#prompt thirty: fame and fortune

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest.

Eddeth

Day #30 - Fame & Fortune | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: Language | POV: Eddie | Pairing: Fake!Eddeth, Steddie | Tags: Modern AU, Stop Trying to Make Eddeth Happen, It's Not Gonna Happen, Eddie & Gareth Are Best Friends, They Are Also: Idiot², Paparazzi, Social Media, Luddite Eddie, Steve Harrington Has To Clean Up All Their Messes, But What Else Is New?

"Did you know they're shipping us?" 

"Shipping us where? I hope they poke holes first," Eddie says, looking over at Gareth as he's scrolling on his phone. Gareth isn't listening to him, doesn't even laugh, which Eddie thinks is rude. That was a great dad joke.

He's picked up dad jokes from Steve, because Steve's corny as fuck. 

"Not like that," Gareth says, "like, shipping us together. We have a name and everything."

"Speak English," Eddie demands.

"You know, like Bennifer? But we're Eddeth," Gareth says.

"Who's Bennifer?"

"Which version?" Gareth asks, "Nevermind. You don't care. It's the ship name for Ben and Jennifer together. Do you never read the tabloids?"

"No. And I don't like that," Eddie says.

"Well, I knew you wouldn't. But now they're thinking about us. Together. Romantically. Enough that we have a mash-up of our names together."

Eddie barks out a laugh, "Well, alright. Whatever floats their boat."

Gareth sits there quietly for a bit, then says, "Maybe we can use this. Drum up some attention for the band. Get our name out there. Be a trending hashtag."

"I don't know what that means," Eddie says. 

"I know you don't. But we could, like, get in the zeitgeist."

"I hate everything you're choosing to be right now," Eddie says.

"Eddie. This could blow us up."

"Well, sure, in that case I'll tell Steve to just step aside."

"Not for real, dummy. Just for the paparazzi. Get our names talked about more. If they see more of the band, they may like the band more."

Eddie says he'll think about it, but he has no intention of doing any of that. They are exactly the right amount of famous. He can walk down the street without being harassed, but they live comfortably. He isn't about to upset that apple cart.

But it persists. There's buzz, apparently. At least according to Gareth, anyway.

So, at the next show, Eddie hops up on the drum riser and covers Bang Dem Sticks, while flirting with Gareth. It is possible to flirt platonically, and he does it very well. 

The next day, Gareth shows him all the chatter. The tiktoks. The commentary. And, well, maybe they could use this to their advantage. Just for a minute.

So, they walk down a dozen different sidewalks, and no paparazzi cameras pop out to snap pictures. Which is normal. He isn't sure why Gareth suddenly thought they'd make TMZ. 

But Gareth persists, and they even go to the Ivy, and still nothing. 

Even LAX is a fucking bust. 

That night, Eddie crawls into bed next to Steve, and sighs.

"What's the matter with you?" Steve asks, tipping down his iPad to look at Eddie.

"Nobody will take my picture with Gareth."

Steve laughs, "What the hell are you talking about?"

So, Eddie tells him their grand plan, and Steve is laughing his fucking ass off before Eddie can even finish. 

"Eddie. You have to call the paps if you want to do a pap walk. They aren't mind-readers. They don't just show up. Do you think all those pictures of celebs you see are actually candid? They definitely aren't."

Well, Eddie never looks at pap pictures. He has no fucking clue. He likes to fly under the radar.

"Really?" Eddie eventually asks. 

"Really. Do you want me to organize a pap walk for you?" Steve asks, his eyes sparkling with mirth.

"Well. Kinda," he says, "we're Eddeth."

"I know, honey. I've seen all the videos of you flirting with him on stage."

Eddie laughs, "You know that's not real, right?"

"Uh, yeah. I'm not new here," Steve says, "I'll call it in tomorrow. You can be photographed to your heart's content."

And they are. As if it were magic, a handful of photogs are suddenly very aware of where they'll be on various outings. Eddie holds the door for Gareth. Hugs him on the street corner. They get an inordinate amount of coffees that Eddie doesn't even like.

The pictures run, and not a lot of people care, but they are being discussed in some circles. 

So, they keep doing it. Dinners and movies and trips through the airport where they're not really going anywhere. Only going through security, as if they were.

That's a brand new kind of torture. Who goes through TSA when they don't actually have to? 

More coffee. Coffee, coffee, coffee. Eddie's never bought this many drinks in his life. 

And then the bottom falls out. 

Someone makes a video that goes extremely viral, explaining everyone in their Corroded Coffin circle. 

Including Steve. 

In fact, it's almost mourning the breakup of them. Steddie. They're Steddie, apparently, and now the fans, the real fans, those that actually have followed them, are upset. Pointing fingers, assigning blame. Some to Eddie, some to Gareth.

Fuck.

"Uh, we've got a problem," Eddie tells Steve, and Steve just shakes his head, already aware of the situation.

"Do we have to do a pap walk now?" Eddie asks, worrying his hands together. 

He never did anything romantic with Gareth. It can all be explained away, swept under the rug. 

He thinks.

He hopes.

"I really don't want to," Steve says, and that's that. They won't.

Now, Eddie's either a cheater in the eyes of their actual fans, or they think Steve's gone. 

Instead, Gareth does a couple pap walks with his girlfriend, and she's branded a beard, immediately. They really fucked this up, big time. 

"We'll go to dinner. The four of us," Steve says, "I'll call it in."

And Eddie kisses his cheek, over and over.

Just to be safe, Steve has their publicist send TMZ a copy of their marriage certificate, and some boilerplate that Eddie and Gareth are just best friends, and always have been.

As they settle into the booth at the restaurant, pictures still being taken, Steve asks, "Are we done trying to be tabloid fodder? Have we learned our lesson?"

"Yes, Steve," Eddie and Gareth both say in unison.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🦇

[corrodedcoffinfest]

Prompt #30 - Fame and Fortune

They've made it big! Now what?

Get those submissions in by 11:59 PM EDT tonight!

Be sure to tag @corrodedcoffinfest and feel free to use the hashtag #corrodedcoffinfest.

This will blog will comment with a 🦇 when your fic has been checked for word count and queued for reblogging.

[dreamwatch]

Turn The Page

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest

Day #30 - Prompt: Fame and Fortune | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: implied alcoholism | POV: Steve | Pairing: Steddie | Tags: mild angst with a happy ending, future fic, they’re in love your honour, Eddie’s over it

Again, another iPad entry so hopefully no typos but… who knows!

The moment Eddie gets off the stage Steve knows something is wrong.

The twenty-first had been hard, a day of press, of meet and greets, of things Steve asked Eddie to cancel. ‘It’s easier to just do it’; it’s not though. It never fucking is. The press and the fans get a Diet Eddie, and Steve ends up with an angry drunk in his bedroom. But they power through it. They always do.

 Steve goes to special shows now, wouldn’t have come to this one but it’s the twenty-seventh, and what’s more special than knowing your boyfriend is still alive?

Eddie practically throws his guitar at his tech as he rushes off stage, rushing past everyone, Steve included.

“Eddie?” he calls out.

The rest of the band get off the stage. “Eddie!” Jeff shouts from behind him. “The encore!”

But he’s gone, down the labyrinth of hallways, the crowd still cheering for more.

He doesn’t shower, doesn’t grab his shit from the dressing room, just walks out of the back of the venue to their car,  Steve running behind him. The car isn’t ready, they’re not expecting him for another thirty minutes at least, and it’s a confused mess of security and crew, frantic radio messages.

“Eddie, what the fuck is going on?” Steve asks, taking him by the elbow. He gets a tight head shake as a reply.

The car ride is silent, the smell of cooling sweat blending with the air con blowing full blast at them, and when they get to their hotel room, Eddie heads straight to the phone.

“Hi, can I get room service to the Junior Suite?”

Steve just gawps, he feels like he’s losing his fucking mind.

 “Uh… can I get… do you have pineapple? I’d really like some pineapple actually. And a bottle of champagne… whatever you think is best, oh and hold on,” he says covering the mouthpiece with his hand. “Do you want anything?” 

He sounds manic, so off, so not his usual self. Wild in a crazed way, and it’s scaring Steve. He stands in the entranceway, mouth hanging open.

“Yeah, I want to know what the fuck is going on?”

Eddie blinks.

“And a cheese burger and fries.”

He hangs up and finally peels his t-shirt off, letting it drop to the floor as he walks to the bathroom to shower. The phone keeps ringing, Jeff asking what the hell is going on, their manager, Phil, screaming at him. Eddie wanders in, towel around his waist, another wrapped around his hair. He doesn’t even stop to ask who Steve’s talking to, just gently takes the handset from his hands, places it back on the phone.

The room service arrives and Eddie leads Steve to the dining table, tells him to sit and eat, and then he takes a huge piece of pineapple with him to the bed.

The phone rings again, and this time Eddie rips the cord from the wall.

“Ed, you have got to talk to me.”

“I will. Just let me eat this first. Eat your burger.” 

As if he could.

Eddie sits on the edge of the bed half naked, eating pineapple. Steve’s watched them trash rooms before, true idiot behaviour, but this is probably the weirdest fucking thing he’s ever seen.

There’s banging on the door, Steve can hear Gareth’s voice, then Phil’s again, it’s after midnight now. Eventually they go away.

“You know,” Eddie says breaking the silence. “I don’t think I’ve enjoyed anything in the last few years as much as I enjoyed that fucking pineapple.” He frowns at the half eaten fruit platter, like he’s trying to solve a math problem. 

Steve crouches in down in front of him, his hands gripping Eddie’s knees.

“Bambi, please, what the fuck is going on? I mean, do I need to call a doctor here…? You’re scaring me.”

Eddie looks at him like he’s water on a hot day. 

“What if I said let’s run away? I’ll quit the band, we’ll buy a ranch or a farm. Get out of LA.” His eyes meet Steve’s properly for the first time since he got off stage. “What would you say?”

“I’d say give me ten minutes to pack.”

“Really?”

“Really. Where’s this coming from?”

“I died twenty years ago. And I got a second chance and I took it, you know. We’ve done amazing things. But it’s not fun anymore. It hasn’t been fun for a long time. And life’s too short for that, it’s too short for me to waste it being miserable. And I am. I’m a thing, I’m a commodity. I go where I’m told, I turn up, do my thing. I don’t remember the names of the towns I’m in, I always thought that was a joke you know? It’s not. It’s real.” He laughs, but it’s shallow, his eyes flat. “Who fucking knew?”

Steve gets off the floor and sits beside Eddie on the bed. “Are you serious?”

Eddie doesn’t answer straight away, but when he eventually looks at Steve he nods, and for the first time that day, Steve realises, he smiles. “Yeah. Yeah I’m serious.”

“I hate that you felt this way and didn’t tell me.”

Eddie takes his hand, threads his fingers through, locking them together.

“I didn’t want to worry you.”

This stupid, beautiful man. His everything. His life.

“And the band?”

Eddie shrugs. “They’ll be fine. They’ll get another guitarist no problem. People would kill to join them.”

Steve reaches for Eddie, lays his palm against his cheek, trails his thumb along the silvery thread that runs all the way to his throat, a memory woven on his face. It scares him how close they were to not having this, hits him sometimes out of nowhere. He leans in, his lips meeting Eddie’s, tastes pineapple, tastes home. He wouldn’t deny this man a single thing.

“Alright then,” says Steve says, breaking the kiss with a smile. “I guess we’re going shopping for a ranch.”

[mst3kproject]

The Astral Factor

This movie has a great deal to offer the MSTie. It was written by Arthur C. Pierce, who did the same job on The Human Duplicators, and it can boast the presences of Leslie Parrish of The Giant Spider Invasion, Frank Ashmore of Parts: the Clonus Horror, and Rayford Barnes from Mitchell.  The premise is ludicrous but presented with a perfectly straight face, and the whole thing just oozes 70’s-ness.

Roger Sands is a man of many talents, the most important of which for our purposes is his ability to become invisible in a shower of disco sparkles.  This allows him to escape from prison, argue with his mother’s ghost (who apparently throws bangin’ parties in the afterlife) and go on a killing spree. The cops know who they’re hunting because he’s left fingerprints all over the place, but they have no idea how he’s moving around unseen.  Fortunately, the prison psychologist knows some psychics who might be able to help them out… but will they be in time to save the various celebrities Sands is stalking, women who remind him of his own neglectful mother?

The main impression one gets from The Astral Factor is that it’s a parade of clichés.  The first victim is killed in a bubble bath.  Chuck the detective gets dragged out of bed to come investigate the case, which makes his girlfriend pout because she was hoping for sex. The killer is obsessed with his mother. Dogs and birds can sense Sands’ presence when he’s invisible.  Chuck’s girlfriend is a terrible cook.  That sort of thing.  None of this needs to kill a movie, of course… clichés become clichés because they work.

Much worse for the movie is that it isn’t very interested in its characters.  Sands’ backstory is that his mother was a movie star who thought it would ruin her career if it came out that she’d been briefly married and pregnant at the age of seventeen.  She therefore distanced herself from him, leaving him feeling unwanted and invisible (insert giant blinking neon sign that says METAPHOR) until he finally got fed up and strangled her.  This isn’t a bad setup for a movie’s serial killer, but the narrative doesn’t do much with it.  Sands has a list of women he wants to murder, but we never find out what makes them good potential victims beyond simply being famous blondes.  Surely there should be some moment of recognition, some sin they’ve each committed against their own families, but apparently ‘famous and blonde’ should be enough.

Opposed to Sands is, of course, Chuck the detective. He comes across as kind of a jerk but he does seem to love his empty-headed girlfriend Candy.  I think his arc is meant to be that he starts off skeptical of the paranormal but is eventually forced to believe, but this is pretty badly mishandled – when the prison psychiatrist talks about Sands’ interest in psychic phenomena, Chuck seems bored rather than disbelieving, and when a man demonstrates telekinesis in front of him, he accepts it but looks entirely unimpressed.  He never seems to be really affected by the phenomena he encounters.  Instead of a man whose worldview is shaken to the core, Chuck appears to be merely annoyed that this is yet another thing he has to deal with.

The other possible arc Chuck has is that Candy suggests he get a job with ‘normal hours’ so that she no longer has to make coffee for his co-workers when they come to tell him about a murder in the middle of the night.  He says he’ll think about it, but there’s no follow-up.

Finally, there’s Christine, the potential victim that we’re supposed to get attached to and worry about.  She’s a spoiled trophy wife who hangs around in her mansion drinking while her husband, who lost all interest in her once she turned thirty, is out of town.  The problem with her is that she doesn’t have much by way of a personality. In one scene she’s grateful for the cops protecting her, in the next she’s telling them to piss off and let her go shopping in peace, and then suddenly she’s sobbing in her room.  Are these supposed to be mood swings?  It feels more like neither the writers nor the actress cared enough to figure out who she is.

I guess that brings us to the movie’s misogyny, which is as rich and gooey as the inside of a lava cake but does not taste like chocolate.  First of all, Sands’ problems are said to be his mother’s fault – she abandoned him, leaving him no choice but to murder women who remind him of her!  The prison psychologist specifically absolves Sands of responsibility for his own crimes.  He cannot be reformed, he cannot be helped, he must be locked up because his mother’s selfishness (more interested in her own career than in raising her son) destroyed his mind.  Never mind that there are people with neglectful or even abusive parents who don’t grow up to be serial killers.

The women Sands kills are celebrities – models, dancers, actresses, socialites – because they remind him of his fame-obsessed mother.  But as I previously mentioned, they’re not really all that like her.  We don’t see any signs of any of them having families they neglect.  The only one who even seems to have a husband is Christine and it’s him who neglects her.  Perhaps the point is supposed to be that Sands has misjudged them, but we don’t see any signs of them being better than his mother in this respect, either.  Most of them seem to have avoided children in order to focus on their careers.  Perhaps in the mind of a male writer in the 70’s, this is itself a sin.

Certainly the movie is not interested in these women as characters.  I’ve already discussed Christine, but there are others.  The first one comes home, takes a bath, and dies.  The second one is working on a painting when her dog runs off – she chases it, and she and the dog both die.  The third is the dancer at her rehearsal.  She has the creeps for no reason, does her rehearsal, and dies. The emphasis is always on their bodies: they’re sexy, then they’re dead.  The sequence with the dancer is particularly weird, with her male partner representing the devil dressed in some kind of bondage getup.

The most frustrating thing about The Astral Factor, though, is that it really doesn’t know what to do with its premise.  It keeps bringing up interesting ideas about what a psychic murderer might be able to do, and then just drops them.

The opening scene, in which Sands escapes from jail after telekinetically beating up his cellmate with furniture, seems to promise us a much more exciting movie than we get.  After escaping, Sands visits the cemetery and his heart-to-heart with ghost mom is interrupted by a security guard. Sands uses his powers to push the guy into an open grave and bury him alive!  I wanted to see more of this kind of thing, but after that Sands seems to forget he can do anything besides the ‘becoming invisible’ thing.  Later victims are either beaten or strangled, as if they were killed by some loser who doesn’t have any psychic powers.  Perhaps he has to strangle the women because that’s how he killed his mother, but he does the same thing to bodyguards and boyfriends when we know he has more creative means at his disposal.

The rest of the movie is also at odds with the title, which suggested this would be a movie in which Sands sits in jail the whole time, astral-projecting himself into his victims’ homes to strangle them. This idea is discussed, but it is in no way what happens so I’m not sure why they brought it up.  There are a couple of reasonably effective scenes, as when it’s implied that Sands is invisible inside his first victim’s apartment but we can’t be absolutely sure until he starts interacting with objects.  The bit where the dancer is strangled onstage and people don’t intervene because they think it’s part of the show… that’s another cliché but it works all right.

The Astral Factor also has no interest in how psychic powers work.  They’re shown to require great concentration for the guy demonstrating them at the institute, but Sands seems to throw things around effortlessly.  Why is that?  Where did he get these powers?  Just by reading about them?  Can anybody learn to do this or just certain people?  If the latter, what makes Sands special?

In trying to catch his invisible killer, Chuck shows very little creativity.  I can think of a bunch of ways to try to thwart an invisible man.  What about filling a room with mist or smoke?  What about scattering flour on the floor to show his footprints? What about physical tripwires? None of these are ever suggested. Nor does anybody ever come up with the idea of fighting back psychically.  If anybody can learn these powers, that could have been a cool thing for Chuck to have to do – not only come to terms with the fact that this exists, but having to figure out how to do it himself!  Or if only special people can do it, why not hire one of those psychics the scientists were working with?  If a parrot knows there’s an invisible man there, surely another psychic could figure it out!

The way they do eventually catch Sands is by having Christine speak to him as if she is his mother, which prompts him to reply, and the sound of his voice tells the cops where to aim their guns.  This works, but it’s not nearly as interesting as some of the other possibilities and does not reveal anything new about Sands himself.

Watching people get ‘strangled’ by something invisible is always fun, and The Astral Factor has a couple of really funny special effects (I especially like the cellmate pretending to be in a fight with his mattress), but mostly the movie is a disappointment.  It had potential to be way scarier and way more fun if it were willing to explore its premise a little more deeply, but all it really wants to show us is blonde women getting killed.

[littlemisslol-fic]

Varigo week continues!!! @alistairwrites these prompts are so fun omg

Day Two: First Kiss 😘😘

They said that if you wanted a favor, you could always go ask the Witch of the Iron Wood.

 Varian’s sure it’s bullshit, of course it is. Witches aren’t real- the only magic that he’s ever come across is from artifacts and space rocks; things that, no matter how you looked at it, are already goddamn weird to start with. Magic is just a type of power they have yet to harness, something celestial and ancient- but within the parameters of science.

 He’s never believed the rumours, that if you went to the woods bordering Corona and the Iron Kingdom and walked so deep into the woods you risked getting lost, you might come across the esteemed witch. For a price, they said, the witch would grant you a single wish and be done with you. Your debt would be paid, and you’d wake up in your own bed without a clue as to how you got there, with your wish fulfilled. Varian’s never believed it, never wanted to believe it- he’s a man of science, damn it, and he’ll stick to science, thank you very much.

 But…

 Then his dad had gotten sick.

 Something in Quirin’s lungs- potentially too many cold mornings working in the field, maybe too long trapped in the amber, or perhaps just a stroke of bad luck- had festered and eaten away at him, leaving the man nearly bedridden in a matter of weeks. Varian, only twenty, had been forced to listen as the doctor recommended that Quirin start writing an airtight will, just in case, to assure that Varian would be taken care of in case… in case Quirin didn’t make it.

 Varian had worked himself into a tizzy, refusing to leave his father’s side, brewing medicine and other alchemical solutions in an attempt to find a cure, a fix-it, something, anything, to save his father. But nothing had worked, and Varian was at his wits end.

 So when someone had spoken of their own failed trek to find the witch, Varian- desperate as he was- had packed a bag and started running.

 It was a long shot, longer than he liked to think, but if there was even a semblance of a chance that this Witch of the Iron Wood could help his father… then Varian was willing to try. So he’d packed a bag, left his father in the competent care of Old Corona’s best physician, and had started the three-day trek to the Iron Wood.

 The forest was ancient, and it wore its years well. Grand trees stood nearly thirty meters tall, gnarled and drooping with ivy and vines, covered every inch of the woods in a way that suffocated light and sound. Standing at the threshold Varian had nearly turned back- what good was he to his father if he ended up lost in the woods… or dead?- but the memory of Quirin’s pale face and limp chest spurred him forwards, allowing the woods to swallow him whole.

 He’d wandered for a two days, tripping over twisted roots and sleeping in trees to keep himself away from curious wildlife. It’s on the third day, when Varian’s well and truly lost, that he stumbles upon the cabin. It’s plain, humble. well kept but obviously old in the way the creeping ivy had grown close around the building, digging deep into the stone over the course of years.

 It's set in a small clearing, surrounded by a lush garden of herbs and plants Varian has no name for- he’s never been one for the apothecary side of the sciences- and a prim, well built fence. It’s a modest cabin, made of cobblestone and thick wooden timbers, with a single chimney merrily spitting a small plume of smoke. The windows are large, and Varian can catch sight of rows of plants poking out from under the curtains inside.

 The cabin is warm, inviting.

 Suspicious.

 Varian approaches with caution, walking forwards with a tenseness to his shoulders. He can’t be sure if this the cabin, or just a cabin, but it’s best to approach as if it were a trap- better to be wrong and look strange, than be too casual and end up dead. Birdsong rings through the calm clearing; sunlight beams down in shining pillars that sets the grass aglow. He doesn’t trust it for a second.

 There’s a little stone path that leads up to the front door. Varian follows it with a measured step, ignoring the happy little bees that gently float between the flowers. For all he knows, this is a trap. The Witch of the Iron Wood could be a con artist, a thief, hell, even an actual witch who wasn’t super into the idea of helping people so much as sacrificing them for weird witch-spells.

 Magic bullshit. Can’t be too careful.

 Still, Varian wasn’t raised in a barn; when he reaches the oak front door he still knocks like a normal person, and waits for an answer. It doesn’t come. Curiously, he raises his hand to knock against the old door again, only for the door to swing wide open by itself with a long, drawn out creak of old hinges.

