#paperi t

[lintubintu]

@dreams-of-peril mentioned Paperi T and I second that. I instantly fell in love with a quite sad and soft rapsong he did called "muuttolinnut, rantahiekkaa," and have been obsessed with it ever since!

hey peeps, i've got a question for the community: a while ago someone wrote a post about them checking out other finnish rappers. they said that most of them have unappealing lyrics and don't have the skill that kaarija has but they had some recommendations of rappers they liked

i would be really grateful if anyone linked me to the post or at least suggested who might have posted it

[unenomainen]

It's so true that nothing hits quite like song lyrics in your first language like. Listened to a song in finnish and now i need to lie on the floor for approximately 5-7 business days to recover

[on-the-clear-blue]

Dead Man's Diner pt 6

Bruce's eye twitched as he forced the well-worn grin on his face.

It was a subtle thing, one that Tim would have thought he had imagined if he didnt know better, but he did.

Across from the both of them was Vlad Masters, he was a tall man, taller than Tim but still shorter than Bruce, all of him screamed rich villian, that is other than the way the second Bruce made a comment off hand about the Gotham Knights football team.

It was then the cruel looking man melted away, and Vlad Masters devolved into a chattering 40 something that knows far too much about the Green Bay Packers.

"Oh if I could go back in time and see that touch down again I could die a happy man" Vlad said with a wistful looking smile on his face, eyes glazed over in memories before he seemed to snap out of it and shake his head, a light dusting of pink came across his cheeks, lighting up his papery skin.

"Ah...do please forgive me...I seem to have gotten a tad bit carried away..." Tim bit back a scoff as he leaned back into his chair, they had been talking for almost a full hour and nearly all of it was Vlad ranting.

Bruce let out a small chuckle that sounded fake even to Tim, "No worry Mister Masters! Perhaps next time the Knights go against the Packers we can share a box!"

Tim knew this was to help sell the whole 'Brucie' act, but he still couldn't keep the cringe on his face, "B? Um...the Knights are a minor leauge team they...ugh forget it." Rubbing at his eyes, Tim cut off the words that Masters looked ready to say, "What was it again that you asked for a meeting Mister Masters? Something about..."

Looking down to his tablet, Tim sent a check in timer, if Vlad was to strike it would be soon "some sort of collaboration? With your subsidiary Axion Labs?"

Masters seemed a little taken back from Tim's thinly vailed bluntness but pushed onward, "Of course, my dear employees at the labs have been working on an interesting new energy source! You see it's fully green and has a positive net energy production." He paused for a moment and a sneer like condescending grin got plastered on his face, "That is Mister Wayne, meaning it produces more energy then we put in it."

Bruce's eyes crinkled as his cheesy grin could only grew more, "Thank you! I was just about to ask, my dear boy Tim here is far better at understanding all that...wiggley wobbly science things!"

(Liar) Tim thought before sending Masters a bashful smile, "I know enough that what your saying is astounding to hear...why come to Wanye Enterprises with this?"

Masters grin was predatory as he spoke smoothly "Well~ Lex and I have a...bit of a history so I couldn't possibly be able to work this with him, Queen Industries are more biotechincal in nature, while WE is far more wide spread! Not only do you have a tech division, but also medical, defense and mechanical divisions!"

Things were clicking in Tims mind, Masters wanted to use WE to distribute, make them stake their own reputation for what Masters was peddling.

Bruce's persona was slipping slightly, his blue eyes steely as he looked Masters down, "We will need a working concept before we can press onward for anything else."

Masters kept the grin on for a second longer before it slipped, "Of course, I will go above that and even send my two top scientists here to demonstrate-"

He was cut off by a shrill ringing coming from Tim's tablet, making him wince as he rushed to imput the code for the check in timer, sending the man a small smile Tim spoke, "So sorry about that, I thought I put that on silent...but do look at the time Bruce, We have a meeting with Lucius in twenty minutes, did you get those slides done?"

Sending Bruce a sideways glance, Tim watched as the man stiffened but shook his head, "I did not. I am sorry Vladdie, but we will have to cut this short, I am sure you know how many meetings it takes to run a company...but please, do meet with Maddie my receptionist to schedule those scientists of yours to come over yes?"

Tim could have sworn he saw a blood vessel pop as Masters hissed a little before he gave a terse nod, "Of course...Maddie you said? Yes...I do think I will speak to her." The man seemed to calm rapidly at the name, and seemed to almost float out of the meeting room.

---

Bruce let his persona fall the same time his head fell into his hands, the heels of his palms rubbing at his eyes.

There was silence in the meeting room, he could hear Tim's fingers pattering against the tempered glass of his tablet, and the soft chatter of the office from the outside and the ever faint sound of wind whipping around the high rise tower.

Picking his head up, he looked to Tim, doing a few hand motions, "DO. BUG. SWEEP" Getting a nod in response, Bruce went over the meeting.

Something was definitely strange about Masters, he was only 48 and yet fully gray, his skin was waxy and looked translucent, deathly pale, he had a cain but didn't have a limp.

Not to mention a seemingly tense history with Lex Luthor, to the point he would seek out WE instead of Lex for his seemingly miracle energy source and-

"Clear B, not a bug in place. "

"Hn" Bruce grunted in response, trying to get his brain back on track.

The energy source was another thing that was sticking out to Bruce, it sounded far too good to be true, it broke the laws of physics to-

"Bruce? What do you think of him? Suspect or...?" Tim spoke again, and Bruce let out a small sigh, his deductions would have to wait till later.

"I think we will need to monitor him closely, I have Drs Fentons are his lead researchers..."

---

Scrunching up his face, Danny stuffed his face into his elbow before sneezing thrice, groaning for a moment before he straightened up, rubbing at his nose, the Halfa came over to the sink in the kitchen of the Diner.

It was his second day as an over night chef and he was honestly having fun? Like cooking is so much cooler when the food wasn't actively reanimated and trying to kill him.

The diner was at a new place, now it was on the old rail ways that ran through Park Row, or how the people that lived there called it Crime Alley.

He had been nervous at first, because he had felt the familiar shiver of entering another beings haunt, but thankfully the diner was stationed just out of the haunts bounds.

Biting back a little yawn, Danny flipped a page in Lunch Ladys, only to see the recipe shift and change, going from a tuna casserole to one for a classic chili.

Blinking a few times at the book, he sighed, "Well alright then." Taking note of the ingredients, Danny drummed his fingers in the book, it was obviously more than just a simple cook book, with it, you know, actually shifting and changing each page.

Shaking his head, Danny straightened up and stopped leaning over the counter, "So...Spooktastical Chili? No that sounds dumb...Cursed Cauldron Chili? Closer..." thinking out loud, Danny set a massive pot over the stove, flipping the flame on as he work shopped cheesy names for his new dish.

---

Jason had an itch.

The kind that just wouldn't go away no matter how hard you scratched at it.

The problem he couldn't get even a second of relief since the itch was in his chest, right dab in the middle.

Rubbing at it as he groaned, Jason rolled off his bed and stood, it was late, he had finished patrol an hour ago and he just...

Felt the itch to do something, to go see something that was just right out of reach.

Sighing as he stumbled around his room, grabbing discarded jeans and an old hoodie with the arms cut off, slipping them on as he left the small bedroom of the safe house.

Stopping in the tiny kitchen, Jason did his best Bat glare (tm) at the empty refrigerator, letting out a grumble as he slammed the door closed.

"Fuckin...shit." flipping the cabinet doors open he glared at the small tub of mostly empty peanut butter and sleeve of crackers that were clearly ripped into by a rat.

"Fuckity fuck fuck..." sure there were spices, so many spices, but he wanted to eat, not cook, Alfred had spoiled that feeling into him through many years.

Slamming them closed as well, Jason growled as he stomped over to his boots, toeing them on before he stormed out of his safe house, fumbling with his keys to lock it behind him.

And with that he set out on the Alley, letting his feet carry him through the streets, he waved at some of the friendlier working girls and boys, but kept walking.

It took a moment for him to realize where he was going, to that little mom and pop diner that closed years ago, they used to give him left overs when he was still one of the dirty street rats trying to live...

"Since fucking when did the lights in that place turn on?" Stopping outside of what he had thought was a clossed down diner, Jason squinted at the banner stretched above the doorway.

"Big C's diner? No...old guys name was like Tony, so ain't their kids that wanted to take over..."

Before Jason could stop himself, his hand was already around the door handle, and he was pulling it open.

[scealaiscoite]

⋆˚࿔ build-a-fic no. 2 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

➴ chose a scent, an item of clothing and a weather forecast (a number, letter, + creature), and write/request to your heart’s content my dears!

𓂃 ࣪˖ a smell

꒰ 1 ꒱ rich, incensed perfume

꒰ 2 ꒱ burnt coffee

꒰ 3 ꒱ resinous pine needles

꒰ 4 ꒱ steadily-baking bread

꒰ 5 ꒱ inescapably strong disinfectant

꒰ 6 ꒱ expensive, pungent red wine

꒰ 7 ꒱ cheap cologne

꒰ 8 ꒱ salty air rolling off of crashing sea waves

꒰ 9 ꒱ mouth-watering home cooking

꒰ 10 ꒱ a too-strong vanilla candle

꒰ 11 ꒱ fresh-cut, perfectly ripe stone fruits

꒰ 12 ꒱ overpowering tiger balm

꒰ 13 ꒱ smoke unfurling from a wood fire

꒰ 14 ꒱ spiced incense

꒰ 15 ꒱ all-too familiar coconut shampoo

꒰ 16 ꒱ strong herbal lavender

꒰ 17 ꒱ newly turned earth

꒰ 18 ꒱ motor oil

꒰ 19 ꒱ just-washed bedsheets

꒰ 20 ꒱ petrichor after a rainshower

𓂃 ࣪˖ a piece of clothing

꒰ A ꒱ a wrinkled black tie

꒰ B ꒱ mismatched socks

꒰ C ꒱ faded blue jeans

꒰ D ꒱ a hotel bathroom

꒰ E ꒱ a stolen hoodie

꒰ F ꒱ a crisp white button-down

꒰ G ꒱ an expensive, lush fur coat

꒰ H ꒱ a pair of beaten-up combat boots

꒰ I ꒱ plaid pajama pants

꒰ J ꒱ loose-fitting boxer shorts

꒰ K ꒱ a yellow football jersey

꒰ L ꒱ a papery hospital gown

꒰ M ꒱ a blue, lacy thong

꒰ N ꒱ a brown belt with a gold buckle

꒰ O ꒱ cheap swimming garb

꒰ P ꒱ six-inch high heels

꒰ Q ꒱ a dark-red evening gown

꒰ R ꒱ a thick knitted sweater

꒰ S ꒱ a chef’s white coat

꒰ T ꒱ a flimsily-made tourist t-shirt

𓂃 ࣪˖ a weather advisory

꒰ 𓆉 ꒱ hammering, unrelenting rain

꒰ 𓅨 ꒱ warm, golden sunshine

꒰ 𓆣 ꒱ hair-raising rolls of thunder

꒰ 𓃰 ꒱ thick, looming fog

꒰ 𓃗 ꒱ a clear, chilly evening

꒰ 𓃱 ꒱ blazing heat

꒰ 𓃟 ꒱ a nighttime lightning storm

꒰ 𓆟 ꒱ a grey sky laden with rainclouds

꒰ 𓆈 ꒱ cold, drizzly mist

꒰ 𓅫 ꒱ an unexpected snowstorm

꒰ 𓅟 ꒱ bone-chilling sleet

꒰ 𓃵 ꒱ breathless humidity

꒰ 𓃓 ꒱ blustery winds

꒰ 𓆌 ꒱ rain-induced floods

꒰ 𓆏 ꒱ spitting showers of hailstones

꒰ 𓅭 ꒱ a freezing, sudden drop in temperatures

꒰ 𓆗 ꒱ a hurricane warning

꒰ 𓃢 ꒱ a tropical storm

꒰ 𓆧 ꒱ a warm, temperate breeze

꒰ 𓃔 ꒱ road-closing landslides

[dianneking]

The Bet - Brienne/Reader bookshop AU

Hi dears, in case you wanted some trashy, slightly angsty romance bookshop AU starring none other than the majestic Brienne of Tarth as well as yourself...well, look no further cause you're in the right place! It is with great pleasure that I present you

The Bet

Tags: Alternate Universe - Bookshop, Out of character, Angst with a happy ending, POV second person, Idiots in love, Mutual Pining, Misunderstanding, Panic Attacks, Hints of past violence, Swearing. Word count: 5423.

AO3 link in the title above.

"Hello?" 

You did a double take when you lifted your eyes from the monitor. You didn't mean to, but the woman in front of you was not the kind of person that usually found her way to your tiny bookshop. 

She was...well, she was imposing , to begin with: taller than you'd ever seen a woman be, with broad shoulders that the t-shirt she was wearing did nothing to hide...and she looked clearly out of her environment among the shelves, standing with her back ramrod straight and her hands clasped in front of her, shifting from foot to foot, a frown taking over her face the more and more you looked at her without saying anything. As if she was waiting for your reply...

Oh!

Right.

"Oh uhm sorry, yes? Uh hi, welcome! What brings you to our bookshop today?" You cringed at your own awkwardness, but her expression didn't change too much from her frown.

"I lost a bet."

"A...bet?" Well this was unexpected. Surely your little shop was not so scary that getting into it was a dare? And this woman in front of you looked as if she'd be afraid of very little. She looked more disgruntled than scared anyways, light eyebrows corrugating over those piercing, beautiful blue eyes, lips pressing together as her nostrils flared out. She looked like the type of woman who spends more time in a gym than in a bookshop but apart from that, you had no idea what kind of bet would bring her here. Not that you were complaining. 

"Yes. I lost a bet and now I have to buy a book here. Surely you can provide me with one." She enunciated, as if she was talking to the dumbest person alive. You didn't care. Her accent was melting your insides into a pile of goo. 

I'd like to provide you with my number , your mind dreamily suggested as a reply, but you squashed it ruthlessly down. Not every woman with muscles is interested in other women, you reminded yourself. And even if she were, it didn't follow that she would be interested in you , anyway - the woman was the definition of Out Of Your League, with her short blonde hair, her chiseled jaw, her strong arms crossed on her chest…and you had lost your train of thought once again. 

"Hmmmm yes sure. Uhm not a fan of reading?" She bristled as if you had insulted her.

"Of course I read .” She scoffed “I make time to read daily. I simply don't waste my time with all of this..." she gestured around her, vaguely including the manga section and the horror shelves in her speech "...this fiction ." She spat the word as if it had offended her by its own existence.

Right.

If you had to be completely honest, if it had been anyone else insulting your beloved books, you'd have been all up in their faces. These weren't just books, they were your babies, your companions during the long days at work and your even longer sleepless nights, they were your best friends in a way no human ever could aspire to be. From the moment you had understood that in those pages lied countless stories, adventures you could partake in, emotions you had never felt, you were in love with reading already.

