#which means I’m even worse in French

[waugh-bao]

Bordeaux: Days 1-4

[cthulhus-curse]

Surprise, Surprise

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5,561

Warnings: Ghostface WandaNat, Darkfic, Mommy Kink, Daddy Kink, Murder, Knife Play, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Degradation, Strap-Ons | 18+ Minors DNI

Summary: In which you find out the culprits of your former partner's death and receive more than what you bargained for.

On the one year anniversary, you failed to open your eyes in time. Regardless of the insistent beeping from the alarm, the voice from downstairs shouting your name along with the mocking chirps of the birds beneath your window, you remained still. The sole humoring of yet another year without your one and only, the person who you once deemed as the love of your life, made your bones chill while your blood ran cold. 

But of course your parents simply brushed it off. They knew of the difficulty you had to carry on leading up to the days of the first anniversary, and yet your mother didn’t do much but bark at you to get ready as the bus was leaving. Another morning in the hellish town of Westview. Oh how you longed to gain independence once the final semester of your senior year had passed. Only a few weeks left and school would be out. Then you’d finally move to the other side of the country leaving all your dismay and fury towards the town behind. 

Upon your arrival at school, a brown bag filled with half a sandwich and an apple you didn’t have the appetite for, all eyes were on you. It hadn’t missed you. The pity each person felt, the laughter behind closed doors at your loss. And yet no one dared utter her name. Kate Bishop. Was it that hard? For someone who hadn’t dared mutter it out into the world since the day of her disappearance, the presumed death you had long accepted to be true, you ought to cut everyone else some slack. 

“Good morning. I didn’t think you’d show up today,” came the greeting from your best friend. Thor was many things, but easy with his words was not one of them. “You know, with Kate’s death and everything. You didn’t take the day off.”

Each sound coming from his wretched mouth made your blood boil. “Yeah no shit Sherlock. I’m here, aren’t I?” You didn’t need to turn as the two of you waltzed down the packed hallways dripping with pity for you to know his worry faltered into hurt. “Sorry. I’m just a bit shaken up today for obvious reasons. Mom and dad didn’t think it was that bad so here I am. They said we didn’t know each other that well for me to be depressed. I mean, fuck, we knew each other since we were kids. How can they say that?”

“I’m sorry,” Thor mumbled, placing a sympathetic arm upon your upper back. “We can skip together if you want.”

“I’m not skipping class. They’ll kill me for that.”

“Oh like they killed Kate?” came a voice you knew so well from behind you. “I can’t wait until her body is found. It’s going to be so gross.”

Since the dawn of middle school, one Natasha Romanoff had taken it upon herself to reign hellfire down your life. A day didn’t go past where your classmate treated you with even an ounce of dignity. Somehow she got worse as time passed, especially once the whole incident with Kate occurred. 

You hadn’t attended school for weeks when she suddenly disappeared back in junior year. Your girlfriend of almost a year, a friend for longer, had left you behind to fend for yourself. Regardless of how many manhunts the police went on, the tedious nights you ran through the forest with the hopes of finding her until Thor had to drag you back to safety, Kate was gone. She probably skipped town so she didn’t have to deal with your sorry ass, was what Natasha always repeated. After weeks of such treatment, you began agreeing. 

“What’s wrong? Oh you’re not gonna cry, are you?” Natasha teased as she smacked your arm. Her reddened hair was up in a french braid, viridescent eyes darting down your body. “How pathetic. Does the little baby need a tissue, huh?”

Before you dared reply with a peace of your mind, there came her savior flying down the hall.

“Nat, stop. Don’t be such a dick.” Wanda Maximoff, the feared bully’s girlfriend, stood between you and the redhead. She flashed you an empathetic smile that you took as Thor’s nostrils flared. He didn’t like the so-called feigned kindness Wanda showered you with. “Are you alright today, sweetie? I can’t even begin to imagine how horrible you must be feeling. You know that if there’s ever anything you need, I’m right here for you. We all miss her so much. We got your back, Y/N.”

“Who is ‘we’?” Natasha grumbled low enough beneath her breath so that it was only hearable to her girlfriend. 

“Thanks, Wanda. You’re always so nice to me. I think I’m just a bit checked out today. Here’s to hoping the day goes by quickly.”

“It will if we skip class,” Thor pointed out. 

“As president of the student body I could never endorse that,” Wanda giggled. As a hand held a few of her books, Natasha’s arm wrapped carefully across her waist, she placed the other one on your arm with friendly banter. “You take care of yourself, honey. Take some breaks throughout the day, drink some water, and focus up on good things. The day will go by before you even know it.”

Never did you notice the hunger which Natasha eyed you with as she found herself exhilarated by the way her girlfriend held you so close – the disgust she felt towards your friend was lost in the air. Gripping Wanda’s waist, she silently begged for permission to strike. A knowing look from the shorter brunette forced her to lay back and wait. Soon enough they’d have you. 

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

“Did you hear the news?”

Those five words were ones you hadlong accustomed yourself to feel great disdain for. Upon the sound of them through the door of the last class of the day, you shuddered. You didn’t dare look up, losing yourself within the dread that overtook your soul. The seat next to your own had been empty throughout the period. 

Thor never skipped without giving you a head’s up. 

Upon hearing through hushed whispers and more stares your way, you ran out of the bathroom. The hint of bile which rose from your throat was held off until you reached a stall where you threw yourself, dumping out all the remaining torturous grief still carried from Kate’s loss alongside Thor’s. News spread quickly through the school, of course they did, but being shown a picture posted on a sock account on social media of Thor sprawled across the football field, eyes wide shut with a pair of knives lodged in his chest made you fall. 

You hadn’t found it in you to remove yourself from the floor. The walls across you turned, mocking your misery. The image of your best friend was clear in your mind. He was sweet, a caring man who wouldn’t dare hurt a fly, a complete lovable idiot who spent his days either playing sports or taking Jane out to whatever movie was being shown that weekend. No one hated him, but then again, no one had a reason to hate Kate either. 

Seeing him that morning so full of life made it impossible for you to humor the death, the macabre gore you had taken a slight look on someone’s phone, upon his cadaver. 

The day had ended there, the school dismissed halfway through the final class. The student body couldn’t be more thrilled to escape their prison as they grieved Thor’s surprise death in their own ways. As you strode through the halls ignoring the loudspeaker, calling your name to the school counselor’s office, and numerous classmates sobbing against the lockers, you carried on a somber expression. No sound was hearable, no hint of emotions or life within your features as people tried expressing their pity your way. 

Wanda’s cheerfulness creepily crawled out as she held onto Natasha’s hand, dragging her away to follow you. They’d get what they wished for, what they had longed for years. It was only a matter of time before they broke you entirely. 

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

“I’m really sorry about what happened, kid. I can’t imagine it’s easy to lose the two most important people in your life like that. You know, we’re all here to talk about it if you’d like. Me, your mom, your dad, and some of your other friends. You’re not alone, okay?”

 And yet it felt that way. 

You couldn't muster hearing another word that came from your therapist. Since Kate’s death she had been there every step of the way. Although not by choice, you visited Dr. Danvers twice a week for almost a year. She was nice enough, the sole person who at least pretended to not pity you in a believable manner. But you knew that beneath every ‘sorry’ thrown your way, there was feigned sadness. 

“Do you want to tell me more about Thor?” Carol questioned softly. Each bout of words were like a dozen daggers crackling through your skin, a painfully lonely existence without your favorite two people alive. “We can talk about something else if you’d like.”

“It’s fine.” Those were the first words you had spoken upon your arrival – almost half an hour into the session. “I just miss him. I miss her.” It took all your willpower to not break down in front of your therapist. Never would you dare bring yourself to uttering their names again. “He died the day he went away. How is that even possible? I just…I can’t do this anymore. I can’t go back to school and have everyone staring at me like I’m a sad freak. Just the thought of going back makes me think of them. Why did it happen? Why on that day?”

Carol held herself back from speaking, taking a second to revise her verbiage before responding. “Honey it was probably just a coincidence. Maybe someone was playing a sick joke. I really don’t have a good answer for you, I’m sorry.”

All that went through your brain was the image of Thor ingrained, burnt to ashes into your mind. Countless nights had been spent with lifeless eyes staring into the ceiling, boring your misery into your sole safe place. When tormented with agonizing experiences, you simply hid beneath the covers of the bed which shielded you from the outside. Numerous calls and texts from friends and family members had gone unanswered. Not even your parents could do more than to leave a plate of food by your door that was returned half-eaten. 

“Do you have thoughts about hurting yourself, Y/N?”

Within the depths of your darkest desires you wished to pull the knife from Thor’s body and throw it Carol’s way. “Are you fucking kidding me? How dare you?”

“It’s just something we have to cover because-”

“Because what? Jesus, Carol, my girlfriend disappeared a year ago and I had to see my best friend dead in the fucking school yard. And the only thing you care about is whether I’m killing myself or not?” The selfishness of it caused your distress to turn to fury as hands turned to fists. She cared about her job before your own well-being, about making sure you didn’t do anything which could taint her reputation. “I’m done with this. Don’t bother about rescheduling for later this week.”

Storming out the therapist’s office, you didn’t pay any mind to a peculiar couple sitting together at the waiting room, a redhead’s arm wrapped around a brunette. When green eyes twinkled, the smaller woman mumbled. “That's our next target. We can have a bit more fun with this one. Let’s make the bitch bleed, shall we?”

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

A gruesome amount of blood coated the horribly sharp beam across her features. Wanda looked down, pleased to watch the pattern her partner followed. She had long memorized what to do, what tools to use, where to carry out such fun, and how to clean up. Never would she get caught with the intricate manner in which the young woman took her victims. Since her rather adventurous adolescence she had grown used to the mesmerizing way a person lost their sanity, their life, at her hands. 

“Right there, baby. One across her neck like that,” she tenderly instructed. “Just like I taught you.”

Natasha had come to her in the early years of high school. The firecracker was easily set off by her constant anger targeted at everyone around her, but as a confident force herself, Wanda tamed the beast that lay within the redhead. Little by little she was morphed into a willing pet who, although impulsive, required care and guidance over their fun pastime. 

Rather than follow the advice, Natasha kept slapping the knife down on Carol’s chest. Unadulterated fury was thrown over the therapist after she had made you cry. The fixation with you had begun in her younger years, always watching you prance around the halls, a lone-wolf who she knew desired to be claimed. No one dare step up and take what the world knew was rightfully hers. Her wishes were solely to get you on your knees, to push you down far enough to the point you required her support to get back up. She wouldn’t let a lowly shrink and your friend get between that. Wanda only went on with her obsession. 

“Don’t tell me how to do it. I’m not an idiot,” Natasha spat between gritted teeth. Her body was coated in a fresh set of scarlet paint. Although she was new to taking such a brutalistic approach to her need for you, she wouldn’t allow herself to be dominated by someone like Wanda. Of course little did the redhead know that she was fully wrapped around her girlfriend’s finger already, their shared grip upon you being far too delicious to let go – the thought of you always fresh in their minds as one got the other off. 

“Watch your tone.” While much softer, Wanda wouldn’t dare allow herself to be treated lowly.  “Here, let mommy help. Don’t you want to be a good girl for me? Don’t you remember that it was me who showed you how to get your prized puppy?”

“Yes.”

Wanda’s smirk was wide at that. To have both you and Natasha under her control was far too exquisite – she drowned in the power she held, playing god as she took the lives of those who defied her. “Yes what?”

“Yes, mommy.”

As soon as the defeated words were sighed, the thumping against the chest cavity of the blonde was put to a rest. Natasha sagged her head as she ran a palm oozing with blood against her face, humming at the safety it brought her. Soon enough they’d break you; soon enough you’d be theirs.

Taking a life in her hands with a lost one beneath, Wanda, the deity, tilted her head. She ran a hesitant thumb across Natasha’s cheek to take in all the exhaustion carried upon those muscular shoulders, her arms weak as she submitted. The shining promise rings upon each of their left hands signified the momentous devotion towards the other. Long had they waited for freedom. 

The separation the two of them had with you was torturous. Unabashed ire was cast upon those who they saw fit to be their lab rats. Nothing but trash which they rummaged through to find the perfect way to have you. Such displaced aggression was only the beginning of their turbulence coming undone. 

“There’s my good girl. Now look at how mommy does it, Natalia. Cut her like this.” Wanda allowed Natasha to remove herself from on top the therapist. The taller of the two kneeled before her master, green eyes in a frenzy as they watched on carefully. The previously dull, red blade was substituted by a mint knife coming from Wanda’s side. Although wearing just a plaid skirt, a white button-down, and high-knee socks covered by Converse, she found it to be a perfect outfit. Nothing could compare to the surprise they’d have for you. “See?”

Wanda took her time, exuding patience across the office as she dragged the freshly sharpened blade across Carol’s neck. Choked sobs, her breathing becoming shallower by the second as she could barely take in any air, was music to the young women’s ears. The orchestra that was desperation mixed with ghastly sloshing sounds whenever the skin was punctured was exquisite. 

With her chest covered with ruptures, Carol was nearly thrown over the edge, Wanda holding her back so she could spend her last few moments facing harrowing pain. 

“That’s beautiful. I like how red it is,” Natasha pointed out as she licked her lips, noting exactly how her partner danced the knife on Carol’s throat – not too deep or shallow. “Is she in pain? How can you tell if this hurts more than what I was doing?”

“You didn’t take your time, sweetheart. You need to go slow, let them feel every single second of it. The poor thing can barely breathe, let alone call out for help. You did good there, but you can’t let yourself get carried away like that. Give your pets special care. Have some fun with them,” Wanda explained as she drew copious bouts of blood from Carol’s neck, the woman losing consciousness as her eyelids grew heavier with the stench of death surrounding the four walls. “The red treat is really yummy too, but not hers. This one is tainted, she hurt our prized possession. That’s why she has to pay. Anyone who keeps us away from our angel needs to suffer the consequences. When we get to Y/N you can taste her. Maybe I’ll even let you take the lead once you’ve had more training. Would you like that, daddy?”

“Yes,” Natasha was breathless with excitement. “Yes, mommy.”

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

With the end of school looming over, you spent your days crawling across the woodboards of the house. Since the unfaithful day where you had to first hand experience the shame of waltzing around the packed hallways wallowing in your own grief, you hadn’t left the safety of the four walls of your bedroom unless it was to go outdoors for a few minutes, gathering food, and simply returning to your cave. 

A handful of your other friends had visited. Steve brought flowers and your favorite dessert, Bucky by his side offering a sympathetic smile while handing you a bag filled to the brim with only your favorite foods, movies, fuzzy socks, and even a stuffed animal. Little by little, they trinkled by, but as time kept moving forth, they left you behind. 

Thor’s funeral was the only chance you gave yourself to escape the house. Throughout the somber ordeal at the town’s sole cemetery you gripped Jane’s hand, remaining unfazed as she sobbed against your shoulder. ‘Bring him back’, she repeated, the mantra stuck in your mind for sleepless days, arms wrapped around a goat stuffed animal Thor had once won for you at a carnival. The pain which his girlfriend felt, the misery embodied by her pleas and cries over his casket, was an exemplary manner in which the two of you were joined by the hip. 

Even afterwards the two of you strode aimlessly around the area, Jane attempting to let out incoherent words of sadness through choked cries, you didn’t have an ounce of emotions that barreled down what you concluded was a cold heart. You didn’t dare cry at the funeral, the rain allowing you to camouflage beneath its wetness and remain hidden in shame. Tears had already dried up when Kate disappeared. You only wished Thor could forgive you for the lack of sentiment that you displayed. 

Then yet again it was time to return home to your depressed, ragged, unconscious state. 

You parents had long given up on so little as attempting to interact with you. They didn’t have to spew their venomous words for you to realize that being by your side drained them. The agony which you were in was humorous to them. Late nights you find yourself hearing them chat from down the hall in their rooms, mumbling about how you’d be better off moving away, how they were the ones to suffer at the loss of their daughter, not you when never so much as being allowed to say goodbye to your loved ones. 

Rather than incite an argument which would not easily culminate, you hid out in your bedroom until the day they set off on their vacation. You were old enough to be alone, and yet you knew that according to Carol it was best to be surrounded with support – the thought of the woman made you frown momentarily, rummaging through the hot mess that had been your last appointment. Oh how you wished she’d answer your texts apologizing for your outburst with the hopes of scheduling another session. Radio silence was your best friend. 

In the moment your parents went away, you merely hugged them goodbye. Without their judgemental gazes you allowed yourself to further grow, to explore areas of the house you had barely set foot on during the lowest moments of your life. Truth be told most of your hours were spent on the terrace watching mother nature’s cool dance welcoming the summer – Kate’s favorite season. 

When nightfall overtook the town of Westview you sprawled yourself over the bed. The lack of parental guidance gave you the motivation to take everything at your own pace, to sparse out the food through the day, but still make an effort to keep yourself alive. If only your parents didn’t wish to shove a plate of food down your throat every waking moment then perhaps your mind wouldn’t refuse the slightest bit of pasta curated for yourself. 

It was a shame, really. Not taking care of yourself only left room for someone to swoop in and do it for you. With a peculiar redhead and a lanky brunette sitting in a heating car outside your home, they volunteered to take the vacant position.

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

“Shhh you have to be quiet, baby. Otherwise you’ll wake up mommy and then I’ll have to punish you. Do you want that, sweet one? Oh I don’t think you do. You’re a good girl. I know you can behave for mommy and daddy.”

Stuck in your dreams, the imagined soothing voice of Wanda Maximoff brought you peace. You hummed at it, snuggling closer to your stuffed animal, your guardian, as you pretended for it to be her. She’d be the sole saving grace of your livelihood regardless of the interesting choice of words spewed your way. 

“Pretty girl. Just look at how fucking pathetic she looks. Can we start now, mommy?” At the sound of Natasha’s voice, you frowned. The tenderness within it was not lost in you. “I want to destroy her, to take every single ounce of life she has left and make it my own. When can we take her away?”

“Silence, malyshka. We have to be patient with our angel. She’ll come to us when she’s ready. For now we just have some fun, perhaps train her a bit,” as serene as the words were spoken, the devilish nature that lay beneath was a cause for panic. In all your nightmares you had been feasted with images of an onyx creature with a ghostly mask, but never your classmates. It almost felt…real. “Would you like to start?”

Burning hands crossed your body, pulling down the sheets hiding it along with your pajamas. Within the clarity that you face, a groan came. Eyes fluttered across the dark room as you were groped, hips squeezed when a phantom creature danced against you. A bulge settled between your legs, mocking your existence with a different set of gloved hands that wrapped around your throat. 

When meeting the two figures upon your bed, breaking the illusion of a dream, you screamed – yet no sound came from your taped mouth. 

Your trunks were torn apart, a humiliating wet patch forming upon your underwear that was mocked with insistent laughter. The two ghost-like beasts pulled at it, nearly ripping it off as their pleased noises filled the frightening air. 

“Fill her up, sweetheart.” Wanda’s familiar voice instructed, her face, you noticed, covered with the same sinister mask you had once dreamed of. “Show her who she belongs to. After all we’ve done, don’t you think it’s time to have a little reward? Be a good girl and destroy our pet, daddy.”

