#well i love all of the black parade to be honest

[oncamelliastreet]

LOCAL MUTUAL REBLOGS MCR POST?????? DO U LIKE MCR……..

and if you would call me a sweetheart i’d maybe then sing you a song BUT THE SHIT THAT I DONT WITH THIS FUCK OF A GUN YOU WOULD CRY OUR YOUR EYES ALL ALONG

WE’RE DAMNED AFTER ALL THROUGH FORTUNE AND FAME WE FALL AND IF YOU CAN STAY THEN ILL SHOW YOU THE WAY TO RETURN FROM THE ASHES YOU CALL WE ALL CARRY ON WHEN OUR BROTHERS IN ARMS ARE GONESO RAISE YOUR GLASS HIGH FOR TOMORROW WE DIE AND RETURN FROM THE ASHES YOU CALL

[ozzgin]

Hi! thank you for my matchup and I really enjoyed it. You made all of my matches sound like they want to marry me, hehe (especially with Izuku). BTW, get well soon! Also, this isn't a request (just something I imagined): Izuku who absolutely loves the reader. One day, he randomly brings them a gift. As appreciation for his gifts, reader kisses Izuku all over his face.

Very glad to hear you enjoyed the results! I was somewhat nervous it’d be a hit or miss because I had never written anything BNHA related, but I had a lot of fun. Turns out writing for Deku is a surprisingly pleasant and cozy experience. So I certainly don’t mind expanding on your idea if that’s alright with you! :)

BNHA Headcanons: Midoriya Izuku as a loving boyfriend

Featuring Deku and a reader on the receiving end of his acts of love. Just some fluff ideas.

Once Deku finds a source of interest, he will research it to exhaustion. His humble notebook of rushed scribbles or detailed documentation is a black hole of information with no visible end in sight. Naturally, this habit of his will extend to his loved ones. Especially you. Knowing everything about his significant other is only common sense. Your likes, dislikes, hobbies, opinions…All the traits that you’re comprised of have been dutifully compiled on paper, and Deku will treat this manuscript like his own little Holy Book.

It is to be noted, however, that he’s not just a hoarder. All these facts are not kept around out of mere idleness. More than anything, Deku loves to see your smile. It’s particularly addicting, more so if he’s the cause of it. Thus he will do everything in his powers to entertain you and guarantee a bright expression on your face.

His main love languages are acts of service and gift giving. He doesn’t need special occasions to shower you with little gestures of affection. It’s not even an active effort per se. He will be shopping for groceries and notice your favorite soda is back in stock, swiftly adding it to his cart. He’ll learn your favorite artist is in town, so he’ll carefully check your schedule and buy tickets ahead. He knows you have an upcoming exam that stresses you terribly, so he’ll arrange a review session shortly beforehand with handmade flashcards and summaries to help you remember key aspects.

One could say it’s his nature to be attentive. For the longest time he’s been an outcast, standing in the audience and solely observing the others. The heroes on stage. Even as his turn came to step up into the spotlight, his introversion and introspection have continued to polish his skill of reading people to perfection. The slightest twist of your mouth will offer him everything he needs to know about your mood.

Safe to say Izuku, of course, doesn’t expect anything in return. He’s doing it out of his pure, unadulterated love for you. Although if he must be honest, your reactions to his surprises do leave him chasing for more. Last time it happened, he almost teared up wiping the lip stains you left on his face. Gazing at his reflection in the mirror, Deku couldn’t help the pride swelling up his chest. He would’ve loved to parade U.A. like this, letting everyone know about his undeniable bond with you. Sadly, he’s much too anxious for that kind of attention. Worry not, they shall live on in his memory.

[the-californicationist]

Hi 🥺( I’m lotharwinchester on ao3)

It says in your ask guidelines that you’re willing to write in a trans prospective? I was wondering if you’d be willing to write a fanfic where soap and/or price goes to pride with their trans masc squad mate because they’ve never been supported enough to go? (Their relationship could be any one, romantic or platonic) I love your writing, like I can always visualize to the t everything you’re describing. 🥰

Lothar!! Omg hiiii ^_^ I am always so stoked to see your comments, friend! I would be honored to write this fic for you. <3 <3 I hope this is what you were imagining. Happy Pride!!

You'll Never Walk Alone

Spotting him in the crowd was surprisingly easy. To be fair, he was huge. His shoulders sprawled high above a pair of lovers, decked out in their rainbow gear, kissing and hugging each other like their lives depended on it, fully dressed in their pride. If there was ever a time to bring out the tacky rainbow merch, it was today. But, John was in all black. 

You didn’t mind. Not everyone had a closet that was prepared for the city’s annual Pride Parade. You were just glad that he could make it. 

No, that was wrong. You were glad that he decided to come. You didn’t need him to be clad in rainbows. Choosing to be here versus just being available to be here were two very different things. His presence meant the world to you. 

All through training, your captain had never treated you with disrespect. He’d learned your name and your pronouns, and you had a suspicion that everyone else on base had been strongly encouraged to learn them as well. When you rendezvous’d with new teams, he reinforced your identity, making sure that the one or two snide remarks or misgenderings that slipped through were cut down without mercy. He was a fearsome ally, and you felt lucky to have him.

You’d transitioned alone. In fact, most of the people who you had called friends in your life had cut you out of theirs before you’d even had a chance to tell them about your true identity. They knew that you had refused to conform to their idea of how you should have dressed, how you should have worn your hair, how you should have behaved, and that had been enough for them to abandon you. Your heart ached to know that their friendship had been conditional. Those people had wanted to make you feel ashamed of yourself, of who you had finally been able to become now that you were out from under their oppressive darkness.

But, you weren’t ashamed. You were determined. You joined up with the RAF, eventually making it through to the SAS, and you promised yourself that if you had to die for your country, you’d not die with your deadname still hanging heavy around your neck.

So, you changed it. Officially. Price had even been there to help you with the paperwork. 

This was your first official pride after coming out, and although crowds tended to make any good soldier a little nervous, you had actually never felt more secure. Wearing your rainbow-strapped backpack with your blue, pink, and white trans pride tee was not how you usually chose to represent yourself in public. To be honest, you usually dressed like Price, dark and covert, but not today. Today, you wanted to be yourself, loudly. 

You caught your captain’s eye and waved him down. Watching the street for scooters or bikes, he jogged over to you, joining you in the back of the parade. 

“Hey, mate. Good to see ya.” His voice was deep and comforting. He shook your hand with genuine warmth, falling into step beside you. 

“You, too. I’m glad you’re here, Cap.” You studied his face, still moved by his support.

“All dressed up? Lookin’ sharp.” Price examined your outfit, getting a good look at your facepaint as well. You’d gotten it done at the start of the parade, and you were sure it had halfway flaked off by now. 

“Thanks. Oh! Almost forgot. Picked up one of these for you, if you want it.” You handed him a pin. It was a simple pride flag button, but the look on his face was full of surprise and gratitude. 

“Nice! Sorry about my lack of rainbows, mate. But, I found this shirt I got for The Reds’ season last year, and I reckoned it’d do.”

Price unzipped his black hoodie and held out his shirt, stretching it for you to see the words. It was the Liverpool Football Club’s merch with their famous song title emblazoned on the front.

“You’ll never walk alone,” you read aloud, looking up at Price for clarification.

“Aye. You’ll never walk alone, either, mate. Promise you that. In fact, the boys should be here any minute.”

He looked down at his watch and then searched through the crowd at the next intersection. You peered into the swarm of flags and glitter and people and saw them there; Soap, Gaz, and Ghost all standing together, craning their necks, searching for you and the captain. 

Gaz had come prepared with a big billowing flag in his hands, Soap had clearly had way more fun at the face painting booth than you did, and Ghost, although dressed in just as much black as Price, wore a trans pride medical mask over his mouth. 

Price let out a shrill whistle, the pitch of which made your blood run cold from its familiarity. All at once, the trio turned toward you, and when they saw your faces, they broke out into smiles, trotting towards you as they folded around the hoard of people. 

Before you knew it, you were surrounded by your team, laughing and joking and dancing together through the street, the music vibrating through your chest, your cheeks burning from your perpetual smile.

Johnny was having the time of his life, somehow charming his way onto a nearby float, waving the flags back and forth like he was leading a charge. Gaz and Ghost were walking in front of you, chatting with the people around you, catching candy being tossed from the crowd.

Price hung back, still keeping step with you. Suddenly, you felt something brush against your wrist. When you looked down, you saw your captain's huge palm swooping under yours to catch it. He took your hand in his, holding it firmly, squeezing it. You looked up at him and smiled, squeezing back.

Where there had once been gray, heavy clouds, now there was only a pale blue sky, and as you felt the sun heat your skin on this chilly June morning, you’d never been more proud to be who you are.

[miraclewoozi]

(TEASER) HIGH FIDELITY. - c.hs

getting back on the horse is hard, and failing to hit it off with the cute gamer guy you went for a drink with last night has the potential to be your love life’s last straw. but when up and coming rockstar VERNON unexpectedly canters into your life, you find yourself asking very important question: do you have it in you to saddle up, one more time?

pair ; vernon x fem reader. ( also starring: besties!seungkwan + chan. ) content ; strangers to lovers. up-and-coming musician!vernon x record store owner!reader.  fluff, angst, smut. (MINORS DNI). slow burn.  warnings ; drinking + alcohol is a theme throughout. mentions of a past relationship breakdown. reader experiences a lot of stress, anxiety and feelings of doubt. reader is the monarch of self sabotage. wc ; teaser, 1.5k. full fic, est. 40k. note ; if you saw any of my posts about the show high fidelity… you’ll know where this came from. ( it doesn't stick to rob + liam's plot too closely with the exception of the first few encounters. )

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE

“It’s just my opinion!” 

From your perch on top of the store’s counter, you raise both of your palms in a display of your innocence. Chan stands in the middle of the R&B aisle, looking personally offended, fingers curled around the top of one of the wooden crates holding your stock. 

“Me saying ‘I don’t think Welcome to the Black Parade is the best track on that album’ is not me saying that it’s a bad song.”

“But how can you say that?” Chan groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Who’s hearing the opening note to Famous Last Words and feeling the same way as they do with the Black Parade?”

“Most iconic doesn’t mean the best,” you counter. “Besides – I never said you weren’t allowed to have it as your favourite. It’d be a boring game if we all had the same answer.”

“I cannot cope with you anymore,” Chan whines. “You know what? No. I don’t even believe you. You’re just being a contrarian.”

“Why would I do that?” you ask. 

“Because it’s the best song on the goddamn albu–”

The bell above the door chimes loud and clear through the store and both of your squabbling voices fall silent. Your head turns in the direction of the entrance, an autopilot greeting already forming on your lips, but you feel them fall slack the moment you realise who it is that’s just walked in.

It’s been five days. Though it would be a mistruth to claim you hadn’t thought about the singer since the night of his gig, it’s not one to say you didn’t think he would ever actually come into your place of work. 

Much less at 3 o’clock in the afternoon. On a Thursday.

He pops his wrists as he walks a little further into the store, glancing around. Barring one of your regulars who walks about with his earphones in all the time, the store is completely empty; an adrenaline spike prickles the hairs on your arms, all the tiny muscles beneath your skin pulling them to stand upright. 

“Hi,” he says once he deems himself to be close enough, stopping in his tracks and bumping the toe of his shoe against the floor.

“Hey,” you greet him in return. 

“I’m-... Vernon. We met at the show, the other night?” 

“Yeah — yeah, I remember you,” you smile. “I’m-... well. I’m still y/n.”

“Still y/n,” he says on a relieved exhale, grinning and glancing away from you. “I uh… I just had some free time. Thought I’d swing by and see what you guys had going on here.” Vernon adjusts the collar of his t-shirt, the silver of his rings glinting under the flickering yellow light overhead.

(It was definitely somewhere on your list of things to get fixed. Honest.)

“Sure, yeah,” you nod, swallowing hard and trying your best not to stare at him. It’s hard, though – in broad daylight, the way the flannel tied around his waist floats down over his hips and the way his jeans hug at his thighs is… you don't even have the words. “Let me know if you need help finding anything, okay?” 

“I will.” He starts to thumb through one of the wooden boxes, offering a small smile your way. “Thank you.”

You’re holding your breath a little as he pulls a few 80’s rock albums out, his lips downturned in surprised approval at some of the records you carry. He holds onto a couple as he moves around the store and the entire time, you can feel Chan and Seungkwan staring at you. If there wasn’t a very real danger of Vernon looking your way again at a moment’s notice, you know you would be showing them your middle finger.

Really, they come away lucky.

“You don’t even know how long I’ve been trying to find some of these,” Vernon says after a few minutes, sauntering toward the desk – you’re still sitting on top of it, your legs swinging in the air beneath you. “Might have to make this my new stop.”

And displayed beside you on the counter – right by the cash register – are a few of his albums. The ones Seungkwan picked up after the show; until about two seconds ago, you had forgotten they were even there.

Vernon’s face lights up when he notices, turning to Seungkwan. “Come on, no way. Dude, I thought you were kidding.”

“We love our locals in here, man,” Chan chimes quickly, seeing you start to freeze up. You nod to agree, biting on the inside of your cheek. “It was on the speakers yesterday. Four people asked us about you.”

“For real?” Vernon asks, but when all three of you nod your heads, you see the beginnings of a blush start to creep up his neck. “Wow. Thank you – um. That’s really cool of you guys.”

“It’s good music,” Seungkwan shrugs. “You’re super talented.”

Vernon doesn’t seem to know what to do with all the compliments he’s receiving. Even so, he thanks your friends again with a stomach-twisting sincerity before he turns back to you. 

“I’ll take these,” he says a little breathlessly. You find yourself a tiny bit lost in the warmth of his eyes and it takes you a moment to remember to swivel around and slip off the other side of the countertop. You do, though. Eventually. 

“Nice,” you say softly as you shuffle through them, ringing each one through. He’s got pretty decent taste, even if less than a week ago you were actively cringing at his choice of cover song. (It’s okay. That was before you knew better.) “Do you– need sleeves, or…?”

“I’m good. Thank you, though.” Vernon rests his hands against the edge of the counter and drums a quiet rhythm out with his thumbs as you tap away at the register. “Are-... you guys busy tonight, by the way?”

You look up from placing the records into a paper bag, glancing over to your colleagues who both rush to shake their heads. Vernon looks from them, to you, and you mirror their motions. Even if I was, you start to think wistfully. I’d make time.

“I’m down at the Velvet Lounge later on. Across town? It starts at eight thirty; I could get you guys on the list, if-... um…”

“That’d be awesome,” Chan says, nodding so hard you’re surprised his head doesn’t roll off his shoulders and start bouncing across the floor. 

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Seungkwan adds. 

Vernon grins at them both, humming softly, before turning back to you and fumbling with his wallet to take out his card to pay for his purchases. You turn the machine around to face him; he hovers with his hand just above it. 

“Maybe… I’ll see you tonight, too?” He says.

You can’t help the delight that rises inside you, as if it’s been injected straight into your bloodstream. It’s everywhere, all of a sudden. In your brain and your heart and your bones and in your lungs.

Yet, you somehow manage to keep your composure when you say, “yeah. Maybe you will.”

The payment goes through and you slide the bag over towards Vernon, your eyes never leaving his and his eyes never leaving yours. His fingers brush over yours as he takes it from you, the bite of the cold ring on his index finger a shocking contrast to the warmth the rest of his hand radiates. You hope your little gasp isn’t too audible, but… the way Chan whirls around to face away from the scene in front of him (presumably to poorly conceal his laughter), you know you haven’t gotten away with it.

“Cool,” he says, hesitating another second before finally pulling himself away. He bows his head in the direction of your friends, sending another of those irresistibly sweet smiles at you, and then he starts off towards the door. “See you, then.”

You feel your pulse finally start to slow as you grip the counter for dear life, setting out a long, drawn-out breath. What just happened? Why do you feel all… fuzzy?

“Maybe… I’ll see you tonight, too?” Chan asks in the deepest voice he can muster, snapping you out of your own head none too pleasantly. You turn in their direction as your other favourite moron feigns tucking hair behind his ear and flutters his eyelashes across at Chan.

“Yeah… Maybe you will.” And Seungkwan’s imitation of you is a little too accurate. Creepily so, and you want to curse him out for it. Instead, you scrunch up a bag to throw towards the pair of them, grinning despite yourself as they both swerve to dodge it.

“Oh my God, shut up,” you chastise them. You don’t have any bite, though, your brain still tingly and positively reeling and seeing Vernon’s dazzling smile every time you so much as blink.  And when Seungkwan takes a running start and launches himself, full-force, into Chan’s unsuspecting arms? When Chan lifts him up and spins him around, and when they start making kissy-noises at each other between unearthly cackles? 

