year alone, San. I know Maribel will be working.”

“What? How do you know that?”

“Don’t worry about it. Just come! There’s a dress code and everything, since when do you turn down any excuse to paint on one of your hooker dresses?”

Santana rolled her eyes, “I have no one to impress so there’s no point.”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this but, you can always take pictures and send them to Brittany.”

“Please, as if a picture could capture all this hotness.”

“Well it’s all you can eat breadsticks – “

“It’s always all you can eat breadsticks if you talk to the right person.”

“Ugh, why are you like this? Can’t you just go with me? I don’t want to third-wheel with Mercedes and Sam…”

“You really aren’t going to drop this, are you?”

“No. So you’ll go?”

Santana stewed on the question for awhile until she ultimately gave up and agreed to go. It would be a little depressing being stuck home alone on New Year’s Eve and she knew Brittany wouldn’t want her to miss out on a chance to party with her friends.

\\

And it’s that kind of thinking that has landed her in the current situation she’s in, wedged between Quinn and Sam in a booth in Breadstix while they watch Mercedes sing. All in all, it’s not the worst situation she’s ever been in – she’s totally being dramatic – but it does feel off to hang out with everyone without Brittany there.

“She’s so good,” Sam compliments as Mercedes belts out a high note. Santana looks to him from the corner of her eye and he’s completely fixated on the woman on stage. There’s this dopey smile on his face and love hearts beaming from his eyes and for the first time maybe ever, she knows exactly how Sam feels. To be so enamored by someone, so filled with love for them, that you can’t help but to stare in awe.

“Amazing,” Quinn adds breathlessly as the final note rings out.

The entire place stands as they applaud Mercedes. She bows graciously and waves, even blows a kiss to Sam before she makes her way down the steps and rejoins her friends at their booth. A jazzy cover band takes over while dinner is served.

“You killed it up there,” Santana says as the salads come out.

“Thank you,” Mercedes replies with a flip of her hair, “I’m glad you made it out tonight, would’ve missed the surprise.”

“Surprise?” Santana wonders before she catches her usual waitress’s eye. She sends her a look and soon an additional basket of breadsticks appear on the table. She slaps away Sam’s hand as he goes for a stick and the girls all laugh.

“You’ll see later,” Quinn says, “I’ve been practicing my runs so I can keep up with this one.”

“You’re going up there?” Santana asks then glares at Mercedes, “And you didn’t ask me?”

“It was a last minute thing,” Mercedes explains, “And I was already talking to Quinn at the time.”

“I’m deeply offended that I wasn’t your first choice,” Santana quips in between bites of her breadstick, “Could’ve brought back River Deep, Mountain High.”

“Girl, you know this place couldn’t handle all that..” Mercedes laughs.

\\

Dinner goes on without a hitch. It actually is kind of nice chatting with her old friends and she’s glad she made it out of the house for this. She couldn’t imagine spending the night at home getting wine drunk alone while watching the ball drop, if she even stayed up that late to catch it. She has an alarm set for midnight in Brittany’s time zone just incase she did end up falling asleep early though.

“When’s Britt back again?” Mercedes asks as the last course came around, “I hope I can catch her before I go back to L.A.”

“Two more days,” Santana replies and just uttering the words aloud make her heart race, “This has been the longest two weeks of my life.”

“I’m sure,” Mercedes chuckles.

“When are you heading back?” Santana asks.

“Thursday,” Mercedes replies, “So I might be able to see her before I go. We’ll see.”

Santana nods and looks to Quinn who has been oddly quiet all of a sudden, “You’re quiet. What are you plotting?”

Quinn cracks a smile, “Plotting? Can’t a girl eat in peace?”

“I guess,” Santana chuckles and they return to their meals while listening to the band.

\\

Sam’s in the middle of telling a story about this guy he was working with at the gym he works at part-time when Santana checked her phone. She hadn’t received a new text for a few hours now, not since she was modeling different outfits she had been considering to wear tonight for Brittany earlier. It was getting closer to midnight now – just thirty minutes away – but Santana was getting anxious. She kind of missed Brittany and just wanted to hear her voice.

“I’m gonna go call Britt,�� She whispers to Quinn.

Quinn nods and slides so that she could let Santana out of the booth.

Santana made her way to the bathroom, opting that it was warmer than outside and quieter than the lobby, and made the call.

At least, she tried to but the call went unanswered. Santana checked the time again and converted it to what it would be for Brittany and it started to make sense. This was usually game night time and the Pierces were probably deep in a very competitive game of Monopoly. Brittany was always pretty serious when it came to that particular game so Santana didn’t think too much of it and instead sent her a selfie and a text.

Santana L. – Thinking about you xo

\\

Santana rejoins the gang just as Mercedes is getting up to perform again. She looks to Quinn who moves to sit back down and asks, “You’re not going up too?”

“Not my time yet,” Quinn shrugs and scoots in so that she’s the one sitting in Mercedes spot next to Sam now.

Santana slides in too and goes for her wine glass as Mercedes greets the audience again. She’s such a natural up there and Santana is actually really proud of how successful she has become and still manages to stay true to herself.

She thinks about her future career and what she wants but it’s all so spotty. She loves to sing, but she doesn’t know if she’d ever do it professionally. She has this business degree yet she’s not putting it to use and before she randomly took over a co-coaching position, she was a singing waitress.

She’s young but seeing Mercedes up there really gets her thinking about getting serious when it comes to her future. Afterall, it’s not only affecting her, it’ll affect Brittany too. She wants to make something of herself, maybe make a difference in people’s lives, but she doesn’t know where to start.

Those thoughts are cut short when suddenly Mercedes is speaking to the audience again, more specifically to her. Santana was kind of zoned out so she only catches Mercedes saying, “Let’s end the year with this little throwback since I’m surrounded by such talented friends.”

Before Santana knows it a familiar tune begins to play, the God Squad’s version of Cherish/Cherish. Santana starts to laugh as Quinn and Sam pull out their hidden mics and sing to Santana as they accompany Mercedes on the number. They slowly emerge from the booth and join Mercedes on stage, leaving Santana behind in nothing but smiles.

She claps her hands and dances along to the beat from where she sits while memories of the first time they sung the song came to her.

She remembers it from her high school days and how Brittany lit up when their friends began to serenade them. Brittany had been so surprised that Santana would gift her something like that, something so public which she was still struggling with at the time. When it came to Brittany though, Santana endured a lot to make sure Brittany knew she was loved.

Santana felt so carefree that night, she barely even noticed any of the talks or looks. She doubted Sugar would’ve allowed anyone in if that were the case, but hearing the song being performed now is a little bittersweet without Brittany here to experience it.

\\

Santana goes to grab her phone in hopes that Brittany will answer this time just so she can hear this awesome performance. She’s about to press call when someone stops before their table.

A familiar voice asks, “Is this seat taken?”

Santana snaps up to find Brittany – her Brittany – standing there before her with her long blonde hair cascading off her shoulders, blue eyes twinkling, and the smuggest grin on her face.

“Oh my God, Brittany!” Santana just about squeals as she scrambles out of the booth and launches herself into Brittany’s arms, “You’re home early!”

Brittany’s angelic giggles fill her ears as she wraps Santana up in a tight hug, “Missed you too much so I caught an early flight home. Came straight here from the airport.”

“What?”

Brittany shrugs casually, “I figured we’ve had such an awesome year, I didn’t want to spend the last moments of it apart.”

Santana stares back almost speechless and instead leans in for a much-needed kiss. It’s like her body has been on pause ever since the last one they shared at the airport and when their lips touch it’s like she’s finally herself again.

“You like my surprise?” Brittany asks when they pull apart and glances to the side.

Santana’s jaw drops as she follows Brittany’s eyes to where she looks. Santana sees her wave to their friends on stage. Mercedes and Sam wave back while Quinn sends them a wink.

“You did this?” Santana’s wide eyed, “I…how did you – “

Brittany leans down and cuts her off with another kiss before saying, “I’ll tell you later. Come dance with me.”

Santana doesn’t even respond, just gets whisked away to the makeshift dancefloor. It’s all so reminiscent but new at the same time to be dancing with Brittany in almost the exact same spot to the exact same song. Santana thinks she might just be the luckiest girl in the whole world, to be loved by Brittany and their friends, it’s so much.

And the feeling only intensifies when Brittany whispers out an, “I love you.”

It makes the question begging to be asked so much harder for Santana to conceal, especially when Brittany smiles down at her the way that she does while they sway to the music.

“I love you too,” Santana says but it’s filled with so much more, so much promise.

Maybe Brittany doesn’t pick up on it, Santana hopes she doesn’t, but that I love you means more this time. It’s a vow that she’s never going to stop loving her and one day she’ll have a ring to prove that.

For now though, she’s content with dancing the night away with Brittany but only until the clock strikes twelve. She’ll ring in the new year with her girl, surrounded by their friends, but after that she’s taking Brittany home to spend all night making good on a different promise.

A promise that doesn’t involve quite so many people and a lot less clothes.

The heated look Santana earns when Brittany catches her eye tells her that she and Brittany are definitely on the same page. It’s barely 12:03am when the two are hurriedly telling their friends goodbye and rushing to the car with their hands already starting to wander.

[ubernoxa]

The Token: A Guns N’ Roses FANFICTION

Chapter 8: The Wrath of Betsie Tate

Masterlist

Story Summary: Story inspired by the movie She’s the Man. A female Duff is tired of dealing with the bullshit of trying to make it on the strip as a female bassist. In a desperate attempt to make it big doing what she does, she cuts her hair and mascardes as Duff. What’s the wors that could happen?

Chapter Summary: Betsie pays Michelle a vist at work.

Taglist @viralwolf02 @littlemisscare-all @smokeandmirrorz @aratbaby @slashscowboyboots @achiweyow

My mind had created two lists of almost equal importance.

The first list contained the following names:

Walter

Macy

Betsie

Derek

Kendal

Izzy

Six people, only six people knew that Duff was actually Michelle the former bassist of Pixie. It could be worse since I had been doing this for a little over a month now, but it could also be a hell of a lot better. I was careful to never get too tipsy. I made sure to watch what I said and even how I sat, but there is still a sinking feeling that resides in the bottom of my stomach. The feeling that one day everyone would find out, and everything I’ve worked for would be gone.

No more Duff.

No more Guns N’ Roses.

No more music.

Maybe if this didn’t work out I could move to New York and become a secretary or some boring shit ass job like that. I wasn’t sure what I was more afraid of, losing Guns N’ Roses or giving up on my dream. Bottom line, both of them terrified me.

The second list was much shorter. It only had two names on it, Macy and Izzy. This list, which barely even qualified as a list by the fact that there were only two names on it, was the list of people I trusted with my secret.

Walter had been rather blunt with his disliking of me performing as Duff. I quickly learned that the entire intervention was all Walter’s idea from Macy this morning when she profusely apologized. She swore up and down that he forced her to help him. I wasn’t sure what to believe, but I trusted her none the less. I really didn’t have any other options. A list of one name was defiantly not a list.

Ever since Betsie stood by as Pixie kicked me out and dragged my name through the dirt, I don’t trust her. I used to though. I used to trust her with my life, but now I couldn’t trust her to poor me a glass of vodka. Her comments on how I’m betraying females everywhere also don’t help the unpleasant taste in my mouth.

Derek is and forever will be a wildcard, and he is probably mad that I didn’t tell him.

Kendal. Kendal. Kendal. Kendal was the reason I showed up to work this morning two hours early. I was hoping, no praying, that I could talk to her and try to explain myself. It was the least she deserved after yesterday.

I felt the nerves multiply in my stomach the second I opened the shop early. I tried to distract myself by singing along with the songs that came over the radio that echoed through the coffee shop, but as I prepped the shop my mind still focused on one thing...Kendal.

Last night, I chased after her the moment the gig had ended. I knew where to find her, there wasn’t a doubt in my mind to where she was. The coffee shop on Minlter Street, the shop I worked at, the shop where she spent her child hood, the shop she would one day inherit. I shoved my keys into the door and unlocked it full force. Instead of a Kendal sitting at her favorite table sipping on her cup of favorite coffee, I was met with nothing. I fought back tears as I stood in the middle of the hauntingly quiet coffee shop. Fuck.

I could already feel it unraveling.

I watched as the clock struck 6 AM and I flipped the small sign to open. I eyed the door all morning waiting for her to walk in as I worked. Bottom line, we needed to talk. 10 minutes turned into 5 hours later as I watched the clock strike 11 AM. Where the hell was Kendal? Usually she would get to the coffee shop by 9 AM at the latest when she was in town, but today was obviously not one of those days. I peeled up as I heard the bells that hung on the door chime. A customer, or hopefully Kendal had just walked in.

To my surprise Izzy walked in holding a small stack of papers in his hands. It was clear that he had just woken up from his hair that stuck out almost every which way from under his hat. The hat he must have tied to use to control that chaos that was growing on his head.

“For someone who lives on the other side of town, you seem to frequent this coffee shop a lot. Must be it’s great customer service,” I said as he walked up to my counter. I could feel the stares that were directed towards us from some of the customers. I tried to ignore them, but I could feel them judging.

“Nah, I come here because I look forward to getting glared at by it’s older clientele,” he teased back. I couldn’t help but giggle.

“How are you doing?” His question caught me off guard. It sounded genuine. He sounded like he actually cared.

“I’m still employed, so I got that going for me,” I let a sigh escape me as I hunched over, defeated.

“Bye Michelle, thank you for the stories!” I turned and sent a smile towards Suzy who was a mother of the cutest twins I have ever met. She would come every Wednesday morning during the summer for peace and quiet, and if it was slow like this morning, I would read her kids a story.

“Oh Michelle, he’s hot! Is he your boyfriend?” I turned red at the Suzy’s daughter’s question. I didn’t dare look over towards Izzy who was most likely enjoying the situation as he did in most situations where I squirmed.

I felt my cheeks get hot as I tried to find words, “No...he is just a friend...who is a boy.”

Suzy took my nerves as a cue to quickly escort her daughters out of the coffee shop.

“Friend who is boy?” I let a groan escape me as Izzy smirked leaning over the counter.

“I thought we were AT LEAST band mates,” he added.

