#How to make cardboard vanity

[idkwhatimdoinghere1655]

30th - Carlos Sainz

<word count - 3298>

Carlos woke up, slightly groggy with his body still feeling heavy with sleep. As he usually did, his arms instinctively reached over to the other side of the bed, his hands feeling around for you. But, he was met with an empty space and cold sheets.

"Darling?" he softly said, hoping you had just disappeared into the bathroom. However the cold sheets said otherwise. You hadn't been there for a while, and you normally always told him when you were leaving or if he should be expecting your absence.

He slung his legs over the side of the bed, rubbing his eyes to try and wake himself up a bit. His now open eyes landed on your vanity table, a brown box now sat in the place of your makeup bag. His curiosity was piqued, so he walked up and looked at the box.

Lo and behold, his name was perfectly scrawled on the lid. He looked around the room, trying to see if you were hidden anywhere. Sighing and opening the box, he spotted a printed photo. It was an old one from his 17th birthday, coincidentally the first one you had spent together.

He had been at a race, and you had gone to the track to surprise your first ever boyfriend. Carlos had been surprised to see you there, since he didn't think you'd be interested in going to his races - especially back then.

Yet your interest made his silly high school crush turn into something a lot more, something that he didn't quite know what it was back when he was young. He was an emotionally confused, hormonal teenage boy who had the girl he had only seen in his dreams right in front of him.

Picking up the photo, he remembered the exact moment it was taken. He had brought his trophy to you, to show you an accolade of his success. His mum was watching on, smiling at the happiness on her son's face. You had your arm around his shoulder, he had his arm around your waist as you both flashed a big cheesy grin at the camera.

There was another photo underneath, and this one caused a light flush to coat his cheeks. His mum nearly missed it, and that made it even better. As she was walking away, Carlos remembered how he couldn't resist and had tugged you in for a short but sweet kiss.

It was your first kiss, his first kiss, and your first of many together. There was a small label over the top of the trophy, which was still clutched in his hand. 'Find me', it said. Now he saw where this was going.

A little birthday scavenger hunt that was combined with a walk down memory lane. He took himself through the house and all the way to the living room, where his trophy was proudly sitting on the mantelpiece.

Yes, he had won many more since that one, but that one had special significance to him and it always would. Just as expected, there was another brown box that was identical to the last one. He lifted the cardboard lid, another photo waiting for him inside.

This was from two years later, a year before he had joined F1. He was a superstar as ever, and it was dawning on him that he would have to be away from you a lot more. You'd be going to university, and he'd be travelling the globe.

Both you and Carlos knew that this was what he had to do, but it didn't make it any easier. The photo in question was from his last race in the junior formulas. Another win for Carlos Sainz, and one of the last he'd celebrate with you for the time being.

You were holding his trophy, the same dazzling smile on your face as he kissed you on the cheek with people celebrating around you. He ran his fingers over the small version of your face.

To him, you hadn't aged a day. You were still as stunning now as you were back then, which was nearing on 15 years ago at this point. The pair of you were young, slightly dumb, and very much in love. The delusion, which was brought down to innocent naivety, that you'd be able to do such long distance was conceived as something easy by the both of you.

You'd soon find out that that wasn't the case, but it wasn't something he was wanting to dwell on too much. This time, on the base of the box, there was another short note written on it. '15.3.15' was the message.

That was the date of his first ever F1 race, but he couldn't think of anything associated with it. All he really cared about was that he got his first ever points, but you couldn't be there to see it. You were at university, and he remembered your relentless effort to make your schedule align for the first race.

Alas, you couldn't make your way to Australia, and he had to settle for a very happy phone call that you had gotten up extra early to make. You had watched the race, and he knew how excited you were for him to get those 2 points.

Yes, 4 people had DNFed and 2 people had DNSed, meaning he finished three places from the back of the pack, but it didn't matter. Carlos had gotten his first ever F1 points, and you couldn't have been prouder of him.

Little did the both of you know, that was the last time of pure happiness that he had seen before he had ruined it all, but he hoped you had glossed over that and moved straight onto the next part of the joyful times with your scavenger hunt.

He was wracking his brains for anything that he could find associated with the date in the house, but he was drawing blanks. He didn't have any physical momentos of the day, well none that came to mind.

There weren't any pictures in the house of him on that day either. While he was still thinking, he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. Carlos smirked to himself as he saw your name pop up on his screen, and he opened the text from you. 'Stumped already?'

He chuckled, wondering how you had figured out that he was already stuck on your little treasure hunt. 'Maybe just a little' he replied, watching as you began to type back to him. The three dots bobbled up and down on his screen, before a message appeared on the screen.

'What was in the news that day?' and that was when it hit him. In Madrid, the local news was all about their hometown hero, Carlos Sainz, getting his first points in Formula 1. He remembered you sending him a picture of the paper you had picked up, and you had kept it over all of those years.

He knew it was in a drawer somewhere, he just needed to figure out where. Walking to the office, he rummaged through your desk drawers, hoping he wouldn't stumble upon another clue. Then, he felt another buzz. 'Carlos you are ruining my treasure trail, get out of my desk.'

There was his confirmation. Again, he was wondering how you were omniscient and how you had known where he was in the house. But, he closed the desk drawers as instructed and he internally thanked whoever was out there that he hadn't found whatever was in there. It was simply a little help for later.

'Check the cabinet in the living room,' another text buzzed through. If he kept on acting clueless, then you would do all the work for him at this rate. But, he persevered and headed to the living room cabinet. Just as expected, it was at the top of one of the drawers.

Carefully pulling the thin piece of newspaper out of the drawer, his eyes were drawn to the next note of his trail. 'I was going to do 55 clues, but I thought that would be such an awful idea and would take way too long, so you get 5 instead. For clue number three, I want you to remember the first time we saw each other after our little... sabbatical'.

As he figured, you had glossed over your little 2 year break that had been the loneliest 2 years of his life. He knew exactly what you were referring to this time, and he took himself upstairs to the prized framed photo of the two of you that sat proudly on his bedside table.

He didn't see the note on the offset, but he found it taped to the back of the frame. You probably realised that he would spot it if you put it on the front, so you had to be a little sneaky. He allowed himself some time to look at the photo, even though he saw it multiple times a day.

Carlos could practically feel the humid Singapore air clinging to his skin as he looked at the photo, yet another that his mum had taken. He had gotten his best ever result in F1, a 4th place. Yet, he didn't know you were there. His parents had brought you along, since you had some time off.

He was overjoyed, and he could've sworn his heart had stopped when he got back to the garage after interviews and saw you there, with his family. He stopped in his tracks, before his dad saw him and so did you.

At that point, Carlos' instincts took over, and you both knew what was going on. He started taking steps towards you, and you did the same. There was no hesitation as he wrapped his arms around you and kissed you with every ounce of love he had in his body.

It didn't matter that you'd had practically zero contact over the past 2 years, you still knew each other like the back of your hand. You were still the girl who teenage him had fallen madly in love with, and he was still the charming racer that you had become so enamoured with. After that day, you knew you were together for the long haul, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

As they had preempted the moment, another picture was taken of the perfect sight of the two of you reuniting. When his mum had sent it to him, he had instantly gotten it printed and framed. He took it wherever he went without you, and he always would.

The note taped to the back said 'Grease is the word'. Now, he knew what you were talking about, but he didn't know if the tickets to said show were in your desk drawer or not. 'Is this the desk drawer?' he texted you.

'Sure is,' you replied, and he went back to the office and back to your desk. He looked in the drawer that he hadn't checked in earlier, and there they were. The Grease Tickets He remembered the day you had said you had a 'surprise' for him, only to take him to a theatre to see Grease live on stage.

If it wasn't for the puppy eyes you had given him, then he would've walked straight out of the theatre without a second glance. He had gone in just because you asked, and he unfortunately couldn't say he had hated it. Well, he had pretty much been watching you the whole time as you mouthed the lyrics and smiled at your favourite scenes. He couldn't help but find it utterly adorable.

He could see you in the poofy dresses, the sun shining on you as you sang to your heart's desire. He definitely wouldn't want to be one of the T-Birds, but he would be if you really wanted him to. Plus, he definitely wouldn't be opposed to seeing you in those tight leather pants.

When you asked what he had thought, he just said he had enjoyed it. Oh, what a mistake he had just made. Then you made him watch the movie version at home, and he got to see you mouth the lyrics and smile along again. He enjoyed the movie version more.

One thing he loved about you was how you kept little mementos like these tickets. You liked to preserve memories in the form of little tokens and trinkets. Whether it be tickets from a movie, a pebble from the beach or a receipt from a restaurant, you always kept the little things from special outings and events.

On the back of the tickets, the final note was written on a sticky note. 'You've made it! I'm surprised you haven't gotten bored and nagged me to just tell you where I am, or you have, I'm not sure. Anyway, for your final clue, I am going to send you out to a place that you have at home, and on track.'

Well that was too easy. Carlos closed the drawer and walked out to the garage, but he saw nothing. He felt confused, unsure of if his confidence in his clue-guessing skills was warranted in this situation. 

He stood there for a few more seconds, until he heard the door to the garage close behind him. Turning around, he was greeted with nothing. Just the closed door. However, it wasn't just the door. On the door, there was another note taped to it. 

"Where have you always wanted to go?' and he instantly knew what you were talking about. But, surely you hadn't, right? At the bottom of the piece of paper, he saw a small 'P.S' scribbled on. 'I need you to say it out loud so I can hear it'.

"Hawaii," he said, pretty loud. He also hoped that he had gotten it right, since there were many places he wanted to go that his racing schedule hadn't taken him to. Besides, he couldn't do many tourist-y things when he was traveling most of the time. 

"Ding ding ding!" you laughed, jumping out from behind one of the cars in the garage. Carlos just stood there in complete shock, unsure of what to do with himself. You had a Hawaiian shirt on, complete with a hula skirt and flower garlands around your wrists and neck.

All he could do was laugh, "What the hell are you wearing?" he managed to choke out between the fits of laughter he was letting out. He felt bad, since the look on your face told him that you thought he should've been taking this a little more seriously. "Hey, darling, I'm sorry, you look adorable," he doubled back, closing the gap between you and putting his hands on your waist. 

"But I do want to know what this is all about," he pressed.

"Well, the treasure hunt was just a little bit of fun that I wanted to do for some good memories on a special day. This stunning outfit it for... something else." you smiled, moving away from him and back to the spot you were hiding behind the car.

You reemerged with a white envelope in your hand, holding it out to him. "Happy birthday, Carlos." you softly said, and he took the envelope out of your hands. He eyed you sceptically, before ripping the top of the envelope open. 

Carlos took the papers out of the envelope, his eyes scanning the words on the page. "Wait, really?" he asked, looking over it again and again. But low and behold, there were the plane tickets all the way to Ellison Onizuka Kona International Airport.

"It's kind of hard to get you gifts, so I thought this might be worth a little more, you know?" you said, really hoping he'd like it. Thankfully, you could tell by the glint in his eyes that he really did like it. 

"Oh baby thank you, seriously," he smiled, wrapping his arms around you in a hug. "You know you really didn't have to go through all this effort, right?" he told you. 

"Carlos, you're 30 now. You've not got long before you're in a nursing home and can't even wipe your own ass without help," you quipped, and his eyes widened in mock outrage. 

"I will have you know that I am nowhere near being sent to a nursing home! You're stuck with me, and now I think you've designated yourself to wipe my ass when I'm old and frail," he retorted with a feigned tone of hurt. 

"Oh shush. Anyway, go sit in the living room, there's a little more to do," you told him, pushing him in the direction of the door. Carlos just shook his head and laughed, walking out of the garage. 

"Getting bossed around on my own birthday, you sure are cruel to me," he tutted, going to sit on the couch as instructed. He watches as you disappeared into the kitchen, still finding the Hawaii outfit funny as ever. 

"Happy birthday to you," you started to sing, walking into the room with a cake covered in candles balanced in your hands. "I have just realised how awkward it is when I am the only one singing, but anyway," you laughed, and Carlos could only giggle at your awkwardness. 

"Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday dear Carlos, happy birthday to you," you quickly finished the song, just to get it over with. "Blow out the candles," you told him, and he did exactly that. 

"Thank you, darling." he smiled, leaning over the cake to give you a short yet sweet kiss on the lips. Looking at the cake, he saw that it was absolutely plastered with various memes that had been made of him over the years of racing. 

"I would have done the chili pepper, but Ferrari beat me to it last year. So, I had to get creative," you explained.

"You know, a normal cake would have been perfectly fine, you didn't have to go through so much effort," he sighed. He had told you this every year for the total 11 birthdays that you had spent together, yet he knew you would never listen to him. 

And he never wanted you to listen, not deep down. He loved the effort you went through to try and think of fun things to do for special events like birthdays, and he had enjoyed his trip down memory lane. Plus, he was getting a lovely trip to Hawaii with the love of his life and a cake that was funny as ever. 

"But thank you, really. I have had a wonderful day so far, and I'm barely an hour in, so I am doing pretty well for myself," Carlos said. 

"Don't expect this next year, I have officially exhausted my bank of idea for dumb things to force you through on your birthday,"

"Hey, it's not dumb. I loved every second of it," he reassured, you, putting the cake on the coffee table and leading you over to sit next to him on the couch. "Thank you, genuinely. I would've been happy with just having you here, so this is beyond anything I can ask of you."

"You deserve it," you smiled, leaning into his side as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you into him. You could smell the faint scent of burnt candles in the air and you sat in peace. "Feliz cumpleaños, Carlos." 

God how he loved it when you tried to speak Spanish. Was the accent off? Yes. But, was it one of the cutest things ever, in his mind. "Gracias, mi amor," he replied, planting a soft kiss on the side of your head, praising his lucky stars that he had you. He had lost you once, and he sure as hell never would again.

A/N - What a day! Carlos' birthday, Charles won Monza... next week is the 5 year anniversary of he won in Spa, he wins in Monza (there is something coming out for that, don't you fret) and I am having a wonderful day. I felt shit to begin with, but now? I do not care.

Happy birthday Carlos! Even when you're driving a Williams, I will still be watching out for the smoothest of operations 🌶🌶

|masterlist|

[isagispuzzle]

you start dating oliver knowing his past and all his bad habits. you fall in love with him with your hands held out to break the fall, and you never fantasize too much about a potential future to share with him. but when he pulls the rug from under your feet and tells you that you're not worth the hassle anymore, your face stings like you fell flat on it and you hear the telltale crack of your heart breaking. he asks you to leave the apartment you'd been sharing for the past year.

you take out two boxes, one to throw and one to keep. oliver is surprised by how methodically you pack up, as if you had already thought this through and come up with a plan. you breeze through the first five minutes of packing, keeping or throwing your personal belongings, but from where he was seated on the couch, oliver realises you're slowing down.

you look at the cups and bowls in the kitchen cabinet, the bottles of wine and whiskey you promised to share, the pots and pans your mother had given for you two to use. you look at the books on the shelf in the living room, the movie posters on the wall, the potted plant on the coffee table you promised to water whenever he's out for a match. he peeks through the open door of your once shared bedroom to see you looking at the blanket you knitted since you always stole the blanket in your sleep, the skincare products on the vanity that you share, the lingerie he liked to see you in.

oliver doesn't move from the couch, but from the few metres away, he can hear your deliberation in your quiet breaths. what is 'yours' and what is 'his', if everything in the house was bought and made as 'ours'? where does your world end and his begin in this universe you built together? how could two souls be pulled apart if they were made to be one?

oliver still doesn't move, so you do. you pick up the fragments of your broken love and lower them into either hearse of flimsy cardboard. the cups clink against each other in a requiem for the memories you shared, and the bowls continue to sit in the cabinet. he watches you bury the lingerie into the box to be kept, and his stomach lurches when an image of you in it, intertwined with another body that wasn’t his, flits through his mind.

oliver swore to only gamble on the girls who seemed easy to get rid of, the ones who wouldn't put up a fight when he eventually gets bored and the ones who'd get bored of him first. he’s always held the leash in an open palm and has never been one to beg the other person to stay, but when he sees you tape the boxes shut, his fingers twitch. for the first time in his life, he regrets taking the gamble.

the apartment is silent after you leave. there are still traces of you in the things you chose to leave with him and your scent is still lingering in the still air, but otherwise, the apartment looks like it did the day before you moved in. oliver remembers that night clearly; he was making space in his life for you to settle into, and outside his window, there were fireworks from the ongoing summer festival. oliver was never one to be poetic, but in that moment, he thinks that you are somewhat like fireworks. you burst into his life with a bang, fill it with colours and light his face up with a smile, but once you dissipate away, he’s left with darkness and ringing ears.

he looks down at his clenched fist and opens it slowly, hoping to see the red string in his palm looped around his pinky. instead, all he sees is the broken crease under his pinky and ring finger.

[knnichs]

ㅤruler of my heartㅤ a furina x reader fake dating au

t. not proofread we die like sua, possibly ooc furina, set on a semi-modern fontaine, furina is NOT the archon, word vomit idk, not proofread, navia is friends w reader, wc. 2.9k

taglist. @aellesira @radiantdanvers @readerzz @randompassersby -> ENTER THE TAGLIST HERE

series masterpost header art credits

author notes at the end!

i. the deal

The rain had already stopped, but the cold lingered.

You took a seat on one of the flimsy foldable chairs off on the side of a set, still soaked to the bone. You watched as the water dripped from the cardboard roof of the fake housing, it glimmered on the grey plastic pavement, as if the world within the set hadn’t realized the scene was already over. This was it. Your director had shouted the final cut long ago, but you’d be lying if you said that it didn’t make you feel… sad.

After the painful months of rehearsing, practicing, memorizing–tirelessly practicing your emotions in front of a mirror, in front of your co-worker–it was all finally over. 

What will you do now? This movie has become a part of your daily routine that you’re unsure of how to move on now that it's over. Do you just carry on with your life? How do you even do that?

You had just finished filming the ‘break-up’ scene between the main characters. Obviously, the fake rain was much needed, and they ended up spraying ice cold water on both of you. Cliche, the entire film was obviously cliche. But you hoped that this would blow up somehow–you had poured your heart and soul into acting your character, if it didn’t succeed, that’s most likely going to be saying something about your talent as an actor. 

“You did well!” Navia walks towards you with a jump in each step, excited for both you and your entire cast. She had been invited for a special ‘behind-the-scenes’ by your director in hopes that the Spina Di Rosula could offer some financial aid in the production. 

You gave her a tired smile, slumping a little further in the chair and muttering a thank you to one of the makeup artists as she wrapped a towel around you. The warmth spreads throughout your body–offering some comfort. “I’m just glad it’s done.” You sighed, “I’m exhausted. I think my soul left my body when we filmed take 23.”

Navia only laughs at your state, reaching out to poke your forehead–to which you groan at in annoyance. “Didn’t you say acting was your passion? Don’t back out now, you signed up for this.”

“I mean–yeah, but still. It’s tiring.”

“Well,” She nudges you awake, and you shuffle around the chair to sit up straight. 

“Well?” 

“Well, if you’re done drowning in your sorrows, do you wanna go out for some cake? To celebrate your film.” She brings out a card and puts it close to her face, dramatically showing it off. “On me.”

If she’s offering to go to a dessert shop with you, then that is very  tempting. Not only has the past few weeks been tiring for you, but you felt like you’re obligated to just a small, tiny, harmless break. Right?

You glance to your co-worker, who is now looking incredibly proud about finishing her work. And back to your friend, Navia. “Sure thing.”

You leaned back on your seat, letting your eyes wander–the set was so messy, the crew had slowly been disassembling what was your world for the past three months, then, you looked at her.

Furina was brushing away her damp hair by one of the vanity mirrors. The soft light glowing against her skin, she was casually fixing herself up as if she hadn’t just sobbed under a rain machine. She was already in a fluffy robe, clearly ready to head back home and relax for the rest of the day. Yet her posture was steady–her gaze was sharp, all while having a small smile on her face. You weren’t sure if she was still acting or if that was just how she always was.

“Should we invite Furina as well?” 

“Well… That’s up to you, if you can handle her temperament.” You recall how Furina is sometimes–loud, boastful. Prideful. But that’s how others view her, in truth, she’s an incredibly sweet person. Speak of the devil. As if her name was something that was able to summon her immediately–she walks towards the two of you.

“[Name], you’re quite talented yourself. Your acting almost had me in tears” Furina says, brushing nonexistent dust from her robe with a style that would fit better on stage than in a casual conversation, much like this one.

“You were the one crying, though.” You deadpanned.

She ignored that.  “I could only wonder what you were thinking about while on-stage. If ever another film requires an actress, I’ll be sure to sign you up, yes?” 

“Thanks, I was thinking about how I’d be able to pay rent this month.” 

A sarcastic reply that caught Navia’s attention, though she suppressed her giggle with a cough. Furina felt a little awkward at this. But your breath caught–just slightly. She liked working with you? But you aren't  sure if you want to reject or accept that offer. Don’t get it wrong–you love acting, but a project after another? That’s sure to leave you burnt out from your passion. 

“Sorry, I’ll…I’ll take that as a compliment,” You murmured. 

Furina hums, before shaking her head so suddenly. “Oh, sorry. Were you two talking about something? I hope I didn’t interrupt. I mean–I’m sure whatever I had to say was better anyway.”

You and Navia could only stare at her, giggling nervously all to herself, before your friend cleared her throat.

“No. We were just thinking about going to a dessert shop later.” Navia says, “Do you want to come along?”

The cafe Navia picked was hidden between two flower shops and an alleyway. You had to walk a somewhat shady cobblestone path just to get through–but it looked like a little hideout in the middle of the busy Fontaine–small windows fogged by warm air, the glow of the lanterns reflecting on the ground. If not for your friend, you might’ve missed this spot completely.

It smelled like vanilla and baked treats. Cinnamon, too, the kind that is always stuck to the back of your throat and reminds you of cold winter nights. The chocolate drink you’d hold in your hand, or from the candies sprawled out on a baking tray. 

You sat on the booth by the window, overlooking the back of buildings. It wasn’t exactly a pretty sight, but there were really no people watching to be done either. The area was completely devoid of people, actually. The cushions were a little uneven, the table just a tad bit too small, yet perfect despite its imperfections.

Navia long disappeared to the counter, already halfway through ordering some desserts that sounded as if a witch had named some new spells than a menu item. Your eyes wandered around the tiny shop, colorful striped walls and decorations, the floor was a dark wood to contrast the brightness of the shop. You glimpsed at the stack of macarons in the display case, delicate treats dusted with powdered sugar you were sure was enough to get someone to be sick of it, and huge slices of cake that were too pretty to even eat.

