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letterstotheflre · 3 years ago

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that’s the thing about illicit affairs

summary: james was never hers to lose.

warnings: CHEATING, age gap (not specified but reader is in her 20s), tiiiny angst?? i don’t think it’s sad lmao, allusions to sex and one miniature sex scene, some food mentions, and a very badly written argument.

word count: 3k (why are they always so long ffs)

a/n: my first james potter fic <3 i love this man so much, sorry for making you the bad guy here. this one’s been sitting in my drafts for a few weeks, and since i’ve been feeling kinda sad i finally got around to edit it. also hedric rights!!

They always meet like this.

The room is dark except for a small sea salt lamp she bought on sale from Target. Her clothes are piling up on the floor, discarded carelessly by her lover, and his are not too far from meeting the same fate.

He is kissing her hungrily as he could never get enough of her. His hands travel all over her back while she unbuttons his shirt, their lips never parting. He moves her to her bed, the sheets a pale green that reminds him of—

No. He closes his eyes tightly, pretends the green is actually blue like the lacy bralette that covers her breasts and moves his lips down to her jaw. He sucks and nips and bites, letting her moans echo freely between the four walls that make their little sanctuary.

Her hands quickly undo his belt and stroke him lightly through the fabric of his boxers. He groans against the junction of her neck, the skin softer than anything he’s touched in years.

He pushes her down on the bed, cupping her face while he looks at her properly, noting the tangled hair caused by his fingers. Her lips are puffy and shiny, his kisses being the perpetrator of their current state. He waits for her to say something, to give him a sign that this is okay.

(It’s not okay, and they both know it. It’ll never be okay.)

She nods her head, and he kneels in front of her, pushing her legs wide open before he dives in.

—

She is laying on her bed, the sheets covering her body as she watches him try to fix up his hair in front of the mirror on her makeshift vanity.

“Make sure no one sees you leave,” she says, “and put—”

“Put my hood up, I know,” he finishes the sentence for her. It’s not the first time they do this dance.

“Sirius and Remus are with Harry at home. I told them I was going for a run, so they won’t say anything if I show up all sweaty,” he adds, trying to fill the awkward silence.

She just nods her head, fingers playing with a loose thread on the edge of the sheet, pulling it a bit more every time she twists her index finger. He steps forward, then sits on her bed and traces her cheekbone with his knuckles. “You know I care about you, right?” he asks.

Her heart clenches, a heavy weight pressing down on her chest that makes it hard to breathe for a second. She lowers her eyes, refusing to stare at those hazel irises that started everything. “I know, James,” she assures quietly, looking at a picture of her and Harry that’s stuck to the wall just behind him.

James brushes back some stray hairs that are still stuck to her forehead, then presses a small kiss on the slightly sweaty skin. He gives her a tentative smile before heading to the door, and she only looks in his direction when she hears the click of the door.

(He might care, but not enough.)

—

Sundays are always a slightly awkward affair at first.

Both of their families have been friends for years, getting together every Sunday for lunch at the Potter’s. James and Sirius always man the grill with her dad, all of them wearing those corny ‘kiss the chef!’ aprons. Her mother helps Lily make the salads in the kitchen while they gossip with Remus, who steals a few tomatoes when they aren’t looking. Now that it’s summer, she and Harry splash each other in the pool instead of catching up in his room.

It’s always strange seeing James in the light of day, pretending that this is the only version of him she knows: the version of him that is a friend, a father, a husband.

But she knows the other version of him: the one that has her on her knees begging for a taste of him, the one that grips her hair while he pounds into her from behind, the one that lets his tongue explore places of her no one else has. The version of him that kisses her forehead and plays with her fingers while their bodies are tangled together under the sheets. The version of him that kisses her as if she were the only one made for him.

(She isn’t.)

They are sitting around the table eating. Sirius is laughing about something with his arm around Remus’s shoulders, his bark of laughter echoing across the garden. Her mother’s shoulders shake as Lily rolls her eyes in amusement. James and her father have gone back to the grill to bring everyone their second round of burgers, and she can hear her father complaining about something from work.

“Here y’go, kid,” says James as he places the plate in front of her before ruffling her hair. She tenses up for a second before relaxing, muttering a small “thank you” before reaching for the ketchup.

She hates that nickname. It’s so impersonal, keeps a distance between them that truly doesn’t exist. As if he isn’t the only person that can make her vision whiten and the colours of her room hazy while she clutches his shoulders. As if he isn’t the only person who can pull so many different sounds from her vocal cords, sounds he knows no one else has ever heard before because he is the only one who can create them.

She can feel Sirius’s eyes on her as she stretches one arm, so she hesitantly glances at him. He raises an eyebrow, eyes switching back and forth between James and her, and she can see the cogs turning in his mind.

She gulps anxiously, dismissing him with a wave of her hand and goes back to eating.

—

James’s moans are loud as he gathers her hair in a makeshift ponytail. His cock is buried in her throat, and he watches as she gags for a second before relaxing her throat.

She’s taking him so deep that her nose nuzzles his pubic hair, the musky scent of James filling her nose as she breathes deeply through it. She starts moving her head up and down, swirling her tongue around the tip every time she rises.

He is a mess above her, needy whines and wanton moans leaving his mouth. His hips thrust up softly, slowly fucking her mouth, and he relishes in the small choking sounds she makes. His head rolls back as he groans, “That’s it, baby, so good to me.”

She winces at the name and pulls away from him. “Don’t call me that,” she mutters, but her hands never stop stroking him. She takes him back into her mouth and starts sucking with a newfound fervour, his voice echoing inside her head as she tries to make him forget about her.

(She tries to forget too.)

—

Honey rays filter through her window.

They are both laying on her bed, James on his stomach while she refills the glasses with some cheap wine she got from the store. He looks at the tiny purple splotches on her neck and the red fingerprints on her hips, then smirks proudly. When she turns, she smiles at him softly.

There’s a summer breeze that ruffles her curtains, and he can hear some teenagers laughing as they walk down the street over the music that plays from her speaker.

She places her glass on her nightstand, her nipples brushing his naked back as she leans over him. She lays down on her side, her fingertips softly drawing shapes on his skin. It takes him a moment to realize they are not random shapes but letters.

Her name, written over his scattered freckles and connecting his moles with cursive loops.

He takes her hand and kisses it, slightly chapped lips pressing against her open palm. Then he kisses her lips, still bitterly sweet with grapes, as his tongue moves languidly against hers while he pulls her by the hand on top of him.

It feels like a distant memory. It feels like a dream.

—

The cacophony of different voices singing “Happy Birthday” rings in her ears.

Harry is at the front of the table, an adorable blush dusting his cheeks at the attention. On either side of him are James and Lily, smiles wide as they watch their son blow the candles. Cedric is behind him, hands on his shoulders, and he leans forward to give him a quick peck on the cheek.

She sings and claps, whooping with Sirius when Harry blows the last candle. She eats cake and drinks the pretty cocktails Lily ordered. She smiles and laughs, pretends she couldn’t see the way the candles made the golden band on James’s ring finger beam like the sun.

She pretends she doesn’t see the way James holds Lily’s waist before kissing her. She pretends she can’t see them dancing slowly to a song Remus put on the Spotify playlist as a joke.

She pretends she can’t hear his footsteps following her when she goes to the bathroom. She feigns disinterest when he grabs her wrist and pulls her towards a deserted corridor.

But she can’t ignore the butterflies in her stomach when he kisses her, the thrumming in her veins when he pushes one leg between her thighs, nor the pleasure-filled gasps and moans that leave her mouth when he helps her roll her hips along his covered thigh.

It’s thrilling; they’ve never done something like this in public, much less in such proximity to friends and family.

(In such proximity to her.)

Even though she knows it shouldn’t, it gives her a sense of victory. Because he is here with her now: he is kissing her, making her moan, and whispering dirty things in her ear.

A faraway call of his name breaks the spell they’re under. They pull away hastily; she fixes her dress while James makes sure there are no lipstick stains on his face. The footsteps are getting closer, heels hitting the floorboards at the same rhythm as their rapid beating hearts.

It’s Sirius.

James almost breathes a sigh of relief, but she remains tensed up. Sirius looks between them, the same look he had that Sunday all those weeks ago on his face, and she feels bile rising in her throat.

“Lily’s looking for you,” he says, his thumb pointing back over his shoulder towards the reception where everyone’s gathered.

“Right,” says James. “Better go see what she needs. You do not want to see an angry drunk Lily.” He laughs, almost oblivious to the awkward tension between his two friends. He goes back to Lily, leaving her leaning against the wall and Sirius standing in the middle of the hallway.

Sirius looks at her, and even though his mind already knows, he refuses to believe it. “I didn’t know where the bathroom was,” she offers as an explanation. It’s a flimsy excuse, she knows that, but it’s the best she can do under this kind of pressure.

“Right,” he whispers with a short nod, then follows James.

She stays rooted to her spot, lips tingling with the ghost of James touch and a guilty mind.

—

Hours later, she clings to a pillow as she lays on her bed alone. The same pillow James was resting on less than twelve hours ago.

She breathes in deeply, trying to catch any scent of him she can, but there’s only the scent of her fabric softener.

There’s no James. No citrus shampoo or woodsy cologne nor salty air from the beach near his house. Because he never wears any cologne when he comes to her, ensuring that there’s no trace of him once he leaves.

Like he doesn’t even exist.

—

It ends in a parking lot a month later.

She was waiting for Luna to arrive at the mall but ended up asking for a rain check when James texted her, saying they needed to talk.

‘Meet me behind the mall’, she texts him.

She walks to the back of the building and waits for his red car to show up. She already knows where this conversation is going to go, and her heart shatters at the thought of saying goodbye to him.

She raises her head when she hears a honk in front of her, and she gets in while whispering a small “hey”. He doesn’t start the car again, just settles for turning the ignition key off. She looks at the families leaving the mall through the tinted window, refusing to look at him, as her knee bounces up and down anxiously.

The silence is heavy, and she suddenly feels cold in the August heat.

James takes a deep breath, “We can’t keep doing this.”

She can’t help the snarky comment. “That’s not what you were saying yesterday while you had your fingers buried inside me.” He looks at her unimpressed, and she rolls her eyes.

“It’s wrong,” he says— as if she doesn’t already know that. “C’mon, baby, don’t make this harder than it has to—”

“I told you not to call me that!” she raises her voice, and the car gets silent again. She hates the tears that gather in her eyes, hates that she cares so much about him and their stupid game, but she couldn’t help it. Not when he whispered so many sweet nothings in her ears and caressed her skin so softly, almost afraid to break him if he was too rough.

(Not that he cared about that when he stretched her wide open and thrust so hard into her that the bed frame banged against the wall.)

“You can’t just show up here and tell me it’s over like you weren’t the one that came to me first,” she jeers, and she can see the tick of his jaw as he clenches it. Good, she thinks, make him angry.

“Don’t just blame me. You didn’t say ‘no’ once.” He grounds out, “In fact, I can recall you were begging me to fuck you against the wall.”

Her cheeks turn into a small fire, a slight feeling of shame overcoming her. “Oh, like you were any better!” she exclaims. “‘Been thinking about you for months.’ ‘You have no idea the things you do to me.’ ‘No one can suck my cock like you.’ ‘I care about you!’” She deepens her voice to mock him.

James opens his mouth to keep the ball rolling, and she wants him to do it because it meant that the fight was still on, that they wouldn’t have to end this. Instead, he takes a deep breath to calm himself. “I’m telling you now it’s over. Stop acting like a kid who didn’t get her Christmas present,” he says, knowing exactly what he is doing with those words.

“I’m not a kid,” she snaps, her eyes fighting back angry teats at his dismissal. “Then stop acting like one,” he shrugs.

Her hands turn into fists, nails digging themselves into her palms as she tries to keep her anger at bay. “Do you know how much of myself I gave to you? How many plans with my friends have I cancelled in case you called? How many guys I stopped seeing because they weren’t you?” she rants, her voice increasing in volume as she lets her frustration take over. Then, she pauses. “You’ve ruined me, James.”

Her voice is so pained that it makes his heart clench, and he lowers his head, refusing to look at her. He knows, God, he knows what he’s done, but he couldn’t help it. He had been so lonely with Lily spending so much time at the hospital, and then there she was with her caring and understanding nature. With her adorable laughs and those touches that were so addictive, a mercurial high that gave him the lowest lows whenever he tried to stop.

He keeps his mouth shut; there’s nothing left to say anyway, and it’s better for her to hate him rather than anything else. “You are not going to say anything?” It’s meek, vulnerable, and she wants to slap herself for acting this way. She knew it would never last, that he would always choose her.

He was never hers to lose, so why is she still fighting?

She nods her head in surrender, biting her lip to stop herself from sobbing. The anger now gave way to sadness, “I can’t believe I let you make a fool of me.” Her voice is hoarse, a result of the lump in her throat that prevents her from swallowing comfortably.

She gets out of the car and slams the door shut, then leaves the parking lot, leaving him behind. She keeps walking, fingers gripping the straps of her bag until she reaches an empty street.

The golden sun is ready to dip on the horizon, and she can hear James’s car speeding behind her.

—

She doesn’t let the tears fall until she’s inside her apartment.

The moment she closed the door, she crumbled to her knees, loud sobs falling from her mouth and fat tears rolling down her cheeks. It takes her a moment to gather enough strength to walk to her room.

She cries and cries, buries her face in her pillows and starts sobbing even harder because she can smell him. The salty scent and citrus shampoo finally embedded themselves in the fabric, and she can’t believe that after all those days she craved to feel him close to her, he chooses now to leave a trace behind.

She cries for hours until her eyes are puffy and red, and snot comes out of her nose. Her chest heaves with short breaths that don’t really fill her lungs as she clings to that damn pillow before throwing it across the room. She can’t believe it ended like this: with her completely broken for anyone else while James gets to go back to his life and act like nothing ever happened.

Yet she knows that if she had to choose, she would do it all over again because if she had to choose someone to be her ruination, she would choose James Potter a million times.

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emospritelet · 3 years ago

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Heatstroke - chapter 24/24

Last time, Gold confronted Zelena over trying to frame Regina, and Lacey caught the whole show on tape. This is the final chapter! Happy endings FTW!

[AO3]

Lacey set down the camera on the shop counter, and raised an eyebrow at Gold.

“So,” she said. “What do you want to do?”

He inclined his head, lifting a hand and letting it fall.

“It appears you have a story to tell about Miss West,” he remarked. “I feel the choice is very much yours. Perhaps Mr Glass can be persuaded that running an exposé is in the public interest.”

Lacey hesitated.

“Yeah, I think he would,” she acknowledged. “It’s just - Mayor Mills doesn’t know, does she? About Zelena.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I think maybe we should tell her,” said Lacey. “Before it all comes out, I mean. That would be the decent thing to do, wouldn’t it?”

“It would,” he agreed, and let out a heavy sigh, his head rolling back. “Well, that’s unfortunate.”

“What is?”

He raised his head again, sending her a stern look.

“It appears I’ve discovered a conscience,” he said. “The rumour was I didn’t have one. I blame you for this outrage.”

Lacey giggled, and leaned in to kiss him.

“Does that mean you’ll come with me to break the news?” she asked, and he offered his arm.

“To the Mayor’s office,” he said. “I’m sure Regina will be just delighted to see us.”

“This can’t be true.” Regina was staring at Lacey’s phone, having watched the recording twice. “This - this is impossible!”

“This must be a hell of a shock,” said Lacey, and Regina shook her head.

“I always thought she disliked me, but Mal told me I was being paranoid,” she said. “All this time she was plotting to ruin my life because my mother abandoned her? The nerve of the woman!”

“I guess sibling rivalry’s tough to deal with,” said Lacey. “Makes me glad I’m an only child.”

“Well, she certainly has my mother’s ambition and vindictiveness,” said Regina, with a sigh. “I don’t suppose you know anything about the father?”

“I’m afraid not,” said Gold. “Did your mother ever hint that you had a half-sister?”

Regina shook her head.

“She never spoke about her youth,” she said. “Other than to tell me she had to fight for anything she could get and I should do the same.”

She handed the phone back to Lacey and frowned at Gold.

“Exactly how long have you known about this?” she demanded, and he smiled.

“I heard what you did,” he said.

“That wasn’t what I asked,” she said coldly. “I know you, Gold. Were you holding onto this information until it was of use to you?”

“You think I’m working against you?” he asked, in a mild tone.

“I think you never do anything that doesn’t benefit you.”

“Well, perhaps you don’t know me as well as you think,” he said. “Or perhaps we assess risks and benefits differently. Either way, you have Miss French to thank for the investigation of her past and this recording. I merely - encouraged a confession.”

“Quite the sleuthing team,” said Regina, in a dry tone. “Can we expect a new office in town? French Gold, Private Investigators?”

“I don’t mind investigating his privates,” said Lacey, and Gold shot her a very level look as Regina curled her lip.

“Thanks, I’m going to spend the rest of the evening trying and failing to get that image out of my head.”

“You’re welcome,” said Lacey cheerfully.

“The question for you,” said Gold, “is how are you going to handle this? Miss French has quite a scoop on her hands, but she wanted to bring it to you first before raising it with Mr Glass.”

Regina shot Lacey a grateful look before sitting back in her chair with a sigh.

“There’s supposed to be a debate,” she said. “The two of us up on stage. You think it’s her intention to reveal the whole sordid story in front of the whole town?”

“I don’t believe she wants the rest of the town to know,” said Gold. “If they did, then her whole campaign reeks of sour grapes. She’ll want to play on the image she’s created while she’s been here. However inaccurate it is.”

Regina growled under her breath.

“I can’t believe I’m having to go through this charade!” she snapped. “I’m supposed to stand there and - and debate her when she’s trying to frame me for corruption and destroy my life!”

“We don’t have any actual evidence that she’s tried to frame you,” said Lacey, and Regina nodded impatiently.

“I know, I know. Nothing court worthy on that tape, however much she hinted at it,” she said. “If it’s okay with you, I’d like to hand it over to the Sheriff, get him to look into it.”

“If you agree to an exclusive interview with me after the debate, sure,” said Lacey quickly, and almost blushed as Gold shot her an approving look. Regina drummed her fingers on the desk.

“She’s far too good for you, Gold,” she said abruptly. “I hope you know that.”

He smirked at that, winking at Lacey.

“Oh, I’m well aware.”

Gold was finding it hard to stop grinning like an idiot now that he and Lacey were dating, and even found himself unexpectedly granting rent extensions, much to the surprise of nervous tenants. He made dinner for her again later in the week, and she stayed the night, Darcy curled at their feet as they drifted into sleep. It was pleasant being nuzzled awake by a purring cat and finding Lacey in his arms. It was a feeling he could get used to.

They had eventually managed to finish the interview, most of which was carried out in bed, and he had found himself telling her things he had previously had no intention of revealing. He blamed that on Lacey; it was difficult to maintain his usual cool distance when she was wearing his discarded shirt and looking at him as though he was a particularly delicious snack. She kept her word about giving him the final say on the article, however, and upon reading her draft, he noted that she had kept some of the more personal details to herself. He only felt the need to redact a couple of minor points about his early life, but was happy to let the remainder stand as it was. If the rest of Storybrooke was surprised at the intimacy of the piece and his sudden desire to be open about his life - well, they could all go and fuck themselves, as far as he was concerned.

The only opinions he cared about were those of his family, and it wasn’t too long before Neal called. Gold sighed as he looked at the number flashing on his phone. They’re gonna tease me relentlessly about this. Emma especially.