 “Oh, that’s creepy.” Varian mutters to himself, peeking into the dark interior of the cabin beyond. “Super creepy.”

 He peeks behind himself, looking back down the path with a grimace. He could just turn around, go home… but then what if Quirin wasn’t improving? What if he was worse, and Varian had turned away from an option to save him because he was scared? Varian’s hands clench at the thought, so tightly he can feel his nails through his gloves. He turns back around and gazes into the darkness in front of him.

 Teeth grit, Varian walks forwards into the cabin.

 The interior of the building is just as well maintained as the exterior. The room Varian steps into is a great room of some sort, a larger space with a small kitchen pushed to the side and a series of mismatched, but well loved, couches and chairs surrounding a large fireplace in the very center of the room. Hanging above the fireplace is a large cauldron, filled to the brim with a smoking, bright purple concoction. The light from outside filters through the wall of plants Varian had noticed while outside, keeping the interior relatively dark.

 “This place just keeps getting creepier,” Varian grumbles into the empty air, approaching the cauldron with hesitant steps.

 “Well, thank you, I built it myself.” Comes a snarky voice from behind, startling Varian into flinging himself forwards, hiding behind the cast iron cauldron. For a brief second, he considers making a break for the door-

 Which slams shut of its own accord.

 Perfect.

 Varian risks a peek up and over the edge of the cauldron, the steam hazing his vision over as he crouches on the floorboards. Before him stands a blond man, looking at Varian with an expectant expression. It tugs at his pale face in an attractive way, tilts his glasses askew in a way that compliments the choppy blond hair and pony tail the taller boy sports. He’s dressed in green, a similar shade to his honestly stunning eyes and-

 Wow. Wow okay time to tone that down.

 Varian peeks over the lip of the cauldron a little more, sizing the taller man up. The other stands between Varian and the door, he’d have to get around him to get out-

 “So, what is it that you want?” The blond asks, and Varian realizes how out of place he is.

 “I- sorry!” Varian crows, stepping back from the cauldron as if it’d burnt him. “Sorry, the door was open, and I’m actually looking for someone that lives out here, and-”

 “Listen.” Blondie cuts him off. “I know that you’re here to ask your favour, so. What is it? Gold, immortality, love? I don’t have all day, spit it out.”

 “I-”

 “Wait, no, I bet you I can guess. You look like a nerd, something to do with fame? Glory?”

 “No!”

 Blondie raises a brow. There’s a brief second of pause, before Varian finally fully creeps out from behind the cauldron. He takes a breath. For dad, he thinks.

 “My name is Varian,” He starts. The blond man raises a brow, looking rather confused to be given a name. “What’s yours?”

 “H-Hugo.” The blond stutters a bit, like he wasn’t ready to be asked that. Varian smiles.

 “Hugo,” He repeats. “Nice to meet you. Are you the one everyone’s been calling a witch?”

 “Sure am.” Hugo replies, taking a step forward. Varian feels his face light up, even as he’s passed by in lieu of the cauldron. Hugo begins to stir the liquid, looking at it judgementally. He twists around towards one of the plants on the windowsill, plucking a leaf off it and tossing it in. The mixture goes a shade of green, not unlike pea soup.

 “Great!” Varian chirps, “I was wondering if you’d be able to help me?”

 “Yeah, your wish, right?” Hugo mutters, “That’s all anyone ever cares about. So what is it you want?”

 “I- that’s a little sad.” Varian says, “No one ever just visits you?”

 “Nope,” Hugo says, popping the p. “And neither did you, so spit it out.”

 “My… my father is sick.” Varian finally says, looking to the floor. “I’ve tried everything I can think of to help him get better, but nothing works.”

 Hugo pauses in his stirring, looking back to Varian with a calculating look. “You realize you could ask for anything, right?” He says, “Eternal life, endless fortune, riches beyond your wildest dreams.”

 “I didn’t think that was real.” Varian replies, frankly. “I thought you would just be a skilled healer. That’s all I was looking for.”

 “Just medicine.” Hugo says, as if he thinks it’s a joke. His face twists into something confused when Varian nods.

 “Just medicine.” The shorter of them says with conviction. “Nothing else. Whatever your price is, I’ll pay it; I just want my father to be well again.”

 Hugo looks to Varian like he’s grown a second head. Varian looks at him with a schooled expression, choking back the anxiety boiling in his gut. If this didn’t work, if this Hugo couldn’t help him, then Quirin would surely not have long left-

 “Fine.” Hugo says, “I think that’s a stupid wish, but who am I to stop you from throwing it away?”

 Varian’s expression must do something stupid, because Hugo laughs. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” He mutters, reaching forwards towards Varian with a grin. The shorter of them feels his face heat up in a blush, going red at their sudden closeness, but winces when Hugo reaches up and tugs a single strand of hair from his hair.

 “Ow,” Varian whines, rubbing at the spot the hair had been tugged from. “Why’d you do that?”

 “Ingredients.” Hugo chides, “And unless you’re going to stop asking stupid questions, you can go wait outside.”

 Varian pauses at that, quietly taking a seat on one of the chairs. Hugo looks at him with another questioning expression, but eventually the blond shrugs. “Suit yourself.” He mutters, and goes back to his work.

 Varian watches with rapt attention as herbs and other ingredients get tossed into the cauldron in precise amounts, the mixture going every colour of the rainbow over the next hour. Hugo works quickly, focused on his… potion? Elixir? Varian’s not sure what to call it actually. While Varian keeps from asking questions, that doesn’t stop him from watching with a keen eye as the mixture continues to bubble. After an hour, it eventually turns a rather pleasant shade of lilac purple and stops smoking. Hugo looks smug about it, so Varian assumes the mixture must be finished.

 Hugo takes a small pipette from a nearby shelf of strange looking glass instruments- Varian would kill to be able to know what they all did, though Hugo doesn’t seem apt to share- and uses the tool to transfer some of the mixture into a small, glass vial. He does this three more times, making a total of four, before placing them into a small bag.

 “And done.” Hugo says, more to himself than to Varian. He twists around with a smarmy grin, holding the bag out. Varian looks at it with a sense of wonderous apprehension, reaching out a hand but stopping himself before he can touch the crushed red velvet. He stands from the couch, pursing his lips.

 “What’s the trade?” He asks without malice, but with a hefty amount of suspicion. Hugo’s smile draws wider, and Varian brings his hand fully back to his chest. Always a catch, with magic, something cynical in him groans, absolute bullshit.

 “Well,” Hugo muses, “There’s always things that I need from around, though to be honest I’m pretty stocked up on anything I could want.”

 “Surely there’s something?” Varian says with a hint of panic- Hugo wouldn’t make the stupid potion only to refuse to trade Varian for it, right? The previous anxiety rears its head again; stupid magic, honestly, always being so contrived.

 “There is one thing,” Hugo muses, eyes trailing on Varian’s face. The shorter man feels himself blush again as Hugo steps close, cupping his chin in a way that feels scarily intimate for someone he’s only just met. “One, tiny thing…” Hugo says, trailing off. Varian can’t help but feel a little thrill, pressing closer, unconsciously, to the extremely attractive man in front of him.

 “Anything.” Varian says with a small grin of his own, having half an idea of where Hugo might be going with this from the way the blond’s gaze lingers on Varian’s own lips. He’s not against it, not at all; Varian’s not the type, usually, but something about the blond in front of him draws him in. Hugo’s smile widens at the permission, leaning forwards.

 It’s a chaste kiss, a little too soft and sweet for strangers, but one that Varian can say he enjoys. He’s never been kissed before, but if this is what it’s like- the smooth press of lips against his own, the soft feeling of a body pressed up against his front- suddenly all those romantic ballads make a lot more sense.

 Varian’s eyes slip closed, barely registering as the bag is slipped into his hands. After what could be hours, or merely seconds, Hugo pulls back. Varian keeps his eyes closed, hoping to entice the blond to come back and kiss him again.

 “Have your father drink that twice a day, every twelve hours.” Hugo says, his tone somewhat sad. When Varian opens his eyes again, he is standing in his bedroom, alone. He brings up a dazed hand to lightly touch at his lips, blinking in shock.

 The sudden silence rings in his ears.  

 BANNER

 “Well, Olivia.” Hugo says to his beloved pet, “Another few hours to go, and then we’ll break for dinner.”

 He’s out in his garden, weeding. Nimble, long fingers deftly pull undesirable plants from his herbs, tossing them into a nearby pile. Oliva, small little mouse that she is, does her own work of yanking out the smaller plants, working on her own pile. Hugo smiles as she chirps her assent at his idea, plopping a rogue dandelion on her pile with a squeak.

 It had been nearly a week since Varian had come to ask for his favour from Hugo- the blond couldn’t help but miss his company, to be honest. After the few hours they’d spent together, Hugo found himself to be a little enamoured. Hugo’s had dealt with every thrill seeker in the book, those who came to his cabin demanding fame, or glory, or riches, but he’d yet to encounter someone who had been so willing to make the dangerous walk to Hugo’s home for the sake of a family member. Varian had asked his name before asking for his help, had commented that it was sad that no one visited him. He’d been… genuine. Nice. Treated Hugo’s skills like they were less something to be demanded, and more like a gift to be asked for. He had been sweet, and it made something in Hugo bitter.

 It was a lonely life, out in the woods, but a peaceful one. Hugo was willing to live alone if it meant he was mostly left to his own devices, though times like when Varian had arrived, he couldn’t help but feel the sting of the isolation creeping in. Perhaps that was why he’d asked for the kiss, though now Hugo felt rather stupid about it. What else could he have asked from Varian? Something more useful for sure. Supplies, food, anything really to save him a walk. But instead his stupid brain had seen a pretty boy and gone totally blank. Hugo can’t help but be a little concerned at that- if he started giving things out for free, he’d surely be in trouble when winter rolled around. 

 Oliva squeaked again, this time something that sounded concerned. Hugo looked up from his plot of dirt to see her rush over to him, the little mouse scrambling up his shirt to perch on his shoulder. He looked up to where she had come from, seeing a familiar figure standing on the edge of the grove.

 “Hi, Hugo!” Varian said with a grin, holding up a small basket. “I was wondering if you wanted some company?”

 Hugo… short circuits. “What?” He asks dumbly as Varian walks towards him. The shorter man pauses at the gate, his face asking to be let in. Hugo nods, still stunned as Varian- Varian had come back????- lets himself in and strides over to Hugo with a smile.

 “Well, you said no one ever came to visit.” Varian said softly, “So I thought I’d change that.”

 “You… don’t want anything?” Hugo asks, struck stupid.

 “Well, I mean, I want to talk to you.” Varian flushes, biting at his lip. “And I wanted to thank you. And so does my dad! He helped me make this for you.” Varian shoves the basket at Hugo with a sudden motion, as if embarrassed to have it now that he’s dragged it all the way here.

 “He’s doing better, then?” Hugo says, taking the basket without thinking. It’s got some weight to it. A peek under the lid shows about four loaves of fresh bread, tucked away and kept good by a thick towel.

 “Much, thank you.” Varian says earnestly, “He was up and walking the day after I came to see you.”

 “That’s good.” Hugo muses, lost in thought. No one had ever come back to see him after they’d gotten their wish, let alone to thank him and bring him another gift.

 Varian nods with a smile, one that’s bright and happier than the one he’d worn before. Hugo likes it on him. “It’s fantastic.” He breathes, “I owe you more than you could ever know.”

 “Nah, we’re even.” Hugo says, flushing at the memory of Varian’s lips on his. “Your debt’s been paid.”

 “Oh,” Varian says, looking sideways. “Well, I mean, if you’re sure you don’t want to- uh. Again. Never mind.”

 Oh.

 Oh.

 “Hm.” Hugo muses, catching on quick, “Actually, you know, I think something went wrong the first time.” 

 Varian perks up at that, looking to Hugo with a small grin. “Oh?” He asks, “Should we- maybe…”

 “Sorry, goggles.” Hugo shrugs, leaning forwards, “Looks like we’ll need a second payment.”

 “Aw, shucks.” Varian rolls his eyes, leaning forwards with a smirk, “Whatever am I going to do?”

 “Eh, we’ll figure it out. Put you on a repayment plan.” Hugo grins, teasing for just a second more before Varian grabs him by the collar and drags Hugo down into a fiery kiss, their smiles melding together in the quiet of the grove. When they split for air, Varian smiles.

 “I can live with that,” He says, and Hugo can feel the grin splitting his face as he leans back down.

 Their third kiss is the best one yet.

[calumcest]

“Did anyone else just see that?” with literally any pairing I just know I’ll love whatever you write and this is a fun prompt that could go so many ways! (Only is you’re still in the mood for writing)

maggie i will literally do anything for u always 

-

Before Luke lived on a tour bus, he thought it sounded cool as fuck. Being on a bus, travelling the world, with his three best mates? Away from any responsibilities or anyone (bar Ashton, who sometimes puts his stern ‘I feel like I should disapprove of this’ face on) to hold him responsible? If Luke’s honest with himself, it was a solid thirty percent of the reason he wanted to be in a band. 

As an over-excited fifteen-year-old, however, he’d failed to take into account that bunks are really fucking cramped little spaces, that a bus isn’t really the ideal place for a group of six-foot-something guys in their twenties to be crammed together like sardines, that Michael doesn’t shower nearly as much as he claims he does, and that really, when they’re out in the middle of nowhere with no internet or data connection, it’s pretty fucking boring. 

“Hey,” he says, somewhere between English City A and English City B. “Let’s play a game.” 

“Yeah,” Michael mumbles, from where he’s curled up on Calum’s lap. “How about a round of ‘shut the fuck up, Luke’?” 

“Michael,” Ashton says reprovingly, with a frown. 

“Ashton,” Michael mocks, and then Calum frowns, and nudges Michael with his shoulder. Michael sighs, all long-suffering, but shuts up. 

“What game?” Calum says, because he always humours Luke, and that’s why he’s at least second on Luke’s list of favourite band members. 

“How about I Spy?” Luke suggests. Michael rolls his eyes. 

“Are you five?” he says. 

“Do you hate fun?” Luke shoots back. 

“If it involves having to look at the English countryside, yeah,” Michael retorts. Luke scowls. 

“It’s not that bad,” he says, stealing a glance out of the window to find out that it is, in fact, that bad. It’s absolutely pouring with rain, grey sky dull and lifeless, and the flat fields that they’re driving past look exactly the same as the ones they saw two hours ago. 

“I’ll play with you,” Ashton says, shooting Michael another reproachful look. 

“I’ll play,” Calum says, although he sounds like he’s doing it as a favour. Luke hopes he’s not going to call it in later. Last time Calum had cashed in a favour from Luke it had ended with Luke spending a night in a cell. 

“Fucking hell, fine,” Michael grumbles, because he can’t stand to not be involved in something, even if he hates said something. 

“I’ll start,” Calum says, before Michael has the chance to cut in and say something like I spy with my little eye, something beginning with D. Dickhead. “I spy with my little eye, something beginning with L.” 

“Luke,” Michael says immediately. “Easy. I spy with my li-”

“No, not Luke,” Calum interrupts. 

“Lamp,” Luke says. Calum shakes his head. 

“Loins,” Ashton suggests, and Calum, Michael and Luke all whip around to stare at him. “What?” he says defensively. “There are loins here.” 

“What the fuck does that mean?” Calum says, in disbelief. “What the fuck is a loin?”

“Isn’t that, like, dicks?” Michael says. Ashton shrugs. 

“I think it’s your abs,” he says. 

“You can’t fucking suggest something if you don’t know what it means,” Michael says. 

“Why not?” Ashton demands. 

“Because-” Michael doesn’t seem to have thought his argument through, so he just throws his hands in the air. One of them catches Calum’s chin on the way up, making him hiss and jerk away. 

“Ow, fucker,” he says, rubbing at his chin. “Watch where you put your fucking hands.” 

“Weren’t saying that last night,” Michael says, with a leer and a glint in his eyes, and Luke takes that as his cue to tune out of the conversation and stare out of the window. 

It’s kind of pretty, actually, he thinks, once you get used to it. There’s something sort of beautiful in the way the flat grey light spreads evenly across the green fields, broken up by irregular and jagged walls that look centuries old, the way the hills roll from one to the next, the way the twisting streams seem almost alive with the relentless rain. It’s not somewhere Luke would ever choose to be, miles away from his warm, sandy home comforts, but it’s something he can appreciate nonetheless. 

Suddenly, a streak of bright light flashes through the sky - just for a moment, falling so fast that Luke doesn’t even register what it is until it’s gone - and he gasps, whipping back around to face Ashton, Michael and Calum.

“Did anyone else just see that?” Luke asks, eyes wide. He’s never seen a fucking shooting star before. 

“-as if I- what?” Michael says, breaking off to turn to Luke. 

“A shooting star!” Luke says, grinning, and he knows he sounds like an overexcited kid but fucking hell, a shooting star? 

“Shooting stars only happen at night,” Michael says, like Luke’s an idiot. 

“No, I saw a video of one during the day,” Calum says. “In Russia, I think.”

“Wait, are we in Russia?” Michael says. 

“No, England.” 

“Well, then it wasn’t a shooting star, was it?” Calum rolls his eyes. 

“Just because I saw it on a video about Russia doesn’t mean it’s exclusive to Russia-” he begins, and Ashton rolls his eyes and sits down next to Luke. It’s a bit of a tight squeeze, since the sofa’s only so big and Luke’s growth hormones didn’t get the memo about it, but Luke doesn’t mind. There are worse fates than being pressed arm-to-arm, leg-to-leg against Ashton Irwin. 

“I’ve never seen a shooting star,” Ashton remarks, after a moment, staring out of the window. 

“Me either,” Luke says. “Until just now, I mean.” Ashton hums noncommittally, and Luke watches his eyes follow a raindrop make its way down the window of the bus.  

“Did you make a wish?” Ashton asks after a minute. Luke shakes his head. 

“Didn’t realise what it was fast enough,” he says. 

“What would you have wished for?” Ashton asks, and Luke hesitates. 

He’s got almost everything he wants. He’s got the band - his best friends, his career, his independence - he gets to travel the world, gets to make an impact, have an influence, be someone. He’s got money, fame, stability, a family who love him, homes on both sides of the planet. On the face of it, he’s got pretty much everything. 

But he doesn’t have Ashton. 

He can’t say that, though. He can’t sit there, with Michael and Calum still bickering across the aisle, and say I would’ve wished for you. He can’t tell Ashton, because it could throw all those things he’s mentally listed just now - fame, fortune, friends - into jeopardy. Everything is balanced on the knife’s edge that is Luke keeping his mouth firmly shut, his heart firmly sealed. 

“Dunno,” he says, casting his gaze down to his thighs. 

“You don’t?” Ashton says. 

“Well, what would you wish for?” Luke deflects. “What do you wish for when you’ve got almost everything?” Ashton shrugs. 

“I don’t have almost everything,” he says. “I’m still not the person I want to be. I flare up too quickly, take too long to come back down.” 

“You’d wish for a better temper?” Luke says dubiously. 

“No,” Ashton says. “I’m just saying. I don’t have almost everything.” 

“Well, if not your temper, then what?” Luke pushes, because he’s interested now. Ashton shrugs again, but it’s a little uncomfortable this time. 

“Something I know I can never have,” he says, eyes flitting from the window to Luke and back again. 

“Like what, the Mona Lisa?” Ashton’s gaze flicks back to Luke, and he stares at him. 

“The fucking Mona Lisa?” he says, in disbelief. “You think the first time I see a shooting star I’m going to wish for the Mona fucking Lisa?” 

“It was just an example,” Luke says defensively. “What else can you never have? You can buy pretty much anything else.” Ashton's mouth twists in a humourless grin, and he tears his gaze away from Luke again. 

“Not everything, Luke,” he says, and it sounds like he’s chiding him. “Don’t forget that.” 

“No, I know,” Luke says, feeling like he’s being told off somehow. “I just. I meant, like.” He waves his hands around, like it’s going to express his point for him. There’s a reason he’s never been much of a fucking lyricist. 

“I know,” Ashton says, because he does. He always knows what Luke means, even when Luke doesn’t, and it’s part of what makes it so fucking hard. “You’d better come up with a good wish before you see another shooting star, though.”

“I’ve got one,” Luke says, without thinking. 

“Oh?” Ashton says, arching an eyebrow, interest piqued. Luke shrugs uncomfortably. 

“Yeah,” he says, and then, when it becomes clear Ashton’s waiting for more: “Something I can never have, too, I guess.” There’s an edge of bitterness that laces his words, but he can’t help it. He’s pretty sure unrequited love is a good enough reason to be bitter at the world. 

Ashton hums, looking back out of the window at the rapidly-darkening sky, and holds his hand out, fingers splayed. Luke takes it, slotting his fingers in between Ashton’s, and squeezes when Ashton’s hand closes around his own. 

“Imagine if we were both wishing for the same thing,” Ashton says, sounding a little wistful, and Luke huffs out an only-half-humourless laugh. 

“Yeah,” he says, a little sadly. “Imagine.” 

Ashton squeezes his hand, tracing his thumb over Luke’s, and Luke closes his eyes and sends out a belated wish, just in case. 

[lokikingofasgardslover713]

Viking Empire (AU)

Masterlist 

My entry for Star’s Multi Fandom Follower Celebration

Prompt: Single Parent AU

Pairing: Loki Laufeyson X OFC

Warnings: Fluff, cursing

Summary: Falling pregnant with the child of famed second heir to the Odinson dynasty or what is more commonly known as the Viking Empire, Loki Laufeyson, it felt fair she keep it hidden. Hiding for five years, the OFC is faced with a meeting with Loki after the company is divided and he wants to meet with her in hopes or rekindling an old flame. How well does he take to the discovery of a child baring his likeness and the woman he hopped to rekindle love with?

A/N:  This is a modern AU as well. I hope I did this justice, I’m not used to normal characters and felt out of my element, but I had fun with this. There is a lot to this AU, and I tried to highlight all I felt was need to know so there wasn’t a big dump of info. The idea behind this is Loki along with Thor are heirs to the Odinson fortune even after Loki branches off from the family business and becomes a very successful rock star that later returns after his mother passes and is stuck with taking care of Odin due to Thor's own career. She had been afraid to tell him of the little boy due to all the other fake claims to him being the father of illegitimate children.

Words: +2,700

————

It had been 6 months after their last meeting face to face, and a total of 8 since their last Skype. That made it possibly 9 total, for her to end up here, on her back in agony and cursing at whomever was listening. 

An order from the doctor had her taking note the labor wasn’t going as planned, the chaos becoming more frantic around her, no, them. 

“We have to do a c-section,” the doctor began as he touched her shoulder and began to sling around all medical jargon possible. 

“I told you this was a bad idea,” she snapped drawing back to the conversation this child wasn’t ready to be born. Another sharp contraction cutting her short just like the doctor. 

“It won't take long,” the doctor spoke as it all became a frantic need to get her into the OR.

