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antihero-writings · 3 years ago

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Before it Kills You Too (Ch2 Snippets 1, 2 & 3)

Fandom: Lore Olympus

Chapter Summary: When Hera gets into a car accident after a fight, Zeus has a moment to ruminate on their relationship. Written using the song “Wait” by Maroon 5 as a prompt.

Character Focus: Zeus

Please note!! This is the previous Ch2 snippets I posted + a new snippet (the new snippet starts with “I would venture to guess she was driving too fast.”)

I’ve been having trouble with this chapter for a very long time, so I’ve decided to post it snippet-by-snippet, because that seems like the only way I’ll successfully finish this fic.

While this should be as close to the final version as it can be, anything in this snippet is subject to change when the full chapter comes out. (And, hey, to that end, if there’s anything you think needs to be edited here, please kindly let me know!!)

Im really excited about this snippet!! Definitely one of my favorite parts of the chapter!!

Thanks again SO much to those who support this fic and want to read more!! The fact that you want to read more really does mean the world to me!! I appreciate your kind comments so much!!

I’d really appreciate it if you could leave a comment and/or reblog!!! I’m not kidding when I say that makes my week!!

Tagging some folks who’ve shown interest!! @jayyy007 @autumnmoon21 @sunsetsofanemoia, @lynnie51 @what-the-fuckaroni @masquejj

And please do let me know if you’d like me to add you to a taglist for this fic, or message you when new snippets/the next chapter come/s out!!

Chapter 2 Snippets 1, 2 & 3:

Hera was standing in the crowded meadow, surrounded by her friends, laughing that girly little giggle full of sunshine that just about made Zeus’ heart ooze in a puddle out of his chest.

Her blue dress made her eyes look like two shimmering sapphires.

“Have I seen her in a dress that color?” Zeus inquired excitedly from behind the bushes.

“How can we know what you’ve seen?” Aidoneus muttered. “With you creeping around, you might have seen her naked for all we know.”

Zeus punched him in the arm, (lightly).

“I don’t think she’s worn a dress that color!” Posiedon bubbled.

“Thank you, Posiedon. At least someone can answer a question.”

“I think she looks like the sea on summer day.” He put his hands on his face, them sliding slowly.

Zeus eyed him. “Alright, keep it in your toga, Little Green Man.”

“Should we really be here?” Aidoneus muttered. “We weren’t invited.”

“Oh come on,” Zeus stood up, putting his hands on his hips. “Who wouldn’t want to see the King of the gods here?”

Poseidon grinned and stood up behind his brother. “No one!”

“Hestia, Demeter… assorted sane people.” Hades muttered as he stood to follow.

“If that’s sanity I’m glad I’m insane.” Zeus trilled as he strutted up to the entrance.

A cute pink nymph—(rather well endowed in the chestal region—not that he noticed!)—greeted them at the archway.

“Oh! Zeus!” She flushed and bowed. “It’s an honor. Welcome!”

“Why it’s an honor to meet you, my lady.” He kissed her hand, and she giggled. “See?” he turned to his brothers. “They’re delighted to have us.”

“I’ve got a bad feeling.” Hades muttered.

Hera was closer now; she smelled like summer, and she looked like it too. Poseidon was right about the ocean thing; she practically shimmered as she spoke with her friends.

“I’m gonna go talk to her.”

“Wait—!” Hades was soon swallowed by the crowd.

Zeus scooched behind her at lightning speed. One by one her friends began to take notice, their eyes widening.

Hera took a step back and would have tripped in surprise if he hadn’t caught her.

“Careful there, you might fall, Birthday Girl.”

“Oh, Zeus!” She looked up at him, the back of her head hitting his chest, “hi!”

That golden smile.

“I made you something!” As she spun to face him, he produced a little carving of a bird from his pocket. (And, no, he didn’t make it).

“Oh!” She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, gently taking it from him, “It’s beautiful!”

All his responsibilities and stresses melted away with the sight of that smile, and he forgot there was anyone else at the party…in the world.

(…He wished he saw that smile anymore.)

Zeus’ chair was spinning empty at his desk before his assistant could say another word—

And Olympus wept, distant peals of thunder rending the sky into pieces.

Lightning crackled and cackled through his hair, creating violet tracks through the air, as Zeus sped through the sky.

It was freezing, and people were staring, but he didn’t care.

All that mattered was getting to his wife.

“My you look stunning.” Zeus sidled up behind his wife, running his fingers gently along her arm. “Is that a new dress?”

“New as that girlfriend of yours.” Hera grunted.

His eyes widened with shock, his voice with an indignant undertone to it. “Is something wrong?”

She paused a moment. He could see words fluttering behind her lips—(like they did so often, too often)—the words Yes you did something wrong, how can you not know?

He knew she wouldn’t believe him when he said he didn’t mean to hurt her.

“You weren’t invited,” she said softly.

“Not invited? Me?” He put his hand to his chest, like the thought of him ever not being welcome to somewhere was absurd. “To what?”

“The party, you nitwit!” She whirled around, her hair nearly whipping him in the face. “You just came barging in like you owned the place!”

“Well…to be fair—”

He stopped short at the look in her eyes, like two blue-hot flames.

He knew it was taking her a great amount of effort not to slap him.

“Do you know how long I’d been preparing for that?! How long it took me to get everything just right? I told you, but you never even listened, did you? And then you just barged right in!”

“Why are you so upset? What’s so important about a party?!”

“They were my friends.” Her gaze softened, and her tone became more serious. “They were—” Until she cut herself off, and her expression hardened as she whirled around, her hair billowing behind her.

“Bunny, wait!” His tone was softer too.

He wished she’d just turn around. That he could say sorry.

Was it really so hard? He should have started there.

Had he ever apologized for that?

He was always doing that; barging in where he wasn’t welcome. The world was his, yes but…he had to concede there were some parts of it he ought not just barge in on.

When he burst into the hospital, however, they wouldn’t dare tell him he wasn’t invited, wouldn’t dare tell him he couldn’t see her.

“Where. is my. wife?” Lightning slammed into a lamppost just outside the front door, shattering its glass box, and making the light spark, the rain pounding at the window like rabid dogs.

The desk clerk looked like she was about to pee out of sheer fear.

“Sh-sh-she’s not out of surgery yet, your majesty...I understand you want to see her, but I can’t let you…until-until they’re finished.” She was practically vibrating. “I assure you the moment she gets out, we’ll notify you.”

Surgery? He wanted to demand. She’s the queen of the gods, how could she be in surgery?

Electricity sparked in his eyes, trailing throughout his hair. He could say I demand you let me see her. He could say I don’t care! She’s my wife, and I’m not waiting! She’s fine! She’s the queen—she’s my queen—she won’t be hurt from a little car accident!

But there were some places he ought not just barge in on… and the surgeons room was probably one of them.

The lightning let out a sighing crackle, before he closed his eyes, his hair falling back upon his shoulders. It was then that he noticed he was dripping wet from head to toe. He sighed himself before muttering something like a garbled “I understand, thank you.” And turning to sit in the lobby. Behind him the desk clerk’s coworker held her to keep her from fainting.

He snapped his fingers, drying off, so as not to get their nice, barf-colored carpet all wet. Once he sat down in a chair—(the cushions didn’t have any cush to them)—a kid in the chair across from him scooched away.

He could have that kid lightly charred if he wanted.

Instead he settled for a nice glare, and reached over to pick up last month’s—(or maybe it was a few months ago)—issue of “Goddess weekly” listening to the rain die down to a drum.

The same old gossip. Usually if he picked one of these up he’d check for any news he ought to be aware of. You know, as the king. Not to mention the ladies weren’t unappealing. Now he flicked through without seeing any of it.

Speaking of ladies, there was a nymph sitting across the room from him, her skin blue, her ears down, and a cute little half smile. She surely wasn’t in here for anything serious. She kept glancing from her own magazine to him—but not in a nervous way. If he wasn’t mistaken, she wouldn’t be opposed to a session of hide-the-German-sausage.

If he wanted he could take her there in a darkened closet in the hallway. It wouldn’t take long—(if it didn’t need to…or it could take all night). That would be a nice way to relieve the stress bubbling in his body.

—Someone was laying next to him, her skin smooth, practically glowing. There was rather a lot of it exposed.

She turned over, her eyes fluttering open, a small smile creasing her features as she rolled onto his chest, tickling his chin with her fingers.

“I had a wonderful time,” she twittered, and he practically purred, staring into those big blue eyes, glittering like river stones.

He pushed her green hair behind her ear.

“Is that all? I’d like to think a night with the King of the gods would be more than merely ‘wonderful.’”

She giggled. “No no, it was much more than wonderful! It was spectacular! Mind-blowing!” She threw her arms in the air.

“That’s more like it.” He grinned—

When was that again? Two years ago, or two days ago?

It could have been either.

Had he apologized for that?

Would it have mattered if he had? Would she have forgiven him? Would he have stopped?—

Bile rose in his throat, and he dove his nose so hard into the magazine he almost smacked himself with it.

His wife was bruised and bleeding, and potentially worse in a nearby room, at the mercy of some quack holding a scalpel and a few comforting words…and here he was thinking of betraying her for the…

How many times had it been now?

He threw the magazine back on the table and sank in the chair till his head was nearly on the bottom cushion, his lip flapping his he blew out a breath, making his hair fly up a little.

The kid and his mom got called, and seemed glad of a reason to leave.

After a healthy dose of moping he pulled out his phone. After checking fatesbook and playing a few games he decided it was time to open his messages.

He didn’t want to be alone. He wanted some sensible and non-conjugal company.

He scrolled through and clicked on a name.

A number of old conversations sprinkled the page, often detailing Zeus asking about getting together and the correspondent saying they were busy.

He thought a moment about what to say—(a rare occurrence for him)—before deciding any vague requests would probably get ignored, so he simply decided the boldfaced truth:

Hera’s been in a car accident. She’s in surgery.

“WHAT?!” The word was spoken aloud—and very loudly at that.

Hades was standing in front of him. If the king being here wasn’t enough reason for weird looks, this outburst had sent more than a few eyes their way.

Zeus did a finger wave at the nymph, before he grabbed his brother’s arm, whisking him off to a less crowded hallway.

The only thing here was a vending machine, and a few overly picturesque pictures of trees.

“How did this happen?!” Hades shout-whispered.

“I would venture to guess she was driving too fast.”

“I could have gathered that myself, thank you very much!” Hades was clearly trying not to shout. “What was she doing?! Where was she going?!”

Zeus rolled folded his arms. “Does it matter?”

“Sure it matters! Well at least it’d be good to know!”

“…I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?! What do you mean you don’t know?! She’s your wife—!”

“I said I don’t know!” he kicked the vending machine.

The air shattered and reformed itself.

Zeus sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, his voice softening. “I…I don’t know.”

Two sides of him warred. One wanted to shout at Hades. He expected him to know where she was at all times? Oh yeah, that would go over well with her. What kind of helicopter husband would he be then?

And yet, it felt wrong for him not to know. Like some sort of failure. She was his wife. Shouldn’t he? Shouldn’t he have asked? Shouldn’t he care?

Hades’ gaze softened.

“I upset her.” Zeus murmured. “We got into a fight.”

Hades leaned against the wall. He was probably resisting the urge to say he could have gathered that too.

Zeus leaned his head forward onto the glass of the vending machine, his hair falling to the side, his reflection vaguely eyeing him.

“We got into a fight and she…I hadn’t even realized she went for a drive.” He paused, observing the chocolate and chips sitting in neat rows in the machine. “Do you think she liked Twyx?”

“Huh?”

“Do you think she liked Twyx?”

Hades pondered it a moment. “Probably. She tends to like things with caramel in them.”

Zeus smiled wryly. “See? I didn’t even know that.”

“I’m sure you’ll be able to ask her all your burning questions about her favorite candy flavors very soon.”

“That’s not the point.” Zeus whispered.

Zeus was feeling a little off-kilter.

He nearly fell into a three-thousand drachma vase.

Okay, make that a lot.

The sound of heels on the staircase. The white one they’d painted for that one event…what had they been celebrating again?

His hazy gaze made her glitter even more than usual.

“Have I ever told you that you’re like the sea on a summer’s day?” Zeus’ voice came out blurry. He put his hand in his hair, trying to look sexy, you know, like the kind of guy you’d wanna forgive.

This was met by her hair slapping him in the face as she walked by him. She paused a few steps below him, turning.

“Is that alcohol I smell on your breath?”

“I may have had one—“ He hiccuped, “or five, appletinis.”

“And this is what? An intelligent conversation you’re trying to have?” She folded her arms over her chest.

“Actually,” he held up a finger. The action made him feel off-balance so he leaned against the railing, trying to land in a sexy pose. “There is something I wanted to say.”

“You’re barely coherent when you’re sober, at least spare me until then.”

He rolled his eyes—(and made himself feel even dizzier).

She turned to go back up the stairs.

“Wait!” He shouted.

She stopped, looked over her shoulder, eyes narrow as a cat’s. “What?”

“I-hic!” He covered his mouth as if embarrassed. Clearly emotion was dangerous. “I wasn’t trying to get wasted! I just-hic!-needed more than three or four to say this.”

“Oh yeah? Spit it out Grape Sorbet.” She folded her arms over her chest.

“I’m…” he held on to the railing for support. “I’m sorry.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I’m listening.”

“You…You were right.” He took a step closer.

“About what?” Her breath bated.

“I just…I didn’t want to admit it. I couldn’t…” He looked away. “I couldn’t tell you sober.”

“About what?” The words had a rough edge to them, her chest heaving with breath.

Ah. She knew. She knew what he was going to say, even before he said it.

“I…I did cheat on you.”

“Wh-What?” Her eyes tinted red…but there was so much hurt in the word.

Fear and shame rose in tandem like ocean waves, threatening to bowl him over, and he realized that the truth wasn’t going to help at all. But all he could do was let it pour out of him.

“You-hic-You asked if I was with-hic—”

“Stop.” She covered her mouth as if to keep the worst words from spilling out, tears welling in her eyes.

“But I—”

“I said stop!” Her voice rang through the room like something shattering.

Maybe something was.

Her heels against the stairs, fast and sharp, and away.

“Wait!”

Turn around please, let me apologize, let me explain, I won’t do it again.

He threw up in the vase.

“Daddy? What was that all about?” The small voice made his blood run cold. “What did you cheat at? Were you playing a game?”

Zeus turned, horrified, to see Ares, hiding behind a crack in the door.

“I shouldn’t have yelled at her.” He breathed. “It was stupid, really.”

Hades put a dollar in the vending machine and punched in a number.

“People say all kinds of things when they’re angry. Doesn’t mean you’re bad, just means you’re people. Which…” Hades looked him up and down, adding under his breath, “I wonder about sometimes.”

“...You must think I’m a terrible husband.”

Hades grabbed two chocolate bars and handed one to his brother.

“I think you need something sweet, maybe a little hydration, and some rest.”

Zeus unwrapped the bar and took a bite, not really tasting anything.

After a moment Hades sighed.

“It’s not so simple as that.” Hades said between bites, “I don’t necessarily think there’s such a thing as a ‘terrible husband’ or ‘the best husband.’ I…I don’t even think there’s such a thing as good and bad people. There’s just…people. There’s just husbands. But there are rules that come with being a person, and/or being a husband and…” he paused, trying to choose his words carefully, “you don’t always follow those rules.”

Zeus fell back against the wall, looking at the floor, denials dying in his throat.

It was raining.

No, actually it was pouring. And thundering. The lightning was like cracks in a collapsing sky, and Zeus’s gut was twisting like the snakes on the head of a gorgon.

“What? You-you think you can just undo this?!” Hera’s words were biting. “It’s done!” Her laugh was wry and sardonic, like an ache in her throat, red tainting the blue of her eyes. “You can’t just fix something like that! Once someone cheats at the game no one else just keeps playing!”

“It was a mistake! One stupid night!”

“One stupid night, huh?! Then how do you explain this?!” She held up his phone. The pictures. The…Oh Gaia.

The snakes in his gut bit down, and he bit his lip looking away. He hadn’t known she knew about that.

“You’ve got it all wrong! That was just—!”

“I thought you were different!” She bit off his excuse, the anger cracked, and the pain was bleeding through, and he wasn’t the only one making it rain: A tear fell down her face, then another, her mascara running black along her cheeks. “You made me smile, you made me laugh! You saved your brothers from your father. And I thought we could make a kingdom—a world—together!” She shook her head, grimacing, trying and failing to keep more tears from falling. “I thought we could be something!”

“We are! We have! I just made a mistake! I—!”

“No, Zeus.” There was a finality to her tone.

Tears streamed down her face now. He hated it when she cried. She didn’t do it often, and whenever she did he was ready to smite whoever hurt her but…he’d hurt her worst of all.

“I thought you were different. But you’re—“ the words were like an antique vase, riddled with cracks. “You’re just another bad guy.” She punched him in the arm, and the vase broke, the defiance into pain. She punched him in the arm…but it was weak and far too soft, and that’s how he knew she was really hurt; she could bring the sky down on him if she wanted.

She looked down at her hand, twisting her wedding ring with a finger.

“I’m staying with a friend tonight.”

Her wedding ring tinkled on the floor.

As she turned and walked away the word rang out like he was hoping his voice alone could rewrite his sins and bring her back:

“Wait!”

She didn’t stop, didn’t turn, didn’t make any indication she’d even heard him.

“Please…Please just wait.” These were soft.

He fell to his knees on the marble, scooping up her wedding ring and enclosing it in his fingers, holding it to his forehead, and trying not to bring the sky down upon himself.

He’d seen her angry. He’d seen her sad. But this? Seeing her break for him…was so much worse.

It reminded him too much of another time. Of a scar on her stomach. How she broke herself just to be his.

—(And he wondered, for a fleeting moment, if it would have been better if he had been the one to break.)—

“There you are!” Said a voice. “You can come see her now,”—a cleared throat— “your Majesty.”

Notes: Aright, so this chapter had a few things I was unsure about I thought I’d ask about here!

1. Does anyone have any other clever play-on-words for candy brands? I feel like Zeus would know that she likes caramel in general, so it’d make more sense if Hades said “she likes [X similar candy] so she’d probably like Twyx.” But Twyx is all my brain came up with and I don’t even know that it’s all that good XD

2. I’m aware that the gods don’t call each other “people” they call each other “beings.” However, Hades’ lines don’t have as much impact with “beings.” Did the fact that I used “people” stick out too much? Should I change it to “beings”?

3. I know Ancient Greek wedding ceremonies are different from ours, and they might not even have wedding rings. But that image was so impactful for me I decided to use it. Should I remove it? Or did you find it impactful?

Please let me know if there’s anything you felt was inaccurate to their characters!!

Thanks so much for reading!! 💕💕

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marlahey · 4 years ago

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(and I'm feeling like) it was only ever you

a little voice fic pairings/characters: bess/samuel, general ensemble, ella the pupper being loved the most warnings: language, excessive sexual tension episode tags: fills in some of many gaps between 1.08 sea change and 1.09 sing what I can’t say cause I got wine drunk instead of finishing this before the finale as planned. +post-finale rating/warnings: explicit. read: resolved sexual tension aka les sexy times. lyrical title courtesy of: part of me – by the coast (watch their fanvid set to this song and prepare to cry) notes: so @brilligbraelig told me there was no fluffy fic in the tag, which– sorry. we’ve been in sad time hours for WEEKS and I blame the writers for never giving bess a moment’s peace. I’ve never really been one for cavity-inducing sweetness, not because I don’t love some pure joy, but as a writer I’m always a little more interested in the messier moments that just enough longing brings. if the question is ‘how many times do bess and samuel need to share a bed?’ the answer is yes. this is for the samuel and bess protection squad on twitter (join us!) for being the coolest group of people ever throughout this wild ride, and also for @missgoalie75 and her love of colton’s bedroom eyes. p.s: sometimes I ignore capitalization rules at will because of the vibe.

bess is tired.

