#Eight years of mutual destruction baby!!!!

[witchiestwitch]

Star Crossed Enemies

[yurtletheturtlehenderson]

Song Tag 📻

Big thank you to the wonderful @dumdumsun for the tag! 😌🤲💝

Rules: spell out your URL with song titles. Then tag as many people as there are letters in your URL**

Y ━ You Only Want Me When You're Lonely by Jim Boyd

U ━ Under The Milky Way by The Church

R ━ Right Back Where We Started From by Maxine Nightingale

T ━ The End of the World by Skeeter Davis

L ━ Look On The Bright Side Of Life by Monty Python

E ━ Eve of Destruction by Barry McGuire

T ━ The Bitch Is Back by Elton John

H ━ Harold Jenkins by Igtoluh

E ━ Earth by Sleeping at Last

T ━ Time Warp by Little Nell, Patricia Quinn, Richard O'Brian from The Rocky Horror Picture Show

U ━ Unwind Yourself by Marva Whitney

R ━ Reconsider Baby by Elvis Presley

T ━ This Year's Love by David Gray

L ━ Live and Let Die by Paul McCartney, Wings

E ━ Eight by Sleeping at Last

H ━ Hello Walls by Willie Nelson

E ━ Everybody (Backstreet's Back) by Backstreet Boys

N ━ Night's In White Satin by The Moody Blues

D ━ Dancing in the Moonlight by King Harvest

E ━ End Of The Line by Traveling Wilburys

R ━ Reflecting Light by Sam Phillips

S ━ Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This) by Eurythmics

O ━ Only You (And You Alone) by The Platters

N ━ Never Tear Us Apart by Paloma Faith

♡ no pressure, no specific order tag ♡: @emo-space-tea @witch-of-all-things-soft @ongaku-ato-kakikomi @night-yoarrbe @shawkneecaps @terrazaurio @ohmyitsfaith @ba-responds @bex-stranger-things @omni-idiot-fanfics @little-boats-on-a-lake @a-girl-who-loves-disney @whatawonderfulusername @vicassa @white-wolf-buckaroo @guineverebeckilicious @alpacataco @okimreadynow @onlyroad @popacherryvisitalibrary @disaster-magician @lonerstolovers ━ this basically ended up being the taglist since i sadly dont have that many mutuals 💀 feel free to ignore if you want, loves!

**I added my own little challenge for my own sake cause I wanted to narrow things down—these are from my growing playlist for a WIP of mine, [hence some of the weird choices] TSU! But of course that was just me, anyone is free to do the tag game normally or however they want

[damonalbarn]

Hey I was wondering if you knew the article that Justine spoke about suzi in?!

It was in The Guardian in 2000. Here you go:

Sweet revenge

In the mid 90s, Justine Frischmann and Damon Albarn were the First Couple of Britpop. Then he used a Blur album to rake over their break-up, while she languished in obscurity amid rumours of heroin addiction. Now she's back with a new album, and it's her turn to exorcise her demons.

Caroline Sullivan

Friday March 24, 2000

As Alison Moyet once said, it's hard to write a decent song when you're happy. Rock bands thrive on romantic turmoil in their private lives, without which they would be reduced to padding out lyrics with football scores and the weather.

Thus it was for Blur's Damon Albarn in mid-1998 when he sat down to write what would become the 13 album. His eight-year relationship with Justine Frischmann of the chart-topping Elastica, whom he once described as **"the only person who's ever been completely necessary to me" **had just ended, at her instigation. Pained and humiliated, he decided to exact revenge by exposing their most intimate details to public scrutiny.

The outcome? Embarrassment for Frischmann, a number one album for Blur and a bit of a result for Albarn.

Break-up albums are by definition both embittered and yearning - in the case of Marvin Gaye's vindictive Here, My Dear, they're just plain nasty - but 13 got more up-close and personal than could be considered gentlemanly. Albarn portrayed his former partner as neurotic, even slipping apparent drug references into the single Tender: "Tender is the ghost, the ghost I love the most/Hiding from the sun, waiting for the night to come". Frischmann was the ghost, supposedly, who was on the verge of being consumed by what one music paper euphemistically called "the darkness at the heart of Elastica".

Frischmann's response can be found on a song called The Way I Like It, which appears on Elastica's first album in five years, The Menace (out next month): "Well, I'm living all right and I'm doing okay/Had a lover who was made of sand, and the wind blew him away".

This is unlikely to be her last word on the subject. As she ambivalently begins her first round of interviews since 1996, she's finding that everyone has the same three questions. Why did Elastica nearly sabotage a promising career by taking so long to follow up their million-selling debut? Had Frischmann taken leave of her senses when she walked out on Mr Britpop? And what about the drug rumours?

"One journalist said to me, 'Dahling, I heard you were on heroin - Mahvelous!' " she says with some amusement. "Drugs are around, but I'm not that interested and never have been, although there have been elements of party animal in my band. The rumours are a lot to do with rock'n'roll mythology, where people want to believe you're having a more exciting time than you are."

The only drugs on her person today, as she perches on the edge of an armchair in her publicist's north London living room, are Marlboro Lights. Her other indulgences are two cups of herbal tea and a Cadbury's Flake cupcake, which she nibbles with well-bred pleasure. Her dark eyes are clear, and her long, tanned body is a testament to the virtues of a daily swim in a pool near her Notting Hill home. Only Elastica know whether they really succumbed to heroin and hedonism after their self-titled debut made them more famous than they'd ever expected to be, but if they did, Frischmann, 30, seems little the worse for it.

Given the current predominance of damnable boy bands, the Britpop mid-90s are beginning to seem like a halcyon period for English music. It was a time when the underground went overground, and a self-described "little punk band" like Elastica could sell 80,000 albums in a week.

More than a few loser guitar groups saw Britpop as a licence to print money, but Elastica, led with cool elan by the androgynous Frischmann, were one of its gems. The Blur connection was a marketing godsend (Frischmann and Albarn met on the London indie circuit, she as guitarist in an early line-up of Suede and girlfriend of frontman Brett Anderson, he as a cherubic baggy hopeful), yet the spiky-haired Elastica LP embodied that euphoric time like nothing else.

Frischmann, guitarist Donna Matthews, drummer Justin Welch and bassist Annie Holland were unprepared for the album soaring to number one in its first week. When they signed their record deal, Frischmann, whose great-grandfather was a conductor of the Tsar's orchestra at the Summer Palace in Byelorussia, was five years into an architecture degree at London University. A liberal north London Jewish upbringing - her engineer father built the Oxford Street landmark Centrepoint - had instilled expectations of success, but the reality of being photographed in the supermarket and having her rubbish stolen was a shock. Fiercely independent, she also resented her unsought role as half of Britpop's First Couple.

There was more. Two of Frischmann's musical heroes, The Stranglers and Wire, decided that two Elastica songs were suspiciously similar to two of their own tracks, and won royalties. Meanwhile, there were malicious rumours that Albarn had done much of the work on the record. He hadn't, but he did find Justine's success in America, where she was substantially out-selling Blur, hard to endure.

"It was very hard for him to deal with and he's very confrontational," she says, with the flattering openness of someone who prefers interviews to be more like conversations. She admits she often says too much, but in an era of image control and spin, her honesty makes her a one-off. Not that she's likely to land herself in it too badly - she possesses the intellectual ammunition to look after herself, which must have been instrumental in attracting two of rock's more articulate stars, Albarn and Anderson.

She's been accused of being a professional rock girlfriend, though it was probably they who were lucky to get her. She spent the cab ride over reading the Sylvia Plath letters in Monday's Guardian, and muses on the irony of the poet's subjugating herself to Ted Hughes when she was the more gifted. (Her new boyfriend, by the way, is an unknown photographer, "though that'll probably change, because men seem to get famous when I go out with them".)

"I reacted the way a lot of women do, by being passive," she continues. "He put a lot of pressure on me to give up Elastica. He said, 'You don't want to be in a band, you want to settle down and have kids.' " In so many words? "In so many words. He kept putting on pressure till I started to believe him." She adds bemusedly: "I've met his new girlfriend, and one of the first things she said was that he wanted her to give up travelling with her work to stay home with the baby [Missy, born last autumn]. I'm surprised he's got away with being thought of as a nice person for so long."

After 18 months, during which they did seven American and three Japanese tours, Elastica came off the road to record company demands for an immediate second album. Annie Holland's response was to quit the group, while Donna Matthews became renowned for hard partying on the nocturnal west London scene. They lethargically recorded some demos, but their heart wasn't in it. By 1997, when a second album should have been ready to go, Frischmann and Matthews were barely speaking, and there was nothing useable down on tape.

Holland's replacement, Sheila Chipperfield (of the circus Chipperfields), was deemed not good enough and left by mutual consent. By 1998, their continued lack of productivity was being likened to the Stone Roses' lengthy and ultimately self-destructive holiday between their first and second LPs.

"I didn't think Elastica were going to continue at that point, and we did kinda split up," she says, absently stroking her publicist's cat. Frischmann is a cat person; she's owned a tabby called Benjamin since she was 10. "Unconditional love," she coos. The pet's place in her life is so assured that prospective boyfriends are subjected to his feline scrutiny before she'll go out with them.

On top of everything else, in early 1998 her relationship with Albarn was in trouble. Frischmann retains enough of the indie ethic to detest the phenomenon of celebrity couples, and was dismayed when they became one. "I really hated the tabloid interest, and I went out of my way not to be photographed with him. Only about three pictures of us together exist, I think. In many ways, I think the media interest broke us up, because it made me feel the relationship was quite ugly, and I had to get away from it. There were other factors, too, obviously, because we were together for eight years, and I finally felt it was better the devil you didn't know, really."

Albarn's ego seems to have been severely undermined by having a girlfriend who was nearly as successful as he was, and something of a sex symbol to boot. Despite adopting a resolutely boyish T-shirt-and-jeans uniform, she's thoroughly feminine, a mix that got her voted fifth most fanciable woman in a lesbian magazine.

"I'm completely heterosexual, so I didn't know how to take that. It scares the shit out of me, the idea of being with a girl. I'm glad I've narrowed it down to half the people in the world."

She seems to view Albarn with indulgent exasperation these days, simultaneously praising his intelligence ("The Gallaghers just couldn't compete") and ticking off his flaws. "Damon adores being in the press, and sees all press as good press. He orchestrated that rivalry thing with Oasis. He really wanted kids, and I didn't feel our relationship was stable enough. He was a naughty boy, and he wasn't the right person to have kids with. I had this cathartic moment..."

At which point they split up. Albarn wrote 13 and then met Suzi Winstanley, an artist. "She was pregnant within three months," Justine observes wickedly.

Of the acclaimed 13, she's tactful, describing several songs as "really lovely". She studies her cigarette for a while before adding, "but I'm cynical about selling a record on the back of our relationship". But you're doing the same now. "It's true, but at the time I had no right of reply."

Elastica finally pulled themselves together last year, just as the music industry was about to write them off (their American label had already "very kindly let us go", as she puts it). Holland rejoined, Matthews went to Wales to sort out her life and the band banged out an EP and played the Reading Festival. Things came together quickly after that. They spent the last £10,000 of the recording budget on re-recording a dozen tracks, finishing the album, after years of procrastinating, in six weeks. They've called it The Menace "because that's what it was like to make".

It's dark and resolutely uncommercial - all wrong for 2000's pop-oriented climate. It's unlikely to match the success of the first one, which is fine with them. Call it (though Justine doesn't) their White Album. Its 70s punk aesthetic brings to mind angry girls such as the Slits and the Au Pairs, although the defining mood isn't anger so much as catharsis. None of the songs is specifically about Albarn, she claims. "The dark feeling is due to the sense of isolation, tasting success and getting frightened by it. I was questioning whether I wanted to be in a band any more, and there was no one I could ask for advice. Getting success and everything you ever dreamed about is hard to handle, and makes you question everything."

She's better prepared for success, if it comes again, this time. Already the privacy-preserving barriers are in place. The next interview of the day is with Time Out magazine, which wants a list of her favourite restaurants. "I'm not telling them where I eat," she says reflexively. "I'm gonna lie."

[slugtranslation-hypmic]

Actually, the last ask got me thinking: realistically, if you didn't know anyone's backstories and you met organically, who would you personally hang out or be friends with in the hypmic cast if they were real? also, who would you dislike?

Oh this is a really fun one, thanks. Stuck under a cut for length... also, you’ll learn really quick that I’m a raging asshole who can’t get along with anyone.

Ichirou: Hm, I could see us getting along. I don’t think we have a lot in common, but we would probably text about video games or whatever and hang out periodically. He seems like a nice, chill dude. I’d be happy to have him as a friend.

Jirou: I don’t hang out with teenagers much, so I probably wouldn’t be his close friend or anything like that. We also have very little in common, so I’m guessing we’d really only see one another in passing at Ichirou’s or something.

Saburou: He would infuriate me instantly. I would want to avoid him because I don’t think Ichirou would like me getting in a fist fight with his little brother.

Samatoki: He would scare the fuck out of me. No thanks. Also this bitch smokes like a chimney. Nuh-uh.

Juuto: Fuck the police.

Riou: Hmmmmmmmmmm, I would find his whole military shtick a big turnoff. If I got past that, though, I would probably like him a lot. Giving me food is an instant way for me to like someone, and he seems like a really chill person to hang out with.

Ramuda: I think we’re too similar. We’d kill one another in the first five minutes. To be honest, I would avoid him because I would find him extremely obnoxious. On the off chance that I did find out his backstory stuff, I would probably overstep his boundaries in my delight at finding someone to commiserate with.... hahaha.... I’d end up in a coma for being nosy.

Gentarou: Oh no. I know myself way too well to know exactly how this would go down. We’d meet through mutual friends (probably Ichirou, idk) at a gathering and end up in a corner together talking about literature. He would confess to having some terrible taste in authors, and I’d be like, “Damn : ‘) This bitch is dumb as shit.” But we’d become friends anyway, especially because I like that sense of humor a lot. Then after a couple of months of hanging out, going to coffee shops to talk about stuff, texting about writing or translation or just me texting him random shit I think would make him laugh, I’d be hit with the “Oh no!!!!!!!!!” revelation that my feelings are not, in fact, purely platonic! I would panic about that for a couple weeks and probably do something stupid and/or self-destructive. I’d then have a crush on him for some absurdly long time, like seven or eight years, and I’d probably tell him that because I don’t like hiding that kind of thing, but we’d just be friends the whole time as long as he’d be cool with it. :) Because I’d be happy as long as we could be friends. And then I’d wingman him together with Dice, say, because I would want his happiness. Hell yeah.

Dice: Mmmmm, I don’t think Dice would like me... he’d snap at me for being too like Doppo, and that would frighten me. What a shame.

Jakurai: I would probably dislike him at first. But if I could get past the whole “wow, you’re such a fascinating person!” doctor thing he has going on, then I think we could be friends. The majority of my friends are a good deal older than me - in their mid to late 20s or early 30s - so it’s not atypical. Riding in his car would be amazing. I love going on car rides and will navigate very badly for anyone who asks.

Hifumi: Tbh I think his height and hair color might trigger my PTSD, but if I could get past that, I think he’d be a very nice friend to have. It’s the giving food thing again. Just kind of in general, I feel like I could fit in with Matenrou as their short, obnoxious mascot.

Doppo: Doppo-chin... Ah, I think we would be negative influences on each other’s mental health. Maybe not the best idea...

Kuukou: Oh fuck yes. Now this is where it’s at. Fuck YES. I would gladly join you in monk activities, Kuukou, even if it involves sitting in high seiza and waiting for your feet to fall asleep and your back to give out.

Juushi: Mmmmmmmmmmm maybe...? I think we’d end up in a never-ending loop of going “Oh, I’m so sorry, you go” “No, no, I’m sorry, you go”. We could bond over music, though.

Hitoya: He would think I’m an idiot and hate me. He has a fair point. But I think I would like him, and he seems enjoyable to spend time with. He would probably have a lot of good insights about life.

Sasara: God.... mmmmmm.... he seems really annoying... I’m not sure about this one. I think we could have a fun boke/tsukkomi style friendship wherein he says stupid shit and I respond, “You need to shut the fuck up before I beat your ass” in a loving way.

Roshou: I think we could get along well. We’d probably end up talking about our day jobs (teaching) or gushing about our students most of the time. I think Roshou and I are pretty similar, so it would probably be a good friendship.

Rei: ??? I can’t imagine interacting with Rei. As much as I like him as a character - and I really do like him a lot now - I feel like in real life, all he’d be doing would be scamming me.

Otome: No... she’s like a scary mom....

Ichijiku: Absolutely not. She would terrify me.

Nemu: Oh sweet baby GIRL. She seems to have a lot of patience for dumbasses, so I don’t think she would particularly dislike me. I guess brainwashed Nemu probably wouldn’t be the most fun person to hang out with, but before that, she’d be wonderful. I want to see her grow up big and strong. :) I support your dreams, Nemu.

Ha ha ha, sorry for talking about myself so much today. Man, now I really miss seeing my IRL friends... my homeboys are awful about keeping in touch :) Those assholes :)

Please leave in the replies who you would like to be friends with in Hypmic!

[kelyon]

Golden Rings 8: A Mayor

The Storybrooke Sequel to Golden Cuffs

Rumple has a chat with Regina

Read on AO3

After that disaster of a meal, the walk to City Hall gave Rumpelstiltskin time to cool his head. It was one thing to lose control in front of Mrs. Gold, the poor woman would just blame herself for any change in his behavior. But now he was strolling into enemy territory. Going eye-to-eye with the Evil Queen. He knew better than to blink. 

In the old world, there was no question that he was more powerful than Regina. She had learned her magic from him. Even then, the girl had a long list of grievances against a world that had, admittedly, treated her poorly. Rumpelstiltskin had trained her in the ways of dark magic, and that gave her the means to forge her anger into a weapon. Over the years, the queen had refined her rage, hammering her many resentments again and again until her pain was a folded blade, sharp enough to cut the world asunder.   

The most important lesson the Dark One had ever taught his protégé was that true power was the ability to cause pain. If hurting people didn’t make her happy, clearly the solution was to hurt more people. As Regina’s abilities had grown, so did her list of enemies and potential victims. Her wrath had expanded from targeting one little girl, to a small rebellion, to the whole realm.

Storybrooke was Regina’s ultimate victory, even over him. It was not enough for her to simply end the lives of her enemies. She had to torture those who had wronged her, prolong their suffering. For twenty-eight years, she had trapped them all in a world without time. A world where every day seemed exactly the same as the day before--except, somehow, worse. 

She had separated all of them from the people they had loved. She had forced them all to be the worst versions of themselves. She had destroyed their happiness in the hope that she would finally have some for herself.

Had it worked? 

Rumpelstiltskin had reached Main Street, the unofficial border between the old part of  town and the new. Regina lived in New Town, along with the rest of the Storybrooke elite. The castles of this world were made of drywall and stucco, and Mayor Mills lived in the grandest of them all. Did that satisfy her? Was it enough for her to be richer and more powerful than anyone else in town? Did she still feel like a Queen?

City Hall was in New Town as well, only a few blocks away from 108 Mifflin Street. That wasn’t the official residence for every mayor, but it was convenient that the only person who ever ran for the office lived within walking distance. 

Main Street was deserted at this late hour. Even Granny’s had only a few stragglers inside, lonely people lingering over cups of coffee before heading back to empty houses. The loudest noise on the street was the opening of the door from the offices of Dr. Archibald Hopper.

A little boy ran out onto the sidewalk, jabbering excitedly to a blonde young woman.

“I’m telling you, the first step is to figure out who people are. Once we know, then we can help them remember on their own. Then they can find their happy endings!”

“Okay, kid. Sure. We’re gonna suss out people’s secret identities from fairytale land. How?”     

“Don’t worry. It’s all in the book!”

The animated conspirators walked off. Neither one noticed the figure limping in the shadows behind them.

Well, Rumpelstiltskin thought. That was interesting. 

Gold recognized the boy as Henry Mills. Ten years ago--though to a cursed mind it couldn’t possibly have been ten years, my how time flies--Regina Mills had come to Gold and asked him to arrange for an adoption. She had demanded a newborn with no family, preferably from far away. She had wanted a closed adoption, with a birth mother who would never interfere with the life she had planned for the baby. 

It had been a tall order, but Gold had contacted a juvenile detention facility in Phoenix, Arizona. By some happy chance, one of their charges--herself an orphan who had spent her life in the foster care system and inevitably fell to a life of petty theft--had found herself pregnant. Gold had never gotten the name of Henry’s birth mother, but Rumpelstiltskin knew it well.

Emma Swan.

So that was why the Savior had come to town. 

And, apparently, the boy Henry had some idea of the true nature of the people around him. Was it because of this book he had mentioned? Or was reality obvious to anyone who  wasn’t blinded by the curse? Either way, the boy was trying to get Emma to help him make people remember who they were.

How very interesting.

The rest of the walk was easy. Rumpelstiltskin walked with a light step to City Hall. The lights were on in the Mayor’s office, but there was some activity in the garden around the back.

Rumpelstiltskin found the Queen on her knees, picking apples up off the ground. The sedate little garden had become a place of horticultural carnage. An entire branch of Regina’s prized apple tree was on the ground, with a fresh wound on the trunk. The grass was littered with sawdust and leaves and fallen fruit.

“What a mess.” Rumpelstiltskin announced his presence, walking into the enclosed space.  

Regina finished what she was doing before she stood up. “Not for long.”

There was a smile on her face, and a sharp gleam in her eyes. Rumpelstiltskin could read his pupil like a book. Despite the chaos around her, she was celebrating a victory. So far, she was happy. How fragile was that mood?

“This will all be cleaned up in the morning,” Regina said. “And the menace responsible is probably halfway back to Boston by now.”

“You don’t mean Emma Swan, do you?” Rumpelstiltskin circled the tree as he spoke. “I just saw her walking down the main street with your boy. Two of them looked thick as thieves.”

It was always a pleasure to see Regina’s smile vanish, and her satisfaction sour into spite. But now there was an extra thrill in watching her ire. She hadn’t changed at all. Twenty-eight years of getting everything she wanted, and Regina was just as insecure and petty as she had ever been.

Marvelous.  

“I told that woman to get out of my town.”

“Apparently, she didn’t follow your orders.” Reaching up into the tree, Rumpelstiltskin grabbed a low-hanging fruit and twisted the stem until it broke off in his hand. “That makes her rather a special person around here, don’t you think?”   

Regina ground her back teeth, an ugly habit she’d had for years. “I spent all day trying to get rid of her.”

“And you didn’t come to me?” Rumpelstiltskin tossed the apple in the air and caught it in one hand. A whole day? No wonder the Queen was frustrated! Normally her will was worked much more quickly than that. Of course, she normally had help. “I thought you knew where to go when you needed something done.” 

She turned her back on him to examine her tree. “I don’t make deals with you anymore.”

“And what a shame that is for us both,” Rumpelstiltskin lied. “After all, we have such a grand history of working together for our mutual benefit.”

