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sunfleurry · 4 years ago

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Hold Me

Click here for part 1

Part 2 of Fires and Flames.

Disclaimer: I write stories and use Harry Styles as a face claim. In no way shape or form does my writing reflect how I perceive the actual Harry to be. These are my characters, the face is just a bonus!

“Have a nice evening!”

“You too!” I yelled back before clocking out of my shift and making my way out the door.

It was dark outside, the king of night that begged to be breathed in and admired. Normally after a nine-hour shift, I would be exhausted and more than ready to go home. For some reason tonight, I wasn’t in the mood to turn in just yet. It was summertime and I loved the city lights when it was dark out. I eyed my car parked on the curb and ignored it, opting to go for a walk along the pier not too far from MediBrooke Pharmacy where I worked.

A year ago, I was at a low point in my life. I tried not to think about it too often, but every now and then, I would compare my life now to then and it reminded me to be proud of myself. I got through it, didn’t let it affect my grades, and now I was set to graduate with my PharmD degree in less than twelve months.

There weren’t too many people around as I made my way to the boardwalk, the clicking of my heels on the wooden path echoing in the quiet night. I checked the time on my phone. 20:30.

The pier was big. It was more intimidating during the wintertime when the water was turbulent, but today, it was still as a predator.

There was a man at the end of the pier, right across my destination but I did not pay him any mind. He was leaning against the railing, head hung low as he stared into the dark waters.

I was almost at my destination–a spot on the pier right under a lamppost with a built-in heater. I had left my jacket at home. At the sound of my approaching, the man across from me looked over, and my steps faltered as I beheld his face.

“Shit,” I mumbled when my phone slipped out of my hand.

Trying desperately not to look at the man, I held the strap of my purse against my shoulder and bent over to pick up my cell.

“I got it,” his deep voice said.

I hadn’t heard him approach, but I watched as he crouched down and wrapped his fingers around the device before standing back up and holding it out for me.

Harry looked different. His hair was longer and he seemed bigger–broader. I could tell he spent a decent amount at the gym since the last time I saw him over a year ago.

I jumped at the sound of my name coming out of his mouth, and seemed to remember he was still holding my phone.

I grabbed it, carefully avoiding touching his skin. “Thank you.”

He nodded.

He watched me and I watched him–both at a loss for words. I never expected to see him after our breakup. I applied to transfer to a pharmacy school away from the city, yet there he was, at my favourite spot in town, looking at me like he was seeing a ghost.

“What are you doing here?” I asked finally, almost breathlessly.

He blinked and looked over my shoulder at the water behind me. “My nan lived here. She passed away last week.”

I sucked in a sharp breath. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

Harry glanced back down at me with heavy eyes. Grief. “Thank you.”

A lump formed in my throat as I felt his pain like it was mine. I wasn’t sure if he even had any family left. He never gave me details when we were together.

With him standing there in front of me, I felt an internal dam break, and memories and emotions started flooding to the forefront of my mind. Pain, happiness, heartbreak, love… It was all rushing back to me.

“How are you?” The words came out of his mouth with care but also with wariness.

“Fine.” Five minutes ago, I wanted to add. Because I wasn’t fine anymore, not with the source of my heartbreak suddenly appearing out of nowhere.

He nodded.

“You?” I wanted to slap myself. His grandmother just died; of course he wasn’t doing well.

He saw the look on my face and smiled reassuringly. “Habit.”

I smiled gratefully at his understanding.

Harry suddenly grabbed my elbow and pulled me towards him. I didn’t get a chance to react as my body fell into him before a group of teenagers ran by us right where I was standing. Had he not reacted, they would’ve toppled me over.

“Sorry!” One of them yelled half-heartedly over his shoulder.

I breathed heavily as I watched their bodies get smaller and smaller the further they ran away.

I didn’t realize how comfortable I was engulfed in Harry’s scent with my cheek pressed against his chest before he started pulling away, releasing my elbow.

I cleared my throat. “Thank you.”

He rolled his lips inward and rubbed the back of his neck. “You look good. Very professional.”

I looked down at my pleated pants and button-down shirt and offered him a small thanks. “I work at the pharmacy down the street,” I explained.

He smiled. It was the first genuine smile I’d seen on him since we ran into each other. “I always knew you would succeed in what you do. You’re still studying?”

“Yeah,” I said, trying to mimic his smile, but I was too busy trying not to cry in front of him. “One year left.”

“I’m so proud of you,” he said. I knew he meant it.

I bit my lip. “I know you are.” He always used to tell me how proud he was of me. Despite the way he treated me, the way I let him treat me, I knew deep down that he cared for me. He just didn’t know how to show it.

His smile fell as the memories of us came back to him. I was positive he was thinking about all those times he cooked us meals or did the dishes while I stressed over my notes, preparing for my exams. He was always supportive of my career choice and did his best to make me comfortable while I doubted myself and my capabilities of succeeding in my program.

“Look, can we just—“

“Harry?”

I whirled toward the foreign voice to see a woman whose beauty rivals any Hollywood actress approach us with a relieved smile.

“Harry,” she said again while wrapping her arms around his waist. I watched as he wrapped his own around her shoulders and held her at his side. “I was looking everywhere for you,” she scolded. “I convinced myself you fell in the water.”

He chuckled. “Sorry, I got caught up.”

It was then that the woman looked at me, as if just noticing my presence. Her blue eyes were so bright they were mesmerizing even in the minimal light offered by the pier in the darkness of the night.

She held out her hand, displaying short manicured nails. “Hi! I’m Christina.” She held up her other hand that was clutching car keys. “His chauffeur, apparently.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Don’t be dramatic.” Then he addressed me. “Christina and I met around nine months ago. She wouldn’t leave me alone since.”

“You would be lost without me,” she scoffed.

Harry only looked at her with fake annoyance for a few seconds before nudging her playfully. “Yeah, you’re right.”

She laughed.

I watched the interaction between the two with more care than I would’ve wanted to admit. A part of me felt hot jealousy start boiling from the pit of my stomach, another part of me was over the moon seeing a smile on Harry’s face that didn’t seem forced.

My eyes flicked to Christina’s hand that was clutching his forearm. I used to do the same when I caught a girl staring at him–I would touch him to silently warn her he was mine. Was that what Christina was doing at the moment?

I couldn’t suppress frowning as I forced my eyes to look away.

“We’re going to be late,” I heard her whisper.

Harry cleared his throat and said my name.

I didn’t want to look at him. I wanted to hide the tears that had already formed in my eyes that I knew must be already as red as my cheeks.

He touched my shoulder as a second attempt to get my attention.

I finally blinked up at him.

He inhaled. I shook my head with as much subtleness to make it noticeable to him only. He seemed to understand.

“Christina and I need to go.” He said, sympathy coating his voice.

I cleared my throat. “Okay. It was nice seeing you, Harry.”

He took a step toward me then seemed to stop himself. Were you going to hug me Harry? Kiss me? Why did you stop?

My eyes flickered to Christina who was texting someone on her phone with one hand, the other still clutching Harry’s forearm.

“I’ll see you around,” he said. It almost sounded like a question so I nodded.

I stood under the heating lamp post and watched the pair walk away.

_______________

“Just one shot, come on!”

My friends cheered when I finally gave in and took the shot glass from Jeremy.

I laughed at their antics before throwing my head back and welcoming the burn in my throat.

“To our final semester!” Someone yelled. We all cheered.

I made a nice friend group in my new university. I met Jeremy first when we were assigned to work together for one of my courses, and he introduced me to his friends who turned out to be great people. Today, we wrote our last final exam of the semester. We all agreed to go out and treat ourselves to a more expensive club for some celebratory drinks before the winter break separated us.

A popular song started playing and suddenly the bar blew up in cheers and synchronized singing. People rushed to the dance floor like a herd of elephants. I watched them stumble over each other, trying to find their friends to enjoy the song when a hand cut into my view.

I glanced up to find Jeremy’s brown eyes on me waiting for me to put my hand in his. When I did, he pulled me off the stool and I swiped my purse off the counter as he dragged me towards the crowd of moving bodies.

Being in the crowd made me realize it wasn’t as dense as it seemed from our table. Jeremy wrapped an arm around my waist and held my hand up to the side as he encouraged me to move to the beat with him while keeping a respectful distance between our bodies. That last detail didn’t go unnoticed by me. I appreciated it.

The song ended but another played, and the crowd screamed to the loved and familiar beat. Even I couldn’t help but sway my hips and mouth the lyrics as Jeremy lifted our joined hands and twirled me. I squealed at the motion and slammed into his chest clumsily, the both of us giggling before we continued dancing with everyone.

We stayed on the dance floor for two more songs before I told him I needed some water. He nodded and walked behind me as we started making our way to our table when I heard him ask, “What’s up, man?”

Frowning, I turned around and found him speaking to someone whose hand was on his shoulder.

I risked a glance at who caught his attention and my heart stuttered when I recognized Harry. As if feeling my gaze on him, Harry’s eyes landed on me and mind fogged up. I didn’t know what to think as I took in his soft wavy hair and green jumper that made his eye colour brighter than it actually was. I could hear him ask Jeremy if he could steal me for a second, eyes never leaving mine.

Jeremy looked hesitant at him, unsure who Harry was but then turned towards me, passing the decision on to me.

I nodded and Jeremy’s bent his head to be at eye level with me. “If you need anything…”

I offered him a smile. “I know him.”

He seemed to relax and smiled back before making his way towards our table where the rest of our friends were watching the exchange.

I was suddenly very aware of the fact that I was left alone with Harry. My breath hitched when I chanced a glance at him and realized he was already staring at me.

“Harry,” I said quietly, enough that he could hear me over the music.

“Can we talk somewhere more quiet?”

He seemed to have noticed my hesitation. He took a step forward. “You can tell your date if it makes you more comfortable.”

I frowned. “More comfortable? You think I’m scared of you?”

Harry bit his lip and looked away.

I touched his arm. “I would never…”

I felt his bicep lose tension under my fingers as he let out a breath, as if he was afraid I didn’t trust him with me alone. It broke my heart, if I was being honest.

I followed Harry to the entrance and he held the door open for me to walk outside. The air was cool, nothing I couldn’t handle under the summer night with my skirt and long sleeve blouse. The quiet of the night hit me like a brick as we stepped out of the crowded club into the silence of the almost empty street.

Harry led me to the nearest bus stop, silently asking me to sit on one of the wooden benches before joining me. I smoothed out my skirt, nervously playing with the seam.

He cleared his throat. “So… How have you been?”

I inhaled, and the scent of his cologne overwhelmed my nose. I welcomed it. “I’ve been good,” I said honestly. I was. I moved to a new place, made great friends, got the job I wanted and I was set to graduate soon.

Harry smiled, looking almost like he was relieved. “I’m glad.”

I played with a frayed end on my skirt. “You?”

“Same.”

I peered up at him, thread forgotten. His piercing eyes were already looking at me, wide and he started nodding.

“I mean it. I am good,” he smiled. “I’ve been getting help, I changed jobs, made friends.”

My heart swelled for him. I put my hand on his and squeezed. “I’m proud of you.”

He separated our hands and I suppressed my disappointment. “I just wanted to bring you out here to check up on you. It’s been a while.”

“Yeah,” I breathed. “Thank you.”

I couldn’t deny that everything about the interaction was awkward. I could’ve asked Harry about what help he’d gotten, about his new job, his friends… But when we were together, over a year ago, I learned not to pry when it came to his personal life. I wasn’t sure if he still felt that way.

We were swallowed by an uncomfortable silence, neither one of us sure on how to approach any subject that came up in our minds. I started focusing on my breathing as I prepared myself to stand.

“I think I’m going to head back inside,” I said, eyes everywhere but him as I picked up my purse and smoothed down my skirt.

He relaxed into the bench. “Your date must be worried about you.”

I stopped. “Jeremy is not my date.”

Harry’s head snapped up. “I didn’t mean to assume…”

I huffed a laugh. “It’s okay, he’s just a friend from school. I’m here with a group of them.”

I could tell he was recalling the people at the table Jeremy headed to before we went outside. “They seem nice.”

“They are,” I smiled. I decided to take the bait. “What about yours? Do I know them?”

He shook his head. “Just Christina. I, um, I met her in therapy.”

I had to swallow down the rising jealousy at the mention of her name.

“She was kind enough to wait with me even after her appointment was over,” he continued. “I was rude and cruel towards her, at first. I think I was trying to chase her away. I didn’t want anyone’s pity, but she stuck like a bucket of glue.”

I chuckled. “It’s hard to stay away from you,” I admitted.

His face fell. “I felt like I didn’t deserve anyone’s attention, not after what I did to you.”

It was like a bucket of water was dumped onto my head, my expression immediately morphing into one of sadness.

“Christina became a big part of my healing. Sometimes I felt like I didn’t deserve her help because I’m a grown man. I don’t need someone holding my hand along the way, but she was there. And I’m grateful for it.”

Hearing him talk about another woman like that had my feelings in a puddle. I wanted to be happy that he found someone who he could relate to and guide him through his pain and his past but I couldn’t quash the betrayal for the simple fact that he refused my help but accepted that of a stranger’s. I didn’t say anything though. No, I would never even think of interrupting him. I watched him with wide eyes as he explained everything because this was the first time my Harry had ever spoken this much about himself so freely. It made me want to cry.

“She was also dealing with some things of her own. For some reason, she still wanted to stay by my side and I kept her around. For selfish reasons, she reminded me a lot of you.”

I stiffened at the confession. He studied my reaction but I tried to pretend like it didn’t affect me. I knew I failed when my voice came out shaky and disbelieving. “Why?”

“I don’t know… She was stubborn, always forcing me to do what’s right for me even though I fought it. She checked up on me all the time, and she just…” He held my stare. “She cared.”

My eyes started watering and my anger was slowly rising. “And why, Harry, if she was so much like me, did you not think of me and all that I did for you, instead of finding someone who was just like me?”

His shoulders slouched and I watched as he fiddled with the pendant against his collarbone. “Because I didn’t deserve you,” he said pointedly. “I didn’t want you to feel like you had to mother me. I was holding you back from being happy all because I refused to take care of myself.”

The tightness in my chest worsened. “You don’t get to decide what’s right for me.”

Harry’s jaw clenched. “You’re the one who left.”

I gasped. “You’re really going with that argument?!”

He sighed and slumped back against the wooden bench. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry you let me leave to instead be with another woman who reminds you of me?” I rolled my eyes.

Harry rubbed his chin as he regarded me with lines forming between his eyebrows. “Be with… Are we still talking about Christina?”

I wanted to scoff with disbelief. “Are we having the same conversation?”

“You think I’m with Christina? As in…she’s my girlfriend?”

I felt my jaw slacken. “Are you not?”

It was then that Harry threw his head back, laughter escaping from his mouth. I watched him with my widening eyes as I replayed our conversation in my head to figure out what was so funny.

He said my name with laughter in his voice after a few seconds of trying to calm himself down. He cleared his throat and turned his body to face mine on the bench. I tried my hardest to ignore the hand he laid on my knee. “Christina is just a friend.”

I shook my head. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” he chuckled. “Besides, I don’t think her girlfriend would appreciate her cheating with me, a man.”

“Girlfriend?”

Harry’s smile widened. “She’s gay.”

I was at a loss for words. “Oh.”

My stomach fluttered when Harry lifted his hands and held my face between his palms. “You think I would replace you?” He asked quietly.

I prayed he couldn’t hear my rapid heartbeat. “I—” I tried to communicate with my eyes that I didn’t want to answer that question. I didn’t know the answer to it. He’d been unpredictable throughout our relationship and I wasn’t sure if he had changed or not and I refused to believe it until I saw it.

Harry gave me a mirthless smile and let go of my face. I felt heat in the spots where his fingers touched my skin and I almost asked him to put them back. “I miss you,” he whispered.

I closed my eyes then, and the tears I tried holding back fell down my cheeks. I tried stopping them, but they started coming faster and I didn’t have the choice but to drop my head into my hands to silently cry. Many thoughts and emotions were flying through my mind and I couldn’t keep up with their overwhelming pace. I felt Harry’s arm wrap around my back and pull me to him until I was flush against his side.

“I’m so sorry,” his voice broke on the last syllable. I felt him kiss my hair and squeeze me harder as I cried harder. The past year, I pushed my emotions back. I suppressed any thoughts and feelings left behind by Harry and focused on work and school. I ignored all stimuli that reminded me of him. At this moment, I knew that it was a bad idea as the heartbreak flooded my senses and I couldn’t escape it no matter how much I tried. Harry never let go as he wrapped his other arm around me until I was pressed against his chest, the fabric of his jumper muffling my sobs.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, holding me for the next few minutes until I finally stopped crying. I didn’t let go right away, I wasn’t ready to. I missed him immensely and didn’t have the willpower to separate from the familiar feeling of being so close to him, or the smell that is so distinctly Harry that it comforts me no matter where I am. After I controlled my breathing, I finally mustered up the courage to push off of him and face him.