Shaking his head and smirking to himself, he picked up.

“Dad, hi,” said Neal. “Thought you might have called to let us know how your big social occasion went. You’re not avoiding the issue, right?”

“Of course not,” said Gold. “Been a busy week, that’s all.”

“Uh-huh. Emma thought you’d say that.” Neal sounded amused. “She’s been dying to find out about the dance, so I said I’d call for an update.”

“Tell her she needs a better hobby than worrying about my social life,” said Gold dryly. “How’s Henry? I was wondering what to get for his birthday.”

“Nice attempt at deflection, but I’m not done with you,” said Neal. “Come on, how did it go?”

“Uh - it was fine,” said Gold.

“Did you ask Lacey to dance, like I said?”

“Yes.” Gold hesitated. “We’re - uh - sort of dating now.”

Neal whooped, making him grin.

“Way to go! See, I knew you could do it!”

“Yes, well.” Gold scratched the back of his neck, feeling awkward. “It’s early days, I suppose. Very early days, but it’s going well.”

“I am so happy for you, really. Wait until I tell Emma.”

“She’s gonna tease me, isn’t she?” said Gold dryly.

“No more than usual.”

“A lot, then.”

“Hey, her teasing comes from a place of love.”

“Hmm.” Gold was amused. “Well, you can tell her I love her too.”

“And you can tell Lacey we can’t wait to meet her,” said Neal, and Gold’s grin widened.

“I believe the feeling’s mutual,” he said.

“Good. How about in two weeks’ time?”

Gold smirked to himself.

“Excellent timing,” he said. “It’s the Mayoral debate and election.”

“I’m almost certain we can find something better to do than listen to some crusty old politicians.”

“I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised,” said Gold. “It could be an interesting night.”

The evening of the debate arrived more quickly than Lacey thought possible, and she was nervous about more than just reporting the evening’s events. Gold’s son and daughter-in-law were due any minute, and there was a tiny part of her that kept whispering that they wouldn’t approve, that they would wonder why the hell Gold, with his money and power and class, was dating the likes of her. Stressing over her coverage of the election was a welcome distraction from the unwelcome internal monologue, and she concentrated on getting her things together for the debate, checking the recording equipment on Gold’s kitchen table and fretting about the sound quality.

“You’ve already checked it three times,” he said. “It’s fine.”

“I’m supposed to be writing the front page article!” she snapped. “What happens if I fuck up and don’t get anything recorded? I’m gonna look like a total idiot and Sidney won’t trust me with anything more complex than the hot dog eating contest!”

“I can record everything on my phone, if you’re worried,” he said. “Besides, don’t you do shorthand?”

“Yeah, but—”

“You’ll be fine,” he said gently, and kissed her head. “I promise.”

The doorbell rang, and Lacey started, heart thumping.

“Relax, that’ll be Neal and Emma,” said Gold, heading for the door. Lacey frowned at his back.

“Relax, my arse,” she muttered, shoving the recording equipment into its bag.

There were voices from the hall, and a sudden burst of laughter, and she closed her eyes, willing herself to calm the hell down. Footsteps from the doorway made her look up, and she was greeted by a warm smile and an outstretched hand. Gold’s son had his eyes, and curling dark hair above a ready grin.

“I’m Neal,” he said. “Really pleased to meet you.”

“Lacey,” she said, shaking his hand. “Uh - likewise.”

She was reminded vividly of the fact that she had flashed him on their first encounter, and felt a blush start to rise in her cheeks. If Neal was thinking of it too, he was better at hiding it than she was. His wife was a pretty blonde, with a kind look in her eyes and a plump baby in her arms, who was glancing around curiously at everything.

“This is Emma,” added Neal, “and that’s Henry.”

“We’ve heard a lot about you,” said Emma, shooting Gold a teasing look.

“Well, I won’t ask if it was all good, because I’m willing to bet it wasn’t,” said Lacey, and they chuckled.

“Maybe not at first,” admitted Emma. “Don’t hold it against the old bastard, though.”

“Oh, believe me, the feeling was mutual,” said Lacey.

“I’m standing right here,” said Gold evenly.

Lacey caught Emma’s eye and returned her grin. She felt herself relax a little, and leaned over to kiss Gold’s cheek.

“We got there in the end,” she said. “Uh - how hungry are you guys? I didn’t even think about dinner.”

She shot Gold a look, hoping that he would suggest something, and he nodded.

“We’ll head to Granny’s after the debate,” said Gold. “I have no doubt that Lacey will be demonstrating her excellent skill as a journalist, and I’d hate for you to miss it.”

“No pressure then,” said Lacey, and he smiled.

“You’re writing the article for the Mirror front page,” he said. “You have an exclusive with the Mayor herself after the debate. Sidney Glass clearly believes you to be as capable as I do.”

“Yeah, because I got that interview with you,” she said. “I didn’t tell him we were naked when I got most of that info.”

Neal closed his eyes with a pained expression.

“Shows ingenuity if you ask me,” said Emma abruptly. “I can usually get a ton of stuff out of Neal when we’re naked. Must run in the family.”

It was Gold’s turn to look pained. Neal put his hands over his face with a heavy sigh, and Lacey and Emma chuckled. Lacey decided that she liked both Emma and Neal very much. She zipped her bag and nodded to Gold.

“Okay,” she said. “Wish me luck.”

The town hall was filled with residents, chatting amongst themselves and casting curious glances at the empty stage. Ruby was seated next to Leroy on the third row back, and she winked at Lacey as she and Gold took their own seats. Ruby had been delighted to hear that the two of them had started seeing one another, and had only made a salacious comment to Gold on one occasion. Maybe two.

“Big turnout,” said Neal, glancing around. “I had no idea the people in this town were so into politics.”

“Usually they don’t bother,” said Gold. “The Mayor getting some competition appears to have piqued their interest.”

As though his voice had summoned her, Regina walked onto the stage, chin held high, looking calm and competent in a sharp black suit. Zelena followed, in a green dress with a soft silk scarf around her neck and gold hoops in her ears. A green folder was tucked under her arm, her hair tied up, and Lacey thought she was going for the image of a respectable school teacher. A gleam in her eye spoiled the look.

Dr Hopper was moderating the debate, and Lacey quickly checked her recording equipment and opened her laptop, rattling off a few sentences about the tense atmosphere of the hall and the opening statements from each of the candidates. Zelena gave a speech about decency and traditional values, at which Regina seemed to be stopping herself from rolling her eyes with some difficulty. Regina spoke of her record on town planning, law and order—she shot Zelena a look at that point—and prosperity.

“Thank you, ladies,” said Dr Hopper, when she was done. “Now, perhaps we’ll go to some questions from the press before we deal with those the townsfolk have submitted.”

“I have a question for Miss West,” said Lacey, in a loud, clear voice, shoving her laptop at Gold as she got to her feet.

Zelena’s mouth twisted, her smile more of a grimace.

“Of course,” she said lightly. “It’s - uh - I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your name.”

She waved a languid hand, and Lacey felt her mouth flatten.

“Lacey French, Storybrooke Mirror,” she said evenly, and Zelena let out a tinkling laugh.

“Of course, silly me,” she trilled. “How could I forget Storybrooke’s eager young reporter? Lending the local newspaper such an air of class in that - lovely - outfit.”

There was a muttering amongst the townsfolk, and Lacey distinctly heard Ruby say ‘What a bitch!’, but she smiled sweetly as though she hadn’t understood the insult.

“Yeah, I have a question about your motivation for running for Mayor,” she said. “You said yourself you’ve never been involved in politics, so what inspired you to make this move now?”

Zelena smiled widely.

“Well, as I said, I thought about where I could do the most good,” she said. “Storybrooke is a wonderful town, with many excellent qualities, but talking to its residents has made me realise that there’s a feeling that it may be lacking direction. I sense a need for a return to the basics of community. Neighbourliness. Family values. The traditions of small-town America that we all grew up with.”

“But you grew up in England,” said Lacey. “Wasn’t your father a diplomat? How do you know this view of America is either accurate or desirable?”

Zelena’s nostrils flared as she continued to smile brightly.

“Well,” she said. “Who’s been doing her homework?”

“Yeah, it’s just that people hear politicians mention tradition and family values, and all too often it’s a smoke-screen to hide racism and homophobia,” went on Lacey. “How would you address those concerns?”

Zelena spread her hands.

“I’d say look at my record,” she said. “Since I moved here I’ve made it clear that I’m happy to work with people of all backgrounds. It’s important that no one feels left out, and my initial conversations have led me to believe that there are concerns, and that some residents feel that their interests are not - fully appreciated - by the Mayor.”

“What kind of interests?” asked Lacey quickly, before Zelena could turn away, and her mouth twisted again as she tried to keep smiling.

“As I said, some feel that traditional family values are being lost in the push for modernity,” she said. “I’d like to reassure them that I stand for everything that Storybrooke represents. Decency. Morality.”

“Does that mean you think the Mayor is immoral?” asked Lacey, and Zelena pulled a face.

“I think there have been some questionable decisions at city hall under her watch, yes,” she said. “Does anyone really think that a seedy bar called Queens of Darkness is fitting for this town?”

“It’s a jazz club,” said Regina. “And there’ll be dance lessons each week. A perfectly respectable establishment, run by three accomplished businesswomen.”

Zelena let out that insincere laugh again, and Lacey sat down, retrieving her laptop from Gold and opening it up as Zelena addressed the room.

“Well, it’s not only the company the Mayor keeps,” she said. “We’ve all heard the rumours. Missing money, accounts not holding quite as much as people thought…”

“That’s an outrageous lie,” said Regina coldly. “Where’s your evidence, Miss West?”

Zelena smirked, as though she had been waiting for that very question. She held up the green folder, showing it to the room.

“I have the evidence right here,” she announced. “A brave employee of city hall managed to smuggle this out to me. Evidence that the Mayor has been embezzling town funds!”

There was a shocked intake of breath around the room. Lacey typed furiously.

“How dare you!” snapped Regina. “That’s a lie and you know it!”

“I believe this is my allotted time to speak!” Zelena snapped back. “I think the people of Storybrooke deserve to know exactly who you really are, don’t you? They should understand the choice before them!”

The doors at the end of the hall opened, and there was the sound of heavy boots on the floor. Zelena looked surprised, and then somewhat nervous, and a low-level muttering started up in the audience. Lacey glanced over her shoulder, watching as Sheriff Graham Humbert walked towards the stage with his deputy Dorothy Gale by his side. Regina appeared to be drumming her fingers on the lectern, and Lacey couldn’t work out whether it was anxiety or impatience.

“Miss West,” said Graham. “We’d like you to come with us, please.”

“Why?” demanded Zelena. “I’m a little busy winning this election, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“It’s a matter of obstruction of justice,” said Graham. “If you could come to the station, please.”

Zelena opened and closed her mouth, a sudden flicker of fear in her eyes.

“What if I say no?”

“I’d prefer not to have to handcuff you,” said Graham.

“But we will if we have to,” added Dorothy, folding her arms.

“This is a conspiracy!” blurted Zelena, waving a finger at Regina. “Did the Mayor put you up to this? This is exactly the kind of corruption I’m talking about! The Sheriff being used as the Mayor’s enforcer!”

“Miss West…”

“Mayor Mills will do whatever it takes to silence me!” she went on. “She’s scared I’ve exposed her for what she is!”

“Miss West, I didn’t want to have to arrest you, but…”

“One hint of competition and she calls in her - her goon squad to crush it!”

“Oh, for God’s sake, I know you’re my sister!” said Regina loudly.

Silence fell, and Lacey hurriedly typed a few sentences, describing the shocked atmosphere of the town hall. Zelena was staring at Regina, eyes wide and nostrils flaring.

“I wasn’t going to mention it,” said Regina, curling her lip. “I wanted to give you a chance to be a decent person and deal with this in an honourable way. But since you’re determined to try to ruin my life for no good reason, then yes. I’m well aware we share the same mother, and frankly she’d be disappointed at this pathetic bid for attention.”

“How dare you—”

“I believe it’s my turn to speak,” interrupted Regina. “We’ve listened to enough of your rambling this evening. Since you’d been dropping hints about corruption in my office, I had Sheriff Humbert investigate. He told me earlier this evening that someone had been planting evidence to try to frame me. No doubt that’s what he wants to speak to you about.”

“This is—”

“The residents of Storybrooke know how seriously I take my duties as Mayor,” Regina went on, addressing the room as a whole now. “They know that I value their support and their trust. Of course I’d want any threat to that to be investigated. I’m just - I’m beyond disappointed that the threat comes from my half-sister.”

Her voice echoed around the silent room. Lacey was watching the townsfolk avidly, their eyes fixed on Regina as she spoke.

“I had no idea that my mother had had a daughter before me, no idea that I had another family member out there in the world,” she went on. “Her coming to Storybrooke should have been a time of joy and reunion. But instead of her reaching out to me, she tries to undermine me, to take away the most important job I have in this town.”

She looked down, shaking her head, and Gold leaned in close.

“I wonder how much of this is for the benefit of the voters and how much is genuine,” he murmured.

“Maybe fifty-fifty,” Lacey whispered back, and he nodded in agreement.

Regina raised her head, taking a deep breath, as though steeling herself for something unpleasant. Graham and Dorothy had edged towards the stage, Dorothy removing the cuffs from her belt.

“All I can do now,” said Regina, “is trust that justice will take its course.”

“You know nothing about justice!” shouted Zelena, as the Sheriff started reading her her rights. “You’ll pay for this! All of you!”

She was still yelling when Dorothy handcuffed her and marched her from the room. The sound of the doors closing was very loud in the silence that remained.

“Well,” said Regina, placing her hands on the lectern and looking around the room. “I think we can all agree that this was one of the more - eventful - political debates this town has seen.”

There was a ripple of nervous laughter, and she smiled.

“I truly hope that Miss West gets the help she so desperately needs,” she went on. “And when she has, I want her to know that she’s welcome to visit with Mallory and I. After all, we may not be able to choose our family, but that makes it all the more important to nurture the bonds we share with those around us.”

There were noises of agreement from the audience, and Gold leaned in close again.

“Ever the politician,” he murmured, and Lacey nodded.

“Storybrooke is like an extended family to me,” went on Regina, “and all families have their moments of conflict and frustration, but underneath that there is respect for one another, and a common set of values. I believe I have lived by those values for every year that I’ve served as your Mayor. I will always reach out to those in need and I will always act in the best interests of this town. Under my leadership, Storybrooke will continue to prosper. I guarantee it.”

There was applause, and a couple of cheers, and Regina nodded, looking extremely self-satisfied. She started taking questions, and Gold kissed Lacey’s cheek and whispered that he would see her in the diner when she was done. She watched him leave with his family, Emma balancing the baby on her hip and Neal pushing the stroller after them. Lacey turned back to listen to Regina field a question about the state of the town’s roads, bent her head to her laptop, and began typing up her article on the Mayoral debate.

She emailed the article over to Sidney before leaving for the diner, and walked back there with Ruby, who was chattering about the drama that had unfolded. Regina had been in her element when answering the remaining questions, and Lacey had felt a surge of satisfaction over her part in exposing a crime. Perhaps small town life offered the chance for rewarding work after all. She could see Gold and his family through the window, and his face lit up as she entered, making her stomach flip. Damn the man. I’m falling in love with him.

“Excellent job this evening,” he said, getting up to pull her chair out and kissing her cheek. “I got you a rum and coke, I hope that’s okay.”

“Perfect,” she said fervently, and took a slurp, relishing the taste on her tongue.

“How’d the Mayor look at the end of all that?” asked Emma, and Lacey pulled a face.

“The whole place gave her a round of applause, and she was looking about as satisfied as she could, I guess,” she said. “I still feel kind of sorry for her. Not every day you find out you have a half sister. Especially one that’s out to get you.”

“Well, it could have been a lot worse,” said Gold. “I very much doubt Miss West will present much of a challenge from a jail cell.”

Lacey nodded, taking another sip of her drink.

“Does this mean you and Regina are friends now?” she asked, and Gold smirked.

“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far,” he said. “What’s that term the kids use these days?”

“Frenemies?”

“That’s the one.”

“Kind of like we were,” she observed, and he laughed.

“Regina would fillet me with a letter opener if I even contemplated looking at her the way I look at you.”

“No, I don’t mean that,” she said. “I just meant - well, we kind of had that thing where we poked at each other to get a reaction, right?”

Gold looked as though he was trying very hard not to laugh, and she swatted his arm.

“Stop thinking about dirty stuff! You know what I mean!”

“I do,” he acknowledged. “And I, for one, am very glad that we - er - got the reaction we wanted.”

“You’re still thinking about dirty stuff, aren’t you?” said Emma shrewdly, and Gold shrugged.

“Maybe a little.”

They ate ribs, sticky with Granny’s special sauce, licking it from their fingers and washing it down with beer and wine and rum. By the time they got out into the cool night air, Lacey felt wonderfully tipsy, and regretted putting on her high heels earlier in the evening. At least there was no one else around to see if she fell on her arse, she supposed. Neal and Emma were walking ahead, pushing the stroller and talking quietly, and Lacey let out a sigh, slipping her arm through Gold’s for support, and resting her head on his shoulder.

“I ate too much,” she said, and Gold chuckled.

“We all ate too much.”

“You didn’t throw half of it over your lap, though.”

“No, I thought I’d leave that to you.”

“Stupid gravity,” muttered Lacey, and he laughed, squeezing her arm with his.

“Tired?” he asked.

“Yeah. Long day.”

“Maybe you should have an early night.”

She glanced up at him, and he was grinning at her, his eyes twinkling.

“How’s that gonna work?” she asked flatly. “Your family’s staying over. No way I’m letting you give me screaming orgasms while they’re in the room next door.”

“In that case I could sneak over to yours,” he suggested. “You could scream to your heart’s content.”

Lacey giggled, barging him affectionately with her shoulder.

“I think I love you, Mr Gold,” she said, and Gold stopped dead, turning to face her with a stunned look on his face.

“Really?”

Lacey turned to face him, taking his hand.

“Really,” she said. “I mean I’m kind of drunk, but that’s not why I’m saying it. I think I’ve sort of been in love with you for a while now. Is that okay?”

He was staring at her, wide-eyed, and a softness seemed to spill over his features, making his eyes gleam as he smiled.

“Well,” he said. “I think I love you, too, Miss French. Is that okay?”

“More than okay.”

He seemed to hesitate for a moment, then raised his chin.

“D’you want to move in?” he asked.

“Can I bring Darcy?”

“Of course.”

“Then you got a deal.”

He was grinning, and she found herself grinning back, her heart swelling with love for him.

“Let’s wait until after Neal and Emma go before I move in, though,” she said. “I think you said something about screaming orgasms?”

Gold’s grin turned wicked, and he bent his head to kiss her.

“I’ll be over later.”

She let his lips pull at hers, leaning in to feel the warmth of his body as his arms went around her, and let out a sigh of contentment. Yes. Life in a small town could be amazing.