The bell rang again as another customer walked in. My heart sunk when I noticed once again that it wasn’t Kendal.

“Shut it Stradlin, I gotta go help a customer,” I then went back to the front counter to take the woman’s order.

Luckily the customer only wanted a black coffee, so I was able to quickly make it for him. Not that I wanted to go and talk to Izzy or anything, but because I wanted to see what papers he was holding.

“So, what brings you to my coffee shop?”

“Your coffee shop? Didn’t know you owned the place...” Izzy replied as he began to fake ponder and look around the shop.

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes, and snatch one of the papers he was holding.

“Guns N’ Roses Live at the Troubadour. Get yourself together, drink till you drop, forget about tomorrow, and have another shot,” I froze for a second when I noticed the date and time.

“Izzy this is an add for Saturday night.”

“Yeah, and we need fliers out now,” he added as he dramatically held the small stack he had in his hand. I would have giggled at him being unintentionally cute, but I was more focused on the fact that we were stealing Pixie’s weekly gig.

“Pixie plays Saturday nights at 8 at the Troubadour. They have been for the past six months,” I simply received a shrug from Izzy.

“Did they get a better gig, or are we taking their spot,” I groaned as I received another shrug.

“All I know is that Axl has been wanting to play at the Troubadour, and stopped by there this morning to have a talk with someone. The next thing I know he came bursting in and asking me to make fliers,” I nodded as he spoke.

“Hope you don’t mind the photos I chose for you. We need someone to take a group shot of us, so we at-least look a little more professional,” I immediate shook my head when Izzy finished talking. I couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought of Guns N’ Roses being professional.

“No, I look pretty bad ass, good choice,” I sent him a warm smile as I looked over the flier.

“Can I hang one up on your billboard over there?” I nodded a motioning for him to go right ahead. He handed me some extras, I’m assuming in hope that people would take the flier for the $3 admission discount.

I watched as Izzy went to go hang up a flier, and tried to ignore the girls who were curiously eyeing him.

“Good show last night,” I turned to see Derek who was currently restocking the remaining pastries. I tried to read him, but his face remained stoic with each cherry pastry he stacked.

“Thanks, I really appreciate your help. Even though it didn’t go as planned,” I replied. My heart slowly sunk as Derek didn’t look over towards me.

“Hey, Derek....” he turned around as I spoke finally giving me his full attention. Thank god he actually looked at me.

“I mean it. Thank you so much, here,” I handed him a flier, but before he could read it I began to talk again.

“We’re playing again Saturday night. It’s a prime time show and it’s going to be insane. You and a plus one will get in for free,” I sent him a warm smile as he began to read the flier.

“Okay, cool. Thanks! I’ll ask Mica tonight,” he sent a warm smile my way causing me to relax.

“The Troubadour is a cool place and I can’t wait to see y’all there,” I smiled back.

THANK GOD. THANK FUCKING GOD HE DIDN’T HATE ME.

Before I walked away I felt him pull my arm back, “I meant it. You guys are really good. Plus...I will admit I was pissed you didn’t tell me at first, but I don’t know that last time I saw you actually enjoying yourself onstage. You seemed free, and you were right. If I was you I would do whatever takes to make my dream come true. Let me know when you release your first album! I’ll be first in line.”

I sent him a nod before I went back to work cleaning down dirty tables. I quickly shooed Izzy out of the coffee shop, much to the displease of the girls he was talking to, in hopes that Kendal would be more forgiving if Izzy wasn’t here.

Two more hours had passed, and I eventually gave up on Kendal showing up. The place was rather busy for a Thursday morning, and I already had to replace the flier twice.

I was pulled from my thoughts as I saw a familiar blonde throw on her apron and hat before joining us behind the counter.

“Hey Patty, what are you doing in early?”

“I honestly don’t know, I got a call from Kendal to come in a couple hours early,” she then shrugged before she went to inspect our coffee machines. Panic filled me as I remained frozen. Patty either worked the shift opposite of me or late nights, not while I was working during lunch.

Fuck.

I turned towards Derek who shared the same expression as me.

“Hey Michelle can you come into the office real fast,” I tried to keep my breath easy as I followed my uncle to his office. When the hell did he get here, I was watching the door all day? Unless he came in when I was talking with Izzy.

His office was small, but it didn’t need to be large. That’s not who my uncle was. My uncle never needed to have some sort of reminder to everyone he was in charge like a large desk or office. We always joked that the only reason he had the office was to keep him from eating all of the pastries. All he had to do was walk onto the shop floor and customers and workers alike would smile at him. He was never a dictator and it wasn’t uncommon to see him helping with the dishes when a large rush came in. Calling in an employee to come in early was rather unusual.

The moment I walked into his office I felt the uneasiness that resided in my stomach grow larger than the Grinch’s heart.

“Michelle, please sit,” I offered my uncle a kind smile before I sat down.

I turned to give one to Kendal as well who was lurking in the corner, but she refused to make eye contact with me. I didn’t need to be psychic or a mind reader to know what this meeting was about. The scowl that was planted on my cousin’s face was enough to know.

“So this meeting is nothing to serious, I just want to ask you a couple questions,” my uncle calmly stated. I sent him a soft smile before nodding.

Nothing serious? SERIOUSLY? With Kendal glaring me in the corner I felt like I was on trial.

“Well, how are you today Michelle?”

“I’m good, never better,” I cautiously replied. Every word I spoke felt like taking a footstep through a minefield.

“Recently we have received some customer complaints about you,” I nodded my head trying to figure out which customer her was talking about. Over the past two weeks I haven’t really had any ‘incidents’. Six months ago I had a poor encounter with a customer, but that was SIX MONTHS AGO.

“What were they about?”

“The clientele that you let into this coffee shop,” I froze and stared right at Kendal when the words left my Uncle’s mouth. That fucking bitch tattled on me. I thought we were practically sisters. I thought she would confront me about it in private. I thought wrong.

“Uncle, we let everyone in,” he cut me off before I could continue.

“We let everyone who pays in,” his sharp words cut right through me.

“Izzy’s and Axl’s coffees are ALWAYS paid for,” I quickly shot back. One quick look at my Uncle’s face told me that I said the wrong thing. I shouldn’t have let those words out of my mouth.

“By who?” And so the demon speaks. I shot Kendal a glare at her stupid question. I was relieved to see that she wasn’t receiving a glare from just me. My uncle, her father, was also sending one towards her.

“Me or them depends on the day. I made them coffee for a long practice, and the other day Izzy bought some,” I tried to keep my voice calm as I spoke. It was clear that my Uncle wasn’t entirely pleased with Kendal at the moment.

“So you bought your boyfriends coffee,” before my uncle could continue talking I immediately interrupted him, “band mates. Not boyfriends.”

I watched as a flash of realization crossed his face. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a smirk flash across Kendal’s features. FUCK. I slipped up.

“You’re still trying to be in a band? I thought you quit that dream last year,” I shook my head no at his question.

“No, I just stopped telling you about my bands, and you assumed that I stopped playing I never lied to you,” my uncle sighed at my response before pinching the bridge of his nose with his two fingers. Saying that I never lied to him probably wasn’t the best defense.

“Does this band affect your ability to perform your job,” my uncle eventually broke the uncomfortable silence that had grown in the room. Kendal and I immediately answered the question with two drastically different answers, yes and no.

Our lovely meeting was quickly interrupted by shouting before we could continue. I followed my Uncle and cousin, and immediately regretted it.

“What the fuck Michelle,” I didn’t need to see her to know who was screaming. I remained frozen, I didn’t even need to guess what she was screaming about. It was clear that Betsie was pissed that Guns N’ Roses stole Pixie’s time slot.

“WHOAH Whoah woah, calm down,” Derek immediately hopped over the counter in attempt to block Betsie from coming after me.

“Calm down? CALM DOWN? That two timing traitor bitch stole my band’s gig,” she shouted back.

“You don’t own a gig!” I casually replied, not really thinking my actions through. My uncle placed his arm in front of me gently guiding me behind him.

It was clear that today was only going to get worse.

She only got angrier from there, “you listen here you two timing whore of a bitch, and don’t you dare try to hide behind your uncle. You think that just because Axl promised strippers on stage that you can take MY GIG. Is that all you think I am? Nothing more than a fucking stripper?”

By now the entire coffee shop was watching us.

“What is going on?” My uncle bellowed through the shop.

“Your barista or whatever the fucking hell you call her is a damn traitor who dresses up as a guy and plays in a rock n’ roll band on the strip” she shouted at my uncle.

He then quickly turned towards me, as if I had a logical straight forward answer. Getting fired was now the least of my worries.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

[king-finnigan]

I Found Something In The Woods Somewhere - Chapter 3

You can also read this on AO3! M A S T E R L I S T

A/n: Special thanks to @panlesters​ for being my beta! Warning! This chapter does contain mentions of suicide, though not graphic, so if you’re sensitive about that topic, please be careful! As always, thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy, and don’t hesitate to leave a like and a comment if you feel like it!

Roach was sweating underneath him, and he couldn’t help but apologize to her, again and again. She deserved better than the ruthless manhunt they’d been on for the past day and a half, following the compass to the southwest. They were running short on time, though.

They barely ate or slept, as they pushed onwards, and Geralt tried to ignore Jaskier’s inquisitive stares and unasked questions. “Why are we in such a hurry, Geralt?” He didn’t have the heart to tell the Bard what could possibly happen, should they fail their quest to find the person responsible for the spell. Yet, he couldn’t deny the orange in Jaskier’s eyes anymore, or the more frequent moments where he seemed to truly turn into a fox, biting and snarling at the Witcher.

Finally, a little after noon on the second day since their departure from the mountains – the last day the Mage had said they could turn Jaskier back into a human, they arrived at a small town near the ocean. Geralt shuddered as he realized it wasn’t too far from Blaviken, and he pushed away the memories that resurfaced of that fateful day, decades ago.

Roach’s hooves thumped on the dirt streets, and Geralt stared intently at the compass in his hands, squinting his eyes against the light emanating from the object. Suddenly, the needle swiveled around, pointing to a small alleyway on their left.

He dismounted Roach, leading her into the street the compass indicated. Slowly, he walked onwards. The town seemed abandoned, empty, but he could sense the dozens of eyes that were following him through the windows, hiding from the Butcher of Blaviken. Eventually, the needle of the compass pointed to his right, and he looked at the house – barely more than a shack.

He let go of Roach’s reigns with a “Stay,” and walked to the door. He could feel Jaskier shuffle nervously in the sling. “Calm down, it’s going to be fine.”

A squeak emanated from the fabric. “I have a bad feeling about this.” Geralt snorted.

“Yeah, me too.” He raised his hand, knocking thrice. The wood creaked beneath his hand, smelling of salt water, and feeling damp. He looked down the street as he waited, taking in the run-down state of this entire village. Sure, it could have done some trading, as it was next to the sea, but it was too far from plentiful lands for that to be a viable option. The northernmost kingdoms just didn’t produce that much of value, mostly keeping to themselves, so the southern countries didn’t bother trying to keep up the trading routes.

So, this village might’ve had a bright future once, but those times were long forgotten, buried under a layer of algae that seemed to grow on the houses, fed by the damp air drifting from the sea. He could hear the ocean slamming on cliffsides, not too far away, gulls screaming above him.

He frowned. This had not been what he expected when he found out Jaskier had been cursed. The Bard had a nasty habit of sleeping around in several courts, with people he shouldn’t be getting even remotely close to. Geralt had just assumed the spell had been cast by a scorned lover or spouse, acting out of jealousy or heartbreak, slipping the potion in Jaskier’s drink while he wasn’t paying attention, too focused on his music or his next romantic adventure.

So being here, in this nobody of a village, the algae slippery under his feet, the wooden houses on the brink of collapse, the smell of hunger and fear emanating from every doorway, was quite jarring. He sighed, pushing his musings away, and knocked again, three loud bangs echoing through the empty streets.

He cocked his head as the door opened a crack, but he couldn’t see anybody inside. A fluttering heartbeat and shaky breath drew his attention, though, and he looked a few feet below his eye-level, seeing big, brown eyes staring up at him. The child gasped in shock, slamming the door shut, and he could hear the little boy shouting inside: “Daddy! There’s a strange man at the door!”

He heard a deeper voice answer, and footsteps approaching, before the door was being opened once again. This time, it was a tall, lanky man, about the same height as Geralt. Clearly, the child had inherited his father’s brown eyes, he noticed. The man looked at him for a minute through the crack in the doorway, before swinging it open fully.

The first thing he noticed when he saw the other man, was how tired he looked. Dark circles marred the skin under his eyes, crow’s feet present too soon for what seemed to be a twenty-five year old man. He wore run-down clothes, the colours dreary and washed out, a mix of browns and greys, barely-patched up holes in the thin fabric.

Geralt looked down, and saw a little boy and a girl around the same age clinging to their father’s legs. Twins. They had their dad’s brown eyes, but their hair was pitch black, whereas the man’s hair colour seemed to match his eyes. Must’ve inherited that from their mother, then.

The man eyed him suspiciously, and Geralt realized what a strange sight he must be in this town. The white-haired Witcher, the Butcher of Blaviken, showing up with a baby sling, containing a fox, riding what was probably the first horse people had seen in years. Not something you see every day.

He extended his hand, offering it to the man, and he tried to appear non-threatening – as far as that was possible for a Witcher. “Geralt of Rivia.” The man took it cautiously, shaking it once before letting go.

“I know who you are, Witcher.” A hint of bitterness crept into the stranger’s voice, and Geralt tried to keep his face as level and even as possible. “I’m Celdred. These are my twins, Hani and Lani.” Geralt nodded at them, and they buried their big, brown eyes into the fabric of their dad’s pants.

“Why are you here, Witcher?” Celdred sounded tired, defeated, and his shoulders were slumped. Geralt could practically taste the grief in the air, and he was taken aback a bit. What happened here?

Instead of addressing what he had sensed, he simply asked: “May I come inside?” Celdred nodded, and stepped aside, the twins moving along with him. Geralt walked inside the… house, and looked around. Everything consisted of damp wood, the smell putrid in the air. It was a one-room house, the bedroom separated from the rest of the living quarters by a curtain. The tapestry seemed to be the only thing of value in here, and it was well taken care of, a beautiful landscape of mountains and rivers stitched into the fabric with precision and dedication.