“You didn’t bring me out here to just check up on me,” I said, not leaving room for the statement to sound remotely like a question.

Harry sighed. “No, I didn’t.”

I stared at him while holding my breath in anticipation. I knew what was coming before he even said it, but I still felt anxious.

He swallowed audibly and craned his neck to the sky as he gathered his words. “I want to try and win you back.”

Heat tingled in my heart and it spread like wildfire over my skin until I was covered in a mix of relief and desire. “I don’t know what to say.”

“I figured,” he nodded. “I don’t want you to make a decision right away.”

“I wouldn’t be able to even if I wanted to,” I said honestly.

Harry’s head dipped to his chest and he started fiddling with his necklace again. He expected my answer, but still hoped I wouldn’t say it. “I understand. Which is why I wanted to ask you out on a date.”

“A date?”

He smiled. “I want you to get to know me–”

“But I already know you.”

“No,” he said. “I want you to meet the new me. I want you to give me another chance to prove to you that I am not the Harry you knew.”

The reminder of who he was reminded me of who I was with him. I was happy to be with him, I loved him. I still do, I realized, but the love I had for him overshadowed the anger and pain that our relationship carried for the year and a half we were together. He was full of self-loathing and that only took a toll on who we tried to be–who we used to be. There was Harry, in front of me, promising a second chance for the relationship we had sans the pain and I didn’t know if he was serious or not.

I looked at him with helplessness. “I don’t know…”

He rubbed his upper arm, a nervous tic I recognized a long time ago. “Please. Do you still love me?”

His piercing gaze was suddenly too intense for me and I looked down at my lap. “Why are you asking me that?” I stammered. The day I confessed my love for him was the day I left him. The memory only brought a squeezing sensation to my heart. Heat prickled in my eyes.

“I just need to know, if you still do. Because, I was too much of a coward to tell you,” he took my hands in his and held them up between our chests. “I love you too.”

I felt lightheaded as my mind processed the last four words he’d just uttered. A whimper escaped me before I threw a hand over my mouth.

“Don’t cry,” Harry whispered, bringing my hands to his mouth and pressing kisses to my knuckles. “Please.”

I expelled a shuddering breath. “I think it’s the shot I took an hour ago catching up to me.”

Harry laughed, only because he recognized my attempt to lighten the mood.

I stared at our joined hands as I tried to regain my breathing. My palms started sweating when I thought more and more about the two of us together, something I never imagined becoming a possibility ever again. I glanced at him to see nothing but genuine hope in his eyes.

Harry confessing his feelings to me was something so foreign, my body had no idea how to take it and create a reaction. It was unknown territory and I promised myself that I must tread lightly all the while keeping maximum defence surrounding my already fragile heart.

Knowing Harry, he would never lie about something like that, he had always been a straightforward man. He was against bullshitting and it was with that thought in mind that I finally stared back into his eyes and said:

“Yes, I’ll go on a date with you.”

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jamestrmtx · 4 years ago

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Fairytale Complex - [Undertale | Sans x Reader]

[Gender Neutral, Frisk's Parent Reader | Slow Burn]

Chapter Nine | Dating Tense! (Part 3 of 3)

[First] | [Previous] | [Next]

Your conversation with Undyne goes a similar route as with Toriel's: confronting a stranger in the name of protecting the one you held most dear, as a result ending whatever possible, friendly connections you could've likely formed with her right from the start -- without that complex context placed between you. Seeing everyone as your enemy is draining at its least, but the reward you visualize for everyone ahead makes it all seem worth it. That thought alone provides with strength to keep pushing forward, and even more so when you remind yourself over obtaining a possible happy ending of your very own, were you to resolve this situation with the monsters first.

With that thought in mind, you set the empty teacup down on the coffee table and take a deep breath in, preparing yourself to continue with the conversation. You're already halfway through the most difficult process with Undyne, so backing away now would be useless; thankfully, the tea has enough chamomile in it for you to quell your anger and turn it into sobriety, instead. Of course, that sounds way easier than it is, but -- compared to how you felt when talking with Toriel -- it's a difference as large as the distance between the sky and Earth. Keeping in mind all the kindness and patience you've been shown throughout the process helps with that, as well.

You stand up, continuing with, "I understand protecting the Underground was your priority, but…" You stop to breathe again. "Why… Why would you attack without waiting to see what Frisk had to say? If you were informed enough to know there was a human running free in the Underground, then couldn't you have known they weren't causing any harm, in the first place?"

Despite the tea, its effects and your subsequent calm don't last long. Frustration keeps you from staying in one, sole place without fidgeting, so you let energy out through a composed, back-and-forth pace across the living room. You stop for a second and face down at Undyne, who keeps herself seated, eye meeting with your gaze. "How many of those six souls were murdered, and…" Your breath hitches. "And how many of them were genuine, self-sacrifices? I… I wouldn't be so angry, if you were just honest with me and told me how many human lives were taken away without their honest approval, and exactly how many of them sacrificed their lives for you, in the end."

At the thought of Frisk, still selfless towards plenty of things based on how young they were and the education they received -- both at home and at school -- you keep your posture straight, eager to say more. "And was there really no other solution than taking those souls? If… If Frisk saved your kind without having to give up their own life for it, then why did all this happen? Why… Why did six people have to die before a different solution could come around?" A pause and a sigh help you recollect your thoughts. "Or were they threatening the lives of your kind? 'Cause that makes a lot more sense than simply taking away the soul of the first human you saw, no matter their age, background, or intentions."

Undyne still stays silent for a while even after you're done, eye now cast down at the floor as she frowns and her hands hold onto her knees. "...Well," she says, trailing off with a sigh. "I was only ordered to chase after whatever human I crossed paths with." She lifts her gaze from the floor while a hand toys around with the scales on her neck, distracting herself from you. "It wasn't every day a human would fall down there, so we were eventually ordered to, well... kill whatever human did happen to end there… Indiscriminately." Finally, she makes eye contact with you, frown quivering as she takes another quick pause. "According to what we were told, it had been years since a human last fell down, so when Frisk arrived, I... I just sought after them without thinking twice."

"But if that many years passed by, couldn't your kind look for another solution? If… If Alphys built a new body for her friend out of nothing but scraps, and with two different forms -- mind you -- then... Then couldn't another scientist on similar or equal terms of knowledge have done something about all this? Why wait so long, if… if all it took was a child to find another solution for you?" Your voice breaks and your ire finally snaps with, "Where's your sense of justice? Or does it only apply when it's convenient?"

She notices the change herself, though she doesn't flinch nor retaliate; neutrality is her only reaction as she replies with, "(L/N), in all honesty, I…" Undyne stops, facing down again as her grimace deepens, sorrow dampening her eye. "I'm... I'm not sure how to answer that."

Seeing you've reached a dead end, you glance over towards Alphys, who tries to look away, failing when you call out her name. "What about you, Doctor Alphys? Was there really no other thought in mind other than waiting for the next prey to arrive? Was there truly no…" Your breathing grows scarce, hinting at you losing your grip on the intensity of your emotions again. "Was there truly no other option than for us to be enemies? For your kind and mine to… to simply keep up with the damage our ancestors made and left behind?"

Alphys is shaking, yet you stay unfazed, only lessening your level of intimidation by uncrossing your arms and looking away from her, giving her some space and time to reply.

"I'm n- not sure what to say, either, but… Y- You do have a point." She wrings her hands, her shaking attempting to compose itself through that. "But… As a f- former scientist of the Underground, I wasn't told much over what the rules were. One of the few things that I took part on was in... in creating Mettaton's new body." Her hands unwind, shoulders copying them. "I... I know he was programmed to k- kill humans, but like you mentioned: he was my friend before any of that happened, and so he already had a life and consciousness before I made that new version of him. It- It just so happened that I… I modified a few things so that he could-"

Her words are interrupted as Frisk walks into the living room, still sleepy-eyed. They rub their eyes with the sleeve of their shirt, and a frown presents itself when they take a good look at the scene before them.

"What's wrong?" they sign, expression furrowed.

They take in everything around them, letting their face lose tension when their gaze moves on over to you, encouraging them to approach you. "You're here!" Frisk grabs your hand, taking a look at the time on your watch. Then, they raise an eyebrow, letting you go to continue with, "You didn't go to work today? Or did you leave early?"

You smile, let your guard fall, and bring them into your arms, holding them up. "The streets got flooded, so I couldn't go anymore after lunchtime," you say, kissing their cheek. "How've you been, though? Did you have fun at miss Toriel's new place? I've been here since twelve, but you were sleeping, so I didn't want to wake you."

They grin, nodding as they bring their arms firm around your neck, hugging you close. "I had fun." You tense a little at the sound of their voice despite there being more people besides Toriel, Brenda, or you around; how often selective mutism kept them from saying things out loud in front of other people made their voice a rare thing to hear in public, no matter how small the crowd was. It's only when they're alone with you or people of trust that they have the courage to speak up out loud -- a rare case was Frisk being capable of talking with Bubbles regardless of them having met him only once so far, yet you dismiss that one as them having simply gotten along well with him right from the start, rather than associating it with them truly forgiving you and wanting to defend you, as a result. "A- Are you gonna stay here, then? It's raining a lot!"

"I believe they have no other choice, dear," Toriel intervenes, easing out the tension left from your earlier conversation, still unfinished.

She arrives next to you; a set of clothes are held out in her hands, these neatly folded and accompanied by some soap, a towel, and a roll-on deodorant. "(L/N) was waiting for the skies to clear up, but the rain and the floods have made it near impossible for any of us to leave this house." You set Frisk down and take the clothes, surprised to see a set of pajamas similar to Toriel's clothing style, and even some (men/women)'s underwear tucked underneath all the other items -- and unused based on the size tag still attached to it. "I am not sure if these sizes will fit you, but those clothes are all spares I keep stored away for guests." She lowers her voice and gets closer to you. "The undergarments are new, of course." She giggles, winking at you afterwards. "The bathroom is upstairs, if you would like to shower now."

You inspect the clothes again, frustration simmering down back to calm as you let your shoulders lessen their stress with a sigh. "Thank you, ma'am."

• • •

Barely two months into knowing the monsters, and you're already staying at their place. While Alphys and Undyne are capable of leaving under the current, wild weather at will if they were to take their needed precautions, neither Frisk nor you can step a foot outside without drawing it back in. The streets are a mess of puddles, nature-made swimming pools, and car alarms going off; the scenery outside is close to that of becoming something of a meteorologist's concern and a scientific anomaly, yet the news and every other information outlet available continues to report it as something of lesser concern than what it is.

As you stare outside, Frisk now resting on your lap, you worry over two things: the lost meeting at your office, and the stranded car belonging to Sans's brother. You comb your fingers through Frisk's hair, using that as a means of entertainment from your worries. They're still sleeping soundly, tired out by both finishing their homework and playing with you at the indoor, mini playground Toriel set up for them.

"I'll pay for any damages to your car as soon as this clears up." You direct your words at Papyrus, who stops gazing outside to face you, looking dazed. His mind looks to be somewhere else, though another squint at your appearance makes him snap out of it.

"That is the least of my concerns now, (L/N)." He smiles at you, leaving the window to crouch next to you, couch occupied with Frisk, Sans, and yourself. "I can go look for it tomorrow morning. And as for whatever damages it gets, I am certain my insurance will look over this case! There have been plenty of reports discussing the damages made by the rain, so it is not my greatest worry." His gaze falls on Frisk, a warmer look reaching his face. "Do you want me to carry them back to bed? It's getting late!"

"It's fine-"

"Please, I insist!"

You smile at his persistence, far more endearing than his older brother's. The thought makes you pay attention back towards Sans, who's still showing signs of exhaustion on his body, slumped over to the corner. His eye sockets are closed, dark circles beginning to show under them.

"Thank you." You pay attention back to Papyrus, who takes Frisk in his hold, propping them safe with both arms.

You stand up, ready to help out, yet he dismisses your actions with the words, "Stay and chat with Toriel. I assume you both still have plenty to talk about, don't you? You should take this opportunity to talk with her and the other ladies! Perhaps then, you can leave this place with a different perspective by the time the rain stops."

"I will." You nod and watch him leave, carrying your child up in his arms with seemingly no difficulty. His steps fade as so does his figure, leaving you be with Sans sleeping at the couch, the owner of the house by the kitchen, and Undyne and Alphys standing by the living room. The pair's gazes are occupied on the window, carrying a similar expression to Papyrus's from earlier before.

You don't even know how to start up another conversation with the last one having ended poorly, yet try again by using the easiest route possible: going over to Toriel and asking if she needs help with dinner. You stand up and stretch out, legs numb with how long Frisk had been sitting on your lap. It's only fortunate tomorrow's Friday, the beginning of another weekend.

"Can I help with anything?"

Those are the first words you say as you enter the kitchen, greeted by the smell of boiling vegetables and the sound of a knife against a cutting board. Toriel's next to the stove, cutting some carrots, but stopping to look at you. A smile forms on her face, and she nods once, pointing with her gaze at the potatoes resting on the counter next to hers. "Did Frisk go back to sleep?" she asks, facing back at the carrots again, continuing with her work. "I am amazed at how much energy they have, and how little they want to sleep now that they've seen how many people are in this home. It is only when I insist that they need to rest up for the sake of their health that they do so."

While you're not sure if she's being indirect or not, the goat lady's words lead you to assume one thing, and that's Frisk not wanting to waste time sleeping when at the monsters' home. With you, they went out like a light, going to sleep right when you told them to. Only when there was a full house and when family members came to visit did they break that rule, far too excited over the new faces for them to sleep.

"Papyrus took them back to their room," you reply, reminding yourself not to let your thoughts drift again. "And that's... normal for them, actually." You decide to be truthful with her, following Papyrus's advice. "They usually don't like to sleep when they're too excited about something. Every time my family visits, they're just a big ball of energy and don't sleep until everyone's doing the same." A smile forms at that, a memory from when your ex came to visit Frisk slipping through. "When my, um… ex-husband used to visit, they would stay up late playing games with him. So I guess Frisk feels the same way about you and their other monster friends."

With the potatoes already washed and peeled, all that's left is to cut them and throw them into the pot. You ask her over what size you should cut them, turning your back to her again when you're given an answer. "Is there anything you would like to ask me about, (L/N)?" Toriel asks, speaking in between cuts. "If there is any doubt you have over me, and even over Dreemurr, Sans, and others I know well, I can inform you about it. But as for things that are personal, that is up to them."

Thunder crashes at the nearby window just as you're slicing, finger almost ending up in the same condition as the potatoes, but prevented by your reflexes. The lights go out on par with another loud blast of lightning, plenty more violent than the first one.

"Goodness!" you hear Toriel say.

You follow the sound of her voice to see a sphere of flames held up in her hand; it reveals her face, now furrowed with worry. "Are you alright?"

"I'm alright." You set the knife aside and join her side, following her orders when she informs you there are candles on the bottom drawer beside her. You act quickly, taking them out and lighting them up with the help of her fire magic. "Are you?"

She nods, a gentle look crossing her. "We should go check on the others." Her gaze points back at the drawer, left open. "Could you bring more of those?"

"Of course, ma'am."

You take the emptiest box of the three and follow her out of the kitchen.

Your surroundings are now left pitch dark except for a bright and glowing, blue spear held out by Undyne, Alphys standing next to her. A tall figure holding up a smaller one can be seen near the couch, people who you assume are Papyrus and Frisk based on who's the only one left to find. "Has anyone seen Sans?" Papyrus asks, fret tracing his voice. "He's not on the couch anymore!"

Looking to where he points at, you see he's right. The couch is empty with the exception of your and Frisk's belongings. Not even a trace of him can be seen left around, making it appear as if he's outright vanished from existence, and not even the dim lighting produced by the candles can aid with tracking him down amongst all the people, objects, and darkness laid around.

While others assemble and call out for Sans as they search through all the rooms they could possibly imagine finding him in, you try to come up with a different solution besides that. Him disappearing was more than unlikely considering he didn't have any magic or energy left in him for teleportation, so you rule that out as a possibility and take a moment to observe your surroundings a bit closer. You look at the couch again, as if still expecting to catch a glimpse of him there despite what you're doing right now. But as fate would have it, your keys pop into your mind when you come across the sight of your suit jacket, umbrella, and all other belongings left behind on a corner of the couch, most of these stored away in a bag or left nearby it.

Reminded over what your car keys have attached to them, you go look for them, bumping into someone right as you're about to make it there.

You wobble and -- at the feeling of losing balance -- you act fast. You break your own fall and later grab onto the person to prevent them from falling, though you don't need to do much when you notice their height doesn't reach that much higher than your chest. Add to that your sturdier body helping with breaking the fall, and you've managed to stop the both of you from fully crashing into each other or stumbling to the floor.