“Yes, mommy.”

Natasha followed the steps she had rehearsed many times when using Wanda as a guiding proxy. She helped her robes up, plucking the zipper of her pants that lay beneath and swooping them down. A rather large, girthy dildo sprung from the confines of its makeshift prison. It was jerked off by a rather flushed Natasha whose face contorted into a desperate one. 

As an audience member Wanda sat back and enjoyed the way her perfectly trained animal rubbed your cunt, all slick and drenching itself more by the second. She ignored your muffled pleas and squirms, using sturdy cuffs to restrain you against the headboard of the bed. You looked much better all tied up anyway. 

Wanda found herself enthralled by the fear in your eyes, her own downcast, dark, and dripping with delight. Tenderness touched your wet cheek that was overtaken by tears. Although you couldn’t see her face, the sympathy displayed through the Ghostface mask caused your heart to slow down, to normalize as she overcame you.

“Look at you. You’re nothing but a filthy whore who is begging to be fucked. That’s what I told Wanda the first time we talked about you. She laughed, but it’s true. This desperate puffy pussy is proof of that,” Natasha growled as she swiped a thumb across your slit, coating it with your juices before swirling it against your cunt. Involuntarily your body shuddered; the redhead would never let you live that down. “How many times did you fantasize about this, huh? For mommy and daddy to claim this slutty body once and for all? You’re so pathetic. I’m barely touching you and your little cunt is already this wet. How cute.”

“Oh I want a go at her once you’re done, malyshka,” Wanda hummed, one of her hands landing atop Natasha’s to feel your oozing apex. “For now I think I’ll stick to marking her. Our names deserve to be on our property, don’t you think?”

“Ours.”

Fire trickled across your skin as the tip of the dildo was rubbed against your throbbing cunt. Natasha was desperate to fill you up, so rather than keep her needs at bay basking on foreplay, she simply grunted, slapping her cock against your clit before lining it up against your aching hole. 

No matter how hard you tried to moan, it was all for nothing. 

A knife was produced from Wanda’s belt swiftly as the way they slipped into your room at night. She sat back watching in awe as her partner pumped her entire cock into your depths, grabbing you harshly until the whole length filled your pussy. Tilting her head, a tongue stuck out to lick her lips. It was far too late to dare remove the tape without alerting the neighbors and potentially being caught – not to mention Natasha’s demeanor would turn sour and her hands would quickly wrap themselves around your neck until your breathing ceased – but oh she knew you’d be so loud for them. 

The cool blade of the knife felt wonderful against you. It was hesitant at first, exploring the expanse of your body as you, lying in wait, taking in a deep breath. Nostrils were fueled by pure hypnotic rage. All but your mind gave into Wanda. She was intoxicating, a true image of beauty even covered from head to toe with onyx garments. 

Numerous cuts were left upon your body by a blade that resembled those which were twisted upon Thor’s chest, the ones that were later compared to the wounds Dr. Danvers carried on her mutilated body only days after she had brutally murdered, her body thrown across an alley with nothing, not even her dignity, left the cover the humiliation. 

“That’s it, you little whore. Take daddy’s cock just like that. Oh you’re nothing but a good fleshlight, huh?” Natasha spewed out, slapping a gloved hand across your face before smirking beneath her mask – an action you practically heard in her tone. “You like it when daddy stuffs your tight pussy with her cock? Huh? A cumrag just for us. I can’t wait until you finally give in. we’re going to ruin this slutty pussy for everyone.”

“Maybe we can fill her up with your pups one day, daddy,” Wanda piped up as she maniacally cut your body. You were adorned with bloody carvings of varying sizes, one of those being a heart with the words ‘Mommy & Daddy’s Pet’ alongside ‘Wanda & Nat were here <3’ right beneath the breasts which she groped. “Do you want to have your daddy’s babies, sweetheart?” The lack of hardness within her voice drove you mad. All you could do was nod, a mind completely blank with the way Natasha fucked you. “Yeah? There’s a good girl. So good for her mommy and daddy. Oh we’ll take such good care of you. Now no one can take you away from us. It’s just us against the world.”

It was the first time you happily felt anything in months.

Bloody breasts were squeezed, Wanda quivering with excitement as she encouraged Natasha to keep going. The innocent stench of your scarlet fluid took the brunette aback. She was drunk in it, desperately wishing to tug at her mask to get a taste. Instead she settled for playing with it, although the gloves preventing the feel of your blood disappointed her. One day she’d drain every last drop within you to manically explore your body. 

With a lazy thumb running against your clit, Natasha’s cock stuffing your cunt until you were a sobbing mess, and Wanda’s cheers as she maimed you, you easily give yourself in for the women to take, arching your back and letting out a choked moan once you came undone. And yet that never stopped them. If anything, your admirers had only begun. 

Both spent hours merely using your body as though it was another limp mess for them to dispose of, a fleshlight ready to please them. They switched positions eventually, Natasha angling herself perfectly so as to shove her strap on down your throat once taking off the tape to keep you quiet, your juices coating her cock that you tasted, while Wanda gave your gaping cunt the same treatment with her fingers once removing her gloves. Regardless of how long it had passed and how spent you were, you didn’t dare force them to leave. 

Their visceral need to own every ounce, every breath, every fiber of your soul drove them to claim you. Watching you from afar, taking pictures, settling for others or each other to hide the itch for you was torturous enough. It was about time they got your attention once and for all that didn’t come from Natasha annoying you constantly to get a reaction, or Wanda sweetly interacting with her soon-to-be pet as a means to hold even an ounce of you. 

Once you were barely conscious, heavy eyelids threatening to close as you gargled over Natasha’s dick, it all came to an end. 

“Such a good girl,” Wanda mumbled, a hand caressing your face, thumb brushing against a cheek. Although the mask remained intact, you heard her fiery features temper down. “Y/N, you’re a perfect pet just like I thought you’d be.”

“Hmm just look at that. You’re already tainted,” Natasha pointed out as she ran a hand against your nude, fileted body. The bed was a mess, blood drying out among the sheets, your being stuck frozen without a sound coming past your lips. All you did was grunt, throat hoarse and exhaustion overtaking you. With a proud smile, both women were pleased with how far they broke you. “Should we give her the surprise, mommy?”

“The poor thing deserves it. Look at how much she’s been through. Oh don’t worry, sweetness, mommy will nurse you back to perfect health. Then in a few days we can put even more pretty scars on your body,” Wanda giddily announced. Cupping your face, she leaned in dangerously close until her mask brushed against your fallen face. “We have a little friend here who’s been dying to play with you. Be a good girl and say hi.”

From the shadows a third figure arose. It carried the same mask as the others, its waltz slow to the tempo of the swirling air felt through the crack of your window. It simply remained standing at the foot of your bed, a hand waving you a greeting, excitement fueling deep beneath the face covering. 

Upon the removal of the mask, your tired eyes widened, Natasha and Wanda having to hold you down from moving with devilish mocking looks upon their faces. 

“Hi Y/N.” The voice was once you dearly longed to hear again. “Did you miss me?”

[loveinhawkins]

Steve grabs the bag before Eddie can. “No, I’ve got it.”

Eddie glances at the transparency of the plastic bag: the outline of his battle vest pokes through it, neatly folded.

He sidesteps the rest of the group as they troop out of the RV. Steve’s still standing his ground by the driver’s seat.

“Uh, Steve, I can see what’s in there. That’s mine.”

“Yeah, but—” Steve huffs, still holding the bag tightly, and he almost seems… embarrassed. “Like, just. Don’t look at it right now, I’ve got it. I’m gonna dry clean it. Later, I mean.”

Eddie laughs. But Steve remains deadly serious.

“Uh, that’s nice and all, but I don’t think dry cleaning gets out… um, blood and…” Eddie pokes his head out the RV door, to where the kids are hauling weapons and tanks of lighter fluid with Robin and Nancy—a sight he steadfastly tries to ignore before he panics ad nauseam—and asks, “What’s your word for, uh, Upside Down related, uh, you know—”

“Slime?” Lucas offers.

“Sludge,” Erica corrects.

“Goop,” Max says decisively.

“Shit,” Dustin says.

Eddie nods. “Helpful, thanks.”

He turns back. He’d intended for all that to get Steve to crack a smile at least, but if anything, he looks worse; the expression on his face has shifted into evident guilt.

“Steve,” Eddie says, caught between being amused and… honestly, touched. “Relax. It’s fine, man.”

Steve keeps frowning. “But it was—”

“—not important.”

Steve huffs again, like he’s saying don’t lie.

Eddie changes tack. He hasn’t missed the fact that Steve’s change of clothes from The War Zone means that, sure, less skin’s on show, which is probably better for Eddie’s heart but, more importantly, his bandages are ‘conveniently’ concealed—which is decidedly less good for Eddie’s heart, so maybe they both cancel each other out.

If ever there was the time for sincerity…

“Maybe I care less about the damn vest, and more about the person wearing it.”

The pinch in Steve’s brow lessens. “Oh,” he says, soft, and then a little of his usual bravado comes back when he asks, “you sure?”

Eddie waggles a hand back and forth. “Kinda. It’s borderline.”

Steve chuckles. He puts the bag down on his seat, very carefully, as if it’s breakable, and Eddie’s heart does a little skip.

“Well. I still feel bad,” Steve insists. His tone’s light, but he fixes Eddie with a pointed look, don’t test me on this, Munson, ‘cause my stubbornness will win.

“Okay,” Eddie concedes, hands up in surrender. “Tell you what, Steve. What if I wore something of yours, to make it even?”

Steve wrinkles his nose, but he’s smiling. “What, and deliberately mess it up?”

Eddie nods gravely. “Like, it’s not quite Upside Down conditions, but whenever I cook, it gets pretty close.”

Steve’s smile grows. He makes a show of turning around in search of something.

“Huh, I must’ve forgot to pack my wardrobe.”

Eddie clicks his tongue in theatrical disapproval. “Yeah, that’s a pretty big oversight, dude, should’ve thought it through.”

“Guess it’ll have to wait for next time.”

And yeah, they’re joking, but still. Eddie doesn’t want to tempt fate.

“Next time? Nah, I’m praying all this shit is a one time thing.”

“No, I meant—” Steve hesitates, like he’s inadvertently stepped out of the joke, and he doesn’t know where to go from here. “Like. Whenever you come round.”

“Is that an invitation?” Eddie says; he hopes the quip is enough to cover his surprise, the long-buried thought—ridiculously high school, but true in spite of it: no-one’s ever invited me to…

Steve rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Oh, sorry, did you want it hand-written? The red carpet treatment?”

“Well, if you’re offering…”

“I’ll go get my quill,” Steve deadpans.

Eddie laughs. Says, only partly kidding, “It’s just, I’ll need some time to think it over.”

“The… invitation?”

“What item of clothing I’m taking, duh.”

“Right, yeah,” Steve scoffs, “major decision.”

“It is! You have whole ensembles, man.”

“Ensembles,” Steve echoes, but it’s got more of a French accent to it; Eddie suspects it’s a by-product of Steve helping Robin study, ‘cause she seems to be the only one who’s a polyglot in their contingent. “Get out of town, Munson.”

“Oh, like you don’t know. I swear, in winter, there’d be actual bets placed on what sweater you were gonna wear each day.”

“Uh-huh.”

Eddie hams it up, “Didn’t you wonder why so many girls were waiting to see you drive into school?”

“You’re an idiot,” Steve says, and he waves Eddie aside, about to jump out of the RV. “Lemme know when you’ve made your selection.”

Eddie knows he should leave it there. They’ve had their laughs, and it’s made to be forgotten about in the face of much more important things.

But that’s always been his problem, really. He can’t bite his tongue in time. He can’t help—

“The red one?”

Steve turns around, one foot off the step. “What?”

“The, uh…” Eddie clears his throat. It’s either say nothing or go all in. Fuck it, the shire’s burning. “I’ve decided what to—um. The red sweater?” Steve just keeps looking at him, so he adds, tentatively, “The one you’d wear near winter break?”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, I know the one you mean.” He falters on the verge of speech, his lips twitching into a surprised little smile. He drawls, “You sure you weren’t placing those bets yourself, Munson?”, but it doesn’t sound mean, and his ears suddenly look a little pink, and maybe, maybe—

“No comment,” Eddie says, aiming for comically flat, but Steve’s smile is contagious.

“Okay, it’s a deal.” Steve steps outside—throws over his shoulder, “It’s yours,” oddly sincere; and Eddie wonders if they’ve really been talking about clothes at all.

[threeacttragedy]

Entry 15 – The One Where I Try to Convince You of Just About Anything

“Don’t compromise yourself. Wait for the right person because you’re worth it.”

These were Nicola’s words the night of the London premiere when she was asked what dating advice she had for viewers. This quote has always stuck with me. Not because it’s actually great advice or emits wisdom well beyond Nicola’s years but because I can still remember the odd sense of foreboding that I felt as I listened to her words. They were just as poignant, if not more so, than the words that first invited me aboard this ship (Luke’s comments in Australia about friends-to-lovers).

And, although Luke “agree[d] with all of the above,” Nicola’s comment always struck me as making Luke uncomfortable. That interaction seemed off somehow. Awkward and strange in a way I wasn’t used to after two months of watching a rom-com style World Tour. In hindsight, and in a rather ominous way, the discomfort I felt alluded to what would happen later that evening – Luke “hard launching�� Antonia.

As I was scribbling out today’s post and, honestly, struggling with how I wanted to structure it, I realized that it was not necessarily post-Papsmear (a/k/a Hot Boy Summer) people had an issue with. Instead, it seemed many people were having a hard time understanding – and accepting – Antonia’s existence in the Lukola-verse. This confusion, of course, led many to their own internal battlefield of trying to rationalize Luke’s behavior during that relatively short seven-week period. The reality is no one wants Luke to be the “Bad Guy;” therefore, people struggle to look at Hot Boy Summer with neutrality.

Don’t worry, I’m guilty, too.

I mean, Papsmear went down like a guillotine on a French – uh, well, nevermind that part. Let’s just say it did not go over well with the fandom. After months of “Romancing Mr. Bridgerton,” Luke was photographed walking into a hotel with Antonia snapping at his heels, sending the Lukola fandom into convulsions. What made it worse was that this was the night of the London premiere, the last leg of the World Tour. So long, motherfucking London!

The dark side of the fandom painted Luke as a monster – a man who, in less than three minutes, pissed on the Season 3 World Tour and broke Lukola hearts all over the world by seemingly choosing Antonia over Nicola. And, not only choosing Antonia, but flaunting her. People felt betrayed, shadowed by the possibility that Luke and Nicola had hoodwinked them with a fake PR romance and dumbfounded that Mr. I’m-Publicly-Single had a “girlfriend” (yes, that word is always up for speculation in this fandom). But, as with every dismal situation, you had the light bringers – the true-to-heart Lukolas – firing up on all cylinders and calling, “Foul!” in the direction of Antonia. A few of the less classy ones even picked up bits of old salad they’d found in a dumpster and tossed it in her direction (heehee, did you get my Dad Joke?).

And so Hot Boy Summer began…as did the confusion surrounding it.

In the beginning, I absolutely wanted Antonia to be the villain. But I’ve found that the more I write, the more indifferent I have become on the subject. Of course, that didn’t stop me from theorizing with friends. In fact, at one point, I had so many thoughts on the matter, if I had mapped them out on paper, they’d have resembled a spider’s web, with the hub being Papsmear. However, what I’ve discovered is that each of those theories, regardless of how simple or convoluted they were, took root in one of three central ideas.

That’s what I want to discuss today – those three central ideas from which every one of your sub-theories likely takes root (unless, of course, you’re the conspiracy theorist that believes Antonia is AI generated…). I want to lay out why I believe these theories are plausible (yes, prepare yourself to read some shit you almost certainly won’t find entertaining) countered by why I believe they may be out in left field. Maybe, just maybe, they will shed some light on Hot Boy Summer. But, also, maybe they won’t.

Okay, our three central theories are:

A) Luke and Nicola were simply PR-ing the fuck out of Polin.

B) Luke and Nicola were legit in their feels and Antonia became the jilted girlfriend.

C) Antonia was a PR girlfriend because [feel free to insert any reason you please].

We’re going to get the one nobody wants to consider out of the way first.

THEORY A: Nicola and Luke had a PR card up their sleeve the entire time.

I don’t like this theory any more than you do – the idea that Luke and Nicola were merely playing the part of two infatuated costars during the World Tour. However, this theory does exist, so there is no point in pretending that it doesn’t.

The backbone of this theory is that Luke and Nicola came to some kind of agreement to behave in a certain flirtatious manner during the World Tour to promote viewership of the show. As annoying as this theory is to the Lukolas, it is not unrealistic. For example, Glen Powell and Sydney Sweeney recently admitted to using the dating rumors that began while they were filming to build buzz around their movie, “Anyone But You.” Regardless of how reckless I find this behavior to be, I don’t doubt that we will start seeing it utilized more and more because it does help build interest in a project. That said, and although she admittedly leaned into the Powell romance rumors, Sweeney had an easy out once their press tour ended – she was (and still is) engaged to her long-time partner.

Now, let’s apply this PR romance to Luke and Nicola. It is entirely possible that these two simply played into their natural chemistry and allowed the romance rumors to fuel Polin. We could even go as far as to suggest that Netflix & Co. supported this PR romance because more viewers equaled more money. This, to some degree, also fits with the narrative that Luke seemingly kept Antonia out of the spotlight during the World Tour and, although it was terrible timing, launched her at the London premiere because he was tired of the fake PR. We could also make a convincing argument that this theory aligns with Luke and Nicola never addressing the status of their relationship (i.e., by never openly admitting they were “just friends,” they leave room for speculation and shipping).

To be honest, this would be a nice and tidy answer for how the World Tour went down, with Luke stepping in an elephant-sized pile of dog shit on his way out of the London afterparty and Nicola swooping into to play PR Hero by promoting Season 3 throughout the summer. Meaning, Hot Boy Summer was simply what it appeared to be at surface level – Luke running off with his girlfriend while Nicola continued promoting Season 3 on her own. Sure, this theory would leave us all feeling like we had just been kicked in the teeth, but we could absolutely package it up quite nicely and tie it with a little pink bow. However – nothing is ever that simple, is it?

There are some things that make me question the plausibility of this Luke-and-Nicola-PR-Romance theory, namely, (a) Luke and Nicola’s World Tour behavior, (b) comments made by interviewers, (c) the Claddagh ring, (d) the side trip to Galway, and (e) Chaos Week.

Regarding Luke and Nicola’s behavior towards each other during the World Tour, I don’t believe I need to go into too much detail here. Again, we all watched the same World Tour, and we all had the same reaction to their chemistry. Hell, the Jakolas started out on this side of the fandom because they also saw something between Luke and Nicola. However, to play Devil’s advocate, I will suggest that Luke and Nicola could absolutely be the next Daniel Day Lewis and Meryl Streep, method acting their way through the World Tour. But, in my honest opinion, they’re not. They’re both lovely actors but they don’t compare to the two I just named (sorry, but also not sorry).