You know that the next few hours are going to be the longest of your entire life.

thank u for reading!! i hope you liked this lil snippet!! i got kind of impatient with myself and needed to post something about this, so if you're interested in the full fic please feel free to drop a like, an ask, a reblog or a comment to tell me your thoughts! this piece has become sort of my passion project the last six months or so and i'm really excited to share the whole thing with you guys when it's done.<3

[kylorengarbagedump]

Playing Soldier: Chapter 12

Read on AO3. Part 11 here. Part 13 here.

Summary: This party ain't big enough for the two of us.

Words: 7500

Warnings: Reader and Tavington are both cunts

Characters: William Tavington x Reader

A/N: Co-written with @bastillia.

HEHEHEHEHEHE OH MAN WHAT'S ABOUT TO HAPPEN :)))))))))))))))

HI welcome back!! I hope you enjoyed this beast of a chapter! Again, something really new for both of us, so we hope you enjoyed! We just HAD to have a party scene, of course - which is part of what started us writing this whole long thing to begin with! Sheeeeesh.

Next chapter may take a couple weeks, as we're out traveling for the rest of the week and we anticipate the next chapter to be, um, long :)

LOVE Y'ALL SO VERY MUCH <3

The gown might as well have been made of morning grass. In color, it shimmered like an emerald field in dew; in touch, it slipped beneath your fingers like fresh blades born into the sun. Sheets of patternless silk met at the front of your bodice in a neat row of buttons, layered over a darker, forest green petticoat that cascaded to the floor. A delicate collar of lace swept like seafoam over your shoulders and bosom, veiling anything other than your throat to the other guests.

It was beautiful.

You hated it.

The dress itself was fine—finer than anything you’d worn, or even seen, to be honest. It was how you felt within it: like a spectacle. Here you were, the Incredible Turncoat Daughter, decorated in frippery to be paraded around the ball on the arms of officers as proof of their victory.

Perhaps they’d collared you, but they wouldn’t leash you. No—you had business to do at this ball. You needed to discern your father’s fate. And you’d be damned if any officer would consider you a victory.

“Oh!” Lottie tapped you on the shoulder, having reappeared from a sea of silk frills and red jackets. She held out one of the hors d'oeuvres. It looked like a slimy black marble perched on a stick. “Try this!” she said. “It’s delightful!”

You raised a brow, plucking it from her fingers and popping it in your mouth. You knew immediately it was the worst thing you’d ever eaten.

“Ugh!” Groaning, you grabbed the napkin she’d gathered as well and spit the half-chewed glob into your covered hand. “Hell, that was horrific.” You dabbed your mouth before crumpling the napkin into a ball. “What was that? It tasted like fish shit.”

Goddard and Lottie’s eyes widened, looking between your disgusting napkin and your disgusted face.

“Oh! Sorry.” You lowered your voice. “It tasted like fish excrement.”

Pulling his lips in over his teeth, Goddard pivoted, walking toward the table filled with pre-poured Madeira. The drawing room was heavy with the din of conversation, but all appeared too enamored with the spread of food and drink to notice your disdain for it. Lottie, face pink, covered her mouth to hide her amusement.

“They’re called olives,” she said, picking up another one from a passing serving tray. “I think they’re delicious.”

You snorted. “I could do without.” There was nowhere around you to dispose of your illicit napkin. “Hell,” you said again, trying to hide it in your fist. “What are you supposed to do with these?”

“Well,” Lottie said, giggling, “I think you typically don’t spit food inside of them.” Her head craned around your shoulder. “Oh!” She tapped your shoulder. “There’s a plant there.” She held out her arm to you. “Come with me.”

You grinned at her, looping your arm in hers. Despite her presentation in a brocade-patterned blueberry dress, Lottie was the only person here capable of making you feel normal. She led you past the plant in the corner, watching for onlookers.

Holding your breath, you dipped low and tossed the napkin behind the pot, exhaling as you came to stand. “Much better,” you said. “No one will notice a thing.”

“Notice what?” said a familiar voice from over your shoulder.

You flinched, hand clutching your chest as you turned and met the blue, simmering eyes of William Tavington. Your heart dropped to the floor.

“Oh, Colonel.” You clung tighter to Lottie’s arm. “Good, ah, good evening.”

“Good evening, Colonel Tavington,” Lottie echoed, side-stepping to try and obscure your vandalism. “Have you tried the olives?”

His gaze remained on yours. “If this behavior is in any way indicative of your proficiency with subtlety,” he said, “perhaps it’s your good fortune that you’re so loyal to the Crown.”

Lottie stiffened. “Oh, Colonel, I’m not sure what you think you saw—”

“Miss Goddard,” Tavington said, still not breaking focus from your face. “I believe your brother was asking for you.”

“He was?” She looked at you apologetically, patting your arm as she pulled away. “I’ll—please excuse me, I’ll be right back,” she said, before trotting off and leaving you alone, in the corner, your only company a wadded up napkin and the single person in the room you did not want to be left alone with.

It was only in this moment you could fully, unwillingly begin to take him in. Colonel William Tavington was adorned in full dress, his collar laid with gilded thread, the ties and sleeves on his blouse embroidered with scalloped lace trim. Even his waistcoat hadn’t been spared—it was similarly embellished with glittering thread underneath the line of bronze buttons. Your eyes fell lower, noting the black wash of his trousers. His boots were shined to mirror-finish.

Realizing you’d been staring, you snapped your attention forward only to then take notice of his hair, the apple scent of it, how sleekly it laid to his head; the strong curve of his jaw, the little bow above his upper lip you wanted to pinch between your teeth.

He was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen.

Bastard.

“Have I not proven myself beyond your doubts, Colonel?” you asked, hoping that you could invite the both of you to ignore how you’d just observed him like a dog might observe raw meat. “At least enough to avoid incurring slights regarding my loyalty?”

His eyes flicked briefly to your throat. “I’m afraid duty to the King requires more devotion than a few months of trodding around a hospital tent filling jars with plant paste.”

You frowned. “Your general seems to disagree.”

Tavington’s brow lowered. “Lord Cornwallis’ decisions do not reflect my own, nor do his beliefs reflect mine.”

“What’s that?” You gave him a faux-gasp. “That isn’t… You couldn’t be calling His Lordship’s judgement into question, could you?”

“I made no statement about his judgement.” Tavington stepped closer, crowding you with his singular presence. “But it’s my belief that someone with a history such as yours is in need of supervision at a gathering such as this.”

“Supervision?” You huffed, stepping away, since his proximity was directly and inversely related to your ability to form coherent sentences. “I know you may have trouble recalling, with all the secrets you seem so concerned about swelling your large head, Colonel, but I’m no longer a child.”

You thought you caught it, as quick as a blink—a smirk flashed on his lips.

“No,” he said. “You are an opportunist. Far more deserving of a chaperone.”

He advanced again. You skittered backwards. Jaw set, he grabbed for you, and you jerked your arms from his reach. You’d force him to make a scene before you let him chaperone you.

When he didn’t pursue you a third time, you thrust your chin into the air and escaped from the drawing room into the foyer, exhaling as the anchor of the crowd fell from your chest.

Though, said foyer was really more of a grand foyer. Two staircases curled from the second floor and spilled into the room, opening to towering ceilings bordered with detailed crown molding and colorful tile laid into the hardwood at the entrance. In fact, Middleton Place itself was grander than anything you’d ever beheld; it was a massive plantation, gardens sprawling for miles outside. It seemed the inside had once been cluttered with ostentatious superfluity, but parts were missing—white shadows and empty corners felt more conspicuous to you than the pieces of luxurious furniture that remained.

It was for this reason you needed to attach yourself to someone, anyone so you didn’t look or feel so sorely out of place. That, and to potentially dissuade Tavington from attempting to chaperone your efforts to find out what had happened to your father after Camden.

Of the few passing through the foyer, you spotted an older, bewigged man nursing a baluster of wine by himself. He was admiring the marble bust of a stranger, and had enough ornamentation on his uniform that he must know something. Sucking in a breath, you cast a glance behind you—no Tavington—and wiggled your shoulders before making your way over to his side.

“Good evening,” you said, poking your head into his space. He startled, but upon seeing you, relaxed. “I hope you don’t mind if I intrude.”

The man—a captain, you could see—laughed, waving you off. “Oh, it’s no trouble, my dear.” His eyes, bloodshot and milky blue, soaked themselves in the hidden view of your decolletage. “I’m simply admiring the work of whichever artist carved this fine gentleman here.” He leaned forward, squinting. “Mr… ah, I don’t know.” Laughing, he patted the bust on its cold head. “Whoever he is, he’s the only one left, poor fool.”

You laughed, even though you didn’t find him funny. “Oh, who knows,” you said, resting your hand on the captain’s shoulder. The inscription on the statue clearly said Henry Middleton. “What do you mean, the only one left?”

“Oh,” the captain said, “all the other statues are out in the rubble pile!” He laughed again. “The boys had a bit too much fun when they took Charleston.” His arm wound around yours, and he pulled you close. “Captain John Pettis, my dear.” Pettis leaned toward you, his odor too heavy with wine for the youth of the evening. “Who, may I ask, are you?”

Despite the rising hair on your nape, you introduced yourself. “It’s my pleasure,” you said. “Are you enjoying the ball, Captain?”

He huffed, going to wave the question away before his attention lingered on your figure again. “I certainly am now,” he laughed. “Just in bloody time, too.”

“Oh?” You cleared your throat. “Aren’t you pleased about Camden?”

“Well, of course—”

“Were you there, Captain?”

Pettis frowned. “Of course I was, dear,” he said.

“Oh, wonderful,” you said. “It must have been harrowing.”

“I wouldn’t say—”

“I’d love to know everything about it,” you said, inching closer to him.

“Well…” Pettis chuckled. His hand crept to your lower back, and you winced. “I’d love to discuss something more stimulating.”

“Oh.” You gave a tight smile, trying to ignore the feeling of insects creeping over your skin where his hand rested. “No, thank you, Captain.” When his eyebrow quirked, you rubbed his forearm. “It’s just—well, you must have been so brave, you know, and I admit I find myself curious about your accomplishments there.”

“Adventurous thing, aren’t you?” He grinned, his grip sliding to your side and pulling you against him. “That can all come later, my dear,” he said. “No need to disrupt your constitution with my tales of, ah, violence, you know, it’s all quite bloody.”

“I’m sure that I can—”

“No, no.” Pettis’ hand stroked your side in a way that made you wish, to your surprise and horror, that Tavington was nearby. “In fact, we can find a much quieter place to discuss this, if you wish?”

Your teeth set. You’d misplayed him—been far too forward and had given him the wrong idea. If only you’d had any experience with intimacy.

“That’s quite all right,” you replied, trying to step away. “We can—”

He held you tighter, tugged you back along his side. “No need to be shy, now,” he whispered, his breath husky and rank. “I know exactly what you’re trying to say.”

Heart skipping, you glanced around the room. No Tavington. No Goddard. No Lottie. No anybody you recognized. Pettis took a step, leading you away from the statue, and you resented even more the stupid dress and the stupid ball that was preventing you from smashing your skull into his nose. You swallowed, giving Pettis the weakest smile you could offer, and spotted a gaggle of women just a few yards away surrounding a man who appeared to be politely entertaining each of them. As you passed, you caught sight of his face.

Patrick bloody Ferguson.

Ferguson’s eyes met yours. His brow raised, and he turned to the crowd of his admirers. He appeared to say something before parting a way through and striding over to you and Pettis.

God, no. You did not need him making the situation even worse. Fussing, you tried to loosen Pettis’ grip on you, but he held fast, chuckling to himself, mumbling something about save that for when we’re alone. Before you could protest, Ferguson stepped in front of you both.

“Captain!” Ferguson said, a bright, friendly smile on his awful face. “I was afraid you weren’t going to make it this evening.”

Pettis laughed, his face reddening. “Oh, Major Ferguson,” he said. “Good evening, sir.” Looking to you, and then back to Ferguson, he continued, “Not a chance I’d miss an event like this.”

“After how flustered you seemed at Camden, I was sure you’d had enough of the war business!” Ferguson said this good-naturedly, like he was actually concerned for the man in front of him. You couldn’t tell if he was performing. “First battle after your commission is always tough.”

You almost laughed. Pettis has just purchased his captain’s rank? You’d probably seen buckets more blood than he had.

“Yes, well…” Pettis’ face had turned redder than his coat. His hand left you, and he stepped aside. The relief from his presence left in a poorly-hidden sigh. “Yes. Well. I believe I’m going to go seek another glass of Madeira.”

“So soon?” Ferguson said. “Captain, please!”

Pettis raised his hand to quiet him. “Yes, yes, I think I shall.” He bowed in your direction, then Ferguson’s. “Lovely speaking with you both,” he said, before slinking toward the drawing room.

You watched him go, restraining your desire to make a face behind his back. Exhaling, you turned to Ferguson and realized that your desire to make a face needed even greater restraint than it had just a second earlier.

“Major,” you said, summoning every ounce of politeness that hadn’t been expended on Pettis. “What a pleasure to see you again.”

“I’m surprised to hear you say so,” he said, a sly grin on his face. “Especially after my utterly monstrous treatment of you in the hospital tent.”

All blood fell from your face. “Oh.” Your smile became a grimace. “I’m afraid I, ah, don’t understand what you’re referring to, sir.”

He laughed. “I’m not sore about it,” he replied. “Once I learned that you were Grace’s sister, it made tremendous sense.”

Your grimace pulled the tendons in your neck. Here he was, standing right in front of you, believing he had the right to just discuss Grace to your face? As if he knew you? As if he knew her? Just because he’d visited her, exchanged letters with her perhaps, did not give him the insight he seemed so comfortable claiming in this moment.

“Did it, now?” You shifted your weight, cocked your head. “Pray, tell.”

“I’ve simply noticed you have a lot in common,” he replied earnestly. “I mean it as a compliment.”

“And are these compliments you pay to all of your lady suitors?” you said, gesturing to the crowd of women he’d abandoned, all of whom appeared concerned with your current monopolization of his attention.

Ferguson nodded in acknowledgement, lowering his volume a notch. “Nothing escapes you, does it?”

He stepped toward the entry heading outdoors, gesturing for you to follow him. You did, watching him with suspicion, edging closer to him as you stepped onto the grounds.

The air was thick with the demise of summer, cascading in a gentle breeze down the sprawling garden terrace toward the river. A string melody sailed across the evening’s current, pebbled through by the din of conversations and laughter. There wasn’t a sight you could behold that was not laden with finery, from manicured shrubs, to flowing silks and tailored coats, to the enormous frigate anchored in the water.

All to celebrate what may well have been the end of your father. To rejoice in the death throes of South Carolina’s liberty, to laugh as she was left to squirm and choke beneath a thousand shiny British boots.

You felt ill.

Ferguson led you to an unoccupied alcove on the parterre, fragrant with blooming roses, and leaned toward you. “I intended to invite Grace as my guest, but the distance between here and Catawba prohibited a timely correspondence,” he said. “And I sense she would have been reluctant to leave your home unless she had been aware you’d be present.” He sighed. “As she cannot be here, she cannot be the focus of my affections.”

“How fortunate that you have so much affection to go around, then, Major,” you clipped back. “Seeing as how you dole it out like candy to any woman begging for a taste.”

“I understand how it appeared,” he said with a wince. “But had you been party to the conversation, you would not have failed to distinguish courtesy from candy.” When this did nothing to wipe the burgeoning scowl from your face, he continued. “Be assured that my true affections are kept private, and reserved for those deserving.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, taking a rose stem between your fingers to brush its petals with your thumb.

“You’ll find my sister is the most deserving of everything good the world could potentially offer.” Your thumb dug into the pillowy bloom, crushed down until its perfume bled into your palm. “And I’ll not see her fall second choice to anyone, or anything.”

You pinned him with your stare. His own expression softened.

“That is very clear, miss.” He glanced out across the river before looking at you again. “I see why she speaks so highly of you.”

“Does she?” The admission found your irritation with him and soothed it like a poultice. You noticed your shoulders rolling forward, your hackles dropping. You released the impaled flower. “Well. I hope she does,” you said, “since I practically raised her.”

Ferguson nodded. “She has said as much. I’m aware that growing up without your mother was not easy.” He smiled gently. “It was my hope to meet the woman who surely imparted such strong character upon her.”

You sighed, averting your gaze. How was it possible that he seemed so perfectly kind, so perfectly thoughtful and considerate and clever while being the second worst person you’d ever met? There had to be some reason behind her infatuation—yes, Ferguson had aroused Loyalist sympathies from her, but Grace wasn’t stupid. Before finding a way to destroy this man forever, you needed to understand her logic. Perhaps, you hoped, you were ignorant, and she was doing her work to spy for the Continentals as well by charming one of its lead majors—

No. Grace would never tolerate performing that level of dishonesty. Or deception.

