#and maybe i could promote the server when it is done? i need to ask for permission-

[lokisprettygirl]

Deadly Locks (Detective! Daemon Targaryen x Female Reader) (Non Canon Au) (Dark )

Read Chapter 7 here // Series Masterlist

Chapter 8

Summary: Tension grows between you and Daemon amidst the killer being caught, learning the truth about his mother's past and your date with Pierce.

Trigger Warning: Rape and torture, 18+ , smut, It's a crime thriller so there would be some squeamish dark stuff, read at your own discretion, mention of rape, assault and murder, miscarriage, Speeding and driving under the influence, Reader has long hair, Daemon's hair is up for imagination, Cigarette consumption, some geographical errors

“Mam, would you like to order now?” You were asked for the third time in the last hour and you no longer had the energy to respond. He wasn't coming, you knew that. It was your birthday and you were at the edge of your patience with him, you had called a bunch of times and texted over and over again but he wasn't answering, he had told you this morning that things would change tonight, that he'd make them better but as usual he wasn't there.

“Ummm sorry I don't think he's coming so I'll just leave, sorry for wasting your time” you apologized to the server as you got up and walked out of the restaurant, it was raining heavily and the sound of the rain blocked the sounds of your heart breaking. You knew you had to let him go, his job would always be his first priority and you'd always come second to him. What had happened in the last few months, if that wasn't enough to make him want to be with you when you needed him the most then what will?

You knew you had to break both of your hearts tonight and let him go because being with him was bringing you more pain than happiness these days, he was never there with you.

And you were done, you were finally done.

**********

Daemon was anxiously awaiting a call from any of his acquaintances or colleagues, hoping for an update on the case. He had been waiting for more than twelve hours since the Barber Killer was apprehended but he had received no new information.

He was pacing back and forth in the living room and you didn't know what to say to him, the energy between you two had been awkward since last night when you told him that you had agreed to go out on a date with Pierce. There was no dancing around anymore, you had made it official that you were moving on from him.

“Daemon maybe you should just–’ you opened your mouth to speak but he cut you off,

“Don't you have to get ready for the date? It's 6 pm already” he raised his brow and stared down at you so you sighed.

“I'll just take a raincheck…I think we should be–” he cut you off again and this time you were visibly upset by the snarky tone of his voice. You wanted to say that you needed to be with him today because you needed him and he needed you but he wasn't even listening to you.

“Just go..go out . I'm sure you are excited ”

“You're right …I am excited indeed , it's not as if the guy who abducted and raped me and wanted to kill me got caught today or anything”

You got off the couch and slammed the door shut as you went inside to get ready. He sighed deeply as he could tell he had hurt you somehow, he just didn't know what he had done, he was the one who should be upset, you were going out on a date with a guy you liked in the very least, he should have been the one to feel hurt.

The next time you came out of the room you had a dress on, he remembered the dress, he clearly remembered the dress.

Daemon had received an urgent call from the 999 dispatch center, alerting him that you had called in regards to a possible intruder in the house. He was immediately dispatched to your location, having received a promotion to the officer position just a few months prior.

He hastily approached the front door, knocking on it with urgency as he stepped onto the porch. The house was relatively new and lacked a security system because none of you were able to afford it just yet.

As soon as you opened the door he saw the Blue dress you had on, it wasn't immodest but it wasn't innocent looking either, plenty of naked flesh was visible for his eyes

“Darling are you alright?” he asked you softly, worry was evident in his voice.

“Mmm i knew they'd send my favorite officer” you mumbled seductively before you pulled him inside by grabbing the crisp collar of his navy blue uniform.

“Are you fucking joking?” He asked you making you chuckle in response, “You made a 999 call because you wanted me to get here?”

“Yeah?” The smirk on your face infuriated him and made him want to kiss you at the same time.

“You are insufferable at times, you know that? Insufferable and reckless..you're scrappy and you think it's really cute don't you?”

“Is it not officer?” You asked him as you pressed him against the door so he groaned before he cupped your cheeks and flipped you around..

“You know you could get arrested for this hmmm?” He whispered in your ear so you smiled.