saint c’s is quiet tonight; al shoos her away from the bar with a stern, surprisingly fatherly firmness and hands her a tray of shots. she blinks at him. there aren’t any parties of four left. he points at samuel, prisha, and benny loitering at the back of the club until she finishes. bess doesn’t follow. al sighs. “go have one with your friends on me, okay kid? i swear, watching you stress out sometimes is gonna give me an ulcer before my next birthday.” bess stammers a thank you and walks off with the alcohol before he can change his mind. she should apologize, she thinks. he’s been nothing but kind to her despite all the ways in which bess is hardly employee of the month right now. she should start an apology tour at the table, where prisha’s head is thrown back with laughter at something benny is saying, his hands outspread. these people are too good to her and she doesn’t deserve it, sometimes. samuel notices her first (like always it seems), tracking her progress across the room. he tilts his head, a silent okay? and she moves her mouth in an approximation of a smile. his own lips quirk, like he’s trying to smother a laugh. she should be annoyed; she’s just grateful they aren’t fighting anymore— or worse yet, that it’s weird. they still haven’t talked about that night. samuel seems perfectly content to pretend it never happened, except for the way he touches her with so much more ease than before— like he no longer has to hesitate before he’s pulling her in, taking her hand, squeezing her shoulder or the bend of her elbow in a way that’s more reassuring than bess can really describe. maybe there’s a song in there somewhere. “special delivery,” she announces at the approach. “drink fast, before al regrets giving us these.” “my man, my man,” benny croons. “we love you boss!” he calls, twisting to find al rolling his eyes from behind the register. the shots clink on the tabletop. bess hesitates, just a second, before leaning in to toast prisha. samuel’s eyes meet hers again over the rim of his glass. she tosses her head back before she can overthink any of it. “anyone want another?” benny and prisha grin; samuel shakes his head. bess does the mental math back to her last meal. one more certainly wouldn’t tip her over, but she’d be a fool not to recognize her own unsettledness. she springs for second shelf tequila; al smacks her hand away from the limes she’d cut herself not two hours ago. “no reaching over, you know that.” the closing porter pours and dishes lime and salt with disinterested, immaculate practice. bess presses an extra five into his hand and gets a silent tap on the inside of her wrist in thanks. she’s not normally into the whole process of tequila, but benny enjoys it. something silly in bess hopes that the bursting sting of lime will just wash all her chaos away. by the time she’s tilted her head back down a second time, samuel’s eyes are sliding away. her throat is curiously warmer than liquor normally manages. it feels like she’s caught him at something. “earth to bess!” “hmm?” prisha looks amused, damn her. “you up for it?” “up for what?” benny’s smile is equally conspiratory. “dancing?” her first instinct is god, no. she and prisha haven’t gone dancing in what feels like years— bess still has a fake ID from the one and only time they snuck into a club at 19 years old, skipping the bar entirely for the pulsing beat of the dance floor. but she deserves this, doesn’t she? after everything? everyone’s looking at her now, probably expecting her to say no (samuel’s definitely expecting her to say no), and maybe bess needs another shot after all because, “sure.” tumbles out of her mouth before she can stop it. prisha and benny high five. samuel’s muted surprise is oddly delightful; bess wants to keep pulling it out of him, suddenly. “you coming too?” she asks. it’s not supposed to be a challenge but he raises one eyebrow as though bess had just asked him to duel. “well i’d be lame if I said no now, wouldn’t i?” that settled, bess excuses herself to grab her things from the back room. when she returns, benny is chatting with their night porter as he divides tips. she has to swallow an anxious lump before she can walk over. “hey.” “hey.” he returns her tentative smile and she hates herself. “ready to go?” “i’m sorry,” bess blurts. “about the other night. i was so awful to you and you were just—” “bess, hey.” benny’s hands land on her shoulders. “don’t worry about it, okay? i know you have a lot going on right now.” “that’s not an excuse,” she insists. “you’re just being a good friend and a great manager and i shouldn’t have bit your head off for...” for not letting me give up. shame locks the words in her throat. how is it that she was the first person to let go of her own dream? bess has to take a deep breath. “i’m just really sorry.” he just looks at her for a long moment. “if i forgive you,” benny begins gently, “will you forgive yourself?” the question feels like a sucker punch. “cause i do, bess.” she can’t remember the last time one of her dearest friends was so serious. “i forgive you, and you gotta forgive yourself now cause we got work to do, yeah?” good god, do not cry. “okay.” “okay.” benny pulls her into a hug, squeezing tight. “we got you girl, alright? i told you, we’re in this together.” those are familiar words. bess lets them wash over her. how had she forgotten? where had she let herself fall that her friends couldn’t pull her back into the light? “c’mon.” bess accepts her saint c’s envelope with a grateful smile and benny steers her out of the club, his arm around her shoulders. “there’s fun to be had tonight.” “let’s go, bess!” she lets prisha drag her forward, laughing despite herself and looping her arm through her best friend’s as they head out into the warm night air. “where the heck are those boys?” prisha asks at the next corner. benny and samuel of course, are following at a more sedated pace to her one track mind. bess catches samuel’s eye and he smiles in that crooked, amused sort of way she hasn’t seen in ages— not since they shot more love, it feels like. relief is such a strange feeling for the moment, but there it is. * bess isn’t tired anymore. she has no idea when she became such a homebody (though louie’s social worker may thoughts) but her exhaustion from the day seems to disappear the moment the bass finds a home behind her ribs. prisha presses a tiny glass into her hand and bess doesn’t think. the vodka sears on the way down. it makes her gasp a little, like a livewire shock to the system. bess can only look up to see samuel wave from the bar before benny’s dragging her onto the floor; she loses sight of him in the crush of bodies and the pulse of the music carries her away. samuel’s still there, some two or three songs later. just before they lock eyes, bess notices something very serious in his expression, something she can’t put into words fast enough, that draws a strange shiver from the base of her spine. then he smiles, familiar laugh lines and narrowed eyes, and it’s gone. bess remembers the way he’d so easily coaxed her into a silly dance set to their own music. have things gotten so strange between them that they could never go back there? not if she has anything to say about it. “I’m not drunk enough yet,” he objects, but his fingers close around hers even as he says it and she knows she’s won. samuel follows her so easily back to benny and prisha– like he’d follow her anywhere maybe, if she asked, and then suddenly bess is the one not quite drunk enough— and then the beat pulls them in again. it’s silly at first, just like before. at one point samuel and benny do the chicken dance to a hip-hop song and bess thinks she might die with laughter. she presses against prisha, hips and shoulders. her best friend spins her out; bess nearly stumbles but samuel is there, catching her by the elbows, drawing her in with that same teasing smile that had eased her nerves on that warm summer afternoon. she can see the memory of it reflected in his eyes. bess wants to fall into it headfirst. she steps closer just as samuel pulls her in; her hand lands on the back of his neck; his fingertips slip under the hem of her top and brush the shy skin of her hip. samuel pauses, like a silent question, until bess coaxes his body back into the swaying rhythm with her own. her head feels heady, her body overwarm almost, but bess doesn’t want to stop because there it is again, that serious look— bess wants— “dance, dance, dance is my lung—” “fuck no!” the moment—or whatever that was—grinds to a halt. samuel laughs so hard that she can feel his shoulders shaking. for several seconds they just look at each other, then over at benny who’s having the time of his life, and then bess is doubling over too. samuel leans close to be heard over the din. “drink?” his breath brushes her ear and bess tries not to shiver, nodding enthusiastically in a vain attempt to cover for herself. they’ve lost prisha and benny to the worst song ever, so samuel keeps a firm grip on her hand as they snake their way back to the bar. there must be some kind of special on shots tonight. bess can only stare at a bartender pouring no less than twelve in a perfect row for a huge group of women. one is wearing a tiara and white sash. that trying not to laugh smile tilts samuel’s mouth while they wait their turn. the sardine pack of people presses them together from hip to shoulder but he doesn’t seem to mind. the bar curves around in a skinny oval, drinks being served on either side. as servers slide back and forth, bess notices a guy looking at her from across the way. staring, more like it. the glint in his eyes makes her stomach turn. before bess can glare, turn away, or even shudder, samuel’s arm slides around her. his fingertips trace the curves of her rings on the bartop— affectionate, possessive almost. bess turns her head and samuel winks before leaning forward to touch their foreheads together. “pretend i just told you something hilarious.” his mouth hovering over hers is almost too distracting— his free hand pinches her side to help her along and giggles jump out. bess doesn’t resist when samuel tightens his grip and pulls her closer against him. he presses his mouth to her temple just above her ear. “he’s gone.” bess does shudder now, though for a different reason altogether. “thanks.” samuel just squeezes her once before releasing her. their shots arrive finally, amber liquid glowing strangely in the light. “still good?” he asks, and bess nods firmly. “still good.” she meets his eyes as she brings the shot to her mouth. samuel is still looking at her when she puts the glass back down. inside her, it seems. “c’mon.” he says. samuel looks almost fond now. bess blinks; a trick of the light? is she that tipsy already? “we’d better go find those two.” she just takes his hand and follows. * bess is... well. she’s not sober. benny had waved goodbye from an uber outside the club. they’d made it three quarters of the way to the subway station before ananya had called, quickly devolving into an impassioned conversation and prish too, vanished into a cab and promising to call when she got to her— girlfriend’s? house. “have fun you two!” and now: “i’m fine, sam.” his mouth twitches. “don’t think so, b.” yikes, she hates that. bess rolls her eyes, pointing at her station stairway. “you’re literally going in the opposite direction. it’s like...” she has to look at their cross streets and do the math. “eight stops. at the most.” samuel nods. “all about figure eights. love an even number. let’s go.” bess knows she should just let this go and stop being so stubborn. but something in her just can’t be stopped. samuel sighs, dragging her by the elbow across the sidewalk, out of the way of a clearly aggrieved businessman who disappears down the steps. “bess. just tell me something.” it’s hard to meet his eyes, intent as they are. “would you let prisha take the train home by herself tonight? if you were going... I dunno, home with me?” her stomach flips, surprising, terrifying, thrillingly pleasant. it’s all the shots. samuel’s ears go pink under the glow of the streetlight. “you know what i mean.” she’s stubbornly quiet; he ducks his head, refusing to be deterred. “bess.” “ugh, no. of course not!” “because you think she can’t take care of herself?” bess rolls her eyes. “she’s my best friend, you know that. it’s just what you do.” “right.” she hates the way samuel’s looking at her now, the way he had when he’d laid all her fears out bare in the close space of his apartment: so certain and so kind. “so why do you think i’d let you take the train home alone?” for a moment, she can only stare. maybe it’s the alcohol, but samuel has never quite looked so vulnerable. bess doesn’t have the right words (maybe there aren’t any) so she just drags him forward by the shoulders. samuel exhales sharply, a faint laugh in her ear, but he wraps both his arms tight around her— an embrace that somehow feels more intimate than their pretence from hours before. bess endeavours not to think about it too much. “c’mon bestie,” she says when she pulls back. samuel does laugh fully this time, wide enough to show his teeth. bess thinks back to the night of their first gig, the sound of his valerie chasing hers in echoes. it’s a wonder anyone’s more stubborn that she is. samuel ushers her down the stairs with a sweep of his arm and bess laughs too. * bess loves her dog. she’d convinced samuel he should probably come in for water, or tea, maybe an advil. ella had poked her head out from bess’ room and when she turns around from her perusal of the fridge, bess finds samuel fully sitting on the floor, ella laying between his legs, stroking her head. “who’s my sweetest girl?” he coos. her heart something funny inside her chest. samuel looks up, his obvious joy so bright in the dim light of the kitchen and bess is nearly choked with the possibility that she’d nearly pushed him too far away to ever see it again. “bess,” he says, his cheeks dimpling, “her ears are so soft. like, they’re the softest thing i’ve maybe ever felt in my life?” wonder of wonders. she can only nod in emphatic agreement. how many shots have they had? “you’re lucky,” samuel continues, still making ella’s night by never stopping in his affection. bess’ eyes get stuck on his hands, the motion of his fingertips and the turns of his wrists. “my parents never let us have pets and my building doesn’t allow them either.” “you know ella would love if you came over and pet her all the time.” she gets that muted surprise again, which melts into something bess isn’t sure how to name. “would you like that, el? hmm?” he leans down to kiss the top of the dog’s head. “wanna spend more time with uncle samuel?” how is it that her most loyal companion is somehow more intimate with samuel than bess is? and why on earth would she ever have a thought like that? “so,” she says, maybe a bit too high-pitched for her own liking (ella looks up at her and bess wants to glare), “we have water, tea, popsicles, half a bottle of jack.” samuel laughs and shakes his head. “i thought we were sobering up?” bess shrugs. “so, popsicle?” he laughs again and it warms her inexplicably all the way to her toes. they have water, following ella into bess’ room, toeing out of their shoes when she jumps onto the bed. the dog puts her head on samuel’s lap and stares balefully up at him until he resumes his gentle stroking. bess leans back against her wall. she’s looking at ella and pretending she can’t feel the heat of samuel’s gaze on her face. if she thinks too hard about it, bess remembers wishing she could share a moment like this with someone else. she doesn’t regret anything that lead her here, but something in her is too afraid to meet samuel’s eye, like he’d be able to read the truth of that in her face and that she’d have somehow ruined tonight, this quiet moment of warmth and contentment. she leans her head on his shoulder and he turns his cheek into her hair. when bess finally looks up, samuel’s face is vey close. is he looking at her mouth? is she leaning? “are you drunk, bess?” he asks softly. she stops. considers. “yes. you?” samuel’s smile is a little rueful. he nods. “i should go.” bess understands. it’s late. they’re tired and inebriated. he has to go all the way back to his. they almost... and yet she says, “stay.” he blinks. “what?” this might be a terrible idea. “stay.” “but—” she rolls her eyes. “what makes you think i’d let you go home alone either?” the surprise is plain now. he looks that almost-vulnerable again. bess is oddly satisfied. “are you sure?” it’s strangely hard to keep his eye even as she points out, “we’re fine, right?” he nods again, a little slower. “and it’s not like we’ve never shared a bed.” when bess finally manages it, samuel’s gaze is very soft. “true.” and just when she thinks he’s going to refuse her still, he says, “okay. thanks.” how do you tell someone out that you just don’t want to be alone out loud? thankfully samuel doesn’t make her voice it. he just smiles as bess gathers something approximating pyjamas and crosses the room. “sorry i don’t have anything that would fit you,” (he snorts and she’s warmed) “but you know, make yourself comfortable however. come get a toothbrush from under the sink.” and so that’s how they end up side-by-side in the cramped bathroom of her and prisha’s apartment, brushing their teeth. samuel makes faces at her in the mirror and it should be strange, to be t-shirt and shorts/boxers open with him. but he’s seen down into the root of who she is, so isn’t all this less? he’s humming something familiar as she washes her face, catching her surprised reflection. “it’s yours.” bess casts her mind back. “from–” “that first night, yeah.” she nearly drops her face towel. bess has never shown him that song. samuel shakes his head with a chuckle, a familiar you’re a weirdo. “it would be just like you to play something that gets eight bars stuck in my head for months and never sing it again.” “i...” bess can’t pinpoint a reason besides her own fear, like a karmic penance for one of the most humiliating nights of her life. “i can’t believe you remember.” there’s a truth in his eyes that neither of them are willing to admit they can see. “wanna work on it?” she asks impulsively, determined now to redraw a better memory, “maybe tomorrow?” samuel’s grin is so wide it’s almost hard to take in all at once. “this mean you’re gonna actually do that open mic?” bess shrugs. she needs to escape this tiny room all of a sudden. “maybe.” he doesn’t push her further and she’s grateful. samuel hesitates at the edge of her bed as bess pulls up the cover. “oh my god, just get in the bed samuel.” and he does. their knees touch. bess turns out the light but there’s still just enough to see him looking at her. drunkenness has made her warm and sleepy. “what?” “for the record,” he says, “i know what i think of you.” it feels like they’re teetering on an edge. “cool grandpa?” they laugh so hard that ella jumps from the foot of the bed. samuel looks so fond that bess doesn’t know what to do with herself. “yeah. that’s it.” “night samuel,” she whispers. “night bess.” * (she wakes up before the sun, tangled up in him. for once, rather than overthink it, bess just closes her eyes and goes back to sleep.) * bess can’t stop smiling. before she could even look at samuel after getting offstage, benny had lifted her off her feet and proceeded to all but bulldoze everyone in the club to get her in front of jeremy’s record label contact. could he tell that she’d just been kissed within an inch of her life? it feels like it’s written all over her face. bess can barely remember what she said, but his personal contact card is currently burning a whole though her purse. al buys them a round. (she finds ethan lingering in the back. what he says to her is somehow a surprise and not both at once. what she says to him, in the end, feels long overdue.) prisha insists everyone come back to their place to celebrate, and they pile into ubers. louie exalts her as a true artist the entire ride and even phil seems impressed. true to form though, he’s a roledex of weather facts as bess and prisha frantically pull out every candle or flashlight in the apartment; their lights flicker ominiously every so often as the storm beats down their windows. benny puts a playlist together and tries to order pizza. by some miracle, it actually arrives; everyone pools together for a 150% tip. so it feels like ages before bess looks up to find samuel leaning against the alcove of her living room, watching as louie begins a spirited debate on the best numbers in hamilton. bess nods her head toward the door of her bedroom. she’s expecting him to make a silly face with his eyebrows or hesitate, but samuel’s mouth just curves up on one side, like that’s all he’s allowing himself, and follows. “for the record,” he says as the sounds of the party fade a little behind them, “the answer will always be satisfied. no contest.” god, how had she never seen him before? her bedside lamp is still working. bess fishes out a pale white whale from childhood, one that changes colour as you tap. she grins at samuel, who’s leaning against her closed door and smiling like he’s not even sure what to make of her. “you’re incredible, you know that?” her face heats, pride and embarrassment both at once. “so are you. i can’t believe we got through that song.” “all you, bess.” she wants to roll her eyes, but refrains. “the electric was a great idea.” samuel’s eyes drop when he smiles; the familiar humility in it reminds bess of the reason she wanted to talk to him in the first place. “i know what you did tonight. before you showed up.” he looks up then, a little sharply. samuel’s always had a good poker face but bess can see it still, that guarded look. “what did i do, bess?” saying it out loud makes her feel like she’s in a movie. bess steps forward. “you told ethan to come. for me.” “are you upset?” “no. i just want to understand why.” samuel’s gaze is as steady as it’s ever been. “i just want you to be happy.” she feels unraveled, somehow. “then why did you...” even in the poor light, he flushes. “why did you kiss me?” samuel looks at the floor, then back at bess. her heart beats in double time. “he didn’t show, or so I thought. and I didn’t want to...” he laughs lightly, almost at himself. “throw away my shot. I guess I wasn’t really expecting you to—” try to press him into the wall? “to kiss me back, or even what that might mean, but I wanted to show you, or tell you that—” she’s close enough to touch him now. samuel’s hands cup her elbows, very gently, like he needs to ground himself. but he looks bess right in the eye. “even if you didn’t want me, i’d choose you first. every time.” her heart free-falls. “bess.” he squeezes a little, catching her eyes. how long have they been standing in this moment of after? “please say something.” “i told him we couldn’t work,” she says in a rush. “and i don’t even know if it was really because you and I—” bess stumbles but samuel hangs on, his grip on her unwavering, “but i think part of me always knew it was just...like, a fantasy? we barely even knew each other and i always hated myself a little for being that girl trying to steal someone else’s partner and i wasn’t dealing with any of my shit until—” samuel just waits. the realization feels too big, but there’s no going back now. “until i met you.” he looks almost stricken. bess lets out a strange, wondrous kind of laugh. she puts her hand on samuel’s chest. she’s the one who needs steadying, now. he draws her closer without looking away from her face, like he’s helpless to it. bess can’t remember the last time she felt so sure of anything. all those those expressions that always felt hidden in his eyes seem so plain, now: surprise, fear, hope. “i choose you, samuel. though i probably don’t even deserve to.” she can see his adam’s apple bob as he swallows. samuel’s hand brushes her hair back away from her face, tracking the curve of her ear. just before she’s about to freak out, he asks, “are you drunk, bess?” she nearly laughs. “no. are you drunk, samuel?” he shakes his head. she understands that serious look, now. it’s wanting. he wants her. samuel goes to pull her the rest of the way in— “bess!” louie’s voice and a loud knock on the door springs them apart. the lights go out. “bess, we’re going now. and the lights are out. do you have a source of light in there? are you coming to say goodbye?” samuel lets out a long, low “fuck.” she has to clap her hand over her mouth. his nearly silent laugh ghosts over her skin as he presses his face into the curve of her neck. (samuel kisses her there, just once, but it’s enough that her knees tremble a little and she can feel the shape of his smile too.) “i’ll be right out!” bess calls to her brother. his shadow moves away from the door. hysterical giggles shake her shoulders. samuel’s hands slide up to hold her face. “do you wanna—” “come home with me.” she can barely make out his features in the dark (except for the want) but bess’ stomach drops anyway. the irony of no electricity is funny when she feels like sparks might burst from beneath her skin. “okay.” * bess is deliriously happy. samuel puts down his guitar and barely lets the door close before he’s pressing bess against it with both hands. his palms are heavy and warm on her hipbones; bess wants to rock up against him but there’s a certain thrill in it, how strong he seems. she has no idea the last time she was kissed like this. despite how fierce it feels, samuel lets her lead. he doesn’t open his mouth until she does, touches his tongue tentatively against hers at first pass, tugs so gently on her lip with his teeth until she makes a noise like a whimper. she should tell him maybe, that samuel made her completely forget herself, back in the alcove at saint c’s. but then bess just lets her hands find their way back into his now slightly damp hair. she’ll just relive it instead. she scrapes her nails over his scalp and samuel’s breath comes up short; it returns in something that sounds like a groan, or a snarl, and oh. bess has to take deep breaths of her own when he pulls back, a wide-eyed glance to her face to make sure she’s alright. she can only nod. samuel’s fingertips squeeze her waist as some of that urgency seems to fade from his eyes. he trails his mouth slowly from her lips to her jaw; she tilts her head instinctively to give him room and samuel finds that same spot on her neck from her own bedroom. his teeth and tongue press a little harder than before; he gets a gasp for his efforts. her legs feel unsteady again. bess grabs at the open sides of his button-down until samuel shrugs out of it. it drops to their feet. he doesn’t protest when bess pushes him gently, walking backwards across the apartment with his arm tight around her. he doesn’t let go when his legs meet the edge of his bed. bess would fall into him if not for samuel keeping them upright. he drops to sit, pulling them apart, and finally bess has to take stock of herself. samuel’s face is so open, his smile so wide in a way she’s never seen before. “still good?” he asks. bess nods. “still good?” samuel laughs lightly. “i’m great, bess.” he reaches for her hand, his thumb brushing each of her rings in turn. “we can stop whenever you want.” she’s the one standing but bess feels smaller, strangely. instead of replying, bess steps out of her shoes. samuel’s eyes seem to darken as she slides her jacket from her shoulders and lets it pool on the floor. bess leans down and brings one knee to the bed, by his hip, balancing herself with one hand on his shoulder. samuel’s inhale is impossibly loud as he instinctively supports her with a sliding grip up the back of her thigh. bess’ skirt isn’t that short but she’s glad she didn’t trade it for jeans before she left. samuel’s face betrays how pleased he seems by her choice. once she’s finished effectively straddling him, bess looks down from her perch. “hi.” samuel’s knuckles stroke up and down her leg. goosebumps ripple and he smiles. “hi.” bess takes his face in both her hands and leans down as samuel tilts his chin up to meet her. she’ll never tire of kissing him. it feels like she can’t get close enough; he must have the same idea because his arms wrap around her back until bess is sitting firmly in his lap, their hips slotted together. “can i touch you?” samuel asks against her mouth. bess nods, maybe too quickly, but she can’t bring herself to be embarrassed. guitar callused fingers slide beneath her top. samuel reaches the slim band of her lacy bralette. he pauses, but bess leans into his hand and then he’s tracing the curve of her breast. his thumb brushes a little roughly over her nipple; bess feels an abrupt ache between her legs. “that seems pretty,” samuel murmurs in her ear, like a casual observation. “it’s a matching set,” she replies, trying not to sound too breathless. “for luck.” he pulls back with wide eyes. bess wants to laugh but she’s too busy dealing with this rush of blood to her face. she sits up carefully so they don’t knock heads and reaches for the edges of samuel’s t shirt first; he drags it over his head in one smooth, practiced motion. shit, he’s hot. he’s staring as bess unfolds herself to stand back on the floor (her legs are still unsteady but he doesn’t need to know that) and goes to pull off her own shirt. samuel’s eyes don’t leave her face until the fabric coming over her head pulls her from view. when bess blinks him back into focus, he’s gone a little slack-jawed. she nods at his jeans and the speed at which samuel divests himself of them has her biting back a giggle. bess’ face feels hot but there’s a frisson of pride that straightens her spine. she’s not even half an arm’s length away from him. samuel touches her stomach, just above the waistband of her skirt. “can I?” bess has to swallow before she can nod. just like before, samuel stares at her face until the last half of her outfit joins the rest of their clothes in a heap. samuel’s eyes trail from her eyes to her feet and back. it takes everything in bess not to fidget. she expects to see heat in his expression but there’s only wonderment and tenderness. “fuck, you’re so beautiful.” she has no idea what to do with that. samuel tugs her into his lap this time, intent. his kiss is searing. bess rocks into him, just once, just a little. that grip on her thighs returns, tighter. bess can only gasp a laugh into his mouth when samuel stands, holding her up against him, and turns to lower her with a kind of breathtakingly slow care onto his bed. bess lands on her back, samuel now the one leaning over her. desire coils low in her stomach. he gently shifts her hips so they’re both actually parallel with the long edges of the comforter. she feels inexplicably, unbearably, fond of him. then samuel looks away. he exhales, like he’s embarrassed. bess frowns in concern. “what is it?” samuel shakes his head. “when you look at me like that, I can’t catch my breath.” oh. it feels so strange to be the steadier one. bess reaches for his cheek, drawing samuel’s eyes back to her. “guess you’ll just have to distract me, then.” he laughs, but then as he leans down, samuel’s smile fades and bess remembers. he wants her. she can feel it. his hand slides, pleasantly rough, over her skin, sliding beneath the band of her bralette. bess seizes samuel’s lip in her teeth as he strokes back over her breast. he teases her nipple and the moment bess manages to wriggle out of the garment and tosses it away, samuel’s swapped his hand with his tongue, her other breast now teased by his clever fingers. she gasps again and she can feel him smirking. samuel diverts his mouth’s attention to her other side. bess focuses on her breathing. the storm still lashes against the windows but it feels like nothing compared to the roaring in her blood. bess slides her fingers up the nape of samuel’s neck and a few things happen at once: samuel’s free hand finds the damp junction between her legs; bess pulls his hair a tiny bit harder than intended; his teeth catch her nipple with just enough firmness that bess’ back nearly arches off the bed, along with a keening noise she didn’t even realize she could make. samuel freezes immediately. he looks up and bess has no idea what her face looks like, but all she can say is, “do that again.” he leans back down, his teeth scraping over her other breast; when he tugs, bess does too, so hard that samuel hisses. “sorry,” she pants, “sorry.” he shakes his head, a firm denial. it might be the dark, the lightning, or the fact that bess is so fucking turned on, but samuel’s expression has veered far past wanting— into hunger. he practically leaps back up to her mouth, a kiss so fierce that their teeth nearly clack together. “your hands,” he says, like it enrages him almost, “in my hair, holy fuck.” oh was right. “you’re one to talk about hands,” bess retorts. “can you please just–” samuel leans back. “can i please just what?” he looks smug the bastard. it would be like them to bicker in the middle of sex, wouldn’t it? but his tone is so serious when he says, “tell me what you want, bess.” that she has to squeeze her thighs together. “please touch me.” “where?” bess is going to kill him. samuel touches her cheek with surprising gentleness, and kisses her there. “here?” he does the same to her neck. “here?” her shoulder. he marks the valley of her breasts, the slope of her navel, the jut of her pelvic bone. “samuel,” bess says. it sounds like a plea but she doesn’t care. she can only reach his shoulder now, the back of his neck. he may have shivered but she can’t tell because she’s too busy trying to keep it together. he finally finds the elastic of her underwear. “okay, bess?” this question isn’t a joke. bess makes sure to meet samuel’s eye; the mixture of that desire and care makes her dizzy. “yes. please.” when his fingers have finally slid inside her, bess says “samuel,” at a level of breathlessness she only ever gets when she sings. he touches her with the same care and confidence as he does any of their instruments, until her legs tremble; samuel finds a beat with his tongue against her clit that’s so good bess has to cover her mouth when she comes. samuel crawls back up the bed towards her. he leaves a kiss on the inside of her knee, and her shoulder, just an inch or two from where he had the first night she’d stayed here. bess feels very safe, suddenly. “still good?” samuel asks again, a more raw edge to the question this time. bess can only affirm silently as she leans up a little to kiss him. she can taste herself in his mouth, can feel the weight of his arousal against her. bess presses up and samuel groans. heat pulses again between her legs. “do you want,” bess starts, putting her hands on him, straining against his boxers. samuel’s whole body seems to twitch. he pulls her wrists away though with a bruising kiss. “i’m just dying to be inside you, if that’s cool.” her stomach flips. “very cool.” samuel smiles and goes willingly when bess rolls them over. he reaches blindly into a bedside drawer. bess catches sight of a pair of glasses and makes a mental note to ask about them when her mind’s not currently so occupied. “shit, are these even in date?” samuel squints at the packet in his hand. “god, have i not had sex in this long?” bess can’t help but laugh. they giggle their way through confirming the expiry date, getting rid of samuel’s boxers, and rolling on the condom in the dark. for a moment they just look at each other. bess hasn’t ached like this for anyone in a long time. “tell me what you want, samuel.” his adam’s apple bobs as he sits up. “c’mere.” samuel pulls her forward and bess lifts her hips to line them up. he swallows her tiny gasp as she sinks down onto him; it’s been a while for her, too. samuel anchors her with one hand splayed across her back, waiting silently until bess has adjusted to the stretch. bess rocks down experimentally and he makes an almost strangled noise in the back of his throat. a soft kiss lands on her forehead, a starkly tender inverse to nearly everything that’s happened so far, and maybe even to what they’re about to do. it settles bess and breaks her open both at once. “okay?” he asks carefully. she nods, wrapping both her arms around his neck. “you’re amazing, you know that?” samuel murmurs over her lips. his own hips swing up towards hers and wow. “bess.” she was right, before. he’s strong. they get a rhythm going quickly enough, like another harmony that comes so easy. the angle has bess’ clit pressing with beautiful pressure against samuel’s pelvis; she clenches down just as he thrusts up. he curses and it just stokes that flame hotter inside of her. after a certain point bess can’t even speak anymore. she has both her hands in samuel’s hair and he’s latched back onto the curve between her neck and shoulder, teeth and tongue and words like, fuck and tight and good and bess— “samuel i—” he looks up at her face like he wants to commit it to memory. “bess.” and she’s gone again. * when they’ve caught their breath and tidied up, bess and samuel find themselves side by side in his bathroom, a sweet reflection of that night from weeks ago. she’s glad she thought to bring her toothbrush. samuel keeps staring at her in the mirror. “what?” does she have toothpaste on her face? he just shakes his head, the way he does when he laughs to himself. “nothing. you just look better in my t-shirts than i do.” bess rolls her eyes but her face feels hot anyway. “weirdo.” it feels good not to have to wonder as they head back to his bed. samuel drags her immediately towards him beneath the covers, his cool hands greedy beneath her borrowed sleepwear as her back curves against his chest. he plants a minty kiss above her shoulder-blade where his shirt’s slipped down. bess shivers and he leaves another on the back of her neck. “sorry,” he murmurs, and bess flips around to look at him. “for what?” the storm broke finally, and amber light of the street through his windows feels just as safe and warm as it had before. but samuel is the one who seems afraid, now. “i don’t want to freak you out.” “you’re not freaking me out,” bess insists. “tell me.” samuel hesitates. bess reaches out to touch his face. “hey. i don’t scare that easy either, you know.” he exhales a faint laugh. it’s so rare to see samuel seem unsure, or fragile. it makes bess feel thrillingly off-centre. “i don’t think i’ll ever be able to stop wanting you.” she’s falling. “and not just—” samuel nods vaguely at their general closeness. “this. i mean all of it. the music, your family, everything. i know it’s probably a bad idea to start things with bandmates or whatever but i just—” bess doesn’t let him finish. she can only pour all her affection for him into a kiss, taking samuel’s huff of surprise in her mouth even as he reaches for her waist to pull her closer, then on top of him. when she pulls away he seems a little dazed. “you make the bad days okay,” bess says firmly and samuel smiles with such near-adoration that she understands it now, that loss of air. “so we’ll figure it out, okay? one day at a time.” samuel nods. “okay.” and he pulls her back down. * bess wakes up with words in her mind. samuel’s grip is so tight that at first she doesn’t think he’ll let her go. but bess manages to slide away, picking up his hand gently and lifting his arm. she looks at his sleeping face and kisses his knuckles. samuel’s lips curve a little and if she looks too hard she could be in love with him already. she knows where he keeps blank sheet paper in his production area. bess finds a pen and a coffee table book about new york parks; she sits on the edge of the bed to scrawl, humming to herself. she doesn’t realize he’s up until a familiar press of lips lands on her neck. bess will never stop shivering and samuel will apparently never stop smiling about it. “hi,” he mumbles. his voice is low and gravely with sleep. bess files that away under the list of things that does something to her. samuel hooks his chin over her shoulder and bess lifts her work to accommodate his arms sliding around her waist. “new idea?” bess nods. “thinking about what you said to me.” she’s circled can’t catch my breath at the top of the page. samuel goes very still. it feels like it could crush them, the weight of this kind of intimacy. but at least bess doesn’t have to carry it alone. “wanna write with me?” she turns her head to look at him; samuel’s surprise will never not be thrilling. “will you let me add a back beat?” he’s already reaching for his guitar. bess laughs. “i could maybe be persuaded.” the way his eyebrow lifts makes her stomach jump. “duly noted.” (they do finish the song, eventually. the morning just gets away from them first.)