I honestly debated with myself as to whether I wanted to include interviewer comments under this section. I finally relented and decided to do so because, for me, it was one of those things that made me question the plausibility of Luke and Nicola being strictly PR during the World Tour – because, yes, I did consider that back in May. For example, in response to Luke drinking from Nicola’s tea cup in Australia, when asked about it, the interviewer, Rachael Evren, responded, “They’re in[ ]love it’s fine.” Also in Australia, we listened to the back and forth between podcasters, Laura Brodnik and Em Vernem, debate Luke and Nicola’s real-life relationship:

Em: “I can’t believe you got her to say such juicy things about their chemistry.”

Laura: “They’re best friends and stuff, yeah, people think they’re together. They’re not, they’re just best friends.”

Em: “No, but they are.”

Laura: “Oh, don’t start that rumor. I want it on the record I’m not saying that.”

Em: “Well, I feel like after you watch Bridgerton Season 3 you would be like, ‘Oh yeah, they’re definitely dating.’”

By the time Luke and Nicola reached Canada, you had interviewers being quite obviously taken with their chemistry. For example, The Morning Show in Canada – have you ever watched Carolyn Mackenzie’s face when Luke and Nicola get into that Ryan Gosling discussion? Or, have you listened to the surprise in Karen Koster’s voice (“it’s like the carriage scene”) after witnessing Nicola touch Luke’s forehead on Ireland AM? Then you had Meredith Shaw from BT Canada and Ciara Kelly from Newstalk boldly asking Luke and Nicola about their real-life relationship, and Ben Shepherd from This Morning calling them out about the Carriage Scene (“you’re blaming the soundproof carriage, not the fact you got lost in the moment”).

And, then we had the written print:

On May 16, 2024, Shondaland’s Valentina Valentini wrote: “But throughout the past three seasons, it’s been a slow-burn anticipation for Newton and Coughlan, who have genuinely become real-life best friends in that span of time. Parallel to that, their on-screen characters have given us such a perfect crescendo of what it’s like to fall in love over decades that I’m not entirely convinced that the real-life people sitting in front of me are not actually in love. ‘Yeah! We’ve kept that one really secret!’ Coughlan jests when I hint at the possibility.”

And, in her June 14, 2024 publication, Fashion’s Annika Lautens wrote: “Nicola Coughlan and Luke Newton can’t stop looking at each other. I mean, they really can’t. As I enter their suite in the Four Seasons Hotel Toronto to interview the Bridgerton stars, all I can hear is laughter. Coughlan is leaning over to show Newton something on her phone. He throws his head back, giggling. It feels extremely intimate but, as the world has seen through countless clips on TikTok and on the third season of Bridgerton…this is just your average Tuesday for the two co-stars.”

These third-party reactions alone – in my opinion – debunk the Luke-and-Nicola-PR-Romance theory, but we will keep moving along.

I am not going to reexamine the Claddagh ring or Chaos Week in this entry as I have already gone into extensive detail of both in my blog Entries 6 and 14, respectively. If you’re behind on the significance of the Claddagh ring or Chaos Week, please take a moment and read those for more context. However, I will briefly discuss that special trip to Galway.

I’ve never quite followed why Nicola and Luke took that side trip to Galway. There was no special visit to Brighton – or wherever Luke’s family lives – so why Galway? I often find myself straddling the line between logic and delulu when I put my thoughts about Lukola on paper. I mean, from a logical standpoint, they were in Dublin so visiting Nicola’s hometown while they were on the island isn’t that farfetched. But to film it? Okay, yeah sure, Nicola is Shonda’s alleged favorite child, so I suppose it’s possible Shonda granted Nicola’s wish to flaunt Bridgerton in her hometown. I can honestly see this fitting into the Luke-and-Nicola-PR-Romance narrative. But –

It also doesn’t fit.

Sending Luke and Nicola to Galway was too close to home. It crossed the line between what could be excused as PR and what was clearly personal.

Not only did we have Nicola wearing her Claddagh ring in Galway in a manner that suggested she was in a relationship, but we also had her introducing Luke to her mother for the first time in what appeared to be an emotional moment. I have tried to convince myself this Mother-Meets-Luke thing was perfectly normal costar behavior. I have tried to convince myself that her sister-in-law’s reaction to Mother-Meets-Luke didn’t make me side-eye the entire situation. I have tried to convince myself that the Irish folks I’ve spoken with are exaggerating the significance of the Mother-Meets-Luke moment. I have also tried to convince myself there isn’t additional footage out there of this Galway Gathering just waiting to surface.

But, ugh, I just cannot convince myself that Luke and Nicola were strictly PR. This theory is as confusing as Sanrio telling us that Hello Kitty is really a human girl.

Verdict: NOT GUILTY.

Yes, we are marking this one as debunked.

THEORY B: Antonia became Luke’s jilted ex-girlfriend.

Hey, hey, USS Lutonia! I’ve got your flank.

No, actually I don’t. If the USS Lutonia was ever afloat, it sank somewhere off the coast of Italy. Sorry, but not really because I didn’t mourn you even a teensy bit.

I will preface this section by asserting my opinion that Luke and Antonia are not currently in a romantic relationship. Outside of “insinuation” posts made by Antonia, there is no evidence directly linking Luke to Antonia after July 30. Feel free to try to convince me otherwise but, when you do, make sure to include at least one photograph of Luke and Antonia in the same place at the same time with convincing evidence that it is current and that they are a couple (and, no, I will not accept blurry or Photoshopped images or metadata pulled from Instagram as evidence). That said, I will not argue with the idea that Luke and Antonia could have dated at one time. In fact, for this theory to play out, we have to agree that Luke and Antonia dated at some point.

Let’s pretend for a moment that Luke and Antonia dated before, during, and for a period after the World Tour. In this theory, the chemistry between Luke and Nicola was real (seriously, I think we’ve debunked that PR theory). The Claddagh ring and the side trip to Galway both suggested a romantic relationship between Luke and Nicola. Regardless of how real things were between Luke and Nicola, Luke still had Antonia lurking in the background. Perhaps Luke didn’t know how to break things off with her; maybe his friends and/or family made it difficult; maybe Antonia made things difficult. Everything came to a head at the London premiere, with Luke stepping on a landmine with Papsmear. But, because they can’t help but gravitate towards each other, Luke and Nicola found themselves back together – either immediately after Papsmear or, at the latest, by early August – and have continued their affair since. Oh, and Luke finally got around to breaking things off with Antonia on or after July 30.

This would – in a scorned woman kind of way – explain the “trolling” behavior Antonia was accused of during and after the World Tour. Those random posts that insinuated she was “with Luke,” even though the only evidence that directly linked her to Luke were (1) leaked and/or since-deleted pictures and videos from sources other than Luke, or (2) pictures of Luke’s friend group, which included Antonia, that, from time-to-time, alluded to Luke’s presence. Speaking of the friend group, the fact that Antonia appeared to be part of that group would support the idea that it was difficult for Luke to completely shake Antonia. This theory would also support the cat-and-mouse game played out on social media between Antonia and Nicola, which seemed heightened during and after Hot Boy Summer. Surely, you noticed that pattern by now. At the end of July, Luke’s friend group suffered some kind of catastrophic blow and Luke abandoned ship, officially breaking things off with Antonia as he went. This would explain the continued trolling for which Antonia has been accused; she hates Luke and is jealous of Nicola. Yeah, I can see this theory working. In fact, this is my preferred theory because it is the simplest. However –

For this theory to work, you must accept that Luke and Nicola are not perfect. That the two of them started an affair behind Antonia’s back. That “Nice Guy” Luke isn’t quite as sweet and kind as you have been led to believe; perhaps he’s even a bit of a fool. That “Good Girl” Nicola intervened in someone else’s relationship, making her the “other woman” and a tad disingenuous.  Does this make Luke and Nicola horrible people? No, it makes them two people who found themselves in a situation they didn’t know how to handle properly.

That said, this theory has its flaws.

For starters, it does not explain Luke’s apathy towards Antonia during and after the World Tour. I am not going to deep dive into my thoughts on this as I have already outlined them in “Entry 1: The One About That Weird Ass Cressida Post” and “Entry 13: The One Where the Ashes Blew Towards Us with the Salt Wind from the Sea.” But, I will reiterate that, to date, Luke has never acknowledged a relationship with Antonia, and he has never made an effort to rescue her from the fandom’s jaws of death. The only consistent link between the two of them was the friend group (that seems to have disbanded) and “insinuation” posts made by Antonia. I am sure there are people out there who will disagree with my next statement, but I don’t consider a New Year’s Eve kiss or a date to a tennis match a “relationship.” That would be like saying “I love you” on your first date (I know, I’ve offended at least one person with this remark – I apologize but I’m still leaving it in). It’s the lack of interaction between Luke and Antonia that makes me question whether they were ever in a real relationship; and therefore, I must question the validity of this theory.

And, because I know some of you will bring up those goddamn Instagram likes, the only comment I have is, “Get the fuck over it.” For real, it is far more fun to sit back and laugh at the “obligatory likes” than it is to freak out about them. Those likes are the only visible interaction between Luke and Antonia, and it’s becoming less and less frequent. The sad reality is, when Luke stops throwing a like in Antonia’s direction or unfollows her, she may lose the followers she gained after being linked to him. But, honestly, at this point – almost half a year later! – Antonia losing followers is her problem. And as much as I hate to admit it – this whole “like business” suggests some sort of arrangement was put in place post-breakup.

Verdict: HUNG JURY.

It’s a plausible theory – if I could be convinced Luke and Antonia were ever in a real relationship.

THEORY C: Antonia was the Real PR this whole time.

I hope you’ve read “Entry 1: The One About That Weird Ass Cressida Post” and, at a minimum, the “Mrs. Danvers” section of “Entry 13: The One Where the Ashes Blew Towards Us with the Salt Wind from the Sea” because they both detail my blubbering bullshit thoughts on Luke and Antonia’s “relationship.” I’m not going to rehash them here because I’m confident most of you also find this “relationship” suspicious for the exact same reasons I do.

For the longest time, I believed the absurdly popular “Antonia was the Real PR” [conspiracy] theory to be the fandom’s excuse for not wanting to believe Luke could ever be in a real relationship with Antonia, and that (gasp!) he could have chosen Antonia over Nicola (I mean, what a prick!). In truth, I refused to give this theory much weight until my dad – yes, that guy ­– said to me, “Sounds like PR,” during one of our fireside Lukola chats. My father has a whole sub-theory on this, actually, and yes, I will explain it momentarily.

Honestly, I hate this theory because it’s complicated. And, damn straight, I’m going to throw some Benjamin Franklin at you and say, “Three can keep a secret if two of them are dead.” This theory takes things beyond two celebrities playing into romance rumors to boost interest in their project, and brings in a third wheel, Antonia, to – fuck, I have no idea – blur the lines a bit?!

Alright, time for Dad’s theory…

Per my father, this was not just any PR deal; it was an arrangement struck with a “friend of a friend.” No need for an actual third wheel; just someone who was already part of the friend group that could provide the illusion that Luke might have a girlfriend. All they had to do was plant the seed and let the rumor grow, all while never outwardly confirming or denying it; that way the PR relationship could disappear as easily as it was planted.

I allowed my dad to carry on with his theory because, as he pointed out, Antonia being part of the friend group explained why (1) Luke didn’t mind her being around over the summer (it wasn’t personal, it was business), and (2) Luke had no romantic interest in Antonia (she was simply a “friend of a friend”). The fact that my father picked up on this “fandom dilemma” intrigued me.

After listening to my dad’s theory (there’s more, I promise), I spent an afternoon researching “PR relationships” and whether they existed or not. Turns out, they do. Well, they do, if we trust Mr. Google’s search results. It’s a bit of a quid pro quo thing. For example, one, usually more famous person, strikes up a “relationship” with a lesser-known person. The lesser-known person receives exposure while the more famous person receives [fill in the blank]; both gain some kind of benefit from the arrangement.

Now, the question of why Luke would need a PR relationship is – seriously – “fill in the blank” material. Some people have suggested it was to keep Luke and Nicola’s real-life relationship private; some have suggested it was Netflix stepping in to protect Polin if Lukola went south; others have suggested it was to bolster Luke’s image. I find the latter reason offensive because it assumes that having Nicola by his side wouldn’t help his image. But the other two sub-theories are reasonable to me (but also don’t really matter in the scheme of things).

The problem with the Luke-and-Antonia-PR-Romance is that it seems to have gone terribly wrong. What very possibly started out as an “illusion” became “real” with Papsmear. What I find interesting is, like the New York City premiere, Antonia was only seen in the background of the London premiere. Even as Luke was leaving the London afterparty, she went to the car while he met with fans. It wasn’t until they were papped at the hotel, that Antonia was suddenly “next to” Luke grabbing at his hand, thus “launching their relationship.”

Ruh-roh.

My dad’s theory goes on to assume that – after Papsmear – whatever “deal” Antonia was given (for example, Luke’s online support of her Instagram page or invitations to attend certain events over the summer) would be carried out as agreed. However, during that time, Antonia would return to her place in the shadows. I will confess that this is what seemed to happen – Luke never acknowledged a relationship with Antonia and evidence of their relationship seemed virtually non-existent. To the general audience, Antonia was simply a “woman in the background,” unrecognizable by most.

Assuming this PR theory is true, I’d like to believe Antonia was simply doing what she had agreed to do – feed into the illusion of a relationship with “insinuation” posts, for which she could later claim plausible deniability. However, I find this hard to believe when leaked photographs and videos started to surface in July and they were always preceded by DeuxMoi (see, I’m starting to support this theory).

At this point in his theory, my dad quoted a line by Paul McCartney, “You took your lucky break and broke it in two.” What he was saying was Antonia was given an opportunity and, due to her own actions, she mucked it up. She became fame hungry and the insinuations of her being in a relationship with Luke became harder to dispel when they were being leaked online by third party sources. However, as I reminded my father, we cannot prove Antonia was involved with any of the pap pictures. We can speculate, sure, but please keep in mind we cannot prove it.

Did I warn you my dad deep dived into this? Because, haha, he sure did.

By mid-July, per my father’s theory, Nicola was fully aware of the game Antonia was playing and recruited (not the right word, but we’ll go with it) JVN to fire subtle insults into Antonia’s camp with the intent of discrediting her.

The game ended after the Italy pap pictures were published, with Luke seemingly cutting ties with his entire friend group, which included Antonia. However, the game didn’t actually end there, at least not for Antonia. Due to whatever agreement Luke and Antonia had in place before Italy, Luke was still obligated to fulfill his part of the deal. We’re just going to speculate here that part of that included those “obligatory likes” of Antonia’s Instagram posts.

Thank you, Dear Dad, for that rather practical theory.

My issue with this is that Antonia’s antics repeatedly bring hate to Luke’s doorstep. Every time Antonia posts something on Instagram and Luke likes the post, the fandom – namely, the Sincerely Ignorant – get riled up and start slinging hate missiles at Luke (at this point, Luke can’t have nice things). And Antonia slipping things in like that balcony from the Spanish resort doesn’t help to dissuade the fandom from believing her to be a petty bitch.

My initial reaction to this theory was, no way, because at this point Antonia would have breached her contract and Luke wouldn’t still be bound by it. But then I realized, in order to breach it, one had to prove Antonia violated it. Okay, fine. But why not negotiate terminating the agreement early? Oh, well, yes, I suppose it is possible that the cost to do that outweighed the benefit. And, since those “obligatory likes” still seem to be in place – even when they bring Luke hate – I’m going to make a wild guess the agreement remains. For now.

In closing, and since I mentioned that Spanish resort nonsense, the fact that Antonia only ever posts things that insinuate she may have been in the same location as Luke supports the idea that Antonia is simply doing what she agreed to do – create an illusion. So, before anyone starts bashing Antonia, recognize she may simply be complying with her end of the arrangement. She may be just as ready to get out of that agreement as we imagine Luke to be. You know what I’d love to see? Antonia unfollow Luke and be like, “I’m out, bitches!” Honestly, I’d probably give her an “atta girl,” if she did that.

Verdict: HUNG JURY BUT WILLING TO CONSIDER A RETRIAL.

I hate to admit it, but I think this is a plausible theory. Not full proof, but strangely (and annoyingly) credible.

***

Alright, so there you have it. The three central theories that act as the spider web’s hub to all your sub-theories – because I’m certain you have them. You’re welcome to spin off in whatever direction you please, and no, you don’t need to loop me in – because, in truth, I don’t care that much anymore. And that’s not in any way meant to be negative.

For the longest time, trying to rationalize how Hot Boy Summer played out was the missing piece of my Lukola puzzle. I mean, I needed the answer. I needed it so badly; I practically presented an entire Lukola documentary to the wisest person I know – my dad – so he could solve it for me.

Dad: “Why does this matter?”

Me: “I don’t know, it just does. I just want to know what happened.”

Dad: “Will it change your opinion about whether Luke and Nicola are together?”

Me: “No.”

Dad: “Then why does it matter?”

Me: “I don’t know. It just does.”

Dad: “But you’re never going to know, are you?”

Goddammit, no, I’m never going to fucking know.

And, that is the reality of this situation. No matter how many hypotheticals we present, no matter how many sub-theories we create, we will never know what happened over Hot Boy Summer. We will never be able to justify Luke’s behavior during that time. We will never be able to explain with certainty Antonia’s role in this whole shebang.

You may not like that answer. In fact, the theories I presented today may have fueled your ambition to continue trying to solve Hot Boy Summer on your own, or with your friends. I admire that determination. But I also admire those who can let go and accept that it is what it is.

And what it is – and what it will almost certainly always be – is unknown.

[marie-swriting]

Here For You - Emily Prentiss

Masterlist

Summary : Emily claims she doing fine after everything she's been through but you know the truth and you let her know you're here for her.

Warnings : based on 7x12, mention of Doyle and Emily dying, Emily struggling, angst, hurt/comfort.

Word count : 1.2k

French version

Song inspiration : Let Me by Jade LeMac

Comfortably in Morpheus’ arms, you turn around and unconsciously start searching for Emily’s arms without any success. With difficulty, you open one eye and find an empty spot next to you, lightly illuminated by the corridor light. Not knowing where your girlfriend is, you quickly get out of bed. Since she came back from the dead, Emily acts differently which is understandable, but it also means you’re even more stressed than before. Emily has always been secretive, now it’s just worse. You can’t decipher her anymore and you fear the worst. You trot around, following the light and you find Emily in the kitchen, her back facing you. You hear sniffing as soon as you call her name.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.” Emily says, faking a smile.

“Everything alright?”

“Yeah, I was just thirsty.”

“Did you have another nightmare?” you ask her, worried.

“No, it’s been two weeks since my last one as you know.”

“You know, you shouldn’t feel ashamed if you still have some, especially after what you’ve been through.”

“Please, don’t start,” she sharply retorts. “I’m already seeing my therapist tomorrow, it’s enough… Sorry, I didn’t mean to be harsh.” She then adds with a softer tone.

“It’s okay.”