“Your ‘benefits’ aren’t always what they seem, Mr. Gold.” Regina smirked, like she was pointing out some undiscovered fact. “Even when you got Henry for me, now I find out that there’s this woman.”

He held the apple in the palm of his hand. “Children are known to have mothers--”

“I’m his mother!” She cut him off sharply, and he knew that look. If this was a world with magic, the Evil Queen would be throwing fireballs right now. Her anger was always so close to the surface. She had never learned how to hold back, how to sneak and plot and keep your enemies close. 

“Be that as it may.” He kept his voice friendly, the same tone Gold would use. “Next time you need something, I hope you’ll remember to call on me.”

She smirked again, that regal expression of amusement and disdain. It was one of her better masks. “Nice to see you so accommodating, Mr. Gold. I’m glad that woman hasn’t ruined everything in Storybrooke.”

He shook his head, all businesslike courtesy. “No matter what strangers may do, everyone needs a friend in low places.”

“And you are certainly the lowest,” Regina chuckled. The smallest show of deference was enough to restore her good humor. The slightest reminder of the power she thought she had. “By the way, how is Mrs. Gold?”

“Quite well, thanks for asking.” He looked her in the eye and lied to her face. His masks were better than hers and always would be. “She’s a little, ah, tied up, at the moment. But I’ll give her your regards once she’s free.”

“Please do. I always like seeing the two of you around town.”

Rumpelstiltskin polished the apple on the sleeve of his suit jacket. This type was called a Red Delicious, though Mayor Mills would tell people it was a Honeycrisp. She could tell people anything and they wouldn’t question her. 

He began to saunter out of the garden. He had seen everything he needed to see.

 “I wouldn’t worry about Emma Swan.” He left Regina with a reassurance that would only remind her of her real problem. “How could she possibly be a threat to you?”

He didn’t let Regina respond. He had asked her a question that would haunt her waking hours. Whatever happiness she had accumulated with her curse had popped like a balloon the moment the Savior had entered Storybrooke. 

All he had to do was watch the show. 

On his way out of the garden, he took one bite out of the apple. Red through it was, the fruit was far from delicious. It was bland and bitter, just like her. Rumpelstiltskin tossed the apple over his shoulder and left the Queen to the destruction that had once been her sanctuary. 

****

Heading back to the house, Rumpelstiltskin’s mind went to another dark sorceress: Maleficent, the self-styled Mistress of All Evil. She had certainly been the mistress of Regina. Once Regina’s husband was dead and Snow White had fled for her life, Regina had taken Maleficent as her lover publicly. No one in the kingdom had dared speak a word against it. For a time, the two of them were inseparable, their mutual adoration a force that would move mountains. And they liked nothing more than to exercise their power on anyone who was weaker than they were.

They had done it to Belle. Rumpelstiltskin’s heart burned at the memory. Long before he married her, he had let them take her. When Belle had trusted him completely, he had been too much of a coward to defend her. Because he couldn’t have let the queens of darkness know that he had feelings for the pretty girl whose body he had bought and paid for. He couldn’t have exerted any force to protect her from them. He couldn’t have even said that she belonged to him and he didn’t want to share. That would have been a sign of weakness, tantamount to admitting that he loved her.

And he couldn’t have allowed them to know the truth. His reputation, his pride, could not endure it. At the time, he couldn’t even admit it to himself. 

Belle had come back to him naked and bleeding, with a testimony of the worst kinds of torture. Every wound on her body screamed out his guilt. Every word of what she told him as an indictment of his failure. For weeks after she had suffered nightmares and attacks of fear--things he only learned about later, because he hadn’t wanted to hear it, and Belle hadn’t wanted to tell him. The selfless girl had stifled her own trauma for the sake of his ego.

On Rumpelstiltskin’s mountain of regrets, refusing to protect Belle from Regina and Maleficent was a towering peak. 

Of course, Belle wasn’t the only one. Reports and rumors kept circulating about that kingdom, of the horrors inflicted on anyone who stood up to the Queen, or got in her way or even attracted her attention. Fair maidens with dark hair began to stay out in the sunshine to tan their skin and lighten their tresses. They wanted to bear no resemblance to the truest target of Regina’s rage, the girl who always evaded her grasp.

Eventually it had become too much, even for Maleficent. She had left, returning to her own castle. When Rumpelstiltskin had paid a visit to her, the witch had seemed more disappointed than heartbroken.

“It just got boring, Rumple. The same things to the same people, over and over! And Regina was never satisfied, not with me or anyone else. Evil is evil, but a person’s got to feel appreciated for the work she puts in!”

Maleficent would have taken Regina back, he knew. If there was even the slightest hint that things could change, that Regina was capable of growing up. Maleficent would have offered Regina a twisted version of happiness, if only Regina had really wanted to take it. 

Sometimes, late at night while Belle was sleeping safely beside him, Rumpelstiltskin liked to imagine the reconciliation between the two queens. It was an inevitable moment. One way or another, destiny would bring them back together, at least one more time.

Regina would come to Maleficent. Perhaps she would say she was sorry, that she wanted a new start. Perhaps she wouldn’t have to say anything. Maleficent’s eyes would glow with her green fire. And her smile would be of genuine joy. She would lower her defenses and welcome her lover with open arms.

Welcome Regina into her heart.

That image had comforted him through many nights when his mind was tormented by how the queens had tortured Belle. They would pay for all they had done to her. Even now, the thought filled him with vengeful contentment.

****

When he got back to the pink house in Old Town, Rumpelstiltskin found the place dark and quiet. The lights in the entryway were shut off, the candles in the dining room extinguished. The cold, fluorescent light in the kitchen was the only illumination on the first floor.

Plates and cookware were stacked on the counter by the sink. They were rinsed off, but not scrubbed. Gold didn’t trust his wife to wash his precious antiques. 

“Right,” Rumpelstiltskin said. 

In preparation to wash the dishes, he took off his suit coat and draped it over a kitchen chair. Then he removed the cuff links at his wrists and carefully folded up his sleeves. There were black rubber gloves inside the cupboard door underneath the sink. A green canvas apron hung from a hook by the stove. Gold was very fond of protection, of layers and separation. At last, there was something about him that Rumpelstiltskin could understand.

He took off Gold’s moonstone ring and put it in his trouser pockets with the cuff links. Now the only thing on his hands was his wedding ring, the golden band that had once been a shackle around Belle’s wrist.

Before he put on the rubber gloves, Rumpelstiltskin brought his knuckles up to his lips and kissed his ring. He had never removed it in the old world. It was as much a part of him as his own hand. He wouldn’t take it off here, either. The ring was proof that he was Belle’s husband. 

Belle’s husband, and Bae’s father. That was enough. When the world was right, that would be all he would need to be. 

Once the dishes were cleaned, dried, and put away, Rumpelstiltskin gathered his things and went upstairs. Mrs. Gold had said something about taking a bath. She was surely done by now. If he was lucky, she would already be asleep and he wouldn’t have to talk to her again.

It was the end of Rumpelstiltskin’s first full day in Storybrooke. He was already tired, already heartsick, already waiting for the Savior to do her job and free them all.     

The red lamp was burning in the parlor of the bedroom suite, just as it had been the night before. Mrs. Gold had turned it on to welcome her husband. The bedroom was dark, save for a beam of light that shone from the half-open bathroom door.

“Is that you, Mr. Gold?” Belle’s voice came from the bathroom, as well as the faint sound of sloshing water. The whole bedroom smelled like some kind of artificial perfume--the expensive bath oils that Mrs. Gold liked to buy.

“Do a lot of visitors come into this bedroom?” Rumpelstiltskin stayed on the other side of the door and began to undress. 

Mrs. Gold chuckled, the way Belle did when she was relaxed and comfortable. “I never know when you might send someone over to surprise me.”

He winced at that, at the casual way she suggested the possibility. Gold had never allowed another man or woman to touch his wife, but it always seemed to be on the horizon. That was the next barrier to cross, the next thrill for Gold to seek. He had prepared Mrs. Gold to expect it. At any moment, he might invite some stranger into their home--into their bed, into her body--and her task would be to be a welcoming hostess. 

Regina had made it that way. Everything about this marriage was her design, a reflection of what she had seen of him and Belle. It was possible that the torment was supposed to come from how much Gold and his wife both wanted to sleep with more people, but couldn’t find anyone in Storybrooke willing to indulge them.

“I’m almost done shaving,” Mrs. Gold called from the bathroom. “Then I think I could use some lotion. It’s getting colder now. I gotta keep soft and moisturized.”

She was inviting him to rub her down, to put his hands all over her silky skin and cover her body with a slick, sweet-smelling substance. They had done this so many times, in this world as well as the old one. He had made her soft and smooth and warm. He had found her wet and willing and open. His wife wanted him. She was offering herself to him. She loved him and he loved her and joining their bodies together was the most natural thing in any world…

“Fuck,” Rumpelstiltskin whispered as he pulled his pajama pants up over his hardening cock. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Then, more loudly, he said to Mrs. Gold, “Actually, I think I’m going to go to sleep. You take as much time as you need.”

For a moment, the silence from the other room threatened to swallow the whole of reality. 

“Oh,” she said at last. “O-okay, Mr. Gold. What--whatever you say.”

It hurt to hear the disappointment in her voice. But this was what he had to do. He couldn’t indulge in Mrs. Gold’s appetites--or his own. She wasn’t Belle. Doing anything more than sleeping next to her would be an unconscionable violation of Belle’s trust. 

And besides, that woman had no say over what she thought she wanted. Between the cursed personality Regina had devised and the cruel training Gold had inflicted, nothing inside of Mrs. Gold was real. She wasn’t a person, any more than Gold had been.

Rumpelstiltskin sighed, and got into bed. Maybe he could fall asleep before Mrs. Gold joined him. Or he could feign slumber until she went away to do something else. Would tomorrow be another day like this? And the day after that? Was he going to have to make excuses to this woman until the curse was broken? Coward that he was, he would run and hide from someone who thought she loved him.

He was still awake when Mrs. Gold came out of the bathroom. To her credit, she didn’t try to attract his attention. He had told her that nothing would happen tonight and she respected his decision--far more than Gold had ever respected any of hers. But she still strode across the bedroom to get to the armoire in the parlor. Gold had never made room in his closet for her clothes. 

The light from the bathroom illuminated her body. Her hair was wrapped up in the microfiber towel she had bought specifically for that purpose. Aside from that, she was completely naked. 

He should have looked away. He should have turned his face to the wall and closed his eyes until she put on a nightgown. But he hadn’t seen Belle in twenty-eight years. His wife, his beauty, his light in the darkness.

For a moment, he filled his eyes with her. Hiding in the darkness, he didn’t conceal his interest. He saw it all. Belle’s neck, her shoulders, her slim arms and round breasts. She was so pale and smooth, a statue carved from alabaster. The gentle slope of her belly and the soft curves of her waist and hips. Her long, lovely legs. And between her legs…

Rumpelstiltskin blinked. 

Bile rose in his throat.  

He clenched his jaw, and rolled over in bed. He couldn’t look at her for another second. 

Between her legs, Mrs. Gold was bare and hairless. Like a child. Gone were the wiry curls that used to hide Belle’s treasures. He used to enjoy running his fingers through them, to tease his wife before he began to play with her properly.

It was a style in this world, for a woman to shave or wax her pubic hair. Men thought any hair on a woman’s body was unfeminine or even unhygienic. Apparently Gold was one of those fools. 

But even worse for Rumpelstiltskin was the memory of when Belle came back from her time with the queens. She had been bare then as well. It had taken weeks for her hair to grow back. She said that Maleficent and Regina had shaved her with broken glass. That they had pulled out any stubble by the roots.

Belle had not described the pain, but he could imagine it.

He didn’t know if Mrs. Gold had put on a nightgown before she got into bed. She didn’t touch him or try to speak to him. She probably thought he was angry with her. And while Rumpelstiltskin did seethe with fury, Mrs. Gold had very little to do with it.

Regina. The name pounded through his mind, until the very instant he succumbed to sleep. Regina will pay for all of this. 

****

He is in a cell, in the deepest dungeons of Snow White’s castle. The cell is enchanted, so his magic is useless. It is a dripping cave, carved from solid rock. There are no other prisoners nearby. The guards are stationed at the other end of a long corridor. The only time he ever sees a living soul is when people come to him for help.

He is exactly where he wants to be. 

“I tried your curse,” the Evil Queen rants from the other side of the pointed bars. “It didn’t work!”

“Considering we’re all still here, I should think that’s rather obvious, dearie!”

The Queen snarls at him. Her dark jewels glint in the torchlight. “You know why it didn’t work.”

“Well, I can make an educated guess...”

“Then tell me!”

Leaning back against the rough stone wall, he chuckles at the Queen’s demands. 

“There’s a price to that, dearie.”

She sneers. “Name it.”

“When--” He stops. He makes a show of changing the word. “If you can cast this curse, you will be creating a whole new world. Everything will be as you want it to be, Your Majesty.”

“I know that!” she snaps. “That’s the whole point! This world is stacked against me. This curse is the only chance I have to get my revenge!”

“Yes.” He grins at the Queen, and runs his tongue over his teeth. “You will control everything. All of our fates will be in your regal hands.”

“So what do you want?”

“Oh nothing much,” he waves his hand. “Only what I already have.”

“It’s a world without magic.”

“But not a world without power, yes? Not a world without wealth, or a world without comfort? Not a world without any pleasures at all?”

“Tell me what you want, imp.”

“It truly is a simple request,” he lies. “What is mine, stays mine. Everything I had before I came to this…” He gestures to indicate his captivity. “So the power, the wealth--”

“The woman?” The Queen smirks. “Is that what this is? You want to make sure you keep your little plaything!” Now she laughs. “Are you sure you still want her? She is a little worse for wear.”

“You made sure of that, Your Majesty.” His voice is low, but she doesn’t hear the threat.

“I could make you a lothario instead. Give you a new girl every night? That would be a punishment for quite a lot of people.” 

He moves so fast she cannot see him until he climbs the bars and grabs her by the throat, pulling her toward him. He growls at the Queen. He almost roars: “I. Want. My. Wife!”

The Queen jerks from his clutches, stumbles backwards to get away from him. Quickly, she allows haughtiness to mask her fear. 

“Fine,” she says stiffly. “She will be your wife in the new world, though that will not save you from the curse. Neither of you will remember a second of this place.”

“That’s not as cruel a fate as you might think, dearie.”

“Nevertheless.” She acts like that’s the end of an argument she has won. “Now: how do I cast this curse?”

“You need a heart, dearie.”

“Yes, I know that!” she snaps. “The heart of the thing you love most. I killed my own father and it didn’t work!”

“Poor Prince Henry.” He shakes his head. “He died as he lived: being betrayed by women who never loved him enough.”

“I did love him!” The Queen seems on the verge of tears. “Daddy was the only person who stood by me through everything!”

“Oh!” He widens his eyes and purses his lip in a mockery of her sorrow. “While it is true that the love between father and child can destroy worlds, that doesn’t seem to be enough. The curse doesn’t demand the thing you love much. You must give up the thing you love most.”

“Snow White killed the only other thing I ever loved.”

“Oh, then you’re in trouble, aren’t you, dearie?”  He giggles. “You don’t understand what you’re trying to do!”

“I’m trying to get revenge!”

“You’re trying to make yourself happy!” He grabs the bars of his cage. “You said it yourself, there’s nothing for you in this world. You think you have no choice but to destroy everything here and start over. Do that, and you’ll lose things, dearie. What you love most is just the first step.”

“But I have nothing to love!”

“And nothing loves you? No one loves you, Your Majesty? No one in this world wants to make you happy? No one would embrace you, if only they thought you might embrace them back?”

She begins to speak, then stops. Her royal countenance freezes. He can see the thought blossom in her mind.

“There it is!” he cackles. “You know what you love, dearie. Now… Go kill her!” 

[404fmdhaon]

self para — first time meeting

summary: he meets yeseul inside a club, too young to know better. too innocent to see anything else. dated: 2008, mapo-gu. (yes i will never stop writing about this npc bc she is my favorite npc) warnings: none (ig alcohol tw? but none of the listed triggers on the trigger page!) wc: 1045

fifteen. 

and he’s lucky the contours of his face haven’t deepened since age eight. baby faced, it’s what the bouncer does in a double glance and narrowed eyes — a check back into the fake id. the bouncer flashes him a smile, a mutual agreement in the last week they’d down the shots sweet of soju. gyujeong dips his head, fingers run through his hair.

a call back over for his friends already behind the bar. they’ve got his favorites poured and ready — jagerbombs, loaded and he downs one quickly. and maybe it’s the warmth simmering underneath his skin and the thrums of the beat blasted through the speakers. he’s alive, more than he has been when he’s thrown out the repercussions of a staged life. a house sitting somewhere in yongsan gone and out of mind, and a heart that breathes the beginnings of right now.

he slips to the back, palms slapped against those of old faces and new. he laughs, a rattle of the typical “you looked so fucked up right now”, and then, he laughs again. 

yet, his eyes wander to a new face. coy smiles, a dimple pressed when her mouth breaches across her face shattering the illusion of beauty. her hair in coal black wave, one not meant for salons nor the press of some styling — it’s natural, just like her laughter.

“who invited this fucker.” it’s english, the way her voice tapers down into a husky laugh. there’s a glass weaved in her hand, filled with a sapphire-stained drink (he knows, it’s bombay. he learns, that’s her favorite when she’s on the hunt to kill).

gyujeong mirrors the contagion thats embeded in her laughter (she smirks right back — dead-on eye-contact lingering long), lets the facade of some sort of sanity keep his peace. tongue in cheek, he dips his head. “you’re a bitch — not even that pretty, you know that?” it’s a return in english when he reaches for her drink, lips pressed to the rim inside a smoldering smirk.

“you think i’m pretty.” her hands snatch it right back, yanking it out of his hand for only the remnants of droplets to flood onto a shirt worth more than the dj’s monthly pay.

he shakes his head, slowly then all at once. his eyes never move past the way she forebodes danger like he’s entrapped in a pre-destined fate upon first glance. “no.” 

tantalization at its finest — he moves, takes the vacant seat next to her. spine feigning a sort of relaxed the way he curves uneasy into the seat, and a gaze that pins her straight-on. she doesn’t fidget — instead, she laughs again (this becomes the soundtrack to his greatest downfall).

“you don’t fool me. not at all when you’re wearing hedi’s first season in dior homme.” 

he nods again — a match, he’s met. lost, felt himself reaping in the riptide of her destruction. “and you don’t fool me when you say hedi slimane, rich bitch.” 

what he assumes is a claw back in a cuff against his face, but when the same simpering curve of her ruby stained lips come across her face, he knows — he’s stepped foot into no man’s land, and now, there’s no way out. 

“lim yeseul, year 1994. rich bitch in hannam hiding away inside some club next to sangsu station — and let me guess, you’re 1994 same rich bitch in hannam hiding next to me?” she puts her hand out, and he sits there completely still. at loss, a mouth agape with uncertainty tainting the words he doesn’t know what to say. 

instead, he nods. once more, slipping back into the drink inside her other hand. it’s the first instance of skin on skin contact, and her skin’s soft. warmed from the rouge layer painted over her face, focused on her nose. “you’re underaged.” it’s a blurt, an aftermath slipping past with no hesitation (drunkenness is a curse, and she’s holding it down better than he knows he ever could).

“you don’t fool me.” she whispers, a repetition hitting like dejavu of minutes prior. “tell me your name, 1994 rich bitch from hannam.”

“haon.”

“i said, tell me your name.”

“chung gyujeong.” he recedes, downing the last droplets of her drink. his gaze wavers steady, picking apart the thick brows and the face wrapped in mystery. intoxicated, it’s her he’s drunk off of. 

“when’s your birthday?”

“april 22.”

“call me noona, i’m april 13.”

—

it’s five in the morning — the sun steadily coming up to the horizon. his vision blurred, yet it doesn’t take more than the same anchored laugh to paint each divot inside her features and the robustness of her voice to cover him whole in visions of her mangled hair and roguish grins when she’s quizzing him on the theories of kafka and the magnetic attraction of rosenberg (in hindsight, he knows nothing, mind blank when her fingertips graze the surface of his hand in an accidental mishap guised purposeful).

his feet teeter on the edge of the sidewalk, balancing back and forth with a cigarette tipped between his mouth — for a minute, he stares. tilts his head when he sees her head high up in the clouds, eyes closed (the first time he sees her as human).

teeth pressed onto his bottom lip, his heart beat drums woven into the what-ifs of throbbing insecurities. he takes a step closer.

“야 임예슬 (yah, lim yeseul).” he calls out, voice faltering at the push of the first step. “번호 좀 줘. (give me your number).”

her footsteps come in worn out converses stepped across the concrete, fingers in the air hailing for the next exhausted taxi driver. “같이 타자, 돈은 네가 내고, 아저씨 고생하니까 잔돈 까지 챙겨줘라." (let’s take this together, you pay. since the taxi ajusshi is working hard, don’t forget to tip). and she steps in, fingers laced around his wrist yanking him to follow. he complies, and he turns to her before the next words become muffled with a simple scrape across his lips — burning, scathing. all encompassing, electrifying. 

(he gets her number when they’re drunk in staggered steps inside the home of their neighborhood -- her arms out, his trailing behind.)

[tmarie82]

A Necessary Arrangement (Part Eight)

A Desire and Decorum AU

Pairing: Ernest Sinclaire x MC (Ella Mills)

Book: Desire and Decorum (AU= Alternate Universe)

Word Count: ~3,050

Rating:  PG-13

Author’s Note:  It’s time!  This is the final chapter in this little AU series!  Thank you to everyone who has kept up with Ernest and Ella’s journey together.  I hope you enjoy the conclusion!