You sit down on the couch when you feel you're losing your balance and hold the person upright. You then let go to look through your bag, retrieving the keys and -- along with them -- a small, solar flashlight hanging from it. The light's directed right at the person's face, revealing Sans's, who looks as if caught in a bad deed.

"Are you okay?" You don't bother over bringing up the fact he face-planted right into your chest, nor that his hands gripped tight onto your waist for support; the sheer sincerity of his surprise at bumping into you makes you assume he hadn't done it on purpose.

"I'm, uh… I'm fine." His words are just as spacey as his gaze, and his irises point at the floor for a second, spacing off yet again. "Sorry about that." He sits right beside you on the couch, facing up to meet with your eyes. "I was gonna check up on the ceiling since it's rainin' so hard. Kinda looks like it'll start leakin' soon."

Thunder strikes again, sending the monster back into your hold. His hands grip onto your shirt next as he freezes up in place, just before he can get to reveal the true meaning over his disappearance.

"Are you… Are you scared over this?" You try to push down your amusement, yet are unable to when you see his grip is tight enough to remind you of a cat being frightened.

When another one strikes, louder than the rest, you bring up another question while biting back a smile. "Is it… Is it the noise?" He tenses up even more, encouraging you to bring him closer, his current proximity far different from his attempts at flirting with you. "Sans." You call out his name, attempting to snap him out of it. "What's wrong? You're as cold as ice!"

He doesn't react, though you can feel him shake and shiver under your hold. You look down at him to see his eye sockets are tightly shut. How much he's scooted closer makes him sit on your lap, though his smaller figure helps you with keeping him safe and balanced in your hold.

As you keep him that way, you can only ask yourself one thing:

Would you come off as an insensitive jerk if you decided to tease him over this in the future?

At the sound of a louder crash, the skeleton's unresponsive, caught up in his fear.

...Or would it work best not to take that risk?

For the time being, you hold him closer.

The feeling of everyone's eyes on you surges when you move your eyes away from the skeleton to look around you. In contrast, you see Papyrus and Frisk too busy playing with a candle to notice what's happening, along with Toriel having all her attention on lighting more candles. It's only Alphys and Undyne who take notice, both their faces equally enlightened by what's unfolding on the couch. They look ready to yap their mouths off over the situation between you and the one clinging onto you, yet one sharp look of caution at the two keeps them from saying anything risky about it.

Whether they knew about Sans's fear you didn't know about, and whether he wanted it to be known you weren't aware of, either. For now, you hold him close, trying your best to ignore the women's stares and waiting until Sans snaps out of it. His hold on you's firm and close, needful and impartial as the thunderstorm continues to gain strength.

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#sans x reader #undertale x reader #lgbt #lgbt themes #gender neutral reader #male reader #female reader #mother reader #father reader #parent reader #chubby reader #long fic #romcom #adventure #mystery #platonic relationships #slow burn

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christinesficrecs · 4 years ago

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Hi! Not sure if this is still active (mobile tumblr does not show dates. 🤷‍♀️).

I am hoping it is and that you can help me.

I'm looking for a fic. It's not recent because I've read it a long while ago. Derek is inspired (don't remember if it's his idea or a suggestion) by the twelve step program used by AA, to try and apply it to himself. Because it seems to be "reconnecting with your human self". Learning to care for yourself.

He gets a plant and is so careful with taking care of it. Then a pet? I think?

I remember that Stiles is supportive even though I don't remember if it was his idea or if he just figures out what Derek is doing.

Obviously, as Derek feels more grounded, they get closer.

Does that ring a bell at all?

Sorry, It sounds familiar but I’m not sure of the title.

Can anyone else help with this fic?

Thank you everyone!! 💜

How To Be a Normal Person by drunktuesdays | 8.3K | Explicit

Instead he sits for a moment, looking at the empty search box, fingers on the home row the way his mother taught him. He thinks about that, and about the hole in the wall he’d lived with for so long, and the way Isaac had grinned at him last night when he’d finally gotten around to plugging the refrigerator in.

He finds himself typing in, “how to be a normal person.”

#asks #sterek fics #ficrecs #derek hale deserves nice things #original-cypher #lost and found

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theawkwardterrier · 4 years ago

Text

my whole trajectory's toward you, and it's not losing momentum (call it anything we want)

Summary: Anthony had expected a certain amount of trouble when he took over managing the Danbury campaign. He didn’t imagine this amount. He didn’t imagine that it might at some point become something other than trouble.

There was mention of rival political campaign managers Kate and Anthony and even though I couldn’t quite get there - or make a scene happen which directly featured Newton 😔 - I did manage rivals and political campaigning. So here’s something to serve as incentive, congratulation, or brief respite depending on how far @thesokovianaccords has gotten in her grad school application process. Sorry if it’s a bit OOC, Livia - maybe it’s just the right degree to make sense in a modern AU? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Read on AO3

A week into running Dr. Danbury’s campaign, Anthony realizes that he has made a grave error in allowing himself to give in when his mother requested “a bit of a favor.”

At the time she’d asked, he had just gotten the news that his previous candidate was dropping out of his own race for health reasons, and of course, Dr. Danbury has been a fixture for his entire life so he might well have stepped up merely because she needed help (despite knowing that the reason she needed the help was that she’d fired her entire previous campaign team). Besides that, he has rarely been able to deny his mother anything, and that’s even before she brings up the number of hours she spent in labor with him (twenty-two, as he well knows by now) but still...he damn well should have ignored all that this time.

For his money, the most annoying part of not being listened to by the candidate is that her instincts have mostly served her well. Three days after he started, she ignored the common wisdom of maintaining decorum and not insulting the opposition which he had reminded her of before she went on camera, and had only benefited from it; apparently the majority of the constituency agreed that the particular candidate she had been asked about was indeed a “first class wanker who should pray nightly for the brains God gave a goose.” At least she had heeded Anthony’s advice to refer to the man as “my opponent” rather than using his name and giving him free advertising in the soundbite as it was played on nearly every news broadcast for the next several days.

“Well, we seem to have come out of this one all right,” she says, sipping her coffee and looking just the slightest bit smug - he doesn’t lie to candidates, so he had been obliged to report that the latest polling numbers actually went up after the incident. “Anything else, Bridgerton?”

Swallowing the speech he wants to give about how easily things could shift during a campaign, not to mention the difference between what people told a pollster and how they actually cast their votes, he says, “Perhaps we might look to hire a policy director, ma’am? To help...guide the campaign a bit more?”

“If we did, I should wonder what I had hired you for.” She looks at him over the tops of her glasses as if she can tell he is dreaming of responding that ah, well, it seems he is unnecessary, and perhaps he will just excuse himself from the position now. He makes sure his expression remains neutral and finally she waves a hand. “Well, let me see some names and CVs after the weekend, and I shall decide then.”

“Very good.” He extremely purposefully does not sigh until he is out of her office and striding along the corridor of their campaign headquarters. There are plenty of people who will take a call from him on short notice and who will back him with the candidate. Yes, if he can’t quit altogether (and he can’t if he wants his regular seat at Christmas dinner) then having someone in his corner is just the ticket.

He arrives for work on Monday even earlier than his traditional first thing in the morning, wondering to himself whether it will be better to simply present his top applicants or if he should throw in a decoy or two to make his choices shine even brighter - although perhaps that’s just the sort of ploy that the candidate would sniff out in a heartbeat after a career of wrangling university students. Still debating, he turns the corner toward his office, only to find Dr. Danbury in the hall outside, speaking with someone. Anthony doesn’t recognize the person from the back, can only see a fall of shiny, dark hair, so he guesses it is one of the volunteers, perhaps someone new who has arrived early for orientation. He hopes that Dr. Danbury isn’t being too intimidating.

“Ah, Bridgerton,” the lady in question calls down the hallway, and something about her tone makes Anthony’s spine go straight. “Good morning.”

Still, he clings to his good mood as he greets her. “Let me put my things down, and then we can go over your schedule for the day. And I have those CVs you had requested as well.”

“Nevermind those,” she says, and the little smile on her lips makes every one of his nerves stand on end. “Did you know that your mother and I went out for a drink on Friday evening? Oh, yes, we had a wonderful time, and your brother Colin came around to escort us home. Such a lovely boy, had some delightful stories about his trip to Greece - and so interested in the campaign. In fact, he had a brilliant thought when I mentioned your idea for bringing on someone new to help shape things alongside the two of us.”

Whatever virtues his brother Colin might possess, interest in the campaign is absolutely not among them. Skin humming all over, Anthony manages a casual, “Oh?”

“Indeed, and luckily I was able to organize it all over the weekend so you wouldn’t have to do a thing.” She gestures toward her companion, and with a sick swoop in his stomach, Anthony knows who he is going to see before she shifts around.

“I believe you two have met before?” Dr. Danbury says, voice fading just a bit beneath the static in Anthony’s ears as Kate Sheffield turns to face him.

They have not actually met before, but that doesn’t mean that they don’t know of each other.

The first time Anthony heard her name, it was her sister saying it - about twenty times in a row, if he’s being honest. He met Edie Sheffield two years back at one of his mother’s galas. Edie ran a different prestigious kids charity than the one Mum was fundraising for, so he’d wondered if inviting her was somehow inviting the enemy or maybe bragging. But Edie was sweet, and passionate about her job, and looked absolutely gorgeous in sapphire satin, and he settled into a night of getting her drinks and chatting her up, despite the fact that she didn’t seem as interested in speaking with him as she did in mentioning that he really must talk with her sister.

He’d stayed the night in the hotel where the gala had been held (alone, in one of the rooms which had been set aside for guests from the event; he’d put Edie in a car at about 11) and was planning on taking his mother to breakfast after she came down from her own room. When he went to check out, however, the desk attendant handed him a message which had been taken down for him on hotel stationary.

Dickheads like you shouldn’t try to get with my sister. Don’t do it again.

“Is there anything else that I can assist you with?” asked the attendant, holding onto her poker face remarkably. Perhaps they taught that in hospitality programs.

He’d crushed the note in his hand before smoothing his own face placidly and handing over his credit card. His mother was all smiles and chatter during breakfast, but his mind was still on the note, which seemed to have burned itself behind his eyelids.

Dickheads like you - oh, so only other types of dickheads need apply? And get with? Were they twelve years old and couldn’t use grownup words? Not to mention the signature, such as it was. Trying to play mafia boss, expecting that he’d know who had sent it. He did, but it took a lot of bloody gall to assume that he would.

Not as much gall as Don’t do it again. He couldn’t even think of that part, the demeaning certainty of it, without a certain vein beginning to throb in his forehead.

In the two years since, he found himself falling back into analysis of the note - it was barely more than a dozen words, so how could there still be so much to parse? - whenever her name came up, which became more and more frequent as she moved from nothing campaigns in the most forgotten corners of the country to deputy deputy whatever on somewhat more consequential ones. She was gaining a reputation among his peers. They said she was smart and canny, that she had a knack for looking at the bigger picture and acting on her instincts.

(Someone who’d once worked with her had also mentioned that it helped that she didn’t have a high opinion of her looks, didn’t flaunt herself the way some women did around the office - she certainly didn’t have a reason to do so, but sometimes that didn’t stop them.

“Oh, be fair,” said the other man. “She does have quite a nice—”

They’d shut up when he’d walked into the room - everyone knew better than to talk that way around him, and it wasn’t just because of “all those sisters” the way some people said. Eloise had been interning with the campaign that summer, and for the rest of the day while he’d talked with human resources, he’d let her make mistakes on all of their lunch and coffee orders and give them the wrong data for their reports when they’d made her look it up instead of doing it themselves. When he’d fired them, he spread the word on why, but left the particulars out of it.)

The note returns to his mind whenever someone new has their one experience of suggesting Kate Sheffield as a potential hire, or when he thinks he’s seen her in the background of some press conference or event for another candidate, or if he runs into Edie at another charity function, where he absolutely does not flirt with her just that extra bit harder while part of his mind thinks Your move directly toward her sister who he has never actually met in person.

Until now.

“We’re acquainted,” he tells Dr. Danbury, managing to remain polite by avoiding Kate’s gaze. He leaves it at that.

They’re the first two in the conference room for the all-staff the next morning, and somehow he’s not surprised.

“Good morning,” he says as he comes in to find her over by the coffee. She’s doctoring it significantly, clearly already familiar with the quality to be found in a campaign office. He always buys his own; he can’t stand the amount of milk and sugar and oddly flavored creamers required to make the other stuff palatable (and don’t even get him started on the alleged tea).

Tone cool, she replies, “Mr. Bridgerton,” and takes a sip from her mug.

It isn’t as if the staff goes around calling him “Tony” or “boss,” and only the most knock-kneed newcomers call him “sir.” He’s Anthony to most. He has no inclination to correct her.

He works to keep his tone casual and courteous as usual when he introduces her to everyone (“And this is Kate Sheffield, who will be doing some consulting for us”) but something about it must catch Dr. Danbury’s attention, because she raises an eyebrow at him from her end of the table and rests both hands atop her stick.

The fact that the candidate is aware that something is going on between the two of them makes it all the more exasperating when two days later she signs off on Kate’s media and advertising plan over his own. He shows up for dinner with Daphne and Simon that evening as planned, knowing that Daphne would be completely willing to pull the pregnancy card if he tried to get out of it, but she sends him home before the waiter has brought the dessert menus because he keeps muttering about how more people travel by tube and railways and for longer distances but are more likely to take more individual rides on buses and what that means for posting print ads.

(The numbers are seared into his mind, considering she’d included a full breakdown with three kinds of graphs and bloody footnotes in her presentation.)

Getting released from the restaurant early gives him extra time to go back to the office for a bit and put together a preliminary get out the vote strategy. He calls in several favors as a part of it, including one from an old friend of his father’s who asks incredulously, “Really? For this?” clearly wondering whether Anthony’s reputation is deserved if he’s pulling out all the stops for something so routine.

It’s well worth it, however, when Dr. Danbury raises an eyebrow as she looks over the document he’d put together, and tells him, “Well done, Bridgerton, very well done indeed. I think this shall do nicely.”

He does not even glance toward Kate; there really isn’t any need to gloat.

Well, one tiny peek won’t hurt.

Her jaw is set and her eyes are flinty, but she gives him just the slightest nod, as if to say that he might have won this round, but she’d like to see him try the next one.

Just before three in the morning, he wakes himself, panting, from a dream that makes him think he might have to report himself for workplace sexual harassment.

“I would have hoped you’d have better self-preservation instincts,” he says aloud to his body. “Or at least better taste.”

Collapsing back against the pillows, he pushes his mind toward images of ex-girlfriends and celebrities, but no, there is Kate, strong and challenging and gorgeous above him, a vivid afterimage that refuses to go away, and he sighs and gives into it, trying to set himself to rights so he can get past this and find at least a bit more sleep.

Anthony has never been the sort of boss who shouts at people in the office - he has always tended toward cold anger and “you know what you’ve done, now fix it” stares, and doesn’t intend to act differently now. But as he stalks over to Kate’s desk, he finds a fiercer anger taking over, just a bit.

“You changed my media statement,” he says, voice silken with it as he leans his palms down on her desktop and rests his weight on them. He is speaking low, the words just for her, although his eyes roam over the others moving busily around the main space of the office.

She turns her chair slightly, so that he feels the brush of her hair on his forearms where his sleeves are rolled up; it shifts his attention fully in her direction. Her hair tie had snapped earlier, and the thick topknot she tried twisting for herself has collapsed, leaving it free around her shoulders. He snaps himself back from examining the shining curls as she says, “Yes, I did.”

Part of him admires her straightforwardness, that she takes responsibility without even trying to deny it. The other part...well, the anger hasn’t exactly disappeared.

In a level tone which would have his siblings looking over in alarm, he says. “I had worked that statement out with the entire communications department.”

“The entire communications department does what you tell them to do. It’s what you pay them for.”

“And what, exactly, do I pay you for?”

They are facing each other now, their bodies a bit too close for it. She is looking directly at him, voice sharp and clear as glass. “I was hired by the candidate, to help run the campaign that she wants. Your statement was just a polite walkback of her words.”

He has the sudden thought that the brown of her eyes could be warm, that her gaze probably is warm when she’s looking at her sister or the dog whose photo she has framed on her desk (a plump, panting little corgi wearing a bright blue bow tie, absurd), but he’s never seen her that way. He’s only ever gotten this, annoyance and disdain and perhaps disappointment.

Still, he responds, “Her words need to be walked back if she wants to someday be more than the candidate. In this constituency, colonial reparations aren’t a popular enough issue to increase turnout for those who weren’t already interested, and it’s exactly the sort of thing which will put off those who were on the fence. We’re trying to flip a seat by reminding people of what their current MP is doing wrong; we have to stay on message, not muddy things with topics too few understand. Sending out a statement moderating the comment is the right move.”

“But that statement isn’t what the candidate believes, and her future constituents should know what her actual position is - they likely aren’t as stupid as you seem to think. And besides that, she has the right stance in the first place.”

