#and title and registration came on. and i said. oh

[mrs-theirin]

“What’s gotten into you tonight, dick?” she jokes, tapping on their group chat to send the movie invite. “Nothing,” Seven answers finally, attracting her attention. “Just—Do you think—” He blows a hair out of his face, sucking on his bottom lip. “Text Stacy too." Dawn’s heart thumps to her feet. “Stacy?” she blurts out before she can stop herself. He shrugs. “Yeah. Why not?” Dawn third wheels for her best friend, Seven.

originally i wanted to write a piece about dawn and seven hanging out the diner but then i reread amy's patreon diner flashback and decided i needed a lot more. sorry! i do not control the muse. and again, if you're not subbed to @infamous-if patreon, what are you doing!! highly recommend

[bae-del-moon]

When the World Shifted | Lee Hyunjae AU

Title: When the World Shifted | An Anne with an E AU/crossover! 

Words: 1.9k

Warnings: Bullying (Verbal and Physical) 

A/N: Happy Birthday, E! Since, you like Anne with an E.... & I couldn’t stop picturing Hyunjae as Gilbert... TA-DA! An Anne with a E x TBZ AU! Hope you like it! 

🌳🍃🌳🍃🌳🍃🌳🍃🌳🍃🌳🍃🌳🍃🌳🍃🌳🍃🌳🍃🌳🍃

Life had already changed by the time Lee Hyunjae and his family found their way to the small town that was your Avonlea. 

They’d arrived at old man Lee’s apple orchard riding in the back of an old fruit delivery wagon, cramped alongside crates of oranges, pears, and their luggage. Their entrance had spread like wildfire once they’d been spotted, not three miles from the train station as they neared the town center. Not that they would have gone unspotted if they’d known of the unpaved roads and unusual forms of transportation the town preferred. 

No. 

After all, they were old man Lee’s only living family, and they had missed his funeral only a month before.

Everyone had been keen to meet the family that had never come to visit old man Lee while he was alive and dared miss the funeral despite inheriting all of his property.

It had only been a day since you and your brothers had left Avonlea to “visit” the rest of your “family” for the summer as they tried to take away the inheritance your adoptive parents had legally left you and your two brothers. 

You’d missed him by a hair's breadth.

(At first) You had not come to be disappointed.. 

Jihyo, your best friend and kindred spirit, would be the one to fill you in about the new addition to your small class.

She’d tell you about the way the Lee’s had taken up the task of learning to farm, of maintaining the orchard, and how most of the other families in town had already labeled them a lost cause when it came to farming.

Hyunjae, Jihyo would continue animatedly as she walked arm in arm with you to school the day you returned, had spent the summer alternating between trying to help maintain the farm and meeting the rest of the town. He’d even joined the class on the unofficial hike they took to the lake at the bottom of the waterfall in the woods every year since freshman year.

“And none of the girls would stop ogling at him,” Jihyo laughed as the two of you pushed past the school’s front doors. “Everybody’s taken to him. Apart from having a great body, he’s proven to be quite savvy as well as book smart. His manners aren’t lacking either. I’d say he’s even capable of giving you a run for your money.” 

“Really?” You laughed. “I’ll be glad to have someone beside you in the running for valedictorian.”  

Jihyo shook her head, pursing her lips, “I’ve never been a contender, at least, not as strongly as you. We all know you’re the smartest one here. But Hyunjae,” she grinned, “oh, I think you’ll like him.”

You grinned, “Seems like he’s made quite the good impression.” 

“He has, and like I said, not just to me. I--” Jihyo froze, the smile on her face falling, “Oh shoot. I forgot Miss Jones told me to turn in the work I missed last week today.”

“Oh?” 

“Yeah,” she nodded, already tuning to join the wave of students walking in the opposite direction. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I left your schedule in your locker. I’ll see you in class!”

“See you!” You waved to her, grinning as you watched a couple of freshmen bump into her and spiral into frantic apologies. 

Your locker, located next to the boy’s locker room, took you another two minutes of quiet, blissful solitude to reach. Lost in thought as you dusted off the textbooks you’d been given before the last school year had ended--when your brothers had informed the school that you wouldn’t be able to make it to registration week on account of your having to go away for the summer to fight for your inheritance--and putting in the AP textbooks you had taken with you to finish your summer homework, you failed to notice the horrid captain of the hockey team sneaking up behind you. 

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the Y/N Y/LN. Once an orphan always an orphan, huh?” Eunwoo hissed as he stopped behind you and slammed your locker door shut, knocking the books you were about to put inside out of your hands.

“Surprised to even see you here. Heard the Choi farms were given back to their rightful owners. Thought you and your brothers would have understood you’re not wanted.”

“Leave me alone, Eunwoo,” you snapped, whirling around to shove him away from you.

Unfortunately for you, he’d expected that, and before you could shove him away, he’d grabbed you by your wrists and pushed you onto the floor. You laid sprawled against your books as he smirked at you like a villain out of a bad 1950s horror movie. 

“Or what? What are you going to do, you piece of trash?” 

“Eunwoo? What the hell, man. What are you doing?”

Behind Eunwoo, the door to the boy’s locker room had swung open as he’d shoved you onto the floor, and Lee Hyunjae had been the one to step through it, backpack slung over one of his shoulders.

He’d frozen for a moment, struck by the sight of Eunwoo manhandling you. Then you groaned from the floor (something not even you had realized you’d done) as Eunwoo hovered over you menacingly, calling you a piece of trash, all in the span of a couple of seconds, and it felt like a bucket of ice water had been poured over him. 

“Lee, hey. You’re early. What? Did coach have an early practice I didn’t know about?” 

“No. Eunwoo, why is she on the ground?” 

“We were just fooling around. She tripped.” 

“Did she now?” Hyunjae smiled scornfully. The wanting bell rang a second later, and Hyunjae took it, “Seems like it’s time to head for class, don’t you think?” 

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

“I’ll see you there.” 

Eunwoo, without sparing you a second glance, scoffed at his words and sauntered away. 

Around you, the once empty hallway began to overflow with students heading toward the locker rooms ahead, glancing at the two of you curiously. They whispered to each other as they watched Hyunjae extend a hand to you. 

“Thank you.” You whispered, embarrassed to know he had witnessed the way Chan Eunwoo treated you. You bent down not a moment later and scrambled to pick up your books. 

“Oh,” he knelt down, “Let me help.” 

“No need,” you rushed out. Still, Hyunjae picked up two of your notebooks and handed them to you. 

“Thank you,” you mumbled again, willing the heat you felt creeping up your face to dispel.

He smiled, “I didn’t know anyone else had a locker back here. I thought it was just me.”

You shook your head. You wanted to say that it was just you with a locker back here, but the words were stuck in your throat, and it proved impossible to force them out. 

Instead, you nodded to him as you shoved as many books as you could into your backpack and rushed away the moment you were done.

“Hey, wait!” He chased after you, a couple of steps behind. “Any other dragons around here need slaying? Are you new?” 

It wasn’t on purpose, not entirely, but you continued to ignore him all the way to your first-period class. Your embarrassment ran high, and it was your hope that once you’d made it to class, he’d be forced to go his own way if he didn’t want to be late.

As luck would have it, he didn’t, and just as you reached your first-period English class, the boy sprinted forward and opened the door for you. 

“Are you really not going to tell me your name? It looks like we’re in the same class.” 

“Y/N,” you managed, at last, stopping as you stepped past him to wait for him. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Y/N,” he smiled. “I’m--” 

“Hyunjae!” You turned at the sudden shout, jumping if only an inch.

Kim Younghoon, another of your classmates, had stood up from his seat and was making his way toward the two of you, a giant smile gracing his face. Then it began to sink in. You’d just met Lee Hyunjae in the most embarrassing way you could have imagined. It was the thing of nightmares. 

“You made it before the bell! I think this is the first time you aren’t late.” 

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

Your ears rung with the warning Jihyo (along with the majority of the other girls) gave you moments after you’d left Hyunjae at the door with Younghoon. 

“Y/N,” Jihyo began, shifting uncomfortably as the others gave her a pointed look, “I-- You-- It’s--” 

“What is it?” You asked suspiciously as they crowded around you. 

“You can’t just walk with Hyunjae all casually like that.” She began casually, then rushed out, “I know you didn’t mean to. I didn’t tell you. But Sooyoung’s got a crush on him.” 

“She’s got dibs, Y/N. You need to back off.” Jinsol added once Jihyo had finished. 

“I didn’t-- I didn’t mean to. I don’t even know him.” 

You tried to focus on the battered old copy of “Lord of the Flies” that had been saved for you. But, rather than catching up with the class, you reread a single page three times before understanding the words and moving on. 

Jihyo’s warning. Jinsol’s near threat. 

You didn’t even know Hyunjae! And you certainly didn’t want to spend time around him. 

You deflated. 

You’d known them for nearly four years, and Hyunjae only a couple of months. And YET, it felt like they’d known him for longer, considering how enthusiastic they seemed around him. It made you wonder if they’d even noticed you had been gone the entire summer. 

No one besides Jihyo had welcomed you back. 

“Hey, Y/N.” You heard Hyunjae whisper to you from his desk, one desk behind you and to the right. 

You ignored him. 

“Y/N.” He whispered again louder. “Y/N.” 

You could almost feel Jinsol and Sooyoung’s eyes burning into your back. It was a wonder you hadn’t burst into flames yet.

Still, you leaned forward, bringing yourself closer to your book in hopes that Hyunjae would leave you alone to concentrate on your book, and Jinsol and Sooyoung would understand you weren’t trying to interact with him. 

“Hey, Y/N,” you suddenly heard from behind you. 

“Y/N. Y/N.” He tried again. 

Then, “Hey, pigtails,” he whispered loudly, tugging on your hair. 

You flinched as he tugged on your hair, and fury washed through you. 

Without thinking about it, you whirled around with the hardback copy of “Lord of the Flies” in your hands and struck it against his face. 

The class gasped. They’d been quietly paying attention to Hyunjae as he tried to get your attention. 

“Y/N!” Your English teacher snapped. “Principal’s office, now!”

“B-But--” 

“It was my fault, sir,” Hyunjae interjected, standing up as he rubbed his temple. 

“Hyunjae, you are to go to the nurse’s office and make sure you don’t have a concussion.” He said to him then returned to you, “What are you still standing around for? Go. Your parents will have to be called to be informed of your impending suspension. Oh, wait,” he sneered, “that’s right.” 

Your breath caught in your throat. The world stilled around you, and just as quickly as it did, it picked up again, and you grabbed your backpack and rushed out of the classroom. Hoping, wishing, and pleading with the fates that you’d never have to be near Hyunjae again. 

Hyunjae’s plea for forgiveness fell on deaf ears, even as he collected his things and rushed to follow after you.

But just as life had already changed by the time Hyunjae and his family joined your small town of Avonlea, your world had already shifted to include Hyunjae in it. And your wish would go ungranted. 

[maeglinyedi]

I got an idea for some original work and I had to write it. Tentative title: Dark Lord Rising, Again. Book one of the Oxmort School for the Supernatural Series.

Here's part of the first chapter. I'd love to hear what you think.

Myths which are believed in tend to become true.

George Orwell

Chapter one

Her whole life Annora imagined attending Oxmort School for the Supernatural. When the day finally came the campus alone seemed more magical than anything Annora could have expected. Could have hoped for, even.

“Look, look!” Annora did her best not to point at the centaurs they saw walking in the distance. Centaurs were notoriously private beings and rarely mingled with others outside their forest homes.

Sander, her best friend since childhood and also a brand new student at Oxmort, stared into the distance, his eyes wide. “I’ve seen centaurs before. But those are gorgons, aren’t they?” Sander discreetly nodded at the group of young women who crossed that part of the campus after the centaurs. They were tall, stately, all wore sunglasses and they each had a head full of hissing and wriggling snakes.

“Wow.” Annora released a deep, impressed sigh while she and Sander watched the centaurs and gorgons disappear inside the Greek Mythology building.

“Excuse me?” Sander asked a passing wraith. “We’re looking for the Natural Sciences building?”

The wraith produced a gurgling sound while raising his robed arm and pointing in the direction they’d just come from.

“Oh.” Sander shrugged and exchanged a quick, nonplussed glance with Annora. “Suppose we’ll head back then. Thanks!”

“Urglugh!” The wraith glided up the stairs of the Apparition Department while giving them a cheerful little wave.

They did find the Natural Sciences building this time, thankfully, and just as Sander made to enter it, Annora released a pleased little sound, pointing at the brick building across the street. “There’s the sorcery building! That’s me!”

Sander shook his head a little too hard at Annora’s over the top enthusiasm and some of the dreads he kept tied up in a ponytail on top of his head slipped loose. “Bloody things,” Sander said with an annoyed sigh. “They’re not quite long enough yet.”

“You’ll get there,” Annora said, always ready to support her friend.

Sander’s mother could trace her ancestry back to Western Africa, by way of Aruba, while his father was a native druid that led a large druid community near Salisbury, where they all lived.

An ancient brownie sat behind the welcoming desk inside the Natural Sciences building. No more than 4 foot tall, brownies had wild, curly hair, greenish skin and short fingers. Their eyes were a very light brown, almost like a wolf’s. Sander stepped right up to him. “Sander Hazelton, here to complete my registration.”

The brownie, whose bronze nametag read Brambleberry, hauled a huge tome closer and started paging through it. “Hazelton, Hazelton, ah! Here you are. Are you related to Leoric Hazelton?”

Sander sighed. He got that a lot. “Yes, he’s my father,” he muttered while accepting the information package Brambleberry handed him.

“Are you really?” Brambleberry all but jumped out of his chair. “What an honour it is to have you with us, young man! I teach Tree Science and I can’t wait to see you in my class.”

“Thanks.” Sander’s cheeks coloured much darker than they already were. “Looking forward to it.”

“He seemed nice,” Annora said, trying to raise Sander’s sudden sullen mood.

“Sure.” Sander scoffed his shoe against the cobblestone path between the buildings as they made their way to the Sorcery Department. “I’d just wish people stopped comparing me to my dad. I can’t live up to the man.”

“You will,” Annora said full of conviction. “Someday you will. I know it.”

Sander’s responding look was full of doubt and Annora would have said more but they reached the building and she really wanted to get registration over with so they could see their dormitories. Find out which House they were in. And find out who they would be sharing a room with.

Annora spotted an available desk in the entrance hall with an elf sitting behind it. Normally Annora would have avoided dealing with elves because they were the most stuck up people you ever found yourself interacting with. Ethereal, immortal and more beautiful than any other creature in Mythland. Not to mention ridiculously talented at anything they put their mind to.

Annora despised them on principle.

But needs must and Annora really wanted to see her dorms, so she squared her shoulders and stepped up to the desk. “Annora Spellson.”

The elf blinked large, violet eyes at her before opening the ledger in front of her as if she was doing Annora the biggest favour in the history of the whole world. The elf’s nametag read Rain Springbreeze. What a ridiculous name, honestly. Annora barely refrained from rolling her eyes.

“Ah yes. Here you are, Miss Spellson.” Rain the elf offered Annora the tiniest of smiles and then slid the information package towards her, quickly drawing her hand back when Annora reached for it. Yeah, Annora got the message loud and clear. Elves were better than the mortals and didn’t want any contact with them, literally as it turned out.

“We’re in the same building!” Annora noticed as she studied the first page of the information package on their way out the door. “Bluecap!” Annora beamed at Sander, who managed a grin in return. “We’re Bluecaps. My mom was also a Bluecap when she went to school.”

It took them almost half an hour to trek their way across campus to the dormitories. There were several large, brick buildings standing side by side, each five stories high with mature trees all around them. Bluecap stood right between Redcap and Grim.

“My mother was a Grim when she attended Oxport,” Sander pointed out as they passed said building.

“I know,” Annora said with a chuckle. Izara Hazelton still kept a small Grim flag in her workroom and wouldn’t hear a word against her former House.

Bluecap had a large entryway that opened up in a decent tearoom, a very large sitting room with at least five sofas spread out across the space and two fireplaces facing each other. The stairs up to the dormitories were massive and made of dark wood.

“I’m on the first floor,” Sander said as he led them to room number 3. The door stood open just a bit and Sander pushed it in further, only to jump back when a face suddenly appeared right in front of him only to disappear again seconds later.

“Hi! Are you my roommate? Oh, how exciting! I am so looking forwards to the next four years.”

“Wow,” Annora said, seriously impressed. “She’s even more enthusiastic than me, and that’s saying something.”

The sprite stopped zipping around the room and glared at Annora. “My pronouns are they and them, thank you very much.”

“I’m so sorry,” Annora said as quickly as she could, holding a hand to her chest while giving a little bow. “I shouldn’t have assumed.”

“No, you shouldn’t have. I’m Daiki Akamine. Which one of you is the lucky person?” Daiki had brown eyes and short black hair that was dyed bloodred at the tips. They were of average height and their smile seemed fixed in place on their face.

“I am. Sander Hazelton.” Holding out a hand, Sander stepped into the room which held two beds on opposite walls, with two desks across from them and two built in wardrobes.

Daiki shook Sander’s hand vigorously. Sprites always did everything with great energy. They could control the weather up until a certain point, but their main power was control over electricity. That included lightning. Sprites tended to be really good at alchemy and often specialized in that.

“This is my best friend, Annora Spellson,” Sander said once he got his hand back. “She’s on the fourth floor.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Annora said with her most sincere smile. She really hadn’t meant to offend Sander’s new roommate.

“Likewise!” Daiki the sprite zipped around the room a few times before coming to a stop in the middle, raising both arms and pressing both hands over their mouth. “I’m so excited, I can barely contain myself. I’m going for alchemy. My whole family are alchemists. You?”

“Witchcraft,” Annora said, happy that Daiki seemed to have forgiven her. “My parents are both witches. Well, my father is the Sheriff of Salisbury and my mother’s a healer, to be precise.”

“Druidism.” Sander’s tone was far less eager than Annora’s had been. “My father’s a druid. My mother’s a shaman.”

“Awesome!” Daiki did a little zip around the room again, leaving a trail of very faint red lights behind. “I bet we can learn a lot from each other.”

A strange noise caught all of their attention and they rushed towards the window to see what was happening outside. A black carriage drawn by four winged horses descended from the sky onto the large lawn behind the building.

“There’s something funny about those horses,” Annora said as she narrowed her eyes while staring at the spectacle before them. Most students simply took the train to school, or a horse-drawn carriage across the road. The occasional witch who had already learned to ride a broom at home flew to school, but unless you absolutely loved flying it wasn’t the most comfortable means of transportation over longer distances.

But having a carriage with winged horses drop you off at your dormitory, yeah, that was really over the top for anyone.

The horses seemed strangely pale, with sunken faces and milky eyes. The driver dropped the reigns and lowered himself down from the seat in the front. His movements seemed rather clumsy, his arms jerkily pulling open the carriage door to let the passenger off.

“They’re dead,” Sander breathed, drawing a shocked gasp from Daiki. “Those horses are dead.”

“Are we getting a necromancer?” Annora asked, voice far too high pitched while a rush of panic tightened her belly. “No one said anything about a necromancer attending Oxmort this year.”

A tall young man of around 18 stepped out of the carriage, ignoring the driver who still held the door open. His wild hair was black and his skin pale. The man took a few steps forwards, then stopped in his tracks and seemed to be yelling at thin air.

“He’s crazy,” Annora said with full conviction. “We are getting a crazy necromancer. Please don’t tell me he’s a Bluecap to boot. Please let him go inside Redcap instead.” Annora squeezed her eyes shut. Her anxiety was such that she couldn’t even bear to witness their future demise.

“He’s a Bluecap,” Sander said solemnly, and when Annora opened her eyes again she could just see the necromancer disappear inside their building.

“Well, fuck,” Annora groaned.

This wasn’t just some feelings of annoyance like how Annora felt about elves. This was a matter of life and death. The worst Dark Lord that Mythland had ever seen had been a necromancer named Azrael.

To be fair, just about any of the races of Mythland had produced a Dark Lord in the past 500 years since the founding of their homeland. Except for the elves. They prided themselves on the fact that their race had remained utterly pure for as long as Mythland had existed. It was one of the reasons they were so horrendously stuck up and thought themselves better than anyone.

Some Dark Lords had been worse than others. The brownie Dark Lord, known as Strangled Ivy, had been more of an annoyance than anything else. And the centaur Dark Lord had only involved himself with other centaurs. His rule had been terrifying, if you were a centaur. The rest of Mythland hadn’t really noticed his rise or his demise, to be honest.

But Azrael had been an absolute monster and even 200 years after his death people were still afraid to speak his name. Azrael had raised entire armies of his dead enemies to control all the races, including the elves. He’d been one of the rare necromancers who was powerful enough to reanimate a dragon and use it as a weapon of mass destruction. It had taken a concentrated offensive of all the races working together to bring Azrael down, and they wouldn’t have managed it if it wasn’t for Azrael’s own wife Luthera turning on him and literally stabbing him in the back with a poisoned blade.

And now Bluecap had their own necromancer.

Something alarming dawned on Annora. She stared at Sander with wide, panicked eyes. “What if that crazy necro boy is my roommate?”

“Oh crap,” Sander said, grabbing hold of Annora’s arm and holding on for dear life. “Ann, you’re doomed.”

[eerythingisshaka]

Ficmas Day #9 “Rio rings, are you listening?”

[Rio x Reader]

Word Count: 1.4k

Across the street from the church, you grow more and more hesitant.  It has been a while since you stepped foot in one and even longer since you practiced any faith.  You take a minute to look up at the steeple, illuminated by the warm glow behind colored glass in the window.  Your breath creates quickly dissipating clouds in front of your face as the wind whips in your direction.  You push your hands deeper into our pockets, looking both ways before stepping out into the street.

Your boots crunch over the salt rocks scattered over the concrete steps as you make your way to the heavy wood doors.  Even through your mitt, you can feel how cold the brass handles our as you pull it open and step inside.

The atmosphere is instantly quieter once you pass the threshold and the door closes with a low tone thunk.  Looking around you see an effigy of Jesus on the cross with a spotlight on him.  Your eyes cast downward at the sight, feeling instantly judged and fearful that lightning might strike you down for presenting yourself this late in your life.  Walking down the pew lined aisle, you look around at the candles that line the windows, decorated with faux holly leaves.  You take a seat in the middle of the right side, squeaking under your weight.

Breathing in deeply, your nose catches a faint smell of frankincense in the air, bringing back memories of blessed oil and healing.

“Well, I’m here,” you say out loud, at first to know one in particular but looking up, you remember your audience.  “Or I guess you know that already.”

Looking down at your mittened hands, you have many thoughts but none of them fully prepared to come out.

“Good evening.”