That's why you were working here, day after day, smiling up at the shelves filled to the brim, cursing the paperwork and cleaning and everything that kept you away from cracking open the newest release and losing yourself in its pages.

You loved your job because you loved books.

So anyone insulting your papery companions would be treated to your Cold Stare™ and Dismissive Attitude™.

And yet...you guessed this woman was clearly misguided in her dismissing all fiction with such a sneer. The fact that her sneer was so damn attractive didn't absolutely play any role in your sudden conciliatory attitude. Absolutely not. Nuh-huh. Not at all.

"Hello? Are you still there?" 

Well, fuck. Daydreaming of a client when they are in front of you. Great way to appear professional, and to make a good first impression on a gorgeous first-time client.

"Huh. Yeah, uhm sorry, I was thinking of possible recommendations that would suit your needs. What are your general interests?" You tried to patch things up only to be once again met with her frown.

"That is a useless endeavor. I will not enjoy wasting my time reading it anyways. Just give me one." 

"But you will read it?" 

"Of course! I did give my word."

Her word . Who said that nowadays? Giving your word? That was the stuff of old, of knights, of epic tales of heroism, of... fiction .

Oh.

You might have the right book for this hard, formal, stunning woman.

You stood up, surprising her with your sudden movement, but you didn't notice the way her eyebrows shot up, nor the way her eyes followed you as you made your way to the book, rising to your tiptoes to reach it.

You presented it to her like a hunter presents their caught prey.

"This." 

She gingerly caught it between her fingers, as if it could bite her, or worse, contaminate her with the debauchery of reading for pleasure.

"This?" 

"You'll like it." 

"Haven't you listened? I said I don't like fiction."

"I heard you. You didn't say you don't like it. You said you don't read it." You didn't even know where the confidence came from, but you were sure. This was the right book for her.

She seemed to be surprised by it. Surprised enough to give up her fight with a huff. 

"I guess I might as well get this since you're so sure about it." 

She started skimming the first pages as you rang it up for her, and you could see her frown slightly easing up.

You hid your smile, feeling it pulling at the corners of your mind as she absent-mindedly handed you her card, paid and wandered out the shop, her nose still in the book.

____

"So about that little bet we had, did you get the book?" 

Brienne didn't like admitting she was wrong. She sure as shit wouldn't admit that to Jaime of all people. She wouldn't hear the end of it.

But no matter all of her misgivings, she was enjoying that book. The plot had captivated her against her will, and more than one time she had found herself up until the early morning hours glued to the pages, lost in the description of adventures that had never happened if not in the fantasy of the author.

Such a far cry from her usual dry, factual fare of nonfiction books. Boring , some would call them, practical , she’d counter. You see, Brienne was a practical woman and she happened to like that about herself. And if people found her boring, it was their fault, not her own.

"Yes, I did get that" she replied in a bored tone, hiding her excitement below her well-polished mask.

She thought of the excitement on your face as you got the idea of suggesting this book to her. Of how smug you had looked when handing her the volume.

So sure she'd like it. And the most shocking aspect of it all was the fact that she did. 

And maybe, maybe in the privacy of her own mind she could admit to herself that she also thought of the way your shirt had risen as you reached for the book, exposing a sliver of your midriff as it did so. And the way your eyes had sparkled when you had handed her the novel, challenge and amusement and confidence mixing in your gaze. 

She had liked that too, just like the book, and just like the book she had liked it almost against her better judgment.

________

"How did you do it?"

Your heart skipped a beat as she charged into the shop, the bell ringing behind her long after she had entered, a thunderous frown on her face, the copy of the book she had purchased from you tightly held in her slender yet strong fingers.

She had gorgeous hands too…some people were just blessed with beauty, you thought. And you were blessed with being able to see and talk to such beauty.

The smile that climbed to your face was not your usual customer service one, but a warmer one, a special one just for her.

"So, did you like it?" 

She looked taken aback at your warmth, and you could see the faint beginning of a blush on her cheeks.

"I did, if you must know it!" She looked offended at the very thought. It was adorable.

"Oh I am so glad to hear that! The author is an emerging one, only has another one published, if you liked their style you might enjoy this too!"

"What for?"

"Why, as your next fiction book, of course. Isn't that why you came back?"

"I…maybe."

This time your smile got a definite hint of smugness in it.

"Are you going to fight me over this one too? Should I dare you to read this as well?"

"Listen here, don't get cocky. You just got lucky there. It won't happen again."

It did.

As a matter of fact it kept happening, and you fell into a sort of beautiful bookish routine. Depending on how long the book was and how busy she was, your favorite client would grace your shop with her presence once every couple of weeks or more, always putting up an offended front at having liked the fiction book you had suggested and yet always asking for another one.

Slowly but steadily she would start opening up about what she liked in them, allowing you to start collecting tidbits of information about her as well - she loved historical fiction, and fantasy too. She wasn't so keen on sci-fi and urban fantasy unless the plot was somehow worth it. She loved strong female main characters and complex character arcs. 

During the day she was kept busy from her work (law enforcement, she told you on one occasion, and didn’t go in more detail, you wondered if she was just a regular cop or maybe something cooler), but she found time to read in the evenings ("Mornings are absolutely for working out, no way I am skipping that for a book. Even if it is a good one.” she had stated, as if it was the law, and you had nodded dumbly, once again mesmerized by the intensity of her gaze, even if you woke up with a book and read it during breakfast and on the commute to the shop and couldn’t think of a better way to start the day). 

_______

“And I loved the world building in this one, the interaction between the characters, and I can't wait to read the second part and understand where these mechanical enemies are originating from!” 

You looked up at her as she agitatedly waved her copy of Clockwork Boys in the air, trying to express how much she had enjoyed it. You found it hard to believe how different she was from the hard, reluctant person that had first set foot in your shop. Mesmerizing. Just as she was. 

Suddenly you felt brave, braver than you'd ever thought you could be.

“In two weeks the author is going to be at our local book fair, if you'd like…maybe we could…go together?” you stumbled on your words a little and you could feel your cheeks getting hotter but that didn't change the fact that you had managed to ask your crush out!! 

And she didn't say no! She looked a bit stunned for a second but then she ran her free hand through her hair (oh it looked so soft and silky, you wanted to bury your hands in it too).

“Sure! Is it going to be Tuesday in two weeks, right?”

“Y-yeah.” Had she just…?

“Cool, I have the day off anyways, so it works like a charm.” She… She…

While your brain was still reeling, unable to process the fact that she had said yes , she grabbed the stack of post-its and pen and started jotting down something.

You blinked at her, unsure of what to make of the string of numbers you were seeing until she straightened up and handed you the sticky note with a…was it a shy smile pulling her lips up? Her eyes had never looked so big before, of that you were sure.

You looked at the sticky note. It was a pink one, and you had to resist the childish urge to draw hearts all around the numbers. You just were so happy! You thought as you went to save it into your phone, only belatedly noticing a glaring tactical error on your side. 

You still didn't know her name!

You felt like hitting your forehead on the desk. How was this even a thing? Who doesn't know their crush’s name? You, that's who. Too busy ogling her and inviting her to book fairs to remember to ask her her frickin name! 

Hehe. But you did ask her out and she did say yes. That had to count for something, right?

You looked down at your phone and then typed up “ My Knight 🩷 ” in the name field, struggling to contain the giggle that threatened to escape your lips. In another world she would have totally been a proud knight, protecting the defenseless and fighting for justice, you were sure of it. And she would have looked gorgeous in armor. 

Tomorrow, you told yourself. You'd text her to work things out tomorrow. Surely you could resist that long. The fair was ages away anyway. You could resist a handful of hours to avoid seeming desperate, surely you could.

You texted her that same night, of course. 

But she did reply almost instantly, and you managed to start a conversation beyond the bare minimum details of your…was it a date? It had to be a date, right?

She told you about her dinner, and how she had already started on the sequel of the book she had just finished. You could almost feel her excitement through the message.

You fell asleep with your phone beside you on the pillow, dreaming of soft blonde hair and armor  and book fair dates. 

____________

"Are you the one who's been selling Brienne fiction?" 

You were pretty sure you had never seen the man who had just entered your shop as if he owned it. 

"I'm sorry?" 

"You know, Brienne? Tall, blonde? Hates all fiction books except the ones you've been selling her?" 

So that was your knight's name! And what a roundabout way to learn it! Just like in the best novels, it seemed that you had been spared the humiliation of asking her for her name after you’d known each other for months. 

Brienne.

You liked the way it sounded. 

Brienne.

It sounded like the name of a warrior, a strong, hard-headed and hard-working woman who'd stop at nothing to achieve her dreams. A knight. 

“I am Jaime by the way, nice to meet you. So are you the one?" He offered you his hand, you took it mechanically, trying to answer his question without giving too much away. Your knight’s reading habits were none of this dude’s business,that’s for sure.

"I don't know if I am the only one. Maybe she just doesn't tell you about all the fiction she enjoys."

"Nice try to defend her honor. I see why she likes you."

She liked you?

Butterflies erupted in your stomach and it took all of your self-control to avoid bursting into a happy dance.

She liked you!! Shelikedyoushelikedyou.

She liked you. 

She liked you.

She liked you !

The man in front of you kept talking, oblivious to the cheering going on within your brain.

"Listen, I know Brienne, okay? She's a lovely girl but I had to bet with her to make her unwind enough to consider reading something for pleasure."

“Well she probably didn't find the right book until now.”

“Or the right book dealer… so are you hers or not?” 

"Maybe I am…But why do you want to know that?"

“Well if you were , I'd owe you a huge thanks and possibly a round of drinks, cause she's been in a downright good mood for the past months, and especially in the past week or so. As her partner, I spend most of the day with her, and believe me, I am beyond grateful for the change.”

Oh.

Her…

Oh.

Of course.

Of course she had a boyfriend. No, a partner. That's even more committed, right?You had been so stupid. Stupid and stupidly hopeful. So hopeful and you'd once again mistaken friendship for something else, just like you did so many times in the past. 

You tried to swallow around that piece of news, you kept on a brave face while he still waffled about something or something else, but you had no idea what he was talking about.Nor did you care, all the joy that had taken over you had just as quickly dissolved, leaving a bitter aftertaste in your mouth.

You didn't remember him leaving, but you knew that you were quick to lock the door after him and close up shop.Only then, surrounded by your beloved books, you allowed yourself to break down and cry all of your tears.

____________

You didn't cancel on Brienne, even if a part of you wanted to do nothing but stay home and mope. Yet you were sure you'd regret it for the rest of your life if you didn't go. 

And she had looked so happy when you had invited her. She probably didn't have a lot of female friends, you thought. When she talked of her hobbies, it had always been things that she did on her own. Working out, reading, jogging. 

She was probably glad to have some company. Someone to talk to that she vibed with. That was that. It had always been that, and you reading more into it didn't change the harsh truth.

Your heart was beating faster when you pulled up to the parking lot of the venue, but it was more due to trepidation than happiness. You had been preparing yourself mentally for a bookish date with your crush, not for…an outing with a friend. You weren't sure how to behave now, your mind too busy going through every single interaction the two of you had had, dissecting each word, each smile, each playful joke at each other's expense. When did you start thinking you could have a chance? At what point had your hopes become delusions?

Your phone started buzzing as you got out of the car. “My Knight 🩷” appeared on the screen, and you had to swallow against a hard knot. 

You know you should have changed the name. You knew her name now, and she most definitely wasn't your knight. And yet…you still hadn't.

With a sigh, you picked up, trying to be optimistic despite the dread pooling in your stomach. You could do this. Friends. You could hang out with your friend that just happened to be the hottest woman you'd ever seen. It was going to be okay. 

_____

It was not okay. 

It was anything but okay. 

Who thought that Brienne was going to be the kind of straight girl that gets all touchy-feely with her female friends? She had hugged you when you two met up and you thought you would die on the spot, surrounded by her arms and her perfume and the happiness of her voice.

And then as you walked through the venue, weaving through the stands, checking out books (you couldn't remember a single one you'd seen, preoccupied as you were with your companion) her hand kept finding excuses to touch you, once on the shoulder to get your attention, once wrapping around your elbow to direct you to a certain stand, once simply splayed on your back as you discussed cover designs.

It was torture. Every time her warm hands touched you, your heart would start racing, still stubborn in its hopefulness. But then you’d remember that it was all in your head and your heart would painfully constrict because oh it would have been so nice if it had just been true.

By the time you sat down in the auditorium where the author panel was about to start, you were a jittering mess. 

You kept replaying each interaction you had with Brienne, trying to rationally explain to your heart why, even if it might seem like she was coming onto you, she had a boyfriend and therefore it had to be her way of being friendly. 

Yes, even when she placed her hand squarely on your knee as the authors started their introductions.

To be honest you weren't sure what had been said at the panel. You mechanically laughed when you felt others do the same, and studied Brienne’s profile out of the corner of your eye. She had a soft smile on her face. As if she was enjoying herself. As if there was nothing wrong with the way her hand was resting on your leg, absentmindedly stroking lazy patterns with her thumb. Driving you mad. 

You were so engrossed in your thoughts and in her touch that you hadn't even noticed that the panel had ended, and most of the spectators had filed away, leaving the two of you alone in the auditorium.

You did notice Brienne shifting in her seat to turn towards you. Mainly because that caused her hand to climb slightly up your leg, putting it decidedly in the thigh area. Clearly an oversight on her part, but you could feel your breathing getting slightly quicker, and looking up to see her stunning eyes trained on you with laser-sharp focus didn't help you with that.

How unfair.

How terribly unfair for her to be so close, and yet unreachable.

How crushing that her hand, searing hot on your thigh, was not a promise of something more.

How sad that you'd never get to kiss those lips even if they were getting closer as Brienne leaned towards you…you could see her blonde lashes fluttering slightly, the small scar on her upper lip, her breath light on your face…

Suddenly she was too close.

Your heart jumped in your throat, and it felt like it had cut off all of your air supply. 

There was a ringing in your ears, and your skin was crawling hot and cold at the same time. 

You could see the little scar on her lip almost flickering, as your vision swam with black, and you knew without any doubt that you had to 

GET OUT OF HERE!! 

______

"So this is where you've been hiding." Brienne's voice was not warm anymore. You guiltily looked up at her from your spot on the bench. She wasn't smiling at you anymore and you wanted to hit yourself for that. It wasn't her fault that you had misunderstood all of her cues and kept seeing what your wishful thinking desired, and yet she had been the one to go through the pains of searching for you while you hid away to work your way down your panic attack.

She sat down beside you, a heavy sigh on her lips.

"I need to ask you something."

Oh. There it comes, you thought. The direct questioning that preceded the gentle let down. The 'I'm flattered but I don't feel the same' speech. As if you had never heard it before. Your heart remembered the pain as if it had been yesterday, and valiantly tried to brace itself for the inevitable rejection.

"Why?"

Huh? That…that was not what you expected her to start with, but she kept talking, and you had no choice but listen. "Why ask me out if you're so clearly uncomfortable with me? Is this some sick joke? It wasn't enough to prove me wrong over and over again? You wanted to humiliate me, too?" 