Furina dragged the chair in front of you and settled in it.

And for a moment, neither of you spoke.

She gathers the courage to break the silence. “You looked… different,” Furina said, her voice light and teasing. Almost as if she was trying to stir up gossip with you. “After the final ‘cut!,’ I mean.”

She tries to imitate the director's voice, which gets your attention. You glance up from your cup of water, trying to shake off the exhaustion you were feeling. “What? Different, how?”

Furina hummed, her eyes narrowing as if she was trying to unravel some mystery case. Her chin resting on the palm of her hand, head slightly tilted, as if her hat weighed heavy enough to do so. “Hmm…

“Tragic. Haunted. Like you were some hero at the end of a war film watching your lover sail away. Yeah… Very French cinema of you, how fancy.”

You blinked.

She just lets out a little laugh at your confusion, “I’m just saying, it was very you in that moment. Very dramatic, ten out of ten!” Her fingers tapped  against her teacup rhythmically. 

Was she talking about the moment you realized the film was over? You just sat there, suddenly, and somewhat started to zone out. You can hear her words, yet none seems to come into your brain. You think back to the set, the endless rehearsals, the constant pressure to need to be someone else. Maybe for Furina it was easy, for someone to be so popular and naturally gifted–you had worked hard for your spot in the industry.

And she was making fun of it, just like that?

“I guess I was just thinking too hard,” You mumbled.

She had stopped laughing, opting for awkward chuckles to fill the silence. 

“Thinking about what?” Furina asked. What, was she curious about your life story?

You dropped your gaze to your hands, nervously tracing the ends of the table. You couldn’t see her eyes exactly. “I don’t know. This movie’s been… my world for the past few months. I don’t know what to do without it.”

You’d given so much of yourself for the film, to the role, to the never-ending game of just pretending. The lines blurred after a while, you found yourself and your role blending in together, had you lost yourself mid-production? You even left out the part where you had been worried about paying off whatever rent your landlord will ask of you each month. You didn’t know what to do when you watched the curtain fall, what would be left of you when the applause for the film viewing stopped?

What now? 

She watches you quietly, and for some reason, that feels even more vulnerable than speaking your mind to her.

In a quiet tone, she says, “Not tragic, then. Just a little lost.”

Right. She had offered to sign you up to whatever acting gig was in the market. You gain the strength to look at her, and immediately you felt the weight of her gaze on you. Not entirely judgemental, just understanding the situation you were in. As if she’d know.

Your fingers stilled, thoughts scattered across whatever imaginary script you were holding onto for dear life. What are you doing?

“Sometimes I wonder if I act better when I’m not playing myself,” You said before you could stop yourself. Internally? You cursed yourself for being open. She was just your co-worker, not your therapist, not your friend. You wanted to curl up and disappear, why did you just say that?

Furina was no longer joking around. No longer teasing, no longer smiling. Her mouth opened, and closed, like she was choosing the words she was about to say next carefully.

“That’s…” She starts slowly, “Careful, you’ll lose yourself if you think like that.”

You didn’t expect this. You didn’t expect anyone to actually take your words seriously. You tried to downplay your statement–but you couldn’t quite find the words.

“Do you get that feeling often?”

There was just a brief silence between you two. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but you felt exposed the longer it stayed.

Furina’s voice softened, “I... just happened know what you��re talking about.” She leans forward slightly, laying her arms on the table, eyes never once leaving yours.

For a moment, you allowed yourself to blindly believe she did. 

“I–”

Before you could respond, Navia came back, clattering plates onto the table with the satisfied huff of someone who won a battle against her indecisiveness. “One stack of macarons for you, some water–and milk, not sure why I ordered milk though–also ordered a few more things.” 

You raised an eyebrow, putting on an act as if you didn’t just talk about the most sensitive topic of your life to the girl across from you. “Seriously? Who is even eating all of this?

Furina beamed, reaching for a blue macaron. “What? They were calling to me.”

“You have a sugar addiction.”

“I’d rather call it refined taste, thank you very much.”

Navia laughed. “‘Refined taste,’  she says. You’re eating a stack of those, you do know that right?”

Furina simply ignores her entirely, popping the sweet in her mouth and humming with satisfaction.

Seeing her like this… Off-set, off-script. It was new, as if she was an entirely new character. You admit that you hadn’t taken the time to really get to know your co-worker (you were simply too afraid to do so) but it feels nice to have someone in your line of work understand how you felt. Having a group of friends–although they were technically just two people–was also a nice feeling. 

You reach to grab a macaron, but a hand steals it first. You look for the culprit to see Furina, already finished with it.

“Oh, were you about to get that? My apologies.”

You take back every word you just said.

You really weren’t expecting a call this early in the morning–least of all from your director, Qiu. Begrudgingly, you somehow managed to drag yourself away from your cozy mattress and pick up the phone call while making your morning tea.

“Come to the studio,” She’d say, far too cheerful for 8 in the morning. “Bring Furina with you. I have an idea.”

An idea. She was certainly full of them–and none were ever good enough to be woken up at eight on a weekend.

Now, you sat in one of the small meeting rooms with Furina beside you, sipping a perfectly made tea as if she had owned the building. She probably did–her legs were crossed, sunglasses still on, (for god sake, she was indoors!) and clearly bored out of her mind.

Across you, your director leaned forward on her desk, smiling.

“So,” She started. “Let’s talk about some PR before the official release.”

You glanced at Furina, no words had to be exchanged for you to know she was already feeling skeptic about this so-called ‘idea’ of the director.

Qiu continued, however, pulling out some charts on her laptop. “The film’s performing very well. A lot of people seem to be interested in the showing for the festival alone, the money from that alone is almost enough for us to start producing the part two. Almost. All because of the tension between your characters!”

“Lovely. I’d be certain that this would be already doing well because of me.” Furina said, voice light, tapping her nail against the cup. She raises her sunglasses up, pushing her hair a little back. “Could you get straight to the point?”

“Well–I was thinking, rather, the rest of the team was thinking. Just for a few weeks, yeah? A little publicity stunt. You two doing… couple things, out in public. A few posts here and there, maybe an interview or two…?”

Her voice was uneasy towards the end of her suggestion. Did she even think this through? 

“You’re saying you want us to pretend we’re dating.” You said.

“For the audience, yes,” She replies. “You don’t have to hold hands or anything you’re uncomfortable with, obviously. Just–you know.”

“No, I don’t know.”

“Furina–Okay. Just, keep the illusion alive. Just enough for the hype to stay alive until we do release an announcement for a continuation.”

There was a pause.

Furina now puts her sunglasses down slowly, her expression completely unreadable. “You’re joking.”

“No,” 

“This is–insulting, actually.” She crosses her arms, eyes sharp. “Do you really think I’d lower myself to playing pretend off-screen for likes? I’m an actress, not an influencer!”

The director held up her hands, scrambling for some excuse to convince your co-worker. “Look, I wouldn’t suggest this if you didn’t have some benefit. We’re in for a bigger sequel, the attention for this film needs to stay alive until the festival ends–this is my pride and joy.” She pauses, trying to find the words. “There’s extra pay in it. A lot.”

You fell silent.  

You’re not exactly proud of it–the way your mind just did the math on its own. Rent, the overdue electric bill sitting in your mailbox collecting dust. Acting jobs didn’t always give you the money you needed–you’ve been doing fine on your own, mostly, but there’s that hole in your wallet that would put all your hard earned money towards your actual needs, leaving nothing for yourself.

You didn’t say anything, but Furina noticed. Her eyes lingered on you just a little too long–and this gave your director some hope.

With a long drawn out sigh, she faces back to Qiu. “I refuse to kiss them.”

“...No one said anything about kissing.” She mumbled.

“Lifetime supply of cake–treats, whatever,” Furina added. “At least from three different shops.”

You stared at her, unsure of what to say. She raises a brow, “What? I’m making a noble sacrifice. I deserve proper compensation.”

“You don’t have to do this if you’re uncomfortable–”

“We are doing this. Too late to back out now, isn’t it?”

You couldn’t help it–you laughed. A little breathless, a little horrified. The deal was made just like that, and she just asked for sweets. (As if she hadn’t gotten enough from the dessert shop the other day already.) Furina put her sunglasses on again, looking too pleased with herself. She stood up from her chair, bringing her teaset with her, “This is going to be awful.”

@ knnichs 2023 ﹑ do not repost, republish, translate, feed to ai or modify any of my works. doing so can and will result into me blocking you.

reblogs with comments are INCREDIBLY appreciated! go scream go feral idc i will eat all of them up and run away with a familiarly shaped reblog in my mouth, thank you.

guys i lowkey crammed making this (i just wrote this in the span of 3 hours please forigve me) (sorry not sorry actually) i lowkey lost the motivation to start writing BUT WE BALL im suffering through MAJOR burnout died. im graduating this week though haha.. goodluck to me..

[dross-the-fish]

Love Never Dies- Thoughts and Reactions

This might end up being split into multiple parts but I am not finished talking about Love Never Dies. I did give it a rewatch to refresh myself and...oof. This play needs to be taken out back and shot because that is what it did to every single character in it. NO ONE looks good. Not even Christine. Let's start there. Let's talk about what this show does with Christine because we have completely reduced this character to nothing but her voice. What does Erik miss about Christine after ten years of pining? Her voice. He just wants her to sing for him one more time. The only thing he ever really mentions about Christine is her voice. Though I can't really fault him because if we're being serious about Christine's character...

What does she have outside of her voice? Nothing. Somehow LND Christine has even less personality than she did in the OG musical. She is a cardboard angel that other people pine over, try to control, or envy. She has almost no agency. I said before, I suspect that Andrew Lloyd Webber hates women and Christine does not come out of that unscathed. She spends pretty much all of the musical being bullied by Raoul, mothering Gustave, or being threatened by Erik when he and she aren't reminiscing about that one time they banged 10 years ago. Seriously what even the fuck was "Beneath a Moonless Sky?" For a song about how two characters couldn't resist each other neither of them seem particularly filled with desire. Christine is recoiling in horror and disbelief and Erik looks like a 15 year old who thinks sniffing his crush's hair is peak sensuality.

Mmmm....sexy. But whatever. Christine says at the end of the song she woke up to swear her love and was ready to dump Raoul but Erik had skedaddled so she ran back to Raoul. You read that right. Christine was going to pick Erik after they banged it out and he left and that is the only reason Christine is with Raoul. Seriously Andy? You're going to make her regret picking Raoul over Erik when she didn't even actually DO that? Erik made the choice for her?

*internal screaming* Erik, seriously, how are you going to be upset that she's moved on with Raoul if YOU left HER? Do you really think you have the right to coerce her to sing for you one more time when you were the one who broke it off? The hell is wrong with you? Of course when Christine resists he immediately goes to threatening her child.

When I say Erik is the WORST I mean it. He is reprehensible in this.

But this is about Christine. We'll get to Erik later. LND Erik deserves his own post.

There's honestly not much more to write about Christine. She spends a lot of time cowering from or trying to appease Raoul. She worries about her son and her death is honestly so unwarranted. When I say ALW's work has an undercurrent of meanspiritedness I mean shit like this. Christine hasn't really done anything wrong. I guess she cheated on Raoul 10 years ago? But well she was going to leave him and only stayed because her first option bailed on her? She didn't do anything to Meg. She's been living 10 years in an abusive marriage and her crazy ex who kidnapped her came back to threaten her kid and coerce her to sing his music one more time. Then she just...gets shot. She dies. It adds nothing to the story that she dies. It doesn't feel earned or justified in anyway. It just feels miserable for misery's sake. It's almost unceremonious the way they ax her off because it's not even intentional. Meg misfires the gun because Erik fucks up in trying to talk her down. Christine's death isn't even about Christine herself. It's about Meg and Erik. It's such a useless and stupid death to give this character. How old even is she? Supposedly she's around 18-20 in the original musical (we're ignoring the 2004 movie that puts her at 16) and this is 10 years later? She's barely 30 but she ends up a casualty to everyone else's vanity, jealousy, and selfishness. I feel like we're supposed to find it tragic but it doesn't hit. It's a meaningless and undignified end to a character that was given no agency over her own life or her death.

[three--eyed--cat]

!! She, mattheo riddle !! Summary: Mattheo Riddle, your beloved ex-boyfriend, sees you trying to move on. He won't let you, scaring away any potential new guys. pairing: mattheo riddle x reader word count: 5.7k. warning: reader is a malfoy, described to be pale with long hair. smoking of weed. partial blaise zabini x reader. Gore, killing of pets, writing with blood, spelling with intestines, crucio used. smut

Golden rubbers in these denim pockets.On my waist theres a black glock New girl moved on the block

"You don't have to do that for me, Pansy." You denied her offer, it would be too much to ask. But the fact that she went out of her way just to tell you, made you smile, pink lips pulled into a grin as you stared up at her.

"You're cool, Y/N/N. There aren't many cool people in this school, so when I find one, they have to be my friend." She said it as if it was factual, making you giggle softly. You shake your head, denying the compliment.

"Whatever you say, pansy."

The girl grinned, standing up from where she sat at the end of your bed. You watched her curiously as she searched the room, seemingly looking for something.

"Looking for something?"

You asked, confused as to why she had got up so abruptly. Pansy nodded, kneeling down on the wooden flooring beside her bed, pulling something out from underneath it.

"My shoes."

She sits on the ground, opening up a cardboard box, revealing a pair of black, brand new ugg boots. This only confuses you further, why would she need her shoes?

"The boys are usually in the common room, we're gonna go pay them a little visit."

She must've seen the curiosity written on your face, answering your unspoken question. At this, you scramble to get out of bed. "Pansy, I look like shit!" There's panic evident in your tone as you stand in front of the vanity, picking apart your appearance. You grab the nearest hair brush, running it through your hair. Not that you needed too, being a Malfoy meant no matter what, you always had perfect hair.

"Girl, look at me."

She deadpanned, making you glance at her through the mirror, where she still sat on the floor in her green pajamas and unbrushed hair, watching as you get ready.

"Besides, you look hot."

She says bluntly, shooting you a flirty wink as you caught her gaze, her green eyes boring into yours. You roll your eyes playfully in response, placing the brush back onto the dresser, cheeks turning rosy pink at her romantic demeanor.

She gets up from the floor, using the bed to help her stand. You turn, walking towards your bed to grab your previously discarded sweatshirt. ---

On your way to the common room, Pansy speaks up, her voice quietly echoing through the hall.

"Honestly, I'm surprised you haven't met more of Draco's friends."

You hum softly in agreement. Draco was popular, you knew that much, yet you'd only ever met two of his friends, one of which was the girl you walked beside.

The other... Lets just say, he's a big part of why you don't go home much anymore.

"I preferred spending my holidays at Beaux Batons. When I'm at home, my parent's usually task me with running around after the dark lord, doing all of his chores and stuff like that."

She grimaces, remembering just how close your family was to Voldemort. Her family was also involved with the dark lord, but nowhere near as close to him as your parents were. She's never even seen Voldemort, so the thought of being in your place, stuck alone in a room with him for most of the time, scared her. Often, Draco would tell her stories about the man, 9/10 his tales would shake her to the core, further adding onto the evil perception around the lord. Plus, the things that he made Draco do, knowing that the boy wanted no part in such gruesome activities- but had no choice but to participate, greatly angered Pansy, who knew just how much it truly shakes her boyfriend. So, if you were stuck, doing all of the dark lords bidding, Pansy could only imagine the horrible things that you've likely seen, maybe even had to do. Seeing her change in mood, you think it's best to add on something that would allude being around Voldemort, 24/7, wasn't actually that bad. "He's not that bad of a guy, personality wise. His motives just aren't that great."

You tell her softly, as if asking her to cut the horrible man some slack, after all he'd done, killing innocent people for his own, selfish reason.

From the look on her face, you can tell she doesn't want to continue the conversation.

Mentally, You sigh in relief. If you talked any longer about he-who-shall-not-be-named, you'd probably end up spilling the real reason you transferred. ---

Finally, you both reach the bottom of the stairs and Pansy goes to open the door, but not before turning to you with a reassuring smile.

"I can't promise that they don't bite, but if they do, just know they don't mean to."

She spoke as if she were a poet, her sentence a metaphor of it's own. She had pre-apologized for her friends possible actions, in the case that they did say anything rude, or insensitive, though if they did offend you, Draco would have each of their heads on a stick by the morning. Silently, you thank her for the warning, sending a nod her way. She doesn't see your movement, occupied with opening the heavy dungeon door.

"Thanks."

You muttered, following her into the dimly lit room. Instantly, a wave of coldness washed over you, the fireplace doing next to nothing in keeping the space heated. You glance towards the culprit, huge windows line the stone walls, condensation dripping down the glass, almost blocking your view into the black lake, not that you could see much inside of it's darkness. The place reminded you of home, with it's intimidating aura and leather couches, the only difference was, the Malfoy manor wasn't green. Green, clearly handmade, blankets were strung over most surfaces, if not draped over a couch, it was folded on a table, ready for the students to use. It was certainly a prettier sight than the bland, blue walls of beaux batons.

Aside from a group of boys, lounging around the fireplace, the room was void of any life, the sound of yours and Pansy's footsteps echoing through-out the quiet, the only other sound being their voices, barely any louder than the crackling of the burning wood.

Pansy strode over, confidence in her steps, as if she had a purpose to be there. You followed behind, hands shoved into the pockets of your grey trackpants.

"Piss off, pansy."

Somebody spoke with an accent, you couldn't quite place where it was from, but you knew that you'd heard something similar, before. In the corner of your view, you can see Pansy roll her eyes before leaning back, sitting on the arm rest closest to her before an arm snakes around her waist, presumably your brothers.

"I've come to introduce you to my new best friend."

You hear Draco groan from where he sat, on the couch, behind pansy. You let out a scoff, stepping closer to the group as Pansy stifles a giggle.

"It's great to know that I'm appreciated, Draco."

Your voice catches the attention of the boys, their attention shifting to where you stood, your arms crossed over your chest.

You looked almost angelic, the fireplace casting a gentle glow onto your pale figure, arms crossed over your chest, your long hair gently cascading down your back.

You were... pretty?

From the angle of where you stood, their faces were perfectly in view, all looking semi-familiar, probably from when you'd met their parents, once or twice.

There was Theodore Nott, an Italian bloke with dead looking eyes. Lorenzo Berkshire, a charming boy with a sharp jawline, and Blaise Zabini, who always looked uninterested and unamused.

You finish checking them out, before having to do a double take. Mattheo wasn't there and you knew that he was supposed to be, since he was your brothers closest friend.

You mentally curse yourself for looking for him, forcing your gaze to pansy, who motions at a spot between Nott and Zabini.

You glance towards them, to see if they were okay with you sitting near them. Blaise nodded and you stepped towards them, Theodore stayed quiet, but made no move to stop you as you got closer.

You could feel somebody look at your figure as you sat down, their gaze leaving a trail of warmth in its wake.

"Boys, this is my little sister, Y/N."

Draco introduced you and Theodore's head snapped towards you, it looked as if a piece of puzzle had fallen into place inside of his head. You look at him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion as to why he had that look in his eyes.

"Enzo."

The boy sat beside Draco said, holding out a hand for you to shake. You rip your gaze away from Theodore, instead giving Lorenzo a warm smile as you leant forward, shaking his hand.

Once again, somebody's eyes raked over your body, sending shivers down your spine. You let go of Enzo's hand, leaning back into the plush sofa.

"That's Theodore-" Lorenzo nodded towards the boy on your left, the one who had who seemed bewildered to learn your name. He continued to say nothing, just watching your interaction with Enzo. "-and the one staring you down, is Blaise."

At this, a harsh shove was sent to Lorenzo's shoulder, Draco's lip curling up in disgust as he scowled at Lorenzo, who raised his hands in surrender.

"Nobody will be staring down my sister." He stated, a threatening tone in his voice as he sat back in his chair, leaning against the plush cushion, clearly not happy with Lorenzo's words.

Draco would never let another one of his friends touch you, not after what happened last time. They were all a bunch of players, anyways, you were worth more than any of their hoes.

Pansy shot you a knowing look, as if to say, 'they already have.' In response, you grinned softly, shaking your head as you glanced away.

---

You lay in bed that night, propped up on your side to look at Pansy as she spoke, the two of you gossiping about anything and everything.

"So... You find any of them cute?"

You didn't say anything, hiding your face in the pillows so that she couldn't see the blush on your cheeks, the movement telling her all she needed to know.

"Who!"

She squealed, excitedly. She loved talking about girly things like this, not really having a lot of female friends after she started dating Draco, surrounding herself with his mates who, sadly, didn't like to gossip.

"Zabini."

You said sheepishly, voice barely audible, muffled by your pillow. Pansy grinned, egging you on as she said.

"Oh, Blaise is totally into you, I swear I saw him looking at your ass!"

She been plotting on my brown cock

By now, the first week of school had been and gone, with no signs of Mattheo, the boy that you were dreading to see.

If anything, his absence was only making it worse, under all of the circumstances- like being the new girl in his friend group, getting sorted into the same house and even being in most of his classes. You should have seen him by now, it was a miracle that you hadn't.

However, you tried not to think about him. Which was hard, nearly impossible, so you'd distracted yourself, thoughts of Blaise Zabini plaguing your mind.

He was hot, gorgeous even and the two of you got along well, in-fact, so well that he strolled up to you in your shared potions class. His hands in his pockets as he, casually, asked if you wanted to 'hang.'

Just the two of you, alone in his dorm. Which everyone knew was basically code for, 'I'm trying to fuck.'

In response, you sheepishly nodded. You'd been asked out before, so many times that you couldn't even count, but none of the guys that asked you out were cute, or respectable, like he was.

Plus, if yours and Blaise's relationship did blossom into something more, he was the son of a pureblood death eater, meaning that your father would, hopefully, approve.

But in all reality, there was only one boy that your father wanted you to date, or in other words, give a second chance.

Not that you would ever, ever get with Mattheo Riddle again, no matter how much your father wanted you too.

After Blaise had left your table, Pansy came back, lips curled into a smirk, having watched the interaction between you and your crush.

The entire class, she pestered you about it, doing annoying things, like drawing 'Y/I + B.Z' on your paper, or shaping her hands into a heart and putting it over her eye, so that it was around you and Blaise.

It was at lunch when you finally gave in, the two of you planning to spend the rest of the day sitting by the black lake, so you could fill her in without fear of being overheard, you were also due for a gossip session, so the hangout would be solving two problems at once.

Although, as soon as you left the castle, you could feel it. A pair of eyes staring lasers into your back, watching as you ventured towards the black lake.