You hop up out of your seat as you look to see a man in all black walking across the front of the church slowly, hands behind his back and looking down.  His voice did not match his stance as he sounds very strong and commanding.  

“Hi!  Uh, I just was looking for somewhere quiet to sit awhile,”  you explain.

He stops in front of you, rows of pews separating yourselves from each other.  

“Are the library’s closed?” he asks.

“Yes.  I mean, no?  I don’t know actually, I can leave though if-”

He raises a hand.  “No need.  Take a seat.”

“Yes, Reverend.  Or Priest?”  You struggle to get his proper titling down.

“You can just call me Rio.  For now.”  

The rasp in his voice seems calming and also violent, as if he just got through yelling at someone or is just about to at any moment because his vocal cords have been worked out.  Preachers do enjoy a stirring sermon to work a collection plate flow.

“Ok, sure.”  You sit down again, even more uncomfortable than before.  Rio looks over the altar, peering up at Jesus for a while.  You can’t help but to stare, curious if he’s going to remain here with you.

“Are you a member of this church?”  Rio asks with his back to you.

“No.  I was a while ago, but I don’t think it counts now.”

Rio looks back at you.  “I don’t think God has a re-registration process for His sheep, right?”

You shrug.  “I think that’s when it’s up to interpretation.”

Rio shakes his head with a small smirk.  He starts to slowly walk his way up the aisle, looking around the sanctuary.

“If it’s how you interpret it, then that is based on what you feel you deserve.  Your inner bias creates that narrative you think is true,”  Rio states.

Biting your lip, you take this in.  “Still, I think there is something to be said about not giving Him the time required to fully show one’s devotion.”

Rio sits in the pew on the other side of the aisle, right across from you.  He stretches his leg out, leaning on the end armrest and looks curiously at you.  For the first time you notice some marking on his neck.

“So you decide to spend your holiday having a religious debate instead of spending it with family?”

“Oh, yeah.  Anywhere is better than having to deal with the mess they bring into my life.”  You say this half heartedly, looking to Jesus at the front again.  

“Then why are you at your childhood church?”

You scoff.  “Do I look that young that you assume I was a child here?”

RIo smiles, looking away.  “Maybe.  Just a guess.”

“You’re right.  And I came here to try and resolve some things.  My family doesn’t know I am here yet.  They will be here tomorrow for Christmas service and I got curious what the place looks like now while...searching for some spiritual courage.”

Rio nods.  “You and your family separated on bad terms then?”

You nod.

“I see.  Then I give you credit for coming up in here even thinking about them.  You seem to be doing alright for yourself, you could just go on and work on yourself without them.”

You turn to him, stretching your face in confusion.  “I am really surprised you would say that.  First, thanks for thinking that.  Life is trash, but you can’t tell so yay!  And two, I thought you would be like I need to keep family close and repair and reach out.”

Rio shakes his head.  “Cuz I wouldn’t say that.  People think too much about how what they do affects others when you have to think is what you do better for them in the long run?  If they don’t respect you or try to, you showing up is going to be disrespectful.  But if the peace is kept between you while you’re gone, stay gone.”

“I can’t help but think that’s pessimistic.”

Rio shrugs.  “Maybe it is, but some pessimism gotta be healthy.  It’s looking at the world for what it is and accepting what you can’t change then adapting.  Just because you’re away doesn’t mean you can’t love them or they love you less.  But some people just can’t get along.  It’s water and oil.”

You sit there flabbergasted by this man of God’s advice.  Have you been looking at this completely wrong?  Has the spirit of Christmas made you think of an artificial means of reconciliation that you aren’t prepared for and may never will be?

“Hey, Rio…” you ask in mid-thought.

“What’s up?”

“Before I head out, I just gotta know, what are those markings on your neck there?”

Rio reaches for his collar, holding his neck with a smile on his face.  “I don’t think you need to see this in a church.  I’ll let you guess though.”

You squint your eyes at him.  “If I had to guess, I imagine it’s something from...a past life?  Maybe you used to be into somethings and you got a...tattoo?”

Rio puts a finger to his lips with a wink.  “Past lives never really are the past though.”

You sit back intrigued.  “Wow, I have never seen someone in church...like you.”  You laugh nervously, enjoying his smile back at you when a man from a back door comes out in a jean jacket, skinhead with more tattoos you can see.  Rio stands up, smoothing out his shirt.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have some business to take care of.  I have to help the preacher prep for tomorrow’s service.”

Your eyes widen with surprise.  “You’re not the preacher?  Oh man, I’m sorry!  I just assumed, being in all black and I thought you were here alone.”

“It’s ok.  Black is just more professional.  It’s my color.  It’s powerful.  You can consider me the preacher's assistant with...finances.  But I’m glad we got to have a talk while you were here.”

You stand up, reaching out a hand.  “Me too.  It’s nice talking to someone with their head on straight.  I’ll think about all you said.”

Rio takes your hands firmly, looking down from it to you.  You feel exposed under his gaze but unwilling to turn loose from it.

“I hope I’ll see you tomorrow.  Should be a good turn out.  Good message from the big man.”

He lets go of your hand and you’re only sad you didn’t take your mitt first to know how soft or rough they were.  He makes you want to know more about him but the night is getting later.

“Ok.  I’ll be here.  You have a good Christmas Eve.”

“You as well.”  Rio nods to you as he joins his counterpart in the backroom.  You walk toward the doors you came from, looking back at the empty sanctuary, leaving with a feeling you didn’t think you’d have but is as close to a holiday spirit than you ever had.

@chaneajoyyy​

[yanderecandystore]

The bullies with an S/O that’s just completely off the board? Like no matter how much they look the bullies can’t find /anything/ on them, all their school papers are forged and their home just isn’t able to be found no matter how hard they look? Maybe due to the S/O changing their identity after doing something bad?

That's hella specific and I love it?? XD

Sure thing boo, let me see what I can do.

Also, I'll change the ocs profiles to be paper drawings with digital coloring because believe me boo, I'm tired of redrawing them (and I believe y'all are tired of always seeing these new drawings).

I noticed that my paper art is a lot better than my digital art, and although I'm kinda proud of them I still feel a little petty because I wish to do cool stuff on the computer ;-;.

Anyway, just a heads-up if you see something off with the oc's bios.

TW/Tags: I have no idea what to tag this lmao // identity theft // illegal/unauthorized inscription // not an accurate representation of university/how universities work lol // abusive household/abusive parents // I may or may not have changed your concept a little, I'm sorry for it 😔

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

Suspicion (fuck yeah, I don't know what to title this) [Yandere!Bully OC x Reader - Headcanon]:

→Adrien Coldwell:

For a person that prides themselves as the "know it all" when it comes to people's social media and reputation, he doesn't know anything about you.

This is a first for him, which is both annoying and honestly so intriguing. You didn't strike him as a person who would hide any secrets, and he had a hunch this was about to be good.

He searched for social media first, not finding anything about Avery Remington. Well, at least nothing with your face on it.

However, he did find something very, very interesting while looking at the school's documents, specifically the archives of all the students that have already studied here. He honestly didn't think he would find anything about you in these old papers, he was probably doing all this stupid work for nothing.

However, he was half right and half wrong. He didn't find anything about you, but this whole search wasn't completely lost, as he did find "you", Avery.

"- Student name Avery Remington, average grades and apparently no history of wrong doings or any bad behavior in general. Their registration to the Academy dates to 1980."

Oh. Ooooh, this was rich.

"- Huh." He said closing the documents and letting it where he found it. He was at least kind enough to let the palace a little organize after going through each paper trying to find your name.

Well, "your name". The only things that he kept for himself was photos of both the old documents about Avery Remington, and the earlier documents about Avery Remington. It was clear that you did something probably really, really bad, and you know he'll take advantage of it.

He had built his own theory about this, as in: you somehow found the paperwork of Avery's registration and their previous school's records so you could somehow impersonate them and get a free entrance to this institution.

He knew that you had something to hide, no one can be so perfect. But knowing the action itself wasn't enough for him, he needed to know the motive behind it.

For someone that is lazy and doesn't bother to care about important things, he sure spent a lot of time trying to scoop some dirt on you. When he finds the perfect opportunity, without any witness around, he'll take the chance to use this information against you.

"- Well, hello "Avery"." His tone was already suspicious, his voice not hiding anything from you. He came here to belittle you for his own entertainment.

"- H-Hi Adrien." You said shyly, hoping that your anxious mind was wrong and that this was all just a misunderstanding. You were hoping that the growing feeling of him possibly knowing about your fraud, was wrong.

"- Ya know, I'm kinda jealous of whatever plastic surgery you went through to look so young, maybe you should ask the faculty to correct your age tho." He said while showing the pictures he took of the documents.

"- Wait! I-I can-"

"- Honestly, I didn't think you were over 60 years old! Could have fooled me." His smug face was the selling point. You knew that you wouldn't find any form to convince him that what was on his phone was false.

He had a victorious smile on his face. Ever since you entered this school you always acted a little too paranoid and almost too friendly for his liking, and to confess to himself that he has fallen for you would be the bottom of the pit to him.

Still, he wanted to know why you did it. Why didn't you pay to get in if you wanted the scholarship so badly? What, you were too poor for it?

And what about a talent, or the test? Obviously, the university hasn't gone out of their way to pick a loser like you and insert you inside their classes on a whim, as they thought you were Avery Remington, a student that is already registered in school's documents (yet, of course, their system haven't verified the date of the registration, either by incompetence or by a "small mistake"). So you didn't do the test too, simply pathetic honestly.

Your sad dramatic story explaining how you managed to get into the academy. You did your best to get into the academy by legal means, but they always rejected you. Apparently you thought it would be a good idea to use your grandparent's documents to squeeze yourself into the institution.

"- But why in hell would you do such a thing? Are you that pathetic dearest?"

"- I… I wanted somewhere to go. Somewhere I could grow into a better person, a-away from-" You cut yourself short when the memories of your old home started to come into view.

For some reason, your parents couldn't stand the idea of you getting into a decent university, if anything, they thought you weren't capable of even washing some dishes at the local pizzeria. In their eyes, you were worthless.

When you found out your grandparent used to frequent this institution, and that they managed to disattached themselves from their familial routes and thrive as a musician you got instantly inspired! Determined to follow their steps and prove your family that you're just as worth ass-

"- Urghhhh- Boring! I don't care about all of that. Are you serious? You committed a crime just so you could stick it up to your shitty parents?"

"- …. Yes?"

"- Huh. Geez you're cooler than I thought. Listen, how about we make a deal?"

The deal was simple, he would not tell anyone about your little secret, and he would even help you keep your scholarship and help you reach your ambitions as long as you started spending more time with him. Which, at first you thought it sounded absurd, this man is holding your whole life by a thin thread as long as you give him attention?? What?!

And although that sounded extremely suspicious, you accepted it, not knowing that for the next few years you would have to endure a harsh training to discover your talents and to improve them before you two graduated. However, you started to think Adrien was starting to see your deal in a different light-

"- Come on now, after this we can go eat something okay? Where would you like to go this time? Our last date I chose the best restaurant I know, so you better choose something of equal value."

…. Date?

→Alexandra Coldwell:

You were suspicious from the very start. Overly friendly and too- Ugh! Too cute?!

You were always skittish whenever someone called you. What, you had a problem with your name or something?

And the worst part was how no one seemed to know where you lived. Every group project with you was considered annoying by most of your classmates, as you never called people in your house or never let anyone have your address, not even your phone number??

You didn't have any social media, what are you, a weirdo? What the hell??!

She is not even pissed about you being a loser, she is pissed that she has fallen for someone like you! A complete weirdo that was always panicking over nothing.

She started stalking you with the intention of finding at least one thing that she could hate on you so she wouldn't feel so- Lovey dovey towards you!

But what she really found was something worth an entire gold mine.

A private phone call between you and someone who was losing their shit. She couldn't understand too much of the conversation as she didn't have any context, yet she could hear a lot of things that you and the person were discussing.

The person yelled [Y/N] multiple times while in the phone call, saying how you were absolutely the worst mistake of their lives (which by the way, rude much? Who is this asshole?), that you were a selfish brat that needed to learn to appreciate their hard work.

Oh… Oh. She now knows who you're talking with. She decided to record the entire thing the moment she saw you taking your cellphone to have a private call.

She was planning on recording your voice for her own hearing pleasure, but this? This was so… Interesting.

"- [Y/N]?" She called your attention after the conversation ended, and because you haven't been accustomed to people calling you "Avery", you turned around saying "what" instinctively.

And when you noticed Alexandra smirk for a split second, you regretted answering your parents call. Not that you needed anymore reason to regret it, but this was certainly the last nail in the coffin.

You begged for her to understand that you couldn't go back, you simply can't go back to them, ever again! You told her the whole sob story about how your grandparent had decided to run away from home and fulfil their own dreams as a musician, even if people didn't really hear their music all that much, and now that you think about it, that's probably the reason why no one have recognized their name at all.

Your grandparent had a really small fanbase, and you knew that because you were part of them. They weren't popular at all compared to Amaryllis Academy standards, yet they were happy singing their songs to the world.

You kinda wish your family hasn't broken the old recorder that belonged to your grandparent. Their first album was in there, it was cheesy and filled with errors, yet they sounded so happy when doing what they loved, and you wanted something like that for yourself!

You needed to live that hell hole and so you did. You rented a small apartment that was falling apart, the reason why you never gave people your address was because you knew they would bully the hell out of you because of how poor you are.

After finishing your story you noticed Alexandra snoring beside you. You thought she was only exaggerating, but then you saw her drooling and acting really dizzy after you woke her up.

"- Oh my God, so… That was it? You ran away to follow your dreams and stuff?" She asked, still kinda sleepy.

"- What? Of course it was-" You were fuming with anger, how dare she-

"- And I thought you only looked cool because I liked you! You're pretty strong for sticking up for yourself." She interrupted you, looking at you with admiration in her eyes.

She proposed to you a deal. How about you two keep this secret together, and, if anything does happen she'll still help you stay inside the institution. However, you'll need to work your ass out to become the best you can be, and you'll let her guide you through, because you're too much of a dummy to do it all by yourself. You'll have to spend time with her and let her help you out.

At first, you thought it sounded absurd, this woman is holding your whole life by a thin thread as long as you give her attention?? What?!

And although that sounded extremely suspicious, you accepted it, not knowing that for the next few years you would have to endure a harsh training to discover your talents and to improve them before you two graduated. However, you started to think Alexandra was starting to see your deal in a different light-

"- Why you never hold my hand? Come on, "Avery", won't you hold the hand of your dearest girlfriend?" She asked playfully while taking your hand anyway.

…. Girlfriend?

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

[kurowrites]

The Live-In Boyfriend - Chapter 1

Looking for live-in boyfriend, the title read.

It had only been put up the day before.

Well, well, Wei Ying thought to himself. Isn’t that exactly what I was looking for?

He clicked on the link and quickly read through the text of the advert.

Since you all enabled me yesterday - have a chapter of Wei Ying being supremely stupid. Link to AO3.

(Note that this fic is going to get mature later on. Also don’t try this at home pls.)

---

Wei Ying usually wasn’t the kind of person that eavesdropped on the conversations of people he didn’t know. Most of the time, it wasn’t worth the effort of spying, anyway.

(Too many boring people in this world.)

But something about the day he’d had so far, and the way the two girls seated next to him kept giggling and exclaiming in (pretended?) shock, made him listen in. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do. He was just sitting there, sipping on his depression coffee, trying to decide what he was supposed to do next.

“A website?” the girl with a truly impressive set of pink lacquered nails exclaimed. “Isn’t that super sketchy?”

She emphasised ‘sketchy’ by tapping her long, sharp nails onto the tabletop.

“Noo, not at aaaall,” the other girl, dressed in a figure-hugging dress the colour of a ripe banana, replied. “You have to provide identification and they do a background check on you, to make sure you’re not a criminal or something. The sugar daddies too, of course.”

“Oh really?” Pink Nails asked, and immediately looked a lot more interested in the topic.

Well, Wei Ying had to agree with Pink Nail’s interest – he could use one of those sugar daddies himself. Someone willing to pay for his expenses, that would be nice. A lot better than being homeless, at any rate.

“Yeah, and you can even chat with them before meeting them,” Banana said, twirling her hair around her finger coquettishly. “It’s not like I’m going to go out with just any guy.”

“And that’s where you met him?”

“Yeah,” Banana said, leaning back a little, clearly satisfied to have the undivided attention of her companion. “You have lots of choices, and you can put in your preferences, too.”

She leaned forward again, and lowered her voice to a fake whisper that did nothing to make her voice less audible over the soft café music.

“I was really lucky with my current sugar daddy. He’s really generous because he has an established career and a lot of money. He likes kinky sex, but that’s fine, because he also kinda gets off on me sleeping with other guys, so it’s not like I can’t still go out and do whatever I want. I’m just providing him with company and a pretty thing to hang off his arm whenever he goes to a party or something.”

The two women laughed, and returned to the discussion of the advantages of this website.

Wei Ying’s attention was caught. He looked down at the sad little weekend bag next to his chair that contained nearly all of Wei Ying’s worldly possessions, discounting the boxes of books he had managed to stow away in Jiang Yanli’s attic. He’d had to sell all his furniture because he had no space where he could put it anymore. The landlord had kicked him out despite Wei Ying’s best attempts at negotiation (curse his entire bloodline), and now Wei Ying was, essentially, homeless. He had no idea how to weather the next few weeks. He had no stable address, and he needed to look for a new job. Things weren’t looking good for him.

So, he sipped on his possibly last coffee for a long time and pretended not to listen in to the conversation of the two women next to him. And when Banana finally mentioned the name of website she had been using, he felt compelled to casually unpack his own laptop, make use of the café’s free Wi-Fi, and enter the name of the website into his browser.

He was just curious, that was all.

His search returned with the result that this website was in fact the equivalent of a dating website, only for sugar babies and other forms of… special companionship. The company claimed to be classy and strict with their background checks, made assertions of quality and high customer satisfaction. And the registration as a potential sugar baby, companion, or whatever else they wanted to call it, was free.

Wei Ying paused for a moment, wondering if he really should do such a thing. All assertions from the provider aside, it was still a risky thing.

He took another look at the bag at his feet. It couldn’t get much worse than it already was, could it?

He clicked the ‘new account’ button and filled out the application without a second thought.

---

Looking for the right sugar-person wasn’t exactly a simple thing to do, Wei Ying realised about three pages in. He had decided early on that the gender of this potential sugar person didn’t actually matter, but that had the simultaneous advantage and disadvantage of increasing his possible matches considerably. He wasn’t sure how to make a choice in this wild new world that had suddenly opened himself up to him.

He was a bit nervous about the having sex part, too. He tried to imagine having sex with someone he didn’t really know and maybe didn’t find very attractive, but he drew a complete blank. It might be better to stay on the safe side and choose someone who didn’t have sex as a prerequisite. That might work out better for everyone involved.

God, with all these options and decisions, it was as complicated as looking for a job.

Well, technically, if he did it right, it might be a job. Well, not really, but he might get enough money to keep him afloat for a little bit. And with enough money, he might be able to both afford a decent apartment and find a well-paying new job.

He absent-mindedly scrolled past adverts looking for highly specific… qualifications that Wei Ying definitely didn’t have, and was considering giving up when he saw an advert for the same city he was living in.

Looking for live-in boyfriend, the title read.

It had only been put up the day before.

Well, well, Wei Ying thought to himself. Isn’t that exactly what I was looking for?

He clicked on the link and quickly read through the text of the advert.

Looking for live-in boyfriend

The ideal candidate must be clean, quiet, obedient, and sophisticated. Must be able to play his part convincingly around relatives, business associates, and friends. Good table manners and skilful socialising are required.

Physical relations are not required, but negotiable if so desired. Strictly no romantic entanglements. Affairs during the duration of the contract will lead to immediate termination.

I offer a large apartment with own private room. All ensuing costs (rent, food, clothing, allowance etc.) are covered.

The advert didn’t reveal much about the writer and his personality, so it was difficult to say anything about how well they’d fit together. But the man offered a room! Without the prerequisite of sex!

He clicked on the profile of this potential sugar daddy to find out more about him. The man, who went by L. Z., was the same age as Wei Ying, and had been working in his family’s company ever since he graduated university. Someone who had been born into wealth, probably.

He lived alone and was openly gay, so his family would expect him to bring a man to public events and family dinners. His hobbies included music, reading and tea ceremony. All in all, Wei Ying started to wonder if he was being catfished, because the age and occupation said successful young man, but the rest of it said boring middle-aged uncle with a receding hairline.

But what did Wei Ying care about boring when such a perfect opportunity presented itself to him? He didn’t want some kind of old, kinky dude. He simply wanted a place to stay, and if that stay came with an allowance and some social contact, it would be perfect for him. He had good table manners. And he did well at socialising. Most of the time.

He decided that ‘quiet’ and ‘obedient’ were relative things. He could be quiet! Sometimes! If he was reading interesting things!

He was going to contact this person, worries and fears be damned. What use was it to wait around? If this man was actually for real, he might get snatched up by someone else quickly.

He clicked on the 💌 button on the sidebar of the profile, and typed out a quick message.

Hi L. Z.!

My name is Wei Ying. I live in the same city as you and as coincidence would have it, I’m currently looking to be a live-in boyfriend! We’re the same age, too, so I think we would work very well as a couple!

I also like reading (if you have a library, I’d be all over that) and I think I can safely promise not to have any affairs while we’re dating. As for the rest, I think it would be best to judge for yourself. I’m free the next few days, so I have time for a personal meeting!

I’m a little curious though – why are you looking for a live-in boyfriend? Not to judge you, since I’m obviously responding to your advert, but you seem like a man that’s very put together. You probably could choose anyone you wanted, so why an advert?

Best, Wei Ying

He didn’t really think that he would get an answer soon, and half expected his message to go ignored, but it took barely an hour until a notification pinged on his phone, indicating that he’d received a reply.

He eagerly clicked the ‘view message’ button.

Dear Wei Ying

Thank you for your message.

I agree with you. Someone from the same city and of the same age would be a good potential partner. If you do not mind, I would like to invite you to my apartment for a personal meeting. We can meet in a café if you are more comfortable meeting on neutral ground, but you should know where you would live before you make any decisions.

To answer your question: I am not interested in a romantic relationship, but my family has been concerned about my happiness ever since I came out as gay. They want to see me in a fulfilling relationship. I want to make them stop worrying. A contractual arrangement will take care of these issues. Once we terminate the relationship, it would also provide me with a good reason not to date for some time.

Best regards,

Lan Zhan

Wei Ying gaped a little. That was a… very decisive statement. This Lan Zhan certainly didn’t beat around the bush.

