#the party photo has given me SO MUCH TO PONDER ON

[girls-are-weird]

young royals 3 OFFICIAL stills via netflix nordic's twitter account!! aaaaaaahhhhhhh!!!

[nevernonline]

✧.* just for one night; yjh

for jeonghan's birthday he teased the gift he wanted wrapped in a pretty bow this time was you. little did he know that his joke would turn into his favorite present.

𐦍 paring: jeonghan x reader.

𐦍 genre: romance, bad humor, fluff, "friendly" date.

𐦍 warnings: drinking,  s3xy times, swearing,  smut, minors dni, reader has female genitalia.

𐦍 word count: 2.0k

𐦍 content: non-idol characters, food/drink, cursing, slightly- suggestive, pet names, afab! reader.

𐦍 note: I meant to post this on 1004 but.. maybe forgot to queue it LMAO. this wasn't intended to go this way and I don't rlly write smut often (or read it often tbh) so pls all my baddies who read and write smut give me feedback. (pls) lolol. anyway!! enjoy kk. ily.

It was that time again, time to find a gift for a friend who had nearly everything. Scouring around shops and market places, trying to find something special that had any meaning to the two of you. Sure, you could buy a lux gift or a fancy dinner, but that was basic and well beyond the things Jeonghan had given you. 

You scroll back through texts and posts over the last few birthdays you had spend celebrating him, stumbling across a photo that gave you a good idea. You were sitting on his lap as he blew out his birthday candle. After that wish was put into the universe you recall his lips coming so close to your ear his lips were almost making contact with your pierced lobes. 

“All I want next year is you wrapped in a pretty bow.” 

Maybe he wouldn’t remember that wish, but you did. It was silly and stupid, but your friend did always know what he wanted and wasn’t shy to ask for it. 

You sprinted to the stationary store in order to find a big pink bow in under thirty minutes, so you could make it back to your apartment where Jeonghan was meeting you before his big night out with all of his friends. The options were endless, a sea of glitter, metallic, curling, satin, but you decided to be simple, just a large bound pink ribbon. 

After an overwhelming time spent pondering over pink fabric, you made it home with ten minutes to spare. Lacing yourself up from your sneakers, to your hair, your bag, even a dainty piece wrapped around your neck as a finishing touch just as the doorbell rang, you told him to open up where he found you laced in pink, wearing a black dress, holding a cupcake flame ablaze. 

“Happy Birthday, Hannie.” 

A smile creeped in as he came close to blow his candle out looking at the pink adorned ribbon tied all over you, he remembered. 

“My present I presume?” 

His fingers pointed towards you, again smiling from ear to ear like he couldn’t believe you remembered his wish. 

“Think I’d forget?” 

“You tend to forget your own name while drinking, so yes. I love it.” 

Jeonghan’s hands reached to run his hands over the ribbon in your hair, pausing before he touched the one on your neck. 

“So this means you’re mine for the night?” 

“Your wish is my command, birthday boy. Should we go?” 

“You know when I wished for you to be my present, I meant much more than you wearing bows right?” 

You huffed, watching his eyes still on your neck. 

“I did. I really will oblige any wish, as long as it’s legal and safe.” 

“No promises, babe. Let’s go.” 

Walking hand in hand into Jeonghan’s not so surprise party was not out of the norm for you, you’ve always been the type of friend that clung to close, even for your own comfort. Something seemed to linger in the air around you as a pair. 

“Mind getting me a cocktail? I’m going to go say hi to the guys and thank them.” 

“Again, here to please. Vodka Cran or G&T?” 

“Gin, please.” 

With a small salute as a send off you walked into a line behind three other partygoers in line. 

“Y/n? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in pink before?” 

The voice was Joshua’s coming from behind you. He wrapped his right arm around your shoulders in a half hug greeting you hello. 

“Really? Well, it's for Jeonghan’s gift. Last year he wished that I gift him myself, so here I am adorned in pink ribbon.” 

“You really took him up on that? You are one good friend.” 

“I know that you're thinking it's probably a mistake, you’re right.” 

“Na, he’d never hurt you or let anyone else. He likes you far too much.” 

Your eyes rolled now facing the bartender and placing the matching drink order before turning back to Joshua. 

“Come find me later okay? I need a Shua Hong dance for my payment for being Jeonghan’s bitch for the night.” 

“It's the least I can do.” 

Hours passed by just as quickly as alcohol entered your system, you haven’t left the side of your male counterpart for hours, he wouldn’t let you slide away other than grabbing more drinks or running to the ladies room.

Your buzz is far more prominent now. Jeonghan’s hands slid to the lower half of your body, resting between your bare skin and the hem of your dress and your heart followed along to the beat of the edm music playing over the club loudspeakers. 

“Dance with me, pretty?” 

His eyes burning a hole into your head, you obliged, grabbing him by the hand and pulling him into the center of the purple lights and faux fog. 

Jeonghan’s hands found a comfortable spot resting on your hips as you twisted around placing your back onto his chest, grinding slowly to the song. 

This proximity between you has never existed, while you’re touchy or clingy the feeling from the warmth of his pants's friction on your upper thighs made you feel differently about your so called friend. 

Thoughts swirled in your brain as you turned back to be face to face with his plump lips and siren like eyes. A hand, that same hand that was resting comfortably on your lower half snaked its way up to your neck, the ribbon placed there was now further from your skin as his fingers laced their way under it. 

“You want to know what else I wished for?” 

You opened your mouth to speak, no words formed other than some incoherent ones that sounded like soft moaning. 

“I wished that you’d be my present forever, not just for the night. I can’t let anybody else get this gift.” 

Your hands reached from the nape of his neck to the side of his face, trying to give him a clue that you wanted him as badly as he wanted you. 

“Come home with me?” 

He placed a small peck onto your cheek, nearing the site of your lips that so badly wanted to feel the crash of his on them. 

The whole ride back in your taxi, your hands rubbed up his thigh. He knew you looked nervous, but also that you would tell him if anything made you uncomfortable. 

Truth be told he was nervous too. This was a line he never thought would be crossed. Jeonghan knew for years that he wanted you and only you for that matter, but he waited for the perfect moment to be put in your hands. 

Saying a quick thank you to your driver, you basically sprinted into his place, not even having a second to throw your jacket and bag down at his front door before you had your back against his white walls in the dark. 

The sense of urgency to kiss you was obvious. A near feral feeling. He tasted like cherries and gin as he kissed you quickly, helping you out of your outerwear and pulling you into his apartment that was only lit by the beautiful view of the city below. 

“Help me?” 

Your voice came out as a whimper, turning your back to him as an indication you needed help out of your dress. 

His cold hands wrapped around the zipper of your dress running a finger down your spine as it unzipped. 

“Wow.” 

His confidence suddenly washing away as he looked at your semi naked body only wearing a matching pink slip dress to the color of your bows and a pair of matching panties below. 

“Dressed up for me too?” 

“Nope. Just like to match.” 

The ‘P’ of your nope popped onto his face and a devious smile appeared. 

“Don’t be bad, gifts shouldn’t talk back to their owner.” 

His hands found his way to the place they didn’t seem to leave all night, your hips as he placed you down onto his fresh sheets. 

“Sorry, Hannie.” 

“It’s okay, just be a good girl."  

You nodded as he began kissing you starting at your lips and followed a trail all the way down to your sternum. 

“You know the best part about gifts is opening them.” 

Jeonghan’s fingers now wrapped around the waistband of your underwear as he slowly pulled them down below your knees, around your ankles and onto the floor. 

A pause from kissing came as his pointer and middle finger entered into your mouth and prompted you to spit on them so he could rub circles onto your clit before entering another space he had never been to before. His first finger came in slowly penetrating you softly, when he saw you getting needy his second entered and the beats became more rapid as he used his tumb to rub circles around your much more sensitive sweet spot. 

Your moaning became louder, reminding him of your voice yelling over the sound of the music in the club as you reached your first orgasm of the night. 

Sitting up now watching as Jeonghan places the same two fingers that were inside of you into his mouth, savoring every last drop of the finish you had because of him, you crawled onto you knees now prompting him for some pleasure. 

Undoing the button and zipper of his pants, letting him and his cock catch their breath before going down on him. You placed soft kisses along the pale skin of his stomach, making sure to nip his skin in between as you make your way down his torso. Just as you reach the waistband of his boxers, a hand comes to cup the hard thing lying beneath. 

“Wanted me that bad huh?” 

Jeonghan, now dethroned from his previous position of power, just groaned as a beg to have your mouth wrapped around his pulsing cock. 

“I’ve wanted you forever.” 

Hearing his breathless moans you released your hands from his cock and finished unwrapping yourself for him, leaving that small pink ribbon tied around your neck, before going back down to kiss your lips at the tip of his dick. 

As your hands and mouth worked their way around in unison all over his engorged flesh, it takes only a few minutes for him to fill the dirty mouth that was teasing him just before. 

“Didn’t take you for such a lightweight, Yoon.” 

“Shut the fuck up and please get on top of me.” 

Your legs came to straddle around his still sensitive cock as you teased your entrance. 

“Someone’s so needy.”

“Someone is supposed to be doing far less talking and far more fucking.” 

His arms pulled you down fearlessly so your lips could fall back into place and also so he could shut you up while you finally let him inside of you. 

“Fuck, I didn’t expect you to be so tight.” 

Jeonghan knew he wouldn’t last long being inside of you, not because you were tight, but because of the way he felt about you and how much he dreamed about watching your breasts bouncing as they hovered over his face while he fucked you. 

“I- Uh, Fuck.” 

“You what, pretty? Can’t handle me? Can't it last long? Want me to fill you up as you ride me?” 

“Yes, yes, all of it. Please, Hannie.’"

As his hips pounded their way onto yours, both of you running out of stamina maybe due to the alcohol or maybe the adrenaline reached your climax near the same time. 

“Can you come inside me, please?” 

You were practically begging him to mark you and since you looked so pretty he couldn’t say no to you. 

With the two of you now finished, his cock still inside of you. Jeonghan placed soft kisses on your lips. 

“I don’t want this to stop.” 

His hands came to untie the pink fabric now slightly wet from your shared bodily fluids. 

“Me either. I love you, you know?” 

You lifted your body off of him, now under his covers with your hands placed on his chest. 

“I love you too, Happy Birthday.” 

“Be my present forever, okay?” 

“Okay, handsome.” 

And with another year gone, Jeonghan finally got the birthday present he truly wanted. You.

[jimmys-zeppelin]

moonbeam

ch. ii

table of contents

may 1, 1998

Turning her head at the jingle of the door bell, Sabrina saw him again. Their eyes connected as the excitement fired up on both of their faces, though neither party allowed it to show any significant amount. She watched as Jimmy roamed the store, picking up a tie or two, putting them back down, then heading to the shirts. All the while stealing glances at her.

She lost him between ringing up customers, but once she'd noticed he was in the queue, he was right in her field of vision. He was next.

A pair of shoes in hand, the older man approached the counter. "Hello, Sabrina," he said politely, putting them down before her.

"Jimmy...guitar man," She teased, scanning the shoes. "Forty-five pounds, please."

He handed her cash this time, a fifty pound note. Sabrina quickly produced his change as well as his receipt. As he took it and pocketed the change, he seemed to want to say something else. Instead he just awkwardly bit his lip as he looked through the window behind her.

"Anything else?" Sabrina asked hesitantly.

Jimmy took a second before answering, "No, no. I'm okay, thank you."

"Okay.." she trailed off, seeming dejected. Perhaps the spark had only ignited during their first encounter. More than a month had passed and she was unsure of how things had changed.

Jimmy seemed to return to reality as his eyes lingered on her for a long second. He thanked her and quickly left the shop.

☽

He was back the next day. However Sabrina was not at the store. After awkwardly putting around for five minutes, he made a quick exit. Meanwhile, Sabrina was at her parent's house, popping in for a visit on her day off.

As she sat in the living room, she eyed the pile of magazines that had made their way to the house. Curious, she rifled through them to see if the guitar magazine was still part of the pile. It was.

Sabrina gazed at the photo of Jimmy on the cover, then quickly flipped through the pages to find the interview he'd given. Her breath stopped for a moment once she turned to the page where a large photo of him took up the entire magazine. She'd never really paid much attention when people—like her brother and father—talked about guitarists and people like Jimmy. It was all just old music to her. She always wondered why they couldn't listen to something more in the moment instead of dwelling on sounds of the past.

She twirled a lock of her brown hair as she lost herself in the article. It focused on the details of Jimmy’s latest tour with former bandmate, Robert Plant. The author painted them out to be giants of legendary status. Sabrina wondered if the shy man that she'd encountered at the store was actually this God-like.

"Sabrina, dear, come in and have some tea!" her mother called from the kitchen.

She closed the magazine, bringing it with her to the kitchen before she sat down. "Mum, Zach likes this old music right?" Sabrina asked, plopping the magazine down onto the dining table.

Her mother eyed the magazine, seemingly as if she hadn't ever seen it in her life, "I suppose so. But that Jimmy Page is old news. Last I heard he had a record come out, I dunno, maybe ten years ago?"

"He sings?" Sabrina asked, cocking her head to the side.

"No, no, but he's very very good on the guitar. Your father has some old LP's laying around in the attic if you want to give them a listen. Suppose they're all damaged now, though. You may want to buy a CD or something."

She pondered stopping at a music store in the near future and see if they'd had anything of substance.

"So have you heard from Shaun? It's been four months now, hasn't it?" her mother asked.

Sabrina's heart sank at the mention of the name. Eyeing her mother with half-hearted contempt, she replied, "Yes."

"You can't just throw away your relationship so quickly, Brina. You were with him for five years. And you're still yet to tell me what actually happened between you two."

"It was a disagreement. Maybe someday I'll be more willing to talk about it, but as of right now, I'd rather not, mum."

Her mother huffed, dunking a biscuit into her tea and taking a bite of it, "He was such a nice young man, too," the older woman shook her head disapprovingly before offering Sabrina a few biscuits herself. Sabrina shook her head, declining.

☽

Sabrina returned to London after tea. She roamed the streets in the early evening, perusing the shops as she went. As she neared Clarence's she wondered if she should stop by for a peek inside, although she’d have to come up with a good lie if someone were to see her. Obviously she would not be buying a men's dress shirt for herself.

Looking to her left across the street, Sabrina saw someone staring back at her. From the quick look she managed to get, he held a striking resemblance to Jimmy. Quickly darting her eyes away, she hesitated at the door of the shop, still unsure. She cautiously turned back to see if the man was still staring, but he was gone. Exhaling a sigh of relief, she decided not to go into her place of work, but instead to a music shop just down the road.

The bell hung over the door jingled to signal her entrance, prompting the employee behind the desk to take a quick glance up at her.

"Hello, miss! Looking for anything in particular today?" The man asked, halfway through turning a page of his magazine.

"What do you know about Jimmy Page?" She inquired, taking a few steps closer to the counter to speak one-on-one with the employee.

"We have some of his things. He's back with Robert Plant doing some touring of some old Zeppelin songs plus some new ones. We have their CDs here, if you're interested. They just put out a new one a few weeks back if that's what you're looking for," he said, winding through the stacks before reaching a specially marked section titled "ZEPPELIN", and beneath it in smaller print, "+ solo".

Sabrina let her eyes wander the loaded shelves, four different ones with each band member's name sat beneath the large shelf of LP's and CD's of any Led Zeppelin album you could conjure up. Although, she wasn't sure why the John Bonham section had a much smaller selection than the other three shelves.

The man began rambling about session work, which had sounded completely foreign to her. With the expression reading over her face, he slowly switched to a different topic. "So, are you looking for his solo stuff? He did a record with the Whitesnake singer, Coverdale about four years ago, too," he said, leaning in closer to her, "To give you my honest opinion, ma'am, Coverdale sounds much better than Plant nowadays."

She sheepishly laughed along, trying to disguise the fact that she knew next-to-nothing of either artist. Picking up an LP with Jimmy on the cover, Sabrina changed the subject, "When's this from?" she asked.

"That one's Outrider. Came out in '88. Pretty good for a solo album. He's got some singer features on it like Plant and Chris Farlowe, the rest is mainly instrumental," he explained, starting on giving a brief description of each song on the record. His words faded from her mind, unable to keep her eyes off of the cover image of Jimmy. The motion-capture style of the photo made her eyes follow each and every line, her fingers almost reaching out to touch it when she was brought back to reality by the man. "Miss? Would you like to take that one?"

Stammering, Sabrina blinked back up at him, "I haven't got a record player at home, do you happen to have a CD?"

The man grimaced, "Afraid we're all out of the CD's. But I can order it here and have it sent to your home if you'd like. We've got Internet installed here now so it's a fairly simple task to do."

She pondered the question, looking between the photograph of Jimmy and into her inner self. Thinking it over—more like mulling it over—she figured what the harm could be in discovering new music. Then the opposing side of her wondered what the point of owning the music of a man she distantly knew would be. It wouldn't impress him, that was for sure.

Declining, she thanked the man for his time, proceeding into the next Tube station and heading back to her apartment for the evening.

Shoving her apartment key into the lock, disheveled, she let herself inside and shut the door. Sabrina wondered why she'd allowed Jimmy to occupy so much of her mind. She'd only ever seen the man two—well, now three—times. Putting her bag on the table, she noticed the magazine she'd nicked from her parent's house sticking out of it like a sore thumb.

She took a second to look at the cover again, taking her time to admire his features, wondering just what was going through her mind. Having never gone for much older men in the past, she knew if she didn't get herself together she would be deeply in trouble.

Something about Jimmy struck her as different from any of the other customers or people of his age she'd encountered in the past. Jimmy had an indiscernible charm. His smile, the way he held himself. He could very well be another creep off the street, but when she tried to imagine him that way, she found she couldn't. She was starting to scare herself.

Now disturbed, Sabrina tossed the magazine on the kitchen table and shut herself in the bathroom. Willing herself to stop thinking about Jimmy, she found she needed a shower. And some relief.

---

masterlist | playlist

Taglist: @diaryofafan17 @keepcalmandcarryfire @witchesdust @jonesyjonesyjonesy @paginate54 @hejustsatisfiess @salixfragilis @modernloverss @reincarnated70sbaby @rebel-without-a-zeppelin @kyunisixx @blackberryblossom @jimmypages @foreverandadaydarling @lzep if you want to be added to the list let me know!

[casitafallz-a]

Pariah AU | Birthday grief

“Happy Birthday, hermana.” Pepa whispered as she and Bruno sat in his room, a photo of their eldest lost third between them. The aching loss never feeling more real than now in the privacy of his walls from the family. Not that the rain didn’t give her tells away at the moment she had disappeared off with her sibling and no doubt everyone else knew as well but the fact they were humoured was enough to keep the charade going; that this was now what they had to do.

Pepa didn’t care and Bruno was doing a good job at keeping the photo and candle dry with an umbrella settled above it.

Loss like this, the pain made the celebration of their day feel hollow. She had grown accustomed to absence, like Bruno has in the last decade but it had never been this ache. They had never had a birthday together since their 40th. When Bruno had come back, Pepa had felt relief that they’d once be a proper triplet birthday.

Then Julieta had vanished… and died.

The real realisation was swift to follow was now that they’d never have a triplet birthday again with one missing…or dead. The inability to bury her didn’t help with closure. Mama hadn’t come out of her room and Pepa didn’t even try because there was no denying the grief this day meant for their mother; a reminder of their Papa’s loss and the loss of her home but now.. now it was the loss of Julieta was now a part of her grief…

“Think she’d watching down at us?” Bruno asked quietly, thumbing over his rosary beads slowly.

“No.” Pepa answered, not looking up as she felt his look. “Why’d she come down to see us grieve when she’s with Papi celebrating what she never could with him up there?” At least with him, she didn’t have to think about them; what she had left behind.

Pepa hated that. Hated that Julieta had died and left them alone. Left them a duo. Left them in a horrifying way. Left her husband and her daughters… left their mother. She hated that she hated that. Julieta’s death hadn’t been purposeful… the desperation for water

Pepa felt Bruno prod at her before she waved the snow away.

“Why did she have to die on us?”

-

Pariah Julieta say quietly against the pillar to their private room, most people now had taken up bean bags and passed out like Stray or in Decay’s case, found a lover for the night in her drinking and disappeared off.

Distort had also passed out drunk, which was odd to see given he was still physically aged 15, even by now he was twenty-two. Much like Wanderer in appearance in comparison to her real age. She too had also disappeared off but Pariah didn’t let herself over think if she had disappeared off with a guy or just got bored.

It was an odd day but Pariah was…one of the few that kept track of her birthday in her native world. Sure, she already celebrated her own birthday here already but this day, it was also October 17th in her native world. Two years had passed and by all accounts, she was now physically 52 years old, even though she was about 65 years old.

She had wanted to celebrate it and Hallow had worked wonders for a last-minute party. Hallow herself had long since dropped birthdays for herself; she didn’t care for them as much anymore.

The high of the party had worn off and Pariah was tucked in between Dweller and Hallow with the familiar buzzing and dryness in her mouth. Dweller was quiet though, his fingers tracing the metallic shell of her prothetic with curiosity.

Hallow was… mellow. Which was off for an emotionless woman but Pariah didn’t ponder on that too much as they all sat quietly.

“You okay?” Dweller asked after a moment. “You’ve gone all sad.”

Pariah offered him a soft look as he looked at her with those glowing eyes, a face so young but only a few years younger than herself.

“I keep thinking of my family…my Pepa and Bruno.” Pariah admitted, “their…second birthday without me.”

Dweller’s eyes turned down in understanding. “I’m sorry.”

“After…my Bruno went into the walls… the birthdays after that, we still celebrated with the family. Me and Pepa would sneak to his door and leave a cake… or a little present.” Her lips curled sadly, “But…. We hoped he was alive. They were always gone by morning.”

Dweller sighed out softly. “You still kept him in your life…even if you didn’t know how close he always was.”

“This day… this will be the hardest for them. Not as bad as…last year but again…” She knew how hard it was but… they had probably long thought she was dead. At least with Bruno they had hope. Not her. No, she was literally dead to the family at this point and… that was a new pain.

A part of her longed for her native siblings.

Dweller’s hand moved from tracing to grasping her metal hand softly. “Their grief in your absence is just a sign that they still love you.”

Pariah closed her eyes as she rested her head onto his shoulder. “I know. I…I do miss them…but I don’t think I’ll ever find the strength to face them.” Not with what had happened to her. She…was too different now. Less…human. How could she look them in the eye and all they’d see of what she’d become. 

Agustín may not even want her; she could kill him with a touch…or worse accidently break him with her arm or leg. He was so delicate now; a loving, warm father that had done so much more in the last two years while she had become a soldier…a fighter and she was a hardened soul. She wasn’t what they needed anymore. She had ruined her family long before she had left, inflicted by her choices and they hated her for it.

[janamelie]

Dimension Jump XXI Report

I suppose I’m a DJ veteran now as this was my fifth consecutive one and the fourth at the Nottingham Crowne Plaza which is an expensive four-star hotel.  Sharing with a friend helps keep the cost reasonable and honestly, it’s worth it for the sheer convenience of being right there in the hotel and being able to nip back to your room as required.  (To be clear, you don’t have to stay in the hotel to attend the con.  There are plenty of other hotels nearby.)

Plus there is always the chance that you’ll see a guest at breakfast as I did Danny once.  He picked out a few pieces of fruit and nibbled at them before wandering over late to his photoshoot.  What else would you expect from a cat though?

Friday

Myself and @downonthepharm-red-dwarf (Amy) had arrived the previous day so had plenty of time to be near the front of the queue for registration.  Which meant we saw Hattie Hayridge arrive in a stunning designer coat and with smart luggage.  She really brought her outfit A-game and looked great the whole weekend.

Once we’d presented our respective proofs of full Covid vaccination or a recent negative test, we were given our DJ passes and booklets.  The latter has spaces for signatures from guests, an Order Of Events and various handy tips for the weekend.

The con kicks off at 5pm with an hour of gradual build-up in the Main Hall - they show videos from previous events, specially made titbits with various guests past and present such as Mark Dexter doing a mock guide to DJ and Rebecca Blackstone voicing Pree.  It all helps with the atmosphere, as do the numerous RD posters dotted around the hotel.

Then it was time for the Opening Ceremony featuring various Fan Club team members and an overcrowded stage full of cardboard boxes - the joke was that they’d had too much time on their hands during lockdowns and bought loads of stuff online.  It was obviously also a nod to Lister’s hoarding in “The Promised Land”.  

The sketch featured a specially made shot of the AA adverts’ Starbug model landing outside the Crowne Plaza and an 80s computerised version of the lovely convention logo.  You could tell a lot of loving effort had gone into the whole thing.

Once the guest line-up had been announced (I’ll get to that not-really-a-surprise-guest shortly), we went straight into the RD Pub Quiz, hosted by Hattie.  DOTP and I had been joined at our table by Lapsang and Barbs from our Discord (No Kind Of Atmosphere) plus various other attendees we’d befriended.

Someone in the crowd yelled “I love you, Hattie!” to which she quipped “I’ve pulled already!”  Another bloke shouted “Fuck off, she’s mine!” which led to a few shouts of “Fight!”  When neither seemed keen to do so, Hattie joked: “Only two?  That’s a bit pathetic!” and then we got started.

The quiz is hard, by design, but I’m good at quizzes and my team - No Kind Of Atmosphere after our Discord - came joint third which was gratifying.  (I was on the winning team a few DJs ago, to blow my own trumpet for a moment.  This is my report, after all.)

And then it was time for the first guest Q&A with - surprise, surprise - Johnny Vegas aka the Crit Cop in “Timewave”.  Not a great episode but he more than made up for that with an appearance I can only describe as chaotic.  Warning - DO NOT attempt to heckle him unless you want to be singled out and humiliated in front of the entire audience in a “Can’t look away” fashion which was nonetheless entertaining.  The man in question tweeted about it afterwards and seems to have taken it in good spirit.

Once we’d moved on from encouraging people to leave unpleasant things in room 429, it turned out Johnny’s a big fan of the show and owned it on VHS (so did I).  He thinks of the main characters, Holly would win at “Taskmaster” and had good reasons for that conclusion.  

He was dubious about the pink costume he wore in “Timewave” as he thought it might take away from the character but said he eventually decided he needed to get over what he was wearing and just go for it.  He also said one of his worst working moments was on “Benidorm” when he had to hold his breath underwater in a freezing swimming pool and his co-star kept forgetting her two lines so they had over 30 takes.  Ouch.

Johnny left commenting that he got less love at his 50th birthday party.  But we hadn’t seen the last of him by any means as people kept buying him drinks during the Auction, leading to him successfully bidding for one of the items on offer.

And then he was back for the Karaoke.  Now if you - as he informed us - had to undergo emergency dental surgery in the morning and had practically lost your voice, would you sing karaoke?  And not only that, would you sing a version of “Love On The Rocks” which lasted 11 minutes according to someone on Twitter (I wasn’t timing it, but I can believe it), followed by the full-length version of “American Pie”?

If you answered no, you’re clearly not Johnny Vegas.  He went to bed so late that the unfortunate Fan Club team member assigned to look after him got a grand total of 90 minutes’ sleep.

Saturday

DOTP and I had paid for the Photoshoot with Mr Vegas, Danny John-Jules and Ray Fearon.  We got in the queue at 9am which was when it was supposed to start.  An hour later we were still waiting.  Yep, Danny was late.

Once he made it to the hotel, I got my photo in front of a Science Room backdrop.  You might think Mr Vegas would be hungover and rushing through it, but on the contrary, he was still enjoying the hell out of proceedings which was refreshing to see.  Since he’d been added to the line-up too late to be in the souvenir booklet, he signed extra inserts for the Fan Club which they handed out to everyone at the later Autograph sessions so attendees got his autograph after all even though he’d finally left.  That’s what I call throwing yourself into an event.

Next up was a combined Q&A with Danny and Ray (originally separate but Danny’s lateness meant they were teamed up).  This wasn’t a problem at all though - on the contrary, it worked really well as the chumminess between them added to the vibe.  Also it was Ray’s first convention so he probably preferred to have Danny backing him up, especially since the poor man tripped on his way to the stage and almost fell.  I don’t think he was hurt but I cringed with secondhand embarrassment and empathy.  He wasn’t the only one to fall foul of the edge of the stage that weekend; I think it was the slightly raised dancefloor in front of it.

As is usual for Danny, we were treated to over half an hour of what you can only really describe as a stream of consciousness as he pontificated about various things.  He and Ray did also talk about working together on “Death In Paradise” and Ray described his worst working experience there - he had to play a scene in a club in 45 degree heat with a live snake wrapped around his neck!

