#take this faux offended feeling you got and put it towards something that actually matters holy fuck christians are useless

[apostate-in-an-alcove]

I really don't care about nun costumes and I'm stick and tired of Catholics and, really, Christians of all stripes trying to get me and all secular people to be offended on their behalf. It's a fucking costume that someone is wearing for one reason or another, you'll live.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: A Hoarding Problem.

Pairing: Pro-Hero!Yandere!Touya/Reader (Boku No Hero Academia).

Word Count: 2.5k

Synopsis: Todoroki Touya has a problem, and he’s not sure he wants to fix it.

TW: Hero AU, Minor Spoilers, Kidnapping, Mutual Extortion, Emotional Manipulation, Slight Gaslighting, Bondage, Implied Infantilization, Mention of Sedatives (No Actual Use), and Themes of Poverty. 

Todoroki Touya had a problem.

He had a lot of problems, technically. His secretary always managed to schedule the most important meetings at the least convenient times, his coffee never seemed hot enough but always burnt his tongue, and despite his fame and wealth and strange, cult-like popularity, the only thing journalists ever seemed to want to talk about was his father, why Touya didn’t inherit the ‘Endeavour’ title, how long it’d take him to live up to all those stacking, swelling expectations. He had a lot of problems, dozens, hundreds. He had a lot. Everyone did, but Touya didn’t have to deal with everyone else’s.

He just had to deal with you.

You were one of those concentrated types, your smile always a little too personal and your stare always a little too intense, like you were trying to see how much his organs would go for on the black-market before you bothered to cut him open. You were put together, too, and if he hadn’t taken the liberty of following you home so many times, he never would’ve guessed you were staying at some cheap, back-alley motel, the kind meant for people who just wanted to be anywhere but the place they used to be. A run-away, he’d guessed, at first, but you were too old for that, and you were too good at pretending you weren’t living out of the suitcase Touya was starting to get tired of rummaging through. Maybe you were a petty criminal, a villain too minor to be on his radar - he didn’t know, and he really wasn’t interested in finding out. All that mattered to him was that he’d met you, decided he liked you, and hadn’t been able to think about much else since. It was an issue, really, and it was starting to get in the way of his work. It was starting to get in the way of everything.

But, he’d had this kind of problem before. He knew what to do. He knew how to handle it.

You seemed to want to be handled, too.

You were laughing, again, but he wasn’t really sure why. It might’ve been something he said, your own little joke, but he didn’t mind the sound, all bells and wind chimes and a practiced ease that threatened to divert his focus, as he tried to keep his eyes on the road. You were slumped in the passenger seat, and if he checked, he was sure you’d be looking out the window, counting turns, memorizing street names, doing what little you could to track the convoluted, darkened route he’d been sure to plan out days ago. You’d come willingly, but you wanted to make sure you’d be able to find your way back without his help. For his own sake, Touya pretended you were just being cautious. 

“I didn’t expect a Hero to live so far from the city.” Your voice was just as light, just a notch more confident than it had been at the convenience store you both frequented, the one you’d been working at when he stumbled in, closer to sunrise than sunset and ready to fall in love with the first person who smiled at him. The job hadn’t lasted, but Touya couldn’t think of a reason to mourn the loss. You wouldn’t have been desperate enough to take him up on his offer, if you still had a steady income. “Didn’t mark you down as one of those ‘cabin in the woods’ types, either. I’m not going to find, like, a box of dismembered body parts or anything, right?” 

“Obviously,” He scoffed, his tone just playful enough to be disarming. “I try to keep my victims in one piece. Hackjobs aren’t as satisfying as you’d think.”

That earned a jab to his side, an offended ‘my hackjob would be’, but you lost interest in the exchange as soon as he reached the driveway, coming to a stop in front of that sprawling, climbing villa, three stories of concrete and glass, a stark contrast from the forest that surrounded it. You took a moment to take it in, scanning over the building, a predator evaluating its docile prey. When you turned towards Touya, your smile was just a little wider, your expression just a little brighter. “I really can’t thank you enough,” You went on, your tone so sentimental, Touya could almost ignore the hollowness behind it. “You sure you’re alright with this? My last place fell through, but I’m sure I’ll be able to find somewhere else to--”

“Don’t worry about that. All this is curtesy of the Hero Commission, and they don’t keep track of who comes ang goes.” Touya didn’t wait for you to finish, he didn’t have to, even if he did let himself enjoy your faux-gratitude as he undid his seatbelt. “Besides, it’s my job, right? I wouldn't want to find out you went and got yourself hurt because I couldn’t be bothered to clean out my guest room.” There was a slight pause, a short hesitation. You flinched when he raised his hand, but you didn’t pull away as he cupped your cheek, only learning into his warm palm. “Besides, I can’t say I’d mind a little company, all alone out here.”

In his defense, he wasn’t going to kiss you. Really, he wasn’t that mean, but he didn’t have a chance to refuse, not before your lips were on his, your hands in his hair, all sudden passion and over-eager excitement. He was stunned, at first, but Touya recovered quickly. Biting back a smirk, he leaned into the gesture, slinging an arm around your hip, tilting your head back and doing whatever he could to bring you close, to keep you close, just like he’d been dying to for months, now. He could feel you stifle a laugh, moving to pull away, but Touya only drifted to your neck, nipping at the edge of your jaw before he found your jugular, aiming for the sensitive area just above it. You only chuckled, blunt nails running over his scalp. “And I thought I was the needy one,” You chided, half-hearted pushing at his chest. “It’s cold out here, Todoroki. At least take me inside first.” 

Right. Of course. He got carried away.

He almost forgot why you were actually here.

He didn’t let you go. He didn’t want to, so he didn’t bother trying, pulling you over the center console in one swift motion, leaving you in his lap, his face buried in the crook of your shoulder and an arm under your thighs, supporting your weight as he jerkily kicked open the door, letting you duck your head and giggle, always giggling, always trying to pretend to be meek and harmless and innocent. He wondered if you’d stop, eventually, if you’d drop the act once he decided both of you should show your true colors. He’d be lying if he said he hated the idea of choking it out of you. 

The front door wasn’t locked. He didn’t bother, not with his profession, not when he knew he’d be coming home with you, tonight. If you noticed, you didn’t seem to mind, focusing on locking your ankles behind his back, on swallowing down that small, pained groan as he slammed your back into the nearest wall of his darkened villa just a little too hard, pretending not to notice as your smile wavered in the minimal light. “I don’t think this counts as protecting the--” 

You were cut off by a loud thud, metallic and hollow, like someone hitting drywall with a baseball bat. You paused, for a second, your gaze flickering to the space behind him, but he was quick to kiss your cheek, to bring your attention back to where it should be, on him. “‘s just my roommate,” He mumbled, hoping you’d be too used to the excuse to linger on it. “Don’t pay it too much mind. He’s probably just fucking around.” 

This time, your smile dropped completely. “The Hero Commission... lets you have a roommate?” 

He caught his mistake a second too late. He opened his mouth, ready to explain, but another noise interrupted him, a rattling this time, followed by another deafening, irritating thud. He grit his teeth, but you only stiffened, your next shove to his chest a little more insistent than the last. “He might be hurt,” You started, the concern in your voice more genuine than it’d been all night. “We should check on him, that sounds--” 

“It’ll be fine.” He spoke a little too quickly, a little too aggressively. Instantly, your eyes widened, your entire body going tense against his, and Touya had to fight not to lose his composure completely. It was too soon. It was too early. He wanted to be sweet. He didn’t want to be mean, not with you. “Just ignore it, sweetheart, it’s not important. You’re here for me, right? The brat shouldn’t--” 

It was a slip-up. A petname so common, he hardly noticed he’d said it until you were scrambling, writhing, digging your nails into his biceps deep enough to break the skin, forcing him to let you go out reflex alone. You barely managed to catch yourself, but you stayed on your feet, shoving past Touya while he was still hissing out curses, clutching at bleeding wounds and broken scars. There was another thud, and you moved to sprint in the direction it’d come from, but he was a Hero, he was trained for this. You were on the ground before you could take a step, Touya straddling your stomach, his hands around your neck. He didn’t squeeze, though, he didn’t want to strangle you. He was going to be patient. This was going to be different. “Just behave,” He growled, fighting to hold onto the last threads of his restraint. “It’s not important. I’m important, and that’s all you have to care about. That’s all you’re ever going to care about, from now on.”

You didn’t hesitate. As soon as he finished, you were jerking forward, your forehead colliding with his and forcing a ragged scream from both of you. He’d give you credit for that. Villains and Heroes fought with quirks, specialized weapons, tactics and strategies and purpose. This was blunt. This was thoughtless. It was impulsive, and it was stupid, and it worked, letting you push him away as he recoiled, suddenly too focused on his pounding skull to care about what you might find. It wouldn’t matter, anyway. None of your little tantrums would.

He’d find you, eventually. After that, the results would be the same.

That might’ve been why Touya took his time, pushing himself to his feet slowly, following the sound of your footsteps before they abruptly stopped. He tried not to be bothered by it, even if there was a familiar pang of anxiety when he saw you, your mouth agape and your body slack, leaning against a door that should not be open. He might’ve walked a little faster, out of habit, but if you noticed him, you were too distracted to care. He couldn’t blame you. Not when he knew what you were looking at. 

He got a little carried away, with the girls’ room. Pale pink paint coated on every surface, fairy-lights strung along the ceiling, and a white, circular rug, fluffy and stainless and just small enough to stop before it reached the three cots, settled along each of the walls, each with its own frilly sheets and plush mattress and bare, metallic frame, something Touya might’ve considered swapping out if their opponents were a little more grateful. Two were empty, the first a spare if he needed room for a future ‘guest’ and the second a reminder to check on the bitch in his basement, and the third was on its side. That was what you were focusing on, what he couldn’t seem to pull you away from as he slotted himself against your back, wrapping an arm loosely around your waist. 

That, and the girl sitting in front of it, a ball-gag stuffed in her mouth and a collar around her neck, thick and leathery and attached to a chain, keeping her tethered to the nearest wall. There were a few noticeable dents in the plaster around her bracket, but Touya had better things to worry about. 

There was a garbled scream, something that might’ve been a warning, but Touya silenced her off with a glare sharp enough cut glass. “Shut it,” He barked, all pretense of patience gone. “Shut up, or you’re going to spend the next week in a muzzle. I’ll deal with you later.”

“You kidnapped her.” At least you waited your turn, even if the delay did little too soften the disgust in your voice. “You’re a monster. You’re supposed to be--” 

“A hero?” You tried to shove him away, to pry him off of you, but he only tightened his grip. “And you’re supposed to be an innocent civilian, aren’t you? Something soft and appreciative I can feel good about helping, fuck, and forget about the next day, right?” 

“Don’t try to--” 

“Where do you keep the bottle, sweetheart?” Now, it was your turn to go tense, to know he saw something he shouldn’t have seen. “Don’t lie to me. It won’t be pretty, if we start off this relationship on a bad foot.” 

You hesitated, for a moment. He saw your swallow, watched your eyes dart towards anything that could’ve been considered a weapon, but his fingers slipped under your shirt and you bowed your head, giving in at the slightest threat of something worse. He liked that about you. Such a simple thing, too afraid of pain to take the risk. “My jacket. There are pockets on the inside - it’s on the right.” 

He’d give you credit. It looked realistic, if nothing else, a translucent orange bottle with a white lid, the label scratched off in a way that could’ve been mistaken for nervous fidgeting, if Touya didn’t know better. With one hand, he popped off the lid, barely glancing at the unmarked pills inside before letting out a pleased hum. 

Sedatives. Not lethal, but effective. The type you could get from any low-ranking Villain with a surplus supply and a greater need for clients than most. 

The type that could be slipped into wine glasses, mixed into water. The type that’d keep your trusting, unsuspecting host nice and unconscious while you helped yourself to anything that wasn’t nailed down. While you robbed him blind, stowed yourself away in another cheap motel room two towns over, and scouted for the next poor guy who’d be too embarrassed to say anything.

Touya couldn’t help himself. He laughed, loudly and shamelessly, watching as you withered, glaring at the tiled floor. He couldn’t tell if it was fear of loathing, half-suspended terror or that deep, ingrained hatred any good predator should feel when it’s caught in a trap, but your voice couldn’t have made it more clear. “What’s your plan?” You spat, all humiliation, all spirited, adorable anger. His grin widened, the lasting tension in his shoulders dissolving, but if you noticed how much he enjoyed your little show, you didn’t bother trying to keep your mouth shut. “Arrest me? Hand me over to the police and let me tell them all about your creepy, fucked-up dollhouse?” You never looked up. You never so much as tried to meet his eyes, let alone glance at the ‘victim’ you’d been so intent on saving a few minutes ago. “Let me go. You don’t have another choice, unless you’re willing to get your hands dirty.” 

“Oh, don’t worry about that, I’m not gonna kill you.” It wasn’t a lie, but you didn’t seem to believe him, going rigid as his lips brushed against the nape of your neck. It was a fleeting gesture, but he didn’t let himself linger. He’d have plenty of time for that once he got you used to your new role, under his care. Once you got used to him. “I’m not gonna hand you over, either. That’d just be a waste.”

He might’ve been a little mean, after all. If he wasn’t, he wouldn’t have given you so much time to answer, so much time to tremble. At least you didn’t try to get away, this time. You were already learning. “I… I don’t--” 

“I’m going to take care of you, angel. Just like I’m taking care of her.”

There was a moment of stillness, a small, ragged sob, but Touya couldn’t bring himself to feel guilty. He couldn’t bring himself to feel anything but satisfied. 

Because Todoroki Touya had a problem. Because he was awful and hungry and greedy, and he had a problem.

And he wasn’t sure he wanted to fix it.

[brockadoodles]

the 1 - t. jost

AN: Y’all wanted the folklore stuff back so, even though I never finished the series (i will, eventually), here’s one to start you off with :) 

Word Count: 2325

Warnings: None. 

But we were something don’t you think so? Roaring twenties, tossing pennies in the pool And if my wishes came true It would’ve been you

You grew up in the house across the street from Tyson Jost, and for years he was always just the goofy kid who you would sometimes play street hockey with after school. You would make fun of his unruly brown curls, and he would in turn tell you that your goaltending skills were terrible. As you both got older, your friendship grew. You found yourselves sneaking into each other's rooms late at night, staying up talking about anything and everything with each other. 

When you were 16, you shared an incredibly awkward first kiss. That kiss shortly became more kisses with each other. The kisses progressed into more firsts as you grew to realize that the goofy kid from across the street had become the most important person in your life. An epiphany that your families were not surprised about. 

You slowly became even more inseparable than you already were, forming an attachment to one and other that most young teenagers feel when they think they’re in love. You spent weekends going to Tyson’s hockey games, wearing his jersey proudly; he spent weekdays after practices with you, content smiles almost always on both of your faces as you lounged around each other. 

The thing about your first love is that it's an idea that is built up all around us, whether it’s in a coming of age film or a melodic song whose lyrics seem to fit so perfectly with your own story, or whether it’s the experience of someone around you. You grow up thinking about how one day you’re going to find the perfect person to share life with, and it doesn’t matter what anyone says otherwise. You grow up hearing that your first love will be wild, and crazy, and intense, but you’re taught to enjoy it while it lasts because it never does. You and Tyson were naive to think that you would be the exception.

“I love you.” You blurted out, eyes widening in shock at your admission. Your heart beating loudly in your chest, the words hanging loosely in the air as you waited for Tyson to reply. You were surprised as the three words left your mouth but you also thought that you knew how you felt, and there was something relieving about telling him. The weight of it was becoming too much, and maybe if Tyson wasn’t there yet, that would be okay. 

“You do?” He looked at you, searching your eyes for any sense of regret over the three heavy words. When he didn’t find any, he pulled you close. Tyson wrapped his arms around you securely, instantly calming your nerves. He looked at you for a moment, wondering how he could feel so much for someone else, not truly understanding the implications of his feelings.  

“I love you, too.” He sincerely spoke, leaning in to kiss you softly. 

He didn’t understand at the time that when you’re seventeen, the intensity you feel for someone isn’t usually built for longevity. Perhaps if either of you understood the evanescence of a first love, the three words wouldn’t have been spoken at all. 

-------

 The streets of downtown St. Albert were covered in a thick blanket of snow, white twinkly lights on the various trees, a glistening contrast to the dark wintery sky. You hadn’t been back for Christmas in two years. When you moved to Vancouver for a fresh start after the breakup, your parents always came to you for the holidays, making the argument that spending them in rainy Vancouver was a lot better than snowy St. Albert. You knew that it wasn’t the lack of snow, but it was them trying to spare you from reliving the last Christmas that you hadn’t been able to shake.

“I think it’s just time.” Tyson smiled sadly at you, feeling his own heart break as he spoke. 

Your eyes glassed over as you nodded in agreement. You felt like you were frantically trying to save your heart before it dropped to the floor, shattered and ruined. You knew that he was right, the distance simply not working anymore, no matter how hard you both wanted it to. 

He reached out, his thumb grazing over your cheek to wipe the tears that were now falling. The two of you sitting there in silence, as you both desperately tried to put off the finality of the conversation as long as possible. Knowing you were losing Tyson was like trying to save yourself from drowning, each gasping breath pulling your further and further down beneath the surface. 

“I wish it was different.” He whispered, wiping his own eyes as he watched you turn to leave. Fresh snow falling around the two of you as you stood on his balcony, Christmas lights being the only source of light around you. 

“Me too.” You nodded in agreement, taking one final look at him before turning back inside, making your way out of the house like you had done so many times before, this time only to most likely never come back. 

-------

You glanced at the bakery, seeing the lights in the back illuminated, a couple of employees working on what you could only assume were tomorrow’s pastries. You made note how everything looked just the same, as if no time had passed at all. A realization of just how homesick you had been the last few years while you’d been away.

For a long time you avoided St. Albert, the memories burning a hole softly in your heart, and the thought of coming back filled the hole with uneasiness at the idea of being somewhere that had so many memories of someone who meant so much for a time. You were now years removed from the breakup and you finally felt a new perspective. You were able to think of home without feeling melancholic about Tyson. When you truly allowed yourself to think about it, you missed Christmas in St. Albert. It was home, and that was exactly what you needed now. 

You continued walking down the street, carefully stepping to avoid the slick patches in the sidewalk. You shivered a bit and rubbed your gloved hands together, pulling your arms closer to your body, spotting the general store just a few feet ahead. You walked into the store, instantly feeling the warmth from the heaters on your face. You looked around, heading straight to the wine aisle to pick up what your mom had asked you to get for Christmas Eve. 

You found your way through the aisles with ease, everything in the same spots they had been in the last time you were there. A wave of nostalgia passed through you as you made your way through the store. You thought back to the summers you and Tyson spent together, always coming to the general store for what he called “the absolute lake day essential pack” each time you planned on going out to the lake. 

You smiled to yourself as you passed by the various snacks and drinks. Tyson invading your thoughts once more.  

“Tyson, we’re going to be gone for a few hours. I think you might be overdoing it.” You laughed as he tossed item after item into the shopping cart.

“I am truly offended. Babe, this is the absolute lake day essential pack. No item can be forgotten.” He wrapped an arm around you and placed a sloppy kiss to your cheek. 

The lake day essential pack became a tradition for every lake trip, even though you never actually finished everything that you bought. Instead, spending most of the day in the water, laughing with each other.      

-------

You didn’t know that he was back in town, the two of you losing touch years ago. Your thoughts used to be consumed with how it would feel to see him again. By all definitions of the term, Tyson was your first love. The kind of fleeting, youthful, wreckless, wild love that you grasped onto for as long as you could. There was a time when you thought he was the one, that all of the obstacles you would have to face to be together would work out in the end. You spent those years imagining what it would be like to marry him, picturing how you’d feel walking down the aisle, seeing him there. 

“Do you think it’ll be this beautiful when we get married?” Tyson squeezed your hand, looking at you softly. You felt butterflies erupt in your stomach, looking toward the archway where in just a few moments your cousin would be getting married. White lilies and pastel pink dahlias framing the light stained wooden archway. 

You looked into his eyes, seeing nothing but sincerity in them. His hand holding yours firmly. You didn’t get the chance to answer his question, instead hearing the beginnings of the wedding march. As you watched your cousin walk down the aisle, you couldn’t help but make subtle glances at the groom. He was watching your cousin, eyes watering as he took in her beauty. You subconsciously leaned into Tyson more and he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. You didn’t know how to describe the feeling, but you knew that one day that would be him up there, waiting for you. 

--------

You walked out of the general store and braced yourself for the cold once more, reasoning with yourself that it was only a few blocks to your parents house and once you were there you could spend the rest of the evening watching old Christmas movies and sipping on the extra wine you just bought. 

You started making your way back down the path you came in from, taking in your surroundings as you passed by the various shops. You rounded the corner, passing by the old diner. You thought back to all of the times you and Tyson would be found there, late at night in the same corner booth you always sat in, the faux leather seats probably even more frayed with holes than they were all those years ago.

“Who’s going to come sit in this ugly booth with me now that you’re leaving?” You asked, feeling the weight of Tyson leaving the following day for his first training camp in Colorado. You were incredibly proud of him for accomplishing his dream, but that didn’t stop the worries of what the future would hold for the two of you now that the reality of it all was setting in. 

Tyson smiled sadly at you, wishing he could stop the hurt that he was causing. His whole life he had dreamed of playing in the NHL, spending years training and practicing. He didn’t expect to be sad about leaving St. Albert, until he fell in love with you. 

“It’s not forever, I’ll be back for Christmas.” He said, feeling certain in that moment that his words were true, that he would be back for Christmas with you. If only he knew that the next time he was home, your relationship would have fallen apart in just a matter of months, the young love forced to confront the truth that what you had wasn’t going to be the same after this moment. 

---------

You could see him clearly, standing outside the diner the two of you once called “your place.” He was laughing wholeheartedly at what the beautiful girl he was with was saying, his arm wrapped loosely around her as they talked. Time felt like it was slowing down, and you were stuck in a moment, feeling something about your relationship with him that you didn’t realize you needed. You felt an eerie sense of calm, knowing that he was happy. That was all you ever wanted for him, and while it used to hurt knowing it wouldn’t be with you, you were looking at him and the past so clearly. Tyson wasn’t meant to be your forever, and that was okay. He was a memory, a moment in time, that you could look back on adoringly. 

You had been living in Vancouver for just under a year, finally finding a core group of friends and settling into your new life. The wounds from your breakup still felt fresh, and you knew Tyson was out in Colorado, having adventures on his own. 

You desperately wanted to move on, find your own place in the world without waking up everyday, mind racing with thoughts of him. Your friends tried to help you move on, even going as far as to set you up with various other boys. You went on a few dates here and there, never feeling like you could fully open up to someone the way you had with Tyson.

You compared every boy you ever met to Tyson, he was a country away but he still had a grasp on your heart that you didn’t know how to get back. You often wondered if he thought of you still. Maybe if you knew that he did, and if one of you made an attempt at reconciliation, things would turn out dramatically different for you both. 

Tyson turned, spotting you from where he was standing. He smiled, nodding slightly at you before turning back to the woman he was with. His expression was comforting, familiar and kind. You knew in that moment he experienced the same feelings you just had, recognizing the slight realization he had as he looked at you briefly. You were strangers who happened to love a past version of each other. 

But that’s the thing about a first love right? The transitory feeling, ignoring just how naive you were to think it would last. If one thing had been different, things might have been different today. It could have been you by his side. 

[artificialqueens]

Just Dance (Rosnali) - Goodemethyd

Summary:

“Just Dance? I haven’t played that since high school,” Rosé replied judgmentally.

“Come on! It’ll be fun!” Denali insisted as she grabbed the glass of wine Rosé offered her and took a sip. “Play with me, Rosie!” she pleaded, pouting her lips and giving her best puppy dog eyes.

“Fine,” Rosé relented with a sigh. “But I get to choose the songs.”

A/N: Hello, I’ve jumped aboard the Rosnali train. This is my first offering of some fluff

“Rosie!” Denali called out as she walked through the door of their shared apartment.

“In here, bitch!” Rosé called back to her, and Denali followed her voice until she found her roommate in the kitchen pouring a glass of wine.

“Ooh, pour me one,” Denali requested and watched her reach into the cupboard for another glass. “Guess what I got for us!”

“Some weed?” Rosé asked.

“Well, yes. But something else too!” She held up the video game she’d bought on a whim during her trip to Target.

“Just Dance? I haven’t played that since high school,” Rosé replied judgmentally.

“Come on! It’ll be fun!” Denali insisted as she grabbed the glass of wine Rosé offered her and took a sip. “Play with me, Rosie!” she pleaded, pouting her lips and giving her best puppy dog eyes.

“Fine,” Rosé relented with a sigh. “But I get to choose the songs.”

“Deal!”

They made their way to the living room and Denali pushed some furniture out of the way while Rosé loaded up the game on their Switch.

“Which song first?” Denali asked, taking a chug of her wine before grabbing a controller and getting warmed up.

“You’re gonna take this way too seriously, aren’t you?” Rosé asked as she looked over at Denali who was now stretching and making sure she was loose and ready to move.

“Yes,” she answered matter-of-factly, placing her hands on her hips. “And you better, too.” She ignored the eye roll that Rosé shot her way and asked her, “Now which song?”

Rosé loaded up Don’t Start Now by Dua Lipa, and a grin stretched across Denali’s face.

“I love this song!” she gushed and smiled over at Rosé before putting on her game face and getting into position.

“Oh lord,” Rosé muttered under her breath, but Denali knew that as soon as they started, she would be just as into it.

The song started, and Denali’s presumptions were confirmed as they moved along with the dancer on screen. Rosé was hitting the moves just as hard as Denali and she could tell how hard she was trying as she saw her out of the corner of her eye. It was neck and neck all the way until the end, trading perfect moves and the lead, but Denali pulled through and won by just under 100 points.

“Rematch!” Rosé yelled immediately before Denali had a chance to start celebrating, and she started laughing when she saw the annoyed look on her face.

“I get to pick the song this time since I won,” Denali said, just to see Rosé scrunch her face in indignation.

“Fine,” she acceded, and downed her glass of wine while she waited for Denali to choose which one to dance to next.

“Okay, ready!” Denali enthused once she had the song pulled up.

“Ice Cream? You and your K-pop,” Rosé said, shaking her head, and Denali stuck her tongue out at her.

“Shut up and dance, bitch!” she insisted, laughing at Rosé faux offended face.

“You’re going down!”

“We’ll see about that.”

They started dancing along again, each of them getting way too into it and way too competitive for a video game, but honestly Denali wouldn’t have expected anything less when it came to the two of them. She thought Rosé was going to throw the controller when she lost again, but she just picked another song and they kept going.