Oh god, was he really catfished? Human trafficking, perhaps? But then…

He had no time to lose, and getting a home and money as a package deal was very tempting. If Jiang Yanli ever got wind of this, she might strangle him with her own bare hands. But well. She never would get wind of it. Wei Ying would make sure of that.

He pulled out his laptop again, and typed out a second answer.

Hi Lan Zhan!

Nice to meet you again. 😊

Meeting you at the apartment is fine, just know that I’m going to inform a friend of my whereabouts and check in with them to make sure everything is fine.

Tell me your address and a time that works for you!

Best,

Wei Ying

He sent the message and within a few minutes, he had an address and a time – the next day, at 5.30 pm. Lan Zhan also assured him that he was perfectly fine with Wei Ying telling a friend where he was. So maybe not a catfish, after all?

Wei Ying immediately looked for the address online, and it was a nice, modern building in the centre of town. Not some kind of seedy warehouse or an abandoned house. If he ended up disappearing in that part of town, there would probably be witnesses.  

He sent a short confirmation to Lan Zhan, telling him that he would be there at the desired time. And then, he spent the rest of the evening panicking about what he had done.

He just barely remembered that he needed to contact Nie Huaisang and use him as security. Nie Huaisang was the only one he could think of right now that wouldn’t try to talk him out of this. Jiang Cheng would just straight up murder him.

He had committed now. There was no way back.

---

His internet search had already informed him that the apartment was in the better part of town, so Wei Ying had expected a rather classy apartment building. What he hadn’t expected was that said apartment building came with an actual concierge. He’d never had to go through a concierge to meet any of his friends so far. The entrance hall almost looked like a hotel.  

Good gracious, this might all be an elaborate prank.

On the other hand, if he disappeared, now he had another witness.

He walked up to the concierge’s desk and smiled at the man behind the desk winningly.

“Hi, my name is Wei Ying. I’m here to meet Lan Zhan.”

The man gave him a critical look, from his ponytail down to the thick black leather boots he always wore, and picked up the phone in front of him.

He entered a number and let it ring a few times.

“Good evening, Mr. Lan,” the concierge said when someone picked up on the other end of the line. “A Mr. Wei is here to see you. Yes, understood. I will send him up immediately.”

The concierge came out from behind his desk and directed Wei Ying to the elevator. He held the door open for Wei Ying and pushed the button for the right floor, then bid him goodbye.

“Thank you!” Wei Ying called through the closing elevator doors, but the concierge was already out of sight.

Oh well.

He was going to meet Lan Zhan. Right now.

He quickly pulled out his mobile phone and tapped out a message to Nie Huaisang.

[Wei Ying, 05:29 pm] I’m going up to the apartment now. IT COMES WITH A CONCIERGE. 😱

The door pinged and opened onto an empty hallway with elegantly tiled floor and a tasteful but abstract mural on the wall. Wei Ying stepped out of the elevator and looked around curiously. Which way was he supposed to go?

“Wei Ying?”

There, at the end of the hallway, a man stood in the frame of an opened door.

This must definitely be a catfish, Wei Ying decided then and there.

There was no way that a man this beautiful needed his help.

[astralaffairs]

french vanilla 01 | gilbert lafayette

title: french vanilla 01

pairing: lafayette x reader

words: 5.7k; this is probably going to shake out to be a trilogy :)

warnings: abundant sexual innuendos, hand fetish lowkey, maria reynolds’s abs, hugh grant mentions, painfully thick sexual tension

desc: you can’t quite place it – maybe it’s his unchecked confidence, or maybe it’s just his arms – but there’s something about your new dance instructor that makes your palms sweat and your head spin – which is, unfortunately for you, not the best combination while suspended two yards above the floor.

tags: @stargazelaurens @ivory-haired-queens @exoticxchicken8 @assbuttstyles777 @superbarriobrothers @distinguishedpotsticker @fukaaaaaaaa @hereforthepsyche-assessment @ivetoldamillionlies @fangirl570 @thealaddinkid @lasciviouspeach @shy-and-awkward-daveed @rachelhermionerose @soft-weeb-s @gryffinclxw @anamrnk @daveeddiggsit @ayayayayana @marinovakovich @cryinghazelnutt @thefandomgirl03 @a-hopeless-fan @cloudywlw @tinywhim @lolidunnoaboutnow  @siriusorionblackiii— lmk if you want to be added

You took a deep breath as you examined the door in front of you, the sign on it confirming that you were in the right place, despite the fact that you -- though you'd never admit it -- desperately hoped you weren't. You'd signed up for pole dancing classes on something of a dare, when you joking about it with your friends lead to you being challenged to really try it. And you never backed down from a challenge.

So there you stood, only feet from the door that determined the next two hours (and two hours every Tuesday and Thursday for the next six weeks) of your fate, ponytail tied tight at the back of your head, still just a bit sore from spending the past few weeks since you'd signed up trying to improve your upper body strength. (You'd quickly found out that you despised lifting, as well as that you were not in nearly good enough shape to continue doing it without every one of your joints aching for the following week.)

Your eyes darted to the clock that hung from the wall to your left, swallowing hard when you saw that if you didn't move soon, you'd be late. As much as you didn't particularly want to pole dance, you wanted even less to be late to pole dancing classes.

You reluctantly entered, less than thrilled to find the class both relatively small (you wouldn't be able to hide at the back just to tell your friends you'd gone) and filled mostly with fairly attractive women in their twenties and thirties. And just like that, you remembered why you preferred not to leave the house.

You dropped your gym bag off to the side near the door, bringing only your water bottle with you, and made your way toward the mass of people in the middle of the room, all stretching and chatting. All right, this wasn't so bad. You could work with chatty women.

"Hey." You approached one on the edge nearest to you, seemingly zeroed in on what she was doing, long, dark hair pulled back into a ponytail, only having donned leggings and a matching sports bra. "Mind if I sit?" She looked up at your hopeful, if not slightly anxious, smile, and her expression brightened.

"Of course!" Her reply came slightly breathlessly, seeming surprised at your presence, but welcoming nonetheless. She nodded her head toward the space next to her, scooting over just a few inches, but the gesture wasn't lost on you. You gave her a warm smile as you took a seat on the polished hardwood floor, reaching out to stretch one leg. "First time?"

You turned your head to her with wide eyes. Was it that obvious? "Oh! Um, yeah. I'm kind of here on a dare, so we'll see how this turns out," you said with a nervous laugh, "What gave it away?"

She just smiled at you, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Might just take one to know one," she confessed, "I took a one-session beginners' class a few weeks ago with some friends, but I'm the only one who stuck around, so I think we're in the same boat right now."

You grinned at her. "Y'know what they say; two shipmates are better than one."

"Do they?"

You shared a slight laugh as you held your knee up toward your chest, extending your free hand toward her in greeting. "Y/N."

"Maria." She gladly took your hand, meeting your eyes with a friendly gaze, and you decided then and there that you liked Maria. Besides, you felt safer knowing that you had an ally going into this.

A loud clap and the shuffling of hands came from the front of the room, attracting all your attention. "Alright, ladies!" You lifted your head, breaking her gaze, to look curiously up at the source of the deep French accent, who was also presumably your instructor. Your eyes widened.

You'd been surprised enough that your instructor was a man. Registration had only given you a last name, and while you supposed the class hadn't specified that it was just for women, the lack of men attending the class made it feel strange that it was being taught by one. That wasn't the main source of your surprise, though. The man standing in front of you all as you sat up was, to be quite blunt, gorgeous. He had dark skin and a gorgeous smile, curls pulled back in an unruly bun, arms bulging through the sleeves of his less-than-loose t-shirt. If you'd been nervous before, it was nothing compared to how you felt then.

"It is good to see all of you eager and ready to get right into things. I am your instructor, Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch, Gilbert du Motier de Lafayette, but I am not expecting any of you to remember all of zat, so please, call me Lafayette," he greeted you all warmly, and you thanked whatever god was up there that he was the instructor, letting out a soft sigh. Otherwise, you thought, your gaze drifting down to the outline of his abs, the staring would probably have weirded him out by now. Though, you realized only moments later that you still weren't quite safe of that as you looked back up to his face, only to find him watching you as he spoke, an eyebrow cocked. You swallowed hard. From that point, though, while he continued talking, his smile didn't revert back from the smirk it'd become.

"I 'ave been a trained pole dancer for nearly seven years now, and 'ave been giving classes for more than three, so I can assure you zat you are in good 'ands with me." You had no doubt about that as he folded his arms across his chest, and you eyed the bulging veins in his forearms, his large hands -- perhaps being attracted to his hands bordered on skeevy, but your moral compass wasn't at the forefront of your mind just then. You couldn't help but admire his physique. "I will be spending ze next several weeks with you building your skills up from ze fundamentals into full pieces of choreography, 'elping you every step of ze way. You will become skilled pole dancers in zis class, although 'ow you choose to use zat skill is entirely up to you."

He gave a playful grin at that, eliciting a laugh from most of the women in the class, though Maria and you shared a weary glance.

"But no matter your choice," he finished, "I look forward to getting to know and to work with each and every one of you." He met your eyes as he said that, and while you couldn't imagine the words could've been directed at you, the intensity of his gaze had you tugging your bottom lip in between your teeth.

You could be in for a long six weeks.

Beyond that, though, you quickly learned that pole dancing was not nearly as easy as you hoped it would be, nor as easy as Lafayette (and surprisingly, Maria, though you should've seen it coming based on the size of her arms and her very prominent abs) made it look.

"Back straight, Y/N," Lafayette commented as he passed you. He'd learned your name about fifteen minutes earlier and had since used it on every opportunity he'd had to visit your side of the room. "Keep your hips out; it will make it easier to 'old ze structure of ze position." You huffed, pushing your chest forward and your hips back, your arms shaking as you struggled to hold yourself up, let alone maintain proper form. "Perfect. Now loosen your grip a little bit; swing your legs slowly around ze pole."

"I'm gonna fall if I do," you whined breathlessly, focused on your own conquest to not bruise your tailbone too much to glance up and take notice of how he was watching you. He laughed.

"Just try it. Do not worry so much." While you scowled, trying to pull yourself up a bit so as to have more room to slide down as you tried to swing around the pole, you heard heavy footsteps approaching you from behind. "'ere. Let me 'elp you."

You inhaled sharply as you felt Lafayette rest his hands on your hips. You glanced back nervously over your shoulder, found his face only inches from yours, a small smile resting on his lips, and you gulped, turning back.

"Go ahead; I will not let you fall. You can trust me." While you could feel your heart rate increase in the close proximity, your face heating up, you let out a shaky breath and nodded. You could feel his warm breath dancing over the skin of your neck as you loosened your grip on the pole, sliding down a few uneven inches, and began swinging your legs off to the side, little by little.

"Careful, chérie," his voice came from behind you, hardly a breath over your shoulder as his grip tightened on your hips, pads of his fingers pressing ever so slightly into your skin. He pushed you slightly forward as you slowly went through the motions. "Ah! Back straight."

You could still hear his grin in his voice but could do little more than scowl in your struggle. You pursed your lips, arched your back, and the pressure from his fingertips began to ease as you reached a suspended sitting position next to the pole, using your momentum to swing yourself around.

"Bon travail, Y/N," he said softly, his lips only a breath from your ear as he pulled back. Your heart pounded, grip still shaking, though you weren't sure anymore that it was only from struggling to stay up.

He went back to wandering through the rows of women, shouting tips and encouragement over the music with a wide smile, and it took all of your willpower to not stare at his retreating form. You repeated the move a few times, making sure you could get it on your own, watched the ease with which Maria seemed to go through it. Eventually, your face stopped burning (you didn't like having to admit to yourself why it'd started), and you went on with the choreography, Lafayette demonstrating the next moves. Your eyes widened as you realized how little you had of the skill the rest of the dance needed.

"Now do not worry, everyone," he called out, as everyone sat on the floor in front of him, drinking some water and resting. "I know 'ow intimidating zis looks right now, but none of you are expected to get it on ze first try." His words did little to comfort you as you glanced around the room, knew most of these women would probably be able to pull it off better than you would.

"And if you cannot seem to get it after a while, remember: I am 'ere to be your teacher. You can always," --he caught your eye at those words, the corners of his lips quirking up in a mischievous smile-- "Always, ask for 'elp." He shot you a wink at the end of his sentence, and while most of the women had already begun chattering to those around them (you caught snippets about not minding him helping them out, if you knew what they meant), you couldn't break his gaze, a chill running down your spine.

You couldn't quite place it just yet -- maybe it was his unchecked confidence, the tempter integral to his person, or maybe it was just his arms -- but there was something about your new dance instructor that made your palms sweat and your head spin -- which was, unfortunately for you, not the ideal combination while trying not to fall on your ass, suspended two yards above the floor.

_______________

"You were looking pretty good today, Y/N." Maria winked at you as you packed up your bag. You'd known her for only about a week, now, but had grown quickly attached to her, enjoyed getting to know her. The pair of you had become fast friends. You'd expressed offhandedly your insecurity being in that class alone -- albeit a pole-dancing class -- and she'd subsequently taken it upon herself to tell you how great you were doing about twice a minute.

You rolled your eyes at her with a laugh, taking a drink of water. "Not so bad yourself, Lewis." You wiggled your eyebrows at her flirtatiously, and she scoffed.

"Don't lead me on like this," she teased, "I just might get the wrong idea."

You only grinned, tucking your water bottle into your bag along with the rest of your things. "And if I want you to?"

She laughed, shooting you a wink as she turned to leave. "If you're interested, L/N, you know how to find me," she sang as she walked over to the door, flashing a smile over her shoulder as she shut it behind her. You laughed to yourself as she left, fixing your ponytail before zipping your bag. The rapport was all playful, of course, neither of you expecting the other to take your words as being in earnest, but candidly, you were struggling to figure out whether you'd rather screw Maria or be her. Either way, she was undeniably adding excitement to your life.

As you tightened your ponytail, you swung your bag onto your shoulder, phone in hand as you checked the time. You walked up to the front of the room as everyone began to slowly filter out, needing to talk to Lafayette before you left about your plans for the next class, and feeling astoundingly anxious to do so.

You found him off to the side chatting with someone you didn't recognize, another woman from your class, and his eyes met yours as you neared him. His expression lit up, brows raising and smile broadening as his eyes met yours, and while he nodded along halfheartedly to what it was he was being told, for the time being, it took him about half a sentence after that to wave her off with an "au revoir" that left her giggling. (You couldn't judge her; you'd heard his accent, seen his blinding smile. You'd be no different in her position, and you very well knew it.)

"Y/N, what can I do for you?" he asked, folding his arms with an easy smile as you approached him. You returned the smile, pulling your bag higher up on your shoulder as you reached him.

"Hey, Lafayette," you breathed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "I just wanted to talk to you about next class." He arched a brow. "So, I'm not going to be able to make it here this Thursday; I have a board meeting for my job in the evening. I was just thinking, since I know we're working on like a full piece of choreography and everything, is there any way I can keep up with it outside of class?"

He raised his eyebrows, considered you for a moment. "Are your Wednesday nights free?" You pursed your lips, shook your head, and he let out a hum of discontent. "Alright. Zere is a video and walkthrough I can send you of ze next part of ze choreography, so zat you can learn it on your own time. Would zat 'elp?"

You smiled. "Yeah, that'd be great. Is the video of the whole dance, or...?" You trailed off, the question left unsaid, and he nodded as he began to dig through the bag he had left near the front of the room, slinging it over his shoulder as he did so.

"Oui. I can tell you which part of it we will be learning zis Thursday, so zat you can just follow along." He finally emerged from the bag, holding his phone with an easy smile. "Can I 'ave your number, chérie?"

Your eyebrows shot up. What had he just asked? "I'm sorry?"

"Your number?" he repeated, slowly that time, his smile widening, "So zat I can send you ze choreography for Thursday?"

Your eyes widened at your own foolishness, and you let out an anxious breath. Heat was creeping up the back of your neck. "Oh! Right, yeah--"

"Now why did you think I was asking you, hm?" He cocked a challenging brow, seemingly enjoying your reaction. "Did you think I 'ad some ulterior motive? Zat would be entirely inappropriate, chérie." Despite his words, his expression, his teasing grin told you he was amused by the idea, if not intrigued by it. However, you were winded.

"You just caught me off guard," you said, breathless, and he let out a light laugh.

"Of course." He glanced back down at his phone and up at you with an expectant gaze, and your eyes widened. He was still waiting on your number.

"Oh! Right." You gave him the string of numbers as he made you a contact in his phone. Finally, he nodded, looking up at you with a small smile.

"Thank you," he said, eyes shining as he regarded you, though, now, his mischievous gaze had begun to turn wolfish. "I'll be texting you, chérie."

____________

As promised, Lafayette did send you the choreography; the videos were more helpful than you'd expected them to be, considering the only place you had to practice was the bar that divided your doorway in two. (How foolish you felt doing it was extraneous to your ultimate goal.) Thankfully, the next Tuesday passed without a hitch. As did the next Thursday. You were getting noticeably stronger, or otherwise less helpless in your ability to stay upright; you were getting closer and closer with Maria, and more and more intrigued by Lafayette. He was abundantly friendly, and his ability to command a room was enviable, but your unfortunate sticking place was how it seemed he'd already become more than familiar with every woman in the class. He was chatty, obviously, but it was impossible to determine whether his flirty demeanor was unconscious, or whether he knew exactly what he was doing to you. You didn't know quite what to make of him, but you certainly enjoyed eyeing him from the back of the room as you pondered it.

However, his earlier words were stuck firmly in the back of your mind, regardless of whether they'd been sincere. He's your teacher, you reminded yourself, every time you caught yourself staring at his straining biceps when he demonstrated the choreography. It would be entirely inappropriate.

And while your rational mind was right there with you, more than ready to jump ship on the fruitless ordeal of pining after your gorgeous dance instructor with the even more gorgeous accent, neither your hormones nor your heart seemed to agree. While, yes, they understood very well how inappropriate the scenario was, their mantra was something more along the lines of, I'm so fucked.

To say the least, you were in deep.

You wiped sweat from your brow with the hem of your tank top as you retreated to your bag, Lafayette still shouting to everyone from the front of the class as they began to disperse, and you all but entirely tuned out his naive encouragement, reminding you all to keep up the good work. Instead, you grabbed a drink of your water as you walked over to find Maria.

"Hey." You grinned, taking a drink of your water, and she looked over at you with an easy smile, brow raised.

"Hey." She swung her bag onto her shoulder. "You find that any easier than I did?"

You had to scoff at the question, reminiscence painful despite her teasing tone. "Are you really asking me that, now? You're supposed to be the in-shape one in this relationship."

She grinned. "I can't pick up all your slack, L/N. A relationship is supposed to be a two-way street."

"Guess I'll have to step up my game, then." You had to remind yourself exactly why you'd approached her as she dug through her bag, pulling out a sweat towel, her abs flexing as she strained to support the bag in front of her. (You were getting progressively less sure you wouldn't be sliding into her DMs at any point.) She raised her eyebrows at you as she took a drink of water, waiting for you to continue.

You cleared your throat. "So, I was thinking, me and a few of my friends are planning on going to grab dinner after work this Friday, just to go hang out. Would you wanna join us? I think you'd like them."

She pursed her lips, and despite her nonchalance, her smiling eyes gave away how she'd softened at the invitation. "Yeah, I'm down. Where are you all going?"

"Dunno yet." You shrugged, but couldn't help your grin. You were just a bit too excited for Maria to meet your friends. "Probably just someplace downtown?"

She held your endeared gaze another moment before she spoke. "Yeah, sure, can you text m--"

"Y/N!" Both your heads turned as Lafayette approached with a wide smile, cutting off both your invitation and your eagerness to tell Maria everything there was to know about your friends. You hoped desperately that they'd hit it off. (You noticed in the corner of your vision Maria rolling her eyes as he approached.)

It seemed everyone else in the class had cleared out at that point, so he'd apparently decided that interrupting your conversation was appropriate. "Was ze video 'elpful?"

You let out a light sigh, nodded with a smile. "For sure. Thanks for sending it."

"Of course, chérie."

You pulled your bag further up on your shoulder as you glanced away from him, again meeting Maria's eyes. "So are we on for Friday?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world." She grinned, threw you a playful wink. "I'll be sure to wear something tight."

"What is Friday?" Lafayette interjected as you laughed, and you turned to see his raised brow. Maria had at that point begun to leave, checking her missed texts; apparently, she didn't have much interest in sticking around to chat with Lafayette. You shrugged.

"Not much. Just bringing Maria out with some of my friends. No special occasion."

"And you did not bother to invite me?" He raised his eyebrows, letting out a mocking gasp, and despite being unable to stifle your smile, you rolled your eyes. "I am not sure whether to be offended."

"Sorry, Lafayette; this one's girls only." His facade of a pout grew. "Can't just violate the sanctity of ladies' night like that. Wouldn't be fair."

"So when do I get to meet the rest of your friends?"

"You've met Maria, haven't you?" He huffed, and your grin grew at his adverse reaction. You knew, by then, not to take Lafayette's quips as being in earnest, but you didn't have to avoid being entertained by them.

"Ah, Y/N, I see 'ow it is. Do not worry, I take no offense."

"Wasn't worried," you reassured him, digging through the side of your bag to retrieve your sweatshirt.

He let out a snort of laughter. "Now I take some offense."

"Why would you?"

He ignored that, continuing, "Perhaps I will 'ave to get Maria to invite me to her 'ladies' nights' instead. You would not be invited, of course, since I am apparently not good enough to penetrate your inner circle."

You didn't bother even to humor him, fishing your phone out of your pocket. "Buy me dinner first," you teased, tone dry, and he grinned.

"Per'aps I will."

____________________

You didn't think about that interaction even once before Friday. Though Lafayette and Maria both maintained a place in your subconscious, your dance lessons, your Friday plans, all slid to the back burner as you spent your time working day and night, redrafting and finishing a long-term report for your job. It happened to be due Friday, so that ultimately became your priority leading up to the end of the workweek.

Thankfully, after the exhaustion the past few days had put you through, no one had been all that invested in the idea of going out on the town, so your night out became a night in, watching tacky romcoms at low volumes on Eliza's couch and arguing over which Hugh Grant film was the best of his phases. (The answer was obviously Notting Hill, but to each their own.)

Maria was meshing well with your small girl group, much to your delight, but seeing the way she and Angelica had been making eyes at each other all night made you groan internally. (Angelica still had a boyfriend, mind you, but she seemed to have conveniently forgotten that detail.)

You were just reaching the first confession scene in Bridget Jones's Diary when your phone first pinged. Your instinct was just to turn it over, hide the glow of the screen in the couch cushions, but whoever had messaged you apparently had plans other than letting you all pine for Colin Firth's Mark Darcy. Your notification sound went off once more before you decided you had to turn it on silent -- that, and Eliza's glare when it kept going off had scared you into submission. (Did whoever was texting her not know that double-texting was a bother, or did they just not care?)

