#too many matches for it to work like sports like football or whatever where games are played in the evening + the weekend

[jabeur]

all the wta singles matches in a slam being during the day is evil many people have jobs and why would i spend my evening watching a domestic abuser instead of paolini rybakina

[discokicks]

FOX IN THE BOX — ROY KENT.

PART TWO of ACES AT THE WATER’S EDGE.

(series masterlist!) (AO3!) (series playlist!)

pairing: roy kent x fem!reader (no use of y/n!)

summary: back in 2012, you and roy meet for the first time. in 2023, you sign a one-year contract with richmond and have to work with roy for the first time. both go about as well as you’d expect.

word count & rating: 9.6k, R (roy kent says fuck and does fuck!)

chapter warnings: swearing, light sexual innuendos and light references to sex, mentions of alcohol and partying (the olympians get DOWN in olympic village) minor allusions to what happened to reader at west ham, major football talk, roy kent is rich, original character intros and plot (author really likes a plot, woo boy), angst, and of course, fluff.

author’s note: ok wow, thank you for all the love on the first chapter! wildly unexpected but much appreciated. this one’s got a bit more to it— jumping timelines, original characters, lotta soccer/football talk, reader and roy don’t know how to act (in more ways than one). also did crazy research into the 2012 olympics for this, so no one tell me my timeline’s off or i’ll cry. also also, is roy's sister named molly or is that just evidence that i've read too many fics? whatever it is, her name's molly! thank you again for the love and i hope you all enjoy! love you all tons! -mags

LONDON OLYMPICS. (LATE JULY, 2012)

You meet Roy Kent for the first time at midnight, in a rookie’s dorm room in the Olympic Village.

It’s a seemingly unlikely place for a football phenom like him to be. You’d expected all of those guys to choose to be elsewhere, exploiting their home-country advantage to hang out in their posh flats. But there they were, carrying out their team bonding efforts to prepare for their game tomorrow. 

Knowing what you know about Roy now, it’s fitting for him to have been there. But in this moment, you’re shocked to see the likes of him in Olympic Village. 

It’s a place that’s convinced you that your college career was only good for preparing you for it. And you’re not even talking about the sports aspect of it. You’re talking about the shit-show, chaos-menu of athletes from around the world, acting as though it’s the first week of freshman year.

Despite the fact that alcohol, drugs, and any other traditional party favors are completely off-limits on-premises, it doesn’t seem to deter your fellow Olympians from running the dorms like it’s a frat party. You’re half-convinced you’re going to get a classic ‘who do you know here’ from the trust-fund-looking Australian swimmer you pass getting into your building, but he just sends a heartbreaking smile at you and your teammate as you walk in.

Your team’s fresh off the bus from Glasgow, having just beat France at Hampden Park. It was a hell of a way to open, despite the Opening Ceremony not taking place for another two days. As a younger player who’d proven herself in last year’s World Cup, you were the starting striker in your first Olympic game ever, scoring the second goal of the match and assisting the fourth. The adrenaline of it all hadn’t quite worn off yet. 

It’s clear that your teammate’s feeling the same way. Melanie Rivera, your left winger and for all intents and purposes, best friend, is straight-up vibrating. You’d met during World Cup training, where you two had instantly clicked and she’d taken you under her wing to show you the ropes and what it meant to play at this level. Despite this being her second Olympics, the feeling of a win never goes away. Or at least, that’s what she tells you.

The two of you are practically bouncing off the walls as you arrive on your floor, giggling to yourselves about different things that had happened during the game. Your fluent-in-French full-back telling off a French forward when she got too close to your goalie. The mid-game mishap where some French girl’s cleat went flying. The ‘bullshit’ yellow card Mel had received right before the half (Mel knew it was a fair call, she’d totally pushed that girl). 

“She was asking for it, though,” Mel insists, collapsing onto your bed as you enter your shared room. “Pulling on my shirt the whole game. I have two rules. Two. Don’t—”

You roll your eyes, having heard these rules a million times. “—touch my goalie, and don’t—”

“—touch my fucking kit,” she finishes, throwing her hands up exasperatedly. Her eyes shut with a huff.  “They’re pretty simple. Don’t know why people can’t follow them.”

“Yeah, it’s a travesty,” you reply dryly. Your lip curls into a grimace as you look at her. “You wanna know what my rules are?”

One of Mel’s eyes opens with a knowing smile. “Don’t be sweaty on your bed?”

“Oh, so we do remember,” you say, falsely cheery. The faux smile falls from your face. “Get off. Or at least shower. I want to go to bed and I don’t want to like, smell you.”

Mel rolls off your bed with a dramatic sigh. “Fine,” she relents. “But you can’t go to bed.”

Your expression remains unamused. “And why not?”

“Because the British men’s team is hanging out upstairs,” she states as if the answer’s obvious.

“Right. Of course,” you reply. “So, we’re crashing their team bonding?”

“No,” she says, pointing at you. “Their women’s team crashed. And then Jack texted me to tell us to come up.”

You narrow your eyes at her. “Uh-huh. Is Paige there?”

Mel shrugs, avoiding your gaze. “Maybe.”

“Oh, great,” you say sarcastically. “So, you’re forcing me to stay awake so I can wingman you?”

Mel flops on your bed once more. “Please,” she cries. “Dude, I like her so fucking much. We’ve been texting since the Cup and I don’t know, this year I think I’ve got a chance.”

“Why can’t Jack wingman you? He’s clearly down to set you two up,” you say, sounding a bit whiny. “Also, why are they hanging out here? I thought they’d rent a place or stay at their own houses.”

“They make the rookies stay in the Village their first years. It's for the experience, or whatever,” she answers. That’s brushed to the side quickly. “Also, Jack is a fucking awful wingman. The only type of scoring he’s good at is on the field.” She looks at you expectantly. “And I can’t go up there alone. I’ll look like a loser.”

You gape at her. “You are twenty-seven years old.”

“And I’ll look like a twenty-seven-year-old friendless loser!” When she sees the expression you’re wearing, she tilts on her side. “Say yes or I’ll roll around in your bed.”

You cover your face with your hands, an exhausted laugh echoing into your palms. This clearly is a losing battle, and you decide you’re going to be a good friend tonight. “Fine,” you groan, hearing your bed squeak as she launches herself off of it with a cheer. “An hour. That’s it. And then I’m going to bed and never talking to you again.”

“I can live with that,” she yells, bounding for the shower in your room. “I’ll text Jack that we’ll be up in thirty!”

“You owe me so big!” you reply.

You can hear Mel’s grin when she says, “I love you, too!”

Thirty minutes later, you’re freshly showered and up three floors, standing outside of the rookie’s dorm room. You can hear just how loud it is from outside and you suddenly really feel like you’re back in college again. 

It takes Mel a solid three minutes to work up the courage to knock on the door, something that you’re sure would have taken longer if you hadn’t reached out and done it yourself. She scowls at you, but the door opens before she can cuss you out.

Jack Wilson, Tottingham sweeper and three-time Olympian, answers the door with a wide smile. You’d met him a handful of times due to his friendship with Mel and he was just as lovely as everyone had said. There was a charming sort of awkwardness about him despite his status as a professional footballer, but it made him all the more endearing to you. 

“Glad you finally decided to show,” he said to you two, opening the door wider for you to enter. “Congrats on the win.”

“Thanks,” Mel said, eyes already scanning the small dorm living room for Paige. “What’s up with the team bonding in the dorms?”

You’re also looking around the room, sending smiles to the handful of girls you recognize. “Game tomorrow. Coach wanted us to do dinner as a team, so we ate in that big hall. And we--” he says, pointing to two guys on the couch, “--wanted to see the Village this year. So here we are.”

Your eyes follow his finger to the men, one of which isn’t familiar. The other, you immediately identify as Roy Kent. And his eyes are on you.

He’s easily recognizable, curly hair a bit more tame and managed than the iconic, half-assed mullet he’d had when he first signed with Chelsea. That ever-present scowl only lifts a little when he sees that you and Mel have arrived, but you honestly can’t see much change in his expression due to his drawn brows.

While you’d relied on Mel for the majority of your connections to this new world of football, she’d never really seemed to hang out with the likes of Roy. From what you’d gathered, despite his rather high status, he was a bit of a recluse. Yes, he went out constantly, and yes (if the tabloids were right), he’d certainly dated around, nobody really seemed to know much about him. 

When he’d come up in a team game of ‘Fuck, Marry, Kill’ with famous footballers, Mel had told the group that he was a guy of few words, and of the words he did say, ‘fuck’ seemed to be his favorite. Your friend and teammate Katie O’Connor was ready with a terrible impression of him when she answered with ‘fuck,’ especially after Mel also confirmed that the Gina Gershon news was true. 

You try to ignore this as you go over to introduce yourself to them, despite the fact it’s currently setting up camp in your brain. “Nice to meet you guys,” you say to Roy and the other boy on the couch. Jack takes a spot next to you on the floor as you take an empty chair next to the couch. Paige waves at you from her spot when you sit.

Roy nods at you in acknowledgment. “Good showing out there.”

Jack points at you. “Bloody insane goal you had,” he says. “I think I’d break my back if I tried to do a scorpion kick like that. It was fucking class.”

You grin. “Well, lucky for Tottenham, they keep you on the other side,” you say, then quietly add, “Not that it would make a difference.”

You see Roy’s lips twitch up from the corner of your eye, and you bite back a laugh as Jack physically deflates before you. Mel’s heard your comment and runs over to sit on the arm of your chair, which is conveniently close to Paige. “Ooh, is it shit on Tottenham time? Because I haven’t seen your ass in months, so I got a whole list, man.”

As the two of them begin to argue in the way they do, you sit at watch them with a smile. They’d had this type of relationship since you’d met them back at the Cup, when Jack had flown into Germany to see your final games. Despite the loss, those were a wild couple of weeks.

The moment your brain starts to recount them, you can feel a pair of eyes on you. It snaps you out of your haze completely. Especially when you realize that it’s Roy Kent who’s staring at you once more.

You blink at him, slightly confused by the attention. “Hi?”

He nods at you again. He seems to take a moment to evaluate you, and then, “You overthink.”

“W-What?” you ask. The word comes out clunky and confused.

Roy motions to the TV that’s on across the room, one that’s showing highlights from your game. “Out there,” he says. “You overthink.”

The two of you stare at each other for a moment. You, feeling unbelievably out of sorts and unsure of what brought this on, Roy, secure and casual, like he just stated the weather. 

Before you can question him, he nods at you for a final time, then stands up. “I’m going home,” he tells the group. “You lot better be fucking ready for the game tomorrow.”

Roy’s out of the room before anyone can say a proper goodbye to him, but no one bats an eye. No questions follow. 

Except you, of course. You’ve got a fucking million.

You overthink on the field? Where the fuck had he gotten that from? How had he seen it? While there were some times, yeah, you got a bit in your head, you’d never considered yourself an overthinker. And even if you were, the overthinking produced results, right? You liked to think you were just three steps ahead of everyone else out there. Not an overthinker.

But what made him say that? What had he seen? Was it your hesitation outside the box in the first fifteen that resulted in you losing the ball? Was it the switch you’d made to get to the goal when your right winger had it on the side? Was there a look on your face when you’d taken that free kick in the second half? You were pretty in your head then, but hey, it led to Mel scoring.

Overthinking. Pfft. He didn’t know what he was talking about. 

But then again, what the fuck was he talking about?

The thought of this unknown bomb dropped on you without any sort of answers quickly and completely took over your mind. Criticism about your playing had never bothered you (you were a twenty-five-year-old female soccer player, and you’d had more horrendous coaches than you could count), but this? This was something that literally made you itch. And you weren’t going to be able to scratch it until you knew what the hell he meant.

Before you knew what you were doing, you found yourself practically chasing Roy out of the room, whipping your head around to figure out which way he’d gone. Lucky for you, the dorm’s slow lifts were on your side. 

Roy stood by the elevator, checking something on his phone as he waited. He clearly doesn’t hear you coming because he nearly drops it when you ask, “What do you mean I overthink?”

“What the fuck?” And now he’s staring at you like you’re the crazy one.

“I should be asking you that!” you say, then motion back to the direction of the dorm. “You tell me I overthink, stare at me with no follow-up, then leave? Who does that?” You’re way too animated for past midnight, but you don’t care. “Because even if I was an overthinker, which I’m not, that sort of stuff is probably the worst thing you can do. Not leaving on a note like that is like, rule number one.”

Roy’s brows shoot up. “I wasn’t aware there were rules.”

“Yeah, well, there are,” you reply, crossing your arms over your chest. When he continues to just stare at you, you make a face that you hope will cue him to go on. “So, go ahead. Please explain yourself.”

“Explain the overthinking thing?” he asks. “I thought it was pretty fucking simple.”

You roll your eyes. “No, what made you say that? Was it a play I had? Was it something I did? What did you see? I’m just curious as to—”

“You came up the field toward the end of the game,” he says, effectively cutting you off. “And you made a pass to Rivera that led to another pass, then a goal.”

You nod at him, not seeing his point at all. “Yeah? So? It was a great goal by Katie.”

Roy’s expression turns slightly frustrated, as if he’s annoyed that you don’t immediately catch on. “It was a great goal. But the fucking second you saw Rivera next to you, you started thinking ahead,” he tells you. “So far ahead that you didn’t notice how slow and fucking awful your mark was and that you could have had a better goal if you’d stopped thinking.”

There are approximately fifteen seconds of dead air between you two as you attempt to take in what he just said to you. “So, let me get this straight,” you begin. “You’re saying I’m bad because I think too much about teamwork?”

For a moment, you think Roy’s going to slam his head into the elevator door. Instead, he just turns to the buttons and presses them once more. “Fuck’s sake, could these be any fucking slower?”

You’re too far gone at this point to even be offended. “Uh, it doesn’t matter. You started this. You’re not going anywhere until we finish it. Why does me not being a selfish dick make me bad?”

“I didn’t say you were bad. You’re not. Clearly,” he responds. You note a bit of the classic ‘Roy Kent’ anger laced within his words and it makes you snap your mouth shut. “I’m just saying. You’re at your best when you’re not so fucking nice and when you don’t fucking think.”

Unconsciously, your arms cross over your chest. “I’ve got twenty-two years of playing time and about ten coaches that would disagree with that.” 

Once more, you see the corner of his mouth slide upward as he glances at you. “If that’s the case, then your coaches were all idiots. They weren’t smart enough to let you loose.”

An unexpected warmth rises to your cheeks. But instead of acknowledging it, you ask, “What, like you’d be a better one?” Before he can respond to that, you’re talking again. “And even if all of that were true, I wouldn’t know how to do that.”

Roy’s brow creases. “Do what?”

“Not… think ahead,” you say. “Or not think at all. That being three steps ahead thing is kind of, well, my thing.” You offer a shrug. “The generous, teamwork thing too. I like that. It’s what makes me good.”

Roy continues to look at you, but says nothing. For a moment, all is quiet as he just… stares, almost as if he can see through you. Like he’s privy to something you’re not, or he’s had some sort of revelation about you. You’re not sure anyone’s ever looked at your this hard. It’s a bit unnerving and you have to fight to not avert your eyes.

Before you can begin to further overthink that (god fucking damn it), he’s holding his phone out to you. You stare down at it blankly. 

“You’re showing me your phone,” you state, but it’s almost a question.

Roy rolls his eyes. “Put in your fucking number,” he says.

Your lips purse as you hesitate, but you find yourself reaching out for it. “Is this how you typically do it?” you ask, typing your name into his contacts. “You neg a girl for five minutes straight and then ask her for her number?”

Roy rolls his eyes again, but there’s humor amongst the annoyance this time. “I’m going to text you a time and an address,” he tells you. You hand him his phone back. “Be there on Friday after the Opening Ceremony.”

The elevator had finally arrived in the middle of his sentence and you eye him wearily as he steps in. “Just… show up to this address?” you ask. “Do I get context? Like, what to expect? What am I dressing for?”

“Overthinking,” he reminds you as he presses the button for the lobby. “Just fucking be there.”

Before you can object further or tell him that you were not in fact overthinking, you were just a woman in a foreign city concerned for your safety, he leans forward to stop the doors from closing. He’s got one hand up and has a small smirk on his face.

“And just so we’re crystal fucking clear,” he says. “If I were trying to chat you up, you’d fucking know it.”

Your eyes immediately fix into a glare and the doors close before you can say anything in response. “Asshole,” you mutter to yourself, but you’re already flipping your phone over to see if he’s texted you.

(You won’t know this until much, much later, but Roy Kent let out a loud and regretful ‘fuck!’ as soon as he was five floors down, absolutely cringing at the idea that he used a line like that on someone like you. It plagued him for three years straight.)

PRESENT DAY. (EARLY AUGUST, 2023)

On a day when Roy not only had the strangest interaction of his life with Jamie Tartt in the Boot Room, but he also found out that Trent fucking Crimm would be lingering around all season, he was sure that he was done with surprises at Nelson Road.

That quickly proved to be false, as he soon found that Ted was rounding the team up in the media room for some sort of meeting.

Roy saw Beard as he was leaving the Coaches’ Office and sent a questioning look his way. “Did I miss film on the agenda?”

Beard shook his head. “Nope. Impromptu. We just heard back.”

“Heard back?” Roy asked, watching Beard go to leave the room. “The fuck are you on about?”

Beard smiled at him in the doorway. “We got her,” he said and left with a skip in his step that Roy wasn’t sure he’d ever seen before.

They’d gotten her? Got who? 

Then it hit Roy. Oh. You. They’d gotten you.

You’d said yes. You were joining Richmond. He’d helped convince you. Despite everything, despite all that had happened and everything you two had done, you’d said yes. You were willing to work with him. You were now going to be back in his life for worse or for better. And not just back in his life, but a fucking constant in it.

Then that hit Roy. The reality of it all fucking bodyslams him and it makes his heart race. After eight years of cold-turkey no-contact, he was going to be seeing you every day. After everything he’d done. After everything you had done.

Roy realized then that he didn’t exactly consider this feeling. That he was so blindsided by Rebecca’s request and by seeing you that he didn’t even think about this. It had been hard enough to work up the nerve to confront and speak to you once. Would it feel like that all season? Had you considered this?

But then, he remembered you and how you think about every fucking angle of every situation. You definitely had thought about this. And if you were willing to push the discomfort, the awkwardness, the whatever in order to have this job, he supposed he had to be too.

Roy swore under his breath, turning away from his desk to get his head back on straight. The team was waiting for him. He could mope about this in the comfort of his own home later.

He arrived in the room just as the rest of the team was getting in. The boys were buzzing. Between the news of a potential Zava acquisition and the Trent Crimm book development, as well as whatever this was, they couldn’t seem to stop talking. Roy didn’t blame them. It was a lot for one day. 

(It’d been a lot for him too. With everyone now knowing about his break-up with Keeley, to fucking Trent Crimm, to you, he was surprised he hadn’t gone outside to scream yet. But he presumed that was coming.)

“Alright fellas, listen up,” Ted said from the front of the room, holding his hand up to get everyone’s attention. The team quieted down after a moment. “I know there’s been a lot of talk going around this week. And I know y’all are excited. But I’ve got some more news.”

“I don’t know if I can take any more,” Dani said, sending a wave of agreement through the group. “It’s hurting my head.”

Ted chuckled. “I know. Mine too. And we’re the ones who have to manage all this,” he said, motioning to Beard and Roy who stood against the wall. “But this is good news.”

Good news? That was something the team could manage.

“So, how many of you are familiar with the Women’s World Cup that happened back in 2015?” he asked, eyes scanning the crowd.

A murmur went through the team. “America won?” Colin offered. “Crazy final game that was.”

Isaac pointed at Roy. “You did some shit for Sky Sports for this Cup, right?”

As the boys began to recall this, Jaan Mas said, “Why they gave you another pundit job after that completely blows my mind.”

“Yes, Roy did do some TV work over here,” Ted answered after the laughter died down. “And yes, America won. But does anyone remember what this Cup started to be called?”

It seemed as though no one had an answer. That is, until Beard cleared his throat said, “The Summer of Fourteen, baby!”

Ted snapped at his best friend. “That’s exactly right, Coach. And despite it being the 2015 Cup, they called it that because of this woman right here.”

Ted had brought up what is perhaps the most iconic photo of you to date. It’s one of the first things to come up if you were to Google yourself, a picture that’s haunted you for the last eight years. It’s from the 2015 quarter-final. You’re mid-penalty kick against China, scowl on your face as your foot collides with the ball, blood dripping down your face from the broken nose you’d received moments before. 

(It’s certainly not the most elegant or flattering picture of you that exists, especially when your fellow teammates’ search results yielded photos of them at the ESPYs, but you still think you’ve never looked like more of a badass.)

Ted said your name smoothly as he pointed to you on the screen, annunciating all syllables. “Wildly prolific USA Women's athlete despite her rather short time in the league. And while she was always good, y’know, starting striker since she began and all that—” He chuckled, turning to look at his other coaches, who had knowing smiles on their faces. “—I don’t know. There was something in the water in 2015. Because she just became…”

Ted trailed off, looking for the word. This time, Roy found it before Beard. “A nightmare,” he said, with a suppressed yet fond sort of smile. “She was a fucking nightmare out there.”

“In a good way, of course,” Ted cleared up, earning a nod from Roy. “But, yeah. A nightmare. Wonderful teammate and fantastic playmaker, but man…” Ted trailed off with a low whistle. “We were all glad she played for our neck of the woods.”

Jamie’s hand went up. “Didn’t she just get like, hired and fired by West Ham?”

“Wonderful segue there, Jamie,” Ted said. “Because yes, that is true. She was with West Ham for a couple months. First female coach in the league. Pretty impressive stuff, and it was a pretty big deal. And then something went wrong, and they let her go.” The team made a noise of acknowledgment, all of them having seen it in the news. “And I don’t know what happened, and we probably won’t know what happened, but we knew she was too good to leave the league. Lucky for us, we need a new coach. And she needs a new job.”

There was a wide smile on his face when Sam asked, “So she will be joining Richmond?” 

“That she is, Sam,” Ted replied, earning yet another eruption of chatter amongst the group. “She’ll be joining us on Monday. And while I know you fellas will do everything you can to make her feel welcome and will show her the same level of respect that you show us up here—” Ted pointed to his coaches once more, glancing down at the computer in front of him. “—I’m going to show you why she deserves it more than us.”

A YouTube video of your highlights appeared on the big screen, going full-screen as the quick ad ended. Ted stepped back from the computer, sitting down on the stool behind him to watch along with the rest. 

Your famous 2012-France-Scorpion-Kick goal just so happens to be the first thing up and Roy’s heart nearly stops. It’d been years since he’d seen this clip and he was immediately transported back to the night you two met. A ghost of a smile unconsciously made its way up his face as he watched your body contort to flip around, and the ball soar into the net. It was a goal of pure and utter instinct. You hadn’t thought about it. You just ran in there like a maniac and knew what to do. That one gets an immediate reaction from the team.

The next one is a play you’d set up in the Quarter-Final New Zealand game, with a bunch of quick passing in the box to confuse and rattle the defense. Melanie Rivera had sent you a world-class assist for an even better goal, one that earns you the title of ‘Fox in the Box’ from the past commentator on screen. The next, an impressive goal scored after an injury you’d had in the Semi-Finals against Canada. Then, and perhaps most famously, your assist to Katie O’Connor from midfield to win the Gold. 

And they hadn’t even gotten to the World Cup yet.

The World Cup footage made up the other three-fourths of the video. It was a completely different side of you, one that had thrown caution to the wind, one that had a huge fucking chip on her shoulder, one that was just… insane. In all the best ways and meanings.

Roy’s shock of the day, though, comes after a highlight of you completely blowing past three Colombian defenders. You’d broken the fourth’s ankles with your footwork in the box for a quick goal. Footwork of yours that had been massively improved, Roy noted. And he would know, he’s the one who did it.

Arlo White’s voice filled up the room. “And yet another breakaway goal from USA’s Mean Fourteen!” The clip said. “It’s just remarkable to watch her work this year, don’t you think, Roy?”

Roy felt all eyes on him when he heard his own voice on the speakers. “I don’t know what USA would do without her,” 2015 Roy Kent said. “I’d hate to have her against me.”

It was strange for Roy to hear his own voice mock him like that. And as the team began to cheer for him, he felt a pit form in his stomach. They didn’t even know.

The highlight reel continued for another couple of minutes, and it seemed with each play, the boys became more excited about the prospect of being coached by someone like you. Beard and Ted were evidently just as ecstatic about the development, and Roy knew he had to get on board. Warp his feelings and nerves and whatever else into something resembling his team’s attitude.

After all, he was the reason you were joining.

The lights came up as soon as the video ended, snapping Roy back to reality. Ted smiled at the team. “Alright, fellas. Now, let’s get to work on the welcome party.”

The boys hooped and hollered, each of them getting up to join in whatever Ted had planned. Beard looked over at Roy as the rest filed out. 

“You think we’re ready for her?” he asked.

Roy hated the weird fucking sixth sense Beard had when it came to… well, everything. He made Roy feel like he was completely transparent. “We’re ready for her,” he replied.

Though, he wasn’t sure if he was assuring Beard or himself.

PRESENT DAY. (EARLY AUGUST, 2023.)

You sign a one-year coaching contract with AFC Richmond that Monday in Rebecca Walton’s office.

The news broke that you’d been picked up by Richmond on Friday, something that had completely come alive in the press world. Your face was plastered over all of the papers yet again, newscasters seemed to mention your name every time you turned on your TV, and social media was set on fire. Everyone had something to say about this move and the majority of it wasn’t too positive.

You tried to keep your nose out of it, knowing just how much you did not need to see people talking about you like that. The majority of the negativity was from West Ham fans, wishing Richmond ‘luck’ with the likes of you, others wishing you good riddance. 

If they knew how happy you were to be out of there, you’re not so sure they’d be as excited to let you go.

Though signings on every level in this league were typically more public affairs, ones with major press conferences and coverage, you’d requested this to be quieter. Just a few statements from the people who mattered and a pen and paper. You’d been in the media a bit too much for your liking over these past couple of months, and if you could get some exclusivity, you’d take it. 

Rebecca, thankfully, was more than happy to comply. You’d been in contact with her practically non-stop since you’d called her, and she’d been nothing but lovely to you. Each interaction with her made you feel better about this job, despite the cloud of anxiety that still hung over you.

You’re sitting in a chair opposite Rebecca’s desk when a message from Mel comes through. i always liked richmond better than west ham anyway, she says. paige and i bought shirts and will be at every game. 

A photo comes through shortly after of her three-year-old toddler, decked out in a Jamie Tartt jersey. oliver’s already got his!

You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face, fingers tapping against your screen with a quick response. adorable. give him and paige a hug for me. and i’ll be freaking out so bad at every game that i’m gonna need you there anyway, so i’m holding you to that.

you’ll be incredible. knock ‘em dead, kid.

Rebecca re-enters her office before you can respond with a thank you. She’s got Coach Ted Lasso in tow, who could not be grinning brighter at you. The second you see him, you think about everything Nate had told you during your short time at West Ham, and something within you just can’t believe it. The energy of Richmond had been different as soon as you walked through the door. The good kind of different. And their manager appeared to not be an exception.

Ted greets you immediately with an outstretched hand. “It’s so nice to finally meet you,” he says after your introduction. “I gotta tell you, we’re all mighty excited that you’re here.”

“I think I might be more excited,” you reply, and it’s an honest answer. Or at least, you’d been able to shift your nerves about the job into excitement. You’d only anxiety-thrown up once today. You figured that was an accomplishment. “Seriously. Thank you both again for the opportunity.”

“We’re just grateful you said yes,” Rebecca says. You can tell she means it. “The team’s been buzzing all week.”

The nerves return at the mention of the team, but you mentally scream at yourself to get over it. “Well, I’m just excited to get started.”

“Speaking of getting started, we should probably head downstairs,” Ted says to Rebecca. “I wanna show our new coach around a bit before practice gets going.”

“Of course, don’t let me keep you,” Rebecca responds. “I’ve got a couple more things for you to sign before you leave today, so just make sure to stop by. If you have any questions, my door’s always open, or you can ask Leslie, who you met earlier, who’s always wandering around somewhere.” Her smile gets warmer as she puts a hand on your shoulder. “And we really are pleased to have you joining us.”

You wonder for a moment how a woman like her could have ever been married to an asshole like Rupert, but you suppose that’s a story for another day. “Thank you,” you say again, a bit of that anxiety washing away. “I’m happy to be here.”

Ted leads you out of the office, his tour starting from the minute you exit. He offers a bit of insight into himself and his time at Richmond, his past two years working with Rebecca, then launches into what he knows about the history of the place (and you don’t have the heart to tell him that Rebecca had already done that when you’d arrived). 

The facility is gorgeous, but it feels a bit more lived-in and welcoming than what you remember about West Ham. Everything there was so manicured and monochromatic and sterile. Nothing about it felt like a place you’d want to work.

Richmond is the opposite. It’s bright and colorful and you can hear people laughing as soon as you step down into the lower level. While your nervousness about the team still lingers, you can feel it easing. You’ll see how long that lasts.

You’re stepping into the Coaches’ Office before you even realize it, mind too occupied with taking in your new surroundings and trying to keep up with Ted’s story. You resent the overwhelming amount of relief you feel when you realize there are only two men in the office, and neither of them are Roy. 

One is sitting with his feet crossed up on his desk and a book in his face. The other is writing on a notepad at a separate desk. You’re surprised by the speed at which both of them jump up to greet you as you and Ted enter.

“Alright, Coach, this is Coach Beard,” Ted says, and you meet Beard’s hand for a shake. “He’s one of the guys you’ll be working with this season.”

“Nice to meet you,” Beard says, nodding your way.

“You too,” you reply. Your eyes are drawn to the book he placed down on his desk and you allow yourself to grin. “I love Merlin Sheldrake.” When his brows shoot up in surprise, you shrug. “I’ve got a lot of time in the off-season.”

Beard’s eyes light up. “We’ll get along just fine.”

Your grin grows and you hear Ted’s voice from behind you. “Is that that mushroom book?” he asks. “I don’t think Beard’s ever found someone who reads that stuff too. I guess we’ve now got two Fun-guys in the group.”

You glance over at Beard. “Now it's a Fung-us.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Ted’s hand come up to his mouth as he looks over at his best friend. For whatever reason, it’s clear that the two of them are trying to contain their excitement. Before you can question it, Ted places a hand on your shoulder. “Oh, you’ll fit right in here, Ace.”

The nickname catches you off guard. It’s something that you haven’t heard since your playing days, something that the commentators and pundits loved to call you. It was always a compliment when they said it, but something about the way that your new manager says it makes it sound more like a title than a name. Like that’s what you are. 

