#simply because I stated I didn’t know how to feel about June not being in the film and Alex’s parent potentially being together

[k3ithsk0gane]

I am genuinely curious about if people on here criticize their own favorites shows/movies/books? When I say criticism I don’t mean tear it to shreds but just kind of pick it apart and constructively criticize what is going on.

I personally do this for most of my favorite pieces of media because I don’t think anything is ever perfect and they could always be tweaked here and there to be made better.

Why do some people read fanfiction? Because they love a piece of media but they want certain plot points, storylines, characters, etc to be expanded on and/or changed to some degree so they find it in a fanfiction.

I also find that the pieces of media I do constructively criticize are often my favorite pieces of media. For me, I do it because I love it so much and I want to explore every avenue that could have been explored. I also often love a character so dearly that, especially if they aren’t done justice in some way, I won’t hesitate to point out ways they could have been done differently. This is done best in welcoming fandom spaces or with friends.

Unfortunately too many times I see people take someone using constructive criticism as them hating whatever piece of media they’re discussing and that is SO far from the truth. This doesn’t ever allow rich conversations in fandom spaces and instead it just results in hateful comments, and arguments in replies and it’s truly heartbreaking.

If I were to say “oh x is dog shit because a, b, and c didn’t/did happen” that’s not constructive criticism that’s just tearing something apart and hating on it. If I said “I really love x, but I think a’s storyline could be expanded on more in c, and b ways” that’s giving constructive criticism.

[hanyjar]

rain sucks. (i'll make you love it.)

isagi yoichi x reader

summary: your story with isagi yoichi, told through five moments, a bus stop, and rain.

notes: [6.25k words.] idk if isagi lovers still exist, but in the wise words of taylor swift: this is me trying ;)

disclaimers: cursing, reader hates the rain and likes to talk, break up with an ex (not isagi) in part one, loneliness in 'one' and four', self doubt in 'five' but isagi is quick to comfort, fluff -> angst -> fluff, rain kisses, romantic gestures, strangers -> friends -> lovers.

edit: isagi likes rain here (as opposed to the info given in the light novel T_T so very sorry ahh)

masterlist.

ONE.

It has been a bad day.

No. That’s putting it too lightly. Today, June 20th, is the very epitome of shit.

The heated argument you had with your now ex-partner continues to linger in your mind. “I think we’ve been wasting our time” plays on loop like a broken record, and you wonder if you look as lifeless as you feel.

It’s quite a silly thing: how a single person can make you feel as if the whole world is ending. It’s even sillier how you devoted all this effort into a relationship that is nothing but a waste of time to them.

Waste of time.

Even after they crushed your already tattered heart and left it for dead, you can’t help but think how much easier it would be if you feel that way about them too.

Love is a stupid, stupid thing.

You appreciate mother nature for taking pity on you, at least. Rain in the midst of summer has never been your favourite thing - the air always being a little too hard to breathe and the dreary sky a tell-tale sign that the bus is going to be late that day. But today, you feel okay towards rain. The tears from the heavens above do well to cover up your own; the droplets become friends, accompanying you in your forlorn state. For once, you don’t complain about the broken roof at the bus stop letting rain in. For once, you find comfort in the very thing you hate.

And you cry a little bit inside, knowing that your ex has managed to break that part of you as well. 

“...Bad day?” A voice breaks you free from your stupor.

You turn to your left, and you feel your breath being taken away. 

There, a stranger stands. From first glance, the boy is nothing but ordinary. His navy - almost black - hair did little to set him apart from the rest of the crowd, and he dons the same Ichinan uniform that you (and the multitude of students in the area) wear. But there is something within his cerulean eyes. A fervour of sorts, one that is begging to be unleashed for the whole world to see. To the untrained eye, he is the very essence of average; to a trained eye, the stranger is utterly beautiful.

…Or, that’s what you would say, if he didn’t look like a wet cat. Not the ones featured in those animal shampoo commercials, but one of the sad, pathetically cute, on the verge of tears, literally sopping wet ones. Your breath is taken away, simply because the boy is a mess.

You can’t help but think that this stranger has had a shit day, too.

“Like you have no idea.” You say, voice drenched in exasperation. “Though… You look like you’ve been through a nightmare yourself.”

“A nightmare is an understatement,” he cradles his left temple with his palm. You laugh at his antics.

“Try me, then. Nothing can be worse than getting dumped, right?”

The smile on his face immediately falls, and you can’t help but feel a little bad for dropping a bomb like that to a stranger. “My god.” He exhales, “I am so sorry.” His crestfallen expression makes you feel as if he truly means those words.

“Don’t be. You didn’t know.” Your eyes look down to the soiled concrete. “I’ll be fine, time will pass, after all.” (You say that more to yourself than him, if anything.)

The bus stop is silent for a while, and you feel as if you’ve ruined everything - for the second time today. It’s almost as if the bus stop boy knows, and is eager to change that.

“Well. My name is Isagi Yoichi,” he begins. “And my soccer coach told me that I am mediocre at best; that I don’t have what it takes to do what I love professionally.”

You look into his eyes once more, and the fervour that was once there is now shrouded in a sense of agony you know all too well. The same agony that is, without a doubt, present in your eyes too. Words fail you. And for the years you have shrugged as the therapist friend, you find yourself at a genuine loss.

“...I guess we’re in the same boat then.” You muster out, lamely. “But are you seriously going to let some old geezer tell you what to do with your life? I mean, he’s literally the coach of a no-name highschool team.” Your hands make their way onto Isagi’s, clasping his in-between yours. “Your coach has no right to tell you that when he’s failed at that dream already. Don’t let your coach dictate your worth; don’t let him stop you from shining. Ever.”  

He stares at your hands for a second, eyes widened and mouth agape. You are quick to detach yourself from him. “Forgive me,” a sheepish smile grows on your face.” “I speak too much sometimes.”

“No need,” Isagi’s hand moves to rest on the nape of his neck. “Thank you. I needed to hear that today, I think.”

Isagi smiles boyishly. It suits him.

“It’s no problem.” You fiddle with the straps of your backpack, suddenly feeling bashful at his gratitude. “Adults like that? They think they rule the world, but in reality—”

The squeaking of tires interrupts you, and the bus arrives exactly eleven minutes late.

“That’s my cue,” you say, and for a second, you could swear that Isagi seems disappointed. You make your way towards the bus, head turning towards his way before you get on board. “Thanks for the chat, stranger. I’ll see you around.”

You make your way through the barren bus, the driver eyeing you up-and-down for your soaked figure. And just like that, uncertainty and dejection return in waves. Talking to Isagi was a good distraction and all, but you can’t forget that your partner of two years just fucking broke up with you. You are alone now.

You want nothing more than to sleep it all off. This feeling of loneliness is a type that you would not wish on anyone - even your worst enemy. (Well, maybe someone. Your ex, being the said someone. But you like to think that is just the anger talking.)

“Hey!” Isagi’s voice echoes out. Like a ray of sunlight breaking through the grey skies of your mind, it is his turn to make your eyes widen; his voice bypassing the sheet of glass separating you two and reaching the storm that surrounds your heart. “Don’t let that past relationship stop you from shining too, okay?”

…Perhaps, you aren’t so alone after all.

The bus sets off, and Isagi sees you smile at him through the rain-stricken window. The boy hopes that his sentiments have reached you; he hopes that you’ll follow the same advice that you’ve given him. 

But above all else, he hopes that he will see you again.

TWO.

“I hate this bus stop and its stupid roof.”

Isagi stops typing away on his phone. “You say that like, all the time nowadays.”

You’ve definitely sucked the life out of that phrase recently, but you take it as a good sign. An indication that you’ve healed.

The relationship that you once held dear is nothing but a mere memory of the past. The countless sleepless nights and time spent wallowing in your own self-doubt have all but ceased to exist. You realised that it simply was not worth your while to cry about a lost love, and to instead surround yourself with the love that remains from those around you. If anything, you are grateful for it: you have grown from that experience tremendously. By no means would you ever consider it to be a waste of time. And in the process?

You garnered a friend. A confidant. That break up led to the beginning of something magical. It led to a friendship with Isagi Yoichi, or, who you like to call, your bus-stop boy. 

After the fateful day, you started to notice his presence around more. At first it was in the halls of Ichinan, a mere wave shared between you two here and there. Then the new school year began, and Isagi was shuffled into your homeroom. You began seeing him from once in a while, to literally everyday.

His presence began to bleed more and more into yours, and your lives ended up intertwining together until there was nothing you could do to untangle them. Eventually? Isagi was your deskmate. He was cooking lunch for you, you two eating his homemade lunches together in comfortable silence. You began waiting for his soccer practice to finish, and Isagi would wait by your side at the station until the bus came. A rhythm that you two fell into, almost as easy as breathing.

In your chapter of new beginnings, there is no Isagi Yoichi without you, and there is no you without Isagi Yoichi. An inseparable duo, you two are dubbed as. 

You like to think you know a lot about him now. Maybe even go as far as to say you know everything about him, as he knows everything about you.

“It lets the rain in, Isagi.” You whine. “And besides, why is it even raining in Spring? Tsuyu* season isn’t for like, another month or two. There’s no way anyone could like this weather. No way.”

“I don’t know… I don’t mind it every now and then,” he says. “I like rain. I think it’s nice.”

Pause.

Well, maybe you don’t know everything about him.

“What? Since when?” You put your hand on your heart, gasping in mock-offence. “I didn’t know that I’m friends with a traitor.”

He rolls his eyes at you. The audacity. “A traitor, really? Just because I like a bit of rain here and there?”

“It goes deeper than that, Isagi!” You say. (It really doesn’t. You just want an excuse to complain a little, and a sassy Isagi Yoichi is always a fun sight.) “What’s there to like anyways? I don’t get it.”

“I can try to explain it for you, if you’d like.”

“Please do.”

“Have you ever seen what it looks like after it has rained?” He asks. You shake your head in response. You’ve never been the type to stick around long enough to see the sky stop crying. “You should. It’s wonderful, y’know: the glow it leaves afterwards. The streets look like they’ve been reborn - you can literally see the dirt on the concrete being washed away and given another life. If you’re lucky? A rainbow might come and say hi.” Isagi smiles at the little comment he makes.” That sight alone is worth getting your books wet and missing the bus every now and then. And it is just one of many reasons I have, honestly.”

You find yourself smiling at his enthusiasm. It’s cute, when he’s like this. You’re glad that he’s comfortable enough around you to show this side of himself. “I like it when you infodump, Isagi.”

“Did my infodump manage to change your mind?” A tinge of hope emerges in his voice and eyes. You shake your head. The hope is gone just as fast as it came. “Well, maybe the main reason will.”

He gives you a mysterious smile, and proceeds to say nothing.

“Aren’t you going to finish that sentence?”

“Nope, I don’t think I will.” Isagi says. You shoot him an incredulous look. “I’ll tell you… If you don’t fail your social studies paper.”

“Wha— Hey! Now that’s just being mean!”

He laughs. “So then… Why do you hate rain so much, anyways?”

“Changing the subject, really?” You say.

 He merely shrugs in response, giving you a teasing grin. “Just roll with it. I promise I’ll tell you,” he pauses. “One day.”

You kick his foot in response, making an impromptu game of footsies ensue.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Isagi lifts his hands up to the side of his head, surrendering in a fit of boyish laughter. “No but really, I’m curious. Why do you hate it so much?”

“I don’t really know. It’s just—“ You stick your leg out precariously, as if the rain is going to melt your foot. “I hate the rain. I always have, and probably always will.”

A lull of silence passes by - not dissimilar to the one that happened on your first meeting with him. It’s different this time, though, as it is not a silence that is born out of two strangers not quite knowing what to say. It went deeper than that, more intimate, more comforting. Isagi puts a hand on your shoulder, turning you around to face him. “Well,” he begins. “One day, I hope I can show you how beautiful rain can be.”

Isagi smiles - a pretty, pretty thing.

There, amongst the dreary skies and wet cherry blossom leaves, is sunlight.  Sunlight, in the form of him. Him, the Ichinan forward. Isagi, a boy who has nestled his way into your life almost too easily.

Yoichi, who leaves your heart hammering a bit too fast for comfort.

“Come on, you’re going to miss your bus.” Isagi’s hand finds its way to yours, locking into place like they were made for eachother. “It’s darker than usual. I’ll walk you home today, okay?”

He drags you towards your usual window seat, tapping the two matching keycards you share while entering. Isagi whispers a quick goodnight as he sits on the seat next to yours.

A smile makes its way towards your lips. Warmth filling up your entire body, entire soul. 

You adore his sleeping face; you adore him.

Wait. Adore? Uh oh, you think. I might be falling in love.

*Tsuyu: The rainy period in Japan, generally spanning from May to July. The direct translation is ‘plum rain’, because it coincides with the season that plums ripen in Japan.

THREE.

Isagi is the first one to break the silence.

It’s weird, how he called you out to the bus stop out of the blue. Meeting together here in the past was always out of necessity: one born from a desire to go home and to have a chat with your best friend to end the day on a high note. Never, is the meeting at your sanctuary intentional, like it is now.

You couldn’t help but rush to get here. Not when he texted you like that: frantic and brimming with urgency.

“Sorry for making you come all this way, especially at this time of the night.” He says, carefully. As if he is tiptoeing around eggshells. Like you are strangers again. Isagi is never this careful around you, and hasn’t been for a while now. The change of pace perpetuates fear into the depths of your soul like no other.

“It’s fine.” You tentatively look up from your lap, preferring to look at the night sky instead of his face. I’d do anything for you, when you text me like that. “It’s just… Your message; the tone you’re speaking to me in right now. You’re seriously worrying me, Isagi.”

Isagi lets out a sigh, one quivering with nerves and worry. He places a hand onto your clenched ones, rubbing comforting circles onto the dorsal side. That’s weird. You didn’t even realise you were shaking. “You know that letter from the Japan Football Association I got a few days ago? The one we were so excited about?” 

“The one I forced you to accept, right?”

“That’s the one.” He smiles fondly at the memory. The one of the two of you in his room, him being at an absolute mental blank, while you - the ever-so lovely you - was crying tears of joy - a stark contrast to the tears you shed earlier that day, watching him lose the qualifiers. You egged him to accept it, because ‘nothing would make you happier than to see him pursue his dreams’, you said. Words that sent an elation of joy to flood across his body, for he didn’t think that he could love you more. “…Well, I went to that address they gave us today. And that letter didn’t exactly tell the whole story. Of what it is, what their goal is.” Isagi continues; you feel a lump beginning to form at the back of your throat. “Yes, it’s a player improvement project. But I have to stay at this camp, I think. I don’t know how long I’ll be staying there, and I can’t contact anyone that’s not a part of it either. All I know is that it starts tomorrow. Officially.”

“What…” You muster out, at a complete loss for words.

“It’s called Blue Lock, and I’m going for it.” He places his unoccupied hand onto his chest, eyes igniting with a kindred spirit like no other. “I think this is my best shot at becoming the best. To play beyond a national level, and make you proud. But…” He pauses, pinching your chin with his index finger and thumb, forcing you to look him in the eyes for the first time in this conversation. “I won't go if you don’t want me to. I won’t, and will never do anything that you don’t like. So just say the word, and I’ll stay. Right here, right by your side.”

It hurts so damn bad. All of this, how it is so out of the blue, how there’s a possibility you may never see the boy, who has been such a pivotal aspect of your life for the last year or so, ever again. You want to be supportive - heck, you’d go to war just to see Isagi shine. But it hurts. You love him, for goodness sake. Every bone in your body wants him to stay, to not break the sacred normalcy that you have shared with the man that makes you smile brighter than anyone else can.

But the skies are clear. And the right answer, the solution to all of this, is even clearer.

“You’d have to be stupid to not go.” You say, voice unwavering with confidence. However, your eyes are anything but. “You have to go, Isagi. I don’t want to destroy your dreams like that and ruin the potential you have. I could never live with myself if I made you stay.”

Isagi kisses you on the forehead, once. “Thank you,” Twice. “Thank you, so much.” He leans his forehead against yours, and his teary ones meet your equally watery ones. “I’m going to miss you more than anything. I promise, I’m going to become number one. Just for you.”

“You better.” You chuckle, choking on a sob. “Shine brighter than anyone else, Isagi. I’ll be watching you every step of the way.”

He nods in response, and you stay like that for a while. For minutes, hours, even. Foreheads kissing each other, and staring into his cerulean eyes like it’s the last time you’ll ever see them.

“I never told you the reason, didn’t I?” Isagi breathes out.

“What?”

“The reason why I love rain as much as I do.” He says. You let out a careful no, wondering if he did tell you, and you just weren’t listening.

“It’s because,” Isagi begins, reaching for your right hand and opening it, palm facing up. “It was raining when I met you.” You feel him reach for his back pocket, and Isagi pulls out a pristine white envelope, placing it into your hand. It is sealed with red wax and decorated with golden swirls. Beautiful. Like it came right out of a fairytale. “…And you are the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

Your body quivers, and you feel the tears threatening to return again. “You’re so corny,” you say, half-flustered and half-shy. “And I still hate the rain.” You reach a hand up to his cheek, looking at his lips in a way that just friends don’t. “But Isagi, you. You are the best thing that’s happened to me too.”

He looks at your lips too, and you anticipate for something more - to go beyond what you two have built so beautifully. To go beyond friends, and transform into lovers.

Isagi pulls you in for a tight hug instead. You reciprocate. Those thoughts disappear as fast as they came. 

“So..” You clench the letter tight within your hands, and you cringe at the feeling of droplets meeting your shoulder. (Truth is, you didn’t know if you were cringing at the fact you wished he had kissed you, or if it is the impending sky-fall. You choose to believe the latter.) “Do I open it now?”

He pulls away from the hug first, and smiles, embarrassment painting his features. “I’d prefer it if you read it later.”

The droplets fasten, quicker and quicker, and Isagi pulls you closer to him, putting you out of the rain’s way. “Oh come on! It has to rain now, out of all times?” You heave a great sigh, burying your head into the nape of his neck.

“It gives us an excuse to stay here for a little while longer, doesn’t it?” He gives you puppy dog eyes. 

“As much as I’d love to stay with you all night, it’s getting late,” you say, laughing inwardly. “I don’t want to worry your parents. Actually— have you even told your parents about Blue Lock yet?”

He shakes his head. “No, I wanted you to be the first one to know.”

How sweet. “Then you should hurry home,” you whisper. “I shouldn’t hold you up.”

“You sure?” Isagi holds your hands tighter than before. I don’t want to leave you yet, his eyes scream.

“I’m sure.” You squeeze his hands in response. I don’t want to let you go either, your eyes say.

Isagi leans in once more, bumping your noses together, eyes meeting in a silent agreement. But we have to. And we’ll be okay.

“Promise that you won’t forget me?”

“I could never.”

And so he goes. But you stay. You remain seated, sheltered beneath the shoddy bus-stop. A sense of déjà vu passes, it’s just like all those times before. But it’s almost painful this time. Your bus-stop boy is walking away from you, instead of seeking shelter alongside you. You laugh at yourself, bitterly. You don’t know if you’ll ever move on from him, or if you even want to. Not when your forever-person has pried his way into your heart like this, not when Isagi feels like home.

You pry the wax seal off the letter, unfolding the paper that is encased inside in a hurry, a tinge of excitement coursing through your veins.

‘I still haven’t shown you the beauty of rain.  Will you wait for me? Love, Isagi.’

A laugh escapes your lips. Of course you would. You’d wait forever, and forevermore for him. He didn't even have to ask. It’s something that you would’ve done as one would breathe air. And in a way, you realise that there’s a certain calamity to your circumstance. 

You love him so much that you’d willingly let Isagi tear down everything you’ve ever known. Whether it may be something silly like your animosity towards rain, or the idea of letting someone love you again. You’d let him do it all.

And that is terrifying. But exquisitely so.

A barrage of steps sounds itself out in the quiet of the night, a figure making its way to you - closer, closer, and closer. Oh god, someones not trying to kill me, are they?

Then you see a familiar sight. A boy with his hair in disarray, black outerwear soaking wet, looking just like the wet cat from your first meeting but this time more mature and more determined, and suddenly he’s pulling you into the rain with him, grasping onto your shoulders, locking his eyes onto yours and oh. He’s kissing you on the lips now. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I couldn’t leave without kissing you first. I think I’d go crazy if I didn't.”

“I think I’d go crazy too,” you chuckle, resting your head against his chest. “And yeah. Of course I’ll wait for you, dummy.”

“You opened it already?”

“I can’t wait to see how you’ll make me love rain.”

…You should’ve known he would’ve given you that kiss first.

Isagi is not the type to leave you disappointed for too long, after all.

FOUR.

The days seem to blur together in Isagi’s absence. 

The last year or so was, for a lack of a better word, lonely. Filled with rumours that you drove your best friend mad and he ran away, or that you murdered Isagi and the police have yet to discover his body, you felt as if the only people in your life for the last few months were your family and Isagi’s parents.

The sudden isolation is getting to you. And you know it. It shows in the dreariness of your demeanour; bears its teeth in the darkening eye bags that have crept their way onto your face. You’re not certain that he will be able to recall your face anymore. Heck, you can’t recognise yourself anymore either. Gosh, who would’ve thought that being Isagi-less for a little while would do this to you?

But today brings something new to the table: hope. Confirmation that all of this waiting has been worth it after all. You’ll get to see him in an hour or two come morning, and it will be enough.

 Or, at least, that's the timeframe you predicted last night. 

“There have been reports of mass delays in the Saitama Public Transport Network due to heavy storms and rainfall. Civilians can expect their regularly scheduled buses and trains to be postponed for up to two hours or more—“

You throw a pancake at your TV and scream.

The what-would-be one hour trip to Tokyo is now possibly three, and since your butter fingers slipped and set the wrong alarm last night, you are already running late. 

You just hope that Isagi’s parents are still waiting for you outside.

Ding!

You reach into your pocket for your phone, and a message from Isagi’s mother illuminates the screen.

‘Sorry, Honey. We left already. Issei is worried that the traffic is going to hold us up from getting to Tokyo in time.’

Great. Just great.

It seems as if the universe is practically begging for you to not see Isagi today. But after not seeing him for months - not even a hi, hello, or a single sign that your Isagi is safe and sound - you only have one thing on your mind. 

Screw the universe. I need to see him. Screw it all.

You chuck on a pair of navy converses, making your way towards the bus stop that started it all. The streets are busier nowadays. With various roadworks and several shops getting renovations left and right. However, the one location that you know like the back of your hand remains abandoned, frozen in time, almost. Still on its last leg, with a leaky roof and ivy adorning the wooden frame.

The seats have grown moss on them from the increase in rainfall nowadays. And so you choose to stand instead - quietly observing the pouring downfall, thoughts running amok.

It’s almost scary, how time has simultaneously been impetuous and sluggish lately. And you know it ties back to Isagi. It always does. You haven’t seen the boy in ages, actually. And that, in itself, is an understatement. It isn’t in the 'two weeks off school’, or the ‘we haven’t talked since summer break’ way, but in an ‘I’m honestly forgetting your face since it is now a new spring without you’ way. 

…You don’t think you’ll have the heart to ever tell him that.

There is one thing that scares you more, though. And that's in the way that you’re forgetting how Isagi looks when he wears his smile. Does his lips curve upwards or downwards? Do his eyes turn into half-moons when he’s happy or does he bear his cerulean eyes for everyone to see? All of these are questions that invade your mind during sleepless midnights. Questions, that you never thought you would ask at all.

You can only hope that his smile is better than you can imagine. That he glows radiantly like he does in the fragments that appear in your memory every once in a while. Will happiness look good on him? Will it feel like a shame that you’ve been missing out on it all this time?

Maybe that’s the real reason why you’re worried that Isagi won't remember you: because you can hardly recall his face yourself. As in, truly, know what he looks like. You know Isagi from the blurry photos on your phone taken at 3AM sleepovers, and the display frames lined around his family’s home. The big picture itself is easy to see. The little things - the quirks of his that made you fall - have been much harder to recall.

But you do remember a few things. Arguably, the most important ones.

Your love for him; Isagi’s promise. The way he kissed you like he needed you to live; the way you cried for him amongst the skyfall.

The way Isagi taught you that it’s okay to love. 

And it’s okay to be loved back.

For now, that is enough.

Droplets continue to batter against your woollen jumper, the rain drenching your entire being. It soaks your hair, makes the knuckles on your clenched fists a light violet, disguises the tears falling down from your face. The rain is ever so violent, leaving a mess of you in its wake. For the second time in your life, you let the rain do as it pleases. You let it destroy the outfit you meticulously planned, wreak havoc on the converses Isagi gave to you on your birthday. All in hopes that it will eventually cleanse your soul. Cleanse the pain, the happiness. Wipe the slate clean, as the rain does with the pavement, until you are reborn from the ashes and live a life where you aren’t so, irrecoverably in love with your best friend.

But you know, deep down, it will never save you from your calamitous love. That even if you are reborn, one word will remain in your heart. One, sacred word that you keep like an oath. 

Promise.

You wonder if Isagi remembers his promise in the same way that you do. 

It’s the only reason why you are going to the game today, after all.

Your hands loosen from the fist you’ve been keeping this whole time, deep crescent moons adorning the insides of your palm. A slip of paper flurries out from your hand - swishing with the wind in a way that a feather would. It dances around, until it lands in the puddle that has formed beneath your feet.

Shit. The ticket.

You bend down and clutch a now-soaked sheet of paper in your palm, tiny inscriptions that adorned the sheet now bleeding together. The only thing now visibly readable being: ‘JAPAN’S U20 VS BLUE LOCK’.

Rain really, really sucks.

(You’ve never hated it more.)

The bus finally arrives amidst the downpour.

(Yet, for some reason, a small part of you is excited to see the rainbow that comes after the storm.)

FIVE. 

Isagi has always loved the rain.

Ever since he was a young boy, the rain has always had a certain allure that captivated him more than most. In his eyes, puddles held miniature worlds within them, with pebbles acting as land formations and stray twigs imitating people. Enchanting. Raindrops race each other down window panes, with him as an eager viewer. Simply spellbinding. However, nothing has ever beat the feeling of playing soccer amongst the rainfall. The feeling of watching the opponents around you struggle to run in the mud, as you calculate the best direction to head in; pieces of grass decorating your cleats in the aftermath like a badge of honour. Getting sick afterwards is a simple price to pay if it means transforming the pitch into a battlefield. Rain makes the game something to remember.

It’s the duality of rain that makes Isagi treasure the phenomenon dearly; rain can be simultaneously beautiful and destructive at the same time. Which, shockingly to him, is the very same fact that makes you despise it so much.

Your face appears within his mind. Isagi smiles.

Ah yes, you.

The person who despises rain more than anything else in the world. Who groans at the slightest hint of darkening clouds, and acts as if drizzle is akin to acid rain that will obliterate everyone in an instant.

Nowadays, media outlets constantly poke and prod into your relationship with one another as Isagi’s reputation grows - at a speed only fathomable in his wildest dreams - wondering how he can love you so much when the two of you are so different in every sense.

“…They just don’t understand,” he said to you on a day where it was all too much. “They’ll never understand how you’ve changed my life, is all.”

“Me? The person who nearly forgot you? Who doubted you and thought that you would’ve forgotten about them too?” You angrily clenched your head. “I don’t see how you’ve forgiven me so easily for that.”

“I told you already,” he began. “When I was gone I had the same thoughts as you. I forgot you for a bit, too. I doubted you, as well. I could never hold that against you, because I did the same, and– and… I regret it everyday; I know you regret it too.” Isagi inhaled sharply. “But at the end of the day, we both remembered the promise. And that’s enough.”

“…Right. I’m sorry, Yoichi.” Your eyes locked with his through the gaps between your fingers. “I love you so much, y’know that?”

“I know.” He grabbed your left hand, giving it a swift kiss. “I love you more, infinitely.”