#fic: heatstroke #golden lace fic #rumbelle fic #golden lace #rumbelle #my fic

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ackermansupremacy · 4 years ago

Note

Jealous annie hcs 🥺🥺

🥺🥺absolutely

It seems like it takes a lot to make Annie jealous

But it doesn’t

It takes a lot for her to voice that jealousy

She wouldn’t call herself a jealous person per se

But she does get jealous more than she thinks she should

Like sometimes you’ll be like “Good job today Armin! :)”

And her brain just goes

“Why are you complimenting him not me? 🤨”

Even if you did just compliment her 💀

She’ll be a little salty over it but realizes its unreasonable so she won’t say anything

But if Mikasa is involved its on sight

She once saw Mikasa tending to a cut you had while training and almost fought her on the spot

If you ever compliment Mikasa-

“Fine, go date her then” “Annie-“

She doesn’t normally say anything to the person she was jealous of though

But there was one time that you complimented Bertholdt

And he went “it was all thanks to you, :)” and put his hand on your shoulder

She intervened REAL quick

She put her hand on top of Bert’s in a death grip

If looks could kill...

Bert would be highfiving Marco (WHOOPS OUT OF POCKET)

“Back off.”

Was all she had to say to get that crystal clear message across 💀

Then she acts like nothing happened :)

But thats about as far as her jealousy goes

If you do something that makes her REALLY jealous

Chances are she’ll probably get a little bit distant and mope for a bit because she knew it would be immature to take it out on you

So she likes to cool down on her own and reflect on whether she ACTUALLY has a solid reason to be jealous

She doesn’t like to do things on whims or without thinking it through

She’ll brush it off eventually

But don’t worry, she’ll forget about whatever happened soon after anyway 💀

***

HJDHSJSHSB I checked my ask box and JUST noticed this one I hope it wasn’t sitting for too long in there it must’ve been lonely T-T

Anyway, ask box is empty but I have a few drafts. Drop whatever ya want in there babes.

Thanks for requesting! I hope you enjoyed!

#annie leonhart #annie leonhart x reader #aot #snk #attack on titan annie #snk headcanons #annie leonhart imagine #annie leonhart headcanons

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beinmybonnet · 4 years ago

Text

29th June 1613 - London, England

“Remind me again why we’re doing this?

“He went to the trouble to have a draft carried all the way to Brandenburg for me, the least I can do is attend the opening night.”

Andromache rolls her shoulders into her partlet. “The least you can do maybe. Why am I doing this?”

“Because you missed me. And because you cried when we saw Othello.” Yusuf replies, looking sideways at her. Curbing the inevitable objection, Quynh squeezes Nicolò’s arm and strides forwards to overtake them. He lets himself be dragged after her, taking care not to tread on her skirts.

“I love the theatre. Plus, we’ve spent the last week sleeping in a shack in the Dales. This,” Quynh waves her free arm over the bridge rail, “is a nice change of scenery.”

London Bridge is teeming with people, the warmth of the bustle settling like cinders into his skin. The city writhes in its haste. Against the far bank of the Thames tall buildings strike against the horizon, the old Southwark Priory still reaching high in spent pride. Buildings are painted pale with dark beams striking bold across them. It is beautiful in its own way, Nicolò thinks. Inelegant, but unique.

“It wasn’t that bad. I still think we should have stayed a little longer, at least until-

“Andromache we’ve slept in nicer caves.”

Quynh glances back over her shoulder meaningfully, brow rising. Andromache shrugs. A smile, although few would recognise it. They step down onto the riverbank as one, turning east.

Nicolò nudges his shoulder into Yusuf as they pass the gardens. “You fail to mention you sent that script back with corrections.”

“Revisions. Small ones.” Yusuf’s voice is low, his expression impish. “Barely noticeable.”

“Ah, here we are.” Yusuf waves Andromache forward into their usual first-floor booth and steps back to allow Quynh to pass. Nicolò pauses, peering up the stairwell.

“Full house.”

“First performance. Trust me, this will be one to remember.” Yusuf is bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet, and it makes Nicolò want to tuck his chin over a bobbing shoulder.

“You’d think the city would be a bit more subdued,” Andromache settles herself on the bench tucking thick plum skirts around her calves. She happily accepts a bag of roasted hazelnuts from Yusuf as he passes her to stand at the balcony. “They’ve only just recovered from their last bout of plague.”

“Exactly! This is the power of art.” Yusuf beams, arm sweeping wide. “Look at these people.” All around them the crowd is seething with anticipation, the noise growing as the wait goes on. Children scramble in the lower level of the yard for better vantage points, clawing their way up the beams supporting the lower galleries. People are shouting and laughing and drinking, the sound cocooned tight within the impressive structure. A man swings a laughing boy up over the mass, and a small group of women pressed against the stage begin shouting a suspicious sounding rhyme, pointing across the pit. Before they can finish a man in the gallery beneath them roars his response across the yard.

Nicolò’s brow furrows. “Clot-pole? I don’t…”

“She’s calling him an idiot,” Andromache supplies, “and insulting his hat.”

“It is a bit much.” Quynh’s leaning over the balcony to get a better look. “I think she’s accusing him of, err – short-changing her. Last night.”

Still grinning, Yusuf peers over beside her. “Oh, she’s quite angry. Here we go.” He sounds delighted. What looks like a parsnip sails over the head of the crowd. “A pity, she’ll want those for the third act.”

Quynh’s now bent almost double over the bannister and Andromache reaches to steady her without looking. “Isn’t this sort of thing that made the man move half of the troupe over to Blackfriars?”

Yusuf shakes his head in fond exasperation. “Ah, William has become far too prudish in his success. The engagement of the audience is the nature of theatre.”

“Engagement?” Nicolò smirks as something below meets its mark with a splat and a shout.

“Well, you cannot deny their enthusiasm-”

Quynh reappears with a whoop of triumph clutching her prize; a browning cabbage intercepted in the air. She rotates the rotten vegetable in careful examination. “Excellent.”

Yusuf raises his hand in hopeless protest as Nicolò leans back in his seat, eyeing Quynh. “10 crowns says you can’t hit the stage from here.”

She snorts derisively.

“20 if you can take King Henry off his feet.” Andromache counters, rising slightly to gauge the distance. Done, Quynh agrees happily, settling beside her and tucking her cabbage under the bench. Yusuf mutters an exasperated appeal for help to the heavens and Nicolò quickly tugs him down into the remaining space with a hand over his knee.

The parting of the stage curtain prompts the dropping of remaining projectiles and an enthusiastic cheer from the crowd. The herald clears his throat, steps to the edge of the stage and spreads his arms.

The first and happiest hearers of the town,

I come no more to make you laugh; things now,

That bear a weighty and a serious brow,

Sad, high, and working, full of state and woe,

Such noble scenes as draw the eye to flow,

We now present. Those that can pity, here

May, if they think it well, let fall a tear;

Be sad, as we would make ye

“Oh, so a comedy?” Quynh says brightly and Yusuf shushes her.

The first actors emerge from the wings in their velvets and the tale takes flight.

In all this noble bevy, has brought with her

One care abroad; he would have all as merry

As, first, good company, good wine, good welcome,

Can make good people. O, my lord, you're tardy:

Yusuf is mouthing the words soundlessly, engrossed.

There are many things Nicolò has enjoyed about visiting theatres over the years. He will readily admit this performance is an enjoyable one - the young man playing Buckingham is particularly charismatic, the audience viscerally immersed in his indignation. The actors proudly deliver their lines and their story to an increasingly hypnotised audience.

But the play itself has never been what really draws Nicolò to this place. He glances sideways again and immediately, expectedly, loses the thread of the plot. In this moment the talent on the stage could never hope to hold his interest as he sits beside this man. Yusuf has lost himself entirely to the unfolding tale, gaze flitting from figure to figure calling below. Passion alight in his eyes. The arts do this to him in a way Nicolò has seen nothing else in all their time together. They have walked familiar paths in gallery halls for hours on end, Yusuf’s eyes roving walls of painted expression. They’ve sat in houses of the dying and listened to children bringing comfort with songs of naivety. Literature, dance, poetry, music; in all their changing forms they have always arrested Yusuf in his entirety.

These things give people freedom Nicolò, true freedom, he had once said. Free of limitation and expectation, in art people reveal their true selves. It is beautiful.

For Nicolò, that beauty is reflected blindingly in Yusuf’s own experience. To watch him like this for the rest of his given days would see him depart this earth achingly grateful to his God.

But Yusuf feels his distraction and leans toward him. “You’re missing it,” he murmurs, smile pulling impossibly wider. Unbridled delight is etched at the edges of his eyes, and Nicolò wants to trace his fingertips over the creases. He only realises he has reached out and done so when Yusuf captures and kisses his palm. “Watch the play.”

“It is a story still within living memory, I know how it ends,” Nicolò whispers.

Yusuf will not have it, nodding towards the actors. “Watch them tell it.”

Anne Boleyn is drifting across the stage, hand at her chest and Nicolò turns dutifully back to the performance.

Was he mad, sir?

O, very mad, exceeding mad, in love too:

But he would bite none; just as I do now,

He would kiss you twenty with a breath.

This time it’s Yusuf’s eyes that flicker back towards him and Nicolò hears silent words in the curl of his lip. Twenty kisses in a single breath. A risky venture, no?

Nicolò hums, his thoughts mirrored beside him. We shall see.

Good lord chamberlain,

Go, give 'em welcome; you can speak the French tongue;

And, pray, receive 'em nobly, and conduct 'em

Into our presence, where this heaven of beauty

Shall shine at full upon them. Some attend him.

You have now a broken banquet; but we'll mend it.

A good digestion to you all: and once more

I shower a welcome on ye; welcome all!

King Henry VIII emerges from the curtains with a flourish, the actor clearly taking great pains not to stumble in breeches that billow around his knees. The theatre bursts into applause as a round of trumpets sound, and they shout their approval at the blast of a canon from the rafters. The actors move to their marks to begin the scene in earnest, and Andromache leans forward with interest for the first time.

“See, I told you! With the funding now available, they’ve really spared no expense,” Yusuf is still clapping. Andromache hums noncommittally sitting back, but her eyes are suddenly bright with curiosity.

“Quynh, if you’re going to win your money, I suggest you do it now.”

“Why? I was going to wait until the trial scene,” she replies, confused.

From his place beside her Nicolò can see clearly that Andromache is struggling to suppress a smirk. “Well, there won’t be much left by then.”

“What?” Quynh looks down the bench at him. He shrugs. Andromache sighs around her growing amusement.

Seconds pass before she speaks again.

“They’ve set the roof on fire.”

He doesn’t need long to piece together what’s happened. There’s a thin plume of smoke rising from the inner curve of the roof and within, a flicker of light no bigger than that from a candle waving gently in the rafters. The canon. They wadded the canon, he realises. The little flame wafts higher in the breeze. The crowd is oblivious, too focused on the stage to be looking upwards. He taps Yusuf’s thigh.

It does take a moment. “Oh dear.” Yusuf looks back and forth between the roof and the stage, face falling. “Well maybe-

There’s a loud pop as the flame meets eager fuel. It dances up into the thatch lining the hooped roof and flares wide and greedy. Whip fast, it licks across the reeds consuming them in crunches and cracks that have people now looking skywards and shouting. Those in the highest galleries rear back as the fire completes its rapid circuit of the roof. By the time the actors have abandoned their attempts at continuing and stand dumbstruck on the stage, the theatre is ringed in an ominous halo of flame.

“Yusuf, unless your intention is a repeat of ’54…” Quynh trails off sadly, holding her cabbage.

Clumps of lit thatch are beginning to drift into the standing audience and the pushing and shoving follows in earnest. One man charges through the crowd braying, his breeches alight. Andromache stands looking decidedly more cheerful. “Come on, we’ll help them clear the pit.”

Nicolò follows suit, a hand falling to Yusuf’s shoulder. He has to work to quell an absurd urge to laugh; Yusuf is glaring at the roof with all the stubbornness of a chastised child. He squeezes gently, sympathy winning out. “I’m sorry.”

“Canons, who on earth thought canons in a wooden building was…” Yusuf trails off, glancing up. “Nothing to be done I suppose.” He holds out his other hand. “Shall we?”

Drawing Yusuf up behind him, Nicolò moves out into the stairwell twisting up into the higher galleries where people are starting to pile down in haste. An older man stumbles in the rush and he reaches out to steady him. “Careful, sir. Head out towards the river.”

The man nods and quickly hurries on pressing his handkerchief to his mouth. The next woman through the door snatches her arm up to her chest before he can move to offer any assistance. Dirty papist she spits as she veers away. Yusuf tenses, a hard line pressed at his back. Nicolò just dips his head.

“Please hurry.”

By the time the flow of people has ebbed the flames are beginning to consume the ornate stage pillars. The curtains masking backstage catch like parchment and blaze furiously. “We should make sure the galleries are clear,” he says, “you take the east, I the west?”

Yusuf eyes the roof timbers warily. “Five minutes. No more.”

In the end it only takes Nicolò four minutes to usher the last stubborn gamblers from the gentleman’s room. The fact that the smoke has now crept down to waist level speeds this along nicely, and they hurry to the stairwell hunched and coughing. Nicolò stays low, following them down the last steep flight when his foot catches on something in the darkness, almost putting his hand through the adjacent wall in an attempt to steady himself. There’s a man slouched in the corner, limbs sprawled wide and snoring. An empty bladder clutched to his chest. The strength of the brandy fumes punch through the dense smoke to further sting at his eyes and his irritation almost threatens to outweigh his conscience. Almost.

By the time he staggers out into clear air dragging his oblivious charge Nicolò know he’s been much longer than five minutes. Behind him there’s a crash which sounds very much like the galleries have finally given in and collapsed. Sounds like, because his eyes are clenched shut, burning and watering. Pressing his hands to his knees, he tries not to gag on the tar in his throat.

A hand settles on the back of his neck whilst another cups a palmful of water to his face. Nicolò winces.

“I’m sorry,” he rasps, “He’s heavier than he looks.”

He can hear Yusuf grinding his teeth but his response is surprisingly placid. “Rinse your eyes.”

Yusuf presses a water skin into his hands and moves away. When Nicolò’s vision has cleared he spots him back near the eastern entrance, patiently shepherding two enraptured boys further from the fire as they gape at the sky. Even for one who has seen much, Nicolò must admit, it is quite a sight.

The playhouse’s cylindrical shape has moulded the fire into a twirling steeple of flame inside the structure, now reaching twenty feet clear of the building itself. The Globe resembles an enormous cauldron struggling to hold its roiling contents. It belches clouds of thick black smoke as its rim splinters and cracks under the pressure and heat. What’s left of the thatch continues to feed the furnace, keeping the flames bright and fierce.

Quynh appears, sliding her hand into the crook of his elbow to steer him away. She leads him to a grassy curve of the riverbank where people are congregating in groups and beginning to resettle on the ground. From one muse to another, the audience remain eager spectators, gasping and whooping as the bones of the building begin to break, sending up showers of sparks. Yusuf and Andromache join them just as the walls start to keel inwards.

“You were right, definitely one of his more memorable works,” Andromache announces as they sit. “Perhaps my favourite.”

“Yes, I’m so very glad you enjoyed yourself.” Yusuf’s tone is flat, but his eyes roll indulgently.

Quynh settles herself back against Andromache’s bent knees, facing the playhouse. “We can still make a night of it. We get a bottle of wine, some pastries. Watch the sunset.” Her voices softens slightly and she levels her gaze at them. “You really must go so soon?”

He looks to Yusuf, who nods. “We have passage on a ship to Antwerp. She leaves on the tide tomorrow morning.”

Quynh’s sigh is dejected. “You won’t consider staying just a little longer? We’re moving on to…” she trails off, peering up at Andromache – Devon, she supplies, “We could use your help relocating these women. The trials are becoming barbaric.”

Yusuf shakes his head, surveying the crowd. “I’d prefer not to tempt fate. London is not at its most welcoming for us presently.

Nicolò quirks his lip. “You mean for me.” Ah, he sees now. The woman from earlier is stood just a little further up the bank, clutching at well-dressed man and pointing at them. Yusuf stares back unflinchingly. Nicolò feels him shift to further block her line of sight to him.

Then he turns back to meet Nicolò’s eye and speaks firmly. “For us. If a place does not welcome you, it does not welcome me.”

Quynh has watched the exchange carefully and suddenly sits up. She clears her throat and calls out loudly enough for those nearest to turn. “Thou art a boil, madam, a plague sore!”

Andromache snorts and the woman raises her fan to her face appalled, tugging on her husband’s arm. It has the intended effect on Yusuf though and his grin returns to its proper place. Nicolò feels a familiar rush of affection for Quynh and her unfailing ability to put people at ease.

“King Lear,” Yusuf says proudly. “I didn’t think you were paying attention.”

“Of course she was,” Andromache interjects, “It’s a magnum opus of insults.”

Quynh grins up at her. “Oh, you worsted-stockinged knave.”

The retort is instant. “Brazen-faced varlet.”

“Ancient ruffian.”

Andromache shrugs. “Accurate.”

Their laughter comes in easy unison and Yusuf’s expression is unbearably soft as he watches them. “It won’t be for long,” he promises.

Quynh pulls her eyes from Andromache and nods. “Probably a sensible choice at the moment. You do look violently Venetian Nicolò.

He wrinkles his nose, affronted. “I do not-”

Yusuf is reaching for his face, so he pauses his protest for the gentle pass of a thumb over the bridge of his nose. “It’s your profile my love.” Yusuf’s tongue darts out over the pad of his thumb before it returns to rub more firmly at his nose. “Which currently is very sooty.”

With his hands still upon Nicolò’s face he murmurs. “Oh but what a piece of work is this man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, in form and moving how express and admirable, in action how like an angel,” Yusuf blinks, his sincerity blinding, “in apprehension how like a god.”

It’s all Nicolò can do not to rub his flushed cheeks into Yusuf’s palms like an alley cat.

Andromache arches a refined brow at Quynh. “Nicolò gets a Hamletian ode to his soul, and I get ‘ruffian’?”

Quynh rocks onto her elbow in the grass without missing a beat. “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Mayhap a smouldering playhouse, ablaze in righteous flame?

“Likened to a smoking wreckage, how romantic.”

Nicolò would laugh but Yusuf is still holding his gaze and his face, everything else muting around him. He does this; bestows his love in soft declarations that leave Nicolò stunned, and then holds him steady until the words perfuse. Nicolò loves him so much he feels he might combust, with all the ferocity of the fire at his back.

Centuries before, he had allowed his disbelief to ask a question once, and only once. The intensity frightening him. Could a gift such as this truly be his eternal?

Nicolò smiles at his world and whispers.

So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

So long lives this, and gives life to thee.

held in the embers on ao3 at theexistentialteapot

part one of this series can be found here

#god this one took years off me #but it's done!#thank you bones for the final shove over the finish line #i am so soft for this found family #and they deserve happy memories #yusuf would 1000% have been a theatre kid #the headcanon is lodged #userbones #usermarwan #tusermj #tuserceleste #the old guard fic #the old guard #mine

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sasskarian · 4 years ago

Note

"Be still my foolish heart don’t ruin this on me" for prompts

Fallout 4 | Paladin Danse

***

The Commonwealth is quiet tonight.

It’s not silent, by any stretch: Evie can hear the hounds in the distance, their mutated throats sending their boofs echoing through the streets of Boston even from a long distance, and somewhere— a mile or more— the whoop of a raiding party rises over the station’s lookout, too far away to do anything but pity the poor prey they’ve caught. Dogmeat grunts, his paws pushing against her armored thigh as he stretches. His ears are perked, though, so he’s just catching some rest while he can. Even the thwomp-and-hiss of her partner’s power armor is missing from the darkness, the red light of his scope the only thing highlighting his face in their little bubble of quiet.