When you finally turned your phone over to turn the ringer off, your pulse jumped, and your stomach turned.

lafayette sent: hey

lafayette sent: u up?

However, after you processed the initial shock of seeing his name show up in your notifications, you couldn't help but roll your eyes at the content of the texts.

Y/N sent: are you deliberately interrupting my girls' night out of spite, or did you need something?

lafayette sent: your assumption hurts me

lafayette sent: i could never be so spiteful

Y/N sent: i'm sure

Y/N sent: other than the alternate girls' night you've decided to set up just to exclude me from it, of course

lafayette sent: extenuating circumstances :(

Y/N sent: how??

lafayette sent: you excluded me first :((

Y/N sent: isn't that like, the definition of spite???

lafayette sent: depends on your perspective

Y/N sent: don't think that's how that works

"Y/N," Eliza hissed, yanking your attention from the text string. You were sure you looked like a deer in headlights when you met her eyes, instinctively pulling your phone closer to hide the screen. "Either put that away or go to the kitchen; I'm trying to appreciate corporate Hugh Grant."

"Sorry for distracting you from your very important engagement," you grumbled as you picked yourself up from the couch, sliding your legs out from under where Maria and Angelica were all but in one another's laps. You eyed them with an amused smile before retreating from where your friends lay.

Y/N sent: anyway, why'd you text me?

lafayette sent: turns out working late on a friday isn't the party it's made out to be

lafayette sent: can you blame me for looking for a bit of entertainment?

Y/N sent: what happened to texting me being "entirely inappropriate"?

lafayette sent: didn't i just mention how bored i am???

lafayette sent: desperate times, desperate measures

You rolled your eyes.

Y/N sent: calling talking to me a 'desperate measure' isn't the way to stop me from blocking you

lafayette sent: my apologies

lafayette sent: but what's more entertaining than doing something "entirely inappropriate" on a friday night?

Y/N sent: the girls night that you weren't invited to

lafayette sent: hurtful

lafayette sent: i had to work anyway, so you would not have been graced with my presence

Y/N sent: why are you still at work??

Y/N sent: who the hell is taking dance lessons at 11 pm on a friday

lafayette sent: teaching dance isn't my only job

lafayette sent: i have to pay the bills somehow

Y/N sent: what else do you do?

lafayette sent: unimportant

Y/N sent: ah yes because that makes it seem less suspicious

lafayette sent: i am glad

Y/N sent: seriously tho, are you a bartender? secretly a cook at some fancy dinner place?

Y/N sent: a spy sent to infiltrate city hall by night??

lafayette sent: you are a poor guesser

Y/N sent: i don't have much info to work with

Y/N sent: that'd be like me telling you to guess what i'm wearing while i was dressed in drag

Y/N sent: you aren't exactly making it obvious

lafayette sent: what ARE you wearing? 👀

You inhaled sharply, heat creeping up the back of your neck as you leaned back against the kitchen counter.

Y/N sent: go back to work

lafayette sent: am i not exciting enough for you?

Y/N sent: i think you can find a different 'entirely inappropriate' way to spend your friday

lafayette sent: perhaps you're right

lafayette sent: i suppose my job fills the same purpose

Y/N sent: ?????

Y/N sent: you do know you're just making yourself sound more and more like some kind of criminal, right??

lafayette sent: goodnight, cherie

lafayette sent: i am sorry to leave you with your boring evening

Y/N sent: ur loss

lafayette sent: i cannot disagree

lafayette sent: dream of me ;)

Despite how clichéd the line was, you could, by then, feel your cheeks burning as you rolled your bottom lip between your teeth. You should've turned off the phone right then; he was done texting you, and it'd saved you a world of trouble, but your fixation on reading and re-reading the messages was your downfall.

"Who have you been texting?"

You jumped at the voice from the entrance to the kitchen, pulse spiking. There stood Maria, a skeptical eyebrow raised with an empty wine glass. You forced a smile, shrugged as she neared you, holding the phone up to your chest.

"No one. Just a friend."

She hummed in understanding as she walked around to your other side, reaching for the bag of Takis you could only assume Eliza had sent her to grab. "Seemed like you were having quite a reaction to texting 'just a friend.'"

She gave you a knowing smile that you couldn't help but return, despite rolling your eyes when she wiggled her eyebrows at you. "Don't worry about it. It's no one."

However, with how self-conscious and consumed in your own thoughts you were, you didn't notice her peering over your shoulder when you went to turn off your phone screen.

"Lafayette?!" Her whisper-shout directly in your ear had you flinching away, taking a step back when she reached for your phone. "You've been texting Lafayette all evening?"

If you'd felt embarrassed just reading his texts, by then, your skin was burning. Maria looked well-beyond intrigued, and you pursed your lips to hide your smile. "It's not like that. Let's go finish the movie."

You tucked your phone into your back pocket, turning to go with her back to your living room, but as deftly as you should've expected from her, she swiped your phone from your jeans, turning away to snoop through your messages before you could even begin to react.

"Maria!" you scowled, whirling around to find her wearing a mischievous grin.

"Now, what exactly is on here that you don't want me looking through?" She glanced back over her shoulder at you, her gaze teasing as she went and unlocked your phone. You would never have imagined this would be why you came to regret giving her your passcode.

"Give me my phone," you groaned, following her back toward the counter, your anxiety spiking alongside your fatigue. You were too tired to earnestly give chase. "It's just logistical stuff for class. It's not what you're thinking."

"Mhm." Her skeptical tone told you all you needed to know.

You buried your face in your hands when she turned back to you with wide eyes. "Y/N. Are you fucking serious?"

"What?"

"Why haven't you fucked Lafayette yet?"

"What?" You looked at her in shocked disbelief, brow furrowed. She only looked at you expectantly, apparently still looking for an answer, and you scowled. "Give me my phone back. C'mon."

"Listen, I'm the one who's had to listen to you two flirting every day after class; I think I'm allowed to have an opinion in this by now." Apparently, she was ignoring your pleas for her to leave your sex life alone for the evening.

"We have not been flirting. Don't be dramatic."

"He started a conversation with, 'you up?' That's how people start booty calls, okay? There is nothing platonic about this."

You rolled your eyes, reaching over to snatch your phone from her hands, and this time, she put up little resistance, if any. "That's just how he is. It's not personal. Have you seen the way he talks to every other woman in our class?"

She folded her arms, pinning you with a skeptical stare. "I can promise you he isn't texting the rest of the women in our class at 11 PM on a Friday looking for an invite to their place."

"That's out of context!" you argued, but she didn't seem convinced. "Can we just go back to the movie? Please?"

For a moment, neither of you said anything, and she pursed her lips. "Fine." She brushed past you as she unrolled the bag of Takis, throwing you one last sly grin over her shoulder. "But don't think you're off the hook, L/N. This is far from over."

"Duly noted." Your dead stare didn't discourage how smug she looked as you walked together back into your living room. You couldn't help but think that her snooping into your sex life was mildly hypocritical as you eyed how touchy she and Angelica had become in just a few short hours, but you decided to put it out of your mind. The movie only had about an hour left, anyway.

You pulled out your phone to check the time as Eliza leaned over to you on the couch. "What was all that about? We could hear you and Maria from here."

"Don't worry about it," you murmured, glancing down at your phone screen. The time read 11:24 PM, but when you went to power it off, a notification caught your eye.

lafayette sent: i know i'll be dreaming of you

[calumance]

okay hear me out..... an fbi 5sos au.... no? okay i’ll see myself out 😔

Oh fuck, okay this was actually quite a challenge for me. I do love me some true crime stories though, however I’m afraid this turned out to sound like an episode of Criminal Minds. That could be good or bad however you want to interpret that. Anyway, here’s some FBI!sos. 👀👀👀 Please note that this has sensitive subjects in it, please read at your own discretion!!!

           Calum sat in the van, lights flashing as he watched as the officers escorted the assailant into the police car, ducking his head and then slamming the door. The case that his team had been working on for months, although solved, came to a crashing halt when they were notified of a hostage situation in the town next to theirs. Immediately, his team jumped into the fleet vehicles and sped to the location of the hostage situation. While Calum sat in the back of the van, he ran through the months and months of research that they had been doing.

           Normally cases such as this one wouldn’t become and FBI problem, but as soon as the crimes started to cross state lines, the case caught the FBI’s attention. Almost thirty people had been reported missing during the time the assailant had been active, and nearly half of those people had gone missing within the past few months.

           The first objective the team was given was to identify the assailant’s profile. Calum walked into the conference room with a cup of fresh coffee, something he thought was only done on TV shows, but after working for the FBI for ten years now, he’s come to realize that life can’t go on without coffee. There was a white board at the front of the room with pictures of all the victims, something that always made Calum’s stomach turn, no matter how many cases he’s worked on. He gulped and smiled down at his colleague Luke as he sat down. Luke has been on the same team as Calum for about five years. Luke worked for the Australian Secret Intelligence Service before he moved to the United States. After he moved he went through all of the American training to be a part of the Federal Bureau of Investigations. Calum and Luke bonded over their Australian heritage, although Calum didn’t get into the service until he moved to America over fifteen years ago. Although Luke and Calum both knew Luke was smarter and more experienced, neither of them would admit it out loud. “Is there anything new I missed?” Calum asked after sitting down and taking a sip of the gloriously bitter liquid in his paper cup.

           Luke shook his head and leaned his head into his hand, resting his elbow on the table. “Dude went silent a month ago. Think he’s about to strike again, but not sure where.” Luke licked his lips and leaned towards Calum, pointing to the white board at the front of the room. “I’ve been trying to see if there’s a pattern with where he’s choosing his victims. Maybe if there’s a shape, or a commonality between the cities.” Luke shook his head and dropped his hand, “But I’ve got nothing.”

           Calum stared at the whiteboard. The victims the assailant has chosen all have something in common, the most obvious is the fact they are all women. Maybe the assailant has something against women, maybe a childhood trauma, maybe some Norman Bates thing where he’s obsessed with his mother now he’s killing women. Calum raised his eyebrows and took a drink of his coffee again, he would need more fingers and toes to count how many times he’s crossed men like that.

           The rest of their team made their way into the room, sitting around the table while the team director came last, shutting the door behind him. Calum nodded to the rest of the team, Ashton joined the team about three years ago after transferring from another branch. Michael joined the team four years ago after making his way up from the local police department, his previous title being a detective. Ava, who has a doctorate in psychology, has been working for the FBI longer than Calum has been in America. Ava was incredibly smart and knew everything there was when it came to the human mind, especially serial killers. Ava and Calum were put on the same team six years ago, Calum would never admit it out loud, but Ava was one of his favorite people to sit down and have a conversation with. Greyson was the newest member of their team, he joined about a year ago, and Calum honestly didn’t even know where he came from. The only thing he knew about the guy was that he was ridiculously smart with electronics, a critical component to the team in such a technologically advanced age.

           The director of the team was a gentleman named Henry. He had a good fifteen years on the oldest member of the team, but somehow he managed to get along with every single one of the members of the team, and was able to connect with them on a personal level. Henry began to break down everything they knew, recapping to see if it could jog any type of “ah-ha” moment. Calum leaned back in his chair and pressed the lips of the paper coffee cup to his lips. His eyes danced from picture to picture, collecting all of his thoughts and hypotheses. Although Calum chuckled to himself for his crazy thoughts, something suddenly made sense.

           As he leaned forward he set his coffee cup on the table next to him. He rested his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands together. Again, his eyes danced across the whiteboard, gathering every ounce of information he could. His thoughts became solidified and he sat back, scratching one finger over his cheek before he raised his hand. Henry stopped in the middle of his thought and motioned for Calum to speak. Calum cleared his throat, “Aside from the obvious fact that all of the assailant’s victims are female, and they all have brunette hair and blue eyes, something that I think we’ve been skipping over is the fact that they all came from the same city.” Everyone stayed silent and Calum stood and made his way to the whiteboard to point out his thoughts. “Victim number one, although he lived in New York City, she was originally born in Grand Rapids, Michigan. Same with all the victims afterwards. The assailant is travelling across the country, seemingly killing all the women with this physical description and come from Grand Rapids.”

           Henry sat down and leaned against the table, giving Calum the floor to continue his thoughts and ideas. “We know that the assailant has been seen driving some beat up Volvo with no license plates. Maybe the Volvo is still registered in Michigan, we can narrow down the registrations in Grand Rapids and see if that can get us some names. Maybe the assailant went to school with all of these women, being brunette and blue eyed isn’t exactly uncommon. I think we should find out where these women went to school, and if there is an open registration on Volvo’s in the Grand Rapids area.” Calum was nearly out of breath trying to explain his thoughts, the excitement of figuring something out making his heart race.

           Henry slapped his hand down on the table and nodded, “You all heard the man, start doing some research.” With that, the team scattered. Within a few days they narrowed down the list of names from hundreds, to just a handful. It wasn’t until they released the assailants profile to the press that everything spiraled out of control.

           It took about a week and a half for the profile to spread across all media sources, and it was within hours of the team watching a press release that they got the call of the hostage. The guy who made the call was frantic, he was the owner of the local liquor store. The assailant grabbed the woman and clutched her to his chest as he pointed a gun at the owner. As he held the gun, it gently shook with how hard he was holding it. The assailant told him to leave the store, walk five miles and then call the cops. When the cops asked for a description of the woman, he answered, “She has brown hair, blue eyes, I had just checked her ID, she was from Michigan, and she had told me she was there on vacation.” After hearing that, the description was immediately sent to the FBI and the team scrambled their way to the cars.

           Calum sat next to Luke in the van, and together they put on their bullet proof vests. Greyson frantically typed away at the computer, trying to tap into the security cameras. Ava, Michael and Ashton all strapped on their vest and took a deep breath, trying to ready themselves for whatever was going to happen when they finally got to this liquor store.

           The van came to a screeching halt. Outside the fan was hordes of flashing lights, and multiple policeman perched on their car doors with their weapons pointed at the store. Henry got an update from the chief of police and Calum stood there, eyes scanning the entire front of the store. “He won’t come out knowing there’s so many weapons pointed at him.” Luke said with a sigh, tucking his golden curls behind his ear. Calum turned to him and Luke’s eyes widened. “He’s never done anything drastic in broad daylight. Sure, it’s night time, but there are so many eyes on him that he won’t do anything.” Luke was right, Calum knew he was right, but Calum didn’t know what to do next.

           In one swift movement, Calum stripped out of his bullet proof vest, tossed it at Luke and ducked under the crime scene tape, sauntering his way towards the store front. Behind him, he could here Henry yelling at him, but before Henry could blow everything, Calum turned and shot him a look. Henry immediately became quiet, the only sound being the wind, and the heartbeats of all the nervous officers behind him. Calum raised his hands above his head as he stopped a few feet in front of the front door. “My name’s Calum, do you mind if we have a chat for a moment?” The silence was terrifying, Calum would never deny that, but silence all meant that nothing life threatening was happening. Calum kept his hands above his head as he closed the distance between him and the front door. All of the windows of the liquor store were mirrored, it was a common way for stores to combat the Los Angeles sun. As Calum reached down and rested his hand on the door handle, all he could was himself, and the flashing lights behind him. “I just want to talk, do you mind opening the door for me?” Calum said, waiting patiently for the click of the lock.

           His heart dropped to his feet when he heard the click. Before making his way inside, he gulped. When he opened the door, the woman who was being held was sitting on the floor. Her ankles were tied with rope, and so were her wrists. Over her mouth was a strip of duct tape, mascara flowing down her porcelain cheeks, terror washed over her blue eyes. Calum rushed to her aide and untied her restraints as quickly as possible to ensure her safety. “As soon as I untie you, you run, don’t stop until someone on the other side of the caution tape grabs you, understand?” She nodded, sobbing still out of terror. The second she was free, she followed Calum’s instructions, running until Luke grabbed her, ushering her to the Ambulance and out of sight.

           From behind Calum, he heard the gun cock. Slowly, he raised his hands above his head and turned to face the assailant. The guy was around the same age as him, but looked as if life had run over him more than a few times. His teeth were stained a blackish-green color for the amount of drugs he has injected into his body. His eyes were sunken into his head, his hair unwashed and matted. His clothes were dirty and stiff from the lack of washing. Calum looked into his glossy eyes and could tell how high he was based on the size of his pupils. Again, Calum repeated himself, “My name is Calum, why don’t we put the gun down and have a chat?”

           “No!” the guy blurted out, holding the gun even tighter causing the weapon to shake. Calum has handled many guns throughout his career, but the way this guy was clutching the gun made him nervous. “You don’t even know what I’ve been through!” The assailant yelled at Calum.

           “Oh, but I do, man.” Calum dropped his hands to be shoulder level. “I know that you were outcasted the second you got into high school. On top of that your mom passed away at a very young age. She was a beautiful woman, wasn’t she?” The guy gulped and nodded, tears filling his eyes. “Your dad was never around, so once your mom passed you had no one, isn’t that right?” The guy gulped again and frantically ran his hand under his eyes then clutched the gun even harder. “All of these women, you didn’t even know them, but they look just like your mother, don’t they?” Calum knew that’s what was going on, he didn’t need the assailant to confirm that. “If you drop the gun and come with me, I can help you.” It was such a cliché line, but most of the people who commit these kind of crimes just want help.

           Calum took a step closer to him but the assailant took a step towards him, shaking the gun in his face. He gulped realizing that if he got any closer, Calum might end up swallowing the barrel of the gun. “I don’t need anyone’s help!” The assailant cried out, and in a split second he shut his eyes and pulled the trigger.

           Thinking quickly, Calum lunged at the gun, causing the gun to motion upwards, the bullet going through the ceiling. Within seconds of the assailant landing on the floor and the gun sliding three feet away from him, Luke and the other police officers busted through the front door. As Calum locked the handcuffs around the assailant’s wrists, Luke slapped Calum’s shoulder. The local police officers took him out the front door and Luke wrapped his arms around Calum, “I heard the shot and thought he got you. You’re a crazy son of a bitch aren’t you?” Together Luke and Calum laughed. You have to be a special kind of crazy to have a career in their field, but Calum loved being that special kind of crazy.

************

Tag list: @mantlereid @notinthesameguey @viiirg0 @wheniminouterspace @thinkofmehlgh @another-lonely-heart @limer-encia @itsmytimetoodream @babyoria @treatallwithkindness @karajaynetoday @talkfastromance4

**If your URL has a strike through it’s because it won't let me tag you ☹️

Ko-fi

[bexterbex]

A Soul to Mend His Own | Ch. 9a

Warning, if it hasn’t been obvious in the movies there is Nazi symbolism within the First Order. I will expand on this much more throughout the story. If this is something that bothers you, please just exit the story. The author does not condone any Nazi ideals, this is just for fictional uses only.

A Kylo Ren x Modern! Reader in a soulmate au with some canon divergence. —————————————SLOWBURN————————————–He is already the Supreme leader, searching the universe to find you, his Empress. Your name on his wrist has been the only constant in his life, while you have doubts about his existence and his acceptance of you. He isn’t in the database and why did the name Kylo Ren cover Ben Solo?

Originally posted on my Ao3 Crystallclover (If you can’t find it here)

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7a | 7b | 8 | 9b

I really enjoy everyone’s feedback. It makes my day to know you all are enjoying this story so far. There is still a lot planned for the future. I said this is slow-burn, it is don’t worry. Let me know what you think in the comments.

Chapter 9: Packing Up

Summary: “Your theory about possibly being matched with aliens? Well, he isn’t exactly an alien, he is a part of the First Order. When they found out who I was matched to I was immediately escorted here.”

_______________________________________________________________________

You were alone for a moment, you swore you could almost hear Kylo talking to the general on the other side of the door. He sounded harsh. You hear his footsteps walk further down the hall.

The door opens and the general walks in with the tree junior officers trailing him. He stepped back and let the junior officers quickly clean up your and Kylo’s lunch. “The Supreme Leader has made me in charge of your safety. He also said I am to take you where ever you would like to go.”

You nodded. Just now you realized you never messaged Hayden or Carter that you had been escorted, in fact, you had yet to check your phone.

You pulled it out of your back pocket and saw that you had 30 messages from Carter and Hayden and 15 missed calls. They were all asking where you were, if something happened, if you were all right and if you were being interrogated.

You decided to call Carter. “Excuse me, General, I need to make a phone call.”

He nodded and stepped out of the room leaving you alone. You dialed Carter’s phone number, it rang twice before they picked up.

“Oh my god Y/N! Are you all alright? We have been trying to get a hold of you for hours now,” their voice was laced heavily with concern.

“I know. I’m alright, everything is fine. Actually, it’s better than fine, but I don’t know if this is how I want to explain it. I’m safe, I’m in Washington D.C.”

“Wait I’ll put you on speaker. You will explain everything,” you heard Carter switch the phone to speaker. And heard Hayden clear his throat.

“Hayden, you were right,” you said with a light chuckle.

“Sweet! Wait right about what,” he asked not remembering.

“Your theory about possibly being matched with aliens? Well, he isn’t exactly an alien, he is a part of the First Order. When they found out who I was matched to I was immediately escorted here,” you paused second guessing if you should reveal who Kylo is. “He is a high ranking officer, so it looks like I’ll be joining them.”

“Wow, Y/N we are so happy for you. I’m guessing you’ll probably leave when they do. Are you coming home tonight?” Asked Carter.

“He said I’ll be joining him on the ship tonight and that I will be able to come back down tomorrow,” You glanced at your watch. 3:30 PM, the suttle ride itself only took an hour and a half to get you from Toronto to D.C. You should have enough time to go back grab some things and be back in time for the nightly public First Order address. “I know you guys have more questions but I have to go.”

“Bye, be safe my dude,” said Hayden.

“You know we love you and want you to be happy, just call us when you can,” said Carter.

“I know and I love you guys too,” and with that, you said your goodbyes and you ended the call.

Unsure of what to do you walked over to the door opened it and stuck your head out. You could see the general down the hallway talking to some other First Order officers and people whom you assumed to be White House staff. You called to him, “General?”

He turned and started walking towards you. You now exited the room. “Yes,” he asked.

“Your orders were to take me anywhere that I would like to go, correct,” you asked.

“Correct, I am assuming you have made a choice,” he responded.

“I was wondering if I could take a shuttle back to Toronto to gather some of my things? I’m hoping to return before the nightly public address.”

“That can be arranged,” with that he looked over his shoulder to one of the junior officers who left immediately to make the arrangement. “Of course because I have been tasked personally with your safety I will have to escort you.” And with that, the junior was back and informed the general that there was a shuttle ready. He nodded and they excused themselves. He gestured for you to once again follow him and you were off to the shuttle.