Isagi cherishes you like he is a marauder and you are the finest jewel; he looks at you like you’re the only person who ever matters. And that’s true. Because to him, you are. With the countless sacrifices you’ve made for him; sticking by his side every step of the way; waiting and waiting for years; being the brunt of scrutiny from the media - heck - even your peers in high-school prior to his Blue Lock debut, Isagi is unsure if he will ever be able to repay you for all that you’ve done.

…But he does have an idea on where to begin.

Isagi averts his attention to the sights outside the bus window. He wonders why the rain is extra pretty today. The beauty of the raindrops seem otherworldly currently - a cascade of water flowing down overflowing gutters, iridescent hues lining the streets that he grew up on, children jumping into puddles with no care in the world. The rainy downpour from the heavens above seems unfaltering - even against the brilliance of Saitama’s lights. And amidst the hustle and bustle - adults finding their way into comforting warmth - there is you. Waiting in the rain for him underneath the bus stop, face twisted in discomfort, twirling the umbrella in your hand round and round.

It is no coincidence that the rain is so charming today.

No. 

It’s prettier, because of you.

Always, you.

His sweetheart of many years.

“Hey, stranger.” You greet him as Isagi steps outside of the vehicle he practically grew up on, ushering him underneath the umbrella you brought with you.

You, who he loves more and more everyday.

“Hey yourself.” His eyes twinkle with mirth as he takes the umbrella from your hands. “It’s been a long time since we were both here, hasn’t it?”

“It has,” Your face lightens up with the smile that he loves so much. “To think the last time we were here together was when…”

He looks into your eyes, face erupting with a mix of his boyish smile and laughter. “...When I kissed you. Yeah. I don’t think I could ever forget that night.”

The look on your face tells Isagi that neither could you. 

“Even though we’ve had countless other kisses since then, that one is still my favourite, y’know?” Your hands move up to cup his face within your palms. “Yoichi, you don’t do romantic things like that anymore.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Positive.” You stick your tongue out at him.

Isagi lets go of the source of shelter you are sharing, and lets it drift away with the wind. “Hey! We’re gonna get soaked!” You turn your back towards him, hands desperately trying to catch the stray umbrella that seems to be more than happy to escape. “C’mon Yoichi! What was that for?” 

“Turn around for me.”

“What?”

“Just do it.” He says, a smile evident in his words.

Isagi sees you gasp, the sight of him knocking the wind from your chest. 

There he is, kneeling with his right knee down to the floor - pants getting soaked from the wet concrete below. And in his outstretched hands, lays a small, black velvet box, a diamond ring embedded within its centre.

“Will you marry me?” Isagi asks, starry-eyed. Voice soft and vulnerable.

One day came, and now you know Isagi is right.

Rain can be beautiful.

EXTRA.

“Hey, Isagi. What’s the date today?”

“June 20th. Why?”

“No reason,” a small grin makes its way to your face. “Just curious.”

[bloody-bee-tea]

June of (minimal) Doom 2024 Day 29 - I'm so cold

Suguru does not expect the curse to explode in a flurry of ice. The curse had shown no signs of that power when they fought it, but now that it’s done for, ice shards appear all over it, right before it goes off, a wave of biting cold crashing into Suguru before he manages to hide behind one of his own curses, keeping the shards at bay.

He spares a brief thought for Satoru, but with his Infinity it’s unlikely that the shards can harm him and so Suguru concentrates on protecting himself for now.

It goes on for longer than he cares for but eventually the cold dies down a bit. Suguru huddled himself together with a curse that runs hot, so he’s not too affected and none of the shards made it through his other curse, so he’s perfectly fine.

“Well, that sucked,” Suguru says as he stands up and hears Satoru laugh from his right.

“You can say that again,” he gives back and Suguru throws him a grin as he looks over to him.

Just like he expected Satoru is completely fine, the mess of ice around him testament to the fact that nothing could get through Infinity and despite everything, Suguru breathes a little bit easier when he sees it.

“Ready to head home? For once, this mess is bound to clean itself up,” Suguru says with a shrug, because the sun is high in the sky and the ice is bound to melt soon enough.

“So ready,” Satoru agrees, a little bit too eagerly and Suguru narrows his eyes at him.

It’s unusual for Satoru to not insist on getting some sweets on their way back and it’s enough to set warning bells off in Suguru’s mind.

“You okay?” he asks, not beating around the bush with Satoru but his concern is only met with a scoff.

Suguru doesn’t know why he even expected anything else, this is Satoru after all, and he’s chronically allergic to someone caring for him.

“Peachy,” Satoru immediately replies, trying for a cheerful tone but Suguru doesn’t miss how his voice shakes.

It’s worrying, to say the least, especially since Suguru knows that Satoru is not going to ask for help, no matter what, and so he just decides to keep a closer eye on him for now. If something is wrong, like Suguru thinks it might be, then eventually Satoru won’t be able to hide it anymore and Suguru will be there when that happens.

“Meet in my room for a movie?” Suguru asks as he calls upon the manta ray curse he has, because it’s their most trusted way to get home after a mission like this and Satoru hops on without hesitation.

“Sure,” Satoru mutters, keeping his hands in his pockets, his shoulders hunched over and Suguru fights the urge to push him off the curse.

He hates that Satoru is so unable to talk about himself when he doesn’t feel well and Suguru wishes he would just confide in him every now and then.

“Great,” he still gives back and then doesn’t prod Satoru for the rest of the way, because he needs to figure out how to approach this first.

Satoru is bound to lie right to his face should he simply ask, so Suguru has to figure out another way to find out what’s going on with him and for all that they are close, he’s not certain he can, if Satoru doesn’t want to tell him.

When they reach the school and hop off the curse, Satoru immediately walks over to Suguru’s room, leaving Suguru to scramble after him.

“Hey, don’t you think we should shower first?” he asks as they step into the room but Satoru only shrugs.

“You can go. I have Infinity, I don’t have to.”

“Yeah, but the cold—” Suguru starts but then trails off when he realises that that is exactly what’s wrong with Satoru.

He reaches out to snatch one of Satoru’s hands in his and just like he feared it’s ice-cold, the skin almost blue and Suguru’s stomach drops.

“Satoru, you’re freezing!”

“The curse didn’t touch me though,” Satoru mutters, and Suguru fights the urge to slap him over the head.

He doesn’t understand why Satoru is so hell-bent on being invincible when they learned early on that Infinity doesn’t work on temperature and his current state is just proof of that.

“And I’m not that cold,” Satoru then adds which is just more worrying in Suguru’s opinion because now that he looks, he sees that Satoru’s lips are blue as well.

He thinks Satoru should probably be shivering and if he remembers correctly it’s a bad sign that he isn’t. Suguru wrecks his brain on what to do in case of hypothermia and he thinks he remembers that a slow approach is crucial, so the system doesn’t get shocked.

“Come on, let’s just lay down for a moment, okay,” Suguru tries softly, as he drags Satoru towards his bed because he’s running cold all the time, so he has a heated blanket.

It’s probably easier to get Satoru to lay down on it than it is to wrangle him into a shower.

“’m not tired,” Satoru whispers out and Suguru gives him a shaky grin.

“But I am. Will you keep me company for a while?” he asks, and he’s aware that it’s a little bit unfair, but just like Suguru runs cold, he’s also prone to nightmares and he always deals better when Satoru is close. He even has his own futon for Satoru in his room, just for those nights.

It’s not quite fair to use that fact to his own advantage right now, but Suguru can’t find it in him to mind when Satoru does climb onto Suguru’s bed and settles under the blanket when Suguru prods him to.

Suguru quickly switches the blanket on at a lower temperature, hoping that it’ll be enough to bring some warmth back to Satoru and he doesn’t hesitate to get into bed himself, settling in front of Satoru, so there’s no way he can simply run off when he finds out what Suguru is doing.

He’s not sure if it’s a good thing that Satoru’s eyes almost immediately slip shut, but he’s not about to wake Satoru back up and instead just scoots closer, remembering something about body heat as well.

It supposedly works better skin on skin, but he’s not about to strip Satoru and raise any more questions from him, so this has to be enough. While Satoru drifts off as soon as his eyes are closed, Suguru stays awake, worrying and checking Satoru’s hands every other minute.

His phone is nearby in case he’ll have to call for Shoko, but after not even fifteen minutes Satoru’s hands start to warm up and his lips regain their previous colour, so Suguru guesses Satoru is out of the woods for now.

Still, he doesn’t turn off the blanket and he doesn’t move away either, at least not until Satoru sluggishly blinks up at him.

“I’m all good,” he says, startling Suguru who was zoning out a little bit and Suguru huffs out a breath.

“Yeah, now maybe,” he mutters, pulling Satoru close and bonking his forehead against Satoru’s. “But you weren’t and you lied to me about that.”

There’s a brief silence before Satoru speaks again.

“Sorry. Didn’t wanna worry you.”

Suguru rolls his eyes, because they both know that’s not possible; it’s basically Suguru’s job to worry about Satoru and he does so all the time anyway. Satoru pretending to be fine only makes matters worse.

“I would worry less if you were honest with me,” Suguru gives back, trying to keep his voice soft, even though it is a reprimand and Satoru scoots a little bit closer.

“I’ll try to remember that,” he offers and Suguru knows that it’s the only thing Satoru can offer him.

Suguru doesn’t know why Satoru is so adamantly against admitting that maybe he’s not completely invincible, even just to Suguru, so he’ll have to take this and hope for the best.

“Are you still cold?” he asks and tucks the blanket more securely around them.

“Kind of too hot actually,” Satoru admits and Suguru immediately reaches over to turn the blanket off.

“I’m not going to let you move, yet, though,” he then says and isn’t too worried about Satoru running off on him when he snuggles further into the pillow.

“Fine by me,” Satoru agrees and then apparently dozes off again.

This time, worry isn’t keeping Suguru up, so he follows close after him.

~*~*~

“Suguru!” Satoru yells out as he barges into Suguru’s room and Suguru muffles his groan in his pillow.

It’s too soon for Satoru’s antics and he would love to tell him to get the fuck out but that would mean he has to move and even speak and Suguru is not about to do that.

Sleep is still clinging to him, despite the rude way Satoru just woke him up and he knows that if he were to engage with Satoru right now, it would slip right through his fingers.

“Suguru, I’m so cold,” Satoru whines out, coming to a stop right next to Suguru’s bed, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Suguru only grunts as he barely manages to lift the blanket up a bit but it seems to be enough because not even a second later Satoru is sliding into bed with him, pushing Suguru further towards the wall and then cocooning them right in with the blanket again.

It would be annoying, if Suguru wasn’t still so sleepy, the bed still so warm, and Satoru now close enough to curl up against his side and he drifts back off with a smile on his face.

~*~*~

It keeps happening. Satoru somehow keeps ending up in Suguru’s bed, always claiming he’s cold and sometimes truly being that as well.

Suguru suspects what’s going on after about the third time it happens but he doesn’t say anything until he sees Satoru run around in nothing but shorts and a t-shirt outside even though it’s cold enough to warrant a snow warning for later that day.

It’s absolutely no surprise when Satoru barges into his room not even three minutes later, his trademark grin on his face.

“Suguru, move, I’m freezing,” Satoru exclaims, moving to get into bed before Suguru can even say anything and it’s only when Satoru is relaxed on his side, their legs tangled together that Suguru lets out a sigh.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Suguru softly says and immediately Satoru tenses.

“Do what?” he carefully asks and Suguru sighs again even as he reaches out to pull Satoru closer.

He makes a startled noise, clearly not expecting to be pulled flush against Suguru’s body and Suguru thanks all the gods for the fact that he’s still sleepy, because otherwise his face would be bright red by now, he’s certain of it.

“Lie. Freeze yourself to death.”

“I’m not—I can go,” Satoru offers, his voice quiet and unsure and he’s still so very tense.

Suguru can’t have that, so he nuzzles against Satoru’s face.

“No, you can’t,” Suguru tells him, tightening his grip on Satoru in the process as well. “I’m just saying—you don’t have to lie if you want to get into my bed so badly. I’m not gonna kick you out. I like you here.”

“Here,” Satoru repeats and clearly takes stock of where exactly he is.

He’s pressed against Suguru head to toe, their legs tangled, Suguru’s arm around his middle, their faces so close together they might as well be sharing their breath.

“Like this?” Satoru still asks and Suguru blinks up one eye at him.

“Exactly like this,” he confirms and leans in to brush his lips over whatever skin he can reach without moving too much.

Satoru thankfully helps by tilting his head just right, so it’s not long before they meet in a kiss.

“Please stop freezing yourself,” Suguru says when they part and Satoru chuckles, clearly embarrassed.

“I was kind of obvious, huh?”

“So very,” Suguru agrees and then shushes him with another kiss when it seems as if he’s going to say something else. “Please just sleep. We can talk about how embarrassing you are later.”

“Well, you seem to like it, so that makes you embarrassing, too,” Satoru argues back but his voice is quiet and he’s soft in Suguru’s arm.

“Yeah, guess so,” Suguru easily agrees because it makes them embarrassing together and that is really all that matters to Suguru. “But we’re that together.”

There’s a brief silence before Satoru huffs out a laugh.

“You’re such a sap,” he says and snuggles even closer to Suguru, clearly knowing that Suguru doesn’t mind.

“Mh,” Suguru manages to hum out before he drifts off again, his Satoru in his arm and being comfortably warm.

That’s going to change soon, he knows, because it always gets incredibly hot with Satoru under the blanket as well and Suguru will wake up sweat-soaked and disgusting but even that is something he’s looking forward to, because it means Satoru is right there.

Right where he belongs.

[gobiin-z]

Ghosts 2 part 3 is finally done! Thanks to @traumschwinge for helping out with structure and ….writing….stuff

:3

BANG!

“Protection”

June 30th - 10:16

Ghost Team Safehouse, Las Vegas, Nevada

Captain David “Hesh” Walker

The sound of bullets being fired and paper being torn echoed through the weapons range. Having not slept the night before, Hesh was practicing his aim with a selection of different guns he had taken from the armoury.

Again.

The talk he had with Merrick a few nights ago still weighed heavily on his mind, and he couldn’t bring himself to sleep it away and forget his problems. I mean, he’d had soldiers missing, he had to look for Logan, how could he rest at a time like this?

His thoughts were, once again, interrupted by a sensation on his shoulder. It felt warm. It felt calloused. It felt like a hand. Merrick’s hand, to be specific.

There was a soft, almost undetectable squeeze from Merrick, and Hesh relaxed for a moment, before tensing once again and preparing to fire his weapon.

After some silence, Merrick spoke.

“You aren’t gonna stop, are you?”

Hesh didn’t answer.

With a defeated sigh and a final, more noticeable squeeze, Merrick removed his hand from Hesh’s shoulder and crossed his arms. Another shot rang out, and the gun was steadied once again as Hesh prepared for the next.

“We have a mission later, y’know. Something about protecting a city.”

At that, Hesh stopped. They normally didn’t protect cities. He lowered his gun and turned his head to face Merrick.

“Where’re we going?”

“Caracas. Seems like things’ve gotten better since the last time I was there.”

“Or worse.”

“At least we ain’t swimming through the damn place.”

“When do we have to leave?”

“Few hours yet. You can keep shootin’.” Merrick teased.

********

The journey to Caracas itself was plain and uneventful. Being honest, Hesh thought it was a great thing. From what he’d heard, Caracas had managed to recover from the flood they had years before and was actually a well-built city now. Which made it all the more confusing on why they had to, quote on quote, “protect” them.

But from what he‘d also heard, they recently had an increase in, again, quote on quote, “suspicious activity”, which could’ve been why they were sent there, but Hesh was still confused either way.

Soon they landed, and Hesh poked his head out of the helicopter.

The harsh sun blared down, and he had to shield his eyes with his arm. Tall buildings penetrated the skies, wispy clouds dancing past.

Also dancing past was Merrick. He stood next to Hesh and clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“Welcome to Caracas, kid.”

He hopped out of the helicopter and took a few steps forward, before crossing his arms, stopping and admiring the view. He looked almost…happy, to be back. Almost.

“Y’know,” he called out, “It looks different since I was last here.”

“Maybe that’s because last time you were here everything was drowning.”

Hesh trailed after him, stepping out of the heli and moving to stand aside Merrick.

“So, run me through it again. Why are we here?” Hesh asked.

“To put it simply,” Merrick started, “after the whole ‘Kill Almagro’ thing, Caracas was throw into a state of despair. All the flooding, safely evacuating civilians, rebuilding infrastructure, re-establishing commerce, it was a nightmare. For the most part, they managed to do quite well, provided they had help from other countries. Protection is where we come in. As the government’s been busy dealing with the flooding and rehoming hundreds of thousands of people, gangs, groups and everything in between has settled in the rubble and is making some hefty profits reselling materials to those who need them. Our job is to protect building sites, help out where we can and maybe stop a gang or two if we feel like it. Make sense?”

Hesh didn’t know what to say, so he just nodded. He did have one question though…

“Why do you know all this?”

“…That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

At that, Hesh walked off. He trudged through the streets, eyeing the buildings as he went past them.

He kept walking until he saw a man waving his arms, trying to call him over. He went over.

“Oh, thank goodness you’re here!” The man cried. He lowered his arms and fiddled with his shirt sleeves almost nervously.

“…hi. We’re here for the protection job?”

At this point, Merrick and the others had caught up, and were watching the interaction between Hesh and the man.

“Yes! Yes, you are.” The man turned and pointed down a road. “Down there, to the left. There’s a security building nearby, but…obviously that’s not enough.”

Hesh followed the man’s finger and crossed his arms.

“Security building, you say?”

“Yes sir.”

“Hm. Kick, you’re on cameras.”

“Copy that.” A new voice rang out. Kick strode past them and headed down the path towards the security building.

The man was about to continue, but a faint rustling was heard. Hesh signalled for him to stop and turned his head towards the noise. All he saw was an alleyway. It was probably just a- what just went past?…

Writing fictional geographical issues is hard :’)

[thereconstructinggirl]

The Reconstruction After the Deconstruction: The Tower Falls

I remember the day that my faith finally crumbled around me. It was June 19, 2020, and it started like a pretty normal day working at K-Kountry in Branson, Missouri. I remember going about my day in the kitchen, visiting my kids during free time, reminding other campers to keep their face coverings on because COVID-19 was wreaking havoc on society around us, and feeling all of the joy that came with my summers at Kanakuk Kamps.

I remember being pulled aside by the head women’s director and told that my mom had called to let me know my great-grandfather, my last living blood-related great-grandparent, had passed away.

No.

I knew he was old and sick but no. Pop was the strongest man alive he couldn’t die yet. Not while I’m trapped in a place states away from my family and leaving means I can’t come back.

I can’t imagine what I looked like trying to walk calmly to the front office to retrieve my phone and call my dad. I can’t imagine what the poor girl who asked me if I had permission to get my phone as I burst into tears was thinking while I used what little strength I had left to not jump the desk and get it myself. She was just doing her job, and I was simply experiencing grief like I hadn’t known in a long time.

A girl I knew pulled me into a hug and attempted what every evangelical Christian uses to comfort someone who just lost a loved one.

“He’s with our Lord. He’s not suffering anymore.”

And while that would usually bring me a lot of comfort, my Pop was an atheist. According to his beliefs, his existence ended the moment he took his last breath. His body would be lowered into the ground, and that was it. According to my belief, the kindest man I ever knew and who never let the horrors of war he experienced color his view of people who were different than him was in Hell.

Nobody knew what to do after that. Pop was stubborn. We didn’t call him an ironhead for nothing. I knew that there was no way that he would have some eleventh-hour spiritual awakening and suddenly accept Jesus as a savior or belief in God.

They let me take the evening off. I brought my dinner, my Bible, and the tarot deck I had snuck in my backpack down to the dock. Eventually, kids would file into the lower field because of course tonight was a party night. And as a hundred or so 7-11-year-old boys and girls from around the country (but mainly Missouri, Texas, Arkansas, and Tennessee) played a summer camp-friendly spy-themed scavenger hunt, I was asking God why. Why did my incredible great-grandfather who I knew was such a good person deserve to be in Hell forever for simply not believing?

I pulled The Tower.

If you know anything about tarot and about how to read and interpret the cards, you know that it’s one of the most feared cards by novice readers. In simple terms, it symbolizes chaos, sudden change, and destruction.

This card was the final straw in what I felt was my already dissolving faith. I had just figured out I was queer, I was discovering “witchtok” and finding comfort in divination through tarot cards, and there was no more ignoring that the world around me was burning. If there was a God, He was cruel and unforgiving. He let young black men be murdered by the very police officers who had sworn to protect them. He let a deadly virus bring the world to a screeching halt (and my study-abroad ventures be ripped from my hands). He let a man who meant the world to me go to Hell just for being an atheist.

I went from being an active member of the Religious Life Leadership Team at my college to literally never stepping foot into the office again for my last two years of school. A place where I had felt nothing but acceptance despite not being Methodist or being pre-ministry, suddenly brought me anxiety. The Wesley ministry group I was an active member of that welcomed queer people and questioners sent me into fight or flight mode.

Because I had experienced such a sudden change in attitude at the summer camp I had given 13 years of my life to, who’s to say that these people who have barely known me for two years wouldn’t treat me the same?

Not only did I start the grueling and mentally taxing process of deconstruction alone, but I searched for liberation in the ancient traditions of my long-dead ancestors. So I started calling myself pagan. It brought me comfort and confidence, but I was still angry and scared. I began calling myself a practitioner, because "witch" never felt quite right. I reclaimed my personal power that I was often led to believe was sinful.

When I moved across the country from my family and friends after graduating college, I found myself falling out of my practice. I found myself sobbing watching Midnight Mass on Netflix and sitting in the parking lots of a local Episcopal or Unitarian Universalist church near my apartment in Tucson. Never going in, but simply sitting and listening to the ringing bells. I found myself driving up to my favorite lookout on Mt. Lemmon to feel as close as I could to anything divine.

I didn't want to admit that I didn't know who I was or what I believed any more.

Now I sit here, almost done with my first year of graduate school, and a kind of regular at an Episcopal cathedral where I live now. I contemplate confirmation (since I was never confirmed as a child) and even contemplate going to seminary.

I still can't call myself a Christian. That term comes with baggage that I'm not ready to tote around again quite yet, but maybe I will get there again.

I still read tarot and still pray to and work with Brigid, but she's morphing into St. Brigid now.

I find myself praying again and opening up my Bible app to read the verse of the day.

I read my favorite book of the Bible regularly to remind myself that the theology that does not include justice for the disenfranchised is not the theology for me.

My hope is that this blog will document my thoughts as I begin to formally reconstruct the faith that shattered right before my eyes.

~ The Reconstructing Girl

[preciouslandmermaid]

so as u guys know i went through a breakup in june. which was a good thing. i wasn’t invested in the relationship, i was unhappy, the honeymoon had faded, there were flags that i simply couldn’t ignore (both in him and myself!) and i knew i needed to return to my happiest state - being single and annoying online.

today, on the first day back of work, this motherfucker asks to talk to me afterwards and im like “yeah sure.” thinking that like we’re just gonna chat real quick in the parking lot. no. hes like “where can we meet.” and im like “idk starbucks i guess.” 

i’ve been keeping my distance from him because that’s what was best for ME. we literally haven’t spoken in 2 weeks. so i gave him the benefit of the doubt and thought he was just trying to catch up, be friendly. i rationalized that since we were only together about 5 months, then it wouldn’t be completely weird to start being friends now that 2 months have passed since the separation. 

besties....he wanted to know if we could get back together. 😠 i was like ?????????? and he was like “well, we spent the summers working on ourselves” (bro ur still not in therapy so i disagree), and then he was like “i feel like we broke up because i was having such a hard time at work and was going through a hard time and it reflected on our relationship.” and i was like uhhh. and so i said a metaphor i was like “us getting back together would be like trying to complete a puzzle when you’ve lost pieces in the vacuum.” and he goes “OH WELL, relationships have their ups and downs! we could still find those pieces.”

i legit wish someone was recording my face. i was in shock. like when we broke up, i did tell him i hoped we could be friends, i told him i hoped we could be in each other’s lives and that maybe (and it’s a big maybe) we could reconnect in the far future. (but, i remember when i said this, i was only saying it to be nice. which was a mistake since it led me to this whole conversation). 

ANYWAYS. to make a long story short. i told him No. and he was like “why i dont understand. you said you loved me. how could you love me and then not love me anymore. this is really hurting my self-worth. i dont understand. what changed??”

and i just...didn’t engage really. i wasn’t gonna list all the reasons. i already did that when we broke up and he demanded answers. i told him that i didn’t feel the connection anymore. and i already know im hurting his feelings AGAIN. eventually i just said “i’m happier single.” and he was like “oh? so i won’t see you dating someone in six months?” and i was like “probably not?? but idk?” he also brought up an old interaciton we had waaay back in march and tried to gaslight me by saying i got defensive during it, but i literally wrote that interaction down beat by beat so i remember how it went because it made me feel so uncomfortable and was my first serious red flag. >:( you cannot trick me! 

we managed to end the conversation and i stayed firm within my boundaries even tho he looked sad/was tearing up and kept asking me for reasons (idk why being unhappy in the relationship isn’t a reason enough for him??) a few hours after i got home, he texted me and was like “Was everything you said earlier true? No lying to save my feelings?” and i texted him back and was like “Yeah, it was all true.” idk how i could’ve been any clearer. i think he just dislikes hearing things he doesn’t want to hear. (omg also he brought up bell hooks--someone i introduced him to!--and was like “are you just chasing the next high?” and i was like “??? idk ??” )

my friends keep telling me he was emotionally manipulative, but it’s hard for me to see it. maybe in time i will be able to. but again--im just proud of myself for not “cowering” and changing my mind because i’ve got a person in front of me who i do care about --and who is sad--who i could make happy by doing what he wants.

but that is no life worth living. i live for myself. for my own happiness. and i was not happy in the relationship. you don’t need any other reason to leave-- if you’re unhappy, you can just go. it’s fine. i think that’ll be the big lesson i takeaway from this whole debacle. 

[survivingtheaudacity]

It has been less than 30 days into 2024 and I am ready for it to be over. The audacity of some people.

Okay friends, I want you to ask you all to do me a favor; go to those closest to you and ask how often they are made to feel uncomfortable based solely on a comment; uncomfortable enough to be fearful of there safety?

*go ahead I’ll pause with you.*

•welcome back•

It’s shocking, how often it happens. Now I want you to think about what you would do if you heard a someone telling a complete stranger at midnight; “…to go into the woods up the street and go behind the trees pull there pants down and take care of business.”

I know exactly what you’re thinking excuse me what?!? Can we get some more details??? Of course you can; picture this….

It’s 12:15 I’m out with a friend headed home but I have to pee >bad< and we’re still 30+ minutes from home. Boom! My friend is driving and sees a 711 and parks while I run in. As soon as I enter the 711 (817 Baker Road Va Beach) I see two “gentleman”behind the counter and another guy waiting for his cooking {food} so I proceed to ask if they have a restroom I can use? He tells me •no• so I thank them and walkout, as the doors closing I hear him call for me, I turn around to see why he called for me. I then turned back around assuming I have yet again dropped something and didn’t realize it)

That is when this •middle aged stranger/711 employee• tells me “ I need to go up the street; find the area that has a bunch of big trees; go behind them pull my pants down and take care of business.” now this is a shortened version of this scary statement and conversation I found myself apart of in the middle of the night, already in the middle of a massive panic attack >thank god for panic disorder< while two grown men just stand there and laugh and agree with me when I remind them that If you are convicted of indecent exposure or obscene sexual display as a third or subsequent offense, there would be a mandatory requirement that you register as a sex offender on the Sex Offender Registry. As I quickly rushed out of the 711 back to my friend; physically shaking from the entire situation the worker who made the original comment tried to get me to come back inside by calling after me laughing.