It immediately makes you feel welcome and you can feel yourself warm into their excitement.

The other man in the room, who’s been watching this interaction in amusement, steps forward to hold out his hand to you as well. “Trent Crimm.”

Now, it’s your turn to raise your brows. “You’re the writer who keeps calling me?”

A smile that could also be a cringe appears on his face. “Guilty,” he answers. “Just trying to cover all the bases for the book.”

“I get it,” you tell him. “If you still want a quote, I’d be happy to give you one. But I can’t guarantee it’s going to be clean.”

Trent chuckles. “I’ll take what I can get at this point.”

There’s a moment where you almost question what he means by that, but you brush it off. Especially now that Ted’s started talking again. “Roy's running a little late, but I’ve heard y’all already know each other, so we’re not technically missing an introduction.”

That makes you pause. You’d figured that when Roy had appeared on your doorstep he’d told at least Rebecca about your past, and that the probability he’d told the staff was high too. But exactly how much had he told them? Did they know the basics or did they know everything?

You then realize it’s Roy you’re talking about. There was no way in hell he’d told them anything more than what Ted said. That you knew each other. Maybe that things hadn’t ended smoothly. But that was it.

That, at least, gives you a bit more confidence. Ted turns to you and leads you back into the small, adjoining room you’d walked through, pointing at an almost empty desk. “That’s yours,” he tells you. “Feel free to dress it up with whatever you want, and get yourself unpacked. We’re starting practice in about fifteen minutes and Coach Beard and I gotta set some things up, but I’d like to introduce you to the fellas before you start shadowing. That all sound good?”

You grip the strap of your backpack and nod at him with a smile. “Works for me, Coach.”

Ted grins, patting you on the arm. “Glad to hear it.”

And with that, he returns to his desk, making sure to leave the door open as he leaves.

You plop your backpack on your desk and begin to empty out your things. You grab your laptop first and place it on your desk, followed by a couple of knick-knacks and photos you brought along, ones that never felt at home at your desk at West Ham. There’s a rational piece of you that knows you should stop comparing the two places, but the pettier, more aggressive side of you tells it to fuck off.

(You like to listen to that one when you can these days.)

You’re holding a photo of a baby Oliver dressed in a Women’s USA onesie when you hear someone else walk into the room. You glance over your shoulder and immediately regret it.

Roy Kent is standing in the doorway, staring at you like he completely forgot your signing day was today.

Of course, Roy hadn’t. He’d been pacing around his flat all morning because of it. It was actually why he was late to work. But he hadn’t expected to see you as soon as he walked in. In his office. Now, your office too, he supposed.

The two of you just stared at each other for a moment, much like you did when you saw each other again for the first time last week. However, it appears that you’re both acutely aware of the three sets of eyes that are on you two from the other room.

Like you’re snapping into a scene in a play, Roy’s expression rids itself of all surprise. “Coach,” he says stiffly, nodding at you.

Coach. You suddenly remember your previous conversation. It’ll be professional. Civil. I won’t let there be any issues. 

Well, if he won’t let there be any issues, you’re sure as hell not going to give him the satisfaction of causing any.

So, instead, you return his nod. “Coach,” you greet him. As he puts his things on the desk opposite yours, your heart falls into your stomach, “A-Are we…”

“Sharing an office?” he finishes for you. You nod weakly. “Yeah.”

“Oh,” you say, then awkwardly add, “Fun.”

“I’m over the fucking moon,” he deadpans.

You bite your tongue, trying not to retort too quickly to a comment like that. You look away from him and to the keys in his hand and you prepare for the small talk you’re about to force yourself to engage in. “Tough ride in?”

It seems to take him a moment to process the question. The awkwardness of it all lingers. “Something like that,” he answers. However, his gaze is stuck on the picture in your hand. “What the fuck is that?”

Your brows furrow and you glance down. So much for small talk. “This?” You hold up the photo. “Oh, this is, uh, Oliver. Mel and Paige’s son.”

“Fuck off,” Roy says in a way that’s almost inquisitive, though the relief in his voice is palpable. You try to ignore that. “I didn’t know they had a kid.”

You huff a laugh despite yourself, and a bit of weight falls from your shoulders. “You clearly don’t follow Mel on anything,” you reply, then pause. “Oh, wait. I forgot. You don’t do social media.”

“It’s a waste of fucking time,” he says, reaching out to look at the photo. When you hand it to him, he mutters, “I think Rivera would have me blocked if I did, though.”

“Yeah, you’re not wrong,” you say honestly. You take the picture back from him and place it on your desk. Your next question comes out casual, and you can’t help but be proud of how nicely this is all flowing. “Speaking of kids, how’s Phoebe doing? And how’s Molly?”

You’re not expecting the hint of shock on Roy’s face when you turn back to him. It’s as if he can’t believe you’ve remembered his sister’s name, or his niece that you met when she was no more than six months old. You want to slap him upside the head for looking at you like that because, of course, you fucking remember that, but a knock on the door from the other room interrupts your conversation.

Trent’s standing hesitantly in the doorway, notepad in hand. “Sorry to interrupt,” he says, and he appears to be avoiding eye contact with Roy. “But if you were serious about talking, would you be free to do it tomorrow?”

You offer him a warm smile, hoping that’ll contrast Roy’s crossed arms and hard stare directed at him. “Sure thing.”

“No,” Roy immediately says. “You’re not fucking talking to him.”

Confusion takes over. “Why not?” you ask.

“Because no one’s fucking talking to him,” is Roy’s answer, firm, with no room for argument. His eyes never leave Trent. “And don’t try to fucking weasel your way into this team through someone who doesn’t fucking know any better, Crimm. You’re fucking better than that.”

You’re gaping at Roy as Trent nods at you kindly and retreats into the locker room. When you look back into the office to see if you can get some clarity from one of your other new colleagues, you notice that they’re both missing. Ted did say they had to set some things up.

You suppose that just gives you the ability to talk freely to Roy now.

“I’m sorry,” you say, whipping back to Roy who’s already facing his desk. “Has he not been given the O-K to write a book about this team?”

Roy grunts. “He has. But it doesn’t mean we’re fucking talking to him.”

“Well, doesn’t that, like, defeat the purpose of him writing a book?”

“You’re catching on.”

You lean back against your desk, folding your arms to take on Roy’s previous stance. “Oh, I see,” you say in understanding. “This is a Kent Rule.”

He doesn’t have to be facing you for you to know he rolled his eyes. “No, it’s not.”

“Oh, it’s totally a Kent Rule.” You stare at his back as he shifts his shoulders in discomfort. “You hate him, so you’re forcing the team to hate him. Enemy mine is enemy yours? That’s Kent Rule number three, if I’m remembering correctly.”

“It’s a team rule,” he states. “I’m just enforcing it.”

“Right,” you agree, though your voice says differently. “Each person here hates him so much that they allowed him to write a book here.”

Roy shakes his head with a scoff. “Fuck’s sake, I forgot how fucking irritating you were.”

“I’m not being irritating. You’re being evasive.” You only get another grunt in response. Fed up, your frustration at his lack of an explanation starts to seep into your tone. “So, what? I’m just supposed to ice that nice guy out because you say so?”

When Roy finally looks at you, he’s scowling. “He’s not fucking nice,” he says. “And you don’t know anything.”

“I don’t know anything because you won’t tell me,” you argue. 

“My word’s not good enough?”

You glare at him. “Your word hasn’t been good enough in eight fucking years.”

Roy shakes his head, almost in disbelief. “Definitely not telling you now.”

“Okay, enough,” you say, scanning the room and the hall to make sure no one’s watching the two of you. You put a hand up before he can retaliate with anything. “Look, if this is gonna work, you have to tell me things, okay? And we can’t argue here. Not here.” You motion to the office around you. “I can’t work with that shit. Alright?”

For a moment, it’s like you can look into Roy’s mind. You watch him appear to recount last week’s talk, just as you did minutes ago. Professional. Civil. No issues.

“Fine,” he finally sighs, knowing you’re right. 

“Fine,” you reply. You take a breath. “So, if he sucks and you don’t want me to talk to him, you need to tell me why. You can’t just order me around like I’m one of the guys, especially not in front of people. I’m your equal here, Roy. Whether you like it or not.”

Roy shakes his head. “You’ve always been my equal,” he says, though it’s a bit softer. “You fucking know that.”

His words leave a lump in your throat that you’re not anticipating. “Well, you’re not acting like it.”

His head tilts back, eyes falling shut. His shoulders tense up. Heavy sigh. Dear God, he really doesn’t want to tell you, huh?

And then it hits you. Oh, fuck does it hit you. He doesn’t want to tell you. 

And you get why.

Roy’s talking as soon as you open your mouth to apologize for pushing him. “The others don’t know either. I’ll tell you when I tell them,” he offers. “That’s the fucking best you’re getting from me.”

Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth, so you offer a nod. “Fine,” you say softly.

The nod is returned. “Fine.”

The conversation feels finished, but there’s still one more thing you want to say. “And can we agree right here that we’re not going to argue in front of anyone? Just like you said?” you ask. “Like, if you want to pick a fight, just like, pull me into the Boot Room or something. This shit can’t affect the way we do our jobs.”

Humor slants Roy’s expression. “Boot Room fights?”

You roll your eyes. “You know what I mean. Not in front of the team.”

“Yeah, I got it,” he says with a nod. “Fine.”

“Fine.”

From the outside of the office, you can hear the team start to file into the locker room from their gym facility, laughing just the same as when you heard them earlier. The alone sound makes you tense up. Roy narrows his eyes at you. 

“Speaking of,” he says cautiously. “I think it might be time for your introduction. Hope you like primary school-level art done by grown fucking men.”

That takes you out of your headspace immediately. “I’m sorry, what?”

LONDON OLYMPICS. (LATE JULY, 2012.)

Mabley Green. Friday. 23:30.

Wear some training gear.

I can send a car for you so you know you’re not being murdered.

You’d read the three messages you’d received two days ago from Roy Kent about a million times. While you’d replied to him that his sending a car felt very mafia boss and definitely doesn’t eliminate the murder possibility, you’d still gathered up the courage to dress up in your nicest sweats, escape from the Village after the Opening Ceremony festivities, and meet his driver on the outskirts.

(Of course, you said yes to the driver. Roy Kent was fucking loaded and if he were going to be strange and summon you places, you were going to take his free transportation.)

You’d confirmed your whereabouts and situation approximately thirty-five thousand times to Mel, who had nothing but questions for you. 

“Roy Kent. Like Chelsea’s finest, here, there, every fucking where Roy Kent?” That’s the one.

“Is sending a car for you to go to where?” I don’t know, it looks like a soccer field. 

“To do what?” Battle Pokemon. I don’t fucking know, Mel. I think he wants to train me.

“Train you or train you?” Why are you saying it like that?

“Because this has to be a weird hook-up thing that famous footballers do, right?” He made it very clear he had no interest. Also, pause. What about me says I’d fuck on a pitch?

“He could bring an air mattress.” Oh my God, I’m leaving.

But as you arrived to this completely empty field, with nobody but your overly friendly driver, Roger to back you up, you couldn’t help but feel a little nervous. This was weird, wasn’t it? You were meeting up with this guy you barely knew at an abandoned location just because he told you that you were an overthinker? Your mother would be absolutely horrified if she knew. You’d broken just about every Stranger Danger rule she’d set.

However, the second that you stepped out of the car to see Roy illuminated by the field lights, standing with his hood up and a bag of footballs thrown over his shoulder, you knew this was legit. And the anxiety washed away. But a few of the nerves stayed.

“Glad you showed,” he greets, turning to walk to the field as you fell into step with him.

You look over at him expectantly. “So, you are coaching me.”

“No, I’m fucking not,” he says. “I just want to get you out of your head.”

You nod in faux agreement. “Right. Because that’s not coaching.”

Roy rolls his eyes. “No, it’s not. It’s called being a nice fucking person.” 

“Right,” you say again. “Because Roy Kent is known best for his kindness.”

He turns to you. Something sparks in you when you notice that he appears to be humored by all of this. “You should be thanking me.”

“Of course. I’m sorry,” you apologize, sending him a wide smile as you two make it to the field. “Thank you, Coach.” Roy rolls his eyes again and you chuckle softly. “I’ll thank you when I know for a fact you’re not gonna murder me.”

He watches as you plop yourself down on the pitch to stretch a bit. “If I was going to kill you, I wouldn’t have brought a fucking witness.”

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “Roger could be your Ryan Gosling.”

Roy actually laughs at that one. It’s a sound that you’d never expected to hear, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to hear it again. “I wouldn’t trust him to do that kind of driving. Chatty prick can barely get around London.”

“Hey,” you chide. “He was very nice.”

“He’s fucking incredible. Been with him since my Sunderland days. Still a chatty prick.”

You can’t help but smile at the fondness that’s crept into his voice, but you say nothing about it. You bring your knee to your chest in a stretch and look up at him. “So, what’s the plan here, Coach?”

“Not your coach.”

“Right, sorry. What’s the plan here, Zodiac?”

Roy shakes his head, fighting to keep his lips even. “I want to make a deal with you.”

“A deal?” you ask. “What kind of deal?”

“I’ll train with you until your team's out,” he says. “Whenever our match schedules align, we can figure out a time to do shit until you need to go home.”

Your smile turns cocky. “And if we win?”

He practically snorts. “You’re not going to win.”

“But if we do?”

“Then we’ll train until then,” he replies. “And I’ll give you whatever you fucking want.”

You’re not sure what that entails, but anything you want from Roy fucking Kent? It’s an offer that may be too good to pass up. But still, one question lingers. “In exchange for what?”

“What?” he asks.

You stand, lifting one of your feet from the ground so that you can pull it up behind you in another stretch. “A deal works two ways. Exchanging goods or services and all that,” you tell him. “What’s in it for you?”

Roy shrugs. “I need to train too,” he answers. It's a bit simple, a bit evasive. “That’s what’s in it for me.”

“Oh, c’mon,” you say, “you can’t be serious. You want to train with me just to train?”

“What’s wrong with that?” he asked, crossing his arms.

“Nothing,” you respond, slowly realizing he’s serious. “I guess I just kind of assumed when I heard ‘deal’ that you’d want something in return.”

“Well, that’s all I fucking want,” he tells you. “If I think of anything else you can do for me, I’ll let you know.” 

A mix between a scoff and a laugh escapes you. “I’ll be anxiously anticipating your demands.”

He’s turned to his bag of footballs and crouches to grab one, glancing up at you as he rises. “So?” he asks. “Do we have a fucking deal, or what?”

Your foot goes down as you look at him, evaluating him and his offer. You shift your gaze to the field, to the big lights around you, then to the night sky that tells you it’s almost the next day. 

You have a game in Glasgow again tomorrow against Colombia. You’re out past curfew and know your team would both kill you and congratulate you if they knew where you were. You have to be on a bus in less than eight hours. 

But here’s Roy Kent, standing with you on an abandoned pitch in London, offering to train with you. And what kind of idiot passes that up?

“Deal,” you agree, taking the ball from his hand. “Now, where do we start?”

(mini!) TAGLIST: @tegan8314, @csigeoblue, @confessionsofatotaldramaslut

[fentybucky]

Welcome to the Football Secret Santa 2k22!! 🎅🏻❤️

Firstly I want to thank the people who have already joined the project!! Please REBLOG this post to share it with as many people as possible!! The more we are, the better and the funnier will be the game!

Secondly I want to underline the fact that EVERY FOOTBALL FAN can play; doesn’t matter if you’re a chelsea fan, a man united fan, a real madrid fan, a ac milan fan or a bvb fan!!! Instead will bring more diversity and colors to the game 😊

- How does the Secret Santa works?

For this Secret Santa, me and my assistant are going to match you up with another blog and you will be their Secret Santa.

The game starts on December 1st until December 25th which will be the day of your “reveal” 🎁, in this period of time the Secret Santa will have to send anonymously messages and keep company to the assigned blog. I’ll let you know who’s your matchy blog by sending you a private message with the name of the other blog. Make sure to keep it to yourself 🥰

So let me sum this up!!

So YOU as an anon ➡️ will send anon messages as a secret santa ➡️ to another blog.

At the same time, YOU ⬅️ will receive anon messages ⬅️ FROM YOUR SECRET SANTA

Let’s remember that it’s a game!! So we need rules to play:

RULES

• Always remember to keep the anon form on when you’re messaging your match blog!!! If not you’ll get discovered

• Make sure to have the anon form on your tumblr!! You can find it on your blog settings (if you have any question please ask me)

• Try to be as active as possible with your matchy blog: you can choose to have a normal conversation or ask your blog a question per day (like question of the day)

• Remember that you can talk about whatever you want from football to music/the weather/movies/actors/other sports

• You have to be respectful ofc!! Remember we don’t have all the same opinions or we aren’t all fans of the same team!!

• December 25th will be the only day where you can write to your matchy blog without the anon form (cause its the reveal day)

• You cannot change your matchy blog without a reason or without telling me first!

• If you had any type of argument with someone on the app but you want to participate to the project and you don’t want to (or you don’t find comfortable to …) talk to certain people, please ask me on dms if that blog is subscribed too!! I’ll personally make sure you won’t “meet”

• Remember it's a game, so HAVE FUN!! ❤️

For any other questions please let me know!! and please REBLOG

[sleep-i-ness]

Love Game (James Potter x reader)

Summary: Remus has spilled the beans about you having a crush, and James is determined to find out who it is.

“So, Remus says you’re in love with someone.” Sirius came up behind you as you sat in the shady corner of the common room, reading quietly. You were out of the way, but still able to keep an eye on everything going on.

“Does he now?” You turned the page, finger tracing the words as you continued to read.

Sirius flipped a chair round, sitting down in front of you and tipping the top of your book down towards him. You finally glanced up at him, raising an eyebrow. “Who is it?”

You gave him a confused look. “Why would I tell you?”

“Because you told Remus?” Sirius stated, as though it were the simplest thing in the world.

“I told Remus because he asked me out just so he’d have a date for Hogsmeade, and I felt bad for not being able to accept.” You returned your gaze to your book, trying to signal that this conversation was over.

“So, what you’re telling me is that I need to ask you out?” Sirius grinned at you and you shook your head, knowing exactly what that smile meant. You’d seen that exact smile 5 minutes before your best dress had been covered in mud, aged 5. And then again before you got caught playing the Muggle sport ‘football’ at age 12. And yet again before you went swimming in the canal and your brothers yelled at you for a solid two hours at age 16. Nothing ever good came of that smile. “Y/N Prewett, would you do me the pleasure of going on a date with me?”

“Well that’s not very romantic. No.” You shook your head, trying to concentrate on the words on the page in front of you. You had reread this line at least 5 times and it still wasn’t making sense.

Sirius sniffled, faking tears, and you glanced up at him, giving him an unimpressed frown. “Why not?”

“Because I’m in love with someone else,” you sighed, feeling a very uncomfortable sense of deja-vu.

“Who is it? Who could this man be, that has stolen your affections away from me?” Anyone who said Sirius Black was a serious bore should see him now; he was being a right dramatic pain in your arse.

“Not telling you,” you replied in a sing-song voice. He snatched your book away and you scowled. “Give it back.”

“Not until you tell me.”

“Don’t be an arse Sirius.”

He gave you a look.

“It is so bloody obvious!” You threw your hands up in the air. “If Remus, Marlene, and Lily were all able to guess, so should you.”

Sirius thought for a second, his eyes lighting up as he finished scanning around the room. “No fucking way. How did I never notice?”

“You’re oblivious.”

“It’s James, right?” He grinned, making eye contact with someone behind you and you hushed him furiously.

“What’s me?”

You froze, sending Sirius a sharp glare. Turning around slowly, you smiled up at him as you shook your head and rolled your eyes. “My least favourite Marauder, apparently. But don’t worry, Sirius has definitely filled that spot because he’s being a right pain in my arse.”

You snatched your book back from him and settled down into your chair, focused on returning to your reading. You just wanted to finish it, for God’s sake. You only had a few more pages left and so many other books to get started on.

James stared at the two of you a moment longer, suspicion brewing in his eyes, before he lowered himself into the chair next to you. You assumed he was going to drop the subject. “So, Remus told us about someone you’ve got your eye on.”

You slammed the book on the table. “Has Remus gone round telling everyone?”

“Probably, it’s Remus,” Sirius sniggered at your exasperated expression; you’d told him to keep his mouth shut but you really should have known better. Remus had never been good at keeping secrets from his family; he always managed to blurt them out, accidentally or not.

“So are you also in love with a Hufflepuff?” James crossed his legs, the silky fabric of his trousers tensing around his thighs and your gaze flickered downwards unwillingly. You blinked, quickly looking away, as a soft flush crept up the back of your neck. Sirius grinned at you, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes and you rolled your eyes at him. The teasing was going to be incessant. Remus had already started making snide comments.

He raised an eyebrow, waiting for an answer, and you sighed. “No, surprisingly the only thing Marlene and I don’t share is our taste in men.”

Sirius laughed again and you pulled a face. If he continued being so obvious, James was sure to guess he knew.

“Does Sirius know who it is?” And there it was. The surprise was evident in his tone, his voice tinged with barely audible hurt, and guilt shot through you. Sure, if the man in question had been anyone other than him, he would have been one of the first to know. But you couldn’t afford to affect whatever friendship you had with your silly feelings.

You nodded, sending Sirius a poisonous glare, and placing your hands flat on the table. “Sirius guessed. And I’d say it was pure luck, judging by the way he stumbled on the name.”

“So if I guess, you’ll tell me whether I’m right.” James steepled his fingers together, eyes sparking, and your own widened. If there was one thing you knew and always abided by, it was to never challenge James to a game. Although his competitive nature translated well into his work, you had seen him and Sirius fighting to win, and learnt.

But it would be unfair in his eyes if he didn’t get a shot. You could always lie if he ever guessed correctly. “…Fine.”

He grinned; teeth almost sharklike. This was a bad idea. His eyes darted around the room, appraising every guy slowly before stopping on a pair playing Wizard’s Chess. You stifled a laugh as one got splattered with slime, wiping it off his face with a grimace. “Diggle.”

You shook your head, wrinkling your nose. Diggle was in the year below but only a couple months younger than you; you weren’t into boys who still had the mental maturity to find fart jokes funny. James glanced at Sirius who shrugged in response, at least he wasn’t going to give it away.

“Is it someone close to me?” James asked, fiddling with his watch as he watched for your reaction.

You hesitated, looking to the side as you thought of how best to answer. “I don’t think I said I’d answer your questions.”

He gave you a long hard stare and you met him with equal determination. You weren’t prepared to let yourself be thoroughly embarrassed that easily. James glanced away, slender fingers tapping against the table and your mouth was suddenly dry.

“Podmore.”

“No, however, I need to go talk to Marlene,” you hesitated, fumbling with your excuse. “About my Alchemy essay, so I will see you around.”

You brushed down your skirt, tucking your book under one arm as you waved them goodbye. James looked as if he were about to say something before he hesitated and thought better of it, resorting to a nod instead. Sirius waved you a cheery goodbye, the most evil twinkle dwelling in his eyes, and you returned him a bitter smile.

You managed to avoid James for the rest of the day, darting round corners and forcing Marlene to sit in between the two of you in any shared lessons. But you knew you couldn’t keep this up for long; Lily and Mary had started to give you weird looks.

“Shingleton.” James murmured as he passed you on the way out of Potions, and you shook your head with a grin. At least he was no closer, he was suggesting people from completely the wrong House.

The next time you saw him was dinner, a vacant space left beside him. You narrowed your eyes as he patted it cheerily, waving you over. On the other side of it, a seat up from where he usually sat, was Remus and you shot him a glare, huffing out a breath. Trudging over to James’ side, you slid onto the seat, flinching as your leg brushed against his.

“Toots.”

You scoffed. Of course he didn’t want to just spend time in your wonderful company. “Nice to see you too, James.”

“Come on, please give me a hint.” He sent you a pleading look, eyes big and round, and you couldn’t help but feel a little tempted to tell him. But again, you had enough self-preservation instincts to realise that immediate rejection was not what you were after.

You turned to Remus, giving him a wry smile. “Hello Remus. How kind of you to save me a seat.”

Sirius snorted from his seat across the table, turning it into a cough as you scowled at him.

“You’re welcome. Besides, I’m really enjoying watching James trying to guess,” you raised an eyebrow, “and you squirming.”

There it was. You hated them all; this was absolute torture. You could have, in theory, not sat with them, but you knew James would have made enough of a scene to fully embarrass you either way. Lily, Mary, and Marlene were at the end of the table, where you would usually be, and you sent them longing looks. If only.

Marlene caught your eye and smirked, glancing suggestively between you and James as she wiggled your eyebrows. For Merlin’s sake, of course she was in on this ridiculous match-making plan too.

You sighed. “Remus, I thought when I told you about my crush, you’d keep your mouth shut.”

“They were ragging on me about not ever having a date for Hogsmeade, and apparently we look like we’re dating already so I should ask you out. I told them I already had and that you’d said no because you like someone else,” Remus rattled off what had happened, and you rolled your eyes. Stupid boys and their stupid pride.

“You could’ve just said that I wasn’t interested. And left it that.” You knew why he hadn’t, that was obvious, but it still infuriated you. You’d said it in confidence, feeling a little guilty, but knowing that you were doing the right thing by not leading him on. Now you strongly regretted it.

“Stebbins?” James interjected, having been barely paying attention to the conversation. He’d been too busy scoping out the room for potential crushes, dismissing them for being too ugly, not good enough for you, too dim, too dull, and soon made his way around the room without finding anyone that fit his criteria. So he had to go back round and lower his standards for who you might like, although they clearly weren’t worthy. He wasn’t sure why he cared so much that you liked someone who he thought was miles below your league.

“Nope.” You barely spared him a look, deep in conversation with Remus. For some reason that stung.

The plates in front of you filled with food, but even the delicious meal couldn’t distract you from the bitter mood you’d settled into. You pinched roast chicken between the tongs, ladled peas onto your plate and settled on baby potatoes to make up the rest of your meal. It looked deceptively bland, a white hunk of meat and boring vegetables but you could barely stomach this.

“Gravy?” Sirius offered you the spoon and you shook your head, prodding at your plate. James looked at you weirdly, but you brushed it off as you used the food as an excuse not to talk.

You decided to skip dessert, main course being sufficient to sustain you for the rest of the evening, and headed back to the Common Room. Slughorn had set you yet another essay, this time on the properties of Angel’s Trumpet Draught, so you’d already taken out a couple of the thick tomes in the library that might contain information. The rest you hoped was in your class textbook; you really couldn’t be bothered to trawl through book after book to find enough information to fill the required space.

You set yourself up quite nicely in the corner of the Room, books spread out around you and taking up the whole table. You hoped that was enough of a hint to leave you alone. To add to that, you had your back to the room so that you really looked unapproachable.

Remus was first back from dinner, making a beeline for you as soon as he stepped through the portrait hole. “I’m sorry about dinner.”

You groaned, shaking your head. “It was awful, it was so unbelievably awkward.”

“Yeah, I could tell.” Remus, not taking the hint from your piles of work, settled into the seat next to you. He grimaced. “James is so oblivious.”

Laughing, you nodded in agreement, quickly scribbling out notes on a relevant paragraph before returning your focus to Remus. “Tell me about it. James was just listing off all of these names and I can’t believe he can’t see that he’s the one I like.”

Remus’ eyes darted to something behind you, and you turned round, expecting to see Sirius pulling a face, or something of that kind. He was insufferable in that way. Instead, your heart dropped.

James stared at you, mouth dropped open, making it abundantly clear he’d heard your conversation. Oh Merlin. You swallowed, feeling your eyes prick and heat rise up the back of your neck.

“I’m going to my dorm.” You swept everything off the table into your arms, ignoring how pages bent and parchment crumpled. Side-stepping James neatly, you ducked your head as you passed Sirius and Peter, and headed up to your room. That was mortifying. You couldn’t ever show your face again.

You heard James shout behind you, but you just picked up the pace. You were not going to get rejected in front of your entire House. His shouts grew louder as he caught up with you, but you hopped on the stairs before him, breathing a sigh of relief. As a boy, he wouldn’t be able to reach you; the stairs were charmed to make sure he couldn’t go up them.

Your feet slipped from underneath you. But of course he knew a way around that.

You slid down on your stomach, papers and quills spilling from your grasp. Tumbling into the grasp of two broad arms, you took a moment to reorient yourself before quickly breaking free. James had been the one to catch you and he now helped you up, stacking your sheets untidily.

“Y/N, please don’t run now.”

You blinked, breathing harshly as you pursed your lips. You nodded, feeling eyes on you from all around.

“Go on, scram.” Sirius yelled at the onlookers, who were mostly from younger years, and even if they weren’t, they were scared enough of the Marauders and their tricks to obey instantly.

James grabbed your hands, waiting for everyone to leave, as he rubbed a calloused thumb over your skin. “I heard what you said.”

You smiled waterily, breathing out a laugh. “Yeah, I know. Don’t worry, James, you don’t-”

“Wait,” he interrupted. “Let me talk first. I like you too so will you go on a date to Hogsmeade with me this Saturday?”

“You like me too?”

James almost chuckled at your gobsmacked expression, before realising that probably wasn’t the right response. “Yes, you fool. Have done since about fifth year, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“Oh,” you breathed, speechless. Your lips moved soundlessly as you tried to think of what to say, mind blank with surprise.

James brushed a strand of hair out of your eyes, hand moving down to cup your cheek. “The only thing I want to know is if you’ll go on a date with me to Hogsmeade.”

“Yes,” you grinned. “Of course!”

-

-

hp taglist: @missmulti @dreamer821 @1marvelavengers1 @samnblack @neymarlionelmessi7 @okkulta @gredandforge @yourenotafailureoverall​ @milkshakelol @natblidaclexa

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be added here

[classic80sand90smovieloves2]

Meeting and Dating Andrew Clark

(Not my gif)(Requested by @mpmarypoppins​ )

(I’m sorry this took so long! It took more work than I was expecting!)

- You technically met Andrew after the two of you were placed in the same class though; since you weren’t in the same social circle, you didn’t talk to each other. Well, you didn’t talk to each other until the teacher was late to class one day; something quite common for said teacher, and the delinquents who sat behind you decided to pick on you.

- Usually, it really didn’t bother you. You’d ignore them and the teacher would arrive and they’d be forced to shut up. But Andrew wasn’t used to that sort of thing and he certainly didn’t like it so when the goons started to berate you, he turned around and told them to shut up.

- They made a smartass retort back at him but did as he said, settling in their seats just as the teacher finally showed up. Throughout the rest of the class, the two of you took turns sneaking glances at each other and pretending like you weren’t when the other happened to look. 