You exited the White House and were once again aboard the shuttle, “This is a Xi-class light shuttle. It is mostly used for ferrying on planet surfaces and transporting freight. Not, that I expect that you will remember this right now, but if you are to be Supreme Leader’s consort then you will be expected to know these things.”

You looked at the general slightly shocked. This wasn’t something you had thought deeply about. You were now about to literally give up your whole, albeit boring, life for a man who was in charge of a military regime. You didn’t want to be in the spotlight. You just wanted to be loved and to love.

Both of you buckled in facing each other, “Would you like me to prepare some education videos for you? You have much more to learn than the average First Order planet citizen,” he said while working on a datapad.

You just nodded your head and he handed one to you, “This video is outdated but contains lots of good information and background knowledge for you,” responded the general.

He pulled up a video titled “First Order” by The Templin Institute. This one was much shorter and was just under ten minutes. This video gave you an idea as to who the man Kylo killed in order to receive the Supreme Leader position. It also gave you more information as to how the First Order came to be. When you glanced up after finishing the video the general used his datapad to send you another.

This time it was a speech given by the general himself from Starkiller base, “The First Order: Last day fo the Republic.” The video was intimidatingly impressive, it was similar to the speech he gave yesterday, but this time it caused the destruction of an entire star system, the New Republic’s capital.

“What did you think,” he asks as you can see the smug look on his face.

“It was intimidatingly impressive. An entire system gone in a matter of minutes.”

He was pleased with your answer as he sent you a news release from the First Order. “The Voice of the First Order: Issue 23.” Ironically the first one being about propaganda, avoiding Resistance and the New Republic propaganda and where a First Order citizen my uncover the truth.

Lastly, he sent you a bunch of articles talking about the different transport ships that were standard issue within the First Order.

The pilot spoke to the general informing him of the arrival back at the registration station. You handed the general back the data pad. You both unbuckled and stood to exit the shuttle.

“General, if you don’t mind I need to take my car back to my apartment to get my things,” you said to him.

“Yes, one of the ancient wheeled vehicles. I suppose we will have to return it. How many passengers can you fit,” he asked almost disgusted by the idea of having to ride in a car.

“Not including the driver I can technically seat 4, but only three comfortably as it is a sedan,” you replied.

“This will probably be the only time you will be allowed to drive one of those death machines again, but we will take three troopers with us for protection,” he said. And the thought of never driving again made you sad and curious as to see what freedoms you would be allowed. The general ordered three troopers to escort you two your car. “We will have the shuttle pick us up from your apartment to make things easier upon departure.”

With that, you got into your car. The general still seemed to be disgusted with it, even though it was clean. The three troopers struggled to sit in the back as they were too large for the seat. Once everyone was settled and buckled you were on your way to your apartment. It was not a long drive and for once all of the lights were green when you got to them.

Parking in your ramp you all got out of your car and approached your building's elevator. The troopers were making sweeps of the area and the general followed confidently behind them and all of them behind you. The elevator ride is awkward, even more so than the car ride. You reach your floor and you unlock your do, but be for you enter one of the stormtroopers moves you out of the way. They enter and sweep your tiny apartment.

You moved to follow them in as did the general. “I thought the people of your planet were supposed to have large dwellings,” he said commenting on your small apartment.

This made you a bit ticked off, and the fact that they were all wearing shoes inside and tracking dirt in. “Why would I need a larger apartment when I live alone?”

The general just hummed in response. You went to your closet and gathered your duffle bag and your backpack. You began packing all of your clothes and your toiletries knowing this could be one of the last times you would be back at your apartment. Packing didn’t take very long. You grabbed your work tote and filled it with your laptop, planner, notebooks, and chargers. You also grabbed your favorite coffee to-go cup and water bottle. It only took about 15 minutes to pack everything. “Is there anything I can get you? I have water, tea, coffee, and various fruit and snacks.”

The general shook his head in response and the troopers gave no sign of acknowledgment. And with that, your life was packed and ready to be moved again.

“This is everything I need, we should be able to go now.”

The general nodded to the troopers and you made your way down to the main entrance of your apartment building. Once again you boarded the shuttle.

[amerrierworld]

Curtain. (iv)

Carol (2015) fanfiction

Pt: 1 | 2 | 3

Word Count: 1,289

September - just before the first day.

"Yes, yes. I know, Harge. I'm her mother for God's sake, I'm not going to forget anything," Carol grumbled into the phone as she grabbed the last of Rindy's bags from the back of the car.

"Well you better make sure she gets everything she needs, Carol," her ex-husband responded gruffly. "I want her to do well in school."

"Harge, it's first grade. What dire needs would a six-year old have to have? It's not like she's learning calculus."

"Listen, I don't want to have a tantrum-prone child at my house in a month because you decide not to discipline her with the school. They like me over there, you know."

"Yes, you've told me many times, Harge. Just because you have the money to fund that school and make them all lovey-dovey for your spare change does not mean we normal people have money coming out our asses."

"Watch it, Ross. It's still my name in the registration."

Carol pursed her lips, forming a foul expression but deciding not to snap back.

"Anyway, I want her in at least one team. They're very disciplined with their physical education, it'll do Rindy some good."

"What? You can't be serious, Harge. She's too young to be participating with any rigorous sports-"

"And I said she was too young to make her suffer through her parent's divorce, but here we are."

Carol sighed as she closed the car and headed up the steps to the house. "I can't promise anything. When Rindy wants something from that school, she gets it, fine. But if it's not sports, that's just too bad. So don't come blaming me if she wants to play in the band or some crap, okay?"

"Fine."

"I'll bring her over on the last Friday of the month, like we agreed."

"Thank you, Carol." His voice was cold and monotone and Carol summoned all her will power not to throw her phone against the brick wall. She hung up before he could say anything else and pushed through the front door.

"Mommy!" A squeal of delight sounded from the living room as her daughter came bounding towards her. Notorious wine-aunt and babysitter Abigail Gerhard followed closely behind.

"There you are, nitwit. Rindy was beginning to think her mom had been kidnapped."

"Oh nonsense," Carol said, crouching down to pick up her daughter, whose wispy blonde curls were sticking out everywhere. "I've got the last bits of your stuff, sweet pea. Now we can properly arrange your new room."

"Yay!"

"I best get going, Carol. I got you some of those bath salts you really like, I figured you might need some, plus they were on sale, so I had to."

"You're the best, Abby, I can't thank you enough."

Carol gave her best friend a quick peck on the cheek as she passed by her to the front door.

"Good luck with school, kiddo," she ruffled Rindy's hair and gave Carol one last squeeze on her shoulder before exiting the house.

Rindy snuggled in tightly against Carol and her heart felt like it was about to burst. She wrapped her arms tightly around her daughter, kissing the top of her head and letting out a sigh of relief. The bags could wait, she thought.

"It's far too quiet here without Aunt Abby, don't you think? Let's put on some music and I'll make us some dinner."

"Can we listen to Frozen, momma?"

"Of course, sweet pea."

-

After chicken nuggets and a desperate attempt to make Rindy eat some broccoli, her daughter lay tuckered out on Carol's lap, who was watching the news rather than Coco for the fifteenth time. Her legs were stiff but she dared not move from her spot. Rindy had flailed around and danced to endless Disney songs, forcing her mom to dance with her in the kitchen while making dinner.

Now, it was getting late and the way her eyes were straining against the bright TV made Carol realize it was probably time for her to go to bed as well. Eventually she relented and got up, cradling Rindy carefully as to not wake her up before heading to her new bedroom. The bed had been made and Rindy's fairy lights were strung up, but there were still loads of boxes meant to be gone through. The walls were a soft lavender shade with butterfly decorations everywhere; on the walls, lamps, and closet door.

Carol tucked her daughter into bed and wished her a quiet good night before turning the lights out and leaving. She left the door open a crack like she always did and headed to her own bedroom, which seemed much darker and lonelier compared to the toddler's dreamy childhood bedroom.

Carol debated a hot bath to help her relax but decided against it for the sake of sleep. She threw on an old shirt and a pair of boxer briefs to sleep in and crawled to the middle of the large bed, surrounding herself with the thick duvet and ample pillows. The air conditioning made it extra cold in her room and she felt herself trying to get to sleep, but her brain was too preoccupied to let her body shut down.

Carol grabbed her phone, intending to call Abby but remembered that she had a date that evening, which is why she had left so hurriedly. Abby was most definitely already occupied at this time.

Instead, she went to the school's online directory. The title Frankenberg Elementary came up and Carol scrolled through the names of teachers, wanting to remember as many as possible.

Carol and Harge had been huge influences on the school since Rindy started going there. Harge spared no expense in funding many of the school's programs, and consequently gaining immunity for their daughter through power play. Though the thought of it made Carol squirm with guilt, she knew at least now Rindy wouldn't be treated unfairly by the system. Other kids, not so much.

She went straight to the phys-ed tab and up came T. Tucker. Carol sighed, knowing she'd have to face him for another year. Him and Harge had got on swimmingly from the beginning, but Carol had never really enjoyed his company or comments. His female counter part; Mrs. Morgan who taught phys-ed to younger years found him just as insufferable, as she had noted at several PTA meetings.

She went through the regular listings, noting that Robichek was teaching kindergarten again, and thanking heaven that she didn't have to deal with the elderly woman again now that Rindy was out of kindergarten.

A new subheading under Subjects caught Carol's eye; Art. She didn't remember there being a distinct art teacher before; usually it was just doodle or craft assignments assigned by regular teachers.

She clicked.

One name came up.

T. Belivet

Carol blinked at her screen, her eyelids heavy, and frowned. Surely it wasn't the same girl as the shy, petite brunette who had taken photo after photo of Carol which she had pretended not to see? The name seemed too familiar... but what were the chances the girl would be teaching at Rindy's school? Carol scoffed at her own imagined fantasy. It was ridiculous. Abby was right; she ought to get on the dating scene again instead of these desperate fantasies and daydreams.

There was no picture. For all she knew, it could be a relative. If Abby wanted to hire Therese again for the Christmas show, surely she wouldn't have started teaching at a kids' school?

Carol shut off her phone and groaned a little at the ache behind her eyes. It wasn't worth worrying about things that probably meant nothing. She turned over on her side, and curled into a protective ball, determined to get some sleep and give Rindy the best first day.

A/N: My promised Just Pretend pt 2 is coming up after this folks, and then the rest of my queue. I’ve just been on a roll with Carol and Therese that I gotta get some chapters out of my system :3 love you all

[fleckcmscott]

The Falls

Summary: Arthur and Y/N reach Gotham City Hall. Two weeks later, they share a taste of newly-wedded bliss.

Warnings: Swearing, Adult situations

Words: 5,953

A/N: This request came from @jokerownsmysoul​. I'm grateful for it - it was a real challenge. I can't wait for more! I also need to extend a hearty thanks to @sweet-nothings04​ for her support. I've been going through a rough period, which is why my output has slowed. She encouraged me, listened to and helped me work through my doubts, and gave me great feedback. Also, send love to @howdylilflower​ for reading through this, sharing her thoughts, and pointing out my obvious errors!

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!

Gotham City Hall was, to put it briefly, imposing. Statues of former mayors and city founders stood on either side of its massive staircase. The Corinthian capitals of the portico's columns rose three stories above the entrance. The glass and copper doors, made heavy by their vertical, iron security bars, provided a sense of elite exclusion, regardless of it being a municipal building.

As Y/N and Arthur dashed up the marble steps, their buoyant laughter filling the air, none of that mattered. All that pomp and circumstance was immaterial compared to the leap they were about to make. The leap she hadn't expected that morning but had craved for months. The leap into wedlock and all the dedication, trust, and responsibility that went with it.

The Office of Licensure and Registration was far busier than she'd assumed - it was set to close in half an hour. Two clerks worked the winding line of people dealing with the unremarkableness of bureaucracy. A woman complained about the cost to renew a dog license. ("But he's only a mutt!") At the window, a man was being told he needed to head down the hall and to the left. One guy was muttering to himself about what he was going to have for dinner once he was "out of this hellhole." The atmosphere, admittedly, was not ideal.

However, the love of her life standing beside her, clutching her hand a tad too hard, made it perfect. She examined Arthur's profile as he stared ahead. The joy and relief hadn't left his visage after she'd accepted his proposal. Pensiveness hid in the flare of his nostrils, though. In the repeated clench of his jaw. In the quiet bounce of one knee.

She pursed her lips. Taking off up the street and demanding to be married straight away had been pushy. Under no circumstance did she want him to feel pressured, especially not when it came to this. But, she considered, it was natural to be anxious. And he'd appeared ecstatic, too, nearly yanking her onto his lap on the bench at Lemmars Park.

Tucking back the stray, chestnut strand by his temple, she murmured, "I'm the happiest woman on earth right now." She gently loosened her fingers from his grip and hugged his slim waist. With a bashful duck of his chin and quick puff, his arm went across her shoulders. The crinkles at the corners of his eyes told her his tight-lipped smile was sincere. That he needed this as much as she did. That he'd be all right.

The clerk, whose nametag read "Kyle," was polite and indifferent. Leaning on the counter, they hastily retrieved their IDs from her purse and Arthur's wallet. She rattled off her social security number from memory, while he had to find his card. After paying a fifteen-dollar fee, a slew of typing, and Y/N promising to provide a copy of her divorce papers, Kyle handed them a fountain pen and beige piece of parchment.

Floral borders decorated the edges, an art deco design out of the twenties. The title "Marriage License" leapt out, printed in a font belonging to a carnival barker's wagon. Their names, cities of birth, and birthdays were listed. A final paragraph stated the following: "The undersigned are both of sound mind, are consenting adults, and willingly commit to the bonds of matrimony." They merely had to sign on the respective "bride" and "groom" lines to make it official.

Y/N bent to sign the paper without delay. Not wanting to smudge the ink, she forced her hand to go slower than usual. Arthur grazed her knuckles as she passed him the pen. Only a couple seconds went by, then he jotted his name, a scraggly "A. Fleck." She heard his breath catch as the clerk notarized the document.

The paper needed to be mailed to central office for processing, Kyle explained (which Y/N already knew). A photocopy was made so she could change her name. The official marriage certificate could be picked up in approximately three weeks. To her surprise, he said, "Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Fleck" before closing the window's shade.

And that was it. They were husband and wife in less time than it took to register a new car.

Exhilaration fluttered in her abdomen. Pumped its way from her heart to the tips of her toes as they strolled arm-in-arm towards the closest subway station. Y/N suggested they grab a bite to eat to celebrate, maybe go to Kao Wah. But Arthur stated he wasn't hungry. "I'd like to be home. With my- with my wife." He averted his gaze as he said the last words, the tip of his tongue darting to his top lip as if to the savor their flavor.

Given how much he'd learned about traditions from old movies, she'd suspected he'd try to carry her over the threshold. She was grateful he didn't. Instead, he pressed her into the coats and jackets hanging on the wall. Kissed her with his entire body. "I need to make love to you," he uttered into her neck. The softness of the euphemism was strikingly different from his urgency as he unbuttoned her blouse. He'd have likely taken her in the entranceway if she hadn't led him to the bedroom.

The intensity with which he fucked her into the mattress hadn't been experienced since he'd shown up at her apartment drenched, lost, and unable to fully accept she loved him. But this moment was distinct. Although the lines of his face were taut, his eyes were filled with ardor. He entwined their fingers, crushed her to him, drove her hand into the pillow. "Say you're mine," he implored, the jerks of his pelvis deep and uneven. "Please. Say you're all mine."

It wasn't like her to give herself to someone. To allow that person to own her. She'd tried that before; it hadn't been good for either of them. Yet, she'd pledged her fidelity to Arthur barely two hours ago. She knew what his request meant. He didn't want to change or dominate her. He simply needed to hear her answer. To know he was no longer alone in the world and wouldn't be for the rest of his life, even if he doubted.

Caressing the expanse of his back and his distended shoulder, she responded. "Of course, I'm yours, Arthur." The tip of his nose met hers, and she savored the smile he pressed against her cheek. "Of course, I'm yours."

She absentmindedly played with his hair. Holding him to her breasts, she went over everything she had to do the following day. Having a plan calmed her, aided her in thinking straight. And the list she was making was a pleasure because everything on it involved him. "I have to call the landlord to add you to the lease. Go to the DMV to get my name changed. Add you to my insurance at work. Oh, we need to combine our bank accounts, too." She peeked at the top of his head. "I have a feeling I'll remember to write 'Mrs. Fleck' easier than '1983' when the new year arrives."

The emerging rigidness of Arthur's frame and the burps that suddenly left him alerted her to his tumult. He pushed himself off her, swung his legs over the side of the bed as guffaws ripped their way from his throat. She scurried behind him to see his palm hover above his ribs as he covered his mouth with the other.

It had been weeks since his condition had flared up around her. Even longer since he'd tried and failed to hide it. Acceptance of his affliction was a concept that was sometimes hard for him to accept; her kindness and love couldn't erase thirty-five years of distress. But he had gotten better at believing it and she was proud of him. Not wanting any of his progress to be lost (especially not on their wedding night), she helped him through it, as usual. Kissed his bicep. Reminded him to take deep, even breaths. Blessedly, the attack didn't last long.

He was wringing his hands, the shaking of his head almost imperceptible. "What if I-" He spoke lowly, fear emitted with every syllable. "What if I wake up in Arkham? Or taking care of Penny again?" Y/N continued to listen as she searched for the best reply. "I never thought I'd have what I wanted." A humorless chuckle as he swiped his nose. "I don't want it to go away."

She wondered if what he was saying was due to trepidation or illnesses. Then she realized the differentiation was irrelevant. What mattered was soothing him. Letting him know it was all right. And real. Slowly, she knelt on the floor in front of him. "I'm not going anywhere," she confirmed, cupping his weathered cheeks. "I adore you." Smiling, she claimed his lips. "I'm your wife."

His toothy grin caused her pulse to skip, and he drew her to his chest. "I'm your husband."

"There's no one else I'd rather be married to."

Laying on the mattress, he closed his eyes. She stroked his lean pectorals, delighting in his resulting sighs. Once the tension in his sinews seemed to ebb, once he looked relaxed, he made a thoughtful sound. "Are we gonna have a honeymoon?"

~~~~~

For as long as he could remember, Arthur had ridden buses. They were usually crowded, stuffed full of humanity. A cushioned, plastic seat was free about a third of the time. Apart from the engine, the rides were fairly quiet. Everyone wanted to get to their destinations instead of conversing. He'd gathered that from observing them. From trying to figure out how to make a connection.

The tour bus he was currently on felt like the pinnacle of luxury, with its padded, fabric chairs and tinted windows. A newer adventure movie played on the tiny television built into the ceiling, its volume so low he could make out only half the dialogue. There was a bathroom (a bathroom!) in the rear, cleaner than any public one around the city. Passengers were few. A young couple sat across the aisle, playfully teasing each other. Sights like that had sparked melancholy in the past. Now the corner of his mouth quirked.

He'd yearned to get out of the city. To go somewhere warm, beautiful, and calm. To have space but not loneliness, which was readily available at home. The postcards he'd kept in his locker at work and on his refrigerator had been a feeble attempt to keep the hope of leaving alive. A co-worker had asked about them once. Arthur, seeking to cover-up his vulnerability in a room full of tough guys, had mumbled a quick, "They're just pictures."

California's distance from Gotham had made it a promised land. He would have liked to walk its shores. They had to be cleaner than those of the city. Meet the people there. They were likely kinder due to the sunniness of the state's weather.

He'd lain on his worn sofa or written in his journal, particularly on chilly nights, fantasizing about playing ukulele on the beach with a pretty Hawaiian girl. The light shining off her tan skin, a contrast to his own pallor. The sway of her hips while she danced the hula would match the rhythm of his novice strumming. After a shallow dip in the ocean, they'd make love in the sand. The sun would be setting to their left. A campfire would burn bright on the right. It would have been great.

But the woman currently dozing on his shoulder made the reality he was experiencing finer.

It had been difficult for him to admit his disappointment upon learning Y/N hadn't thought of a honeymoon. The notion had been unimportant to her, as unimportant as having a wedding. When they'd married two weeks ago, she'd said, in her usual, casual manner, "You're my husband and I'm your wife and that's fine." He'd believed he'd gotten her meaning - that frills and fusses were unnecessary, so long as they were partners. But his chest had ached all the same. He'd awaited the opportunity to let out the old romantic in him for years. Those frills and fusses were crucial to him.

The brochure for Niagara Falls had been one of many in the travel agency's window. Its bright blues and greens had caught his eye when he'd passed by on the way home from therapy. He'd heard of the tourist spot on television. Weekend trips were awarded as prizes on game shows. A magician may have gone over them in a barrel. It was supposed to be the honeymoon capital of the world. And it was only four hours from home. He'd figured it would be easy to sell her on the idea.

He'd shown her the pamphlet as soon as she walked through the door, prattling with anticipation as she slipped off her heels. "There's a Skywheel. We've been on the Ferris wheel as Amusement Mile but this one's taller." He'd pointed at a picture while taking her coat. "There are a lot of restaurants. And a town we can walk in..."

Trailing off, he'd lifted one shoulder. "I know you've done all this before. A honeymoon, I mean." His brows pinched. "But not with me. I just want-" The interruption of Y/N's lips had stilled him, the twine of her fingers in his hair switching the racing of his brain to the pounding of his heart. Once they'd parted, the affection in her eyes reassured him.

"That's wonderful suggestion," she'd said. "We'll call a hotline for motel recommendations after dinner. I'm sure I can wrangle a free Friday from Phil." Her eyelashes had fluttered against his neck and she'd snorted. "You should have seen his face when I changed my name. And told him you'd be joining me on every business trip."

The memory made him feel fuzzy in spots he hadn't known existed until she'd seeped into them.

It was early evening, cold, and raining when they arrived. Y/N held her pop-up umbrella over them as he retrieved their shared suitcase. Thank goodness the stroll from the bus depot and to their lodgings was short. Only shallow splashes got on their pants during their scurry up the sidewalk.

Arthur had chosen the Honeymoon City Hotel for a few reasons. The ad had promised a view of the falls from every room, which he'd thought charming. A special newlywed's suite had been offered, Jacuzzi, cable television, and free breakfast included. And the place's corny name. Its silliness had touched the part of him that had bought a rose when he'd had no clue what he was doing, having dinner at a woman's apartment like a regular man. The part that compelled him to impulsively grab her hand while they stirred pots on the stove. The part that could, every so often, envision a brighter future for himself because he had her.

The motel, however, stated there was a problem. The room had been double-booked, a mistake blamed on a new employee having forgotten to note their reservation. The other guests had checked in earlier and couldn't be moved.

Having had a plethora of first days, Arthur understood what it was like to be new on the job. But he was still irritated. He asked where they were supposed to stay, then muttered to himself. He didn't want to be upset on their special weekend. Graciously, Y/N patted his arm and stepped in. He self-soothed with nicotine and noted how, in her kind but direct style, she negotiated a stay in one of the business suites and a ten percent refund. The front desk person told them their bag would be in their room.

They were also given a coupon for the nearby revolving restaurant. He'd been intrigued by the mention of it in his brochure, but he'd assumed it was too expensive. It was just beyond the Canadian border in Skyfall Tower. Because of the discount and no passports being needed, they decided to catch a cab and go.

Though Arthur usually didn't eat a lot, they opted for the buffet. He'd thought it a better value, and it would allow him to try new dishes without worrying he'd be stuck with something he didn't like. The novelty of the made-to-order stir-fry felt opulent. And it was fun adding broccoli, carrots, and mushrooms, but no water chestnuts because their texture was bizarre. Y/N appeared to enjoy the chicken Kiev and quiche, going back for a second helping of the latter.

Gazing out at the panorama provided by the windows surrounding them, Arthur titled his head. Droplets ran down the pane of glass, obscuring the view. The multi-color illumination of the falls were hazy from the rain. The plaque at the entrance had stated they were fifty-five stories up. In Gotham, he'd never been worth enough to go above the tenth floor. He wondered how fast they were spinning. He couldn't feel the momentum, but their position had changed slightly during dinner.

In his peripheral vision, Y/N was licking the rest of her chocolate mousse off a spoon. Nonchalantly, as if she didn't know the effect it would have on him. "This was almost worth the mistake the motel made," she said. But she winced as she straightened, put her palm on her stomach. "I'm not going to be able to move for the rest of the night."

Rolling his eyes and giving a half-smirk, he stood and guided her out of her seat. "You just need to walk a little." He slipped her jacket around her back. "Come on."