Please let me know if you would like to be added to my tag list.  You can find all of my fics in my Masterlist on my homepage.

~~~~~~~~~~

“You look so serious, Mr. Sinclaire.”  Ella smirked playfully over her cards, observing as her husband’s eyes flitted over his own.  His brows furrowed and his lips were pursed as he studied his hand for his next move, creating what Ella deemed as the most adorable pensive expression.  Of course, these days she had come to find that most of his facial expressions possessed at least some level of adorableness in her eyes.

Ernest’s lips tugged at one corner, although he never allowed his gaze to leave his cards.  “My next play may be the difference between victory or defeat.  You have become remarkably talented at this game recently, my lady.”  

Ella chuckled softly, a proud smile spread across her face.  “This is true, husband … but only because we have been playing so frequently.”  She could not decide which aspect made her prouder … the fact that she had become quite the skilled card player or that her skill had been acquired over the countless hours she had spent alone with her husband.

As odd as it would seem to an outsider, courting her own husband had been the most enjoyable (and daresay, romantic) experience of her life thus far.  Now that their mutual feelings had been established, the pair felt a new sense of comfort and affection during their frequent interactions.  Not to mention, Ella had become bolder and more generous with her affections as time had progressed.

Days had turned to weeks, the couple finding that time really does go by so much quicker when you are with someone you … care deeply about.  As the weather turned colder, the two had found their trips outside becoming less frequent, providing ample time to spend together in the warmth of their own home.  Ernest had taught Ella his few parlor tricks, more specifically his favorite card games, a move that had backfired as his wife became increasingly capable of beating him at his own games.  Many a lazy day were spent curled up by the fire reading together, Ella’s head resting upon Ernest’s lap or upon his firm shoulder.  The duo would sup together, often retiring to their parlor afterwards with a glass of brandy each to converse into the late hours.  It was these late nights that Ella loved most, the uninhibited dialogues with her husband as they discussed anything and everything.  

Today Ella was making her best attempt to distract Ernest, playing his favorite game and flirting with him to keep his mind of the impending afternoon.  Over the course of the weeks, the pair had met with Ernest’s lawyer twice to strategize their next play in the dispute over Ledford Park and discuss the arrangements for Ella’s stepmother and brother.  Little progress had been made thus far, however the news of Felicity giving birth to a healthy baby boy last week had cast a dark shadow over the situation.  Despite her reassurances, Ella could see the worry in Ernest’s downcast eyes every time the case was mentioned.  Yesterday a letter had arrived from their lawyer stating that there was new evidence on the matter and inviting them to visit the law office this afternoon, and Ella knew immediately it would be her job over the next day to keep Ernest’s mind occupied with more pleasant matters.  

After what seemed like an eternity, Ernest finally glanced up from his cards with one eyebrow arched speculatively and placed a single card down for his next play.  He smirked, a confident gleam in his eyes as he stared her down defiantly.  “Your turn.”

Casting her gaze to her cards, Ella’s eyes narrowed and she bit her lip as she ran over her options in her mind.  Ernest watched her intently, an amused smile on his lips as he admired her competitive focus.  Finally she gave a loud sigh, shrugging her shoulders before timidly retrieving one card and setting it atop the stack.  “Well, I am sorry, husband …” she flicked her eyes upwards to meet his, a wicked smile forming on her lips, “but I seem to have won again.”

Ernest tossed his cards down with a scoff and rubbed his hand over his forehead in frustration.  A few seconds later Ella heard the rumble of a laugh, noticing his chest vibrating at the noise and his lips turn up in a grin.  When he finally dropped his hand to his lap and slumped back in his chair defeatedly, he raised his gaze to hers again, his eyes dancing playfully as he spoke.  “I have officially decided that I shall never teach anything again, for it is turning out to be quite destructive to my ego.”  He said with a low chuckle.

Ella laughed, leaning forward to stack the cards back neatly.  As she tied the deck in a tidy ribbon, she glanced up to find him watching her thoughtfully.  She arched a brow, giving him a spirited look.  “Alas husband, you are mistaken … for you have already promised to teach me skittles once we return to the country in the spring.”  Her remark elicited a a cheeky grin from Ernest, who shook his head amusedly.  “But do not fret, dear husband … for this time I promise I shall go easy on you.”  She gave him a sly wink, and Ernest could not fight the bout of laughter that spilled from his mouth.

~~~

The couple was escorted into the office of Mr. Simon Williams by his assistant and asked to make themselves comfortable as they waited for the lawyer.  They both nestled into the inviting leather wingback chairs, but Ernest could not seem to settle himself as he continued to wring his hands together fretfully as he leaned forward over his knees.  Ella had said little of the meeting on their way over in the carriage, still attempting to distract him and his worrisome mind, but now that they were here she knew there was little she could say to alleviate his concerns.  All she could do was support him, which she did by grasping one of his hands in her own and bring it to her lips for a comforting kiss.  Ernest seemed to come back to reality for a moment at her action, giving her a thankful smile and releasing a short gust of breath before settling back into the chair.

Luckily the pair did not have to wait long as Mr. Williams came bustling in within just a few minutes, a portfolio of papers pressed tightly with one arm against his rotund belly.  He grumbled a curt greeting to Ernest and his young wife with a nod as he settled into his chair behind the desk.  Ella held Ernest’s hand tighter, although it did not go unnoticed that his free hand was gripping the arm of his chair so tightly that his knuckles had turned white.

Mr. Williams finally glanced up, leaning forward over his desk and clasping his hands together before speaking.  “Well, Mr. and Mrs. Sinclaire … thank you so much for braving this horrid weather today to come meet with me.  I believe that news of this magnitude is best to deliver in person.”  Ella felt Ernest’s hold of her hand tighten slightly, and gave him a reassuring squeeze in return.  “I received correspondence two days ago from Duke Richards’s lawyer … including evidence that Ledford Park has indeed been left to both your grandfather and his sister back in 1781.  There was also records from a similar case of familial inheritance from eight years ago that documents a division of assets upon the court ruling.”  Ernest retrieved his hand from Ella’s and dropped his head, holding his head in both hands and running his fingers through his hair in dismay.

Mr. Williams paused upon noticing Ernest’s reaction, a look of understanding behind his aging gaze.  “I cannot imagine how disappointing this news is to hear, Ernest … but I think if you’ll hear the rest of what I have to say your mood will be greatly improved.”

Ernest’s face lifted swiftly with a quiet gasp, his hopeful stare meeting the lawyer’s earnestly.  Ella slid her hand to grip his shoulder as they both waited impatiently for the older gentleman to continue.

“Now, these case records were very disheartening to say the least, and upon reviewing them I had little hope for your dispute.”  Mr. Williams cocked his brow with a sly smirk at them, then proceeded to dig through the stack of papers before him.  Finally he extracted a single document, a handwritten letter, and handed it over to the couple.  “This arrived later on that same day from your cousin, Felicity.”

Ernest gaze twisted in a puzzled expression as he tentatively grasped the letter, holding it between him and Ella so that they could read together.  His eyes flitted over Felicity’s words as he read in silence, Ella reciting the words aloud along with him.  

“To my cousin Ernest Sinclaire and his wife Ella,

As I am certain that you will both begin reading this letter with doubts of my intentions, I have chosen to enlist the support of your lawyer in this matter to ensure that there is no chance for any dispute in the future.  

I have felt great shame and embarrassment of my behavior since the evening of your dinner party last month, in addition to my complacency in my husband’s obsession over my claim to Ledford Park.  I offer my sincerest apologies for the hurtful words I spoke of you.  I have no excuse for my behavior except perhaps that I was jealous to witness the happiness of your marriage firsthand.  Although I have tried to make the best of my union with Tristan, I have come to learn that he is only driven by his power and greed and has no care for the well-being of myself or our son outside of how we may benefit him.

In regards to my son, little Frederick immediately captured my heart the moment he arrived in this world.  I want to be my best self for him, to show him how to be an honorable man as he grows.  It is this desire that has brought me to the decision to forfeit my claim to Ledford Park.  I have no emotional ties to the estate and no need for the additional wealth as my husband would desire.  Ledford Park belongs in the hands of you two, who will cherish it and care for it to pass along to your own children.

I hope you can forgive me for my despicable behavior and understand why I did not attempt to make this proclamation in person.  It is my greatest wish that we shall reunite as a family as our grandparents were and that my son shall grow up knowing you in his life.

Your devoted cousin,

Lady Felicity Richards”

Ernest set the letter down on his lap and sank back in his chair, his mouth ajar in surprise despite his inability to speak.  “Ernest?”  Ella asked softly, placing her hand over his.  “Are you not happy with this most wonderful news?”

“I- I- “ he stuttered, his mind still racing at the contents of correspondence.  “I … am astonished, to be honest.”  He lifted his hand, pinching his chin between his index finger and thumb with a blank expression.  Suddenly he released a soft guffaw, a satisfied smirk spread across his mouth.  “I just can’t believe it to be true.” He lifted his gaze to meet Ella’s beside him, relishing in the glow of her wide smile, reaching to grasp her hand and bringing it to kiss her palm.  Ella beamed as she observed the lightheartedness behind his stare, the weight and the worry of their predicament … suddenly gone.

“Well, I see you two have much to be thankful for this holiday season!  I could not have asked for a better turn out on the matter.” Mr. Williams clapped his hands together with a self-satisfied air.  As he glanced between the two, his brow furrowed as he remembered something and began digging through his papers again.  “Ah, but while I have you here … Mrs. Sinclaire, have you given any more thought to the matter of Countess Henrietta’s future?”

Ella’s smile dropped upon mention of her stepmother, her mind immediately drawn back to the reality of her own unfinished business.  “Umm, I …” She stammered a bit, then cleared her throat and sat tall in her chair to face the lawyer.  “I have decided that she may stay at Edgewater.  With conditions, of course.”  Mr. Williams nodded, an almost proud look in his eyes as he started scribbling notes.  “She will have a modest allowance, and she must continue to run the household when I am away.  But for the most part, Mr. Sinclaire and I shall divide our time between the London house and Ledford Park, so she will retain her independence at Edgewater.”

Mr. Williams finished his scripting, lifting his head to glance between the pair before him.  “This seems very generous, Lady Sinclaire. I shall deliver your decision-“

“Actually, I shall deliver it myself …” Ella interrupted.  “It is my estate, and it is my decision.  I will visit Henrietta once the weather is warm enough and tell her myself.” She sat upright, her stare firm, although she did notice the twinge of a pleased smile upon Ernest’s lips from the corner of her eye.

Simon Williams just nodded, a faint smile upon his face.  “Very well.  I think that is a reasonable request.”  He looked to his desk and began stacking the papers together.  “Now, unless you have any other business, I believe you two have some celebrating to do.”  He glanced over to Ernest with a gleam in his eye.

Ernest stood up and leaned forward to shake the man’s hand.  “Thank you so much, Mr. Williams … I do believe we do.”

~~~

After dinner that evening, the couple retired to the parlor with two glasses of brandy as was customary.  Ella sipped the fiery liquid, already feeling a bit flushed after the glass of celebratory wine from dinner.  She watched as Ernest paced around the room, as if his body and his mind could not still themselves after the excitement of the day.  

“Ernest, will you not come sit down already?  You are making me nervous with all that pacing.”  She gave him a playful smirk when he met her eye, and he immediately complied to come sit beside her on the settee.

“I’m sorry, Ella, I just … just can’t believe it is true.”  He shook his head as if trying to awaken himself from a dream, but realizing he was already awake he cast his stare upon her.  “Are you happy, my dear?”

“I am most decidedly elated, Mr. Sinclaire.”  She raised her hand to stroke her thumb across his cheek, her eyes darkening with affection in the dim light.  “To think of how far we’ve come in just the four months since our wedding … it is astonishing.”  

Ernest’s face turned stern, a hint of fear dancing behind his sapphire eyes.  “Yes, yes I suppose we have.  First the matter of Ledford Park, and then the situation for your inheritance of Edgewater …” his voice trailed off, unsure and unsettled.

Ella grasped his face in her hands, cupping both cheeks in her palms as she pulled him to press his lips against her own.  It was not a timid kiss like she usually initiated, with the shyness of a girl being courted by her beau.  This was a fierce kiss, the hard and unrelenting kiss of a wife giving herself completely to her husband.  She finally pulled away, savoring the breathy gasps escaping Ernest’s lips. “I did not mean that our inheritances are finally in order, Ernest… although that is a relief.  I meant us.”  She paused, her eyes peering into his with such emotion that she feared she may burst. “I meant we have come a long way.  And now, despite my initial wishes to despise you, I find myself hopelessly in love with you, Husband.”

Ernest chuckled, his gaze filled with joy and amazement as he studied her features up close.  “That is the best news I have heard all day, my Ella.  For despite my best attempts to shut you out, it appears that I too have fallen completely in love with my wife.”

Ella’s eyes brimmed with tears that threatened to fall but would never have the chance as she pressed her lips to his again.  She gripped his sandy curls within her fingers, tugging him tightly against her as if she would never let him go.  Ernest’s hands trailed up the sides of her bodice as he pulled her against his chest, finally giving into his hunger to feel her body against his own.  

“Ernest-“ She murmured against his lips between raspy breaths, “Take me to bed, Ernest.”  

Ernest moaned at her request, a carnal hunger stirring within him that had so long been suppressed.  He pulled away breathless, pausing himself to ensure he was not imagining his innermost desires.  His eyes pierced into hers, seeking her permission.  “Ella, I do not wish to rush you-“

Ella grasped his face again, smashing her lips into his. “Ernest, enough talking.  Take me to bed.”  She ran her palms over his shoulders and down his back, urging him to give in.

Ernest separated from her kiss long enough to jump to his feet, yanking her by the hand to standing before lifting her into his arms.  He peered down into her begging gaze, begging to be his finally … and at last he felt a comforting fullness in his heart.  He bent down to place a gentle kiss to her lips, a genuinely happy smile upon his lips.  “Yes, Mrs. Sinclaire.” He whispered softly before carrying her up the stairs to their marriage bed.

END

~~~~~~~~~~

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[stereklibrary]

Hiya, I was wondering if you had any high school sterek?x

YES! I love a good High School AU (and to be honest, I had a hard time choosing) - here are some of my favourites

I also have a High School AU tag

Have fun reading! 

#librarynerd by yodasyoyo (1/1 | 7,742 | T)

“I’ll likely get far more done in the group if I’m not distracted watching you with your pen—”

“My—My pen?”

“Pens. Drinking straws. Don’t act like you don’t know,” Derek says darkly. “You know.”

In which Stiles follows Scott into his Spanish study group, takes one look at the hot nerd who runs it and then decides to stay… even though he doesn’t actually speak Spanish.

the nerd party by bibliosexual (3/3 | 6,827 | T)

Until this moment, Stiles wasn’t even sure Derek could read, and now he’s trying to steal Stiles’ obscure eight-hundred-page fantasy novel. What.

Option C) Some Bad Guys are Werewolves, but Not All Werewolves are Bad Guys by calrissian18 (1/1 | 9,039 | T)

Derek Hale—the Incredible Meat that Thinks—needs a math tutor. Stiles Stilinski needs something that will look better on his college applications than ‘passable D&D Dungeon Master.’

It’s a match made in heaven. Er, right?

Strut on a Line, its Discord and Rhyme by xiaq (21/21 | 61,818 | T)

“Carry me,” Stiles says.

“No.”

“But I’m injured.”

“You have a rash,” Derek says. “On your arm. Your feet work just fine.”

“Please?”

“No. You weigh almost as much as I do. And you ate a pound of chicken at lunch.”

“Well, yeah, but I pooped like an hour ago, so.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Don’t play, you love me.”

I do, Derek thinks, relatively horrified. I really do.

And Then There Is No Mystery Left (Baby, I’m Sweet On You) by Swing Set in December (1/1 | 1,104 | T)

Stiles has no idea why Derek is sitting at his lunch table.

you love the hate that we share by bibliosexual (1/1 | 5,745 | T)

Maybe it’s petty — okay, it most definitely is — but it just irritates Stiles that the universe makes people like Derek Hale. He’s practically superhuman at lacrosse; he’s been blessed by the puberty gods with stubble and muscles on top of muscles and not a pimple in sight; he spouts off effortless monologues in Spanish class while Stiles is still struggling to remember how to say “Can you repeat that?”; he could probably make a killing as a male model; and when he asked Lydia to study with him, she said yes. Like, seriously, what the fuck.

Easy Alpha by interropunct (1/1 | 4,602 | T)

Easy A/Teen Wolf AU. Wherein, Derek Hale is the high school hussy, Jackson and Scott really need to learn to use their inside voices. And, contrary to popular belief, everyone is still a virgin.

I stopped believing in happy endings by otatop (2/2 | 8,531 | NR)

Derek was prepared to have his heart broken for just one evening with Stiles. He knew what he was getting himself into

(He had no idea what he was getting himself into)

(I Hate to Be) The One to Ruin the Night by wishingonalightningbolt (2/2 | 14,550 | E)

High school senior Derek Hale only has one goal for the rest of his time left at BHHS: avoid Stiles Stilinski. He’s wreaked enough havoc as it is, having spent all summer breaking Derek’s heart. Everything would be better for both of them if they just never saw each other again.

Derek doesn’t plan on ever getting mixed up with Scott McCall and his little gang of idiot friends. In fact, if he knew to avoid it, he would, but he guesses he just isn’t smart enough. Unfortunate, considering the consequences.

The Socioeconomic Repercussions of Mutually Assured Destruction by alocalband (1/1 | 15,285 | E)

“The trouble with having the kind of brain that likes to write essays on male circumcision for an Economics class, is that it also likes to turn PowerPoint presentations for Biology into odes on the perfection of notorious bad boy Derek Hale’s backside.”

When You’re Close I Feel the Sparks by Leslie_Knope (4/4 | 15,285 | M)

The guy is hot as hell, sure—leather jacket and glasses, Jesus, be still Stiles’ poor, bisexual, beating heart—but more importantly, it must really suck being new on the first day of senior year.

“We’re adopting him,” he decides, tugging Scott and Kira by the elbow in that direction. “Let’s go.”

Someone Please Murder Dr. Wyne by NotRoyalty (2/2 | 2,873 | NR)

Stiles starts asking questions in the margins of his chemistry textbook because that thing couldn’t be more confusing, and then someone starts leaving answers.

Talk Geeky to Me by stilesanderek (1/1 | 19,874 | E)

Derek and Stiles are the most typical combo of nerd plus geek two teenage boys could be; and as stereotypical as they could ever get, they’re each other’s only friend. That usually doesn’t bother Stiles much, Derek is the best best friend he could ever hope to have, but sometimes when he thinks about his fate of possibly not having his first kiss until college, he starts wishing he had a few more friends–or at least more people who were a bit more interested in him other than when they need to copy his notes.

In a fit of curiosity about how kissing feels like, Stiles proposes Derek that they each be the other’s first kiss–strictly platonic, of course. But afterwards, Stiles can’t stop noticing how hot Derek is, can’t stop thinking about kissing and touching him.

OR

The five times Derek and Stiles “fake” kiss and one time they take things further.

Binomial Coefficients by DevilDoll (1/1 | 20,783 | T)

In which brainy freshman Stiles Stilinski wants star quarterback Derek Hale to join the math team, AKA math nerds in love.

the lunch table configuration by thepsychicclam (1/1 | 16,677 | E)

When Isaac makes Derek switch lunch tables, the last thing Derek expected was to fall for Stiles.

The Sound of My Heart by orphan_account (4/4 | 8,654 | T)

Stiles is bored.

It always happens this time of year. It’s the middle of August, summer is winding to a close, and he’s run out of things to distract him. He’s marathoned Buffy four times and as much as he loves it, Spike is starting to be a little less charming and a little more irritating. It’s also not helping that Scott barely has enough time to separate his lips from Allison’s to tell him he can’t hang out.

Scott is officially the worst best friend ever.

In which Stiles meets Derek at the police station

A Thousand Fiery Suns of Angst - Just Press Play by apocryphal (1/1 | 20,934 | T)

All Stiles wants from life is to learn to control his magic, keep his grades up, and not die horribly while saving Beacon Hills from supernatural threats. It’s all going pretty well until Derek Hale, werewolf extraordinaire, has to go and ask him on a date. That asshole.

Just the Same by ericaismeg (7/7 | 68,066 | G)

Something is seriously up with the captain of the lacrosse team. There’s just no way Derek Hale is human.“I was wondering if you’re even human. You move so quickly. I mean, it’s ridiculously fast. No human should be able to move that fast, y'know? It’s unfair for us. I mean, it’s obvious you work out, and I don’t, so that could be why, but like…I was just wondering if you were human, that’s all.”

“Stop talking, Stilinski, or I'll—”

“Put me on the bench all season?” Stiles asks knowing full well that Derek Hale can’t threaten him with shit.

loving him is red by allhalethekings (1/1 | 14,915 | M)

“Who’s that?” Stiles asks, eyes not leaving the table.

“Who?” Scott asks, following Stiles’s line of sight. “Him? That’s Derek Hale. And you better forget about him. He doesn’t date.“

Practice Makes Perfect by blacktofade (1/1 | 21,061 | E)

In his sophomore year, Stiles gets dragged to lacrosse tryouts by Scott and ends up practising alongside the senior captain, Derek Hale. Stiles just wants to live long enough to become a junior.

[rerumtechnologies]

With foot and paw planted in the human and animal worlds, were- creatures mix techniques from both cultures to secure relationships. This can lead to lifelong happiness or a very confused potential mate.

From were-weasels to werewolves, weres are territorial creatures. Once a pack has established a home, they will not leave that location for generations, until the local food sources have been depleted or they're burnt out by angry farmers.

Because of their natural animalistic leanings, were-creatures are more connected to their sexual instincts than the average human. Because premarital relations are frowned upon in the were community, were honeymoons generally last three or four times as long as human honeymoons.

Because of the lifelong mating urge, werewolves do not adjust well to being widowed. In some cases, a surviving mate will die of mourning pains.

Hostility toward human males marrying into were clans is to be expected and taken seriously. Potential sons-in-law may want to carry wolfsbane or silver items in their pockets. Weres find both substances to be extremely irritating.

Werewolf fathers insist on preapproving proposals of marriage. In fact, it's rumored that the human tradition of "asking for a woman's hand" came from a human who failed to ask for betrothal permission and actually lost his hand.

Humans may mistake the wooing techniques of werewolves, particularly males, as predatory. Studies show that 10 percent of human-werewolf relationships begin with the male being maced.

Werewolves look for three key components in a mate: ability to hunt, viable genes, and a sense of humor.

Werewolves are also territorial about holiday time. It would be unwise for a human to underestimate her werewolf mother-in-law's desire to see her son on Thanksgiving and Christmas Day.

Adult werewolf children are expected to stay within the confines of pack territory. Those who move more than a five-minute run from pack headquarters are either disowned or hosts to frequent weekend guests.

Over the past 100 years, female weres have embraced certain human mating rituals. Werewolf males who neglect to present their mates with meat or floral offerings on a birthday or anniversary can expect to sleep in an actual doghouse.

Bachelorette parties are less about celebrating the bride's acquisition of a husband and more about making the female relatives feel vindication after the wedding planning process.

Humans who prove unfaithful to their were-spouses are rarely heard from again.

Any male who marries more than two mates is ostracized from the pack. Most females would consider him a jinx at that point, anyway.

Offspring are considered the purpose of marriage, so newlywed weres should expect heavy pressure for babies early on. Many couples receive layette sets as wedding gifts.

Werewolves express many emotions through physical contact--joy, rage, a need for comfort. Prepare to be hugged, snuffled, snuggled, or possibly licked.

When an undesirable suitor is unwilling to accept a werewolf female's refusal, her family is likely to step in to help communicate her feelings more clearly. It can take said suitor six to eight weeks to heal up from the clan's communication skills.

There is no information available on the inner workings of a were bachelor fete. It is assumed that the theory of mutually assured destruction prevents discussion by the participants.

While were clans place special emphasis on male leadership, it's important to remember to show proper respect to the packs' older women. They don't lose their teeth until well into their 90s.

Like all couples, were couples will argue. Unfortunately for the males, female weres are much better at holding out for an apology, which leads to groveling.

One who objects at a werewolf wedding risks serious injuries.

A traditional werewolf wedding reception does not include a receiving line. They are unnecessary as 90 percent of the guest list consists of the happy couple's immediate family members.