#little voice #littlevoiceedit #brittany o'grady #colton ryan #bess king #mine: fic #this really got away from me like woah #but i just them so fucking much

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concealeddarkness13 · 3 years ago

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WHG 15 Post-Games Imposter Syndrome Part 23

The day after part 22! Tagging: @sparkles-and-hens, @knmartinshouldbewriting, @maple-writes, @pen-of-roses, @thoughts-of-nora, and @ratracechronicler (also thanks for Hugo!)!

The next day, I snuck out after Hugo and the dumb Peacekeepers taking him. I didn’t show myself until the Peacekeepers had already dropped him off. I just slid in next to him and grinned and winked.

He stared at me for a few seconds before he just looked away, as if he was completely unsurprised. When we walked up to the captain, she frowned at us. “Another one?”

I nodded. “Yes, ma’am! They wanted to see how well I was, working on a ship.”

She just beckoned for us to follow her, and I followed with a grin. I already loved her. Hopefully, I wouldn’t have to punch her. The crew had gathered for a meal, and we went there. She looked back at me. “You got a name, swab?”

It couldn’t hurt to say my full name. I smiled. “Triel Reeves.”

She paused for a second with a frown, but then she just shrugged. Perfect! “Fresh blood, everyone.” I grinned wider. I hadn’t been just a crew member on a ship for a year. She lowered her voice and turned back to me, pointing out the cook and the quartermaster. “And that over there’s the other greenhorn we can’t get a name out of. You two’ll be working together tarring the ratlines.” Oh boy! “Hope you like heights. First things first, though.” She walked over to the quartermaster and talked with him for a second.

He yelled for everyone to get ready to set sail. And called for us to haul lines to help unfurl the sails. Perfect! I grinned as we climbed and got started. This was so familiar!

“Fancy meeting you here,” Hugo said quietly. Oh yeah. There was a reason I was here.

I shrugged and kept my voice too lighthearted. “Well, I guess the Capitol decided this would be good for me.” I paused and grinned again. “Anyway, I haven’t done this kind of work for a while. I love heights.”

He rolled his eyes at my first comment. Good. He got the lie. As we switched new lines to haul, he spoke up. “And how do you feel about tar?”

“Hey, I love everything to do with ships. And I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty.”

He didn’t respond. We finished up with our task and started with tarring the lines shortly after. We climbed up with brushes as the bosun hauled the tar bucket up with a pulley.

I just kept grinning. This was amazing! But the air felt hard to breathe. It wasn’t affecting my memory, like it did with Hugo, but something was going on. I felt a little more peaceful. Less willing to fight. As I started working, I nodded. “I can see what you mean about the air. It’s affecting my thoughts a little.”

“I try to breathe through my shirt sometimes, although I can’t say the smell is preferable.” He smirked, but it didn’t last. “Yeah. Just…try and remind yourself of things. Y’know, in the past. Hold onto memories you don’t want to lose. You shouldn’t’ve come out here and risked…I don’t know why you did this.”

Because you’re my friend, and I won’t let you be alone. I tried for humor first. “Like I could ever forget you.” But then I became serious again. “And I wasn’t going to leave you to suffer alone. I probably won’t be able to come every day, and the Capitol might realize what I did and not let me come at all after this. But I’m not going to leave you alone. It’s just an added bonus that I might be able to punch some bastards today.”

He perked up at the last sentence. “Well, I’m obligated to admit some of these salts’re okay, but the bastards’re fair game for punching. I will emphatically do nothing to stop you should you feel punchy.”

“Noted.” I looked around as I kept tarring. The question was: who were the salts and who were the bastards? “I must admit, they’ve done their homework. This is remarkably like the real thing.”

He nodded, and he sounded spiteful. “Yeah. But I bet it’s just like an old arena or—I think I already said that. Never mind. So, uh, you…but you have been with the real thing, though. The real ocean and everything. It’s…what’s different? Does the ship still pitch like this? And the jobs—do you…Do you think maybe I’d do good out there, with the real thing?” He sounded more hopeful now.

I watched him with a smile before I said anything. He was doing very well. He seemed to be at home here. “It pitches worse, sometimes. I’ve been through a couple of storms, and it’s an adventure. The air is saltier than this, and the wind blows a lot more most of the time. There are times when it’s completely still, and we have to row to move the ship. And you’re certainly promising. I’ll make sure you get your sea legs yet.”

He looked so excited, but before he could say anything else, the bosun yelled up at us. “HEY! WHICH ONE OF YOU IDIOTS JUST GOT TAR ON MY FUCKING UNIFORM?! These things don’t grow on trees, you know! Do I look like a ratline to you?”

I rolled my eyes. “Like hell we did,” I muttered. While Hugo mimed dumping the rest of the bucket on the bosun’s head.

We climbed down, and the stupid bosun was stomping around, muttering under his breath. But of course he made his words loud enough for us to hear when we got down. “Arena-saboteurs like that good-fer-nothing Carolee.”

Oh boy. So, he was certainly one of the bastards. He glanced over at us and threw the tar bucket at Hugo, who caught it, but the tar still got all over him. Shit. I whirled on the bosun and punched him straight in the face.

He fell down way too easily. Weak. I spit at his feet and stood over him crossing my arms. “You piece of shit. You’d already have been thrown overboard if you were on my ship.”

He lunged for me, but it was so weak, he just brushed past me. But Hugo lunged for the bosun and punched him in the gut. “Not to my friend, you don’t!”

I felt a twinge of happiness, and I grinned as bastards jumped from the quarterdeck or burst through a door. Perfect. I started grinning. This was going to be fun!

Okay, most of it was a blur, but I totally punched the woman with the bucket so that the bucket flew and hit one of the two people trying to corner Hugo. Someone decided to bring a mop, but I just ripped it out of his hands and snapped it, but I lost it when someone got a punch in. There were too many, and I kept getting hit, but when I stumbled Hugo was there, and he helped me out of the way of the bosun trying to get a good kick in. Loser.

When the quartermaster finally broke it up, Hugo was on the ground, and I helped him up with a grin. I bowed my head at the quartermaster. “I’m sorry about that fuss. I just had to defend my friend’s honor.” I gestured at Hugo, and he still had tar on him. And now blood. Nice.

“I don’t care about anyone’s honor—I care about who’s starting stupid fights on this ship. You’re lucky I saw it wasn’t you two.” He hauled the bosun to his feet and pointed at one of the others who had been part of the fight. “Help that one to the infirmary, and you don’t get to see the galley until tomorrow. I’ll see you all get double duty for this, and you’ll thank me to not break out the cat o’ nine.” He hesitated. “We don’t…actually have one, but still. Behave your damn selves. We’re not pirates, for heaven’s sake.” I made a face at him after he pointed us to a new task. Cleaning the toilets, of course.

Hugo smirked over at me at the pirates comment, and I shot him a middle finger back. I was still angry over the stupid bosun. I couldn’t believe he actually did that. “No, you are worse than pirates. We would never turn on one of our own like that. And if someone did, I would have gotten rid of them immediately.”

We started working, and Hugo glanced over at me. “So, are you not allowed to mess with each other? Well, I know that guy wasn’t just messing around…I think he knows something about what we did. I don’t think anyone else does. And now we pissed him off…” He frowned but shrugged. “Heh. He knows what’s coming to him if he tries crossing us, eh, hat lady?” He grinned.

I grinned back. “Yeah, if he even looks at us funny, I’m going to deck him again.” I paused. “And we do a lot of stupid shit to each other. One time, Tess put two-sided stickers on the way up to the crow’s nest, and it took ages for Lily to even notice she had stickers that said ‘fuck you’ on her palms. And Shine—” Shit. Not again. I forced myself to continue. “They always threw machine parts at everyone. I think they secretly had a stash of parts just for throwing.” I paused, swallowing hard and pushing the thoughts away. “And Nesri likes sparring, so we have fight nights, especially between her and Tauren.”

“Secret stash.” Hugo snickered to himself. But he didn’t say anything else.

I just kept working, trying to figure out what the air was doing. It wasn’t affecting my memory, so what else? Either way, it was starting to feel suffocating. I snarled. “I can’t believe you have to deal with this shit every day. This air is suffocating.”

“You shouldn’t have to deal with it too. You shouldn’t have come here.” He bristled, but then he calmed down again. “…But I’m kinda glad you did. But don’t come back.”

I scoffed. “I’ll decide if I come back or not.” I paused. It would be good to distract him. “So, you’ve heard all about my friends. Would you like to talk about yours?”

He nodded wearily to my first sentence, and then he coughed. “What? Why?” A little defensive, but understandable. “Uh. Well, I guess if we’re ever gonna be all on a ship together…”He mouthed something to himself before he started. “There’s Alex. He’s the popular one. Our resident hero.” He snickered. “Wants to be the guy with the sword, taking on demon pirates robbing us, i.e. normal pirates. Good guy. Mean cook too, though—galley’s probably where he’s headed, to be honest. And there’s Luc, stands for Lucifer, but they’ve got him cleaning up at the church! Met him out thieving, which should tell you how much of a saint he is. You’d like him. Always spoiling for a fight. He’ll be a gunner for sure. Wonder if he’s caught the guy he’s trying to reap vengeance on by now…Anyway, then there’s Tally. Do not pick on him. I will kick your ass. He’s a quiet kid, but he’s alright. Shy around people, but he can play a sharp guitar and spin a tale that’ll singe the hair off your brow. Big on animals and nature and stuff, good at building…okay, traps for hunters, so maybe he’ll be okay as a carpenter? I dunno what good’s a carpenter gonna do on a ship like yours. But we’ll be useful.”

I nodded. They sounded wonderful. “They’ll do very well on my ship. As will you.” I smiled over at him. “They sound like wonderful people. I’ll be happy to meet them. And what job would you like to do on my ship?” I cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Oh, I’ll be happy just to be there.” But it looked like he had something in mind.

I grinned. “Well, then I’ll make a new job: The Person Who’s Just Happy To Be Here. And you can walk around grinning the whole time.”

“We all know that’s exactly what sullen teenagers are for.” He gave me his best scowl.

I grinned back at him. And we kept working, until the ship landed back at the harbor. The Peacekeepers came and took Hugo, and I followed. They finally noticed me a little bit later and stopped and stared at me for a few seconds.

One of them pointed at me. “You! You’re not supposed—”

And I punched her too. Enough to make her fall unconscious, and then I whirled on the other Peacekeeper and did the same. I called for Hugo to run, and we both ran together.

When we got to the entrance, Hugo copied my bow with a grin, and he ran off. I grinned after him and ran off, back toward my prison.

#writeblr hunger games #writeblr

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sunshinejihyun · 4 years ago

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Come Together || Nicky Horne

Author’s note: After far too many episodes of pining for this beautiful man, I finally decided to write something. This fic starts off where Episode 8 of the Boat Party leaves off on and is, essentially, what I wish and hope would happen but never will because Fusebox likes to torture me. I feel like this is the part where I should tag @kittidot because she 100% knows the pain of continually pining for Nicky week after week. And she's just a wonderful friend who’s always SO supportive of my writing, she deserves a little love.

Warnings: this contains descriptive NSFW scenes, please click away if that isn’t something you’re comfortable with reading

Word Count: 4,714

Summary: When a bottle of wine gets opened, out pours the feelings with it

Masterlist

Standing outside of her open door, Nicky casually draped himself against the side, watching her for a moment before gently tapping his fingers against the door. “Knock knock!”

She pushed herself up so she could see who was at the door and her bright smile danced over her face as she met his eyes. “You know, you don’t have to say ‘knock knock’, you just actually knocked!”

“I’d never thought of it that way!” Nicky had a smile teasing at his lips as he made his way over to the unoccupied side of her bed and he flopped onto it, actually grinning as she shrieked when he bounced her with his body weight. “You know…” tucking his arms behind his head, he turned his face to look at her, only to find her already staring back at him. He didn’t know what to say, not really. He just knew he wanted to be around her and see her smile once more before he went to bed. “I still don’t get why it's a banana boat. Why not a carrot?” She cracked a smile at that and Nicky let out a long sigh, looking up at the ceiling of her room. There was a dimly lit ceiling light that was flickering every once in a while and Nicky couldn’t take his eyes off it. If he did, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to look in her eyes and not blurt out his whole conversation with Elladine. “I don’t know why I’m asking myself these questions. I must be tired.”

Nicky heard the girl next to him yawn and he looked towards her, his heart thumping as he watched her rub her eyes sleepily. “I can’t believe how much we did today, I’m exhausted.”

Stretching his legs, Nicky’s eyes went back to the flickering light. “Right?”

In his head, Nicky was silently cursing himself. Why couldn’t he think of something better, something funnier to say? Instead, all he said was ‘right’? What was wrong with him? Outwardly, he changed the subject. “I wanted to check that you and Bill were OK. So, how’s it going with you?”

She let out a heavy sigh and sat up on the bed, Nicky following suit. “Bill… he doesn’t like uncertainty. But it’s hard, because he never wants to have the serious conversation to work things out.”

Nicky’s shoulder was pressed directly against hers and her leg brushed his every time she fidgeted. “Ooh, Elladine can feel that way sometimes as well. And I mean, things have been a bit up in the air with the two of you.” Nicky thought back to the trip earlier, how he sat at the beach and watched as Bill stroked her hair, his arm wrapped around her as much as he could with lifejackets on. As Nicky watched her in the arms of someone else, he wished to himself he could feel her soft skin against his own, wished it was him she was in love with. “But you seemed to be getting on really well when you went for that swim. Speaking of… Elladine and I had a chat this evening. About it being hard on us when she’s away so much.” He didn’t want to bring up Elladine, their chat had also included some conversation about how Ella noticed the way Nicky looked at the girl he called his best friend.

Elladine wasn’t wrong, he looked at her like he was in love with her. Because he was. It wasn’t that he wasn’t interested in Elladine, he was. But this girl snuck up on him before he could even realize it. Elladine understood though, she wanted to try to work things through with him but she also wanted to give him time to think, he needed it.

The girl next to him moved her body so it was facing him and Nicky's breath caught in his throat as her night shirt slipped off her shoulder more and exposed more of her smooth skin. “What happened in your talk with her? Are you okay?”

Nicky let the words tumble out of his mouth, and he was so relieved to tell her what had happened. No matter his feelings for the girl, she was his best friend. “I was kinda nervous. But I thought, if Yasmin can open up then so can I. I said that I know how important her work is to her, but it’s hard when it takes over during ‘us time’. We’re gonna try and save work talk for particular times. Then we can focus on each other when we’re together. But it felt good to talk about it properly. That’s a long way of saying thank you for the chat yesterday. It made me think about things.”

The girl sat quiet, a thoughtful look on her face as she bit her lip. “Oh no!” Nicky gasped out, trying to get her to release that damn lip so he could focus on anything other than the thought of biting that same lip and the type of sound she’d make as he did so.

As predicted, her mouth dropped open in shock. “What is it?”

Nicky racked his brain, searching for anything he could say to change the subject. “Bill never got crowned the Banana Boat King!”

Her face dropped in disappointment and Nicky regretted bringing up Bill. “I think he’ll be okay. We didn’t have a crown to give anyways.”

Nicky needed to get out of the room for a moment, he needed to collect his thoughts. “I’ll go and ask Bill if he wants to donate his bottle of wine to us. Then we can share it.”

Her mouth slowly formed a smirk, causing Nicky’s stomach to fill with butterflies. That damn smirk, that damn lip, her shirt falling off her shoulder, all the accidental brushes of leg against leg and hand against hand - it was official: she was trying to kill him. “As long as you don’t hog it all!”

Nicky feigned offense, a hand pressed to his chest. “Would I do that to you?” Before she answered, he pushed himself off the bed, the need to take a breath of fresh air overwhelming. If he didn’t, he may act on impulse and ruin the friendship they’ve grown over their time in the villa and the year after. “I’ll go and ask Bill. Don’t go anywhere!”

As he shut the door, Nicky leaned against the locked door, breath coming out in fast pants. The effect this girl had on him was insane, like nothing he’d ever felt before. It drove him absolutely crazy.

Gathering his composure, Nicky made his way to the main deck of the ship and found Bill leaning over the railing, eyes traveling over the sea and to the moon before returning back to the water again. “Wishing you could be up there right now?” Nicky leaned next to Bill and smiled silently to himself as the other man jumped, pulled out of thought.

“Wishing the stars could send me the answer, to be honest.” Bill replied before shaking his head and laughing. “I sound like something from Lottie’s quiz now, which was the catalyst for us getting into a fight.” Bill’s light gaze settled on Nicky. “You’ve talked to her, yeah? How is she?”

Nicky sighed, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Honestly, not great. But it’s not my place to say much else. I think you both should have a chat, one about everything. Put everything on the table, that sort of thing.” It was quiet between the two men for a moment, both of them awkwardly staring at the other. “I actually came to find you. Are you going to drink your bottle of wine?”

Bill thought for a moment before breaking eye contact. “No, you’re welcome to take it. I wasn’t going to drink it alone anyway.” Bill turned back towards the dark waters, staring at the moon’s reflection rippling, their conversation was over. So Nicky went and swiped a bottle of some sweet wine - which he knew was her favorite - and made his way back to her room, taking a deep breath and knocking on the door.

“Knock knock!” Much like earlier that night, she smiled at him, shaking her head after she opened the door to let him in.

“We talked about this!”

As Nicky plopped back on the bed, he held out the bottle to her. “Wanna open it?”

“Erm,” her face twisted in confusion and Nicky laughed. “I don’t have a bottle opener!”

Nicky silently held out his hand and she passed the bottle back, the neck warm where she had her hand wrapped around. “Neither do I!” Rubbing a hand over his forehead, he sighed. “Sorry, I didn’t even think about it.” “No biggie, I’ll go find one. Now it’s your turn to stay right here!” She held up her hands like Nicky did earlier and he laughed, settling onto her bed and closing his eyes, his legs crossed at his ankles. “Make yourself at home!”

“Don’t worry babe, I already did.” Nicky joked out and he heard a small chuckle from her before the door to her room closed.

Once she had left, Nicky sat up and took a look around her room. It looked like everyone else’s, it was a cruise ship room after all, but it was littered with things that made it so her. Her fruity smelling lip gloss lay on its side next to the eyeliner she continually wore, a book on the nightstand that she had told Nicky about was dogeared, and - oh man, some lacy red lingerie was laying on the back of a chair.

Nicky wasn’t sure, but he almost surely would have remembered seeing those when he came in for the first time. They were certainly unforgettable and he was glad he had seen them for the first time on his own; picturing her wearing those had his mouth drying out and his boxers tightening and right as the door reopened, he adjusted himself and hoped she wouldn’t question what he was looking at.

The only thing running through his mind was curiosity. Did she pull those out while he was away and contemplate putting them on? Is it possible that she could feel the same way he did?

“Here,” she handed him a clear plastic cup filled to the top with some wine and Nicky laughed as he slurped at the top to keep it from falling out.

“We have all night! If I didn’t know any better, you’re trying to get me drunk quickly.” Mischief crossed over her features. “I’m trying to get both of us drunk! We deserve it!” She sipped out of her own cup and a drop of wine slipped over her bottom lip and Nicky physically had to restrain himself from leaning it over and sucking the droplet into his own mouth.

This was going to be a long night.

An hour later, they were taking sips from the bottle of wine, passing it back and forth instead of fussing with the plastic cups and potentially spilling anywhere.

“Can I ask you something?” Her head was resting against the headboard, next to Nicky’s feet.

“Girl, you can ask me anything!” Nicky was feeling the effects of the wine and he had lost his gray tee about twenty minutes ago, it was getting hot in the room.

“What do you think would have happened if I came down before Elladine and I had picked you? Or picked you at one of the earlier recouplings?” Her cheeks were rosy and she refused to lock eyes with him, opting to pick at the deep maroon color painted on her nails.

“I mean, we’re mates right?” Nicky laughed, glancing towards the red lace that was always in the corner of his eye. “We would have gotten along no matter what.” He didn’t want to say what was actually going through his mind: that he would have been overjoyed, that at each girl's choice he hoped she would choose him, but her eyes never even glanced over him. It was probably his fault, early on he had made a promise to himself, that he would stay loyal to Ella. So he compared her to his sister, and it killed him a little inside everytime. She was nowhere near being a sister to him, she was everything he wanted and more.

“No, I mean like if I picked you because I liked you romantically.”

Her name fell from his lips and Nicky found himself pushing himself up and moving closer to her, his hand resting on the bed near her upper thigh. “What are you trying to say?”

She buried her face in her hands after setting aside the bottle of wine. “I don’t know!” Nicky stayed silent, studying her face and as she opened one of her hands a peeked an eye out, he sent her a soft smile and gently pulled her hands away from her face. Absentmindedly, her hand clutched his and Nicky looked down at their connected hands. Her soft skin against his guitar calluses felt right. “There was a time I thought maybe we could have become something, but you never saw me as anything more than a sister.”

Nicky wasn’t sure if it was the wine or the fact that he had the chance to get his feelings off his chest, but he found himself blurting out everything he was thinking at that moment. “Out of everyone in the villa, I would have been proud to say that you were my partner. When you walked out that first day, you spared me no glance. You could have chosen me but you didn’t! So I figured you’d never see me that way.” Nicky let out a breath he was holding. “I told myself that I’d stay loyal to the person who chose me first and that was Elladine, but if you chose me at a recoupling… that would have changed so many things.”

“Nicky,” the way she whispered his name felt like being called home, like a soft blanket wrapping around his shoulders by his mum when he was sick. It felt exactly the way love should: soft and warm, fiery and comforting.

Reaching up to cup her cheek, Nicky pushed back some out of place strands of hair, much like he saw Bill do to her in the ocean earlier in the day. The sudden realization of what was happening caught up with him and he jerked his hand away, moving across the room to sit on the chair by the vanity.

And then his arm brushed something lacy and he blushed before pushing it to the floor, trying his best to ignore the pictures in his head. “We can’t do this.” He looked up and saw her face twisted in confusion and hurt. “We can’t do this to Bill and Elladine. We just can’t.”

Rubbing his hand up and down on his face, Nicky took a few deep breaths and looked at the girl. Tears were silently streaming down her cheeks and he wanted to cross the room and pull her into his arms, kissing all the tears away. But that mental image got pushed to the side by the thought of her tasting the sea salt off Bill’s skin earlier while Nicky watched from the sand and he pushed that thought to the side. “Nicky,” she sobbed out his name this time and his heart broke. “Please, Nicky.”

He wasn’t sure what she was pleading for; he wasn’t even sure she knew, but either way it ripped his heart in half. “When I talked with Ella, she also brought up you. She’s not blind, she saw the way I’d look at you. And I promised to try to work past those feelings so that she and I could try to work out even long distance. But you’re sitting there, and all I can think about is pulling you into my arms and kissing away your sadness and I’m so drunk and this isn’t fair to you.”

Without even realizing it, Nicky found himself kneeling next to her, his hand wrapped securely around hers. “You were always my first choice.” Her voice came out soft between hiccups. “No question.”

It was now or never, and since he’d told her everything else, he might put the rest of it out there. “You’re still my first choice.” Wordlessly she tugged on his arm, pulling his face close to hers. He knew what she wanted, he wanted it probably as much if not more. “If you don’t want this, I need you to stop me now.”

Without responding, she wrapped her arms around his neck and connected their lips. Nicky’s hands found her hips and as a thumb slipped under her loose shirt, he rubbed circles on her bare skin. Without breaking the kiss, she pulled him up and he followed her lead, laying his body on top of hers before his mouth left hers and trailed down to her neck, nipping and licking a trail to her collarbone before she tugged on his hair and brought his mouth back to hers. Their tongues met and Nicky felt her wrap her legs around his hips, drawing him as physically close as they could be with their clothes on. She tasted like tears and sunshine and Nicky found himself licking into her mouth more, eager to taste as much as he could. She was intoxicating; he was probably more drunk on the taste of her than he was from the wine.

Pulling back with a nip to her bottom lip, Nicky pushed some of her mussed hair away from her eyes and rejoiced in the whine that escaped her. “Did you pull those out earlier when I left you alone?” Nicky pointed to the pile of lace that was laying discarded on her otherwise clean floor and the deep flush on her neck and cheeks told him all he needed to know. “While you were gone all I could do was picture you in them.”

Her hand reached up to cup his neck and she stroked the sensitive skin there, causing Nicky to shudder and close his eyes. When he opened them, he saw her watching him intently and he leaned down to brush a kiss across her lips again. “Do you want me to put them on?” Nicky rolled off her and lightly tapped her bum when she got up from the bed and she giggled, picking them off the floor and glancing back at Nicky who was laying on his back, his hands resting just above the waistband of his pants and watching her appreciatively. “Don’t look while I change! Cover your eyes!”

“Yes ma’am,” Nicky drawled out, one of his hands dropping on his eyes and shielding his view from the girl.

As he felt a body straddle him, his hands immediately went to cup her ass and as he felt the rough lace he groaned. “You can open your eyes now.”

His eyes landed on her face but quickly traveled down her curves, stopping to appreciate the red lace on her chest before moving his gaze lower, eyeing the underwear as well. “Red suits you.”

Smacking her hand gently against his bare chest, she laughed. “That’s all you have to say?” He gently grabbed her wrist and pulled her upper body down so her clothed breasts were pushed against his chest.

Kissing her deeply, he pulled away only to growl in her ear. “What I could say is that it makes you look sexy as hell and makes me want to do everything to you that you’ll let me. It’s so much better than anything my imagination could have come up with.”

She moaned as his teeth grazed her earlobe and Nicky’s hardon pressed insistently against her. There was no way she couldn’t tell how much he wanted her.

“Please,” she whimpered out as he pressed kisses up and down the valley of her breasts.

“Use your words,” he teased, delivering a harder nip to the part of her breasts that were uncovered and she let out a loud moan, causing Nicky to do the same thing a few more times.

“Please touch me.” She whispered and that was all the confirmation he needed to reach around and unhook the bra, throwing it onto the floor before cupping her breasts in both hands and thumbing her nipples softly.

“If you don’t want to do this, we don’t have to. We can stop and go to sleep and then go back like everything is normal tomorrow.” Nicky took his hands off of her, despite it being the last thing he wanted to do. What they were doing now was bad, but if they went all the way, there’d be no point of return. He wanted to make sure this is exactly what she wanted.

“Nicky, I can say this with complete certainty: you’re what I want. I’ve sobered up, and this is still what I want so, please,” there she was with the pleading again and Nicky hooked his arms around her legs and flipped them over so he was laying on top of her. “You’re in a lot more clothes than me.” She pouted, her bottom lip sticking out obscenely and Nicky pulled at it with his teeth before raising himself off of her and peeling his sweatpants and boxers off.