~~~~~

Y/N tried to stifle her laughter at Arthur's bewilderment. The room was...not what either of them had anticipated. (And a reminder why she was dubious about motels that had silly names.) Saying it left something to be desired was being generous.

Brown wood grain paneling, too dark to be considered cozy, was on the walls. Two twin beds, about three feet apart, were on the right. She chose the one closest to the windows, and it creaked and groaned as she sat on it. ("I hope the walls are thicker than they look.") Dim lamps with avocado green shades were on the nightstands in the middle. A thirty-two-inch television sat on the bureau across from the footboards. The room's saving grace was a fireplace in the back corner.

He popped his head into the bathroom, stated the shower was smaller than theirs, and grumbled that there was no whirlpool bath. She did not mourn that loss. The couple of times she'd used one, the pumps and jets had been loud and distracting. Besides. They were bound to test one out eventually.

Arthur made his way to the acrylic curtains and opened them. "I see...a parking lot." He shoved his hands in the pockets of his tan jacket and sighed. "This wasn't what I pictured."

She knew he'd blame himself because he'd picked the place, which was ridiculous. They'd both agreed to it. Disappointment and guilt on their honeymoon? That wouldn't do. "Vacations never go as planned. That's why you return home more drained than when you left." Reaching behind her, she flipped on the radio. Searched for and found a station playing upbeat music. Kept the volume at a level where the notes of "The Hustle" were barely audible but could still cheer. She stood and flipped back the covers. "Well, the sheets are clean. Help me push these together."

Chuckling, he brought the lamps she'd unplugged to the nearby desk, then moved the nightstands out of the way. There were four or so inches between the mattresses when the bed frames met, but they'd make the most if it. The ease with which he'd moved his bed against hers impressed her, prompted her to squeeze her thighs together.

While Arthur stuck his head out the window for a smoke, Y/N got to work. She dug out the sparkling wine she'd packed (not champagne, which he found too sour) and unwrapped the plastic cups by the ice bucket. After screwing off the top and pouring them both a serving, she stripped to her bra and panties, a lacy dark green set she'd bought for the trip. Then she tip-toed to him. "Mr. Fleck, would you do me the honor of starting the hearth?"

He flicked his cigarette, stood, and turned to her. The desire and love in his intent stare as it roamed up her body, and the softening of his features made her blush. She looked at the brown carpet demurely. "I only packed lace."

The raging flames were half a yard away, a yellow and orange glow illuminating them both. She traced his spine to the beads of sweat gathering in the small of his back. They'd begun mere minutes ago, but she was already light-headed. Not only from the satisfaction of him repeatedly filling her, the joy of joining with him entirely. But also from the blazing heat.

She focused on the drop perspiration rolling down his forehead to his nose, then felt it fall onto her neck. "Arthu-" The last letter was stolen by his lips, the tip of his tongue teasing hers. She broke off, gasping. "Can we take a break?"

Blinking at her, he stopped, the crease between his eyebrows deepening. "A break?"

Gently, she pushed at his hips and nodded. "I feel like I'm going to melt. And not in the good way."

He left the grip of her body carefully and went to the knob next to the fireplace. "I think it's on a timer." She watched his grimace as he attempted to turn it counterclockwise. "It won't budge."

Y/N scooted away from the fire, rolled onto her side, and grabbed her mostly full cup. "We'll have to wait it out." He pouted at her and she laughed. "Hey, waiting will make the quenching sweeter." Taking a sip, she beamed up at him. "I don't think I told you how I got to Gotham."

There was a pause before he swiped back his damp locks. "What do you mean? It was your old job." He stretched to lie beside her, propped on his forearm.

"That's true but there's more to it." Entwining their calves, she draped an arm over his hip so she could caress the modest curve of his rear. "I used to get groceries every Tuesday in Missouri - the shop was further out, so I couldn't go and get a couple of ingredients, like you and I do." She turned onto her back, surveyed the off-white popcorn ceiling. "It would be empty. Lines were short. New stock would have come in.

"I always bought three newspapers for the help wanted section: the Daily Planet, the Toronto Star, and the Gotham Journal. One week I had to work late and go on a Thursday, and the store was out of the Journal." She giggled and shook her head. "I was so annoyed. I'd avoided the Gotham Globe because it looked like a trashy tabloid. But I settled."

The skim of his fingertips across her belly was a series of tender, repeated lines. Her gaze flicked to his, her smile breaking her face wide open. "That's where I found the ad for Shaw and Associates." She brought his knuckles to her mouth. "That annoyance is what got me my job. Allowed me to move to Gotham." She grasped his chin, ran her thumb along his deepening dimple. "What led me to you." Arching a brow, she gave a little shrug. "It's almost enough to make me believe there's a reason for everything. Not quite. But almost."

The concentration in the lines of his forehead told Y/N he was trying to find the right way to express himself. He gave it a go. "You're my reason."

She winced. It was a conversation they'd often had. While she appreciated what he said, held every word in her heart, he tended to aggrandize her and not give himself proper credit for how well he was doing. For going to treatment, for trying different medications. For being honest. She was still finding the kindest, most effective ways to correct those notions. To emphasize they were equals, through and through. "Arthur, I can't be your only reason."

"That's not what I meant." He rubbed the side of his face. Sitting up, he hugged his legs to his chest and his eyelids fluttered shut. "I don't hate myself as much as I used to. Not every day."

He fidgeted with the carpet. Y/N put her palm on his foot, traced the tendons of his ankle. Tried to help bolster him to confide whatever he wanted. "My mother would say she was the one who knew my purpose. That she didn't mind my laugh, because I was happy all the time." Scoffing, he took Y/N's proffered cup. "If she told me I wasn't funny or I did something wrong-" He swallowed hard and finished her wine.

She got it. Penny, along with his experiences in and perceptions of Gotham, had hammered into him that he was hard to love. An egregious, groundless lie. The pain underlying what he'd disclosed settled in her stomach, a dull ache for what he'd lived through. She was about to speak when he wiggled his toe to stroke her wrist. "I'm sorry if that makes you uncomfortable."

"Psh." She sat to hug him across his back at the waist. "I've never been uncomfortable around you. Not once." He leaned into her as she kissed his temple. The reflection of the hearth in his light green eyes was beautiful, flecks of brown and hazel shining. Gladness lurked in them, undeterred by their earnest exchange. She tousled his curls, ran her nails over his scalp until a pleasured moan escaped him. "Don't ever apologize for telling me how you feel."

A prolonged but companionable silence, then. As the fire died down, she lay on the floor. Pulled him to follow her until his wiry frame covered her. "I hate to break it to you, but you're not that weird."

Enfolding their fingers, he squinted at her. "I'm not?"

"Sorry to let you down." She wrapped her legs about his middle, squeezed him tight as he opened her lips with his. "Loving you is one of the easiest things I've ever done," she purred. She kissed his face in a line, then whispered in his ear. "Planning to proposition a man on the third date was never a habit of mine."

"Hm." At the weight of him hardening against her thigh, she gripped his shoulders and arched towards him. "Did you always flirt with men in the grocery store?"

The mild pinch to his bottom was instantaneous.

~~~~~

After procuring two apples, bananas, and donuts from the breakfast buffet and bringing them to their suite, Arthur decided to journal. He'd been awake since four. There was only so much smoking, staring at the walls, and trying to go back to sleep he could do. So as not to disturb Y/N, he went to the bathroom and sat on the closed toilet, notebook on his lap.

The pen flowed freely and he snickered. It always felt good when jokes came easily. "My mother wud say (change voice here) 'mariage isn't for everyone.' But I found the one person who wanted to marry me. Sorry, mom. It's funny." "I have a wife. It's great to have one special person to steel the blankets from."

Tears pricked a couple punchlines later. He wiped at them with a square of tissue paper. "Today I feel good," he jotted. "I think it's because I like being maried. I'm so proud of myself for sticking with Y/N. The worst days are better. I used to wunder how long I could live with noone caring about me. But I don't half to anymore. I hope I never do again."

A yawn beckoned him and he padded through the doorway to peak towards the beds. Y/N was opening the drapes, just enough to let a strip of sunlight illuminate the room. She was pretty, barefoot, her nightdress ending mid-thigh as the rays framed her silhouette. He sidled up behind her. "What do you call two spiders that just got married?"

Turning, she tapped her chin, apparently giving it a good, long think. "Mr. and Mrs. Arachnid?"

Even if she was wrong, he appreciated her effort. "Newly-webs." Giggling, she hugged him around the neck, stretched slightly to kiss him. "I was on a roll this morning. Maybe I can make them part of my act."

She clambered into the bed beneath the covers and patted the narrow space next to her. It was a tight fit, but he climbed in eagerly, anyway. As he brought her half on top of him, she said she'd looked at the TV schedule and found a movie to start the day. One starring Humphrey Bogart and Katherine Hepburn. The film was new to him, though he'd heard of it. He enjoyed the unexpected love story between two people from completely different backgrounds. Nibbling on a chocolate donut, he wondered if Y/N saw the parallels. If that was why she'd chosen it.

When they finally got dressed and headed out, they discovered the Skywheel Arthur had been looking forward to was closed for the season. It appeared they'd gotten married too late in the year for a lot to be open. There was a wax museum and an arcade in the nearby town. Neither appealed to him. But as they wandered the streets, they found the Houdini Magic Shop.

The manner in which she was browsing the props and instruction cards made it was obvious Y/N was out of her element. The only clown performance she'd seen in years had been his. But she was sweet and enthusiastic, and pointed out items she thought might be of interest. He was polite when he declined them. In the end, Arthur picked out a color changing blossom and a never-ending scarf. Although it was a store for performers, he found pens Y/N could use for work. He presented them to her with a flourish, and she promised she'd use them daily.

They stopped by a nearby souvenir shop. It was small, about half the size of their living room. He bought a few postcards to go with the ones on his vanity. She chose three, scrawled "We're hitched!" on them, and mailed them to Patricia, Mabel, and Penny. There was a photographer's booth, too, and he convinced her to have their photo taken. The cardboard frame he chose had "We're honeymooning at Niagara!" emblazoned at the top in bright blue letters. It wasn't her taste. Not at all. But she claimed to like it, stating simply, "At least you're gorgeous."

And now, after a quick lunch of sandwiches and soup at a nearby cafe, they stood on the observation deck overlooking the falls.

Beyond city parks, Arthur hadn't seen a lot of nature. Though he appreciated the majesty of the place, he wasn't mesmerized by it. Not really. The height intimidated him. There had been periods in his life during which he would have gladly flung himself into the depths. Not to die. Just to make everything stop. Smiling slowly, squeezing the hand of the woman next to him, he was grateful not to feel that now.

He swiveled to study her. She was peering through coin-operated binoculars, a contented look on her face. She offered him a turn but he declined, already having the best view. He ran his thumb over the gold band on her left hand and shut his eyes.

He'd heard a song once. The lyrics had said he would be nobody until somebody loved him, and until he found somebody to love. It was plain the love the person sang about wasn't the one he'd felt for Penny. He'd thought half the equation might have been enough. But he hadn't felt much improvement when he'd fallen for his neighbor. He'd grown to hate it, going so far as to hawk the LP, despite liking the other tracks on it. He'd known he'd always be a nobody - he didn't need a tune to rub it in.

Nothing in this world, not even its natural wonders, would ever compare to the beauty of Y/N understanding him for who he was. Of her choosing to care for him even after seeing him. Of him finally having the ability to demonstrate the love he'd always wished was buried somewhere inside him.

Of her confirming his existence.

Her hand going to her forehead caught his attention. He tightened his grip on her, blinked away his musings. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"Just a little vertigo. I'll be fine." Resting on the metal railing, she let out a long exhale. "It's too bad we have to head home tomorrow. This is miles better than my first honeymoon."

A burn came across his cheeks. "Oh?"

"My monthly started the second day. My ex's entrance exam for law school was reschedule, so we cut it short." Their gazes met, her irises glittering. "And you weren't there." Her eyelids fluttered and she cleared her throat. "It helps that I'm with a man who won't tire of my tenacity."

That wasn't a word he knew, but he figured it out from the context. It was strange that anyone would be put off by Y/N's strength of character. Her courage had been what had saved him on the subway. He'd found it odd, at first. He'd met so few people with any hint of it. Hoyt had shown his fortitude by yelling. Randall had talked him into shitty jobs and lied.

Didn't she know her strength supported his own? That her confidence, both in him and herself, made it easier for him to function? Lent him an inkling of what it was like to matter?

He palmed her side, took her hand in his, and leaned forward to whisper, "If you close your eyes, you can pretend we're alone." Flights of fancy were harder for her, he knew. He was pleased when she acquiesced. Kissed her browbone and pushed the bridge of his nose to it. Humming softly, he did his best to imitate one of their favorite songs. He didn't lead her in a dance, but a gentle sway from side to side.

Chest on the verge of bursting, he longed to accurately convey the emotions rushing through his core. Such positive experiences still felt new. He chose to use the phrases he would want bestowed upon himself. "I love you because of your...tenacity." Shrugging, he pressed his lips together. "You were always so nice to me. I think you're the best thing I've ever seen. I don't want you to change, Y/N."

The delicate caress of her fingertips on his neck made him shiver. "Should I nag you to quit smoking when I'm ninety? And you're pushing me around Gotham in my wheelchair?"

"Yes," he laughed, nodding swiftly at the idea of them being together for fifty years. That would be heaven. "And that I need new socks." He smoothed his hand down her back until she was flush against him. "And to take my medication." Palming her hip, he grinned down at her. "And to make love, if you still want me then."

She giggled, fisting the front of his jacket. "Definitely." On her tiptoes, her lips seized his. "I'll never stop wanting you." Groaning, he grabbed her face and kissed her fiercely, knowing he'd lose himself in her as soon as they returned to their room.

~~~~~

Van McCoy - The Hustle

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[path-of-my-childhood]

Taylor Swift: ‘I was literally about to break’

By: Laura Snapes for The Guardian Date: August 24th 2019

Taylor Swift’s Nashville apartment is an Etsy fever dream, a 365-days-a-year Christmas shop, pure teenage girl id. You enter through a vestibule clad in blue velvet and covered in gilt frames bursting with fake flowers. The ceiling is painted like the night sky. Above a koi pond in the living area, a narrow staircase spirals six feet up towards a giant, pillow-lagged birdcage that probably has the best view in the city. Later, Swift will tell me she needs metaphors “to understand anything that happens to me”, and the birdcage defies you not to interpret it as a pointed comment on the contradictions of stardom.

Swift, wearing pale jeans and dip-dyed shirt, her sandy hair tied in a blue scrunchie, leads the way up the staircase to show me the view. The decor hasn’t changed since she bought this place in 2009, when she was 19. “All of these high rises are new since then,” she says, gesturing at the squat glass structures and cranes. Meanwhile her oven is still covered in stickers, more teenage diary than adult appliance.

Now 29, she has spent much of the past three years living quietly in London with her boyfriend, actor Joe Alwyn, making the penthouse a kind of time capsule, a monument to youthful naivety given an unlimited budget – the years when she sang about Romeo and Juliet and wore ballgowns to awards shows; before she moved to New York and honed her slick, self-mythologising pop.

It is mid-August. This is Swift’s first UK interview in more than three years, and she seems nervous: neither presidential nor goofy (her usual defaults), but quick with a tongue-out “ugh” of regret or frustration as she picks at her glittery purple nails. We climb down from the birdcage to sit by the pond, and when the conversation turns to 2016, the year the wheels came off for her, Swift stiffens as if driving over a mile of speed bumps. After a series of bruising public spats (with Katy Perry, Nicki Minaj) in 2015, there was a high-profile standoff with Kanye West. The news that she was in a relationship with actor Tom Hiddleston, which leaked soon after, was widely dismissed as a diversionary tactic. Meanwhile, Swift went to court to prosecute a sexual assault claim, and faced a furious backlash when she failed to endorse a candidate in the 2016 presidential election, allowing the alt-right to adopt her as their “Aryan princess”.

Her critics assumed she cared only about the bottom line. The reality, Swift says, is that she was totally broken. “Every domino fell,” she says bitterly. “It became really terrifying for anyone to even know where I was. And I felt completely incapable of doing or saying anything publicly, at all. Even about my music. I always said I wouldn’t talk about what was happening personally, because that was a personal time.” She won’t get into specifics. “I just need some things that are mine,” she despairs. “Just some things.”

A year later, in 2017, Swift released her album Reputation, half high-camp heel turn, drawing on hip-hop and vaudeville (the brilliantly hammy Look What You Made Me Do), half stunned appreciation that her nascent relationship with Alwyn had weathered the storm (the soft, sensual pop of songs Delicate and Dress).

Her new album, Lover, her seventh, was released yesterday. It’s much lighter than Reputation: Swift likens writing it to feeling like “I could take a full deep breath again”. Much of it is about Alwyn: the Galway Girl-ish track London Boy lists their favourite city haunts and her newfound appreciation of watching rugby in the pub with his uni mates; on the ruminative Afterglow, she asks him to forgive her anxious tendency to assume the worst.

While she has always written about relationships, they were either teenage fantasy or a postmortem on a high-profile breakup, with exes such as Jake Gyllenhaal and Harry Styles. But she and Alwyn have seldom been pictured together, and their relationship is the only other thing she won’t talk about. “I’ve learned that if I do, people think it’s up for discussion, and our relationship isn’t up for discussion,” she says, laughing after I attempt a stealthy angle. “If you and I were having a glass of wine right now, we’d be talking about it – but it’s just that it goes out into the world. That’s where the boundary is, and that’s where my life has become manageable. I really want to keep it feeling manageable.”

Instead, she has swapped personal disclosure for activism. Last August, Swift broke her political silence to endorse Democratic Tennessee candidate Phil Bredesen in the November 2018 senate race. Vote.org reported an unprecedented spike in voting registration after Swift’s Instagram post, while Donald Trump responded that he liked her music “about 25% less now”.

Meanwhile, her recent single You Need To Calm Down admonished homophobes and namechecked US LGBTQ rights organisation Glaad (which then saw increased donations). Swift filled her video with cameos from queer stars such as Ellen DeGeneres and Queen singer Adam Lambert, and capped it with a call to sign her petition in support of the Equality Act, which if passed would prohibit gender- and sexuality-based discrimination in the US. A video of Polish LGBTQ fans miming the track in defiance of their government’s homophobic agenda went viral. But Swift was accused of “queerbaiting” and bandwagon-jumping. You can see how she might find it hard to work out what, exactly, people want from her.

***

It was girlhood that made Swift a multimillionaire. When country music’s gatekeepers swore that housewives were the only women interested in the genre, she proved them wrong. Her self-titled debut marked the longest stay on the Billboard 200 by any album released in the decade. A potentially cloying image – corkscrew curls, lyrics thick on “daddy” and down-home values – were undercut by the fact she was evidently, endearingly, a bit of a freak, an unusual combination of intensity and artlessness. Also, she was really, really good at what she did, and not just for a teenager: her entirely self-written third album, 2010’s Speak Now, is unmatched in its devastatingly withering dismissals of awful men.

As a teenager, Swift was obsessed with VH1’s Behind The Music, the series devoted to the rise and fall of great musicians. She would forensically rewatch episodes, trying to pinpoint the moment a career went wrong. I ask her to imagine she’s watching the episode about herself and do the same thing: where was her misstep? “Oh my God,” she says, drawing a deep breath and letting her lips vibrate as she exhales. “I mean, that’s so depressing!” She thinks back and tries to deflect. “What I remember is that [the show] was always like, ‘Then we started fighting in the tour bus and then the drummer quit and the guitarist was like, “You’re not paying me enough.”’’’

But that’s not what she used to say. In interviews into her early 20s, Swift often observed that an artist fails when they lose their self-awareness, as if repeating the fact would work like an insurance against succumbing to the same fate. But did she make that mistake herself? She squeezes her nose and blows to clear a ringing in her ears before answering. “I definitely think that sometimes you don’t realise how you’re being perceived,” she says. “Pop music can feel like it’s The Hunger Games, and like we’re gladiators. And you can really lose focus of the fact that that’s how it feels because that’s how a lot of stan [fan] Twitter and tabloids and blogs make it seem – the overanalysing of everything makes it feel really intense.”

She describes the way she burned bridges in 2016 as a kind of obliviousness. “I didn’t realise it was like a classic overthrow of someone in power – where you didn’t realise the whispers behind your back, you didn’t realise the chain reaction of events that was going to make everything fall apart at the exact, perfect time for it to fall apart.”