- Neither of you mentioned the event to each other and you’d figured that that was the end of it. And for the time being it was, but a few days later that wouldn’t be the case. 

- Once again, your teacher was late and the assholes who sat behind you began their familiar attempts at bothering you. You caught Andrew glancing back at you, watching to see your reaction; you’d assumed, before he finally turned fully around and told them to knock it off …though this time they didn’t.

- The ringleader of the group made a comeback, turning on the boy and asking “what he was going to do about it”, prompting Andrew to stand up, threatening to “wipe the floor with” them.

- The boy stood up as well, grinning as he made a comment about the two of you dating, and subsequently an obscene remark which made your face turn hot. Before you knew it, the two boys were one the floor, Andrew pushing the kid to the ground, asking if he was finished and demanding he apologize.

- He released the boy after a moment and they straightened themselves out, stumbling backwards without saying anything, hoping to dodge the extra humiliation of saying they were sorry.

- You saw that Andrew was about to say something; most likely once again telling the boy to apologize, so you delicately grabbed his arm and told him it was fine, thanking him for sticking up for you.

- He eased up as the other boy and his group of friends made their exit, turning to you more calm then before and asking if you “just let them do that to you”.

“Nothing much I can do. If I say something they’ll just keep doing it because they get a rise out of me.” You explained.

“If you don't fight back they’ll just keep bothering you cause you’re an easy target.” He insisted.

“I’ll be an easy target but I’ll also be boring. The only way to win is to wait it out and let them get bored.” You replied, turning through your notebook a bit uncomfortably.

“No.” He shook his head.

“What?” You asked, furrowing your brows in confusion.

“No,” he replied. “They bother you again, you tell me. I’ll handle it if you don’t want to.”

- His offer made you smile but proved to be unnecessary as the boys moved seats and refused to say anything to you after that day.

- The two of you hadn’t talked in a few days so it sort of shocked you when he approached you in the hall and struck up a conversation, asking how things were to which you were able to report that the guys had left you alone.

- He gave you a small smile and a “that’s good, that’s good” before going quiet for a moment. You were about to say goodbye until he turned to you and told you about a party that one of his friends was having, suggesting that; maybe, you’d like to go before offering to pick you up.

- Taking your only chance to attend a real highschool party; and spend more time with one of the most popular and handsome boys in school, you agreed, writing down your address for him and returning his smile as he said goodbye. 

- As it turns out, parties aren’t really your thing and surprisingly not his either. The two of you ended up spending most of your time sat outside, talking in the dark and nursing cheap beer.

- You’d been telling him a story when you noticed that his eyes were locked on you. You’d dismissed it for a while before you turned and met his eyes, your story quickly becoming meaningless and trailing off into thin air.

- You watched as his eyes shifted down towards your lips, pausing there before he began to lean in. You began to lean forward as well, tilting your head so that he could connect your lips properly.

- The two of you shared a long, soft kiss before you pulled away, a warm, fuzzy feeling filling you as you took notice of the lovestruck sorta look on his face. The two of your faces lingered close to each other’s for a moment, neither of you wanting to pull away.

“You should probably take me home, it’s getting late.” You whispered.

“Do you want to go home?” He asked quietly.

“No.” You smiled, laughing softly.

- A small smile found its way onto his lips as well before he leaned in again, kissing you with a bit more fervor than before, his hands tightening their grip on the jacket; his jacket, that you were wearing.

- Cliques and stereotypes be damned. He loved you and he sure as hell wasn't letting you go if he could help it.

- He’s been taught to be a gentleman so he keeps his pda light and innocent. He doesn’t need the entire school watching him shove his tongue into your mouth.

- Soft kisses.

- Handholding.

- Temple, forehead, and head kisses. 

- Attending all of his wrestling matches and cheering him on. He always seeks you out in the crowd and shoots you a smile.

- He’s prone to trying to show off and impress you. Taking off clothes, flexing, athletic tricks, acting tough; whatever he thinks will get your attention.

- Giving him genuine, meaningful praise. 

- Shy compliments from him. Sometimes, he gets genuinely awestruck over how pretty you are. 

- He doesn't use too many nicknames, maybe a babe here and there but otherwise he just calls you by your name. He thinks pet names are sorta silly though he cant help but smile when you use them on him; as long as its in private. 

- He insists on escorting you to class. It’s certainly useful, the hallway crowds all but part like the red sea for him and his Varsity jacket. 

- Your books? In his arms. Your entire body? In his arms. Hey, he’s got muscles for a reason; he’s gonna put them to good use!

- Getting used as a human dumbbell. It’s somewhat scary yet fun though you’re pretty sure he copes a feel every now and again. 

- If you ever have any food you don't want just slide it over to him. You don’t even need to say anything, he’ll grab it and kiss you on the cheek before you can anyways. 

- He fiddles with things when he’s bored so expect to just randomly feel him playing with your hair or witness him doing something adorably stupid in an attempt to entertain himself. 

- Playing finger football and other hand games in class/lunch. 

- Dancing together.

- He loves having you right by his side. He’ll literally pull your chair closer to his while you’re sitting in it just because he wants you as close as he can get you.

- Sharing inside jokes and secret smiles with each other.

- He’ll either lay between your legs and lean back against you, his head on your stomach/chest, or he’ll lay his head in your lap and let you mess with his hair. He “secretly” loves when you play with it.

- You usually cuddle with your head on his chest and his arm wrapped around you. He’s sorta not used to cuddling so it’s gonna take a little bit of time for him to warm up to really snuggling with you.

- He hasn't really figured out who he is yet. He’s an amalgamation of everyone he’s ever had to listen to so you’re gonna have to try and help break him out of that, and become his own person. 

- A part of him yearns to feel accepted and that’s going to cause him to do whatever he can to please you, unless, perhaps, it goes against pleasing his father. It’s just something he does without really thinking about it so you’ll have to sort of keep that in mind since you don’t want to take advantage of him. 

- Going out and acting like idiots, living in the moment and actually enjoying yourselves instead of worrying about what other people think. 

- Being there for him to rant to when he needs. 

- Helping him study so he doesn't fall behind in his academics while trying to excel in sports. 

- Wearing his jacket. He thinks you look adorable when you put it on and will always toss it to you when the weather gets cold.

- He’s hot blooded so if you get cold then just move in closer, he never minds. Either that or throw on the clothing that he’s pulled off of himself.

- Being invited to the “popular” parties, even if you really aren’t yourself. He’s not a big fan of them but you being there makes them more bearable.

- Becoming friends with the members of the breakfast club, specifically Claire since she’s in the same clique as Andrew and you wind up hanging out in the same places. 

- He genuinely likes you for you. You may think that you have to change something about yourself but just know that he loves you either way, whether you do change it or not. 

- He thinks you’re the greatest. Even if other people see your actions as “nothing” or strange, he finds them endearing.

- He’s always willing to fight to figure out what's wrong, pushing you to talk even when you try to defensively push him away. Instead of judging or trying to give you halfhearted advice, he just relates and makes you feel accepted.

- Carnival/theme park dates. He likes taking you places where he can win you prizes and the two of you can spend the day goofing off. 

- Arcade dates but the cool kind. 

- You know how hard it is to strip off clothes and makeout with his layered fucking circus act? Man has on like five shirts at a time. He’s immune to strip poker and pussy. 

- He sorta acts like your father. He’s been conditioned into acting the way he does, behaving like he’s a teacher/parent and telling people what to do, repeating the same dribble that he’s been told. In some ways its endearing, in others its infuriating and sad. 

- He isn't too keen on introducing you to his parents and you understand why. You don’t take offense, knowing that he isn’t keeping you away because he’s ashamed of you. 

- Making sure to step in and ensure he doesn't beat peoples asses. You’re one of the few people he listens to when he’s angry.

- He gets extremely jealous, particularly when he knows someone has a thing for you. And when he gets jealous, he has a habit of getting aggressive; either threatening or full on fighting guys when they don't back off. 

“You don't talk to her. You don't look at her. You don't even think about her.”

- Overprotective; he’s always ready to jump to your defense even when he really doesn’t have to. 

- A lot of your fights are due to outside pressures. He’s constantly under a lot of stress so fights can erupt at any time, even if neither of you mean for them to happen. 

- He just loses it, sometimes throwing an insult/harsh word or two at you that he doesn't mean. After he has some time to cool down he feels absolutely horrible and chides himself for being such a jerk. 

- He might show up at your house or try to approach you at school the next day but its up to you on whether you'll just take him back. He’ll ask to talk to you and tries to offer a genuine apology whenever he’s in the wrong. 

- Quiet, earnest “I love you’s”. He’s sort of shy about saying it but you can certainly tell that he means it when he does.

- You don’t really talk about the future all too much but he’ll occasionally bring it up. He certainly wants to marry you. He’s praying that you want the same and that you’ll end up being his highschool sweetheart. 

[maybankiara]

YOU’RE IN MY HEAD

pairing: Footballer!Rafe Cameron x Reader

summary: When he keeps putting you off your position during matches, you decide to take it up with him -- unbeknownst to you, there’s more to Rafe than just wanting to prevent you from being a good football player (and it’s called unresolved sexual tension.)

w/c: 4k

a/n: happy valentine’s day!! @drewstarkey and i have a whole football!obx au (soccer, for you americans) planned that i keep putting off, so here’s a little something loosely inspired by the idea, until that finally arrives. also, in this universe, football is a unisex sport. i’m not a football expert so there may be some inaccuracies. i hope you enjoy both the day and the fic! (and do let me know if this football!fic is what people are interested in.)

masterlist

It’s the half-time of one of the better matches the team has played this season and, of course, Rafe Cameron ruins it by uttering a single sentence: ‘Y/N, you’re swapping positions with Kiara.’

 The captain’s orders don’t end here, and he decides to implement some more strategies the team has practiced before, adapting the approach to the heavy-defence strategy that North Carolina is playing tonight. Sarah gives you a sympathetic look and a tap on your hand, but all you can do is shake your head.

 This is the third time in a row Rafe has put you on the sidelines, basically. Always swapping with Kiara, whom everybody knows to be a lot fiercer right back than you, or anyone else on the team. Just like you’re better at being in the front, charging for the goal.

 When the changes are in place and there’s about five minutes left, Rafe asks if anyone has got questions. Peterkin stays quiet and lets Captain Cameron take over, just like she always does.

 You raise your hand, and Rafe calls on you. ‘What the fuck, Rafe? Why are you putting me in the back again?’

 His jaw clenches. ‘We need someone firmer on the front.’

 ‘But you also need a firm defence,’ you argue. ‘You’re not making any sense.’

 He stares at you and you hold his gaze, unwavering, feeling his sister stir next to you. On the other end of the locker room, Kiara pulls her jersey down, biting her lip. ‘Y/N’s right—’

 ‘I know what I’m doing,’ Rafe cuts her off. ‘Now let’s get back on the field.’

 You listen to what he says, but not without letting your disagreement with his choice be written all over your face. When you’re headed out, he’s waiting to be the last, and you bump into him as you’re walking out, shoulder to shoulder, torso to torso.

 He glares, and you clench your teeth, trailing behind Pope.

 Back on the field, time flies. You warm up quickly and it’s back in the game again, only on a different position than where you started. Kiara offers you a sympathetic glance, much like the one Sarah gave you, because everyone is starting to notice that Rafe is treating you differently.

 As you run, a little out of the grounds he told you you’d be covering, saving the ball more than a handful of times, you feel his watchful eyes on you. You’re not meant to be playing the right back but you’d rather do your best, even if it means overexerting yourself, just to make sure you don’t lose.

 You foul an opposing player and drop to the ground, feeling your ankle get sore; Rafe’s the first to get to your side, helping you up. ‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’

 It’s a free kick, but not a yellow, so you say, ‘Whatever it takes.’

 ‘Don’t go breaking your legs, Y/N.’

 You pull your arm out of his hold, sending a glare his way as you go back to your position. You should keep paying attention to the ball, because it’s about to be kicked, but you can’t help but shout, ‘If you let me play what I’m supposed to play, maybe I’ll listen!’

 The game picks up. You dive a few more times, Kiara gets a nasty foul that has her off the pitch for about half a minute, Topper gets a cramp, JJ fouls in the front and gets a yellow, John B and Rafe nearly start a scrap when someone gets Sarah to the ground – but you win.

 That should be what’s important, you think as the entire team is hugging and celebrating, but your heart isn’t in the right place.

 Playing football is far from fun when you keep being treated like a lesser player than someone else.

 Time wears on, the team gets changed, and it’s time for a proper celebration, down at the Wreck. Sarah tries getting your spirits up, even Kiara tries telling you that at least you evaded getting fouled like that, Kelce tells you that you saved his ass, but none of it matters – not when Rafe celebrates as if what he’s doing is right.

 Seriously. Three matches. It’s fucking ridiculous at this point.

 You approach Rafe without hesitation, but still keep your voice hushed, because you’re not exactly trying to ruin everybody’s happiness with your tension. ‘Can we talk?’

 He glances at you as he pulls his jersey over his head – your eyes drop to his lean torso, despite the fact you see it on an almost weekly basis.

 ‘There’s nothing to talk about,’ he says, and takes his shorts off. ‘You were good today, as a right back.’

 ‘That’s not my— Jesus, do you need to be half naked right now?’

 ‘What?’ he asks, almost innocently, but the grin betrays him. ‘I’m getting changed. Why are you getting so worked up?’

 ‘I’m not—’ You pinch the bridge of your nose, letting out an exasperated huff as he takes off his socks, too, and is now wearing literally just boxers. ‘You’re ridiculous.’

 He chuckles, dropping down on the bench. You half-wonder what Topper, sitting next to him, must be thinking – and realise that most of the team is taking selfies and chatting in the other end of the locker room. It’s just you and Rafe.

 Good.

 He looks up at you from the bench, manspreading with his back leaning on the wall. ‘What do you want?’

 ‘I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m kind of trying to have a serious conversation with you right now.’

 ‘Yeah, I got that.’

 He’s hot. Okay, he’s hot and the reason why you’re so bothered about him being almost naked is because it’s taking your mind off of what you’re wanting to talk about, and giving a different meaning to you being “worked up”.

 So you gather all your courage and bring your eyes up to meet his, trying to exude as much fierceness as you can muster. ‘I need you to let me play on my position. I’ve had enough, you can’t keep doing that if you’re not training me to play Kiara’s.’

 ‘Easy,’ he says, shrugging. ‘Then we’ll train you.’

 Your jaw drops. ‘Are you being fucking serious right now?’

 Before he gets to answer, JJ calls from the other end that they need to hurry up, if the team wants to make it to the Wreck at a normal time. It breaks whatever moment you and Rafe were sharing and, telling him the conversation isn’t over, you retreat back to your locker. It takes all you’ve got to not let this affect the celebratory mood, because winning 2 - 0 is pretty damn good, and you should take some credit for that. Even if it wasn’t on your position, for half of the match.

 It ends up not being so difficult, actually, to not think about what happened. Once you’re back in Kildare and at the Wreck, food and drinks are flowing, and as long as Rafe is out of your earshot and sight, it’s good. He tends to stay away from you most times, anyway.

 (Which, okay, you can admit now sometimes bothers you, you’ve had a few drinks.)

 It’s not so difficult, until JJ lounges in the chair next to you, beer can in one hand and a donut in another, asks, ‘What’s up with you and Cap’n?’

 ‘Don’t even get me started,’ you sigh. ‘I don’t know what crawled up his ass.’

 ‘Language, Y/N.’

 ‘Fuck off, Maybank.’

 The blond just grins, probably happy to see you slightly irritated – but not at him.

 He pushes the chair back from swinging into its normal position, resting his elbows on the table. He leans towards you as if he’s about to tell you a secret – even his eyebrows furrow, the ever-present smile shaping into a frown. ‘Seriously, he keeps pushing you in the back. He’s gotta have a reason for that.’

 ‘Not that I’d know of,’ you admit. You shrug, lightly, despite the actual weight of the subject. ‘I thought we made a good team in the front. He assisted me, I assisted him… It’s been working well.’

 JJ nods, pondering. ‘It was the game against New Jersey, right?’

 ‘The last time I played without the change?’ You play until JJ nods, then sigh, playing with a broken piece hanging off the wooden table. ‘I didn’t even get to play, since that bitch nearly sprained my ankle.’

 ‘It’s always your ankle,’ JJ says, chuckling.

 His thoughts take him to stories of all the injuries you and the rest of team have gotten so far, drawing a couple of your teammates into the conversation. Rafe slips off your mind for the most part, as you laugh along to the ridiculous number of times Kelce has faceplanted while tackled, or to Pope is retelling how he defended the goal by getting the ball in his nuts, which made him fear for his offspring (it was all fun, and makes for a hilarious story).

 It’s only when you glance around the table and catch him in conversation with Topper, or James, or Sarah, and his eyes are trained on you for just a moment before they’re gone – as if he wants you to see him, but wants you to question whether it was an accident. You feel yourself growing stiff; when it happens too many times, your mind flashes back to the locker room – you, trying to talk to him; Rafe, half naked, grinning at you like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

 He’s conceited. He’s selfish. He’s attractive, with that prep-boy look around him that falls apart when he’s leading the charge on the pitch – when the wisps of blond frame the sharp lines of his face, and he embodies the look of the leader he’s become.

 It just sucks that you don’t quite agree with his leadership, and he doesn’t quite agree with you speaking up about it.

 Night wears on, and your teammates flock to their beds, one by one. You’re only staying at the Wreck, the local hotel, for a night – tomorrow’s a new day, a new tournament. It would be smart to go to sleep early. Get the energy you need for tomorrow, because tomorrow’s filled with press conferences, which you don’t tend to enjoy.

 It would also be smarter to deal with the captain tomorrow morning, when you’re both sober, instead of the buzz running through your veins right now.

 By the time it hits midnight, it’s only you, JJ, Pope, Kiara, Rafe, and Topper. Instead of taking the big table at the wreck, the few of you retreated to a secluded one in the corner of the hotel’s dining room. Topper’s beating everyone at cards, but Kiara’s at his neck, and everyone has downed enough drinks for the night to be called quits soon enough; you are starting to sober up, and can already feel the headache looming.

 Inadvertently, you glance at Rafe. He’s holding his cards in one hand, spread evenly, long fingers adorned with rings keeping them in place. Across from you, his eyes don’t meet yours, as they look around the table, through everybody’s poker faces – you notice the angle of his cheekbones, the sharpness of his jawline, the unstyled hair having the slightest bit of a messy wave to it. You hate how much attention you pay to the parting of his lips, and the line of his nose, the curve of his eyes; his Adam’s apple bobbing as he taunts Pope across the table, trying to get him to break the cards.

 When he turns as if scalded and his eyes meet yours, you don’t avert your gaze.

 It might be the alcohol, but the room is starting to feel a little stuffy, a little warm; you’ve never realised how intense his gaze can be. It’s almost as if it’s unguarded, spiked with the few drinks everyone’s had.

 You clear your throat, looking at your cards – you’re definitely not going to be the one winning anytime soon. ‘I think I’ll head to bed, soon.’

 If anybody notices the fluttering of your voice, they don’t comment on it. Kiara nods, JJ boos you, and Rafe says: ‘We should all probably head to bed if we want to be ready for tomorrow.’

 ‘Okay, Cap’n,’ says Topper, resting an arm around the blond’s shoulders. ‘You go get your beauty sleep, me and the boys are going to let you know how it went when you wake up in the morning, princess.’

 Kiara clears her throat, drawing the attention to herself before quirking an eyebrow at Topper. ‘What’s making you think you’re getting rid of me?’

 There’s a collective of ooh’s, and you think about staying, but it wouldn’t be smart. Rafe’s right, you all would be better getting some sleep, but there’s also the fact that you’re pissed at him and you’re drunk enough for that to be making you seem in a bit of a different light.

 (You’re still struggling to breathe, a little bit. Hopefully no one has noticed.)

 In the end, you bid everyone goodnight, pay your bill, and head for your room. You’re still not feeling well and there’s a water dispenser in the ground hallway, opposite end of where the stairs to the upper floor are. You think about making a cup of tea, but settle for water – water is good.

 Cold water should unhaze your mind.

 You stay in the hallway, for a little pit – it’s peaceful here. Hallways have meant something to you ever since your team’s career started to take off two years ago. Wherever you go, rooms and places are different, but hallways are nearly always the same. They’re always just transit spaces, connecting point A with point B; it’s not quite a liminal space, but it’s where you feel like nothing can hurt you.

 That is, until you’re about to set your foot on the stairs, and you see Rafe walking out of the toilets.

 His eyes settle on you at the same moment and both of you freeze; the hallway is quiet, save for the music reaching it from the dining hall. You can almost hear your heart beating.

 ‘Thought you were going to bed.’

 You raise your glass, which you refilled just before embarking for your room. ‘Had to stop for a bit.’

 He nods, stuffing his hands in his pockets. Outside of the locker room, outside of the dining hall, he doesn’t seem like the overconfident Rafe you’ve got so much against. He still is the same – it just doesn’t show that much.

 ‘I meant what I said earlier,’ he says, slowly, as if the words are hard to push out. ‘I think your should train to be right back.’

 If you had half a shot more, you would’ve thrown the water into his face. Now, all you do, is say – ‘You’re an asshole, Cameron.’ – and go up the stairs. For a moment there’s nothing, but then there’s rushed footsteps coming up the stairs, and you feel a hand on your wrist, and his voice calling your name.

 You don’t turn around instantly. You’re too angry for that – you close your eyes instead, and breathe, before collecting yourself enough to not explode.

 He’s still holding your wrist when you turn around, and he’s close enough that you can almost feel the heat radiating off his body; the cologne mixed with the scent of fresh clothes.

 ‘Please don’t be angry with me.’

 You scoff, pulling your hand out of his grip. ‘You’re ruining my life. You know how important this is to me, and you keep— you keep putting me where I don’t belong!’

 ‘I’m sorry,’ he says, and he sounds earnest; he sounds the way his face looks – a small frown on his face, lips quivering breathlessly, the wrinkles around his eyes almost pleading with her. ‘I’m just doing what’s best for everybody, Y/N.’

 ‘I don’t play defence. That’s Kiara’s job, but apparently that’s not good enough for you. You know where I’m good at.’

 ‘You’re good playing any position.’ He says it quick, as if the words escape from him. He swallows loudly enough that she hears him and takes a step back, shaking his head. ‘Look, you’re one of the best players on the team. That’s why—’

 ‘Then why don’t you put me where I can be the best?’

 ‘Y/N, just trust me, okay?’

 ‘No,’ you say, crossing the distance he created between the two of you until his back’s pressed against the wall, and you’re right in front of him, a finger jabbed into his chest. ‘I want to know why you’re doing this.’

 He hesitates; you feel his heart beating faster than you thought possible. ‘We were playing against rough teams. I couldn’t let you get hurt.’

 You scoff again, half-laughing as you rub your forehead with the back of your hand. ‘That’s bullshit. Jesus, Rafe, you’re spewing shit.’

 ‘Look, it’s the truth. I couldn’t take that risk.’

 ‘But you could take that risk with Kiara.’

 ‘Yes.’

 No hesitation; no wavering. It’s something he must’ve thought through, over and over again, for the answer to be so certain. You’re a little taken aback, and your finger falls from his chest, but the distance is still almost nonexistent.

 It’s because I’m good, you tell yourself, that’s why he’s keeping you safe, but it doesn’t ring true. Not when you can smell his cologne and not when his eyes drop to your lips, cheeks flushed.

 So you decide to ask why.

 He hesitates again, and you feel his shoulder slump as thoughts run through his head. Whatever he settles on, he’s certain, and you can see it. His voice is almost sad when he admits, ‘After the game against New Jersey, I couldn’t stand the thought of you getting hurt. I couldn’t lose you on the pitch, because when you weren’t around, it was like I couldn’t get my head straight.’ He pauses, and then: ‘I’m sorry.’

 Rafe breathes slowly, carefully, but your heart is racing around your ribcage, threatening to break through. His words echo around your head as you try to make sense of them – make sense of the way he felt like it was more than just a admission of being a good team – make sense of the way he’s looking at you like he’s expecting more than a reaction to the recognition of your worth as a teammate.

 There’s a feeling in your chest that you can’t describe. It’s in your throat, in the back of your head, burning through your ears – a thought almost too scary to form, but then it does, and it refuses to leave.

 So you swallow the gulp in your throat and ask, ‘Is my being good on the pitch the only reason?’

 A beat. ‘No.’

 You nod, slowly, as if in a trance. His eyes are gazing into yours with intensity you’ve never felt before – it’s as if he’s asking you to say something, to do something, to show that you understand what he’s saying without saying it.

 And you do.

 You do.

 You nod, and your lips are on his before you get the chance to think this through. His hands are quick to grab your waist as your fingers get tangled in the soft waves of his hair, bodies pressing against one another in a heated rush.

 ‘We shouldn’t be doing this,’ he mutters, a moment before his lips find your neck, fingers slipping underneath your top, dipping into the skin on your back. You moan, a little too loud, and he laughs against your neck. ‘We really shouldn’t.’

 ‘Yeah, we shouldn’t,’ you agree, watching him as he pulls his head back to look at you, a dazed smile on his face. ‘My room or yours?’

 Rafe’s grin is enough to set your body on fire. ‘Yours is closer.’

 He kisses you again, a firm kiss planted on your lips, before taking your hand and letting you lead to your room. The moment the door is locked, your lips are on his neck, clothes are clumsily coming off on your way to the bed, and you only have a second to wonder how long this has been inevitable until his lips hit the right spot, and every thought is as good as gone.

 When you wake in the morning, you’re half-surprised to find him curled into your side, head resting on your shoulder and an arm draped over your stomach. He’s still asleep, and you take a moment to think about how calming—how right—it feels to be here, with him. The hotel room is nice, a quiet rose gold, and the light coming through the windows is making it almost ethereal.

 It doesn’t feel like a mistake. You’re still a bit angry about being pushed back, but things seem a little different now that you know he wasn’t trying to hinder you, but protect you.

 (You still need to tell him that you don’t need protecting; you know what you got yourself into when you decided to play the sport.)

 With a smile on your face, you start playing with your head. He wakes within five seconds, with the same dazed look on his face from last night. His eyes find yours and he pauses for a moment, as if he were taking it all in, before his lips find home in yours. Neither of you think about morning breath, or about the fact that you should both probably go for a shower before leaving the hotel, because Rafe snuggles into your shoulder, pressing butterfly kisses to your collarbone, as his hand traces circles around your stomach.

 You take it upon yourself to ask, ‘No regrets?’

 ‘None.’

 ‘You should have one,’ you tease, and only let him be frightened for a moment. ‘Pushing me into the back.’

 He sighs, burying his face in the crook of your neck. ‘Are we still arguing about that?’

 ‘We will be, until you let me play offense again.’

 ‘If it was you instead of Kiara yesterday, it could’ve messed with your leg,’ he says. Before you get to respond, he pushes himself off the bed so he can look at you. ‘I know your ankle is still hurting from New Jersey even if you’re not saying anything.’

 You can’t deny the truth.

 Rafe kisses your forehead. ‘Just promise me you’ll be careful.’

 ‘I always am.’

 ‘More,’ he says, breaking into a smile. ‘I need my partner back.’

 ‘If you promise to never make decisions for me without consulting me first.’

 He squints, as if thinking about it, but you can tell he isn’t. ‘I promise.’

 ‘Okay, then.’ You wrap your arms around him and pull him down, kissing him softly. ‘I promise to be more careful.’

 In the end, it’s like he promised – you go back to playing offense, in the front of every attack, and you and Rafe are back to being the dynamic scoring duo you’ve always been. Except this time this dynamic extends to beyond the field, and you support each other when the football isn’t around. Nobody is surprised by the turn of the events – you’re not entirely sure, but JJ passes Kiara a few bills when you and Rafe break the news to the team, and you think there was bets going around.

 Things get back to fine. Things get better. You end up winning the tournament, and Rafe kisses you with the cup in his hand, and the next morning, the headlines are full of your and Rafe’s names more so than your team’s, but that’s fine. You’ve made it.

 You’ve got everything you need – you just never thought it’d be no one other than Rafe Cameron, the Captain himself.

[seireinoryuu]

Of peach-pink lipstick and dead frogs.

Rating: K

Pairing: Mikahisto

Description: For the first time in her entire high school life, Historia Reiss sat alone under the courtyard’s old oak tree. Highschool AU

Notes: Yes I know Hange is technically the chemistry teacher in this environment but whatever.

ao3 II ff.net

For the first time in her entire high school life, Historia Reiss sat alone under the courtyard's old oak tree. It was lunchtime; usually, she'd be surrounded by her gaggle of friends. Ymir would be hanging off her shoulder, Reiner Braun and Bertolt Hoover playing catch—or attempting to play catch. Most of the time Bertolt often missed his catches, usually landing face first in the grass. Reiner would laugh, stealing glances her way to see if she was laughing too. It was funny the first few times, then it became incredibly boring after the thirtieth fall. Hitch and Marlowe would be in the back bickering about something she has long since tuned out.

Historia wasn't used to sitting alone like this. She tried to maintain her usual air by crossing her legs and staring at whatever notification popped up on her phone, but soon that became boring too.

Yet, despite the lack of her usual company, Historia did not hate the solitude at all.

Still, she had nothing to do and so continued staring at her phone, scrolling back and forth on her news feed to find something—anything—engaging. She heard voices and briefly looked up to see Eren Yeager, Armin Arlert, and Mikasa Ackerman walk by. Armin was, per usual, chatting about something regarding the latest game he had been playing and some tactic he managed to pull off that scored big points while Eren kept walking. Mikasa tagged along, a rather thick black book in the crook of her arm.

Mikasa briefly looked her way and Historia averted her gaze back to her phone, pretending as if she never noticed them. It was a few minutes later when she looked up again, the trio was halfway across the courtyard.

~

"Next month, we will have dissections!" exclaimed the biology teacher Hange Zoe. The entire class remained silent but there was a definite air of dread hanging over everyone. Hange, apparently the only one who was excited about the project, walked through the tables of her classroom, handing out one piece of paper on each table.

"This is a review worksheet in preparation for the unit. Each of you will be working with your table partner for this. No changing partners!"

Usually, Historia would pair up with Marlowe since they were in the same class, but he had been keeping his distance and moved to the table on the other side of the room, making Marco Bott his partner for this project.

She turned to the seat beside her to see a girl dressed in all black writing her name on the paper before sliding it to her.

Mikasa Ackerman was her partner.

~

"Reiss. Reiss."

"Hmmm?"

"There's a spider on your shoulder."

"Where!"