You could only stare open-mouthed at Brienne as she rained down harsh words on you, anger and pain mixing on her face. She was so beautiful. Even when angry. She looked like a vengeful angel, the righteous hand of God, coming to punish you for daring to hope too much .

"I-I'm sorry." You tried to explain yourself, but she didn't let you, her voice hard and cutting and relentless.

" You are sorry ? Is that all you can say? That's not enough for me. Especially when it's clearly bullshit. Do you think that's the first time people make fun of me? That someone thinks that going out with Brienne The Beauty is the funniest prank on Earth? Did you do it for a laugh, hm? Didn't expect me to say yes when you asked?" 

"No, actually I did not."

"You! The fucking nerv-"

"I didn't dare to hope you'd say yes because you're out of my league!" 

A stunned silence met your words. You didn't know where the strength to interrupt her came from but you had to. You couldn't let her go on thinking you had asked her out to make fun of her or something. And once you started talking, you couldn't help yourself. The truth had to come out, so you pushed on: "Which clearly you are. But you said yes and I…Brienne, I am so sorry. I tend to live in my head and you were so nice to me and I thought…but clearly I shouldn't have. Thank goodness Jaime told me before I made a fool of myself. Which apparently I still did. Fuck. I am sorry for that, I promise you I am enjoying myself today and I am sorry I am awkward and I understand if you don't want to see me anymore after this." 

"Jaime? What does he have to do with all of this? Did…did he set you up to do this?" You could hear the betrayal seeping in her voice and you couldn't bear it. If you couldn't have her, at least you could do your best not to have her break up with her boyfriend over a huge mess of a misunderstanding that you did all by yourself. By thinking you had a chance with this goddess.

Better if she hated you instead. Which she would do anyways. If she didn't already.

"No. Nono he's been nothing but friendly. He just dropped by the shop because he was curious about the books you've been reading." 

"Then why did you bring him up?"

"I didn't know, okay? When I asked you to come here, I didn't know."

"What didn't you know?" Oh she wasn't making it easy on you, was she? 

"I thought…I thought you might be interested in me - which I now realize is ridiculous. That's why I asked you out. I asked you and you said yes and you gave me your number and I thought it meant…I swear I didn't know! But then he told me and now I can't help but be awkward because I had thought this was a date and now it's not and I didn't want to ruin it for you which I guess I did anyways. I swear I didn't know when I asked you."

" Know what ? What did Jaime tell you?"

"That he's your…That you're his…That you two are together. Which makes sense, because you are so well assorted and you look perfect for each other and I am sure he can make you happy in ways that–" 

"WHAT?" The roar that came out of Brienne's mouth was almost feral.

"What 'what'?" You babbled back. You looked worriedly at her shaking hands. You knew she was going to be angry at you once she found out about your silly crush. But you still hoped she wouldn't hit you or something. She didn't seem like she'd be the type to take out her anger on you but…but those hands looked like weapons, clenched as they were into tight fists. 

"WHAT DID HE TELL YOU?"

You flinched away. You couldn't help it. The loud angry voice booming next to you, the hand shooting out towards your shoulder…you flinched away, your hands instinctively coming up to shield your face. Trying to make yourself as small as possible. Just as instinctively, apologies started dropping out of your mouth.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to!" 

Silence.

Well, not really silence but the soothing pitter-patter of rain on the tin roof above you. 

But no words.

No more loud anger.

And no new pain blooming on your body.

You dared to open your eyes and peer beyond your hands. 

Brienne…well, she was beautiful, as always. But she was also white as a sheet, her deep, blue, stunning eyes wide open and bright with unshed tears. Her whole face a mask of hurt as her gaze took in your shape, as far away from her as the small bench allowed you. Her hand was still in the air, but it had lost all the strength, it was just hanging, palm half-opened towards you as if to show you it was harmless. When she spoke, her voice was little more than a broken whisper.

"I…I wasn't going to hit you."

"I…huh…I'm sorry."

She sighed and straightened in her seat, tearing her eyes away from you to settle them on her hands, now clenched in her lap. Her back was once again ramrod straight. Just as she probably was , your mind cruelly reminded you.

"No. You have nothing to apologize for. I’m the one who’s sorry. I didn't mean to scare you, to make you think that I was…unsafe. I guess that with how I look, it's an easy assumption to make."

"Beautiful."

"I'm sorry?" 

"You said 'with how I look' and that's beautiful. You're beautiful, Brienne. He's a really lucky man."

It wasn't her fault and you knew it. You couldn't blame her for this huge misunderstanding, you couldn't let her think that she or her appearance was to blame for your reactions.

You put your hand on top of hers, trying to get her eyes back on you, to show her how truthful you were. Her hands were so cold. She still didn't look at you.

"He…We huh we're not together together." Her whisper was so soft that you thought you had misheard.

You had to. 

"I'm sorry?"

"Jaime and I are not together." 

"You two…are not?"

"No! I don't know why he would…wait. What did he say? What were his words?"

"Huhhh I don't remember exactly. He said something about you being his partner." You tried to keep the accusation out of your voice. She didn't seem like the type to try to cheat on her partner, denying she was in a relationship at all. Gaslighting you for her own ends. And yet, you didn't dare to hope that…

"Oh for fuck's sake! Is this where all of this came from? He's my work partner . Not my romantic partner!"

"Your… oh . Fuck."

"Yes, fuck. And since we're on the subject, when you asked me, I thought it was going to be a date as well, that's why I gave you my number!! But then we were here and you kept avoiding me and you tensed up every time I touched you and when I tried to kiss you you just ran away and I thought…I don't know what I thought."

"Could you maybe…try that again?"

"Try what?"

"To kiss me. I promise I won't run away this time. Or have a panic attack."

"Just like that? That's not how it's done! The moment must be right and mmmmph–"

You didn't let her finish her sentence. You threw yourself at her, lips on lips, slightly smashing your noses together in your haste. 

But neither of you cared, lips moving against each other, her hand tangling in the hair at the base of your neck, and both of yours coming up to cradle her face. You didn’t care, because unbeknownst to the other, each one of you had dreamed of this moment so many times, and yet now that it was happening it was better than any fantasy. 

Comments are always welcome. If you want to read more of my fanfictions, here's my masterlist.

[herpsandbirds]

metricus paper wasp

Well, as a matter of fact, I have a couple of photos of Metric Paper Wasps in my garden...

Metric Paper Wasps (Polistes metricus), family Vespidae, Houston, TX, USA

T - EAT A TASTY SPIDER!!!

B - She was chewing up this rope, presumably to use for making her papery nest.

photographs by Paxon Kale CC

[lumosinlove]

@oknutzy-week-2024 day four!!!

Write Me In

Part Two

Leo tried very hard not to be early. He really did. Then he ended up walking around Finn and Logan’s block about six times and sweating in the heat. He was stupid. He should have just worn a t-shirt. From what it sounded like, they were only just waking up. He didn’t need to be in this dark blue button down.

When it finally hit two o’clock, Leo let himself walk into the lobby. The doorman looked up and called him by his name, taking Leo by such surprise that he had to stutter through a yes, sir as if he was back home in New Orleans.

“Mr. O’Hara’s expecting you,” the man said. “You can go right up.”

The elevator was all mirrors and gold and Leo tried to make himself look slightly less sweaty and nervous than he felt as it rose—and rose. Penthouse. He should have known. He swept his blond hair back. At least in the AC he felt cooler—if not a little flushed looking. His shirt hid any sweat and he had his laptop and recorder this time. This would be a proper interview. He’d make sure of it. After all, this was his dream.

The doors dinged open. Leo had thought he’d have a few more moments. He’d get to walk down a hallway, knock on the door.

But no. One moment he was in the small elevator, and the next he was stepping directly into a massive, open living room. It was beautiful, too. The couch was a huge low-backed leather U. A coffee table that looked like it had once been a cross section of a massive tree was covered in notebooks and a laptop. A dining room table that could hold ten rested just on the other side of the room beneath a papery light that looked more like a sculpture. To its left sat an actual bar, complete with six stools, shelves of backlit bottles, and beer taps. The wall beyond was pure window and the afternoon light slanted in. Leo didn’t see a TV, but apartments like these usually had them concealed somehow. Maybe a projector screen waiting to drop down. Maybe there was a theater room. He knew a lot of artists had recording studios right at home. Who knew how big this place was.

It was also perfectly quiet. Leo didn’t hear a sound. He felt like he was an intruder as he hesitantly stepped out of the elevator and listened to it slide shut behind him. Maybe he should’ve taken his shoes off? The rug beneath the couch was pure white and plush, and the hardwood floors beyond that were honey-colored and gleaming. Four guitars sat along one wall. Beyond the huge dining table, there was a grand piano.

How many of Leo’s favorite songs had been written in this room?

“Kind of freaks me out sometimes.”

Leo jumped and turned at the voice, only to find Finn standing there in running shorts and a t-shirt that said The Strand Bookstore. He held a sleek gray ceramic mug.

“The windows, I mean,” Finn said with a smile. “I always worry about them cracking. Sometimes they rattle during storms.”

“That’s…unsettling,” Leo said.

“Yeah, Lo hates it.”

Finn looked, yes, a little sleep-rumpled. His red hair looked like it had been styled for a photoshoot to be messy though, not like it was actually slept on. Unfair, Leo thought. His hair was a wreck in the morning. He’d been right about not needing his button-down, though. He badly wished he was in a t-shirt and that he’d worn sneakers instead of these pinching dress shoes.

“What a beautiful place, though,” Leo said. “That’s quite a view.”

Finn’s eyes wandered behind him out the window. “Yeah, I like to see the city.” He held up his mug. “Well, Lo’s fucking grumpy when he wakes up, but coffee helps. Can I get you some? I was going to order some breakfast, too.”

“Oh. Sure.”

Finn smiled and jerked his head in a way that Leo guessed meant follow me.

The kitchen was no less impressive. There were huge marble counters, slightly iridescent. A complicated looking espresso machine. Massive silver appliances—fridge, wine fridge, dishwasher, three ovens. God, what Leo could do in this kitchen.

“Wow.” Leo turned in a slow circle. “Do you like to cook?”

Finn laughed. He’d gone over to the coffee pot—probably the simplest thing in here. “If I was ever home long enough to try, I might.”

All this, and no one was even home to use it.

“And Logan’s hopeless,” Finn said. “He can make tea.”

Leo laughed. “Right.”

“Do you take milk or sugar?”

“A little milk,” Leo said, and accepted the mug. “Thank you.”

Leo sipped the coffee. It was good. Strong and nutty. It calmed him a little to hold something warm. Finn had poured the perfect amount of milk in.

“He’ll be up in a second. Or I’ll go get him.” Finn looked a little bashful. “It takes us a while to—wind down after a show, we usually don’t get to sleep until around three or four.”

After a show. Leo could see them still, pressed up against the wall in Finn’s dressing room. What the hell did wind down mean in this sentence?

“No worries,” Leo said. “Where um. Where do you guys go next?”

Are you dating your drummer? Is your drummer dating you? Do you think of him as your drummer? Or Lo? Are you best friends like you make the world believe? Are you just fucking? Are you in love?

He took a sip of coffee.

“Boston,” Finn said. “We just came back from the West Coast. Then we have about a month off before we go to Paris. Then London, then Ireland—you get the idea.”

“It must be fantastic to see all those places.”

I had your poster on my wall. You got me through some of my toughest times in high school. I can’t believe I’m seeing your smile this close up.

“It is when we have days off,” Finn said. “But mostly it’s just a grind.”

“But if you had to choose a favorite city?”

“Rome,” Finn said instantly.

“You wrote your most recent album there,” Leo said.

“Yeah.” Finn smiled down at his mug. “Yeah.”

“Leo,” Finn he said suddenly before Leo could ask another question.

Leo straightened up. Finn O’Hara just said his name. “Yeah?”

“I know…” Finn smiled a little. “We both know what you saw in my dressing room last night.”

Leo had been wondering if this would come up. Or, how, really. Finn pushed his hair back and Leo watched the strands feather forward again. He had a flush to his cheeks.

“We do,” Leo said softly. “I’m so sorry about that. Your team—one second I was following someone and the next I was at your door—”

Finn nodded sharply and Leo stopped talking. He messed with his hair again. “It’s not your fault. I’m just—what I’m trying to ask—” Finn’s eyes went somewhere behind Leo and he smiled. “Finally. He lives.”

Leo turned towards a doorway he hadn’t noticed before—it must lead to the bedrooms—to find Logan shuffling into the room wearing nothing but a pair of white socks and tight, grey boxer shorts.

Leo choked on his next sip and hurried to put the mug down. God, how could Finn not be dating that? There on Logan’s hip was that tattoo. The fleur-de-lis. Right there, real, not a photograph. It was slightly lower than Leo had thought.

“Salut,” Logan said. His voice was hoarse. “Sorry. I’m not…” he looked at Finn and put on what Leo guessed was a try at Finn’s American accent. “a morning person.”

“That you aren’t,” Finn agreed. “Even if it’s nearly three in the afternoon.”

“Hi,” Leo cleared his throat. “I mean, good morning.” He looked at Finn and pointed to his mug. “Do I need a coaster?”

Finn looked back at him quietly for a moment. He had a tilt to his head and a slight smile on his face. “No.”

“Okay. It’s just that sometimes marble stains so I wanted to check. I read this article about different ways of protecting—I mean, not that I have marble counters. But I definitely would like some. They’re beautiful. This is a beautiful kitchen.”

What the hell was he talking about?

“I’m glad someone appreciates it. We certainly don’t,” Finn said. He took down another mug from a cupboard and Leo watched as he poured the coffee, lots of milk, and even more sugar into a mug before passing it to Logan, whose fingers had been drumming idly on the counter while he waited.

The lyrics to Lucky Me popped into Leo’s head.

Let me fill you up with sugar, let me drown in sweet and sweat.

He looked at Logan and found him already watching Leo over the rim of his cup.

“Well, I don’t want to take up too much of your time. So, maybe, um. Maybe once you’re ready we can—”

Logan cut him off. “Aren’t you supposed to follow us around twenty-four-seven for a week?”

Leo swallowed. Oh. “Oh. Yes. Yeah, no, I am. I just…I want this to be as comfortable for you as possible. I don’t want to feel like an intrusion. I’m here for whatever your normal life entails.”

“Right now…” Finn was scrolling on his phone. “That’s breakfast burritos.”

Leo quickly figured out that Logan made him nervous—more than Finn. His green eyes were intense, to say the least, where Finn’s were almost unbearably gentle. Leo had thought that was all for the cameras, a look designed to be photographed. But Finn seemed to look at everyone like that. Logan, definitely. The doorman who brought up their breakfast when it arrived. Even Leo.

Finn also responded to Logan’s movements like he was just an extension of his own body. It would be impressive if Leo didn’t think it was so sweet. He arranged the sauces Logan liked in front of him, took out the bacon from his burrito and put it on his own plate, all before Logan even had time to sit down. The smile Finn received from Logan in return felt private. Intimate, even. Logan’s entire face changed when he looked at Finn. It opened up. He looked younger.