Let me point out that this entire situation happened in VaBeach who was ranked as the #1 safest city in America in June of 2020. A store employee; you know the ones your supposed to ask for help; a complete stranger who I have never met before this moment; therefore he has no idea how old I am (if I’m even over the age of 18) before making comments about me pulling my pants down.

As we drove away; my heart became just a little bit heavier and as I cried.

I thought about teenagers stopping in late at night for snacks before they have to be home. I thought of those two adults who stayed quiet. I thought about the college students who come at all hours of the night because they are within walking distance. And I pray for there safety. I thought about the worker who was so comfortable that he could say whatever he wanted without having any consequences.

This is not okay, there is not a single person who deserves to fear for there safety while simply living, much less over a simple question.

No matter who you are where you are in the world stop look around you, safety starts in watching out for those around us, say something if you can, if you can’t call your local law enforcement agency immediately and record everything

(}FYI Va is one party consent state, meaning as long as you consent to the conversation being recorded the other party can not make you stop.{)

•who is your safe call•

{Do you have a someone in your life that you can call at any time and stay on the phone with you until you feel safe?}

[if you answered no and you need someone send me a message; no matter the situation I will be your safe call no matter when or how often.]

We are all humans;

We all deserve to feel safe;

People won’t change their toxic behavior if others continue to stay quiet and allow it to continue.

If you see something, say something.

•if at any point in time you are afraid to call 911 or speak to officers you can reach out to me and I will help you however possible•

We mold the future for our youth; let’s make sure it’s a safe one.

#SurvivingTheAudacity🖤

#IfYouSeeSomethingSaySomething

I’ll leave you with this finale question for those who watch or listen but who stay quiet or walk with there invisible blinders on; can you live with yourself if something happens to them simply because you kept quiet?

—Management/ownership/corporate of the 711 on 817 Baker road VaBeach; you may want to consider hiring some new employees, or additional training for the safety of your customers —

[bad-at-names-and-faces]

Midnight Star

ao3

ffn

chapter index

John stood in the city stables, checking the list on the first page of his notebook.  This carriage had the royal seal on the side, which meant it must belong to someone from the royal family, but there were no guards, so likely a member of little importance. 

He heard someone come inside, and quickly stashed his notebook into his coat pocket. A message boy ran straight to him, handing him a note. John handed a coin to the boy, who ran off satisfied.

The note was in Lars’s familiar scrawl, with no code being used.

Miss Bjorgman wishes to leave, meet at the theater door.

John double checked that he’d written down the information on the carriage he’d been looking at. He’d likely see it around the city, and just because the owner wasn’t important enough to have guards, didn’t mean it wasn't worth checking further.

He went to their own carriage, or rather, the one they had been borrowing from the Corona embassy since they had arrived in the Southern Isles, and drove it back over to the opera theater.  

“Are you here to pick someone up?” the man at the door asked him in French.  The opera here was definitely the hub of the diplomatic social scene.

“I am here for the party from Corona,” he told the man. At the embassy, he avoided speaking anything besides English, but elsewhere, it was better to speak French, and not let on that he could speak the local vernacular in the same accent as the royal family.

Lars was standing just inside the door, and hurried Inga inside the carriage.  It was unclear if she was feeling unwell or if she was simply not happy with the task Lars had given to her.

The traffic was heavy and the streets were still wet from the earlier rain.  John wouldn’t be able to listen in on the conversation, but Lars would fill him in on anything he needed to know.  The trip home from the opera took longer than usual, but eventually, he pulled up at the Corona Embassy. Lars gave him a quick hand signal to wait, and after Inga went inside, Lars came back out.

“Sorry to cut you short back there,” Lars apologized, “did you learn anything?”

“Possibly the one we suspected,” he told Lars, looking around for any of the staff.

“Do you really think-” Lars stopped as he heard the splash of someone stepping in a puddle, and the stable boy came around looking like he was forcing himself to act like he was just wandering over. “Hello, Nils, I’m sorry we’ve kept you waiting.”

“Don’t worry, Sir,” Nils told him enthusiastically, “it’s been very slow here recently, you know.”

“Yes, indeed,” Lars replied solemnly.

“I think the rain has stopped for now,” John stated deliberately in English, looking directly at Lars.

“But it might rain more, we should get inside,” Lars replied, nodding at him, then giving a quick wave to Nils, the stable hand, before going inside the embassy.

***

June 3rd, 1875

Dear Inga, 

I can’t believe Arianna is nine already! I shouldn’t be surprised, since Billy is going to be ten this summer, but somehow I always forget how close in age Arianna is.  

Lars is delaying some business in Washington a month or two so that he can be home all summer.  We sometimes take the family down to Washington in the winter, but Lars is worried about malaria during the summer, so we stay up in Boston.  He warned me that he’ll probably be staying in Washington for several months, and might be traveling a bit, but the rest of us will be staying here. 

I really wish I could say I’m shocked at what the gossip papers in Corona have been printing. The stories are beyond absurd, but that’s the sort of thing that sells, unfortunately. My own sister Diana was writing to me about what she had heard, and I tried my best to correct her.  I hate to speak ill of my own sister, but I’m rather glad I’ve been an ocean away from her for so long.  

I’ve been asking Lars if we might travel back to Arendelle at some point, and he says perhaps next summer.  If you’ll be back in Corona then, of course we could travel there, instead. 

Please let me know!

Love,

Elizabeth

Inga folded up the letter and placed it on her writing desk.  When would she and Henry return to Corona? It had been nearly two years now since she had been to Corona.  Of course, it wasn’t like they needed her in Corona, but did they need her to be in Arendelle?  It was hard to say.  Henry was out in town this afternoon, so she would have to bring up the subject later.

There was a light knock at the door, drawing Inga’s attention from the letter.  She got up, leaving the letter laying open on the desk.

“Inga?”  Sofia asked through the closed door.

Inga opened the door.  Her sister was standing across from her, looking serious. Inga was suspicious, since her sister never seemed to take things very seriously.  One thing Inga could say for her was that she didn’t hide anything. Sofia was eighteen now, and of course her sister was a different person than she herself was, but Inga had the feeling that, even though no friends or family would say so, other people had the expectation that the next sister would get married at a similar age.  Of course, Inga hadn’t been much younger when she was horrified at expectations of marriage. Unlike Inga, though, Sofia simply didn’t care.

“Is it dinner time already?” Inga asked.

“No, I just finished lunch,” Sofia laughed. “I was wondering if you can help me with Mother’s birthday party.”

“I thought you did a good job of it last year,” Inga told her.

“Well, you know I had Meibel’s help, and she won’t be back for another two weeks.”

“Meibel helped with the party?  Oh, of course she did.”  

“Mother tells me I shouldn’t be so hard on you for forgetting something right after you had a baby,” her sister said, frowning at her.  

Inga took a deep breath. She should be helping with things if she was living here, but she still felt like she was simply visiting.

“Sofia, I do think you’d do well enough by yourself,” Inga insisted. “Besides, what can I do at this point?”

Sofia glared at her.

Inga sighed and nodded, quickly turning to check herself in the mirror by the door.  “Fine, would you like to go to the library?”

“That works for me.  Mother has meetings all day, so we don’t need to worry about spoiling the surprise.”

“You really think she’ll be surprised?”

“Oh, I think everyone knows she’s just acting,” Sofia laughed, “but sometimes I do wonder if she’s actually surprised we keep doing this every year.” 

“So,” Inga began, wanting to talk about something else for a bit, “what have you been doing with your spare time the last few weeks with Meibel out of town?”

“I do have other friends,” Sofia retorted, before looking at Inga and sighing. “I’ve mostly been helping Marie with her studies.”  

“That's nice," Inga commented. 

"Now it's your turn," Sofia smirked, "What have you been up to? I hardly ever see you without your children, and I don't think you're up to all the things that some of the papers from Corona say you are, at any rate, you're definitely too young to be my mother and I definitely remember seeing Mother pregnant with Linne-"

"That story?" Inga groaned. "Sofia, what are you doing reading those papers?"

"I noticed Kai once getting all of them from the foreign news shop a few years ago, and since then, I've always paid the newsboy to set one aside for me any time they're going to disappear."

"If you find the stories that interesting, just come with me the next time we go back to Corona. You can always find those papers for sale there."

"But that ruins the fun," Sofia grinned.

“Do you even study anymore?” Inga sighed.

“I’m pretty much done with studying, but I’ve read all the books I have to, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Inga shrugged.  She wasn’t sure what example she was trying to set with her sister, anyway. Perhaps her sister’s prurient interests would keep her behavior in line.

They got to the library door, and Sofia hurried excitedly over to the table in the corner. "Ready to start?"

"Why not?" Inga replied.

***

Lars looked at his journal.  He had just finished writing down the few important things from the opera that afternoon, and he was trying to decide if the whole thing was worth it at all.  John had learned some things in the city stables, but there probably was nothing they could learn from the Portuguese ambassador or his wife.  If they could make it back another week, perhaps Mrs. Holst would return to the opera.  But Karl’s ship was coming before the next matinee, and they needed to make a decision.

All of his notes were in code, but he was starting to wonder if there was any point to being so secretive.  His brother’s ship would arrive next week, and he needed to make sure that they were all on board and out of the Southern Isles. Provided they could get to a port with a working telegraph, then the proper officials from Corona could try to find Prince Henry and Ambassador Pincar through official diplomatic channels.  Inga and James could be in a safe location, away from where they could be valuable targets.  Part of him wanted to let Inga deal with the fallout of her secret departure on her own. After all, she had made their own departure that much more complicated. 

He closed the journal and stared out the open window at the streets of the capital city.  In some sense, he could claim the Southern Isles as his country, but there was nothing connecting him to this place, at least, nothing meaningful to him. He knew where that man was.  John had told him, after all.  Several of the brothers had moved to America many years before, and the youngest of them had joined them after a brief exile wandering the ends of the earth. As soon as he had confessed the truth about his birth to his wife Elizabeth, and she had discovered that Lars knew where his father was she had suggested that, perhaps, he should try getting in touch with this Hans.  Of course, she hadn’t really heard anything about him, but as she had once told him, how could he know if he disliked someone if he hadn’t properly met? Still, she understood why it might be imprudent.

The wind blew some of the papers on his desk, and he quickly closed the windows before picking up the papers and putting them away.  As he finished stacking the papers, he realized he heard the piano coming from the embassy parlor down below. He knew that John had never learned to play any instruments, and he was fairly certain that none of the embassy staff did.  He walked down the stairs to find Inga slowly playing through a piano arrangement of some opera. 

Inga was pausing to turn a page as he walked in, stopping completely when she saw him in the doorway.

“Sorry,” she gasped, somewhat startled. “I didn’t realize anyone was around. I thought I’d give this piece a try.”

“You shouldn’t have to apologize.  You’re not really a guest here, after all.”

“Oh, right,” she mumbled, looking at the corner of the page of music in an obvious attempt at avoiding eye contact.

Lars tried to think of something to say next. There were many things that he didn’t know about her life in the last ten years that she wouldn’t have shared in a letter, even as much as she shared with his wife. He wanted to ask her why she always seemed to be referring to Corona as if it were a foreign country, but thought better of it.

“Since when do you play piano?” Lars asked.

“I used to have lessons when I was a child,” Inga explained, “but I ended up getting frustrated that Frederick was better than me without even trying.  I started playing again a few years ago since it was… nevermind.”

Lars nodded.  He was fairly certain that she hadn’t been playing to show off in Corona or anywhere else. “You’re quite good, really.”

“Thanks,” she blushed, closing up the music. “I think I’ll go back to my room now, if you’ll excuse me.”

“Of course.” Lars didn’t want to leave her feeling chased out, even if that wasn’t his intention. “Dinner will be at seven, if you’re hungry.”

Inga gave a barely perceptible nod as she headed up the stairs.

Lars walked over to the piano, and glanced at the music. It was an arrangement of an older opera, and he realized it was one that Elizabeth’s sisters had sometimes played at their home when he would pay visits to Elizabeth's family not long after they met.  He knew that Elizabeth trusted him, and he hoped he earned that trust as much as he was able to.  

The older children would be in school now, and his mother was there to help with the younger ones.  Elizabeth could manage everything well, and they had more help now, anyway.  They were fine.  

***

“Lars! Karl!  You’re here!” the young Prince Henry shouted, running over to the brothers.  

“Hello, Mrs. Nilsen,” Princess Clothilde stated quickly, covering up her brother’s neglect of the widowed Margit Nilsen.

“Hello, Mrs. Nilsen,” Henry echoed.

“Hello, Hilde, hello Henry,” Mrs. Nilsen greeted, having known the two since they were newborns.

Lars stood quietly with his brother.  The royal family never said anything about the difference in position, but his mother made a point of saying how kind they were to them, and that they shouldn’t brag about the attention their family got from the Crown Princess Rapunzel in particular.

“Father was just telling us about when he was in Arendelle, and, Mrs. Nilsen, you know the language,” Hilde told them eagerly. “Father, what was the phrase you used?  I didn’t understand it.”

“We don’t need to repeat that,” their father laughed nervously.  “In fact, you shouldn’t repeat that, either.”

“Tell us later,” Karl whispered to Henry. 

“I’m going to go find Bertha in the kitchen,” their mother announced, “Your Highness, please send someone for me if my boys aren’t behaving.” “Not a problem, Mrs. Nilsen,” their father assured her kindly as she headed inside the palace.  “Now, kids, do you want to hear more about trolls?”

***

Anna and Kristoff looked at each other.  Elsa had told them that she needed to speak with them when she had arrived. But with the children crowded around her, and the November weather was stealing her chance for distracting the children with snow, so talking was impossible. They had to make do with a few scattered moments of hushed statements. 

“Kristoff was suggesting this morning that I could go pay Inga a visit at the spa she’s been staying at,” Anna whispered, hoping that Arianna in particular was out of earshot.  “What do you think, Elsa?”

Elsa looked pointedly at Anna, frowning.  “When we get a chance, I’ll tell you what I know,” she replied.

“What happened to not spying on people?” Kristoff snorted.  Anna held her tongue, wondering if Kristoff really took her concerns about Inga seriously.  Elsa wasn’t going to all this trouble over some cheap newspaper stories, Anna felt sure of it.

“This is different,” Elsa snapped. “I didn’t ask to see this.”

Anna swallowed hard and looked at Kristoff.  Elsa, as far as they knew, always made an effort to avoid seeing secrets about the private lives of her family.  She seemed to be fairly certain that there was something important going on, not a simple marital issue.  

Anna didn’t think it was something as tawdry as Henry or Inga sneaking around with others, the way the papers from Corona liked to speculate, but the thought had crossed her mind. The two had gotten married so young, and so perhaps they would eventually need to find the sort of arrangements some couples made to allow them to keep up appearances.  That wouldn’t be worth Elsa making a surprise visit, though.

Ariana came running over to Anna and hugged her.  “Mormor, can I come to dinner with Aunt Elsa tonight?” the little girl asked, looking up with her mother’s eyes.  

Anna sighed and looked at her sister.  They would find time to talk properly. “Of course, sweetheart, of course we will.”

Dinner was as enjoyable as it could be being preoccupied by something else.  The children were chattering excitedly, so Anna could let them go on.  Kristoff kept giving her meaningful glances, and she knew he wanted to know what her sister had come there to tell them as soon as possible. Elsa, for her part, looked like she was answering the children’s questions, though their questions were always predictable.  

“...right, Mama?” Linne asked.  Anna hadn’t been paying attention. 

“I- I’m sure I agree with Elsa,” she said, doing her best to play along with the conversation. 

“What do you mean?” Sofia said incredulously.  

“I’m sorry, I was thinking about something else,” Anna confessed.

“Linne was just telling me that they’re often out collecting clams at low tide,” Elsa told her.

“Oh, yes, of course,” Anna laughed nervously.  

Anna needed to know what Elsa knew, and soon.

***

Inga got back upstairs, and quietly locked the door behind her.  Playing the music on the piano hadn’t really helped to calm her mind as much as she had hoped.  She sat down on the bed, holding Henry’s sketch book and leafing through once again, somehow hoping to see him walking through the door so she could ask him what some particularly ambiguous looking unlabeled sketch was supposed to be, or chastise him for drawing her like that in the book he took everywhere.  Except he hadn’t taken it everywhere with him.  Did he know that something was going to happen?  Or did he always leave it in the room when he went out on official business?

She hadn’t traveled with him on his diplomatic trips.  That had never been intentional, but the timing had never worked out.  He still had never taken her to Lisbon.  They would always talk about doing that “next year” or after this or that had been settled.  She desperately wanted to tell him to forget next year or after things had settled, and just go.  He had told her about things that children would enjoy.  They would bring them along, of course.  It wasn’t like this trip of hers.  This stupid, ill planned, impetuous trip of hers. She needed to get back home.  But she wanted to find Henry.  Where was he?

And how were the children doing?  Arianna had noticed that something was wrong.  Aggie wasn’t that much younger, but was much more easily distracted by the family and everyone else spoiling him.  Inga worried about Arianna more, though, since nobody else seemed to notice that anything was wrong.  She had spoken in private, but in public, had appeared as blissfully ignorant as her brother Aggie.  The younger two, well, they were too young to be very bothered. Still, she had never been away from them for more than a few hours.  It was all she could do not to let it overwhelm her, along with everything else.

Perhaps she should just have dinner.

***

“Lars!” John called out from the back door of the kitchen.  

“Hi, John, anything new?” Lars asked quietly as he closed the kitchen door almost completely, with just a small block of wood ensuring they wouldn’t accidentally get locked out.  

“Nothing since we got back from the theater.  I’ve just been thinking about what you said, that maybe we need to look elsewhere.  I still have some family in Charlotte-Amalie, some of them could come help out here, or travel elsewhere.  You have your family.  You need to get home to them.  There’s only so many stories you can tell Elizabeth before things start adding up.”

“I’ll tell her where I’ve been once I get home,” Lars insisted.

“I told you I needed help, but this is turning into a bigger thing than I thought it would be. Once we get Inga somewhere safe and get in touch with Corona, you’re coming with me on the first ship back to Boston or New York, and then I’m going down to the West Indies.”

“Why not Louisiana?” Lars asked pointedly.  “When did you last visit your mother?”

“You know who I’ll see if I visit her.”

“I know,” Lars sighed. “Him.” 

“Elizabeth thinks you should go there, too, doesn’t she?  Come with me.”

“What, you’ll introduce me?”  Lars muttered sardonically.

“Fine, I’ll drop it, but some day you’ll need to.  Promise me that, and I promise I’ll visit my mother.”

***

“You rang, Your Highness?” James asked as she opened the door.

“Yes, thank you, James,” Inga replied. “Please, come in.”

“What do you need?”

“I was wondering… are you familiar with this sketch book of Henry’s?” she inquired, tapping the sketch book, which she held closed.

“I do recognize it, yes.  If you’re wondering, I don’t look inside.  Henry has asked that favor very specifically from me.”

“Oh, um, yes, thank you, that’s good to know,” she mumbled.  “Do you know if he made a habit of taking the book with him when he went out?  Or did he generally leave it in the room when he went out?”

“He usually took the book with him, but the last several meetings, he started leaving it here when he had meetings with officials and members of the royal family of the Southern Isles.”

“Did he tell you why?”

“He kept vague, I suspect now to protect me, but he mentioned that he didn’t like where the meetings were heading.”

“Is this about all the marriage offers? Because John and Lars already told me about that,” Inga told him.

“Well, that was one of the things that bothered him, but they also seemed to think they could make the stories from the newspapers and other rumors work to their advantage.”

“Which stories?” Inga asked, somehow never able to check her curiosity, as much as she hated knowing what was going on in people’s imaginations.

“He refused to go into very much detail, but he did say something about having to endure hearing his family insulted.”

“Oh, I see,” Inga sighed.  That could mean just about anything, but now she was at the end of what she could bear thinking about.  

James stood silently for a moment at the door before saying anything.  “Is there anything else you would like to ask me right now?”

Inga shook her head.  “Mr. Nilsen told me that dinner would be soon, so I think I'll be ringing for the maid. Thank you, James." 

***

John walked into the servant’s hall of the Corona embassy.  An early dinner was being served. He usually didn’t join them, but he felt it was time to listen in a little more.

“Hello,” he said.  Everyone assumed he only knew English, so he needed to keep up the facade.  St. Thomas, where he was born and lived the early part of his childhood, mostly spoke the same language as the Southern Isles, and he could understand the servants’ chatter perfectly well.  All the better, of course, if they didn’t think he understood them.

“Hello,” said the maid who knew a little bit of English.  “How are you, John?”

“Good, Adele, how about you?”

“I am good, thank you,” she replied.

“I heard the cook was serving roast pork tonight, and it sounds wonderful.” 

“Ah, yes, the pork.  Dinner is pork,” she confirmed, having reached the limit of her English ability,  returning to her conversation with the others.

He kept a blank face, leaning back against the wall as he eavesdropped.

“Did he say anything about the princess?” one of the stable hands asked Adele.

“I told you,” she muttered, “my English is not very good. I only studied for a year, and that was ten years ago.  Besides, my teacher was from London. I can barely understand Americans.”

“Look," a footman added, "I will split the money I am getting if you can tell me anything he knows.  I tell you, that princess knows him.  He knows something.”

John realized too late that he was looking nervous listening to them.

“Hey, are you two sure that fellow does not understand us?” one of the footmen asked, glancing in John’s direction.

John looked at the kitchen.  “That pork roast sure does smell good, don’t you think?” he said very deliberately in English.

“See,” snapped Adele, “he is just here for the food.”

"Fine, fine, I just-" the footman stopped himself a moment, suddenly looking pleased with himself. "Nils, isn't your sister working at the American Embassy? Maybe she can bring someone who speaks English over here. They would both get a cut."

Nils looks up. In the short time he'd been here, John had learned that Nils was young, just moved in from the countryside, and he had an older brother who worked for the Maldonian embassy. It seemed that the whole family worked for the embassies.

"I can ask," Nils agreed, "but she has a lot of work, and it would be odd if someone came over without someone who knows someone here."

"Let us know when she will be coming," the footman ordered. 

The cook brought out their meal just then, and everyone ate silently. 

“John?” Adele was standing behind him. “You finish?”

John looked down at his plate, and it was empty.  Most of the others had gotten up already.

“Yes, I am.  It was exc- it was very good,” he said, remembering to keep his words simple for her.

“I take the plate?” she asked him. 

“Yes, thank you,” he replied, getting up. He would need to find Lars tonight.

***

Lars sat alone in the dining room until the footman brought him his dinner.  This was the one that John said was definitely getting money from someone to spy on him.  So far, from what John had been able to overhear, there were no clues about his origins. 

It seemed like Inga should be coming to dinner, but perhaps she wasn’t feeling well.  He would check in with James after dinner.  For now, Lars had more time to himself to think.

There had been some speculation in the servant’s hall that Lars’s selection to be ambassador had been related to the marriage of Prince Henry--after all, Lars had been selected for the position shortly after the prince and princess had first met, so that would only make sense, they told each other.  

He played along with that.  It was a logical enough story--the marriage negotiations for a prince and princess were mysterious things, after all.  The friend of the prince getting a comfortable position paid by Arenelle, and the brother of the princess attending the Naval Academy in Corona.  All of those things seemed to make sense to the staff here.  

He could go along with that explanation.  He had a comfortable position thanks to his connection to Prince Henry. It made Inga and Henry's marriage sound arranged, but they were the only two who seemed bothered by that.  It made sense as a political arrangement, and any other gossip could be ignored.

The door to the kitchen opened, catching his attention, and John came in with a bottle of wine. 

“The finest Corona vintage,” John announced before the door closed.

Lars eyed the bottle. “Actually, I think I will have some, thanks.”

John poured a glass for Lars before checking the door behind him again.

“How is everything, Lars?”

“I’m a bit preoccupied, that’s all,” Lars admitted. 

“Who wouldn’t be?” John shrugged.

A swish of silk from the main hall alerted them that someone else had entered the room, and they both turned to see that Inga had arrived.  

“Good evening,” she greeted them, “sorry I’m late.”

“Not very late,” Lars assured her, “but the footman brought my food a little early. I can ring for him again, if you like.”

“Thank you, I think I might like something.  John, have you eaten?” 

“I had dinner in the servant’s hall,” he explained, then looking at Lars.  “It was enlightening, but I think I’ll head upstairs for now.  Good night, Lars, Inga.”

Inga sat down as John went back through the kitchen door in order to use the staff stairs. 

“How are you doing?” Lars asked, not sure what else to ask.

“Fine, thank you,” Inga replied curtly, not seeming to be interested in further conversation, but she could have gotten dinner in her room, and Lars wanted to try to learn more. 

“Is Frederick still playing piano?” Lars asked, remembering Inga's bringing up her brother earlier.

"I suppose when he's at home," Inga replied, looking pensive, "He did take the piano with him when he moved out, though I assume Meibel plays more nowadays. My sister Sofia goes over there to play most days…"

Lars waited to see if Inga was going to say anything more. 

"I'm happy to hear he's been well," Lars added after a moment. 

"He's a captain now." 

"I know.  You’ve reminded me yourself that I’m on Arendelle’s payroll, and I'm kept up to date on official information," Lars reminded her. "And it was nice to learn about his wedding before it was announced in the newspapers."

"Oh, of course," Inga replied, looking down at her plate and shift 

"I suppose he's too busy to keep up with social letters now?" 

"What? Oh, I… I suppose so. I haven't asked him."

"He used to write to me," Lars said, not sure why he was now mentioning things that were probably well known, "back when I first moved to Boston. He wrote for several years, actually. I miss that."

"I'll be sure to tell him," Inga smiled. "I think he should write to you."

[suhacidal]

dear tumblr-verse

i have been graced with some bullshit and called by spirit to discuss so on this platform. 

hi!! it’s been quite some time since we’ve had a genuine discussion on here. how are you? how’s life? well, for me, it’s been a bit exciting, overwhelming, all-consuming, lackluster, preposterous, and demeaning. now, you’re probably wondering, how in the hell can all of these things occur at once? let me explain it to you!

i’ve been infamously on a break from my routinely weekly travel back and forth across state lines from CT to NY, and vice versa. partially because it is expensive, and mostly because i’ve been intentional about spending more time with myself. that means not going out every chance i get, spending more time doing things i love with myself, and simply enjoying solitude. the battle has been uphill, of course, but fulfilling with every new development. the past months, may and june, have been especially cruel and unusual feeling. i made my appointment for tht and had to wait a month, had a very scary panic attack, fell out with adanoomf. the typical monthly cycle tbh. not to mention the time of the month i like to call, “fighting for my life”, where i’m just hitting the pavement nonstop to fully optimize my time for money. yes, what a life! the constant rejection emails of job applications are the cherry on top; the creme de la creme. 

within all of that, i went to see yves tumor live, applied for vogue’s open casting, started going for walks regularly around the city. and had my first photoshoot release in a magazine. i also spent ample time with loved ones. in addition to that, i in turn spent ALOT of time with myself. like, a scary amount of time. so much so that i started to get sick of it, and of course, solicited older men for company. my once practice of trading sex for humanly company has been put to rest. that was the last spoke in the wheel of my impending demise, and was swiftly addressed and destroyed. i’d become very sick and tired of the mundane, tasteless, classless, pleasureless interactions i’d partake in simply to be in the company of another person who i could truly believe in that moment wanted to be around me. i’m very glad this practice is a thing of the past, even though i have not spoke about it much. reflection is always a substantial process for me, honing in on the things that have occurred, since i feel as if i have no tangible timeline to attach them to.

the months have been passing with formidable cruelty lately, and that’s a major source of anxiety. i feel like i’m wasting my life away waiting to find a different type of employment. i really want to be one of those people who profits off of their talents or passions, but i’ve yet to figure out my moral standing with that. i have completely given up on the idea of manipulation/exploitation as a form of profit, as that usually only works for people in a position of power. also, it’s just dead wrong. i tried my hand at a few older men, but they were relentless. good thing that flopped. i think my problem is that i have not adjusted to one way of being, and i’m living across many different timelines than the present. 

i started going out again late may, starting by attending a rave where patiasfantasyworld was debuting her intima residency. mind you, i was one month into my sober journey by this time. oh, did i mention i got sober from alcohol? this is another thing i’m very proud of, but keep quiet... i wonder why! circling back, this sobriety streak scared me in the making of this decision, because i didn’t want to risk losing it, and felt as if the city was the primal breeding place of disaster. it was easy to abuse there because of how transient existence felt, deeming less of a risk. too many people, too many problems. but overperforms from a place of deep shallowness in front of those crowds. was this a form of conformity? the world may never know. i think it’s good to know to carry yourself with high regard, but not so much that it’s over others. there should not be levels to people. 

i most recently had my tht consultation at planned parenthood, on tuesday 6/20. the experience was confusion-and-spiral-inducing, but affirming nonetheless. i’m very excited to embark on that journey, after i take care of a few things first. 