“Sit down, please.” Celdred motioned to the dinner table, taking a chair on one side himself, the twins clambering up on his knees, holding onto his neck, staring at Geralt as he, too, sat down.

“Have we met before?” The Witcher’s voice was low and serious. He didn’t want to scare the man away, as it seemed that Celdred’s grieving was directly linked to Geralt.

Celdred sighed. “No, we haven’t, but you’ve been around these parts before.” Here we go. Geralt of Rivia, the Butcher of Blaviken, certainly had been near here before.

The man, however continued: “Five years ago, we sent a messenger to you, asking for your help with a Siren on our shores. Two people had already met their ends because of it.”

A light went on in Geralt’s mind, as he remembered that day. Someone from a nameless fisher village had travelled a day to see him, to ask him for help with a monster, offering the Witcher a meagre payment for the job. That day stood out more clearly in his mind than others, because the village had been so close to the dreaded Blaviken, a place he never wanted to be near again, so he-

“You refused at first. It took the messenger two days to convince you to kill the Siren.” Celdred’s face grew grave. “In those two days, my wife… she was lured off the cliff by that sweet song.”

Oh. “I didn’t know that.” No one had ever told him, and he had simply slain the monster, collected his coin, and travelled onwards.

Celdred scoffed. “I didn’t tell you because I knew it wasn’t your fault, not really. Your reputation precedes you, Witcher, and the town of Blaviken is too close.” The man hesitated, confused. “But why are you here, then, if you did not know?”

It was Geralt’s turn to hesitate. “My friend, he was cursed.” He looked down at Jaskier, who was asleep in the sling, blissfully unaware of the heaviness that hung around the room. “We tracked the spell, and it led us here.”

Celdred frowned, then looked shocked, his mouth forming a small oh. Geralt raised his eyebrows, inquiring the man to speak his mind. “My father in law…” Celdred looked at him in disbelief, “he did blame you for my wife’s death.”

Aha, so he was the man responsible for this. “Wait,” he said, confusion racing through him, “did blame me?”

Celdred nodded. “He died, about a week ago.” He looked scared as he saw Geralt’s hand gripping the edge of the table, knuckles turning white. “He went away a few weeks ago, he wouldn’t say where he was going. Then, when he came back, he jumped off the cliff… The same place…” He didn’t need to finish his sentence, the message was loud and clear.

So the man that blamed Geralt for his daughter’s untimely death went north, bought a transformation potion, put some fox hairs into it, somehow slipped it into Jaskier’s cup, and returned home, jumping to his own death, taking the safe-word with him to the grave. Fan-fucking-tastic.

Geralt breathed deeply once, twice, to calm himself down. Surely the old man must’ve left some clues. “Did he say anything special before leaving?”

Celdred shook his head. “No, but…” he tightened his arms around the twins, grief on his face, “he visited the Siren’s lair, before hiking up the cliff and…” He sighed. “Some fishermen saw him there, that afternoon.”

Geralt stood abruptly, startling the twins, waking Jaskier up, who squeaked in annoyance. “I’m sorry for what happened to your wife. I truly am. I have no excuse.” Celdred looked tired, but managed an apologetic smile.

The Witcher nodded at the man, and left the house, startling as darkness flooded through him. It was the night of the tenth day since Jaskier had drunk the potion. They didn’t have much time left, at all. He mounted Roach, setting off towards the sea.

҉   ҉   ҉

He left his mare at the top of the cliff, setting down the path to the beach. He remembered exactly where he had slain the Siren, and found the crack in the cliffside easily, barely fitting through it. Inside, it wasn’t much larger, the walls touching his shoulders. He could feel sand under his feet, but even with his superior eyesight, he couldn’t see a thing in the darkness of the cave.

He found a piece of driftwood on the sand, lighting it with Igni, the flickering flames illuminating the walls. He sighed in relief as he could see words scratched into the stone on his right. The letters were uneven, and he could smell the pure grief in the words.

It was a farewell letter to the man’s daughter, the mother of the twins.

“Esenna, I’m sorry for not being there, for not being able to hold you back from the cliff’s edge. I’m sorry. I will join you soon.

Love, Dad.”

Sadness swelled in his chest, and he felt angry with his past self for letting this happen, for putting innocent people’s lives at stake because of his own cowardice. Silently, he forgave the man for what he’d done.

An idea dawned on him, though, and he pulled Jaskier out of the sling, kneeling on the sand, and setting him down. The Bard cocked his head curiously. “What’s going on?”

“I think I have an idea for the safe-word,” Geralt said, eyeing the letter on the cave wall. He breathed deeply, looking into Jaskier’s eyes, the colour of rust, only a sliver of blue remained at the inner rim of his irises “Esenna.” The daughter’s name. Quite an obvious choice, as her death had started all this, and a sentimental father would definitely choose that as the word to undo all the damage the curse had caused.

Nothing happened.

Panic flared up in him. He took Jaskier’s face in his hands, staring at him intently. “Esenna.” Nothing. “Esenna, goddammit!”

Nothing.

He felt tears well up in his eyes, as Jaskier whined softly. “It’s okay.”

“No, no, it’s not okay, Jaskier! This is all my fault.” He felt a tear roll down his cheek, as he cradled the Bard, midnight approaching fast. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He could see the rusty colour closing in on the blue, the Bard he knew fading away. He took a shaky breath. “I love you, Jaskier.”

There was no more trace of blue in the eyes left.

The fox snarled at him, biting at his hands, and he reluctantly let go. It ran, still limping as the wound in its hind leg had not fully healed yet, and Geralt was left alone in the dark, dank cave. Jaskier was gone.

There, the Witcher sat alone, still on his knees, the moisture from the sand soaking through his pants, onto his knees. Coldness seeped into his bones, seemingly making themselves at home there for an indefinite amount of time. The torch was still lit, but laying on the sand, casting flickering shadows on the walls around him, each taking the shape of his guilt, pointing at him, shouting. You did this, you failed him, this is your fault.

He lowered his head into his hands, tears flowing freely, letting himself cry for what seemed to be the first time in decades. He hadn’t cried like this since he had started his Witcher trials. He hadn’t when he was put through the toughest tests known to mankind, hadn’t when he realized the world saw him as a monster, hadn’t when Renfri had died in the streets of Blaviken, hadn’t when Yennefer had left him, hadn’t when he had pushed Jaskier away.

But he did now, as the Bard crossed his mind again and again. Brown curls and blue eyes. Blushing cheeks and toothy smiles. Stupid jokes and silly songs. Powerful voice and intricate melodies. Dear friend and love of his life. Gone, forever.

Geralt had failed him.

҉   ҉   ҉

He sat there for hours, as the night progressed, still as a statue. His tears had dried, but the grief hadn’t faded, still fresh in his mind, cutting him open from the inside. The torch had flickered out, and had left him in the darkness, the taunting voices of the shadows still haunting him. He could feel dawn approaching, but felt no need to move. He would stay there forever, turn to stone, and serve as a warning to others, to not let your fears stop you from helping others.

“That’s the butcher of Blaviken,” they’d say. “Lost his love and turned into stone because he refused to help those who needed him.”

He was already going mad, he realized, as he could smell cinnamon and blueberries in the air. He was already imagining things, recalling the scent of the person he loved, hallucinating his familiar heartbeat.

“I love you too, you know.” Geralt’s head jerked up at the voice, eyes widening in shock as he saw Jaskier’s silhouette against the red and purple of the nearing dawn. He was wrapped in a soaked blanket, and shivering, but it was him nonetheless, smile on his face, sparkle in his blue eyes.

Geralt was up in an instant, taking the two steps across the sand, to the Bard, cradling the face in his hands. He let a small half-laugh, more a short breath than anything, in disbelief. Cornflower blue eyes met dandelion ones, as Jaskier leaned into his touch, a hand coming up to thread his fingers through the Witcher’s.

One, two slow heartbeats passed, and they moved towards each other simultaneously, lips crashing into each other forcefully, sparks setting the world on fire, as the dawn rose pink and red behind them.

 ҉   The End   ҉

[futurewriter2000]

Lovely

A/N: Okay. I have to admit I don’t know anything about Teddy, so I’ll have to work on my Teddy imagines. But please let me know how I did because this imagine is one of my first from the Cursed Child era and I’m a bit insecure and worried. 

REQUEST : Could you do something Teddy Lupin x reader. I just can’t with this cute ass punk cinnamon roll and I rlly need some fanfics of my Teddy bear xx

Teddy Lupin was trouble. He has always been trouble and he wasn’t hiding it.

“ No, no. She was working at the Ministry.” you heard him whisper behind you, making you roll your eyes for what felt for the hundredth time today.

“ Not possible. My dad said she never worked for the ministry that she just came from time to time, sending news and all of that.” James whispered back.

“ Yeah, but you know your dad. He can be wrong a lot of times. Plus I heard Hermione say she actually-”

“ Can the two of you shut up already?” you turned around, whispering in the same voice as them. “ Like, I’m serious I can’t concentrate when the two of you are gossiping like two old ladies.” you glared and they stared. “ Thank you.” you turned around in your seat and grabbed the pencil to start taking notes again.

Teddy leaned over to James, not even asking when James spoke. “ (y/n) (y/l/n). Half-blood. Hufflepuff. Her mum works with Hermione, dad a Muggle, chemist.”

“ Hufflepuff? But I’m Hufflepuff.” he furrowed his eyebrows at James and James shrugged.

“ I don’t know, mate. Even I don’t know all of the Gryffindors in this school and-”

“ I swear to God. I don’t care who sees me but I will jinx both of your arses.” you were now glaring at both of them.

Teddy smiled and leaned on his palms, looking mischievously at you and changing his hair color to red. “ Fancy going to Hogsmeade with me?” he asked, changing his hair color to green, later pink and into blue.

Your eyes moved from his hair to his eyes. “ What?” you furrowed your eyebrows at him.

“ I asked. ” he repeated, turning his hair color to red again. “ Fancy...” turning into green. “...going to...” pink. “ ...Hogsmeade...” and blue. “ ...with me?”

You stared at him. Was he serious at the moment? “ Flattered as I am, I’m already going with somebody.” you replied turning back to your notebook.

“ Oh, really? Who is it?” he asked from behind, whispering louder.

“ None of your business.” you replied, glancing up if the professor heard you.

“ Probably that Ravenclaw, Dave. Saw them a few times together.” James whispered to Teddy, loud enough for you to hear.

“ Dave, huh? “ Teddy smirked, glancing from you to the professor. “ He always did pick easy girls.” he whispered loudly, making you turn back at him.

“ You think I’m easy, huh? Then why did you ask me out?”

“ Because you’re easy.” he smirked and you gripped your wand tightly around its core.

“ I’ll show you just how easy I can be.”

And you know the trouble of Teddy Lupin I was mentioning earlier? Well, he sure didn’t try to avoid it.

---

As much as you didn’t want to have detention, it was worth it. You walked into that detention class with your head held high and smirk on your lips.

The wands were on the Professors desk and there were many desks empty. You sat behind one and opened your notebook. If you were stuck here for a few hours you might as well be productive.

“ Afternoon, Professor!” he beamed as he entered the room, placing his wand on the desk and taking a seat next to you. “ Noon.” he looked at you with sweetness in his eyes and leaned his head on his palm.

“ How’s your nose?” you smirked.

“ Poppy mend it but I can still taste the blood.” he smiled and looked down at your notebook. “ Whatcha got there?”

“ None of your business.”

“ You’re really stubborn, aren’t you?” he grinned and you finally looked at him, his eyes emerald green and his hair light brown.

“ Depends to who.” you glanced and turned another page.

Before he could reply, Professor McGonagall was standing in front of him and he looked up at her and grinned. “ Professor?”

“ Mister Lupin.” she pursed her lips into a thin line. “ Will I have to make you go seat a few desks away from Miss (y/l/n)? ”

“ Please, Professor. I’m a Prefect, I need to be seated at the front.” he smiled at her and she kept looking at him. You glanced up at the professor and you swore you saw her smile at him.

“ You may look like so much like your father, but you definitely got your mother’s traits.” she shook her head. “ Always up to no good, she was.”  

You looked at him and you saw his beam disappear into a small simper. He looked up at the mirror up at McGonagall's mirror and as soon as he saw his appearance he changed his hair to blue, as well as his eyes.

You kept looking at him, wondering why? Why did he change his appearance so quickly? Wasn’t he proud to look like his dad?

He was quiet the whole attention. He even pulled out parchment and started writing an essay for Potions. You leaned towards him and whispered. “ Are you okay?”

“ Yeah, why?” his reply was quick and he kept scratching his quill against the parchment.

“ I don’t know. “ you shrugged, looking at him. “ You’ve been kind of quiet since she mentioned your parents.” you spoke really quietly and he stopped writing, staring down and you knew you shouldn’t have said it.

His story was a tragedy. Everybody knew about his parents’ death, his mother’s gift he inherited...

“ I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.” you moved in front of your desk and stared at your notebook.

“ Yeah, you really shouldn’t.” he snapped and returned back to his essay, his hair color turning into a dark shade of red.

---

He didn’t talk to you since then and all the time you felt really horrible for offending him like that. You didn’t think it would have such a big effect on him. You tried not to think about it too much but it was hard since he was in the same house as you.

But you wanted to apologize to him, so you waited for him when he was patrolling the halls. You waited in the warm and cozy common room, clutching your phone and falling asleep with music blasting in your ears. There were a few parchments on the table as you tried to write an essay for your Potions class as well.

He entered the common room and saw you curled up on the sofa, snoozing as one earphone fell from your ear and he could hear a guitar playing from it. He smiled and walked towards you.

He knew you’ve been trying to talk to him but he didn’t want to talk about it. He never wanted to hear about his parents. He never likes the subject of his werewolf dad and half-blood mother. He only loved hearing it from Harry and his grandmother as they always told them how brave they were, fighting for what was right.

He placed his hand on your shoulder and lightly shook you. You quickly jerked awake and looked up, another earphone falling from your ear. “ Hey.” you smiled and quickly sat up.

“ You waited?” he smiled and sat on the small desk behind him.