Thankfully she was allowed awake and heard the little boys first cry. Looking over as a smaller than what they anticipated wailing baby was hurried to the incubator. Checking him over, from what she could see from her sprawled out position on the table, he truly appeared healthy.  

“Hand him here,” she spoke hurriedly, mother’s instinct telling her, she was what the infant needed. It took a few moments, but the doctor himself told them to lay the crying baby to her skin for him to instantly quiet.

"Hey little guy," she soothed to the small bundle the nurse held next to her, even allowing her to move an arm to wrap the bundle as she was sewn up. "Looks like it's just us, but we will make it just fine," she breathed, kissing the little bundle that squeaked and cooed. 

5 years later

She supposed, at times, she should have informed Loki, one of the heirs to the Odinson fortune, -god knew only how they came to be so wealthy-, that he had a son. But, there had been so many false claims to both he and his brother, Thor, being fathers to illegitimate children after the company was divided between them, she figured it was best to keep quiet. 

Besides, the two of them were doing great on their own, she had a steady job at the law firm where she had met Loki. The Loki Laufeyson, business mogul and rock star, who had sought out legal help in assuring his father was taken care of after the older monarch began to fall ill.

She even had the small house they lived in paid for a few years before little Liam came along. Having grown accustomed to raising the little boy on her own and preferred it.

Taken to focusing on and raising the now 5-year-old that was settled next to her on the couch, fast asleep. Looking down at the ebony haired boy, she decided it was best to let him rest while she checked over emails from work before starting dinner. 

A new email popped up the moment she opened the app on her phone. Her heart hammered hard in her chest when she realized it was from Loki's personal email account. 

Nervously, for the first time in years she hesitated to open the email, something twisted her gut. This was the account he used to speak to her of matters that was just them. This wasn't from his assistant, but anxiously she pressed on it to open the document.

Evening love,

I understand that this may not reach you until the following day, but I was hoping to come by and see you that same day. I understand if you can't or frankly wouldn't want to, but I would love for you and I to have dinner together and catch up. It has finally calmed down enough for me to leave the company, and thankfully my brother has returned to take some of the stress. 

Hope to hear from you soon,

Loki Laufeyson 

Looking to the little boy asleep in her side, she swallowed hard. Loki did need to know, that was no question, but she didn't want to sound like some money-grubbing whore. Maybe have him come by before Liam was dropped off from school to judge how the business mogul took to the child that was an exact copy of him. 

Pressing the reply icon, she sat out to transcribe an email before losing her nerve.

Evening Loki,

It is great to hear from you and I'm glad to hear that Thor has returned to help with the company. Yes, dinner sounds great. Could you stop by Barnes and Rogers law firm at 3?

Pressing the send button made her panic instantly. This could go one of two ways, good or bad, there couldn’t be an in-between. Her breath hitched as in seconds the reply to her email popped back up and she instantly opened it.

That is great to hear, and l look forward to dinner tomorrow evening.

See you soon,

Loki Laufeyson

Shit. What had she just done? They were fine just the two of them, but here she was jumping at the first chance to meet Liam’s father like a horny schoolgirl. Closing out of the app, she tried to calm herself, rationalize. 

If Loki didn't want to acknowledge Liam at all, then so be it. It would speak to his character as a man not hers as a mother. She had endured numerous questioning of who the father was, the talk of her being a whore behind her back by family and had gotten support from friends who loved her. 

She could do this, even if she felt like panicking.

Sitting at her desk, it was one p.m.. A pling coming across the computer alerted her to an email had her waking the screen up to find it was Loki. Opening it without hesitation, it was now or never.

Love,

I'm running behind, it may slighly closer to three thirty, is this a problem? If so I will gladly reschedule so we can still see each other tonight.

Loki Laufeyson

Ok, she was shocked at how it sounded as if he was dying to see her. It was still his personal email, so that meant this was him and not a secretary. Clicking the reply she composed her own email.

Loki,

3:30 is fine, my cell number is 123-456-7891. Don't hesitate to text or call if you need to.

Tapping send, it dawned on her that Liam would be here at that point. Heat flooded her cheeks as she looked out to the reception desk and her friend poked his head in.

"You aright? You look sick," Bucky chuckled, he was the owners son, having taken over the law firm after his father’s death. They handled big accounts such as Stark and T’Challa, but that didn't stop them from being down to earth and caring for one another.

"I'm fine," she faked, they had worked together enough to know she was lying, and he was the first to put together she was pregnant. Not to mention she was 100 percent sure Bucky knew that Loki was Liam’s father. 

"Nope, you're not," he spoke stepping into the room to shut her door to speak privately. "Come on doll, tell me what’s going on. Youve been jumpy all morning."

"I have not been jumpy," she retorted, sitting back in her seat to cross her arms over her chest to stick her tongue out at him. "It's Liam’s father."

"He contact you?"

"Yeah, he wants to have dinner this evening. I guess we will find out how he feels about Liam," she smiled nervously as Bucky took a seat in front of her desk to lounge back.

"Well, however it goes, you know we got your back," he smiled reassuringly.

She had no way of telling Bucky how that put her at ease. Bucky meant it when he told her that, the entire firm got involved when it came to Liam, they helped with childcare, arrangements if she couldn't break away from court and all that. Not to mention all they did right after birth to make her life easier.

"Good to know Buck," she smiled, she didn't want to think of how far south this could go if Loki went off the deep end and began to make demands of she and Liam.

A little after three, Liam came running into the law firm fresh off the bus, the young black-haired boy getting everyone involved in his usual late evening excitement. Natasha was sure to hurry out and give him a hug and snack she kept for him; the red head loved the little boy like her own. It had been hard on she and Bucky when they found out she couldn’t bare children, but this worked out in Liam's favor. They got the kid whatever he asked for. 

Finally running into his moms office, he hurried to show his treat before going to his miniature desk and chair Steve had bought for Liam when he was born. She couldn’t help but smile over at him, watching as he pulled a book out to look it over as the door chimed that someone had entered.

It was still only ten after three and it would be awhile before Loki showed. Getting to her feet she smoothed out the pants suit to great the visitor only to pause in the doorway. The common phrase stick in her throat as she met the man's emerald gaze.  

“Good evening,” she finally choked out to Loki with a smile as he made several large strides to stand before her. 

He looked great, hot, in the black on black suit and tie, his hair longer but styled nicely. This was in no way the man she knew used to dress in leather, this wasn't the rocker she dealt with. He had changed, but it wasn’t a bad look. 

Noting him look to her side, he had opened his mouth to speak only to pause as his gaze fell on the black haired, green eyed boy that stared back at him.  

“Um. Good evening," Loki finally croaked, coming out of his stupor as she looked down to Liam then back to Loki. 

"This is Liam," she finally croaked herself. "Please don't make a scene," she pleaded quietly so only Loki heard, she seen the anger in his eyes flash, but it had calmed as he looked over the tall 5-year-old who turned to step back to his little desk and finish his snack.

"I'm not. I came here to ask-. To see if you would agree to-. Dinner, how do the two of you feel about dinner at the Lotus? I arranged for a private room, there is enough seating," he garbled together quickly but elegantly. If Liam was truly his child, which there was no doubt he was, then Loki in no way wanted to be an absent father one like his own step-father Odin.

Giving a careful nod and smile, she agreed with Loki. "Dinner sounds great, let me shut everything down and we will leave."

"Excellent, I have a car waiting a block away, so we want be bothered," he admitted, knowing how she felt about all the attention, and now he himself didn't want it all over the news of his son and the mother of his child.

The evening was quiet, it surprised her Loki spoke to Liam, asking him questions about school and what he liked. It thrilled the boy someone was interested in his comic books, chattering away through the meal for him to only quiet when dessert arrived in the form of chocolate cake.

A careful caress over her knuckles had her turning attention from Liam, who was all but wearing the cake, to Loki who was continuing his ministrations on her hand. Meeting his gaze, she seen care, it appeared he was enthralled with her raising the boy on her own.

"Why didn't you ever tell me love," he asked quietly, caressing her knuckles still as he held her gaze, though it flicked to Liam then back to Loki.

"It wasn't the time; you had just inherited the company along with Thor. It was a lot for all of us to take in honestly. I composed several emails and deleted them. I didn't want you to think I was helpless that I was trying to take anything form you, especially as you were getting your life back in order. I-."

"It's fine love. It's fine," he cut her off kindly, a stark difference from the man she first met. It appeared he was doing well. "We will talk more tonight, if you would like."

"I would. You are welcome in our home anytime," she smiled as Liam finished the cake and began to chatter away once more to Loki who gave a kind smile and pulled away from her.

“When was he born,” Loki asked the moment she returned from putting Liam to bed after his bath. 

“July 8th,” she spoke, giving a smile as she picked up his Ironman backpack to riffle through it before placing it on the hook next to the front door with the coats. Turning to note the look of understanding on the man's face as he lounged on her couch.

"He does well in school?"

"He does. Top of his class actually, loves to read like his father," she smiled as she stepped close to the couch to take a seat, meeting Loki's gaze as he sat forward, giving her all of his attention.  

“Look,” she huffed, knowing it was best to get it out in the open. “I don’t need any help; we’ve done just fine on our own. You have no obligation to Liam or me for that fact.”

A sour looked crossed the man's features as if what she said was foreign to him. Shaking his head he ventured to scoot closer, he had come here to actually attempt to rekindle with her, but now it appeared he had an added bonus.

“Did I say anything that would make you think I would just toss the two of you to the side?” Loki seemed to snap; it wasn't aimed at her. Damn she was bold, no wonder he was and still is taken with her. “I want to-. I don’t want to abandon either of you. You know the hell I suffered, why would I intentionally do that to my own son, and the mother to my son.”

Taken back by his sudden admittance, she paused and looked the man over. That wasn’t what she expected, it was more along the lines of thanks for accompanying me to dinner, but this just isn't going to work; or possibly demand proof he was the father and maybe go to the extreme of taking Liam.

Though she had a feeling he was far from it as he scooted so their knees touched. Not moving as he reached out a hand to take her own in his tenderly. 

“Then don’t," she spoke, surprised she wasn't pushing him away, but this felt so much like the Loki she knew, she didn't want him to stop. 

"I'm sorry love," he breathed, leaning in close, freehand caressing across her cheek, one he couldn't help but relish in the familiarity of. The many times he had taken her to bed summed up into one gesture.

"It's life Loki, it's the hand we were dealt. But we have a chance to make it right," she smiled, hand trailing down her side to push the elastic of the lounge pants to caress over the scarred flesh of her lower abdomen.

Loki pushed back from her, making her realize she hadn't told Loki how Liam was born. Surprised when he gingerly pushed the elastic to look at the pink scar running hip to hip across the plump flesh. Looking up to meet her gaze, she seen worry in his eyes, he knew this couldn't have been easy for her.

"I'm fine, he was just born early due to gestational diabetes. They kind of took him a little too early but he was born perfect," she smiled feeling his finger trace the scar before he moved to wrap her face and pull her lips to his.

"Thank god," he whispered across her lips, pressing his to hers feverishly.

"Let's make this work, the two of you by my side love," he breathed as the kiss broke and he gathered her into his lap. "We will take it slow. Keep it private."

"That sounds perfect," she hummed, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pulling tight as he returned the hug.

Tags are OPEN! REBLOGS ALWAYS WELCOMED!

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[master-sass-blast]

It’s Truly Magical.

IT’S HONEYMOON TIME!!!

Summary: You and Piotr enjoy your honeymoon --by going to Disneyland, no less.

Pairing(s): Piotr Rasputin x Reader.

Rating: T for implied sex, mention of needles, and briefly referenced childhood trauma but this fic is a fluff fest I promise.

Set after “In the Dawn of a New Day.”

Taglist: @marvel-is-perfection, @chromecutie, @super-darkcloudstudent, @girl-obsessed-with-things, @nebulous-leo

“So let’s see… a week and a half is… uh…”

“Make list.”

You stare down at your suitcase as you try to do the math in your head. You’re trying to pack for yours and Piotr’s honeymoon.

Because the two of you are married now. You, Y/N Rasputin, managed to snatch up the world’s greatest catch for yourself.

Suck it, universe.

“That’s… ten-ish days, so ten outfits –except for the nice dinner, so that’s another outfit, oh, and the plane flights…”

“Just make list.”

The two of you are going to California, courtesy of your uncle; you two get to spend the first four days of the trip at Disneyland, and then the rest of your honeymoon will be spent at a little beach house AirBNB where the two of you can just chill and enjoy the ocean.

“So that’s like… twice as much underwear? Three times as much?” You blink when you remember that this is technically your honeymoon. “Do I even need underwear?”

“This might be easier if you made list, moya lyubov’.”

“And I’ll need… uh…”

“Darling wife of mine.”

You smile bashfully, butterflies fluttering in your stomach at the reminder that you’re his wife now, and look over where Piotr’s sitting on your two’s bed.

He smiles at you, loving and endeared, and tosses a pen and notepad at you. “Just make packing list already.”

(You do, eventually, wind up making a list –though your husband does have to help you with the process.)

 ***

 The day of the flight brings its own boughs of anxiety and struggle. There’s the prospect of trying to navigate the airport properly and get through security –which promises to be a headache regardless of how much time you give yourselves—and then underlying tension that the two of you might get thrown out for being mutants—

But the unarguable worst part of the day happens before the two of you even leave home to head to the airport.

Piotr crosses his arms over his chest, face strained with worry as he stares down the small vial of yellow fluid in your hands. “I do not like this.”

You’re not cleared to fly on commercial flights –and technically won’t ever be, since the psychic scarring on your brain is permanent—without having your mutation repressed in some way, shape, or form. After an extended discussion between Hank, Professor Xavier, Alyssa, and your uncle, the four of them figured that you’d be unlikely to get a repression cuff or collar through airport security, which only left one option to keep your mutation repressed in the event –albeit unlikely—that you had an episode.

Repression serum.

The dose in the vial is only enough to get you safely to California –and you’ll have to use it all for it to work properly. Another vial will be provided before you and Piotr leave California to come back home. There’s no way for you to use it under any other circumstance or hoard it away for later, and Alyssa and Professor Xavier were both confident that you were well past the issues that led you to using it regularly that you wouldn’t be likely to relapse—

But yeah, you don’t like it either.

“It’s what we have to do, sweetheart,” you say, expression grim as you load up the syringe. “It’s for everyone else’s safety. And mine.”

“I know,” Piotr says, paling slightly as he watches you prepare the injection site on your arm. “I just… I really do not like this.”

“It’s going to be okay, honey,” you reassure him. “I’m going to be okay. I promise.”

There’s really not much else to say, considering what you have to do or your history with the repression serum, so you take a deep breath and insert the needle into your arm.

The serum hits as fast as you remember it hitting (since the dose was calibrated for your resistance to the stuff). Within about thirty seconds, you can feel your connection to the air around you being tamped down. It’s almost like someone’s put on a very thick jacket all over every inch of your body.

You grimace once you remove the needle and press a piece of gauze against the injection site. “I don’t like that.”

“Are you alright?” Piotr asks, panic evident in his voice and on his face as he kneels in front of you. “Do you feel sick? Do we need to see Hank?”

“No, no, I’m fine, I just don’t like how the serum feels,” you clarify. “I don’t like not feeling connected to the air. It doesn’t feel good.”

Piotr blinks as understanding flickers across his face, then he abruptly claps a hand over his mouth and stands, turning away from you in the process.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” You quickly set the syringe and the now empty vial aside and stand, maneuvering so you’re positioned in front of your husband. “Piotr, talk to me. What’s going on?”

Piotr shakes his head as he wipes a few tears away from his eyes. “I was afraid… that you would like it. That you would miss using serum. And that you do not… it is big relief to me.”

Tears well up in your eyes as your heart tears for your mush of a man. You wrap your arms around Piotr’s waist and hold him while he takes deep, shaky breaths. “It’s okay, Piotr. I’m okay.”

And you are. You really, truly are.

 ***

 Getting through the airport is just about as much of a hassle as you anticipated. It’s confusing, it’s chaotic, there’s far too much standing in line involved, and the ratio of people to available outlets –logically—should’ve caused a bloodbath by now.

Fortunately, you and Piotr don’t get tossed out for being mutants (even though the two of you “pass” relatively well, you’re both legally required to register as mutants, which always opens up the risk of being thrown out of anywhere that checks your ID).

(Piotr also doesn’t set off the security checkpoint metal detector when he goes through it, which –while logically being a good thing—is honestly kind of disappointing.)

You opt to lean against your husband’s shoulder while the two of you wait to board, at which point you lament over having to wait even longer, to which Piotr remarks that the two of you will still get to board earlier than everyone else because you’re flying in first class, which prompts you to pull out your boarding pass and study it—

“We’re flying first class?”

Piotr chuckles as he drapes his arm over your shoulders. “You just realized this?”

“You’re the one who checked all the tickets and reservations, not me!”

The ticket does, in fact, confirm that the two of you have first class seats reserved –next to each other, too, which is a bonus.

“Why’d my uncle get us first class seats?” you ponder quietly. “It’s so expensive.”

“Probably my size,” Piotr reasons. “I have trouble fitting in smaller seats.”

You shrug, then smile up at your spouse. “Well, we can at least have fun with flying first class for the first time!”

“That we can,” he agrees before dipping his head to kiss you.

 ***

 As it is, Piotr still barely fits into the first class seat. It’s clearly better suited to accommodate him than an economy seat –but only barely.

Fortunately, you don’t need the dividing armrest down to be comfortable, and you’re more than happy to be closely snuggled against your hubby for several hours. You take the window seat so Piotr has an easier time getting in and out of your seat and nestle up against him while he scans the in-flight safety pamphlet.

“You two are absolutely adorable,” one of the flight attendants comments with a smile. “We don’t see a lot of super lovey couples on the flights.”

“I think it helps that we’re flying out for our honeymoon,” you joke; at home, it’s a well known fact that you and Piotr are a pair of regular lovebirds –though, the added buzz from the wedding and honeymoon doesn’t hurt.

The flight attendant beams when you show off your engagement ring and wedding band. “Congratulations! That’s so wonderful! We do offer complimentary beverages and snacks to our first class passengers. Maybe some sparkling wine to celebrate, or a cookie and some milk if you’re not alcohol drinkers?”

You look up at Piotr. “Cookies and milk?”

He smiles down at you, then nods at the flight attendant. “Cookies and milk would be nice.”

 ***

 Fun fact: A non-stop flight from New York to California is a little over six hours.

Additional fun fact: years of being able to fly one’s self makes travelling by plane a touch lackluster.

“We’re not even breaking the sound barrier,” you whisper to Piotr at one point. “Where’s the fun in that?”

He merely snorts and kisses the top of your head.

All in all, though, it’s a good time. The two of you snuggle against each other as the plane soars through the skies, Piotr fills you in on all things Disney, and you play games provided on the little screen interfaces on the backs of the seats in front of you.

You’re also provided a proper meal a couple hours into the flight –and, much to Piotr’s delight, it’s reasonably healthy, if not necessarily portioned out for someone of his size.

“The perks of flying first class, I guess,” you comment before starting in on your food.

 ***

 Actually arriving in California, admittedly, is a bit of a mindfuck, solely due to the time difference between the East Coast and the West Coast.

“None of this feels right,” you mumble as you try to reconcile the earlier time to your inner body clock.

“Imagine how I felt first coming from Russia,” Piotr comments as he scans the directional signs to figure out where the two of you need to pick up your luggage.

“Shit, yeah, that’d be insane.” You frown. “How does your family manage to jump between here and there, then?”

Piotr shrugs. “Lots of coffee, probably.”

 ***

 The process of getting to the famed park is far less drawn out than the flight. Once you two have your luggage, you head over to the car rental place and pick up your car –rented so the two of you have a reliable way to get around for the rest of your honeymoon—and take the half hour drive to the park.

You give Piotr a goofy smile when another motorist curses you out for abiding by the traffic laws. “It’s like we never left home.”

Piotr just tips his head back and laughs.

 ***

 To make everything extra special, your hotel reservation is at one of the hotels in the park itself –very appropriately named “Disneyland Hotel.” The two of you get checked in and head up to your room—

And it’s nice. There’s a massive king-sized bed that sits directly across from a combination dresser and TV cabinet. A desk and chair sit next to the dresser-cabinet combo, and a cushy looking armchair sits next to the bed on the far side of the room. Everything’s decorated in warm, inviting tones of brown and gold, save for a genuinely pretty blue and gold carpet. On the other side of the bed, closest to the door, is another door that leads to a bathroom.

It’s nice. Clean. It has amenities like a mini-fridge and a coffee maker and an ironing board.

It’s also like almost any other hotel you’ve ever been in.

Piotr shrugs when you remark as much. “Were you expecting something else?”

“I don’t know… mouse ears everywhere? Super bright colors and patterns?”

Piotr chuckles as he sets yours and his suitcases down. “The crucial experience is park. Rooms are supposed to promote rest and relaxation.”

“Fair enough.” You dart over to the window on the far side of the room to check out the view, then chuckle when all you can see is the parking lot. “Oh, damn, can’t get this view anywhere else.” You whip out your phone to take a Snapchat video of the view, then tuck it back in your pocket and turn around when you hear Piotr groan and the bed creak ominously.

He’s dropped face-down into the bed, arms spread out like a starfish and legs hanging haphazardly off the bed.

You cross your arms over your chest. “Feeling comfy, baby?”

“Planes do not agree with me,” he laments, voice muffled by the bed.

“I bet.” You cross over to the bed and hop up next to him. “How about this,” you suggest as you gently rub his back. “We just get some room service –because I’m hungry—and then just stretch out and rest. We’ve got four days here at the park; that’s plenty of time to check everything out.”

“Sounds wonderful.” He lifts his head and grins at you. “We are at Disneyland.”

“Yeah, we are,” you reply with a grin of your own. “Are you excited?”

He giggles and nods before dropping his head back down. “Very.”

You gently run your fingers through his hair and kiss the top of his head before turning and rummaging through the nightstand drawer for a room service menu. “You get comfortable, babe. I’ll get us some food.”

 ***

 The two of you eat and take a little nap before unpacking. Since you aren’t staying the entire duration of your trip at the park, you only unpack what you need –a few clothes, some toiletries, a couple of things to do during down time…

And, in your husband’s case, an entire pantry’s worth of healthy snacks and protein bars.

You gape as Piotr carefully tucks away a supply of unsalted veggie chips, mixes of dried fruit and nuts, crackers with “extra fiber” (whatever the fuck that means), and a couple boxes of protein bars into one of the dresser drawers. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Piotr! We are on vacation!”

“We still need to eat!” he retorts defensively.

“They have restaurants and room service here!” you argue, trying to hold back amused laughter. “And we can always buy food if we need something they don’t have!”

“It is still less expensive this way,” he reasons.

“The park expenses are on someone else’s tab, and we’ll still have to get groceries for the rest of our trip.”

The gears in Piotr’s head visibly turn while he processes your statement. He huffs –and shoots you an amused glare when you giggle—and continues unpacking his snacks. “Just wait until end of trip, when you are sick from travel food and I am not. You will eat words then.”