“I was just thirsty.” Emily affirms, putting her glass in the sink though you can see right through her. “I’m fine, I swear. Let’s go to sleep.”

Without replying, you take her hand she’s holding out and you walk back to your shared room. As you lay in bed, Emily gets closer to you and puts her head on your chest. It’s a habit she has had since she came back. Emily needs to hear your heartbeats to make sure she isn’t alone. Emily’s muscles relax when you start stroking her hair. The second Emily’s head gets heavier, you finally allow yourself to fall asleep, holding her close to you as if she’d disappear in the next second.

Yet, this is what happens the next morning. Emily left earlier because she has therapy before going on a case. You sigh, noticing her absence, though you know it’s for the best. It reassures you to know Emily is talking to a professional after everything that’s happened, you just wished she would have said goodbye before leaving.

You try to regain control of your emotions during work. You have to take care of a class of thirty seven-year-old students, you have to be focused. However, it doesn’t mean you don’t check your phone at every occasion, hoping to see a text from Emily.

It’s at the end of the day, after you finished eating, that your girlfriend finally calls you and without wasting a second, you pick up the phone. 

“Hey, Em’, how are you? Is the case complicated?”

“Always a bit at the beginning, but we have some leads. What about you? How was your day?”

“Oh, you know, I had to explain the same thing fifteen times, a kid sneezed on my sweatshirt and another one said I was pretty even if I was old. Nothing new.” you say lightly while Emily laughs.

“Another eventful day.”

“How did it go with your therapist?”

“She said everything was alright, she cleared me for work.” she informs you after taking a breath.

“Good. I mean, if it’s the truth.” you add and you can feel Emily rolling her eyes. “I know you, Em’, I know how you struggle to admit it to me when you have a nightmare so I guess it’s harder for you to tell your therapist.”

“It doesn’t affect my job, even Hotch said so.”

“I’m not saying otherwise…” you start carefully, “Look, I know I’d never be able to understand what you went through but I know one doesn't get over this that quickly. You’re allowed to not be okay, to struggle to move on.”

“I’m getting my life back.” she retorts.

“I know and I’m not saying you don’t, however Emily, you only worry about how Derek, Penelope, Spencer and everyone else around you feels since you came back but you don’t worry about the most important person. You. And I’m here for you, to support you. I’m not saying I’ll always have the right words, nonetheless I’ll do my best. You can come to me when you’re not okay.”

“I’m okay.” Emily repeats with a neutral tone.

“Your shrink might believe you when you say it but I know the truth. Emily, stop pushing away the people who love you. Stop pushing me away. You don’t have to go through this alone, especially when you can’t ignore what happened. Let me be here for you.”

Emily stays silent, only her breathing breaks the silence. You hear another voice coming from her end though can’t make out what they’re saying then Emily clears her throat.

“I have to go. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Emily hangs up and you sigh with tears in your eyes. You don’t know if what you said will make Emily react, you hope it will. You can’t handle this situation anymore. You know she needs support but how can you do it when she doesn’t ask for it? You don’t like this feeling of powerlessness. You wish you could take all of her scars so she could finally live freely. 

Throughout the case, Emily keeps her distance. She only sends you a text once a day to say she loves you, a habit you’ve had since the beginning of your relationship. Considering her risky job, you never stay a day without saying it to each other, more particularly since Doyle happened. However, when you reply to her message and you try to create a conversation, she quickly cuts it off. 

The more the days go by and the more worried you are for Emily. Something is wrong, you’re sure about it. You wish you could check on her, however you don’t want to be too overbearing. If you keep insisting you might do the opposite of what you want by creating an anxious atmosphere for Emily; therefore, you try to stay at a good distance, close enough to support her but far enough so she doesn’t push you away. 

As a way to distract yourself, you put all your energy on your work, redoing your lessons, correcting exercises. It only works for so long, your mind quickly finds a way to make you think about Emily.

One evening, about a week after Emily left, you’re at the kitchen table, working and eating when you hear the door opening and a bag loudly falling on the ground. Without waiting, you put down your fork and go toward the entrance rapidly. There, you find Emily with sad eyes. You’re about to talk though she beats you to it.

“I’m not okay.” she admits with a trembling voice.

And in a split second, she burst into tears. You run to her and hold her against you, trying to soothe her. You can tell her legs aren’t supporting her anymore, so you make Emily sit down on the floor while keeping her close. You tenderly stroke her hair and whisper sweet nothings. Emily’s tears run down her cheeks more and more while instinctively she puts her ear against your chest and listens to your heartbeats. In your arms, Emily finally allows herself to let go of all her emotions and to face all the pain she went through. You both know it’ll take time for Emily to heal but you’ll make sure to be here for her and to support her every step of the way.

Masterlist

[legendary-69420]

☆ Christmas in Monaco ☆ Racing Hearts Holiday Special

A/N : MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!!!!

Song : "Snowman - Sia"

Mark Spencer had always enjoyed spending Christmas with the Leclerc family, even if it wasn’t his own. His parents, Alessandro and Isabella, were always wrapped up in business commitments, leaving him with an unusual sense of freedom during the holidays. And so, he found himself once again on the French Riviera, tucked away in the warmth and comfort of the Leclerc family villa in Monaco. The Leclercs had long become like a second family to him.

The moment Mark entered the house, the air was filled with the sweet, comforting scent of cinnamon and freshly baked cookies. Pascale was busy in the kitchen, her gentle humming filling the space as she prepared the final touches for the family’s Christmas feast. Mark’s heart warmed at the sight of her—it was hard not to feel at home in such a welcoming place.

“Mark, dear, would you mind grabbing the chocolate chips?” Pascale asked, her hands flour-dusted as she worked on the dough.

Mark grinned, pulling a large bowl of chocolate chips from the cupboard. “I’m on it,” he said, only for a few chips to spill onto the counter as he fumbled with the bowl. He didn’t mind the mess—it was part of the fun.

Pascale chuckled softly. “You know, Mark, you’re welcome to call me Pascale. No need to be so formal.”

Mark looked over his shoulder, pretending to look serious. “Of course, Mrs. Leclerc… uh, I mean, Pascale, Ma’am.”

Pascale let out a small laugh, the kind of laugh that made anyone feel at ease. “You really do have a knack for making me smile, don’t you?”

He shrugged, still grinning. “It’s my secret weapon.”

As he continued his clumsy task, flour got everywhere—his hands, the counter, even his sweater, which was an obnoxiously festive red with snowflakes on it. It was a gift from Arthur, who had insisted it would be the perfect addition to Mark’s holiday wardrobe. Mark would never admit it aloud, but he liked it, even if it made him look a little ridiculous.

The moment he tried to scoop more chocolate chips into the bowl, he slipped on one that had rolled off the counter. The bowl went flying, spilling flour everywhere.

“Whoops!” Mark exclaimed, his voice high-pitched with embarrassment. He stood up, covered head to toe in white powder. A sneeze wracked his body, making him cough.

Pascale doubled over, her laughter ringing through the kitchen. “Oh, dear. You’ve certainly made a mess now, haven’t you?”

“I’m so sorry,” Mark mumbled, attempting to brush some of the flour from his face.

Pascale tried to regain her composure, but the sight of him looking like a snowman had her laughing even harder. “It’s alright, darling. Just be more careful, next time.”

Mark gave a sheepish grin and wiped his nose. “Not my finest moment.”

Charles, who had been lounging in the living room, glanced up from his iPad when he heard the laughter. His eyes briefly met Mark’s, and for a moment, there was something in his gaze—something that Mark couldn’t quite place. He turned his attention back to the book he was reading, but his mind wandered back to Mark.

Arthur, sitting on the couch next to his brother, raised an eyebrow and smirked. “You’ve been stuck on Chapter 34 for months now. Just admit it already,” he said, his voice low enough that only Charles could hear.

Charles stiffened and glared at his brother. “Shut up, Arthur.” He didn’t dignify the teasing with a response, but his eyes flickered back to Mark.

Mark, oblivious to the conversation happening between the brothers, made his way upstairs to change. Flour still clung to his sweater as he tried to peel it off, but the fabric stuck stubbornly to him.

“Need help?” Charles’s voice broke through the silence. He leaned against the doorframe, an amused smirk playing on his lips as he watched Mark’s struggle.

Mark groaned, trying to yank the sweater over his head but only making it worse. “I got it, don’t worry,” he muttered, stepping back and stumbling around the room, still trying to pull off the stubborn sweater. In his clumsy efforts, he knocked over a lamp, sending it crashing to the floor.

“Ow! Damn it!” Mark groaned, smacking his head against the wall as he tried to navigate around the room. “Fine, fine, help me,” he conceded.

Charles stepped closer, his smirk widening. “And what do we say?”

Mark glared at him with a mock angry expression. “Help me before I punch you in the face,” he snapped, but there was no real heat in his voice.

Charles raised an eyebrow. “Nope. Try again.”

Mark huffed, leaning against the bed. “Help me before I murder you in your sleep.”

Charles’s grin grew. “Nuh-uh. Say the magic word.”

Mark crossed his arms and groaned, then muttered reluctantly, “Ugh, please?”

“Better.” Charles chuckled, stepping forward to help Mark with the sweater. As he did, he was careful to avoid touching too much of Mark’s body, but his eyes lingered slightly longer than they should have. Mark noticed the pause, but he didn’t comment on it.

Mark’s voice broke the tension as he teasingly remarked, “You’re staring, Sharles.”

Charles immediately flushed, his face turning red. “Oh, please. Like you don’t flash your abs at every opportunity.”

Mark laughed. “Fair enough.”

Downstairs, Pascale and Arthur exchanged a knowing look as they waited for the boys. The family had settled in front of the fire, the Christmas tree twinkling softly in the background, and a cozy warmth filled the room.

“So when do you think they’ll acknowledge the elephant in the room?” Pascale asked casually, though there was a playful glint in her eyes.

Arthur feigned innocence, pretending not to know exactly what she was talking about. “What do you mean?” he asked, his voice low enough to make it sound like he was hiding something.

Pascale’s smile widened, and she raised an eyebrow. “I’m their mother. Of course, I know what’s going on.”

Arthur choked on his water, his eyes widening. “You knew?”

“Always,” Pascale replied with a sly smile that spoke volumes. “You two may think you’re subtle, but I’ve been around long enough to know better.”

Arthur shook his head, trying to suppress a grin. “I can’t believe you’ve been keeping track of this the whole time.”

Pascale merely shrugged. “You boys are a lot easier to read than you think.”

When Mark and Charles finally returned downstairs, Mark had changed into a crisp white button-up shirt. It was a stark contrast to the casual warmth of the day, and it didn’t go unnoticed by Charles. As soon as Mark entered the room, Charles’ eyes immediately went to the undone buttons on Mark’s shirt, his chest visible underneath.

“You’ll catch a cold, idiot,” Charles muttered under his breath, stepping forward to button up the shirt for Mark. It was a small gesture, but it held so much weight. Their proximity created a bubble of tension in the room, unnoticed by everyone else. The family continued with their festive cheer, but the air between Mark and Charles had shifted. The others noticed the change, exchanging amused glances, but no one commented on it.

Just as the moment seemed to linger too long, Leo, Charles’ dog, broke the silence. The small dog bounded up to Mark, tail wagging furiously. Mark laughed and crouched down, scratching Leo behind the ears. The moment of tension dissipated as the family chuckled, the soft sound of Leo’s excited bark filling the room.

Later in the evening, the Leclerc family gathered around to decorate the Christmas tree. Mark was eager to help, his enthusiasm infectious. He insisted that Pascale place the star on top of the tree, but when she hesitated, he quickly turned to Charles.

“Come on, pick me up so I can reach the top!” Mark urged, grinning mischievously.

Charles rolled his eyes, trying to sound casual. “We have a ladder for that, you idiot.”

Mark shot him a knowing look. “I knew you’d try to be the hero,” he teased, unable to stop the laughter bubbling up.

“I’m not trying to be a hero,” Charles replied, though the playful glint in his eyes suggested otherwise.

As they decorated the tree, the festive spirit grew in the house. Everyone was laughing and teasing each other, their voices blending together in a symphony of Christmas cheer. Mark felt a sense of warmth inside him, something he hadn’t felt in a long time—like he truly belonged.

The soft chime of the doorbell echoed through the cozy warmth of the Leclerc family villa. Mark glanced around, mildly confused. He hadn't been expecting anyone—after all, the Leclercs were supposed to be his family for Christmas. Pascale, holding a tray of steaming mugs of mulled wine, smiled mysteriously. "Why don’t you get that, Mark?" she suggested, her tone so casual that it raised suspicion.

Mark squinted at her, his lips quirking into a playful smirk. “Alright, but if it’s carolers, I’m bringing them in, and you’ll have to feed them,” he teased as he strolled toward the door, his socks muffling his steps on the polished floor.

As he opened the door, his breath caught in his throat. Standing before him were Alessandro and Isabella Spencer, his parents, looking as elegant as ever yet softened by the festive warmth of the season. Alessandro’s sharp suit was offset by a wool scarf wrapped loosely around his neck, while Isabella's emerald-green coat and matching gloves seemed to shimmer against the soft glow of the villa’s Christmas lights.

“Mom? Dad?” Mark’s voice broke slightly, disbelief and joy mingling in his words.

His mother’s face lit up with a radiant smile, and she opened her arms wide. “Surprise, darling!”

Before he could process what was happening, she had pulled him into a tight hug, the familiar scent of her lavender perfume flooding his senses. His father followed, clapping a hand on Mark’s shoulder with a rare, tender grin.

“We couldn’t let you spend Christmas without us this year,” Alessandro said, his voice warm but with its usual authoritative undertone.

Mark swallowed hard, fighting the sting of unexpected tears. He hadn’t realized how much he missed them until they were standing in front of him. He pulled them both into another hug, his voice muffled against his father’s coat. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

Pascale appeared in the doorway, her face glowing with satisfaction. “I thought it might be nice to have a full house this year,” she said with a knowing smile.

Mark turned to her, his grin wide and boyish. “You knew about this?”

She nodded, giving him a conspiratorial wink. “A little Christmas magic never hurt anyone.”

Charles, Arthur, and Lorenzo joined them, standing slightly back as Mark introduced his parents. Isabella’s warm, maternal energy immediately won over Pascale, the two women exchanging compliments and laughing as if they were old friends. Alessandro, while more reserved, greeted Charles, Arthur, and Lorenzo with a firm handshake, his sharp eyes assessing but kind.

Charles watched the scene unfold, his arms crossed over his chest. There was something in the way Mark’s face lit up—a vulnerability that wasn’t often on display. It stirred something unfamiliar in Charles, something he quickly pushed aside.

Later in the evening, with the Christmas tree glowing softly in the corner and the scent of pine and cinnamon wafting through the air, the family gathered in the living room for a game of charades. Pascale had insisted, pulling out a small basket filled with slips of paper bearing prompts ranging from festive movies to absurd actions.

Mark, ever the showman, volunteered to go first. He reached into the basket, pulling out a slip of paper and glancing at it before dramatically placing a finger to his lips.

As Mark took center stage during charades, Charles couldn’t stop watching him. It wasn’t just Mark’s dramatic antics that held his attention—it was the way his energy seemed to fill the entire room, drawing everyone in like a gravitational force.

“Okay, here we go,” he said, stepping into the center of the room.

He began by miming a large, exaggerated box, pretending to tie a bow on top. Arthur immediately shouted, “Present!”

Mark nodded enthusiastically and moved on, flapping his arms like wings before cupping his hands to his mouth and mimicking a loud “ho ho ho.”

“Santa!” Pascale guessed, clapping her hands.

The final clue had everyone stumped. Mark mimed skiing down a slope, then falling over dramatically, rolling on the floor and clutching his leg in mock agony.

“Is it a skiing accident?” Arthur guessed, his brow furrowed.

“Close!” Mark exclaimed, pointing at him and then miming a cast on his leg.

“Broken leg while skiing?”

Mark gave an exaggerated nod, and the room erupted in laughter and applause.

Charles, reluctantly pulled into the game by Pascale, took his turn. His first prompt was “snowman,” and he hesitated before stiffly miming rolling three balls of snow. His awkward movements had everyone in stitches, particularly Mark, who couldn’t stop laughing.

“You’re terrible at this, Sharles,” Mark teased between fits of laughter.

When Mark rolled on the floor, laughing so hard his cheeks turned pink, Charles found himself smiling despite his usual reluctance to indulge in such games. He told himself it was because of the ridiculousness of the scene, but deep down, he knew better.

Charles shot him a mock glare, his lips twitching into an unwilling smile. “At least I’m not rolling on the floor like a lunatic.”

Lorenzo proved to be a surprise hit, his natural confidence and charm making him an unexpectedly skilled mime. His impressions of a reindeer and a chimney sweep had everyone howling with laughter, particularly Pascale, who wiped tears from her eyes.

The game continued late into the night, the room filled with laughter and teasing banter. Even Alessandro, usually reserved, joined in, his dry humor adding a new layer of fun. By the end, everyone was sprawled across the couches, breathless from laughing so hard.

The next afternoon, a rare snowfall blanketed Monaco, turning the usually sun-drenched streets into a winter wonderland. Mark had been the first to suggest venturing outside, bundling up in a thick scarf and gloves as he dragged Charles, Arthur, and Lorenzo with him.

“This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity,” Mark declared, scooping up a handful of snow and packing it into a perfect ball.

Arthur grinned mischievously. “You mean a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to pelt Charles with snowballs?”

Before Charles could protest, Arthur launched a snowball that hit him square in the chest.

“You’re dead,” Charles growled, grabbing his own handful of snow and hurling it back.

The fight escalated quickly. Mark, ever the instigator, joined forces with Arthur, the two of them pelting Charles relentlessly as he tried to defend himself. Lorenzo stood back at first, observing with amusement, but soon joined the fray, his competitive streak emerging as he expertly aimed snowballs at everyone.

“Cowards! Three against one isn’t fair!” Charles shouted, laughing despite himself.

Pascale and Isabella watched from the villa’s patio, sipping hot chocolate and laughing as Alessandro stood stoically beside them, though a faint smile tugged at his lips.

Mark’s competitive streak took over, and he charged at Charles, tackling him into a snowbank.

When Mark tackled him into the snowbank, Charles was caught off guard—not just by the force of it, but by the way Mark’s grin hovered so close to his own. His heart skipped a beat, and for a split second, he forgot how to breathe.

They wrestled briefly, snow flying everywhere, before Charles managed to flip Mark onto his back.

“Say uncle!” Charles demanded, pinning Mark’s arms down.

“Never!” Mark shouted, squirming as Arthur lobbed another snowball at Charles.

Eventually, they all collapsed into the snow, breathless and red-faced from the cold and exertion. The laughter carried across the snowy yard, a sound so pure and joyful that even Alessandro couldn’t resist cracking a smile.

Mark lay on his back, staring up at the pale winter sky. “Best Christmas ever,” he muttered, the words soft but sincere.

Charles, lying beside him, turned his head to look at Mark. For a moment, the world seemed to still, the snow muffling all sound. “Yeah,” Charles said quietly. “It’s not bad.”