In the weeks since she arrived, he’s found that the things people said of her were true: she is smart, perhaps too smart for the good of either of them, and decisive, easily seeing what’s been done and what needs to be and acting on it, the exact sort of person you would want at your side as you plot a course forward. But he hadn’t realized that she was a believer.

There are fewer idealists in politics than one might think, or at least who have risen to her level. He always finds them a bit off-putting, and it startles him even more with her - he had thought he recognized in her a sharpness and pragmatism which reminded him of his own.

“Don’t do anything like this again,” he says, trying to temper his own abruptness even as he is somewhat unsettled by the conviction in her. “Or I’ll fire you, and I don’t care what the candidate says about it.”

“I think she would have quite a lot to say in that circumstance,” Kate tells him, but she turns back to her keyboard and doesn’t argue anymore.

At least until the next day, when they end up nearly nose to nose in his office as Anthony maintains that they can’t get anyone’s hopes up with a promise of immediate action on climate change, especially considering the priorities in the party platform and the likely makeup of the next parliament, and Kate practically shouts that they’re showing people where their convictions lie and that Dr. Danbury will fight for them if she gets the chance.

When Anthony dreams of her again that night, they are not talking about policy at all. But when he wakes up, edgy and aching as he is, he finds himself hoping one day to see her smile at him the way he did in his sleep; he wants to know if her eyes really are as warm as he imagined.

On Saturday, there’s such persistent nagging in the older sibling groupchat that Anthony finally gives in and agrees to leave the office for a night out. Forcing him into some allegedly relaxing activity is a time-honored tradition when they’re coming into the final stretch of a campaign; he’s certain the others have been discussing tactics in one of the numerous other chats that are always going on. (The last he’d glimpsed, the sibling group which didn’t include Gregory, Hyacinth, or himself - but did, irritatingly, include Simon - was named “Anthony’s Scary Forehead Vein.”)

“Please tell me that we aren’t going to paint ceramics again,” Anthony says as he walks, hands in his pockets, beside Benedict. Their group is too large to all move together on the sidewalk, which is a bit of a relief. “I don’t think I could put up with another night of Eloise reminding me that there are stencils if I need them.”

Benedict very narrowly and very obviously avoids laughing at him. Now that Anthony thinks about it, actually, his brother had spent that particular outing using a dozen colors to intricately decorate a mug, spending so long on it that they had nearly closed the place around him. Their mother drinks her tea from it frequently, however. “Thankfully there won’t be any pottery or painting tonight.”

“And it’s not—”

“Not a club,” Benedict assures him, then grins. “Can you imagine Simon trying to make certain no one came within a foot radius of Daph on the dance floor?”

Anthony shakes his head, looking ahead of them to where his sister and brother-in-law are walking together, not holding hands, but so close that they might as well be. He still feels a bit strange about the two of them together, especially after all the drama on the way, but he can see that they’re in love each other, even if he can’t really imagine why anyone would want to be, and they’re extremely obviously happy, so he’s trying to grow accustomed to it. He can also absolutely see Simon working himself into knots playing mosh pit bodyguard.

“So where are we going, then?” he asks, but before Benedict can answer, Eloise, broken away from her friend Penelope, tosses her arms over their shoulders and wriggles her face between them.

“You’ll just have to see,” she says, and Anthony doesn’t have to look at her to know that she is twitching her eyebrows at them. He probably could get it out of her if he tried, but he actually is finding himself feeling a little lighter being out with everyone, so he just waits and ten minutes later, they’re entering an already fairly crowded pub. Colin and Eloise go over to register them as a trivia team - or more likely to bicker over what name their team should have. As if realizing the same, Daphne squeezes Simon’s hand once and pushes over to join them.

(Her stomach is still flat, even for someone looking, but Anthony notices that she places a protective hand over it as she walks through the crush anyway.)

The rest of them go to claim a table and start putting together an order for drinks and appetizers. Anthony is leaning across, shouting a promise that if Penelope doesn’t finish her chili loaded potato wedges, they’ll certainly be taken care of, when someone behind him asks, “Excuse me, can we borrow this chair?”

“Sorry, there are more of us coming,” he says politely, turning to face the woman. She’s thirtyish and tall, but that’s all he takes in before he spots, over her shoulder, the rest of her group. They’re all chatting with each other, wearing matching T-shirts in a variety of bold colors which declare them the Quizzie Bennets, and in the center, her hair up in a ponytail and definite warmth in her eyes, is Kate. Edie stands beside her, picture perfect nose crinkled in a teasing way, but all Anthony can notice is that he’s never seen Kate in jeans like this, that the odd, bright purple of her shirt looks electric instead of ugly against the dark of her hair, and all he can think is that he never imagined her as relaxed as she is, weapons laid down.

She seems to detect his gaze then, and as she meets it he expects the weapons to be picked right back up. There’s certainly surprise, a guardedness to her eyes as they meet his, but then she narrows them in his direction, as if saying game on.

So that’s how she wants to play it, he thinks, then turns to the others and says, “No alcohol.”

Benedict blinks. “What do you mean by that?”

“In solidarity with Daphne,” Anthony offers.

“Daph does know that it’s pub trivia,” Simon says. “And she’s not—”

“Fine,” Anthony interrupts before the compliment train can get rolling. He sets his jaw. “I mean that we need to keep clear heads if we’re going to absolutely trounce everyone here.”

Penelope looks a bit alarmed by the vehemence in his tone and Simon quirks a brow, but the others are game enough - Bridgertons have always had a competitive streak, and apparently the rest of them actually chose this particular trivia night because it’s done aloud, infinite bounce style, instead of on paper.

“We play with live ammo around here,” Eloise declares gleefully once she’s returned and been updated on what she missed.

“Damn right we do,” Anthony mutters to himself, glad that he is seated with his back to Kate so he can resist the temptation to see how irritated she looks just now, or how face might be a little flushed and her ponytail loosened from the heat of everyone packed together inside…

“Who exactly do you keep looking for?” asks Colin, who’d plopped himself into the chair Kate’s teammate had asked about. He cranes obviously around, and Anthony turns firmly back to the table before his brother can follow his line of vision.

For all that they didn’t pick their team in order to be serious contenders, they do cover the bases fairly well. Anthony has politics and current events, obviously, along with history. Penelope plays backup there as well, and covers literature alongside Colin, who handily takes on geography too. (Anthony has always inwardly wondered how reasonable it was to build a career around wanderlust and Instagram and freelancing for travel magazines, but if it brings them victory tonight, he will never question again.) Benedict apparently took in more about nature than any of the rest of them who grew up in the Kentish countryside, and knows quite a bit more about art and art history than Anthony had expected. Daphne, unpredictably, knows a lot about sports - she claims that it’s what happens when you spend your life being rambled at as “another one of the boys” - and, more predictably, music.

Anthony hadn’t expected Simon’s skill with numbers to be particularly helpful, but now he’ll have to buy him a drink at some point, both for doubting and for pulling them out of a sticky situation involving Bernstein's constant. He wishes that Francesca wasn’t too young to have come out with them - there are several instances where they could have used her chiming in with quiet calm about anything related to economics or science, but they instead have to all give questionable contributions in that regard. They all chip in for pop culture, too, although Eloise is clearly the master - she actually yawns as she announces that of course the country where Monica’s boyfriend Pete Becker took her on their first date was Italy, and Anthony has never been more grateful that he lets everyone sponge off his Netflix login (although would it really kill them to not be using all the screens on the rare occasions he actually has the time and inclination to watch something?).

The trouble is that there are plenty of other teams who are clearly regulars, and they were put together in order to be serious contenders. The questions and answers are flying through the air, the quizmaster, a skinny older man with big hair shouting “Correct! For ten points,” more often than not, and most importantly, the Quizzie Bennets are availing themselves nicely. (He should have guessed as soon as he saw the matching T-shirts.)

Questions his team can’t answer correctly bounce to them next, and he can’t help but toss Kate an incredulous look after she not only answers that Angela Merkel was voted chancellor of November rather than October 2005, but also rattles off the margin for and against. Her eyes meet his as if she was expecting his glance, but she just shrugs before wrapping her lips around her straw and taking a dainty sip of her drink. He has to look away then.

Still, Team Quizerton (apparently the name that both Colin and Eloise had hated enough for Daphne to negotiate them to agreement) has done well enough that Anthony feels confident as they move into the final round.

“And what will the twist be tonight?” the excitable quizmaster asks, although he then just presses a button on his phone rather than spinning some kind of enormous wheel. His face lights up as he announces grandly, “Ah, the ladder!”

He quickly outlines the rules: each team will have five questions selected for them in ascending order of difficulty, with point values from ten to fifty. For each correct answer, they will receive the corresponding points and the option of requesting a related bonus question for half the initial question’s value. Wrong answers mean a point deduction, double for bonus questions, and the end of play for that team. You can also pass, choosing another team to answer and forfeiting further questions for yours but freezing your points where they stand.

It’s more like a game show than any trivia night that Anthony is familiar with, but he actually appreciates the strategy element; he can understand why this would be Kate’s preferred contest.

He considers giving a pep talk to the table, but all of them - except for Simon, who’s looking somewhere between vaguely amused and bored - are dialed in, ready to claim victory, so he settles back and readies himself for it too.

It happens in the final round. Anthony is just allowing himself to feel the slightest bit smug at having earned them another 75 points by not only correctly responding that Sri Lanka was the first country to have a female prime minister, but answering the bonus of her name (Sirimavo Bandaranaike) and year of election (1960) as well. The quizmaster nods, turns, and reads off the next question: “This famous playwright’s last words were reportedly ‘I knew it! I knew it! Born in a hotel room and, goddamn it, dying in a hotel room.’”

There’s a strange, deep silence, then a buzz of whispering among the Quizzie Bennets, and Anthony is struck by the realization that they don’t know the answer. He certainly doesn’t either, and a glance around at his group tells him that they would have been screwed had they gotten the question, but it doesn’t matter. Excitement licks up his throat, victory so close he can taste it…

And then Kate’s head comes up from the huddle, and her eyes meet his, and he knows exactly what she is going to do before she does it.

“Ten seconds!” says the quizmaster.

“Trust me,” Kate mouths to her teammates, and then says aloud, “We’d like to pass, and give the Know It Ales a chance to answer.”

Anthony’s mouth goes dry. Stupid team name aside, they’ve been confidently answering questions all night, and this time is no different. Their leader is nearly bored as he immediately says, “Eugene O’Neill.” And Anthony can barely hear the room around him over the blood rushing in his ears as they answer the follow-up too.

When the quizmaster declares the Know It Ales the champions for the evening, Kate slings her arms around her teammates and cheers as if he’s announced her name instead. The other Quizzie Bennets look puzzled, but when she stares defiantly at Anthony, chin raised, beaming, glowing not like she’s in the spotlight but like she’s the light itself, he somewhat suspects that she’s the winner indeed.

“Isn’t that—” Colin starts somewhere close to Anthony’s ear.

“No, it is not,” Anthony tells him firmly, and wrestles him off to pay their tab.

Later that night, after he’s somewhat successfully distracted himself with work and somewhat less successfully distracted himself with looking for something to watch (why isn’t everyone asleep, and even if they are up, could they really not leave him one available screen?) he finds himself sitting on the edge of his bed with his work phone in one hand and his personal one in the other. And even though he knows exactly how bad an idea it is, he very carefully references the campaign contact group and keys one number into a new text message in his personal phone.

Sorry that this didn’t seem to be your night. Best of luck to your team next time.

He shoves out a breath and stands as soon as he’s sent it, forces himself to start getting ready for bed; she’s probably asleep now, or she might read it as rude or sarcastic and choose not to respond, and the text is just going to sit there, awkward and interminable…

There are plenty of ways to be lucky, thanks very much, and I think we found one - although I look forward to reclaiming my rightful title someday soon. See you on Monday, Bridgerton.

Regardless of what he tells himself, he can’t quite get the stupid grin off his face as he shuts off the light. He’s under no illusions about who his dreams will feature tonight.

Monday night before the election, Anthony leaves the office past eleven. He rubs his eyes as he walks past dark cubicles and conference rooms - unsurprisingly, he’s the last one around - and decides that what he needs more than sleep is something to eat, and not whatever cup noodles or single egg he might come up with at home. No, he needs comfort food, something generous and hot and greasy as Benedict’s face the year he was thirteen (not that his at fifteen was much better).

His favorite hole in the wall is open until midnight, so he stumbles over there and buys the biggest order of chips he can, the enormous burger nearly an afterthought. The place is tiny and not the sort of spot that has ever even heard of ambiance, but he’s tired and the idea of waiting to get back to his flat and eating in its emptiness isn’t particularly appealing. He turns with his food in hand and finds Kate looking up at him, startled, from one of the three tables.

He could take one of the others, leave them to eat in awkward peace, or he could pretend he had always intended to have his food to go. Instead he comes over and asks, “Can I join you?”

Her capable hands moving just a note too slowly, as though giving him time to reconsider, she collects the documents from the opposite side of the table, tapping them into order as he waits patiently. She folds her fingers atop the neat stack in front of her once she’s finished, watching as he dives into his meal; he should probably be embarrassed about it, but he doesn’t really have the energy.

They talk about inconsequential things - how the weather forecast might cause trouble with voter turnout, the unfortunate office incident with Johnson and the speakerphone last week, mutual political acquaintances - and Anthony realizes that it’s the first time they’ve ever done this, just made small talk without disagreeing. Kate doesn’t lose her sharp tongue simply because they are in casual conversation, but it’s different when her remarks aren’t directed at him; hearing her pert analyses of other candidates and campaign staffers actually makes him laugh.

She’s left half a piece of cold fish and polished off more than a few of his chips (completely unthinkingly, he’s sure) when they’re informed that closing time’s come and they have to clear the table. It would be completely natural for them to part ways and see each other in the morning for another round of sparring, but he finds himself saying, “I think I might go get a drink,” and finds her answering, “I think I might join you.”

He regrets it just a bit when he’s balanced on the bar stool (he really is exhausted; this is the earliest he’s been out of the office in days) but then Kate raises her wineglass and says, “To the homestretch,” and smiles just a bit as he touches his glass to hers. The light falls cozy and dim around them and he can still see exactly how long and competent her fingers are, wrapped around the stem, the places where strands of hair have escaped their pins, trailing down to rest against her exposed throat.

Right, he thinks inanely to himself. Right, excellent, this was a good choice, and belts back his scotch before signaling for another.

“Those were your siblings?” she asks, taking a sip of her own drink. “At trivia the other night?”

“Some of them were...are…” He shakes his head, trying to straighten out his own meaning. “It was some of my siblings, the oldest four, and my brother-in-law, and my sister’s best friend.” Then, before he can stop himself, he adds, “I saw your sister was there as well.”

“Hmm,” she says, taking another sip of her cabernet, and he can see her spine stiffening, armor reasserting itself.

For the first time, he realizes that she could easily hate Edie, her younger sister - her younger half-sister, even - who is sweet and accomplished and more apparently pretty, the one people’s eyes turn to when the Sheffield girls are around, but what Kate displays is no begrudging love.

It would probably be better for him to change the topic, get them back on safer ground, but though he might be smart, he’s not necessarily wise, so he tosses back his second scotch and asks, “Why did you warn me off her the first time? You didn’t even know me.”

“Yes, but I knew of you,” she says. As always, she faces the comment head on, doesn’t even pretend not to remember exactly what he’s talking about. “I was starting in the industry, I needed to have an ear to the ground and at least a general sense of the players, and I didn’t like the sense I got about you. It didn't make me think you were the kind of person to trust with my sister.”

“I’ve never—I would never—I don’t think I’ve—” he says, stumbling, slightly stricken. He knows that there are whisper networks about the people - the men - in their field, knows exactly who some of the whispers are about and has done his best to be the type of person who helps make those whispers into shouts. It would kill him a bit to find out that he’s done something that would make someone feel the need to speak about him that way.

“Not necessarily on a personal level,” she says, suddenly gentle, then circles her finger around the rim of her glass and amends, “Well, not that way. People actually said you were very smart and a good employer, but when I learned more about your history, the jobs you’d worked on in the past, it didn’t feel like there was any principle to your choices. As if you were just willing to sell yourself to whoever asked, or at least whoever looked good on a resume. Edwina deserves more than that.”

She is looking at him extremely frankly, as if she hasn’t just shrugged away the idea of the career he’s built, but with the way she says her sister’s name, the softness of it, how she somehow makes the full, old-fashioned version more personal than the nickname - he understands that sort of devotion. Hearing it from her steals the irritation beginning to build even as she continues. “I could never even entirely figure out why you went into politics rather than something else. You’re reasonably intelligent, you could have done any number of things if you weren’t particularly invested in the issues.”

Somehow, instead of the protest he was expecting, that he was intending, what comes out is simply, “It’s the family business.”

“I’m sorry?”

