#I have not forgotten the Moulin Rouge idea | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

purplekiwis · 2 years

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Summary: It's no secret that as a figure skater, you're fed up with the local hockey team being treated like royalty... and your ex's status as a player isn't helping much either.

Genre: Exes to Lovers (Enemies to Lovers if you blink 😉)

Warnings: it's angsty and smutty

Wordcount: 8K

A/N: i'd like to thank @sucker4angstt for requesting this concept! it was a blast to work on and i hope you guys have as much fun reading it as i had writing it 🤍

THIS IS A 2 PART SERIES | PART 2 IS HERE ❄️

OTHER WORKS BY ME

“You wanna do black again? Didn’t we do that last time?” Niall inquired as he switched off the car’s ignition.

You had just shown him a dress you had found the night before in hopes he would like it, but as you had already been expecting, he claimed black was boring and wouldn't stand out among the competition. “Well, yes but this one’s a different style from the last one. It would go well with our song.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to try something new sometimes, you know? Like white or blue… perhaps even red?” He suggested as he removed both your skating bags from the trunk and placed them down by his feet.

You hid a sigh while you took your bag from him. It never got easier to admit that you had to consider the price before picking the costume. For whatever reason, there was always a hint of embarrassment associated to that admission. Needless to say you would also prefer to wear a bright colored outfit with lots of glitter and transparencies, but those were simply out of reach for your budget.

“We did red once already, that time we did Moulin Rouge.” You reminded him as you walked side by side, each of you steering your own carryon.

“Hm, that’s true. I’d forgotten about that.”

You hadn’t been lucky enough to land a parking spot right at the front of the sports centre that morning, which sucked big time given how chilly it was outside. Getting up early for practice was never fun, but during the winter months it got almost unbearable. Especially when the sky was all hazy and mostly black by the time you woke up.

“How would you feel about like, a nude?” You proposed, despite the fact that you weren't really fond of the color.

“From you?” Niall sniggered. “Thanks but I think I’ll have to pass.”

“Come on, can't you be serious for like 2 seconds? This is important.” You huffed, pretending like you hadn’t found his little joke amusing. “Also, um... I know this is probably like super annoying for you but my budget’s kinda tight right now, so if you’d be willing to repeat one of our previous outfits, that would be awesome.”

Niall laughed a bit. “Stop with that nonsense, will you? It's not annoying and of course I don't mind. Sides, it's not like it'll even matter what we wear. We'll do so well that the judges won't even think to pay attention to our outfits.” He then turned to you and stated, “...That being said, I still don't want to wear black again.”

“Aff, fine.” You grumbled. “Which one do you want to wear then?”

“Hm.. I dunno, actually.” He took a moment to reflect. “How about we just start naming them until we find one we both agree on?”

“That’s not a bad idea, actually.”

“Ready?” He asked, you nodded. “1, 2, 3…”

“Pink.”

“Turquoise.”

“Navy.”

“Green”

“Orange.” You said it in unison, but your faces immediately turned down in distaste after. “Nevermind the orange. I still don't know what we were thinking when we picked those.”

“Yeah, me neither.” You admitted through a deep breath in. “I’d be fine with the green though, as long as it's the dark one.”

“Make it the medium dark, and it’s settled.”

You reached an agreement right as you were approaching the entrance of the sports centre, where some figure skaters you had grown familiar with over the years were gathering. Surprisingly, neither unpacking nor warming up.

“Are you guys all done already?” You asked them as you dashed towards your usual warm-up area. It was spacious and had a canopy that kept you dry in case it rained. “I didn’t realize we were late...” You earned Niall's judgmental stare with your sentence. He had been rushing you all morning, but you were sure you weren't that late. As far as your calculations were concerned, you were just in time for your first warm-up.

In days like these, it was always very tempting to skimp on the off the ice warm-ups and go straight to the rink, but with the championship right around the corner, neither you nor Niall would take that risk. Because although you also competed individually, it was as a pair that you really stood out. Your journey to nationals depended on you both, and you weren't going to jeopardize all that for being too lazy to stretch.

“Don’t bother starting.” One of the skaters, Natalia, intervened when she realized what the two of you were up to. “The Emperors booked early morning.” She clarified, upon noticing your perplexed looks.

“They did what-” You gasped, all the more startled.

“They can’t do that.” Niall said after you, and the look on his face was as distressed as yours. “They already take up most of the rink’s time!”

“When their stupid coach came we tried to tell him that, but he refused to listen. He didn't even pause- just walked straight through as if we weren't here.” The new skater jumped into the conversation. You hadn't officially met her yet, but you knew her name was Mei, a.k.a the girl Niall had been crushing on for weeks.

Redness engulfed his cheeks as soon as she looked his way, but he still managed to respond, albeit stutteringly. “Yeah, I'm not too surprised… Y/N’s ex plays on the team and he always used to say the guy was a moron.” You pointed out Niall’s oversharing by flashing him a chastising look, but he was too engrossed in Mei's beauty to notice your death stare.

You cleared your throat, now feeling a touch hot in the face too, before turning to the remainder of the group, “Have you spoken to couch Jo or Paul? Aren't they supposed to come teach the kids right after we leave?”

“Yeah.” Natalia sighed. “Apparently they’ve had to rescheduled some of the skating classes but nothing much. Basically it's fine for everyone but us.”

“So what time can we come now?” The Emperors could have taken your place, but surely they had to have left a gap somewhere.

“That’s the thing.” Mei explained. “There’s no time apart from the lessons we have with our coaches. A spot is available in the afternoon, but that's just not feasible for anyone.”

“What? No! How’s that even allowed?” Your question was hardly noticed by the other skaters as they were preparing to leave. "Wait- Where are all of you off to? We can’t just leave; have to solve this.”

“What do you propose we do, then?” Mei groaned. She was clearly on edge, as was everyone else in the group. “We’ve already tried. We won't get to solve anything right now, so staying here is a waste of time.” She grabbed her skating bag off the floor. “You can still try if you want, though. Didn’t you used to mess around with one of them? Maybe he could help.”

You scoffed as you watched Mei leave with the rest of the group, “Unbelievable...” You commented with Niall, only to find him looking at you like he agreed with her. "Oh no, not you siding with her. Are you kidding me?”

“I mean, she’s got a point…” As he went on, a goofy smile spread over his face. “I can't believe she actually spoke to me. This is crazy... and she’s even hotter up close…” Rolling your eyes, you started gathering both your bags in a tacit plea to leave. “Please, Y/N... can you go talk to him? I don't wanna stop seeing her now that she's speaking to us.”

You took a long, deep breath.

You really weren't in the mood to do all that, but unfortunately your ex happened to play team captain for the hockey team... so perhaps, if you could flip the tables and get him to be on your side, there was a small possibility his opinion could give you some advantage when it came to straightening everything out.

That was what you needed to remind yourself of.

There was a deeper purpose to this than Niall's desire to speak with Mei. It was important for everyone. None of you could afford to miss practice now that the championship was about to start. The time you spent practicing with your instructors was good but having time to skate freely every morning was critical.

“Fine. I'll go, but you’re coming with me.”

You had wanted Niall to come along for the emotional support, but that idea was quickly scrapped once the centre’s receptionist, who was acting a lot more standoffish than usual, refused to let you walk past the front desk.

It occurred to you that his behavior might have something to do with how Mei and the rest of the skaters handled that morning’s dreadful news. If that was the case, his mood was about to get worse because you were planning to bring up the issue as well… until Niall stepped in, “Oh, we're not here to skate. We’re here because my friend thinks she dropped her bracelet on her way out of the rink yesterday. We just wanted to see if we can find it.”

“I have orders not to let anyone in right now. If you want, you can come by after eight to look for it.” He answered monotonously, his gaze fixed on the computer screen.

“Ah, we have school at eight; we can't come at that time I'm afraid.” Niall’s revelation elicited no response. So, after a moment of awkward stares, you continued,

“If we don't go now, someone else might find and keep it.” The man’s expression told you that he thought you were being a nuisance, but you kept playing by Niall’s script and added, “The bracelet was a gift from my mother. It has a lot of sentimental value...”

Finally, just as you were beginning to lose hope, he sighed and said, “If it's just the bracelet you're looking for I'll let you go find it, but he stays.” His head motion indicated that he was referring to Niall.

“I’m sure it would be easier if we searched together...”

The man sat back with a sigh. “Look, it’s nothing personal. I'm simply doing what I've been told by one of the coaches after he got harassed by your little squad at the door… which is not to let anyone in the rink while the boys are there. I'm already making an exception for you when I shouldn't, so it’s either this or you'll come back later.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I hadn’t been informed that the hockey coaches were now in charge of the place...” He ignored your provocation, but his gaze was drawn to the agitated tapping of your nails on the counter. “You know what, it's fine. I get it. I’ll be quick, oh- and don't worry, I'll be careful not to harass the local royalty while I’m there.”

You didn’t stick around for further verbal cues, just swiped your membership card, walked past the barrier and turned toward the rink. It was only after you got there that you realized how angry you were. Knowing that the hockey team was being treated like kings and given the freedom to do whatever and however they pleased with zero regard for anyone else was one of the most infuriating things you'd ever witnessed. It wasn't exactly surprising taken they always got prioritized for being the bigger sport, but they had never taken things this far before. This situation was ridiculous, and you weren't going to tolerate it.

So although you agreed to come speak with your ex, now you were actually hoping to speak directly with the coach instead. Maybe your efforts were in vain, but you had to, at least, try to get your point across. There was only one problem - he was nowhere to be found, and you didn’t know anyone else on the team well enough to ask on his whereabouts.

Speaking of the team, the guys were dressed in practice gear, which was far more basic than their game jersey’s, but still had the same colors of red and gold. You assumed they hadn't started properly training yet, as they were still warming up with crossovers and pivots.

Among the many broad-shouldered athletes there, your eyes were immediately drawn to the player whose number you knew best: 77.

Not that you’d ever need a number to identify him.

Even with hockey armor covering his frame, you knew his body’s contours like the back of your hand. Picturing the tousled curls hidden under his helmet, the green of his eyes, and the curvature of his lips was easy. A little too easy.

“Styles,”

He turned when he heard your voice. His eyes were obscured by the visor, but you could swear you saw his brows quirk. “Y/N,” He didn't look too surprised by your presence. In fact, he looked more amused at you yelling his name than at you being there.

After a few seconds of skating by he came closer, and as he stopped next to the board, his skates scratched the ice a little too harshly for someone who wasn't aiming to make a spectacle of himself. You weren't wowed by his effort. You could execute that same slide better and with greater polish if you wanted to.

“Where’s your coach? I’d like to have a word…”

He signaled the rooms on the top level with his head. “Up there in a meeting. Why, what do you want from him?”

“Not that it's any of your business but it looks like there’s an issue with the rink’s scheduling.”

You saw the grin he was trying to hide. “Oh, what’s that?”

“The skaters had it for 6am, as usual.” You attempted to highlight. “Ergo, you shouldn't be here.”

“No you didn’t.”

“Yes, we did.”

“I don't think we would be here if you had booked it, would we? If we took the spot, it was because it was available.”

“Well yeah, because we’ve never had to book it - because we had a spoken agreement and we’ve always followed through on it.” He didn't respond, nor did he appear very willing to engage in the conversation you were trying to have. “Are you listening to me?”

“I am,” His voice felt harsh and didn't quite fit the easy stance he showed as he shrugged. “I'm just not sure of what you want me to say – I’m sorry? Does that make you feel any better?”

His cynical tone didn't sit well in your stomach, but your face didn’t let that show. “Okay, look - I get it. You’re in the league and you need to practice, but that doesn’t give you the right to take early mornings from us. It's only two hours out of the entire day, couldn't you just let us keep them?”

He appeared somewhat bored by your approach, but not completely. His facial expression had an edge to it. He was irritated. “It wasn’t me who made the call. If you want to lash out at someone, try the guy at the front-desk or whatever. I can't help you.”

He was really starting to piss you off, but worse than that, there was a part of you that was getting legitimately hurt by his indifference. He used to be one of your biggest supporters, and now it was like he simply didn't care. “Even if it wasn't you who made the decision, you knew better than anybody that this would disrupt our practice and you still didn't say anything.”

“Why would I? Wasn't it you who just said it's none of my business? If you have an issue, it’s your place to handle it - not mine.”

“Harry, your stupid team already takes up most of the rink’s time! Our qualifying season starts in two weeks, we need to practice.”

“Well, I'm not sure if the news has reached your self-centered little world yet but our season has already started, and we have big games coming up. So sorry to break it to you but we're going to take all the extra rink time we can get.”

“Not unless I can’t do something about it.” Your implied threat was meaningless. You had no plan whatsoever... apart from the original one to get on Harry’s good side, which had just been blown. You'd figure something out though, anything to ensure they wouldn't get their way. “You’ll have to go through me first.”

He got closer, coming right up to your face as he leaned over the border and uttered one last, quiet “Gladly,” before skating away to rejoin his team.

The bleachers were packed by screaming fans in replica shirts.

The big day had come. The Emperors were playing their first home game of the season and as the concentration of bodies suggested, a considerable portion of people had come out to witness it firsthand… including you and Niall.

After what the fuckers had done to you, you almost felt like a traitor for showing up to their game. However, you had purchased tickets weeks ago and since you had spent the money, you figured you might as well come and root for them to lose. That worked for a while, until they actually started losing.

As soon as the visiting team scored a goal, it became impossible to disguise who your heart was really rooting for. The Emperors were jackasses, that was beyond dispute, but they were the local team and it was hard to cheer for strangers when the other players were people you had “known” for years.

“You haven’t touched your pretzel…”

Niall's comment drew your gaze away from the game for a millisecond. “I don’t want it right now, I’m not hungry.” Your reply came out garbled due to the way your cheeks were getting smothered between your hands.

“It’s gonna go cold if you don’t eat it now...”

“You’re right. Here- you can have it.”

“You sure?” His hesitant smile expanded when he heard a fragmented “Yes” fall from your mouth. The “Thanks,” that followed was mumbled around a large bite. “Oh man, this is nothing like the hot dogs they sell here.” He chewed as he spoke, “Have you ever had one? They always put sauerkraut on them and it’s like, who even likes sauerkraut that much, you know what I mean?”

“Mhm,” you hummed again, eyes fixed on the local team captain and the player battling him for the puck. "Get off his ass, shithead." you blurted as another player floated over and pushed him against the board. It was the same player who kept harassing him throughout the first two frames of the game. There had already been insults, menacing stares, and provoking shoves exchanged. This wasn’t going to end well.

“You know you don’t have to do that anymore, don’t you?” Niall asked after a lengthy pause in conversation, what caught you off guard.

“Don’t have to do what? Eat sauerkraut?” You questioned back, a little confused.

“Get nervous for the games.” He clarified, which sort of took you by surprise. You weren't aware that your feelings were showing that clearly. “Since, you know… you and Styles aren’t a thing anymore and all. You don’t have to get all anxious over him.”

Your focus immediately diverted from the rink as a result of Niall’s remark. “This isn’t about him, Niall. It’s about the game- I want us to win.”

“Uh huh… because of your deep love for hockey, I assume.” His face lit up with laughter. “Not any of the players in particular, just the sport itself.”

“Shut up- Oh, that son of a... oh, great! Now he's starting a fight...” You muttered inwardly once you saw Harry's gloves hit the ice first, followed by the other player's.

The initial strikes to the head sent the helmets flying. Thereafter, it was all direct blows. The two boys faced each other angrily as they dodged and struck each other with bare hands and faces. The crowd roared loudly as the violence between the two players increased. “God, I hate when they fight.” You admitted, despite it being nothing new. “Why does it always take the referees so long to split them?”

“Ah, well, you know that's how the game works. The crowd loves it.”

“No, I know that but… it’s barbaric.”

The other player’s left hand was gripping Harry's jersey as if he was going to rip it apart, while the right continued to strike jabs in his stomach. But Harry didn't cut loose; he whacked him with the same force. They both went down, and just like that there was blood on the ice. A laceration over Harry's eyebrow had resulted in what looked like a crimson mask covering his face, most likely caused by his helmet’s visor as it leapt out of his head.

As the boys hit the floor the referees finally intervened and broke up the fight.

But the two were back on the ice as if nothing had happened after spending five minutes in the penalty box. Harry’s cut was no longer bleeding, but the bloodied towel he left behind served as a solid memento.

“I swear my Nan is more flexible than you.” You teased Niall as he tried to strike the mermaid pose. He was struggling, so his tongue was sticking out.

“You can't compare your Nan's yoga to mine. She's been doing it for longer than I've been alive!” He grumbled as he attempted to move his elbow to the proper position by imitating your posture. “I’ll have you know though, that I've never had any complaints on my flexibility before. In fact, it’s what I usually get the most compliments on aside from my-”

“Shhhh.” You were shushed by the yoga instructor for speaking over the soothing music.

You had never taken a yoga class before but considering your time on the rink had been compromised, you figured it might be a good idea to give it a shot since it still allowed you to practice your balance and flexibility.

You'd gotten cocky and chosen advanced yoga, assuming it wouldn't be too difficult to keep up given your figure skating background. Big, big mistake. You were living it up at first… however, as the class progressed and poses like 'the crow' and 'the flying pigeon' began to appear, you found yourselves admiring everyone rather than trying to keep up.

As a result, you were only doing the same five poses over and over, which got boring really quick. Besides, you weren’t even mastering the intermediate ones... as Niall was struggling with flexibility, while you were having trouble with all the arm strength exercises. That was when you started to get chatty, even though you were well aware that it wasn't appropriate.

You'd already been told to be quiet twice, so when your phone went off in the middle of class you didn't hesitate to roll up your mats and leave, figuring you had already caused enough disturbance.

“We'll never be allowed back there again...” Niall remarked on the way to the locker rooms. “Did you see how she looked at us when your phone rang? That wasn’t very Yin and Yang of her…”

“Well… to be fair, we were being incredibly rude...” You checked your phone for the notification you had received during class. “Speaking of rude, you won't believe who was texting me just now…”

“Who?” He realized who you were referring to when you made a face and pointed your head toward the rink. The yoga classes were held in the same section, the one dedicated to indoor sports. Despite being on opposite ends, you knew the hockey team was there because you had passed by and heard them. “No way... are you serious? What did he say? Does it have anything to do with the rink?”

“He didn't say... just asked if I could meet him at that cafe we used to go to after class. He says it’s urgent.”

“Do you need a ride? I can drop you off on the way back from class; it's close by.”

“No, don't worry. I end class earlier than you today, so I can take the shuttle like I used to.” You were guessing Harry had remembered you had a similar school schedule on Fridays, which is why he didn't bother telling you a time. He knew you would be there by 3pm... supposedly. “I don’t know if I’m going, though… I don’t know what he wants.”

“Yes you are.” Niall asserted, as if the idea of you not going was the most insane thing ever. “What if it’s something to do the rink?”

“What if it’s nothing to do with the rink?”

“No, come on… it has to have something to do with it.” He insisted. “I know you want to go; you're just nervous about seeing him.”

“No, the only reason why I am nervous is because he isn’t telling me what he wants. It's weird.”

Niall paused for a moment as you reached the door for the women’s locker rooms. His face let you know he was debating whether or not to tell you what was on his mind. He decided to do so. “It's obviously up to you whether you go or not, but if I were you I’d go just to see what he wants. You don't have to sit there all afternoon if you don't want to... and if things get too awkward, you can text me and I'll show up there to save you.”

“Right.” You replied even though you knew it wasn't the most appropriate answer.

You realized it would be stupid not to go knowing it could be about the rink. There was a good chance it was, which was supposed to get you excited, but in reality was doing the exact opposite. Selfishly, you wanted this to be about you and nothing else.

As petty as it sounds, you wanted to get there and hear Harry admit that he missed you, that karma had gotten him good, or something else that made you feel like your suffering had been worthwhile even if you were never getting back together. That was why you were afraid to go… because you would be disappointed if he looked as fine as he did last time.

“Does that mean you're going?” Niall asked, cutting through the pitiful thoughts racing through your mind.

You chewed on your lower lip. “I guess.”

You saw him as soon as you walked into the cafe.

He was sitting alone, but there was a girl “standing” next to his table. To refer to that as plain standing would be inaccurate. You knew what she was doing, and most of all you knew what for.

She was showcasing the best she had to offer. That was why her hips were pushed back, and her gut was pinched so firmly.

She fixed her hair over her shoulder, and you got a glimpse of her face. She was hot enough to get you to stand up straighter, but not to make you wonder if you should have spent more time getting ready before coming.

You stayed back and waited for their interaction to be over. For you, this was nothing new. You’d grown so used to watching girls fawning over him that it rarely made you jealous anymore, despite it always being slightly unpleasant to witness.

The bright side was that experience taught you when to worry… and now wasn't the time.

She appeared to be asking a question about game tickets, but you could tell by the look on Harry's face that he wasn't all that interested in chatting with her. He looked like he wanted to be left alone. He was doing that thing that he used to do when random people approached him back when you were together - he smiled politely but barely said a word.

It took the girl some time to catch on, but eventually she got the hint. He wasn’t interested, and no amount of flashing her cleavage would change his mind. She stepped away, and you took it as your cue to walk over.

“Hey.” You greeted as you got to the table, hurrying to remove your scarf and jacket before you took the chair facing Harry’s. Not that there was any other option to pick, anyway.

“Hi.” He smiled slightly, before pushing one of the coffee cups on the table towards you. “I hope you don’t mind that I went ahead and ordered you a drink...”

His gesture brought you back to memories frozen in time, but you didn't allow yourself to linger on them too long. You and Harry used to meet at this coffee shop all the time. In fact, it was once one of your favorite places in town but being here now only brought back sensations you'd rather avoid. Still, for the sake of politeness, you accepted his drink. “Oh, um… thanks. You didn't have to get me anything...”

“I know I didn’t.” He took a sip of his cup, and you impulsively mimicked his action. The coffee which used to taste like love, suddenly seemed almost too dull to drink. “You still like those, right?”

You wondered if he had noticed your grimace. “Yeah, it's what I always used to get from here. I'm surprised you remember…”

“I guess I haven't had enough time to forget most things about you yet.” A twinge of discomfort shot through your chest at his words. You suspect he caused it on purpose. “I have a sharp memory.”