Six months since her Vault opened. Six months she’s been here in the wastelands of what was once home. She grew up here, got her law degree at the university that’s nothing but rubble and worse; peeled off crab legs and laughed with her family under the Barking Crab’s colorful tent down on Sleeper Street. The other day, while green lightning forked overhead and the Prydwen bobbed in the drafts rolling off the Atlantic, she’d seen the panhandle shape of the East Boston Memorial Garden, where she and Nate had had their first date, and later, their wedding. How strange that had felt, six months and several lifetimes away.

Dogmeat whines softly as her mood shifts, rolling until he sprawls belly up halfway between her and Danse. Four months ago, when she stumbled bleeding into the police station and half-collapsed at Danse’s feet, she’d never have heard the quiet chuff of amusement, or the whisper-quiet ruffle of fur as his gloves scritched the dog’s belly. But tonight, it warms her, something welcome and pure in this nightmare of a world.

“You astound me,” Danse says quietly. From the lack of sass by Rhys— Knight Rhys, her mind auto-corrects, mimicking the salty tone perfectly— Evie guesses his comms are off, and turns her own mic off. After a quick fiddle with her Pip, Diamond City Radio also goes down until it’s nothing but a pleasant buzz in her ear.

“I mean, he is a very good dog,” she teases, smiling when her shameless companion wiggles, a foot scratching as she finds That One Itchy Spot with her gloveless nails. “Quite astounding, really.”

Danse snorts softly. She can only see a sliver of his face, sitting as they were: him facing the west, rifle ready and primed, and her facing east, face full of the briny Atlantic breezes. But even that sliver is enough to show his small smile, the crinkles next to his eyes shadowed as they wink into existence. “He is,” Danse says. “But I wasn’t referring to him.”

The hand on his rifle fidgets, an uncharacteristic tell for the always in control soldier. There’s been several of those, these last few weeks.

“Is that so?” Evie asks, turning to face him. Her fingers find Dogmeat’s ears, playing with the silky fur as she waits. She’s always been good at that: waiting someone out, giving them just enough rope to swing on. Patience cuts through a lot of bluster, and there aren’t many in this new world or from before the war that could out-awkward or out-stubborn her.

Danse is silent, sighting a shadow on the ground to keep from looking at her. The red washes over his face, highlighting the scar through his eyebrow and Evie tucks her arms around one knee to keep from doing anything stupid. This isn’t the first time Danse has said something startling; confessions are easier said in the dark, and despite the stoneface he presents to the Brotherhood, Danse seems to have a lot of confessions. Evie doesn’t mind: it’s nice to feel connected to someone out here.

Finally, he sets the rifle back down, the breeze playing with the tips of his black hair. “You’ve got to be the most resilient person I’ve ever met,” he says. His voice is so quiet, even the distant warble of star radiation shining down on them is almost louder, but Evie still hears him. “You slept as the world changed, had your son stolen from you, your husband killed in front of you. Woke up in an entirely different lifetime, and yet, here you are, boots on the ground and just… adapting.” He shifts, his armor hissing. “How?”

Nate’s face swims up in her memory— his brown eyes, the curl to his hair when he stepped out of the shower. How his megawatt smile lit up when Shaun came red-faced and howling into the world. With a pang that has only started to soften, she nudges it away. Nate’s ghost will always be with her, reminders of him in every step she takes, but it’s getting easier to breathe without him. Easier to see him as something to fight for, to keep her going. He pushes her on, when all she wants to do is lie down and stop getting back up.

“I don’t have a choice.” Evie is just as quiet, her head dropping to her knee. Her armor doesn’t hiss as she moves, and she thinks half-heartedly about offering to check his hydraulic hoses before acknowledging the distraction for what it is: stalling. “Shaun is out there somewhere. He’s the only piece of normal I have left.” When she looks up, Danse is staring at her, eyes dark and wide— brown and sweet, like Nate’s. “He’s the only piece of Nate I have left.”

Slowly, so hesitant she almost expects his neck to creak like an unoiled hinge, Danse nods and turns back to his post, content with that answer. And maybe it’s her imagination, but his arm slides over until his vambrace rests against her leg. Something in her heart rolls over— not awake. Pain is still a fresh-faced, wide-eyed companion. But maybe a few maybes have been sung along in her heart with the radio, and she turns the DCR channel back up, thoughtful.

The rest of the shift is uneventful, with nothing but the stars smiling down on them and that quiet clink of wrist to ankle and heart to heart.

***

Hozier Prompts

I FULLY blame @asaara-writes for dragging me into this fandom. I did NOT need another awkward, lost puppy soldier boy to love, I have enough of those in my real life! (j/k, I love this damn game, I have been mainlining it)

EDIT: Also on Ao3! Along with a bunch of other work y’all might like!

#fallout 4 #paladin danse #my fic #sher does fallout #i did the thing #Anonymous

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bi-bard · 4 years ago

Text

Long Forgotten Past- Arthur Pendragon Imagine (Merlin)

Title: Long Forgotten Past

Pairing: Arthur Pendragon X Reader (I tried to make this gender neutral but if I slipped up, I’m sorry)

Requested: Nope...

Warning(s): Mentions of past abandonment and memory loss

Summary: Someone made a decision that changed (Y/n)’s life forever. Now things are changing and the truth will be revealed. A visitor coming to Camelot makes sure that the truth comes out and (Y/n) learns more in a day than they had in forever.

Author’s Note: I have had this sitting in my drafts for so long! This was originally a musical prompt but I drifted very far from that original idea... whoops!

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

“Merlin, let go of my wrist,” I hissed as he dragged me through the halls of the castle.

“No, this is important,” he replied, continuing to drag me along.

“Merlin,” we heard someone shout behind us. Merlin stopped with an angry sigh, tuning around to face Arthur. “Hello, (Y/n).”

“Hello, Arthur,” I smiled.

“Merlin,” Arthur turned his attention to the boy that was still grabbing onto my wrist. “What on Earth are you doing?”

“I need to speak to Gaius and it’s important that (Y/n) is there,” Merlin explained. “You can make me do any chores you want afterwards.”

“(Y/n), are you alright,” Arthur touched my arm gently.

“I’m fine,” I said with- what probably looked like- a dumb smile. He nodded before waving us off. “Bye.”

“Bye,” he replied.

“God, you two are pathetic,” Merlin muttered once Arthur was out of earshot and you had continued following him to see Gaius. “He is absolutely in love with you.”

“No, no he is not,” I insisted. We had this discussion all too often. Merlin had this idea that Arthur loved me... which wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true.

“Gaius,” Merlin shouted as opened the door of their room. “I’ve discovered something.”

“What is it,” Gaius asked, stepping away from whatever potion he was making.

“There’s a king missing his child,” Merlin explained. “His wife died when the kingdom was attacked and the child disappeared.”

“Merlin, where is this going,” Gaius asked. I furrowed my eyebrows and crossed my arms.

“(Y/n) is that child,” Merlin exclaimed.

“What,” Gaius and I shouted at the same time.

“Is it impossible,” Merlin asked.

“Yes,” I replied.

“You have no memories from before... about eight years old,” Merlin added. “You know that your parents didn’t give birth to you. Why can’t you even think that this is a possibility?”

“Gaius,” I turned to look at the old man. “Please tell him that he has lost it.”

“Well...,” Gaius started.

“Gaius,” I shouted.

“We need to tell Uther that there’s a chance,” he continued. “The only one who could confirm this is the man who is potentially your father.”

“You’re kidding,” I shook my head and looked down.

“Come with me, we’ll speak with him before his meeting with the knights,” Gaius said, motioning for Merlin and me to follow him.

“We’re doing this right now,” I asked. I was scared. I shouldn’t have been scared. None of this was possible. They both nodded. “Okay.”

“Sire,” Gaius said as we all walked into the throne room. “I have an important issue to discuss with you.”

“Make it quick, Gauis, I have a meeting soon,” Uther replied.

“You may have heard about King Rowan,” Gaius explained. “He lost his wife when their kingdom was attacked and his child seemed to disappear at random. Merlin and I have reason to believe that we’ve found his child.”

“Really,” Uther looked stunned. “His child has been missing for almost fifteen years. Who do you believe it is?”

“(Y/n),” I straightened my spine when Uther looked at me when Gaius said my name. “The only person who can confirm that is King Rowan.”

“I’ll have someone go and deliver a message to him,” Uther promised, walking over to us. He placed a hand on my shoulder. “It should only take a few days for him to arrive. We’ll find out the truth.”

“Thank you, Sire,” I said, nodding before going to leave. I still had work to get done... even if my thoughts were in a mess now.

**A Few Days Later**

I ran through the hallways once Gwen and Morgana finally let me go. They had insisted on making sure I looked my best when my potential father showed up. I understood why but it made me even more nervous.

I only stopped when I was right outside the doors to the throne room. The guards at the doors gave me nods that I think were supposed to comfort me. I nodded back and they opened the large doors for me.

“This is (Y/n),” Uther said as I walked in. Another man was standing there. That must have been King Rowan.

The room was completely silent. I stood in the middle of the room, scared out of my mind. King Rowan walked over slowly. My heart felt like it was going to burst out of my chest.

“Your necklace,” Rowan said. I touched in out of instinct. It wasn’t much. A single charm on some string. But I had always had it. “It belonged to my wife. She told me to give it to my child. It was her last wish on her deathbed.”

“That... That means...”

“(Y/n),” King Rowan pulled me into a tight hug. I felt him shaking. I let tears fall from my eyes. “My child.”

“Father,” I mumbled. I stepped away after a minute, trying to wipe my eyes so I could look presentable. “Why can’t I remember that time? I would’ve been old enough to have memories.”

“That was my doing,” he looked down. “I had a warlock wipe the first ten years from your mind. I didn’t want you to hold onto that pain. Now that you’re here, we can find a way to restore them.”

“Gaius,” Uther said. “He would be able to fix this, yes?”

“I could certainly try, Sire,” Gaius nodded. I turned around and hugged him.

“Thank you,” I mumbled.

“You’re welcome,” he replied before stepping back to look at everyone. “(Y/n) will need to stay in my chambers and I will need to be able to work with her in private.”

“Of course,” Rowan nodded. He gave me one last hug before following Uther, who was offering him a tour of the castle. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Of course,” I nodded. Everyone had left the room except for Gaius, Merlin, and Arthur.

“I told you so,” Merlin said. I rolled my eyes at him.

“Merlin,” Arthur warned. “One more word, you’ll be sleeping in the stables.”

“Sorry,” Merlin held his hands up. He moved over to hug me. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” I mumbled.

“Gaius and I will go off to prepare for... whatever is going to happen,” Merlin said before following Gaius out of the throne room.

“So, you’re royalty,” Arthur said after the door shut behind them.

“Apparently,” I looked down. I was caught off guard when he hugged me and twirled me around. “What is it?”

“This is the best news,” he replied. “This is perfect.”

“Why is it so perfect?”

“We’ll talk about that later,” he shrugged with a smirk before kissing my forehead. “Good luck.”

“Thank you,” I gave him a nervous smile before heading off to see Gaius and Merlin.

I walked through the door, fiddling with my hands. My stomach was full of butterflies and I was scared that I would actually throw up. Merlin gave me a comforting smile once he saw me shifting from one foot to another.

“Come lay down,” Gaius said. I nodded and sat on the cot that Gaius had.

“How is this going to work,” I asked.

“Well, I’m going to give you this potion,” Gaius held up a bottle. “It should start bringing your memory back but it will cause you to fall asleep because the process of regaining memories can be...”

“Overwhelming,” I completed his thought. He nodded. “Have you done this before?”

“Never had to,” Gaius replied, kind of shrugging at me. I let out a heavy sigh. “It’ll be okay.”

“Okay,” I shook my hands out before holding one out to take the bottle from him.

I shifted so I was laying down, then took a huge gulp of the potion. I winced at the flavor as Gaius took it from me. My wincing stopped as I started feeling drowsy, my eyelids struggling to stay open. After what could’ve been seconds, I was falling asleep.

**Time Skip**

I slowly blinked as my brain became less and less cloudy. I rolled my neck before moving to sit up on the cot. I jumped a little when I saw how many people were there... just looking at me.

“Hello,” my father said softly, sitting next to me. I smiled at him. “I know this is going to sound a little silly but... can you tell me the name of your mother?”

“My mother’s name was Aleida,” I replied, my eyes filling with tears. “She was killed by a neighboring kingdom when I was eight. And I just forgot her.”

“No, no, no,” my father hugged me, rubbing my back. “You did nothing wrong. I am so sorry. I am so sorry for everything.”

“May I have a few minutes,” I asked. “I just want to collect my thoughts.”

“Of course,” my father nodded, moving to stand and guide everyone out.

Once the door closed, I felt all of my emotions truly come out. I was scared and I was confused. I placed a hand over my mouth as I cried. Almost eight years of lost memories came crashing back in less than a minute. I couldn’t sort through all of my thoughts.

Whether or not I understood what was going on, my tears eventually stopped. I finally stood from the cot and walked towards the door. Everyone was waiting just outside.

“Sorry,” I mumbled. “I just needed to pull myself together.”

“You’re alright,” Arthur stepped forward and touched my shoulder. I smiled at him.

“Merlin, I believe you and I have some work to finish up, don’t we,” Gaius asked. Merlin nodded, a very smug smile on his face as they walked back into Gaius’ chambers.

“Rowan, I believe we have a deal to discuss,” Uther announced. “Would you like to go discuss the matter?”

“Of course,” my father replied, walking towards the throne room.

“So,” Arthur said slowly. “It’s true.”

“It’s true,” I chuckled. “So, you can tell me why this was such great news.”

“Well,” he looked down for a moment. “I just want you to know that I love you.”

“Oh,” I froze up for a moment. “As in you’re in love with me?”

“Yes,” he confirmed with a small smile. “I didn’t want to say anything because of the stupid rule about royals not being with people that aren’t also royals... but this was the best stroke of luck because now no one can do anything to you if I was to say anything... which I did.”

“I am very happy that I do know,” I replied. I glanced around the nearby hallway before leaning up and kissing his cheek. “Let’s go see what our dads are so adamantly discussing.”

“Alright,” he nodded, holding his arm out so I could wrap mine around. I leaned on his shoulder while we walked down the hallway. It was nice. This was a definitely a nice moment.

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

Masterlist

What I Write For

Request Guidelines

Musical Prompts

Small Moments With...

When Worlds Collide (Doctor Who Crossover Series) Masterlist)

#merlin imagine #merlin fanfiction #arthur pendragon imagine #arthur pendragon fanfiction #imagine #fanfiction #character imagine #character fanfiction

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bomberqueen17 · 4 years ago

Text

man i wish tumblr let you reply to replies

Y’all have been hilarious and I haven’t been able to easily keep up, so this is a big misc dump, sorry!

in re: asks going missing, laurelnose said: actually if you scroll through your drafts you might find it again? tumblr backdates drafted asks to when the ask was sent which if you have a lot of drafts makes it SEEM like they vanished into thin air

Ha, thank you. Yes, I did discover that while I was rewriting it, and it turns out my fresh reply was better than my original one, so I rolled with it, but that is a Top Tip for all y’all out there trying to function on this hellsite, and also possibly I’m telling on myself that I keep things I like and want to find again in my drafts folder which is why it’s currently sitting pretty at over 1600 entries. Whoops.

Oh in re: the sewing bird from ages ago, I remembered where I know Lacis from-- they’re the only manufacturer I’ve currently found of tambour needles, so I have a tambour needle set by them I got on Amazon or somesuch. So I ordered another set from their website because I bent the finest needle of the set which of course is the one I use, and you can’t buy replacements anywhere else but their website, and I also ordered myself a sewing bird, so I will have photos of that soon, it arrived while i was at the farm and I have only just opened it and am delighted but haven’t tried it out yet. (A modern one with two clamps would be faster and easier to use, possibly more versatile for travel, but this one is darling.)

@mikkeneko ‘s family punchline was just that they had to flee the Puritans to come to the New World, which is hilarious because my folk had to flee the Stuarts to come to the New World so like. I mean, it’s not so much give me your tired and poor as all your political refugees. That must’ve been fun to be neighbors about.

Weird trivia fun fact: my sister’s farm’s first occupant was a German who moved upstate to work a Rensselaer tenant farm and then fought in the Rev War on the WRONG SIDE and somehow managed to keep his farm, which is evidence that he was either a fast talker or actually the locals weren’t that fired up about it, hard to say. (He and a small collection of his fellows from the local German-speaking Lutheran church went up to the Battle of Bennington and joined the Hessians under Baum, fighting against Stark and his folks. That was, as far as we can tell, the extent of ol’ Heinrich’s involvement in the war.)

oh yeah I wanted to reply to this one too

@dalekpoetryreading reblogged your post “wtf geese” and added “They don’t, that’s why they are screaming” which made me laugh really really really hard.

Also over on the DW crosspost DW-user light-of-summer replied with this which is so interesting I’m cross-platform posting it:

I googled "why do geese fly at night?" and found a moderately interesting article about Canada Geese, specifically, at https://www.google.com/amp/s/www.forbes.com/sites/quora/2018/03/01/why-do-canadian-geese-fly-at-night/amp/ TL;DR: reduced air turbulence, reduced risk of overheating, and reduced risk of predation. That article didn't mention their eyesight, but I found another site that says Canada geese don't see in the dark as well as cats do, but they do it twelve times better than humans!: https://www.google.com/amp/s/www.mercurynews.com/2013/11/05/morris-nighttime-geese-flights/amp/ So, now we both know! 😊

so, we are answered in both hilarious shitposting and actual knowledge-knowing. I don’t know how I feel about the fact that geese can see in the dark, part of why I can handle poultry is that I know i can just wait until night for my pathetic-but-still-usable night vision to render me the advantage. Sleepy turkeys are much less terrifying than their daytime velociraptor impression.

I’m forgetting stuff but anyway. I’m back in Buffalo for four days, let’s see how much of my mind I can recover. This has been a long fucking season. I have been writing but nothing is quite ready to post, it’s really incredible, argh. Maybe I’ll do a snippet post of what I’ve been working on later though.

#long post #replying to replies #this blue hellsite #geese #misc

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animeprinces-imagines · 5 years ago

Note

Has anyone requested cuddling headcanons for the STARISH gentlemen? If not, may I?

You’ll be the first one to request this, dear anon!! I hope you enjoy ~ (rip to this post it’s been in my drafts for like a millennium im so sorry skks)

also rip there’s some spicy stuff on ren’s im sorry i had to do it to ya !!! everything is gender-neutral tho uwu

Cuddling w/ STARISH -

Natsuki -

This boy is the Ultimate Cuddler

expect to be absolutely crushed by him

despite being v tall he’ll love being the small spoon

with you as his backpack !!

gets super sleepy when you cuddle

so he’ll probably fall asleep

if he doesn’t though

then he’ll ramble about everything on his mind

so just listen to the sweet boy

please

Tokiya -

lazy ass motherfucker–

IT’S CUTE AND DOMESTIC THO I PROMISE SKSK

like he lies back on the couch with his arm over the back and you snuggle up to his side

and sometimes he leans down and gives you a forehead kiss

and you’re like “omg toki-”

and he’s like “what i did nothing who are you talking to?”

omg if u fall asleep in his arms tho it’s

GA ME OV ER

he goes mega soft and just snuggles into you

but is also panicking lowkey like “ARE THEY COMFORTABLE OH GOD”

Cecil -

omo a snuggle bug !!

whins 25/8 for cuddles i P RO MISE you

“baby/babe/princess/prince…. come hold me”

“cecil im busy-”

“P LE A SEEEEE”

if you give in you’re never leaving his arms btw

“cecil i can’t breathe-”

too bad

he likes to lay on your chest and purr,,,, we stan a whole ass cat boi

also he falls asleep in .5 seconds so don’t expect to be leaving that spot anytime soon whoops

Ren -

ok so like… how does one explain this….

ren doesn’t ASK to cuddle… he just DOES IT… the bde of this man am i right or am i right

like he’s sitting on the couch and you walk by and he just reaches out and pulls you into his arms

he LOVES LOVES LOVES your neck

so like,,, he snuggles into it and kisses it and smirks when you get ticklish or shy

“just relax, kitten”

easy for u to say bitch

¾ times,, cuddling leads to making out,, which leads to,,, u guessed it

like one second you’re just snuggling aww uwu we stan

and the next second you’re riding dick like it’s your last day on earth

what who typed that

Otoya -

cue me ugly crying up in this bitch yall

otoya doesn’t evER ask to cuddle bc he’s too shy

one time he tried to and got bright red until you finished his sentence for him

god he loves cuddles tho pls give him ALL OF THEM

he likes when you lie on his chest and snuggle into him

his heart goes doki doki ok bitch it’s so romantic they could make a whole ass starish song based on it

he’ll rub your back softly and hum to you !!! ugh !!! a boyf !!