- Mating Rituals and Love Customs of the Were

[cubanitasimmer]

colors of life challenge

Here’s my legacy challenge that I’ve been working on for some time now! Each generation is given a color, and that specific color’s psychological meaning is meant to describe that specific heir’s story. 

EXPANSION/GAME PACK REQUIREMENTS:

Sims 4 base game (obviously)

Sims 4: City Living

Sims 4: Parenthood

Sims 4: Cats & Dogs

Sims 4: Get To Work

Sims 4: Get Together

BASIC RULES:

No cheats allowed whatsoever, but please enable testingcheats and enter “money 0″ so that your sim will start completely broke.

You must start with a single sim. Do not create a spouse, children, etc. You may have a pet.

Each target sim (heir) must wear clothing that corresponds with the color of their generation. Hair and eye color may be normal.

Lifespan must be set to normal. Ages cannot be adjusted using any cheats, potions, rewards, etc.

You can begin playing generation two when the first generation’s heir has completed all their tasks, and so forth. Don’t start the next gen’s tasks until all previous tasks have been completed.

You win when you complete each of the generations’ tasks. You lose if any heir dies before their tasks get completed.

Generation One: BLUE (loyalty, faith, devotion and wisdom)

You were an orphan, the backstory of your parents unknown. Growing up, you lived in several different homes, but always ended up right back at the orphanage for some reason. You never had your forever family. Once you became a young adult, you were released from the system. With the funds you were given, you were able to get your own place, and decided that you would start a family of your own. You don't know how you'll stick to your goals, as your constant moving has resulted in issues of commitment. But one way or another, you're going going to have a family to love, and you're going to give them everything you never had. traits: noncommittal, ambitious, insane

reach top of one of the following career paths: Interstellar smuggler (Astronaut) OR triple agent (Secret Agent)

have THREE babies with three different sims without dating, marrying or moving in with any of them (may date and marry after having all 3 kids but cannot be with any of the children's parents)

max friendships with each child

complete the following family aspiration: Big Happy Family (up to Loving Guardian milestone)

reach level 10 of the parenting skill

purchase home that allows each child to have their own room

create a playroom and purchase every single toddler/child toy to fill it 

Generation Two: PURPLE (royalty, power and wealth)

You grew up completely spoiled by your parent. You were given everything that you wanted, always had the best of the best, were never told no, and rarely got disciplined for any bratty behavior. Your childhood was stellar, although as a young adult, its downsides have come to light. You've become accustomed to a lifestyle of riches and luxuries, and have a tendency of using material things to fill the void of your absent parent.

traits: materialistic, snob, lazy OR materialistic, snob, hot-headed (special rule for this specific sim: CANNOT have a job. if other sims live in the household, they may work and this sim may “mooch” off of that sim’s income, but they cannot have an official job, ever. to earn money, they must do so by other means, such as selling personal possessions)

become enemies with absent parent

marry & move in with a rich sim

become enemies with spouse and later divorce/kick out

reach level 10 of the charisma skill

form and maintain 5 "good" friendships with wealthy sims (spouse not included)

only have ONE baby and maintain a "distant" relationship (acquaintances)

have ongoing affair without getting caught (optional, bonus: invite this sim to move in once impending divorce is finalized)

complete the fortune aspiration: Mansion Baron (optional) 

Generation Three: BLACK (trouble, sin, fear and evil)

You didn't have much guidance growing up. Instead, you just had a parent who cared too much about material things, and very little about you. As a result, you did whatever you wanted, and often found yourself getting into lots of trouble. You've become a self-destructive sim, with a tendency of sabotaging everything for yourself. Your life is, sadly, a crisis.

traits: mean, kleptomaniac, unflirty

reach level 3 of two different careers, then reach top of the criminal career (boss path)

have 10 enemies, 2 must be their parents (bonus: try to make some of them so angry, they die)

befriend the grim reaper

marry and divorce two different sims, then re-marry first spouse

complete the following deviance aspiration: Chief of Mischief

completely change appearance/style every time they age up (optional)

Generation Four: GRAY (conservative, boring, drab)

Because your parent was a criminal, you had a reputation from the very beginning. You were ostracized as a child; many parents didn't allow you to interact with their children, in fear of having them be negatively influenced. As a result, you were quite lonely growing up. All of your relationships consisted of family and animals. You spent most of your free time playing video games or reading science-fiction books. You’ve never known anything else.

traits (choose 3 of the following): loner, dog lover, cat lover, geek, bookworm

(special rule for this specific sim: can’t have human friends outside of family)

complete the following animal aspiration: Friend of the Animals

reach at least level 8 of writing skill & publish a sci-fi book

reach level 10 of the logic and video gaming skill

become best friends with previous target sim (parent from gen 3) & good friends with at least 3 other family members (siblings, grandparents, cousins, aunts or uncles, etc)

complete one of the following collections (for decor): insects, fish, frogs

open a vet clinic and attain a 5 star rating (optional) 

Generation Five: YELLOW (happiness, warmth, optimism)

You're the complete opposite of your parent. Rather than a dull lifestyle that only consists of family members and animals, or video games and books, you've always had a personality destined for much more than that. You love socializing, attending social events, and forming friendships with unexpected people. You radiate happiness at every given moment and truly believe that life is something special.

traits: outgoing, cheerful, dance machine

(special rules for this specific sim: cannot decline invites to social events OR invites to hang out, cannot reject any calls, cannot have any enemies)

complete the popularity aspiration (Party Animal)

reach level 10 of the charisma, comedy and dance skill

form and maintain 15 friendships at the "good friends" level

live in at least four different worlds

know all three traits of each sim living in a neighboring household

test the waters and have at least three different significant others

Generation Six: WHITE (purity, innocence, goodness and integrity)

Having a popular parent meant you were always surrounded and meeting new people growing up. Through the years, you've heard lots of stories— some sad, some inspiring, some touching. As a result,  you became involved in activism for economic, social, and environmental justice issues. You're a good person, and you want to do good things during your time in the world.

traits: good, perfectionist, outgoing

(special rules for this specific sim: must live in san myshuno, must adopt actual children and NOT babies or toddlers although you’re welcome to have your sim try for babies as normal in addition to any adoptions)

reach top of the politician career (charity organizer branch)

marry the very first sim you develop a romantic relationship with

adopt two children OR adopt one child + one animal

raise one child to be responsible and one child to have good manners

protest a cause at least once a week until all other tasks are completed

donate to charity twice a week (no less than 100 simoleons per donation) until all other tasks are completed

Generation Seven: GREEN (comfort, laziness and relaxation)

Your parent was quite busy growing up. They didn't neglect you, but you saw for yourself how their lifestyle was so hectic, consisting of constant work and schedules and events— things you really didn't care for. Turns out, you’re the complete opposite of your parent. You love being in your house, you love a long nap, and all in all, you really enjoy lounging around and doing nothing. Your family worries about how you'll be able to sustain yourself, but you’re not worried at all. You know there are plenty of people like you. In fact, you're hoping you'll find one to be your happily ever after.

traits: lazy, glutton, music lover

(special rules for this specific sim: reject every invitation to social events, may only visit up to two community lots PER WEEK)

reach level 3 of six different careers

reach level 10 of one of the following instrumental skills: violin, piano, guitar

complete the "soulmate" love aspiration (bonus if spouse shares at least one mutual trait)

try at least 13 different dishes from food stalls in san myshuno

reach level 10 of the wellness skill (optional, requires spa day)

purchase the "professional slacker" and "independent" reward traits with satisfaction points

Generation Eight: ORANGE (creativity, success, enthusiasm)

Though you deny it, you have some similarities when it comes to your beloved parent. You're too lazy for household chores (hence the slob trait), and moreso, you absolutely love food. Cooking, eating, the mere smell of a cooking dish— you thrive off of it. But there is one particular difference between the two of you. They never knew what they wanted to do with their life. Being so lazy, they had no real passion and worked job after job in search of a good check. But you? You're not like that. You've got dreams, you've got passion. So, you've decided that you're going to thrust yourself into the world of culinary arts.

traits: foodie, slob, creative

learn all 27 foodstall recipes released with the city living expansion pack

reach level 10 of the cooking, baking, gardening and fishing skill

complete the master chef food aspiration

reach top of culinary career (chef branch)

have first baby AFTER reaching top of career & maxing at least 2 skills

Generation Nine: RED (energy, passion, desire, ambition)

You're raised by a career-driven parent who lives, breathes and sweats success. You're taught to do the same, so once you're of age, you plan to follow exactly in your parent's footsteps. You're going to be successful, perhaps even more well-rounded than anyone else in your family, and you're going to pass that dream on to any future offspring. You want success to be your family’s tradition.

traits: ambitious, perfectionist, self-assured

complete the "successful lineage" family aspiration (up to Trusted Mentor)

reach the top of an active career (detective, doctor, or scientist)

marry a sim with no mutual traits & decrease friendship level to "friends" after marriage

reach level 10 of at least five different skills

try for baby until you have twins (may use satisfaction points to purchase fertile reward but no cheats)

Generation 10: RAINBOW (playfulness, joy, energy)

Your parent may have been taught the importance of success, but all you were taught is that work comes before anything else, especially marriage. You don't like that, you don’t agree at all. You hate the idea of slaving away to a job, and you especially hate the idea of trapping yourself in an almost-loveless marriage. Rather than live like your parent or grandparent, you're going to do things completely different. Your life is all about fun and playing the field.

traits: childish, clumsy, noncommittal

complete the "serial romantic" love aspiration

reach level two of every single career offered in your game

win the ultimate gaming contest at the geekcon festival

visit the following secret lots: forgotten grotto (oasis springs) & sixam

complete the postcards collection (using penpals)

reach level 10 of the DJ mixing and mixology skill

become the leader of a pre-existing club

become friends with at least one sim from every single household in every available world

So, there it is! I’m still testing and will update or adjust as needed, but I doubt I’ll need to make any changes. Happy simming, everyone! If anyone decides to participate, please tag with ‘ts4 colors of life’ or post in the Sims 4 forum and tag me (@amandaneun), as I’d love to see! ♡

[iv-kplpt]

it feels like we’re pulling teeth [grandmaster au]

~21k words (yes i do realize). rated m.  charlie and oswald are two streamers. they don’t exactly like each other. they are both going pro. they are going pro on the same team. whoops?

some notes before we begin: - this was supposed to be short and silly. it’s not. apparently i can’t be casual about anything ever. - there will be a follow-up, because i got SO invested. - i have no idea about the inner workings of programing and i firmly refused to google anything. suspension of disbelief, man. *naruto voice* BELIEVE IT. - charlie’s problems were written from experience, so jot that down.

They started out as anything but friends, really.

The year was 2017 and they were both famous for embarrassing themselves online publicly - even though the proper term for that activity is streaming.

They were both famous for playing games, basically. Sure, Charlie also had a vlog channel and Oswald was a well known foodie - but it was their gaming related shenanigans that drew people to them. They were rivals of sorts - mostly because Overwatch matchmaking system somehow always put them in opposing teams.

Also, she mained Mercy, while Oswald mained… Literally every good counter to Mercy. Roadhog. Reaper. Doomfist.

(The truth is, every character is a good Mercy counter, as long as their player can aim - and Oswald’s aim was impeccable. He was accused of cheating many times; and every times the accusations were proven to be false.)

The problem was - she was a good Mercy. She knew when to switch between healing and damage boosting, seemed to always be one step ahead of her opponents and tracked the locations of airborne Pharah and safely nested Bastion with surgical precision, always ready to fly to safety, always ready to undo enemy team’s careful planning - all while being impossibly optimistic and nice, spamming hearts on match channel and always informing the enemy team they were worthy opponents.

(Lack of capitalizations and abundance of exclamation points were a good indicator of her messages being genuine, rather than generated by game’s anti-ggez bot.)

She was absolutely unbearable and insufferable with her rezes and optimism. Every time Oswald saw CherryPop on the enemy team - he knew he just lost. No matter how long he chased her - in the end she’d always escape his flanking attempts.

At first, he hated her guts.

The feeling was mutual - seeing birdmaskguy would cause a sudden surge of anxiety to travel down her spine, making her realize she’ll have to double her efforts. He was persistent. Relentless. Calculating.

And obnoxious as hell. His quirk - a thing making him stand out, making him different from a legion of other competitive-focused streamers - was being faceless. His nickname didn’t come out of nowhere - and good grief his mask was obnoxious. Shaped after a penguin skull and so completely, absolutely pointless. He never showed his face on stream - even though he introduced himself by name more than once. Finding out what he looks like was just a simple Google search away; he was the only heir to one of the wealthiest families in his hometown. His father was a well-known businessman, and Oswald as expected to take over the family money and name one day; so naturally his face was all over Gotham news.

Except Charlie wasn’t from Gotham, and Gotham news were never big enough to make it matter on a national scale. And she was never curious enough about her nemezis to actually spend her precious time Googling him; why would she? It was only a game.

They first met during placements for season four - and they were in the opposing teams. By that time, Oswald was already a relatively well-known streamer; Charlie was just taking her baby steps, and most important of all - didn’t know anyone in the scene. No one was her inspiration - she was simply being told she’s good by strangers.

NightKnight: mercy NightKnight: do u stream

CherryPop: nope, should i? mikey1111: yeah. you’re good. CherryPop: aww :P thanks!! free rezzes for everyone!!

They met in Hanamura, under the blossoming cherry trees. Her team started out on defense, his - on attack. They had a defense McCree; and he was very persistent. In fact, he and Mercy worked like a well-greased machinery, understanding each other without a word; she always knew where is he and he always knew when she’s in trouble.

birdmaskguy’s first interaction with CherryPop was hooking her away, with intention of killing her in one shot, as Roadhogs tend to do to fragile supports; but as soon as she was hooked that damn McCree flashbanged him, effectively saving her life.

Thank you! he heard the Mercy spam, as McCree reloaded and Mercy pulled out her gun.

She spilled his first blood that match, all while spamming the I’m not a miracle worker… line and jumping around like crazy.

On her first stream, CherryPop killed the birdmaskguy; and thousands of people were watching on his end.

A lot of people lost their shit at his pathetic failure; she killed him few more times with the assistance of the mysterious McCree who seemed to prefer the crouching position. He lost the match and was very close to typing out fuck you mercy in the match channel; but he didn’t. He was better than that-

CherryPop: hey hog CherryPop: OINK OINK

birdmaskguy: >.> birdmaskguy: get fucked, mercy. CherryPop: sheesh, at least buy me a dinner first! pork maybe? :P

They kept meeting like this, and she kept getting more and more popular - first as a Mercy who destroyed birdmaskguy, then as her own - rather skilled and enjoyable to watch - person.

PLAY OF THE MATCH: CherryPop as Mercy. [5 people rez, singlehandedly undoing his quad, accompanied by Hanzo quietly taking care of their Junkrat. Or: 3 people rez immediately followed by a double kill and three last second assists while boosting Hanzo just as he was launching his dragons of destructions. Or: accidentally getting nanoboosted and promptly becoming the legendary harmacist.]

They were bitter rivals all through seasons four and five, always in the opposing teams, always bickering on match chat, her always undoing all his efforts and him fruitlessly trying to hunt her down and corner her in a dead end on King’s Row or give her a choice between an environmental death or an execution in Dorado and so on and so on. They never watch each other’s streams; partially because they usually were doing them at the same time, and partially because they didn’t want to. It didn’t matter anyway; all until one day they ended up on the same team.

They crossed paths many times earlier this week; and Oswald was as persistent as always in tracking her down and distracting her from her team. He hooked her away, he gunned her down, he didn’t let her out of his sight every time they were on the same battlefield; he pissed her off more than once that week.

(Some people on his streams were watching them both at the same time, promptly informing them what does the other one have to say; she called him an insufferable prick more than once. And a dick. And a complete and utter asshole, good lord, fuck him and his obsession with ME and FRESH TOMATOES-)

They were both very high ranking in competitive; and in that tier cooperation relied mostly on precise, clear voice communication. Built-in lines were only helpful to a certain degree, and typing was taking away precious time; but he was still a bit surprised when he heard her voice for the first time.

“Well, well, well.” she said as they were picking their characters. “That’s a new.”

Her voice was sweet and melodious and Oswald tried to imagine her spurting out series of invectives fueled by his persistence.

“So unfortunate.” she continued, picking - of course - Mercy. “It’s such a shame there’s so much bad blood between us, right, Birdie?”

“Oh come on.” he muttered, picking Reaper. “You are going to heal me, right?”

“I don’t know.” she said nonchalantly. “I was thinking about pocketing our Rein. Hey, Rein, want a pocket Mercy?”

“JAAA!” their Rein replied, doing their best Reinhardt impression and she giggled and Oswald groaned.

“You heard the big guy!”

“Come on, don’t be like that.” he pleaded as she emoted; he decided the Devil skin she had equipped was very fitting. “I’m dps! I can’t distract them if I’m dead.”

“You are pain in the ass, Oswald.” she said and his name rolling out of her mouth sounded disturbingly right and he hated, he absolutely hated this fact. “A prick. You gotta ask nicely if you want something from me.”

“Seriously?” he asked with disbelief as commenters on his stream were starting to whip out memes. “You want me to beg for heals?”

“It does sound weird when you put it this way, but yeah!” she said cheerfully as the match was starting and their team was leaving the spawn. “Beg for mercy, you pretentious jerk.”

“Oh, fuck you!” he groaned and she only laughed, flying away to take care of Rein and Zarya as he was decimated by Torb’s turret.

Finally - eight deaths later - he cracked.

“Fine!” he said, Shadow Stepping away from the payload, as she was high above the streets of Dorado, flying the friendly skies with Pharah. “Please, Mercy.”

“What was that?” she asked innocently and he groaned. “I didn’t hear ya!”

“Please!” he said desperately. “Pretty please! With cherry on top!”

“Aw, you sound so cute when you beg.” she said mockingly, flying down to him. “Got you. Now go, fuck someone up. Preferably not their Zen. He’s trying his best.”

“Thanks, I guess.” he muttered, getting back into battle.

“Aaaa!” she squealed few minutes later, frantically spamming the group up! command. “Their Harambe is after me now!”

“Their WHAT?” their Rein asked.

“The monkey guy!”

“His name is Winston, you uncultured swine.” Oswald said, getting in her line of sight. “Come on.”

“Hey, don’t be an ass to me, I’m the one thing standing between you and death!” she said, flying to him; persistent monkey followed, promptly getting stuck in Junkrat’s trap.

“And I’m the one thing standing between you and death.” Oswald said firmly as she flew away. “So you too should stop being an ass.”

“Get a room, you two!” Junkrat yelled out, 1v1ing a very foolish Widowmaker. “We have a payload to escort and a match to win.”

“Shut up!” Oswald and CherryPop said at the same time and their entire team laughed.

They won, and he got play of the match; a perfect, sextuple kill, only ruined by her tag in the corner of the screen, as she was boosting him.

(He very begrudgingly voted for her and her astounding 30k points of healing, only slightly spoiled by “40% of team damage taken”. The last number could be lower, if he spent more time protecting her feathery ass and less time being snarky.)

“Well, that wasn’t too bad!” she said cheerfully. “Thanks for the saves!”

“You have my hammer!” Rein chimed in. “No, seriously, hit me up if you ever want to queue in a group. You’re an angel.”

She giggled and the match concluded and Oswald was returned to the main screen, left with a weird, burning feeling in his chest. Heartburn? He decided it probably was a heartburn, first in years.

(He was very careful about what he ate. Not like he avoided junk food; but he was generally careful with what he was putting inside him. And thus he managed to go years without heartburn and indigestion.)

An hour later, he ended the stream; it was early Thursday afternoon and he didn’t have any plans, so he just stretched and began to mindlessly browse the web.

Eventually he found himself on her channel and clicked a random video - and for the first time he saw her face and he sighed, not knowing what was he expecting. Her smile was as beautiful as her voice and when she laughed - and he still could hear the sound of her laughter ringing in his ears - she tilted her head and her red hair would brush her long, pale neck.

She was infuriating to play against and very nice to look at.

“Well, fuck.” he muttered, watching her wink. “Fuck me, I guess.”

*** Streaming was a pleasant distraction, and so was vlogging; and she needed all the distractions she could get, to get away from the overwhelming apathy and numbness that would creep in the second she wasn’t doing something. And playing that dumb game? It turned out to be surprisingly easy, very intuitive. It was an easy sense of accomplishment, seeing gold medals and votes and SR points roll in; and people seemed to enjoy watching how effortless this seemed when she was doing it, how easy. She was only partially paying attention to the game, and yet she was winning, and yet she was doing great; it felt nice, It felt… It felt.

And then there was that one fucking guy. That asshole. That tool.

No, not her ex boyfriend; when she thought of Harry she wasn’t angry. Sad? Probably. Ashamed? Maybe. But she wasn’t angry at him; if anything, she was angry at herself for trusting so easily, for not seeing right through him.

(To be fair, he did deceive everything, her parents included. So it’s not like she was a fool among the wise men; they were all blind idiots.)

That one person able to piss her off went by the name of birdmaskguy. The name was very telling - he wore a mask when streaming, and he often joked he’s doing it to not distract people with his very handsome face.

He played like an asshole. He sounded like an asshole on those short clips she watched on tumblr. He probably simply was an asshole; and they had a bone to pick. Her initial career online was built on her killing him; sure, with time she did get a reputation for her actual skills, rather than firing some bullets into a remarkably large target, but at first she was simply a Mercy who killed birdmaskguy; and his deaths from that match made their way into a lot of “Overwatch worst fails” compilations. For a week or so he was a laughing stock; and boy oh boy was he resentful.

And people liked hearing her call him names as she was running away from him. She called him many things - insufferable prick. Fucking asshole. Unholy offspring of the monster from It Follows and Michael Myers.

(Not in his face though. On match chats she was playful and mockingly friendly; but her viewers heard her. And enjoyed every second.)

People would never guess she’s severely depressed; she was good at hiding it. On her vlogs - about fashion and food and makeup - she was bubbly and cheerful; and messy flats and poor eating habits weren’t exactly a red flag, they made her seem quirky and relatable. No one knew about hours spent in complete silence, just staring at the ceiling. No one knew about her insomnia. And about how she simply couldn’t be bothered to cook, when throwing shit into microwave was so much easier. On the surface level, she appeared perfectly fine; and no one really felt the need to get any deeper.

And that guy - that Oswald Cobblepot from Gotham, that pretentious asshat in a ridiculous mask - was one of the very few people who were capable of making her feel something. Sure, that seething bloodlust wasn’t anything good - but it was a good start. Baby steps.

At some point, she started to come across him outside the game. She was embarrassingly active on shittyfoodporn subreddit; she felt some sort of ridiculous bond with those other losers, who mostly ate junk and microwaved shit and horrifying combinations of ingredients and half-burnt food. It was comforting, knowing her dietary habits are not, in fact, an isolated case.

He, on the other hand - was active on that part of reddit dedicated to good food. Normal food. Actually edible food. birdmaskguy was a well known foodie; he often talked about his meticulously composed diet - or so her viewers were telling her in the comments.

god, i switched to birdie for a second and he’s talking about garlic bread AGAIN.