“I'm not sure that'll last if you keep hitting your head like that.” Your point was lost on him, which kind of made you regret making it in the first place. “You've got a bruise… on your...”

“Oh, that.” He tried to mask it with a quick ruffle of his hair, but you could still see it. “That's nothing, forget about it.”

“I wouldn't exactly call it nothing, when-”

“I didn’t ask you to come here to talk about that.” He intervened before you finished. “There’s something I need from you.” He admitted, crossing his arms over the table.

“'All right then, what is it?”

“That jersey I gave you, do you still have it?”

“Why are you asking?”

“I need it back.” His request caught you completely off guard. Your mouth opened and tried to speak, but nothing came out. “Mine got ripped and the spare I gave you is the only one I have left.”

When you finally spoke, it was quickly and angrily. “I'm not giving it back.” You said, and Harry let out a groan. “You never mentioned I was only allowed to keep it until you needed it back. It looked like a gift to me.”

Another sigh followed, this time deeper and more frustrated. “That’s because it was a gift… but now I need it, and I'm pretty sure you're not wearing it, so what difference does it make?”

You crossed your arms and shook your head. “You can't ask for gifts back, that's nasty.”

Why, of all things, did he have to ask you to give back his jersey? It was the most special gift he had ever given you. And now just because he never got to see you wear it, it automatically meant you didn't care for it?

That was simply not true!

Behind closed doors, his jersey was still a favorite.

Frankly, the only reason why you stopped wearing it during games was because you thought it would be demeaning not to. It would have been weird for everyone, plus you didn't think Harry would appreciate you walking around with his number on your back when you weren't together anymore.

Not that people thinking he had a girlfriend would have been enough to keep any hookups from happening if he wanted them to. When it came to Harry, it seemed nothing was ever enough to discourage girls from trying their luck. It wasn't just because he played on the hockey team. That was a bonus, but it was insignificant compared to the rest. His looks, his character, his sense of humor… from the surface, Harry looked like a catch, and finding that he was everything but, hurt. You still loved him, so it hurt. You hated how it all still hurt.

“I'm not asking for any of the other stuff back. I'm asking for my jersey because I desperately need it; else, I wouldn't be asking.” He explained as you sat there, feeling your chest squeeze as you half-listened to his reasoning. “Please Y/N, this is sort of critical for me.”

His slightly pouted lips suggested that he had also not forgotten how to sneak his way inside your heart. It wasn't a difficult task, but it was aggravating how well it still worked.

The worst part is that he didn't even do it on purpose; it was just the way his face looked whenever he wanted something and was told no. It was the same face that managed to get your panties to come off that one time right before a game, despite your fear of getting caught.

“Fine. I'll give your stupid jersey back,” When he smiled in relief, you halted your words, but only for a moment. “Under one condition.” His nostrils flared as he took a long breath, gearing himself up for what you were about to say next. “You'll have to convince your coach to give us our ice time back, otherwise you can forget it.”

“Y/N, can we not do this right now, please? I already told you that I had nothing to do with that shit.”

Harry’s reaction left you feeling oddly disappointed. Not angry, but close to it. That was when you realized you had made the same mistake again. You had been expecting him to be concerned, or at least to act as if he cared. It wasn't his job to care. It wasn't his job to make sure you were happy.

Nonetheless, Harry could still be the key to getting what you wanted.

It didn't feel good to have to coax him into backing you, but it was your duty to do so for Niall and the rest of the skaters. The hockey team had crossed a line, and if this was the only way to stop them, so be it.

He might not be thrilled to help you, but he had the means to do so. If he wanted to get a favor, he would have to do one for you as well. In the end, it was only fair.

“I believe you, but you're the team captain, and I know he'll listen to you.” You took another sip of the coffee you had almost forgotten was there. “I'm only taking a favor for a favor… sounds pretty reasonable to me.”

“Okay, fine, whatever. I’ll see what I can do.”

You cocked a brow at his reaction. “That's not enough. If I can't see any improvements, the deal is off.”

Harry stretched in his chair, crossing his arms behind his neck while he mused. “That's called extortion, you know? It’s a felony.”

Your lips curled as you snorted at his remark. “It's not my fault you got in a fight and need a new jersey; I'm simply taking advantage of the circumstances. Besides, you aren't so innocent yourself... or did you think I couldn’t tell you were trying to butter me up earlier by getting me my favorite drink?”

Harry’s eyes widened with what looked to be confusion and amusement... and perhaps even a little happiness. “You were at the game?”

Your face got warm. “Oh, uh… yeah. I went with Niall. He likes watching sports, so...”

“Ha, I see...” His face turned expressionless. “You're wrong about your drink, by the way... I wasn’t trying to butter you up, I just thought it'd be a nice gesture.”

“Yeah, I guess...” You smiled a bit, before deciding to congratulate him on his team's victory. “You played well yesterday. Everyone went crazy when you scored that goal at the end.” The moment you finished talking, you noticed Harry was slouching in his chair, just staring at you. It was almost trance-like, the way his eyes weren’t able to stop smiling. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” He asked, but then in a sudden move, he got up, picked up his backpack and slung it over his shoulder. “I have to get going. I've got homework.”

You didn't really buy his excuse, but you also didn’t question it since you knew he wouldn't tell you whatever it was that was on his mind. “Yeah, okay.” You said instead, despite your enquiring face. “I guess I’ll see you...”

“Tuesday.” He completed. “I'm not sure what time yet, but I'll let you know.”

He was gone in an instant, leaving you alone with nothing but two unfinished cups of sad, tasteless coffee to keep you company.

Tuesday came by quickly.

Amidst the week's rush of lectures at university, runs and yoga classes with Niall, as well as preparations for the championship, you barely registered the days passing by.

As far as your agreement with Harry goes, you knew he had kept true to his word since there were no hulking hockey players in sight that day when you got to the rink.

Given that you had agreed on Tuesday, you didn't bother getting up early the mornings before to check on the rink's availability... and considering that you had the schedule for it over the weekend, you ended up booking that open spot in the afternoon right after lunch for free skating, even though it wasn't the most ideal.

The return to the ice on Tuesday morning, however, was a welcome relief.

The weather was peaceful… the ice was fresh, and you and Niall were able to make progress on a tricky jump that had been giving you the willies as of lately. It wasn’t perfect yet, but at least by the end of the morning you no longer felt like you were putting Niall through the danger of getting a neck fracture every time you leapt onto his shoulders.

Later that day, you met with your choreographer and he too noticed a positive shift in your performance. Having barely been on the ice over the week other than with your instructors, the shift was somewhat surprising... but it also made sense to an extent, since the break had allowed you to focus on other forms of training that you normally considered supplementary – like practicing balance and endurance.

After your choreography lesson, Niall invited you to go to the mall with him.

He wanted to check out a new tech store that had opened there, and since you had nothing better to do than finish the schoolwork you were procrastinating on, you accepted his invitation.

It was a fun afternoon, though you ended up spending much longer than you’d originally planned just browsing around. You barely noticed the hours passing, which was mostly Niall's fault because he had this extraordinary ability to beguile people with conversation topics that were seemingly random but made for weirdly interesting discussions.

His conversation starters almost always initiated with “Have you ever thought about...” and then something crazy would follow. It was impossible to stop the tangents after that, especially if he happened to touch on a subject that you considered to be interesting too. When that was the case, the two of you would just go on and on like a never-ending pit.

This happened several times that noon.

So, despite having been anxious as hell for the better part of the day knowing you’d be meeting up with Harry later, the whole thing had almost slipped your mind by the time he texted you asking if you'd at the centre soon.

“Shit.” You muttered while replying to his message saying you were on your way. “Can you drive me to the sports centre? I need to get something to Harry and I'm too late to walk there.”

“Yeah, sure.” Niall said as you began making your way to the escalator that took you to the underground parking lot. It had become less crowded since you arrived, so finding the car wasn't too difficult. “So what’s going, you’ve been talking with him again?”

“Nothing is going on. I told you about him asking for his jersey back. I'm surprised you forgot…”

“Ah! True, true.” He responded as he climbed into the driver's seat. “I just wanted to ask if there was anything else besides that. I know you aren't fully over him yet, which is understandable, but...” He paused, then let out a sigh. “I guess what I’m trying to say is I don't want my friend to end up in the same position again if you get what I mean.”

“Yeah, I get what you mean.” You leaned back in your seat and stared out the window. “But don't worry, that's not going to happen. It's pretty obvious he doesn't like me, but even if he did…well, as the saying puts it… once bitten, twice shy.”

You talked about something lighter the rest of the way there. Niall wasn’t the type to bring up uncomfortable topics or force you to talk when you didn't feel like it. He usually just listened when you shared, which was good. He still gave his advice if you asked for it, but when it came to your situation with Harry, that wasn't what you needed, and he was aware of that.

What you needed was a friend that respected your decisions, but still cared about your well-being at the same time. A friend who understood you'd want to go meet your ex on your own but still offered to wait and give you a ride home afterward, so you didn’t have to walk alone at night.

The next day, the hockey team was playing outside of town, so there was a big, tall bus parked at the back of the sports centre.. and a shadowy man standing right next to it. The sky had already darkened so it was hard to see, especially on the side he was on, which wasn't getting bathed by the centre’s lights like the opposite one was.

Logically, you knew it must be Harry, but you didn't want to get too close without being sure. It could be the bus driver, or someone who happened to be there for something else. So instead of walking over, you stood at a reasonable distance and cast a wide-eyed glance in all directions, before lowering your gaze to your phone screen to text Harry letting him know you were outside.

But before you could send him anything, you were startled by his voice. “You can come over here, I don’t bite.”

You hoped the nighttime blindness worked both ways because you had jumped a little with the scare, which had to have looked a little stupid. “Oh, it is you! I couldn't tell from back there… it’s er…dark.”

If he saw you jump, he didn’t acknowledge it, instead he asked, “Did you walk all the way here by yourself?”

He seemed concerned that you had, which gave you a warm feeling in your belly. You didn't know what to make of it. “Oh, no. I was at the mall with Niall when you called so, he drove me. He’s parked at the front.”

“Hm.” Harry grunted dryly, which sparked a little awkward pause until he finally asked the dreaded question, “Do you have the jersey?”

“Oh yeah- one second... it's in my bag.” You smiled stiffly before you started rummaging around for it. “I’m not the best at doing laundry so the color might have gotten bit worn off from the washer, I hope that’s not an issue.”

“That’s fine.” He tossed the jersey over his shoulder, disregarding how neatly you'd folded it. “Thanks.”

“Okay, um… you must be pressed for time, so…”

“Not necessarily.” You found the coldness in his voice upsetting, and you couldn't figure out why he was stalling you when he obviously wasn't delighted to see you. “So how’s the situation with the rink, did it all work out?”

“It did.” It was a brief response, but you didn't feel like standing there chit-chatting just for the sake of it. “Thanks, for helping and… I guess for asking too.”

“Don’t thank me.” He said it brusquely, which irritated you even more. “Okay, um… I guess I’ll see you when I see you.”

“Yeah, that.” You curled your lips in a weak smile, and Harry did the same before setting out to go back inside the building. Sadly, upon watching him leave, you couldn't resist calling his name to see his face again. “Hey, Harry-” His head jerked back at the sound. “Have a good game tomorrow. I hope you win!”

He looked like he was about to look away, but he didn’t. Instead, he returned your gaze, as though he was contemplating something. There was a strange glint in his eyes, and it lingered there as he began walking back towards you. And then, wordlessly, swiftly and without a warning, his hands reached for your face… and his lips reached for a kiss.

You squeaked in surprise at the feeling, but that was all there was to it. After Harry’s lips' familiar texture took over, there wasn't much room left for surprises. His body steered yours backwards against the side of the bus, sheltering you from any curious eyes peering through the windows above. “Harry, what-”

“Stop talking,” He muttered against your lips, still laying kisses in between. “I know it's messed up but if we both keep quiet, no one has to know it happened.”

Your throat was itching to respond, but his kissing made your head blurry. His mouth lowered to taste your neck, kissing every inch of skin it swept by. Then, just when you thought it couldn't be any better, his tongue slipped out and found a spot that had you gasping quietly.

The touch of his body was setting yours on fire, reviving it in a way it hadn't been in ages. Your kisses grew hotter and heavier, and before either of you could pause and wonder if this was right, Harry was already fumbling with the button of your jeans - and you were letting him.

“Do you still think of my hands?” You could feel the warmth of his words on your skin as his fingers slid in. His pace was slow, almost too slow, as if he was enjoying listening to the eagerness of your heartbeats. “I think of yours most times; whenever I play with myself, it’s always you… your hands... your mouth... your pussy…”

You both moaned as Harry reached the hot spot hidden beneath your panties. He rubbed a bit around it, in slow and steady circles. “I’ve always loved how fast it reacts to my touch… it gets so wet and creamy, and your clit… fuck, ‘s all puffy and twitchy…” His fingers pressed harder on it, stroking more firmly.

And shit, you were getting there already. So, so close that your entire body was twitching uncontrollably against his. “Please… d-don’t stop.”

“Already? Fuck baby… you haven't been giving it the proper attention lately, have you?” You shook your head in response to his question. It was almost embarrassing how quickly you had gotten to that point, but Harry was right; you hadn't had an orgasm in a while… and of course, he could tell. “I'm not gonna lie, I already suspected that she wasn't being well taken care of, but shit... that's just disgraceful, isn't it?”

You could hardly gather the strength to answer him. The only sound you could muster were a few high-pitched "mhmms" that were muffled against his neck. You groaned when he pushed his fingers in and pierced through your hymen a little too briskly. “Still?”

You felt a little offended by how surprised he sounded but acknowledged his question with a nod. “It’s okay, just breathe…” He whispered softly into your jaw as his motions became gentler.

This wasn’t the first time Harry had used his fingers on you, but usually it was more the outside bits that he focused on. He loved giving oral, so you did a lot of that… the fingering thing only came later once you started having conversations about him taking your virginity. If it were up to you, you’d no longer have it, but Harry had wanted to take things slow. He knew your mind was prepared, but he had wanted to make sure your body was too… just so the experience was painless and pleasurable for both, and not just for him.

The stretching burn you were feeling eased after a while. It still stinged a little, but it wasn’t a bad type of feeling. Slowly but surely, it was transforming into a different type of heat, the kind that spread through your abdomen and got you to spasm around Harry’s fingertips.

He was going to make you cum if he kept on doing what he was doing…

Which he didn't.

He stopped right before you got there.

You stared up at him in confusion, right before you started glancing around to make sure no one was walking out of one of the buildings or approaching the bus. “What- what happened? Why did you stop?”

“Stop with what, hm?” That feeling of disorientation pervaded your mind for a moment, but reality set in once he started re-tucking your jeans back into place with a self-satisfied smile on his lips.

This was it.

He was done.

“That was a cute little warm up, wasn't it?” He shamelessly asked as he zipped up your fly. “It's a shame it had to end so abruptly… you seemed to be enjoying yourself... but don't get me wrong, this has been good fun for me too.”

With nothing to say or do, you just stood there astounded. You were torn between sobbing out of frustration, seeking an explanation, and simply leaving without uttering another word. It wasn't like whatever decision you made mattered anyway since none of those options would accomplish you anything.

The mess had already been made.

You shouldn't have allowed this to happen, and shouldn't have enjoyed it, but you did. It would have been much smarter to put a stop to things right the moment Harry kissed you but, despite the circumstances, you couldn't bring yourself to do it… and now, after everything he'd already done, he was ridiculing you.

When you looked at him again, you noticed that all of the traces of humor that had been gracing his features had dissipated. His gaze felt like steel, harsh and bitterly cold. “You should go. Niall's waiting for you, remember?”

His chest got shoved back by your clasped fists. “You’re an asshole!”

He tried to grab your wrists, but you shoved his chest again. It was enough to make him back down, although he still managed to get a hold of your arm. He used that to keep you from leaving. “I may be.” He spoke right in your ear. “Now you know what it feels like to be left stranded. I hope you fucking liked it as much as I fucking did.”

PART 2

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theyellowroseofsodor · 1 year

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🎁 I come bearing gift ideas 🎁

- Thomas strikes me as one of those people who has a wishlist of games he’s been meaning to play but hasn’t gotten around to actually buying for himself, and he just keeps adding to it so some of those games have been on that list for years and he’s pretty much forgotten about them being on it at all. So somebody giving him anything on that list would be a pleasant surprise (source: I am one of those people, my friends have done this multiple times)

- Edward seems like the type who’d appreciate something homemade or handcrafted, no matter what it is or how it looks. He’d treasure it because it was made with love and it’s from someone he cares about.

- Henry might appreciate some new gardening tools, like a new trowel or a set of good gardening gloves. Another idea for him is a bulb for an amaryllis, a large lily-like flower that grows well indoors during winter. They’re gorgeous when they bloom, and I’m sure he’d love to help it grow!

- Gordon… is tricky. He seems like the sort to say he doesn’t want/need anything, but you know he’d feel hurt if he didn’t get something meaningful. Personally, I have a headcanon that he really likes butterscotch candy, but that’s not something he goes around telling people. After all, he’s an engine, engines don’t need food, it isn’t proper… but he can’t help popping one in his mouth when he needs a pick-me-up and thinks no one he knows is around to notice. And if a certain someone did notice, well…

- James would probably like things he can use to spoil himself. A specific shade of nail polish from his favorite brand, a warm blanket he can wrap himself in, a pair of nice slippers to wear around the house, things like that.

- Percy is someone I headcanon as being really into Lego. Like, he’s got completed builds set up all over his room and is always on the lookout for a new challenging set to build in his spare time. Can’t go wrong with a cool Lego set for Percy.

- Emily is another tricky one, because she seems like the kind of person who just goes out and gets most of the things she wants herself, just in general. So a good gift for her might be an experience rather than an object; a gift certificate to a new local restaurant, tickets to a concert, vouchers for a spa day, something like that. She’d probably love it even more if it were something she could do with the person who gave her the gift in the first place.

🎁 I put way too much thought into this okay bye 🎁

Oh my gosh, I LOVE these! I don’t know, anon, if you’ve read my fic but I totally made Thomas a video game nerd (also like me) and the idea of getting him a game off his wishlist is BRILLIANT! Like he has a Switch and I’m sure his wishlist is humongous!

Edward is definitely a homemade gift guy, I’m taking that and running with it.

I know nothing about flowers, I could kill a cactus I’m such a bad green thumb. The bulb sounds like something his special someone would know.

OK OK you totally read my mind about Gordon and sweets so I’m gonna run with that one too 😂 but I also think he’d totally tear up with a homemade gift right? Cause he’s all prideful and a bit vain but like actual affection crumbles all the walls. Like he has a lot of good self-esteem but when others genuinely compliment him or make something for him he gets super emotional, but tries to hide it. Oh my gosh, thank you for this brain storming session!

James with like a Minky Couture blanket is now engraved in my mind. That luxury blanket in like a moulin rouge red, oh my Lady I’m living for it.

Percy is totally a LEGO guy! How have I not seen it?? Now I have to find a series to go with it. Like he has to have an entire collection whether it’s Lego City, Star Wars, Harry Potter, LotR, YES!!

Emily having a gift card and a ticket to experience something is also an amazing idea anon, I may need you for future advice because you are brilliant! It is my personal headcanon that Emily loves books. She’s basically Belle from Beauty and the Beast. So, maybe tickets to the theatre? I feel like that would like brighten her world.

Thanks for brainstorming with me anon, this has been amazing! I’m going to start working on it right away but I always welcome more! ♥️💙💜💛💚

#ttte #ttte fanfic #ttte gordon #ttte edward #ttte james #ttte henry #ttte humanized #ttte emily #ttte thomas #ttte percy

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spookymultimedia · 2 years

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Helpless To Defy His Fate: The Sountrack

Here's the music that inspired each chapter of my fanfiction, songs that go nicely with what I've written and a look into my creative process while writing

Chapter 1

El Tango De Roxane from Moulin Rouge

I'm not a fan of this musical or the canon story behind this song but I know I'm not alone in this attachment to this song. This song gave me a vision of Nandor betrayed by Guillermo by his act of violence. He's devastated. I was specifically inspired by the tiktok videos that combine Roxanne and the Plauges from The Prince of Egypt. At this point, the story in my head was like this opera style drama that's full of love, loss and pain. Nandor is the one who's heart is crying.

The Ballad of Jane Doe from Ride The Cyclone

I wanted to capture feeling this song gave more than the actual story in this song. I thought about Laszlo and his feelings of betrayal as he's quickly dying. He doesn't have time to process that he's dying. It's tragic. It really is an unfair death. I guess the Fall Fair Suite fits too but this song was a bigger influence

Bright Eyes by Art Garfunkel

This is one of the songs that I think fits Nandor's grief. He's struggling to process the fact Laszlo is dead and that Guillermo killed him.

CH 2

Sad Song by We The Kings

This captures Nadja's grief perfectly. The entire song is how she feels about Laszlo dying. At this point in writing this fic was an exploration of grief and how each of these characters would experience it. I didn't have a Nandermo arc in mind quite yet. I didn't expect this fic to be longer than two chapters. It's was a impulsive idea I wanted to write down. I wanted to write drama and angst for no reason but catharsis and enjoyment.

My Immortal by Evenessance

This was something I listened to while I was writing and thinking about Colin's Grief. He used to comfort Laszlo and learning about Laszlo's abusive home when he was young concerned him. Laszlo grieved him once and now Colin is grieving him. It's ironic. Also I was somewhat influenced by BCR's love for Evenessence and Papa Roach.

Look Who's Inside Again by Bo Burnam

This one was a huge influence on how I wrote Colin Robinson in this fanfiction. Laszlo was someone who gave Colin Robinson friendship when he was desperate to be understood and tired of being forgotten. He was happy and confident. When the one person that understood Colin better than anyone else in his life died he felt alone and insecure again. He struggled to reach out to the people around him and feel into a severe depression that kept him in his bed with no one to feed on but the cruelty of the internet. Colin Robinson is generally the comic relied character. "It's hard to be funny while stuck in a room". He usually enjoys telling his friends dumb jokes but now he's struggling to feel any joy at all. Draining online was a treat but in this situation it made him feel worse and left him feeling like shit

Chapter 3

Flying Dreams from The Secret of NIMH

Chapter 3 was just a sickfick/hurt&comfort I just wanted to write something nice and wholesome and cuddly after all the pain and truama that happened in the previous chapters. This chapter is the calm before the storm in a way. The scene where Nandor is helping Colin Robinson drink its tea was directly inspired by that scene in Secret of Nimh. There's a big emphasis on familial and platonic affection and love in the second half of this chapter.

