#and i had begun to consider the possibility because there were things that lined up

[tippenstoepens]

Prettiest Girl in the Room

part 1 - part 2 - part 3

Wordcount: 1.2k

You couldn’t hold it against Joe. As an adult woman, you knew better by now. Kisses don’t come with strings attached and just because a person kisses you, doesn’t mean they want to spend the rest of their life with you - especially if that kiss happened while both parties were drunk.

Which Joe made pretty apparent when he didn’t call you the morning after your kiss. Or the three mornings after that. Or the three months after that. All you had heard from Joe was his reaction notifications from the cast group chat when someone would send a Twitter meme made of the show. Everyone fancied one of Jackson’s character screaming “Well, you can shove your ham up your ass!” 

“Joekeery loved an image”

That’s all you got. 

You went about your life the way you always did between gigs: waitressing during the week, babysitting your friends’ kids on weekends, and sending out the odd self-tape in hopes your career wasn’t over before it had even begun. It was a nice, simple life. Not every actor was fortunate enough to afford a roof over their head in New York City, no matter how many doubles they worked. You consider yourself spoiled rotten every day. What could possibly be missing?

You didn’t date. That was probably part of the problem. That’s what made Joe’s silence ache so deeply. You wondered if it would change anything if he knew that the most action you had gotten in months before the kiss was getting catcalled in the streets. A simple kiss meant the world to celibate, touch starved women like you.

Maybe you should be the one to call him… And maybe you should crawl on your knees begging him to pay you a modicum of attention with “DESPERATE” written on your forehead in red Sharpie just to put the icing on the idiot cake. 

He popped into your mind way more often than he was welcome. At the grocery store when one of the songs he always played in the makeup trailer started harassing you over the intercom. In your kitchen when you removed fish bones from your salmon. In bed when you were trying to… Well, that’s no one’s business. 

“Guess who has two thumbs and just got renewed for a second season,” the director bubbled in the group chat.

“Oh, I love this game,” David texted. “This show. Our show got greenlit.”

It was time to shake it off. Not just for the sake of the show, but for your own sake. It wasn’t healthy to dwell so much on the past. 

On the first day back from hiatus, the producers and director had the cast sit for a table read of the first few scripts they had written. As Joe’s TV wife, you’d expect to be sitting next to him considering most of your scenes were together. Maybe you should talk to Joe and clear the air before the table read started. Yes. That’s the mature thing to do.

You arrived twenty-five minutes early - which is on-the-dot on time in the acting world. Joe wasn’t there when you arrived. Or ten minutes after you did. Or five minutes after that.The anticipation of Joe’s arrival was turning your stomach into knots. He was usually punctual. Surely, he wasn’t tardy because of you.

“Any word from Joe?” The director mumbled to his assistant. 

“Haven’t heard from him,” they replied.

You began to worry. Was he skipping out on the table read because he didn’t want to see you? Had his avoidance of you gone that far? He’d have to get over it eventually. He had a contract to fulfill. Just as you began your descent into a catastrophizing spiral, the clock struck eleven and Joe jogged into the room - beads of sweat forming at his hairline. “So sorry,” he panted. “Traffic was terrible.”

“It’s okay, we wouldn’t get started without our golden boy,” David teased. “I hear he’s up for sexiest man alive this year.”

Joe blew a short raspberry in response.

“Alright, alright, let’s get right into it, shall we? From the top of episode one.” The director chirped, no doubt relieved that he didn’t have to read Joe’s lines for him. “Interior. The Henderson bedroom. John and Jane Henderson lie in bed, covered only by their silk bed sheets. They’re snuggled up together. Post-coitus is implied.”

Say sike right now. You had never done a scene like this with Joe before. Never! The Henderson’s didn’t even have a scene like this in their honeymoon episode.

Of course this would be the first scene on the first day back after your first time seeing Joe after your first kiss. It was fan service. Every girl, guy, and person wanted to see more of Joe’s skin these days. But why did you have to be dragged into it?

You turned to look Joe in the eyes as you would have at any other table reading. Normal. This is normal. Business as usual. But it didn’t feel as easy as it was before. At first, you struggled to make eye contact and when you finally did, the intensity of his gaze made you blush a bit. Only a bit. The show must go on.

“That was amazing, sweetheart,” he scooped the line off the page and met your gaze again. 

God, the script writing was really going downhill this season, huh?

You sighed contently as the script dictated. “You’re tellin’ me!”

The whole cast chuckled.

The rest of the table read went on without a single hitch. After the ice was broken, things weren’t nearly as awkward as you dreaded they would be. The cast went through the entire table read five times before the lunch break. The first thing you did with your free time was approach Joe.

“You didn’t call.”

“Neither did you."

Fair, but not really because Joe was the one with a booming career and Joe was the one everyone tuned in to the show for and Joe was the one with most of the power in this dynamic and Joe was the one who initiated the kiss and infinitely many other reasons that he was to blame came to mind before you finally came to the conclusion that you didn’t call Joe because you were afraid of the possibility of rejection. What if you followed up only to find out that he wasn’t interested in you? Your low-self esteem convinced you that reaching out to a person like Joe was asking for embarrassment.

“So what now?” The rough exterior melted, revealing the vulnerable little girl inside that just wanted a boy to like her back.

“Well, that’s up to you,” he shrugged.

Not necessarily the answer you wanted. You just stared him down until he said more things.

“If it was just a drunken kiss, I understand. We’ll never speak of it again. We’ll keep things professional.”

“And if it wasn’t?” You murmured while making sure to avoid eye contact lest you be made a fool of for saying that.

“If it wasn’t… I’d like you to have dinner with me," he blushed. "Some time. If you… I dunno if you have free time- Well, of course you have free time, but I meant- If you want to have dinner,” he stammered and stuttered.

“I’d love to.”

Joe sighed in relief. “Great. Do you like Italian?” He smiled a bashful, closed lipped smile and it made the corners of his big, brown eyes crinkle.

“I love Italian.”

“I know a spot in the lower east side near Ludlow. Friday at eight? I’ll pick you up if you like.” God, his eyes.

The submissive in you wished he would stop worrying about what you like and make you do what he liked. The romantic in you found his sheepishness so charming.

“I’d like that,” you beamed.

Taglist: @thefrontofmymind, @bejeweled13swiftie

[yanderes-galore]

I absolutely love ratchet so may I request yandere ratchet with a human prompt 53

I love Ratchet too :) I'd love to give you a small story about him and a human! I assumed you meant my prompts.

You gave no specific Ratchet so I just did his Prime appearance.

Note: I've been doing a lot of late night writing so I apologize if this is unorganized. This is essentially me being half asleep and indulging in my favorite character. It's content purely from the heart I guess, lol. I tried to keep up the plot so I hope it came out... coherent :)

Yandere! TFP! Ratchet Prompt 53

"I left you a few voice mails, why didn't you pick up?"

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Paranoia, Overprotective behavior, Cybertronian/Human pair, Manipulation, Implied kidnapping, Dubious relationship, Deception.

Ratchet didn't used to like humans at first. He was already having to deal with three kids causing trouble in the base. When he met you, a young adult human, he wasn't sure what to think.

Turns out... you were tolerable. You genuinely wished to help out and keep the kids in line. Although even they seemed to be a handful for you.

Ratchet was still a bot who was hard to get along with at first due to his stubborn behavior. Despite this... Ratchet had begun to soften towards you over time. He began not to dislike humans all that much with time.

Honestly, it was you and the kids who helped him change his outlook.

When it came to you and Ratchet, you two could be considered partners. While Bulkhead had Miko, Bumblebee had Raf, and Arcee had Jack... Ratchet had you. Ratchet didn't think he'd ever have a human companion, he didn't even think he'd be attached...

Then he found you.

Ratchet had grown close to you because you provided companionship for him at the base. While the others were on a mission and he was meant to prepare Ground Bridges, you sat by his desk. You didn't talk unless he talked first when you were still getting to know each other.

Yet, soon Ratchet began looking forward to hearing your voice and seeing your small organic form. You just... provided him a sense of comfort. Your presence only ever proved useful when Ratchet began to stress himself out over the others.

A comment that was often tossed around was you being his emotional support. When Optimus wasn't around, Ratchet had you. You could say Ratchet cared for you at the very least.

Your companionship was different from the others. While when it came to the kids their respective Autobots acted like guardians... you and Ratchet were different. Your connection was beyond that of a guardian.

Sure, Ratchet was always protective, but it seemed like it was for different reasons. You never really knew how deep his attachment to you went yet it always felt different. You always seemed to ease him when you were around.

It wasn't hard to theorize what Ratchet really felt towards you. His softness around you felt intimate despite the differences between your species. It's some form of love, even if Ratchet never admits it.

This explanation felt the most plausible. It explained why Ratchet felt a yearning to connect with you more. Although such a feat only managed to frustrate him at times...

Your biological/biomechanical differences make it hard for him to display affection. He can only ever do small things. He can hold you, take you on drives, call you, talk to you, and he loves it but...

Intimacy, the thing he craves, is what upsets him at times when he looks at you.

Normally the thought might have repulsed him. The thought of hugging you or showing affection in the more romantic sense towards a human should be seen as foreign. Yet he wants it with you.

Such feelings are what's made Ratchet become more attached to you than a guardian. Based on how you act so positively around him, even when he picks you up... part of him hopes you feel the same. Surely... you won't mind being in a relationship with an old Cybertronian like him, would you?

He promises to himself he'll find a way to make an avatar to communicate with you with in the future.

The issue is, these feelings can also be seen as a weakness. Ratchet often grows distressed when you are away from him for too long. Yes, humans have their own lives to attend to...

He just wishes you'd spend more of your time at the base?

Ratchet didn't often talk about his problems, yet with you he felt it was important to voice his concerns. As a result you had given him a way to contact you when you're in your home. A phone number... one he often contacted.

He really didn't need the childish teasing, Primus he could hear it now. 'Ratchet's got a crush on a human'. He rolls his optics just thinking about it.

Yes, he loves you...yet it's normal. It has to be. He hasn't had a partner in a long time, if at all. Maybe he... wants to try something like that with you.

For now, Ratchet tried to focus on your safety. When he can find a way he'll share his romantic feelings with you. When he can properly convey them....

Gaining a way to talk to you made Ratchet relax a bit more. It gave him comfort whenever you texted him or gave him a call. Some say you can see Ratchet's mood change when you were on the phone. He physically relaxes his stance at the thought of you being safe and sound.

Optimus notices this change in his friend and his thought is he's happy for Ratchet. His friend has managed to find solace in a human like the others. Even if it's in a different way.

Being able to contact you is a double edged sword with Ratchet. While he's calmer with hearing your voice or seeing your texts, he appears snappy if he hasn't heard from you. Ratchet is never far from a way to contact you.

It's obsessive.

Ratchet would look distant when you don't respond right away, often looking at the screen with a frown. He hated being away from you at times. But you're busy with your own life and he is busy with his.

You'd soon learn not picking up when Ratchet calls is a mistake. Take a nap or go to work and Ratchet gets anxious. He expects you to pick up.

It would be so much easier if you were just right next to him...

He hopes he can do that some day once he perfects his hologram avatar technology.

---

"I left you a few voice mails, why didn't you pick up?"

Ratchet's gruff voice echoes through your phone. You had been away from your phone for a few hours and came back to voice mails of worried Ratchet. You originally thought it funny that he never wanted to be away from you for long, now it was concerning.

"I was busy, Ratchet..."

"Busy, huh? You're supposed to have your phone on you."

"What did I even miss? You know I have to have my own life here, right?"

Ratchet's silent on the phone, most likely grumbling to himself.

"Yeah yeah, I know. I have reasons to worry, however."

"Decepticons?"

"Yes. I don't know what I'd do if they got their hands on you."

"Nothing's going to happen, Ratchet!"

"You don't KNOW that...."

There's silence on the phone again before Ratchet speaks again. You swore you heard him sigh deeply.

"I want you back at the base."

"Why?"

"Security reasons. Decepticons in the area."

Something about his voice sounds off. His response is curt, almost rehearsed. You push it aside, thinking he's just irritated.

"Really? Alright...."

"Don't worry too much, I'd never let them touch you. I'm picking you up. Wait there, okay?"

"Ratchet, You never usually leave the base that often. Shouldn't you send one of the oth-"

"They're busy. I'd prefer it if... I brought you here, is that okay with you?"

"Sure, Ratchet. Be careful."

Ratchet says nothing, but your words affected him greatly. He appreciated the fact you cared for him like he cared for you. He hangs up on you and you cautiously wait for him. Decepticons in the area?

Were you really in that much danger?

---

It felt wrong to lie to you about a Decepticon threat. Yet Ratchet reassured himself that it could happen at any point in time. Just calling you wasn't enough.

As Ratchet drove back to the base with you in the front seat, he thought deeply about what he was doing. How long could he lie before he told you how he really felt? How long until you realize there's no real threat at this time.

Like a Decepticon, Ratchet had lied to you to get what he wants.

It felt dirty. Despite this, Ratchet could only think about you in his front seat. He could tell you were concerned.

He hoped you could forgive him for this. At the base you provide him such comfort. No one else could make him feel such a way. If he kept you there... he wouldn't have to worry. He could think about himself just this time, yeah?

Hopefully his little project would be done soon and he could convince you to stay. He could make you your own little area in the base and interact with you with a little avatar. In his eyes, you'd be a much happier human with his care.

He had his reasons and ways to have you understand him. You can't fully blame him when you learn the truth, could you? Decepticons were a threat, even if they weren't right at this tick.

This was the best way to care for you. He loves you... this would be beneficial to the both of you. You'll be safe and he'll have you.

While it may feel wrong to betray your trust now, it would yield results in the future. Ratchet stops once he rolls into the base and lets you out. After he transforms, Ratchet picks you up in his hands.

He can't hide the grin on his face when he looks at you.

You may not know it yet, but he knows you'll be so much happier beside him rather than alone.

"I'll make sure the Decepticons don't harm a hair on your head... you can relax, I'm here now."

[clown-friend-gt]

Up, Up, and Away Chapter 6

So I was kind of nervous about putting this chapter out because of one line in particular in it. You'll probably know it when you see it. I didn't want to sanitize any of the language that the bully used in this chapter, but I was still worried about if it was over the line to use that kind of language in my writing. Don't be afraid to reach out with any feedback or criticism.

Link to Masterpost

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

Breaking Point

1.5k words

(CW: Bullying, violence, racism, police agression)

The more things changed, the more they stayed the same. That’s what Trevor had begun to realize. Because in addition to all of his other problems, Robbie Deckman refused to leave him alone.

For a week or so after Trevor had outgrown him, Robbie had given him a wide berth. He seemed worried that now that their roles were reversed, that Trevor would give him a taste of his own medicine. As satisfying as that sounded to him, Mr. Roberts, the institute agent, had been watching him like a hawk ever since their talk. And Robbie seemed to have caught on to the fact that Trevor was unlikely to get away with anything anytime soon.

He didn’t push him around the way he used to. Even Robbie wasn’t dumb enough to think that’d work. Instead, he switched tactics.

It started around the same time he visited the institute. Trevor had tried to squeeze himself into one of the tiny desks that every classroom in his school used, and it hadn’t gone well. The chair bent beneath his weight, and the sound of bending metal was loud enough for everyone to hear.

The room was silent for a moment. Then, from behind, Robbie yelled, “Nice going, fatass!”

A few laughs rang out around the room. Trevor was mortified but said nothing. He burned silently with embarrassment as laughter echoed around him. From then on, he just sat on the floor.

Then a week later, during a difficult math test, Trevor broke a pencil. Not just the lead, though that had become all too common for him. He had been feeling anxious and accidently gripped his pencil too tight, snapping it fully in half. Robbie spoke up almost immediately.

“Urgghhh, Trevor no like algebra,” he said, doing his best caveman impression. “Trevor SMASH!”

A few people snickered, and a few more shot him looks that read are you stupid?

“Robert, be quiet. We’re in the middle of a test,” the teacher reprimanded him. Robbie smirked and went back to work.

“And Trevor,” the teacher added, “try to be more careful.”

Robbie found every opportunity to torment him. He would even approach him at lunchtime, walking up to where he sat against the wall, away from everybody else.

“Go away,” Trevor told him once.

“Make me,” Robbie retorted.

Trevor shot him a look, considering it for a moment. Man, it was tempting. Robbie straightened under his glare, looking like he might bolt. Then Trevor sighed, turning his attention back to his lunch. Robbie sat down nearby, radiating smugness.

“God, you’re a pig,” he quipped as Trevor finished his first tray. He did his best to ignore him as he got up to grab his second. He made sure to sit somewhere else when he got back. It didn’t matter; Robbie got up to find him again anyways.

“Leave me alone,” Trevor told him, with more force this time.

“Aw, gonna cry, you big baby?” Robbie mocked him.

He’s not worth it, Trevor had to remind himself, setting his jaw.

He finished his second tray and went to put it away. Robbie followed him, eager to torment him more. Trevor did his best to outpace him, but Robbie jogged to keep up with him.

All of a sudden, with the worst possible timing, Trevor’s stomach growled. The cafeteria limited him to two trays a day, but it just wasn’t enough anymore. Robbie smirked wickedly.

“You’re still hungry after all that? You’re such a freak.”

Trevor whipped around, ready to smack him. It would’ve been so easy to wipe that smug look off his face. But as he lifted his hand, his eyes met those of Mr. Roberts. He stared him down, his thumbs on his belt. Roberts silently moved his hand to rest on his holstered gun. A warning.

Trevor turned and stormed off, leaving Robbie laughing cruelly behind him.

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

Then the day came when Robbie pushed Trevor too far. He knew it was bound to happen sooner or later, but he never dreamed it would go so badly.

The last bell of the day rang loud and clear. Everyone in his last class began rushing out. Some left immediately, others trickled out slowly, chatting with each other as they left. Once almost everyone else had already left, Trevor stood up with a small groan, slinging his bag over one arm.

He’d gone through a particularly bad growth spurt last night. He was so sore, and the over-the-counter painkillers he’d relied on for so long just weren't cutting it anymore. He moved sluggishly, and the last thing he needed right now was people ogling him. So he’d waited until no one was around.

He bent over to squeeze through the door to the classroom. When he stood back up, his head smacked on one of the ceiling tiles. He was painfully reminded that he now had to hunch over slightly to avoid hitting the ten-foot ceilings at school.

People were staring. He could feel it as he brushed the dust that fell from the ceiling off of his shoulders. Sure enough, as he glanced around, there they were. He gritted his teeth and tried to ignore them as he walked away. But he could feel their gazes boring into the back of his skull.

He made his way over to his locker. He kept telling himself that all he had to do was get home, fall asleep, and he could forget that today ever happened. He tried to remove the door to his locker as discreetly as possible; he’d pulled the door from its hinges by accident a few days ago.

No such luck. Robbie spoke up from behind him.

“What the hell did you do to your locker, dumbass?”

Trevor sighed, setting the door down. So much for that.

“Not today, Robbie,” he warned him without turning around.

“Ooh, I’m so scared,” Robbie said in a mocking voice. “We both know you’re not gonna do shit.”

Trevor turned around slowly, glaring down at Robbie.

“I’m serious, Robbie. Stop.”

“RRRR, TREVOR ANGRY.” Robbie stuck his bottom teeth out as he did that dumb impression again. “TREVOR BREAK YOU, LITTLE MAN!”

Trevor rolled his eyes. “Seriously? Is that what this is about? You feel small?”

Robbie scowled. “You think you’re so much better than everyone now that you’re so big and strong, don’t you? What’s your fucking problem? Who the hell raised you?”

Trevor knew where Robbie was heading, and he did not like it one bit.

“Drop it. Now.” His voice was dangerously low.

Robbie smirked. He had him now, and he knew it.

“Oh right, your illegal whore mamí did.”

Trevor snapped then. Without another word he swung at Robbie, backhanding him across the hall. He hit a wall of lockers with a thunderous CLANG!

The lockers behind him crumpled, and he fell to the floor with a thud.

The few remaining students in the hallway fled. Trevor paid them no mind, striding over to wear Robbie lay wheezing. He bent over and grabbed him by his shirt, lifting him up to eye level.

“You keep your goddamn mouth shut,” he snarled. “You don’t know me or my mother.”

Robbie squirmed wildly in his grasp. His feet kicked uselessly in the air beneath him. Trevor held him firmly.

“L-let me go, you—you freak,” he sniveled, his voice cracking on that last word. Trevor chuckled darkly.

“You really don’t know when to quit, do you?” Trevor pulled him closer. “Shut. The. Fuck. Up.”

“Let him go,” a voice called from down the hall. Both heads turned at the same time to look. Mr. Roberts stood at the end of the hall; his hand perched on his holster.

Trevor shrugged and let go of Robbie’s shirt, letting him fall to the ground.

Mr. Roberts pulled out his gun and pointed it at Trevor.

“Whoa, whoa—” Trevor started, but was cut off.

“Hands in the air,” he ordered. Trevor slowly raised his hands in the air.

“On the ground, now.”

“Mr. Roberts—”

“NOW!” he yelled.

Trevor rushed to get onto his knees. Mr. Roberts cocked the gun, and he froze.

“No sudden movements,” he growled.

Trevor swallowed, lowering himself to the ground as slowly as possible. His sore muscles screamed in protest. He trembled as he sunk to the floor, both in fear and from the exertion.

Once he was on the ground, Mr. Roberts stomped over to him, putting his gun away and yanking one of Trevor’s arms to his back, then the other. He clamped a pair of those special cuffs onto his wrists, sized just for him.