“The only thing I want to eat is your dick,” you fire back, snickering when the tips of Piotr’s ears go red. You pick up one of the boxes out of the dresser drawer and read the label. “‘Multi-grain Nutritional Crackers, now with Extra Fiber.’ Honestly, you are such an old man.”

Piotr shakes his head, takes the box from you and puts it back in the drawer, then lifts you up into his arms. “Not old just yet.”

You giggle and press your lips against his.

 *** 

 The following morning hosts massive bouts of excitement –Piotr—and general disgust at the existence of mornings in general –you.

Your mood does perk up, though, upon having some proper breakfasts in one of the restaurants in the hotel –accompanied by coffee and some of the park’s legendary Dole whip, no less. By the time the two of you head into the “attractions” part of the park, you’re just as pepped up as your Disney-loving hubby.

The two of you wander around a bit, getting a sense for the park and where everything is, until—

“Babe!” You point at the Alice in Wonderland spinning teacups ride. “Let’s go on that one!”

Piotr acquiesces, and the two of you get in line for the ride. It takes a fair bit of standing and waiting, but eventually the two of you are ushered onto one of the massive teacups. You both get settled, then wait for the ride to start.

“What’s this for?” you ask, tapping a stand in the middle with what looks like a steering wheel attached to the top.

“To spin ride,” Piotr explains. “It makes cup spin faster.”

Your eyes widen as you stare at the device. “I thought the ride just spun the cups on its own.”

“It does.” Piotr gestures to the frame the cups sit on. “Entire ride spins like merry-go-round. Riders can spin cups while ride spins.”

You grin, borderline maniacally. “Fuck. Yeah.”

Once the ride starts, you immediately start trying to spin the cup as fast as you can. Under any other circumstances, you suspect the cup would spin without too much resistance.

However, those circumstances don’t involve having the world’s heaviest Russian husband in the cup at the same time.

You grunt as you try to spin the cup. “Dammit! Why do you have to be so heavy?”

“It is not end of world, msyhka,” Piotr chuckles. “Just sit back and enjoy ride.”

“I want to go fast! But I can’t do that because I just happened to shack up with the one Russian juggernaut that eats lead for breakfast!”

Piotr laughs again –then grips the wheel and gives it a mighty yank.

You shriek, delighted, as the cup whips around at maximum speed. The world dissolves into a blur of color and noise as your hair whips around and smacks your face.

It’s like flying without the physical effort of flying. It’s amazing.

“That was awesome!” you giggle as you stumble off the ride. “We should go –babe?”

Piotr staggers after you, looking considerably worse for wear. He’s gone pale –paler than usual, at least—and clammy looking, and his jaw is clenched tight. “I think,” he manages in a weak, shaky voice, “that was mistake.”

You put your hands on his arms, helping steady him. “Holy shit, baby, you look awful. Come on, let’s get back to the hotel room so you can lay down.”

“Perhaps that would be for best,” Piotr agrees as you steer him in the direction of the hotel.

 ***

 “No fucking way. The Steel Boy Scout can’t handle rollercoasters. That’s incredible!”

“I mean, in his defense, it was a spin heavy ride,” you say to Wade as you stroke Piotr’s hair.

The two of you are back in your hotel room; Piotr had opted to lay face down on the bed and bury his face in a pillow, while you’d opted to call Wade and update him on how the vacation was going –or, rather, wasn’t.

“Yeah, well, still,” Wade insists in your ear. “It’s funny. He’s a superhero who battles diabolical villains on a regular basis, and he can’t handle spinning around a little.”

“I mean, you make a valid point—”

The bed lurches as Piotr shoots off it and sprints to the bathroom.

“Ah, shit. I’ve gotta go.”

“Has Chernobyl finally decided to blow?”

You wince as the sounds of Piotr emptying his stomach contents into the toilet emanate from the bathroom. “Yeah. I’ll talk to you later.”

 ***

 You spend the rest of the day in the hotel room to let Piotr properly recuperate. You order room service for the two of you once Piotr’s feeling well enough to eat, and otherwise spend the day texting, scrolling through social media, or watching TV while you hold your husband and stroke his hair.

All in all, it’s a day perfectly spent.

And, fortunately, Piotr’s feeling well enough by the time the day comes to a close that the two of you can catch one of the park’s famed fireworks shows. Granted, you have to stand off to the side so Piotr doesn’t block anyone’s view, but it’s still a stunning spectacle to behold.

(It also gives Wade’s fireworks “demonstrations” a run for their money, which isn’t something you’d ever thought could be possible.)

“Are you feeling better, honey?” you ask as the two of you stroll back to the hotel, hand in hand.

“Much.” Piotr squeezes your hand gently. “Tomorrow should go much better.”

“Here’s hoping. No more spinning rides for you, mister.”

Piotr chuckles and shakes his head. “On that, we are agreed.”

 ***

 The following morning, Piotr’s in a much better state than the previous day. After a hearty breakfast at the hotel, the two of you head back into the attractions part of the park and scope out more rides to try out –with a strict emphasis on “non-spinning” for your husband’s sake.

Eventually, the two of you come across a ride called “Big Thunder” that seems promising. The two of you hop in line to get on the ride—

Except upon finally being able to get on said ride, it turns out that Piotr’s too big for the safety mechanisms to work properly.

You burst out cackling as Piotr sheepishly extricates himself from his seat and steps back onto the platform. “We can’t win with you, huh, baby?”

“It would see not.” He kisses you gently. “I’ll see you back at walkway.”

You smile at him and blow him another kiss as he heads towards the exit.

Then, an attendant comes by to check your harness and the harnesses of the other rides. There’s the sound of the motors that run the coaster coming to life and hissing –and then the ride shoots forward.

And you scream.

 ***

 “It was awesome!” you gush to Piotr once you find him outside the ride. “It’s like flying, but I get to sit down the entire time. It’s basically perfect! Although, I think we’re gonna have to skip rides while we’re here. You’re not gonna fit on… any of them, really.”

Piotr chuckles and kisses the top of your head. “You can still go on rides, myshka. This is your trip, also. And there are calmer rides and other attractions I can enjoy.”

“Alright.” You take a moment to check a map of the park that Piotr downloaded and sent to your phone. “Do you want to go find a ride we can both go on?”

“That sounds very nice.”

You smile and take his hand in yours, then the two of you head off in search of a ride that both of you can go on.

 ***

 The two of you wind up going on Astro Blasters –even though neither of you are very good at hitting any of the targets—and going on the famed Pirates of the Caribbean ride together, and you also hit Splash Mountain and the Indiana Jones rides on your own.

(Piotr pays to get pictures of you riding the rides on your own and gets a good chuckle out of your open-mouthed, exhilarated expressions.)

You also take time just to wander around the park and take everything in. You two take a selfie in front of Sleeping Beauty’s castle, spy the Mickey Mouse costume character strolling around and saying hi to kids, and generally take in the sights and sounds of the park –of which there are many.

Just like the advertising says, it’s genuinely magical.

 ***

 “Are you enjoying Disneyland?”

Piotr grins as he wipes his fingers on a napkin. “Da. I really am. Are you?”

You grin back and lean over to kiss his shoulder. “Yeah. It’s pretty awesome.”

The two of you had opted to stop for lunch after a bit, with Piotr citing that getting overtired or going too long without eating in the baking California heat would wind up doing either of you in. You’d decided to get a corndog and a soda, whereas Piotr had purchased one of the famed turkey legs and a bottle of water.

(The picture you’d taken of Piotr biting into his turkey leg was nothing short of priceless.)

“I want to get something to remember trip by,” Piotr continues as he polishes off his turkey leg (which had taken him the same time to eat as it had for you to devour your corndog). “Proper memento.”

“Well, Mikhail did give us that jar of money after the reception,” you point out. “You want to use that to get a little honeymoon treat? Maybe some matching mouse ear headbands?”

Piotr beams and nods. “That sounds wonderful.”

 ***

 The two of you resume wandering around the park after eating lunch. You briefly stop to watch a parade of characters and decorated vehicles go by, then resume the hunt for some proper mementos to commemorate your honeymoon at the park.

Which, actually, is easier said than done. The park has several shops scattered throughout it and different kiosks by rides that host specially themed mouse-eared headbands. Trying to compare all the options available, let alone narrow things down to a top pick, is almost too tall a task to handle.

(Not to mention that the headbands themselves are egregiously expensive. Holy shit.)

Eventually, though, you settle on a sequined Minnie Mouse ears headband –complete with a sequined red bow with white polka dots—while Piotr opts for a classic –sequins free—Mickey Mouse ears headband.

“I think we look pretty good!” you declare as you post one of the selfies you took of you and Piotr to Instagram.

Piotr brushes a soft kiss against your temple. “I agree –but you look best.”

You sputter and duck your head bashfully. “You’re awfully sweet, Mr. Rasputin.”

“Says person eating cotton candy.”

“Not my fault it’s good.” You split your last bite in half and offer part of it to him –then gape when he actually accepts it. “What’s this? You actually ate cotton candy!”

Piotr rolls his eyes good naturedly –though he does pull a face at how sweet the candy is. “Is my vacation. I eat treats if I want.”

You grin and giggle, then yank on his hand and head in the direction of another vendor stand. “Ooh, come on! I need to get a pretzel!”

“You just finished cotton candy.”

“Yeah, but—” you glance around and lower your voice carefully “—I need to get a Snapchat of it so I can send Wade a snap about being a ‘childless whore fucking up the pretzel line.’”

Piotr’s eyes widen and he claps a hand over his mouth to stifle a massive snort. “What?”

“Baby, please?”

He shakes his head, but ultimately acquiesces. “Lead way, myshka.”

 ***

 You wake up on the third day of your trip with sore legs and feet, a barely there stomach ache from eating too much cotton candy the day previous, and an erection pressed against your ass.

You grin when Piotr’s lips start pressing against your neck. “Morning, sweetheart. Feeling good?”

“Chrezvychayno.”

You sigh, content, when his hand latches onto your hip and his other arm presses against your chest, pulling you flush against him. “Y’know… we’ve pretty much done everything we can do in the park. We could just…” You swing one of your arms back so you can slide your hand down his side. “Stay in bed today. Order room service. Do what all honeymooners do.”

“That,” Piotr murmurs huskily, lustily. “Sounds perfect.”

 ***

 You two spend the last day of the Disney part of your trip largely lazing around. You stroll through the park to get more pictures and check out a few more rides, but other than that you two simply enjoy each other’s company until the time for your dinner reservation at the renowned Blue Bayou restaurant comes. The two of you take a few hours to get cleaned and dressed up for the dinner –a cocktail dress with blue and purple flowers for you and a suit with a blue and purple tie for him—and head over to the Blue Bayou restaurant.

The space itself is nothing short of breathtaking. There’s trees along the edge of the outdoor dining area, and lanterns and flowers are strung across the space to give it a soft, ethereal feel.

You two are seated in a quiet corner of the dining area at a sleek black table bordered by chairs with elegant backs that look like wrought iron; the waiter hands you two your menus and takes your drink orders—

And then it’s just you and Piotr.

You glance up from perusing your menu and smile at your husband. “Anything in particular looking good?”

He “hmms” thoughtfully. “Possibly lamb… or roasted chicken.”

“They both look good,” you agree. You nudge his leg under the table, then grin at him when he looks up at you. “Love you.”

Piotr beams at you. “I love you, too.”

The waiter returns a couple minutes later with your drinks, jots down your orders, then takes your menus and whisks away once more.

Piotr reaches across the table –careful not to knock into either of your glasses or the candle at the center of the table—and takes one of your hands in his. “So. We are married.”

You grin. “Hell yeah we are.”

He smiles back, then gazes thoughtfully at the engagement ring and wedding band on your left hand while rubbing circles against the back of your hand with his thumb. “What comes next?”

You let out a huff. “I mean… we have a house to furnish.”

“That we do,” Piotr chuckles. “But I meant more for us. What do you want us to do next, as couple?”

You glance around surreptitiously, then quietly suggest, “Have lots of sex?”

Piotr snorts. “Duly noted, myshka. Answer question seriously, please.”

You sit back in your seat, taking a moment to enjoy the way his thumb rubs against your hand before mulling over the question. “I don’t know. Right now, I’m kinda just content to enjoy the moment and our new life together.”

Piotr nods after a moment. “Okay. And… in future?”

“Kids, eventually,” you say, flashing a demure smile at him. “I mean, I think we should get the house furnished and functional first, but… maybe in the next year or two.”

Piotr smiles at that, eyes sparkling and face glowing. “Alright. It is your body; you set all rules.”

“I think in a year or two we can start trying,” you reiterate. “But, right now, I’m just looking to enjoy us. You.”

His smile softens, and he squeezes your hand gently. “That sounds very nice.”

You smile back, slowly getting lost in the depths of his sparkling blue eyes—

It really is magical.

[heisthq]

you all certainly didn’t make this easy on me — it was an incredibly tough decision for many of the roles. there were THIRTY-EIGHT applications for only ELEVEN roles, which is insane, and please know that every single one was incredible. i’m only one person on the internet, and this decision is in no way a reflection of the quality of your writing ( seriously, i know i just said it, but i’m kind of shocked by how good every single app was ). i’m so grateful for all the love heist has gotten, and i couldn’t be happier with the beautiful submissions i received ! from the bottom of my heart, thank you.

for those of you who were accepted, please follow the checklist, familiarize yourself with your fellow members, & review the triggers list. once your blog is set up, please send it in to the main within 24 hours so i can send you a link to the discord server. 

but enough talking — the newest members of HEISTHQ can be found under the cut !

welcome, DEDE ! you have been accepted as THE BLEEDING HEART, otherwise known as JUDY FAULKNER PRYCE ( ELIZABETH OLSEN ).

good god. what a way to start off acceptances — judy reached into my heart and took it for herself, and i’m not upset about it in the slightest. her gruff outer shell, still with that instinctive need to help, to do something, is so bleeding heart, and i ached at every step of the way through her journey. i knew i was really in for it when i dedicated a skeleton to loss itself, but you spun that concept into a living, breathing person and shot her back at me. i’ll happily let her knock me down any day, and i know she certainly will as soon as she makes her way onto the dash.

welcome, CHERRY ! you have been accepted as THE CAREER CRIMINAL, otherwise known as MISCHA DOSTOYEVSKY ( NATASHA LIU BORDIZZO ).

though you made my decision very difficult with that eleventh hour app, i couldn’t stop coming back to mischa. from the beginning of her childhood crimes to her current position as the head of the motherfucking bratva, she pulled me in and got me hook, line, and sinker. you painted such a brilliant picture of her that i felt she was going to jump off the page at any moment — and that last line of her bio ? chills. literal chills. finally, i have now decided their next heist is going to be stealing lip gloss from claire’s, shoutout to mischa for that hot idea. all in all, she’s an absolute delight, and i cannot wait to have her here. 

welcome, REED ! you have been accepted as THE EYE IN THE SKY, otherwise known as INDIANA “INDIE” ASCENCIO ( ANA DE ARMAS, BUT ONLY WITH PINK HAIR ).

okay, first of all, are you kidding me with that bio structure ? that was the coolest shit i’ve ever seen. what a way to kick it off for the eye in the sky — i said break the stereotype and you said bet. indie is an absolute gem of a character, as stunning as she is valuable, and damn if she doesn’t know it. she’s so vibrant that i could practically hear her voice when i read your answers to the prompts; i’m still howling at thirty five pages of criminal offenses. the eye in the sky needed to take me by the throat to show me who they are; you broke down the door and said here she is. i couldn’t be more honored to have her.

welcome, NOAH ! you have been accepted as THE GETAWAY DRIVER, otherwise known as CARLISLE “JACE” JACOBI HARRISON-SHEA ( CYRUS AMINI ).

the getaway driver was, arguably, the toughest choice i had to make — but i couldn’t help myself. jace drew me back in every single time like a moth to a flame, and i know he’d read that fact with that same, secret little smirk. every moment of reading your app is exciting, like i’m white-knuckled in jace’s passenger seat, along for whatever twists and turns his psyche brings, which was exactly what i was looking for. there are too many incredible quotes to put in one acceptance post, but one such example is stunningly simple: you weren’t just running. you were chasing. i posed a question in the getaway driver’s skeleton, and with one quick pivot, you took my breath away. just... wow. that’s all.

welcome, MARS ! you have been accepted as THE HIRED GUN, otherwise known as ASLAN “MAZZIE” YILMAZ ( ALPEREN DUYMAZ ).

mars, i’m gonna be honest, i hate you a little bit ( but not really. i love you ). i’m pretty sure forcing me to choose between two stunning apps should count as some sort of personal attack, but after much agonizing, i’m delighted to settle with the absolute tragedy that is my newest son mazzie. there’s a quiet power, a quiet ( but no less imposing ) threat threaded throughout his story, and somehow you managed to weave my own heartstrings into the picture alongside it all. you sent me tumbling head over heels for this man who, in his own words, is death himself. you gave me my hired gun, and he’s everything i dreamed. thank you.

welcome, LUCY ! you have been accepted as THE INSIDE MAN, otherwise known as IVY WANG ( GEMMA CHAN ).

lucy. lucy !!! you didn’t make it easy on me, but man, i couldn’t be more wrapped around ivy’s finger, which is probably just how she’d like it. the structure of your app was so interesting & unique ( that arrest report ?? HOT ). she encapsulates the inside man so perfectly — from her mannerisms to her motivations, everything was so spot on that i’m pretty sure you reached inside my brain to pull out my exact vision. she feels so real, so human and so powerful all at once, and i would personally let her arrest me and write her a thank you note for putting me in jail. i’m obsessed. obsessed !

welcome, BEE ! you have been accepted as THE MASTERMIND, otherwise known as BISHOP LEE ( CHOI MINHO ).

my beautiful mastermind is no longer mine — he’s yours, bee, every inch, and i couldn’t be happier about it. from his recruitment log ( which was !!! you wove his voice into it so perfectly ) to his reasoning for creating the group in the first place, bishop is someone i didn’t expect, but i adore him, shaping his little family & leaving behind a legacy he can be proud of ( “so bishop acts like they’re immortal, because he truly believes they are. it’s just his version of immortality is in the history books rather than an eternally beating heart.” are you KIDDING ??? ). please don’t take him from me — i don’t want to let him go. 

welcome, MIA ! you have been accepted as THE NEW KID ON THE BLOCK, otherwise known as MARTY CHOI ( KANG MINA ).

listen, i’m pretty relieved i didn’t get another app for this character, because i didn’t need one — marty is the new kid, through and through. she has that hunger that is so quintessential for this role, the drive and ambition for something more in this grand universe of ours. it’s so perfectly exemplified by marty’s own words: let me be excellent at something again. let me be proud of my own capabilities again. let me be part of something so i'll stop feeling so alone. this !! this is so perfect i almost jumped out of my skin reading it. thank you for bringing me our perfectly imperfect new kid — i can’t wait to see her in action.

welcome, LEXI ! you have been accepted as THE SECOND IN COMMAND, otherwise known as PERCY BANKS ( BRENTON THWAITES ).

holy shit, lexi. holy shit !! from the moment i saw “STATUS: deceased” at the beginning of your app, i knew i was in for a wild ride — but i had no idea what truly awaited me. from percy’s humble beginnings through his ambitious rise to hotshot fbi agent ( speaking of, can you say hot fucking take to have him as ex-fbi ? i’m floored ), i was hooked into the twists and turns of his story, my jaw dropping when i realized who jupiter was after all. the highs and lows of his first foray into the world of heists had me on the edge of my seat, and i truly cannot wait to see what percy does next — because at this rate, who knows where he’ll end up ? i’m excited to find out !

welcome, HANNAH ! you have been accepted as THE STAR OF THE SHOW, otherwise known as STRIKER KIM ( CHARLES MELTON ).

god, hannah — break my heart, why don’t you ? as each tidbit of striker’s past fell into place, that’s what you did, and i’m aching for this boy who’s just trying to stay alive ( and live as much as he can while he still is ). though the star could be played in so many different ways, you took this role an entirely different direction, and suffice to say it blew me away. literally, your mind. exhibit a — you didn’t go running to high society for fame or fortune, no. it was your insurance policy — god, striker !! he’s such a complex, heartbreaking character, and i can’t wait to see him on the dash. he may have a hand in two different worlds of crime, but he’s also got a place in my heart, and god knows he could use the love. also, making me crack a code just to understand your bio headings ? touché. i deserved that.

welcome, ELLIE ! you have been accepted as THE WATCHDOG, otherwise known as THEA JAIN ( NAOMI SCOTT ).

the watchdog requires a delicate balance: soft edges bathed in steel, a gentle person capable of terrible things. it can be a tough image to capture, but i shouldn’t have worried. your entire app painted a picture of this exact person, tugging at my heartstrings until the very end: remember that you are thea jain, and that you are a good person. you are kind. you are loved. and you are in control. that was it — just like thea’s fifth rule to round out the reminders of her morality, you completely sealed the deal. the way she cares for the team, baking for them and occasionally mothering them, exposes that soft underbelly guarded by her quiet yet surprising strength and power. you’ve made a beautiful character, ellie. i can’t thank you enough for bringing her to me.

[eltanin-malfoy]

Life Kills (Kill Or Be Killed I)

pairing : draco/fem-collegestudent!y/n (not that romantic.. or platonic)

word count : 3.4k!

warnings : smoking, swearing, mentions of murder/violence/poisoning, angst!!!!

a/n : this is set in an original modern non-magic AU, and the story is based off of (MAJOR SPOILER ALERT, DO NOT CHECK OUT THE PROMPT UNLESS YOU WANT TO SPOIL THE REST OF THE STORY lol) this prompt on @writing-prompt-s. there is no real romance between draco and y/n in this chapter, and i’m not exactly sure there will be. the premise of this story kind of makes that a little crazy. for now, it’s pretty much just animosity. there is the slightest possibility of this turning into a slow burn fic.. so hold on, i guess. this is definitely not your typical x reader. at all. i would appreciate any and all feedback from you guys! requests are open as well :) also i hate smoking irl but it just fit here, sorry.

Chapter 1 : Life Kills

Smoke. 

That beloved scent filled Draco’s lungs as he took a drag from the wrinkled brown stick in his hand, his steely eyes shutting as its end glowed red. He held it away for a few seconds as he exhaled, white clouds slipping out of his lips into the cold air in front of him. His eyes followed his own exhalation into the sky, his fingers fidgeting with the green lighter he’d used to ignite his toxic addiction with. 

He grinned, then brought the cigarette to his lips for another puff, then another, then another, till slowly, the tube of tar was finally used up. He folded up what was left of his papery weapon with his thin fingers and finally tossed it to the ground. He reached into his pocket for his pack, searching for even more release.

He lifted his gaze to the scene in front of him, the concrete jungle that was Bond Street. The expensive logos were practically calling out his name. It’s just my fucking luck, isn’t it? He scowled at the crowds gathered around the area. My lovely parents just had to go get themselves arrested and leave me all by myself. He instinctively grit his teeth as memories of his awful father fluttered through his brain. At least I don’t have to associate with that.. that.. tyrant anymore. 