[automatismoateo]

I wish religious people could see the world from an objective point of view for just one day. via /r/atheism

I wish religious people could see the world from an objective point of view for just one day.

Especially missionaries and hardcore religious people make me sadder over time. I don’t mean any harm or wish anything bad for a single person, but I can’t express how much it would mean to me if religious people could just see the world objectively for a SINGLE day and make up their minds. (Yes, everyone would stop believing)

This has been on my mind for a few weeks now and today is the day my fuse actually caught on fire. I have been in a relationship with a christian girl – I know what you think, but I’m not here to discuss this. We have been together for six years now and I don’t love her religion, but her as a person and I really do not care much about future topics that *will* come up as long as there’s respect for each other’s beliefs. I am willing to end even this long relationship when that basis is no longer given.

**Skip the paragraphs in brackets if you don’t care about the personal backstory and only the stuff more relevant to this sub.**

[Anyways, the reason I am writing this specifically is music, though, I’m convinced you can apply this whole text to almost anything in life.

I enjoy listening to heavy music (what a stereotype of a non-believer for many narrow-minded people) and obviously that’s about the devil. Right? We all know that; well, at least religious people do. My girlfriend never liked it but accepted it and didn’t say a word about it up to this day. She listens to a LOT of worship music which I personally find totally horrible. Now, today she expressed her concerns about the fact I’m going to a Rammstein concert this summer. Stating the band is satanic, dark powers are present on their concerts and what not. Great thing is she’s on a 5-week trip at the moment and didn’t have the guts to talk about it *before* leaving. Yes, sub-optimal, I know, I know.

Anyone who has looked at their texts knows that’s bullshit and the truth is that they’re just often criticizing religion and society, for example. I just stated my point of view briefly and said we’re finishing that discussion when she’s back. Still, I was interested in where she got that “information” about the band being satanic, etc. so] I read up on some christian forums because my girlfriend expressed her feelings towards my lack of belief and DAMN why can’t these people just accept other points of view like we do in this community? We don’t have to get involved in their personal lives face to face or on the internet and tell them to stop believing, simply live and let live!

I normally don’t deal with religion more than necessary. I do enjoy learning about it to the extent that it contributes to understanding different points of view and also mine, but that’s it. Know your enemy, right? And what I read over the last couple of minutes really got my blood boiling. If everybody just keeps their business to themselves, I’m fine with different ideologies and world views, although you can’t truly deny science.

There are too many people who think everything that doesn’t fit in their belief system is satanic. They can’t explain it – so it must be wrong. They don’t know details – they judge. It isn’t what they were told by their parents or priests – it’s got to be the devil’s work. I know this isn’t a new thing, I just saw too much of that during the last weeks and needed to rant.

I see the problem on a personal level and don’t need relationship advice (also because I know what people here will say and I will sort this out for myself). I am just venting and thought some people in this awesome community cared about my thoughts :-)

Submitted June 06, 2023 at 12:00AM by p3rseusxy (From Reddit https://ift.tt/2UCwGyf)

[blazenka]

Forthcoming

Returning to Mystic Falls for a visit, Elena awakes to find she's been sent unwillingly into the past. Not only does she have to avoid changing past events; she must also deal with a cold and detached Damon who is the only one who knows she's there.

Original source: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/7073903/1/Forthcoming

Chapters: 17

Published: June 12, 2011 - December 31, 2011

Words: 41434

Rated: Fiction M - Language: English - Genre: Romance/Supernatural - Characters: Elena G., Damon S. - Reviews: 117 - Favs: 132 - Follows: 95

Exported with the assistance of FicHub.net

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9 

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Epilogue

Epilogue

~Ѱ~

2014

Elena accompanied Bonnie and Caroline down the stairs to the front door after they had their lengthy discussion.

"So its agreed," Caroline chimed cheerfully, "We're going to at least have a brides maid brunch and try to do something together after the wedding."

The girls smiled, parting on good terms and friendly farewells, but Elena couldn't help but sigh with relief after she shut the door with her back. Pushing herself away, Elena headed into the living room where she flopped down onto the couch, resting her head against its back.

"So… how did the girl-talk go?" Damon tried to sound dick-ish but it came out worried as he took a seat next to her.

"It went as well as could be expected… Caroline made all these plans for us to bond later it just…"

"Go on…"

"I didn't realize I missed so much… it feels like I was gone longer than a couple months."

"It happens, especially after high school, people drift apart."

"Not our group, not after everything we've been through."

Damon just shrugged before placing an arm around her, "You guys… girls will fix things and be the best of pals again."

Elena nudges him in the ribs but then relaxed against his chest, "I hope you right."

"Well, I could be. Besides, we've faced worse…"

Elena simply nodded as he mind wandered through the past and present and all the events that had led them there.

She stared down at her sneaker clad feet and the shattered glass that was scattered all over her titled kitchen floor.

" Did you really need to do that?" she questioned as her eyes drifted back up to the blue eyed man in front of her.

" Better than striking out at you, Elena… or would you want that? Never know with your masochistic tendencies…"

" You're one to talk."

" Well, I was never that way until I met you!"

Elena paused before trying to take a steady breath, "Damon… this isn't why you're here… why we're here. I wanted to try and talk to you about…"

" About us riding cheerfully into the sunset with our happily ever after, I know. Problem is I burst into flames in sunlight…"

She couldn't help but rub her temples, this is how she wanted this to go - she didn't want to fight with him and even when they were fighting, she just wanted to kiss him and be close to him instead.

" Why are you fighting me on this when you want it just as bad as I do?"

" Oh, I've wanted it worst and longer than you."

" All the more reason why we shouldn't be fighting over it."

" God, Elena - you know why we are fighting over it?"

" No, please enlighten me, Damon."

" Because it would never work between us," he declared, even throwing his arms in the air for added effect.

Elena let go of her held breath, a feeling a defeat spreading through her, "So you rather we never tried…"

" Rather never begin than… Elena, I don't want to see you hurt and I can't handle being hurt… like that… again."

" Damon I can…" she began to speak words of comfort before taking a 180, "No, enough dancing around one another. I want to be with you and you want to be with me, that's that," she stated determined as she stepped across the broken glass to stand in front of him.

" But… Elena, what if this doesn't work out or ends badly, like I imagine it will."

She shrugged and continued to tread over the broken fragments, crunching under her as she reached out to him.

" Then we'll be happy knowing we at the least tried," Elena lightly rested her palms upon his cheeks, both their eyes locked on the others. A spark of a feeling between the two that was all too familiar.

Damon dipped his head down to meet hers and Elena responded as his hands slowly travel down her sides, wrapping his arms securely around her lower back.

" Hold on," he murmured into her ear as he hands rested on her bottom.

Damon gave her one more meaningful glance before he lifted her up. Elena wrapped her arms around his strong shoulders and her long bare legs around his waist as he balanced her. Reaching with one free hand, he removed her shoe while keeping her secure around him, before switching hands to remove the other.

" Don't put your feet down" was the last thing Damon whispered to her as he carried her over the glass and out of the chaotic kitchen of that small apartment, then removing his own shoes as he move across the carpet of the living room to her own bedroom.

No words were said between the two till the next morning when the sun rose through the blinds over the sleeping couple. They laid together hands intertwined on top of cheap sheets and a flimsy comforter. But neither one could think of any other place they rather be.

" Elena?"

She blinked out of her daze, dismissing her thoughts as she turned to back to Damon, who wore a quizzical but amused look of his face.

"And she's back," he chuckled silently with a smug smile, "But where did she go?"

"Just lost in thought, sorry…"

"Okay… just you had that far-off dreamy look in your eyes and I got scared for a minute."

"Really?" she played along.

"Of course, had me worried you were planning our wedding or something like that."

"No, nothing like that; just remembering something from a while ago," she reassured him, Damon pulling his hand across his forehead in mock relief.

"But speaking of weddings…"

"Oh god, here she goes-"

"No, Damon, I was thinking," she interrupted him before getting more serious, "That experience, traveling back sort of made me realize something important. I… can't imagine my life without you Damon. Ever since you've become a part of it, I could never remove you from it completely and… what I'm saying is… I want to be with you."

"Aww, Elena. I want to go steady too. Little awkward though since we're already-"

But Elena cut him off again, "What I meant was I want to be with you in the eternal sense, I want you to turn me Damon."

Damon felt frozen for a moment, "But what about the normal life? Husband, babies and growing old?"

Elena laughed, pulling him close to look him dead in the eyes, "Do you really think I could be with another guy after you?"

Damon shrugged as he tried to look away, "I don't know, you never know. You might meet some regular human guy… like Matt."

"I'm not going to end up with Matt or any human guys; I want to end up with you."

He turned back to her, a fragile hope in his eyes, "You do?"

Elena smiled sweetly, her words only a whisper as she answered back, "Yes."

Damon wanted to break into a laughing fit after this revelation but shook it off, instead deciding a kiss would suite the moment better.

"Not on the couch!" a voice yelled from upstairs causing Damon and Elena to break apart laughing.

"When did he get here?" Elena asked as she sat back up along with Damon.

"Um… They arrived the day you disappeared."

"They?"

Stefan and Katherine made their entrance together, Stefan taking a seat in the armchair while pulling Katherine into his lap.

Elena smirked, shaking her head as she curled against Damon's side as he wrapped his arms around her, pulling them closer together. The couples continued to watch the fire as they discussed how their lives had been and plans for the future. Yet as the night wore on Elena's eyes closed while she drifted into a peaceful sleep knowing she was safe - and exactly where and when she was suppose to be.

The End

~Ѱ~

[hockeywhy]

4 times you faked a relationship + 1 time you didn’t; m.tkachuk

WARNINGS: language. WORD COUNT: 17.2k. A/N: So, I didn’t want my effort for this fic to go to waste and I’ve decided to re-write it for Matty because he and the fake dating trope work so well together. I had to, so here it is.

one.

“I’d only be asking Matthew if I had no other options and needed a last resort,” you said. “Until then, I’m not even contemplating it.” 

“Kind of sounds like you’ve just about reached the bottom of your list, right around where you’re keeping Matthew, Y/N,” your friend, Anna, responded and though her tone said sympathy, the look on her face reflected anything but sheer elation. 

The invitation landed on your tabletop with a loud slap while you deposited yourself in a nearby chair unceremoniously, glaring at the decorative paper as if it offended you. Actually, scratch that. It did offend you. Greatly so. Honestly, it may as well have come in the form of one of those boxing gloves that sprung out of a box immediately upon opening and decked you square in the face. That’s how much it offended you. 

The golden letters inked on the thick paper warmly requested the pleasure of your company to witness the love of Josh Reynolds to Louise Jones six weeks from now. The location stated was a hotel you knew only through word of mouth: one of those fancy establishments that served ridiculously priced plates that were more canapes than actual meals. 

You doubted there would be much pleasure from your company.

You and Josh called it quits just over a year ago after a relationship that became increasing rockier, significantly more emotionally exhausting. The two of you started dating in high school and if the relationship started off with nothing but the sort of blinding fiery passion only teens could be capable of, well someone missed the memo on giving you the message that all fires eventually fizzle out. Gradually, it was the only way you could see your relationship heading and it seemed that Josh felt it too. It made the breakup easier: it was neat and mutual. Still, that couldn’t be considered an incentive for either of you to invite each other to such grand, deeply personal events. You couldn’t help but feel a little hurt that he found someone he wanted to tie the knot with so quickly but in retrospect, Josh had always wanted that while you were content as you were. That seemed to be the fork in your road with him.

On the one hand, you were angry at Josh for even considering jotting your name down on the list of attendees and on the other, you were angry at yourself for being angry about that. One moment you were dead set on declining the invite and the next, you considering that doing that would simply show you were bitter and unable to be civil about it. Besides, surely it was noted somewhere in the Rulebook of Ex’s that you just couldn’t do stuff like that. That seemed to just about do it. Like hell you’d given anyone the satisfaction of one-upping you.

You needed a plus one. Desperately. 

“Ask your brother then. Pretty sure that’s bound to impress anyone there. It’s not often many will get to say they brushed shoulders with an up-and-coming professional athlete.” 

“I don’t need that sort of plus one. If I did, I would’ve asked you—”

“Thanks,” Anna mumbled.”

“—but what I need,” you ploughed on ahead, “is, well, something that can come off a bit more serious looking.”

She rolled her eyes. “Saying the word boyfriend won’t jinx you into permanent silence, you know. You need a boyfriend.”

“A boyfriend for a day,” you agreed contemplatively. 

She picked up the invitation to look through it carefully and after concluding her inspection, she slapped the papers back down on the table, grinning. “Matthew it will be then!” 

Your younger brother, Jake, recently signed his entry-level contract with the Calgary Flames, in a way carrying forward the family tradition of starting a career in professional sports with them. Your grandfather did, your father did and now, here you were watching your little brother take on the mantle. Your family’s involvement in sport and, specifically, the team meant that you were somewhat familiar with the organization whether that meant attending home games or a few events arranged by the team. You couldn’t say you were the best of friends with them, certainly nowhere near the level your brother was, but generally speaking you were fond of the C of Red. 

That couldn’t also be said about Matthew, however.

It seemed that from the get-go, there was a personality clash between you. At first, you thought it was just Matthew picking on you, joking around as he disagreed with virtually anything you’d say but progressively, you were pretty sure the two of you didn’t even have the compatibility to keep things civil. Matthew had a way with pushing your buttons and it bothered you he could do that with so much ease, though the more you thought of it, the more it shouldn’t have come as a surprise to you: you were all too familiar with his on-ice shenanigans, after all. Whenever you knew you had to be under the same roof as him, you’d tell yourself to not let him get under your skin but that resolve would last for all of ten minutes. Fifteen if you had a particularly good day. 

Much to your chagrin, it seemed your brother was closest to Matthew. Though you offered the spare room in your apartment, your brother was so warmly welcomed by Matthew. It was no doubt even Jake found your annoyance with his teammate entertaining.

The thought alone was frustrating enough. If one day, by chance, you caught sight of a white strand of hair on your head, you were dead set on blaming Matthew for it. Matthew and his smarmy attitude; Matthew and his smartass retorts; Matthew and the smirks he threw your way whenever your brother took his side, outnumbering you. 

You clenched your teeth, glaring at the invite. From the corner of your eye, you saw Anna’s outstretched hand holding your phone out to you. A groan formed in your throat and you wished you kept in contact with the handful of guys you tried dating after Josh. None really stayed. Or better said, none managed to draw you in. It was as if Josh had put a jinx on you. If that was the case, you hoped that this whammy would disappear if it meant watching him watch someone else walk down the aisle towards him. 

Anna waved the device at you insistently. “Do it. Come on. Even you know nothing says fuck you like turning up there with Matthew. Scrappy when he wants to be and he’s not bad to look at either. You know it.” 

You arched an eyebrow up at her. “More than Johnny?” 

She flushed visibly. Johnny and Anna were still a relatively new thing, dancing around their relationship carefully as if they were both doing this rodeo for the first time. It was pretty cute. “Don’t change the subject.” She placed the device down on the table in front of you then patted your shoulder. “I have a feeling you won’t regret it. If he gets on your nerves too much, well…it can’t be worse than watching your ex get married, right?” 

“Ouch,” you winced, but chuckled, knowing you were defeated. Matthew was the last resort, and you knew you were at the bottom of your list before you even started going through it. “You do realize if he declines, I’ll probably make a start on packing my bags and moving to Montana, right? The only time you’ll hear from me is when my handwritten letter goes through the nine circles of hell that is our postal service.” 

Anna fixed you with a stare that could only read as ‘do it’. “I wouldn’t be so insistent on this if I knew Matthew would say no. I have a feeling he’ll surprise you.” 

With a heavy sigh, you unlocked your phone and scrolled through your list of contacts, thumb hovering over his name when it came up. Anna wasn’t wrong: Matthew wasn’t bad to look at all, that much you could admit. But god, if he turned you down…. you knew you wouldn’t be able to ever show your face in front of him or the rest of the team ever again. 

“I think I’ve had enough surprises from him to last a lifetime,” you mumbled but tapped the call symbol anyway.

He answered on the third ring. “Hel—

You didn’t let him finish. “I need your help,” you ground out, eyes closing while you rubbed at your forehead with the tips of your fingers. 

There was silence on the other end of the line that had you biting your lip in anxiousness. You shouldn’t have done this. You really shouldn’t have done this. All it would take would be just hitting the ‘resume my account’ link on one of the dating apps you signed up for a while ago. Someone was bound to be attracted not only to you but the promise of an open bar—

“Music to my ears,” Matthew’s response came through. You could practically hear the smile in his voice and knew you’d regret it; you could easily tell from the tone of his voice. 

You sighed quietly, leaning forward to rest your elbows on the table, eyes glued to the invitation. Fuck it, you could get someone else; easily, no doubt. The world of online dating was vast and there would always be takers.

“Uh, yeah actually, never mind—”

“No, no. Come on, Y/N. Pretty sure this is the first time you’re calling me first so can we take a moment to just let that sink in?” Silence again, then a chuckle. “Okay, now that we did. How can I help you?” 

It wasn’t as if Josh had put you in the position to ask Matthew for a favor but still: fuck Josh, anyway. In a split second of sheer pettiness, you considered aiming to host the most extravagant, unforgettable weddings when your turn would come just to show him who does it better. 

“Are you free the third weekend in June?” you asked tiredly. 

“Don’t know. Depends what for and who you’re asking for.” 

You should’ve asked him face-to-face. At least then, he would’ve had the chance to see you roll your eyes, turn on your heel and walk away. “I’m obviously asking for myself. Could you just be straightforward for once and answer yes or no? You’re making me hold the line for longer than I anticipated and I’m happy to ask someone else,” you lied.

“Let me get this right—” Here comes, you thought exhausted. “You’re calling me for the first time since you have my number to ask me if I’m free the third weekend in June? As a favor for yourself.” 

“Matthew, I didn’t stutter—”

“What’s happening in June?”

You don’t know what it was about his words that downed you. It was nothing but a simple question yet the only thing you could think of was: the first boy I’ve dated and so far, the only one, seems to have moved on quicker than I anticipated and while I’m still trying to build myself back up, I’m sitting in my kitchen looking at a wedding invitation and wallowing in self-pity because regardless of how hard I try, of how much I’ve amended my standards, no one seems to do it so what if this is it for me? What if this is just the way it’ll be from now on? And now, I’m resorting to lying just to make myself feel better but also put a façade in front of someone who I know no longer cares about me like that. And really, nor do I about him but here we are. So, nothing much is happening in June, Matthew. Hopefully we get a lot more sunshine though!

What you responded with instead was, “just an old friend of mine getting married and I need a plus one. Nothing serious. Just go there for an hour or two, say some hellos and leave. It’s a quick in-and-out thing.” 

More silence on the other end of the line other than the muffled shuffle of what sounded like bedsheets. “Why not ask your brother then?” 

“Asked him already, said he’s got something lined up already. So, are you free or not?” you lied, quickly pressing on even if you knew that sounded a lot like desperation.

“For you, at a price.” He was smirking. You knew he was and more than ever, you wished 2021 was the year you could just reach through the phone and shake the person on the other end. 

“Uh-huh. Right. No, just forget it. Forget I even—”

You were going to end the call when Matthew laughed, quickly calling out a “no, no! Nothing weird, I promise. Just owe me a favor in return, is all.” 

“Do I get a choice?” you mumbled, more to yourself than towards him.

“I think we both know that you don’t. Text me the time and place,” he instructed and then, just as you were really about to end the call, he added, “hey, send me a photo of what you’re wearing also. I’ll match my tie to your dress, free of charge.” 

“Can you maybe ditch the jacket while you’re at it? Just want to make sure your tie’s within reach so I can strangle you with it.”

Even after you cut the call, Matthew’s laughter rang in your ears. 

-

Matthew matched his tie to your red dress. The color of the silk around his neck was so striking, you would swear it was made from the same material as your outfit. You sent him a photo of the material of the dress, more as a joke than having any expectations attached to it so you were pleasantly surprised to see he made the effort. For a moment, you allowed yourself to bask in sheer joy knowing that to any eye, the two of you could easily pass as a couple. At least, from looks alone if not from attitude. You were a proud person; fiercely so. Knowing you were now in debt to Matthew however he saw fit dealt a pretty impressive blow to your ego. You don’t let yourself linger too much on that thought, though. It was already difficult enough to loosen up and relax your stance as you climbed into Matthew’s car as soon as he texted you of his arrival. 

“You look good,” he commented after you fixed the seatbelt on. He turned in his seat as much as space would allow so he could look at you properly and in return, you arched an eyebrow, refusing to give way to his stare. “Are you trying to one-up the bride?” 

“Ha, ha. Funny. You didn’t even see the bride. I didn’t even see the bride.” 

“Didn’t see her but I’m seeing you, so,” he shrugged, by way of explanation before correcting his position. 

If asked, you wouldn’t deny that Matthew also looked good. Very good. But only if asked. It was impossible that someone with a face like that didn’t know they turned heads easily wherever they went. Matthew’s suit fit him as if it was sown on him. If the two of you had a better relationship, you would even dare ask him what it was he was putting in that hair of his that made it so shiny and gave those curls so much definition, taming them almost perfectly when he really put his mind to it. Whatever it was, you had a feeling he didn’t strain as much as you had earlier that morning to tame your hair and though you could give yourself credit for how well it turned out, your arms weren’t thanking you for it. 

Thankfully, much of the drive was pleasant. Though you hated small talk, you decided to make an effort if only to ease your nerves as the navigation system indicated you were drawing closer and closer to that glitzy hotel. You learned that although the season was over, Matthew, Brady and the rest of the family would spend a few weeks in Canada before heading back home to St. Louis. In turn, you told him that some of the days off you booked from work would be spent somewhere just as sunny and warm but with more beaches. It was safe ground. That, you could do although progressively, you were becoming more and more distracted, and less focused on the conversation the two of you managed to keep. 

“Want me to pull over?” Matthew asked suddenly. 

“What,” you mumbled, turning your attention from the road ahead to Matthew who seemed amused by the situation. “Why would I want you to do that?” 

“I’d want you to do that. You look pretty pale and honestly, I’ve just had the interior cleaned so—”

“Fuck you, Tkachuk, keep driving. I’m just a little…cold. How high do you have the AC on?” 

He fixed you with a stare while waiting for the lights ahead to turn green, eyebrow arched. “It’s June, Y/N, and uncomfortably warm. If it makes you feel better, though, I could turn it off and we can roll down the windows instead?”

“No, sorry—you’re right. It’s fine. Just leave the AC as it is.” 

The laugh he gave was nothing short of incredulous. “Repeat that back for me. Actually—hold on, do that when I can press record on my phone so I can have that on repeat. Did you admit I’m right?” 

“God, you’re making me regret inviting you,” you muttered though without heat. 

An uncomfortable silence slipped between the two of you or maybe, it was just your perspective on it. Matthew seemed perfectly at ease minding the road, only occasionally throwing a cursory glance towards the car’s navigation system whenever it announced a turn. Doing this seemed more and more like a bad idea. A terrible one. No one would’ve held it against you if you denied the invitation. In fact, you thought that was more expected than accepting it and turning up to the party as if you were seeing an old friend, not an ex-boyfriend. It wasn’t too late though. Matthew could still turn the car around. 

“Listen, Matt—”

“You have now reached your destination. Your destination is on the right.”

You released a breath you weren’t even aware of holding, then threw a quick look towards the main entrance of the hotel. Already, a few guests whom you recognized were crossing into the lobby.

“You really don’t look okay at all,” Matthew repeated and there was less humor in his voice and more concern this time around. Even you weren’t ignorant to how much your mood kept fluctuating over the course of the drive: often, engaged in conversation but occasionally, withdrawn, barely just catching on to whatever it was Matthew was saying. Sure, he probably didn’t know you well enough to read you, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out something was amiss. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I felt like there’s more to this thing than you’re telling me. You could’ve asked your brother, yet you didn’t—” 

Damn it. You made him swear to play along. You made a quick mental note to get back at him about it whenever you felt energized enough to do so.

“Matthew,” you said, your voice suddenly clear, tone neutral. You didn’t dare look him in the eyes so instead, you kept your stare fixed on the revolving doors ahead. “I’m only going to say this once and I hope that you won’t make me repeat it now or ever again. I’d prefer that you don’t mention it to anyone either. The person getting married today is my ex-boyfriend. Up until last year, we’ve been together since we were teenagers. I loved him. Since we broke up, I kept trying to look for parts of him in others, but I couldn’t find even a trace of who he was. I feel as I’ve been jinxed, and I felt that maybe if I come today, maybe if I see him with someone else, I can confidently say I’m fine with that. It hurt my pride when I received the invitation, so my first thought was to lie. If, for just a few hours, I can pretend I’ve also moved on and I’m not stuck in this…fucking weird limbo, then maybe it becomes true. A fucked up self-prophecy. So.” You pause, clearing your throat. Your mouth suddenly felt dry from your speech, yet you couldn’t feel a pang of regret in your chest or heat behind your eyes. “So. If you want out, that’s fine. After all, I’m asking you to pretend to be my date out of spite, I guess. And embarrassment. It’s childish and unfair and ridiculous but—”

You came to a halt when you felt a finger under your chin, and a gentle upward push forced you to raise your head up a little more. When you turned towards Matthew, you looked at him with a look of confusion on your face. 

“Keep your head up. We have a wedding to go to.” 

His encouragement sunk in faster than expected and as your expression relaxed, a smile formed on your face. 

Yeah. The two of you had a wedding to go to. 

-

The event hall was decorated minimally yet tastefully. It made everything seem even more personal and you received that impression from every detail: from the flower arrangements to the music, everything was a testament to a life united by love. Maybe your emotional outburst earlier accounted for it, but you felt lighter even as you watched the newlyweds glide along the floor for their first dance. Sure, you felt a desperate pang of want but it was distant. Muffled. 

Despite your initial thoughts, having Matthew at your side felt very much like a safety cushion. It surprised you to watch him settle into his role with so much ease that eventually, even you didn’t have to remind yourself to not withdraw whenever his arm wrapped around your waist: sometimes loosely, sometimes a little tighter, reeling you in closer.

Fish, here is your bait, you thought wildly as you stood tucked at his side while he accepted flatteries from one of the guests who swore had been a fan of the Calgary Flames since before he could even talk.

“You must be so proud,” the man turned towards you. “Your family’s truly one of a kind to have all played for the team and now—” He gestures towards Matthew as if to say all of this. “Must be something about those Flames!” 

You laughed tightly, just as Matthew squeezed your side. By that move alone, you could tell he was eating this up. 

“Yeah, just can’t get enough of them,” you concluded, pitching your voice just a little higher towards the end. To the man, it was as genuine as could be, but Matthew cautioned you silently with the slightest narrowing of his eyes, effectively warning you to be more realistic. “Hey, I’ll get us some refills? Try to be a little more inconspicuous in the meantime. Remember this isn’t your day,” you joked. 