Rosé beat her a few times, but when they finally decided to call it quits, Denali had way more victories than her.

While Rosé put down her controller in defeat and picked up her glass of wine, Denali did a victory dance.

When she finished, she turned around to find Rosé staring at her with a fond smile on her face.

“What?” Denali asked, grinning back at her before she could help it.

“God, you’re so fucking cute.”

“Wait, what?” Denali asked, feeling a tingling feeling inside her chest. It wasn’t like they hadn’t called each other cute before, but the way Rosé said it this time seemed different somehow, like it actually meant something.

“Umm…” Rosé trailed off awkwardly, clearly trying to avoid eye contact as her cheeks flushed from something other than the dancing and the wine.

“Do you mean it, Rosie?” Denali asked quietly with wide eyes, trying not to be too hopeful, but not really succeeding.

“Fuck it,” Rosé blurted out before walking toward Denali and grabbing onto her hands. “You’re the best person I’ve ever met, Denali. I’m so grateful every single day that I get to be in your life. And yes, you’re cute as hell, but it’s so much more than that. I’m scared shitless to admit this to you right now, but I really fucking like you.”

Denali was absolutely shocked to say the least. She had no idea that Rosé felt that way about her, but she was elated to hear it. A huge smile broke out on her face before she found the words to reply.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear that from you.”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t know what it is about you, but it’s just like, there’s something about you. God,” she laughed self deprecatingly and shook her head, “I’m not making any sense. I really fucking like you too, Rosé. I have for such a long time.”

“Really?” Rosé asked, a huge smile mirroring Denali’s breaking out on her face.

“Yes!” she nodded vigorously and almost felt like crying for how happy she was.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Yes!” Denali repeated and sighed contentedly as Rosé’s lips made contact with hers. She melted into the kiss, wrapping her arms around the other girl, and lost herself in it. It was the best kiss she’d ever had and she never wanted it to end.

If someone had told Denali that a silly little dancing video game would’ve brought her and Rosé together after all the pining she’d done, she would have laughed her ass off, but then immediately gone to the store to pick it up.

[spaceskam]

From A Whisper To A Scream (2/10)

warning: homophobia & kyle being a teenage dirtbag

ao3

1 |

Michael broke out the nail polish remover the next morning.

As much as he wanted to flaunt the black nail polish with pride, he wasn’t in the mood to have anyone assuming things that he wasn’t ready to share. And by anyone, he specifically means Isobel and Max. They knew Alex was his tutor and they knew he wore black nail polish, it wasn’t a stretch to figure out that he did it. And if they saw that he did that, they’d probably assume Michael let him do other things too.

Max, Isobel, and Michael had all made an agreement when they were young that they would have to settle for having each other. They wouldn’t date and they definitely wouldn’t swap bodily fluids with humans. They didn’t know what kind of damage they could do to a human and they also couldn’t risk anyone finding out what they were.

As far as he knew, Max and Isobel had kept that promise. Michael, however, had lost that battle awhile ago. He lost his virginity the same night he had his first kiss, namely because he lied to the girl that he’d already kissed someone before, and he went on such a shame spiral that even now, over a year later, he hadn’t told Isobel and Max that it was safe. He was too scared to.

He was extra cautious, obviously. He wore condoms, he pulled out, he made sure to keep bodily fluids in general to a minimum just in case. With the four people before Alex, it’d been easy. He slept with them and then he’d feel guilty and he wouldn’t talk to them again. Occasionally they’d tell other people and he would deny it and he would hate himself for it. Even now, he harbored so much guilt when it came to sex. He wasn’t sure if it was solely because of Isobel and Max or if the religious group home he stayed in for the first four years in Roswell actually instilled some of their religious shame, but it was still there.

But then there was Alex. He had no shame and no fear. Not about that kind of stuff, anyway. He was still cautious, but there was something about Alex that made him relax enough to fully enjoy himself. It’d been only about a month of it and he still regularly made sure it wasn’t fucking Alex up, but it felt safe. It was nice to let go for once.

What wasn’t as nice was the fact that he could tell shit was changing. Alex was the only person he’d hooked up with more than once and it was very obviously taking a toll on him. He wanted to see him more, wanted to touch him in ways that weren’t just to hook up. And then last night seemed different and it locked in all those fuzzy feelings for good. Hell, he was pissed that Alex couldn’t stay the night. He wanted to just lay with him for hours. Which was something he couldn’t do. Not when Isobel and Max couldn’t know. 

He still wanted Alex. Dorky, talented, sweet Alex.

Michael pushed that thought completely out of his mind by the time he got into his truck to head to school. He had early practice to take care of which would hopefully remind him that being with Alex wasn’t an option. Even if it was fun and the nicest thing he ever got for himself.

The first half of the day went by quickly as he did his best to stop thinking about Alex. Which would’ve been significantly easier if he didn’t look completely fine while Michael was mentally planning their wedding. 

Lunch rolled around and Michael sat with Isobel and Max, mindlessly shoveling fries into his mouth as he watched Alex with the rest of the band geeks. He was laughing and joking and didn’t look at him once. It was almost annoying. Didn’t he think the night before was different too? Or did Michael see something that wasn’t actually there on Alex’s end?

“Earth to Michael?”

He looked over to see both Max and Isobel looking at him with sheer concern. Which was warranted. He was fucking up and he wasn’t even hiding it. But how could he?  No matter how much he tried to distract himself, he kept picturing Alex back in his bed and kissing him and listening to him whisper words of affirmation during sex. That was always nice.

“Who are you even looking at? Alex?” Max asked. Michael shrugged in response and they both fell quiet.

“You like him,” Isobel whispered. He didn’t respond right away and Isobel smacked his hand with her spoon.

“Hey!” he scoffed.

“You can’t like him,” she said, shaking her head, “And you know why.”

“I know, I know,” Michael sighed, slumping back in his seat, “It’s just so hard when he’s right there, you know?”

“Do you need someone to come with you during tutoring sessions?” Max asked. Michael rolled his eyes.

“I’m not a kid, I do have self-control,” Michael said and hoped that he wasn’t revealing just how little control he actually had when it came to Alex. 

“Maybe you should dial it back though? I’m sure studying with him every day isn’t helping,” Isobel suggested, “I’m just trying to help.”

Michael stared at them and questioned if it might actually be worth it to just tell them. But what if they’re angry? What if they distance themselves from him because he’s risking their safety? What if, what if, what if.

“I’m fine. Seriously. We’re just friends. I can have friends, can’t I?” Michael sighed, looking back over to Alex. He caught his eye for the first time that day and Alex just smiled before looking back to his friends. Fuck.

“Guerin!”

Michael’s eyes snapped from Alex to Kyle who was strolling up to him. He had a love/hate relationship with him that was two sided. Kyle was a good player and he was nice when he wanted to be, but he was a follower and it got annoying and Michael knew he was pissed that he made quarterback. But that wasn’t his fault. He was just better.

“Yeah?" Michael said.

"Afterparty, my house," Kyle said. Michael had made a habit of stealing a couple hours with Alex after his games and his eyes instinctually went towards Alex. He could say no, but then they'd ask questions. And saying no to Alex wasn't an option.

"Can I bring someone?" Michael asked. Kyle raised an eyebrow and looked at Max and Isobel. "Not them."

"Who?"

"Don't worry about it."

"Whatever, man, just no one who's gonna trash the place," Kyle said, walking away. Michael rolled his eyes. As if the team wasn't going to destroy it enough. 

When he looked back to Isobel and Max, they were looking at him with wary eyes. He shrugged.

"I'm allowed to have friends other than you guys."

"Yeah, but…" 

"I promise I'm not going to do something stupid."

They didn't say anything, but they both seemed to think he absolutely was.

-

"Motherfucker." 

"Sorry, sorry," Michael said, trying to hold back his giggles as he put his hand beneath Alex's head even though he'd already hit it on the side mirror of the truck. "You okay?'

"Stop laughing, you asshole," Alex spat, glaring at him. He pushed Michael away and felt the back of his head, checking to see that there wasn't any blood. There wasn't. 

"I'm not laughing," Michael said even though he was a little bit. Not because he hit his head, but because he was feeling more than a little giddy. Alex had come over without Michael having to ask him to under the guise of doing homework and had all but pulled Michael out of his truck the moment they got to his trailer. He’d pressed Michael into the side of his truck to kiss him which was all fun and games until he tried to flip them and forgot how close they were to the mirror. “For real, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, no thanks to you,” Alex said, still glaring.

“You want me to kiss it better?” Michael offered. Alex rolled his eyes and shoved his shoulder. Instead of pushing him entirely though, he used the movement to grab a fistful of his letterman and pull him in. Michael smiled and leaned in closer, pressing a kiss to his cheek. He could feel Alex relax in response. “Let’s go inside.”

Michael unlocked the trailer door and Alex followed. They pet Dog on the way to his room, but closed the door to it before he could follow. There was whining for a couple seconds before he quickly got bored of it and went back into the living room.

“So,” Alex said, looking at with eyes that could destroy Michael if he wanted to, “What happened to fuck ‘em?” 

Michael smiled and slowly walked closer, holding his hands up in surrender and telekinetically locked the door while Alex was distracted. Alex's eyes immediately were drawn to his clean nails again before looking back to his eyes. He was so calm. It really did seem like the night before wasn't all that different to him at all.

"I can explain that," Michael said, "My friends would've put it together and I was protecting your modesty."

Alex rolled his eyes, but he wasn't smiling. Not even kind of. Michael watched him cautiously as Alex crossed his arms over his chest.

"You're really that scared of people knowing you're bi?" Alex asked. Michael blinked once, twice, three times as he processed the question. He shrugged.

"No, it's not that. Isobel and Max already know," he said. And they did know. Even if they only found out this morning from him staring too much. Alex furrowed his eyebrows.

"So it's me?" 

Michael's eyes widened and he shook his head.

"No," he said, stepping closer, "Why? Do you… Do you want people to know?"

"No," Alex answered easily and Michael wasn't sure if he should be offended or not, "But I also don't wanna sleep with someone who thinks I'm an embarrassment."

"Definitely not," Michael insisted. He stood close, waiting for the green light he needed. Alex didn't exactly give him one. "Are you mad at me for taking it off?" 

"No," Alex scoffed, "I am mad at you for making me hit my head."

"I'm sorry," Michael laughed, "Seriously. How can I make it up to you?"

Alex pursed his lips and pretended to think about it. Michael bit the inside of his cheek, shaking his head. He stepped out of shoes, kicking them out of the way before dropping his letterman on the floor. Alex's faux-thinking face had been replaced with a wild little smile.

"Blowjob, your highness?" Michael asked. Alex laughed that sweet laugh of his and pushed Michael's shoulder, but he retaliated by basically tackling him to the bed. Alex laughed louder as Michael tickles his sides, loud enough to make Dog bark from the other room and loud enough to make Michael's heart grow tenfold like he was the fucking Grinch.

"Stop!” Alex laughed and Michael reluctantly did, still smiling as he rested his weight on top of Alex who draped his arms around his neck, “I'm judging you so hard right now.”

"Judge yourself, you're the one in my bed."

"It's a pretty nice place to be," Alex said and it was enough to shut him up. He stared at him for a second and realized he was a goner. No going back. And that was okay. He'd handle the consequences later. 

"Do you wanna come to a party Friday night after the game?" Michael asked. Alex's smile faltered and he furrowed his eyebrows.

"A party?" he repeated, skepticism in his tone. Michael kept it casual and shrugged.

"Yeah, Valenti's throwing it, but it could still be fun."

"Pass," Alex decided. 

"I have to go though and we usually hook up on Fridays."

"I mean, just for the last couple weeks, I wouldn't say usually," Alex said. Michael's stomach dropped, but he wasn't ready to back out yet. "We can skip this week."

"I don't want to," Michael said, "Come. It'll be fun and you can stay the night after and I'll do whatever you want." 

"Whatever I want?" Alex asked, raising an eyebrow. A thought crossed his mind that he might regret it, but he figured there was nothing Alex could do to make him regret anything. "Why the hell do you want me to go anyway?"

"Look," Michael said, swallowing his pride, "I… I felt like last night was different, didn't you?" Alex visibly held his breath and Michael quickly covered his tracks. "I was thinking we could chill as, like, friends? Or something. We can be friends, right?" 

"And you wanna start that at Kyle Valenti's party? Do you know how horrible that sounds?"

"Stay close to me and no one will say shit to you, I promise," Michael said, "I just wanna hang out with you."

"Can't we do that not at Kyle Valenti's party? I really don’t want to go to his house," Alex grumbled. Michael stared at him. He didn't have a good reason why he wanted so badly for it to be at Kyle Valenti's party. Maybe because it means integrating Alex into that part of him, maybe because it was public enough for him to keep his composure, or maybe it was because he didn't want to explain why he ditched an after-party to smother himself in Alex Manes. 

"I said I'd do anything." 

"Too vague, gotta offer something specific."

"Okay, you're being diffi–"

"And nothing sexual, 'cause you do those with or without the party."

"Oh, come on!"

Alex smiled slightly, combing his fingers through Michael’s curls. Michael gravitated lower and kissed him slow. He hummed against his lips, ending the kiss and giving him a few pecks over and over before looking at him expectantly. Michael dragged his finger across his neck and plucked the collar of his shirt.

“Oh, you know what, your birthday’s coming up, isn’t it? I’ll have your payment then,” Michael said. 

“Tell me.”

“I gotta think of something and I’m also not about to spoil your present,” he argued. Alex rolled his eyes which was juxtaposed to the fact his socked foot was slowly gliding up Michael’s leg. 

“What happens if it isn’t good enough?”

“Then I’ll spend the rest of my life doing whatever you want, I guess,” Michael decided. Alex eyed him like he was deciding something important, his thumb reaching out and slowly tracing over his bottom lip. And Michael waited patiently.

“You really want me to go to this party, don’t you?” Alex asked. Michael nodded.

"No one's gonna fuck with you, I'm gonna make sure of it," he promised. Alex took a deep breath and nodded.

"Fine, okay," he agreed. Michael smiled so wide that his cheeks hurt and Alex rolled his eyes. 

Alex pulled him into another kiss and Michael decided he'd be okay if he never stopped.

-

Michael waited down the block from Alex's house, using his telekinesis to make the necklace hanging from his rearview mirror swing.

It was on the way from the school to Kyle Valenti's house, so it all worked out. He was a little nervous for the party, but he just needed to show his face for a little while and get out as soon as possible so he could spend the night taking Alex apart. Sex with Alex had always been good, but, ever since Tuesday night, it'd been fucking phenomenal. He wasn't sure what had actually changed, maybe just the fact that he didn't feel the need to come up with an excuse. 

The truck door opened and Michael just let the necklace keep swinging as he looked over to Alex. His eyes immediately widened. Instead of Alex's typical all black clothing, he had light wash jeans, a slightly worn red polo that looked like he might've stolen it from Kyle's closet, and normal sneakers in lieu of his combat boots. He still had makeup on, but it was very light in an uncharacteristic way and his hair was all combed.

"What are you wearing?" Michael scoffed. He still looked good, but it was not like himself. Alex looked at him like this was torture. And maybe it was. But he was going to make up for it.

"If anyone perceives me, I will scream," Alex said. Michael huffed a laugh.

“Don’t you think people will notice you even more if you show up looking so different?” he asked. Alex stared at him for a moment and took a few deep breaths before he sighed and grabbed the collar of his shirt. 

Michael laughed as he traded the Valenti-inspired shirt for a black long sleeved Blondie shirt with handmade, purposeful rips and holes. He ran his hands through his hair a few times to mess it up. He even pulled out a small eyeshadow palette and rubbed his index finger in the black, mindlessly putting it on his eyelids without a mirror. Then he put his ring finger in the red and put that beneath his eyes which kind of looked like he had two black eyes, but it felt purposeful and antagonistic which made it work.

"Better?" Alex asked. Michael was smiling at him a little helplessly. He was unfairly hot.

"You wanna go back and get your boots?"

"If I get out of this truck, I can't promise I'll come back knowing I'm being taken to Kyle Valenti's house," Alex said. Michael rolled his eyes at the exaggeration and rolled his eyes, putting his truck in first gear.

"Can I have a kiss then?" he asked. Alex looked at him like he was testing his patience, so Michael just flashed a smile and batted his eyelashes. A hand was placed on his cheek, though, and he could feel the cool metal of his rings as he was pulled in for a lazy kiss.

But then it ended sooner than he wanted.

"Thirty minutes and then we leave," Alex said. Michael rolled his eyes.

"I have to stay for at least an hour."

"Forty five minutes."

"Alex–"

"Forty five minutes, I sit in the car for the last fifteen, you buy me dinner, and I sleep on the edge of the bed, not by the wall."

"Sold," Michael agreed, laughing slightly and he stole another kiss and then focused on actually driving.

Alex had only actually been in his truck once before and it’d been to hook up while it was raining and he couldn’t come over. Now, though, he fiddled with the radio like he owned the place. Michael personally felt like he was sitting too far away. They were friends, right? He could sit close if he wanted to. But, clearly, he didn’t want to, so Michael didn’t push.

Kyle Valenti lived in a relatively secluded house in the desert which made it a nice spot to throw a rager while his parents were having a nice weekend away. When they pulled up, there were already trucks and cars lining the driveway. Michael parked and looked over to Alex. He was staring straight ahead and breathing methodically.

“Forty five minutes,” Alex said.

“Forty five minutes,” Michael promised.

They were able to file into the party without much attention being drawn to them. A couple people looked at Alex sideways or congratulated Michael on a good game, but for the most part they were far too entranced in their own bullshit.

“See? No one cares,” Michael said as they found the kitchen. Alex didn’t really react, his hands stuffed in his pockets and his eyes more on the floor than other people. Michael put his hand on his back and leaned closer to be heard over the music that was shaking the walls. “You good?”

“I didn’t say I would act like I want to be here,” Alex said. Michael rolled his eyes.

“Try to have fun, will you?” he asked. Michael liked partying and he liked the idea of Alex being with him when he did. He didn’t like that Alex was dead set on being miserable. Alex looked at him.

“No.”

“Fine,” Michael said, “Do you mind if I drink?”

“Do you mind if I drive your truck home?”

“Right, got it, water,” Michael agreed. He gave Alex a smile in a probably failed attempt to cheer him up. He was doing his best not to be frustrated with him for being such a downer. He was here like Michael asked and that definitely mattered.

“Alex!”

They both looked over to see Liz by the fridge, holding her cup with her hand over it. She looked confused despite her smile and she held her free hand out towards him. Alex stayed put as she moved towards him, giving him a hug. He visibly lightened up in her grasp and Michael stupidly felt a little jealous that he wasn’t able to provide that same effect.

“What are you doing here? You hate parties!” Liz said. Alex shrugged a shoulder and nodded in Michael’s direction.

“Bribery from my student,” Alex said. Michael rolled his eyes.

“Not your student,” he said.

“Mhm, sure,” Alex said, though a smile played on his lips. Michael wasn’t stupid enough to think it had nothing to do with Liz’s hand on his side. She stayed physically close to him like she didn’t even need to be told or sober to be an anchor. Michael understood that.

“Wow, I didn’t know you guys hung out outside of studying,” Liz said, looking between them. They both shrugged it off, but she had a curious look in her eye. Michael assumed she’d know what was going on by the end of the night. “That’s fun.”

“Yeah, I think so too,” Michael agreed. 

“Oh!” Liz said, nearly choking on her drink as she thought of something mid-sip, “Perfect time to tell you about that guy Rosa went on a date with!”

“The one with the motorcycle?”

“Yes! Alex, his name is Scar.”

Michael sat there in the kitchen for a solid thirty minutes with Liz and Alex, laughing along to their stories. Alex was lighter when he was with her and he made jokes. They let him join the conversation with ease and he didn’t feel like he had to pick and choose. It had him wondering if maybe he’d miscalculated. He thought of the conforming thing he and Alex had talked about and considered that bringing him here around people neither of them liked wasn’t the right way to see how he fit. Maybe he should bring him around Isobel and Max…

Suddenly, a sharp pain hit Michael's brain and he could feel Isobel calling to him. It had him doubling over a bit and he pressed his hand to his forehead. Alex instantly put his hand on his back like Michael had done to him when they walked inside. 

“Hey, you okay?” Alex asked. Michael couldn’t even answer as he pulled out his phone. He had five missed calls. Fuck.

"Yeah, I'll be right back," Michael said. Alex furrowed his eyebrows. "Isobel keeps calling, I need to make sure she's cool and it's too loud. You gonna be okay?"

"Yeah," Alex said slowly like he was even more lost.

"Just stay by Liz," Michael said, giving his arm a gentle squeeze before quickly leaving him even though he really didn’t want to.

He weaved his way through the crowd until he found the bathroom and he closed the door, immediately calling Isobel back. She answered on the first ring.

"Where are you?"

"At Kyle Valenti's party, where are you? Are you okay? What's wrong?"

"I'm waiting for Max to come pick me up from the library, but his phone died so I called you," Isobel whispered. He plugged the other ear to hear her better.

"Okay, what's wrong?"

"I..." she breathed and when she spoke again, her voice was even quieter, "I think I'm being watched."

"Watched?" Michael repeated, "By who? Why would someone be watching you?"

"I don't know," Isobel said, her voice cracking, "But I'm scared."

"Okay, okay, I... I can't really come get you, I’m, like, a twenty-five minute drive away. How far away is Max you think?"

"Um," she breathed, "I-I don't know? A few minutes, I think. Just stay on the phone with me, please?"

"Yeah, yeah, of course," he said. And he did.

They sat on the phone for about six minutes, making small talk about anything and everything to keep her mind off of being scared. He didn't like the idea that she felt like someone was watching her, but he hoped it was just her being paranoid. It was easy to be paranoid when there was an actual thing to fear.

Eventually, though, Max showed up.

"Text me when y’all get home, okay?" Michael said.

"Okay, I will, love you."

"Love you too."

Michael hung up the phone, tried to shake away his worry, and quickly left the bathroom to go find Alex. He went to the kitchen where he'd left them, but he didn't see him anywhere. He furrowed his eyebrows and went into the living room, standing on his toes to see either Liz or Alex in the crowd. There was no sign of them, but he did see a group of guys on his team laughing and mocking body language they decided was gay enough to make fun of. Michael got a bad feeling in his stomach.

"Have any of you seen Liz?" he asked. Where Liz was, Alex was bound to be. Hopefully.

"She left," Johnson said, dramatically rolling his eyes, "Bitch can't even take a joke."

"What joke?" Michael asked, eyeing them, "I wanna laugh."

"She brought the gay kid," Long laughed, "Didn't even ask. Jokes had to be made, she should’ve known that.”

"Oh, she brought him here?" Michael said, playing dumb for the sake of his own composure, "What was the joke?"

"It wasn't even that bad, I don’t know why she freaked out like that," Valenti said, "I just said, you know, he must really like hotdogs."

"Gave him one too!" Johnson laughed, gesturing to the ground. Michael swallowed as he spotted the smashed up hotdog on the floor. He huffed a laugh and hoped that Alex was the one to smash it.

"You wanna know the funniest part about it?" Michael asked.

"What?" Valenti asked. Michael took a heavy breath and looked him in the eye.

"I brought him. Not Liz. He was my plus one."

The three of them stopped laughing and the people around them started to listen in. Michael kept his eyes locked on Kyle. He knew he was bringing someone. He should've figured that out.

"For real? You brought him to my house?" Valenti asked, scoffing as if Michael was the one in the wrong. And maybe he was, just definitely not for the reasons Kyle was blaming him for.

“Yeah, I did,” Michael scoffed, “Why do you have to act like such a dick?”

“Why do you have to act like you wanna take one?”

“And what if I do?” Michael asked, throwing his arms out. That quickly made it go incredibly silent. It was stupid of Michael to say, but he was angry and he was still buzzing with anxious energy from Isobel’s call. So he said it anyway. “What are you gonna do? Fuck with me now?”

“You’re…” Long fumbled, eyes wide like he wasn’t quite able to piece it together, “You’re a…”

“Yeah,” Michael said boldly, his eyes still on Kyle. His face was borderline unreadable as he stared at him. It was like he was trying to piece together everything he knew about masculinity and being queer and trying to figure out how Michael could be both. It would’ve been funny if it wasn’t so fucking sad. “And I dare you to say shit. Alex might be too ballsy to tell someone, but I will go to Coach and you know what side he’ll take.”

Coach was notoriously intolerant towards the intolerant when it came to his team. They all knew the consequences, namely from when Coleman got thrown off the team for mocking Vasquez’s accent two years back. He didn’t play games and they all knew if Michael told, Kyle would be off the team in seconds.

“So you’ll stop being such a piece of shit to Alex, won’t you?” Michael said. Kyle’s jaw clenched even tighter. “Good luck getting Liz after this.”

Michael didn’t bother saying goodbye or gauging anyone’s reactions as he quickly started to head out of the door. He jogged all the way to his truck in hopes that Alex would be there like they agreed upon, but he wasn’t. Michael’s stomach dropped. This was just too much all at once.

Instead of getting in his truck and driving to find him, Michael just kept jogging down the dark driveway and then down the dark road that led towards town. It took a few minutes before he heard another pair of crunching footsteps and saw a shadow ahead of him.

“Alex!” 

Alex slowed a little, but he didn’t stop walking. Michael caught up fast, though, and grabbed his arm. Alex whipped around and glared at him, his makeup smudged. It was dark, but Michael could tell that he had mustard stains on his shirt.

“I’m so sorry, I swear, I thought they’d leave you alone,” Michael insisted. Alex laughed dryly and tried to smile a little cynically, but it was more than clear that he was about to cry. “Alex, c’mon, let’s just go back to the truck and go to my house.”

“No, you know what, I’m not doing this with you,” Alex said, taking a step back, “Hooking up with you while knowing you’re in the closet is one thing, but being your friend while knowing you hang out with homophobes? Yeah, no, not doing that, I already have enough of those people in my life. I’m not doing this. I’ll be your tutor, but that’s it.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Alex, seriously? I know that wasn’t great, but‒”

“That’s not the point!” Alex snapped, a couple tears rolling down his cheeks and breaking Michael’s heart in the process, “I didn’t want to come here! I knew that shit was going to happen and I did it because you wanted me to! You wanted me to go into a place where you knew people there were going to attack me! And I let you! That’s not fair!”

“I know!” Michael said, torn between wanting to move closer and knowing that was a bad idea, “I’m sorry! It was stupid and I’m so sorry. It won’t happen again. Hell, I just came out to them, so I’m probably not gonna be invited to anymore parties with them.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Alex asked, shaking his head, “I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“I know you didn’t,” Michael said, “But you’re right. I need to stop listening to their bullshit and pretending it doesn’t affect me. I’m trying, okay? And I’m so, so sorry. I thought I could keep you safe, but, you’re right, I shouldn’t have put you in that position in the first place. Please, please, please don’t stop being my friend. I’ll do better. I swear, I’ll do better.”