It was only then you realized just how badly you missed her.

“If you’re so familiar, then,” you said, “how is she?”

Ferguson gave you a warm, frustratingly perceptive smile. “She’s very well. A bit lonely, perhaps, but—”

“When was the last time you saw her?”

“Oh, at least a fortni—”

“Do you write her?” You stepped closer. “Did you get her permission to do so?”

Ferguson was unfazed. He held up his hands in surrender, grinning. “Your sister is very well,” he said, “though she misses you terribly. She told me so when I last saw her at the beginning of August. And I did ask to write her.” Pausing, he studied your face, then decided to continue. “Though she did mention that I may want to ask your permission, first.” His grin grew wider. “And I fully intend to refrain from any monstrous behavior, if granted such.”

You pursed your lips. “Oh.”

Here you were, being an obstinate ass when a high-ranking British officer had just revealed a desire to ingratiate himself to you. A serving tray passed you filled with oysters, and you grabbed one, considering it as you gathered the courage to give the one thing to this man you could barely stomach:

An apology.

“You must forgive my rancor, Major Ferguson,” you said with a sigh. “I’m afraid that despite my satisfaction with our victory at Camden, I still worry quite deeply for my family.”

You attempted to sip from the belly of the shell. The sound echoed to the bank of the Ashley below.

Ferguson’s lip quirked in a disturbingly good-natured way, and he rocked on his heels.

“Your love is a fearsome thing to behold, I must admit.” He chuckled, then softened again in sincerity. “But I couldn’t possibly fault you for that. There is nothing to forgive.”

“Well,” you said, straightening your shoulders. “Thank you.”

Unsure what else to say, you sipped at your oyster again. Ferguson’s gaze dropped, his brow creasing in sudden thought. After a moment, he muttered your last name under his breath. You looked at him in surprise.

“Lord Cornwallis made mention of a certain Tory woman who would be here tonight,” he began. “He said her father is a captain with the Continentals.” He paused, peering at you curiously. “That’s you, isn’t it?”

You stiffened. There wasn’t much point in trying to deny it. Even though the idea of your name being passed around among the upper echelons of the British army brought you no small measure of discomfort. Particularly whilst you were already feeling like a doll dressed up for their entertainment.

“Yes,” you said, eyeing Ferguson again with distrust. “It is.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, sounding as if he genuinely was. “I can’t imagine the distress that must cause you.”

A chime of opportunity struck in the back of your mind. Ferguson wanted—needed—to get on your good side. If he knew anything about the aftermath of Camden, he would surely share it. And, unlike Tavington, he had no reason to distrust your motives for asking.

“It has been very taxing,” you admitted, drawing a breath. You glanced around, then leaned just a little closer to Ferguson. “I have reason to believe my father may have been involved at Camden,” you whispered. “I hesitate to ask the general, lest my allegiance is called into question, but...”

Ferguson’s face drew into a grave, sympathetic frown.

“You’ve no idea what’s become of him,” he finished for you.

Dropping your gaze, you nodded.

“It’s only right that you should know.” Ferguson’s eyes flicked toward the entryway to the home before returning to you. “I hate to say it, but it was wise of you not to ask the general.”

When curiosity crossed your face, he continued.

“His Lordship has been a bit, ah, on edge,” he explained. “I’m sorry to say I have no knowledge of your father’s fate myself. I’d surely tell you if I did.”

You sighed. Ferguson’s head cocked in very irritating concern that appeared genuine, which made it even more irritating.

“Although…” he mused, rubbing a finger over his chin. You thought you saw a new twinkle appear in the deep blue of his eyes. “That sort of information would be in the report.”

You hummed. “Report?”

He flashed you a grin, grabbing an oyster for himself as the server walked past the tray in the other direction. “Colonel Tavington would have written it up for him,” he said, and slurped the entire oyster in one bite. “It would list all the officers captured or killed.”

Knowing Tavington, the report was certainly finished—but it would be accessing it that was the problem. “I see.” You attempted to imitate his oyster consumption and instead inhaled the juice straight into your lungs. “Agh—dammit—”

“Are you all right?” Ferguson asked, stepping forward to assist you as you choked.

Grimacing, you batted him away, thudding your chest with your fist to knock the rest of the juice free. “Ah-ahem.”

Before Ferguson could reply, he glanced at the entry doors, brows rising in recognition. “Talk of the devil,” he murmured, tilting his head in that direction.

You turned, watching as Cornwallis descended to the parterre, whispering furiously to one of his generals. It was a man you didn’t recognize—some pinched-face, badly-bewigged sycophant like most others, you assumed—and Cornwallis himself seemed draped in a bizarre, silky imitation of a royal officer’s coat. Behind them, Tavington descended as well, adjusting his lace cuffs, the muscle in his jaw tighter than you’d ever seen it.

His eyes found you across the terrace, narrowed at the sight of your company. To your simultaneous relief and disappointment, he split away, marching in the direction opposite of you.

Ferguson grinned. “My Lord General!” he called, waving Cornwallis over. As the general started toward you, you turned to your side and scraped the oyster belly clean with your teeth before shoving the shell in Ferguson’s hands. “Oh—”

“Such a gentleman you are,” you murmured, and greeted Cornwallis with a curtsy. “Good evening my Lord!”

Whatever Cornwallis’ annoyance had been, upon hearing your greeting, it parted like clouds to sunshine.

“Ah, there she is!” he said, meeting the two of you. You offered a hand to him, curtsied as he pressed a kiss to your knuckles. He gestured to the man beside him. “May I introduce General Charles O’Hara, my second in command.”

“A pleasure, General.” You gave a curtsy towards O’Hara, who bowed in response.

“I see you’ve made amends with Major Ferguson, hm?” Cornwallis said.

You nodded. “Absolutely,” you said, taking care to omit the not, “my Lord. I’m so glad to have realized it was a misunderstanding.” You looked to Ferguson. “Major Ferguson here was kind enough to explain it all to me.”

“Excellent,” said Cornwallis, nodding toward Ferguson. “And you, Major? I trust you’ve had a fine evening thus far?”

“Oh, more than fine, sir,” Ferguson said. “How could I not, given what victories we had at both Camden and Fishing Creek?”

“Yes,” Cornwallis said, his gaze drifting to the ship on the Ashley River. “Though it’d be far easier to celebrate if certain… oversights hadn’t left us exposed.”

“Really?” Ferguson said. “Was there something unsatisfactory in the report?”

Cornwallis huffed, waving the suggestion away. “Oh, nevermind the report.”

“Was there something else, then, my Lord?” Ferguson asked. “Or was it not completed?”

“No, no,” Cornwallis sighed, still staring across the banks. “I haven’t even made the time to read it.”

O’Hara cleared his throat. “We’re awaiting the shipment of His Lordship’s items to come ashore.”

“Ah,” Ferguson said, “I see.” With a casual shrug, he added, “Well, my hope is you’ll be satisfied when you do read it.”

Cornwallis broke his focus from the ship with a laugh. “Colonel Tavington is nothing if not thorough,” he admitted. “From what I saw left on my desk, I doubt there's a single detail omitted.”

Ferguson’s eyes met yours. He winked. “Of course, my Lord.”

“But enough talk of war!” Cornwallis looked at you, holding out his arm. “Come take a turn about the party, my dear. I wish to hear from you this evening.”

You stared at his arm, glanced around the parterre at the dozens of Loyalists and officers alike who were peering at you between breaks in conversation. First at the side of Major Patrick Ferguson, now the escortee of Lord Cornwallis himself. Perhaps Tavington’s assessment of your subtlety had been more accurate than you wanted to admit.

“Of course, my Lord,” you said, curling your arm around his. As he led you from O’Hara and Ferguson, you met the Major’s eyes over your shoulder. “Oh, Major, I almost forgot. Regarding your inquiry of permission…”

“Yes?” Ferguson asked.

“The answer,” you replied, “is no.” You smiled and turned back to Cornwallis.

He chuckled, leading you along the parterre. “I must implore you not to break too many of my officers’ hearts this evening, my dear.”

Laughing, you shook your head. “Somehow I doubt that Major Ferguson will be suffering from a dearth of feminine attention, my Lord.”

“Perhaps not,” said Cornwallis with a wry grin. He drew a breath and gazed out over the party. “The men have sorely needed this diversion, you know. Our regulars in particular.” He let out a long exhale. “Business has been uglier here than it was in New York.”

“I’m sorry to hear it, my Lord,” you said. “Though I hope your experience has not tarnished your opinion of our fine colony.”

“My dear,” he said, patting your hand, “your loyalty is a balm to the gravest of injuries laid against us by this land.”

You forced a smile, surveying the party. Again, you thought of the squalor of the Continental camp. Some injury the British suffer here, indeed.

“I am glad,” you forced yourself to say with a smile.

Thankfully, Cornwallis seemed distracted by his surveillance of the party. Given his attire, his distraction, you knew there was something regarding these oversights you might be able to glean from him. Even the intention of a planned response would be good information to gather.

Invoking a face rapt with concern, you covered his knuckles with your palm.

“My Lord,” you said, “you seem troubled. May I inquire as to why that might be?”

Cornwallis blinked free from his rumination, sighed. “Oh, yes. A war casualty.”

“A war casualty?” You frowned. That had not been what you expected to hear. “Please accept my sympathies.”

“No, no.” He shook his head. “It’s quite all right.”

“May I ask who you lost?”

His face grew grim. “My wardrobe.”

“I—” You couldn’t stop your mouth from parting. “Your wardrobe, my Lord?”

“Yes,” he replied, “containing items embroidered by my late wife, God rest her soul. Terrible.”

Your desire to walk him toward the river and shove him in was mounting by the second. Here he was, comparing a wardrobe to a war casualty when you couldn’t even be assured of your own father’s bloody safety. Tightening your jaw, you drew in a long breath and squeezed his hand. At the very least, you needed to get as much as you could before you lost your wit entirely.

“How awful,” you said. “May I ask what happened?”

Another sigh, this time longer, more irritated. His gaze wandered toward the ship on the Ashley, then cast out over the crowd.

“You may,” he said. “In fact, I believe there’s someone who can answer your question as we approach.”

You followed his focus, finding it landed squarely on Colonel Tavington, who was now only feet away. You bit your tongue. There went your information. Good, sweet, divine and sacred God, why had he chosen to haunt you?

“Colonel Tavington!” called Cornwallis.

Tavington spun on his heel, his eyes finding you first, following the way your arm hooked around Cornwallis, the way your hand rested on his. Hot, blue flame sparked in his gaze, only to gutter when Cornwallis ushered him closer. Imperceptible to his general, but unmistakable to you: his lip twitched.

“My Lord,” said Tavington, stepping toward you both. His expression was one of utter restraint. “How may I assist you?”

“The young miss here inquired as to the condition of my personal effects.” Cornwallis gestured toward you like he was presenting a well-groomed cat.

“Ah,” Tavington replied. A poor imitation of a smile stretched tight over his teeth. “Certainly the details—”

Cornwallis stiffened. “Colonel,” he replied, “imagine hearing that a general’s property had been ransacked. If you had recently disavowed your father’s own teachings, would you not want reassurance that your loyalties were not misplaced?”

Tavington’s lips trembled, like he was chewing back a hundred words that were fighting to leave. “If I had—” He exhaled, glancing at his boots and rolling his shoulders before looking back at you. “Unfortunately, our supply lines were left vulnerable, which resulted in His Lordship’s possessions being misplaced.”

“And why were they left vulnerable, Colonel?”

“An egregious oversight, my Lord,” he muttered through gritted teeth, “which is being quickly rectified.”

You couldn’t decide how to respond. Should you laugh at him? Show pity? Strangely, you wanted to do both. His response—the cloistered rage, the tenuous grip he’d briefly displayed—had made you curious. You hated that.

You settled on saying, “I see.”

“So,” Tavington continued, folding his arms behind his back, “yourself and His Lordship may rest assured that it will not happen again.” He turned to Cornwallis. “On my word, you soon shall be on your way north, sir.”

“Let us hope.” Cornwallis relaxed at your side, appearing satisfied by Tavington’s self-flagellation. “This is dour business—I did say I had enough discussion of war, didn’t I?” Sighing, he nodded to Tavington, adding, “I look forward to it,” before looking to you. “Have you been to the northern colonies, my dear?”

“Yes,” you replied, surprised to feel as if a yoke had lifted from your shoulders with the change of subject. Clearing the tension from your throat, you continued. “To Pennsylvania, when I was a girl.”

“Ah, Pennsylvania,” Cornwallis sighed, as if missing a loved one. “Fine country there, isn’t it? And promising claims to be found in the Ohio, or so I hear.”

Tavington plucked a glass of Madeira from a passing tray and gave a tight, placating smile. “Indeed, my Lord.”

Your own matched it, along with a nod. “Very much so,” you replied, even though you had no idea what the Ohio was.

“By what circumstances did you find yourself in Pennsylvania?” Cornwallis asked.

“A visit to my grandmother in Philadelphia,” you replied. “Although, I suspect it was my father’s secret mission to allow me a glimpse of the College just once while we were there.”

“Most curious,” Cornwallis chuckled. “Why ever would he do such a thing?”

“Well, I used to beg him to send me to the Medical College one day.” An involuntary, sheepish grin spread across your face as fondness crowded your chest. “He knew, of course, that I could never attend. But he didn’t have the heart to dash my hopes.”

“A benevolent man indeed.” Cornwallis chortled again, clearly finding something very amusing in all of this. “Though, if women could become physicians, I fear we would all be far worse off as a society.”

You laughed. A short, sharp sound that you snapped to death between your teeth just as quickly as it had bolted free. Tavington glanced at you, bringing his baluster to his lips.

“Is that so, my Lord?” you said with a concerted attempt at levity, though your cheeks grew hot.

“Of course,” Cornwallis said, waving his hand as if to collect his thoughts from the air. “Such studies do not lend themselves to the… the finer manners of women. They’ve not the disposition for it, you know, it’s far from delicate business.”

“An interesting perspective,” you said through a smile that ached in its artifice. “I wonder, is stitching a fine silk so dissimilar to mending torn flesh?” Again, Tavington eyed you, brows rising fractionally. You needed to shut up, but there was a fire beneath your tongue, and you couldn’t stop the words from boiling over. “Is soothing a crying babe so unlike tending an ailing man?”

Cornwallis’ forehead crinkled, his face frozen for a beat in what may have been surprise, amusement, or both. He turned to Tavington.

“Quite the progressive, is she not?” He glanced between you and Tavington as if you were a bizarre art piece they might be discussing. “Fascinating how freely these colonial women speak their minds.”

You smiled blithely, your questions still unanswered. Tavington took a long pull of his drink.

“My dear,” Cornwallis said, adopting an air of one explaining the world to a child. “There are fundamental differences in the constitutions of men and women, as we all know. Should I have it my way, no woman would ever suffer her sensibilities tarnished by exposure to such grotesque things as blood or battle.”

He gave you a fondly chiding smile.

“My sensibilities,” you said, feeling a cord draw tight through your skull, “remained quite unsullied while I performed an independent transfemoral amputation.”

Tavington choked. Cornwallis’ eyebrows climbed. Then a laugh barreled free.

“I have no doubt that your administrative assistance has been much appreciated by our esteemed surgeon,” he said, composing himself. “But surely you are aware that such duties are not comparable to performing independent surgery.”

The cord snapped.

“I did perform independent surgery.”

Silence fell as both men stared at you. A gentle change in tempo from the distant strings. Tavington’s fingers tightened around the neck of his glass, his mouth parting as if he were salivating. Or on the brink of realization.

Cornwallis cocked his head, patronized you with a laugh.

“I’ve no doubt that such an exaggeration is born from the same flights of nerves that bade you reprehend poor Major Ferguson,” he said. “The man was left to defend himself most assiduously, you know.” Again, he smiled at you, shook his head in gentle admonishment. He sighed. “I dare say it only strengthens my opinion on the matter.”

Heat flared up your neck. Your spine stiffened, nails bit your palms, every part of you coiling with the urge to spring. Unleashing your arm from Cornwallis, you spun on him, loading retribution on your tongue like a musket ball. A flint, a spark, borne from the fire in your throat, and you could taste them, like lead, the words—did your wife seek death to escape your opinions—

A hand pressed to the small of your back. The scent of apples flooded your nose. The lead fell from your mouth.

“My Lord,” came the voice from beside you—the voice belonging to William Tavington, whose palm provided firm pressure as he guided you from the conversation. “I do believe Mr. Simms and his wife were wishing to speak with you.”

Cornwallis grinned, completely unaware. “Ah, the ingenuous Mr. Simms. I had been hoping he’d be here. Thank you, Colonel,” he said, and bowed toward you. “A fine discussion we had, my dear. And a good evening to you both.”