“So arrest me” you pulled your wrists up and he took the handcuffs out to tie your hands behind your back before he turned you around and pulled your dress up, his lips latched onto your neck immediately. It was the sight of him in the uniform that turned you on so heavily, he was so tall and so handsome, it made you want to do illegal things at times just so he'd punish you like this.

“I'll give you what you want.. and I'll give it you good but the next time you'd even think of pulling some shit like this I swear to god I'd fucking make you sleep in the jail for a week” his voice was sharp and commanding which only made your panties soaked

“Goddd keep talking officer” you moaned loudly so he chuckled before he lowered down your drenched underwear and unzipped his cock, you let out a loud gasp as he entered you in one quick motion,

“You're unbelievable my scrappy girl” his voice was barely a whisper in your ear and you weren't any better,

“but you love me”

“I do…I love it when you're being this way”

“Fuck me officer daemon please”

“How do I look?” You asked him so he cleared his throat as he snapped out of the memory lane.

“Beautiful”

Pierce was going to pick you up from Daemon's house and he had chosen to take you out for dinner to a fancy restaurant. You were glad you had made an effort to put a dress on.

“So ummm how are you ? Like really how are you…cause I saw the news and it must be hard” he asked you so you gave him a smile.

“I don't want to talk about myself..how are you doing” you asked him and he eased up a little, he was really nervous about the date, you could tell. He was a nice guy but you weren't able to give your undivided attention to him when your mind kept drifting towards the menace that was your ex boyfriend Daemon.

About half an hour later you looked to the side and spotted a similar face in the window, he immediately ducked away in an attempt to hide so you put your fork down and excused yourself.

“Give me a minute…I'll be back“

You placed the napkin down on the table before you made your way out of the restaurant and turned to the left to face him.

“What do you think you are doing?”

“I'm enjoying a smoke” Daemon said to you so you rolled your eyes.

“What are you doing here?” You asked him and he chuckled

“Just making sure you're safe”

“I'm not your responsibility –”

“You are…i promised..I gave you my word”

“Well you promised so many things before as well but you broke them over and over again so it really doesn't make a difference…just go home”

You huffed before you turned around and went inside the restaurant again to say goodbye to Pierce because you knew Daemon won't really leave and you won't be able to concentrate on the sweet guy in front of you because the truth was you were still hung up on the love of your life and there was no denying it anymore.

Pierce was sweet and amazing but you didn't want to lead him on especially knowing that you still held feelings for the man you had broken up with two years ago.

He looked like a sad puppy as he offered to drive you home but you assured him that you'd reach home safely and you waited for him to get out of sight before you stormed out of the restaurant and Daemon glared at you.

“I didn't mean to cut your date short” you snickered sarcastically as he said that.

“Uhhhuh is that why you were being so discreet about being here?”

“I just wanted to make sure you were safe”

“Take me home daemon”

On the way back home none of you said a word. An argument was about to ensue and it has been years since you had argued with him.

As soon as you reached home you went to his room to change and he sat down on the couch to calm his nerves, he didn't lie when he said that he was trying to keep you safe but he was also driven crazy by the thoughts of you enjoying your date with Pierce and falling for him in the process.

“I didn't even want to go” you said to him as you stormed out of the room wearing a night robe, your face was ridden of the makeup you had worn and hair was tied up in a bun, you looked so beautiful and so homely as if you belonged to him.

“Then why did you say yes to him?”

“So I can move on and turn a new leaf”

“I want you to move on darling but not with him or anybody else” you glared at him as he said that.

“I broke up with you for a reason dae-”

“I can change”

“I don't want you to change yourself for me. Look…before this thing happened to me i..” your eyes teared up as you spoke to him making it difficult for you to continue but you knew you had to say this to him “Before I suffered through this thing I had a warped understanding of your job and what you do and how important it was. At times i didn't really understand that it's because of people like you that this world is somehow safer for people like me and I don't think i gave you that benefit of doubt, that understanding that–”

“Stop..y/n stop..” he walked towards you and wrapped his arms around your shoulders to pull you closer to him “You were there for me when I was nothing, you were there for me when I got shot and was bedridden for days.. and i wasn't there for you when you needed me.. time and again I have let you down – we lost our–” his voice choked on his tears as he remembered the incident that had sealed his fate and made you drift further away from him “We had a miscarriage and i should have been there for you to take care of you and i wasn't..i deserved that..i deserved you wanting to leave me and look for someone who'd treat you better than this”

“But I can't move on ..you ..I miss you so much…everyday, every night in the past two years i have missed you-” you confessed to him your true feelings and his heart skipped a beat.