Alex scoffed, “Friend.”

“What?”

“If this is how you treat your friends, you’re a shitty friend,” Alex said. Michael licked his lips. He didn’t really know how to say he never really had a friend before to use as a good reference, so he didn’t.

“Well, good thing I don’t wanna be just friends with you.”

Alex stared at him for a moment, so still that the moonlight was able to catch him in just the right way to make him glow. He was stunning even with the makeup running down his face and his stained shirt.

“You have absolute garbage timing,” Alex said, voice a little rough. Michael laughed softly, taking a slow step forward.

“Yeah, probably. But I still mean it,” Michael said honestly, “Please just come back to the truck and we’ll talk. I fucked up, okay? I’ll do better. I’m learning. But I’m out to them, so I have no excuse anymore for being stupid. I’m calling them out from now on, I promise you. I’ll prove it to you if you’ll let me. But I don’t want you walking home in the dark like this, but if you want me to take you home, I will.”

Alex licked his lips and took a few deep breaths, clearly making him wait for it. 

“Can I have your soft pillow when we get to your house?” 

Michael made a sound that was a cross between a laugh and a sigh of relief. “Alex, I will literally give you whatever you want.”

That seemed to be the right answer when Alex moved forward and wrapped his arms around his waist for a hug. Michael wrapped him up right back and breathed him in, not even caring that he was probably ruining both of their shirts. His heart was pounding so hard in his chest after the hectic last thirty minutes, he needed it.

“What did Isobel want?” Alex mumbled against his shoulder.

“She got scared and needed me on the phone until Max got there.”

“Oh,” Alex breathed, “Okay.”

“Where did Liz go?”

“Drove off, I guess. I think she was more upset that Kyle was being annoying more than she was actually upset with what he did,” Alex whispered, “I love her, but she’s dumb about boys.”

“It happens to the best of us.”

Alex sniffled and squeezed him before letting go. 

“Can you go get the truck and just come get me? I don’t want to go closer to the house,” Alex said. Michael nodded without hesitation.

“Don’t move,” he said. Alex gave a thumbs up.

 Alex spent the night cuddling Dog and Michael decided he was the luckiest son of a bitch in the world.

[sundropscribbles]

Gullible | Thirteen x Reader | 8.0K

Good morning, all!! 🌷 Who's ready for something new? This request took some time, I'll admit... largely due to me knowing exactly zero things about the seventeenth century. 😅 But we got there in the end!! Here you are, anon. ♡ I hope it was worth the wait!

“Well, then… we’re all going to need a change of dress, aren’t we?” you ask, gobsmacked. Your eyes are as wide as can be as you take in the spectacular sights before you. Needless to say, the… the castle that you’ve found yourself standing smack in the middle of is quite a lot to take in. 

You and the gang had just landed a few years inside of seventeenth century England, and while you weren’t entirely sure whether The Doctor had had a specific mark in mind apart from the year, this was quite the first impression.  Wherever and whatever this building actually was, it was an absolute spectacle, complete with quirky furniture, extravagant velvet drapes, and very regal, very expensive-looking artifacts strewn all about. 

In the face of all of it, your wardrobe likely shouldn’t have been the first thing on your mind.  No — your wardrobe should definitely not have been the first thing on your mind. No matter how true that might have been, though, it was safe to say that you felt just a hair out of place in your very casual jeans and tee-shirt — thus your suggestion of an outfit-change.  There was no way you were the only one, was there? 

“I think Y/N is right,” Graham pipes up, and you turn to cast a smile his way, grateful for his acknowledgement. 

“Could be fun, anyways, couldn’t it?” Yaz says, and you nod your head happily as you meet her gaze. 

“Right?” you reply, and then turn toward The Doctor, who appears to be cautiously surveying the area as she so often does upon finding herself someplace new.  “I thought so too!  Like a bit of dress up. What’dya say, Doctor?” 

“Eh,” she says with a shrug, and you don’t make an effort to hide the disappointment on your face at that. “I reckon I’m alright,” she goes on to say, sparing a glance back at the four of you. She smiles in a quietly amused way as she meets your eyes, first, and then looks on to the rest of the group to take in their reactions.

“Oh, c’mon, love,” you tease. You don’t hesitate to pout a bit when her eyes find yours once more. You’ve had to put in a bit of work to get your way with her in the past — surely it wouldn’t be all that hard to persuade her today.  “Have a bit of fun, won’t you?  You never play dress up with us.” 

The Doctor makes a face in response to that, something still a little amused but quite a bit offended, too.  She’s about to respond (more than likely with something witty, as is her trademark), but Ryan cuts her off before she gets the chance. 

“Maybe because she may as well be playing dress-up with her usual getup, eh?” he suggests with a smirk, and she abruptly turns a not-at-all-amused glare on him. 

“Oi! Don’t go dissing the getup,” she retorts, pointing an accusatory finger in his direction. “If anything, you lot dress way too casually to be traveling through time and space.” 

“It’s not an insult, though — just a fact,” Yaz pipes up. “Your style is a whole lot quirkier than any of ours.” 

There’s a smile on her face, and Graham’s (even despite the fact that everything else about his expression clearly says “I’m not about to get involved in this conversation”). You can see in The Doctor’s eyes that she wants to argue her point further, but you don’t let it get that far.  You’re in a bleedin’ castle, for goodness sake, and you’re not about to let the opportunity to feel a bit like royalty pass you by. 

“Well, no matter who’s coming with!  I’m going to have a go at the wardrobe,” you declare, flashing first The Doctor and then the rest of the gang a happy smile as you turn on your heel to head back in the direction of the TARDIS. Yaz, Ryan, and Graham are hot on your heels, evidently very onboard with your plan, and the moment The Doctor realizes that she’s the only one not on the way back into the TARDIS, she groans out loud. 

“Oh, fine,” she grumbles, finally pocketing her screwdriver and hurrying to catch up with the lot of you.  You’re not entirely sure if she actually plans to take part in the dressing up bit, but you hope nonetheless; she’s never been one to allow herself to be left out, after all. And that aside… while you would never freely admit it, you would definitely have liked to see her in a manner of dress from this century. You happened to know for a fact the ladies’ attire consisted of tightly-laced dresses  with an abundance of lace and flowing skirts, and blimey — wouldn’t that have been a sight.  

The five of you make it into the wardrobe in just a few minutes’ time, and in a few seconds’ time the racks and racks of clothing are being rifled through like nobody’s business. You definitely hear the TARDIS spout a dissatisfied vworp or two at that, but you don’t pay it any mind; you’ve seen The Doctor in the midst of the occasional wardrobe change a few times before, and you’re certain that the chaos of this is nothing new for her. 

Yaz and Ryan are deep in the throws of a discussion about proper fashion for the seventeenth century while Graham quietly looks through different sections of clothing, and you can hardly help but smile at the sight of it — of everyone looking so genuinely pleased.  It’s something that the lot of you don’t do often enough, you think, the dressing up bit; there’ve been plenty of times that you’ve all gone back (or forward) to periods of time with a dress entirely different from your time’s, but you can count the times you’ve actually dressed for the occasion on one hand, and in your opinion, there’s something very off about that particular ratio. 

You’re only just beginning to venture into your own little corner of the TARDIS’s wardrobe when a familiar hand finds yours, effectively stopping your progress before it begins. 

“Is this dressed up enough for ya, love?” The Doctor asks. There’s a hint of sarcasm to her voice, but the swell of excitement that bubbles up in your chest is instantaneous nonetheless. All of your own plans to find an outfit go forgotten as you whirl around to face her, more than excited to see what sort of costume she’s drummed up.  You wind up thoroughly surprised, in the end; it’s due in part to the fact that she had actually, properly dressed up, yes, but there’s also the fact that  she’s dressed rather a lot like a pirate. 

You weren’t sure what you should have expected. 

“It’s… it’s dressed up, alright,” you admit, taking a step back in favor of having a good look at her.  In her defense, she definitely doesn’t look bad. It’s just… 

“It’s very appropriate, if I do say so myself,” she says with a proud smile, brushing what dust she can manage off of the old clothes.  

All of your own shock aside, you mirror her smile, because blimey… it might not be what you had expected, but she just looks so chuffed with herself, and in the same way that she manages to wear her quirky everyday clothing like some leggy model wearing Gucci, she pulls the whole look off rather effortlessly. 

“It might be a bit… Captain Hook, if I’m totally honest,” you say, reaching out to touch the shoulder of the outfit.  It looks to consist of several layers top to bottom, and none of them look particularly soft, or comfortable — not apart from the silky-looking shirt underneath, anyways. 

“Now that’s just inaccurate,” she huffs, crossing her arms over her chest. The look on her face is something of a pout, and it only softens the smile on your face. 

“Is it?” you ask in a manner equal parts rhetoric and a bit flirtatious, dragging your fingertips across her shoulder, toward her collarbone. You toy with the ruffled collar of her shirt for a moment, watching her expression closely as you do so.  She drops her arms to her sides (without much thinking about it, it seems) and leans in a bit closer to you; she still looks mildly offended, but it’s definitely a bit softer than it had been moments before. 

“Yes, it is!  If I’m any character in that particular story, it’s obviously Peter himself,” she insists. Her smile has begun to break through her stony expression by now, and you cock your head to one side, faux curious as you admire it. 

“Oh, obviously, hm?” you echo her, pure innocence as you touch the lapels of her hefty coat with your idle hand.  

She seems to catch onto your ruse, then, because rather than arguing the point any further she spares a glance down at your hands on her, watching them with interest for a moment before meeting your gaze with narrowed eyes.  

“You—!” she begins, pointing a very accusatory finger your way.  She’s grinning regardless, though, and you grin right along with her as you watch the gleam in her eyes rekindle along with the full warmth of her smile.  “You just wanted to get a rise out of me!” 

She leans in closer to you, still, as she reaches her conclusion, and you shrug your shoulders as she shifts from waggling that finger in your face to tracing your jawline with it.  

“It worked, didn’t it?” you ask. She rolls her eyes and bops the tip of your nose with that same fingertip. 

“Always does, with you,” she admits, and leans in to give your lips a soft kiss. 

You smile into it, promptly gripping the collar of her shirt with both hands and holding on tightly. 

The kiss has only just begun to deepen when from a few feet away, there’s a chorus of faux-disgusted noises, coming from both Yaz and Ryan.  

“Are you pair sure you wouldn’t rather just get a bloody room and let us do all the exploring?” Yaz asks, and you pull away from The Doctor with a snort. 

“Right, like I’m going to let you lot gallivant about a literal castle without me,” you say, rolling your eyes at your friends. You don’t part from The Doctor before you’ve planted one more sugar-sweet kiss on her lips, however — how could you? 

It doesn’t take you a very long to find a dress on the rack that you like, and before you know it you’re dressed to the nines. The outfit you’ve picked out is proper extravagant, complete with a full, heavy hoop skirt and a very real corset.  The corset bit had been a bit of a challenge, because you had never had to lace a corset before, and as it had turned out, neither had The Doctor. What it had come down to had been you and Yaz and The Doctor fussing over the old thing for around 20 minutes while Graham and Ryan has sat off to the side, laughing themselves blue in the face. 

“ThisIs the reason I’ve never made a real effort to figure out women’s fashion,” The Doctor had muttered, trying her best to keep your corset in place while Yaz had tugged at its lacing. “Well, this and the fact that I didn’t actually have any reason to think about it for a thousand-plus years.” 

“I’m just glad I didn’t grow up in this century,” Yaz had grunted, tugging harder. “No bloody way I’d do this every day. I’d sooner die.” 

“I can’t breathe,” you had wheezed, because at that moment the corset had gotten just a little bit too tight. 

It had all come together in the end, after a whole lot of sweat and likely a few tears on your part, and you had a whole lot more fun with the accessorizing part of things. Apparently the people of the seventeenth century were big fans of jewelry and ornamentation, and being able to deck yourself out in lace and (very) gaudy jewelry had been more fun than you could have imagined. 

Following the struggle with your dress Yaz had chosen to follow The Doctor’s lead and stick to the men’s typical dress. It left you the odd man out, but you didn’t mind very much — you had always been one to enjoy sticking out a bit, anyways. 

Something like forty-five minutes later you were on your way out once again, and this time, stepping into the regal-looking building, you felt absolutely ecstatic. You allow yourself to have a bit of fun with the whole thing, twirling this way and that as you take a handful of steps outside of the TARDIS. 

“That’s definitely more like it,” you say, much more to yourself than to anyone else.  You hear your mates laugh from a few feet behind you regardless, though, and it only causes your smile to grow. 

“You look a bit like a princess, Y/N,”  Graham comments, and you grin, full on. 

“I rather feel like one,” you say, lifting the skirt of your dress up just a bit and giving one final twirl about. 

“I might be jealous if I didn’t know full well that you can’t breathe properly right now,” Yaz pipes up, and you snort, because it’s not entirely untrue. 

“It’s pretty well worth it though, I reckon,” you say, and when you hear The Doctor give a thoughtful hum, you look her way.  You find her eyeing you up, not the least bit subtle, and your cheeks grow warm at that. 

“I have to agree,” she says, and you giggle bashfully as you backtrack a bit, happily returning to her side. She takes your hand in hers and presses a rather sweet kiss to your knuckles, and you couldn’t be more content. 

“So,” Ryan chimes in, making to tuck his hands into his jumper’s pockets as he so often does, and promptly giving up when he remembers that the eccentric outfit he’s wearing does not, in fact, have proper pockets. “Where to?” 

—————-> ————————-> 

You only get a bit of wandering about done, in the end. As it so often goes, things begin to go askew not far into your little escapade. 

You’ve wandered a hallway or two, and spent a good little while marveling at the castle and all of its showy trinkets before there’s really any problems. 

You had only just finished struggling to navigate a very large, very lavish spiral staircase (with very little help from your weighty dress) when you had come to what had looked like an exit, and you had all been excited, because the outside of the castle had looked just as dazzling as the inside. As it had happened, though, it’d been just as you’d made your way out into what looked quite a bit like a large, lovely courtyard that you’d run into trouble.  

Well — it’s not trouble, not really. Not compared to some of the extraterrestrial things that you tended to run into, anyhow.  What you come upon is a sizable group of what could very well be guards, and it’s not very long before they make a point of posing an obstacle. 

“Oi, stop right there,” one of them commands, and pulls a sword from his belt. You blink, startled, and stay close to your friends, who all take a few stumbled steps backward. 

“How come we didn’t think to pick up a couple of swords?” Ryan hisses under his breath, and you hear The Doctor scoff. 

“Don’t be stupid, Ryan,” she says under her breath. “Swords are just big knives, and—“ 

“—only idiots carry knives,” you finish for her, and she flashes you a smile. 

“Exactly right, Y/N,” she says, reaching for your hand and giving it a comforting squeeze before righting herself and slipping toward the front of the group in favor of addressing the guards. She raises a hand in greeting and her smile is as friendly as ever as she speaks up. 

“Why hello, gentleman,” she greets them. She doesn’t flinch when every last one of them raises their swords — how, you don’t think you’ll ever understand. “My sincerest apologies — there’s really no need for all of that. My mates and I have gotten a bit turned around, you see. We were just making our way out.” 

The explanation is as confident and smooth as ever, but the guards don’t seem to be buying it. The entire group is still on the offense, weapons poised and gazes suspicious as they eye the lot of you up. 

A few of them begin to mutter amongst themselves, gesturing between The Doctor and Yaz, and you’d have been willing to bet that they were discussing your friends’ manner of dress.  It wasn’t exactly typical, after all, for two women to be roaming around dressed like men. 

“Very well, madam,” one of them says with clear disdain, and inwardly, you roll your eyes, because of course you’d been right. “But I’m much more concerned with how exactly you wound up inside of a royal residence — you must agree that it’s all quite suspicious.”

You share an irritated look with Yaz at that, because it all feels absurd, frankly. 

“I knew it was a castle,” Ryan says under his breath as he gives you an excited nudge or two with one elbow. The Doctor, however; scoffs, clearly having caught onto the guard’s condescending attitude. 

“I always forget how you lot treat women in this day and age,” she grumbles, and you smirk. “I just told you, didn’t I? We got turned around. We aren’t exactly from around these parts.” 

She’s a bit more insistent than friendly, this time around, and you don’t blame her. If you and Yaz aren’t used to being treated like second class citizens because of your gender, then The Doctor certainly wouldn’t have been accustomed. 

The look of the guard indicates that his next response won’t be anything different, and The Doctor seems to be onto that already, because the next thing she does is reach into her overcoat for her psychic paper. 

“Look, I’ve got identification right here, yes? Official tour guide at your service, lads,” she begins. 

You blink at that, because typically, The Doctor would certainly have picked a title more official than “tour guide”.   That’s not the first thing you notice, however, because in the same moment that The Doctor pulls out her psychic paper, her sonic catches on the little wallet and takes a tumble out of her coat. 

It hits the ground with a soft thud, and your eyes go wide at that, because it doesn’t just hit the ground and lay at her feet, no; it hits the ground and rolls forward, toward the group of armed guards. You open your mouth to warn her on instinct, but it doesn’t do a terrible lot of good. She hasn’t noticed yet that her screwdriver has gone rogue, and by the time you’re able to give her a subtle tap on the shoulder, it’s too late. 

One of the guards takes notice of the small, silvery device that’s landed by his feet, and he momentarily lowers his sword in favor of of stooping to pick it up. 

It takes The Doctor a good bit longer to notice, as she’s both attempting to figure out what you’d been trying to tell her and making her best effort to chat all of you out of the sticky situation you were currently in, but she catches on soon enough. 

“Sir, take a look at this,” the man who had picked up the sonic says, gesturing with it to draw his superior’s attention.  The head of the group of guards pauses mid-accusation to take a look, and, well — its all downhill from there. 

“What in the lord’s name—“ he begins, but pauses to stare in awe when he accidentally hits the one of screwdriver’s two buttons and its tip begins to spin and glow its warm golden color.  

“It fell from her doublet,” the lower-ranking guard explains, and each and every guard’s gaze snaps toward The Doctor, who still looks a tad startled. 

“Well, I’m not surprised she’s keeping secrets,” he mumbles, eyes narrowed as he gives first The Doctor, and then the rest of you yet another judgmental once-over. The Doctor scoffs at that, tucking her psychic paper away once more and gesturing toward her sonic. 

“First of all, no secrets — I’ve not been lying to you,” she points out. “Secondly — that’s my screwdriver and I’d like it back, please.” 

Both the guard and his troop look spectacularly confused at that. He proceeds to flip the screwdriver over in his hands, hitting the button a time or two more as he does so. 

“Screw... driver,” he mutters, and you hear The Doctor grumble at that. 

“Blimey, that’s right — your average screwdriver doesn’t come about until the 1930s,” she grunts. She recovers soon enough, though, and it’s not long before she’s smiling at the guards once more. “Doesn’t matter, though. Sir, that device won’t be of any use nor value to you. It also doesn’t belong to you. Now, can I please have it back so that my friends and I can be on our way?” 

“I don’t think so, Miss. You’re trespassing on these grounds,” the guard says, and promptly tucks The Doctor’s sonic into his coat.  “You may well have stolen this artifact, for all we know.” 

“I believe we would do well to check in with our Lord about all of this, sir,” a third guard suggests, gesturing toward the lot of you. 

The Doctor makes a clearly frustrated noise in response to that, and she looks as though she’s going to argue, but the small troop of guards doesn’t give her the opportunity to do so. 

“Quite right. You and your... friends are going to need to come with us,” their leader goes on to say. The Doctor rolls her eyes at that but turns her gaze on you all nonetheless, looking mildly apologetic. 

“M’afraid we’ll have to do what they tell us for the time being, gang,” she says, and the group collectively sighs. 

“S’always something, innit?” Graham says, and you snort softly. 

“Oi, we’ll get to see more of the castle, at least,” you suggest, because it’s true, isn’t it? You find The Doctor smiling at you when you turn back to face her, and you offer her a sly wink along with your hand. 

“She’s not wrong,” Ryan shrugs, and you’re about to cast another bit of wit to the wind when you’re interrupted by the palace security once again. 

 “Right then, let’s be on our way,” Guard #1 says, just as a few of the others come ‘round your small group to effectively box you in. 

Most of them still have their swords drawn, so you don’t bother making a ruckus as you walk, holding The Doctor’s hand tightly in your own.  You aren’t terribly nervous; these are only humans, after all, and given your broad spectrum of experience with making quick escapes from hostile situations, it shouldn’t be much trouble. 

The only real challenge, now, would be retrieving The Doctor’s sonic. 

The guards lead you back inside of the castle, and down a select few corridors before they pile you into a relatively small room, which you assume must been the seventeenth-century royal equivalent of an interrogation room.  It might not have been furnished specifically for that purpose, though, because more than anything, it just looked like a very small, very old-fashioned study.   It’s lowly lit, and there are a few old chairs scattered about, and they all have the same sort of antique-y look as the rest of the place. 

“We’re supposed to have a meet with a king here?” Ryan asks, hushed.  The majority of the guards have already piled out of the room (apart from one, left posted inside to keep watch of you), but it never hurt to keep your voices low, you supposed. 

“You really think we’ll be meeting with a king?” Yaz asks, looking skeptical. 

“I should hope not,” Graham weighs in, “I’d have picked a nicer outfit if I’d have thought we’d be facing royalty.” 

“Not likely it’ll be an actual king. They did say Lord,” The Doctor says. She doesn’t bother to keep her voice down — not that she often does. “And castles actually started off as a militant sort of thing. Fire was such a common threat when it came to the homes of so many lords and other highborns that they started building their fortresses out of stone instead of wood.” 

“So..?” Yaz urges her on, and The Doctor looks her way with a shrug. 

“So whoever we’re meeting’s probably just going to be the lord who’s been given control of this area by the actual king,” she explains. You hum thoughtfully at that, smoothing your hands across the fabric of your dress as you think it over. 

You’ve got to wonder where all of this is going; while you weren’t sure the guards would have let you go either way, it would surely be a challenge to persuade them now that they had a real leverage over you — over The Doctor. 

While you could have left without the sonic (because it wasn’t likely that anyone from this century would have been able to operate it properly), you knew full well that she wouldn’t have wanted that.  The Doctor had always talked so proudly about how she’d made her handiest tool herself; there was something sentimental about it, you knew, and it would likely have taken quite an event to convince her to leave without it. 

There was still the psychic paper, you supposed — perhaps between a bit of “proof” and The Doctor’s smooth-talking, it wouldn’t be as difficult as you might have anticipated. 

And, still — these were only humans. And humans that weren’t posing any real threat to you, at that. 

“So what’s the plan then, Doc?” Graham asks, looking just as worried as ever regardless of the situation.  The Doctor turns a smile on him (just like she always does), about to provide him with a handful of reassuring words when the door to your small, makeshift interrogation room bursts open and the ruckus returns. 

The guards are back, and this time they’re led by a man much more regally dressed than anyone else in the room.  The clothing he wears is much better fitted (although that could been because it had actually been fitted for him) and far more ornamental — decorated with gold, jewels, fur... the whole lot. He also wore something that looked vaguely like a crown, and carried an expensive-looking staff in one hand. 

In his other hand he held The Doctor’s screwdriver, and upon entering the room, he pointed it in the direction, somewhat predictably, of Graham; the wrong person entirely. 

“I presume you can tell me what the purpose of this trinket is?” he says — in a very high-and-mighty way for someone who isn’t even a proper king, you think. 

“Mate, I’ve been doing this for quite some time now, and I couldn’t even begin to explain most of the things that I see in a day,” Graham says, and then gestures toward The Doctor, who’s already grinning. “You might want to ask the woman who made it to explain it to you.” 

Lord-Whoever-He-Might-Be turns to look at The Doctor, then, obviously skeptical of the situation, and with pursed lips, he holds the sonic out toward her, instead. 

“Very well,” he says, very clearly displeased at the fact that the person with the knowledge he wants just so happens to be female. You can hardly help but snort at that — a bit less than subtle, you’ll admit, but it’s not likely he’ll pay you much attention anyhow. “You created this, then?” 

The Doctor only continues to smile at him, cheerful as ever in the face of judgement. “I did,” she says proudly, nodding toward the sonic. “Patent pending and all of that.” 

The Lord squints at her, and you smile when you realize that it’s quite likely that he hasn’t any idea what The Doctor means.  That’s how you know she’s lost her patience with a situation, you think — when she doesn’t even begin to bother censoring herself. 

“Tell me then,” he begins, and turns his primary focus back on the screwdriver. “What is it for? Is it a weapon?” 

The Doctor scoffs. “Quite the opposite,” she says, arms folded across her chest. You have to admit, you’re rather shocked that she hasn’t simply snatched it out of this pompous bloke’s hands, but then — there is an armed guard just a few feet away. Perhaps sudden movements wouldn’t have been the wisest execution of her goal. “It’s only a tool. Although — only isn’t really the best word to put in front of it. Terribly inaccurate, because it’s not onlya tool, it’s me handiest tool.” 

The Lord gives her an odd look, but doesn’t say anything more. Instead, he goes on to hit each of the sonic’s buttons a time or two, just the way that the guard had done earlier.  You snicker under your breath at that — at the way that both of these men seem to have been completely and utterly captivated by what their personal knowledge could only allow them to see as a small, shiny object. 

Typical,you think. 

“Pray tell, madam, what cause could this… invention possibly be useful to?” he says, finally, clearly not about to budge without being given some sort of detail. 

And The Doctor, well... she just isn’t having it. 

“My cause;” she says, quite simply. “Which frankly, sir, isn’t really any of your business. Now, please give me back my sonic before I get cross with you.” 

She holds out her hand for the screwdriver as she speaks, but Mr. Pompous holds his ground.  He doesn’t actually say anything in response to her demand, but he doesn’t give the sonic back to The Doctor, either; in fact, he proceeds to fiddle with it, avoiding her gaze like some sort of petulant child. 

She gives him another moment, bless her, but just as she’s gearing up to speak again (with every intention of giving him a good telling off, you’d have guessed) he decides to open his mouth once again. 

“Not until you give me a proper explanation for all of this,” he says, sounding as high and mighty as ever, and that… that’s when you decide you’ve had enough — of being stuck in this dusty room, of the way that this quote-unquote Lord was talking to The Doctor — of the whole bloody thing.  It had put a real damper on your day. 

“Look, mate — you heard what she said.  It’s a tool, her tool, and the rest is none of your business,” you say, as blunt and to the point as possible. “Now, hand it over, would you?”