“Again?” she asked, groaning when she spotted him materializing behind her team. “That sounds intriguing.”

he never shuts up about food!! he was talking about garlic bread yesterday as well. i think he’s obsessed. what a loser.

“Well, that one thing I have in common with that asshole.” she said casually, shooting him in the face. “I also love garlic bread. It’s delicious. And cheesy garlic bread? Heaven!”

yeah, but your whole personality doesn’t revolve around you liking to eat. :p

“More like one third.” she said jokingly. “I’ll take it as a compliment.”

She knew he’s a foodie - but she never saw him in her part of reddit, reserved for loosers very optimistic about their mediocrity and disgruntled people who paid for a chicken sandwich and got a very sad chicken sandwich.

He once commented on her post; it was obvious he’s trying to pick a fight with her. Spats between streamers and high-ranking players weren’t nothing new; just last month she saw another Mercy end her friendship with another player she often queued with. He was toxic; also streamers often talked shit about each other. A fight between CherryPop and birdmaskguy wouldn’t be anything shocking, hell, it’d be something a lot of people wanted.

(According to her meticulously curated tumblr dashboard - some people shipped them. There were fanarts. She only saw one piece of art, relatively mild, reblogged by her mutual, who only did it to yell at the artist for drawing real, actual people fucking. “THOSE ARE NOT FICTIONAL CHARACTERS, YOU FUCKING CREEP” they said and Charlie couldn’t be more grateful.)

Granted, what birdmaskguy said was a harmless joke; he said her dinner looks worse than his pride did after their struggle in Hanamura.

hey, it can’t look THAT bad. :P

Oh, it does. I can’t believe you put this into your body. How are you even alive?

through sheer willpower and the knowledge i have to live to annoy you!!

He never replied and she felt something akin to disappointment; she liked teasing him. It was a fine way of working through her weird urge to strangle him.

(That one time when she made him beg? She wasn’t really feeling great that day, and she was almost glad he initially refused to play along.)

And so they lived - bitter rivals, a depressed Mercy and her food-obsessed tormentor. She’d always make him say please if the ended up on the same team; and afterwards he’d be even more determined to hunt her down - and with each attempt to put her back in her place she’d take even greater pleasure in ruining the match for him.

When season six began they were both famous, and their creepy tag on tumblr was booming.

(She sometimes wondered what does he think of all those fanarts where he was ~getting his revenge~; personally she found them creepy, those random strangers drawing her genitals in great detail.)

Their little feud was still alive and well and her depression was getting worse with each passing day; World Cup was coming up and she kept distracting herself in any way possible.

Eventually… She made her way to the American team - effortlessly. Absentmindedly.

She kinda forgot she even tried when she got the email, informing her of her success.

*** When was the moment he realized he’s in deep, deep shit? Ah, it was during a deathmatch, about two months after he ended up on her YouTube channel and saw her face.

He was taking a short break from comp and wanted to have some dumb fun; so did she, apparently.

This time he heard her insults.

“That’s for making me beg in Dorado!” he hummed. “That’s for Nepal! That’s for Eichenwalde!”

“Hey!” she said as he killed her for the fifth time. “I never made you beg in Nepal, you said please all by yourself!”

“Yeah, well, ever heard of Ivan Pavlov and his dogs?”

“What, you automatically beg as you see me?” she giggled as he was skulking around Chateau Guillard, looking for her, completely ignoring everyone else… For now. “That’s kinda sad.”

“Your life is sad.” he muttered, as he spotted her, turned with her back to him, enjoying the view as Sombra.

“That too, but yours is still sadder.” she said in an upbeat tone as he took the shot. “Oh, you prick.”

“That’s me.” he said proudly. “Prick and an asshole.”

“God, I hate you.” she said, respawning. “Alright. You want war? You get war. It’s on.”

“Alright, doll, you asked for it.” he said. “I’m going to make you regret everything. Your ass? It’s mine now.”

“In your dreams, you fucking furry.”

They engaged in a heated fight in which other players unwillingly took the role of collateral damage and innocent bystanders; and Oswald realized he’s in deep shit when he - without thinking - yelled out “IS THIS A GAME TO YOU?!” to which she for a moment stopped running away and after a brief moment said “...yeah, actually. That’s what we’re doing. We’re playing a game. Did you forget?”

She then proceeded to call him a dumb loser and he sat there, completely mortified, very glad for his mask that was hiding his face and expressions, because in that moment he realized he actually has a massive fucking crush on Charlie aka CherryPop, his bitter rival, always one step behind his quintuple kills, always one step ahead his sextuple ones.

She had a beautiful voice and a beautiful face and her personality was driving him crazy, that way she mocked and taunted him, all while being bubbly and peppy. He had a massive crush on her; and that revelation left him so distraught he accidentally let her win.

“Blow me, you furry!” she said cheerfully, after scoring the last point. “Kiss my ass!”

“I’m twelve.” they suddenly heard a very serious voice, belonging to another player. “And you two are being very sexual. Stop that.”

“You’re not twelve, you’re six.” someone said in the background and Charlie laughed and his heart skipped a beat, because he could see her laughing, he could see her tilt her head as her hair brushed her neck.

(Her neck was beautiful, as if made for kisses and bitemarks.)

“In your dreams… That is, if your diet doesn’t kill you before I get to you.” he said playfully and she laughed again.

That’s when he realized he’s in deep shit; and then he was informed he’s now a part of the American team for the upcoming World Cup.

He wasn’t too shocked when he found out she’s been accepted as well. Of course - she was skilled and driven and it was high time she really let it shine. Their team was in a good hands.

Some website reporting the latest news from the gaming world reached out to him for a comment regarding the fact he’s now going to be on same team as CherryPop; he said he’s “very pleased” and that “he believes they’ll be able to put their differences aside to reach a bigger goal”.

He wondered what does she has to say about it.

*** “I’m not happy about it, but what’cha gonna do? He did well. He deserves the spot.”

Her comment on the situation sounded harsh, but she simply couldn’t be bothered to dress the thing up in pretty words. It didn’t matter; they hated each other anyway, even if she found herself looking forward to crossing paths and deaths with him. The bickering, the taunting, the mockery - it made her feel stings of something. And it sure as hell was better than nothing.

Being on the team required her to temporarily move from New York to Gotham; by pure coincidence she was the only member who didn’t live there. Practicing with actual people on hand made a lot more sense, than just yelling at each other on voice channel.

birdmaskguy reached out to her in that matter; actually he shot her an email, asking if they can talk on discord. His email didn’t mention her harsh comment; but it did sound stiff and official.

They talked later that day; his icon was an aggravated penguin, because of course.

(Hers was her own picture; she was blowing a balloon out of pink bubblegum. It was a bit trashy and definitely sugary; she liked it. It reminded her of being actually, genuinely happy.)

“Hey.” she said with a yawn. “What did you want to talk about? Are you going to, like, threaten me with a lawsuit?”

“...no?” he said hesitantly; that was the first time she heard his actual voice, not muffled by his mask. It was pleasant; melodious, just a tiny bit raspy, energetic. Nice to listen to. “Why would I do that?”

“Assholes always find a reason to sue someone, I guess.”

“Maybe not today.” he said carefully. “Look, Cherry… Can I call you that?”

“Well, better this than bitch or stupid cunt.”

“Hey, you know I never called you that.” he said almost angrily and she sighed; he was right. He never actually offended her, always sticking to things like you ass or I’m going to kill you, then I’ll resurrect you and THEN I’ll kill you again. That was what kinda made the dynamic entertaining; sure, they disliked each other, but they were never hurtful. Almost as if he respected her.

“Fine, you never called me a bitch, I’ll give you that. Still. What do you want, Birdie?”

“You have to move to Gotham temporarily, right?” he asked; she could hear the typical street sounds in the background. “So I have a proposition for you.”

“I’m all ears.” she muttered, absentmindedly rubbing a dried-out stain on her desk; most likely BBQ sauce or ketchup.

“Come live with me.” he said casually and she froze in place, staring at the stain. “Hey. You there?”

“Are you out of your mind?” she asked with disbelief. “Did your brain turn into lettuce?”

“...pardon?”

“I’m not going to live with you! We’re going to kill each other-”

“My family has a mansion.” he interrupted her. “Chateau Cobblepot.”

“...is that its actual name?”

“...I’m going to kill you myself if you as much as make a joke about it. I’ll poison you. Strangle you. Drop my father’s bust on your pretty little head.” he threatened her tiredly and she laughed at how utterly resigned he sounded, but quickly regained her composure.

“Alright, no jokes about the dumbest name I’ve ever heard. How big exactly is that place?”

“Big enough for us to never see each other face to face.” he said nonchalantly. “Google it. Trust me, it’s better than fucking around with hotels or rental. A token of good will from my side.”

“Where’s the catch?”

“...there’s no catch, Cherry.” he said patiently. “Well, maybe except for the fact you have to take care of transporting yourself and your stuff to Gotham, but other than that… Chateau Cobblepot awaits. Free of charge, just as long as you do your job.”

“Does it mean you’ll charge me if we lose? That’s an extreme version of blame the healer, you know.”

“...let’s worry about getting anywhere first, hm?”

“Ugh. Fine.” she muttered, rubbing her forehead; truth is, the thought of actually taking care of her Gotham stay was a bit overwhelming. That’s why she stayed in NYC for so long - because her parents were taking care of everything. “I’ll take your deal. Anything I should know about?”

“Not really, no.” he said; judging by the sounds, he was crossing a street. “Just email me date and time and someone will pick you up from the airport or train station. Also… Do you have any allergies?”

“Except for you?”

“...except that one, yes.” he said, sounding almost amused. “Well, I better stop taking your time, you have plane tickets to buy. See you soon?”

“You promised I won’t have to see you, you know.”

“It’s a figure of speech, Cherry. See you never. Better?”

“A whole lot better.”

*** It worked! He couldn’t believe it actually worked. He figured he might as well give it a shot, considering his parents were taking a break from Gotham and were leaving the mansion all to himself - but he never expected her to actually accept the proposal. Sure, she didn’t want to see him - which hurt more than he’d like to admit - but the perspective of simply having her around for an unspecified period of time… Was enough. “It worked!” he announced after entering the coffeeshop where his friend - and their fellow teammate - was waiting.

“...what worked?” she asked carefully, looking up from her coffee. “What did you do this time, Cobblepot?”

“I told Cherry she can come live with me during the duration of this thing.” he informed Vicki, sitting down in front of her with his back against the wall and his legs outstretched. “And it worked! Well, partially.”

“Well, which part didn’t work?”

“She sounds very adamant in not wanting to see me.” he said lightly, masking his budding despair with an optimistic smile. “I think she actually hates me.”

“Can’t imagine why.” Vicki muttered and he scoffed. “I can’t imagine why anyone would like you, Cobblepot.”

“You keep saying that, and yet you’re sticking around since forever. I think you like me.”

“I’m programmed to feel sorry for losers.” she said, taking a sip of her coffee. “And you are a loser.”

“I still love you. No hetero though.”

“God, you’re disgusting.” she said, wincing. “But anyway, What’s your plan?”

“I don’t have one, actually.” he said, getting up. “Well, maybe except for getting a caramel latte right now.”

He returned with his coffee and sat back down.

“I guess this is a lost cause.” he said cheerfully and Vicki sighed. “What?”

“I hope it’s not.” she confessed and he blinked. “No, don’t say anything, you get to hear me be nice to you once a month. Don’t ruin it. I hope it’s not a lost cause. Remember, I’m a dick to you as well, and yet here we are.”

“Are you implying… Tough love?” he asked, tilting his head.

Vicki sighed.

“Maybe. Or maybe she really doesn’t like you. You’re… An obnoxious ass. I’d say… Fifty fifty.”

“Those are pretty good odds. And you know what they say… A drowning man clutches at a straw.”

“So you really have a crush on her. Huh.” she said absentmindedly, taking a sip of her coffee. “I guess your taste is one of very few not crappy things about you. She’s cute. Kinda too sweet for me, but… Definitely cute. And funny. Watched her video on calling people by their full name?”

“You know I did.” he muttered, looking away; Vicki snickered.

“Right. I forgot you’re a creep.”

“Those are public, Vicki.”

“I know. Still - you’re pathetic. Need a wingwoman?”

“...are you offering your services?”

“Uh-uh.” she nodded, taking a sip. “You know I have no problem saying nice stuff about you behind your back. Just try to not directly contradict what I’m saying and we’re golden.”

“Well, what are you going to say?”

“Not a word about you being a hopeless sap, that’s for sure.” she said with a smirk and he scoffed, hiding his gratitude; he knew Vicki knows he’s grateful. They knew each other for years, and had each other’s back through thick and thin.

Rest of the day passed peacefully. Charlie sent him an email asking  if he can take care of transporting her stuff from the airport; sending it few days before her trip was cheaper.

Of course he’d do that.

Well, if you insist.

i’m not insisting, i can take care of it myself. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

That was a figure of speech. Just send me the dates.

It took her an hour to reply; the message simply said thanks.

They crossed paths in the game that evening; but they didn’t talk much, except for the usual please heal me I can drop down on my knees if you want me to banter. Surprisingly, she wasn’t doing great; she sounded distracted, reacting to everything with slight - but noticeable - delay.

“Are you sleep deprived, Pop?” their Mei asked; the deep baritone contrasted with the cutesy character.

“Just tired, that’s all.” she sighed. “I’m going to stay behind this time.”

She was slurring words and Oswald felt a sting of worry.

“S’alright. We will carry, you try to not die.” he said, switching to Reinhardt. “There. One personal shelter… Coming up.”

“Thank you.” she said slowly; she sounded surprised. “Want a free solo rez?”

“So when’s the wedding?” their Bastion asked, yawning. “Rein’s shield this, solo rez that… Where’s the venom? The spite? The-”

“We’re going to compete on the same team, you dummy.” Oswald interrupted them hastily; he knew that player fairly well. They had a reputation of being rather harsh, mostly thanks to their tendency to getting straight to the raw point. “We’re practicing this whole team spirit thing.”

“Uh-uh.” Bastion said; Oswald could hear the distinct sound of crunching. “Sure.”

She went offline immediately after the match, not even waiting for the votes; he considered sending her a message to ask if everything’s alright, but he decided against it.  Pushing wouldn’t do him any good; plus it would be suspicious.

*** She had a breakdown that day, between emails. She realized she hadn’t left her flat in weeks; she was relying on food delivery and online grocery shopping. The perspective of leaving and doing stuff and actually interacting with people was… Overwhelming.

But it’s alright. She had pills to take in case of sudden breakdowns; it instilled warm, pleasant fog in her brain and dried her tears up and fought off the anxious, crying-induced convulsions. She was calm again; even if her eyelids were heavy like lead and her vision and thoughts were slightly hazy and speaking clearly required a great deal of effort - but at least she was calm.

She googled birdmaskguy’s family home; it was huge. His family was one of the wealthiest families in that part of country, and it showed; she went for a virtual walk through the gardens, leaving taking a look at people living inside the building for another day.

He seemed to be completely unaffected by her - not really intentional - harshness; she realized she’s going to have to tone it down eventually, but as for now she didn’t have the energy to sugarcoat her words.

She made the mistake of trying to play that evening; but her thoughts were clouded with the pills-induced fog and she was doing bad. Luckily her team was understanding; even birdmaskguy offered his help, without complaining or snarky remarks. It was… Surprising; that small, meaningless gesture left her feeling disturbed. It didn’t fit. It was out of place. It was out of character.

She went to bed early, setting up a series of notifications in her phone - laundry. Packing. Shipping her stuff. Shower. Another shower, just in case. The trip.

She had a sleepless night; she simply lied in fetal position, tightly wrapped in blanket, staring into darkness of her littered, slightly airless bedroom.

She shipped her things to Gotham two days later; three boxes of clothes and personal items. Her precious, stickers-covered laptop would travel with her in her hand luggage, along with her favorite blanket, a teddy bear and her documents. Taking her of her stuff used up nearly all of her energy; she was so mentally exhausted she didn’t even reply when Cobblepot mailed her to inform her her things arrived safely and were waiting for her in his home, untouched.

(She sure hoped so. Depressed or not, she wouldn’t want anyone - especially not him - going through her underwear. She had a wide collection of lace and satin; pretty lingerie made her feel a bit better.)

Finally, day of the trip had came and she sighed, looking around her flat. She threw out things that could rot, and threw the majority of dirty dishes into the dishwasher; she didn’t have plants to water or pets to feed. Once again she checked her bag - everything was there. Her laptop, the accessories, her blanket, her meds, her teddy bear, her wallet. She was ready to go, and the cab to the GCT was waiting outside.

Even though the ride would be short, she booked first class; all she wanted was some peace and quiet. She wasn’t feeling chatty and she felt she’s not going to make it through if someone decides to chat her up.

On the station - alone and tired - she felt so out of place, surrounded by lively people who were talking to each other and laughing and feeling emotions and not feeling like their lives aren’t going anywhere at all. She avoided talking to others and looked at the ground, tightly gripping her bag; and everyone ignored her, as if she was transparent.

(She’d like things to stay this way forever, actually.)

Charlie spent the ride silently looking out of the window, wrapped in her blanket, thinking about how apathetic she is to the thought of living - even if only for some time - with someone…

It wasn’t hatred, that thing she felt. It definitely wasn’t hatred; he annoyed her, sure, but she never actually wished for anything to stop, for him to disappear. It wasn’t harassment; he valued his reputation too much to harass.

Or maybe he simply wasn’t into harassing people.

Finally the train stopped at Gotham Central Station; her ride was over. Breathing in and out, her legs shaking and her fingers trembling, she stepped out of the train, looking around.

Gotham felt… Different. Something was in the air, definitely; it was dripping from the gothic architecture, escaping people’s lungs, reflecting itself in glass surfaces.

“Admiring the architecture?” she heard a familiar voice, and when she looked left - there he was, birdmaskguy, Oswald Cobblepot.

He was tall and lean and handsome, which came as a surprise. Narrow lips and very sharp eyes and nice jawline and slightly messy har; he was wearing a well-tailored suit and looked at her expectantly with a polite smile.

So that was the face of her rival. He was very nice to look at, she decided begrudgingly; and he smelled nice. Someone obviously wasn’t a skinflint when it came to cologne.

“Hey.” she said nervously, brushing her hair away from her face; his gaze felt odd, he looked at her almost tenderly.

(Or maybe it was pity.)

“You’re short.” he said and she scoffed quietly; he snickered. “Watch out, you might get lost.”

“Ha-ha, very original.” she said, looking away. “I thought we established we’re not going to see each other.”

:”A necessary sacrifice.” he said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Want me to carry it for you?”

She handed him her bag without a word and he took it with a nod.

“Car’s parked outside.” he said, walking towards the exit and she followed, looking around. “How was your ride?”

“Uneventful.” she said, glancing at his sharp profile. “How’s… Your day?”

(It’s been a while since her last normal, face to face conversation. She felt like playing a half baked test build of a Telltale game, following an unedited script.)

“Quite eventful, actually.” he said, sounding amused by her awkwardness. “Cat got your tongue, Cherry?”

“What?”

“I’m waiting for some snark, you know.” he said as they left the building; even the air smelled different here, less like dead rats and hot dogs and more like gunpowder and herbs. “Needles and pins and harsh words.”

“Sorry to disappoint, you prick.” she muttered. “It’s easier to talk big online, you know. Face to face… It’s harder.”

“Hey.” he said softly and she blinked, not expecting such a gentle tone. “It’s alright. Take your time, get used to me. I’m distractingly handsome. I know.” he said with a smirk and she groaned and nudged him with her elbow.

(He was right - he was handsome. And nice.)

“You’re too self confident.” she said instead, looking around. “Put that mask on, before you scare some children.”

“Ouch.” he said playfully, fishing for car keys in his pocket; apparently he was driving a dark red Maserati, because of course. “Now that’s Cherry I know and… Tolerate.”

The pause before his last word felt weird, and he said it hastily, almost as if he bit his tongue to force his words to change direction at the last second.

They drove through the streets of Gotham, and she kept looking around curiously. The city definitely looked like it’s living up to its reputation of one of the most dangerous places in America; but it was still beautiful, in a dark way.

“That’s my family’s park.” Cobblepot said suddenly, pointing to a nearby place. “My parents funded it.”

The park seemed to be crowded; everywhere Charlie looked she saw people, enjoying the green grass, colorful flowers and sturdy benches.

“It looks nice.” she muttered. “Any ponds?”

The question escaped her before she stopped herself; she actually tried to drown herself in a bathtub once. She wondered if her brain is trying to suggest something.

He looked at her in silence, furrowing his brows.

“Yes.” he said finally. “Don’t get any funny ideas, Cherry.”

“Is that the Wayne Tower?” she asked a few minutes later, looking at an impossibly tall skyscraper.

“Uh-uh.” Cobblepot nodded. “What, wanna meet Bruce Wayne? I’m his friend. They’d let us in.”

“Maybe not today.” she said carefully, not commenting on his sudden eagerness. “Hey, Birdie.”

“Yeah?” “I changed my mind.” she said hesitantly, glancing at him. “About the… Not-seeing-you thing.”

(Gotham felt overwhelming; beautiful, but deadly. And she felt like loneliness might be unbearable this time.)

“Well.” he said after a short silence.

He glanced at her briefly and she looked away, ignoring the cheeky smile his lips were curled in.

“I knew you won’t be able to resist my charm.” he said finally and she scoffed.

“Your what?”

He chuckled as they drove through Crest Hill; a luxurious, suburban neighborhood outside which Chateau Cobblepot was located, not too far away from the legendary Wayne Manor.

“We’re here.” he finally announced, swiftly parking the car in front of the entrance, next to the fountain; Charlie quietly looked at the massive, gothic building that looked like a perfect setting for a Percy Shelley poem.

They got out of the car and he took her bag out from the trunk.

“Come on.” he said, walking towards the door, white gravel quietly clattering under his shoes. “Top floor of the west wing is for your disposal. I’ll show you the way.”

Top floor? She groaned quietly, thinking about climbing the stairs; due to her lifestyle her body wasn’t in the best shape.

“Something’s wrong?” he asked, as they came in; she looked around, slightly impressed with the interior design, relying on wood and marble and lots of light.

“I’m out of shape.” she said hesitantly. “Stairs are… Not my friend.”

“Well, shit.” he said, sounding concerned. “Should have guessed.”

“Oh, get fucked.” she muttered, knowing he’s referring to her abhorrent diet. “What now?”

“There is a free bedroom in my part of the building.” he said hesitantly, glancing at her. “I wanted to be hospitable and give you the entirety of our guest quarters, but since you can’t climb stairs…”

“One room will do.” she interrupted him. “Back home I don’t leave my bedroom anyway. Just as long as there are no stairs involved… I’ll be fine.”

“Well, okay then.” he said, turning right. “I inhabit the bottom floor of the east wing. I’ll show you the way, and then… I’ll take care of your boxes.”