“The Bridgerton Group. My father started it.” By her expression, she doesn’t think that two generations exactly makes a family legacy, but for once she holds her tongue, and his, loose with drink and exhaustion, can’t hold back.

“I grew up playing under the table at a dozen campaign offices across London and having poster mock-ups as my placemats. When I was a bit older, I was allowed to volunteer, and I loved seeing him there, in his element, listening to proposals and then telling everyone, ‘Well, here’s what we’re going to do.’” He swallows. “He—My father died, just after my first year at university, and I wasn’t old or experienced enough to take his place. The staff went off to work for other people, and all I could think about was how disappointed he would have been, to see this thing he’d built, this thing he loved, fall apart so easily. The entire time until I graduated, while I was getting experience with other consulting firms and working on other campaigns, I was just waiting until I could do justice to what he left behind for me.

“He nearly called it ABC Consulting, but my mother told him that it sounded too juvenile. My parents had me and my brothers fairly young - he was still a student when Benedict and I were born - and he wanted to name it after us.”

He realizes as soon as he’s said it that he’s only ever admitted that once before, to Simon on a similarly drunken night during their final year at school, forgetting the way that Simon and his father were, or weren’t, with each other; his friend’s face had closed up as soon as the words had left Anthony’s mouth, and they’d never talked about it again. But Kate’s face is open, listening, more than he thinks he’s ever seen from her, in such a way that he thinks he could reveal anything to her.

He could tell her about the trouble he and his brothers got up to as children, or how he likes watching baking shows to relax even though he’s not worth a damn in the kitchen, or that he can’t stop himself from adding another mile to his morning run each time he finds a gray hair. He could start talking about how complicated his feelings have grown regarding the man who was once his best friend, or about the way his entire chest had burned as his mother placed a squalling Hyacinth into his nineteen-year-old hands before closing her eyes and about how he never wants either of them to know that he’d tried to force himself not to tremble and had trembled anyway. But this isn’t the time for any of that, so he continues.

“I wanted to put it back together for him. There were candidates I took on in the early days who were stepping stones, necessary to building a reputation but who I wouldn’t work with again now that I have the reputation and the choices that come with it. And I have my own opinions on the issues - some of which might match yours more closely than you’d expect - but I’m there to make sure that the candidates who hire me succeed in getting where they want to be. I’m good at that, and I’m committed to it, and I’ve never run a campaign I wasn’t proud of. Sometimes, though, being around you, I wonder if you're going to eventually talk me into a different philosophy.”

His glass is full again though he isn’t sure when that happened, and a group of middle-aged men with ties undone and suitcases beneath their eyes fumbles past the bar behind them toward a booth, but the only thing he is paying attention to is Kate’s considering gaze on him as she absently swirls the wine remaining in her glass.

“I have the feeling,” she finally says, “that when you say a different philosophy, you consider it a more naïve one. And I’m not certain that our opinions on the issues would really match up considering that you grew up with family money.” Her voice is not arch or insulting, though, and he would certainly know.

“We were...comfortable,” he admits. She raises a waspish eyebrow in response.

“No one who’s actually middle class would ever put it like that,” she informs him. “You most definitely have a trust fund.” But she actually smiles at him, and for once he knows what it’s like to have Kate Sheffield look at him with warmth in her eyes.

He’d quite like to have that again.

“Do you think—?”

“That we should dignify the remarks with a response? No, I absolutely do not.”

Anthony glares down at the article he has pulled up on his phone, then looks over at Kate, striding down the hall beside him, eating slices of peach out of a reusable container. For a moment he’s distracted from the rumormongering on behalf of one of their opposing campaigns; he thinks of Kate’s hands carefully working the knife around the fruit, of the way her tongue flicks over to catch the juice when she takes a bite…

“I could reach out,” he says, too loudly, before he walks into a wall. “I know the head of the campaign over there, I can remind him about the spirit of fair play and all that, especially this close to the finish line.”

She looks over at him incredulously, snapping the top onto her empty Tupperware. “I don’t care if you were the best man at his wedding, he’ll laugh you off the phone. I’ve had at least three listicles of our candidate’s best insults toward her opponents forwarded to me just this morning.”

“I had the feeling that wouldn’t work.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. Just three days left, for better or worse. “Fine, so we say nothing and hope that it passes out of the media cycle quickly and doesn’t do too much damage to the absentee votes.”

“As I said from the beginning.”

“You are far too determined never to let me have the last word,” he says, just the slightest bit amused, as they circle around the desks of the main office, edging their way over to hers.

She snags the toe of her ballet flat on a computer charger trailing across the floor, stumbles, but he catches her hand just in time and sets her upright again. She continues walking as if it hadn’t even happened, raising her voice enough to be heard over the chatter and buzz of phone calls as she teases, “What would be the fun in that?”

Aghast, he says, “We aren’t here to have fun, Sheffield.”

“Oh, did you actually want to win?” She tosses the empty container onto her desk as she drops into her chair, then looks up at him, swiveling slightly from side to side and shaking her head. “You really are a cliché.”

“Yeah, well, here’s another one: get to work.”

“I’m not sure that’s technically a cliché, but I suppose I could do that,” she says, with a shrug and a grin, turning toward her computer. He watches her for another few seconds, and then takes himself off to his office before he becomes too much of a cliché himself.

Despite the phone call he had earlier with his mother promising her that he wouldn’t, he falls asleep on his desk the night before the election, startling himself awake hours later.

“Too bloody old for this,” he mutters to himself, grimacing as seemingly every joint and muscle in his body quite firmly announces itself when he stands. Scrubbing a hand through his hair, he gathers his things and makes his way through the darkened office.

Except it isn’t as dark as he’d expected. He scans the desks to try to figure out who left their lamp on, and finds Kate with her head resting on her arms, essentially imitating him from ten minutes prior.

Briefly, he stands there, not entirely sure what to do, but then he walks over, hand hovering by her shoulder before he gives her a light shake.

“Kate,” he says softly, crouching so he’s closer to her level. Her loose ponytail drapes over the burgundy of her blouse, quite close to his hand. He had not realized that he would recognize the scent of her, clean and straightforward with a subtly delicate edge; he should have known - he’s been smelling it in his dreams for weeks. He swallows and shakes her once more. “Kate, you should go home.”

“That was meant to be my line,” she says, far more lucidly than he would have expected. He shifts back as she stirs and sits up, massaging her fingers over her eyes. “I had the feeling that you weren’t going to leave at a sensible time, so I was planning on reminding you before I went home, only apparently I can’t leave at a sensible time either.”

“No, I suspect that sensible times to leave the office don’t involve the letters A or M,” he agrees. “Not that I would know anything about that.”

As she readies herself to leave, he tries to remember that the way she stretches out her back or takes down her hair, how she swings her bag over her shoulder, the quick, assessing way her eyes cover the room to make certain everything is in its place: all of that should be unremarkable. But there’s a moment, just the tiniest sliver of time, when she’s flicked off her desk lamp and they begin to walk out together in the glow of the emergency exit signs and the dim light of windows from other office buildings - she glances over at him, his hair rumpled, tie and briefcase dangling from one hand, and he thinks that he sees her swallow in a way that he recognizes all too well.

And then the moment is gone, and they’re out on the sidewalk, about to go their separate ways, the car he’d called for her already waiting.

“Big day tomorrow,” he says over the top of the door, holding it open as she climbs in. “Are you ready for it?”

“I’m always ready.”

He laughs, soft as the night around them. “Yes, I suppose you are. Good night, then.”

She looks at him one last time in the yellow beam of the streetlight, still a bit sleepy-eyed but no less aware for it. “Good night, Bridgerton,” she tells him, and drives away, and he can’t help but wonder about what if she hadn’t, what if he’d said something or she had made a choice, what if she didn’t drive away from him again.

The day of the election is always the worst for him - all the work behind him, nothing really to be done but let the people vote. He’s in the office earlier than usual anyway, early enough that he isn't certain it was worthwhile going home, but this, at least, he can control. He manages to keep himself busy throughout the day, but it’s all just a countdown to that night.

Somehow, despite - or perhaps because of - the sleeplessness and planning and stress, it isn’t one those contests that drag on. Dr. Danbury is brought on stage at about a quarter to one alongside the other candidates; the results, when the returning officer announces them, are decisive.

She’d brushed away his offers to help or choose a staffer or hire someone to work on her speech with her; instead she’s written it herself, and although brief, it’s as firm and irreverent as she is. He suspects that no one will ever pack as much sarcasm into referring to certain colleagues as “the right honorable.”

He makes some calls and receives congratulations from his mother and siblings, who have long since ceased to find these sorts of things interesting enough to attend but who make certain to keep up from home. As Dr. Danbury frees from handshaking and small talking, he makes his way over to her.

“Congratulations, ma’am.” He holds out his hand, which she eyes with a lifted brow.

“Anthony Bridgerton, I’ve known you since you were charming people from your mother’s arms, and considering that - not to mention all we’ve been through together over these last months - I think you can stand to give me more than just a handshake.”

He hugs her, which feels odd and tells him more than anything that the campaign is over. When he pulls away from her, she pats his cheek. “Now, go celebrate. You’ve earned it. I’m certainly going to.” And she winks.

The campaign staff is making plans for drinks and dancing and even just going home to raise a glass with loved ones. He wades into the group, patting backs and shaking hands, speaking briefly to some of them, smiling all the while.

And then he sees Kate, toward the edge of the crowd, chatting with one of the young guys from finance. Edwina is beside them, likely not as inured to the excitement of the night as the Bridgertons.

Kate, the taller of the two, spots him, leaning over to say something to her sister before weaving her way over. He tips his head toward a quieter little hallway, and they go over together, leaning against parallel walls.

“Congratulations,” they say to each other at the same time, and then immediately after, “I only wanted to say—”

He nods at her to go first. It’s only polite. But there’s an unusual sort of trepidation about her face, a pause that he doesn’t expect, that makes him wonder if she wishes that he’d taken the initiative. Still, she’s Kate, so she takes a breath and comes out with, “Edwina is here tonight, and if you still wanted—Clearly I misjudged you, and so if you were still interested in her, I wouldn’t say anything.”

“Oh,” he says, and that is all he can manage for the moment, standing frozen and watching Kate force her shoulders back and her gaze to his.

He does not know precisely how to communicate the depths to which he has realized that he does not want to date Edie Sheffield, that he never wanted to date her, that his interest lies entirely elsewhere. What he says instead is, “I had wanted to ask you to stay on with the Group. Permanently. You’re very, very good at what you do, and I think that...You know, your perspective and your clarity during the campaign was extremely helpful, extremely valuable, to me.”

He can picture it plainly, has been picturing it already: Kate taking him to task about every little issue, forcing him to remember the things outside of the campaign itself, the bigger things. Kate, with her hair swept up and her eyes bright and furious, challenging him to be the best version of himself, or at least to want to try.

But then she looks up at him and says, “I’ve actually had another job offer recently. The candidate—I’m sorry, the MP-elect wants me to be her new chief of staff, and I was already inclined to accept.”

“You’re going to be incredible at that,” he says immediately, blank shock quickly giving way to sincerity then laughter. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of it sooner. Maybe I just didn’t think that Parliament was ready for it.”

“That’s probably for the best, though. Element of surprise and all.”

Her voice doesn’t trail away but as his laughter does, so does her smile, her animation; the air seems to fall thin and still. He doesn’t know that there’s ever been a beat of awkwardness between them like this, not even when they have been at their most prickly with each other, but it’s there now, in her eyes as she looks across at him, in his gut as he wonders what to say next.

“I’m glad you got another job offer,” is what comes out, and there is her unamused, interrogative eyebrow, hovering upward.

“So you weren’t serious with yours?”

“No, of course I was, it’s only that...Well, I’ve been your boss up until now, regardless of how much you might believe it should be the other way around.” That even gets him a slight returning smile, enough for him to ignore the dryness in his mouth and the franticness of his chest to say, “And if you had taken the job with me, I would have continued to be your boss. Which would have made it rather unacceptable for me to ask you out.”

In the space of that breath, with the silence heavy between them even as they stand right beside a crowded room, even as Dr. Danbury’s voice crows easily above the others, still practiced from projecting through the university lecture hall, he wonders if she is going to leave him like this, cards on the table, only the fall below him.

“Well,” she finally says, slow as anything. She is looking up at him, considering and careful, but he knows that her mind must be working at triple its already remarkable speed. “If I’m going to be around the city, and there’s no conflict of interest…”

He doesn’t entirely like the way it is turning into something neat and logical in front of him when he’s never felt anything close to that around her. He doesn’t like the way she looks tentative, pushing back against the edge of something more than caution - fear, perhaps, as if this might be a trick, as if the idea of allowing herself to crack open is unbearably terrifying, and it looks wrong on her face, so bold and familiar, he never wants to see that expression there again. He reaches out across the space, and when she reaches back, he takes her hand.

“Kate,” he says. “You are the most infuriating person I’ve ever known and possibly the smartest, you are wildly, overly principled and somehow make me want to be the same, you never let me have a moment’s peace, I can’t stop thinking about you, and I’d like to go on a date with you.”

“Well, that does sum things up nicely, Anthony,” she tells him, and despite herself, he can see a little snatch of a smile just there, the warmth growing in her eyes as they look right into him, the fear working its way from her. Still, she tries for nonchalance as she says, “My contract with the campaign doesn’t end until Friday. We can do Saturday night, if you’re up for it.”

He’s up for it. He takes her out Saturday night for dinner, hides a smile as she pokes fun at his shoes, gets into an argument with her about education funding, and goes to bed more distracted by a half hour of pressing her against her front door (and then onto her sofa for another twenty minutes) than he has any right to be considering he isn’t fourteen. He spends Sunday night with her too, and on Monday they go to see a movie they both hate but can’t stop talking about, and he is fairly certain he is going to spend essentially every night with her for the rest of his life.

It isn’t peaceful - and only likely to get busier once they both really get back to work - and her dog is a nuisance and Colin tries to take credit for the whole thing, and they’re so happy that neither of them cares.

#Bridgerton #Bridgerton fic #Anthony Bridgerton #Kate Sheffield #kathony #(is that what we're calling them?)#Kate/Anthony

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solitvdcs · 3 years ago

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* ana de armas, cis female + she/her | you know beverly longo, right? they’re thirty-two, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, twenty-six years, on-and-off? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to willow by taylor swift like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole flowy skirts and hair, freshly picked flowers, oil sizzling in a pan thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is may 14, so they’re an taurus, which is unsurprising, all things considered.

basic info

full name: beverly gianna longo

birth date: may 14, 1989

pronouns: she/her

hometown: calabasas, california

sexuality: bisexual

height: 5’10”

eye color: green

hair color: brown

build: slim

tattoos: sun on the back of her neck, miniature knife behind her ear

piercings: a few in her ears

style: she looks like she just stepped off a cottagecore style shoot

favorite color: yellow

favorite food: everything

zodiac: taurus sun, virgo moon, libra rising

mbti: enfj

hogwarts house: gryffindor

enneagram: type 4 wing 3

temperament: sanguine-choleric

alignment: chaotic neutral

bio bullet points

giovanni and allegra longo both came from old money families, and weren’t so much set up for an arranged marriage as they were pushed together from a young age and encouraged to develop a romance. truthfully they did fall deeply in love with each other along the way and married right out of high school. giovanni went to college to study political science and allegra raised their daughter — no, not beverly. she wouldn’t come along for a long while.

six kids and 27 years later, the last of the longo children went off to school and left giovanni and allegra with an empty nest — which they were in no way cut out for. they came from a long line of big, uproarious families and it was all too quiet (and they barely got to see their grandchildren, which is said with the utmost shade grandparents can muster)

thus, the two decided to adopt another child, and here is where our protagonist comes in. beverly was adopted at six months old, 18 years younger than the youngest longo child, and she lived an idyllic, luxurious life. she got anything she ever asked for, never had to worry about her needs being met, and her older siblings fawned over her. was it a little weird that she was younger than some of her nieces and nephews? maybe, but she didn’t let herself dwell on that for too long

her family moved to irving when she was about six years old. nothing prompted the move really besides wanting a change of scenery and a smaller house, though their aquila drive mansion was anything but small. her siblings were maybe a little closer with them all on the east coast, but still too far to come over more often than just holidays

she realized early on that she wasn’t born a longo, but it never phased her; in every way that mattered, she was one. still, she found herself gravitating towards “the help” often when she got lonely or bored, specifically the kitchen staff. they all adored her and fostered a love for cooking that grew more than anyone could’ve imagined. at the age of twelve she cooked a full thanksgiving dinner for her extended family (with help from the kitchen staff, of course, but she was the one leading the way)

after high school, she took a gap year and traveled around europe, tasting all of the different cuisines she could find. in france, she toured le cordon bleu and decided to, on a whim, apply for their program. she made it in, graduated, then started training at some of the best restaurants in europe, learning everything she could. after a few years she got homesick, though, and moved back home to irving, where she opened her own restaurant: longo’s. she’s not super business-savvy so she has someone who handles that while she gets to focus on cooking

personality wise, beverly has the same sharp wit and backtalk her family has, though she’s definitely kindhearted first. (just don’t try to fuck up her kitchen otherwise she might “accidentally” stab you) everyone who meets her falls a little bit in love with her because she has that certain spark about her. she turns heads and keeps eyes locked on her without lifting a finger, there’s just something magical about her. even animals flock to her, her beach house on dorado road is constantly filled with new strays and lost animals (probably because she feeds them so well)

wanted connections

oh my god don’t do ths to me i cannot think anymore

um. she doesn’t need a roommate bc she’s rich but welcomes houseguests bc she gets lonely

if u have a character over 30 pls pls pls let’s figure out some sexc plots

regulars at her restaurant

ppl who are in love with her i feel like it’s literally impossible not to be (i just………..look at her)

i rly don’t know i just want to be done DLKJFASLDKJF

#irvingintro #no trigger warnings??????????? WHO AM I

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fandom-necromancer · 4 years ago

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Obscured by Shadows

Now to the last Halloween short! This was prompted by the wonderful @spacalicious and let me tell you you gave me so much I could have written a full on 60k story about it. I didn’t have as much fun writing a story in a long time. That said, this got long, i’ts a bit over 5k and I’m sorry to those who haven’t got something as long, I hope that’s okay. So enjoy this one!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed900 | AU: Eldritch being?