“I can change not because I have to..but because I want to..I need you sweetheart –”

“I saw the ring ..I saw it in your closet”

His grip on your shoulders loosened as you said that.

“So?”

“So? That's your response?”

“I don't know what you want me to tell you”

He stepped away from you so you groaned internally. Why was he being so difficult?

To Save him the further discussion his phone rang and it was Otto, he was called to the precinct in relation to the case so you gave him a smile and looked away.

“Go..it's important”

“So are you..come with me”

“I don't think I want to go there ..i don't want to see him”

“You should..that bastard is not speaking, he hasn't said a word until about an hour ago when he asked to see me..so come with me.. I don't want you to be alone here” you nodded as he said that.

“I need to change” you walked past him but he grabbed your arm

“We will continue our talk if that's alright with you”

“Okay..i didn't want to hurt you daemon”

“I never wanted to hurt you either but I'm sorry that I wasn't any better” he kissed your forehead so you closed your eyes and cherished the lingering touch of his lips before you walked away from him to change.

As you both reached the station Rebecca was already there and she seemed terrified, no longer there was a look of smugness on her face which you didn't really understand the cause for, sure you were afraid to be in the same place as the killer as well but she seemed terrified of something else.

Corlys took you and Rebecca to the interrogation room, Daemon followed as well, you stood outside the glass wall and you could see the killer on the other side, he couldn't see you ofcourse but that didn't make it any better. They had placed a similar mask over his face and the moment the killer's eyes opened, you were struck with a jolt of anxiety and instinctively took a step back. You could feel your heart racing and your breathing becoming shallow. It was as if the reality of the situation was sinking in for the first time

“It's him..that's him..that's him” your lips trembled as you spoke so Daemon walked closer to you and linked his fingers with yours.

“That's him Daemon…i ..oh god”

“Ssshhh it's okay you're safe sweetheart” he cooed in your ears as he wrapped his arms around you

“That's not him” Rebecca intervened so you turned around to look at her, Corlys and Otto were intrigued by her statement as well.

“That's not him?” Corlys asked her so she denied again.

“That monster raped me and beat me up everyday, i would recognise his eyes and that's not him” she said as she stormed out of the room leaving everyone confused.

“It's him daemon trust me”

“I trust you okay?” Daemon asked Jake to take you outside and as soon as you were gone he glared at the killer with a complete look of hatred.

“What does he want from you?”

Otto questioned him so Daemon turned his head to look at him

“I don't know. I need to speak with him..i need to interrogate him”

Corlys tried to interrupt the discussion but Otto shot him a look and allowed Daemon to investigate.

The murderer was handcuffed to the table as Daemon entered the investigation room, he ripped the mask off his face and his eyes flickered as he looked at his features for the first time. They indeed had similar eyes, not just the color but shape as well.

“I have been wanting to meet you brother” the killer spoke smugly which only angered Daemon further

“I'm not your fucking brother”

“Oh but you're..well not really mine but you're little Jamie's brother aren't you”

“Who's Jamie?” Daemon asked him as he sat down and composed himself. He had to stay professional and treat him like any other criminal to get as much truth out of him as possible.

“Jamie is the one that got us in trouble..you think I'd have gotten caught being a bloody idiot?”

“I'll ask you again, who's Jamie?”

“Arghhh some detective you are”

The killer's relaxed demeanor was hard for Daemon to wrap his head around. Despite the abhorrent acts he had committed, his calmness seemed to defy reasons. It was a chilling reminder of the killer's ability to compartmentalize and maintain a sense of composure even in the face of the most heinous actions.

Otto and Corlys were baffled seeing the interaction between the two, a psychiatrist was watching the interrogation to evaluate the killer.

“Jamie is one of us, he's in here” the killer pointed towards his head “now I don't allow him to come out very often because you see he's not like us. He's a child, a fucking nine year old”

“What do you mean by us?” Daemon asked him.