Ray is attractive in a “Hollywood hunk” way and Danny was clearly conscious of this, joking that he’d “brought his own security with him” and muttering “I’m better-looking anyway!”  But all in a jokey way as they’re clearly friends.

Danny had come from filming and dropped a heavy hint that he’s appearing in a Dickens adaptation which I imagine will be shown at Christmas as they generally are.  He also complained that Craig Charles never answers his phone: “You send him a message and he answers it on Twitter a month later!”  (Interestingly, Chris Barrie later mentioned a recent phone conversation with Craig so make of that what you will.)

Ray was quieter but happy to talk about the vagaries of showbiz and typecasting - he said that due to his Shakespearean background he gets a lot of serious roles so people were genuinely surprised that he could also do comedy but “I was always funny!”  He also gently teased Danny about the age of some of his references before admitting he still finds Tommy Cooper funny.

Danny usually performs “Tongue-tied” with a good grace when inevitably asked to by an audience member but perhaps it’s finally starting to pall as this time he did it in the style of Oliver Reed’s Bill Sykes and included a lot of X-rated references to cunnilingus etc.  It was entertaining though.

Next up was a live Q&A (over Zoom) with Chris Barrie.  Danny decided to stick around as he wanted to show Chris something he’d ordered online.  It took a while to get the cameras in the right position for Chris to be able to see it and Danny needed a knife to open the parcel, leading Chris to quip “Is this a good time for me to step out for some lunch?”

However, it turned out to be worth it as it was a custom-made Ace Rimmer doll which impressed Chris with its quality and he complimented the maker.

Danny and Ray then departed for their lunch and to take part in the Coffee Lounge which this year had reduced its numbers for Covid-related reasons and held a ballot for entry in the interests of fairness.  Amy and I didn’t get in but happily stayed for the rest of Chris’s Q&A.

In the “working from home” spirit, Chris was in a hoodie in his living room as opposed to his more usual smart suit.  He was suitably relaxed and revealed he got through lockdown by concentrating on the things which make him happy, such as his hobbies, his garden and his family.  His favourite episodes are “Marooned”, “Dimension Jump” and - less predictably - “Twentica”.  He also referred to a recent “mannerly, as he would call it” phone conversation with Craig.  No details but it had clearly been a positive experience.

Amy decided to liven up the ending of his Q&A by asking a vitally important, “TPL”-related question.  Whom would Rimmer find more attractive, a female version of Lister or a female version of Cat?

Once the laughter had died down and Chris had bought some time by pointing out that “neither of them are women”, he gave the question appropriate consideration.  He pondered whether Rimmer would be more taken by the “simple charms” of Lister or the “feline grace” of Cat.  This next bit is courtesy of Amy as my memory isn’t infallible: He said it’d be a choice between a feline form or a rounder, a bit more slovenly woman - he wouldn’t want the perfectly feline woman because she might not like his imperfections, but he also wouldn’t want someone who ate curry three times a day.  “Basically, a balance would be ideal.”

That was the last question but Chris provided a little more entertainment as he had a “How do you turn this off then?” moment a la Gordon the computer in “Better Than Life” and made amusing faces as he figured it out.  If it was anyone but Chris I’d think it was a deliberate reference to that but I think he was genuinely befuddled.

We then broke for lunch, followed by Autographs with Hattie, Danny, Ray and Norman Lovett.  I got the latter three to sign the “TPL” poster I’d brought with me but gave Hattie the booklet instead as it seemed more tactful.  She complimented the dress I was wearing and I returned the compliment, telling her how much the fans appreciate the effort she makes with her DJ outfits.

Norman commented how there’s a version of the “TPL” poster he isn’t on, bemusedly.  Fortunately mine was the version including him. 

I spent the rest of the afternoon chilling in the bar with Amy, Lapsang and Barbs, chatting to other attendees.  Graphic Designer Matthew Clark was now in the Merchandise Room with various props from Series XII and “TPL” including the Starbug manual used onscreen.  I got his autograph on my poster but it’s an incomprehensible squiggle.  Oh well.  He was very friendly and easy to talk to.

After a break for dinner, the Main Hall reopened for the Costume Competition.  This seems to get better every DJ, with an amazing “Greyscale Rimmer” who was discomfiting to be around due to the corpse-like makeup, a Natalina Pushkin, a Nirvanah Crane who could almost have been Jane Horrocks herself and a Diving Suit Cat from “BTE”.  Other entries included Rimmer’s Mum, “Giraffes who were armed and dangerous” and a Confidence And Paranoia who were later pictured at the bar chatting to Paranoia himself, Lee Cornes.

We then had a special video message from Doug Naylor which I won’t go into as I’m sure everyone’s already heard the details.  Suffice to say, his tone was positive.

The second Auction was hosted by Ian Boldsworth who made it more entertaining by adding his own commentary to each item.  This was followed by a stand-up set from Norman.  It was amusing but he misjudged the mood a bit, I feel.  When you’re waiting for a disco to start and it’s already hours late due to Danny’s tardiness, you don’t particularly want to contemplate your own mortality.  We were here to get away from all that, as much as possible.

Anyway, the Disco was a lot of fun even if Dave Benson Phillips’ presence as host was sorely missed.  Hattie danced for the best part of an hour alongside everyone else.  The stand-in DJs did their job and I stayed until the end.  The final two songs were “Bohemian Rhapsody” and … “Tongue-tied”.

Sunday

Not being in the Sunday Photoshoot, Amy and I had a nice leisurely breakfast and got over last night’s festivities before the first Q&A, live over Zoom with Robert Llewellyn.

This was hosted by Ian Boldsworth who in his capacity as Dave era audience warm-up knows Robert well.  Clearly well enough to get away with teasing him relentlessly about not being at the con in person until poor Robert was a mess of Krytenesque guilt.  

His protestations that he’d been scheduled to be in Munich this weekend but no longer was (he was at home) only made things worse.  Ian: “Oh, so that’s two sets of people you’ve disappointed now!  Stop saying yes to things!”  It was hilarious and Robert took it in its intended spirit.  Also Ian was getting a measure of revenge for Robert - in character as Kryten - dry humping him at recordings.  One attendee asked “With the groinal attachment?!”

Robert admitted that he finds Kryten’s various groinal attachments hilarious and if he was writing the show they’d be in every episode.  He praised Doug’s restraint.

He also admitted that in “TPL” he had an earpiece to have his lines fed to him.  Since it’s controlled by an iPad, certain unscrupulous cast members took great delight in feeding him rude ones.

He still intends to update “The Man In The Rubber Mask” but atm “Fully Charged” is consuming a lot of his time as it’s become much more successful than he anticipated and he’s in charge of several people.

Surprisingly, he would hate appearing in RD without the Kryten makeup, both because it’s become much quicker to apply and because it provides him with a shield and he becomes Kryten and forgets stagefright.  He still can’t watch “DNA” for that reason.

Lapsang, who played Kryten in “Into The Gloop”, asked Robert if he’d seen it.  He hadn’t but said he was now very curious and would find a way to.

Next up was Lee Cornes aka Paranoia who said he originally auditioned for the lead roles and like the other unsuccessful actors got the consolation prize of a guest appearance.  Upon being asked if he’d gone out for a drink with Craig Ferguson’s Confidence, he said no because at the time they had a frosty relationship due to rumours that Craig was plagiarising other comics’ jokes.  Lee said it was all very silly and he’s since apologised.

Interestingly, Lee is a qualified science teacher and carried on with that career alongside his media one, leading to surreal situations where his pupils would ask: “Sir?  Were you on the telly last night?”  “Yes.”  “Are we on the telly now, sir?”

Someone asked a good question - what would Lister’s Paranoia be like now 33 years later?  Lee would be willing to reprise the role but isn’t sure it would work as the original had a childish quality whereas he feels now the character would be a lot darker and less funny.  Lee was both thoughtful and entertaining in his responses.

He was followed onstage by Hattie and Norman, who resolutely refused to rise to the bait of an audience member attempting to stir up a rivalry between them.  That only works when one isn’t the nicest person you could meet.

A tactless audience member asked both if they’d watched “TPL” instead of directing the question at Norman.  Luckily Hattie had seen it and particularly enjoyed the cat flap joke although she felt there was a little too much focus on the guest cast.

Norman didn’t really watch RD after he left but Hattie has seen Norman’s early episodes as he lent them to her back when she was originally cast as Hilly for research purposes.  Bear in mind this was 1988 when they weren’t even available on VHS so presumably he recorded them off the TV.  

Hattie confirmed with a sigh that she’s simply never been asked to return in any capacity: “That’s the short answer.”  What the hell, I’ll say it one more time - Bring Back Hattie!  One episode, that’s all I ask.  As it stands, it’s starting to look like a pointed and deliberate snub which mystifies me.

We then broke for lunch, followed by Rob Grant and Paul Jackson.  For obvious reasons they didn’t go into the current legal mess, opting instead to entertain the fans with the story of how they met and their early pre-RD work (Rob and Doug as freelance writers for Paul’s producer).

We saw some clips from their early shows including “Three Of A Kind” with Lenny Henry, Tracy Ullman and … later magician David Copperfield; apparently they all had the same agent and Paul took on David as a favour.  For a 40 year old show it held up pretty well and was in much better sound and picture quality than older shows often are. “Carrott’s Lib” was just as funny.

It’s a bit hard to summarise but this session was entertaining and gripping.  Rob still wants to write another RD novel and I believe there’s nothing actually stopping him as both he and Doug had an option to write a second solo novel.  So we’ll see.

The final Q&A was Matthew Clark who was very informative and interesting, showing us numerous production stills from Series XII and “TPL” and talking us through them.  There was a groan when time was called before he was finished.

By now time was running short and Amy and I went back to the room to pack and leave our luggage with reception before watching the start of “Dibbley Family Fortunes”. Since I knew I wouldn’t have time to watch it all, I instead nipped upstairs to Autographs with Lee and Ian, timing it perfectly as the queue had almost vanished.

Ian was still performing, drawing scornful attention to the fact that Lee had a longer queue: “Can you imagine all these people queueing to see Lee Cornes?!”  It sounds rude out of context but he was clearly joking.

I decided to ask Lee what flavour the yogurt Paranoia eats was.  He said it didn’t really taste of anything as it was the cheapest, nastiest canteen yogurt available and was also starting to curdle under the studio lights so eating it can’t have been much fun.

Since I now had about 15 minutes before I had to go, I caught a bit of Dibbley Family Fortunes, said goodbye to Amy, Lapsang and Barbs and then dashed off to catch the tram to the train station.  Another great DJ.

[sincerelymarinette]

A Recorded Life Sequel (8/10) - Miraculous Ladybug

Words: 1912 Summary: On this special day, Marinette and Adrien celebrate Alya and Nino along with a bunch of their friends and family with a nice video. Author’s Note: Ahhh this was fun. Sorry for such a long hiatus! School and writer's block has been killing me, but we're finishing off strong! Also, this is about Alya and Nino's wedding. I tried to stick to the research I found on French wedding traditions, but I'm sure I westernized some of it so I tried to leave out ~too many~ details about the actual wedding. 

Prev / Next / Masterlist

Alya and Nino’s Big Day

---

"Hi! I'm Marinette!" Marinette held her camera in front of her, and there was chaos all around the room. "I'm hoping you can hear me over all the chatter and excited squeals, but there's a good reason for them!" Marinette said and turned the camera to show her best girl-friends and some of Alya's family. "It's Alya's wedding day!" She shouted, to which all the other girls screamed in excitement.

She turned the camera back around to her face, and Alya rushed over to stand by her with a big smile on her face. "And Alya asked me to vlog it for all our fans, but mostly for herself to have in the future. I even equipped Adrien with his own camera to record the boys in their room."

"It's bright and early here in Paris in the Le Grand Paris Hotel, thanks to Chloé and her dad for letting us throw our wedding here!" Alya said. "Before we start getting ready, I think we should show off the whole bridal party," Alya suggested.

Around the room, girls were doing their hair and chatting, excited to all be back together and celebrating such a fun and important event. "Obviously, Mari is here and is my right-hand. I think American's call it maid-of-honor, and I think that's close enough to what she is," Alya tried to explain. There was, for good reason, a lot of French-speaking going on in this video, but also a good amount of English to make things easier for her viewers. However, Marinette didn't mind making the captions. Alya started to lead her around the room to make sure everyone had a moment to shine on the video. And she even asked Adrien to do the same for the boys and Nino, since she was sure Nino would probably forget.

Alya and Nino decided they wanted to have bridesmaids and groomsmen at their wedding, even if tradition went against that, but they really wanted to feature their friends. Not all the girls in the room were bridesmaids; she just wanted to celebrate with all her friends even if they aren't in the wedding entirely. They can still have a party!

Alya showed off her three sisters and mother and Nino's mother first, then started to get into her friends. She had two friends from work and University that she's known for a few years now, along with a ton of her friends from school.

Rose, Juleka, Alix, Myléne, and Sabrina got a few seconds to talk each, and they also weren't in the wedding, but were so excited to be attending and celebrating with her. They just enjoyed seeing Alya and getting ready for her big day with her, too.

After the events of Hawkmoth, Chloé and Alya got a lot closer, and Alya was happy to have Chloé with her on her wedding day. Every so often, they fight crime together, but they've kept up a friendship between Alya, Chloé, and Marinette that no one expected to go as far as it had. Especially since Alya gets to write articles and interview Chloé sometimes depending on what her career takes her to next. Marinette has even designed some exclusive outfits for her! And Chloé was so excited about the wedding she let Alya and Nino throw it at The Hotel at a pretty low price. Hell, even their Kwamis were out and talking to each other in the closet to celebrate.

After showing off all her friends, Alya pulled the camera back to her. "Now we have to get ready for the ceremony. I'm sure I'll steal the camera and take some b-roll, or I'll make Marinette take some," She promised. "And I told Marinette she could record at the ceremony a bit with a tri-pod, since she'll be standing next to me," Alya declared. "Or maybe I can give a camera to another person," She pondered, and started to walk away to her mother calling her over.

Marinette laughed a bit and signed off from this segment. "There will be a lot of footage; she has no need to worry," Marinette said, then Alya called for her. "I am being summoned. Here's where Adrien's footage should come in, then we'll see you at the ceremony!" Marinette said, and ended her recording for now.

For the boys, it was a bit more chaotic in their room. Adrien was trying to get some videos, but Nino was freaking out about his shoes. He was sure he was going to lose something, and when he first woke up, he thought his phone was missing. It was on the floor. Then it turned to him losing his jacket, which was just behind another almost identical jacket, and now it was his shoes. Adrien knew they would show up in a few minutes, but Nino was super nervous (for a good reason), and it was apparent his nervousness was hiding in losing some items.

Adrien was able to distract Nino for a few minutes for him to talk about the special day, then Adrien moved into showing off all their friends. Nino's brother and dad, Alya's dad, and their friends from school. Ivan, Kim, and Max said some nice things about Nino and Alya, and even Luka was there to celebrate with them.

As Adrien was talking to the group, Nino was in the background that he found his shoes. "What do you guys think he's going to lose next?" Adrien asked them, and they all agreed that it would be his tie.

They were right, and Adrien was back to trying to calm Nino down and that he had checked over everything hundreds of times, so how would Nino have lost things? Even Adrien and both Nino and Alya's dads double-checked everything for Nino, but he was still convinced he'd mess something up. Adrien ended his segment of the video pretty quickly because he needed to deal with calming Nino down and getting ready, but everyone got to talk to the camera at least a little bit.

---

For the record, Nino ended up not losing anything besides his mind when he saw Alya standing in front of him. Marinette and Adrien stood beside Alya and Nino, along with their siblings, as the ceremony went on. One of the cameras was set up on a tripod to catch a wide-angle, and the other was given to another friend to get some close-ups.

Alya and Nino forewent some traditions, but kept a lot of them, too. She had a grand entrance, but they all got ready at the hotel to make it easy. They also really wanted to have their best friends and siblings standing with them just to make things extra special. They had all their friends and family for the ceremony, and it was a pretty big wedding.

It had been such a long time coming for them to get married; they wanted to go all out. Alya and Nino live such busy lives; they deserve the big wedding and big party. And everyone was excited to see them get married after being engaged for so many years, but it was all worth it in the end.

A few hours after the ceremony, it was time for the party—lots of dancing, a big meal, and delicious desserts catered by Sabine and Tom. Nino put together some music for the party, though they also hired one of his DJ friends to round it all out so Nino wasn't constantly focusing on the music, and one of Alya's journalist friends was the photographer they hired. In addition to Marinette's video, there would be tons of photos to remember the day.

Alya made sure to talk to everyone there, thanking them for coming and catching up with people. Sam with Nino, but Alya was a bit more on top of it.

"This is perfect for them," Marinette said to Adrien as they got away from the crowd.

"They really deserve it," Adrien responded, so happy and so proud of his friends. "You should have seen how stressed Nino was this morning. I wasn't able to take much video because of it."

Marinette laughed. "Alya said he would be stressing over a lot of little things. But that's okay, as long as you got some, I think they'll be happy."

Before either of them could continue the conversation, they were cut off by a few of their friends coming over for a chat. They talked about the wedding and why no one has seen Adrien recently; he's been a bit busy rebranding his company.

As Marinette and Adrien mingled around, they ran into another familiar face. "When is your wedding?" Jagged Stone asked as he spotted the two. Marinette was both a bit surprised and yet not surprised that he was there; Nino and he developed a good friendship after going on tour together a few times.

"Jagged, you can't just ask that," Penny scolded.

"Oh, yes, I can," He said. "When's the wedding?"

Marinette shook her head at him. "We're a bit busy with our careers right now. And we like what we've got; we're not in a rush," Marinette explained.

"But don't worry, you'll be the first person we send an invite to," Adrien promised.

"I better be!" Jagged joked.

Marinette looked between Jagged and Penny. "Did you guys get your invitation to the Emilie's fashion show? I was going to follow up, but like I said, we've been super busy."

"We did! We're clearing my schedule to make sure I can be here for it, but we definitely will be," Jagged declared. "Just got a few things to move around."

"Great! We're excited for it, though a bit nervous," Adrien told him.

Jagged brushed off his nervousness and reminded him that he had no reason to be nervous; this fashion show was only going to make things better. It might've calmed Adrien down for a few minutes, but he was still stressing out.

After Jagged made his way out of the conversation to go talk to some other people, Marinette pulled her camera out to get some shots of the whole crowd. She got almost everyone to give Alya and Nino a small, few seconds, message each to put at the end of the video to make sure that Alya and Nino would see how excited everyone was for them.

Finally, to end out the video, she managed to catch Alya and Nino in a moment of peace. "Anything you would like to add to your video?" Marinette asked them.

"Yes," Alya said. "I know I said it earlier, but I'm so glad we've stuck together after all these years and all the ups and downs. It's been so worth it, and now it's going to be for the rest of our lives," Alya said and kissed Nino before he could respond to it.

Once they released, Nino turned back to the camera. "I totally agree. With us being so busy, it's been a little hard on our relationship, but I'm glad we've pushed through. I love you!" Nino ended it.

Marinette had both of them wave to the video, and it faded out of them talking to a video of them slow dancing in the middle of the room with a song Nino made for Alya. It was a perfect day for them, and all their friends were there to celebrate, and now it was saved forever in a video.

---

@lady-of-the-roses-and-lilies @bookishserendipity03 @avatheexceed @gkz10 @coccinellegirl @kat-thatoneweirdo @strawberryblondish @snow-swordswoman @lilgaga98 @evufries  @toodaloo-kangaroo

[bates--boy]

“Okay, closer! Remember that this is the best day of your life! Terra, soften the lights!”

         If Peter said right then and there that he knew that modeling was hard from his “experience”, he’d be a liar just trying to soothe his worries and ego. His experience before this was chump work, and none of the filtering, editing, and social media marketing would have prepared him for even an iota of this type of work. Firstly, he had grossly underestimated how long this would take, and it definitely did not take the two or three minutes it would take to snap a selfie, or even the the half hour to get his makeup and hair in order. 

        Secondly, there had to be photos of everything. A toast at the table, Burak carrying Peter down the bridge, Burak making Peter wonder if the universe hated him by brushing away hair and cupping his cheek, Peter taking solo shots in a grayscale room for every. single. dress that the stylists picked for him. Posing on the swings, dancing to nonexistent music, lounging on a leather chair. Pierre wanted photos in as many angles as he can imagine, and fuck how beautiful Burak was, fuck how dazzling and breathtaking Peter felt in the dress once he became used to the silicone breasts -- Peter was ready to bite someone’s nose off by the fifth hour.

          "Alright, everyone, break time!” the manager, whose name Peter also hadn’t gotten but was too frazzled to even want to bother with, called out as she waved people over to the food table.

         Peter knew that if he was going to barrel through the estimated next six hours of this, he should have something nutritious in his stomach, but the bubbly golden champagne called out to him. He downed one glass at the table and carried another to the gazebo steps. His feet hurt, his everything hurts -- how does modeling hurt the body? How the fuck does that happen in a bridal photoshoot? -- but especially his feet, and once he sat down on the step, Peter unfastened the heels and peeled them off. 

        “This is not worth the money,” Peter grumbled, reaching down to rub one of his feet with his free hand. He winced and hissed through his teeth. “Fucking Christ on a dildo...”

        “You totally sound like a bridezilla right now.”

         Peter recognized the voice (because of course, he did) before his eyes snapped up to find Burak ambling over, carrying a plate piled with pastries and pieces of fruits and a bottle of wine with an empty glass. Peter couldn’t even find it in himself to be excited that this Michelangelo sculpture was coming to sit with him, and the alone time in this picturesque setting they were likely to spend together. He was just so drained and sore. Like a cat, a part of Peter wanted some alone time alone, to hide away and lick his invisible wounds and ponder why he was doing this when he knew that, even if his crew had enough money to buy that coveted studio, they weren’t going to get anywhere. Still, he didn’t protest when Burak took a spot next to him and sat the wine and food between them. 

         “You should eat something,” Burak offered oh, so helpfully as he filled his glass.

          “Thanks,” Peter drawled. He plucked a hulled strawberry from the plate and popped it into his mouth. He made sure to lean a little forward so that whatever juice may slip out won’t get to his dress.

       “You’re welcome,” Burak replied. “So, I take it you’re new to this?”

       Peter started to shake his head, ready to draw on his social media and webcam modeling experience, but he thought better of it. Why bother conflate the two for his ego? “Pbbbbbbbbt, yeah,” he answered. He raised his flute to his mouth. “Why? Was it that obvious?”

       “Yeah,” Burak nodded. 

       Peter’s hand stopped, then lowered as a brow rose. “How?”

       “Well, besides the fact that you look like you’re ready to collapse or claw someone’s eyes out? You constantly have to be told to tone it down and you look ready to run every time we have to act out something intimate.”

       “So, I just look unnatural?” Peter looked away and downed much of his drink in one go.

       “Yeah, but it was likely to happen,” Burak bit into a pastry. “I mean: how did you, a guy, get hired as a bridal model?”

        Peter didn’t sense anything offensive in Burak’s tone, just simple curiosity, so he replied honestly with a lazy shrug, “I don’t know. I actually applied for the groom position.”

        “Pffft, oops. Sorry about that. Well, that dress looks lovely on you.”

       “Thanks. That was one of the reasons they hired me as the bride.”

        “Hm...”

        Then silence came. Burak watched the photoshoot crew as he ate his cream cheese bear claw, and Peter watched the shiny of the sun glint off his glass as he slowly waved the flute around. 

       Polishing off the last bite of his bear claw, Burak asked, “So, how is your first professional photoshoot going so far?”

       Peter perked up, smile stretched from cheek to sore cheek. If his hands weren’t occupied with the champagne, he would have given a little clap to sell the reply. “Oh, it is fantastic! Wonderful! My body hurts, this dress itches, the hair care products feel cheap as shit and I’m sure I’m going to break out tomorrow, and I am never doing this shit ever again!”

        Burak leaned back, blinking. He cleared his throat. “Ah... wow. Well, it’s good that you figured it out before you really committed to the modeling career.”

        “I didn’t do this to get a modeling career.”

          “Oh?”

         Peter shook his head and took a breath. “No, I took on this gig to earn money to buy a studio.”

         “A studio...?”

        “Recording studio. For me and my music crew.”

         Now it was Burak’s turn to perk up, and truthfully, seeing interest light his face did make Peter feel better. “You make music?”

       “Yeah. I’m part of this new group called The MizFists. We’re a hip-hop collective.”

        “Hey! My cousin likes hip-hop! Do you have any music posted anywhere? I can tell her about it.”

        And Peter, all wide eyes as he watched Burak take his phone out of his pocket and swiped on the screen. “Oh! Oh, uh, yeah. Our website is M-I-Z-F-I-S-T-S dot com. All of our youtube channels and Bandcamp accounts are on there.”

       “Huh, never seen it spelled like that before...” Burak shrugged.

       “Well, we would have went with the proper spelling, but, you know, another group already has it, and we’re too broke for copyright lawsuits.”

        “It’s a cool name, still,” Burak said. He made sure the message had sent before placing his phone back into his pocket. He ate a piece of mango. “If my cousin decides to go to one of your concerts, I’ll have to tag along.”

       That... should not have been as easy as that. Sure, it’s likely that Burak’s cousin will dismiss their group as crappy wannabes, but still, the fact that Burak even shared their name like that... 

       And the food and bottle (which Burak had in his hand to refill Peter’s glass) -- Peter wanted to ask what was Burak’s goal here. Because who was this jovial with a cross-dressing stranger? Peter had to remind himself that not everyone had an ulterior motive for niceties, he still sought a way, an opportunity, to give this man the stink-eye and a “What’s your endgame, buddy?”

       Taking a drink, Burak passed his tongue over his disgustingly perfect lips and said, “So, since you’re pretty much a rap expert, you wouldn’t mind telling me if this verse--” and he did that weird cool guy rapper hand gesture, “--is fire, would you?”

       “Heh heh, go ahead!” Peter prompted, with that eyebrow raised once more in amusement this time.

       “Okay, okay!” Burak set his glass down and placed a hand on his chest and held the other in front of his face like a microphone.

       Burak stared at Peter, the hunched over bride shaking with his face twisted to hold in a laughter, his own face feigning a cold serious.

         Me and da babe looking heckin’ cool

         After school, hittin’ up the party pool

        Sitting on the grill of the big Bugatti

        All slutty, all thotty

        A couple rock stars making it rain at the pool

      They burst out laughing.

      And Peter didn’t even know why he was laughing; Burak was cute, and it was sweet that he came over here to chat, but it wasn’t funny, not that funny. Maybe it was the earnestness in the humor, or the needed release of stress. Whatever the reason, Peter dabbed at the tear in his eye. Thank goodness for the waterproof stuff.

       “You know? You might have something there,” he chuckled. “You’re definitely the new Will Smith!”

       “Pfffft, please! I am way better than Smith!” Burak tossed his hair. “But I’m going to let my cousin know that she was wrong, that an actual, bona fide rapper said I got some skills!”

        “Shit, if we’re ever looking for another member, we’ll hit you up,” Peter said, taking a grape.

       “Looking forward to it!”

After a friendly elbow nudge, Burak continued, "Seriously, that's cool that you're this serious about your music that you're doing this. I can tell that you're gonna go far. But I hope you don't drop this line of work, because you have a bit of potential in modeling, too. Who knows, you'll probably get famous enough that you'll have clothing brands begging you to model for them, and you don't want to pass up on those deals, would you?"

"Nah, I guess not..." The smile on Peter's painted lips dimmed, and he pursed them until he allowed himself to ask, "Uh... Why are you being so nice to me?"

Burak tilted his head. Oh, god, now he looked like a puppy. An irresistible puppy. "Am I not supposed to be?"

"No, it's just that, er... I thought that supermodels had to be brutal because, you know, this industry is dog-eat-dog."

Burak shook his head. "First of all, I'm not a supermodel; this is just a catalog shoot. Second..." He shrugged. "It felt like you were having a bad time and was uncomfortable around me. And we can't have that for our kissing photos."

For the slow way the words processed through Peter's psyche, his body was quick to react in its non-reacting form: body suddenly rigid, temperature swinging from ghostly chill low to loins on fire and I'm a sinner scorching, mind going as blank as his eyes gone wide.

"K... Kissing? We're going to--" Peter bowed his head with his hand over his mouth. "Oh, my god..."

He didn't see Burak's face, but he felt the indignation rolling off the other man who said, "I mean, I like to think I'm not a bad kisser..."