You couldn't recall how many times you had glanced over your shoulder, looking for something out of place, anything that could possibly be giving you the feeling of being watched.

But to no avail, until you and pansy started talking about how well you fit into their little group. She mentioned that there was still another member, who's yet to come but will be at dinner tonight.

You sat with your knees to your chest, your back facing the black lake, probably not a good idea as anything could jump out and grab you, without you knowing in time. But it was worth it, as long as you were filled in on all the Hogwarts drama.

Pansy sat across from you, her legs crossed as she rambles on, telling you funny stories about the boys.

"You know, I think you fit in really well, With the boys and I."

You smile at her honesty, you hadn't really thought about that until now, but you did slide into the group pretty easily, your jokes always at the right time, making everyone laugh, knowing with one look how was somebody was feeling, though you did that outside of your friends, as well.

"There is actually a 6th member to our little group, you'll meet him tonight."

Horror, which you feigned as surprise, crossed your face. You'd known that Mattheo had to come back at some point, but that didn't mean you dreaded it any less.

"W-what?"

Pansy dismissed your odd behavior, assuming that you were just confused as to who she was talking about.

"Apparently Mattheo was sick for the fist couple of weeks, couldn't catch the train with the rest of us."

Hearing his name left a bad feeling in your stomach and suddenly, you didn't feel like going to dinner tonight.

"You know him?"

She asked, noticing the uncomfortable look on your face. You shook your head so fast you might've given yourself whiplash, hoping she wouldn't notice, you cleared your throat, trying to get rid of the anxious lump rising in it.

"Just... heard some stuff."

You lied through your teeth, not ready to tell the girl about your bad past involving Mattheo. Well, it wasn't completely untrue, you'd definitely heard some pretty horrible things involving the boy, you'd also experienced it first-hand.

"Fair enough."

Pansy stated, shrugging.

"He's a little scary, but he's not all that bad."

You nodded, glancing away from her, opting to stare into the darkness of the black lake instead.

---

Not much happened at dinner. Sure, seeing Mattheo for the first time, since you were fifteen, was... Weird.

He looked different, in a good way. His face was more scarred than when you last saw it, but his wounds were in all of the right places. His lips were slightly chapped, glossy from his spit and his skin was tanner, not holding the same paleness he used to shar with his father, as a child. His eyes were no longer brown, having darkened to a pitch black, his pupils barely visible.

You only knew this because he had been staring at you during all of dinner. While everyone else was eating, his eyes were on you.

The kind glint they once held was gone, now holding a look of stoic, coldness as he watched you pick at the garlic bread on your plate.

You could barely eat, hyper-aware of the fact that you had Mattheo's full, undivided attention.

You tried to rid your thoughts of him, focusing on the conversation around you. Which, ironically, was just Draco talking to, or about, Mattheo, who would only respond with short answers, still not tearing his gaze away from you.

It had started to irk you, was he seriously still hung up on it? It happened over three years ago, the both of you should be over the situation by now.

You told yourself that there was another reason, not wanting to think about the bad decisions that your younger self had made.

You probably just had something on your face, or maybe, a bit of food stuck in your teeth.

When Blaise tugged on your hand, pulling you out of your seat to go to his dorm with him, you silently thanked every god that you could think of. Mentally noting that you owed the boy a favor, not that he had helped you out on purpose.

In your departure, you missed the death glare that Mattheo had given to Blaise, said boy quirking a brow towards Mattheo, confused as to why he was staring lasers into him.

Theo took a sip from his gauntlet, filled with lemonade, he regrets not telling Blaise about you and Mattheo. As much as he liked you and Blaise together, he was scared that the boy was going to get caught in the crossfire of your ex. Which Theodore knew about, from when him and Mattheo had shared a blunt on a particularly rainy day.

---

Mattheo had laid across the bed, his head hanging off the side, poorly rolled joint between his lips. Theodore was his most talkative self when high, his quiet demeanor completely out the door. Mattheo however, was the complete opposite. When intoxicated his extroverted self could only ever cough out one or two words.

"Once, when I was in muggle school, there was this one blonde girl, who would always dance in the rain. I had a crush on her, I think. I don't know, honestly, I can't remember. But, anyways. I would always watch her-"

Theo rambled on, sitting with his legs laid out, leaning against the headboard, next to where his bong sat on the nightstand. His hand flew around as he spoke, making quick gestures to accentuate what he was talking about.

"Creep."

Mattheo said, his face void of any emotion, making Theo unsure of whether the boy was joking or not.

"Shut the fuck up, Mattheo. Don't rain on my parade just because you've never had any type of love in your life." Once again, Mattheo cut in, eliciting a grumble from Theodore, but making him wonder about what Mattheo could possibly have to add.

From what Theo knew about the dark lord's son, Mattheo was practically incapable of loving, it was rare for him to show any emotion other than angry. It was rare that he'd laugh if it wasn't at someone else's expense, in other words, he found amusement in hurting other people, much like his father.

But, Theodore knew that Mattheo had next to nothing in common with his father. Then again, Theo only knew of Voldemort through what his parents told him, being death eaters they saw the dark lord often. From what he'd heard, Theodore could determine that Mattheo and Voldemort were nothing alike.

"I have." He spoke, his tone un-describable , it wasn't one of anger or sadness, but, it wasn't happy or disappointed either. Theo's face was one of surprise, his brows raised and eyes, still redder than a tomato, widening.

The boy let out a deep sigh, bringing his blunt to his parted lips, deeply inhaling as Theodore sat patiently, eager to hear about Mattheo's love life, or lack there of.

"I was 15, she broke up with me, didn't want to do long distance. She was going to beaux batons, I wasn't."

He kept it short and simple, not wanting to tire himself out with trying to string a sentence together, he couldn't function properly when high. Theodore hummed, in a tone that said, 'continue.' He could tell there was more to the story, that there were unsaid words on the tip of Mattheo's tongue.

"I... I was angry, worse than you've ever seen me. I just, didn't understand why she'd want to leave me. Still don't."

Theo nods along, ushering the boy to hurry up and get to the point.

"She's my soulmate, That's rare to find. So, I tried to make her stay. I wanted- no, need her to be around me. I- uh, I crucio'd her cat, made her watch."

---

Blaise collapsed back onto his bed, sighing tiredly before propping himself onto his elbows to look at you. "Come, sit."

He nodded to the space beside him, eyes trailing over your figure as you moved to sit.

You sat next to him, feet hanging over the edge of the bed. He chuckled at your movement, your eyebrows furrowing in confusion, not sure what he was laughing at.

He lays back down, patting his lap softly, motioning for you to straddle him. You rip your gaze away from him, a blush rising to your cheeks. Noticing your embarrassment, he placed his hands on your hips, grabbing them softly to pull you onto him.

You stare down at him, perched atop of his lap. He looks at you, as if you're a riddle he can't figure out.

"You're inexperienced?"

He says it more like a statement, rather than a question. Sheepishly, you nod and Blaise smirks softly, drawing circles on the small of your back.

"Surprising..."

He trails off, behind you, there was a movement outside of the window. His gaze hardened, thinking that it was someone breaking into his dorm. But then, he remembers that the dungeon is underwater, meaning that it was probably just a fish swimming past. Something like that, anyways.

You, on the other hand, are busy admiring his face. Resisting the urge to run your hands over the curve of his jaw, or the soft slope of his nose.

The feeling of being watched still hadn't left, you knew it wouldn't, that it was just your brain being paranoid because of Mattheo.

"Being Draco's sister, I thought you'd live up to his reputation as a player."

He spoke, but not before doing a double-take of the window. It was true, Draco is notorious for being a man-whore, or at least he was before he started dating pansy.

"You know, I'm not completely innocent."

You said, catching his attention. You looked into his eyes, only to find his gaze fixed on your bottom lip, where your teeth bit into the plushness, nervously.

"I had a boyfriend, when I was 15."

He raises his eyebrows, mocking surprise. There's a teasing tone in his eyes, as if he's egging you on, to say more about this 'boyfriend.'

"Didn't turn out?"

A rhetorical question. If it had turned out, you'd still be together, but you were here, sitting on Blaise's lap, completely oblivious to the boner you'd given him.

"I was going to Beaux Batons, didn't think long distance would work."

You shook your head before speaking, purposefully leaving out the part that still haunted you.

The reason you couldn't sleep at night, laying awake in bed, the image of your childhood pet, sprawled out on the floor, guts on display, blood used to draw hearts around it, 'M + Y/I'

"Fair."

Blaise's hands moved from your hips, trailing up your waist, pulling you closer to him. You fall against his chest, a gasp leaving your parted lips. He uses this to his advantage, pressing his mouth to yours, messily kissing you.

After a moment of surprise, you kiss back, attempting to go just as fast and needy as he is, but he bites your bottom lip, just as he had seen your own teeth do just a few seconds ago. Feeling the cushion of your flesh between his teeth, he moans softly, the sound scratching an itch in your brain, dampening your panties. He slips his tongue into your mouth, instantly asserting dominance with the way he searched around. He drops you onto the bed beside him, rolling over so that he was on top of you, without breaking the kiss. His knee split your legs apart, your clit rubbing against the fabric of his slacks, a whine escaping your mouth, into his, at the sensation. He swallows the sound, running his tongue over the back of your teeth.

Last night, I slept over hers.

A forearm is rested either side of your head, your eyes tracing over the veins that trailed up to his biceps, usually soft looking, but now flexed as he hovered over you, staring down at you with an intensity in his brown eyes. "You want this?" The question caught you off-guard, he had you practically writhing underneath him and he stopped to ask you for consent? Total baby daddy material.

You whimpered, "Blaise, P- please." The sound of his name falling from your lips makes him let out a shaky breath, half-way through a moan.

Pressing a soft kiss to your lips, he aligns himself with your entrance, slipping the tip between your soaked folds, you gasp softly, his size taking a moment too get used too.

"Fuck... you're so tight, baby."

It doesn't take long for you to get acquainted with his size, needily grinding down onto his cock, to show that you were ready.

He glides in and out of your canal, each thrust agonizingly slow. He clearly just wanted to get a reaction out of you,

During sex, I overheard.

Clouded by lust, Blaise almost missed the movement in the corner of the room. His brows pulled into a furrow, he went from leaning on his forearms to his hands, craning his neck to look behind him.

"Blaise... what's wrong?" Your voice had a whiny tone to it, the sound reminding Blaise of what he was here for. Taking one last glance around the dorm, before he turned back to you. "Nothing." Blaise placed a hand under your thigh, pulling it up to be pinned against the bed. This newfound angle lets Blaise bury himself deeper inside of you, planning to make you moan so loud that he won't be able to hear any other noises.

Once again, he thrusts into you, the tip of his cock instantly hitting that spongy place in your pussy.

A sword sliced the air, I pulled out the na-na.

"Stupefy."

A voice whispered through the air, a flash of red flying past Blaise's head, just narrowly missing him.

Under his breath, Mattheo lets out a frustrated groan. He re-adjusts his stance, moving to point his wand more specifically at Blaise.

Rolled off the bed then shot back, paow-paow.

In the blink of an eye, Blaise had slipped out of you. If it weren't for the intensity of the situation, you would've whimpered at the loss of feeling filled.

His left hand held his wand, pointing it at the intruder. The right one scrambled to make himself look decent, tucking his rock hard member back into his pants.

"Sectumsempra!"

You flinch, the sound of Mattheo's voice not only surprising you, but making you scared, as well.

A white light illuminates the room, hitting Blaise square in the chest before he could react.

He dropped to the floor, an assortment of cuts sprouting open on every inch of his skin.

You lifted yourself off the bed, scrambling to kneel beside Blaise. Your eyes rake over his wounds, which were only multiplying by the minute.

Your face held a fearful expression, scared of what Mattheo may be capable of. But, that doesn't stop you from looking up at him, lip quivering as you beg him to stop.

"M- Mattheo, stop! P- please, this isn't funny!"

Mattheo's face was devoid of any emotion, although he had the ghost of a smirk on his lips, as i fhe was proud of himself.

"Mattheo, please!"

Mattheo took note of the way you looked up at him, your doe eyes big and pleading, a slight sheen over them, a sign that you were on the verge of tears, clearly out of worry for Blaise.

Truthfully, he hadn't meant to hurt Blaise. He was just checking up on you, to make sure that the boy wasn't hurting you, or making you uncomfortable.

He just hadn't expected to find Blaise balls deep inside of you.

Mattheo tried to hold it in, he really did, but he just couldn't stand watching anyone else touch you, talk to you, or even just be near you, especially in the way you were with Blaise.

Blood on the sheets, probably spilling from my gash.

Blaise's crimson blood dripped all over the floor boards, seeing the mess, Mattheo muttered the counter curse. Causing an end to the whimpering of Blaise. Mattheo watched as you gently stroked Blaise's face, soothing the boy. After seeing this, he quickly departed, unable to watch you worry after someone else.

Looked out the glass, se him sprinting on the grass, A real ninja with the blade and the mask, got them gold ninja stars and red supreme nunchuks.

Blaise hissed, the alcohol you were dabbing onto his cuts stinging him. You sat on the sink, he's stood between your thighs, gripping them every time it hurt.

Now she tryna patch me up, but Girl, I was just trying to get a nut bust.

His blood stained your pale skin, dripping down your fingers. You cupped his jaw, using it to tilt his head to the side, giving you access to a cut underneath his ear.

Neither of you had spoke for the last five minutes, a pregnant silence between you both. You pressed a soft kiss to the wound before placing a plaster over the damaged skin.

"I'm so sorry, Blaise."

He shakes his head, as if to tell you that it was alright. He watches as you care for him, making sure that he was okay.

"If that's your ex, you should probably own a pistol."

There's a tone of honesty in his voice, making you debate whether or not to tell him that trying to get rid of Mattheo wasn't worth it.

But, I'm guessing its just wiser to exit with the dude.

After returning to your dorm, you sink into the bath, pink bubbles clinging to your skin.

It takes a good amount of scrubbing, but finally, you get the red off of your skin, a floral scented soap taking it's place.

The hot water relaxes your muscles, your back de-stiffening. You try to ignore what had just happened with Blaise and Mattheo, but it plagues your mind. Mattheo's behavior provoking a disturbing feeling in your core, one that your sure you shouldn't be having.

The blinds wide open so he can see you in the dark when you're sleeping, Naked body, fresh out the shower.

Pansy wasn't in the room, so you assume that she planned to spend the night with your brother, the thought making you cringe.

The curtains were wide open, the view of the black lake crystal clear, the movement of the fish swimming casting shadows in your room.

You adorned your body in a pair of skimpy underwear, a matching bralette just barely covering your bust.

Uh, and you touch yourself after hours.

Your fingers curled inside of your canal, failing to reach the spot where you needed them most. A whine escaped your lips, hips bucking up into your palm uselessly, trying to push your small digits deeper.

Ain't no man allowed in your bedroom, You're sleeping alone in bed.

Your movements paused, the gaze of an unknown pair of eyes trailed over your body, replicating the feeling of ice sliding over your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

Chills crept up your spine, eyes widening as you registered what was happening. On one hand, you were concerned. On the other, however, it only encouraged you to chase the orgasm that you were so desperate for, especially now that you had an audience.

A whine escaped your lips as you pulled your fingers out, leaving you achingly empty. Slowly, you sat up, knees pressing into the mattress as you scramble to grab your pillow.

You pushed the plushness underneath your aching heat, needily grinding down onto the cotton once it was situated, making you let out a moan.

But check your window, He's at the window.

You rode the pillow as if your life depended on it, breathing shallowly as you bobbed your hips up and down. Your eyes squeezed shut in an attempt to deal with the pleasure, your back arched to the roof as you desperately chased your high, head thrown back as the pillows seam rubs against your swollen clit, making you whine softly.

Your movements grow slower, sloppier as you near your high, knees starting to give out, jaw going slack as inaudible moans slip past your lips. Your head falls forward, eyes opening as your hips stutter down onto the soft foam between your thighs.

You had blurry vision, but it wasn't nearly fuzzy enough to hide the reflection of your window, a figure stood at the foot of your bed, his brown- no, black eyes locked onto your face, rather than your body.

The sight of him did something to your body, the knot in your stomach unravelling itself. You couldn't look away from him, your gaze locked onto his face as your movements halted, you watched as his eyes flickered down to the mess between your thighs, a smirk pulling at the sides of his mouth. You weren't sure how to feel about him, on one hand, he was so... Whats the word? Smoking hot, he was so smoking hot. On the other hand, however, he both shook you to the core and had you wrapped around his finger. It was crazy how much of an effect he had over you, even without saying any words. With every passing moment, you could feel your resolve slipping and your need for him in, every way possible, growing stronger. You knew you shouldn't, but if he kept this whole 'mysterious' thing up, you were sure to fall again. You panted softly, basking in the afterglow of your release, the exhaustion crashing into you like a truck. You fell forward, onto the plushness of your bed, forehead pressed into the headboard. Shame washes over you as you reach down, pulling the cushion up to join the rest of your pillows. The velvet is soaked with your scent, emitting a sweet musk into the empty room.

You feel an urge, a need to see if Mattheo was still in the dorm, you told yourself it was just out of curiosity, but really you hoped he had stayed. Weakly, you lifted yourself off of the mattress, peeking over your shoulder.

Gone. He was gone, the foot of your bed was empty aside your school shoes. His absence made the realization sink in,

What the fuck was that?

----A/N I wrote this like 2 months ago, I did plan to finish it but lost motivation. I will make a part 2, if anyone wants one. If you've already read this, I have updated the ending a couple of times, for more suspense.

[robinminustherichard]

I Carry You With Every Breath I Take

Buck & Maddie focused, BuckTommy and Madney heavily mentioned.

Gen | No Warnings Apply

Summary: In an effort to be better to their living son, Buck’s parents had sent what could have been called his baby box if it wasn't so obvious that the wood was new and definitely not over thirty years old.

Buck and Tommy are expecting a baby; Buck's parent's attempt at righting a wrong shines a light on what Maddie had forgotten and what Buck never knew.

FULL STORY BELOW CUT

In an effort to be better to their living son, Buck’s parents had sent what could have been called his baby box if it wasn't so obvious that the wood was new and definitely not over thirty years old. Buck was surprised when he took the large package it had come in from the delivery woman's hands and immediately zeroed in on the small Phillip and Margret Buckley that began the return address line. 

Settled in on the couch with the package open before him and the wooden box adorned laid out, Buck sighed. In the twenty minutes since sitting down Buck hadn't yet found the courage to open it. Holding off longer, he checked the cardboard package for a note and found one, along with something pink and velvety. Pulling both out, Buck saw that the pink thing was some sort of box as well, much smaller than the wooden one but almost familiar. When he moved the note off of it, he saw a gold, cursive ‘M’ stamped into the top, and his mind immediately supplied memories of the box and it's permanent place on Maddie's vanity growing up--her jewelry box. 

With the package empty and everything out in front of him, Buck still couldn't open them. He sighed, set his shoulders, and stood up. He grabbed the empty package and moved to take it out to the garage, break it down, and recycle it. The items could wait until he had some back up.

Half an hour later, Buck was still stubbornly walking past the coffee table without looking down at its surface, tidying up the living room and definitely not wishing that Tommy could hurry up and come through the door even though he knew it would be another two hours before he was off shift and headed home.

He arranged their shoes more neatly in the rack by the door, grabbed a hoodie he had thrown onto the stair banister and took it to the laundry room, and took the clean clothes out of the dryer, into a basket, and up to their bedroom. He stood in the doorway of the yellow nursery next door, frowning at the way the new paint smell still lingered. He walked to the window and opened it, letting fresh air ruffle the curtains and air things out. While he stood at the window contemplating the next three small tasks he could dredge up to keep himself busy, he was surprised to see Maddie's car pull into their driveway. 

Wasting no time, Buck headed quickly down the stairs to meet her at the door. When he opened it she was just making it to the porch stairs and she looked as surprised to see him as he was to see her. 

“Buck! Hi! Did you hear my car?” She smiled at him, reaching for a hug. 

Buck hugged her back, laughing quietly. 

“Nah,” he told her, letting her go and gesturing her into the house. “I was opening the window in the nursery and saw you.” 

Maddie perked up at that as she slipped her shoes off and set her purse down in the entryway. 

“Oh! How's it coming? What paint color did you end up choosing?” 

“It's good! We can check it out before you leave. It was a harsh battle between buttercup meadow and bumble breeze, but ultimately the council decided on bumble breeze. I do like it, I just wish the paint smell was gone already.” 

Maddie laughed, following Buck down the hallway towards the living room. 

“The council, huh?” She said, tone clearly and question.” 

“Eddie, Chris, and Sal of course.” Buck told her, glancing back and chuckling. They came into the living room and Buck paused at the long console table that held Tommy's it's not hipster if I’m just old, Evan record player and the large bay window that bathed the living room in rich sunlight every evening. “In reality it was Eddie and Sal absolutely caving to Christopher's choice when he said ‘I think this would have made me happy as a baby’. As if his favorite color wasn't actually blue for years.” 

Maddie laughed again, nodding. “Yeah, I think that would have gotten anyone.” 

Buck nodded, letting the conversation lapse for a few seconds before being direct. 

“Did you need something or--not, not that you can't just drop by or anything, you totally can but--” 

Maddie grinned bringing a hand up to wave Buck's rambling off. 

“No, I had gotten a call from Mom asking me to come over because, quote, “The FedEx is saying that my package for both of you got to Buck's house but I’m worried it will get stolen, Maddie. I've seen that on the news, you know”.” Maddie paused, taking a breath after an honestly passable imitation of their mother's voice. “So I told her I would come over. I would have told her that it was fine, you could handle getting a package, but honestly I didn't want you to get a call on your day off too. I need to pick Jee up from school in an hour and a half anyway, so I figured I would come over. Speaking of which--” 

She pulled out her phone and typed out a text, sending it off with a firm press to the screen before she looked around. 

“I'm telling Mom that you got it.” Here, she paused. “You did get it right? No one actually stole it?” 

Buck laughed sarcastically, rolling his eyes. 

“No, no. I even signed for it. I already tossed the box but you can see it for yourself, I haven't opened anything yet.” 

Buck led Maddie over to the couch, and plopped down. 

“Oh!” she exclaimed before joining him, hands immediately reaching for the pink box. “Oh, wow. My old jewelry box. I haven't thought about this in years.” She was grinning, running her fingers along the side of it and examining a little lock holding the lid closed that Buck hadn't noticed before. 

Buck hummed, watching Maddie and trying not to look at his part of the package. 

That, however, did not stop Maddie's eyes from leaving her box, skating over the note, and landing--then widening--over the wooden box. 