Nines had always been determined to figure things out for himself. Maybe it was something he valued because he had never been given a real base programming. He knew his model would eventually be used for the military. But Cyberlife hadn’t been able to do more than basic hardware tests on him before the revolution changed the world. He had been informed his prior series had been finished and given a purpose: The RK200 was a caretaker and the RK800 was working for the police. With nothing much to go off of, RK900 had chosen to keep these purposes in mind while finding his own.

He had applied at the police academy immediately after making this decision. He didn’t want to just download a program from someone. He wanted to build his own unique one. And during his time at the academy, he quickly found he liked the challenge of uncovering mysteries. He enjoyed gathering evidence, puzzling together what had happened based on it and uncovering the truth in between sowed lies. It only took him a few years to make it detective and was proud to be accepted at the fifth precinct of the Detroit police department. The Captain had assigned him to Lieutenant Anderson, the officer that had been there the longest, and Connor, the RK800. He was supposed to learn the ropes from them, and Connor was more than glad to show him around.

His predecessor had decided getting to know his co-workers was the best course of action and one after the next pointed out the different persons to him. ‘Okay, as you came in you must have seen the receptionists. The android is a ST300, she calls herself Steph, and the human one is Elisabeth, but everyone calls her Elly. Then we’ve got Officer Collins over there, this is Hank’s desk and mine and there is Officer Willson’s. On the other side we have Officer Person, Officer Chen and Officer Miller. And you already met the Captain. We are a small group, but that’s because SWAT is right there, if you head out this side. Another RK800 is working there, but I’m not on best terms with him. We tend to evade each other. Doesn’t mean you have to though. I can show you around there tomorrow, for now I’ll show you the cells, interrogation room and the meeting room. Then we can-‘ ‘Excuse me?’ Nines felt bad for interrupting, but his eye had fallen on… on what again? ‘Yes? Sorry, I tend to monologue. How can I help you?’ Connor politely smiled at him, while Nines thought about what he had meant to ask about. Connor had showed him all his co-workers and had went on with- right. He looked around again and kept his eyes on the person Connor missed. ‘Who is he?’, he asked, pointing Connor at the man. ‘Hm? Oh. Oh, that’s just Gavin’, the other android waved him off. ‘Detective Reed I believe. He’s an asshole. I met him briefly before the revolution. That was enough to get a clear picture of him. File him under unimportant and go on with it. It’s not really worth knowing the guy, trust me.’ ‘But I introduced myself to everyone personally after the initial briefing’, Nines argued. ‘I believe I must have forgotten him. I at least want to do that.’ Connor shrugged. ‘Fine, knock yourself out. I’ll wait here for you. I doubt you’ll be long.’

Nines made his way over to the man’s desk and read the plague first. Connor had been right: Detective Gavin Reed. ‘Hello! My name is Nines. I’m a RK900 unit and the new Detective. I’m looking forward to work with you!’ He held out his hand and every other person had accepted it and had some niceties left for him. The human in front of him just stared him up and down and grumbled. ‘Phck off.’ Nines recoiled. ‘Excuse me, I just wanted to be nice. I-‘ ‘And I don’t. Mind your own business and piss off!’ Nines knit his brows but remembered Connor’s words. Maybe this one time he could have relied on someone else’s knowledge.

He had returned to Connor that day and the other RK had shown him the rest of the precinct. After that the days seemed to rush past: Nines helped Hank and Connor with their cases and quickly afterwards he had his first very own case. The other two had helped him solve it, but it still was one he had led and found most of the clues to. After work he was driving from one place to the next looking for a small affordable flat, but so far, he stayed in the mostly unused stasis-booths at the precinct or simply continued working. In his breaks he had chatted with his co-workers and learned quite a lot about them. Collins had a sweet tooth, Wilson was almost religiously obsessed with football, Person was spending a large amount of his pay checks on his sister’s hospital fees but according to him she is getting better, Chen loved tea way too much and Miller could talk on for hours about his daughter and wife. Nines was quite content with his life and his choice to join the DPD. He liked the challenge actual cases brought to the table and was in general well-liked. So why was something constantly nagging at his systems, directing his attention to empty spaces on the opposite wall or just letting him stare into the nothing somewhere in the precinct? Maybe something was just wrong with his systems.

No, there wasn’t anything wrong with his systems. Nines had checked as he had entered stasis that night. But that would mean something in the precinct actually let his sensors misfire. And apparently, he was the only one to notice that strange phenomenon. The RK900 still doubted himself as he stepped down from the platform that morning. All his co-workers were competent and attentive people. They should have noticed it if something weird was going on in the bullpen. And there was still the minimal possibility of his diagnostic routines failing him. He would keep this to himself for now and keep his eyes open.

It took him almost a month to lose his patience. The errors and inconsistencies piled up and so far, almost all of them could be chalked up to the one person no one seemed to care about or even notice. Gavin Reed. The strangest thing was that Nines himself didn’t care much about the human. In fact, he only ended up focussing on the man as the number of things he didn’t know about him became suspicious. He had made a point of knowing as much as possible and appropriate about his co-workers. He had learned that helped a lot with work climate and integration. The occasional donut for Collins, a signed picture of a famous footballer for Wilson’s birthday, spending his break with Tina once to check out a local tea shop: That all was something that had made him likeable and made working a pleasant experience. But with how much he knew of them, how little he knew of Gavin was worrying.

Sure, the man was an asshole. But even assholes had personalities. There had to be at least rumours about him. But whenever he had asked someone, he had been given the same answers: ‘Reed? Yeah, he worked here for some time.’ ‘He’s an asshole, it seems to be worse with androids.’ ‘Pfft… Nah, he keeps to himself, don’t know anything about him.’ So he wasn’t alone with not knowing, he just was alone with worrying about that fact.

One quiet day, he decided to do some personal research into that mystery. Every human was known to the world in some way or another. Date of birth. Date of graduation. Date of Employment. Criminal record. Won some small prize in the lottery. An Address. Anything. And that was when things got truly confusing. He looked over at the man and felt how his eyes suddenly darted away to movement that he had thought to see at the edge of his vision. He never managed to look at the human for longer than a few minutes. Something was seriously wrong.

‘Connor? Can I speak with you for a moment? In private?’ Connor looked up from his work, then to the clock. He shrugged. ‘Sure. I can take my break early. What can I help you with?’ They left the precinct through the back entrance to have some privacy and Nines began with a sigh. ‘It’s about Gavin.’ ‘Did he do anything to you? Did he harm you?’ ‘No!’, Nines quickly said. ‘No, he didn’t do anything. But he is weird. I… I did some research and…’ ‘Wait. You “did some research”? What are you talking about?’ Nines held his hands up to calm him. ‘Connor, please listen to me, it will all make sense in a minute. How much do you know about Reed?’ ‘Nothing much, he’s an asshole. Otherwise he keeps to himself. Worked here for a long time.’ ‘How long?’ ‘How should I know?’ ‘How long did Person work here?’ ‘For twelve years, exactly a month from now.’ Nines stared at him triumphantly.

‘Hey, I haven’t looked into his file, okay? Never even talked to him. That doesn’t mean anything.’ ‘Well, I looked into it’, Nines picked up where Connor left off. ‘He doesn’t even work here. Officially. There is no file in the systems for his person, his name is only listed as being employed by the city. There is a birth year at least, but no school. No educational record, no graduation paper. Nothing. There is an address, but the place had been towed down ages ago.’ ‘Maybe he forgot to update it. Or Fowler knows and hadn’t updated his new address yet.’ ‘And the missing documents?’, Nines tried to convince him. ‘What about those?’ ‘Humans can be sloppy sometimes. Especially with bureaucracy.’ ‘May I remind you the entire HR department is run by androids by now?’, Nines threw his final punch. ‘It’s quite funny when you think about it.’ Connor held his head as if he had forgotten he couldn’t get headaches. ‘Nines, you are paranoid. The guy really isn’t that important.’

But Nines didn’t let himself be shut down. ‘There is more actually. Chris complained about the coffee being empty, right? That was yesterday, a Thursday. Correct?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘And I personally restocked Monday the week before! Tina drinks tea, Chris can’t drink too much or his stomach acts up. With the regular caffeine intake of the rest of them, it shouldn’t be depleted yet.’ ‘So?’ ‘Someone drinks an unhealthy amount of coffee, I would even dare say it would kill a human or at least leave them with serious health issues. And only Gavin is left if you keep an eye out.’ Connor sighed: ‘Or someone dropped the package, spilled half of it and cleaned up the mess into the bin.’ ‘Okay, then how do you explain this: Reed is always here when someone arrives. No matter how early I rise from stasis, he is already there. As if he never left. And then sometimes he spends entire days away and no one bothers!’ ‘Vacations and overtime are a thing.’ Nines shook his head. ‘There is no car standing in the parking lot that belongs to him, I looked after everyone was gone. Yet, there is a key to a car on his desk.’ ‘Maybe he parks somewhere else, because he likes to go on a walk after a long day of sitting around.’ ‘Connor!’ ‘No, Nines, you are paranoid. That’s all. You should slow down maybe. Or take some days off. The man is just your regular asshole who is decent enough to be professional and do his job. And that’s all.’

Nines was desperate. He had thought that at least if pointed to it, the other RK would notice. ‘Then what about the fact that I have never seen him eat something once? And he keeps framed pictures of his cats, but he has no cat hairs on himself!’ ‘Nines, please, you need to calm down. If I didn’t know it any better, I’d say you are stalking him. Please stop. Believe me when I say Reed is as unimportant as someone could be. You are certain of the way things seem to be and now you search for evidence to prove your point. But we are detectives. We find evidence and conclude.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I worry for you. Please, take a break from work. How is your house-hunting?’ ‘Haven’t found a flat yet.’ ‘Do you want to live with Hank and me? We could make room for you for a few days. You need to get out of here.’ Nines deflated as he saw he couldn’t win. ‘That’s nice of you, Connor. But I guess I’ll just think about what you said and try to get back to work.’

In truth Nines didn’t think about anything Connor had told him. If anything, his words had only made it clearer to him that something is wrong. He had to take matters into his own hands.

Gavin startled as a coffee cup was put on his desk with an audible thump. He looked up. ‘Hello, I’m Nines. I already introduced myself but we never really talked.’ Gavin stared at the nosey android and frowned. ‘And I already told you to phck off. Nothing has changed since then.’ ‘No need to be so aggressive, Detective. I always see you working. I believe I never actually saw you taking a break.’ ‘Well, I like work and I’d like to get back to it, tin-can.’ ‘Tin-can? Oh, that’s a new one’, the android answered and smiled at him. Goddamnit. ‘Listen, I don’t know what you are on about, but I don’t want to talk. I’ll say it one last time: Phck off!’ This… Nines… pouted at him. ‘Come on, I got you a coffee, the least you could do is answer me one question!’ Gavin sighed and leaned back. ‘Fine. One question. And then you’ll go!’ He hoped his form didn’t show how nervous he was.

‘What do you like?’ Compared to everything he had expected that was quite harmless and caught him off-guard. ‘What?’ The android continued to grin at him. ‘What do you like? Food, hobbies, doesn’t matter.’ ‘Oh, okay, err… I like cats. And… Coffee.’ ‘Are those yours?’, the android asked pointing at the framed pictures. ‘Hey, you said one question, then you’d be leaving me alone!’ The android lifted his hands. ‘Alright, fine. I’m leaving. Was nice talking to you!’

Gavin couldn’t help looking after the machine that was leaving now. Damn nosy androids would be his downfall someday. He turned back to his work, the smell of coffee distracting him. He glanced over to it and finally succumbed to taking and drinking it. He wasn’t ashamed by the fact that he was addicted to it ever since he first tried it in the 15th century. It was one of the pleasant experiences of his existence. He had lived on this world for eons now, maybe he had been around right from the start. But you could only spend so many billion years until you got bored and wanted to try something new. He had lived among humans ever since a massive migration to a continent a large part of the world never even knew about. It was easy to fit in when no one asked where you came from and everyone was eager to start a new life. And Gavin fit in nicely. He sowed enough information to saturate most and those who wanted more he used his powers on to become totally ordinary. So ordinary that most didn’t even notice him. He was living a peaceful life, working on farms, later with railroads and the industry. He liked the concept of lifetimes to justify changing from one job to another and discovering new interesting ways to fake being human. This lifetime he had decided to spend just relaxing. He played the average human that made it Detective and since then worked away solving mysteries and cuddling with cats when coming home.

He couldn’t have known this would be the time humanity decided to change once again. They decided to design machines, androids. They looked human but were designed to obey. Why exactly was it that humanity wished for some kind of slavery every few hundred years? He didn’t care for it too much as they were just machines. Sure, his powers didn’t work on them like they did with humans, but as he was seen as one of them, he could just order the androids to go away and leave him alone. And then deviancy happened. Humans had tried perfecting them so much, they accidentally created life. Gavin knowing humans had decided to wait it out. Too easy he could fake his death and return to his normal existence. But he had been living within them in peace successfully so far. He really didn’t want to change that. So, he waited. Waited until the revolution happened. And too his distress, the androids won.

Ever since he had tried to move on the streets as little as necessary. He spent almost all of his days in the precinct where he was safe from them minus Connor. And the bot he could easily get rid of by changing his attitude to grumpy and abrasive. He thought it might work out. But this new android was a pain in the ass. Nosey as hell and apparently determined to get to know him. Well, someday his luck had to run out and it seemed the time had come.

He spent his remaining day at his terminal, until he felt eyes on him again. He tried to subtly look up and met the damned android’s cheeky grin as he entered the stasis booth. The machine even gave him a little wave. Gavin felt his powers bristling underneath his skin, warning him he had been spotted, but with grit teeth he forced them down. Phck, he needed to relax. He switched off his terminal and headed outside. He hurried through the streets until he finally found an empty back alley without CCTV. It really had been easier in the olden times. Quietly he let go of the charade and got rid of his fake skin. Finally, he could stretch and brush against corners, making natural shadows more refined and let them stretch to take him. Oh, he had missed that feeling. Excitement bubbled inside him as he scaled the city, slithering from one shadow to the next through the narrow spaces in brickwork and underground where there was no connecting darkness to act as a convenient passageway. More than once androids looked towards him, but he just hurried away before they could investigate. Damn machines.

He finally made it home, faster than any car or train could and let himself inside through the letter box. Only then he reformed his human appearance and got to his knees, greeting his cats with maybe one or two arms too many. Not that they would care, they just wanted their pets. Gavin sighed, the fluffy fur under his hands just the perfect way to destress from a long day. He fed them and switched on his stereo to blast music as loud as the cats would allow. He had more than enough time to settle everything with the nosey android. He would be fine.

‘You forgot your keys yesterday!’, he was greeted as he walked into the bullpen. He could only frown at the android standing beside his desk, dangling them from one finger. Gavin saw red and pulled them from the man, maybe having moved a little too fast for a human. ‘Give them back!’ He looked down on them and carefully put them down in their usual spot. ‘How did you come home then? You couldn’t drive with your car.’ ‘I don’t have one, phck off!’, Gavin shouted. ‘Then why do you have keys?’