“Better?” He teased, settling himself back on top of her, his boner pressing right against her clothed center.

“Much,” she replied, tracing her nails lightly across Nicky’s chest and wiggling her hips against his own, his moan drew out a giggle from her lips and he quickly went to cover her mouth with his own. “Nicky, I need you.” She was panting against his mouth and her hips were moving against him on their own accord.

Raising himself off her body, Nicky knelt down by the lower half of her body and dipped his calloused fingers into each side of her panties before pulling them down, making sure to kiss up and down her calf as he did so. “Do you have a condom?” He asked, his fingers finding his way to her wet folds and rubbing a few light circles on her clit.

“Nightstand drawer,” she moaned out, her hips moving to meet his fingers. Pulling away, Nicky rubbed her wetness from his fingers onto his cock before slowly reaching over to grab a condom and roll it on his hard length.

As he sunk into her, Nicky groaned out her name in time with her calling his and as he thrust into her, his eyes never left hers, wanting to savor this moment while he could. When he felt her come around him, he buried his head in her neck and kissed and bit more hickeys onto her previously unblemished skin before his thrusts sped up, chasing his own release.

After discarding the condom in the trash, Nicky flopped back on the bed, pulling the sheet up and around their naked bodies before turning over and spooning her, an arm resting lazily around her waist. “You weren’t kidding earlier when you said we did a lot today, I’m way more than exhausted now.”

Nicky heard her stifle a yawn before laughing sleepily, sinking back farther into his chest. “Night, Nicky.”

“Night babe,” he replied before leaning over and pressing the button to finally turn off the flickering ceiling light.

She was awake before him and the feel of her nails tracing pointless patterns on his naked skin roused Nicky from the deep slumber he was in, goosebumps forming in the wake of her path. “Morning,” She didn’t reply, opting to continue the swirling on his chest. “Are you okay?”

Shaking her head, she buried her head in his chest and Nicky’s heart dropped into his stomach at the thought of her being upset. Gently smoothing down her hair, he held the woman close to him and whispered calming words, hoping that they would help soothe her into telling him what was the matter.

Minutes passed and her breathing evened out again and seconds later, he heard her soft snores fill the room. Laughing to himself, Nicky pulled her closer to him and closed his eyes again as well.

It could have been minutes or hours, Nicky wasn’t sure, but all he knew was that Seb was pounding on her door, asking her if she’d seen Nicky anywhere, he was late for their podcast recording. She called back saying they accidentally fell asleep in there and Nicky was going to be out in a moment before rolling over and grabbing her discarded sleep shirt off the floor.

“Hey, are you gonna tell me what was the matter earlier?” Nicky caught hold of her wrist and gently traced his fingertips along the inside of her arm. “I was worried.”

She began to speak and then stopped herself before letting out a big sigh and trying again. “It’s going to be hard to see you with Elladine today.” Sitting down next to him, she didn’t close the distance between them so Nicky did, their hands just barely brushing each other. “I don’t know what I should have expected… We can still be friends right?”

“Hey, I wouldn’t have done what we did last night if you weren’t the one I wanted to be with.” Nicky’s eyes tried to seek out her own but she wouldn’t look away from their connected hands. “I’m going to tell Elladine that I’ve thought about what I want and that what I want is you, even if you’re not ready to give up what you and Bill have going on.”

“I told you last night, you were always my first choice. You still are.” Once her eyes met his own, Nicky immediately felt at peace. “Whatever Bill and I had in the villa is gone, we’ve not been good for a long time. We’ve only stayed together because that’s what everyone expected of us.” Silence for a moment, and then, “I will always care for him, but only as a friend.” “Same with me for Ella,” Nicky admitted. “I’m nervous as to how this is gonna go.” “Me too,” she replied, biting her swollen lips.

“We’ll figure it out together?” Nicky questioned, moving to stand up and holding a hand out to pull her up with him.

“Yes, together.” She agreed, leaning up to press a sweet kiss to his lips. All their shared kisses from the night before were full of passion and lust, but this one, the one filled with pure love and admiration had to be Nicky’s favorite. “I’ve better let you go, Seb’s probably already planning my demise.”

“Yeah, and you’ve gotta spend some time with some makeup today.” Nicky teased, gesturing at all the hickeys covering her neck.

“I’ll see you in a little bit?” She asked, reluctant to let go of his hand and Nicky felt himself feeling the same. He knew that as soon as he left her he’d be counting down the seconds until he got to be in her presence again.

“You know it babe!” He replied before leaning down and kissing her softly once more. With one more glance back at her, Nicky shut the door behind him and came face to face with Seb. “Hey,”

“Finally tell her how you feel?” Seb clapped him on the back and Nicky grinned at his friend.

“Yeah, is it that obvious?”

“I’ve never seen you look happier,” Seb’s honest answer was shocking to Nicky but Seb quickly covered it up with a smirk. “That, and the billions of hickeys covering your neck.”

Nicky’s hands flew up to cover his bruised neck and he blushed as Seb laughed. “Don’t we have a show to record?”

“Sure, but after you’re gonna have to tell me this: where do the hickeys end?”

“Mate, you don’t even want to know!” Nicky laughed.

As he and Seb joked around for half an hour on their podcast, Nicky’s mind swarmed with all the possible outcomes telling Elladine could bring. He knew he could handle it though, because no matter what, he had someone special waiting for him afterwards.

#litg nicky #nicky horne #nicky Horne litg #nicky litg #nicky litg fanfic #nicky Horne x reader #nicky horne x mc #nicky horne fanfic #I never know how to tag litg fics asdkfjald #my writing

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 4 years ago

Text

But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 12: The Mirror]

A/N: Hi y’all!! Please enjoy, this is a long one. We’re getting into the exciting stuff now, so I’ll be putting all my creative energy into BYCNL and will hopefully finish up the series within the next month. Thank you so much for your love and support! Each and every reblog/message/comment makes me smile and means the absolute world to me! 💜

Chapter summary: John gets a rap sheet, Roger gets defensive, Y/N gets suspicious, News Of The World gets a headline.

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language, drugs, babies, drama, angst.

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii @loveandbeloved29 @killer-queen-xo @maggieroseevans @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark @im-an-adult-ish @queenlover05 @someforeigntragedy @imtheinvisiblequeen @joemazzmatazz @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye @namelesslosers @inthegardensofourminds @deacyblues @youngpastafanmug @sleepretreat @hardyshoe @bramblesforbreakfast @sevenseasofcats @tensecondvacation @queen-crue @jennyggggrrr @madeinheavxn @whatgoeson-itslate @brianssixpence @simonedk @herewegoagainniall @stardust-killer-queen @anotheronewritesthedust1

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! :)

You’re not late. You’re never late.

And at first that’s okay, it’s more than okay, it’s a relief; because it was too soon to have a baby anyway, less than a year into a supposedly meaningless marriage, a marriage you and Roger never even speak of, a marriage that might have never happened at all—might only exist as a particularly vivid and pleasant dream—if it wasn’t for your freshly-minted British citizenship. At first you greeted each dark, fruitless stain of blood with a casual ruefulness—oh well, one more month of freedom, you would think, smiling a little, worrying not very much at all—content to let that milestone trophy of womanhood, of life, lay undusted and unclaimed in the cluttered pit of your mental oak trunk with a tarnished gold latch shaped like a lion’s jaw.

After four months, you start to notice things. You notice the way Chrissie’s twins have small willow-green eyes that turn down in the corners, just like Brian does; you notice how John’s children have his downy hair and that innate sort of reticence that some people mistake for banality; you notice all those pretty, anonymous young women pushing strollers through the blossoming summer foliage of Hyde Park. You notice the way Roger grins and waves at babies when you see them in airports or hotel lobbies, dazzles them like he dazzles very nearly everybody, like he still dazzles you. You notice a longing buried in your bones that you hadn’t known existed.

After six months, you are no longer casually rueful. You start ignoring the calendar, as if not noticing you’re due could stop the bleeding from coming at all, like how you’re not supposed to stare at the clock if you want time to pass faster. You start watching what you’re eating, trying to get more sleep, opening all the windows when Roger smokes as he flips through fashion and music magazines with crafty little snickers, flashing those pointy canine teeth you once assumed your children would have.

And now, after nine months—as the world hurtles towards the conclusion of the brisk October of 1977—you have begun to worry; because maybe this thing, this thing that everyone accepts as a guaranteed feature of the all-inclusive package of the human experience, isn’t something you get to have at all. Roger doesn’t say anything, doesn’t ask you about it. He is as he always is: sunlight and joy and heat and raw kinetic energy. But sometimes Roger’s huge blue eyes—those eyes you fell in love with, those eyes that convinced you to follow Queen to London, to stardom, to thunderous stadiums all over the world—go vacant as he gazes out into the horizon, as the sun sets over the garden of the Surrey house, as his face is lit up in gold and amber and celestial fury like the wildfire his soul is made of.

And you’ve begun to worry about him, too.

~~~~~~~~~~

The phone rings from the nightstand. The shrill clanging, like hail on glass, makes you wince beneath the tangle of blankets. Your hand fumbles out into cool night air, which pours in from the open bedroom window.

Where’s Roger?

Then you remember his hushed voice, his bleached hair tickling your cheek, his lips pressed to your temple: Hey baby. I gotta go jam with some people. Grab a drink or two. You sleep, I’ll be back by morning.

Sure, okay, fine. Nothing out of the ordinary. One of those infinite casualties of fame.

You haul the phone to your ear. “Hello...?”

“Hello darling, are you busy?”

“Well, it’s 2:39 a.m., Fred. So not very.”

“Perfect. I need you to go post bail for John.”

You wrench yourself upright, rubbing your eyes with your free hand. “What?!”

“He was drunk driving and backed into a cop car, pure genius. I’m rather indisposed myself at the moment, and of course Veronica can’t know. And you’re so good with him, dear.”

Your feet have already swung off the bed and onto the plush white carpet. You wonder what Freddie is ‘indisposed’ with; there are so many possibilities these days. “And you know about this...because...?”

“He used his phone call on me, darling. I don’t think he wanted to bother you. I suspect he’s a bit mortified.”

“Yeah, well, he should be.” You sigh and start pawing through the safe in the bedroom closet, the spiraled phone cord pulled taunt. Hundred-pound notes shuffle weightlessly between your fingers. You remember when Queen had no money at all, when you and Roger shared a pitiful—dodgy, you amend—one-bedroom flat, when you had to assemble each bouquet and tie each ribbon for John’s wedding by hand; and you’re shocked by the nostalgia that hits you in the gut like brass knuckles. “Sure, I’ll go get him. Just tell me where he is and how much he’ll owe me.”

John is slumped on the floor of the jail cell, alone and sweated and miserable. His hair is in complete disarray. He peers up at you through the iron bars with red, swollen, unfocused eyes.

“Hey,” you say quietly, smiling although you know you shouldn’t be.

He covers his face with both hands and moans. “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

“Too late. Freddie asked me to come get you, he was drunk or high or in the middle of an orgy or something. You are the worst drunk driver in the world, just so you’re aware. You are obviously not cut out for a life of crime.”

“So I’ve gathered.” He swipes at the strands of hair stuck to his forehead with the back of his hand, bites his lower lip, shakes his head with that thousand-yard stare that says: How the fuck did I get here?

You drop down to your knees to meet him at his level. The concrete floor is filthy, spotted with grime and dust and crushed insects and smears of what might be blood. “What’s going on, John?” you ask gently.

“I can’t keep doing this,” he murmurs. “It’s okay when we’re on tour. When we’re on tour I’m preoccupied and exhausted and too high on the rush to think about it too much. I’m numb. Mostly. But then I come home and it’s...” He glowers, balls his hands into fists, beats them clumsily against his thighs. “It’s this relentless fucking cycle of feeling dissatisfied and guilty and inadequate. A disappointment of a husband. A failure of a father. And it’s inescapable.”

“Well, the constant pregnancy situation probably doesn’t help.” Veronica is expecting their third child in February.

He waves a hand dismissively, rolls his eyes. “It’s part of the thing. The ‘being a good husband’ thing. I can’t fix that. Birth control is a sin or whatever. Jesus is too busy pissing himself over that to care about starving kids in the Soviet Union, I guess.”

“That’s a cheerful prospect.”

“Sorry.”

“No, please, by all means. Throw off all your baggage, I can take it.”

Now he smirks, just faintly. “That’s what we’ve always done for each other, right?”

“We’ll be back on tour in a few weeks, John.” And that was true; the News Of The World Tour was scheduled to begin on November 11th in Portland, Maine. The band would spend the 12th in Boston and join your parents for dinner at the Queen Anne-style house at the intersection of Apple and Arcadia that you grew up in.

He whispers forlornly: “I can’t run from this forever.”

“You might have to. I’d love to know what Slavic Jesus has to say about divorce.”

John coughs out a surprised laugh. “Thank you. I needed that.”

“Come on. I posted your bail. I won’t tell Roger if you won’t. You can put the extra five thousand pounds in your ‘fake my own death and go live on a tropical island’ fund instead of paying us back.” You’re not serious, and John knows that; he would never abandon his children, even if they weren’t old enough to really remember him yet. But it has the desired effect, which of course is lifting the mood, making John divulge that rare and beautiful smile.

“I’m a wreck. I can’t go home like this. It’d be worse than not coming home at all.”

“I’m happy to offer you one of our five superfluous bedrooms.”

“Okay,” John sighs, clutching the bars of his jail cell and dragging himself to his feet. “I’m so sorry. I owe you for this, I really do.”

“No,” you reply, grinning. “Just find a way to send me the coordinates so I can visit you on your secret tropical island once in a while.”

You drive John home to the Surrey house, get him set up in the spare bedroom with the blue-grey wallpaper and blankets patterned with seahorses, give him a stack of Roger’s clean clothes, lay out fresh towels and a tray of water and cookies—biscuits, you reprimand yourself—for him. He’s mostly sober now, which makes you feel somewhat better; still, you are aware that you hate the thought of leaving him alone, even if he’s only a few walls away.

“Thank you,” he says as you stand in the doorway, his face meditative, his hands in the pockets of his leather coat.

“Of course.”

“You’re a good friend. The best, actually.”

“You’re a good man. You don’t always know it, but you are.”

John just stares at you with an expression you can’t read. Like the ocean: always mysterious, always profound. “Goodnight,” he says after a while.

“Goodnight, John.”

As you pull the bedroom door shut, you hear erratic thumps coming up the staircase. Roger stumbles into the upstairs hallway, singing under his breath and drumming the air with invisible drumsticks, and holds out his arms when he sees you. He’s wearing his dark green suit, an unraveling tie, one sparkling pink Converse, his prescription sunglasses tangled in his hair and forgotten. His eyes are effervescent, flighty, almost manic.

“Hey, love of my life!” he cries, comically loud. “What are you doing up?!”

“Shhhhh! Your bassist partied a little too hard and needed a place to crash that wasn’t overrun with kids. He’s in the blue room.”

“Deaks? Deaks is sleeping over?!” Roger exclaims, beaming. “All my favorite people are here!”

“Yeah, but you shouldn’t bother him. He’s pretty messed up, he needs the rest. I’ll make everyone pancakes in the morning or something. Come over here, let’s get you—” But the words die in your throat as you try to tug off Roger’s suit jacket. Fine white powder sheds off the emerald velvet fabric and onto your palm. You blink at it, at the residue like crushed aspirin, like the salt they scatter on Boston roads the night before a snowfall. “What is this?”

He rips his sleeve away, conjures up a smile to throw you off the trail. To dazzle his way out of this. “Nothing.” But he knows. And he knows you know too.

“You were...snorting coke...?”

“Come on, baby, don’t be like that...” He tries to embrace you; you shove him back.

“Roger, no, this is...this is...” You shake your head, shrugging off the shock, searching for the words. You’re confused, you’re exhausted, your mind is whirling. “We’re home, Roger,” you plead, like it means something.

Has he done this before? When? How often? With who?

You should know the answers. It’s not a good sign that you don’t.

“So?” Now he’s indignant.

“So it’s not like being on tour, you’re supposed to take it easy at home, you’re supposed to be, I don’t know, relaxed and recovering and, and, and content...”

You’re not supposed to have an excuse to do all those things that destroy people.

He laughs bitterly. “What, ‘happy at home’?! When has that ever been me?”

“Rog, please, I’m not saying you can’t work all the time or drink or smoke, I’m not even saying you can’t get wasted, I’m just drawing the line at cocaine and I don’t think that’s a terribly despotic place to draw a line.”

“Oh I’m sorry, I must have missed it, when did you become too moralistic for drugs?”

“Acid is different than coke and you know it. Acid doesn’t kill people.”

He glares at you, savage, almost hateful. “You don’t get to put me in a cage.”

“I’m not being controlling or self-righteous, I’m being concerned—”

“You’re being a fucking cop, that’s what you’re being,” Roger snaps.

“What do you want me to say?! I’m a registered nurse, Roger, I’m a medical professional, it’s literally my job to keep you alive—”

“No, it’s your job to make sure we can record and tour and I need it, I can’t play without it, don’t you get that?! I fucking need it!”

Instantly, John is between you, still fully dressed and sweating Manhattans out of his pores and seething. He’s taller than Roger; surely you must have noticed that before. But if you had, you’ve since forgotten. “Roger,” he threatens in a low, unyielding voice. “Go to bed.”

Roger recoils, disoriented, then opens his mouth to protest.

“Go!” John roars, pointing towards the main bedroom. He wants to say more, you can tell, he has rage burning in him like dragonfire; and if it had been Brian or even Freddie, John would have said it. But this is Roger. And you can’t remember a time John has ever raised his voice to Roger before now.

Roger can’t wrap his brain around it either, particularly in his present condition. His eyelids flutter a few times, then he scoffs—a dismissive, derisive sound, a sound that says I don’t know what to do with this information—and staggers away. He slams the bedroom door behind him as he disappears inside.

You collapse against the nearest wall and hiss in ragged breaths through your teeth, your eyes wet and stinging, your hands trembling as you press your knuckles to your lips.

“I-I-I’m so sorry about that,” you whisper, avoiding John’s eyes.

He’s going to say something, something harsh and terrible but true. He’s finally going to tell me how stupid I was for ever thinking this could work, just like Chrissie and Freddie and Brian. He’s going to tell me I deserve it.

Instead, John offers only this, his words flat and hollow: “Yeah. I’m sorry everyone is disappointing you tonight.”

And then he’s gone.

~~~~~~~~~~

In the morning—early afternoon, really—Roger doesn’t remember; or at least he feigns convincingly that he doesn’t. He props his feet up on the kitchen table and shovels down six pancakes and theatrically relays to you all the scandalous celebrity gossip in the News Of The World magazine with his prescription sunglasses perched bookishly on his nose. He asks you three times if you’re alright, trying to read the hesitance in your eyes, to unearth all those questions that are taking up a permanent residence there. You smile and nod, sip your tea, watch the sharp autumn sunshine as it streams in through the windows and bathes Roger in luminescence that seems so benignly interminable in the light of day. And when you peer into the bedroom with seahorse-patterned blankets and walls the color of cold rain, John has vanished; but the air is heavy with the scent of a litany of cigarettes and there’s a handwritten note left on one pillow.

Thanks for everything. Hang tough, as the Yanks say. An island getaway awaits you.

~ World’s Worst Drunk Driver

At 3 p.m., John calls and asks if the Taylors would be interested in an outing to the park while he gives Veronica a few hours alone to catch up on housework without the kids. His tone is light, casual, harmless; but you suspect he’s checking in on you.

“Of course we’re interested!” Roger says, snatching his ostentatious fur coat off the back of his chair. “Baby, love of my life, go get some cash from the safe so we can buy the kids ice cream.”

Incidentally, there’s not much cash left in the safe; but you find a ten-pound note in your wallet for the ice cream man and make a mental note to run to the bank on Monday.

Hyde Park in October isn’t so different than Boston. The leaves above are a kaleidoscope of sunstone and rubies and jasper and jade, crisping and curling around their serrated edges, drifting listlessly onto pavement paths to be crushed beneath rushing feet; the roots of the trees are centuries deep. Chrissie is walking laps around the pond as she pushes the twins’ stroller; Evelyn is a fairly good sleeper, but Theodore—Teddy to his closest confidants, of which you are one—is an anxious baby and prone to whining. He’s definitely Brian’s son, you often find yourself thinking with an affectionate smirk. John’s ten-month-old daughter Anna is nestled in your arms in a semi-conscious state, having thoroughly exhausted herself by painting her face with chocolate ice cream and thereafter enduring an impromptu bath and wardrobe change in a public restroom.

Laszlo, two years old and with a mop of auburn curls, trots by the edge of the pond as Roger grips his tiny hand, periodically crouches down beside him, grins hugely and points out swans and fish darting through the dark rippling water. Laszlo shrieks with laughter and tries to steal Roger’s sunglasses, which glint in the sunlight like black mirrors.

“So your kid’s a convict too,” you say to John.

“Gotta train them when they’re still small and good for shimmying through dog doors and such.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Extremely hungover, but I’m trying not to show it.”

“You’re doing a good job, I wouldn’t have known.”

“Excellent. I don’t think Veronica noticed. She was very curious about how I ended up in a pair of Roger’s skintight leopard-print pants, though.”

You chuckle, glimpsing down at Anna, rocking her a little as her eyes flitter open and then close again. You and John are on opposite ends of a wooden park bench, your ankles crossed and resting in his lap, your hair rustling in the breeze. John peers over at you periodically, studies you like an ancient statue of Aphrodite or Perseus under a spotlight in an echoing museum, then resumes his sketching. Your smile dies as you watch Roger giggle with Laszlo, lift him high into the cool autumn air, trumpet mock airplane noises in that high, raspy voice.

“Come on,” John prompts, nudging your boots. “I’ll take the baggage if you’ll let me.”

No, I think I’ll keep this one to myself. But you don’t. “It’s my fault,” you say softly. It’s my fault we can’t have children.

John lifts his pencil from the page, his greyish eyes gentle. “You don’t know that.”

“Statistically, it is most likely my fault.”

“It hasn’t been that long, has it? Definitely less than a year. Sometimes these things take time.”

“They didn’t for you and Veronica.”

“Yes, well...” John frowns uneasily. “That’s not always such a blessing.”

“How helpful. You should write newspaper columns for depressed housewives. ‘Don’t worry about that infertility dear, you could have it worse, you could have a life sentence with someone you can’t fucking stand.’”

That was unkind, you think, immediately regretting it. That might have been too far.

But John doesn’t seem offended. His pencil flies over the paper as he glances over at you again. “Is that all? Please continue. I’m riveted to learn more about my alternative career path.”

“No, I think I’m done.”

“Okay. What’s your favorite flower?”

You consider that. “Roger always gets me carnations or roses...and I like them, don’t get me wrong...but I don’t know if I’d call either of those my favorite.”

“It’s not that deep a question, Miss Nightingale.”

“I’ll defer to the artist’s expertise. Surprise me.”

“I’m no artist,” John warns, but he returns to his sketching nonetheless. “I’m really sorry about last night, by the way. I was being stupid and dramatic and immature and self-pitying. ‘Midway on our life's journey, I found myself in dark woods, the right road lost,’ etcetera etcetera.”

You’re no great connoisseur of Italian literature, but you recognize those famous opening lines of the Inferno. “Can I ask you something?”

“Please do.”

“What is this fascination you have with Dante?”

“Truly?”

“Yeah.”

He smiles pensively with his eyes cast out over the pond. “I like that his story has a happy ending. That someone can start in hell and sweat out all their sins in purgatory and end up among the stars.”

You raise your eyebrows, taken back, impressed. “That’s awfully poetic.”

“It’s strange, probably,” John says, scrutinizing his drawing.

“No, really. I love it.”

“Yeah?” He’s doubtful, but he’ll allow himself to believe you if you insist.

“Yeah. And no more drunk driving or other acts of self-destruction, okay? Queen would crumble without you, John. And so would I.”

In reply, he rips the page out of his notebook and hands it over. The image is of you: so infinitely more lovely and at peace than you feel, eyes wise and contented and reflecting halos of sunlight, John’s daughter dozing in your arms.

Tucked behind your ear, etched in graphite shadows, is a calla lily.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Darling, what do I look like?” Freddie bats his eyelashes flirtatiously.

“A raccoon.”

His face screws into a grimace. “I’m supposed to be a cat.”

“Yes, I’m cognizant of that. But you look like a raccoon. Which is why people keep assuming you’re a raccoon, which is why you’re asking me now if you look like one.”

“Bloody hell,” he groans, puffs on a cigarette, fluffs his hair irritably, slurps a drink that is fizzy and sapphire blue.

“The problem is that you went with black and white. You should have dressed as a calico or something. Or a grey cat, oh, I love the chubby grey ones!”

“I’m a musician, darling, not a fucking zoologist.” He exhales a ring of smoke and meanders away.

Queen, the band’s associates, and various music industry figures are all milling around the night-draped mansion. It’s half a Halloween celebration and half a launch party for News Of The World, an album named for the tabloid that Roger both loathes and yet refuses to stop having delivered to the Surrey house. He can’t stand the thought of not being clued into the latest gossip, trends, fashion, awards, of missing any piece of what stardom has to offer. In the spirit of Halloween, Roger is dressed as a tiger, his sleeveless sequined shirt striped with orange and black. You are a veterinarian (not so far a cry from a nurse that you can’t repurpose your old uniform), John a shark (he’s taped a cardboard triangle to his back like a fin), Veronica a sea turtle in a teal dress and with a shell painted over her sizable baby bump, Brian and Chrissie both bright green aliens with antennae bobbing from their headbands. Mary is here as well—outfitted (quite appropriately) like an Enlightenment-era queen—but so is Freddie’s new boyfriend, a shy man named Anthony who is young and handsome and compliant and dressed as a mouse. Mary beams dutifully whenever Freddie is speaking to her, but her expression clouds over when he turns away. She no longer has a gold ring gleaming on her wedding finger, although she did gain an athletic blond date whom she seems largely indifferent to.

As Roger wanders through the crowd shaking hands and howling at jokes, you sip champagne by the snack table and devour an obscene amount of crab puffs. John and Veronica are chatting—unenthusiastically, from what you can tell—nearby with lamb kabobs in their grasps. John passes you a smirk every once in a while, an I’m so over this party and I know you are too smirk of commiseration, and nurses a Manhattan. Chrissie nibbles on disks of cucumber and baby carrots and not much else, which is very unlike her.

“You alright?” you ask worriedly. “You aren’t sick, are you? These crab puff things are incredible, I can’t stop eating them. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ve had three dinners so far tonight, I’ve become a monster.”

Chrissie’s lips are a tight, humorless line. “I’m perfectly healthy, I’m just a cow.”