“Us ..me and mother” the killer chuckled

“You really think this is going to work? That pleading insanity is going to get you off the hook?”

“I never said that I killed those women, have i?”

Daemon rolled his eyes in frustration as the killer gloated. He got up and he was about to head out when killer spoke again,

“You confessed to Detective Corlys” He chuckled as daemon said that

“Ohh he's just trying to upstage you my guy .. besides it was Jaimie who said it…not me..and I need a lawyer”

“You are lucky she kept you..she didn't keep me, she abandoned me” Daemon turned around to look at the killer who suddenly seemed so different and guilt ridden, his eyes were teary and his voice no longer held the arrogance.

As Daemon stepped out Otto followed him and asked him for his opinion which only made Daemon chuckle bitterly

“Well get that man a lawyer..why don't you?” Otto sighed as he realized Daemon was still pissed at him for the suspension and for not believing in him.

“It was nothing personal, I'm your senior..you need to show me some respect around here”

“Yes sir, definitely, well I need to go home and be with my girl since the case is not mine anymore”

Otto sighed as Daemon walked out, as soon as he saw you he wrapped his arms around you protectively to escort you out of the station.

“Rebecca, she left the precinct in such a hurry –” you spoke to him but he dismissed you.

“It's not my problem darling…they'll handle it”

“It's your case, you have worked so hard on it–”

“It's not my case..can we just go home now?” He asked you so you didn't argue further..

“What did he say, did he confess?”

“He's beating around the bush..trying to fool everyone with the theatrics”

“Did you see his face?” You asked him so he sighed and nodded.

“Yeah..”

“Are there any similarities between him and your mother?” you asked him curiously and you noticed how his jaw had clenched and how his knuckles were straining so harshly on the steering wheel.

“He's my half brother-”

Every hair on the back of your neck stood up as he let out that information so nonchalantly.

“What?”

“My mother was twenty one when she had a child, that's when she had her first episode, as soon as he was born she got obsessed with this idea of raising him like a girl, the father supposedly died and she was left with the child alone for years in a house in the middle of the woods, he didn't go to school so he never really knew whether he was a girl or a boy”

“I don't understand..”

“She met my father during a grocery trip when she was thirty..that's when she realized that she didn't want to waste her life away like this and they got married, she never told him about the child she already had, she said that she had abandoned that nine year old in an orphanage somewhere outside the city and she never looked back” your mouth stayed open as you processed the information, his mother was mentally unstable, there was no denying that but what she had done to that poor faultless kid was purely evil.

“Okay but…ummm how do you know it's him? How are you so sure? That child she had, he could be anywhere” You asked him and his eyes teared up in response. A part of him felt for that boy she had abandoned like a trash as if her own kid never meant anything to her, but that child grew up to be something so horrible, he understood his hatred towards women who were around the same age as his mother was when she had abandoned him but he didn't understand his need to kill and torture other women who never meant anything harm to him.

“The location to the killer's lair..the one that made me find you..she had sent me that anonymous mail with the exact location..that's how I know”

“You need to tell them Daemon –”

Your eyes widened in realization as he said that. You didn't even know what to say to him anymore.

“She'd be taken away–”

“And she fucking deserves it..she made a monster out of him-”

“No he did it himself..”

“Daemon -”

“He's going to confess sooner or later and he can talk about his mother if he wants to”

You nodded in disbelief as he said that, he was trying to protect her.

“Sorry..i thought you wanted to get justice for those women that died so brutally and for me and your mother is equally responsible for that..if she had any inkling about this then she should have come forward after that first woman died..but she waited and watched them die to save her own arse”

His eyes welled up with tears as you said that, he knew he was in the wrong here and he knew he had to fix it. After everything he had been through he had vowed to always do right by people and now he was disappointing the only woman that had been his rock since he had met her, he can't have that, he'd never forgive himself if he was to hurt you like this again.

As you both reached home, you stepped out of the vehicle and went inside quickly to get away from him but he followed you immediately..

“Y/n-”

“Just don't say anything..don't make it worse” your voice came out in broken whispers and that only made the guilt unbearable for him .

“Listen to me” he grabbed your arm to turn you towards him so you glared at him.