That's the only song I had in mind for this chapter. The rest was just character interaction with my OC Desdemona. She wasn't originally going to be in this chapter but I really liked the idea of Nandor speaking to it. I think in a less grim timeline they would fuck at least once lol. There's so much grief going around I needed to put Desdemona in this fic, she eats that energy up. I'm glad I decided to it really helped me get a strong sense of its character.

Chapter 4

Bohemian Rapsody by Queen

I had this song already in mind while I was working on chapter 3. I knew I wanted to write Guillermo into this fever dream of guilt and self loathing. I wanted to go into the uncanny territory of weirdness. The part in his dream where Nadja kills Guillermo is directly inspired by an alternate ending proposed by @/ednacrabapple in which Nandor teaches Nadja to swordfight ti kill Guillermo. The twist would be she wouldn't be able to do it and suddenly Nandor gets the confidence to kill him. The lyrics that that inspired me the most where these:

I see a little silhouetto of a man,

Scaramouch, Scaramouch, will you do the Fandango!

Thunderbolts and lightning, very, very frightening me

He's just a poor boy from a poor family,

Spare him his life from this monstrosity

Beelzebub has a devil put aside for me, for me,

For meee

So you think you can stop me and spit in my eye

So you think you can love me and leave me to die

Oh, baby, can't do this to me, baby,

Just gotta get out, just gotta get right outta here

Also in the beginning we see the death from Guillermo's perspective. "Momma, life has just begun but now I've gone and thrown it all away." Guillermo is new to being a vampire and now that's been completely ruined by his murderous tendencies.

No Way Out from Brother Bear

This is one of the movies I took inspiration from for this fanfiction. I wanted to find stories that had similar stories of murder, guilt and forgiveness. I needed to make sure it was obvious that Guillermo lives in guilt and fear. Everyone else has a warped perception of him and believe he's killing for fun. I needed write the opposing perspective in this story.

Oh Miss Believer by Twenty One Pilots

There were three songs that inspired how I wrote nandermo in this chapter. This song is a love letter to Guillermo. Guillermo is scared and helpless. He's in a deep depression and struggling to carry on. Nandor is scared for Guillermo's life and while he addresses that Guillermo has done terrible things he wants to protect him some how. This chapter is when you start to see that Nandor and Guillermo are psychically linked to each other in a very literaral sense. They can feel and read each other's thoughts without knowing they are. They know the worst is yet to come and they're fearful.

Talking to Moon by Bruno Mars

This describes Nandor's feelings. He wants Guillermo badly against the better judgment of everyone else around him.

Aftermath by Lifehouse

Throughout the story Nandor and Nadja grow closer as lovers. Their feelings and actions change into something romantic. They're both traumatized and as a result hold onto each other because they're scared of losing one another. Despite the grief they feel warmth with one another.

Wisdom of Snow by Trans Siberian Orchestra

This song is from the album The Lost Christmas Eve and acts as the contemplative buffer between the old man's confrontation with his past and his emotional breakthrough. This chapter is foreboding and foreshadows what the next few chapters have in store. This song is also what I titled chapter 4. It wad a last minute decision I made while trying to come up with a good title that wasn't stale.

Chapter 5

Hayloft by Mother Mother

The idea that Sean should hunt down Guillermo to kill him as revenge was inspired by a conversation I had with @/2offayyo-kzt. Sean is angry and grieved his lover Laszlo was killed unfairly. He believes murder is the answer.

An eye for an eye, a leg for a leg

A shot in the heart doesn't make it unbreak

She really didn't wanna make it messy

She really, really didn't, but the girl gone cray

Christmas (baby please come home)

I never planned for Simon to be in this fic but I started to think about how Simon would react to Laszlo's absence. It was a joke idea and then I thought a brief moment of comedy in this fic was what the story needed. While I was brainstorming I had found this tiktok and got this idea. I thought it would be fun to write Simon being trapped in this cheery environment while his heart has just been shattered to pieces. It's painfully ironic. Unlike the other songs in this soundtrack this one is diagetic. It's both taunting Simon and describes his feelings. He's desperate to see Laszlo again and he wants Laszlo to be home again more than anything.

Cause I remember when you were here

And all the fun we had last year

This line is in reference to Go Flip Yourself

The song repeats over and over "baby please come home" which is how desperate Simon is to be with Laszlo again.

Story of My Life by One Direction

This was a very risky decision I made while writing this fic. To me in only felt natural that Nadja would go through some kind of emotional journey during this time of grief. I just really wanted to write the moment that Nadja's ghost dissappears. It's like self reflection. This song is Nadja's first step into accepting Laszlo is gone. She begins to acknowledge the happy moments she had with Laszlo.

Sugarcloud from Ride The Cyclone

Nadja and her ghost have alot in common but I suspect there's dissonance when it comes to Laszlo. Nadja doll never got to meet Laszlo and doesn't quite understand what Nadja sees in him. She didn't get to experience falling in love with Laszlo. Nadja's ghost is under the impression that her life was a waste and her legacy is dependent on what she's known as in the vampire world. Nadja is obsessed with her reputation and strives for success to the point she neglects her own joy and falls into burnout. As Nadja recalls her life spent with Laszlo they both come to the realization that she doesn't need to prove her existence to anyone. Just being alive is enough and not having a grand legacy doesn't make her worthless. She'd undead but it still applies lol.

The way I see it Nadja became one with her ghost. She's no longer haunted by her childhood or insecurities. She's finally made peace with her truamas and allowing herself to rest. The reason she's taking up a small hobby earlier in the chapter is because she's trying to learn how to relax and just do something because it's fun and not to be good at it.

Chapter 6

One of Us from The Lion King 2

Months before I decided to write this fanfic I was already obsessed with the idea of the three vampire from the 2014 movie passing judgement to Guillermo. They would struggle to feel any compassion for him and only feel fear and hate for something dangerous they can't understand. I would listen to this imagining the potential conflict between the the three vampires and the main characters in the series on the topic of Guillermo. I always envisioned Nandor being the Nala sitting on the sidelines with everyone against his plea to spare Guillermo. Most characters see Guillermo as a threat and feel hurt by him. I specifically feel that this line fits Simon.

Someone once lied to us

Now we're not so blind!

& by Tally Hall

Guillermo has to face vampiric law and its very vicious and cruel. There's lots of tension and a significant lack of understanding.

When the golden rule and the jungle meet

There'll be nothing to love and there'll be no one to beat.

Oh, the things we know, the things we don't

Oh, the things we think, we can, will and won't

[CW: flashing in clip ] Hungover in the City of Dust by Autoheart

I'll be honest while I was writing the last two of this fic I wasn't in the best state mentally and at the time I'm writing this I don't feel any better. I let that feeling inspire how I wrote Guillermo. It was like a strange form of catharsis projecting all my hopeless thoughts and frustrations onto Guillermo. Guillermo is having the worst night of his life and he's barely keeping it together.

The Trial by Pink Floyd

While the title of this chapter is accurate to what happens its also referring to this song. Guillermo is in a cage being accused of his crimes but he's also at war with his own self loathing. Viago is this symbol of vampiric class and acts downright patronizing to him.

Hells Comin With Me

Simon wasn't supposed to return but I grew to love the idea that it was Simon who told the Vampiric Council about Guillermo crimes and arrest him. I wanted to play into the fact that Simon is a character that tends to return when we least expect it in canon. Now he's back and full of righteous anger.

I am the righteous hand of God

And I am the devil that you forgot

While I was writing this fic I was fleshing out my headcannons for Simon since he's a half baked character at the moment. I got this idea that Simon had this catholic past when he was alive and it sticks with him a bit as a vampire. One way is his shape-shifting abilities, when under high stress or anger, forms into something others would compare to a biblically accurate angel. It's something that would deeply scare Guillermo, who already has religious truama.

SURPRISE! A DELETED SCENE! :D

Bloom from Joseph King of Dreams

This was deleted due to pacing issues and it just felt out of place. This would take place after the trial with Guillermo telling The Barron everything. The Barron feels sorrowful yet sympathetic. He's not proud of who had been in the past and for thinking he was above all of mankind. He had changed and he believes Guillermo can grow from this too.

You've seen the damage words can do

When full of thoughtless pride

Now heed the wiser voice in you

That calls to be your guide

One Normal Night from The Addams Family the musical

I'm not a huge fan of this musical. I feel like it misses the point of The Addams Family, which is radical acceptance in a conservative society. However I do love the artists and editors who show their favorite characters experiencing a traumatic night where stuff just keeps happening to them. I think Guillermo is in a similar situation in this fic

While My Guitar Gently Weeps by The Beatles

I don't think the men who are The Beatles are good people. I think I owe my love for their songs to the obscure movie Cirque Du Soleil. There's a handful of artistic and abstract interpretations of their songs. In this movie this song is visualized as a widow who lost her husband to war. I bring this up as it was inspiration for writing Nandor's grief for Laszlo. Their relationship soured and Nandor will never have closure with Laszlo. He regrets that he didn't appreciate Laszlo enough while he had him. He also wonders if things would be different if he expressed his love for Guillermo sooner.

Chapter 7

Runs in the Family by Amanda Palmer

This was another part I projected myself into. Guillermo hates who his family is. He's a Van Helsing and no matter how much he denys it or tries to hide it, it will always come back to him.

I cannot, I cannot, I cannot run from my family

They're hiding inside of me, corpses on ice

Guillermo has ran from many things in his life. He's ran from his sexuality and the catholic church but it's always there to haunt him. He's quite literally become a criminal on the run and he's not proud of it.

Mary, have mercy, now look what I've done

But don't blame me because I can't help where I come from

And running is something that we've always done well

And mostly I can't even tell what I'm running from

Grenade by Bruno Mars

Nandor has this unconditional love for Guillermo and while he struggles to vocalize or or express it in a productive way he does cause him to do pretty stupid things. Nandor would literally die for him. Guillermo does feel the same but he's a coward. Besides neither of them could communicate.

Lullaby for a Princess by ponyphonic

Guillermo and Nandor are doomed, in this timeline at least. Nandor doesn't appreciate Guillermo. Nandor didn't support him when he wasn't given any respect. No matter how much Guillermo demand to become a vampire, he refuses to turn him in fear of the consequences but mostly because of his pride. So Guillermo took things into his own hands and became a vampire without him. Guillermo refused to listen to Laszlo's criticism and it resulted in something Guillermo regrets. Nandor knows their relationship us doomed but he still wishes him well as they're forced apart.

The years now before us

Fearful and unknown

I never imagined

I'd face them on my own

May these thousand winters

Swiftly pass, I pray

I love you, I miss you

All these miles away

Everything I do, I do it for You

I remember this song from the movie Robin Hood. I don't remember much of the movie but I remember how the song made me feel. It was like this knight in shinning armor kind of song where you fantasize about rescuing someone you adore or the person rescuing you. I associate alot of 80s dad rock with Nandor. It's romantic and its the ideal type of romance Nandor desires.

The Best of Friends from The Fox and The Hound

Before I really had a clear idea of the conclusion I wanted for this movie, I watched two movies for inspiration. I watched Brother Bear and The Fox and The Hound. The latter was the direct inspiration for the conclusion. I think Guillermo and Nandor are similar to Todd and Cooper. Guillermo is the troublesome fox who keeps causing trouble and accidental harm. Nandor wants to love Guillermo and defend him but he knows they should be enemies and their relationship might be impossible to have without issues.

When these moments have passed

Will that friendship last

Who can't say there's a way

Oh, I hope

I hope it never ends

'Cause you're the best of friends

The scene where Cooper stands in front of Todd to protect him is a touching scene. There's not really a solid answer to the issue. They all go their separate ways and decide to give up the chase. The rabid warewolf is a parallel to the bear Todd fights and Sean parallels Amos Slade who's mind is set on revenge. Nandor's eyes are based on how Cooper stares at his master, pleading for mercy. Nandor's eyes are full of emotion and it works to my advantage for this fanfiction. Sean gives up and chooses peace. Nandor and Guillermo separate on good terms but they will never forget their friendship.

#what we do in the shadows #nandermo #laszlin #laszlo x nadja #laszlo x simon #seanszlo #laszlo x nandor #nandor the relentless #guillermo de la cruz #nadja x nandor #nadja of antipaxos #nadja cravensworth #colin robinson #Laszlo Cravensworth #simon the devious #viago wwdits #wwdits the baron #wwdits fanfiction #wwdits fanfic

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funnywiccanwritingcorner · 2 years

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Le Joyau le plus precieux

A Lucky Luke Modern!AU fanfiction

Chapter VI - It’s not what it looks like!

Seated at the outside table of a nice Indian restaurant with a colourful façade decorated with hanging flower pots, a moment of silence fell between the two. The topics were certainly not finished, but neither Lucky nor Joe knew where to begin. "Well... I might as well take the first step" thought the detective, passing his gaze from the menu to his table-mate, then deciding to put down the sheet of laminated paper and take the floor, in a low tone so as not to be overheard by the other customers: -So... FBI, huh? I thought it was strange that you were so handy with guns. And the secret service...- -It's not just from training, as far as guns go at least; it's a kind of gift.- Lucky put down the menu in turn: -You're doing well yourself anyway.- -I'll take that as a compliment.- -But it was.-

A waiter with a strong Indian accent approached them and politely asked if they were ready to order. -I'll have number five, please, and a bottle of mineral water- Luke said, -and you Joe?- -Ah... let's do the same.- The other raised an eyebrow questioningly: -Are you sure?- -Yeah, I'm starving, and I don't want to waste time choosing.- -So... let's make it two bottles, please.- With a brief bow, the waiter left, and Lucky flashed a smile: -You've got guts.- -Why do you say that?- -You'll soon find out. We were saying?- -No, I was just... Let's change the subject: what about you and your cousin? How did you end up working in the most famous club in Paris?-

-In America Cheyenne was a singer and dancer; she even worked in Las Vegas for a while. With her CV, it wasn't difficult for us to find a place at the Moulin Rouge.- -Are you part of the show, too?- -More or less. Five days a week I am in charge of presenting the performers, mainly in the evenings, certainly not when I am out robbing. Each time you have to play a different character, but it's not difficult: Cheyenne has taught me acting since we were kids.- -Uhm. That explains how you're so good at cross-dressing.- -Joe, is this a conversation or an interrogation?- -What?- -It's true that you're too focused on work.- He smiled slyly: -You usually get to know each other better on the first date.-

Dalton felt his tongue suddenly go dry: -First what?- -Yes; in short, we are here, without you threatening to arrest me or me being intent on stealing. What do you call this?- -A hang out. A meeting. Anything else, but not a “date”.- The waiter returned with bottles of water and then disappeared again. Lucky rested his left elbow on the table, and without losing his expression, rested his chin on his palm: -You don't have to be embarrassed.- Joe felt his blood pressure suddenly rise. How he wanted to punch him and make him stop smiling! The worst thing was that the feeling of fascination was returning, and he feared his discomfort might be noticed.

Joe tried to collect himself: -You're just lucky I'm not on duty right now, OK? Don't get any ideas.- Instead, the other let out a low laugh: -Do you mean to say that I don't have handcuffs on my wrists yet because you're not working?- -Exactly.- The image that had presented itself in his mind the night before tried to resurface, but he ignored it: -And for our agreement, did you think I had forgotten?- Dalton poured himself a glass of water: -Although I'm still the cop, and you're the thief.- -That's fine. But what would happen if I decided to visit you in your office?- Joe almost choked on his sip of water, not so much because of the sentence as because of the way it had been uttered; he coughed for a while before recovering: -What...?- -No one knows my face but you anyway, so what would you do if I decided to go there while you're on duty?- -I tell you again, if it wasn't for our agreement, I'd lock you in a cell and throw away the key.- -I guess you wouldn't leave me there all alone, would you?- Dalton gasped at that somewhat allusive tone; he turned red with rage and restrained himself from shouting: -Stop hitting on me!!-, which came out with an almost choked sound. -Relax, Joe, I was just teasing you a little.- -Well, anyone who dares to tease me ends up in the hospital!-

At that moment, on the opposite side of the street, Averell and Betty were walking along, chatting happily. It was she who saw Joe: -Hey, isn't that your brother?- -Yes... But look, he's not alone!- -Who is that man? Do you know him?- -Never seen him before. Maybe it's the business appointment Joe was talking about this morning.- Betty looked at Lucky's expression a little more closely: -I don't know... It looks to me like he's flirting with Joe, and pissing him off. Let's see.-

The waiter brought the two's order. It was a dish of chicken and vegetables in sauce, with a delicious aroma of spices. -Good appetite.- But the detective only needed a mouthful to feel his tongue catch fire. He latched onto one of the bottles and downed its entire contents. Lucky seemed to be unaffected by all those spices. Looking at him, Dalton realised what he was referring to just now. -Do you want to change your order? If it's too spicy...- -I won't let you have that satisfaction, at the cost of my taste buds!-

Averell and Betty didn't know what was going on, but seeing his brother continue to eat sent the younger one into confusion for a moment: -Joe doesn't like spicy food, what is he up to?- -I'd say he's trying not to make a bad impression...- -Do you think he likes that guy?- -Maybe. Judging from what I've seen so far, I think they're on their first date; hard to tell from here.- He got excited: -Do you think my brother has finally found someone?- -That would be good. Then he would have something else to think about besides chasing Lucky Luke!-

Lucky himself, who was accustomed to spicy dishes, tried not to show how much he was enjoying himself in front of the poor Joe who, in order not to give in, downed a glass of water with every mouthful. He found this absolutely irresistible. He wasn't used to laughing at someone, but the other was really testing him. -Joe, seriously, do you want to change dishes?- -...never...- By now Dalton had tears in his eyes, and he was as red as a tomato. -It's a good thing you're not the type to give up... But then you'll end up in the emergency room.- He leaned slightly towards the other: -If we talk about how we're going to arrest Mason and save my brother, will you change your order and stop inflicting this suffering on yourself?- After a moment, Joe nodded, and with a wave of his hand called the waiter over.

Betty was stunned: -He seems to have persuaded him to stop!- -No way! No one can change Joe's mind; we who are his brothers never managed it!- -Come on, Averell, we must tell Jack and William!- The two of them walked off at a brisk pace.

-So, Joe, before we begin I must warn you that to get to Dorian Mason we must first pass through his bodyguard, Ivor. A former KGB agent, trained in three different martial arts, he carries out any order from his boss like a faithful lapdog.- He took a photo from a coat pocket; it depicted a man holding a sign with the numbers of a prison in his hands, although from the look of him he looked like a wardrobe two metres high and just as wide. He dressed in black, was completely bald and his face resembled that of a pug as ugly as it was. -What do you mean by "passing through"?- -At this time Dorian is in a super-secret location, where he is meeting with high-ranking black-marketeers in an attempt to sell what I have stolen over the year along with other pieces; everything his father has collected will end up at auction. Only Ivor knows the place and time of the meeting, but it's an information he won't reveal so easily.- -But that may be the only chance to catch Dorian red-handed.- -Not only that, Ivor is in charge of surveillance of the hostages, placed in a facility I managed to locate after months of searching. It is located here in France, not far from Nice. The forest hides the location perfectly.- -They keep your brother there?- -Yes. I have tried several times to get the security codes, but no one knows the cell codes, apart from our man.- -So, to recap, the plan breaks down into four steps: capture this Ivor, get the information, free your brother, and arrest Dorian Mason. And all in two and a half weeks. A piece of cake.- -The first phase is not too complicated: Ivor is currently right here in Paris. And a little birdie told me how to track him down.- -Really?- -Everyone in the world has a weakness. Our friend's is the Grand Guignol plays.- -The Theatre of the Macabre?- -The company that re-enacts those gruesome scenes in America is touring Europe, and one date happens to be tomorrow night at the Olympia Theatre. We will enter the building, mingle with the audience, and there we will be able to capture Ivor.- -But the tickets will be sold out long ago.-

With a swift gesture of his hand, worthy of a magician, Lucky materialised the tickets for the show out of thin air, holding them between his fingers: -This is why I have largely anticipated. Knowing the right ticket scalpers saves you time and money.- -Good. I'll take care to study the possible exit points of the theatre, such as fire exits. He won't be able to escape us.- -That's what I'm hoping.- Luke looked at his wristwatch: -There's still some time, shall we pay the bill and go for a walk?- -Time before what?- -Before your brothers get home from their shift.- Joe was surprised: -How do you know?- -How did you know? -I not only watched you, but also your family. I had to, so I wouldn't get arrested.- -That doesn't make a wrinkle.-

Walking through the city streets, Dalton decided to ask Lucky, who was walking beside him with his hands in his pockets, a few more questions: -You know, I've always had a certain image of American agents, perhaps a bit stereotypical. And to say that I'm an American myself.- -What kind of image?- -Men of action, tough and direct. Like in black-and-white crime movies, you know?- -Yeah, I know. Small offices saturated with cigarette smoke, light filtering through window shutters...- -Yes; that's it... You're not what one would expect on hearing about the FBI.- Lucky chuckled: -Remember what I told you: I was in the cultural heritage field. It was a slightly different field than counter-terrorism or narcotics.- -Fewer muscles, more brains?- -Let's say you have to read more books than normal. And know how to recognise forgeries from original paintings, although in this and in art history the most talented is my brother; on my part I prefer monuments. What about you?- -I am poor at art, I must admit. I couldn't tell a Picasso from a Van Gogh.- -You know the names of the painters, that's already a good basic.- He stopped, halting the other man's step and putting his hand in front of his face: -But we can fix that.- Joe followed the other man's gaze, and saw the entrance to a bookshop. The detective immediately guessed what he wanted to do: -Seriously?- -Don't worry, we'll only take the bare essentials.-