“Don’t you have like… A butler to take care of this stuff?” she asked him, following him through the corridor; his part of the Chateau had its own small library, well-equipped gym, an office and a state of the art kitchen. The guest bedroom was at the very end of the corridor, tucked between his bedroom and the library; it was spacious, well lit, had a jacuzzi in the bathroom and the bed looked extremely comfortable.

“Our butler left with my parents.” he said, setting her bag down. “And we keep minimal staff. We do most of the things by ourselves. Keeps us grounded.”

“From the people, for the people?” she asked and he smiled.

He did carry her boxes; effortlessly, smoothly, as if they weighed nothing. He was stronger than he looked; and there was something disturbingly nice to the eyes in the way his shoulder muscles moved under the fabric of his shirt.

“There.” he said, setting down the last one. “Still sealed, as you can probably see.”

“I’d sue you if any of them were open.” she said, opening the nearest box and instantly closing it back again, as the first thing she saw was her underwear; and he did not need to see any of that.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it.” he said, walking towards the door. “Unpack, settle down, do whatever. Yell if you need something. Food, for example.”

Her stomach gurgled; she hadn’t eaten that day.

He heard it.

“...hungry?” he asked softly. “I can… Fix that. WIth actual food, instant noodles and frozen tendies have no place in my kitchen.”

“Fine.” she sighed.  “I guess I’m at your culinary mercy now. Do your magic, just… No asparagus.”

“Already setting your rules? Feisty.” he said with a smirk and left the room, leaving her sitting on the floor, feeling oddly at peace in this gigantic house.

She quickly threw her clothes into the closet and drawers and got down to business: setting a quick life update stream regarding the upcoming competition. She’s been pretty quiet about it for days; now was the time to tell the world how things were looking.

“Hey, world!” she said to the camera, sitting on her ridiculously fluffy bed. “You’ll never guess where am I.”

She was in the middle of a sentence when he entered the room, carrying a plate of what looked like pasta with tomato sauce; it smelled absolutely divine. It was obvious he used fresh herbs.

He set the plate down on her nightstand without a word and she kept on talking, only pausing once, to thank him.

“So, I’m at birdmaskguy’s home - hey, thanks! - and he just made me food. Shocking, right?”

“I don’t starve my guests, and especially not my teammates.” he said, crossing his arms on his chest. “Hey, Cherry’s viewers, you can’t see me, but you can hear me. Sorry for interrupting, I guess.”

“People on chat are saying hi.” she informed him. “One person is saying fuck you. Someone… Oh, crap.”

“What?”

“Someone warned me to not go into my tags on tumblr.” she muttered, looking at him, slightly flustered. “They say… I’m not gonna like it.”

Without a word he pulled out his phone and opened the app.

***

He never knew there’s porn of him and Cherry; he never thought someone might be fucked up enough to draw detailed depictions of two actual people having sex.

There were fanarts. There were fanfics. And he instantly spotted two most popular trends among those creepy fanworks - her dominating him and him “putting her in her place”.

(He’d lie if he said he never thought about her warm body and quiet gasps escaping her lips, but in his thoughts - it was consensual. He also kept those thoughts to himself, thoughts of her skin under his fingers.)

“Fucking hell.” he said finally, looking at her sitting on the bed in his home. “That’s… Creepy.”

“You heard him.” she said to her viewers. “That’s one thing we both can agree on. Well, okay, that and garlic bread being delicious.”

She shot him a faint smile and he smiled back, unable to take his eyes off her. In real life she seemed… More tired than on her vlogs; a bit awkward. She stuttered from time to time and had a problem with direct eye contact and made a lot of pauses, looking for words.

He thought about her freckles when he was in the kitchen, peeling and chopping tomatoes, and her soft lips and the way she scoffed at him. She seemed so lost in Gotham, so out of place; he felt as if this city might eat her alive.

In person, she seemed and sounded softer; and this softness cemented his massive crush on her, mixed up with concern for her bad shape and dark circles under her eyes and the fact she apparently forgot to eat.

“Fucking hell.” he muttered to himself after leaving her alone with her laptop; he headed to his gym, he had some steam to let out. “This is getting out of hand.”

He called Vicki and started his sit ups as she picked up.

“You’re on speaker, so behave yourself.” he said before she said anything. “Shit’s fucked, Vale.”

“Uh-uh.” she muttered; he could hear the crunching. “Why’s that?”

“A number of reasons.” he said tiredly. “Hey, is your offer still a thing?”

“Well, yeah. Why, did you fuck up so badly you need help?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.” he sighed. “Please, Vicki.”

“Fine, fine!” she said. “Remember about tonight.”

“...what’s tonight?”

“Oh my god, I’m not your secretary, you lazy bum. The icebreaker drinks at the Waterfront?”

“Right.” he said, remembering calling Fish Mooney. “Now I remember. Thanks, Vicki.”

“You’re welcome, jackass.” she said nonchalantly. “Dress up nicely. I got your back.”

She ended the call and he was left alone with his thoughts and the burning presence of Charlie on the same floor; through the door, he could hear her voice faintly. She was laughing, and it was a beautiful sound.

After the workout, on his way to take a shower he knocked at her door.

“Come in!” she called out and he entered the room and she looked up from her laptop and raised her eyebrows.

“What happened?” she asked, before he said anything. “You look… Sweaty.”

“I forgot to tell you, we’re going out tonight.” he said, wiping his face with a towel. “I made a reservation at the Waterfront. The team should get to know each other.”

“For a second it sounded really terrifying, you know. Like a date.” she said with a nervous chuckle. “Do I… Have to be there?”

“Oh, come on. It’ll be fun. The Waterfront’s a nice place. The owner is an old friend of mine.”

“Fine.” she said with a sigh. “I’ll come. When are we leaving?”

“In… Two hours, more or less. Sorry. Should have let you know sooner.”

“Yes, you should.” she said, closing her laptop, getting up and walking up to him. “Get out. I have some dolling up to do.”

She pushed him out of the room and her hand almost burned the skin on his chest, even though the fabric of his t-shirt.

He next saw her two hours later; and she wasn’t lying when she said she’s going to doll herself up. She curled her hair and put makeup on, hiding her freckles, much to his carefully hidden dismay. Her red lips were perfectly symmetrical and she was nervously playing with the cuff of her navy blue blouse.

“What?” she asked as he was staring at her “What?!”

“You look different.” he said finally and she rolled her eyes.

“That’s the point of dressing up, you know.” she said, crossing her arms and for a brief moment he saw a faint flash of her bra through the thin fabric of her blouse. “Good different or bad different?”

“Fishing for compliments, Cherry?” he asked, regaining his composure.

“Maybe so.” she said, putting her shoes on; simple, black pumps, that accentuated her legs nicely. “Anyway, I’m good to go.”

“Let’s go then. Ladies first.”

She walked past him and he smelled her perfume; fresh and fruity, with the most noticeable scent being strawberry.

He looked at her red hair and decided that of course she’s a strawberry kind of girl.

*** He was so infuriatingly nice and polite she wanted to strangle him. Almost nothing like his online persona; and his ridiculously handsome face wasn’t making anything easy. Hating him online, as he taunted and tried to kill her was easy; hating him in real life, as he made her pasta and carried her things was nearly impossible. Sure, he was still snarky; but it didn’t change the fact she felt oddly at peace in his home, in his presence, under his eyes.

(He looked almost impressed when he saw her dressed up and with makeup; that was first time in months she actually put some effort into looking nice. She was kind of glad she packed her heels and nice clothes and cosmetics; and kind of annoyed at the fact he didn’t look at her like that when she was bare faced and her hair were messy. Men.)

He looked very… Human when he knocked at her door and - sweaty, out of breath - informed her of the forgotten plan; and he looked at her apologetically and for a moment she found herself lost in his sharp, intelligent eyes.

Things were fuck, as the wise man once said. Things were fuck.

He held the door open for her, that fucking gentleman; and as they drove to the Waterfront - a well-hidden local, ran by his old friend - she was sure they looked like a picture perfect couple. His dark blue tie matched her blouse, as she absentmindedly noticed.

The club was crowded and she got anxious thinking about navigating between all those - drunk, high, chatty, happy - but he put his hand on her arm.

“We have a private room underground.” he told her, leading her towards the stairs. “You’re not the party type, I take it.”

“Not recently, no.” she muttered, wondering how it’d feel if he put his arm around her waist and quickly shaking this ridiculous thought off. “This place is… Something.”

“First of all, it’s safe.” he said, going downstairs and turning around. “Come on, I’ll catch you if you trip.”

“It’s not the first time I’m wearing heels, you know.” she muttered, slowly walking down as well and ignoring his hand he held out for her.

He only shrugged and put his hands in his pockets; finally they reached their private room and he let her in and she shuffled past him, briefly brushing his chest and inhaling his smokey cologne.

The others were already waiting for them, and Charlie recognized Theo - a pale, young man who went by the nickname XFilesTheome - and Louise, who went by RaptureFucker; she was after law school and was known for actually lecturing people about threats and offensive language; she had no idea who the other people are and if she played with them.

“Finally!” said a young woman, who was lounging on the nearby chair; her hair were tied in a ponytail and she was wearing a suit. “Took your sweet, sweet time, eh?”

“Yes, we did.” Oswald replied calmly, as Charlie awkwardly stood next to him. “There was some traffic. Sorry for not mastering bilocation, Vale.”

Vale! That must’ve been Vicki Vale - of victoriousvale - who often grouped up with Cobblepot. She was a journalist by day, and a formidable opponent by night; her Tracer was almost as relentless as Cobblepot’s Reaper.

“And you must be Charlie.” Vicki said, without getting up. “Pleased to meet you. Don’t just stand there, sit down!”

“...sure.” she said quietly as he pulled out a chair for her. “Hello.”

“Hey.” Louise muttered, not looking up from her phone. “Hold on a sec, I have to read this.”

“Fanmail?” Charlie asked and Louise shook her head.

“God, I wish. No, I’m helping a friend out with her problems.” she said, furiously typing. “You know Rocco?”

“I don’t think so, no,” she said hesitantly, looking at the last man; he was thin and had giant, dark, eyes and a soft, warm smile.

“PennyDumb.” he introduced himself and she gasped; he was one of her favorite Reinhardts and absolutely terrifying to play against. “Glad to finally meet you in person, Pop.”

“Likewise!” she said with enthusiasm. “God, we have so many hours together, I remember when we were both bronze!”

“Right?” he said with a smirk and she laughed. “Time flies as experience points come…”

“Time is but a social concept.” Theo said firmly, brushing his dark hair away from his eyes. “It doesn’t exist, but it serves.”

“...that’s a quote from children’s book.” Charlie said after a while. “About alchemy.”

“Well, now we’ve both exposed ourselves as nerds who read books for children.” Theo said with a shrug. “What can I say? It’s a nice read.”

“I’m going to order drinks.” Cobblepot said suddenly. “What do you want?”

She looked down as she remembered her pills don’t mix well with alcohol. Oswald went around, taking orders; some wine for Louise, scotch for him and Vicki, beer for Rocco and Theo-

“I don’t drink.” she said as he looked at her expectantly. “Sorry. And… Neither should you. You’re the driver.”

“One scotch won’t even get me slightly buzzed. Your pretty little head is safe with me.” he dismissed her and she scoffed; that was the second time he said pretty little head in relation to her. “I can get you freshly squeezed orange juice.”

“Alright.” she said, as Vicki was watching her attentively; she leaned in towards her as soon as Oswald left.

“How’s he treating you?” she asked and Louise rolled her eyes. “I know you’re staying with him, and I know you two are… Not on the best terms.”

“He’s decent, actually. I think he realizes people talk a lot of shit in the heat of the moment. He’s… A good host.” she said, sighing. “It’s complicated. You know how it is - you call someone a piece of shit, but it’s not like that, it’s never like that.”

“Oh, I get it.” Vicki assured her. “I call him pretentious dick all the time and he doesn’t mind.”

“I do, actually.” Oswald suddenly said, entering the room with a tray full of glasses. “I’m not pretentious. I’m eloquent.”

“Same difference, you prick.” Vicki said nonchalantly; Louise put her phone down and sighed. “Now give me my liquor. I’ve been good this week, I deserve a treat.”

“You don’t.” Louise said calmly. “You forgot to feed the cat… Again.”

“He’s a predator! He can feed himself. Besides, he’s fat anyway.”

“Keep your marital spats out of this room, please.” Oswald said, setting a wine glass in front of Louise. “I got you a whole bottle.”

“That’s one of ten bottles you owe me, big guy.”

“Give me time.” he said with a wink, turning to Charlie. “Your juice.”

He set her glass down and his hands were slightly sticky; did he squeeze the juice himself?

(It was perfect, tart and sweet at the same time, thick and delicious.)

The evening was pleasant, and with time Charlie loosened up a bit; after all, those were not complete strangers. Sure, they knew next to nothing about her as a person - but she was fine with people knowing her just on the surface level.

(No one would care about what’s underneath anyway.)

They were all nice; and she found herself glancing at Oswald from time to time, pondering the nature of her feelings for him. Outside the game, he was charming, polite, hospitable, always ready for some petty quarrel; and eventually she came to a simple conclusion - she liked that guy. Sure, it was a weird kind of sympathy, very aggressive and harsh at times; but she definitely liked him. She felt at ease around him - and she only actually knew him for a day.

Things only went downhill from there, from that moment when she briefly glanced at his relaxed, grinning profile and he saw her gaze and nodded lightly in her direction, before returning his attention to Vicki.

*** He couldn’t stop himself from glancing at her from time to time, as they were getting to know their team. At first she was tense and quiet; but after she loosened up a bit… Her natural charm came to surface and Vicki had to kick him under the table a few times to stop him from staring at Cherry.

Because good god he felt he could stare at her forever, at the way she covered her mouth when she laughed and the way she fluttered her lashes; he felt like this is the person who taunted him for months.

(Even though that anxious, quiet Cherry was also delightful. The truth was, he’d consider her a delight no matter the circumstances; he was in too deep.)

Vicki joined him when he was heading upstairs for another beer for Theo and more juice for Cherry; he glanced at her Cheshire Cat-like grin as they were walking up the stairs.

“What?” he asked and her smile grew even wider.

“She doesn’t hate you.” Vicki said finally and Oswald froze in place for a moment. “You heard me. She doesn’t hate you. I have no idea what does she feel for you, but it most definitely isn’t hatred.”

“Well, do you think I have a chance?”

“Who the hell knows?” she said with a shrug. “Maybe. Just because she doesn’t hate you doesn’t mean she’s into you.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” he sighed as they approached the bar; that night Fish herself was behind the counter. “Hey again, Fish.”

“Welcome back, boy. What will it be this time?”

“Just a beer and another juice.” he said, sliding behind the counter. “You still have those sweet oranges, right?”

“Last batch. Just for you… And that pretty little thing.” Fish added with a smirk and Oswald shot her a pale smile. “Sweet like her, eh?”

“That’s the general idea, yes.” he said cutting oranges in half as Vicki sat on a nearby barstool. “Hey Vale, want another scotch?”

“You know I do.”

“Coming up.”

“Oh, I wish I could have you here every night.” Fish sighed, watching his hands. “Why won’t you run away from home and come work for me, boy?”

“Maybe some other day.” he said, setting the glasses down on a tray. “Family business comes first. You know how it is.”

“I do, unfortunately. Anyway. Give that pretty little thing my regards, Oswald. What’s her name again?”

“Cherry.” he replied automatically and Vicki snickered.

“No, it’s Charlie. We call her Pop. You’re the only person to call her Cherry.” she said mockingly as he looked at her heavily. “Come on, Cobblepot. Say her name.”

“Charlie.” he said - softly, tenderly, lovingly. “Her name is Charlie.”

“Pretty name for a pretty little thing.” Fish said with a playful smile. “Good luck, Oswald.”

“Thanks.” he said, lifting the tray. “I’ll need it.”

“Wish I could record it.” Vicki said mockingly, walking next to him. “I bet people on twitch would pay me good money for this one.”

“Oh, fuck off, you sound the same when you’re talking about Lou!” he scoffed, but she only laughed in response.

“Yeah, she’s my girlfriend. Not an unrequited crush.”

“Well, want me to remind you how you were when you didn’t know it’s mutual?”

“You don’t have to, my facebook memories do it on a daily basis.” Vicki said grimly as they were walking down the stairs. “The point is, people in love act and sound pathetic. And as your best friend and wingwoman… I think I have the right to making fun of you.”

“Of course you do.” he sighed as she opened the door for him. “You can do whatever you want, Vale.”

“Ah! Can’t wait to use that one against you.” she laughed out as he was setting Cherry-

Charlie’s juice in front of her. She glanced at him and smiled, rubbing the back of her neck; and he instinctively winked at her, accidentally brushing the back of her other hand with his fingertips.

Finally they had to part ways; their first practice was tomorrow afternoon and they had to get some rest, and in case of Rocco and Theo - sober up a bit.

Oswald didn’t feel tired; and neither did Charlie.

“My family’s park is nearby.” he suggested as they were standing on the sidewalk outside. “We can go for a walk. Some fresh air won’t hurt.”

“Alright.” she said hesitantly, rubbing her arms with her palms and looking away; once they were alone, she got all awkward and tense again. “It’s… Kinda cold though.”

“Ah yes, nights in Gotham can get chilly.” he said, glancing at her. “Want my jacket?” “But what about you?”

“I’ll manage.” he said, already taking it off. “I kinda like cold, to be honest.”

(He lied; he hated cold - but the grateful look in her eyes when she took his jacket was worth it. And so was the sight of her briefly closing her eyes as she covered her shoulders with it.)

That time of day, the park was nearly empty; but it was still clean and well lit.

“It’s nice, I have to give your family that.” she said with a sigh, as they were nearing a pond. “Whoever designed it knew their craft.”

“That’d be my dad.” he said, picking up a perfectly flat pebble. “Hey. Want to play a game?”

“...sure.”

“I’m great at many things, including skipping stones.”  he said, glancing at her. “Make a wish. If the stone skips five times… It’ll come true.”

“And if it sinks?”

“Then we’ll try again.” he said nonchalantly and she giggled. “Come on. Make a wish.”

“Alright.” she said eventually. “I made my wish. Do your magic.”

He squinted slightly, bent his wrist and threw the stone. Plop, plop, plop-

It skipped six times before finally sinking. He turned to her, grinning.

“See?” he said proudly. “What did you wish for?”

“Victory.” she said after a short silence, looking him in the eye. “Not very surprising, huh?”

“Wishes don’t have to be surprising.” he said slowly, hearing the faintest note of hesitance in her voice. “But looks like I just cemented our success.”

“Here’s to hoping.” she sighed and suddenly yawned and he turned his head away to hide the fact his lips were curling in a tender smile. “I think now might be a good time to go home.”

“Already feeling at home in Chateau, Cherry?” he asked as they were slowly walking towards the exit.

“I’m trying to.” she said. “But basically, home is where my heart is… And I think I didn’t forget any internal organs.”

“Not even your brain?” he said playfully and she rolled her eyes, but didn’t say anything.

He bumped into her in the kitchen later that night; they were both heading to bed and he walked in as she was pouring herself a glass of water; she was only wearing a washed out tee and a pair of boyshorts and he groaned quietly, looking at her pale legs and ridiculously shapely buttocks - and when she turned around he could see the faint outline of her perky breasts through the fabric.

She nodded in his direction, seemingly unaware of the effect she had on him, briefly glancing at his chest.

“A knife fight?” she asked, looking at a scar running across his ribs.

“Yep.” he said, shuffling past her to get his own glass of water. “You should see the other guy though.”

“Mmm.” she muttered, taking a sip. “Handy with a knife?”

“You could say that. Though I prefer to limit my skills to chopping onions, rather than stabbing people.” he said, briefly glancing at her freckles; she stood in place, staring at him silently. Finally she shook her head.

“I’m going to bed.” she informed him, shuffling past; her hair brushed his skin. “Goodnight.”

“Sleep tight, don’t let the bedbugs bite…” he hummed and she snickered.

“You know, warning me of bedbugs doesn’t show your family in the best light.”

And just like that she disappeared in her bedroom and he was left with an overwhelming need for a very cold shower.

***

That night she did that one thing she never expected to ever do, under any circumstances - she got off to the thought of birdmaskguy.

He bumped into her in the kitchen, as she was trying to decide between water and apple juice; and he looked scandalously hot, with his messy hair and intriguing scars scattered across his body.

(Good boy from a good family. Where did he even get those?)

And he looked at her like he saw her for the first time; it was an awkward, tense moment, with her body slowly betraying her mind, and him slowly coming to terms with the fact she had a physical form.

They went for a walk earlier that night, through the park; it was beautiful and quiet and she felt unreasonably at peace next to him, even though they threatened to kill each other multiple times. He showed off his skill at skipping stones, and she played along.

She wished for happiness. That was her wish - to actually feel happy again. It felt ridiculous, making that wish as he stared at her expectantly, dim light of a nearby lantern illuminating his face.

As he turned around looking at her triumphantly she suddenly felt the urge to kiss him; but she fought it off. It was ridiculous and out of place and would technically count as an assault. She didn’t kiss him, instead limiting herself to simply staring at him, same way she did many times earlier that night.

And there she was, in her bedroom in his family home, the image of him imprinted in her brain, dishevelled, casual, offensively alluring, and the way he looked at her, as if he forgot she has a body.

(He looked at her same way when he first saw her in makeup and nice clothes. It was weird and complicated and she wasn’t quite sure what to make of it.)

He looked beautiful that night; he looked beautiful in a suit and he looked beautiful in his sweatpants and with bare skin of his torso and her body betrayed her with a wave of heat washing over her, finally centering between her bare thighs.

She got off to her imagination, her thoughts wandering freely, trying to figure out what would his scruffy chin feel like against her skin.

He woke her up the next morning, with very persistent knocking at her door.

“What?” she groaned, her eyes still closed, her body still curled up under the blanket. “It’s early, go away!”

“It’s nine.” he said, still knocking. “Can I come in?”

“Sure.” she muttered, grabbing a pillow. “Your house, your rules.”

She threw a pillow at him as soon as he entered and he threw it back.

“You should eat something.” he informed her, crossing his arms. “What do you eat for breakfast?”

“I don’t eat breakfast, so piss off.” she muttered, returning to her previous, fetal position and closing her eyes; but he wasn’t going anywhere. Instead he cleared his throat a few times, until she opened her eyes again and looked at him.

“What?” she asked tearfully and he snickered. “What do you want?!”

“Breakfast is important.” he said, still staring at her. “Come on. Get up.”

“But I don’t want to!”

“But I don’t care!” he replied, mimicking her; he walked up to the bed. “Come on. I’ll count to three. Get up, or… I’ll get you up.”

“Mmm. Good luck with that.” she muttered, closing her eyes and putting her head on a pillow.

He did drag her out of bed; he grabbed her ankle and pulled, forcing her to sit up. Then he grabbed her wrists and forced her to stand up.

“Come on.” he said firmly. “My house, my rules, and my rule for today is you shall eat your breakfast. Cereal? Oatmeal? Eggs? Toast? Pancakes? Fruit salad?”

“Waffles.” she muttered quietly and he snickered, opening the fridge. Of course he’d make his own batter. What an obnoxious ass.