Trevor had always wondered why the cuffs they put on supers had no chains connecting them. He got his answer when Mr. Roberts pressed a button and the cuffs clacked together like a pair of magnets. A jolt went through him, and a numb feeling spread throughout his body, starting from his wrists.

“This is agent Roberts, reporting a rogue super at St. Jude High School.” Mr. Roberts spoke to someone, presumably over the phone, though Trevor couldn’t exactly turn around and look.

“Suspect has been detained. Requesting a transport van.”

As it happened, Robbie had fallen to the ground right next to where Trevor lay now. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but only a pained breath escaped. Robbie winced, but when he opened his eyes, the look in them was unmistakable.

He had won.

First/Last/Next

[neutron-stars-collision]

Deadlines & Commitments

Neil x F!Reader

Chapter 4 - North Greenwich Underground Station

Masterlist; Chapter 3 Summary: Neil's brief disappearance does nothing to extinguish the sparks. As he returns, you make a series of discoveries about each other and grow ever so much closer. Warnings: Swearing, E-rated language, ridiculous amounts of flirting as per usual. Buckle up bc we're amping the pace a little... ;) Author's Notes: Well... that was a long break between the chapters 🙈 My apologies, turns out that having a job takes away the little joys in life like writing silly stories. Anyways, here we are, at last. With another 10.7k. And this one's packed with many good, fun things ;))) Some of those scenes had been months in the making (if not years, considering I first mentioned this AU to Shet in like 2021? I think?). So, yeah. They had it long time coming. More cameos, more nonsensical POV changes and, above all, more certified idiocy by them two kids. Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think? 💕 Taglist: @hollandorks, @kristevstewart, @stargirl25 (let me know if you want to be added)

What Neil’s departure from London did not do was change the way things worked between you. Although you only had meagre information about his whereabouts (such as that he was within the same time zone but in a different country), there was no sense of a breach building in the space of that strange yet solid connection. With the anxieties surrounding the imminent ‘Don Quixote’ premiere keeping your blood pressure high daily, you more than enjoyed being able to pick up your phone and message him whenever possible.

He did not always respond immediately, but it was not a must. What mattered was that Neil eventually got back to you. Never disclosing any information about his work trip, apart from the fact that it was warm there even in mid-October, he still made the effort to keep up with your antics. In that sense, the insanity of the date you had risked changed absolutely nothing.

But it also changed everything.

It was as if your free will chose to conspire with the soul’s desires to get what they wanted. Namely – Neil. Because as soon as you had even begun considering breaching the line separating friendship from every other kind of relationship, your brain decided it was done.

Being his girlfriend was not on the list of priorities or wants, but getting in his pants definitely was. It was almost freeing to admit.

The only question left after all that soul-searching was whether Neil wanted you like that, too. Sometimes there were no doubts about that, either.

Almost a week in, with the ballet previews looming on the horizon and no chance of sleep anytime soon, you huffed an annoyed sigh and picked up the phone from your bedside table. Bleary eyes registered the hour (five past midnight) as you opened apps randomly, already giving up on the promise of sleep. It took you another few minutes to make up your mind, open the texts and stare at the conversation with Neil. It had been a few hours since the last exchange concerning the warmth of the climate wherever he was. You had been (fruitlessly) trying to make Neil send you a picture. Of himself. Not necessarily without clothes, but that was the dream. And a girl was allowed to dream, right?

Squinting at the screen, you hesitated for another millisecond before typing out the simple question:

/ 🏹, 00:15 am/ Are you missing me yet?

Neil did not make you wait for long.

/✝️, 00:26 am/ Obviously.

/✝️, 00:26 am/ I’m barely coping here, sunshine.

/ 🏹, 00:29 am/ Gee, you’re making it too easy.

/✝️, 00:30 am/ Making what too easy?

/ 🏹, 00:33 am/ Missing you.

/ 🏹, 00:34 am/ See, I thought my cheeky line would get a lukewarm response, so I was prepared to tease you further.

/ 🏹, 00:34 am/ And now I’ve no quips to offer.

/✝️, 00:39 am/ Apologies. I’ll do better next time.

/ 🏹, 00:40 am/ I’ll make sure of that.

/✝️, 00:42 am/ And what punishment do you propose?

/ 🏹, 00:43 am/ I’ve always wondered what you’d sound like if you begged.

/✝️, 00:44 am/ It could probably be arranged.

/✝️, 00:45 am/ I’ve no qualms about getting on my knees for a beautiful woman.

/✝️, 00:45 am/ But that would hardly be a punishment.

/ 🏹, 00:48 am/ Yeah, but if I let you have that and then left you… on your knees, so painfully hard with no release… How would that feel?

/✝️, 00:51 am/ You win this one.

/✝️, 00:52 am/ And yes, I’m blushing. Fiercely.

/ 🏹, 00:59 am/ Good, I was hoping you are. Goodnight, Neil.

As you hit send on the last message, your head hit the pillows with an audible ‘oof’. Your cheeks burned; the blush invisible in the dark yet still very much there. That was the problem with Neil and your chats. It was impossible to say when they would turn in that direction. When you would both lose control and follow a line of conversation that probably never should have happened. Not that you were complaining.

It was good to know what you could expect from Neil. If things happened the way you wished, they would. Admittedly, he’d look good on his knees. That was a fact.

That night you only got five hours of sleep, but who counted it anyway. What mattered was that you had some excellent dreams. Dreams that you hoped would end up prophetic.

On other days, your conversations were a little more serious. Like that early afternoon when you just finished the final in-costume run of the Cupid variation and exited the ROH to wander the streets of Soho. Whenever you felt close to losing your sanity, the walk around those familiar spots always did the trick. It was easier to breathe, to hope that you would not fuck it all up when the curtain call came. To believe that imposter syndrome was nothing more than a vile bitch.

Sighing against the thoughts muddling your brain, you took out the phone and immediately noticed the new message:

/✝️, 1:49 pm/ How’s the garden of the Dryads coming along?

/✝️, 1:50 pm/ It probably goes without saying that you’re my favourite ballerina.

/ 🏹, 2:06 pm/ Damn, that’s high praise. Especially considering that I’m the only ballerina you know.

/ 🏹, 2:06 pm/ I think the garden is coming along nicely. Not so sure about Cupid, tho.

/✝️, 2:08 pm/ I call bullshit on that.

/✝️, 2:09 pm/ I just know that you’re brilliant.

/ 🏹, 2:12 pm/ Doubt, she said.

/ 🏹, 2:12 pm/ ‘Cause like… How do you deal with the overwhelming weight of expectations?

/✝️, 2:18 pm/ I mean, I panic and lose it instantly, but generally speaking, I think you just sort of… ignore it and trust you are good enough.

/✝️, 2:19 pm/ I know that you are, Cupid. This role was made for you.

/ 🏹, 2:22 pm/ Elaborate, please. I need my ego stroked.

/✝️, 2:23 pm/ Well, she sorts of saunters onto the stage and has a minute to dazzle everyone, yeah?

/✝️, 2:24 pm/ Which is exactly what you did to me.

/✝️, 2:24 pm/ You’ve got this.

/ 🏹, 2:26 pm/ God, you’re irreconcilable. Better come back so I can force you to sit through this.

/✝️, 2:27 pm/ Working on it as we speak.

A smile painted itself on your face with an inerasable stroke of brush. Neil’s constant support and cheerleading were a welcome surprise. Sometimes, your meeting almost felt like a divine intervention. That is if you believed in such things. Because the odds of gaining both a fascinating man to pursue and a friend were quite low. And yet.

As you looped your steps back towards Covent Garden, you made the mental note to visit the box office and add a request for the guest list. It was a rare enough event to have someone you could invite to the performance. And have the right to believe they would come. You were not going to squander that sort of chance.

***

The whirring ceiling fan was starting to get on his nerves with its endless sputtering. And it was not even working, as far as Neil was concerned. The sweat still clung to his skin and trickled down his back to a point where he seriously contemplated ditching the shirt. And that rarely happened. Especially not on the job, with the whole squad confined to a medium-sized safehouse.

The bustle of the city streamed through the windows, cracked open so they could let in fresh air while still having a chance of keeping them safe from snipers and the like. Granted, one could never be fully prepared for an inverted shot, but it was worth trying not to get killed. Especially during a mission that technically was just a recon. Though Neil knew better than to believe The Protagonist when the man claimed something was perfectly safe. He meant well, sure. But despite the appearances, he did not know everything.

So, the windows cracked open three inches had to do. Neil sighed, annoyance digging deep beneath his skin to stay there for a little longer. It was another one of those boring, yet technically productive afternoons in the safehouse. Today, the task was to plan a hypothetical pincer movement. Just in case, they said. Well, Neil sure did hope the case never came to be.

He glanced at the blacked-out screen of his phone, the muscle memory betraying him as he picked up the device almost mindlessly and opened the conversation with Cupid. It had been a few hours since the last chat, which was pretty usual. They did not need to talk all the time. Neil knew that. He also knew that it was probably better they did not talk constantly. Considering that 3 out of 5 conversations always ended up dirty, up to the point where he was blushing like an idiot. And, sometimes disappeared in the bathroom to deal with some troublesome effects of those chats.

Yes, considering all that, Neil knew it was best they took some breaks. But also-

“Blondie, can you give us a hand with this?” the yell from further inside the apartment acted like a bucket of cold water tipped over his head unceremoniously.

Neil whipped his head up, glaring at the open doorway. Unfortunately, being referred to as ‘blondie’ was becoming more frequent. The petulant nature urged him to ignore it, but he knew that was hardly the last one. With another long-suffering sigh, he heaved himself out of the armchair and called back:

“I said I’m coming,” granted, that was over fifteen minutes ago, but everyone could get distracted. Right? “Would it hurt you to ask nicer?” he stalked down the corridor toward the living area with an arched eyebrow.

It was not surprising to meet a mirroring expression on the faces of Ives, Wheeler, and Jeremy sitting in a trifecta of judgment. Neil had no doubts about his place in that makeshift courtroom.

“Yes, when you’re slacking,” Wheeler dropped the disapproving glare with all the air of nonchalance and pointedly glanced at the table covered with maps and blueprints.

Neil had no choice but to sit down in the remaining chair and offer an apologetic pout to anyone willing to hear him out:

“I’m not slacking. I’m just-” whatever excuse he could whip out on a whim got interrupted prematurely.

“Otherwise occupied with your girlfriend. Yes, we know,” Wheeler raised her head once more with a dismissive wave of hand, making Neil consider the possibility that she was close to losing it right there and then.

That possibility was always worrisome, for no anger could compare to that of his friend. Especially when she was pissed off.

But that careful consideration was nothing in the face of the two realisations brought forward by that simple assumption. Firstly - Cupid was decidedly not his girlfriend. Secondly – fucking Ives.

Neil glared at the man in question, hoping his eyes would reveal the murderous intents hidden underneath as his clarifying statement broke the awkward silence:

“She’s not-” he never finished that sentence (perhaps for the better), for the harsh sound of his ringtone filled the room with cacophonic clamour. Neil scrambled to pick up the phone without as much as glancing at the screen, “Hello?” the tentative opener sounded ridiculous even to his ears.

Soon, it was clear he should have checked the caller before picking up.

“Hi, Neil,” Cupid’s silky tone caressed his ear through the device.

Neil knew she did that purposefully, solely inspired to make the idiot inside him blush and giggle like a loser. Make no mistake; Neil was certainly a loser. And an idiot.

Once he felt the shock pass enough to ensure he would not drop the phone he repeated the greeting.

“Umm, hi,” from the corner of his eye, Neil could see the accompanying trio stare at him without trying to be covert about it. Absolute assholes “You’ve never called me before” trust him to state the obvious.

For a second, Neil considered faceplanting onto the table. Equally, the idea of jumping out of the window sounded appealing. The thoughts of potential demise were interrupted by Cupid’s reply:

“I know. I just thought it might be fun to spice things up,” she was definitely enjoying this and the damage she has caused. It was audible in the lightness of her voice, the vowels curled by a cheeky smile he could hear as she asked, “How’s your day?”

No longer happy to ignore his audience, Neil turned towards them with another glare. All three stared back, with Ives going as far as shooting him a knowing smile.

“It’s fine, except for my team being desperate to berate me,” Neil directed the venom in his voice at the trio as Wheeler casually got up from the table and put the kettle on.

The light chuckle from the phone almost made him feel better about it.

“That’s rude,” her remark contrasted with the laughter he could hear in her voice. Yet it was too late to raise the alarm or prepare for what would follow, “Would it be better if I reminded you what a good boy you are?” as soon as Cupid finished the question, Neil felt the full-body reaction she wanted.

A shudder ran through his spine as his face flushed pink. On a last conscious thought, Neil leapt up from the chair and paced towards the window, hiding from the group. A half-swallowed groan broke through his mouth as he tightened his fist, hopelessly trying to forget how those two words sounded on her lips. It was pathetic.

The more tragic outcome was that now Cupid had even more blackmailing material in her arsenal.

“Jesus Christ, you’re evil,” Neil knew he still sounded wrecked.

There was no way of hiding that. Of making her forget this had just happened and the conclusions she could draw from it. Neil barely resisted the urge to smash his head into the window.

“Oh, so it would help,” as expected, Cupid sounded delighted by what had transpired. The cheeky smile he liked way too much was undoubtedly present on her face as she added, “Not so dully noted” may he rest in pieces, apparently, “When are you coming back?” the question sounded almost out of place.

Yet even in his muddled mind, Neil knew it was genuine. That she wanted to know. If that fact meant anything at all, he did not know. And he tried his hardest not to think about it too much.

“Why? You miss me?” ignoring the chorus of ‘awws’ behind his back, Neil allowed himself to ask.

Even if only for emotional validation. Because while she has hinted at it before, Neil was never tired of being reminded. The whole thing with her might have been hopeless, but it did not change how he worked. How his heart ticked and what beat it chose. Tragically, romanticism was tricky to get rid of. Neil experienced that first-hand.

“You know that I do,” Cupid did not mind humouring his whims as she offered a simple admission without a fight.

With all his predictability, Neil could not hold back the idiotic grin from making an appearance. Sure, it had no future, but that did not make him less eager to play along. What’s the worst thing that could happen? Famous last words and all. Probably.

“I should be back in a week. More or less,” that was the hope, anyway.

The few stray thoughts that had somehow escaped the web spun by Cupid, and her attention reminded him about the work still left to be done. Like the fucking pincer movement plan. With threebastards taunting him mercilessly. So much fun.

“Fab. I got you a great seat for the premiere, so… You know what to do,” the hopeful note in her voice was worth the future pain.

He had no doubts about it. The fact was that Neil was looking forward to the ballet. The hazy memories of seeing ‘Swan Lake’, aged six, hardly compared to the Royal Ballet company. It was a good enough reason to attend. The other excellent reason was Cupid herself, but that was best unsaid. And unthought. Somehow.

“Got you,” ignoring the ridiculous thoughts, Neil offered her a smile she could not see and a silent prayer cast into the heavens that he was not lying unknowingly.

“I know you do. You’re a good boy, Neil,” Cupid’s strike came with no warning.

Yet again, she dropped her tone a notch and whispered the damned two words with a breathy sigh. The metaphorical nail to the coffin this time was how she said his name, almost caressing the letters. And yes, this time it worked, too.

Neil had the mind to faceplant into the window and groan with frustration. The inescapable blush warmed up his cheeks as his body shivered. Some… particular parts of his physique also showed interest in what was happening, eternally oh so eager to betray his wish to stay unbothered.

“For fuck’s-” the choked curse got swallowed by the mightiest effort on his side as Neil took a steadying breath and asked, “Why?”

As if happy to punish him, Cupid laughed.

“Because it’s fun,” the unspoken duh made him both more annoyed and more bewitched by her, “I’ll let you work now, but…” as did the carrot dangled in front of his face like the sweetest of baits.

Always the idiot, Neil could not possibly ignore it.

“Yeah?” he could hear her take a deep breath as if steeling herself for a difficult admission.

“I’m glad we’ve met,” Cupid whispered the confession without as much as a pause between the words.

“Me too,” his reply got lost in the static as she hung up.

Letting out the breath he did not know he was holding, Neil lowered the phone onto the windowsill and stared at the city outside. Well then. The call would take a while to process; that was unquestionable.

“Aw, aren’t you two cute?” Ives’ teasing threw Neil out of that pleasantly fuzzy mind space with all the grace of an elephant.

He turned around with the glower at the ready. This time, he could not bite back the curse:

“Shut the fuck up,” on an afterthought, Neil added, “Please,” noticing the soldier open his mouth for a quip, he dropped his tone to a warning timbre. That called for a final caution, “Unless you want to start looking for a new physicist,” his glare slipped over the trio before Neil settled at the table and unfolded the blueprints without another word.

***

When that awaited text from Neil came, bearing the information that he was back in London and happy to meet you whenever you did not jump for joy. Definitely not. What you did do was grin and discuss the possible rendezvous immediately. When that Tuesday afternoon arrived, with the glory of a decent rehearsal and a good coffee in your paper cup, you happily bypassed the crowds at Green Park and skipped the steps down to the correct platform.

That twenty-minute walk to the station was a blessing, just as much as a curse. When Neil proposed the time you could meet on the train, you did not correct him about your location that day. Or that grabbing the Jubilee line would be entirely off the quickest route back home. You just accepted the time and place and ignored the voice at the back of your head reminding you that this was not how you usually behaved.

It could go fuck itself.

Once you settled on the platform, one glance at the watch told you the next train would be the right one. The strange giddiness sparked in your veins, but you blamed it on the three-week gap between the meetings. It was just that, nothing more. Obviously.

The autopilot carried you through the motions until you had boarded the carriage and came face to face with the cause of all this idiocy. Neil smiled, instantly clocking you before you had even placed both feet inside. It was impossible to keep your face neutral, returning the grin and manoeuvring around the commuters to sit next to him on the three plastic chairs facing the sliding doors.

Then, as if seized by insanity, you propelled your body forward with the arms coming up around Neil’s neck to embrace him tightly. His freeze took approximately twenty seconds to thaw as he returned the hug with equal strength. You could feel the warmth of his breath hitting the crook of your neck and making you fight back a shiver that would not do. Instead, you let yourself breathe him in, rest in the moment that was potentially a mistake. Still, you were not going to treat it like one. Not when the warmth of his hands seeped through the clothes as they rested on your waist.

When the lurch of the train reminded you of reality and all its flaws, you ruefully disentangled from Neil and met his wary gaze. His blue eyes scanned your face as if looking for clues towards the reasons for the madness you just allowed yourself. When that offered no answers, Neil broke the silence with a careful observation:

“I didn’t know that we’re doing hugs,” his impassive face offered no clues either, triggering a wave of uncertainty you had to smother.

Because what if you went too far? What if that was not what Neil wanted?

“We are now,” the confidence was missing from the statement, making you add a crucial question, “Is that okay?” you could hear the insecurity in your voice, betraying the worries.

They disappeared the moment Neil flashed you a smile, his hand lightly patting your knee as a complement to the simple reassurance:

“Sure is,” lowering his gaze to catch yours, Neil winked.

Thank fuck. It surely made life much easier. Or the plans you might or might have not made regarding him. Now that the crisis had passed, you shifted in the seat to find a more comfortable position and allowed yourself a selfish look, measuring him up as usual. The slight tan line revealed by the rolled-up sleeves confirmed what you did know about his disappearance. The minor tiredness in how he carried his body strengthened your guesses. The rest of him blinded you as always.

Especially the three buttons left undone, revealing a strip of his chest. And inspiring ungodly thoughts in your head. Ignoring that what could not be addressed. Especially not right now in a carriage full of people. You switched your attention to the other crucial topic. Everything was better than being arrested for public indecency. At least you did hope so.

“How was the trip?” you noted the shift in Neil’s posture.

How he strengthened in the seat, the mask back in place. Although his mystery had fallen into the background over the acceleration of your dynamic, it was still very much present. You had to figure him out. Had to crack the case. Even if it killed you.

For now, though, simply asking mundane questions had to be enough.

“Well… it was fine. The usual” the answer did not help much, however.

Neil looked as if he knew how enigmatic it sounded but could not do anything about it. Upon your questioning look, he only shrugged and offered no further details. This time, you could not let the moment pass without a comment. You rolled your eyes, a frustrated huff interrupting the silence with petulance:

“God, you couldn’t be any less mysterious if you tried,” although anger was not one of the present emotions, you knew Neil would understand the message as you glared at him without heat.

He winced as if admitting to the guilt you hinted at and turned to you with a more open expression on his face:

“Sorry, it’s uh… maybe one day,” Neil met your gaze meaningfully, making you keener to believe him.

You held his gaze for a beat, even if only to have an excuse to look into his eyes and see Neil without the veil of pretence. It was easy to hope one day he would tell you more. That there was one day, somewhere along the line, waiting for you. That whatever was happening would not burn to a cinder in two weeks and leave you bereft. As things like this tended to do.

“I’ll hold you to that,” before breaking the eye contact, you reached for his hand.

It was another insane reflex that was difficult to explain, even to yourself. Yet, still, Neil went willingly. His long fingers tangled with yours without resistance and allowed you to rest your joined palms between the seats, almost like a beacon to whoever was curious about your meeting. And you could see the nosy stares, the inquisitive grandmas eager to judge and label everything and everyone existing within their vicinity.

You used the warmth of your connected hands to anchor you in the present as Neil asked:

“How’s the imposter syndrome? Did it fuck off at last?” the softness in his eyes could undoubtedly be fatal.

As was the way he knew what to ask and hit the jackpot without even trying. Because, of course, the feeling of not being good enough did not disappear. Of course, you still got up every morning with the vague desire to approach the ballet director and tell her you are giving up. That you cannot do this. It almost seemed like Neil could sense your thoughts.