It went right back to guarded when he looked at Leo.

“All right,” Finn said after he set down water bottles for the three of them. They were sitting at a little table in a nook off the kitchen that Leo hadn’t seen before. Finn and Logan were side by side, across from him. Leo had his burrito and coffee to one side of him, and his laptop and recorder set up on the other. Finn snapped a mocking finger gun towards him. “Shoot.”

Leo hesitated. It didn’t seem like Finn was going to finish what he had been about to say to Leo. Possibly ask Leo not to write about what he’d seen? He’d stopped hard when Logan had walked in. Leo was slowly getting the sense that what he’d seen was much more than a kiss.

Maybe that was what was behind all of the looks Logan was giving him. Fear.

“Well,” Leo said, brushing crumbs off his hands. He cleared his throat. “Okay—” They were both looking at him expectantly. Well, Finn looked expectant. Logan looked a little wary. Leo’s resolve dropped. “I just want you to know that I won’t write or publish anything that you don’t approve first.”

There. That seemed like the easiest way.

The two of them exchanged a glance.

“Isn’t that a given?” Logan said flatly.

“It is,” Leo said. “But I still want it to be said first.”

He made himself hold Logan’s gaze. His eyes looked vividly green in the kitchen light.

No, you don’t—say much—but I read—your touch. You fall—I sigh—Oh my—green eyes.

“Oh,” Leo said out loud.

“What?”

Just slowly realizing that it’s possible you two only write songs about each other?

“Nothing,” Leo said. “Why don’t we begin with how you two found yourselves in a band together?”

“People already know this,” Logan said.

Leo smiled. “Yes, people do know this, but I’m not going to use someone else’s quotes in my story.”

Finn stretched his arm out across the back of the breakfast nook’s bench, behind Logan’s back. Would that have been around his shoulders if Leo hadn’t been here?

“We met in high school, started the band there. Then we had a falling out but we both got into Harvard,” Finn said. “We were matched randomly as roommates.”

It was a smooth, well-practiced answer to the absolutely wild story that Leo had heard before. It left no room for further questions.

“Must have been a shock.” Leo wanted to ask what the fight in high school had been about, but he didn’t think the room was nearly warm enough for that yet. “Or fate?”

“I like fate,” Finn said. Logan kept his eyes down. “I mean, look at us now.”

Leo kept the easier career and life questions going for the next couple hours, then they took a break. It was getting closer to five o’clock and Logan went to take a shower. Leo was preparing to go back out into the summer heat, just to give them some breathing room, when Finn picked up his guitar and began asking him questions.

“So, do you even like our music?”

Leo gasped. “Oh my God.”

Only at the surprised, maybe delighted, look on Finn’s face did he realized he’d completely dropped any professionalism right there. It was all Leo could do not to slap a hand over his mouth. Besides, Finn O’Hara was sitting in front of him, plucking some gorgeous little melody out on a guitar Leo happened to know he’d had since he was sixteen, and smiling—he could probably afford to let his guard down a little.

“I’ve loved your music since your first album,” Leo said. “And Rooftop is my favorite song in the world.”

“Rooftop,” Finn repeated softly. His fingers were still moving on the strings and Leo was trying not to stare. They were strong and quick. Subtly, the unfamiliar melody shifted into Rooftop.

“Oh,” Leo said, not bothering to pretend not to watch anymore. “I’ve never heard it on the guitar.”

“Why is that song your favorite?” Finn asked. He didn’t sound hurt exactly, but something like it. Brittle, maybe. “Just… Most people like the upbeat stuff more. At least that’s what I’m always being told.”

“Well…” Leo cleared his throat. “The way you talk about how sometimes it feels like you’re just barely holding on by your fingertips to something you want. That’s true for a lot of people I think. Waiting for someone who isn’t waiting for you back.” He thought of Logan’s eyes on him in Finn’s dressing room last night, Finn’s mouth on his neck. “Or maybe they are and just didn’t know it yet, I don’t know. But I listen to it all the time.”

Finn was leaning forward a little in his seat, listening.

Leo smiled and looked down. “I mean, I like the upbeat stuff, too. But yeah.”

“We’re around the same age, aren’t we?”

“I’m a few years younger than both of you.”

“Back then, I always thought it was just, like, twelve year old girls listening. Not that anything is wrong with twelve year old girls, but when you’re seventeen you don’t exactly want…” Finn winced. “Please don’t quote me on any of this.”

Leo laughed. “No, I understand. But also, no, it wasn’t just twelve year old girls. And it certainly isn’t now. At yesterday’s show—it’s incredible the range of people you captivate.”

Finn shrugged a little and switched back to the melody he was playing earlier.

“Can I ask what that is?” Leo nodded to the guitar.

“You can.” Finn huffed out a laugh. “But I’m not sure yet.”

“Ah. So, I’m watching the secret process right now.”

“You are. Gotta warn you, though, sometimes it’s like watching paint dry.”

“What’s the fastest time you’ve ever written a song in?”

Finn’s fingers fumbled, just for a moment. He looked out towards the windows, the city and sun. It was beginning to lower in the sky now.

“Oh,” he said softly. “About twenty minutes, I guess.”

Leo opened his mouth to ask what song it was, but stopped. Now Finn looked hurt. Sad. The guitar seemed to drink the feeling in. Leo heard him slip new minor chords into the notes, a tumbling, beautiful sound. Then he was suddenly playing Rooftop again.

“Would you like a cocktail?” Finn asked suddenly.

Leo looked over at the beautiful bar. “I think anyone would want a cocktail at that counter.”

Finn smiled. He settled the guitar on the couch and stood. “It’s gorgeous, isn’t it? I had it custom made for the space. Usually I wouldn’t give a shit, I’m never home, but I’ve always wanted to do it.” He went behind the bar. “Also. You can help with something. Lo and I are always at a bit of a impasse.” Finn put a hand to his own chest. “I like to taste the alcohol. Logan won’t touch anything that doesn’t taste like someone dumped a load of frosting into it.”

“So, he’s a sweet tooth.”

“Oh-ho yeah. Understatement. You know that edible cookie dough? Take a look in our fridge.”

I watch you fill your cup with sugar.

Finn read that thought clear as day. He bit his lip, elbows on the bar. “You’re putting us together a little bit, huh?”

“I won’t put anything together you don’t want me to.”

Finn glanced in the direction Logan had disappeared to.

“You’re under no obligation to explain it to me. I should have knocked loud and clear.”

“No, we…We’ve talked.” Finn fixed him with intent brown eyes. “We’ve talked. We love each other and…”

So they are in love, Leo thought triumphantly.

“It’s just that we don’t know what comes next.”

“I understand,” Leo said. “Really. Just…” Leo set his hands in front of him, trying to pour truth into his words. “I’m not here to, like, drag anything out of you. I’m here about your music, that’s my job, that’s what I love to write about. If what you two feel for each other is something that is not only important to that but that you’d like to tell me about, that’s wonderful. If not, that’s wonderful. And we also don’t have to decide now. Okay? Please don’t feel like you have to tip toe around me or my pen.”

Finn was looking at him with a slight smile on his face. He gave a small nod.

“And please tell Logan that, as well,” Leo said. Leo wasn’t sure he’d get those sentences out as smoothly under Logan’s gaze.

“Okay.” Finn swept his hand out towards the shelves behind him. “Gin? Whiskey? Tequila? Rum?”

“Rum,” Logan’s voice said from behind Leo. He appeared a moment later. His wet hair was combed back and out of his face, his skin flushed from the shower’s heat. He wore a dark green t-shirt, stretched across his strong chest and gray sweatpants. In his hand was a pair of drumsticks.

“Well, I wasn’t asking you,” Finn said. “Leo, please. I can make anything.”

Logan slid onto the stool beside him. “It’s true, he’s very good.”

“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” Leo said.

Finn gave his head a hard shake and hit his hands down on the bar. “Nope. I want to know what you want.”

Finn ended up fixing the two of them gin martinis. He gave Logan his rum and coke with, to Leo’s surprise, a kiss to Logan’s hand. Logan blushed, glanced at Leo, but didn’t pull away. He took his drink and his drumsticks over to a stool where a muted, practice kit was set up and began tapping out rhythms. This was not what Leo had been expecting when he took this job. He expected it to be wilder, like some of the pure and chaotic party scenes he’d been apart of when following musicians around before.

Night Swimming was soft. Domestic, even. Finn and Logan’s wildness on stage melted away into something tender. Finn brought out cheese and crackers and sliced apple and, as Leo sank into the massive comfy couch, he found that as the sun set, he wasn’t asking questions anymore. They were, the three of them, simply talking.

~

“So, so, so,” Cassie’s voice said in Leo’s AirPods. “How’s it going, you’re four shows in now you lucky duck.”

“That I am,” Leo said, looking around his Boston hotel room. Tonight was Finn and Logan’s third and final Boston show and Leo was basically in seventh heaven. Maybe they were all in hotel rooms now and he missed their cozy apartment a bit, but he couldn’t complain. He got to write about his favorite band and watch them perform every night?

And hear about their love. More and more. During their time after the show, at dinners, in dressing rooms, in Finn or Logan’s suites—and there was a suite for each of them even if it seemed like they only used one. During those times, they told Leo things. Little details about them, not as singer and drummer or best friends, but as a couple. Leo could feel the difference. He didn’t know why exactly he was being allowed to know these things when no one else did, but he let them give what they wanted to give.

“It’s good,” he told Cassie, but his mind filtered through what good was. Good was knowing how far Finn’s voice stretched as he warmed up in his dressing room. It was alone and strong. They were just scales and the occasional lyrics, but Leo could have listened all day. He also dropped to the ground and did rounds of push-ups which, while unexpected, wasn’t horrible to watch.

“I have to say though, I’m not entirely sure what happens next.”

“What do you mean?” Cassie asked.

Leo popped another salt and vinegar chip into his mouth. “Well, they’re going on vacation. Somewhere. They’ve got a month off before they’re back on tour, so I’m not sure why the magazine scheduled me for now. It’s not a full week before they leave.”

“Well, your week will be basically up. I’m sure you’re not expected to go on vacation with them.”

“No, no, I know that,” Leo said. Damn, he thought. “I’ll just—I have closing things I need. Want. Hope to ask.”

Cassie was quiet for a long minute. “Well. Better hop to it, I guess.”

~

“Will you hold this? Finn’s busy.”

Leo looked up from his notebook to see Logan holding out one end of what looked like an exercise band. He was dressed for the stage already. Black jeans, black tank top tonight. His hat had a Bruins logo on it—sometimes he did that. Matched his hat to the city. In New York, he’d been wearing Finn’s Rangers hat a lot and Finn had expressed his disgust at the switch many times. Leo had put it in the story.

“Sure.” Leo set his pen down. “What do you want me to do?”

“Just hold this steady.” Logan put one end of the band into Leo’s hand. “I like to warm up.”

Leo still didn’t quite know what that meant, but he did what he was told.

Turned out it meant getting a front row seat to the flex of Logan’s arms and wrists as he pulled the band in different directions and angles.

Suddenly, two hands appeared on his shoulders. “Hi. Would you like some tea?”

Leo held the band tighter while craning his head back to look behind him. Finn appeared to him, half upside down at this angle. “I—Yes. Sure, thank you.”

Finn smiled, squeezed once, then let go. “How’s the writing going?”

“Good.” That was half true. Sometimes, he was on. There were whole chunks that were solid and good. Then there were parts of Leo’s notebooks that were a mess of phrases which sounded far too mushy to be a proper article.  “Really good.”

The music…God, Leo could have written about their songs for hours and hours—he just had to be careful not to cross any lines into what he was quickly suspecting was the true territory of the songs. Love songs. In Leo’s opinion, the best kind of love song—when the two people they were about were right there, in the same room as each other.

Logan had switched to the other arm, opening himself up to being taken by the hips by Finn and sweetly kissed.

After, Logan smiled a little at Leo when he took the stretching band back. Still guarded, but it was improvement. “Merci.”

“Yeah,” Leo said. “Or, you’re welcome.”

He winced at himself as Logan went over to drum a bit on one of his practice pads. Leo tried to pick up the song, but it was hard without the melody until Finn, waiting for water to boil, started singing.

Oh, I wish that I was someone else so I could watch us being.

Go and love a stranger so I can see how you hard you love me.

In his notebook, Leo wrote, In the middle of warming up—which involves more push-ups and stretching than I would have thought—O’Hara stops to make me a cup of tea.

Fuck. It sounded like a diary entry.

Warming up is taken as seriously as it would be by any sports team. Tremblay prepares his body as thoroughly as his instruments.

Was that too…? Leo set his pen down and stared at the page.

Tremblay stretches in front of me and I swear to God I can see every muscle in his back.

O’Hara just squeezed my shoulders. I heard Rooftop on the guitar for the first time and it wasn’t at a show, it was in his living room and he looked so sad. He looked so sad.

When they kiss, I want to watch the gentleness between them on loop until the end of time.

And an even quieter, even more secret thought: I want to be kissed like that.

“Here we go.”

Leo looked up. Finn carefully set down a steaming paper cup. “I put a little honey in it like mine. That’s what I have before we go on.”

“That’s perfect.” Leo smiled and held the cup up to his nose. It smelled sweet and a little like licorice. “I’ll consider it research.”

Finn smiled back for a moment and Leo was reminded of the first time he’d met Alex. They both had that soft stare. It was aimed right at Leo.

“Your hair’s the color of honey,” Finn said. Then he picked up Leo’s pen and wrote down, honey!!! then winked at Leo and walked away.

The show was wild and fantastic, as usual—and it rained. Rained. Hard. The screens showed Finn, red hair dark and dripping against his forehead, his face raised to the sky. Water flew up in droplets from Logan’s drums, backlit and mesmerizing. Leo was soaked despite the VIP tent by the time it was over and shivering a little in his t-shirt as the night cooled down.

He made his way backstage, trying not to drip on everything as he knocked on Finn’s dressing room door.

A grinning Finn with Logan under his arm swung it open for him. He was soaked through, they both were, but he didn’t seem to feel the cold. Adrenaline, probably. Finn held so much of it after shows he practically shook.

“We’re going out to celebrate and you’re coming with us.”

“Great,” Leo said. He wrapped his arms around himself, trying to fight the chattering of his teeth. “Where?” He was taking in Logan now. He looked—well, soaked and kissed. Maybe Finn was just extra affectionate after shows.

“Just a bar. My brother, some friends. And you because you’re coming.”

“And my sister will be there,” Logan said.

“Which one?” Leo asked—which maybe was weird that he knew there was more than one? But they had to be used to being Googled. Right?

“Noelle,” Logan said. “And her boyfriend, Thomas.”

“I won’t kill your vibe?” Leo asked.

“Everyone knows we’re doing your interview,” Finn said. “I think we should give you more than just, like, us fucking around backstage and, you know, working.”

“You guys are pretty serious,” Leo said. Which wasn’t very true. Finn was always putting Logan in headlocks, Logan constantly hid Finn’s things from him. “But thanks. I’d love to come.”