“You should work on your sleep schedule, you know.” he said, setting a plate full of perfect, golden, crispy waffles in front of her. “Did you stay up late?”

“No, I just sleep a lot.” she muttered; she was tired a lot, no matter how much sleep she got. Sometimes she’d sleep for sixteen hours, only getting up to go to the toilet. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”

“Well, some of your habits should die quickly. You have to be in tip top shape.” he said lightly. “What do you drink?”

“I assume you don’t have any cheap energy drinks, do you?”

“No, but I have citrus black tea.” he said, boiling some water. “I have an intrusive question. May I?”

“Your existence is intrusive.” she said and he only smiled and shook his head.

“Are you depressed, Cherry?” he asked, making her tea.

It was a sunny morning in Gotham and she was eating perfect waffles birdmaskguy made her and he was making her tea and they were both in their pajamas, their hair messy and their bodies still warm from the memories of sleep; and he just asked her if she’s depressed.

Weird situation.

“Yeah.” she said, putting her fork down. “I am.”

“We have a very good psychiatrist in Gotham, you know.” he said, adding some honey to her tea. “One of the best. I can get you two in touch if you run out of medication.”

He glanced at her and she sighed, thinking about last night. Did he figure it out when she said she doesn’t drink? Who knows.

“Thanks.” she said, as he set the cup down. “But… Why do you care?”

“Because…” he said after a long silence. “I don’t want your bad mental state to get in a way of our victory. Which means… Me taking care of your sleep schedule and eating habits. Do you exercise?”

“Oh, don’t you dare-” she started, but he interrupted her.

“I’m not going to force you to exercise. What I’m saying is… Some physical activity would probably help.”

He paused for a moment and sent her a provocative grin.

“You wouldn’t keep up with me anyway.”

It worked. It was such a bullshit, obvious bait - but it worked.

“Hey, fuck you.” she said, taking a sip of her tea. “I refuse to believe you can do more than ten pushups. You sit on your ass playing games as well, how fit can you be?!”

Turned out, he is in perfect shape; she gave up after fifteen minutes. He kept on going for over an hour, talking effortlessly, and she sat on the floor of his private gym, trying to not stare at him too much, trying to not dwell on what happened last night too much.

(She was sure it was just a one time thing.)

***

It wasn’t just a one time thing.

As days passed, and he looked after her she found herself thinking about him more and more often. After a week she couldn’t remember what it felt to be angry at him; he was genuinely nice and didn’t seem to mind her occasional meanness; and she didn’t seem to be able to ignore the fact he was attractive. Depressed or not, her body still had its needs - and she had so few actual distractions from her apathy and numbness she didn’t even feel guilty when she’d slip her hand between her legs, thinking about the way his muscles moved under his skin as he was doing pushups.

And as much as she hated to admit it - his efforts in making her feel a bit better by making her sleep at regular hours and feeding her normal food weren’t entirely fruitless. She had more energy, and only had one breakdown; she knew he’d probably stop his efforts if she was firm enough in saying no, but… She didn’t want to. She knew as soon as she returns to New York she’s going to resume her previous, miserable, almost destructive lifestyle; but this thing was nice while it lasted. Kept her grounded.

She kept her thoughts to herself, even though even her viewers - because she sometimes streamed from the comfort of her bedroom in Chateau Cobblepot - noticed there’s something different about her. Her laughter apparently sounded more genuine, and her voice sounded more relaxed; some people made - rather not amusing - jokes about birdmaskguy’s magical dick.

“Ha-ha, very funny.” she said, glancing at the comment. “It’s not like that, you know. Two adult people can spend time together and not fuck.”

tbqph sex is a fun activity, so i don’t think anyone would judge you if you fucked him.

“Yeah, well, I would judge myself.” she said lightly. “He’s not my cup of tea.”

but he sure as hell is MY cup of tea. he’s hot and he cooks!

“He also spends a lot of time on reddit.”

yeah, well, no one’s perfect. okay, except for idris elba. he’s perfect.

“Hm.” Charlie pondered, cheerfully teabagging the floor with the enemy Tracer. “Yeah. That’s true.”

She wondered what’s going on on the other side, during his steams; their audiences overlapped a bit, but his was more… Typical.

She winced, thinking about what kind of jokes probably happen in his comment section.

*** “I’m going to ban you.” Oswald said tiredly, seeing another rape joke. “You know my zero tolerance policy for this stuff.”

People’s reactions to Charlie temporarily living under his roof were… Distasteful. Sure, many people took it well,  some people made mildly funny jokes about the grand finale to apparent sexual tension between a Reaper who just scored quintuple kill and a Mercy who scored a quintuple rez, and some people - who didn’t like Charlie for being annoying and squeaky - wished him luck; but some people reacted in… A truly abhorrent way.

“Stop that.” he said firmly, as another person expressed their wish of seeing him put her in her place, whatever it meant. “We’re on the same team. Sure, we have our differences, but it’s normal.”

did she suck your dick at least lol

“I’d say I feel sorry for your partner, but I don’t think you’re going to get one in foreseeable future.” he said with a yawn. “What is with you people and being obsessed with us?”

people are expecting a hatefuck.

“Well, sorry to disappoint.” he said dryly; he was never a fan of what he called antagonistically aggressive sex. It always rubbed him as borderline non-consensual, hurtful; a little bit of pain was a nice addition, but only as long as it was a path to mutual pleasure, not objectification. “But my sex life is still my own.”

are you implying you don’t think she’s hot? are you blind?

“Alright, this is enough.” he said, once again grateful for his mask. “That’s none of your business anyway.”

come on, you told us about your pierced dick! why are you suddenly so coy? hiding something?

“I was drunk!” he said angrily. “Just drop it, ok?”

A knock at the door; as he looked up, she was standing there, in a t-shirt and underwear and she looked sleepy and soft.

“You’re yelling.” she said. “I’m trying to sleep.”

“Sorry.” he said, staring at her from behind the mask. “I’ll be quiet now.”

“Are you streaming?” she asked with a yawn; she walked up to him, and - putting a warm hand that almost burned his skin on his shoulder - looked at the screen; her face was in frame.

“Hello!” she said, watching him die. “Awh. You’re terrible.”

“You’re distracting.” he muttered; he wasn’t lying. The warmth of her body was distracting.

She giggled and he groaned quietly, wondering if she’s doing it on purpose.

“Well, I’m going back to bed.” she said eventually and left and he died again, too busy staring at her ass.

wow, what a bitch.

“I woke her up. She has every right to not be nice.” he said, locking another person out of his channel. “Anyway.”

*** They hooked up between the matches, between USA vs Germany and USA vs New Zealand.

At that point, she already came to terms with a shocking revelation she actually likes him. Sure, she never told him - not after he explicitly stated he only cares about her depression because it’s a potential obstacle - but he was still a pleasant company.

He called her a tease during the match, as she was frantically flying between the teammates, trying to keep everyone alive, especially Rocco, whose shield was the one thing standing between them and certain death.

“Come on, you tease!” he called out. “I’m dying here!”

“I can’t be everywhere at once, you prick!” she yelled in response, as their teammates briefly glanced at each other with a mix of uncertainty and amusement.

But ultimately they won and he decided it calls for a celebration in form of a feast at Chateau, with champagne and everything they liked to eat.

“And you are going to help.” he said and she groaned. “What? I feed you! It’s only fair.”

“So I’m a slave.” she said and he winced.

“No.” he said firmly. “Let’s keep slavery out of this discussion, please.”

She helped him with groceries, which included a long trip to farmer’s market and a huge order at his favorite, expensive-as-fuck deli. Finally, she helped him in the kitchen - but not without loudly voicing her unhappiness.

“Oh, shut up.” he said carelessly, throwing a small onion at her. “If you really don’t want to help, you can go. But I’ll complain about it a lot.”

“I know.” she said, taking a knife and cutting the vegetable up. “Which is why this heroic sacrifice is taking place.”

“Attagirl.” he said, also chopping something; and she briefly paused her own action to shamelessly stare at the way he used the kitchen blade.

(She wondered if he’s as handy with a butterfly knife.)

Finally everything was prepared and was sure she has cumin and nutmeg stuck in her nose; her hands smelled like a variety of herbs and she had lettuce in her hair.

“Take a shower.” he said, wiping his hands in a kitchen towel; he had some yellow curry paste on the bridge of his nose, surely a result of not using a hand blender carefully enough. “And dress up nicely.”

“Yes, sir.” she said sarcastically and he rolled his eyes. “Anything else you need, master?”

She left the kitchen before he said anything, very pleased with how dumbfounded he looked, even though her cheeks were red.

She took a  - cold - shower, and put on a knee-length, black pencil dress with sheer neckline and black ankle-strap platforms; Oswald knocked at her door as she was doing her makeup, painting her lips red.

“Mmmm?” she muttered, looking at his reflection in the mirror. “What do you want?”

“Red or blue?” he asked, holding two ties and looking exasperated.

“It doesn’t matter.” she said, reaching for her eyeliner. “Blue, I guess.”

He kept staring at her without a word, so she sighed, put the eyeliner down and turned around, still not getting up from her stool.

“What?” she asked, and he blinked a few times.

“Nothing! Nothing.” he said quickly and left, leaving her puzzled.

The dinner was pleasant; everyone was optimistic and chatty and joked about how the Germans are probably crying themself to sleep or maybe cheering themselves up with Goethe or Schopenhauer.

Vicki told her something surprising as they bumped into each other just outside the toilet. She was slightly buzzed; maybe that’s why she spilled the beans.

“I promised him I’ll be his wingwoman, but sometimes honesty just does the trick, you know.” she said in hushed voice, as Charlie stared at her silently. “He’s an obnoxious ass, isn’t he?”

“He has his moments.” Charlie said carefully. “But he was raised well, I think.”

“Yes, he’s a gentleman.” Vicki giggled. “Which is why he’d never tell you half the stuff he told me.”

“Oh yeah?” Charlie said lightly, crossing her arms. “What did he tell you?”

“That you’re a tease.” Vicki giggled. “And very distracting one. He told me he couldn’t sleep the first time he saw you in your pajamas. He never got into details though.” she added, staring at her. “But honestly, I kinda feel him. You’re a pretty girl. You’re not my type, but… I definitely see the appeal.”

“Thanks.” she said uncertainly, slowly processing what she just heard. “You like… Tall girls, right?”

“Tall and dark haired and sarcastic.” she hummed and Charlie smiled palely; it was admirable how faithfully in love Vicki and Louise were. “Do you like him?”

“Are you going to run straight to him and tell him my answer?”

“You bet!”

“Then I’ll keep the answer to myself.” Charlie said, shuffling past Vicki and disappearing in the toilet.

Inside, she looked at her reflection; she looked nice. She wondered if he complained about it to anyone, if she was a distraction.

*** She was infuriating that day and he couldn’t help but stare at her helplessly, taking all her snark and theatrical complaining. He called her a tease completely mindlessly, but seemingly no one noticed; when they won she looked at him proudly and he wanted to do the most cliche things possible - raise her up and kiss her in front of everyone.

But he didn’t, instead he only winked at her; and he barely looked at her when they were cooking, instead grounding himself by focusing on chopping and measuring and stirring, painfully aware of her warm presence.

He - perhaps foolishly - decided to ask for her opinion on which tie he should wear; and her sight left him dumbfounded. That was the second time he saw her like that, and the sight wasn’t any less breathtaking - the conclusion being she looked beautiful in pajamas and elegant clothes and sweatpants, with and without makeup, with her hair messy and neatly styled.

She looked annoyed by his presence, so he promptly left, tightly grasping at the tie she picked.

She drank some champagne that night - a small,symbolic amount, because she firmly refused to let him buy a bottle of non-alcoholic one for her - and she looked at him sipping it. In fact, from certain point she looked at him a lot - did he have something on his face?

(Vicki avoided his eyes that night and he wondered how badly did she fuck up.)

Finally the people had left, and she helped him clean up, glancing at him from time to time.

“Did I do something?” he asked, taking a mountain of plates from her. “You keep staring.”

“Do I?” she replied, quickly walking away, leaving him puzzled.

(He posted a picture of their team on his social media accounts; tonight we are victorious, champagne pouring over us - one match won, plenty more to go! good job. It gathered quite a lot of attention; people were congratulating them and complimenting their bold strategy. Even busy Bruce Wayne found a moment to write an upbeat comment, congratulating Oswald on his victory and asking when is he going to bring his friend over for dinner.)

He was in the middle of a stream when he heard a knock at the door and a quiet can I come in?

“What is it, Cherry?” he asked, not looking up from his screen. “Am I being too loud again?”

“I just could use some company, that’s all.” she said hesitantly and he looked up; she was wearing the same washed out tee and boyshorts she was wearing the first night, and something about her felt… Different.

“Alright.” he said, returning his attention to the game, as she slowly walked up to him and sat on the surface of his desk, next to his monitor.

“How’s it going?” she asked, crossing her legs and folding her hands and staring at him.

“I’m mostly just fucking around tonight.” he said carefully, ignoring the rapidly popping out comments. “I’ll be wrapping it up soon anyway. It’s late.”

“Mmmm.” she muttered, still staring at him.

Finally he said goodnight to the viewers and turned everything off; she kissed him as soon as he took his mask off.

He dropped it onto the floor as she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer; and initially, he gave in, only pushing her away when she pulled his hair,

“Are you drunk?” he asked, even though there was no trace of alcohol in her breath.

“I don’t drink.” she reminded him quietly, looking at him attentively; her cheeks were flushed.

“Then what’s going on?”

“Vicki told me.” she said quietly, nervously playing with her hair. “That you… Are into me.”

“Fuck.” he muttered, running his fingers through his hair.

“That’s my intention, yes.” she said with a smirk, brushing his chest with her fingertips. “What, not in the mood?”

“I’m just… Surprised, that’s all.” he said, trying to not get distracted by her touch. “I didn’t think it’s mutual.”

“Well, it is.” she said, gently nudging his knee with her foot. “So what are you waiting for?”

He kissed her without a word, getting up from his chair and picking her up effortlessly; he carried her to bed and she giggled as he slid one hand under her shirt, reaching between her legs with the other one.

“I guess…” he whispered, gently brushing her neck with his lips, squeezing her breast lightly; her skin was smooth and warm and exactly as he imagined it to be. “I’m waiting for you to say please.”

“Then you’re going to wait for a while.” she panted out as he teased her through the fabric. “I’m a patient gal.”

“Yes, but I’m an insufferable prick.” he said with a smirk and kissed her again.

She was so soft under his touch, so sensitive; she scratched his back and her moans and whimpers were like music to his ears as he kissed her neck and held her hips to keep her from moving and laughed in her face as she called him names, while pulling him closer, closer, closer.

*** She snuck out of his bedroom after he fell asleep; her heart was racing and she felt more alive than she ever did during the past year. He was so gentle; and his fingers on her skin felt right. He looked so peaceful when he was asleep; so peaceful and beautiful.

She wasn’t sure he’d play along when she entered the room; but he did. He gave her what she wanted, and more - and yet when she closed the door to her bedroom behind her she felt… Empty. It was a different kind of empty than the one she felt for months; it was painful and grey, not dull and black.

She cried herself to sleep that night, firmly refusing to take her pills, even though the bottle was there, on her nightstand, within her reach.

The next morning he didn’t wake her up at all; when she opened her eyes and checked the time it was noon. He left her shirt and undies on a chair just outside her door; and when she ventured into kitchen she found some oatmeal on the stove, and tea in thermos; still hot, sweetened with honey, like always.

(She didn’t even like oatmeal; but his was thick and sweet and rich, with freshly grated cinnamon and sauteed apples and brown sugar.)

She sighed quietly, putting some bread in the toaster. She wondered where did he go; without him the house felt cold and impersonal. Suddenly she realized she has no idea how do other parts of the building look; for a moment she considered going through other rooms, but quickly abandoned the idea of violating his family’s privacy like that.

She took a shower and got dressed, washing off the sensation his kisses left on her skin; and as she was drying her hair, she heard a doorbell.

“Shit.” she muttered, torn between pretending no one’s home and acting like a normal person. “Alright. I’m coming!” she called out, hurrying towards the front door.

Outside she bumped into Bruce Wayne himself, who was admiring the view with his hands in his pockets and his back turned to her.

He turned around and raised his eyebrows.

“Well.” he said hesitantly. “You’re not Oz.”

“He’s… Out.” she said, brushing her moist hair away from her face. “And I have no idea when is he going to be back.”

“Alright.” Wayne said carefully, looking at her. “Can I come in and wait for him, or-”

“Oh, sure!” she said quickly, moving aside to let him in. “He didn’t tell me he’s expecting someone today.”

“Probably because it’s a surprise visit.” he said, going inside and glancing at her. “You’re on his team, right?”

“I’m the healer, yes.” she said, following him. “And I’m the parasite who’s living with him.”

“That’s harsh.” Bruce said hesitantly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name-”

“Charlie.” she interrupted him. “I’m Charlie. People online call me Pop. Oswald calls me Cherry.”

“Yes, he always has nicknames for people close to him.” Bruce said and her heart skipped a beat. “He used to call me Zorro… Though he stopped at some point. Now it’s just-”

“Brucie!” she heard Oswald’s voice coming from behind them; when they turned around he was standing in the doorway with a wide smile on his face. “It’s been ages!”

“Work.” Bruce said with a smile, and the two friends embraced; Oswald briefly glanced at Charlie over Bruce’s shoulder and his smile disappeared for a moment. “But I have a free afternoon, so I thought it might a good idea to pay you a visit. Catch up a bit. Check if everything’s alright.”

“Oh, everything’s dandy.” Oswald assured him and Charlie stood there awkwardly, wondering if he regrets last night ever happening. “I see you’ve met my temporary cohabitant”

“I’ll leave you two to it.” Charlie said quickly as Bruce turned his attention to her. “It was… Nice to meet you, mister Wayne.”

“It’s Bruce.” he corrected her with a smile. “And likewise.”

She hastily disappeared in her bedroom and opened up her laptop to catch up with the latest drama on tumblr.

Oswald knocked at her door some time later.

“You should eat something.” he said calmly as she looked up from her screen. “I threw some pork into a slow cooker before leaving. Interested?”

“I’m not hungry.” she said, despite actually being hungry. “But I think we should talk.”

“Alright.” he said indifferently, playing with his wristwatch; and his indifference hurt. “Let’s talk.”

“What happened last night…” she said carefully. “I’m… Sorry. I’m not sure what had gotten into me.”

“So it was a one time mistake.” he said, after brief silence. “Right?”

“Right.” she said slowly, trying to look beneath the surface of his calm, trying to find the man who kissed her back.

“Everyone makes mistakes, Cherry.” he said and she felt like she’s suffocating. “It was fun, but it’s not going to happen again. Curiosity sated, and so on.”

“Right.” she muttered. “Well… Well said.”

“You really should eat something.” he said before leaving, looking at her over his shoulder. “I worked hard on your new dietary habits. I’d hate to see my efforts go to waste.”

She flipped him off and he laughed and for a moment it felt like nothing had happened between them, like last night was just a figment of her imagination.

***

When he woke up, she weren’t there; only her clothes on the floor signalized last night really happened, that she really came into his room, that they really… They really…

He lied in bed for a while, trying to process what happened. The warmth of her skin, and the way she reacted to his kisses, and the way she looked at her with her eyes half closed; it was magical.

But - she wasn’t there when he woke up, she snuck out when he was asleep; maybe she regretted it. Maybe she was ashamed.

He got dressed, made breakfast and left the home, without waking her up. He went to Vicki’s place; it was eight in the morning when he knocked at her door.

“Do you know what time it is?!” she asked angrily after unlocking the door, but softened after noticing how miserable he looked. “...what happened?”

“Can I come in?” he asked quietly and she let him in; luckily she was alone that morning.

“Coffee?” she asked, yawning and locking the door behind him; he shook his head, knowing she’s drinking cheap, instant coffee that had nothing on what he had back home.

“You look like a kicked puppy.” she said, making herself a cup of that cheap monstrosity. “What happened?”

“I fucked Cherry.” he said as she was pouring some milk into her cup; she sighed and set the jug down, but didn’t turn around to face him.

She knew.

“She came to my room last night…” he continued, staring at the back of Vicki’s neck. “...and told me you told her I have hots for her.”

“I didn’t think she’d do anything about it!” Vicki said, finally turning around. “What’s the deal anyway? That’s what you wanted, right?”

“You know it’s not!” he blurted out. “You know damn well it was not about getting her to spread her legs for me.”

“...you’re right.” she said after brief silence, avoiding his eyes; he looked at her coldly, remembering the time when he helped her with Louise. He thought he can count on her to repay the favor. “I messed up.”

‘We both messed up.” he said softly, his anger gone. “In fact… I think all three of us messed up.”

“Maybe it’ll clear some air between you.” she said; she was clearly forcing herself to sound optimistic. “How about it?”

“Maybe.” he said, deciding to let it go; there was no point in blaming Vicki for his own actions. “Sorry for waking you up, Vale.”

“You can redeem yourself by going out and getting me bagels.” she yawned. “You know what I like.”

When he returned home some time later, Bruce was there, talking to Charlie; he looked at her as he was hugging his old friend. She looked surprisingly miserable, and excused herself as soon as it was possible; he followed her with his eyes, before returning his attention to Bruce.

“You look good!” he said. “Alfred’s taking good care of you, I presume?”

“Alfred is doing his best.” Bruce said with a smile. “How are your parents?”

“Oh, they’re doing great. Their anniversary is coming up, so they went to Bahamas for two months.” he said with a smile.

“So.” Bruce said after a brief pause. “That girl… Are you two…”

“It’s not like that.” Oswald interrupted him hastily. “She’s a teammate. Just a teammate.”

“A live-in teammate.” Bruce pointed out with a playful grin and Oswald rolled his eyes theatrically.

“Yeah, well, we’re both responsible adults. Tea?”

“Always.”

After Bruce left, he went to her room to talk; in the meantime he made a decision. She snuck out; maybe she wasn’t interested in anything bigger. So be it. He decided to give her all the space she needs; she herself said she has no idea what gotten into her.

When she flipped him off his heart skipped a beat, because it was as if they erased the previous night altogether. Nothing ever happened between them; and nothing would happen ever again.

***

They kept on winning; their team was like an unstoppable force of nature. They knew all of each other’s tricks, after hours spent on playing against each other; they knew all the tricks - and were quick to find ways to assist each other with them. They thought on their feet, abusing slight glitches and the physics engine, and worked like a well-oiled machinery; they won with New Zealand, Australia, Sweden, Japan, Poland.

(Though the last one wasn’t too difficult; a short clip of CherryPop’s Mercy hustling among the corpses of the enemy team with Another One Bites The Dust by Queen playing in the background quickly became a hit.)

And what happened that one night - didn’t happen again. She was sure Vicki knows; Vale looked at her oddly and anxiously. It didn’t seem like the others found out; good. There was no reason for them to know.

(Even though she was sure there’s something going on between Theo and Rocco; but it was none of her business.)