His eyes are on you in the next instant, wide with surprise. At first, it seems as though he simply hadn’t expected you to speak; why would you have, after all?  You were meant to be a lady — at least, that was what his outdated expectations had probably told him.  You hold your ground and stare him down, expecting him to either concede or come back at you with another bit of snark. 

Much to your surprise, he does neither of those things. There’s a fraction of a second during which he gives you a mildly offended look, but it doesn’t take long for that air of defensiveness to dissolve into something far more off-putting. 

You watch as his eyes slide from the stony expression on your face down toward the tightly laced bodice of your dress, and in those few seconds, his perception of you becomes more than clear.  A few too many seconds later he meets your eyes again, and the smile on his face is nothing short of predatory.  

“Well you’re dressed properly, at least,” he says, and you couldn’t have stifled your scowl if you’d tried.  The rest of the gang seem to be on the same page; Graham and Ryan shuffle uncomfortably, Yaz visibly prickles, and The Doctor... you can feel The Doctor’s energy shift in an instant.  

Where there had been mild annoyance before, there was now bitter anger. It rolled off of her in waves, so much so that there was no way everyone else in the room didn’t feel it, too. 

“And why do I get the feeling that that won’t make any difference in whether or not you hear me?” you say with a roll of your eyes.  You make a point of reaching for The Doctor’s hand once more with the intention of calming her, even if it’s just marginally.  After all, no matter how... unfortunate this bloke’s attitude was, making a scene was still not likely to be the best course of action. 

“Oh, I could be persuaded to listen, among other things,” Lord-Whomever says, waggling his eyebrows. “So long as you were the one doing the persuading.” 

You very nearly scoff at that; you’ve never been one to keep your displeasure with unwanted advances at bay, after all. However, his choice of words gives you an idea.  You’re not entirely certain it’ll work, but you think it’s probably worth a shot. 

When you were interested, you knew how to flirt. You’d have counted yourself very good at it, in fact. The Doctor wouldn’t have liked the idea of it, you knew, but if your flirting with some entitled, unimportant twat meant getting her sonic back and getting out of here? It would be well worth it. 

In just a coupe of seconds’ time you school your expression, settling for neutral with a smile as you allowed your gaze to settle upon the castle’s Lord.  Before you allow yourself to settle into your course of action you make sure to give The Doctor’s hand a tight squeeze, doing your damndest to convey with everything in you that she shouldn’t at all think into what was about to happen. 

“Oh?” you begin, dropping The Doctor’s hand following one final brush of your thumb across her knuckles. You take a step forward, effectively putting yourself in the space of the man who’s been so determined to turn himself into a human road block for you and your friends. He looks to be visibly startled at this, which isn’t the biggest surprise, if you’re honest; after all, he doesn’t exactly seem like the type of man who would be accustomed to women being forward with him. “Well, how fortunate for you that I happen to know a thing or two about the persuasion of men.” 

You hear a choked noise from behind you that you think comes from Graham or Ryan, and a snort that almost certainly comes from Yaz. There’s an unusual lack of a reaction from The Doctor, and you try to assume the best of that, because maybe it means that she’s understood what you were trying to convey to her. Either way, you don’t think too much of it, because there’s no way your plan

will go over properly if you’re distracted. 

“I don’t find that hard to believe in the least, madame,” the Lord says, and takes a step toward you. He reaches a hand out to fiddle with one of the strands of your hair that’s fallen loose from your messy updo. It’s a real battle not to shrink away from the touch; it’s forward, too forward, and to say that it unsettles you would have been an understatement. Even the guards avert their gazes and shuffle uncomfortably, and you have to wonder if they’re accustomed to putting up with this type of behavior from their leader. 

Quite fortunately for you, his forwardness works to your advantage. It allows you to take another half a step forward, and to reach out for the lapels of his coat without it looking like anything too suspicious. He’s so focused on your face and your apparent advances that he hardly notices when you quietly slip your hand into the very pocket that you had seen him tuck The Doctor’s screwdriver into.  Once you have a firm grip on the sonic, you pull it out of his pocket and take a sizable step back in one swift motion.  There’s a smug smile on your face as you return to The Doctor’s side and hold the sonic out to her proudly. 

“You see? Barely had to say a word,” you say. The group of men you had just very thoroughly swindled all stand bolt upright, staring with wide eyes as The Doctor takes her sonic back and pockets it. 

Lord-Whomever makes a thoroughly offended noise, looking a whole lot like a spoiled child as he points an accusatory finger your way. 

“Witch!” he exclaims, positively red in the face.  You grin. 

“Nah mate, you’re just gullible,” Ryan chimes in, and you snort. 

The man looks like he’s about to say something more, but before he gets the chance The Doctor cuts in. 

“And before you go ordering your little troop to wrangle us up — don’t,” she says. There’s a definite bite in her voice that seems to catch the lot of them off guard, and it definitely works to your advantage. “We’ve done nothing wrong, here, and you can’t have us arrested for reclaiming our own property.” 

The Lord fish-mouths at that, and with a smile equal parts proud and smug, you move to take The Doctor’s hand once more. 

“You heard her,” Yaz says confidently. “We demand to be released.“ 

“And we’ll be on our way and out of your hair in no time,” Graham pipes up, and you smile happily. On an average day there isn’t anything in the world you’d trade your little family for, and today is no exception. 

Mr. Lordly seems to want to argue, to start, but before he can even get his bearings his head guard is piping up to tell him that your lot is right — that they can’t lawfully hold you prisoner when you haven’t done anything wrong. 

He simmers down fairly quickly following that, and with a pointed glare in your direction, he nods his head. 

“Very well. Let’s be on our way, men,” he says, already turning toward the door indignantly. “I trust one of you will see these trespassers out.” 

“No need, lads,” The Doctor says, sounding much less biting, now, and a lot more plain irritated. “We’re plenty capable of seeing ourselves out.” 

Each and every person in the small troop of guards hesitates, just for a second, but in the end it seems they decide that arguing isn’t actually worth the trouble.  You’re thankful for that, obviously, because you couldn’t very well leave the TARDIS lying about the castle, could you?  It was the last thing you needed a big-headed lord and his guards stumbling upon. 

Your friends seem to breathe a collective sigh of relief the moment you’re all left alone in the small room; Yaz smiles and shakes her head, Graham relaxes, and Ryan snorts, sidestepping to clap a hand over your shoulder. 

“Well done, Y/N,” he says with a laugh. You shrug your shoulders, laughing along with him as you take a moment to relax as well. 

“Further proof that men will never be hard to fool,” Yaz pipes up, and reaches your way for a quick high-five. Graham and Ryan each make a mildly offended noise at that, but they don’t argue, and you can’t help but have a laugh at that. 

You expect The Doctor to chime in as well, perhaps to give her two cents about her experience as a man; but she doesn’t. In fact, she’s unusually quiet, even though there’s a small smile on her face. You make a point of smiling her way, anyhow, and she responds by giving your hand a gentle squeeze. 

You all linger about for a moment or two more, chatting amongst yourselves and waiting patiently for your militant friends to get themselves a safe distance away;  there needn’t be any conflict on the short trek back to the TARDIS, after all, and it’s a good opportunity to talk over the remainder of the day’s plan, anyways. 

It’s not long before you’re on the move once again, though, on your way back into the castle’s common area at The Doctor’s suggestion. 

“Best get a shift on, then, gang,” she says. She brushes her thumb across your knuckles as she says it, effectively drawing your attention to her, and you smile. “We’ll park the TARDIS outside of the castle and go forward from there.” 

Everyone nods their agreement, and with that, they turn and head for the door. You’re close behind, and The Doctor is, too, to start, but just as you’re about to set foot outside the room, things take an unexpected turn. 

The Doctor still has ahold of your hand, and she uses that to her advantage, stopping a good few feet from the door and pulling you back toward her sharply.  

A surprised noise escapes you as the door swings shut behind Graham, and your eyes are wide as you’re whirled around to face The Doctor once more.  You mean to ask her what’s going on, what’s wrong, but you don’t actually have the opportunity to get a word out before you’re being crowded against the wall behind you. 

Before you can really even process it, The Doctor has a firm grip on your waist and she’s pressing you tight against the old wooden door, and the last thing you see before her lips meet yours is her eyes, alight with a fiery determination. 

The kiss is passionate, to say the least, a positively hungry thing, and the sound that spills out of you is (very) likely a bit obscene.  Her hands move from your waist to your hips — that is, until you reach out to cradle her jaw. It’s then that she takes it upon herself to snatch your hands up in hers. Her fingers slot together with your own as she presses her body to yours and pins your arms up above your head, and it drags a whimper out of you.  Not so suddenly, you find yourself feeling very, very warm, and you want nothing more than to beg her to get you the hell out of your bloody dress.  Between your wardrobe and hers, it’s one too many layers; especially when you’re so close, and she’s kissing you like this, and all you really want to be feeling is her skin.

It’s about the time you start to writhe against her that she lets up (not by your request — not by a long shot). Her grip on your hands loosens, and she trails her fingertips first along your forearms, just for a moment before she allows her arms to drop in favor of touching your cheeks gently as she draws herself back from the kiss and away from you. 

Well — not away from you entirely; not really. Just enough to allow for a bit of breathing space, more like. 

Your tongue is in knots even as you open up your eyes and get a start catching your breath. You’re fairly certain you’ll be red in the face for the remainder of the day, but luckily for you, The Doctor doesn’t seem to expect you to speak.  She resettles her hands upon your waist and pulls you in close to her, where she allows you to rest as your heartbeat slows back to normal and the thrill of the moment wears off. 

It takes you a moment, definitely, but you do come back to your senses. As soon as you feel like you can breathe properly again you lean back a bit, enough that you can catch The Doctor’s gaze, and sigh softly. 

“I can’t say I know what that was for, exactly,” you begin, reaching to fiddle with the collar of her shirt. “But I definitely appreciated it.” 

You’re smiling the entire time you speak, obviously — making light of the unexpected situation, and that. However, The Doctor still looks just a little bit tense, even as she stands there smiling back at you. You don’t entirely understand why that is, not really — at least, not until she goes on to explain herself in the next moment. 

“We’ll just put it like this,” she says, meeting your gaze with a certain intensity in her eyes. “You’re clever — annoyinglyclever. And it astounds me, it really does.” You raise an eyebrow at that, but don’t say anything in response; the look on her face tells you that the explanation is on its way, anyhow, and you don’t want to go derailing it. “As clever as you are, though... please don’t go around flirting with seventeenth century Lords often, yeah?” 

It takes you a split second of confusion to realize that all of this — the sulking, the stoic attitude, the downright steamy kiss behind closed doors — has been because The Doctor has been jealous. Because of some strategic, but wildly phony flirting that you had plucked out of your back pocket in a pinch. 

“You were—“ you begin. 

“Don’t you dare,” she warns you. There’s not much fight to it, though, and the irritation has all but melted straight out of her expression already, so you don’t hesitate. 

“Doctor,” you go on, just a touch sing-song. “You were jealous.” 

She groans aloud at your relentless teasing, refusing to meet your eyes only briefly before fixing you with what could only be described as a pout. 

“I don’t think I can fairlybe blamed!” she exclaims. A smile plays at the corners of her lips as she speaks, and it makes you feel warm inside, the fact that she’d been so thoroughly fraught over all of this.  “Not with all of the touching and the eye-batting, and — and! Ugh!” 

You giggle, absolutely delighted as you watch your companion have her little fit. You allow it, and you’re even quiet for the majority of her minor tantrum, but the moment she’s finished, you take her hands in your own and make a point of pressing little kisses to the backs of each of her palms. 

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” you say, and grin when she begins to pout once more. “You of all people should know what my flirting — my genuine flirting — looks like.” 

She makes a point of grumbling under her breath, still, but the flush on her cheeks gives her away, and you smile proudly at that. 

“Still,” she argues, finally smiling back at you as she lets go of one of your hands in favor of turning toward the door.  “Promise me no more flirting.” 

She pauses for your response before opening the door, seemingly unwilling to take no for an answer. You roll your eyes and sigh in response to her persistence, but you nod your head nonetheless. 

“No more flirting,” you promise. “Not with anyone but you, anyways.”  

The smile that overtakes her expression at that is one strangely reminiscent of the sun, and you giggle happily as she turns and proceeds to open up the door.  In doing so, she also reveals your three remaining friends — all of whom are standing just outside the door with crossed arms and expressions equal parts amused and impatient. 

“Can we get on, then?” Yaz teases the pair of you, a smile playing on her lips all the while. 

“Of course we can,” The Doctor says, cheerful as ever once more, and you snort. 

With that, the lot of you are off once more, and you make a mental note to yourself to exact a bit of revenge on The Doctor later, when you’ve finished your adventuring for the day — after all, once you’ve returned to the TARDIS, you’ll have the entire evening. 

You only hope that she’s prepared. 

[justanoutlawfic]

The Virgin: Chapt. 2

Summary: The day that changes their lives forever. Lacey has to break the news to both Regina and Robin about her “mistake”.

Also on AO3

They say you never see a broken heart coming. Robin, on the other hand, had been preparing for his for the past 3 weeks.

He knew the odds, both he and Marian did. They had talked over the procedure extensively before they decided to actually go through it. After he was given a clean bill of health, they at first debated if they would ever use the sample. They were lucky enough to have Roland, he was just over a year old when they got the news that the cancer was gone. For the next three years, they were extremely happy. They had each other, their thriving hotel.

 Even so, Robin couldn’t shake this overwhelming need that something was missing. He had only felt that once before, right after they conceived Roland. It was then he had decided to open his own hotel. It’d be under his father’s branch (along with her family being on the board), but it would still be something that he and Marian would run mostly on their own. The Marbella was their second child, they had put so much blood, sweat and tears in it. Now, he felt that again. Roland was getting older, he and Marian were doing very good. So, after his yearly check-up, he had broached the subject with Marian.

 She was skeptical and rightfully so. The procedure had such a slim chance of working and it was his only sample, his last sample. The doctors had encouraged him to give it prior to his chemotherapy and it had been the right choice. After everything was said and done, there was no way they could conceive another child without that sample. Robin pointed out that it was there for a reason. If it didn’t work, then they could discuss other options. There was no harm in trying, right?

 So, Marian had agreed. She scheduled an appointment with Lacey and had done all the right things after. For once, she delegated her duties with the hotel and heavied her assistant’s workload. She went to bed at a reasonable hour and though she already ate healthy, she was even more on top of it. Robin did whatever he could to make it easier on her.

 They didn’t discuss the possible outcomes over those 3 weeks, they had done that enough. Whether it was good or bad, they didn’t bring it up at all. If it weren’t for the little note in both of their calendars to head to Lacey’s office exactly 3 weeks after the insemination, they may not have ever spoken of it at all.

 The morning of the appointment, things went as normal. Robin woke up to the smell of Marian cooking breakfast. He showered and dressed before making his way into the kitchen part of their suite. They had decided to have a suite built onto the hotel for them while it was in construction, so they would be close if there were any issues. It was like a penthouse, three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a living room and kitchen. Roland found it cool that he got to live in a hotel, just like the character in his favorite books, Eloise at the Plaza.

 “Morning,” he said, kissing the top of Roland’s head before pecking Marian’s lips.

“You’re having breakfast with us this morning, Papa?” Roland asked from his spot at the table.

“That’s right. Your mama and I have an appointment to head to later.”

“I still get to hang out with Grace, right?”

“Of course.”

Marian turned towards the table, two plates in hand. “I’ve got pancakes for my boys.”

“What would we do without you?” Robin wrapped an arm around her. “What do we say to Mama, Roland?”

“Thank you, Mama!”

 Marian grinned and set them down, before giving Robin another kiss. He let it linger for a moment, wanting to savor the happy moment. She stroked his cheek.

 “No matter what the outcome, we’re going to be okay,” she whispered. “No matter what Lacey says.”

“I know,” Robin said, wishing more than anything his heart would let him believe it.

Regina hated Saturdays. During the week, she had work to keep her busy. On the weekends, all she had was her apartment. Sure, she’d grade papers or go to the store, but those were the days she was reminded most that she was alone.

 Luckily, that particular Saturday, she had been invited to join Emma, Neal and Henry at the zoo. If she could count on anything remotely close to family, it’d be those three. She had met Emma when they were 10 years old. Both had grown up in the foster system, having scarily similar stories. Regina had nearly been adopted by a great foster family when she was 5 years old, but then the foster mother passed away and the father couldn’t afford to keep her, no matter how hard he tried. Emma had been passed by when her long term foster family got pregnant with a biological child and his medical bills meant they could only keep one. While Regina had been left on the steps of the fire station, Emma was abandoned on the side of the road.

 They were both headstrong and determined, a combination that might have made them enemies, if they didn’t love each other so much. Together, they stayed in the same group home until they were 16. That was when faux-leather wearing Emma met equally covered in faux-leather Neal Cassidy. Emma snuck out of the room they shared with 2 other girls every night for 6 months, so it wasn’t much of a surprise when she got pregnant. She emancipated herself and Neal got kicked out of his dad’s, the two managing to find housing together by the time Henry was born. Regina became Henry’s godmother and for the past 8 years, that was the closest she had to family.

 As happy as Emma was at 24, it hadn’t always been easy for her. She struggled to keep up with work and had to drop out of high school, just to be able to take care of Henry. Her and Neal’s relationship had been rocky, including a split once both turned 20. They had only gotten back together a year prior, as they had both grown up some and were ready. Henry was a happy and well-adjusted kid, both his parents loved him. It didn’t mean that both clearly hadn’t had their lives derailed.

 Regina had made a vow after she saw firsthand what Emma had been through. She wasn’t going to have sex until marriage. She was going to college, start her career. One day she’d start a family, but not until she was ready.

 She had come close in college. When she met Daniel at freshmen orientation, it almost felt like fate. They dated for 2 years, getting engaged a year in and planned to marry as soon as she got her teaching certificate. He was perfectly fine with waiting, something most guys weren’t. Regina didn’t believe in fairytales, but it certainly felt like she was living in one.

 Her bubble burst a year into the engagement. Daniel had been walking back to his dorm after a night out to buddies and was hit by a driver that didn’t stop at a red light. They never found who it was and Regina was left devastated. If it weren’t for her academic scholarship, she probably would’ve spent every day in bed. Suddenly, her life became more than just proving she wasn’t the poor foster kid. She had to do it for Daniel. He wouldn’t get to live the rest of his life, so she would live hers for him.

 Regina pulled into the parking lot of the zoo and started heading towards the zoo. She hadn’t been feeling well and hadn’t been able to keep anything down for the past couple of days, but a promise was a promise. Besides, getting a glimpse of the Swan-Cassidy family made it worth it.

“Auntie Regina!” Regina smiled as Henry ran towards her, rosy cheeks and hazel eyes.

“Hey sweetie.” She pulled him into her arms and kissed the top of his head. “You ready to see some animals?”

“Yeah, I was reading up about all the different ones they had. I guess one of the pandas just had a baby. Did you know they weighs less than a pound when they’re born?”

“I didn’t know that,” Regina said, allowing him to take her hand and prattle on about all the panda facts he read.

Emma chuckled, ruffling her son’s hair. “You’re going to talk your aunt’s ear off, aren’t you?”

“At least he’s well read. I wonder who he gets that from, because it certainly wasn’t either of you.”

Neal pretended to look offended. “Just for that, I am so not buying you a pretzel.”

Regina laughed, shaking her head. “That’s fine. I haven’t been able to eat for days now.”

Emma studied her face. “You do look a bit pale. If you’re not up to this, we could always come another day.”

“Nah, I’ll be fine. I made the mistake of eating from that deli on the corner, that always messes me up. Come on, let’s buy tickets.”

 Regina kept drinking from her water bottle as they made it around the zoo, but that only seemed to make her feel worse. She plastered a smile on her face, not wanting to ruin it for Henry. They spent a lot of time with the pandas and standing in the shade helped, at least a little bit. When they stopped for lunch, she tried to eat a salad. Halfway through the overpriced Cesar, however, she felt sick to her stomach. Regina raced to the bathroom, unaware that Emma was on her tail.

 “Neal can finish up with Henry here, I’m taking you to the doctor,” she said, standing outside the stall.

Regina groaned, wiping her mouth and flushing. “I’m fine, Emma.”

“No, you’re not. Come on, if you’ve been this sick for days, it has to be more than Al’s.”

Regina felt stupid as she sat on the cot in the emergency room, Emma standing beside her. The doctors were running tests, but couldn’t find anything wrong with her. If it truly was food poisoning, it would’ve been gone by then. At most, it was probably just the stomach flu. In which case, she could’ve avoided a trip to the doctor. Even so, Emma wasn’t backing down.

 The doctor that had taken her vitals came back in. “Well, we have your results. You’re not sick, you’re pregnant.”

Regina laughed. “That’s impossible.”

“I’m afraid it’s very possible. We tested both your urine.”

Emma’s eyes widened and a grin spread across her face. “Did you get some, finally?”

Regina rolled her eyes. “No! I’m a virgin.”

The doctor raised an eyebrow. “A virgin?”

“Yes, I know it’s hard to believe…”

“It’s very hard to believe, given your test.”

“False positives are a thing.”

“Yes, but normally false negatives are more popular.”

Emma held up her hand, interrupting. “Where did you get your degree? The University of Freaking Dumbass? If my best friend says she’s a virgin, then she’s a virgin. Your test must be faulty or something!”

“Our tests are not…”

“Run the test again.”

The doctor rolled his eyes, but nodded. “Fine. She’ll need to pee again.”

 Regina was given a bottle of water and she downed it, peeing in the cup as soon as she was able to. She stayed standing this time, watching the nurse put the strip in herself.

 “Pink means pregnant.” He pulled the strip up from the cup…revealing the pink.

 Regina had always fucking hated pink.

Robin knew his sister very well. After years of watching her battle sobriety and numerous other bad decisions, he could spot her “I fucked up” face from a mile away. She had it on as soon as she walked into her office the morning that his world was turned on its head.

 “It didn’t work,” he said, bluntly. He could feel Marian squeezing his hand and he returned the gesture. “Just say it.”

Lacey slowly sat down behind her desk. “There’s a bit more to it than that.”

Robin’s mind instantly went to the worst. “Did you pick up something else in the tests?”

“No…not that…it’s just…I didn’t inseminate Marian.”

Marian’s grip tightened on her husband’s as she focused in on her sister-in-law. “What? Yes you did, I was there.”

“I put saline in.”

“Why the hell would you do that?”

“Because I accidentally put Robin’s sperm in another patient.”

 Robin had been angry with Lacey in the past. When they were kids and she broke his favorite action figure because she wanted to play surgeon. When they were teenagers and she stole his prom money to go partying with her friends. The time she missed Roland’s first birthday to go on a vacation with a man she had just met.

 Anger wasn’t the right word in this moment. There was shock, of course, but once that settled…he was left with this bubbling feeling in his stomach.

 “How the hell does that happen?” Marian asked, when she realized Robin wasn’t going to.

“I was stressed out, that was the morning after I found out that Adam was cheating on me…”

Robin finally found his words. “Were you drinking?”

“No.”

The look in her eyes said it all. He gritted his teeth. “So, my one and only sample…our only chance at adding to our family…is out in some random woman? Who will probably never even think that it could be mine? If it even worked.”

“Well, actually, we’re lucky in that regard. It did work…and she’s been calling me for the past hour, because she’s unsure of how it could’ve happened. I guess she hasn’t had sex lately.”

 Robin wasn’t sure whether that made things better or worse. It had worked, he was going to be a father…to another woman’s child. Marian still had a grip on his hand, but it wasn’t tight anymore. Despite sitting so close to her, he had never felt so far away.

Regina sat next to Emma, waiting for Dr. French-Gold to come in. This wasn’t possible, it just couldn’t be. There had to be some hormonal reason behind it, maybe she needed to take pills? She was just lucky that the doctor had agreed to see her on such short notice.

 The door opened and Lacey walked in, looking just as stressed as she had the day Regina had met her. Maybe this woman needed a therapist or pills or yoga. She always looked like she was on the brink of tears.

“Doctor, I think there’s something wrong with me. These pregnancy tests keep coming back possible, but it’s just not possible.”

Lacey cleared her throat, leaning against the cabinets. “I’m afraid it is.”

“Excuse me?”

“I…accidentally inseminated you with a man’s sperm.”

 Regina’s heart began beating heavily in her chest. Emma was yelling at the doctor, but she couldn’t make out the words. This wasn’t supposed to happen, no, it was impossible! She had done everything that she had told herself she would. She hadn’t even had sex with the man that she loved with everything in her. She was supposed to wait until marriage. That was the plan, you can’t get pregnant by being abstinent. It’s the one fool proof way. At least that was what every sex ed class she ever had told her.

 Her hand went over her stomach. A life was growing in there. A life she had created with a man she didn’t even know. That sounded so wrong.

 What was she going to do? She lived in a one-bedroom apartment, she got a teacher’s salary. She barely had her life together, how was she supposed to take care of this one?

 Lacey’s words finally broke through. “The father knows what happened, but I haven’t told him your name.”

Regina looked up at her, her eyes wet with tears. “The father?” She whispered.

“He’s here…if you wanted to meet him.”

“No…no. I need…I need to think.”

Lacey nodded, pulling out a pad and scribbling on it. “This is a prescription, for a pill that would terminate the pregnancy. You have no obligation to talk with him. While it is his sperm, it’s your body. Your choice.”

 Abortion. Regina could get an abortion. Years of fighting for the pro-choice movement and suddenly, she was forced to make it herself.

 “Yeah, because that makes it so much easier,” she mumbled, taking the piece of paper away from her.

“If you do choose to carry forward…”

“She won’t be talking to you,” Emma interrupted. “You should lose your license!”

Lacey let out a deep breath, focusing in on Regina. “I am so sorry, Miss Mills. You have no idea.”

“You’re sorry?” Regina felt her blood boil. “You’re sorry?”

“I never meant for this to happen.”

“Well this is going to be real easy for you, isn’t it? You’re not the one that’s fucking pregnant.”

 She walked out of the room, slamming the door shut behind her. Leaning up against the wall, she felt her breathing pick up once again, the tears sliding down her face. Emma stepped out of the room, putting a hand on her arm.

“Let’s go back to my place. I asked Neal to take Henry to Cecelia’s. We can talk…”

“I’m sorry, but that’s the last thing I want to do.”

“You can’t do this alone.”

“I just need to think.” She wiped her eyes, trying to will herself to stop crying. “I’ll drop you off at home.”

“If you’re sure.”

 Regina wasn’t sure of anything. She just knew that if she let Emma coddle her, she was going to break. As they walked out of the office, she found herself looking around the waiting room. There were some men sitting there. Some were clearly waiting on the women in their lives, but one could very well be the father of the baby she was carrying.