“Oh.” She said again, less excited this time. “Is that--” 

Buck let out a deep sigh, hand subconsciously reaching up to rub at his next. 

“Yeah, um.” He swallowed “I-uh, I think it's supposed to be my Baby Box. Like the one they gave you before Jee was born.” 

Unable to help himself, Buck laughed a little darkly. 

“Of course, they definitely just got this one from pottery barn last week or something. So, it's not really a Baby Box. I guess it's a “you're thirty-seven and will have a baby soon, so here's something we managed to put together on the fly” box.” 

He lost steam by the time he finished speaking, sighing again. Sometimes all he could do about his parents was sigh. He slumped backward into the couch and looked at Maddie, who was looking at the box with brows furrowed. 

“I'm sorry, Buck. At least they're trying?” 

Buck appreciated that Maddie was always trying to take the scraps of love his parents gave him and make a blanket out of it. Most days it was just a little too small, like it just couldn't cover him, but today he let it warm him. Be better for your kid, Buck. Move on if only for your kid. 

He gave Maddie a small smile and let out a small, “Yeah, you're right.” 

Maddie smiled at him, the way she always had when she knew she couldn't get them to be better parents, but she could get Buck to let it go for a little bit. 

Buck sucked a breath in and sat up again. 

“Well, uh, should we--should we read the note first?” 

Maddie perked up and reached for it. 

“Yes! The box came to your house, so why don't you read it?” 

Buck nodded, taking the note and unfolding it. 

“Buck,” he said, voice steadying out as he read, “we wanted to send you this box of memories from when you were a baby. You probably have noticed that this box is too new to have been bought all of those years ago--you always noticed things like that.”

At this, Buck felt himself tense, clearing his throat before continuing. 

“And you're right, it is new. You already know that we made mistakes, and we can't make up for them. So, this box is not your baby box. But we hope--” 

Buck felt his eyes sting, and he pressed his lips together. 

“We hope that this can be your baby's box. Inside is another box for you to keep the pictures of you safe when you start to fill this one with all of the wonderful things you gather in your baby's life. You were a beautiful baby, and though we know you don't know yet who the father of your baby is, we can't help but hope that they look just like you did. Love, Mom and Dad.” 

Buck paused here, pulling in a shaky breath. He jumped a bit when Maddie's hand rubbed his back soothingly. He had almost forgotten she was there. 

“Hey,” Maddie said quietly, ducking down to catch Buck's eye from where he was still looking at the paper in front of him, the words swimming across the page. “It's okay, Buck.” 

Buck nodded, sniffling hard and reaching a sleeve-clad fist up to rub at his eyes. 

“Ye-yeah. Yeah. I'm fine. Thanks, Maddie.” 

Buck looked at the paper again, seeing another line underneath the sign off. 

“P.S.,” He read out again, voice only cracking a little. “Your baby's cousin is getting older. Please give the jewelry box also enclosed to Maddie so that Jee-Yun can see what her mom used to wear when she was that age.” 

Maddie winced, sighing. “Yeah, thanks, Mom. I think the extra postage would have been worth keeping the moment a moment.” 

Buck chuckled, folding the note back up and putting it back on the table, staring once again at the wooden box. He breathed steadily before looking at Maddie. 

“Can uh, can we open yours first? I don't think I'm ready for mine.” 

Maddie nodded, giving him a squeeze on the arm before reaching for the box. 

“Well, we can do that if you've got a...tiny lock-picking kit? I think the reason I left this at home is because I lost the key to it a long time ago.” 

She turned it left and right in her hands, pulling at the lid and frowning. Buck laughed, holding a hand out. 

“That lock is like, 40 years old at this point. I think a screwdriver will take care of it.” 

Maddie handed it over and Buck stood to take it into the kitchen. He reached into their junk drawer and grabbed a screw driver that wasn't good enough to keep in the garage, Evan, but not bad enough to throw it away, and set at the lock. Secretly, he hopped the lock and the screwdriver would break. 

The lock popped open without much of a fight, and Buck looked at the intact screwdriver before rolling his eyes and putting it back into the drawer. He took the box back to Maddie and held it out to her. 

“Thanks!” 

Maddie opened the box, and with the lid open Buck could see an absolute riot of colors, plastic, and chains. 

“Oh ho ho, wow.” Buck laughed as he sat back down, looking over into the box. “That is quite the collection.” 

“Hey!” Maddie exclaimed, pretending to be offended. “I will have you know that all of this was the absolute height of fashion in the late nineties.” 

Buck leveled a flat look at her and she cracked, laughing brightly. 

“Yeah, you're right. It's kind of a mess.” she reached into the box, pulling a long necklace that looked like it was made of aquarium rocks and fishing line out of the pile and examining it. “But, she's not wrong. I think Jee is going to love this stuff.” 

Buck nodded, knowing it was true based on the outfits that Jee had begun to put together for her days at school. 

Maddie continued pulling things out, eventually grabbing the entire bottom tray and lifting it. 

“If I remember, there's even a-” she paused, coaxing the tray out all of the way. “Yes! There's a little secret compartment.” 

Buck watched in interest as a small ribbon loop appeared on one of the seams of the box. Maddie gripped it before looking up at Buck with a grin. 

“What do we think pre-teen to teen Maddie hid in here? Love notes?” Maddie moved her eyebrows up and down and Buck laughed along. 

“Knowing you it's probably just all of the A+ marks from all of your assignments.” 

“What?!” She exclaimed, Mouth dropping open. “Come on, no way I was that boring.” 

She looked back down on the ribbon and pulled, taking the false bottom out completely and revealing a small compartment that contained a few pieces of paper and a small, dark cylinder. 

Maddie reached for the papers first, chuckling when they turned out to be two movie ticket stubs and an old game of M.A.S.H. on notebook paper. She turned the ticket stubs over in her hand and sighed.

“Andy Jensen.” 

Buck raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to elaborate. “Uh, who?” 

“Andy Jensen, my first movie date.” 

Buck laughed, peaking at the tickets. 

“Did he get you the big popcorn or was he cheap?” 

“Oh, he was the perfect gentleman. The big popcorn and a box of raisinettes.” 

Buck wrinkled his nose and scoffed. 

“Raisinettes? Gross.” 

“Hey!” She whacked Buck with the back of her hand that still held the tickets. “It's not like they ever took us to the movies so I didn't know.” 

Buck allowed that one with a nod. He tilted his head at her and raised an eyebrow.

“How did you get them to let you go? You couldn't have been older than twelve.” 

Maddie grinned, leaning in as if to share a secret. 

“They thought I was at a speech and debate tournament.” 

“What?! You lied to them and snuck around? You?”

Maddie laughed, her eyes closing as she did. 

“Yes,” She looked at Buck seriously. “And that's the reason I only have two. I knew that there was no way I could get away with three.” 

Evan laughed, shaking his head. “Now that I do believe.” 

Maddie's laugh tapered out and she looked back down at the box. Her hand reached in for the last remaining thing, the cylinder. 

“Is this--” she held it up to the light, “is this film?” 

She twisted It around in her hands and shook it. 

“It must be. Wow. Talk about a throwback. Are there even places that will still develop this?” 

Buck looked at it thoughtfully. “Yeah, there's some specialty camera shops that will do it, I think.” 

Maddie nodded, setting the canister down to the side and began to reassemble the jewelry box before closing its lid and looking to Buck, hands on her lap. 

“Well,” she began, and Buck groaned, “It's your turn. Do you want me to open it?” 

“No uh,” Buck licked his lips, nodding once to steel himself before reaching out for his box. “No, thanks though. I've got it, I think.” 

Buck opened the box slowly and took in what he saw. Maddie leaned over so their arms were pressed together and she could see as well. 

On top, covering the rest of the contents, was a yellow baby blanket folded neatly. The blanket was soft under his hands as he took it out and smoothed it over one thigh. He ran his fingers over one of it’'s stitched edges, wondering at the way the yellow almost, almost looked exactly like bumble breeze. 

Buck forced himself to go back to the box, reaching in for the next thing he saw: a tiny beanie-style hat with a line of even tinier circus animals marching across the lip. He smiled at it, setting it on top of the blanket. 

Next was a soft cotton bib whose color scheme just screamed early nineties, followed by two board books: Goodnight Moon and Where’s Spot?. Evan looked at both, unable to pull up even a hint of a memory of his parents reading either. But, Maddie reached over to grab both and started to coo over them. 

“Oh, wow. You used to love this one.” She held up Where's Spot?, and Buck could see that one corner of the book was frayed and honestly looked chewed on. Maddie clocked his look and chuckled. “You really loved this one.” 

She set the books on the coffee table for him and made a gesture to encourage him to continue. 

Unsurprisingly, there isn't much more in the box. Buck feels a pang of disappointment that he thinks will always be there, and pushes on anyway. 

He grabs for what he thinks is a stuffed animal first, though he doesn't know what color it's supposed to be and honestly he's not sure if it's a dog, a cat, or a very smooth sheep. 

Maddie makes a noise as it comes out of the box, a cross between an exclamation and a sigh. 

“Bingo.” she breathes, looking at the...rabbit? 

“Excuse me?” Buck asks, confused. 

Maddie shook herself and smiled. 

“That's bingo, your dog. You used to take him everywhere with you. I completely forgot about him.” 

Buck handed the dog --a dog? Really?--over to her, because even if she wasn't reaching for it he knew she wanted to hold it. 

She smiled at him gratefully and ran her fingers over it's head. 

“It was pretty cute, you used to sleep with him tucked in next to you. I thought you had lost him.” 

Buck couldn't help but smile softly at her and try to remember the stuffed animal. 

“He certainly looks like something that belonged to me.” Buck said, trying to bring her back around with a laugh. It worked, and she laughed quietly. 

“Definitely. He's the reason I know how to sew, actually. You had caught his leg on a nail in the fence around mom's garden and cried and cried over it, thinking you had hurt him.” 

Maddie gently turned bingo over and found his back leg which had a slightly wonky line of blue stitches on it. 

“The next day I checked out a book on sewing from the library and snuck some thread and a needle out of mom's sewing kit. I stayed up half the night stabbing myself, but it was worth it when you said that he was “all better again” and thanked me.” 

Maddie looked far away for a second before she closed her eyes, swallowed, and smiled up at him, handing bingo back. 

“It was kind of insufferably adorable. If your kid is anything like it you're going to have a hard time not spoiling them.” 

Buck took the attempt at levity for what it was and laughed with her. He already knew Tommy will fold at any little thing, so he needs to make sure one of them keeps it together. 

Buck sets Bingo down gingerly and can't help but notice Maddie battling to not look at it further. He braced himself for the last item in the larger box; a smaller, more ornately carved box with brass corner pieces. He reached in to pull the smaller box out and held it over his lap, still holding the blanket, hat, and bib. 

Buck was sure he had seen baby pictures of himself at some point, but he couldn't remember any, and this felt like the first time. Buck opened the box and stared down at a stack of pictures, not too many, just enough to fill out the bottom of the box. 

Pulling the pictures out, he leaned into Maddie's space and she held the other side of the pictures lightly. The first was of an impossibly tiny baby with a pink birth mark on either side of one eyebrow, asleep in the hospital. 

“Wow.” Buck breathed out almost involuntarily, grappling with seeing himself so small. 

“I know,” Maddie said, pressing their shoulders together. “You were so tiny.” 

Buck flipped to the next picture--it was Maddie, holding him in a hospital chair, grinning widely. 

Maddie giggled a bit at the picture, surprised to see her own young face. 

“I was so excited because I hadn't known Daniel as a baby, so when you were born I thought I was so grown up getting to hold you and help take care of you.” 

Buck sighed softly, taking in the picture before flipping to the next. 

The rest of the pictures were similar: baby Buck in a crib, baby Buck standing up in a play pen with a gummy smile, baby Buck being held by Maddie in the sunlight. 

When he came back around to the first picture, Buck wasn't sure if he was happy to have the pictures in his hands or even more disappointed than before when he realized it was so few of them. 

Maddie took the pictures out of his hand gently, placing them back into the smaller box and closing its lid, taking it from him with both hands and setting it on the coffee table. 

Her arms wrapped around him and held tight; Buck just let it wash over him for a moment. 

They were quiet, just taking it in and letting Buck's mind spin through a hundred thoughts before trusting himself to speak. 

“Wow, that uh.” Buck swallowed hard, not sure where he was going. “Well. I'm, uh, I'm glad they sent the stuff. Really.” 

“Buck--” 

“No, really, Maddie. I am glad. And I've got this box for the baby, right? And this stuff--this blanket and the books, and Bingo.” 

Buck forced a grin to stretch across his face before running a hand through his hair and lifting the other items off of his lap and back into the baby box. He continued speaking when he saw Maddie's worried look. 

“Really, Maddie. I'm okay. This is a good thing.” He breathed deeply. “And your box too, huh? That's some fun stuff, Jee is really gonna love it.” 

Maddie finally accepted Buck's diversions and nodded. 

“You're right, this is a good thing, Buck.” Maddie sniffed a little and grabbed her box and the film canister that Buck had forgotten about. “And...I've got about 25 minutes to get to Jee's school or I'm going to be trapped in the pick up line forever. I’m sorry to run on you--when is Tommy off shift?” 

Buck gave her a small smile and stood up with her as she checked her watch. 

“Not long,” he told her, “He should be home within the hour and then we've got nursery furniture shopping with the council at 6.” 

Maddie laughed, walking toward the front door. 

“Well, I hope the council makes some good decisions. Or, well, Christopher at least.” 

Buck grinned, following her and holding the door open as she got her shoes and bag, stuffing the pink box and canister into it and fishing out her keys. 

“It's a good thing he has good taste. Honestly, I trust him more than Eddie and Sal.” 

Maddie laughed, turning to Buck once more and putting a hand on his arm. 

“I know this is hard, Buck. But I hope you know how special you've always been. And how nice it was for me to remember what those days were like.” 

Buck softened, nodding. 

“Yeah. Like I said. It's a good thing, right? New beginnings.” 

Maddie smiled again before blinking and nodding determinedly. 

“Okay, I'm off to pick up. Let's do dinner soon, okay? Soon enough you won't have nearly as much free time.” 

“You got, Maddie. Just let me know the time and place.” 

Maddie smiled once more before stepping down the stairs, getting into her car, and driving away. Buck waited until her car disappeared around the corner of the street before he went back inside. 

Back in the living room, Buck sunk back into the couch feeling drained. He had about 40 minutes until Tommy was home, so he put everything Back into the baby box, tossed the note in the recycling, and looked around helplessly before realizing he should probably just leave the box there to be explained and dealt with later. At the very least, Tommy would love to see the pictures. 

Time passed and Buck went back to his little tasks, closing the nursery window, switching the load of laundry from washer to dryer, emptying the bathroom trash. Finally, he heard the front door open and Tommy’s keys hit the console table. 

“Evan?” He heard Tommy call out. “What's this?” 

Buck knew he was talking about the box, and he prepared himself to go over the story again. At least he felt a little more solid this time around. 

“It's from my parents,” Buck called back. “For the baby. I'll be right there.” 

Three weeks passed from the day Buck got the package from his parents, and he had completely forgotten about the little mystery that was inadvertently included, until Maddie, Chimney, and Jee came over for dinner. 

The dinner was smooth and casual, talking about the baby which would be coming very soon, about how excited Jee was for a cousin, making fun of Tommy for the mistake he and Eddie made by building the crib in the living room instead of the nursery and not realizing that their home didn't have the widest of doors. 

Buck felt good, the closer they got to the due date. He felt settled in himself in so many ways that he hadn't before, felt like he was ready for this and all of the change it would bring to his life. Buck knew that he and Tommy had an entire family and support network with them and that their baby would grow up never questioning that they were loved, always warm in ways that Buck and Tommy didn't have. 

As the night wound down, Buck was showing Maddie the finished nursery, the sun setting and casting a dreamy glow on the room, with its yellow walls and cream colored carpet. They found themselves sitting in the matching rocking chairs Buck and Tommy had been so insistent on, talking about sleeping arrangements, diaper disposal, and anything else that came to mind. 

The conversation tapered off and Buck saw Maddie looking at the open closet, where the wooden baby box had sat untouched since Buck placed it there after going through its contents with Tommy. 

“There was something else I wanted to show you,” Maddie said. “But I need you to bring the box downstairs.” 

Buck looked at her curiously, but knew from the look on her face that she wouldn't be explaining further until he had complied. He nodded, and got up to get the box. 

Maddie stood and met him at the door, gesturing for him to lead the way. 

Downstairs, Tommy and Chim were talking quietly as they cleaned the kitchen post-dinner, and Jee had found her way to her favorite napping spot: the window seat in the breakfast nook, and was out like a light. 

Like before, Buck found himself on the couch with Maddie; a box of all the things that made their lives complicated in front of them. 

Maddie paused, and reached around the couch where her purse was set down upon their arrival. 

“I found a specialty shop, and they charged me an arm and a leg, but they got that film that was in my jewelry box developed. I was able to pick it up today, and I wanted to go through the photos with you. I started to look at them earlier, but the first one told me what they were, and I wanted you to be here for the rest.” 

Buck nodded, feeling like something was stuck in his throat, unable to speak louder than a whisper. 

“Okay.” 

Maddie pulled a paper envelope from her purse and slid it open, revealing a thick stack of photos. 

The first was, at first, strange to Buck: a white hospital room, a bed with a yellow rectangle held up in front of it, two hands just visible gripping the top. To the side, a woman in a nurse's uniform looking at the rectangle and smiling softly. 

“Is that--” Buck started, but Maddie put the photo down on the table to show the next one--the photo almost completely yellow, broken up only by a neat line of blue stitches, which, upon further inspection, slipped into three cursive letters before evening back out: an M, a D, and an E. 

Buck understood now why Maddie wanted the box. He tore his eyes from the pictures and opened the baby box, pulling the blanket out of its fold and scanning along the seam until he found the letters; running his finger along them gently. 

He felt like the wind had been knocked out of him suddenly, looking down at the delicate stitching. 

“Maddie, Daniel, and Evan.” Buck breathed, touching each letter as he said the names. He held it out to Maddie for her to examine, and she did with shining eyes. 

“The woman in the picture was his nurse, Sarah. She was so sweet--and she must have made this for him to give to you.” 

Buck just breathed for a moment, unsure of what to do other than marvel at the blanket and photos. 

“And,” Maddie began again, “there's more.” 

Maddie began laying photos out, almost all of Daniel. But--they were about Buck. 

Daniel holding the little hat with circus animals up with a grin. 

Daniel, hand wrapped around an IV pole, standing on a chair to glance into a room which had a line of babies in bassinets in it. 

Daniel, holding a drawing up in front of his chest that said “Welcome, Baby Evan!” in wonky kid font. 

Daniel and Maddie with Bingo, looking new--and much more like a dog--in between them with a bow on its head. 

Daniel, holding Buck, a look of wonder on his face. 

Buck didn't know when he started crying, but he quickly wiped away a tear that fell on a photo of a drawing of a family with a little baby, with the initials “DB” written proudly in the corner. 

Buck couldn't bring himself to look at Maddie; but couldn't continue looking at the photos without breaking into an all out sob.

“Buck,” Maddie said gently, reaching out to him with a tissue she must have produced in the magic way that Mom's can, and one more photo. “This one, out of all of them, is really for you.” 

Buck took both, blocking out the world for just a moment by covering both eyes with the tissue and just trying to breathe. When he felt like he wasn't completely shaking apart anymore, he looked down at the photo that Maddie handed him. This one was different--there was no Daniel, no hospital, nothing but a note written in clear penmanship taking up the entire photo. 

Buck took a rattling inhale and read the note out loud. 

“Dear Evan, 

 My name is Sarah, and I was your brother Daniel’s nurse. Today, your brother learned that he won't be around to watch you grow up. He wanted me to write this note to you and make sure you get it some day. I'm taking a photo of it and giving the film to your sister. Daniel writes: 

Hi Evan, my name is Daniel, and I was your brother. Nurse Sarah is helping me write to you because I am going to die soon, and I won't be there to be your big brother. I'm really sorry I have to leave, Evan, I think I really would have liked to be your brother. I don't think you'll remember me, so Nurse Sarah made you a blanket that says M, D, and E on it, so you always know that we were together. Also, she gave me a little hat that you can wear with some of my favorite animals on it, and she even bought a little dog at the hospital gift shop here and she's letting Maddie and I say it was a gift from us. 

Maddie told me that you were born to try and help me get better, but I don't think that's very fair, because you're just a little baby and if the doctors can't help me, how could you? I'm really sick but that isn't your fault. If Maddie was telling the truth, I'm okay with being sick, because it means you got to be born.  

I love you, Evan. You are the best little brother ever. Maddie is a good big sister, even if she is a little annoying sometimes, but she is gonna help you. I hope you get to grow up and have lots of fun, and have a good life. I hope you never get sick like me. 

Nurse Sarah says that some day, after you have had a really good life, we will get to be together again and you will remember me then. I think that will be really nice, and I hope that I can be a good brother when that happens. 

Love, Daniel” 

Buck's voice tapered off, and he felt tears rolling hot down his cheeks, unending. He felt like he was shaking, like he was far away and too close all at once, like he was taken apart and told to start again.

He startled when he felt Maddie crash into his side, sobbing herself, hiccuping in breaths. Buck turned fully to envelop her, pressing his check against the top of her head and just trying to stay in one piece. 

He doesn't know how long they stayed like that, but they finally broke apart when Chimney gathered the photos up to keep them safe in the envelope and Tommy was sliding into the couch behind Buck to support his body. Buck looked down, furiously scrubbing at his eyes with his shirt sleeve and gasping quietly. Tommy lifted his arm behind Buck and Buck fell into it gratefully; hoping that Tommy could take the burden of keeping him grounded just for a little bit. 

Chimney finished putting the pictures away and kneeled before Maddie, talking quietly to her as she dabbed at her eyes with another tissue. They both nodded, and then looked over at Buck and Tommy. 

“Well,” Chimney started, falling back to his talent for keeping things light, “who needs dessert when you have life-shifting catharsis to fill you up? It's late, and I think right now everyone needs to process for a little while. We're gonna get Jee and head home.” 

Buck felt Tommy nod, but couldn't bring himself to look over or speak. 

“Okay, Howie. Thanks for coming, guys.” 

Chimney said something else, but Buck missed it completely and only really registered Maddie kissing him on his head before they made their way out into the warm August night. 

Buck came back to himself in stops and starts, feeling dried out and exhausted. He moved finally and looked at Tommy, who looked calmly back at him and brushed the curls from Buck's forehead. 

“Hi, Evan.” he said quietly, eyes roving over Buck’s face. “Do you want to go lay down, now?” 