Which was both terrifying and appealing, if you were to be honest. It would make your job easier if he knew exactly what you were thinking. About him.

“I wish,” the suffering sigh was a cheap trick, but viable in your books, “I still think I’m going to embarrass myself, but well,” not willing to give up the comfortable weight of his hand in yours, you offered Neil a one-sided shrug “Can’t exactly capitulate now” the desperate edge to that sentence did not escape his attention.

Sure, you would not actually give up, but that did not mean you were not half-heartedly wishing it happened anyway. Ideally, in the form of someone else doing the job for you. Pathetic, innit?

Neil squeezed your hand, capturing your attention without needing to try at all. The frown was still present on your face, its force turning the corners of your mouth downwards. As always, Neil seemed to see through all that you were not saying. He met your gaze (which was a feat considering you were happy to look anywhere but at him) and spoke:

“I wouldn’t let you,” there was an edge to his voice, a steely resolve that told you the conversation was gaining another layer.

A different destination to the one you had expected at first. Although, with how your chats recently played out, it was to be anticipated. Probably.

Without giving yourself the time to overthink, you leaned closer to Neil and placed a hand on his thigh. You could see his eyes widen upon the move, the pupils blowing up in the quickest form of flattery a man could give you. Sharpening your smile to the perfectly saccharine variant, you delivered the prepared lines:

“Oh yeah?” his thigh muscles tensed underneath your hand as Neil’s mouth fell agape without him being fully in control of the reaction. It was adorable. And an ideally ripe ground to lay the final strike, “You’d force me? Have your way with me?” the sparks in his eyes were a pretty addition to the already gorgeous picture.

At that moment, you knew that you had missed this. No texting could ever replace the real thing. The back and forth with the arresting strength of his eye contact and the unpredictable suspense of what would come next. Like the sudden softening of Neil’s features and an unexpectedly tentative counter to your bold questions:

“If you’d let me,” he swallowed hard as if desperately trying to get rid of the thoughts in his head and simultaneously unable to shake them off.

As if ripping the thread connecting him to you and shortening it at an alarming rate was causing Neil physical pain. The revelation acted like a hot poker pressed against the tender skin of your palm. It was difficult to shrug it off as if it was nothing. It nagged and prodded until you could do nothing but stare dumbly at him, feeling every passing second like a wasted beat of time you would never get back.

Before you could get your shit together in any way, it was too late. Neil had already jumped to conclusions, as you worried he might. His brows furrowed as his teeth nibbled on the chapped bottom lip in a familiar nervous tic. Slowly, as if navigating a mined battlefield, he shifted in the seat, widening the space between you by a fraction. You noticed it anyway.

“You don’t mind that this sort of thing keeps happening?” the question was completed with a vague gesture, slashing the air between you awkwardly.

The inflexion offered no space for doubt. Neil concluded that you very much did mind. That somehow you were not an active and eager participant in the heavy flirting and mutual teasing. Neil was an idiot.

And you had to put that point across instantly.

“Why would I mind?” without thinking, you let your fingers repeatedly stroke his forearm as you leaned back into his orbit to confess what ought to have been obvious, “I mean every word I say to you. Including all that post-Watershed talk” it was delightful to see your favourite smile disrupt his frown.

At the same time, it was nice to have it out in the open, no longer unsaid and implied. Because you did mean it. And you did want it. Whatever Neil would offer, be it a friendship or more. The choice was his.

You could pinpoint when the weight lifted off his shoulders and let him breathe deeper. You stared as Neil absorbed and processed the information, his blue eyes showing a spectrum of emotions. Some were unreadable. Other more obvious, like the devilish sparks that always guaranteed the conversation would take a curious turn. Or the cautious hope, making him look so much younger and innocent. Your unoccupied hand itched with the desire to brush his golden locks from his forehead, so you tightened it into a fist hidden in the coat pocket.

Just like you hid everything that had no place in your life.

At the periphery of your attention, you could register the called stations. Or the fact that your stop was mercilessly getting closer. Only one question could make you forget the reality altogether:

“So, what would you do if I kissed you?” when Neil asked, you were glad you had never forced yourself to look away from him.

That hesitant hope was still there, lightening up his eyes. You let it pull you in, as there was no need to search your heart for an answer. It was fair to assume Neil knew that, too. The question was only a preliminary. But it was still admirable he asked. People rarely did.

You shrugged, highlighting the evident conclusion he hopefully had already reached. It would have been easy to close the gap and let that be the answer. Too easy. It was enough that you could hardly ever look away from him, constantly drawn and arrested by his eyes.

Forcing yourself to break the spell, you met his gaze and offered him an impassive smile. If only to keep up the façade for a little longer.

“There’s only one way to find out, Neil,” you hoped that was enough, that he would understand the ball was back in his court to do as he pleased.

You also hoped Neil came to the right solution. Sadly, that did not seem to come to be just yet. One glance outside the window alarmed you about the surroundings and that you were arriving at your station. The frown twisted your mouth downwards as you risked a glance at Neil. The disappointment in his eyes told you he already caught up.

Two choices were waiting at your disposal. You could either stay, miss your stop to find out what would happen next. Or you could choose cowardice and leave the carriage, delaying the fateful moment a little longer. Definitely not forever.

It was hard to say why you chose the second option. Why you stood up without as much as a look at Neil and feigned a cheery farewell that felt foreign on your tongue. Later, you were keen to pretend it was just the influence of the moment. A sudden spell of insanity.

“Oops, that’s me. See you soon,” it was a miracle that you did not trip in the haste to get out.

You barely registered the surroundings as you bolted towards the sliding door and stepped onto the platform, missing the gap by mere millimetres. It was pure luck that you did not walk into any poor soul as you attempted to get away from the train as fast as possible.

You did not get the time to flee. All because you did not consider one thing – Neil had a choice, too.

When you felt a hand take yours and pull you back, there was that split second of panic. Your disoriented mind rapidly flicked through at least ten different disastrous scenarios, starting at a random appearance of Liam and ending at a violent assault you were about to be subjected to. Only then, at the very end, your brain pushed forward another observation. There was something familiar about that handhold.

Before you had a second to follow that thought, the interrupter pulled at your hand, making you whirl around to face them. Your widened gaze fell upon the undone tortoiseshell shirt buttons and wandered up the neck to land on Neil’s blue eyes, patiently staring back at you. It took you another second to understand what happened. And another one to begin processing what it could mean. Why he did it.

Without being aware of the movement of your body, you stepped closer to Neil, tightening the bubble you both had created in the middle of the platform. People bypassed you as they rushed to the train with the beeping doors hastening their steps. But that hardly mattered. It was just white noise. Unimportant and ignorable.

Unlike Neil, who closed the gap between your bodies to mere millimetres, and wordlessly repeated the question from before. The answer did not change. You offered him a tiny nod, not feeling the need to speak. The surrealism of the moment could not be labelled anyhow.

From the second you had tasted Neil’s lips, you knew it would not be something you could forget. That the feel of him would burn into the cortex of your brain and stay there to haunt you for eternity. You were right.

Your eyes snapped shut as soon as he closed the distance and covered your mouth with his in a soft kiss. His gentle and pliant lips caressed yours attentively without effort, making you cling even closer to him. Your arms came around Neil’s neck as your fingers toyed with the hair at the nape of his neck. It took another second, a blissful beat of existence, to make you kiss him back. Just as carefully. Just like you never kissed anyone before.

Neil’s relief came through in a short gasp, let out into your opening mouth, and the warm weight of his palms came up to rest on your waist beneath the open coat. Following the logic you did not understand, you tilted your head and allowed his prying tongue to lick into your mouth. The liquid heat traversed your veins, warming up your skin as Neil took his time to map out the inside of your mouth. Suddenly, the instant connection you felt made sense. Things clicked into place as you breathed the taste of him and breathed out the uncertainty. It felt right. Good. Unforgettable, even.

It felt like no first kisses and endless one-night stands ever did. And that made no sense.

Soon, that first kiss evolved into another and then the next. The platform, the people and the noise faded into the background as you swapped kisses, barely interrupted by quiet groans and swallowed gasps. On its own accord, your hand ventured up to tangle in his hair, grabbing a fistful of the golden locks and tugging in time with a particularly hungry nip taken out of Neil’s bottom lip. The reward of a barely stifled moan was more than worth it.

As was how Neil held you close and returned your kisses with equal zeal. He matched your energy and pushed you further until the remaining part of your conscience worried about being arrested for public indecency.

When the burn of your lungs excelled that of your soul, you placed a palm over the centre of his chest and pushed Neil back. Just a fraction. Just to catch your breath. His answering whine felt like another spark of pride, making your eyes glow with self-satisfaction. That was better than any other form of gratification you could think of.

When you finally forced yourself to blink your eyes open and look at Neil, you were met with kiss-bruised lips and darkened blue eyes, showing nothing else but hunger. At least ten increasingly ridiculous religious metaphors battled for leadership in your mind, but you pushed them all aside. The most accurate comment went to two simple words, pushed forward by the strength of your soul’s crudeness. Fucking hell. In the best of meanings, that is.

Following deeply rooted instincts, your tongue darted out to thoroughly trace the expanse of your bottom lip. And get remains of his taste, that you had already started missing. As far as kisses had gone, this one was pretty damn spectacular.

Neil seemed frozen, his eyes fixed on your mouth as if that was the only thing he could do. Admittedly, it was adorable. Yet, still, you decided to break the spell, the only way you could think of:

“I think your train has left,” you glanced over his shoulder, noting the expectedly empty platform.

Only now, when the haze of the kiss (or rather a whole make-out session) had begun to lift, you could understand what had transpired. And that Neil was keen to delay his return home for the price of a kiss. Or for the hope of a kiss, for clearly, he did not think he would get that far. Idiot.

You could see it now, back on his face. The slight disorientation and confusion suggested Neil could barely believe that what just happened was real. He blinked twice, then again, as if forcing himself to wake up and met your gaze with wide eyes. Without thinking, you allowed the hand you had pressed flat to his chest to venture up, stopping when your fingers started grazing over his neck. That was the trigger Neil needed to return to reality. He seized your adventurous fingers in a loose hold and placed your joined hands back over his heart. You could feel it racing.

“I’ll wait for the next one,” Neil offered you a half-smile, the uncertainty shining through the tentative joy in his eyes.

It was not something you were used to. Usually, after a kiss like that (never even preceded with a question, because who the fuck still asked for kisses?), you only ever got smugness. And an attempt at a smooth transition to sex, which did or did not succeed, depending on the participating party). Never uncertainty. Never shyness. Never contentment with what happened without pushing you for more.

You didn’t know what to do with any of it.

“No regrets?” the question was also one that you never asked before.

Not after something as trivial as a first kiss. But then, nothing was the way it usually went with Neil. That much was quite clear.

“Not really. You?” as if sensing your growing uncertainty, Neil did not hesitate before answering the question.

He squeezed your fingers, still wrapped in his palm and met your gaze with something almost resembling confidence. Somehow, that was enough. You took a fortifying breath to gather courage and discard the doubts. There would be more than enough time to deal with them later. Hopefully.

For now, there were other things to do and say. Like answering Neil’s question and reclaiming the conversation from its sombre paths. Especially since no cell in your body regretted the kiss. Or any other thing you had ever said or hinted at to him. It is just that somehow, somewhere along the line, your normal confidence had been wiped off the table. And it felt like it was never to be seen again. Not like before.

You hoped to ignore that bit of revelation, too.

“Nope. I’d offer a coffee at mine, but… I think some things need a better build-up,” you hoped the chaos in your head was not easily seen as you dropped the line with an attempt at the usual smoothness and met Neil’s eyes with remaining poise.

You meant that, too. A part of you, the same that had difficulties ending the kiss, wanted to continue it wherever it may lead you. You were quite sure you knew where it was going. And you certainly wanted that. But, at the same time, rushing into it seemed… wrong. As if the fact that you also wanted to be friends with Neil needed a little more respect. A little more time.

You could tell he understood from the way Neil nodded, his eyes still blown out by the darkened pupils.

“Agreed,” he shook his head slightly as if trying to clear it before glancing at the timing screen over your heads. Whatever the impact those 7 minutes of waiting had, the next thing Neil did was to heave a sigh and set his weary eyes on you, “Actually, I might walk back home. Should probably clear my head,” a small smile lifted the corner of his mouth.

Without overthinking the act, you seized his hand and started for the stairs. Just because you were not yet taking him home did not mean you could not drag out the goodbye. Right?

Right.

***

Although the kiss was not forgotten and only added to the general restlessness, you never mentioned it again. It was another layer added to the sprinkled, complex mess that was your relationship. A tiered cake that had so many flavours it was impossible to label it using a concise, less than five-word description. It just did not get discussed.

That was both a blessing and a curse, considering that with mere days left till the public Don Quixote premiere you could barely handle one type of stress and uncertainty. Let alone two. The reality check deadline crept up on you without warning, catching you pacing the flat for over an hour the evening before the official pre-premiere. The event always happened at least a night before the opening soiree and was reserved for the press, Royal Ballet directory and special guests of honour. It also meant that every detail of the performance had to be up to par if one wanted to continue advancing the career in the company. Which you did want. Desperately. It was just bloody unfortunate that the usual insanity of anxiety now was interlaced with something else.

Something that made you stop the pacing and pick up the phone only to open the messages and stare at the text conversation with Neil. It had been a few hours, and considering the 9 pm on the clock, you had a fair right to believe that he might be asleep. Maybe. But that could hardly deter the part of your brain that tended to get ahead of itself. Especially fuelled by stress and anxiety.

Without letting yourself falter, you typed the question:

/ 🏹, 9:04 pm/ Are you still up?

Luckily, you only had to hold your breath for an answer (or a lack of it) for less than 5 minutes. For that, your lungs were eternally thankful.

/✝️, 9:08 pm/ Is this the moment you ask me for dick pics?

A ridiculous guffaw broke the silence of your flat, along with that necessary intake of oxygen. Conversations like those still happened daily and only increased the want you could not get rid of if you tried.

And you didn’t try. There was no point to it.

/ 🏹, 9:09 pm/ Nah. Not yet.

You were having fun, chatting the shit on the daily with someone who seemed more than eager to keep the ball going. That was partially why you reached out on a whim, desperate to get out of the flat even for a little while. After all, asking Neil offered a fifty-fifty chance of an entertaining evening. All other intentions did not have to be disclosed. Even in your mind.

/✝️, 9:10 pm/ That’s a relief.

/✝️, 9:10 pm/ How can I be of service, my lady?

/ 🏹, 9:11 pm/ You’ve no idea, babe.

/ 🏹, 9:12 pm/ I was thinking of going to the dance studio, that’s open till midnight. Do you want to come?

/ 🏹, 9:12 pm/ You’ve said you wanted to see me dance so…

After sending the third message, you put down the phone and exhaled. That nervousness residing in your bones was new. It was almost as if it mattered what Neil’s answer would be. As if you cared whether he would say yes to the tentative proposition. None of that had ever happened before.

The urge to faceplant into the pillow was derailed by the buzz of an incoming message. With embarrassing speed of reaction, you read the texts:

/✝️, 9:15 pm/ Happily.

/✝️, 9:15 pm/ When and where do we meet?

You grinned. As you copied and pasted the location pin into the message, you could already feel a different type of nervousness enter your system. It was time for Neil to see you dance. You would also see him for the first time since the kiss. It was high time someone covered this topic on wikiHow. Or, at least, you thought so.

***

Although the Royal Ballet had more than good enough facilities at the Covent Garden building, the company could also use a studio by the Southwark Underground Station whenever you felt like it. Conveniently, that alternative place was open till midnight on weeknights, offering a one-in-a-million chance to run over the choreography for a billion times more before the pre-premiere. Without an audience of your fellow ballet dancers and their critical eyes, at that.

The other perk to the external studio was that nothing stopped you from bringing someone from the outside along. Nothing except for maybe the deeply rooted fear of showing Neil what you could do. Or couldn’t do.

That fear had not left through the Uber drive from your flat, growing in force from the moment you set your eyes upon Neil waiting outside the studio with a smile on his face. You exchanged the usual niceties, bypassing the awkward tint to the interaction with an avoided hug and nonsensical commentary from your side.

The nerves seemed to reach the peak as you left Neil in the main ballet studio room, the space lit up sparsely to maintain the strangely surreal atmosphere of those late autumn nights in London when nothing seems to be tangible and real. Having left the house in a pre-planned rehearsal outfit, you only took off the unnecessary layers, leaving you in a simple bodice and a wrap mid-thigh skirt and pulled on the woollen leg warmers to keep the chill at bay.

Luckily for your racing heart, the ritual of putting on and lacing up the pointe shoes always did its magic, allowing you to centre yourself and take a couple of deep breaths. Until there was nothing left but to march out of the changing room and connect your phone to the speaker, the right track ready for you to press play.

But before you could go that far, you made the mistake of locating Neil in the room. He had settled on the floor opposite you, his back pressed to the mirror-covered walls of the studio. He stared as you entered the invisible stage and offered you an encouraging smile. A slow, gentle warm-up was a valid opportunity to falter. A necessary step you had to take while also admitting that it was convenient. Although, Neil’s attentive gaze following your every move was much less convenient.

Once you had run out of all other options, you started the music, put down the phone and took up position. Desperate to rehearse as much as possible, you chose to go through the entire dream sequence at the end of Act 2. As always, the Minkus score did its magic, helping you settle into the movement and almost forget about everything else.

You followed the steps with practised ease, hearing the dull thud of pointe shoes hitting the hardwood floors with each landing between the orchestral notes. When the cue to finish was near you were almost out of breath. The pearls of sweat clung to your temples as the sweetness of exertion burned through your muscles and tendons. When those final notes rang off in the quiet studio, you held the finishing pose and waited for the music to end. The resulting silence was deafening.

Slowly, as if pained to do it, you opened your eyes. Neil was right where you had left him; his gaze seemingly never trailed away. But the exact look on his face was different. Instead of the ease and unbothered nonchalance he tried to emit earlier, Neil was now speechless. Dazed. His mouth was still agape, and he had to remind himself to close it before swallowing hard. You tried your hardest not to let that get into your head. You failed.

“So… what do you think?” unable to keep quiet for much longer, you released the question into the ether with a permanent frown and a minimal level of conviction.

It seemed to be what Neil needed to wake up from the stupor. He shifted, pulled up his knees to his chin and eyed you with a bright gaze. The desire to look away rose with every minute, but you tried to endure it. Somehow.

“You’re brilliant. Do you know that?” the matter-of-fact tone threw you off kilter, bringing out an automatic (albeit manic) grin from its hiding back onto your face.

Neil mirrored the expression instantly, only widening your smile in the process. Feeling the need to move again, you flexed your calves, completing a set of rapid changements. Only once that was done you could attempt to answer the question.

“Maybe,” you shrugged, unwilling to stray onto that sort of honest territory just yet, “It doesn’t hurt to hear it again, though,” unable to ignore that one voice at the back of your head that had not been convinced, you asked, “Was it actually… good?” the emphasis on the word was automatic.

You could tell Neil saw right through your faux nonchalance as he smiled, a different type of fondness shining in his eyes. That, too, was best left alone for now. The observation was shelved among others of its kind in the darkest cavern of your brain. Ideally left alone for good, never to be touched or thought of again. Just in case.

Neil’s gaze never strayed from yours as he offered you an answer without a hint of exasperation:

“As far as my virgin eyes could tell, it was perfect,” the corner of his mouth rose in the makings of a familiar smirk.

It eradicated any illusions that he did not know what he was saying. Or the effect the sentence would have. You closed your eyes against the sight, hopelessly willing the inconvenient feelings to disappear.

By now, it was painfully clear that Neil could be a bastard when he wanted to. It was just another thing that you liked about him. Perhaps too much.

For a second, you debated following the easy way out he had offered. It would have been effortless to take up the tone and turn the conversation into yet another pleasant back-and-forth that could potentially lead you past the talking. Past that one kiss, that had lowkey driven you insane with the promise of potential.

But the doubts were still there. They still clouded your mind like a flock of hungry birds of prey hunting for a bite of flesh. And Neil was the only person you could talk to and know he would listen. That he would care. For some reason, it was a crucial thing to share. An important topic to raise. Here and now.

“Allow me to ignore that double entendre potential for a second,” your apologetic frown was accepted with a subtle nod and meaningful glance.

“You’re excused, Cupid,” Neil grinned, evidently taking pleasure from the nickname you became fond of.

Especially because it was him, who bestowed it on you.

“Thank you,” shaking off the sudden rush of affection, you completed the gratitude with a cheeky addition, returning Neil’s smirk, “Sir,” only once noted his answering blush, it was safe to delve into what you really wanted to tell him. You took a deep breath, completing half a pirouette to face the mirrors on the wall and asked, “Do you ever feel like you’re just constantly pretending? Like the whole ‘fake it till you make it’ deal, except you never stop faking it?” training your gaze on the hardwood floors, you stared at the tips of your pointe shoes.

The worn-out, ragged edges caught your attention for a split second. You took a mental note to break in the brand-new pair and prepare them for tomorrow’s show. On the periphery of your vision, you could see Neil’s reflection. You could feel him staring, the intense gazing boring holes in the back of your head. But not even that could make you turn and face him.

“Pretty much every day,” Neil’s reply made you look up, meeting his eyes in the reflection. That was not an answer you had expected, “I’ve found that sometimes, if you’re lucky, all that pretending can fool the brain, too,” he signed off the addition with another reassuring smile.