 The baby she was under no pressure to carry to term, as the doctor told her.

 Regina had always tried to plan for even what couldn’t be. There was no way she ever could’ve done that this time.

[empressxmachina]

by Imperial-Radiance (that’s me)

1|1: Faux Pas, part 1, is also on Wattpad.

"All the shit we do, and this doesn't get any easier."

"It's only because no one does it like we do or... or, ugh, at all, really."

The Center of Colors, the most marveled museum of art in all of Oswana if not the entire world, was a fortress in its own right, and all attempts by a not-so-young maho madam to push open the one door inside it that led to its underground car park were to no avail. The age of the door was a blink in comparison to the building that housed it. Looking past that, it still was not used as proportionally often as originally designed due to 'more preferred' transit options for safety reasons. But, with the particular event taking place there – the biannual meeting of the Continental Couturiers' Council – and a certain, small minority quickly rising up its rankings, putting some oil on the door hinges would have been the easiest courtesy.

Yet, here this lady was, having to force all her might just from an unlocked but still stuck door, adding to the lengthy list of surprises of the night. But she wasn't alone in the struggle.

"Uh, Mel?" a concerned Lyanna expressed, quickly simmering down her tense self after seeing how roughly her best friend was fumbling with the push bar. "You good?"

"Come on! Really!?" Melanie continued to grunt, not allowing herself to give in so quickly, even if it possibly ruined her blazer in the process – not the best look at a fashion event. "What is this!?"

"Damn. If Miss 'Moore Gains, Moore Power' can't open the thing, it really must be tight," Lyanna claimed in jest. She, despite being in similar, unfortunately-formal-for-the-task fashion, joined Melanie's efforts at her side, groaning as she repeatedly rammed her upper arm into the surface like a linebacker. "Maybe, urgh... Lanky Ly can be... a little help."

Melanie was all for the assistance, especially given all the reasons she had to not expect it. But, getting it with a shaded humblebrag, even if jokingly, was not going to happen. A critical look was sent Lyanna's way in protest, and sassy yet complimentary projections soon were, too.

"'Lanky', my ass. How many ball sports... did you say you... played in school again? How many of them... weren't co-ed... before you joined? Which one of us... qualified for... for the... Superhero Circuit... over thirty... on accident!?"

It only took the first rebuttal for Lyanna to regret making her lighthearted comment at all. But, like the mature woman she was, she took it in stride with an apology.

"Okay, okay. I get it!" she stretched through more grouses of strain. "I'm sorry. You happy?" Melanie paused her own pushes for a second to shine a grin at her buddy that epitomized 'I told you so'. Her receiving a set of rolling eyes and a scoff back followed right after, paired with Lyanna taking her exertion efforts to the next level. "But," she resumed, feeling her shoulders start to slide out their sockets, "my athleticism... means nothing if... if it can't help us... get through... the fucking... DOOR!"

Giving in to all of the pressure, the bar lock finally began to budge. However, no one, especially not the designers of the door, ever figured for that much force, let alone by two, tired maho ladies, to be spread across the bar like that. They had much more strength than they realized, or the door was weaker than expected, and before they knew what they were doing, the door flew open out of their grasp, echoing with Lyanna's voice into the mostly empty garage as it slammed into the wall.

Inertia sent Lyanna and Melanie forward, unable to keep balance on their skinny, high heels. Melanie, closer to the hinges, managed to catch herself on a nearby parking barrier, but Lyanna found her stopping place not on the ground or on a structure but instead in the arms of an awaiting security guard.

"Got ya, ma'am," the uniform-donning young man assured with a slight strain in his voice upon catching her. "Are... Are you alright?"

Lyanna sneered at his brief struggle, knowing fully well that she wasn't that heavy until she realized it was not due to her at all, at least not completely. In the distance, the door to the office where all of the watching camera footage was housed was wide open with most screens showing the three of them right then. If he had been watching the ladies' struggles until not long ago and decided to help for himself, then he would've had to run to reach them in time. Looking at his tired but quickly recovering state, he probably did that, just slightly too late and switching to a catcher's role in the heat of the moment.

Getting over the drama of it all, Lyanna gave her savior some solace as she rose and composed herself. "Yes, thank you. I... I'm fine."

"Not as much as you, cutie pie," Melanie winked at the guard with her down-home charm, to which he returned a bashful gasp. "What's a handsome soul like yourself doing out on the town late on a weekend alone, guarding C-Cubed at CC, no less?"

"I, uh," the young lad had trouble finding the right words.

On one hand, getting a compliment was always nice, especially if both lighthearted and likely to result in an extra tip. On the other hand, if he egged it on too much, then it'd just be asking for a bunch of double-sided trouble for way too many reasons to count. Aware that he couldn't leave her hanging, he replied with something reasonable in between.

"I-I'm just working to pay for school, ma'am, getting what I can, whenever I can." He smoothed the wrinkles in his suit, hoping to worsen his seemingly bad first impression. "I'm not even a guard. I'm more like a concierge, though I can drive people around, too, so I don't even know if that's even the right term." He quickly recognized he was right on the cusp of rambling about his nondescript job position and soon reverted to a more robotic, reserved offer. "A-Anyway, shall I call you two a car?"

"You can do better than that," Lyanna surprisingly interjected, stretching her back with a backward, propped bend. "I'll call your bluff. Drive us home, then. The two of us aren't too much for you in this big city, are we?"

If Melanie's comment sent blood to the guy's face, then Lyanna's did the opposite, blanching it bright from assertive surprise. Though, knowing who they were and what they were known for, such responses were expected in the back of his mind. Nonetheless, he caught Lyanna's declaration of the challenge and accepted it.

"Let me, uh, just grab a key from the station," he stated, pointing back toward the office, "and we'll be on our way. Choose any one of the vehicles by the wall you like, and I'll meet you there."

Like a hummingbird, he zoomed away to grab the nectar of his choosing, leaving the two ladies to converse and corner a car... all the while cutting each other down.

"You were not just charming that child, were you?" Lyanna pressed, strutting over to her friend. "He's young enough to be either of our children, and I know you're not that crazy."

"Of course not, you dunce," Melanie defended, with an eye roll, offended being typecast from a simple false flirtation. "Like I'd court a kid to have a good time." She managed to get a chuckle out of her best friend as she wrapped an arm around her shoulders and led her to the back of one of the vans. "I'm trying to make that young man into a mannequin. You don't think he'd be a good look for the new line?"

"It's less that and more 'You couldn't have asked more normally?'"

"What's more fitting than looking for fashion models at a meeting for fashion designers?"

"I don't know, giving out a business card and telling him to call you at a normal hour? Damn it!" For a second, Melanie thought that Lyanna was actually mad at her. But the pause just turned out to be a dramatic one, replaced by more giggles. "Damn you, innovative bitch."

Melanie soon joined into the laughing fit. "You know it. See? I'm always making money moves, even if people don't agree with my vision."

Her wording was too specific for it to not be related to and reignite the tensions acclimated over the duration of the meeting she had to hide behind glossy lips and gritting teeth. "We're back to talking about what we were before we found ourselves fighting the architecture, huh?"

"We do too much for too little reward, apparently. Is that what you said?"

"Not... exactly," Lyanna hissed, clicking every T with purpose, "but you're not wrong, either." Leaning back against the trunk, thankful for a siren not going off in the process, she looked up at the ceiling and processed her thoughts. Her memories of the evening.

Drinks. Hors d'oeuvres. Designs for two seasons from now. It wasn't much different than usual. Lyanna's peers had finally gotten used to how she ran her business after so many years of it 'not evolving' except in styles. But it was just tolerance rather than full-on acceptance, and the constant stares and murmurs that they seemed to throw in overtime toward her tonight garnered an equal reaction back: allowed but never wanted.

The worst part of it, aside from the blatant prejudice behind Lyanna's doings, was that they never considered why she does it. Seeing things from her and maybe Melanie's views would be more help than harm. Though, given how they got where they were, they'd forever be oblivious unless she made a scene.

While the two prim pals measured the parking deck to easily house multiple homes, it was barely worthy of an under-bed shoe organizer to the khadra: the larger, other halves opposite their maho selves with whom they shared the world. Well, their nation, at least. One couldn't be sure about the rest of the planet nowadays. Even so, everything Lyanna lived and worked for, no matter how high she rose, would forever be under their noses, perhaps even underfoot.

Simply thinking back to the dastardly door, once again, only made her more upset, remembering how it was basically a metal slab wedged within floor molding shadowed by a nearby stand. The Council could've paid someone to at least act like a security for smaller folk, but the fact that the Center kept their half of the deal was a little reassuring.

Probably one-twelfth of what her full pleasure banks could hold: the standard fraction.

"Sure, we get flooded in respect for our abilities," Lyanna commented, still gazing toward the above ground, "but it's just a cop-out. The collabs we do are never enough; they want more out of us. It's like they assume we have to give them everything not because they deserve it or because it's right but because they're fucking—"

"Ah, here we go," the young guard cut in, to Melanie's favor. Having known her bestie for two decades, she knew he had shown up right on time and prevented an imminent Lyanna explosion. Jiggling his keychain with a glowing smile as he unlocked the van's doors, sidewinding the looks of respective relief and heat diffusion on the ladies' faces, he was completely none the wiser. "We're ready for action. If you'd allow me..."

Continuing his act like a gentleman, he opened the doors for the two women, first Lyanna on the passenger's side of the backseat and then Melanie seated right behind him. Considering they thought they were simply in for a glorified taxi cab ride, they had quite the shock seeing how decked up the innards of the vehicle were. It wasn't a party bus or anything resembling a limo rented for a promenade, but the selection of fun-sized snacks, drinks, and reading material, on top of how comfy the seats and lighting were, was a sight to behold.

The ladies were greatly impressed all around, quickly sharing a look of wonder with each other, but the oblivious driver wouldn't be able to see that, focused only on the job at hand. Plus, the sight of Melanie on her phone and Lyanna already sipping on a tiny water bottle as she looked out her window gave no hint to it, whatsoever. He was happy to see them fully adjusted, totally bounced back from their tumbles and fumbles, and it irked him that he might break that calmness for the last necessities of his job.

"I do apologize for this, but I almost forgot," he said, looking in the rear-view mirror at them as he started the engine. "The Center of Colors has this policy where the drivers have to get crossed confirmations for—" His declaration faltered at the ladies' look of confusion at his jargon, thus needing clarification in common, much more comfortable language. "Basically, they want two forms of authorization for each passenger. Usually, a quick clip where you say your name or something like that should be fine. I know who you are, and I'm sure most others do, too, but it's the tradition. If you wouldn't mind...." He pressed a button on his controls and started recording, signaled by a light on his rear-view mirror and a mechanical bloopy noise. "...giving a quick roll call."

The two thirty-somethings looked at each other, both not saying a word and both testing each other to see who would crack first. After what felt like forever, emphasized by the driver's nervous coughing and wheel tapping to crack the silence, and in a noble act of succession, the first to introduce themselves was,

"Melanie Moore."

Melanie Moore. Chief marketing officer. Queen of advertising. Flirtatious firecracker. Part-time yogi. Slayer of Oswanian style boundaries with her pop-up collections like her golden-hued 'Code Mellow'. C-Cubed's 'Best New Designer' a few years ago because of them. She was happy to have made a name for herself, specifically under her own name, but she knew and never denied that she'd never be where she was if it weren't for,

"Lyanna Paulson." Lyanna fucking Paulson.

Naturally a brunette. Currently a blonde. Visible exercise and sports fanatic. Drink connoisseur. A flash celebrity made in the blink of an eye all based on luck. The epitome of nouveau riche. The youngest member to have been inducted into C-Cubed (and receive its BND award like Melanie) back when she was twenty-four. The Designer of the Year not long after. Melanie's best friend. Also, Melanie's boss, technically, but she rarely states that aloud. She was a lot of things and known for many more. But she was a household name for two.

Her fashion and design company 'Moonsong', along with its occasional luxury dabbles via 'Lunar Serenade', was going fifteen years strong with top sales and quality. Yet, in all of those fifteen years, with the exception of collaborations with industry peers and the even more occasional one-offs, every product was strictly for maho, leading to an aura of presumed racism constantly washing over her.

The two buddies bickered back and forth on the openness of their projects to those that towered over them, each having solid reasons for their views. But, with Lyanna having more say and severity, it always went her way. The threats and attempts of harm that were sent her way in the beginning when people realized her khadra-closed doors weren't just a phase, along with a few every now and then, weren't fun to experience. But even her miffed adversaries and confused familiars had to give her props for standing her ground and defending the safety of her staff, and each trouble always seemed to dissipate as quickly as it came.

That, and all of her giving back to just as many khadran causes as native maho ones helped, but people just seemed to always gloss over that.

Lyanna, even with her brief smile into the camera and mic, was still fuming from the event, and thinking of all her conflicts leading up to it wasn't making it better. Luckily for her, Driver Boy seemed to catch that, even with his back turned. Pushing her was the last thing he wanted to do. He just hoped his body could follow his heart and mind.

"I, uh..." he struggled to speak at first, seeing the coldness in Lyanna's eyes as she gazed into the camera. But that soon passed over, and his goal to make sure the drive did the same launched in full force. "I know you two must be looking for privacy going through the garage," he observed. "It's good that I know some scenic routes around the city. So, please make yourselves comfortable, and enjoy the ride."

Melanie had already found her way back to phone diving toward whatever as the van left the safety of the parking deck and, for the pair of couturiers, waved goodbye to C-Cubed for six months. The carpooling posse simultaneously passed under the art museum's overly cheerful exit sign, getting an eye roll of her own out of Lyanna.

'Thank you for visiting the Center of Colors!' it expectantly exclaimed. That farewell stayed still on the sign, but its lower half in all its mechanical glory had to show off, switching between presumably planned puns every few seconds. The trio managed to go under just as one went off – 'We hope to color you impressed once again really soon!' – and another took its place – 'May we brighten your day with flying colors upon your return!'

The wish for any sort of spectrum wasn't necessary as the aura around was still lively and beaming, perhaps being that last thing Lyanna's somewhat buzzed, water-guzzling person needed in her face.

"Hello, Xesant," she sarcastically greeted the outside world. "Glad to see you're still lively on a Sunday night." From its art-bordering white LEDs to the rainbow of marquees and HIDs along the streets, it was back to the big city they knew so well yet still a long way from home.

Xesant. A city nearly ten million strong by itself, and it looked like all of those citizens had filled the sidewalks like a sardine tin. A gem of Oswana, the city was, despite not being its capital. Half a tourist trap and half a modern marvel... and everything no one would've thought Lyanna would've submerged herself in for two decades. Luckily, she had Melanie by her side through it all, but she only eased the tension, not rid her of it.

She'd never be rid of it as long as she lived there.

Oswana was right at, if not itself being, the intersection of the planet's two historically opposite halves together: the more land- and khadra-filled northern Drakh and the sparser southern Hoemue with the maho. Time followed its course, and the communities came together, finally coalescing at the major metropolis literally on the equator between them: Lyanna's anxiety-driving abode.

Out of all the places in the world, Oswana, especially Xesant, had managed to optimize integration to a T, and it still amazed Lyanna after twenty years seeing it all work in action. It just made no sense in her head.

Watching vehicles and souls that were the size of houses pass by so strongly yet swiftly and never be in the way. Alternating stoplights and substitute paths for both sizes for undisrupted travel. Mismatched yet complementary pairs of windows, doors, and on every building for everyone to have a place to take in their surroundings. Blended groups – a surprisingly large minority – somehow walking in pace with each other, neither too fast nor too slow.

That one khadran girl crossing directly in front of the van – shoes taller and possibly heavier than the vehicle itself – with a maho in hand, losing her balance, and managing to fall with a resonating thud toward the Moonsong troupe with both her companion safely cupped to the chest and all her long and loose limbs snaking between all the tiny cars, including their van, on their side of the road.

All of this at once, emphasized by a cacophony of horn blaring and muffled, concerned voices. Yet, as Lyanna drank her way through more than a handful of bottles in seconds at the sights, the driver didn't even flinch, and Melanie may not have even noticed. Her lockage in her phone was made even more apparent by her following statement, cracking the lull of silence within their four, glass-peeking walls.

"Oh, look," she announced, sliding her phone over to Lyanna's vista. "In case you cared..."

With her nonchalant tone and apparent lack of awareness for her surroundings, even as the driver drove around the still collapsed cohorts, one could've assumed she found an article pertaining to the current slip and trip debacle outside that looked a lot like fake news if it weren't actually true. However, her carelessness was genuinely due to the routine with C-Cubed finally updating their social media and website with details from the meeting's latter half. What particularly caught Melanie's and now Lyanna's eyes was the results of the unimportant-aside-from-a-trophy, aptly named superlative voting, 'In Case You Cared'.

Lyanna usually didn't care enough to view them as soon as they were posted, regardless of having voted herself, mainly waiting until the next morning to see what any newcomers had to offer. However, with Melanie thrusting them in her face, she knew it had to be something interesting. Lo and behold,

"Congrats, Ms. 'Styled and Profiled,'" Melanie praised her bestie, who looked more or less unenthused except for an eyebrow raise. The 'Styled and Profiled' Award. Something between Best Dressed and Most Pulled Together, in the corporate sense. At least, that's what they said it meant. "The glassware company for the awards should just sponsor you at this point. Damn. What is this, your third time getting this? Fourth?"

"Seventh," Lyanna lifelessly corrected, pushing the phone away, "not that it matters." Considering how many times Lyanna earned it, with her reputation, it was probably neither in reality. "Your look is way better than mine. This was probably a brownnosing move, trying to be hyperaware of the culture or whatever."

Melanie chuckled at first at her snide remarks, until she reviewed exactly what Lyanna had said. With every word, she found more and more wrong with her perspective. Was she self-deprecating? Did she genuinely think she was right? What the fuck did she mean by them being 'hyper-aware' of her when no one other than them two knew why someone would even have to be? Melanie retracted her phone and sat in her seat, waiting for any clarifications, but none came, leaving her to ponder for herself with a stony stare. Unfortunately, as much as she tried to do otherwise, only unsavory ideas came to mind. For Lyanna's sake, Melanie hoped, if they turned out to be true, they weren't due to—

"Excuse me, Ms. Paulson, if I may..." Before Melanie had a chance to rebuke, question, or instantly judge her friend's suspicious commentary, the driver felt the need to interject. Luckily for all involved, it had no faults and raised the subconscious heating mood. "...I think you look great."

Lyanna's brows raised at the compliment, and Melanie joined her in shock, though she was more impressed as his bravery in speaking out of turn. He didn't realize that meaning upon looking back at them, seeing their expressions. He figured they were from him only recognizing one of them as opposed to both, and thus he made an addendum.

"N-Not that you don't, too, Ms. Moore," he nervously saved his hide, spouting a just-as-shy smile. "I just—Uh... you both probably earned it, okay?"

Lyanna's face stayed blank, but the driver immediately blushed at the sound of a tip being sent to his phone. Looking behind him to Lyanna's left, Melanie wore a grin of her own as her phone confirmed a scanned QR code and a quick transfer of payment.

"You're already paying him when he hasn't even signed on, yet?" Lyanna inquired, shooting the driver a smug look before turning toward the window... and cringing again at the mongrelized mania of it all. "But, hey, at least you have a good eye on you, wanting to represent the company with people that actually wear our stuff."

The redness on said subject's face instantly flushed back to his natural pallor. From a distance, there was nothing that discerned his uniform from that of any other worker at the Center of Colors. In fact, his pants and polo combo were exactly the same as any other's. But each soul was allowed a few extra freedoms employees had via accessories, body modifying, etc., and he did take part in that. As subtle as he tried to be in doing so, there were sprinkles of a certain brand down his person.

There was no way for them to go unnoticed by their head designers...especially with their owner catching them in his arms as a first impression.

"Uh, yeah," Melanie replied matter-of-factly. "He obviously knows how to read a room, er, van... and speaking of..." Going restless, once again, Melanie relocated to her seat's edge, setting a hand on the driver's chair back. "Hey, uh, I don't think you actually introduced yourself. What did your code say? Bryan? Bradley?"

"Br-Brenden, actually," the driver corrected, at least relinquishing anonymity. "I can't believe you noticed my gear."

He ran a hand across the small charm at the helix piercing on his left ear that matched a ring on his opposite hand, both pieces from a years-old collection. He would've twirled his feet and ankles around, too, showing off their extremely new shoes, both in age and ownership, but driving kept them still. The job correspondingly reminded him of a concern that was sure to get him penalized if he didn't address it soon.

"I also can't believe I haven't asked where I'm supposed to take you two," he chuckled, attempting to hide the ringing of his inner panic alarm. "Where did you have in mind? The Moonsong office?"

The ladies looked at each other briefly – Melanie slumping back again to face Lyanna head-on – to make a choice. The mistress of marketing implied, "I wouldn't mind heading there. It's not like we can do a late- or half-day tomorrow if we run super late doing random bullshit." A smirk briefly popped on Lyanna's mug. "Though," Melanie then countered, thus dropping said smile, "there were some, uh, biz things... I wanted to talk to you about."

"And, it's nothing you can't screen me at home?" Lyanna fought. By her tone alone, Melanie knew her idea had pancaked. "Mel, I love you, but I want to go home, sleep, and forget today."

The night had gone somewhat uncomfortably for them both, despite Lyanna's award, so she couldn't be blamed for not wanting to deal with anything anymore. But, Melanie shuddered, knowing how much more difficult things were going to become from it. She didn't want to make it worse, so she kept it to herself.

"A-Alright," she conceded. "I still want to head there. Your place in deeper inward, anyway, so I can get Brenden here to circle around and stop on by for a bit before going back to CC." A mutter of acceptance poked out of Lyanna before Melanie, at last, gave Brenden a destination. "Just head on over to T-Sa if you can, please. At least close enough to where Ly won't fall on her face if she'll need to walk."

The implication of inebriation was concerning, and the increased reference to some Moonsong deal was hyped as hell, but of all things to catch Brenden's attention, Lyanna's home was the showstopper. A fitting one but a surprise, nonetheless.

"You live at Sat Ave!?" he gasped, beaming through the rear-view mirror at her.

T-Sa. Sat Ave. Ten Saturn Avenue. One of the ritziest and private locales in all of Oswana, in spite of it being one of the most noticeable silhouettes in the lower Xesant skyline. Lower mutually in latitude and the height of its inhabitants. Only maho allowed. It was a sight to behold, but to Lyanna, it was the one place she could call her own. A fortress to be reckoned with. Literally.

"If you say anything," Lyanna hissed, jerking her eyes to Brendan's with a glower that could crack glass, "I will end you."

"Uh... I... N-Noted." Like the lapdog he was and now felt like, too, he complied, focusing back on the roads, pinning down the complex in his mental GPS, and heading on his way.

Melanie groaned at Lyanna's aggression, but rather than calling it out, she simply rolled her eyes and let it be. After all, from what it looked like, she had a long night ahead of her, and all of her energy should be saved for then. Well, most of it. The quietness that had encroached in the van quickly grew uncomfortable, leading to soft small talk between the driver and the fully-present passenger.

Lyanna let her eyes close, taking away the towering shadows and reverberations of titanic travel on all sides. The escapism, though brief, was blissful, opening opportunities to ponder plans for the upcoming week and beyond.

As they distanced themselves from downtown, the ratio of khadra decreased to nothing. The signs and sights of the borough where she burrowed on the daily shined to greet its golden girl. Through her slumber, it was easy to see her body adjust to its most familiar surroundings. Perfect tranquility... but it, unfortunately, had to end.

Brenden pulled into the drop-off lane of Ten Saturn Avenue, where a doorperson approached the van to help her out before halting and waiting outside her door, made aware of her still napping self. Melanie, risking a slapping fit her way, bit the bullet and rocked Lyanna back to the real world. Her waking softness resembled that of a baby; however, her too-old-for-this-shit sentimentalities soon broke through, along with the groan-inducing headaches that should've been here a long time ago.

"Welcome back, L.P.," Melanie greeted, thanking the gods for a passive awakening. "It's your stop."

A sequence of incoherent mumbles entered the airspace as the drowsy damsel attempted opening her door. The doorperson, seeing those multiple failures, eventually aided her exit, grabbing a hand then bracing around her back. Melanie, meanwhile, made out everything she was trying to say – a skill she had perfected after twenty years of tipsiness – amalgamating it all into a simple assurance,

"Nah, don't worry. You don't have to do anything. I've got this." Lyanna, even in her word salad of a mind, didn't feel too sure of that. But a quick kiss of valediction on the cheek sent her way made all those worries vanish and replaced them with giggling. "Now, get up there before you pass out."

More laughs ensued, but Lyanna eagerly obeyed, blowing a kiss back as her doorperson led her away. "Don't stay up too late, Mel!" she directed. "You, too, Brenden! None of us need eye bags."

Brenden, almost too in awe of the glamorous complex to catch her speaking, was surprised to be included in the farewell, even more so with a happy tone. Nonetheless, he appreciated it whole-heartedly, joining Melanie in waving her goodnight as she disappeared from view.

He took some time to calm from his high-fashion high before setting his course to Moonsong. However, before he drove off, Melanie locked him in place, reaching from the back to the steering wheel. He started to panic again, not even considering the presumably sweeter of the dynamic duo as a threat. The look on her face clearly showed a hidden craftiness that curdled his blood. Little did he know that none of it had to do with him.

No, actually, it slightly did. That cash drop Melanie made to him allowed for some new insight to reach her. He was more than qualified for plans she had had in the works for what felt like forever. His future modeling was only the tip of the iceberg, and she proved it by asking the last question along that path he ever expected to hear,

"Hey, Brenden, you had an order for alterations recently... but it wasn't for you, was it?"

[oveliagirlhaditright]

Show Appreciation

https://archiveofourown.org/works/33771730

Joshua tries to tell Shiki that she did something that an Angel could have, something hella powerful, but he does it sort of creepily. But even with that, Josh and Shiki find themselves having a pretty pleasant day with each other, as they more and more find their footing with one another.

A story where Shiki/Neku/Joshua are all in a relationship but Shiki/Josh is the focus here. Neku Sakuraba mentioned a lot.

Shiki was shopping at 104—thinking of buying some violet thread, since she could finally sew purple clothes again, without being depressed after Neku’s disappearance; she was even thinking of buying some ashen colored ones—when she ran into Joshua.

Quite literally, actually.

He was drinking an espresso, while he was in the check-out line with magazines he’d bought about the Prince’s latest fashion blunders, Shiki saw. And she’d fallen backwards into him, when she’d been going into a changing room nearby… but one of the workers had decided last minute to put up tape, so that no one could go in there, since the pandemic clearly wasn’t over and they must have decided they didn’t want people trying on clothes, after all. And since Shiki wasn’t expecting that sudden change at all, that was what had caused her to trip and fall into the Composer.