Buck nodded, scrubbing at his fast with tired hands before standing when Tommy did. 

“I'm just gonna get you some water, you can head up if you like.” 

Tommy stepped away and headed to the kitchen, but Buck was frozen, eyes drawn to the yellow blanket still out on the couch, where it ended up scrunched between him and Maddie. 

Tommy came back with a glass of water in his hand and stopped, his other hand coming to rest on Buck's lower back. 

“Evan?” 

Buck's mouth opened but it took a moment for words to form.

“I...I had a brother. His name was Daniel. He died, but he loved me.” 

Buck felt like something was unfurling within him, like a padlocked door was being opened at long last. 

“He was so little, and he was so sick, and he knew he was going to die. But he loved me anyway.” 

Tommy stayed quiet, letting Buck speak at his own pace. 

“If it wasn't for Daniel, I wouldn't have been born. And what happened after was neither of our faults. And he tried so hard to make sure I knew that he loved me. In some ways, he succeeded. This blanket, the little dog, the hat. But in so many ways I might have never known.” 

Buck takes one last heaving breath, feeling like he was breaking the surface of the ocean after holding his breath beneath the waves for too long. 

“Growing up I felt like I could never figure it out, I could never be what I was supposed to be. But I think...I was just supposed to live. To live when he couldn't, and to know I was loved, even when I couldn't see it.” 

Buck looked at Tommy, face determined. 

“I don't want his love to go on being locked away, unknown...undeveloped for decades.” 

Tommy bent down to sit the glass of water softly on the coffee table, then gathered Buck into his arms. 

“I think,” he said slowly, speaking right by Buck’s ears, “that when that little girl is born next month, Danielle is going to be the perfect name.” 

Buck sees it, through that opening door inside him. Sees a little girl wrapped in a yellow blanket, wrapped in love deferred, love anew, love unending.

He breathes, he settles, and he feels whole. 

[kricepudding]

The (D)evolution of Chibita across Osomatsu-San

While on the subject of Ososan’s direction changes, I thought I’d explain what I mean by Chibita’s personality being one of the most inconsistent things across the show:

Season One: Chibita has grown. He, for the most part, no longer wants to be involved in the antics of his past and just wants to get on with his life. He has an apartment, multiple jobs, and a passion project. To an extent, he is meant to be a foil for the sextuplets. It’s clear he’s financially struggling but his kind heart prevents him from leaving his childhood friends on the lurch, for better or for worse. On occasion he is still roped into Iyami’s schemes, but does so in a jaded way. There is still this desire in him to be loved, as seen by the Flower Fairy episode and the way he’s so easily lured into the rental girlfriends scam when Iyami tells him he’s cute. Around his neck Chibita wears Iyami's old bowtie, meaning there is some unspoken respect between the two still lingering deep inside and that's probably why he's still so soft towards him. Other than that, he doesn't really interact with the other side characters which is a shame. The closest thing he has to a friend now is probably Karamatsu. His love for animals is subtle but still there, he seems to like doodling while idle at the cart, and he is also a huge fan of Akira now. As a whole, he is a very proud person when it comes to what he's achieved and isn't afraid to show it, though this comes at the cost of his life being very "all work and no play".

Season Two: Chibita is written more like his -Kun self, he has more bite but loses emotional maturity. While this works incredibly in skits like Chibita’s Revenge, Alone in the Wind leaves a sour taste in my mouth. The cart now seems to be his only job outside of when he’s roleplaying and the reason for this isn’t really elaborated or expanded on. In skits not set in the core universe he's usually just a cardboard cutout. He has now reconnected with friends like Hatabou and Totoko, showing that maybe the Flower Fairy did end up influencing him. This comes at the cost of him losing what he had with Karamatsu, though there are indications Karamatsu still knows him better than his five siblings. There is less reluctance to take part in Iyami’s schemes and the two are seen together more often. In theory this is great, but I'd have liked what was set up in season one between them to be expanded on further.

Movie: He is a lot more like his season one self here, expanding on some of the reasons why he ended up the way he did and includes some excellent background details like the way he addresses himself and how he worked in a French restaurant. Karamatsu acts like they're close again and one could conclude that, as the scenes in the past seemingly take place in his memory, he's the only person who knew where Chibita was mentally at the time. Nuance is back and I am feasting.

Season Three: Chibita is written more like an adult like in movie 1 but his bite is pretty much absent. Despite his maturity returning, there are unfortunately still gross jokes about his size. The subplot about him losing customers during Covid is prominent yet not really expanded on enough to mean anything, though does lead to some good character moments. He's back to being allowed to do more things outside of just being the guy who sells oden. His vanity is expanded on further, such as in the haircut skit. Karamatsu and him continue to be closer again too, the two have similar narcissistic traits which should be explored more. He is still the only character who is able to make Karamatsu experience the same painfulness he inflicts on others. Him being a relic of the past is also an idea that comes back, with him not really understanding Crypto and the Riceballs being confused by him. As a whole he seems more like his season one self again, but lacks the nuances that made him so interesting.

Hipipo Fruit: He barely appears and is roleplaying here so there isn't much to go by, nonetheless he's scheming again (in a good way) and the funniest parts of his character are taken into consideration. Not nuanced, but fun.

Takoyaki Party: He's in this film a lot, however his personality isn't really utilised at all. While fun to see him involved and getting cheeky with the others, as a whole it's just fine. The matching PJs with Hatabou are cute but adds to how he's just there with not much thought really put into what makes Chibita Chibita. Passable but not the best.

Season Four: Who knows? A member of the team did mention they had ideas for Chibita's backstory they want to elaborate more on, so maybe there's a chance nuance may be having an encore? Maybe the new outfit is also a new start, and for that I'm cautiously optimistic.

[curtis-corner]

STAND BY ME (Darry Curtis) PART 9

I realized I never linked Part 8 to the masterlist, it's up there now and linked here incase you need to catch up/refresh!

As always, thank you to everyone who has shared how much they are enjoying this story. I read every message about 50 times :)

Taglist : @lovelylegolas2123 @amnestyliketaz @spuffyfan394

Enjoy getting into Darry's head for this one!

PART 9

Darry POV

I watch her close the door to my bedroom to get dressed, a room I’ve only just started to consider mine at all, and I turn to my brothers.

“She’s gonna be staying here a bit, so one of you has got to clean that bathroom. And I mean bleach it good.” Soda and Pony make matching faces of disgust and Steve starts to snicker.

“Aw Darry, bleach makes me itch.” Pony whines.

“No it doesn’t, he just told mom that to get outta cleaning the toilet.” Soda rolls his eyes.

“I don’t care who does it, but it better be done when I get back. Whoever doesn’t do the bathroom is more than welcome to clean up Soda and I’s old room.”

“Is that where we’re putting her stuff?” Pony asks.

“She didn’t sleep there last night.” Soda grins and Steve wolf-whistles. I give an unimpressed look to both of them.  

“She’s okay, right?” Pony asks. It’s not lost on me how young he is, and how many people he’s lost already. He’s nervously biting the inside of his lip. I reach out and put a hand on his shoulder and he doesn’t shrug me off like he used to.

“She’s gonna be just fine. We’ll make sure of it.”

--

The house is freezing when we go in, and I work on covering up the busted window with cardboard and tape while she packs up some things in her room.

I told her to take anything she wouldn’t want to go missing – while the house was messy, it didn’t look like anything was stolen. But that may not be the case next time someone comes looking. 

I tape a trash bag behind the cardboard to stop as much air as I can and walk back towards her room. I’d never been in a girl’s room before. The walls were white but the sheets and blankets were covered in pink flowers and even through the cold air I could smell the perfume she always wore.

“Just about done,” she zips up her small suitcase and I walk over to wrap my arms around her, rubbing them up and down to warm her up.

“You okay? Being here?” It was hard to believe less than twelve hours ago she was running from a break-in. She shrugs and I pull her closer, kissing the top of her head. “You need me to carry some bigger things to the truck? We can take whatever you want.” She bites her lip and looks around, her eyes lingering on the piece of furniture that looked like a small desk with a mirror attached to it. I had seen something like that in a magazine once, I knew girls usually had it and it probably had some fancy name.

“No, just the suitcase and this box please.” I pick up both and we head out. I see her glance back at her bedroom and my mind was made up before we even went out the door. I put her things in the back of the truck, then turn to her.

“Here, you can start the engine and get warm.” I hand her the keys. “I’ll be right back.” She gives me a quizzing look but gets in the drivers side to start the car and I do a light jog up the path, not wanting to leave her too long.

When I walk out of the house holding the furniture and little stool that was in front of it, I could see her surprised expression through the passenger window.

“You packed my vanity.” She says when I get into the car, and I guess the piece of furniture has a name after all.

“I did.”

“Why?”

“Because it looked like you wanted it.”

“I don’t need to bring it over to your house.” My girl could certainly be stubborn when she wanted to be. I drum my fingers on the wheel.

“I think you’re underestimating how long Soda spends in front of the bathroom mirror. You want a chance at getting ready for work, you’re going to need your own spot.”

She raises one eyebrow, a trick she picked up from Two Bit faster than the rest of us ever did. I can’t help but smile when she does that, and then she’s smiling too. She leans over to give me a too quick kiss.

“Thank you, Darry.” And I know she means for more than the vanity.

Someday I’ll figure out a way to tell her that she never needs to thank me. That it’s me who should be thanking her: for so long I felt like I was drowning and then she was there, the raft that could keep me above water. Every day that I’m with her, I can breathe a little easier.

It’s an easy drive to the general store, and when I pull up to the front, I see her looking down at her bandaged arm. I know she’s thinking about having to tell the story to Mr. Murphy and reliving it again.

“Do you want me to go in first? Talk to him?” I offer and she shakes her head.

“That’s sweet to offer, but I’ll be okay. I just don’t want Mr. Murphy worrying about me.”

“He cares about you, baby. Just like we all do.” The tips of her cheeks turn pink. God, my girl is so sweet.

“It’s nice, you know? I feel like I have this big list now of people I care about who care about me right back.” I lean my forehead down to meet hers.

“Am I at the top of that list?” I ask teasingly, but she leans her head back a little to look me in the eye and let me know she’s serious.

“Always.”

And I can’t help but kiss her after that.

When we finally break free and she looks into the rearview mirror to check her lipstick, I remember our conversation from the night before.

“You want to go to the hardware store after work? Look at paint colors for the kitchen?”

And then she gives me that smile, the big, full-on one that knocks me off my feet every time. I’ll let her paint the whole damn house if I can keep her looking this happy.

“I sure do.” She leans up for one last kiss, and then she’s out of the car and walking towards the store. Before she goes through the door she turns and gives me a little wave and I don’t fight the smile that’s taking over.

But as I drive the smile fades and I think about running into the living room last night to see her shivering, crying and barely able to stand. I think about dropping her off every night to a dark house while her father was out gambling away their food money. How her father got himself in trouble, and in doing so he put his daughter in harm’s way.

I think about what happens if he doesn’t come back. Or worse, what happens if he does.

I miss Dallas Winston for a whole lot of reasons, but I really miss him now. He would know what to do in this situation.

I take a left turn instead of a right turn, and I head to the person Dally would have gone to.

--

Tim Shepard is on his front porch when I pull up.

I’d known Tim a long time: growing up in similar neighborhoods, then finding ourselves in similar situations. But unlike mine, Tim’s parents left by choice.

It made him hard and bitter, and I judged him before I knew what it was like. Before I knew how hard it was to fight against those feelings taking over your whole being.

“Curtis.”

“Shepard.” He leans the box of cigarettes my way and I take one. It’s rare that I smoke, but I have a lot on my mind, and I need something to take the edge off.

“Been waiting for you to come around.”

“How so?”

“I know who your girl is. And I know who her daddy is.” I am both relieved I don’t have to explain the situation to him and pissed he’s acting so smug about knowing it.

“You know two men broke in her house last night?” Tim raises his eyebrows, mildly surprised.

“Her daddy owes half the bookies in town. It was a matter of time.”

“You know who he owes? Who would have sent these guys?” I ask and Tim takes a long drag before answering.

“I can find out. Maybe spread the word that’s she’s yours and off limits.” I narrow my eyes. Tim and I understand each other, but he doesn’t do favors for free. “My gang’s having a bit of trouble with the Carter boys from Louisville Heights. It doesn’t die down, we’ll set a rumble to settle it.”

“And you want me there.”

“I want your gang there, just like I brought mine to your fight with the west side.”

I don’t like it, but he’s got a point and I won’t argue it. Well, I won’t argue most of it.

“I’ll be there. And I’ll bring whoever wants to come. I ain’t making people fight, not after last time.” And I sure as hell wasn’t letting Ponyboy fight at all.

The silence is heavy and I can tell Tim doesn’t like it, but he gets it. That’s usually how our conversations go.

I put out my cigarette in the ashtray and get up to leave, but Tim starts speaking again.

“Some men can walk away from the table. Your girl’s dad ain’t one of them.” Tim stands so we are eye to eye. “It’s important she knows that.”

I nod and leave and as I drive back to my house, I replay his words in my head. I know I’ll have to tell her.

But I don’t have to tell her today.

--

I pull up to the store a few minutes before four o’clock, but I barely make it through the front door and say hi before Mr. Murphy is calling me over.

“Just a word with Darrel here,” he tells her and she shakes her head, like she knows what he’s playing at. I follow him out the back door and to the back alleyway. He takes out a pack of cigarettes, but this time I decline.

“She told me what happened. Her goddamn father can’t do right be her one day of his life.” He sounded angry and it was strangely refreshing to hear someone else as protective as I was. Mr. Murphy takes another long drag. “She says you’ve got a spare room at your house she can stay in for a few days.”

“Yes sir.” I answer and Mr. Murphy gives me a look. He might be old, but he ain’t dumb: he knows there’s no way she’s staying in a spare room.

“I offered her the apartment above the store, no one has lived in it for a bit but it’s not a bad place if you open up the windows for a day.” I school my expression into something less thunderous than I feel and try to stay calm for my reply.

“With all due respect sir, I didn’t like dropping her off at an empty home even before all this. I’d like it even less now.” I don’t break his stare and after a minute, he shakes his head, but he’s smiling.

“You know, I remember your dad when he was your age. He loved your mama something fierce.”

I remember. Plenty of kids in my neighborhood only had one parent around, and even the ones with two didn’t always have a happy home. But my parents were different. They filled our house with so much love that Soda once told me he can still feel it.

And my dad loved my mom. He was a pretty easy-going guy, but if something made my mom upset, he would do just about anything to fix it. He’d take the whole world on if he had to.

I get that now.

“I just want to keep her safe.” I tell Mr. Murphy and his eyes turn kinder, the same look I see him give my girl.

“Seems I got nothin’ to worry about then. You just let me know when the wedding is gonna be.” He puts out his cigarette on the pavement and opens the back door to go inside.

It takes a lot to make me flush with embarrassment, but that comment nearly did. I shake off thoughts of rings and weddings cakes and follow him.

“Y’all alright?” She asks and I give her a smile.

“Nothin’ you need to worry about.” I lean on the counter while she finishes stacking the receipts. The front door jingles and Sheila walks in looking like her usual moody self. They switch cashier spots and we are about to head out before Mr. Murphy calls out one more time.

“Darrel?”

“Yes sir?”

“Bobby Evans says you help him out with bookkeeping from time to time.” I nod. It shouldn’t surprise me that Mr. Murphy knows my boss: Tulsa may be a city, but it’s really just a big small town. “My eyes are getting’ older so what would you say about helping me out sometimes? I’ll pay you the same he does.”

I knew what this meant: I had earned his trust. Not just with the books, but with someone he cared about.

“I’d like that a whole lot, sir.” We nod at each other, an understanding passing between us. I put my arm around my girl and we walk out into the bright sunlight of a Saturday afternoon.

And when she looks up at me, smiling that special smile she does, I fleetingly think of rings and cakes.

NEXT: Living with our fav Curtis brothers

[humanpurposes]

My Heart Belongs to Daddy part vi, modern!Aemond

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist // take the breath that's true

modern!Aemond x step-daughter

Warnings: 18+, language, family tensions

Words: 4500

A/n: Here we go, the penultimate installment! Part vii is going to be the last part and I can't really believe we're almost finished 🥲

And this is a complete coincidence I finished this today but HAPPY BRITHDAY to Ange aka @ewanmitchellcrumbs!! Consider this a little gift from me as a thank you for all your love n support 💚

Also available to read on AO3.

She wakes startled, her heart beating furiously to the sound of raised voices coming from the kitchen. 

She’s in the middle of the bed, curled up on one side with the bed sheets bunched up around her.

After the mess of last night, Cregan had gone to the pub with Jace and Baela. Evidently he hadn’t come back but his things are still strewn about her room, the brown leather holdall by the wardrobe, his t-shirt on the floor, his aftershave on her vanity.

She runs her hands over her face and forehead, groaning at the headache pulsing in her head as the shouting continues.

It’s a rarity for Alys and Aemond to get so heated, usually their arguments are a cold war of curt remarks and furious glances. She holds her breath, listening for specific words but she can’t make anything out.

It concludes with Alys shouting at the top of her lungs, “FUCK OFF THEN!” followed by the kitchen door slamming, a pair of loafers clicking against the floor of the hallway and then the front door opening and closing.

She goes to the window, pulling the curtain back just enough to see Aemond’s silver Jag pulling out of the driveway. Something about seeing him leave feels so final.

Once she’s thrown on a t-shirt and some shorts she treads carefully down the stairs, afraid to disturb the eerie silence that hangs about the house.

Alys is leaning over the counter, cradling her forehead in her other hand. She breathes deeply and slowly, the cup of coffee in front of her long forgotten. 

Finally she tries to compose herself, taking a sharp inhale through her nose, looking at her and forcing a smile, as if there aren’t tears welling in her eyes. “That’s it then,” she says, her voice hoarse from the shouting.

Panic strikes her gut like a knife, twisting and twisting until it burns. “Did he say why?”

Alys huffs bitterly. “He said it was ‘differing priorities’. Says he wants to reconnect with his family–” she licks her teeth and makes a sucking sound with her tongue– “he thinks I’ll just get in the way.”

“Is that actually what he said?”

“No.”

“Well how do you–”

“I just know!” Alys snaps and she flinches. Alys waves her hand vaguely in front of her face before she starts to rub circles against her temple. “I just… know.”

She looks down at the counter, hoping to find some way to make herself useful. There’s another cup in front of one of the stools. Black coffee, half-full. She reaches for it instinctively. She can’t see the prints of his fingertips and lips on the white ceramic, but she knows they’re there. He’s left a packet of cigarettes behind too, the same packet from the dinner party.

She pours the leftover coffee down the sink and squeezes some dish soap onto a cloth to clean it out. Her hands are shaking and she almost drops it twice.

“Gods, as if I even cared enough to interfere with his family,” Alys tuts behind her. “They never liked me.”

She can’t bring herself to disagree, but it’s not like the Targaryens are renowned for being welcome to outsiders, let alone the woman in her forties who took Alicent Hightower’s precious golden boy from her. She feels cruel for thinking that, especially because she knows she would never say that to Alys’ face. 

There’s a tapping sound coming from the counter, a nail against cardboard. She glances over her shoulder as Alys drums her fingertip against Aemond’s packet of cigarettes. Her head is tilted and she hums distantly.

“I never meant for things to go this far,” she says, “but it’s done now.”

She can still feel Aemond’s hands on her waist and stomach, pushing her against the sink and pulling her back into him.

Why end it with Alys now? Had he told her the truth? Surely this would have turned out to be a very different conversation if he had. So why didn’t he?

“I just know these last couple of months have been fucking unbearable without you.”

She slowly places the clean cup by the sink, squeezes the water and soap from the cloth and dries her hands on a tea towel.

She can feel her heartbeat in her throat, and wonders if she’ll be able to speak if she tries.

“Mum?”

Alys doesn’t look up at her, still preoccupied with the packet. “What is it darling?”

When she doesn’t respond right away Alys turns to face her. Her mother can often be distracted, even when she tries to talk to her, there always seems to be something that’s more important. Not now though. She looks at her, really looks at her, with red cheeks, dried tears and her eyebrows raised in a sympathetic expression. Focused, ready to listen to her.

There’s an old harbour down by Blackwater Bay, two tall stone walls cutting out a little corner of the shore. In the summer people like to go down to swim there because the waves aren’t as rough as they are in the open sea and the kids in King’s Landing have made a tradition of jumping from the harbour walls. She used to go with Harwin and Jace, before Luke was really old enough to swim. The wall is highest right at the end, from a slab of concrete which everyone called ‘the table’ looking out on the other side of the harbour. Every year she told Jace she would jump from the table and every year she walked along the wall and clambered up onto the concrete. She would look down at the waves, rolling, colliding and roaring as they splashed up against the harbour walls. Suddenly her body would start to tremble and she’d forget how to breathe. She never managed to do it.

Now she thinks she’d take jumping into the bay over what’s about to come.

“I’ve done something really awful.”

The train from Oldtown to King’s Landing takes four hours. Four hours when she has nowhere else to go, nothing else to do but put her headphones in and watch the snow covered hills and fields of the Reach race past in a blur of white and green.

In the end she had accepted the Masters programme at the University of Oldtown. Alys’ reaction couldn’t be described as enthusiastic, but she would have been less excited for her to stay in King’s Landing. 

Looking back, her first term had been good. She enjoyed her modules, liked all of her lecturers (even the stricter ones), was doing well on all of her assignments and she had access to the Citadel Library, which was far older and more impressive than the library at KLU.

She moved into a dorm room in the middle of the city just a few minutes from the main campus and made a few friends who all shared a flat in the well-to-do East District, which was where she did most of her socialising. On her free days she took herself to explore the city’s museums and bookshops, or she’d get herself a coffee and a cinnamon pastry and sit by the bank of the Honeywine, watching the boats and the flow of the water.

It should have been perfect, and it was in some ways. She threw herself into everything, research and essay writing, afternoons in pub gardens and parties full of strangers. Her life had become a tangle of possibilities and it was easy to let everything else slip away.

She ended things with Cregan well before she left for Oldtown. She told him half of the truth; she hadn’t been feeling like herself lately and she wanted space to feel like a person again. She didn’t tell him about Aemond or the incident at the dinner party, and she didn’t tell him that she felt like she was wandering through her own life like a lost puppy, looking for something she couldn’t quite put her finger on, something that would fill the space in her chest that seemed doomed to remain hollow forever.