Still, the scepticism reigned free as an unbidden scoff tore from your throat, forcing you to swallow down the sudden desire to retreat from the conversation. Years of practice did not seem to share Neil’s thesis. Things never got easier. You doubted they ever would.

“I’d hope so. Except that, I’m not sure I am that lucky,” that was a given, an undeniable fact of life like the laws of physics or the ignorance of the Tories. Unchangeable. The familiar wave of frustration threatened to pull you down as you allowed the insecurities to speak their part,“I may appear as a fucking cool cat, confident and all, but… I’m not,” hearing the broken note in your voice, you swallowed hard, unable to look at Neil anymore. There was only one final thing to add, “And I wish I could be,”

There. The curtain has fallen, revealing the truth underneath. Now, it was clear Neil had no illusions left about you. No reason to think of you highly. Somehow, you felt lighter. Sure, still unable to meet his gaze, even in the reflection, but it was better that way. Now, when you did disappoint him somewhere along the line, for whatever reason, it would be much less surprising.

You had no doubts whether that moment of disappointment would happen. It always did.

“You have every right to be. Because you are” when Neil spoke, at first, you did not register it. His words flew right over your head before being caught by your heart, desperate to find anything to hold on to. Only then did you hear what he said. You looked up in time to see the remains of the fading blush on his cheeks, “If that even makes sense,” he shook his head slightly as if scolding himself over the awkward reassurance and stood up. The tense shoulders betrayed the lightness he still tried to emit, “Trust me when I say I feel useless and stupid every minute of every day,” the weariness in his voice clashed with the disbelief you felt when hearing what he said.

That made no sense. The turmoil made you turn around in a half-pirouette and face Neil with wide eyes and mouth agape. Your brain was experiencing severe computing issues, the smoke almost sizzling out through your open lips.

He was none of those things. You barely resisted the urge to close the miles between you and shake him by the shoulders, all the while screaming at him to stop saying such bullshit. You did not do any of those things.

“But you’re… you,” instead, you gestured vaguely towards him, armed with words that were not enough.

No words seemed to be apt to describe him. Neil was just… impossible. Ineffable in his wonderfulness. Much better than anyone you had ever known. But that was something you could not say. Not now.

“In my books, that’s not necessarily a good thing,” Neil glanced at you with tired eyes, kicking around at nothing as he slid across the parquet in his socks.

When you entered the studio, he started unlacing his shoes before you could protest. Said something about not wanting the cleaner to have more work. The comment made you smile too brightly before you excused yourself into the changing room and hid your face in the palms of your hands. That state didn’t seem to have passed.

In an effort not to do anything stupid, you backed away till you could feel the barre against your back. Only then you met his searching gaze and made sure to show Neil the extent of earnestness on your face:

“It is. I’ve never met anyone like you, Neil,” the admission was met with a surprised double-take, so you decided to soften the tone with a stupid addition, “The hottest priest in London and whatnot,” you did mean that one, too.

Neil’s huff of laughter felt like a dodged bullet.

“Funny,” the bright sparks in his eyes confirmed the praise with doubled force, making you turn back towards the mirror to avoid being blinded by the strength of his affection. That stuff could be dangerous, “You’re the hottest ballerina in London, so we’re even,” once you registered Neil’s words, the silky tone of his voice that had not been there just a second ago, you knew that trouble was coming.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see him close the gap. The warmth settled in your cheeks as you felt the comfortable heat spread around your body. That pleasant anticipation ignited in your bones with every step Neil took. Somewhere, at the edges of reason and logic, you knew you still had a choice. You knew that whatever he had envisioned in his mind, could easily be stopped with one word from your side. What was the problem?

Mainly that you didn’t want him to stop. Did not want to cut short the moment slowly blooming into something crucial. You could feel it buzz beneath your skin as Neil took the final steps towards you and leaned in. His hands came to rest upon the barre, millimetres from yours. Not quite touching but enough so you could not ignore his presence. You could feel the heat from his body as Neil pressed his chest to your back and whispered into your ear:

“A cool cat,” in normal circumstances, the call-back to your rant would have made you laugh.

But those weren’t normal circumstances. Not with Neil’s proximity, his hands slowly tracing invisible lines up your arms. You could feel his breath on the nape of your neck, creating goosebumps effortlessly. And the thing was – this wasn’t anything new. It was far from the first time someone had done this. Far from the first time you had been tempted by someone who desired you. But it was the first time they seemed to take their time for it.

Your head felt dizzy with the revelation as Neil’s fingers lightly brushed the neckline of your bodice and journeyed down. It was a first in the fact that he did not even try touching your breasts, instead respectfully settling over your ribs and tapping a vague rhythm over your heated skin. Without searching your heart, you knew that you did not mind it. Not one bit.

You covered one of his palms with yours, firmly pressing it against your waist and raised your head to seek Neil’s gaze. He was already looking back at you, the blue eyes of his eyes dark and consumed with something you wanted to call hunger. The same feeling could be easily found on your face.

“Are you trying to seduce me?” you frowned at the hoarseness of your voice and the breathless tint to the question.

For the first time, it was impossible to fake your reaction. Impossible to pretend you were not affected. Neil’s answering smile, full of confidence and mischief, made that discovery seem fine. Not troubling at all.

“Is it working?” the warmth in his eyes made you feel safe, not threatened by the potential of what could happen.

Not viable to the pains of consequences. That seemed enough.

Enough to make you gently tug at his hand, asking for the freedom of movement to turn around and face him. Only then, with Neil’s curious gaze beaming down on you like a desirable spotlight, you placed his palm back on your waist and offered an honest reply:

“I think you already know,” as proof, you picked up his other hand and guided it to press against your chest, feeling the rapid heartbeat.

The wolfish grin you received in return was worth any leftover sense of shame and embarrassment. Neil leaned in, and just as you were about to close your eyes, awaiting another life-changing kiss, he left a promising peck on the edge of your jaw. On its own accord, your hand tightened over the wooden railing as you exposed your throat for his use.

Neil wasted no time leaving a trail of kisses down the slope of your neck, only just being careful enough not to leave marks. Each kiss felt like a hot poker pressed against the tender skin of your neck, blazing hot and impossible to shake off. You closed your eyes, letting the sense take in the sensation of his tender care. Of the contrasting burn of stubble, scratching at your skin with a delicious sting.

Every kiss took time, only then to be sealed with a lick of his tongue, eliciting your quiet gasps and barely kept in groans of pleasure. The wave of insanity rose, threatening to take over your brain, save for one consistent thought. One revelation.

No one had cared this much before.

Letting go of his hand, you tangled your fingers in his golden strands, lightly tugging to gain his attention. The answering groan was sure to enter the library of sounds and images you liked to relieve in private. But before you could attempt to formulate the desire painted across your face, the door to the studio creaked, disrupting the silence.

You gasped in shock as Neil took half a step back, warily eyeing the doorway. A thousand curses lodged themselves in your throat as a silhouette of an older man, armed with a bucket and a mop, peered inside the room with a scowl. Fucking Rich, the Janitor.

The older man scanned you both from head to toe and sighed.

“It’s closing time, kids. Go home,” his gravelly voice acted like the much-needed bucket of cold water.

As he turned back towards the darkness of the corridor, you met Neil’s eyes. The depths of exasperation visible there told you this business was far from over. You certainly hoped so.

[heyidkyay]

Just wondering if you would ever consider writing a Matty fic where he falls in love with a fan in the audience of a show? Maybe he writes songs about it all? It’s very cliche but man does it pull on my heart strings, the Cinderella of it all. Getting swept up into his life like that would be so romantic.

Tag along |

Part one

Strayed a little but it’s still very much fluff filled, maybe not what you’d first expect? Idk, that sounds strange but I hope you enjoy it anyway! Thank you for the prompt!<3

Part Two

--

It was official. 

After days of relentless pleading and having been so blatantly coerced into it by my mum and younger sister, I’d finally relented and given in to attending the concert. And I sort of hated myself for it. Strange, I know, but now I had no choice but to see some fuck-off band- I’d never even heard of- with my teenage sister and her best mate, who were practically mad about them. 

I mean, I love the girls, I truly do. With all my heart. But having to spend an entire evening with them, surrounded by a thousand other screaming fans, just wasn’t something I was looking too forward to.

And who could honestly blame me? 

You see, it had all begun earlier that same week. I’d been on my lunch break, grateful to have just a minute to myself, when my mum had called. We’d gone through the motions, happy to catch up; she told me the gossip whirling round back home (next door were back to rowing again and Tracey in the post office had fallen pregnant for the seventh time); she’d asked after me, like she always did, questioned if I was eating enough, sleeping alright, if I’d met anyone new…

My mum and I had always been pretty close. She’d had me young, I was her first baby- something she never failed to remind me of- and we’d sort of grown up together. Seeing as how my father (nickname: The Sperm-Doner- yes, the caps were necessary) had gone and fallen into all kinds of shit and ultimately decided to fuck off when things had gotten too real. She was my rock, the one person I could count on to defend my corner, and always believed in everything I ever set my mind to.

It had been hard on the both of us when I’d left home, especially seeing as I was now a couple dozen cities away. But life continued on and we adapted, I went back to visit as much as I possibly could, and called whenever I had the time. Even though in moments when all I really needed was a good hug from her, it was easy to remember what I was doing this all for, and that my family was only a train journey away. They were a constant, even if they lived a couple hundred miles from me.

So she had phoned, I’d immediately noticed the stress which underlined her tone and I’d asked what was up. She’d danced around the topic as much as she could- she hated asking for things, ‘that’s my job,’ she liked to reiterate whenever something occurred and I tried to help out. But I’d dragged it out of her in the end. And oh how I now wished that I’d just left it.

Because here I was, stood in the freezing cold, outside of the O2 arena, in a line full of a couple hundred other excited fans who were all waiting eagerly for the gates to open. 

The two girls were squirming beside me, so ecstatic you’d have thought that I’d gone and laced their drinks with something other than sugar, jumping all about the place whilst they squealed to one another in such a high pitched tone that anyone else would’ve believed that they were conversing in another language all together. 

It was amusing to a point, because I could honestly recall the same euphoric high I’d felt when I’d finally gotten tickets to an Arctic Monkeys gig almost a decade ago now. 

Internally I winced as the memory drifted to the forefront of my mind, feeling far too old for my twenty-three years.

But I could also admit that I was honestly in a tad bit of a mood, had been for the last half hour or so, because I truly fucking hated the cold. And right now? It was baltic and I was freezing my tits off. 

I’d already buried my face into the opening of the leather jacket I’d thrown on that morning and wrapped my arms around my torso to enclose some of my remaining heat, but it was of little use. I was still shivering away with a frown.

I’d gotten a couple of lingering looks whilst here, something I’d noticed but could’ve cared less about. It was far too cold to be stood about waiting in any sort of line, so they could all excuse me for not being overly delighted with the whole ordeal.

I sighed and peered down at my phone screen, glancing at the time, then double checked my pockets for the tickets I’d been handed on arrival and told to guard with my life. 

It was probably the twentieth time I’d done so, because who in their right mind would give me, of all people, something important to look after? I was the least irresponsible person I knew when it came to being organised. 

Because listen, I could get anywhere on time, I was insanely good at that- a job interview, an airport, a school play… But nine times out of ten, I’d almost always forget the one thing I’d needed most. My resume, everybody’s passports, the wig I’d worn one halloween and promised to my younger brother so that he could complete his costume in time for his class assembly…

Yeah, so I was a bit of a mess. But who wasn’t?

Albeit saying that, I had ultimately been the one to score these tickets. My mum and step-dad had gifted them to my younger sister as an early Christmas present after she’d literally begged for months on end during the lead up to the drop of the presale.

It had just been the three of us, all sat down in the family living room, back home up north, earlier this year. We’d counted down the minutes, a dozen devices in hand and at the ready, and it had been something short of a miracle, in all truth. 

The website had crashed a couple times, my step-dad’s phone had died, and then my laptop had quickly followed. The dog had knocked over a freshly made brew and almost pissed itself. And then the postman had scared the absolute life out of us when he’d knocked on the front door. 

So to say that we had all breathed in sudden relief when I’d loudly announced that I’d managed it, was a MASSIVE understatement.

Note. The worst part to seeing your favourite band live; Ticketmaster.

Even the thought of doing it again had me riddled with anxiety. I shivered involuntary, whether it was from the mere idea of it, or the cold, I’d never know.

But being stood here now, I was cursing myself for having been the one to officially bag the stupid things. I sighed inwardly, if only I wasn’t such a brilliant, caring and amazing older sister. But it was a hard life, I supposed. 

“I’m so excited!” My sister, Rosie, squealed, drawing me from my thoughts. She’d gripped onto Tea’s arm in her sudden bout of elation, and the two shared a maddening grin. The other girl didn’t seem to mind the tight grip her best friend held, and so I figured it was probably down to the anticipation of it all- or the fact that it was still so bloody cold.

The thing about Rosie and Tea was, they had been as thick as thieves for as long as I could remember. There’d never been one without the other, and so it was sweet to see the pair looking so forward to something like this, something which they both shared such an obvious love for. 

“I know!” Tea breathed dramatically, looking a little flushed, “I want to meet them so bad, it actually hurts.”

I fought the urge to roll my eyes at the pair, in good fun of course, because they were both so adorably obsessed. 

Oh, to be a teen again. 

“You two are really looking forward to this,” I commented with a light chuckle, watching on as the two girls danced around happily in the small section we’d claimed. “I just don’t get it.”

Once those words had left my lips, I instantly regretted it. Having been met with the deathly glare of two teenage girls was not something I’d offer up to just anyone. 

“Are you serious?” My sister outrightly demanded, staring up at me with a face of utter bewilderment. Scarily, she looked a lot like our mum in that moment. “They’re The 1975, Y/n. They’re- incredible! You must have heard at least one of their songs!”

Tea nodded her head alongside Rosie, bobbing up and down in agreement.

I simply shrugged at the pair of them, finding amusement in their infatuation. “Can’t say that I have, Ro.”

“But, Y/n/n, you love bands! Music in general- I’d bet my whole vinyl collection that you’ll love them too!” Rosie stressed, she then smiled brightly up at me when I merely quirked a brow in retort. I dug my hands deeper into my pockets.

“I like bands, yeah. Band’s like The Stone Roses, The Kooks, Joy Division… The type that make music for music’s sake, you know? Not the kind that strive to get on the top ten, babe.”

I shook my head fondly at the two. 

This band they were so enamoured by were probably just as decent as they claimed, and I could admit that simply because, well, they’d have to be to have all these crazy fans gathered in one place. But they just weren’t my cup of tea.

Ooh, talking of tea, I was proper gagging for one. I’d yet to have my daily fix, and after having been rudely rushed out of my flat early this morning, I’d been unable to stop off at any sort of coffee shop on the way over in fear of losing a spot in line.

The two teens rolled their eyes at me, and my forehead pinched when my sister pulled out a pair of headphones and all but shoved them into my ears. “Look, just listen, okay?”

I reeled back in alarm, having not expected the sudden ambush. “Christ, Ro!” I exclaimed, but the girl only huffed at me before turning to press play on her phone. She gave me a stern look. I relented.

At first, I couldn’t hear anything but the slow intro to an unfamiliar song- even with the swarm of fans gathered around me. But I continued to listen, honing in on the tempo and its melody. And as the song went on, I begun to understand why so many people enjoyed it. The lyrics, although a bit out there and entertainingly vulgar at parts, were smart and witty, they fell with the instrumental perfectly and the singer’s voice was pretty different to what I’d first expected. It made me want to really listen, to follow along, to understand the backstory.

Honestly, they weren’t half as terrible as I’d first believed. And once the outro had faded out, I actually felt a little conflicted. The song obviously had a much deeper meaning to it, but its instrumental made it so lively and energetic that I’d found myself bobbing along almost subconsciously. It was something I could see myself getting lost in, and I wondered whether or not they’d made anything more raw, or emotional.

The songwriter was definitely talented, I couldn’t deny that, they’d had gone through some shit, and I found myself longing to read deeper into their words.

“They’re sick, right?” 

The headphones being ripped out of my ears brought me back to the present and I blinked slowly at my sister’s question.

“Yeah.” I shrugged a shoulder, handing over the wire. “Yeah, they’re alright. Can sort of see why you two like them so much.”

I laughed to myself when the girls faces lit up. 

“They’re amazing! And you’ll so enjoy this show- as well as the boys! They’re proper nice deep down, like really care about us as fans and all that.” Tea encouraged, seemingly quite happy that I hadn’t just gone and shit all over her favourite band. 

“Yeah, they’re so lovely, Y/n!” Rosie added, eyes alive as she barrelled on to explain further, “There’s four of them, right? First, we have Adam, he plays the guitar mainly- blonde, tall, only one who’s started his own little family. And then there’s Ross and George-”

“Ross is on bass, long haired with a beard, whilst George plays the drums.” Tea weighed in, before Rosie was back to chattering away again.

I was honestly beginning to feel as though I was watching an extreme game of tennis with the way my attention kept batting back and forth between them.

“Tea’s obsessed with him.” Rosie felt the need to inform me, before her face immediately brightened, “Oh, and then there’s Matty of course!”

My sister was wearing one of the biggest grins I’d ever witnessed on any singular person and I snorted when Tea rolled her eyes and made a slight dig, “You can see who Ro’s claimed.”

“Hardy har.” Rosie deadpanned, jutting a light elbow into her friend’s side before she gave me a serious look, “I haven’t ‘claimed’ him. I just…”

“You just want to have his children. Yeah, I know, Rose. You never fail to not mention it.”

Rosie stuck her tongue out in retort whilst I tried to bite back my rising amusement when they continued to bicker. The two made a right pair.

“So, what’s this Matty like then?” I questioned, wanting to know a little bit more about the guy who’d caught my sister’s eye, but mainly just eager to poke a bit more fun at her. “Come on, what’s so great about him that you’ve gone and dubbed yourself a tribute to birth his prodigy spawn?”

The girls wrinkled their noses at me, Rosie’s upper lip curled in faint disgust. “Why’ve you gotta word it like that?” She scoffed, shaking her head at me.

I chuckled, shrugging a singular shoulder. “Because I live to annoy you. So, are you gonna tell me or do I have to ask about?”

I made the effort then to pretend as though I was about to disrupt the group behind us’s conversation, but the girls were quick to waylay me, jumping hastily to grab at my outstretched hand. I smirked.

“Stop it!” Rosie all but hissed, her worried eyes flicking back over towards the people beside us before falling on me again, this time they were slitted. “God, you’re so embarrassing.”

Me, embarrassing? Hah. She should be thankful that I knew when to stop. I could still vividly recall the days when my mum had attempted the same shit with me, except she’s the type to actually follow through, leaving her daughter to stand sheepishly behind her, internally cursing the day her mother had decided to forgo an abortion. Dark, yes, but I’d also been a hormonal fifteen year old girl, so sue me.

I rolled my eyes instead of voicing this though, knowing it would only go in one ear and out the other. And ultimately, my sister sighed allowing me to prompt her on further with the rise of my brows.

“Matty, he’s the frontman basically.” She said, back to talking with her hands, forgetting about the whole ordeal.

That made sense, I thought to myself, although I’d always been a drummer sort of girl. Helders, Taylor, Fleetwood, Bonham, Moretti… I could go on.

No honestly, I could, so I was just glad that Rosie chose that moment to stop me.

“He’s a proper performer, you know? Like he just belongs up there, on stage.” My sister breathed, and she wore the sweetest look of admiration on her face. “He’s got this mop of messy black curls and he’s covered in tattoos. Wears all this cool shit and he’s-”

“-also a bit of an arsehole.” Tea summarised for her, before Rosie could get too carried away. 

I blinked at my sister’s best friend in surprise, before a loud laugh bubbled out of me. 

In all the years I’d known this girl, this deceivingly sweet girl, not once- once, I stress!- had I ever heard something so shameless spill from out her mouth, and with the exasperated look she had paired with it, I couldn’t hold in my delight.

“Tea!” I exclaimed, and was so tickled to see the younger girl’s cheeks redden when she turned to give me a sheepish sort of smile. “How crass! I always thought it was Rosie who’d been the bad influence between the pair of you, but now I see quite a few secrets are coming to light tonight.”

Rosie snorted in reply, “She’s done worse. Trust me.”

Tea swatted at my sister’s arm upon hearing that, widening her eyes in a silent warning.

“Oh, come off it.” Rosie waved away with a roll of her eyes. “It’s just Y/n.”

I decided to leave off of the teasing, feeling a bit bad for embarrassing the younger girl. “Yeah, I’m just messing, lovie.” I told Tea with a soft smile as I draped an arm over her shoulders to draw her in for a hug. “You can relax, nothing that happens tonight will be getting back to your mum, alright?”

“Yeah, ‘cause we all know what she’s like.” Rosie tittered under her breath and I slapped lightly at her bicep to scold her. “What?” The girl exaggerated with a high-pitched drawl, rubbing at her arm with a narrowed eyed glare that was directed towards both Tea and I. “I was just saying! And what’s with you two and smacking me about today?”

Tea giggled and I squeezed her lightly before letting go.

“Don’t talk about things that have nothing to do with you.” I told my sister simply, “Freya’s a perfectly lovely woman, just a tad…”

“Insane?” Rosie offered, at the same time Tea said, “Extreme.”

“Eccentric- was what I was going to say.” I shook my head at the duo. “Honestly, the two of you.”

The girls only laughed. 

The line started to move a little while later, slowly mind, but it was a progress I was grateful to see. 

Anything to get out of this chilly wind in truth. 

And as we waddled along, the two teens I was with continued to speak of the band, trying to catch me up on anything and everything I’d missed before the show officially started.