Here’s that chain reaction in full. With her 2014 album 1989 (the year she was born), Swift transcended country stardom, becoming as ubiquitous as Beyoncé. For the first time she vocally embraced feminism, something she had rejected in her teens; but, after a while, it seemed to amount to not much more than a lot of pictures of her hanging out with her “squad”, a bevy of supermodels, musicians and Lena Dunham. The squad very much did not include her former friend Katy Perry, whom Swift targeted in her song Bad Blood, as part of what seemed like a painfully overblown dispute about some backing dancers. Then, when Nicki Minaj tweeted that MTV’s 2015 Video Music awards had rewarded white women at the expense of women of colour, multiple-nominee Swift took it personally, responding: “Maybe one of the men took your slot.” For someone prone to talking about the haters, she quickly became her own worst enemy.

Her old adversary Kanye West resurfaced in February 2016. In 2009, West had invaded Swift’s stage at the MTV VMAs to protest against her victory over Beyoncé in the female video of the year category. It remains the peak of interest in Swift on Google Trends, and the conflict between them has become such a cornerstone of celebrity journalism that it’s hard to remember it lay dormant for nearly seven years – until West released his song Famous. “I feel like me and Taylor might still have sex,” he rapped. “Why? I made that bitch famous.” The video depicted a Swift mannequin naked in bed with men including Trump.

Swift loudly condemned both; although she had discussed the track with West, she said she had never agreed to the “bitch” lyric or the video. West’s wife, Kim Kardashian, released a heavily edited clip that showed Swift at least agreeing to the “sex” line on the phone with West, if not the “bitch” part. Swift pleaded the technicality, but it made no difference: when Kardashian went on Twitter to describe her as a snake, the comparison stuck and the singer found herself very publicly “cancelled” – the incident taken as “proof” of Swift’s insincerity. So she went away.

Swift says she stopped trying to explain herself, even though she “definitely” could have. As she worked on Reputation, she was also writing “a think-piece a day that I knew I would never publish: the stuff I would say, and the different facets of the situation that nobody knew”. If she could exonerate herself, why didn’t she? She leans forward. “Here’s why,” she says conspiratorially. “Because when people are in a hate frenzy and they find something to mutually hate together, it bonds them. And anything you say is in an echo chamber of mockery.”

She compares that year to being hit by a tidal wave. “You can either stand there and let the wave crash into you, and you can try as hard as you can to fight something that’s more powerful and bigger than you,” she says. “Or you can dive under the water, hold your breath, wait for it to pass and while you’re down there, try to learn something. Why was I in that part of the ocean? There were clearly signs that said: Rip tide! Undertow! Don’t swim! There are no lifeguards!” She’s on a roll. “Why was I there? Why was I trusting people I trusted? Why was I letting people into my life the way I was letting them in? What was I doing that caused this?”

After the incident with Minaj, her critics started pointing out a narrative of “white victimhood” in Swift’s career. Speaking slowly and carefully, she says she came to understand “a lot about how my privilege allowed me to not have to learn about white privilege. I didn’t know about it as a kid, and that is privilege itself, you know? And that’s something that I’m still trying to educate myself on every day. How can I see where people are coming from, and understand the pain that comes with the history of our world?”

She also accepts some responsibility for her overexposure, and for some of the tabloid drama. If she didn’t wish a friend happy birthday on Instagram, there would be reports about severed friendships, even if they had celebrated together. “Because we didn’t post about it, it didn’t happen – and I realised I had done that,” she says. “I created an expectation that everything in my life that happened, people would see.”

But she also says she couldn’t win. “I’m kinda used to being gaslit by now,” she drawls wearily. “And I think it happens to women so often that, as we get older and see how the world works, we’re able to see through what is gaslighting. So I’m able to look at 1989 and go – KITTIES!” She breaks off as an assistant walks in with Swift’s three beloved cats, stars of her Instagram feed, back from the vet before they fly to England this week. Benjamin, Olivia and Meredith haughtily circle our feet (they are scared of the koi) as Swift resumes her train of thought, back to the release of 1989 and the subsequent fallout. “Oh my God, they were mad at me for smiling a lot and quote-unquote acting fake. And then they were mad at me that I was upset and bitter and kicking back.” The rules kept changing.

***

Swift’s new album comes with printed excerpts from her diaries. On 29 August 2016, she wrote in her girlish, bubble writing: “This summer is the apocalypse.” As the incident with West and Kardashian unfolded, she was preparing for her court case against radio DJ David Mueller, who was fired in 2013 after Swift reported him for putting his hand up her dress at a meet-and–greet event. He sued her for defamation; she countersued for sexual assault.

“Having dealt with a few of them, narcissists basically subscribe to a belief system that they should be able to do and say whatever the hell they want, whenever the hell they want to,” Swift says now, talking at full pelt. “And if we – as anyone else in the world, but specifically women – react to that, well, we’re not allowed to. We’re not allowed to have a reaction to their actions.”

In summer 2016 she was in legal depositions, practising her testimony. “You’re supposed to be really polite to everyone,” she says. But by the time she got to court in August 2017, “something snapped, I think”. She laughs. Her testimony was sharp and uncompromising. She refused to allow Mueller’s lawyers to blame her or her security guards; when asked if she could see the incident, Swift said no, because “my ass is in the back of my body”. It was a brilliant, rude defence.

“You’re supposed to behave yourself in court and say ‘rear end’,” she says with mock politesse. “The other lawyer was saying, ‘When did he touch your backside?’ And I was like, ‘ASS! Call it what it is!’” She claps between each word. But despite the acclaim for her testimony and eventual victory (she asked for one symbolic dollar), she still felt belittled. It was two months prior to the beginning of the #MeToo movement. “Even this case was literally twisted so hard that people were calling it the ‘butt-grab case’. They were saying I sued him because there’s this narrative that I want to sue everyone. That was one of the reasons why the summer was the apocalypse.”

She never wanted the assault to be made public. Have there been other instances she has dealt with privately? “Actually, no,” she says soberly. “I’m really lucky that it hadn’t happened to me before. But that was one of the reasons it was so traumatising. I just didn’t know that could happen. It was really brazen, in front of seven people.” She has since had security cameras installed at every meet-and-greet she does, deliberately pointed at her lower half. “If something happens again, we can prove it with video footage from every angle,” she says.

The allegations about Harvey Weinstein came out soon after she won her case. The film producer had asked her to write a song for the romantic comedy One Chance, which earned her second Golden Globe nomination. Weinstein also got her a supporting role in the 2014 sci-fi movie The Giver, and attended the launch party for 1989. But she says they were never alone together.

“He’d call my management and be like, ‘Does she have a song for this film?’ And I’d be like, ‘Here it is,’” she says dispassionately. “And then I’d be at the Golden Globes. I absolutely never hung out. And I would get a vibe – I would never vouch for him. I believe women who come forward, I believe victims who come forward, I believe men who come forward.” Swift inhales, flustered. She says Weinstein never propositioned her. “If you listen to the stories, he picked people who were vulnerable, in his opinion. It seemed like it was a power thing. So, to me, that doesn’t say anything – that I wasn’t in that situation.”

Meanwhile, Donald Trump was more than nine months into his presidency, and still Swift had not taken a position. But the idea that a pop star could ever have impeded his path to the White House seemed increasingly naive. In hindsight, the demand that Swift speak up looks less about politics and more about her identity (white, rich, powerful) and a moralistic need for her to redeem herself – as if nobody else had ever acted on a vindictive instinct, or blundered publicly.

But she resisted what might have been an easy return to public favour. Although Reputation contained softer love songs, it was better known for its brittle, vengeful side (see This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things). She describes that side of the album now as a “bit of a persona”, and its hip-hop-influenced production as “a complete defence mechanism”. Personally, I thought she had never been more relatable, trashing the contract of pious relatability that traps young women in the public eye.

***

It was the assault trial, and watching the rights of LGBTQ friends be eroded, that finally politicised her, Swift says. “The things that happen to you in your life are what develop your political opinions. I was living in this Obama eight-year paradise of, you go, you cast your vote, the person you vote for wins, everyone’s happy!” she says. “This whole thing, the last three, four years, it completely blindsided a lot of us, me included.”

She recently said she was “dismayed” when a friend pointed out that her position on gay rights wasn’t obvious (what if she had a gay son, he asked), hence this summer’s course correction with the single You Need To Calm Down (“You’re comin’ at my friends like a missile/Why are you mad?/When you could be GLAAD?”). Didn’t she feel equally dismayed that her politics weren’t clear? “I did,” she insists, “and I hate to admit this, but I felt that I wasn’t educated enough on it. Because I hadn’t actively tried to learn about politics in a way that I felt was necessary for me, making statements that go out to hundreds of millions of people.”

She explains her inner conflict. “I come from country music. The number one thing they absolutely drill into you as a country artist, and you can ask any other country artist this, is ‘Don’t be like the Dixie Chicks!’” In 2003, the Texan country trio denounced the Iraq war, saying they were “ashamed” to share a home state with George W Bush. There was a boycott, and an event where a bulldozer crushed their CDs. “I watched country music snuff that candle out. The most amazing group we had, just because they talked about politics. And they were getting death threats. They were made such an example that basically every country artist that came after that, every label tells you, ‘Just do not get involved, no matter what.’

“And then, you know, if there was a time for me to get involved…” Swift pauses. “The worst part of the timing of what happened in 2016 was I felt completely voiceless. I just felt like, oh God, who would want me? Honestly.” She would otherwise have endorsed Hillary Clinton? “Of course,” she says sincerely. “I just felt completely, ugh, just useless. And maybe even like a hindrance.”

I suggest that, thinking selfishly, her coming out for Clinton might have made people like her. “I wasn’t thinking like that,” she stresses. “I was just trying to protect my mental health – not read the news very much, go cast my vote, tell people to vote. I just knew what I could handle and I knew what I couldn’t. I was literally about to break. For a while.” Did she seek therapy? “That stuff I just really wanna keep personal, if that’s OK,” she says.

She resists blaming anyone else for her political silence. Her emergence as a Democrat came after she left Big Machine, the label she signed to at 15. (They are now at loggerheads after label head Scott Borchetta sold the company, and the rights to Swift’s first six albums, to Kanye West’s manager, Scooter Braun.) Had Borchetta ever advised her against speaking out? She exhales. “It was just me and my life, and also doing a lot of self-reflection about how I did feel really remorseful for not saying anything. I wanted to try and help in any way that I could, the next time I got a chance. I didn’t help, I didn’t feel capable of it – and as soon as I can, I’m going to.”

Swift was once known for throwing extravagant 4 July parties at her Rhode Island mansion. The Instagram posts from these star-studded events – at which guests wore matching stars-and-stripes bikinis and onesies – probably supported a significant chunk of the celebrity news industry GDP. But in 2017, they stopped. “The horror!” wrote Cosmopolitan, citing “reasons that remain a mystery” for their disappearance. It wasn’t “squad” strife or the unavailability of matching cozzies that brought the parties to an end, but Swift’s disillusionment with her country, she says.

There is a smart song about this on the new album – the track that should have been the first single, instead of the cartoonish ME!. Miss Americana And The Heartbreak Prince is a forlorn, gothic ballad in the vein of Lana Del Rey that uses high-school imagery to dismantle American nationalism: “The whole school is rolling fake dice/You play stupid games/You win stupid prizes,” she sings with disdain. “Boys will be boys then/Where are the wise men?”

As an ambitious 11-year-old, she worked out that singing the national anthem at sports games was the quickest way to get in front of a large audience. When did she start feeling conflicted about what America stands for? She gives another emphatic ugh. “It was the fact that all the dirtiest tricks in the book were used and it worked,” she says. “The thing I can’t get over right now is gaslighting the American public into being like” – she adopts a sanctimonious tone – “‘If you hate the president, you hate America.’ We’re a democracy – at least, we’re supposed to be – where you’re allowed to disagree, dissent, debate.” She doesn’t use Trump’s name. “I really think that he thinks this is an autocracy.”

As we speak, Tennessee lawmakers are trying to impose a near-total ban on abortion. Swift has staunchly defended her “Tennessee values” in recent months. What’s her position? “I mean, obviously, I’m pro-choice, and I just can’t believe this is happening,” she says. She looks close to tears. “I can’t believe we’re here. It’s really shocking and awful. And I just wanna do everything I can for 2020. I wanna figure out exactly how I can help, what are the most effective ways to help. ’Cause this is just…” She sighs again. “This is not it.”

***

It is easy to forget that the point of all this is that a teenage Taylor Swiftwanted to write love songs. Nemeses and negativity are now so entrenched in her public persona that it’s hard to know how she can get back to that, though she seems to want to. At the end of Daylight, the new album’s dreamy final song, there’s a spoken-word section: “I want to be defined by the things that I love,” she says as the music fades. “Not the things that I hate, not the things I’m afraid of, the things that haunt me in the middle of the night.” As well as the songs written for Alwyn, there is one for her mother, who recently experienced a cancer relapse: “You make the best of a bad deal/I just pretend it isn’t real,” Swift sings, backed by the Dixie Chicks.

How does writing about her personal life work if she’s setting clearer boundaries? “It actually made me feel more free,” she says. “I’ve always had this habit of never really going into detail about exactly what situation inspired what thing, but even more so now.” This is only half true: in the past, Swift wasn’t shy of a level of detail that invited fans to figure out specific truths about her relationships. And when I tell her that Lover feels a more emotionally guarded album, she bristles. “I know the difference between making art and living your life like a reality star,” she says. “And then even if it’s hard for other people to grasp, my definition is really clear.”

Even so, Swift begins Lover by addressing an adversary, opening with a song called I Forgot That You Existed (“it isn’t love, it isn’t hate, it’s just indifference”), presumably aimed at Kanye West, a track that slightly defeats its premise by existing. But it sweeps aside old dramas to confront Swift’s real nemesis, herself. “I never grew up/It’s getting so old,” she laments on The Archer.

She has had to learn not to pre-empt disaster, nor to run from it. Her life has been defined by relationships, friendships and business relationships that started and ended very publicly (though she and Perry are friends again). At the same time, the rules around celebrity engagement have evolved beyond recognition in her 15 years of fame. Rather than trying to adapt to them, she’s now asking herself: “How do you learn to maintain? How do you learn not to have these phantom disasters in your head that you play out, and how do you stop yourself from sabotage – because the panic mechanism in your brain is telling you that something must go wrong.” For her, this is what growing up is. “You can’t just make cut-and-dry decisions in life. A lot of things are a negotiation and a grey area and a dance of how to figure it out.”

And so this time, Swift is sticking around. In December she will turn 30, marking the point after which more than half her life will have been lived in public. She’ll start her new decade with a stronger self-preservationist streak, and a looser grip (as well as a cameo in Cats). “You can’t micromanage life, it turns out,” she says, drily.

When Swift finally answered my question about the moment she would choose in the VH1 Behind The Music episode about herself, the one where her career turned, she said she hoped it wouldn’t focus on her “apocalypse” summer of 2016. “Maybe this is wishful thinking,” she said, “but I’d like to think it would be in a couple of years.” It’s funny to hear her hope that the worst is still to come while sitting in her fairytale living room, the cats pacing: a pragmatist at odds with her romantic monument to teenage dreams. But it sounds something like perspective.

[msjr0119]

The American Adventure

Prologue

A/N: I swear choices is taking over my life, I’m dreaming about TRR characters. We watched ‘The Parent Trap’ last night, and my subconscious dreamt of an alternative version including the Cordonian Gang. So I’ve decided to do this. In my usual series Drake is older than the other characters, however because most camps only go up to the age of 17, they are all 16/17.

Prince Liam and his closest friends are sent to a summer camp in America for a month, whilst in Cordonia the nobles are preparing for Prince Leo’s social season unknowingly to him. During their time there, Liam and Drake become besotted with the same girl- Riley Brooks.

Characters all belong to Pixelberry; apart from Lola Hughes, Bethany Hughes, Nate Cooper, Andy Brooks and Jackie Brooks.

Warnings: Please do not read if you are under 18, if you do you are consenting that you are over this age. If any of the follow trigger warnings affect you please don’t continue to read. Swearing, mention of sex, bad habit- smoking.

Word count: 2,400

Tags- as always for prologues I tag my combined tag list and people who I think will be interested. If you don’t want to be included in further chapters please let me know. I won’t be offended. If you want to be added, again let me know.

@pedudley @kacie-0156 @loveellamae @annekebbphotography @kingliam2019 @texaskitten30 @bascmve01 @kimmiedoo5 @yukinagato2012 @i-bloody-love-drake-walker @burnsoslow @ladyangel70 @drakewalker04 @axwalker @nikkis1983 @walker7519 @lodberg @cmestrella @hopefulmoonobject @rafasgirl23415 @notoriouscs @cordonianroyalty @custaroonie @seriouslybadchoices @rainbowsinthestorm @princess-geek @jared2612 @desireepow-1986 @twinkle-320 @queenjilian @princessleac1 @bebepac @drakewalkerisreal @ravenpuff02

*****

Liam, enjoy this opportunity with your closest friends. I’ve spoken to the camp director- he is aware of your titles and has promised to treat you all no different. Or to disclose this information- Bastien will be staying on site for extra protection with a few other guards. I’ll see you in a months times, my son.

The youngest prince of the small country, Cordonia- couldn’t imagine what to expect from being at a summer camp for a whole month. For him, it was a month of freedom. Away from the palace. Away from the small amount of royal duties that the Prince’s had to do. Having a good excuse to not attend Royal events with his father the King, and his step Mother the Queen.

Drake Walker, Liam’s best friend was more than happy to leave Cordonia. To leave the noble lifestyle behind. He never fit in anyway. Madeleine and Olivia constantly reminded him of this. Three years ago, he lost his father. Jackson Walker was the head of the King’s guard who lost his life in the line of duty. Summer camp, was everything Drake enjoyed in life. Being outdoors. Camping. Besides it was in the country that his mother was born in. America. He was half American, being here- he should feel right at home.

Maxwell Beaumont, the spare heir. The fun brother. The outgoing one. You could take him to Timbuktu and somehow he would be enthusiastic- making the most out of it. He was feeling excited about attending a summer camp, most of the time his older brother Bertrand would be ashamed of him. Criticising him, for even breathing. This was a break that he was looking forward to, without the lectures about being etiquette- especially when it included forks.

Olivia Nevrakis- this girl never held back. You annoy her, she would openly insult you. Drake Walker should know this. Not wanting to attend this break from Cordonia, she had no choice. King Constantine practically gave her no option but to go. As much as Olivia tried to fight against it, it did mean that she got to spend time with her closest friend, Liam. When they was younger, she would follow him around like a lost puppy. Now they were older, she had grown feelings towards him. But she wouldn’t tell him, not yet anyway.

Madeleine Amaranth- the epitome of prim and proper. The true definition of a well raised noble for court life. She was fully aware of the description of a summer camp. However, she knew that she wouldn’t abide by the timetables that they would strictly provide. Madeleine was cunning, she knew how to get her own way, and she was fully intending on using this to her advantage.

****

Breathing in the fresh air, Andy and Jackie Brooks enjoyed this day every year. Yes, they enjoyed the traditional American holidays such as Thanksgiving and The Forth of July- but this was the day that summer camp started. This was where their love story began. The camp had been run by his family for many decades. Jackie came one year, and Andy was immediately attracted to her. Every year since then, he had hoped that she would attend - which she did. They were childhood sweethearts- both losing their virginities to each other. As soon as Jackie was old enough, she moved to New York to be closer to Andy. They were soon married, and raised two daughters; Lindsey and Riley.

“Now I can trust that you all will make everyone feel welcome, encourage them to participate in the activities. After all, I am paying you all a small wage. Enjoy yourselves even though you are all working.” The director of Camp Beaver Brooks said to the teenagers. For the last couple of years he had enlisted his children and their friends for this extra support to keep the camp running.

“Yes, Father. We will go over to the registration hut and help everyone get settled in.” Pulling his youngest daughter into his embrace, he held her tightly- knowing that she wouldn’t let him down. Out of the two sisters, Riley was a hard worker. Always pushing herself further. Always up for a challenge. Never letting anyone get in her way to achieve her ambitions.

“Thank you, Riley. I love you, sweetheart.”

****

Riley, Lola, Beth and Daniel awaited for the campers to arrive. At times they had an influx of people arriving at the same time, then it was quiet. So quiet, that they could hear the tranquility of the lake in the distance.

Witnessing a limo pull up, they all rolled their eyes back in unison. Each one knowing the usual scenario. People that turned up in style were the most obnoxious spoilt brats who refused to partake in activities.

“So it’s not the Coopers. They have a different type of limo. Mayors kids? Rich business mans kids? What are we betting?” Daniel asked the three women.

“They are arseholes. I can bet you all that...” Lola responded. Biting their lips they all attempted to not laugh, knowing that Lola was probably correct. Even if she wasn’t correct, she was still right. She would never acknowledge that she was wrong about anything.

“There’s five of them! I bet their parents are celebrating getting rid of them for a month.... oh, it gets better.. look...They’ve got a personal driver and a personal bodyguard!” Riley took a deep breath, ready to do the introductions to the people who had clearly never been to camp before. Not this one, anyway.

“Fake smiles, guys... we can’t let them ruin it for everybody else. We will bitch about them after.” Lola winked at the group of friends after saying this. They all knew that she was probably already making notes about the strangers. Making assumptions up.

****

“This is so exciting... is anybody else excited? I think I need to pee... maybe too late for that actually... but guess what? NO Bertrand for a month...” Clapping his hands enthusiastically, he was like a big kid in a candy shop.

“Li, please tell me that he’s not sharing with us?” Looking down at Maxwell’s damp trousers, Drake pleaded with Liam to not bunk up with anyone else but him.

“I’m glad he’s not sharing with me. I’m already stuck with ‘I can’t break a nail. I’m too precious.’ Eurghhh, count yourselves lucky gentlemen.”

“I’m stuck with Miss ‘look at me in the wrong way and I’ll slit your throat’...”

“I can’t wait to see you all pretend to not be noble.. this is going to be classic.” Sinking back into the chair, Drake laughed to himself- loudly. Deep down he had hoped that the girls would suffer during this trip. Just due to their horrendous attitude they have had towards him all of his life.

“Well you’ll feel right at home here... in the states where you actually belong.” Olivia smirked at Drake, knowing every time she criticised him about being a commoner it irritated him. Prior to his fathers death, it didn’t affect him - as he had his fathers support. Since Jackson’s death, himself and Savannah were criticised for still being in Cordonia- described as outcasts by the majority of the nobles. There was no reason for them to be there anymore, as their mother shortly abandoned them after tragically losing her husband, they all believed.

“I hear that there’s a lake here, Livvy. It’s apparently ice cold- just like your heart.” Scowling towards Drake, she didn’t think that he would respond with an insult. She hated him. He hated her. The feeling was mutual, and would be for the rest of their lives.

“Call me Livvy one more time, Walker. I dare ya!”