“Only practicing for when our turn comes,” Matthew responded without missing a beat and released the hold he had on you. 

Once at the bar, you allowed yourself some extra moments to catch your breath. Even off ice, Matthew was a force to be reckoned with. He struck conversation with others easily, drew their attention with seemingly little effort and easily set the mood for whatever situation or person the two of you would run into. A part of you thought his profession had a lot to do with his mannerism, but a bigger part knew different:  mostly, it was really just Matthew. 

He had a way with words and with people that you haven���t been witness to before and couldn’t help but wonder if it was all show. He was, after all, a face for the public: familiar with interviews, familiar with the attention, apparently not overwhelmed even by less conventional questions. Watching him play this role was fascinating to say the least. It certainly took your mind off the circumstances so credit where credit was due. 

“Hey, it’s good to see you here.” 

You turned from the bar and came face to face with Josh. His jacket was off, and his sleeves were neatly rolled up past his elbows; behind the knot of his tie, you could see he’d undone the top button of the collar. You’d seen him make countless rounds across the entire floor, greeting guests and ensuring everything was running smoothly. Occasionally, you watched him dance either with his wife, or family members, or even guests you recognized as work colleagues. 

You smiled. “Thanks for the invite. It was a bit weird to receive it, I can’t lie about that, but I’m glad you sent it.” It surprised you to learn you weren’t even lying about that. Through the course of the evening, it dawned on you that maybe, it was more the thought of being here that made you anxious; the event itself, however, proved just how right you were. It felt…fine. You felt fine. 

“Yeah—uh, I wasn’t… I wasn’t really sure but, well, before…” He trailed off into a sigh. 

You chuckled softly. “Would you like to buy a vowel?” 

That made him laugh. Truly, genuinely laugh. “Sorry. I guess it’s a bit weird for me also. But, well, before you and I were, well, you-and-I, we were friends. I would’ve hoped we’d still be friends even after…” He waved a hand in the air by way of explanation but that was sufficient for you.

“Won’t hurt to be friends. Whatever happened between us—well. Thing of the past. Build bridges and get over them, right?” 

“Right. Function of a bridge and all.”

“Hey. Congratulations, by the way! I’m happy for you. Really. I wish the two of you all the best. She seems really great.” 

“She is,” he agreed and cast a glance towards the room, eyes undoubtedly searching for her. “Are you—”

“Here you are.” 

Saved by the bell. A weight fell around your waist that, by now, was warm and familiar. Unconsciously, you leaned into Matthew, flashing a wide smile at Josh. At first, he seemed surprised by the sudden appearance but then his features settled into something more comfortable; something so much like relief that for a moment, you wished you could just come clean about it. You and Matthew were less than meets the eye.

Before you could even introduce them, a kiss was pressed to your cheek, knocking all air from your lungs and almost making you choke because of it.

What the hell.

“You were gone for some time, so I thought to check on you,” Matthew informed you, all matter of fact. To Josh, he said, “congratulations on the wedding. Must be pretty great to finally get to this point. You two look great together.” 

“Oh? Yeah. Yeah, thanks man. So glad you could come along today.” Josh turned to you, an eyebrow perked in interest. “I didn’t know you two were together.” 

“Oh we’re just—” 

You began but were promptly interrupted by Matthew. “We like to keep it lowkey. It hasn’t been that long for us but that’s not much of a problem when your gut tells you this is it. You know it well, right?”  

You were entirely caught off guard. Instead of responding immediately, you bought yourself some time by taking a sip from your glass of—whatever it was. Strong though. Just perfect for the situation you suddenly found yourself in: ex-boyfriend ahead, fake boyfriend to the side, promising sweet nothings that you knew would come back to haunt you at some ungodly hour. You wished you could step on his shoe; pull on those shiny curls of his real quick, knock some sense back into him. There was a difference between play a role well and clearly, playing it too well.

Matthew pushed ahead. “It’s pretty good timing for us though. We could take some notes for when our turn comes, right babe?” 

“I’ll let the two of you to it, then. Thanks again for coming.” Josh made a move to step away but before he did, he turned to you and caught your eyes. “I’m really happy for you, Y/N. You look good together. Just make sure you don’t take too many notes.”

“Wouldn’t dream to,” Matthew responded, and you could read the slight bite in his words. When Josh was out of earshot, he looked down at you. “You dated him? Just him?” 

“Hey, what’d I say about not bringing that up again? And save your dick measuring contests for the locker room, Tkachuk. Now’s not the time nor place.” 

“Now’s definitely the time and place,” he countered, making you roll your eyes but there was a smile on your face you couldn’t quite wipe off. “Come on. Let’s continue taking leaves out of their book.” In one swift motion, he took the glass from your hand and set it on the bar while above, the LED lights dimmed, and the playlist switched to a slower song. 

You threw him a cautious look, easily reading where that was going. “I’m not dancing.”

“Sure, you are. You want to give the impression of being happily in love? You need to start pulling your weight in this thing.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry, Atlas. Do your shoulders hurt from carrying the burden of our relationship?” you mocked, yet still allowed him to lead you towards the dance floor. Right in the center of it given the bride and groom appeared to sit this one out; you expected nothing less from him. You weren’t even surprised when he made an entire show out of it, forcing you to do a pirouette when the two of you claimed your spot. 

“You can’t even imagine the pain you put me through,” he sighed near your ear as the two of you began swaying to the music. 

“Well, you’re still standing so clearly it can’t be that bad.” 

“Baby, it’s torture.” 

You were grateful the two of you weren’t exactly face to face or you were sure Matthew would never have let you live down the flush you felt rising to your cheeks. Sure, he didn’t use the pet name in a genuine manner, but just hearing it roll off his tongue like that… You stopped that thought before it grew into a whole new different monster. 

After a few moments of silence passed, Matthew lowered his head closer to yours, his warm breath colliding with the skin on your throat. “Do you think now’s the right time to kiss? Are enough people watching?” 

You stepped on his foot. Not hard, but just with the right amount of pressure to draw a wince from him. Satisfied, you leaned back just a little to look at him properly. “Don’t even think about it, Tkachuk—”

“Thought about it already.”

Through clenched teeth, you hissed, “you. Are. Incorrigible.” 

He raised his eyebrows, surprised. “If only you could meet yourself.” 

You snickered quietly then leaned back against him. “Thanks for doing this. I know it’s not the most convenient of things… and it wasn’t fair to tell you the full truth of it right on the day of. But—well, thanks.”

“That sounds like it was pretty difficult to let out. It’s very…. heartfelt.” 

“Just fucking accept it as I gave it to you, Tkachuk,” you complained, more amused than annoyed.

More silence followed, filled in only by the general buzz of the room and the slow melody. “And now?” Matthew questioned a short while later. You allowed an extended silence to fill in for your confusion. He picked up on it within seconds. “Do you still feel jinxed? Stuck in the same place while he goes on ahead in life?” 

You took some time to think through your answer, time during which the song faded into yet another slow one. Matthew didn’t give an indication of wanting to move away from the dancefloor, so you saw no purpose in you doing that. 

“Not really,” you concluded. “Just seems like we’re both following different trajectories. Doesn’t mean I’m left behind if I’ve not yet met someone to settle down with like he did. Maybe I just need to be here to come to terms with it. Good for him though. I’m genuinely happy for him and his wife. I think lots of people imagine going through this very same moment.” You ended with a shrug but then, to lighten up the moment, you added, “don’t mock me for it. Between the two of us, I’m the one with the pointy shoes.” 

Matthew laughed, a low, pleasant laugh right by your ear. “I’ll give you a free pass for what’s left of today.” 

“Your generosity astounds me. Please could you also sign my jersey?” 

“Is it my jersey?” 

“Why would it be your jersey when I have my last name printed out on one at the expense of my brother being roughed up a little?” 

“Don’t tempt me. That favor you now owe me? I might just use it to have you get my jersey so I can sign it since you so generously asked.” 

“Your call,” you shrugged. “Just know it’s going straight in the wash right after you scribble on it.” 

Matthew took a few small steps back, only to pull you back towards him. You played along and spun as you landed into his hold once again.

“You say that now, but when you’ll see yourself with it—”

“I’ll auction it on eBay.” 

The laugh you got out of Matthew stayed with you through the rest of the night and like never before, his good disposition easily transferred to you.

two.

When the elevator doors slid open, your brother and Johnny weren’t the only ones to step into the hotel lobby. Matthew accompanied them, flashing a smug smile as the trio approached and his eyes landed on you. You cast a quizzical glance from your brother, to Johnny, to Matthew and then looked towards Anna as if to ask are you seeing this? She only shrugged at you in silent response, though she was grinning from ear to ear. At least someone was certainly enjoying this.

“Last I remember, there were only two of you,” you commented.

“Was that before or after your third drink?” your brother chirped back.

Instead of humoring him, you shift your gaze to Matthew. “What gives, Tkachuk? Can’t be left at home unsupervised during family vacations?” 

“My house training has only gone so far,” he responded smartly, then nodded his head towards Anna and Johnny who were caught in a half-hug, apparently entertaining by watching you and Matthew bicker as if watching a tennis match. “They’re not family.” 

Anna feigned a gasp on your behalf. “Y/N and I are part and parcel, Matt. Thought you’d know that by now.” 

“Well, the three of us are part and parcel also, Anna. Thought you’d definitely know that by now,” he responded but you were already leading the way out of the hotel lobby and towards the busy square outside.

It was a hub of activity: from street vendors to dance and music performers, there was something to see regardless of which way you looked. Although you arrived at your holiday destination the previous day, the flight south coupled with the warm, sticky evening made you want to steer away from the busier parts of the town. Instead, you opted to lounge by the pool with Anna, having perhaps one too many cocktails to kickstart your vacation. Perhaps you missed Matthew’s arrival at some point then, though for the life of you, you couldn’t remember anyone mentioning he’d come along also. Not that it bothered you greatly.

Since the time you asked him to be your plus one some few weeks ago, the relationship between the two of you warmed slightly. Sure, he still knew which buttons to press to get a reaction out of you, but you saw it as being less ill-intended and more good-natured fun. You kept up with him easily and whenever it felt as if he was cornering you, you conceded with a roll of your eyes but never admitted defeat. You didn’t consider the two of you friends, but something changed on the day of the wedding right around the time you had spilled out your feelings about the entire deal to him. Looking back on it, you found it strange just how easily you did that, no second thoughts, no wishing for takebacks. You knew you owed him the truth given the position you put him in without plenty of heads-up, but you could’ve easily just simplified the entire thing. 

It wasn’t difficult to stick together as a group but eventually, you wandered off towards a few stalls on your own that have caught your eye. Though you wanted some more time to have Anna to yourself, it was technically her first vacation with Johnny. You could catch up with her later in the room; surely, she’d have even more swooning to do over him by then. Not that you blamed her. Johnny was an incredible guy. 

First, you stopped at a stall selling a range of baked goods that you simply couldn’t turn away from. And for good reason: the sour cherry churro you settled for was a dream come true. From there, you strolled towards a few small stores selling a range of products ranging from colorful graphic tees to earrings made from vibrant, colorful gemstones. You held a blue pair next to your ear, turning one way then another to watch as the light reflected off the gleaming gem. 

“Those suit your complexion,” the attendant commented and when you looked towards him, he smiled bashfully. 

A gentle heat crept up your neck, unable to keep the grin off your face but you couldn’t look away from him: his skin was lightly tanned, and a dusting of freckles covered the bridge of his nose and upper cheeks. His blond hair was messy in a way you could easily tell was styled to appear as such. He was cute in a sort of conventional way, but you liked the way he smiled at you, all shy but certainly genuine.

“Funny you say that. I always had a feeling blue was my color,” you responded, and his smile widened. 

“Here for vacation?” he asked. 

You nodded. “Yeah, I just got here yesterday, and I’ll be around for a few days,” you added, a little hopeful. 

Hey, if you could score some good company while in the area, then you weren’t going to turn down the opportunity to flirt a little and make good with someone more local.

“Good. That’s really good to know.” He regarded you for a moment and you were certain that caused your blush to deepen though at the same time, it made you feel a little…exposed. “Hey, are you free—”

“The red ones are nicer.” 

You squeezed your eyes shut, frustration quickly replacing the feeling of near euphoria. You could recognize that voice anywhere. Of all times he could have run into you, the universe fixed it so he popped up when you least needed that to happen. 

“I prefer the blue,” you countered, then held them up against your ear again though you knew you didn’t need to double check if they suited you. 

“No, trust me with the red,” Matthew insisted, and you saw him appear behind you in the small circular mirror you were looking into. He was so close. “Goes well with that little number I got you the other day.” 

You sputtered. “W-what?! Stop messing—”

In the mirror Matthew’s eyes flicked from you to the attendant. “Yeah, you know the one. I left the box on the bed in our room, thought to surprise—”

“Tkachuk, just shut up. There isn’t an our room—”

This was so painfully uncomfortable. So frustratingly annoying, you felt the blood warm in your veins, that familiar wave of anger coursing through your body.

“I’ll ring those up for you,” the attendant said, his voice carefully polite while he accepted the red earrings from Matthew’s outstretched hand. 

You hated him. Passionately hated him. It was easy for Matthew to play games like those because he could easily get just about anyone, but you? It wasn’t quite as easy to not be a pro-athlete who had pretty much everything lined up and going for them. You tried catching the store attendant’s eyes again but he was busy accepting the cash from Matthew after packing away the earrings in a small paper bag. You knew he wouldn’t catch sight of it, but it didn’t stop you from casting a longing, apologetic glance towards him before leaving the store. 

It felt as if for every two steps you took, Matthew only needed one and despite the crowds, he caught up with you easily, holding out the bag towards you while you powered ahead. 

“Come on, don’t be mad. The red ones are definitely better than the blue ones,” Matthew tried to reason with you while holding the hand stretched out to you, insistent on his offer. When you didn’t respond and instead, tried to rush further ahead, Matthew pressed on. Him managing to keep up with your pace only added fuel to the fire. “Don’t tell me you’re upset over Ron Jon back there.” 

You came to a halt, turning to glare up at him. “I am, Matthew. You didn’t need to do what you did back there. There was no reason for it. It was shitty of you, and I need you to back off while I try to enjoy the rest of my night.” You clenched your jaw, trying to suppress the overwhelming feeling of anger that normally resulted in tears. “You could at least pretend to be sorry about it.” 

With that, you turned on your heel and squeezed your way through the crowds, ignoring Matthew’s calls to stop and come back and that he was only joking. 

Too late for that, you thought bitterly, making a turn towards a street popular for its dining and bar venues. 

-

The part of the archipelago more popular with tourists was truly a sight to behold as the sun went down, coloring the sky in some of the warmest, most calming shades of orange, red and yellow you ever saw. It seemed as if everyone gathered on the promenade, phones at the ready while taking photos of the sky, selfies and group shots. Even you couldn’t resist it and after taking a few well-centered selfies, a passing couple offered to take your photo which you immediately posed for. 

Later, once the sight sunk in, you moved towards a nearby bar, first attracted by the pink, purple and blue neon lights and then, the music. A good cocktail, good music and a gorgeous sunset were all it took for you to feel more relaxed, leaving behind the event from earlier. He wouldn’t be the first cute guy you’d see, nor the last and indeed, it was easy for you to settle in the more crowded area of the locale where people were dancing either solo, with a partner or as part of a group.

Not long after you weaved your way onto the dancefloor, you felt a pair of hands settle on your hips, drawing you in. You went easily, accepting the embrace, accepting the way you were being led into the dance, swaying your hips along with his. You didn’t even miss a beat when he spun you around, but you kept your hands pressed against his shoulders, rather than wrapping your arms around his neck. You were tipsy, no doubt, and admittedly felt touch-starved but you weren’t quite in the mood for anything more. You even dodged his mouth when he tipped his head down to your lips so instead, he landed a kiss on your cheek. Still, he was pretty relentless. The dance took a turn that was significantly more sensual, crossing a line into discomfort, and you felt that was your cue to try and remove yourself from him. It was easy initially. You threw him a small smile and when he caught hold of your hand, you simply motioned you were only going to get a drink, hoping that would keep him where he was with the knowledge you would return. 

When you finally pulled away, you made a bee line towards the exit of the venue but again, you were a step too slow. The guy caught you just at the door.

“Where are you running off to, pretty?” he slurred, his voice louder above the thumping of the music. 

“Oh—Um, just getting a breath of fresh air, is all,” you said quickly and immediately wished you didn’t venture off in a place like this alone. It was as if you suddenly forgot everything that was common sense, pushed towards it by earlier frustration. 

“Doesn’t look like it to me.” He frowned, but there was no clarity in his eyes. He was entirely out of it and his fingers squeezed painfully around your wrist. You flinched visibly, squirming under his touch and even if you tried pulling your arm away, it was useless. He overpowered you even through the drunken haze. “Wanna go? Fine, then let’s go together.” 

“No—uh, I’m actually here with my friends. I’ve just—I saw them so I’m going to catch up with them. They must be looking for—”

“Then we can go to them together, sweetheart. Here, point them out to me.”

“No, really. I’m going to them alone,” you emphasized and put all your force into trying to free your hand. It may have taken him by surprise that led to his loosened grip, but as soon as you turned on your heel, you found out there was more to it than just that.

You almost faceplanted right into Matthew’s chest when you tried making a run for it. He stood there, eyes flicking between you and the guy with an unreadable expression on his face. Your heart was hammering wildly in your chest and instinctively, you almost glued yourself to his side. It wasn’t the first time someone tried to force a move on you, but it was the first time it was done so in such a thoughtless, drunken manner. Perhaps your fear was also enhanced by being alone in an unfamiliar place. To see Matthew this time felt like a blessing.

“Babe,” Matthew said by way of greeting, pulling you to him when he wrapped an arm around your shoulders. 

You didn’t realize you were trembling until you stood so close to him, legs suddenly feeling like jelly in front of your salvation. Matthew could easily overpower the guy; even if they were roughly the same height, there was a big difference between the body of an athlete and the swaying one of a drunk guy. Still, it didn’t mean you wanted Matthew to get caught up in anything he’d later regret or would affect him in any way, so you pressed a hand to his chest trying to put some pressure into guiding him away from the scene.

“She yours?” the drunk guy slurred, head tilting back, chin pointing towards your general direction.

“Yeah. So, guess that makes the situation even worse for you,” Matthew responded. His tone was light, seemingly non-threatening to someone who didn’t know him but you did. You knew him and you could read him crystal clear in this moment. 

“Matthew, please,” you muttered, looking at him almost desperately while trying to put all your body weight into guiding him away. 

The guy scoffed. “You’ve gotta do better than that, buddy.” He snickered. “You’ve gotta keep ‘em on a tighter leash unless you want them to go—”

Matthew made a move towards him, but you quickly stepped in front of him, essentially forcing him to halt. “Matt, please. Let’s go, okay? Please. I really want to leave. Right now.” 

He glared at the guy for a moment longer but the hard look in his eyes softened as soon as his gaze fell on you. You took the liberty of placing most of your weight against Matthew, allowing him to remove both of you from the situation and towards a less crowded area. That was easy to find: with the sun having long set, most of the crowds cleared away from the promenade so there was plenty of space for you to collect yourself in peace. 

He didn’t pry into the situation, didn’t even make any smartass comments. Instead, he let you slip away from under the safety of his arm while you pace around a small area, trying to work off the anxiety as much as you could. You had to count your breaths, remind yourself to breathe in then out slowly. You were okay. You were far from that guy, and he couldn’t hurt you. At least, no more than he already did. Your wrist felt a bit sore, but you’d take that over anything worse. 

“You okay?” Matthew asked at last, tone careful. “I can go back there and pull him out, you know, get him to apologize.”

“No!” you said loudly, desperately, then cleared your throat and lowered your voice. “No, don’t go. Please. I just need a moment, that’s all. Just a little. Could you not leave? I’ll be fine in a moment. Just—just need to catch my breath—"

“Hey, hey—relax. It’s over. He can’t put a hand down on you now, or ever.” Matthew took a few steps closer to you as if apprehensive to approach you in the first place. You knew what you must’ve looked like: pale, still shaken by what happened. He held a hand towards you, palm up. “Can I touch you?” 

You looked from it to his face, then said, “don’t get any funny ideas,” but it lacked your usual punch. You took his hand though, letting yourself be drawn to him. Matthew smelled like the sea. You couldn’t help but wonder if maybe he’d gone down to the beach earlier to take a dip. You wished you did that rather than try and drink your frustration over missing out on a random guy. God, you could sleep right here if sleeping while standing was a thing. “I’m sorry for reacting the way I did before—with, uh—what did you call him?” 

Matthew chuckled, a low, deep chuckle. “Ron Jon.” 

“You’re awful, Tkachuk.”

“And you have a funny way of expressing gratitude.” 

“Sorry—”

He laughed louder. “I’m messing with you.” A pause, and then, “I’m sorry I rained on your parade earlier with the guy back then. If you really liked him…” He trailed off, as if to let you fill in the sentence for him.

You laughed weakly, waving a hand dismissively. “Thanks. Again. Seems like nowadays, I just keep having to thank you for one thing or the other.” 

You felt him shrug. “Fine by me. You keep adding to these favors you owe me.” 

“It’s only one. Well. Two if you want to be a dick and count this one too.” 

You took a step back, detaching yourself from him to run both hands through your hair. You felt exhausted, drained of energy yet relieved. Who would’ve thought you’d be pleased to see Matthew pull another one of his appearing out of the blue acts?

“You give me no other choice but to be one,” he joked. “Come on, let’s go back to the hotel. Everyone’s wondering where you were, so you kind of lost your right to vote on dinner for tonight.” 

You sighed heavily. “Let me guess: you all ganged up on me in my absence and settled on lobster?” 

Matthew grinned. “Can’t vacation in a seaside town and skip out on that.” 

“Ugh. Sea critters.” You pulled a face, drawing yet another laugh from Matthew. It made you feel oddly accomplished but you cut that train of thought there, forcing it to derail elsewhere, to place more familiar to you, more comfortable. “Matthew, I mean it when I said thank you. That was—it was scary,” you admitted as the two of you started walking back towards the hotel. You pulled your wrist into your hand, rubbing at the skin gently. Focused on the road ahead, you missed Matthew frowning down at the gesture. “I don’t know how that happened. It’s just—it’s not my thing to do. Go out alone, especially in a place like that. Good instincts by the way,” you tried to joke but it fell flat.

“Don’t mention it,” he said, voice tight. “I don’t want to think about it again if I can help it.” 

You cast a confused stare in his direction but by then, it was his turn to look ahead, a frown marring his features. You didn’t push any further though. 

Later that night, after you and Anna decided to call it a day and switch off the lights, you lay in bed glancing a look up at the ceiling above. You didn’t think back on the evening’s events but rather, thought back to how a familiar small brown paper bag was taped to your room’s door before dinner. Anna had fixed you with a knowing stare as you plucked it off the door, tipping its contents into the palm of your hand. 

Then, you thought how during dinner, Matthew had claimed the seat next to yours and complimented the earrings you wore, remarking how awfully familiar they seemed though he could swear he didn’t know where from. For the first time, you had an inside joke to share with him and neither of you bothered to offer any clarifications to everyone else around the table as they tried to press for details. 

three.

The Flames’ first game of the season was scheduled to take place in Las Vegas and with a few days left of vacation, you couldn’t skip on the opportunity to return to the city you were inexplicably fond of, as well as watching your brother play on the third line. The night promised to be unforgettable, and you wouldn’t miss it for the world. Although there were plenty of things to keep you busy throughout the day, your eyes would occasionally wander down to your watch, counting down the hours until the start of the game. It seemed like most of the city was doing the same.

Often, you’d spot handfuls of people donning Knights jerseys and occasionally, there would be a few Flames fans wandering the streets and locales. You’d only spotted one person wearing your brother’s jersey but that was more than enough for you – he was a fairly new face in the professional league, but he certainly pulled his weight during every shift he had on ice whenever given the opportunity. Luckily, you managed to take a quick photo of their back before they disappeared into the crowds, sending it to your brother along with a thumbs-up emoji. 

He didn’t respond immediately, nor did you expect him to. You could only imagine how quickly he racked up pre-game nerves and he had a pretty strict routine, which included avoiding his phone until after the game. You couldn’t really make sense of superstitions even if each member of your family who played, whether professionally or otherwise, had their own. Naturally, you were surprised when your phone pinged, indicating a new message almost half an hour later. Except, it wasn’t quite who you were expecting.

Matthew is that your way of saying good luck?

You frowned, but all it took was a little more attention on your part to notice you hadn’t sent the message to your brother but rather, to Matthew. Lately, he was one of your top contacts for frequent messaging.

You wrong number

You good luck to you too though, i guess :/ 

Matthew busy?

You don’t you have practice to get to?

Matthew [attachment: photo of an ice rink where a few players were captured in motion]

Matthew [attachment: photo of his skates, taken from the players’ bench]

Matthew on break, where are you?

You hanging around

Matthew what are you wearing? 

You [emoji: middle finger] 

Matthew ice cold

Matthew nice, i can handle ice cold

You then go handle ice cold so you don’t get handled tonight

Matthew wish me luck too

You i already did

Matthew i need it twice, it’s my superstition 

You that’s a bullshit superstition

Matthew if we lose tonight, it’s on you

You [emoji: angry face]

You good luck!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Matthew :) 

You dropped your phone on the table with a low groan, slouching in your chair. From across the table, Anna shot you a confused stare which quickly morphed into understanding when you rolled your eyes, shooting your phone a look of frustration as if the device itself was to blame. 

“Anything interesting?” she asked in a singsong tone. 

“If you count Matthew being his usual self interesting, then that’s what’s up. Otherwise, nothing new.”

“By his usual self, do you mean engaging? Funny? Witty? So good with his words that he yet again takes your attention and keeps it while the rest of us, mere mortals, struggle to do that for longer than a few minutes tops?” 

You arched an eyebrow, somewhat amused. “All that – just empty words.” 

Anna leaned back in her seat, taking her glass with her while twirling the straw, looking ahead somewhat thoughtfully. “You know what the two of you remind me of? Those two kids in the playground who think love can only be expressed through pulling hair and making snide remarks.” 

“First of all, that’s a shitty way of trying to get someone to realize you have feelings for them and second of all, love is a pretty big word. You managing to carry it okay?” 

“Okay, maybe not love. But like? It has to be like. Say what you want to say but it looks different from the outside.” 

“Okay, you keep staying out there and let me know what you’re seeing. I like your imagination. Very vivid,” you commented but there was no bite to your words and Anna threw her head back with laughter. 

You didn’t think much of your exchange with Matthew throughout the rest of the day, nor did you try to linger too long on Anna’s interpretation of your relationship with Matthew. You let it wash over you, knowing it’d give her too much satisfaction if you fretted too much over it and anyway, many of your thoughts seemed to fly towards the evening’s game. 

By the time the two of you made your way to the arena, however, you moved from anxiety to excitement within the space of mere moments, apparently. Even if this wasn’t your first rodeo and you’d been to countless games before, there was nothing quite like the thrill of an opening game. You and Anna had spaces reserved in the upper stands along with other family members and significant others but both of you chose to watch the warm-ups close-up, so you hung around by the glass at ice level. 

The Vegas Knights and the Flames stepped on the ice to a combination of cheers and the thump of a loud electronic mix. You spotted your brother almost instantly. He did a quick lap around the team’s half of the ice before pulling a puck towards him with his stick, sliding it this way and that before shooting it over towards the net. Once sufficiently warmed up, he cast a searching look around the rink and you quickly waved both arms up in the air to try and get his attention. You knew he’d spotted you, but he made an entire show out of looking over you until you smacked a hand against the panel. You knew the sound wouldn’t be heard over the general noise of the arena, but he still laughed. When he skated over, you held your phone up, giving it a quick shake and mouthing “selfie?”. 