“Chris, honey, don’t!” You pat her shoulder reassuringly with one hand, pop another crab puff into your mouth with the other. “You’re gorgeous, and most women’s bodies change once they have babies, it’s natural!”

“Yeah, well most women aren’t married to men with infinite opportunities to upgrade.”

“Chrissie, no,” you murmur, pained; but you aren’t sure what else to say. She’s not wrong. I wish she was, but she isn’t. And she already knows that.

Dreams by Fleetwood Mac is playing from the reverberating stereo, Stevie Nicks’ sensuous, nasally voice climbing through air choked with strangers and cigarette smoke.

“Now here you go again

You say you want your freedom

Well, who am I to keep you down?”

Brian bids farewell to some record company executive he was talking to across the room and slips out onto the back porch of the house, and after a moment Chrissie follows him. You resist the temptation to eavesdrop until you can clearly hear their voices, raised and combative, through the sliding glass door. You glance to John, apprehensive.

You better go out there, he mouths, and so you do.

“Thunder only happens when it's rainin'

Players only love you when they're playin'

Say women, they will come and they will go

When the rain washes you clean, you'll know...”

Under cold October stars, Chrissie has trapped her horrified-looking husband, backed him into a fountain of a dolphin spewing an endless stream of water from its snout. “Did you think I wouldn’t listen to your own fucking album, Brian?!” She shrieks. “Who is she, huh? Who the fuck is she?!”

You grip her arm and try to lead her away. “Chrissie, babe, not here—”

“It’s Late, Brian? Yeah, it’s real fucking late in your life to still be chasing whores over in America while I’m building your family here, isn’t it?!”

“Love, please, it’s not true,” Brian attempts anemically, reaching for her.

“It is!” Chrissie rages. “It is and it always has been and I was too busy being some blind stupid idiot who loved you to see it!”

She breaks down in tears and you shove Brian away, shoo him back inside. You pitch him a fierce glare as he leaves, retreating like a kicked dog. There’s nothing you can do to fix this, you coward. Because everything she’s saying is true. Chrissie clings to you like a life raft, sobbing into your shoulder, asking what she did wrong.

“I’m sorry,” you tell her, over and over again; because that’s all there is to say.

Eventually Chrissie quiets, goes still and resigned and numb, and you help her fix her makeup and lead her back inside. You stand with her beside the snack table and swear not to leave her side until the party’s over, until the men are done celebrating yet another triumph that will take them further and further from home. Brian is nowhere to be found.

“That goddamn broodmare,” Chrissie hisses, gulping straight vodka, staring venomously at Veronica.

“Why do you hate her so much? I mean she can be dull, yeah. She’s sanctimonious and naïve and dresses like a freaking Mennonite. But she’s not horrible or anything.” And her life isn’t so perfect either.

“It’s not obvious?” Chrissie asks, her voice like a blade.

“No...?”

Chrissie’s eyes are scorching, although you’re not the person she’s furious with. You just happen to be standing in the path of the storm. “Because she’s the only one of us who’s never going to have to find out what this feels like.”

Oh, I don’t like that. I don’t like that at all.

You try to spot Roger in the teeming room. He’s over by a crackling fireplace, telling stories with dramatic sweeps of his hands, bleeding charisma like sweat, and none of that is unusual at all. One of the people he’s talking to is Dominique Beyrand, and that’s not so unusual either; Richard Branson ends up at a lot of industry events, and Dom trails him around like a shadow, nodding politely and contributing little chirps of conversation in that posh French accent.

But here’s the strange part; here’s the part you’ve never seen before.