“ Yeah, yeah.” you shook your head a bit, trying to shake off the sleepiness that kept washing over you. “ I wanted to apologize...for what I said at that detention.”

“ Not about the broken nose?” he chuckled and you rolled your eyes.

“ You deserved it. We both know it.” you smiled and pulled out the earphones from your phone as it kept blasting music. “ I didn’t know you’d be mad but I just want you to know that I don’t care what they say about them. I think they were pretty brave for what they died for.” you said and his hair colour turned back to light brown as his eyes into emerald.

“ Yeah... I know you didn’t mean anything bad by saying it. I just don’t like talking about them.” he mumbled, avoiding your gaze.

“ Why not?” you asked, your heart racing at the thought of stepping over the line.

“ I’m just mad they left me, I guess. And I don’t know it but my hair and eyes always turn like my dads. I can’t help it and it happens when I’m around Harry or grandma but last time happening in detention...I don’t know...” he shrugged. “I guess I didn’t expect it.”

“ They didn’t leave you, Teddy. They left for you.” you placed your hand on his. “ They fought for you because they didn’t want you to live in the world where Voldemort was in charge. They loved you.”

“ You sound like Harry.” he smiled and looked down at your touching hands.

“ Well, good to know I might be the Chosen one as well.” you joked and he chuckled. “ Be proud of them, that’s all I’m saying.”

“ I am. “ he smiled, looking you with his emerald eyes. “ But you know what would make me a bit better right now?” he grinned and you looked at him confused.

“ What?”

“ A date. “ he wiggled his eyebrows and you rolled your eyes. “ You know...for breaking my heart.”

“  Breaking your heart?!” you scoffed, smiling at him and slightly pushing him away. “ I think you’ll live.”

“ It’s just one date.” he got on his knees and placed his arms on your lap. “ I know you fancy me, (y/n). You wouldn’t be waiting for me in the common room if you didn’t.” he looked with the same sweetness as he did before.

“ Alright. One date but you better make it a good one.”

[sapphires-and-gold-fics]

Fictober Day 25: “I could really eat something.”

Fandom: Game of Thrones / ASOIAF / Jane Austen

Characters: Jaime Lannister / Brienne of Tarth

Note: When October ends, this will transition to an actual chapter fic but, until then, parts - 

Read Part 1 Read Part 2 Read Part 3

Pt 4 on AO3

xxxxxxxxxxx

He was the only person in the world who could at that moment be forgiven for not being Ramsay Snow; for though Sansa bemoaned Brienne’s propriety, the importance of her sister’s happiness far outweighed that in Sansa’s estimation, and so she sought to show Jaime the utmost cordiality, greeting him with even more warmth of regard than Brienne herself.

But in Jaime there was a deficiency of all that a lover ought to look and say - Brienne was cognizant of it, and had no doubt that Sansa was as well, and so Brienne carried on as if naught was the matter. Yet her sister saw and listened with increasing surprise. She almost began to feel a dislike of Jaime when she called to mind Ramsay’s attentions and how his manners were so striking in contrast to those of this brother elect.

Sansa tried even involving Arya in pushing Jaime and Brienne to walk together back towards the cottage, but Brienne and Arya both would always lead the discussion back onto group subjects saying “Mr. Lannister when were you last at Winterfell, you know we all loved it there at this time of year” (“I have not yet been there since the leaves have begun to turn but I am sure it is beautiful.”), and “Jaime, how long have you been traveling, are you hungry? (“Miss Arya I have not dined since yesterday - I could really eat something.”), and “Sansa we must show Mr. Lannister the godswood at Riverrun Park and let him tell whether it is not unlike that of Winterfell.” But on the latter, Jaime begged off - “I’m afraid,” said he, “that my father and Ser Brynden have some history which I do not wish to dredge up for the man on whose land I shall be visiting. I am glad to be seeing the Miss Starks, but I would not wish to impose my presence on any of the Tullys.”

Catelyn was surprised only for a moment at seeing Jaime, for his coming to Riverrun was, in her opinion, of all things the most natural. He received the kindest welcome from her; and his shy, if cold, reserve could not stand against such reception. His affections seemed to reanimate towards them all then, and his interest in their welfare became perceptible. But he was still out of spirits, which Catelyn attributed to some want of liberality in his father.

“What are Lord Lannister’s views for you at the present, Jaime,” said she when dinner was over and they had gathered close to the fire, “are you still to pursue a life in law or politics despite yourself?”

“No, thank the gods, I think I’ve now impressed on my father that his vision for me does not suit. Not that I’m any closer to the living I want, but still.”

“What of the living you’re owed by birth?”

“It’s not mine, Mrs. Stark - I have an elder brother who was meant to inherit - unfortunately he and my father have never gotten along; they had a falling out many years ago when I was rather young and my father disowned him. As much as I would appreciate a living, until my father makes peace with my brother, I shall not accept it. My brother thinks me a fool, but who are we if not our morals? And so you see, it is my own fault that I must rely on my sister and my generous friends - please do not pity me for that.”

“It is an honorable choice, Mr. Lannister.” Brienne thought she saw him return the sentiment to her with the quietest spark in his eyes, but then he turned back toward the fire. “Not all choices can be so, Miss Stark. But in this one I have confidence.”

“Honorable!” cried Sansa, “You should take it and then it will be yours to distribute. You will have an opportunity to help your brother then!”

Brienne glared at her sister, and Sansa returned it twofold.

“Nay,” said Jaime, “I do not want the privilege of it. There is too much notoriety in it. I have only ever wanted a quiet life. Being warden of the West holds no interest for me. I’ve made mistakes in my life, most of which I would hope will never be familiar to those whom I call friends, but please believe that I am not suited to the responsibility. It comes at too high a cost to my sensibilities.”

“I wish that someone would give me a large fortune,” said Arya from her forgotten corner.

Jaime seemed to lighten up at this, “And what would you do with it, Miss Arya?”

“Sail!” she replied, without a second thought, “I want to see what is beyond the horizon.”

Jaime finally smiled at that. “Indeed, I think you would. Truly, I think I know what each of you might do if fortune so favored you.”

This was the liveliest Sansa had seen Jaime and she encouraged him - “Very well, tell mother’s first.”

“Oh, Sansa. I would be puzzled on how to spend a large fortune if my girls were already rich without my help.”

“You must begin improvements on the house,” nudged Brienne.

“Miss Stark is right,” came Jaime’s reply, quiet but gaining confidence, “I’m reminded of your notions over dinner. The changes you wished to make to the front parlor and the addition of a veranda at the back overlooking the valley - that would make for a very pretty prospect, I think, and I’m sure the masons and carpenters would charge you prettily for it. But ah, you’re such a generous spirit you might rejoice in letting them cheat you!”

“Oh Jaime,” cried Catelyn, giddy, “you have the right of it.” How nice, Catelyn thought, that where Ramsay had been firm in his vision of the cottage, Jaime thought was kind enough to embrace hers.

“Me next, Jaime.”

“Ah, Miss Sansa - I know your greatness of soul - what a happy day for booksellers and music-sellers it would be. You would purchase all of your favorites over and over to prevent them falling into unworthy hands, and you would have every book that told you how to admire a weirwood - should you not?” He was smiling now, “You see? I’ve not forgotten our old disputes over poetry.”

Sansa smiled back, “I love to be reminded of the past, Jaime. You will never offend me by talking of former times, particularly when I see how warm you are to those memories.” She said this last with a pointed look at Brienne, who looked at her hands. Sansa then entreated Jaime to predict her elder sister’s use of their fantastical fortune.

Jaime turned to look at Brienne but then found himself looking into the fire. “Miss Stark would give a general commission to the printmakers, for every new print of merit be sent her, and when she should find one she dislikes, I think she would send to town for the finest brushes and pigments, and cover it until it was to her liking. And if any should question her preferences, she would challenge her critics and strike them down with her sword.”

Brienne felt herself coloring and could hear the smile in Jaime’s voice, though she avoided his glance, but Mrs. Stark laughed, “Do you call Brienne a perfectionist, Jaime! Or just proud?”

“Neither,” Jaime said, with a glance at Brienne’s hands, and finally shifting to meet her glance, “I would never do either. Miss Stark is discerning. And her tastes should guide the rest of the county. It would be only right for her to make better the inferior works. I would trust the decoration of my own home to no one else!”

Brienne felt a blush creep down her neck to her chest, and Jaime, seeing it, noticed his misstep immediately, and rose to fill his sherry glass. Thankfully, Arya was well on her way to distracting the others from his comment.

“What care I for finery and fashion and painting, I shall be a pirate queen!”

Jaime chuckled while Mrs. Stark glared at her youngest. “Captain Arya,” he said from the sideboard, “I do believe of all the Miss Starks, you could not be dissuaded from your goal, regardless of your future fortunes.”

Brienne could see, with great uneasiness, the low spirits of her friend and the way that he avoided discussion of that which touched him most, and it kept her from a sound sleep. She attributed his strangeness to the demands of his family - specifically his father who, being wholly unknown to her, was a convenient door at which to lay blame. Though knowing Cersei did not make that action any less convenient. Had she been in her own room Brienne might have eventually slept well after assigning her friend’s behavior to a cause, but she had given her room up for their guest, and now Sansa’s eternally cold feet were pressed against her legs, mocking her while her sister snored.

***

The following morning, Jaime joined the elder Miss Starks in the breakfast-room before the others were down; Sansa, eager to promote their happiness, soon left he and her sister to themselves. But no sooner had Brienne become aware of the door closing than Jaime was standing apologetically and exiting the room himself, claiming a need to check on his horse, and promising to return when Mrs. Stark was ready to dine. Brienne was left alone and no less concerned than the day before.

When they did all sit to break their fast together Sansa, sitting beside Jaime,  observed on his hand a ring with a plait of hair at its center.

“Is that Cersei’s hair?” she enquired, knowing one to have been promised by their former hostess to her brother, “I would have thought the hair would be more golden in color, but that looks far paler.”

Jaime colored deeply and, giving a momentary glance at Brienne across the table, replied “Yes, it is my sister’s hair. The setting,” he muttered, “always casts a different shade on it you know.”

Brienne had met his eye, and looked conscious likewise. That the hair was her own she instantaneously felt as well satisfied as Sansa; the only difference in their conclusions was that what Sansa considered a free gift from her sister as she had done for Ramsay, Brienne was conscious must have been procured by some theft or contrivance unknown to herself. Brienne instantly began talking of something else, internally resolving henceforward to catch every opportunity of eyeing the hair and satisfying herself, beyond all doubt, that it was exactly the shade of her own.

***

Jaime remained at the cottage a week. He walked with the sisters to the village every day, toured the river with Brienne and Sansa while Arya kept her mother company on the now-familiar hill with the fine prospect, and sparred with both Arya and Brienne, remarking on the former’s improved skill, and giving credit to the latter’s tutelage.

Sparring was the only time that Brienne felt alone with Jaime - the only time she felt that she could be close to him without shying away. Even though they were in full view of everyone else, they moved around each other in a familiar dance and their foils sang to one another. Here they could tease each other in a way that, had they no swords in hand, would certainly have been called flirtation by an outside party. Here they were protected. It was the only place where one did not hesitate when their body brushed the other’s. And it was the only time that one touched the other purposely.

After several days of walking the unfamiliar picturesque landscapes and being among friends, Jaime’s spirits during the last two days of his visit were greatly improved, though still unequal to what a friend might call usual. He grew more and more partial to the house and its surroundings, and never spoke of going away without a sigh.

On one occasion, Lord Edmure and his uncle came to call unexpectedly, and even then, despite the anticipated cold greeting from the Blackfish, Jaime seemed rather at ease. The old battle axe dismissed him out of hand for being his father’s son, but on his leave-taking he embraced Jaime’s arm as one might an old comrade. Jaime and Lord Edmure were on more stable ground. Edmure enquired after Jaime’s brother, and accepted the reply (he had seen him of late, and hoped he would be in better spirits soon). Edmure invited him to come and stay at the Park the next time his brother was of a mind to travel, and Jaime gave an assurance that he would, by the leave of his friends the Starks.

What followed was a persistent state of half-cheerfulness which Jaime sustained through his own departure. When asked to whence he would travel, he indicated his decision to go to the North, saying that while neither King’s Landing nor Winterfell held much affection for him, his happier memories were in the North and so we would go to his sister; though he declared, with a nod to Catelyn, that his greatest happiness was with the Starks.

***

“I think,” said Catelyn at their breakfast that final morning, “that you would be happier if you had some employment to occupy your time, Jaime. I do not agree with your father, but you must allow that this idleness does not bring happiness.”

“That is true, Mrs. Stark. Yet I am not at liberty to choose my employment while my father quarrels with me. Perhaps one day he will allow me my independence but, until then, I must either hope for some windfall from a mystery benefactor,” he said this last with a wink to Arya, “or keep moving about the country until he gives up on landing me.”

“And should you one day have sons,” continued Catelyn, “they will be brought up to choose their own lives and occupations, and idleness would be discouraged?”

Jaime grew serious and quiet. “My dear Mrs. Stark, any of my children would be brought up to be as unlike my wretched self as possible. In feeling, in action, in condition, in every thing save perhaps my sense of justice.”

“You are a good man, Mr. Lannister,” Brienne insisted quietly, “pray do not abuse yourself so.”

Jaime’s mouth moved into a smile but it did not reach his eyes, and he did not look up. “You have always thought the best of me, Miss Stark, and set me to rights like one of your drawings. Would that you and your family were still in Winterfell, you might all comfort me through my sister’s intemperateness.”

This desponding turn of mind gave additional pain to them all in parting, which shortly took place, and left an uncomfortable impression on Brienne’s feelings especially, which required some trouble and time to subdue.

Jaime took his departure with as much ease as he could manage. Mrs. Stark embraced him and wished him a safe journey, securing his promise to visit again before the spring with a kerchief to her eyes as if he were going off to war and not to his sister’s manor. Arya bounded up to him from across the yard and he embraced the girl with affection. Sansa, determined to show what Brienne would not, stayed close and spoke up to him as he settled on his horse.

Brienne, for her part, was determined not to repeat Sansa’s mortifying show of distress of a fortnight past, and to prevent herself from appearing to suffer more than any of the other women.