Every head in the classroom looked in their direction. Historia's cheeks burned as she plopped back on her seat, wiping her shoulders.

"There's no spider."

Historia glared at the goth girl, who merely shrugged.

"Time to do your part," she said, sliding the paper towards Historia. She wrinkled her nose in disgust and glanced at the questions; she understood none of them but was in awe of Mikasa Ackerman's neat handwriting.

~

They were in the library.

Historia could not answer a single question on the sheet, and Mikasa refused to cover for her and so Hange Zoe assigned them extra homework. At Hange's suggestion, they were to come to her classroom after school for assistance if needed. Well, if Historia needed assistance. Mikasa managed to answer half the questions on her own so Historia doubted she would have any trouble answering the rest. If only she wasn't so freaking stubborn. Ymir would have answered these without her having to ask.

Too bad Ymir wasn't talking to her either. The biggest surprise there.

They sat opposite each other on the table, Historia hunched over the worksheet while Mikasa rested her chin on her palm, her fingers tapping the surface of the table. Lightly, but to Historia it sounded like she might as well have been beating a drum.

"Would you stop that?" she snapped.

"Why are you taking so long? This is literally labeling animal kingdoms."

Historia glared and returned to the current problem she was on.

"Historia, is this class hard for you?"

She remained silent, still staring at the problem in front of her. The same problem she had been working on for the past seven minutes.

Mikasa slid into the chair next to her, pulling out a blank piece of notebook paper. "So there are six animal kingdoms . . . ."

~

Cheerleading practice was to be indoors today. It was raining outside, so Coach Dietrich managed to secure half of the gym for them. The other half belonged to the volleyball team; there was a net that stretched from one side to the next, separating the two teams.

Historia was in the process of forming the top of the pyramid, a privilege given her short stature. It was no secret that everyone on the team was envious that she was always picked to be on the top. She ignored their whispers; she can't combat genetics. As long as her teammates catch her, then that was all she cared about.

"T-I-T-A-N-S!" she shouted, following the same formations Dietrich drilled into them. From up above Historia could see the volleyball team practicing. She saw Mikasa among them, having discarded her jewelry and exchanged her usual dark, long-sleeved shirt, dark-colored skirt, and combat boots for tank top and shorts with knee pads (all in black of course). Her black hair, which was usually pulled into two twin tails behind her head was now one ponytail, her bangs held away from her face by a red headband.

Historia was startled by Coach Dietrich's whistle, allowing herself to drop into the arms of her teammates.

"Historia, you okay?" asked her teammate, Mina Carolina. "You were spacing out up there."

Historia waved her hand. Thankfully, Dietrich called for a break. A five-minute break, but a break nonetheless. Historia took a seat on the bleachers, taking a long gulp from her water bottle. Mikasa was now in the front row, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Someone on her side of the net shouted something and Mikasa jumped, one arm raised above her head and coming down onto the ball, slamming it onto the floor on the other side of the net. Her form was very graceful.

The gym doors opened and the football team trudged in, soaked from the rain. Reiner appeared followed by Bertolt. Reiner glanced her way then looked away, jaw tense. It was only Bertolt who held her gaze a little longer, before following his friend.

Historia took another long sip from her water bottle until it was empty.

~

Again, they were in the library. Marco Bott had joined them because, according to Mikasa, he's a wiz at this stuff. Historia was a little surprised to hear that someone was smarter than Mikasa, though everyone has their strengths and weaknesses. Besides, if Marco and Mikasa are willing to help then all the better.

They had been studying for over an hour until they finally called a break. Marco went to the bathroom and offered to buy them all snacks, leaving just Historia and Mikasa alone.

"So . . . volleyball, huh?" Historia began. She mentally cringed at how obvious she was trying to create small talk.

Mikasa took no notice of it, flipping through her notes. "Yep. Been on the team since last year."

"Really?" Historia never knew that Mikasa was on the volleyball team last year. Of course, the cheer team rarely attends other sporting teams aside from football or basketball, but still. If Mikasa has been on the team since last year, especially with her skills, Historia would have at least heard about it from the others. "I never pegged you for a volleyball player. You just . . . didn't seem that type."

At that Mikasa gave her an incredulous look. "Seriously? Why? Just because of how I dress?" Mikasa scoffed. Historia didn't mean it that way, but she could see how Mikasa would interpret her words like that. Mikasa snorted. "You'd know that if you paid attention."

Historia said nothing, fidgeting with her hands. Then she sighed, her lips pulling into a grimace. "Yeah, you're right."

After a few minutes of silence, Mikasa then spoke. "I have a game. This Friday. A home game against Orvud High. You can come if you want."

Historia glanced at Mikasa. The taller girl kept looking at the wall next to her as if it had something remarkably interesting, and Historia noticed she had a pink tinge on her cheeks. It was adorable.

"Sure," she grinned.

Marco then returned with snacks in hand. He had a bag of chips for each of them, though Historia preferred the little stack of cookies from the vending machines. Marco apologized profusely, but Historia reassured him it was okay, and there was always next time.

~

Historia sat by herself in the bleachers as the Trost volleyball team jogged onto the court, earning the applause of the crowd. Immediately, she caught sight of Mikasa, wearing the red uniform of their school and the matching red headband. Mikasa looked in her direction and waved. Historia waved back until a few seats below her, Eren Yeager, Armin Arlert, Sasha Blouse, Connie Springer, and Jean Kirstein waved back, standing on their feet and whooping. Historia blushed; maybe she wasn't waving at her. Maybe she didn't see her.

Regardless, Historia stayed.

It was a gripping game; many volleys back and forth on the courts, lots of shouting and dives. Historia was in awe of Mikasa's prowess on the court, how she dashed, jumped, dived, and spiked the ball onto the other side of the net. It was apparent the other team too was in awe and even scared as well. Historia couldn't help but beam when it was Mikasa's turn to serve and Orvud High tensed, some backing away in fear of the force in which Mikasa served the ball.

And the crowd loved every minute.

Really the cheerleading team should cheer for the volleyball players.

Historia cheered in her own way and stood up with the crowd when they won. Historia made her way down the bleachers when it was over. She had just reached the floor when Mikasa appeared in front of her.

"Glad you came," she said. Her gray eyes shined bright, flushed with the adrenaline of victory.

"Yeah. That was a good game. And congrats on the win."

"Thanks. I saw you up there. I even waved at you. You should have joined my friends; they were a few seats below you."

Oh.

Oh.

Oh.

"I—I—"

"Mikasa!" another volleyball player came by, tackling Mikasa in a hug. "Awesome play back there." She high-fived Mikasa, which was when she noticed Historia. She didn't say anything and turned back to Mikasa. "Let's head back to the locker rooms. Coach needs to give her post-game speech."

"Right." Mikasa then turned back to her. "Hey, why don't you join me and my friends later? It's tradition for us to go out for dinner after a win."

Historia glanced at Mikasa's friends. All of them were chatting happily with each other. Sasha Blouse suddenly struck a pose much to Jean Kirstein's chagrin and the others in the group were laughing. She wasn't part of this group of friends, never ever was. She used to think they were an insane bunch, and she was sure they still remember her attitude towards them. "I dunno—"

"I want you to," she said. With that, Mikasa ran off with her team for the post-game speech from her coach.

~

It was the most awkward moment of Historia's life.

Standing in front of the locker rooms, leaning against the wall just outside the circle Mikasa's friends had formed. They were talking about a bunch of random things. Armin about some random update in a game he has been playing and his new strategy to boost his guild. Connie was fully engrossed though it was clear he was just as lost as her. Sasha was daydreaming about food while Eren and Jean shook their heads in amusement.

"Historia."

Historia looked up as Eren called her, having separated from the group, and approached her.

"Are you okay?" he asked. "I called you three times and you didn't answer."

"I'm fine."

"You waiting on someone? I don't think Reiner had football practice at all today."

"I'm not waiting on Reiner."

"She's waiting on me."

Mikasa appeared, her volleyball uniform exchanged for her typical darker clothes. The silver jewelry also returned as well as her signature black lipstick. However, Historia noticed Mikasa had skipped out on the dark eyeshadow.

"I invited her to come to dinner."

It was clear everyone in the group had questions. Connie opened his mouth to ask why but Sasha quickly shut him up with a playful chokehold. That seemed to send a message to everyone else. Sasha was the first one to speak.

"Let's go! I'm going to die of starvation; we don't even know where we're going to eat!"

"Hell's Kitchen," Mikasa said automatically.

"No."

"Let's go someplace with Wifi—"

"Armin, you're not playing games while we celebrate Mikasa's victory."

Historia couldn't help but laugh as she followed them.

~

She reached for the last chocolate milk at the same time another hand appeared. She looked up, following the tall, lanky body of Bertolt Hoover.

"Bertolt," she greeted. The tall boy pulled his hand back and said nothing. Historia took the last carton. "How are things?"

Again, Bertolt remained silent. Someone else appeared, Annie Leonhardt. She peered into the fridge where all the milk was kept. "Out of chocolate milk." She clicked her tongue and walked away. Historia glanced at Bertolt who was watching her go. Historia rolled her eyes.

"You're really lame you know."

Historia marched up to the counter, paid for the milk, and placed it on Bertolt's tray. "There. Give that to Annie. She likes to eat by herself in the back of the school near the JV fields."

"What?"

"Annie. JV fields. Don't give me that look Bertolt. I know. Everybody knows. Annie likely doesn't since she's almost never here. Just give it to her. Now go, before things get more awkward."

Despite how short she was compared to Bertolt, Historia managed to push him in the direction Annie went. He tensed and looked back at her. Historia nodded, and with a deep breath, went in the same direction as Annie.

~

Mikasa wanted to study at her place. There wasn't any real reason for why, just that she wanted to be at home. Historia had no objection to that. Mikasa's goading by saying her mother had some snacks at home for them to munch on wasn't really needed for her to say yes, but she still looked forward to having a snack or two.

Mikasa's home was a modest apartment in the city where she lived with her mother (Mikasa is literally the spitting image of her mother, Historia thought). Her mother worked as an accountant. Her father died when she was ten (Historia had to do a double-take when showed a picture of Mikasa's father; she didn't believe Mikasa when she said that was her biological dad), and ever since then, it had just been Mikasa and her mom.

"Will you be staying for dinner?" asked Mrs. Ackerman as she set a plate of cookies in Mikasa's room where they were studying. "I don't mind if you do."

"Mom."

"Oh. Um, if you're alright with it, sure."

Mrs. Ackerman smiled brightly. "Great! I'm making spaghetti tonight, so I hope you're in the mood for that." She left the girls alone and they continued studying. After some time passed, they decided to stop.

"Ugh, my brain is overflowing with biology," Historia whined, leaning back into her seat.

"Aah."

Historia craned her neck to see Mikasa's look of horror, her eye shadow smudged all the way down to her cheek. Mikasa stood up, moving to her dresser's mirror and pouting at the damage. She pulled out a pack of makeup wipes, cleaning her face of her makeup. "And I was so proud of it too."

"I've always wondered what you used to do your makeup," Historia said, standing next to Mikasa and examining her makeup stand. "Now I get to see how you do your thing. And I'm not really surprised by the color choice either." She laughed.

Mikasa's entire makeup stand was in all shades of deep, dark, and mysterious. Dark lipstick, dark eye shadow, dark eyeliner. She had a few lighter colors, but it was clear Mikasa was more prone to a certain end of the spectrum. Historia picked up a used tube of dark red lipstick aptly named 'Blood Wine.'

"Your favorite?" she asked, holding up the tube.

Mikasa nodded. "This I use more since it can go with anything." Mikasa held up a very, very used tube which was named 'Black Soul.' Historia chuckled, glancing at the rest of Mikasa's makeup display before noticing a small peach pink lipstick.

"This is such a cute color. You should use it!" Historia could only laugh at the look of disgust on Mikasa's features. "You should! Why did you buy it if you were never going to use it?"

"I didn't buy it," she said. "It was a gift. From my cousin Levi for my fourteenth birthday. I told him I liked makeup, but he didn't know what shade to get."

Historia nodded. "Well, I still think you should at least give it a try. I think it would look cute on you. Oh, I know! For one day—just one day—why don't you try a girly style?" At Mikasa's incredulous look, Historia quickly added, "Just for one day, that's it." She held up one finger. "I can imagine all the hilarious looks you'd get if you did that."

Mikasa paused. "Okay, I'll try it. But you're going to do this with me. So that means, you are going to dress up goth." Mikasa smirked, a mischievous light dancing in her eyes.

"Deal. We pick out each other's outfits and do makeup. No way I can replicate your style. Besides, I want to look like a vampire queen." She raised her hands in the air, forming claws and hissing. Mikasa laughed, a big hearty kind of laugh, and it sent Historia's heart racing.

"This is going to be fun."

~

The looks she received in school the next day were so entertaining. Clad in all black and dramatic makeup, her blonde hair as the only piece of color in her ensemble, Historia walked through the doors of the school with purpose. All heads turned to her. Historia couldn't help but lift her chin and walk like a regal queen. A regal vampire queen.

She passed by Reiner. She almost laughed at his double-take as she walked down the hall. Ymir was just around the corner too, her eyes wide.

While she felt like an all-powerful goddess of darkness, she still had to go to class. Opening her locker briefly interrupted the dark gothic image as she exchanged her government textbook for her biology one. There was a light tap on her shoulder, and she turned around to see Hitch.

"Oh," was all she said.

"Hello, Hitch," greeted Historia. "Do you need something?"

Hitch paused. "Uh, no. I—um," Hitch stared at something behind Historia. "That's a new look for you."

"Oh, thanks!" Historia beamed. "I was going for a vampire queen look. Do I make for a good vampire queen?"

Hitch drew a blank stare, clearly not used to such a light response from her. Someone called Historia's name and both girls turned as Mikasa Ackerman, wearing a pink sweater with a lacy collar, pink polka dot skirt, black stockings, and a pair of rose-gold ballet flats, approach. Her peach-tinted lips quirked upwards. It was also clear that Mikasa couldn't help but bob her head up and down, playing with the bouncy half curls in her dark hair.

"Hey," she greeted. "Ready to head to class?"

"Yep! Let's go!" Historia closed her locker, joining Mikasa and making their way down the hall. "I really like the hair clip. It's cute."

A slight pink shade dusted the bridge of Mikasa's nose. "Thanks. It's actually my mom's." It was a simple little red bow that swept her bangs to the side instead of her usual fringe. "Love the smokey eye shadow. It really makes your eyes pop. I like your eyes."

Historia's stomach flipped at the compliment. She always received compliments on her eyes but hearing it from Mikasa just seemed to floor her.

"Do I look like a vampire queen?"

Mikasa laughed. "Yes. You do look like a terrifying vampire queen."

~

Dissection day came and Historia dreaded it. She was prepared, she went over the material hundreds of times. Marco and Mikasa helped her, but she still dreaded it. She lost so much sleep too. Just imagining the little frog corpse, cutting through the flesh, and seeing all its insides.

Historia shuddered.

Historia sat at her desk, fidgeting with her thumbs. Mikasa was silent, but she occasionally glanced at Historia and at her twiddling thumbs. All the items were laid out before them and the two girls snapped on a pair of gloves. Then the frog was laid out on the table before them.

Mikasa had grabbed the scalpel before her. "I'll do the physical stuff, you fill out the worksheet."

Historia had never felt more grateful.

They got an A.

~

Mikasa and Historia decided to hang out at Historia's place this time. There wasn't an actual reason why. They had no tests to study for, no projects to complete, no upcoming dissections. There weren't even any games either. They just wanted to hang out.

"Hello!" Historia's elder half-sister, Frieda, greeted Mikasa, flashing her a bright smile. "Are you staying for dinner?"

"I'm not sure," said Mikasa simply. "Oh, I'm Mikasa, by the way."

"Oh shoot, my apologies. I'm Frieda." The dark-haired girl shook Mikasa's hand, flashing another one of her bright smiles. "Nice to meet you!"

Historia gripped Mikasa's sleeve, tugging her to follow. Mikasa noted the pout forming on her lips.

"Sorry, I gotta go. It was nice meeting you."

Mikasa followed Historia, allowing the blonde woman to practically drag her to her room. Despite Historia's demeanor in school, the décor of her room was plain. She had a simple dresser and mirror. A small makeup stand, and a simple closet. Historia's room was simple. Well, mostly simple. Historia's bed was rather large, and the frame was intricate with fancy drapery around it. Not to mention it was also quite big.

A hand waving across her face broke her out of her thoughts. Historia giggled.

"Oh shush," Mikasa said, her cheeks burning.

"Sorry for rushing you earlier. My half-sister can be a chatterbox at times," said Historia.

"It's fine," she replied, stepping closer to the dresser and looking at the photos on top. Some were of Historia through the years, others with her and her sister or her other siblings and family members. Though she did notice the lack of pictures of her friends.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"What happened to you and the others?" she asked. Historia gave her a confused look to which she continued. "Reiner, Bertolt, Ymir and the rest."

Historia lay down on the bed, staring straight at the ceiling.

"I kissed Ymir," she said. Mikasa said nothing, prompting her to continue. "We were all hanging out at Hitch's one day. She had a Wii, but only three controls. Hitch, Marlowe, and Bertolt were playing. Reiner wouldn't stop talking, and then there was Ymir, and so I kissed her, on the lips, in front of everyone." She half laughed. "Man, you should have seen the looks on all their faces. Then after that—" she shrugged "—it is what it is."

"Do you regret it?"

Historia shook her head. "No. It felt like a weight had been lifted off my chest. Like as if I didn't have to hide that anymore since it was all out in the open. I'm disappointed they all just stopped talking to me like that, but it proved that none of them were really my friends."

Mikasa sat next to Historia on the bed.

"Do you want to try?" she asked, her voice tiny.

Historia sat up, staring at Mikasa. Did she hear right? Mikasa didn't look at her, but there was a lovely shade of red on her cheeks.

"Do you?" she asked. "I mean, do you want to?"

Mikasa paused, the blush becoming more prominent. After another moment, she nodded.

Historia's heart began to race but she calmed herself down. She sat on her knees, back straight as she faced Mikasa. Mikasa turned towards her too, her face red as a tomato but with determination in her eyes. No wavering, no doubt in those gray pools. It was as if Mikasa felt the same as well.

Historia leaned forward, closing her eyes. Every inch felt like a mile, every second like an eternity, but it was an instant and she felt soft lips against hers. The scent of Mikasa's hair—coconut milk—filled her nose, and the warmth of the other girl so near. And then all too soon, it was over.

Historia opened her eyes. Mikasa sat back, eyes fixed on something on her sheet while one hand covered her mouth. Historia's stomach dropped.

"Not really into it?" she asked.

"What? No, no," she said, her voice raising an octave higher. She blushed again when she realized how loud she was. "No, it's not that." She paused, trying to think of what to say next. "It's just, I got nervous. I thought you might have had expectations."

Historia paused, then giggled. "Mikasa. You're so cute." She giggled again. "I don't know what made you think I was like that. It's not like I've kissed a plethora of other girls." Her face felt warm. "It's only been you and Ymir. I've only had enough courage to kiss you two."

"Right. Yeah."

"But—" she fidgeted in her seat "—you're the only one I like. I like you and I can proudly say I got to kiss the girl I like."

"Sure. Like as if we'd really say that was a kiss," she replied sarcastically. "But I want to try again." Mikasa leaned closer. "Because I like you too. I like you a lot."

Historia blinked once. Twice. She wanted to ask Mikasa to say it again, to confirm that she heard Mikasa correctly. She doubted she'd get her to say it though. Mikasa was still blushing immensely, even with the determined look in her gray eyes. Honestly, if things were reversed and Mikasa had asked her, Historia knew she wouldn't be able to say it again.

So instead of asking her, Historia leaned in. She took Mikasa's face in her hands, happy the other girl didn't flinch. She closed her eyes and pressed her lips against Mikasa's. The kiss was different this time. For one, it was longer, much longer than the first one. Deeper, as she opened her mouth against Mikasa's. Historia could tell that Mikasa was enjoying this as well as her, which made it even better. Historia gently took Mikasa's lower lip, tugging it before putting space between them.

Both girls were silent for a long moment, and then they started laughing.

"I think we may need to keep working on that," said Historia.

"I agree," said Mikasa.

~

Historia sat alone under the courtyard's old oak tree. She was dressed in her cheerleading uniform, her pompoms in a gym bag next to her. She was waiting, flicking through the notifications on her phone. It wasn't long before a shadow loomed over her, blocking the sunlight. She looked up, covering her eyes as she took in the sight of Reiner Braun's hulking figure.

"Hey," he said.

"Hi, Reiner."

"Can I sit?" he asked, gesturing to the bench. Historia nodded, throwing her gym bag to the ground, and scooting over to give the bigger man enough room. "How have you been?"

"Good. I'm in my cheerleader uniform—" she gestured to her herself "—so soon I'll be leaving for the cheer team tonight."

"Girls' Volleyball team, right? I heard it was you who pushed for the cheer team to be at one of their games," he said. He chuckled at Historia's proud nod. "I hear they've been doing very good this year."

"Yep!" she beamed. "And if we win today's game, we qualify for the semi-finals."

"'We' huh?" Reiner said. "It's been a long time since I've heard you say that. Back when that 'we' meant you and I."

"Reiner I—" Historia paused. "Reiner, there was never a 'you and I' between us."

Reiner nodded. There wasn't a sad look in his eye, just an accepted look. "I know. I guess I've always known, but I never fully realized it until then." He paused. "A lot of people said we looked good together and I guess hearing all that made me a fool."

Historia nodded. "I should apologize Reiner. I should have said—"

He shook his head. "No need to apologize. We both played into it, and it almost seemed real. Almost. It's different with you and Mikasa." He smiled cordially. "You'll still be cheering for the football team in the playoffs, right?"

"Definitely."

"Awesome." Then Reiner stood up. "Well, I'll be heading out now. Ma wants me to watch over my cousin while her parents work late. Maybe I can bring her over for the game."

"That would be great! See you around."

Reiner waved goodbye and left.

A few minutes later, another figure approached, this time the lanky figure of Ymir.

"'Sup?" she greeted, taking Reiner's old seat. "So, you're heading over to today's volleyball game. And the entire cheer team will be there. That's exciting."

"Yep! And then if we win, we'll be in the semifinals."

"Neat. How have you been?"

"Well. And you?"

"No complaints. I hear you and Mikasa Ackerman are a thing. Never thought Goth Girl would tickle your fancy."

"Mikasa is honestly really cool," said Historia. "She's really smart, good with makeup, and is amazing at volleyball—well, actually any sport you can think of. You should've seen her on the basketball court—"

"Whoa, girl. No need to try and make me jealous now! Especially of Goth Girl," Ymir laughed. "You know, you've changed." At Historia's inquisitive look, Ymir added, "You're just more . . . spirited. I don't think I've ever seen that in you, Historia."

"Oh. Thank you."

Ymir nodded, a smile spreading across her lips. "Well, I better get going then. Just wanted to check up on you."

"Wait, Ymir," Historia called. When the other girl looked back, she added, "Why don't you come and watch the game tonight?"

Ymir laughed. "Nah, sports were never really my thing. Watching the Big Lug run around bored me to death. I only went because everyone else did. I'll be fine; I'm going to the arcade anyways. Ya'll have fun."

With a wave, Ymir left.

Historia leaned back in the bench, pulling up her phone again. She went through all the notifications, read all the status updates, and thumbed a like wherever she felt like it. And then suddenly she was in the dark, cool fingers gently covering her eyes.

"Guess who?"

"Oh, let's see," Historia giggled. She pulled the other person's hands down and looked up. "It's Mikasa!"

The other girl laughed. "Were you waiting long?"

Historia shook her head, standing up and throwing her bag over her shoulder. "Nope, not really. I mean I had a few people come by and chat with me."

"Like whom?"

"I'll tell you on the way there. Let's get going or else we'll be late!" She took Mikasa's hand and together they made their way out of the courtyard.

[chickensarentcheap]

Never Gonna Be Alone -Chapter 26

Title: Preparations

Warning:  it’s filler.  I figured we needed some cute daddy Tyler. lol

Tagging:  @c-a-v-a-l-r-y​, @innerpaperexpertcloud​, @alievans007​, @miss-smutty​, @tragiclyhip​

“When you met mumma, you guys were working together, right?”

Addie poses the question as she sits atop the kitchen island; legs swinging back and forth as they dangle over the edge, the heels of silver and gold glitter infused jelly sandals lightly thumping against the wood. She insisted on bringing one of her favourite pairs of shoes from home; arguing that she didn’t care that they were ‘out of season’ and that she would wear what she wants, when she wants, and no one could tell her otherwise. In the end they’d gone perfectly with the new ‘Christmas’ dress she’d picked out Bloomingdales; a vibrant yellow concoction with capped sleeves embellished with strips of lace, a sash around the waist that ties in an enormous bow at the back, and an elaborate tulle skirt several layers thick that shimmers in the light. Forgoing all the burgundy, emerald green, and red dresses that had lined the regular priced racks in favour of an outfit from the leftover and highly discounted summer section. It was a hill Esme hadn't been willing to die on; preferring that Addie showcase both her independence in choosing her own outfit, and being proud of her personal style and preferences. And it suits her; as bright and adorable as her personality with just enough ‘no fucks given’ sprinkled on for good measure.

While tiny and seemingly fragile, she can be extremely assertive and adverse to any form of compromise; tenacious to a fault and digging her heels in and sticking to her guns when she feels she’s one hundred right about her stance. Even if there’s mountains of proof to show that she is, in fact, completely wrong. Someone so stubborn and feisty lingering inside that cute, wee package; able to hold her own while out playing with her older siblings and not afraid to get a bloody nose or a fat lip or a black eye. And not deterred in the slightest when she DOES get injured; right back to what she was doing only hours after getting stitches or a cast removed. Not shying away from climbing trees or splashing in mud puddles or helping muck out the goats stalls while wearing clunky rubber boots paired with a Disney princess dress. Very much like her older sister had been at that age; enjoying being physical and active and playing sports and rough housing one minute, then showcasing her more ‘girly side’ the next. Loving trips to the salon with mummy for manis and pedis; enjoying picking her own shade of polish and then getting to sip orange juice from a champagne glass while getting a facial and her hair trimmed. Collecting dolls along with various rocks and shells and beach glass. Superhero figures taking up residence on her bedroom shelves right alongside stuffies of her favourite animals -koalas, sloths, and kangaroos currently at the top of the list- and snow globes from different parts of the world. Her closet filled with not only frilly dresses and sparkly leggings and colourful sweaters emblazoned with unicorns and french bulldogs and flamingos, but old hand me downs from her brothers; ripped and faded jeans and tattered t-shirts and board shorts.

“Right,” Tyler confirms, as he tends to running a brush through her waist length hair; damp from misting it down with a spray bottle in order to easier part it into sections.

It’s a far cry from his old life; his beaten and busted up hands with their multitude of scars and calluses once used to being soaked in blood and caked with dirt. Large and weathered with misshapen knuckles, they’d long ago gotten accustomed to hard, manual labour and the brutality that he’d had to inflict on others; fists that pummelled bodies and faces and fingers that pulled triggers and wrapped around throats and choked the life out of combatants. And while they still get caked in mud from working around the house and they’re still entrusted to load magazines and are capable of taking a gun apart in thirteen seconds flat, they’ve morphed into other uses. Beginning with diapering babies and tending to the impossibly tiny snaps on jumpers, buttons on little sweaters, and zippers on sleepers. Moving on to tying kid sized shoe laces and cleaning and patching up skinned knees and elbows. Advancing to far more difficult hair styling techniques than the simple ponytails he’d began affixing on Millie when she was a toddler; various styles of braids adorned with ribbons, and snapping barrettes and clamping clips into place.

Being a girl dad is unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. The six short years -despite the little time he’d actually been home- he’d spent with Austin had prepared him for raising boys. His son, when healthy, had been extremely active and fearless and full of curiosity and energy; getting as messy and as dirty as possible and loving every second of it. Obsessed with superheroes and sports and always clad in clothing that displayed his favourites; football jerseys and baseball caps and sweats emblazoned with Superman or Batman logos. He had been terrified twelve years ago when the news had come in that Millie was in fact going to be a girl; not only envisioning frilly dresses and a closet full of pink and those ridiculous headbands parents insist on putting on their infants, but thinking back to his own treatment of women. The days when he’d used them for nothing more than sex; random strangers picked up in bars or that he’d meet on the street in whatever city a job sent him to. A failed marriage; putting more of a priority on the military than he did on treating his wife properly. And all he could think about was how having a daughter was somehow a punishment for the bad shit he’d done. A little girl that he’d have to protect from guys like him.

It was hard to get used to; big fingers having to master putting in tiny earrings and tending to impossibly small zippers and buttons , getting comfortable with the amount of pink and purple in their rooms and closets. Eventually graduating into attending tea parties and playing with Barbies and helping make crafts; getting used to paint on his palms and between his fingers and glitter stuck under his nails and in his hair and beard. Determined to be a hands-on father even if its activities are way outside of his comfort zone; gymnastic meets and dance recitals as opposed to lacrosse matches and football games. Being a girl dad isn’t for the weak; having to worry about your little girls’ hearts being broken and if the guys they pick will treat them right and if they themselves will make smart and responsible choices as teenagers. And the hormones; the up and down emotions and the drastic switch from bitchy to overly sensitive. Having a wife go through it once a month is enough. never mind the thought of three other girls. The worry of how he’ll handle not only the emergence of puberty, but if all four female ‘clocks’ decide to sync up. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to handle THAT; all the women in his life going through the cramps and the moodiness and the demands to be coddled and babied one minute and left the fuck alone the next.

“Does that mean mummy beat up and killed bad guys too?”

“No. She never did any of that stuff. That was my job, not hers.”

“What did she do?”

“She tracked down the bad guys. And where they were doing mean things to good people. Then she told me...or guys like me...where they were so we could go and take care of things.”

“So you could go and kill them?”

“You don’t always have to kill people. Sometimes it’s enough to just rough them up a bit.”

“And other times they fight back and try to hurt you and you have to hurt them first?”

“Pretty much.”

“Have you killed a lot of people?”

“Not that many," he lies. It's actually a staggering amount; the death toll -from his hand alone- in Dhaka putting the count well over three hundred.

“How many is ‘not that many'?’”

“I don’t know, Peanut. I’ve never kept track.”

“But you’ve helped more people than you’ve hurt. That’s what mummy said when I asked if it was true. If Tyler was lying when he told me you kill people for a living.”

“That’s a while ago. That you asked mummy that.”

“I was three. That’s a whole two years ago. But sometimes I think about it. Especially when you go away. I think about you having to kill people.”

“And what do you think WHEN you think about that? About what I sometimes have to do?”