When Roger flashes that dazzling smile of his, Dominique smiles back.

~~~~~~~~~~

Three days later, you’re steeping in a sweltering bubble bath as the phone rings downstairs. You ignore it at first, because the hot water is unraveling all the tension in your muscles and the lurking shadows in your mind, and also because the calendar is hanging right beside the phone in the kitchen and you’re quite committed to ignoring it this morning. But the phone rings again, and again, and you’re aware that it could be something serious; Roger is working on some non-Queen collaboration at a studio in downtown London, and something could have happened to him.

Especially considering his recreational preferences lately.

You scramble out of the tub, pull on a robe that sticks uncomfortably to your dripping skin, leave a path of bathwater footprints down the hallway and steps—slipping twice and clinging to the banister for dear life—before finally careening into the kitchen to snatch the phone off the wall.

“Hello?” you gasp, winded.

It’s not Roger, nor someone calling to inform you that Roger has overdosed or disappeared or vaulted down a staircase or been hit by a bus. It’s Chrissie.

“Have you seen the News Of The World yet?” she demands.

“Ummm, the album...?” Of course I’ve listened to the album. About a million times. You have a particular affinity for Spread Your Wings.

“No, not the album,” she snaps impatiently, although she kindly leaves out the you idiot addition that her tone implicates. “The magazine. Have you seen it today?”

“I was mid-bubble bath and almost broke my neck sprinting for the phone. So no.”

“Good. Don’t read a word. Don’t talk to anyone. I’m coming over. I’m gonna grab John and come right over.”

“Chris, what—?”

“Do not touch that fucking magazine!” she screams, and hangs up.

Naturally, you don’t listen.

You go to the main door of the Surrey mansion and open it. Sure enough, the new issue of News Of The World is waiting on the porch for you. You pluck it up with damp hands; the whirlpools of your fingerprints stick to the parchment.

On the front page is a photo of Roger, but he’s not alone. He’s scowling at the paparazzo snapping the picture, his face lit up by the flash, painfully and unmistakably stunning. He’s in some sort of alley or side entrance to a restaurant or club. He’s somewhere he’s trying not to be seen, which anyone could tell you is remarkable for Roger Taylor. Beside him is a woman you recognize; and although she’s looking down and trying to hide behind her shock of lustrous black hair, you can see her lips are smiling.

The headline reads: “Queen Drummer Spends Royally on London Love Nest for French Mistress.”

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olliedollie1204 · 4 years ago

Text

for future reference

Virgil works at the reference desk. Logan is looking for a very specific book.

Pairings: Platonic Virgil and Logan

Word Count: 3,613

Tags: Librarian Virgil, Kid Logan, (very loosely) implied but not shown romantic Moceit

based on that one tumblr post that is maybe the cutest thing i’ve ever read? also, Logan mispronounces some words because he’s Babey, so I included a guide at the end to clarify what he was trying to say.

also i meant to make this short and simple but i tripped and came up with an entire new AU, so hopefully if y’all slam that mf like button I will find the energy to write the sequel

(Read it on AO3!)

Working at the reference desk was cool. When you walked through the main door of the library, you’d never suspect that nestled beyond the rows and rows of adult nonfiction, far away from the busyness of the community room or the chaos of the children’s section, was a neat and well-tended desk, behind which sat just one man.

That one man was currently alternating between scanning the sea of tables and chairs in front of him, and reading a cheesy romance paperback under his desk. Listen, he had an image to maintain, okay?

Virgil had always liked the solitude of a good library, almost as much as he’d liked the books themselves. Despite spending many long hours hidden away among dusty shelves when he was younger, he'd never thought about actually working in a library. He wasn’t a people person, and libraries, unfortunately, tended to attract people; so when he found out there was a position where he could get away with isolating himself behind a computer monitor all day long, where his main form of social interaction was helping patrons fix the printer approximately nine hundred times a day, where he could read or play Temple Run or just sit still and daydream for hours on end? He was sold.

He supposed he had to thank the library’s set up for his lack of work; truly, most people never made their way this far into the building, and those who did were usually just looking for a place to sleep for a few hours, so it wasn’t uncommon for him to go an entire shift without speaking to a single person.

It had looked like today was going to be the same, with Virgil halfway through his shift and having only spoken to one patron who was looking for the bathroom. He had just gotten to the part in his book where the farmhand and the farmer’s son were trapped together in the barn during an unexpected thunderstorm, shirts dripping wet and faces flushed from humidity and passion (and maybe Virgil had read this one once or twice already, don’t worry about it).

It was a perfectly normal day. Until the kid showed up.

“Excuse me, sir?”

Virgil certainly did not jump about a foot into the air at the kid’s sudden appearance, but it was a close thing. The librarian quickly sat up in his rolly chair, dog earring the already well-worn novel and shoving it back under the desk.

“Uh, hi,” he replied, gazing down at the child in front of him. He was small and scrawny, with wildly scruffy hair and a large pair of glasses on his face. As Virgil sat up taller, he was able to see that the kid was actually tiny, his chin barely reaching past the edge of the desk. Despite his small stature, he had an oddly serious look on his face.

“How can I, uh, help you?” Virgil asked haltingly.

“I need to find a book about baby names,” the child informed him plainly. His quiet, high-pitched voice felt completely at odds with the grave importance he seemed to place on his request.

“Oh?” Virgil said for lack of a better response. He quickly scanned behind the kid, looking for an adult that might’ve misplaced their incredibly somber toddler, but he quickly brought his attention back to the child in front of him as he nodded.

“My dads told me that I’m going to be a big brother soon and I need to find the names for my baby twin brothers who we are taking from a woman in the city because she is a sugar-ette and she is giving us her babies to keep,” the child replied in one long breath. Virgil blinked at the sudden influx of information.

“Ah,” he replied, absolutely nailing this conversation with this random, unaccompanied baby. “Let me… look that up for you.”

He paused for just a second before jerkily turning on his monitor, opening to the library catalogue’s search engine. Instinctively he opened the filter and clicked ‘search for keywords’ and typed ‘baby names’, until he looked down at the… really small child in front of him, like damn, were all kids that small?

“Um. How…”

How old are you? How many letters of the alphabet do you know? How stupid am I gonna look if I send you to the checkout desk with an armful of dense, high-level books about etymology?

“How high is your reading level?” he settled on. To his surprise, the child puffed out his chest in pride.

“I am five and three quarters years old and I will be going into kindergarten in Set-member and Dr. Picani says that I am reading like a kindergartener and I even can read first grade books, too.”

Okay. Virgil didn’t know who Dr. Picani was, but that wasn’t important. Kindergarten to first grade reading level. He switched the filter to adjust for that new information, but he was quickly met with the realization that the kid was looking at him for… some sort of response, because that’s how conversations work, Virgil, come on.

“That’s cool,” he replied lightly. Lucky for him, the kid didn’t seem to mind his lack of social graces. He just nodded, rocking back and forth on his heels as he watched Virgil type.

“And my Daddy gave me a bunch of chapter books for my birthday and I already read them all because that was last year and he and Papa said that for my next birthday I can get some more chapter books but I hope they are mit-sery books because I like the mit-sery books most of all. Dr. Picani told me that’s because I like to collect and organize information. I like it when Papa reads the mit-sery books to me, even though I can read all by myself, because he is always bad at solving the mit-sery and I have to explain it to him every time.”

At first, Virgil had merely been listening with a polite interest, nodding a little as his eyes scanned the page for what books they had checked in, but as the kid continued to talk (and Virgil was seriously starting to wonder if he ever ran out of breath), he realized he was now listening with a genuine interest. This kid seemed pretty smart for his age, even with his tendency to mispronounce words in his rush to get them out of his mouth, and it was honestly kinda endearing. This coming from Virgil, who was running out of excuses as to why he couldn’t help out with any of the children’s programs that the library hosted in the community room twice a month.

He pulled his eyes back to his computer. “Okay, so, um, it looks like we’ve got a couple books that you might want.” They had more than a couple books about baby names, of course, but Virgil really didn’t wanna hurt the kid’s feelings by giving him a book that was too difficult for him.

“I’m gonna write the titles down on this piece of paper,” Virgil continued, pulling out an index card and one of the weird tiny golf pencils that were at every desk in the library for some reason. “Here’s what the book is called, here’s the last name of the person who wrote it, and here is the number of the shelf where you can find the book, okay?”

He finished writing and slid the paper across the desk to the kid, who hesitated for a moment before taking it.

“... Thank you,” he said stiffly, turning on his heel and marching away. Virgil wasn’t gonna look away until the kid was out of his sight, but to his surprise he stopped just about ten feet away from the desk, looking between the paper in his tiny hands and the tall rows of shelves.

Virgil stood up suddenly, feeling like an idiot. He’d just told an infant to go look for one specific shelf in a giant room of identical shelves. Alone. Fuck.

“Hey, kid,” he called softly, moving around his desk and hurrying to the child. The little boy turned to him, eyes wide behind his glasses lens.

“How about I help you find those books, okay?” Virgil asked, trying not to tower over the tiny child. The kid looked around for a second before nodding quickly.

“Okay, I think that is a good idea, because I know where the books are in the playzone but I think this li-berry is really big and— and maybe I’d get too lost and my dads are scared of me being lost and so I don’t wanna make them scared,” he finished, looking down and scuffing the toe of his shoe against the carpet.

Virgil raised an eyebrow at the end of the kid’s sentence. “Do you know where your dads are?”

The kid nodded quickly. “They’re having storytime in the group room!”

Virgil nodded. He knew there was an adult book club happening in the community room that day, so that definitely made sense. But still, he leaned down, catching the boy’s eye with what he hoped was an appropriately stern face for the circumstances.

“Do your dads know where you are?” he asked. As he expected, the kid began to look slightly guilty, scrunching the hem of his navy polo in his hands.

“Um…” he started. It was the first time Virgil had heard him pause between his words. “Well, technically, they told me to stay with the li-berrian, and they thought I was gonna stay in the playzone with Ms. Dot, but technically, if I can stay with you then I am with a li-berrian and so I’m not in trouble.”

There was a note of self-satisfaction in the kid’s voice, like he’d just solved a riddle as opposed to trying to explain why he disobeyed his parents. Virgil got the feeling that this was a kid who knew how to use his words to his advantage.

“Okay,” Virgil replied, gently pulling the paper out of the kid’s hand and scanning what he’d written. “We’re gonna go look for some books, but then I’m taking you back to the children’s section— uh, I mean the playzone— and Ms. Dot is gonna watch you until your dads are done, deal?”

The child nodded, watching Virgil with intensity, and the librarian gently ushered him to the side and led the two of them down a row of books.

“What’s your name?”

“Logan,” the little boy replied, running ahead a little and turning to wait for Virgil to catch up. “What’s your name?”

Virgil reached Logan at the end of the row just as he answered, “Virgil.”

Without warning, Logan darted ahead again, reaching the end of the next row before turning around to face him. “Daddy says I should call the li-berrians Mr., Ms., or Mx. What are you?”

“Mr. is okay,” Virgil replied, a little bemused by his childish bluntness. “And be careful, okay? I don’t want you to trip and hurt yourself.”

Logan trotted back to Virgil, walking backwards for a minute so he could look at Virgil while he talked. “I’m sorry for running, but I really want to find a book about baby names because my dads are busy making the babies’ bedroom and buying all of the baby clothes and toys and ex-cetera and I want to be a good big brother and I want my baby brothers to have names that are good but my dads are really busy and they don’t even know what they want to name the babies yet!”

Virgil smiled at the indignation in Logan’s little voice. Of course, he knew there were far more important preparations to make when expecting a new child (let alone two new children at the same time), but to a child as young as Logan, the name was probably the most important decision to be made.

“Well, they should be on the next shelf over, so let’s—”

Logan took off before Virgil could finish his sentence, running halfway down the row and looking at Virgil expectantly.

Virgil scoffed, an amused smile on his face. “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming.”

As he entered the row, he began scanning the numbers on instinct; he knew these stacks pretty well, but he didn’t have them memorized.

“Okay, 929.4,” he muttered to himself, bypassing books about genealogies before coming to the section for baby name books. “Here they are.”

Logan came towards him, standing on his tiptoes as he reached his arms up high.

“Mr. Virgil, may I please have the biggest book, please?”

Virgil looked back at the shelf, immediately seeing which book Logan was talking about. He pulled it out, holding it in both hands as he scanned the cover.

“‘Ten Thousand and One Baby Names For You’,” he recited, passing it down to Logan. “Is that enough names to choose from?”

Logan’s eyes were wide, struggling to open the heavy book while still keeping it in his arms. “I never even knew there were ten thousand and one names!”

“Same,” Virgil replied, helping Logan open the book without damaging it. “I think this book has lots of names from all over the world, plus some super old names from the last century.”

“Like the 1990s,” Logan said, nodding seriously, and Virgil had to pretend to cough to avoid laughing outright at the kid’s earnestness. He turned back to the shelf, pulling out a thinner yet still dense book.

“And this one is called ‘The Story Behind the Name’,” Virgil explained, holding it down to show Logan. “It tells you more about what the names mean, where all of the names came from… stuff like that.”

He held the book out for Logan to take, but to his shock the child was looking at him with something akin to distress.

“Do names mean things?”

Virgil blinked. “Oh! Uh, sometimes? Not really. But some names have things that they used to mean, a long time ago, but a lot of people don’t know what they meant. Like—”

He hastily flipped the book open to the ‘L’ section, skimming the page before he found what he was looking for.

“Like, ‘Logan’, for example, is an Scottish name,” he explained slowly, “and it apparently means… uh, ‘from the hollow’? Which, I don’t even really know what that means, so. It’s not that important nowadays.”

He looked back at Logan, who was looking into the distance with a pensive look on his face.

“But what if I give them a name that means something bad,” he pondered slowly, and Virgil’s stomach swooped at the idea that he’d just given this kid something to worry over.

“Well, here,” he said hurriedly, holding the second book out to Logan. “If you take this one, you can check that the names you pick mean good things. Some people like to choose names that remind them of something good, like nature or history or— or their favorite book characters.”

That perked Logan up, causing him to eye the book with a new interest. “Really?”

His gaze flicked between the second book, and the much larger book that he still held in his arms.

“I think I should take both,” he said after a long moment to think. “Just in case.”

He smiled up at Virgil, who literally couldn’t stop himself from smiling back if you’d paid him. Logan was just too darn cute.

“Well,” he said, “how about I carry your books and take you back to the playzone, and you can get started reading these before you check them out?”

Logan nodded, somewhat reluctantly handing Virgil his large book as the two made their way out of the nonfiction section. “That is a good idea, because I am already checking out a lot of chapter books and my book basket is full and so I think my dads will help me carry these books to the checkout counter because they’re really big books.”

“They sure are,” Virgil said conversationally, holding a hand out to stop Logan as another librarian walked by with a cart. Before he could take another step, however, he felt something small and soft wrap around his free hand. Virgil looked down to see Logan holding his hand in his own tiny grasp.

“Papa says I shouldn’t hold hands with strangers,” Logan informed him, idly swinging their hands together, “but I don’t think we’re strangers because I know your name and you know my name and you’re helping me carry my books because you are a nice li-berrian.”

Virgil felt an inexplicable surge of protectiveness over this child he’d met only fifteen minutes ago.

“Sure,” he replied softly, letting Logan continue to talk as the two walked hand in hand back to the populated side of the library.

He almost didn’t want to interrupt Logan when they did finally arrive at the playzone, but he wanted to make sure this kid got back to where he was supposed to be before his dads found out he’d left. Dot looked at him from behind Logan, her eyebrows raising at the sight of Virgil a) not behind his reference desk, and b) attached to the world’s chattiest five year old.

“Hey, Lo,” he gently interjected when Logan took a breath, kneeling down to be on the young boy’s level. “I’m gonna set your books down with your book basket, okay? Where is that?”

Logan paused, eyes flitting around the colorful rug. “Um… it’s… oh! It’s right there!”

Virgil’s eyes followed where Logan was pointing. There, on the ground next to one of the large plush sofas in the reading circle, was one of the library’s book baskets. From here, Virgil could see at least a dozen junior chapter books poking out of the basket.

“Oh!” Logan exclaimed, darting forward and grabbing the handle of the basket in both hands and tugging it back over to Virgil. “Mr. Virgil, look, I raised my hand and asked Ms. Dot if I could please have the storytime book to check out for a little bit because I liked it a lot, even though it’s not a mit-sery book, but it is about cephalopods and those are octopusses and squids and ex-cetera, and she told me to turn around and the shelf behind me had tons and tons of books about cephalopods, and I picked out this book because it has pit-chers but it’s not a pit-cher book, it has chapters, too—”

Logan flopped onto his butt in the middle of the carpet, pulling out each book one by one and explaining to Virgil exactly what it was about and how many chapters it had and how he couldn’t wait for bedtime so he and his dads could read them all together. He chattered on and on and on, and Virgil didn’t even realize when he joined Logan in sitting cross legged on the floor. He didn’t have to talk much, but every now and then Logan would actually pause to breathe, and Virgil would ask another question that set the young boy off onto an entirely different spiel that lasted another ten minutes.

It was so different from working at the reference desk, quiet and hidden and isolated. Different, but not bad.

“Mr. Virgil?”

Logan’s voice was suddenly quieter, and it snapped Virgil back to reality. He looked at the kid, who was looking at his own tiny hands folded neatly in his lap.

“Yeah, Logan?” Virgil asked. “Are you okay?”

Logan nodded. “Yes, thank you, I’m okay. I think you are maybe the nicest li-berrian ever.”

The sincerity in his little voice nearly made Virgil reel back in shock.

“Really?” he asked, and normally he might be embarrassed about how insecure his voice sounded after receiving a compliment from a five year old, but Logan nodded immediately.

“Yeah,” he replied. “Ms. Dot and all of the other li-berrians are nice but I think you are the nicest because I broke the rules and you didn’t tell my dads and you gave me the name books for my twin baby brothers and you let me hold your hand and I like talking about my books and you liked hearing me talk about them. So I think you are— I think you are the best li-berrian I ever met.”

Logan fell silent, looking down at his lap and fidgeting with his shirt hem, and Virgil was honestly a little speechless.

“Oh,” he said slowly. “Um, thank you, Logan. I think you are… the best reader I’ve ever met.”

No sooner were the words out of Virgil’s mouth that Logan looked up at him with wide-eyed shock.

“Really?” he squeaked. Virgil was literally going to get a cavity from all of this sugar.

“Yep,” he replied. “You’re smart and kind and you care a lot about your baby brothers. Your dads must be very proud of you.”

Each word of praise was brightening Logan up bit by bit, and he switched to sitting on his knees and bouncing up and down.

“Will you play checkers with me?” he asked, hands flapping in excitement. “I always want to play checkers but Ms. Dot says I’m not old enough, but you’re definitely old enough, right?”

Virgil laughed outright at that. He thought about his reference desk, sitting unoccupied on the other side of the library. He looked at Logan.

“Sure, kid,” he replied, standing up with Logan’s book basket. Logan grabbed his free hand, and Virgil let him lead them both to the game table, Logan already explaining the rules in anticipation.

Yeah. Different, but not bad. Not bad at all.

Post notes: As promised, here's the guide to Logan's incorrect words!

Sugar-ette: Surrogate Set-member: September Mit-sery: Mystery Li-berry: Library Li-berrian: Librarian Ex-cetera: Et cetera Pit-chers: Pictures

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #virgil sanders #logan sanders #my writing #my posts #for future reference

59 notes · View notes

paintedvanilla · 5 years ago

Text

paintedvanilla’s good omens fic recommendations

here we have something I’ve been too shy to make for a while because. to be straight with you. more than half of these are explicit. and well. yeah.

works listed in escalating rating order (general -> teen -> mature -> explicit)

everything is completed unless otherwise noted.

Title: Bowties

Author: dvldegg ( @caerdroia )

Rating: General

Word Count: 776

Summary: “Newt needs help tying his bowtie. Crowley makes fun of Aziraphale. It's just a typical weekend.”

My Notes: This fic caused me to overdose on domestic cuteness.

Title: anywhere i go you go, my dear

Author: chamaenerion

Rating: General

Word Count: 1,533

Summary: “After the Apocalypse-that-wasn't, Crowley is reluctant to leave Aziraphale's side.”

My Notes: I will literally die i swear to god this has nervous and protective crowley and he’s clingy and overall I just wanted to scream I love him I love my boy and they’re so in love and they should always be allowed to be together

Title: Getting a Wiggle On

Author: Kedreeva

Rating: General

Word Count: 7,293

Summary: “Crowley's prank to leave Aziraphale with fake eggs to babysit does not go remotely as planned.”

My Notes: You’ve probably seen this concept floating around tumblr but this fic made me GENTLE because i have daddy issues and whenever people are like “crowley and aziraphale as parents” i have a fucking heart attack

Title: Adopt Don’t Shop - A Good Meowmans Fanfic

Author: lucky_spike

Rating: General

Word Count: 12,434

Summary: “Inspired by Chekhov's cat AU comics 'Good Meowmens', here is a fanfic in which Anathema and Newt are humans, and Aziraphale and Crowley are cats. Not disguised as cats, not trapped in cat bodies, just actual elderly cats that are inseparable.”

My Notes: I know some people think au’s like this are kinda weird but this one is so fucking charming to me idk??? I literally ate this shit up I love being gentle and reading about cats who are in love.

Title: Not Alone

Author: superqueerdanvers

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 937

Summary: “Crowley and Anathema are supposed to meet Aziraphale at the movies, but they can't find a parking place, and they have a heart-to-heart about disability.”

My Notes: I experienced feelings and also emotions while reading this and now i’m a different person

Title: bastard child of water

Author: smallredboy ( @smallredb0y )

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 15,622

Summary: “After a grave mistake, Crowley, a merman, is transformed into a human and exiled out of the sea. Issues crop up as he grows used to his new body, to his new friends and to his new job. But when a merman he's seen in passing pokes his head out of the water one afternoon, Crowley will fall for him and look for a way to regain his body.”

My Notes: THIS FIC MAKES ME LOSE MY SHIT i bribed dave with real life money to finish it and every day i’m thankful i made that decision because this fic is SO. FUCKING. GOOD. IT’S TENDER!! IT’S GENTLE!! IT MAKES ME LOSE MY GODDAMN MIND!!!!!

Title: Demonology and the Tri-Phasic Model of Trauma: An Integrative Approach

Author: Nnm

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 99,423

Summary: “As soon as Aubrey Thyme, psychotherapist, had opened her office door and seen her new client, Anthony J. Crowley, sitting in her waiting area, she was observing and assessing him. At first glance, she paid attention to the following:

His clothing was expensive and stylish;

He wore very strange but noticeable cologne;

His relationship to the seat he occupied could only, very loosely, be described as “sitting;”

He looked angry;

He was wearing sunglasses.”

My Notes: OH!!!!!!!! MY GOD!!!!!!!!! THIS FIC DESTROYED ME EMOTIONALLY!!!!!!! IT RIPPED MY FUCKING HEART OUT AND FORCED ME TO DEAL WITH #ISSUES AND JUST OVERALL TURNED ME INTO A DISASTER!!!! I READ THIS SHIT IN ONE SITTING!!! I WAS HOOKED!!!! EVEN NOW JUST THINKING ABOUT IT IS DEALING PSYCHIC DAMAGE!!!!!! PLEASE READ THIS!!!

Title: The Odd One Out

Author: RainyDayDecaf

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 2,948

Summary: “It takes being thrown into another universe and meeting other versions of himself to make Aziraphale realize there is something wrong with the way his Crowley treats him.”

My Notes: A product of the shit-script, literally had me feeling emotions but also giggling because movie!Aziraphale deserves to be LOVED.

Title: A Single Feather

Author: qwanderer

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 2,521

Summary: “Here's the thing. Demons must be good at improv, at hiding reactions, at carrying on no matter what. They can’t show a moment of vulnerability, not to each other, and certainly not to angels. They were supposed to be tough, untrusting, paranoid bastards, or else.

So Crowley had developed a highly honed skill of automatically bullshitting, boasting, and mocking while covering up his true emotions, and it was in full force now.”

My Notes: I’m a simple woman. I see a nesting fic, I click on it. And it makes me emotional and afterwards I have to lay face down on the floor.

Title: Untouched

Author: Etaleah

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 3,531

Summary: “A demon's life is a lonely one. What Crowley wants is so simple, yet he can never have it.”

My Notes: I will literally fly into the sun if I see the tag “touch starved crowley” i will scream at the top of my lungs. Somebody please hold this demon.

Title: Penance

Author: Blissymbolics

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 5,910

Summary: “And for a while, it’s enough.

It’ll happen, Crowley tells himself. This time, it’ll finally happen.”

My Notes: Listen. This fic destroyed me, it made me tender horny and just overall ruined my night in the best way possible. I’m having a crisis over it as we speak.

Title: Starved

Author: Fyre

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 6,351

Summary: “The first time the angel touches him, it’s as they descend from the walls of Eden.

It’s nothing, only a hand put out to steady him. A kindness. And yet a thousand memories from life below make Crawly flinch instinctively at the contact. It’s stupid, really, and he’s sure the angel doesn’t notice. He doesn’t stop to consider the fact that the angel’s hand was soft and for a moment, his skin tingled where it touched. Not right away, anyway.”

My Notes: AHH!! Crowley really said “I am touch starved please love me” like!! Imagine craving someone’s touch for SIX THOUSAND YEARS!! I’D GO BONKERS!! THIS FIC MADE ME GO BONKERS!!

Title: can you keep me close (can you love me most)

Author: taizi

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 3,268

Summary: “When his angel stretches out a hand, cupid’s bow mouth curved into a familiar smile, Crowley knows better. When he’s led to his own bedroom, pushed down amidst the silk sheets and hastily miracled pillows and a sinful duvet, when Aziraphale leans over him and the whole world seems to hang right there in his eyes, Crowley knows that this is not his to keep. It’s not for him to have this.”

My Notes: I can will and must LITERALLY EXPLODE the tension in this one is palatable and I snort hurt/comfort like cocaine.

Title: please, could you be tender?

Author: deadgreeks

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 6,262

Summary: “The first kiss is only the beginning of a relationship. Crowley and Aziraphale need to talk about things. That is not their strong suit.”

My Notes: I ache and I yearn for this type of content they are literally. They are LITERALLY… I’m going to burst into flames.

Title: The Quiet, Persistent, Gnawing Unease

Author: LillipopCop

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 20,850

Summary: “An exploration of the serious toll Hell's physical and psychological grip has taken on Crowley since his Fall.”

My Notes: Fics where Crowley experiences emotional distress own my ass.

Title: Make a Little Birdhouse in Your Soul

Author: Zolac_no_Miko

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 10,573

Summary: “It was a compulsion that he couldn’t quite define. A burning in his blood, a tingle on the palms of his hands. A restlessness that drove him to art galleries, antique stores, and street markets, seeking some object that would please Aziraphale. Something beautiful, or something useful—something he would want to keep. It started with little things, small tokens that didn’t require a special occasion: an embroidered silk bookmark; a rare and delicate tea from the highlands of China; a steel pen and inkwell to replace Aziraphale’s quill pen, and then a fountain pen to replace that. And then things started to get out of hand.”

My Notes: Another nesting fic that almost wiped me the fuck out.

Title: Crown of Thorns [The Walls, the Wainscot, and the Mouse] 'Verse

Author: irisbleufic ( @irisbleufic )

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 275,000

Summary: ““D’you realize,” [Crowley] said, “that we never tire of things humans get bored with on the regular?” Aziraphale shrugged, lazily basking. “I’ve always assumed it’s that we don’t tire of each other.””

My Notes: Please for the love of god and all that is holy if you have not read this fic, read it. I consider it canon.

Title: fires of the flesh, both literal and figurative

Author: mercuryhatter

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2,726

Summary: “Pretty standard "there's a sex curse and Crowley has to have way too many orgasms or be discorporated" stuff.”

My Notes: Yeah this is. Where I’m gonna start to get shy about my notes. It’s funny and it’s hot. Yeah.

Title: The Understanding

Author: Zetared

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 37,918

Summary: “Crowley is untethered. Aziraphale knows how to secure a knot. (He’s read many books on the subject, after all).”

My Notes: In which the underlying plot is a little strange but the overlying porn is very good.

Title: Come Fuck Me Hips

Author: AgentStannerShipper

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3,471

Summary: “Crowley has had a fantasy about Aziraphale for centuries now. Too bad the angel would never take him up on it. Except, as it turns out, he absolutely would.”

My Notes: Everybody has read this and if you haven’t then you better because it’s. It’s good.

Title: If I Regard Iniquity

Author: elektratios

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1,912

Summary: ““Aziraphale…” Crowley’s mouth worked a bit but no more words would come out. He cleared his throat. “Aziraphale, there’s no,” he gestured vaguely, “iniquity here.” He winced at his choice of words. “No-one is watching, no-one is judging. It’s just us.””

My Notes: I will literally dunk myself in the trash holy shit. It’s. It’s good.

Title: that pulse of my nights and days

Author: Ark

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1,694

Summary: “Aziraphale laughs, the delighted, breathy giggle he gives after his second bottle of champagne. “Such a shame we didn’t come to this sooner,” he says, pulling back and—oh, naughty angel!—increasing the length and girth of his cock when he pushes back in. Crowley gasps, and Aziraphale—greedy, too!—tilts in to swallow the sound from his lips, flicks his tongue against Crowley’s as though chasing after the flavor of this elongated pleasure.”

My Notes: This one is uh. This is a dirty one. It’s good but it sure is filthy.

Title: A Home at the Beginning of the World

Author: stereobone

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5,867

Summary: “"Oh," Aziraphale says. "I think Crowley might have moved in with me."”

My Notes: Everyone has read this one too but for good reason because it’s fucking amazing and makes me wanna scream.

Title: The One In Which Crowley Discovers Wanking

Author: for_autumn_i_am

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5,784

Summary: “It began, like most memorable events in Crowley’s life did, with a bad decision; like most bad decisions, it involved poor impulse control and copious amounts of alcohol. The Antichrist had been born, and he put on lipstick and kitten heels to deal with it, but knew that the clock was ticking, and at times when time was slipping away, it helped to hold onto a bottle of gin.”

My Notes: It’s what the title says and it’s hot.

Title: Love Hath Made Thee A Tame Snake

Author: thehoyden

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3,484

Summary: “He was the bloody Serpent of Eden, and he wasn’t going to stand for this kind of flagrant trespassing.”

My Notes: It’s uhhhhhhh… it’s hot!

Title: A Bolt From The Heavens

Author: coloursflyaway

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 11,235

Summary: “Aziraphale is going to show Crowley just how much he is loved. Through touch.”

My Notes: I will LITERALLY collapse on the floor… it’s too much for me

Title: Say Amen

Author: SinningPlumpPrincess

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1,967

Summary: “Despite being in a relationship, they still long and yearn for each other.

Despite being in a relationship, Crowley can't get over that Aziraphale loves touching him.”

My Notes: I’m a very simple woman. I see a fic tagged “dry humping” and I click on it.

Title: Praise Be to Crowley

Author: FishingforCrows

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2,306

Summary: “A simple comment from Aziraphale gets an unexpected reaction from Crowley. Aziraphale is curious to see what happens if he repeats the same comment in the bedroom.”

My Notes: It has praise kink crowley how am I not supposed to find it hot.

Title: Tea for One

Author: Kaesa

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3,072

Summary: “Crowley doesn't have a lot of complaints about sex with Aziraphale, but he can't help being miffed when Aziraphale stops just to have another sip of tea.”

My Notes: A two for one: funny and sexy

Title: rest yourself with me

Author: sabinelagrande

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3,380

Summary: “Crowley has a wonderful invention that he's just dying to try.”

My Notes: It’s funny and it’s hot what more could you ask for?

Title: let the rivers fill

Author: focusfixated

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 4,996

Summary: ““Darling,” Aziraphale answered. “I’m here.” His hand stroked through Crowley’s hair, teasing out the snarls of red that tangled around his fingers, matted with sweat and knotted where Crowley had thrashed his head against the pillows. “Can you turn over for me, love?” Weakly, Crowley’s eyes flickered down, and he saw the angel blushing, as if now, suddenly, of all things, he had succumbed to reticence. He was sat back on his knees, and the soft accordion folds of him were dewy with sweat and moonlight. His heart constricting somewhere in his useless chest, Crowley turned over, and spread his legs.”

My Notes: I see overstimulation and I fucking floor it. Please never stop writing fics where they have limitless stamina.

Title: sweet just like frustration

Author: teatales

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 7,174

Summary: “Crowley danced on the line between self-serving and selfless when it came to Aziraphale. He would do anything, anything for the angel. Anything he asked, anything he suggested, anything he needed but didn’t say aloud. But Crowley was also a terribly, desperately greedy thing. And oh, how he wanted. Wanted Aziraphale with every damned fibre of his infernal being. Wanted to be good for him; so, so good that he would never want to leave. Crowley wanted to be the best, his only, his everything. As much as he wished to lie there in exquisite rapture - he was nothing if not lazy - he needed to at least attempt to communicate all that he felt. To make Aziraphale feel even a quarter of what he experienced. He had to try.”

My Notes: Just LOOK at that summary. How can I read that summary without being expected to fucking faint. Jesus christ!!

Title: The Human Way

Author: battle_cat

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2,780

Summary: “They're finally about to fuck on the bookshop couch and Aziraphale wants to know what Crowley wants.”

My Notes: I SEE A FIC WHERE CROWLEY DOESN’T KNOW WHAT HE WANTS AND IS JUST TRYING TO MAKE AZIRAPHALE HAPPY AND I BURST INTO FLAMES

Title: We Waited Long Enough

Author: syrupfactory

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 4,170

Summary: “After a few months of (finally) officially dating, Aziraphale is a little hurt when Crowley seems amused by his eagerness for sex. Why? Because Aziraphale actually wants way, way more. Fortunately, that's a fun problem to solve.”

My Notes: THEY EACH THINK THE OTHER ISN’T AS INTERESTED IN HAVING SEX AS THEY ARE AND THEN THEY HAVE MARATHON SEX AND I’M SWEATING.

Title: As Advertised on TV

Author: Mr_Customs_Man

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1,045

Summary: “Everything that Crowley knew about sex, he learned from watching movies. As fun as movies are, they don't provide a comprehensive sex education. Needless to say, he has some misconceptions in regards to the act.”

My Notes: This is NOT a sexy fic!! It is sad and it wrenches my heart and I WORRY. Crowley please communicate your NEEDS.

Title: until you say it out loud

Author: attheborder

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 6,293

Summary: “And Aziraphale is realizing now, to its fullest, something he’s suspected for nearly as long as he’s known Crowley: the demon is no silver-tongued devil. He is no weaver of words, no smooth talker. It would fit in with his image, certainly— shouldn’t a man-shaped being dressed like an oilslick have speech just as dark and slippery— but there’s very little of either of them that’s as it ought to be, really.”

My Notes: This fic ignited me and I burst into flames. You’re probably starting to see a trend in what I like to read.

Title: Coitus Interruptus with Paperwork

Author: mountagrue