"N-no! No!" Peter lifted his face and waved a hand. "It's not that! I just--"

"Wow!" Burak snorted. "Wow! You are blushing hard!"

Peter gasped. "No, I'm not!" Of course, where they went for top-quality mascara, they'd cheap out on the foundation.

Burak laughed so deeply that he had to set his glass down. "Yes you are! Aw, look how red your ears are!"

"Oh, my god," Peter, once more, groaned. He bent his head so low that the veil fell from behind his back and draped over his shoulders.

So when he felt an arm slink around his waist, he was too unprepared to stop the yelp squeaking out of his mouth. Nor did he have any protection against the medical emergency fever burning through his body when Burak whispered in his ear.

"Don't you worry, Peter: as a gentleman, I promise you that I'll leave your honor intact and will be tender with you."

Whether Burak was serious or joking, it didn't matter when, to Peter, his voice was every bedroom song one to life. But Burak squeezed his shoulder, and when they've locked eyes, Peter could still see some of that sweet earnestness, that urge to lift Peter's mood, and he could help but smile.

"Gee, thanks," Peter tried with as much playfulness as he could muster.

A chuckle pass between them, and then

Flash. Flash.

Both men looked up to find Pierre lowering his camera. "Oh, that was perfect! I have to convince the magazine to use that in their layout."

"Uhhhh..." Peter said. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Reminding you two that break's over," Pierre said. "Now, let's go, we're burning daylight!"

"Well, that was a nice break." Burak stood and brushed the back of his pants. He held out a hand for Peter. "Ready to get back into the dog-eat-dog world of modeling?"

Peter's smirk was lopsided as he took Burak's hand to let him up. "Sure."

[nonstoplover]

For The Better (two) ~ Michael Corleone

masterlist

Summary:  (y/n) is back to living life alone, and it’s not long until she finds company to divert her thoughts from the fight whilst Michael keeps on trying to find a way to win his wife back. 

Words: 4.2K

Approximate reading time: about 20 mins

A/N: since i received so many likes and reblogs on the first part (which i'm incredibly grateful for), i decided to continue it. i hope it didn't turn out too cheesy and bad. if there'll be the same amount of interest in this part too, i'll maybe write a prologue even! something about how they met maybe. i hope you enjoy ♡

previous chapter

The days seem to end faster than before since I always find something important to do, not like when I was still living in the house.

There I had to keep myself busy with cleaning, rearranging the photo frames on the shelves and walls in our shared room with Michael, reading or just (slightly impatiently) waiting for him to finally finish work and be able to spend some time with me.

Now I have all the freedom I wanted, I spend every minute with something to help make this world a better place.

It feels good to help people in need, and it's never enough to make me fully satisfied, but I have to admit that even though it's the most important thing in my life and I love doing it with every fibre of my being, I almost only do this with such motivation and force to keep Michael Corleone out of my mind.

It's pretty effective, I have to say. Diving into my work even when it's the middle of the night is enough for me to stop thinking about my husband and the life I've been living until only two weeks ago.

Usually I work until I'm so dead exhausted that I faint from tiredness and only wake up in the morning when I have to leave for another meeting or something else that's work-related.

Habits from my previous lifestyle stay with me, for instance, I always keep the small revolver I got a few years back (a unique one specifically designed for me) in my handbag, ready for using.

I still keep an eye on the news of that world, the one I left behind, only hoping that I won't find anything terrible about the Corleone family, my family.

Every day I notice someone who's watching over me, probably because Michael ordered it, and about every three days Connie, Fredo or even Tom appears at my door to ask about me.

These conversations always go the same. They ask me how I'm feeling, I politely answer. They ask me if I had changed my mind about leaving them, I say no, not yet. They ask me if I need anything, money or protection, I say no, I'm fine. They incidentally tell me about how miserable Michael's feeling, and I close off all my real emotions, pretending that it doesn't affect me, when in reality, it feels like another sliver is breaking off from my heart every time I hear his name.

Usually as soon as they leave, I break down crying right there on the floor, and stay there for at least another hour or so until I can calm down and convince myself yet again that what I did was the right choice.

Weeks go by like this slowly turning into months, and the only difference is that the number of occasions of a Corleone visiting me is slowly starting to get rarer and rarer with time until it all comes to an end. None of them knock on my door anymore, trying to convince me to come back.

I think they accepted the fact that I've chosen. And that my decision simply can't include their lifestyle. Not for now, anyway. I told Michael I need a break, and I'm keeping myself to it.

I'm slowly getting better, mentally and physically as well, I can feel it in my blood and my bones. I feel much calmer all the time, anxiety and fear completely disappearing from inside of me, only that little emptiness stays. The part of me that loves him, misses him and needs him. The part I closed off when I walked out of his office that night.

I manage to make a couple friends even in this short amount of time, all through work or living in the same neighbourhood, and I even start to live a more proper social life, occasionally going out to pubs, even a couple parties as well, or simply just the pictures once in a while.

No one seems to know who I am, or more precisely who I was, no one connects me to the Corleone family anymore. And for this little while it feels nice to be just (y/n). Not (y/n) Corleone, not Mrs Corleone, just plain old (y/n).

One Friday my friend Marjorie convinces me to accompany her to a party held by one of her friends, and then only a couple hours later I'm standing on the staircase leading to the front door of a huge house, my arm linked with my friend's.

Music slightly sweeps out through the door as we wait for it to open, then the usual greetings and introductions take place as soon as Marjorie's friend opens the door.

Only an hour later I find myself sitting on the stairs inside the house, half-heartedly listening to the chaotic noise the music and people's chatter causes, but mostly I'm just deep in thought.

"How come a beautiful lady like you not being out there on the dancefloor?" A male voice suddenly speaks above me out of nowhere.

I spin my head around in curiosity, seeing a young man slowly walking down the stairs behind me. I scoot to the side to give him more space to walk by me, a shy smile on my face from the given compliment.

"I guess I'm not in the mood for it at the moment," I admit with a shrug.

"Glad I'm not alone then," the man chuckles as he passes me, stopping at the end of the stairs, his arm held out towards me. "I'm John, by the way."

"I'm (y/n), nice to meet you."

"Mind if I join you?" John signals towards my seat and with a polite motion of my arm I let him sit next to me.

We spend the following one or two hours talking before I decide to eventually go home. John immediately offers to walk me home, and I gladly take his offer. Who would want to walk alone at this late hour anyway?

Throughout our walk I try to make myself confess to him that I'm married, I don't want him having false hope, I don't want to give him mixed signals. But I just can't. There's never a moment I could say something like this.

And a part of me feels so good that after such a long time, a man shows interest again in me.

In the end, we part ways and I close the door behind me, leaning against the wooden surface, the weight of the truth still pulling me down.

It's not like you did anything wrong, I have to remind myself. You had a conversation with an interesting person, then walked home with him so it'd be less dangerous out in the streets. There's nothing wrong in it.

But somehow it still feels bad. The fact that I've spent time with a man without Michael's knowledge makes it feel like I'm doing something bad.

It's not like I'll ever meet John again.

Oh how wrong I was.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Third Person's Perspective:

Michael's unstoppably pacing up and down in front of the desk in his office, impatiently waiting to hear the latest news about his wife.

He doesn't even notice how late it is in the evening, all he cares about is to finally hear a knock on his door.

Half an hour later he's raging. The poor young boy he sent out tonight to watch over (y/n) stands in the corner, fear clear in his eyes. He's never seen his boss act so mad before.

Michael already forgot about the boy, all he can think about is the image of his wife and another man inside his head.

Could (y/n) really get over him this fast? Did he mess this up so bad that it truly is over?

Suddenly he feels like crying, again, and this makes him even more angry. He can't believe he acts so childish. A grown man should never cry. At least that's what he learnt in this world.

He storms out of the room without taking further notice of the now obviously shaking boy, determined to talk with Tom as soon as possible.

- - - - - - - - - - - 1 week later - - - - - - - - - -

Michael slowly gets out of the car, his eyes never leaving the outline of his wife inside the café on the other side of the street.

He decides to stay in the shadows, and luckily he finds a free table at the café opposite to the one (y/n) is sitting in.

He sits down, and whilst pretending to read the newspaper in his hands, he keeps an eye on her.

Ever since he found out about that other man, he himself goes every time to watch them interact instead of sending someone else.

There have been already a couple meetings he have stormed out from because of this, nothing seemed as important as his wife.

His wife. His. Is she even still that? He ponders, chewing on his bottom lip until he feels the familiar taste of blood on his tongue.

His glance travels back towards the other side of the street, trying to figure out with examining eyes what she feels from the way she moves and behaves.

He can almost swear there's nothing flirty or romantic in her behaviour, nothing but a simple friendliness, and that wouldn't be surprising. (y/n) has always been the kindest person he ever met in this world.

But still, that little voice in his mind keeps repeating that on that Saturday night, he walked her home, arms linked, looking cozy from what that poor kid he sent out to watch her reported.

His heart aches every time he sees her smile, or when her shoulders lightly shake as she's laughing away at something the man said because it's not him that made her happy.

Still, he can almost even hear the sound of her giggle in his ears, the most beautiful sound ever existed. Oh, how much he misses to hear it.

He feels his fingers curl, nails digging into the skin of his palm as anger sparks up in chest again.

He would do anything just to be able to talk with her, hear her voice and feel her presence around him again.

He needs her to survive, to stay alive, more than anything or anyone, now he knows it, and he can only hope that he'll be able to tell it to her soon.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

(y/n)'s Perspective:

John takes the truth like a true gentleman. He says he's not even that much surprised. He says, I always thought that there's no chance for such a lovely woman like you to be without a husband.

But he still insists on us keeping in touch, he says I became one of his greatest friends since that party, and I have to admit, it feels lovely to be able to speak with someone who understands me in such a level.

I tell him all my thoughts and feelings about Michael and our marriage, even the reason why I decided to take a break, with successfully not giving away who he is and what his job is.

I tell him how much I miss my husband, our conversations, how even after all that negativity and pain I experienced in the past year I still yearn to be by his side, to be a member of that family. How wonderful it felt to belong somewhere after growing up in such a corrupt, non-loving family that only cared about social ranks and money.

I tell him how when I can't sleep, it's Michael's face I see in the dark, and when I'm feeling down or when I'm anxious, I try and repeat his words and his voice, as if he's right by my side, calming me.

I tell him how I still love him with every beat of my heart. Every breath I take is for him. Every thought I have is about him. Every waking moment his image fills up my mind.

John offers amazing, useful advice that help clear my mind enough so I can think the whole situation through from another point of view.

One day we decide to take a walk in the nearest park, trying to enjoy the warm weather as much as we can after finishing our drinks in the café we always go to.

On the way there, I feel so free and happy that I take a few steps ahead of John only to twirl around, my arms spread wide in the air and a giggle escaping my lips.

Just as I'm turning back, my eyes follow my moves and suddenly see something I have not at all expected to see. I take a double take, squinting a bit so I can see in the shadows on the other side of the street more easily.

When I find what I was searching for, my heart skips a beat. It truly is him. Michael.

I immediately start marching towards him, not even glancing around before stepping on the road, John's worried exclaims following me in the air as he tries to keep up with my sudden, fast pace.

Michael stays in one place, watching me motionlessly. He knows there's nothing he can do after being noticed. He knows now that I know he has been watching me.

His eyes are cold, his face emotionless as I reach him. My heart feels so happy that the oh-so-waited sight is finally in front of me that it takes me a few moments to register that he's not so happy to see me.

To see us at least. Because the next moment his eyes shift towards the just arriving man accompanying me, and his whole body just goes even stiffer.

Then his eyes move back to me, and we stare at each other for a couple silent minutes, waiting for the other to say something.

Me, for a reason as to why he's always following me or for a sign that he realised what we have is something that's not worth throwing away.

Him, probably for a reason as to why I'm spending my time with another man.

"(y/n), is everything alright?" John speaks quite lowly next to me. "You know who this is, maybe we should just leave."

For a moment I think he knows. That somehow he managed to figure it out that my husband, the man I complained so much about is actually the head of the Corleone family.

But then I realise he's only talking about the man in front of us being Michael Corleone. Not my husband, just the mafia boss.

Michael glances back at John and if looks could kill, I'm sure he'd be dead by now. I never thought those chocolate brown eyes could look so cold.

"It's alright, John. We're fine," I answer, eyes never leaving my husband.

"What do you-" he starts to ask, but suddenly Michael snaps, shutting him up in a millisecond.

"She said it's alright, didn't you hear?"

And even though his voice is harsh, cold, angry and full of some kind of hatred, it still sends a shiver down my spine and butterflies fly around in my stomach.

After so many nights of trying to remember his voice in my ears it's a true miracle to actually hear it.

"You can leave me here, John, I have a few things I need to do." I turn towards him, fingers lightly touching his arm to make him place his full attention on me.

"I'm not leaving you alone with this man," he shakes his head swiftly, the tone of his voice giving proof how negatively he's thinking of the man in front of us.

Michael's already taking a step towards him, arms moving to his side but since I know him so well, I'm right in front of him in under a millisecond, palm against his chest to calm him down like I did so many times before.

"It's okay, Michael," I speak lowly. "We don't want to make a scene, now do we?"

Shooting a quick glance at John above my shoulder I can see that his mouth is wide open, jaw dropped down to the ground as the thoughts clearly chase around in his mind fast. He's trying so hard to process what he has just seen, and when he does, his eyes widen, matching the other parts of his facial expression.

"You... he... your husband is Michael Corleone?" His voice shows nothing but pure shock as he manages to understand the situation.

"He knows you're married?" Michael's voice rings in my ear, making me look back at him immediately, my arms falling back to my side as I take a half step back.

He looks almost the same surprised as John, he obviously didn't think this to be the case.

"Yes, he is, and yes, he knows." I answer to the both of them before looking deep in Michael's eyes. "I think we should go somewhere more private now. We have quite a lot of things to talk about."

Michael nods, so I turn back towards John.

"I'm honestly sorry that we can't make it to the park today, but we'll catch up another day, alright? I think you know how important it is now for me and my husband to have a conversation..."

"Absolutely, yes, I know. I hope everything goes right," John nods, his voice still a little raspy from the shock he just went through.

"I'll talk to you later then, if that's okay with you."

He nods once more before slowly turning around and making his way away from us.

"So what do you think, can we use your office?" I look back at my husband, and he nods right away, motioning to the side where the car for us is already ready to take us back to the Corleone household, not to my surprise, to be honest and fair.

My heart stammers so loud I'm sure Michael can hear it as we get closer and closer to the house, but I can't help it. The variations of how this conversation could turn out make my stomach churn in nervousness and anxiety.

But at least this time I'm entering it knowing clearly what I want. And I won't settle for anything less.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

By the time we reach the office, we've met Connie and Tom, both of them surprised to see us walk so casually through the house, as if nothing had happened.

I wave at them with a shy smile on my face, only hoping that they're not mad at me for my earlier behaviour.

They both wave back and they seem glad that I'm back, which makes me a little more relieved already.

Then the door of Michael's office closes behind my back, the sound waking me from my thoughts as I slump down on the same arm chair I was sitting in the last time I spoke with my husband, months ago.

He follows soon after, pulling his own chair around the desk so he'd be closer to me. He knows how much I hate it when he's sitting on the other side of the desk when we have a comversation, like I'm just another client.

"I've been thinking. A lot." Michael speaks up a few silent minutes later.

"Me too," I admit.

"Do you want to start or should I?"

"Maybe I'll start, if that's okay with you."

He nods immediately, looking a bit relieved he has some more time left.

"I had quite enough time to think this whole thing through, to truly find out what I want and what I need in my life. Last time you promised you'd change. I honestly hope you're still determined to do that, because that's the most important thing for me. For us." I pause, giving him a chance to answer.

"Of course, I'm actually already getting there. Been trying for the past month or so, you can ask Connie, she'll prove it."

"Lovely," I nod. "Well then, it makes this easier for me to say the following things. You know, I truly missed you and the whole family, and being with you. I really think that this break was very much needed, because now I can see crystal clear that I do love my life the way it has been, and I'm able to pinpoint all the positive things about living here."

Michael's eyes slightly widen as he silently listens to me talk, he probably didn't think to hear these things from me so easily.

"I didn't stop loving you, Michael, not for a single moment, and if you still want this, and if you do promise to change, then I think I can give another chance for me to live here and be a part of this family."

He sucks in a breath, a small smile appearing in the corners of his lips already.

"Who was this guy then?" He speaks up a few seconds later.

"A friend, who would it be?" I ask back in surprise.

Is this really the most important thing he wants to say now?

"I don't know, I just heard a couple things," he shrugs, and as he looks away, clearly not being able to keep the eye contact between us going, I suddenly understand it.

The reason behind why he had other people watch me. Why he himself watched me.

"Oh, so when you hear something, you believe it straight away, don't you? Do you really think I'd ever cheat on you?" I scoff, even the assumption making a slight anger bubble up in my chest.

"No, I don't." Michael answers, his voice quiet and unsure. He knows how pathetic he sounds for asking such a question from me. He knows me and that I'd never do such thing.

"You don't have to go and be jealous of the first man I speak to outside this family."

"I know," he nods, eyes still searching some non-existent thing on the floor, avoiding mine.

I wait for him to gather his thoughts, waiting for something else he might say. As we sit in silence, my eyes searching his appearance, I notice the slight differences I haven't had the time to see before.

He lost a little weight, that one's obvious. A couple light creases appeared on his face, making it look like he's done a good amount of stressful thinking. His whole posture radiates some kind of different wiseness, something that wasn't there when I last saw him.

But even with all these small differences, his face is still the same beautiful, it's still the same marble statue. Or maybe he's even more gorgeous now, looking kind of more mature.

"So you want to come back?"

I can tell he's trying to keep his voice emotionless, he doesn't want to affect the answer I'll be giving.

"If you still want that too," I say.

A beat passes as his eyes finally look back into mine, the connection making my heart beat already faster.

"Of course I want that, (y/n)." Michael starts smiling even wider now. "Why do you think I spent so many hours out in cafés or just thinking through half the nights on how to win you back?"

A similarly wide smile appears on my face as he watches me with a raised eyebrow.

"I love you, (y/n). You're still the one and only for me, the love of my life. My feelings will never change, no matter how cliché it sounds." Michael shrugs, a chuckle leaving his lips.

We stand up in the exact same moment, stepping towards the other, and it feels just like the first time we ever declared our feelings towards the other.

Just like we're the same giddy teenagers we were at the start of our relationship.

I feel the exact same butterflies flutter inside my body when his fingers ever so lightly touch the backs of my hands, then as his right hand moves up and cups my cheek, bringing me closer, I feel myself growing impatient, and the next thing I know is me leaning in, crashing our lips together.

We kiss like it's the first time we have ever kissed, like the past so many years have never happened and we're back on square one.

When we run out of oxygen, we lean back only until our foreheads are still touching, giggling as if we're kids.

"I love you, Michael, but please don't ever be jealous." I whisper.

"I love you, (y/n), but please don't ever leave me again." Michael whispers back.

And in this exact moment I know that I'll never leave again, because there won't be a reason for me to do that. I can feel it in the way he speaks, the way he looks at me that he will try his best to change, and it'll be more than enough for me.

That break we had just strengthened our relationship, our marriage. It truly was for the better.

.::the end::.

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[heli0s-writes]

V. Exhibit

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes Summary:  After all your hard work, the day is finally here. A/N: Part 5 of Mystery of Love.

The following month passed by in a hurry, as your thoughts were dominated by the constant thrall of work. One month was truly not enough to prepare, but you knew the implications of waiting until June passed- those positions in the fall would likely not be available; June was late enough.

Tony eagerly sprang into action and helped you transform your guest room into a photography studio, begrudgingly folding to your “outrageous peasant demands” of simple lighting, and two solid backdrops. When it was fully set up, you held a meeting with the team and prepped them over procedure and your proposal. You spoke plainly.

The show to view your work post-travels was primarily a guise to get a glimpse into their lives more intimately; you were under no illusion that it was anything else but 1) a shrewd plan for elites to rub elbows with other elites and 2) an opportunity for you.

Honesty was the best policy, and you knew they would appreciate it.

“If you consent to have your posed portrait taken by me in a studio setting- something we haven’t done before, thank you. If you don’t, I don’t blame you or hold it against you. It can be unnatural, uncomfortable, and I understand. Be aware- these images will be auctioned off. They will not, however, be duplicated. They are single prints.”

“Please make me rich.” Tony grinned as he spun freely in the swivel chair, “I mean, richer. Please make me richer.” After a round of glares from the team, he fessed, “Oh fine. Yes, you’ll receive a portion of the payment. You greedy little assholes.”

It didn’t take much more convincing for everyone to be on board. You were eager to begin and spent the first few days of June taking note of the kinds of images you wanted from each member. You thought about the representation of duality of Avenger and “being” whether it was human, super soldier, or an enhanced- or in Thor’s case, a god. But in the end, you decided on listening to Bucky’s advice and give ‘em hell. They were going to play by your rules.

Halfway through the month, you were so engrossed in the work, you’d barely had time to spend with either Steve or Bucky. They were sweet enough to make sure you had plenty of coffee on your days at the compound and would try to call before bed if you were in the city. Other than the occasional dinners together and their own photo sessions (which you were adamant on keeping strictly professional-save for a very stubborn session with Bucky), you hardly saw them.

Steve was called away on a diplomatic assignment with Natasha in Paris on the 13th. You were happy to hear that he wouldn’t be in any foreseeable danger and a tiny bit glad that he’d be busy doing something other than worried about your sleeping and eating habits. By the 24th, everything was nearly complete, and the only thing left for you to do was buy a dress and set up for the night of. You felt like a pile of wet rags and had even lost a few pounds from the stress and exertion.

-

The morning of the 26th, Steve and Natasha landed at the compound, disembarking from the quinjet. You were taking the day off to find a dress in the city; Tony had given you his credit card. It was a tremendous gesture you wanted to refuse until he reminded you that truthfully, you were doing him just as big of a favor as he was doing you. He had even encouraged you to get a custom gown early in the month and even passed the message along to various designers, but you adamantly refused, reiterating once again that it was not about you. Tony would have to face the disappointment of being the only one in a custom-made ensemble.

At 11, while rifling through a rack of silk and lace beauties, you received a call from Bucky.

“Hey, you,” you smiled. He’d been texting you all morning, updating you on Steve’s jet lag. “Can I come to you for lunch?” You sucked in a deep breath. “Buck, you sure? I’m in Manhattan.” “Yeah. Send me your location.”

There was no arguing with him when he made up his mind.

When Bucky arrived on 5th Avenue, he wore a black long-sleeve and jeans with his usual combat boots. You couldn’t help but smile at the classic cap and sunglasses combo as he plodded through the throng of tourists- looking very much like one himself. His hair was tied back to avoid sticking to his neck in the heat. He kissed your shoulder at the entrance of the store and you grazed his stubbled chin with a finger in response.

The walk to your favorite sandwich shop was relatively short, and Bucky let you lead the way, keeping a hand on the small of your back to keep you close. The two of you sat at the bar near the window after your food arrived and you let him know your surprise at his offer to meet you in the city. He shrugged it off as he took the sunglasses off his face.

“When I was on the run, I placed myself in different locations, but it was often smartest to hide in plain sight. Bucharest has a population of over a million people ‘n they’re so busy they don’t pay attention to much else; I don’t go into the city mostly because I don’t like it, hon’.” He took a bite of his sub and you did the same, snorting in delight when a bit of lettuce hung from his chin. Bucky rolled his eyes and sent you a lopsided grin before closing his mouth again over the sub, muttering. “You’re a punk.”

You felt laughter bubbling up in your chest as he swiped off the lettuce and flung it at you.

This was the Bucky you liked the most- playful, mischievous, still sweet in the center. Not to say there were parts of him you disliked, but you were careful with his more jagged pieces. The Bucky who scanned every room he entered, who always strapped at least three knives to his body, who scowled on impulse, who automatically put himself in front of you in response to loud noises needed more tenderness. The Bucky who texted you at three in the morning “just to see if you were awake” needed more tenderness, too.

The first time you woke up to one of those messages, you joked that he reminded you of a college boy making a booty call. Only after seeing him bleary eyed and on-edge did you ponder more deeply about it and ventured to ask if he had trouble sleeping because of nightmares.

He admitted he truly saw little in his dreams, but felt chasms that threatened to swallow him up, and the terror of that blackness kept him awake. You knew what awaited him in that blackness. Since then, you’ve always kept your phone on loud.

“Stevie got you a dress from Paris,” Bucky mumbled, wiping the corners of his mouth with a brown napkin, hiding the slightest hint of a smirk. “I don’t think it’s your style, though.”

You raised an eyebrow, sweeping bits of crust into the empty wrapper of your lunch. “Oh yeah? Steve picked it out? What’s it like?”

“It’s red. ‘S real nice, but it’s also red.”

You scrunched up your nose in concern. “Oh… I hope it won’t hurt his feelings if I don’t wear it.”

Bucky went to throw both of your crumpled trash piles away and returned with an understanding smile, “Nah. He’s a big boy. Party’s in two days, though. If you don’t find anything you’re gonna get stuck with it, hon.”

Sighing, you stood up and brushed off your shirt, “Yeah. I’ll look some more. I put a dress on hold earlier so if I don’t find anything else, I’ll go back to that one. Thanks for having lunch with me, Bucky.” You pulled absentmindedly on his shirt sleeve and tugged the wrinkles out of the elbow. Bucky took the opportunity to bend down and plant a kiss on your jawline, whispering that he missed you into your cheek.  

“I’m not leavin’,” he said, removing the sunglasses that were hanging from the collar of his shirt, “Haven’t seen you in days, doll. I’m not leavin’ yet.”

The definitive statement was punctuated by another one of his keen stares. You swallowed as his clear blue eyes flitted back and forth between your own, finally settling on your mouth as you nervously breathed out a soft “Okay”. Your heart swelled in your chest as he smiled. You couldn’t help but lovingly follow the sly arc of his lips across and up to those joyful creases you so adored running from his eyes. Happy Bucky was your favorite Bucky. You wanted to make him look like this all the time. You felt so terrible that you’d been so busy and avoiding him.

Impulsively, you reached up and kissed him on the lips.

It was quick, and you stood back flat on your feet, hand shooting up to cover your mouth. Fearfully, you took a chance to peek at him. The two of you stood there next to the window staring at each other for a few seconds before Bucky broke out into a wide toothy grin.

You flushed from head to toe. Your first kiss. In a sandwich shop. The banality of it all dawned on you and before you had the chance to say anything, Bucky broke the silence with a hearty laugh. Soon enough, you joined in, burying your face in both your hands. People were starting to glance over to the window and stare, so Bucky grabbed you by the hand and briskly stepped out into the street. He caught your waist to turn you to face him, pressing your back against the brick wall of the shop. The chatter of Manhattan whipped around both of you in the background, full of footsteps and yelling, honking, dogs barking, construction. Bucky Barnes held tight to your sides as if you might get torn into in the sea of people behind him.

Under the shade of his cap’s bill, you could hardly see his eyes, but the light illuminated his mouth, which was pressed into a thin line.

You squinted as sunlight fell over your face, “Buck?”

The intensity of Bucky crashing his lips to yours ripped the breath from your lungs. He stepped forward into your body, pressing his broad chest against you, flesh hand pushing your torso against his. In the middle of the sidewalk, he erased all the noise of Manhattan. You could only hear his breath on your mouth as he parted and returned again and again. Three deep kisses later, he let you go.

You gulped, heart stammering, lost completely in ragged breaths and desperately trying to ignore the eyes of passing strangers who’d witness your moment of public affection. You had seen this coming for a while now, but it was still a shock.

Ever since the day on the couch, you had been trying to avoid physical intimacy, but it had been difficult to experience growing closer with Bucky and simultaneously disregard his longing for your touch. He was always holding back, like a predator in the tall grass.

“I wanna do so much more than that…” He whispered in your ear. His voice was deep, and you could hear his throat clenching as he swallowed. The sound burrowed its way into your brain, sending currents scampering through your body.

Bucky ran his hand along your jaw, one final kiss landing on the shell of your ear as he muttered, “When you’re ready, I will. Come on, you lead the way.”

All you could do was nod in response as he guided you in front of him, one hand resting again on your back as you tried to stay calm in the crowd. In a few mere minutes, the street changed as you turned a corner. Your heart was beginning to slow down again.

“I’m curious, doll,” Bucky called from behind you, running a finger up and down the small of your back, “What color was that dress you put on hold?”