Not that it helped at all. I was beyond crap when it came to things like that- recalling anything trivial- I could hardly even remember the band’s actual name and it was plastered practically everywhere around me. As well as this big box thing. 

I breathed out a loud sigh of relief when I realised that we were up next, and when we were signalled over towards the gates by one of the arenas guards I could see just how nervous Rosie and Tea had grown, giddy but mostly eager to just get inside. I couldn’t help the fond smile which limned my lips then, happy to see them so excited.

“You three.” A large man, branded in a security uniform, called, jerking his head over at us. I heard the girls take a deep breath as we approached and I quietly chuckled at them. “Tickets?” He stated. 

Oh shit, yeah. The tickets.

“Tickets…” I murmured quietly to myself, patting down my pockets to find them, “Tickets, tickets, tickets…”

I could feel the apprehension radiating off of my younger sister as I continued to riffle around for the poxy things, and so I flashed the bloke a wry smile before I started to unload the contents of my jacket pockets into both Rosie and Tea’s hands...

Gum, house keys, a stray tampon. Pack of haribo (because you never knew when you’d need those), ID, bank card, phone, charger. A few spare pound coins-

Oh God, that was where my Argos receipt had got to! I could finally return that shitty Nespresso machine my cousin and her fiancé had talked me into buying now.

I grinned in quiet victory whilst tucking the slip into the back pocket of my trousers.

“Y/n.” My sister stressed out in a hushed whisper, I just simply waved her off.

“They’re here somewhere. I felt them like, twenty minutes ago.” I assured her and- “Aha, told you! Three tickets, all here!”

I wore a triumphant grin when I held out the wrinkled papers towards the guard, who appeared to have been throughly amused by my prolonged charade. He took them from me to scan with a toothy smile.

“Oh cheer up, we’ll be in there in a sec.” I huffed at the girls, tucking all of my belongings back into their rightful place. Rosie didn’t look too cheerful though, but I could see that Tea’s lips had started to twitch, so I have her a conspiratorial wink in turn. Then glanced back towards the bloke, “We all good here?”

“Yeah, all good, love.” He exhaled on a faint chuckle, waving us in through the barrier without further issue. “You girls enjoy your night.”

“We will!” I promised, gifting him a gleeful smile, “You too- hope you don’t have to spend too much longer out in that cold!”

He just nodded at me, still looking rather entertained by all our antics.

“So embarrassing.” My sister felt the need to reiterate as we wondered further into the arena, practically growling.

“Oh, loosen up, would you? He was proper nice about it all. Fit too, don’t you think?” I said, glancing back over my shoulder.

But Rosie just rolled her eyes at me. Fed up, I was about to bite back at her when Tea’s unexpected gasp broke us from our little quarrel.

“Oh my god. They have the limited edition LP!”

Rosie’s eyes widened dramatically and before I knew it the two were scurrying away from me and over towards the merch stand. I sighed to myself and glanced about, hoping to see a sign that would lead me to where the bar might be.

—

We were here. In the middle of a fucking mass of people, but we’d actually done it. We’d finally managed to swindle our way near the front of standing, practically touching the barriers, even after having loaded up on snacks and drinks- mine mostly alcoholic.

The girls were buzzing. Looking all cute and excited in the outfits they’d planned months in advance, singing along to the set that was playing through the speakers to keep the crowd entertained before things begun.

And me? I was getting swept up in the atmosphere. Unable to believe that I’d almost forgotten how good it all felt. Because live music was truly unmatched.

There was just something about the heavy thud you felt in your veins, how being this close to the amps could make your chest ache in the very best way, and how’d you’d have to scream just to be heard over all the noise whilst you got lost in an avalanche of happy people. 

It really had been too long.

I was already a fair few drinks in by the time the opening act came out, and was chatting away to the couple crowded beside us. They were both a year older than me and studying down in Bournemouth. They’d bought their tickets off of a mate, who hadn’t been able to make it, on a whim when they’d had the cash to spare, and had decided to make a weekend out of it. 

We’d actually only gotten to talking when they’d almost sloshed a canned cocktail all down my back. 

I’d been startled at first, rightfully so, as this giant of a man had all but stumbled right into me, eyes as wide as saucers. His boyfriend had come to his rescue though, offered me up one in apology, and who would I have been to deny? 

So I’d cracked it open, found myself pleasantly surprised by the taste, and one thing had quickly led to another and they’d ended up letting me share the bagged vodka they’d also managed to smuggle into the stadium in the bands of their socks.

To say that I’d been impressed wouldn’t have been a lie, I sort of felt like I’d found my people in truth. Because the price of alcohol at these kind of events was always extortionate. Practically daylight robbery, there was no other way about it.

And my bank account had taken quite the hit from the first trip to the stands alone. And with two teenage girls, who could care less about money unless it was their own, I’d almost wanted to shed a tear when I’d handed over my card to the boy behind the till- he’d sympathised with me, I’d seen it in his eyes as he wished us a good time.

So here I now was, pissing it up in the pit with a bunch of strangers, a medical bag full of spirits clutched tightly in one hand. 

“Oh, God! Y/n, Y/n! It’s starting!”

I turned away from one of the boys to glance back towards my sister, who was staring up at the stage with this starry eyed expression, Tea was right beside her wearing the exact same face. I chuckled beneath my breath.

“You girls ever been to a show before?” Lewis, one half of the couple I’d met earlier, asked Rosie.

My sister shook her head at his question whilst the screens above us begun to distort and screams overwhelmed the arena. Lewis merely chuckled at Rosie's nonverbal reply, she only had eyes for the stage it seemed. 

“It’s her first gig ever. She’s been dying to see these lot for years.” I answered for her, leaning in close so that he could hear.

I saw his eyebrows lift at the information before he was grinning against my ear. “She’ll never want to see anyone else after this!”

My forehead pinched, silently questioning his statement, but just laughed it off when a row of boxes flashed brightly above us.

Lewis and I separated on cue, just as the world around us hushed for a split second and the sudden intro of a loud guitar pierced the veil.

“Please welcome, my favourite band, The 1975!” A voice then announced and I looked up, right into the eyes of a man who’d seemingly taken claim of the stage.

His smile was wide, unmatched, as he pranced up and down the front, his hair a mess of curls as a set of drums picked up the pace of the opening beat. I had to be reminded to close my gawping mouth.

Who the fuck’s that?

And I must’ve said it out loud, because I heard Lewis snort obnoxiously from right beside me, continuing to sing away whilst the girls immediately turned towards me to shout, “Matty!”

Shockingly, their loud exclamation also managed to garner the attention of the man himself when he danced by, and I watched on as the dark-haired frontman smiled down at Rosie and Tea. Waving hello. 

I was caught by utter surprise when I then found myself trapped in his heady gaze, still giggling away at the girls' hysterical reactions. 

Okay. Before I continue on, I truly am putting this all down to the alcohol that was streaming through my system, because it was then that Matty appeared to pause before me for the briefest of moments. 

And I didn’t dare look away. I couldn’t. 

He smirked down at me, eyes so observant, and I found myself shaking my head at him with a smile of my own. But sadly he only left me with a sly wink as he traipsed away to sing out into the rest of the audience.

Rosie and Tea had squealed beside me, excited to have captured the singer's focus, whilst I tried to catch my breath.

The show continued on after that and I allowed myself to relax and get lost in the people, their heat, the music. I danced, the girls and I swayed, twirling about, Lewis and I laughed, and I even managed to sing along to a couple of songs I sort of recognised. 

The current one came to an end though soon enough, and Rosie informed me with a glossy eyed smile and smudged liner that the last song was fast approaching, whilst Tea just pulled out her phone to record again. 

I nodded at my sister, squeezing her close before she pivoted away back towards her best mate, leaving me to sip at the drink I’d been trying not to spill all down myself due to the constant shoving and pushing.

Minutes went by and Matty engaged with the burly bloke on bass- whose hair I found I’d rather like to touch (because honestly, how did he get it so glossy?). Before he continued on, pointing out signs here and there, and sparking up another massive round of cheers by vocalising the inner workings of his mind, which was something he supposedly did quite often. Enough for the rest of the band to begin playing again only to shut him up. That had made me giggle. 

Dozens of faces passed over the main screen, most of them beaming, or crying, there wasn’t much of an inbetween. And Matty interacted with them all, grinning and joking in such a way that only screamed sincerity.

The shouts around us only started to double then when he made his way over to our section, and even my own heartbeat sped up as I watched his eyes drag over the absurdly large crowd. He was unfairly attractive, okay? I could easily see why my sister had taken such a shine to him.

He was smiling and my pulse stuttered then stopped altogether when Matty paused right by us, to look me directly in the eye, his eyebrows drawn tightly together.

“Alright, darling? Having a good night?” He quizzed me, the sudden weight of his attention making me jump even though the surrounding screams had yet to cease. “What’s in the bag?”

I glanced down at the liquid filled bag I was still holding, gaze drifting to Lewis for a split second before it darted back up towards the singer. “Vodka.” I told him before I could think better of it.

The sound Matty produced then was almost inhuman and I was actually quite proud of myself for having been the cause of it.

“Definitely snuck that in.” He accused, quieter this time around and with a growing smile. The audience laughed.

Rosie and Tea spun around to face me, huge smiles threatening to split their faces in half, as my brows pinched.

“Way to out me to an entire arena!” I instantly called back, ducking slightly to avoid the eyes of the hefty security man stood on the other side of the barricade. Matty’s cackle echoed out around me, coming from all directions.

“Oi, mate! Escort her out, will you?” Matty ordered, nodding down at the same man I’d previously noticed. “Ruining it for everyone.”

I gaped, eyes widening in sudden alarm whilst he just shook his head at me, feigning disappointment.

Thankfully though the singer was quick to go back on his word, waving the guard (who had actually begun to MOVE) off with a sway of his hand and a thoroughly amused grin.

Fuck, this man was really going to be the death of me, I thought. 

I willed my racing heart to slow.

“I’m just joking, love.” Matty reassured me, eyes twinkling under the array of lights. “Spotted you a couple times tonight, actually. Like to stand out, don’t you?”

It didn’t sound like much of a question.

“Might do.”

I could physically feel my brain struggling to make my mouth cooperate, and I figured I might’ve drunk a tad too much, because I usually wasn’t this tactless. Which was how I managed to surprise even myself with the next sentence I fired back.

“Or maybe it’s just you.”

“Just me?” Matty queried with a tilt of his head, and he squatted down then, bouncing on the balls of his feet for a moment before he took perch on the side of the stage. “What do you mean?”

“You’re the one who spotted me.” I retorted with a smug smile, raising my voice to be heard. “I’m just one face in a thousand. Nothing I did.”

He hummed, mouth quirked to one side. “So this is all on me then?”

I shrugged casually, but my mind was reeling.

Matty laughed before he motioned me closer. “Here’re.” He prompted, jutting his chin out and willing the crowd to woefully part. “Come on, let her through. Let her through.”

I frowned but did as I was told, slipping my way past the few who had actually managed to claim the metal fence before us, quirking a confused brow up at him.

He towered above me, even from where he was seated on the stage, and I willed back my shock when he proceeded to jump down from off his perch and approach me. My heart hammered and a lump formed in my throat.

“Have you got a favourite song of ours?” He asked and I actually felt how embarrassed I must have looked in that moment, gifting the singer a sheepish smile before I quietly informed him that I didn't have one.

His head jerked back, “What do you mean, you don’t have one?”

The sudden crow of Rosie's voice sounded above the rest of the buzzing noise then and I was unsure on whether or not to be grateful for it.

“She’d never heard any of them before tonight!”

I grimaced slightly from behind the hand that had come up to hide my face, silently hoping for the ground to just open up and swallow me whole. I could feel the heat radiating in my cheeks and the tips of my ears, knowing full well that Tea was definitely recording every inch of this mortifying moment.

“Oh, so we have a fake fan within our midsts?” Matty voiced and it was full of mirth, he found pleasure in his teasing. 

A soft brush touched my skin and before I even knew what was occurring my hand was being pried away from my flushed cheeks by the singer himself, who looked me dead in the eye and had the utter nerve to wear the most devastating grin.

“Is this all part of your plan? Lure me in and then break my heart. How’re you at my gig, after never having heard a single one of our songs?”

“I’ve heard a few!”

But my attempt to defend myself was waylaid, it seemed Matty had other ideas.

The frontman nodded over towards Rosie, who blanched under his gaze. “Go on. Tell me more. What’s her motive here?”

I watched on as Tea nudged my younger sister into talking, Rosie too shellshocked to remember that she had the biggest gob I’d known to man.

“Um,” My sister startled, blinking away before she took a deep breath, “I dragged her along tonight. Me and my friend, we’re huge fans!”

“Lovely to meet you. Glad you could make it- only wish you’d made a listener out of this one beforehand!”

“We’ve tried!” Rosie exclaimed with an exasperated sigh that had me rolling my eyes. It appeared as though she'd reverted back to her usual self, despite being under the gaze of her favourite person in the entire world. Yes, you could be assured that that was an actual quote.

“Oh it’s like that is it?” Matty asked, peering down at me. I couldn’t tear my gaze away, his brown eyes smudged with kohl making them that much more enticing.

His attention differed then, flitting back towards my sister.

“She seemed to be enjoying the set whenever I looked over though, so what happened?”

“She’s stubborn!” Rosie shouted back, and I could hear her muffled laughter through the crowd, probably upon seeing me so put out.

“Stubborn, are we?” Matty smirked, and his lips were by my ear before I knew any better, his mic long forgotten. “I like a challenge.”

And then he was gone, back to wooing the crowd and making the most of having all this attention.

I let myself slip back into the seams, breathing heavily as my sister and Tea joggled me about, Lewis and his boyfriend beaming madly from ear to ear. I tried to focus.

What had just happened?

Part Two>

[bubblegum-glitch]

The Lines We Won't Cross and How They Change

Let's rewind time a little bit, back to the year 2011. I had joined this little website called tumblr and had made an acquaintance whose confidence would begin to inspire me to branch out and try all kinds of things I never could have seen myself doing before that point in my life. I began recording and publishing vocal covers to YouTube, I started showing off my artwork publicly, and I even posted a single topless photo of myself online - all because I couldn't stop comparing myself to this random fucking girl. If she could do it, so could I...

But I was determined that I could do it better.

The "relationship" I built with this online stranger is a little odd, and probably would throw up several red flags for some people. I can't explain why I felt such a strong sense of rivalry between us, and I know she never felt the same, but there was just something about my interactions with this person that made me want to always do better than her, even to this day (even though I'm 100% sure she doesn't even remember who I am).

Creepy? Weird? Stalker-y? I dunno. Probably. Harmless? Absolutely. All I can say is she is the one who ultimately introduced me to the world of "Topless Tuesdays" and the alternative modelling site "SuicideGirls."

She had posted a set to SuicideGirls as a hopeful, and being in full rival mode at the time I had considered doing the same. Ultimately I decided against it however, as the fear of any member of my family every finding out gave me far too much anxiety to overcome (hold this thought). Not to mention I couldn't bring myself to believe I was "pretty enough" to succeed.

I often wonder what would have come of that if I had ever gone ahead with that hopeful photo-set submission.

But I digress.

Let's jump ahead in the timeline to around 2017/2018 (I can't quite remember when). I had a case of the retail woes, a certificate in photography, and a foolish idea to escape the Hellscape that is customer service once and for all. The internet had informed me that feet pics were in and there was mountains of cash just waiting for me, all I had to do was step on a twinkie or two.

Long story short (or short story shorter) I failed in this business venture pretty much immediately. It's harder than you think to market and sell pictures of your tootsies.

Now, let's spin back a bit to where I mentioned my fear of my family discovering my nudity online. This is a topic I will address a bit more in a future post, but I will let you know now that although my parents do try their best to steer more towards the life of liberal boomers, they are still very uncertain of LGBTQA+ topics and VERY against sex work. I have built a strong and close relationship with my mother, but if she ever discovered what I've begun doing for work I believe it would ruin all of what we have.

Early in 2023 I began weighing that fear of my family discovering me against the possibility of actually making a living wage by taking my shirt off for strangers online. After many discussions with my husband (who has been fully supportive since day one) and a long time of back and forth with my decision, I finally decided to give OnlyFans a try.

Originally I had no intentions of posting more than some topless photos. I used what I knew about photography, photo editing, and makeup to my advantage to create some high quality, if a little bit minimal, content. Upon seeing there was some interest, but being unable to hold the attention of anyone for long, I decided to step over that initial line I had drawn for myself and posted some full nudes. Immediately I started seeing a positive response and suddenly I had a little extra spending money.

At that time I said that this was as far as I was willing to go. Excuse my vulgarity here but I had no intentions of doing pussy pics or spreading my asshole. Tasteful nudes, and no farther.

I stuck to that line for about a year, until the inevitable "Fuck it" moment I previously posted about occurred in July of 2024. I stepped over the line again and started posting some more risque content at a premium rate. It was then that my OnlyFans really started to take off and I was seeing actual financial gain in response.

Once more I drew a new line for myself that I swore I would not cross. Absolutely no video content.

But then I couldn't stop considering making that video content. I would think about it so often that I actually began frequently dreaming about creating pornographic films.

So once again I turned to my partner and we discussed the pros and cons, and eventually I decided to dip a toe over the edge and get a sense of the temperature of the deep end.

Admittedly, that first masturbation video I made embarrassed the fuck out of me. I felt exposed, I felt ugly, and I felt very stupid. But then the response to it came.

"I love this."

"That was so hot."

"You're so gorgeous."

"More, please."

So I decided to try again, and again, and then suddenly I fucking LOVED making the videos. The sense of empowerment, the ego boost - It gives me this absolute sense of control. Something I have been missing in every single career I've ever had in my life.

It was about the third video that I realized "This is it. This is exactly what I want to keep doing with my life for the next several years."

But this is the point where I want to say this to anyone reading my blog who is considering this vocation as a future (or even current) option:

Set your rules early. Understand what you do and do not feel comfortable doing, and express that to your followers. You NEVER have to do anything that you are not comfortable with, even if it's what people are trying to push you to do. At the end of the day it is about your level of comfort, not their level of enjoyment. Set the line you will not cross and do not cross it unless YOU want to. You might have to work a little harder to build a community, but you can get there.

I still have multiple things I will not do, some of which I will likely never do, and others I might be open to one day exploring.

There is no timeline in existence where I will ever be comfortable sexting someone. I'm not even comfortable doing that with my own husband. It's just not for me.

I will not do the dom/sub stuff.

BDSM - Yeah, not happening.

Fetish content - It depends, I have no problem sitting on a cake and giving my husband a foot job, but most Fetish content is a nope from me.

Threesomes? Absolutely not.

Meetups? Hell to the fucking no. My husband is the only person I'm sleeping with and I'm firm on that, thank you.

In this industry you are the boss. What you say goes and your followers can either take what you're giving and appreciate what you do, or they can pack up and find someone else to pester with their more extreme requests.

Who you are and what your destiny is belongs to you and only you. Don't let anyone convince you to change if that's not what you want to do.

Never be afraid to say no.

---

As a side note before I close out this entry, I've opened up an Askfm account so you can ask me anything anonymously. It can be about me, about my journey, or even just general advice for starting work in this industry. I'm by no means an expert, but if I can offer some insight to help you out I would be honoured to do so!