She still got off to her imagination from time to time; but it just didn’t feel good anymore. What she felt during that one time - it was more than just pleasure. She felt at peace, almost like happiness was within reach; almost as if he genuinely cared about her as a person, and not just a teammate. He was so tender, so gentle; a real fucking gentleman.

But it was just a one time thing; even though… Even though she wouldn’t mind it happening again. And again, and again, and again. It was a scary thought; it was not all what she wanted to feel, and she despised herself for it - but the heart wants what it wants and it cannot be reasoned with.

And the internet was buzzing - the word had spread that CherryPop visited birdmaskguy one night and sounded… Weird. The fact some people were bored enough to gossip about streamers was odd and a bit sad; but they did. And she let it slide, not debunking or confirming anything. There was no point in doing so; it simply didn’t matter.

He resumed taking care of her diet and sleeping schedule, and she resumed being unhappy about it; but it felt fake. She was conflicted, more conflicted than ever; lost and confused and yearning for more - but she couldn’t bring herself to talk about it - and nobody knew. Not their teammates, not her parents; and so she had nobody to complain to, nobody to consult.

(Her parents were convinced she’s doing fine, way better than in New York; new diet and regular sleeping hours were actually making wonders. So did the occasional exercise - but she started being sneaky about it, using the gym when he wasn’t around; she simply couldn’t bear looking at him like that.)

She developed a crush on him, on Oswald, on the way he treated her and the way he always rebuked her offenses and the way he once refused to hand her a jar of Maraschino cherries and held it above her head until she promised to pocket him the next match. She developed a crush on him, a crush she most definitely didn’t expect when she first met him on Hanamura, under the cherry blossoms between the objectives. She developed a crush on who he turned out to be under the mask, under his obnoxious quirk; and she wished she could turn back time and refuse his offer. Sure, she could simply pack up and move to one of Gotham’s many hotels - but he’d ask why.

And she wasn’t so sure she has the strength to lie.

***

It was painful, having her so close and not being able to treat her the way he wanted to - with love. When she asked him why he cares about her depression he lied through his teeth, and she accepted his answer; when he gently gave her a way out their bedroom mess - she took it. She wasn’t giving him a chance, she wasn’t giving him false hopes; he held his head high and kept on telling himself it’ll be over soon. Soon she’d be gone, out of his home, out of his sight; and he was sure with time she’d be out of his heart as well. What the eye does not see the heart does not grieve over, and so on.

So he kept on his facade; until everything went crashing down, thanks to his own obtuseness and the Russians.

(The Russians. Of course. In Gotham it’s always either Russians or Italians; almost as if those two nations personally cursed the city. Fuck you, Putin and Berlusconi.)

At first, everything was going well on their part; they were in good moods and well-rested and Charlie was begrudgingly munching on celery sticks he suggested her in place of tortilla chips.

(“...you do have lettuce instead of brain.”

“Ah, but what fresh ideas I have thanks to it! Come on, open up. Eat your veggies… Or else.

“Corn’s a vegetable though. So technically, tortilla chips…”

“...eat your celery or I’ll strangle you in your sleep.”)

The Russians were playing dirty and had no honor - he expected that much. He knew part of their team, he crossed paths with them a few times; and unfortunately - they weren’t exactly on speaking terms.

(He reported some of them for… Distasteful threats.)

Their Mei was constantly on Charlie’s ass, so their attention was divided between making sure she’s making it out alive, and taking care of their Slavic opponents; not an ideal scenario, but they could work with that.

Eventually though, their Mei managed to sneak behind them.

“Fuck! Someone help!” Charlie called out, frantically jumping around, trying to stall the enemy for as long as possible.

“Coming!” he said; he was on his way back to spawn anyway. He had to switch; they had to try something else if they wanted to have any chance at all at winning.

He hooked the Mei away at the last second and killed her in one shot, as Mercy ran to the nearest health pack.

“Thanks!” she said, for a moment looking away from her screen to shoot him a grateful smile; he blew her a kiss in response.

Her face turned pale and she looked away from him, staring at her screen again, even though her eyes seemed… Unfocused.

‘The fuck are you doing?” Vicki muttered to him, gunning down the enemy Zenyatta. “Again?”

“Shut up.” he muttered equally quietly in response, carefully glancing at Charlie; her lips were pursed and her eyes were squinted and she seemed angry.

They managed to score one point. No big deal; they simply had to stop their opponents from scoring any point at all to win. Or they could always get a draw; that’d call for a sudden death. That was a valid option as well.

Charlie disappeared somewhere during the short break between the rounds; and when she came back she was slurring and seemed lubberly. She seemed relaxed - too relaxed.

“Shit.” Oswald muttered as she walked up to him. “Are you alright? Cherry?”

“I had to take my anxiolytic pills…” she muttered, looking him in the eye; she cried. Her eyes were red and puffy and there were traces of tears on her cheeks. “I’m sorry…”

“What’s the problem?” Louise asked, walking up to them; rest of the team followed.

“We have to go on without her for a while.” he said calmly; she shrugged and looked away. “Carry until she wakes up, basically.”

“Maybe an energy drink?” Rocco suggested hesitantly. “I have some Red Bulls in my bag.”

Charlie nodded; but Oswald shook his head.

“Out of question.” he said firmly. “Mixing medicine with whatever’s in that shit… It’s not going to do her any good. I’ll get her some cold water, but that’s it.”

“You’re throwing a match, Cobblepot.” Charlie said calmly, looking at him; her eyes were hazy and she was shaking slightly.

Was she out of her mind? Her health was at stake - and all she could think about was a game?

“We still have a chance.” he said, keeping his concerns to himself; they could wait for another time. “I’m going to get that water. You try to keep her awake.” he said to rest of the team and walked away.

Round two was effectively a 5v6, due to Cherry’s state; they held the Russians off for as long as they could - but they didn’t stop them from getting the first point.

In the meantime, Charlie got better and left her hideout; but it was too late. The Russians got bold; they dealt tons of damage and hurled their abilities carelessly.

It was all over before they knew it; they lost 2:1, Mercy’s rez at 80% as their screens went black.

They lost; they were out.

***

She was doing fine; all until the moment he blew her a kiss in front of everyone, as if that was a normal gesture for them, as if he’d kiss her if he could, as if she wasn’t the one who kissed him first during that night that never happened.

What was he trying to accomplish? She had no idea; probably nothing, she told herself - but it was too late. Seed of a breakdown had already been planted; she excused herself during the break and cried in a bathroom stall, and - without thinking - swallowed a pill, first one in a long time.

It worked… Quickly and powerfully - maybe her organism grew disaccustomed. Maybe her brain was simply too tired to fight it off.

“You’re throwing a match.” she told him, desperately hoping to hear something like you’re more important than any match; but instead she only heard they still have a chance.

(Of course. She wasn’t important as a person, but as a teammate. The surface level was important; no one cared about what’s underneath.)

“Give me that Red Bull.” she muttered to Rocco after Oswald left; but he shook his head.

“He’s right, you know. It’s not wise.” he said and Charlie groaned. Vicki looked at her hesitantly, looking as if she wants to say something; but she didn’t.

(Maybe for the best.)

The ice cold water did wake her up a bit; but it wasn’t enough and it happened too late and they lost and it was all her fault; she knew it, she felt it in her bones.

“We did good.” Theo said optimistically. “We got far. Also, you guys are cool.”

“Right?” Louise said with a sigh. “Shame we mucked it up, but hey, we didn’t go down without a fight. It could be way worse. We could go down same way Poland did.”

Everyone laughed; except for her. Even despite the medication she wanted to cry; and when they weren’t looking - she simply sneaked out, got into a cab and drove to the train station, where she bought a return ticket.

Oswald could take care of sending her stuff back to New York. She was sure he’ll do it gladly, after all that mess that transpired between them.

Few hours later she was back in her stuffy, messy flat; she didn’t even bother to call or text her parents before curling up on the bed and bursting in tears again.

***

“Hey, where’s Pop?”

Theo asked the question - and Oswald realized he doesn’t know the answer. She vanished, plain and simple; and in her state it couldn’t possibly mean anything good.

“Maybe she went home?” Rocco suggested hesitantly. “Your home, I mean.”

“Maybe.” Oswald said, forcing himself to be calm. “I’ll check there. Then I’ll check the train station. Then… I guess I’ll panic. Just a bit.”

On his way home, he checked the Gotham-New York timetable; previous train left fifteen minutes earlier. The next one would leave in thirty minutes.

She wasn’t anywhere in the Chateau; and he checked every single room, even the locked ones. Everything was the way she left it; she didn’t even bother to come back for her laptop.

She wasn’t on the train station either; but when he asked, a woman working at the ticket office - a kind, old woman - told him that yes, indeed, a young woman with hair so red it almost looked fake bought a ticket to New York. The train departed shortly before he got there.

So she went home - and he didn’t have an address. There were many ways of solving this problem - but he decided to settle on the… Most Gotham one.

He called Vicki on his way to the police station.

“She went back to New York.”

“Well, fuck.” Vicki said; he could hear Louise in the background, talking about how McDonald’s french fries are so much better than Burger King ones. “What now?”

“I have to talk to her.” he said. “And Jim Gordon owes my family a favor.”

“I’m not turning the Bat-Signal for you.” the tired commissioner told him. “It’s out of question.”

“Please.” Oswald pleaded, feeling helpless. “It’s a matter of life and death!”

“No, it’s not.” Gordon said impatiently. “Look, kid, I’m sorry, but I can’t help-”

“But I can.” they both heard Bat’s one of a kind, gravely voice; Gotham’s protector stepped out from the shadows in the corner of Gordon’s cluttered office.

“Batsy!” Oswald said with joy, looking at the grim vigilante. “A sight for sore eyes, truly.”

“I heard it’s a matter of life and death, Cobblepot.” Batman said, staring him down. “Stop wasting my time. Cut to the chase.”

“You seem to know everything about everyone, somehow.” Oswald said hastily. “I know you hacked at least four federal databases. I need an address… Of someone not from Gotham.”

“The girl.” Batman said grimly, doing something on the computer built into his gauntlet. “Is she in danger?”

“I don’t know.” Oswald said quietly, as his phone buzzed; the Bat sent him Charlie’s address. “Wow. That was quick.”

“Don’t blow me any kisses.” Batman said as he was leaving. “It never leads to anything good, it seems.”

He didn’t have time to wonder how the hell does Batman know what exactly happened; he had a trip to New York to make.

He only stopped once, to get some gas; he reached her address just before the dawn. She lived in a modern, expensive building; and the receptionist who also doubled as security wasn’t too eager to let him in.

“She said she doesn’t want guests, except for food delivery.” he repeated tiredly. “I can’t let you in.”

“Yes, you can.” Oswald said firmly. “I’ll pay you, alright? It’s a matter of life and death.”

They argued for some time; but then one of the other tenants came home and the receptionist opened the elevator for him and Oswald hopped in, right before the door closed again, leaving the tired man behind.

He rang the doorbell and knocked, over and over again; it took him about fifteen minutes to get a reaction out of her.

“I don’t want to see anyone.” she said faintly and his heart broke a bit; she sounded so tired, so resigned. “Please, go away.”

“Cherry, it’s me.” he said; silence. “I’ve been worried.”

“Why are you here?” she asked tiredly, as if he hadn’t just told her. “We lost. It’s over.”

“I’ve been worried!” he repeated, frustrated. “You disappeared!”

“I went home, because my role was over.” she said. “I fucked up. So I left.”

“Yes, without a word.” he said, resting his forehead against the wooden surface of her door. “So I looked for you.”

“But why?” she asked again and he blinked; he told her already. Was she even listening?

“Because…” he repeated slowly “I’ve been worried. I’m having a deja vu.”

He took a step back as he heard her unlocking the door. Finally she let him in; and he sighed deeply seeing the state she was in. Well, she and her flat.

She was wearing the same exact clothes she wore when he last saw her, and her eyes were red and puffy and the floor was covered in garbage; candy wrappers, empty chips packets, soda cans.

“Good lord.” he muttered to himself, stepping over a small pile of Twix wrappings. “What happened here?”

“Depression.” she replied, wrapping herself in a blanket. “Well, now that you know I’m alive… So you can leave me alone.”

“Fine.” he said after a brief silence. “But only if you look me in the eye and tell me you really want me to leave.”

She raised her head a bit. She looked him in the eye.

“Please don’t go.” she said tearfully. “Leave. Stay? Fuck.” she muttered. “I have no idea what I want.”

“Which is a good reason for me to not leave you alone.” he said softly, carefully sitting down next to her. “I can take you back to Gotham. The others are worried as well.”

“I fucked up.” she muttered. “Big time. I fucked up… Everything. We lost… Because of me.”

“It doesn’t matter.” he said firmly. “Cherry, I lost plenty of times because of you. Doesn’t matter. None of it does. It’s just a fucking game, after all.”

“But-”

“No buts.” he interrupted her. “It’s a game. Period. We can try again next year.”

“Alright.” she said hesitantly. “Take me… Take me back. I won’t run away again.”

“You can run away as much as you want, just let me know beforehand.” he sighed, getting up. “Come on, Cherry.”

“Can you help me up?”

“If you want me to carry you, just say the word.” he said and she smiled faintly.

“I’ll consider it.” she said and he helped her get up and took her outside, to his car.

They were back in Gotham just when the city was starting to wake up.

*** He came; but why?

She couldn’t comprehend why he’d came - which was a bit sad, considering it was one thing she so desperately wanted. Even as she fucked everything up for everyone, even as her role was over - he came. She couldn’t believe her ears when she heard his voice outside; but there he was, looking more determined than ever.

He took her home; his home started to feel a lot like her place, like she belonged there, like she was meant to be there. She felt more at home there than she did in her own flat in New York; especially when she took a shower and put on some clean clothes and went to the kitchen, where he was making pancakes.

“How are you feeling?” he asked as she sat down.

“Weak, but I’ll live.” she said, playing with her hair. “I… Cried a lot.”

“Well, in that case it might be a good idea to take a nap.” he said, setting a plate down in front of her and sitting down with a cup of coffee for himself. “But first you have to eat.”

“Thanks.” she said quietly, picking up a fork. “Maple syrup?”

“Oh, good idea.” he said, getting up and opening a cabinet. “Some sugar might help.”

He handed her a bottle and she gently brushed the back of his hand with her fingertips and he froze in place, staring at her.

“Sorry.” she said, looking away. “I… I’m not trying anything, I swear.”

“No?” he asked, as she was pouring syrup all over her pancakes.

“No.”

He nodded quietly as she finished eating.

“Go to bed.” he said, not moving from his spot. “Get some sleep.”

“And what about you?”

“I just drank a pitch black coffee.” he said, looking up. “I’ll manage.”

“It’s not healthy.” she said and he snickered, shaking his head; and when he looked at her - softly, tenderly - her heart skipped a beat.

“Get some sleep.” he repeated. “You know where to find me if you need anything.”

She fell asleep almost instantly; last thing she heard before drifting off were his footsteps outside.

***

She let him take her home; that was good. She apparently wasn’t able to figure out he had been worried sick; that was… Less good.

His phone was buzzing; others were worried as well.

Got her.

is she alright????? She’s asleep now, but she’s alive.

[praying emoji]

He wondered what’s next; it was obvious she shouldn’t be left to her own devices. It was also obvious he’s still hopelessly infatuated with her; even after a night of crying she looked beautiful, with those red rings around her eyes and matted eyelashes. There was a lot of beauty in her sadness - but it was also painful; both to look at and to bear.

She woke up in the late afternoon, as he was napping in his bedroom; a hesistant knock at the door woke him up.

“Come in, come in…” he muttered, rubbing his eyes. “Hungry?”

“A bit.” she said, shuffling inside. “Oh… Did I wake up?”

“S’alright.” he said, yawning. “I’m a big boy.”

“What now?” she asked, standing in the doorway. “I mean… With us.”

That question awakened him faster than any cold shower ever would.

“What do you mean?” he asked, staring at her. She sighed, crossing her arms.

“Can I be honest?” she asked and he nodded, preparing himself for a figurative kick in the ass-

“I like you.” she said arduously, avoiding his eyes. “I’ve been trying to not, but… I do. I like you. A lot. And I… Know it’s not mutual.”

Had it not been for him being in a state of deep shock - he’d probably throw something at her.

“Wow.” he said eventually. “You are… Not the world’s greatest detective, huh?”

“...what?” she asked faintly, as he started to count on his fingers.

“I offered you a stay here. I took care of your abhorrent habits, I whined to Vicki enough times to finally make her crack, I went to New York just to check if you’re alive, I brought you back to Gotham because I was worried-” he recited, not taking his eyes off her. “And you think it’s one-sided?!”

“But I thought-” she said faintly, but he interrupted her.

“Thought?! Please!” he scoffed, waving his hands angrily. “If anyone here had a reason to think it’s one sided - it’s me!”

“Oh, woe is you!” she replied angrily. “You called that night a mistake!”

“Yes, because you snuck out and locked yourself in your room!”

“I was confused!”

“Newsflash, you asshole!” he shrieked. “I’ve been confused for weeks!”

She laughed, and she laughed so hard she actually snorted - and it was the most endearing sound he had heard in a long time.

“Oh, my god.” she said finally, wiping her tears. “This is incredible. If only we talked like normal people-”

“Drama is more important.” he interrupted her. “Come here. I want to kiss you.”

“And I want to eat something.”

“Ah, alright.” he sighed, getting up. “It’s… Late afternoon. Breakfast food is-”

She threw her arms around his neck as he was walking past, and pulled him in and kissed him; and he gave in, until he heard the sounds her stomach was making.

“Good god.” he muttered. “Do you have a Reaper inside you?”

“Maybe.” she said with a shrug. “Come on. Feed me.”

The Aftermath

Things were going decent, for both of them; even though it took the world some time to get used to the fact they got together. Many claimed it’s just a publicity stunt; some were disgusted and disappointed, some were saying it’s probably going to fall apart in two months.

Charlie decided to actually move to Gotham; she made friends there, and had someone who seemed very determined to keep an eye on her. Not all the time, naturally - just during bad times. Someone to force her out of bed and to take a shower. Someone to keep instant noodles as far away from her as possible.

(Suddenly everything made sense. Suddenly the way he looked at her made sense.)

But first - she had to come back to New York to pack up her stuff. Her parents offered their help; but Oswald was ridiculously disconsolate.

“I’ll be fine!” she said, and he only muttered and kept hugging her, resting his chin atop of her head. “You know you can’t watch over me all the time. I don’t need a nanny.”

“No, I just grew very used to your presence.” he mutered. “I’ll miss you.”

“It’s just a month, Oswald.” she said softly. “Say hi to your parents from me. You sure they don’t mind?”

“The house is huge, you saw it yourself.” he sighed, finally letting her go. “The more the merrier.”

She kissed him one last time and entered the train; she had butterflies in her stomach, the good kind. The kind that came from gestures of tenderness from someone she loved.

*** Without her, his home felt so empty; his family was back, so the rooms were filled with familiar warmth - but he missed her. And it’s only been a few hours.

“Oh, you fucking sap.” Vicki muttered to him over the phone. “Chill out, have some faith, she’s gonna be fine!”

“Yeah.” he sighed, standing in front of her bedroom. “I hope so. Otherwise…”

“There will be no otherwise though. She’s gonna be fine. She spent the majority of her life without you.”

“Yeah, and she developed depression and anxiety.”

“And you are not a cure to her problems.” Vicki said firmly. “Look, Oz, love is a wonderful thing, but it’s not a miracle cure for anything. Her problems are not your fault, neither they are yours to solve. It’s admirable you want to help, but… You gotta let her live.”

“Jesus, Vale, chill out with the preaching.” he muttered. “Would ya?”

“I’ll consider it.”

He saw her online that evening; she posted something on r/shittyfoodporn, for the first time in many weeks.

McDonald’s for dinner. Of course.

Oh come on. he commented.

kfjgjskfjgjdkfgjgjf let me live!!

I’m just joking.

<3

you two are absolutely fucking disgusting. by all means, keep doing whatever you’re doing, but you’re disgusting. keep that relationship shit away from us pathetic lowlifes. ps - fuck, i want a cheeseburger.

Three weeks flew by; she seemed to be doing well - he watched one of her streams and she was bubbly and chatty and a delight to look at.

(She got adorably distracted when a comment from him popped up, and blew him a kiss.)

People seemed to not remember what happened during their last match; or maybe they remembered, but simply didn’t care. There were more important things in the world; life went on, after all.

They crossed paths in game one evening; they ended up on the opposite teams, because of course.

birdmaskguy: hey, mercy.

birdmaskguy: i have a deal.

CherryPop: ?????

birdmaskguy: let my team win, so i’ll be nice when i come over next week.

strawpuff: DUDE, HAVE SOME DIGNITY.

CherryPop: that’s precisely why i won’t let you win. :P i like it when you’re not nice!!

strawpuff: …

Bolero: ……………………….ew

dijkstra: :D omg

(She liked it when he was acting like an asshole; she liked when he was taking advantage of being taller and when he was taking his sweet time with her body. Gave her a reason to call him names; for her it came easier than an I love you - and he understood, after years of being close with Vicki. She’d call him a prick - but then she’d run her fingers through his hair, all while complaining about how infuriating he was.)

*** She missed him more than she thought she would; and eventually she literally provoked him into coming over earlier than planned. It involved internet connection, some boiled - and unsalted - pasta, a jar of Nutella and her phone’s camera.

She posted the photo of noodles mixed with chocolate-hazelnut spread online, implying she’s going to eat it; he texted her few minutes later.

That’s it. I’m coming.

nooooo, she texted back with one hand, pulling out a spare blanket for him with the other one. i was just joking!!

Mm-hm. I don’t believe you. I’ll be there today.

nooooo!!!

:(

hey, i was just joking. come over. i miss you.

<3 <3 <3 <3

He brought a few things with him - clothes, his favorite spatula, a bag of fresh vegetables and a giant jar of tomato sauce he made at home.

“You can’t be serious.” she said, looking at it. “What am I supposed to do with it?”

“Eat it.” he said, setting it down on the kitchen counter. “Better safe than sorry, that photo… Almost gave me a heart attack.”

“Fine.” she said with a theatrical sigh. “But tonight I want pizza.”

“Just as long as it won’t turn out you only ate pizza few days in a row. That didn’t happen, right?”

“And what if it did? You’ll punish me?” she asked playfully.

“No, I’ll look at you sadly.” he said. “Come on. Order up, I’m hungry. Just pick a good place.”

“I know, I know, only highest quality ingredients find their way into your body. The usual spiel. Got it memorized.”

“Mmm, I’m letting it slide tonight. After all, I haven’t seen you in weeks…”

“...are you implying what I think you’re implying?”

“...the inner machinations of your mind are an enigma, but probably yes. Could have worded it better.”

“Asshole.” she muttered as he pulled her closer. “Insufferable prick. Douchebag.”

“I know. I love you too, Charlie.”

“Ndjhfhsjhgjd.” she muttered, as she always did when he called her by her name and he smiled, thinking back to that time he kinda wanted her dead, but not really, because who the fuck would take a game this seriously?