From the way his words sounded, you knew he was smirking. “It was black.” You swerved to the side to avoid a man pushing a stroller and Bucky followed suit. Craning your head back to see his expression, your heart sped up again either by his tightening grip or his subsequent praise:

“Atta girl.”

-

The last Saturday in June was the 28th. Pepper had demanded that you stayed at your apartment until the evening of, setting you up with a full-day spa appointment on Friday. According to her (and your very exhausted body) you needed rest and pampering before the big night. She also insinuated that Tony was being incredibly high-strung with setting up; he wanted it to be a surprise, and if you’d step foot on the campus before he was ready, he might completely “lose it Bridezilla-style”.

You’d been video-chatting Steve at night on the phone before bed since spending the day with Bucky. He was at first disappointed that you decided not to wear the dress he’d gotten you but ultimately understood why: red was a high-profile color. He sheepishly admitted that he was a bit old-fashioned, and was a sucker for women in red. It was cute. You suggested that he ask Natasha instead.

Your heart swelled any time his face came on the screen and you couldn’t help but stupidly grin every night into the phone. He told you about the trip and his desire to one day take you to the city, glossing over the details of the errand itself. You didn’t mind- it wasn’t your job, and you likely wouldn’t have understood its significance. He brought up how he was concerned at first that the distance would cause discomfort- but perhaps it was the consent to distance that changed the rules. You knew where he was going and accepted it, and so neither of you were pained by the separation.

“Maybe on the more peaceful missions, you might like to come with me? It’d be like travelling again, huh?” You agreed, eager to see another endearing smile break across his face. You loved the way Steve closed his eyes as he smiled, long lashes folding to graze against his raised cheeks- it was a habit of his, and it made you curious to wonder what he thought of during those blissful expressions.

After your long spa day you ended your night with another video call, feeling the excitement growing closer and closer, emboldened by Steve’s encouragements. More changes were coming on the horizon and you felt ready to face them. You were glad to have both men by your side.

 Promptly at 5, Pepper sent a car outside to wait outside your apartment door. The invitation you’d proofread for Tony stated that doors opened at 6:30 with a cocktail hour and viewing period before any announcements were made. You would be giving a talk at 8, unveiling the main auction piece at the end and then there would be a bidding period before the night unwinds with dancing. The event supposedly ended at midnight, but you were sure that was Tony’s way of ushering out the guests. You weren’t going to assume he’d turn into a pumpkin at the stroke of 12.

Blotting on the final layer of your lip stain, you swept over it with a coat of high-shine gloss. Your make up was done simply: filled in, full, arching brows; barely-there contouring to emphasize your bone structure; peach blush; and a single smooth black line over both your eyelids. Your hair was brushed back and tucked behind your ears, flowing over your shoulder in neat waves.

You wanted to be sleek and able to blend in, with just a touch of red-lipped-conspicuous.

Stepping into the lobby, you felt as if transported into a different world. Tony had transformed the chamber into a flawless gallery setting with your photographs, framed and displayed along the perimeter of the open-spaced room. He’d put in wall panels here and there along with several benches where viewers could sit, arranging it perfectly to where there was plenty of walking space and room to mingle. Along the right wall was an elegant backlit bar manned by three sharply dressed bartenders with dazzling smiles. Close by was a stage with a band plucking a lazy acoustic tune in their warm-up routine, accompanied by a harpist. Gorgeous floral arrangements stood tall on pedestals, their sweet scent hanging in the air. Servers wandered casually, silver trays in hand topped with hor d'oeuvres and champagne.

The first few guests were arriving, picking up pamphlets from the stand near the door and meandering through the maze of photos. The team was scattered around the room, dressed beautifully, all smiles. Natasha hypnotized in the stunning red gown Steve picked out. It was striking with an elegant sweetheart neckline and brocade skirt. Pepper wore violet tulle. Wanda was smoldering in a lacy brown long-sleeved dress.

The men were simply dashing, in various dark suits offset by their own choices of silk bowties and shirts. Sam’s collar brooches glimmered- two mirroring silver wings clipped neatly to the points of his muted garnet shirt collar.

Halfway to the bar, you came face-to-face with Steve, who wore a fitted deep navy suit and dress shirt, complimented by a silk burgundy tie. His hair- which had grown longer since you’d last seen him in person was swept back and to one side. He was clean shaven for the event. You realized you were staring, but it helped that he was staring right back.

“You look...”

“Oh m...my” You attempted to finish the sentence for him. Steve laughed, shrugging one shoulder, the drink in his hand sloshing around.

“Not quite what I was going to say- but very close.” He paused, looking you up and down before sweeping you up in a one-armed hug and whispering in your ear “I’ve missed you so much. You look incredible.”

Once back on your feet, you smoothed the front of your black dress and shyly smiled in response, feeling your heart flutter. The snug gown was made of a satin blend, moving and shifting ethereally and just barely swept the floor. Two hair-thin spaghetti straps held it in place, crisscrossing over your back. The neckline was a darting V-shape, stopping just half an inch above Steve’s mark.

You’d convinced yourself to be calm and cool, playing the part of a professional artist giving a talk, but it was hard to not be giddy when Steve looked so damn good. His arms were practically bulging out from the sleeves of his jacket. And the lightly spiced cologne he wore was filling your head up with smoke.

“Where’s um, Bucky?” You ventured to ask, steeling your voice.

“Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.”

Bucky rolled the last ‘r’ into your ear as he placed his cool metal hand on your bare shoulder, middle finger drumming against the thin strap. You stirred at the temperature, burning against your back as he moved to your right side, smirking at Steve. They must have planned this, you thought, or perhaps brevity between old friends was enough to place them on the same dangerous wavelength. You felt like a fresh carcass, exposed under sunlight while two ravenous vultures circled overheard.

He was dressed completely in black, save for a blood-red pocket square neatly tucked into the breast of his suit. His hair was left loose, one side tucked behind his ear, and he donned his signature 5 o’clock shadow. He didn’t bother to cover his metal hand tonight, which made him all the more fearsome-looking. Bucky must have made it his mission to personify the word feral.

Half-lidded eyes drank in your figure, appreciatively scanning up and down before catching on your left bicep. “You’ve covered up your arm,” He noticed. “Why?” The was an edge of hurt he tried to hide.

The offending black cuff glimmered in the light. “Same reason why I didn’t wear the red.” You replied. You lifted your chin to regard Bucky and he raised his eyebrows in surprise at your declaration.

Steve bobbed his head, just enough to share the message that he understood before plucking a champagne flute from a passing server and placing it in your grasp. You sipped and signaled to the entrance of the exhibit with your stiletto-encased foot, where Kristopher Byrne had just entered with a pamphlet and Tony Stark. “I’ve got to go say hi. Thank you for supporting me.”

It was a conclusive statement, and the thanks, although sincere, was a comment of courtesy to lighten the mood. You quickly squeezed both of their arms before stepping away, straightening your back and squaring your shoulders. The show had just begun, and you were expected to be engaged and conversing all night; you couldn’t kick it off with a lovers’ quarrel in the middle of the floor as much as you wanted to resolve the matter. Bucky would have struggled and there were, unfortunately, other pressing concerns.

The band began to belt out a tune, mellow and full of slow, savory notes. The lobby was half-full at this point, and more were waiting by the door. The boys watched you go, exchanging glances. Bucky was scowling.

“Don’t be like that,” Steve warned, “You got to spend all day with her, pal.”

“Don’t wanna talk about it.” He was being petulant, he knew. It was easier to be angry than to admit that his feelings were hurt. “Don’t lecture me, Stevie. Just wanna fuckin’ be with her. I’m tired of all this… shit.”

Steve chuckled into his glass as he took a sip, savoring the taste and looking at his friend through the curved angle of the rim. He’d experienced his fair share of Bucky’s seething tantrums; he knew it’d pass.

“Gotta admit, Buck. I liked seein’ ya miffed. You need a firm hand.”

Bucky scowled deeper at his friend’s cheeky comment as he watched your back make nice with a stranger. The itch inside of him was growing darker with every step you took away. He’d been good, played it safe and slow by your- and Steve’s rules, but every time it felt like you might scratch the surface of his desire, you’d backed off. Seeing his mark covered up on your arm only made it worse.

Sending Steve a pained look, Bucky quietly retreated to the bar.

 Kristopher Byrne was a tall and lanky man with silver hair, fingers studded with multiple rings and designer glasses sitting low on his nose-bridge. The suit he wore matched Tony in embellishments, and it was obvious by that alone that they got along swimmingly. Immediately after introducing yourself to him, his solemn expression softened into an ecstatic one. He kissed your hand, raving about how he’d been a fan for years but that you’d always eluded his grasp. You immediately thanked him and asked if he was ready for a stroll through the displays.

Byrne was very interested in the photos you’d taken in Russia, pausing to talk about the social unrest there regarding sexuality. He applauded your shots in Thailand, complimenting the rich colors of Chiang Mai and the quiet moments you captured.

You spent the next half hour walking through the photos with Tony and Byrne, chatting here and there with other guests who had questions. The information cards next to each picture was brief and explained a little bit about the image but hearing it from your point of view was much more valuable to them.

Tony set up the exhibit to first show your Peculiar Pairs series from the travels before introducing the Avengers photos. The range of colors started at full spectrum and highly saturated with your travels before slowly changing into the black and white portraits you shot of each member.

Upon entering the space of black-and-white portraits, he was greeted with a three-by-four-foot framed photo of Steve in stark lighting. He stood in front of a black background in a white t-shirt, looking into the distance as a bright halo illuminated him from behind, catching the fine contour of his lashes and the tip of his sharp nose. The features of his face were lit by another light in front. His expression was almost angelic with parted lips and the barest hint of a smile.

Byrne’s eyes widened as he regarded it, eager to uncover more information about the man captured in the image. The info card in the corner simply read Steven Grant Rogers.

You watched on as Byrne rotated himself around the frame, pondering deeply at Steve’s aspects. Tony smirked and made a snarky comment about how he hoped Byrne was this excited about his own picture.

“Captain America,” Byrne finally exhaled, “Looks like … someone you could sit next to on the subway. Wow. Fantastic.”

You thanked him. Perhaps it was your bias speaking, but you casually mentioned that it was one of your personal favorites. Tony stifled a barking cough.

Byrne led the way down the path, soliciting your process with each session. You were tight-lipped but let loose of what was necessary to keep him interested. It didn’t take much; there was nowhere else neither he nor any other guest could find a close-up portrait of Natasha wrapped tight in a bathrobe, hair wrung-dry and damp, chin resting on her fist, making such fierce eye-contact as if challenging the gaze of the person who’d caught her in a private moment.

Or Tony, a face well-known to smirk, sneer, and blow kisses, suddenly severe and deep in thought, tinted glasses hanging from his teeth.

Thor grinned behind a half-empty glass of beer in his portrait. Sam was reading a book. Bruce was cutting up a breakfast of an omelet and potatoes.

Bucky’s photo elicited gasps from Byrne as well as the crowd he’d started to draw around him. The session you had with him was rather difficult, since he challenged you at every turn. So many images from your roll you’d deemed too stern, an aspect that you didn’t want captured of Bucky. The Winter Soldier was grim and ominous. Bucky, your Bucky (as hesitant as that statement was), was not. You refused to let him resign himself to the Soldier’s shadowy persona, especially not after knowing just how bright he could be.

It had taken almost two hours of careful conversation for him to let you turn off the lights and put on music. You chose to play one of your favorites- a collection of Bill Withers’ essential hits, letting the suave compositions fill the room. He was ready to argue when the first few notes came on, but you strictly shook your head and brushed out his hair with your fingers before moving on to massage his tense neck. Jagged edges, you chanted in your head, take care of those jagged edges.

It was an intimate moment from anyone else’s point of view- but you were so occupied with ensuring a good photo, you had willfully ignored all signs of pleasure from your subject. He leaned into your touch the harder you pressed, and when you reached down the round collar of his black shirt to feel the muscles of his back, he had started panting hard and fast.

You asked him to freeze and quickly ran back to snap a few shots. Then, certain you’d gotten what you needed, you ushered Bucky out of the room with a short apology before anything escalated.

The resulting photograph was Bucky’s side-profile leaning back on the palms of his hand on a stool, grey background blurred and out of focus. The collar of his shirt was stretched and warped around his neck under dense wavy hair. His eyes were half open, distracted by something in the distance, lips closed, corners turned down in a wanton pout. The muscles in his arms were thick and contracted as he gripped forcefully on the seat. There was a fuzzy shadow cast over him, just enough to obscure a corner of his shoulder and clenched jaw.

The card read, James Buchanan Barnes.

Kristopher Byrne clapped and ran the back of his hand over his forehead.

“This one… just takes my breath away. This is really Sergeant Barnes? The Winter Soldier? He looks so helpless… So unlike the image I have of him.”

You searched across the expanse of the room to find the sergeant in question. Next to him, Steve firmly patted his shoulder as they watched you stand beneath Bucky’s picture. With a slight swing of your hips, you unflinchingly moved on.

-

At 8, the band winded down their percussions and a spotlight found Tony at the center of the lobby, microphone in hand. Guests gathered around as he began to speak. Two workers wheeled out a display that was covered up by a black cloth.

“Everyone, may I please have your attention.” When the crowd settled down enough for his liking, he continued effortlessly. “I’d like to formally welcome you to the exhibition. The photographer of the night is a friend of mine; you might know her as the visionary behind the popular Soulmate Series and the subsequent Peculiar Pairs- wow, what a mouthful, huh?” A round of soft chuckles was raised.

You stood next to Natasha and Pepper, taking a final sip of your third champagne flute before handing it off to a server and thanking him. Your heart was picking up a rhythm in apprehension of your approaching time to speak. Tony was leaps and bounds more charming than you, and you could only hope you wouldn’t trip over your feet on your way up.

“She’s taken the world by storm with her humor, wit, and sensitivity on a subject we’ve all heard before, and continues to shed a novel light on Soulmates. To us here at the Avengers Facility, she’s our lovable Public Relations twerp, near and dear to our hearts.” He paused. You were positive you were tearing up as pinpricks burn your nasal passages.

“Please give a warm round of applause to the one, the only…”

Tony flourished his pointer finger over the crowd before finally settling on you, the spotlight zooming over to shine on the water pooling in your eyes. He finally called out a boisterous thundering of your name as the room erupted in applause.

The room blurred as you stepped towards Tony. Mechanical movements and muscle memory guided your actions when he gave you a loving hug and kiss on the cheek. The microphone was suddenly in your hands and you began to speak, praying for whatever god above (or here- Thor, if this might be your territory) to bless you with grace.

“Thank you everyone for coming out tonight. And thank you Tony and Pepper, who’ve made all of this possible for me.”

It felt like there were half a million eyes staring. You only needed to find your footing in four blue ones. Pressing onward, you continued, hoping the quiver of your throat would flatten itself out as you began to chronicle your body of work. It was a speech you’d given before in multiple interviews, you just needed a lead into the meat of the lecture.

“The photos you see tonight of the Avengers were taken with a simple message in mind: humanity. So often we regard them as these supernatural saviors- which they can be and frequently are; Thor, for one, is an Asgardian god.” The crowd lightly chuckled, and Thor, in the back, raised a sizable glass of wine in the air.

“I didn’t want to create more cults of personality around them, I wanted you to see the parts of them you could identify with, juxtaposing the abnormal with the normal. Your heroes eat breakfast, read books, take baths... just like you.” There was contemplation gazing back at you in the massive sea of unblinking eyes. Some people chewed on their lips pensively. Others were nodding along in agreeance.

“They hurt, like you.” You looked at Bucky, who met your gaze with a silent apology, “They love, like you.” You looked at Steve, who bit his lips in a smile. “They have soulmates, like you. And with that, we come full circle.”

You turned your body to face the shrouded display and pinch the cloth between two fingers.

“I’d like to start the auction period off with piece de resistance. As with all our photos tonight, when you bid on them, know that if won, they will be singularly yours. Forever. No duplicates will be made; the files have been destroyed.” Tugging on the sheet with a flourish, you swiftly pulled it off the polished stand to reveal a framed photo of the Maximoff twins. The discarded fabric tumbled to the floor with a flutter.

Pietro stood shirtless and defiant in the photo, black jeans hanging from his hips, the barest hint of his boxers peeking out. His body was smooth and hard, naturally flawless thanks to his inhuman healing abilities. Next to him, Wanda faced away from the camera in a black racerback, her head turned to regard her twin. Her hand drew a line across his chest, wrist relaxed on his far shoulder, polished black fingernails lovingly twirled a bleached curl. Their Marks were in full view, and the audience collectively sucked in a sharp breath of surprise.

“Wanda and Pietro Maximoff: Avengers, twins, soulmates.”

The room erupted once more in applause. You handed the microphone back to Tony and disappeared into the crowd.

-

You felt ill.

Clutching on the smooth marble countertop, you stared at your reflection in the bathroom mirror. The dim yellow lighting from the shell-shaped wall scone flooded the room and made you look even more jaundiced. You had held it together for a whole three hours but now it was time to dump your entire stomach’s contents into the closest toilet. You barely made it before the champagne and bits of cheese ejected violently from your mouth.

You waited briefly for the nausea to pass and when it didn’t you returned to discharge the rest of your vomit into the bowl. In the stall a few spaces down, someone flushed before cautiously exiting. Three clicks of footsteps closer and there was a very light knock on the door that separated you from them.

Wanda stood over you, eyebrows tightly knitted in concern. She hoisted you up and the toilet flushed automatically upon registering movement. You wobbled to the counter again, opening the various cabinet doors before finding some mouthwash to gargle.

“Can I help you?” She asked, taking a cloth napkin from the wicker basket in the middle and dabbing around your red mouth after you’d spit into the sink. You sighed deeply, holding your hand over your torso. “It’s been a long month… that was actually more cathartic than traumatic.” She nodded in support.

You took the napkin from her and viciously wiped off the lipstick with it, peppermint smell lingering from your mouth. Your eyes began to focus and un-focus competitively and ghostly trails of color floated all around your head. Wanda followed your gaze with her eyes before pressing a warm palm to your temple.

“I can take it away, if you’d like,” she held up a splayed hand, fingers crackling with that ghostly energy of hers. Exhaling, you only nodded as she returned the heel of her palm to your forehead. A rush of tingles travelled up your body and into her hand, and you feel every inch of your skin crawling towards her. You’d forgotten how exhausted you’ve been for the past month as your head throbbed and ached against Wanda’s touch, mumbling what you hoped was a sincere-sounding thanks.  

When she finishes, Wanda lifts up your head with her finger and smiles. “All better, no?” When she walks you into the lobby, you feel yourself renewed with each step.

-

Steve thinks he can find you in any universe out there. Any timeline. Any dream. He’s got the shape of your body branded inside his brain. Every eyelash, every fine line, every damn pore.

When you cross the room with Wanda on your arm, smiling, he notices the lipstick has been rubbed off and your mouth is pink and raw. When you catch sight of him watching, Wanda departs gracefully and whispers into your ear a sweet note, wishing you a fruitful night onward. Your mind stills at her words, and your heart picks up a slow, steady beat when your feet end up in front of Steve at the edge of the room.

Steve knows he can.

He bends over to pull a lock of wavy hair into his hand and kiss it. The room is silent, conversations have long muted because of auction taking place. You’re no longer present, long gone from the party and adrift only in the blue-green sea of his gaze.

Steve allows the strands back onto your shoulder and they cascade over your back. He lets the scent of clean shampoo and something that is purely you wash over him. The crisp smell of seafoam and orange peels, summer rain, warm laundry in the sun. There’s a sheen layer of sweat in the dip of your neck that he’d love to get a mouthful of. The flame in his chest triggers.

He’ll have to thank Wanda later. Your posture is the most relaxed he’s seen you all night. The stiff square shoulders and domineering gait was a side of you he hadn’t seen before, a sight he couldn’t help but feel proud of as you commanded the room. However, he loved the natural you in front of him now most.

He doesn’t have to hear your words to know how you feel, but listens anyway.

“Thank you,” You smile, looking only at him, vaguely gesturing to the room full of people. Your voice has dropped low and earnest and you squeeze his hand just a little bit before anyone else sees. “I... I couldn’t have done this without you. I would have never done it.”

He nods and bows his head ever so slightly, peering at you through lashes. “I’m happy to have helped. You know that, sweetheart. I know you’re capable of so many great things… I’m glad you’re feeling better.” He rubs the edge of your mouth with a finger.

“Yeah.. I guess you’re used to seeing me like this, huh?” You giggle, embarrassed and remembering all the times you’ve thrown up because of his presence.

“I think even then, I had a feeling. Just… too afraid to come forward. After I learned how to use a computer…” He’s smiling at the memory, “..I used to spend all night looking at your photos… trying to find a picture of you somewhere.”

The thought of Steve, back then, already captivated by anything to do with you causes your breathing to pick up. You suck in air through your nostrils quickly as if you might be suffocating. A long moment passes as you pinch your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Honey?” He asks with a smile. He knows what’s coming.

You’re spellbound in his gaze, trapped like a moth, wings already soldered off by the flame. “I’d like to stay the night, I think. With you... and … B-Bucky.”

Steve plucks your hand from your side and kisses each knuckle. “Of course. Tony already said he’ll handle the rest of the show and paperwork. Let me know when you’re ready to go. We’ll take it slow.”

It’s a promise, and he doesn’t have to wait for your next words to know what you want. But he does so anyway. He needs to hear it.

“I’m... ready now.”

When Steve slips his hand over yours and feels the familiar pulse of your thumbprint, he knows. In this universe, this lifetime, or the next, or the next after that, he’d be able to find you. He is yours; you are his. With every step, he lets the fantasies he’s been occupied with disperse, focusing his attention solely on your figure at his side. The hallway muffles the sounds of the party and each step grows louder as you depart hand-in-hand.

 -

In the darkness of his room, your Soulmate kneels and unbuckles the strap of your stiletto, letting his fingers graze over your feet. He’s meticulous as he slips them off one at a time before trailing those calloused palms up your calves underneath the dress. The silky cool fabric brushes his knuckles, a stark contrast to the heat of your skin. You’re trembling against his hold as he continues upward, resting them on the back of your thighs, squeezing gently.

“Sweetheart, you’re shaking.” He presses two kisses to the top of each thigh underneath the dress. His hot breath sends tingles slinking upwards into the pit of your core. “We can stop any time. We can stay in bed together and just sleep. I’d love that.”

You shake your head and place your hands over his, pulling them up even higher, over the apex of your bottom, brushing over your underwear, and catching in the tightness of the fabric. The motion is all he needs, and Steve deftly reaches up to untie the knotted bow at the small of your back.

The satin falls off your shoulders and pools at your feet.

Next Chapter

[lizzybeth1986]

Quick Thoughts on The White People Waambulance, Chapters 18 and 19

• Sorry this QT is coming out so late, guys. I regret to say my heart wasn't really in this one...and it hasn't been with regards to my QTs for a while. This one might be my last, unless we count me finishing them off for the (not rewritten) Book 1. It's been two years since I began, and the last two books made the process honestly really exhausting.

• I clubbed the two finale chapters together because I really couldn't be bothered to do separate ones for both.

• In fact...I won't be doing any of what I have been doing for my QTs so far. I'll be honest to you: I usually do multiple replays, the last few in tandem with the other routes on YouTube. I go through the scenes one by one. I keep note of differences and variations and carefully choose screenshots that will reflect the gist of the scenes.

But I couldn't be bothered to do any of that this time. I pressed the "continue" and then the "end book" buttons as soon as I finished my first run of those chapters. I'm drained, guys. And I don't think I'll be coming back to the TRH series at least, not even for Liam or Hana or Kiara. Maybe my mind will change by the time the second book comes out (update from present-day Lizzy: no it didn't) but I'm not counting on it. And you'll probably know why by the time this QT ends.

• TW: Discussions on racism, both fandom racism and from within the narrative. The last section of this QT is going to be...pretty heavy, guys.

There's also going to be a lot of anti-Drake, anti-Olivia, anti-Madeleine and anti-Penelope content here, so if you like any of those characters...well, you've been warned.

The ensuing post is going to be LONG, and I know a lot of you have good reasons not to deal with long posts, so here's a tldr:

1. The TRR writing team stick to their weird obsession for jobless whiny white men.

2. Read this book once and you'll feel like you're drowning in an ocean of white tears.

3. WOC continue to get scraps from the writing team, even as they boast of being diverse and inclusive. In fact, they're regularly treated as mere tokens, exotic eye-candy or non-entities, while their behaviour is measured on standards that are very different from their white counterparts (this happens in other books as well).

...okay I wasn't expecting for the tldr to be long too 😅

• Me @ my QTs then:

Me @ my QTs now:

• I'll probably be finishing off my TRR Book 1 QT series when I'm a little less burnt out, but for now this is where it ends, I guess.

• So...here is to summarize the last two chapters: Accident happens. LIs mad. Paparazzi sad (but largely get away scot-free). MC and baby safe. At the Council meeting Kiara slam dunks the murderer of Liam's mother with the style and elegance this fandom still refuses to acknowledge her for. The MC is nice to her for like half a second. Last Apple Ball. New clothes for everyone as if they had a Diwali bumper sale the week before or something. Godfrey is somehow responsible for the security (who thought this was a good idea) and seeing the Auvernese Royal Guard outside our doors is SO not-creepy.

We get to see if we impressed our Auvernese and Monterriso allies enough. Bradshaw compliments Kiara for like half a second. Olivia sees the dude from the Q&A session (Jin) at the Ball and (if you pay) you get to see her catch, interrogate and lowkey flirt with him.

Leona and Bianca make it to the ball (where is Bartie Sr. Where are Xinghai and Lorelei. Where is Regina) and this time the narrative makes sure to shoehorn a plot element into their presence here: Leona is there so we can do something about the reveal that she constantly ratted us out to the press for money. ("oh look! Walker Ranch was plot related after all! We have a reason (albeit a flimsy, paper-thin one) to set 9 whole chapters in Texas. Even though we had to literally come up with this bit in the last minute, because really - all we wanted to do as a writing team was nut collectively over Drake Walker")

(I also can't believe that between the time I wrote this line and the time this QT finally came out - they literally found a way to re-fucking-write Book 1 so they could nut collectively over Drake Walker earlier)

• Why were we required to dress down in Texas for these assholes when they couldn't even bother to dig up their Sunday best for this ball??? Oh right, they're Walkers. Hypocrisy runs in the family.

• Good thing is you can choose to banish Leona if you want. She's angry about it for a second then accepts it and leaves. But like what is the point of banishing her when she hardly even bothers to come there in the first place? She's not going to be bawling her eyeballs out saying "boohoo, they threw me out of this country that I spent like five minutes in and never even wanted to visit in the first place".

• Bianca is present at the end of Chapter 18 mainly to deliver to us a plot point at the very last minute: a clue about where we could find proof about Queen Eleanor's murder. Bianca mentions conversations Jackson had with her, and a secret room somewhere. Her leaving the palace and abandoning her children is addressed, and the MC gets to berate her. It's...short.

• Why this important piece of information was given to Bianca when idk LEO could have pitched in and spoken about it, no one knows. Oh wait. I keep forgetting. Bianca is Drake's mother. That's why.

• Okay so Amalas valiantly found out about Leona's involvement in this and gave us tangible proof via photographs. But we're kiiiinda forgetting that the scrutiny and privacy invasions were happening even before we hauled ass to Walker Ranch? Who was responsible for those? Who was the "source" that the Chapter 17 paparazzo was referring to, the one that mentioned they would triple the price for more photos of the Queen/Mother of the Heir (Coz like why would she do that. She's already broke)? How did Amalas come by this information so easily and why was she really that invested? Why is no one asking these questions? Why isn't the group asking these questions? Why are they stupid. Jesus, they're all so stupid. HOW ARE YOU SO STUPID, SQUAD.

• Shortly after they get rid of Leona and Bianca, the rest of the group give the happy couple a choice of toys for the nursery - and that's our final nursery purchase. You can either go for the corgi - which is on brand for the series by now I think - or the lion, which is seen as very Cordonian.

• More party shenanigans. We're nice to Kiara for another half-second. Kiara arranges a photoshoot for us. The team can't pretend to give a fuck anymore about its fans so they will ask us to pay for an edit that I've seen millions of edit-creators in the fandom do wayyyy better. Like let's be honest - compare the engagement shoot pics (messy as they were) to the shoots we eventually got this book. You can see the difference. You can tell which one required more work.