“I dunno know,” Addie shrugs, and then lifts the spray bottle clutched in both hands and holds it towards her face; giggling when she pulls the trigger and catches some of the mist in her mouth.

“Does it bother you? When you think about it? That I’ve killed people? That sometimes I still have to?”

“Why would it bother me?”

“Kind of a hard thing to hear, don’t you think? That daddy has to do stuff like that?”

“It’s your job. It’s what you do. You have to hurt people to save other people. And sometimes, if they try and hurt you first, you have to kill them. Because if you didn’t, they might kill you and then you never come home and we never get to see you again. It’s not THAT hard to hear. I’d rather you kill someone and come home than never see you again.”

“You know,” he plucks the spray bottle from her hands and dampens a section of hair. “You’re pretty smart for only five.”

“Smart like mummy.”

He leans in to press a kiss to her cheek. “Cute like her too.”

“Are you going to get in trouble? For killing people?”

“Who would I get in trouble with?”

“God. Isn’t that one of the things we’re not supposed to do? Kill people?”

“How do you know about that? We don’t talk about that stuff at home.”

“I hear things. At school. Some of the older kids talking. Are you? Going to get in trouble? For killing people?”

“Probably,” he admits. “I’m sure I’ll face some kind of judgement for it. When my time comes.”

“But wouldn’t it be okay ‘cause you only kill bad people? That were hurting good people? Wouldn’t that be allowed? And if you had to kill someone so you could come home to us, wouldn’t that be okay too?”

“I don’t know,” he snags a yellow cloth ribbon off the island and begins braiding a section of hair around it. “I’ve never thought that far ahead about things.”

“It would suck if you got in trouble for helping people. That wouldn’t be fair at all. If you got sent to hell for doing stuff like that. I mean, you were doing something GOOD. You weren’t doing something bad. You HAD to kill evil people to help good people. And to make sure you come home to mummy and us kids. I can’t see you getting in trouble for something like THAT.”

“Doesn’t make much sense to me either. But not a lot does anymore.”

“I’ll be really mad if you get in trouble and sent somewhere different than me. I don’t want us to be in two separate places. I want us to be together. All of us. You and mummy and all us kids. I don’t want us to all be separated. Well, maybe Millie could be. Because she’s mean to me. All the time.”

“Millie is going through some stuff. She’s going to be a teenager soon. A lot of drama leading up to THAT.”

“She says I’m annoying. That she used to really like me when I was a baby and couldn’t do anything. But now I can do lots of stuff and I can talk and she says that pisses her off. That I’m a bratty little sister.”

“You are NOT bratty.”

“Right? That’s what I said. She’s bratty if anything. Am I annoying, daddy? Don’t lie. You can tell me the truth.”

“You are not annoying. If anyone is annoying, it’s Millie.”

“I said THAT too! But she’s mean. She even threatened to cut my hair off. Shave it. Because I couldn’t find my brush and I borrowed hers and she didn’t like that. So you know what I did? While you were gone?”

“What did you do?”

“I took the tops off two Oreo cookies and I ate the middle and then I put in mayonnaise and I put the tops back on and gave them to Millie. I told her I was being a good little sister and bringing her a snack. And she put a whole one in her mouth! She almost puked!”

He can’t help but chuckle. “You actually did that?”

“Yup. It was awesome. I laughed so hard, I almost peed! But then she started chasing me around the house threatening to kill me. Mummy was screaming at her to lighten up, that it was just a joke. And then she told mummy to shut up and Tyler got mad. REALLY mad. He tackled Millie and grabbed her by the hair and pushed her face into the carpet. Then he put her in a figure four leg lock and made her cry.”

“Millie told your mom to shut up?”

“Oooops…” Addie tilts her head back to look at him, a sheepish smile curving her lips. “....I wasn’t supposed to tell you that part.”

“Who told you not to tell me? Millie?”

The five year old shakes her head.

“TJ?”

Another shake, followed by a tiny “No.”

“Addie…”

“It was mummy! She said not to tell you because you’d get pissed off and you didn’t need to. Because she took care of it right when it happened. Well, Tyler did. He was really, really, REALLY mad. She learned her lesson. I’m sure of it. He made her cry. Lots.”

“Did that happen a lot? Millie getting mouthy with your mom?”

“Not really.”

He stares pointedly down at her.

“A few times,” she reluctantly admits. “She said some things that were really mean. To mummy. And she said the F word once, too. Mixed with the B word.”

“She said that ? To your mom?”

Addie chews nervously on her bottom lip. “Yeah, she called her an f-ing B word.”

“What did mummy do?”

“She didn’t get a chance to do anything. Desi freaked out. And he’s really big and he can be really scary when he wants. Like you. Desi told her that she should never, ever talk to her mum like that. And that you’d be really mad if you found out. And that she’d rather deal with him than you. Which is true. Desi might be bigger than you, but you’re definitely tougher. I mean, he doesn’t kill people for a living. You do.”

“Things were pretty bad, huh? While I was gone.”

“A little. Millie went off the reservation. Big time. She’s lucky she’s even breathing. ‘Cause Tyler was ready to kill her. And I don’t blame him. You’re mad, aren’t you. Are you mad, daddy?”

“A bit.”

“You know how I can tell? That you’re mad? Your neck moves. Right here,” she reaches up to press to fingertips against the side of his throat. “Where the bad guy shot you a long time ago.”

“How did you know about that?”

“Mummy told me. I asked her how you got that scar. She said that a long time ago, her and Ovi were in trouble and you had to get them out of a really bad place. And then you made sure they were safe and sound, but a bad guy shot you. In the neck. And that’s why you have the scar there.”

“Did that scare you? Hearing that?”

“A little, I guess. I mean, you could have died, right?”

“I could have, yeah.”

“And then you and mummy never would have gotten married. And had kids. Millie would be the only one to exist. None of us would. So yeah, that part scared me a bit; that the bad guy could have killed and none of us ever would have been born. Did you kill him?”

“Eventually.”

“Mummy said she stayed with you. After it happened. And that she went back to Australia with you and that’s how she ended up there. It’s where you guys got married. And had Millie and me and Kota and Brookie. That we were the ones born there. So we’re REAL Australians, like you. Everyone else is American.”

“Everyone else WAS American. You’re all Australian now.”

“How does that work?”

“A lot of papers you have to fill out. To become a citizen. But you all are. Mummy and I made sure of it.”

“Is mummy an Australian too?”

“By marriage, yeah.”

“It’s a good thing she married you. You’re a lucky guy, daddy. That someone like mummy fell in love with you.”

“I am,” he confirms. “Very lucky. She’s a pretty good mummy, huh?”

“She’s the best mummy EVER. If we could pick our mummies, I’d pick her. Because she’s nice and she gives good cuddles and kisses and she tells the best silly jokes. And she’s super smart and really cute too. And little! Like me!”

“That’s where you get from. Being so cute and wee. You’re just like your mumma.”

Her eyes sparkle as she smiles broadly up at him; the corners and the bridge of her nose crinkle. “And that’s a good thing, yeah?”

“A very good thing,” Dropping a kiss on her forehead, he brushes the tip of his nose against hers; smiling at the way she throws her head back and giggles.

He’s seen her mother do that exact movement and expression a number of times; excitement while on the rides at Disney World with the kids, when she’s had one too many glasses of wine and even his terrible ‘dad jokes’ are suddenly hilarious, when they’ve been on one of their ‘mommy and daddy’ vacations and she’s gotten up the guts to try something new and exciting; emboldened by his encouragement and forever feeling safe and secure as long as he’s by her side. So much of Esme in the tiny little girl in front of him; tenacious and ferociously intelligent and loving deeply and fearlessly. Knowing the darkness and the horrors that exist in the world but not allowing herself to be tarnished by it; always finding ways to smile and laugh and find the beauty in every day.

“What do you think mummy would have done if she didn’t do the job she did?” Addie inquires, when she finally drops her head back down and he’s able to return to tending her hair.

“I don’t know. Teach? Be a nurse? Maybe a doctor?”

“How would you have met her? If she didn’t do her old job?”

“Maybe I would have met her on the beach. In Australia. Maybe she would have come there on a vacation.”

“Maybe. Or maybe you would have gone to where she used to live. In Chicago.”

“She used to live in Colorado. That’s where she was born and where she grew up. Chicago is a totally different place.”

“She used to live by the mountains. When I was in her tummy, you guys lived on a hobby farm. And you had goats and chickens. Mummy says we still own that house.”

“Yup, we do. We rent it out.”

“Can we go there one day? I’d like to see it. I’d like to see where you guys were living when I was in mummy’s belly. Is that where I was made?”

“We’re pretty sure that’s where it happened. Not many other places it could have been.”

“Maybe we can go and visit. And I can see where I was made. That would be fun. I want to see the mountains.”

“Maybe one day.” He finishes up the first braided pigtail, securing it with an impossibly small elastic before turning his attention to the other section of hair.

“If you met mummy a different way, would you have still liked her? Would you have still fallen in love with her?”

“Yup. Why wouldn’t have I? She still would have been mummy. She still would have been the same person. Still would have been the most beautiful girl ever.”

“Do you think she still would have fallen in love with you?”

“I sure as hell hope so. Would sure suck if she didn’t. Your mumma is pretty special, Peanut. She’s the love of my life. Took me until I was thirty five to meet her.”

“You were married before, though. To Austin's mom. You didn’t love her?”

“I did. But not in the way I love your mum. Your mum? That’s who I want to spend the rest of my life with. Grow really, really, REALLY old with. It’s a whole other kind of love. And you know what? It’s not easy to explain. You just know what you feel.”

“Imagine if things were opposite? If you went to Colorado and met mummy instead of her meeting you in Australia and working with you? And then you would have stayed there; where the snow and the mountains are instead of the beach and the ocean. How come you moved? Why didn’t you guys stay? Where the mountains are?”

“Things changed. We weren’t happy there anymore. We needed to get away. Go back to the place where we were the happiest.”

“In Australia?”

“Yup.”

“That’s where I’m happiest too. I love it there. I love how warm it is; the sun and the sand and the water. I like the sound it makes; listening to it when I’m trying to fall asleep. And I like how the beach feels; between my toes and when I let it run through my fingers. And I love my room and my toys and my school and my friends and all the goats and our pigs and our chickens. And Charlie. I love him the most. I love making him peanut butter sandwiches. I’d miss him the most. If we had to leave. We won’t have to leave will we, daddy?”

“I don’t see why we would have to.”

“I don’t ever want to leave Australia. It’s perfect there. It’s where I was born. And where you were born too. We have that in common. We were BOTH born there.”

“Yeah…” he grins, and presses a kiss to the back of her head. “...we were.”

“I mean, we have other stuff in common too. Because you’re my dad and that means you helped make me so that means half of me is half of you. The other half is from mummy. And we both love surfing. And animals. And Vegemite. I LOVE Vegemite. It’s sooooo good.”

“Speaking of Vegemite, was it you that left the Vegemite and Nutella sandwich for Santa?”

Addie giggles. “Maybe…”

“Why would you ever put the two of those together?”

“Tyler made it for his school lunch once and he let me try a bit and it was really good! So I thought Santa might like to try it. Part American, part Australian.”

“You know, that’s pretty genius. And it worked. I tried a bit and it wasn’t bad.”

“Right?! You wouldn’t think it would work, but it does. Somehow. Kind of like you and mummy.”

“What’s THAT supposed to mean?”

“You and mummy are so different. You’re really tall and big and she’s really short and small. Like, you know how mummy is a morning person? She’s always really cheerful and smiley? And you’re not? You’re moody and miserable. A total grump face! And you don’t like to talk until you’ve had your first coffee. With three shots of espresso in it.”

“You notice all that stuff?”

“I notice everything. Mummy says I’m very observant. And that I have really good instincts. Like you. She says ‘cause my tummy tells me if something is right or wrong. And yours does too. You know how else you and mummy are different?”

“How?”

“Mummy talks to everyone! She’s very talky talky. A chatterbox.”

“Geez,” Tyler grins, and tugs playfully at the completed pigtail. “I wonder who ELSE is a chatterbox?”

“She’s a social butterfly. She makes friends everywhere she goes. People like her. Because she’s so bubbly and cute and she makes peoples hearts feel warm because she’s so nice to them. You’re more serious. You don’t talk a lot. At least not to people you don’t know. People are scared of you sometimes. Because how big you are and because you got all the drawings on you and the scars and stuff. They think you’re mean. ‘Cause of all that.”

“And what do you think?”

“I think you’re just daddy. I KNOW you’re not mean. I KNOW you’re a nice guy. I KNOW you give awesome hugs; your arms are big but they feel nice and they wrap all the way around me! If people really paid attention, they’d see that you’re nice. You have soft eyes. They’re blue and they’re pretty and they’re kind. Especially when you smile and they go all crinkly. If people really gave you a chance, they’d see you’re not scary at all. You’re only like that if you HAVE to be. If bad people are near mummy or us kids.”

“Are you ever scared of me?” It’s a recurring thought; if his children ever pick up on the worry and the tension and the fear that comes with his issues. It’s a feat some days; forcing himself out of bed and putting one foot in front of the other. Wanting nothing more than to stay under the covers and surrender to the exhaustion that comes with doing battle with his own mind every day. But his family is his number one priority, whether it’s a good day or a horrible one. And he’ll ‘fake it until he makes it’ as long as his children and his wife know that they’re loved; provided and cared for and made to feel safe and protected.

“Why would I be? Why would I be scared of my daddy?”

“Well, you know what I do for a living. You know what I’ve had to do to people. Does that scare you?”

“Nope. Because that’s just your job. It’s not who you are. When you come home, you’re just daddy. You take us bike riding and hiking and swimming and surfing. And you help us find rocks and shells and you let me sit on your shoulders when we walk on the beach or go into town. And we take naps. On the hammock. I love our naps on the hammock.”

He smiles. “So do I.”

“Sometimes I get a little worried. When you get upset. Or you and mummy argue. I don’t like when you guys argue. I always worry that you’ll hate each other. That you’ll get a divorce. And then you won’t live with us. It makes me sad when I think about that.”

“You don’t need to be sad, Peanut. That’s never going to happen. I’m never going to go and live somewhere else. I’m going to stay right where I am; with you guys and your mumma. And just because we argue? That doesn’t mean we’re going to hate each other. I could NEVER hate your mum. And I’m pretty sure she’d say the same thing about me. We love each other. Very much. Divorce is NOT something you need to think about. But do I ever scare you? Have I ever?”

“I don’t have a reason to be scared of you. Because you love me. You’d never hurt me. I never worry about that. Not even when you yell and your voice gets REALLY loud. I know you’d never do anything mean to me. Just to bad people. And I’m not a person. I’m a GOOD person.”

“You definitely are. You’re a VERY good person. An amazing little person.”

She smiles. “Like mummy.”

“Just like her. More than even I ever realized.”

******

“Addie…” TJ singsongs as he saunters into the kitchen, both hands tucked behind his back. “...what are you doing?”

“Tyler!” She cheerfully greets, and excitedly waves to him with both hands. Her entire face lighting up at the sight of her second favourite male in the house

She’s become extremely close to her oldest brother during her five years on earth; idolizing him and turning to him for help and comfort when daddy is either caught up with one of the other kids, tending to work related matters, or out of the house -and sometimes even the country- all together. And TJ dotes on her in return. Spoiling her and babying her ever since she was an infant and he was always more than willing to help change her diapers and give her feedings. In awe of how tiny she was and how she’d look up at him with so much adoration. He’s the quintessential older brother; patient and loving and ready to kick anyone’s ass that dares messes with her.

“Look at my dress! It’s the one I picked out when I went shopping for mommy. That I kept a secret. Isn’t it awesome?”

“Awesome just like you. It’s really pretty, Ads. Your favourite colour too!”

“Yup! Mummy bought it for me. She said it’s perfect for me. For my personality. It reminds me of Belle’s dress. From Beauty and the Beast.”

“Looks a little like it, I guess. But you know what? It’s even prettier. And you’re more beautiful than Belle. WAY more beautiful.”

“Really?” she gasps, and a noticeable blush creeps into her cheeks, spreading all the way to the tips of her ears. “You really think so?”

“I REALLY think so. Belle has nothing on you. You’re the prettiest princess EVER. Way prettier than ANY of them.”

“Oh goodness!” She clamps both hands over her mouth in embarrassment, then giggles into them. “Like mumma? Just as pretty as her? Mumma is the prettiest EVER.”

“Just a smaller version of her.” TJ leans in close and presses the tip of his nose against hers. “Guess what I have? What you forgot in my room?”

“Adeline!” she cries, when he reveals the item he’d been keeping behind his back. And she snags the doll from him and showers its head and face with kisses as she clutches it tightly to her chest. “Adeline! I’m sorry I forgot you! I didn’t mean to!”

“I kept her safe for you,” TJ says. “So Declan wouldn’t grab her. You know how he likes to get a hold of dolls and torture them. I didn’t want him getting her. She’s way too pretty and I know how much you love her.”

“He’s mean to my dolls! He’s always taking their heads off and putting their arms where their legs should be and crazy shit like that.”

“Hey,” Tyler frowns, and tugs on the half braided pigtail. “What did I say?”

“No bad language. Especially on Christmas Day. I can’t help it though; sometimes it just slips out. If you didn’t swear so much around us kids…”

“That’s it. Throw me under the bus.”

“You swear A LOT, daddy. Especially in the car. When other people don’t drive fast enough or use their blinkers. If mummy knew exactly how much you DO swear around us, she’d be mad. REALLY mad.”

“Your mum has a worse mouth than I do.”

“As if!” Addie scoffs, and he can’t help but smile; easily hearing Esme’s voice and picturing the expression on her face; the corner up her mouth and her nose scrunched up in disgust, eyes slightly narrowed. “Thank you, Tyler!” She curls an arm around her brother’s neck, squeezing as tight as she can. “You’re the best! Thank you for keeping her safe from the Ginger. You’re the best brother EVER! I only trust you with her. And daddy. That’s it. You guys are big and strong and will keep her safe no matter what.”

“What the hell are you wearing?” He addresses his son as the latter moves to the fridge, pausing in the braiding of Addie’s hair to survey TJ’s wardrobe a pair of ill fitting and impossibly baggy jeans, an enormous untucked dress shirt with its sleeves rolled to his elbows, and a loose pink, purple, and grey striped tie.

“Your pants. And one of your shirts.” TJ reaches into the fridge and grabs a carton of chocolate milk and a jug of white. Closing the door with his hip and carrying them to the counter by the sink; pouring a mix of both into a plastic tumblr retrieved from the dish rack and then snagging two straws from the cupboard. “Mum told me to. She said none of my clothes were good enough for Christmas dinner. All my jeans have holes in them and all t-shirts have to do with surfing. We’ve never had to dress up for Christmas dinner before. Why do we have to start now?”

“Your mum’s trying to make things perfect. To avoid drama. With your grandmother.”

“Too late. Grandma brings drama with her. And drops it on everyone else.” He drags a bar stool across the floor and places it in front of his little sister. “Here Ads,” he holds the cup in front of her. “A yellow straw just for you. So you don’t have to share my germs. Let me hold it; so you don’t spill anything on your dress.”

Giving a delighted squeal and a smile of appreciation, she takes a pull from the straw. “I think you look handsome, Tyler. You’re growing up. You’re going to be as big as daddy soon.”

“It’s going to be a while before I’m THAT big. But I’m going to work on it. As soon as I’m allowed, I’m going to lift heavy too and put on ALL kinds of muscle.”

“Then you can go after bad people too. And beat them up and kill them when you have to.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Tyler suggests. “Something tells me mummy might have an issue with that.”

“Why doesn’t mum just tell grandma to get lost?” TJ inquires. “It’s not like they like each other. They never have. They’ve always fought. I remember how they’d get into it at Christmas. When we were still living in Colorado. Grandma would get drunk and she’d pick fights with mum and mum would fight back and cry and then you’d go off on grandma. Is that going to happen this year? ‘Cause it’s been nice and quiet at Christmas. Do we HAVE to listen to grandma's shit?”

“What did I just tell your sister? About the language?”

“She’s five, but she’s right. It IS hard to stop and it does just come out. But do we, dad? Do we really have to put up with her?”

“It’s one night. I think you can manage. If I can grin and bear it, so can you. Suck it up.”

“If she starts in on mum about ANYTHING, I’m going to lose it. That’s my mum. No one talks to my mum like that. I almost taught Jacobi a lesson. For calling mum cute and wanting to ask her out. I’ll teach grandma a lesson too. I’m not afraid of her.”

“If anyone is going to teach her a lesson, it’s going to be me. You stay out of it. Your mum wouldn’t want you getting into it with her. You’re TEN.”

“Doesn’t matter how old I am. That’s MY mum. And no one is going to treat her bad. We’re supposed to protect her, remember? You and I.”

“You’re supposed to be a kid and stay that way as long as you can. I’M supposed to protect your mom. And I think I’ve been pretty damn good at it for the last twelve and a half years. And if your grandma starts? I’ll stop it. You don’t have to worry about that.”

“Why does she hate you so much anyway? Is it still the same crap? How she’s pissed because you stole mum away from her family and moved her all the way to Australia? ‘Cause you got her pregnant before you married her?”

Addie scowls. “Who cares? Lots of people have babies and they aren’t married. And so what if mummy didn’t go back home and she stayed with daddy? She’s an adult. She can do what she wants. And she wanted to be with daddy. None of grandma’s business. I’mma tell her that too. If she starts saying mean things about daddy or mummy. I’mma tell her what for.”

“You’re not going to do a thing,” Tyler informs her. “You’re going to leave all the telling off to me, got it?”

“I don’t like her,” Addie says. “She’s not a nice person. She has a mean smile. And her eyes are empty. They don’t sparkle or anything like that. Are you sure that’s mummy’s mummy? Because when mummy smiles, her eyes sparkle. She LOOKS happy. Grandma? She just looks mean.”

“No one likes her,” TJ grumbles. “Best thing we ever did was get away from her. But IS that why, dad? Is that really why she doesn’t like you? Because she still thinks you stole mum and took her all the way to Australia?”

“It’s a few things.”

“I bet it’s the job too. I bet she really has a problem with THAT.”

“Again…” Addie huffs dramatically. “...who cares? So what if daddy kills people? They’re BAD. They deserve it. He helps good people and sometimes when he’s helping them, he has to kill the bad guys. I don’t see a problem with that. If they try and hurt him or kill him, he HAS to kill them first. So he can come home. To us. And mummy. It only makes sense.”

“If Ads can get it, ANYONE can,” TJ says. “She’s only five. What’s grandma? A hundred? If a five year old can get it…”

“Daddy makes the world a better place because he gets rid of the bad people,” Addie continues, as she takes another sip of the drink her brother offers her. “If we had less bad people, everything would be great. There’d be less wars and less people getting hurt and everyone would love one another and be happy. Daddy’s doing a good thing. By sticking up for people. Like you do. At school. You beat up the bullies when you have to. Remember the older kid that tripped me and shoved my face in the mud? Remember him? He’s in grade eight AND you kicked the crap out of me. Because he picked on me.”

“You’re my sister. It’s my job to protect you.”

“And remember that other guy? On the playground by mummy’s store? The one that pulled my hair and told me I was adopted because I’m small and I don’t look like any of you guys. You freaked out on him and made him apologize and scared him away. He’ll cross the street now if he sees you coming.”

“You can’t let bad people get away with doing bad things,” TJ reasons. “If you don’t stop them, they’ll just keep doing bad stuff.”

“Exactly! So it’s a good thing that daddy goes after the bad guys. Grandma needs to learn. And she needs to learn TODAY. You should tell her, Tyler. You should tell her off. You’re not scared of anyone.”

“Not being scared of anyone or anything is not always a good thing,” Tyler informs her. “If you’re not scared, you don’t take a situation or people seriously. That’s when you get hurt. And you know what? No matter how big of a bad ass you think you are? There’s always a bigger one out there somewhere. Believe me. I’ve learned THAT lesson the hard way.”

“The guy who shot you just got a lucky one in,” TJ reasons. “You were already hurt. You weren’t one hundred percent. Some guy had already shot you, hadn’t he? A sniper?”

“What’s a sniper?” Addie inquires. “Is it like Swipper on Dora? Something like him?”

“We don’t need to talk about that,” Tyler says. “You don’t need to know that stuff. Not until you’re older. WAY older.”

“A sniper’s a guy that hides somewhere and shoots you,” TJ replies. “Somewhere where no one sees him. It’s why they’re so dangerous. You don’t even know where they are. They just shoot you. And they kill you before you even know what happened.”

“But daddy didn’t get killed. If a sniper shot daddy, shouldn’t he be dead?”

Combing his hand through her bangs, Tyler tips his daughter’s head back. “What did I just say? About you not needing to know about this stuff?”

“I’m curious now. Tyler said they hide and shoot people and kill them. How come you didn’t die? If a sniper shot you?”

“I guess he didn’t manage to get a good shot in.”

“It was the other guy that almost killed him,” TJ says, and takes a sip of the concoction in his hand. “The one that got him in the neck. That’s when he almost died. Mum saved him.”

“How? How did mummy save daddy? Daddy…” she swivels around in her stool to face him. “...how did mummy save you? Did she shoot the bad guy back?”

“Mum stuck her fingers in his neck,” TJ says. “To stop the bleeding. Or he would have bled to death.”

Addie’s eyes widen. “She DID?”

“When you’re older, MAYBE I’ll tell you more more about it. But for now…” Tyler places his hands on her shoulders and gently turns her back around. “...you don’t need to know this stuff. And you…” he stares pointedly at his son. “...don’t talk about this around her. She doesn’t need to know about this. She’s a baby still.”

“I’m not a baby!” Addie objects. “I’m five! I can almost ride my bike without training wheels. Babies can’t do that.”

“Just don’t, alright?” He addresses TJ. “Don’t talk about this stuff around her. Because she’s going to repeat all of this and she’s going to repeat it to your mum and that won’t end well. For you OR me.”

“It happened though. I mean, it’s part of how you guys met and got together and ended up getting married and stuff. It’s your history. I don’t see why…”

“I said ENOUGH. No more. Not around her. Got it?” He’s on edge; the mere mention of Dhaka and the incidents on the bridge playing straight into the anxiety and the panic he’d felt the night before; when he’d woken up from the nightmare and been on the verge of losing control and had turned to the fentanyl for relief. And it scares him; how easy it had been to not only access the powerful med, but actually take it. He’d encountered no resistance or hesitation; remorse and guilt not setting in until the following morning when he’d woken up and it had been the first thing on his mind. It’s alarming how quick things can return; an addict’s mind and behaviour.

Nodding, TJ holds his hands up in surrender.

“You’re both going to be nice tonight,” he says, and finishes Addie’s final braid. “To grandma. Because your mum is already stressed out enough and we don’t need to make it worse for her. So if the best you can do is smile and nod, just do that. I’m not asking you to kiss her ass. I’m just asking you to be civil. Can you handle that?”

TJ nods.

“You?” He tugs on one of Addie’s pigtails. “Can you do that? Be civil?”

“Do I have to be near her? Or sit on her lap? ‘Cause I draw the line there.”

“You don’t have to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. Just don’t be a little asshole, alright?”

“Me? I’m Mary Freaking Sunshine, remember? That’s what Grandpa Koen calls me.”

“Well then live up to it and be nice to your grandmother. Smile until your face hurts, got it?”

“What do I get out of it?”

He smirks.

“Mummy says to always negotiate. Never settle for the first offer. Can I sleep in the big bed tonight? For being nice to grandma?”

“No.” Wrapping an arm around her waist, he lifts her off the stool; pressing a kiss to her cheek before setting her on the ground.

She turns to face him. Head cocked to the side and one hand clutching her doll, the other planted firmly on her hip. “Can I have ice cream for my bedtime snack?”

"Maybe."

“Maybe isn’t good enough.”

“You ARE just like your mom, aren’t you.”

“I’ll be nice if I can have ice cream for my bedtime snack and you snuggle with me and draw on my back for half an hour. And that’s after FOUR stories.”

“You're bossy, you know that? Two stories.”

“Three. That’s as low as I’ll go.”

“I will give you two stories, ice cream for your snack, and forty five minutes of snuggling and drawing on your back. Instead of half an hour. We got a deal?”

Her eyes narrow as she considers it; nibbling on her bottom lip and swishing her hips back and forth. “You’re good at this.”

“This isn’t my first rodeo, Peanut. I’ve dealt with tougher than you. What do you say?” He offers a hand. “Deal?”

“Deal!” she agrees, his hand easily swallowing hers as they shake on it.

Grinning, he runs a hand over the top of her head and then drops a kiss on her hair. “You really DO have a lot of your mum in you.”

“Great things come in small packages,” Addie reasons, standing on her tiptoes as he leans down and pecks her lips. “Thank you, daddy!” she chirps. “My hair looks beautiful. You always do it perfect.”

“Pretty hard not to when my subject is so cute. Good thing I married your mum, huh? So I could have a kid as cute as you?”

“You really are a lucky man!” she declares and then cheerfully skips out of the room.

“I hope grandma is on her best behaviour,” TJ says, as he finishes the drink in his hand and then slides off the stool and returns it to its place at the island. “Because if she DOES start on mum, it’s going to be a wild night. I really hope she watches her step.”

“My too, kiddo,” Tyler sighs, and reaches out to tousle his son’s hair. “Me too.”

[incorrectlumityquotes]

FULL REVIEWS: “Escape of the Palisman”

Hiatus time is a mixed bag. On the one hand, it gives fans time to breath, think about the show, mull it over, and work on fan stuffs. On the other hand, waiting suuuuuucks and I want it nooooowwwwwww. This episode was presented as the midseason finale and honestly I was just kinda excited about it.

I mean the main plot is fine and all but my favorite part of any show is the characters. If I really love the characters than I don’t mind watching them do whatever as long as I have a good time. How important and slash or impactful was the first midseason finale? Let’s find out.

.

Oh snap. Do I really not have the promo pic for this episode? Hold on. Yeah, that’s a no.

Uh...picture picture picture. Whatever. 

The cold open is delightfully hilarious. Eda and Luz take King to the park to play in the playground where he tries to conquer the bumpy slide. Just typing that made me laugh. 

Another kid pushes him off the slide and King’s demand for revenge leads into Owlbert’s full introduction and exposition on palismans. Eda got her staff but she made Owlbert. I guess it’s The Boiling Isles’ version of familiars. And then we get one of my favorite things ever: King’s Squeak of Rage.

“He’s like a little tea kettle.”

Then we’re all reminded that we have a main plot looming over our heads and Eda has a weird blackout from her curse. Good thing we did it from Eda’s perspective. Imagine if we saw it from Luz’s point of view. That would have scared me and given me some adult fears. A little too close to reality for me. 