He seemed shocked but he took it well. According to Jace he’s been getting rather close to Aly Blackwood, a KLU graduate from her year. Aly Blackwood is best known around King’s Landing as a goth with a heart of gold. She has tattoos and piercings, wears sleek eyeliner and black platform boots and spends every weekend going to concerts or music festivals. She’s smart and a people person, just like Cregan. If things are heading that way then she’s happy for them. He deserves someone like that, someone who doesn’t lie to everyone around her, someone who doesn’t fuck her mother’s boyfriend halfway through a dinner party, while her own boyfriend was only in the next room.

Oldtown was the perfect escape, until the 1st December came around. Everywhere she went there were lights and trees, couples huddling close together to keep out the cold, while Last Christmas played somewhere in the distance. She enjoyed as much of it as she could, especially when her new friends dragged her to go ice skating or to Oldtown’s annual Christmas market in the square. But she couldn’t shake the dread of having to go home and spending three weeks in the house alone with Alys. Three weeks of sleeping in the bed where Aemond used to fuck her.

She watches the window as the treeline of Kingswood vanishes, and the shoreline of Blackwater Bay stretches before her, which means the city is only minutes away.

She takes her phone from her pocket and looks at it with the same nagging impulse that so far, she’s successfully ignored for months. This is her last chance to call him before she gets to King’s Landing. She doesn’t even know what she would say. She doesn’t want to talk to him or see him, but she thinks it would be nice to hear his voice or just know that he’s thinking about her– if he is thinking about her.

She opens her notes app and the note titled really good advice.

Don’t engage.

Don’t listen to songs that make you sad.

It’s okay to let go.

The train emerges from a tunnel and slowly starts to halt as it comes into the glass canopy over the platforms of Central King’s Landing Station. She slips her phone back into her pocket.

Alys picks her up from the station. She’s not wearing her usual red lipstick and she’s cut her hair into a stylish bob that makes her look older– in a good way– but other than that, she looks the same. 

They hug stiffly and exchange the same mumbled greeting. “Hi. You alright? Yeah, good thanks.”

Snow drifts down from a dark grey sky, but it’s not cold enough for it to settle, despite Ella Fitzgerald’s wishes for a “White Christmas” through the car speakers. The traffic is busy so she has plenty of time to admire the lights and displays in shop windows, and the trees twinkling inside the houses as they get closer to Queen’s park.

The house is gloomier than she remembers, but then she left it in early September when the weather was still warm. That’s her least favourite thing about winter, it’s dark and it’s only 4pm. It’s cold too. She wonders if Alys came straight from the office.

She leaves her bag at the bottom of the stairs and follows Alys through to the kitchen. She squints at the harsh lights as Alys rummages through the fridge. “Didn’t have any time to think about dinner,” she says, “the last few days have been non-stop.”

“That’s okay,” she mutters, familiarising herself with the feeling of the white marble countertops under her palms. “I can walk down to the shops, if you need?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Alys says, “you’re a guest.”

That’s a new feeling, being a guest in her own house.

To Alys’ credit, she’s making an effort to be around more. She comes home from the office earlier than she usually does and on the weekends she brings her laptop to the lounge and works from there. 

She has reading she could be doing for uni but she’s too tired to read. Lately, every time she picks up a book the words blur and fade into one another. When she’s bored of scrolling through her phone or flicking through the TV, she tries her hand at baking gingerbread to get into the festive spirit. They turn out surprisingly well but then she’s just left sitting in the kitchen by herself, nibbling cookies and feeling utterly ridiculous for it. Why does being alone have to be so embarrassing, surely there’s no one around to care?

The worst part about being home is how obvious they’re both avoiding a certain topic.

They’re eating dinner around the island in the kitchen. The fridge is stocked up in anticipation for Christmas day (which seems unnecessary if it’s only for two of them) and in the meantime they’re living off simpler meals, mostly pasta or something with rice.

“Rhaenyra’s coming over for drinks on Christmas Eve” Alys says after a few minutes of silence.

She pauses her mouthful. Alys hasn’t so much as mentioned Rhaenyra since the dinner party after her graduation, and before that the wedding. She dreads to think this get together might include some other Targaryen relatives.

She swallows. “Why?”

Alys frowns. Rhaenyra and Harwin used to alternate their Christmases between their fathers, one year with Viserys, one year with Lyonel and the Rivers. That tradition had apparently been abandoned after Lyonel died not long after Harwin. Last year it had just been the three of them.

Alys shrugs. “Rhaenyra suggested it. We’ll just have a few glasses of wine. You’re welcome to join us if you’ve not got other plans.”

Other plans are unlikely; none of her friends are in King’s Landing. So far the holidays have just been a waiting game, but the festive season seems to drag on when you’ve got nothing interesting to do and no one to see. 

“I’ll be around,” she says.

“Perfect.”

Then they come back to silence, apart from the scraping of cutlery. She worries if she’s chewing too loudly, it sounds loud in her head.

Then Alys starts talking about a new client of hers. She becomes surprisingly animated, clearly excited about the new venture for Rivers PR, until she mentions an issue with contracts and some legal dilemma, then she goes quiet. It was Aemond’s job to sort that stuff out, make things more manageable for her. 

She tries to change the subject by telling Alys about Oldtown, her new friends and the possibility of a graduate role at the Citadel Research Institute. 

“One of my lecturers is a partner there,” she says. “They usually reserve two placements for Oldtown students.”

“How long would it be for?” Alys asks.

“Two years,” she says, taking a quick sip of the bittersweet grapefruit soda Alys had insisted she try, “it’s paid work, and then I’ll have a job by the end of it.”

“Sounds like you’ve got everything planned out nicely.” Alys doesn’t say it like a compliment. Her voice falls as she speaks.

“I mean, it’s only a possibility,” she says, “I’d have to get accepted. I was thinking about applying for some stuff in King’s Landing too–”

“Do you like Oldtown?” Alys asks. Her expression is utterly unreadable. She might be furious. She might not care at all.

She places her glass down. Her stomach aches with hunger but she finds that she doesn’t feel like eating. “Yeah, I do.”

“Well then I see no reason to force yourself to stay here,” Alys says and promptly goes back to eating. 

Her chest feels like it’s about to burst.

She told Alys the truth. She didn’t try to justify what she did. She watched her mother cry, stood there as she screamed at her and gave her space when she wanted it. Seven hells, she had moved to the other side of the continent to give her space.

She knows there’s no version of this where she isn’t the villain, where she doesn’t wake up every morning and feel like a shit human being. Part of her is still trying to accept that her mother might never forgive her, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t want to try.

The edges of her vision start to blur. “You’re here,” she says.

She watches Alys’ chest rise and fall and her lips start to tremble as she sets her cutlery down. She breathes as she hangs her head, gnawing slightly on her bottom lip.

She anticipates another argument like the one before, that will leave her with a hoarse throat and a tightness in her head.

Then Alys turns her head to face her with glassy eyes. “I hope you don’t think I’ve held you back.”

“What? No, why would you say that?”

“You seem so happy in Oldtown I just… I hate to think that you only went to KLU for me. Don’t get me wrong, I loved having you at home for another three years, but I just wanted you to be happy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you–” she gasps a small sob but snatches it right back. She wipes her eyes with her fingertips, careful not to smudge her makeup. “I’m sorry if I’ve made things… difficult.”

She can hardly believe what she’s seeing. “No, no, no…” she utters, reaching for one of Alys’ hands. Her throat feels thick and when she blinks she feels hot and heavy tears trailing over her cheeks. “This was all my fault. Mum, you’ve given me everything, and what have I done with it but just be selfish and stupid and–”

“Oh come here,” Alys huffs. They both stand and Alys wipes her daughter’s tears away with her thumbs. 

“But you must hate me,” she whimpers, “I lied to you. I hurt you.”

Alys strokes her hands over her hair and cradles her, bringing her into her chest like she used to when she was a child. “I wanted to at first,” she mutters, “of course I did. I never would have thought…

“You know, I never actually thought I’d have kids. My parents weren’t exactly great at making me feel like a priority, and I used to think I could never be a parent because, well, I didn’t know how to be one.

“But you were so perfect. From the moment you were born I just knew I loved you, like I had never loved anyone before, and I knew I never would love anyone more than you, ever.”

She clings onto her mother like she might fade away, with the material of her blouse between her fingers and her ear pressed to her heartbeat.

“You’ve always been my everything,” Alys whispers, “I just… I don’t want to lose you.”

She pulls herself away from Alys’ embrace so she can look her in the eye. “I really am sorry, for everything with Aemond.”

Alys hums shortly. “Was it just sex?”

She’ll never forget that night in the hotel room, how stupid she felt, how empty it left her, how lost she was for months after. Sometimes she wonders, if she could, would she take back what she said? There’s no point in getting hung up on what-ifs. 

She still feels lost in a lot of ways, but the dust seems to be settling now. She just hopes things will be a little clearer now.

“I think it was for him.”

Alys frowns sadly. “Oh you stupid thing.”

She wants to cry all over again, but it’s a fair statement. “Are you sure you don’t hate me?”

Alys considers the question. “Maybe just a little.”

By Christmas Eve her mood has significantly improved. The weight has been lifted from her body. She doesn’t have to spend an hour convincing herself to get out of bed. She doesn’t lose herself under the warm, running water of the shower. She doesn’t feel so exhausted from the simplest of tasks.

She and Alys finally get not one but two trees up. The ‘proper tree’ is in the dining room, with golden lights reflected in the silver and glass ornaments. In the lounge they have a smaller one that sits in the window. It has fairy lights shaped like stars and mismatched decorations, little wooden snowmen, plush reindeer and polar bears they’ve had since she was little and golden birds that belonged to Alys’ grandmother. She likes the small tree the best because every decoration has a memory. She feels like a little girl again, buzzing with excitement to spend Christmas day with uncle Harwin, aunt Rhaenyra and her cousins.

Tomorrow, she'll wake up slowly, have mimosas with her mum, roast some potatoes, eat too much food and fall asleep curled up on the sofa. Nothing else will matter. She won’t keep second guessing someone else’s every move. She won’t cry herself to sleep thinking of every little thing about her that isn’t good enough to be loved.

Alys is adamant tonight will be nothing like the dinner party in June, thank the Gods.

She changes into a mini dress with a colourful floral pattern and styles her hair nicely. She tilts her head at her reflection and puts in some pearl drop earrings, but something still feels missing. She shrugs it off.

She helps Alys put out snacks and drinks on the kitchen island and choses a playlist of all the essential Christmas songs, just in time for their guests to arrive.

Rhaenyra looks as stunning as ever, in a black two piece that fits snugly around a growing baby bump, bright red lipstick and gold jewellery on her neck and wrists. She hugs both of them tightly and smiles beautifully in a way that makes her think she might be genuine. 

Baela and Rhaena follow behind her, which is a pleasant surprise.

“No boys with you?” Alys asks as they all walk through to the kitchen.

“Thought we’d keep it strictly pleasant company,” Rhaenyra says, “nice to have a bit of calm before we go to dad’s tomorrow.”

“Right,” she and Alys say at the same time.

They all sit in the kitchen. The twins are a year older than her. Baela’s been working at her grandfather’s company while Rhaena’s found her way into being a stylist, always posting from film sets and photoshoots. She looks the part too, she tends to wear bright, bold colours and pairs them with patterns and materials that shouldn’t work together, but somehow they do.

They ask about Oldtown and she doesn’t feel bad about repeating everything she’s already told Alys. The attention is quite nice.

Given the baby, Rhaenyra can’t actually drink but she pours some cranberry juice into a wine glass and sips it elegantly. “Jace told me you and Cregan broke up?” she says once the charcuterie boards have been finished off.

In that moment she tries to think of all the ways someone might react when they’re not bothered by something. Unbothered people smile vaguely and play with their hair without it seeming nervous. Unbothered people crack jokes at their own expense and laugh things off. Unbothered people don’t take as long as she’s taking to answer a question. “Um.. yeah.”

“Oh well, that’s life,” Rhaenyra sighs. “You know I broke up with my first girlfriend before I went to uni.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. And then she married my dad.”

She and Alys look at each other. They both try to look concerned at first, until she sees a flicker of a smile on Aly’s lips. She slips too, and they simultaneously snort into laughter. 

But once the amusement wears off and Alys and Rhaenyra retreat to the lounge, she still feels guilty. 

Baela and Rhaena are gossiping about some shared friends. She only half pays attention.

Maybe Rhaenyra meant it to be reassuring, empathetic, validating, but Oldtown wasn’t the reason why she ended things with Cregan, more a symptom of a single problem.

She has a sudden urge to reach for her phone, but she’s left it upstairs.

She was doing so fine in Oldtown. She was happy, busy, things didn’t seem to bother her as much as they do in King’s Landing.

“What are you doing for new years?” Baela asks. 

“Oh um, nothing. Mum has a fundraiser she usually goes to.”

“Are you not going to go with her?”

A ballroom full of canapés, elevator pitches and entrepreneurs making small talk sounds like a living hell. “Definitely not.”

“We’re all going to Dracarys,” Rhaena says, “you know that club on Silk Street? Why don’t you join us.”

She starts to shake her head. Hanging out with Aemond’s cousins sounds like it could be a bad idea. 

“I know what you’re thinking,” Baela says, “but don’t worry, it’s just us, Jace and a few other girls. Cregan won’t be there, he’s gone back to Winterfell.” 

She releases a shaky sigh of relief. Right. Cregan. The person she should be worried about.

“He and Aly Blackwood are a thing now,” Rhaena says.

She keeps her eyes on a space on the counter. “Yeah, I heard.”

The kitchen falls to an uneasy silence. Baela and Rhaena look at each other and she can feel the anxiety radiating off them, restless and uncomfortable without something to fill the lull in the conversation. She doesn’t mind the quiet. 

They don’t stay too late. When they go to leave the snowfall is a little heavier and leaves a light dusting over the drive and the cars.

“Let me know about new years,” Baela says, “we’ll have fun!”

She supposes so, and besides, she could do with getting out the house and drowning her sorrows with a sensible amount of margaritas. 

She and Alys stand in the doorway as Rhaenyra’s Escalade pulls away and disappears down an otherwise empty street, leaving a trail in the snow that is quickly covered again. 

Alys checks the time on her phone and shows her the time: 00:02. “Happy Christmas, darling,” she says, wrapping her arm around her shoulders.

She smiles and leans into her. “Happy Christmas, mum.”

Alys grins and nods towards the stairs. “Now get to bed or Santa’ll skip our house.”

She giggles softly as she goes, entirely pleased that Christmas isn’t turning out to be a complete shitshow. Alys has left a new pyjama set on her bed, white, fluffy and impossibly soft. It makes a difference from her old Black Sabbath t-shirt. She readies herself for bed, brushes her teeth and takes a few sips of the glass of water she’s brought up with her. 

Her phone is plugged in on her bedside table, but it must be fully charged by now. 

The moment she reaches for it, the screen lights up and it starts to ring. The glare of the white text makes her eyes sting: Aemond Targaryen.

All the months of distance are gone in a moment. All the time she’s spent trying to move on are lost for just one glimmer of hope. It would be so easy to accept the call. She doesn’t care what she should or shouldn’t say. One movement of her thumb and she’ll hear his voice. 

Don’t engage.

It’s okay to let go.

She watches the phone ring until his name disappears.

A/n: I also realised that I've been referring to Harwin's father as Simon Strong which is incorrect, it should be Lyonel, so I've gone back and corrected that.

General Taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy

Series Taglist: @marthawrites @urmomsgirlfriend1 @aaaaaamond @boundlessfantasy @sahvlran @tinykryptonitewerewolf @arcielee @tssf-imagines @aemondsfavouritebastard @skikikikiikhhjuuh @queenofshinigamis @lost-and-founds @izzydlb @dc-marvel-girl96 @xcinnamonmalfoyx @padfooteyes @castellomargot @pet1t3 @okfashionista @khaothick @babygirlyofthevale (I'm so sorry I said I was gonna add you for last time and I completely forgot 😭)

[redlegumes]

Dec 3rd: Stolen Pine

Written for @steddieholidaydrabbles

prompt: Mutual Pining | AO3: link | wc: 946 | rating: G | cw: none | tags: idiots in love, 'pine' ing, Christmas tree without glasses, light theft

Summary: Spontaneous tree theft and decorating, paired with some pining.

⍋↟⍋♡⍋↟⍋

They'd hauled in the tree. Eddie kept talking about how the evergreen part was the important bit and continued to explain Christmas's stolen nuances from paganism. Steve nodded and did his best to follow along. That was what he did lately, follow Eddie. Whether it started with a need to assure himself the guy was okay after their Upside Down torments, or if he'd honestly found Eddie intriguing from the get go, Steve couldn't say. 

It didn't really matter anyway. He was positive that his feelings weren't going away as he nodded along with Eddie's excited ramblings. He hadn't even hesitated to join Eddie that night without product in his hair, glasses on.

…

Steve's vision had started to degrade. He'd noticed after his first run in with a Demogorgon. Pretty soon he legally needed corrective lenses to drive. Vanity prevented him from letting anyone other than Robin know. She'd assured him, ‘a boy is allowed to have his secrets. Just not from his platonic soulmate.’ Kinda the same reasoning behind why she knew how utterly hopeless he'd become around Eddie. The type of lovesick that had him helping Eddie with his non-christ related, Christmas tree caper.

continues after the cut

Eddie already knew about Steve's vision after helping Steve through an awful migraine where he just couldn't stand to have the contacts in. Steve'd been so nervous but Eddie just teased him about commiting to an ’Indiana Jones’ look and they kinda just moved on.

Steve hadn't expected Eddie at all that night when he knocked on his door. He'd come late to ask for help stealing a tree off some wooded, government owned property. He took one look at Eddie's ridiculous smile and dancing deep eyes and threw on a parka to help.

…

Now they were attempting to get the damn thing in a stand in the white-walled, impersonal living room of the house the ‘’Department of Energy’ had provided Wayne Munson with. They managed with no small amount of grunting and sappy fingers. More than once Steve reminded himself not to stare too hard at Eddie through the pine branches. He even liked Eddie's frustrated faces, the downward curve of his lips, the wrinkling of his forehead. Jesus, I'm pathetic. 

When they finished he and Eddie stood back admiring their fresh cut theft.

“Wayne's at work for another two hours. Think we can get it done ourselves before he's back?”

“Do you have decorations?”

Eddie sheepishly twisted where he stood. “I picked up some lights, and yeah, there's a box of ornaments.”

Steve stilled, bowled over by the waves of ‘adorable’ pouring off of Eddie. “Uh yeah, I think we can manage.”

—

The box was one of the few items in a very small storage room Al Munson's name was on outside of town. Eddie had been contacted once as ‘next of kin' to make payments on the thing, and that's when he went to see it himself. Inside were his dad's ‘tools of the trade,’’ some suspicious looking luggage and duffels he recognized from a hair brained scheme or two. What a lame cache, he'd thought at the time. That was before he reached the cardboard boxes in the back. They were his mother's. Winter decorations and clothes that were never brought back out when the seasons changed after her death. 

It was one of those boxes he'd picked up and brought to the new place, dragging it out now for Steve. Steve stopped unraveling lights to examine the ornaments. “These look like heirlooms,” he said, carefully picking up a blue, blown glass sphere and turning it in his strong hands. 

Eddie loved the care and attention Steve directed at the one piece. The way a tendril of hair fell over his forehead; the consideration on his face. Steve was already in his ‘Clark Kent look’ when Eddie'd shown up to his place that night. Which made sense, it was late, but Eddie loved the glasses on Steve. He liked the superman analogy too. Steve was basically Eddie's superman anyway.

“They were my mother's,” Eddie said, touching the edge of a carved angel's wing inside.

Steve's mouth made a small ‘o’ shape and he carefully set the ornament back into the nestled layers of tissue paper. “They're beautiful Eds.”

They decorated together, and it was easy. Eddie was warmed just being near Steve but they seemed to naturally work well together, joking and spacing the lights and decorations just right. Steve got Eddie's radio out and they listened to crackly Christmas tunes as they went along.

They finished about thirty minutes or so before Wayne's anticipated return. The men stood back to admire their handy work. Steve took his glasses off.

“Prettier that way,” Eddie asked, breathier than he wanted to sound.

Steve chuckled. “Good both ways, but yeah. One of the only perks I guess? The lights all expand and blend a bit.”

Eddie stared at Steve taking in the tree. If the lights were as fuzzy as he'd said, Steve wouldn't notice Eddie's stare. Truth be told, Eddie always wanted to stare at Steve. The lights reflected in Steve's light brown eyes… Christ, he is so pretty. Eddie's fingers itched to twine themselves with Steve's. He was dying with every little kindness Steve showed him; dying to bite the bullet and confess. He wanted to know if his crush was one sided, but if things took a different turn... Telling Steve could ruin what they had, and then who would help him steal a Christmas tree at two am?

He could live with this for now, watching Steve lit by the glow of Christmas lights they hung together. 

“Thanks Stevie.”

“Anytime Eds.”

2023 RedLegumes Steddiemas 1 2 3 4 5 6 10 SteddieHolidayDrabbles 1 2 3 4 6 8 9 10

[fleckcmscott]

Bountiful

Summary: As autumn leaves fall, Y/N and Arthur reflect on how much they have to be thankful for.

Words: 3,643

Warnings: None

A/N: Though Thanksgiving is alluded to in Backward, Forward - Part 2, this is the first piece I've written featuring the holiday. I hope you all like it! 😃 Lots of love and appreciation for @sweet-nothings04 for beta reading! And a happy Thanksgiving to all who celebrate! 🦃

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

The door flew open at the exact moment Y/N turned the key.

All teeth and boundless glee, Arthur's handsome grin greeted her. "Hello, Mrs. Fleck." A thorough kiss when he grabbed her hand to pull her inside. "Come here."

Intrigue arching her eyebrow, she followed on eager feet. Toed off her heels at the kitchen partition, dropped her tote bag by the floor lamp, lost her purse somewhere behind the sofa. The sleeve of her speckled wool coat hung at her wrist, a captive of his firm grip.

He took a seat at his desk. Four bills were piled to the left, a torn open cardboard mailer to the right. He gestured towards the mailer. "Look what came today."

She wriggled free and picked it up. Skimmed Gotham Bank's return address and dumped out the contents: a vinyl checkbook and four check booklets. The source of his excitement stood nonchalantly in the upper left corner.

She traced the italicized letters. Arthur & Y/N Fleck. "Our names go well together."

"We go well together." He swept her onto his lap, pecked a line from her lips to her temple. Shifting forward, he snagged the checkbook and a ballpoint pen. "I wanna make out the first one." She studied the subtle movements of his hand as he printed "City of Gotham - Sewer" on the payee line. His strokes were slower than usual, the serifs neater, as if writing a sacred declaration instead of paying for flushes.