“Good,” Finn said.

When they began peeling off their sweaty and wet stage clothes, Leo kept his eyes respectfully down, mostly, and wished he had something to change into, too. He could try to run back to his hotel, but he didn’t feel like having to chase their party down. He resigned himself to being damp and hoped a drink or two would warm him up.

“Here,” Logan said, and something soft and warm was being pushed into Leo’s chest.

It was a sweatshirt—Finn’s sweatshirt, probably, by The Strand Bookstore logo on it. Though maybe it was Logan’s, bought in New York or maybe stolen from Finn.

“Oh…” Leo looked at Logan. Those green eyes really did deserve songs to be written about them. “Thank you.” Leo said.

He pulled the sweatshirt over his head and was sure it was Logan’s. It smelled like the cologne he wore—nothing too strong and intense. It really was just like he’d bottled something piney and sweet.

When he was sure no one was looking, Leo ducked his nose a little into the collar.

~

Somehow, suddenly, it was four-thirty in the morning. Leo was pleasantly buzzed, a little exhausted, and squeezed up against strangers in a booth. He wasn’t so pleased about the squeezed part, but it was a good vantage point. As it turned out, Finn was a dancer—even when not many others were dancing. He was just as good as he was on stage. All hips and smiles.

Logan was not a dancer—but he watched. Leo watched him watch Finn. There was a quiet sort of intensity to it. He chewed on the straw of his rum and coke, crunched on ice cubes. An hour later he was all but shredding a beer label, and had his eyes on Finn and he’d lost his hat somewhere—oh, Finn’s head. It was getting warm in the bar. The place kept the doors open and Leo was sweating in Logan’s sweatshirt, but he didn’t take it off. He could see Logan’s sweat, dark on his temples. Finn had to be sweating, too, but he didn’t look it. He just looked happy.

Finn wandered over to Logan and hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. He didn’t kiss him, but he got nice and close like he might, singing words to a song Leo didn’t know and grinning.

How had the world not figured it out yet? They might not be so obvious as kissing, but Finn and Logan certainly weren’t subtle. Was a narrative of that’s how they are, that’s their friendship really so strong?

With a smile, Logan shoved Finn back out onto the floor where someone joined him—two someones. Alex and a dark-haired girl Leo had seen around. For a brief moment, across the room, Logan’s eyes met Leo’s. Then he ducked out onto the balcony. Leo wasn’t positive it was an invitation, but he wouldn’t miss it if it was.

“Excuse me, sorry,” Leo mumbled to the guy next to him. It was a bit of a mess, making these people get up. He wasn’t sure why they were all sitting there. It wasn’t like it was easy to hear each other over the music anyway. Leo was happy to rise.

Remarkably, the night air felt cool. The balcony was higher up than Leo had expected, looking down at the city below. Logan had his back to Leo, elbows on the railing. He glanced behind him when he heard Leo approaching, and the red and blue city lined his profile. He looked just like he did on stage, only calmer. Quiet. Truer to how he actually was. Leo couldn’t image putting on a show like that every single night.

“I need a break from people sometimes,” Logan said, as if answering a question Leo had asked.

“Oh. I can go—”

“No,” Logan said. “I just mean crowds.”

“I bet,” Leo said. He went to the railing and mirrored Logan’s position. That was actually an old trick he’d been taught. Apparently it made interview subjects feel at ease. Really, he’d just wanted to see the city and feel the cold metal of the railing on his skin.

“It’s hot in there.”

“Ouais.”

“Finn really loves dancing.”

Logan cracked a smile and took a drink from his beer bottle. “You’d think he’d run out of energy.”

Leo laughed. “I’m out of it just looking at him.”

“That’s Finn for you…Realest thing in the world.”

Realest thing in the world. What a quote. Leo knew he wouldn’t have to write that down to remember it.

“Who is he dancing with?”

Logan swallowed. “Hannah. She was at Harvard with us.”

“Hm.”

“They dated. In college.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah,” Logan said, then glanced Leo’s way. “Before I took what was mine.”

Okay, hot. Leo had to smother a pretty pathetic sounding breath.

“Hm,” Leo said again. “Can I…Can I ask something?”

“That’s your job.”

“It’s pretty personal. And you don’t have to answer.”

“I know that.” Logan said, and then just waited, looking back out at the streets.

“What happened after high school and before Harvard?”

More waiting. More of that intense, Logan-silence. Part of Leo was pleased that he had such a thing to associate with Logan, that he’d spent enough time with him for that. Leo didn’t push him. He stirred the ice cubes in his drink and took in the rest of the balcony. A few chairs. Ash trays.

“We used this bookshop’s basement to practice at night,” Logan said suddenly. “All the other stores were closed, it was below ground, we weren’t going to annoy anyone.”

Leo could picture that. Guitar and drums, maybe one of their ever rotating bass players—it must get hard, trying to bud in on two as tight as Finn and Logan were. Writing and playing late into the night.

“But one night when it was just us there was this…” Logan shook his head. “Merde, I’d say snowstorm but it was more like… Just it was like the world blinked out.” Logan scratched wet-paper trails in his beer bottle’s label. “It felt like it was just the two of us left in the world.”

“You got snowed in?”

Logan nodded. His eyes were far, far away. Green, deep forest.

“We slept together,” Logan said quietly.

Alarm bells that every good reporter should have went off. Logan had been drinking. Leo had asked the question but it was still his duty to make sure it was truly okay to get the answer. “Does Finn know you’re telling me this?”

“Ouais. We talked about you.”

Okayokayokay. Leo felt like his entire body was trying to keep his heart from pounding at that sentence. Oh, to be a fly on that wall…

“Okay,” Leo said carefully. “Still, if you want to have this conversation another time—”

“I’m not drunk,” Logan said. He looked down at his beer. “I had one drink two hours ago and this tastes like shit, I’ve been holding it for a fucking hour.”

Leo couldn’t help but laugh a little. “Not sweet?”

“Non, not at all.”

Well, Leo was glad he knew. Sometimes with the stars, it was a problem. They spilled out gorgeous sentences and feelings no matter how Leo tried to stop them when they were loose-tongued and then wouldn’t let Leo use a word of it the next morning.

“And like I said,” Logan said. “We…I wouldn’t just be telling you this if Finn didn’t…You know.”

Leo thought of all the details he’d been picking up, and then even more unspoken ones. He could see that they wanted him to know. He just wasn’t sure why.

“It was the best night of my life.” Logan leaned on the railing, his hand coming up to touch his mouth. “It was… We wrote Only Two that night.” Logan smiled at the memory and closed his eyes. “Like, in twenty minutes, it was insane. Right after we…well.”

Leo loved that song. Back in high school, he hadn’t thought of it as being about making love, but being older now, he could tell.

There are only two

Things I want

For only the two

Of us

Two more turns on this dark road

Two more inches of skin exposed

Two more minutes of this bliss

Two more hours not to miss

Two more decades of your light

Two more centuries of this night

Only two (two) two (two)

Want me, too (too) too (too)

After this conversation, he’d never listen to it the same. He’d picture some grimy basement, and snow—and he’d picture Logan and Finn…

Two more inches of skin exposed.

No. No, Leo thought to himself. You’re professional. So very professional.

“And then I pretended like nothing happened.” Logan straightened. He turned his face away a little.

He could be professional and still let his heart ache at that. A memory surged at him without warning. A voice that he tried his best not to remember. Get the lights, will you?

“Why?” Leo tried to keep the word gentle. Logan seemed like he wanted to get this out, and Leo wanted to keep it at his pace.

“I don’t know. I got scared. I thought we’d never—I don’t know. We wanted this massive thing, to play our music, that almost no one gets and I didn’t want anything to mess it up. We fought. Finn wanted to be together. And then I said…I said things I didn’t really mean, but I said them. And he was crying.” Far away eyes again. “He was crying.”

Finn, crying. Leo couldn’t put it together with the grinning boy inside. When Logan turned to look, so did Leo. Finn was facing them, half obscured by a wall of people he was chatting to. It was hard to tell through the glass and with all the reflections from outside, but Finn might have looked at them.

  “And…and we stopped talking.” Logan turned away. “We didn’t talk all of Senior year, or the summer before college.”

“But you got into the same school and showed up to the same dorm room.”

Logan snorted out a laugh, rubbing a palm over his face. “Merde. Oh my God, Leo, you have no idea. Our faces, seeing each other? Our parents’ faces? I thought I was going to die that first night, I walked in on Finn playing the guitar, and I thought I was going to die.”

“Wow,” Leo said faintly.

Logan let out a delighted laugh. Leo blinked, surprised, but couldn’t help but smile. That was a contagious sound. A rare one?

“Sorry, I mean—at least we can laugh about it now,” Logan laughed through the words. “I was going to lose my mind. I can’t tell you how much I missed him. I remember missing him now and I miss him when he’s, like, asleep next to me. That’s how bad I…” He broke off suddenly. Leo watched his throat move around a swallow. “That’s how bad I fucked up.”

Leo knew he wasn’t supposed to give his opinion to the subject of his pieces. As the writer, he was supposed to listen and organize. But his mind was telling him to comfort Logan. He wanted to do what he’d seen Finn do earlier, he wanted to know how warm Logan’s waist was through his t-shirt.

“On the topic of the songs you write together…” Leo took a breath. “Can I ask about Rooftop? You always leave the stage when Finn plays it. Is that—I mean, it’s a solo for him, I know that, but…”

Logan frowned and didn’t answer for a long time. Leo let him sit. It was a fine line, seeing that a subject had opened up, but then pushing too hard. Leo was beginning to worry he’d crossed that line when Logan spoke.

“I can’t listen to it. That’s why I leave.” Logan rubbed at his jaw and went to mess with his hat before remembering Finn had it. “Really, I can’t watch him sing it. I can’t watch what was my fault.”

Leo had had his suspicions since he’d walked into the dressing room, but this confirmed it. “It’s about you.”

Logan’s mouth was tight when he gave a small nod.

“I refused us for a long time.” Half a smile crossed his face and he sang the brief melody. “Long, long time.”

Leo smiled, too. It felt like it was okay to do. They were together now, weren’t they?

“It’s my favorite song,” Leo admitted.

Logan looked surprised. “It’s so sad. You don’t seem like a sad song person.”

“I don’t?” Leo laughed. “What kind of person do I seem like?”

Logan looked at him for a moment, then back at the city, shrugging with an almost bashful look on his face.

“And…” Leo felt a little giddy, like a sleuth figuring out a mystery. “Green Eyes.”

Logan laughed. “Ouais.” He took a sip of his beer and grimaced at the taste. “Fuck this shit about some French girl. Quote me on that.”

“Seriously?”

Logan sent him a look. “Maybe. Ask me later.”

Leo nodded. “Promise.”

Logan’s smile was gentler this time.

“When did you get together for good?” Leo asked, then realized what he said. “I mean—I mean, you look pretty solid, I didn’t mean to assume.”

Logan smiled. “Oh, he’s never getting rid of me now. I’ll never forget it. It was…maybe a year ago, I guess? No, a little more. While we were writing our most recent album. In Rome, actually, we rented this place and after those months, I didn’t think I’d be able to be far away from him again. And I mean, like, other side of the room. That felt far away.” Logan looked up, remembering. “We were pretty off-and-on until then, making out, fucking, not talking about it.”

Leo blushed. “Mhm.” Making out fucking not talking about it.

Logan sent him a sideways glance. “What?”

“Nothing, I’m listening.”

Logan narrowed his eyes playfully and turned his body towards Leo. God, his shoulders.

“Non, you’re a baby tomato. Tell me.”

“Oh God,” Leo laughed, putting a hand to his cheek. “Shit, I am, aren’t I? Well—No. Okay. All right, confession.”

Logan smiled and leaned forward. “Ouais?”

Leo pressed a palm to his own chest. “I am a fan. Quite a big fan of you both. I’m also. Well, I’m gay. I’m having a bit of a moment realizing two of the people around my age that I’ve always admired,”—You’re also unbearably hot, both of you—“shared more with me than I ever thought they did. Especially because—your music really helped me through some bad times.” It was Leo’s turn to look down. “Some bad guys.”

Now all that intense Logan-silence was trained directly on him.

“Bad guys,” Logan repeated softly. “Bad to you?”

He said it like it was madness, like he couldn’t believe it.

“It was a long time ago,” Leo said.

“What’s that mean?” Logan shrugged. “They were bad to you?”

“He,” Leo said. “Really just…he was.”

“Bad…Bad how?” Logan asked in a hushed whisper. He took a step forward, nearly right into Leo’s space.

“Nothing like—just…” Leo sighed as he stumbled over his words. “He wasn’t happy with how he wanted me. He probably wished he didn’t want me at all.”

More of those uncomprehending narrowed eyes, as if Jack, whose name Logan didn’t even know, had offended Logan by offending Leo.

“What a shit,” Logan said—and there was a snarl to it. Logan Tremblay, who had known Leo for all of a week, had just snarled about Leo’s shitty ex-boyfriend.

Leo laughed. “Yes. Understatement. Very.”

They were close now. Close enough that Logan could reach out and untuck where the collar of Leo’s sweatshirt had folded wrong.

“Oh,” Leo said. Logan’s fingers had brushed his neck and Leo fought that shiver hard. “Yeah, thank you for this. That rain got cold.”

Logan stayed quiet. He withdrew his hand, but he didn’t step back. When he looked up at Leo, he had that open look that Leo had only seen him give Finn.

“You know we chose you,” Logan said. “Right?”

Leo only had time to half let that sink in and half wonder what the hell it meant before a knocking came from behind them. “Hey-hey.”

They both turned to see a dark haired girl—this was Logan’s sister, Noelle. She smiled at Leo and held out her arms to Logan.

“Wanted to say bye, I’m taking off, Lo-bear.”

Lo-bear. Leo hid his smile in his glass but Logan caught it anyway as he hugged his sister tightly.

“Have a good vacation,” Noelle said and squeezed him tighter for a moment. She planted a kiss on his cheek and whispered. “You deserve it.”

“Merci.”

“Don’t wreck mom and dad’s house.”

Logan rolled his eyes. “When have I ever done that?”

Noelle pulled back and patted his cheeks. “Love you.”

Leo looked between them. Logan was different like this. He wasn’t a pop star. He wasn’t considered on of the best drummers in the current music scene—maybe the world. He was a baby brother.

“Je t’aime,” he said softly.

A version of the voice he saved for Finn, maybe. Leo wondered what it was like to hear them say it to each other. I love you.

People began spilling out on the balcony after that. Maybe noting that Logan Tremblay was out there. Leo and Logan got tumbled apart, but Logan caught his eye across the crowd. Between them lingered unfinished words. Leo shrugged one shoulder and gave him a smile. You chose me? What does that mean? What in the world does that mean?

Logan frowned. He set his beer bottle down, still full, and began to try and push through the crowd to Leo. It was hard. People kept wanting to speak to him. Logan looked like he was trying hard not to snap at them.

“Hey.”