Your sight swiveled like the hands of a clock, new images passing second by second—the party, the drinks, the laughter, the twilight sky striped with stars. Music swam through the muddied mess of your mind. Your heart beat in your ears, in your thighs. Every inch of your awareness clung to the sensation of Tavington’s hand at your back, his fingers brushing your side. One step, another, and your eyes finally focused on him.

Like finding the surface of the ocean, you broke through, sucked in air, and flung his hand from your torso.

“Ugh!” You hissed, “What do you think you’re doing?”

Tavington sneered. “I could ask the very same.”

“I was—” Folding your arms over your chest, you realized that Tavington had just rescued you from saying something incredibly stupid. What a bastard. “I don’t need your help!”

“My help?” His lip curled, and he leaned closer, his breath warm on your face. “Are you so self-absorbed to believe that you were about to gift me a favor with that incorrigible mouth of yours?”

You snorted. “Of course, I’m incorrigible,” you replied, “all for wanting credit for something I did. Excuse me for seeking the appropriate recompense.”

“Recompense?” He huffed. “How, precisely, were you harmed?”

“Dr. Moore wasn’t even there!” you said. “But he—”

Tavington growled. “Did you ever consider that denying you credit protected you?” he asked. “I suppose you wish to be flogged?”

“Should I get on my knees?” you asked. “Espouse my gratitude for—for being—” A snarl tore its way from your throat. “I am not a child, and I refuse to be spoken to like I possess the intellect of one.”

You made to leave, and he snatched your arm, pulling you to his side.

“You are ungrateful,” he said, “and your petulance damns you to indignity far sooner than your sex.”

“You—” Heat, more heat, something like rage and hunger and altogether different rushed you, inspired sweat at your nape. You hated this party, hated the redcoats, hated Cornwallis, hated him. First your agency, now this damnable man would see you denied your dignity. “You don’t believe me either, do you?”

Tavington frowned, his tongue rolling in his mouth. His eyes pierced yours. “You would not waste your spite on a lie.”

Pausing, you searched his face. Your pulse fluttered in your throat, your wrists, your hands.

Before you could say a word, he continued, “But to expect a shift in perspective simply because you demand it—”

You laughed, pushing him away. “Pray, how should I expect it then, Colonel? Asking politely? That worked out quite well for the colonies, didn’t it?” His jaw stiffened. You were far too close to revealing your hand. “I don’t know why I’m even discussing this with you,” you said, and threw him off, rustling your dress. “I don’t need you, and I don’t need your help, so please spare me from it.”

With that, you turned away from him and marched into the crowd.

Eyes followed you as you snaked between groups, the sound of humming strings swallowing the pounding between your ears. If there was anyone more wholly unsuited for the role of spy, it was you. The entire party had seen you speaking with two officers of high regard, and for your grand finale, you’d just made a public rebuke of a third. Your father clearly hadn’t been thinking straight when he’d asked his loudest and most incorrigible child to gather information.

Your stomach rolled with nausea. You still had no knowledge of his status—and now, given your behavior, you could hardly expect to learn it at all. There would be someone bound to notice you sneaking off, someone bound to talk about the woman who’d seemed to make herself cozy with all sorts of titled men.

As you climbed the terrace toward the entrance, you spotted Tavington making his way toward two women. Upon his arrival, he presented them with a deep bow, his face free of irritation as he engaged them in conversation. His shoulders relaxed, his mouth drew in a wide smile. You didn’t think you’d ever seen him smile. For reasons you couldn’t understand, the sight of it made you want to flip a table, or maybe take a tray of drinks and spill them all down each of their frilly, ugly dresses.

He laughed at something, probably something that wasn’t even that funny, and his eyes landed on you. He smirked.

Just as a scream crested in your throat, the frigate waiting on the Ashley exploded into flames.

Every head snapped toward the river in a wave of horrified sound. Fire surged from the deck, climbed the masts, sprayed embers into the water. The party was motionless, captivated as light consumed the ship.

Motionless, of course, except for you. With all eyes on the river, you crept backwards until you reached the main house. As guests were scrambling out, you fled inside.

You flattened your frame flush with the wall along the stairs, watching as people stretched their necks, pushed others to the side, chattered like chipmunks. The chaos swelled. In the squeeze of the crowd, you heard Lottie calling your name, and you winced. As much as you wanted to reassure her, you couldn’t right now. You had to get upstairs.

Crouching low, you hiked your skirts above your ankles and snuck to the front of the staircase. The cacophony echoed as the news spread, and you held your breath, scampering up the steps and to the second floor.

Thankfully, Middleton Place was well-lit. Sconces held patient flames even in its halls, but you knew many officers had been staying the evening since Camden. Providing guidance to their drunken stumbling made sense. From what you’d understood, Cornwallis’ office was one of these rooms, and you would find it. The report would still be on his desk, and inside it, God willing, you’d fail to find your father’s name.

Your heels clacked on the hardwood. Bearing your weight on your toes, you took calculated strides, cracking open doors and peering inside as you passed through the halls. Empty, empty, empty but for furniture or decoration. You turned around a corner—the room at the end of this hall seemed most promising: under the door, a slit of flickering light, like a hearth or candle had been left to burn. Heart in your throat, you shuffled over to it, spinning the knob like it was made of crystal.

The door drifted open, revealed to you a room with grand ceilings, wide windows, and a fireplace still alive. A desk stood opposite from you, cluttered with ink wells, discarded pens, and parchment. Piles and piles of parchment.

Breath caught in your chest. Perhaps you weren’t so bad at this after all.

Slipping inside, you shut the door behind you and raced to the desk. There was no telling which of these was Tavington’s report, but you had at least a little time until you needed to be back downstairs. You picked up the first stack of papers, scanned the page. Not it. Second stack; not it, either. Third stack; the fire crackled on.

You weren’t sure which stack you were on when the door opened. Nor what you were reading when Tavington stepped through and closed it behind him. You were sure, though, that whatever papers you held floated to the floor. For once, you had nothing to say.

His eyes flashed in the shadow of the flames.

“What,” he drawled, “are you doing?”

[wisteria-prompts]

i wanna know what... things muzan would do if they caught their s/o in a maid outfit-

Hi I'm not dead

(This isn't proofread, but this should be gn!reader)

Muzan Kibutsuji x Maid!Reader (Suggestive)

Let’s say Douma put you up to this…Because let’s be honest, he absolutely would.

And because you, too, would like to see Muzan’s reaction, you go along with it.

So here you are, dolled up in a maid’s outfit, stockings, headband and all, looking at your reflection in the mirror and wondering how he’d react.

Douma is cooing over you as his servants fuss over your outfit, trying to make it as perfect and presentable as possible. After all, only the best for lord Muzan!

They all scram the moment Muzan’s presence is announced within the cult, and Douma is the first to proudly present you in all your glory as soon as Muzan steps foot in the room.

“Douma, I need you to-” Muzan starts, but the words catch in his throat when his eyes land on the only two people in the dimly lit room. The sight of Douma is expected, even as he poses dramatically with his arms outstretched like a showroom girl towards you. He can expect the second upper moon to be childish, and lackadaisical like that.

He can’t, however, expect something like this out of you.

You, who stood demurely within the center of the room, a bashful yet hopeful look upon your face as you stare at Muzan, your lover. The elegant and tasteful maid’s outfit drapes your form well, the black main portion of the dress contrasting with the white frills of its edges and accessories. Even the headband, adorned with the same frills and the addition of a large bow, complimented your features well. You had to say, even if it wasn’t exactly your style, you looked damn good in it.

It was several moments, however, before Muzan reacted beyond a blank stare, and you were starting to have doubts about giving in to Douma’s suggestion…And then Muzan blinked. “What is this tomfoolery you two are getting into again? Is this some sort of prank?” He says, tone level and as if he’d experienced this kind of thing thousands of times before. With Douma, perhaps he had, but not with you.

Douma sighed heavily, putting the back of his hand on his forehead. “My my, milord, I must say I’m rather dismayed at this lackluster response. Do you truly have no opinion on how absolutely stunning our Y/N looks~?” He says dreamily, provoking a response from the Demon lord. 

“One more word and Akaza might be promoted after all.” Muzan retorts quickly, the chill of his words sending a shiver down your spine. Douma, as always, seems unaffected. For you, however, the shiver isn’t off fear…At least, not entirely.

“Right, right, well…What is it you needed of me again, milord?” Douma sighs again, and resumes his place on his throne. 

The encounter continues as per normal, with you waiting by the sidelines in your cute maid dress, having wanted a bit more of a reaction from Muzan himself…Even if you didn’t need it per se, it would be nice, no?

But you resign yourself to never receiving the praise you so desired.

That is, until you two are alone, back in the Infinity Castle…

“Just what do you think you’re doing, parading around like that in front of Douma?” The demon king hisses in your ear, the entirety of his body pressed almost painfully against yours as he pins you to the wall. You’re trembling under his greedy hands, prodding and caressing your form over the confines of your dress.

“He’s not allowed to see you in this, ever. Understood?” He nips at your earlobe, and you nod shakily, unable to speak. 

“You’re mine, my love. No one else can see you in such an outfit, your beauty unparalleled…No one else can have you like this.” He emphasizes his words with a rough tug on the bow of your apron, the cloth falling to the floor with a soft sound. Before you know it, parts of your outfit are being untied, shoved aside, unbuttoned…But still left on your body, even as he ravishes the skin it hides with hands shoved under the cloth.

“Since you think so lightly of having let Douma behold you in this outfit, I think you deserve to be punished, no?” He whispers dangerously in your ear, and you can only nod in agreement.

Maybe you should have been careful what you wished for.

[nerdsbianhokie]

Decided to do @queerliblib s summer bingo cause I like reading and ticking boxes.

The rainbow books are spaces I already have a book in my immediate to-read pile, so I can track what I will fill in for sure.

List of books I've read below the cut

Format switch: The Rainbow Parade by Emily Neilson, read in a read along formet.

This one was tricky cause I cannot read ebooks, no matter how much I try. So, I figured I'd go for something shorter and saw that they have read along books and decided to go with that. It's a cute little story that my conservative brother would not want to read to his child and that's a massive win.

Stonewall Award winner: The Black Flamingo by Dean Atta

This has been sitting on my shelf for months and I read it in one sitting this morning. I really liked it, but it's another tick in the 'most young adult stories don't do it for me anymore' colomn, which if very long if i'm honest. Do recomend.

Memoir: All Boys Aren't Blue by George M. Johnson

A memoir about growing up black and gay. The voice was really good, and enhanced because it was read by the author.

Book with a Protagonist Older than 40: How Y'all Doing by Leslie Jordan

Focus of a memoir is the protagonist, right? Imma say it is. I've never been into instagram and such, so I didn't see Leslie Jordan's contant beyond what filtered to tumblr, but knew enough about him to be interested. A genuinly funny read, and he narrated it so well in the audio book.

Queer non-fiction: The Women's House of Detention: A Queer History of a Forgotten Prison by Hugh Ryan

An interesting and difficult read. Really highlights the cruelty of the criminal legal system and how pivitol it is to the queer community in New York.

Indigenous Author: This Town Sleeps by Dennis E. Staples

An interesting quick read. The audio book made switching POVs confusing at times, but not enough to really pull me out of the story. I adore the dog's name and the reason behind it.

Genre fiction: The Route of Ice and Salt by José Luis Zárate and translated by David Bowles

A retelling of the journey of The Demeter from Dracula, from the pov of the gay captain. Very literary and very good.

Comic, manga, or graphic novel: Anne: An Adpatation of Anne of Green Gables (Sort Of) by Kathleen Gros

I started another book for this one, but couldn't get into it, then I saw this one while browsing the library on libby and was hooked. A quick, easy read and very sweet. I love this version of Anne and the ways the original book events are adapted.

Set in the past: The Once and Future Witches by Alix E. Harrow

Such a good read. I love the small bits of world building done through the differences in tales and rhymes we have today. Each character is very distinct and I would die for James Juniper.

Coming of age: The Western Alienation Merit Badge by Nancy Jo Cullen

tbh, I had no real idea what to expect with this one, probably more connections to merit badges. Really got into it and very emotional at points.

Main character doesn't share an identity with you: Melissa by Alex Gino

I've heard of this one, obviously, but never read it. It's very cute and I really enjoyed it.

Queer Picture book: Let Me Out: a pop-out about coming out! by Omis Razavi

Got this one through their crowdfunding years ago. It's great

Do a subject heading search to find a book: The Trees Grew Because I Bled There: Collected Stories by Eric LaRocca

I searched horror and found this one. Some of the stories are better than others, and the writing style made it a little hard for me to get into some of them, but very good overall.

[sallowapologist]

Jealous Boy

(yes, inspired by the unreleased Lana song)

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x trans!Reader (ftm) 

Word Count: 3.6k+

Genre: Angst, Fluff, & Smut (the holy trinity).  

TW’s: Minor TW for brief mentions of a guy being a bit of a creep towards you, nothing major though. 

Notes: I took it personally that there was a lack of transmasc mc fics out there, so that’s how this came about. I impulsively wrote this at you don’t even want to KNOW what hour- but I am finally done and ready to post it. Idk why I always decide to write and publish fics in one sitting. 

Goes without saying, but this is set in their seventh year when they’re both of age. The beginning of the fic also only really makes sense from the perspective of you being in Slytherin, but to be honest it doesn’t make any difference beyond the introduction- so other houses are encouraged to read too. 

The reader’s POV is that of the MC of the game. 

I'll also be crossposting this to my ao3 account (swarmofbears) if you guys wanted to show it some love over there- i’ll definitely be writing more seb fics soon. Enjoy!

Brief Description: A celebratory party for the Slytherin quidditch team goes sour for you when Sebastian lets his emotions get the better of him. 

He seeks you out, wanting to give an apology- but he ends up giving you so much more... 

ao3 version here:

•─────⋅☾⋅─────•

Slytherin had just won the first match of the year. 

After much pestering from students and faculty, Professor Black had finally allowed quidditch to return to the school curriculum. The season had opened with a tense match between Slytherin and Gryffindor, the ultimate rivals. 

Sebastian had been stressing about it, often being his grumbly self whenever practice hadn’t gone to plan. It’d come as a surprise when he told you he was trying out for the team at the start of the year, but in line with all that happened in your fifth year, you figured he could use a distraction. 

Plus, you certainly weren’t complaining about seeing him in his quidditch uniform in the slightest. 

Subsequent to the victory, you and your fellow housemates paraded back to the Slytherin dorm to celebrate. Hasty banners were strewn across the hall and soft music was thumping in the background of the excited chatter.  

You hadn’t really had a chance to congratulate Sebastian yet, him being swept up by the crowd sort of made it impossible to catch a moment with him. No matter, you assumed you’d find him at some point in the evening. 

Eyes wandering the common room, you searched for either Ominis or Sebastian so you could make your way over to one of them. However, you suddenly feel a hand on your shoulder. Spinning around on your heels, you expect to find one of your friends in front of you, but you’re met with an unfamiliar boy clad in the same green robes as Sebastian. He must be on the quidditch team too. 

“Miles Grimaldi,” the boy says with a lopsided smirk as he wets his lips with his tongue, hand staying put on your shoulder. 

You attempt to shrug off the hand with a wary smile, tentatively replying with your full name to fill the uncomfortable silence. 

Obviously not getting the hint, the boy- or “Miles” as you now knew- leans forward until his lips are almost touching the shell of your ear. You flinch back, but he only leans closer as he whispers, “I saw you in the stands at the match...how’d you like to have some alone time with one of your star players?”. 

You flush red at this, not because you’re flattered by any means, but the close proximity and suggestive tone was all too much. An unsure noise slips out your mouth, your voice cracking as you franticly glance left and right, looking for someone to help you out. 

That’s when you meet eyes with Sebastian from across the common room. Your eyes widen, attempting to signal for help. He must be too far away to pick up on your desperation, because all you’re met with is a look of...well you honestly have no idea how else to describe it but as pure...venom? That can’t be right. Surely he could see how fucking uncomfortable you were right now. 

Sebastian shoots a glare in your direction, before downing the drink in his hand and stalking off into the crowd.  

God he was a fucking idiot. 

Realizing you’d have to deal with this sleezeball yourself, you flick your head back towards Miles. 

“I’m sorry I-” You begin, before a familiar voice cuts you off. 

“I think he’s aright, thank you.” 

Thank Merlin. It was Ominis. 

Miles turns around, seemingly ready to start a fight with whoever just interrupted him. However, the moment he realises who’s stood behind him, he nods his head- muttering out what could be an apology before disappearing into the crowd. 

“Ominis- Thank Merlin you arrived, that guy was-” 

“A total sleeze? Perks of being blind I guess, nobody seems to want to pick a fight with you.” 

You chuckle at his comment, Ominis always had a way of making you laugh- whether it was intentional or not. 