“That’s enough! Can we just enjoy this time. It’s the first time that I’ve been allowed a bit of freedom.. we’re here anyway. Remember, I am not a Prince and you aren’t nobles. We are all just normal people. Normal teenagers.” They all nodded in agreement, knowing how much this meant to Liam. For him to be free.

****

“Hey, welcome to Camp Beaver Brooks. My name is Riley. Myself and my friends will help you all get settled in. If you have any questions, just grab one of us. There are forms to fill out over there. If you all do that, then we will escort you to your dorms.”

“Charmed to make your acquaintance, Riley. My name is, Liam.” Pulling her hand towards his lips he kissed it tenderly. Dickhead, quit with the Prince charming act. Drake whispered in to his ear reminding him that they were no longer in Cordonia. “Erm, these are my closest friends; Drake, Maxwell, Olivia and Madeleine. We are from a different country, and are thrilled to be here.” Stepping backwards, she smiled at them all. Even though she was a bit freaked out by that introduction, she put it to the back of her mind- acting professional. Once they had all signed in, Bastien left them- phoning Andy he explained that they had arrived. Andy gave instructions for Bastien and the other guards to stay in a bungalow close by.

“So girls, Daniel will escort you to the girls dorm. Boys, myself and Lola will escort you to your dorms.” Fucking girls, we are nobles you fucking Yankee. Olivia took a sudden dislike to Riley. As she did with Drake. I hate commoners.

****

Maxwell latched onto Riley as she escorted them on the short walk to the dorms. He was acting as if he had known her own his life, Drake and Liam were both panic stricken that the Lord would accidentally disclose their true identities.

“Here you go, you will be sharing with a close friend of ours- Nate Cooper, when he arrives. He takes a disliking to people easily, but you’ve just got to defend yourself against him.”

“What Riley means, is Nate Cooper is a wanker. Good luck, boys.” Lola decided to abandon her post and sneak out for a crafty cigarette whilst Riley continued settling them in.

“Just ignore her. She accidentally drops the ‘f bomb’ and other swear words a few times. Quite a lot actually...” shrugging her shoulders, the men all laughed. Maxwell eagerly unpacked his suitcase and bagsed the top bunk of one of the bunk beds. Placing his teddy bear that he had since he was born, he would be more than annoyed if this Nate tried to steal his territory that he had marked.

“Ignore him, he’s still a child...” Drake explained, acting like the father figure of the group. As he said this, Riley locked her baby blues on to his dark eyes. Noticing him stare back towards her, she focused her gaze elsewhere. Not wanting him to realise that she was already hypnotised by his presence.

“So what is on the agenda for today, Riley?” Maxwell asked as he leaped off the top bunk, risking breaking a limb.

“Erm, well because it’s arrival day. You have this time to explore camp independently. Then we have dinner between six and seven. After that there’s a ‘welcome meeting’ then we all gather together around the campfire for a couple of hours.”

“Sounds fabulous.” Liam said, softly smiling at her.

“I hope that you all enjoy your time here. There’s a map in the top drawer. Don’t get lost on your first day though...see you all around six.” Waving goodbye, Liam followed her through the door- closing it behind him.

“Riley, I have a question.”

“Shoot.”

“Do we have any free time? Where we are not following a typical day agenda.”

“Yes, we have one day off each week. That day will change each week. There will be updates on this at reception. Why?”

“Oh, I just thought we could all ‘hang out’ as you Americans say.” Attempting to act like a normal ‘cool’ teenager, he hoped that she wouldn’t be offended by his upfront attitude.

“Sure. See ya.” Unable to erase the smile that was fixed onto his face, he entered the dorm. Grateful for his father suggesting this little adventure for them all.

****

Riley knew exactly where Lola would be, hiding behind the ‘bent tree’ as it was known. It was a common location for everyone to sneak away for a cigarette. Dodging all the tab ends that had been piling up over the years, her friend looked relieved that she had finally showed up.

“About time, I’ve chain smoked a whole packet nearly! What were you doing? Fucking them all?”

“LOLA! One, I highly doubt that you smoked a whole packet in five minutes. Two, I must be superwoman managing to have sex with all of them in that amount of time. Three, get a life!”

“So the tall dark handsome one, the blue eyed boy or the dopey one... which one would you sleep with?”

“Go fuck yourself. Or rather, Daniel. Come on, we need to get back.”

****

“Here you are ladies... this is your home for the next month. Dinner is at six.....”

“There’s room service, right?” Madeleine interrupted, as she scowled at the dirty room. Tracing her finger along the window ledge, she collected too much dust for her liking. Straight away she washed her hands in the cracked sink- then retrieved the hand sanitiser out of her handbag. I’m going to die.

“Erm, no. This isn’t a hotel.” The blonde nearly hyperventilated due to his response. Expecting for some elaboration, expecting for it to be some kind of sick joke- Daniel remained silent, shocked at her reaction. I’m a noble- get me out of here!

“Where’s the bathroom? I need a bath.” Olivia demanded to know as she folded her arms.

“If you turn left as you leave here and walk five minutes, there is a shared restroom. After dinner there will be a short ‘welcome meeting’ before we all gather next to the campfire. I’ll leave you to both get settled in. Enjoy ladies.” Both jaws practically dropped to the floor, before looking at each other with the same expression. Disgust. For the first time in their lives, they actually agreed on something. Why did we agree to come?

Daniel giggled to himself as he left the two snobs as he described them in his mind. Running back to the hut, he couldn’t wait to inform the girls about the newbies responses to being at camp.

This is going to be a long month. They are going to have a big reality check.

[ljandersen]

Heart to Heart

Pairing:  FemShep/Kaidan Alenko, ME-3 Word Count:  2300 Summary:  Kaidan shares how his father looped him into joining the Alliance.

____________________________

Shepard gazed up at Kaidan.  He stroked her hair idly, his eyes fixed on the observation window.  She was starting to feel sleepy again.  Her heart beat slow and hard to the rhythmic brush of his fingertips on her temple.  With her head on Kaidan’s lap and the stars glittering before them, it couldn’t get more peaceful on a military vessel.  But time was ticking down.  Each breath was one less separating Now from the End.  There was so much more she wanted to do with him.  To know.  She was wasting time dozing and not finding out.  Shepard sat up abruptly.

“You all right?” he asked.

“What did you want to be when you grew up?”

“What?”

“We ever end up on a couples’ game show, I need to know the basics.”  Shepard twisted to face him and folded her legs on the bench.   “Don’t hold out on me.  What did you want to be?”

“What did you want to be?”

“Make me go first, huh?”  Shepard pulled his hand into her lap.  “ Fine.  What did I want to be when I grew up?  Well, not a farmer.  Not a biologist or ecosystem engineer.”  Shepard ran her thumb nail along the side of Kaidan’s finger.  “I didn’t know what I wanted to be.  I only knew I wanted to be in charge.”

Kaidan’s smile stretched.  “Had your calling young.”

“Ha, yeah, I guess.”  Shepard considered the idea.  “When I think about it, I could have gone a lot of different ways.  Could have ended up commanding a ship of pirates or smugglers, being in charge of a team of Terminus System mercs.  Who knows?  But instead, fate put me on the straight and narrow.”

“Fate?  Or you realized the good you could do by joining the Alliance?”

“You know something,” Shepard said.  “When I saw the Alliance fight on Mindoir, I wanted to fight alongside them.  I knew right then.  I had this feeling, I should be a part of it.  I thought it was so I could make the bastards pay who did things like that.  But I was wrong.  It wasn’t about that.  It was so I could be the one who got there sooner than help came for me.  It was about helping the helpless, not killing the worthless.  I wanted my family back.  Wanted what happened to them to mean something bigger by my actions going forward.  But it wasn’t dealing death like I thought, it was saving life.  That gave meaning to it.  Gave me meaning.”

Kaidan touched her cheek.  “Shepard, your family would be amazed what you’ve done.  You’ve made them proud a hundred times over.”

Shepard’s lips tickled with the beginning of a smile.  She kissed her palm.  

“What about you?” she said.  “Your dad was military.  This is what you always wanted to do?”

“After what happened at Brain Camp?  No.”  Kaidan’s fingertips traced down her jaw.  He covered their hands with his palm again.  “I always liked tech.  I majored in engineering at the university in Vancouver.  I think I’ve told you that.”

“Engineer Alenko?”  Shepard cocked her head with a soft smile.  “You wanted to map power grids and design Omni-Tools?”

“Something a little more exotic maybe.  Off world.  There were companies that contracted all over space, colonies or urban worlds.  Variety of tech systems, challenging, a lot of movement and chance to see things.  Opportunities to be on the edge of the unknown connecting comm systems and terra forming energy platforms.”

“Not a bad gig.”

“I didn’t think so.  The right company, I could be working with interspecies engineers, learning with new technologies, applying outside ideas.  See the galaxy, the cultures, the worlds.”

“Then what happened?”

“Well …”  Kaidan drew his hands away and fidgeted with the boot propped on his knee.  “After Jump Zero and everything that happened, you can probably guess.  I didn’t know what to do with that part of myself.  I wanted to be normal.  I enrolled in the engineering program at VU.  As students failed and dropped out of the program, the ones of us who pulled through became close.  By the third year, we left the engineering dorms.  We roomed together in a large house on the edge of campus.  We studied together, went out together.  I even stayed with some of their families.”

Kaidan rolled the boot lace between his fingertips.  Shepard shifted on the bench and waited.

“And?” she prompted softly.

Kaidan hesitated but met her eyes.  “The summer after our third year, there was an applied internship program.  Prestigious, competitive.  Teams submitted grant applications and project binders.  GPA, extracurriculars, interviews.  Our team was one of the teams selected.  There were ten of us working on the project proposal.  We all moved to Boston for the summer and first part of the fourth semester.”

“Something went wrong with your project?”

“No.”  Kaidan chewed the corner of his lip then sighed.  “Four months into the internship in Boston, I was at the lab.  We all were.  We were starting to get into the software application, running tests, joking around.  I can’t even remember.  Men showed up for me.”

“Men?”

Kaidan leaned an elbow on the back of the bench and touched his forehead.  “I forgot to register.  Forgot to inform the Bureau I changed residences, left the BC area.  The Biotic Registration Bureau had tracked me down.  They showed up at the lab since they didn’t know where I was staying.”

“They made a scene?” Shepard ventured.

“They were polite enough, I guess.”  Kaidan eyed her for a moment, then sat up straight.  He cleared his throat.  “You see, I had never told anyone.  Told anyone I was a biotic.  Maybe they could have recognized it if they knew anything about biotics, but you know how it was, it was new.  I’d never met another biotic myself outside of Brain Camp.  It was rare, unknown, stigmatized.  I just wanted to be normal.  I felt like it shouldn’t matter.  I didn’t use my biotics.  I had good control, never flared.  It was like they didn’t exist, at least, from the outside.  Maybe I was in denial or caught up in being what I wanted to be instead of what I was, but either way, the result was the same.  The Biotics Registration Bureau showed up for me.  My friends, my best friends I’d done everything with for three years, they were shocked.”

Shepard reached over and gripped his forearm.  “They turned their back on you?  Because you were a biotic?” 

“They turned their backs on me, but not because I was a biotic.  What they might have thought of me being a biotic, I’ll never know.  I never gave them a chance to find out.  They rejected me, not because I was a biotic, but because for three years I never told them.”

“You weren’t lying.”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t telling the truth either.  We finished the project.  After the internship, I finished the fourth year by myself.  I saw them in class, but there wasn’t any going back.”

“You dropped out?”

“No,” Kaidan said sharply.  “Of course not.  I finished my degree.”

“But your plans to join a galactic tech company?”

“That last semester changed a lot of things.  My dad …” Kaidan grinned at the floor.  “My dad never quite gave up on the military angle.  More than his own experience, I think he knew what I couldn’t accept: that it was a place where my being different wasn’t a liability but an asset.  Where this part of myself I wanted to leave behind could actually be used for something good instead of just alienating me, scaring or hurting people.  I think he knew it was the best path for me to accept myself, even be proud of it.  I could belong somewhere, find meaning, help people, see the galaxy.  Really, in a lot of ways, the perfect fit.”

“Your dad brought it up to you again?”

“He’d never stopped, but that last semester he knew I was struggling.  I think he knew all his talk about the Alliance only made me dig my heels deeper.  I had said ‘no’ so long, it was almost on principal then.”  Kaidan laughed and rubbed his forehead.  “There was a chink in my armor now though.  I’d lost everything I thought I’d made since Jump Zero.  I felt lost again.

“My dad had a spur-of-the-moment errand with an Alliance chum one morning.  He’d picked me up from campus, a holiday or something.  I was already strapped in when he told me.  I swear he waited for the click of the seatbelt, then it was, ‘Oh, I just remembered.  Told Chisholm I’d drop by with his book while he’s in town training the incoming officers.’  We could both see through the story.  He knew I knew, but we just pretended.  I turned on my Omni-Tool and said, ‘Whatever.  Just roll a window down for me and don’t take forever.’”

Shepard chuckled and flicked his shoulder.  “Your stubborn streak is well worn, I see.”

“Went pretty deep.”  Kaidan laughed.  “But, uh, I think I come by it naturally.  My dad must have known what I’d say.  He said he had to return a book, but when we got to the academy, all of a sudden it was books.  Not two books or three books, boxes of books.  Five or six boxes stacked to the top.  I remember just standing there with the hatch up and muttering, ‘What the hell?’  I even started digging down and reading titles to make sure it wasn’t filler.  I expected to see my mom’s old harlequins or something else off the shelf from home, but it was all military-related.  He couldn’t haul in six boxes of books by himself, so I helped him.  Conveniently, we took a very winding and slow path to Chisholm’s classroom.  Dad kept pointing out different areas.  I kept saying, ‘Are we going in circles?  I’ve seen that plant before.’”

“And when you reached your dad’s friend?”

“What do you know, he’s in the middle of an applied skills class for sentinels.  Up to that moment, I didn’t even know sentinels existed, a fusion of tech and biotics.  I stood against the wall, sighed, and looked around a lot.  I shifted the boxes in my arms and checked the time.  But I didn’t forget what I saw.  Dad was ready with all sorts of scripted ‘off-the-cuff’ questions for Chisholm about his teaching, the officer’s academy, sentinels, biotics.  Dad introduced us.”

Shepard beamed at him.  “Got over your stubbornness?”

“Yeah, I mean, I took my time about it.  Couldn’t fold right away.  I looked into it, networked, met with some other biotic officers.  I swore Captain Chisholm to secrecy.  He agreed not to tell my dad, but let me audit a week of his classes.  Later, do you know what Chisholm told me?”

“What?”

“He said that morning, the morning I was picked up, my dad showed up to borrow Chisholm’s books.  He took the whole bookcase worth.  Even had a student haul it to the skycar with him.  That was 0900.  Then he picked me up at 0930.  We brought them straight back.  After I found that out, I didn’t feel nearly as bad taking my time.  When I had my paperwork in order, just needed to push the button, I went home for the weekend to tell him.”

“Your dad was probably thrilled.”

Kaidan grinned.  “I set down my bag, and Mom gave me a big hug.  When she stepped back, she asked if I’d heard back from the recruiter, then she slapped a hand over her mouth.  Turns out, Dad knew what I was doing the whole time.  I would have been mad, but I could see what it meant to him.  I was so fixated on avoiding an ‘I told you so’ and making clear it was my own decision, I never thought about it just making him proud.  He broke out the expensive whiskey from the top shelf.  Then we sat on the balcony, drank, and talked a long time.  

“A lot of things changed from that point out for me.  One of those things was with my dad.  Up to then, I was a kid.  An adult, but a kid in a lot of ways.  After I joined, things were different.  He was still my dad, of course.  I looked up to him, respected what he had to say, but we were friends too.  More equal footing.  I went from fighting him and trying to prove myself, to appreciating his advice.  I wanted his advice.  He could see what was better for me sometimes than I could see for myself.  Everything with the Alliance proved that.”

Air thickened in Shepard’s throat.  “I’m sorry he’s MIA, Kaidan.”

“I’m sorry about your family, too, Shepard.”

She fell forward and wrapped her arms around his neck.  He brushed the hair back from her face and kissed her lips.  She crawled over him.  He pulled back from the kiss with a tense laugh and looked over at the door.

“It’s almost morning, you know,” he said.

“Come upstairs with me.”  Shepard tugged him to his feet.  “You said you’re exactly where you want to be, right?”

“With you.” 

“I’m exactly where I want to be too.”  She grabbed his face with both hands.  “With you.  I don’t want your family ever reading those letters, but I’m glad you’re with me.  I need someone making me eggs.  You’re my best friend, Kaidan.  More than a best friend.  More than anyone’s ever been to me.”

Kaidan’s breath sharpened.  “You’re that for me too.  Always.”

“Always.”  Shepard pecked his lips.

They burst out of the lounge and shot to the elevator.

From “About Mars:”  AO3 and FFN

[hashtagartistlife]

so i just saw on kr twitter a couple of pages of the official korean translation of ‘we do knot always love you’, specifically the pages talking about ru/kia and re/nji signing and lodging their marriage forms, and all that bullshit about how she’s gonna keep going by ‘ku/chiki ru/kia’ in public because oh goodness, she just doesn’t know how she’ll keep her head if she keeps hearing aba/rai ru/kia--

and like, ykw, you’d think this would be played as cute. you’d think this would be played as an ‘ooooh how adorable the newlywed bride just can’t take being called by her lover’s last name, she’s embarrassed, look aren’t they so in love--’

it’s not. there’s two pages dedicated to this and these two pages are the most chilling pages i’ve read in my life. shit reads like fucking ptsd, like a panic attack, like dissociation. and i don’t know if this is a problem with translation or whatever, but honestly, japanese-korean translations are probably always going to be a little more reliable than japanese-english translations because japanese-korean-chinese all sort of have the same base in using chinese characters. LISTEN. I’m not being biased, those two pages were fucking chilling and there is not a DROP of ‘oh this is so cute’ or ‘god, look, they’re in love’ in those two pages. LIKE LOOK AT THIS SHIT: 

As soon as Renji finished speaking, the door opened. The registrar came into the room, following closely behind Byakuya. 

“Is it over already...?”

She looked at the clock on the wall. It hadn’t even been five minutes since the two of them had entered the room. 

“Abarai Renji-san, Abarai Rukia-san.” 

The registrar saw Rukia’s shoulders flinch, and smiled gently. 

“Congratulations on your marriage,” he said, and produced a piece of paper which he waved in front of the two. It bore the words “certificate of marriage” at the top. 

“Thank.... you....”

The whole process had been completed so fast that the two of them were in a daze, but as soon as he saw the words ‘Abarai Rukia’ on the paper, Renji stood up. 

“We did it, Rukia! We’re finally... finally married, now!”

Rukia’s mind had gone blank with the shock of being called ‘Abarai’, but Renji shook her shoulder to get her out of it. 

“Abarai Rukia-san?”

“Ah, yes!” 

Struggling desperately to keep her mind from blanking again, Rukia looked towards the registrar. He was holding out a yellow form which was titled ‘Request for a name change for a soldier of the13 Court Guard Squads’. 

“If you plan to continue on using the Abarai surname you need to fill this out and hand it in--”

“I’m going to keep going by Kuchiki, so it’s fine!!”

“What, you’re not changing your name?”

“Never. Absolutely not!!” 

Renji was a little displeased with that, but Rukia thought that if everyone she met called her Abarai there was a significant chance that her mental state would break down, and so she was adamant about this. 

Byakuya offered a slight bow to the registrar, and exited the room. Renji and Rukia followed. 

‘From now on I’m..... Abarai..... I guess......’

Rukia thought there was something fascinating about the fact that her surname had changed in a matter of minutes. She wondered if there would ever come a day when she’d get used to being called Abarai, when Byakuya, who had been walking a few steps ahead of them, suddenly stopped. 

“....... with this, the two of you have become husband and wife.”

He spoke with his back still turned to them. The two of them straightened up unconsciously. 

like HELLO?!?!?!? WHAT IS THIS?????? WHAT IS THIS????????????????? THIS IS A LITERAL WORD-FOR-WORD TRANSLATION FROM THE KOREAN TO THE ENGLISH AND I JUST??????????? ?????????? HELLO????????

Look me STRAIGHT in the eye and tell me that doesn’t sound like it’s from a vague thriller-horror novel TELL ME THIS DOESN’T LOOK LIKE IT’S FROM AN ANGST FIC WHERE RUKIA’S DISSOCIATING AS SHE GOES THROUGH THIS!!! WHAT THE LITERAL FUCK!! she flinches when she’s called abarai -- not a cute startle, or a description of a blush spreading across her cheeks, she flinches-- and the WORDS used to describe her mind blanking???? she’s not flustered or embarrassed, she’s literally described as blanking from the shock. THE NOVEL SPECIFICALLY USES THE WORD ‘MENTAL BREAKDOWN’ TO DESCRIBE WHAT SHE THINKS MIGHT HAPPEN IF SHE KEEPS GETTING CALLED ABARAI. WHAT THE F-U-C-K FUCK!!!! And the contrast of Renji being-- pushily enthusiastic about this while she’s blanking, the line about how he was ‘displeased’ with her outright refusal to change her name-- and that was a FLAT refusal. Cut in while the registrar was talking, two exclamation point to emphasise (which, for those of us used to fic, doesn’t seem like a big deal, but bear in mind in published novels you really ONLY use one exclamation point... ever), use of words like ‘never’ and ‘absolutely’....  ????? why is this so... emotionless? so distant? so cold??? 

like FINE, granted this is only two pages out of, what, a 250 page novel???? maybe they’re super affectionate outside of these two pages. and granted, this is translated. maybe the translator did a bad job. who the fuck KNOWS. but this is a page about their marriage registration you’d THINK there’d be a bit more... idk, mutual joy? a sense of relief, of ‘finally’??? SOMETHING????????? Instead there’s two whole pages of rukia basically just. blanking, huh. whiting out from the ‘shock’ of it. and renji by her side, almost wheedling a reaction from her. BIG HUH. (also, the person who put up a picture of these pages is an ih-rr’er and the caption was ‘!!!!!!’ which presumably means they were excited about this, and, like. hm. you’re really gonna put these two pages up because you think it’s a cute representation of their marriage? ur really gonna fangirl over this? like WOW I know you people can’t read but FUCK, YOU PEOPLE REALLY CANNOT READ)

these two pages feel, to me, EXACTLY like when chapter 685 came out and TECHNICALLY, nothing was wrong, TECHNICALLY, everything looked peaceful, but look a bit closer and it’s uncanny valley - the sokyouku’s been rebuilt bigger than before and nobody is batting an eyelash. These pages feel creepy- like a warning sign written in blood that’s been wallpapered over, but now the wallpaper’s peeling. Something is wrong. Something isn’t quite right. 

(god, tell me something new about the bleachverse i guess)