Jaime waved his goodbyes, sparing the slightest hesitation when his eyes met Brienne's, and then rode away. Catelyn and Sansa went inside right away with some occupation or another, but Arya begged Brienne to stay awhile and watch until Jaime met the road. He did turn around once, as if looking back on a prospect that he regretted losing sight of, but he did not wave again, and he did not turn his horse and return, and Brienne did not weep.

Afterward, she busied herself, neither seeking nor avoiding mention of his name, appearing to interest herself almost as much as ever in the general concerns of the family, and if, by this conduct, she did not lessen her own grief, it was at least prevented from unnecessary increase. She did not push for solitude, nor did she, on regaining her room from their guest, lie awake the whole night to indulge in meditation, even if an aspect of him seemed to linger still in the air there. In the morning, in a state of half-sleep, Brienne would put her hand to the side table knowing that he had placed his hand there as well, but she found that once awake if she pushed those concerns away, she could instead be afforded leisure enough to think of Jaime and of his behavior in between her doings.

And if, in the days that followed, she undertook a task which enforced her solitude, it was not looked on strangely when she dedicated herself to it. Then, her mind was invariably at liberty and could not be chained in conversation or elsewhere; instead, she had leave to meditate on the past and future, on a subject so interesting before her, which engrossed her memory, her reflection, and her fancy.

[secret--ink]

She wanted to blame her older sister for her music taste, or more specifically, her obsessive nature with a certain British boy band. Unable to escape the bubblegum pop vibes of NSYNC and the Backstreet Boys from her childhood, her knowledge of their songs went unmatched by any subject she studied in school since she was forced to listen to them in their shared bedroom until she was five. She had no power against turning them off, she had no power in changing any of the music really. And while she thought that she would have a break once her sister went to college, while she thought may she could finally listen to her own music and develop her own likes and dislikes, the influence was already too deep.

She wanted to blame her older sister for the way music took over her life, for the way she suddenly found herself thrust into the fangirl lifestyle, complete with her bedroom walls covered in various magazine cutouts of her favorite band. At first, it was the Jonas Brothers. She nearly dragged her sister along to two of their concerts, making t-shirts with her favorite member’s name - Nick - on the back. Spending the entire concert jumping up and down, her dad was simultaneously worried about her well-being and impressed with her energy levels. That same behavior seamlessly transferring to One Direction as soon as they stepped foot on American shores, she shelled out $700 to attend their first concert in DC - a price that was a bit daunting at first. But as she and her sister attended their concerts over the band’s five years together, travelling to different states, the price no longer seemed like a challenge.

She wanted to blame her older sister for a lot of things. She wanted to blame her for the fact that their parents had very little picture of her as a baby because she was the third child while her sister had three full photo albums dedicated to her just from her grandparents alone. She wanted to blame her for the lack of makeup tips, her sister preferring a more natural and simple look, leaving her to research for hours on Youtube to learn the newest trends and how to highlight correctly. She most definitely wanted to blame her for inheriting the oldest car the family had once she was old enough to drive while her sister, of course, got a brand new car.

But now, as she found herself sitting in the empty studio, she couldn’t even begin to think of something to blame her for. In fact, in a turn of events, she owed her sister.

She owed her sister a lot.

She watched as he emerged from the back of the stage, his body draped in a silhouette of black as he made his way through the growing cloud of manufactured fog billowing from the two machines that flanked the small space. Orders from the director coming through the loudspeaker sent the multiple stage hands briskly walking in different directions, rigging lights and taping down cables to protect the talent. She couldn’t help the small smile that pulled at her lips as she watched him play with the mic stand, endlessly raising it until it reached his preferred height.

She knew how tall he was, or at least appeared, before they met. But, it still surprised her and no matter how much time they spent together, it continued to do so. He towered over everyone he met, excluding most basketball players, and no amount of heels that she wore could ever amount to his tall stature. But, she wasn’t complaining. In fact, it was one of the most attractive things about him (among an ever growing list). She liked the way he had to nearly bend in half to reach her lips anytime he wanted to kiss her, her neck craning back until it felt like it was going to snap. She liked the way she fit against his body when he was close, his arms wrapping around her shoulders in the most protective hold she had known, his chin resting against the top of her head as he stood behind her. And she especially liked the way her ears fell in perfect line with his heartbeat as she snuggled against his chest during their lazy morning in bed, becoming familiar with both his resting heart rate and his more erratic, nervous heart rate.

She watched as his eyes searched for her, unable to see much past the now blinding spotlights that fell on him as the music started to fade in. She knew he wanted her front row for rehearsals, like he always did. He wanted her front row for all of his performances. His beacon when his anxiety got too overwhelming or when he felt the performance slipping away from him, he liked knowing exactly where she was. Just in case, he always told her. While it was a small sentiment that sent her heart aflutter in the best way, she knew the second he stepped on stage, in whatever venue, he was right at home.

And that’s exactly what happened. He breezed through rehearsal like the pro he was, equipped with his charming smile as if the room was full of screaming fans rather than a number of older beer-gut bellied men, half of whom were from England, just like the show’s host.

“That was great!” James chimed from his desk, his regular-clothed appearance still somewhat jarring as they had alway seen each other in formal attire. “Brilliant.”

Shawn laughed, “Thanks, man.”

“Shawn?” The director came over the loudspeaker. “How did that feel? Anything you want to change or run over again?”

He shook his head, unfolding himself from underneath his guitar strap, handing the instrument over to the waiting stage hand. “I don’t think so. That felt pretty good.”

“Great. As soon as we’re done running over a segment with James, we’ll go over the monologue with you. So just hang out for a few minutes.”

She could feel his eyes on her the second the director’s voice cut off, but she made sure to keep her nose in her phone, mindlessly scrolling through her own Instagram feed so that she looked completely enthralled, pretending she didn’t watch his rehearsal. It was a senseless game that they played with each other, looking as if they weren’t interested in what was going on, but it never failed to create some of her favorite moments. He knew exactly which buttons to push, or tickle in most cases, to get her in a fit of breathless tears until she was almost blue while he pried her fingers off of her phone and she knew exactly which spots to press her lips against, and circle back to when needed, in order to get him to tear his eyes away from his multiple devices.

She cracked a small smile when she noticed his hands suddenly on either side of her chair, his fingers grasping lazily around the wooden armrests, boxing her in completely. His head dropping down until it blocked her vision, “Excuse me, I was looking at that.”

“Your own pictures?”

“I like to scroll through them sometimes.”

“Mhm.” He hummed.

“Don’t judge me, Mendes. I’ve caught you in the act before.”

“Maybe while I’m bored at home. But never when I’m supposed to be watching my boyfriend’s performance…”

She finally met his gaze, her eyebrows ruffling. “What performance?”

Shawn narrowed his gaze, shaking his head, “You’re lucky your sister is a good friend.”

“Oh is that the only reason why we’re together?”

He couldn’t deny that her older sister played a big part in their introduction. Having originally met at an event for E!, she had nearly spilled her entire plate of sliders on his lap, her heels tangling with the strings of the rug that was underneath the tables. He had caught her elbows before she face-planted into the next table, but the inertia of their bodies sent them flying to the ground anyways. Her three small hamburgers flanked his hair as though creating a halo of beef, sending her into a fit of snorting laughter before she could pick herself up off the floor.

It was his favorite first impression of one of his friends and a story he never got tired of telling. To anyone who would listen, regardless of if she was there or not, it always came up in conversation. And that was exactly how he met the younger of the two sisters, the girl who had now claimed half of his apartment.

He didn’t realize they were sisters while he was talking to her, though now that he knew both of them, he nearly kicked himself for not noticing the resemblance. They hated when they were called twins, but it was true - the similarities in their appearances were uncanny and had her sister not dyed her hair a dark brown, almost black color, most wouldn’t be able to distinguish who was who. But, as he jokingly made fun of her sister - in the most loving way - he should have read into the way she looked as unimpressed as a human could. Her face frozen in a deadpanned look, her lips barely budged into any form of smile. She didn’t smile. She didn’t laugh. She didn’t even twitch.

It wasn’t until her older sister drunkenly stumbled into her from the back, knocking her into his chest and slurring her way through their introduction that he put the pieces together. A rush of color turning his cheeks a deep tomato-like red as his words caught in his throat, his lips sputtering out an apology. He had tried to turn around and escape the humiliation, but she grabbed at his forearm and when he saw her smile, he knew it was all a ploy. A very well-crafted sisterly ploy.

“She had a pretty big hand in arranging things…”

“If by arranging you mean “falling into me”...” She rolled her eyes. “I guess I owe her a really good birthday present this year.”

He laughed, throwing himself into the seat next to her. His bones settling into the cushion immediately, he could feel the exhaustion finally start to hit. He was pretty good with dealing with jetlag and having been in New York City two days prior, he thought the busy schedule with his residency would keep his mind distracted enough to trick it into being adjusted to the new time zone. But, he was wrong.

“So what’d you think?” His head rolling to the side, he had to string along the conversation to keep himself from falling asleep right then and there.

Her eyes finally glanced in his direction, trailing along the line of his now slouched body. “I think you should definitely change the pants,” she began to point out, “but I’m kind of digging the shirt. And your hair - “ His eyes fluttered at the feel of her fingers running through his long dark quiff, tousling the strands loosely until they fell against his forehead in his signature look. “Your hair needs to to be just a bit more Danny Zuko, but it’s nothing we can’t fix.”

“...I was talking about the song.”

“Oh, right.”

Most times her ignorance - whether intentional or not - was frustrating. Going beyond limits he didn’t even know existed, she pushed every button in ways that got the best of his Canadian politeness. And though he often retreated to a different room holding his tongue, they never went to be angry - a sentiment that both of their parents advised. But as he watched her tongue poke out from underneath her front teeth, her nose scrunching up as a small smile grew against her lips, he knew she had watched his performance with a fine-tooth comb. She probably had a list of notes, always good things, hidden on one of her screens.

She leaned across the armrest, the close proximity of her face a sudden, yet welcomed surprise. Close enough to feel the warmth of her breath, their eyes finally met for the first time during their time at the studio and he noticed the way the soft glow of the studio lights reflected in the right spots of her irises, creating a sparkle against their dark brown color. She had always hated her eye color, but he found himself getting lost in the darkest parts of the chocolate shade at all times. When they first fluttered open in the morning, squinting as they adjusted to the brightness of the natural light, he could always pick out the very faint flecks of gold that she inherited from her father before they faded by noon. A bright coffee color whenever she was excited, they glistened with a golden hue that made his cheeks hurt, a smile permanently growing on his face as he watched her either jump up and down for hours or run through the streets of whatever town they were in, screaming at the top of her lungs. Or swallowed up in a wave of tears, the shade shifted to the deepest of colors, an almost black color. And while it was the most heartbreaking of looks he had ever seen, it was also his favorite because of her vulnerability. It was in those moments that he had fallen in love with her.

“What?”

She shook her head, pressing her lips against his in a sweet, but brief kiss. “You know it’s my favorite song.”

“It’s James’ favorite too.” He hummed.

“It’s a lot of people’s favorite. I don’t know why you’re asking for my opinion, you know you killed it. And you know you’re going to kill it tonight.”

Shawn smiled, his gaze drifting to his lap. Remembering her earlier comment, his fingers pinched the fabric of his shirt right near the buttons. “You really like this shirt, huh?”

“Mhm.” She nodded enthusiastically. “You should wear it more often.”

He raised his eyebrows, clearly interested in the path the conversation was taking. “Is that so?”

She pulled at her bottom lip, her eyes drifting to the somewhat see-through material of the white henley - his now go to style of shirt - that laid perfectly against his abdomen. Maybe it was the way it teased at the muscles she knew were underneath, her fingers ready to trace the lines against his skin. Maybe it was the way he had rolled up the sleeves to his elbows, exposing just enough of the guitar tattooed on his right arm, her infatuation with tattoos leaving her itching to add to her own collection. Or maybe it was the actual color of the shirt and its contrast against his slightly tanned skin and dark hair -

Whatever it was, it was working.

“How much - uh - how much time until they need you again - ?”

He drew a deep breath as her fingers wandered along neckline, dipping towards the top unbuttoned button. Almost feeling the touch of her skin against his and that’s when James’ voice broke through the haze. “Shawnologue time!”

She drew back quickly, “I guess that answers that question.”

“We’ll uh - “ He cleared his throat, slowly rising from the chair. “We’ll have to continue this discussion later.”

“Don’t forget, we have dinner with my sister after the show tonight for her early birthday celebration.”

“After dinner then.” He answered back, joining James at the mark in front of camera 1. Unable to keep his thoughts straight, he was thankful to have a few minutes to reread the cue cards before they began.

“And then we’re going out after dinner for drinks with a few of her friends.”

“After drinks.”

“And I think she wants to go to the Griffith Observatory at some point.” She continued.

“Are you - “

“And you have a meeting with the label super early tomorrow morning, so - “

“Ugh!” He groaned, his hands flying up towards his face. Smothering her mixed emotions into his palms, “You’re killing me, woman!”

“Love you too!”

And though he didn’t say it back in front of the twenty crewmembers, he knew she knew he loved her too. Immensely. Irrevocably. So intensely that it sometimes made his heart hurt. In all the cheesy romantic comedy cliches that he could imagine, he loved her all the same.

[tangled23works]

Run To You

Part 2 of Whatever It Takes. 

Read it on Archive of Our Own.

Felicity was not in a good mood. Sleeping alone in that huge bed had never been comfortable but knowing that Oliver was lying in the guest room so close and yet so far away? That had been torture. After a night of tossing and turning, she was ready to admit that she had missed him like hell. But when she had asked for divorce she had made a promise to herself; to be strong, to find out who Felicity Smoak-Queen was without her husband’s influence and not to depend on anyone else ever again. It was a promise she intended to keep. Starting today.

She hopped in the shower while trying to decide on clothes and make-up. She had an interview she couldn’t miss and her mother always said that if you wanted people to take you seriously, then you had to dress the part. Choosing an appropriate outfit took more than half an hour but in the end the elegant blue dress was worth it.