“Yeah, well, I‘m glad someone came to my rescue. Sebastian didn’t seem so keen,” you wryly comment. 

Ominis frowns at this, sensing your dejected tone. 

“How strange...Well, would you like to sit down together? I’m finding this crowd a bit of a challenge to navigate.” 

There it was again, that dry sense of humor that always drew a chuckle out of you. You nod your head yes, before remembering that he can’t see you. 

“Of course, here- I'll lead you.” 

Ominis nods his head in thanks, taking your hand as you lead him to the luckily unoccupied couch, sitting on opposite ends. 

As you open your mouth to ask Ominis what he’d gotten up to during the match (seeing as he couldn’t exactly watch it), your voice dies in your throat as something catches your eye. 

A couple meters from you, you see Sebastian. He’s leaning against one of the stone walls of the room, arm resting above the head of some Slytherin girl. You don’t know her name, and you’re pretty certain neither did Sebastian- but apparently it didn’t matter. He’s leaning towards her, a smirk etched on his face as she giggles and shyly tucks a lock of blonde hair behind her ear.  

Your heart drops. A thick feeling builds in your throat as you feel a wetness building in your waterline- you barely register Ominis calling your name as he notices your uncharacteristic silence. You attempt to steady your breathing, but you just can’t draw your eyes away. 

As if he can sense your eyes burning into the side of his face, Sebastian looks directly at you with a look of...triumph. It’s that same look he gets whenever he beats you at a duel during one of the countless sparring matches the two of you have held in the undercroft between classes, only now, it felt more personal. More evil. 

Suddenly, it seems as if he notices your watery eyes, and it must click for him- because without another word to the girl between his arms, he pushes himself off the wall and begins rapidly making his way across the room towards you. You barely acknowledge how his face has fallen into an expression of desperation, getting up and practically sprinting out of the common room. You think you hear his voice calling your name, but it doesn’t matter anymore. 

You only barely feel bad for leaving Ominis like that, but it was too much. It was all too much. You can feel sobs begging to fall from your quivering lips, and you decide that you want to be anywhere but the dorm room you shared with the boy you had fallen so deeply for. 

An idea springs to mind. The room of requirement. 

Objective in mind, you quickly make your way through the winding halls of the school, desperately trying to hold on for a little longer. You could let it all out once you were safe and alone. Not here.  

- 

Finally finding yourself in front of the room’s entryway, you shove open the door, immediately allowing the emotion that had been building escape you. Harsh sobs wrack your body as you fall to the ground with your back pressed to the door, uncontrollable and overwhelming. Stupid, stupid, stupid. How could you have thought he liked you back? Nobody ever liked you back. You weren’t like the others.  

Nobody wanted a freak like you. 

Choking out dry tears, you lift your head shakily from your knees pressed to your forehead, scanning the familiar room. You get up gingerly, deciding to make your way to your bedroom here. You just needed to cry it out in bed. 

Once you make it to your room, you immediately begin just that, letting it all out as you sit leaning against the headboard of your bed. You barely hear the click of the door. 

“Y/N?” a soft voice whispers. 

Shit, you forgot you’d shown Sebastian this room one day when he’d complained about the first years who wouldn’t stop chatting in the library while he tried to study. He must’ve followed you here. 

Refusing to even acknowledge the boy stood a few feet from you, you speak into your knees. 

“What do you want?” you croak out. 

“I-” 

You don’t let him finish his sentence, suddenly overwhelmed with rage as pure hatred courses through your veins. You flick your head up, shooting a gaze filled with malice his way. You don’t notice the way his eyes widen and his eyebrows pique in in shock, Adam's apple bobbing as he nervously swallows his words. 

“Actually- no. I don’t want to hear it Sebastian. Just fucking leave,” you spit out. 

“Y/N- please just let me-” 

“Fuck off Sebastian!” 

He goes dead silent, taking a step back. Utter fear is etched across his face, he’s never seen you this mad before. Not since that night. His bottom jaw quivers as his eyes glass over, staring at you, awaiting your next move. 

You can’t help but feel a tug at your heart. After all, this was the boy you’d been pining over for years. You let out a frustrated groan, resting your head back against the headboard.

 

“Fuck Sebastian...why did you have to go and be an idiot.” 

For once, it seems as if he’s at a loss for words. The easygoing grin that seemed to be permanently etched onto his face missing. 

“I mean you just- I thought we- never mind,” you sigh. 

Your eyes are shut, so you don’t notice he’s made his way towards you until you feel a weight on the mattress at the opposite side of the bed. 

“...I’m sorry,” he whispers. 

You open your eyes, finding yourself met with a slumped Sebatian. Insecurity is written all over his face, and he’s fiddling with his hands, avoiding all eye contact with you. You stay silent, hoping he gets the hint that you’re waiting for an explanation. 

He inhales deeply, “I don’t know why I did it.” 

“Honestly Sebastian, it’s fine- it's not even like we’re-”  “No, it’s not fine.” 

You’re silent, uncertain of this new territory. You hadn’t seen Sebastian this vulnerable since that night in the tombs, where you’d held him to your chest for what felt like hours as he sobbed into your chest. 

“I just...I felt this- this feeling when I saw that guy hitting on you.” 

“Wh- Miles? Seb, I didn’t want him to-” 

“Which is totally wrong of me- you're your own person. I shouldn’t feel this way just because some guy was making you blush-” he mumbles out. 

“Seb-” 

“Which I think upset me so much because I wish I knew how t-” 

“Sebastian!” you suddenly shout, grabbing his forearm. His head flicks to you, once again overcome with shock at your sudden shift of tone. 

“Listen to me.” you order, making intense eye contact with him. You’d find the way his gaze falls into those familiar puppy eyes endearing if you weren’t currently battling the stubborn boy for a chance to speak your mind. He gulps, a slight red tinging his cheeks and the tips of his ears. 

“That guy- Miles- He came onto me. I had to get Ominis to get the guy off my back, I was trying to get you to help me but you-” 

“Oh my god...” he whispers to seemingly nobody, cutting you off. 

“...What?” 

“You were asking for help,” he states bluntly. 

“Yes?” you scoff, “Did you not see the way I looked at you?” 

“I thought-” 

“You thought wrong.” 

It’s suddenly eerily silent, neither of you knowing what to say next. Your brain is running wild with questions, completely lost with where this was going. 

“I get it know,” he speaks into the silence. 

“Get what?” you reply, squinting at him in confusion. 

“I get what that feeling was...” 

You feel anger bubbling to the surface yet again with just how cryptic the boy was being. 

“Sebastian if you don’t fucking tell me what you’re on about, I’ll-” 

“I was jealous,” he states with no emotion behind his voice, but the way his anxious eyes meet your own is enough to let you know it was a cover. 

“...What?” 

He quickly averts his gaze. 

“I thought he was making you blush,” he mumbles. 

“What? I mean no- he wasn’t- but why would it even matter if-” 

“Because I think I’m in love with you.”  

The sudden confession shuts you up, any words you had dying in your throat as your jaw hangs slack. It’s as if Sebastian’s just as surprised as you at the words that escaped him, eyes wide in terror as he gets up to flee the room immediately. 

“Sebastian, wait-” you stutter out, reaching towards him, catching the sleeve of his robe between your fingertips. 

He refuses to look at you, grimacing to himself. 

“Just forget it-” 

You’re not sure what it is. Maybe it’s the heat of the moment. Maybe it’s the overwhelming rush of pure adoration you’d suppressed for the boy for so long. Maybe it’s the way your heart is threatening to burst out of your ribcage. 

You’re not sure what makes you do it, but you do it anyway.  

You tug on Sebastian’s sleeve, with such a force that he falls towards you, on you. Before either of you can register this new position, you leaning back on your forearms as he has his arms braced either side of your frame with a knee wedged between your thighs, you reach out and pull his tie towards you- crashing your lips together. 

It takes a second for him to realize what’s happening, before he begins to kiss you back in earnest. He readjusts himself, now properly leaning over your frame, right hand travelling up your neck to cradle your cheek. It begins innocent enough, years of yearning for one another being silently translated between the two of you, but then it gets filthy. 

Lust sets the two of you alight, and suddenly Sebastian is just everywhere. His right hand is travelling all over your body, his knee pressing up against your crotch, eliciting a soft groan out of you.  

The sound causes Sebastian to pull away for a moment, the caring boy you know briefly reappearing, before a deep hunger sets in his eyes. He leans forward, slipping a warm hand under your shirt. 

“Fuck...I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” he mumbles against your lips. 

Your brain is struggling to keep up with all that’s going on, so you forget to reply with words and instinctively grind down on his knee pressed between your thighs instead, a desperate moan escaping you. 

As you prepare to roll your hips once again, Sebastian pulls away, and you let out what you would vehemently argue was not a whine at the loss. 

“Wait- Y/N, are you sure about this? I don’t want to force-” 

“Oh my god- you’re insufferable,” you groan, once again pulling his tie back towards you as you slip your tongue in his mouth, the welcome intrusion coaxing addictive groans out of him. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he chuckles lightly when you pull away momentarily to catch your breath. 

You smile at him, and for a second the two of you just stare at each other with what could only be described as pure love. 

This lovesick haze is what distracts you, causing you to not notice the hand creeping towards the hem of your shirt, a soft tug pulling you out of your trance. 

Sebastian raises an eyebrow at you, silently asking for your permission to take off your shirt.  

He gently pulls it over your head after unbuttoning the first few buttons, and then he leans back and just stares at you. 

You feel vulnerable, not having shown your bare skin to anyone since you’d had the surgery. You anxiously bite your lip as you watch his right hand tentatively move towards your chest. 

His soft fingertips gently trace along the scar beneath your nipple, following it. 

“Beautiful,” he whispers. 

Your heart flutters, suddenly overwhelmed with relief. He seems to notice the way you finally breathe again, meeting your eyes with a familiar lopsided grin, leaning forward once again to capture your lips in a gentle kiss. You know what he’s trying to say, that he’s trying to tell you that he wouldn’t want you any other way. 

After a moment, the heat between the two of you returns, and you’re pressing into him with newfound vigor as he pulls your bottom lip between his teeth. He’s now moving his mouth down your neck, softly nipping at the skin under your jaw- occasionally sucking to leave purple marks in his wake. 

You chuckle at this, suspecting that the “jealousy” from earlier may be driving his actions. 

Before you can throw a snarky remark his way, you feel his knee pressing back against your crotch, the pressure through your pants and underwear providing the perfect amount of friction for you to begin rolling your hips, chasing that euphoric feeling. Broken moans spill from you, urging Sebastian to continue his actions. 

He pulls his knee away yet again, but before you can complain, the feeling of his fingertips pressing under the waistband of your boxers shuts you up. 

“...This okay?” he asks, head tilted to the side. 

“Mhm,” you hum, stomach doing flips at the edge to his voice. 

At the confirmation, he swiftly unbuttons your pants, slipping them off whilst your eyes are stuck to his face. His hand rests on your lower abdomen, teasing you for what’s to come as he leans back in to kiss you slowly and deeply. 

Frustrated by his antics, you impulsively take your right hand and place it on his own. He pulls back and looks at you with an inquisitive gaze, before he realizes what you’re doing. 

You slowly guide his hand, slipping it under your boxers towards where you wanted him. Where you needed him. 

His mouth is dry, in awe at the way you’re looking up at him through your lashes, silently asking him to touch you. 

So he does. 

He feels the slickness between your thighs, softly tracing circles around where he knows you want him. Sliding his middle finger between your folds, he dips his finger inside you, finally granting you the relief you had practically been ready to beg for. 

He’s entranced by your face, obsessed with the way your bottom lip is caught between your teeth, chest rising and falling rapidly. 

He suddenly dives back towards you, swallowing the whine you make as he begins to move inside you. He slips a second finger in, relishing the way he’s tearing you apart around his fingers. Your warm walls coax him in, and he’s happy to stay. 

He tugs on your bottom lip with his teeth, before hovering his face above yours, uttering praises. 

You can barely process anything other than the feeling of his slender fingers reaching inside you, the deftness of his movements destroying you as he begins to circle your clit. 

“I’m close,” you stutter out, only encouraging Sebastian to increase the speed of his movements. 

“You’re so pretty,” 

“My pretty boy,” 

“All for me,” 

He’s mumbling praises again, the possessiveness tinging his compliments making you react in ways you probably shouldn’t, arching your back to press yourself closer to him as you whimper. You feel his kiss-swollen lips against the shell of your ear. 

“Cum for me, love.” 

It hits you suddenly, a string of curses escaping you before he swallows them up yet again with a passionate kiss.

 

When you come down from your high, you’re panting- overwhelmed by the whole ordeal. Sebastian retracts his fingers from you, a slick sheen coating them. He maintains direct eye contact with you, bringing his fingers to his lips and he sucks them dry. 

A whine escapes your lips at the sight, and he merely grins at you before finally speaking. 

“Maybe next time.” 

You burst into laughter at this. It really isn’t all that funny- but you suspect the ridiculousness of the situation has finally caught up to you. Perhaps you simply just have no idea how to process what just happened. 

The two of you fall into a fit of giggles, Sebastian coming to lay next to you. You both turn onto your sides, facing each other. 

“So do you forgive me?” he inquires with a cheeky grin. 

“Oh shut up-” you groan lightheartedly, grabbing the pillow underneath your head to hit him. 

He bursts into another fit of giggles, and you join him. Once the giddiness dies down, the two of you are left staring into eachother’s eyes, once again filled with pure adoration. 

“I mean it though. I really am sorry.” 

“Seb...It’s okay. We obviously just needed to...” you glance down at your boxers, still slick with your arousal, “...talk.” 

“Yeah. Talk. For sure,” he deadpans, causing you to lightly shove his chest, once again causing the two of you to burst into a fit of laughter. 

“I like you, by the way. If that wasn’t clear,” you shyly admit once it dies down. 

“God I’d sure hope so-” he chuckles, immediately breaking the tension. 

After a comfortable silence, he reaches a hand towards your waist, pulling you in towards him. 

“Hi,” he whispers, uncharacteristically nervous. 

“Hey,” you whisper back, placing a soft kiss on his jaw before tucking your head into his chest. 

The two of you don’t need to say much more, you could discuss the specifics tomorrow. But for now? All either of you wanted was to fall asleep in each other's arms. 

- 

Ominis remained on that couch you left him on, praying to whatever higher power there was out there that those two pining idiots had finally sorted their shit out. 

Little did he know. 

•─────⋅☾⋅─────•

[somedaylazysomeday]

Winner Take All - Part Three

You're finally back in Cambridge, but you find that a few things have changed...

Nathan Bateman x fem!reader

Rating: Mature. Minors DNI

Word Count: 4,500

Warnings: Arguments, pettiness, minor references to child neglect and adoption, mentions of alcohol, sexual behavior, adult situations

Previous | Next | Masterlist

---

No matter how long you had been away from the Estuary, stepping inside the bar always felt like coming home. In this particular case, you had only been gone a few weeks, but the point still stood. 

You paused inside the door, soaking in the familiar atmosphere. The Estuary hadn’t changed a bit in the time you’d been gone, and you were indescribably relieved by that. 

You hadn’t actually wanted to leave Boston, but you had been invited to a set of neuroscience conferences in Budapest, Hungary. A lot of the presentations and discussions had centered around Hungary and Austria’s contributions to the global neuroscience community, but it had still been enthralling. 

Primary Enterprises, your own biotechnology company, didn’t specialize in neuroscience, but it played a role in many of the things you were trying to do. Attending the conference had helped you forge connections with bright minds who could contribute their talents to Primary. 

It helped that you were willing to pay a retainer for occasional consultation work, and the steady pay was attractive to many people. Especially scientists, most of whom considered grant-writing tedious at best and a waste of their true talents.

Hungary had been lovely. Budapest's weather was colder than a typical Cambridge February, but you had prepared for that. It had snowed a few times, but you had been fortunate to avoid most of the hassles a heavy snowfall produced. 

The timing of the conferences had meant you were in Budapest for Farsang, the Hungarian version of Carnival. There had been more parties than you could remember, ranging from Halloween-style costume parties - the scarier your costume, the better - to black-tie dinners. You had seen parades and block parties, some celebrations lasting long into the cold nights. It had been incredibly enjoyable, but you had been exhausted when you got home, and not just because of the jet lag. 

The mass of time spent in seminars and networking - or partying - was why you hadn’t answered any of Nathan Bateman’s texts. Of course it was. But, when you were brutally honest with yourself, it had more than a little to do with a conversation you'd had about AI. 

"It isn't even AI that they're running," he had scoffed, irritated by the uptick in the use of so-called artificial intelligence by everything from corporate websites to Snapchat. "It's a glorified text prediction machine, and a shitty one at that. Real AI is at the outer edges of possibility for modern science… with a few exceptions, of course." 