Delight flitted through her, light as a feather.

He'd been buzzing since their trip to Niagara, and she'd found herself buzzing right along with him. At the office, she'd blurred between drafting motions, reading complaints, and offering sanitized answers to suggestive questions about their romantic weekend. He'd pinned two postcards featuring the falls to the room divider at his desk, stuck their corny Honeymooning portrait on his vanity. The props from Houdini Magic Shop went straight into his plaid bag.

In bed last night, he'd squeezed her hand and said he wanted the honeymoon to last forever. That with her, he was sure it would.

She'd swallowed the thickness in her throat and squeezed back.

The telephone rang the second he finished the k on the signature line. When she moved to stand, he picked her up and plopped her on the chair. Pecked her forehead and took off for the kitchen.

Once he'd rounded the corner, she turned back to his desk with a smile. She ran her palms along the worn maple, feeling like the recipient of an exclusive invitation. Nosey fingers itched to open the drawers, her thumb dangling dangerously close a pull handle. Knowing all there was to know about Arthur, learning his innermost thoughts by heart was an ever-present longing. What would be the harm in seeing if the drawers were locked?

Get a grip, Y/N. He's your husband, not a case.

Rolling her eyes, she tore the check from the booklet and stuffed it in its envelope.

His dusty baritone caught her ear. "No, it's okay. I just got back from my honeymoon." An extra emphasis on the last syllable to make it stick. "Thanksgiving? Well, maybe that Wednesday. Let me check my calen..."

Words went to fuzz as the whole of her attention turned inward.

The last three weeks had been wonderous, if overflowing. With the burst of getting hitched; Halloween with its pleasures and poignancy; the mayoral election and Thomas Wayne's dastardly win; Niagara Falls; and Arthur's upcoming birthday (for which she'd pull in a favor from Patricia), Thanksgiving hadn't been on the furthest recesses of her mind.

Family had filled her past, get-togethers that'd inspire Norman Rockwell to paint a new Saturday Evening Post. Visits from her grandparents, her mother's older sister and husband, who'd stolen Y/N's nose until she was twelve and always carried a flask. A televised parade from some faraway place called Gotham, construction paper headdresses and pilgrim bonnets. Her mother's cornbread dressing and butterscotch pie. Rowdy older cousins spilling gravy and running around the kids' table. And, when it all became a little too much, slipping her hand in Mabel's and slipping onto the porch. Imperfect but wonderful with love at its core.

The click of the receiver cut through the sunny recollection, a rarity she'd uncovered thanks to Arthur. A lightness she feared would shift to shadow, given its Ever After.

"That was the children's clinic," Arthur called as he crossed the living room. "The activity coordinator's out. They want to hire me for Thanksgiving, the Wednesday before."

"That's your third job there, right?" she asked "They're going to have to keep you on retainer."

"She said they had crafts, but- I dunno what a clown's supposed to do." He shrugged, huffed a chuckle through his nose. "Gobble, gobble?"

"They already have a plan. That'll make it easy. Just be yourself. You can't go wrong there. Which reminds me..." Y/N swiveled to fully face him. Away from the There and Then, to the Here and Now. "What do you want to do for Thanksgiving?"

Dimples dappled his cheeks. "It's been a long time since I've done anything." He said it in a manner she took to mean never, and her breastbone became a dull ache. He crouched to retrieve her purse from the floor. "What did you always do? You and your family?" It was one of the handful of occasions he'd asked about them directly. "We can do that."

"No," she said, a bit too fast. His black brow raised a fraction. She knelt next to him and gathered her coat. Smoothed it over her lap. Consciously softened her voice but still pushed back. "We should start something ourselves. Make our own history."

The glow of nostalgia illuminated his green eyes. "Make it about us." He tugged at the lapel of her blazer, drew her in for a kiss. A damp press of his mouth with no teeth or tongue.

She sank into his solid frame, a haven from what she couldn't yet mend. "We'll just have to figure out what to do with the leftovers."

~~~~~

In the sunniest section of the common room, Arthur took a brown crayon from Timothy, a boy with a bandaged head and right arm in a cast, the aftermath of a car failing to yield at a crosswalk. "Here, I can do it," Arthur offered. Timothy splayed his hand on the horseshoe shaped table.

Arthur traced around his palm, each finger, his skinny thumb. "That's good," he said, reaching for a shoebox of felt cutouts. "What color feathers do you think he has?"

Arts and crafts were not a part of Carnival's repertoire. A magic wand and a record player were a more comfortable fit, a twirl and a stomp to top off a silly dance. But he and a couple of candy stripers had spent the afternoon helping patients choose between handprint turkeys and leaf friends, replete with googly eyes. And he found the more he offered assistance, the easier it was to discern when it was appropriate. To make their Thanksgiving better than his own.

In the Before Y/N period, a holiday to celebrate plenty had been as inaccessible as full cupboards and a full heart. How could there be freedom from want, when he'd wanted his entire life?

School had been a morose monotony, but the week of Thanksgiving break had meant missed meals. The roar of his stomach and embarrassed, stifling laughter had annoyed enough to earn a free lunch tray whenever there were leftovers. Two or three times a week. Far from prying eyes and piercing words, he'd sat in an empty classroom and munched on dry chicken and bouillon flavored rice. Saved his chocolate pudding tin for dinner in case Penny had forgotten groceries again.

After dropping out of high school to work, holiday shifts had been his bread and butter. People lost a bit of their edge, he got time-and-a-half, and it was less painful to be around those who didn't know him than the mother who never would. Dishwashing at the Logerquist Hotel came with the perk of smoking away and swaying to a live jazz band between loads.

Then there was the Thanksgiving he'd spent in Arkham.

A four-year-old's disappointment from the right. "I dropped it."

Red and blue rubber shoes slid along polka-dotted vinyl. Arthur made a show of retrieving the paste stick from under the table. Presented it to April with the IV with a bow. Without bills to pay, her giggle and body scrunching with glee would be the only hourly he'd need.

"Excuse me, Mr. Fleck?"

He straightened and turned towards the nursing station in the back corner. A crucifix hung on the wall next to the L-shaped counter, and beside it an icon of the clinic's namesake Saint Philomena, arrows and anchor firmly in her grasp. An unfamiliar face stepped out from behind the station, a woman with a shock of brunette corkscrew curls.

She stuck out her hand. "I'm Concetta, the woman who called. I'm lucky I found your card on Holly's desk. Thank you for squeezing us in on such short notice. I was wondering if you might have a slot open for Christmas."

It hadn't been short notice, and he hadn't booked anything for Christmas, but he didn't have to tell her that. He attempted a confident handshake - and succeeded. "Um, yeah. I should have one. Did you want to put me on retainer?"

She was kind enough ignore the left-footed use of the term. "Let's start with Christmas, first. Holly'll be back by then. It'll be a nice surprise for the children and their parents. Let me give you my card and we can iron out the details." She plucked it from her pocket without pause. "I'm out tomorrow but feel free to leave me a message once you've checked your schedule."

He gripped the card between thumb and forefinger, but it took three seconds for him to take it. Assurance swirled and spiraled upwards into an appreciative nod. "Thanks."

"You're very welcome. Congratulations on getting married, by the way. Do you and your wife have big plans tomorrow?"

Entire face creasing into a smile, he answered, "Well, her family's in Missouri, so just dinner at our place. I'm- I'm really looking forward to it."

And, if luck continued to shine on him, Part Two of the conversation started on Halloween night. A chance to follow all the breadcrumbs she'd strewn about her earlier years - before she could sweep them away and erase the trail. To prove she could mend with him, the way so much of himself continued to with her.

~~~~~

By the time Y/N turned on the TV, the Killinger's Thanksgiving Day Parade was getting underway. Special Presentation on NCB, led by Gotham City's Police Department's Highway Patrol, hosted by Murray Franklin and sidekick Barry O'Donnell.

Pursing her lips, she debating changing the channel. Having this on in the background was a rare childhood tradition Arthur and she shared. She wasn't going to let Franklin's smarmy smirk and O'Donnell's desperate laugh-alongs sully that.

She twisted the volume dial. The cries of bugles hushed to whimpers and the roars of hosts became murmurs.

When she padded into the kitchen for another cup of coffee, Arthur was leaning on the counter with both hands, a book open on the Formica, concentration deepening his crowsfeet. Freed from its netting, the Lil' Butterball lounged in an aluminum roasting pan in the sink. She'd suggested chicken, but he'd insisted on turkey, and with this being his first real Thanksgiving, she hadn't argued.

His lips moved as he read, pointer finger tracking each word. She filled her mug, glanced at the cookbook, the yellowed photograph of a roasted turkey surrounded by pale parsley and wrinkly tomatoes. A nervous palm rubbed the nape of his neck.

She wrapped an arm about his middle, planted a kiss between his shoulder blades. Disheveled curls caressed her cheek. She rubbed a soothing circle on his taut stomach, through his thermal shirt. "Did you find a recipe you like better?" she asked.

Adopting an uneven slouch, he brought her to his side. "This says to put oil on the skin, but this-" he pointed to another paragraph "-says to use shortening. I don't know what that is. I bought this the other day." He reached for a nondescript plastic baggy that smelled of rosemary, oregano and sage. "But there are no directions. Do we put it in the turkey or what?"

Fingers fidgeting in a way they never did when they held a cigarette, he pushed out a breath. "I haven't cooked one before."

"Neither have I," she said. "My mother did all the cooking. And Jeff and I alternated between his parents and mine. The most I did was bring a pumpkin pie."

"You made pie?"

"'Made' is too much credit. I used store bought crust and canned filling." She nudged him in the ribs and offered her coffee, which his fidgety fingers gladly accepted. He added two more sugars as she continued. "If we try to make this perfect, we're going to drive ourselves crazy."

She skimmed the recipe, reviewed the roasting table, and set the oven to 325 degrees. "Rub the seasoning under the skin, and I'll brush the margarine on."

Four hours later, she could barely see the table for all the food.

Roasted turkey, golden with a buttery crisp. Green bean casserole in eight-by-eight Corningware. Arthur was skeptical of the sweet potatoes topped with marshmallows, but she was certain it was a combination his sweet tooth would cheer. Confusion narrowed his eyes whenever she referred to StoveTop as dressing. Laughing at herself, she shook her head. ("You call it stuffing up here.") Brown 'n serve rolls baked in the oven for twelve minutes. A tube of jellied cranberry sauce slid out of the can with a satisfying plop.

Offering a Hamilton Beach electric knife (a steal at Donahue's for $21.99), she asked him to carve the turkey. His glistening gaze and closed mouth grin sent jumbles through her middle.

He'd said he'd been the man of the house for as long as he could remember. Pearled the grit of taking care of Penny into gems. Polished the story of a trapped adolescence into something he could, should be proud of.

But now he was the man of their house. Pearling was no longer needed, polishing no longer necessary, because a life lived with Y/N was what he'd chosen. What they'd chosen A certain kind of light that shined on them both,

Arthur rubbed the tops of his thighs. "There's so much. I'm not sure where to start." After a moment, he scooped a spoonful of the potato casserole. Tested the mash of marshmallow and sugary starch with a cautious nibble. A hum of pleasure behind smacking lips. "This is good."

"Let me see." She stole a forkful from his plate. The cozy warmth of cinnamon and nutmeg melted on her taste buds. Her sigh was equal parts satisfaction and relief. "It's always hit or miss when I try my mother's recipes."

"Well, this one's a hit." He paused. "What else did your mom make?"

"Just the usual," she said with a dismissive wave. She snagged a roll and ripped it in two. Steam rose from the dough in hot waves.

A knife clinked against ceramic, jarred gravy cascaded over turkey. He sampled the green bean casserole and said nothing. Dug into the StoveTop and said nothing. Sipped coffee and said nothing.

Her cheeks turned to coals, a sudden flush of shame. An unwelcome echo of Halloween. How could she have given this man her whole heart, then shut down his loving inquiry like she was shutting a barricade? As if he was the one who'd erred instead of her? It wasn't as if she didn't get what he was feeling. Only a couple weeks ago, she'd had to stop herself from shuffling through his drawers.

Contrition rose in her throat. She cleared it, offered a small smile of apology, and started over again.

"She made cornbread dressing - stuffing - with buttermilk, eggs, celery... Everybody loved it. She made enough batches to send home with everyone. Even the years Jeff and I were with his family, she'd come over the next day with a big pot."

She smeared margarine on her roll. "My sister has that recipe."

"Maybe she'd send us a copy?" Arthur said.

"I'll ask when I call tonight."

"It's nice to hear you talk about your family."

Her shoulders drew together. "I know."

Two more chews and he sliced into the cranberry sauce with the side of his fork. "I was in the hospital one year. For Thanksgiving. There were visitors from a local church or parish or whatever. They served turkey dinners and ate with us, like we were normal people." He took the jiggly jelly off the tines with his teeth. "There were Looney Tunes on the TV - Arkham plays cartoons all the time. We didn't talk a lot, but I liked it. It was nice not to have to cook for my mother and be alone."

Alone but with his mother. Alone but with her father. Two by two they'd marched through their days to make their way to each other. To sit at this table. To be brave enough to share themselves.

When it came to matters of the heart, Arthur's courage was far greater than hers. Of that there was no doubt. Perhaps one day she'd crack open the barricade enough to match it.

Reaching out to clutch his hand, she promised herself she'd try.

The start of a smile tipped the corners of his mouth. He clutched back.

~~~~~

A little girl's excited squeal resounded through Gotham Park, riding the breeze through winding trees. The afternoon sunset cast long shadows across meadows and rippled along Crown Reservoir. Couples strolled curved walkways, impromptu snack stands lined parkways, selling cocoa and pretzels and crepes. An elderly man, toothless and in a fraying baseball cap, sat on an iron bench, laughing as he fed the ducks at his feet.

Gait easy, casual, utterly natural, Arthur put his arm around Y/N's shoulders. When he'd worked the seasonal carnivals, fall foliage's showy scarlets and honied ambers had been a seldom source of beauty. A background to his daydreams while he'd eaten fried dough on his break. He'd wanted to show it to her for awhile, make those dreams come true.

Most leaves littered the ground now, releasing a musky sweetness as they crunched under their feet. But a few still clung to the uppermost branches, huddled together as if trying to keep warm.

A rustic arch bridge spanned the narrowest part of the reservoir, an antique made of stones dredged during the body of water's construction in 1893. As they reached its crest, he nodded towards pine oaks reaching across the water, akin to lovers stretching to meet. Pointed at crimson sugar maples contrasting against clear, blue sky. Admired clusters of eastern white pines, nature's answer to skyscrapers.

"The fall in Boonville is prettiest in November," Y/N said. "Everything peaks about a month later than here. The honey locusts - those don't grow this far north - turn as yellow as the sun."

"Oh." He shoved his hand in his pocket. He'd assumed autumn's prism made his home special.

She stepped out of his embrace. Crossed her arms on the stone parapet. "But there's a catch. They have thorns - longer than my hand. If you're not careful, they'll tear your dress."

That struck him as too specific to be offhand. Going to her side, he jumped at the chance to follow that breadcrumb. "Did that happen to you?"

"Mabel and I were playing hide and seek. I ruined my skirt, and she got nineteen stitches. We tried to avoid them after that. But they kept spreading and spreading and after a few years thorns were everywhere." A hitch brittled the last word.

She plucked a fiery oak leaf from the parapet, mottled with brown flecks. "My father used to go around the table and ask us to name one thing we were thankful for. It had to be different every year."

"That'll certainly be easy now that you're here." He studied the gold wedding band he'd paid off last week. Twisted it around his finger. "I'm thankful I can wear this. That it's real."

A giggle left her. "It suits you." She twirled the leaf by the stem, held it to her face. Eyes shimmering in the sunlight, she gazed over it like a hand fan. "I'm thankful for fewer thorns."

Stare locked on hers, he slowly lowered the leaf. Palmed it and tucked it away to press into the pages of his journal. "You know, no matter what happened, I'm here," he said, closing her hand between both of his.

She kissed the back of his fingers. They curled under the tender fullness of her lips. "I know you are, Arthur." Her palm rested on his sternum, directly above his heart. Pulling him to her, not pushing back. "I know you are." Gentle as a breeze, she raised herself to meet his kiss. He cupped the side of her neck, his thumb at the hollow of her throat.

Ding ding!

A tween on a scooter darted by, missed them by barely an inch. His mother chased him in a haggard, hoofing jog. "Christopher Daniel, you stop this very instant!"

Y/N's laughter rippled against Arthur's fingertips, her chuckles honey on his lips. Elation swept through him, a wave so powerful his knees quaked.

"Come on," she said, lacing her arm through his, and led him down the other side of the bridge. "I think there's a hot chocolate with our names on it."

~~~~~

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve​​​​​ @ithinkimaperson​​​​​ @sweet-nothings04​​​​​ @stephieraptorr​​​​ @rommies​​​​​ @fallenstarsabyss @gruffle1​​​​​ @another-day-in-chuckletown​ @hhandley80​​​​​ @jokerownsmysoul​​​​​ @rafaelbottom @ralugraphics​​​​​ @iartsometimes​​​​​ @fleckficgirl @chaimshelii

[sincerelyverena]

Hello hello :))

If I may request Charles introducing ska to an alternative!reader?? As a goth and metahead myself (mainly), I'm just begging to learn more about other subcultures I love alt people 🛐🛐

Thank you very much!

⟡⁺ TOO MUCH, TOO YOUNG

AAAHHHH ANON. I LOVE YOU SO MUCH! this was such a creative prompt, every second of this i loved writing and brainstorming now i know a fuck time about ska, so thank you! xox

. . . CHARLES ROWLAND X GN!READER ‘gi we de birth control, we no want no pickni.’ @andforthecoating

inbox is always open for requests!

in whichꕀ

✦ ﹒charles is sick of your music taste and believes he can damn well introduce you to his favourite genre of tunes and make you love it.

tagsꕀ

✦ ﹒platonic pairing﹐charles and reader bonding over music﹐charles being passionate about ska oh lord marry me pls ﹐brainstorming verena is super excited to get this done ﹐hello again its editing verena i would marry this fic and anon if i had the chance to wow it turnt out PERFECT

THANK YOU TO MY WONDERFUL BETA READERS: @no-baths-for-stan

‘You got the same CDs, haven’t you?’

Charles was rustling around in your room. You were preoccupied with applying your makeup for the day, watching him kneel by your disc collection as you glimpsed into your reflection. ‘Temple of Love’ by Sisters of Mercy stifled the background noise as you worked.

‘You should know,’ you remarked, dipping your gaze towards the palette by your side. You plunged the tip of your brush into the darkest powder in sight, moving it towards the space where your eyebrows were supposed to be. ‘Seeing as you like to rummage through them so often.’

‘It’s all the same tunes, innit?’ Charles blew out a short breath, hands falling to the edge of the cardboard box as he fell back on his heels. He glanced up towards you. ‘Same old genres, bit dull, really.’

You hissed under your breath the slightest as your makeshift brows looked a little off, moving to grab a pint of concealer to correct the mistake. Completely disregarding Charles’s complaints in the process. ‘What can I say? I like what I like.’

The young ghost rose to his feet. He took a step towards your bed, snatching his jacket. Charles shoved both arms into the garment, using one to gesture towards your vanity. ‘When are you finished with that, then?’

The brush that was patting down your skin paused mid-movement. And at last, you drew your eyes away from what you were doing, falling upon the British male with a curious look. ‘Makeup?’

‘Yup.’

You turned to look at yourself. Half of your complexion was blended out with a smooth, pure-white foundation whilst the other half of your face was still waiting for some sort of application. ‘A while,’ you decided to say.

‘Well, when you’re done with that, yeah,’ Charles began. He had moved to sit down on the edge of your bed. He rested his elbows upon the dark fabric of his pants covering his knees, watching as you continued to apply the base of your look. ‘We’re off to the record shop.’

‘Charles, you’re not going to make me buy albums I won’t even listen to.’ You reached forwards towards your phone to skip ahead a few songs, falling onto Bauhaus. 

‘Maybe.’ The pointed grin on Charles’s face was unmissable as he rose back to his feet. He shoved his hands into his pockets, looking as devious as Charles Rowland could ever be. ‘But I’ll play you some music that’ll proper blow your mind.’

You rolled your eyes, knocking off spare powder from the edge of your tools. ‘We’ll see.’

That’s how you found yourself outside of the Vinyl Vault, a tiny record shop a block away from the Tongue & Tail that you liked to frequent when on the lookout for new albums. Not too keen on looking insane, you barely acknowledged Charles on the walk through the store, giving one of the usual employees a small wave. 

Finally, surrounded by nothing but stacks of albums and walls of vinyl, you turned towards Charles, who was in the middle of flicking through the discs with a searching gaze.

‘You’re on a mission,’ you observed, crossing two arms over your chest.

‘A mission to broaden your musical horizons,’ Charles quipped, the pads of his fingers quick as he flicked through a few more. A soft noise of approval left his mouth as he leant back and  withdrew a certain CD with a black and white-centric design. ‘Oi, have you ever given ska a listen?’

You tracked Charles with curious eyes as he approached the small CD player propped on a nearby table, fingers flicking to pop the disc out. ‘Nah, but my uncle was real into it. Kind of made me tune it out, so I never really gave it a shot.’

‘Well, looks like your lucky day has come,’ Charles drawled. He was unable to stifle the small smile that crossed his lips as he pressed a few buttons on the player before the disc whirred and an off-beat rhythm sounded throughout the shop. ‘One of my personal favourites, this is.’

‘Which is?’

‘The Specials.’

You stood and listened alongside Charles to the first track. There was something undeniably catchy about it, and one glance towards Charles reckoned he thought the same. As his foot tapped and his lips inaudibly made out some of the lyrics.

As the first track ended, you decided to speak up. ‘I never thought you would be into the blues.’

‘Try Jamaican,’ Charles answered in turn, as he plopped down on the double sofa in the corner by another stack of albums that customers had left abandoned. He absentmindedly flicked through them, bobbing his head as the second track started.

‘Do The Dog.’ You had recognised this one as you sat next to him. ‘Yeah?’

‘Ska came about in Jamaica in the late ’50s, that did,’ Charles began to explain to you, setting down one of the albums atop his knees as he looked towards you. There was a soft fire alight in his eyes as he continued to explain. ‘Two-Tone—y’know that genre from around here, yeah?—mixed Jamaican ska with punk and new wave, creating that ska-rock and ska revival sound.’

‘Interesting. So it has North American influence?’

‘Caribbean, that is.’