“Draco? Two minutes left in your break, son.”

The pale blonde rolled his eyes as he stared out front, but looked back and flashed his elderly boss a (fake) smile. She nodded and stepped back inside, arms crossed around her portly frame as she shivered. 

It had only been a few months since his parents had been arrested by the government after being convicted of illegally possessing and smuggling famed works of art, literature and the like. When the authorities first began their investigation, Lucius had said that it would all work itself out, even though the police’s suspicions were absolutely correct. He had connections everywhere, after all. But, alas! A search warrant had made its way to Malfoy Manor before his parents had the opportunity to sweep everything under the rug, and.. even their very expensive defence lawyer wasn’t able to hide the fact that they were caught red handed.

This had led to a crapload of problems in Draco’s own life. To begin with, he wouldn’t be able to see his mother for at least another decade. His parents’ fortune (and his trust fund, of course!) was seized by the government, leaving him absolutely broke, and forced to drop out in the second year of his Chemistry degree at the very prestigious Oxford University. He’d tried hard to find some kind of a placement in any of his parents’ friends’ companies, but no, they’d decided to stop associating with any member of the Malfoy clan. So, he managed what he could and left his old grand life in Wiltshire for some kind of meagre lifestyle in London. Working as a cashier at Tesco probably wasn’t the worst thing he could be doing.. It was minimum wage, but, it wasn’t hard. Didn’t require much energy. 

Draco, for one, had never understood his parents’ motivation to undertake that.. that.. stupidity. 

His parents’ family fortune had had practically no purpose in the first place. There wasn’t a glint of compassion in his father’s heart, and all he wanted to use it for was to satisfy his own wants. Illegally purchasing stolen historical artifacts? Of course. Selling them off to others for even greater profits? Sure! But giving a beggar even a single pound? Absolutely not. This total greed and attitude of disgust his father had had used to interest him when he was younger, back in secondary school. He’d made a habit of showing off his wealth and talking down to those who didn’t have much in comparison. But as he grew up.. he’d realised how awful it was.

Especially now that he was only twenty, absolutely alone and having to live off of four hundred pounds a week. It seemed like a lot, at first, but once you factored in rent, food and basic needs, he was barely left with a handful to work with. His heart practically broke every time he caught sight of a homeless person and somehow, so different to his former self, he’d find himself searching in his wallet for spare notes to hand them.

He quickly opened up the pack of cigarettes and pulled out one to satiate himself, stress bubbling up in his veins. He shoved the box almost haphazardly back into the pocket of his coat, then held it to his lips and flicked his lighter, the brilliant orange flame lighting the tip of the cigarette. He took a drag and looked around again, slowly turning to walk back to his place of work. He took a few deep puffs and was just about to trash it when he heard.. what sounded like a struggle? 

He headed down the alleyway, to a bit of a darker turn, instinctively slicking back his platinum blonde hair. He finally got a glimpse of what was happening. There was a girl, probably around the same age as him, having a dynamic disagreement with a.. homeless old person? His protective instincts kicked into gear as he saw her swatting at him with the umbrella in her hand, yelling at him for what sounded like.. attempting to trip her?

The old man was shielding himself with a blanket, his arms over his head as he called for help. Draco, feeling almost like his saviour, pushed the girl away, which, he realised was not the best move with his tall figure, made her fall to the ground with a loud squeal. The old man set the blanket down and looked up at the lack of commotion, then gave the lanky blonde a smile. He even mouthed a soft ‘thank you’ and Draco waved his hand, reassuring him that it was no big deal.  He took a deep breath, about to turn on his heel to leave, but found himself scowling down at the girl, who was slowly getting up again.

“Why did you do that?” She panted, her hair messy as she got back onto her feet. She wasn’t exactly well built herself, her face was a bit pale and there were hints of shadows under her eyes as she glared up at him. She dusted herself off and placed her hand on her denim-covered knee, wincing the slightest bit. She quickly rose up again and brought her hands to her hips. “Don’t need to look at me like that.” She clenched her jaw and Draco realised that he’d been silent all this while.

“Don’t need.. idiots like you treating helpless people the way you did. Fucking awful, that was.” He looked her over quickly, his gaze pausing at the straps of the backpack on her shoulders. “You.. you students think you can just get away with anything, don’t you?” He found himself getting a bit more heated, his cheeks slowly beginning to turn purple. 

She opened her mouth to speak, but Draco rolled his eyes and finally turned to leave, walking back down the alleyway without a word. “Well, we don’t need pricks like you defending these oh so helpless people when they try to steal something from someone.” She called out after him and he stopped, staring to the front, before looking over his shoulder. Instead of locking eyes with her, he saw the same homeless man, staring into space as he huddled up with that blanket. Draco felt the slightest pang of guilt in his gut, but ignored it and continued, still choosing to believe that she was just.. an embodiment of his own father. 

Nasty and entitled. He thought to himself as he slipped off his coat, setting it on a rack in the Employee’s Only room. Bet she hasn’t known any real problems in her life. Bet she’s not even a fucking good student. He felt his rage boiling up within him again, but stared at himself in the small mirror by the door. He placed his hands on his reddened cheeks and forced himself to calm down, taking deep breaths and reassuring himself of his own ability. Looking very flustered wasn’t exactly ideal for a cashier in a supermarket, after all.

***

Draco ran the carton of milk over the scanner. Beep. He passed it over to the red haired boy to the side of him, who began to stuff it into a plastic bag. He tried his best not to glance at his customer, but his curiosity bested him and he reluctantly flashed the dark middle aged man a smile. He shook it off and stared at the monitor in front of him. “That’ll be ninety four pounds and thirty pence, sir.” He looked over at the man as he pulled out his wallet and ruffled through it to hand him a few notes, along with a few coins. 

“Oh, and I found this in the Car Care aisle.” He pulled out yet another wallet from his pocket, a black, leather one… just like Draco’s father’s.. He let out a sharp exhale and gently took it from him, setting it on the counter. “Thank you, sir. We’ll announce that it’s missing right away.”

The boy then stuffed the notes into the drawer of the cashier, pulling out the one and returning it to the man. “Here’s your change! Thank you for shopping at Tesco, have a nice day!” He forced the words out of his mouth, his voice dry. He could act well, back in the day, but now, he wasn’t exactly willing to try. The ginger opened his mouth to speak. “Hope to see you again, sir, thanks for returning the wallet you found!” A bright smile on his stupid face. Ugh! Always got to suck up to them, doesn’t he? Draco grit his teeth as he shut the register, looking up to see that there was no more customers queuing at the counter. 

He opened up the wallet and looked it over, then noticed the name on a credit card in one of the sleeves to the front. There were a couple of ID cards in the others, but.. he couldn’t exactly be bothered. He leaned down and pulled out the small microphone wired to the counter, thought his announcement up, pressed the button besides it and opened his mouth to speak. 

“A black leather wallet belonging to a Y/N Y/L/N was just found in the Car Care aisle. Kindly approach counter number 4 for more details, please.” He called out, almost monotonously, closing the wallet up and setting it away. He turned it off and set it away. He looked over at the wallet again and goddamn Lucius’ face flashed in his mind again. 

“Can’t seem to learn to act a little nicer, can you, Draco?” Draco lifted his gaze to look over at him, eyes flitting down to the name tag by his collar. Ron… what a bloke to be forced to spend these hours with.. Draco furrowed his brows and just shook his head. “No, I can’t. And that’s the way it’ll be. I’m saying what I have to say, and I shouldn’t be judged for not feeling like a chirpy little bird all the time.” “Okay.. whatever.” Ron rolled his eyes and fiddled around with the bags attached to the hooks by the counter, then looked around. “Not a very busy day today, is it?” 

Draco looked down as his eyes widened, somehow Ron had mastered getting on his nerves. “No, it’s not. Not a lot of people out this late at night on a Sunday, Ron.” He looked over at the digital clock by the exit of the store, tilting his head and rolling his shoulders lightly. ‘10:47’  The clock read. Less than a quarter of an hour until my shift ends and I can get out of this shithole. He stared into space as he bit down on his lip, grateful that Ron had finally decided to remain silent. It wasn’t too chilly inside, but it was unbearable for every other reason. This forced happiness with every single customer, the annoying radio somehow constantly playing only the songs he seemed to hate, his annoying bag packer.. maybe retail really wasn’t for him. He shook his head and fiddled with the edge of his blue uniform shirt, staring at the clock and waiting for time to pass. 

Easy money, isn’t it? He continued to think to himself. Have to press a couple of buttons, say a couple of words, stay in my place, everything works out. He took a deep breath. Good cover too. No one’s too careful with managing who does the shifts either.. Great alibi, Draco. Could just lie and write my name up in the lists.. No one even cares. A small smile grew on his face. No one would even know if it was me.. Not one. Murder isn’t that hard when you’ve got control of the inventory as well. Change a couple numbers, bag a couple of items and take them out with you through the employee’s exit, no one would even know a thing. 

After having to leave university, Draco had grown very, very confused as to what direction to steer his life in. Money wasn’t exactly what he was after.. and it seemed like any past hopes of his of being a research scientist were pointless without some kind of a degree. Chemistry had been his subject of choice, much to his father’s great disdain. He was fine with Draco not even going into tertiary education at all, he had the family business going for him, didn’t he? If you could call it that, then yes. But.. it wasn’t for him. Smuggling wasn’t what interested him, really. It was murder, now.

Draco had liked reading about true crime since he was a child. The horrors, the mysteries and everything else had fascinated him to no end. He thought it had just been some kind of juvenile interest of his, some way to satisfy his curiosity. He could never have seen himself attempting any of that. But that was until he was forced out of his lush lifestyle, this whole change had not only upped his anger and generosity towards the rich and the poor, respectively, but also his desire to get rid of the stress inside of him. Nicotine had soon become his drug of choice but.. 

He craved something more.

Roland Hoyt… oh boy.. That was the one serial killer Draco had truly been fascinated by. That absolute genius had managed to kill eight people in an old English town with the use of chemicals. It was some mixture of cyanide and barbiturates that he had managed to feed to most of his victims which lead to their death, but what had truly drawn Draco in was the few cases in which Hoyt managed to use his own version of the famed lethal injection. It was beyond wicked, truly. Draco felt like it would be one hell of an insane mission, had felt crooked to the bone even thinking about doing it, but truly, there was no better way to get out his frustration than to just.. do the same. He couldn’t exactly afford any kind of games, or gym membership or as such any longer. And even his most recent ex, Pansy, had seemed to lose any interest in him once he lost his fortune. Talking to girls wasn’t exactly his forte to begin with, anyways. 

He just wanted to try it, really. Out of curiosity. Just someone who no one would miss, would even know they were missing. He knew it was absolutely awful of him to even try.. But he’d studied up enough to know how to get away with it, and try he very well would. Or at least try to try, right?

He was snapped out of his thoughts with a nudge to the shoulder from his accompanying bag packer. His head shot up and looked over at him. “What is it, Weasley?” Ron pointed over at the other side of the counter where a new customer was stood.

“Not you again..” 

Draco suddenly froze, instantly recognising that voice. He looked up hesitantly and locked eyes with her. It’s that bitch from earlier! Should bar her from coming in here, really! He grit his teeth and pursed his lips slightly, but soon opened his mouth to speak. “Good evening, miss.” His tone seemed a bit cheery, but was obviously rich in sarcasm. “The wallet’s mine.. “ He almost snarled at this, but placed the wallet on the counter. “Are you sure? Or are you just trying to..? You really Y/N Y/L/N?”

She rolled her eyes and took the wallet, opening it up delicately. “Do you really think I’d steal a wallet? You shouldn’t be allowed to work here, honestly.” She pushed a single bottle of antifreeze forwards, fiddling with the ends of her hair. Draco quickly sized her up as she moved forward. The backpack was gone, replaced by a small satchel bag over her shoulder. She seemed to have changed as well, while he couldn’t remember what kind of shirt she was wearing, the jeans she had on were replaced by some shorts.. and what seemed like a small plaster over her knee. He took the bottle of antifreeze and brought it up to the scanner.

“Well, good thing I have a kind manager, then.” He rolled his eyes as the machine beeped, passing the bottle along to Ron, who almost dropped it at first. Draco looked over at him and his eyes were practically stuck on the girl as she glared at Draco. She suddenly looked over at Ron as well, launching into another attack. “Has Tesco seriously started employing assholes who push customers around when no one else is looking?” She bit down on her lip, awaiting some kind of a response.

“Well-well..” Ron stuttered out and Draco couldn’t help but cringe for him, pressing a few buttons on the register. “He’s just the one.. Really. The rest of us are.. not bad.” The girl seems unsatisfied with this response, but continued to look at him, studying his reaction. “So.. you’re not bad then?” She asked, eyeing the redhead quizzically now. “I can be great for a pretty girl like-” “That’ll be seven pounds.” Draco looked over at Ron to see him staring back disapprovingly, arms crossed over his chest. He could feel the slight snarl growing on his face, but snapped out of it, knowing he couldn’t have this girl actually complain about him to his superiors. “Paying by card?” He flipped a card reader over to her, then pressed a few buttons on his own register. She nodded and fit it into the slot, waiting patiently as it flashed an ‘Approved’ sign. “There..”

Draco rolled his eyes yet again, reaching over to grasp the receipt that had just finished printing out. “Miss, you need to sign and write down your contact number here. Just for verification purposes.” He placed a pen right next to it and took a slight step back, studying her for a second. She seems.. easy? A bit violent.. But easily taken care of. Fell like a twig. He shook the thought from his head for a second, looking down as she finished up.

Almost unpredictably, she looked up and flashed Ron a smile, whose ears immediately flushed pink. Sure enough, the signatures matched and he handed her her bag, after which, she soon stepped out. “What the hell was that, Ron?” Ron just shook his head and looked over at her, before glancing back at the Employees Only room.

Y/N Y/L/N. He thought. How convenient. He looked over at the girl exiting, making a mental note. He quickly closed up the register and placed a ‘Next Counter Please’ sign for the next employee to take off. Ron had already cleaned up his area and had started heading back to the Employees Only room, probably to change. 

Y/N. Draco finished up and put his hands in his pockets, heading back himself as he noticed a few other employees shuffling over. Physically, she’s an ordinary female, but mentally, just as spoilt and awful as Father.

Think I’ve found myself a first victim, haven’t I?

Chapter 2

[seriouslyhooked]

Mr. Brightside

Available on FF Here and AO3 Here.

A/N: This is a reader requested one shot based on the classic song ‘Mr. Brightside’ by the Killers. I have had this on the prompt list for roughly forever, and FINALLY got my muse to talk to me about what to do with this. It’s a CS Rock and Roll AU (is that a thing? It has to be a thing) where Killian is the lead singer of a band and the opening act for their world tour is Emma’s band. There’s been confusion about whether Emma is single or not, but eventually it’s all sorted out, and surprise – there’s a lot of fluff. It’s pretty loosely based on the song, all things considered, but since I will always love this song I am happy to include it in the mixtape. Hope you guys enjoy and thank you all for reading.

“All right sound check came back perfect – no problems there, lads. Looks like it’ll be a great show.”

The news from the band’s manager, Robin Locksley, should have improved Killian’s mood, but alas it did nothing to revive his spirits. His bad attitude was here to stay, a dark cloud hovering over what should have been a bloody brilliant day. Everyone else could tell he was feeling off. A few of his band mates had even asked what was bothering him, but Killian remained mum on the issue. He couldn’t talk about it. He just had to wait out the shit feelings that had arrived the moment their A&R reps came back to town this morning and pray for eventual relief from the madness of his thoughts.

“So the show starts in an hour. MistMavens will do their usual thirty minutes and then you guys are on twenty minutes later. Unless you want to shorten their set. Killian, thoughts?”

Killian shook his head after a moment’s contemplation. No, he didn’t want to take any of the time of the girl group before them away. They were just starting out in their careers. It was their first big tour and Killian knew they had more than enough talent to merit being here. Regardless of his hurt feelings he wanted to see them succeed, for better or worse. He wouldn’t allow resentment to deny worthy people their shot.

“Okay then. You all know what to do. Let’s give em’ the show they deserve.”

Robin’s final words were a signal to the crew and everyone else that they could go about other things for the time being. For the band, however, it signaled a time to touch base just the four of them. Typically Killian appreciated this, knowing he needed to hash out any final thoughts with the others in Legal Piracy to prepare for a decent gig, but right now his walls were up. He felt cagey, like he was trapped and unable to claw his way out of the anger and the hurt, and all it would take would be one wrong word from one of the band members and he’d snap, best mates or not.

“You think he ever sleeps?” David Nolan, the band’s bassist and Killian’s oldest friend asked, no doubt about Robin. This pulled a laugh from everyone, and even Killian forced a smile. It really was remarkable how much Robin could get done. He was always on top of things, and never lost his charm or his swagger in the meantime.

“Nah, man. Between us and the missus, that man’s got his hands full,” Graham replied, his fingers still twirling about his drumsticks even though he was no longer playing.

“I just can’t believe he bagged the Evil Queen. Did anyone see that coming?” Will, the final member of their foursome asked as he handed off his guitar to one of the stagehands below.

“Only everyone with eyes,” Killian replied a bit more sharply than anticipated. Then again, it wasn’t exactly a surprise. Everyone knew that Robin and the president of their record label, Regina Mills, had a thing for each other for years. What was shocking was how much Regina had seemingly changed because of the union. She had always been tense, abrasive, and overbearing before. Now she still reigned with an absolute power, but she’d mellowed out. It made her a much more bearable person to be around and Robin seemed to be just as well suited to the match as she did.

“Ha ha,” Will replied dryly. “Speaking of eyes, you going to secretly make some more at Emma tonight or are we doing the damn thing and fighting Neal already?”

“Come again?” Killian asked at the same time that David and Graham replied “Fighting.”

Killian stared in shock at his friends for saying this. It was one thing for them to comment about his infatuation with Emma, because as much as Killian wished he’d been subtle he knew that he hadn’t been. It was pretty damn obvious how he felt about her. He had made no real attempt to hide the fact that he cared for her, at least not until this morning when everything had fallen apart in an instant. But for his friends to realize that his recent hostility was due in part to their A&R rep, that was a step above. 

Part of Killian was angered by the fact that they would bring it up, since even the thought of Neal and Emma together cut him to the core, but he was also a bit pleased that his friends were ready to go and help him take out the sorry excuse for a man if he so chose. The thought of actually dueling with Neal had crossed Killian’s mind more than once throughout the day. After all, a man unwilling to fight for what he wanted was no real man at all. At least that was what Killian’s brother Liam was prone to saying.

“Oh come on, Killian, that dude’s a tool. We all know it’s you Emma should be with. Hell, I don’t even believe him when he says they’re together. She doesn’t look into him at all. She practically ran away from him all day. Either way, it’s time to man up and do something about it.”

“And you think fighting Cassidy is the way to go?” Killian asked, trying to conceal the fact that a tiny bit of hope flared to life that Emma might not really want this other man. “Emma’s not some prize to be won.”

“No, she’s the woman you love,” David replied evenly. “And she loves you back, man. There’s no doubting that.”

“If she loved me, she wouldn’t be with him, would she?” Killian asked, but before his friends could reply he backed away with his hands out stretched. “I’m not doing this. I’ll see you at the show.”

Moving through the stage setup and into the back of the arena, Killian willed himself to get lost in the shuffle but it was hard to do given the fact that this was his concert and he was so recognizable. In all the years that Killian and his friends had been hustling like crazy to get to this kind of success, he never imagined that anything could dull the shine of fame and fortune. He and the band had worked too damn hard to have anything come in between him and the happiness he imagined would come when every door was open to them, when people around the world listened to their music, and would give anything to see their show. Yet here he was, angry, resentful, and bitter as could be because all of this meant nothing to him, not when he didn’t have what mattered most of all.

It would be impossible to pinpoint the exact moment when love had come crashing into his life, but he would imagine it was right at the beginning, the morning he and the band first met their opening act for their new American tour. On that morning Killian hadn’t known what awaited him, but when he first met Emma Swan, a brilliant, sassy, fierce and fiery siren of a woman, he was helpless to resist her.

“So you’re the notorious Killian Jones,” she’d said as their hands met in greeting. Killian felt the sharp tingle of awareness when skin met skin, and he watched as Emma’s eyes widened ever so slightly and her breathing seemed to pick up at the same time.

“Oh, so you’ve heard of me then?” Killian asked, trying to be seductive and charming all at once, but he hadn’t expected her laughter. It wasn’t meant to be a joke, but in retrospect it was a corny reply through and through.

“Uh, yeah, I’ve heard of the lead singer of the band we’re opening for,” she replied, her tone laced in humor and an insinuation that clearly said ‘duh, what kind of question is that?’

“Right. Well Swan – that’s an interesting name. Don’t hear that very often.”

“You don’t?” Emma asked, her brow furrowing in confusion as to why he was bringing up her last name, and hell if he could explain it. Truth be told he was nervous, a first for him probably in his whole life. He had no rational explanation for it but his hands were shaking and his mind was moving a mile a minute. He’d just kind of blurted that fact out and now he had to try and find a way to recover before this beautiful woman wrote him off as completely unhinged or incompetent.

“No, love. I think it’s for the best though. Only someone as lovely as you deserves such a connotation.” 

There, that was a bit better. His ability to speak to a woman wasn’t completely lost after all, and though he was now laying it on rather thick, Killian wasn’t exaggerating about how attractive Emma was. Once he said the words though, his sole hope became that she would be receptive, and when she smiled at him and the slightest trace of pink kissed her cheeks, he felt like getting down on his knees and thanking God above. It felt like the sweetest victory to win her over, and to earn a genuine grin from this intriguing woman he wanted to know better.

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re way too charming?” Emma asked, her voice lower than it had been just a moment ago. The sound of it tugged at something inside of Killian, because he knew from the heat and the gravel that this wasn’t a one sided interest on his part. Despite her ability to seem unaffected, Emma was feeling this connection as well, though she tried to hide it with another jest. “You’re lucky you’re a rock star – guys with lines like that in the real world get written off as corny.”

“People have called me a lot of things, love, but corny isn’t one of them.”

“Well if the shoe fits…” Emma said with a shrug, and it had taken everything in Killian not to pull her close and kiss her senseless. But alas, they hadn’t been alone and it was hardly the time or place to try and see if such a match could work.

Over the next few weeks the interest that Killian felt only grew stronger by the day. He would run into Emma all the time, seeing her in rehearsals and watching her sets night in and night out. She was beyond talented, with a voice that evoked undeniable feeling in any song at any time. She could sing a ballad or an anthem or a cover of some long lost classic and be so well suited to all of them it was astounding. She had real talent, and the rest of her band did too. Yet it wasn’t her affinity for music that drew Killian in most, it was who she was as a person. Fiercely loyal to her friends and her crew, Emma was a fighter and a lover all in one. She treated everyone with kindness and respect, valued the time of each person in their orbit, no matter how menial their job, but she always stood her ground. She didn’t accept bad treatment for herself or for anyone else, and Killian couldn’t help but see her as this almost savior, sweeping in to different situations and protecting the underdogs at every turn. She was such an enigma, but at the same time Killian felt like he’d never understood a person better in his life than he did Emma Swan.