[bumblesimagines]

Under The Moonlight

Part 12

Request: Yes or No

~~~

Part of (Y/N) wanted to go leave right then and there. Head out of Novgorod, find a boat, and sail back to Greenland and into the warm embrace of home. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. Partly because he wasn't nearly as good a captain as Leif. His brother knew all the cues, all the signs. He could sail across open ocean for days and still be confident he was going in the right direction even when all that surrounded him was water. It was expected of Leif. He'd been a natural since the day he stepped on a boat and took an oar in his hands. (Y/N) could row and follow directions, but sailing alone or with a crew of strangers? He'd rather face Jarl Kåre. 

(Y/N) couldn't deny the other reason his feet refused to guide him beyond the walls of Novgorod. Harald Sigurdsson. That damned charming prince. Harald was a fool, (Y/N) knew that. He was a gorgeous stubborn fool who dreamt of things beyond his reach. A fool who liked having his arms around (Y/N). A fool who'd giggle sheepishly when he told tales of his childhood in Norway. A smug fool who considered his sword another limb, swinging it around effortlessly. A smooth-talker who charmed anyone who came across him. While (Y/N) enjoyed the flirting and attention from Harald, he enjoyed the vulnerable moments. The moments when Harald would talk about his family, his brothers. The murmurs of his fears still swam around (Y/N)'s mind, and as much as he wanted to hate Harald, he couldn't. Harald Sigurdsson was a fool. But he was (Y/N)'s fool.

Staring forward at Harald, he watched the brunette heave his furs onto his new ship. Harald tied them down to the floor of the ship. His brows were slightly furrowed, forming wrinkles between them. His lips were curved downward and his eyes focused on the rope, experienced hands forming knots in the rope to keep the furs from skittering away. His movements would occasionally slow and his eyes would drift away from the furs and ropes, a sign that his thoughts had taken his attention away from the task at hand. But then he'd snap back and move quicker, more efficiently. 

"How are you and Harald?" 

"Gods, Leif!" (Y/N) flinched at the sound of his brother's voice right by his ear, snapping his head around to scowl at him. Leif snickered quietly at his reaction, rubbing the tip of his red nose with his hand to hide his amusement. (Y/N) noted how different Leif looked. He appeared more... alive. Less like a shell of a man walking around. His mind went back to the Opium, but Leif looked nothing like the sluggish men from the building. Licking his drying lips, (Y/N) forced away the possibility and shrugged at his question as they began to walk toward the boat.

"Things are..."

"Complicated?"

"Yes." (Y/N) tilted his head back to look over the ship. A light layer of ice covered the exterior, causing the wood to have a grayish color to it. The golden accents painted along the wood had begun to chip and fade, making the paint look pale rather than eye-catching. What were most likely once perfectly round circles, the holes where the oars went now took on different shapes. Like the other boats lined up, it sat on sleds meant to drag it along the ice until it made contact with water. The ladder, which Leif had decided to climb on, shook lightly with each movement. (Y/N) grimaced, setting his foot on the first step and listening to it groan beneath him. He had little faith in the rickety old thing.

"I hope you didn't spend all your money on this whale," Leif called out to Harald, hopping down from the ledge and inspecting the boat more closely. He tapped his foot on the wooden boards beneath him, checking for stability and rotten wood. Surprisingly, all the boards seemed sturdy enough. At least nobody would be getting their foot stuck in a hole.

"Don't insult my ship," Harald grunted, his breath visible from the temperature. He turned around and dusted off his gloves, pausing briefly when he noticed (Y/N) climbing onto the ship. The Greenlander averted his eyes, pretending to inspect the ship with his brother despite his known minimal knowledge. Frowning, Harald turned back around to tie down more furs. "I've grown attached to it."

"I can't lie about boats," Leif replied, placing his hands on his hips and turning to look at the prince once satisfied with the condition of the ship.

"And I have no patience for pessimists," Harald responded bitterly, glancing over his shoulder at (Y/N). Leif lifted his eyebrows and looked toward his brother, lifting his leg to lightly kick (Y/N)'s calve and nod toward Harald. Scoffing softly, the younger man crossed his arms over his chest and finally looked at the prince.

"Harald, we aren't here to convince you this quest is hopeless. We came to Novgorod to help you. Leif is ready to captain this ship wherever you want and I am here for whatever you need. We're not gonna let you do this alone because we care about you. But, if you do not want us here-"

"I do," Harald murmured, hands releasing the rope with a defeated sigh and head turning to look at them. "I do want you here. Both of you."

"Good." Leif smiled and Harald mustered a smile of his own in return. "Then, I need to know your plan."

"If we can make it to the Rus before the thaw, we can use the high water from the ice melt to carry us through the shallower rapids, avoiding the need to portage and the Pechenegs," Harald explained, his previous bitterness slipping away with the wind. With Leif's approval of his plan, Harald grinned widely and stood straighter.

"What about the crew? You know anyone desperate enough to join us?"

"I might," Harald smirked, motioning for them to follow him with a shake of his hand. He led the brothers off the boat and out of Novgorod to a small forested area near the mountains. He kept the information about the location vague, only grinning back at them when they asked who they were looking for. It took them a couple minutes before they spotted the two men. Kaysan and his partner.

Sliding his sword out of its sheath, Harald quietly walked forward. (Y/N) and Leif exchanged looks and got their weapons out as well, approaching the small camp from the side. The two were a far cry from their former selves in the tent. They almost appeared small, like frightened curled-up children. Harald seemed satisfied with their lack of riches, letting his boots crunch loudly against the snow to alert them.

"Too dangerous in Novgorod for you?" He called and the men scrambled to their feet. Kaysan reached for his weapon but the sight of Harald's sword made him hesitate. Instead, he lifted his hands and bowed his hand, glancing back at his fearful friend. Any arrogance or confidence had been cleanly wiped away when Leif had killed their other fighter. The men who stood before them were their true selves. Two con men who fled when consequences looked them in the eye.

"If you're here for your money, we do not have it." 

"I didn't come for your money," Harald revealed, lowering his blade. The two blinked at him in surprise. "I came to offer you both a job."

"Doing what?" Kaysan asked, eyes flickering over to the brothers and then down to their weapons.

"I'm taking a boat to Constantinople. I need men who can fight." Harald explained, watching as Kaysan looked back at his friend with a frown but he still searched his face for an answer. His friend shook his head lightly, glancing between the three men.

"That is not an easy journey."

"No one said it would be easy. But you'll be well-paid when we get there."

"And the Pechenegs? I mean, we were lucky to get past them once. I don't want to trust luck again." At his friend's words, Kaysan nodded in agreement and Harald hummed, looking back at the brothers and quirking a brow.

"Then I suggest you go back to Novgorod where your odds of success are... much better." Bait and lure. A favorite tactic of Harald's, and one that worked like a charm each and every time. The two men immediately tensed up, widened eyes glancing at each other before Kaysan stepped forward right as Harald went to turn around.

"Wait!" He called, swallowing thickly and giving a small nod. "We'll join you." 

Smirking, Harald shook hands with the two men. "What are your names?"

"I'm Kaysan. This is Batu." Kaysan nodded back to his friend. Batu seemed more hesitant to fight, given the fact he had instinctively ducked behind Kaysan and Kaysan had protectively moved in front of him when they had first appeared. Under a different light, both men seemed kinder. Less threatening. More human.

"Do you have a guide? Someone who knows the rivers?" Batu questioned, eyes squinting slightly as he looked between them.

"No. Do you know of one?"

Nodding, Batu spoke, "There is such a man in Novgorod. Supposedly, he knows the Dnieper better than anyone else. However, there's one issue... this man is imprisoned."

                    ➸        ➸       ➸       ➸       ➸       ➸

Early the next morning, Harald had returned from Novgorod's jails with their new guide. A Pecheneg. A blind Pecheneg. Harald introduced him as Kurya and explained Kurya had memorized the route of the river prior to losing his sight. Kaysan had immediately pulled Harald aside to voice his concerns, leaving (Y/N) to watch the man. Kurya was tall, lanky, and skinny from his time in the jails. He had light tan skin, a short black beard, and thick hair tightly pulled back into a bun. He wore a single piece of cloth around his eyes, hiding them from the world. But the scars peeking out were noticeable enough. He delicately placed his hands over the side of the boat, feeling it for a reason (Y/N) didn't quite know. Maybe checking to make sure the boat was in fine enough condition to sail through the river.

"The Pechenegs did this to me." Kaysan hissed at Harald, pointing up to the scar running over his eye. 

"I'm sure whatever 'this' is, is bad. But I cannot see how bad it is because the Pechenegs did this to me." Kurya pulled his hands away from the boat and faced the men, raising his hands to his face and flipping the cloth up so they could look at his eyes, or rather lack of. (Y/N) cringed at the sight and Kaysan exhaled softly, staring at the scars until Kurya covered them up again. "I am not your enemy. That I know my people well is a good thing." With that, he returned to touching the boat and Kaysan pursed his lips, accepting defeat and stepping away. 

"Let me know when you wish to get on the boat." (Y/N) told the guide and Kurya paused his movements, palms hovering over the cold wood. 

"I will. Thank you." He spoke softly. (Y/N) felt his lips quirk. Something about Kurya felt genuine, safe even. But (Y/N) didn't have time to dwell on his thoughts or chat with Kurya, seeing as Harald walked away to greet a man. He'd been one of the guests at Yaroslav's dinner and (Y/N) had seen him briefly speak with Harald. Lord Vitomir, he presumed. Lord Vitomir was a stout man with a short beard and even shorter black hair. His clothes were fine, almost as equally expensive as Yaroslav's and he carried himself with an aura of importance. Beside him stood a servant carrying his chest of belongings. The servant appeared to be a young man covered in a slight sheen of dirt. The gray and brown on his face made his bright blue eyes stand out clearly. He was short and seemed slim, although his large clothes hid his structure. 

The two didn't hold (Y/N)'s attention for long, not when his brother approached them with a woman in tow. He carried a chest of her belongings, a sight that made (Y/N) grin. He recognized the woman as the lady who had been sitting beside Leif at the dinner. She had long wavy raven hair and a pale complexion with eyes as dark as coal yet as warm as the sun. She wore a long dark blue dress with a yellow cloak. She looked at everything curiously, as if everything were interesting to her. 

"Who is this?" Harald questioned Leif as Lord Vitomir and his servant got on the boat. 

"She's Mariam. Mariam, this is Harald and (Y/N), my brother." Leif introduced her. Mariam smiled sweetly at them and greeted them softly. She turned toward (Y/N), eyes brightened with glee and she reached out to gently touch his arm, her smile only growing.

"I've heard much about you, (Y/N). I cannot wait to get to know you." She cooed and Leif chuckled sheepishly, the tips of his ears turning even redder. (Y/N) felt himself relax around Mariam. She appeared genuine in her kindness. Rubbing (Y/N)'s arm, she smiled back at Leif and slipped past them, heading up the small ramp and onto the boat itself. Harald stared after her with furrowed brows before he snorted softly and looked back at Leif.

"This is the reason you're going to Constantinople?"

"It is a good reason."

"It better be. We need a strong crew if we're going to make it. Not frail women and their belongings." Harald scoffed, motioning to the chest of Mariam's things. Leif brushed him off with a shrug and climbed onto the ramp, earning another scoff from the prince. He suddenly tensed when (Y/N) stepped toward him, gazing into eyes he knew all too well.

"Freydis would've put a sword through you for saying that." (Y/N) murmured, giving him one last look before returning to Kurya and helping him onto the boat. Kurya quietly thanked him, feeling the edges of the boat and presumably continuing his inspection of the size and strength.

"We're cold!" A muffled frail voice called from the storage space and (Y/N) winced at the sound of it.

"Silence! We're all cold!" The last member of their crew hissed. Gestr was a slimy older man with gray hair and an equally graying beard. He'd been the original owner of the ship and the man Harald had convinced on letting them sail with him. However, apart from being a rather nasty and leering man, Gestr also happened to be a slaver. A job none of them liked but had to deal with if they wished to get to Constantinople. 

Once Harald bid his uncle farewell, he hollered for Batu and Kaysan. Batu sat at the front of the boat, holding reins attached to the horses below. Strong bulky horses bred exactly for pulling on sleds. Kaysan encouraged the horses forward, jogging alongside them. The boat slid across the ice, taking them further and further away from Novgorod until they got onto the frozen river that went on through a forest. Kaysan remained with the horses, ensuring they kept pushing forward and making sure they were alright. Batu held onto the reins, listening and waiting for instructions from Harald. They continued on for hours until the horses tired and they pulled off to the side of the river, collecting furs and tarps to set up camp. 

(Y/N) tossed down sticks beside Kaysan, watching him attempt to start a fire. The sound of Gestr shouting orders made him look toward the boat. He spotted three women. The women from the storage space. Gestr's slaves. (Y/N) frowned, looking back at Harald but Harald only shook his head and continued setting up camp. 

"No!" One of the women suddenly screamed, rushing forward and shoving Gestr out of the way. She ducked down out of view only to be forced back on her feet by Gestr and pulled back. "Orlaith! No, please, Orlaith!" She screamed and sobbed, looking down at somebody out of sight from him. She continued to cry and sob and (Y/N) soon spotted why. Gestr bent over and when he straightened up, he had a body in his arms. A small woman from the looks of it.

"They're his cargo."

"One of them is dead, Harald." 

"I know. But we need the boat." Harald lifted a gloved hand and it hovered over (Y/N)'s shoulder. Pressing his lips together, Harald dropped his hand to his side and turned, walking away to check on Lord Vitomir and his servant. (Y/N) watched him walk away and sighed, crouching down by Kaysan and blowing on the fire when he finally got it started. He tried ignoring the way Gestr struggled to get the body down from the boat and nearly cringed when he heard the thud of it hitting the ground. Gestr's slaves climbed down the ladder, huddling together and waddling after him as he carried the body some distance away. Using an axe, he made a hole in the ice and then dumped the body into the water underneath. 

"He's a cruel man," Kaysan muttered, standing up and taking the stools Leif handed him. 

Once they set up a pot over the fire, Mariam began making them stew while she spoke to Leif about books. (Y/N) had heard of books in passing and how they held information. But when he peeked over his brother's shoulder, he only saw oddly shaped runes put on the page with ink. Some runes were different from others. Mathematics, Mariam had said, excitedly pointing to them. A completely different language from the ones (Y/N) already knew of. Leif seemed keen on learning everything Mariam offered to teach him. 

Once the stew had been cooked and bowls had been passed around, Gestr allowed his slaves to sit with them and eat. Their names were Brigtoc, Cadlin, and Dorn. While the three women looked strikingly similar with their red hair, pale complexions, and blue eyes, Brigtoc wasn't related to Cadlin and Dorn. It was notable in the features that differentiated them from one another. Cadlin was the tallest of the three and her hair was a darker shade of red. She appeared to be the eldest out of the three of them. The youngest of the three was made obvious by her soft features. Dorn's cheeks were fuller, her nose was smaller and similar in shape to Cadlin's, and her eyes were softer. She stuck to Cadlin's side like glue, keeping her head down and avoiding eye contact with the others. While Brigtoc had the strongest features out of all of them, with a sharp jawline, a longer nose, and a gruffer voice. 

"It's a pity." Gestr voiced, slurping on his stew. "Two sisters would've fetched a lot of money." Brigtoc glared at him, her fingers grazing against the chain linking her shackles together. Cadlin and Dorn glanced at her pitifully.

"We should say a prayer." Lord Vitomir's servant suggested and Lord Vitomir placed a hand over his shoulder disapprovingly. The servant's voice, (Y/N) noted, was higher in pitch than he had expected. 

"It is a proper suggestion." Mariam nodded and Lord Vitomir retracted his hand. Turning her head to look at the sisters beside her, Mariam offered them a supportive smile, gazing over each of them before she settled on Dorn. "You should offer it."

Dorn peered up at her, glancing at Cadlin who nodded. She straightened her back and cleared her throat, fidgeting with her hands as she spoke. "Oh, Father in heaven. Be with your daughter, Orlaith, as she journeys to your holy land. And be with her sister, Brigtoc, in her grief. Amen." 

(Y/N) listened to the chorus of amens that followed, swirling his spoon in the remains of his stew. He brought the bowl to his lips and finished the rest of it before standing up and handing his bowl over to Batu when he began collecting the empty bowls. (Y/N) wiped his lips with the sleeve of his coat and walked toward where Leif had set up his sleeping area alongside Mariam's. (Y/N) chuckled softly, looking over his shoulder at the two. Leif pulled a fur blanket over her shoulders and she beamed at him, taking his hand into hers and thanking him. Then, she pulled back and covered her mouth, coughing softly. Mariam had spent most of the trip coughing, a sign of illness. But the cough sounded all too familiar to one he heard when he visited villages on occasion. A cough that killed its victims within months. Leif knew about it. He stared at Mariam in both awe and sadness. 

"Will he be able to handle another loss?" Harald asked as he approached, glancing at the two. 

"I believe it's better to know when someone will die rather than have them taken from you suddenly." (Y/N) said, draping a blanket over the snow. The sky began to mix with different colors, signaling nighttime would be upon them soon. If daytime was cold, nighttime would be freezing. 

"You should build a fire tonight. I can fetch you some furs if you'd like-"

"Harald," (Y/N) sighed, holding onto a pillow and turning to look at the prince.  "Thank you for your concern. But I am from Greenland. I know how to survive a cold night." 

"(Y/N), I..." Harald trailed off, his eyes drifting away from him. There was a heavy sense of longing between them. Unspoken words they wished to utter but kept inside. Harald lifted his head and forced a smile, clearing his throat and shaking his head. "Forget about it." He breathed and turned around, leaving (Y/N) to stare after him.

[bigfan-fanfic]

That Awkward Moment When You Learn Your Boyfriend was a Cartoon Misogynist in a Past Life (Male!Reader x Gaston -OUaT) PART 2

Gaston x male reader OUaT part 2

Part 1 here!

Thankfully, over the next few months, you're able to get over Henry's crazy theory

Which takes a lot of wilful ignorance, considering a hunter, likely with hunting dogs, probably would be great reincarnated into a guy who works at an animal shelter caring for the pets there.

And the fact that unless your boyfriend moonlights as a children's book illustrator's model, there's no way such a clear picture of him could appear in a book.

A book that also contains drawings of other people in town, which completely eliminates the possibility of coincidence.

Eventually, right before the curse goes down, you actually move in with Gaston. And right after you see on your laptop (because news coverage is oddly slow and inaccurate in Storybrooke) that same-sex marriage is legal, you even catch Gaston purchasing an engagement ring.

It's when the curse finally ends that everything goes nuts.

A prismatic wave of rainbow light sweeps out through the walls, blasting through you both, and Gaston gives a gasp as if coming up for air.

"Y/N?" he whispers, frightened. "I... I remember things. Bad things."

He holds you tightly, and you watch as the town devolves into chaos around you.

Everyone, it seems, has begun to remember their lives.

Henry was right.

It's a little terrifying for Gaston. Imagine remembering a whole life you've had - part of it as a polymorphed rose - and hating the person you were

Gaston looks at you and tells you everything, terrified of who he is. Much of Storybrooke is going through the same thing. Are they their fairytale versions or their cursed selves or both? Or neither?

You pull him close and make him look at you.

"Gaston. You've just discovered a whole new side of yourself. Maybe not a great side, but still... this is your past. And that doesn't change that you're still the guy I fell in love with."

He hugs you tight. Still trembling.

"But... but what if I change? With new memories... what if I'm different?"

You kiss him. "The fact that you're asking this just makes me more confident. But even if you do change, we'll work it out together."

"I don't deserve you." He whispers and kisses you.

You don't leave the apartment for a week. Mr. Gold, or... Rumplestiltskin... seems to give you the time off, although it's a pretty crazy thing to consider working at the shop now.

Though Gaston comes with you to work one day and apologizes to him. Mr. Gold sneers, but then glances at you. "You have the store discount, my dear, but should you need a muzzle for your beast... I'd waive the fee."

You find that with everything kind of in upheaval, it is easier to spend time with him. Even if there's a strange realization that you are the only non-Savior or savior's son in town to not be from the Enchanted Forest.

And when one of the dwarves crosses the town line and becomes his cursed self permanently, it opens up a strange idea. You have no curse to defy your leaving, and Gaston would rather forget his past. Leaving could be uniquely feasible for you two.

But Gaston instead offers you the ring. "I want to be with you. Forever and ever after. Whether that's in town or away from it, I am yours. Will you marry me?"

[seaside-stories]

The Creature

I felt compelled to write it anyway. Here's my version of the story:

A creature approaches. It peeks in through the window before slithering through, bending its incorporeal body to its will. There is a boy inside, dozing softly. The creature leans over so that its line of sight is matched with the boy's.

He is not quite asleep, but he's getting there. He's snoring softly and clutching a stuffed octopus. When the creature crouches, he stirs slightly, but does not wake. Not until it speaks.

"Hello, young one."

The boy startles, looking at the creature with wide eyes.

"Do not be afraid."

It was not supposed to be frightening. After all, it had chosen to speak with the voice of the boy's father, and the fathers that came before him. It was supposed to be soothing.

-

It spoke with a cacophany of voices. The space it occupied looked like a hole in the universe.

"Do not be afraid," it said. He scarecly dared to move. "You will wake up in a world that is not your own. I cannot tell you any more than that. You can bring only what you can carry."

The creature then moved away from the bed, and positioned itself in an empty corner. Watching. Waiting.

The boy slowly moved to sit up. He cast aside his stuffed toy and gingerly picked up a backpack from the floor. He stood and made his way over to his closet, and started to shove clothes inside. When all the hangers were barren, he turned to his dresser and began to shove socks, underwear, and toiletries inside. It was almost mechanical, as if something was compelling him to move. Once he had taken everything off the surface of his dresser, he put the bag on his bed to adjust things. It was only then that he paused.

Hanging above his bed was a photograph. It was the kind you get in a photo booth, a thin strip containing a few snapshots. He gazed upon those moments frozen in time. He was with friends. They were smiling together. They were happy.

Suddenly, it was as if a spell was broken. The boy whipped around to face the creature, who had not moved from where it sat in the corner.

"What makes you think I believe anything you say?" he asked, rhetorically.

"You have begun to pack. It appears you believe me just fine."

The boy paused, feeling himself flush at this. The creature was right. Up until just now he did believe what it had said. He needed to prove that he'd changed his mind. The boy steeled himself and spoke to the creature once more.

"No, not anymore. I want to stay. I'm not going with you," he said. The creature shifted ominously, growing almost imperceptibly taller.

"Oh?" it asked in that horrible, cacophonous voice. "You want to stay? How adorable. What led to your change of heart?"

The boy clenched his fist, trying his best to hold back his tears. He was terrified, but he would rather die than admit it.

"I just...realized I want to stay." He thought of all of the people in his life who loved him. How horrible it would be to leave them all behind. He held on to each one of those relationships like it was the last thing tethering him to this reality. The creature appeared to cock its head.

"So you have said." It grew taller once more. The boy had to tilt his head to look up at it now. "I cannot allow you to stay simply because you have decided you want to."

"Why not? We all have free will." The boy chose to read in between the lines. 'I cannot allow you to stay simply because you have decided you want to.' It implies that possibly, under some condition, the creature was willing to let him stay.

The creature seemed to consider what the boy had said. "Let's make a deal," it said. "I shall take something of yours, and you shall remain." The boy hesitated.