Thankfully, Joshua had the grace of—well—an angel, and didn’t spill any of his drink (actually, he have even made it disappear from existence to keep it safe), as he kept Shiki from a very nasty fall (something she was most thankful to him for), but she could tell he wasn’t exactly happy with her for colliding into him.

And Shiki sighed.

Even though she and Josh were sort of dating now (her and Neku and Josh—all three of them, actually—were a thing), she still understood this one the least. Partially because she less of him, of course.

They actually had hung-out a few times in the three weeks before Neku’s second murder (and Neku had probably been more surprised about this than anyone). And that was probably where the feelings had started.

Neku and Joshua would stay up late at some Tin Pin event—that they would also kindly invite her to, in order to be nice… moreso Neku (and Beat and Rhyme, too)—and then the two of them would end up crashing at Shiki’s place, since it was closer to the Molco than their homes (Beat and Rhyme did go home, however, as the Bitos were still worried about their parents giving Beat a hard time. And didn’t want to start Beat’s revival on the wrong foot. Also, thinking about it now, Shiki wondered if Joshua had kind of been lying about his home being “far away”. For all she knew, he could have magicked a house in the sky with his powers, but she’d only been too happy to help).

But even though all three of them were exhausted by the point they made it to Shiki’s house, they still didn’t sleep a lot. No. Instead, Shiki would work on some fashion designs, of course, and Neku would then be inspired to draw some characters… And the two of them would talk about how if they ever became famous, perhaps Neku could be a character designer, but Shiki could help him with clothes ideas for his drawings, because he still somewhat struggled with that. And then Joshua would say that if they ever made it that far, he would Produce everything—because he was filthy rich, of course—and he perhaps owed them something.

And it was all so fun.

…But then Neku was shot again and Shiki’s world fell apart. And Joshua left it just as soon as he’d entered it, pretty much.

And though Shiki had gone to the Dead God’s Pad with Beat and Rhyme (Rhyme had refused to stay behind when Beat had asked her to), Joshua had only told them that Neku was as fine as he could be in this situation, and the three of them would hopefully see him again someday, but he couldn’t spare them anymore details than that and wouldn’t do so.

He’d ushered them all away sort of rudely after that.

And other times they’d all went back there, it had seemed like Joshua had set up operations elsewhere… or was at least acting like he had.

And, of course, he’d changed his phone number, too.

Shiki hadn’t seen him again until he’d shown up when Neku had—when everyone was trying to fight against Shibuya Syndrome. But he’d only had eyes for Neku then, and hadn’t said a word to her.

Since then, the five of them had miraculously begun hanging out again. Sometimes with the Wicked Twisters, too, and even with Hazuki at rarer times.

And even more crazily… Neku, Shiki, and Joshua had all picked up their relationship together again.

And it was even better than it had been before… It was pretty similar to past times—with them all three working on their dreams together—but now sex was involved too, and that was so nice.

Though Shiki and Neku had both told Joshua that he needed to be a better partner if he wanted this to work, which meant he needed to show up to group outings more… he needed to be more transparent… and he needed to treat Shiki like an equal, as well.

And bless him—and bless Shibuya, Shiki supposed (which was also Josh?), that showed that it could change—Joshua had done all of these things… but he was still Josh, and maybe that was okay.

“Shiki,” Joshua told her now, as he steadied her form, so she was no longer wobbling into him or the worker behind her. “I came here to tell you that you should have died during the last Reapers’ Game.”

Scratch what she’d said about him not being happy with her before. Clearly that wasn’t it. He’d decided to be creepy with her. That was it.

“Joshua,” Shiki started, feeling a migraine coming on, as she pinched the bridge of her nose and decided to buy the slinky black dress, after all, even though she couldn’t try it on… If the way Joshua was eyeing her purchase, as she made her way down the aisle with it, she’d made the right choice. “What did I tell you, first off, about saying that kind of thing at all? But secondly, about speaking like that in public?!”

“Hehehe,” Josh laughed, with a hand held high in a symbol of peace, no doubt. Shiki groaned. “I don’t mean to offend, dear. Really, I don’t. But this is my work. Aren’t I supposed to talk about my work with my spouses… or whatever you and Neku might one day be to me? And it hardly matters if I say this stuff in public or not, no one listens. Or if they do, they think we’re talking about an anime, or perhaps that a hidden camera show’s being shot here—and they’re all on camera right now—… or that I’m crazy. Which I can live with. I don’t care what they think about me, since understanding people is impossible, as I’ve said.”

With her purchase in one hand, Shiki grabbed Joshua’s wrist with her other hand, and headed out of the store, and began making her way towards the Scramble. If Joshua wanted to talk about his work with her, she wondered if he’d want to go to the Shibuya River, which was clearly open for business once more.

And she must have been right, because Joshua began leading her there—running quite fast for someone who usually didn’t like to break a sweat—before she could even blink. And then Mr. Mew was almost falling out of Shiki’s purse with how fast they were now jogging.

“Hey, Josh. Slow down. Slow down! Hey!” Shiki urged him, moving herself to be in front of him once more, as she grabbed ahold of both of his arms and pulled him onto one of the crosswalks. “I’ll have you know, that if I lost Mr. Mew to the traffic, I never would’ve forgiven you!”

But Joshua wasn’t listening to that claim in the slightest. Instead, he was looking at her faux-starry-eyed…. Or was it? “My, my, my. I have to say, I love the way you manhandle me, Shiki. It sure does get the blood racing, you reversing the gender roles this way. Why don’t you push me against a wall next?”

Shiki rolled her eyes, pulling Josh over to a small bench, so they could sit down and talk about all of this civilly, like normal adults…

But, she wasn’t going to lie, Joshua saying that to her sort of got her going, too. If only Neku were here, as well…

“If it’s really important work stuff you want to talk about, I’m sorry for snapping at you before, Josh. Mind filling me in now?” Shiki asked with a wide smile on her face, just as she reached across the table so she could hold Joshua’s hand in her own.

And it was certainly a testament of how far they’d come, that Joshua didn’t flinch away in the slightest, but rather held her hand… Their fingers still weren’t laced yet, their hands just cupped, but Rome wasn’t built in a day, Shiki knew.

“Hmm… I probably misspoke in making you think it was something that mattered now, Shiki. I was just trying to tell you, that in the last Game… you actually did something on an Angel’s power level, when you freed Tsugumi’s Soul from Mr. Mew, which is most impressive.

“Furthermore, Shiba had last Game set up, so only people with more and more impressive psychs could keep joining in. That’s essentially why no one joined after the Wicked Twisters did. But as I said, dear, you did something that an Angel could have… You definitely would have been able to enter back into the UG, even with that stipulation, and would have been a great help to the team, I’m sure.”

While Joshua was complimenting Shiki here—which was something that never came easy for him, so she was definitely happily taking it all in—there was also a lot wrong with this scenario, too.

First of all, Joshua had earlier said she should have died in the last Game. What? Did he think she should have killed herself to help Neku and everyone? To help him? Shiki wanted to believe that he would have found a way to let her into the UG while alive. And that if she had committed suicide, he would have brought her back to life in the end, of course, like he had Neku… but something about this all still stung.

Shiki also now feared, that Joshua would use this as reason to try and make her ascend. He was always trying to convince her and Neku to become Reapers (and they mostly had decided they probably would do that when they both died again, but not before that). But now would he want her to be an Angel instead? Maybe that would be better than having to erase Players, and perhaps that was what he was doing for her here, but…

“Shiki, look. Your Mr. Mew did slightly fall out of your bag and get damaged without our noticing. I’ll fix him, toot sweet.”

And Joshua did just that, before Shiki’s very eyes, with his lovely Composer powers.

So, she was clearly worrying over nothing, huh? Maybe Joshua still had some issues to hammer out, but so did she. So did everyone!

Shiki still wasn’t Miss Congeniality… not that she thought she ever would be, or really wanted to be. Heck, when Shiki was sort of trying to be like that—like Eri—it had been when Neku had hated her!

Leaning into kiss Joshua for a sweet kiss, when a fluffy cloud—that almost looked blue because of the lighting—floated by, right after Joshua’s blue powers faded away, Shiki decided that Joshua was plenty peculiar, alright… but that maybe that was a good thing.

“Shiki, what-” Joshua asked plenty startled—and the Composer usually didn’t do startled; Shiki almost laughed—when she pulled away from him.

“I just want you to know that I like you as much as I do Neku. That’s all.”

“Hmm…” Joshua hummed now, standing up and grabbing Shiki’s hand, so he could begin leading her towards the River once more (was Neku there?) “And I suppose I like tolerating you, as well.”

And with Joshua, that might as well have been a proposal for marriage. Shiki would take it for what it was. She leaned into him merrily, with her hand in one of his own, while her other hand held Mr. Mew.

“Now let’s go find something related to edible art that the three of us can do together,” Joshua smirked.

[wilderwestqueen]

You’re Everything I Want (And Nothing I Can Keep) - Chapter Nine

“Prove it. Bring her along this weekend, and prove it to everyone.” After a little white lie, Hiccup has to do something drastic to avoid embarrassing himself at a family reunion. Lost for any other ideas, Hiccup asks his best friend to pretend to be his girlfriend, just for a day. What could possibly go wrong?

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Start from the beginning (fanfic.net) (ao3)

A Speech About Love

“You’re going to get cramp in your hand.”

Hiccup’s heart jumped out of his chest and his shoulders tensed up to his ears, his arms flailing madly, knocking off his headphones as he did so. They toppled onto the floor, dragging the keyboard and tablet down with them, landing in a tangled heap on the carpet. “How did you get in?!”

He’d been working solidly for most of the day, his hand cramping over his graphics tablet and his headphones thumping loud music. After he’d asked his boss for the time off, he’d received the stink-eye and was sharply told that he better get all of his work for the month done before he left, so all of Hiccup’s free time was consumed by sitting in front of the computer and trying to finish off as much as he possibly could. He had to rush through as many as possible to justify the two weeks off.

“Door was unlocked,” Astrid said cheerfully, bending down to help Hiccup gather everything that had fallen and put it back on the desk.

Hiccup leaned back in his chair and groaned, rubbing his eyes. “What time is it?”

“About ten. Have you moved at all today?”

“Ten?” Hiccup muttered, twisting around to look at the clock. “Are you sure?”

She was right. He’d been hunched over his computer for about five hours, and all at once he realised how much his body was crying out for a break. He extracted himself from the chair that had become his prison, and joined Astrid on the sofa, where she’d made herself comfortable.

“Seeing as you haven’t eaten,” she said with a stern glare, opening up a bag she’d brought with her, pulling out various snacks, “I brought you some stuff.”

Hiccup dived into the bag, pulled out a chocolate bar, ripping off the wrapper and taking a huge bite, before closing his eyes and letting out a long, satisfied groan. “You’re the best person in the world.”

“So I’ve heard.”

He finished the chocolate, licking each of his fingers in turn, and then raised his eyebrows. “How did you know I hadn’t eaten?”

Astrid tipped her head to the side. “So, funny story,” she said, her voice taking a sharper tone

“Oh no,” Hiccup muttered.

“Your mother sent me a text. Well, five texts, actually.”

He froze, his fingers still hovering in front of his face. “What?”

“Oh yeah,” Astrid said, with a faux cheery voice and a dangerous smile. She held up her phone, revealing a stream of texts from his mother’s mobile number. “Hiccup isn’t answering his phone, is he with you? You couldn’t just go and check if he’s alright, could you?”

Hiccup groaned, and wiped a hand down his face.

She kept scrolling through her phone. “I worry about him. Can you make sure he eats?” She pulled his hand away from his face, making him look her in the eye. “How did she even get my number, Hiccup?!”

“I don’t know!” Hiccup said, frantically pulling his hand away from her and shifting as far back on the sofa as he could. “I didn’t give it to her! My parents have a way finding these things out! They’re scary like that!”

“Hiccup.”

“What?”

She whacked him with a cushion. “Call your mother back!”

Hiccup sighed, and for the first time that day, he picked up his phone. After he’d got through another conversation of his mother telling him that he was taking on too much work, and asking him how Astrid was and – “You are remembering to eat, aren’t you, dear?” – he turned back to see Astrid stretched out on his sofa, breaking squares off a chocolate bar, tossing them in the air and catching them in her mouth.

Hiccup moved Astrid’s legs out of the way and dropped onto the sofa, earning himself an indignant kick. He scowled, mock offended, before the clock across his room caught his attention. . “Don’t you have work right now?”

She pursed her lips and moved her legs right back over his lap, taking another bite of chocolate. “Moved my shifts around.”  

Astrid’s feet brushed against his legs, and a familiar feeling pricked across his skin. Hiccup was beginning to get used to the way Astrid’s touch made his stomach twist, or at least, as used to it as one could be. It was still a surprising jolt to the system, but he wasn’t having anymore crises about the nature of his feelings anymore.  Hiccup had a silly little crush on his best friend, and he’d resigned himself to the fact that he was just going to have to deal with it until these annoying feelings went on their merry way.

“You wanna talk wedding?” Hiccup said.

Since the reunion, Astrid had been making him discuss strategy with her again. She’d told him sharply that two weeks was a much bigger deal than a day, and that their previous preparations were not sufficient. Hiccup didn't care. He was just happy to spend time with her.

There was a glaring hole in their plans, a little detail that they’d both conveniently avoided mentioning, but no matter how hard he tried, Hiccup couldn't bring himself to bring up the kiss. Astrid hadn't spoken about it either, so he assumed that she was pretending that it had never happened. The thought hurt Hiccup a little, but he pushed it out of his mind. He wasn’t going to bring it up until she did, not if it was going to make her uncomfortable. They’d cross that bridge when they got to it. If they got to it.

“I don’t know what more we could possibly do to make us look like a believable couple,” Astrid said, somewhat flippant, poking him with her toe. “Your mother seems pretty convinced, seeing as she’s decided that I’m the person to call when you’re not answering your phone.”

“I’m sorry!” Hiccup whined. “I had no idea she’d do that.”

Astrid grinned, content for a moment to just sit in silence with her feet in Hiccup’s lap. “So,” she said, after a while. “Catching the plane at the weekend. You ready to do this again?”

Much more than you’ll ever know.

“Is anyone ever ready to date you?”

“Ha.” She threw a cushion at him.

Hiccup wrapped his arms around it. “It’ll be for much longer this time. We can still call this off if you want.”

He felt like he’d asked that question a million times in the past two weeks.

With the lack of cushion to throw at him, she hit him gently on the arm. “I told you I was doing it, okay?”

“I know, I know. Just making sure you’re not having cold feet,” Hiccup said.

“Sounds to me like you’re the one with cold feet,” Astrid said, as she began rifling through the bag, pulling out a packet of sweets. “It’s gonna be fine, Hiccup. Don’t worry so much about it.”

He longed to tell her what was really making him nervous. He wished in that moment that he could tell her that it wasn’t that he had cold feet, not at all, in fact, the opposite. There was nothing that Hiccup wanted more than to bring Astrid back to his hometown, to show her where he’d grown up, to bring her to his parents wedding, to spend two whole weeks with her. He just ached for it to be real.

But he couldn’t tell her that, so instead, he sat still, content to watch as she popped sweet after sweet into her mouth.

No matter how much he tried, being invited home by his father always felt like a summons to his execution.

Hiccup sat primly on the edge of his seat, tapping his fingers on his knees, unable to stop the slight quiver in his legs.

But weirdly, Stoick seemed just as nervous as he was, rubbing his hands together as he sat down in the chair opposite Hiccup and pushed a glass of squash towards him.

"Alright, son, I'll get right to it," Stoick said, as Hiccup picked up the glass and took a sip. "Val and I were talking, and we were wondering if you would like to be the best man at our wedding."

Hiccup almost spat his drink back out into the glass. "Me?" he said, his voice a much higher pitch than usual. "Are you sure?"

Stoick slid back into his chair and blinked. "Of course you, Hiccup. Who else would we pick?"

Hiccup swallowed, too stunned to speak for a moment. "I just assumed it would be Gobber, y'know, he's Mum's brother and your best friend, he's important to the two of you..." his voice trailed away.

"Val's chosen him to be the man of honour," Stoick explained. "We both really want you to be our best man."

Hiccup scratched the back of his head, tilted slightly to the side. "Wow," Hiccup mumbled. "That's - wow."

"You don't have to if you don't want to," Stoick said, quickly. "If you'd rather just watch, that's fine too. But we'd really love for you to take that role. You're the best man for it."

He gave a small chuckle at his little joke, which faded away into an awkward silence.

"I'll do it," Hiccup said, as he saw Stoick's smile slip. "I'd be happy to."

Stoick's expression lifted, and he put on a fond smile. "Excellent, Val said you would be. What I really wanted to let you know about was the speech."

"Oh," Hiccup said. "You want me to give a speech about you and Mum?"

Stoick shrugged. "It doesn't have to strictly be about me and your mum. It can be about love."

"A speech about love," Hiccup said and swallowed, stroking his chin in an attempt look thoughtful, rather than panicked. “Okay. I can do that.”

On the inside, he was freaking out.

Love.

Love wasn’t on Hiccup’s radar. His romantic life had always been neither here nor there, a mismatched bunch of forgotten dates and unsatisfying hook-ups. Relationships hadn’t even been in his brain until the reunion, and even then, the thought brought a lump in his throat.

Love wasn’t something that happened to him.

A SPEECH ABOUT LOVE

 Love is-,

 When my father asked me to write this speech, I

 Mum and Dad have always been

 oh god i'm so screwed i'm so screwed why did i agree to this

 Hiccup's eyes felt like they would fall out at any minute, he'd done them so much strain staring at his bright computer screen while sitting in complete darkness. His hands hovered over the keyboard, his fingers stretched into long tense lines, curled like claws over the keys. He stayed that way for a long few minutes, the cursor on screen blinking at him in mockery, before he let out a long, loud groan, and threw his arms across the keyboard, his head following suit. On screen, a long line of nonsensical letters spread across the word document. This was impossible. He'd been trying for lord knows how many hours to get something down onto the page: but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get anything that made sense, much less anything that he'd actually deign to say out loud. No matter what he did, he was going to make a fool of himself. He'd tried to write the speech the way he'd always learned to write essays in high school: mash out a first draft, and then fix the mistakes later, but his head was empty, and the word document remained blank. Hiccup's head was still on the keyboard, his hands curled up in his hair when he heard the mewing. He raised his head a little, spotting a pair of bright green eyes. With the side of his finger, he flicked on his lamp, and managed a smile when his face met Toothless'. "Hey bud." He scratched the space between the cat's ears, earning himself a satisfied purr. "Have I been ignoring you?" Toothless pushed his head against Hiccup's hand, which he took as a definitive 'yes'. It always amazed Hiccup how, somehow, this little cat seemed to understand human speech. Astrid had always called it a coincidence and Hiccup always had the same answer: "He understands me, I know he does," he'd say.

Astrid always made some sort of scornful comment. Hiccup had decided she was just jealous that she couldn’t speak cat. Hiccup snorted at the thought, before standing up out of his chair, for the first time that day realising how much his legs ached. When was the last time he'd moved? No wonder Toothless was demanding his attention. "C'mon," Hiccup said. "Let's go get you some food." He wandered towards the door, Toothless slipping off the desk with surprising grace and poise for a three-legged cat and followed his friend into the kitchen.

Hiccup cringed when he saw the empty bowl. "Sorry, bud," he muttered, as he filled it with food. "Just been distracted, I guess."

Toothless narrowed his eyes at him, but his disdain didn't last for long as he dug into the food bowl.  

Hiccup’s kitchen was a miserable affair. It was square, the whole thing boxed in by off-white counters, with cupboard doors that were barely hanging onto their hinges. From the middle of the room, a light bulb dangled; it had no lampshade, because he’d never bothered to buy one. The apartment was never going to feel like home, Hiccup reasoned, he wasn’t going to stay there forever, so why should he pretend to make it nice?

It had never bothered him before, but after the weekend he’d had in his parents’ home, where everything was made up to perfection, Hiccup was starting to regret never having made his apartment a home. While he perched on a stool and waited for Toothless to finish eating, Hiccup resolved to get a lampshade.

He was pulled out of his reverie by the sound of his phone buzzing across the kitchen counter top, and upon checking the caller ID, a smile spread across his face.

 “Fishlegs!” he said, brightly. “I haven’t heard from you in forever!”

 “Yeah, no kidding,” came his old friend’s sarcastic tone. “You move off to the mainland and fall off the face of the Earth, it seems. I swear, everyone left for the day, and this place was silent. It was unnerving. I almost missed everyone. Almost.”

Hiccup grinned. “I missed you at the reunion! I had to deal with Snotlout all on my own!”

There was a snort from the other end of the phone. “On your own, my foot,” Fishlegs said. “Everyone was talking about the ‘little lady friend’ you brought to the reunion. I was just calling to see if it was true.”

Hiccup frowned as he considered what he should say next. He didn’t want to lie to one of his oldest friends, but it also wouldn’t be good to let the secret out: not to someone in the thick of it all.

“It’s true,” Hiccup said, his voice dry.

Fishlegs gave a loud squeak, a happy sound. “No way?! Now I’m sad I didn’t make the trip. What’s she like?”

“Astrid?” Hiccup said, and then paused, his eyes closing as he said the first thing that came into his mind. “She’s… amazing. Probably the prettiest girl I’ve ever met in my life, and one of the funniest. She teases me to know end, and it should drive me mad, but somehow it just makes me like her even more. She always has the best advice for me: she knows how to keep me on track. And… everything’s so easy, with her, y’know? Like, I don’t even have to try to get her to like me, or to laugh my jokes, or to treat me decently. She just does.”

Fishlegs made a noise on the other end of the phone, a strange noise that ended with a long “awwww!” He giggled before speaking again. “When am I going to meet her?” he said, and Hiccup could almost see his friend wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“Sooner than you think,” Hiccup said. “She’s coming to the wedding.”

“Yes!” Fishlegs said, and Hiccup smiled as he imagined his friend fist-pumping. “Can’t wait to see you, Hiccup, it’s been so long.”

“Can’t wait to see you either,” Hiccup said, chewing on his bottom lip. “Sorry I’ve been a stranger.”

“You’re forgiven. Clearly you’ve been busy,” Fishlegs said, emphasising the word busy. “But seriously, Hiccup, it’s nice to hear you’ve found yourself someone. You sound so happy.”

Hiccup swallowed. “Yeah. I suppose I am.”

They talked for a little longer before they said their goodbyes and made promises to meet up in a few weeks, and after he ended the call, an uncomfortable silence filled the room again.

Hiccup sighed. He’d been present in the conversation, but his mind had kept wandering back to what he’d said about Astrid, the little speech he’d given rolling about in his mind.

It had all come straight from his heart, and the more he thought about it, the more he realised that not a single word had been a lie.

Hiccup's room was lit solely by the light of his alarm clock, the whole room bathed in the dim slightly blue light. His suitcase was open wide on the floor, a few clothes haphazardly thrown in for good measure. Toothless was curled up inside, and the last time Hiccup had tried to pick him up, he'd hissed at him and steadfastly refused to move.

Not that it mattered. Hiccup was hopeless at packing.

He'd given up long ago, and was now lying on his bed and staring up at the ceiling, thinking of the day to come. Tomorrow, Astrid would be by his side again, in his personal space, filling up all of his thoughts with her. Not that they weren’t already. He’d found her creeping into his head at the most annoying of times. Something told him that no matter what he did, Astrid would invade his thoughts now. Stupid crush.

The thoughts of the next day tugged on his mind and he lifted his head and looked at the empty suitcase. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t bring himself to focus. He’d tried making a list of things he needed, but he’d ended up doodling in the margins of the page. He checked the clock. 10pm.

He’d been sitting in front of his laptop all day, his speech open on a word document, but he had nothing to show for it. Hiccup had been trying and trying all day to get something written down, but no matter how hard he tried, no words came. He’d switched to a notepad and a pencil, and that hadn’t worked either. He just ended up doodling in the margins.

With a sigh, he reached into his pocket for his phone and called the one person that he really wanted to talk to.

"Are you still at work?" Hiccup said, in lieu of a hello.

The voice on the other side gave a long exasperated sigh. "I'm not your girlfriend until tomorrow, Haddock."

"I need help. Help only you can help me with."

"What kind of help?" Her voice on the other side of the line crackled.

"Packing."

"Call your mother."

Hiccup groaned. "Please."

“No.”

“I’ll pay you in food.”

“You don’t have any food.”

“Pleeeeeease.”

"Yeah, yeah, I'm already on my way, you asshole."

She arrived at his door ten minutes later, letting herself in as she always did.

"In the bedroom!" Hiccup called after she'd shouted asking where he was.

"Well, this is a pathetic sight."

Hiccup hadn't moved since the phone call, he'd stayed right where he was, staring straight up at the ceiling. Astrid flicked on the light and Hiccup hissed, covering his eyes with his hands.

"If you think I'm doing it for you, you've got another thing coming," Astrid said, standing over his bed, her hands on her hips.

"I tried. Toothless wouldn't let me," Hiccup muttered, gesturing over towards where his cat was curled up.

Astrid rolled her eyes. "That's easily rectified," she said, marching over to the suitcase, picking Toothless up and moving him out of the way. "Problem solved."

"He didn't let me do that!"

"That's because he likes me better."

Hiccup scowled, sitting up and reaching down for the cat. "That's not true, right, bud?"

The cat slipped from Hiccup's grasp and went to purr at Astrid's feet, rubbing his body against her legs. Astrid grinned, triumphant.

"Traitor," Hiccup said with a pout. "These two weeks aren't going to be fun if you're always taking her side."

Astrid blinked. "You're taking him with us?"

Hiccup stared at her like she'd just said the most obvious thing in the world. "Yeah?"

"We're only going to be gone for two weeks. Find someone to look after him."

"I don't trust anyone to do it properly."

“You know what, I don’t know why I thought it’d be any different,” Astrid muttered, throwing her hands in the air in defeat.

“It’s too late to find anywhere for him anyway,” Hiccup said smugly, and all at once Astrid realised that had been his plan the whole time.  

Astrid rolled her eyes and dropped down onto Hiccup’s bed, sliding her phone out of her pocket and propping up her legs on the wall. “So, anyway, I can’t wait to tell your mother that the real reason why you’ve never brought a girl home before is that you’re too devoted to your cat.”

Hiccup scowled again. “I’m devoted to him just the right amount, thanks.”

“Are you packing or not?”