Eda does what all adults do on their late afternoon off and wants to take a nap. Luz suggests taking care of her and putting King in a little doctor’s outfit. Which is fine I guess but how cute would he look in a little nurse outfit with the skirt and the little hat with the red cross on it? So cute.  

But turns out Luz has plans with Twidledweeb and Twidledorkus (Gus and Willow). They’re off to see Luz’s first grudgby game, and Luz had a little thing called HEXSIDE PRIDE!!!...which really bothers me.

I never understood school spirit and slash or pride. To me pride is something you are allowed to have when you accomplish something, so national or ethnic pride never really made sense to me. There are exceptions to the rule. Minorities with a history of being oppressed are allowed to be proud for surviving their tormentors so gay pride or black pride is okay to me. But proud to be a Texan or whatever is really weird. There is no test to take or obstacle I had to overcome to be born in Texas. Am I glad to be a Texan? Sure I guess. We got the best food here. But proud? I didn’t do anything so not really.

School spirit is worse because I never saw school as anything more than a means to an end. I didn’t attend school because I wanted to. I did it because I had to. Am I proud to have passed all my classes and move forward? Sure. That’s something I accomplished. Am I proud to have gone to the specific school that I went to? No! I just went there because it was within walking distance and my parents didn’t want to give me a ride. I did it because it was easier.

I will give Luz a bit of a break here because, for one, it’s a magic school. Totally cooler than a regular school, and she’s allowed to be excited. And two, she does have to do something to get in but that’s for a later episode. 

Another Skara sighting! She’s so cute. What? Don’t look at me like that. It’s a cute design. Oh whatever.

“We get to go see the footballs match.” RIP Willow’s eye.

I love how all the main characters are such huge nerds that they all refer to it as sport. Not sports. Sport. Seriously, when’s the last time any of these nerds ran anywhere? And I mean with their legs, not by holding X.

Turns out that Luz is wearing Glandis High colors so she goes to the lost and found in a very gross line about mouth guards and they missed their ride.

Images you can feel, Volume 1 of many

Luz and co get the terrible idea of borrowing Eda’s staff to go to the big game and I could really go for some B-plot right now.

So that’s a no on the fire then?

King goes to Eda to get feedback on his revenge scheme to discover that Eda has partially transformed into the owl beast. Since she’s partially transformed she retains some of her mind, leaving her susceptible to suggestion because I guess that’s how that works(?).

Luz shows up to borrow Eda’s staff and King pulls out fiction’s laziest plot device and lies some more to get rid of her. One funny ass joke later and we’re off to the big game.

Hey guys, I literally just remembered right now at this very moment that Luz has no idea what the hell she’s doing.

The episode takes another dark and serious turn as Luz and co crash land to discover Owlbert literally cracked his head open and he runs off into the forest in fear and pain.

Images you can feel, Volume 2

The group follows him to discover that he has taken refuge in the lair of The Bat Queen.

Luz wants Owlbert back but The Bat Queen forces Luz to partake in...the trials (ooo ooky spooky!). Willow notes that no one has ever successfully done The Bat Queens trials. After declaring no helpsies, Luz beings The Trials of The Bat Queen (ooo ooky spooky). Her trials include things like get rid of bee’s nest and give the babies a bath.

No wonder Willow said no one completes The Bat Queens trials. These are all things no one wants to do. If one of the trials included getting rid of a bee’s nest I’d say “fuck this shit I’m out” too. Even Luz puts it together and figures out that The Bat Queen is just making her do her chores. 

The Bat Queen doesn’t want to give Owlbert over until Owlbert chooses to go back with Luz. Even then The Bat Queen refuses to let him go. One struggle later and Luz discovers an interlock on The Bat Queen’s foot.

The Bat Queen used to be a palisman on a great staff for a giant, but that was a long time ago. Now she protects all lost and slash or discarded palismans. The Bat Queen allows Owlbert to back home with Luz, and Luz promises to help The Bat Queen whenever she wants to find out the truth. (My money is on she was the titan’s palisman)

Meanwhile in the B-plot, King takes the mostly transformed Eda to the playground to take back his throne. Only for Eda to start chewing on it and get taken away from animal control. In the biggest surprise of the episode, that snot nosed little kid gives a really creepy speech, King gets Eda to transform back with his Rage Squeal.

Eda returns home and somehow allows King and Luz to both continue living in her house, eating her food, burning her electricity and breathing her air. Whatever. It’s been a day for everyone.

FINAL SCORE: 4 - Liked it.

I liked this episode, but probably not for the reasons you’d think. Truth is I’m not really interested in The Bat Queen’s whole deal. Sorry, but she only came out once before for like a minute. I mean I guess it was fine but I wasn’t into it. I really wanted to give this episode a 3.

But damn did I love all the jokes and the B-plot. I think King/Eda B-plots are just really funny. King was on point today, and even Gus was funnier than usual. Willow got one or two good jokes in there too. Also I’m pretty sure hearing Braxis saying “It’s a monster” bumped up the score for me.

So far so good. Lots of soft intros and lying as a plot device, but we’re past the halfway point. Let’s see what happens next.

[chasseurdeloup-retired]

Hook and Seek || Damien and Kaden

TIMING: Current LOCATION: The Perfect Pint PARTIES: @damienxsheppard and @chasseurdeloup SUMMARY: A hunter and a werewolf walk into a bar. CONTENT WARNINGS: Drinking and violence

Another night, another bar. Kaden couldn’t stomach the Silver Bullet, not tonight, not after what he did on the beach the other day. He wasn’t ready to face Devin or anyone else in that place. But he needed some way to fill up his time, a way to fill in the holes that were tearing into him. So he settled for the Perfect Pint. A match was on. There was beer. For a moment or two he could pretend to be normal. And that was something, right? He knocked back his drink and must have leaned too far over when doing so, knocking into the guy next to him and spilling his drink. “Shit,” he said to the man next to him, apologizing. “Didn’t think I was that close. You good?” He winced when he saw the drink had gone everywhere across the bar. Putain de merde. He waved the bartender over as he tried to help clean up his fucking mess. “Another of whatever he was having. On me. Tab for Kaden.”

The town still had more to offer Damien than he expected, he’d only had a chance to wander the main roads since his move but there seemed to be more beyond that only the brave tested at night. The Perfect Pint emitted a welcoming atmosphere and he was happy to swing in, check it out, and get a decent drink. The drinks were much cheaper than those on the menu in the city and he knew already he’d grow to appreciate that. Damien had been savoring some local brew when he felt a man lean too far back and knock his glass over. He hadn’t really been unsettled by it, in the city you had to be willing to lose a drink or two on a busy night in the club. Damien plucked the empty glass off the bar and placed it back upright, a little surprised to see the bartender switch it for a full one, “you didn’t have to do that,” he began and turned his attention to the stranger, “rough night?”

Kaden breathed a sigh of relief. It was a fifty fifty after spilling a drink at a bar if you were going to get decked or not, especially in a sports bar on game night. Not that he couldn’t take the hit, he just wasn’t in the mood. “Don’t mention it,” he said, waving it off before downing the rest of his own drink. Kaden huffed out a laugh. “More like rough week.” He shook his head and thought a little longer. “Or well, more like rough month. Putain de merde, you know what, it’s been a rough fucking year to be honest.” He waved the bartender over to get another drink of his own. Wait a second. He furrowed his brow as he felt the familiar chill creep down his spine. Not now. Not right fucking now. Of course there was a fucking werewolf in the fucking bar. There were werewolves everywhere, weren’t there? He just couldn’t care at the moment. Maybe later. “Didn’t catch your name. And what about you? Spilled drink the worst that’s happened to you today or what?”

A single eyebrow raised as Damien watched the stranger throw back the remainder of his drink, he’s familiar with the sentiment, drowning your worries at the bottom of a glass. Something of a weary smile appeared on Damien’s lips, one born from understanding as the man confessed it had been more than just a rough night. “Maybe I should be the one buying you a drink,” he began and as the bartender came back Damien motioned for him to keep the drinks going. He struggled to understand the man’s words as he swore, he knew he’d heard such a phrase before, so many different people flocked to New York from around the world. The alcohol in his system had made it difficult to figure out and Damien abandoned the search before he even got started. A bitter bark of a laugh leaves his chest when the stranger asks about the status of his day, “I wish a spilled drink was the worst I had to complain about. Name’s Damien. What’s been making your year so shitty?”

“Maybe,” Kaden said with a shrug before downing the last of his drink. He was pleased to see how quickly it was replaced. Another sip. It didn’t make the chill go away. The werewolf was here. And he couldn’t ignore it, as much as he wanted to. He rolled his shoulders back, hoping to roll off the feeling like water. Nothing. Putain. He was just going to try to drink some more, see if it dulled the feeling. Or at least made him feel better about it. This conversation sure wasn’t helping. Kaden considered his answer. There wasn’t much he could say or explain, not really. He wasn’t about to say that he was a werewolf hunter who wasn’t sure that he should kill werewolves. Or that his banshee girlfriend was ritualistically torturing herself in the woods. Or that his mother’s spirit was banished forever earlier this year. And that he’d lost more friends than he could count. None of that seemed like the right answer. But there was one, simple, easy answer. One that wrapped it all up in a fucking bow. “This town,” he said before taking another drink. “This fucking town. It’s-- Shit, how long have you been here?” He thought about drinking more of his beer. No, he would wait a beat. Just one. “Nice to meet you, Damien. Bet you’re glad you picked this spot to sit down, huh? So what’s your complaint, then? Share the wealth.”

Damien rested in his chair taking swigs of his beer as he waited for Kaden to answer his question, behind him the game kicked up on the screen and a man beside him pounded his fist on the bar in frustration. He had never been one for sports but the aggression didn’t go unnoticed. One dangerous aspect Damien had been ignorant of as a new werewolf were the threats to the supernatural. He had no idea hunters even existed. As far as he was concerned, violence could come from an array of sources, he’d only recently been unfortunate enough to find it in a set of jaws. The reply isn’t one he expected and it wasn’t the first time Damien had heard the same sentiment. “I haven’t been here long, think I moved in a few weeks ago now,” he shrugged as if the time he’d spent here was irrelevant, “but I’ve heard that before. From other residents I mean. Seems this place is a difficult town to live in.” Damien took another sip from his beer, not all that interested in pacing himself. He looked down at his drink when Kaden returned the question, truthfully, he missed his family. He missed his home. That was too much honesty to share over a drink. He sucked in a breath and began, “well I work in construction, usually the demolition part of it. We had some new guy on a project today and he’s working on a wall with a nail gun, had his headphones in and got distracted. Fucking idiot, put a nail right through his hand.” Damien threw his hands up in mild frustration, “made a bloody mess. Don’t think I’ve seen a fella cry so much in a long time.”

“Not surprised,” Kaden said, tapping his fingers against the glass, leaving fingerprints in the cold condensation. “The death rate in the place is off the charts. It’s a wonder anyone moves here. I say, as someone who moved here about a year and a half ago.” Funny that the reason he came here wasn’t at all the reason he was staying. Hunting was confusing. And it wasn’t the draw to this place for him anymore. “It’s… I mean, if you make it here, the connections are… I don’t know, there’s definitely no place like White Crest, I’ll tell you that much.” He traced a circle around the bottom of the glass absentmindedly before taking another drink. He perked up at Damien’s response, raising a brow.“Construction, huh? I was going to tell you to leave town but you’ll never be out of a job here.” Might die before you could take too many, sure, but a construction worker was always needed in White Crest. Monsters and magic destroyed the place about every other day. It was a wonder half the places stayed open long enough to break even. “Shit, nail right through the hand? That’s brutal. I’m Animal Control so I’ve seen my fair share of injuries, but mine are usually at the other end of teeth or claws, you know.”

It was odd how death seemed to loom over White Crest yet people continued to come despite the obvious danger, not that Damien had seen any major red flags driving it. It wasn’t as though the sign for White Crest warned people the population number was tentative. Really, the residents were the ones to offer him a word of caution, not that Damien had been much for taking it. The authorities in this town had their work cut out for them which worked in his favor, he could raise hell every now and then and hardly earn their attention. “Yeah well, maybe I’ll stick around for awhile,” Damien began, taking another drink of his beer. If he had been honest, Damien knew he just might join the body count for this town. The only thing he felt like focusing on when he wasn’t at the bar was finding the people who tore his life apart and repaying them in kind. The memory of his family pressed forward and Damien downed the rest of his drink to drown it. The bartender was quick to replace the bottle. He shifted in his seat and returned to the subject at hand, “you’re not wrong there. We’ve got so many contracts being drawn up we’ll be working well into next year.” Damien shook his head, “it was pretty brutal. Kid flailed his hand around so much I had to take a shower before I came here. Animal control huh? I’ve heard the moose in this town get pretty wild. Or do you usually deal with like, stray dogs?”

“I take it you’re one to take risks. Or just adventurous in that case.” Or maybe there was something else. Some deeper, more supernatural reason that this Damien guy was here. Kaden didn’t really care at the moment and polished off his glass for the time being. For once he didn’t want to be on alert. Or think about what his duty was or where he should be and how fucking far he’d slipped. Fuck that. He just wanted a drink and to watch a damn football match and pretend that he could be normal. “Doesn’t surprise me. Good for you. On the contracts, not the blood. That, uh, that sounds bad. Maybe less of that.” Kaden looked for his drink to try and take an opportunity to shut himself up and found nothing so he awkwardly nodded and looked for the bartender instead. Putain. He was glad to change the subject. “Both,” he said casually, laughing a little to himself as he took another sip. The moose. It was funny, he saw far less actual damn moose in this town than he ever reported on. “There’s a lot of unusual animals in this place so it’s never boring, that’s for fucking sure. Some days it’s a relief when all it is is a stray dog or a cat stuck in a damn tree.” He was always curious if he really did enough to cover up some of what happened here, if normal people were aware of half of what went down on a day to day basis. “What about you? Have you seen anything weird he--” Kaden stopped mid sentence and his eyes narrowed. He’d reached down to grab his keys to fiddle with them, give his hands something to do. Only they weren’t there. He started to pat down his pockets. No, not there. Or there either. He looked around and down and didn’t see them anywhere. That was odd. “Hey, sorry, you don’t see a set of keys around anywhere do you?”

“I guess,” Damein replied, “it’s not like I’ve got anywhere else to go.” Which was a brutal truth, he couldn’t exactly return home anymore, might as well unpack in White Crest. That truth definitely slipped out because of the beer, he didn’t usually like to talk so much about himself. Damien hoped his honesty wouldn’t provoke interest on the subject, he focused on Kaden and his occupation as the new topic of discussion. “You see more strange creatures than a moose?” The possibility caused Damien’s brows to furrow and contemplate what animal could be considered strange in this town. Selfishly, he wanted to know if there were wolves in this town, so far he had met three, but they were not the creatures he was looking for. “I’m from the city so we didn’t have anything but squirrels and stray cats. They didn’t bother you much if you threw them some scraps.” Damien took another drink from his beer, he could feel his head become light from the alcohol’s influence, when he turned the details of the room became harder to keep track of. He didn’t care, it’s not like he had a reason to stay sober tonight. Damien is relieved that Kaden’s doesn’t finish his question, or at the very least, is interrupted by something more pressing. He had seen some usual things in White Crest but he had always been so quick to dismiss it or make excuses for it, he never really paid attention to what it could be. It was easier to blame the shadows than recognize he’d seen something unnatural. Damien let his gaze drop to the floor in search of any metallic shine that could be a set of keys, then he searched the length of the bar for anything lost among the glasses, “sorry man, I don’t see any.”

“Well, you can say that again.” Fuck, Kaden knew that song and dance. Had it fucking memorized. It’s not like he had anywhere better to go, either. Of course some sick part of him was starting to like it here. He was pretty sure he hated that more than the alternative. “I’m guessing family is a complicated fucking word to you too, then?” There weren’t many people out there with nowhere to go and ample family. Not in his experience. “Oh yeah, a lot more strange creatures than moose. And there’s a decent moose population here. Some of them scream, by the way.” He was shocked the lie endured through the drunken haze. Maybe he should drink a little more to at least have an excuse if he failed to maintain the illusion. “Be careful of some of the squirrels here. Some of them eat a lot more than scraps.” Granted, those weren't squirrels. They were agropelters. Seemed easier not to go into the details. But hopefully the guy didn't lose his finger anytime soon.

Kaden’s brows furrowed even more, deepening the creases in his forehead. Still no keys. There was only one thing to do. Get off the stool and get on his hands and knees to check for his keys. “They’re not here, either,” he announced with a sigh before trying to pull himself back up. A strange giggle from somewhere just behind him made him knock his head on the bar on the way up. “Putain de merde!” he shouted, rubbing what was about to be a damn bump on his crown. Fuck. He crawled the rest of the way up and just in front of him there they were. His keys. Floating. Floating? And then with a flash, a fae appeared around them. “Wait a--” That was a fae. A fucking clurichaun. “There! You see that?” he shouted, placing his hand on Damien’s arm to get the other man’s attention. As soon as he placed his hand on the other man’s shoulder, a rush of chills shot down his spine. Aw, fuck. He was a werewolf. Kaden was damn near sure of it. Even while inebriated, there was no mistaking it. Shit. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do about that. Or if he even cared. Did he care? Putain, he probably cared. But first, the fae and his keys. Kaden stood and realized that was a mistake when he wobbled a little. “Might, uh, need some help. But they-- they went,” he jutted his hand out to point where the fae had last been, “that a way.”

The mere mention of the word family made Damien feel like he was going to throw up every last drop of alcohol he had consumed this evening. In an attempt to avoid and ignore the question he took up the bottle in his hand for another drink. It was difficult not to think of his little makeshift family in moments like this, he had hardly spent a day without seeing someone in his gang and they ended most of their nights in a bar. He watched as Kaden slipped from his spot to search for his keys. Damien attempted to help but spared little effort, he doesn’t move from his chair, sure that if he does the full influence of the alcohol will remind him of the poor decision he’s made. Instead his gaze drifted over the tables in the surrounding area, he even flagged the bartender to ask if anything had been turned in before he heard the loud thud of Kaden’s head meeting the bar. He nearly laughed at that but settled for a small grin instead.

Damien was about to take another sip of his beer when Kaden’s hand abruptly grabbed him, he thought little of the interaction until his attention found the man’s keys. “Oh fuck man, I’m drunk,” he groaned, pressing his hand to his forehead like he’d caught a fever that made him halicinate. “Wait, you…” Kaden saw it too, he had pointed it out, which meant it wasn’t an illusion? Instinctively, Damiens hands had reached out to grab Kaden as his frame staggered, helping to keep him upright before downing the rest of his beer and joining him. He felt it then too, and held onto Kaden’s shoulder momentarily for support till the room stopped spinning. “I don’t know what that thing was, maybe it was an ugly ass rat or something. Let’s go find out.”

Kaden almost shivered as the werewolf leaned on him for support. Not that he was complaining too much, he absolutely needed help staying upright and honestly appreciated the help, but all the same, his hunter senses made it feel like there was an ice cube sliding down his back. Right. He was too drunk to give a shit. Drunk and getting help from a werewolf. His parents would be so proud. “Of course I,” Kaden paused to hiccup, “saw it. It was right there.” Putain, did the werewolf not know about the supernatural? That would be his luck. “I think it was fae. Something or other. Come on.” He dragged the other man with him towards the back of the pub where he was sure he saw the creature scurry off to. A small chuckle and clanging of the keys came from his left. Kaden thought that he snapped towards the sound and cautiously proceeded but in reality he wobbled and caught himself on the edge of one of the booths. “Hey get out of the way of the game, connard,” a man in the booth shouted. The keys clanged again and the small creature shimmered into existence again just behind that man’s shoulder.

“No. You gotta move. Thanks,” Kaden slurred out as he grabbed the man from out of the booth. This was not well received. As evidence by the shouting, swearing, and the fists thrown Kaden’s way. “Hey! I just want my keys!” he shouted back as he held his hand up to his jaw right where he got decked. He didn’t want to punch back. That was fine. Kaden just grabbed him by the collar and back of his shirt and threw the guy out of the way before climbing into the booth, shakily standing on the seat, looking around for any sign of the creature. The man’s friends sitting across from this were stunned at first but the anger was clearly rising in them as well. This was about to be a scene. But all Kaden cared about here his damn keys. “You see that little shit anywhere?” he asked Damien.

A fae. Damien was too drunk to conceal his emotions, an amused grin crept onto his lips, the kind that came easy with disbelief. “Right yeah, a fae,” his words oozed forward, dripping in humor, “you’re as drunk as I am man.” Damien patted Kaden’s chest as the pair staggered forward, a friendly gesture that conveyed something like, it’s okay if you think you saw a fae, or, we’ll laugh about that one later bud. What little Damien did know of the supernatural remained secluded around his own species, and even then he hadn’t figured all of that out. Much of the time he’d spent sober was dedicated to finding out who had torn his life apart, not what had become of him since he was bitten.

Following his drinking buddy to the booth, Damien remained sure the other had simply misplaced his keys somewhere in the bar, or that someone had picked them up by mistake. His attention was too focused on the look of the group to notice the appearance of the fae, the wolf’s gaze only shifted when Kaden pulled a man from his seat. Asking Damien to be in a bar where a fight was about to occur was like lighting a match next to some gasoline and expecting the fire to simmer out. As the customer landed a hit on Kaden something in Damien’s posture shifted significantly. It was like he’d been half-asleep during this interaction and just woken up, his eyes settled dangerously on the man who’d punched his companion and his fingers curled into a fist. For a moment, Kaden could rifle through the booth undisturbed as the group assessed Damien’s potential as a threat, but only for a moment as he stepped forward and realized with great disappointment he was too drunk to fight. If he engaged them now, he’d be damned to lose.

A sharp glimmer dragged his attention to one of the patron’s glass, in it he caught the shine of a set of keys drowned in beer. “I found the rat,” Damien called far too loudly to Kaden, without hesitation he let his fingers dive into the glass to retrieve the keys. This act was received as well as Kaden’s instruction and one of the men quickly grabbed him by his shirt to land a hit on him, only unlike Kaden, Damien replied in kind by delivering a drunk, blind punch of his own.

“Putain! You found them!” Kaden exclaimed as he climbed out of the booth, using the other customer’s head to stabilize him on the way down. The man swatted at him and tried to grab his wrists but Kaden elbowed him away before reaching out to get his keyes. “Thanks, man, you’re a real--” Another hit game to the side of his face again before he could finish his sentence. And it seemed like Damien was throwing punches as well. Alright. That’s what was happening now? Kaden could fight some fuckers in a bar, sure, why not. He had never been great at hand to hand, he preferred a knife any day, but he was still a goddamn hunter.

Kaden wobbled as he turned to reel on the guy who had grabbed him and threw a sloppy punch at him. It missed. Fucking hell. He settled for stomping on his foot. Something started tugging from behind him and Kaden realized one of the friends had jumped in. “Hey, not the hair!” he shouted as he clutched at his roots, trying to swat the guy away. Putain de merde. He didn’t expect grown men in a bar fight to pull a move usually seen from primary school girls. He planned on making this a fair fight, but now the fire blazed through him, that old familiar adrenaline of the hunt fueling him forward. He grabbed the man by the collar and slammed the guy into the booth, pressing his face into the table. This was probably the part where he should let go of this dick and walk the hell away. But he had to admit it was a little fun. Of course his grip was shaky and he had a strange feeling gurgling in his stomach.

Damien’s fingers tightened around the ring of keys till the edges of them dug into his palm, after all their searching he would not so easily give them up, even with someone pounding their fist into his chest. Pain was not often a useful deterrent for the wolf, he’d practically grown up with it by his side so when it erupted from the force of the man’s fist he knew to greet it like an old friend. The hit Damien landed on the man fell low on his jaw and while his head snapped in one direction from the force of it, the blows Damien delivered sober were much more severe. He might be drunk but that didn't make him weak. He was about to release the keys to Kaden when the brawl escalated and he had to manage another patron on his own.

A wild smile cut into Damien’s lips at the chaos that erupted, it did not live long as the man he’d been tangled with crashed his knuckles into his cheek. The room blurred and bended for a moment as he staggered, instinctively he reached out to a nearby table to stabilize himself, the keys in his hand skidding forward. “Dammit,” the curse was spit from his lips along with a splatter of blood. Damien’s collar was torn in one direction as he was confronted with the patron once more, while the man wound up a hit Damien aimed for his gut, his blow landed and the man bent over before he fell back into the booth. Moments later he found another rearing up to attack his drinking pal and Damien grabbed an empty bottle from the table and smashed it over his head. The action of it threw off his own balance which caused the wolf to wobble and fall down himself. It was there that Damien saw the fae with Kaden’s keys in its possession once more, sneaking underneath the battle to find the next location to deposit the item. Damien lurched forward, snaring the creature in his grasp, applauding himself with a cheerful bark of laughter for his accuracy.

“I caught it!” he shouted, struggling to get off the floor and grabbing the booth helplessly, “I caught the little fucker!” Damien could not get up, the room swayed too much for him to regain any sense of balance and his own body felt too heavy to lift. Struggling, he grappled onto the booth and hoisted himself up and then grabbed Kaden’s wrist to smack the fae from his hand into the other’s palm. It was only then, after the little creature cried in protest that Damien could finally see it was not a rat at all.

Kaden swallowed back the bile rising in his stomach just before the man he had pinned down kicked out at him. Good call. This whole endeavor? Probably a shit call, though. Too late now. Kaden stumbled back and found his foot caught on something, a leg maybe? What the fuck he tripped on didn’t matter, all that did matter was he was falling backwards and slammed his back into a pillar dividing the room. The bump on the back of his head should have hurt more, surely, but he hardly noticed it in his inebriation. That and the breath knocked from his lungs was a much more pressing issue. So was the drunkard charging at him with a plate in hand. Putain. Kaden ducked and twisted away, only to find his feet tangled even more with the legs sprawled across the floor. The hunter caught himself on the edge of another booth, thankfully empty. And lucky for him, it looked like the idiot with the plate slammed himself into the wall and wasn’t getting back up anytime soon.

A hit came out of nowhere from the side. Why the fuck was he dealing with all of these assholes on his own? Where the fuck did the werewolf get to? Kaden still felt his presence. His had shot up to nurse the sting of pain across the side of his face when he looked down. The legs on the floor. They were Damien’s. Another arm came flying towards Kaden before he could figure out what the fuck was going on down there. Reaching out to swat it away was like navigating underwater, the whole world was spinning and reeling. Kaden’s nails dug into some piece of skin, it was likely a forearm or wrist, couldn’t tell, but he twisted it as hard as he could either way. The scream that rang out through the bar dropped a pit of guilt into his stomach. Or maybe that was the bile. Hard to say.

There wasn’t a chance for Kaden to question if he’d gone too far while fighting a human, something was slammed into his palm. His forehead creased as he tried to look down and concentrate on what the fuck he was holding. He blinked several times before the pieces fit together. “Putain! A fucking clurrr--” Kaden paused to let out a small belch. “Clurichaun. Shit.” He reached down and pried the keys from the fae’s hands even as it protested. He held up the monster and looked at it. It was shaking, frightened, but it still stuck its tongue out at the hunter. He knew he should kill the fucker. He was a hunter. It’s what he did. But he couldn’t will himself to pull out a knife. Or squeeze a little tighter around the creature’s neck. The fuck was wrong with him? “You want it?” Kaden asked the other man instead.

Even now as Damien tried to narrow his focus on the creature he’d delivered to Kaden he couldn’t believe it wasn’t a rat. The room swayed as he tried to concentrate and make the fae out, or maybe he was swaying, it didn’t seem to matter much. The features of the small monster appeared and then blurred, he watched as tiny arms protested the keys being pried from them. “A what?” Damien’s voice was louder than it needed to be, damn near a shout, but he didn’t have the mindset to adjust his volume.

Accepting the creature back, the wolf brought it clasped in hand closer for review. The Clurichaun protested Damien’s hold, miniscule nails dug into his fingers and once the creature even bit him. It really wasn’t a rat. “Fucking hell,” Damien muttered, and Kaden was offering for him to keep it? He wasn’t even sure what it was let alone how to care for it. Disbelief was written plainly into his features as he almost reluctantly uncurled his fingers for the monster to escape. Still, Damien didn’t know what to make of it, even after seeing it with his own eyes it was hard to believe.

The damage obtained in the fight had finally set in, though the alcohol had helped to reduce it to a dull ache. Damien didn’t know that after a few days the bruises would heal, the supernatural healing he had inherited through the bite still unfamiliar to him. Throwing an arm over Kaden’s shoulder, the wolf leaned into him as amusement bent his lips into a grin, “is this what most of your nights look like? I’m going to have to get your number, give you a ring next time I head out.” Damien began to walk forward, well, stumble really, half-expecting Kaden to make up for it as he dragged him along. “Is there a...um…” the thought had skittered away from him and Dmaien snapped his fingers as if the action would help him recall it. “Taxi! Is there some taxi system around here?”

It took Kaden a moment to realize the monster was getting further and further away. Did he let it go? Did Damien? It didn’t matter after he felt the wolf’s arm wrap around his shoulder and the chills shooting down his spine. Strange, in the drunken haze it didn’t make him want to flinch away. He almost dared to call it normal. Putain, that wasn’t it. It just wasn’t as offensive as the bile threatening its way back up. He steadied himself under the other man’s arm, or tried to. In reality, it was a graceless balancing act. He blinked and considered the question while he tried to focus on making the room stop spinning. “Sort of, yeah,” he finally answered. Recently they hadn’t been quite this lively, sure, but he definitely ran into monsters and fae more often than he ever cared to. And if he thought on it, he had to admit that some sick part of him missed the adrenaline rush from hunting with is previous frequency. Bar fights were a rational substitute, right? Right.

World still spinning. Right. It didn’t help that Kaden was trying to wave at Damien to stop whatever it was he was doing while doubling over in laughter. He wasn’t even sure what he was laughing at. Something about the word taxi. “I don’t know,” he spat through laughter, trying to catch himself before he actually fell over. “Let...let’s ask the bartender. He… he knows things.” If nothing else, he’d know how to send them both packing.

[another-sonic-blog]

BOO, CONGRATULATIONS ON THE 1,100 FOLLOWERS 🎉🎉🎉 Can I get uhhhh prompt Movie!Amy meeting Movie! Sonic for the first time???😳💖 I want to see your take on it so bad my guy.😖💖

Blue Meets Pink

.

 Sonic couldn't stop that anxious feeling whenever Tom drove off. His life has been too perfect, living the dream. He had to admit that he was scared that one day Tom will never come back and that all the good moments he spent with Tom and Maddie were a dream.