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3,780

Summary: “The one where Azira Fell (directly onto Crowley's dick, did not pass go, did not fill out the appropriate forms).”

My Notes: Scream this is funny and horny Aziraphale falls and immediately gets to dicking down his demon while Gabriel suffers the aftermath.

Title: What Crowley Wants

Author: crookedashes

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 7,022

Summary: “Aziraphale wants to give Crowley what he wants most. It goes a bit sideways.”

My Notes: I die for this content can they communicate like normal people for FIVE MINUTES? Ft. Crowley feeling inadequate and me flying into the sun.

Title: All The Rest

Author: darlingred1

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 11,416

Summary: “If it weren’t for Aziraphale’s persistence, they wouldn’t have had a sex life at all, and Crowley was a demon, for goodness sake! Aziraphale didn’t understand it. (Aziraphale has the communication skills of a doorknob. Crowley isn't any better.)”

My Notes: Aziraphale and Crowley are like *has horny communication issues* and i’m like *nuts*

Title: and in this way their love rewrites the universe

Author: leaveanote

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 9,503

Summary: “They've been desperately in love for a year since the world didn't end, and they've been making little miracles happen for each other. Crowley's latest? A date outside of London, at a drive-in movie theatre in the South Downs. Yes, they have sex in the Bentley.”

My Notes: IT’S SAPPY IT’S TENDER IT’S HORNY IT’S ROMANTIC THEY INVENTED LOVE!!!

Title: sanctuary

Author: leaveanote

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 6,779

Summary: “It's about making a home together. It takes some getting used to, to take all this longing and transmute it into love, into something shared, but Aziraphale is here to help him get used to it. Especially on a stormy day in the cottage.

What better way to spend it than making love over and over and over?”

My Notes: I am literally a mess I read fics where they’re madly in love and want to stay close and I explode

Title: The Skin And Bones Of You

Author: entangelednow

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 4,001

Summary: “In which Crowley has spent six thousand years wanting something he doesn't think he deserves. It's only natural to assume he won't get to keep it.”

My Notes: I swear to god i will SCREAM!! IT’S TOO MUCH!! PLEASE NEVER STOP WRITING CROWLEY AS INSECURE.

Title: love like the dawn

Author: leaveanote

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3,755

Summary: “This is sleepy, romantic, domestic morning sex in the South Downs Cottage. Crowley's still getting used to a love this good, the way it remakes him, the way it remakes the world.”

My Notes: I can’t with this like they’re just so in love I’ve lost the ability to breathe this fic stole my lungs and left me for dead

Title: to sleep, perchance to dream

Author: starkhasheart

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3,023

Summary: “Crowley has a kink. Of course Aziraphale is going to indulge him.”

My Notes: Uhhhhhh it’s. Uhhh. Consensual somnophilia is uh… yeah.

Title: on the same page

Author: Chekhov

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: ~85,746

Summary: “Aziraphale Z. Fell is a rising star of the spiritual literary genre - the next Eat Pray Love guy - and his version of Chicken Soup For the Christian Soul is flying off the shelves. It's not that he's not grateful, but it's one thing to enjoy a career in writing and another completely to be pigeonholed into a specific genre, so much so that you are almost forbidden from writing anything else. So yes, maybe he has a bit of a secret. An outlet for his less... appropriate urges. And yes, if his typical readership got word of the sort of paragraphs he could put out on a particularly inspired night, they might suffer some form of heart attack typical for their age. But all of that is well hidden, and there is absolutely no way anyone would ever find out about his Arrangement with A.J. Crowley - the most debaucherous romantic fiction author of the decade. That is... until they have to pretend to be married to each other.”

My Notes: THIS ONE ISN’T FINISHED YET BUT IT’S A HUMAN AU AND EVERY UPDATE MAKES ME FOAM AT THE MOUTH

Title: be mine

Author: leaveanote

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 4,994

Summary: “It's their first Valentine's Day together, and Crowley is trying to pick out the right present.”

My Notes: I SCREAM I actually did not realize how many of this authors works I had bookmarked and HOLY SHIT!! THEY ARE JUST SO IN LOVE!! AHHHHH!!

Title: do we get what we deserve

Author: Smalls

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 11,064

Summary: “Crowley had not been a particularly good angel.

Unfortunately, Crowley had never been a particularly good demon either.”

My Notes: Cannot lie this had me openly sobbing on a Friday morning and left me emotionally raw

Title: Renting Crowley

Author: Amorous_Flammetta

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 8,018

Summary: “Crowley acts out Aziraphale's Victorian-era fantasy of taking a rent boy home for the night. Their little game includes costumes, champagne, dirty talk and explicit sex!”

My Notes: ITS A RENT BOY FANTASY BUT IT’S ALSO TENDER AND LOVING AND IT HAD ME SWEATING AND MADE ME EMOTIONAL

Title: do me right and do me wrong (give it up, give it up)

Author: seashadows

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 10,828

Summary: “Crowley copes with attention starvation, tries out some new hobbies, and discovers that asking for what you need is better than the alternative.”

My Notes: I’M GOING TO FUCKING EXPLODE THIS ONE MADE ME SCREAM LIKE I JUST CANNOT HANDLE IT ATTENTION STARVATION WILL BE THE DEATH OF ME

Title: For The Longest Time

Author: darlingred1

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 20,370

Summary: “Crowley kind of misses the pining when it's gone. Aziraphale comes up with a solution.”

My Notes: It was hot and funny and lasted just long enough to really make me antsy for the conclusion.

Title: Clementine

Author: Mussimm

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 49,073

Summary: “The seaside neighbours AU exactly one person asked for.”

My Notes: HUMAN AU WHERE THEY LIVE BY THE BEACH AND FALL IN LOVE AKA BE STILL MY BEATING HEART

Title: Gentle but Intoxicating, Nervous but Tender

Author: ShortInsomniac98 ( @devilsss-dyke )

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2,868

Summary: “Crowley x vulva-having reader. // It wasn’t what you’d expected when you agreed to come home with him. What you’d expected was a maybe a quick, clumsy fuck, then out the door. Not some nervous but tender man who stammered out an, 'Is this okay then?' This was much nicer, much sweeter.”

My Notes: No comment besides uhhhhhh [sweats]

#op #good omens #ineffable husbands #good omens fic rec #good omens fic recs #good omens fic recommendation #some links are n-s-f-w

123 notes · View notes

antihero-writings · 4 years ago

Text

Before It Kills You Too (Ch2 Snippet)

Fandom: Lore Olympus

Chapter Summary: When Hera gets into a car accident after a fight, Zeus has a moment to ruminate on their relationship.

Written using the song “Wait” by Maroon 5 as a prompt.

Character Focus: Zeus

Please note!!

1. This is only a snippet of chapter 2, and not the full thing. I usually don’t post this way, but a) lots of people have been asking for chapter 2 lately--(which, thank you SO much for the support, by the way!! The fact that you want to read more really does mean the world to me!!)--and b) this is one of the hardest fics I’ve ever had to write, so I don’t know when I’ll finish, so I wanted to give you something, at least.

Do let me know if you’d like me to keep using this posting-snippets format, or you’d rather I just wait to post the full thing, however far in the future that may be!!

2. While this should be as close to the final version as it can be, anything in this snippet is subject to change when the full chapter comes out. (And, hey, to that end, if there’s anything you think needs to be edited here, you may kindly let me know! I’d appreciate if you said things you liked too though.)

I'd REALLY appreciate it if you could leave a comment and/or reblog!!! I'm not kidding when I say that makes my week!!

Tagging some folks who said they were interested! @jayyy007 @autumnmoon21 @sunsetsofanemoia

And please do let me know if you’d like me to add you to a taglist for this fic, or message you when new snippets/the next chapter come/s out!!

Chapter 2 Snippet:

Hera was standing in the crowded meadow, surrounded by her friends, laughing that girly little giggle full of sunshine that just about made Zeus’ heart ooze in a puddle out of his chest.

Her blue dress made her eyes look like two shimmering sapphires.

“Have I seen her in a dress that color?” Zeus inquired excitedly from behind the bushes.

“How can we know what you’ve seen?” Aidoneus muttered. “With you creeping around, you might have seen her naked for all we know.”

Zeus punched him in the arm, (lightly).

“I don’t think she’s worn a dress that color!” Posiedon bubbled.

“Thank you, Posiedon. At least someone can answer a question.”

“I think she looks like the sea on summer day.” He put his hands on his face, them sliding slowly.

Zeus eyed him. “Alright, keep it in your toga, Little Green Man.”

“Should we really be here?” Aidoneus muttered. “We weren’t invited.”

“Oh come on,” Zeus stood up, putting his hands on his hips. “Who wouldn’t want to see the King of the gods here?”

Poseidon grinned and stood up behind his brother. “No one!”

“Hestia, Demeter… assorted sane people.” Hades muttered as he stood to follow.

“If that’s sanity I’m glad I’m insane.” Zeus trilled as he strutted up to the entrance.

A cute pink nymph—(rather well endowed in the chestal region—not that he noticed!)—greeted them at the archway.

“Oh! Zeus!” She flushed and bowed. “It’s an honor. Welcome!”

“Why it’s an honor to meet you, my lady.” He kissed her hand, and she giggled. “See?” he turned to his brothers. “They’re delighted to have us.”

“I’ve got a bad feeling.” Hades muttered.

Hera was closer now; she smelled like summer, and she looked like it too. Poseidon was right about the ocean thing; she practically shimmered as she spoke with her friends.

“I’m gonna go talk to her.”

“Wait—!” Hades was soon swallowed by the crowd.

Zeus scooched behind her at lightning speed. One by one her friends began to take notice, their eyes widening.

Hera took a step back and would have tripped in surprise if he hadn’t caught her.

“Careful there, you might fall, Birthday Girl.”

“Oh, Zeus!” She looked up at him, the back of her head hitting his chest, “hi!”

That golden smile.

“I made you something!” As she spun to face him, he produced a little carving of a bird from his pocket. (And, no, he didn’t make it).

“Oh!” She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, gently taking it from him, “It’s beautiful!”

All his responsibilities and stresses melted away with the sight of that smile, and he forgot there was anyone else at the party…in the world.

(…He wished he saw that smile anymore.)

Zeus’ chair was spinning empty at his desk before his assistant could say another word—

And Olympus wept, distant peals of thunder rending the sky into pieces.

Lightning crackled and cackled through his hair, creating violet tracks through the air, as Zeus sped through the sky.

It was freezing, and people were staring, but he didn’t care.

All that mattered was getting to his wife.

“My you look stunning.” Zeus sidled up behind his wife, running his fingers gently along her arm. “Is that a new dress?”

“New as that girlfriend of yours.” Hera grunted.

His eyes widened with shock, his voice with an indignant undertone to it. “Is something wrong?”

She paused a moment. He could see words fluttering behind her lips—(like they did so often, too often)—the words Yes you did something wrong, how can you not know?

He knew she wouldn’t believe him when he said he didn’t mean to hurt her.

“You weren’t invited,” she said softly.

“Not invited? Me?” He put his hand to his chest, like the thought of him ever not being welcome to somewhere was absurd. “To what?”

“The party, you nitwit!” She whirled around, her hair nearly whipping him in the face. “You just came barging in like you owned the place!”

“Well…to be fair—”

He stopped short at the look in her eyes, like two blue-hot flames.

He knew it was taking her a great amount of effort not to slap him.

“Do you know how long I’d been preparing for that?! How long it took me to get everything just right? I told you, but you never even listened, did you? And then you just barged right in!”

“Why are you so upset? What’s so important about a party?!”

“Bunny, wait!” His tone was softer too.

He wished she’d just turn around. That he could say sorry.

Was it really so hard? He should have started there.

Had he ever apologized for that?

He was always doing that; barging in where he wasn’t welcome. The world was his, yes but…he had to concede there were some parts of it he ought not just barge in on.

When he burst into the hospital, however, they wouldn’t dare tell him he wasn’t invited, wouldn’t dare tell him he couldn’t see her.

“Where. is my. wife?” Lightning slammed into a lamppost just outside the front door, shattering its glass box, and making the light spark, the rain pounding at the window like rabid dogs.

The desk clerk looked like she was about to pee out of sheer fear.

“Sh-sh-she’s not out of surgery yet, your majesty.”

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endexe · 4 years ago

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Whew, okay, uh, ya star child, Mori, here whipped out a fucking long ass essay just regarding to the things I realized while writing Zero and how much Zero means to me, especially on the personal level. Some heavy areas are to be touched as warned ahead in the sixth paragraph, but I promise I’m okay! I simply have a lot of thoughts and emotions whirling around in me that I need to place somewhere! But to summarize: Thank you all so, so, so much for loving Zero Orez, my one and only bestest foolish glitch child, and for giving me the safe and gentle space where I can be at my most joy and comfort having him here. <3

So the concept of Zero was created this month on April’s Fool, which is the second most ironic thing to happen with him ( the first is honestly the fact that within the same month, Zero have interacted with five muses who share the same faceclaim as him, like lmfao poor Zero, he’s just not having it --- shoutout to Mercy ( maskeraide ), River ( wxrldkiller ), Oli ( teletropic ), Vi ( heartbetween ), and Grace ( evermxre ) for having me so delighted and entertained by this concept, it makes my experiences writing with Zero so much more fun ). I created him for this episodic novel series Let There Be with Noble and Grim, the angel and demon respectively, who are private investigators. I had the concept of how there would be eldritch monsters trying to take over Earth by using the elements of the horror genre, which created mundane appearing but still supernatural linked cases that Noble and Grim had to solve when no other ordinary humans could, and the monsters were linked to their respective tarot card. Zero was considered to be the Fool.

I was excited to make Zero be a side character of the novel, the foolish and childish character who would constantly help and betray both sides of the series, one side being Noble and Grim, and another the Arcane. But I didn’t know what more to expect from him. I was reading the tag within the post I made in Noble’s and Grim’s blog that was the NPC introduction of Zero. It’s so funny that I said I didn’t know if I’d end up writing him on here because I thought Noble and Grim, my impossible lights, would end up taking all of the muse from him. BUT IN THE END... They were the ones who I set up the indefinite hiatus note few days ago while Zero’s still thriving, and I find that so bizarre because I thought Noble and Grim were the ONES who I’d always have the muse for. You know how you’d have that thing where you’d expect something to happen with your muse, but they would do the exact opposite as you least expected? Zero’s like that ALWAYS, but the fact he pulled the UNO reverse card on my impossible lights? Truly wild and now here I am, writing him for almost a month!

And... creating him, writing him is the BEST choice I had ever made in my entire life. Yes, Noble and Grim had helped me a lot, especially I do face a lot of struggles when it comes to the matters of hope and despair, what Noble and Grim embody of respectively but Zero eventually become so many things to me. The vent character, the comfort character, the character who I can channel my childish and curious energy into when I was rarely given the chance to let them out in the real world when I was younger, the character who is a learner but as slow and easily frustrated as me and a lover of life like me despite everything / anything. I realize also that I have so much fun and easier times writing him than I had with Noble and Grim, I won’t lie about this. Noble’s and Grim’s aesthetic and energy seem to attract more of an urge to write a bit more purple prosey with a hint of seriousness to it, and... it was so time and energy consuming to write them with these expectations I had on myself. And for some reason, I sometimes had trouble plotting with them, maybe because, again, I felt like they had to be these serious characters having to be put in serious situations. Few of the things I love about Zero is he have bare limits to his character as he can be anything and anyone I want him to be. He has about everything that I can use to develop and have fun with. I love how ultimately, Zero is ever unbound to labels and he is ever changing.

I’m just amazed realizing how many writings and developments I have done with Zero within a month than I had with those two, but that’s because with Zero? He is truly... all over the place. He is so messy, chaotic, flawed, but also, he is loud and open and FREE. Having to get into his energy makes me feel my most self where I can be too loud and loving, and not care too much about how I write and format my posts, unlike with Noble and Grim. He makes me so so SO happy and comfortable, and there is a lot of times I’d think about him and sometimes with my friends’ muses, and it’s a lot more than I had thought of Noble and Grim. The love I have for Zero is endless and beyond, always. He reminds me that original characters are so fucking important when they can be anything and anyone you want them to be, and as long as it’s nothing of harm to others and yourself, whoever and whatever they are, they are more than good enough when they provide you so much joy and comfort.

[ trigger warning: mentions of ( child ) abuse and traumas ] Zero have... about about everything I’ve ever loved in general from my interests to tropes ( adorkable, the fool, fourth wall breaking, etcetera ) to my love of aesthetics ( such as glitchcore / cybercore / kidcore / weirdcore ), and so many more. As well as he have learning disability, hypersexuality, tendency to be so distracted and forgettable like me. Along with he does these things that I do as stimming like he’d just rock or always love to touch blankets that have very soft materials. As well as he have experienced so many traumas that resulted him having so much trouble remembering and wanting to be childish as hating to be responsible, which is what I have. I don’t remember anything of my childhood or honestly, majority of my life but traumas. I don’t remember much of what I did yesterday. I don’t even remember if I had breakfast yesterday or what I ate if I did because I had been through so much mainly involving abuse from my own mother, still do unfortunately as I live with her, that makes my brain shut down, which also makes me have so much trouble being in deep thoughts when my brain is just. Numb. When I’m going to be more real here, despite how I appear online here, I do have trouble experiencing and expressing much emotions because, again, of the traumas I have dealt with for so long.

From all of these things I had gone through in life, I have dealt a lot with these concepts of who I am, what I am, like Zero does, and having him, I eventually realize how extremely important he is to me, so much more than any characters I ever created. He is my biggest coping mechanism and my gentlest reminder that it’s never too late to be... free. Just enjoy everything that I’m so fortunate to get from life. Draw clumsily, listen to music loudly, love too much and just let my heart be louder than the thunderstorms and crashing sea waves combined. Just be free and happy, despite everything, anything. I said before with Noble and Grim that I hadn’t been this happy before writing them, but I was so wrong. With Zero, I am so much more happier than I could ever be, and there are so many people on here who I am beyond lucky and grateful to be friends with who let me have him with no judgement like over how ridiculously overpowered he is or how much I self projected myself into him. And all of the connections Zero made on here so far are very touching and wonderful. I didn’t know what to really expect when I decided to give Zero his own blog, but having him for a month, this decision brought me so many beautiful things that I will always cherish.

I also wanna give a quick shoutout to River for. Fuck, everything. They’re truly the biggest reason why I decided to keep writing Zero and even make me love him more. They had made me talk about so many things with Zero I probably would’ve never thought, or wouldn’t have thought about so soon. I always extremely enjoy everything River and I would go over about together, and... literally, River, if you see this, know that you’re truly a wonder to have. I am so beyond thankful to have you as, honestly, already my close friend. Thank you so much for giving me that extra push to keep Zero and one of the most meaningful reasons why Zero still exist today, and for being just an amazing friend.

Just thank you all so much, to those we had known each other from the other blog and those we just became mutuals, for giving me and Zero a chance to be a bit more free and happier at least when our life won’t let us have that so often. Just thank you, thank you, thank you.

#* ❪⠀ 📺⠀❫ : 𝚎𝚙𝚜1.2:outofcharacter.𝚝𝚊𝚐 //#( I'm not expecting anyone to read it I just. again I had so many thoughts and feelings on this that I had no where to put but here )#( but again and again thank you everyone for this <3 )

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royallyprincesslilly · 5 years ago

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Title: Arranged {1}

Yahya Abdul Mateen II x OFC Nyorie Kane

Warning: Plot

Words: 1.4k

Summary: Yahya is thirty-three, and his friends and family all seem to believe that it is long overdue for him to have a wife. He’s been set up more times than he can count and with his busy schedule and rising Hollywood star, it is becoming even more difficult to meet people, well people who aren’t looking for a come up. In the beginning, he said he didn’t want anything serious; his motto was “I’m was here for a good time not a long time.” Then it became he didn’t want anything that would distract him from where he wanted to go and what he wanted to accomplish. Now that his fame is rising and he’s approaching a sweet spot in his career he decides what the hell the time might be right.

In comes “A Match”, an exclusive matchmaking company run by his best friend Ramel’s wife Tamika. He gives Tamika and Ramel free rein and all his trust to find him, someone, he’d mesh well with. Instead of going through her clientele Tamika has just the right woman in mind, her best friend, Nyorie. Things are done a little unorthodox at “A Match” though. This unconventional route is credited for a near-perfect success rate.

Note: I’ve only tagged those who have expressed to be on a forever tag list.

****Also, please keep an open mind.

**Loosely Proofread/Edited**

✧*.。:。✧*.:。✧*✧*.。:。✧*.:。✧*✧*.。:。✧*.:。✧*

Chapter One

“Man, you not getting any younger. Plus we all know how important family is to you the rate you’re going you not even gonna have one till you fifty,” Ramel said as he came back into the living room with his hands full of food. Ramel stopped in front of the U-shaped sectional and handed out bags to their owners. He stood up and took the cream-colored plastic bag Ramel held out for him.

“I don’t know how many times you’re going to keep saying this.”

“As many times as need be. I mean really, is uncle Ya good enough bruh?”

He pulled out the containers of food and thought about Ramel’s words for a few moments. He loved being uncle Ya, loved picking his niece Havea and nephew Rami up for their biweekly ice-cream and bowling night. He loved showing up to their school functions and trips to Disney and tagging along to kid movie premiers. He wouldn’t change anything about it.

“Look man, I know you love my kids. What’s not to love? I also know you want kids of your own. You can’t have that continuing on the way you are,” Ramel drilled home.

He knew it. Truthfully, he’d been mulling the pros and cons over for months. Ramel wasn’t the only one in his life badgering him like this. His mother, sisters, and brother were all on his case too. His mother liked to pile on the guilt asking him when she’d get a grandchild and when she’d get to see him walk down the aisle and made it no secret she was praying for it before she died. What the hell was he to say to that?

“Not everybody wanna be married Mel, you got half the squad on that ball and chain shit leave him alone,” Rashawn blurted out. The four of them laughed loudly. Normally they’d be keeping it down because of the kids but they were at a sleepover, so they were free to be as loud as they wanted.

“Man, shut up. He the last one. Your ass bout to be on that ball and chain shit too. One-week fool,” Ramel added.

“You don’t have to remind me. Torri has the house filled with everything wedding related. Man, this week needs to hurry up so we can get back to real life.”

He leaned back and focused on his food. He was the last one in the group still single. The last one of the four musketeers, the lone wolf. It didn’t bother him before; it was just the way it was. Now—he wouldn’t focus on it, not now.

They continued to watch the basketball game and talk like they always did when they got together. They’d been friends for a long time, and he valued their friendship and advice. He trusted them with everything and would always have their backs as he knew the same was true for them.

Rashawn desperately stayed away from all and any talk about his wedding to Torri. He acted like he’d been caroused into the wedding when everyone knew damn well he was stupid in love and cried through the proposal. Ramel assumed the role of loudmouth big brother pretending like he knew everything; it was a role he’d played for most of their friendship. Tyrell didn’t pretend to not be the hopelessly devoted husband he was to Dacia; he was the one who was always caught texting her and secretly face-timing her during guys night out. When they got together, a lot of fun and a lot of shit-talking always happened and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

By the time the game ended, the food finished, and Tamika came home it was close to two in the morning. Ramel wasted no time kicking everyone out when he saw how inebriated Tamika was.

“Y’all don’t have to go home, but you got to get the hell up outta here. My woman is drunk, we got no kids for the night, some freaky shit bout to go down!”

They all rolled their eyes and quickly began gathering their things.

“How freaky?” He looked back to see Tamika crook her pointer and wiggle it to Ramel who smiled but pushed her hand down trying to hide her finger. He knew they were into some freaky shit and he did not need the details or the visuals.

“Imma head out. I have an early day later anyway. Stay up man,” he said and went around the group giving each of them their handshake.

“Think about what I said burh. We here for you,” Ramel finished. He nodded and walked over to Tamika and gave her a kiss on the cheek before he walked out the door to his car in the rounded driveway.

The drive back to his house was a quick and quiet one. When he got home he showered and used the rest of his awake time to prep for the coming day. He knew it would be a long one.

-The Next Day-

Just as expected the day stretched on and on. He got maybe two hours of sleep before he was out of the house and on a set for a photoshoot. That shoot went on for eight hours, then he was off to a string of interviews then two meetings and yet another photoshoot.

It was now close to one in the morning and they were just getting their last shots. He was exhausted. he knew this came with the territory. If he wanted to act he had to be okay with photoshoots, interviews, paparazzi, and everything else that came with fame. Some days it was a tough pill to swallow and he wondered what it would have been to continue on in architecture, and others he took it in stride and piled more onto his plate. Today was a mix of both.

“All right Yahya, thank you that’s a wrap,” the photographer called out. He nodded and went around shaking hands with everyone who worked the shoot. A woman with dirty blond hair approached him with a wide smile.

“I am such a fan, Yahya. I loved you in Aquaman.” He graciously smiled and thanked her. She bit her bottom lip and gave him a look he knew wasn’t strictly friendly. “Can I have a picture?”

“Sure. No problem,” he cautiously responded as he stepped beside her and waited for her to angle her phone just right.

“Say Black Manta.” He smiled at her request and held up his peace fingers. Once the photo was taken she turned to him again and thanked him.

“Look, I know this is forward and normally I wouldn’t do this but it’s 2020, I’m gonna shoot my shot.” She held out a piece of paper to him and he could see a phone number scribbled across it.

“This is my number. No pressure to use it, just—if you want to use it, I’d answer, and we could hang out.”

She was attractive, he wasn’t going to deny that. Her skin reminded him of smooth chestnut. Coupled with the color of her hair she was a beautiful woman. He was just leery of her motives. Ninety percent of the women he’d met since his breakout roles all had ulterior motives. Most just wanted to be seen out with him so the rumor mill could start circulating and give them their fifteen minutes. He wasn’t with that. That was the one thing about his newfound fame. He never knew what anyone wanted from him anymore.

“Uh--.” He was speechless. He didn’t want to embarrass her by rejecting her, so he took the paper and nodded. “Thank—you.”

She smiled and again bite her bottom lip. “Okay, great. See you around.” She walked off leaving him to look down at the paper with her name and number. “Thalia-954-389-3048.” She’d dotted her I with a star. It bothered him and he didn’t know why. He stuffed the paper in his pocket resolved in his decision not to take it there. He didn’t have the time or energy to sift through the sea of clout chasers.

He quickly finished up, got his things and left. He’d missed his workout for the day and needed to get one in. every little bit helped especially with him trying to get into Matrix shape.

Luckily his trainer was up and was able to meet him at the gym to train. A few reps on the treadmill, another couple sets of weights, then some time on the bar and finally a brutal boxing session rounded out the hour and fifteen-minute rotation. By the end of it, he was dripping sweat and ready to just drop in bed which is just what he did.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

***If you want to be tagged please SEND AN ASK SO IT WILL BE EASIER FOR ME TO KEEP TRACK OF. Thank you for reading!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

TagList:

@chrisgalore @thatrandomhetaliachick @missdeerstalker15 @queenbetter @jesseswartzwelder @briellableu @titty-teetee @zaddysqueen7 @melaninhawtie @simplyyamberr @airis-paris14 @ashanti-notthesinger @afraiddreamingandloving @ajspencer1892 @wakanda-inspired @chillavesss @drsunshine97 @cleothegoldfish @builtalongthewayside @theunsweetenedtruth @geeksareunique @aykanna @hanasamara @profilia @ollieveracity @autumn242 @missyperle @sup3rn0va13 @chaneajoyyy @forbeautyandlife @kreolemami @designerwriterchic @laketaj24

#arranged fic #yahya abdul mateen ii #yahya abdul mateen ii fanfiction #Yahya Abdul Mateen ii x reader #Yahya Abdul Mateen ii x you #Yahya Abdul Mateen ii x black reader #black fanfiction #slow burn fanfic

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jjba-hell · 4 years ago

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Fate and Fortune

Part 8

Part 7- only linking the part before the current one from now on. All the earlier pieces are under the Fate and Fortune tag ^ω^

Content warning: violence, blood, Vera talking about her past and presumed death- ya’ll know the deal

Moots (^з^)-☆: @risottoneroo @fyre23 and @rat-makes-stuff (anyone else wanna get tagged, lemme know)

Part 9 being published right after this- yes, I would hate to see ya’ll in suspense so the follow up is already there.

Also this one is HELLA long

When they landed in Singapore, Vera wasted no time in guzzling down an ungodly amount of water and then crawling into her hotel bed to sleep off the remnants of her nausea- the peculiar thuds coming from the Frenchman next door not enough to deter her from her slumber.

“Mr Joestar apologizes for your luggage issue but I think he’s compensated well enough.” Avdol placed a clip of Singapore dollars onto her bedside, walking around to peel the blockout curtains open- as by her request.

“What will you be up to today?”

“I’m going to be with Mr Joestar, attempting to see Dio using Hermit Purple.”

She looked up at her guardian, smiling at the frustration softly bubbling at the surface of his facade. “I wanted to ask how he realized his stand works with pictures- more specifically smashing Polaroids.”

He gave a huff of laughter. “He informed me of his ability- I never suggested such a thing, in fact I was convinced a crystal ball would have been enough but essentially he beat me to it. We are about to try a television now, however.”

“Godspeed, Avdol.” She laughed as he exited her room.

Vera had just closed her room door when Noriaki called from down the hallway in the elevator. “Good morning, Vera.”

She strolled into the empty elevator he held open for her- extending the same greeting before watching the door close. “What’s our plan for today?”

“Define ‘our’.” She had initially only playfully teased but when he answered with “You and I.” it was her qeue to blush. “Oh, well-“ she cleared her throat. “I’ll be replacing most of my clothing today so unless you like shopping...”

“Oh you don’t have to worry about me- your sparkling conversation is more than enough thanks for me.”

She laughed to herself, rolling her eyes at him. “You are such a charmer!”

He tilted his head to the side, smiling slyly. “Pardon my assumptions, Vera but I truly don’t see you as someone who’s helpless under a charmer’s words- begs the question doesn’t it?”

“Ahh you think I want to be charmed.” She stepped out of the open elevator, Kakyoin trailing after her.

“Without a doubt.”

To Vera, being with Noriaki felt natural- he fell in step with her effortlessly, as effortlessly as the conversation flowed and her hand found his when there was a crowd. Being close to him- it felt right. Or was it safe? It was hard to tell sometimes.

“Well, now that we’ve come to the end of our journey- allow me to thank you for accompanying me.” She pushed her hotel room door open and put her bags down inside before closing it again and leaning her back against the closed door.

“Your company was all the thanks I could ask for.”

She smiled her most genuine smile and reached for his hand. There was rarely protest when she did this- his hands were surprisingly rough but warm- Vera chalked it up to his artistry being the reason.

She made him close the gap between them, pulling him closer until his shoulder was leaning against the door. “And you call me a charmer.” He commented, quietly, as if that little space just outside her door was for them and them alone.

Her heart was admittedly racing in her chest- the analogy of butterflies in your stomach always made her laugh but now, standing there so close to Noriaki- so close she could smell the shampoo in his hair and admire the slight silver streaks in his eyes... it made sense.

Vera assumed the feeling she was feeling was affirmative as she reached up a bit and brought her hand to the back of his neck. Noriaki obliged, of course, bringing his face closer to hers.

The gap only seemed to get smaller, her other hand moving up his arm- naturally trying to get on her tip-toes to help gain some height. By the time she closed her eyes, their noses were almost touching and then she waited, just the sound of her own heartbeat in her ears.

All at once- but not violent in the least- Noriaki’s lips brushed gently against hers and his other hand landed on the other side of her other shoulder- essentially caging her against the door.

The one action brought her excitement... but was painfully tainted by the fear that shot up through her spine at the other action. Her head turned away from him, the hand behind his neck moving to grip his wrist beside her.

“I’m sorry.” The words came from him, her eyes opening and gazing up at him. His hand moved away from the door- slowly and carefully, like moving too quickly would scare here off. Noriaki’s brows were knitted together in concern,

“It’s not you.” She tried to say- her voice failing her miserably in volume. That soft expression on his face didn’t falter, a small smile spread over his face. “You don’t have to explain anything to me, Vera.”

His hand moved to hold hers, squeezing softly as he stood a bit taller once again. “You’re shaking.”

She peered down at where their hands were connected- noting how her hand was shaking in his. “Oh.”

“I won’t hurt you.”

Her gaze shot back up to him. “I’m not thinking that.”

“I know. But I figure it was something you needed to hear, right now.”

“Called it!” Anne’s voice called from the end of the hall and like a spell had been broken they separated back to their casual distance as Jotaro came down the hallway.

“Called what, kid?” Vera regained a bit of her voice back.

“You two are the couple.”

“Why does there have to be a couple, exactly? Y’know what nevermind- I got you some better travel clothes while I was out, can you just go try them on?”

“What are you? My mom?”

Vera only raised an eyebrow as she opened the door and let the kid in.

It was pretty quiet on their way to Calcutta- she supposed that she had become somewhat accustomed to the swaying of the sea- although it really didn’t help her getting any more sleep.

“Why are you always up at this hour?” Jotaro grumbled as he came to join her for a smoke break- once again at the dead of night.

“We really have to stop meeting like this- it’s become the only time you seem to talk to me.” She joked, offering him her lighter.

He didn’t respond- she figured he wouldn’t so she filled the silence for him. “I’m up at this hour for the same reason as you.”

Vera got nightmares of her parents’ deaths, it only seemed logical that Jotaro suffered the same fate because of Holy.

“Do they go away?”

“I don’t know. I’ve only been struggling with them for about two years now...”

He scoffed, standing up a bit straighter. “I don’t know how you handle it.”

“What? The sleep deprivation or the insatiable grief?”

Jotaro’s hand moved over hers, much like she had done with his before- the words that followed however seemed to pain him to say. “Quit fooling around. I’m serious.”

It wasn’t often she met someone who’d explicitly ask her to be serious. He may not have had to look her in the eye when he asked but she got the message- drop the sarcasm.

“I really don’t know.” Her voice started softly. “I just distract myself, I guess. I’d rather fill the silence with sarcasm than let my own thoughts consume me. I’m not so good at doing that when I put my head down though...” she gripped the railing under her hand tighter- fighting hard against the tears sliding down her face. “I feel so weak.”

Her vision blurred and right then she moved off- turning away from the conversation but Jotaro caught a hold of her wrist. His grip was firm but not crushing, subtly pulling her back.

The tears continued to flow as she looked over her shoulder at him, the smile on her face forced painfully to avoid more tears. “Unless you’re gonna hold me, I suggest you let go.”

Jotaro snapped them together like magnets- pulling her snug into him, her head on his shoulder. The shock delayed her thoughts for a moment- a barrage of ‘is this a joke? A stand attack? Is this even Jotaro?’ But when she finally accepted and hugged him back, her thoughts melted away.

How long had she gone without being held like this? Why did it feel like the first time in months her mind was quiet enough to release all the tension she held in her body? A heavy sigh followed as she practically melted into Jotaro’s firm embrace.