He flashed a thumbs up and you quickly turned around to take the photo, but it wasn’t until you inspected it afterwards that you noticed you were photobombed by Matthew himself. You had every intention to look up from the screen and somehow try and get his attention only to glare at him, but he was a step ahead. You almost jumped out of your skin when you noticed Matthew standing right there by the glass, smirking at you.

“Asshole,” you mouthed, not daring to voice it out given you were surrounded by kids.

Matthew winked, skated to collect a stray puck then threw it up over the boards towards one of the kids standing right next to you. The kid was clearly thrilled by the gesture, bouncing up and down with the puck held over his head as if it were a trophy. You couldn’t help it: your heart melted at the sight, so you simply nodded once at Matthew, apparently just in time as the warm-up countdown reached zero.

You weren’t surprised the home team were putting on such a show for the opening night. There was a little bit of Vegas in every opening act: from the fireworks set off outside the arena to the showgirls and mind-blowing animations projected down on the ice, it felt more of a Stanley Cup playoff game than the start of a regular season game. This was Vegas and no one did it quite like Vegas did, you had to give that to them. 

Both teams were almost evenly balanced throughout the first period but stepping out of intermissions and into the second, the Flames started powering ahead. It was as if something had clicked together even better and they functioned as a well-oiled machine, both in offence and defense. By the end of that period, they were leading the Knights 3-2 and you were more than elated your brother had earned himself an assist. Like all games, tensions formed quickly, and the third period saw both teams play aggressively. On several occasions, you caught sight of players clearly chirping each other even while heading towards their respective benches after the end of a shift. Once, Matthew seemed to be involved in a seemingly endless yelling match with a player on the opposing team. There were more checks against the panels, an impressive number of penalties drawn by both teams, and it felt as if the atmosphere was just tethering towards a fight.

It happened right after the Flames scored the fourth goal with just two minutes left of the game. 

The moment the puck was dropped at center ice, you watched as Matthew charged ahead towards one of the Knights players who didn’t hesitate to drop the gloves. Between them, Matthew had the faster instinct, and he landed the first punch, effectively forcing both players to fall to the ice while the referees scrambled to try and split them apart. They were there a moment too late, just mere seconds after you caught sight of knuckles scraping along Matthew’s mouth on the big screens above. At first, it seemed to be nothing more than a graze but once he was separated and made his way towards the Flames bench, you noticed several spots of blood on his jersey on the screens above that made you almost jump out of your seat.

Sure, this was a familiar sight, but it didn’t alleviate the sheer shock and restlessness. Whatever had happened between them must’ve been a pretty big deal to set Matthew off the way it did. There was no way of sugarcoating it: the fight was vicious. More than ever, you wanted the period countdown to reach zero so you could go down to the lockers. It wasn’t just a few nagging feelings towards Matthew that led you to react the way you did. He was a friend, after all, so worrying for him was simply natural. An expected way of responding to a situation like that. 

“He had it worse before, remember?” Anna reminded you as you followed the small stream of relatives and friends down towards the players’ rooms.

“Still looked pretty bad to me,” you responded, briefly pulling your lower lip between your teeth. Before she could continue being the voice of reason, you added in a light tone, “I just want to see if he had any teeth knocked out of his mouth this time around.”

It took some time before the players filed out and as you watched them come out one by one, you almost wished you saved this for somewhere less…well, public. Sure, you were just a friend checking on a friend, but you wished you could do that without an audience. 

Your brother emerged first, beaming, no doubt pleased with the win, and you hugged him tightly, easily sharing his joy. 

“He’s just getting ready to come out now,” he informed you, heading nodding back towards the locker.

You blinked. “What? Oh—no, I’m just. I was waiting for you to say congratulations. What are you even talking about,” you mumbled but inevitably, your eyes were drawn towards the locker room as the door swung open and Matthew stepped out.

His hair was still damp but already curling again. He was dressed in the same suit he probably arrived in, a simple light grey number that fit him perfectly. He had his backpack on also and in one hand, he carried an apparently ice-cold bottle of water while the other was pressing an ice pack to the corner of his mouth. When you made eye contact, he frowned lightly and for a moment, seemed almost hesitant to approach you. This time, you were a step ahead and cornered him before he decided to walk away.

You nodded your head once, indicating in his general direction. “What? You’re trying to add to the family’s hefty dentist bill by getting a few teeth knocked out already?”

Matthew shrugged. “It’s not hockey without a few scraps now and then.”

“For a guy who got a goal and an assist, you sure don’t look too pleased with that.” 

At that comment, Matthew’s expression shifted, lightening up considerably. “Are you keeping track of my stats now?”

“What? No, Tkachuk. I was doing what everyone else in that arena was doing: paying attention generally speaking.” 

Suddenly, his entire face scrunched up in pain and he almost doubled over as he groaned. Instinctively, you reached out for him, eyes widening a little when bending down a little to try and look at his face. 

“Oh my god—Matthew. Are you okay? Do you need me to get a medic to check—” 

You frowned as soon as you felt his shoulders tremble under your touch. Slowly, it dawned on you he was laughing. Laughing. You slapped his shoulder lightly, the gesture more a tap than anything else and you started walking down the corridor quickly, trying to catch up with everyone else as they filed out of the arena. 

“Hey, hey, wait, Y/N! Come on, don’t be mad,” he called out after you and you heard him jog to catch up with you. When he did, he took a couple more steps ahead then stepped in your path, walking backwards to match your pace. “I was only messing around. I couldn’t not do that. You should’ve seen your face, honestly.” 

“My face? Hope you’ve seen yours. I’m not mad. Me being mad would basically mean you managed to get to me which you really didn’t, so don’t give yourself any credit, Tkachuk,” you responded. “You just reminded me you’re still a dick so thanks for that.” 

“Give me a free pass. I’m injured.” 

“If you’re searching for sympathy, you’re looking for it in the wrong place,” you informed him, side stepping him so that he resumed walking at your side instead. After a few moments of silence, you conceded with a sigh. “Seriously speaking. How’s your mouth?”

“Don’t think I’ll need fillers, let’s just say.” He removed his hand from his mouth, and you looked over. 

Thankfully, it seemed that putting ice on it quickly was paying off. The area was somewhat red, but no significant damage seemed to be visible to the untrained eye. He was certainly miles better than he was just months ago. 

“Looks okay, I guess,” you shrugged. “What happened? Honestly, it looked pretty intense from the outside.” 

Matthew didn’t respond and you didn’t press him for details even after you stepped out into the balmy Vegas night. If he chose to not share with you, then you guessed it must’ve been either pretty personal or pretty stupid. You leaned more towards the former. You didn’t even complain when he followed you to the car you hired, claiming the passenger seat. Before you also stepped inside, a message pinged in from Anna informed you she had taken off with Johnny for dinner but promised to be back in the room in a few to catch up.

You didn’t start the engine when you fixed your seatbelt and instead, leaned your head back against the rest, watching a few other vehicles pull out of the car park. In his seat, Matthew was looking out of the window to his left, heading resting against a loosely formed fist propped up against the door. 

“He was talking shit about you,” he said at last, but didn’t turn to you when he spoke. 

“Who was?” 

“The guy on the other team. He made a comment about you towards your brother at the end of the shift. Something about… I don’t know, something crude, vulgar. Don’t really remember it.” 

You didn’t quite believe him on the last part, but you allowed it anyway. “Okay… Well, I don’t know the guy anyway, so it didn’t matter, Matthew. You should have let it slip by or left my brother to deal with it.” Then, out of curiosity, you asked, “why didn’t you?”

More silence. Occasionally, the muffled sound of a passing car would cut through it but it, too, would be gone in seconds.

“Because I couldn’t.”

You pursed your lips and your fingers clenched then unclenched in your lap. You placed your hands on the steering wheel, then dropped them away before settling them back on it after starting the engine. 

“Thanks, I guess. You just keep making me owe you favors.”

“You don’t owe me—”

“So, I’ll clear that now with dinner. Just please don’t tell me you’re going to need to be on a smoothie diet. I’ll feel bad eating something really good while you’re there with a strawberry and banana drink. Not that I’d stop eating though, just so you know. But it’s the thought that counts,” you said and finally, finally he chuckled quietly. 

“No smoothie diets this time.”

You sighed dramatically. “Maybe no smoothie diets ever?”

Matthew shrugged. He was still not meeting your eyes but that was okay. “Can’t promise that. Kind of comes with the job. Just in case though, I like the sweeter stuff more. Triple chocolate, Oreo pieces, peanut butter.” 

“Thanks, Matthew. I’ll file that under information I don’t care to know about.” 

“I’m injured. Show some sympathy,” he demanded without heat, finally turning to you. 

You cooed then reached out with one of your hands to pat his cheek lightly. “Aw, really searching for it in the wrong place.”

“I’ll make do with what I can get,” he allowed, and you could swear he leaned into your touch, but you tore your hand away before either of you got too comfortable. 

four.

Matthew called in his favor after a few of his teammates agreed where to host their Halloween party. 

“Kind of sounds like you’re the one asking for a favor,” you commented, planting yourself at your kitchen table while securing the phone between your ear and shoulder.

Matthew sighed on the other end. “Sort of. Who does a themed Halloween party anyway? The theme itself is Halloween.” 

“You’re not wrong about that. Could be fun though, a bit more unique. So, what’s the theme for this year?” 

“Couple outfits,” Matthew replied without hesitation. 

You stilled and were grateful he wasn’t in the same room as you. It took you a great deal more energy over the course of the past few months to convince yourself that Matthew didn’t attract you in one way or another. His looks aside, it was rare you came across someone who could easily keep up with your snide remarks and the more you got to know him, the more you realized that there was more to Matthew than just being a typical athlete with his share of well-deserved fame. He was funny, dedicated and undoubtedly, caring. You had some first-hand experience with the latter. After all, he didn’t owe you anything to make him obligated to jump into whatever weird situation you found yourself in.

You warmed to him little by little. If you found him attractive, well that was for you alone to know though it made everything just that more difficult. Thankfully, Matthew seemed pretty oblivious to it or at least, he was doing a good job at pretending he didn’t catch you staring at him on several occasions or the few times you took a discrete step back if it felt like you were too close to him. Knowing he was asking you to go together as a couple (pretend couple, you corrected yourself) only added to the difficulty of coming to terms with your…crush. 

Puppy love, you assured yourself. It’ll go as quickly as it came. 

“Y/N?”

“Sorry, still here. Guess it sucks another year will go by without the opportunity to bring out your Fortnite costume.”

“Oh, come on. I wouldn’t dress like a game character!”

“Matthew,” you warned.

There was a pause, then, “okay, fine. Maybe I would. So, can you come?” 

You shrugged, then remembered he couldn’t see it. “I owe it to you, don’t I?”

“Great! Hey, choose something good for us. There’s going to be a prize for best dressed and I have my eyes on it.”

“I think we can both agree my creativity will not let us down. I’ll text you my idea. You just make sure you actually stick to it, so I don’t end up looking stupid.”

“Don’t worry,” he started, “I won’t dump you on Halloween.”

“Good to know I won’t end up traumatized and have my favorite holiday ruined,” you said, by way of goodbye.

-

“Hey, spin around for me once. You look good. Blonde’s not bad on you.” 

“No color’s bad on me,” you responded but refused to entertain Matthew by complying with his request. Instead, you rang the bell to Noah’s apartment after the door didn’t budge when Matthew tried the handle. 

“Come on, just a spin,” Matthew insisted, nudging his elbow into your own then pressed the doorbell himself once again – hard, as if that would make it ring louder.

“Only if you dance for me and do the entire Greased Lightning choreography without missing a step.” 

Matthew feigned a groan and you shot him an amused look. Before you could even comment on that, the door opened, and Noah stood at the threshold. The ruckus from inside spilled out into the corridor and from what you could see beyond him, it was a full house of all sorts of characters. 

“Wow! Sandy and Danny! Finally, someone with really good taste,” Noah said by way of greeting and he looked towards you pointedly. 

You flashed him a grin. “Always a pleasure to exceed expectations,” you responded and stepped into his open arms, a clear invitation for an embrace that was shortly broken apart by Matthew.

“Hey, none of that man,” he said, pulling you back and easily holding most of your weight as you broke into a laugh that had you stumbling into his side. “I didn’t even get to tell her she’s the one that I want.” 

“Yeah, well, you better shape up ‘cause I need a man,” you responded, without missing a beat though you couldn’t help but replay his words in your mind. They sounded a lot like a broken record that you desperately wished to stop immediately before this…thing went way too far and spun out of control.  

You were both led towards a photo wall and if you had any nerves about striking good poses without at least some liquid courage first, all that vanished. To your surprise, Matthew easily took the lead initially, falling to his knees in front of you in an attempt to recreate the part where a smitten Danny fell before Sandy, completely and utterly overwhelmed by her presence. Despite it being difficult to control your laughter, you played along with ease. At first, you were simply grinning down at him but you couldn’t let all his in-character effort go to waste, so you turned, casting a glance down towards him over your shoulder. To your side, Noah’s flash was going off every few seconds as he tried to capture the two of you from the best angle, together with cheers of encouragement. For your second pose, you rested your arms on Matthew’s shoulders once he rose back to his full height and his hands held on to either side of your torso. Again, the flash went off and again, the two of you changed pose into something more casual: him, standing behind you with his palms on your hips while you place a hand on his face, grinning at the camera. The flash went off again and he whooped loudly.

“I’m never inviting both of you to a party with this theme again,” Noah muttered, feigning disgruntlement. “You can’t come into my home and kill it like that.” 

“Blame the one who came up with this idea in the first place,” Matthew defended, holding both hands up in the air in a gesture of innocence. 

It was true. The idea to dress as Danny and Sandy from Grease came to you fairly quickly. You knew the two were a popular go-to, but you enjoyed the movie greatly. Plus, it was a great opportunity for you to pull out a pair of red heels you invested a hefty sum of money into. And, well, admittedly there was something about Matthew that made you think he’d suit the role just fine. When you shared your idea with him, he was on board from the start without complaining or suggesting alternatives. You were grateful for that: when Matthew picked you up earlier, dressed in an all-black outfit, leather jacket and hair styled to rival John Travolta’s, you gave yourself a mental pat on your shoulder. If any photos would go up on the internet, you were pretty sure Instagram would be grateful to you. Certainly, you knew Chantal and Keith would get a kick out of it for sure.

“Guilty as charged,” you acknowledged. “I’m going to look for Anna. Catch you later.” You gave a wave to the both of them before making your way towards the hub of activity where couple costumes ranged from peanut butter and jelly to superheroes. 

She was fairly easy to locate, in part because she told you she and Johnny would dress as Wonder Woman and Steve Trevor. The red, blue and gold of her outfit were unmissable even in a sea of costumes. As soon as she spotted you approaching, she made a beeline and wrapped an arm around yours.

“Tell me you and Matthew will recreate the entire You’re the One That I Want scene,” she pleaded. “Please tell me that at some point this evening, you’ll tell us to clear the dancefloor so the two of you can have your moment.”

You rolled your eyes, dragging her along towards a table hosting drinks and small bites. “There’s no moment we’re going to be having.” 

“Because you don’t want to or because you want to so badly that you don’t know how to ask him? I’m pretty sure he’ll say yes.” 

“Neither,” you muttered but even you’d be able to hear the lack of conviction in your tone from a mile away. 

To take your mind off it, you poured yourself a glass of red wine, taking a tentative sip from it. Across the room, Matthew had deposited his black leather jacket away and started making rounds around the room. You took a longer sip from your wine and looked away. 

Anna fixed you with a knowing stare which you refused to acknowledge, but she knew you like the back of her hand. “It’s okay to say you like him, you know,” she advised, and you hated the soothing tone she tried to take when saying that. It felt more pitying than anything, as if you hadn’t already had your share of disappointments in love—or, relationships better said. 

“Who said anything about liking him? He’s not bad to look at I’ll admit, but that’s where it stops.” You frowned, looking out of the nearest nearby window that gave a broad view of the city below. “That’s where I want it to stop,” you admitted, this time quieter. 

You were well aware that you were occasionally trying to look for a narrative that was most convenient for late night thoughts when you had the peace and privacy to think of him as you wished. The reality couldn’t be more different, though, and you knew that. Matthew was helpful to you before because he was good friends with your brother and eventually, you realized that it was just part of his nature. Beyond being successful, beyond his fame and recognition, Matthew was kind and funny and respectful. It was just that you didn’t give him the chance to before and now that you got to know him better, you suddenly realized that…what? You’d like the first man who gives you a helping hand? If that were the case, you should’ve gotten the memo sooner: it would’ve been easier liking the tech guy from work who once debugged your laptop.

It wasn’t doing you any good to try and look for a ‘but’ in every situation: Matthew is helpful because he’s good friends with my brother but it’s not like that should force him to act as if we’re romantically involved not once or twice or thrice but now, four times. Regardless of how you looked at it, that reeked of desperation. You were in that weird period in your life where it felt as if everyone around you was in a relationship, so maybe that mood translated to you. 

That’s right, you settled. That’s what was possibly behind these thoughts of yours. You found Matthew attractive – and what? So did plenty of other people. You saw him surrounded by girls after practice, after matches, while out. What you felt was nothing special. It felt easier to think of it that way, even if for a few hours to truly enjoy the party without having that lurking at the back of your mind. 

You mingled easily, danced with Anna, danced with other players’ girlfriends and wives, danced with your brother, even attempted a few traditional Russian dances taught by Nikita, Artyom and a few of their friends, that left you breathless by their rapid pace and intricate footwork. 

“I’m done!” you declared, breathless and almost swaying on your feet when another Russian folk song came to an end but thankfully, you managed to hold steady before you could catch a ride on the hot mess express. “Absolutely wasted. Knocked out.” You stepped away, tired but euphoric and dropped rather unceremoniously on one of the available couches pushed against a wall. 

“Having fun?” Matthew asked and there was a light flush on his cheeks you knew wasn’t from dancing. There was even just a slight slur to his speech.

“The most,” you replied, breathless, and accepted the drink he held out to you. You took a sip without questioning him what was in the glass, only to find out for yourself he was settling for harder stuff tonight. “But never let it be said that anyone can keep up with Russians because let me tell you,” you whistled quietly, “we’re a couple of steps behind. Plenty of steps behind, actually.” 

Matthew flashed a lazy smile and you briefly spared a moment to envy him for how kept together he remained despite being evidently buzzed. “’s okay. At least we’re the better dressed ones so we lose in style.” 

You took another sip from his glass, holding it out to him with a smirk. “Tell me about it, stud,” you said in what you hoped was a low, alluring tone of voice but no sooner did you think that, and you were reduced to embarrassed laughter. “Forget about that! Forget it, forget it! Where’s the delete button?” 

“I didn’t come equipped with that,” he declared proudly, finishing off what was left of his drink. “C’mere, you can show me a couple of those steps you learned.” 

He stood, a little unsteadily initially then held a hand to you. You knew he wouldn’t have the strength to pull you up properly, so you stood easily fully intent to actually lead him through some of the steps. Except, Matthew was definitely swaying more than you thought he would. There was something inexplicably amusing about the situation and instead of directing him towards the center of the room, you steered him away from it and towards a small bathroom you were shown to earlier that night when you needed some time to re-touch your makeup. 

“Where’re we going?” he asked curiously, looking over his shoulder towards the living room with a look that could only be read as longing. 

“To cool down a little and then you can learn as many folk dances as you want. Believe me, you need to be alert for them. Can’t miss a step,” you advised, trying to steady him by wrapping an arm around him though the difference in weight between the two of you couldn’t compare. Still, you managed to get him into the bathroom safely without either of you making a mess of yourselves or the room. 

“Are you gonna cool down too?” he questioned. 

“Sure thing, definitely need it.” 

“Good, we’ll cool down together.” With that, he made a move to open the glass partition for the shower cubicle but thankfully, you were significantly more alert than he was and managed to prevent him from doing anything more than that.

“Not that sort of cool down. Here, sit here,” you encouraged, lowering the lid on the toilet so Matthew could drop down. You doubted you’d be able to hold much of his strength above the sink if you were to help him splash some cold water on his face.

“But I want that sort of cool down,” he slurred. “With you. Us two. You said you want to cool down too. Could be a couple activity.” He grinned, as if proud of himself. 

Thankfully, Matthew was buzzed enough to miss the flush on your face, the slight shake of your hand as you arranged a towel around his neck to prevent too much overspill before turning the tap on. 

“Can’t do that, Matthew. Here, this will be much better, I promise.” 

“Wanna try though,” he mumbled but was still compliant as you pressed a wet, cool palm against his forehead, then either of his cheeks. “Not cool enough.” His complaint was accompanied by a frown which only morphed into a lazy smirk when he leaned back, trying to pull you with him. “C’mon, Y/N. It’s a couple’s Halloween night.” 

“Matthew, we’re not a couple,” you said gently, pushing your palms against his shoulders in an attempt to free yourself from his hold. Before it was too late. Before you allowed yourself to get drawn into a drunk man’s ramblings. 

“But I wanna be. A couple, with you.” 

You put all your strength into breaking away from his hold and thankfully, managed to do so. Your heart was hammering in your chest as if desperately trying to release itself from the cage of your ribs. 

“Matthew, you’re drunk. Here, splash some cold water on your face so you can come back to your senses.” 

“But I’m not drunk,” he insisted and as if to demonstrate, he stood up quickly. He swayed on the spot, stretching out his arms a little and once he found his footing, he looked towards you with an expression that mixed pride with hopefulness. “See? Definitely okay—”

You frowned, feeling a little caged in. You should’ve left the door open at least. “Okay, then let’s go back out there, yeah? I can get an Uber and I’ll take you home if you prefer that?” 

“Yes,” he said, then leaned back against the door. “Only if you come with me.” 

You exhaled, suddenly tired as if the exchange was working every ounce of energy out of you. “I’ll come to make sure you’re okay and can make it to your bed okay.”

“I can though. I can definitely make it there even on my own and you know why? Because I’m not drunk,” Matthew insisted and when you shot him a look of disbelief, he peeled himself away from the door. “Look, look I can prove it to you I’m not drunk.” 

Before you could even ask him to walk a straight line without stumbling his steps, Matthew’s arm wrapped around your waist while his other hand pressed on the back of your head, bringing you closer until your lips met. Kissing Matthew was like everything you imagined and more. He even did that with the same passion with which he skated on ice, chasing puck after puck. It left you breathless how well he worked his lips against your own as if all along, he knew how to do that in such way that it’d leave your legs feeling like jelly. Beyond that though, it felt comfortable. Not forceful despite him having not asked if he could do it in the first place, yet it still felt right. You tasted sweetness on his mouth and the sharp tang of whiskey. Vaguely, you knew nothing else could compare. It was that thought that made you push away from him with as much force as you could muster, ducking under his arm and towards the door. 

“I’ll ask someone to take you home,” you said without even looking his way before leaving dashing out of the bathroom.

“You okay?” Anna asked you when you ran into her. Quite literally. 

“Uh—yeah. No, actually. I think I feel a bit unwell so I’m going to head home, okay?” 

You made a move to leave but her arm stopped you. “Hey. Are you sure you’re okay?” 

Above her shoulder, you saw Matthew emerge from the bathroom, a little dazzled, eyes searching the room. Before he could even spot you, you quickly freed yourself from her hold and nodded. “Will be. I’ll text you when I get home. Don’t rush back, okay? Tell Alex I said thanks for the invite.” 

You didn’t stumble a step in your heels as you jogged towards the door, making a swift exit before you attracted even more attention.

+ one.

Matthew left no calls and no messages, but that was fine. You didn’t spend time trying to build your expectations of anything like that happening because drunk words weren’t always sober thoughts. The event was just something you had to deal with and if you had to do it alone, then so be it. Reasonably speaking, you and Matthew went from nothing to friends and if you caught feelings along the way, then that was your mistake for letting yourself slip like that. You were left broken hearted once, you really didn’t want to go through that again especially over someone that wasn’t even really and truly yours to begin with.

So, the next morning, you woke up at a reasonably early hour despite the late night but felt energized enough to sweep through your apartment and collect the garments you tossed carelessly on your way to bed after arriving at home. You said a heartfelt goodbye to Sandy, apologizing that in this scenario, her and Danny didn’t end up driving off in a red convertible. After that, you showered and changed in a fresh set of clothes even if the day would most likely be spent indoors. It was a fitting conclusion to the Halloween weekend, and you could do with some downtime, really.

Anna must’ve stayed with Johnny because regardless of how much noise you made, she didn’t emerge from the room and after fixing a quick breakfast and brewing coffee to continued silence, you knew you were right. It didn’t bother you. You’d make full use of the couch and stretch out on it properly as you flicked through your Netflix account and for the sake of sticking to weekend morning traditions, you selected a lighthearted sitcom. You were halfway through the third episode when your doorbell rang. You could’ve sworn Anna had a spare key of her own unless she misplaced it or forgot it home. Not entirely out of question.

Except, it wasn’t Anna who greeted you when you opened the door.

“Oh.” You coughed lightly, crossing your arms then unfolding them, then leaning one against the doorway before dropping it to your side. “Hey—uh. Hey Tkachuk, isn’t it a bit early for you to be out and about? You were smashed the last time I saw you.” 

Matthew looked over your shoulder into the apartment, as if checking to see if you were alone. “Can I come in?” 

Defeated, you stepped to the side and cleared the way for him to step inside before pushing the door closed. Part of you wished you’d dressed up as if you were ready to head off somewhere. You weren’t quite ready nor willing to face whatever music Matthew had in mind for you. 

In the aftermath of the party, out of the flashiness of the costume, Matthew seemed to be perfectly clear-headed despite the state you’d left him in. The curls atop his head seemed soft despite the natural frizz and as he passed by, you caught a whiff of sharp cologne and fresh bodywash. 

“Is Anna here?”

“Are we playing twenty-one questions?” 

“No?”

“Kind of sounds like it, though?” You laughed quietly, trying to lighten the mood. It was bad enough the weather outside was gloomy, autumn settling in full force. Now, you had to deal with a Matthew who looked as if he wasn’t sure he came to the right place. “Coffee?” you asked, already leading the way towards the kitchen. You heard him follow behind you just moments later. While you poured a full cup for him, he hovered by the table, making you frown at him. “What’s wrong with you? You need an invite to sit down and relax? Seriously, Matthew, you look like you should be in bed.” 

“You left last night without saying anything,” he said instead. 

“Uh—yeah. I was kind of tired and I wanted it to call it a night early so—”

“Was it because of what I said or what I did?” 

You almost dropped the coffee cup, but fortunately only startled enough for the liquid to slosh over the rim and down the back of your hand, causing you to hiss in pain. You cursed quietly and, in an instant, Matthew crossed over the room and took the cup from you, setting it down on the table before leading you towards the sink. As if used to this, he placed your hand under ice cold water and once the sharp pain numbed, you pushed his hand away, taking a step to the side in an attempt to put more distance between you. 

“It’s fine, I’ve got this,” you mumbled, holding your hand still under the jet for a few more seconds before closing it.

It was hardly worth the fuss, but it gave you a reason to make yourself busy with something other than freaking out. It couldn’t be that he remembered anything. It couldn’t be that he was standing in your kitchen, thinking that it was a good idea to just open up that subject when you were so ready to take a shovel to it and bury it six feet under. 

“Didn’t you get tired of it at all?” he tried again.

“Tired of what?”

“Of pretending. Of only acting like we’re together for one reason or the other—”

“Matthew, I asked you only once and you know why. I apologized then but if it helps you sleep better at night, I’ll apologize again for dragging you into my mess. I don’t know what the point is of this discussion—”

“The point,” he said, raising his voice but only to cut through your speech. “The point is that I’m tired of it. I’m tired of having to be by your side and pretend. It got to a stage where I don’t even know what’s real and what isn’t, and I feel as if the only time I’ll know that for sure will be when you find someone, so you no longer need to turn to me to pretend.” 