Lorenzo, noticing the sudden seriousness, lobbed another snowball at them, breaking the moment.

“Come on, you lovebirds!” he called, laughing as he ran back toward the villa.

Mark and Charles exchanged a look, both flustered, before scrambling to their feet and chasing after Lorenzo and Arthur, their laughter echoing through the snowy streets of Monaco.

----

(Dividers by @junabuggy @wcnderlnds @issysh3ll )

Another Surprise is awaiting for you!!!!

[keepingitformyself]

i changed into goddesses, villains, and fools

A/N: i’m so sorry, please forgive me. will update later with a happy christmas fic as some insurance.

synopsis: in which the passing of time tricked them into believing they had control.

pairings: natasha romanoff x reader, james (Bucky) barnes x reader.

genre: angst.

warnings: everything about this is a warning. it’s so so sad. reader loves a man. natasha is mean.

MASTERLIST

please do not repost my work anywhere for any reason at all. if you do see this happen to any of my stories, please let me know. thank you x.

it’s a cold night.

you’re sat on your couch, hands holding onto the soft blanket thrown over you and up to your neck, savoring any ounce of heat you can create with it. you stare mindlessly at the television in front of you. but paying attention to the episode of friends proves difficult when your eyes grow heavy, still, you try your best to stay awake.

you sigh when you glance at your phone and see it’s nearly two in the morning, again, you try not to mind the heaviness in your eyes.

eventually, though, a deep sleep consumes you and you’re awoken again an hour later when you hear the stumble of footsteps into your apartment.

you hear the familiar giggle you’ve been waiting to hear all night and a small smile reaches your sleepy face.

immediately you stand on your bare feet and tread across the hardwood floor towards the foyer of your apartment. however, the sight you see isn’t one you at all anticipated.

there, in front of you, natasha has someone pinned into the dark. her hands are in their hair and you can’t see who it is, nor can you be bothered to figure out, because all you can do is stare at her in silent shock.

you think you hear a name whispered into silent sighs, but your ears don’t pick it up.

you feel your heart in your throat and the familiar feeling of tears starts to sting your eyes. your mouth opens and closes but nothing ever comes out. instead, you watch natasha, as if she were some hologram playing out in front of you like you didn’t exist in the moment. like this was just some sick joke she was playing on you. a mock just to torture you.

and all you can do is watch her.

suddenly, your body shoots up, your eyes along with them and you take in a sharp breath. now, the only thing you see around you is the darkness of your bedroom. it takes a few moments for your mind to adjust, the soft mattress beneath you helps in bringing you back down to earth.

your mind replays the moments before you woke, you feel bile rise into your mouth and you surmise that maybe your mind is trying to get you back for something. or maybe the universe just has a funny way of playing tricks on you.

it leaves an even worse taste in your mouth when you turn to the sleeping man beside you, still deep in peaceful slumber. you cringe at the fact that you dreamt of someone else when you already have someone in your bed.

you read the clock on your nightstand. six thirty-eight. it reads. maybe it’s best to get an early start of the day, you figure there is no point in trying to take your sleep back. so, as a stead you start on breakfast early.

you go about your morning trying to lay your mind off of anything that is natasha romanoff, but it’s quite hard to when she’s ruined your morning by showing up in your dream as the villain in your world of peace. in your world where you’ve tried so hard to leave her behind.

you even think of her as you cook breakfast for the man just down your hall. james, your boyfriend. you make james a stack of your famous french toast, something he has always been vocal about enjoying. and you try not to think about how a part of you feels guilty about what happened this morning; that’s why you’re treating him. but he doesn’t need to know that.

but honestly, it makes your heart feel a little heavy when the man you love walks into the kitchen, nearly an hour later, sleepy as he mutters something about you not being beside him when he woke.

the day drags on, each hour marked by the heaviness in your chest. you go about your usual tasks, but it feels like you're sleepwalking through your life. james notices, of course. he’s attentive like that.

“you okay?” he asks gently while he leans against the doorframe, sipping his coffee as you fold the laundry in the living room. his eyes hold a warmth that’s been your safe harbor for so long now.

you force a small smile and nod, but he’s not entirely convinced. “just a little tired. didn’t sleep well last night.”

james tilts his head, considering you, but doesn’t push further. instead, he sets his mug down and wraps his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. “you need to take care of yourself too, you know. not just me.”

the guilt creeps back in, coiling around your stomach. james is good, too good, and you hate yourself for even letting your mind stray where it did.

you busy yourself running errands and working on any christmas shopping you’ve got left. you try not to let natasha’s ghost hover around your mind, of her in your dream, pressing against some other stranger in your own home. but you can’t help the betrayal you feel, and how you know that if something as little as a dream was affecting you this much, it meant the power natasha has always had over you hasn’t left. even if it seemed like you were doing so good.

years of almosts and maybes. years of quiet moments were stolen between stolen glances. of natasha brushing her hand against yours when no one was looking, her lingering gaze that always seemed to say more than her words ever could. it was intoxicating and maddening all at once.

you even hate to admit that whenever your friends would even comment on how well you two would fit, your heart would stutter. but natasha would laugh it off in the moment as if it wasn’t something that meant everything to you. then she’d be at your side moments later, back to acting like you maybe had the chance at being at the top of her world.

and yet, whenever the opportunity arose to be something more, she would retreat. like that time years ago, when both of you had been free of any attachments. you’d thought—hoped—that maybe it would finally happen. the night had been perfect; quiet, intimate, charged with an energy you could both feel. she’d leaned in, so close that her breath had warmed your skin, and just as you’d thought she would close the distance… she’d pulled away. the next week, she was with someone new, and you’d been left to pick up the pieces of your heart in silence.

it honestly drove you crazy, the kind of nerve natasha romanoff had. for it to feel like you were at the top of her world and in the next moment act like it meant nothing. it made you even more upset when all natasha would do was watch you show off someone new, with that quiet gaze only you’d be able to catch.

it’s not like you were completely oblivious to her silent jealousy, but she had no right. and if she really wanted you all she had to was say it.

and then james came along. sweet james. james who didn’t deserve any of this. who didn’t deserve someone who wasn’t fully his.

so, when your phone buzzes in your pocket and it’s a text from natasha asking to meet you, you wait a long moment before you type out a reply.

it started as so many things did with natasha—a quiet, persistent tug. it was always small at first, the way her eyes lingered just a second too long, the way her fingers brushed against yours as she handed you something, the way her laugh lit something in your chest you didn’t even realize was dark.

you told yourself it meant nothing. you told yourself it had to mean nothing. it was easier that way, wasn’t it? to push the small moments into corners of your mind where they could stay hidden. you had james now, and james was everything you thought you needed. loving him was simple, uncomplicated, and safe. natasha romanoff was none of those things.

it was a drink. a casual drink, she’d said, as if it hadn’t been months, since the last time you let yourself be close to her like this. and as if it hadn’t been years of unanswered questions, of what-ifs and too-late smiles.

natasha romanoff was back for the holidays, and she wanted to see you.

when you arrived at the dimly lit bar, she was already there, leaning back in her chair with a confidence that could command the entire room. her hair fell in loose waves around her face, her leather jacket hung open, and she looked like the kind of storm you’d run headfirst into despite every warning.

she stood when she saw you, her smile quiet but real, and pulled you into a hug that lingered longer than it should have. you felt it then, her hand resting lightly on your back, her breath close to your ear, and you almost pulled away. almost. but then she was ordering drinks, the conversation flowing so effortlessly you could almost pretend you didn’t feel the shift, that invisible line you were both starting to toe.

for weeks, it went on like this. little meetings that weren’t planned but never felt accidental either. her brushing against you as you reached for your bag, her quiet jokes only meant for you, the way she said your name like it was a secret only she could keep.

it chipped away at you, slowly, quietly, until you were standing on the edge of something you couldn’t quite name. you told yourself it didn’t mean anything, but it was getting harder and harder to believe.

and then there was her apartment.

you didn’t plan to go, not really. it had been another one of those nights, drinks spilling into the early hours, her laughter chasing away the guilt you didn’t want to feel. and it was just three days before christmas, and everything felt so nice and happy, even if you knew what you were doing wasn’t entirely right. she invited you in, and for reasons you couldn’t understand, you followed.

the space was so undeniably her, filled with things you didn’t expect—a stack of books on the coffee table, the faint scent of vanilla in the air, and her christmas tree lit up in a corner. she offered you another drink, but you shook your head, your stomach twisting.

“are you okay?” she asked, and her voice was so gentle it broke something inside you.

you nodded, looking anywhere but at her. “i should go.”

but she stepped closer, and suddenly you couldn’t breathe.

“do you want to?” she asked, her voice quieter now, and the weight of her question settled between you like a storm.

you looked at her then, really looked at her, and you saw everything—years of unspoken words, of missed chances, of the quiet love she had tucked away behind every sharp remark and lingering glance.

it hit you like a tidal wave, the years you’d spent waiting for this moment, the years you thought you’d given up on her, and now she was standing here, so close, so real.

but you couldn’t. you shouldn’t.

“natasha…” you whispered, but she was already reaching for you, her hand brushing your face like it was the most natural thing in the world.

and that’s when it happened. the kiss. it was soft, hesitant, and everything you had ever wanted, but it was also wrong. so, so wrong.

you pulled back, your chest heaving, and you could see it in her eyes—she knew.

“why now?” you asked, your voice breaking.

she looks off to the side, as if bracing herself for what she’s going to say. you close your eyes, her hand wraps itself in yours, and you’re already trying to fight back your tears. when she turns back to look at you, you feel them start to fall.

“i love you,” she says, almost apologetically. “i have for a long time.” her lips purse in the way that they do like she’s trying to stop herself from crying as well. “i just really needed you to know that.”

you release a shaky breath you didn’t know you were holding, shaking your head you try to pull your hand away from hers, but she only grips it harder.

“stop,” you whisper, and your face scrunches when you feel yourself start to openly cry even more.

“stop what?” you feel her hand on your face trying to wipe your tears, you cringe when you feel yourself lean into her touch.

“you can’t say that.” you shake your head. “you know you can’t say that.”

she caresses you, giving you a sad, wistful smile, “it doesn’t change the fact.” and you can’t help the strangled whine that leaves your mouth at her words.

because how do you act? what do you do when natasha has just put you in the very difficult position you’ve been trying to avoid?

how can you remain normal about anything when natasha has just shattered your whole world?

you shake your head, now determined, tears and all like there’s a part of you ready to be reclaimed. because how dare she? how could she make you wait all these years and do it now? now when things are so so good. now when you have someone back at home waiting to take you into his arms. you’ve waited. you have always waited.

but even statues crumble if they’re made to wait.

and maybe you would have waited longer if it weren’t for him. maybe you would have waited forever, just as long as you knew she’d say those three words to you one day. but things change, people change and you have changed.

because there was a time when you would have done anything just for her to look at you. you would’ve made stars shine for natasha romanoff. and you tried so hard, so hard. but you were so tired, tired of wishing on comets, of trying to orbit her planet, maybe time was just never on your side, maybe it was too late, and maybe some stars weren’t meant to align.

so in one single conversation, you decide to tear down the whole sky.

you look at her, vision blurred by tears, and see her fighting back her own, while her hand still held yours. she looked so fragile, her face pale and her lips pressed together, as if bracing herself for the storm she knew she’d unleashed.

her voice broke first. “i’m sorry,” she said quietly, her words trembling as much as her hand in yours. “i know this isn’t fair. i know it’s not right to say it now, but…” she hesitated, her eyes searching yours for something she’d already lost. “i couldn’t keep it in anymore. i had to tell you.”

you closed your eyes, trying to steady your breathing, but the flood of emotion was too strong. the years of waiting, of wondering, of wanting—everything you’d buried so deep it ached now rushed to the surface. you felt like you were unraveling.

when you opened your eyes again, her gaze was locked on you, her own tears slipping quietly down her cheeks. “i tried to stay away,” she whispered. “i tried to bury it, to let you be happy, but… it’s you. it’s always been you.”

“natasha…” her name cracked on your tongue like splintered glass. you shook your head, biting back a sob. “you can’t do this to me. not now. not like this.”

she stepped closer, hesitant, as if every movement took all her courage. “i never wanted to hurt you,” she said, her voice soft but unsteady. “i thought—god, i thought i was doing the right thing. that if i stayed away, you’d move on, and maybe i would too. but i can’t. i can’t move on from you.”

her words hit you like a tidal wave, and you turned away, needing to put space between you. your heart was breaking, shattering into pieces you couldn’t begin to pick up, because you knew what she was saying was real. and that made it so much worse.

“do you know how long i waited for this?” you asked, your voice trembling. “how long i waited for you to say something, to choose me?” you turned back to her, tears spilling freely down your face. “and now, after all this time, when i finally found something good, something stable, you decide it’s time to speak up?”

“i didn’t plan this,” she said, her voice almost desperate. “i didn’t want to ruin what you have. i just—” she stopped, running a hand through her hair as she struggled to find the words. “i couldn’t keep pretending anymore. pretending i didn’t love you.”

the weight of her words hit you again, and you had to steady yourself against the back of the couch. you shook your head, trying to find clarity in the storm she’d just unleashed in your chest.

“you don’t get to do this, natasha,” you said, your voice firm despite the crack in it. “you don’t get to say this now and expect everything to be okay. i can’t… i can’t just throw everything away because you suddenly decided to tell me how you feel.”

her face crumpled, and you saw her wipe at her eyes quickly, almost angrily. “i’m not asking you to throw anything away,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “i just… i needed you to know. i needed you to know how much you mean to me, even if i’m too late.”

her honesty gutted you. this wasn’t the confident, unshakable natasha romanoff the world knew. this was the raw, broken version of her you’d only seen in fleeting glimpses, and it was almost enough to undo you.

but you couldn’t.

“i love him,” you said, and the words felt like a knife twisting in your chest. “i love james. and i can’t do this to him. he doesn’t deserve it.” and you do. you love him. you love james. james is good, and he loves you, he makes you laugh, and he feels right.

natasha nodded slowly, her tears falling silently now. she looked down at the floor, her hands hanging limp at her sides. “i know,” she said, her voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear it. “i know he doesn’t. and neither do you.”

the weight of her words hit you harder than anything else. you swallowed the lump in your throat, forcing yourself to look at her, to really see her for what felt like the last time.

“then you’ll understand why i have to walk away,” you said, your voice softer now but no less certain. “i can’t keep holding onto something that was never meant to be. it’s killing me.”

her head snapped up, her eyes wide and filled with pain. “i never meant to hurt you,” she said, her voice breaking.

“i know,” you said, and the truth of it made your tears fall faster. “but you did. and i can’t let you keep doing it. i won’t.”

you turned toward the door, your steps heavy, your heart shattered. you didn’t know if you would ever feel whole again, but you knew you couldn’t stay. not this time.

and as you leave her apartment and snow starts to fall, you can’t help but feel the irony.

you cry all the way back home, not caring about the people who give you concerned looks as you pass them on the busy new york city sidewalks.

when you get home, you find james on the couch, his laptop balanced on his lap. he looks up at your figure by the door, the smile he has only ever reserved for you falls into a frown when he sees your tear-stained cheeks.

he sets his laptop beside him, a worried expression on his face, “what happened?” he tries to reach for you.

his question makes your resolve break all at once. a small sob leaves your lips and you fall straight into his arms as soon as you get close enough.

you just cry. for a very long moment, and he holds you through it all. when you finally lift your head from his chest his eyebrows furrow, inviting you to say anything, but understanding if you don’t want to.

but you just look at him. you see the look in his eyes, the way his hands brush away the hair from your face, and how they try to wipe away your falling tears. how do even tell him? how could you ever think of ending his world when you’re his?

but he’s the first to say it before you can.

“is it about natasha?” he asks, hesitantly. his question makes you pause.

your breath catches in your throat, and for a moment, you can’t do anything but stare at him. his voice, steady but soft, holds no anger, no blame—just a quiet understanding that makes your heart ache even more.

“how…” you whisper, your voice cracking. “how did you know?”

james sighs, his hands still cradling your face. he hesitates, searching for the right words. “i’ve always known, i think. not everything, but enough to see it. the way you look when her name comes up. the way your eyes drift when you think i don’t notice.” he swallows hard, his voice shaking slightly. “i didn’t want to push you, didn’t want to believe it was something that could come between us. but…” he exhales, his lips pressing into a thin line. “it’s been there, hasn’t it? for a long time.”

the guilt twists in your chest, sharp and unrelenting. you nod slowly, tears slipping down your cheeks as you look away. “i’m sorry,” you choke out. “i’m so sorry, james. i never wanted to hurt you. i swear, i—”

“i know,” he interrupts gently, his voice breaking as he cups your face, forcing you to meet his eyes. “i know you didn’t.”

the kindness in his gaze undoes you, and you collapse into him again, your sobs muffled against his shoulder. he doesn’t say anything, just holds you tighter, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back.

when your breathing evens out, you pull away, your face red and blotchy, but your resolve is clearer now. you owe him the truth. you owe both of you that much.

“she told me,” you start, your voice barely above a whisper. “she told me she loves me. that she’s loved me for a long time.”

james flinches, just slightly, but it’s enough for you to notice. his jaw tightens, and he looks away for a moment, as if he’s bracing himself.

“i didn’t want to hear it,” you continue, your voice trembling. “because… because i know what it means. and i know what it could do to us.”

his eyes snap back to yours, wide and filled with pain, but also something deeper: a quiet, unshakable love. “and what do you want?” he asks, his voice low but steady.

the question hangs in the air, heavy and unrelenting. you feel like the world has stopped spinning, every second stretching into eternity.

what do you want?

you close your eyes, forcing yourself to think past the ache in your chest, past the confusion and guilt, and longing that natasha always seems to leave in her wake. you think of james—of his warmth, his steady presence, the way he’s always been there, loving you unconditionally.

and then you think of natasha—the chaos, the heartbreak, the endless waiting. the way she makes you feel like you’re standing on the edge of a cliff, exhilarated and terrified all at once.

“i want…” you begin, your voice trembling, “i want this to stop hurting.” you open your eyes, looking at james with all the honesty you can muster. “i want to be here, with you. i want to be the person you deserve. but i don’t know how to let go of her. i don’t know if i ever have.”

james’s face softens, and he nods slowly as if he’s been preparing for this moment all along. “then let me help you,” he says quietly. “we’ll figure it out together. whatever it takes.”

his words hit you like a lifeline, and for the first time in weeks, maybe months, you feel a glimmer of hope. you nod, fresh tears streaming down your face as you lean into him, letting his embrace ground you.

you don’t know how long it will take to heal, or if you’ll ever fully untangle yourself from the grip natasha has on your heart.

but you do know that all that will be left is for you to wonder. to wonder what would have happened, if you’d waited, if she said something sooner, if time had been on your side.

and even years later, you’d still wonder. even after selling your apartment and buying one with james. even after you hear that natasha has married some woman you won't ever bother learning the name of.

and as the years continue to pass you will still wonder, you will wonder if she thinks of you from time to time the way you do and if she’s doing okay.

but the wondering will always just stay as that, and you won’t care enough to let it consume you. not anymore.

because all it is, is just a small echo in your world that you’ve built comfortably far away from natasha romanoff.