Phck. He felt his powers acting up, but it only managed to avert the human gazes from the disturbance. The android didn’t bulge. Shit. A human explanation, quick. Oh, right, parents were a thing! ‘They are my dad’s, he… He died in a car crash. They are the only thing I’ve got left of him.’ It technically wasn’t even a lie. Nowadays he often faked his death so he could inherit his own belongings and one of them had indeed been a car crash. ‘Oh. I’m sorry.’ The android really looked like he meant it. ‘I didn’t mean to pry.’ ‘Well then go and-‘ ‘Can I make it up to you?’ Oh phck no… ‘There is a cat café that just recently opened up. I thought-‘ ‘What is a cat café?’, Gavin asked, momentarily forgetting he wanted the android gone. ‘Oh, it’s a regular café, but cats are roaming around. I thought you’d like it.’ ‘I… That does sound interesting.’ ‘It’s a deal then! I’m looking forward to it!’ ‘No, I-‘ But the android had already left. Gavin let his shoulders fall. It wouldn’t hurt playing human for a break, right? He had done so before. Sure, it broke his rule of never mingling too close with humanity, but it couldn’t really go wrong, right?’

It was awkward at first. They had entered and sat down on two comfy chairs and didn’t manage to speak a word until the waiter came. They ordered their drinks and it returned to the uncomfortable silence. Until one of the cats decided to jump onto Gavin’s lap. The android had laughed at his surprised face and Gavin had begun to pet her. ‘You are good with cats’, he commented. ‘Yeah, I love them’, Gavin answered. ‘Just… calms you down I guess.’ ‘I never got to pet one.’ ‘Really?�� Gavin could understand that human lives were short and that not everyone had the pleasure of strolling along the streets of early civilisations and pet every fluffy beast in existence, but it did surprise him. ‘You really have to!’

The android looked around and tried to get the attention of one of the cats wandering about. The look of pure wonder on the android’s face as the cat headbutted his hand for the first time touched something in Gavin and he chuckled. The android looked back up while still petting the cat and smiled back. Only as the cat decided they had enough did the android return to the table. ‘I really wonder why everyone was so sure about you being an asshole’, Nines began talking. ‘I mean, I don’t really know you yet, but you are nice company.’ ‘I tend to keep to myself’, Gavin muttered, looking down on the cat that still hadn’t moved and curled herself up on his legs. ‘Made some bad experiences I guess.’ ‘I think we should do this more often’, the android said. As much as Gavin wanted to, he couldn’t bring himself to truly disagree.

They met a few times afterwards. They often spent their breaks together in the café and with time Gavin thought that maybe he didn’t have to isolate himself all the time. But he always shut these thoughts down and thought of the android as an exception. One evening Nines had insisted to come over and see Gavin’s cats, what had brought Gavin into the zugzwang to explain some of the by now ancient things he had collected over the years. ‘I’m interested in history’, he bluffed. ‘Archaeology is a pet peeve of mine. So I tend to collect.’ Surprisingly, the android had bought it and instead admired his “collection”. It had ended in multiple visits to museums and exhibitions. Not that Gavin really minded. It was a fun distraction and his lie about being a history enthusiast wasn’t that far fetched when he could tell a few first-hand stories from when he had been there himself.

It was about a month later that they had come back from one of these exhibition trips and the android had dropped him off at his apartment. The android had hugged him goodbye, something he would never get tired of, and was about to go. ‘Are you going back to the precinct?’, he blurted out out of nowhere. ‘Yes’, Nines had answered. ‘Detroit’s housing market is awful. Haven’t got a flat yet.’ ‘Do you want to… I mean you could stay here if you want to.’ The android had stared at him wide eyed and Gavin started to regret his impromptu decision until Nines threw him a smile and nodded politely. That evening Gavin ended up on the couch next to Nines watching TV until the android appeared to have entered stasis. In the silence that followed, he began to think about his life choices. What was he doing? He was an eldritch shadow being from the dawn of time. Nines was an android he had no power over. And something was clearly growing between them. It was evident in the way Nines had snuggled up next to him, the cats all over them. This couldn’t work. What if Nines found out? What if he would rat him out to anyone? Humans he could fool, but androids would be able to follow him to the end of the world. He had made a huge mistake.

And still: listening to the hum of the android’s thirium pump he couldn’t find to regret it. Quite the opposite was the case.

The next morning was filled with more excuses. Why didn’t he have a kitchen? Why didn’t he have any food at home? Gavin had mumbled something about always getting something at the food trucks and stressed they would be late. Apparently, Nines took that information with only a sigh, too. One Catastrophe evaded.

Off to face the next one: As they entered the precinct together, Gavin froze as he found his desk occupied. By Connor. And the other android was staring at them with determination. ‘You two. Interrogation room. Now.’ Gavin was about to protest, so did Nines, but the other RK stopped them: ‘I said now!’ So, they trotted over, and Gavin knew he had phcked up. He had set up these rules for a reason. How could he think he could start a relationship with an android would somehow work out?

‘Nines, I believe you now.’ Nines frowned in return as they entered and exchanged a look with Gavin. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘What you told me about him. It’s true! It’s like he isn’t even existing! And everything you told me was true! There are so many discrepancies with him that something has to be wrong.’ Gavin felt panic creeping in. What? What had these two androids talked about? What had he missed? ‘No, Connor, you were right’, Nines disagreed. ‘There is a logical explanation for everything. I was just paranoid, as you said. I just knew nothing about him because I never even spoke with him.’ ‘Oh and now suddenly everything is perfect? What are these explanations then?’ Nines sighed. ‘What do you want to hear from me?’ ‘The keys?’ ‘Memorabilia of his deceased father.’ ‘The cat hairs?’ ‘Either I must have missed something or he had just washed his clothes. Scan Gavin now and you’ll see a bunch of cat hairs.’ ‘What the hell are you two talking about?’, Gavin asked. ‘You are hiding something!’, Connor growled his way. ‘And I won’t rest until I know what it is!’ Gavin took an instinctive step back. Oh no… ‘Connor’, Nines directed the other RK’s attention back to him. ‘I spent the last months with him. He really isn’t as bad as you think and he clearly isn’t hiding anything.’ ‘Oh, is that so? Have you seen his home then?’

Nines puffed out his chest. ‘I have, actually. In great detail.’ He challenged Connor by staring him in the eyes. ‘Wait what?’ That had caught Connor off-guard at least. ‘You two… You aren’t… No.’ ‘Yes’, Nines grinned. ‘And you should trust the android with the more advanced analysis tools that he is as normal as a human can be.’ Connor was left just standing there, staring. ‘I… I’m not convinced, just so you know. But I trust you. Just know that I’ll be keeping an eye on you!’ ‘That’s only fair’, Nines commented, but Connor was already storming out of the room.

For a while no one moved. ‘Should we go back to the-‘, Gavin started, but was interrupted: ‘No.’ Nines pushed himself off the table and leaned against it. ‘The cams are deactivated, and the observation room is empty. No one else can hear us. I’m sorry. I should have told you earlier.’ ‘What should you have told me earlier?’, Gavin asked carefully. ‘I had suspicions about you. That’s why I initially wanted to get to know you better. I pretended everything was alright so you could tell me once you were ready. But I guess now is a good a time as ever: What are you, Gavin? Who are you? The things you own are legitimately old. A collection like this would be priceless, you could sell it for millions. Most of it belongs in a museum. And you don’t even really exist on paper. I couldn’t find your name in any hospital archives from the day you were supposed to be born and you never went to a school. Please, I need to know.’

Gavin sighed deeply and sat down. Should he tell him? Well, he had to. But what then? He guessed a prison to hold him would have yet to be built. And he could always move to another city after faking yet another death. But he didn’t want to lose this. This lifetime was meant to be relaxing and hell, with Nines he had been the most relaxed he had been for centuries. Well, he had to hope for the best. ‘No one can see us?’ ‘No one.’ ‘And no one can hear us?’ ‘Everything said here will remain between us.’ ‘You have to promise not to tell anyone.’ ‘I will as long as my duty as a police officer doesn’t call for it.’

Gavin took a deep breath. So far so good. But promises could be empty and who knew what the duty of a police officer entailed these days. But he knew he was only buying time. And so he began: ‘I am a being that has been around since the dawn of time. I am made of shadows, some worshipped me as the shadows themselves. I don’t even know if that’s true. I’ve been around for a while until I finally decided to try living as a human for a while. And it worked! I was a peaceful part of society since… Well, I took a few breaks but more or less since the 600s? It is hard pretending to be a human if you are immortal, so I travelled a lot and faked papers as much as I could. I don’t eat, I don’t sleep, I like coffee and cats. The keys are from my first ever car, but I hate driving, so I got rid of it by crashing it one day.’ Nines stared at him dumbfounded. ‘I think I need proof, I can’t believe this.’ Gavin sighed and looked at the table. ‘Please, don’t freak out’, he warned, before transforming into his true form. Suddenly half the room was swallowed by darkness and Gavin showed off a bit by extending a few tendrils of shadow towards Nines. The android looked shocked at first, then bewildered and then fascinated. Nines even stepped closer. ‘You won’t hurt me, right?’ ‘I never hurt anyone’, Gavin answered, his voice coming somewhere from his centre that was still hovering over the chair. Nines extended an arm and tried to touch Gavin, who chuckled. His only feature was to consume light, he literally was the personification of the absence of light. What a dork, trying to touch that. For some reason that seemed to disappoint the android and Gavin made an effort reforming his body partially while still keeping his real self exposed.

‘And?’, Gavin asked. ‘What does this mean now?’ Nines was still staring at him. ‘You are beautiful.’ Gavin laughed, but took the android’s hand lovingly. ‘If you say so.’ ‘How did you keep this a secret for so long? Is that why you aren’t noticeable by most? I have so many questions, I-‘ ‘I would say, I explain everything to you at my home where we are safe’, Gavin offered. ‘I want to know what it means first. For us. Does it change anything?’

Nines smiled and came closer. ‘Only that I don’t have to worry about your human lifespan’, he smirked. ‘And that we can spend an eternity forever.’ Gavin sighed in relief and relaxed completely. ‘You don’t know how much that means to me.’ ‘I think I get the gist of it’, Nines shrugged and dove in for a kiss that left Gavin completely unprepared. But he had always been quick to adapt.

It took them a while to get out of that interrogation room, but thanks to Gavin’s powers no one but Connor noticed. Nines just threw him a cocky smile while making a point of sitting down on the free table opposite of Gavin’s.

Maybe Gavin Reed was a man made of shadows. It didn’t change the fact that Nines was completely engulfed in his gloom.

#detroit become human #dbh #Reed900 #RK900 #Gavin Reed #eldritch being!Gavin Reed #Gavin Reed is a shadow person #Holy shit I had fun with this #I had so much more I could have written but it is already far too long for this blog #wonderful idea #I'm a fan #sorry for taking this long #Also holy shit that last sentence of yours was so damn poetic I had to steal it!

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thedistrictroleplay · 3 years ago

Photo

ID:

TRIGGER WARNINGS: drug mention tw

TIMELINE:

March 17, 1991- Nicholas is born as the 2nd son of Patrick and Elaine Vanderbilt. He joins older brother Peter, and will later be hounded by brother Christopher, as an extension of the New York Vanderbilt legacy of politicians.

Summer 2003-2008 - Nick is sent to summer camp, along with Peter, to Camp Walt Whitman in New Hampshire. When Christopher turns twelve, he also joins the annual tradition.

August 2008-June 2009- Nick long-distance dates Aly Acosta, whom he met at Camp Walt Whitman

June 2009- graduates high from St. Judes Prep in NYC and is Princeton bound. Nick and Aly amicably break up before going their separate ways to college.

August 2009-June 2013- attends Princeton University, ultimately graduating with a bachelor’s degree in Politics, with political economy emphasis.

September 2014- starts at Columbia Law school, alongside Aly who has moved to NYC to attend business school at Columbia. Nick plays hard and works harder, graduating #2 in his class.

sometime in 2015- Nick and Aly blackout and wake up married, courtesy of Nick’s fast-talking, lying his ass off to a judge who is friends with his family.

June 2016- Aly graduates and immediately begins traveling everywhere for work. Nick applies for an international dual-degree program that moves him to Paris for his last year of law school.

August 2016-October 2017- Nick lives and studies in Paris, both degrees conferred in October when he returns to the United States.

February 2018- takes the NYC bar exam.

March 2018-July 2018- UN internship in Vienna as legal affairs intern.

July 2018-January 2021- Ambassadorship in Belize. He checks out a little early after Aly’s abuela dies and he’s traveling back and forth; his attention is too divided and he knows it.

January 2021- moves to D.C. for international trade attorney job. Also begins working at as part-time assistant professor at Georgetown and, over the spring, settles into a home in the area.

BIOGRAPHY:

Nicholas Scott Vanderbilt, Nick to most, was born the second son of Patrick and Elaine “Lainey” Vanderbilt on the luckiest day in the land, two days late and establishing that he would do what he please and when he damn well wanted. The last name Vanderbilt, no matter the spelling, conjures an image. They’re practically a brand. Young Nicholas and his brothers, as well as his extensive network of cousins, were raised to enhance and support that image. It could be argued his grandfather, William, was a cult leader raising young men to take over the world. Every Vanderbilt son was pressured to be the best, to seek their interests as long as their interests were both academic and high-end, and to pursue a political career. Their last name opened those doors, whether it was a prep school Model UN, the right university, or a job. All they had to do was follow their grandfather’s every instruction and the world would be theirs. It was their birthright, after all. At least, that’s what they threw out there into time and space. Nick didn’t exactly agree, preferring to exploit those opportunities with hard work and clear-cut goals -- but he absolutely benefitted from the system and knew from an early age how to selectively keep his mouth shut and manipulate outcomes.

He wasn’t the typical middle child, acting out for attention. He did what was expected of him, but he always did it his way. He could talk his way into and out of trouble, and his energy left his parents exhausted. Just kidding, he wasn’t raised by his parents. They checked in, but he was raised by an army of well-educated and well-paid nannies and tutors. He was always smart enough to excel, always duty-bound enough to show up, and always rebellious enough to do it on his own terms. He grew to have a taste for expensive things, too pretentious to do low-class drugs or drive basic cars, but also with a few quirks. He didn’t quite have the temptations or shortcomings of his brothers – the constant need for women and the trouble they brought with them when any woman would do, the friends who lived off his money for their good time, the artistic side that barely masked an identity crisis. Instead, he was selectively social, even though it gave him the reputation of being an unequivocal snob, preferring indie bands and concerts, craft beer in off-the-beaten-path bars to escape haranguing of Page Six and other such nonsense, and other “hipster bullshit” according to his younger brother. He didn’t care. He wasn’t sure anyone had anything to offer him anyway. Maybe there was something to the ‘snobby’ part of his reputation. As he grew, he realized there was something to the ‘asshole’ part, too, and he never really felt like apologizing for it, so he didn’t.

His educational dossier reads like something in a leather-bound tome, planned out by his grandfather from the moment Nicholas blessed the world with his presence. The only exception is he went to Princeton for his undergraduate, instead of following the family footsteps to New Haven. Mostly, he did it for the sake of being different, not because he cared what the piece of paper said. He had bigger aspirations but made his mark by being slightly different than some of his cousins with their sights on Congress or being Governor. He still did all of his undergrad in politics, emphasis on political economy, and then went to law school at Columbia. While the name didn’t hurt anything, he was confident he got in based on the strength of his academic resume, and he graduated near the top of his class only because he let someone else have that likely last, shining accomplishment in their lives. He doesn’t even remember the woman’s name and he definitely didn’t sleep with her. Or did he? He won’t tell one way or the other, because his parents messed up when they didn’t make discretion part of his middle name. Part of his success was his selective ability to do what he wanted under the radar. His brothers and cousins were just a little too obvious with their exploits, and Nicholas was determined to be smarter and better than them.

Take, for example, the time he got married during year 2, while profoundly drunk in Atlantic City, to a girl from Miami he’d met at a bougie send-away summer camp. He had attended the camp every year from age twelve to age seventeen, and she was there the whole time. They had continued to date through their senior year of high school, in spite of the distance. In addition to liking her, he also liked the privacy of dating someone who didn’t live in the surprisingly-claustrophobic New York world. Either way, she wasn’t an unknown quantity by any means and his parents and grandparents liked her well enough, even if her mother was a bit much and bit too new-money-ambitious in her efforts to prove herself. With the wedding, the real problem was he used his silver tongue to lie to a judge, who blessed the wedding without a waiting period. It left him in a rough spot professionally, because he couldn’t get a divorce and admit to the lies without it being political suicide before he’d even graduated from law school. Aly had ambitions of her own and they split again, like they had during high school but different, and mostly went their own ways. She was young and wild, and he was all over Europe finishing a dual degree in something that was a mouthful to set him up for a career at the UN or as an ambassador, so they only connected sometimes. They’d had a youthful pact to marry each other at forty if they hadn’t married other people anyway, and not bothering with a divorce kept them away from the messy need for a prenup that hadn’t happened.