It was insane for him to care so much about a woman so quickly, and since past mistakes in love had made him cynical and uninterested in anything like a repeat performance, it seriously fucked him up for a time. The first few weeks they knew each other Killian battled this innate desire to spend time with her and the wariness that his past had taught him to hold close. Despite his attempts at avoiding attachment, however, he could feel himself falling under her spell. Little by little his heart ran away from him, and before he knew it he was hers. 

A turning point came where he realized that resistance was futile, and before he knew it they were spending each night together. They stayed back on the bus or in the hotel, leaving their friends to explore the local nightlife while they watched a movie, took a walk, or had dinner just the two of them. It was intimate even though neither of them ever crossed the line, and the best part was that it was normal. He wasn’t Killian Jones, rock star, and she wasn’t defined by her up and coming status either. They were just two people getting to know each other and forming a connection so few people ever had. And then the moment finally came, the one where he couldn’t wait anymore to make a move. He was so certain of his regard for Emma he had to let her know.

Instinct guided him in that instant to side with a display of his affection over the words that always seemed to get tangled up in his presence. She was so close, grinning at some witty comment he’d made about the movie before them and he took his opportunity, pressing his lips to hers and feeling the impact of a kiss with the woman of his dreams. What started as easy affection ignited, for all it took was one second for Emma to be there with him. Her response was glorious, seductive, and healing all in one. It told Killian he wasn’t alone in this, and he reveled in the chemistry between them. Something this hot and this intense couldn’t be forced – it was a magic so unique people lived their whole lives and never felt it, and Killian would have given anything to take it further, to steal her away to his suite, strip the clothes from her body, and take her over and over again until morning light came. But somehow, through some strength of character and purpose he never knew he had, he pulled back, looking into Emma’s lust-filled eyes and taking in her words of amazement.

“I can’t believe you did that,” she whispered, her lips full and her face flush with the influence of their kiss.

“Can’t you?” Killian asked, a grin forming on his face as he allowed himself to truly feel this untouchable sense of happiness. “Haven’t I made my intentions clear?”

“Well yeah, I mean I thought I knew, but… I don’t know, I’ve just been waiting for what feels like forever for that to happen.”

“Aye, love. The wait was too long, but this is only the beginning, Emma. You have my word on that.”

The rest of the night was a beautiful blur of feeling, and he and Emma made the most of the fleeting moments they had before their friends returned. But when the end of the night came, Killian was confident that they would have tomorrow. If he had his way they’d have a million more of such moments together, that was how far he’d fallen for Emma, but fate it seemed was not so interested in granting him that happily ever after. Instead of rising to a new day where he could tell the world that Emma was his and that he was hers in turn, he’d stumbled upon a scene at breakfast that broke his heart and his very spirit as well.

At first Killian didn’t register anything was amiss, but when he spotted Neal cozied up to Emma, standing too close for it to be anything innocent, it felt like the floor fell out from under him. Killian could only bear to look at them for a second, but the damage was done to his heart and to that happiness he’d thought was here to stay. Since then he’d been avoiding Emma. He hadn’t been subtle about it either, boldly leaving rooms or making sure they only shared a space when there were a half a dozen or more eyes watching. It was bloody difficult work, because even with everything he still wanted her close. But he had to do it. The honorable thing to do was to leave her alone if she belonged to another.

“Killian?”

The voice that called to him was undeniably Emma’s, and for a moment he thought he might have dreamed it up. He took stock of his surroundings, realizing that he’d ended up at the farthest corner of the venue. The spot was shielded away from prying public eyes, and it allowed him to tune out the world and just gaze at the cityscape below. He had been so wrapped up in his thoughts, Killian hadn’t even realized Emma was near him, and he took a calming breath, trying to keep himself in check for this interaction. It was all for nothing though, because as soon as he turned and saw her, ready for her set tonight and looking more stunning than any woman had a right to, he was lost.

“Swan,” he said, knowing his greeting was cold, but he didn’t have any other words. If he didn’t keep things short between them he’d confess it all, and he couldn’t stand the embarrassment that would entail. No, what he’d seen that morning had made it very clear – Emma belonged to another and he’d be making a fool of himself to try to plead for a chance when she was satisfied elsewhere. “Don’t you have a set starting shortly?”

“Yes,” Emma said, taking a step forward. Killian wanted to do the same, feeling the need to get closer to her but he held back and watched her closely, trying to understand what she was feeling. Her face was filled with emotion, but it was all too hard to read when he was charged up on his own. “But I had to talk to you. I can’t go out there tonight if I don’t.”

“Is everything all right?” Killian asked, still trying to rein himself in even as worry spiked inside his heart. Was she okay? Was she hurt? A thousand scenarios ran through her mind and he had to remind himself she wasn’t his to protect.

“No,” Emma said softly as she took another step towards him. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I haven’t, Emma, I’ve been -,”

“You promised me you’d never lie to me, remember?” Emma said, reminding him of a moment they’d had a few weeks back, a night Killian thought might lead to more but where he’d yet again proven too chicken to actually make his move.

“Aye, love, I remember.”

“I know you saw me and Neal together,” Emma said, causing Killian to tense up instantly.

“How?” Killian asked, knowing that he hadn’t been seen as he left and that even an hour ago Emma had no idea what was wrong.

“Robin told me.”

Killian couldn’t believe it. He was stunned. His manager of all people had told Emma the truth? But it broke every code. Here he was thinking that Robin was his friend even if he worked for him, but then why would he go behind Killian’s back and do this? It was unconscionable and Killian was poised to leave the room and give Locksley a piece of his mind when Emma reached out for his hand. Killian knew he should let it go. It wasn’t right or smart to do this, but heaven help him he couldn’t, not when nothing the world over could ever feel so right.

“He didn’t tell me to betray you, Killian. I gave him an ultimatum – either he told me or I’d walk.”

Killian scoffed at the crazy idea. There was no bloody way that she and her band would have not performed. This was the chance of a lifetime, but the open, honest, and sincerely genuine look in Emma’s eyes indicated otherwise. “Emma, that’s crazy! What on earth were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that I needed answers!” she exclaimed before releasing a breath that was shaky and spoke to her heightened state of emotion. “Something happened – one night we’re perfect and things are going great and the next morning everything was ruined. I didn’t know what was going on.”

“Well what was I supposed to think?” Killian asked, his voice at the edge of breaking as he tried to hold it together. “There’s clearly something between you too. Cassidy’s confirmed you’re seeing him to anyone who would listen all damn day.”

“He did what?!” Emma screeched, clearly shocked and irate at the revelation. “No I’m not ‘seeing him.’ What you saw was him making a play but I didn’t want any part of it because …”

Emma trailed off her words, a blush coming to her face as she looked away from Killian. It was the first time that she seemed afraid in all of this and it shook Killian to the core. Here was this strong woman with a fire inside her that he admired constantly, but right now she seemed worried, and he had this instinctual feeling that the worry was about him. Could he dare to hope? He didn’t know, but he reached out and tilted her chin back up to look at him, noticing the way she leaned into his touch and wanting to take more even though he needed her words first.

“Because…?”

“Because I would never do that when I want someone else.”

In that moment Killian knew at last that the two of them were in this together. She hadn’t confessed her feelings, but her jade colored eyes told him everything that words couldn’t yet say. It meant the world to him to know this, but it also hurt to think that he’d prolonged their pain by avoiding her all this time. God, if he had just walked in a moment later he knew Emma would have sorted things out. He should have trusted Emma, should have believed that such a spark couldn’t exist between two people if one was truly taken with another, but fear had clouded his judgment. Now he had to let the fear go, and he had to be sure once and for all that Emma knew where he stood.

“Please let it be me,” Killian whispered as his hand cupped her cheek and Emma looked on the verge of tears as she nodded.

“It is you,” she said, and Killian felt triumphant. All he could think was that he needed to kiss her again, but something still plagued Emma’s mind. He could see her uneasiness, and he needed to know what it was so they could fix it and move on. Then the realization of what would cause her hurt slammed into him and he realized he was the one who had caused her lingering pain.

“But I’ve fucked things up,” he said solemnly. “I ran from you without so much as a word. I allowed myself to jump to every bad conclusion without trusting in you. How can you ever trust me – feel safe with me – if I couldn’t have faith in what we have?”

“I’m terrified,” Emma admitted. “Not that you’ll run again, because I know you won’t. You have that look of determination and I know what that means,” she joked, pulling a forced chuckle from Killian.

“And yet…” Killian prompted, needing to hear whatever this was so he could know how to properly make amends.

“It’s just I fell so fast for you I wasn’t prepared when things got bad. I always keep people at a distance. If they can’t get close they can’t hurt you. I have my walls and they work at keeping people away, but you broke them down. You made me love you and -,”

“You love me?” Killian asked, shocked at the revelation as Emma’s eyes went wide and she realized what she let slip.

“I – well I mean – well the thing is -,”

Killian could have waited to see what Emma’s nervous stammering turned into, but instead he chose to go with his gut, pulling her in for a kiss he’d wanted for far too long. It was the sweetest relief, not only to have Emma in his arms where she belonged, but to know beyond the shadow of a doubt that he was not in this alone. Emma might have been the first to say the words, but Killian loved her in a way that defied explanation. He’d be shocked if her feelings could possibly compare, but when they pulled apart and he saw the mix of hope and happiness in her expression, Killian dared to dream that maybe they could.

“It’s always been you, Emma. Even before we ever met, I was looking for something – for someone – who would help make all of this matter. And when I found you I knew, I knew that I loved you right from the start, and that I always will. You’ve changed me, love, and I know this has been a rocky beginning, but I swear to you that’s done now. You have all of me and that includes every ounce of my trust. I won’t doubt us again.  I promise you I won’t.”

“People will think we’re crazy,” Emma whispered, though she didn’t look so adverse to the idea. Her fingertips had come up to graze along his jawline and Killian leaned into the motion, craving her touch and living for the spark of excitement that lit up her eyes.

“Let them,” he replied. “It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks. All that matters is what you want.”

“Well in that case…”

It was Emma’s turn now to pull him in for another heated exchange, and the kiss this time was charged with a pent up need both of them had been holding onto for what felt like forever. There was nothing more to say; this was love and it always would be, and now Emma and Killian were of a like mind, wanting to be as close as possible and to seal that love in the best possible way. Unfortunately, just as the kiss was pushing past the limits of propriety, with roaming hands and clothes coming dangerously close to falling away, a knock sounded at the door.

“All right you two, much as we all love the true love reunion we’ve got a show to do!”

Emma’s friend Ruby’s voice was filled with teasing as it filtered through the door and Emma rolled her eyes even as she laughed. It seemed the real world could not be put on hold indefinitely, and Ruby was right – there was a show just minutes away from starting.

“Not that we don’t appreciate you taking one for the team, Emma,” Graham said from where he must have been in the hallway as well. “He’s been a little Grumpy without his girl to keep him happy.”

“He is a lot brighter when they’re together,” David mused prompting Will to start suggesting new nicknames for him like ‘Captain Chipper’ and ‘Mr. Brightside.’ The onslaught of commentary made Killian groan.

“Bloody hell, how many of them are out there do you think?” he asked Emma, who was shaking her head as she chuckled to herself.

“My bet? All of them. And we should really go, because there’s no chance of them leaving until we do.”

“Fair enough, love. But just know this – tonight, when the final song is played and the night is finally through, you’re mine.”

“Good,” Emma said with a final swift kiss. “Because you’re mine too.”

And with that, the two of them faced the music, starting a new journey that both of them would come to cherish for now and always.

……………

Coming out of my cage And I've been doing just fine Gotta gotta be down Because I want it all It started out with a kiss How did it end up like this It was only a kiss, it was only a kiss Now I'm falling asleep And she's calling a cab While he's having a smoke And she's taking a drag Now they're going to bed And my stomach is sick And it's all in my head But she's touching his chest Now, he takes off her dress Now, letting me go I just can't look its killing me And taking control Jealousy, turning saints into the sea Swimming through sick lullabies Choking on your alibis But it's just the price I pay Destiny is calling me Open up my eager eyes Cause I'm Mr Brightside I'm coming out of my cage And I've been doing just fine Gotta gotta be down Because I want it all It started out with a kiss How did it end up like this It was only a kiss, it was only a kiss Now I'm falling asleep And she's calling a cab While he's having a smoke And she's taking a drag Now they're going to bed And my stomach is sick And it's all in my head But she's touching his chest Now, he takes off her dress Now, letting me go 'Cause I just can't look its killing me And taking control Jealousy, turning saints into the sea Swimming through sick lullabies Choking on your alibi But it's just the price I pay Destiny is calling me Open up my eager eyes 'Cause I'm Mr Brightside I never I never I never I never

Post-Note: So I have wanted to take this basic story idea and make it a multi-chapter for years now, but every time I get close to doing it another story always comes barging in. It’s because of that that I am really grateful to the reader who asked for this song about a year ago (God how did so much time pass?). This was a cathartic thing for me, and it allowed me to jump-start my muse and get other works written as well. Hope that you all enjoyed it, and also if you guys know of great AUs where Emma, Killian or both are in a band please let me know! I would LOVE to read more of this trope because it’s such a fun one! Anyway, thanks so much to all of you for reading and I hope you have a great rest of your weekend!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9,Part 10,Part 11, Part 12,Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22, Part 23, Part 24,Part 25, Part 26, Part 27, Part 28, Part 29, Part 30, Part 31,Part 32, Part 33, Part 34, Part 35, Part 36, Part 37, Part 38,Part 39,Part 40, Part 41, Part 42, Part 43, Part 44, Part 45,Part 46,Part 47, Part 48, Part 49, Part 50, Part 51, Part 52, Part 53,Part 54,Part 55, Part 56, Part 57, Part 58, Part 59, Part 60,Part 61,Part 62, Part 63, Part 64, Part 65, Part 66, Part 67, Part 68,Part 69,Part 70, Part 71, Part 72, Part 73, Part 74, Part 75,Part 76,Part 77, Part 78, Part 79, Part 80, Part 81, Part 82, Part 83,Part 84,Part 85, Part 86, Part 87, Part 88, Part 89, Part 90,Part 91,Part 92, Part 93, Part 94, Part 95, Part 96, Part 97, Part 98,Part 99,Part 100, Part 101, Part 102, Part 103,Part 104, Part 105,Part 106, Part 107,Part 108, Part 109, Part 110,Part 111, Part 112,Part 113, Part 114, Part 115,Part 116, Part 117, Part 118,Part 119,Part 120, Part 121, Part 122, Part 123,Part 124, Part 125,Part 126, Part 127, Part 128,Part 129,Part 130, Part 131,Part 132,Part 133, Part 134, Part 135, Part 136, Part 137, Part 138,Part 139,Part 140, Part 141, Part 142, Part 143, Part 144, Part 145,Part 146, Part 147, Part 148,Part 149, Part 150, Part 151,Part 152, Part 153, Part 154, Part 155, Part 156, Part 157, Part 158,Part 159, Part 160, Part 161, Part 162, Part 163, Part 164,Part 165, Part 166, Part 167, Part 168, Part 169, Part 170,Part 171,Part 172, Part 173, Part 174, Part 175, Part 176,Part 177, Part 178, Part 179 , Part 180

[corrodedcoffinfest]

Week Five: Masterlist

Week Five wraps up this event! Thank you so much for all of your participation throughout this month! It's thanks to you that we've gotten to have so much fun celebrating Corroded Coffin!

I'll do a full masterlist, as well as some other event wrap-up posts soon!

This shortened final week, we covered 4 prompts and there were 28 total entries: 28 Fics Written, 0 Pieces of Art & 0 Other Works submitted.

Don't forget there is also an AO3 Collection if you'd like to use it!

Color-Coded Ratings Key: General, Teen, Mature, Explicit.

Day Twenty-Eight: Back to Indiana

Fic Submissions:

reunited by @steddieas-shegoes | Rating: T | WC: 939 | CW: minor language | Tags: famous corroded coffin, established steddie, uncle wayne is the best, steve harrington gets migraines in every universe, modern era

JULY 28: back to indiana by @the-unforgivenn | Rating: T | WC: 1000 | CW: Longing, one-sided feelings (?), a lot of inner monologue | Tags: Gareth x gn!reader

You Win Some, You Lose Some by @thisapplepielife | Rating: E | WC: 1000 | CW: Unprotected Sex | POV: Gareth | Pairing: Gareth/OFC | Tags: After the Show, Gareth Finishes What He Couldn't Start Before the Show, Vaginal Sex, Semi-Public Sex

Corroded Coffin Fest - Day 28 - Back to Indiana by @jo-harrington | Rating: T | WC: 999 | CW: Homesickness, angst, hurt/comfort, possibility of Steddie

Day 28: Back to Indiana by @munson-blurbs | Rating: T | WC: 658 | CW: mention of bullying, mention of the 1986 "earthquake," Corroded Coffin is famous | Tags: Eddie Munson, Gareth, Grant, Jeff, Principal Higgins, 1992, Hawkins High

Looking California, Feeling Indiana by @dreamwatch | Rating: T | WC: 999 | CW: chronic illness | POV: Eddie | Pairing: Steddie | Tags: pre-Steddie, broken dreams, band break up

Reunion by @corroded-hellfire | Rating: T | WC: 976 | CW: language, talk of bullying | POV: Eddie | Pairing: Eddie x Reader | Tags: When famous rockstars Eddie and Jeff come back for their ten year high school reunion, Eddie runs into a friendly familiar face.

Day Twenty-Nine: Behind the Music Fic Submissions:

documentary by @steddieas-shegoes | Rating: T | WC: 723 | CW: implied sexual content | Tags: modern era, famous corroded coffin, established steddie

JULY 29: behind the music by @the-unforgivenn | Rating: M | WC: 999 | CW: None | Tags: Corroded Coffin, Nancy Wheeler, Erica Sinclair, Steve Harrington, Robin Buckely

Corroded Coffin Fest - Day 29 - Behind the Music by @jo-harrington | Rating: T | WC: 986 | CW: Boys Will Be Boys Shenanigans, Humor, tiny bit of angst, FOI references, Dustin Henderson is a little shit, semi-related to my fic Best Spring Break Ever

All For Naught by @thisapplepielife | Rating: T | WC: 1000 | CW: Language | POV: Jeff | Pairing: Jeff/Goodie (Freak), Minor Steddie Mention | Tags: Future Fic, Band Breakup, Angst, Jeff and Goodie are Best Friends, But Goodie Learned How to Run from Eddie, Unrequited Love, Or Is It?, Hopeful Ending

Day 29: Behind the Music by @munson-blurbs | Rating: T | WC: 625 | CW: frustration, rockstars | Tags: Eddie Munson, Gareth, Grant, Jeff, Hellfire Club, DnD

Wayne's World by @corroded-hellfire | Rating: T | WC: 938 | CW: None | Tags: Wayne is interviewed for an upcoming documentary on Corroded Coffin

Day Thirty: Fame & Fortune Fic Submissions:

glad you chased me by @steddieas-shegoes | Rating: T | WC: 991 | CW: breakup | Tags: modern era, famous corroded coffin, angst with a happy ending, gareth gets his man

JULY 30: fame and fortune by @the-unforgivenn | Rating: T | WC: 726 | CW: Canon season 4 events, and perhaps what we've deduced from season 5. Eddie's death is discussed. Death, dying, angst, moving on forward | Tags: Corroded Coffin, as it is in 1988: Gareth, Grant, Jeff and Mike Wheeler

Corroded Coffin Fest - Day 30 - Fame & Fortune by @jo-harrington | Rating: T | WC: 986 | CW: Not FOI compliant (Eddie's mom dies when he's 10 or 11), angst, hurt/comfort-ish, minor grief, fluffy, Eddie has a big heart

Eddeth by @thisapplepielife | Rating: T | WC: 1000 | CW: Language | POV: Eddie | Pairing: Fake!Eddeth, Steddie | Tags: Modern AU, Stop Trying to Make Eddeth Happen, It's Not Gonna Happen, Eddie & Gareth Are Best Friends, They Are Also: Idiot², Paparazzi, Social Media, Luddite Eddie, Steve Harrington Has To Clean Up All Their Messes, But What Else Is New?

Day 30: Fame and Fortune by @munson-blurbs | Rating: G | WC: 722 | CW: angst, betrayal, Corroded Coffin is famous | Tags: Eddie Munson, Gareth, Jeff, Grant, angst, fortune telling, state fair

Testing by @corroded-hellfire | Rating: T | WC: 1000 | CW: Language | Pairing: Eddie x Reader | Tags: When rockstar Eddie and his actress wife go to buy a sports car, their salesman has a familiar face

Turn The Page by @dreamwatch | Rating: T | WC: 1000 | CW: implied alcoholism | POV: Steve | Pairing: Steddie | Tags: mild angst with a happy ending, future fic, they’re in love your honour, Eddie’s over it

Day Thirty: Your Song Fic Submissions:

wrote a song about you by @steddieas-shegoes | Rating: E | WC: 998 | CW: sexual content | Tags: established relationship, domestic fluff, blowjob, anal sex, gareth and sam are losers in love

JULY 31: your song by @the-unforgivenn | Rating: E | WC: 1000 | CW: Allusions to knife play, brutal murder, cannibalism, and necrophilia.  And Corroded Coffin is allllll about it. | Tags: Corroded Coffin, Elder!Mayfield!Reader, Robin Buckley, Steve Harrington

Corroded Coffin Fest - Day 31 - Your Song by @jo-harrington | Rating: T | WC: 855 | CW: Meta, Metafiction, An Illustration of My Mind Space, not quite about a romantic pairing but still a love letter of sorts, 1st Person POV, references to some of my old writing that you'll never find

Reading Between the Lines by @thisapplepielife | Rating: T | WC: 1000 | CW: Language | POV: Goodie (Freak) | Pairing: Pre-Goodie/Gareth (Or Unrequited One-Sided, Your Choice) | Tags: Writing Songs, The Utter Embarrassment of Having a Crush You Don't Even Know You Had, Eddie is Good Friend, Open Ending

Untitled by @ebooboodaddy | Rating: M | WC: 998 | CW: Strong Language, allusion to Sexual intercourse?, mention of drugs, mentions of Weapons (only in song.) Rockstar!Gareth | Tags: Gareth x F!Reader

Day 30: Fame and Fortune by @munson-blurbs | Rating: T | WC: 553 | CW: mention of drinking and drunkenness, cheesy fluff | Pairing: Eddie x Reader | Tags: Eddie Munson, Gareth, Jeff, Grant, Reader, concert, fluff

And Then I'll Win by @corroded-hellfire | Rating: G | WC: 999 | CW: None | Pairing: Eddie x Reader | Tags: Part of my As You Wish universe! Ryan performs a very special song with some very special guests in the middle school talent show.