“No you listen..you suffered.. because of her, all your childhood you suffered, you were abused and bullied and arrested, you suffered Daemon but you grew up and you learned the right from wrong, you are a good man but it's not because you were raised like that because life gave you every reason to lose your way and go insane but you didn't ..you want to know why? Because you are a good man ..deep down..from here” you placed your hand on his chest right where his heart was so he wrapped his arms around you to hug you as tightly as he could.

“But not everyone responds to trauma the same way you did ..he never had a chance, he had no one to teach him good from evil. I get that but you have to remember that he chose evil..there's so much hatred in that man and your mother is the reason for that”

Your voice trembled as you spoke, you knew he'd have continued to hurt other women if he hadn't been caught. There was no saving someone like him. He was too far gone.

“I'm sorry darling I'm sorry.. I'll do right by you I promise..I'm sorry I didn't mean to hurt you” he mumbled softly so you clutched onto him and once both of your tears had stopped you pulled away from him to look at him.

“I need a shower…my skin is crawling after seeing him-” you said to him as you walked past him so he nodded.

You grabbed a towel and stepped inside the shower, you had left the door open, though you had no idea why. As you stood under the hot shower some of your worries slowly dissipated, the nagging fear you had when he was out there roaming freely in the world was gone for now and you felt so light ..

You gasped as you felt his fingers around your waist before he pulled you closer to his body, he was naked as well.

“Is this okay?” He whispered in your ear so you nodded and turned around, your fingers traced over his features as you looked up at him, that's when his fingers curled around your wet locks and he pulled you in for a kiss, you responded to the kiss with equal passion as your arms wrapped around him. Your tongue invaded his mouth first and he was taken away by the sheer intensity of the moment, he had been wanting to do this ever since he had brought you here but he didn't want to hurt you, he wanted to be patient but he really needed you tonight and by the looks of it perhaps you needed him again as well

“We need to talk baby–” you mumbled against his mouth as he picked you up and pressed you against the wall

“We will talk” he mumbled before his lips latched onto yours again so hungrily “I love you..i still love you as much as the day you had left..even more” he whispered between the kiss, making your heart flutter in response.

Maybe there was hope for you two, maybe things weren't as bleak as they seemed in the light of the day. Maybe you were ready now to walk two steps further and meet him halfway if he was willing to do the same... because at the end of the day having him by your side was much better than not having him at all.

Daemon was drenched in rain from head to toe as he walked into the restaurant to find you but they informed him that you had left just now, on the drive back home he found you walking yourself home at such late hours so he immediately asked you to get inside but it was as if you weren't even listening to him.

His heart suddenly felt heavy at the silence because he feared the worst, he feared that you were done with him now and there won't be any other chances.

As you both reached back home you stood in the middle of the living room and just glared at him mindlessly while he tried to dry you up with a towel. This is what made it so hard for you to just up and leave because when he was there with you he was everything but you had to acknowledge and accept the truth now.

“Scrappy-”

“I'm done..we are done..it's done okay?” your voice held no emotions whatsoever as you uttered those cruel words to him.

“Don't say that please don't say that” he immediately went down on his knees and began to apologize but he could tell that you no longer wanted his apologies, he knew he had broken his promises enough times to finally push you away from him.

“This is how it's going to be..for the rest of our lives..I'd wait and you won't show up..I'd wait for you to show up everyday, I'd always be the one waiting and waiting and i don't want to do it anymore”

You said to him as you walked past him and he was numb, so numb that for a moment this felt like a vivid nightmare that he hoped would end as soon as he's awakened.

“Y/n don't go please..” his words made you halt in your steps for a moment but then you were gone, you didn't look back, not even once.

The night of your birthday was supposed to change your lives but he wanted it to change for better, for once in his life he wasn't late because he was working himself to the bone, he was late because he was stuck at the jewelry shop, they had messed up with the ring he had chosen for you and he wanted it to be perfect, he was going to ask you to marry him that night but you didn't give him a chance.

You were done. You were finally done with him.

🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

Note : I hope the back and forth flashbacks aren't confusing. There's hope for these idiots

Taglist

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[yacinthemorning]

Mother Hen

Chapter 3 of 6

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Summary: 5 times Jimmy was almost the mom friend, if not for his other quirks.