“Matthew, I’m not using you, if that’s what you’re thinking. You’re coming at me with this out of the blue and I don’t even understand what this is all about,” you argued, waving a hand between the two of you. 

Matthew clenched his jaw. You watched as he flexed it and his eyebrows furrowed. “Do you need me to spell it out for you again? I thought I was pretty straightforward about what I want last night.” 

“You were drunk last night, is what you were. You could hardly put a foot in front of the other.” 

“You know that’s not true,” he retorts, lifting his arms then dropping them back down to his sides. “I was sober enough to know damn well what I said and why I said it. If you want to keep pretending even now, even at this point, then you go ahead and do that but let me be clear with you again and you take what you want from it: I don’t want to pretend with you anymore. I want to be with you. You want to know what that feels like? It feels a lot like being so close to something you want, literally having that thing dangled right in front of you only to have it snatched just when you think it’s yours. Me kissing you last night? I’m sorry I forced it on you, I could’ve gone about doing it differently but I’m not sorry for what I feel. That was all me and not the alcohol. So, you take this and do what you want with it.”

You stared at him, disbelieving your ears. It wouldn’t surprise you if that was the case: you did wake up surprisingly refreshed even after an emotionally charged night, so for all you knew, you could be dreaming this. 

“Matthew, what are you—That’s, you’re kidding me with this right? You can’t. You can’t possibly think that.” 

“And why not?”

“Because it doesn’t make sense. Are you even hearing yourself talk?” 

“Why doesn’t it make sense? Want me to go about it differently? If you let me pull your hair, I’ll let you push me in the sandbox.” 

You were suffering from a strange, ill-timed case of déjà vu. Part of you wanted to laugh at the situation but the bigger part of you triumphed, thankfully. You released a breath you had been holding, bringing both hands up to cover your face, taking some moments to yourself. Or perhaps, you’d lost track of time because eventually, you heard Matthew sigh and felt his fingers wrap around each wrist though he didn’t put pressure to tug your hands down from your face.

“Sorry. I’m just—I’m not doing this the right way. I don’t want it to seem like I’m forcing my feelings on you and that you should accept them. If I misread us—you at any point, then fine. Just, we can drop it here and I’ll deal with it but—”

You shook your head slowly. “No, I just need a moment. Sorry. You really caught me by surprise. I didn’t… I thought everything you said last night…what you did… I thought that was just, well, just the alcohol. So, I did the best thing I knew to do and, uh, left.”

“Drunk words, sober thoughts,” he reminded you quietly and this time, you dropped your hands away from your face so you could look up at him. 

He was so handsome. Ridiculously handsome in his casual clothes. Briefly, you thought back to the time you first found safety in his arms and wondered if maybe… Well, why not. You closed the distance between the two of you, wrapping your arms around him, fingers clinging to the thick material of his hoodie while you faceplanted against his chest and breathed him in.

You liked Matthew. You liked Matthew so much that the admission overwhelmed you so much that you squeezed him to you, trying desperately to bring him closer. The gesture seemed to prompt him into action, and he returned the hug, pressing a kiss to the top of your head and then to the base of your throat once he’d lowered his head there. 

“Me too. I want to be with you too. Really be with you. No more of this pretend stuff,” you told him, your voice muffled against his body, but you knew he caught every word.

He chuckled, the sound low and deep, sending shivers down your spine. “We won Noah’s competition last night.”

“Bet he did it because of your long face,” you commented, unable to help yourself. “What did we win?” 

Matthew made a move to step back, but you clung to him, much to your embarrassment. It seemed as if your body acted out of sync with your mind, but who could blame it when Matthew stood right there, right before you. Turned out he only took a step back to lift you off your feet and instinctively, you wrapped your legs around his hips, arms resting loosely around his neck. You leaned in and pressed a fleeting kiss to his mouth as he stumbled away from the kitchen while you stole another kiss. And then, just because you could, a third. 

“A voucher to a seafood restaurant,” he informed you, breaking into a laugh when you groaned, throwing your head back in sheer frustration even if you had a strong feeling he was only messing with you.

“Remind me to never put so much effort if that’s what the stake are.” 

“Noted. Next time, I’ll tell you we could just stay home for Halloween and play by our rules. Outfits optional. Probably not recommended.” 

“That’s…really not what I said.” 

“I’m reading between the lines. See? We know each other so well.” 

You laughed as he carried you all the way into your room without even as much as breaking a sweat. That was definitely some food for thought at a later point.

[thestruidora]

Landslide

The Avengers (MCU) Fanfiction

Rating: Explicit

WARNINGS: This story will contain but it’ll not be limited to explicit 18+ content including Obsessive Behavior, Smut, Shower Sex, Edging, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Fluff, Oral Sex, thigh riding, Dirty Talk, Praise Kink, Jealousy, Possessive Behavior, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Dominance, Submission, Knotting, Scenting, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Rutting, Rut Sickness

Category: F/M

Pairings: Steve Rogers/Reader, Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov

Summary: Steve was never quite sure if he truly was an alpha. Genetically he should be, coming from a long line of alpha males. But due to the several health conditions in his youth, his poorly functioning body never presented. But now, because of the serum reacting to his true designation, a terrible case of rut sickness takes hold of the super soldier, threatening his life. Being a beta, Natasha can’t offer him what he needs, and since omegas are rarer today then ever, she is forced to hire a foreign girl to tend to Steve during these desperate times.

Author’s notes: Did y'all miss me? Yeah, I'm sure you didn't.

If anyone is interested in getting to know the magical music genre called forró, I chose a couple of classics that I feel like definitively played on the reader's first and only June Party: O Xote das Meninas Xote Dos Milagres Cintura Fina Morena Tropicana

Shout outs: @captainchrisstan, @keenkiddeputynickel, @danidv011, @ballyhoobarnes, @pophbfdsxa, @crashbarbie, @readermia, @musicnowandforever661, @bianaguipa, @deezy-061 Thank you so much for your guy’s support!

For those who missed it: Chapter One >> Language Barrier Chapter Two >> Bilingual Chapter Three >> Miscommunication

Chapter Four

Gibberish

She can still remember the laughter. The giggling that came from the back of her throat as she threw her head back, a smile full of teeth spread through her lips. The exhilaration of being with her friends, dancing her heart out.

It was her favorite time of the year. The sounds of the June Party moving on her feet. The rhythmic vibrations of the music's beat coursing through her. The songs, the speaking, the dancing: all at once ringing in her ears. One of her very first alcoholic drinks running through her veins along with all the spinning making her dizzy.

She was the happiest she’s ever been.

Every year her older cousins would travel to the countryside of Bahia's state, where the June festivities were the most elaborate. Her mom, so controlling, so protective, would never let her go. But on the year of her 14th birthday, she begged a little more strongly, pleaded a little more fervently, and now there she was.

It was so much more than she could ever have imagined. Bigger, louder, an explosion of newness to her senses. A big contrast to her secluded life in the city, because everybody knows that being a woman is hard, but being an Omega is harder.

Her mom was mated only a few hours after presenting, a few hours into her first heat, to a man she barely knew and definitely did not love. But still, she was one of the lucky ones. She could have been robbed, kidnapped and trafficked. Because Omegas are rare and the demand is huge, so presenting as one was as good as a death sentence.

But she was still young, she still got time.

And now, finally outside of her mom's vigilant eyes, with her girlfriends dancing by her side and the pulse of the *forró guiding her body she could allow herself to be carefree.

“Rapaz, que secura!” Lana screamed, complaining about the heat.

“É, tá um calor desgraçado.” Gabriela agreed, fanning herself with her hands, droplets of sweat trickling down her forehead and into her exposed cleavage.

Y/N simply laughed at her friends, they were a couple years older than her, but not necessarily more mature. Of course it was hot, they’ve been dancing for a long time, and even in the open space with the night air hanging over them, the place was so crowded that they would barely move while trying to get to the open bar.

She watched as the girls got their beverages, gobbling them down as if they were the first drinks they had in ages. But suddenly, the permanent smile that had been plastered on her face throughout the night died, something curious shifting inside of her. It was a unique feeling, one she never experienced before. It had started as a tightness in her lower abdomen, but it was growing into a sharp pain.

“Você tá bem?” Lana asked if she was ok, noticing the grimace in her features.

She tried to shake her head yes, but it came out the exact opposite as she doubled down on herself, her hands pressing on her stomach as she frowned, the pain becoming unbearable. Were these cramps? Was she about to get her period in the middle of this party?

But no, it wasn’t that. Somehow in the back of her mind, she knew this was different. She had begun to sweat, but not from the crowd or the dancing, there was this intense hotness forming within her.

She noticed a couple of men standing on the edges of the party space, in the shadows, almost camouflaged. Their eyes were predatory, fixated on her, they shined with a sinister glow, reflecting the flickering red light of the bonfire. Her friends called to her, guiding her to walk across to one of the tables, helping her sit down. When she looked again, the men were gone. Was she going mad?

“A gente vai ver se encontra Ibuprofeno, fica aí.” Gabriela said this time, or was it Lana again? They left, said something about looking for painkillers, she wasn’t paying attention, the pain was too much and so were the smells. All of the sudden, she felt like she could smell every single thing and every single one in the whole place.

She could smell the perfume, and the liquor, the sweet and the savory foods, altogether but also individually, it was overwhelming. She could smell the people, not their body wash or their shampoo, but their true scents. Some were warm and some were cold, some too strong and others too bland. And then there were two that were getting closer, too close, and these stung in her nostrils. Her vision had gone blurry and she couldn’t tell much of what was happening around her at that point, but she knew she wasn’t alone.

Shaking from the pain, shivering even though she was burning up, she looked up just fast enough to get a look at the two men from before, standing right behind her. One of them covered her eyes with his hand and the other covered her mouth. A muffled scream and a couple of weak punches were all she could do before they pulled her up from her chair, completely immobilizing her.

She trashed and struggled about, but to no avail. They were big and strong and she was small and frail.

“Shhh, Omega.” One of them whispered in her ear, and as if under a spell, she did just what was asked of her, her free will hushed. Something about his voice, and their touch, turned the pang in between her legs into a tingle.

And that’s when she knew: she had presented and this was her first heat.

They dragged her pliable body into the woods of the rural countryside, the sway of the forró getting left behind, her mother’s voice playing on a loop inside her head, “Be careful”, she always said.

Everything went dark, she could only make out flashes of information. The roughness of their hands and the graveness of their voices as they spoke to each other, laughing to themselves about how much she was worth, the way they sniffed at her neck, exhaling with satisfaction.

At some point, the grass of the forest turned into asphalt underneath her feet, and she was blindfolded and tied up, her lips taped as she was thrown into the back of a car. She could only whimper, her heat burning inside of her.

Shifting in and out of conciseness, she couldn’t tell how long had passed, couldn’t differentiate hours from days anymore. From time to time she would feel the prick of a needle going into her arm, and then it was all darkness again. She remembered being cold, shivering about as more rough hands grabbed at her. Were these the same ones from before or no? Had Lana or Gabriela reported her missing? Was anyone coming for her?

Eventually, it all stopped.

There was a cushiony softness below her, a thin sheet of fabric above her. When Y/N carefully tried to open her eyes, for the first time in what seemed like forever, she was greeted by light. Not the warm sunshine that often peeked through the windows of her bedroom in the mornings, but a cold, harsh light that came from a singular light bulb attached to the ceiling.

No longer tied or muzzled, she slowed sat up in the single bed, looking around. There was nothing covering her figure but the bedding, not even underwear. She found herself in a tiny room: four concrete white walls, a small barred window and a closed door.

Her heat was over, she could feel it, no more fire burning in her loins. She disentangled herself from the bed sheet, getting up too quickly, ignoring her nakedness and the dizziness, heading straight for the door. It was locked, of course.

Finally feeling sober enough to allow the rage to bubble up inside, she began to furiously bang on the door with clenched fists, kicking it, screaming at the top of her lungs.

“Hey!” A male voice boomed just outside, appearing suddenly, as if he was already waiting right there. “Yapma!” He hit the metal of the door, hard, making it shake slightly.

She retreated, startled, analyzing the situation. She had no idea what he had said, but gathering from the brutality with which it was uttered, it couldn't have been good. She didn't even know where she'd been taken, but she had an idea why.

More male voices were spoken on the other side of the wall, in that language she did not know. Something electronic beeped, then it let out a subtle ping sound, and just like that the door was sprung open. Two men walked in, the first thing she noticed was the gun one of them was carrying, while the other came in with a paper file in his hands. She backed away into the corner of the room, trying to cover her exposed chest and genitals with her hands, their big Alpha bodies taking over the space, making her feel even more intimidated.

“Nasıl hissediyorsun?” The one with the file said to her, his words sounding like a reserved recording to her brain. He was older, maybe in his late forties, greying hair at the top of his head, a light blue suit framing his ample shoulders.

When she didn’t answer, simply stood there against the wall, trying to control her labored breathing and the sheer fear that had taken over her body, causing even her inner organs to shake, he gave her a once over, opening the file and scanning through whatever was written there.

“Brazil, huh?” He arched one of his brows. “Can you understand me now?” He asked her, deliberately enunciating every word.

Y/N swallowed the sigh that was trying to leave her lips, staring at the gun, wide-eyed.

“Dumb bitch.” The man in the suit murmured to himself, snapping a finger in her face, getting her attention. “You’ve been on sedatives for a long time, little one. How are you feeling?” He said it as slow as he could, as if speaking to an animal. “Do you got a tummy-ache or a headache?” He rubbed his belly while saying ‘tummy’ and touched his temples while saying ‘head’.

She only frowned at him, a crease forming in between her eyebrows. He scoffed, leaning forward, letting his light-colored eyes roam over the valley of her breasts.

“Or maybe you’re just cranky cause you didn’t get no Alpha dick inside that tight little pussy yet.” Before he could finish his words, she was already propelling the whole weight of her body into her closed fist as she punched him in the face, fear turning into fury.

“Oh!” He growled, covering his bleeding nose, quickly walking away from her, face contorted in pain. “Shoot her!” He yelled at the other man, who promptly pointed his gun at her.

“Não!” She shouted out, closing her eyes and attempting to protect her face with her hands. A blunt sound echoed in the room and she felt something sharp go into her leg. Before she had enough time to come to the conclusion that it was tranquilizer dart, her eyes rolled back into their sockets and blackness welcomed her once again.

*

Five years had passed with her locked in that place, slowly forgetting where her mom’s face wrinkled the most when she was angry, or the exact shade of her eyes, the particular timbre of her voice. Y/N was slowly going mad, losing all hope of ever being rescued by the hero that always came to her in her dreams.

She was fourteen when she was taken, highly prized for her young age and virginity. They tried to sell her to the highest bidder many times, but she fought like an Alpha. Biting, roaring at anyone that came too close. Some of the men even began to doubt she was a real Omega, but ever so often her heat came and it reminded them. Emir, the big boss of the operation, sometimes would come to her doorstep during those times, tap at door and use his Alpha voice, laughing when she had to bit her own lips to control the moans his presence was causing.

But in the end, she wasn’t genetically compatible with anyone, and even those that wanted her for her fierceness were disappointed to find that her DNA did not match with theirs. A part of her was happy she had never been sold and probably never would be, just for the simple satisfaction of knowing that her body wouldn’t give those men any profit.

So there she stayed, locked up, imprisoned, hearing the sounds of the other girls crying in their rooms while she got on her tiptoes, trying to catch glimpses of the outside world through her only window, waiting.

It had been a while since she last saw Emir when the door made it’s telltale beep and was opened by him, but this time, he wasn’t alone.

“Hello there, my Latin beauty.” He smiled an evil smile at her, but she didn’t pay it any mind, focused on the redhead woman that was beside him, looking at Y/N with sorrow in her eyes. “See, Widow? I told you my girls are gorgeous, look at her.”

The woman let a displeased noise at his words, coming closer to Y/N, who gave her a distrustful look.

“Hi, I’m Natasha. What’s your name?”

“It’s Y/N.” Emir answered for her.“Oh, and she doesn’t talk.”

“Excuse me, what do you mean?”Natasha turned to him, her short red locks moving with her.“She’s mute?”

“Nah, she just doesn’t know any English.”

“Oh.” She gave the girl one more pitiful stare, but Y/N felt like she was looking right through her.

*

Leaving the facility was like a dream and a nightmare all at the same time. While finally being free was wonderful, Y/N knew that such freedom would come at a cost. The woman, Natasha Romanoff, wasn’t the best at Portuguese, but knew enough of it in order for them to communicate.

Y/N didn’t say much when they gave her a suitcase full of brand-new clothes and guided her out of that God-forsaken place. She didn’t say a word when a dark-haired man tried to take the suitcase from her hands, Natasha said his name was James and that he was only trying to be chivalrous, something about the 1940’s that she didn’t quite understand.

She remained quiet as Natasha tried her best to explain to her that a man’s life was at stake, that Captain America was dying of a terrible rut sickness, and that he was compatible with her and her alone. That yes, she had been bought like cattle, but it was for noble reasons, because Steve Rogers was an honorable man, a hero and his destiny was in her hands.

She kept all of her thoughts to herself as Natasha pulled up a ‘Rut Companion’ contract, stipulating that once Y/N had served her purpose and Mr. Rogers was out of danger and well, she would receive a large sum of money and could walk away from all of this, go anywhere she wanted and do whatever she pleased. Even after signing it, she resigned herself to silence.

And of course, she didn’t say anything when they boarded a jet to the United States, not even a word about the fact that she was actually fluent in English.

Please feel more than welcome to request your name to be tagged and do check out my Patreon to get your own custom made story!

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Twenty-Eight

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: the beginning of the end :,) if u made it this far i think ur cool

***

“Where do you see yourself in five years?” Lana asks.

Nesta closes her eyes, letting the picture swirl and take shape in her mind.

This time last year, she would have imagined nothing. Nothing but a desk in a busy law office, and maybe a nice apartment if she was lucky. That would be it. But now she sees…

“Somewhere with good food and good music,” she muses. “Maybe a sea breeze.” The sun-faded buildings of Portofino fade into the foreground of her imagination. “There are lots of people with me,” she hears the sound of children shrieking and Cassian’s rumbling laughter, “but it’s okay, because I love every one of them.” Her eyes open. “Is that a good answer?”

A near invisible smile tugs at the corners of Lana’s lips. “You tell me, Nesta. Do you like what you see?”

“It’s a little too cinematic if you ask me,” Nesta says nonchalantly, picking up her bag from the ground, “but I suppose all dreams are that way.”

“It’s a good dream,” Lana says. “A worthy dream, and one you deserve to chase.”

Nesta shrugs lightly, not too worried about the burden of the future for once. “Maybe I will.”

“In that case, congratulations on completing your final therapy session,” Lana says, setting her notebook aside. “You’ve made some amazing progress this year.”

Nesta gives her therapist her signature what’s-wrong-with-you look. “I’m going on vacation, not firing you for good. I’ll see you again in two months.”

“Two months can be enough to lose all your progress, if you forget everything you went through to get here.”

Nesta isn’t stupid. She knows that she isn’t suddenly desperate to make babies or be maid of honor at her sisters’ weddings or some bullshit. She knows that the image she just dreamed up, with Cassian and kids and her unburdened heart, is likely more than five years away. If it happens at all, it could be ten, even twenty years of hard work away.

She’s not nearly finished growing yet. “I’ll see you in two months, Lana,” she repeats.

Lana smiles at her fully this time. “Enjoy your summer, Nesta.”

***

The air is different in the Smokies.

Nesta rolls the truck windows down so she can inhale it, relish it. Wind whips her hair every which way as they drive down the winding freeway cutting through the lush mountains, and something about the look on her face makes Cassian chuckle and press down on the accelerator.

Nesta watches the red needle on the speedometer cross ninety, then one hundred. She can barely feel the June heat with how fast they’re going.

In the end, it was Feyre and Elain that reached out and invited her to the Tennessee summer home. Cassian had made it obvious that he wouldn’t push her to go if she didn’t want to, and at first she really didn’t want to. But Feyre had looked so hopeful when she asked Nesta to come with them, and even Elain had revealed a glimmer of eagerness that Nesta would say yes.

So against all odds, she agreed to go.

Exchanging one mountain home for another isn’t much of a getaway, but Nesta can’t help but be excited. Even with the unhappy memories of her childhood, she loves these hills more than any other.

The pure exhilaration of being back in Tennessee overcomes her at some point during the drive, knocking her out in the passenger seat where she sits. In her drowsy state, she distantly hears the windows being rolled up, before feeling Cassian’s hand guide her head to rest against the glass. The rest of the drive is warm and sunny, enough to lull her into a deep sleep.

The next thing Nesta’s aware of is the crunch of gravel and the feeling of the truck tires slowing to a stop. Fingers brush against her heated cheek, and then Cassian is murmuring at her to wake up.

Blinking her eyes open, Nesta twists around to see their destination.

For a moment, she thinks she’s still dreaming.

“Welcome to Holly House,” Cassian says with a grin. The house in question is quaint and sprawling at the same time, the way most upper class Southerners like their houses. The whole thing gleams with a fresh coat of white paint under the afternoon sun, complemented by a sky blue wraparound porch. Colonial style windows and proud columns decorating the facade of the building makes it look like the setting of a fairy tale.

Beyond it, Nesta can see cherry blossoms. Pink, fluttering cherry blossoms that fly off their branches and swirl through the air, some of them disappearing into the thick woods behind the house. Woods that Nesta has walked countless times before.

“The rest of the guys won’t get here until tomorrow afternoon,” Cassian is saying to her, “so we have the whole place to our—”

Nesta isn’t listening anymore. She unbuckles her seatbelt and shoves open the truck door, hobbling outside on unsteady feet to make sure she isn’t hallucinating things. But no, this is…

“Cherrywood,” she breathes, eyes wide in disbelief.

Cassian gets out of the truck, coming up beside Nesta to slip his hand into her shorts pocket. “What’s wrong? You okay?”

“This is Rhysand’s summer home?” Nesta points at the house. “This place?”

Cassian looks around at the building grounds in confusion. “Has been for the last two decades, yeah.”

It’s been eleven years since she last stepped foot on these grounds.

With wonderment in her voice, she utters to Cassian, “I’ve been here before.”

At his puzzled look, she explains, “I lived just on the other side of those woods.” She points to the trees. “There’s an old cracked road that hasn’t been maintained since it was first paved, and you can follow it straight to the poor side of town. Whenever I wanted to get away, I would come down that road and trek through the woods, and I’d end up here. I stopped coming because…” she trails off.

Because she got caught that one time.

Cassian seems to realize it at the same moment as her. His hand slips out of her pocket. “You…”

Nesta remembers a tall boy with shocked eyes and shaggy hair, and she shakes her head slowly in forceful denial. It can’t be true. It’s too much of a coincidence.

But he points at her, then her feet. “You—with the size six Converse,” he sputters. “It was you.”

Before Nesta can confirm or deny it, he grabs her by the wrist and starts tugging her along, up the porch stairs and inside the house.

Even with Rhysand and Feyre’s renovations, it looks undeniably the same as all those years ago. The living room is to her right and the farmhouse style kitchen and dining area is to the left, though she speeds by it all as Cassian pulls her farther inside the house, to the closet beneath the curving stairs.

He lets go of her hand to search the small closet, muttering, “I know they were here somewhere.” But the closet looks like it was stripped empty for renovations, with only bolts in the walls indicating that shoe racks used to hang there.

Cassian turns and heads for the stairs, and Nesta blindly follows him. She also wants to go upstairs, wants to see if the bay window looking out onto the garden has stayed the same.

Like he read her mind, he leads her straight to the room she used to spend hours reading in. It’s smaller than all the other bedrooms in the house, but it’s always been her favorite because of the view.

As Cassian keeps looking for whatever it is he’s looking for, upturning boxes and checking beneath furniture, Nesta drifts toward the bay window. She looks from the cherry blossom trees outside, to the full-sized bed, to Cassian, and a weight drops even heavier in her gut. She has to reach out and grip the edge of the dresser for support.

Finally, Cassian pops out of the closet victorious. In his hand are a pair of ragged shoes that Nesta hasn’t worn in a long, long time.

He comes over and drops them with a thud at her feet.

“Whose room is this?” she asks with a rough voice, still staring down at the shoes.

“Mine,” he answers simply.

“Oh.” She met him before. She met him before.

When Nesta dares to look up and meet Cassian’s eyes, what she finds there nearly robs her of breath: wonder, astonishment, and unwavering fealty. He breaks into sudden wholehearted laughter, which dazes her even more.

“What’s so funny?” she demands.

Cassian gets out between laughs, “What was it Rhysand said about Feyre? When they found out they were close to crossing paths when they were younger?”

Nesta’s earth-tilting shock slowly slips away, replaced by a stern look. “Don’t say it.”

He pretends to remember. “I think it was fate.” A wicked smirk pulls at his lips at Nesta’s resigned sigh. “But I have another word for it, too.”

“Don’t say that, either.” She pleadingly holds up her hands, only for Cassian to snatch one out of the air and intertwine his fingers with hers.

“Soulmate,” he says quietly, now less amused.

Nesta swallows thickly, not having any words for him. All she knows is that he is never going to let her live this down.

“Imagine if we’d gone to the same high school,” Cassian says to her later that afternoon as they lounge in his old room. “Fuck, I could’ve saved myself so much time with all those random girls.” They’ve been swapping childhood stories for the past hour, as if they might find more instances in their history of a red string tying them together.

Nesta doesn’t need coincidences or fateful run-ins to know that a string has always been wrapped around her ring finger, pulling her to Colorado and to that cabin. But for Cassian’s sake, she’ll gladly amuse him. “I would have been a freshman while you were a senior,” she says matter-of-factly. “It never could have happened.”

He hums in thought, head propped up in his hand, elbow propped up against the bay window seat. “Maybe if you were older. You would have been the smart, quiet girl, and I’d have been the player jock, and as soon as we locked eyes in math class, I’d be head over heels in love with you.”

Nesta cackles from where she sits in the window seat above him. “Now you’re just writing fanfiction.”

Cassian grins up at her but doesn’t send a rebuttal her way. The conversation falls into a lull, until Nesta has to reach out and ask, “What are you thinking?”

His smile turns a little sad. “That I wish we weren’t doing this right before I leave for another country.”

Right. That’s what’s been hanging over them the entire trip to Tennessee: that as soon as they get back to Colorado, Cassian is going to be on a plane to Milan.

Getting Keith O’Connell to quit—how exactly Cassian went about accomplishing it, he still won’t tell Nesta—left Rhysand at square one with his search for a team leader for his overseas venture.

When Cassian brought up the idea of taking the job to Nesta, he sounded like he hoped she would shoot him down, talk him out of it. He both wanted to go and was reluctant to leave, like his very soul was glued to his home and he didn’t want to unstick himself.

So Nesta, being his home, had to do the unsticking for him. She nearly accepted the year-long Milan position herself for Cassian’s sake, and it took weeks of coaxing and convincing to put him at ease about the whole thing.

“But we promised to go together for the first time,” he kept saying.

“We’ll still go together one day, and it’ll still be our first time there with each other,” she reassured him.

Eventually, he relented to her and Rhysand’s pressures with a single condition. “I’ll do six months. Not a year.”

Only Nesta knows deep down how much Cassian needs this opportunity. Though Cassian must know it a little bit too, because he wouldn’t have taken the job if he didn’t.

Nesta might have needed him in order to come out of her shell, but now he needs to get away from her in order to find his own shell. Something he can call his own, unburdened by his loyalties to the people he loves. So he can find who he wants to be for himself, without always being attached to her hip.

Rising to her feet, Nesta raises her arms in the air in a full body stretch. Her back and legs ache with being curled up in that window seat for so long without movement.

Dropping her arms, she holds out a hand to Cassian still sitting on the floor. “Come on,” she urges him. “Let’s go outside. I haven’t seen a Smoky sunset in years.”