Leo turned and found Finn there. Sweaty, tall, love-eyed Finn. He was definitely tipsy. No Logan-conversations for them tonight.

“Hi,” Leo said. He glanced back for Logan, but he’d lost him.

“We’re going to Logan’s family’s house in Nice tomorrow morning.”

“Oh.” Leo tried, he tried to keep his heart afloat. That felt—he didn’t feel ready. He didn’t want the week to end. Maybe it was hero-worship. Maybe he was starstruck. Maybe his heart didn’t know what to do with the proximity. Was Finn telling him that they were finished, that they were going on vacation—

Finn reached for Leo’s hand and tucked something into his palm, closing Leo’s fingers around it and covering it with his own. “I’ll send the car for you.”

The crowd whisked him away, too, leaving Leo standing in the summer night to uncurl his fingers.

It was a guitar pic, and scrawled across both sides in tiny writing, were two phone numbers.

[hannahssimblr]

For a brief period last year, I had this thing about wasps. Miss O’Reilly spurred the whole thing on after poring over my sketchbooks with me. She made some offhand comment about how nice it would be to see some animals too, amongst the endless scrawl of human arms and legs and feet and heads on every inch of every page, because it would expand my anatomical knowledge. This had never occurred to me.

So across town to the zoo I went. Where, through the spring and the earliest days of summer I would draw gorillas in their glass enclosures, giraffes, sloths, red pandas, while parents and children looked over my shoulder at my work, ogling as though I too was part of an exhibition. 

I returned that August, late, in that last week before school starts when the sun still warms you, but the wind carries autumn with it. By then, the leaves had lost that vibrant green and hung tired from branches, curled and russet at the edges. It was wasp season, when they emerge, as though from nowhere, angry, confused, in a ferocious pursuit of sugar. 

One landed on my sketchbook, near the thumb that held the page, and I resisted the tingle of fear in my body, the urge to swat him away. Instead I watched him, and then I drew him, his alien eyes and hairy body, papery wings and the abstract black and yellow stripes like caution tape wound around his horntail. I feared wasps - I think. One had never stung me and had no reference for the pain, but coincidentally, I had read about them in an insect encyclopaedia from the school library. I’d learned about their sad Augusts, when their purpose had been fulfilled, and their queens cast them out of the nest to die. 

That wasp, eating the ice cream fingerprint from my page, was no different. Here he was, addicted to sugar, drunk, perhaps, from the fermenting fruits he had managed to find. If I swatted him away, could I really blame him if, in his desperation and pain, he attacked me? He really was just another creature fulfilling his purpose, adapting to the new environment in which he had been thrown. 

“Oh, God!” Michelle cried, and whacked him with her zoo map. His insides left a stain on the paper, and I turned to her, outraged. “Why did you do that?”

“It might have stung you!” 

And things escalated, as they normally did, to an argument by the elephant enclosure. She erupted in front of a family of four and asked me when I became such a fucking vegetarian about wasps. We didn’t speak a word to one another on the bus home, and then, come September, we forgot about wasps for another year. 

A wasp lands on my arm. I feel it first, the weird little legs tickling my skin. Someone splashed cider on me in the Foo Fighters’ mosh pit. That’s what he’s looking for. For the first time in a year, I think about wasps again, while the rest of my friends plan their next move. He shouldn’t be out at night. He must be confused. Maybe he’s about to die. 

“Oh! Gosh! You’ve a wasp on your arm!” Claire waves her hand about me and the wasp makes a drowsy departure and swoops toward the overflowing bins by the barriers. 

Several seconds pass before it occurs to me to react. “Yeah.” 

As the others head towards the bar, she and Shane hang back, peering at me with that wary concern, as though there’ve sensed something deeply unhinged about me. “Are you okay?” She says gently. “You look like you got a bit of a knock there in the mosh pit.”

“No, it was fine. It felt good to kind of shove everyone around.” It’s true. I wasn’t thinking in there where I was thrashing to The Pretender, but I know how I must look. She eyes the collar of my t-shirt, stretched completely out of shape from where some beast of a man grabbed me to fling me out of his path like a rag doll. it was violent, but it felt good, like something that I needed.

“Look,” Shane scratches his head, “The lads there, they were talking about going to that rave at midnight. They wanted to grab some shots first, but like, if you don’t want to go, and you’d rather go back to the tent or something, that’d be okay.”

Claire nods. “We could even go with you, right? I wouldn’t mind just hanging out and taking it easy if you wanted company.”

Do I really seem that bad? I shake my head. “No, it’s fine. I’ll just do what everyone else is doing.”

They pause, and I press the issue. “Do I seem like I won’t be able for it?”

“Not that.” Shane says. “You just seem a bit wrecked.”

“I’ll survive another concert.”

“Yeah, I’m not saying you won’t, like.”

“Right then.”

They exchange a look, and I sigh. “I don’t know what you think is wrong with me, but I’m not drinking, I’m not on drugs,” I lean down to show them my pupils, which I realise too late is quite a manic, on-drugs thing to do, but I don’t know how else to prove my sobriety. “It’s just been a day, okay? I’m just… it’s been odd.”

“We can talk about it if you like,” Claire says, in that very kind, Claire way, but I shake my head. 

“Let’s not bother. Come on, we’ll just go to that rave thing and dance, yeah? Then I’ll go back to the tent and we can take it easy.”

“Okay, if you say so,” she says, and with her arms around herself against the midnight chill, she and Shane march past me, towards the big top of the marquee across the bottle-littered fields. 

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[hotpriesteddie]

I'm gonna love you when our hair is turning gray we'll have a cardboard box of photos of the life we've made and you'll say, "oh my, we really were t i m e l e s s."

happy birthday @oneawkwardcookie 💖💖

[Image ID: 10 GIFs of Evan Buckley and Eddie Diaz from 9-1-1, overlaid with lyrics from Taylor Swift's Timeless. GIF 1: A painting and an open book on a black wooden table. The painting has an ornate gold frame. Inside the painting is a GIF of Buck hanging from the extended ladder of the ladder truck after he is struck by lightning. Partially on top of the painting, a book lies open with a GIF on either page, of Buck and Eddie respectively facing each other after Eddie is shot. The lyrics are stylised as text in the book, reading 'I came upon a book covered in cobwebs / story of a romance torn apart by fate.' GIF 2: Two GIFs overlaid on top of each other. The first GIF shows Buck laying on the road staring at a fallen Eddie after Eddie is shot. The second shows Eddie yelling Buck's name as he rushes to get to Buck after Buck falls from the ladder truck. Both GIFs are blurred. The lyrics are stylised in old gothic font, reading 'somehow I know that you and I would've found each other / and I'd die for you in the same way.' GIF 3: Eddie and Buck are in full turnout gear. Eddie is walking as the fire truck drives alongside him, with Buck hanging off of it. The GIF is tinted orange. The text reads 'if I first saw your face / on a crowded street in 1944.' GIF 4: Two GIFs overlaid on top of each other. The first GIF shows Buck rushing out of Maddie's hospital after he gets her letter telling him that she can't run away with him. This GIF is black and white. The second shows Eddie in his army uniform getting on a helicopter. The text reads 'and you were headed off to fight in the war / you still would've been mine.' GIF 5: Two GIFs overlaid on top of each other. The first GIF shows Buck as a bartender in Peru, listening to Connor tell him about LA. The second shows Eddie at his parents' house, listening as they tell him that they think Chirstopher should live with them. The text reads 'cause I belive that we were supposed to find this / even in a different life / you still would've been mine / we would've been timeless.' GIF 6: The GIF has a crack down the middle. On the left of the crack, Buck begs his parents to love him despite him and Maddie not being perfect kids. On the right, Eddie breaks down after he learns that all his teammates from the army are dead. The GIF slowly transitions from colour to black and white. The text is aligned along the crack, reading 'time breaks down your mind and body / don't you let it touch your soul.' GIF 7: Two GIFs overlaid on top of each other. The first GIF shows Buck turning around in the firehouse to see Eddie for the first time. The second shows Eddie grinning as he meets the team for the first time. The GIF has a papery texture to it. The text reads 'it was like an age old classic / the first time that you saw me.' GIF 8: A piece of parchment paper. In a large square on the left side, Buck and Eddie shake hands after working together for the first time. On the right side, the lyrics are stylised like text in a book, reading 'the story started when you said hello.' GIF 9: Two GIFs overlaid on top of each other, of Eddie and Buck covertly meeting each other's eyes in the middle of the firehouse. Eddie is in black and white while Buck is in colour. The text reads 'in a crowded room a few short years ago / sometimes there's no proof you just know.' GIF 10: A pocket watch on the screen. Inside the pocket watch, a montage of Buck and Eddie through the years cycles repeatedly. The hour and minute hand of the pocket watch rotate clockwise. In the background, behind the pocket watch, the same series of GIFs is enlarged and blurred. Around the watch, stylised in old gothic font, the text reads 'you're always gonna be mine / we're gonna be timeless.' /end ID]

[pilot-boi]

The Knightwood, though happily a tree, is more than capable of wrapping and twisting his branches and roots into a humanoid shape. Mostly humanoid. The proportions are uncanny, and he is simply too large for the rusted, rent pieces of old forged steel. Like fairytales of Olde, a forest of One marches to deliver vengeance to those that blaspheme against the sanctity of His shade.

The Knightwood is a tree

It wasn’t always a tree, it remembers when its branches were truly limbs, when its roots were feet. It remembers when its leaves were few and far between, when its berries were eyes, when its sap was blood

Afterans don’t remember their previous life after they ascend. What would be the point of that? But Jaune Arc wasn’t an Afteran. The Knightwood remembers him

It remembers the four girls who rest under its branches, remembers how Jaune Arc was their friend. It remembers the centuries of waiting for these four girls, both as the boy it was before and as the tree it is now

Trees live a long time. The Knightwood has a long memory

It is Jaune Arc’s rest, the respite of the Rusted Knight. Despite ascending, the Knightwood is not an Afteran. But the saying still holds true. The mind might forget (although it had not) but the heart always remembers

The Knightwood has no heart, not anymore. Its heart is a trunk of gnarled wood protected by rusted steel emblazoned by twin crescents. But despite all of this, the Knightwood remembers the four girls

In the end, Jaune Arc was nothing but love, it was all the boy had left. He was the Rusted Knight, he wasn’t truly a person. He was merely a vessel for the love that threatened to burst from his chest. And now the Knightwood is the boy’s vessel

And this interloper took one of the girls. Pink and brown hair like clouds and hatred in her heart, she came to the sanctuary of its branches and took Ruby Rose

The Knightwood is a tree

It can still move, uprooting and trundling to new locations as needed before resting again. But it remembers when its limbs could hold the blade at its roots. And the love of a past life that it holds in its heart pushes the Knightwood to do so again

It’s an ungainly thing. It hasn’t been this small in centuries. (It takes a long time for trees to grow, even ones that used to be people) Papery bark for skin, golden leaves for hair, a sprig of berries for each eye. A facsimile of a person. Jaune Arc’s armor is too small, too big, half embedded in the Knightwood’s “chest” and in its “arms”

But the boy’s blade is sharp as ever. Shattered, like him

The girls seem… something when they see it approaching. Sad, scared, overjoyed. It is still taller than them, centuries of growth crushed down into a nearly human form, and they seem so fragile before it as they charge off to rescue their sister

It remembers that this is why Jaune Arc had a shield. His friends were so fragile, and he was cursed to be not

The Knightwood has no shield. The metal remains embedded even in this form. It cannot separate its flesh from the steel of its past. But the girls must be protected, Ruby Rose must be protected. The Knightwood realizes that it must be a shield instead

It was made to be a resting place, a guardian of a healing soul. It must protect them

As the Knightwood marches away from the village of gems, it can feel its bark cracking. Its wood is crushed down into limbs it hasn’t formed in centuries, with too few leaves to sustain it and no roots to draw nutrients from the earth. Already it can feel its energy flagging and it longs to plant itself in place and rest

The Knightwood is a tree. It was made to be a resting place for its borrowed souls. It was not made to be a person. Jaune Arc wished to be nothing, and the Knightwood, in following the love the boy carried in his heart, it is trying to be something

It realizes that this is killing it

And it realizes that this is its purpose. To die so that others may not. If it dies protecting the ones Jaune Arc loved, then it’s worth it. They’re the ones that matter

After all, the Knightwood is just a tree

[drarry-reccage]

if the bees know by @oflights (20k, T)

Tags: Kid Fic, Ghosts, Single Parent Draco Malfoy, Ghostbuster Harry Potter, Halloween 👻

There, standing—floating—across the room is an elderly woman with stringy gray hair, papery skin, and a lovely paisley shawl wrapped around her shoulders. She is staring out the window. A light dusting of snow had fallen that morning and the sunlight seems to glow off it, through the glass, and through the woman, because she is clearly noncorporeal. She looks back at Harry, her eyes crinkled but her mouth set firm and sad, maybe a little stubborn. Harry remembers what Nearly Headless Nick told him once about ghosts, about being afraid to face death, choosing instead to remain as an imprint. He remembers being afraid to face death and doing it anyway. Harry smiles at the woman, and feels abruptly saddened by how surprised she is in response. “Hi,” he says, gentle. “I’m Harry. You must be Ruthie.” Harry steps all the way into the room and closes the door behind him.

(Rec by @cailynwrites)

[pringleshortbread]

I Have Died Before, I Can Die Again

Prologue

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader (18+) Summary: A car accident leaves you with amnesia and forced recruitment into the CIA. A new assignment places you into the BAU. Content Warnings: Car Accident, Amnesia, Hospitalisation, abduction, forced labor

The rain fell on my windscreen like hundreds of little bullet casings and thunder rumbled in the distance. I had turned down the radio until it was a low murmur as I sat at a 4 way intersection, waiting for the traffic light to turn green. The scene before me felt like a dream, or maybe a nightmare, as there were no cars in either direction, except for one black car behind me with tinted windows and an 18 wheeler to my right.  After an eternity, the light flicked to green and I put my car into drive. I heard the blare of the horn from the car behind me, I glanced into the rear view mirror to see what this prick’s deal is, when I felt the 18 wheeler slam into my car. And the world faded into black.

.

.

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.

When I tried to open my eyes; the world was bleary and the noise was so far away. My head felt wet from my scalp all the way down to my neck and the collar of my shirt. I saw several figures crowding my crushed car, but I could not make out their faces or their clothes. I opened my mouth to talk when a dark mist fell across my eyes and I was pulled back into nothing.

.

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I opened my eyes to bright white. I was laying on my back, there was beeping from a heart machine nearby. The wetness from the side of my head was gone but instead I felt the dried, crusty residue in the corner of my eye and my mouth. I could feel that my clothes were also gone, instead placed by a thin papery gown. I tried to speak or even raise my arms, but my arms felt like concrete and my voice was lost in my throat. Two shapes appeared in the vision, obscuring the large light directly above me, their distant voices shushing me, I couldn’t understand what they were saying. As my vision cleared, I recognised the surgical uniform. My brain slowly processed their words, the people above me said, “You were in an accident, just let the pain medication do its job. We need to place you under anesthetic as we work to tackle the internal bleeding. Please do not struggle. You will hurt yourself further.” I slipped back into unconsciousness. 