“a-are you comfortable”

“yes, otoya, that’s the third time you’ve asked in the past minute”

“just checking”

Syo -

snuggling almost always happens one of two times

when yall are binging prince of fighting

aka you guys throwing popcorn at each other and syo shushing you every time hyuga comes on screen

but then a big scene comes up and syo is clinging to you and the cuddling just happens naturally

when you’re in bed about to sleep !! omo !!

he’ll spoon you (idgaf if you are 6′7 he is the big spoon/backpack im SORRY)

and he’ll be blushing so much omg you can practically feel the heat from his cheeks on your neck

but gOD he loves having you in his arms so don’t comment just snuggle closer and hope to god his heart doesn’t give out

was that too far

Masato -

masato has a purity ring like the jonas brothers that says he can’t cuddle before marriage im sorry

IM JUST KIDIDNG PLS DONT HARM ME LMFAO

anyway masato LOVES tired snuggles

when he’s exhausted from practice or you’re worn out from your long day

and the two of you just,,, comfort each other

and he’ll whisper sweet words in your ear omg im weak

he holds your hand too and rubs his thumb over your wrist

his favorite position is any where you can put your head on his shoulder

HE’D NEVER ADMIT IT THO

it’s obvious tho so that’s how u usually end up!! we stan !!

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taylorroger-s · 5 years ago

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shooting star // ben hardy x reader

a/n hooooolyyyy shit it has been a while since I've written something. this has actually been in my drafts since june, and was originally a response to an ask following me reblogging a prompt list. to the anon that requested it, sorry about that. but hey, it’s now done and personally, I think it’s pretty good. hope y’all think so too

plus, I've been in a ben mood after the 6 underground trailer so that gave me the motivation to finish

masterlist here!

enjoy :)

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you really weren't in the mood to leave the house.

your friday nights were usually spent curled up in your bed, eyes glued to your old hunk of a computer, burning through cheesy rom-coms and seasons upon seasons of any mildly interesting show you could find.

but after a brief pep talk by your roommate, you had dragged yourself to a university party where drunkards snogged in dark corners and booze was in no short supply. you were settled comfortably in the corner of a well-worn sofa, nursing a cup full of what you assumed was vodka and lemonade.

the party itself wasn’t as bad as you expected. letting loose once in awhile always helped relieve some of the stress built up by tests and essays. prior to sitting down, you had spent a good thirty minutes dancing to a strange assortment of classic rock ballads and eclectic disco melodies. once exhausted and glistening with a thin layer of sweat. you grabbed the mystery vodka concoction and sat down.

you were just starting to relax when one of the alcohol-fueled “men” stumbled into the growing circle of people seated in the middle of the chaos, haphazardly leaning on one another.

“yoooo,” the boy slurred, “let’s do… truth or dare!” you groaned, moving to leave when your friend ashley tugged on your arm, dragging you back to her side.

“cmon… it’ll be fun” ash pleaded, throwing her arms around your neck to pull you closer. you could smell the cigarettes, weed, and crude cocktails on her breath. with a dejected sigh, you sunk back into the couch, curling up against ashley. you had never really enjoyed the game of truth or dare. ever since your junior year, when you were pressured into stealing something from the headmaster’s office and ended up with a month of detention, you had avoided it pretty successfully.

“i don’t think so.” you muttered, finishing off your drink with one last gulp. that’s when you heard an achingly familiar voice. ben jones, childhood friend turned sworn enemy somewhere in junior high.

it was difficult to piece together how the rift between the two of your formed. your friendship was so pure, so uplifting. there was no one in the world you trusted more. the beginning of the end came when you had your first serious crush. a boy in your french class named john had asked you to the movies to see the third harry potter film.

but that was the issue. ben and you had seen the first two together, read the books together. suffice to say it was a sacred tradition between the two of you. so when you broke the news to ben about your date, he wasn’t the most supportive. it escalated into a heated argument, before you angrily left his room with tears streaming down your face. later that night he called and apologized, but things were never the same after that. the last true conversation you had ended with both of you renouncing your friendship and going your separate ways. for weeks after, you would catch yourself staring at the phone, waiting for a call; or waiting for the courage to call first. but every time you felt the urge to run back to him, the final words he said would come back to haunt you.

“you abandoned me”

“how could you?”

“i hate you.”

since then, things were never the same. no more late night phone calls, no more movie marathons. when john broke your heart, you didn’t have ben to turn to. you didn’t realize how much you cared about him until that moment. but you weren't about to run back into his arms. so you stayed silent, grew up and went to university without so much as a backwards glance to your former best friend. just your luck that he ended up in the same school, even if he was in a different major. as university dragged on you walked past him in the halls less and less. but then you would see him at parties, exchanging furtive glances when you thought the other wasn’t looking. you hadn’t has a direct conversation in years. so the fact that he was at the same random party, giving you grief, made your blood run cold.

“you don’t have to be such a downer, bugs.” ben chided, taking a sip from the beer in his right hand. there was another, unopened bottle in his left. he had the audacity to call you by a nickname you hadn’t heard in years. at the age of six, the two of you had become obsessed with the looney tunes, watching old reruns from the seventies and following along as new episodes came out. you had been dubbed bugs in honor of bugs bunny by him, and you took to calling him beaky. you could remember vividly scratching the words ‘bugs and beaky forever’ into a tree not far from your primary school’s front yard. he called you bugs? well two could play at that game.

“that’s rich coming from you beaky.” you shot back, keeping your eyes trained on a generic painting hanging on the opposite wall. you could feel him shift on the other side of the couch’s arm, taking a seat no more than two feet away from you. after a moment you couldn’t resist the pull and took a quick glance at your ex-best friend, sucking in a breath as he came into view. he had ditched the justin bieber hair you remembered, letting it grow and curl around his ears. you pressed your lips together in a firm line, slowly tearing your eyes away from his chiseled jawline and striking green eyes.

“alright, everyone have a drink?” the boy who introduced the game called, holding up a cup of his own. everyone raised their own in response. you glanced down at your lap where the empty cup sat. whoops. just when you were toying with the idea of simply bailing from the party, an unopened bottle dropped into your lap, cold against the denim fabric of your jeans. you whipped your head to the side, where ben was quietly watching the plastered people arranged in the messy circle. you stared at him for a moment before he spoke.

“you’re welcome” he huffed, taking a sip from his own, identical bottle. you twisted off the cap, twiddling it between your fingers for a moment.

“thanks.” you said through gritted teeth, shutting yourself up from saying anything more with a long swig from the bottle. and so the game began. you sat there, head on ashley’s shoulder, laughing at the silly dares asked and often scandalous truths. someone would spin an empty bottle in the center of the circle, and whoever it landed on they would ask that stupid, fated question. truth or dare?

you weren’t subjected to anything too horrible. anytime you reached a question or dare that you were uncomfortable with, you would simply take a quick chug from your steadily emptying bottle and laugh. as time dragged on you had confessed the worst cocktail you ever drank, the weirdest dream you ever had, and had given someone a brief kiss on the cheek.

once your turn rolled around the third time, you reached for the bottle, spinning it with a bit of difficulty due to the beer pumping through your system. it spun in two complete circles and then just a touch more, landing square on ben. just your luck. you turned to him, locking eyes with his stunningly green ones. he really was quite gorgeous. it made your breath catch in your throat as you pushed out the question.

“truth or dare?” you breathed, raising an eyebrow in challenge. your mind filled with a number of different options and possible outcomes for his response. part of you wanted to be malicious and embarrass him for some crude form of revenge, but deep down you still cared deeply for ben and would hate to see him miserable. there truly was a devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other.

“truth.” ben stated, crossing his arms firmly across his chest. his nonchalance steeled your spine and you held your chin high. your judgement was admittedly impaired by alcohol, but it was too late for you to change your mind. you needed to know the truth, whether or not it was in front of an audience.

“what’s the biggest lie you’ve told?”

he took in a sharp breath, moving his steely gaze to the frayed edges on his shoelaces. no more than a few seconds had passed between your question and his response, but it felt like an eternity. you clenched your fists repeatedly in your lap, habitually cracking them as the room stayed quiet. ben sighed, lifting his eyes just a tad to watch you through his long eyelashes.

“that i hate you. that you abandoned me. that i never wanted to see you again. take your pick” he almost hissed out the words, jumping to his feet and walking out when he had finished. you sat in stunned silence with the rest of the group, slowly processing what he said. someone coughed, another sneezed. still the silence stretched on. then ashley elbowed you in the ribs.

you whirled around, mouthing the word ‘what?’ and giving her a glare. she rolled her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. you crossed your arms over your chest, raising an eyebrow at her as you waited for an answer. she pointed wildly towards the door that ben had disappeared into, eyes wide as she gestured. it was very easy to read her exaggerated movements. she wanted you to talk to him. you knew you had to talk to him. but you didn’t want to. yet, after a beat, you groaned internally and headed towards the door, flipping ashley the bird as you left.

ben was a few rooms away, brooding silently as he gazed out a window. you took a seat across from him, resting your head on the chipped window frame. there was a plush bench situated against the wall, pillows tucked up against the glass. the two of you were seated on the floor, curled in similar positions, mirroring each other. the party seemed to have resumed in the other room, giggles and fits of laughter filling the air.

"so…" you began, grappling for some way to start up a conversation. you heard ben let out a heavy breath through his nose, tucking his hand under his chin. his profile was bathed in moonlight, casting a monochromatic glow on his chiseled features. his lips were turned into a distinct frown.

"so what?" you rolled your eyes. just as stubborn as he was when the two of you were kids. it summoned a memory of him nearly beating up a boy for calling you names, while you did your best to drag him away. always your defender, whether you needed it or not. another memory to make your heart ache as you sat straight across from that same, hot-headed boy.

“are we going to talk about what just happened?” you said, tone slightly terse. you suddenly wished you were back in your room, curled up in your covers, repressing memories of a happier time. a time where your only worries were what games to play and looney toons episodes to watch. a time where it was just you and ben against the world.

“suppose so.” he sounded just as tense as you, which for some reason pissed you off. he didn’t have to answer the question with something that hadn’t ever been addressed between the two of you. he could have said something inconsequential and you both could have continued on with your lives. but his admission needed to be dealt with, and it fell to you to make him explain.

“since you seem so keen to begin a conversation, i’ll start. why did you lie in the first place?” you could feel a lump rise in your throat. even after years of no contact, you still cared about him. his rejection all that time ago still stung. you deserved to know the truth.

“next question.” ben answered, voice still flat and emotionless. however, you could tell that he wasn’t unaffected by your prying. the muscles in his jaw had tightened, and you watched as he ran a hand through his hair. his gaze was drilled on something out the window, as if he was adamant not to look at your face.

“fine, smartass. why did my going on a date piss you off so much?” you were now fully focused on him, silently begging to any god that might exist for an answer that you had waited so long for.

“it wasn’t that you were going on a date,” you raised an eyebrow, doubtful of his answer, but he continued speaking, “it was that you were going to see harry potter. that was our thing. our tradition. in my adolescent boy brain, you were replacing me.” he suddenly sounded years younger, just like the boy you would play football with in the dead of night and share sweets with after school. his expression had also softened, eyes tentatively flicking back to you every couple seconds.

“you know that nothing would ever replace you. thick as thieves, mum used to say. i never would have replaced you for a middle school crush. so, why. did. you. lie?” you sounded strained, mad that he had ever for a moment thought anyone was more important to you than him. no person could fill the space he left behind.

“because i was jealous alright? jealous that you chose him over me. jealous that he got to hold your hand, take you to dances. i was jealous because i loved you, and you slipped away before i did anything to show you how much i cared.” ben snapped, tone softening as his confession went on, voice cracking near the end. he had been waiting to say those words for what felt like a lifetime. a weight was lifted of his shoulders, and, by association, yours as well. despite the somber nature of your conversation, you could feel a smile spread across your features. you were now entirely looking at each other, stupid, love-struck kids once more.

“ben, you total dork. i would have chosen you over him every time. you were who i truly cared about. but i’m not a mind reader, so when you never said anything, i assumed it was because my feelings weren’t reciprocated. therefore, i tried to move on. didn’t work by the way. nothing i did could make me stop loving you.” you reached out a hand and he gently took it, lacing your fingers with his. he too had a soft smile on his face, gaze shifting to your intertwined hands. his thumb rubbed small circles on the back of your hand, warming your skin with his touch.

“guess we're both idiots.” he looked back up, locking eyes with you. all at once, your feelings came rushing back. you could do nothing else but smile as the minutes passed by, still connected to ben through his outstretched hand. you tilted your head to look back out the large window, tracing the shapes of constellations between the stars. one flew by; a shooting star. your wish was simple: that you never had to let go of ben ever again.

“guess so.”

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yee haw kids i’m finally getting back into it (if you call finishing off a draft that’s been there since june getting back into writing but shh)

here’s to more motivation in the weeks to come!

#ben hardy #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy x you #benhardy #ben hardy fanfic #ben hardy imagine #ben hardy fluff #ben hardy angst #ben hardy fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #fluff #angst #idk if it can be called either but oh well #writing #please oh please reblog #help a girl out #that'd be stellar

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thatonebirbnerd · 5 years ago

Text

All Those Chains You Bear

Word count: 1417

Trigger warnings: Violence, injury/blood, death, goes into detail re: effects of (ritual) self-poisoning

So, this is a new fandom for me! I've loved LoL's lore for a long time, but never thought I'd be able to write fanfic for it... and then Aphelios came out. Something about him and Alune drew me in enough that I made a cover of their theme and finally wound up smashing out the first draft of this story in a clearly lunar (read: stayed up til 5am) frenzy. Now it’s polished, and I hope you enjoy the results!

The title’s from Aphelios and Alune’s aforementioned theme.

AO3 link

Breathe.

Come on. I've done this dozens of times. Have to just - breathe -

Dammit.

Every time, I seize up and let go of the bowl. That moment of weakness could kill me. Can't let that keep happening.

But it's too late to try again now.

A familiar surge of energy rushes through me, forcing every muscle in my body under its caustic, unforgiving whim. But that's the price I pay to... not even to speak with her. Just to be with her.

As much as the poison shakes me to the core, it cuts deeper that I may never see my sister again. Our orbits, our paths in life, led us to separate realms, with this ritual the only way for her to find me.

I drop to the ground, catching myself with one hand. My throat tightens, and my breaths become shallow. It’s almost over. A voice creeps into my mind as I cough and sputter, no longer able to cry out. It is faint and distorted at first, growing ever clearer like the moon emerging from behind clouds.

Aphelios.

I'm here. It's okay.

I just wish I could talk with Alune for a while. I try to say her name, but I can only choke out a pitiful noise.

It always starts with pain. I'm sorry.

I kneel, letting myself recover between gasps for air. Another moment of vulnerability, but one I can use to collect my thoughts.

We have work to do. Raiders took one of our relics. Show them the moon's light.

If only I could answer. I must do that through action.

I stand up, as tense as a drawn bowstring, and leave the gloom of the temple. Every movement I make is awkward, but… I’ll get used to it.

After all, I have to.

---

They're camped near the Rakkor, hiding from their wrath. Would-be climbers of Targon, carried away by their own greed. Even the Solari can't pardon thieves.

I'm not far now, but traveling around Targon’s slopes like this is deeply exhausting - more than fighting. But I never know what could ambush me in the night, and I need Alune. I can fight without the noctum, but not without her.

The dull ache breaks my focus and overwhelms my senses. I have to force myself to track a lone, unfamiliar war whoop, echoing from the valley below. My quarry.

There they are. Take this.

Calibrum.

Gleaming stone and metal work their way into the physical realm, taking a slender form in my outstretched hands. The rifle Calibrum is all too familiar, a weapon I can use for anything. I can probably get a good angle from that ledge a few paces away. The brigands are downhill.

Breathe, focus... fire. A bolt of magic flies from my weapon, piercing a man who was standing close enough to my perch that I can see him bleed silver. They'll be looking for me now. I need to enter the fray.

You're fading a bit. Our thoughts separate.

I rarely dread words. These, however, the thought of having to take more noctum… I feel a pang of fear, through the numbness.

I crouch out of view, and take just another sip. The liquid glows like moonlit waters, even more than the night-blooming flower from which I distilled it. It is at once my strength, and the single thing most likely to end my life.

The fresh wave of agony always stops me in my tracks. But this time, I collapse. My limbs jerk, and I’m breathing hard, too hard. I lose control of myself, convulsing as my body rails against the poison in my veins. And then I panic, a primal terror that cuts through even the strongest of my walls.

Even if there were help nearby, I couldn’t scream for it - the best I can do is grunt. I can’t die like this -

Steady, Phel. I’m still here. Starforger’s claws, you’re foaming at the mouth… Breathe. Let it pass.

I think it’s only been a few seconds, but it seems like an eternity before the spasms end. It’ll be a while before I can take on even one attacker, but I don’t know if that will mean minutes or hours. I rest, curled into a ball, recovering what little I can as the noctum urges every fiber in me to move, to fight.

The outlaws still haven’t found me, even after all this. Did Alune misdirect them, or are they merely so stupid that they can’t check the high ground?

Regardless… I wish I could thank her, that she could hear me.

At last I rise, still trembling, and head downhill.

---

Crescendum.

The firearm fades, and I reach for another - for Alune. The next weapon to enter my grasp is a chakram, round as the full moon.

There are only six people left in the camp. They're clearly confused. And no wonder; the Burning Ones stamp out whatever they can find of my people.

Of course, they finally grasp what happened when they see me striding toward the windswept clearing they’ve staked out. They cease their fireside chatter, and walk over to meet me. They expect a bargain. After all, one man cannot stand against a group - in their homeland.

"Whaddya want, kid?" The leader's Targonian is... shoddy at best.

I still try to give ultimatums sometimes, out of habit. This is one of them. It’s… embarrassing, not being able to force out a single word when I need it.

"Wildclaw got your tongue?" I don't understand the turn of phrase - it's not in any dialect of Targonian - but Alune laughs as she translates it for me.

Unlike my sister, I don’t have time for jokes. I look the ringleader straight in the eye, and with a flick of the wrist, I send the blade flying.

I'm still stiff, sore, exhausted. But adrenaline is stronger, and I need to stay alive.