She grabbed her bag and walked into the kitchen in a hurry expecting to find Oliver gone. He always woke up at an ungodly hour and used to tease her about the fact that she could not stand mornings.

She stopped in her tracks when she spotted her husband standing at the counter, pouring coffee into her favorite mug.

“What are you doing?”

He rolled his eyes. “What does it look like I’m doing?” he asked and pushed the mug towards her.

When she hesitated, he smirked. “I’m not trying to poison you, Felicity. You’re the one who filed for divorce if you recall. I have no intention of getting rid of you.”

Felicity huffed and accepted his offer. He was joking (as much as the man could joke) but Moira Queen was definitely capable of murder. The truth was though that if his mother wanted to get rid of her, she would probably hire a hitman or something. Poison was an unreliable method and one that would cast suspicion on her son.

She slid onto a stool and watched Oliver put one plate of scrambled eggs and two muffins on the counter. He knew that she couldn’t stand eggs that early in the morning and that she had an affinity for sweets that he didn’t share.

He remained standing and was eating his breakfast without further comment when she bit into the first muffin. The taste of vanilla, raspberries and cream cheese filling burst onto her tongue.

“Oh my God!”, she moaned and swallowed. “Where did you get these?”

When he arched an eyebrow, realization hit her. “You made these yourself?”, she asked slack-jawed.

“Why do you sound surprised?”

Except that was she wasn’t. At least not by his cooking skills. Early on in their marriage, she had discovered the CEO of Queen Consolidated wearing an apron and making an authentic Italian meal that would put professional chefs to shame. Back then she had been totally impressed. In her opinion, CEOs did not cook lasagna and tiramisu for their wives; they had housekeepers for that. When she had pointed out that fact, Oliver had laughed at her and had continued to wow her with meals and desserts fit for a restaurant.

So, no. She wasn’t surprised by his cooking abilities; she was surprised because this was the first time in two months that he had decided to feed her. It brought tears to her eyes.

“Thank you,” she whispered and looked into her coffee mug.

He inclined his head in acknowledgement and didn’t comment on the fact that she had become emotional after a fracking muffin.

“I have to go. We have an early meeting with Starling Bank that I need to be prepared for.”

“About the funds they allocated to QC so that you could save it from the clutches of Isabel Rochev?”

Oliver stood still. “Since when do you keep track of the company’s financial situation?”

Felicity threw her hands in the air. “Be careful, Oliver. Your inner Moira Queen is showing. Next thing you know, you’ll be accusing me of being a gold-digger who married you for jewelry and money.”

He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant,” he clarified, “since when do you care about my job?”

“Since always.”

He nodded once and turned to leave.

Felicity was debating the merits of eating the second muffin when she heard his voice.

“You know why I never talk about the company?”

“Because you think there’s no way a girl from Vegas would understand what you’re talking about?”

“Felicity, drop the act. You couldn’t sound stupid if you tried.”

She actually blushed at his compliment. “Fine. What’s the reason then?”

“It’s because I didn’t think you cared.”

“Of course I care,” she countered.

But she couldn’t help but wonder if he was right. How would he know that she was interested in his work when she never questioned him about it? A large part of this distance between them was definitely his fault but maybe, maybe , there was a small part that was her fault too.

Most of the time she got the sense that Oliver was restraining himself. Perhaps it was the Queen upbringing. Be always in control, never show any human emotions. That seemed to be Moira’s life motto. Or perhaps Oliver was still fighting to be seen as a capable CEO and not the young reckless playboy he had been in college. No matter the cause, she had the impression that her husband was hiding and she was sick of never seeing his true self. Maybe by never pushing for more, she had made an ever bigger mistake than she had realized.

Well, maybe she could have accepted monosyllabic and curt answers before but not anymore.

“Have a good day. I’ll call if I’m going to be late.”

That was a fake promise if Felicity had ever heard one. “Don’t bother.”

“What does that mean?” He looked perplexed.

“Oliver, you’re always late.” It was a harsh but honest statement.

When he didn’t respond, she picked up her empty mug and put it in the dishwasher. This had been one of their biggest issues since the beginning. Felicity would always come second to Queen Consolidated.

Oliver was dedicated one hundred percent to his family’s company, to his legacy. Watching him save it from bankruptcy and turn it around would never cease to amaze her. She was damn proud of him. This success however was the reason why her husband was almost never home. Why he came to bed at two or three in the morning when she was already asleep. Why he traveled around the country making allies and earning the shareholders’ trust without ever thinking of inviting his wife to one of these trips. So, him saying that he would call if he happened to be late was just bullshit. And above all, it was bullshit that she didn’t have the time for.

She heard the door close and took a deep breath. Now was not the time to freak out about their marital issues. She had bigger fish to fry. After all, Oliver Queen was not the only one who had an important meeting to attend this morning.

“Well? How’s the operation ‘WBMW’ going?”

“Excuse me?”

Tommy went through the glass door and looked around wearily wondering if the CEO office was bugged. Not that he would put it past Moira Queen. In fact, Tommy would bet his sizable inheritance that Moira still had spies inside the company.

“Winning Back My Wife,” Tommy explained in a low voice. “I would call it ‘WBFSQ’ but it sounds weird. ‘WBMW’ has a nice ring to it,” he added, giving his oldest friend a cheeky grin.

“Fine.”

“Come on, buddy. You don’t expect me to believe that, do you?” Tommy walked towards the coffee machine, chose a pod and started pressing buttons. “I need details, Ollie. D-e-t-a-i-l-s.”

Oliver raised an eyebrow. “Such as?”

“Like, are you still in exile or has the lovely Felicity given you access to the inner sanctum?” Tommy knew he was evil for teasing the poor man but he couldn’t help it. Honestly, Felicity kicking Oliver out of the loft and her bed was the most fun he had had in years.

Oliver accepted the cup of coffee he offered and sighed. “Is that a euphemism for sex?”

“Everything is a euphemism for sex, Ollie.”

“In that case, sorry to disappoint but I’m still in exile.”

Tommy groaned. “Please tell me that you’re at least sleeping in the same room as your wife…”

Oliver shook his head and drummed his fingers on the table. He seemed agitated today like his life was out of order. And thanks to this visit, it was about to get worse.

Tommy grabbed the cappuccino he had meticulously prepared and sat down. The scent of cinnamon rose to his nostrils. “And what are you doing about it?”

Oliver narrowed his eyes. “I’m…” He looked confused for a few seconds and then settled for, “I’m working on it.”

“Really? Please, elaborate.”

“What do you want me to say? She’s determined to keep me away. I’m trying to win her back as you so elegantly put it. That’s it.”

“Jesus, Ollie! Having a talk with you is like pulling teeth. Do I need to use Vodka like the good old days to get you to share? I wonder if Felicity feels the same way.”

Tommy wouldn’t be surprised if she did, to be honest. In fact, he wouldn’t be surprised if Felicity was mad at Oliver for a lot more than he originally thought.

Oliver had always had trouble with words. Thea seemed to be the only exception to that rule. Apart from his little sister, his friend was a lot more comfortable with showing affection in subtle ways than talking about feelings. The fact that Felicity did not allow him to touch her must be killing him. He would never complain of course or share his thoughts but Tommy knew without a doubt that Oliver Queen was irrevocably in love with his wife. But how would the idiot convince her of that if they were determined to be apart?

Tommy cleared his throat. As much as he was enjoying seeing the overconfident CEO like this, he had come to QC for a reason and it was time to face the music.

“Anyway, I have come across an interesting bit of information. Actually, I’m not sure I should tell you. I mean, you’re probably gonna bite my head off either way but if you happen to find out later on your own, you’ll figure out that I knew all along and then you’re definitely gonna kill me.”

“What’s wrong?”

Tommy hadn’t felt so nervous since the night of his 25th birthday party when he had to warn Oliver about Thea’s sleazebag ex-boyfriend and drug dealer, Shane.

“As you know, I’ve been dating a lovely assistant from PalmerTech-”

“Get to the point, Tommy.”

Tommy ignored his menacing tone and continued, “Last week she had to take an appointment for her boss. You see, this would have been a mere blip on my radar if she hadn’t told me that her boss is the Head of Applied Sciences division and more importantly, if she hadn’t mentioned the name of the person who asked to see him.”

“Who?”, Oliver growled.

“Felicity Smoak-Queen. Your wife applied for a job at Ray Palmer’s company. Ray is aware of the fact that the two of you are separated and you know that he has had his eye on Felicity ever since your wife graduated from MIT. You know, Laura - that’s the assistant by the way - told me that Ray has actually been single since he...”

Tommy watched Oliver run out of the office faster than that red streak in Central City and smiled.

“Go get your girl, Ollie.”

[edithwasthebeginning]

The Volante

Ruth and Professor Sachs had met the year before in her history class. She remembered him smiling at her during her first presentation. With her eyes cast downward, Ruth slowly made her way to the front of the lecture hall. She tugged at her modest white suit that felt a little too tight around her shoulders. Her heart was beating fast and her notes trembled in her hand. It wasn’t the presentation itself but the audience that scared her; they were a silent judging mass that seemed impossible to please.  

After class Ruth was organizing her notes when Professor Sachs walked up to her and, placing a hand on her shoulder, invited her to meet with him in his office. Ruth obligingly met with him that evening and sat in the uncomfortable chair in front of his desk. She noticed a gleam in his eye as he looked at her, taking in her blonde ringlets and a face that was pale like porcelain. The professor voiced his proposition: free elocution lessons from him after class every day. Ruth beamed. This is just what I need, she thought, this is how I can change myself. She saw the confidence in the professor when he spoke in front of the class. That’s what I need, Ruth thought.

They began meeting the following week and after their first meeting the professor offered to drive her home on the condition that she abide by his car rules—no food, no drinks, no dirty shoes, and no smoking in the car. She remembered how proud he was of the 1969 Aston Martin DB6 Volante, how important it was to him. She couldn’t help her but admire it herself, with its curved lines and shiny red exterior.

That first night he drove her home he walked her up to the front of her apartment building. As they walked he snuck his arm around her waist. He did it in a smooth, habitual way and she was so impressed with his subtlety that she forgot to protest. On the front steps he whispered her name and she turned around to face him. In the darkness he leaned down and kissed her. Ruth froze. Wouldn’t this get him fired?

“Ruth, it’s alright.”

After Professor Sachs rumbled away in the Volante Ruth closed the door gently and stood in the hallway of the dark apartment. She flicked on the light and went to the kitchen to turn on the stove. The pan hissed as she added some frozen vegetables. He had asked her to call him Johnathan. She smiled when she thought of how he had picked her out of the crowd, separating her from the rest and making her extraordinary. And he seemed like a good man, Ruth thought, even if he was a little older. But in her eyes his greying sideburns confirmed his respectability. More than this, there was something about his unfailing confidence and charisma that pulled her in. She couldn’t understand why he wasn’t married. The onions browned in the pan.

The next night when they stood in the darkness she kissed him back. A small voice inside her pointed out that her mother wouldn’t approve of such an unconventional relationship with someone twice Ruth’s age. It was true that Ruth hadn’t expected to start seeing her teacher. In her mind she had pictured a respectable young man that she could bring home to her parents. But so far no boys had noticed her, and she was getting tired of waiting.

It was easy for Ruth to ignore that tug at her conscience when they were cruising in the Volante with the top down. They would drive just to drive along empty freeways and obscure roads in the nighttime. Her long blonde curls would dance in the wind until she scraped them back into a ponytail. Johnathan always drove a little too fast for Ruth, and the first time they went driving she told him this in a shout that was barely audible above the rushing wind and the music.

“Would you mind slowing down a bit, Johnathan?”

“No, darling, that’s the whole point! Don’t you want to feel the rush?” He laughed and turned up the music. Ruth awkwardly nodded at this and kept her discomfort to herself after that. The next time they went out Ruth attempted to peek her head out the window and feel the breeze. I can do this, Ruth thought, and she surrendered her fears to the wind. By the next week she was able to ride without wearing her seatbelt, just like Johnathan did. He looked at her with pride in his eyes when she did this. She always wished these invigorating cruises would never end, but inevitably they did, usually with them checking into a motel.

Johnathan enjoyed taking Ruth on dates too. He would drive her somewhere out of town to an upscale, dimly lit restaurant. Ruth had nicer clothes now, thanks to the professor, and he would suggest which outfit would be appropriate for each restaurant. It irked Ruth that all the outfits he bought were just a little too small, but she’d never said anything to him. He says I look beautiful in these clothes, she reasoned, and that’s what I want to be, so what’s the point in arguing about it? Still, Ruth pulled at her collar reflexively.

Whenever they went out Johnathan would insist on paying and never failed to make some comment about his inherited wealth in the process. Their reservations were always under a false name and when the hostess would call it out they would grin at each other like they had a secret. They would sit at a little table by the window, preferably with the Volante in view, talking and laughing a little too loud. Ruth was only 19 so Johnathan would buy a drink and give her a sip when the waiter wasn’t looking. Ruth always savored the dry malty flavor in her mouth; she thought it was the best thing she’d ever tasted.

It was a Thursday night and Johnathan was taking Ruth to a steakhouse. He pulled the Volante smoothly into a spot and turned off the engine. He looked at Ruth affectionately and patted her on the knee. A couple months had passed since that first kiss. Ruth sat a little straighter in her seat now than she had on their first ride together. She was so absorbed examining her fingernails, with their freshly lacquered shine, that she didn’t notice Johnathan’s admiring gaze on her.

“Ruth,” he squeezed her knee, trying to get her attention. She finished inspect her pinky nail before looking up.

“Yes, Honey?” she returned his smile, but it didn’t meet her eyes. She could see some confusion in his face as he scrutinized her face. He seemed to be searching for what he wanted to say.

“Did you start that diet I recommended?”

Ruth’s smile fell just a fraction and she placed her hand over his.

“Oh I don’t know, shouldn’t we wait a little on that? Ask me again when it’s closer to the summer!” Johnathan’s brow wrinkled at this but his smile stayed plastered on. He kept his hand on her knee.

The next night Ruth sat primly in her cream-colored dressed and a brown belt hugging her middle which matched the leather of the Volante. Her hair was hanging loose and she had used a bit more make up than usual. Her eyeliner gave her cat eyes that contrasted with her dark eye shadow. Johnathan cowered at this new development, but still could not take his eyes away from her appearance. He awkwardly shifted around, not seeming to know where to place his hands.