[greenorangevioletgrass]

shorn the sheep (a.d. x t.d.)

Pairing: art donaldson x tashi donaldson

Summary: the origin story of Art's shorn sheep haircut.

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: just family fluff really, art is a puppy but whats new, pre-canon (or in between canon timelines ig)

Notes: my first arttashi fic! Life is crazy but I was inspired enough to write this in two sittings sooooo enjoy! please comment, reblog, talk to me and tell me what you think about it! Happy reading!

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Art Donaldson likes routines.

He eats the same breakfast every morning –eight eggs and a bowl of oatmeal. Takes the same shower stall in the locker room and does the same pre-match routine down to which shoe he puts on first. He has had the same team behind him for most of his career, from coaches and physios to his lawyers and publicists. He generally goes to the same guy for his haircut too, but he’s in Tokyo for the Japan Open. And while his outgrown curls are starting to piss him off, flying his barber halfway across the world just seems excessive.

Although… looking in the mirror now, he can’t help but wonder if he should’ve done that instead.

Maybe it’s the language barrier (which is more of Art’s fault for his general lack of knowledge in hair-related terms, because the hairdresser speaks English just fine), but what he asked for was definitely not what he got. Then again, maybe he wasn’t being super clear on what he means by ‘tidying it up a little.’

So with a polite straight-lined smile, Art nods and pays and ducks out into the busy Tokyo street. Out of courtesy (or so he convinces himself), he waits until he turns the corner to put his hoodie up over his head.

Ever the drama queen, he only takes it off when he enters the hotel suite, finding his wife sitting on the dining table.

“They fucked up my hair.”

Tashi looks up from her laptop, and the first thing she notices isn’t even the hair. It’s the same pout, same tone she normally sees in Lily at bedtime, which only makes her chortle.

“Goddammit…” Art groans. Is it even worse than he thinks? He pulls the hood back up and tugs at the string until the fabric scrunches around his face.

He turns around towards the bedroom, but Tashi stops him, grabbing his arm and turning him to face her. She loosens the tight strings on the hood, so she can see his new hair properly. Her French manicured nails cards through the short locks, scratching his scalp the way she knows he likes. Her eyebrows furrow in focus as she scrutinizes the length and texture in relation to his face.

“It looks fine to me,” she eventually decides, pushing the top part to the side towards his natural part.

“No it’s not. It’s too fucking short.” Art huffs, resting his forehead on her shoulder. 

Tashi hums, feeling the buzzed ends on the nape of his neck. She’s never felt it this short on him—she’s been there through it all; the mop when he was younger, the swoopy Prince Charming look he had just before this, and even that one year where he grew his hair out past his shoulders. She can definitely say that she doesn’t hate this one.  “It’s just shorter, is all.”

“Makes my ears look even bigger than they already are,” he murmurs into the skin of her shoulder, his annoyance dissipating into sulking petulance in the comfort of her scent and general embrace. 

“Maybe it’ll make you more aerodynamic, Dumbo.” Tashi fiddles his earlobe playfully.

He bites at her shoulder in gentle warning, earning a little laugh from her. “That’s not funny.”

“I don’t see anything wrong with it.” She grins and shrugs. “Art—”

“Come on, this is serious.”

Tashi laughs incredulously. “What is?”

“I’m playing in my Uniqlo gear for the first time tomorrow, and the only thing people are gonna talk about is my hair.”

“I sure fucking hope they’re gonna talk about your game more than your new hair or clothes.”

There’s always a very subtle shift whenever Tashi is talking in coach mode. It doesn’t happen often, but it ticks her off whenever his attention strays off of what’s important. But Art pulls his head up and shoots her an unamused, almost defiant glare. He’s not having it.

He’s been trying not to stress out about it, but his new endorsement deal with Uniqlo is so well-covered (and for good reason—he signed a ten-year deal worth $30 million.) and wearing the brand for the first time on their home ground is a big deal. She knows that.

Art will gladly say it as often as he needs to (and he feels like he doesn’t say it often enough), but he loves Tashi. Her beauty is a no-brainer, but above all, he loves her tenacity and efficiency in her work. It’s why he listens to her, and it’s why he’s been playing better than ever since she joined his side.

Tashi sighs a little, realizing that maybe he doesn’t need a coach right now. “And look, it fits into the clean-cut, preppy aesthetics you got. I don’t see how this can be bad press for Uniqlo, either.”

She does so much for him —eats, lives, and breathes him— and sometimes he feels bad for asking. But he eats, lives, and breathes her just as much as she does, and he craves her constantly. Her firm chides, her sharp wit, her soft side, her fury… Most of the time, he needs a combination of at least two of them, even though he doesn’t know how to ask for it.

“Can we like… not make this about work?”

He doesn’t need to. She knows. 

Tashi softens, rubbing his arms up and down as he pulls her closer. “Baby… it looks good on you.”

Art rolls his eyes skeptically. He can’t help but feel like she needs to say that now.

“It really does! What do you want me to say?” She chuckles, nuzzling his face with her nose. “Hey. You know I’ll be the first one to tell you if it looks stupid, right?”

Art sighs. Tashi has never been very generous with compliments, and he actually likes that about her. She knows how to really make it count. “I know, but—”

“But it doesn’t. You actually look really good. And I… I like that I can see you better this way.”

“Huh?”

“You don’t have hair flopping over your eyes like a sheepdog anymore.”

Art gives her a playful smack in the butt, but at least he’s smiling now. And despite pushing him physically and mentally for a living, Tashi likes making him smile.

“But you like it?”

Her hand returns to his head, getting the hang of caressing it. “Baby, it’s your hair.” 

Art relaxes into her touch. He’s gone beyond seeking validation, and has fully entered clingy territory at this time. “Yeah, but you’re gonna be looking at it all the time,” he pouts dramatically. “I don’t want you to hate it.”

“I already told you. I like it.” Tashi cups his face, her thumb drawing faint circles on his cheek. The hair is cropped short enough that it doesn’t even curl anymore on the crown. But the patch of brown in his blue eyes is out in plain sight. The line of his nose is knife-sharp, and she can’t help but remember how it parts her thighs right open. “I like looking at your face like this.”

Art’s mouth quirks to the right. He likes coaxing sweet nothings out of her like no other. “So you just like my face?”

Tashi bites the inside of her left cheek. “I do. I like your face.”

Art pulls her into a sweet kiss, and Tashi happily meets him halfway. He wonders if the butterflies would ever cease one day, but until then, he’s gonna relish in it entirely. Wholeheartedly. Selfishly.

Until…

“Daddy, you’re back!” the unmistakable squeal of their 2-year-old cuts through the quiet, followed by the pitter-patter of her little feet.

Art reluctantly lets go of his wife in exchange for their daughter, throwing the former a fond, knowing look. “Hey, Lilybug!” He scoops her tiny frame up into his arms and peppers kisses all over her cute face.

Lily giggles, arms flailing and pushing him around until Art lets up. It’s only then that the little girl manages a good look at him. She gasps. “Daddy, your hair!”

Art’s heart stops. He never thought a toddler’s opinion would mean so much to him, but he plasters a faux-oblivious look for her. “What about my hair, baby?”

“It’s so… little!”

Tashi chuckles. And so does Art, although he does so in surprise. Of all the adjectives in the English language (that they’ve taught Lily anyway), he didn’t expect it to be little. But in a way, he’s glad. It takes the edge off a little.

“Do you like it, though?” Art turns his head side-to-side and lets Lily assess him, and his heart stutters a little.

Lily has a habit of picking up Tashi’s brutal honesty. Truth be told, she is the spitting image of her mother. She tilts her head the same way, sports the same thoughtful pout too. He may have been off the hook with Tashi, but it would be stupid to have his confidence crushed by the miniature version of her.

Eventually, though, Lily grins and nods. Art breathes out a sigh of relief, while Tashi looks at him like, see?

Lily puts her tiny hands on Art’s cheeks the same way her mother does, fingers flicking on her father’s earlobes. She giggles again. “Daddy looks like my sippy cup.”

Tashi laughs out loud this time. Art is not amused.

But he’ll take it. He scowls playfully and makes a face, pretending to be the sippy cup in question, eliciting more laughter from his girls.

[monkey-network]

Good Stuff: Belfort & Lupin

So get this. Sunday this week there's a clip on Twitter of a nice looking cartoon nobody's heard of. Some digging gets dug and it turns out to be a French series in the works... with some episodes that have leaked before release. So yeah, consider this my first review, an overview if you will, where it exists before the show even aired properly. I mean Twitter is fawning over this toon and within reason. It looks gorgeous, sounds comforting enough, and it's about talking dogs. Talking dogs who are lovers- I mean gay lov- I mean close bro homos- I mean buddies with benef- I mean they're knot buddies- FUCK

They're French, enough said. Let's get into it.

It takes place in the 17th Century at the Château de Versailles, home to King Louis XIV and his wide array of animals at what I guess is the earlier period of his reign (I'm not good with history, sorry). Belfort is a pampered royal spaniel and Lupin is an orphan wolf who are the closest of friends.... "Friends." The series essentially is about the two solving problems around the palace in regards to the other animals that live there. Belfort has his wits and authority of the royal culture while Lupin has the wild animal instincts and capabilities Belfort unfortunately lacks. It's basically Sagwa, The Chinese Siamese Cat but replace China with France which means it smells worse.

This isn't really a joke either, the king bathed less than the dogs. Versailles undoubtedly stunk to hell.

The titular characters really are the highlights. This has a good supporting cast, but the protags' chemistry is sincere, phrenetic, and kinda infectious. To each other, they're everything desired and the best they bring to the table. Belfort is the dramatic yet headstrong character that Lupin finds the most comfort in and Lupin is the rebellious light of Belfort's life. Shoot, Belfort might be my favorite of the show with how visibly enamored he is to Lupin, whether the wolf's doing what's right or is just being himself around him. Nobody online is kidding when they say these two are gay; I can't tell you how many ships these two have been compared to. Their eyes basically beam when together and on the same page, tied to the hip they might as well be.

Consider them a highlight of the year the way it's been so far

It is insane to believe that out of the blue, the internet would prop a random French cartoon before a single promotion of it was out, no less an IMDB page. "It's cuz the fans are furries and yaoi lovers." That is true, heck I expect Saberspark to tackle this, but I don't think it would've got as much the attention if it didn't look amazing and be compelling either. Belfort & Lupin I say is next to Ernest and Celestine where it's a simple cozy kids show with a really strong main duo. One that I hope can see in both French with English subs and official English where the audio isn't underwater like with the episodes I saw. It's overall a cartoon that is worth the intrigue and hype made from the spontaneous discovery, and I'm glad many are into it.

This series came out of nowhere, but I’m glad a surprise like this exists.

[deathmetalunicorn1]

hii!! could a ror family with a 9 year old reader that is like William James Sidis(but they don't know how smart he is)

until some of his family members was called to his school(Nikola, Beelzebub, Hades & adam)the principal wanted them to know how much potential y/n had,as y/n was found multiple times easily solving harvard level math questions even lecturing teachers about his theory's about 4th dimensional body's as if it was common knowledge, even correcting teachers answers,

and was found writing a book with an unknown language which y/n revealed that it was a language he created called vendergood The language is based on Latin and Greek, but drew from German, French and other Romance languages... after that meeting Nikola would spend even more time with y/n ,taking the child with him every time Thomas Edison, Issac newton, Galileo Galilei, Albert Einstein, Marie curie & Alfred Nobel would visit, Nikola & the others would try & figure out why y/n was so smart.

-When your school called your massive family, none of them could ever imagine why they were being asked to come in as quickly as possible.

-You were a good kid, albeit a bit quiet, but you never got into trouble or did anything that warranted any sort of disciplinary action. So why was your school calling?!

-They immediately thought the worse, thinking you had gotten into a fight, as in someone else beat you up, as anger quickly filled many of them as they were quick to descend upon the school.

-To their surprise you weren’t in the office when they arrived, you were in the library, reading contently, as that’s what the office staff told them, but it was the principle who brought them into a meeting room to have a discussion.

-He had in his hands all your recent tests, all with perfect scores, which your family was proud of, but it was the next test he pulled out that was shocking, “This is a mock university entrance exam that we gave to Y/N just to see how they would do, and they got a perfect score.”

-Your family was stunned as Nikola took the packet, seeing the difficult math equations, science diagrams, and foreign languages, each section with a perfect score!

-They knew you were smart- but this smart?!

-Your principle nodded, “Y/N is a prodigy- they were even able to prove to several university professors that this wasn’t a fluke or a result of cheating- they gave Y/N several questions in the different areas of this test and Y/N solved all of them!”

-Nikola was beaming with pride, hearing how smart you were, but it was also unusual, why were you so smart? How were you so smart and they didn’t realize this?!

-Your principle brought your family in to not only share this revelation, but to recommend you being taking out of elementary school and go straight to university, as many of the professors wanted you to learn under them!

-Adam was all for this idea, however, “We will need to discuss things with Y/N first. This will be their decision.” The principle agreed and directed your family to the library, where they found you with several, very advanced, books on Latin and other difficult language books.

-You were confused, seeing your family, “It’s not a family day, is it?” Nikola quickly swept you into his arms, spinning you around, making you squeal with delight, “I’m so proud of you!!”

-You were confused until you all sat down, after the librarian yelled at Nikola for causing a ruckus, and they explained why they were there.

-Your eyes were wide, hearing that the university professors you met wanted you to come to their school instead, as they wanted to nurture your intelligent mind, but it would be your decision if you wanted to go.

-You were a little hesitant, not wanting to leave this school as you enjoyed the fun you were having there, despite many of the other kids being mean to you for being an ‘egghead’ which you learned was a mean word for someone who was smart.

-You asked for some time to think, which they agreed to, and they took you home for the day, since you did all the classwork for the day.

-Nikola kidnapped you away to the research facility he shared with all the other scientists like Newton, Einstein, and all the others, with Beelzebub following you two.

-Nikola held you up like the Lion King to the other geniuses, “Y/N is one of us!!” you were a bit confused but when he sat you down, getting an empty whiteboard and put down an insanely complex math equation before he turned to you, handing you the chalk with a bright smile.

-You looked over the equation, after Issac got you a step ladder as you were a little short for your age, and you got to work, calculating the equation within moments before you circled the answer.

-A roar of cheers escaped the scientists, spooking you just slightly before you beamed, feeling happy that they were so happy before Edison picked you up, spinning you around, praising you which made you beam brightly.

-Beelzebub then brought up the big question they were all wanting to know, “So Y/N- how is it that you’re so smart?” you looked over at him and you tilted your head to the side, a bit confused, “I dunno- I just read what’s in front of me and I remember it. I started looking at new stuff when I learned all the stuff everyone else in my class did and… yeah.”

-Instantly you were sitting on a large plush chair as the scientists were all around the lab, writing down equations and theories as to what could explain this phenomenon- shouting across the lab at one another and talking about things you were able to understand with ease.

-You decided to read over the brochures of the university that the professors gave to you so you could do a bit of research on your own, to decide if you were going to take up their offer or not.

[pumpkinpatchmaniac]

ARCANE SEASON 2 ARC 3 SPOILERS‼️‼️

I noticed this while watching episode 7: “Pretend like its the first time”, not that small of a detail but:

(I’m sorry if it is incoherent i just really needed to get this out.)

During the innovative party scene where Ekko dances with Powder, the song that plays is ”ma meilleure ennemie” by Stromae & Pomme, which translates to ”my best (female) enemy” which clearly refers to Powder, or Jinx.

In the intro begins a small chant where they say

Je t’aime, je t’attends […]

Meaning “ i love you, i am waiting for you” which clearly explains Ekko before coming to terms that Jinx no longer is Powder, since he fell inlove with Powder he keeps waiting for Powder to come back. This mental dilemma of having to accept that even if its the same body, same face its not the same person anymore, which is later supported by the first chorus where Stromae sings

La pire des bénédiction, La plus belle des malédictions

“The worse of all blessings, the best of all curses”, Powder was the best thing that happened to him while Jinx was the worse thing which makes this relationship with her- this connection, both a blessing and a curse.

But what made the scene more interesting was when they danced and the part

Mais ma meilleure ennemie, c'est toi [but my best enemy, that is you.]

Fuis-moi, le pire, c'est toi et moi [flee from me, the worse is you and i]

Mais si tu cherches encore ma voix [but if you keep searching for my voice]

Oublie-moi, le pire, c'est toi et moi [forget me, the worse is you and i]

I know we all wanted Ekko to stay in that timeline and be happy with Powder but remember season 1 where- whilst every Jinx or Vi centric episodes always began with a flashback, the Ekko centric one started from the present. Indicating that Ekko forces himself to always look forward than trying to let the past get to him. For exempel in - please correct me if i’m wrong, season 1 episode 5 when Vi said that she should’ve been there to help Ekko, he only says ”that’s is a good way to drive yourself crazy”. He immidiantly shut down any thought of what could’ve been, indirectly forcing Vi to think about the present. Especially afterwards when Vi talks about getting Powder back when Ekko has already fully acknowledge that there is only Jinx. All of this makes him being in that timeline more difficult for him since it is exactly what he wanted to avoid, being stuck in what could’ve been.

Dancing with Powder just engraves this furthee into him, this is unhealthy for Ekko since it’s the relation ship between him and Jinx. As to reiterate ”if you keep searching for Powder’s, voice, stop, it will just drive you crazy”

Also to refer to the pre-chorus!

First one:

Tu sais c'qu'on dit [you know what they say]

Sois près d'tes amis les plus chers [stay close to your dearest friends]

Mais aussi [but even]

Encore plus près d'tes adversaires [even closer to your adversaries (i.e antagonists, villains)

And the second one

Je t'avais dit : "Ne regarde pas en arrière" [i have told you : “dont look back]

Le passé qui te suit te fait la guerre [the past will follow you and take you to war]

(This is pretty self explanatory)

Additionally, before the kiss scene where Ekko says “can we pretend like it’s the first the first time”, further insinuates the whole, “this is my present even thought it’s a part of your past”.

TL:DR

This scene hurts

(Authors note:

I know it is not a small detail and not that significant but i really wanna acknowledge how every part of the Arcane series have a significance into the story. And honestly i needed to vent. It was so fun last night watching the scene and hearing ”le pire, c’est toi et moi” and just go ”oh, word?”. I am not French but i studied it so it just felt good from that POV too.

Edit: i was not aware that Arcane gets critizied over how litteral the songs are to the scene but i still stand by my point about why i really liked the song and this scene specifically)

[popfizzles]

I’m sorry if this has been asked before but what do the card suits and numbers mean for each cuphead character?

Don't apologize, I'm ALWAYS down to talk about the cards when it comes to Cuphead characters!!!

When I write lore and character details for Cuphead characters (both ocs and canon characters), I like to attach a Minor Arcana tarot card to each character, but I use the French-suited version of the deck. You know these cards as the standard deck of 52 playing cards!

The four suits represent four different ideals:

Diamonds (Pentacles) represent Value.