Which turned out to be a single, but decidedly heavy and cumbersome, volume of art history, in chronological order and complete with photographs. Joe was insisting on carrying it himself, but it was a struggle because of his stature. -Don't you want a hand?- -No! I don't need a nanny! I can manage!- Lucky shook his head and took the book from Dalton's hands: -At least let me help you carry it all the way home.- Joe trembled at the thought: -No! What if my brothers see you?- -First: they don't know who I am, and you can make up any excuse. Second: what's wrong with that?- -My brothers are embarrassing meddlers, that's what!- -All excuses, Joe.- -... All right, but don't come up to our flat. I'm saying this to avoid questions for you and a crisis for me.- -Ah, your temper tantrums for which you're getting Miss Betty's help?- The detective was stunned: -No, you now explain how you know.- -Desolated!- Lucky smiled at him, holding up the book with two hands: -In march.-

Continuing to walk, Joe remained silent, furtively staring at his companion, until he decided to reconnect with the previous conversation: -Do you think a little more knowledge about art might be useful to me?- -A smattering never hurts.- -Yes, but this one will be at least five kilos, if it falls on your foot it's no fun!- Lucky laughed: -That's the weight of culture!- Joe was surprised: the stretchy guy had the punch line! He had the urge to apologize for what he had said before: -... Hey, listen... You didn't take offence at that...- -About not wanting me near your house? No, I understand that.- -I decided it doesn't matter if my brothers see you. After all, I told them I had a business appointment.- -That's fine.- -You're a new informant of mine, something like that.- -Joe.- -What?- -You've never brought a man home before, have you?- -... Not even a girl, come to think of it.- -Are you concerned about a lack of discretion on my part? Because I assure you...- -No. Given what you've put us through in a year, you're Mr. Discretion. But I know my brothers.-

And indeed William, Jack and Averell, after the youngest had reported everything he had seen to the twins, stood at the window waiting for the eldest to return. -Tell us again what this guy looks like, Averell.- -Tall, good-looking; seemed at ease with Joe.- -That this is the one? Every date he's had with someone, our brother has always gone blank!- said Jack. -Wait, there they are!- From the top of the road they saw Joe and his mysterious companion arrive. William let out a whistle of approval: -Not bad!- -Look how they talk to each other... Wait, is Joe smiling??- -Yes!- -See? Told you so!- -Be quiet, Averell!-

The detective became aware of the presence of the brothers at the window:

-That's it, I knew it.- -Well, they saw me. Shall we avoid the embarrassment of introductions?- -This time, yes.- -All right. I'll pick you up tomorrow night at eight. I'll borrow the car from Cheyenne, it's a silver familiar.- -What? Won't you meet me there?- -I have my own way of doing things, Joe.- He handed him back the book and added: -You just wear a suit and tie. Bring your badge and handcuffs, we'll need them.- -And the gun?- -No. Gunshots would cause panic, even in an audience like the Grand Guignol's one.- -Sure. Of course.- -So...- -See you tomorrow night.- -...- Joe had the impression that the conversation was not over, and urged the other: -What is it?- -I'm glad you accepted. I hope that at the end of all this, I don't know, you can consider me your friend.- There was something in his gaze that left the detective bewildered: he seemed excited and even a little awkward in saying those words. That didn't take anything away from what she already thought of him; on the contrary, it revealed another side of his character. -Uhm... We'll see, Lucky, we'll see.- -Did you just call me Lucky?- -I'm going up before this thing rips my arms off; see you tomorrow!!- cut Joe short, who ran off, as far as he could given the book. He mentally called himself an idiot.

-Guys, did you see that?- -Yes, Jack!- -Did it really go well this time?- -Stop, listen to me: not a word to him, let's pretend nothing happened or he'll yell at us! Let's see how it turns out, and if it goes on who knows...- -You're right, William.- -We'll be graves!- Averell nodded. Joe entered the flat panting. That tome was just too heavy! -Hold on, I'll help you Joe!- Jack offered, who was pulled away: -I'll manage, no problem. Any news?- -None!- exclaimed the younger man, -How about you?- -None. I have some studying to do, will you make me some coffee?-

#lucky luke #joyau #joe dalton #modern au #fanfiction

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onthecrosslook · 3 years

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Heyo! For the ask game:

- Like Lexi Two said, very sad! But you manage to channel a lot your feelings (positive and negative) to your art and music, so yay for coping mechanisms! These are also things that you had to develop, rather than doing it for fun, so external influences are pretty prominent.

- Super smart and precise. When you have an idea in your head, you take it and execute it, it seems you normally have a pretty clear vision of things before you carry them out.

- You don't talk about music taste as much, but I don't vibes of you like really hardcore rock? Maybe Beatles or Queen, but not screamer stuff. And I feel like you're pretty picky w/ musicals, just cuz you've got Ham and Heights (and Book of Mormon?) but I don't see you post too much about others.

I had more in depth stuff but I've forgotten😵‍💫 le whoops

- Yeah, you’re right, but it’s all right. I used to mainly draw for fun, but I found as things got harder to deal with, drawing sad and miserable stuff was very…cathartic, in a way. Still, I do enjoy the occasional fluff piece!

- Smart? Maybe. Dumbass energy? Absolutely. The reason why things seem so precise is because I have random ideas, write em down, and then manifest it into what I want through sheer force of will. (Just kidding! I actually have a lot of failed versions of things that the public never sees…)

- Ooh! The last one is where you’re a wee bit off. I’m a bit like Mrs. Hudson- you can catch me singing System of a Down or Slipknot while vacuuming or doing things. But! I do love Beatles and Queen and the like.

- Musicals! I actually like a lot of musicals, I’m just mostly in the fandom for Hamilton and ITH (because of Lin). My first major musical revelation was Moulin Rouge and I’ve never stopped loving it, but I also like Beetlejuice, Mean Girls, Book of Mormon, Les Mis, and Little Shop of Horrors. :)

-AE

#jalexandria #the fantastic moo #ask game

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sleeplessandstubborn · 4 years

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Emily in Paris or why I stopped caring about the protagonist and I started rooting for the French. Episode 1.

Let’s be clear. I was planning to root for the French anyway. They are in the neighbouring country, I quite like them and I was prepared to confront and make fun about all the stereotypes in this series. Because this was exactly what I expected. Funny, lighthearted and totally braindead (wink wink) escapism in an instagrammed to the top Paris which has the same resemblance with the real one than Vincent Minelli’s... But without Gene Kelly. So what did I think of the first episode?

Meet Emily Cooper from Chicago. She’s young, she is dynamic, she struggles to be liked by everyone and at the beginning of the series. She is a marketing executive about to be promoted or so she thinks.

... Because her boss Madeline (played by Kate Walsh) is going to Paris in order to take work with Savoir, a luxury firm the company (sorry I forgot its name) has just adquired. Madeline is overjoyed because working for a year in Paris is one of her dreams and because French men like mature women, as probed by the fact that their young and hot (sic, but this blog agrees) president married his high school teacher. We’ll never know which plans Madeline had for Frenchmen, whether they are young or hot or not. The case is after two minutes in the series she vomits, which means she’s pregnant and she can’t go anywhere because it’s an truth universally aknowledged that pregnant women can’t go on with their plans.

It’s in the next scene when we meet Emily’s boyfriend, Doug, and when we learn she’s going to Paris in Madeline’s place, in spite of being unprepared and not knowing the language. At this point one wonders how it’s possible that no one else in the company can replace Madeline. All of them are monolingual? Our plucky heroine is not discouraged by the litle fact of knowing virtually nothing about the country in which she’s going to live during the next twelve months. She and Doug - the moment you see the scene you know it wont’ go well - agree on a long distance relationship.

And after a very well done transition, we have crossed the ocean. Yes, this is well done, and I say it unironically. Episodes are short, your show is called Emily in Paris, so, what’s better than having your main lady already in the French capital in less than five minutes. The series goes to the point in this aspect and it’s a good thing to spare us of unnecesary scenes.

So Emily arrives to her apartment with pretty views, confused about in which floor she’s supposed to live (running gag ahead) and already hit on by a French guy on a suit that looks like the love child of Gabriel Attal and Albert Rivera (check it, seriously). I couldn’t take him seriously not only because of that but also because he said that Emily’s appartment was a chambre de bonne. Not by any means. Look, I’ve never lived in Paris but I know that apartment is huge when compared with a real chambre de bonne.

Off to know her working place, Emily has this HUGE smile pasted on her face. I don’t know if this supposed to make her charming and likeable. For me - it’s true than I have this European perspective - she looks a mix between an anxious puppy and a psychopath. I would be scared and would avoid her at all costs. The cultural clash is about to happen.

Yeah, I would look at her too, Julien a.k.a. token black character. You have probably heard about the lack of diversity in this series, I won’t abound in that, others have worded it better. It also an established fact that French people smokes at their workplace, even if in the European Union we have these things called smoking bans that won’t allow it.

And enter Sylvie, Emily’s Parisian boss and supposed main antagonist, à la Devil wears Prada. What to say about Sylvie other than I adore her? Her clothes, her style, her sarcasm. As any rational being would do, Sylvie is pretty dismayed to learn that Emily does not have the slightest idea of French and its already wanting to impose her American perspective and her alleged knowledge of social media. The problem is I don’t know if her posts on Instagram really deserve that much attention. Clash ensues with the rest of her new coworkers. C’est la cata! they comment. I quite agree.

Our fish-out-of-water takes an evening afterwork stroll (this Paris is like one square kilometer and public transport is something you mention but never appears) and calls her boyfriend to state the entire city looks like Ratatouille, which legitimately made me laugh. I am not sure if this reference means that Emily’s filmic culture is that limited or if it’s her boyfriend the one who only knows a movie which takes place in Paris and that’s one is Ratatouille. We know that Emily at least has seen Moulin Rouge and that makes two so probably is Doug’s fault.

Back at home, and since she has forgotten how to count, Emily attempts to open the wrong door. Immediately a wild Frenchman appears; it’s Gabriel, played by Lucas Bravo probably one of these young hot men Madeline would target. He takes the intrusion reasonably well. Especially when it’s discovered that Emily only knows his region, Normandy, from Saving Private Ryan. That makes three films, so definitely I think Doug is the problem here as far as filmic culture goes.

Next day Emily picks a yellow outfit and goes to work, purchasing a pain au chocolat in her way to work. I confess I was underwhelmed when discovered that there wouldn’t be any joke about the Great Civil War that has been going on in France since its earliest days: the partidaries of pain au chocolat vs. the ones of chocolatine. A ferocious, merciless conflict unknown by most nations. A lost opportunity not making this woman someone from the South who bravely defies Parisian conventions calling it chocolatine. I’m team pain au chocolat btw. Naturally when she discovers the wonderful world of flavours she makes another Instagram post. She’s earning more and more followers, Heavens know why.

However, she has a Big Problem with Doing Research. Example given, she doesn’t know her schedule - a problem which could have been solved with reading numbers - and arrives two hours early to her workplace.

Once there she discovers she can’t sit with the cool kids. No one wants to lunch with her, so she decides to miserably sit by herself at the park, where we met her best new friend. Her name’s Mindy, she’s from Shangai and she’s working as au pair, while teaching Mandarin to the two blond children she’s looking after. We’ll later discover more about her. She instantly detects the American in Emily and offers her help to this awkward but at the same time arrogant newcomer.

Meanwhile at Savoir, Emily has earned a sobriquet. La Plouc, which is adopted by Sylvie and most of her coworkers even if Luc seems more or less reluctant to say it. La Plouc means the hick, as she instantly discovers thanks to an online translator. It’s really not a good day for our heroine, and she cames back home - remember that thing about this Paris being one square kilometer? - walking. Co-worker and someone who for some resason reminds me to the posh-y version of Philippe Poutou - check it - Luc passes by as she sits lonely by herself and apologizes for calling her la Plouc earlier. He also claims she’s arrogant for coming to Paris without speaking or even understanding French - which is true - and tells her people is probably scared as her new, modern ideas. Which makes no sense at all and it’s probably a white lie.

Meanwhile and for some reason her totally inocuous posts in Instagram makes her earn more and more followers. During the night, her oblivious to timezones boyfriend call her and they have - or attempt to have - a totally awkward and unsexy session of cybersex. At the end Emily is so frustrated that she tries to use her electric vibrator which leads to the short-circuit of the entire building. Fortunately before she has the oportunity of getting closer to the device in question. And that’s how Episode 1 ends.

What did I think? It’s fun and pretty to look at. Even prettier to rant about. As long as your brain remains carefully shut off in the meantime and you don’t take it that seriously you are going to enjoy it I guess. At least it’s my case.

Still frustrated for not covering the Great Civil War tho.

#emily in paris

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littlelittlebear · 4 years

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Two Drifters | 3/3 Jeronica Secret Santa

@fangstomysweetpea oh my god.... its finally time!!!

The moment i’ve been aching for is finally here and i am HYPE

Happy Christmas my dear Tumblr-friend, I hope you enjoy this jeronica playlist/au/riverdale rewrite.

A couple things first, the descriptions on each song are just an outline as to whats happening in that moment/what the song calls for. Also, this is like a story, so its not really something you can play on shuffle lol. I’m confident you didn’t really need these “instructions” lmao, just want you to have a bomb-ass jeronica experience XDD

Also, you don’t have to “follow” the descriptions when you think them out, you can completely take the reigns too if you’d like!

So.... here ya go!!

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1MflcKtyBDRjnP0giX03X4?si=ZcsD0GfxR0KevhgDpTZVKQ

And here are the descriptions-

Oxford Comma-

Locking eyes for the first time… wow. Just- everything is in slow motion.

Baby Doll-

Slow dancing in Pop’s after the dance. (V goes to Pop’s instead of Archie)

Can I call you tonight?-

Jughead and Veronica’s moments of glee when they finally set up a date with each other. Veronica squeals and jumps up and down, Jughead punches the air, they both fall down on the bed with blissful looks on their faces. Two cinnamon rolls.

“So, I’ll call you tonight?”

“Yes! *Too enthusiastic- calm down Veronica* Yes. Call me tonight.”

*Que music*

Just Like a Movie-

Jughead calls this their theme song one day when they’re just hanging out in the student lounge as a joke.

Scrawny-

Veronica calls this Jughead’s theme song in response, they have a good laugh and Jughead rolls his eyes at the lyrics A LOT.

Space Girl-

Jughead calls this Veronica’s theme song- because she’s “oUt oF tHiS worLD!”.

She smacks his arm for being so cheesy.

Good Morning-

The morning after they do the “horizontal tango” with each other for the first time, they dance in Veronica’s kitchen, knowing all the words- only to be interrupted by an amused Hermione Lodge.

Unforgettable-

Their first Christmas together, spent snowed in at The Pembrooke. But honestly, they don’t mind.

Shake it out-

Jughead and Veronica cry together after her parents blackmail them/force them to break up. #parentssuck.

Your star-

Coping with the breakup, newsflash- they aren’t, or when they are... they don’t go the healthiest route. So. Much. Angst.

Rare-

Veronica changes up her style a little bit, which really is just lower cut tops, just trying to forget about Jughead- does a lil sexy performance singing to this at a pep rally.

Out the door-

Jughead never leaving the depressional stage of grief.

+ Exchanging broken looks that just scream “I’m not over you.”

I can’t get you off my mind-

Drunkenly hooking up at a party because their tension recently had just been… w o w

Drugs-

Sneaking around- sexy times ;)

Why Do You Love Me-

Having a screaming match, then a very angry/hot makeup session, then very angry sex XD

The Wind-

After some hOrIzOnTaL TaNGo at Sweetwater River, they admit that they can’t keep away from each other, saying that they love each other for the first time- followed by Veronica crying tears of joy cuz she’s never done that before- and that they’re going to work everything out, together. They just hold each other after that.

“I love you, Princess.”

Veronica props herself on her elbow to face him (they were laying down before)

Jughead sees her widened eyes. “Y-you don’t have to say it back, I know its ha-“

“I love you too, Jug”

You and I-

Montage of working at Pop’s for summer, ending with a jam sesh in Jughead’s trailer- Veronica just in his shirt and Jughead just in his sweats. FP comes in, surprised to see Veronica, but welcomes her easily. FP and Veronica bond, and he embarrasses Jug with some baby photos. While Jug’s probably beet-red, he can’t help but completely oggle at Veronica- happy that they don’t have to hide from his dad anymore.

Start a Riot-

Jeronica send a little message to Hiram through security cameras (they just make out lmao), showing that he can’t keep them apart. They then proceed to trash Hiram’s jingle jangle lab. :)

Moon River-

Slow dancing after having been crowned homecoming King and Queen. And of course, because Veronica is 1/2 of this relationship- this becomes their song.

“That’s us.”

“What do you mean?” Veronica asks, confused.

“The two drifters in the song. ‘Two drifters, off to see the world.’ That’s us”

Veronica’s eyes start to gloss.

“I absolutely love that. And you.”

Teenagers-

Being the badass power couple they are, being 100% team Serpent against the Bulldogs during the riots. Its all one long shot too- no cuts :))

A Sunday Kind of Love-

Looking at each other in slow motion (wow- I really love putting stuff in slow motion) when Veronica is officially named Serpent queen, they’re absolutely smitten with each other. Cut to them dancing in the Wyrm to the song, discussing how they’re going to make their big debut as Riverdale’s resident power couple… second to Choni of course.

“So… now that I’m your queen, I was thinking had a debut of sorts. Just to educate the public of this new order.” Veronica jabs, only kind of joking.

Jughead laughs, but it sounds more of a huff.

“Could you settle for a hand-in-hand entrance at school? Or would you be more comfortable with a red carpet event?”

Glory-

Veronica and Jughead walking into school as Serpent Royalty with matching Serpent jackets- no special colours thank you very much. You can bet your ass its in slow motion.

Worlds Apart-

Veronica crying at Jughead’s bed-side after the Ghoulies fuck him up.

Boss Bitch-

Veronica gets revenge on the Ghoulies and Penny Peabody with the help of the female Serpents, the River vixens, Hermione, Betty, and Alice.

Le Symbolique-

Veronica and Jughead reunite from his state of unconsciousness, this whole sequence is in slow motion, with a lot of white lighting/glare. Jughead almost died and just that thought alone KILLED Veronica.

“Jug I was so scared-“

“Shush Ronnie, let me look at you.” His teary eyes trace over Veronica’s face with a beaming smile, before he brings his girlfriend closer and kisses the top of her forehead.

Harmony Hall-

Some core four bliss before it gets chaotic again, with a side of Jeronica and Barchie cuddles.

Not Your Barbie Girl-

A River vixen performance, Jughead is so fricken in love with Ronnie right now cuz she’s just RADIATING empowerment.

Therefore I Am-

Jeronica sends Hiram to jail again after a bomb ass one liner from Veronica:

“Mija, you have no idea what you’re doing.”

“Only one thing’s false in that sentence Hiram, I’m not your Mija anymore.”

(HELP ME I CAN’T WRITE)

*Proud Jughead smirk*

This Life-

Veronica meeting JB and Gladys, them getting along great- just a wholesome Lodge/Jones get-together.

Don’t Call Me Angel-

Veronica changes her name to Luna, fully emancipating herself from Hiram, and this gets Jughead really turned on XD

Sway With Me-

La Bonne Nuit’s first successful night, Josie, Veronica, Toni, and Cheryl perform. Veronica somehow convinces Jughead to dance with her in public. Think Moulin Rouge’s Diamond Dogs type editing.

My Oh My-

Getting screwed over my Hiram, Veronica is in a TON of debt and needs some “stress relief” with Jughead. He obliges. Happily.

HIP-

Veronica and Cheryl start their rum business, Jughead helps and oml he’s so proud of her. Btw, Cheronica are HUGE badasses right now.

Bury a friend-

Surviving Eversgreen Forest and Penelope Blossom…

Youth-

The core four are free from the forest, successfully escaping Penelope Blossom. Jughead and Veronica share a tearful but happy kiss, laying down on the back of a truck.

Don’t Take The Money-

The core four hang out at pops and promise to have fun this senior year, Jughead steals Veronica’s cherry from her milkshake, but being so vulnerable to Midget’s (He calls her Midget. Yup.) puppy dog eyes, he makes it up to her by sharing his fries.

“And for a brief, shining moment, we were kids again.” all that good shiz

The Four Seasons: “Winter”-

Jeronica hangs with the Stonewall psychos.

(Online Love)-

Veronica and Jughead FaceTime and Veronica has this vibe like she’s the montage of the hero’s dead girlfriend in a movie. Like her hair is all splayed out on her pillow and she’s all smiley-

“You look like an angel right now- with your hair like a halo and how much you’re smiling.”

Veronica laughs

“Well it’s your fault I’m smiling you idiot.” Her voice softens towards the end of the sentence.

“I love you too, Ron.”

El Tejano-

Party at Stonewall, Jeronica are absolutely WASTED. Fun fact- Jughead get’s really into PDA when he’s drunk

Burned Out-

Oh shit… I guess Jughead is dead now. (dw, Betty’s still the one who “kills him”)

Claire de Lune-

Just kidding, he’s alive, and he and Veronica have a really cute moment in the bunker. Veronica starts reading his novel, per his request, and he just starts playing this on the record player and she smiles but her eyes are still on the book. He just kind of watches her, and when she starts beaming at the book he can’t help but kiss her right there. Then they just cuddle and little bit, Veronica on Jug’s lap, reading the book some more.

Girls Like GIrls-

Veronica has to prove Jughead is dead, so she and Betty kinda sorta… make out. Like, a lot. Betty is dating Archie at this point, and he’s the one who gets “mad”. But basically Betty and Veronica end up making out again cuz they spot Donna watching them. Veronica is a bi con, and Betty might be too but everyones in denial so *shrugs*.

Dream Lover-

(Time skip, because I’m lazy) Jughead’s alive again, sadly, his spot at NYU was taken by well, Veronica. Luckily, after pulling some strings, she surprises Jug with a full-ride acceptance letter from NYU starting second semester.

Magic Moments-

Yay! Prom! Barchie gets crowned king and queen (Beronica was kind of forgotten about, but thats fine, because we’re here for Jeronica first). While Betty and Archie are totally lost in each other, Jughead and Veronica are just kind of joking around on the side. While it’s Barchie’s moment, Jeronica is still looking pretty damn cute rn. Also, this becomes Barchie’s song!!