He separated them gently, standing up straight to peer down at her once more the hand he had first held, now properly entwined with his fingers. “Stop with the ‘weakness’ crap- got it?”

With her eyes dried she could give him that sarcastic grin once more. “Or what?”

He leaned in low, their faces almost touching. “Fuck around and find out.”

And with that he started walking back below deck- Vera trailing behind him. “Oh no, is Jotaro actually gonna tell me what he actually thinks about me?”

“Yare yare, woman- you know how I feel about you.”

“On the contrary- I wasn’t sure you felt anything at all, up until this point.”

In front of her room he sternly told her to go to bed and wake him up if she had a nightmare but she only shrugged it off- thanking him regardless. “And miss the opportunity to enjoy a cigarette on my own?” Was how she played it off.

Regardless she’d gotten a few hours of sleep in before they docked in Calcutta- more than she could say she’d had in a while.

“And you, Vera? No concern for the culture shock?” Polnareff had asked her as they waited for the ship to be free to leave.

“Well I took a round of birth control and an oxybutynin*... so I guess I’m not scared because I’m just well prepared.” She answered with a painfully wide grin.

Jean’s face dropped just in time with the door for their exit and immediately she stayed with the elder men- taking Mr Joestar’s extended arm to push through the crowd.

“Is this common occurence?” Noriaki asked as they all squeezed together on a crowded bus.

“Well I may be dependent off of Mr Joestar and Avdol’s movement but the chances of anyone bothering me are low. Did you get your wallet back?”

He laughed with a nod.

At the restaurant Vera went to change back into her traveler’s set- asking the table to order for her.

She’d long known to watch her own back in life but it would be a lie to say she was waiting for the knife to her throat the second she stepped out of the bathroom stall door.

Whoever or whatever it was clasped their hand over her mouth to stop her from screaming. Her frantic gaze fell towards the floor length mirror facing the stall door.

It’s breath huffed hungrily in her ear as she struggled. She knew her attempts in that moment were useless but she wasn’t trying to fight for survival, she was trying to stop their escape.

Mirrors.

Jotaro said something about mirrors.

It was probably the worst gamble she had ever taken but hey- Fortune was on her side wasn’t it?

She sent Fortune out to close the curtains of the window- plunging the room into darkness. The grip on her mouth and the painful prod at her throat loosened- her qeue to attack.

She sent Fortune towards her back where she guessed the perp was holding her from. Through Fortune, she could feel a successful hit but not without the cost of a few weak lashes at her arms. The barrage of attacks coming to a stop when Fortune grabbed hold of its head and shoved it into the wall beside her- the soft crack under her palm hopefully being an indicator of good news.

For a moment she had thought she was winning until the blood stain dripping down her neck over her clothes was too prominent to ignore. Had the adrenaline allowed her to ignore the lightheaded ness? Was she bleeding out?

She let Fortune hover closer to her to heal up her neck just enough to stop the bleeding but it didn’t change the fact that she had lost too much blood to be comfortable with.

“Goddamit I took the birth control to avoid blood!”

The light ruffle of the curtains had her bring a very translucent Fortune back for a fight but when there was silence and she couldn’t see anything in the mirror she deemed herself all-clear.

Where was that ringing coming from? Vera stumbled through the hallway back to the table where she only then noticed that she was having trouble swallowing.

Avdol’s jaw dropped as he saw her first- nearly leaping out of his seat to prop her up over his shoulder. “What happened?”

With a lot more strain than was quite fair she spoke. “Mirror attack. Stand.”

Jotaro was the one to get up and pick her in a princess carry. “We need to get to a hospital- now.”

For a moment she was about to joke about how much she enjoyed being carried but the searing pain in her neck had her nearly convulse straight of his arms. Jotaro’s grip on her tightened as she fought against him, the pain being the worst she’d felt in years.

“I’m sorry- I had to cauterize it.” Avdol’s face came into view for a second just before her vision started to swim.

“That really fucking hurt.” She hissed, feeling Jotaro start moving, her swimming vision going dark.

When she woke up she was in the hospital, with Jotaro and Kakyoin outside her room, catching her as she dragged the IV along the hallway with her.

“Well rested?” Mr Joestar had asked as they got into the taxi to the hospital.

“Somewhat. Where’s Avdol? At the hotel?”

There was a strained silence that followed.

“Polnareff left to go after the stand user that attacked you both- his sister’s killer.” Kakyoin answered.

“And Avdol is making sure he doesn’t get himself killed.”

If it wasn’t for her exhaustion, she’d have taken offense that Avdol chose to make sure Polnareff would survive and yet she laughed at the idea that he thought she was capable enough to take care of herself.

“Sounds like a tomorrow problem.” She grumbled as she tipped her head back and rode out the rest of the way to the hotel.

A few hours later she found herself treading through the streets in search of her guardian. He hadn’t called in a few hours and her gut feeling was telling her there was some kind of trouble brewing...

A part of her had to laugh at the irony. Avdol often veered her away from any possible dangers but was front, line and center to go after an idiot like Polnareff who didn’t know any better than to take a bait on an emotional whim. Unsurprisingly the others had felt that same premonition and had spread out to help find the two.

The longer she walked the deeper her stomach dropped until her worst nightmare came to light.

A bloody Avdol lay in the middle of street.

* oxybutynin is a medication that lowers the frequency/ need to urinate (yes, I felt for Polnareff- that shit’s nasty)

#jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo no kimyou na bouken #JoJo part 3 #jotaro kujo #Noriaki Kakyoin #Joseph Joestar #Muhammed avdol #Jean Pierre Polnareff #Fate and Fortune #OC content #OC Vera

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charlctterussell · 4 years ago

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Rules

Writer is 25+

In turn I prefer to write with writers who are older, you don’t have to necessarily be over 25 but, certainly and definitely older than 18. I won’t interact with anyone younger than 18 and if you are over, and don’t conduct yourself in an adult manner, the same will be said for that as well. I have no tolerance for bullying or shaming of any kind, and my tolerance for childish bullshit is like < 0.5 I’m not here for that, and I think everyone would agree that we all come here to explore creative things together with relaxation in mind and to have fun doing that. Although I know the cest pool of nonsense-isms accompanying the role-play world is a tale as old as time, but I will be selective in the company I keep here socially and collaboratively in that regard for my own peace and sanity.

Writing Style

Novella / Multi-Para

I really am such a sucker for detail, like seriously, if you want to capture my heart — detail me up mah friends! Having said that, I do again prefer collaborating with writers who write in the Novella and Multi-Para style as well in threads. I will also write in para too though because guess what? TONS of detail can be added in para bits just as well. But I get ambitious sometimes and descriptive, so BUYER BEWARE. Im really down to write and play in any length but when it comes to more serious scenes / pieces as far as threads — I do prefer my partners be the same in that regard or at least amped and enjoy something more than para. As a general rule here: Role-play is a dance between two people, sometimes more, and of course in that partnership you have to align for things to flow and the magic happen. Which I think is what we all strive for— really being able to indulge our imaginations collaboratively with like-minded partners. I have also always been a writer who puts a lot of thought and detail into the breaths of life big and small that live in words for my muse, so it’s important for me to sync up in that way for what I’m receiving as well. It’s also important for me to have chemistry with my partners cause it again, is role-play.😘That being said, I LOVE DRABBLINGS OF ALL SHAPES AND SIZES IN PLAY, so please feel free to send/ tag me anything your heart desires. Like nothing is off limits there. — I live for mentions, and kinda inhelpably am a social butterfly so I really dig and will reply, and play, with any bit of back and forth you feel inspired to throw at me.

Communication

please do it. Please? If I’m following you back, it means I want to write with you and work with you. That also means talk to you too. If you have a question or kinda wonder about anything, anything at all, just message me. I love connecting with people, and happen to be super nice also. So, please don’t ever be afraid to connect and slip into my ims. I also do the disco, and communication is totally welcome there too. Member that chemistry thing I talked about earlier? (Whispers behind hand) This adds to it.

Like/Reblog Etiquette

I don’t care if you like anything of mine, or reblog it. In fact please do! Especially if you love/like them. Omg in fact if you do it you’ll capture a little piece of my heart more than you had the first time you did it. 😆With me, it really is the small things and I get giddy over many of them. Just don’t flat out copy my work, save it, and then post it. Unnecessary. —unless you’re stealing and then in that case don’t do that either.

Shipping

I ship with only one, and that is @isawthelight

This means I am not interested in doing this with anyone else here. My fingers are nimble though and my imagination runs far and wide, so there’s tons of other connection opportunities out there in that sea where our muses are concerned. Basically, just feel free to shoot me a message about anything you’re thinking at all if you’d like to write together! I also promise to do the same. If I follow you, I will read your rules and message you thereafter. It’d be cool if you also did that if you follow this blog, but totally not a rule breaker if you don’t. If I’m interested, I’ll be reading your stuffs and hitting you up! As a general note: I’d really love to hear from anyone who has interest enough to follow first like; why did you? What idea did you have? Don’t be shy to tell me what you’re thinking! I loveeee brainstorming too. My imagination is super vivid, so lots of times I can come up with something enjoyable and am really open to ideas or expanding upon those in ways that work. Or even if you haven’t followed me yet, and you’re interested in writing together and you had an idea butttt aren’t quite sure...Shoot me a message. I’m crafty so I promise you and your muse a good time either way.

Triggers

So I’m going to be honest...and it’s kinda ironic...considering the themes in The Devil All The Time, but animal gore/cruelty where it involves slaying, or killing animals is something (and literally the only thing) I am sensitive about. That being said, my ‘husband’ things — (side-eyes him from afar 👀)

But I also want to say I’m in this verse writing and all in in doing so, so please feel free to write anything to your heart’s content where it fits or you have the idea to in this verse, or with and around me. Although I have my sensitivity, it’s a part of the story and if it’s mentioned, or written it’s okay! I will grimace and either skip past it if I’m reading something of yours, or read it and thank the lord it’s just words and fiction like I did with the book and film! :p Having said that, at this time, I won’t myself be tagging more than a couple of triggers outside of cancer, nsfw. That certainly will change once I begin/ and get into works on this blog, but at this time there won’t be too awful many just because I may not think of them all and really don’t want to make myself crazy in my attempt to be on the safe side 😆. I have to mention as well that I also prefer to write with partners who don’t really have many (hardly any as a matter of fact, or none at all) triggers and with that I tend to feel as though, if you’re here, and you’re reading, you must at least be aware of the book and/or film and it’s themes. If you arent or like me have sensitivities you’d like at least noted someplace cause we totally read one another’s stuff and love one another, tell me! If you’re here, I love you, and also certainly we all are different and human and have our own feelings about things. Let me know. I’m happy to tag something for anyone who reads mine, or my partners things. In the meantime though, I’m going to assume most are not squeamish around blood mentions, illness, swearing, murder, violence, sex, or anything else graphic in content. Because this blog will contain those and a bundle of other themes that more than likely will grip a persons soul/heart strings. I want to also say that I do read everyone’s rules I work with and if I notice something in a potential partner’s about a specific trigger that may be a constant thing here, or even upcoming or past, I’ll always courteously provide tags for them on my blog without any word about it. But once more, I will not be adding many trigger tags to start because this story is one for mature audiences, so I’m going to assume folks venturing here are of that sort. But there’s not just all that gritty grimey grimes stuff. There’s also so much love and fuzzy feels too.💘

(To be continued.......)

#/rules for now ☺️

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omgrachwrites · 5 years ago

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Schooled (Bucky Barnes)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OC

Summary: After the passing of Ava’s father she starts acting out which drives her right into the arms of one gorgeous Professor Barnes.

Warnings: fluff, angst, suggestive themes, swearing, main characters are 20+

Words: 2269

A/N: So, this is very very loosely based on an old fic that I wrote on my old blog so I thought I’d revamp it a bit lot! I’m gonna be tagging the people that were tagged in the original version of this so I hope you guys don’t mind! Also, sorry that they haven’t met in this first part, they meet in the next part, I promise! Please let me know if you would like to be tagged and let me know what you think, I love you all! xxx

Part One - the beginning

It was a beautiful late summer’s day, the birds were chirping and the leaves were starting to turn that burnt orange colour just in time for fall. Everything seemed right with the world, but Ava’s world had seemed to crash and burn and there had been noting she could have done to halt the plan that fate had set in motion. She was a firm believer in everything happening for a reason but why did it have to be her dad? Although his send-off was a nice one, just like he deserved but she still hadn’t been ready to say goodbye to him.

Ava sighed at her reflection in her mirror before making her way downstairs, as she walked into the living room her little sister Morgan looked up from her drawing and gasped, “you look like a princess!”

Ava smiled and smoothed her fingers through her newly dyed blonde hair, “we can both be princesses together then,” she grinned, Morgan giggled and went back to her drawing, she didn’t fully understand what was going on.

Ava looked over at her stepmom who gave her a sad smile, “every time I looked in the mirror I saw him. I needed to make a change,” Ava explained, fiddling with the ends of her hair.

Without a word Pepper pulled her into a huge hug, after a moment she said, “you don’t have to explain, you look beautiful and I’m so glad your back in New York.”

Ava smiled as they pulled away from each other, “dad would have wanted us all to be together, besides I’m definitely not a Californian girl, some of those girls were horrible,” she chuckled, she was so excited to be attending NYU with her old friends and she was even more excited to be staying in the dorms, “and, there was a clear reason why my dad got full custody of me when he and my mom got divorced,” she said, rolling her eyes making Pepper laugh.

“So,” she continued, pouring herself a cup of tea, adding a touch of cinnamon and ginger to it, “which of dad’s things need sorting through? I want to help,” she added as it looked like Pepper was about to argue.

Pepper sighed and nodded, “Rhodey is sorting through the lab, there’s so much shit in there that he’ll probably need a hand.”

Ava nodded and made her way back out of the room and towards the lab, ruffling Morgan’s hair as she went. As she walked into the lab she smirked as she saw Rhodey’s head stuffed into a tall storage box, muffled swearing was coming from the inside of it. She giggled and leaned against the doorway of the lab as Rhodey wrenched his head out of the box, spilling packaging peanuts everywhere.

“Need a hand Uncle Rhodey?” she giggled behind her hand as Rhodey grimaced, brushing peanuts off of his clothes.

“I’d be grateful for the help kiddo,” he nodded, “nice hair by the way.”

Pepper was right, the lab was just full of shit – Tony really had been a hoarder – he probably had never used any of the stuff they found. They found loads of interesting stuff though like an old newspaper article about Ava’s grandfather from the 40’s. Rhodey and Ava had a good old laugh about the photographs they found from Tony’s old college days. Ava unearthed an old jersey that had to be the softest material that she’d ever felt and it somehow still smelled like Tony. She made a mental note to take it off to college with her.

She was sorting through her dad’s desk when she came across a memory stick along with a cutting from a newspaper article.

“Rhodey…” Ava asked slowly, “what’s this?” she asked, upon further inspection she saw that there was a note attached to the back that read, ‘for Ava.’

Rhodey chewed his lip and walked over to her, placing a hand on her shoulder, “you should watch it, your dad would have wanted you to.”

Ava nodded without a word and she quickly set up the laptop to plug the memory stick into. Straight away she saw a younger Tony Stark sitting on a couch; he looked up at the camera, flashing that signature grin. Ava felt tears brewing in her eyes.

“Hey kid, you’re actually having your first nap of the day right now, I can’t believe that you’re a week old already. I wanted to make this video for you to watch after I’m gone which will hopefully not be for a long time. So, if you’re watching this I’m dead, I’m hoping that I had a good run,” he chuckled, “just wanted to tell you kid that no matter where you choose to go or what you choose to do I will always be the proudest of you. You will always be the best thing that happened to me. Whenever you feel sad or alone just watch this video and know that I’m with you till the end. I love you baby girl,” with those final words Tony flipped the camera off.

“You alright kiddo?” Rhodey asked, Ava sniffled and nodded, wiping her tears away, unplugging the memory stick and slipping it into her back pocket.

“I’m fine, I just didn’t know he had it in him to be so serious that’s all,” she chuckled, trying to make light of the situation. She looked further through the desk and picked up the newspaper cutting that she’d seen earlier. Ava frowned as she read the title, ‘Tony and Natalie Stark welcome miracle baby, Avaline.’

There they were right on the front page and in her dad’s arms pink and tiny, with jet black hair was her, “why was I a miracle baby Uncle Rhodey?” she asked and Rhodey smiled weakly.

“Your mom was told by the doctors that there was only about a 20% chance that she’d be able to get pregnant. When you were born without a hitch your dad swore that it was a miracle and he rushed to announce it to the world.”

“Oh,” Ava lamely finished, blinking back tears as an awkward silence settled in the lab, “I should um start packing for Greece, I leave on Friday and I haven’t even started yet.”

“Okay,” Rhodey nodded understandingly, “I’ll see you later.”

Ava nodded and smiled, thanking god that Rhodey was so understanding, “bye Uncle Rhodey,” she escaped to her room and sighed, she hadn’t exactly lied to get away from the awkward situation. She really did need to pack for Greece. She was so not organised.

About an hour into packing she huffed, feeling extremely bored and started scrolling through her phone. She noticed that her friend Wanda had put a message on the group chat that they had with their other friend MJ.

“Hey ladies! Are we all ready for Greece?! I’m actually so excited; we all deserve the sun, the sea and some excellent food if you ask me! Just got an email from college administration saying that the dorms are co-ed this year! We could be rooming with some hot guys! Ava, you chose the right time to enroll in NYU darling, I wish it was under better circumstances though! Ciao for now xxx”

Ava giggled as she read the message; Wanda had just split up with her boyfriend so it would be great for her if she got roomed with a cute guy. In fact, it’d probably be great for Ava too. It was in that moment that she was determined to stop moping around and make a fresh new start. It was what her dad would have wanted for her. She placed the newspaper cutting about her birth on her desk so she’d remember to pack it for college; she kissed her fingers before touching her dad’s photograph.

“Miss you dad.”

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

Bucky smirked and laid back on the bed, resting his arms behind his head as Natasha walked out of the bathroom, rubbing a towel against her damp red hair. She was so beautiful; she was everything that Bucky had ever dreamed of. Nat looked at Bucky and saw the look on his face and his lust filled eyes.

She rolled her eyes at him playfully, “what are you smirking at gorgeous?” she asked, a smirk to match Bucky’s spread across her face.

“You,” he said simply, “come here,” he chewed his lip, almost whining and Nat huffed with a grin.

“No,” she giggled, backing away from both him and the bed, “you’re gonna get me all dirty again,” she casually flicked her wet her hair over one shoulder and fluttered her eyelashes, knowing what it did to him.

Bucky pouted like a moody teenager, sticking his plump bottom lip out and giving her his best puppy dog eyes, “but we can get clean together again,”

Nat giggled and relented, getting back into the bed with him again, leaning over him to kiss his lips, “god, you are actually beautiful,” Bucky flushed scarlet at her words and tried his best to play it off like it was nothing and he tried to act like her words had no effect whatsoever on him.

“Bucky Barnes, are you blushing?” she teased, nudging his shoulder, making Bucky flush an even deeper colour.

“No!” he said completely unconvincingly, trying to hide his bright red face in the pillow, “leave me alone,” he grumbled, making Nat laugh.

They both heard the distinct sound of a car door slamming and footsteps walking up the gravel path. It didn’t really bother Bucky that much because Nat had told him in the past that she had a roommate. Nat on the other hand, jumped up instantly and padded over to the bay window, discreetly peering out of it as she checked her watch.

“Fuck, shit! Oh my god! Bucky you need to go, like right now!” she spoke frantically, pushing her hair off of her forehead.

Bucky frowned; he couldn’t see why she was so worried, “why? I really want to meet your roommate.”

“Bucky, jesus! I don’t have a roommate, it’s my boyfriend!” he didn’t have time to be so shocked because Nat was urging him to get out of the bed and get dressed. She had to be joking.

“I can’t believe that you didn’t tell me that you’ve got a boyfriend!” he hissed as he pulled his jeans on, “we’ve been sleeping together for months!”

“Never mind that now! Out the window!” she whispered and Bucky’s eyes almost bugged out of his head.

“Out the window?!” he repeated, making sure that he’d heard her right, he was so pissed off beyond belief.

“Yes!” Nat whisper shouted, obviously getting impatient which Bucky thought was rich, “do you want to get beaten up? If you do then by all means stay!” she hissed, flinging his shirt at him.

“For fucks sake!” Bucky grumbled as he climbed out of the window and almost literally shimmied down the drainpipe, “I’m getting far too old for this.”

Steve and Sam both started over the table at Bucky with identical dumbfounded looks on their faces as Bucky finished his crazy story, “I know right,” he chuckled – he could see the humour in it now – as he took a sip of his beer.

“God, I haven’t climbed out of a window since our own college days,” Sam chuckled, shaking his head at Bucky, “and you’re doing it as an actual adult,” he slapped his knee as he laughed about it, obviously finding it really hilarious. Bucky glared at his friend, his pride was still hurting days after climbing out of that window.

“Where the hell do you go to meet these crazy women?” Steve asked, half in awe and half in astonishment.

“Crazy but hot Stevie, that’s the best thing,” Bucky smirked as Steve rolled his eyes and Sam looked kind of proud, “just in bars and stuff man, the usual places where you’d go to meet women,” Bucky shrugged, draining the last of his beer.

“Yeah, well I don’t think that’s working out great for you is it Buck?” Sam chuckled.

“I agree with Sam Bucky and I seriously think that you need to take a holiday or something,” Steve muttered as he got up and went to get the next round of beers.

Bucky shuddered, he couldn’t think of anything worse, he loved going on holiday – like most people but he was terrified of flying. He was bad enough when he was with other people, never mind flying on his own. He hated that it was one of his biggest fears, he really needed to conquer it but it was easier said than done. Sam watched his friend, knowing that he was worried. When Bucky realised that Sam was looking at him he laughed Steve’s comment off casually.

“Is he crazy? Going on an airplane on my own? No thanks.”

“He’s right man; you seriously need a break before you start your new job. And, it would help you forget about what happened last year.”

Bucky’s blood ran cold at Sam’s words, “mate, please do me a favour and don’t talk to me about last year. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay, okay,” Sam relented, holding his hands up, “but if you figure that you do want to talk about it then I’m here for you.”

“Thanks man,” Bucky grinned, clinking his empty bottle against Sam’s, thanking for his best friends.

Maybe Steve was right, maybe he needed to let himself go a little bit more. He was looking forward to what the future had in store for him.

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

next part >

Taglist (open): @theonelittleone @void-imaginations @allthingswildareshy @mswinterfalcon @mikariell95 @charles11700 @thejemersoninferno @writingkeepsmewhole @panic-naran @lovely-geek @white-wolf-buckaroo @yoinks-i-dont-feel-so-good

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rmg91 · 5 years ago

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Meant To Be (In Any Form)-1

Main Summary: Branch and Poppy are meant to be in any way, from canon to AU. Join them in these stories. Oneshot Collection.

Chapter Summary: Branch has decided it's time to ask Poppy a very special question.

Heya everyone! Here's the fluffy start of a new oneshot collection! Lots of AUs, canon, canon divergence and more is coming your way here! Since I have no real motivation (at this time) to start another full on multi-chapter fic but lots of ideas I'll be focusing on oneshots and usually dumping them here, will be updated when something's done XD I'll usually say something before hand as not all these will be related to one another (But some will!) Anyway...without further ado....

This little oneshot features a headcanon of mine that Trolls sing their proposals with specially chosen songs. If a troll sings said song and the one being sung to sings back, they are considered engaged. Rings aren't necessary but some choose to give their future spouse one sometimes. Also please listen to the Peter and Evynne Hollens cover of the song sung here, it's the whole inspiration behind it!

Next Chapter; AO3/FF.Net

@writerofberk-Thought I’d tag you for this fluffy thing since it involves a song from HTTYD c: Hope you don’t mind c:

~*~*~*~*~*~

The night was dark, calm, stars shining brightly in the sky with all sorts of nighttime critters scurrying around the forest. Most would consider this time for calm reflection, cuddles with loved ones or sleep but not the tiny forest kingdom known as Troll Village. It was alight with flashing colors and pulsing beats, the bass pounding through the ground and into the feet of many dancing trolls. Glow bugs flew through the air, casting multi-colored light everywhere, glitter bombs were shot across the sky to sparkle down and glitter trolls hung from branches letting the flashing lasers catch their sparkling skin, sending rainbow specks of light over the moving mass of bodies. Fireworks were even shot up high into the sky, exploding and letting more glitter rain down on the tribe of Pop trolls. It was all very reminiscent of a party thrown from the, then, princess three years ago.

Queen Poppy danced atop the largest mushroom in the village square, skirts twisting around her legs as she twirled and danced to the music. She was resplendent in her high low gown, the short skirt allowing her free movement and the longer train giving her an air of regalness. Her crown sat inexplicably steady in the center of her head as her bright pink hair waved in the air as she moved. Pink eyes glowed with happiness with a large grin stretched wide against her face as she watched her people dance and sing and enjoy the night. And as she laughed, joy echoing loud and clear, she shined brighter than any star.

Branch sighed as he watched the party, watched Poppy, from where he was hiding behind a large bush, waiting for the right time to give the signal. She was beautiful, as always, so carefree and happy as she danced, her inner light bright enough to warm the darkest of nights. And hearts. She was his Sunshine and he would be forever grateful for all she had done for him and that she loved him back. Watching her now though, surrounded by all the citizens, dancing and singing to their hearts content, a panic shot through his otherwise amorous thoughts and he turned away, intent on running away.

“I can't do this.” He mumbled, trying to rush off to hide in his bunker. As much as he wanted this, wanted her, this plan was stupid. He needed a better one, a more romantic one! No big gesture in front of the entire village. What had he been thinking?!

A kind but strong hand gripped his bicep before he could get too far, “Whoa there, my boy.” Peppy, previous king of the tribe, maneuvered Branch gently backwards until they were facing one another, a soft but amused smile on his face, “It's going to be alright.”

“How do you know that? You can't know for sure! What if I forget the lyrics? What if someone else decides tonight's a good night to do this too? What if we're attacked right as I start?! What if she doesn't want it this way?! What if she doesn't sing back?!” Branch was on the edge of hyperventilating as he thought of all the ways this could go wrong, worrying about all the ways this night could be ruined. One wrong note could through everyone off! Someone could trip or fall and cause an accident before he could even start! Poppy could say 'No.'!!

Peppy firmly placed his hands on Branch's shoulders, holding him steady as he spoke softly, “Deep breaths, Son, deep breaths. There's no reason for Poppy not to sing back, she loves you. It's going to be fine.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, “Breath with me now.” He did it again and again until Branch picked up the rhythm and calmed down, the crazed look in his eyes fading. “There we go. Nothing to fret about.”

Branch sighed, “Right...” He wandered back over to peek out at the party, leaf shaped cape fluttering behind him. He watched the continuously dancing trolls, shoulders dropping as he wished, once again, he could be as carefree as them. Maybe then he wouldn't be so nervous. But twenty years of being gray and self-isolated weren't easily washed away.

Peppy watched the younger troll for a moment, comparing the once scared and angry kid to the brave, caring and willing to try young man in front of him, before smiling fondly. There was no one else he'd rather have ruling aside Poppy. And he knew Alder and Willow, and Rosiepuff, would beyond proud of him. Perhaps hearing that would help calm his nerves a little. “You know, your parents would be so proud of you. Your grandmother too.” And for a moment Peppy wished his old friends were here to see how far Branch had come.

Branch turned, a shocked expression crossing his face, “Really?”

“Oh yes,” Peppy nodded as he approached Branch to look out at the party, “You've become a quite remarkable troll, Branch.”

“But I was...gray for so long...”

“And?” Peppy raised an eyebrow as he turned and placed his hands on Branch shoulders, making eye contact, “You've come such a long way since your 'bunker days', my boy, and you're going to continue to grow and learn. So what if you were gray for a little while, you found your happiness again and that's what counts. And I know your family would be...just as proud of that as I am.” The orange troll chuckled, “Probably more. Cammy too, come to think of it.”

Branch blinked in surprise at the mention of the late queen, “Really? You think so?”

Peppy nodded, smiling as he chuckled some more, “Oh yes. She'd be over the moon this was happening.” He suddenly had a thought, placing his finger on his chin, “You know...she probably would have seen this coming if she were still here. Maybe even would have gotten you and Poppy together long before now.” The old king gave a hearty laugh as he thought about his wife and the match making she'd have gone through for their daughter.

Branch shook his head in disbelief but there was a curious smile tugging at the ends of his mouth, “You can't be serious.”

“Oh, I am! Camellia had the uncanniest ability to know when two trolls liked each other and would do everything in her power to help them realize it. There is no doubt in my mind she'd have done the same for you and Poppy.” Peppy continued to laugh softly as he thought about his wife and her brilliant spark. Oh how he wished she was here.

Branch wasn't really sure how to feel about that, the thought of possibly being with Poppy before now both terrifying him and making him wistful it had happened but he chose not to think about that right now. Instead he focused on Peppy's words of his parents and grandmother being proud of him and how far he'd come since he was gray. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he watched the party, “Thank you.”

“Anytime, my boy.”

“And...It's still alright I use your song?” While he felt just tiniest bit less nervous, or at least less panicky, the teal troll was still a little wary about using the same song that Peppy had sung to Camellia for this same occasion.

Peppy chuckled again and gently slapped Branch in the back, “Of course you can! Cammy would want you to, as well. And...I know how much it'll mean to Poppy.”

“Right.” Branch took another deep breath, trying to center himself before going out there and changing his life in one of the biggest ways yet, “Alright....Let's do this.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

Poppy laughed, her voice getting lost in the loud music, as she bounced to the beat of the song playing. The party was going amazingly well! Everyone was dancing, singing, enjoying themselves to the fullest and she didn't think she could be any happier. Her village was safe, happy and there didn't seem to be anything on the horizon to try and ruin that! The only thing she wished was here, or rather the only one, was Branch. He had come to enjoy parties, at least for a little while before he felt the need to leave, so to not have him here, by her side, was the tiniest little bit disappointing but Poppy didn't let that stop her. She'd party with her people until they grew tired and the party ended then she'd go find her ever sensible other half and tell him all he'd missed. She did wonder briefly where he was but then decided he had probably gotten caught up with a project and lost track of time. Which was fine, she'd just have to pull him away from it later.

Twirling around with another whoop of joy, Poppy was surprised when the next song didn't immediately start playing. In fact the music had stopped and just as she was whipping her head around to look at Suki a whistle started to echo around the square. It was familiar to Poppy, something she could almost place when a voice started to sing and it was a voice she was intimately familiar with. It was the one that brought back her colors after all.

“I'll swim and sail on savage seas with ne'er the fear of drowning...” The surrounding trolls had also begun to hum, adding background music to the angelic voice, “And gladly ride the waves of life...If you will marry me...”

Poppy watched, eyes wide, as they moved, parting and creating a pathway for the now spotlight illuminated troll to walk down. She covered her mouth in happy shock, recognizing the song now, as she watched Branch, dressed in a white suit with a cape fluttering behind him, walk towards her, singing her parents proposal song, “No scorching sun nor freezing cold will stop me on my journey, if you promise me your heart...”

Bouncing on the balls of her feet, she could barely contain herself as she dropped her hands, revealing her smile, and let her own voice sing out and answer Branch's, “And love me for eternity~”

She couldn't stop the tiny giggle as she watched Branch's shoulders drop, the tension he had been holding in escaping. As if she wouldn't sing back, she loved him and wanted him by her side, to sing, to laugh, to have a family, forever. That was when the trolls on either side of the mushroom she was standing on created a staircase for her, and forcing herself not to fly down them and into Branch's arms, Poppy descended, singing sweetly, “My dearest one, my darling ear, Your mighty words astound me~ But I've no need for mighty deeds when I feel your arms around me~”

Confidence settled into Branch as he watched Poppy descend and he strutted forward, letting the song and music guide him, “But I would bring you rings of gold,” He'd a ring for months waiting for this day, “I'd even sing you poetry,” He did that, frequently, “And I would keep you from all harm, if you would stay beside me~” He would do anything to keep the holder of his heart safe and happy, she was his everything.

Poppy couldn't stop grinning as she and Branch got closer, “I have no use for rings of gold, I care not for your poetry!” She playfully tossed her head back, hand on her forehead thinking about how much she actually adored his poetry. She smiled up at him, reaching out, “I only want your hand to hold...”

“I only want you near me~” He sang back, taking her hands and pulling her close, his own matching grin gracing his face before he pulled her into a twirling dance, dancing for all the village to see as they harmonized.

“To love, to kiss, to sweetly hold~ For the dancing and the dreaming~!” They spun around, Branch guiding her and holding her close, “Through all the sorrows and delights, I'll keep your love beside me~!” He gave her a spin, twirling her away before gently pulling her back and touching their foreheads together as the village's voices rose to match them, “I'll swim and sail on savage seas with ne'er a fear of drowning, and gladly ride the waves of life, if you will marry me~!” Their spinning slowed until they were just sway back and forth before Branch pulled away enough to drop to one knee, “If you will marry me~”

“YES!” Poppy cried the moment they stopped, tackling Branch and kissing him soundly as the surrounding trolls cheered. Smidge could be heard over the celebration shouting 'About time!' The couple slowly sat up once Poppy pulled away, happy tears in both their eyes as Branch carefully pulled out and slipped a delicate golden ring with a blue gem in the center on her finger. Poppy laughed joyously and pulled him in for another kiss.

Peppy smiled from where he had watched the procession, chuckling at his daughter's excitement. And as he watched the two of them interact and the village celebrate, he knew things would be in good hands and there would be many years of joy to come.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Yay! Proposal fluff!!! Hope you enjoyed and stay tuned for more! And as I said please listen to the cover of 'For The Dancing and The Dreaming' by Peter and Evynne Hollens~ I love that version. Also Happy Thanksgiving!

#Dreamworks Trolls #Branch #Poppy #Broppy #Fanfiction #Fluff #Proposal #King Peppy #dreamworkstrolls

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