"What are you going to take?"

"That is for me to decide. Now, do we have a deal?"

- The boy seemed to weigh his options. He stood, silently, thinking, for a long while. Finally, he seemed to have made up his mind.

"Yes. We have a deal," he said.

"Excellent," the creature purred. It then made a beeline for the boy's bed. The creature noticed the boy restraining himself from moving as the creature lifted the blanket and crouched, reaching for something underneath the frame itself. It pulled out a small stuffed duck that was covered in dust. The creature willed the dust away, and it disappeared with a puff of air.

"This will suffice," it said. "Farewell, young one." The creature then pressed the stuffed duck into the region where its torso would be, and the duck seemed to be enveloped by the nothingness. It disappeared in the blink of an eye, there one moment, and gone the next. The creature then slithered out the way it had come in, leaving the boy to his own devices once again. It looked back, for just one moment, and saw the boy seeming awful proud of himself for having bested what he thought to be some great evil.

But what he didn't know is that the duck was not all that was taken. There are some things that the boy will never remember again after this encounter. He had chosen what was important to him, and now he would pay the price, even if he would never know it.

[heres-to-all-that-is-mine]

Unfinished stuff part two! Written Before The Third Game Came Out And Abandoned By Now Edition. This one’s called “Work benefits”. I believe it was about Zor offering Phoenix a job, citing the terrible Agency work conditions and the benefits of a job with Zoraxis, and Phoenix actually considering it but ultimately deciding against it?

They skid around the corner in a panic, bullets whizzing past and pinging against the floor, but they don't falter for a moment. If they did, they'd be dead.

Their Handler's voice, usually ever present, ever droning, has been reduced to a staticky crackling in their ear through the work of some kind of jammer, maybe, they're not entirely sure, but it means they're on their own and that's... not new, not foreign, but disconcerting. They'd gotten used to having him there, talking, though they didn't always listen.

It leaves them feeling more jittery than usual, though adrenaline has drowned out most of their worries.

The situation- they're running through an unfamiliar building, pursued by Zoraxis agents who would like nothing more than to put them six feet under (or quite possibly more, if they can get away with it) after stealing some very valuable files. Blueprints, maybe, the details escape them but they're important, and they have them- …the situation is not ideal. What's also not ideal is the stinging, burning sensation building in their shoulder where a bullet must have grazed them. They shift the files to the other arm, hoping they didn't manage to get blood on it, and glance around quickly.

The goons are only seconds away, and they can't keep running for much longer, so they need- aha! A door, left slightly ajar, the room behind it pitch black. They really hope it's empty because the agents are catching up and they've just lost whatever advantage they had by hesitating- and what the hell, they might die either way, so they throw themself into the darkened room and close the door carefully in one jerky movement, hearing the footsteps race past.

For what seems like an eternity, they sit hunched against the door, holding their breath and hearing their blood rushing in their ears.

...Nothing. They're safe- for now.

Slowly they begin to take stock of their surroundings, eyes adjusting to the dark. They quickly locate a string connected to a light, and give it a tug with their telekinesis, unwilling to stand up just yet.

It's a small room, the walls lined with shelves of old equipment and a couple of cleaning supplies here and there- most things are covered in a fine coat of dust. Ironic, perhaps, for a broom closet to be so dusty. It looks like some strange hybrid of an equipment storage room and a broom closet.

It doesn't look to be regularly used. Good.

Having given everything a quick once over, they turn their attention back to themself, checking on the wound that had begun to ache properly by now. It doesn't look too deep, but it's still sluggishly bleeding and patches of black are spreading through the dark fabric of the uniform they'd snagged, rendering the disguise mostly useless. With a strained grimace they look around the room again, and find a spare uniform hung on a hook at the far end of the room, setting about tearing strips of fabric from their current uniform to use as impromptu bandages.

Focused on the task as they were, they didn't notice one of the dusty monitors star flickering with static until a strange, warbling voice crackled to life.

"Hello, Agent," the voice says conversationally, and they jerk back in surprise, the back of their head hitting the door hard enough for them to wince in pain.

This... is not their Handler, nor is it anybody who's voice they recognise- it sounds distorted, masculine and feminine voices seeming to overlap, shifting from a low to a high pitch rapidly, and yet it has a tone reminiscent of someone calm and collected, someone in control.

...They have a sinking feeling that they do, in fact, know who this is.

"I've been watching you for some time," the voice continues, and they wonder why this person would possibly do such a thing if they are indeed who the agent thinks they are. "Your track record is most intriguing. I understand you're the agent behind foiling a number of our "schemes"."

To sum their current situation up in one word, it was 'bad'.

[Yes, well...]

They sign, grimacing at the ache in their shoulder.

"It's your job, yes," the voice finishes their sentence for them, tone something reminiscent of friendly, with none of the warmth associated with such a tone. "I know. I know quite a lot about you, Agent."

The room suddenly seems more claustrophobic than before, they think, as they finish tying the makeshift bandage.

"...and I expect you know some about me, as well."

[You're not just a Z agent.]

A burst of static- laughter, maybe, or a scoff- makes them twitch, increasingly unnerved. This conversation is telling them nothing, not why they're having a conversation like this, nor how this person knew they'd be here.

"I am not, no. You may know me as Dr. Zor."

Shit.

Well, they're officially screwed! Or, well, they're not really sure. Why on Earth would the head of the Zoraxis organisation want to speak with them- or, more pressingly, why are they still alive and unrestrained for this conversation?

[absent-enigma]

Centaur au, meeting 5

You’d agreed to go drop off a bundle of fabric and other colorful craft items for yet another centaur. Initially, you’d been advised against going. Everyone had been, actually, considering how close to rut all the centaurs in the nature preserve were. A little different from their real-life counterparts, but it was still something for everyone working there to be aware of and keep in mind, and to steer clear of able to.

Right now, you were planning on dropping off the supplies at the edge of Red’s territory, the elk centaur (at this point, you were sure he also had a skeletal upper half) would hopefully not pick up on your presence before you could make yourself scarce. But as you’d noticed with past interactions with the other centaur, this just wasn’t the case. Red was very aware that you were there, and must have been watching you the entire time, because as soon as you climbed up to set the bags down on a toppled over tree (where Red had requested it be left), he was there to greet you.

“heya.” Deeper than Sans’ voice, Red’s all but purred as he appeared on the other side of the fallen tree, leaning his thick boned arms on a self-made fence, a playful grin stretching very sharp fangs. “what’re ya doin’ out here, sweetheart? don’t seem like the best time ta be out here ‘less you wanna…play.”

You had made the wise decision to let go of the bags and step back just out of reach on a stool, confining that yes, somehow, the nature preserve had five skeleton centaurs with various deer type lower halves.

“if yer worried about me takin’ a bite, i won’t.” Red didn’t seem to be put off by your clear reluctance to get any closer to him. Titling his head crowed by an impressive set of antlers, those blazing red eye lights swept over your fall attire. When the lights rose to meet your eyes again, Red’s sharp grin became smug. “unless ya want me to?”

Oh.

Shit. 

Shoving back from the fence, Red rose to his full height (seemed like at least two heads taller than you, or more). Red tossed his head lightly from one side to another, as though drawing your attention to him (and his antlers...and possible scar nicked skeletal and elk body). Satisfied that you were watching him, Red trotted back and forth within your vision, those eye lights occasionally flicking back to you as he stomped around. A few times it looked like he was going to say something, but Red violently gave his skull a shake.

Showing off?

Oh boy.

It was…probably best if you retreated before things could escalate. You did not want to possibly get in between Red and one of the other centaurs if any of them happened to show up. You rather regret insisting that you could handle yet antler supply drop, so sure that rut had not yet begun. Red and the others weren’t animals, so perhaps they didn’t completely follow expected patterns for the species they shared characteristics with?  

Red managed an impressive leap over the fence to and in your path, looming closer to you, expression clearly showing that he didn’t want you to leave so soon. It also looked like he wanted to pick you up, so you shift backward and mumble something about needing to get back to work. Red’s eye lights flicker at that, before his sockets blinked.  He refocused on you but both of you were distracted by another voice’s lazy drawl.

“i thought we were supposed to leave the humans alone right now?”

Sans.

You sidled backward toward the tree line again, even as Red approached Sans. He stood still for a moment, sizing the shorter deer centaur.

Sans braced his front and hind legs as he lowered his skull, showing off his own shorter set of antlers.  It didn’t seem to concern him much that Red’s set were larger.  The lazy perma grin stretched in a rather mocking way as Sans spread his arms out in question, almost as if he were shrugging.

Red stomped the ground, grin fixing in anger before he launched himself forward, skull down so that he could meet Sans head on. 

Yeahhh.

You didn’t want to stick around for this. It would be less likely that any of the centaur would fight one another if there wasn’t anyone around to fight over.

To your chagrin, Blue showed up literally out of nowhere, catching Red’s antlers with his own after Red managed to toss Sans off balance with a jerk of skull and antlers, sending Sans backpedaling to recover. Blue was eager to fight, much to Red’s obvious ire. You did not argue over the fact that Black suddenly appeared by your side to gracefully sweep you up and deposit you onto his back. Then he was off with a limping walk, to bring you back in the direction of your work’s building. 

Black cursed lowly when the other three noticed what happened and gave chase. What followed was Black desperately avoiding getting gored in his side by Sans, who was the swiftest of the three, even with Black’s slower gait. Black lost his footing when he stumbled through some underbrush after being knocked into by Sans.  Black went down, bony hands scrabbled at the grass as hind legs kicked out at Sans, throwing him off and causing him to lock antlers with Red again as the elk centaur caught up.

Sans did not seem pleased with this as Red maneuvered him backward, Sans’ grin tight as he angled his skull and neck away from the closer set of antlers.

Somehow, you’d managed to not get hurt tumbling to the ground, scooting hastily behind Black as soon as you’d hit the grass. You pressed your face into his shoulder, which was a bit uncomfortable, because bone.  Weirdly warm bones.

Black painfully dragged himself up into an awkward posture with his legs only partly under him. He raised his head in time to catch Blue’s antlers in his own. The angle wasn’t ideal. The position clearly strained Black’s cervical vertebrae even as he caught Blue’s wrists to try and gain some leverage. He winced when Blue’s front hooves kicked him in the side but grimly held in place regardless.

The ground suddenly began to shudder.

Sans and Red paused mid-struggle. Antlers locked together, both their eye lights shrank to pinpricks at whatever was the cause of the noise.

Blue’s ringed eye lights flicked to the side, brightening at whatever he saw, before extracting his antlers from Black’s and freeing his wrists before darting forward.

As Black groaned and moved into a more comfortable position, wincing, you turned your head in time to see Blue eagerly charge Skull. You suck in a sympathetic breath as you watched Skull merely reach out and catch Blue’s antlers in one hand and held him in place.

Blue seemed to somewhat understand he was outweighed and outmatched by the giant moose centaur, but stubbornly tried to free his antlers, without any success.

Red and Sans barely untangled their antlers before Blue flew through the air and hit both of them, sending all three centaurs to the grassy ground to lie in stunned silence, expressions varying degrees of surprise. None of them moved as Skull came over to Black, single bright red eye light fixing on him.

Black retained eye contact as he rose unsteadily to his legs, all of them trembling with effort to remain upright (one of the braces had fallen of one hind leg), a hand pressing to his shoulder.

You almost protested when Black quietly and urgently insisted you get on his back again but did when Skull came closer.

Skull loomed better than any of the other centaur and seemed to listen intently when Black issued out a few unfamiliar words. Skull blinked once, twice, and then reached over to pick up not only you, but Black as well. Without so much as another glance at Sans, Red, or Blue, Skull turned and moved off, slow and steady, as he hummed in a happy way, nuzzling the top of your head as Black grumbled under his breath and crossed his arms beneath his ribs.

“what the fuck was that? who the fuck was that?”  Red groused.  “giant fucker coulda snapped us all in half and-fuck!” Red growled as both Sans and Blue descended on him with their antlers, leaving all three awkwardly trapped together by said antlers.

Two hours later:

*Skull takes Black back to his territory, as requested, so that Black can rest. Rather bruised up from even the brief amount of fighting, his skull and body aches, but despite this, Black immediately starts to distract himself by knitting with a grumble, bony fingers slipping now and again.  This distracts Skull, as the moose centaur lowers himself down to watch, handing supplies that Black drops. This allows the reader to slip away to safety. 

*Skull forgets why he was upset as he becomes mesmerized by how quickly Black knits, even holding yarn and other materials that are imperiously offered as Black gets immersed in the work, finger tremors less as he knits. By the time Black was done, Skull has a scarf and some small blankets from a pile of extra bedding Black had been stockpiling.  When Skull returns to his territory, he places the tiny blankets around his different preferred sleeping spots.

*Black exhausted and can’t even get a good night’s sleep because of the brief earlier fight. Reader decides to keep their distance for a little while.

*While this is happening, the other three are still locked together by their antlers and getting various degrees of frustrated. Red is furiously throwing punches, Blue is trying to untangle their antlers while blocking most of the punches, and Sans is relaxed by now, cracking jokes about the situation, while avoiding any and all punches at such close quarters.

[sleepyowlwrites]

FTWT CCCLXXIV

a million light years ago away @artdecosupernova-writing sent me some words in an escape pod

lost (previous lives and premonitions, 2020)

Toby looked up at him with a gloomy expression. “I hate math.”

Arin had heard this sentiment at least once a day since he’d started tutoring Toby, so he nudged his side as he took a seat next to him. “What’s that? It sounds familiar, have you told me this before?”

“Shut up, you’re good at math. Don’t tease me.”

“Arin lives to tease you, Toby,” Mandy said without looking up from her phone. “It’s a lost cause, right, Penn?”

Penn smiled charmingly and shook his head. “Toby, you’ve gotten better at math since Arin started teaching you.”

“Doesn’t mean I like it any better,” Toby grumbled, leaning on Arin’s shoulder.

echo (on a hill, still, 2021)

Your voice in the air is a raindrop, a shiver, a tapping on the back of your hand. The church bell intones without notes, your own a throbbing echo like a shadow without a sun. The hour turns over and the song has still not begun. It has no singer, no self, no place to stand.

alone (space story d0)

Myr couldn't mourn their memory if they'd never had one, but maybe they did have one at one point. If Gaor knew, and he probably did, he wasn't going to tell. Myr asked him other things instead, like why Feastor was completely green or humans never made a third Earth. Gaor didn't always answer them, and if he did, it was often in riddles again, but Myr didn't mind too much. At least they had someone to talk to.

They talked to their spaceship sometimes, but it was an inanimate thing. It couldn't talk back and Myr could only go so long without talking to someone who talked back. Sometimes when they made their way back to Alpha Nine and stepped out onto the rocky terrain, they felt like the planet had gotten considerably older since their last visit. It was possible. Myr didn't keep good time when they was alone.

Which was always, since they were always alone.

solitude (you, of flight, and I, of falsehood, 2021)

yet even as the dusk offered solitude and sanctuary still- it was a knife to be feared

desperate (guild story d0)

“Why would you take a contract with house Lyreel? You think their days are numbered.”

“Because their days are numbered.” Xiyun shifted to face him, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Lord Lyreel is desperate enough to make foolish strikes against his enemies and it won’t do him any good. I’ll make money without changing the game. That’s the best way to do it.”

Idrian didn’t turn himself in her direction, but kept staring out at the yard. The skars and masters were all at the evening meal, and the only other occupants were a couple of stable hands taking tack to the cleaners. Idrian tracked their movements while counting his breaths. Xiyun always did have such an easy time getting a rise out of him. He wanted to think that was why she tended to win their sparring matches, though it was equally likely that she was merely a better fighter than he was.

invisible (city story d0)

Jet likes to imagine that he still has fine lines running through his liminal spaces. That he has fences set up between him and the world, and thinner, more invisible fences between him and the people who have decided they're his friends. And maybe he also considers him friends, but that means reordering his priorities and he doesn't want to bother. It's bad enough that Rune has emerged triumphant at the top of the list, scowling and shrugging him off even while he makes space for her and her chains. Copper sits next to him, not even on the list, too important to order and too precious to hold onto.

What he has in his life is a set of fence-breakers, and ones that he's becoming increasingly fond of, and it’s tearing at him underneath his armor. They smile at him and tell him jokes and insist that they want to help him out of the fights he puts himself in, as if he ever asked for such a thing.

"You don't have to ask," Yarrow tells him the day after the bloody fight with Rune, when Jet is pretending he's the only person in this garage.

fear, slight, between, likely. BONUS: abound, sideways. @enchanted-lightning-aes @peresephones @odysseywritings @dontjudgemeimawriter OR ANYBODY

[aikoiya]

How would Ancient Vlad and Valerie feel about each other (since Vlad didn’t give Valerie her stuff)?… How does JACK honestly feel about Vlad (since he’s more open-minded than Maddie)?… How would the Fenton Parents + Valerie Grey both feel about Vlad’s Tragic Backstory? 💀🔥⚡

I feel like Vlad would just see Valerie as another bad human who might eventually need to be put down due to her very obvious anti-ecto sentiments. He's wrong, but that's how he'd see it.

As for Valerie, she'd see Plasmius as just another ghost that needs to be taken down.

She likely wouldn't ever learn about his backstory, unless she joined Team Phantom, which she'd only really consider doing after D-Stabilize & then only after learning about Danny's identity.

As for Vlad & Jack, I feel like Vlad would initially be put off by Jack's boisterous personality, but much like what I suspect happened in canon, in college, he'd begin to warm up on him. Now, he sees him as that sort of insufferable, but looked upon fondly, friend that always manages to pull you into trouble.

Like, knowing that Jack accepts Danny & is showing genuine attempts at bettering his understanding of ghosts, I see Vlad softening up on him.

Because, in my Legacy 1 post, I believe that I mention that Jack is from a long line of supernatural hunters (his branch of the family being mostly focused on ghosts & a few other undead creatures) & was sort of the black sheep of the family. Being that he just wasn't very good at the Latin or the research or the apotropaic magics involved. (The reason being that he just couldn't wrap his head around the mechanics of how magic works due to being more mechanically-minded. So, he turned to trying to be a hunter through the means that he understood most, science & engineering! However, as a result, he really only works with the ecto-ghosts, a.k.a. Hereafter Ghosts, that we see in the show & has mostly moved away from Earthbound Spirits & the like!) And he had only ever done Salt & Burns with non-ecto ghosts, having never met any that weren't aggressive due to going vengeful. As that was the entire reason why they needed to be Salted & Burned to begin with.

As such, he'd just never met any of the ones like what Sam & Dean met in Supernatural that simply needed to realize they were dead or needed to finish business or just needed to come to terms & accept their own death before peacefully moving on. If he had, he would've started out with a much less antagonistic idea of them, but then again, he probably wouldn't have married Maddie.

Despite this, he actually has a lot of supernatural-based knowledge & facts on Earthbound Spirits, though he'd mostly begun to disregard it all as brouhaha & superstition (which is a very bad idea). As such, he'd always known that such ghosts were out there, including Tutelaries & Psychopomps & other theoretically good-aligned ghosts & spirits, but knowing something on an intellectual level is very different from knowing it personally through lived experience. Some things just don't become real to you until you have proof.

Because I see Jack as having never truly hated ghosts entirely, so much as actually being fascinated by them & how they work. And, in fact, I think that Jack would see Danny, Vlad, & the Danny clones as the coolest ghosts yet as he'd never even heard of something like them. Like, sure, a few in the more supernatural-based ghost-hunting community might know about liminality, but an actual, honest-to-God Half-Ghost? (If that's the actual, correct term?) That's just! Insane to Jack!

He'd be absolutely fascinated.

Not in the scary-scary dissection or vivisection or vidisection (new word I'm trying to get coined within the fandom) way, but in the giant, dorky nerd way that's super energetic & harmless & kinda adorable.

And, you know that Jack would do whatever he could to make inventions that would help Danny as much as possible. Though, he's still not very good at field work, his talents lying more in-line with inventing.

Which, a quick side-note, I see Danny as being a genius of engineering in a similar way to how Jack is. Meaning that you just don't expect either of them to be legitimately smart & knowledgeable on things due to their personalities. Jack, because he's a bumbler (& also has ADHD, dyslexia, dyscalcula, & dysgraphia, which just further exacerbates the image) & Danny, because he almost seems to try to be as average as possible (& has ADHD, dyscalcula, & maybe dyslexia).

But the fact of the matter is that Danny was missing class, not turning in homework, getting Fs, & losing sleep to protect Amity for ghosts, yet despite that, he repeatedly called himself a C Average Student.

The only reason that I can see for him to not be a flat F Student or even just a D Student is if he was normally an A+ Student.

And, I tend to see Danny's primary focus being on astrophysics & aerospace engineering, but also having a lot of high-level knowledge in regular engineering, ecto-engineering, & ectophysics just due to osmosis & helping his parents in the lab.

And much like his dad, Danny has a natural talent for guerilla science, to the point of redneck engineering. As the marine motto goes "if it looks stupid, but works, then it ain't stupid."

Sorry, went on a bit of a tangent, there.

In case you can't tell, DP is something of a mini-hyperfixation for me.

Anyway, I think that Jack would try to be friends with Vlad despite Danny likely having told him by now that Vlad had been planning to kill both Jack & Maddie because he thinks, like, 95% of humans are evil. Jack will pipe up that he doesn't want to kill him now, though, right? Which, Danny confirms. Then Jack goes on about how that just means they have to prove to him that Maddie & every other human on Earth is worth a second chance. He knows Maddie has a lot of good in her, she can just be stubborn & set in her ways. Then he leans in conspiratorially & says "It's the Alabama kid in her, I swear." He then goes on to say that, just like Vlad, Maddie's had some seriously messed up things happen to her because of ghosts, but as a little girl & then later as an adult. So, she's just sort of ingrained those beliefs into herself.

They've just gotta prove them both wrong!

Now, he doesn't become the Vlad hyperfanboy we see in the show as they don't have that college past & weren't best friends before. He will eventually, but only after years of being Vlad's friend.

Here, he's enthusiastic & supportive, if a little overbearing.

And, unlike in canon, where Vlad calls Jack a buffoon maliciously, here he'd start out calling him that in disinterest, then frustration, before beginning to do so in mild annoyance edged with almost brotherly affection.

I also think that Jack & Frostbite would very quickly become very good friends! They just vibe, dude.

Though, perhaps, instead of Pariah Dark only coming at the finale, how about he shows up twice. The first time in Reign Storm, then again for the finale. That way, we can have Frostbite too.

Because I love Frostbite. :3

Honestly, Jack would become somber at the news & would understand why Vlad had reacted in such a way. It was wrong, but Jack could understand.