"But he always comes back ... he always does."

Sonic reassured himself as entered his school. The community of Green Hill had accepted him and kept his existence a secret, which he appreciated deeply. Just like in town, he was pretty popular in school as well. He wasn't the smartest one around, it was a bit hard for him to stay in one place and pay attention. He usually needed Maddie's help to finish his homework, Tom tried to help him as well sometimes but he usually gave up midway ... junior high's homework can be tricky. Or at least that's what Tom said.

However, Sonic was pretty good at sports. He was on every sports team at school. Football, soccer, track, tennis, volleyball, but of course he had to restrain himself from using his super speed. It was fine by Sonic, what matters to him was that he wasn't playing alone like he used to before.

Of course, Tom and Maddie will never miss a game. They were supportive of him and celebrated all of his wins and losses.

It was also fun to dress him as a normal boy before a game. Long pants, long sleeve t-shirts, a cap, and a facemask was all it took to convince the other school that Sonic was just a normal 12 years old.

Sonic stepped inside the building as everyone greeted him with a smile. Teachers, custodians, staff, and students.

It was a sunny day in Green Hills, Sonic had a chili dog packed on his Flash backpack and he was excited to see his friends.

Today was going to be a good day.

.

Sonic was wrong. Tom was always punctual when he picked him up but today ... he didn't show up. He waited for him for 30 minutes in the rain. What started as a good day, turned out to be horrible.

"Do they don't want me anymore? Maybe they just need a break from me ... I can be pretty annoying after all ..."

Sonic decided to walk home. Yes, he could run there but he decided to walk so he can think. He hated to be wet, overall, he hated water but for now, he will stand it.

Sonic walked through Green Hill's downtown. Coffee shops, pizzerias, small clothing shops, and small libraries were the main attraction. He passed over a dark alley, he would have kept walking if it wasn't because he heard crying coming from around the trashcans.

He was very curious at heart. Sonic also loved to help those in need, especially the townspeople who have been kind to him. He walked over the alley and walked behind the trashcans where the crying was more intense.

It was still raining but he knew for sure that he had found a pink furball.

A crying pink furball.

"What the-"

"Aaah!"

"Aaah!"

Sonic looked at the pink one up and down. She was small and pink, or so he thought. She was dirty and couldn't tell if it was pink or brown or both. She was wearing a brown dress. It looked more like a rag than anything else. The pink thing was wearing some type of sandals that looked like they could break at any moment. She was covered in mud, and if Sonic didn't know better he could tell that she was hurt as well. She has scratches on her knees and arms and a little bit of blood came out of the cuts. Unlike him, her quills were pink and down, very short and feminine, she had bangs as well. Her quills were messy and had leaves and small tree branches on all of her quills.

She had green eyes just like him.

"So, is this what Tom felt the first time he saw me?"

The pink creature in front of him had his full attention. It was obvious that they looked similar.

"What are you?," Sonic asked. He looked at her up and down.

"I am ... I am a hedgehog!" The pink one stutter. She was starting to get scared and intimidated by blue one in front of him. She walked back until she hit the alley's wall.

"I am a hedgehog too! What's your name?" Sonic asked excitedly.

The pink creature saw how the blue one expression changed. Before he was startled, now he was ... excited? It was as he had never seen another hedgehog before. She had to admit that it was a bit adorable.

"Amy," She whispered. "My name is Amy."

"Amy what?" Sonic asked.

Amy looked at him curiously, and she proceeded to ask. "What do you mean what?"

"Yes ... Amy what? What is your last name?"

"Last name?" Amy asked again.

"Yes, my name is Sonic and my last name is Wachowski," Sonic said. "I am Sonic Wachowski the Hedgehog."

"Oh ... I am just Amy," she said. "I don't have a last name."

It kept raining. Sonic looked at Amy. She looked lost and afraid. It somehow reminded him of his past self. Sonic wanted to help her at any cost.

Sonic walked closer to Amy and she flinched at his act. Sonic stopped moving and instead, he smiled at her.

"Are you hungry?"

.

Sonic had taken Amy to 'Mama's Pizzeria' the most famous place in town. Although he felt bad for taking it, Tom or Maddie always made sure to leave money on Sonic's backpack. Today, he was happy to find that they both had left him money. He could buy a really nice meal for Amy.

"Eat whatever you want! I'll pay!" Sonic said as they both sat on a booth. He noticed that Amy was at awe. She was fascinated by everything, well she was literally in another world. Sonic remembered to be like her the first time he arrived. He was young and got used to it quickly but for Amy, it must be interesting and scary at the same time.

"Oh, what is that?!" Amy asked and Sonic looked at what she was pointing.

"That's a lamp,"

"Oh, what is that?"

"That's a baby,"

"Oh, what is that?"

"That's a pizza,"

"Can I take your order?"

Sonic and Amy were interrupted as a human girl approached them. Her name was Maria, a blond blue-eyed girl. Maria worked for the pizzeria as a waitress to help out her grandfather. She was very lively and liked by everyone in the town. She smiled at them and Sonic felt relieved that she didn't say anything about Amy's appearance.

"We would like a large pepperoni pizza and two drinks please," Sonic said.

Maria wrote the order down on her notepad and she then focused on her attention to Sonic's new friend.

"Oh, it seems like you brought a date with you today," Maria said, she bent down to take a better look at Amy. "I am sorry, but you are covered in mud. Wouldn't you like to take a shower meanwhile Sonic waits for your food?"

Amy instantly looked at Sonic. Although she didn't know the hedgehog any better, the small amount of time and kindness he had shown her was enough for Amy to trust the blue one. As well that he seemed to know better of this world and was one of her own.

"You should go, Maria's house is above this place. I will wait for you here." Sonic reassured her and in that, Amy looked over at Maria and nodded accepting her offer.

Sonic watched how Amy followed Maria, a bit scared but he knew that she will get used to her soon enough.

There were many questions he wanted to ask her but that could wait until they have eaten.

.

The food has arrived already but Amy nor Maria haven't shown up yet. Sonic wanted to wait for her so they could eat together but his hunger got the best of him and using his speed, he ate a slice. He looked over the restaurant as he chews on the pizza. The restaurant had fairy lights and Italian music was playing on the background. The booth he was sitting on had a square table. On top of it, a pink rose on a crystal vase decorated the wooden table.

A few seconds after that, Maria showed up with a very cute hedgehog. Wait-

A shower can make a big difference. Amy's pink fur shined as well as her quills who looked soft to the touch. She was wearing a red and white dress with matching boots and a red hairband decorated her head.

"Wow, Amy," Sonic said as he quickly cleaned his mouth, wiping away the evidence of his previous act.

"Maria gave me this dress," Amy said as she sat down again on the booth. She moved to the side to give Maria space to sit next to her. Maria was a nice girl and she had gained Amy's trust immediately.

"I used to wear this dress when I was younger, it doesn't longer fit me so I gave it to Amy," Maria said as she accepted Amy's gesture and sat next to her. "Doesn't she look pretty, Sonic?"

"She looks um ... clean!" Sonic blurted out. He didn't know how to respond, it would be very uncool of him to say that she looked pretty. No, yeah that's not happening.

Sonic's thoughts were interrupted as he noticed Amy eating the pizza. She finished slice by slice, and Sonic thought that maybe he will have to buy another pizza.

Amy noticed the eyes on her and she felt embarrassed. She hasn't eaten anything since yesterday and she didn't know where to get food. She took a sip of her water and she gave a Sonic and Maria smile.

The two let out a small laugh and after seeing that Amy was more comfortable, Sonic proceeded to make questions.

"So Amy, where are you from?" Sonic asked.

"I am from Mobius, a planet far away from this one," Amy responded.

"And how did you get here?"

Amy looked outside the window. She didn't know if she could trust them with such information. However, noticing that they were so kind to her without knowing her, then maybe telling them about her situation could benefit her.

"I came following my friend, Tails, but I lost track of him along the way." Amy said, "Our world is in danger, a creature called Chaos has devastated our world and we came looking for a hedgehog who could save it."

"A hedgehog? Me?" Sonic asked excitedly but Amy moved her head from side to side, denying it.

"Tails was very specific ... His record shows that 50 years ago a hedgehog from our world came to this planet." Amy added, "That hedgehog was the Ultimate Life Form, he had great powers and he used them to protect Mobius ... but one day, he disappeared. After extended research, we found that this hedgehog ended up on planet Earth and that he was capture by a military organization called G.U.N. Now we are looking for him, hoping that he can help up save our world."

Amy looked over at Sonic, "It would have been great if that hedgehog was you Sonic but the one we are looking for is a black and red hedgehog."

"Wait you said G.U.N., right?" Maria interrupted as she snapped her fingers in realization. She looked over at Amy who nodded. "My grandfather used to work for them during his younger years! He even still has some of the past documents of his missions. We can look over those documents and even ask him if he knows anything on the matter and-"

"SONIC WACHOWSKI THE HEDGEHOG WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?!"

The two hedgehogs and human turned to see that Tom had entered the restaurant, he looked frantic and angry as he walked towards their booth.

"Sonic, we have been looking for you like crazy!" Tom said.

"Well, if someone had picked up me at school I wouldn't be here!" Sonic said with a bit of hurt in his voice.

"In the morning I told you we couldn't pick you up today, I told you to take the bus!" Tom said, "But you were too focused eating, so it's no wonder you-"

Tom stopped midway as he noticed the pink hedgehog in front of Sonic. He was quick to take out his phone and dial a number.

"Maddie? Yes, I found him! But that's not important right now, Sonic is having his first date! Yes, yes, I will take pictures. Yes, bring the professional camera we should have this on his photo album. Yes, I will tell them to wait, ok I will wait for you we are at 'Mama's Pizzeria'."

Tom and Maddie were great but could they be any more embarrassing? Sonic covered his face with his hands.

"Oh, dear ground that is underneath me ... please eat me."

Tom began to take pictures with his phone, he was so proud of his blue son.

Sonic just couldn't take it.

"Alright, we are leaving!" Sonic said as he stood up from his seat and tried to push Tom away.

"Wait, you are not going to introduce me to your girlfriend?" Tom asked.

"She is not my girlfriend!" Sonic said and he got closer to Tom and whispered. "You are embarrassing me!"

But before leaving, Sonic needed to ask Maria for a favor.

"Oh Maria, Amy seems comfortable with you." Sonic turned to look at the blond one who stood up from her seat. Amy followed her as well. "Do you think Amy can stay with you? Looking at how Tom reacted ... I just know that at my home she will be too overwhelmed."

"You go in peace Sonic, I will take good care of Amy," Maria smiled as she looked at Amy.

Almost as if she was scared, Amy got closer to Sonic and with a panic she held his hand. "Wait, don't leave me!"

Sonic felt bad for the pink one. He saw so much of him in her. They were so similar but at the same time so different. He didn't how to express himself although he wanted to bring her comfort. Sonic wanted Amy to be safe and he made a promise to himself that he will help her and protect her.

"Don't worry, I will come back!" Sonic said as he softly grabbed her hand, caressing it.

"You promise?" Amy asked innocence filled her voice.

"I, Sonic Wachowski the Hedgehog promise to visit Amy Rose every day after school," Sonic said.

"Amy ... Rose?"

"Yes, since you didn't have a last name I thought I should give you one." Sonic smiled and for a moment Amy's heart skipped a bit. "From now on you are Amy Rose! Because you are pretty and strong like one!"

They both look at each other's eye and for a moment Amy's felt different. Her heart began to beat faster, she felt the heat rise to her cheeks especially when Sonic smiled at her with such warmness.

SNAP SNAP

Tom interrupted the moment as he began to take more pictures of them.

"Don't mind me," Tom said, "You both are just too adorable!"

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A/N: I hope you like this boo! Thank you again for showing me support. I love your work, keep it up

I am currently working on prompts! Thank you everyone~

[give-me-back-my-rhodey]

Here We Are, Born to be Kings - AUgust Day 9

Title: Here We Are, Born to be Kings

Author: Purple_ducky00

Rating: Teen

Warnings: N/A

Pairing: Rhodey/Tony

Square Filled: G2 Dramatic Proposal

Link: Read on AO3

Summary:  Prince James is in love with Lord Tony Stark, a childhood friend. However, the Starks have been disgraced due to embezzlement charges. Can they overcome this?

++++++++++

“Your Highness. Lord Stark is here to see you.” Quentin Beck holds up his nose.

 Prince James Rhodes rolls his eyes. It’s not like Beck should judge. He was only hired because his family was in serious debt.  Tony is working out of his.

 Tony walks in a few minutes later, hair askew. “Wow, Rhodey, your servants hate me. I call it an achievement.”

“They just think it’s ok to judge since their scandals happened long ago enough for people to forget. You don’t deserve this.”

 “I probably do.” Tony shrugs. “It doesn’t bother me. Actually, it gives me the chance to ditch my politeness because they already dislike me.”

 “Oh for that luxury,” Rhodey sighs. He hates the protocol he must go through. Maybe that’s why he finds Tony so refreshing.

 They first met at a football match. Tony was on the other team, and he told the young prince, “We’re not playing any easier because you’re the prince. So, be ready for that.”

 Rhodey laughed and started playing. Tony’s team was clearly better, and they defeated Rhodey's team easily. After the game, Tony invited him to grab some lunch. They have been fast friends ever since.

 Now, Rhodey is 22 and Tony is 21. Tony’s father died last year, and Tony inherited his estate. After going over the numbers, Tony’s godfather, Obadiah Stane informed him that Howard had been falsifying records and was basically bankrupt.

 Dazed and reeling from his parents' sudden death, Tony doesn’t know what to do with this information. He reaches out for help, but as Howard had been stealing money from his peers, everyone refuses to help him. Rhodey offers to bail him out completely. Tony won’t let him. He decides he will work to pay off his father's debts.

 Tony was always incredibly smart. His patented inventions were used worldwide. He decides to start his own company, Stark Enterprises, where he builds and sells hi-tech machinery and entertainment devices. As his company quickly grows, he branches out into clean energy and satellites. Not even a full year after starting his company, Tony is very successful. With only Stane and his PA, Pepper Potts, at his right hand, Tony makes sure that he himself takes care of the books. Every entry is painstakingly entered and checked by the big boss himself.

 Rhodey is very proud of his friend, but it seems that his family is the only one in the kingdom that is. King Terrance and Queen Roberta love the young man as a son, but they often wonder if he is taking on too much, causing his sleepless nights and unhealthy eating habits. Tony waves them off saying he had had those problems before his parents had died.

 Prince James’ PR agent tells him that finding someone to date might be a good look for him. Everyone is looking for news of the royal family, and they will only assume the worst if they don’t hear from each member. Queen Roberta’s cooking classes and bingo games are televised. The king does a podcast twice a month. Jeannie plays tennis professionally. James is the only one without a big public profile, and he prefers that. However, there are some people who think that James is being pushed out of the spotlight or being abused in some kind. To quell any quickly rising rumors, Rhodey agrees to attend sports matches and talk to the press for a few minutes each time. When Tony’s not working his ass off, he often accompanies Tony.

 What Rhodey doesn’t tell his PR agent is the reason he doesn’t date. He is hopelessly in love with Tony and admitting that would be bad for a few reasons. 1.) Everyone in the country is against Tony. They would slander his name even more if they thought he had got his “money-grubbing claws” in the prince. 2.) Tony is straight. He had never told Rhodey otherwise, and he has only dated women as far as Rhodey knows. 3.) He doesn’t want any reason to make Tony uncomfortable in the only place he is welcome other than his home. So, he skirts the topic because fake dating is not his idea of fun.

 Now, Tony’s here and Rhodey knows he’s giving Tony heart eyes. “So, you’ve got a day off from me. What’s the plan, Rhodey?”

 “You pick today. I’m up for anything.” Rhodey trusts that Tony won’t do anything Rhodey can’t.

 Tony sits on the chair beside Rhodey. “I need to sit. I don’t think I’ve stopped moving for a week.”

 “So, what you’re saying is you need sleep.” Rhodey retorts.

“No, I need to spend time with my Rhodeybear. We never did that Star Wars marathon after Rise of Skywalker came out, did we?” Tony pokes him. “We can order like tons of pizza and greasy foods and bro it out like the old times.”

 Stuck in a theatre room with only Tony and highly unhealthy food? “Sounds like a great day. Let’s queue up the movies. I’ll have |Miss Cabe order our food. The usual?” Tony nods and heads off to the theater.

 Rhodey pulls out his phone and texts a maid, Bethany Cabe, to place an order for the following: an extra-large bacon pizza, two orders of cheesy curly fries, mozzarella sticks, and onion rings. Rhodey has cases of Tony’s favorite beer, so they did not need to worry about drinks.

 As they settle in to watch the movies, Tony tells him, “Wake me up if I fall asleep. I don’t want to miss Episode Six again.”

 “Come on Tones, Return of the Jedi isn’t the best.” Rhodey smirks.

 Tony glares at him. “It’s my favorite. Leave me alone. Go ahead and like Empire or whatever one you like the best. Geez.”

 “You know mine is Episode Three. The tragedy, the pain, the John Williams’ scores? A masterpiece.”

 “Anakin deserved better.” Tony mumbles as he eats a bite of pizza. Rhodey sighs. He’s heard this rant many times, and he’ll probably hear it again tonight. Tony really gets into these movies.

 Tony falls asleep at the end of A New Hope, his head falling on Rhodey’s shoulder. He looks so exhausted so Rhodey lets him sleep through Empire since Tony thinks it’s overhyped or something. Rhodey likes it. When Return of the Jedi starts, Rhodey nudges Tony awake. “Episode 6? Honeybear, you are an angel.” Tony kisses his cheek.

 By the time The Last Jedi comes on, both of the men are sleeping. Jeannette comes in to check on them and snaps a picture of Tony lying on top of Rhodey, both snoring away.

 Rhodey wakes up a few hours later and freezes. Tony is sleeping peacefully on him, his head on Rhodey’s chest. He doesn’t dare move in fear of waking Tony up. He slowly reaches for his phone and scrolls through Instagram and other social media apps until Tony wakes up.

 Tony wakes up slowly, but when he’s fully awake he jumps up and goes. “I’ve got to get to work!”

  “Hey Tony. It’s Sunday. We were going to spend Saturday and Sunday together, right?”

 “Oh. Oh. Whew. I thought.” Tony slumps. “Probably hallucinating from all that grease.”

 “Maybe we should get a little more sleep in a real bed.” Rhodey suggests. Tony nods, and they walk up to Rhodey’s room. Since they were kids, Tony always slept in Rhodey’s bed with him. They only ever slept and/or cuddled, and Rhodey has a king bed in case either of them needed their own space.

 They go to Jeannie’s tennis match then accompany her to an expensive Italian restaurant for dinner. The next morning, there are pictures splashed across the tabloids. Stark trying to get in with the Royal Family? Read more on page 3! One says. The Apple Doesn’t Fall far from the Tree – Another Gold-Digging Stark! Rhodey shakes his head. He was afraid this would happen. He calls his PR agent, Maria Hill.

She answers with a “Now do you see why having a partner would be good?”

 “Yes. Do you have any candidates who would be willing to date with no sex and/or strings attached? For public only?”

 “You don’t know how many celebrities only hope for that. Let me see which ones I can get. I’ll send you over a packet when I get them.”

 When he gets the packet, Rhodey isn’t surprised to find that 75% of them are women. Skipping through them, he tells Maria to reach out to an A-list actress Natasha Romanov. She is a beautiful woman, and they seem to have a lot of the same likes and dislikes. She agrees to meet with Rhodey at a small café near the palace. He introduces himself as Rhodey, then corrects it to “James or Jim” when Romanov gives him an odd look. “I’m sorry. My best friend always calls me Rhodey. It’s just what I expect now. I mean, if you want to call me that in private, it’s fine. Maria thinks it’s better if you call me James or Jim when talking with the press.”

“Tell me about this best friend.” Natasha leans forward. “He sounds like a nice guy.”

 Rhodey launches into a detailed description of Tony: his strengths, his flaws, his quirks, etc.  When he’s done, she asks, “And you’re dating me because you can’t date him?”

 “How did you…?”

 “You’re in love with him. Just look at your face. It’s ok. I won’t tell the press. I have almost the same problem. I’m in a poly relationship with a different celebrity couple. However, since Hollywood, even with its sex scandals, still looks down on poly relationships. I need a beard to keep our activity on the downlow. Is that acceptable for you?”

 Rhodey nods. “Of course. And you’re right. I love Tony, but I need to keep the press out of his life. His father put him through a lot, and he’s trying to make up for Howard’s sins. He doesn’t need the extra press coverage. Also, I don’t know if he likes me like that. I’ve never seen him date a guy.”

 “Well, I’d like to meet him.”

 +++++++ Natasha and Tony eventually meet. Tony is happy to meet her, but Rhodey feels that Tony is wearing one of his many masks. |When they kiss goodnight, Natasha tells him, “Rhodey, he likes you.”

 “Not that I want to doubt you, but I’m highly doubtful on this one here.”

 A few months pass, and Natasha and Prince James are photographed at red carpet events, at sports games, and at galas. Rumors are spreading that Prince James might propose soon. Natasha shows up at the palace for a surprise visit. “Hey, can we talk?” She pulls James from his family dinner.

 She tells him how the couple that she is dating are planning on coming out to the press as poly with her because they know some younger people who are receiving hate for their relationships. They want to be allies for such people. And they want her there when they come out. “Can we say we amicably split? I’d love to keep in contact with you.”

 “That sounds good.” His phone pings. He has a google alert set up for Tony because the press likes to come up to him for hostile interviews at the most inopportune times. James does his best to save him. “Listen Nat, I will talk to my publicist, but I have to go.”

 The press has trapped Tony on the palace driveway. “What do you think of Prince James marrying Ms. Romanov?” One reporter asks.

 “I didn’t know they got engaged, but I think they are an excellent match. Well-suited for each other.” Rhodey can see Tony is keeping his press face on but was not ready for the sudden press conference.

 Another reporter sneers. “We know you were trying to get a piece of the royalty. Will you try for the princess now that the prince is spoken for?”

 “Excuse me?” Tony reels. “What are you talking about?”

 “They’ll never have you. You’re just a charity case to them. What do you think of that? Did you think Prince James really liked you? Especially after what your father did?” Another reporter shoves a microphone in his face.

 Tony loses his mask. “Do I think Rho- Prince James really liked me? I have known the prince since we were young teenagers. I know he likes me… as a friend. But anything more? No. He never did, never will. I know what my father did; I know what I have to do to fix it. My father and Prince James have no correlation. What are you even trying to say here?” Rhodey can see the pain in Tony’s eyes. They flash when he says that Rhodey will never like him as anything more as a friend.

 “Excuse me.” Rhodey steps forward. “Can you step away from him, please?”

 The press apologizes and steps away. “Now, I want to say this once more and hopefully never again. Lord Stark is not his father. Lord Stark is paying his father’s investors back as quickly as he can. He started up his business on his own with his trust fund from his maternal grandmother. Howard never saw or added to a penny of that fund. What is the point of hating a man for the sins of his father? Keep rolling. I am talking to the country as a whole. Leave him alone, please. I want to say one more thing. Tony Stark, you are the love of my life. The reason I have not dated is because the only person I have ever loved was you. Yes, Natasha and I dated, but we did to keep other things hidden. I’m sure she will let you know at some point. It’s not my job. Tony, again, I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you and perhaps rule with you. I do not have a ring yet because I had not planned to propose to you in front of live TV today, yet here I am. Will you make me the happiest man in the world and marry me?”

 “You’re serious?” Tony gasps.

 “Completely.”

 “Then Rhodey, my Honeybear, my Platypus, my Sourpatch, I will marry you in a heartbeat.” Tony smiles widely, and Rhodey kisses him deeply, in front of the cameras. As they turn to the palace, Tony turns back to the cameras, lifts his middle finger, and says, “Fuck you” whilst smiling sweetly.

 ++++++ The country is so shocked at Prince James’ dramatic proposal. People wonder if Tony is a good fit for the prince due to his blatant disregard for protocol. Princess Jeannie posts the picture she took of them sleeping in the theatre room on Instagram, the caption “I knew it.” She broke the internet with the most likes on an Instagram post.

  Tony goes through his numbers and his father’s numbers again to make sure everyone is paid off. While looking at his father’s records again, he notices some discrepancies from Obadiah’s report. The truth comes out – Howard had not done anything wrong; it was Obadiah. He falsified documents, records, and even bills to give him much more money. Obadiah is fired and imprisoned. Tony’s name is cleared. Anthony Stark marries Prince James Rhodes a happy man.

[panda-noosh]

Can you write a Lance x reader College AU where reader is been pulling all-nighters lately to catch up on homework? Thank you, take your time!!

   This is getting beyond a joke now.

   It was funny in the beginning. Lance will admit that. He didn’t take it as seriously as he probably should have, simply finding it cool that he could text you at all hours of the morning and you would always be awake to text him back. He liked the accessabilitiy. He liked how little effort he had to put in.

    But now you’re just draining yourself, and it’s starting to worry him.

    He stands in your doorway, and it’s already two am. Lance should have been asleep hours ago, but he had football practise and he drank too much Lucozade Sport and now he’s awake and can’t fall asleep. You, however, have been awake for what honestly feels like two days straight; Lance can’t remember the last time he knew you were sleeping.

    You don’t look up from your desk, too busy pondering over a textbook that lays open in front of you. You have your glasses on, and a pencil is lodged between your teeth. There’s a glass of warm milk right by your elbow, untouched and gross looking.

    “Hello.”

     You don’t reply. 

   Lance steps further into the room. “Helloooo.”

    Again, you don’t reply, though you acknowledge his presence by flicking your eyes in his direction for the briefest of moments; Lance takes that as a win, and closes the door, stepping fully into the messy dorm room.

    “I’ve come for naps,” he says. “Actually, no. Not naps. A full nights sleep.”

    “It’s already two am,” you reply, voice hoarse and croaky. “We might as well pull an all-nighter.”

    “There’s only so many all-nighters a person can pull, Y/N L/N.” Lance flops back on your bed, crisp packets crunching beneath him. “How many is this? Two? Three? I’m pretty sure tomorrow is the cut-off date before you drop dead-”

    “I have a deadline for this essay,” you say quickly. “I need to get it done.”

   Lance raises a brow. “You do realise there’s something you can ask for known as an extension. Teachers aren’t monsters - they’ll let you have more time.”

    “That’s gonna make me look bad.”

   “The bags under your eyes are making you look bad.”

   Without even looking, you lob an eraser at Lance. It bounces off his thigh and rolls under the bed.

   Lance groans, head falling back against the pillows. “Please just come to bed so I don’t have to stress over your well-being any more.”

    “Lance, just go to sleep. You have a match tomorrow, do you not?”

   “Yes, but I’ll only go if you do.”

    Finally, you look at him, a frown on your face. “You know I can’t.”

   Lance pushes himself onto his elbows. “Why not? You’ve been to every other game of mine.”

    “Yes, but that was before I fell so far behind on homework.”

    “You’re not even that far behind! A few essays here and there aren’t going to ruin your chances of getting into a good program after graduation. Plus, you won’t be working to your full capacity if you haven’t slept in four days.”

    You frown, and Lance knows he’s got you; he’s not a psychology major, but he knows a thing or two about energy and it’s effects on the human brain. It’s something his coach enjoys teaching him on a daily fucking basis, though he teaches it through harsh screams and Lance is usually jogging round a track as it’s being yelled at him.

    Lance slowly sits up and reaches out. You stare at him for a second, frown morphing into a pout that makes Lance chuckle.

    “Come on,” he says. “I’ll even stay with you.”

    “I never asked-” 

   “I know, baby, you don’t need to tell me again. I give the best cuddles this world has ever seen.”

    You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling, and then you’re standing up, walking towards him, falling into his arms. It’s obvious immediately just how tired you are, just how far you’ve stretched your body these past few days. Your head falls into the crook of his neck and you keep it there, eyes slipping closed even as Lance shuffles back on the bed and lays you both down, grinning from ear to ear.

    He holds you like that, one hand tracing patterns on your back as the other combs through your hair. He listens to your breathing even out for the first time in days, savouring the warmth of your body against his, because it really has been so long since the two of you did anything like this, just basked in each others presence with nothing to disturb you. 

      “Do you think I could sleep through your match tomorrow?” you mumble into his skin. 

    Lance can’t even be mad, not with the giddy joy he feels having you next to him. “Can I join you?”

   “You can’t skip a match.”

    “I can’t let you sleep on your own, either. That’s not very boyfriend-ly.”

    You laugh, breath warm against Lance’s neck as you nuzzle closer, pulling your legs into his lap, draping your arm across his stomach. “Whatever. Just let me sleep.”

    Lance presses his cheek to the top of your head and says, “I’ll be here when you wake up.” 

[constantconfusion111]

Etched into your skin - Chapter 1

I wanted to work on something a bit longer than a one shot and I'm a sucker for soulmates. I hope you'll enjoy this. :)

Pairing: Tharn x Type  Summary: The name of your soulmate is written on your body since birth. Type refuses to meet Tharn, he doesn't need a soulmate, certainly doesn't want a man soulmate. Destiny doesn't really care about what Type wants.

AO3 link

TRIGGER WARNING:

There's a brief, non explicit mention to what happened to Type as a child. If this is something triggering for you, please be careful. That mention happens during the second half of the chapter.

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

Tharn Thara Kirigun

That was a boy’s name curling on his left shoulder blade. He could only see it from the corner of his eye. His mum had taken a photo for him so that he could see clearly without twisting around or using a mirror.

Khom also had a boy’s name on his arm. Their parents had joked they were destined to be friends as much as they were destined to meet Tharn and Som.

Type was so happy. His soulmate was another boy. They’ll play football together all day long. When they’ll be tired, they’ll go back home and stay up till late to try the latest video games. Type wouldn’t have to care about the latest hot music band or who the prettiest actors were, which seemed to be the hottest topics with the girls at school. Other boys in his class were so envious.

Even though his soulmate was a man, he was still going to treat him nicely. His dad was always kind with his mum. They’ve been together for the past 13 years, but his dad still prepared the shellfish nicely for her, removing all the hard bits and bitter parts, leaving her only the best. Type had asked why once, trying to explain patiently to his father that his mother was a grown lady that could take care of her own food. He’d laughed and ruffled his hair. He explained that he didn’t want the smell of fish to linger on her fingers. He said he loved her so much he didn’t want her to have to take care of herself, he wanted to do it instead. And his mum was just kind enough to let him. He said that he’d better treat Tharn nicely, and maybe his soulmate would let him help with his food.

So Type learned. After a couple of years, he could handle pretty much anything: shrimps, sea urchins, clams, mussels, crabs, scallops. He could remove fish bones in record time. Tharn will be so impressed with him.