You hadn't liked the turn of the conversation. Nathan had never spoken to you about the scars that marked his chest and stomach… but he hadn’t really needed to. You saw the way he winced every time you touched them, and you had witnessed more than a few of the nightmares that had forced him from sleep with panting sounds of terror. 

“Yeah, well,” you had said instead of caving in and begging him to stay away from AI experimentation, “I think your talents are better used elsewhere.”

The suggestive lift of your eyebrows along with your pursing lips normally would have sent him into a distracted spiral, but Nathan had been fixated on his topic by that point. “Yeah, but… AI. Man, it’s just- It’s the most exciting thing in the world right now. There are so many possibilities, more than any other area of advancement. If one person could show the world what AI - real AI - actually looks like, the market would collapse for a minute, then it would fill with people who have a passion for the real thing.”

You would have argued. You could have. You certainly wanted to. But you saw the manic fascination in his eyes, heard the frank amazement in his voice when he talked about artificial intelligence. It was the sun and he was Icarus, and he was blind to everything else. Even still wearing the scars of his last flight, Nathan Bateman was strapping on a new and improved set of wings as he prepared for another attempt. 

It wasn’t unusual behavior from him. Actually, you would have expected that he couldn’t leave it alone. But you weren't sure you could bear to witness a second incident. Despite all of your efforts and predictions, Nathan had wormed his way into your heart, not to mention your life. If something happened, there would be a very conspicuous hole where he had made himself comfortable. 

And so you had withdrawn, pulling away from him and the new relationship you had started. Assuming it was a relationship at all. Honestly, you had been too busy having fun to dig into what exactly you were to each other. And after the AI conversation, you had hardly been motivated to find an answer. The point was that it had been disappointingly easy to step away. Nathan was a smart man. It hadn’t taken more than a few brush-offs and ignored texts for him to take the hint and you had stopped speaking for the most part. 

Since the soothing surroundings of the Estuary had already put you in an honest mood, you could admit that your heart was a little sore with the loss of whatever you had been working your way toward. Getting together with Nathan had felt natural, almost inevitable, and it was gut-wrenching to step away for fear of the future he was chasing. 

But this wasn’t the time for introspection, so you shook yourself and went to get a drink.

“Hey!” Mira greeted as you approached the bar. Her pretty face was wearing a wide smile, almost too wide considering how short your trip had been. “I was hoping I would see you before I’m gone.” 

“Gone?” you repeated, trying to keep the tension from your voice.

“Yeah, I’m taking a temporary leave of absence, effective tomorrow.” 

“Is… is everything okay?” You felt inane asking it. Everything couldn’t be okay, right? Leaves of absence were pretty well synonymous for bad things happening in someone’s life. 

“My little family is growing!” she told you, and the smile suddenly made sense.

Your eyes darted downward before you could help it. You hadn’t known Mira was pregnant, but she did tend to favor loose, flowy shirts. And you had been more than a little distracted lately. “I thought you said never again after Anika?” 

Mira shrugged. “I did, but she says she’s lonely.” 

“Your three-year old is lonely, so you agreed to have another baby?” you asked, trying to keep your disbelief teasing instead of offensive. “She’s going to have an interesting adolescence.” 

“No, I’m not pregnant,” Mira corrected, laughing. “My sister is… well, she’s not making some great choices. The state is looking for someone to take care of her son, Kiran. He’s about eighteen months old, and we’re doing well enough to bring him into our home. That’s why I’m taking the leave of absence. Noor and I can make full-time jobs work with just Anika, but two would be tricky. Plus, Kiran is going to need some help easing into the house. Little man hasn’t had an easy life so far.”

You nodded sympathetically. “Poor guy. It’s wonderful that you’re able to help out.” 

The mood lightened as a dreamy smile grew on Mira’s face. “We already love him. We’ll just be fosters to start out, but we’re hoping to officially adopt him if things work out that way.” 

“The leave of absence makes total sense. You need time to bond with him.” You grinned at Mira. “What is the Estuary going to do without you?” 

“I have no idea,” she agreed conspiratorially. “Nathan will have to hire some good help if he wants to keep his customer base!”

A cold chill of foreboding went down your spine. “Nathan? Bateman? What does he have to do with hiring at the Estuary?” 

Mira blinked at you. “He’s… the owner? He bought us out last month. I’m sorry, I thought you knew.”

“I didn’t, but there’s no need to apologize,” you said, eyes already moving to the bearded man who had walked in through an employee entrance. “The person who should have told me just came in.” 

With a glance over her shoulder, Mira nodded. “I’ll just leave you to that. But first…” She whipped up your favorite drink, tipping in a little extra alcohol. She winked as she slid it to you. “Just to keep the likelihood of a murder minimal.” 

“Too late,” you muttered, but you accepted the drink anyway.

“Well, well,” Bateman drawled, watching Mira leave as he approached. “Look who’s finally here for trivia night. I thought you’d given up any chance of winning the crown.”

“What the fuck, Bateman?” you demanded without preamble. 

He had the nerve to look surprised, dark brows shooting up. Infuriatingly, when he spoke, it was to ask: “Something wrong?”

“You know exactly what’s wrong,” you countered. “When did you buy the Estuary?” 

“Last month.” Bateman ignored your glare. Instead, he put his attention on mixing a drink. The easy comfort of his motions as he reached for a glass and started adding ingredients only irritated you more. How dare he look so at home here? “Almost two months ago, actually.”

“Two months and I’m only hearing about it now?” You clutched your drink so tightly that you worried you would crack the glass. “And not even from you?” 

That got a reaction. Bateman slid the finished drink down the bar, where its new owner pushed away his empty glass and gratefully accepted the full one.

In the meantime, Bateman had tilted his head down, fixing you with a sharp look over his glasses. “I was under the impression that you didn’t want to speak to me anymore. Or did I misunderstand all those texts you didn’t bother to answer?” 

Okay, that stung. You pushed it away, not least because it was the truth. 

“Well, we’re talking now.” You crossed your arms, leveling a stern look at him. “Give it back.” 

He stopped short, halfway through reaching for another glass. “No.” 

“This is ridiculous, Bateman.” 

With another look over the lenses of his glasses, he started filling the glass with beer from one of the many taps that ran down the bar. “You know, I remember a time when you called me ‘Nathan’.” 

You sighed. “Nathan-” 

“No, I’m not saying I want you to call me Nathan,” he interrupted. “Just pointing out that you used my first name for a few months in a row and didn’t burst into flames.”

Another stab of guilt panged in your gut. “Yeah, I know.”

“You ever gonna tell me what happened there?” The question was casual, asked as he pulled another beer and set it beside the first. But you knew better - you could see the tension in his shoulders and knew he was worried what the answer would be. Bateman’s voice was softer as he added, “I thought things were going well with us.” 

“They were.” It was a knee-jerk response, given before you could give it a second thought, but it was honest all the same. “Things were going really well.” 

Bateman turned slowly, and your breath caught at the look on his face. You had never thought the term ‘bittersweet’ could apply to an expression, but that was what you saw when you looked at him. There was sadness in it, mixed with a measure of confusion and regret. But there was also heat, the intensity that had worn you down toward him so quickly when you became reacquainted.

“Give the Estuary back to Mira and Noor,” you said. If it came out a little breathless, you couldn’t help it. That look had you feeling distinctly off-balance, and you didn’t want to forget your original point. 

“No.” 

You frowned. “Is this because you’re pissed at me? Some kind of revenge thing?”

“No, this is what Mira and Noor want,” Bateman told you. “I only bought the Estuary as a favor for them.” 

“I- I’m sorry?” 

“You aren’t usually this slow on the uptake. See what spending time with people other than me does to your intellect?” Bateman shook his head at you. “Mira and Noor wouldn’t take the Estuary back if I offered it to them. They want to be employees, not own the place. They want to focus on their children.” 

“Is that something they told you, or are you creatively filling in the gaps?” Suspicion was thick in your voice, especially since you hadn’t tried to disguise it. Bateman was well-known for his dislike of any power structure he wasn’t at the top of.

He smirked, and you knew he had guessed what you had been thinking. “They told me. It probably helped that I offered to let them keep their current pay rates. Kiran is going to need a lot of attention for the first few months, especially after spending time in the foster system. Not much time, but still. He’s a stubborn little guy and he’s already starting to walk. Noor is trying to baby-proof their house, but it’s hard with a toddler around.”

You didn’t miss the implication that Bateman had already met Kiran. He was clearly more involved with Mira and Noor than you had been, especially over the last few months. Your friendship with Mira had developed into one of the closest of your adult life, but you had started to associate Bateman with the Estuary. When you had decided to take a step back from your relationship with him, your relationship with your friend had suffered, too. 

With that uncomfortable revelation, you forced a smile. “I would have thought the house was still baby-proofed from Anika.” 

“Anika’s a smart kid,” Bateman said, twirling a bottle behind his back. Despite yourself, you found his dexterity impressive, but you made sure to roll your eyes when he tried to sneak a look at your reaction. “She likes to take the child-proof stuff off of everything and put it on everything else. Noor told me she locked every drawer of his and Mira’s dresser. Took ‘em almost an hour to fix it.” 

Your smile was far less forced as you gave an appreciative laugh at that. “She’s quick for a toddler. You’d better watch out - someday, she might take the record for the highest grades at MIT.”

“And I would cheer her on and bring her in at Blue Book.” Bateman seemed to finally catch up on the orders. He braced his elbows on the counter. “So, when are you gonna tell me what’s really bothering you?” 

“I did,” you insisted. “I don’t like you buying the Estuary.” 

“It’s already bought and paid for, sweetheart,” he told you. “And that’s not the whole story, is it?” 

You lifted your chin stubbornly. “It’s the entire story, Bateman. It’ll give you too much of a chance to cheat at trivia.” 

That was a lie. Obviously. The problem was that it was too obvious a lie. Instead of making Bateman drop the subject, it only reminded both of you that it was a lie. More accurately, it was the cover story that had gotten the two of you together in the first place, providing you both with an excuse to spend more and more time together. 

Bateman’s eyes darkened with what he had fairly assumed was a come-on. “Well, I’m sure we can find a compromise. Conflict-resolution is one of my many talents.”

You snorted at that. No one needed to know Nathan Bateman very long to see that his talents lie in causing conflict rather than resolving it. But you decided to bite anyway. “What did you have in mind?” 

“A competition.”

“What kind of competition?” You already knew. Anyone would know, with the hunger on Nathan’s face. But you played the suspicious innocent anyway. He probably had something better than ‘we fuck’ in mind, and he clearly wanted to say it. You were doing your best to ignore how interested your body was in hearing him explain the finer points of his idea. 

“The best kind, sweetheart,” Bateman told you, clearly savoring the chance to tease out bits of information. “We both know that running a business isn’t all about being smart. You have to have patience and control. Most of all, you have to know how to trip up the other guy… ‘Guy’ in the figurative sense, of course.” 

You shook your head at him. Bateman had many shitty qualities, but no one could accuse him of being legitimately sexist. “Go on.”

“So I think we need to have a contest to prove who can use all of those qualities to keep this place going,” Bateman explained. “Because if there’s one thing that cannot happen, it’s that the Estuary shuts down because we couldn’t run it the right way.”

“Absolutely. The Estuary stays open, no matter what.” That was something you could whole-heartedly agree with. “But I still haven’t heard your explanation for a contest that will prove all of this.”

“I’m gettin’ there,” he chided, wagging a finger in the way he knew you hated. “Remember, patience is one of the things we’re looking for.” 

You grabbed his finger the same way you always did, but instead of using it to toss Bateman’s hand back at him, you ran teasing fingertips slowly down the digit. Your skin ran along his until his lips parted around a shaky breath. 

Then you tossed his hand back at him. “Patience and an ability to trip up competitors. Yes, I remember.”

With an evil look, Bateman nodded. “Okay, fine. The contest is simple. We each get a few minutes at a time to work the other one up. First one to come loses.” 

You stared at him for a long moment - long enough that he started to tap his fingers on the countertop behind the bar. You couldn’t see the motion of his fingers, but you could see the echo of that motion in the way the muscles of his forearms danced.

“That was it?” you asked eventually. “All of that build-up for ‘you come, you lose’? No wonder you came up with this solution.” 

“Will you shut up and listen?” Bateman asked, though it was hardly a question. “We’ll go back to my place. I’ve got a chess clock we can use to count time. You last longer, I’ll offer to sell the Estuary back to Mira and Noor. I win… you tell me what went wrong between us.” 

The tension stretched between you. “Bateman…”

“I need to know,” he insisted. “Hard to analyze a plane crash without the black box.”

You kept your expression blank with no small amount of effort. Did Nathan Bateman need… closure? Surely not - that would make him almost human. 

“Fine,” you agreed. “When are we doing this?” 

“Now.” Even as he said it, Bateman took off the half-apron that was protecting his pants. You supposed there was a risk of them being soiled by the spilled drinks and random beverage viscera that always marred the countertop despite Mira’s best efforts to keep it clean. 

“Now?” 

Bateman tilted his head, looking at you over the top of his glasses again. It truly bothered you that you found that as attractive as you did. “You got any reason why not?” 

You didn’t, so you shrugged and slipped down from your bar stool. Bateman beckoned you to follow him. After a brief stop in the kitchen to let Mira know he was leaving for the night, you left through the back door of the bar. 

To your ever-increasing surprise, he led you to the building directly behind the Estuary. It didn’t look like much from the outside - a typical, bland structure with a handful of floors. The windows glinted in the the light of a dozen spotlights shining up from the ground. It was nice, but hardly somewhere Bateman would deign to live, and your confusion only grew when the building had a doorman. 

“Good evening, Mr. Bateman,” the man greeted politely, offering you a nod as he held the door for you both. 

Your murmured thanks faded into nothingness as you stared at your new surroundings. For all that the building looked like a typical design from the outside, the interior was cutting-edge. Everything was done in tasteful neutral grays, making the odd pops of color stand out all the more violently. There were several beverage machines at the front desk, along with a water dispenser. A sitting area at one side of the room had an elegant harp and a cello that must have been antique. A chessboard sat on the table between the two armchairs.

The multi-story foyer stretched up and up overhead, presumably ending only with the roof of the building itself. A water feature ran down the entire length of one wall, a Rube Goldberg-ian monstrosity that only just managed to be soothing rather than irritating. A grand piano took up most of the floor space, and you wondered whether music would clash with the water sounds or manage to meld.

Through all of your observations, you could see Bateman watching you. With a longsuffering tone, you said, “Trust you to get an apartment in the most ostentatious building in Cambridge.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Bateman scoffed. “I bought the building and turned it into the most ostentatious building in Cambridge.”

You laughed despite yourself. Bateman shook his head at you, but you saw the proud smirk on his face as he led you toward the elevator. To your surprise - and minor disappointment - the elevator was utterly normal. Completely upscale and extravagant, of course, but there were no outlandish security measures. 

“I was expecting a key or a secret code you have to type in,” you remarked, gesturing at the panel of buttons. “I’m sure your doorpeople are great, but you have to expect a crazed Blue Book fan to break in at some point.”

Bateman looked unoffended by the critique. “RFID tag. The doors won’t even open for anyone but me.” 

“Where is the tag?” you asked curiously. It had to be somewhere common to all of his outfits, like his wallet or phone. But those were also commonly stolen. After a moment of thought, you privately bet yourself that it was embedded in his glasses. 

“Wrong.” You blinked at him, but didn’t say anything else. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. “You’re supposed to ask how you’re going to leave here. Maybe accuse me of trying to trap you here or something.” 

You watched him steadily. “Nah, I think I could take you. In more ways than one.”

That startled an appreciative laugh from him. Your heart ached with the sound of it. When he was laughing, he wasn’t Bateman, the cold and unapproachable tech genius. No, the smile lines around his eyes and mouth transformed him into Nathan, a dynamic and deliciously clever man whose presence you found intoxicating. 

That softness toward him wasn’t what you wanted at that particular moment, but your heart didn’t seem to care. Nathan glanced at you, then did a double-take to look back at you more closely. “What?” 

You shook your head. “Nothing. Just wondering how many floors are in this place that we haven’t gotten there yet.” 

“You didn’t press a button.” 

It was true, but you gave a heavy sigh. “This isn’t my mansion, Bateman. Pick your damn floor so we can get this thing going.” 

“There’s the romance I’ve been missing,” he said dryly, leaning forward to press one of the buttons. Apparently, you were going to the seventh floor. 

When the doors opened, you looked around curiously. The building had probably started life as a series of offices, but Nathan had made some changes. Walls had been knocked down and rearranged, leaving a frankly enormous bedroom at the back of the building. 

His bed was huge - a quirk he’d had as long as you had known him - but the room also held a minibar so large you weren’t sure ‘mini’ applied, and a sitting area sunken into the floor. It was reminiscent of a ‘70s style conversation pit, and you drifted toward it out of sheer fascination. 