Ships: Jimmy & Scar (Friendship)

Warnings: Temporary Death

Scar was a man of many loves, and not one to hold those loves close to his heart. Whether it was talking Grian’s ear off about Star Wars, explaining to Mumbo the intricacies of theme park trickery, or sending absolutely everyone he knew pictures of Jellie falling asleep to his explanations, People tend to learn quite quickly what Scar loved.

Scar loved westerns. Scar loved Toy Story. Scar loved Jimmy. Most importantly, Scar loved the adrenaline from violently one-shotting people mid-flight with his bow. Probably not unexpected of a vex, but true nonetheless. Becoming a deputy happened to allow him to indulge in all these loves, consequence free from the law at that.

So, Scar would become deputy. Nothing could stop him. Nothing.

But, well, they could certainly hinder him.

“I need you to kill the Goblin and reclaim his badge.”

Scar blinked, taken aback by the request. “I’m sorry, what?”

The Sheriff huffed, putting on the hardest look he could muster, and pointed to his own badge. “He is no longer deputy, yet he refuses to hand it over. If you want to be promoted to full deputy, I’m going to need to know I can trust you. So, I need you to kill him and get it back.”

“Do I have to murder him? I mean I’m sure he can be reasoned with.” Scar suggested. Not that Scar didn’t enjoy a jolly little bit of murder, but this was the Empires server. With the hermits, they could kill for fun and forget it entirely five minutes later. On Empires, though, lore magic threaded itself into every action. And an assassination of the former deputy as ordered by the Sheriff of his new deputy certainly wasn’t an act that would go unwoven by the world’s tapestry, so to speak. Not very conducive to keeping good relations with someone who had Jellie hostage, at the very least.

But the Sheriff seemed sure. His expression only wavered back to Jimmy slightly when Scar gave him sad eyes. “He disrespected the law, Scar. He’s parading around pretending to still be a deputy!”

“But can’t I just snag it from a chest, or something?” Scar tried to insist.

The Sheriff shook his head. “No, I know him. He’ll have it on him. He never puts it down. In order to get it and send a message we must kill him.” 

It seemed excessive, but if the Sheriff was sure… Well, Scar still wasn’t totally on board. Maybe he could find a different way to get it back and just lie to the Sheriff?

So, he tried talking to Fwhip. The only result was the Goblin now knew Scar was ordered to kill him. Okay, so maybe it wasn’t the smartest move. Briefly, he considered asking Tango to reason with the pair. He didn’t have Scar’s silver tongue, but he was the only one who could repair Fwhip’s wonky redstone, and Jimmy would make any compromise to keep his rancher happy. Alas, by the time Scar considered it, the blazeborn was about five miles deep and seventy-two sleepless hours too far gone on a project in an entire other server. Until he snapped out of his redstone coma he was unreachable.

Maybe Grian could…?

But the only result of getting Grian involved was Jimmy fumbling out of his home half-dressed, wings still covered in pastel suds, screaming at them to put the wither skulls down. That, and a very disappointed look from Jimmy to Scar specifically. Hurt, betrayed even. Scar hadn’t even done anything that time, but he supposed that was the issue in Jimmy’s eyes. What was Scar supposed to do, though, tell Grian he couldn’t pull pranks? Didn’t Jimmy know parrots needed to be provided with plenty of mental stimuli?

So, Scar resigned himself. The least he could do was have a fun time with it and Hotguy the little Goblin. That surely had to impress the Sheriff. In-between construction of the trade street and appeasing Grian’s reign of terror he and the Sheriff formulated a plan.

“I’ll go in and distract him, saying I need to talk.” Jimmy explained. 

Scar nodded along while he placed planks. “And when you say the signal I swoop in and Hotguy him!”

“Exactly! He’ll never suspect it.”

“Oh, but he still has Jellie hostage…” 

Both men deflated. Jimmy’s feathers flatten, chewing on his lip as he tried very hard to think. “Oh, yeah. Um… You know what? We’ll save her while we’re at it!”

Well that certainly sounded like a plan Scar could get behind.

They snuck in at first, then the Sheriff went forth on his own to create the distraction. If Scar was honest, he was himself distracted most of the time by the gorgeous builds. The firs signal went unheard. Second time’s the charm. What Scar had not anticipated was how cramped and very underground Gobland was. Not ideal for flying and swooping and Hotguying a tiny little Goblin at all.