• Anyway, if you choose this scene you wind up going back to the ballroom, dance with your spouse, aaaaand it's time for another diamond option. This time your spouse gives you something you've been craving (mousse parfait for the Liam MC, chocolate chip cookies for the Hana MC, handmade chocolates for the Maxwell MC and a choice between bacon and a veg version of it for the Drake MC. Damn, team TRR. Your favouritism is showing). The couple also writes a letter to the baby that the child can read growing up, in a bit of a parallel to Eleanor's letter to Liam that we see at the end of the chapter.

• After this, Liam reveals he has been pondering over what Bianca said, and wants to find out where they could find that secret room. Cue Liam's own flashback scene for free. Godfrey bringing to Queen the same goblet that the RoE MC found in a flea market in Book 2 for Regina (or perhaps just a similarish one). Liam and Eleanor reciting a rhyme that turns out to have clues for the secret room.

• To give the team credit, they seem to have (finally) put some thought into this. Like this actually feels like Liam's scene. Not one that delivers information about his family but is really about another character. They seem to incorporate all the things Eleanor seemed to be known for - things that were hardly addressed in the books when it came to talk of her. She is shown with a love for books given that books and poetry form an important part of the clues she leaves for Liam. One of the books is about foraging, which is unsurprising considering her love for gardens that was established in Book 1 of TRR.

• So...like...nice job but why was practically everything about Eleanor (including the way she'd stand up to Constantine, her displeasure at the sound of Godfrey and Bartie's names, her nature that Liam not only inherited but also learned) left only for your finale? Why no buildup? Why was I seeing you lot constantly pandering to Drake's family the entire time? Why do I know way, way more about Jackson than I do about Eleanor whose story this WAS? Why is she and her son suddenly getting this burst of attention at the tail end??

• They still manage to push young!Drake into a scene focusing on Liam and Eleanor, so we can see how Eleanor's teaching of how to be a responsible royal began to make inroads into Liam's way of thinking. It's the ultimate irony, that Liam took his mother's advice so much to heart that he lets Drake stay in his home, eat his food, and complain about those dastardly nobles to his heart's content for free.

Poor Eleanor in her grave is like

• Very fitting, how Constantine's proposal to Eleanor happens in the hedge maze, very much like Liam's first declaration of love in Book 1.

• If you're married to Liam, you get an extra letter that's addressed to Liam's future wife. She clearly knew her days were to be numbered by the time she gave birth to that second child at least.

• Lmao @ how the team somehow managed to remember that Eleanor would have been Leo's stepmother too. He's mentioned a couple of times. They didn't have enough time to develop a sprite for young!Leo but somehow had all the time and resources to make one for young!Savannah who had literally no purpose in Drake's flashback scene? Hmm. Hmm.

• They somehow manage to find the twin to the RoE MC's gifted goblet that Godfrey gave Eleanor the night she died, and Liam reveals that he's been obsessed with poisons enough to know that it wasn't the drink that was poisoned, it was the cup itself. Everyone is shook.

• Love that extra little detail about Liam's obsession with learning about poisons and how it's a sign of how deeply Eleanor's death affected him. But tell me honestly if you remember this plot point coming up even once before in any significant way. Even during the one time a person is poisoned in the previous book (by the laws of karma, the victim in this instance is Godfrey's only daughter) Liam shows very few signs of this "obsession". At a time when he has also lost a father. Convenient how something that could have added more depth to Liam is kept aside until there's a scene where his knowledge is required. Convenient indeed.

• I kind of understand why Liam acts on impulse, okay. The man just discovered who murdered his mum, at least some amount of irrationality is allowed (esp considering he hardly got to express ANYTHING when his goddamn father died). But you'd think Liam's friends would hold him back and help him think this through? Convince him that there are more effective ways to confront and get a confession out of Godfrey who after is in charge of security at the moment? You seriously think charging into the ballroom and suddenly stripping this man of his titles is going to actually work??? You couldn't figure out how to make him vulnerable instead so that he wouldn't be able to escape???

• I mean like, sure, one could always rationalize it all as "well see Lizzy, they needed a dramatic end to this story and they needed to wrap this mystery up quick". But there were other ways they could have spread it out than make it all sound so...so random. And you bet we all know why the narrative had to scramble around last minute to solve this. It's because we spend half the damn book in a dilapidated ranch with a shit family!

• Anyway, Godfrey escapes...and the MC tells her spouse that she's going into labour after...two contractions? Um. Okay.

• So. That ends Book 1 of this new series. And with it my QTs, for this series at least. My QTs for Book 1 (the OG, not the rewrite) might continue, but I'd need to repeat my failplay again because I lost most of those screenshots 😭

General Thoughts on the Book:

• So far, this is what I can see as happening in the next book:

- The birth, obviously

- Any extra perks from our purchases (ie. the nursery and the garden)

- Subplots involving the LIs' conflicts regarding parenthood and their own childhoods

- The mystery behind Eleanor's death isn't quite over yet, nor is the truth behind the constant paparazzi presence in TRH. Leona was the scapegoat this time around, but how did Amalas get all this information so quickly?

- Where is Eleanor's other child? Olivia's investigations may or may not lead to that answer. I'm pretty sure Jin might be involved as well.

- Another possibility is that Madeleine may give us important information since she was potentially aware that Eleanor was pregnant at the time.

- The mystery behind Jackson's death and what he knew regarding Eleanor's condition.

- What part did Bartie Sr have to play in all this? How involved was Constantine in the murder (if in fact he was)? What more dark secrets will we learn about Constantine, Godfrey and Bartie Sr during this time? What ultimately caused the breakdown in Constantine and Jackson's relationship, since Drake mentions Jackson being around when Regina was Queen as well?

- Speaking of Regina, how involved was she in any of this? We know she was Godfrey's cousin-in-law and Bartie Sr made a comment on her during the announcement about the heir, and that she married Constantine a couple years after Eleanor's death, but was she aware of any of this or was she largely out of the major plot and brought in later to cement Godfrey's position and power?

- I'd mention the possibility that Lorelai could know something, but they didn't really give anyone connected to Hana any time at all, so I have my doubts.

- Operation Swan, and possibly a visit to Monterisso. Liam's younger sibling must be in one of these places but my guess is on Monterisso.

- I'm guessing the team will write a nice wedding for Penelope and Ezekiel next book, while Kiara continues to get scraps from the same team.

- Drake and Olivia will continue to eat into the plot. Madeleine will join this unholy trinity as well because they've set the stage for her to have plenty of angst.

With that over, these were my thoughts once this book was finished:

WHERE ARE THE DUCHESSES?

Remember how, back in Book 3, we all marvelled at the number of women in this country who were in positions of power? Adeleide and Emmeline were powerful duchesses while their husbands were secondary figures, and Joelle though married into a noble family is an influential artist and - according to Liam - the embodiment of King Fabian's values. It seemed like, despite the underlying sexism and racism in the story, women were at least at the forefront of Cordonian politics.

This is virtually gone in TRH1. Godfrey (who wasn't even interested in Krona in the first place, much less Cordonia) and Landon (whose only concern seemed to be Penelope, leaving Emmeline to manage the duchy) have a seat in the Council. In fact we never even see either of these woman in the book. I can maybe understand the logic behind not appointing Adeleide, but the fact that Emmeline is passed over for her far-less -qualified husband is a mystery to me!

Also, has anyone noticed how white-male-centered the whole Eleanor story is? Notice how we never see Eleanor's friends, besides Jackson? We never see any of the courtly ladies of that era? She's the Queen. She'd have her own court. I find it impossible that Eleanor would have no interactions of importance among her own goddamned court, that Joelle, Emmeline or Adeleide wouldn't even be mentioned in her story thus far. It's fascinating that forget being part of her story - these women are largely forgotten in the book itself.

(Note: It's also important to add that none of Kiara's family - besides Zeke - makes an appearance this book. At all. One member of Penelope's family and one member of Madeleine's family is in the council, but we never really see or hear anything from Kiara's, even though Hakim was Constantine's old friend and Joelle could have easily been connected to Eleanor, given that Eleanor was exactly the kind of ruler Joelle would have loved and respected.

While we're on that subject, Lorelai could have been connected to Eleanor as well - considering that we know next to nothing about her years in Shanghai. There were ways Hana's story could have been tied into the overall plot as well that were largely ignored. The fact that both the main and secondary WOCs presented opportunities for better plot and story, and despite that they were largely ignored in the books...I think that says a lot. But I will get into more of that in detail in a different section).

LI SPACE AND STORY

• Now...as we all know, The TRR/TRH series is primarily a romance-focused book first, with an underlying plot about royalty and politics. So it makes sense to evaluate the book based on what it gives its love interests. That includes the number of scenes they get, and the kind of focus their story is given. So...here's the rundown of how that goes in TRH Book 1:

Liam: Overall, not too bad. He gets one individual scene, a free and paywalled childhood scene (though the free one is essential for the group's realization of who killed Eleanor). The letter his mother writes to Liam includes an extra section towards the end, meant for the MC who marries him. However, we must note that a lot of this "attention" was thrust into the very final chapter of this book, and 99% of the same book didn't exactly make an attempt to explore his inner thoughts on anything - his mother's death, the dealings with the foreign countries, his political activities. Eleanor being pregnant came from a scene that made Olivia the center of attention, the MC had the opportunity to ask him how he was feeling only once or twice, and most of the time the narrative relegated it all to "the matter is still being investigated". It's a slight improvement from the absolute lack of concern the MC and the narrative showed about Liam's emotional state post his father's death in Book 3, but not much.

Variations wise, the team did step up on the basic ones for most of the LIs, so clearly we've moved past the days of seeing cut-paste scenes and the likes of Liam and Hana saying "I'm so dumb in love with you". However, in playthroughs where the MC is Liam's wife and Queen of Cordonia, her lack of genuine concern for her country and lack of curiosity about the place she's ruling, sticks out like a sore thumb. The fandom loves to highlight how the plot is "written for Liam" or is "easier in Liam's playthrough", but besides his own child being the heir, nothing else from Book 3 onwards seems like it was particularly written with him in mind.

Drake: Hoo boy. So 2019 was clearly the year that many people didn't believe me about Drake eating up space, and the year they had to eat their words because in TRH it was too obvious to be ignored. On an overall scale you cannot avoid the extra perks even his LI scenes got - his Valtoria scene in Chapter 4 was longer, set in a different place and he was allowed to expand on his decision to say yes to Liam's request in a way Hana and Maxwell never were. We learned way more about his familial relationships and dynamics than all the LIs combined. His childhood scene was the first to be given variants depending on whether the MC was his wife or not. His sister's wedding takes up almost half the book, leaving little to no space for either the intrigue, or even the pregnancy that was supposed to be THE most important part of the book.

An insane amount of retconning was done to emphasize strongly on the "marshmallow" part of his personality, having him state time and again that for the MC he can even "sport a tutu if you said you had a thing for the Sugar Fairy". Part of these changes could be attributed to the backlash the team got for having him call a pink cake "girly".

There is a strong possibility that Jackson might be explored further in the second book, and it's no surprise considering that he's the one parent that is most talked about in the series. The book looks like it was truly written with Drake in mind, with a heavy dose of Olivia, and everyone else was added as a bit of an afterthought.

Maxwell: Pretty awful treatment for a character that the head writer of the team claims to like. He has no individual character scenes, and one childhood scene where his older brother Bertrand is given more focus. Ironically, Maxwell was more wary of Bartie Sr in TRR Book 2 than Bertrand was, but somehow they changed this little detail so that Maxwell could be written out of his own story.

His LI scenes were also not given much effort - some were badly written, and some scenes (like the free ones) showed little to no variations between the friendly and romantic playthroughs. One that comes to mind is the baby announcement photoshoot, which was so poorly done it added nothing of value to the character or the relationship.

Like the last book, Maxwell isn't allowed much development in TRH1, and he's still forced into a largely "court jester" role in the story. This reflects very poorly on him in certain situations, such as the chapter where we finally get glimpses of his book. The aim was to be humourous and light about the events of the series, but he comes out of it sounding thoroughly insensitive towards his friends, none of whose consent he took to write this self-centered pile of garbage.

However, there is hope that they might do things a bit better for him next book, if the rewrite of him in TRR 2.0 was anything to go by. However, it would be awful if they tried to do a better job of him and then left out Hana. Speaking of which...

Hana: I'm going to begin this section with a comparison to another character, someone who should have been treated as a secondary character - Olivia.

Olivia in this book has 2 character scenes (they're very plot driven, but they also explore her outside of her friendship with the MC and dynamic with the group). The spy scene with Auvernese royalty, and the scene with Jin, the Auvernese spy. An entire chapter is spent in her duchy (by now we've seen Lythikos four times and I'm now sick of the place), and she winds up taking over Maxwell's Q&A scene as well.

So that's technically 2.5 scenes AND a childhood scene that revolves around her even though it's about Liam's mother. In addition to this, Olivia also gets her own mini-book, The Royal Holiday, that revolves (again) around her duchy and has the group clamouring to give her attention when no one else wants to.

Here are the stats for Hana, who by virtue of being an LI, is also a potential co-protagonist in the series:

Nothing.

Zilch. Zip. Zero. Nada. Nothing.

She has one childhood scene that is part of the group's scenes - a beautiful, heartbreaking one that serves as a slap in the face to anyone who'd dared to be dismissive of what she went through earlier - but none after that, and no individual scenes either. The team - in one of their most offensive choices this book - force a storyline where she has fertility issues just so the MC can be the one carrying the child, and the same MC can opt(!!) to ask about her well-being after two days. The same MC has the chance to whine about not getting pregnant soon enough in front of Hana.

There have been a few efforts made to make the MC appear more caring towards Hana: she can angrily defend Hana against Isabella's jibes, and she can make Hana relax for once during the baby shower (unlike the wedding reception where the same MC treated her like a bridesmaid). The MC even gets to tell her wife that she should never consider herself secondary or unimportant.

All of these are nice, but at the end of the day they're all scraps. I'd equate it to how we're allowed to give Kiara compliments on the final two chapters, but the white women around her still get a far bigger chunk of space, story and attention dedicated to them. The team have a pattern of adding these tiny tidbits that will temporarily satisfy stans while still maintaining the status quo, and that's precisely what's happening here. Its important for us to understand this. Underneath all this surface concern and all these scraps, Hana is still getting dust in place of actual story and characterization. And given that they made ZERO major changes to Hana's scenes in TRR 2.0, I'm not expecting that to change.

As for the book in general...I don't have to go into why this book is a mess, do I? We all know. We've all witnessed how disproportionate the writing has been and while I'm glad more and more people recognize what I've been seeing since Book 3, it's sad that it took 9 whole chapters in Walker Ranch for so many to understand exactly how much space Drake has been eating up for no good reason.

BLACK HOLES AND WHITE TEARS

I'll begin this section by talking about Drake Walker. He's the most prominent sign of the larger problem.

Drake Walker is what I call a Black Hole LI. And yes I mean black hole as in the one that exists in space (Beckett from TE also fits into this category). He is the kind of LI that sucks up everything. Love. Light. Joy. Common sense. Other characters' spaces.

He is the kind of love interest that will have Liam's traumatic experience centered around him. The kind of love interest for whose problems - largely created by his mammoth ego - we have to resolve in Shanghai, the home of the lone female LI. While that same female LI gets nothing, and then disappears in a subsequent chapter. The kind of love interest whose love confession can take precedence even over the MC's own issues (remember the Beaumont House chapter in Book 1? The one that took place the day after Tariq nonconsensually kissed the MC? 98% of the dialogue revolved around Drake's feelings. Not about the faulty lock, not the possibility that the MC's security had been tampered with - Drake's feelings). The kind of love interest that was given an entire extra wedding and artwork for his mother in Book 3 itself - none of which were given to any other LI.

A Black Hole LI is totally the kind of LI that would get 9 whole chapters in their home while we have never even visited the homes of the others since the early books of the previous series.

This wasn't something that began just this book. It's been a constant since Book 2, and you can even see signs of his story gaining way more importance in Book 1. It's also not something we can - in all honesty - blame simply on finances and fan popularity: the writers confirmed Drake to be one of their favourites, and attempts to give his scenes additional perks (eg plot elements pushed into both the Whiskey scene and the Beaumont Office scene) happened long before they could make any conclusions about his popularity. I bought the Beaumont Office scene to find out more about that family. I bought the Marshmallow scene so I could find out more about Liam and Hana's conversation post Coronation (remember - Hana was never even allowed to speak about her return to Cordonia because that scene was given to Drake). I bought the Italian Restaurant scene to learn more about Liam's assassination. The funny thing about all these three is that these were their stories to tell, yet Drake is the focus. Quite a few of Drake's initial scenes sold because the team consistently made the effort, consistently ensured that the information from his scenes would benefit us in the long run. The narrative allowed for Drake to have his own story, and additionally let aspects of his story overshadow that of the other LIs' (see the examples I've given above). Even though he has very little of value to contribute to the larger story (no job, his friendships are shallower than a wash-basin, and no genuine communication with any commoner in the story - only endless whining).

The treatment Drake gets that no other LI does, is a problem in itself, but it also is a small part of an even bigger issue. He isn't the only white character who gets this sort of attention and detail to his story.

Take Olivia, for example. Started out as a rival to the MC, before her sad sad childhood and her genuine love for Liam was revealed in the Book 1 finale. Over the course of the story, her role changed from petty rival to Warrior Duchess to reluctant bff. Over the course of the original series, Olivia became one of the most prominent characters in the story, on par with the male LIs. I'm not sure how many people realize that Lythikos is the ONLY duchy in the kingdom we've seen thrice (four times if you count Holiday). To give you an idea of how big a deal that is, here's how many times we've visited other duchies besides the capital and Applewood:

Fydelia - 2

Portavira - 1

Castelserraillian - 1

Ramsford (the home of our sponsors!) - 1

Hana's mother's home - Never.

Lythikos has a detailed familial and cultural history, and I wouldn't be lying if I said we know more about this one region than we know about the entire country of Cordonia. And honestly for me, the obsession with this one duchy has reached saturation point. Lythikos is not Cordonia. Lythikos is not all there is to Cordonia or even the only place that should matter. Yet it seems the team is more than eager to flog that horse until there's nothing of interest left.

Olivia is the only character who gets an entire mini book that revolves around comforting her and making her feel better about her background and origins. I don't think we've ever given Hana this much attention when she left her home for us. Or when she was being bullied by Madeleine. Or when she was the other bride in that grand wedding. Or when we received the news that carrying a child to term would be dangerous for her body. Or --

We were given an entire mini-book to comfort Olivia - the woman who continued to call Hana "damaged goods" and " a failure" for not marrying a man, while Hana's friend/wife stood by and watched. The woman who didn't have to think twice before making snide remarks about an equally skilled courtier who never did her any harm, only because she could get away with it. Istg when I heard that most of the court snubbed her during that first event in Holiday, this was my reaction:

Like girl I feel bad for you but at least now you know how it feels to be held responsible for shit beyond your control!

Hana, in the meantime, is forced time and again into situations that would break most people - but with very little payoff. Her arc with her parents was given a resolution that confirmed that Hana could only be considered worthy if she was useful. She was made to interact time and again with the woman who harmed her with such glee in Book 2. The MC - as a friend or as a wife - is at best neglectful of her issues and at worst someone who uses and discards Hana as she sees fit. And now...in her romantic playthrough she's given a storyline that doesn't allow her to bear children easily, and the MC spends less than two minutes to actually check on her. Hana is one of the co-protagonists, yet a side character given the treatment she should be getting. One could technically blame finances for the way she's being treated too, but keep in mind that the bad treatment goes as far back as the Applewood chapters in Book 1. Technically a time when she was bringing in money.

I get it. Olivia is a fan favourite. Many in the fandom wanted her to be an LI, the writers didn't, so they carved out this middle path where she'd have a major portion of the story anyway. But keep in mind that a lot of this attention came - and is still coming - at the cost of Hana. The team pretty much gave Olivia what they'd been refusing to give Hana all along.

On a smaller scale, you see similar patterns with the secondary characters - especially the women of the court. Madeleine and Penelope had elaborate backstories designed to make people forgive and sympathize with them, and Kiara - even though her backstory in Book 1 was inherently tragic and deserved to be handled sensitively - was given validation with great reluctance from the team, and with no consequences if we treated her cruelly. Even now, the team has only tossed Kiara a couple of scraps in the final chapter, while already setting the stage for Madeleine to get her own tragic "patriotism" arc for TRH Book 2, and a possible wedding for Penelope in the near future.

The difference here doesn't just lie in who gets attention and who doesn't. It lies in how the MC is supposed to view these women as well. A lot more sympathy and understanding is automatically extended to the white women, and the MC faces consequences if she fails to acknowledge their pain. Far less sympathy is offered by default to the black and the Asian woman - the MC may be friends with Hana but a huge chunk of their relationship is mostly about the MC benefiting from Hana's skills without giving much in return.

Even though their misdeeds are acknowledged and spoken about, both Madeleine and Penelope are written in such a way that the problems they're currently facing matter more than anything they've ever done in the past. Hana is made to sweet-talk Madeleine despite being bullied by her in a previous book. The MC herself never gets ANY opportunity to directly address what Penelope put her through in Portavira, because what the MC went through matters less than Penelope's condition.

Compare this to the relatively small scale of Kiara's "misdeed" (being honest about not continuing with an alliance - I'm surprised people think this is an actual thing to be offended about!), and the way the MC is allowed to mistreat her sans consequences afterwards. We're even allowed to call Kiara a snob in the books - which isn't at all true if you look at any of her scenes in canon - and constantly make fun of her desire to learn (in fact, if anyone in the series could be called a snob, it would be Olivia). If I were to sum up how a woman of colour is spoken about in the books, vs a white woman - this screenshot would do the trick:

(Notice how none of the options to speak about Penelope allow us to speak rudely of her, yet in Kiara's case we're allowed to make judgements on her as a person. In Hana's case, while we don't exactly drag her the way we can drag Kiara - we get precious few opportunities to actually defend or support her when others talk rubbish about her).

When you explore the series overall, it's impossible to ignore the casual racism that makes disrespecting people of a certain race/colour easier than on another. It's impossible not to see where the narrative chooses to give consequences to an MC who treats a white woman badly, and where it allows the very same MC to suspect, and then (optionally) gaslight, a woman of colour a couple chapters later. It's impossible not to see which people are meant to be respected despite their bad behaviour, and which people can still be treated badly despite their better behaviour. It's impossible not to see a pattern emerging.

This is not even a problem that plagues only the TRR series. From TCaTF to ACOR to Platinum to even MoTY, there is an ongoing pattern of discrepancies between the way white people and people of colour - particularly women - are treated. Many POC characters are placed in situations where it's easier for them to suffer/die/be shown disrespect, than it is to show them kindness or mercy. MOC are regularly either exoticized (Prince Hamid is the most glaring example of this) or placed in very traumatic situations for which the payoff isn't always going to be that great (I know this happens to Dallas, but I don't know about the payoff for Syphax).

WOC particularly suffer quite a bit in a lot of PB novels, in comparison to their white counterparts. Rowan Thorne of TCaTF, as a character, didn't deserve for her death to be made easier than her survival (in contrast to Diavolos, who was given far more opportunities AND will live simply by virtue of allying with Kenna), any more than Kiara deserved to be interrogated by the people who should have been concerned for her safety or Xanthe deserved to be shipped to slavery. All this, while a Vanessa (who is in a position of power and who plays an active role in rendering the MOTY MC financially helpless) gets a diamond scene where she "explains" her situation and a Madeleine doesn't even have to hear about her bullying from her victims.

The fandom, too, has contributed to this on a number of occasions. Speaking specifically of TRR, how many times have we seen Hana being dragged on Olivia posts? (also, if we were really measuring Olivia by the impossible standards that we held for Hana's characterization, Olivia would appear pretty damn one-note too: after all, 80% of her characterization consists of knife jokes). How many times was Hana being looked at with disdain for either her niceness or the poor writing for her, while the same fandom would regularly coo over a nice-presenting Penelope (whose characterization is one of the most inconsistent in the series)? How many times have we seen Kiara being called a creep/obsessed for merely looking at a man, while almost no one judges Olivia for kissing a man without his consent? How many times have people forgiven a traitorous Penelope and hated on a far more innocent Kiara in the same breath? How often did the fandom hate on Liam for accepting the MC's advances after she rejected him, yet not say a word when Drake did the same thing? How many times has Maxwell been loved for his humour and childlike nature while people of colour with a similar personality (Lily from Bloodbound, for example) were hated on instantly? Clearly, there have been more instances of people in the fandom sympathizing automatically with the white character, than with characters of colour. Time and again, brown and black characters - particularly women - have been required to match up to impossible standards (if they're nice they're boring. If they don't like the MC they're <insert every gendered sexist insult you can think of here>). The standards are far more relaxed for white characters, and they're often given more breathing room and to most of what they want without the constant judgement that black and brown women get. The standards set up for both are grossly different.

Racism is a beast that assumes many forms - and not all forms of racism will appear obvious to some, especially when such stereotypes are so normalized in media and popular fiction that we almost accept it at first. Almost. To get to the root of why there's such an imbalance in this series - among others - we need to first acknowledge the sexism and racism that are such a vital part of its narrative, and that its fandom regularly buys into and (sometimes unwittingly) promotes.

At this point, it's important to understand that having queer characters or characters of colour simply exist in the books isn't enough. Token rep can be found in PB's books by the dozens, but at the end of the day it means nothing if there is a constant reluctance, over and over and over, to treat those characters with the same care and sensitivity that they treat their white ones (or their "exoticized brown" ones).

• Like I mentioned earlier, I won't be playing TRH from this point forward, but I do hope to finish my TRR QTs soon. I have a LOT of thoughts! If you'd like to be tagged on those, do tell me!

[i-am-a-closet-fanfic-fiend]

Queer Eye for the Cap Guy ~ Part 8

A/N: Hi my lovelies. Happy Valentine’s Day! So we’ve reached the end of this story. I have two more bonus scenes coming at some point but I’m not sure when. But this is the end of the main story. Thank you all for all of your support during this story. I can’t wait to share more stories with you! 

Summary:  The Fab Five watch Steve’s dinner party and retirement party. 

Rating: T

Warnings; Language, feels, not much else 

Word Count: 2763 

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

(image from google) 

Carpe Posterum ~ Seize the Future 

“Antoni, henny, what delicious treat did you make for us today?” Jonathan asked as he leaned on the counter in the loft.  

“Chocolate mousse with chocolate from the best shop in Brooklyn with fresh whipped cream.”

“Yummy.”

“It’s time to check in with our favorite Avenger,” Bobby announced excitedly.  

“Are we ready?” Karamo asked as he grabbed the remote.

“Yasss!”

They settled themselves on the couch and started Steve’s reveal.

Steve stood in front of his mirror still in the white Henley, pondering what to wear.

“He is so gorgeous,” Jonathan gushed.

“Oh my gosh, yes,” Karamo agreed.

Steve finally settled on a light blue Henley over dark jeans, with a pair of brown boots.

“Tan, do you approve?”

“It’s a bit more casual than I’d want, but honestly this is such a huge step up from what he was doing. I’m happy.”

“Plus these are like his closest friends. I think he looks comfortable,” Bobby added.

“Agreed.

Steve pulled the iron man apron over his head with a chuckle and tossed a tea towel over his shoulder as he prepared the lasagna.

Everything was ready only moments before his doorbell rang.

“Oh. My. God.”

Y/n was the first to react, jaw dropping to the floor as she scanned him up and down, settling on his neatly trimmed beard.

“You look amazing.”

“Come on in. Take a good look at the Fab Five’s handiwork.”

“Holy shit,” Bucky swore as they piled into the building. “You almost look presentable.”

Despite the jab, Bucky was beaming at his best friend.

“You look great, man.”

“Come on, give us a twirl.”

Steve did a slow turn with his arms out so they could see the whole look.

“Umm, y/n definitely just checked out his butt.”

“Who could blame her, henny?”          

They each hugged him in turn, but Steve didn’t let go of y/n. Opting instead to keep her tucked into his side. She didn’t mind in the least.

“Are you ready to see the place?”

“Hell yes!”

As expected, Sam and Bucky were immediately enthralled with garage and the state of the art home gym. Y/n, however, was much more taken with the first floor of the living space.

“It’s so light and open. I love it.”

“I do too.”

Bucky gave Steve a watery smile when he sat in the wingback chair.

“Thank you for that by the way.”

“My pleasure. But I don’t think we’ll both fit anymore.”

“No, I don’t think so,” Steve hummed. “But that’s why we have this great sectional.”

“Can we just talk about the fact that he has not let go of Y/n once since she came in.”

“I’m sensing a love connection.”

“It seems reciprocated at least.”

“Oh 100%. She is so sweet. And you can tell how much she cares about him.”