Spades (Swords) represent Action.

Hearts (Cups) represent Emotion.

Clubs (Wands) represent Knowledge.

Attaching a suit to a character is easy; think about what they care most about in life. Are they worried about being able to provide for themselves and the people they care about? Are they a hard-worker who refuses to wait for change to happen? Do they let their heart guide them, whether for better or for worse? Are they striving to learn more and more about themselves and the world around them?

Ace cards are perfect paragons of their suit. Cuphead is the Ace of Diamonds, so every single decision he makes, he makes based on whether or not it would result in added VALUE for him. Usually, this results in greed, and a want for more. But "value" can mean many other things! The value of a home-cooked meal, or the value of a meaningful relationship. These are all very important to him!

Finding a more specific number for a character can be a bit more difficult. I like looking at the meaning behind each individual card, and finding one that helps drive a story for them.

For example, Mac is right next to Cuphead in the Arcana, the Two of Diamonds. The Two of Pentacles represents the idea of ebb and flow. Being adaptable, and flexible. But it can also represent chaos, finding difficulty in balancing responsibilities, even buckling under pressure and experiencing financial hardships. I think this describes the way I've characterized Mac very well!

Jacks are a fun one. Because where the normal Minor Arcana has two different cards to represent the learning and mastering of an ideal (shown in the Page and the Knight), the French-suited deck has combined them into a single card, the Jack.

So, it makes a fun dynamic, where Jacks (like Smith the Jack of Spades) are either slowly learning their ideal and finding their footing, or have already mastered it and are ready to teach others. And it can be fun to try and figure out which the character ACTUALLY is.

Like I said, I'm always down to talk more about the inherent cartomancy of Cuphead. It always intrigued me that Cuphead and Mugman's Super Meters were represented by playing cards. It really ties their whole gambling man motif together. :)

[jazziejax]

𝐈. 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐲 𝐋𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬

Pairings- Priest!Art Donaldson x Reader, Priest!Patrick Zwieg x Reader

Summary- Odessa and Antoinette get a creepy letter in the mail

Warnings- religious talk, swearing, inside thoughts, not well written…

Jazzie’s Notes!- I just wanna preface this with saying that I don’t really know how to write this style of writing. I have to learn to write well in first person, but then if I do that, I would have to switch person to person all the time. Let if know if this is good or not, don’t be afraid to give feedback. Also, this isn’t meant to offensive to a religious group, I am religious myself. Sorry for any spelling errors!!!

Word Count- 5,313

Antoinette’s life was far from perfect. She lived in a crappy apartment in a sketchy part of New York with barely any money to afford to live. But she tended to find the bright side of most things. She shared said apartment with her best friend, and she always dreamed of living in New York. Plus, her job was a cute diner with a surprisingly stylish apron. She felt like one of those girls in the rom-com movies. Life could be worse.

“Hi, what can I help you guys with today?” The chipper voice of the young lady said as she pulled the notepad out of her blue apron pocket. She looked expectedly around the group that sat at the diner booth.

“Uh, can we get two French toast meals with the strawberry and whipped cream on them, no bacon or eggs on one of them? And two chocolate chip pancake meals with no whipped cream, just the bananas and blueberries. Four milkshakes, one chocolate with no cherry no whipped cream, one strawberry with the cherry and whipped cream, one vanilla with just the whipped cream, and another chocolate with the cherry and the whipped cream.” Said a blonde woman in one go, before looking up to smile at the waiter.

What a…hearty breakfast. Is it even breakfast time?

The girl squinted, caught off guard by everything that was thrown at her so fast, and didn’t write anything down past the ‘no eggs no bacon’ part. “Um, okay, yeah. I totally have all of that. I’m just gonna repeat it back to make sure it’s correct.” The curly-haired waiter smiled, looking down at the small amount of words scribbled on the yellow paper. Before she could even start talking, the blonde girl spoke up again.

“Oh, no need.” She smiled sweetly, which was obviously fake and condescending by the way she then waved the girl off before continuing the conversation she was in with her friends. Antoinette's eyes darted from one person to the next, utter shock but not surprised at how they all just continued to ignore her presence. She offered a small smile, whispering a small “Okay.” Before walking off to tell Lonny what she remembered of the order.

Which also didn’t go in her favor.

“Why the hell didn’t you write it down?” The older man asked, his New York accent thick on his tongue as she looked down at the small piece of paper the girl handed him.

I totally didn’t even think of that.

“I tried, she was going too fast and wouldn’t let me stay any longer to get it correct.” The girl whined. “I can tell you what I remember from my brain.”

My brain, what am I, seven years old? I need to expand my vocabulary.

“I don’t need what you have in your brain, I need the order on paper! I’m running a restaurant here, curly fry, not a school!” The grump yelled, before moving around the kitchen to continue to cook. Antoinette just stood there, arms stiff at her sides as her eyes drifted towards the open box where the orders got dropped off to see the more than half-empty restaurant. Her brows furrowed inwards only a smidge as she looked back over at her boss.

“Lonny, they’re the only people here.” She stated. All she got in response was the slam of the man’s fist against the metal table out of frustration. Not caring, or rather not paying attention, Antoinette continued. “I mean, them and the homeless guy that sleeps in the booth at the very back. And the occasional person with a laptop to charge.” She shrugged.

Lonny then turned, glaring from afar at the girl who was at least a foot taller than him. Granted, he was a short man.

“You’re lucky I like you curlyfry.” The man grumbled. “Now write down what you can remember then get back to work.” He hissed, turning to the batter he had before him. Antoinette was almost tempted to ask, what work? but refrained from making the situation worse. “Okay.” Was all she said before starting to scribble what she caught of the order on the paper.

My handwriting is atrocious, I need to work on that. Ooh, that’s a big word. Maybe my vocabulary isn’t so terrible. Hey, they do say bad handwriting is a sign of intelligence.

“Also, can you go kick out that homeless guy?” Lonny started, talking to the girl over his shoulder.

“Why can’t you?” She immediately asked, not even thinking over the statement. The older man threw his head back, letting out a deep sigh. “Because I’m working. Ya know, the thing you don’t do.”

Antoinette softly gasped in offense, placing a hand over her heart. “I work. I’m getting this order to you right now.” She said, tripping g the paper from the bit pad and sliding it over to the order station. “Plus, Joey’s gonna be here any second for my shift to end. Although a little late. He can handle it though.”

“Yeah, but I asked you, and I want it done now.” The man spat, never once looking back at the girl as he continued to make the dough for his bread at the cooking station.

“Well, I can’t because I have to wait.” She said, starting to take off her apron. Lonny screamed in annoyance, turning to face his employee. “What did I tell you about that word?!” He screamed desperation and anger in his tone.

“That it’s only used by stinky European teenage boys.” Antoinette related like a mantra at this point. “So stop it!” He yelled as she then tried to walk out of the kitchen, actually having to pee. “And what did I tell you about telling me when you have to pee.”

“I just thought you should know!” Antoinette yelled back through the closing kitchen door. She sighed, starting to continue her way to the bathroom before briefly pausing when she realized the table from earlier was now looking at her in irritation and confusion.

Great, they probably heard me talking about having to pee.

She smiled at them, her dimples being the cherry on top of her adorable face. “Your food will be out shortly.” She said as she encapsulated one hand in the other, voice now calm in contrast to her previous yelling. She went to walk about before stopping once more. “Hopefully.” She said before continuing, taking her apron off in the process and laying it on a hook in the back where her bag and coat were.

She wakes in the dingey bathroom, pulling down her pants and squatting over the bowl. Finally, in some semblance of peace, she had the same thoughts she had every time she used the bathroom at the diner.

My calves have to be extremely strong after doing this for four years. Can they hear me? Gosh, I hope they can’t hear me. I think I’d kill myself. Well no, I wouldn’t because that’s a sin.

Finished, the file looked over next to her for the toilet paper, seeing the roll bare but the sake of two thin sheets stuck to the adhesive. “Aw, man. No paper.” She said to herself. She then tried forward, scouring her mind for a solution to such a predicament. Here she was, leaning forward with her rosary handing in her face, squatted over the toilet seat with urine dripping from her privates.

Today couldn’t be any worse.

Just then, the door shot open and slammed into the girl's head. Antoinette yelped at the harsh contact, not even paying attention to the scream let out by the man above her as she focused on her now throbbing head and tried not to fall into the toilet bowl. “Dammit, Antoinette, lock the door next time.” The man groaned. Antoinette held her head as if her hand would bring some sort of red to the area.

“Ok, Joey can you go grab me some toilet paper? We’re out.” She said, trying to focus on how embarrassing this whole ordeal was.

“Uh, yeah, give me a sec.” He said through the door before drifting away.

Antoinette sighed, her head flopping down as she was once again left in that weird position, now even more embarrassed that someone saw her and that she was hit in the head. And it was her coworker.

Lord. I’m sorry but I must die today.

Joey then came back with a new roll of tissue, handing it to the girl through a crack in the bathroom door, even though he could see the girl in the small bathroom mirror. A few seconds after a flush and the sink running, Antoinette emerged with an awkward smile on her face to see Joey standing in front of the bathroom door.

“Hi.” Was all she said, looking everywhere but his eyes.

“Hey.” The taller olive-skinned man said back. They stood in front of each other for a few moments in silence.

“You should go—“

“Sorry about—“

They stared at the same time, pausing before awkwardly laughing.

“I was gonna say sorry about your head. I kinda just barged in.” Joey continued, smiling down at the girl in front of him.

“It’s fine, I was sitting there very awkwardly. Squatting rather.” She stared, brushing it off. “I was saying that you should head on in there and…do whatever you were going to do.” She shrugged. She could feel her heatwave pick up just being in his presence. And the longer she looked at him in those sultry brown eyes, the feeling of a hot pool started to rumble in her lower stomach. She might’ve been a virgin, but she wasn’t stupid.

Well, not entirely.

She knew she found Joey attractive, but the feeling she got when she stood too close to him was not okay in her book. It triggered her fight or flight, but instead of running away or throwing fists at him, she wanted to jump into his arms.

Yeah, I can’t do this. It’s time to leave.

“Well, it was nice speaking to you Joey, have a nice day. Oh, and Lonny wants you to remove the homeless guy from the booth in the back.” She spat out in a hurry as she grabbed her bag from the hook, along with her coat, and walked back to the front. She passed the table on her way out, seeing that they were now eating. “Oh, you guys got your food. Great.” She said with a small customer service smile as she continued walking.

“Yeah, our order is actually wrong—.” The woman from before couldn’t get out much more before Antoinette was cutting her off.

“Sorry, I’m off the clock. Bye.” She cheesed on her last words and walked out of the door, a bell ringing above her head. She scurried to the alley on the side of the building, to see her bike still double-chained to a random pipe in the next building over. It was basically a little game at this point to come around the corner and see if her bike was still there. Sighing in relief, she rushed over to the baby blue bike with a wicker basket in the front. She unclasped her key from her wrist and unlocked the heavy-duty chains she bought with her last few dollars when she moved to New York. This elderly couple had given her the bike when they saw the girl walking in the rain, saying it was their daughter’s old bike. But since the girl was lost and confused in a very nice neighborhood, she had to buy some chains so she didn’t get jacked before she could get to enjoy its labor.

The girl opened the basket in the front of her bike to place her chains into when she paused at the sight of something wrapped in the large bin. The thing was moving underneath the black cloth and Antoinette was just frozen. She glanced around at the alley to see if anyone was watching her but spotted not a single soul. Sighing, the girl reached out and pulled back the back fabric, being sure to keep her head as far away as she could whilst also being able to see within the basket. Seeing that whatever it was didn’t violently react to her movements, she eased forward to see a tuft of sandy white hair.

What in tarnation is this?

Now confused, the girl leaned forward and pulled the cloth back more to see two small kittens in her backseat, one was this sanely blonde color, the darker part of its body being its nose area and its tail. The other kitten was a mix of colors, mainly orange and black with white spots here and there. Antoinette’s heart immediately melted at the sight of the two kittens.

“Awww!” The girl said, pouting at the creatures who lay in her basket. Well, one creature lay while the other moved around in the basket as best as it could. “Well, aren’t you two just the cutest?” The girl gushed as she lifted the blanket with them two in it to place the chains at the bottom of the basket. Once placing them back down, she looked at the cats, who eventually acknowledged the woman above them with tiny meows, as if they were speaking to her speaking voice. Antoinette nearly cried as she continued to fawn over the cute little animals.

“Yeah, you two are coming home with me.” She said as she mounted her bike and washed her way out of the alley. “Des is just gonna love you two!” She said excitedly, closing the top of her basket and riding off into the New York City streets.

“Why the hell are there kittens in the kitchen?” The light skin girl said as she walked into the small flat and hung her keys and coat near the door before turning to her right to see two kittens in the kitchen licking at a bowl of milk on the corner. Antoinette smiled at the girl as the light from her laptop reflected off her large glasses.

“Hello, Odessa.” The girl said formally laying one hand on top of another as she sat straighter in her seat. The lighter girl furrowed her brows, eyeing her friend across from her in the small kitchen.

“What do you have to say?” The girl demanded out of her rather than asked, already tired from a long work day and knowing Antoinette had something up her sleeve.

She’s sneaky for a catholic…Well, aren’t they all? According to history.

“Well, to answer your previous question, these cats are here because some holy being left them in my basket on my bike.” She started. She could see Odessa was about to speak again but she interrupted before she could. “And before you say anything discouraging, I’d just like to say I did some extensive research. The multicolored one is a calico kitten, and did you know that approximately one calico in 3,000 is male? And guess what? He’s male!” The girl with glasses said, faking her shock again to add to the dramatic value in front of Odessa. The leather-clad girl just leaned against the kitchen archway with her arms folded, face stoic. Seeing that Antoinette was waiting for some sort of reaction before she continued, the woman slightly opened her mouth to let out a small gasp, glancing over at the kitten near her feet.

Antoinette smiled before continuing. “And that quiet and mysterious beauty is a ragdoll kitten. They have an above-average life span, fully grown at 4 years old, quiet by nature, as you can tell. And they are one of the largest cat breeds out there, which is also kind of confusing because you’re supposed to mix other breeds to get a ragdoll cat.” She said, trailing off at the end as she looked at her laptop in confusion, those two facts not making much sense in her mind. Shaking off the thought, the spec-wearing girl looked over at her cooler friend, who just stared at her. Antoinette put on her best smile.

Well, not her best. She was sort of anxious about the whole situation so the smile was kind of awkward, the girl showing all of her adult teeth while her eyes waited on an answer, her brows giving away her concern.

After a moment of silence, the two just looking at one another, Odessa cracked first.

“We can’t keep the cats.” That was all she said before all hell broke loose.

“But, I did so much research on them! I could probably work as a veterinarian with all the knowledge I know now.” The girl in pink whined.

Odessa just started, moving to put her hands in the pockets of her leather pants, the tattoos on her arms showing.

“It was basically a sign from God- well the universe that I’m meant to keep them. They just appeared in my basket, begging for my care.” She continued, changing her words when she saw the girl's brow spike at the mention of the guy up above. That still didn’t get a reaction out of the girl, Odessa just moved across the small kitchen and past the tiny table to the fridge. Antoinette followed her moments within her seat, desperation etched into her face.

“I mean, it won’t cost us much. I can use the bin we use for our socks as their litter box and just use sand from the cigarette pot downstairs.” I’m grasping at freaking straws here.

Odessa turned around once she had the beer in her hands and used the counter to pop the lid off. “And for now we can just give them milk, ya know since we always have some that go bad and we’re lactose intolerant anyway.” She continued, taking her glasses off her face to look at her friend.

Odessa cringed at her words, and leaned against the counter now, which was only about three feet away from the other girl. “That sounds like a terrible life for these poor kittens, Antoinette. And us.” She said before taking a swig of her beer. “We can’t afford them.”

“I mean, it's not like we’re poor. We can take care of them.”

“We have a box television in the year 2023…” Odessa started, “And it’s not even in our living room, it’s in the kitchen and it’s the size of a basketball.” She finished, pointing over to the small television on the corner of the table that softly played reruns of old television shows with the antenna that aimed at the small kitchen window. “We don’t even have fucking cable.”

“Language,” Antoinette muttered. “I mean, at least we get to watch Sex & The City and Living Single for free.” She smiled over at Odessa, who gave her a simple stare. “We can’t afford them, Bennie.” She said softly.

Antoinette then deflated, shoulders sagging as she leaned back in the old wooden chair. She had lost all hope as soon as the girl said that name, Odessa only calling her that when she was serious about something. Mainly because Odessa hated nicknames. “Okay, I’ll find them somewhere tomorrow.” She softly whined before putting her head in her hands. Odessa pursed her lips in sadness, patting the girl on the shoulder for comfort before making her way out of the kitchen. It only took her about three steps before she was in what most would call a living room, but Odessa liked to call it her room. Since it essentially was her room.

The far wall was made of brick, with a green couch in front of it that let out into her bed and a small back circle table in the middle, on top of an ugly carpet.

The girl sighed as she turned and dropped down onto the couch, letting her back hit the seat cushions. The old ceiling light hurt her eyes and made her already terrible hangover headache worse, so she threw her arms over her eye, placing her face in her elbow. Getting home late last night from one of her small concerts, she liked to call them, at the bar she worked at, she got a little too wasted. It was a recurring theme for her honestly.

Get up, go to work at the bar, wait till 10 to start performing, do that until about 2 am, get drunk afterward and either go home with whoever she decides to lay with that night or go to her humble abode. She didn’t perform every night, but when she did, that was usually the routine. And now she was suffering the consequences of getting drunk and staying up until 5 am when she had to work only hours later. At least she didn’t perform tonight, now she could stay in longer since it was only 6.

Her head becoming too much, the girl sat up from the couch to head to the bathroom to see if she could salvage some pain pills. But before she could, the sight of a pile of letters caught her eye. Reaching over, she grabbed the small pile to sort through.

Bill, bill, bill, creepy letter, postcards, bill, rent, perfume samples…What the hell?…

Odessa paused at the sight of the letter, the off-white paper wax-sealed with a red stamp. She squinted, looking at the seal to see if she knew the symbol from somewhere. Looking at it in just the wax form, she couldn’t quite make it out but she knew it looked familiar. Standing up, she kept her eyes on the letter as she walked back to the kitchen.

“Did you see this creepy ass letter in the mail?” She asked, standing the the archway and turning the letter to face Antoinette, who had her head propped on her chin as she sadly looked at places where she could drop the kittens off. Speaking of kittens, they now lay in the girls’ lap, curled into one another in almost a yin and yang symbol.

Antoinette looked up, squinting at the girl who was blurry since she didn’t have on her glasses. Odessa walked forward, placing the letter in front of her roommate.

Placing her spec on, Antoinette inspected the letter more, immediately recognizing the symbol. She furrowed her brows, glancing up at the even more confused Odessa. Gliding her long bare nails under the wax seal, she popped the envelope open and pulled out the letter. “Ohh, handwritten.” She said to herself as she looked at the unfolded paper.