Oxford comma-

The song comes through the speaker at prom, Jughead invites Veronica to dance. As they sway, they gaze at one another like they’re seeing one another for the first time, to the song that started it all.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

And thats it! Thats Jeronica’s story from season one to season four, I hope you have a very merry Christmas and I hope you liked your presents! Also, if anyone feels like adding on to the dialogue or using any of the points in a fic or even making a whole ass fanfiction- please do!! I didn’t do this justice with my mediocre quotes so it would actually be preferred XD.

And again, happy Christmas :))

#jeronica #jeronica nation #Jeronica Secret Santa 2020 #secret santa #jeronica secret santa #jeronica playlist #jeronica fanfictions #jeronica au #riverdale rewrite #jeronicasecretsanta20

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owletstarlet · 4 years

Text

ffxv- forgotten if they’re green or they’re blue- chapter 1

“The next block over from here there’s this great little—ohmygods, you’re the Prince.”

Well, fuck.

“Says who?” Noctis counters, tiredly.

“Says your face,” the guy sputters.

(or, the Moulin-Rouge-flavored AU that nobody asked for. Ao3 link in the notes.)

The table’s sticky, Noctis realizes too late as he’s peeling the sleeve of his jacket off of it. Drink’s not bad, though. Sweeter than he was expecting, but with enough of a paint-thinner aftertaste to it that he knows it’s doing its job. And literally nobody’s giving him a second glance at the moment, either, and that’s more than worth the very specific pitch of this music that’s sort of chipping away at his skull, or the vaguely harrowing feeling of so many bodies packed into one room.

“Not your thing, huh?”

Shit.

Noctis doesn’t turn, doesn’t give him more than a sidelong once-over to make sure he shouldn’t be imminently getting the hells out of here. He doesn’t take in much more than a shock of blond hair, a clipboard, a pair of glasses.

It’s probably fine.

Noctis doesn’t confirm or deny it, just sort of waves a hand at the commotion on the stage. “It’s a lot of…” Thrusting, his brain supplies, helpfully. Body glitter.

“It’s definitely ‘a lot of’ a lot of things.” The guy sounds amused.

“Hm.”

“…not much of a talker, are you?”

Noct bites the inside of his cheek, keeps his face neutral, hears a voice from somehwere between his ears that sounds an awful lot like Gladio’s reminding him that just because he’s in a shitty mood doesn’t mean he should be shitty for no reason to people that aren’t. Damn but this guy’s got a chipper voice, though.

“Well,” said guy goes on, “if you came to see Nea, I can go and—”

The rest of his words are cut off by a bang that Noctis feels as much as he hears, that has him halfway out of his seat with his heart suddenly rammed up his throat before he realizes that it was the sound of an elbow coming down hard on the table.

“Ah—shit, sorry ‘bout that!”

When Noctis turns to face him fully then, it’s to find the guy propped up on his elbow on the table, looking startled himself.

Noctis gets a better look at him, frowns. “Are you okay?”

He looks very much not Lucian, Noctis thinks, Niff maybe, if the light hair and eyes are anything to go by, and the freckles that stand out like pinpricks under the colorful lights. But a good chunk of the clientele around them look like foreigners, so do more than half the performers onstage at the moment. Not unusual, considering the district Noctis had wandered into not entirely on purpose.

His face looks open and friendly, but he seems distinctly unwell—there’s something sunken and shadowy in the corners of his face, in the hollows of his eyes and under his cheekbones. Noctis can’t tell if his pallor is just from the lights just washing him out, but it’s definitely not hot enough in here for him to be sweating like that. His hoodie hangs off his shoulders a bit, and it looks like his hair had been carefully gelled up at some point, but had gotten rumpled and half-deflated like he’d slept on it. His fringe is sticking to his forehead, hanging a bit in front of the thick-rimmed glasses.

“Yup,” he’s saying, a smile slotting into place that seems unforced but a little incongruous. “Yeah. Head rush, is all. Sorry.” He’s perched on the stool across from Noctis now, sliding his clipboard onto the table. His arm is trembling, very slightly, where it’s resting on the table.

Noctis feels his mouth twist, and he slides the still-untouched ice water they’d brought him across the table.

The guy blinks, looks at the water and then Noctis’ face, smile slipping into something marginally less comfortable. “Oh. Nah, you’re good, dude. Thanks. Just. Gimme a sec?”

“Sure,” Noctis says. He doesn’t take the water back. He peers down at the clipboard. It’s not anything comprehensible to him, a lot of x’s and arrows, circles and boxes, only a few words scrawled illegibly into the margins here and there. “You working?” he asks.

“Ah, yeah,” the guy says, tilting the clipboard a bit so he can see it better. “It’s choreography. Kind of. Nothing super inspired tonight, though.”

“Oh. So…dancing?”

“Yup.” He jabs a thumb at the stage, expression settling into something much more relaxed, if a bit sheepish. “I’m supposed to be up there right now, actually, but. My stomach’s being kinda weird, and I don’t think people are paying to see me puke all over everyone else, so. Dahlia stepped in for me.” He points to center stage, where a now very much topless woman with dark lipstick and a halo of brown curls is doing something that looks physically impossible involving a folding chair. “It was her night off and all, too.”

Noctis looks from the woman on the stage, to this disheveled guy who looks like he’s going to pitch over in his seat, and back again. He must be pretty obvious about it, because the guy chuckles a bit. “Uh-huh. Hard to believe, right? I promise I clean up nicer than this.”

And Noctis genuinely has no idea what to say to that. He takes a sip of his drink.

“Uh. You know, if this isn’t your scene, and you weren’t here to see Nea, there’s quieter places to go get plastered around here. And cheaper. The next block over from here there’s this great little—ohmygods, you’re the Prince.”

Well, fuck.

“Says who?” Noctis counters, tiredly.

“Says your face,” the guy sputters. After a pause, adds: “And the fact that you keep checking if your drink is spiked.” He taps the tabletop with one finger, where two little plastic tabs are lying used, the pale blue color of one end indicating safety.

Noctis resists the urge to roll his eyes; takes another, much larger gulp of the aforementioned drink. He’d had the tabs in his wallet.

“I can, like…leave now. If you want.” He’s already standing up, and already catching himself on the edge of the table with one hand.

“What? No, you’re—”

“There you are, asshole.” A heavy hand on his shoulder, then Noctis is wheeling around to look up at a very unimpressed-looking Gladio.

“Uh-huh,” Noctis mutters. “Here I am.”

Honestly, Noctis thinks he ought to be impressed with himself that he got as much time as he did, considering the genius move of having used his subway card when he’d taken off out of sheer muscle memory. He’d left his phone—and its state-of-the-art tracking capabilities—charging by his bed, though, and he’d gotten three entire hours out of it. It probably would’ve been less if he hadn’t wandered for 20 minutes after getting off at a completely random subway station, or had tried to go somewhere quieter and more predictable than this, with less flashy neon or people losing their clothes.

“Who’s blondie?” Gladio asks, raising an eyebrow. “You work here?”

The blondie in question’s eyes go very round—a pretty common reaction to Gladio’s entire everything, really. “Uh-huh.” To his credit, his voice cracks only very slightly. “I dance.”

Gladio gives him an appraising look, glances at the stage, then shrugs. “Oh,” is all he says. “Nice.” If doesn’t believe it, he gives no indication.

“Uh. Are you a bodyguard or something?”

Gladio’s eyes narrow at Noctis, who just shrugs—the jig’s up. “Or something,” he parrots. “Speaking of,” he adds, rounding on Noctis, voice dropping into a growl, “I don’t have to tell you what a fucking security nightmare this is.”

“Yup.” He makes no move to stand. “Planning on telling my dad? Or yours?”

He scoffs. “Y’know, getting my own ass kicked over this might just be worth watching you get grounded like a high schooler playing hooky.”

“Do it, then.”

They both know he won’t. Check and mate.

“We’re leaving,” he says, shoving at Noct’s shoulder. “Iggy’s waiting in the car.” A pause, and his face changes. “You know he’s planning on apologizing to you. And if you don’t say it back, I’m gonna kick your teeth in. You were being a dick.”

“Yeah, well.” Noct would contend he wasn’t the only one, but he was the one that went AWOL and probably (absolutely) gave them both an aneurysm over it, and had them crossing half the city to find him. Which constitutes a dick move. That hadn’t been the point, though; the point had been the bone-deep urge to just be away, just for a bit, before he could say anything else he’d regret. But he could stand to apologize to the both of them for the runaround, at least.

Gladio’s giving him a long, hard look, now. “Fine,” Noctis mumbles, fishing out his wallet.

“On the house.” The words are abrupt, a little too loud to be warranted despite the room’s overall noise level, and Gladio and Noct both look over at him.

“Uh, I mean. It’s covered. You can go.”

“Okay.” Gladio raises an eyebrow. “Thanks. Got a name, kid?” Noct knows it’s less out of actual interest and more as a rote point of security; if anybody needed to be questioned later on, they’d have a starting point.

“It’s Prompto.”

***

This time, Noct drove. Gladio had worked out pretty quick where they were headed when Noct suggested they go for drinks after they’d trained late.

Gladio doesn’t have to be thrilled about it. But at the very least, Noct’s got some supervision, this time around.

He should’ve put up more of a fight, probably, but it’s not like he could’ve stopped the damned car.

And here they are. Club Aurentia, the sign cheerily proclaims, complete with a flickering neon clementine in the corner. The building’s old, not exactly dilapidated but definitely not retro-on-purpose. Plenty of people are coming and going through the tarnished brass doors, or milling about outside, even on a weeknight.

“You do know how very obviously a brothel this joint is, right.” No shade, just a statement of fact.

Noct huffs a short sigh through his nose, drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “Yeah. Iggy was pretty damn clear on that point. Not like that’s why we’re here.”

“Still don’t get why it’s gotta be we anyways. If you’re really that worried about the tab for one drink, it’s not like it’d take both of us to go settle it.”

Noct just shrugs.

Fucker.

It’s not like it’s a bad idea to make sure the charge is covered, arguably worth the trip across the city, even; if he’d been recognized they didn’t need anyone claiming that the Prince is the type to skip out on a bill. The employee had seemed like a decent enough guy, and herding Noct back to the car had been a more pressing priority at the time than any overpriced cocktail. But yeah, ideally, better to head off the issue.

Which is a one-person job.

“This about that kid from the other night? You worried or something?”

Or something.

Huh.

Noct makes a noncommittal sound, suddenly seeming quite fascinated by a loose thread on his sleeve. “I mean, if he’s there we might as well thank him.”

“Fine. But you know you’re not here to socialize though, right. We pay, we leave. You already got recognized once, and if word gets out you already know who’s gonna wind up doing the damage control. With time he doesn’t have.”

The Citadel’s entire team of publicists aren’t worth shit by comparison, honestly. And just because Iggy doesn’t exactly know they’re here right now doesn’t mean there’s not an 80-20 chance he’ll figure it out anyways, even if precisely nothing happens.

“I know,” Noct mutters, and for whatever it’s worth it sounds like he does in fact know. And probably still feels like an ass for blowing up at Iggy the other day.

Which, good.

Gladio sighs, yanks open the car door. “We going, or what?”

***

The lobby’s not as packed as it was before—that was Saturday night, and it’s Tuesday now—but there’s still a good line snaking its way up to the ticket counter. Looks like a working-class crowd for the most part; the easy chatter between friends or coworkers washing over the narrow space. And Noct doesn’t exactly look out of place; he’s in a hoodie and jeans that don’t look as expensive as they are, and there’s about as many Lucians here as foreigners. But he looks stiff and ill-at-ease on the old chintzy carpet, staring off into nothing, the yellowed light from both the dusty chandelier overhead as well as the strands of what look like multicolored Solstice lights on the far wall glinting off his hair.

Gladio elbows him. “What, you nervous?”

“About what?” Noct shoots back, under his breath.

“Exactly.”

***

“Actually, we’re here to settle a bill.”

The woman selling the tickets raises one pristinely-shaped eyebrow at them, before wordlessly waving them over towards the other woman behind the desk. She looks foreign, too; ivory skin standing out starkly against her black blouse, slate-gray hair pinned back into a complicated updo.

She glances up from her clipboard, green eyes flat and hard as she takes them in. “Yeah?”

She doesn’t say anything for a long moment after Gladio repeats himself, but her gaze immediately flicks towards Noct, and narrows.

“You here to see Prompto?”

Gladio shrugs, not sure if it’s hilarious or worrying that the kid had obviously gone and told his supervisor. “Nah, we’ll just—”

“He’s on in ten,” she says, abruptly, cutting him off. “You wanna talk, you’ll have to wait. And he’s booked up tonight, so make it quick. That is if he’s up for it.” She turns, calls over her shoulder. “Biggs.”

The guy who emerges from the door behind her has an easy stance, a relatively friendly expression, but he’s keen-eyed, and the jacket that’s one size too big would suggest he’s packing.

“There’s no loitering in my lobby. Front section’s a hundred crown each. Nobody’ll bother you there, Highness.”

Noct, to his credit, doesn’t visibly react to his title. But it is very clear he wasn’t planning on having to sit through another show. “No, it’s fine, I’ve got the nine crown for the drink.”

“Biggs’ll go with you, make sure you’re left alone,” she says, tone banking no argument, before pointedly turning on her heel and striding through the door behind her.

That’s that, then. If they hang around out here any longer, Noct definitely is gonna get recognized.

There’s worse ways to spend the evening, Gladio thinks as they follow Biggs through the double doors. As long as this guy doesn’t try shoot them in the head point blank in front of a large crowd of spectators, Gladio’s pretty damn sure he could take him down if he needed to.

But Noct looks downright pained as he takes his seat at their table, ten feet from the stage.

“Think she just wanted our money,” Gladio tells him, grabbing the menu and scanning it. Drinks are off the table (for him, at least, though Noct looks like he’s gonna need to knock back at least three to survive the next forty-five minutes), but a plate of wings doesn’t sound half bad.

Noct doesn’t respond. Neither does Biggs, but Gladio hears his soft snort.

***

It’s a good time, really. Dizzying sprays of confetti, bass-heavy radio remix after remix he can feel in his gut, and the loose effortless charm of a dozen guys and girls in various states of undress.

He can see why Prompto’s their headliner. It’s not even that he’s the most eye-catching, really, though he is hardly recognizable compared to the bedraggled, barely-upright kid they’d met the other night--either he’s better now, or he’s buried those dark circles under a shitload of concealer. It’s the precision of his movements, the lightning-quick steps, fluid grace that’s impossible to look away from.

Noct’s certainly looking.

“Flexible little guy, isn’t he,” Gladio says, applauding at the end of a number.

“Hm.”

Noct’s still tensed up, very much so, fingers gripping the table’s edge so hard it might disintegrate, so obviously out-of-sync with the entire situation that Gladio was going to take mercy on him and suggest they take off once they’d eaten, bill be damned.

But he hasn’t taken his eyes off Prompto once.

“You smitten yet?” he asks, snatching another wing off the plate and double checking the exits—nobody’s come or gone—then glancing over at Biggs. Biggs just gives him an even look right back; he doesn’t seem to particularly mind that he’s being surveilled, and Gladio’s sure the guy’s doing the same to him.

Noct flips him off, gulps his drink. The next number starts.

It makes sense this kid’s a choreographer, he thinks. He knows what he’s doing. Gladio might not know shit about dance aside from the obligatory ballroom stuff he’d been made to practice with Iris as a kid to get them both through boring state functions, but he definitely knows a thing or two about controlled, deliberate movement.

Movement which, at the moment, apparently includes jutting out your hips gratuitously and feeling up your own ass.

He does look good, though, dancing aside; hair meticulously gelled into a perfect swoop, hoops in his ears, bits of gold leaf stuck around his eyes. He’s not tall, but he’s got a dancer’s build, lithe and strong, and those heels aren’t hurting any. The outfit’s some drapey orange and gold lamé situation, complete with shorts that look painted on him, strategically placed rhinestones and body glitter scattered across his skin.

It takes a few minutes to notice the scars. The few spots on his back, a handful across his arms and legs. It’s not the color of the skin—it’s obviously concealed, and the light catches the sparkly bits of him just right to draw the eye away—but skin pulls and puckers sometimes, just slightly, not quite moving with the rest of him. Gods know that outfit’s not covering much, but he’s the only one who’s not shedding any layers up here, and Gladio wonders if there’s more beneath that shimmery fabric.

Well. Rough part of town.

It’s not until the very end, at what passes for a curtain call at this place when the lights aren’t quite so bright, that Prompto finally seems to notice them. His expression shifts, just a bit, from the performative but comfortable smile that had stayed firmly pasted on his lips throughout the show. For a split second, his eyes are rounder, the curve of his mouth more uncertain than pleased when his gaze meets Noct’s. But the moment passes, and he’s grinning again, arm-in-arm with the other beaming, panting dancers as cheers ring out around them. Twenty seconds later and the stage is empty.

“Have fun?” Biggs asks, eventually. It’s the first time he’s spoken.

“Uh-huh,” Gladio says, easily, at the same time that Noct says, “It was fine.” God, the kid looks constipated.

“Great. Wait here.” He stands. “Gotta wait for Nea’s say-so if you wanna see Prom, but. He’s gonna be pretty busy after this.”

Noct watches Biggs’ retreating back, an odd look on his face.

“Do you actually wanna see him?” Gladio asks, sliding the still barely-touched plate of gyoza he’d ordered for Noct across the table. “I mean. Your eyes were glued to the kid.” He smirks, waggles an eyebrow, and it earns him a spectacular scowl.

“…dunno,” he says at last, shoulders deflating, jaw working as he stares at the condensation rolling down the side of his glass. “Maybe he wouldn’t want to be bothered if he’s that…busy.”

“Well.” Gladio plucks a gyoza from the plate he’d just handed over. “What he’s not gonna want, probably, is for you to act all weird about his overnight gigs. You knew.”

“I know,” he mutters, just this side of defensive.

“Ain’t like it’s a crime, either, as long as Blondie’s not committing tax fraud.”

“I know.” Noct sighs. “Can’t hurt to see if he’s okay, I guess. Seems like a lot if he was that sick the other night.”

“Yeah.”He pauses, taking in Noct’s stiff shoulders, the full-body tension that’s gonna leave him achey all over in the morning. “Last chance to bail, though. There’s no actual reason we gotta do this part.” He nods at the empty stage. “Looked like he’ll live.”

Another tight shrug, another swig of his drink and a terse “might as well,” and alright, looks like they are doing this part.

***

Ten minutes later they’re shuffled back through now mostly-empty lobby—most of the patrons are either drinking or or migrating to the dance floor now—and led through a side door into a wood-paneled hallway.

Biggs’ hands are full; a steaming cup of instant chickatrice noodle in one hand and a packet of saltines in the other, a sports drink tucked up under his armpit. “He’s already waiting for you,” he tells them, as they come to a halt in front of one of the doors deep into the hallway. “He’s gotta eat something, though. And Nea said you get ten minutes.”

“Guessing you’re here to enforce that,” Gladio says, not caring if it’s blunt.

“And to make sure no one bothers him,” Biggs replies, calmly, meeting his eyes.

He has to remind himself not to bristle at the implications of that on Noct’s behalf—these people don’t know him, and they’re probably not bursting at the seams with fealty toward the Crown, either. The treaty with Niflheim is tenuous, barely older than Noct himself, and the war beforehand had been ugly for both sides. Most Imperial immigrants are refugees, or the children of refugees, having had no choice but to flee to the country that had fared marginally better when their own had become so stripped of resources. And they ain’t exactly living the high life, here.

Noct must’ve realized the same thing, because even though his arms are crossed now, all he says is, “We won’t.”

It’s a cramped sitting room of some kind, both tacky as hell with bright orange walls and décor as loud as the rest of this place, but cozy with its low lighting and squashy armchairs. And no exits but the way they came in. Well. If Gladio needs to pull the plug on this shit a minute in, he’s got no problem with that. Biggs had lost the jacket, at some point, and if he is still armed, it’s not obvious. But Gladio’s been put through the ringer learning how to recognize and disarm assassins of all varieties. And Noct’s not exactly helpless either—quite the opposite—if it comes down to it. Doesn’t mean he can relax any, and if anything happens it is squarely on him, but it’s something, anyways. Damn kid’s gonna be the death of him.

Blondie’s seated with his shins pressed up against a glass coffee table. He’s in a pair of beat-up sweats, but his hair and makeup still look pretty much flawless in the dim light of the room, even the gold leaf framing his lashes doesn’t seem to have budged any.

He makes no move to stand at the sight of Noct; the smile he slaps on looks taut, maybe wary. He meets Gladio’s eyes a grand total of once before decidedly looking anywhere but.

“Hi again,” he says, with a gung-ho sort of cheer that can’t quite seem to get its legs under it, an awkward little wave to match. “Didn’t think you’d be back around…your highness,” he tacks on, like an afterthought.

Gladio frowns. The kid seems winded, words coming out a little breathy and odd. And yeah, he just had one hell of a workout, but twenty minutes on and his chest definitely shouldn’t be rising and falling that rapidly.

Biggs plops down into the chair beside him and sets the soup and crackers in front of him, repeating the directive to eat before anybody can say anything else. And Gladio thinks Noct’s concern, in its veneer of studious indifference, wasn’t misplaced after all. Guy had looked like roadkill a couple nights ago, anyways. He doesn’t, now—mostly he just looks glittery—but still.

Noct sits. Gladio does not. “Didn’t mean to crash your break time,” Noct says. Gods, he looks uncomfortable. “Sorry. You should eat.”

“Thanks.” The kid raises the soup cup to his lips, but doesn’t take an actual sip, swallowing reflexively like the smell of it alone is enough to turn his stomach. He takes a careful sip of the sports drink instead. It’s a brand that Gladio knows for a fact tastes like piss, but is damn good for electrolytes. Beside him, Biggs’ brows draw together, but he says nothing.

“So, uh,” Prompto starts, after a moment. “You have a better time tonight?”

When Noct doesn’t answer right away, Gladio feels a twinge of sympathy for the kid.

“Was fun,” Gladio says, honestly, with a shrug. “You’re pretty good.”