“I thought you might want something to go with that dress.” He quickly reached into the back seat and pulled out an ivory colored jewelry box. He opened it for her and held up the gleaming diamond pendant. Ruth’s eyes beamed and her red lips curved into a small smile. She had been smiling less lately, but when he gave her presents her regular cheerfulness returned.

“Thank you, Johnathan! You know how I love these little presents.”

Ruth kept the jewelry in a small glass box that she locked with a key. Before each night out she would unlock the box and admire her treasures, imagining herself wearing them to class and shocking her classmates. She was someone important when she put them on, someone who didn’t care about things like school. Ruth began to spend less time in class and more time flying alongside Johnathan in the DB6 Volante, feeling free and defiant and looking her best. She asked him once if she could take the driver’s seat but he just laughed.

Soon Ruth had her own credit card; another gift from Johnathan. She reasoned with him that it would make everything a lot more convenient if she did her own personal shopping.

“Johnny, I know that you like to have a say when it comes to my wardrobe, but I think I might have the advantage when it comes to knowing women’s fashion. Just trust me,” she gave him her purest smile and he responded with a squeeze of her palm and a chagrined expression, which she pretended to ignore.

“I guess that sounds reasonable,” he smiled feebly in response. His eyes were panicking though, and Ruth was hasty to smooth over the situation.

“Well, don’t you want me to look my very best darling? I do it for you, you know.”

Johnathan agreed and relaxed his expression while Ruth eyed her new card.

The next morning they saw each other in class. Ruth was giving her second presentation and it was going very well; her phrasing was clear and she stood tall, facing the audience and maintaining eye contact throughout. She decided against the white suit—she had more of a comfortable look now in her dark rayon skirt and loose top. The audience doesn’t matter anymore, she thought, I’m all that matters.

After class Johnathan attempted to give her some pointers to remember for her next presentation. Their lessons had ended months before, with complete success, but Johnathan still felt the need to improve her elocutionary skills.

She cut him off, saying, “now’s really not the time John. And I see you speak everyday—would you like me to give you some criticism as well? Yes, I thought not.” Her heels clicked out the door, leaving Johnathan standing before an empty chair. He combed his hair back with his hand and stared at the ceiling as he breathed out a rush of air. Slowly, he returned to his desk and piled papers into his briefcase. He thought back to when he first met her; he missed that innocent, docile girl he used to drive home.

That night Johnathan let Ruth decide the restaurant. They sat at a table by the window and Ruth looked outside at the Volante. Their waters came and she sipped hers until she saw her reflection in the bottom of the glass.

Casting Johnathan a sidelong glance, she mentioned that he had missed her birthday.

“I thought you said it was in July!” Johnathan squirmed.

“Well, you heard me wrong I suppose. It’s today,” she gave him her most innocent expression in an attempt to emphasize his carelessness. The increasing guilt in his expression contributed to Ruth’s own amusement, although she hid it well from him. She fantasized about more elegantly wrapped gifts in her future, and more ways to manipulate Johnathan. The exhilaration of control was like a drug to Ruth, its novelty making it that much more addictive for her.

Johnathan was clenching his fists and glared down at the floor. After cementing his resolve, he raised his head and looked Ruth straight in the eye.

“Ruth it’s your own fault that you didn’t tell me sooner.” He speared some broccoli with his fork. There was a beat of silence. “And I meant to tell you earlier, but that new jacket looks ridiculous—I think maybe it was a mistake to let you shop by yourself. I’m coming with you next time.”

Ruth’s eyes flashed and she threw her glass on the floor. The glass shattered on the hardwood floor and an intense silence followed as heads turned toward their table.

Ruth stood up. Through gritted teeth, she spat, “I’ll dress how I like and I’ll speak how I like. You don’t control me.”

Johnathan, startled by her reaction, begged her to sit down. Fine, he said, that was fine. She could do what she wanted. Just don’t make a scene. The frenzied emotion in Ruth’s face disappeared and was quickly replaced by the appearance of complete tranquility. She demurely sat down again and wiped her mouth gingerly with her napkin. After that they conversed as if nothing had happened. Johnathan didn’t notice how tense Ruth still was, or how clipped all her words were. She was seething; she wanted to break something else, wanted to escape in the Volante all on her own and leave Johnathan behind.

They didn’t speak as they drove through the night, passing under the strobe of infinite streetlamps. Johnathan claimed it was too cold to put the top down so Ruth rolled down her window. He was about to protest against even that but decided against it, and they remained in silence. When he finally dropped her off at her apartment his forehead was beaded with sweat and his face was contorted. Out of real concern for his health Ruth asked him if he was alright, but he said he was fine so she went inside.

Professor Sachs didn’t show up for class the next morning. Around noon the school was notified that he had died of a heart attack the night before. After dropping Ruth off he had arrived home safely, but as he closed the door of the Volante he began to feel the pain in his chest. No one found him until the next morning.

Ruth found out about Johnathan through a friend who sat next to her in class. As she processed the information she started to feel queasy, but also felt an odd sense of relief. The two emotions didn’t fit; Ruth felt like her heart was being pulled in multiple directions at once. She quietly left the classroom and threw up in the bathroom. Afterwards she dutifully dabbed her face with a paper towel and reapplied her lipstick in the dingy mirror. Her reflection was a pale blur with yellow hair that reminded her of the old Ruth, the agreeable and selfless Ruth that existed before Johnathan. But that Ruth in the mirror wasn’t smiling—her face was blank and flat. She tried to remember if she was even a little bit happy before her self-transformation, but then she realized she didn’t even know if she was happy after the fact. Ruth turned away from her reflection and walked out of the bathroom, leaving the old Ruth behind in that dirty mirror.

Later, when Ruth saw his picture in the obituaries, she felt a swirl of guilt and sadness. She clenched the newspaper in her hand and tried to unravel own thoughts. He wasn’t a bad man, Ruth reflected, he just didn’t understand her. She felt cold with the thought, but his death made sense. She had needed him at one time, but now she had outgrown him. Still, tears came to her eyes when she saw his black and white picture in the paper. She penciled in the date of his funeral in her planner.

Ruth arrived at the funeral in an elegant black gown and dark sunglasses. She ignored the looks and whispers of the few family members present and kept her attention on the casket. She had debated whether to come to the funeral or not, but eventually came to the conclusion that she owed Johnathan at least that. He had given her a sense of freedom, she thought. After the ceremony she left immediately. Leaving the cemetery, she felt she had left something there with Johnathan, something that she could never get back. Ruth thought of everything Johnathan had ever done for her, from elocution lessons to expensive gifts. She had been nothing before Johnathan, she told herself. Ruth also reminded herself of all the horrible things he had done to her and the pressure he had put on her. She rode the bus back to her apartment.

Summer came quickly and soon Ruth’s apartment always had the windows open. Ruth was usually tutoring kids at the university, but it was a Saturday so she was off work and she sat on the apartment stairs under the hot sun eating a sandwich in a pair of jean shorts and a grey tank top. Her old jewelry had begun to accumulate a layer of dust up in her room where it sat, overflowing from its little glass box. She had also stopped piling on makeup after Johnathan died, although she didn’t think she could ever go back to no makeup at all. That just wasn’t her anymore.

A chubby postal worker trudged up the sidewalk. Ruth watched him as he slowly made his way to each apartment with his bulging sack of letters. When he finally made it to her he asked her what her name was. When she told him he lit up and reached a hand into the sack. She held the letter in her hands and wondered where it came from. Her heart beat faster when she looked at the return address; the letter was from the state attorney’s office. She brought the letter inside and gingerly set it on the counter. After pacing back and forth a few times she went to the counter and ripped open the letter. It was the Volante. It was hers.

Ruth was driving along the interstate with one hand on the steering wheel of the bright red vehicle. She had the top down and the windows down, and the sun was shining in while her hair rippled in the wind. Her red dress, matching the car’s exterior, moved in the same rhythm. Ruth smiled a lopsided smile as the wind hit her face and pressed hard on the gas pedal. She wasn’t sure where she was going, but the going was what was most important to her.

[lurkernolonger]

B for Bollocks (1/2)

Hello! I’ve been lurking at the edges of the MMFD fic tag for much too long, so I’ve finally decided to leave my shadowy corner and venture out into the light. The blinding, extremely intimidating light. Every emu I’ve encountered has been nothing but lovely, but that doesn’t stop the doubt from creeping in and unpacking it’s bullshit. Especially as of late, since there has been a plethora of amazing stories gracing my dashboard (looking at you @how-ardently @slitherouter @rinnship @kneekeyta @madfatty @hey1tskat1e  @crystalgiddings1993 @emmatationsforall (and that’s not even everyone!)).

This is my first dabble in writing and if I’m being generous I am about 27% confident in it, so I am basically throwing this out there and running away. Story is a season 1-esque AU and will be a two parter. @mmfdfanfic

Finn shuffles past the green doors of The Swan with a heavy sigh. Keeping his eyes trained on his boots, he makes a beeline for the bar, completely unaware of the greedy stares from a table of girls in the corner. Waiting for his pint, he finally moves his eyes to the table near the jukebox, where he knew the gang would be sat. Well, the gang minus one. Rae.

Finn was well aware that she had a shift at the record shop which meant she would be last to arrive, which in turn meant he wasn’t in any hurry. He’d been antsy to get down there all day to see her but his dad had been on his back about yard work; even going as far as to threaten to play his 70s soft rock tunes at top volume next time Rae was over if Finn didn’t get it done. He shuddered at the thought, then bit his lip to stop the grin that came with the image of Rae’s likely reaction: furrowed brows, turned up nose, slightly parted kissable lips. He could practically see the fire dancing in her eyes and hear her cheeky comment of how he’d “definitely inherited his dad’s taste in crap music”. Another feeling, this time in his stomach, came to him when he thought about how he would drag her upstairs where they’d lie side by side on his bed listening to records.

Finn glanced at his watch, contemplating if he still had time to sprint down to the shop. He could just look around in the last few minutes of her shift and then walk her back to the pub. But it was five to and by the time he ran there he would probably be a sweaty mess. No, not a good idea. He did not need her to see him like that. Rae made him nervous enough without the added worry of BO.

“Oi, Finn!” Chop’s voice broke through the pub and Finn looked over to see him waving both arms like some blimmin’ air traffic conductor. Finn nodded in his direction, taking another sip of his pint before ambling over. “Took yas long enough, knobhead! Need another lad to outnumber these two and their girly talk” Chop jerked a thumb in Chloe and Izzy’s direction. Finn chuckled, taking out his tobacco tin and papers. If the girls were on about something, he definitely needed a rollie.

“Oh please, Chop. You talk about girls in front of us all the time!” Chloe huffed, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Hearing you lot go on about how blue a bloke’s eyes are is not drinking talk, alrigh’?” Chop grumbled, his eyes shooting to Izzy for a second before he knocked back the rest of his beer.

“You know, all blue eyed people can be traced back to one caveman” Archie said matter of factly, pushing his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose.

“So you and Chop are related then?” Izzy asked seriously.

“For fucks sake! Boys and history! Finn mate, save me” Chop begged. Finn just shook his head and laughed while he lit up his smoke. “Jesus. Where the hell is Raemundo when you need her? I swear she’s the only fun one ‘round here.”

Rae. Now that is a subject Finn was willing to chime in on. “She’ll be here soon, mate. Her shift just ended.” He couldn’t help but smile.

“I wonder if she’ll bring Brandon with her” Izzy said to the whole table. Finn immediately scowled. Brandon? Who the fuck is Brandon? And why the hell would Rae be bringing him?

“Oh God, I hope so Iz. They seemed pretty chummy earlier” Chloe said excitedly, flicking her hair over her shoulder. Earlier? Chummy? Finn had definitely missed something.

“I’ll shout the next round. Give us a hand, Arch” Finn got up and Archie followed him to the bar. Finn glanced back at the table to make sure that the others couldn’t hear before leaning closer to Archie. Giving the room a glance to seem nonchalant, he asked “Who’s Brandon?”

Archie looked over his shoulder at the table then back to Finn. “Just a bloke who started working at the record shop. The girls went to see Rae earlier and she was training him.” Finn just nodded, knocking the bar a few times with a fist he hadn’t realized he’d made. Archie gave Finn a tight lipped smile. “I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about, mate”

“Worry? Why would I worry? Means nowt to me” Finn shrugged and pulled at his ear lobe. Archie gave him a knowing look but didn’t say anything else.

They had been sat at the table for almost an hour, Finn silently counting the minutes and nursing his pint. He kept glancing up every time the doors swung open, waiting for a flash of dark hair and pale skin. Rae was late, which was odd, and Finn couldn’t help but wonder why. He was beginning to worry when he heard the latch on the door and his head snapped up for what felt like the hundredth time that afternoon. Finally. Rae. Fear creased her brows for a second until she spotted them and smiled. Finn felt that all too familiar tug of happy nerves in first his stomach and then his chest; which was punctuated further by the fact that she was alone. He moved down on the bench, making a spot for her right next to him. Finn opened his mouth to greet her but was cut off by Chop’s boisterous exclamation.

“About time, baby girl! I was about to send out a sexy search party!”

“Hiya” Rae gave the table a small wave and slid in next to Finn, leaving a sizable gap between them which he immediately closed. He pressed his thigh against hers which made her look up at him and he gave her a sheepish grin as a hello.

“Where ya been, Rae?” Izzy asked as she chewed on the straw of her alcopop.

“Yeah your shift ended ages ago” Chloe added.

“Soz, mum! I had to stay a bit later to show the new guy how to close”

Finn hid his smile behind his pint glass. New guy. Didn’t even call him by his name. Mr. Blue eyes may be memorable to some, but not Rae.

“God, I’d show him how to close any day” Chloe offered suggestively, moving her brows up and down quickly.

“Yeah you said as much earlier, Chlo. Right in earshot of him too” Rae rolled her eyes and scoffed.

“So did he ask about me then?” It was Finn’s turn to roll his eyes. Chloe always thought every guy was after her.