“Same with him. He would go completely soft talking about her. He always smiled when he talked about her.”

“Hopefully, he’ll make a move.”

 “How did the week go?” Natasha asked as she perched on the back of the sectional after they’d finished the quick tour of the upstairs.

“It was different than what I expected,” Steve admitted.

“What did you expect?” Bucky asked.  

“I guess I thought it would be more of a passive experience. Like I thought they would just tell me what to wear, or how I should style my hair. I didn’t expect it to be a conversation. That was really nice.”

“So you feel like you had a say in all of the decisions?”

He nodded his agreement.

“Definitely. And I haven’t felt this in control of my life in probably ever. And now it feels like I can, you know, maybe enjoy retirement.”

They all smiled, and y/n patted his thigh.

“We’re so happy to hear you say that.”

“Does that mean we’re forgiven for nominating you for the show?” Sam joked.

“I was never all that mad, so I’m not sure forgiveness is necessary, but my gratitude certainly is. Thank you. All of you for caring enough to do this. I love you all, and I haven't told you that nearly enough.”

“We love you too, punk.” Bucky clapped him on the shoulder and pulled him into him.

“So Antoni actually managed to teach you how to cook?” Natasha asked, warily eyeing the lasagna which looked too good to be true.

“Yes, he did.”

“But he didn’t help you make this?” Sam clarified.

“Nope. Did it all my own.”

“Yeah, you did! Like a champ,” Antoni cheered.

Y/n quickly cut a bite and forked it into her mouth to shut them up, burning her tongue in the process.

“Ouch.” She muffled a curse in her water glass.

“You okay, doll?”

She coughed, thumping her chest.

“Yeah, I’m good. It’s just very hot. It’s delicious though. Antoni taught you well.”

Steve preened.

“Look how proud he is!”

“Well it helps that it’s coming from her too.”

“She really is so lovely.”

As the others dug in, adding their surprised by honest praise, Steve and Y/n shared a look.

“Ack. Look at the secret smile!”

After dinner, Sam and Bucky raced to the basketball court to settle their latest ridiculous argument and Natasha busied herself with the dartboard. Steve knew they were trying to help him out subtly – well not so subtly – since all of them winked super exaggeratedly.

“That is how you wingman,” Karamo announced.

“I can take care of those, y/n,” Steve argued as y/n started soaping up the dishes.

“Please,” she waved him off. “You cooked. I can clean up. Dinner was delicious by the way, Steve. Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome. But seriously, just let those soak,” he insisted, reaching around her at the sink to turn off the water. “I have a surprise for you.”

“Oh?”

Her voice rose in excitement as she turned, still trapped between him and the sink (not that she was complaining). He grinned down at her.

“The tension is seriously killing me.”

“I have not rooted for two people to kiss so much since Mia Thermopolis was about to be crowned Queen of Genovia and totally didn’t need a husband, but had that hunky Chris Pine ready to be her prince. And let’s be real, who doesn’t want to kiss Chris Pine.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Tan teased as Jonathan sat back pleased with his reference.

“Yep, I made a special dessert all for you.”

“Really?” Her eyes lit up at the prospect.

“Yeah, Antoni taught me. Gave me a foolproof recipe for your favorite. It’s only got two ingredients and none of the equipment plugs in.”

“Steve, did you make me chocolate mousse?”

He shrugged and gestured toward the island.

“Have a seat.”

She hopped onto the comfortable bar stool, crossing her legs as she watched him rummage around in the fridge.

 “She looks like she wants to eat him up,” Jonathan guffawed.

“The quickest way to my heart is through food, so I’m not surprised.”

“Get it, girl.”

 Steve emerged victorious with two extra large martini glasses filled with chocolate mousse and a canister of fresh whipped cream.

 “Umm, bonus points for presentation!” Antoni cheered, bouncing up and down on the couch.

“Wait you didn’t tell him to do that?” Karamo asked.

“No. I just taught him how to make it.”

Karamo was visibly impressed as were the others.

“You go, Steven! Slay that presentation.”

 “Well it certainly looks nice. Here’s hoping it’s edible,” she teased, taking the spoon he offered her.

He waited impatiently for her to taste it, and when her eyes slid shut he lit up.

“Oh my god, this is amazing. It tastes like those little elephant chocolates you get for me every Christmas. Only like it’s a cloud. Is this really only two ingredients?”

“Yep.”

“What are they chocolate and magic?” she giggled.

“Something like that. So you like?”

“Delicious.” She reached for him, pulling him to her side of the island leaving her hand in his. “And it’s really sweet that you learned to make it just for me. You know this may earn you the title of favorite super soldier.”

“You mean that’s not already a given? I’m wounded.”

“Don’t be annoying,” she glared up at him.  

He pretended to zip his lips and throw away the key.

“Much better.”

They enjoyed their mousse in a comfortable silence, which she finally broke a few minutes later.

“I’m really proud of you for doing this you know. It was really brave.”

“I would never have done it without you guys nominating me,” he admitted in a quiet voice.

Y/n reached out for both of his hands, pulling him to stand directly in front of her.

“That may be true, but you are the most stubborn person I know.”

His brow furrowed in confusion.

“Thank you?”

“My point,” she giggled, “Is that if you really didn’t want this, it wouldn’t have mattered how we begged or pleaded with you. You would not have done it, or you would have stonewalled them. The fact that you opened up, means you put in the work. You chose to be happy. And I’m so proud of you.”

His cheeks tinged pink ever so slightly.

“Thank you for everything, y/n. You’ve always been there for me. When I came out of the ice. When I was looking for Bucky and throughout the Accords debacle. I don’t know where I’d be without you.”

“The feeling is mutual.”

“And Bobby told me about you getting the photos from the Smithsonian. That must have taken you ages.”

She dropped her eyes to their intertwined hands.  

“It was nothing.”

He let go of one of her hands so he could lift her chin.

“It is everything,” he murmured, cupping her cheek.

Leaning down, he gently kissed her, fully intending to pull back after a moment. He was not expecting her to wrap an arm around his neck and pull him closer.  

The Fab five quickly paused the video and celebrated.

“Yes!”

“Finally!”

“Well done, Steven.”

When they continued, the edit politely cut away from the couple and directly to the next day. Steve was once again in his room getting ready, only this time his outfit was the tux.

“Tan, I am completely in love with that tuxedo.”

“It’s the perfect color for him.”

“His eyes are so blue. Oh I could just lose myself all day in those oceans.”

“He looks so sharp. And you know he’s going to stand out.”

“And he should. This night is all about him.”

The cheer from the crowd was deafening when he stepped off the elevator. Steve’s cheeks tinged pink, but his confident gait didn’t falter.

“Looking good, Rogers. You might even be able to get the girl after all of this,” Tony smirked, eyeing Y/n who was waiting patiently by the bar.

“Maybe I will,” Steve smirked.

“You look happy, Cap. I’m glad,” he added in a more serious tone.

The two men hugged, and Steve continued his circuit of the room.

Thor complimented his hair and beard, and Bruce loved his tuxedo. The rest of the guests clamored for their moment to speak with him. Finally, Natasha was able to cut in and lead him to the one place he’d been trying to get to all night. Y/n.

“Hey, handsome.”

“Hi, beautiful.”

He leaned down for a lingering kiss before leaning on the bar next to her.

“How are you doing?”

He took a deep breath and swayed his head side to side.

“Pretty good. This is pretty tame for Tony.”

“Nat and I had final say on the guest list,” Y/n reported proudly.  

“You’re welcome by the way,” Nat smirked at him.

“Thank you, both.”

Bucky and Sam were practically falling over themselves laughing as they joined them.

“What trouble are you getting up too?”  

“Nothing, doll,” Bucky promised.

“We just saw Tony sputtering because he saw you two kiss.”

“He did tell me I might get the girl at the end of the night.”

“Little did he know,” Sam grinned.

Steve bounced back and forth between different groups for much of the evening. Often Y/n would accompany him, but sometimes she would sit back and watch.

“They’re such a pretty couple.”

“I love them.”

About halfway through the party, Tony took the stage.

“Good evening, everyone. Thank you so much for coming out tonight to celebrate the retirement of the one and only Captain America. Steve Rogers. Now, before we hear from the man himself, I’d like to say a few words. Steve, I know that we didn’t get off to the best of starts, but throughout our ups and downs you have never wavered in your commitment to helping people. The world is a much safer and better place because of you. You may be moving on from the Avengers, but you’ll always have a home here. Thank you for your service. And happy retirement. Everyone please raise your glass, to Steve Rogers.”

The room raised their glasses and toasted him, and Steve teared up.

“Now, I think we would all like to hear from Steve. So, Captain Rogers, please come on up.”

Y/n squeezed his hand as he approached the stage, hugging Tony tightly.

“Thank you, Tony.”

“You’re welcome, Capsicle.”

Steve snorted and clapped him on the back as they traded places. He took a deep breath before starting.

“Hi, everyone. Thank you all for coming. And thank you, Tony for hosting this retirement party. I don’t think it will come as a surprise to many people here that I didn’t really ever think that something like this was in my future. But while I will always be here to fight when I’m needed, it’s time for me to lay down the shield.”

The room was silent as he spoke. Plenty of people in the room had been on the receiving end of Steve’s motivational speeches, but few had ever heard him talk about himself.

“He is so composed,” Karamo complimented as Steve continued his speech.

“This was not an easy decision. And part of the reason for that is because I felt like I was failing everyone by giving up the shield. And to be honest, I had no idea what to do with myself if I wasn’t fighting. But I’ve spent this past week with five fabulous men who have helped me find a future. They also showed me that I am more the Captain America. But I’ve also realized that Captain America is bigger than I am. The world deserves and needs a symbol of hop. And I’m so very proud to say that that is exactly what will be happening. I am officially passing my shield onto the only man who could take it on. Sam Wilson. Sam, please come up here.”

The room erupted in shock both on the television and in the loft.

“Oh my God.”

“Did anyone know he was planning this?” Antoni asked.  

“No.” They all chorused.

Sam approached the stage with his head held high as the others overcame their shock and started cheering. Steve held out a hand to help him up, and Sam couldn’t help but smile as he remembered the first day they met.

“The floor is yours, Captain.”

They hugged fiercely before Steve stepped back, literally and figuratively.

“Hi, everyone. I’m going to keep this short. Steve, I just want to say thank you for trusting me. The shield has absolutely been a symbol of hope for me. But the shield would be nothing without your heart and your goodness. I will do my very best to carry on your legacy. Thank you.”

“Let’s hear it for Captain America,” Bucky yelled from the back of the room, grinning like a fool.

Everyone cheered as Sam and Steve came down off the stage, and Sam was engulfed by well-wishers.

Steve was beaming as he made his way to Y/n, Bucky, and Natasha.

“When did you make that decision?” Natasha asked as he grabbed a beer.

“It’s something I’ve been thinking about for a while, but talking to Karamo made me realize that it wasn’t I was Captain America or there was no Captain America. There was another option.”  

 Eventually the party goers wandered out and only the team was left. Steve smiled as he held his hand out for Y/n, leading her to the dance floor where they lost themselves in each other, swaying to the soft music.

“Aww yay.”

“He looks so happy.”

“Uggh. Can we toast our Steve?”

“Yes.”

“To Steve Rogers.”

“And his future.”