He wondered if they’ll meet on the island. That’s how his parents had met. She had come with friends during a school trip from the mainland. They met on the beach. He bended over backward to impress her and show her all the best authentic spots around. She fell in love with the island along with the island boy. As soon as she graduated university, she moved her whole life here. ‘For the view’ she had said when he’d come to pick her up at the airport. To which he’d replied ‘It’s not the island, the view is wherever you’re standing’. That made Type laugh each time they were retelling the story. It was such a silly thing to say. His mum had laughed as well. It really was silly. She was destined to spend her life with a silly man. She spent so many years laughing with him.

Was Tharn a silly boy? Was he going to make him laugh? Was he serious? Khom’s mother was a very serious lady. Very smart. She took them out regularly during the summer to go and see the stars high up in the dark sky. Will Tharn show him the stars too?

Type spent hours trying to imagine what Tharn would look like. The name was Thai, so surely a man with dark hair and dark eyes. Probably smaller than him. His Nan kept on saying how tall he was for his age, so surely he’ll be the big and tall one. Tharn could be the cute one. Type would protect him.

During the summer, when his parents forced him to help out at the resort, he demanded to work at the register, religiously asking for everybody’s name, pouting a little bit each time ‘Tharn’ wasn’t the answer. He’d asked Khom to do the same at his parent’s ressort in exchange for some of his mother’s sweets. Same for Song’s little family hotel.

Summer after summer, Tharn didn’t come to visit him. Did the other boy think of Type as much as Type thought of him? Did he want to meet? What if he didn’t? Type cried so hard his parents were convinced he broke a bone.

For his tenth birthday, his Nan had given him the official governmental paperwork to register at the Soulmate databank.

“It’s a bit early, but here for you. When you’re 16, you can bring this to city hall. If Tharn registered, they will match you and tell you where he is.”

Type had never claimed to be a patient boy. That night, he completed the form as best he could -what was a social security number even supposed to be?-. The following day, he ditched football practice and took the bus to the city center of the island. The employees of city hall gave him curious looks as he entered the large glass building. He walked up to the reception and wai-ed at the man behind the desk.

“Hello uncle.”

“If it isn’t the little Phawattakun boy! How are your parents, son?”

“They’re busy but fine, thank you.”

“What are you doing here anyway, you’re far from home.”

“I would just like to give this,” he explained, sliding the paper over to the man. He took it and raised an eyebrow upon reading it.

He looked him up and asked:

“Tell me son, how old are you?”

Type was prepared for the trick question.

“16.”

The man laughed out loud.

“Is that so?”

Type nodded.

“Yes, my birthday was yesterday,” he explained, pointing at the paper. The civil servant looked once again at the paper and nodded.

“Ah I see! Well, I”ll need some ID. Maybe your motorcycle licence?”

An ID? He wasn’t prepared for that. He didn’t even know if he had an ID. He couldn’t let that spoil his plans.

“I don’t have it. I… I forgot it in my other jacket. I have my library card if you want, uncle.”

The man laughed again, louder this time. Type offered his best pout, the one that was sure to guarantee him some desert even when his mum shouted after him all day.

“Come on boy, let’s bring you back home.”

The man excused himself toward his colleagues, assuring them he’ll be back soon. The ride back wasn’t too long, the city hall employee greeted his parents, explained the situation and gave them back his form.

They scolded him, for lying, and laughed at him, for having so much nerves.

“You need to be patient, Type,” they said. “It’ll happen when you least expect it.”

Which was not a satisfactory answer.

He wanted to meet Tharn. He wanted to show him the island, to bring him swimming in the sea. He wanted to build sand castles together. He wanted to build some forts in his room. He wanted to introduce him to Khom. He wanted to bring him in the forest and climb trees so high their parents wouldn’t catch them.

But then he met a man. A boogie man with the face of a person that promised him a field full of footballs to replace his old one.

Attached to that chair, body stripped of his clothes, the man had touched his shoulder, tracing the name written there with the tip of a finger.

“That’s the name of a man. You’re lucky. I’ll show you how to please one. You’re going to like it.”

He would never forget that day, no matter how much he wanted, no matter how much he prayed for it.

The spot on his shoulder scratched him, he could still feel a phantom touch that made him sick to the stomach. He had a man’s name on his body. One day, that man would want to do to him what that other man already did. He’ll touch him, he’ll hurt him.

If that’s what being with a man was like, he never wanted to meet Tharn. He wouldn’t prepare seafood for him. He wouldn’t show him around the island. He wouldn’t play football with him. He wouldn’t introduce him to Khom.

Khom, who also had a man’s name on his body.

Type didn’t know how to protect his friend. He didn’t know how to protect himself from him either. So he stopped talking to Khom. And after some weeks, Khom finally stopped trying to talk to him. It wasn’t hard to ignore the boy, it’s not like Type went out much anymore.

In the months it took Type to finally leave the house, the boy grew angry and bitter. He stopped talking about Tharn. Stopped talking of soulmates altogether, so his parents did too. He threw the registration papers in the trash.

For his 16th birthday, he didn’t register himself at city hall. Instead, he boarded a boat to go and live with his aunt in the city.

In the city, he could pretend everything was fine. No one knew him as that kid. School was easy, as always, and there he met Techno, who seemed one of the rare people that actually managed to handle him. They played football together, which was the only way Type could somewhat keep his temper in check.

There were girls as well, who had the amazing advantage of not being men. So he dated some, never allowing anyone to look at his bare shoulder.

Type and Techno graduated, already planning to join the faculty of sports together. Type could pretend all was fine, all was normal.

Until he received his dorm welcome package. Whatever illusion of normality he had managed to build shattered and reality came back to kick him in the teeth.

Welcome, we’re very proud you decided to join our University… blahblahblah... All students must be back before… blahblahblah... shared dorm… blahblahblah… assigned roommate: Tharn Kirigun.

He didn’t need a soulmate to survive, he had managed just fine -anger issues, homophobia, PTSD- by himself. He didn’t need Tharn Thara Kirigun.

“Hey No. I thought about it. I think we should get that condo in the city together. I just need to chat with my mum, she’ll change my dad’s mind about the dorm.”

[therainroguefanfiction]

🔥 ℝise Ⱥbove I̾t ◈ Chapter 023 [Sports Festival?]

📑 Table of Contents | ◂Backward

Word Count: 2,750

⊱ ────── {⋅. 🔥 .⋅} ────── ⊰

〈“Are you gonna die today or make it out alive? You gotta conquer the monster in your head and then you’ll fly. Fly, phoenix, fly. It’s time for a new empire.” Solence, “Phoenix”〉

⊱ ────── {⋅. 🔥 .⋅} ────── ⊰

“Aizawa-sensei, what are you doing here?!” The class chorused.

As soon as I saw him, I jumped from my seat and rushed to his side, lowering my voice. “Oi, Shuota. Are you okay to be here like this?”

“Woah, what a pro.”

“Aizawa-sensei, I’m glad you’re okay!”

I glared at Iida. “Does he fucking look okay to you, you twat?”

“H-How dare you refer to me as such a thing!”

“My well-being is irrelevant,” Aizawa commented dryly as he made his way to the podium at the front of the room, me close behind. “What’s more important is that your fight isn’t over yet.”

“Our fight?”

“Don’t tell me…”

“Not more bad guys!”

“The U.A. sports festival is about to start,” he announced.

I sweatdropped. Man, he really likes to be dramatic with these announcements, don’t he? What is this sports festival anyway?

“Why would you scare us like that?!” The class chorused again.

“Let’s go kick some ass!” Kirishima cheered.

“Is it really such a good idea to hold the sports festival so soon after the villains snuck in?” Punk questioned.

“They could attack once we’re all in the same place!”

“Apparently, the administration thinks this is a good way to show that the threat has been handled and our school is safer than ever,” Aizawa explained. “Plus, they’re beefing up security compared to past years. This event is a huge opportunity for all students at U.A. It’s not something we can cancel because of a few villains.”

“Umm, I’m sorry, but why not? It’s just the sports festival!” Mineta complained.

“Huh?” Izuku turned around in his seat. “Mineta, don’t you know how important this competition is?”

I don’t. For once, I’m hoping he goes on one of his ‘too much information’ muttering sprees because I’m feckin’ lost.

“Of course I do! I just don’t want to get murdered!”

I scoffed. “If you’re scared of getting killed, you’re in the wrong line of work, kid.”

“Why are you so mean to me?!”

“Because I hate you,”

“Ouch…” Sparky muttered.

“Our sports festival is one of the most-watched events in the entire world. In the past, everyone obsessed over the Olympic games, but then quirks started appearing. Now, the Olympics have been drastically reduced in terms of scale and viewership. For anyone that cares about competition, there’s only one tournament that matters – the U.A. sports festival.”

“That’s right,” Momo added. “And top heroes everywhere will be watching! This is where you get scouted!”

“Sure, unless you’re dead.”

God, this kid is annoying as fuck.

“She’s right!” Sparky grinned. “After graduating, a lot of people join pro agencies as a sidekick!”

A fucking sidekick, really? Isn’t that just a glorified coffee grabber? Fuck that shit.

“Yeah, but that’s as far as some people go. They miss their chance to go Indie and stay eternal sidekicks. Actually, that’s probably where you’re headed. You’re kinda dumb.” Punk deadpanned at him.

“Brutal,” I grinned at her. “I like your style.”

She smiled back.

“It’s true that joining a famous hero agency can garner you greater experience and popularity and that’s why the festival matters. If you wanna go pro one day, then this event could open a path for you. One chance a year, three chances a lifetime. No aspiring hero can afford to miss this festival. That means you better not slack off on your training.”

“Yes, sir!”

⊱ ────── {⋅. 🔥 .⋅} ────── ⊰

The bell for lunch finally rang.

“That villain stuff sucks, sure, but I’m pumped for these games!”

“If we put on a good show, we’re basically on the road to being pros!”

“Yeah! This is why I’m even here in the first place!”

“We get so few chances, we have to make the most of this.”

I tuned out the excited chatter of the others, scratching my cheek. I don’t really have any interest in going pro. The only reason I’m here, to begin with, is because of that stupid deal Nezu made with the commissioner. Sports have never really been my thing, either. I’m more of the type to sit on my ass munching on tacos, downing Dr. Pepper, and playing a racing game.

“Everyone, I’m gonna do my best!”

I raised a brow at Ochaco. The hell’s gotten into her? What’s with that aura?

She snapped her head to the side. “I said, I’m gonna do my best!”

I sweatdropped at her intense expression. Girl, calm thyself.

“You okay?” Kirishima asked in concern. “You kinda look like you’re losin’ it…”

I second that.

“And once more for the kids in the back! I say I’m gonna do my best!”

I sighed, stepping out of the classroom and toward the cafeteria. Everyone is getting so fired up for this shit, I really don’t get it. And I still don’t even know what the sports festival is. Like, are we gonna play some American football then a round of soccer? Oh god, what if they make us play golf? I refuse to acknowledge that boring shit as a sport.

I noticed Peppermint a few feet in front of me. Hmm, I guess it couldn’t hurt to ask him. Stuffing my hands into my pockets, I picked up my pace. “Oi, Peppermint.”

He paused, glaring over his shoulder at me. “My name is Shouto Todoroki.”

“That. Right,” I stopped beside him. “Tell me what the sports festival is.”

His eyes scanned my face, looking confused. “You were standing beside Aizawa-sensei when he explained it.”

“Okay, like I get that it’s this super important event to get scouted and everyone watches, whatever. But what is it? Are we gonna have a fucking tennis tournament? Shooting some hoops, maybe a game of HORSE? Just please don’t say golf. Table tennis is a better alternative. Not much movement there. Why the fuck are you laughing at me?”

He covered his mouth, shoulders shaking as his voice filled with amusement. “Sorry, I’m just surprised. You really don’t know?”

“Obviously fucking not if I’m here askin’ you,” I scowled. “Forget it, I’ll go find Izuku.” I turned to walk away, but his fingers gently wrapped around my wrist, stopping me in place.

“No, I… I’ll explain.” He looked away, quickly removing his hand. “The U.A. sports festival is an annual tournament for all students, divided by grade. Different events are chosen in which students must overcome in order to advance. The events are chosen at random and are different every year. Last year, the events were a scavenger hunt, capture the flag, and then a foam sword fighting match.”

“Che. ‘Sports’, my fucking ass.”

“I’m surprised that you don’t know about it. I thought everyone knew… Even if you don’t watch it, it’s hard to avoid because of how popular it is.”

A bead of sweat rolled down my cheek as he regarded me curiously.

“Young Jen!” Toshi stuck his head around the corner, holding up a lunchbox wrapped in a light blue cloth with white bunny heads.

I deadpanned. “Ain’t you too old to be carrying somethin’ like that?”

He waved his free hand, smile not faltering. “Come eat lunch with me~”

“Geez, you’re a glorified kid. Thanks for -” I stopped short when I saw the hostile look on Todoroki’s face as he stared at the ground. Without a word, he turned and continued down the hall. Is he fucking bi-polar or what?

“Young Jen?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m comin’,” With a sigh, I followed the large man down the hallway toward one of the teacher’s lounges.

“Head on to the lounge. I’m going to go get young Midoriya and I’ll be right there!” He patted my shoulder before taking off down the hall. I entered the lounge, plopping down onto the green sofa. Three cups sat on the table next to the boiling pot. Toshi returned a few minutes later with Izuku, who chose to sit on the stool across from us.

Toshi popped out of his muscle form and sat beside me, pouring hot water into the teapot. “I thought I’d let you both know that my time has been shortened to fifty minutes.”

“Only fifty minutes?” Izuku echoed in disbelief.

“Yeah, that’s about how long I can use my power now. I overdid it too many times. That Nomu was a real tough customer. He took a lot out of me. At this point, I can barely even look like All Might for an hour and a half.”

“I’m so sorry, I should’ve just…”

Toshi started laughing loudly, blood spurting from his mouth. He is so fucking lucky he turned his head away from me. “You don’t need to apologize for anything! Man, we are alike, you and me.” He poured the tea into the three cups, setting one in front of Izuku and one in front of me. “Have some tea,”

“Thanks…”

“I brought the two of you here to talk about the festival. The problem is that you,” he pointed to Izuku. “Can’t fully control One for All yet. And you,” he moved his finger to me. “Can’t fully control Infernal Blaze, either. So then, what do you two plan to do?”

What do I plan to do? When have I ever planned anything ahead before I did it.

Izuku was thoughtful for a moment. “Wait, I did once! When I landed a smash on that brain villain, there was no backlash at all!”

Wasn’t that just because of his absorption, though?

“Oh, that’s right, you did mention that. What was different about that smash?”

“Let’s see… we were facing real villains and I didn’t have much time to think, but maybe that’s part of it since I knew that this wasn’t just more training…” he clenched his fists. “This was the very first time… ever that I used my power against a person.”

“Hmm,” Toshi gripped his chin in thought. “Sounds like you succeeded at sub-consciously putting on the brakes so you wouldn’t kill anyone… Hey, that’s some kind of progress, at least. Tea’s getting cold.”

“Oh right, thank you.” Izuku picked up his cup but didn’t drink from it. Bitch, why pick it up?

Toshi glanced at me and I met his gaze with a blank expression. “I hate hot tea, bro.”

“Huh?!” He jumped up, blood spurting from his mouth. I jumped off the couch, lip curling up in disgust just as blood splattered where I had been sitting. “But… all those times I made you tea… you never said anything about hating it!”

“I was trying to be polite.” I scoffed, plopping onto the floor beside Izuku’s stool.

“Wait, is that why my plant died?!”

“No, I drank the tea after it cooled off.”

“Oh…”

“The plant died because your curry was too fucking spicy.”

“Young Jen!”

“What? I don’t like spicy shit.”

“You should’ve told me,” he sighed, slapping his hand to his forehead as he walked over to the window. He was quiet for a moment before speaking up again. “To be frank, I don’t have much time left as the symbol of peace. Soon, I’ll have to put that title to bed.”

“No way…”

“And some villains out there are starting to notice that. Someone has to step up and keep the people safe.” Izuku stood up at these words. Toshi turned around, holding his hand out. “I gave you my power for one reason – because you will be the hero that takes my place! Do you still feel the same way you did when we met? Do you still want to be a hero?”

“Yes!”

“Excellent! Time has come for you to prove it. This sports festival… it’s something that the pros, no… the entire country will be watching very closely! I want you to think of this sports festival as your debut! You are the fletching symbol of peace! The next All Might! Izuku Midoriya… I want you to introduce yourself to the world and proudly say, ‘I am here!'”

“But, All Might, that’s your catchphrase… besides, what can I do?”

“You know how the sports festival is set up, right?” He headed back to the couch, plopping down beside the blood.

“Well yeah, of course. Students are separated by class year and then the support, business, general studies, and hero courses all fight against each other in a bunch of preliminary trials. Whoever makes it through the initial games face off in the finals. It’s basically a big round-robin tournament.”

Hmm, so it’s basically every man for himself? Great, more effort.

“Right! Meaning you’ll have plenty of opportunities to sell yourself!”

“I guess…”

His lackluster response made Toshi fall back hard against the couch, tipping it over.

“I’m sorry! I mean, what you’re saying is absolutely correct, All Might!”

I stepped around the couch, raising a brow at him. “You dead, bro?”

Izuku started to mutter to himself and we exchanged a look. “But, honestly, it’s kind of hard to get excited about this after everything that just happened at the USJ. Plus I’ve already got the world’s greatest hero teaching me so the festival probably isn’t my only hope of getting scouted by an agency. And besides, I don’t know if I can stand out right now considering I did so horribly on the fitness tests and can’t control One for All very well.”

“Man, nobody is better at spouting word vomit than you, kid!” Toshi spoke up.

I scratched my cheek. “Maybe he’ll get lucky and one of the events will be talking circles around your opponent.”

“I doubt it,”

“Uh, hey, are you okay?” Izuku peered over the fallen couch.

“Some heroes always aim for the top while others happily settle. The difference between those two mindsets has a big impact on how far you go in the real world. I understand how you feel, and I may even be projecting a bit of myself onto you -”

There’s no ‘may’ to it, you definitely are, chief.

“However, I hope you haven’t forgotten the emotions you felt back on the beach during our training.”

“I haven’t!”

“Good,”

The bell rang to signal the end of lunch.

“Fuck, I didn’t get food!” I cried, kicking the wall.

“We should get back to class…” Izuku stood up, glancing at me.

“Go without me,” I muttered.

“A-Are you sure?”

I narrowed my eyes at him and he nodded, rushing out of the room. Toshi held his arm up and I sighed, moving to stand between the couch and the coffee table. I grabbed his hand, putting my foot on the bottom of the couch. In one swift movement, I got the couch upright with Toshi sitting atop it.

“Thank you,”

I grunted.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Look, I ain’t sayin’ you’re wrong or anything, but maybe ease up on the kid a bit? I know he’s your successor and has this all-powerful quirk, but… he’s still just a fifteen-year-old boy, ya know? You just put a shit ton of pressure on that kid, and he’s already a nervous wreck, to begin with.” I shrugged, heading for the door. “Just some food for thought,”

Instead of heading to class, I made a beeline for the deserted cafeteria.

Lunch-Rush held up a hand in greeting when he noticed me approaching. “Shouldn’t you be in class, Winchester-san?”

“Should be, but Toshi needed to speak with me so I missed lunch. I didn’t eat this morning either, so I’m fucking starving. I could eat a feckin’ cow right now.”

He sighed, shaking his head. “Have a seat,” I did as he asked, choosing the table closest to the front. He appeared a few minutes later, holding a tray high enough that I couldn’t see what was on it. “You really should stop skipping breakfast. It’s the most important meal of the day and provides you with essential nutrients a student needs in order to fully take in the lessons that they are taught.”

“Even when I do eat, it’s usually just sugary cereal or leftovers from the night before. Not exactly a nutritious meal.” I commented, leaning back in the chair.

“Honestly, child…” he shook his head.

“I know, I know.” I grinned. “I’m just too awesome for words, Lunc – ow!”

He smacked the back of my head lightly, setting the tray down in front of me. “Hurry up and eat so you can get back to class and learn.”

“Lunch-Rush…” My eyes sparkled, filling with tears. “You made me tacos! I fucking love you, man!”

He chuckled as he headed back into the kitchen to finish cleaning up.

⊱ ────── {⋅. 🔥 .⋅} ────── ⊰

▸ Forward

📜 Read more by checking out my masterlist 📜

[random-imagines-blog]

Every Me Every You {James McAvoy x Reader Oneshot}

Requested by: @h-a-j-i-m-e-ru Wordcount: 2475 Summary: You start up a conversation with someone who just so happens to be cheering for an opposing football team in this sports pub.

You moved from the table that you were sitting at, since you saw a group come in and figured that they would want something with more than two seats. You were on your own and didn’t need that much room to yourself, so you went up to the bar to where a man was eagerly watching the Flatscreen TV, leaning forward to get a better look. You called for the bartender’s attention and ordered yourself another drink because - hell, your football team was winning and that in itself was worth celebrating! You rolled your eyes as the green-clad Celtic FC got ahold of the ball and were taking it across the pitch, taking it to where the goalie of your team was waiting and ready. AKA - about to stop whatever over-dramatic shot this player was going to make. There was a groan from the man next to you when the goalie did end up defending the net, stopping the ball with a headbutt to the ground, then a kick to his teammate, who started to take it back up the pitch the way that it came. “We blew it!” The man said, slamming his fist onto the bar.

“Okay, whoa there, I think you would say that he blew it.” You said, hardly phased by the action. What was it about sports that brought out the anger in people? “Is your name Sinclair, because if not, don’t put that blame on yourself.”

Had the man not straightened his back and turned to face you, you never would have guessed that the thick Scottish brogue belonged to one James McAvoy, an actor whose work that you knew very well. Were you not in a sports bar that you were a regular in, you might even have had a fan-freak out but you maintained your composure in the comfortable environment. He just looked at you, laughed, rolled his eyes, and then looked back at the game. “Things aren’t going to go well for me if this game doesn’t turn out with a Celtics win, I’m afraid,” He spoke.

“You bet money on them?” You questioned, and the slight nod told you all that you needed to know. “Things definitely aren’t going good for you then. Whenever I’m in this bar when my team is playing, they always win - and that’s my team that yours is up against right now.”

James groaned, then ordered himself another drink. After a minute, both yours and his arrived at the same moment and you wrapped your hands around the cool bottle, eyes on the game. It was getting a bit tense, since the Celtics kept taking hold of the ball and making their way down to the net. But they couldn’t seem to get the goal, and even got a few penalties for all their trouble.

It ended up in a shouting match between James McAvoy and the telly behind the bar, which you really wished you could film without him noticing because this would definitely make you laugh later, watching back. Or you could post it online, but you weren’t that mean. Your attention went mainly to the game, and every time that James groaned or yelled, you did a happy dance. When he would cheer because his team finally got a goal, you would sigh and blow raspberries at him.

A sports announcer took over the television as the game came to an end, with your team kicking ass. You held your beer up in celebration, and managed to chug the last of it down without spilling any of it on your shirt, which did have your favorite team on it. Then you put the empty bottle back on the bar for the bartender to take, and smiled with satisfaction. “Your money is gone, man, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be celebrating that,” You laughed. Your gain was his loss. Your eyes caught onto his blue ones as he crossed his arms with an annoyed look on his face. But it did start to fade rather quickly. You smiled again, but weaker this time.

“It’s alright, I can afford it,” James said. It was starting to get late, and more people were coming into the bar, celebrating the win of the obviously better football team. You were pushed a little bit closer to James as more people were coming up to the bar to order their drinks. A chuckle came out from his lips as the man behind you shifted which accidentally sent you nearly right into his chest. You backed up immediately and laughed nervously, hoping that he wouldn’t be offended. “You and your stupid team won fair and square.”

“Turns out every time I come here to watch the games, my team wins, you were doomed from the start.”

“Which you could have told me from the beginning so you wouldn’t have to see me lose my cool.” James said, running his fingers through his hair. You laughed, shaking your head.

“I don’t think you would have believed me.” You told him, which he did nod to, agreeing with you on that.

“You’re probably right,” He conceded. “But it happened anyway. And I think I should buy...” He paused for a moment, looking at you with an eyebrow raised. It took you a beat too long to realize that he was asking for your name.

“Y/N, and you don’t have to-” You said, but he began talking over you with a smile, making you close your lips.

“Y/n, I should at the very least buy you and your friends a drink.” He motioned his head over to the table that you had left earlier that had filled up with a group of men and women who were celebrating the winner of the game enthusiastically. It then occurred to you that somehow, this very attractive actor had noticed that you had been sitting alone at that very table.

“They’re not my friends, I just gave them the table.” You explained to him quickly. James then looked a little too happy, before his actor side came through and he went back to a neutral expression. “Though I’ll take that drink, if you’re offering, if you don’t mind it being just me.” You finished.

“It would be my pleasure,” He grinned, calling the bartender back over. “I’m James.” He said quickly, before ordering the two beers. You had to grin at that - here was this famous actor, known around the world, and here he was acting humble as if anyone within twenty feet of him wouldn’t know who he was. Really, it was absolutely adorable.

“Your team lost, I should be buying you a drink to cheer you up,” you said, but didn’t complain when your drink was put in front of you.

“But that wouldn’t be very gentlemanly of me, would it?” James questioned. “You can buy the next one, if you want.”

“You want there to be next one?” That made your heart skip a beat.

“Well, I was hoping so.” He said, and looked over your shoulder towards the back of the bar. He backed up a step, carrying his drink with him. “I’m here alone, you’re here alone, we might as well get that table over there?”

You nodded, and let him lead you towards a recently abandoned table that had just been cleaned by a waitress. He was even kind enough to let you pick which of the chairs you wanted to sit on, and you chose to face the door, just to save him the embarrassment of being recognized by anyone walking in. He was quiet for a moment and so were you, while trying to think about what to say. Worried that he would lose interest, you said whatever was on your mind.

“You were great in Muppets Most Wanted,” You sputtered out, then immediately regreted it. “Anything I say from now on, actually, I’m just going to blame on the alcohol. Sometimes it makes me a bit ... silly.” Any potentially ruin the night, you thought to yourself.

To your surprise, James just laughed at that, the action mixed with the alcohol bringing a lovely flush to his cheeks, which only brought out the blue of his eyes. The reaction did make you feel a little more relaxed - at least he didn’t think you were stupid. “All of the things that I’ve been in, and you recognize me from The Muppets?”

“But your role as a UPS man was superb - anyone can play Professor X.” You joked. James just laughed again at that, sitting up straight and started to spin the coaster on the table around. “You’re really good in that too though, I admit.” Your sense of humor wasn’t for everyone, you knew that, and you started to become a bit worried that he was going to get offended by you.  

“You’re not going to go around telling everyone that Professor X goes to bars alone to shout at the football matches, are you?” It seemed like a serious question, not a joke, so you took it seriously.

“It wouldn’t do me much good, would it? This bar would fill up with your biggest fans in no time, and I wouldn’t be able to get the opportunity to do this again.” That made him smile again, and you decided that you liked that smile very much and hoped that it would stay on his face forever. And it made you feel pretty damn good that you were the one who put it there.

It didn’t take long for the two of you to fall into a steady conversation. You didn’t ask him too many questions, for you didn’t want to make him feel like he was in an interview, which he had plenty of recently. It was him asking you questions about your work, your family, your favorite animal, and you asking those in return. But things did take a rather unfortunate note when he brought up that he had gotten a divorce in the last couple of years, and he had to go stag to a wedding last weekend, which was embarrassing.

“The last wedding I went to, I went to alone as well,” You admitted. “You’re not the only one, if that helps anything.”

James didn’t let you buy the next drink, although he said that he would. He automatically said it was on him when both of yours were finished, and got up to get them. While he was at the bar, he looked over his shoulder at you and smiled, which made you smile back. You were the center of his attention in this bar - not the beautiful women who were sneaking glances over at him, not the pretty bartender, and not the TVs that showed off the highlights of the game that you just watched. You. “They’ll probably lose again next week but I was wonderin’ if you’d come make them your team so they have a chance.” The actor proposed once he was back with the drinks.

You raised an eyebrow and tapped your chin thinking about it. “The Celtics as my team - just for you, I think I can come and cheer ‘em on.”

“Now that’s what I like to hear.” James said, raising his drink in celebration of your acceptance. You grinned and held your drink up as well. He wanted you to come around and watch another game with him - now that was something special that you couldn’t say no to. “That would be great, I mean, give them a chance.” His little addition made you smile all the more. He did have to check his phone when it went off and frowned at it. He sighed and ran his hands through his hair again.

“Your phone bring you some bad news?” You asked, taking a sip of your drink. He shook his head and put it back into his pocket.

“Your charm is making the time fly by ... too fast.” The actor admitted. He then finished his drink in a quick motion. “Of course the stupid car is already waiting outside.” He mumbled.

Usually, you were much more reserved than this, especially with someone that you just met, but you couldn’t help yourself - you reached out and put your hand over his. “You better get going then - but I’ll see you next week here, and we’ll get your money back.”

“Yes, definitely, I’ll see you next week.” James said, seeming relieved that you had reminded him about it. He got off of his stool and you finished your drink as well, figuring that it was time that you left to get home. “Do you want a lift somewhere?” He asked, pausing by your side. “Get you home to ... whoever might be waiting for you...” He trailed off.

“My roommate and my slow cooker?” You chuckled. “Though that’s very kind of you, I don’t live too far, but thank you.”

“Y/N, it was very nice to meet you,” James finally said, taking your rejection well. He did offer you a hug, his arms outstretched just a little, which you accepted. His cologne, which you just managed to get a whiff of, smelled absolutely amazing and it was hard to back out of the hug.

“It was a pleasure meeting you.” You replied back. “See you next week - I might be able to borrow a Celtics shirt off of someone too, just for you.”

“I appreciate it.” James chuckled. He didn’t want to leave, and it was evident in the fact that he was only taking small steps to the door. You waved goodbye, and started to prepare to leave yourself - taking the empty bottle and glass back to the bar, when the blue-eyed man came right back to you. He didn’t even make it to the door. “Actually - would it be alright if I got your number? Just so you can let me know if you get that shirt. If not, I’ll bring you one.”

“Sure!” You said, grinning. He handed his phone over to you, and you put your number and name in. Perhaps it was the alcohol, or perhaps it was the attention that he was lavishing on you, but you pressed on the photo icon and moved next to James, setting the camera into front mode. “Just so you don’t forget me!” You laughed, and took a selfie with James, set it as your icon and handed the phone back.

“Believe me, I don’t think I could.”