Noct takes his lead, fortunately, and his “yeah” comes out only slightly strained.

“Really?” he says, brows shooting up like maybe something’s not quite adding up here, eyes flicking from Gladio’s face to Noct’s, but he doesn’t look displeased. “Whoa. Thanks.”

“No problem.”

“Nea said you wanted to see me?” he asks, and before Gladio can clarify that that’s not quite what’s happening here, he goes on. “If you were wanting to book, I’m pretty full up tonight, but. Uh. I don’t mind rearranging some stuff? Seeing as you’re, y’know.” He gestures vaguely at Noct. “But you gotta work that out with Nea, she handles most of the scheduling.”

And Noct, hilariously, says, “Book…what?”

Prompto blinks. “…me? Unless you wanted someone else?”

Another one-point-five seconds and Noct’s brain seems to catch up to his mouth. He flushes, spectacularly. “Wha—no.” It comes out sharp, louder than he probably meant it to, and Prompto actually starts a bit. “That’s. No,” he says, quieter now, staring very hard at his own knees, looking like he might spontaneously combust and also that he’d probably be fine with that. “That’s not why we’re here.”

“…um. Okay.” A long pause, and Gladio can see the shift in Prompto’s face from puzzlement to something like unease. He might be blushing, too, but the makeup makes it hard to tell. But Biggs is grinning now, clearly at Noct’s expense, and Gladio can’t blame him because he is about two inches away himself from absolutely pissing himself laughing.

He tries to keep it out of his voice when he says, “He came to pay for that drink, is all. And see if you were feeling any better, if you were around.”

“Oh.” He gives them both a smile that’s nervous around the edges, a little wrong-footed but not insincere, drumming his fingers on his knee. “I am. Thanks.”

Biggs raises an eyebrow, gives a pointed look at the soup cup growing cold on the table, but says nothing.

“But,” Prompto says, frowning, “if that was all, then why’d Nea…” He trails off, and Gladio can see the realization hit him. He wonders if they’re the same conclusions he’d come to himself. To see just what they were after, for starters. To keep the sudden appearance of the Prince from causing an ordeal at her establishment. To collect their money, while she was at it. “Sorry,” he mutters, finally, gaze falling as though he’d had any part in this at all.

“It’s fine,” Noct tells him. He looks only marginally less like he wants to die than he did before, but he sounds genuine, at least. “Not like anyone warned you.”

“I’m…” Prompto starts, then lets out a shaky breath. Then, with a kind of dawning horror, “You’re not about to, like. Lock me up for soliciting royalty, or something?” Adds, under his breath, “Shiva, I just solicited royalty…”

Gladio holds back his snort, wants to tell him that repeating the offense out loud isn’t exactly gonna help his case. Instead, he says, “Relax, kid. We know the laws.” Well. Sort of. Brothels are legal is about the extent of his own knowledge; maybe soliciting royalty was actually a crime. Iggy would know, probably. Freakish knowledge of obscure laws is his forte. “Anyways. You thought it was him soliciting you, you were just doing your job.”

Noct gives him a withering look, which is pretty much the best thing ever when he still looks like a beet. And Prompto does look distinctly salmon-ish now, too, despite the foundation piled on thick enough to blot out most of those freckles. He’s picking at the edges of an old striped sweatband he’s wearing, and Gladio thinks of that gigantic jeweled cuff he’d been wearing on the same wrist, earlier.

Nobody says anything, after that. Prince Charmless can’t string two words together to smooth the situation over, because of course he can’t, and Prompto’s moved on to fiddling with the label of his sports drink, not looking at any of them. Biggs raises an eyebrow at Gladio, a silent question—which of us is gonna end this first—when Noct’s phone goes off.

It’s his text tone, a bright handful of eight-bit notes, and Gladio wonders if it’s Iggy. It’s probably Iggy.

But Prompto looks up, at the sound. He’s smiling faintly. “Heh. Level up.”

Noct’s head snaps up so fast that Gladio almost hears it.

“You play King’s Knight?”

***

(to be continued-- many, many thanks to @taizi for listening to me spitball about this one and giving me that sweet sweet validation--

#cw alcohol #cw eventual frank discussions of consent #not a deathfic #owlet's fanfic #in this house we respect sex workers #final fantasy xv fanfiction #final fantasy 15 #final fantasy xv #noctis lucis caelum #ffxv #prompto argentum #promptis

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cno-inbminor · 4 years

Text

inpetus

a/n: watched ‘burlesque’ today and got an idea stuck in my head!! this is the unedited result of it.

warnings/genre: mature settings, ft. kuroo & fem!reader who’s an exotic dancer/stripper, unedited, some angst

wc: ~3.0k

What am I doing here?

That’s the first thought that runs through Kuroo’s mind when he walks down the concrete steps, his coat fluttering at the ends from the draft that breezes through. A small, neon arrow bolted to the brick wall offers the path to what many would consider as indulging in sin, an uncontrollable desire and want. “It’s unlike anything you’ve ever seen,” his co-worker had expressed to him with wonder in his voice, one that he preferred keeping at arm’s length. “Take advantage of your bachelor days,” he had been told while clapped on the shoulder. “Being married is only fun for the first two years and then it goes to shit.”

Disgust had coursed through his veins at those words – they were greedy men who held the financial world in their hands, convinced into a delusion that nothing in the world could measure to their expectations. Constantly complaining about how their partners were never good enough, weren’t pretty enough, didn’t have the right body type, were too busy bitching at them for leaving their sock strewn around the house, their list of demands went on and on. Kuroo, only 25 years of age, felt lucky to be a consultant at a world-renowned investment firm in Tokyo where every morning, he rides an elevator 45 floors up through a fiberglass and steel skyscraper in one of his many tailored suits and sits at a desk by the window. At any point, he can stand from his chair and gaze out towards a wonderous view of the city with a cup of tea in hand, ignoring how ironic it seems to be when the higher the floor, the more entrenched they are in the smog.

Kuroo hadn’t meant to reveal that he might have been feeling a little lonely. He had some sake running through his veins when his co-workers pressed on as to why he didn’t have a partner or someone to go home to every night, and after kindly but vehemently refusing their offers to set up blind dates for him, they had spoken to him of the place. An environment underground that made you feel alive, that reminded you of the unspoken beauty in the mundane of everyday life, that left your soul winded at the fact that such a place could exist on this earth. “You should go when you’re feeling down, if you catch my drift,” the main proposer of this new adventure had snickered, elbowing the man on the other side. “It’ll be worth the money.”

Part of him felt shy once he had slipped through the metal door, coming to a stop at a stand with a woman, a guard, a red velvet rope, and blackout curtains. Kuroo took a cursory look at the sign and pulled out the exact cash he needed for the cover fee, a heftier one than usual, according to his co-workers. The woman thanked him sultrily, nodding to the guard to grant him access. When the velvet rope was unhooked and the curtains pulled back, Kuroo stepped into a new world.

The dark shadow from the entrance had been replaced with soft lights of crimson and chateau rose, blending in with icy hues of blue. Faux-crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling in the faintest royal yellow, yet they were second to the harsh colors on the stage before him. Granted, there were numerous round tables before him, but with no desire to be seen as the poor, nervous newbie, he sat at one that wasn’t directly by the stage, but wasn’t too far from it either.

Part of him had expected the air to be filled with smoke and fumes of alcohol, yet instead, there was a hint of something floral. Whatever it was, it had instantly relaxed his nerves and put him at ease. He had only been sitting for a few minutes when a waitress came into his view to take his drink order. Naturally, she was gorgeous, her outfit shaping her curves sensuously and slightly revealing, yet leaving just enough skin covered to be desired. He gives a side-thought on how his co-workers would have commented on her being an ultimate tease, but wipes it from his brain as he orders a glass of cabernet sauvignon. She scribbles it down on a notepad before giving him another look, slightly tilting her head to take him in.

“Is it your first time here?” She enquires in a genuinely curious tone. Kuroo is thankful that it’s too dark for her to see the faint blush on his face as he nods. At first, he’s worried she’ll poke fun a little bit, but instead he’s given a warm, inviting smile. “In that case, welcome to the Covet Noir. You’re in luck today, one of our best dancers is showing her new routine tonight. When she’s done, I’ll let her know to give you a special visit. It’s something we do for any new clients.”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary,” Kuroo immediately replies. “I’m just…observing today?”

“Very well then. She’ll want to come, but you have every right to refuse. Though, after you watch her…I’m sure you won’t want to,” she says cheekily, sending him a quick wink before weaving between the tables towards the bar. Kuroo focuses on the stage again where a few men and women seem to be freestyling to some faint jazz over the speakers, some by poles and others with just the floor. They seem to be at varying stages of nudity, though none were fully nude. Their styles of dancing seemed to cater specifically to the audiences nearest them, accepting the tips given.

The waitress returns with his libation, silently setting it before him with a square napkin. He pulls out a couple large bills and hands it to her, to which she thanks him for and pockets it in her waist apron he didn’t notice last time. As if on cue, the jazz ends and the dancers saunter off stage, their hips swaying as they disappear into the darkness. A soft tenor speaks into a microphone somewhere off-stage.

“Ladies and gentleman, thank you for joining us this evening. I hope you enjoyed our wonderful dancers just now – aren’t they absolutely riveting?”

His pause leaves enough time for the patrons to give a polite applause, though some were more bold in their praise with short ‘whoops’ and affirmations. “We’re glad to hear that,” the tenor continues. “Now, with a new performance she’s been working on, please welcome our one and only, Camellia.”

The overhead lights are shining on the stage once again, though the red seems more harsh and daring. He and the other clients give a small applause as the sound of heels clicks against the stage, and everybody seems to be waiting with bated breath. The anticipatory air overwhelms him as the clicks come to a stop and suddenly, a bright spotlight is cast center stage.

You, Camellia, stand just inches away from another male – while the male is rigid and muscular in all the right places, you are more soft and highlighted in curves, body in a knee-length dress the color of Kuroo’s wine that possesses a slit that’s dangerously close to the top of her right thigh. Even from Kuroo’s distance, he can see your lipstick in the very shade of the blood that runs through their veins and the dark, winged eyeliner.

Low string instruments creep into the speakers in a familiar tune, followed by the sharp entrance of a contrasting soprano note played by a violin. Your movements are quick and crisp, yet your body seems to always be moving, sensuous and delicately smooth. Kuroo is absolutely enraptured already, his body already leaning forward and wine forgotten. As much as he despises his co-workers’ lustful habits and thoughts, they were right about one thing: the beauty in everyone’s dancing is unlike anything he’s ever seen.

His eyes never leave your figure, subconsciously encoding every movement into his brain. It isn’t until about halfway through your routine that he feels his mouth is dry, and even as he lifts his glass to his lips to let the bitter liquid slide down his throat, he makes an effort to never miss a second. At one point, you are facing his direction and Kuroo finally understands the meaning of the waitress’s words: your eyes, the shape of them, the color, the intensity and fire in them, he feels as if he’s ready to jump into them, willing to be consumed by the flames. But you are turned away and spun into your partner’s arms, hands splayed over his shoulders as his own creep down the arch of your back.

El Tango de Roxanne, Kuroo finally recalls the name of the song playing, though it’s a slightly altered instrumental version of it. He had been roped into watching Moulin Rouge many years ago by an ex-girlfriend in high school, who had showered praises on the scene for this song. While he couldn’t match her enthusiasm at the time, he had understood her reasons. Yet with the current performance before him, he would argue that this is more beautiful, even without all the aesthetic cinematic cuts.

Before he knows it, the routine is done and he’s clapping along with the other clients. It’s almost thunderous, and Kuroo takes a quick look around him, only to notice that the space had filled up significantly since he had arrived. Yet many were beginning to trickle out as the lights dim again and an ambient jazz song washes over them. Kuroo contemplates on leaving, the waitress’s words echoing in the chambers of his brain. He’s so focused on his decision-making that he doesn’t notice the star of the show making their way to his table.

“I’ve been told you’re new here,” you interrupt his thoughts, donned in a silk robe and hair undone from the bun it had been in. Kuroo startles and looks up towards you incredulously, a whirl of shock and embarrassment and being caught off-guard stewing in his gut. Your eyes seem frozen on him and somewhat mirror his emotions, but they quickly soften. Kuroo watches you slide into the seat next to him, your robe slipping off a shoulder and revealing the black lacy bralette you’re wearing. He finds himself gulping as inconspicuously as possible, directing his gaze towards your face that’s currently grinning at him.

“Do you need help speaking?” You ask with a teasing lilt. Your voice strikes triggers a feeling of déjà vu within him.

“I’m sorry, I suppose I was still thinking about your performance,” he musters out, desperate to save some reputation he believes he has. “Am I allowed to buy you a drink? As a way of saying thank you?”

“Normally, yes,” you reply, your tone now gentle and calming. “I’m not quite in the mood for a drink right now, but maybe next time. You came on a good night.”

“The waitress told me the same thing,” he chuckles, fingers sliding his wine glass in a circle against the tablecloth. “You’re a wonderful dancer. Do all of you have stage names as flowers?”

“Most of us, but some others wanted a different stage name.”

“Do you dance here full time?”

You shake your head. “Only part time. Something I like doing, as well as earn some extra money on the side.”

“Ah, I see.”

Silence falls over you two. However, you sigh and begin to stand from your chair. Of course, Kuroo would rather you not leave, but you have other clients to visit, and this was only a one-time special conversation for a new visitor.

“Will you be coming again?” You ask gently, as if you’re worried this’ll be the last time you see him. Your tone surprises him – he feels wanted, he feels like you, specifically, want him to return to this underground escape. But he knows he’s not special, that it’s just business for people like him to fall to your siren calls.

“Maybe,” he smiles. You step closer and into his personal space, causing him to twist slightly so he’s more directly facing you. Even though he’s sitting, with his height, you’re barely towering over him. He only needs to tilt his chin up a little bit to meet your gaze, trying not to flinch when you place a hand on his thigh. Once again, your eyes trigger something within him – in most circumstances, he would probably be feeling unsure of what to do. Yet now, he feels comfortable, as if this is something he normally experiences.

“I hope to see you come back then,” you murmur, in a way that’s only reserved for this job, before pulling back, your hand lingering on his thigh. Kuroo remembers his manners and hands you a few large bills, more than what he had given the waitress. You take them between your right index and middle fingers and tuck them into your bralette. “Thank you.”

“Thank you,” he replies as you saunter away. He downs the rest of the contents in his glass before moving to pay his tab at the bar counter. Soon after, he’s greeted by the black curtains once more, the guards letting him through and past the red velvet rope. As he steps into the night air with his coat shrugged on, he feels the stark contrast between the world behind him and the one in front. The floral scent has been replaced with the city air, his nose wrinkling at the stale cigarette smell mixed with general pollution.

About an hour later, he’s in bed back in his modest, minimalistic apartment, his two-year old cat stretched out in the space between his arm and the side of his chest. Donned in nothing but briefs and gym shorts, Kuroo stares at the ceiling, reliving the memories as much as possible. Your dance, the passion, the atmosphere, it had been something he thoroughly enjoyed, much to his chagrin. He wish it hadn’t been his co-workers who introduced him, but perhaps he was somewhat thankful for them.

In sleep, he dreams vividly. He’s suddenly back in Nekoma High School, red jersey and shorts on his figure, walking a cart of volleyballs past a cheering audience. His eyes are searching the stands for someone, landing on a girl donned in his spare jersey. He feels his mouth split open into a cocky grin, but it falls when he sees the face on the girl. Your eyes, the winged eyeliner, the lips blood-red, cheering for him—

And he’s thrown into the next sequence.

This time, he’s in a café, one he recognizes to be close to his parent’s home. He’s in a casual button down and jeans, sleeves neatly rolled up past his elbows. His foot taps against the ground and he feels the sensation of waiting for someone, eyes shifting between the window and his phone screen. Familiar hands cover his eyes and he finds himself playing along. “Ah, who could it be?”

“Who else would it be?”

The words are spoken in your voice, the same softness with the slight lilt, and he’s turning abruptly to look at this girl. Once again, those eyes, the makeup, your lips—

Yanked into the next sequence.

He’s sitting on the couch in front of his TV – his parents are gone, and he assumes it’s his ex-girlfriend that’s got her shoulders with his arm slung over. A movie plays on the screen as the girl munches on popcorn from the bowl in her lap.

“Tetsu, you have to pay attention to this scene, okay? It’s genius,” she says excitedly, shifting closer to him. Kuroo plants a kiss on top of her hair as he focuses on the movie, looking out for this clip that she seems so passionate about.

But his eyebrows furrow when the beginnings of El Tango de Roxanne begin to play, dancers on a large stage with Ewan McGregor’s face cutting in.

“First, there is desire. Then, passion. Then, suspicion. Jealousy, anger, betrayal! Love is for the highest bidder, there is no trust. Without trust, there is no love!”

A wave of affection for this girl washes over him as she sings along, her voice attempting to match the intensity of the man’s on the screen. Instead, it only comes off as absolutely adorable to him, and he gives her a tight squeeze. The rest of the scene passes by in a blur, but he feels impressed, the pain of Ewan’s character, the dreadful chill that ran down his body.

“That’s probably the best part of the movie,” she sighs happily. “Do you agree? How freakin’ genius it is?”

“I can see it, yeah,” he laughs, looking down at her. But for the third time, it’s your face, your features, your hair—

He sits up abruptly, startling his cat and causing it to give him a sleepy yowl. His chest is heavy and panting as his brain trudges through the visions, his dreams playing on the back of his eyelids. His body falls back and his head hits the pillow, an arm strung across his eyes. One night and you’re already haunting your dreams, but why? Why was he so comfortable with you? Why did the song take him back to happier times? Why was it that your eyes made such a deep impression on him? Why…

His eyes snap open. It hits him like a ton of bricks. The breath is removed from his lungs and he can’t believe it.

Camellia is you. You are his ex-girlfriend.

A pain wrenches his heart, twisting it horribly so. Feelings that he had long buried, memories he had long filtered and filed away, were all swimming to the surface again – he almost wanted to scream or cry, he wanted to run to a court and jump serve balls until his arm falls off and his legs fail him, he—

After all this time, he opens the lid on a truth he wishes he didn’t know: in all these years, he was still in love with you.

And even now…he still does.

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#kuroo #kuroo tetsuro #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo x reader #tetsurou #hq #haikyuu angst #haikyuu x reader #kuroo x you #kuroo tetsuro x you #kuroo tetsurou x reader #it's midnight and i need to sleep #kuroo angst #i'm also hungry

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seasidewriter1-writes · 4 years

Text

Moulin Rouge! !Balance/Obi-Lara AU

Hi, this is really long, I’m so sorry :)

Let’s start with a dramatis personae of sorts:

First on the stage is Obi-Wan Kenobi. A quiet hopeless romantic, born to a well-off family, a lover of philosophy and free-thinking, a man who has five dozen journals filled with thoughts and theories and ideas and interpretations. He moves to Paris to be amongst like minded folk, and perhaps––just perhaps––pursue the career that his father had called ‘hopeless, romanticized, and penniless.’ A writer.

The next player here is Elara Skywalker. In keeping with the Moulin Rouge! vernacular, she is the establishments ‘Sparkling Diamond.’ Revered for her beauty and her captivating performances, all eyes are on her whenever she’s on stage. It’s not a job that she detests, but there are aspects of it that are rather unkind that she doesn’t like. For her, romance is something that only lives in the pages of the books hidden under her bed; but it’s something she wishes she might be able to glimpse some day.

And then there’s her brother, Anakin Skywalker. A bright, enthusiastic, cocky young man who works as a stage hand at the Moulin Rouge. He’s good at what he does––ties the best knots, gets the set pieces on or off the stage on time, runs props from stage right to stage left. He is incredibly protective of his sister (and the other dancers, quite frankly), and has been known to chase out handsy patrons when the bouncers are nowhere to be found. And if you’re chased out by Anakin Skywalker, you are not coming back; and if you try, the boys up front know who you are because Anakin has given them detailed descriptions of the men who are not allowed to come back.

Obi-Wan moves into a boarding house in Paris, happy to be free of the stuffiness of the social circle he used to inhabit, and finds himself almost immediately accosted by the people that he came to seek out

I say accosted because Anakin Skywalker slams right into him as he comes barreling down the stairs, shouting an apology because ‘he’s late for work'

The next day, rather early, Anakin knocks on Obi-Wan’s door and apologizes for the day before, and invites him upstairs for coffee

His flat is the perfect example of what Obi-Wan pictured the Parisian bohemian (the 1900s view of bohemianism, that is) life to be like

A messy bed laden with threadbare but bright pillows, clothing draped over chair backs, papers and books stacked in piles, old, beautiful advertising posters from theatres propped up against various walls

Hell, Anakin looks like the bohemian Obi-Wan expected to see the city rife with

Messy, curly hair, shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, unbuttoned brocaded vest, no tie or cravat, roguish grin

Obi-Wan comes to realize that Anakin’s very much the free-thinking kind of person that he’d been hoping to meet

Their friendship starts out as afternoon chats over coffee

They get along famously and have lengthy conversations about anything and everything

Anakin then invites Obi-Wan to come visit his place of work––the Moulin Rouge

Obi-Wan knows of the establishment, it’s impossible not to

And he’s hesitant to agree. Because such establishments, though frequented by the men (and male family members) back home, they were still considered ‘dens of disrepute’; and though he doesn’t have a reputation to worry over anymore, the instinct is still burned into him

But after some convincing––“It isn’t what you think it is. It’s art. And if you’re in Paris, you have to take in the art. I’ll even buy you your first drink.”––he agrees to go

When he arrives, Obi-Wan is absolutely dazzled, to the point of stunned––the lights, the music, the atmosphere, it’s all so much

Everything seems so free; the drinks are flowing, the energetic joy is pervasive, the entertainment is lively... it’s everything that he’s not used to, and he’s enthralled

And then he sees her.

The Sparkling Diamond, in all her glory, performing on the stage––and she is gorgeous. Her dress is dripping with sparkling beads; it catches the light in such a way that makes it impossible for anyone to miss her

And despite his gentlemanly upbringing, all he can do is stare

He’s entranced by everything about her, from the command she had of the stage, to the dazzling smile that pulled across red painted lips

The night starts to wind down, different performance sets come and go, and all Obi-Wan can think about is her

And then Anakin pops out from backstage and, with a bright grin, asks him to follow, because there’s someone he’d like Obi-Wan to meet

He’s led backstage and to a private dressing room––inside of which is her. The dancer.