He missed.

The Goblin let out a shriek, at first diving for any cover, but then going for the lowest of lows. As Scar managed to knock at least one arrow into him he slipped between the bars of Jellie’s prison and used the poor darling as a kitty shield.

To his credit, the Sheriff stopped despite the seething rage in his expression as he shouted for the Goblin to hand over the badge. Scar landed beside him, trying desperately to line up a shot to finish the Goblin off, but it was far too late. Conniving, underhanded, and with a great eagerness, the Goblin took full advantage of Jimmy’s slip-up of kindness and stabbed him right through the heart.

Scar retreated, partly in fear but mostly in shame.

-

Jimmy woke up back in Tumble Town, alone and still reeling. How could their plan have gone so wrong? He didn’t bother to get up right away, instead just sending Scar a message to retreat and regroup another day.

Embarrassing seemed like an understatement. Of all things to stop them, it was a cat. Who knew if it was still alive, even? The Sheriff should have ignored it and gone for his enemy’s throat. He was the law, after all! Or his deputy should have done his job. How could he allow himself such a moment of weakness?

A meow echoed through the house. Norman pushed his way through the crack in the door, his deputy collar rattling as he leapt up onto the bed to greet Jimmy’s unexpected return. Despite his depression Jimmy smiled, reaching out to scratch Norman’s ears. “Hey big man. How’re the creepers doing?” He murmured.

Deputy Norman let out a long mrow. The Sheriff nodded. “I see. I see. Well, that’s good you were able to resolve it. Wouldn’t want any of our workers getting hurt.” He got a purr in response. 

Okay, so maybe there was room in the Sheriff’s heart for cat-related weaknesses. Maybe the Sheriff could stand to throw his deputy a bone when he tried, even if he failed. It was Jimmy’s role, he could play it how he liked.

That gave Jimmy an idea. An epiphany really. It was something Jimmy should have probably done long ago. With renewed vigor, he leapt to his feet, put on his hat, and went to find a lead.

-

Scar felt quite resigned to being fired when he met back up with the Sheriff the next day. How could he not be when he fumbled every step of the plan, resulting in his boss dying at his worst enemy’s hands? He even lost his sheriff badge in the chaos.

But the Sheriff didn’t ask to talk about that. The Sheriff asked to meet him at the trade street instead. When he reached the meeting spot Jimmy was already wandering around in awe at the buildings, poking his head around every corner. “Scar, this is amazing.” He said, excitement sparkling in his eyes.

Scar wasn’t quite sure what to do. He was expecting a hard conversation with the Sheriff, not compliments from Jimmy. But he was nothing if not a showman (conman), so he switched gears as smoothly as he could and threw his arms out towards the doors. “Well wait till you get a load of what’s inside! Come on, come on!”

More than movies or murder, Scar loved to build things for his friends. Things that would be useful, things that would make them smile, things that reminded both of them that they were indeed friends, of the fun times they had together. He liked to believe that shined through in his builds. At least, he hoped. When Jimmy’s expression lit up at every new part of the trade street Scar showed him, whether he understood what Scar was rambling on about or not, he felt confident it did.

“This is really something else, Scar.” Jimmy went on.

“This’ll make you one of the most powerful empires on the server, I reckon.” Scar tipped his hat with a grin.

There were a few more moments of wonder, but eventually Jimmy let out a sigh. His posture shifted slightly, placing his hands on his hips to hold himself a little taller. Ah, now Scar was going to have to talk to the Sheriff.

But the Sheriff’s expression hardly changed, even as he began to speak. “So, the assassination attempt…”

Scar quickly put his hands up in surrender. “I know. I’m so sorry, boss, I failed you.” He quickly admitted, hanging his head.

“No, no, don’t apologize.” The Sheriff insisted, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Listen, you did your best. Now I’m not gonna say that went well, because it went everything but. But! You did your best.”

“Really?” Scar replied, a bit stunned.

The Sheriff nodded, then pulled back to reach into his pocket. “Yep. And besides that, Tumble Town has grown so much because of you. I reckon you well earned this by now.”