You snorted when you saw the multi-story windows in Nathan’s bedroom. With the ceilings extending up into the next floor, there was a bank of windows forming one full wall of the room. “I forgot you have a thing about windows.” 

“Specially tinted,” Nathan assured you, standing in the conversation pit. The lowered floor left you looking down at him as he toyed with something in his hands. “We can see out but no one else can see in. Automatic sun shades from dawn to mid-afternoon. But you’re not here for a rundown of my architectural skills.”

He placed a chess clock on the pit’s table, bordered on three sides by the couch. 

“You… are such a nerd, Bateman!” Nathan blinked at you, caught off-guard. It was a rare thing, and he recovered well, but you were proud of throwing him out of his suave attitude. “Only you would want to fuck to a chess clock.” 

“Not fuck,” he corrected. “Well, not only fuck. Everything is on the table except whatever your limits are. For instance, I have no limits. Anything is open.”

You studied him, trying to gauge whether he was serious, but he just waggled his eyebrows. You decided to take him at his word, and that meant you needed to reciprocate. “No degradation, no physical abuse, no daddy kink.” 

Nathan held out his hand. “Deal.” 

Why did this abruptly seem like such a bad idea? You took his hand anyway, giving it a firm shake. “Deal.” 

“Good. Get undressed.” He was a little too comfortable issuing the order, but he shrugged off your glare. “I can do it for you, but you didn’t negotiate against clothes ripping. I remember that you like that shirt.” 

Your stomach twisted as you pulled the shirt over your head. It was one of your favorites - an incredibly well-worn Sweeney Todd tee shirt you’d had since college. That particular level of softness only came with multiple washes and typically meant it was going to rip soon, but it was comforting. You had no doubt that Nathan could tear it off of you, but you were also unreasonably touched that he had remembered how much you loved the shirt. 

He finished before you did, and amused himself by sneaking little touches of every bit of you he could reach. The brush of fingertips against your outer thigh or running over your shoulderblade normally wasn’t enough to impact you so badly, but you had missed Nathan. And, in missing him, you hadn’t been with anyone else. 

For the first time, you realized you might be in trouble.

---

Author's Note - got a little carried away and this fic would have been too long if I didn't cut it in half. There will be a second, spicy part tomorrow.

Thanks for reading!

[somescenecatholic]

ALL TUMBLR PPL PLEASE REPOST THIS ANYWHERE U CAN! THERE NEEDS TO BE MORE PROTESTS ABT THIS BC IT'S PRIDE! This can't go on for any longer. TW: p0l1c3, h0m0ph0b14, tr4nsph0b14

Qween Jean, a Black and Trans community leader was arrested at a PEACEFUL march for Trans Liberation on May 31st, 2023. AS SOON AS THEY GOT THERE there was lots of police and they arrested Qween Jean. I'm not sure if she's out yet as I can't find info on tht. On instagram it says to bail support at 7th precinct 191/2 Pitt St, New York, NY, 10002

This can't keep happening, there needs to be nationwide peaceful protests abt this!! Demonstrations need to be everywhere!!!! IT HAS BEEN 53 YEARS SINCE THE FIRST PRIDE PROTEST! I say protest bc PRIDE STARTED AS A PROTEST! It can ONLY be a parade when we truly get our rights. We can't celebrate until we see our victory. Like, our victory is in the bag bc good ALWAYS wins but we need to take ACTION!

ALSO, ANOTHER THING! NOTE HOW WHEN THE NYPD GOT KICKED OUTTA PRIDE, THEY STARTED ARRESTING AND STUFF! If they actually cared they would let this go on. They would actually do smth and hold their own protests for police brutality and etc to stop. Ik there are good police out there who are actually helping out the communities but lets be honest, the system is screwed up. There is far too much corruption. You KNOW it's bad when even little kids are scared of the police! No, not bc they may look intimidating. But because they are literally scared for their life. Same thing with guns. I was walking home from the bus stop when I was in like 6th or 7th (i forgot) and I thought I saw a gun in someone's car tht was parked in front of me and I was scared to the bone. Thankfully it wasn't a gun, it was smth else.

Anyways I'm getting kinda off topic. But yk what I mean right? (if u got any questions, do ask, my dm's and comments are always open! ^w^)

I'm just so sick tht the stuff tht should be in HISTORY BOOKS is happening right in front of my eyes. Like there have been sm protests and stuff against this for FAR, FAR longer than I have been alive!!! (Ik im only 16 but still this is a srs outrage)

It srsly sucks that this is the world I gotta grow up in.

SO THAT'S WHY WE GOTTA CHANGE IT!

Any action u do can help the world change fod the better. Never miss an opportunity to do good! (big or "small")

SOOO! If u can, go to a local protest! Try to put ur community first, yk? Also, reblog this post and spread awareness about these kinda issues. I'd love to go to a protest buttt I do not have supportive parents and I don't have a car. ALSO, remember tht every act of kindness counts. And dont just keep it to ur friends. Support good local businesses, give compliments to everyone u meet, cheer ppl up, listen to others, donate to GOOD, TRUSTWORTHY charities, do NOT give canned food to food banks bc they need actual food, so give them money, and give homeless ppl money too yk? Ppl are like "WHAT IF THEY SPEND IT ON DRUGS AND STUFF?" Well ofc yea tht's a possibility but who says they won't spend it on what they need? Yk? Basically be a good person, support queer ppl and poc ppl, etc. The world needs sm more kindness. People say "HAH friendship, love, and kindness is such a simple concept tht's not needed". The fact tht it's simple says everything. If we had more of tht, all these issues would cease to exist.

Also, another thing:

PROTEST SAFETY RULES!!

Take water and stay hydrated! If someone doesn't have water and u have some to spare, waterfall it.

Keep face masks and switch your phone to airplane mode. This is a surveillance country. They know how to find you. And if u take pics, make sure tht ur location is extremely hard to pinpoint.

If a police officer arrests u, know ur miranda rights and STAY SILENT AND BE CALM! They will use what they can to take it against u. You have to think a stairway ahead of them. They can't say anything if u don't say anything! And justice will be served so dw, God's with you. Also, yes u can say ur manners like thank you and excuse me.

Again, please repost this everywhere u can.

Remember,God loves u ALL, no ifs ands or buts. ACAB and love is love. Trans rights are HUMAN RIGHTS!!!!!

You matter and the right to speak and protest is a human right. This is our world and we have the power to change it!

(also please tell me if I got anything wrong in this post)

[dailyweezer]

Not a request, but!! Thoughts on Pinkerton?

pinkerton is their best album easily. or at least my personal favourite (i could see arguments for blue and ewbaite).

pinkerton is definitely the most exciting and interesting album musically, it has a feel to it that i don’t think any of the other albums truly capture. the louder, rougher sound is unique for them and an incredible listening experience and the lyrics are truly something special. rivers writes so well on this album and it’s really interesting to hear the brutally honest wording.

pinkerton was my 2nd most listened to album last year (just after black parade) with like a full 25 hours spent listening to it it’s incredible, 10/10 album

you know what screw it, track by track opinions:

Tired of Sex - really good opening to the album, it introduces the tone of the whole project perfectly. i’m amazed at how well it translates onto pinkerton from SFTBLH, they managed to change it just enough to provide a fantastic opening. the kind of drone on the vocals emphasises rivers exhaustion with his current lifestyle very neatly and the sudden bursts of noise starting up as the lyrics become angrier is gnarly as hell i love the loud guitar

Getchoo - this one hits like crazy i love the sound of the chorus, the little ah-hAH right at the end of it when it goes slightly higher scratches the brain itch just right. the actual characters of the song feel so real, the whole album feels real, and it’s actually mint.

No Other One - same deal with the characters, this is gonna mostly just be me reiterating that Rivers killed it with the songwriting here. absolutely love this song, the long, winding intro kicking in suddenly with the bM-bm-Bm-bm-BM is heavenly, it’s a truly lovely melody (i have no clue how music actually works) and makes for a fantastic song, one of the best on the album

Why Bother? - this one makes me go bananas it’s so quick and fast and speedy and other synonyms and it just mmmmm good track good song everything explodes and i love it. also you guys know Rob Cantor from Tally Hall did a cover of this song for a Pinkerton tribute album and it’s really sick

Across the Sea - oh boy this is it this is the track where my opinion gets the account shut down. it’s good man it’s really good this song really hits. like obviously the lyrics are- they’re fucked they’re fucked up, but they’re honest and the fact that this song even exists at all and weezer put it on the album means a lot and made huge strides in musical lyricism as a whole. i honestly really enjoy it. and like it sounds good instrumentally as well the little piano noodles are so funny and chimey and cool and the repeating of the actual “i got your letter, you got my song” tune by the guitar immediately after it is nice it makes me happy

The Good Life - fucking insane track blam blam blam i love it i love it i love it. it’s time he got back. the actual historical elements of Rivers life that tie into this track is very interesting in regards to the weezer lore. this is a loud song and it’s a crazy song and everything about it is good and everyone should go listen to the good life

El Scorcho - now this is the song of all time. the lyrics are so silly goofy i adore them, he’ll bring home the turkey if you bring home the bacon man (the sudden slam i tot he chorus from that line is so good as well). Matt Sharps back in vocals are really nice to listen to, it isn’t his best vocal performance in the songs he was on but it’s very nice, and Brian Bells first ever vocal performance on a studio album (pretty sure he sang on the longtime sunshine recording earlier) is slaying honestly. that whole section of the song slams me violently back into the wall with some invisible force everytime i listen to it i mean how stupid is it i can’t talk about it i’ve gotta sing about it and make a record of my heart. anyway el scorcho good song ay carumba

Pink Triangle - funny funny gay song. unironically though this one is pretty perfect the instrumentals throughout the entire song is completely solid and i mean the lyrics are- they put my kind in the weezer lyrics. (actual history element of this is one of my favourite pasty’s of weezer lore, girl it’s about heard the song and it turns out she isn’t even a lesbian)

Falling For You - this one is my favourite weezer song. in my top 3 songs of all time alongside MCR - Mama and Komm Sußer Todd. it is, and it doesn’t feel like it the first time, but it is genuinely one of the greatest songs ever made. just listen to it. listen to the album. every little detail from the japanese voicelines in static at the beginning to the perfect melody and loudness of the chorus to the way all of the verses flow like that to the way he says little old three chord me (such a good line such a good line i am so normal) to the screaming the title in the final chorus. it’s immaculate. i love weezer pinkerton

Butterfly - this track is divisive. most people either think it’s the only good part of the album or it isn’t worth listening to after the rest of it. these people are incorrect. it’s a perfect closer for the album, after all the bangers, this is the mash to make, the full- bangers and mash. i actually do love the concept of winding it down at the end of the album like this and butterfly is really exactly how to do that. it’s beautiful and a really profound and perfect way to call back to the rest of the album and reflect on all the beautiful themes and concepts touched on. and hey, if butterfly doesn’t do it for you, you always have…

THE BONUS TRACKS ON PINKERTON DELUXE

oh baby those bonus tracks

i won’t talk about all of these specifically but Devotion, I Just Threw Out The Love Of My Dreams, Longtime Sunshine and Tragic Girl are all favourites of mine. blast off! too even though that’s not actually on pinkerton deluxe. Songs From The Black Hole was an incredibly interesting concept and a lot of the unused tracks from it or parts that were worked on to pinkerton also stand as incredible pieces of art

so in conclusion:

what have we learned today

pinkerton is one of the greatest albums of the 90s, one of the greatest albums of all time, and everyone should listen to and love pinkerton

i am so normal about weezer

[poeticdevastation]

hi chūya. do u read manga

Do you really want me to answer that.

All seriousness, I've read some.

Shingeki no Kyojin was good n' I liked Tokyo Ghoul.

Out of animes I liked their intro songs- especially Unravel, Shinzou wo Sasageyou, n' The Rumbling.

Another one I loved was found & lost by Survive Said the Prophet.

That band is insane, man. /pos

I have a small playlist dedicated to some of my favorite songs by them.

Of course I gotta mention the GOATs, Akira n' Fist of the North Star.

I tried Given- n' I guess this would be a "hot take" or whatever you guys call it- but if I'm bein' honest, I was more into Bocchi the Rock.

Still a cute one, though.

Nothin' will ever give me chills like Banana Fish n' this scene from Bocchi.

Death Note was another one that was pretty good but drove me nuts- loved the second op though- n' I'm excited to continue Boku no Hero Academia n' Demon Slayer.

I think the two I'm most excited to read/see more of though are Trigun/Trigun Maximum/Trigun Stampede n' Rurouni Kenshin.

Vash is a pretty cool guy.

Oh yeah- One Punch Man was hysterical, too.

Princess Mononoke was gorgeous.

Y'all can hate on it all ya want or be judgemental to it's chaotic n' broken fandom but RWBY rocks.

R.I.P. Rooster Teeth

Death Parade n' Satsuriku no Tenshi were interesting, & I'm interested in continuing Moriarty the Patriot n' Link Click.

I liked n' gotta continue/rewatch:

Assassination Classroom

Full Metal Alchemist

Interstella5555

Monster

One Piece

Owari no Seraph

Pluto

Mob Psycho 100

Sonic X

Dungeon Meshi

Spy × Family

Steins;Gate

BNA

Tokyo ESP

Re:Zero

Kiznaiver

Black Clover

Noragami

Phoenix Wright

Soul Eater

Ao no Exorcist

Tokyo Revengers

Durarara

n' ESPECIALLY Gurren Lagann n' Cowboy Bebop

I've been told to check out

The Great Pretender

Afro Samurai

Baccano

91 Days

Kaiju No.8

Berserk

Bleach

Evangelion

Vinland Saga

World Trigger

Tate no Yūsha no Nariagari

Cyberpunk: Edgerunners

Dorohedoro

Enen no Shouboutai

Great Teacher Onizaka

Hunter × Hunter

Hellsing

Hotaru no Haka

Detective Conan

Lupin III

Jujutsu Kaisen (That one guy's voice is. Drivin' me nuts. Where have I heard it.)

I don't plan to watch Chainsaw Man but the manga looks good.

As for games: I've played that [Redacted] series n' saw the anime for it as well as read some of the novels when I had the time.

I liked that Hagakure guy, but I can't put my finger on why... oh, n' Leon was pretty cool, too.

I loved Mondo n' Taka, not gonna lie.

Also liked Nekomaru n' that Kaito dude.

What was up with that Gozu guy too- he was interestin'.

Persona games are pretty good, too.

I played Genshin for a bit. I like Diluc. I swear- that Itto guy sounded familiar, but I'm not sure where else I'd heard him from.

HSR might be more my thing, but I like the fighting style more in Genshin if I'm bein' honest. Otherwise, I'll still be more active on Star Rail from now on.

I like Boothill n' Aventurine.

If you've read this far then here, have some of my guilty pleasures- if you can call them that;; basically:

You will never catch me admitting to liking these.

Violet Evergarden

Lucky Star

Horimiya

Shimoneta

PaSwG

Osomatsu-san

Ouran Koukou Host Club

Kaguya-sama: Love is War

Puella Magi Madoka Magica

Howl's Moving Castle

Princess Tutu (Wrecked me)

Fairy Tail

Kill la Kill

WataMote

Your Lie in April

Sasaki to Miyano

Sword Art Online II

Tian Guan Cifu

My Neighbor Totoro

n' especially Toradora! n' Buddy Daddies.

^What can I say, the last two were too-darn-adorable for me to resist.

Oh yeah, speakin' of animes people refuse to admit likin' n' reachin' this far to be deservin' of seein' my "honorary mentions"...

Y'all who are still afraid to like Kekkai Sensen are cowards.

Go check out Blood Blockade Battlefront, losers. /endearing

By the same guy who made Trigun, iirc.

There's one that keeps bein' brought up around me though... the Hell was it...;;

Bungou...somethin'...

...Bungou to Alchemist.

That's definitely what it was.

[suzannahnatters]

MOON LOVERS: SCARLET HEART RYEO has deaded me and I've never been so happy about it

EUN!!!!