‘Huh.’ You pondered for a second, taking in all the sounds and rhythms the genre had to offer. You turned towards Charles, who was staring at you, awaiting your response. ‘I like it.’

‘See? Knew you would.’ Charles looked elated, nudging you a little in the ribs as he spoke.

The two of you fell into some sort of content silence as the album shifted onto its next track. You leant against the arm of the chair, head falling back against the curve of Charles’s shoulder, hearing the tune flood through the little corner of the shop recklessly. 

You both allowed the album to play out to the very end before you went up to the front counter to buy it, dumping it into the little bag you had brought. You refused to admit it but Charles had won, this time.

WORD COUNT: 1.1K MASTERLIST REQ ME!

[pearlypairings]

happy birthday my photocheer queen!!! 🥰 could i get a "you remembered?" for them, please?

jonathan x chrissy || adorable fluff || 833 words

A/N: ahhh thank you for this prompt! I made it extra sickeningly sweet just for you<3 happy, super cute surprises!!

yesterday's prompt

She gripped the package in her hands, reminiscent of Ash from Evil Dead discovering the Naturom Demonto (Jonathan would appreciate her reference). It wasn’t going anywhere until he got home.

Chrissy stashed the wrapped box in her makeup drawer, confident that he would never discover it if he snooped around her vanity. This birthday gift had to remain a surprise, even though she had struggled to keep her own secret. With each passing day, the nagging sensation at the back of her mind grew, making it increasingly difficult for her to resist the urge to grab the package from the drawer and hand it over to Jonathan to open immediately.

But today was finally the day! She’d held out long enough!

She hunkered down at the kitchen table, waiting for him to return from his birthday tradition of going out on a dawn photography walk. The touch of Jonathan’s lips still warmed her forehead when he kissed her goodbye this morning in bed, and she let herself get lost in her own thoughts.

When their door swung open, she leapt up in the air, startled, bringing back memories of her time on the Tigers’ cheer team. There was a rush of the morning chill into the room that made her shiver just a little, reminding her winter would soon be here. 

Without missing a beat, Chrissy kept her tone peppy when they locked eyes. “Happy birthday, love.” 

Jonathan shook the autumn cold out of his jacket, smiling that little grin he reserved just for her. His camera bag swung at his side, kept safe under his right arm. His cheeks were stained pink from the whipping morning wind, but he looked as pleased as ever regardless.

“Hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long.” He glanced around the tiny kitchen before his gaze landed on her and the box in her hands. His head shook. “I thought we said no presents this year?” 

“I agreed to no presents for me,” she said smugly, thumbing her chest. “Now come on, no semantics, get over here birthday boy. I’ve been dying for you to open this up all week.” 

Jonathan hung his things at the entryway hooks and when he reached her, he  kissed her nice and slow. She could feel the lingering smile on his lips, cold soaked all the way through. He was practically a walking ice cube. Nudging the gift into his hands, he relented at last to look down at the small gift. 

“Alright, alright,” he laughed. “I’ll be a good sport. Mom would kill me if she heard you complain that I tortured you all morning.”

Chrissy buzzed. The second she’d seen the window display, she knew she had found the perfect gift to give him. Jonathan was the worst to shop for—never asking for anything and rarely giving any hints when it came time for the holidays. But this year, she had pieced together, like one of her favorite Agatha Christie’s sleuths, that he had missed this particular thing for a long while.

The ribbon fell undone with quick work, and the delicate plaid paper crinkled as he ripped the pattern in half. He paused to make sure she was watching as he lifted the lid of the plain cardboard gift box to reveal his surprise. 

His dark eyes flickered when he peered inside. “Is that—I mean, wait, did you…”

Excitement caught his voice and kept it wound tight. Jonathan pulled out the contents to examine the metal circle hanging off the blue collar. 

Chrissy bit her lip. “It’s still blank. I thought you’d waited long enough to have the honor of naming him.”

He clasped the dog collar tight within his grasp. “How did you know? I mean, I never said…”

“No, you never told me.” She smiled warmly as he trailed off again. “But you mentioned one night how you loved your family dog, that he was your best friend while your parents were—” This was supposed to be light, she didn’t need to bring up memories of his father today. “—well, you know. I just thought, maybe, you were too scared to ask me, and I saw the cutest, fluffiest mutt at Marty’s pet store and remembered you said Chester had this crazy amount of wild fur and—”

Jonathan embraced her, unable to contain his happiness any longer. “You remembered? You remembered all that and realized that I wanted a dog for us? I told you that story months ago! After the big rain storm reminded me of the time Will, Chester, and I were stranded in Castle Byers practically all night.”

“How could I not remember Jonathan Byers telling an endearing childhood story? And the fluffy guy found me! He’s on hold right now. We just have to go pick him up from Marty’s.” 

Jonathan kissed her and clasped the collar between their palms. “Have I ever told you how outrageously brilliant and beautiful you are?”

“Maybe,” she said in between kisses. “Once or twice.”

[idontplaytrack]

✧ Never Let You Go

Jos Cleary-Lopez x fem! reader

Warnings: angst, coarse language

Read part one & part two first!

“How am I supposed to move on? When you're never really too far gone. The memories won't go away. I feel pain every time I hear your name.”

— see you later (ten years), Jenna Raine

Jos was the first to head into your bedroom at your parents’ home to collect your belongings after the ugliness of their anger had died down. “Take whatever you want.” Your Mom said, “We don’t know what to do with all of this anyway. We kept a few things, but it’s…a lot.”

Jos quietly nodded, clutching a corner of a cardboard box in her hand as she walks into your bedroom. It was familiar to her, but also not so much at the same time. She’s seen it and been in this room, but not often enough to remember it too well. This shows how much time you spend at hers instead. She started off by opening up the doors to your wardrobe, since that was the first thing she was met with upon walking in. She flips through each piece, holding the fabric between her fingers. Jos takes a few off the rack, together with the hangers.

Her minds drifts a little as she feels the fabric beneath her fingertips. Sitting down on your bed, she looks through what she’d picked out, very carefully removing the hangers from them before folding each piece and placing them into the box. She reaches the last piece of clothing, a sweater. Her own, but one you loved so much she let you keep. Jos puts it on, inhaling the scent. Your perfume. You always used it and even after several washes, the fragrance lingers on the fabric. She shifts her gaze onto your bed, it lands on the few stuffed animals you had. One of which was given to you by her. It was cheap plush bunny that she won for you at the carnival— on one of your very first dates with her. She took that one, it quickly gets put into the box. Your desk was her next stop, walking over to it, her eyes paid close attention to every little trinket, photo and sticker along the way…on the vanity, on the walls.

She studies everything on your desk, checking the drawers. Jos spots an envelope with her name on it and took it out, bracing herself for what she was about to read. But no amount of preparation was enough for what she was going to see.

“Jos,

I don’t know what else I should say to you other than ‘I’m sorry’, in fact it doesn’t even cut it. But I did my best, I can’t take any more of a life like this one. I let you down, I’m weak. I give up. I need this to stop. Nothing else can make it stop.

The best thing that’s ever happened in my life was meeting you, Jos. And getting to love you. I am so grateful for you, baby. I love you and I’ll miss you so terribly. Thank you for all the love and laughter you’ve brought to my life even on the hardest days. You have every right to hate me, but just know I love you and I’ll never forget you for loving all of me. You are my whole world, Jos.

This isn’t goodbye, Jos, but a see you later.”

She puts the letter down, tears streaming down her face that she so desperately tried to wipe away. She looks out your window and up at the sky, thinking, “I hope you’re doing alright up there, baby. Nothing will ever make me hate you. Ever. You hear me?”

She calms herself down and continues look through your things. Backtracking to your vanity, she picks up your favourite bracelet and matching necklace, keeping them safely in the box. Jos then got the urge to take your favourite sheets, pulling them out from exactly where she knew they were. A photo album was the last thing she places into the box, until a pretty thick book beside it catches her eye— it was a scrapbook filled with countless photos of you and her since the very first date.

Curious, she flips through it. “Each photo in here shows each moment I found myself falling in love with you, more and more every time.” She smiles she mutters that to herself. A few of them were the silliest photos she’s ever seen of herself, but she was glad they were captured. By you, someone who loved her the way she was, see her the way you did.

Closing your bedroom door, she carries the box to her car, settling it in the trunk. Bidding your parents goodbye, she was on her way. One way or another, she stops at an animal shelter along the way home, wanting to spend some time with some cute animals and get some cuddles. A quiet little puppy, laying far away from the rest catches her eye. “This one is tiny. Hi, sleepyhead. Hi, cutie.”

“A family was given this puppy by their neighbor because their dog had quite a few. But the kid was so allergic they had to give her up.” The staff explains.

“What- what’s her name?”

“Kid named her Bubby. We kept it.” The staff shrugs.

“Bubby?”

“Yeah.” She chuckles, “It’s a little silly, but if you want her, you get to pick her name of course.”

Jos couldn’t believe her ears. Was this the sign she was looking so hard for? Bubby was what she’d call you sometimes when you were being all pouty and sad, just to make you laugh after she found out that you thought it was the funniest nickname ever.

Jos immediately agreed to adopt that little furball and went home with her and most of everything needed to care for her.

Margot stops Jos once she stepped inside. “You got a dog? She didn’t have a dog.”

“A dog?!” Izzy came running. “Oh my God— it’s so cute! What’s its name?!”

“Her name, is Bubby.” Jos smiles a little, handing the squirmy puppy over to Izzy.

“I was just at her house to get some things. But for some reason I decided to stop at animal shelter— thought it’d be nice to be around some cute animals, you know. Then the lady who worked there said her name was Bubby.” Jos gestured towards the dog, “I asked y/n for a sign, whatever it was. It never really came. But this…this puppy. Seems like what I needed. I used to call her Bubby to make her laugh because she would, she found it to be such a hilarious nickname that I would call her that so she wouldn’t cry anymore. So yes, I got a dog. And I don’t know why, but I need her.”

“Well, she is very cute.” Margot remarked, “Okay, well, you’re old enough to make your own decisions. I was just a little shocked, I guess. Didn’t really expect you to come home with a new pet. How’d things go at her place?”

“Uh, I found something.” Jos puts the box down, rummaging through it and locating the letter. “There’s one addressed to you and Dad, too.”

“Okay.” Margot nodded, speaking as calmly as she could, taking Jos’ letters and her own. “I’ll be in the study. You girls…play with Bubby.”

“Matty sent a letter. I threw it out.”

“Good.” Jos sighs softly, “Um, she left something.” Jos turned back around to reach for the box, hand leaving the canine’s fur. “The bracelet you liked that she didn’t want to give you at first.”

Izzy gasps, “Wow. Do you want it? You can have it instead, Jos. It’s probably more important to you.”

“Huh?” Jos licked her lips, “Oh. No, no. I have my own stuff. You take that one, alright? She wanted you to have it.”

“Okay.” Izzy agrees, letting Jos help her put it on. “Is it bad I hate Matty for what happened?”

“No.” Jos answers immediately. “Hate him all you want, I hate him too. Honestly I don’t think I’ll ever stop hating his guts.”

“I’m sorry he hurt her so badly.” Izzy says.

She didn’t know what happened exactly. No one told her. It just didn’t feel right for her to know it— she’s a child. It would just be too much.

“I know you are.” Jos cups her cheek, “But she’s okay now, she doesn’t have to worry about anything anymore.”

“I know, but it’s not fair. Why did he have to do such a bad thing?” Izzy asks, cuddling with their new pet, “y/n was crying all the time and it was all his fault. He said he was sorry in the letter, but I know he isn’t. He’s always lying.”

“I don’t know, Iz. Some people are just…bad people. Life’s tough, some people make it harder. It’s not fair.”

“I know you’re sad, I’m sorry.” Izzy apologizes, “You don’t have to force yourself not to cry, you know?”

Jos chuckles, a tear falls, “I know, I just…she wouldn’t want us to see us sad all the time.”

“Oh, that’s true.”

————

“I know, I talk to you every night. Can’t help it, I miss you.” Jos chuckles to herself as she sat down on the grass. “We graduated high school, y/n. I have your diploma, your parents didn’t want it. But, anyway, I told the kids at school of for you. It had to be done— they were speaking ill of you and I wasn’t going to let that keep happening. You deserve your peace.”

Jos stares at the headstone, then continues, “How does one get over this? I mean, as okay as my therapist thinks I’m doing, as okay as I feel…I just know I’ll always miss you. Honestly thank you for Bubby, Izzy loves that dog, we all love that fluffball. You know some nights I uh, dream about the future we were supposed to have? How we would’ve moved out of this town after college, work our asses off to save up to move to New York City— but it’s okay because we’ve got each other. Then we’d get a small cozy apartment and a puppy then just grow old in the city that never sleeps. But all of that now, it’ll never happen. I can only hope you’re fulfilling even your wildest of dreams, y/n.”

Jos had a good cry and dusted herself off, getting up, “I’ll see you later, baby. Happy birthday and happy graduation.”

Three months went by, then six, then nine. Eventually, a whole year goes by. Not a day passes where they didn’t think of you. But the pain faded gradually. Some days more than others, though. Izzy wears the bracelet all the time, Jos keeps a photo of you and her in her wallet and hugs your favourite plush bunny to sleep, Margot makes your favourite dish for the family every now and then, Rob? He gets your favourite flavour of ice cream when he takes the family out for dessert because he was thinking of you. They don’t realise it because they’ve become so accustomed to it, but you were always apart of them.

That fall, Izzy enters high school, Jos leaves the state for college in New York. Rob, Margot and Izzy send her off, then she was on her own. With a slightly heavy heart that day, but she made the most of it. She settled in at her new home for the next few years, getting to know her roommates that shared the apartment with her. Her heart stings a little when they first asked about you, but she was filled with so much pride and joy talking about you…all that you’d accomplished in your life.

“She’s definitely watching out for you wherever she is, Jos.”

“I know, Grace. I— I can feel that.” Jos admits. “But part of me has become such a bitter person because of what happened.”

“You’re better than me, I would’ve punched the fuck out of him.”

“Oh, I dream of it, frying his fucking balls off.” Jos rolled her eyes, “To make him feel even just an ounce of the pain she felt.”

During her free time, Jos did whatever she wanted. Trying all the good food, seeing all the attractions. Just about anything you both made a pact to experience in the city. She did it for you, but also for her. She was happy here, as she should be. Her roommates were really nice, she’s also made a couple of close friends at school. Jos was loving every second of her time here, free and happy for the most part. She went home a little more often than just for holidays, so that she could visit you. She’d always make it a point to stop by and say hello even when things got busy at home. Another place Jos would always spend time at was the diner she was at with you pretty often, they asked about you awhile ago, assuming you and Jos broke up. But when they found out you’d passed away, they were shocked. “Hi, honey. Do you want your usual?”

“Yeah, please.”

“Coming right up.”

Jos sat in a booth, leaning back and people-watching. A little while later, the same waitress returns with a reuben sandwich and a mango milkshake. She joins Jos, sitting down opposite her.

“How’d you know that this was the booth?”

“Huh?”

“Look at the corner of the table by your hand.” The waitress says, “The last time she came by here, she wrote that down.”

“Oh.” Jos gasped quietly, “I didn’t know. I just say down here because it was in a corner.”

“She’ll always be around, honey.” The waitress smiles, “Smile, it looks good on you.”

Jos chuckles tearfully, grabbing the glass cup that contained the milkshake and taking a sip. Her eyes land on your handwriting on the table again: ‘Smile, it looks good on you’.

“You never fail to impress me. And bring a good moment into my days even right now.” She mutters to herself, well, to you, “It feels like you’re so far away but at the same time, not really. It just feels strange you’re not here with me anymore, but yet, you are. I can feel it, all the time. So thank you for that. After all, it’s just ‘see you later’, right? I’m afraid I won’t be able to love someone else as much as I love you, y/n. So, I’m not gonna rush myself to do that. If it ever feels right, it happens. If it doesn’t, I won’t let it happen. Life’s as good as it gets right now, honey. I’ve got good friends, good grades, I’m having a good time on my off-days to do what I want. Sometimes I still wish for you to be here with me— physically, because the days can get pretty tough and I just want my girl with me. But knowing you are indeed with me in whatever way possible, it helps. And I cannot wait to see you again one day, kiss you and hold you in my arms and never let you go. Because I won’t, I won’t let you go ever again.”

🏷️ Tag list:

@ashecampos @auliisflower @cheesysoup-arlo @frogs00 @ludoesartnstuffs @pda128

💭 A/N:

I just had to finish off this little story today, lol. But here’s part 3 of 3.

[aardvark-123]

Piper Wright: Writes the paper.

Sniper Wright: Writes gun reviews for a popular magazine.

Piper Flight: Makes paper planes and throws them from the upper stands.

Swiper Wright: Sneaks after Nat and steals her things incessantly.

Piper Trite: Is bad at newspaper articles.

Piper Knight: Wearing armour made of cardboard and wielding a poleaxe with a paper blade, she slays monsters and steals the hearts of fair maidens all over the Commonwealth.

Hyper Wright: Can write with the power of ten journalists.

Piper Fight: Cait's favourite sparring partner, with a kick that can write off a suit of power armour.

Piper Light: Knows how to make Synths, and has built herself two children named "Acid Jazz Boy" and "Nat But Prettier And Four Times Stronger".

Piper Plight: She just can't stay out of trouble. Just last week, she got stranded on top of Trinity Tower when the lift broke. Piper Flight had to fetch her down in a paper helicopter.

Pay Per Wright: Is the owner of a fairly successful vanity publishing company.

Nat Wright: Her every waking moment is a surreal, inescapable nightmare. It is not right, she complains bitterly, for one innocent girl to have such an overabundance of sisters. She can't sleep with Plight screaming for help all the time, she can't hear herself think when Hyper's writing ten newspaper articles simultaneously, and someone's definitely been stealing her packed lunches. Oh, Atom, when will it END?!

(In fairness, I don't hear Nat complaining about the bottles of nuka cola her sisters keep bringing home.)

[bringerofjollity44]

Very disappointed with Ahsoka: mid-season review

I watched all of Rebels just to prepare for this and I am so disappointed with what they have done with the characters. They are all played so flat, and I have to think it is the direction and not the actors themselves. Where Hera was once sharp and defiant, she is blank and emotionless; where Sabine was rebellious and independent, she is now angsty and traitorous; where Ahsoka was once spirited and charismatic she is now sour and sullen. Every character in this show feels like a different version of the same personality - all emotions feel overly reserved yet melodramatically serious. This goes for the new characters as well, including ones who were barely present in the show such as Captain Hayle in episode 1.

Moreover, the storytelling is just bad. We have little to know idea who any of these people are or their motivations:

Baylan is Dark Jedi who repeatedly alludes to some greater good and his past in the Jedi order. But how and why did he become embroiled with Thrawn, who has been in a different galaxy for years??? How did they even meet? What are the tangible things he is looking to get out of this? This goes for Shin and Morgan as well - who are they, how do they know Thrawn, and why are they so committed to him? We are halfway through the season and we are not any closer to answering these questions. (also why does Baylan know every detail of Ahsoka and Sabine's backstories??? why is his character carrying the weight of providing their backstories???)

The Ahsoka-Sabine relationship is also wildly disappointing. The writers threw us into the middle of some conflict that was depicted nowhere without providing any backstory. This allows them to add new elements to the conflict willy nilly without having to think it through beforehand. From the audience perspective, this prevents us from feeling with the characters. For example, in "Fallen Jedi" Baylan uses the fact that Ahsoka apparently prevented Sabine from helping her family survive the purge of Mandalore - which was never shown on screen or mentioned previously in the show. Instead of feeling what Sabine is feeling and internally understanding her tension regarding finding Ezra vs. stopping Thrawn, we are just told plot elements as needed. This is a classic example of TELLING and not SHOWING, while also contributing to the characters feeling like cardboard cutouts. We need to EMPATHIZE with characters good and bad throughout the show!!!!

Some of this has shown through in the plot as well, particularly with Sabine - why did she run away with the star map in episode 2?? She is a woman in her 30s, she is not a reckless teenager like in Rebels. I don't think even 16-year-old Sabine would do this - she would not sacrifice the cause for her personal gain. She has twice now played an instrumental role in helping the Dark Jedi & Morgan find Thrawn with an explicit goal of reinstating the Empire. Sabine sacrificed so much to bring about the Empire's fall!!! Why would she throw that all away now? And I'm not buying the "she doesn't have any family left" bit - even if her relationship with Ahsoka is strained, Hera is literally right there!!! One of the big themes of Rebels was choosing family when you are cast out from society/your own family. Does none of that matter now???

It feels very much like they heavily prioritized the aesthetics - which feel very "Star Wars" and are of fantastic quality - along with fan service (including cameos, live action versions of the most random Rebels characters (e.g. Jai Kell)) which makes it feel more like a Filoni vanity project than a way to advance the story of Star Wars.

Overall, I'm worried about what this show will mean for the trajectory of the entire Star Wars universe - Ahsoka is training a non-Force-sensitive individual, which has huge implications for what the Jedi are. Again, I could be on board with this, but the show has done zero explaining regarding why Ahsoka decided to take Sabine as a Padawan. The audience is just expected to accept that it's true.

On top of that, Disney-Star Wars has once again pulled the "person appears to die but actually didn't," which is getting progressively less believable each time they do it. I am also very afraid of the potential of the World Between Worlds as a deus ex machina - are we just going to use this mechanic to connect people through disjointed points in space and time whenever it serves the plot???? I will wait for the explanation when episode 5 comes out, but given how little explanation has taken place so far in the show, I have lost trust with the writing/direction of the show to do this.

Ahsoka, so far, is all flash and no substance. It feels like it is merely a way to show us characters we love in live action without doing any thinking regarding what they should be doing together. The emotions are simultaneously telegraphed and muted, which makes the characters feel dull and not true to their original characterization.

I will keep watching because I am deeply invested in Star Wars and I love these characters from my Rebels viewing, but I am so disappointed after what feels like another miss from Disney - an emphasis on fan service by bringing back beloved characters without taking any care to how their presentation is handled and whether they need to be brought back in the first place (see the horrible execution of Kenobi and The Book of Boba Fett, bringing back Palpatine with no explanation or buildup in Rise of Skywalker, etc).

Closing thought - where was Ahsoka during the main action of the original and sequel movies? If there was another Force sensitive that appears to be very significant to the Force, why was she not involved? Clearly she was very involved in the creation of the rebellion and now preventing the creation of the First Order - yet where is she in the movies? Why does no one even mention her? Again, this logical insistency makes this feel increasingly like a Filoni vanity project that does not prioritize consistency with the larger narrative of Star Wars.