The Last Song by @dreamwatch | Rating: T | WC: 996 | CW: referenced alcoholism, mental health issues | POV: Eddie | Pairing: Steddie | Tags: mild angst with a happy ending, future fic, the band is a family, reflection, Eddie’s had a rough year

[thotyssey]

On Point With: Charles Busch

A native-born playwright of considerable success both on and off Broadway, Charles Busch captured our hearts and funnybones with material that hearkened gently back to to a time when stories were told with a glamorous  sheen and a heavy hand... yet their comedic appeal remain timeless. Soapy melodrama, hilariously earnest dialogue and fabulous fashions are his bread and butter, and his most famous leading lady has always been Busch himself. Now bringing a new cabaret show about growing in in 1960′s New York to town, Charles sits down with us to talk about his incredible life and career, the people and things that influenced his own work, and the queens of today whom he’s inspired.

Thotyssey: We’re so honored that you’re talking to us, Charles. Let’s get right into it! This summer at the Pines, you performed a show called Naked & Unafraid. Was that literal?

Charles Busch: Whoa!!! I was not actually "naked." It was metaphorical in that I was performing my cabaret act NOT in drag. Of course, what I call "not in drag" would be considered "full drag" by some. That's funny that you thought I was actually nude. People are doing that sort of thing now, and I think it's very cool. But for me, I'm happy with myself from the neck up and the waist down. In between, I need some work.

You are known largely for writing comedic plays that pay homage to the melodrama and style of movies from the 40s through the 60s, and for starring in them as the female lead. It’s a very enjoyable experience for audiences that are fans of that era of film, but as younger generations become farther removed from that period, do they respond differently to your work in that genre?

Good question. Well, my audience has certainly aged with me, but there are SOME gay people under thirty who watch TCM and love classic film. I may be delusional, but I like to think that my plays and performances are funny in themselves and not totally reliant on a knowledge of old movies and stars. But  a familiarity with that type of star certainly adds to the experience. 

I've never actually done a parody of a specific movie. It's always an homage to a movie genre, and usually one so obscure that it's a given that 90 per cent of the audience has never seen any of those movies. It doesn't seem to be a problem. Funny is funny. 

I was raised on the film versions of two of your best known works where you play female characters, Psycho Beach Party and Die, Mommy, Die. Were you happy with the adaptation process in these cases? 

Both films were great experiences for me, particularly Die, Mommie, Die. I loved every minute -- and I mean every minute -- of making that film. Every day I couldn't believe my incredible good fortune at being able to star in my own movie and get to play all those wonderful scenes: love scenes, suspense scenes, mother love scenes. I suffered real withdrawal when the filming was over. I would lie on the sofa, replaying the entire movie in my head over and over. 

Needless to say, I would kill to make another film. Both Psycho Beach Party and Die, Mommie, Die were basically handed to me and put together very quickly. Now I'm in the position of trying to get a movie made, and it's been very frustrating. One week it sounds like we're about to start shooting in a month, and the next week the entire movie has fallen a part. 

Will we ever see a film adaptation of your first stage hit, Vampire Lesbians of Sodom?

Years ago, there was some talk that evaporated. However, these days it's looking optimistic for movies of both The Tale of the Allergist's Wife and The Divine Sister.

There’s a rumor that Lauren Ambrose of Six Feet Under fame may take the lead of a My Fair Lady revival! Lauren got her breakthrough as Chicklet, the heroine of the Psycho Beach Party film (a role you originated). What was it like working with Lauren during that early period of her career, and do you think she’d make a good Eliza?

I think Lauren would be a wonderful Eliza. She is a trained opera singer, and has great comic and dramatic skills. We haven't stayed in touch. But I like her a lot, and she was a joy to work with on Psycho Beach Party. We were very, very fortunate to have found her. She carries that movie with great authority.

You’re a native New Yorker. Can you describe the NYC that you grew up in, and were exploring, during your early creative years? Were you going to the bars and clubs, off-Broadway, etc.?

Oh honey, New York in the late seventies and early eighties was so much fun. Sex in the seventies was the best sex in the history of the world. I was in my twenties, and while I was too much of a hypochondriac and broke to get into drugs or alcohol, I adored going to the baths and back room bars. Orgies! I would leave the bar with seventeen gentlemen callers. It was my only experience enjoying the physical camaraderie of men. Sex was a great sport, individual and group. We thought "what's the worst that can happen to you?"  

As far as my creative life, I was full of hopes and dreams and gritty determination to carve out a career in the theatre. I think the older men I dated found me a bit exhausting, when they'd take me to the theatre and afterwards I'd be shaking my fist. "That oughta be me  up there!!"

Did any drag queens in the city influence your look and performance style? I know that famous female impersonator Charles Pierce was an inspiration. Charles Pierce was hysterically funny and terribly glamorous, and that certainly intrigued me. I was very influenced by the work of a brilliant actor/ playwright/ director named Charles Ludlam, who had his own theatre company, The Ridiculous Theatrical Company. Before I saw him, I had no idea that I could have a career creating my own theatrical universe. His plays employed drag and camp humor, and film and theatre history references. His plays were wildly funny but also at times poignant. He was dazzling, and changed my life forever.

One of our city’s top queens today, Paige Turner, credits working on an early production of yours as an inspiration for her own drag. She’s gonna be a reality TV star soon! I adore Paige Turner. She is a true original. Paige in her boy alter ego has had a very full career as an actor/ singer/ dancer in plays and musicals. Many well known drag performers seem to have been in my plays early in their careers. My plays seem to be a halfway house for young actors who become drag stars. 

Tale of the Allergist’s Wife was a hugely successful production that ran on Broadway in 2000, which many consider your first foray into “mainstream” playwriting. When you were writing that, were you conscious of how different it was from your previous work? Did you intend it to be different?

I had actually had something of a commercial success five years earlier with a very mainstream comedy called You Should Be So Lucky. It was conveniently forgotten when The Allergist's Wife moved to Broadway and the narrative about me was streamlined into "East Village drag queen writes Broadway comedy." Everyone has a publicity narrative, and the simpler the better. 

I'm beginning to think that the only difference between "downtown" and "mainstream" is the size of your publicity budget. If the Broadway play A Doll's House Part Two or even Dear Evan Hansen were done below 14th Street with very little publicity, they would be downtown. Conversely, if some very obscure avant garde piece was produced on Broadway and had subway posters and TV ads, it would be considered mainstream.

There are so many great works of yours that we can talk about (Our Leading Lady! The Third Story! The Divine Sister!), but then this would stretch into the longest interview ever. Is there any one work of yours at this point that you are the most fond of, or have the happiest memories attached to?

I'm very sentimental about a play of mine called The Lady in Question that was first done in 1989. It was the apogee of the work we were doing with my theatre company Theatre in Limbo. It was a beautiful and rather lavish production, and we all loved each other and were so proud of the work we were doing. And it was the last show we did with the original company before we lost two of our great colleagues, Bobby Carey and Meghan Robinson, to AIDS.

Do you think that Hollywood lost a little bit of its flavor when actors, writers and directors moved towards more “realistic,” grounded storytelling? It seems like even in these outlandish comic book blockbusters today, there is an attempt to tell the story like it is really happening, and that the superheroes and villains are these real, multi-layered people.

That's a very good point. I'm often asked to compare today's stars with the great pantheon of stars of old Hollywood. It's not really fair, since the actual technology influenced story telling and style. The stars of the past were seen in silvery black and white, and in a highly stylized world. It's an entirely different art form, and a different kind of actor is required.  

Whose take on Joan Crawford did you enjoy more: Fay Dunaway’s in Mommie Dearest, or Jessica Lange’s in Feud?

I love both. I think Faye Dunaway's performance defines the word "brave." So audacious and committed. I've never seen any actor convey such undiluted rage. However, I also appreciated Jessica Lange's more vulnerable Joan. You must remember that Mommie Dearest was an adaptation of Christina Crawford's book, and Christina had a definite point of view of her mother which was definitely not sympathetic; whereas Ryan Murphy in Feud wanted the audience to see more facets of Crawford's character, and what prompted her more outrageous behavior.

As I’m writing this, I’m watching this goofy “psychedelic” movie called The Big Cube on TCM from 1969, where this heiress and her evil boyfriend are trying to poison the heiress’ poor stepmother Lana Turner with LSD. It’s ridiculous fun, and I never heard of it before. Have you ever seen this?  

It's one of the great truly bad movies. Lana Turner's array of blonde wiglets alone makes it a camp semi-classic. It was actually one of the many movies that I was evoking in Die, Mommie, Die. It was very interesting in the sixties and early seventies, when Hollywood was taking the old genres and trying to be more hip and putting in references to LSD and sexual promiscuity, but they couldn't really pull it off without looking silly and exploitative.

This is a good segue to discuss My Kinda 60’s, your new cabaret revue that’s coming to Feinstein’s for four nights starting Tuesday, October 17th! You’ll be telling stories about growing up in the 1960s, plus covering songs from the stage and the pop charts of that decade. What inspired you to do this?

I love the intimate quality of cabaret. My act is a combination of music and true stories of my life in a very conversational way. I love the music of the sixties. It's the decade in which I grew up. This show is all about my childhood and coming of age in the sixties, when I was raised by my indomitable Aunt Lillian in Manhattan against the background of that fascinating decade. All of my shows are personal, but this one is very much a dual portrait of my Aunt and I.  My musical director/ arranger Tom Judson and I have put together a very eclectic and fun collection of songs.

What’s your favorite song to do in this show?

We loved singing duets, and we're doing a very cool arrangement of the Henry Mancini film theme song Two for the Road. 

Also oddly enough, the Glenn Campbell song By the Time I Get to Phoenix.  Every performer hopefully brings something unique to a song. And for me singing it, it can be read as a gay man who has led an inauthentic life and finally has left his girlfriend to become his true self, and how painful that decision is for both of them. I haven't changed a single word. It's just interpretation and the audience creating their own subtext.

Are you mad at hippies for not fulfilling their promise of creating world peace and harmony, or is that an unfair expectation of anyone?

That would expecting far too much. The hippies made their mark. They did influence the gay rights movement. They did influence the civil rights movement and the women's movement. Let's not discount the influence of the counter culture.

What’s something about 1960’s pop culture that should inspire younger people today?

Well, it was the beginning of every movement that we're still fighting for today; gender and racial equality. A relaxation of gender roles. Rebellion against government authority. These song,s and hopefully my personal stories, should not seem like something redolent of the past and sweetly nostalgic. These are cool, tough songs that could be written today.

Would a Melania Trump-inspired character in a future, theoretical Charles Busch production be a villain or a tragic heroine?

Well, you're talking to someone who has always felt great sympathy for Marie Antoinette. She does seem like someone who signed on for one thing and got in way over her head. I would not like to be Melania.

Piggybacking from that -- you’re famous for writing about nostalgic eras, but do you ever want to tackle the gritty reality of times like this in a play, script, etc.?

I have written contemporary plays, ya know! Not all of my plays are based on classic film. Some of my more recent plays, Olive and the Bitter Herbs and The Tribute Artist, were very much about life in NYC today, and how real estate forces so many life choices onto people.  I'm not a didactic or issues-oriented political writer. If I attempted something like that, it would come off fake and pretentious. A creative artist has to have the insight to know what they personally have to offer.

So, what else is coming up for you?

I've written a new play that we'll be doing for a very limited run this spring called The Confession of Lily Dare where I age from a sixteen year-old convent girl to an old crone. Gotta get it done now, while I can still put off the sixteen part. No wisecracks, please.

In closing: OMG. when will we be seeing you judging on RuPaul’s Drag Race!? These queens out there need to go through the Charles Busch musical theater challenge!

Start the whispering campaign. Start it now! I would love to appear as a judge, It's such a fun show, and RuPaul deserves all of those Emmys. World of Wonder, sign me up! I think I have something to offer those girls. I would be encouraging, loving but tough.

Thanks so much Charles, and have a great show!

Charles Busch’s stage show “My Kinda 60′s” runs from October 17th through the 21st at Feinstein’s. Check Thotyssey’s calendar for other scheduled appearances, and follow Charles on Facebook, Twitter, YouTube and his website.

On Point Archives

[vegas-glitz]

New York Inventory Trade - Why Is Anyone Shouting?

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Ah certainly, the New York Stock Trade, while it is really the epicenter of the trading universe, it appears to be like a little bit extra like an amusement park or a playground will not it? Shut your eyes and you can photo it, the hustle, the bustle, the screaming traders on the floor, the grown adult men perspiring by way of fits and button up shirts gesticulating like a wild pack of youngsters actively playing deal with soccer on an open discipline.

But why, in this modern day-working day and age, do traders and brokers still act like an angry mob? Will not we use computer systems for most trades these days anyway? Just isn't this the information age, an period dominated by sterile, prompt interaction? How did this madness begin? Why does it still go on? This short article will take a look at and explain the causes why Wall Avenue and many other investing pits resemble a riot after a soccer match more so than a accumulating of developed company majors seeking to amass a fortune for on their own and their consumers.

In the first area, there are a amount of trading exchanges and buying and selling pits, from the bond pits in Chicago to the Nikkei in significantly off Japan, but the most well-known trading trade in the globe, over and above a shadow of a question, exists at the intersection of Wall Road and Wide Road in Manhattan. The New York Inventory Exchange (NYSE) had existed due to the fact 1792 when the famed Buttonwood arrangement was signed by 24 New York brokers and businessmen. Most people feel of the Dow-Jones Exchange when they assume of the inventory marketplace. This is made up of thirty of the major corporations in the United States, from GE and McDonald's to Walmart.

The basic principle is easy people today use stockbrokers to get stocks, or percentages of ownership of a enterprise (and its profits or losses) in trade for hard cash. The dollars is and generally has flown around the area at a speedy and furious rate, and so has the action, that's why the complete hubbub. Basically these stocks are "auctioned" off to the best bidder who agrees to a obtain cost, so every broker is making an attempt to get their bid in and recognized ahead of the selling price of a stock rises. This is where the yelling originated, with brokers attempting to shout their rate and acceptance as loudly as possible in an endeavor to drown out and defeat the competing brokers to the purchase price tag that they want. Having a bid in a split second before at pennies per stock can signify the variation amongst hundreds of thousands of bucks of gain on one particular huge inventory order, so the immediacy and drive used can be comprehensible when so much is on the line.

Initially, the tenor of the space was additional gentlemanly, as revered businessmen and brokers traded shares at a realistic speed and prosperity simply moved amongst rich people today, from one particular household to one more. A Rockefeller may possibly obtain a piece of a Ford or a Vanderbilt's passions, knowing that these productive, rich males would deliver more wealth.

As America grew, although, and the American Aspiration was born, the typical people desired in on the motion. Right after the Industrial Revolution in The united states took spot in the late 1800's, a center course emerged, as manufacturing facility staff fought for a lot more of the corporation pie and at last received superior wages and doing the job problems. The concept that any American could get prosperous and get wealthy brief took root, and what better way than through the New York Stock Trade.

By the 1920's, many People were being investing in the inventory industry. The New York Inventory Trade was booming. Prompt millionaires were popping up all above the position. There was a total new stage of wealthy Us residents with ticker tape devices in their dwelling rooms supplying them instantaneous current market selling price updates. This is when the screaming and gesticulating commenced in earnest, as brokers have been overcome by prospective buyers, new clients and acquire orders. They screamed and hollered and waved their arms to get their orders in initial. The country's stance was constructive. The era was recognised as the Roaring Twenties, and its theme track was Blue Skies due to the fact all the things was coming up roses for most Individuals. Client credit rating was born to aid promote products being more than produced thanks to massive...inventory investments. The only issue was this full explosion of wealth was constructed on a household of cards nearly like a Ponzi scheme. Stocks had been getting bought for start off-ups providers that were not making income, they ended up just filling their coffers with financial commitment hard cash, and far too a lot of individuals have been downright leveraged in the inventory current market. For 9 decades, from 1920 to 1929, inventory price ranges went straight up with no close in sight.

That is till October 24 of 1929, improved known as Black Thursday. That was the day of the Terrific Stock Industry Crash that signaled the commencing of the Wonderful Depression, the greatest economic disaster the United States has at any time faced. The pits exploded with sounds as brokers screamed "promote, offer, provide," seeking to minimize losses right before it was much too late, but there have been no prospective buyers. Investors fled en masse, most of them were being bankrupt, broke and penniless.

However, the New York Stock Exchange persevered, and as with any trade or market, has experienced its turbulent ups and downs ever due to the fact. There have been a selection of peaks and valleys on the New York Inventory Trade over the several years. The most current crash happened in 2008 just after the housing bubble burst. The industry is still recovering. There have been many restrictions place in location to make the trading fairer and much more acceptable. Working day traders' trade from their home personal computer signaling buys and sells in an instantaneous. In simple fact, most trading is transacted by way of computers these times.

So why are developed men in satisfies nevertheless yelling, screaming and gesticulating like a five-yr outdated throwing a temper tantrum? That's the a person point that never ever appears to be to modify.

Simply because at its coronary heart, the New York Inventory Exchange is continue to an auction home procedure, and each solitary DOW trade occurs at the finish on that well known ground. Even if, you make a acquire on E*Trade, the trade is accepted and consummated on the floor of the New York Stock Exchange, facilitated by a broker. The screaming isn't really as needed, nor as widespread as in the previous, thanks to computer systems and technological improvements in conversation systems, but there are however brokers on the ground who have to triumph over their levels of competition to the punch. In point, hand alerts are much more crucial now to pit stockbrokers, so they can rapidly sign floor professionals who put in the actual purchase or offer buy. That clarifies all the mad gesticulating..

"Orders appear in by way of brokerage companies that are customers of the trade and move down to ground brokers who go to a unique location on the floor exactly where the inventory trades. At this place, acknowledged as the trading put up, there is a precise man or woman acknowledged as the specialist whose work is to match potential buyers and sellers."

By using wild clear gestures and screaming when essential, so the get can be listened to brokers are speaking with their individual companions these times not so much with the auctioneer. The sound and fury will get so solid at time, the outdated mass havoc rears its ugly head and to an outsider it appears as however a rugby scrum has broken out. In point, it simply just suggests that a massive quantity of trades are transpiring right right before your eyes, and to the detriment of your ears.

Likely there will occur a working day when all is silent at the New York Stock Exchange, but it definitely wouldn't be as entertaining. In all probability nevertheless, there will normally be human traders on the ground earning positive that their transaction goes by means of, and that will generally indicate yelling and hand indications. So now you know, the subsequent time you see a frenzied movie clip from the New York Inventory Trade, the brokers aren't working towards to come to be skilled wrestlers or politicians. They are not understanding how to guide a airplane down the runway, or imitate their most loved NFL Head Mentor on the sidelines of a near football activity. They are just making an attempt to make dollars or conserve income for their customers. If you change out to be 1 of people clients and it is really your money at stake, even if you only have a 401K or retirement fund, you could consider that these transactions are worth the shouting.

Source by Miriam B Medina

[leorapereira3-blog]

Reverse Variety Look up

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[anavoliselenu]

Claim me chapter 8

I think she hesitates, but it may only be my imagination. “So Courtney’s not coming?” she asks, referring to Ollie’s fiancée.

“He didn’t say. I’m guessing not. She’s probably traveling this week. So what do you think?”

“Yeah, sure,” she says. “But not drinks.”

“Jamie, if you don’t want—”

“No, no,” she interrupts. “I do. And tonight’s fine. I just mean that you and I already have plans later, anyway. Ollie can tag along.”

“What plans?” This is totally news to me.

“Raine invited us to a party at The Rooftop and Garreth Todd is going to be there.”

“Who’s Garreth Todd?” I ask.

“He, my clueless friend, is the hottest thing in Hollywood right now. And we’re going to meet him.”

“Alan Rickman or Sean Connery, I’d be excited. Garreth Todd, not so much.”

“Well, you’re going anyway. This is our night to have fun, remember?”

I glance at the television. I was totally looking forward to the airplane version of Die Hard next, but I have to admit it does sound like fun. I’ve never been to a Hollywood party, and just because I haven’t got a clue who the latest stars are doesn’t mean that the glitz and glam won’t be a hoot. Then again, stars mean paparazzi, and that sounds decidedly less fun.

“Won’t the press be there? I’m really not in the mood to deal with them.”

“Nah, Raine explained how it works. They’ll be hanging around the entrance probably, but since they don’t expect you, just wear a hat and keep your head down. Ollie and I can flank you. It’s totally no big. And once we’re at the party, the only photographers are part of Garreth’s PR corp. So it’ll be a vulture-free night. Swear to God.”

My phone rings, and I realize it’s Ollie, who apparently decided he’d been on hold for long enough and hung up. “Sorry,” I say, then explain the whole Garreth Todd–Hollywood party thing. Unlike me, he doesn’t live in a cultural bubble, and he knows exactly who Garreth is, and he’s keen to do the party thing. As it turns out, I’m right about Courtney, but wrong about the reason. I’d assumed she was away on business, but Ollie tells me that she’s flown to San Francisco to look at wedding dresses with her mother.

He says he’ll be over in less than an hour, and we’ll all go together. And even though I’m a little nervous about the three of us hanging together for the first time since Jamie and Ollie screwed around, I’m also looking forward to it. These two are my best friends, after all. And, yeah, I miss them.

I pick up my phone to call Justin and tell him I’ve had a change of plans. If he’s not deep into work stuff already, maybe he can even join us. But my finger hesitates over his name. Justin doesn’t want to spend time with Ollie. For that matter, while he was fine with me hanging with Jamie, I have a feeling he’d be less than thrilled if Ollie had been part of that mix. And besides, nothing of what I told him has changed—I am still with Jamie. We’ve just added another person, too.

I drop my phone back onto the bed, then get up and head to my room to find an outfit for tonight. The glow I was feeling earlier, however, has faded a bit, and that frustrates me.

I’m not doing anything wrong. So why do I feel so guilty?

A woman wearing nothing but a bikini and down-covered wings brushes by me carrying a tray of rainbow-colored champagne. As far as I can tell, the champagne has been dyed to match the pool, which is changing color every thirty seconds as the lights rotate through the spectrum.

If I had been held at gunpoint and forced to come up with the most ostentatious Hollywood party imaginable, I do not think I could have conjured anything even close to what now surrounds me. The waiters and waitresses wear tiny gold bathing suits that leave nothing to the imagination and decorative wings that make it difficult to maneuver through the crowd. We are on the roof of one of downtown Los Angeles’s tallest buildings, and I can only presume the unstated message is that we, the guests, hold such a prominent spot in heaven that the angels themselves must serve us.

Jamie bounces up to me and presses a glass of bright red champagne into my hand. She’s wearing an extremely short red skirt paired with a black lace blouse over a red bra. As always, she looks amazing. I’m wearing a black sarong skirt and matching black tank, the only color provided by a pink scarf that I have draped around my neck. Considering the outfits that I see walking past us, on the whole Jamie is dressed at least as conservatively as I am.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” she asks.

“It’s exactly what I would expect a Hollywood party to be,” I say dryly. Beside me, Ollie barks out a laugh, and Jamie scowls at us both.