Whom Anakin introduces as his sister, Elara

Which, quite honestly, floors Obi-Wan

But once Anakin had revealed the relation, he could see it––in their eyes, in their smiles...

Elara’s still wearing her glittering, sparkling dress, with a short skirt and thin straps; but she’s smiling at Obi-Wan and that’s all he can see

And, funnily enough, that’s the first thing that she notices about him––his smile

And then she notices that he doesn’t gawk. He’s not hungrily eyeing her legs or reaching out to touch her bare arm; his eyes have respectfully remained north of her shoulders, even when he tucked forward to kiss the back of her hand

Obi-Wan Kenobi seemed to be a perfect gentleman

After the cabaret closes for the night, Elara invites them both back to her room for a nightcap

Obi-Wan’s initial reaction is panic––he’s being invited back to the room of a very beautiful woman who works at the very notorious Moulin Rouge (how his mother would swoon at the thought)

But he’s also being invited back with her brother, so that eased the panic a little

But, still, he’s initially very polite––“Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose.”––and she insists––“Please, I insist. Believe me, it is of no imposition or inconvenience.”––so he accepts

So during this nightcap, hard-working Anakin straight-up passes out in an armchair, his drink half-drunk and still in his hand

Which leaves Obi-Wan and Elara effectively alone in the lavishness of her room

And that, again, puts him on edge again, because he has no idea how to guide this conversation

He’d been raised in an environment where men spoke philosophy in a smoky, whisky drenched study and women gossiped in perfumed, well-lit parlors

And it is to his great relief when he discovers Elara is quite the conversationalist

She asks if he’s read Shakespeare and, almost started, he replies ‘yes,’ and suddenly their deep in a conversation about The Bard; and it’s all flowing so easily

One minute they’re talking about Shakespeare, the next he’s explaining Platonism, and then Elara’s giggling as she tells him about Anakin’s not-so-secret relationship with her friend, another talented dancer named Padmé

He’s genuinely never sat down with a woman before and just... talked without fear of pretense or status quo; and he’s enjoying it very, very much

By the time Obi-Wan leaves––let out the side door by Elara herself––his tie is undone and loose under his collar, the sun is rising, and he’s smiling brighter than he has done in years

Soon enough, he’s going to the Moulin Rouge every night, and if it’s not to see the performances, it’s Elara letting him in through the back door so they can have a nightcap and a conversation

In this time, Obi-Wan speaks about the stuffiness that drove him from home, and Elara reveals she initially took the job after her and Anakin’s mother’s death as a way to provide for themselves

In the afternoons, if she’s not rehearsing, sometimes Elara goes to visit Anakin

Which turns into her excuse to go see Obi-Wan, showing up at his door with a ‘I came to see my brother, but he’s still sleeping.’ Which turns into him asking if he can ‘tempt her with a cup of coffee and some good conversation.’

And then something hits Obi-Wan hard––very hard: he’s in love with her

He’s in love with the diamond of the Moulin Rouge

Half of him is ecstatic, yet shocked, about the revelation––and the other half warns him against it

That second half speaks in the voice of his father, in the voice of propriety; that falling in love with a dancer is not what he should do, especially when she’s so sought after

He agonizes over this for days. Days. He struggles with what to do––either reject the feelings or throw himself headlong into them

And then one day, Obi-Wan gets his answer

He and Elara are sat on his narrow, uncomfortable loveseat, his back against one arm rest, hers against the other. Her feet are in his lap and his are dangling off the edge of the cushions. And they’re just reading quietly. Neither of them has spoken for at least an hour. And it’s so nice. Everything about it feels perfect

Obi-Wan happens to look up and sees Elara reading her copy of Much Ado About Nothing, one of her knuckles pressed to her lower lip, eyes rapidly flickering over the words on the page

And that is when he knows his answer

To hell with it––if he loves her, he loves her, and he damn well better do something about it

And he does.

In a dramatic gesture worthy of a romance novel, he throws his book down onto the floor, which is enough to get Elara to look up in surprise

“What are you doing?” she asks through a little laugh, and with a smile.

And Obi-Wan moves her legs off his lap and shuffles himself closer to her

He slowly pulls the book out of her hands, drops it to the floor, and brings his hand up to clasp her cheek

Their foreheads gently come to rest together, their noses brushing...

Elara’s fingers slip beneath the collar of his shirt, only to glide up the side of his neck to come to rest on his cheek

And that’s when he kisses her, slow and sweet and reverent

And their books remain forgotten on the floor, fictitious tales of romance giving way for the real thing

I, uhh, got carried away on that! But if any of y’all have read it all and want elaborations on anything/want more, let me know! I kinda just did a basic AU this time around, not much plot.

#a Balance AU #moulin rouge AU #Obi-Lara AU #obi-wan x oc #obi-wan/oc fic #mary writes headcanons

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spaceskam · 4 years

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Fic Writer Interview

Tagged by @chamblerstara and @prouvaireafterdark

Name(s): Alyssa

Fandom(s): primarily RNM and The Untamed, but I fuck around with 911 Lone Star and The Old Guard when I’ve got worthy ideas

Where you post: Here and AO3

Most Popular One Shot (by kudos): the winner by over 100 kudos is no one deserves to be forgotten which is wild. It’s a little fic where Lan Sizhui grows up very intrigued in learning about the infamous Yiling Patriarch and desperately going after any little tidbit he can find

Most Popular Multi-Chapter (by kudos): our fainted thrill carries on which is an RNM season 2 fix-it, so I feel like there’s a good reason why it ended up being the most popular lol it’s also one of the first multi-chapter stories I’ve written that actually feels complete. Looking back on it now, I have my qualms with it and I’m not as happy with the ending as I originally was, but, hey, we can’t all be good at everything

Favorite story you’ve written so far: This really does change by the week and like there are some I’ve written that I probably would’ve said were my favorite at one point that I now can’t even look at. Currently, though, I guess I’ll say it’s Just One Normal Night because, well, soft

Fic you were nervous to post: probably tastes like misery which is a fic about Alex being in a loveless marriage and getting off the memory of Michael. It was the first more risque thing I’ve ever written and I had no idea what I was doing. But it’s all good because barely anyone read it askdfja;lk

How do you choose your titles?: I have a list of song lyrics and quotes and shit I have to use, but if the story isn’t over like 4k, then I feel like it isn’t long enough to be worthy of the title I think will fit it so I sit there being like “this would fit but what if I can use this title for something better later” and then I have a lengthy crisis and end up naming it something stupid and never use that song lyric for anything better

Do you outline?: yes and no? If it’s long, I have a vague outline, but I can’t use too much detail or I won’t write it. It be like that sometimes.

Complete: 426 lmao

In-Progress: Going off of what I have actually written stuff for and I’m actively planning on continuing, we have about 7:

From A Whisper To A Scream

tarlos secret santa

my Jennifer’s Body AU

my The Holiday AU ft. neurodivergent LWJ

5 times JC relied too heavily on his nephew

chronically depressed!LWJ fic

tiny LWJ and NMJ having a bro to bro moment.

Coming soon/not yet started: so that’s less of a secure thing. Here’s some I’m pretty sure I’m gonna do

based off the title of Truth Beauty Freedom Love from Moulin Rouge where each word will describe an arc of teenage malex running away together

modern au for The Untamed that’s loosely inspired by s8ep8 of Supernatural

Lan “Party Prince of Gusu” Xichen

JC under a truth curse while on a night hunt with LSZ

sequel to Secret Admirer

And There Was Only One Bed--rosabel edition

Prompts?: sometimes I vibe, others meh. I have a billion in my inbox right now and idk when or if I’m going to get to them. I feel very overwhelmed and tend to ignore them in favor of funky fresh ideas.

Upcoming work you’re most excited about: my The Holiday AU because you know I like to psychoanalyze my favorite characters

No-pressure Tags: I feel like everyone’s already done this BUT if you haven’t, feel free to pretend I tagged you! I’m always interested in people WIPs and ideas

#tag meme

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anotheruserwithnoname · 4 years

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A Twelve/Clara story fragment (or, Not everything is worthy of AO3)

Last night, I posted my 71st Doctor Who fan fiction short story to Archive of Our Own. Called “A Whiff of Chives and Barbecue Sauce”, it’s a bit of fluff involving Clara Oswald, the Twelfth Doctor, and a meat ball.

I’ve been writing and uploading fan fic for about 4 1/2 years now, and while I have completed 71 stories, at least two dozen more sit in a folder on my Mac in various stages of completion, ranging from 300-word trifles waiting for an ending to a multi-chapter novel in progress what I put aside after about 7,000 words three or so years back and hope to return to someday (its working title is “Claras Army”).

I’ll occasionally dive into the folder and find stories I’ve honestly forgotten about that I then resume working on and complete. “A Whiff” was one such story, as was “The Portrait”, a story I posted a few months ago. Both were pretty much completed, but just needed endings and general word-massaging.

But... not everything is worthy of getting the full story treatment. Indeed, sometimes I’ll just jot down an exchange of dialogue between Twelve and Clara that never really finds a home anywhere. I’ll give you an example. Call this a drabble, if you will. It’s just a joke but sometimes I feel we need a bit more silly humour. And yes, it’s little more than a Grade 3 joke. All you need to understand it is to be aware of who the 19th century performer Le Petomane was. That link goes to his Wikipedia page, if you are so inclined. I’m surprised Netflix hasn’t done a movie about him.

This drabble is not destined for any greatness and I have no plan to upload it to AO3. It’s just posted here in the name of silliness:

-------

We join the Doctor, in his twelfth life, mid-after dinner conversation with his companion, Clara Oswald:

“...Clara, I had no idea Le Petomane had been invited to the Moulin Rouge after-ball. His party trick got old really quick.” The Doctor blushed a little. “Especially the audience-participation bit.”

Clara smirked. “Which was when we got out of there, thank god. I was half expecting you to announce proudly that you taught him everything he knew, since you seem to be responsible for most of our culture in one way or another.”

The Doctor gaped back at her. “Clara! I’m shocked you’d think such a thing of me!”

She shrugged.

He continued: “Clara, I’m a Time Lord. A graduate of the Prydonian Academy.” Clara gave him a mock salute with her coffee spoon as he lifted his own drink to his lips. “The professional flatulence course is only open to members of the High Council.”

#whouffaldi fan fic #whouffaldi humour #silly jokes #twelfth doctor #clara oswald

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ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes · 4 years

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Roguish Women Part 16

Summary: Kate Rosseau is an American who fled to Paris to escape her past life. Now she's dancing and playing the part of a courtesan at the Moulin Rouge. There she meets Tommy Shelby who thinks she can be useful in expanding his empire. But has he been blinded?

Part 15: Tommy doesn’t tell Kate, Kate dreams of being on stage again.

Kate didn’t remember what she said to Tommy. In fact, she didn’t remember leaving the Garrison. Perhaps it was a good thing to know that she didn’t have many reservations about getting blackout drunk with the Shelbys at their establishment. It just reinforced the idea that she trusted them. And trust was not easy to come by.

Still, she didn’t remember what she’d said. And Tommy didn’t tell her.

He was sitting downstairs in the kitchen when Kate came downstairs wearing the same dress she had on the night before. She didn’t look pleased with the hangover she was sporting.

“Tea?” Tommy offered.

“No, thanks.” She sat down at the table and took out a cigarette instead.

He simply turned the page of his newspaper, partially hiding his face behind it. He couldn’t be certain how much she remembered. Although she was certainly out of it, at the time that didn’t mean she forgot. Besides, Tommy didn’t want to mention it if she had forgotten and it was simply a mistake. Maybe he’d misheard her or she was just spouting nonsense. That was a convenient answer, one he held onto because he wasn’t willing to explore what he felt deeper. If he did, he was afraid of what he might find. Nevertheless, it would complicate things. So he chose not to bring it up.

“Did you come to the Garrison last night?” Kate asked.

“No, John brought you here. You weren’t making much sense.” He replied trying to sound nonchalant as if to portray the idea that she hadn’t said anything that bothered him or meant anything, to begin with.

It reassured Kate and she didn’t suspect he was hiding anything from her based on his demeanor. Of course, when she woke up at Six Watery Lane, she was horrified that she’d done something foolish. Perhaps she showed up at Tommy’s doorstep declaring her true feelings for him. How embarrassing that would be.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been quite some time since Kate had been in a legitimate ballet company. Not since she’d been in the States. And it had been a while since she’d been in a studio or any sort of suitable practice space. The thing about Birmingham and London was it all felt so cramped. There wasn’t enough room to do much of anything. Still, Kate did her best to stretch and keep herself somewhat in a condition to dance again. Maybe it was blind hope that she would one day find herself back on stage.

Back to that feeling that had escaped her for so long. Something that couldn’t be replicated. It was the closest thing she’d known to flying. She felt weightless on her feet. Able to leap like a gazelle, making it look effortless, and as if she could walk on air. Of course, they were fleeting moments. If she were to be lifted by someone, the feeling lasted much longer. But it came with a price. The price of trust and having to rely on someone to keep her aloft. There was still a man there, holding her up. Kate always wanted the man to disappear. That way it would be her alone. That’s all she needed. She didn’t need someone else’s support.

When Ada arrived, Kate was stretching in the hallway, using the staircase railing as a makeshift barre.

“Come in!” Kate welcomed her in.

Ada startled a bit, unsure at what the woman was doing with her leg so high in the air. “Is this a bad time?”

“No, no, just stretching.” Kate folded over her lifted leg, reaching for her toes. “Make yourself at home.”

“Alright then.” Ada did so by hanging her coat up along with her purse and hat.

Kate could still hear her old instructor counting as she stretched.

Five, six, seven, eight.

She lifted her heel to remove it from the banister and returned to a normal standing position. “I’m guessing Tommy sent you with something.”

“Well, yes, and a question.” Ada removed a few things from her purse.

“Okay, good.” Kate went into the kitchen to get some water. Ada followed her in, spreading out the papers on the table. “If I had a penny for every contract I signed.” She sighed and turned to address the paperwork. “What about the question?”

“He said you didn’t RSVP to the wedding, I guess he just wanted to know why.”

Kate frowned. “Oh, I was certain I did.” Certain was a loose term. She recalled getting the invitation a few weeks ago. “Well, I think he knows I’m coming.”

“He didn’t sound so sure,” Ada told her.

The last thing she wanted to do was talk about the man she loved to his sister. Especially when that man didn’t love her back and intended on marrying someone else. “Tea? Or something to eat?” She offered to avoid the comment.

Ada sat down. “Tea is fine.” She figured she would be staying for a bit. Tommy had briefed her on the situation. He said Kate was acting strangely and he wanted Ada to gather more information. But of course, he left out the part about the drunken admission of love a few weeks earlier. Around the time the invitation had been received. Had Ada known, then the conversation would’ve gone differently.

“I was in a ballet company in America,” Kate said out of the blue as she filled the kettle. A distraction, to keep Ada off the topic of Tommy’s wedding. “Not for very long. I had trained for years, ever since I was little. But only a couple of seasons after I was accepted to join the company, I had to leave for Europe. It was one of the best times of my life.” She remembered fondly. Kate never fawned over the elegant, eye-catching costumes or attention from an entire audience. She had all of that at the Moulin Rouge and was miserable. No, she adored having an entire stage to use as her own. To stand tall with her chin lifted. Everything else was meaningless because the only thing that existed was that stage. It was better than any high.

“Why did you have to leave so soon after?” Ada wondered. The talk of ballet wasn’t anything interesting to her. What was interesting was the woman behind the story. Years passed and although Ada knew Kate well and got along with her, she still couldn’t understand who she was. A dancer that Tommy plucked out of Paris and brought home. There was so much Ada didn’t know, as well as the rest of the Shelby family. And yet, they felt comfortable enough with her that they could accept the inconsistencies. Only because Kate never drew their attention to them. She simply cued them in on vague parts of her life. Like saying she had been a ballerina. But they could be explained. And they could continue to keep her close.

“My father got into trouble. He promised things he couldn’t promise. And one night, a man came to my performance and had left me a note in my dressing room. He told me what my father promised and what was to come.” Kate explained. The memory of walking into the dressing room with all the other girls was still fresh in her mind even after years passed. She was smiling and laughing with them as they usually did after a successful performance. Riding the high of being on stage, Kate remembered seeing the note addressed to her laying by a dozen red roses. She had been intrigued and a bit giddy at the thought of an admirer.

“What was it?”

My dear Kathleen,

You looked stunning on stage, but I would prefer you all to myself. Fortunately, that has been granted to me. You know what you promised and you know that it’s far too late to make any more excuses. I’ll be at your apartment tonight at ten o’clock. I wouldn’t run, micina, you know that only angers me.

Yours,

Santo.

“He believed I was his to marry when I wasn’t.” Kate poured tea for both of them and sat down. She shifted her attention down to the paperwork that Ada had laid out on the table.

Ada watched her eyes shift from side to side even though it didn’t appear she was reading anything on the paper. “That’s what Tommy’s been protecting you from, then.” Her brother hadn’t much of an explanation for why they kept Kate around. Other than she had connections in America, Alfie Solomons liked her, and she needed their protection. Not necessarily in that order.

Kate nodded. “And now I’m afraid I’ve been entangled in his web. A bit more than I would’ve liked.” She mumbled more to herself than to Ada.

“Look,” It happened to remind the Shelby sister why she’d gone there in the first place. “None of us are thrilled that he’s marrying her. After what she did, I know it doesn’t seem like she deserves another chance to be trusted. But I think Tommy wants you there. He made it seem important.”

That only made Kate feel worse. She chewed on the inside of her cheek to keep the emotions from bubbling up in her. Although Ada seemed like a nice enough confidante, Kate couldn’t risk the chance that the news got back to Tommy. Not so close to his wedding date. “Well, you can tell him I’ll be there.” She replied. “I said I would, so I will.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kate assumed most people had been invited to Warwickshire a couple of days before the wedding. Only because she had been and if she had been invited, then surely others were too. After all, she figured she would be the last person Tommy would want around his home only days before his wedding to Grace.

But he’d only invited a couple of other family members. And that was only to make it seem normal that he was inviting Kate.

Tommy sent a car for her one morning. Apprehensive, Kate had packed her things and got in the car. The entire drive, she worried about what might happen. Of course, her greatest fear was Tommy was going to actually get married, even though it was guaranteed to happen. She knew it was too late for him to back out. Aside from the wedding, Kate was afraid she might say something. Anything damning, really. Maybe she said something that showed how she felt for Tommy. Or maybe inexplicably brought something up about her past.

Frankly, they were foolish fears. She hadn’t mentioned anything about her past that wasn’t carefully explained. She let nothing slip. Well, of course when she wasn’t as drunk as she’d been on absinthe. But even then, she thought she didn’t let anything slip. Kate thought that she had trained herself well enough that even in her most inebriated state, her brain wouldn’t let anything loose. But she didn’t know that she told Tommy she loved him.

“Christ,” Kate whispered to herself when the car pulled up the gravel drive. She’d been expecting a large property, especially after Arthur and John had been complaining about getting lost. But it was hard to imagine how imposing Arrow House would be until she was on the doorstep.

It didn’t feel inviting, but maybe that was because Kate didn’t particularly feel a warm invite to the wedding. Still, the estate looked like it was out of a book, not an actual place to live in. It was truly a modern-day castle where Tommy hid. And now he’d invited her inside.

One of the front doors opened and a maid came out to greet her and take her bag. “You must be Miss Rosseau.” She greeted politely.

“Yeah, thank you.” Kate couldn’t help but look around when she walked into the place. The large, drafty rooms only made her feel emptier.

“Mr. Shelby’s gone out on a ride with his brothers but he should be back for lunch. Miss Burgess is in the drawing-room. If you’d like to greet her, I could bring your things upstairs.” The woman suggested.

Kate bristled at the thought of facing Grace alone. “Um, I’d actually like to freshen up a bit.” She made up the excuse, hoping Grace wouldn’t come out to greet her.

“Of course, I’ll show you to your room. If you’d follow me.”

She followed her up the large staircase. There was a portrait on the wall of Tommy and one of his horses. Had it been a different day, maybe she would’ve thought it was funny. Tommy Shelby was slowly changing from a gypsy boy to one of Britain’s elite. Large countryside estate, portraits on the wall, immense power.

The maid brought Kate down the long hallway and showed her into a room that fit the rest of the house. Grandiose without much emotion tied to it. It wasn’t yet a family home. Just a large place filled with meaningless showy things. It didn’t impress Kate. She found most wealth was hollow. It was clear Tommy saw things differently.

“Would you like me to come and fetch you when lunch is ready?” The woman offered.

“That would be great, thank you.” Kate set her bag down on the bed and debated leaving. She felt so on edge and out of place that it made her skin crawl. “What the fuck am I doing here?” She whispered and shook her head.

After making use of the built-in bathtub, Kate got dressed and idled in the room. She didn’t want to go downstairs before she was absolutely certain Tommy or any other family member was home. That way she wouldn’t be trapped alone with Grace. It wasn’t that she feared Grace. No, she just didn’t know what to say anymore. What else was there to say? Congrats? You win?

There was a knock at the door and Kate assumed it was the maid back to tell her lunch was ready.

“Come in!” She called from her spot by the window.

However, it wasn’t the maid that entered. It was Tommy. He walked in and shut the door behind him. “We need to talk.”

Permanent Tag: @papa-geralt-of-cirilla @giftofdreams @biba3434 @kimmietea @karmezii

Tag list: @radical-gecko @actorinfluence

Masterlist

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelbyxoc #tommy shelby imagine #peaky blinders #peaky blinder imagine #peaky fookin blinders #peaky blinders fanfiction #grace burgess #john shelby #arthur shelby #ada shelby #ada thorne #polly gray #season 3 #ofc #oc

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insanityclause · 4 years

Link

On the afternoon of Thursday, March 12, 2020, Broadway was hopping, with 31 shows in one stage or another of production. That evening, Six was to have its opening night and Flying Over Sunset was to have its first preview. The evening after, Plaza Suite was to begin previews, along with Caroline, or Change. And then, over the following 42 days leading up to April 23, the eligibility cutoff for the 74th Tony Awards, several other shows — among them American Buffalo, Birthday Candles, Diana, Hangmen, How I Learned to Drive, The Lehman Trilogy, Sing Street, Take Me Out and Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? — were to show their hands, gambling that a late unveiling would position them optimally for the sort of awards recognition that can make the difference between a show staying open or closing.