I weave between the warriors. They seem clumsy, and they all wield slow, heavy weapons that they now have to reach for. And like most foreigners, they’re unused to the thin mountain air. In seconds, the leader is on the ground, his blood shimmering just like his friend’s.

But the rest are ready now. I've taken on more than five before, and the chakram easily leaves wounds in every one. A woman with a club covered in ice tries to swing at me. She misses, but her companion's axe lands low, grazing my leg.

Severum? Yes. You’ll need it.

I catch the chakram in my left hand, and it disintegrates, leaving this realm. The scythe that forms in my right hand is even smaller, but it fires a spread of magic that saps the life from the hooligans. I feel better, and my own wound shines as it knits itself together.

They're faltering. You can do it, Phel - watch out!

Her voice becomes urgent, ringing in my head, and I realize there's a greatsword headed for my neck.

Time slows down.

Only one way to save myself -

I am with you.

- with the only words I wish I could see her say to me.

I throw my head back and let out a guttural roar. My throat burns from the effort, a feeling that spreads through me. Lunar power surges outward, staggering the few barbarians still standing.

But when the searing sensation ebbs, and ceases to cloud my vision, the cowards lie dead around me.

It’s over, Phel.

Give them traitors' burials before the sun rises. Their supplies will feed the Lunari.

I'm sorry it has to be this way, brother.

My muscles relax as Alune speaks, and her voice begins to fade from my mind. I call out for her - she might be the only one who understands whatever came out -

And she's gone.

The moon is cruel, to keep us so far apart.

For a moment, my mind swims, trying to think of a way to get her back, get her out of that lonely temple beyond this world… no. I can’t give in to that.

I'll bury these friendless fallen, and take back the stolen symbol of our faith. But perhaps I’ll do that closer to dawn. For now, I sit and reflect, surrounded by the carnage I wrought. To ground myself.

To remember the pain, to relive it, to force myself back to reality - away from her.

To feel anything else beside that pain, to hear my own voice again as the noctum releases its stranglehold.

To mourn.

#league of legends #league of legends fanfiction #fanfic #aphelios #alune #lunari #canon universe #angst #violence //#blood //#kestrel writes #i might be like #the third person to write a fic about phel that doesn't ship him #by the way this is the non gw2 fic i was referring to a couple days ago!!!

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angelic-holland · 5 years ago

Text

Seeing the Thing 9

Summary: I never have to carefully shape sentences when I’ve got some words to say, they’re falling from my mouth from the time that they hit my brain.

Warnings: angst, fluff, panic attacks, and smut (not necessarily in that order)

Word Count: 5k

A/N: I originally hated the way I ended this chapter so I added another 1.5k words until I was happy. I was listening to the Double Dare album by Waterparks on repeat when writing this as you can see from the summary. anyone else love them? bold are text messages!

Tom: u up?

Tom: Do you like my costume

Tom: I got to put on the winter pants and coat

Tom: but i think this makes a good first few layers

Tom: what do you think???

You roll your eyes as you place your computer on your desk before sitting back down on your bed.

You: did anyone tell you it’s rude to send a thousand messages instead of just one long one?

Tom: i only sent 5

Tom: do i need to send 995 more???

Tom: okay i get your point

Tom: but this is how i talk

Tom: text whatever

Tom: I think I look hot

You sigh, he does look hot. That wasn’t the problem. He looked like an annoying fuck boy. Which wasn’t that far off from the truth.

Tom: do you think I look hot??

You: you’re so fucking annoying

Tom: come sit on my face and shut me up

Tom: that’s totally a yes btw

Tom: come on, come visit and check it out in person

Those last three texts were sent in quick succession and you did a double-take at the first one.

Your fingers hovered over the screen to type but you genuinely had no words.

***

Tom smacked himself at his first text. Too forward. Way too forward.

He watched as the grey bubbles popped up and then disappeared several times. He knew you weren’t going to respond, probably weirded out.

He sent the next two texts and had several drafts after that.

I’m sorry

No, he knew how if he didn’t specify what he was sorry for you’d give him shit and that was the last thing he needed right now.

That was weird just ignore that

Nope, you wouldn’t be able to ignore that so it was pointless to suggest it.

He attempted to think of another thought, anything really to relieve the tension he felt rising in his chest.

Maybe he’d wait for you to respond. It was a strategic plan, other than the fact that your possible responses were gnawing at his insides.

***

You were about to respond, a quick omw because fuck it right? When your phone died.

So you hastily changed into a matching set of underwear, white with a lilac lace trim, determined to confront him about his message in person since your poorly timed phone dying left you no other choice.

You took a deep breath as you smoothed down your T-shirt, you weren’t going to let your nerves get the best of you, not today. It’s been nearly a year since you’ve had sex and although yes, you would admit that you wanted to have sex with Tom, you had no idea if you were ready. So after brushing through your hair quickly you figured you would show up at his dorm, work through whatever haze of feelings were bubbling up inside you, and make your decision then. You checked your phone to see if he replied, if actually wanted you to go to his dorm or if he was fucking with you.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Maybe this was a sign, a sign that you shouldn’t go down and do something you might regret the next day. The more you thought as that knocking started to piss you off the more you realized you’d only regret it if Tom did something to ruin the mood, if he treated you like one of his weekend hookups. You figured it would be hard for him to do that. You spent every night at rehearsal together. But what about after the show? Did you want to have something more with Tom? Whatever that might entail? Would you be able to after the bullshit Ben put you through?

But your thoughts were cut short by that annoying fucking knocking and holy shit-

“Hi,” Tom smirks, leaning against the side of your door as you groan.

“Maybe only knock three times? Knocking for a long time is pretty rude.”

“Sorry, I just uh, I heard your feet tapping and I knew you were in there and I wanted to see if-, oh,” Tom let’s out a surprised yelp as you pull him into the room, kissing him as you slam the door behind him.

“I’m glad you liked my message,” he laughs against your lips as your fingers curl into the denim jacket, his slipping down to rest against your hips, thumbs fitting nicely in the belt loop of your shorts.

“Mhm,” you mumble, eyeing the beanie on his head to the winter boots on his feet.

“And the outfit?”

“I think Jenna will be very happy with your costume choice.”

“Let’s not talk about Jenna, or the costumes, or the show,” Tom rolls his eyes as you take a step back, fingers tight on his jacket, forcing him to take a step with you.

“What should we talk about then?” You ask, resting your hands against his chest through the layers of your clothes.

“Let’s not talk,” he whispers, eyes searching for a confirmation that you want the same thing.

You respond with what he’s looking for, rising on your toes to meet his lips again, your hand tugs the beanie out of his hair, tossing it to the side.

His fingers tug on your belt loop, your hips meeting his as your hands work on pulling off his denim jacket. Your lips move with ease against his, it’s gentle and calming as his hand moves to cup your face, thumb rubbing your cheek as you pull your lips off his.

“How many layers you got under here?”

“Why don’t ya find out?” He smiles gently and you laugh before grabbing at the end of his gray sweatshirt.

With each layer you get a little more frustrated and Tom’s laughing hard when you finally get to his bare skin and nearly jump into his arms.

“Thank fuck,” you grumble, kissing him as his feet work to kick off the boots before he fumbles forward, lips trailing down your jaw while his fingers work on unbuttoning your shorts.

“This okay?” He mutters, lips against your neck as your hands roam the expanse of his back, the both of you still standing sort of awkwardly in the middle of your room, surrounded by his many layers.

“You got a condom?” You sigh as he helps you shuffle your shorts down your legs.

His breath hitches as he steps back slightly to take a look at your panties, more specifically the small wet spot in the front of them, foot just inches too far back and he’s tripping over his boot.

You catch him with a grunt and your arms are wrapped around his waist, pulling him back up to a standing position.

“Maybe we should get on the bed?” He nods towards it and your hands trail to his hips, he’s all tight muscles and you want to trace the lines on his stomach with your lips but you settle for dragging your fingers across them as you back up.

His hand reaches out to stop you, a light weight on your shoulder as the other moves to pull at your T-shirt. His breath hitches again as he sees your bra, the way your breasts look so pretty and he wanted to devour you.

“Did you get all matching for me?” He wiggles his eyebrows and you laugh, shrugging as your knees back into your bed.

You swing your legs up and open them wide, letting Tom get a better view of you.

You can’t help the blush that spreads across your cheeks and down your chest as he groans, pulling a silver packet out of his sweatpants before pulling them down while you settle on your elbows. He looks so good, chest rising and falling, standing next to you, eyes soft as he admires your body. There’s something there, just below the surface of his dark brown eyes, past the lust and hunger. It sends a nervous shiver down your spine and you push down the feeling because right now you just want him.

He places the condom strategically next to your leg as he settles between them, hands running up and down your bare thighs and you bite back a moan.

“Be loud for me darling,” he mutters before his lips begin to trail up your thigh, he turns your thigh slightly, biting down lightly on the inside before soothing the spot with his tongue. Smirking against you at your small yelp.

“Don’t wanna, don’t want the RA to come knocking.”

“Gimme a second,” Tom pauses his movement, hand reaching down off the side of your bed for his phone.

“What’re you doing?” You tilt your head as he starts to type.

“Gimme a sec,” he nods as a song begins to play.

“What?”

“To drown out all your moans.”

“Did anyone ever tell you you’re like, super cocky?” You tilt your head as he puts his phone on the bedside table before settling back in between your thighs.

“Only about every day, I dunno, looks like someone enjoys it,” he smirks as he runs a finger over your panties.

“Fuck,” you groan, dropping your head to the pillow, “you’re right.”

You concentrate on the feeling of his fingers slipping into the sides of your panties, attempting to tug them down your legs. You both realize you’re in a bad position for this, your thighs wide apart, his shoulders brushing against them from where he was laying.

“Whoops,” He laughs, sitting up, shoulders bumping into your knees as you help him by sitting up and shimmying the panties off your legs as he sits back.

And the sight of your folds, glistening and wet for him has Tom’s eyes darken before he’s pushing you back, one hand moving to cup your breast while the other holds him above your body.

And right as you’re about to focus on wrapping your legs around his waist you hear the lyrics of the song that’s playing in the background.

I don’t see nothing wrong with a little bump and grind

I don’t see nothing wrong, baby, baby, hey

And as Tom’s lips drag across the skin of your collarbone, fingers finding their way to your entrance, your arms snake around his shoulders, eyes slipping shut.

“Fine, What song would you play? Bump N Grind?”

Pause.

“Oh my god. Don’t tell me that’s on there.”

You take one look at your best friend and hold back a sigh, “it is isn’t it?”

Harrison was totally using Tom’s sex playlist. You didn’t realize how distracted you were, that you broke into a fit of laughter before Tom’s lips smack against your skin and his fingers slip out of you.

“Is something funny?” He mutters against your skin and you look down at the boy, lips moving back to make the skin right below the dip in your collarbone.

“Sorry, But is this like your sex playlist?” You laugh again, a small giggle turned into a moan as Tom’s thumb grazes your clit.

“Maybe, are you distracted? Needa take a break?” He asks, he isn’t used to this. For the girl he’s with not falling apart at the seams the second he has them in bed. The fact that you haven’t even been very vocal, other than the laughter ringing in his ears was puzzling. So he set himself determined to make you feel good, adding another finger as he fucked into you.

And you felt sort of bad, that you let your mind wander. Tom was making you feel good, no doubt about it, each thrust of his fingers sent a shiver down your spine.

“Come on, fuck me,” you moan as your legs tighten around his hips.

“Mhm,” he grunts before fumbling for the condom, tearing it open. Your hands push at his boxers and his mouth is hot and wet against your neck.

Once he kicks off his boxers he helps you slide the condom on, his lips meet yours as you grind your wet folds against his cock.

And his lips are sweet and soft and everything you’ve ever wanted and more, even as you’re about to fuck they’re gentle. And you want him to get a move on but you’re savoring the time now, his fingers pressed against your hips, tongue searching your mouth for something you can’t place your finger on but also don’t want to. You attempt to channel your energy and focus on the here and now, something you had trouble with sometimes.

But all of that disappears from your mind as he’s slowly pushing into you, his fingers tightening around your hip in time with your legs around his waist.

“Fuck,” you whimper against his lips as he fills you just right.

His hips are a steady weight against yours as your creaky dorm bed thump thump thump smacks against the wall with his movements. The music drowns out the sounds of your moans and whimpers against his lips, touch me tease me feel me and caress me, hold on tight and don’t let go.

You normally didn’t kiss this much during sex, maybe it was the position, Tom on top of you, or maybe it was because you were afraid of what he’d say if his lips weren’t occupied doing other things. So when your mouths finally broke apart because both of you were gasping for air, the oxygen between you running out, you ran your fingers through his hair before pushing his head towards your neck.

“Want me to mark you darlin?”

Mark you.

The words were so primal. The look in his eyes was primal as well, pure want as he fucks into you, his thumb slipping between your hot and sweaty bodies to rub against your clit. A wave of pleasure crashes over you before you realize he’s waiting for a response, oops hovering over a spot on the side of your neck.

“Please,” you moan, pleasure coursing through your veins.

His hips stutter against your own before his teeth sink into your skin, causing you to cry out and clench around him before his lips suck over this teeth marks. His tongue soothes the mark and you remember that you’ll have to hide it, your mind wandering to what Gianna or god forbid Harrison found out. And then you were distracted, working to bring your mind back to the activity at place. Tom’s thumb is rubbing your clit and his other hand is next to your head, leaning into your pillow as he fucks into you, the sound of skin against skin and his mumbles against your skin slowly forcing you to pay attention.

“Tom,” you sigh and his cock twitches inside of you.

Fuck. He’s close.

And you were enjoying yourself, you really were, but you just weren’t there. But just like the boys before him you knew he wasn’t going to wait around for you to get there, wasn’t going to wait and take the time to find out what really makes you scream. And maybe that’s presumptuous of you but Tom’s the type of guy who thinks that every girl works the same, a finger on your clit and a hot mouth on your neck and you’re clenching around him, coming with a cry of his name.

That wouldn’t be the case for you, but that doesn’t mean you couldn’t pretend. Something Tom and you had gotten very good at recently. So you put on a show, squeezing your eyes shut, clenching around him, moaning his name as he comes, pretending to come with him before his hips still, panting against your neck, sweaty curls tickling your jaw as your legs drop from around his waist.

Tom slips out of you, eyebrows furrowing as he takes in your calming state, lips pouting slightly as he sits up.

“Did you just fake that?”

“What? No,” you sit up with him, resting a hand on his shoulder. Nobody’s ever caught you faking it before. Time to put on your best smile and act like you came.

“No, no,” Tom shrugs your arm off him, “you definitely did.”

“No I didn’t,” because you’re stubborn and you knew his ego would be crushed. It wasn’t necessarily his fault, you enjoyed yourself, it just took you longer than normal to come, and you didn’t want to hold up the fun for your partner. Tom wasn’t going to last as long as it took you to bring yourself to orgasm. The pleasure you felt was fine, even if you didn’t get to that special place. But the look of pure bliss on his face as he came was now replaced by furrowed brows and a frown.

“What did I do?” Tom starts and you crawl towards him, reaching out, attempting to explain why you faked it since he saw right through your lie.

He glances away as you rest your hand on his chest, crawling into the space between his legs. His arms are limp at his sides and he doesn’t attempt to give you the same type of physical attention you’re giving him, and that hurts, even just a little.

“I-,”

“Were you thinking you could just fake it and pretend like you had a good time? Leave me thinking I made you feel good, made you come like a fucking fool?” He swats your hand off his chest and you attempt to control the wave of anxiety starting to pull you under.

“I’m sorry, I just, I wasn’t there and you were and I didn’t want you to feel bad so-,”

“And knowing that you faked it, was that supposed to make me feel what? Indifferent?”

“No, I didn’t think you-,”

“Holy fuck you always talk about using your words but then when it comes time to using them, you fucking don’t. You could’ve said hey Tom this is what I like, this is how I can come. Instead you what? Moan my name and squeeze my shoulders and act like you got there?”

You know what he’s saying wasn’t meant to hurt you. He’s frustrated, he wants to know what he did wrong and why you did what you did. You knew the insecurities inside him were surfacing with each word.

And honestly? Faking it was easier than having to explain how you could come, the little intricate details that made everything just right, made the moment possible.

“Oh? Nothing to say? Of course, because you can’t act like this is just pretend,” Tom’s voice is bitter and he gets off your bed, your head hangs low as you hear him shuffle around the room, presumably grabbing his thousands of layers.

You think he’s going to stop talking, to let the silence fill the room as the music cuts off. But he doesn’t. You feel tears well in your eyes as you fight to keep them back, hands shaking as you pull your blanket over your naked body.

“This isn’t just you, helping me for the show, Dave and Rhonda don’t fuck on stage. This was all you darling,” the word just a few minutes ago spoken so softly bit back at you, “you had sex with me because you wanted to. You don’t get to pretend. and that's killing you isn't it?” He asks and you turn your head to him as you pray for the bed to swallow you whole as your ears start ringing and you clasp your hands over them, attempting to shut out the world.

“Fuck, I’m- y/n, I just, I don’t want to pretend either, I want-,”

“Go, please,” you manage to get out as you gasp for breath to no avail.

“I’m so-,”

“Go, go, go,” you cry, squeezing your eyes shut at the pained expression on his face. The hot tears roll down your cheeks as you don’t even bother searching for air or comfort in another person. You wouldn’t find that in Tom. Not now.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers and it’s barely there as static fills your brain, blocking out the rest of the world.

You hear the door shut and you want to collapse in on yourself as you gasp for air.

You find comfort in nothing, not in your bed where you could normally escape after a long day, not in the warmth of your blanket against your skin. You trip over your blanket you kick to the side as you stumble out of bed. Quickly grabbing a robe you slipped it on and rushed to the showers, grateful nobody was there to see you. A blossoming hickey on your neck, legs sore, lungs collapsing on themselves as you let the hot water rush over your body. You choked out a sob as you felt air fill your lungs, salty tears mixing with the water that ran over your skin, fragile and freezing no matter how far you pushed the lever, wishing the water would melt your skin. This was a fucking disaster. You let the water drown out the sound of your tears.

***

Tom realized he fucked up, the second he heard your cries and saw your hands clasped over your ears. What he said was fucking horrible and it wasn’t your fault you didn’t come. But god damn it he wishes you said something or that you let him know how he could make you feel as good as he did before it all came crashing down around you. So after he tosses all of his clothes back in his room he rushes back to yours, he knows you said to go but his mind couldn’t tear away the tears in your eyes and the shaking of your body as he left.

He knocks twice, “y/n, god, I’m sorry, please, just, you don’t even have to open the door or anything, just let me know you’re okay. I know you told me to leave but I just need to make sure you’re okay.”

Silence. He figured you would still be upset, crying even, but there’s not even the whisper of a movement on the other side of your door. His head whips around as he hears a sob from the bathroom.

Shit.

He checks to see if anyone else is roaming the halls before slipping into the women’s bathroom, eyeing the gray bathrobe on the ground in front of one of the showers, the same one he’s seen time and time again in your room now soaking wet from the water dripping from the shower curtain.

He slips back out and races back to his room and then back to your bathroom, slightly out of breath, but he knew it was nothing compared to how you must have felt. He remembers Harrison told him that you felt like you were drowning when you were having a panic attack, like the air in your lungs was replaced with water and you were treading water but failing miserably.

So he slipped back into the bathroom and sat on the counter, a towel and clothes in his hand, waiting for the right time to speak up.