The Fab Five raised their glasses.

~~~~~~

A/n:  So that’s it. I hope you enjoyed this story. I really loved being able to delve into Steve’s character. As I said there’s two more short things coming eventually. So keep an eye out. And stay tuned for updates to other WIPs and some new content! 

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[jane-the-zombie]

Is that a Police? I’m Calling the Weed! || Ulfric, Celeste, & Jane

TIMING: Roughly Three Weeks Ago PARTIES: @big-bad-ulf, @celestelavie, @jane-the-zombie SUMMARY: With the Bennett home trashed, Detective Wu has a few questions lined up for the owner of the truck that was seen outside their home that night. 

The case should have been simple, but Jane was admittedly not happy to add on yet another missing persons case into her ever growing pile of them. White Crest was an enigma - a small town that surely meant to be a bore, which was exactly what Sergeant Kelley had wanted when he transferred her here. Except it wasn’t. The unexplained phenomenons that continuously occurred in this town soon made her realize that zombies were the least of her problems. At least this case had a lead. The Bennett residence trashed beyond repair with the residents missing - not great. But a neighbor had seen a truck outside that night and actually identified plate numbers. Ulfric Haakonsson. Owner of Ink Inc. Willingly came down to the station to have a “quick chat” with her. Jane led him to one of the spare rooms. “Mr. Haakonsson, thank you for joining me today,” she said, politely. “I just have a few questions for you, and then we can get you on your way. How does that sound?”

Ulfric hadn’t given much thought to human law when he’d agreed to help Ariana hide her tracks. Pack law, the law of his nature, had taken precedence, the impulse to remove the girl from the path of danger immediately overshadowing consideration of any long term risks. So when he received the call from Officer Wu to come in for a chat he was disappointed, but not surprised. As isolated as the former Bennett residence was, it had only been a matter of time before someone found the mess that had been left behind there and started asking questions. He’d just hoped that with so many other strange goings-on in White Crest the WCPD would’ve been distracted and given him little longer before those questions were directed his way. Since it sadly seemed that time was up, he had no choice but comply with Jane’s request, heading to the police station as soon as he closed up shop. There was no way he was going to be forced to leave another country because of the meddlesome mundane legal system. “Of course, Officer. That sounds fine. I’m guessing this is about the Bennetts,” He answered, deciding that being as open as possible was the safest approach. “I just want to do my part to clear things up, then you folks can get back to other matters more important to the safety of our town.”

He brought up the Bennetts almost immediately. Jane kept her face passive, and she hoped that this was either going to be easy or that things had actually ended well. Though, judging by the state of the house, she wasn’t sure how anything in that house could have ended well. “Why don’t we take a seat?” Jane nodded to the table and chairs set up, taking a seat herself. She stayed silent a moment, before leaning back in her chair to get a good look at him. He cut right to it, right to the chase. Jane appreciated that. That meant she could skip the lowball questions first - how long have you been in town, what do you do for a living, blah blah blah - but it also meant that this could end up being harder than she hoped. Could swing either way. Jane fought back a sigh. “How do you know the Bennetts, Mr. Haakonsson? Why do you think you need to be clearing things up?”

Ulfric pondered for a moment, it was sometimes hard for him to explain to himself what the Bennetts were to him, let alone to summarize it so it made sense to human company. It felt most accurate to describe Ariana as family, but with the WCPD resources it would be fairly easy to prove they weren’t actually related, and that would just dredge up more uncomfortable questions. So, the truth it was then, or at least the parts that were easily digestible. “Ariana, came into my shop for a tattoo after her eighteenth birthday. I met her sister shortly afterwards. We’re close friends.” If he didn’t specify which one he was friends with, it didn’t feel as dishonest and he just hoped Jane would assume he meant Celeste since most grown men didn’t have much in common with teenagers. “If you’ve found their old place, I can see how it could give off the impression that something bad happened to them and I just wanted to assure you that they’re not hurt, and never were.” And never will be, if he had any say on the matter.

He was silent a moment, and Jane settled back in her chair. Ulfric seemed to be quite cooperative, didn’t seem to want any trouble, and wasn’t showing signs of deception. Which was all well and good, but that didn’t tell her anything about the Bennetts or what happened in their home to make it look like a serious struggle took place. Jane’s eyes narrowed. They’re not hurt, and never were. “Their old place was found looking like a pretty bad fight took place, Mr. Haakonsson,” Jane said. She had the crime scene photos in the folder in front of her. “And your truck was seen outside the property shortly before it was found like that. Do you know where the Bennetts are, then?”

“They’re with me. Staying on my property, for the time being.” Ulfric answered succinctly, choosing to address the direct question over the statement, though his eyes did flicker momentarily to the folder one the table. It didn’t take a genius to guess what was in it, and he wondered for a moment if the police had already cleaned up the mess after they finished documenting it. It would be just his luck to go to such lengths to send a message only for it to be wiped from the slate before it reached its intended recipient. “I can’t be the only one who’s seen them safe and sound since then,” He continued after a beat, pulling his focus back on Jane. Surely property damage wouldn’t rank highly on WCPD’s list of worries if he could prove no one was hurt in the process. And there should’ve been plenty of evidence, since the Bennetts had been going about their normal lives as much as possible, even after they’d been supplied with glamours. “Someone must have seen Celeste serving at Al’s Diner. Or you could contact the high school, Ariana’s been going to classes.” He added to that effect. “I’m surprised you’re asking me about this before trying to reach them directly.”

“The issue at hand isn’t inherently about their whereabouts,” Jane said, easily. She leaned forward on the table, resting on her arms as she looked at him closely. It was curious that he would so openly admit to Celeste and Ariana staying with him. Something strange was going on, and Jane decided she didn’t like it. Either Ulfric was the cause of the giant disaster that the Bennet property was left in, or he was helping them hide from the thing that did. Disturbances like that didn’t just happen. It wasn’t like a knocked over lamp or something similar. Ulfric could have been playing her still though, simply telling her what seemed to be the truth where something much deeper could be going on. “We’re looking into it because the Bennett family, both Celeste and Ariana, seem to be in some type of trouble. What can you tell me about that?”

In the past, Celeste had never really had to think of the legal aspects of running away from a temporary home. They never remained in town long enough for there to be any repercussions for them. The last thing she had meant to happen was for Ulfric to get caught in some sort of legal trouble on their account. It seemed he had worked hard to build himself a life and a foundation in this town. Her own lack of foresight frustrated her when she’d received a text from Ulfric telling her he’d been called into the police station. She had told Al she had an emergency and rushed over to the station, still wearing her ridiculous 50’s style outfit. The front desk worker had pointed her in the right direction and she spotted Ulfric. She gave a wave as she approached the room they were in, lightly rapping on the door before entering. “I’m so sorry for any confusion here. I can assure you that both my sister and I are perfectly safe, in large part thanks to Ulfric here,” she explained hurriedly, “I’m Celeste Bennett in case that wasn’t entirely clear. I’m happy to answer any questions you may have, officer.”

Ulfric sat stumped for a moment, resting his elbows on the desk as he considered what to say. Officer Wu clearly wouldn’t stand for skirting the issue any longer, he’d have to give some kind of explanation for the trashed house, one that didn’t put him or the Bennetts under further scrutiny. If he told her the basic facts, that they were hiding from toxic family members who meant to do them harm, surely that would be understandable, even if the WCPD didn’t agree with the extent they’d gone to in order to maintain their cover. But then again, if Jane did believe that story, they might place them under protective surveillance which would only hinder their ability to take care of the hunters that plagued them permanently. Still, he was struggling to think of an alternative that sounded less incriminating, people didn’t usually cover their tracks because they had nothing to hide. Reluctantly, he huffed and opened his mouth to speak but promptly shut it when he heard the knocking on the door. He relaxed in his seat as Celeste entered. It seemed the ancestors were merciful, even in ensuring he’d seen that outfit previously so he didn’t laugh when it made an appearance in the middle of a police questioning. “I believe her word on this might be more valuable than mine,” he suggested to Jane, inclining his head towards the door. “Should I wait outside? These things are usually done separately, yes?”

Saved by the bell, it seemed. Jane stiffened slightly as someone interrupted, turning to snap at whatever idiot thought this was a good time to cut in, before she realized who it was and what she was wearing. Jane had only been to Al’s diner once, but she could recognize the gaudy uniforms anywhere. If this weren’t such a serious issue, Jane would say that her uniform was the true crime here. “Ms. Bennett?” Jane said, rising. She looked between Ulfric and Celeste, concern growing. If Haakonsson was forcing either Celeste or Ariana to do anything, there was nothing that she could do without Celeste directly complaining. But, perhaps, there was all a reasonable explanation for this after all. Jane looked between them one more time, naturally suspicious, but she finally just let out a low sigh and nodded. “If you wouldn’t mind, please,” Jane waited for Ulfric to exit, before she gestured the to the chair from where he had been sitting. “Ms. Bennett, I am Detective Jane Wu. I just have a few questions for you regarding the state of your home and supposed disappearance, if you wouldn’t mind.”

It should have occurred to Celeste that what worked when they were truly running away wouldn’t work if they actually stayed in town. At the time, she’d been so convinced her parents could arrive at any moment that it had to look like they’d left. It would buy them time, give them control of the situation. “Yes, that’s me,” she answered, “But you can call me Celeste.” She gave Ulfric a nod as he left the room. Her mind moved at a million miles a minute thinking of what believable story she could tell the detective. Most wouldn’t believe the real story. Even here, in a spot where the supernatural flocked, there were so many normal people just going about their lives none the wiser. The truth save the supernatural elements of it was probably the best way to go. She took the seat across from Jane, patting down the retro skirt as she did. Her features were etched with concern as she answered, “Yes, of course. What did you need to know, Detective?”

Jane let out a low sigh as she sank back down into her seat to begin her new line of questioning. Now that she was absolutely certain that Celeste and Ariana weren’t buried in a ditch somewhere there was only so much she could do. At least, she thought with a sigh, it wasn’t another missing persons case. It would be a shame for two young women to go missing in this town where those types of cases were hardly solved. Jane had a sneaking suspicion that most of those cases would never be solved because of the supernatural involvement. At least it was relief that Celeste and Ariana hadn’t been eaten by anything. “Well,” Jane said as patiently as she could manage. “You could start by explaining what happened to your home that left you to stay with Ulfric. If you please.”

Celeste should have expected an explanation would be wanted. There wasn’t really a satisfying one to give, but she could try. Leave out the bits about hunters and werewolves and it still sounded plausible, right? Did normal people have parents that spent the last fifteen years chasing them so they could kill them? Humans could be shiity parents, too, right? She’d read the news enough times to know as much to be true. Maybe vague was better. She placed her hands together in her lap, only realizing now how odd hands were. Did she just leave them there? Did it make her look suspicious? She let out a breath of air and explained, “There’s some people, they want to hurt my sister and I. We’ve been running from them a while. When the house, I assumed it was them and Ulfric offered us a safe place to stay so that Ariana could finish out the school year.” Vague, probably left her with more questions than answers, but believable.

Jane stiffened slightly at the honest answer, alarm crossing her features. “Someone is after you and your sister?” And they were hiding in little White Crest. Despite the mime problem and the supernatural issue (could it really be considered a problem? Another thought for another time, really, but something to think about), it was a small town. She didn’t know anything about the Bennetts other than what was in their file. Surely there wouldn’t be mob involvement with them - though, there were crazier things. “There are people after you?” Jane said, leaning forward on her arms. “Look, Celeste, I want to help you. Whoever is after you, you need to report them officially to the police. We can place you in police protection, and figure out a way to keep them away from you. Who is after you and why?”

Maybe that hadn’t been the right approach. Celeste wasn’t sure what she could say to dissuade the detective from pursuing this any further. She sighed, “Yes.” Not wanting to offer up more information than that. Detective Wu urged her to share more, allow the police to help and provide protection, but there was no reasonable way to explain this was a threat the police couldn’t help with. Her parents were well-connected enough that they’d find a way to get to her and Ariana. They’d been after them for fifteen years now and they weren’t stopping now. A small frown was on her face as she tried to explain, “I’m sorry, but this isn’t something the police can help with. Reporting them will just draw more attention to Ariana and myself.” She racked her brain for a way to explain this in a way that made sense. Her mind briefly drifted back to how Kaden’s girlfriend rationalized the wings thing. As a last resort, the wording of medical condition could actually come in handy.

There was nothing that Jane could do. In all technicality, there were no laws broken. Just suspicion of them having been broken, and upon looking into it, there were no complaining witnesses or victims or anything. Just information that some people are after me and my little sister. Vague words, and it was clear that Celeste wasn’t going to be giving her any specific information any time soon. The police, supposedly, couldn’t help. She had heard that before, and usually people who said things like that ended up dead, one way or another. But Jane could see that there was absolutely no way she could push Celeste into giving her anymore information. A shitty part of the job was that she couldn’t help anyone unless they wanted it, unless they gave her the means for it. Jane let out a low sigh. “I implore you to change your mind, Ms. Bennett, and let me help you and your little sister.” Jane stood, before she reached into her pocket and took out her business card. After a moment’s hesitation, she grabbed a pen, and quickly wrote something on the back of it, holding it out to her. “This is my card. It has my work line on it, and I’ve given you my personal cell-phone as well. Use it if you need anything, alright?”

Part of her felt guilty. This detective seemed like a good woman and Celeste wished she could turn to the police for help. The fact of the matter was, laws hadn’t stopped her parents in the past and they wouldn’t now. Jane wanted to help, but she feared there wasn’t much she could do. There was no evidence to hold against her parents and it would require giving her real name. It was too risky, no matter how trustworthy the detective seemed. Still, she said, “I’ll think about it.” She shifted in her seat to accept the card that Detective was giving her and tucked it into her apron. Celeste doubted she’d ever use it, but it was better to have it on hand. Just in case. She patted her apron back down and expressed, “Thank you, really.” She felt bad for the detective, but at least there’d be no legal implications for Ulfric. She looked back to Jane and asked, “Was I free to go then? I may or may not have a trainee covering my section at the diner.”

Think about it. Jane was trying her best to think of any reason that she could make Celeste stay, but there was truly nothing that she could do. With a low sigh, she stood and nodded, going to get the door for Celeste. “Of course, you’re free to go.” She stuck her head out, and nodded to Ulfric as well. “You too. Thank you both for coming in and answering my questions. Let me walk you both out.” And hopefully, Celeste would call her before it was too late.

[petitelepus]

Matchup for male killer please! Im a girl, bisexual because I believe love doesn't have a gender. Im very insecure about my looks . wears glasses, brown eyes/hair and quit a few scars on my body. My past was bad because I was always alone. I love animals more then humans because I get to deal with lots of people who are rude (retail) I'm shy at times but also open, Always try to do my best . Mostly people see me happy and cheerful but when Im alone I tend to feel sad and think about my past.ty!

Dear Anon. I read your request and felt my heart ache in pain. I related so hard to your past and your present life and I wanted to give you the best I could because sometimes we shy, sad, lonely people need someone to listen or a little thing made just for us.

I had my own mentor here on Tumblr who helped me and wrote couple things for me and when I talked to them I felt happy. There was someone who I could talk to without a fear and now I have many foreign friends who are at least a little bit as weird as I am.

So, if you want, you can always talk to me. All my friends live outside Finland save for my couple of childhood friends and I treasure all my foreign friends and try to be there for them or talk with them.

So dear Anon, I did not just Match you, I wrote you a Christmas present story. I admit that I DID NOT WANT IT TO BE THIS LONG, I JUST GOT REALLY INSPIRED. I hope you like it.

WARNINGS: DEATH, GORE, VIOLENCE, ROTTEN CORPSES, FLIES, FOUL ODORS, BLOOD. Oh, and the Art Belongs to @voorbees!

I match you with Jason Voorhees!

It has to be a work of fate for your new workplace to choose old Crystal lake to hold a short seminar for you workers to grow your teamwork and strengthen your bonds so you could be even more productive. The teams were assigned and everyone had their own couples chosen and even you got a teammate.

...But they aren’t interested in doing any work with you and instead of helping and working with you, they either skip in favor of smoking pot with other coworkers or if they do come to the work they push it all on you.

Putting up a tent? They leave you alone. Getting firewood? You’re left alone to get them from that scary spiderweb filled shed. The worst part may be how they get away with it by pleading to your kindness and how good a coworker you are. You may smile before them, but when you’re alone you grumble. You just want the trip to end and go home.

So when everyone is partying late at night at the huge campfire and blasting music, you’re inside your tent, buried inside your sleeping bag, just trying to pass the time as fast as possible. Someone enters the tent and you presume it’s your teammate coming to see if the tent was free so they could have some fun with your coworker...

When suddenly your sleeping bag was zipped shut and you screamed in shock, trying to open it but someone dragged the bag outside and suddenly you were hanging upside down. You try to scream for help but your voice isn’t loud enough to warn anyone from upcoming danger.

Soon the screams start and you’re scared shitless as you listen to familiar people screaming over the loud music. You’re struggling against your prison when suddenly the bottom opens and you fall out as your team member tries to get you to run with them.

So you run into the woods but you don’t get far when this huge man with a hockey mask that covers his face and a hatchet in hand cuts you two short

You’re both frozen in fear as this huge man stalks towards you and your coworker makes their decision and pushed you towards the approaching killer. Your body hits him and you’re sure you’re about to die, but instead of killing you right away, he pushes you aside and throws his hatchet straight into your coworker’s back and they hit the ground hard.

You choke on a scream and the killer walks over your coworker and tears the hatched from their back and hits them a couple of times as if confirming the kill. Then he turns and approaches you and you’re sure you’re dead. You cover your eyes, not wanting to see the hatchet, but to your shock, the killer picks you up and walks with you into the forest.

You too scared to actually scream, you just keep your eyes shut tight. His body was cool and wet to touch and there was a strong scent of blood’s iron in his clothes.

There is suddenly a loud creek and your eyes snap open and you see this wooden shack that’s door had scared you. The killer carries you inside and you’re placed on a bed. You immediately retreated against the wall and wrap your arms around yourself, trying to protect yourself.

The Killer just starest at you and then points at the bookshelf on the other side of the shed. You look at it. It’s obviously stolen from somwhere, possibly from the camp site. You turn to look at the killer fearfully, but he just points at the books. He must want you to look at them so you carefully get up and walk to the shelf.

You look at the old moldy books and pick up one to read and you’re surprised to see that it was actually a photo album. You glance at the killer but he just stares down at you so open up the album and take a look inside.

There are pictures of this deformed baby boy. Baby pictures, first words, first steps and so much more. You flipped through the whole book, thinking that there was a reason the killer had it. You went through maybe 7 photo albums, all from boy’s living years until the 8th book was only filled halfway.

The last picture was of the same boy, now 8 years old, and this woman in a blue knitted shirt and the boy had a yellow ‘Camp Crystal Lake’ T-shirt on and a huge smile on his deformed but pure face as he hugged the woman. Suddenly the picture falls from its place and you catch it and see there is writing on the back of the card.

‘Friday the 13th, Jason’s birthday at Camp Crystal Lake with mommy’

So the woman was the boy's mother. How come she wasn't in any other picture? Then you realized that she must have been the one taking all the pictures. Single parent perhaps?

Suddenly the killer reaches for an album and gives it to you. You put the picture on the shelf and take the album given to you before opening it and your eyes widened in shock.

It was absolutely filled with newspaper articles, all centered around Camp Crystal Lake.

‘Boys Drowns at Summer Camp!’

‘Counselors Ignored Children!’

‘Counselors Having Sex Instead Watching Children!’

‘Bullying Involved In Boy’s Drowning?’

You read further and landed on some kind of short note on pages of the album.

‘They bullied him and they let it happen! If they had been doing their job, my beloved Jason wouldn’t have drowned! I will get my revenge on them all!’

You flipped the page and saw the very same boy you had seen in the picture, being pronounced dead. Jason Voorhees, son of Pamela Voorhees. You feel your throat tighten and something wet landed on the paper article, smudging the old ink.

You blinked and brought your hand to your eye. You were crying and when you realized it you started crying even harder. This poor boy had drowned because of bullying and neglect and it hurt your heart.

But why the killer wanted you to see all these things?

You picked the photo with the little boy and his mother before you turned to look at the killer and showed him the picture.

“Th- this boy? I- is you yours?” You asked, thinking that perhaps the killer was Pamela’s husband or lover and Jason’s unnamed father.

The silent killer shook his head and slowly raised his hands over his face and even slower lifted the hockey mask from his face. You gasped and threw your hands over your mouth. The killer wasn’t Jason’s father.

He was Jason.

That was the last thing you knew before all the action of the day caught up with you and fatigue struck you down. When you finally started to wake up you noticed that you were on the shed’s bed with this old patchwork quilt pulled over you.

You look around, but Jason is nowhere to be seen. You ponder your chances and options. Run away and call the cops? Run away and forget this ever happened and start looking for a new job? No, you should alert the police, but for some reason, you didn’t feel like any of those things were the right choices.

You kinda knew how Jason felt. You have both been hurt badly when you were both young. He was bullied mercilessly which lead to his death and you were left alone to fend yourself. The two of you weren’t that different perhaps and maybe that’s why Jason saved you last night.

There is a polite knock on the door before it opened and Jason walked inside. You looked at him like deer in headlights and watched as he disregarded a bag that smelt strongly like blood. You looked at the bag in horror, but before your imagination could go wild, Jason gave you a heavy backpack.

You looked at the bag in wonder and then at Jason.

“Is this for me?”

He nodded and you nodded back, carefully pulling the bag’s zippers open and you were taken aback by what you saw. Food, like so much food and bubbly sodas. Protein bars, sandwiches, candy, energy drinks, and some good old Coca Cola, Fanta, and Pepsi.

You felt your stomach grumble and you blushed. You hadn’t realized how hungry you were until now. So you opened a sandwich package and ate it in a manner of minutes. God, you were thirsty also. When you were done eating and drinking you felt stronger and more like yourself again.

Jason made it look like no one had come there. You don’t know how, but you guess this isn’t the first time he has killed. You thanked Jason and the man seemed to brighten up a little, but you had to have the conversation with him.

“Jason... Thank you for sparing me yesterday. I don’t know how to thank you enough for saving my life.”

You take a breath and look at him.

“But I can’t stay here. I- I have a life and...” You quieted down. You didn’t know what to say. You could continue living as you were, but what kind of a life that would be?

You have both been hurt badly when you were both younger. He was bullied mercilessly which lead to his death and you were left alone to fend yourself.

Jason suddenly got up and offered his huge hand to you. You blinked, still a little fearful of him, and placed your hand on his. He grabbed the backpack before taking you outside and started to slowly lead you somewhere. You had absolutely no idea where you were, you so deep into the forest that you couldn’t tell which way the lake or the camp was.

While you were walking, you noticed that a lot of little birds would land on Jason’s shoulders despite the fact that he wasn’t even standing still. He stopped out of blue and you looked at him in confusion and he looked at you and pointed to the side. You followed his gaze and you couldn’t believe what you saw.

A baby deer with its mother. You were about to burst in pure adoration. One of the forest’s shyest creatures so close to you! Jason raised his hand and the deers immediately walked up to him and you watched in awe how Jason could pet them.

He turned to look at you and carefully pulled you closer to him and placed your hand in front of the baby deer’s mouth. The little thing sniffed your hand shyly and when it gave you a lick you almost died of cuteness.

Jason beckoned the deers to stay and you were able to pet the baby and even the mother from your heart’s desire. A bird even landed on your shoulder and allowed you to scratch it a little bit.

Jason must have had some kind of special connection to Crystal Lake because it was like how he was one with nature. Animals showed no fear before him and accepted him as their own... and now Jason was offering the same deal to you.

After petting animals from deers to squirrels you continued following Jason until you reached a... A comfy looking cabin? You looked at the cabin in confusion when Jason pulled you to the glass screen doors and slid it open and you were hit by this horrid smell of rotting and thousands of flies flying out of the door and past you!

You coughed and gagged, covering your mouth with your sleeve. Jason didn’t seem to be affected by the smell but you needed a moment before you could move. When you are a little better, he leads you inside and you freeze on the spot.

There in two rocking chairs were sitting an elder couple, obviously dead, and by the smell and the state of their rotting corpses they had been dead for a while.

You flinch and quickly yank your hand off from Jason’s and took distance from him.

“Y- you killed them?” You asked frightenedly but Jason shook his head and pointed at the bodies. You looked and saw that there weren’t any signs that evidence that they were murdered. They probably slept away together.

You relaxed immediately when you were sure that they died in natural causes. Jason walked to the desk and you watched him go through a drawer and gave you a phone.

Phone! Where was yours? You quickly patted down your clothes and realize that it must have been lost when Jason started killing. Huh. Suddenly you weren’t as sad over your coworkers’ demise. You took the phone and looked at Jason in confusion and he pointed at the corpses one last time before giving you the backpack and leaving.

You watched from the open screen doors how he disappeared into the forest and when he was gone, you dialed 911. While you were waiting for help to arrive, you pondered what you were going to tell them.

When the police and paramedics came you were interrogated. You told them you were a hiker who had gotten lost and found the house and the corpses inside when you were searching for someone with a phone after losing yours.

You even presented your backpack full of goodies as evidence that you weren’t lying. The police believed you and offered to drive you back to the city and you accepted. The funny thing? You didn’t even mention Camp Crystal Lake.

After contacting the elder couple’s family to pay respect, they told you that the house was the elder couple’s summer house and the family didn’t want to keep the cabin. So they gave you a very generous offer to buy the cabin from their family.

They even told you that there was heat and running water so you could live with all the city’s comforts in a cabin in the woods. The son of the elder couple even offered you a job from home as a thank you for finding his parents and letting them get a proper funeral.

You took the offer.

You moved out of the city next month and made yourself comfortable in the cabin. You threw all the elder couple’s furniture away and decorated as you pleased.

A month went past when you suddenly heard knocking in the middle of the night and went to inspect with your baseball bat. It was Jason, he was back and you let him in without a question.

While he took in the way you decorated you made tea for both of you, but Jason didn’t drink. You smiled awkwardly and moved your hand over his that rested on his thigh.

“Jason, I... I can’t believe this. My life turned so much better after meeting you. It’s like... It’s like...?”

He had planned it. Jason knew about the couple, he knew if he gave you the backpack you would appear like a lost hiker. He showed you his past. He got you to accept him and honestly? It might just have been a blessing in disguise.

The two of you work out a way to live together as neighbors, friends, symbiosis, and maybe... Something greater than those.

Jason kills and punishes the trespassers and any other foolish asshole who dares to come to Crystal Lake but if he sees a tortured soul who reminds him of himself and you, he lets chases them to your cabin where you let them call help.

Some call the police and tell what happened, how a maniac with a machete killed everyone, and how they were the only survivor. Fools, you thought. They were left alive purely because Jason chose to let them live and now they were taking it for granted.

Police would question your side of the story and you usually told that the survivor came running into your cabin, shouting nonsense and being hysteric. They would demand police to follow them to their campsite and show them what had happened...

But Jason had the skill to make any evidence disappear. Bodies, cars, and anything that could connect the survivor to the camp and lake. Police would take the survivor away and that would be the last time you heard from them.

Those who showed gratefulness and saw that they were saved? They would stay a couple of days in your cabin and at night Jason would bring their stuff to you and you would next day call them a cab and tell them to take care of themselves. You hear from them sometimes, maybe a call or a postcard. You show them to Jason and he always gets a little happy for them.

Jason and you work together and spend time together when neither of you are working and you show him all the pleasures of the 20th century. He loves cartoons and it’s ironic but he has to hold your hand if you’re watching a horror movie.

He won't eat, but he enjoys watching you cook. He likes all the scented candles you light up during dark nights as the two of you sit on the couch and enjoy each other’s company and when the winter comes, Jason actually moves to your guest room so he doesn’t have to spend the winter in his cabin.

He moved his mother’s albums to your house, but you keep them hidden in a wall behind the painting so no one can find them and connect you to Jason’s murders.

Overall, your life is pretty sweet with him and the two of you are talking about adopting a puppy.

[artificialqueens]

Makes Me Wonder (Biadore)- Ortega

a/n: hey hey! happy holidays. i thought i’d write a lil somethin to get me back into the swing of writing since i’ve had a couple months off. it’s an idea i’ve had running around my head for a good good while, at least a year, and now it’s finally down so pls let me know what you think! this is set within the Just the Game We’re In universe but can absolutely be read standalone. title from the song of the same name by Ella Mai which really sums up what this fic is all about (issa vibe). is it too early for a new years’ eve fic? have it anyway, ya filthy animals xo

summary: Adore is a civil service comms girl in a government department who’s meant to be out with her friends. Bianca is the director of communications for the entire country’s government about twenty ranks above her who has no plans for the night other than getting the Prime Minister out of trouble. Tonight, they’re two women sharing a bottle of prosecco in an office high above the city on the last night of the year.

***

It’s eleven at night, and the glass frontage of the offices makes all the darkness flood in. Too high for the reach of the streetlamps, Bianca can see the tiny twinkly lights of the city below in the distance. From the position of the building most of London’s landmarks are hidden from view: the Eye, St Paul’s Cathedral, she knows that the Houses of Parliament are on the other side of the building, not that she’d want to see them. Bianca doesn’t mind. She became disillusioned with London in 2008, when she was presented with her third Prime Minister that didn’t have a clue what he was doing and it slowly dawned on her that maybe all you needed to get ahead in politics was a dick and a Ted Baker suit. Or to be a dick in a Ted Baker suit.

And now here she is running after yet another enormous man-child, pre-emptively doing a mop-up job that she knows she will be tasked with when government returns in the New Year. She knows that a supposedly off-the-record journalist ambushed him at a New Years’ Eve party about an hour ago, asked him something about immigration figures that if he didn’t know sober he’d know even less after six sherries, so Bianca knows that all the papers will be primed to really go in on that subject next time they have a chance. She needs a file, she knows exactly the one- a huge blue lever arch with all the figures needed to sound like the government expert on immigration. It would’ve helped if the actual government expert on immigration was in the country, but the Secretary of State for the Department of Social Affairs and Citizenship (or DoSac, as those in Westminster called it) Sharon Needles is still in Spain with her family and her wife, coincidentally the second government expert on immigration by proxy. Bianca shakes her head derisively as she makes her way to the lightswitch. What the hell is Sharon thinking, swanning off on holiday at a time like this? Alaska’s no better, she knows there’s going to be an election in Scotland in six months’ time and whether they give a shit or not they still have to make the party seem likeable down in London and that’s her job as an MP. Bianca had heard it all from Sharon, “it’s Christmas for Christ’s sake Bianca, I’m not asking for a week in Amsterdam during a reshuffle”, and she likes the fucking woman so she’d let her, but one of her parting comments still stings, “I don’t think you got enough cuddles as a child”. Bianca had wanted to snap at her that her childhood had been fine, it was her adulthood she needed to worry about. She brings her thumb up to her palm and touches the bottom of the fourth finger on her left hand self-consciously. It’s been…God, twelve years now. There can’t still be a dent. Perhaps Bianca is imagining it.

Bianca imagines a lot of things.

Blinking as if to hit refresh on her mind, she flicks the lightswitch and is surprised when she hears a thud and an “owch” come from underneath one of the desks in the department. Narrowing her eyes, she casts a glance over the huge room. There are Willam and Courtney’s desks, both with photos of them at Sharon and Alaska’s wedding on each. Blair’s is chaotically tidy, piles and piles of documents that Bianca knows all have their place. Violet’s and Jinkx’s, both neat and orderly, and then Bianca’s gaze sweeps quickly over Trixie and Katya’s desks to come to rest on a huge pair of hazel eyes blinking at her with wide-eyed surprise. Bianca is disarmed, only able to blink back at her in a way she hopes is intimidating and not intimidated.

“Bianca!” Adore gasps, sounding shocked as she rises from behind her desk. This reveals a black sparkly lace and velvet dress with beads and sequins threaded all over it, so much so that it looks as if Adore is dressed in the night sky. Bianca elects not to speak, scared in case she tries and nothing comes out. She maintains her stare instead. Adore’s red lips, set in an O of surprise, start to move. “Fuck, I’m sorry…I was out in my heels and never had flats with me and I knew I had my work boots under my desk so I just got an uber here and the place was still open and, uh…yeah. Sorry for saying fuck.”

Bianca cracks a small smile as Adore scrunches her straight dark hair in her hands at the scalp, an embarrassed smile on her own face which turns into an awkward bite of her lip. She’s beautiful. Bianca’s always thought so, in the same way she can admire a bouquet of flowers or a sunset or a member of the opposition getting absolutely annihilated in a debate. Adore is beautiful, and that’s just a fact. Nothing more. It doesn’t need to be anything more than that.

Bianca sometimes wonders, though.

“Uh, how come you’re here? Busiest woman in Westminster, you don’t have, like…some sort of New Years’ Eve party with the Prime Minister and all the cabinet and…stuff?” Adore concludes  sheepishly, scuffing her foot across the floor in a way Bianca wishes she didn’t find so charming. For her part, Bianca narrows her eyes.

“For your information, I’m trying to find a file,” she rolls her eyes, walking past the comms girl and trying not to inhale too much of the perfume she’s wearing that smells all too much of candyfloss and jellybeans. It shouldn’t smell as nice as it does.

“Government secrets. You’re gonna kill someone,” Adore nodded, following Bianca over to the filing cabinet, crossing her arms and resting them on the top.

“You, if I’m lucky,” Bianca keeps up pretences and pretends that Adore is too young, too silly and idiotic to be worthy of her time. It’s a dance they’ve been doing since Adore started as an intern for Darienne Lake back in the day, back when the whole thing had some integrity and Bianca genuinely held more contempt for Adore than a smear of shit on her shoe and Adore presumably thought Bianca’s entire personality was modelled on Meryl Streep in The Devil Wears Prada. It’s more than that now though. Bianca knows it, Adore knows it. It’s been more than that for a while. Years, definitely. How many, Bianca doesn’t know. Certainly since Adore had been dating that journalist Laila McQueen who ended up breaking her heart and very nearly brought the department down with all the secrets Adore had inadvertently leaked to her. Since Adore had found love in a new relationship with a girl from the hospital coffee shop, when Adore had been telling the rest of the civil service girls about her and had stopped when she caught sight of Bianca walking in, her excited face faltering only a little. It’s definitely been since Bianca, exhausted and caught off guard by a stressful day that happened to fall on an all too painful date (Bianca touches her ring finger again) allowed her shoulders to slump and a tear to fall from her face in an empty room in the DoSac offices. Adore had entered the glass-fronted office, uttered Bianca’s name gently, crossed the room to face her. She’d wordlessly caught the tear with an impossibly gentle acrylic-nailed finger and it had disappeared from her face as if Adore was a magician. Then she’d left, returning with a cup of hot coffee and a touch of Bianca’s hand and vanishing from the empty office as if she’d never been there.

Bianca wonders if it would’ve been easier if she hadn’t been.

“What’s your plan for tonight, anyway? Westminster’s number one Amy Winehouse tribute act,” Bianca continues, frowning as the lever arch file isn’t in the place it should be. She slams shut one drawer and tries the next one down.

“Number one! Fuck, that’s high praise from you. I’m sure you said Courtney was, like, the number fifteen Kylie Minogue tribute,” Bianca hears the smile in Adore’s voice, internally yells at herself as loud as her mind will allow that this is not, not, not flirting.

“Only because I’m hoping you decide to really commit to the gig and overdose over the holidays and I won’t have to see you eating all the croissants meant for Sharon day after day next year,” Bianca raises her eyebrows at her. Completely nukes any hint of anything playful. But of course Adore bulldozes that idea immediately with a huge snort of laughter and a smile that exposes her beautiful teeth, impossibly white given all the smoking she does.

“Huh. So you do notice me,” she ponders, her voice small and tinged with a dangerous hint of curiosity.