“But it’s not evening yet,” he argues while taking her hand.

Outside, they explore the garden that leads into the woods while waiting for the sun to slink down the sky. Cherry blossoms ride the summer breeze wherever it takes them, resulting in Cassian sniffling and scratching at his neck as they walk hand in hand.

“Rhysand wanted to take these trees down and replace them with a flower garden for Elain,” he tells Nesta as they walk. His sinuses sound clogged, but he’s refused to go back inside until he’s explained every inch of the land to Nesta. “I convinced him not to because it would ruin the view from my bedroom window. Didn’t I make the right choice?” He throws a grin in her direction.

Nesta’s swallow is tight at that grin. “The view from your room was always my favorite part about the entire place. So yes, you did good.”

His eyes widen at that tidbit of information, and she can almost see him tucking it away as more Soulmate Evidence.

They stroll through the woods for a while, and Nesta points out the path she would take to get to Cherrywood—she still insists on calling it Cherrywood, even when Cassian argues that the house’s original name has been around since the sixties.

“Show me the rest of the way?” Cassian asks her, face lit up in boyish hope. “Show me where you ran away to that day I found you.”

Nesta almost expects the memory of the rundown apartment complex she grew up in to feel like being shoved into sludge: dirty, cold, and slimy. Instead, she finds she has no problem with looking back at her old home, no matter how many ugly memories she holds from there.

However, the dappled sunlight streaming in through the trees overhead has turned from yellow to dark gold, and she shakes her head in apology to Cassian. “Another day,” she promises him. “It’s almost sunset.”

They walk back to the house, rounding it until they reach the front. At the bottom of the hill that the house is perched on stands a pier that leads all the way out to the lake. Green mountains frame the lake from both sides, creating the perfect cradle for the sun to sink into.

They go all the way out to the edge of the pier, as if they’re trying to get as close to the sunset as physically possible. Dragonflies lazily swoop by as the lake is gradually painted in a hundred different colors.

Once there’s more darkness than light in the sky, Cassian nudges Nesta with one of the arms he has around her. “Look.” He points.

Along the shoreline of the lake, little dots of light have lit up to welcome the evening, their blinking glow so small that Nesta almost doesn’t catch it. Fireflies.

Nesta watches the insects flit in and out of the long grasses of the lake shore, getting tangled in the weeds and wildflowers. In that moment, she remembers something Cassian once confessed to her not long after his birthday.

I want to see more beautiful places with you.

Nesta ticks this beautiful place off the long list in her head—the first place out of many that she plans to see with Cassian.

More beautiful than the scene before her is the man in her arms. The man who was kind enough to understand a woman who barely understood herself, and to be her friend when she had none. The man who is extending his kindness right now by not having made any breaking-and-entering jokes about Nesta so far, though she’s sure he’ll pull them out eventually.

Discovering that she once found Cassian, just to let him slip by running away from him, only to find him again over a decade later—it comforts the tiny part of her that’s loath to say goodbye to him in two weeks.

Like Cassian is thinking the same thing, he murmurs into the dark, “I can’t wait to come back to you.”

Nesta huffs in amusement. “You haven’t even left yet.”

“I know.” After a moment, he adds in a low voice that not even the fireflies can hear, “Thank you for convincing me to go.”

She reaches up to squeeze his bicep. “Always.” And then she adds what she really wants him to hear: “Don’t come back until you find what you’re looking for.”

“I better find it quick then,” he jokes. Still, he nods in promise against the side of her head.

The only sound after that is the chirp of cicadas and the occasional lap of water meeting the pier beams. Nesta and Cassian stay outside in the June heat long after the sky turns ink blue.

***

a/n: next chapter is just some ic bullshit so take all ur bittersweet sentimentality here and go

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[beca-mitchell]

little taste of heaven (i'm caught up in you) (1/1)

Summary: now i see daylight AU - Beca and Chloe’s first date, finally. 

Word count: 3.9k

For @anna-kendrick​: We've worked on this universe for the past year and holy, it means the world to both of us that you guys love Beca and Chloe as much as we do. Thank you so much for the encouragement and love, always.And of course, again, thank you to Josi who is an incredibly talented artist. Look at this art.

title from "untouchable (taylor's version)" though I did heavily consider using "our song"...i just liked the energy of untouchable a bit more.

Read below or on AO3!

* * * * *

AGE: 15/16 LOCATION: Brookline, MA MONTH: June

 * * * * *

 It is finally June. The warm air is only a hint of better things to come. Like the last day of school before total freedom.

Beca smiles at Chloe as she nears Beca’s locker. “Hey,” she greets. “Good practice?”

Around them, students mill about excitedly, cleaning out their lockers and making plans for the summer to come. Chloe shrugs, hair clearly still damp from her shower. “I don’t know why we keep running through practices when we have no more games for the season.”

“Got to keep the regional champions in top shape,” Beca teases. “Keep the other teams on their toes.”

“But I’m tired,” Chloe complains. She leans heavily on a neighboring locker. “Since it's the last day of school, will you come over tonight for dinner? My parents are whining about how they haven’t seen you in a while.”

Beca clears her throat, thinking about how the last time she had gone over to Chloe’s house had been when Chloe and Tom broke up...at the end of April. Over a month ago. She had gone because Chloe had been crying and upset. She had gone because even if her body ached with the anxiety of not knowing where she and Chloe stood, she and Chloe were always going to be friends first. Best friends.

Best friends who felt something more than friendship for each other. Confirmed, real feelings. Feelings that made them want to kiss each other.

Feelings that they hadn’t yet talked about. Or acted on despite both of them being extremely single at the moment.

Hell, Chloe's birthday came and went a couple weeks ago without much fanfare. Beca had been too shy to do anything remotely romantic and they ended up going to a movie with a few friends before going to an arcade.

“Bec?”

Beca nods stiltedly, pretending to contemplate her now-empty locker a bit more before turning to face Chloe. She steadies herself with a quick breath. “I’d love nothing more.”

 * * * * *

 Beca stares at her reflection with some trepidation.

“It’s just Chloe,” she mutters to herself, eyes tracking over every crease in the skirt she has picked out. Maybe I should go with jeans, she thinks. But it’s gross and hot out today.

She isn’t even sure why she’s nervous. It just feels like a return to normalcy of sorts, but Beca’s pretty sure that now that she knows what it feels like to kiss Chloe and what it feels like, a little bit at least, to know that Chloe feels somewhat similarly to her. It’s different. In a good way. Maybe it’s different in a scary way.

She isn’t even sure she can bring up the topic with her mother, so that’s an added layer of uncertainty: it’s additionally anxiety-inducing not knowing how her mother will react.

It’s well past the time that Beca should have already walked out the door to head next door by the time she actually forces herself out of her bedroom and down the stairs, but she figures Chloe will understand. And dinner is rarely ever prepared at the exact time stated in the Beale household anyway. Beca’s not too worried. Just nervous.

She finally reaches out to press the doorbell.

Chloe opens the door almost immediately. “Thought you got lost,” she teases.

“Were you just waiting behind the door?” Beca asks quickly, allowing Chloe to grab her wrist and pull her over the threshold.

“And if I was?” Chloe shoots back, offering Beca a lazy smile, playful in nature. With an underlying hint of something else.

Beca blinks the surprise away. “I wouldn’t be complaining if you were waiting for me. Just sorry I kept you waiting,” she offers.

“Dinner’s not ready anyway,” Chloe says, as Beca expected. They breeze past the living room area, taking a mild detour past the kitchen and towards the back porch. “I might have told you a slightly earlier time because I wanted to talk to you about something,” Chloe says lightly.

“Should I say hi to your parents?” Beca asks worriedly before it registers what Chloe just said. “Wait, what? Talk to me about what?”

“Come sit with me,” Chloe says instead. Patiently. She gestures towards the tree - the tree they used to play under all the time as children - nestled in the corner of the backyard.

It’s one of Beca’s favorite spots.

She follows Chloe, wondering if it’s too late to run home and change into her jeans because she’s sure the grass and sticks will prick at her skin, but she’s surprised, as they near, that there is a small blanket laid out underneath.

Chloe had planned for this.

“Please sit,” Chloe offers. She sits comfortably, patting the spot next to her. “I had a feeling you’d dress up a little. Didn’t want you to get a dress dirty.” Her eyes drift down to Beca’s skirt briefly before she lifts her eyes, smiling at Beca. Beca doesn’t feel self-conscious, shockingly. She feels content. Safe.

Maybe a little warm if anything, but she knows that’s probably the proximity to the girl she’s been crushing on for the longest time.

“I...wanted to talk to you because we haven’t...really talked. About...y’know.” A hint of nervousness creeps into Chloe’s voice. “When we kissed and then Tom…” she hesitates. “We just didn’t get to talk about anything. And now the school year’s pretty much over, so I thought…”

“Right,” Beca agrees quickly. Her palms begin to sweat. She sure as hell hopes Chloe doesn’t expect her to lead this conversation. It was mortifying enough the first time around when she had basically laid everything on the line while Chloe was still dating somebody else. When Chloe had left her with nothing more than a heartfelt, vulnerable don’t give up on me. Then she had broken up with Tom and that was all their school could talk about for weeks.

And now this. Somehow Beca survived all of that while slowly making sure her friendship with Chloe survived as well. They both made sure of that.

“I like you,” Chloe declares. “I mean...I think I always did. Like you, I mean. As more than a friend. But the feelings were really confusing.”

“I get it,” Beca says a little too quickly. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs, laughing a little when Chloe smiles at her. “I feel like I haven’t stopped thinking about this for a while. But I never wanted you to feel pressured to talk about this with me even though we kissed.” She ignores the way her voice totally cracks over that last word.

“I never felt pressured,” Chloe assures her gently. “I am so...grateful that you’re in my life. I didn’t want to mess this up. But I think we should...try.”

“Try?” Beca echoes.

Chloe blushes. Like a full-on blush that spreads across her cheeks, visible to Beca even in the dying daylight. It makes her cheeks rosy and Chloe even flinches at her own reaction. “Dating,” she says simply once she seems to regain control of her emotions. “I want to go on dates with you. And hold your hand. And more kissing! If that’s what you want.”

Beca’s sure that her heart explodes somewhere in her chest because she suddenly finds it very difficult to control various parts of her body. She can’t control the smile that spreads across her face and the following, matching blush in her cheeks. It heats through her face with ease. And even worse, she can’t control the way her hand comes up to her mouth as if to instinctively cover her smile because somehow being thrilled that her crush is basically asking her out making her body react in embarrassing ways.

Chloe laughs at her, not a hint of malice in her laugh. Just joy. “I take that as a yes. Thank God, I wasn’t sure how I was going to convince my parents to move away.”

Beca rolls her eyes. Finally. Teasing. She can do that. “You wouldn’t be able to leave me. You like me too much.”

Chloe’s smile grows soft. “Well...yeah. I do. A lot.”

Beca’s breath catches. She’s sure she could kiss Chloe right now and the crazy part is, it wouldn’t even be totally weird. Or out there. Because they’re going to start dating. But maybe kissing Chloe again before their first date is frowned upon? Beca has no idea. She’s still only ever kissed one person and that person is sitting in front of her.

“Girls! Dinner!”

As if Chloe had been reading her mind and her intentions, Chloe shakes her head and stands, offering a hand to pull Beca up. When Beca stands, they’re somehow even closer - almost nose to nose - than they had been when they were sitting. “Saved by the bell,” Chloe whispers, breath close enough to be felt on Beca’s mouth.

 * * * * *

 The most interesting part is that Beca hadn’t really thought about any of this - dating Chloe - beyond just vague daydreams and fantasies about just some kind of happy utopia with Chloe by her side. It’s honestly not much different from their usual day-to-day considering how close they already are, but dating? Actual dating?

Her Google search history stares back at her accusingly.

dating tips dating best friend first date first date movies dating girl what to do

She supposes she could ask her mother, but even that brief thought makes her shrink away from her desk. Beca stands and begins pacing. She’s sure that she’s overthinking this all. That Chloe could probably care less about what they do on their first date. That Chloe’s probably just expecting them to spend time together, just the two of them. With more handholding. And maybe a kiss at the end of the night.

“Shit,” Beca mutters suddenly. She rushes back to her computer, adding another search to her list.

kiss on first date ok???

She frowns. Not quite.

kissing before first date acceptable

In the end, she is saved from her descent into a hole of online searching by a text from Chloe herself.

Chloe dinner tomorrow at south street? haven’t been downtown in a while

Beca i’m down!

The ease at which Beca replies does not at all reflect the somersaults in her stomach.

 * * * * *

 “Hey,” Chloe calls, putting her menu down. “Where’d you go just now?”

Beca blinks, realizing that she had glazed over the menu entirely, too wrapped up in her own thoughts. “Oh, just...contemplating…” her eyes land on the first item she sees. “Salad.” She can’t help the way her own nose wrinkles instinctively at the thought of eating salad.

Chloe is as intuitive as ever, smiling as she reaches across the table to touch Beca’s hand. “You hate salad. Especially here.”

Beca swallows, struck by both the normalcy and intimacy of Chloe’s touch. They’ve been friends for years—there is nothing extremely off-putting about them holding hands or even just randomly touching each other on the arm, shoulder, knee.

And yet—

Chloe draws her hand away, seemingly not at all aware of Beca’s inner turmoil this time. She refocuses on her menu. “Want me to order something for you?” she asks instead.

Beca nods, though she is surprised. “Sure.” Now she’s curious as to what Chloe will order for her. And if she’s being honest, it kind of makes her feel giddy, the thought of Chloe knowing her well-enough to order something. Not that Beca would even bother with telling Chloe that she’s wrong. She’d eat anything at this point, just to spend more time with Chloe.

It’s not even like they’re at a fancy restaurant. It’s a diner downtown. The bright retro designs all around plus the comfortable, plush booth seats are all appealing to Beca and she likes the general atmosphere.

But she kind of wants to just…

“Can I sit next to you?” she blurts out. Immediately, she clamps her mouth shut, resisting the urge to avoid Chloe’s curious gaze, which lifts to meet hers immediately.

Chloe grins. “I would want nothing more. Get over here.”

Beca nearly sags in relief, but focuses instead on moving around the booth so she and Chloe are sitting closer, now on side of the booth.

Beca focuses on the frequent piece of advice she had found through a few somewhat reliable Google results.

Hold her hand.

Beca does. She inches her pinky across the cool vinyl seats until she can feel Chloe’s against her finger. Then, she slips her hand over Chloe’s, gently hooking her fingers on Chloe’s palm until Chloe gets the idea.

Chloe’s hand flips slowly, their palms touching. Beca exhales, sliding her fingers between Chloe’s, already liking the easy, comfortable fit of their hands.

Chloe says nothing, content to enjoy the silence and familiarity just as Beca is content to allow her feelings to take over. For a moment, Chloe appears to be perusing the menu in silence, but there is a steadiness to the set of Chloe’s shoulders. Beca can tell, having been so attuned to Chloe’s characteristics for longer than she’d like to admit. For longer than even Chloe herself knows at this moment. She glances at her date—her date!—selfishly taking the moment to appreciate Chloe’s profile.

It’s something she has done so many times before, but this time...this time, in a diner outside of town with the soft clatter of dishes around them and Chloe’s soft, warm palm against her own, Beca knows this is different.

“You know,” Chloe starts awkwardly. “I...obviously don’t mind if you ordered on your own.”

Beca laughs. “Why’d you offer to then?”

“I don’t know,” Chloe says, exasperation in her voice. She groans and hangs her head slightly. “I asked Max and-”

“You asked your brother what to do on a date with me?”

“No!” Chloe explains before she snorts. “I just...told him I was worried about impressing a girl. And I don’t know why, but I somehow thought he’d have some idea.” She grins a little, glancing at Beca out of the corner of her eye. “Did it work?”

“Maybe a little,” Beca says distractedly. She’s more fixated on the fact that Chloe must have been truly desperate to have turned to her older brother for help.

“Oh and he totally guessed I was going out with you, by the way.”

That’s not something that thrills Beca too much. Her imagination immediately conjures up a comically exaggerated vision of Chloe’s brother threatening her with a knife. “How?” she asks. “What did he say?”

“Nothing, really. He just kind of guessed and then said ‘finally’ or something like that.”

“Well, thank you for offering to order for me. It was very...chivalrous of you.”

“Please stop.”

“Quite charming.”

“Beca.”

“I can’t wait to see what other moves you try on me. Are we going to share one milkshake?”

“...no?”

 * * * * *

 They end up ordering two separate milkshakes because Beca sticks to her vanilla and Chloe orders chocolate.

“Try,” Chloe commands. “You always get vanilla. Chocolate is so good.”

Beca sighs, but obediently sticks her straw into Chloe’s cup despite Chloe’s protests of “contamination” and quickly takes a sip just to shut Chloe up for the time being. It’s not horrible - Beca just isn’t the fan of how chocolate tastes in milkshake form, though she’s sure Chloe will claim there’s no difference if the milkshake were in a solid chocolate bar form instead.

However, she’s mildly distracted by the sudden proximity she and Chloe have between them. Chloe’s arm rests loosely over her shoulder, where she had put her arm when Beca leaned in to drink from Chloe’s cup. She can practically feel Chloe’s breath on her neck and her cheek.

It would be so easy to just turn and -

Beca shakes her head slightly and shifts back. Chloe takes a moment longer to slowly move her arm from around Beca’s shoulders.

“What?” Beca asks quietly, poking at her fries a little. She catches Chloe smiling at her affectionately.

“Nothing,” Chloe replies quickly. “Just...you smell nice. That’s all.”

 * * * * *

 “I guess it’s kind of convenient that we live together,” Beca remarks, trying not to think too hard about the way Chloe’s hand feels in her own. She winces. “Well. Not live together. But…you know. Live next to each other.”

Chloe tilts her head, smiling as they walk up the path towards their houses. “And why is that convenient?” she asks lightly.

Beca blushes. She hadn’t thought this far. “I’m…I don’t know. I was just…commenting. On the convenience.”

Chloe giggles, pulling Beca closer ever so slightly. Beca likes the way their arms press together. She likes holding Chloe’s hand. She likes lifting her other hand to curl against the bend of Chloe’s elbow.

She likes knowing that Chloe likes her—really likes her—and Chloe enjoyed their date and—and—

“This is you,” Chloe murmurs, stopping in front of Beca’s door.

Beca kind of doesn’t want the night to end. She wants to sit on the porch and talk to Chloe for a few more minutes. Maybe one more hour. Just to hear the sound of her voice and have her attention for a few moments longer.

“This is me,” Beca parrots, feeling a lot more nervous than she thinks she’s letting on. That was what people said in those movies adorning Chloe’s shelves, right? It was what the internet said. Normal first date cliches. She steps backwards, under the light of her front porch, still holding Chloe’s hand as she does so. Chloe hesitates for a moment like she wants to follow, but ultimately she simply squeezes Beca’s hand in understanding and drops her own hand away.

Beca is immediately disappointed. She hadn’t wanted that at all. She bites her lip, watching as Chloe awkwardly shuffles her feet before she glances back up at Beca. A soft, slow smile spreads across Chloe’s lips, gentle and affectionate all at once. It makes Beca’s heart pound ridiculously hard.

“I had fun,” Chloe whispers, like she’s afraid somebody else will hear her. But not because she's afraid of other people. Just afraid that their bubble will burst, like Beca is. Another step closer. Beca swallows. “Can we do that again?”

“You’d want to go on more dates?” Beca asks, just to clarify, even though she knows exactly what Chloe’s asking.

“I would love to go on more dates with you.”

“Me too,” Beca squeaks out. “I—um—”

Chloe’s smile stretches, somehow happier than before. “Goodnight Beca.”

Something in Beca snaps. She steps forward, just two small steps and calls out Chloe’s name. “Wait,” she adds hastily.

Chloe stops and turns, surprised.

“Can I—” Beca swallows, licking her suddenly dry lips. “Can I kis—”

She doesn’t get to finish her question before Chloe is covering the ground between them in two short strides, wrapping her hand around the back of Beca’s head, letting the other come up to Beca’s arm, and kissing her for all her worth.

Beca gasps in surprise into the kiss, hands coming up to Chloe’s shoulders, squeezing tightly. Gently and slowly, Chloe presses further into the kiss, her lips moving ever so lightly against Beca’s. It is so much more than their first kiss—a do-over, if anything—and Beca realizes, with a jolt, that this is something she can do now. She can kiss Chloe because Chloe likes her and Chloe went on a date with her. Chloe held her hand all night.

Chloe wants to kiss her too.

Beca hums happily at the thought, looping her hands behind Chloe’s neck. It feels instinctual even as Beca blushes at the sudden intensity of the kiss. She knows Chloe has kissed more people than she has; she knows Chloe will forever have more experience in this regard. But God, Beca thinks that she has never felt more wonderful or powerful than she does in this moment, tightening her grip on the fabric of Chloe’s light jacket.

Pulling back ever so slightly, Beca heaves a breath and rests her forehead against Chloe’s forehead. Chloe’s breathing is the tiniest bit labored as well. For a moment, neither of them dares to move, too afraid to break the spell between them.

Chloe is the first to smile—the first to press forward ever so slightly so their noses brush delicately. “What were you going to ask?” Chloe murmurs.

Beca swats her shoulder lightly. “You’re so weird,” she mumbles back, leaning in to steal just one more kiss from her beautiful, wonderful date.

 * * * * *

 When Beca reaches the solitude of her bedroom, she finally gets what all those high school romcoms were about. Showing their protagonist thrilled to finally finish a date so they can squeal and giggle and simply dream about their crush or date. It’s probably the first time that Beca has felt her energy rebound around her room with such happiness and positivity. The sensation is addicting—she honestly just wants to text Chloe all night.

Which, honestly, she could.

Chloe kissed her. Chloe kissed her because she likes her and they just went on a date. A freaking date.

A text from Chloe jolts her back to reality.

Chloe i miss you, is that weird?

Beca no because i miss you too. weirdo.

Chloe i have something else to tell you. that might be weird. Idk

Beca go for it.

Beca watches the text bubbles float in and out on her screen, like Chloe is typing a paragraph. Despite Chloe just saying that she missed her, Beca can’t help but feel nervous.

Chloe I just wanted you to know why i picked south street. it’s because. well. Remember when we first went there by ourselves without our parents. Sometime last year. With a few friends. And we all squeezed into that booth and sat there and shared fries and milkshakes and felt like we were at the top of the world because we were finally in high school or something stupid like that. I don’t even remember much about that night or who we were with but i do remember seeing the way you laughed at something and how your entire face lit up. and i remember thinking that i really liked you and how scary it was that i felt these things for you so suddenly and so much. Like a lot. but i’m so glad that we both got to this point - that we both feel the same way. I just really loved the way you looked when you laughed and i am so happy you’re in my life.

Chloe also i really like kissing you

Beca doesn’t even bother replying.

She shoves on her shoes again and rushes out the front door. She is only surprised to see Chloe sitting on her own front porch, staring worriedly at her phone.

“You really are so weird, y'know that?” She calls out, careful not to startle Chloe too much.

Chloe does jump anyway, but she sets her phone down quickly. “What are you doing?”

“Finishing this date off again that you confessed your big scary feelings. Through a text message.” Beca pretends to be annoyed as she stomps over to Chloe. “You couldn’t have said all that?”

“You make me nervous!” Chloe exclaims.

Beca shakes her head, mustering up all the courage she has in the world, pulling Chloe in for a kiss like she wanted to earlier before Chloe beat her to it.

“So much better,” Beca whispers, smiling when Chloe huffs quietly against her mouth.

It's the perfect end to the beginning Beca has been dreaming of all this time.

fin.

[riddlerosehearts]

Okay so, earlier I reblogged a post that kinda offhandedly stated--as part of a larger, almost totally unrelated point, which is why I don't wanna be annoying about it to the OP--that in Beauty and the Beast, the out-of-universe reason that the prince (who I will be referring to as Adam) was 11 when he was cursed is because the writers didn’t realize they made him that young until it was too late to change it. So as a huge nerd I wanted make my own post explaining why I believe this is false, actually! Using excerpts from the BATB artbook and from a leaked first draft of the screenplay:

1. In said draft, dated June 14th 1990, Adam is explicitly stated to be eleven years old:

“In FULL ANIMATION, we meet the eleven year-old child as he is being dressed and fussed over by a slew of harried servants”

Soooo, I’m pretty sure they did in fact know they were making him 11 years old. Honestly I don’t think I really need to elaborate more than this but I’m going to anyway, along with talking about some other things I find interesting.

2. In this version of the story, Adam was really cruel and cold to the enchantress, like I know he’s 11 but damn. He really just got told he cares for nothing and loves no one but himself and said “why should I?”

Kinda wish more of this made it into the final version of the movie tbh, if only to drive home the point that he truly was an awful kid and didn’t just get cursed for “not wanting to let a stranger in his house”, as I’ve seen some people say.

3. Also in this version of the story, the castle servants were cursed simply for getting in the way of the enchantress’ attempt to punish Adam and trying to plead with her that he’s only a child, and so that he would have to be isolated with no human company.

4. This is a bit of a tangent but even though I’ve been referring to him as a prince, he’s actually called a duke in this version! Obviously they changed that as the prologue of the movie now explicitly calls him a prince.

Also, this happens, and I really wanna know how exactly he would explain all of this to Belle in his own words:

It then cuts to Belle and Adam already having gotten married and being about to leave on their honeymoon and I’m sorry, this is not related at all to the discussion of his age, but I adore this ending so much that I almost, maybe, kinda sorta like it just as much as if not better than the actual ending and I feel the need to share it:

Belle and Adam literally don’t notice a whole explosion in the east wing because “they’re too caught up in newlywed bliss”, help, my heart--this gives us more time with Adam as a human, is adorable, and just feels so classic and Cinderella-esque. Actually, the original prologue and ending parallel the structure of Cinderella so strongly (especially if they would’ve added the chorus singing the title song) that maybe they thought it was a bit too much like Cinderella, and I wouldn’t trade the unique stained glass prologue and last shot of the final movie for anything, but I still just love every word of this. 

But ANYWAY, one last thing pertaining to Adam’s age:

5. Before even this draft was created, Howard Ashman originally wanted the poor kid to be seven when he got cursed. SEVEN! And I know that because of the Beauty and the Beast artbook:

Wanted to share this whole section for context, but the most relevant part is that Howard’s original idea, which the directors apparently disliked despite it still making it to the first screenplay draft, was... well, the same thing I showed earlier, except the main character was “a seven-year-old prince”. Which does make me wonder how old Howard originally imagined Belle to be, seeing as Paige O’Hara has referred to her as an adult in her early 20s several times since the movie was released (so no, she’s not 17 and getting with a 21 year old, the “Belle is 17″ thing comes from another drastically different version of the script) and in this draft is described as 18 at the same time that Adam would be nearing 21:

All this is to say, though, that imo the live action remake doing things like changing the “ten years we’ve been rusting” line, never specifying that the rose will bloom until his 21st birthday, and making him explicitly older + having him be cruelly abusing his political power in the prologue... is interesting and not necessarily bad, just different (and only canon to that adaptation, not to the original animated film!). It places the Beast’s curse in a much different light and makes it seem much more justifiable (though even then it doesn’t justify cursing the servants tbh) than the idea that the enchantress would so cruelly punish not just an 11 year old but everyone else who cares for him in response to him simply being a spoiled, bratty child. I can see why some might prefer him being an adult, and I can also see how some may not realize that he was supposed to be 11 with how much older he looks in the prologue and the painting in the castle (which admittedly is an odd decision to me that I’m not sure of the reasoning for). But I think him being a young child at the time of the curse really helps to show just how unjust his situation is, and also I think the writers definitely knew what they were doing here. If they wanted to make sure Adam was an adult at the time of the curse then really, they only would’ve had to remove/change a couple of lines, but they clearly wrote him as a young child in several previous versions of the script and then... continued to imply exactly that in the final movie.