“Don’t be cynical,” she says. “From what Raine tells me, this is one of the parties of the summer, and it’s incredibly exclusive.” She gestures vaguely in the direction she came from. “Steve said he’s been finagling to get an invite for months.”

“Steve’s here?” I rise up on my toes and search the crowd. “What about Anderson?” Steve is the first person Jamie met after she skipped out on me during our college years and moved to Los Angeles to find fame, fortune, and near starvation as an actress. I met him during my many pre-graduation visits, but I haven’t seen him since I actually moved here.

“He’s here, too. I told them we’re by the pods,” Jamie says, referring to the odd, red waterbed pods near where we’re standing. “They’re making the circuit.”

This doesn’t surprise me. Steve is a working screenwriter despite the fact that he’s never seen one of his movies produced. According to Jamie this is not an unusual thing in Hollywood. His husband, Anderson, sells real estate. I adore Steve, but unless he takes pity on me and talks classic movies, my eyes glaze over ten minutes into the conversation. But I can always find something interesting to say about houses.

“This really is ostentatious as hell,” Ollie says, “but it’s also pretty damn cool. I mean, look at this place.”

I have to agree that the venue is amazing. It’s a clear night, and we seem to be floating among the skyscrapers. I can see the mountains in the distance, looming black dotted with pinpoints of light against a pencil-gray sky. From a booth on the other side of the roof, a DJ is providing danceable music, and many of the guests are taking advantage of the huge dance floor. Drinks are provided by the roaming angels, but can also be had at the pool-side bar. And, lest we forget this is a Hollywood party, a series of clips from various films—presumably starring Garreth Todd—are being projected onto a two-story tall screen.

“Okay,” I say. “Y’all win. It’s pretty cool.” I take a long drink and finish off my champagne, because I am here tonight to have fun with my friends. “So where is your guy?” I ask, which prompts Jamie to crane her neck and look around.

“Unless he fell off the roof, he’s here somewhere. Let’s wait here for Steve and Anderson, then we can go make the circle and find him.”

“So are you getting serious about this guy?” Ollie asks her. “I mean, after a guy like me, it’s hard to imagine you could want anyone else.”

He is clearly teasing, but underneath I think I hear a hint of wounded pride. I hope that I’m imagining it. For his sake, for Jamie’s sake, and mostly for Courtney’s.

“Yeah,” Jamie says, a slow smile blooming. “Emphasis on the ‘getting.’ We’re not there yet. But, well, yeah.”

“Good,” Ollie says curtly.

I frown, trying to think of something pithy and cutting to say, but nothing comes to mind.

“Now, if you want to talk serious …” Jamie trails off, her eyes on me, her eyebrows waggling mischievously.

I smile innocently. “A lady never tells.”

“It’s too damn soon,” Ollie says shortly. “And—” He cuts himself off.

“What?” I snap.

“The whole thing just worries me. Stark worries me.”

“Jesus H. Christ,” Jamie blurts out. “Don’t you ever give it a rest?”

I’m grateful for Jamie’s interference. I’d thought that the Ollie-Justin war would be off the table tonight after my talk with Ollie earlier, but apparently two glasses of green champagne have loosened his tongue.

“That’s why I love her,” Ollie says, hooking an arm around Jamie. “She tells it like it is and doesn’t take my shit.”

“And what?” I ask. “Courtney doesn’t tell you when you’re being a prick?” It is bad form for me to play the Courtney card right now, and I know it. But I’m pissed. Besides, I’m supposed to be Ollie’s best man at his upcoming wedding, and although I’ve never actually been a best man before, I’m pretty sure that one of the jobs is smacking down the groom when he crosses the line into being an asshole.

“No,” Ollie says seriously. “She doesn’t.” He bends down and sits on the edge of the water-filled mattress inside the pod. His body shifts and rolls, and he reaches out and grabs the red molded plastic that forms part of the pod’s arching roof. “She just waits until all the shit has built up and then she breaks up with me.”

I sit down next to him, ignoring the way our seat sloshes beneath us. “I thought you weren’t going to let any more shit build up.” Ollie and Courtney have been on-again, off-again for years. This is the first time they’ve made it all the way to an official engagement. I really like Courtney, and I hope it works out. But the more time that goes by, the more I’m afraid that Ollie’s going to fuck it up yet again. Or, to be more accurate, that he already has fucked it up.

“I’m like Pigpen,” Ollie says. “Shit just follows me around. Not all of us lead the charmed life of a certain billionaire we know.”

“Dammit, Ollie!”

He holds his hands up in surrender. “Sorry, sorry, I’m a total prick.”

“Yes,” I agree. “You are.” I suck in a breath. “Look, I’m sorry you have a problem with Justin, but he’s important to me. And if I’m important to you, then you need to figure out a way to deal with that.”

“That’s the point,” Ollie says. “You are important to me. And I can deal with Stark. I can even ignore all the shit on him I could dig up in just one hour in the Bender, Twain file room,” he adds, referring to the law firm where he works. “It’s not the man that’s the problem—well, not the big problem. It’s what’s around him.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Come on, Selena, you practically disguised yourself to come here tonight,” he says, referring to the hat that I’d worn, just as Jamie suggested. “Do you want that life? Hell, can you handle it?” he adds, then brushes his hand lightly across my thigh before twining his fingers in mine. “I just worry about you is all.”

My throat is thick, and I look down, not quite willing to meet his eyes. I know his concern for me is genuine—Ollie has seen my scars, and he has seen me break, too. More important, he’s helped put the pieces of me back together.

“Justin’s worried about the same thing,” I admit quietly. “But I can stand it,” I add, looking up so that I can see his eyes. “I am standing it, and I want to, because Justin is worth it.”

His shoulders droop. “Who would have thought I’d have something in common with Justin Stark?”

I laugh out loud, and Ollie grins.

“Seriously,” he says. “I may have my issues with Stark, but I also know he cares about you.”

“He does,” I say. I’m about to add that I know that Ollie cares for me, too, but my words are stalled by the arrival of Steve and Anderson accompanied by two absolutely gorgeous men.

“Thank God,” Jamie says. “You guys have perfect timing.”

Since I am desperate for a change in subject, I agree wholeheartedly, and allow myself to be hugged and air-kissed and complimented by Steve and Anderson while Ollie shakes their hands and otherwise looks grim. I recognize the guy who has swooped Jamie into his arms as Bryan Raine, and it doesn’t take a huge mental stretch to identify the final member of my rescue party as Garreth Todd. After all, his face has been splashed on the movie screen all evening.

“Well, hello,” he says, stepping into my personal space. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

“Selena,” I say, my mask firmly back in place. I am no longer in a party mood, and right then all I want is to run through the social niceties and get the hell out of here.

“I hope you’re having fun,” he says, moving even closer. I take a step back, and find myself bumping against Ollie. He puts a steadying hand on my shoulder, and that simple touch makes me want to cry. That’s the way it used to be—Ollie reaching out to steady me whenever I felt I might shatter.

“We were going for a celestial theme,” Todd says. “Get it?”

“It’s very colorful,” I say.

“It doesn’t even come close to sparkling the way you do,” he says. He’s only inches from me, and I’m sandwiched between him and Ollie. It occurs to me that if Justin said those words to me, I would probably melt. From Garreth, however, they only irritate.

I hope that Jamie will intervene, but she is lost in her Raine storm, and will not be rescuing me anytime soon. I’m on my own, and I know only one surefire way of regaining my personal space. “You have me at a disadvantage, sugar,” I say, with my brightest smile and my thickest Texas drawl. “You know my name, but I don’t have even a teensy, tiny clue as to yours.”

“Oh.” He takes a step back, presumably allowing his hyperventilating ego to get some air. “I’m Garreth Todd.”

“Very nice to meet you. And what is it you do?”

Behind me, Ollie shifts, and I can tell that he is going to explode with laughter. Jamie, thank goodness, isn’t paying attention. “I thought we were going to dance,” Ollie says, curling his fingers around mine.

“Of course,” I say, as he tugs me away. “So nice chatting with you, Mr. Todd.”

“You just dissed a movie star,” Ollie says as he pulls me onto the dance floor.

“Oh?” I say innocently, then bat my eyes for effect. “Was he a movie star?”

Ollie ignores my silliness. “Jamie is going to kill you.”

“I know,” I say. As far as Jamie is concerned, anyone who can help her climb the ladder must be treated with the utmost deference. “You have to admit he deserved it.”

“I admit nothing,” Ollie says, but he’s smiling. “So we’re here. Are we going to dance?”

It’s either that or head home, and right then I’m basking in the detente between Ollie and me. “Sure,” I say, then follow him onto the floor and let the music take over. It’s loud and heavy on the bass and just what I need to get my mind off everything. Still, I can’t help but wish that the song was slow and it was Justin on the floor with me instead of Ollie.

The wish is so fervent, in fact, that my imagination conjures the man. His tall form, cutting through the crowd. His mouth a hard line, his face expressionless, his eyes like a storm at sea. It is only when all eyes turn toward him, drawn in by the pull of Justin Stark, that I realize this is the real Justin striding through the wash of colored lights—and heading straight toward Ollie and me.

10

“Go,” Justin says to Ollie, his voice colder and more commanding than I have ever heard it.

I see my friend open his mouth as if to argue, but I catch his eye and nod. He frowns, then shoots Justin a look so full of disdain it makes my stomach curl. Justin doesn’t notice. He’s paid Ollie only scant attention, and his eyes have never left my face.

“Justin,” I begin.

“No,” he says. He pulls me roughly to him and wraps his arms around me. He practically trembles with anger, and I press my cheek against his chest, thankful to have this brief reprieve before the storm hits.

The music is still loud and fast with such a heavy bass that the roof beneath our feet seems to throb. I imagine we must look ridiculous, holding each other as if in a slow dance, but I don’t care. And soon, to my surprise, the music changes to match our pose. I glance up, curious, and see that a small crowd has gathered around us. Justin Stark is at least as famous as Garreth Todd, and we have stolen Mr. Todd’s spotlight.

I can only presume that the DJ is among the spectators, and has decided to match the music to our mood.

Since we do nothing more than sway in each other’s arms, interest soon wanes. The crowd either drifts away or joins us on the floor, and I begin to feel less like a fish in a bowl. A chastised fish, ready to be scolded.

He holds me through one song and then another, and though I am happy to spend my entire life inside the circle of his arms, I have reached the point where I can no longer stand the suspense. “Say something,” I plead.

He stays silent, and a cold dread curls through me. I am about to beg again when he speaks, so low and so gentle that I have to strain to hear him, and even then I am not sure that I have actually caught his words.

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re—what?” I step back so that I can see his face, because I am certain that I have not heard right.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. We have stopped swaying and now we stand still on the dance floor.

“Is this some sort of reverse psychology? Because I know you pretty well, Justin Stark, and that wasn’t repentance I saw in your eyes when you crashed through the crowd. More like scary megalomaniac fury. Besides,” I add with a small grimace, “I’m the one who’s sorry.”

Justin’s expression doesn’t change, but for the tiniest of instants, I think I see a flicker of amusement. “First off,” he says, “I didn’t crash through the crowd. I walked, and quite calmly, too, considering the circumstances.”

I swallow. I knew he was pissed.

“Second,” he continues, “I believe a megalomaniac is someone who suffers from delusions about their own power. Trust me,” he says, and this time I am certain I see mirth dancing in his eyes, “I suffer no delusions about the extent of my power. And finally, you may have reason to be sorry. I, however, have more.”

“I—oh.” I have no idea what to say. This conversation isn’t going at all the way I expected. But he’s right; I do have reason to be sorry. “I should have told you that Jamie and I were going out with Ollie.”

“So you knew at the time?”

“No. Raine called later and told Jamie about the party. Then Ollie called and ended up coming along. I actually picked up the phone to call you. But then I didn’t,” I finish with a shrug.

“Because you knew I’d be pissed.”

I nod. “And that’s why I’m sorry.”

“Then we have that in common.”

I watch his face silently, waiting for him to explain.

“I don’t want to be the asshole who keeps you away from your friends,” he says. “And I don’t want you to feel like you have to keep things from me in order to see them. And I’m sorry because you obviously felt exactly that way.”

Polite Selena starts to protest, but what he’s saying is the truth. Slowly, I nod.

“I won’t keep you from your friends, Selena. But dammit, I don’t like the son of a bitch.”

This is not exactly breaking news, but I still take a moment to consider how to respond. “I get that,” I say. “He hasn’t exactly earned your trust. But I’ve known him forever, and he’s one of my closest friends.”

“He’s seen you naked, Selena. He’s touched your scars.”

I blink at him. Surely he’s not—“Are you jealous?” The possibility shocks me. I’ve already told Justin that Ollie and I never slept together. It was never like that between us.

“Hell, yes, I’m jealous. I’m jealous of anyone who comforts you. Who pulls you into his arms and makes the hurt go away.”

“I didn’t even know you back then,” I whisper.

“And I’m jealous of the time that he’s had with you that I haven’t.”

“You’re not being fair.”

“I’m not being fair at all. But that doesn’t change the facts. You’re not just friends. You haven’t been for a long time. At least not since he got you through the hell with that asshole Kurt.” I close my eyes, remembering the boy who’d hurt me so badly years ago that I’d needed Ollie to help me pick up the pieces. “Ollie’s in love with you, Selena. It’s the one thing I do respect him for,” Justin continues. “He has excellent taste in women.”

These are not things that I want to hear. Ollie has only ever been my friend, albeit an extremely close one, at least until recently. I don’t like the way things are changing, and I don’t want to hear what Justin is saying.

Mostly, I don’t want to suddenly realize that I’ve been foolishly, stupidly blind.

I think of Courtney and feel a little sick. “He’s engaged, Justin,” I say, but the words are weak, and I cannot help but see Jamie in my mind. Fidelity is not one of Ollie’s strong suits.

“I know he is,” Justin says. “And maybe he loves his fiancée, I don’t know. But I do know that he loves you. And one of these days, that’s going to cause a very big problem between him and me.”

I manage a weak smile. “Don’t go all Wild West on me. Though with all your money, I guess it would be more Stark Manor than O.K. Corral, and a duel instead of a gunfight. But be careful, Justin. Ollie grew up in Texas. He’s a good shot.”

“I’m a better one,” Justin says, and there’s none of my light teasing in his voice.

“I really am glad you’re here.”

“As am I. It’s good to hold you. This entire day has been challenging.”

I wince, thinking of the paparazzi that accosted me outside of the office and those bullshit allegations of corporate espionage. “Sorry.”

He gently strokes my cheek. “No,” he says. “Not you. But there are things.” He sighs, and I am surprised at the exasperation I hear. “Tapestries that I’ve woven carefully over the years are starting to unravel. I don’t like it when things don’t go as I plan or expect.” He aims a small smile at me. “You may not have noticed it about me, but I am most comfortable when I am in control.”

“I’m shocked, Mr. Stark. Truly shocked.”

He ignores my sarcasm, and when he speaks, his voice is low and even. “Actually, I suppose you do fall within those parameters. I wanted you at home. You said no. I didn’t like it.”

I step close to him and slide my hands around his waist. “I suppose if it bothers you that much, you can simply tie me up and keep me permanently at your side.”

I can feel the way his body stiffens against mine, and I am glad I’m holding on to him. My own knees are weak. How simple it is to slip into passion with Justin. Even when we quarrel, we’re never far away from the fire, and it’s so easy to get pulled into the conflagration.

And always, always, there is the need to touch him, to feel him, to know that he is real and that he is mine.

“Why, Ms. Fairchild,” he says, “I believe you’re thinking naughty thoughts.”

“Very,” I confirm.

“I may have to take you up on your suggestion,” he says. He tugs on the end of my pink scarf. I feel the smooth brush of the material as it slides over my skin. “Tie you up,” he says, twisting the end of the scarf around one wrist. “Keep you close.” He gives the scarf a tight, quick jerk, and I stumble toward him. He catches me so that I don’t fall, and bends down so that his lips are close to my ear. “But first, I think you need to be very thoroughly spanked.”

I tilt my head so that he can see my eyes. “I’d rather be thoroughly fucked.”

He groans, and I know that I have won this round. “Oh, God, Selena. What you do to me.”

“No,” I say, my entire body on fire. “What you do to me. And please, Justin, do it soon.”

“We’re leaving,” he says, and I can only nod mutely.

“Where are we going?” I ask, as we take the elevator down. There are two other couples in the car with us, and only the tips of our fingers are touching. It is so intimate, though, that I feel like I’m naked before them.

“The apartment,” he says curtly.

Thank God. If he wanted to go all the way back to the Malibu house I was going to lose my mind. Even so, I’m not sure I can make it the few short blocks.

But then the elevator doors glide open and as soon as our companions step off in front of us, we are accosted by the flash of cameras, the press of microphones, and the overlapping queries of a dozen demanding voices.

Now I clutch Justin’s hand and move closer to his side.

“Mr. Stark!”

“Justin!”

“Selena, over here!”

“What can you say about your refusal to speak at the dedication of the Richter Tennis Center?”

“Can you explain your decision, Mr. Stark?”

I hold tight to Justin and keep my head down as we press forward toward the street. I assume at first that these are simply the same reporters and paparazzi that had been hovering about when we’d arrived. But then I see that in addition to the TMZ and E! reporters, there are vans from CNN and even the Wall Street Journal.

Apparently someone noticed Justin’s arrival, and the word spread like wildfire.

I squeeze Justin’s hand tighter, hoping he has a car nearby. It may only be a block to the apartment, but I do not want to walk it with these vultures following in our wake.

“What about the rumors out of Germany, Mr. Stark?” a voice calls, and Justin’s hand tightens around mine as he leads us firmly and silently toward the valet stand.

“Selena, is Justin Stark off the bachelor block?”

“Justin! How will the talk of a possible German indictment affect your holdings in the European Union?”

My mind is spinning. An indictment? I force myself not to look at Justin, and instead look forward, my face a mask of disinterest. There is no way—no way in hell—that I am letting these vultures see that I haven’t a clue what they’re talking about. Is Stark International in some kind of legal snafu? Is that what he meant by the tapestry unwinding?

“Selena! Mr. Stark! Germany! Indictment!” The voices blend together into a hideous cacophony. “Richter! Dedication! Justin! Justin! Justin!”

Justin must have summoned Edward without me realizing because the limo pulls to a smooth stop in front of the valet stand, and Edward gets out.

“No,” Justin says. “I’ve got it.” As Edward gets back in behind the wheel, Justin tugs me forward, then opens the rear passenger door, his body shielding me from the blinding storm of lights and questions.

I’m just about to slide into the car when Justin pulls his hand from mine, then turns and faces the crowd. A hush falls. Considering Justin’s staunch policy of not talking to the press, I think the paparazzi are at least as shocked as I am.

“I will not be attending the dedication ceremony for the Richter Tennis Center,” Justin says, in the firm clear voice he uses during business meetings. “While I fully support the construction and operation of such a center, I cannot in good conscience support its dedication honoring a man I don’t respect. As for your other questions, neither Ms. Fairchild nor I have any comment.”

Immediately, the air fills with mingled voices, each louder than the next, none discernible. They are shouting follow-up questions, shouting for Justin to turn for a picture, shouting for me to step away from the open limo door. Justin ignores them, turning to face me. I realize that I am still standing frozen, slightly bent midway in the motion of entering the limo.

And then, another voice rises above the noise, this time from the far side of the street.

“Justin Jeremiah Stark!”

I glance at Justin, but his hard expression reveals nothing. I straighten, then peer over the roof of the limo. The reporters have shifted the aim of their cameras, and now their lights are focused on an older man making his way across Flower Street.

“Get into the car,” Justin snaps at me.

“We need to talk,” the man calls out.

I stand frozen.

“Get in,” Justin urges, his voice more gentle.

I comply, but I peer out the far window at the man, and then once more up at Justin. “Who is that?” I ask.

He meets my eyes, his jaw tight, his expression hard. “My father.”

11

Justin slides in beside me and tugs the door closed. “Go,” he says to Edward, who nods and starts to pull slowly out into the street. Reporters scramble to get in front of the car, taking pictures of the limo and of Justin’s father, who is now pounding on the side window and yelling for Justin to stop.

I grab Justin’s hand, then look left at the old man’s face. “Justin,” I say. “Let him in. If you don’t, those reporters are going to eat him alive.”

Silence.

“Justin,” I say gently. “You need to find out why he’s here.”

Justin’s face is tense, his breathing even, and I wish that I knew what he was thinking.

Finally, he squeezes my hand and nods. “Stop,” he tells Edward. “Unlock the doors. And as soon as he’s in, run those goddamned piranhas over if you have to.”

A moment later the old man is inside the limo and Edward is pulling hard to the left and accelerating. I hold my breath, not really caring if a reporter gets squashed, but also not wanting Edward to get into trouble. Then we’re clear and the limo is traveling smoothly down Flower Street. “Make the block,” Justin says. He looks at his father, who’s settled on the seat facing us. “What do you want?”

The old man ignores him, instead focusing on me. “You must be Selena,” he says. “I’ve seen your picture in the paper with my boy. I’m Jeremiah, but you can call me Jerry.”

“What can we do for you, Mr. Stark?” I ask.

“We,” he repeats, then looks between the two of us. “We,” he says again, then actually guffaws.

I squeeze Justin’s hand tighter. I didn’t like this man before I met him, and I like him even less now.

“Ms. Fairchild asked you a question,” Justin says. “What can we do for you?” I can sense the low bubble of anger rising off Justin, and I hold tight to his hand. I’m certain that this man sitting so casually across from me either abused his son or was complicit in it, and I’m not sure if I’m holding on to Justin to give him support—or to keep from leaping across the limo and slapping the old man’s face.

Jerry shakes his head as if in defeat. “Justin,” he says, then leaves the name hanging.

My initial impression of him is someone oily and untrustworthy, but as I look more closely, I realize that he’s actually attractive, although a little too smooth. Like a man who discovered luxury late in life and has spent the rest of his time trying to play catch-up.

“I repeat,” Justin says, “what can we do for you?”

Jerry leans back in his seat, and his face takes on an unattractive, calculating edge. I can see a bit of how this man managed, despite his low income and working-class background, to maneuver his son onto the international tennis circuit. “What can you do for me? What can you do for me? Not a goddamn thing now. But this ain’t about me. It’s about you. And you managed to fuck it up real good.”

“Did I?” Justin asks coldly. “Let me explain the situation to you. You are in this car only because the lady insisted. If you want to earn the right to stay, then you speak, and you speak clearly. Otherwise, we are through.”

“You want clarity? How’s this: You’re acting like a damn fool, Justin Stark, and I may be a lot of things, but I am not the father of a fool. You get your high-class PR people to put some sort of spin on that nonsense you just spouted. You write a speech that would make angels sing. And you get your ass to that dedication on Friday, and you smile that photogenic smile, and you write a big, fat check if you have to. Because you need to do this, son. You need to push it through. You need to be goddamn squeaky clean, damn you.”

“Don’t call me ‘son.’ ”

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