As it turned out, every Broadway show closed that evening — at least temporarily — as the Broadway League, the producers and trade organization that presides over the 41 theaters that comprise the Great White Way, shuttered all of them due to the outbreak of COVID-19.

Now, two months to the day from when the Tonys ceremony was supposed to take place at Radio City Music Hall, members of the New York theater community — from actors to producers to publicists to the 50 or so members of the Tonys nominating committee itself — have no better idea than they did on March 12 about how Broadway's best work from the 2019-2020 season will be recognized.

"Not a word," says a dismayed member of the nominating committee. "There has been a total lack of communication," adds a frustrated Broadway publicist who has several horses in the race.

Without a doubt, there are far bigger problems these days than what is going on with the Tonys, even within the Broadway community, which usually employs some 87,000 people, according to the Broadway League. Now, virtually everyone is out of work as the League tries to determine if/how Broadway's theaters, with their cramped seats and tiny bathrooms packed with tourists and the elderly, can possibly reopen before a vaccine is widely available.

But, as the Emmys and Oscars proceed with plans for virtual awards ceremonies in the coming months, many who had a stake in the 2019-2020 Broadway season are wondering — in email exchanges and on phone calls with each other, and in off-the-record exchanges with this reporter — if they have been forgotten by the Tonys. After all, almost every other annual awards ceremony that celebrates theatrical achievements in New York has proceeded via a press release or virtual ceremony — the New York Drama Critics Circle (April 16), the Lucille Lortel Awards (May 3), the Outer Circle Critics Awards (May 11), the Drama Desk Awards (May 31), the Drama League Awards (June 18), etc.

So what is going on?

The Hollywood Reporter has learned that the Tony Awards Management Committee, which is comprised of representatives of the Broadway League and the American Theater Wing (which established the Tonys and owns the brand), has had a number of Zoom meetings during which various gameplans have been considered and then tabled as the severity of the pandemic became increasingly clear.

Indeed, Broadway theaters were originally to be closed for one month through April 12, then that was extended to at least June, then through Labor Day and now all that is known is that they will not reopen before the end of the year. No Tonys gameplan has been arrived at yet, although there is an expectation that a meeting later this month could bring things to a head.

The Broadway League and American Theater Wing declined to answer questions for this story.

It is understood that there are three primary options under consideration at this time, each of which comes with pros and cons...

1) Ask nom-com members to select nominees from the shows they were able to see before the shutdown and then conduct a virtual Tonys ceremony soon.

Pros

This seems to be the option that would please the greatest number of people associated with the 2019-2020 season, since shows that were seen will still be fresh in the minds of the nom-com and the larger pool of final-round voters.

Indeed, in the minds of a cross-section of the community, there was quite a bit of Tony-worthy work that was widely seen. Among the contenders repeatedly brought up: The Inheritance and Slave Play for best play; Moulin Rouge! for best musical; Betrayal or A Soldier's Play for best play revival; Danny Burstein (Moulin Rouge!), a popular vet with six nominations but no wins under his belt (and who recently overcame a brutal battle with COVID-19), for best featured actor in a musical; 33-year-old phenom Adrienne Warren (Tina: The Tina Turner Musical) for best actress in a musical; 89-year-old Lois Smith (The Inheritance), who has worked steadily since her debut in 1952 and has been nominated twice but never won, and 80-year-old Jane Alexander (Grand Horizons), who made her debut in 1969 and won one competitive award 51 years ago, for best featured actress in a play; four-time Tonys bridesmaid Laura Linney (My Name Is Lucy Barton) and 2001 winner Mary Louise Parker (The Sound Inside) for best actress in a play; veterans Jonathan Pryce and Eileen Atkins (The Height of the Storm) for best actor and actress in a play, respectively; Tom Hiddleston and Charlie Cox (Betrayal) for best actor in a play; Elizabeth Stanley (Jagged Little Pill) for best featured actress in a musical; David Alan Grier (A Soldier's Play) for best actor or featured actor in a play, depending on where the nom-com placed him; and Derek McLane (Moulin Rouge!) for best scenic design. David Byrne, meanwhile, would almost certainly receive a special award for American Utopia.

Additionally, announcing Tony noms and winners could be a morale booster. "We're not doing shit that says 'Broadway is still here,'" says a publicist. "TV is still on. Movies are adapting. But our industry is in the toilet. So all goodwill gestures would be very welcome."

Cons

Because so few people ever make it to New York to see one Broadway show a year, let alone many, the Tonys are a tough sell to TV viewers in the best of times. Moreover, because of the abbreviated season, there may not be enough contenders to fill several categories (e.g. best revival of a musical and best original score).

And, setting aside the issue of shows that never even began previews, there is no question that a handful of late-breaking shows would be at a disadvantage, either because they had only recently opened (e.g. West Side Story and Girl from the North Country) or begun previews (e.g. The Minutes, Hangmen, Company, The Lehman Trilogy, Diana, Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?), meaning not all nom-com voters would have seen them yet.

Perhaps most significantly, some associated with shows that were widely seen and plan to reopen would prefer waiting to hold the Tonys until the ceremony could be of some value to them at the box office.

2) Employ the Tonys ceremony in 2021 (assuming one is possible) to honor the best of both the 2019-2020 and 2020-2021 seasons, each of which will have been abbreviated due to the pandemic.

Pros

By March 12, 2021, the one-year anniversary of the Broadway shutdown, theaters — and at least some of the shows that were interrupted but managed to survive thanks to business interruption exclusions in their insurance policies — will presumably have reopened, meaning that at least one full Broadway season's worth of work could be recognized at the Tonys, which itself could occur in the traditional manner with on-air performances that could help drive ticket sales.

It is possible that Broadway's top producer, Scott Rudin, now believes that this is the likeliest outcome, since a decision was announced on June 24 to postpone the opening night of his revival of The Music Man from Oct. 15, 2020 all the way to May 20, 2021, which would push it into the 2021-2022 Tonys season and thereby keep it from having to compete for best revival of a musical with another of his shows, West Side Story. (Rudin declined to comment for this piece.)

Cons

Not all shows that were interrupted by the pandemic will reopen — most plays won't, save for perhaps those mounted by nonprofit theaters, like Take Me Out and Birthday Candles, and the musicals which probably will, such as Moulin Rouge!, will be hindered by having opened so long before voting (in that case, in the summer of 2019, nearly two years prior to the would-be new Tonys date). Even those that opened later, like Jagged Little Pill and Tina, would be disadvantaged compared to any new blood in the spring.

Additionally, not all of the people who served on the nominating committee in 2019-2020 would be willing to return to Broadway theaters in 2021, making a small group even smaller. "I would withdraw from being a nominator," one older member of the 2019-2020 nom-com tells THR, citing health concerns.

3) Scrap the 2019-2020 Tonys altogether.

Pros

It would be one less headache for the Broadway League, which is first and foremost interested in reviving Broadway, as opposed to looking back at past glories.

Cons

It would deprive recognition of those who did great work on Broadway during the 2019-2020 season, and mark the first time in the 74-year history of the Tonys that a period of Broadway work was not recognized at all.

#Tony Awards #Betrayal #Tom Hiddleston #Charlie Cox

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aimeeblake · 4 years

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OPERATION LIFE RAFT→ BEAUMEE

TAGGING → Aimee Blake & Beau Odie ( @beauodie )

TIMELINE → November 28, 2020

SETTING → Aimee and DJ’s apartment

SUMMARY → Aimee invites Beau over to Crownflix and Chill, and chilling ensues.

Thanskgiving had been strange, to the point that Beau was kind of relieved when he got to go home. It felt like breaks from school from now on were just meant to be assosciated with feeling ignored, and he didn't ask for much, he didn't think. Just acknowledgement. That's why when Aimee texted him asking him to hang out when break was over, it hadn't even taken two seconds to text back a big yes. Someone actually making time for him, especially someone as fun as Aimee, was impossible to resist. With a quick stop by a grocery store for some ice cream, he hurried over to her dorm that afternoon. She'd mentioned something about a Christmas movie or a board game or something and honestly, the specifics of it didn't matter to him so he hasnt asked for elaboration. Quality time, no matter what they were doing, was more than enough. He knocked on the door and waited for it to open, waving the ice cream at her like it was his hand as soon as it did. "Hey," Beau greeted, doing a quick sweep of the room to see if her roomie was there. "Thanks for inviting me. Is DJ going to be here or is it just us for now?"

Aimee was really starting to have second thoughts as she waited for Beau to come over. She didn't know anything about actually trying to seduce a boy! Sure, she'd read about it over and over again in all her favorite books but she couldn't even get the boy that she knew wanted her in that way to so much as kiss her! Straight up trying to hook up with a guy that had really only just called her "hot" was in a different universe of impossibly hard! Aimee was just about to bitch out on her plan and change out of her red booty shorts and "ho ho ho" hoodie in favor of less suggestive hang out clothes when there was a knock on the door signaling that it was too late to back out now. "Sup! Thanks for coming!" She cheerfully replied, backing up to let him in the door and figure out what flavor ice cream he'd been waving at her at the same time. " It's just us, I don't think DJ's supposed to be back for awhile.

"Alright, sounds good," Beau smiled, not quite sure what to do with the chocolate ice cream he'd brought so he awkwardly handed it to Aimee. "Since my Grandmama says I'm not allowed to go anywhere without bringing a gift, this is for you. So, uh, what are we doing exactly?" he asked, taking off his coat and just holding it. He liked Aimee and really wanted to hang out with her but he felt like he was doing this all wrong already. He hadn't hung out with someone new one on one in a long time and even though this wasn't a date or anything, it did leave him feeling like he had forgotten to study for this social interaction.

"That's cool, I like ice cream and I didn't really think to buy a bunch of hang out snacks either sooo I guess this will be useful?" Aimee shrugged, before taking Beau's coat in addition to the ice cream and hanging it up on their coat rack. "I'm not really sure what we're doing yet, I was waiting on you to get here." Aimee said leading Beau to the living room area and setting the ice cream on the coffee table, "subtly" bending over to show off her shorts as she did so. "So we can watch The Grinch, Polar Express or Moulin Rouge. OR we can play Board Games, we have way too many so if you name one I bet we've got it."

"We can always order something in later if we get hungry," Beau suggested, letting Aimee take his coat as he started making himself comfortable and following her into the living room. His eyes kind of found their way to her shorts when she bent over and he gulped, looking away as fast as he could. It was a great view but it wasn't his to stare at. "Uh, sounds good. Either one. The only board games I'm really good at are trivia games or Twister and those aren't as fun with just two people. We could watch The Grinch?" he suggested, getting onto the couch.

"Yeah totally!" Aimee agreed. She tried to sneakily see if Beau had been looking at her butt when she bent over but was disappointed to see he was looking away. Well only partially disappointed, after all Beau being respectful and not ogling her like she was a piece of meat was definitely not a bad thing and the kind of quality she'd ordinarily like in a potential virginity taker. But respectfulness wasn't going to get her railed, so Aimee made a mental note that she was probably going to have to be a little more direct to get what she wanted. "The Grinch works!" She replied, flitting off to the kitchen to grab spoons and coming back just as fast. "You're right about Twister and the only trivia game we own is Scene it? Twilight and it's rude to invite a guy over just to kick his butt at a game like that." She laughed and picked up the remote before joining Beau on the couch, sitting much closer next to him than she ever would under normal circumstances.

Beau laughed, the idea of going head to head with Aimee on a Twilight trivia game downright funny. "The only thing I know about Twilight is that the baseball scene is supposedly the coolest scene in all of the movies," he admitted. "You'd kick my butt so hard. Not that I'd mind, but you know." He shrugged, trying to relax onto the couch as the movie started. The key word there was 'trying' -- something about how close Aimee had decided to sit to him made it hard to totally loosen up. She was probably just one of those people who had no physical barriers with anyone, it probably didn't mean anything, but it made his body feel kind of warm all the same. Damn, he really needed to get out more; if he hung out with more people more often, he wouldn't get flustered by a simple hang out. Thinking that she'd maybe back up if he scooted in, Beau tried to subtly close the gap between them.

Aimee's jaw dropped in exaggerated surprise that Beau had never seen the Twilight movies before. "That's it? I mean you're not wrong but oh my god, that's like knowing the vampires sparkle at this point! It's too bad I didn't know you were so deprived, I definitely wouldn't have picked a bunch of Christmas movies to watch.

Aimee briefly glanced over at Beau as he scooted in closer on the couch, wondering if he was onto her scheme. It would definitely make her job a lot easier if he was. So Aimee didn't really react otherwise to the new lack of space between them, at least for a couple minutes as she waited to see if he would do anything more. When he didn't, Aimee decided to pull what seemed like a very obvious pick up move on him, the good old fashioned "pretend to yawn and put her arm around him move". Sure, Aimee had no idea what the move was really supposed to do seduction wise, but there had to be a reason it was so universally beloved right?

Beau chuckled at Aimee's reaction. "I like Christmas movies but hey, maybe we can watch Twilight next time," he suggested. He hoped it wasn't too forward to suggest they'd do this kind of thing again but he really hoped they would. Speaking of forward... Aimee wasn't scooting away. Beau had fully expected her to reestablish the space between them but she didn't and so there was none and that was weirdly distracting. He tried to refocus on the movie and let his overthinking go away but then Aimee did something he never expected. She yawned and put her arm around his shoulders, like a horny guy in a movie theater. He bit his lip so that he didn't laugh at the move, but he had to admit that it did kind of work in that it made his heart beat faster. Their faces were closer than he'd been to anyone's in a bit as he turned to her and asked, amusement evident in his tone, "Aimee, are you trying to Crownflix and chill right now?" The question would've felt crazy presumptuous, especially knowing how Aimee felt about DJ and that she hadn't even kissed anyone, but her arm was around his shoulder, she'd invited him over to watch movies, she was wearing tiny shorts. All of those things seemed to be adding up in one way he couldn't ignore.

Aimee's nose wrinkled slightly at Beau's question. She hadn't thought of what she was doing as an attempt to Crownflix and Chill. Like now that Beau said it out loud, that's clearly what it was, but in her mind it was definitely not something so memeable. "I don't know, is it working?" She asked, looking up at him with wide eyes. She would've tried to bat her eyelashes as well but she wasn't trying to completely over kill it and make Beau ACTUALLY laugh at her.

Okay, so a nose-wrinkling in response to that question felt like a no and Beau's stomach sank. There probably wasn't anything more embarrassing than accusing a girl of trying to seduce you when she was just hanging out. But then Aimee kept going and something about the way she looked up at him made his throat dry. "You know the crazy thing? It kind of is," he admitted, looking down at her face, and her mouth in particular. But while that might've been a good moment to go for it, he still wasn't sure of her intentions and his thing with Aspen had been so lacking in communication by the end that he couldn't stand not knowing. "But why though? I know I'm not who you want," he reminded her as if Aimee could forget that she'd confessed her love of DJ to him.

Aimee's face lit up with a smug grin when Beau admitted that her seduction attempt was kind of working for him. Aimee was insecure about a lot of things about herself but her looks had never been one of them so she was kind of living for the validation Beau was giving her. She did however cringe when Beau started asking questions. Not that she didn't think he WOULDN'T have any questions about the situation, but the mere mention of "who she did want" Reminded her of how perfectly matched and coupley DJ and Karmen had been over Thanksgiving in order to appease his crazy grandmother. "I don't want to want him anymore. Remember when when we were talking about basically being in the same boat of loving someone we really shouldn't and you said that if one of us was going to find a life raft, it was going to be me? I think I figured it out." To make her point clear, Aimee closed the already minimal space between the two of them and pressed her lips onto Beau's. Only for a few seconds though since Aimee's newfound boldness was just about at it's about limit and she still had more to say. "To be clear, I think we should hook up and be each other's rebounds. I think we could be really good at it, is that okay??"

Beau listened, nodding as she spoke. He really did understand what it felt like to want someone he shouldn't, and Thanksgiving break had only really served to make him feel lonelier. He wondered if it had had the same effect on her and realized that it probably had; after all, like she'd said before, they were in the same boat, the same sinking boat. And when Aimee leaned in and kissed him, for a brief moment, it felt like the holes in his heart that had been leaking love since he and Aspen ended were plugged and his chest felt lighter than it had in so long. Maybe Aimee was right, maybe this was their life raft moment that would get them through the hardest parts of getting over someone. He found himself nodding in agreement before the words reached his mouth. "I think we'd be really good at it too," he agreed. "Okay, I'm in. Operation Life Raft is a go, so long as we stay open and honest with each other. And honestly? I wanna kiss you again more than a firefly wants to shine."

As cliche as it was, when Beau began to verbally agree with what she was saying, Aimee let out a breath she hadn't even noticed she'd been holding. As nice as it had been for her to kiss Beau, she was 75% certain it wouldn't be worth the humiliation she'd feel from even the kindest rejection. After all, she'd just used her first kiss on him, that was a pretty big deal in itself! "Operation Life Raft, I like that!" She chirped, trying to seem like her heart hadn't practically tried to bounce out of her chest when he admitted he wanted to kiss her again. "The open and honest part, especially. Since honestly, I wanna kiss you again too." Which she did. This time practically mounting him like a horse as she pushed her way onto his lap to comfortably deepen the kiss.

One of Beau's favorite things about Aimee so far was how she said what she meant and she meant what she said, and so when she said she wanted to kiss him again, it wasn't a surprise at all that she did. What was a little bit of a surprise was that she got onto his lap on their second kiss. He and Aspen hadn't moved that quickly, had they? Not that it mattered. Not that he should even be thinking about Aspen. Wasn't that the point of this? To forget? And man, did he want to forget. His hands slid up Aimee's mostly exposed thighs before settling on her butt, pulling her in just a little bit closer as the kiss deepened. It then occurred to him that maybe that was Too Much and he pulled back from the kiss. "Sorry, is that okay? I'm not sure how much is too much too fast now. I feel like we're going to need a safe word," Beau laughed.

As new as she was to this whole kissing thing, Aimee felt like she was really taking to it like a fish to water. Especially once Beau's hands started to move up her thighs, that seemed like a pretty good indicator that she was doing something right. But then he was suddenly pulling back, which probably would've made her second guess herself but Beau had been too quick with his apology. "Huh?" Aimee laughed breathlessly, already a little too drunk on the excitement of kissing him to even begin to guess what he was sorry about right away. But when she finally did, she couldn't help but laugh more. Didn't he know by now what she was trying to do? "That was great. I'm not sure either but I'm down to go whatever speed you want to go. But just in case, we can make our safe word um...Puffin?"

Aimee's laughing made it easy for Beau to laugh too, and his body felt light all over; there really was something different about doing this sort of thing with someone that was just a friend. It immediately felt like it had way lower emotional stakes than any relationship where feelings were involved; it was more about just doing it to have fun, and it honestly felt like he could afford to have mindless fun more often. "Puffin," he repeated, committing it to memory with a smile and a nod. "Got it, got it. Sorry if a safe word's a weird request when we're just making out but its honestly kinda hard not to wanna go a little overboard with you right now. You're really hot," he laughed, "like, really really hot. Like 'I think I'd die if I got to see you naked' hot and I just, don't know, don't wanna rush you." She had just had her first kiss, after all. People didn't generally jump from that to their first time, especially not in the amount of time that it took for the movie to start to when the Grinch finally left his cave.

Aimee couldn't help but laugh again as Beau clarified why he'd asked for a safe word, this time mostly out of slight embarrassment at how hot he said he found her. Aimee rarely doubted that she was what most people would find conventionally "hot" but being called so hot that he "thought he'd die if he got to see her naked"? That was brand new territory. "You don't want to rush me? The girl sitting on your lap...wearing this?" Aimee asked, cheeks burning pink as she unzipped her hoodie to reveal a generous view of her cleavage just barely not spilling from the bra that was the only clothing item underneath the jacket. "Do you really think you'd be rushing me? If anything, I'm trying to rush you ."

Beau was the kind of guy who always tried not to stare too hard at pretty girls -- it wasn't polite. But if Aimee's boobs were distracting under a hoodie, they were even more distracting when they were right there in front of him. "Fuck," he cursed under his breath, taking in the view. He was sure Aimee could feel him getting harder under her, but he was even more sure that that was exactly her intention; in fact, Beau felt kind of oblivious for not 100% realizing, up until this moment, that this entire thing had been part of her plan. He felt weirdly flattered to have clearly been so carefully chosen for Operation Life Raft, and it just made him want to get closer to her as soon as possible. "Believe me, if I was the kind of guy who walked around with condoms in his pocket, I'd be rushing into this like a frog rushes after a fly," Beau chuckled, leaning in closer to her. "If you have one though," he said, kissing her jaw, "well, then I'm honestly down to go as far as want," he finished as he kissed her neck.

Aimee bit her lip as she watched Beau's reaction to seeing her chest upclose, it was both flattering and arousing, especially once she could feel her effect on him. She would've kissed him again if he hadn't started talking and kissing down her neck and jaw in a way that made a sharp warmth shoot from her belly all the way down to her toes. Rocking her hips forward into his, a move that was more grinding than functional, Aimee dug a hand into her pocket and pulled out a short strip of condoms. "Well lucky for you, a girl scout is always prepared and I just so happen to have more than one."

Beau groaned a little against her neck at the feel of her hips against his. It'd been so long since he'd been this turned on -- he'd been single for so long now, and in his last relationship, they'd never gone as far as to have condoms be part of the equation. It felt almost too good to be true that a super cool, super hot girl was into the idea of being sex friends, but he didn't want to question it too much, not when he was rearing to go. "Perfect," Beau praised at the sight of the condoms before taking her mouth in a kiss again and grinding up against her, holding her tight against him as he did, like she was a life raft and he was lost at sea. Whatever happened next, this was definitely the start of something awesome.

#para #beauodie

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