I'm not okay.

of course So was always going to make this choice, and I suppose it's hard to just opt out of a system when you and everyone you care about it trapped inside it, but there tragedy is definitely HERE

oh heck no, did he just lie to her? after promising he wouldn't?? and when the real thing he used as an excuse was a genuine point of conflict that could have served the writers just as well???

everything was going so WELL

Jung has no damns left to give either :3

big fan of the way nobody's wearing pastel robes anymore, they're all in black and guyliner

cept Baek Ah, please stay alive my child

dying over the internal thematic resonance here. So wants to be king so he won't be someone's killer anymore. but if you take the throne you have to be willing to throw everyone else away. And that's what he's already done to our girl, as happened to Lady Oh before her

taking the throne is the leading cause of insanity in this kingdom, looks like

ok they actually resigned me to the Break Her Heart To Save Her bit by downplaying it a whole lot and justifying it pretty well. it's still not my favourite & it IS cruddy of him to lie but also the king IS very actively using her to control him.

most of the time this trope happens I'm like "in what universe does this even make sense" but in this case, well it's a stupid decision but one I can actually imagine making

So explains why he wants the throne: at first he just wanted to protect the people he loved but now he wants to FIGHT THE SYSTEM, YEAH

*cough* or make things better for the normies

she's 100% Ophelia but he's better than Hamlet so I support him tbh

it's on, even Baek Ah is in armour now

not so evil queen gets the thesis statement: you must throw away love in order to gain the world

aaaaaaaaaaaAAaaaaAAAAAaaahhh

did...did our girl poison king Guyliner (no but it was convenient yes?)

what was in the letter

our girl getting to be the first to acclaim the new king yessss

well HECK the throne-induced insanity is setting in quick this time

I repent, I repent, he should have listened to our girl T_T

astrologer is Concerned and so am I

I'm so happy for Rebel Princess getting to stab someone at last

augh Wook very correctly points out to our girl that she's stuck by So as he makes the same decision Wook did

and then she retorts that at least he was honest about it with her

well played and game over

oh no I knew it wasn't good that she was clutching her heart

the sheer stress of the lifestyle is getting to her...the way it did to Lady Oh

and our girl's protege Chae Ryung is in love with a prince, it's all starting another tragic cycle huargh

fascinating how the back half is contextualising the show's treatment of the original king.

I hate that it went easy on him, but it quickly started to be apparent that the king is similarly caught in the system as everyone else. one person wanting to change isn't enough.

this show is so much more complex than I gave it credit for!

well I have a three page list of Reasons Why Marrying Princess Smirks-a-Lot is NOT Good Realpolitik

oh the pain is ON now our boy is making a whole parade of bad decisions and the show...isn't letting him off for them?

like, it's showing him yielding to the pressure of the system but also our girl takes a good long hard look at him and...

is this show going to Do The Thing

couples who pledge love over this swimming pool never end well, goodbye Baek Ah

no this is almost worse, Baek Ah gets to live in the most heartbroken manner possible

meanwhile So is gradually losing the bits of his humanity one by one T_T

SHRIEK

Jung just came to get our girl in the dumbest way possible, this is why you do not ask the general to rescue you from the deadly court

WOOK, DID YOU JUST DO SOMETHING LEGITIMATELY UNSELFISH

oh the sad king lurking in Jung's garden all eaten up with jealousy is the BEST THING and totally what he deserves

oh I LOVE this - our girl makes sure Chae Ryung's last letter gets to Won ahhhhh

the actor for Wook has just done an amazing job of visibly aging from 20 to 50 before our eyes, and he's done it all with facial expressions and body language

our girl has made it back YESS

and left history a little better in her wake

that rates as a happy ending in my book

THEY DID THE THING

I NEVER THOUGHT THEY WOULD BUT THEY DID

IT'S OPHELIA IN ANCIENT GORYEO

look idk what I expected from a story about a modern girl going back in time to charm 8 cute princes but it sure wasn't a brutal Shakespearean tragedy about power corrupting even the truest love

10/10 perfect ending, no notes. Bittersweet, agonising, fitting, PERFECT.

review to come

[micahthemoon]

September 17 2023 My last living grandparent passed away today. The day Billie Joe Armstrong’s dad passed away as well. It just occurred to me while writing this entry that this is the case. But that is not what I want to talk about.

Let’s have a disclaimer here: I will NOT be limiting my words for this one. I will just type/say what I need to say. It will turn as long or as short as it needs to be. Because today I want to talk about the conflicting feelings, I have about my grandmother not being with us anymore.

We were close when I was younger. Yet when she was diagnosed with dementia I must admit I tapped out. It didn’t help that she was one of the few not knowing about my new name or identity since my mother made me keep it a secret since “my grandmother just wouldn’t understand at her age and with dementia and all that”.

The few times I then visited my grandmother I was constantly waiting to be misgendered, hearing my deadname and getting talked to and about like I was still the little girl, my grandmother knew. The best days where those she didn’t mentioned my name at all. Or acknowledge my presence, really. So why even be there if I felt it better that I wasn’t? It is a horrible way of thinking about it, but this is the truth. I didn’t want to be there even if she was still the happy and amazing self she had always was if only a bit more confused and stuck in the past. I didn’t want to be reminded that I could never be honest with her and that she would never get to know me.

All this has culminated in my feelings at her passing being a tumbled mess.

I am sad to know that a person I loved and cherished is no longer with us. At the same time, I am happy that she got her peace. She hasn’t had it easy the last few years. I have been told recently that she was fading away and couldn’t stay away for more than a few hours at the time up to her passing.

I feel shameful for not doing more for her and for not being a better grandchild. And yet I also feel relieved not to keep up this façade anymore and that now everybody in my family still alive knows who I am and the journey I’m about to embark on.

I feel sad that I didn’t get to show her my authentic self although I understand that this might not have done anything good either way. New information is near impossible to take in when you have dementia so me trying had a possibility to just hurting both me and my grandmother more in the process. But because I didn’t tell her I feel selfish, and I feel selfish for now feeling a burden is off my shoulder, and I feel selfish for not feeling more sadness outside of myself and my stupid gender identity.

I am wearing all black today. I have been making an Instagram story dressing up to Welcome to the Black Parade. I will probably blast Wake Me Up When September Ends after writing this. This are all ways I feel like grieving. Yet I also feel horrible for doing this because this is all things connected to me and not to my grandmother. My grandmother had no clue who either My Chemical Romance or Green Day were. Would she even care if I had told her this was what I was going to do? Shouldn’t I instead look back on old photos and smile and cry and remember all the great times we had together? Making the day about her instead of me?

And yet when I look back at old pictures, I see the lie. I see the girl my grandmother thought I was up to the very end.

Life is not black and white. It is shades of grey. While today I wear black and try to keep my thoughts about my grandmother as white as I can, I know this isn’t the case for life or for my feelings themselves. Every bright memory has a shadow side.

Yes, I am sad to say goodbye to her. But I am also relieved that she is gone. In all this emotional mess, I mostly just feel numb.

[twoidiotwriters1]

Copycat: Genesis —(Marvel Fem!Oc)

A/N: I love all these girls they're so amazing 😭❤️ -Danny

Words: 1,822

Phase Six Masterlist

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Listen to: ‘Bad habit’ -by Ben Platt

xxi: The Avenger

"You got your things?"

"I came here with nothing, so yeah," Cat grinned.

Shuri stared at her intently, Copycat was still wearing her suit, she had no other clothes to wear, and she wasn't planning to parade around town anyway, she would leave Riri in her dorm, and then go back to New York.

"You helped me a lot this week, I won't forget that," Shuri said.

Cat reached for the princess's hand. "You have no idea how important this suit was for my next move. And meeting Namor changed my mind about a few things."

"About what?"

"That mutants are superior beings," The princess hesitated, and the hero laughed and patted Shuri's back harshly. "You should've seen your face! Sorry, some habits are harder to drop than others."

The girl punched Cat's shoulder lightly. "You look happy... gives me hope."

"It does?"

"That one day I'll look on the bright side like you do."

Cat decided to be honest, maybe that would help Shuri. "Lying to Namor was like turning my back on every mutant on Earth, Shuri. He showed me that we have worth, and what I can achieve if I don't give up on myself. It may not mean much to you, but I'm thankful you didn't kill him."

Shuri looked away. "I think we have lost enough. Killing Namor would've turned the Black Panther into someone unworthy of the legacy."

"Hmm, I hate legacies," Cat patted her shoulder again. "Don't become a stranger, alright? You can call me even if it's just to complain about your day."

"Good luck with that hunter," the girl squeezed her arm encouragingly. "Don't let him win."

"Can't. I got a team to rebuild," she grinned.

"I'll be waiting for your call."

Riri stumbled onto her bed. "Oof! That ain't something I'm gonna get used to..."

Cat chuckled. "It was the fastest way to get you here," she dropped the girl's bag next to her. "Look after yourself, kiddo."

"Wait! That thing you said... about recruiting me..."

"You don't want me to?"

"You're gonna do it for real?"

"Yeah, if you're really interested," Cat assured her. "But there are a few things I gotta do first. Don't worry though, if you're meant to be an Avenger, you'll become one in due time."

Riri had an anxious look on her face. "I'm not sure I want to, though..."

Cat was unbothered by her response. She shrugged casually. "Well, the world is full of people like us, so no pressure. Whatever you end up choosing will be the right call, as long as it's not out of fear."

"A colonizer in chains... Now I have seen everything."

"Funny," the ex-agent got out of the car and noticed the young woman on his left. "So Copycat really is Agent Zero, huh?"

She frowned. "How did you figure it out?"

"We found your gorgon suit at the scene," Agent Ross explained. "But I heard you quit like a year ago..."

"I heard you committed treason," she replied.

The man looked at Okoye. "You're protecting her?"

"I protected them," Cat frowned.

"She took advantage of our situation," Okoye clarified.

"You know, Mother, sometimes you say real hurtful things—"

"Don't ever call me Mother."

"De Fontaine will hunt your ass when she finds out—"

"Valentina," Cat's eyes flashed dangerously. If the woman had been there when they'd found the Gorgon suit, then Russo knew she was back. "She's the reason I came to get you, actually."

Ross paused. "She... is?"

"I'm sure some people love to have her in the office," Cat walked back to Okoye's car, hidden on the side of the road. "Unfortunately, I can't allow that."

"What?" Agent Ross inquired. "What are you talking about?"

"Mouse, we have to give Agent Ross an update."

"On it."

"And while you're at it, look for Fury's number, he's been on vacation for far too long."

"You got it, boss."

"Wait, why me?" The man questioned.

"Because you got fired and it wasn't fair play," she said. "You'll help me and Captain America, Agent, if you want your job back."

Cat showed up in the middle of Matt's apartment... and startled Foggy Nelson in the process.

"HOLY SHIT!" The man fell over Matt's couch out of pure shock.

Matthew rushed out of the kitchen and walked up to Foggy, picking him up from the floor. "Why didn't you call!?"

"I wanted to surprise you with the news!" Cat winced.

"What news?" He scowled, helping his friend to get back on his feet.

"...that I'm alive?" She made a face. "Now it sounds stupid."

Foggy looked at her in disbelief. "Are you Copycat?"

"It's okay, Foggy—"

"Oh my god, are you in trouble?" The man looked at him with his mouth wide open. "You said you were taking a break—"

"—Foggy, calm down—"

"—Copycat is in your living room!"

Cat pressed the button on the side of her mask, turning off her visor. "He's not in trouble!"

Foggy stared at her squinting. "Do I know you?"

"You do," she took a deep breath. "Have you gotten any better at pool or am I going to keep stealing your paychecks?"

His eyes widened. "Cat?!"

The young woman smiled awkwardly. "Good to see you, bud."

"Foggy, you need to leave," Matt reached for the man's stuff and hung a bag over his friend's shoulder. "I'll explain everything later."

"But— wait! Cat?" Foggy looked at her and smiled. "That makes so much sense."

"I'm sure it does," Cat chuckled.

"You owe me an explanation too, though," he warned her before leaving. Matt kept pushing him forward. "A big one!"

"Yeah, sure!" She answered from her place. "Maybe one day you'll get it!"

Matt told Foggy not to mention he'd seen Cat, and his friend promised to keep his mouth shut, but he'd definitely demand all the answers sooner than later. Once he closed the front door, Matt spoke to her out loud. "Why didn't you call?"

"What time is it?"

"Seven thirty, boss."

"Thanks, Mouse," she looked at Matthew. "It's Monday, what are you doing in your house at this hour?"

He walked back into the living room, crossing his arms. "The power went out in the office so we came here instead."

"Where's Karen?"

"Took a short vacation, she'd been working nonstop for months," he hesitated for a second, in the end, he sighed and loosened the tie around his neck. "You should've told me you were coming."

"I didn't think it through," she apologized, then looked down at her suit. "Hey, you said Spidey brought some of my stuff. Where are they?"

"In my closet," he took a step forward. "You got a new suit?"

"Brand new design, changes colors depending on the light. I got a cloak too, but that one was given to me by another mutant, not Shuri."

"Another mutant?" He raised a brow. "Can I?" He raised his hand and Cat pulled her cloak forth, placing it on his open palm. "Paint me the picture," he requested.

"Two jaguars standing on their hind legs, they're facing away from each other," her eyes were focused on him. "The embroidery is silver and gold, and the fabric is teal, like jade."

"Does it have a purpose, or is it just for show?" He teased her.

"It's like Kingpin suits, but I'm sure it's made out of something else... the people that gave it to me called me a jaguar, he said they represent the power of darkness in the universe."

Matt frowned. "That doesn't sound flattering."

"Wasn't meant to be a compliment," Cat admitted. "It's who I am to them. It's like you, wearing a devil suit when you are a die-hard Catholic. Doesn't mean you're bad, only that you're one of the few who dares to do what it takes to keep your city safe."

He let go of the cloak but didn't move away. "You feel different. I would say happy, but..."

"I've made peace with parts of myself I thought weren't enough. I am enough... for what I'll do, anyway."

Matthew sighed. "There it is."

"What an ominous statement," she snorted. "I'm fine, Matthew. Don't overthink it."

He walked back to his kitchen. "You ate yet?"

"No, I was having a meeting with a former CIA agent."

"Can I ask?"

"I can tell you everything over dinner," she went to his room to get changed. "Even that part with the handsome and scary mutant, but I can't be specific, I promised not to tell others..."

"Sounds like a fun prospect," he replied with sarcasm. "Just your type, right? Secretive and inconvenient."

"More like charismatic and social," she tapped M.O.U.S.E. twice and her suit hid in a paw-shaped pin on her chest. "Did Spider-Man say anything about coming this week?"

"He said he'd try."

"I think I'll go see Harley.  Fury and the CIA agent agreed to help, I'm sure Harley's dying to pass all of our research to them, he didn't want to be involved, to begin with..." She put on a shirt and her favorite shorts. "Have you heard anything about the other guy?"

"What other guy?"

"The one that brought me along with Webs."

"Ah, that guy," he said. "Spider-man didn't mention him."

"So he left," Cat said quietly. "I'm glad."

"You don't sound glad."

"Well, I couldn't help him, I feel guilty."

Matthew hummed. "I'm sure you did your best."

Cat walked into the living room. "You have a habit of cheering me up even when I don't deserve it. Maybe I didn't try at all, have you considered that? Maybe I was selfish."

"I said you did your best. Whether your best is enough or not, that's another story," Matthew handed her a plate.

"That's so mean," she grinned, sitting down happily to enjoy her warm dinner. "But... Most of the people that I've interacted with ended up in a bad situation. From now on, I'll mind my business."

"I disagree, my life got better after we met."

She laughed. "Are you okay? Before I left for this mission you hated me, now it sounds like we're back to being best friends."

Matt sat in front of her, he had a small smile on his face. "We're definitely not friends. I'm saying you were exactly what I needed back then... but maybe this guy needs something else. Some people need the real thing, and a copycat isn't that."

She'd missed his bits of advice, as blunt and straightforward as they were, he was the only person in this world who understood her anger, but now... she knew it was because he couldn't remember her reasons to be who she was, and she couldn't blame him, but it still hurt. Cat was as real as any other person, she just couldn't be herself most of the time, because that tended to scare people off.

"Matthew, not even you are able to be sincere every second of your life," she sighed. "We hide parts of ourselves when we want to be picked. For example, right now I'm hiding how much I'd like to take you to bed to ask you if you're willing to be friends again."

He smirked, he didn't even bother to ask if she was joking or not, with her there was no difference. "If you can remember how to be a decent one."

"Vaguely," she took a bite of her food. "I won't blackmail you or break any of your bones this time around, promise."

"That's sweet..." he stole a bit of food from her plate. "Let's be friends, then."

Next Chapter—>

Taglist.

@mikaelsonwhxrebae​​​​ @ieatpanicattacksforlunch​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @jesuswasnotawhiteman​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @siriuslysirius1107​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @greengarsstuff​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @itsyagirl01 @23victoria​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @espressopatronum454​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @jkthinkstoomuch

[mommypieck]

Yeah I wouldn’t be surprised I’m the first 😭😭 it’s not easy finding other mcr fans if not in spaces dedicated for them

Well actually I’m gonna be the 40 year old man in this scenario😱🙄what are your top 5 songs?

Personally I really like Helena, boy division, to the end, house of wolves and this is how I disappear!

omg boy division is one of my favorite. i love all black parade b sides and... im trying to think. drowning lessons or other bullets songs have a special place in my heart. i think my most listened song now is foundations of decay to be honest. so yeah. i really can't name 5 favorites hehe.