*** As your nails dug into your arms you felt your body slowly start to heat up and your lungs fill with air.

“Just fucking breathe,” your voice trembles as you turn the shower off. Your eyes slowly blink open and you look down at your body, bright red from the heat of the water. And you knew, logically that the only reason you felt like this was because you felt something for Tom. If it was anyone else you would’ve told them to fuck off and get over themselves. But Tom, you just couldn’t let go of the sting of his words ingrained in the back of your mind as you reached from behind the curtain to grab your robe from the hook.

“Shit,” you curse when you don’t feel the soft material under your fingertips. You bend down and blindly grasp around the floor groaning when you feel the damp robe.

“y/n?” Tom’s voice is soft and unsure and you’re positive he’s right outside your shower.

You stand back up, robe abandoned on the floor as you peer out from behind the curtain.

You push your wet hair from your eyes as you see Tom swinging his legs, sitting on the counter. Your eyes widen with disbelief.

“I’m sorry-,”

“Tom,” and the weight of your word, exhausted, upper lip trembling as you stare at the boy you just had sex with, the boy whose ego you just crushed hit Tom.

“I’m sorry I was such an asshole, I’m sorry I couldn’t make you, you know, and I’m sorry I suck with words. I’m sure there’s more for me to be sorry for but you must be freezing so I got you a towel,” Tom holds the towel out for you, a deep blue, like he told you his favorite color was.

You reach out for it and Tom nods, jumping off the counter and handing it to you.

“Thank you,” you manage to get out and you shiver as your fingers brush against his.

As you wrap the towel around your body, too tired to dry your hair you feel tears well in your eyes again, this time from Tom’s gesture, an olive branch of sorts.

You step out of the shower, red-rimmed eyes meeting Tom’s as you shuffle forward, grabbing your robe with one hand, upset you got it wet, which only makes you cry a little more.

“It’s okay,” Tom’s voice attempts to sooth you and it takes you a moment to realize that he’s pulling you close and hugging you as your body shakes like leaf, maybe from crying, maybe from your body being exposed to the cold air of the bathroom, probably both.

“I’m sorry,” you cry against his shoulder.

You’re sorry for faking it. You’re sorry for not using your words. You’re sorry for crying and getting his clothes wet from the shower and your tears.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, his hand spreading across your back, a comforting weight keeping you pressed against him.

“I’m sorry,” you say again, and that’s as much as you can get out for now.

“Shhh, let’s get you to bed okay?”

“I just, and I don’t even and I wanted to-,”

“It’s okay, you’re freezing, come on, let’s get you dressed,” he motions to the clothes on the counter as he pulls away slightly, you let out a sad whimper as he moves, afraid that he’s going to let go of you. And he senses this, he senses that you want human contact right now, that you need it, so he does an awkward shuffle sideways to the clothes, tucking them under his arm before gripping your thighs and making sure the towel keeps you decent, picking you up with ease as you wrap your arms around his neck, his other arm tight against the side of your chest, holding you against him.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat, blushing as your lips get stuck on those two words again.

“It’s okay,” he nods, his chin resting on the top of your head as he walks to your room, arms never wavering in his hold on you as he uses his elbow to push your door open.

He sets you down on your bed, kneeling in front of it, your hand shoots out to hold his, and he let’s you grip his wrist as he raises both your hands to his face, kissing each of your fingers gently.

“I brought you some clothes, I dunno why since you’ve got clothes but I just-,” Tom nods, frowning slightly when he sees more tears start to fall from your eyes, “what’s wrong?”

“You didn’t haveta do this,” you sigh as your grip softens.

“But I wanted to,” his voice is quieter as you let go of his wrist and he stands up, “c’mere, you needa get dried off.”

So you follow him, one hand holding the towel tight around you. Normally you’d feel shy as his hand covered yours, turning you around before pulling the towel off of you. Or a little ridiculous as he helped dry you off, but he made you feel like this was completely normal. He hums gently, eyes staring at the hickey he left on the side of your neck as his hands gently make sure you’re completely dry before resting the towel on your shoulders as he grabs the black sweatpants.

“Hope these are comfy,” he muses as you step into them and his fingers rest against your bare waist when he’s finished pulling them up.

You nod, fingers trembling as you wipe away the tears on your face, too scared to turn around and look at Tom. You feel him take the towel from your shoulders and gently dry your hair, fingers brushing through tangles after he drops the towel.

“Here, just lift your arms up for me okay?” He asks and you do just that before you feel the warmth of a blue sweatshirt pulled over your head.

“Tom,” you feel his hands resting over the sweatshirt and your body is hesitant as you think about laying down his him, falling asleep in his arms like you did earlier while watching the movie, something that seemed like a million years ago now.

“I can stay, if you want,” Tom suggests and you’re grateful he’s able to pick up on every word unspoken from your lips between the call of his name and I’m sorry.

You nod and he follows you as crawl into your bed, hair still slightly damp.

“Can you-,” you start and you hear him hum before grabbing your towel and positioning it on your pillow.

“I’m sorry,” you sigh against his chest as his hand rests on your hip, yours holding onto his t-shirt, afraid if you let go that he would slip between your fingertips. And the words are right there on the tip of your tongue, all you needed to do was will them into existence, push your vocal cords to produce the sound, push your lips to form them. But the sheer exhaustion from today kept you silent.

You feel your eyelids start to droop as he responds.

“I’m sorry as well.”

“What else could you be sorry for?”

And as you drift off to sleep, so tired you think you’re making it up you swear you hear him answer you, breathless as his fingers stroke your side, “because I like you.”

***

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floralgothpersephone · 5 years ago

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Sooooo.... several.... um months ago, I was tagged by @jaygirl987 and this has just been sitting in my drafts... forever??? oops. Oh well, I am feeling in an over-sharing mood. So I am going to do it now. Felt confident in sharing, might delete later. Response is below the cut, because we are writing essays tonight.

Rules: List 1 Insecurity, 2 Fears, 3 Turn-ons, 4 Life Goals, 5 Things I like, 6 Weaknesses, 7 Things I Love, 8 Tags I am going to tag: @akai-vampire, @claudeng80, @bookloverfio, @bigprincess-energy, @peachdoxie, @ruleofexception, @infinitelystrangemachinex, @anais-mitchell

ONE Insecurity:

---People who meet me for the first time always say I am remarkable. But I don’t really agree with that at all, I still don’t understand where people get that from. I feel very desperately flawed and a moderately dysfunctional human doing my damned best with what I’ve got, and isn’t that just a normal state of being for everyone making their way in this life. And if people say I am remarkable, and it turns out to be true, then does that mean I am not normal??? How is everyone else living their life then? What am I doing wrong??? or right?? or differently??? How do I bottle up this whole remarkable thing and share it with everyone else?? Being called remarkable makes me fear for everyone else. Because if i am struggling this much, and people still seem to think I am amazing then does that mean everyone else who is struggling is failing in some reguard? I have met so many other people in the world who are just as special as me, and if i am raised above that then what about all those other people? Aren’t they remarkable too? Kinda takes away the meaning of remarkable then, if everyone else is also remarkable. I don’t know. Every time I meet someone new and they call me remarkable it makes my skin crawl. What sort of face are they seeing me wear that makes it happen so often? I just try and be myself, and stay true to who I am in any given moment but then that makes their statement have more power? I hate it. Nothing makes me more insecure. I can go from full blown confidence down to nothing the moment someone says that about me. I know I am odd and don’t quite function right in society, and have a very different perspective on it because of my dysfunction, but that shouldn’t make me remarkable. There are too many other people in this world for me to be remarkable.

TWO Fears:

---I may never get to see Amber Gray perform Persephone in Hadestown

---Cockroaches. Turns out I have an actual phobia of cockroaches.

THREE “turn-ons”:

---Silly Antics, like sheer outrageous, ridiculous things that make you laugh until you cry. Like, I fall in love a little bit with everyone who has ever made me laugh. So like, the more you make me the laugh the more I look at that and go, “mhm tasty”. Also, if we are not laughing at some point during sex then what even is the point???

--- Loyalty, Reliability and just being supportive and a good friend. Like, I am very much very very demisexual and while I can look at people and love their look and their aesthetics and be attracted to that, I need a very firm established relationship for like... years, before I am ever actually interested in letting them into my bed. I need some definite proof that they are in this for the long run before I can let my sexuality come into play.

---Being crafty and creative. Seeing someone make a very nice craft gets me all worked up in ways I can’t quite describe. But every time a partner of mine starts a project and is making things I want to jump their b o n e s.

FOUR Life Goals:

---Get my ass to fucking Greece and like. Stay there. For months. And just travel??? And like, take my time, no rushing around to do every single thing. I want to go to these places and be there for so long that I can just sit and be.

---B a b i e s. Dear lordy if you look at every major decision i have ever made in my life, it has all lead up to the fact that I want to have kids, and I want to have a family in a very specific supportive and stable way and I need to complete these things before i can have my kids. BUT BOY THE HORMONES ARE STRONG AND I WANT THEM NOW.

---Can I put travel twice? Travel is so important to me. I have to see the world, I need to map it. I need to see all the different types of humans and cultures there are in the world and I need to experience what there is in this life before its all over.

---I have this home I like to dream about, its constantly changing, but its small, while having enough space to breathe, covered in plants, an entire wall that is just a bookcase to store the entirety of Alex and I’s mug collection (we are looking at least 80 mugs between the two of us currently). A claw foot bathtub in a room full of windows that is just a glorified greenhouse really. comfy reading nooks and places for play, covered in nothing but soft blankets and cushioned seats. A cat or two lounging around among all the soft places in the sun light. Walls covered in cork boards so that I can pin up hundreds of pictures of the family I have built for myself. Little foot steps running around from kids playing, and having my partners home with me to cook and raise the little ones together in a family and a community. I just. I just want that little domestic haven of something calm and secure that I never got to have growing up in my life.

FIVE Things I Like:

---Pottery! (my craft of choice, I’ve been making pots for 17 years now and it never gets old)

---Plants! (I live in a small jungle! I’m a plant witch! I love my plants! They are my only friends some days! But thats okay, I take care of them and in return they take care of me.)

---Places! (I’m a map maker, I love learning about the identity of a location both on a map and within the human mind. How amazing that a collection of humans create an identity for a geographical space separate from other all the other geographical spaces. That’s wild! I want to learn what makes them all different forever!)

---Purple! (My hair is purple, its been purple since I started grad school! I flirted with pink hair and orange hair last year to try on different types of variety and see how that fit but I am back to purple and I am back to my normal skin! My purple hair is the source of my internal confidence and a major point of my identity)

---Music! (I am not sure I would ever be able to navigate my own mental landscape without the aid of music guiding me through all my different emotions and feelings so that I could have a safe place to experience them without fear of repercussion)

SIX Weaknesses:

---I over think everything (case and point, this post, whoops)

---An open opportunity. Like, if I am given an opportunity suddenly that wasn’t previously available and wouldn’t be available in the future, I will move mountains to make it happen. If I see a window to be able to do something with a time limit I am jumpin as fast as I can to get through that window before it closes. I think its because I grew up with zero opportunities in my life when I was little so somewhere in my bones I believe that every opportunity I get is rare and special thing and if I don’t take it now then I won’t ever get another one. Sometimes its exhausting but I can’t honestly say there is a list of things that I could have done that I didn’t? I have very little regrets in that regard.

---I am willing to see and recognized my flawed personality traits, but rarely ever actually do anything to fix them. I am a big of a believer in accepting yourself with all the flaws (part of the side effects of recovering from perfectionism) but that mentality has a different problem... in which you are so comfortable with the problems that you don’t have any desire to fix them? Yeah.

---Um, I have a major weakness for brown eyed, brunette girls and have fallen waaaay too hard for too many of them in my life for it to not be a thing (that Alex teases me relentlessly about). Honestly the list is long, but good news. Fiona is on that list. <3

---Potential. I have a weakness for potential, sometimes that manifests in craft materials. (Oh I could make this into this other thing!) So I have quite the collection of crafting hoards. I rarely buy plants when they are big because I am far more interested in getting a small plant because of it its potential to grow into something. I love love love love working in clay because there is just SO MUCH potential for it to become really ANYTHING???? Its amazing!!! Like, if you imagine in there is a way to make it real. And I am obsessed with that feeling.

--- I have a weakness for cream. I like half and half in my tea. I like whipped cream on my waffles. I like straight up cream on my strawberries. I like clotted cream on scones. I like creamy milkshakes. The creamiest of cheeses. If its a cream based sauce I’m in. Just. Cream.

SEVEN Things I Love:

I just now realized that there is a difference in the lists for “like” and “love” LOL there is no difference to me. I have no moderation, I either love something with my whole heart or not at all. So lets wax some poetry on things I have already listed, because the things I like I also love.

--- Okay, pottery, so like, Pottery is amazing??? Because you take dirt!!! like muddy gross squishy dirt!!!! and you mold it into something you like???? And then you FIRE IT!!! Like how metal is that???? You are creating something from DIRT. And on top of that, it lasts FOREVER. like, people hundreds of years from now are gonna be digging up our civilization and our computers are going to be dead, our papers and paintings: dead, our books? Hopefully not dead. But whats going to be left is our city foundations, our places, our trash and our shitty broken pots. And goddamn, I am obsessed with looking around our world and just IMAGINING what these people in the far off future are gonna think. And there isn’t a single piece of pottery that I make in which I am not thinking those exact thoughts and trying to imagine what that person in the future is going to be like when they find this.

--- And on that note, places are just so fricking cool. Because I grew up in a mono-culture where the majority of the population belonged to the same culture and the identity of the place was a direct reflection of the people. But other places have SO MUCH DIVERSITY and I am just amazed and inspired about how you can take SO MANY PEOPLE from SO MANY DIFFERENT CULTURES and pack them all into a city, and then that city becomes its own culture??? and has its own Identity??? Like, New Yorkers, those people come from fucking everywhere on the entire planet, and YET everyone knows there is a New York culture that is just agreed upon? And New York has an cohesive identity to how it functions, and how it works. Just. How amazing is that. And Minneapolis, jeez, bless Minneapolis. Because it has the midwestern identity but its developing one all on its own. And it doesn’t have a National presence yet, so in a lot of ways its just developing its identity for the world and its just so amazing to see all the different ways that people provide input on how they want their city to develop, and with each step it comes closer and closer to a face it wants to display to the world??? Its like, seeing a teenage, trying out who they want to be and developing them self to become a real adult. And goddamnit I want to see Minneapolis into a fully mature Nationally known city. I can’t wait.

---So plants, are like. The best therapy. Because plants don’t really talk, well okay I think they do, BUT PHYSICALLY, they don’t talk. And so in order to figure out what they need to you have to listen to them in a very different way then humans are used to?? You have to observe, and check-in and interact and just learn about a plant so that you can care for it. And I think thats exactly how humans are too, except we have this obnoxious thing called talking that sometimes make it difficult to actually figure out what is going on down below. Its easy for someone to say they are fine when they really are not. But plants don’t get to say that they are fine. When they suffer they do so silently and while they may want to scream for more water they have to let you know in other ways, drooping, changing color, dropping all its leaves in protest. And thats the other thing about plants too, is that every type of plant asks for help differently? How amazing is that. You have to get to know the plant on an individual level, there is no “one way fits all” fix-it for plant care. You have to know your plant. You don’t have to know all the plants in the world, just the ones you take into your care. And thats just so symbolic for me. And when I am taking care of my plants, I am taking care of myself too. Water for the plants, water for the Becca. Sunlight for the plants, sunlight for the Becca. Extra boost of fertilizer for the plants, extra boost of vitamins for the Becca. And I love my plants, even with their imperfections and wild ways of growing. Sometimes they get a whole lotta attitude in how they grow, and it isn’t picture perfect, but that doesn’t matter. Cause thats my plant! And its growing and thriving and I am so happy that its doing well! It doesn’t need to be the prettiest plant that ever existed. It just needs to live. And damn thats all I need.

---Purple is just an amazing color. Like everyone has heard the poetry talking about the richness and royalty and the history that the color purple has. But for me? Purple was a color I was immediately drawn to as a kid for no apparent reason but that I liked it. And I was not allowed, because the color purple was Barney colors and my parents were so very concerned that the other kids would torment me (spoilers, the kids found other reasons to torment me, and I was just denied being allowed to wear my favorite color). And then there was the instance of my grandmother, who, lets be honest, doesn’t win any “good grandparent” awards. And she LOATHS the color purple. Just thinks its really ugly. And took every chance to tell me that whenever I went shopping with her or if she wanted to get me a gift and was looking for input. So i went through all these stages when I was little, only being allowed to like pink, but then internalized misogyny said that was dumb so then I chose blue to be my favorite color while completely denying that what I wanted was purple. So yeah. By the time college came around and I was an “adult” (lol) I was just like. Fuck this shit no one can tell me what I am allowed to like and claimed purple for everything in my life. and I mean. e v e r y t h i n g. Backpack? Purple. Every piece of clothing I owned? Purple. Jackets? Purple. ipod? Purple. Does the object come in purple? Yes. Well then that is the correct answer. When I broke down and finally dyed my hair purple (like I have wanted to do since I was little, but again, I was not allowed and can you imagine being a non-mormon kid in the little valley with purple hair in high school??? Fuck I would have been the anti-christ of all sinners.) But in Minneapolis it seemed like it would be far more acceptable and wouldn’t result in immediate social disgrace. So I did it. I graduated my undergrad and dyed my hair purple because I could. And it changed my entire life. No more wall-flowering. No more hiding in the shadows praying no one notices that you don’t quite belong. No more pretending that you don’t exist so that people can walk all over you as they pass by. When you have a wildly different color hair, you have to own it. There is no “oh haha, whoops” about it. You made that decision, you put the color in your hair with that intention. And now its there to stay until you cut it all off. And that was the kick in the butt for me. That was the thing I need to own my own self and to lay claim to my voice. And for a while, it wasn’t easy. It was learning a whole new skillset. And there was definitely a major time span that was just “fake it until you make it”. But I kept faking it for the sake of my purple hair, because every time I looked into the mirror it made me so happy I could cry. I wasn’t looking a the mirror nitpicking my reflection any more. I was just joyful, because my hair was purple and I loved it. So every time someone made a comment whether it was good or bad, I would be dying on the inside from having the attention on me. But I would pull out the big ole grin of joy that I wasn’t really feeling and be like “Yeah isn’t it great! Its my favorite color!” And the good comments would be happy for me, and the bad comments would be thrown off by my enthusiasm and usually go away. And at one point that big joyful grin wasn’t just a farce, and now, 9 years later, working for the federal government and people try and make a jab at my hair, I can just laugh and tell them how much fun having colorful hair is. And that they should give it a try too.

#Becca rambles #Becca rants #Becca does a tag game #and writes a full essay instead #But tonight we were feeling reflective #and usually I would just journal but eh I am isolated enough right now #thought i would share whats going on in my brain #will absolutely delete later

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capmackie · 5 years ago

Text

throwing stones at a glass moon

sambucky week day vii : free for all @sambuckyevents

science teacher au

“Look alive team”, Bucky announces in a terrible attempt at a ‘teacher voice’ — shrill and unnecessarily chipper, nothing how he sounds on a regular day, “welcome to Marion University!”

The bus grinds to a halt on the college grounds, stopping completely as the institution comes to full view. As far as the eye can see, Gothic structures and immaculately tamed green expanses are in abundance — it’s an oasis adjacent to the city, rich in splendor and architecture.

Centered in the middle of the yard, sits Main Hall, housing the university’s sizable auditorium and this year’s Science and Engineering Fair. The stone and brick edifice boasts a tower, arched ceilings, drawing on elements right out of the fairytales Bucky once read when he was younger, a time when he believed in things like Prince Charming’s and happily ever afters.