.

.

.

.

When I awoke again, I was in a sterile, white room. The heart monitor next to me beeped in rhythm and my entire body felt weighed down. I blinked to clear the blurriness from my eyes. I recognised a hospital room. There were no windows in this room. Just a door. An oxygen mask covered my face. I tried to recall what happened. I could not. I remember looking up to the faces of the surgeons on the operating table but I could not remember anymore. What did they say? I was in an accident? Why could I not remember the accident? I heard the heart monitor spike as my panic set in. What happened to me? Where was I? WHO was I?

The door to the room opened and in walked a man I didn’t recognise. He wore a beige suit, a plain white shirt and a brown tie. He was bald with a round face and an overweight build. “Hello there. I am Mr. Monroe.” He announced as he closed the door. He had no identifiable accent. 

I groggily dragged my hand up the scratchy hospital blanket placed on me to pull off the mask. “Where am I? Who am I?” My voice broke and I truly felt how dry my mouth was.

“Ah.” He said, plainly. “The doctors told me you might have some amnesia. Brain injury, you see, from your little accident. Nasty business that was. We lost you for a moment on the table, but luck was on my side and you pulled through.” He smiled, his eyes creased. 

I waited, hoping he would tell me who I am. And he both did and didn’t. “As for the question of who you are is unimportant right now. You may get your memory, you might not. But from now on, you are my little protégé. I will come to collect you once you are well enough to be discharged. I shall explain more then.” He limped back to the door and pulled it open. “Oh, and welcome to the CIA.”

.

.

.

.

True to his word, Mr. Monroe came to collect me as I was discharged. The accident left me with 4 broken ribs, fractures in both my legs, and a fractured vertebrae. Oh, and a brain injury, of course. The only memory I was able to recall again was the accident and it was the only one I didn’t want. I could remember nothing before that time.  I laid in the hospital for several weeks, trying my best to remember but it was like staring at the blank white walls that surrounded me. Nothing. I was given physical therapy so I could walk again. A metal plate was also placed in my legs. 

I was hoping during the weeks while I was laid in that hospital bed that someone would tell me my name but no one did. Anytime I tried to ask I was told the same thing, “You will remember it one day.” I was my own John Doe. Mr. Monroe brought a travel bag for clothes for me. I opened the bag in the room I had been laying in for the past several weeks, eager to leave before I went mad, and inside was a plain white shirt and loose gray sweatpants, white socks, white underwear, plain white sneakers. No name brands. No brands at all. All the tags and labels had been removed. I followed Mr. Monroe to a car parked inside an underground parking lot. It was an all black car, with black tinted windows. I stopped walking at the sight of it. It looked a lot like the car that was behind me at the accident. Mr. Monroe took notice of me stopping and turned around. “What’s the matter, kid? You look like you have seen a ghost.” He stepped closer to me, as two, tall men in black suits, black ties, white shirts and black aviators, stepped out of the driver and passenger seats. They both stood stoic, arms by their sides. 

“I-” I stuttered “What about my family and friends? Wouldn’t they be worried about me? I’ve been gone for weeks.” I tried to reason, I had no ideas if I even had any friends or family.

Mr. Monroe’s face pulled into a blank slate but his eyes showed a silent command that I was to silence myself. “We are your family.” He said calmly as he brought down his onto my shoulder hard, which triggered a sudden pain from my fractured ribs. I groaned and doubled over, clutching my sides. “And as your family, you will join us in the car to discuss your service and your training.”

Panic bubbled into my throat as I slowly nodded. Accepting my fate, I walked with Mr. Monroe digging his fingers into my shoulder as he guided me to the car, that the driver opened for me and I was pushed onto the seat as the man in black opened the door for Mr. Monroe to sit next to me. The car pulled out of the parking space and drove away.

[avocado-writing]

Ok here me out.. when Azira && Crowley getting absolutely smashed with the wine scene in the bookshop.. but y/n is also there.. with some heavy flirting/ sexual innuendos along then way.

notes: alcohol consumption content warning! just silly fluff.

pairing: crowley x reader x aziraphale

rating: T (alcohol)

if you like my work you can buy me a kofi!

After several missed attempts, you finally drop the needle on the record and music begins to fill the room. You try to do a little dance but instead end up walking slap-bang into a bookshelf and sending the first editions scattering. You fall on your arse in the middle of the papery deluge. 

“‘ziraphale, ‘m so sorry!” you manage, alcohol convincing you that you might as well have set his bookshop on fire. From his chair Aziraphale waves a hand. 

“‘s fine. Darling don’t be sad, I’ll help you get off—” Aziraphale tries to stand and falls back into his chair instead, “get off—” same attempt, same result. He slumps. “Crowley’s going to help you get off the floor.”

“You n’ Crowley’re gonna help me get off?” you repeat and burst into giggles, it’s the funniest thing you’ve ever heard in your life. Your laughter is infectious and soon the angel has joined in too, while Crowley crosses over to you with all the grace of a newborn giraffe. He heaves you to your feet with a terribly loud groan and you collapse in his arms, covering your ears. 

“Crowley do you have t’ be so loud? S’obnix— obnoxsiss— obnosiosss— annoying.”

“I’m not annoying. I’m lovely n’ you love me-ee-ee,” Crowley cheers, swooping you around in his arms in a mock-waltz. It’s funny for three and a half seconds and then you can feel the wine objecting heavily to it. 

“Put me down! NOW!”

Crowley deposits you into Aziraphale’s lap, and then falls in a pile at his feet, his cheek resting on the angel’s knee. You clumsily play with both of their hair. 

“We should sober up,” sighs Aziraphale. 

“Noooo!” you whine, “Nooo don’t do the thing. The sober thing. Because I hate it so ‘m still drunk n’ you treat me like a baby! Plus you say we gotta drink the wine again n’ it’s already been in you. ‘S gross. Don’t like it. Only thing should be in you more’n once is me n’ Crow.”

You bury your face into his shoulder until the world stops spinning. It doesn’t. 

“Sober up the nice way. Human way.”

“Alright darling,” Aziraphale says, and because you can’t see, you miss the way he exaggeratedly winks at the demon by his feet. “Nice way.”

You hum and fall asleep in his embrace. The wine bottles refill as your partners purge the alcohol from themselves, then carry you up to bed and leave you with a packet of paracetamol and a bottle of water. 

Hangovers are human things after all. 

- Taglist: @angiestopit @dazed-soul @idontmeanto @smile-eywa @staygoldsquatchling02 @underratedboogeyman @specter-soltare @candlewitch-cryptic @cool-ontherun-world @emilynissangtr @willbedecided @cool-iguana @bdffkierenwalker @ilyatan

[soft-persephone]

Hangover at a Bookstore

Doug Renetti x Fem!Reader

T // WC: 2.2k // fluff. first encounters. love at first sight // masterlist

Doug was. . . Somewhere. 

He put the heel of his hand against his head. The other he used to block out the sun from his eyes as he walked. 

He needed to stop drinking. 

Not completely, but it was time to stop letting it get on top of him. It was almost a problem, so he shouldn’t have to self correct too much. 

A few people were walking up to him for a laugh and a farewell. 

“Alright,” he smiled, clasping someone’s hand and giving a quick pat on the back, “yeah, see you tomorrow.”

They were never going to see each other again, but that’s what you do when walking out of random bars at who knows what time the next day. 

He needed to find his car. 

Jingling his keys in his pocket, he continued on his quest. 

Right turn it is. He has time. 

It was at the end of the block. Lucky him. 

He pulled out a cig, lighting it as he made his way down to curb the headache. 

Before he could even pull at the door of his car, he saw you walk by. Your nose deep into a book as you walked along the street. Your hair was big and curly but not too big, framing your face perfectly. The sun casts a dewy glow on your skin. Your jeans fit your body just right in all the right places. He didn’t get a good look at your shirt or the rest of you, the jacket you so stylishly wore, kept the rest of you hidden as well as the knitted bag you carried on your shoulder. 

He put out the cigarette, stomping on it. With a quick  look at his reflection in the car window, he ran a hand through his hair, a just as quick breath into the palm of his hand, and an even quicker sniff under his arm, he followed you.  

Keeping at a pace where he could see you but not close enough for you to notice him. 

It was too early for a lot of people to be about. Just old married couples making their way to a quick Saturday breakfast, plenty of time to beat the morning rush. There might have been a pastry shop somewhere around here that just flipped the open/close  sign on its door. 

Where could you be going?

The eyebrows on your head scrunched together before you looked up. Apparently satisfied, you continued walking, and reading. Determined to continue with whatever story you were lost in just as much as you were with getting to your destination. 

He paused, stalling at the corner of someplace as you crossed the street. 

He watched as you finally put the book in the bag at your shoulder and walked into a shop. 

The sign was worn but he could figure out one of the words on the window spelled books. 

A bookshop.

He grinned and made his way across the street and into the shop. 

The little bell jingled above his head. 

He  gave the clerk a  quick nod. He didn’t wait for their polite response as he usually would. He’s  too anxious to find you. 

The isles were close and crammed together, the smell of the store was diary dusty and papery, but not a paper paper smell like Tina’s Family's stationary shop. It smelled like whatever it smells like when a bunch of books in a room. 

Shouldering his way into one particular isle, he could see you on the other side. 

As if by fate, a book he’d already read was staring at him from above. He grabbed it and made his way in front of you. 

You were so enamored with looking at the books on your side, you didn’t notice him. 

“You should read this one,” he stuck it out from between the shelves, “it’s really good.”

You bewilderedly blink before letting out a surprised laugh, but the smile on your face was oh so worth it as you looked at the book and back to him.

“What? Who is that? Why would I read a book about,” you grabbed it, scanning over the back and then the front, “a coach of some sport?” 

“Well that's just rude,” he quickly made his way over to you, more than aware of the fact that he didn’t know what to do with his arms. Should he lean against the shelf? What if it  falls?. “It’s my favorite, and you should know better than to judge a book by its cover.”

He put one hand in his pocket and pointed towards the book with his other hand. 

“Well excuse my surprise,” you smiled at the book and looked back up at him, but thinning your lips, just a tad to hide it from him, but he saw it the first time. He’d make you smile at him for real next time, “I just don’t typically go for memoirs or biography-self-help-life-books from basketball?” You flipped the book over, “football coaches?”

“I’m not helping you out with that one. I guess you’ll have to read it.”

You tapped your fingers on the book. Still trying to hide that smile. God, he needed you to stop doing that. 

“Well, if you really want me to read it. I think you should sell me on it better. I just. . . “ you put a finger on your chin, “I don’t think it sounds like something I’d be interested in. I’m not sure.”

You push the book back into his chest with a thud. The sound resounded around the little shop. 

He could work with that. 

“It’s not the sports that makes this book worth reading or about the team he coaches, whatever kind of team that may be,” he slyly added, making you bite your lip with a nod, “but about the drive.”

“The drive?” You animatedly interrupted with a rose eyebrow. You were really listening to him. He grinned. 

“Yes, the drive, the work ethic, the grind, doing what it takes to stay the best.”

You huffed out a laugh.

“And what’s so funny about that.” He crossed his arms as you picked up a book before putting  it back down.

“I don’t think I need a book about moxy and hustle.”

“Well I very much think you do,” something about that made you laugh. It wasn’t a full laugh like he wanted, but you were smiling now, not hiding it, and it was because of him. He chuckled with you, “everyone needs some more hustle in them.”

“Keep telling me about the book.” 

So he went on and on, giving you  his best pitch.  Probably the greatest pitch he’s ever had all week, and the hardest, but he got you. 

“If I read this book will you leave me alone.” So it wasn’t the best sale, but it was a sale. He could still be proud of it. 

“Debatable,” he said without hesitation, “but if you have to give me a book to read, we’ll call it even.” 

“Okay,” you held out your hands towards him, “Wait here.”

He rolled back and forth on the balls of his feet. More than aware of the watch on his wrist and how he’s had it for years. The lone old and pathetic ring on his right pinkie, barely shining. He needed to get it cleaned, polished or something. His frumpled polo and the wrinkles at the ankles of his pants. 

Did he still smell like yesterday?

“Here.” You gingerly placed the book into his outstretched hands. Your smile almost  bashful as you did, but as he blinked it looked made up. That it might not have actually happened.“it’s my favorite.”

You abruptly turned. Done with the conversation, the interaction, with him. 

Fuck. 

You made your way to the clerk and he followed after you. It was over already. The unfortunate turn beginning in his mind, when would he see you again? How soon should he come here to see you? How to not look so pathetic or desperate as he did?

“Just these?” The clerk asked you, stamping a pocket in the back of the book. 

“And this one.” You tapped the biography Doug gave you, making a smile pull at his lips. 

“You sure?” He squinted in disbelief, “Where did you even find this?” 

“It was on the shelf.” You said it matter of factly, but nothing could hide the smile on your face or the twinkle in your eye. 

Doug couldn't pretend there wasn’t a growing sense of pride swelling in his chest as you smiled. 

Taking your books, you put them in your bag and walked toward the door, before you walked out you turned towards him. 

“I hope you like the book.”  You said it with such finality. Your face was changing. It was something unreadable. The smile he’d grown to love seeing on you was becoming a distant memory, almost a dream.

“It’s okay,” he licked his lips, fighting the sudden wave of nerves, “ I know where to find you if I need something else to read.”

With the smallest hint of a smirk, you walked out the door without a word. 

Fuck, he needed to see you again. 

-

“You can read?” 

Doug peered over the top of his book at Richie with a frown. “Very funny,” he drawled sarcastically, “a makeup artist, photographer, and now comedian, maybe I should give you a raise.”

Richie scoffed and went back to whatever he was doing. 

“Looks like he’s not the only one with jokes.” Tina added in out of nowhere. 

Good ole Tina. He can count on her for anything. 

“Why are you reading,” she pushed the book towards him, so she could read the title on the cover, “is this poetry?” She questioned disapprovingly. 

“No,” he defended, “it isn’t. It’s a book.”

“About what? And since when do you have time read?”

“It’s about regular book stuff.” He tapped his fingers along the spine in thought, “except it’s super depressing and shit, but. . . It’s good. I like it.”

Tinna nodded. 

“That’s really good.”

Doug couldn’t help but smile. 

“Maybe in between chapters you can find the time to do your actual job.” 

And there it was. Classic Tina. 

It wasn’t a big book by any means. The thin little paperback was anything but intimidating, but that didn’t stop the little guy from trying. The depressing little book packed a punch. 

Sure he could follow the story, know it was sad and that the racist shit was bad, but the overall meaning of the thing? The conversation it was supposedly starting. He hadn’t the slightest clue. 

He might need a few days to think about it. 

Did he have time to think about this book after he read it? 

On any other day for any other reason he would have read the damn thing and been done with it, but as far as he was concerned, this book was his key to you. If he could understand this book, find someway to get all smart or emotional or whatever the fuck and impress you, he’d be set. 