For Maddie, she'd very much not like Vlad at any point in the show as he was always slimy, conniving, & sarcastic towards her & Jack. Even being such towards Jazz, only really showing any hint of friendliness towards Danny. Though, he eventually begins to treat Jazz better after the events of Ultimate Enemy where she reveals that she new Danny was a Halfa & accepted him.

He then begins to treat Jack with beleaguered, but amiable difference somewhere in late Season 2 to early Season 3. Leaving only her to be the object of his negativity. Though, once she accepts Danny, it'll mostly turn into suspicious distate. Which, since she doesn't know he's Plasmius, she won't understand what his beef with her is.

And, much like Valerie, she'd just see Plasmius as more ectoplasmic scum & might continue to do so for a good while even after finally accepting that Danny is Danny & that just having ectoplasm in him doesn't make him any less her son.

I'm not sure that knowing his backstory would change her views on him much as she seems very stubborn & absolutist in her thinking. It isn't that she can't understand, it's that they don't have the same attachment to each other that she & Danny had, so it'd take more to get her to empathize with him. Like, she thinks what happened was awful, but it doesn't excuse trying to commit literal genocide.

Completely missing the hypocrisy inherent in her own logic.

DP Ask AU Masterlist

[omgfloofy]

#xvtober, day 5: magic

I've decided that, since I've not done a WIP Wednesday in awhile, I would pick out bits from dal segno al coda this month for #xvtober and post them on days of prompts. This is especially because my Date Night story is taking way longer than I thought it would.

As always, there are no guarantees that these will be kept word for word when I finally get to publishing the story on AO3.

From Part 1: attacca subito l'Allegro -

---

Coming back home alone wasn't all that unusual, and after this weekend? It wasn't entirely unwanted. It was late afternoon by this point, and the entry, as well as the living room and kitchen ahead were draped in a pleasant, welcoming glow from the afternoon sun.

Noctis locked the door and haphazardly kicked off his shoes. He was about to step up and leave them behind when, for reasons he couldn't quite explain, he felt an urge to pick them up and put them to the side and out of the way.

Despite the warmth in the room from the sunlight, there was also an emptiness that seemed to reflect well on the loneliness permeating his strange, fragmented memories. Suddenly, Noctis found himself regretting that he didn't invite Ignis back up.

On the other hand, he knew that this needed to be done alone. The suggestion that Ignis made was sound. He wasn't sure why he hadn't considered looking into his magic this way, but it made a lot of sense. 

Since the outing wasn't anything formal, there was no need to change, as he was already in comfortable clothes. After the usual routine of coming home, he returned to the living room, settled on the floor, and rested his back against the arm of his sofa.

He was pretty young when his dad first taught him about meditating on his link with the Crystal. It became a part of his early lessons since it was a great way to learn how to feel for his magic, in spite of the completely expected trials that came from teaching a young boy how to meditate. It gave him a means to help him learn how to draw it out as he needed. After the accident, once Noctis had been cleared to return to his training, he returned to it with these basics, though he found that it was much harder at the time.

Once he was sure he was comfortable, Noctis drew in a deep breath. At the same time, he reached out to his magic to pull on it at the same time. Through this, he focused on the spiritual line that flowed between him and the Crystal. As he exhaled, he slowly let the magic leave him, as well. It was like a rope - he pulled on it to draw it closer, and without completely letting go, he released it enough and just focused his mind on it as it bled away from him. Only to repeat with another deep breath.

We live and breathe its magic, as his dad had told him over the weekend. This wasn't the first time Noctis had heard that phrase, either, and it most certainly won't be the last. The message was a simple reminder: as much as air filled their lungs, magic stirred within their souls and it was an easy phrase to turn his focus to during this kind of exercise. He and his dad, like the others in their family, were intrinsically linked to the holy light of the Crystal itself. Even if his own magic was stunted, this exercise served to help him understand that it was still there.

As he continued, Noctis became so focused inwardly that he no longer had a clear awareness of his surroundings. Inhale and pull the magic in. Exhale, and allow it to dwindle away once again. Not only had he begun to realize that this exercise was both easier and comforting, but it allowed him to find an awareness that he hadn't had before. Was it because of the same thing from these memories? He just somehow knew and understood the power of the Crystal in a way he didn't realize was possible.

What truly surprised him was that, as he turned his focus onto that light that was contained within him, he was aware of traces of energy in the air around him. Nothing was very strong to pull at easily, but it was there. There was a comforting warmth with the motes of fire that he could feel, a chill in the air from the splinters of ice with a dash of tiny jolts of electricity that could send goosebumps up his arms if the sensation had been a physical one.

He was somehow already aware of what to look for when feeling out the elements, despite having not gotten past that point in his training. It felt as if it had become second nature. The only answer Noctis had to all of this was that these were concepts understood by his past self - things that just couldn't be taught.

No, he started to realize that a lot of this was something that could only be learned through experience.

Eventually, Noctis opened his eyes again. The world around him was now cool and dark. He must have spent hours like this. He had been wrapped up in feeling anything and everything he could while he had been opened to that mental awareness, and time in the rest of the world had continued to merrily dance along. There wasn't any need to turn on any lights when he got home, since it was still light out, and even now, there was no real need to get up and change that. He was content to remain in the darkness. Instead, Noctis turned his attention back to the sensation of the elements that he felt during his meditation and, to his surprise, he could still feel them.

With a newfound curiosity for this, Noctis decided that he would turn his attention back on the elements he could feel around him. He simply cupped his hands together in front of him and took another deep breath. He didn't have a full explanation for what he felt. Either he still had some magical charge from his meditation - maybe he released it as cleanly as he thought - or the impression had left him far more aware of any metaphysical energies around him.

Noctis closed his eyes and visualized the glow and warmth of fire. The element was always easier to find and pull on - if allowed to, fire simply wanted to burn. It wasn't a matter of coaxing it out like the others.

As he opened his eyes, he found a miracle - something he never thought he could accomplish himself.

Noctis had seen his father and the glaives cup a small flame in their hands, but this had always been out of his own reach. He had been broken after the marilith attack, and this had been a problem since then. Except this time, the small, fragile, trembling flame danced within his hands. It didn't cause any pain. In fact, it was pleasant and warm.

For the first time since he had awakened into these old (new?) memories, the stress and fear that had been settled on Noctis' shoulders washed away. He clasped his hands together - the flame was so fragile that it was easy to extinguish. He leaned forward and rested his hands against his forehead.

He made a sound - somehow a sob and a laugh at the same time - as he was washed with relief. For the first time, he found something good in everything that had happened. These memories somehow helped guide him past the point of contention spurred on by crippled magic.

Days ago, before everything had happened, he realized that he didn't even have enough of a grasp to understand where to begin to do something like this. Now, for the first time since these broken memories of the future sprang into his mind, Noctis felt that he could actually do something to keep the images he saw in his mind's eye from happening in the first place.

Slowly, Noctis finally uncoiled himself from the floor and put his feet under him. He felt his joints and muscles protest from how long he was seated on the floor. He followed through with a slow and drawn out stretch to give his aching back some relief. For the first time in a long, long time, Noctis found that he just didn't care about the pain.

The rest of his evening was surprisingly pleasant. For his dinner, Noctis had leftovers from the lunch Ignis made earlier. He got his ass kicked by Prompto in the latest game they were playing online. Then, once it had grown dark and was nearly time to sleep, Noctis made sure to write his response to Luna in the notebook and hand it off to Umbra to be delivered.

[richmond-rex]

This is wrt Horspool but also just in general ... I think it is *extremely unlikely* that Richard would have faced limited opposition. Most kings inevitably had to put down dissent during their reigns, even the ones without such a dubious road to kingship like Richard had. I think, if Pretenders raised up against Henry VII (the guy who married Elizabeth of York, the sister of the lost princes, and broadcasted himself as their avenger) it should go without saying that they would inevitably rise up against Richard III, the guy who was responsible for their "disappearance". The pre-text behind their opposition would change, sure, but ultimately, it's hard to believe there wouldn't have been an alternate candidate.

Slightly unrelated, and not really about Horspool as much as several others, but I also feel like it's pretty common for people to say "if he would have lived, he would have been a good king". Which imo oversimplifies the reality of history drastically, because taking someone's barely 3-year reign (which began as an usurption and had crisis after crisis) and using it to generalize a hypothetical alternate-reality is 1) impossible and 2) creates a conscious/unconscious bias when judging the events of his actual reign. It's easy to romanticize Richard III as the King who ruled for a limited time, passed good laws, and died a warrior's death (I wouldn't call the description accurate but im generalizing based on what I've seen), and Ricardian opinion often states: "If he'd lived longer, he would have been remembered as a good king". Imo, the opposite is also entirely possible (and more likely). No king in history has been universally popular throughout their reign (they're monarchs, not social workers) and it's a very common pattern in history to see initial romantisization and increasing disillusionment as their years of kingship go by. Edward IV himself was a prime example of that - he seems to have been adored in the beginning, only for reality to soon sink in as his flaws/mistakes became evident, although I think he retained a degree of popularity throughout regardless and ultimately died with an (assumed to be) established dynasty and supporters who were willing to fight for his children. In Richard III's case, he didn't have a beloved/glorified beginning in the slightest, and while his short reign exposed a lot of strengths, it also exposed a lot of flaws. Like you mentioned, he was belligerent towards France (which was politically terrible for him) and had a very pro-war stance overall in a way that Henry VII and arguably Edward IV did not, and if that continued, it would have inevitably resulted in national and continental problems for him given the age he lived in. Handing out prime positions to his supporters and executing enemies without trials was also hardly the mark of a universally just and righteous king. I think it was Rosemary Horrox's biography that mentioned that while Richard III was generous with cash, it was also completely unfeasible in the long-term, and could only result in problems for himself down the line. And I think he ultimately did seek loans himself as well as (i remember reading this from Horrox, but I may be misremembering) begin investigations for how to get more money. And given the Croyland Chronicle's admittedly biased account, he hardly toned down on the intensity of celebrations and spending given the limited time/opportunities he had. There's also the fact that ruling as a powerful duke who has the support and protection of an already established king is very different from actually ruling as king himself, as both require quite different approaches, and we'll never know how it would actually turn out. All of this to say: even with kings who begun with the very best of intentions (which we don't that Richard actually possessed) there is no such thing as a truly "just" monarch. Richard III is no exception, particularly considering his immense power and privilege as Duke and the fact that he literally usurped the throne from his own 12-year old nephew who was under his legal protection. It is inevitable given his position and the time he lived in that he would become increasingly jaded and ruthless as time went by like Edward IV and Henry VII did, because that's just how it was. And I believe there are reports that mention his frustration/disillusionment (longing for a battle to get rid of all his foes for good, for example) during his own reign itself.

(And honestly, if Richard did remain king, I'd also feel so tremendously sorry for Elizabeth Woodville and her daughters. A reality like that would have been awful for them, i can't imagine going through the nightmare they did and having absolutely no sense of "justice"/validation at the end. Particularly in EW's case, as her daughters would at least be married to reasonably ranked people: she would most likely remain humiliated, scrutinized and in Richard's mercy/control for the rest of her life, and would not even be able to call herself a former queen. Margaret of Anjou at least had that much)

Hello! Re: Horspool's view, I find it thought-provoking but I don't completely agree with it either. I think he's right in saying Henry Tudor was in a unique position to challenge Richard—I think Henry was the only candidate with a high chance of succeeding in dethroning him—but I most definitely think he wouldn't be the only one to come up against Richard. Someone masquerading as one of the York princes was bound to turn up sooner or later — to give you an idea: someone pretended to be Richard II to stoke rebellion during Henry IV's reign; a man pretending to be Jean I of France, who died at just five days old, tried to claim the throne of France decades later; two different people pretended to be Edward of Warwick twice during Henry VII's reign, etc. Given that it is unlikely that Richard would ever come clean about his nephews' disappearance, I don't see how pretenders wouldn't turn up. Besides, I think it's also likely that dissidents would rally around Edward of Warwick who, after all, had a better claim than Richard himself.

But I agree with Horspool when he said Henry VII had the most likely chance of success: at that moment when Richard was most vulnerable on the international stage, Henry was of the right age, unmarried, with the right connections (he was part Valois, cousin to the kings of France) and able to draw the support of the few diehard Lancastrians that did make a difference at the end (eg: Oxford who defeated Richard's vanguard at Bosworth, the Welsh that remained loyal to the Jasper & the Tudor family). I think someone could mount a credible challenge to Richard in the future, but by that time it's likely Richard would have scored some international support network that could neutralise the French who he would most likely antagonise. For example, Isabella of Castile showed herself to be particularly receptive to Richard (especially as she and her husband were on the lookout for a partner against France).

But at the same time, I do think his international policy would be his undoing in the end, whether it would be because of some pretender to the throne or because of Richard himself pulling a Charles of Burgundy and dying on the battlefield on the continent or in Scotland, I think it was bound to be his undoing. He was simply disastrous when it came to negotiating difficult/finer aspects of diplomacy. For example, to punish Brittany, England's traditional ally who he was also trying to court at the same time, he allowed English privateers to have free range in the Channel. It inevitably led to Burgundian ships being also attacked besides Breton and French ones and Burgundians retaliating in turn, harming English trade. As Horspool himself pointed out when commenting on a calculated insult Richard delivered to Louis barely weeks after being crowned:

[Richard III] had not the light touch that served subtler rulers, such as Louis XI himself and to an extent Edward IV (not to mention Henry VII) so well. When Richard descended to gesture politics, he does not always seem to have figured out the consequences of the gesture.

As to his claim that Richard had shown himself to be a good king, I agree and disagree at the same time. He certainly made overtures and showed himself to be just to some of his people — his treatment of the families of the almost 100 men he attainted was certainly less than ideal, and his treatment of foreigners was definitely unjust (still can't understand why he had to expel the Italian merchants from London?), as was his deploying of men of the North and others parts to lord over his subjects in the south, something described by Pollard as 'administrative tyranny' and heavily criticised by the Crowland continuator. Still, good intentions (if we can call them that, since we are not privy to his thoughts—some of his reforms might as well have been planned years before him, or might have been conceived as 'bribes' even), good intentions cannot justify poor execution, and poor execution was certainly what happened under Richard.

You mentioned Horrox who does claim that Richard was a bad king. She certainly points out Richard's very poor knack for administering the crown's finances, something that Edward IV had perfected. In an effort to appear generous, he let go of ways to subsidy the treasure that were effective, only to have to turn to them again later. I have the impression that Richard was all about gestures and whilst they may have worked for him as a duke, as you pointed out as a king he could not so easily rely on those without measuring the consequences appropriately. He was too short-sighted, and I don't think that bodes well for a long successful reign without a solid structure of loyalty to the crown in place—which he did not have because of the very nature of his ascension.

The interesting thing is that Horspool does think that Richard was a bad king though, so in a way he agrees with Horrox too:

Richard’s failure meant that he had no chance to redeem his kingship. His supporters have attempted to redeem him ever since, but his record of failure cannot be overturned. Whether or not Richard was a bad man, he was a bad king. His actions led not only to his own destruction, but that of his dynasty. Can there be a blacker mark against a medieval king’s name than that?

Fundamentally, the first duty of a king was to command loyalty. It had taken Henry VI around twenty years of incompetence and eventually incapability to lose the support of a significant proportion, though by no means all, of his senior nobility. Richard did it in just two years.

So it seems to me that Horspool is a bit contradictory in the first statement we're discussing here. I don't remember which historian pointed this out but I agree with them: the very nature of Richard's ascension—so as to speak, passing over the bodies of his nephews—doomed his downfall. I think there were always going to be people who abhorred the very idea of him as king because infanticide was seen as one of the worst crimes in the Middle Ages. Not for nothing, Richard was compared to King Herod in pamphlets and in poems, and in a characteristic antisemitic fashion too. We should always keep in mind that this was a very Christocentric, antisemitic society. To be considered 'unchristian' was deadly, and I do think the wounds Richard received during his death were representative of the animosity he was able to inspire in England and Wales in his time.

All of this to say that: yeah, I doubt he would have had an easy breezy time and would have inspired universal admiration even after some time, especially because his poor fiscal and diplomatic policies would start to cost the kingdom. It would certainly have been unfair to the Woodvilles and Edward IV's daughters too. It reminds me of the case of Eleanor of Brittany, sister to Arthur of Brittany, the nephew King John did away with to keep his throne and who should have been the king of England. A very sad story indeed.

[dementedspeedster]

Tim always spooks a little when it comes to gift-giving, as he has a tendency to either be right on the money, or horrifically off the mark, with no in-between grey zone. So he's nervous as he hands it over, but he's pretty sure that he's done well, this time. Or... he hopes he has.

In his hands is a scrapbook. It's thick-- almost twice the size of a normal one, but in his defense, it's because there's more than just pictures or paper inside.

On the outside of the scrapbook, it simply says "The Story of Us: Year One."

And on the inside of the scrapbook... he's collected every possible ounce of memorabilia that he can, that might commemorate their time together.

The lens he'd cracked in their first fight. Every vindictive selfie Thad had sent when they'd first begun to text each other. (And his own images in response). A list of the features that made up their respective types, which increasingly began to describe each other. Photographs of the bars they'd visited, when they finally spoke truth to one another. The sticker from the apple Thad had given Tim once. A joke "certificate" which declared that Thad was indeed a natural blonde. Red and green worms on strings. A ticket from the line they'd taken when they'd train-hopped. The recipe for an oreo milkshake (lactose-free) which he'd used to best Thad in a bet, once. A wax imprint of the bottom of one of Thad's Inertia boots, arranged diagonally-- and then an imprint of one of his Red Robin soles, going the other way, to make the impressions form a heart. A literal mixtape, which had a pouch so that it could be removed and put back, if Thad ever wanted to listen to it. A blueprint for the snackle box. A replica of Thad's Flash Ring, and of Tim's Red Robin throwing disc. The mistletoe Thad had used on him, just recently.

Of course, in between all of these, there were still plenty of photographs. Some embarrassing, some cute, some incredibly old, and some very new. All of them showed, primarily, however, the way that both Thad and Tim were delightfully, imperfectly, people, who felt and hurt and mourned and celebrated.

And at the end, just to add on a bit more of Tim's unique brand of heartfelt humor, he's printed off a powerpoint presentation which lists no less than ten reasons for why he thinks he should qualify as Thad's lightning rod.

"Happy Birthday, Thad. Here's to many more. I love you." <3

@volucerrubidus

Holding the scrapbook in his hands and seeing what it was titled Thad was already filled with love, and the fondness he felt could be so easily seen on his face. The scrapbook could have been empty, a promise for what could come, and Thad would have loved it just as much.

As he flips through the pages, he lets out a laugh happy yet also so surprised that Tim had gathered this all together to make this scrapbook. He couldn’t believe that, but that was so like Tim wasn’t it? The only person he knew that was more detail oriented than himself, of course, was Tim.

Light danced in his eyes as they glazed over with the threat of tears. This feeling in his chest whelmed up inside of him, but it wasn’t overwhelming or overpowering to the point it was too much for the clone. For someone who had rare spots of light in his life, few good moments, and who had shut away and repressed his emotions and parts of himself. It, in the most simple way, made him feel good. He could burst with all these emotions that filled and danced in his chest and would still be so happy. It wasn’t a bad thing in the least to the speedster. With Tim he kept discovering feelings he had never considered that he could feel or that he would never experience again.

“Shut up.” He breathlessly laughs,  “I can’t believe you kept some of this stuff.” Thad traces the unmistakable shard of his cracked lens with his fingers as he remembered their first one on one fight with each other, and saw the insignificant little sticker from a brand of apples he could only find in the Midwest that he had given to Tim once in a moment of concern. It was a wonder that Tim had even thought to save things like these from when they were still enemies that  Thad would have considered trash at the time, “Aw, don’t tell me you were that smitten with me even way back then, babe." He jokingly teases Tim as he nudges him with his shoulder and flips further through the scrapbook. Though if Tim was listening carefully he would hear the strain of emotion in his voice, the threat of happy tears Thad’s body made against him and how moved he was by it.

“I really can’t believe you managed all of this underneath my nose. I would have been happy with just going out for a meal, but I guess you really wanted to make me cry today, huh?” And Tim was coming real damn close with that as he saw the imprints of their shoes. It was so sappy and he loved it so much.And the mixtape! He immediately palms it and sets it aside to listen as soon as he could. Tim knew he was too curious about what he didn’t know. He just couldn’t leave the unknown alone and that included finding out what sort of music Tim had packed onto the cassette tape.

Thad continues to flip through the scrapbook looking back and forth between the mementos and photos and texts they had exchanged in the past. Thad knew for a fact he still had them on his own phone as well. He hadn’t gone back to look at them, but seeing them now all he could think was that they both had come a long way from where they had started.

Beneath all the layers and masks they were just two people.

"I love it Tim.” He says wiping at the corner of his eye with his thumb, “Y'know, you really are my favorite bird of the bunch.” He had been for some time at this point if he was going to be accurate, “I love you too. I love you so much." He says gently placing the scrapbook by his side on the couch and leaning over and presses a kiss to his cheek.

“And there’s no competition. If I have a lightning rod it’s you. No doubt about it.”