“Er…we didn’t really speak about anything but work”

“Did you ask him to the pub?” Izzy asked, which earned her a confused look from Chop.

“Nah. He mentioned earlier that he had footy after his shift”

“Well did you ask where he plays, babe? Maybe we could go watch” Chloe practically bounced in her seat.

“Nope” Rae shrugged, and Finn had to suppress a relieved sigh before taking a gulp of his drink. “But he walked me over here, so probably close by.”

Finn choked on his beer. He spluttered and coughed, and when Rae reached to pat him on the back he knew he was beet red. “M'fine” he mumbled at the concerned faces of the table. He glanced at Archie who gave him a grimace.

“So what do you think of him then?” Chloe pressed on.

“I don’t know! He’s alright, I guess. We literally just met” Rae’s voice was laced with frustration at Chloe’s questioning, but her cheeks seemed slightly pinker. Finn would know, he spent enough time staring at her to notice any minute change.

“Enough o’ this talk,” Chop interrupted, pounding on the table with a fist. “We have better things to discuss!”

Thank you, Chopper Finn thought. As Chop went on about driving out to Rutlands at the weekend, Finn moved his finger to Rae’s thigh. B-A-R? She smiled softly at him and nodded, and they both slipped off the bench. He followed behind her, admiring the swish of her hair across her back as she walked, shoving his hands in his pocket so he wouldn’t reach out and stroke it. Rae leaned against the wall, facing the table while Finn hunched over the counter.

“How was work?”

“Okay. Thought you were gonna stop by?”

“I wanted to, but my dad was on it about chores”

“Too bad. We got some new reggae in. I know how much you like that toss” Rae smirked at him and Finn had to grip the wood top to stop from kissing it off her stupid pretty face. He ordered their drinks from the bar man and nodded his head to the tune coming from the jukebox. The silence between them that was usually so comfortable felt heavy, and Finn knew he had to ask.

“So…new guy at the shop?”

“God you’re not interested in him too, are you?” Rae teased, throwing her hands up in the air. Finn laughed and shook his head. “He’s just a guy. Don’t know why those two are on about it so much.” She shrugged and turned so she was shoulder to shoulder with him. After a pause she leaned into him slightly, which made him look to her. Their eyes met before she said “he’s just a coworker” and in those four words Finn thought maybe she knew; knew how much he liked her, knew how little he liked the idea of another guy in her life, knew about that skin tingling spark he felt whenever she was close. He was staring at her lips until his view was obstructed by her snakebite, and as he followed her back to the table he made a vow to himself to make a goddamned move.

As it turned out, making a move was impossible when Rae was literally never alone. If it wasn’t Chloe or Izzy giggling away in her ear, it was Chop making her laugh with his crude jokes, or bloody Archie hauling her off to a dark corner to talk about whatever the hell they always had to talk about in private. Rae hadn’t even been over to his in ages – okay, six days but who’s counting – because if they weren’t with the gang she was working at the record shop. He’d visit her as much as he could, but even then she was distracted. The commercial music store on the high street was closed for renovations which meant Town was busier than ever. Much to Finn’s annoyance that meant Rae was either busy with a customer or restocking shelves. He couldn’t even enjoy looking around with the throngs of twittering girls searching fruitlessly for the latest boy band album.

It was a Thursday afternoon and Finn hadn’t seen her in a day and a half and it was doing his head in. He was sitting with Archie in the park, trying to pay attention to his mate’s ramblings, but after the third time Archie had to repeat himself Finn knew the only way his mind would focus was if it was on Rae.

“Fancy going down to the record store?”

“I guess. Rae’s working, yeah?”

“Dunno. Maybe.” She was, and he definitely knew.

Pushing the glass door open, Finn was pleased to find the shop was relatively dull for once. There were only a handful of customers milling about, and it was quiet enough he could make out Parklife playing overhead. He heard a familiar laugh and his head shot up to find it. Rae. She was standing behind the counter price marking CDs. A tall dark haired lad was standing next to her (too close in Finn’s opinion) and Little Al was leaning against the counter talking to them both.

“Alright, lads?” Al yelled across the shop.

Archie waved and Finn merely nodded in greeting, his eyes never leaving Rae. “Alright, girl?” he said as they reached the group.

“Hiya Finn, Arch” she replied, a small smile on her lips. The tall bloke cleared his throat and Rae looked away from Finn and at him. “Guys, this is Brandon. Brandon this is Finn and Archie.”

So this is Brandon. Finn barely acknowledged the lad, while Archie went to shake his hand. Wanker.

“Nice to meet you” Brandon said politely.

“This here is Rae’s ex” Little Al piped up, clapping Archie on the shoulder. The entire group turned their heads to Al, in a collective ‘what the fuck?’ “Just getting the skeletons out the closet now!” Al laughed, hands up in surrender. Finn looked to Rae to find her eyes back down to the CDs, cheeks crimson.

“Ex boyfriend, eh?” Brandon directed at Archie and Finn could swear he saw him bristle, stand a little taller, as he looked Archie over.

“Er..yeah, but we’re just best mates now” Archie shot Rae a supportive smile, which she returned.

Brandon turned his eyes to Finn and Finn had to bite his cheek to not burst out with ‘And I’m her future boyfriend, ya prick’.

“Right, I’m off. Brandon, swing round mine on Saturday, yeah? Big party” Little Al slapped the counter for emphasis.

Brandon shrugged and turned to Rae, “You going?”

“Uh…yeah, we all are”

“If Rae’s going, I’m there” Brandon declared, a big grin on his face, as he swung his arm over Rae’s shoulders. Finn’s hackles rose, hands clenching into fists at his sides. In his mind’s eye he was ripping Brandon’s arm out of it’s socket, but in reality he stood there stunned. Rae rolled her eyes and shook her head, but blushed nonetheless.

“RAE” Finn hadn’t even realized he spoke out, loudly at that, until everyone was looking at him. He cleared his throat and said in a quieter voice, “you said you were gonna show me some new stuff?” He motioned with his head towards the other side of the shop.

“Right! This way, sir” she did a little bow to direct him which caused Brandon’s arm to drop from it’s perch and Finn couldn’t help but smirk at him.

“You won’t believe what came in the other day. Don’t tell anyone but I misfiled it so no one would find it” Rae chuckled as she fingered through a box of vinyl.

“Come to mine tonight” Finn blurted. Apparently he had no control over his mouth today. Rae looked stunned at his practical demand; her mouth popped open, eyes searching his face. Finn demurred a bit at her hesitance. He looked down at the random record he’d grabbed and then back at her through his lashes. Once when he looked at her like that she blushed and looked away like maybe it affected her somehow and since then Finn held it in his ‘ways to get to Rae’ arsenal. It must still be a powerful weapon because her apprehensive look morphed into a cheeky smile.

“Why, you miss me Finnley?” Rae leaned over the crate between them and Finn automatically matched her movement, his arms resting centimeters from her hands.

Yes. So much. “Nah, not at all. In fact it was my dad that asked me to get you over” Finn shrugged, feigning nonchalance.

“That right? I guess Gary never did finish telling me about that time you put on your cousin Gemma’s princess outfit. Think he was about to break out the photo album” she replied, a mischievous glint in her eye. Finn glanced down to her lips and wondered for maybe the millionth time what they’d taste like. Whatever the flavour he knew her seeing his awkward childhood photos would be worth it. He opened his mouth to keep the banter going but suddenly Archie was at his side.

“Finn, you about ready? We’re meant to meet Chop soon” Fuck. He had totally forgotten about the stupid action film he’d agreed to see with Chop and the other footy lads.

“Guess I’ll have to bear witness to your embarrassment another time, eh?” Rae nudged his arm. Finn couldn’t help how his face fell.

“Tomorrow?” he asked hopefully.

“Eager for me to shame you then?” She chuckled. “But I’m working all day and then I have to do some stuff for my mum. I’ll see you Saturday at Al’s?”

“Yeah I guess” he replied glumly.

Finn hadn’t noticed Brandon standing on the other side of Rae until he spoke up. “So you’re free tonight then, Rae?”

Three pairs of eyes looked over at Brandon; one surprised, one wary, and one throwing daggers. “Um, yeah. I guess so”

“Maybe we should do something then”

Now all eyes were on Rae. She looked extremely uncomfortable and shuffled in place a bit before finally saying “Erm..okay. If you want to,” she shrugged.

Brandon beamed and nodded before saying “I really do.”

Finn felt his stomach drop to somewhere around his ankles. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to vomit or scream but he knew for certain the urge to rip any and all limbs off Brandon was in the forefront. His face must have betrayed his violent thoughts because he felt a conciliatory hand on his shoulder and turned to see Archie looking at him sympathetically.

“We better go. Rae I’ll ring you later, yeah?” Archie broke the palpable tension.

“Sure, Arch. Have fun at the cinema.”

Finn wouldn’t let himself read into the disappointed lilt in her voice. Instead he gave her a tight smile and turned to leave. Pausing by the shop window he allowed himself one glance back only to see Brandon standing in the spot he just vacated, body leaned towards Rae as she laughed at something he’d said.

They weren’t dating. Finn had heard so enough times from a scoffing Chloe, but they could have fooled him. Since the party three weeks ago, Brandon was always around. Specifically around Rae. That meant that Finn’s time with her had significantly decreased, along with his mood. It was blindingly clear that Brandon fancied her, and Finn was starting to worry that Rae felt the same. They’d show up at the pub together after work, or leave early if they both had a morning shift the next day. And if they weren’t off working together, they were talking about work; about the awful album someone bought, or the creepy bloke with the equally creepy mustache who only bought a CD if it had a half naked woman on the cover. It didn’t help that Chop, the pillock, kept making sly remarks about the two of them “sneaking off to do naughty things”; while Archie, the know it all, kept giving Finn apologetic looks. Not to mention Izzy and Chloe finding Brandon exceedingly charming, inviting him to every party and outing. Traitors, the lot of them.

Numerous times Finn caught Brandon ogling Rae’s chest when she wasn’t looking, or clocked him touching the ends of her hair as his arm rested on the back of her seat. It made Finn queasy, especially since it gave him a glimpse of what he probably looked like to an outsider; some eager puppy pawing for attention.

But when Rae walked into the pub, alone for once, everything inside Finn said fuck it, be whatever you have to be. He practically ran back to the table to pull out a chair for her. She greeted the gang and sat down next to him and he actually sighed when their arms touched. Chloe and Izzy were already babbling away to her about their dance class, so Finn reached out and rested his hand on Rae’s thigh. She twitched at the contact but he felt her relax almost immediately. He didn’t actually know what to write, just jumped at the chance to touch her again, so he drummed his fingers absently as he thought. After a few seconds her hand grasped his fingers, halting their movement.

She released her grip and wrote T-I-C-K-L-E-S on the back of his hand and he literally watched the goosebumps rise on his skin.

S-O-R-R-Y he traced.

I-T-S-O-K her finger replied, this time on his leg.

M-I-N-E, he paused. He had half a mind to end it there, but kept going. L-A-T-E-R-? He looked at her face and she was looking back at him confused. He reached over to explain, T-E-A-+-R-E-C-O-R-D-S

Her whole body seemed to breathe a relaxed sigh before she wrote S-U-P-P-O-S-E. Finn noticed her lips quirk at the corners and he had to fight off his own face breaking grin.

S-N-A-K-E-B-I-T-E-? He could have easily just written ‘drink’ but four more letters meant four more reasons to feel her beneath his fingertip.

P-L-E-A-S-E

He gave her thigh a quick squeeze before getting up to grab her order.

As he made his way back, pints in hand, he looked up to see the girls leaned over the table. Chloe had her hand at Rae’s neck, while Izzy looked on with bright eyes. Finn sat down to see they were fawning over a necklace.

“This is what you were telling me about, babe?” Chloe asked excitedly.

Rae tried to nod, but the hold Chloe had on her stopped her from moving too far. “It’s thoughtful, right?”

“Thoughtful? Rae this is mint!” Chloe exclaimed, examining it closer.

“Yeah Rae, that is dead nice. Like proper jewelry” Izzy added.

Rae blushed and leaned away so the necklace fell from Chloe’s grasp, and that’s when Finn saw it. It was a fine chain with a round pendant. Definitely real gold, like Izzy said. But it’s what was engraved on it that made his mouth go dry and his stomach twist. B. A fucking capital initial B. B for Bollocks. B for Bastard. B for fucking Brandon. Finn just knew it was from him.

“What’s this all about then?” Chop asked from the end of the table, craning his head to try to see the necklace.

“It’s nothing” Rae said, quickly tucking the necklace back under her shirt.

“That is definitely not nothing, Rae! Something like that must have cost him a fortune!” Chloe explained.

“Wait, what are we talking about?” Archie questioned, placing his arms on the table.

“Nothing! Just a gift. Can we move on?” Rae turned red at all the attention, while Finn went ghostly white.

This can’t be fucking happening. They’re not together. Everyone says they’re not together. Chloe. Archie. But now she’s walking around with a necklace that practically brands her? Finn thought he might spew the three pints he had swimming in his belly. His mind was drowning in a volatile mix of anger, disappointment, hurt, and regret. He practically saw the months he’d spent pining for her crumble away, along with the wasted worry over building up the courage to stop spelling out drink orders and write what he really wanted to say: I-LIKE-YOU-AN-ALMOST-UNHEALTHY-AMOUNT. He had stupidly been imagining this elaborate romantic story line for them in his head; best mates turned lovers who can’t help but pounce on each other as their favourite band played a soundtrack in the background just for them. 50% of the time he thought she knew, while another 50% of him was sure there was some kind of hope. Clearly he was 100% wrong. And now she was wearing another bloke’s necklace.

He hadn’t realized that he stood up from the table until the rough scrape of the chair on the floor brought all eyes to him. “I-I gotta go.”

“Wait, Finn…” Archie started to stand.

“I’ll just see you later, Arch.”

“Oi! Your pint’s still full!” Chop gestured with his own glass.

“Finn?” Rae placed a hand on his forearm, concern etched into all her features. But he couldn’t take her sympathy, couldn’t fall for the frown on the lips she’s probably been using to snog Brandon, so he shook her off and grabbed for his jacket. “But I thought we-”

“Another time” Finn cut her off and without another glance stormed out of the pub.