Astrid refused to do any of the packing for him, instead sitting on his bed and ordering him about, occasionally stopping to criticise his packing skills – “Who taught you how to fold clothes, Haddock?”

Once he was done, he collapsed onto the bed next to her, pulling his pillow over his face, giving another groan.

“Alright,” Astrid sighed, prodding at him. “Are you gonna tell me what’s got you like this or not?”

“I just really, really hate packing.”

Astrid rolled her eyes. “What’s the real reason?”

Hiccup sighed and pulled himself up to sit cross legged next to her, picking at the threads on his duvet cover. “I’m just not looking forward to two weeks in close proximity to my parents.”

It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth, either.

“Your parents aren’t that bad, Hiccup,” Astrid said. “They’re actually really nice.”

“You didn’t have to grow up with them, you don’t know what they’re really like.”

“If you say so,” she said, looking back down at her phone again.

He couldn’t very well tell her that she was his problem – that the fact that they would be spending the next two weeks in each other’s space had made him both the most excited and the most terrified that he had ever been. He couldn’t tell her that the idea that they’d be touching all the time again sent his thoughts into a frenzy. He couldn’t tell her that the brush of her skin on his made his heart speed up and goose bumps prickle all over his arms.

He wouldn’t even know how to word it.

“Dad asked me to be the best man,” he said, after a long silence.

Astrid’s eyes flickered up from her phone. “That’s great,” she said. Then she looked at his face. “That’s great, right, Hiccup?”

“Yeah,” Hiccup said, still fiddling with the threads in the duvet cover. “But he wants me to make this speech.”

“Oh.”

“A speech about love,” Hiccup said, staring down at his fingers.

“And?”

“And I don’t know anything about love.”

Astrid sighed, switching off her phone and sliding it into her pocket. She crossed her legs onto the bed and rested her hands on her knees. “What makes you think you don’t know anything?”  

“Well, I’ve never been in love, for one,” Hiccup said.

For some reason, he wasn’t able to look at her while he said that.

“Does it matter?” Astrid said. “You’re thinking about this the wrong way.”

“Oh, I am?”

“Yeah,” Astrid said. “There’s more than one kind of love. You don’t just have to talk about the romantic kind.”

Hiccup sighed. “It’s at a wedding though. Romantic is what they’re expecting.”

“Does it really matter if you take a different angle?”

He slumped his shoulders. “I don’t know.”

She rolled her eyes, flicking him on the nose. “You’ve still got ages to figure it out,” she said, pulling herself up and off the bed. “Anyway, I gotta go.”

“Already?”

“It’s almost midnight, and we have to be up at 6,” Astrid said.

Hiccup pouted. “We used to do that every day at university.”

An amused smile peaked at the edge of Astrid’s lips, while she packed up her stuff and slung her bag over her shoulder. “Goodbye, Hiccup,” she said, before she swept out of the room.  

He felt her absence almost immediately. Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[bakedberry]

Call 📱 Faberry & Berrymen

Who: Rachel and Quinn, Leroy and Hiram Berry What: A reconnection. Where: Tingley Aquatic Park in Albuquerque, NM When: Saturday, July 1, 2017. Around 3:30 pm.

[ It had been so easy to fall into a routine again with Quinn. Smiles and laughter were no longer a rarity, and neither was spending time together. And, truth be told, it scared Rachel more than she was willing to admit, because parts of her were starting to feel whole again after so many years, and she wasn’t sure she could emotionally survive breaking apart all over again. But Rachel had to push such thoughts and worries away, and truly focus on what she had in front of her, or quite literally beside her at this moment, because their time together would come to a close soon enough.

Buzzing and a muffled melody drew Rachel’s attention away from her thoughts, and as she withdrew her phone from her pocket, she smiled as she saw her fathers’ smiling faces on her phone’s face. She swiped to accept the call. ]

RACHEL: [chirped] Hi Dad. Daddy. Dads. Are you both on speaker?

LEE: Naturally. Otherwise I’d have to take detailed notes for your worrisome daddy, sweetheart.

HIRAM: [gasp, faux offended] Worrisome, overprotective, AND devoted. Please characterize me correctly, darling.

LEE: [chuckled] Do you hear what I have to put up with? [teasing] You know your daddy’s antics have only gotten more dramatic since you moved halfway across the country.

[ There was some shuffling and static in the background, perhaps the sound of a loud smack of a kiss to a cheek. The line then cleared. ]

HIRAM: You’re still enjoying yourself, yes? [a beat] Still spending time with Quinn?

RACHEL: [unable to stop a grin from taking over] Yes aaaaand yes. Actually...

[ Rachel pulled the phone away from her and tapped the screen, turning the speaker on. ]

RACHEL: Quinn’s right here beside me.

[ Quinn had mostly forgotten all about the Berry dads and speaking to them on the phone until Rachel received the call from them as they walked from the botanical gardens to the beach at Tingley Aquatic Park. Her stomach bottomed out and she hoped Rachel maybe would forget to tell them what Quinn had said a few days ago. ]

RACHEL: She told me to tell you something the next time we spoke, but perhaps you’d like to hear it directly from her…

[ Quinn had a deer in the headlights look about her because, even though it was highly unlikely, she feared rejection from the Berry dads. She looked from the phone to Rachel then back to the phone again. ]

QUINN: [speaking near the phone, but not too close] Um. Hi…

[ All the way in Lima, dramatic to his core, Hiram’s palm pressed atop his heart and he didn’t even bother to try and hide the tears that were gathering in his eyes. Leroy swallowed down his own swell of emotion to answer, tone as warm as it was five years ago. ]

LEE: Hey there, Q-Bird.

[ For a moment, Quinn just breathed. It had been too long since she had talked to them, since she had heard that nickname. She swallowed hard as tears formed then reached forward and quickly took the phone from Rachel, bringing it closer and wishing they were doing this in person. ]

QUINN: [softly] Hey… [a pause] It’s good to hear your voice.

[ Quinn tightened her grip on the phone and turned slightly from Rachel as her tears spilled over. She cleared her throat, not wanting to sound like she had been crying. ]

QUINN: I was telling Rachel I wanted to come see you both once I’m back in Lima. If you’ll have me.

[ Silence hung in the air as Leroy shifted his attention to his husband. They had their theories about what they thought had happened, what had torn their two favorite girls apart, but being the biased parents they were, no scenario ever really painted Quinn in the best light. But if their Rachel could find it in her big heart to forgive, then they felt like it was their duty to be the supportive parents they always were and follow suit. ]

LEE: It’s been a very, very long time, Quinn--

HIRAM: [interrupting] But we’d love to see you.

[ The way Lee had started, Quinn was expecting a no, but then Hiram interrupted and a smile formed. They still liked her. Maybe even loved her, like they had before. ]

QUINN: Oh, good. [let out a breath] I’d love to see you too, both of you. I’m not sure when I’ll be back yet because I haven’t decided if I’ll fly home or ride with Finn on the bus, but as soon as I’m back, I’ll be in touch and we can pick a day and time and I’ll come to the farm and we’ll just… chat.

[ Her words had rushed out of her and she sniffled, glad that her tears had stopped. It was then that she decided once she was with them, she would come out to them, and tell them all the things she wished she had back when she was seventeen and scared. ]

LEE: We still have the same, number-- well, numbers, Q-Bird.

[ Leroy paused, pondering whether or not to add that they had always, even after all these years, just been a phone call away, but Hiram picked up where he left off first. ]

HIRAM: [teasing, smile evident even over the tininess of the speaker] We can chat while we do some farm chores.

[ Rachel had to laugh at that, because it was always an exercise in patience when trying to convince Quinn to help her out. Not because Quinn didn’t want to help, she just truly wasn’t very good at the tasks, though Rachel had always insisted that was simply because Quinn needed more practice. Practice did make perfect after all.

Quinn laughed as well. God, she missed them. She glanced at Rachel, a smile still on her face. ]

QUINN: I think I still have a doctor’s note excusing my delicate hands from such labors.

[ She had done it once, gotten a doctor's note excusing her from doing the work because she thought it would have been really funny. Quinn had to wait weeks before she got to use it but it paid off. Thinking about it now, it was still funny.

Unable to control the swell of affection at Quinn’s silliness and the way she so easily fell back into the pattern of banter with her fathers, Rachel leaned in, whispered a soft, “You’re ridiculous,” and then pressed a quick kiss to Quinn’s cheek before snagging her phone. With a quick tap, she had it back up to her ear. She signaled to Quinn that she’d just be a moment, and then stepped a few paces away for semi-privacy. ]

RACHEL: Hi. It’s just me again. [a pause] I’m quite happy you want to see her again.

HIRAM: You’re sure everything is--

RACHEL: Yes, Daddy. We’re working through our past...issues.

HIRAM: And you’re--

RACHEL: [cutting him off, because whatever he said wouldn’t matter; the answer was] Yes. I promise. I’ll send you pictures later, okay? And we’re at a Holiday Inn Express tomorrow, so we can Skype and I can tell you a lot more. In sort of person. And in private. I love you both so much.

LEE: And we love you.

HIRAM: And tell Quinn we love her.

[ It all happened so fast, Rachel speaking in her ear then the kiss to her cheek, and Quinn was glad to be shooed away because she needed a moment to recover. Her cheeks were flushed and she took deep breaths to calm herself. She had to be normal once Rachel was off the phone.

With her phone once again pocketed, Rachel turned back towards Quinn, nothing but a smile lighting up her face. “Ready?”

Quinn nodded at Rachel, then returned the smile. “Yeah,” she said softly and hesitated only a moment before taking Rachel's hand and leading her along the path. ]

[inxcat]

Maybe it’s not that bad

Summary: Reader is invited to Tony’s New Year’s Eve party and is slightly down, so she starts drinking. That can’t be bad, right? Pairing: Bucky x Reader Warnings: Cursing, drinking, maybe some angst, kissing. Word count:~1.9k Notes: Hey everyone! Happy New Year! I know I haven’t updated my ‘I remember you’ series, but I’ll try to get back to that as soon as I can. I hope you’ll like this little one-shot! I would be very grateful for any kind of feedback!��My native language isn’t English, so sorry for my bad grammar or punctuation.

It was New Year’s Eve and you were invited to Stark’s party. It wasn’t something unexpected – you were one of the Avengers, so it was obvious that you were invited. And you really put effort getting ready for the party, which definitely is going to be grandiose. Tony himself told you that and you had no doubts that it will.

You put your white faux fur coat and looked at your reflection in the mirror for the last time. You were wearing gorgeous short silver dress with straps and matching high heels. Your make up was minimal – nude, matt colors eye shadow, sharp eyeliner and some lip gloss. It really was flawless. You quickly ran your hand through your beautifully curled hair and smiled to yourself. You really looked great. It was time for you to go, so you just left your apartment the last time this year.  

It took you about a half of an hour to get to the Stark tower. You were greeted by the security guard who let you in. You left your coat and swiftly got into the elevator with a bunch of people you have never seen in your life. Some of them were already wasted and laughed loudly. Probably they were wandering around and wanted to get back to the party. Once you got off the elevator, loud music and more of people’s voices reached your ears. You had no idea how everything is going to work out tonight, but you hoped that you’ll have a great time. And at first, it really seemed like it.

The first one to notice that you arrived was Natasha. When she saw you (which she did incredibly fast), she immediately ran to you and greeted you with a bright smile, and a hug. Not long after, Nat took you to the bar and asked bartender for two neon-blue shots, which you two gulped down. Once the liquid slipped down your throat, it felt like it was on fire.  Natasha seemed fine, so you just had to suck it up, which you did great even though you felt your eyes start to water. Red-head haven’t noticed that and started casually chatting with you, telling you about few guests who dared to drink few drops of Thor’s Asgardian liquor. With that, she warned you not to try these but then, all of the sudden, was pulled into the dance floor by Clint. You saw how happy these two looked together and smiled to yourself.

You asked the bartender to mix you a sweet drink, but Tony grabbed you by your waist and dragged you to the dance floor. He took you into his arms and started spinning you around while telling you some cheesy jokes. You two were laughing uncontrollably and yeah, you really were having fun. Once you both stopped to catch a breath from all the dancing and laughing, Thor came along and offered some of his Asgardian liquor. You politely declined but Tony started teasing the god and comparing him to the drug dealers. You tried to keep an indifferent facial expression, but soon you burst out laughing. Thor ignored billionaire’s remark and once again started talking about Mjolnir and gave you two that little ‘you’re all not worthy’ speech. Tony looked offended and asked him to let him try to lift his hammer again. You sighted because it happened every time. Even if you tried to talk them out of this, two stubborn men already were fading into the massive crowd of people while still arguing.

Once again you were alone. Then you saw Steve talking with Sharon. He saw you too and waved you to come to them. You smiled, shook your head and showed him that you were going to the bar. He smiled and continued talking to the blonde girl. You didn’t want to cock block your friend so you went and finally drank that sweet cocktail you wanted earlier.

For the last few hours you danced (alone), shortly chatted with your friends or even random people and just ‘were having fun’. But you felt so fuckin’ lonely. That’s why you drank so many colorful and strong alcoholic drinks tonight. It’ll be the fourth year that you’ll meet alone and that thought slowly killed you.

There was less than an hour left until midnight and you thought it was the best time for you to leave. Even though you weren’t bothering anyone (everyone were too much involved in partying), but you felt like a party pooper with all the sadness inside of you. Okay, you just didn’t want anyone to see you crying on New Year’s Eve, because you already felt the tears gathering and threatening to fall out any minute now.

You finished your drink and stood up from the bar stool and just then realized how drunk you were. It felt like everything and everyone were spinning. It took you few moments to adjust and after few deep breaths you were ready to walk. You said goodbye to the bartender, who listened to your drunken chatter for some time and you started moving slowly towards the exit. You were alone (ha, ha, the irony) in the elevator and then suddenly thought that you want to see the beautiful New York City’s night view before you went home, where you could finally start crying, watch some stupid movies and eat all your ice-cream.

You pressed the button and waited for the elevator to take you to the roof. Even though F.R.I.D.A.Y. was silent all night, you knew that the AI was watching everyone and haven’t let guests to wander thought all the floors. As the Avenger you were allowed to go almost everywhere, so once the elevator opened, you stepped out into the cold weather.

Even if your drunk-self haven’t comprehended that it is fuckin’ winter and that you are wearing just a thin, short dress, you put your arms around yourself. You slowly walked near the edge and leaned against the banister. Once the metal construction met your skin, it sent a slight shiver thought your whole body. But you didn’t care, because you were fascinated by the city’s view. It was stunning and you just couldn’t turn away your gaze. You scolded yourself mentally for not coming here more often.

“Y/n?” you heard a voice and quickly, but unfortunately not very gracefully, turned around to face the person who manage to scare you. It was no one other than your friend Bucky. You had no idea that he was at the party, because you hadn’t seen him at the party. But here he was, wearing a dark fancy suit, ‘concern’ written all over his face. “What are you doing here?” he asked again.

You felt that you lost the ability to speak and couldn’t form any words and were just looking at him with your big, doe-like eyes. Because you couldn’t say anything, you just shrugged and rubbed your arms, as if you finally felt cold wind.

“How long have you been here?” Bucky asked and when he hasn’t received a response from you, he just took his jacked off and wrapped you in it. “Okay, actually, it doesn’t matter. Just let’s go inside.” He said soothingly, clearly realizing that you were very drunk.

“No!” you protested and tried to step back, but hit the metal banister with your back.

“Hey, easy there, doll,” Bucky said soothingly and put his hands on your waist, like any minute now you could just accidentally slip and fall down. With this small movement, he tried to prevent it.

“I- I really don’t wanna... Please, just leave me alone. I’ll go home soon,” it was hard for you to think about what you should and shouldn’t say to Bucky, so only after a moment you realized what you said and wanted to slap yourself for not shutting up at the right time.

“Home? But it’s almost midnight!” he looked at you surprised. “Wait,” he murmured looking at you with his piercing look, “have something happened at the party?”

You looked at your friend not saying anything, but your bottom lip started slightly trembling, you lowered your gaze and started blinking more frequently, trying your best to prevent yourself from crying.

“Shit. Doll, please, don’t cry. If anyone did something to you, I’m going to kick that unfortunate soul’s ass,” he promised and hugged you tightly.

You wanted to say something, but just couldn’t. You hugged him too and sighted. Okay, you haven’t started crying, so that’s something. You closed your eyes and inhaled Bucky’s smell. He was your friend, one of the best friends, actually. He was so nice to you ever since you first came to the Avengers headquarters, which was almost ten months ago; he was one of those people that you really trusted.

“Thank you, Buck.” You finally murmured.

“For what?” he asked completely surprised. You could swear you heard a silent chuckle.

“For always being there for me,” you explained and lifted you head slightly. You met his piercing gaze and slightly lifted your lip’s corners. You unconsciously softly cupped his cheeks and not long after, you just put your lips on his.

There were times you thought what it would feel like kissing James Buchanan Barnes. You wondered how his lips would feel on yours and if they were as soft as it looked. But you always shook away these thoughts not wanting to ruin your friendship.

For a brief moment you lost yourself in Bucky’s arms, you let your lips softly brush over his. It felt good, it felt right, but then maybe you sobered a little, because you realized what you were doing was wrong and pulled away as fast as you could.

“I- I- I’m sorry…” You whispered slightly out of your breath. You wanted to run away as far as possible. You glanced over your shoulder and at the moment jumping down the tower looked somewhat appealing. But Bucky’s grip on you was tight and you couldn’t make even a slight move. You thought that the world was going to end and, honestly, you wanted for that to happen as fast as possible. Even drunk you knew that kissing your friend was the biggest mistake you have ever made. And then the man proved differently. He, himself started kissing you.

It was so unexpected and it was hard for you to comprehend what was going on, but you somehow were able to wrap your arms around his neck and return his kisses. He kissed you slowly but passionately. At times it seemed that you’re going to run out of breath, but them Bucky would start pecking your neck, letting you to catch your breath and then once you did, get back to your lips.

You thought that you weren’t able to pull away from the gorgeous man, but you were wrong. Once you heard a loud bang you pulled away trying to see if there was a bomb or something like that, but once you lifted your gaze to the sky, you saw bright and colorful fireworks shooting all over the sky.

“Happy New Year, doll!” Bucky said and gently ran his fingers down your curly hair strand, smiling brightly.

“Happy New Year!” you said back and gave him a small smile too.

“Let’s get back inside. I’m freezing!” he said and because you weren’t protesting, Bucky just started kissing you again and lead you back to the warm elevator.

Yeah, alright, even if you were drunk, at least you weren’t alone anymore and greeted New Year kissing the sexiest Avenger. It definitely was a great idea going up here, even if you’ll probably catch a cold later.

[yoghurtslut-blog1]

This War We Fought Chapter One (Not edited, title undecided).

“The weather these past few days has been irriguous. Showers happen nightly, but the sun shines in the morning. Overall, it has been warmer than that back in Xeno, but not uncomfortably so. The meeting has not started yet, as we are still waiting for those from Scherzo and Ashen to get here. The other six Associations are accounted for.

“All we know so far about the Overviewer is that he plans to get rid of us, somehow. We have not gotten any lead on how, when, or why, and the information otherwise is the same as the last meeting. I hear Scherzo is in the middle of a drought, but this is only a rumour and is yet to be confirmed.

“Please, if you will, let everyone know that things are well over here and make sure that they behave. Thanks a lot, Aimeric Kanaan,” Aimeric took a deep breath, holding it for a second and then releasing it. “Did you get all of that, Ezra?” the young, newly appointed Scribe nodded slowly, his eyebrows scrunching together. His lips moved as he silently proof read what he wrote. Aimeric smiled.

“Sorry, I didn’t quite catch which Associations weren’t accounted for. You said Scherzo and- which one?” Ezra bit the end of his pen, looking up at Aimeric through his mop of brown hair. Aimeric glanced down at the boy’s writing.

“Ashen. Scherzo and Ashen,” Aimeric said.

“Actually, Aim, it’s just Scherzo now,” Lea, in freckled glory, corrected as she strode into the large, lifeless room. A grin spread across Aimeric’s face as he saw her, and he welcomed her into his arms.

“Nice to see you again, Lea. Have you heard any word from Lorenzo and his troops?” he asked. Lea shrugged, pulling away from the hug.

“No, actually. Since his last Scribe died, he has been silent,” she said solemnly. Aimeric frowned.

“His last Scribe? Since when has he ever used a Scribe?” Aimeric demanded. All the warmth that had been in his voice previously was replaced by confusion. Lea grimaced and looked at the ground.

“Well, I don’t know, actually. That is what he told everyone, though; his Scribe died and he wouldn’t be able to communicate with us all for a while,” she pressed her lips. Her words lingered in the air. Ezra broke the near-awkward silence.

“Ashen and Scherzo are pretty close, right?” he asked. Aimeric and Lea looked at him in an almost shocked way, as if they had forgotten he was there. Ezra’s face heated up as the attention was suddenly converted over to him.

“Yes, they are. Why do you ask?” Aimeric tilted his head as he talked.

“Well, I just thought that since they are close, maybe Lorenzo would be here within a day or two of you, Lea. Is that usually how it happens?” the two Advisors considered that, glancing at each other and then back at Ezra.

“Yes, that is. Maybe he just left late this time” Aimeric started, “as he is usually here before Lea. In fact, usually everyone is here before Lea. I’m surprised she hasn’t missed a meeting yet,” he nudged her gently. Lea fake laughed and elbowed Aimeric in the gut.

“Hilarious, my friend,” she rolled her eyes. “Where is everyone else? I want to talk with them before we have all the business to do.”

“They went to the bazaar to get Rin everything needed for supper,” Aimeric said, glancing at Ezra. “Why don’t you go and see if they need anything, eh?” he winked at the young Scribe. In response, Ezra’s face lit up.

“I don’t have a crush on Rin! I just met them!” Ezra’s voice cracked, only making his face catch on fire. Aimeric laughed and Lea elbowed him again.

“Stop teasing the boy. You remember how it was like at that age; hormones and shit, y’know?” she winked at Ezra. “But, if you want, go get ‘em, tiger.”

Ezra buried his face in his hands and groaned. “I hate you both,” he mumbled, the words muffled. Aimeric and Lea laughed a bit.

“Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that. Could you repeat what you said? Was it, ‘I love Rin’? That’s what I heard. What do you think, Lea?” Aimeric said, a mocking tone in his voice.

“I think y’all should stop teasing the kid,” came a low voice with a mild southern drawl. The slim figure strode over and placed a hand on Ezra’s shoulder. Ezra flinched, uncovering his face to look up.

“Thanks, Rin,” he squeaked. Rin smiled down at him, giving him a reassuring squeeze.

“Aw, you guys would be cute together,” Lea teased, mocking the accent. Rin shook their head, closing their eyes as they let out a breathy laugh and tucked their hair behind their ear.

“You guys would be cute drowning,” they replied. Aimeric laughed and Lea gasped, faux offended. She placed a hand on her heart.

“Well, I never,” she said, continuing to mock their accent. Rin rolled their eyes.

“Oh pah-leez,” they started, really exaggerating their accent. “I do not sound like that!” Ezra gave a small giggle, then turned even more red. Aimeric laughed even harder once he saw Ezra’s face, now closely resembling a ripe tomato. Rin reached over and slapped the man with his long, elegant hand.

“I don’t think that would help him stop laughing,” Lea said. Rin shook their head.

“I think that just made it worse, honestly,” Rin sighed. They took their hand off of Ezra’s shoulder, leaving a cold spot. Rin started away for the door, and Ezra felt a flood of panic. He didn't want to be left alone with these two idiots, but he also didn’t want to go with Rin, fearing of more teasing.

“Wait, Rin!” he shouted. The three others in the room turned to him, looking shocked, but he thought he surprised himself the most. Ezra’s face turned red again and Aimeric and Lea exchanged glanced. Rin looked amused, but they turned and stopped.

“Yes, Ezra?” they purred. Was there a hint of mockery in their voice? Ezra couldn’t tell. His face was back to the bright shade of tomato it had been before.

“Uh, do you need any help? In the kitchen or otherwise. I mean, I’d be happy to help you anywhere. If you want me to, that is,” he mumbled, stuttering and tripping over his words. His tongue suddenly felt like a fish in his mouth, flopping around uselessly. Rin smiled at him.

“Your help would be greatly appreciated, actually. I would love if you joined me,” they beckoned him over and Ezra, feeling more like he was floating, walked over. He glanced back at Aimeric and Lea, who were trying to stifle their laughter. He looked at the ground to hide his blushing cheeks. He saw Rin’s hand go up and heard Aimeric snort loudly. Only for a moment did he care to know what Rin did, but then they had rested their hand on his back and was leading him out of the room.

The touch sent electricity through his spine, and when they took their hand off, it left him feeling empty again. The two then silently made their way to the kitchen.

“Well, since they won’t be here for a while still, we have some time to talk without those two assholes harassing you,” Rin said as they hopped up onto the counter. Ezra leaned against the wall, still not meeting the other’s eyes. “Ezra, are you okay? They were only joking, yeah? It didn’t mean anything.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s just that it’s still awkward, I guess,” he said with a shrug. Rin laughed a bit.

“I gotcha. You don’t actually like me, though, right? ‘Cause, I’m way too old for you,” they said jokingly. Ezra laughed nervously.

“You aren’t that much older than me. You’re only, like, seventeen.”

“Actually, I just turned eighteen. You, at the tender age of 16, are practically a fetus,” Rin said. They hopped from the counter and walked a few paces back and forth. A few seconds of silence passed before they talked again. “You don’t actually like me, right?”

Ezra huffed, blowing his hair from his face. “Oh, I don’t know. I’ve never liked someone before. I got nothin’ to compare it to!”

He knew he was being illogical, but it was getting frustrating. For the past three days since the young Crypt Advisor had arrived, Aimeric had been teasing him relentlessly for having a crush. Tears pricked his eyes and threatened to spill over. He quickly wiped them away. Rin frowned and walked towards him.

“Hey, kid, it’s okay if you do. I don’t care. Honestly, I don’t. Us Advisors, we usually get bombarded with a bunch of serious work. These meetings are when we can goof off a lot so we go hard. Lorenzo hasn’t gotten here yet, but he usually brings fine wines from Scherzo- the entire town is a vineyard, pretty much,” Rin laughed a bit. “Reese, Advisor of Omni, and Hecate, Advisor of Incendium, usually get it on every time they see each other. They say their relationship is purely physical, but the rest of us think that there is definately something else going on between them. I mean, it sucks, my room is right between both of them. It doesn’t matter which room they go to, I always hear it. I even had to invest in earplugs-”

“Why are you telling me all of this?” Ezra cut his androgynous friend off. Rin blinked a bit, then flushed peach.