“Hard not to with that hideous vocal fry. Helluhhhh, you’re through to Dosac commmmmms?” Bianca mocks, drawing her voice out and allowing herself a grin at the way Adore’s face lights up in a self-deprecating laugh. Bianca, for a moment, truly believes the whole room gets brighter.  

“I’m out with the girls,” Adore explains on the tail end of a laugh, finally answering her question. “You’re not having much luck with that file.”

“Listen, Wednesday fucking Addams! Enough sass from you, alright? I can still sack you, holidays or no holidays,” Bianca snaps, not meaning a single word of it. She can practically hear the smug smile of disbelief on Adore’s face. She looks up and sure enough, there it is. “What the fuck’s that look for? You look like the cat that got the cream then ate the shit.”

Adore shrugs lightly. “I just don’t think you’d ever sack me, that’s all. You’re too nice.”

Bianca is knocked for six by the compliment. For a moment, forgets how to react. She straightens up and tries the shelves for the file. “You’ve seen me fire about ten people since you started working here, you’re clearly an idiot with a horrendous judge of character or you’ve got early-onset dementia.”

Adore laughs. “I think I’m both. Although you’re in the dementia pit with me, sister.”

“How fucking dare you, I’m forty two. I’m reporting you for ageism,” Bianca snarls at her, but they both know she doesn’t mean it. Adore shrugs, stretching out against the wall.

“All I’m saying is, I think you’re forgetting I’m one of the only people in the country who’s ever got a Bianca Del Rio apology.”

Bianca shakes her head, tries to ignore how good her name sounds in Adore’s mouth. She remembers that day, remembers it well- absolutely ripping through Adore because she made a mistake and watching her tear up, spending the day being eaten up with regret and then sheepishly going to say sorry at the end of it all, watching her bashful expression become mirrored on Adore’s face as the girl had told her not to worry about it and that these things happen. Bianca looks again at Adore, the playful and lighthearted expression on her face now one of trepidation. Bianca knows what she’s thinking, and she’s wondering if she’s taken the whole thing too far. So Bianca does the only thing she can do at this point in the conversation and turns danger to derision.

“How’s being out with the girls working out for you?”

Adore puffs out a load of air, twirls an end of her long hair around her finger. “Not too well because there’s an old woman with alzheimer’s that I have to look after who’s wandering around the office muttering obscenities at me and searching for a piece of very important government information.”

Adore notes Bianca’s unamused expression and hollers out a laugh, Bianca unable to hold hers in any longer either. Smiling, Adore continues. “At least, that’s what I’ll tell the girls when they ask me why I’m late.”

Bianca sighs, shakes her head in disbelief. “Adore, I’m not going to shout at you if you want to leave. You got what you came here for, so-”

“Oh, I mean, yeah, of course. But winding up my boss’ boss is just as fun, actually is more fun, than sitting in a crowded pub with my friends yelling in my ear because the twelve men out on their Christmas piss-up are singing Fairytale of New York loud enough that their lungs are gonna pop, so…” Adore trailed off, punctuating her sentence with a shrug. She pauses a second. “Hey, what does that file look like?”

“It’s lever arch…blue, really full, probably has bits of paper sticking out of it…Christ, this is the most boring conversation I’ve ever had,” Bianca rubs her face with her hands and forgets there’s makeup on it. Adore laughs, scans the room, then immediately marches over to Courtney’s desk, moves some paper aside and returns with exactly what Bianca had described. Bianca, for her part, is stunned.

“How in the hell did you-”

“Sometimes sitting doing fuck all all day has its uses. Court took the file to update online Census data before she went off for her holidays, tried to get ahead on her work for coming back. I remember ‘cuz she asked me for a cup of tea to get her through it,” Adore smiles, her brazen confidence hidden under a shy smile. Bianca takes it from her and thanks her, regret tingeing her voice as she realises this leaves neither of them with an excuse to be in each others’ company any more.

“You know,” Adore drops into conversation nonchalantly, just as Bianca is about to cut her losses and say goodbye. “If I leave now I probably won’t get an Uber in time for the countdown, and if I do the girls’ll have probably moved on, and, like, the city’s gonna be mobbed…and, uh, there’s a bottle of prosecco that Trixie won in the raffle that she put in the fridge and never took home. So, like, if you want, we could just, uh…have, like, a…”

Bianca tries so, so hard to ignore the way her heart is soaring like a helium balloon. “See in the New Year with a bottle of fizz and a better view of London than half the city’s going to get?” Don’t sound too enthusiastic. “Well, looks like I’ve not got much better to do.”

Bianca doesn’t miss the triumphant smile Adore shoots her way as she dashes off to the tiny office kitchen to grab the promised alcohol. Left to awkwardly shuffle her feet, Bianca decides to cross the office and open the door to the meeting room. The city lights immediately flood her vision as she perches gingerly on the desk in the middle of the room, foregoing the uncomfortable office chairs. As she sits and waits, her mind races in time with her heart. It’s not a big deal, stop reading too much into it. It’s a New Years’ Eve drink with a coworker, people do that all the time at this time of year. Except Bianca knows it’s different, because Adore is not her coworker. She’s her inferior in every way- wage, status, power, everything probably except kindness of heart and beauty. Don’t think about Adore’s beauty.

All of a sudden the office goes dark, as dark as it can with the bright lights and the big city underneath it, and Adore softly pads into the room a few seconds later with two mugs, a bottle, and an excitable grin on her face. “Okay, now it’s actually like we’re in a London Eye pod. Don’t you think?”

“I think the London Eye has proper champagne flutes,” Bianca quips witheringly, hoping it disguises the fact that her heart is beating nearly out of her chest because it’s dark, and it’s New Year’s Eve, and it’s magical, and for now they’re two women drinking prosecco together with no prior agenda or obstacles.

Adore holds out one mug to Bianca. It says “Don’t talk to me until I’ve had my second morning coffee!” and for a moment Bianca wants to burst into hysterical laughter at the ridiculousness of it all. She doesn’t. Instead she smiles slightly as Adore pours the fizz into the mug with all the skill of a toddler, watches as the bubbles climb up to the rim of the porcelain until Bianca has to jump in and inhale them away.

“Wish!” Adore beams excitedly, and Bianca, hunched over the mug, launches her a quizzical look. Adore is patient with her. “You caught the bubbles. Now you make a wish.”

Bianca briefly rolls her eyes, but obediently she squeezes her eyes shut. Wishes for something wildly illogical and fanciful because it wouldn’t be a wish if it wasn’t. Bianca can set goals and achieve them, she’s been doing it all her life. Wishing for something she could easily make come true on her own is a waste of a wish. When she opens her eyes she finds Adore grinning at her moronically.

“What did you wish for?”

Bianca sips a bit more of the bubbles, as if to strengthen the wish. “If I told you that it wouldn’t come true, would it? Is that not how wishes work? Or did they change the contract?”

Adore raises her eyebrows at the woman long-sufferingly, pouring enough prosecco into her own glass that the bubbles spill over and land on her sparkly dress, a splash more constellations added to the night sky. She sips at the popping and fizzing froth on the top of the mug, locks her eyes with Bianca. “I guess we’ll need to wait before we get an answer to that, won’t we?”

Bianca coughs, fixes her eyes on a particularly glittery set of buildings in the distance. She doesn’t tear her eyes away from them as she speaks again. “Where’s, uh. Are you not meant to be with your girlfriend tonight or something?”

“You’re pretty fuckin’ out of the loop. Me ‘n Aja’ve been done since before Christmas,” Adore replies, her voice light but her tone dead, and Bianca wants to leap from the building.

“Fuck, sorry. I never knew.”

She hears a snort from beside her. Adore’s looking at the table and smiling. “Shit. Now I got two sorrys from Bianca Del Rio, fuck knows what I’ll do with all of those. Open a shop?”

Bianca humours her and laughs back in lieu of making a silly quip, she’s loath to make things worse than she already has. Adore looks back out of the window and Bianca looks at her, the view better than anything behind that pane of glass.

“We didn’t know what the hell we were doing. Either of us,” Adore continues. The city lights are reflected in her eyes, dark and beautiful and capable of making Bianca say things she might regret. “Suddenly it got to two years and we both, like…died laughing at the thought of being ready to settle down any time soon. She’d kissed other girls. I’d slept with somebody else. Just to…fuck, I don’t know. Like, I wondered if I was actually in love, wondered what it was all meant to feel like. Wondered if I’d feel anything before, during, after.”

Bianca is taking this all in her stride despite the fact her mind is moving about the same rate as Adore’s lips and with each new revelation there is something new to get her head around. She somehow coughs up a question. “And did you?”

Adore laughs completely humourlessly. It doesn’t suit her. “Good question, girl. I’ll come back to you when I have an answer that makes any fuckin’ sense to you. Right now I don’t even have one that makes sense to me.”

Bianca crosses her legs and is deep in thought. She doesn’t know if she ever had Adore pinned as the type to cheat on a girlfriend, then immediately thinks she is silly to consider such an action as being attributed to a type of person. You can never really ever know a human, and with each new day someone can surprise you with the mundane or underwhelm with a revelation. Still, she reminds herself, she thought she’d known…

Never mind.

Point is, nothing shocks or fazes her any more. She considers herself an expert in human nature simply by following one simple rule; never assume.

“You probably think I’m an awful fuckin’ person now.”

Bianca turns and looks at Adore as if the eye contact will answer her question without having to say anything. This already doesn’t seem sufficient to either her or Adore, so Bianca follows it up anyway. “You honestly might as well do whatever the fuck you want in life, Adore. Half the world’s out there doing that already and not giving a single shit about the consequences.”

Adore narrows her eyes at her, quirks a smile that doesn’t quite meet her lips. “That’s a very…world weary answer.”  

“I’m a very world weary woman,” Bianca sips her prosecco. It tastes absolutely fucking horrible out of a mug. Her mind must have been playing tricks on her, as Adore seems to shift closer to her until she is right bang next to her sitting on top of the table. There is no space between them- no hands, no cups, no air, and the sheer possibility and risk of it all makes Bianca shiver.

“I think you’re a very complex woman,” Adore murmurs delicately. Bianca doesn’t dare meet her eyes, instead electing to look down at where the hem of Adore’s dress meets her black tights with a small ladder. “I would kill to read some form of, like…autobiography.”

Bianca laughs, reaches out and starts fiddling with a small sequin on Adore’s dress in spite of herself. “It would be a very fucking short autobiography. I was born, I grew up, I got this job, I died. The end. Four pages at most. Five including a contents page.”

“There’s more to you than that.”

“No there isn’t.”

Bianca feels Adore tense up beside her, is frightened into dropping the hem of her dress and to stop picking at the stitching. She’s an idiot who went too far and got caught up in the night and has probably ruined the poor girl’s dress. Adore speaks. “People’ve told me that you used to wear a wedding ring, and now you don’t.”

Now it’s Bianca’s turn to tense up, and she does her best to give Adore a run for her money. Freezes in place so quick it puts her in mind of a childhood game of musical statues. Adore recoils quickly as if she’s been burned; Bianca is a sparkler she’s let linger in her hands for too long. It becomes a game of who will break the silence first. Adore wins. Or loses. Bianca supposes there are no winners in this conversation.

“Bianca, I’m sorry,” she whispers, closes the gap again and touches her hand. She seems to have second thoughts and removes it again, and Bianca wants to curl her fingers around Adore’s and not let go. “Shit, fuck, this was so above my station…I’m so sorry, Bianca, honestly-”

Bianca can feel the woman getting stressed out next to her. She never thought she’d be referring to Adore as a woman, but there’s a first for everything. She looks grown up and confident and self-assured with her dark hair (she got rid of the blonde and Bianca thinks it suits her), her perfect red lipstick, her sophisticated dress. Except now she looks every inch the panicking intern Bianca first knew her as, and she decides to swallow her fears and take Adore’s hand, laces their fingers together like she wanted to earlier.

They’re holding hands. The director of communications for the government of the entire country is holding hands with a comms girl endless fucking pay grades below her, and there is so much wrong but yet so much that just seems correct. It’s two hands linked together. That’s all.

“Like I said,” Bianca smiles sadly at the carpet, deciding that particular story can wait until she’s six feet under. “Half the world’s doing whatever the fuck they want and not giving a shit about the consequences.”

Adore strokes her thumb at the knuckle and Bianca is lost for words, a rare occurrence in her life. “I’m so sorry, Bianca.”

“Well. We’ve both put our foot in it now, so,” Bianca drops their hands, decides it’s probably a good place to end whatever the hell this is. She picks up her mug and tries to ignore the feeling that Adore looks disappointed at the lack of contact. “To being untactful shits incapable of emotional intelligence.”

Adore gives a small laugh, clinks her mug against Bianca’s own. There’s a moment of silence before she speaks.

“I’ve never told anyone about cheating on Aja. Apart from her, obviously.”

“Well now I have some serious dirt on you,” Bianca raises her eyebrows in an attempt to make light of the situation. She is rewarded by a laugh from Adore.

“I guess I did it because…well. There’s like…always been a third person in my relationships. No, fuck, that sounds weird and intense, but…ah, it’s hard to explain,” Adore hisses through her teeth, and Bianca is intrigued. The entire opening hangs heavy in the air, and Bianca doesn’t want to think about the possibilities it holds. She can feel her heart speed up, and she takes a too-big gulp of her prosecco and feels the bubbles shatter like ice down her gullet. Adore is looking at her, she knows, but Bianca holds her gaze on the city. “Do you ever, like, think about how there could be a right person, but the wrong place and wrong time? Wrong universe, even. Like they could be so gorgeous and funny and warm and you just know they’d be great to talk to if you ever got a proper chance, but you’ve never had the chance, and you know you won’t ever get the chance? So you just make peace with it, except, like, you’re never really at peace with it because with every new relationship you get into it’s just taunting you, the what if, the wondering?”

The air is spitting and crackling with electricity. Hot oil on a pan. Bianca shakes her head. “Adore, I haven’t been in a relationship for, literally, years.”

“But you still know the feeling though, don’t you?” Bianca is suddenly electrocuted, thousands of volts running through her as Adore takes her hand and gives Bianca no choice but to turn and face her, the city lights ripped from her eyes as Adore gazes into Bianca’s own, nothing to reflect in them, just black. Bianca’s heart goes from racing to flatlined. Adore doesn’t break eye contact. “Bianca…I know you know the feeling.”

And this is it. It’s out in the open, the tension between them that’s lingered for years like somebody’s taken a knife to a huge helium balloon. Bianca almost wants to laugh. There is no point protesting, or trying to tell Adore she’s got it all wrong. Adore is headstrong, has always been headstrong, and she knows, and she knows that Bianca knows. The situation is funny. They’re Christ knows how many feet up in the air, in the offices in the dead of night on New Year’s Eve. Bianca knows whatever happens this evening that the second she steps out of the building and into the freezing cold air, the magic will be gone. Because that’s what this is- magic. It could only be magic that Adore is making Bianca confront all of this before the entire slate gets wiped clean, the biggest cliche in the book.

“Fuck,” Bianca just laughs, the resigned exhalation of someone who has no energy left to deny it. “You’re literally…you’re just a kid-”

“I’m twenty fucking eight, Bianca,” Adore snaps, as if she’s had that excuse used against her for the entireity of her life and has had enough. Bianca is suitably admonished.

“Right. Sorry. Ignore me, I’m old. Which begs the question…” Bianca realises they haven’t stopped holding hands yet. “Adore….me? Really? Me? Why me?”

“I think you’re beautiful,” Adore shrugs. Her matter-of-fact-ness makes Bianca blush as if she’s back in high school. “And there’s, like…always been something about you that’s just drawn me to you. I don’t know. It’s like I said, I think we’d get on if we’d let ourselves get to know each other. I think we’re similar.”

Bianca paused before replying, taking a moment to just look into Adore’s eyes. She sighs heavily.

“There really is nothing about this that is any fucking fair at all.”

Adore laughs, neglecting to break eye contact. “How come?”

“Because there’s absolutely no way that we can pursue any of this. And it’s almost more cruel knowing we both want to,” Bianca snorts sardonically, refills her and Adore’s cups. Adore pouts. She’s showing her age.

“But we could if we wanted to. We could at least try,” she pleads, hope in her voice that makes Bianca want to wrap her up and take her home with her. Bianca laughs. Someone is going to have to be the voice of reason in this conversation.

“Adore, there’s a reason my marriage ended. There’s a reason I’ve not had a relationship for twelve years. There’s a reason I haven’t acted upon any of my feelings towards you,” she says, her voice coated in thick regret. She gives Adore’s hand a squeeze to soften the blow. “This job is my relationship. This job is my marriage. I barely have time for three meals a day- I don’t have time for three meals a day. I mean, fucking look at me. I’m at work on New Years’ Eve.”

“I’m at work on New Years’ Eve,” Adore gestures at herself, as if that simple fact is enough to convince her. Bianca laughs. She is the sweetest fucking person to ever exist, she fully believes that.

“There’s fourteen years separating us. I’m head of government communications, you’re a civil servant. That’s madness. We wouldn’t work.”

“No, probably not. It probably would just all end in tears. But at least we’d know. Which is, like, better than where we are just now, where we don’t know,” Adore shrugs, but the expression on her face lets Bianca know she thinks it’s a lost cause too. Bianca feels sad for her, feels sad for them both. She shuffles closer.

“Look. You know that I like you, and I know that you like me, and at least we don’t have to suspect it any more. We know. And it doesn’t matter that nothing’s going to happen, because…oh, fuck, what’s that saying? The possibility far outweighs the outcome, or some shit like that?”

Adore cracks up laughing. “That phrase doesn’t exist.”

“Yes it fucking- Christ, the point is that this night…” Bianca rubs her head in exhaustion. “…this night is like a microcosm of the universe. You were saying we’re in the wrong universe, well, just for tonight, this office is the right one. Just for now. A weird purgatory.”

Adore smiles, brushes a bit of hair out of her face. “So you’re, what. Confucius now, right?”

“Something like that.”

The chimes of Big Ben cut through the office and fireworks spring to life across the city below. Startled, both women spring away from each other. Bianca watches Adore check her phone. “Oh, shit.”

“We missed the countdown,” Bianca mutters sheepishly, suddenly ashamed of the whole conversation. Adore snorts.

“No, I just have, like, fifty voicemails from the girls,” she shrugs lightly, putting her phone face-down on the desk and facing Bianca once more. She holds out her mug and smiles gently. “Cheers, then.”

“Cheers,” Bianca says quietly, like she doesn’t want the office to hear. She taps the porcelain against Adore’s mug. They are close, their knees touching, and Bianca flicks her gaze up from the mugs to Adore’s eyes.

“Fuck it,” she whispers, before setting her mug down, bringing one hand to rest on Adore’s waist and the other to gently tilt her chin up before closing the gap between them.

If talking to Adore on New Years’ Eve in a dark office with the city lights reflected in her eyes is magic, then kissing Adore is the best kind of witchcraft. It’s a hesitant kiss, the fault of both of them as neither of them really know what they’re doing or what they’ll do once it’s over, so they carry on. Adore has brought a hand up to rest at Bianca’s jaw, her thumb stroking her cheek gently, and Bianca never wants the sensation to stop. She wants to freeze the entire moment in time but she is aware she can’t do that, so focuses on committing it to memory; the way Adore tastes like sparkling prosecco, the scent of her perfume, the way they both seem to just fit together and the whole exciting unfamiliarity of it all.

Just when Bianca seems to be getting used to things she feels Adore tugging away, and she in turn doesn’t resist. She can’t help the disappointed slump of her shoulders as Adore is once again in front of her, bashfully smoothing down her dress. All at once Bianca is swept up in complete fantasy. Maybe she and Adore could work. There might be a way to make it all doable, even if she only gets to take Adore out to dinner once every couple of weeks, something like that. Adore makes the decision for her, putting her empty mug down and standing up from the table, taking Bianca’s hand and giving it a squeeze.

“Happy New Year, Bianca,” she smiles softly before turning and opening the heavy glass door, managing halfway through it before turning and looking back at her. She wants her to say something, Bianca can tell, and there’s so much she could say. She decides not to ruin things. This night has been enough. It’s a new day- a new year now, and everything is fresh and new, a blanket of freshly fallen snow without any footprints. She decides to smile and give Adore a small wave.

“Happy New Year.”  

The door swings shut, and the magic is over.

[asktheghosthost]

The winter of 1969...

There came a knock at the attic door, and all three brides--Priscilla, Emily, and Constance--looked up from what they were doing. (Needle point, reading, and solitaire, respectively.) The trio of women glanced at one another in silent debate. It was finally the eldest, Priscilla, who got up to answer it.

Priscilla was one of the key reasons people feared the attic. With her gaunt, skeletal form, she looked more corpse than spirit. Emily and Constance had yet to make their appearances public, at least on the guest tours.

"If it isn't my favorite bevy of brides! Good evening, ladies," Dorian Gracey greeted. "May I come in?"

Priscilla turned to the others. They shrugged, so she stepped aside.

"Thank you, m'dear." He slipped in, giving a grateful bob of his head as he did so.

Over the last few months since the Haunted Mansion's opening, the young master of the house was slowly becoming less of an enigma. It was no secret he wasn't overly fond of the mortals "traipsing about his ancestral home," but he was becoming used to the idea. He'd appointed himself an ambassador, not only around the Mansion, but with the other denizens of Disneyland as well.

Emily stood up, putting aside her novel. "What brings you here, Master Gracey?"

"Dorian, please," he corrected with a smile. Then he reached into his jacket, pulled out some envelopes, and began to hand them out. "I'm inviting everyone to The Haunted Mansion's first Solstice Shindig! I know it's been a rough start these last few months, putting on a show for people, sharing a home with so... so many ... complete, utter strangers, and... ugh. Anyway! I thought this would be a great way to get to know one another. We'll have party games, dancing, story telling..."

Trailing off, he watched Constance, who was reading her invitation with a frown.

"I'm... I'm actually wanted?" she asked. She knew her reputation around the house. Most had heard of her murderous past, or caught the whispers of hearsay. The Ghost Host was adamant she not be visible to guests, and she was to be on her best behavior, lest she be given the boot.

"Of course, m'dear. You're a member of this household, after all." His smile twitched. "Um, I wasn't sure about them, though..." He gestured to a quintet of wedding photos, all of which were of her and her various grooms. "I mean, I wasn't sure if they're actually here, or if those are just photographs..."

A groom turned his face to look at him.

"Oh, hi." Dorian waggled a finger gun at him and clicked his tongue. "How's it going?"

As the other two brides giggled and started planning their night, Constance sat back down on her trunk, staring at the invitation, chin in her hand, and debated going.

She didn't like leaving the attic, cramped as it was; too much judgment to be found downstairs. She got along well enough with the other two women, she supposed. If anything, there was a quiet tolerance, but there wasn't a strong sense of friendship. Maybe she would have fun, and make a friend or two.

A new year to make a new start.

One of her former husbands was sticking his tongue out at her. She put his picture face down.

***

The ballroom was full of ghosts laughing and dancing and conversing. No one was talking to her, though, but she'd expected that. So she sat at the table, empty seats on either side of her. There weren't many spirits like her in the mansion, none with such a checkered past, save for maybe Bluebeard and Captain Gore. No one had ever seen them, however, and she wouldn't engage women-hating pirates in a conversation, anyway.

She gazed down into her glass of punch, still not drinking any after twenty minutes of holding it. A piece of lemon was bobbing on the surface, like a dismembered appendage in a pool of blood...

See, this is why no one talks to you! Psychopath!

She shook her head, mind made up she'd retire early, when someone plopped down next to her. Constance turned to see big, blue eyes, and an even bigger smile. They were framed by loosely wound buns, one on each side of the woman's oval face and one on top of her head. An... interesting hairstyle, to say the least.

"Hi! I haven't seen you around." She held out a gloved hand to shake. Constance hesitantly took it. Her grip was stronger than it seemed.

"I'm Sarah Slater, but everyone calls me Sally."

"Constance... Hatchaway."

"Nice to meet you, Miss Hatchaway!'

"You can... You can call me Connie." Her cheeks burned. No one called her "Connie." She'd never once suggested it before. Maybe it was Sally's melodic southern twang, or that pretty smile, but she wanted this conversation to keep going. "I stay up in the attic. With the other brides." She ventured a sip of her punch. It wasn't bad.

"Oh. I know how that is. I'm in the portrait gallery, the little round one..." She deepened her voice. "With no windows and no doors, ha ha ha!" In her normal voice, she added, "I'm usually..." She struck a pose, lips tight, eyelids drooped, and hands held as if she clutched something, (a parasol, Constance quickly realized). "All day, in my painting. Just me and Nathaniel."

Constance tried to hide the twinge of disappointment she suddenly felt. "Nathaniel?"

"He's my pet alligator. I didn't bring him tonight. Scares the others too much."

Constance let out a tiny sigh of relief. "They're just cowards. Not everyone can have a dog, you know."

Sally giggled at that. "And especially not a dog that ate them. He didn't mean it, though. I shouldn't have set up that flimsy rope over his pond."

Chatter and cheers caused both women to turn and look at the center of the ballroom. There stood Dorian with a spotlight shining on him. On top of his head, he was balancing a pyramid of three full martini glasses. A row of a half-dozen lined each arm from shoulder to wrist, and he was trying to sip out of one while not spilling any of the others.

Sally rolled her eyes. "To think I was once engaged to that."

"Ew," Constance teased. "Why?"

Sally gave her shoulder a playful push with her fingertips. "It was this... sham thing we agreed upon, to keep our families from bothering us. You know how it was back then."

Constance nodded. Forced courtships, arranged marriages, not knowing what kind of man your husband was until the honeymoon... It was part and parcel to being a woman, especially in those days. She tried not to ponder how much the mortal world had changed since her death. Maybe if she were alive now, she wouldn't have done what she did...

"He's a sweetheart, really," Sally continued.

They were interrupted by applause and saw that not only had he finished his drink, he was going to try to down the others.

"But lordy is he an idiot." The two shared a laugh at that.

Suddenly, the spotlight-- its origins still supernatural and unknown-- was on Sally.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen," the Ghost Host's voice flowed through the ballroom, "our own bewitching ballerina, Miss Sally Slater, will dazzle us with a dance from 'The Nutcracker Suite.'"

"Oop, I'm up." Sally sprang from her chair. "Wish me luck, darlin'!"

Constance gave a tiny wave. "Break a leg."

The music started, courtesy of the graveyard minstrels and the organist. Sally was practically glowing, not only from the reflections of sparkling tinsel and candles, but an inner joy that poured outward from her as she twirled and leapt and twisted.

Being what and who they were, it was still a macabre presentation, but an eerily beautiful one. Her torso, which had been separated from her hips at death, spun independently, so her top half went clockwise while her legs went counter. Arms could spin all the way around at the shoulder, as if she really were a windup toy princess.

Constance didn't want to take her eyes off her. It was the most gorgeous display she'd ever seen.

Gorgeous... Dismembered parts. What is wrong with you?!

Shoving herself up out of her chair, she excused herself and bolted past the applauding ghosts. She didn't catch the whispered, "Connie?" as she raced past the bowing Sally.

Tears blurred her vision. Not knowing where she was going, she went down one hall and then the next.

"Constance!"

Ignore it. Keep going.

When she finally stopped, she found herself surrounded by towering, wooden walls. And above...

Above was that mesmerizing ballerina, her face solemn as she held her parasol aloft.

She's a princess. And I'm a monster.

"Connie!"

Constance turned to see Sally come through the wall towards her. She froze, too ashamed to run.

"What happened?" Sally put a hand on her arm. "You took off like you had a wasp in your veil."

Shaking her head, Constance struggled to say something coherent. Her thoughts were racing. "I'm... I'm not... You're--"

Sally's eyes locked onto hers. "Just breathe, darlin'."

"I don't belong here!"

"What? Now why on earth would you say that?"

"I don't! I-- I'm a monster! I murdered men, and you... you're a graceful, innocent... beautiful woman. They won't even trust me to be part of the tours."

Sally blinked, but only paused for a beat to digest this. "Well, you wouldn't hurt anyone now, would you?"

"No. I mean, why would I? I'm dead. I can't buy anything anymore. I can't get married anymore. My collection is nice to look at, but all it can do is collect dust."

Sally took Constance's hands in hers. "We can't change our pasts, we can only fix the now to make a better future. And call me sentimental, but I think we're all here in this weird, creepy place for a reason. You'll get your chance to prove yourself."

"I wish I could do that now."

At that moment, Sally happened to catch a sprig of green above them. Dangling from a gargoyle sconce's foot was mistletoe. She blushed and started to giggle, causing Constance to roll her eyes upwards to see it, too.

Her own face tinted pink, she quickly kissed Sally's cheek.

"If that was, um, unwanted, I'm... I probably shouldn't have--"

She was interrupted with a soft kiss on the lips. Wrapping their arms around one around, they held each other in the deepening kiss, not caring about the party continuing without them.

This would be a new beginning after all.

[queakenstein]

Hello Queaky! Hope you are okay in this whole corona situation! Could you do Zelink where Zelda is stubborn daughter of president and Link is her personal bodyguard??

I’m doing fine and I hope you are too!! <3 Hopefully, you enjoy this! (sorry, it took so long to get it out, I had to rewrite it because I’m an idiot.)

__________________________

The music is swelling from somewhere below as her foot touches the cold ledge beneath the window she is sitting half-way out of. It’s some kind of jazz-y number that’s sure to get the crowd moving but it’s only making her dinner want to vacate her stomach. It’s reminding her too much of the fake smiles and obscene amount of cologne use. Zelda tucks the tastefully curled hair framing her face behind her ears and shakes off the other heel. Keeping in mind that she’s about three-stories high, she quickly decides that this dress is one of the worst decisions she’s ever made.

After all, she’s plenty used to sneaking out of ‘the palace’. 

“Uh?” A voice startles her. “Seriously?”

Zelda’s head shoots up and one of those curls lands directly across her nose. “This isn’t what it looks like!” 

Link, dressed in particularly formal attire for his usual jeans and a t-shirt loving self, blinks at her and drums his fingers against the two champagne flutes in his head. “So, excuse me for asking, Princess, but what exactly is it supposed to look like?” 

“I just--” A conversation drifts up on the night air and she stops. She knows what it will look like to others if they catch her and they definitely would not think it has anything to do with her sneaking out. She slips back in as gracefully as she can given the rather well fitting dress she has on and huffs. “I wanted to bail.” Zelda crosses her arms drops her chin to her chest. “You had to go and ruin it.”

Link scoffs. “So, it’s my fault?” He downs one of the drinks in a swift motion that almost surprises her had she not seen how well the man can take a double shot. “Not fair.” Link ponders the other glass for a moment before finally handing it over to her. “My job is to keep you safe. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t complicate the whole me-paying-my-rent thing by throwing yourself out windows.”

“I wasn’t throwing myself out.” She glares, swirls the liquid around with half a mind to attempt his maneuver before telling herself it would just make her vomit. “I’ve done this plenty of times. For most of my early teens.”

“Well, you’re twenty-two now. Don’t you think it’s time you learned to use the backdoor?” He leans against the wall next to the window she’s seated on and sighs, tiredly. “Listen, I know you hate this and, honestly, I hate it for you too. It’s not right what your dad is doing--”

“Is this the part where you tell the hostage that she just needs to shut up and deal with it?” Her tone doesn’t lend itself any particular viciousness but he can tell she’s angry. “Because, I really, really don’t need you to tell me to suck it up.”

Link bobs his head forward a bit. “Yeah, you kind of do.”

“Excuse me?” Zelda’s head snaps to him and she glares. “You wanna repeat that?”

“Hey, hey, hey.” He holds his hands up. “Listen! Just for a second and let me explain.” Link points to the party going on beneath them. “His term will be ending in just a couple months. I know you hate being his beautiful, smart, charitable little darling but if you can suck it up for just a bit then you’re free.” Link shrugs. “I know you hate being the figurehead that he has made you to be and I certainly know how much you hate the pressure of the fame... but if you just let me help you through this last stretch then... maybe it won’t be so bad.” He smirks. “And maybe you don’t have to climb out windows.”

Zelda rolls her eyes. “Easy for you to say, you own everything you have. I don’t. He has them all tied up with the promise that as long as I smile and continue on being  the sweet ‘princess’ Zelda who helps her father with all of his charities, who fights the good fight for the lesser people, who is beautiful, and smart but gracefully... and certainly not anything but this pure beacon of light... That I’ll have my classes paid for and he will help me open up my sanctuary.”

“You’d do those things anyway.” Link takes her empty glass from her and sits it down next to him as he slides down the wall to sit. “It’s not like you’re a raging bitch or anything.” He chuckles.

“It’s the pressure of perfection.” She manages to plop down next to him despite the protests of her dress and lays her head against his shoulder. “I don’t mind the other stuff but I have to always watch what I do or else it’s a bad tabloid.”

“What does it matter if there’s no more terms after this?”

“His stellar record and he has businesses he’d like to set up after this.” There’s a long pause while the two sit. Music and bits of conversations from those now milling about in the back garden carry to them on the air.

“So, where were you going to go after getting down from the window?” 

“There’s some stables down the road from here. Thought I might go down and hang out with the horses.”

“In that dress?”

“The plan was to get out. Everything else would just... file in later.” 

Link snorts. “You don’t have a change of clothes or anything in your room?”

Zelda laughs. “It took three people to get me into this dress. I had planned to sneak out for a little bit then come back for the finale--”

“Smelling like a stable?”

“Shh.” She covers his mouth. “So I could say good-bye then return to my room and rip this stupid thing off.” She removes her hand and drops it in her lap.

“I can help you know?” He smiles.

Zelda half gasps and half laughs. “Did you just use a line on me? No, thanks, I can get out of it on my own--”

“That’s not what I meant.” He levels an unamused expression at her then add, “Also, rude.” Link stands and holds a hand out to help her up. “I meant that I can help you get out of here for a bit.”

“Oh.” She blushes. “H-How are you going to do that then?”

He smirks. “The backdoor.” Then yanks her up hard enough that she comes off the ground and into his arms. Though she scrowls at him, he asks with a grin. “Tell me, honestly, though... you’ve never at least... you know, thought about it?” He lifts his eyebrows and laughs.

“You’re so gross.” She laughs, a sound that rings down the hallway, and pushes his face away from hers with one hand before snagging his chin to pull it back. “Wait,” Her face darkens into a deep rosey shade, “does that mean you have?!”

“Not if you haven’t.” He replies and puts her down so he can step away. “After all, wouldn’t be a nice story if the princess starts dating her knight...”

Zelda hums. “Maybe not.” She slips her hand into his and smiles. “But, maybe... if she were to go on a... trial date with her friend then it wouldn’t be so bad.”

“Well,” He squeezes her hand and let’s go. “We can talk about that after we get you through this party.” He motions for her to follow. “C’mon. One of the chefs is a friend of mine and I’m sure he will help us sneak out through the kitchen.”

“And how will we get into the kitchen without it looking super odd?” She indicates the dress she’s wearing. “Not exactly what one would wear in there.”

“Or for scaling walls but here we are.” They slip passed a group of attendees as they climb the stairs. No doubt they are all going up to the third floor balcony for all the beautiful group photo opportunities. It won’t be long before everyone beings to truly mill about the place save for the few very secure, private rooms. “We can merely say something about making sure the dessert is going well and just leave from there.”

“Why would I check that?”

“You know, you worry about everyone watching every move you make but, really, this sort of thing wouldn’t be all that weird. Aren’t you like... the co-host of this party?” He extends his elbow to her as they enter the hallway that leads into the main part of the first floor.

“You’re surprising clever sometimes, Link.” 

“I wish you’d tell me that more often.”

“Am I honestly that mean to you?”

He chuckles and shakes his head. “No, but you really do make this job interesting.” He glances at her out of the corner of his eye. “You know, if I were to take a very good friend out on a date... I think I would take her bowling.”

“Bowling?” She quirks an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah. Not something I think every girl who actually wears ballgowns about ten times out of the year has ever done... and I think she would have fun.” They are caught by a couple of officials which halt their progress but Zelda handles them as beautifully as she was taught. They avoid the ballroom and slip into the madhouse of the kitchen. Link’s friend spots them almost immediately and Zelda is shocked at the speed that he agrees to help them slip out. It’s as simple as them just exchanging quick cover stories and suddenly she’s out in the night air. Link approaches on of the guards playing with his phone on a golf cart and she watches as he slaps something into the man’s hand. “Come on, let’s go pet some horses.”

She climbs onto the vehicle and they’re off.  “I can’t believe it was that easy....” Dread and panic swirls in her stomach. “What if someone sees us drive off?”

“Night pictures and selfies around the property for your Nstagram.” Link smirks. “It is a beautiful night and perfect for that kind of thing.” He bumps her with his shoulder. “I think you get stuck on the big picture sometimes... and you forget to ask for help.”

She nods but refuses to agree, vocally. She likes being able to rely on herself. “How much money did you pay that man back there for this?”

“Oh, that wasn’t money.”

Zelda’s get wide. “Well... what was it?”

Link pats her head and chuckles. “Herbal medicine.”

“Link! Oh, my Goddess. You carry that on you? Don’t you know that’s illegal.” She takes a deep breath and then breathes out. “Holy fuck, how do you work for the government?”

“Because I can kill a man with my bare hands and there’s very few people in this world who can stop me without putting a bullet in my head?” Link doesn’t take his eyes off the road then scoffs. “Your father pays me good money to keep you safe, Zelda... and as much as he tries to keep your record clean... well, let’s just say that he makes a few exceptions when it comes to my employment.”

“I... I know he said you came with a stellar background and I’ve seen you fight before--Scary, by the way-- and I know he’s done some shady things... but are you telling me that one of your stipulations in your contract is that you can smoke pot?”

“Yep.” He laughs. “Also, bowling... would you be interested?”

“Still on about that?” She snorts and smiles. “Yeah, I’ve never done it before but sure... I’d love to.”

“As a date?”

She bites her lip. “Are we talking like... a romantic see where this could go kind of thing. Kind of date?”

“That’s what a date is, yeah.” He adds after a quick pause. “After all of this is over.”

“You’d wait a couple of months for one date?”

They arrive at the stable and come to a halt. Link turns to her and smiles in a very soft way. “I’ve waited a bit longer than that to ask you on one.” He takes her hand. “If you really aren’t interested in me like that then it’s fine. I’m a big boy and I’m fine hearing no.”

“I’d love to.”

“Oh!” He beams and lifts her hand up to kiss it. “Awesome.” Link slips out of the golf cart to help her down. “Now, come on, we’ll go see the horses for a bit and then hurry back.