She was silent as she read through the letter, causing Odessa to just stand before her and wait for the girl to speak. She watched Antoinette read the letter, her face going through a mix of emotions. First, her brows raised in surprise in the beginning as she hummed in contempt. Then her eyes widened as she continued before she got to the end of the letter and gasped.

“What is it?! You’re making my blood pressure rise.” Odessa said, watching the girl intensely.

“It’s from Saint Mary’s.” She started, not looking up to see Odessa cringe at the words. “They said a lot has changed in the last four years. Mother Agnes died, and they refurbished the church and built it. And they even have new staff, but the community is failing. They sent letters to all the kids that grew up in the foster home to see if they’d come to work there to improve their quality of life. Pay and free housing included.” She finished, looking up at the girl before her.

Neither of them could look each other in the eyes at the news, both of them still processing everything. Mainly the information about Mother Agnes dying. There was a sense of relief as if the girls had been haunted by everything that woman did to them. And in a sense, they were. They’ve endured too much pain at the hands of Mother Agnes. So much pain that they had to live with their whole lives, and leaving there didn’t help as much as they thought it would. They just now had a place to express such feelings out loud. Although they never did. Conditioning at its finest. Just thinking about their youth made Odessa want to break down and cry after so many years of pushing those memories away. And Antoinette…she could have a panic attack just being back at such a place.

After a moment of silence, Antoinette read over the letter again and again while Odessa just started in thought, someone finally spoke.

“We should do it.” She said softly, not looking up in fear of Odessa’s reaction.

“And why the hell would we do that?” The other girl asked harshly, offended that Antoinette even thought of such a possibility.

“Because it could help.” She answered softly. “We could use the money.”

“We have money. You and I both work.”

“You said it yourself, Des,” Antoinette said looking up, her hands slightly shaking as she played with the letter in her hands. The thought of going back wasn’t doing her psyche any good, but she felt as if this was a good opportunity. Maybe this could be good for us. “We don’t have the money.”

“I said that about your cats. Me and you are living just fine.” Odessa spat, her words harsh as she looked down at the darker-skinned girl. Antoinette subtly flinched at her tone, looking back down at the letter in her hands. Odessa saw her small movements and immediately felt bad, she wasn’t making the situation any better.

“It could be good for us.” Antoinette started again, not looking up this time. “We could go there and help out. Make it a better place than it was when we were there. Be nicer to the children so they…don’t end up like us.” She said. Her words hung in the air for a moment. “I mean, what other place is gonna offer us free housing and a job?”

“We go back just so we can be in debt to those people?” Odessa stated, ignoring what the girl previously said about helping the children. “So they can treat us like some charity case? Like they did when we were foster children?” She continued to ask, staring at the top of Antoinette’s head since she refused to lift her eyes from the wax she was ripping off the paper envelope. “I’m not going through that again, not for some people who didn’t give a damn about us then.”

“There’s new people.”

“Yeah, and who do you think taught them what they know?” She asked, folding her arms. There was a thick silence between them.

Antoinette nodded, never looking up. “You're right.” She closed her old laptop and adjusted the kittens into her arms. She then tucked her laptop under her arm and stood up. “I’m gonna go to bed now, good night.” She said softly, walking past Odessa and into the small room on the other side of the living room. Odessa sighed, placing her head into her head as she heard the girl's door softly close from her place in the kitchen.

Antoinette didn’t come out of her room after that, but Odessa could hear her shuffling around in the very small space. She now lay on her bed couch, looking over at the skinny door every time she heard the slightest moment from the room. She would wait to see if the girl would come out in the middle of the night like she always did to ask her random questions, say a random fact, or go to the kitchen to get some water and get caught up in the small television. But none of that ever came.

As soon as Odessa thought sleep was about to finally meet her halfway, she got caught in the words Antoinette said earlier. About helping the children.

Now, Odessa was far from a children's type of person. She was far from a people person, honestly, but she had to make a living somehow. So, for the life of her, she couldn’t understand why she was so affected by the girl's words as soon as they left her mouth. But deep down, she knew why. And so did Antoinette.

Even in the foster home, Odessa would always protect the younger kids from punishment. Taking all their lashing so she didn’t have to hear the cries of children being hurt. Antoinette is one of those kids when the others would blame things on her. And she would take their pain with no words since the age of fourteen. She never vocally expressed the pain she felt emotionally, mentally, and definitely not physically. That mentality infuriated Mother Agnes to the point she would single the girl out and beat the girl harder to see if she could make her break. But Odessa only let tears slip when she was alone.

Now Antoinette didn’t know the severity her words would have on Odessa’s mind, so she couldn’t blame the girl. But she knew that the girl was right. Odessa would do anything in her power to make sure no other kids ended up like her. She would do anything to not hear the cries of pain from children who busted and wanted to be accepted and loved.

And with that thought, she got up from the bed and walked over to Antoinette’s room. She opened the small door that led to the tiny room to see the girl’s back facing the door, looking out the window at the city as she lay in bed and petted the two cats.

“I changed my mind.” She said softly.

Antoinette glanced over her shoulder. “About the cats?” She started. “Nah, I think you’re right. I don’t think I can care for them properly.” She said sadly, turning to look back out of the window.

“No, not about the cats,” Odessa stated.

There was a pause between the two, Antoinette processing the girl's words. She then sat up in her bed and turned to face the girl at her door, five feet away from her. “What made you change your mind?” She asked softly.

“You were right. About everything.” She shrugged, biting her lip. She was anxious about the whole situation. Coming to such a conclusion about her feelings and the thought of going back to the town brought more bad memories than good. But also to how her best friend would react. But that was all washed away when she saw the girl smile.

“Can I bring the cats?” She asked, pointing to the sleeping kittens in her bed. Odessa giggled, looking at the pleading smile on her friend's face.

“Yeah, sure. I mean, they’ll have more space to grow. Its a better life than here.” She said shrugging.

Antoinette then gasped. “Oh! Now I can get one of those cute wax melt sets so I can’t write back to them.” She smiled excitedly. “Oh, this is gonna be so great!”

Odessa smiled at the girl's excitement. “Now get some sleep, we have some things to sort out before we head up.” That was all she said before she closed the door behind her and made her way back to bed. She let out one final sigh before closing her eyes and letting sleep take her away.

Antoinette smiled at the door as it closed before looking down at the animals at her side. “Ya see, prayers do get answered, guys.” She said, holding up her right hand that was wrapped in her rosary, showing it to the sleeping cats. “Oh, you guys can’t hear me. Or understand me. Or understand religion. I need to go to bed.” She hugged before plopping down onto her pillow with an anxious smile and closing her eyes.

Let me know if you guys like the story and if you’d liked to be added to the taglist!!!

[obsessedwithspiderman2099]

Wisteria

Part two

Pairing: fem!reader x Miguel O’Hara

Word count : 1,209

Synopsis: Someone joins you in your walk home.

“Who are you…”

the words stumble out of your mouth as if they were legs that couldn’t walk. Though you were both terrified and confused by what just happened, you manage to stand tall before the almost Spider-Man that’s just a few feet away.

“That’s...classified.” He responds, his voice both deep and rough. It seemed forced, like he was trying to cover up his natural one or something.

“What do you mean classified? Cause you look like a weird cosplay of Spider-Man, not to mention you just beat up that….. whatever that was, like it was nothing!” The words fall right out of your mouth, the shock taking away your filter. He mutters something under his breath in Spanish, and now you wish you chose that over French as your language to take in high school. A simple Bonjour can’t help you right now.

“Look-“ He begins,pinching the bridge of his nose for a second. “It’s dangerous out here Ma’am, you shouldn’t be out in the streets.” He takes a step closer, to which you take a step back. Noticing the action, he stops.

“I wasn’t even in any trouble, I was just getting home before that…thing came over!” You say. “You walk home alone?” “….yeah.”

The spider man dupe mutters something else under his breath. “Do you even have a taser? Pepper spray?” He says, concerned. “I take self defense classes (You took two in high school) I’m fine.” Although you definitely weren’t, at least the delusion was there.

“Let me walk you then.”

You scoff, “and let you know where I live? Absolutely not.”

You clutch your bag a little tighter, looking up at him. The height difference is comical. Usually meeting a man this tall would send butterflies to your stomach, but that’s in different circumstances.

“I can’t let you walk by yourself here.” “I’ve done it before. Why are you concerned about me? You don’t even know me.” To be honest, he didn’t know. You were a stranger to him. Just another citizen in a different universe. Normally he would just take the anomaly and leave, but there was something about you….

“Look, I’m not asking for you to trust me or anything else, I just want to make sure you end home up safe.”

You stare at him, debating whether or not to let this man walk you. If he wanted to hurt you or worse, he would have done it already. You sigh, “fine. But just a block away from it.” He nods, “Alright. You lead the way.”

The walk was normally just ten minutes, but it felt like thirty with the extra company.

The two of you walked with silence. Not awkward or uncomfortable, but not exactly comforting either. You could not help but almost stare at him, taking notes on his appearance. Although you couldn’t see his face, the suit doesn’t really leave anything else to imagination.. The dark blues and reds were completely different then what your Spider-Man wore. His whole message was saving the people and the environment, something you agreed with.

On the sidewalk, you spotted a small patch of purple. One tiny purple flower was trying to grow. Something it’s ancestors thrived at. Mind completely focused on the flower, you don’t notice the small step on the concrete, something you always avoid. You trip on it, and almost faceplant when, of course, ‘Spider-Man’ catches you.

“Thank you…” You say, already cringing in embarrassment of what just happened. You always notice that step! Why did you have to forget about it when you have eyes on you??? “Of course.” He replies, and a deep hue of red covers your cheeks as you suddenly remember you're still in his hold. Awkwardly stepping out of it, you two continue on your walk.

You still can’t help but wonder who he is, and why would he ever want to help you in the first place? If he’s really like Spider-Man, then of course he’d defeat whatever kind of reptile monster was back there. But take the time to actually walk you home? That was new. The question lingers in your mind, but you shrug it off when you look back at him and notice something that catches your attention.

“What kind of watch is that?” You say, gesturing to the confusing piece of tech on his wrist. He looks down at you. “It’s nothing.”

You scoff, “Doesn’t look like nothing to me.. Is it a thingy to help with your webs? I saw you use them.”

“What? No- it’s… it’s to..help me with my steps.” He says. Coming up with lies was usually so easy for him, especially in his line of work. Why did it feel so hard to do in front of you?

“Oh…ok, well we’re here.” You say, stopping in front of a dark blue door with some gold numbers on the top of it. You turn to him.

“Thank you for…. Well, for a lot. You didn’t have to walk me.” Although you couldn’t see his actual face, or eyes, you tried to make eye contact. Staying polite was always something you tried to be.

“Of course, it was no problem.” A small smile appeared on your face at that. He saw it, and immediately he felt like his stomach was doing small flips. He tried changing the subject, more as to give a distraction to his current stomach issue.

“Do you always walk home?” “Yeah, that’s my routine.” “Then I’ll be here tomorrow .”

Another wave of blush hit your face at the kind action, “Really? No no you don’t have to do that-“ “ I insist.”

You sigh, the smile still remaining intact as you look down to grab your keys to open the door. Why would you want to say no to that?

“Ok then, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.” “Good night.” He said.

Looking up to say it back, you were met with nothing but the cold Brooklyn air.

Confusion struck.

How did he do that?? And how so fast??? You knew he wasn’t your Spider-Man, but he wasn’t exactly just human either.

Getting inside to your apartment, you set your bag down on the counter and was immediately greeted by a puff of fur. Your cat was always happy to see you. Gently pushing her tail away from your face, you pick her up like a baby (She is one to you ) and pet her little white head.

“I’m sorry for leaving you for a whole six hours Zinnia. Hope you can forgive me.” Giving a small kiss on her head, you then started your night routine.

While putting on more comfy clothes, brushing your teeth, and feeding Zinny, the whole time you couldn’t help but think of one thing.

Him.

Something about the way he was just couldn’t stop running around your head. Why were you thinking about him? He was just a stranger.. someone who just did a good deed and helped someone out.

Oh who were you kidding, he literally beat up a villain like it was just a high five. Not to mention he acted so nonchalantly about it. Like it was just another Tuesday. That’s definitely not normal. And the things you were thinking about him definitely weren’t either.

So why couldn’t you stop?

A/N: AAAA!! Thank you so much for reading! I had no idea whether or not this would be a good plot or idea to post, but I hope you enjoyed it! Let me know if I should make a third part!

[sofs16]

just give me a reason

from this request :)

charles x reader

sorry this is late and really bad😭

charles pining over a woman for 4 months was quite unusual to his friends, aside from the fact it was yn.

the one who was there through it all, and maybe even sometimes dropped everything for her friend charles.

on the 4th of july charles admitted his feelings to her, which she reciprocated. those months were their ‘honeymoon phase’ where everything was well and they were too in love to spend a day without each other.

after 2 years, their months have been rocky, for her at least. the days, even weeks, lack of meet ups to seeing each other, the lack of conversation, and the lack of time together others was catching up to her.

charles was too busy to work to notice. yn was fine with sleeping with her back faced to his back, wondering when the breaking point was, until tonight. charles knew her like the back of his hand, he knew overthinking was her weakness. yet tonight, he chose sour words against her.

“it’s all in your mind! you and your overthinking can never give me a break!”

it started with charles on the sim in their living room. he was on stream with the guys, unbeknown to yn, when she slipped her heels off, entering the living room where she saw charles on the sim.

“HAAAAPPY BIRTHDAY LOGAN AMERICA! Oh, hey che-” “do you know what day it is?” yn asked, slipping off the french clip that held her curled hair together, soft curls now cascading.

”it’s july fo-oh… cherie, i’m so sorry-“ he was up on his feet now, headphones and mic down, stream still on.

“charles, i’m really getting tired here. this is like the seventh date you’ve missed this year, you barely talk to me, you’re always at work-”

“so this is what this is about? You want me to quit the job i’ve been working so hard on?”

Normally, yn would soften down at this, but not today. “Don’t you turn your words on me now. I knew what I signed up for while dating you but it’s like you aren’t even trying anymore!”

“it’s all in your mind! you and your overthinking can never give me a break!” the room fell silent after that. the ringing in the ears of yn could not have gotten louder, tears started to helplessly fall.

just then lorenzo called him “mate, your stream is on, we can’t hear much but we can see yn crying.” charles rushed to turn it off before this got worse.

“i didn’t mean tha-“ ”just give me a reason to keep going because it’s starting to hurt” you whispered

“our love’s enough, please” “i think- i’m going to go. we need to go on a break” charles’ chest was pounding now “no, please don’t leave me please don’t leave” he got to his knees, holding her

“can you just give me time?” she whispered

at some point he let go of her, fully believing he had the ability to change, and that they could love each other fully again, someday.

[mariacallous]

Ticketmaster has a dream. A dream that one day, it will be “pleased to have partnered with” your child’s school, making it “easier for you to buy tickets” to the nativity play. Which will henceforth be known as the nativity experience. But listen – Ticketmaster wants to make the whole process run more smoothly, freeing you up to connect with the performers you love (your kids) while being “gifted” the paper cup that forms part of the package in these platinum seats (the tiny chairs from the classroom).

No, none of the standard seat tickets are still available. But you can upgrade to the ultimate VIP package, meaning you have access to the Bethlehem lounge (the reception reading corner) an hour before the event. If you want to experience magic this Christmas, do remember to clear all cookies, have only one tab open, and prepare nevertheless to be ejected from the queue four hours in after being accused of being a computer, by a computer.

So yes: Ticketmaster. After the Oasis tickets horror show last weekend, the row about the ticketing website this week developed into such a horror show that you could probably sell tickets to it. And if you could, Ticketmaster surely would, having previously handled ticketing for such fan-facing events as the crucifixion and French Revolution guillotinings (mandatory purchase from one of our knitting concessions). Sadly, the Competition and Markets Authority (CMA) doesn’t seem to recognise that rich heritage, opting to launch an investigation into Ticketmaster over Oasis ticket sales, “including how so-called ‘dynamic pricing’ may have been used”. Sarcastic scare-quotes: the CMA’s own.

I’m not saying the ticketing websites are quite simply the worst people in the world, even though I’d quite like to provoke Ticketmaster’s lawyer into writing a cease-and-desist letter listing much worse people from the 20th and 21st centuries. Listen, I already love this notional lawyer. Like a lot of people who draw a salary in his stratum of reality-laundering, he possibly tells himself he works in respectable business, but may be better off informing his parents he works in a more popular trade, like puppy-drowning or journalism.

Now, there are some companies in this world of ours that love to be talked about. But a feature of ticketing companies is that they don’t want anyone talking about them, because if people are talking, the talking is always bad. Nobody goes through a ticket purchase these days and wants to sing its praises. They get to the final scene of an absolute ring quest of an attempt to see an artist/show/ballgame they like, are faced with the last-minute news that, actually, their ticket is going to cost nearly three times as much as they thought, cycle through the five stages of grief while a little counter threatens to time them out, decide to pay the extra, and are left staring at the success screen thinking: “Fucking Ticketmaster.”

Obviously, it’s better if they say this on their own. Unfortunately for Ticketmaster, more and more people are saying it out loud, some of whom are the UK culture secretary, others of whom are the CMA, and the last of whom is the US attorney general, who in May launched a lawsuit against LiveNation-Ticketmaster seeking to break it up on grounds of “monopolisation and other unlawful conduct that thwarts competition in markets across the live entertainment industry”.

What its Department of Justice detractors don’t love about the firm is its ability to dictate to every part of the entertainment supply chain, from venues to artists to promoters, and that’s before you get into its role in the resale market. Unsurprisingly, this is not the vibe you get from the Ticketmaster website, which is a masterclass in that very particular self-pitying corporate tone. “The fees we charge,” it quavers, “are often the only revenue we get for making sure you can get the tickets to the events you love.” Oh no! Who’ll spare a thought for poor old Ticketmaster, simply trying to connect fans with their beloved artists, and surviving only on the coins thrown into its begging bowl? Counterpoint: this is a vast international firm headquartered in Beverly Hills, currently worth an estimated $22bn.

That’s enough cash to make you the proud licensee of some ultra-high-end euphemisms. “Processing fee”, “service fee”, “delivery fee” – truly it has 100 ways of saying “because-we-can fee”. If that feels like you accepting a wage for your job, then charging your boss a supplementary “doing my job” fee each time you feel you’re doing your job … try it, see how you get on! The fact is, Ticketmaster fees can be as high as 75% of the base price of the ticket. Arguably the worst euphemism of them all is “dynamic pricing”, which sounds buzzy and energetic, and something we’d all like to be involved in, until you realise that it means the £148 ticket you queued for hours for now costs £355 – and your favourite artist agreed it all via their management. Whatever they may now say (“Shut up”, in the case of Liam Gallagher.)

In the end, like most things with the word “experience” tacked on to them these days, the “fan experience” has become a soul-swallowing submission to getting rinsed and having to look grateful. But with so many hares now running on Ticketmaster and the practices of the wider ticketing industry, it would be nice to think we might be closer to better regulation in the interests of the customer. Record numbers of fans would buy tickets to that.