Deboarding with his students, ignoring Peter’s jabs about his, ahem “fake ass teacher voice”, Bucky tightens his overnight bag over his shoulder, taking a moment to bask in the beauty of the university before turning to his third-period science class. They’re a ragtag group of kids, made up of different backgrounds and ethnicities, some introverts, some extroverts, and whatever the hell MJ is.

While all quite different, what they do have in common is snark, something Bucky — Mr. Barnes, is usually on the receiving end of.

Oh, and they’re all smart. Smart as fuck actually.

Which brings them to Marion University for the preliminary round of the New York Science and Engineering Fair. After six different project ideas, countless hours of drafting and redrafting their proposal, a “complete lack of social life” — Steve’s words not his own — Brooklyn High was back in the big leagues, ready to compete.

“Bring it in team”, Bucky says, thankfully opting to forgo the teacher's voice, placing his hand in the middle of the quasi-circle they’re in. The group follows suit until all nine students have their hands on top of Bucky’s.

“Take us home MJ!”

With a blink and you miss it smile, MJ, team captain, starts the chant — some pop culture reference Bucky’s too old to know.

On the count of three, they’re breaking and heading to the Hall.

——

After checking-in to both the hotel and the fair, Bucky lets the group split up with promises to meet back later.

While here to compete, to redeem themselves from coming up just short in last year’s competition, Bucky wants the kids to just be kids for a moment. To be tourists in their own city, let them explore what New York has to offer outside of their borough.

They deserve it.

The project’s in, the theory has been submitted, the last item on the agenda is to present their findings. A piece of cake. His team has worked their asses off and nothing can take that away from them.

With that, Bucky wants the group to enjoy themselves, knows they won’t get in too much trouble, and by extension, he wants to enjoy himself a bit too.

He’s seated at the hotel bar, nursing something dark and strong, absentmindedly watching whatever’s games playing, when someone clamps a hand on his shoulder, grabbing his attention.

It’s Sam fuckin’ Wilson.

“Bunky!”, Sam greets, intentionally fucking up Bucky’s name, as if his sole purpose in life is to bother the man.

“It’s Bucky actually”, he replies coolly, “James to you.”

Sam feigns hurt, removing his hand from Bucky’s shoulder to clutch at his own chest dramatically.

“I thought we were friends Bucky”, Sam continues, eyes alight with joy as he sees the other teacher clench his jaw at the use of the nickname. “Why so formal?”

“My friends call me Bucky, and you are not my friend.”

“I’m hurt Buck”, Sam retorts, turning to the barkeep, ordering a drink for himself. “Honestly and truly hurt, however can I go on?”

With Sam placing his drink order, Bucky gets a chance to really take the other man in. He’s still every bit of annoying as he’s always been, every bit of handsome as well. The gray button-down doing wonders for his build, the navy slacks accentuating his ass perfectly as well.

Sam looks good and he knows it too, apparently knows Bucky thinks so too if the suggestive smile he gives the other teacher is any indication, wearing confidence and cockiness equally.

On anyone else, it would come across as braggadocio but on Sam, it’s charming.

But Bucky would never admit that.

Bucky’s pretty self-aware, he’d like to think. Knows the reason Sam gets so deep under skin is because he has a dormant crush on the guy. Knows the banter between them frustrates him in more ways than one.

For as long as Bucky knew of Mr. Wilson, the science teacher over at Visions Academy, he’s disliked him for just as long. Any scientific competition that took place in the city, Sam and his team of preppies were there and usually coming out of it victorious.

Next to Bucky, stood the sole reason why his team didn’t take the number one spot in the fair last year, the reason why they worked so damn hard this year.

“Glad to see you back here man”, Sam starts, closing his tab and sitting next to Bucky. “Didn’t think you’d show your face after last year’s defeat.”

And that is exactly why those feelings of his will stay dormant — Sam’s an asshole.

Giving the barkeep his room number to charge the drink to his room, Bucky makes way to leave and find his students, ignoring Sam’s attempts to call out to him.

—

“Change of plans team”, Bucky says, clapping his hands together. “I know I told you guys to just go out there and give it your best but that’s not going to work anymore.”

“I need you to go out and kick some ass.”

—

The preliminary rounds go by quickly, Brooklyn High impressing the judges at every turn.

Bucky’s in a great mood, his group, all so unique, banding together, pulling off amazing presentation after amazing presentation. He’s all so proud of them and he almost would be content if they didn’t win, just the fact that they’ve made it so far and did so well and —

And apparently, Vision Academy is doing just as well, having been announced as the first group to make it to the final round. There’s whoops and hollers coming from the team and in the middle of it, Bucky can see Sam, smiling and enjoying the revelry with his students.

There’s a piece of him that wants to be upset that once again, Sam and his team are going to the championship round, that they’re still every bit as good as last year — maybe even better, a sobering thought. The idea that the road to victory still must go through Visions, must go through his rival should make him hunger for defeating Sam more.

But strangely, Bucky hungers for something else.

He hungers to see Sam smile like this, wide and open and bright more, hungers to be the reason that smile is on Sam’s face at all. Bucky hungers for Sam to direct that smile to him, lay it — with all of its intensity — on him, wants to bask in the warmth it emits.

Before he can try to get a grasp on these new feelings, he’s being jostled by Peter. So deep in his own fantasy, Bucky hadn’t even heard that his team qualified for the final spot in the championship round.

—

The night before the final presentation, Bucky’s with his students giving his best and most rousing speech, ensuring them that despite whatever happens tomorrow, they’re still winners in his eyes.

“So not actual winners then?”

...

Damn it Peter.

—

Turns out, Visions Academy is indeed a stronger team than what they were last year.

And while Brooklyn High brought their best, it still wasn’t enough to win it all.

Morose in a way he hadn’t even been after the accident that took his left arm, Bucky’s finding it hard to motivate his team when he, himself is feeling so damn defeated.

He knows it would be in the best interest to say something, anything to lift morale but time heals all wounds and a moment to decompress might have a greater effect than whatever clichés he could think to spout.

Rallying around his team, watching as they rally around each other, comforting one another in this dark moment lifts his spirits though. Over the past year, he’s watched them learn to work together as a team and he’s proud to see them lose together as one too.

“We always have next year,” MJ says, hopeful and determined, a steel resolve to her words that leaves no room for arguments.

Brooklyn High will indeed be back to compete next year.

—

There’s a knock at his door following his departure from his students and a quick stop to the hotel bar again.

Convinced it’s someone from his group, Bucky shucks the door open and is unpleasantly surprised to see Sam Wilson instead.

“If you’re here to rub your victory in, let me save you the trouble.”

What Bucky expects is to see the cocky smirk he’s grown accustomed to seeing on the other’s man face. Expects to see some kind of smugness at crushing Brooklyn High two consecutive years.

What he actually gets surprises him.

In a moment, shock and confusion flit across Sam’s face, before settling into a frown. It’s a foreign look on the man’s face, strange and out of place.

“No man, of course not”, Sam sputters out. “Why would I do something as dickish as that?”

“Maybe because you’re a dick?”

“If that’s what you think of me, maybe I should just leave.”

Before he can stop himself, Bucky’s reaching out and grabbing Sam’s arm, effectively stopping him from making his exit.

“That’s not what I think of you, I’m sorry.”

He follows Sam’s line of sight, watches as Sam looks to his arm which Bucky still has a hold of, absentmindedly rubbing circles into the smooth skin.

Bucky removes his hand, dropping it back at his side, missing the contact almost immediately.

“Look, I just want to say your team did a helluva job up there”, Sam says, a small smile on his face.

“If there was anyone I’d rather lose to, it would’ve been you.”

Maybe it’s the way Sam says it, forward but earnest. It could be the way he looks when he says it, softly, with the barest hint of a blush creeping through. Or maybe it’s just the fact that Sam is right here, as vulnerable as Bucky’s ever seen him that makes the older man pull him into a searing kiss.

He doesn’t know why he kissed the other teacher, but once Sam parts his lips, letting Bucky deepen the kiss and pull him closer, Bucky knows that this is the only thing he wants for the rest of his days.

Just this embrace, just the man in front of him.

Losing the competition is still fresh in mind but the hurt lessens now that he’s won something greater.

#sbweek19 #day seven: free for all #whew guys i did it!#also you'll see exactly where i started to rush through this fic to meet the deadline #sambucky #sam wilson #bucky barnes #buckysam #the falcon and the winter soldier #my writing

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chaoticquips · 6 years ago

Text

Wrapped Up

A reminder that @linklyshow is a wonderful person! An angel, best boy.

Continuation to my Coraline AU, although this is more like the end of the movie whoops!

The door slams shut behind him. He’s too busy trying to catch his breath and slow down the mounting panic to really revel in the cold draft that washes over his back.

It’s all normal again. No magic, no bugs, no sand filled needle creatures trying to grab at him-

It’s over.

When he moves, there’s a slight sting to his thigh. Grazes left from their fingers-

He pulls off his- Robin’s -glove and tucks the door key inside with shaking fingers. A wave of relief comes in and settles in his stomach as nausea. Numbly, he slides down against the wall until he’s slumped against it.

He almost... died in there. In a little door in a little house in the middle of no where with no one to even realize he was gone.

Shaky breath in. Shaky breath out. Repeat. He grips the glove tightly, feeling the outline of the key on his palm. It helps a little bit, reminding him of-

The front door opens. Wally scrambles to his feet in what can only be enthusiastic relief.

“Mom! Dad! Oh my god, I missed you so much!” With tear-filled eyes, he barrels into them. Hugs them tightly and breaths in that wonderful, parental smell of home. They’re home.

“Whoa! Slow down there, kiddo, you act like you haven’t seen us in ages!”

That’s... that’s not...

Eyes wide, he whips his head up to see none other than-

“Uncle Barry?!”

“What am I, chopped liver?” Iris laughs at his side. She smooths a hand over his wild hair and Wally realizes what a mess he looks.

And that he’s still clinging to them like a life line.

He quickly lets go, sniffling. “S-Sorry! What are you guys doing here?”

“Well, your parents wanted us to come see the new place, get our opinion on it since, well...” Barry rubs the back of his head.

“You seemed lonely, all by yourself.” Iris cuts in, giving him that soft smile of hers that makes his chest feel a little too tight. A little too loved. “Sometimes new environments can be hard to settle into, it’s easier to have some sort of familiarity around, right?”

“What better familiarity than family, right kiddo?” Barry ruffles his hair and Wally chokes back a laugh that almost shoots out of his mouth like a sob.

“But it looks like you’ve been adjusting fine?” Iris says, shaking off her coat to hang on the rack next to the door. “Look at you, all dirtied up! What have you been up to today, Wally? Hopefully nothing too dangerous?” She shoots Barry that secret little look she sometimes does that makes him all nervous.

“What’s the look for, hun?”

“Oh, you know.”

Wally feels the weight on his chest disappear. A laugh trickles out as he takes their- warm, soft, real -hands and leads them into the house.

“There’s a garden outside, you wanna see it?”

“Sure! Let’s get you cleaned up first so your mother doesn’t have a fit.”

“Iris, we’re heading outside, he’s going to get dirty anyway-”

“Barry. Need I remind you of the dog incident?”

“I’ll shut up now.”

He can’t stop the smile on his face.

“I’m sorry.”

“Gah!” At the sudden voice, Wally falls backwards and drops in the deep pit he had just climbed out of.

“Oh, shi- shoot! I’m so sorry!” Hands suddenly pulling him up, too quickly too quickly, the world spinning as Wally rubs the winded feeling out of his chest. Taking a few deep breaths with his eyes closed, sitting up against the stone wall, he feels hands on his shoulders.

When he opens his eyes, he glares.

“Oh, you.”

“Uh, yeah. Me.” Robin says nervously. He’s wringing his hands together and actually looks a little... guilty? Wally sighs.

“Whaddya want now, gonna make fun of me again?” Wally moves to stand up but is swiftly pushed back down by Robin’s surprisingly firm hands.

“No!”

Rather than the firm, chunky feeling of Robin’s coat sleeves going over his palms, Wally realizes he’s looking for the soft feeling of gloves. He’s looking for warm, soft blue moonlight on a rooftop where he was taken off guard by someone surprisingly kind to him.

His face tingles where the Other Robin had...kissed him.

To push back the rising embarrassment and incoming blush, he immediately tries to focus on the stupidbutreallykindacute way this Robin styles his hair.

God dammit.

“I.. I wanted to apologize, for calling you weird.” Robin moves from a crouched position over Wally’s lap to sit with a hard thump on the ground in front of him. “I shouldn’t have said that, I really shouldn’t have. It’s just...” He sighs.

“I dunno, I don’t really have a lot of friends.” Wally snorts.

“You don’t say?”

“Shut up.” He whines out, nudging at Wally with his foot. “Point is, I said some stupid stuff I shouldn’t have about you and I feel bad. I thought you were like the other kids.” He’s hunched over himself, taking off his glasses for once and rubbing at his eyes.

Curiosity at what the weird kid who’s been harassing him all summer actually looks like strikes Wally like a harpoon. But he’s still kinda pissed, so he looks at Robin’s shoes instead before he sees anything.

... Jesus, those are some expensive shoes.

“What other kids?”

“The ones I go to school with. They... they say shit about me all the time and I didn’t realize you were just joking around. Defensive measures and all that.” He shrugs, voice muffled by his coat sleeves.

“Doesn’t make it all right though.” Wally says.

“Yeah, I know. It really doesn’t. Trust me, I’ve been beating myself up about this.” With a half hearted chuckle, Robin lifts up his left, bandaged hand away from his face, but stays hunched over.

“Wha- literally? Dude, what-”

“L-Like I said, I’m beating myself up about it and now I’m getting yelled at for doing that, so I’m apologizing.” Robin cuts in. A hot flash of sadness and anger rips through Wally.

“... So you’re just apologizing to me so you wont be in trouble anymore? If that’s all, fine, you’re forgiven, now go-”

“God dammit, no! I don’t want-!” Robin’s voice cracks as he slams his bandaged fist on the ground. “I don’t- I didn’t mean! Look, I’m trying to apologize!”

“Yeah, and you’re really bad at it!”

“I know!” He yells out.

“I mean, most people would have the decency to look me in the face if they were going to apologize-”

“I know, but I-!” Suddenly he stops. Wally watches the anger flow out of his body and hears him take a deep breath.

“You’re frustrating as hell, you know that right?” He says quietly to his expensive shoes.

“Hey man,-”

“Let’s start over!” He yells, pouncing forward and covering Wally’s eyes with his hands before he sees his face.

“Wha- dude! What the hell!” Wally reaches up and grabs at his hands, pulling them off. Belatedly he remembers the other boy is stronger than he looks. He doesn’t get far until his head nearly hits the wall behind him with the force of the other boy’s hands returning to his face.

“Let’s start over! First impressions are everything, right? We just got off on the wrong foot.”

“A few dozen times.” Wally mumbles.

“Just-!” Robin stops and sighs. “...Do you think we could be friends? If we actually tried this time? I wont call you weird, you don’t call me weird, no arguing unless it’s banter because it’s actually kinda fun with you.”

“Mm, I didn’t know friendships had rules.”

“Less rules, more like guidelines. A, what do people call it? A bro-code?” It’s the most anyone has ever tried with Wally before. He honestly feels a little touched his creepy neighbor is trying so hard.

“I... I think I can work with that. Y’know, considering how desperately you wanna be friends with me.”

“Oh shut up!” He can’t help but laugh at Robin’s expense and he’s pleasantly surprised to find the other boy laughing too.

“God, you’re a mess.” Robin laughs out.

“Me?!”

“Yes!” It takes them a second to calm down, but finally Robin’s hands pull off his face ever so slightly.

“I...I’m gonna take my hands off, ok? Then we can start over.”

“Dude, why are you nervous? You’re not horribly disfigured or something like that, right? Like, I don’t care if you are, it’s totally fine, just-”

Robin takes his hands off Wally’s face and gives him a smile so blinding he can’t tell if it’s the sun or not.

Wait, no, it’s definitely the sun. He had his eyes closed for too long.

“...So?”

“So what? I can’t see anything man, gimmie a second.” He rubs at his eyes while Robin stays strangely quiet. Then he clears his throat.

“Hi! You must be Wally West, right? I believe you’re renting one of the rooms in the Pink Palace, right? I’m the son of your landlord, Dick. It’s nice to meet you!”

When Wally opens his eyes, he almost doesn’t believe what he’s seeing.

Dick Grayson, acclaimed child prodigy and adopted son to billionaire Bruce Wayne, is sitting in front of him.

Directly in the dirt he had dug up for the tulips he had been planting.

When Wally just stares at Dick, his smile shrinks and he moves to pick at his bandages. He averts his eyes from Wally.

“I-I heard you were into science, right? That’s partially why you moved here, so you could go to the academy on scholarship? Or was it to take special summer classes? That’s pretty cool either way.”

“You’re-”

“I’m more of a math guy myself, y’know? And, uh, acrobatics but you probably already knew that.”

More silence.

“...Would you like me to grab you water or something? You look kinda pale-”

“You’re telling me,” Wally cuts him off, “That the creepy little shit who kept waking me up in the middle of the night to knock on my bedroom window, who stalked me for most of the summer, and almost got me killed is none other than the Dick Grayson.”

“Um. I resent the creepy part and... yes?” Wally takes a deep breath.

“Hoooooly shit.” Wally rubs his face with his hands because, wow. Didn’t see that one coming.

“But you get now, why I had to-”

“Hide your identity and be a total weirdo? Yup. It’s all coming full circle.” He makes a little circle in the air with his finger and Dick punches him gently.

“Hey!”

“Unbelievable. That’s... good God, I’m friends with a celebrity.”

“Don’t go telling the world, ok? Mostly because people are, y’know.”

“Nah man, my lips are sealed. Besides, you said it yourself, who would I tell?”

“...”

“...Too soon?” Dick gives him a half smile and helps him to his feet.

“So, uh, what did you mean when you said I almost got you killed?” Wally snorts.

“That is a long story that I’m 100% sure you’re not gonna believe.” Dick does his little half smile again and Wally decides that he thinks it’s fitting for the other boy.

“Try me. We’re friends now, I’m legally obligated to believe everything you say.”

“Alright.” Wally looks the other boy up and down, hand on his chin. Dick rolls his eyes with a grin.

“Your shoes are way too expensive for gardening.” In mock offense, Dick puts a hand on his own chest.

“Oh yeah? Well your jeans look too new to be gardening in!”

“My jeans?Take a look at your- dress pants? Really?”

“I might have taken a reaaaally long break from my ballroom dancing classes at the summer house. Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m gonna, especially when your nanny yells at me for being a bad influence on a ‘high-class citizen’.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Alfred would never yell at you. He’ll just give you the scariest silent treatment and cook your favorite food slightly off so that there’s something funky about it, but you don’t know what.” When Wally gives him a strange look, Dick starts laughing about how Wally looks funny when he’s confused.

Wally realizes rich people are fucking weird.

Wally also realizes he really wants to reach out and hold his hand.

Then Wally realizes that without the glasses, Dick has really pretty eyes.

He’s so screwed.

#OH YOU KNOW....#just one boy having a good time #sorta???#its a yes their arguing is flirting and my mind can only be slightly swayed on that #fics #my work #birdflash #superheroes #dc #thank you for my lovely coraline au commissons linkly!!!!#i love them so much

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