“I was trying to cheer you up and got off topic. I don’t even remember what I started with, honestly. Sorry,” they laughed. Rin scratched the top of their head, disrupting the dark curtain of hair that fell around their face. A strand of dark hair fell into their almond shaped eyes and, without thinking, Ezra brushed it out of the way. Rin blinked in surprise and Ezra’s eyes widened. He quickly pulled his hand away.

“Sorry, I wasn’t thinking,” he said, rushing over his words. He put his hands behind him and leaned on them so they wouldn’t be able to do anything else. Rin laughed a bit, taking a few steps back.

“No, it’s fine. Thanks, actually. You saved me the effort,” they stared at him for a few moments, eyes narrowing a bit. “But maybe you should leave for now. Go back to the Scribe’s corners and talk to them,” Rin turned away from him and walked over to a drawer and got out a chef’s knife. Ezra’s blood ran cold and he nodded, offering a small bow before hurrying out of the kitchen.

He nearly ran Aimeric over on his way out, only muttering a small ‘sorry’ before hurrying on, ignoring Aimeric’s talking. He went into his assigned bed in the Scribe’s corners, ignoring the other Scribes as well. They wouldn’t have talked to him, anyway. In the few days that he had been here, the other Scribes and him barely found anything in common. Regardless, he didn’t feel uncomfortable with them. They were just like distant family, in a way. All the same, he didn’t want to listen to them gossip. He covered his ears with the pillow and covered himself in the blanket so he wasn’t noticeable. Then, he let himself drift to sleep, hoping he wouldn’t dream of his embarrassment.

A while later, Ezra was woken up by a sudden dip in his mattress. He refused to acknowledge his sudden awakening, and instead squeezed his eyes tighter.

“Hey, kid, wake up,” His blurry vision wouldn’t focus, but based on the dark skin and long hair, he came to the conclusion that Aimeric had woken him.

“Dinner is ready, kiddo,” Aimeric said softly. Ezra shook his head, groaning a bit and turning back over. He covered his head with his blanket. Aimeric chuckled a bit. “Please wake up. There is someone I want you to meet.”

“Why?” Ezra complained, yawning as he spoke. Aimeric groaned.

“You are terribly hard to wake up. You know that, right?” he huffed. Ezra shrugged a bit. He covered his eyes with his arms.

“My brother would tell me the same thing nearly everyday,” he smiled a bit at the memory; back when he was in school and had to be woken up at the crack of dawn and Rhys would be rushing both him and Apollo out the door.

“Well, since your brother isn’t here currently, it seems that the job has been transfered to me. Now come on- get your ass out of bed,” Aimeric gently slapped Ezra’s stomach, making the younger boy wrap his arms around himself and groan.

Eventually, Ezra sat up and backhanded Aimeric on the arm.

“I’m only doing this because I’m curious now,” he said. Aimeric laughed and shook his head. The elder led him out of the room and they walked together to the Main Room.

Everyone was seated there. The oak chairs and table were filled up with only two seats remaining- one for Ezra, one for Aimeric. One right next to Rin and the other next to someone whom he had never seen before. The table was set nicely, filled with enough food to last them for a few days.

“Welcome back to the real world, Ezra. Did you enjoy your break?” Rin asked with a grin spreading across their face. Their arms opened wide in a welcoming gesture. Rin’s face was flushed and their eyes were mildly bloodshot. Ezra rolled his eyes, ignoring them and taking the seat next to them. Rin sat as well. Ezra noticed that, when he pulled his chair in, he scooted it slightly closer to Ezra. His face flushed slightly.

Aimeric took the chair next to him. He leaned forward and grabbed the pitcher of water, pouring some into both of their cups. Ezra muttered a thanks and took a sip.

“Ezra, I take it you know most of these people, but you haven’t met Lorenzo yet,” Aimeric scooted back in his chair so Ezra could see the man next to him. He was young, about Rin’s age, and had short, brown curls on his head, slicked back and tucked behind his ears. He was dangerously pale had dark circles under his eyes. His cheeks and collarbones were very hollow and he seemed fragile. “This is the Advisor of Scherzo. Lorenzo, this is Ezra, my Scribe. Speaking of Scribes, you have some explaining to do.”

“Do I?” Lorenzo asked, his voice raspy. A hint of amusement played into his words. Aimeric back-handed his arm, earning a wince from the smaller man.

“Yeah. Since when have you had a Scribe, and since when has he died?” Aimeric demanded. Rin whistled.

“Okay, while those two argue, Imma tell y’all what’s for dinner,” Rin said, standing up. They stumbled as they stood.

“Skip dinner, what’s for dessert?” Jazzabelle, Advisor of Jade, asked. It was clear that they had broken into the booze already.  Rin winked at her.

“For dinner, we have a nice turkey, some grain salad tossed with olive oil and herbs, tomatoes with mozzarella, herbs, and vinegar, a garden salad, and some mashed sweet potatoes. Please enjoy,” they said, taking a bow and sitting back down. The frenzy of starving people took their share of food. Ezra was too shocked to move, so Aimeric made the plate for him, patting him on the head as he gave it to him.

“Thanks, Aimeric. I didn’t know people could move that fast,” he muttered. Aimeric chuckled a bit.

“This is the first real meal any of us have eaten for so long,” he spoke louder now, and around him, everyone quieted down. “We have Rin to thank for making this excellent meal!”

Cheers and clapping sounded for a few short moments, soon replaced by the sound of forks and spoons scraping plates. Ezra didn’t know where to start on his meal, overwhelmed by the options. Everything was so colourful and pretty, he almost didn’t want to ruin it. He looked over at Rin, who was sitting on their hands and rocking themself back and forth. He noticed that they didn’t have food on their plate.

“Hey, Rin, why aren’t you eating?” he asked, keeping his voice down. Rin glanced at him, then at their plate. Their lips formed a small “o” shape.

“I barely even realized. I was waiting to see what others thought first. Is it good?” they asked, turning in their chair to face Ezra.

“I don’t know. It was too pretty for me to eat. My brother was an awful cook, so these foods are all new to me.”

Ezra chuckled a bit. They turned on their chair to face him, resting one foot under the crook of their knee. “I like the tomatoes the best, so try those.”

Ezra picked up a tomato and took a bite of it. The tomato juices wet his hand, but he managed to get it into his mouth without too much of a mess. Rin grabbed a napkin from the center of the table and handed it to Ezra.

“Thanks,” Ezra said, wiping his hands off. Rin shrugged, turning back to face forwards in his seat. He stood up again and leaned on the table, using one of his hands to motion to Lorenzo.

“Hey guys, should Loren bring out the wine?” he called. A fury of cheers echoed throughout the house. Lorenzo whispered something to Aimeric, who nodded and stood up. He tapped Ezra and two other Scribes on the shoulder and beckoned to them as he walked across the room. The three followed; the girl, dark skin with long, straight hair, glanced at him. Ezra shrugged. The child seemed unbothered, however, chatting up a storm with Aimeric, who tried his best to seem interested.

“Since you guys are too young to drink, Lea and I decided to bring out some board games and let you guys play in the living room. Once everyone who doesn’t like to drink finishes their supper, they’ll come in here to keep an eye on you guys and to make sure none of our drunk asses come in and annoy you,” Aimeric said with amusement saturating his words. “Ezra, in translation, I won’t need you until tomorrow afternoon, and hopefully you won’t see me until then either.”

Ezra let out a small, awkward laugh, but he didn’t want Aimeric to leave him. Once they were settled in the living room, though, Aimeric left without so much as a wave. Clearly, he didn’t share Ezra’s concerns.

The two teens sat in silence as they watched the young child play with a wooden toy beast. The child made roaring noises and crashing sounds to accompany his playing. Ezra would have thought it was cute if he weren’t feeling so awkward; he knew these two were Scribes, but he hadn’t talked to these two very much yet.

“So, you’re Ezra?” the girl asked, poising herself to face him. Ezra took a deep breath and nodded.

“Yeah. What’s your name?” he asked as he turned to face her. Proudly, she stuck out her hand.

“Elizabeth Wolfe of Dracon” she said, “but you can just call me Eliza,” she added as an afterthought.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you. What’s Dracon like?”

“It is pretty cold usually. Which sucks, because I packed for cold weather and guess what? It’s freaking hot here. So now, I have a lot of coats and stuff that I don’t even need and they are just dead weight. But I have to take them back to Dracon anyway, so it just means more backbreaking work for our poor donkeys,” she talked fast. Ezra wasn’t even sure if she took a breath between any of her words. “And what about Xeno?”

It took him a moment to process that she had asked a question, but finally he got it replying. “It’s a little bit cooler than here, and a lot drier. I’m definitely not used to all this rain,” he said with a laugh. She nodded a bit.

“We get about the same amount of precipitation, but usually as snow,” Eliza looked at the small kid. “What’s your name, kiddo?” she asked. The child looked at her; his short, brown hair was messed up and his cheeks were rosy.

“I’m Ancel!” he said. “I am four years old,” He said proudly, holding up four fingers into Eliza’s face. Then he showed his fingers to Ezra, who offered a small smile to the kid. He couldn’t say his “r”s very well.  Eliza’s face was lit up. Her smile spread from ear to ear.

“So Ancel, you are from Scherzo, right?” She asked. Ancel nodded. “Can you tell us what it’s like there?”

“Uh, hot. Like fire,” he then went on to make some side effects, featuring his wooden beast, to show the two how hot it was. Eliza glanced at Ezra, laughing a bit. She covered her mouth when she laughed. Ezra laughed a bit too. The kid was kind of cute.

“Ah, fuck!” someone shouted. A loud crash followed.

“Aimeric! Go up to bed,” after a pause, the voice added, “No, go up, now. You don’t need more wine. There is plenty more for tomorrow. Bed.”

Two figures walked into sight. Ezra instantly recognised Lorenzo to be the unnamed figure and his drunk Advisor was leaning heavily on the smaller man. Ezra instantly got up to help.

“Hang on, kid, I just have to help him up these stairs,” Lorenzo said without glancing at Ezra.

“Noooo, I can do it by myself. Why don’t you have faith in me?” Aimeric whined. Lorenzo huffed.

“You already fell once in the hallway. I don’t want you to fall down these stairs, you stupid drunk giant,” Lorenzo herded the bigger man up in the stairs, standing behind him and literally pushing him up. After a few moments, he came back downstairs.

“Is he okay?” Ezra asked. Lorenzo snorted.

“Yeah, he’s fine. He just drank too much, as per usual. Sorry you had to see that,” he said, but his attention diverted as he looked over Ezra’s head and into the living room. “Is Ancel doing good?” He asked, walking past Ezra and not waiting for a reply.

“Lor!” the child cried and hugged the curly-haired man’s legs. Lorenzo patted his head.

“You wanna sleep with me or with the other Scribes tonight?” he asked, kneeling down to be eye level with the kid. His voice had kind of an edge to it, though, as if he didn’t trust either of the options.

“Scribes!” the kid practically shouted. Lorenzo forced a smile, grabbing another one of the child’s wooden toys from off of the ground and handing it to him.

“Are you getting tired yet?” he asked. Ezra glanced at Eliza, but she was too busy watching the other’s conversation to notice.

“No!” Ancel shouted again. Lorenzo scowled and pouted a bit.

“Are you sure? Because I think it’s past your bedtime, kiddo,” he said, picking the child up and spinning him a bit.

“I don’t want to!”

“How about I take you up and I read you a bedtime story?” Lorenzo suggested. Ancel scowled.

“Which one?” the child asked, seemingly intrigued.

“Well, we can see what we have. Sound good?” Lorenzo bounced the kid and adjusted his grasp. Ancel thought for a moment.

“Okay,” the kid said. “but only if we can find one on pirates!” Lorenzo laughed, a sound like bells ringing. It carried throughout the room.

“Pirates? I might have to search for a while to find one about those, kiddo,” he swung the kid around, then set him down. “Why don’t you say goodnight to Eliza and Ezra, okay?” Lorenzo gave a gentle, encouraging nudge towards the two teens.

“Okay!” Ancel ran towards them and hugged and kissed them both, saying goodnight to each of them. Then, without prompting, the kid raced to the steps and ran upstairs. Lorenzo shook his head, letting out a sigh. The corners of his lips tugged upwards.

Looking back at Ezra and Eliza, he dropped down to his knees and dropped his voice to a whisper.

“It would be advisable to sleep with your advisors tonight. Ezra, since Aimeric and Rin are both three sheets to the wind, you can sleep in my room with me. Jessie probably won’t get too drunk, Eliza, but otherwise, Jaz probably won’t mind having you. I just don’t trust Lea’s Scribe.” Lorenzo opined. Eliza and Ezra nodded simultaneously.

“Since I don’t want to wake Ancel up once he falls asleep, would you come down to get me?” Ezra asked slowly. Lorenzo pressed his lips and scowled.

“Yes, probably. Thank you for mentioning that.”

“Lorenzo, are you being a buzzkill again?” Jessamine Caceres, the Advisor of Dracon, said as she slapped Lorenzo on the back. Lorenzo winced a bit, scowling at her.

“How much wine did you drink?” he asked, huffing once more.

“Oh, I dunno, not much. Not like the others. I’m still pretty sober compared to them. I just left because it was growing to vulgar,” she wrinkled her nose. “Would you be a dear and shoo Reese and Hecate out of the dining area?”

Lorenzo paled. “I don’t know what they are doing, but I don’t want to see it, thanks. Since you are “sober”, why don’t you take your Scribe up to sleep in your room? I don’t want any of the children to see anything. I hate to leave so fast, but I have a child waiting for me,” he said, glancing behind him several times throughout the sentence.

Jessamine arched one of her fine, over-plucked eyebrows. “That doesn’t sound dodgy at all,” she snorted. Lorenzo rolled his eyes, not responding to her comment as he turned and walked the other way.

“Just saying, watch what you say!” she called after him. He ran up the stairs. She shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Men, ammiright?” she joked. Eliza snorted and nodded. Ezra pressed his lips together awkwardly and slowly nodded. Jessamine jokingly punched Ezra in the arm. “Sorry, pal, forgot you were here.”

Ezra smiled a bit.

“So where are the others?” Eliza asked, looking around the room. “Or are you and Lorenzo the only relatively sober ones?” Jessamine snorted.

“It’s pretty much just him and I, yeah. Rin was nodding off last time I checked. Lea and Jazz were cheering on Reese and Hecate. The Scribes, bless them, went down to their corners once things got too rowdy.”

Ezra scowled slightly. “Is Rin alright? Shouldn’t someone take them up to bed or something? The are the one who cooks around here,” Jessamine looked thoughtful for a second.

“That is a good point. C’mon, let’s go get them,” she said, walking out of the room. Eliza and Ezra glanced at each other before quickly scrambling to follow.

To say that the dining room was a mess was an understatement. There were dishes broken on the ground. Chairs were knocked over. Food was everywhere. Ezra heard Eliza groan next to him. He felt the same way; tomorrow, bright and early, they’d have to clean the mess up.

Reese and Hecate were having a food fight against Lea and Jezabelle. In the middle of it all was Rin, fast asleep. Jessamine screamed, which got everyone’s attention. They all looked at her. Rin fell off of their hand and hit their head off of the table. Ultimately, that woke them up. They looked around, confused.

“Okay, everyone, bedtime,” Jessamine shouted. There was a collective amount of sighs and groans and protests, but Jessamine ignored them and pointed, glaring at everything and silently challenging those who would dare disobey.

Slowly, everyone but Rin filtered out of the room and went upstairs. Rin blinked at us several times, mouth agape.

“Well? Aren’t you going, Rin?” Jessamine demanded. Rin blinked again and then vomited. Jessamine rolled her eyes. “I’m banning you from all alcohol, you dead weight.”

She helped Rin up and helped them walk into the living room area. Once they were sat down, she turned to Eliza and Ezra.

“Ezra, go to bed now. Eliza, stay with me. It may take a while for Rin to sober up, and I want to keep them awake until that happens. In the meantime, go get me some water, please.”

The two went off to do as she said; they split into different directions and Ezra slowly went up the stairs. He had never been up here before, not even to wake Aimeric up. He didn’t know which room was Lorenzo’s, so he stood there and waited for Lorenzo to come out and get him. Luckily, it didn’t take long. The frail looking man slowly and quietly opened his door. He wore striped boxers and a large, black tee-shirt.

“It’s a bit packed on the Bocelli bed, but it’ll be fine,” he whispered, opening the door to let Ezra in. He quietly shut the door behind them. “If you want to get into better sleeping clothing, I have some in my drawer that you can borrow. I have shorts and tee-shirts. Otherwise, you can just wear what’s comfortable.” Lorenzo said softly. Ezra took off his linen pants and folded them, setting them down where he stood. He felt his way over to where Lorenzo’s bed was.

“How many people are you housing in here?” he asked quietly. He felt the bed sag next to him when Lorenzo sat down.

“Three, including you. I bet you can guess who the other two are, though,” he laughed a bit. “You can be on the edge. Aimeric reeks grossley of alcohol. I have a cot, but Ancel sleeps in it on a nightly bases, and sometimes during the day when he needs to nap.”

Lorenzo pulled his feet onto the bed and laid down. Once he was comfortable underneath the covers, he pulled at Ezra to let him know. Slowly and carefully, Ezra laid down. He pulled the covers on over him, but quickly became too hot. He stuck a leg out from the covers.

“Does Aimeric sleep in here often, too?” Ezra asked quietly. Lorenzo let out a hard breath.

“Well, no, preferably not. I don’t particularly like people in the same bed as I am, believe it or not. I don’t particularly like people, though, so that could be an influencing factor.”

“Then why are you letting us sleep with you?” he asked.

“I’m worried about all of you, of course. Aimeric may be an idiot, but he is usually pretty nice to me and knows when to shut up,” Lorenzo’s speech was slowing down now.

“And one more thing; you said he was pretty nice to you, as if other people aren’t.”

“And? Not everyone likes me. Someone spread nasty rumours about me and the others believed it. Goodnight now, Ezra,” Lorenzo huffed, turning around and ending the conversation. Ezra sighed silently. He could feel Lorenzo’s stiff back against his side. Ezra turned so that he was facing the outside of the bed.

Somehow, he had managed to fall asleep.

[anonbstander33-blog]

Open letter to LGBT fans of Haifa Wehbe

This is an open letter to the LGBT fans of Haifa Wehbe who were offended by her recent injurious tweet, and more specifically, those who have hastily ceased considering themselves as fans of hers, and may or may not have contributed to subsequent accusations of homophobia and general insults against her character, or other more subtle actions against her. I am not a habitual twitter user, but this topic was brought to my attention and has prompted me to respond, and I hope that you will get to somehow read my response. Please take the time to read this and I thank you in advance for your kind attention. The following is simply the sensible point of view of an observer, and in no way the defensive opinion of a fan.

It is clear that Haifa's social media presence is distinctive from the more standardized PR-driven approach most public figures in her position tend to use. She has opted for a shyer and more personal and unpredictable approach in recent years, and this arguably contributes to her likability and sets her apart from her peers. However, this hasn't been without its faults and it has certainly left room for the occasional and inevitable faux pas, as with this recent regrettable misunderstanding. On this particular occasion, Haifa received a harmful and injurious tweet, sadly a daily part of social media interaction nowadays, but nonetheless upsetting and distressing for most people. She was obviously triggered by the vicious attack on her person, to which she responded on a whim with an equally offensive insult, which happens to be a common gay slur. Although returning hate for hate is not an ideal solution in my opinion, she probably reacted in a fit of anger and without much consideration of the meaning or possible implications of her response, and that is comprehensible. Haifa has proved she is human like the rest of us, and humans are bound to make mistakes, it is in our nature.

While some sources will argue that the term she used is merely an old fashioned expression with no injurious connotation, which is mostly used in law and religious texts in referral to homosexual men, it is unquestionable that its modern day uses are far more objectionable. It is the widely accepted usage of this word as a casual insult that lead her to let it slip unconsciously, but undoubtedly without hurtful intent towards homosexuals, as she made clear in several subsequent tweets. Even if this is the case, it doesn't make using it okay and I am by no means condoning it, and neither is Haifa. The term is widely used without necessary ill will to purposely offend or insult a homosexual person, but sadly without much consideration of the pain and suffering tied to it by gay men in particular. The real issue that needs to be addressed here is the very common, and unfortunately trivialized, derogatory use of this word, which is solely a reflection of a backward society. The attention she gave to clearing up the issue at hand, however, is a sincere reflection of her true self and feelings, and I believe she deserves the utmost respect for it.

Haifa chose not to explicitly apologize and this has to be attributed to her prowess in dealing with the media, she is known for her subtle faculty to minimize media scrutiny in regard to similarly delicate matters. It would have been purposely misinterpreted as an apology for the act of insult rather than for the choice of insult word itself, and her intentions would have been intentionally misrepresented, and consequently the hurtful effect of the term on certain people would have never been dealt with. I strongly believe that given the chance to do it over, she would have still insulted the individual who offended her, as she clearly felt it was justified, and that is very concordant with her "diva" persona. But I am even more persuaded that she would have taken the time to come up with a more poignant riposte, without any homophobic suggestion that is clearly inconsistent with her beliefs. In lieu of an apology, Haifa took several steps that you shouldn't be too quick to dismiss. She recognized her mistake and proceeded to remove the offensive tweet. She then admitted the provoked anger that lead her to react impulsively, not in an attempt to justify her choice of words, but simply to explain her spontaneous reaction and state of mind at the time. She shared the vicious words that instigated her impulsive reaction with her followers, which I felt showed some humility on her part, as well as honest penitence. Furthermore, Haifa made clear her intentions and assured she never intended to offend anyone on the basis of their sexual orientation. She reassured she has never equated the term she used with gay men, and she disclosed the affinity and friendship she shares with gay men in her private life. She also took advantage of the opportunity to express her respect and support for her gay fans. But most importantly, Haifa acknowledged the pain that could be caused by the use of this kind of language, and she expressed regret for causing such pain, thereby addressing the very core of the problem, as opposed to patching it up with a simple apology. Her actions were more responsible than you are giving her credit for, and in my opinion, more powerful than a formal apology, which most likely would have been disregarded as insincere and generic. She acknowledged her mistake and set herself as an example to millions of followers who will think twice before using this kind of language in the future. But regrettably, her actions are still mistakenly perceived by a few people such as yourself as an attempt to justify her use of insensitive language, when it is clearly not the case.

I personally found her standpoints to be quite admirable, and I find myself incomprehensive to your insistence on pursuing your attacks against her. I seriously doubt that anyone else in her position would have taken further steps beyond removing the offensive tweet as she did. She has offered outspoken support for the gay community, a courageous move on her part, especially in these times of growing fanaticism and religious extremism. You have to realize that she is addressing a very variegated and culturally diverse audience that may not be as tolerant in its majority as you might think. Thus the impact of her actions is not to be taken lightly. I invite you to read some of the hostile comments she has subsequently received, actually condemning her actions and expression of support, and I hope it will put things into perspective for you. I am referring to accusations of "promoting immorality", to paraphrase it politely, and other similarly reprehensible and revolting claims. For her to receive backlash from parts of the gay community in addition to this, is unfortunate to say the least. It almost seems that her actual message only got through to real homophobes, and for individuals like you to turn on her under these circumstances is very disappointing to witness.

Incidentally, I would like to draw your attention to the malicious motives of most news sources who have covered this unfortunate mishap and contributed to amplifying it. They are hardly gay-friendly sources, and are only serving their clearly established anti-Haifa agendas, quite transparently I might add. I caution you to not be misled by their deceitful intentions and to not add fuel to their flames. I am positive that these instigators are not serving an ultimate goal of promoting tolerance of diversity and social justice, far from it. On the other hand, I am most confident that Haifa's intentions are honest and sincere. Since early on in her career, she has helped bring visibility to the LGBT rights movement in an unprecedented manner in the region. She has openly expressed support for the gay community in numerous published magazine interviews and in a couple of instances on social media, and she has helped raise HIV/AIDS awareness. She has also voluntarily expressed her support for Trans-rights in a recent radio interview, without much forthright solicitation from the journalist interviewing her. In addition to her public positions, she is known for her close friendships with many gay men in her private life. I have personally had the opportunity to witness on one occasion her interactions with gay friends from her inner circle, and she seemed to embrace them in a very caring and boundless and judgment-free manner. I also found her familiarity with gay culture to be inspiring, and I can assure you that her tolerance is not of the manufactured and calculated kind, but of the natural kind. Her general broad-mindedness and kindheartedness is also something that anyone who has come into contact with her can attest for. Despite her recent gaffe, she will always be regarded as an ally to the LGBT community, and for such a person to be absurdly referred to as a homophobe by some people such as yourself is very saddening.

I want you to know that I deeply empathize with you if you have been on the receiving end of purposely homophobic bullying, and I sincerely hope that you, or anyone else for that matter, would not have to ever endure that again in the future. I also want you to know that I truly understand your anger, and above all, I understand the pain and frustration that lie beneath it. I realize that gay rights are far from being accepted in this part of the world, and I understand the feeling of hopelessness of ever seeing real change, and the feeling of deep frustration that only grows worse by the exposure to other cultures that are embracing equality more and more by the day. I assure you that I am in no way undermining your feelings, and I would like to say that I share your feelings. I only felt the need to point out that your anger is aimed towards a person whose sympathy to the gay cause is incontestable, and that is somewhat unreasonable. This opportunity could have been used more efficiently to raise awareness of homophobia and discrimination, and your time and energy could have been used more wisely to educate rather than hate.

I advise you not let your momentary reaction, comprehensible as it may be, even if somewhat excessive, turn into a grudge against Haifa. I do hope you will be able to find it in your heart to forgive her for her unintended gaffe. And I urge you to reconsider your position and channel your anger and frustration more productively on gay rights issues. Falsely accusing people of homophobia and bigotry in this abusive manner is irresponsible and detrimental to the LGBT cause. The kind of attack you are resorting to is counterproductive to the gay cause and does not help resolve the sexual stigma and discrimination against homosexuals. You are alienating and abusing a true supporter. The anxiety resulting from such aggressive external pressure to avoid behavior that could be construed as prejudiced, in otherwise tolerant individuals, is certainly not conductive to positive interaction and to the raising of awareness and proper sensitization of the public on the issue. Lashing out on an obvious ally such as Haifa, for a mere unfortunate misunderstanding, is simply irrational and unfair. Having someone of her stature and influence as an ally is an undeniable asset. She owned up to her mistake, she was responsible and held herself accountable. Haifa's experience has brought widespread attention to the importance of tackling homophobic language and its deeply hurtful impact, and will hopefully help make the use of this kind of language unacceptable regardless of intent. Haifa also used the opportunity to publicly reassert her support and loyalty to the gay community, and at the very least, I believe, she is owed your respect and forgiveness.