He’ll think about it as much as he possibly can. Hell, he’ll think about it in fucking sleep.

The book’s spine was cracked beyond imagination. He had to be careful or else it would probably snap apart. The little paperback had seen better days. There were highlighted lines of yellow, faded away and barely recognizable, but still there. From the looks of it, they had to be from a college student who definitely didn't pass whatever class they read this book for. The halfhearted lines of black that followed held terrible notes and obvious observations even a High School dropout like him could notice on the first crack. 

Poor kid. 

But there these notes and passages annotated by an illustrious navy blue ink. For every heartbroken event that happened, there was little sentence that made it hurt that much worse. Every sentence underlined in that color felt that much more important to read. Could it be you?

Or were you the really smart one in red? Those striking lines and notes felt beyond him, leaving him more confused about the book. They made him feel like he wasn’t reading the right one or reading the book wrong. 

Were you a teacher? Were you somehow this pretentious? He hoped not, but he would be lying if he said it wasn’t a deal breaker. Tina was smarter than him on her worst day. What’s it mean to have another smart woman around?

“Why did you make this order?”

He turned the last page he was reading, an index card falling in his lap. 

“Because we needed it.” He folded the ear of the page he was on, picking up the card in his lap and reading it. 

“We don't have the money for this.”

“It's a problem when the check bounces and they call, Tins. I won’t worry about it until that day. We’re good for now.”

In neat little writing, in navy blue ink: 

Let me know what you think.

 And your number.

[goldenavenger02]

know it's for the better (no, it's for the better)

To the world, that was the former prince, a young man who had been disgraced by his own family but was growing despite the adversity he had faced; but to Hakoda, all he could see was a child forced to go through too much that made him grow up too fast.

As the last embers of the shared fire died, the only thing Zuko could feel was the rough imprints of fingerprints in his tender skin leaving lasting bruising.

He wasn't surprised by the rough handling of him by the guards, between the trouble he was forced to cause in order for them to escape and the fact that he was the former, now disgraced, prince of the Fire Nation.

At the same time, however, the shades of blue and purple around his wrists and back of his neck were starting to ache uncontrollably now that the adrenaline was gone and the papery uniform itched against his skin against all of the hidden wounds that he refused to breathe a word of to Sokka; not when he finally forgave himself for the ambush now that they had succeeded in rescuing Hakoda and Suki.

So, he quietly made his way to the solace of the stone room while the others slept soundly outside before waiting for 'one, two, three,' and slowly peeling the papery uniform over his head and onto the ground.

It occurred to him briefly to burn it, but the smell of smoke could easily wake the others up which was enough of a reason for him to resist and focus on examining the bruising as well as he could between location and the length of his hair.

He knew that there was no chance of seeing the back of his neck, so he turned his attention to his wrists; the colors and designs weren't abnormal, given the fact that they were from rough hands dragging him from room to room, but he couldn't stop himself from pulling in a sharp breath after pressing down on them with his other fingers.

Within the bruising, however, were the white, jagged lines that extended up toward his chest; Zuko hadn't even noticed those lines until he arrived at the Western Air Temple and changed out of the tunic that smelled a bit too much like smoke for his liking.

He hadn't felt anything from them for days, but in the soft glow of moonlight making its way through the one window, now that he wasn't running on a lack of sleep and adrenaline, there was a soft ache that started in his fingertips and followed the current just like the lightning-

"Now I realize that banishment is far too merciful a penalty for treason. Your penalty will be far steeper."

Within a split second, Zuko pulled his hands inward, harnessing the whips of lightning his father had sent right towards his chest before making the split-second decision to shoot them at the bottom of the throne, enough to send his father flying toward the wall before running toward the war balloon with the smell of smoke following every single movement he made.

Zuko couldn't stop the tears from crashing down as he stumbled, his foot catching a stone on the way, knocking his already bruised neck against the wall; he choked on the sobs with a wince before tucking his head onto his shaking knees as the scars sparked like aftershocks against his aching heart when the memories came with the overwhelming realization. 'He has wanted me dead this whole time.'

…

Hakoda stamped out the last few embers with his boot before making his way toward the room that Sokka had shown him earlier that evening; the kids were seemingly content to sleep in the courtyard in their sleeping bags, but his back was simply too old and much preferred the carved stone bed.

As soon as the last spark died, he tiptoed around various sleeping bags that emitted various levels of snoring before making it inside the temple, but as he went to walk into the entrance of his room, a noise hit his ears that he hadn't heard in years.

The sound of a child desperately trying to catch their breath around violent sobs.

He whipped his head around, half expecting to see Katara or Sokka's blue eyes full of tears from the relief that he was alive, or even Aang trying and failing to keep it together as the pressure of defeating the Fire Lord was increasing day by day.

But as far as Hakoda could tell, all three of them were asleep, just like the others; he took a second mental headcount, and it was only then that the connection that made his heart sink came to light.

'Zuko.'

Hakoda had heard the rumors in his years at sea; the ones about a banished prince the same age as his own son, who disrespected the Fire Lord enough to have a permanent mark over his left eye before being sent away with no end in sight.

When the details had been shared over late night drinks below deck, he found his stomach twisting with disgust and guilt over a boy not much older than his own being publicly maimed and banished, but he found himself keeping his mouth shut.

After all, if he cried for every child who had suffered trauma in the war he himself had been born into, his eyes would never be dry; but the sobs weren't coming from an unknown child, or even the child of the enemy.

They were coming from the teenager who had risked his safety and his life to help Sokka after leaving his home on his own accord to help Aang.

Hakoda walked into the stone room that was adjacent to his own with a soft 'rap' on the doorframe with his knuckles before laying eyes on Zuko, who had his face pressed against his knees and made no sign that he heard the knock through the sobs that were shaking against his skin.

He wanted nothing more to get on his knees beside the teenager and pull him into a hug, but he forced his feet to stay firmly planted in the doorway as he found himself calling out, "Zuko?" as softly as he could.

It did nothing to stop him from flinching in response, his hands coming up from where they were tucked between his face and knees to cover his head, the sobbing never stopped as he maneuvered with his darkening wrists on full display.

But it wasn't the bruising or the sobs that caused Hakoda's mouth to fill with the taste of stomach acid and disgust, but the plea that broke through despite the crying.

"D-don't hit me."

Those three words turned his stomach violently in the same way that it had when he had found Katara after the raid that had taken Kya, but like he had back then, he forced it away and crouched on his knees.

"Zuko, I am not going to hurt you," he did his best to assure the teenager despite the fact that there was no signal that he could actually hear him over the gasping from his lungs, "can you take a deep breath and hold it for a few seconds?"

"I-I don't-"

"Can you try?"

His request was followed by a shaky inhale before the sobs went quiet for, "one, two, thre-" before the exhale followed.

But it was the pleas of "I-I'm sorry" interspersed with the renewed tears that only made Hakoda's heart clench tighter in his chest.

"It's okay," he insisted, even though he knew that his assurances were falling on deaf ears, "let's do it again, okay? Take a deep breath and hold it, just like the last one."

Hakoda was able to count to three before the exhale left Zuko, but the tears that followed the second time were less frantic and less in amount. 'It's working.'

He wasn't sure how long he coached the teenager through the slow, calm inhaling that he had used himself more times then he could count, but when they reached five twice and he had to tell Zuko to exhale, which he did without tears, he was able to take his own sigh of relief before finding it in himself to ask, "do you want help with the bruising?"

He expected the boy to send him away, or just tell him no, but even with the flush on his cheeks that could have been from the crying or from embarrassment, Zuko gave Hakoda a wordless nod that had him standing back up to retrieve his limited medical supplies from his room, despite the fact that he didn't want to take his eyes off of the boy.

"I'll be right back."

When he retreated back to his room for the quick reprieve, to pull out the futile pack that he always hid in his boot so he could try his hardest to help out the unfortunate soul who would die without his rudimentary skill set, he couldn't stop the few tears from falling down his face.

To the world, that was the former prince, a young man who had been disgraced by his own family but was growing despite the adversity he had faced; but to Hakoda, all he could see was a child forced to go through too much that made him grow up too fast.

It reminded him all too much of Aang, who had woken up after a hundred years to all of his people being destroyed, too much of Toph, who was forced back against her will and learned so much as a simple rebellion and too much of his own children, who had to lose him shortly after they lost Kya.

And 'fuck', when he thought too much about how much the war had taken from these children, who were still willing and preparing to go against the main perpetrator of this war, his heart ached for his soulmate who would have wrapped all these kids tightly in her arms before going so far to lay down her own life to keep them alive in the hopes of letting them be children for a bit longer.

He grabbed the pack tightly in his hand, only stopping himself when he felt the fabric wain under his hold to calm himself with a deep breath; the last thing he wanted to do was set Zuko off from his air of frustration with the world.

Hakoda loosened his hand on the pack before softly stepping toward the adjacent room, knocking once again on the doorframe before entering.

Zuko looked up this time at the noise, dry tear stains evident on his still-flushed cheeks and knees still pulled to his bare chest but no signs of more tear stains, more grief or more panic; a small relief that made Hakoda's tense shoulders relax as he sat beside him and opened the small pack.

"Now, I'm no healer like Katara," he prefaced as he pulled out the small flask of cool water from his pocket before soaking one of the bandages with it, "but, being on the ocean for years taught me a few things," he held out his empty hand, waiting until Zuko wordlessly placed his left wrist in it before firmly wrapping the gauze around the bruise, waiting for a sign of discomfort to cross over the scarred face that never came.

In fact, Zuko stayed completely motionless and emotionless until he started wrapping the bruises on the other wrist.

"I'm sorry, about…"

"You don't need to apologize, Zuko," Hakoda gently shook his head as he tied off the bandages and made notice of the soft, white scarring on his right hand that looked all too familiar to the ones Aang had running across his tattoos, "no one comes out of war unscathed."

The former prince simply nodded, looking rather intently at the stone floor and it filled Hakoda with an even larger hatred for the man who had cupped his child's face and set it alight.

"I know my daughter doesn't fully trust you yet, but regardless of who you are, she doesn't believe in unnecessary suffering."

"Why are you telling me this?" The boy looked up with two confused, golden eyes meeting his blue ones.

"Lightning wounds can cause permanent damage to your nerves," Hakoda explained, leaving out the part where Zuko was one of two survivors of lightning wounds he had seen and the other had only survived because of his daughter and spirit-blessed water from the north, "would you like me to speak to her about it in the morning?"

Even if every instinct of his told him to do it regardless, he waited for the explicit permission in order not to shatter the trust between himself and the lonely teenager, which he got in the form of a silent nod that he used as his cue to stand and make his leave, but not before stopping and looking over his shoulder, "and Zuko?"

"Yes?"

He so badly wanted to tell him to "wake me up if you need to" or "I'm on your side", but he settled for a simple, low tone as he said, "try and get some rest."

And when he didn't respond again, Hakoda forced his own feet to move so he could do his best to follow his own advice that he knew would be futile with the thoughts of anger towards Ozai and guilt over Zuko swirling in his mind as soon as he laid down on the stone bed.

[ok-pop-1]

a piñata for your troubles

a goofy ficlet, you can either read it below or on ao3 :)

To say that this is a normal dungeon would be an... understatement.

It's not that there's anything particularly wrong about it, Twi thinks as he squints at the wall. The bricks are uniform(ish), there isn't (that) much wear and tear, it's all as grey and drab as some dungeons tend to be. Objectively, he's just standing in a random dungeon room with the other heroes. It could be from anywhere, anywhen, whatever.

But, it's just...

"Why the hell is there a piñata here?!" Legend shouts, pointing wildly at the bright and goofy horse-thing hanging in the center of the room.

Twi sighs. They'd only just learned what piñatas are last week from Wild, who was extremely distressed to know that the others didn't know about them. And now, in a random dungeon, that should be normal and not weird and which definitely isn't in Wild's era, there's a piñata. Just hanging there. Waiting.

"It be thinkin' ye be needin' an aneurysm." Wind marches forward, ignoring Legend's splutters to pick at the pile of fabric strips hanging below the piñata. "Should we be... fightin' it?"

All eyes turn to Time, who just shrugs. "Maybe?"

"Yes," Wars says immediately after. "We have no idea whether it is safe or not, or what could be stored within it. Better to take care of it before we move on."

'Usually it's just got candy!' Wild signs to the room, though most miss the words.

"We're so fucked," Hyrule mutters next to Twi. "Well, ready for this?"

'No,' Twi laughs, accepting a blindfold from the pile that's being passed around. 'But I'm thinkin' it'll be fun!'

"Uh-huh."

Once blindfolded, Twi is left with the realization that he can't actually see Wild, which means he can't see what Wild would presumably want to say about the best way to fight piñatas. And he's left with the second realization that nobody else can see him, so he can't exactly express that information to the group. Although, now that he thinks about it, Hyrule isn't bad at understanding sign by touch alone...

Waving awkwardly in the air, Twi eventually makes contact with Hyrule. And immediately regrets his decision when an extremely pointed punch slams into his gut.

"Monsters!" Hyrule shouts. "One must've infiltrated just now-- it grabbed me!"

"Attack, aim for the piñata first!" Wars shouts. "But be careful of each other!"

"Should we be takin' off--"

A whack! cuts Wind off, the sound of metal on paper, before immediately being followed by an "oof!" from Legend.

"One of-- those monsters-- got me!" he wheezes from the vague direction of the other side of the room.

Chaos erupts. Twi abandons the thought of using his sword, due to the far-too-close proximity of literally everyone else, and just takes to swinging with his fists. He's pretty sure that there aren't actually any monsters infiltrating their ranks, but it's hard enough to tell amongst the repeated callouts of monster locations.

Eventually, though, one of his fists connects with paper. The piñata.

Gritting his teeth, Twi cocks his arm back and gears up. Sets his feet just-so, prepares to fling himself behind the hit and take care of this possibly-or-possibly-not-cursed piñata in one go. Swings, mentally shouting, imagining the piñata before him, quaking in its papery boots at the sight of his fist barreling down on it.

His hand collides with what can only be described as a metal wall, the clang! of it ringing through the entire room.

"What was that?!" "Time, are you--" "More monsters??" "I found the piñata!"

A tearing sound-- and then the sound of someone (Legend) cackling-- ensues. And then, nothing but utter silence.

Well, not entirely nothing. Twi holds his hand to his chest, because he's pretty sure he just broke every single finger on Time's armor, and his ego admittedly feels defeated by that fact. Oh, and it hurts like a bitch.

"Hey!" Wind shouts. "There only be the piñata! No monsters!"

Huh? Twi (and everyone else, apparently) tug off their blindfolds to stare at...

Seven bedraggled heroes, one piñata lying torn to shreds on the ground, and Wild, sitting with a smug grin at the edge of the room.

'You know,' he says, 'you're not all supposed to put on the blindfolds.'

Shouting sounds from several heroes. Twi drops his head in his one working hand. Lesson learned: next time, ask Wild to elaborate before charging in.

...And ask questions before Wind cheerfully hands you a blindfold. Twi makes sure to note that one, too.