HIs parents thought the split went through years ago, fast enough Amy Acosta couldn’t start to model the Vanderbilt family jewels, and they’re very mistaken. However, he’s always been good at hiding where his heart truly lies, playing off emotions, sounding flip and sarcastic when things get tough. They think he’s back in the States to move forward, long past the one youthful indiscretion where they have only minimal details. The next planned step in the Vanderbilt legacy is marriage and children. After all, what is a legacy if it is not continued? Now that Nick isn’t just pushing thirty, but is actually there, it’s time for him to turn his attention there, at least in their estimation. It’s on him to continue their legacy because God only knows his brothers, take your pick of an artist or a consummate playboy, are never going to give his parents and grandfather anything to be proud of.

So it’s up to him. After quietly supporting Aly through some hard times, quitting his hard-won job in the embassy in Belize was easy. After his family’s not-so-subtle attempts to force him home to settle down, moving to the District was easy, because he can still progress his career. He doesn’t want to be around the Vanderbilts any more than he has to these days anyway, so New York wasn’t an option. And, you know, maybe becoming an esteemed law professor or legal scholar isn’t the worst idea. It allows a certain amount of flexibility and conjures up a whole new image, even if it’s one he hasn’t considered before.

Nick is written by M.

#drug mention tw #district character bio.#c; nick vanderbilt #scott eastwood fc #pronouns; he/him #residence; upper northwest #writer; m

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momentofmemory · 4 years ago

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FICTOBER 2020 - day fifteen

Prompt #15: “Not interested, thank you.”

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Characters: Lydia Martin, Allison Argent (mentioned)

Words: 1000

Author’s Note: Lydia has an important letter she needs to show her best friend. It’s just as hard as it always is. Post-canon. Lydia POV.

>> i never said

It’s been ten years since it happened. Five, since she was last here.

It doesn’t feel like it.

There might be a little more overgrowth on the fence, a little more wear and tear on the headstones. Other than that, it doesn’t look that different.

She wishes it did.

Lydia steps off the path and slips through the grass, mindful of the way the wet blades cling to her ankles. It’d rained all through her drive into town last night, so she probably should have considered wearing something more suitable than a pastel dress and white ballet flats.

She’s had worse stains before. At least this time, they’ll be brown instead of red.

Lydia sinks down, down into the slick mud at the foot of the gravestone without thinking twice.

It’s quiet but for the sound of the wind whistling through the trees. That’s the thing about graveyards: the only public place free for entry in a capitalist hellscape, and no one wants to go.

Lydia arranges her dress over her knees, like it matters. The letters spelling out Allison’s name dance on the gravestone, mocking, laughing; but Lydia knows it’s just the refraction of light against the water in her eyes.

She blinks it away and clears her throat.

“Hey.”

It feels as stupid as it did the day they lost her, and the gravestone stares reproachfully up at her. Irrationally, Lydia thinks about a twelve-step program.

Hi, my name is Lydia.

“Hi Lydia.”

My last visit was over fifteen hundred days ago. I haven’t been because I’ve had to live my life, and because my therapist says you’re not actually here, and because you only died because I couldn’t—

“I guess you should know the pack’s doing well,” she tries. “Stiles finished up his forensics degree, and he’s applying to FBI, proper, now. Malia’s still Malia. Scott’s finally kicking ass in vet school instead of, you know, kicking actual ass. Or werewolf. Still haven’t come across any wereasses.”

She runs out of words, so her voice trails off. She licks her lips in search of more.

“You know your dad dated Mrs. McCall, right?” It’s a non sequitur, and Lydia snorts at her own expense. “One last crack at getting the McCall and Argent lines to mix, I guess.”

She’s honestly not sure how Allison would’ve reacted to that, if she’d still been here. Probably not well. Then again, it probably wouldn’t have happened at all if she and Scott had—

“You made it hard for him, you know,” she says. “It’s hard to move on from someone when their last words were that they love you.”

More silence.

Time’s supposed to make this easier, but the truth is, time just makes it hurt differently.

“I’m sorry,” she blurts out, then immediately curses herself. She’d promised she wouldn’t go there again.

She can add it to the list of promises she hasn’t kept.

“You’d probably say it’s not my fault, if you were here. Or that this is what you chose.” Lydia pauses, angrily wiping at her eyes. She sucks in a shuddering breath. “But that’s bullshit, and I’m not interested, thank you.”

She knows all the lines they’d told themselves when it happened. All the ones Allison herself probably believed.

They’re a lot harder to stomach now that she’s twenty-seven and Allison’s still seventeen, and that gap is just going to get wider, and wider, and wider.

Lydia swallows. “I just wanted to tell you—I mean, it’s just—”

Lydia doesn’t dream about that night anymore.

The first time she realized she hadn’t had a nightmare in weeks, that she finally felt okay when she woke up in the morning, she cried for hours and missed every single class and study session she’d had lined up.

It’s been like that for every milestone, which.

Well. That’s why she’s here.

She digs her fingernails into her skin, eight perfect crescent moons, and starts over, because she came here for a reason.

“I haven’t told you about me yet,” she says, and the graveyard is quiet.

It’s okay, though. Allison would’ve gotten quiet if she’d said that when she were still around, too. She was always good at listening.

Lydia pulls a white envelope out of her bag, the seal already broken.She runs the edges across the pads of her fingers.

“I got in,” she says.

The tears come back.

“The PhD program at MIT accepted me over the weekend, and I know I still need to actually do the work, and there’ll be research, and a defense, but—I got in, Allison.”

Lydia breathes sharply past her constricting throat, and leans over to set the envelope against the grey headstone. Her hands curl in the mud and she sinks deeper.

“I never said it,” she says. “I never said it, but it wasn’t Stiles. Not just him. He noticed I was smart, but you’re the one that showed me that it was okay. To be brave and beautiful and smart and afraid all at the same time.”

But you’re also the one that showed me how young we were, because we shouldn’t have had to be all that.

Lydia reaches out and her fingers ghost over the carved letters, hearing the echo of her own scream in their crevices.

The first day after losing her was hell on earth. Every day after that has been a slow, dogged attempt to bring a bit of earth back into hell.

Go to the mall.

Cry.

Kiss your new lover.

Cry.

Go to college.

Cry.

Get a new best friend.

Cry.

But Lydia’s done them all the same, because she has to. And because once the crying is over, she’s not left alone.

“I guess, I just wanted to say—”

Lydia pulls back and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, flailing for words in ways she hasn’t since she was a teenager.

It makes sense, seeing as she’s talking to one.

“….Thank you,” she says. “And I miss you.”

(I love you.)

#fictober20 #lydia martin #allison argent #teen wolf #tw:grief #memsfic

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artificialqueens · 4 years ago

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Stupid For You, Chapter 5 (Crygi, Jankie, Jaida x Nicky) - Metaluna

Summary: In which everyone makes mistakes, and have to face consequences.

A/N: Hey everyone! This does have a tw of domestic abuse.

The rest of the month went by smoothly for Jaida. She got to be team lead for most of her shifts, much to the jealousy of her coworkers. She didn’t care. She knew she was damn good at her job, and paid her dues for the past few years. It was what she deserved. Part of her was sad knowing it was her last summer at the park, but the idea of law school was much more exciting than telling guests that they had to put shoes on all summer.

She and Nicky continued their fling. It was some of the best sex Jaida had ever had. Jaida could feel herself developing feelings for Nicky, but rather than address them, she just ignored them. They’d go away on their own right?

She woke up at noon. Because there weren’t many leads in Sales, she worked six days a week, and it was her first day off in twelve days. She deserved to sleep in. Her phone buzzed. It was Nicky texting the groupchat.

Heyy ladies, I’m off today. Does anyone want to play in the park today?

This was her shot. Even though she and Nicky spent a lot of time together, they didn’t ever get the chance to just talk. Even after they hooked up, Nicky usually left pretty soon after, always having a reason to not hang out after.

First day off in 12. I’m down.

Nicky texted back quickly. See you at 2.

Jaida peered into her closet, and suddenly, she hated every single article of clothing that she owned. After rifling through shirts, and trying on different outfit combinations, she eventually settled on a cropped black tank top and army green shorts.

Out of all of her coworkers, Jaida lived the furthest away. The half hour drive gave Jaida time to think. She knew that she felt differently about Nicky than she did with any of the previous flings. Even though she had her flings, none of them ended in a relationship. When she thought about Nicky, images flashed in her head of dinner dates, picking pumpkins, and curling up on the couch watching a movie. She had to do it. She had to bring Nicky to the Ferris wheel. If they went up together, they could talk it out.

When Jaida arrived, it was only 1:40. The Landing, where the stores were, was in the front of the park, just off the entrance. She decided that she could harass her coworkers. Before entering Isle Mercantile, she saw Gigi walking with a cart full of beach towels.

“Gigi!” she called.

“Jaida! Hi! I saw you’re hanging with Nicky.” Gigi raised an eyebrow. “What exactly is going on with you?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. I really don’t.”

Gigi pushed her cart into a shady corner under the roof. “Here. Come over here. Step into my office.”

Jaida rolled her eyes and sighed. “It’s just so hard. I like her, and obviously she likes me enough to fuck me, but I don’t know that she likes me enough to date me.”

Her phone buzzed. Jackie.

Girl. I saw you were coming into the park with Nicky. Are you going to talk it out?

She decided she could reply later and continued. “It’s so embarrassing but I’ve never had a girlfriend. I don’t know how to have this conversation. I doubt she likes me.”

“If you guys have manage to hook up as many times as you have, I feel like you’ve got something there.”

“Thanks, Gigi. Hey, what’s been up with you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You just seem a lot less happy. Are you okay?”

Gigi nodded a little too quickly. “I’m fine! Anyway, Jaida if I don’t stock these towels, Brita’s gonna be pissed!”

Her phone buzzed again. It was Nicky.

I’m here. Meet at the food trucks!

After walking to the trucks, Jaida spotted Nicky at a table. The sunlight was hitting the blonde in just the right spots, making the her look even more beautiful than normal.

Jaida decided to sneak up behind Nicky. “Boo, bitch.”

She jumped, nearly falling out of her chair. “You bitch!”

“Let’s go ride the Jinn. I haven’t done it yet this year.”

While in line, she decided to text Jackie back.

I really want to, but I don’t know what to say, or how to bring it up. All I know that this feels different. This isn’t the same as all the others for the past three years. I can’t describe it. I really, really like Nicky. I want to take the next step, but I don’t know if she does.

As she hit “send” she returned her phone to her pocket, right as Nicky picked hers up.

Jaida knew what she did. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. How could she be so stupid?

“So, that didn’t go to Jackie. Jaida…” Nicky began. “Is this true?”

Jaida was hoping to bring Nicky up in the Ferris wheel. Even though things never fell in her favor, it was a comforting place. The line they were in was a 30 minute wait. They had nothing but time to talk it out. Even though it wasn’t ideal, Jaida nodded. “It is.”

Nicky sighed. “Jaida, I like you, I really do.”

This is exactly how every other girl began when they wanted to cut things off.

“And it’s not you it’s me?” Jaida predicted.

“It’s a cliché, I know. But I have so much going on right now, that I really can’t date anyone, not just you. Jaida, I really do like you. A lot. In other circumstances, we would already be dating, but right now I can’t give you what you want. I understand if you don’t want to keep doing… what we’re doing. I will respect your decision either way.”

“No worries!” Jaida said happily, even though she felt like she was going to cry. “I’m totally fine with what we have.”

“Are you sure?”

“I promise.”

For the fourth year in a row, Jaida felt her heart break. She was left wondering if things were better had she taken Nicky for a ride in the Ferris wheel.

—–

After her shift, Gigi sat at her desk sketching a dress. She felt her phone buzz.

can you come over

Yea. Everything all good?

I’ll be there in ten

Gigi made the ten minute drive in five. Crystal answered the door. Her eyes were red, it was easy to tell that she’d been crying the past few hours. Her hair was disheveled, and she was wearing an oversized sweat shirt. “Come in.”

Wordlessly, Crystal led Gigi into her bedroom. All of her walls were hand painted beautifully, each wall with a different color scheme. Her room was slightly messy, but still somehow organized. A picture of Harry Styles hung above the bed. An easel was in the corner with an abstract painting. The closet door was propped open, exposing Crystal’s brightly colored clothing.

“Talk to me,” Gigi said said as she and Crystal sat on her bed.

Crystal started crying as she sat down. “It’s Ryan.”

“What happened?“

“We started talking about me going off to college in a couple months. Usually when we talk about it, he won’t talk about it. Well, I needed answers… and I got them. He told me that if I didn’t stay home, he would break up with me.”

“Oh, Crystal.”

Gigi was pissed. She knew how hard Crystal worked to get into the graphic design program. The school they were to attend in the fall wasn’t easy to get into. It had a 50 percent acceptance rate. Crystal was too talented to let that go to waste. The audacity of that boy to ask her to throw that all away. She wanted to tell Crystal everything she was thinking, but instead, she held Crystal and stroked her hair.

“We’ve been together since we were fifteen. I don’t know how to live without him, you know?”

“Mmm.”

“I just love him so much, I don’t think I can leave him. I think I’m going to withdraw my application from Ferris.”

“Crystal, no. You can’t. You worked your ass off to get into that school. You know you did.”

“I know. But I love him.” Crystal rubbed her eyes, causing her sleeve to roll down, revealing a deep bruise.

Gigi gasped. “Did he do that to you?”

“He didn’t do it on purpose! He said I was being unreasonable, and he was right. He just needs to calm me down sometimes, you know?”

“No, Crystal. I don’t know. That’s not okay, under any circumstance. I don’t care if you cheated on him. That does not give him the right to ever put his hands on you.”

“I’m so stupid. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have even applied to that school in the first place.”

“Absolutely none of this is your fault. Please don’t ever say that it is.”

Crystal sighed. “I think I need to stay here.”

“I think you’re wrong. But, what I do think is that Ryan’s bad for you.”

“How fucking dare you.” Crystal’s voice was harsher than Gigi had ever heard it. “You don’t know him like I do. He’s known me a hell of a lot longer than you have.”

“Crystal…” Gigi felt tears forming.

“No. Don’t start. You don’t understand what all we’ve been through. How could you? You could never understand because you’ve been alone your entire life. You can’t let people in. Even me. You’ve been weird as shit every single day since the party, and won’t tell me why. All you do is shut people out when they’re trying to help you. Me, Jan, Jaida, Jackie… We’ve all tried to ask you what was wrong, because clearly something’s wrong. You don’t let people in, or you get fucking pissy. Why? It’s not our faults that your dad fucking left. Stop taking it out on us.”

Gigi sat completely stunned.

Crystal realized what she had said. “Gigi… I didn’t mean… I’m so sorry. I–”

“I think it’s time for me to go. Find your own ride to work, or walk your ass there. I don’t care. Don’t text me. Don’t fucking talk to me.”

“Gigi, wait!” Crystal called. But it was too late.

–

On the drive home, Gigi felt her chest tighten and knew a panic attack was starting. Knowing she wouldn’t be able to drive, she pulled into a parking lot. All she could think of were Crystal’s words which cut her like a knife. Gigi knew that Crystal wasn’t a cruel person, and that it was all in the heat of the moment, but it didn’t matter. Gigi didn’t even know where the words came from, why out of nowhere Crystal would bring up Gigi’s behavior in that conversation, and she really didn’t know why she brought her dad into it.

Her phone lit up.

gigi, i am so fucking sorry. idk where that came from. i don’t mean it. i hope you know that. that was fucked for me to say. so fucked. i understand if you don’t want to reply and need your space, but know that I am so fucking sorry, and ill never forgive myself for what i said. i can tell what i said really hurt you, and i understand if you dont want to talk, but just know if you ever do, i’m always here to listen

Gigi started typing.

Yeah, that WAS fucked. That fucking hurt me more than I could say. When I said my dad wasn’t a good person, I meant it. When I had my first girlfriend, I came out to my parents. My dad wanted to throw my ass out, and my mom wouldn’t let him, and said that it if I wasn’t out of the house, he was going to leave. My mom would never throw me out, so now he’s gone. It fucked with me. You wonder why I can’t people let me in? That’s why. I’m fucked up, and you’re right. I do need my space. Leave me alone.

She reread her response, and decided she didn’t owe Crystal an explanation, and deleted every word of the text.

—

Crystal was laying on her bed looking up at the ceiling, which was painted like a galaxy. How could she be that cruel? Her words were volatile. Crystal didn’t know the whole story. Even if she did, it wasn’t right to bring it up, especially not like that.

She had to make it right. She sat on her phone, trying to formulate the perfect apology text. A text felt so impersonal, but Gigi hated talking on the phone, and hated Facetiming. Crystal knew that a text would be the best thing she could do. After rereading her text a few times, she hit Send.

Gigi was typing something. Something long. Crystal anxiously waited for her reply, but the three dots disappeared. Instead, she was left with Read.

The pain Crystal felt was stronger than anything before. It was worse than anytime Ryan laid his hands on her. It was worse than the time he cheated on her. It was worse than anything, and she had no idea how she was going to make it right.

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