He reached over, and before Scar quite knew what was going on, he had already backed away. Scar looked down to see a shiny silver metal placed over the breast of his jacket. He let out a gasp. “Oh! Oh, really?”

“Really, really! I promote you from in-training to full deputy, Deputy Scar!” The Sheriff announced proudly. “Congratulations.”

An excited giggle escaped Scar as he fiddled with the badge. “I’m a deputy!”

“You are! We may have failed but you did your best, and that deserves a gold star in my books. Er, silver shield, at least.” The Sheriff explained, hand rubbing his neck. “Oh! And I have one more thing for you.”

Yellow wings suddenly spread wide and darted right out of the canyon. Scar fumbled to follow after him, summoning his own gangly wings to give chase. They landed not too far off along a path. At first Scar felt confused – there didn’t seem to be any new builds not made by Scar himself – but it was quickly washed away by a familiar little meow. 

Scar sucked in a breath, trying not to scream and scare away the skittish little grey and white creature hidden behind the fence post. Slowly and carefully, as all Jellies did in every world they met, she crawled her way over to Scar’s extended hand to give it a welcome rub. A purr almost immediately started up, and Scar thought he might cry. “You found her.”

“Of course. It was your condition, right?” Jim- The Sheriff explained. “You’ve done so much for me, it’s the least I could do.” 

Happily scooping up Jellie into his arms, Scar gave his boss a salute. “And I’ll continue to do so! I promise I’ll protect Tumble Town with my life!”

“That’s what I’m hoping!”

“By the way, Sheriff.” Scar started while he rubbed Jellie’s belly, a mischievous gleam in his eye. “Have you thought about what I said?”

He quirked an eyebrow. “What?”

“About the toy thing.”

“Scar.”

Scar pouted. “Woody’s my favourite character, though…”

A glare slowly melted into an amused smile. “Fine, I’ll think about it, Scar.” Sheriff Jimmy promised.

[char-lotta]

Forget me not (Part 1/3)

Pairing: Jake x MC

Words: 1,6k

Summary: Forgetting is hard but forgiving is harder.

Warnings: -

Chapters: 1, 2, 3

Forget me not - part one

You looked on the screen without thought in your head. The download bar was moving so slowly, that you couldn’t even pin it to actually move. The quiet humming coming from the countless computers filled the dark room with only you in there. Although, you were used to be alone, since that was the way of living you had performed for years already. You were alone and empty. You wouldn’t describe yourself alive, just plainly existing.

Something interrupted your catatonic state of just being alive and it took you a while to realize what it was. You looked your phone which had dim light with simple text on the screen.

MC: Please, could we just talk? I miss you.

Those blue eyes of yours read the message again and again and something warm sparked inside of you. You quickly diminished it when you found yourself thinking of her, the subject what you had forbidden yourself for weeks now. You swiped the message away from your screen and turned the phone screen down on the table. She would eventually stop.

-_-_-_-_-

Few days later, you received another message. You unlocked your screen and looked those words written by someone, who you didn’t deserve, but still wanted to be with you. God knows why.

MC: Jake, I really need to talk to you.

Something ached in your heart when you closed the message again and you sighed heavily. Why couldn’t she just let go? You had explained to her that this was for her own protection, and the image of her hurt face was burned in your mind. You could almost hear the sobs if you closed your eyes now. She didn’t know that you saw her though, because you were too coward to tell her that straight and instead took care of that by sending a text to her, but you had watched her from afar. How lame of you, but what else could you expect from twisted image of a man as you were.

You couldn’t resist yourself and you opened a CCTV in one of your screens. It showed her at work, in her tiny cubicle, as you knew her working schedule. You promised yourself that just this one time, you would allow yourself to look at her: her long brown curls, the worried face of hers and your favorite part; her neck. Oh, how you missed to be close to her, bury your face in her neck and smell that enchanting scent of lilies in her skin and shampoo on her hair. You couldn’t see it on the blurry CCTV, but she had a small mole just below her ear, where you had drawn circles in your finger when she slept. She was beautiful, as always; those soft lips of hers and you could remember them to whisper you all kinds of sweet words at the morning dusk, when she thought you were asleep. I love you; she had said and all you wanted to do, was embrace her and never let go of her.

But you did.

She was biting her lip again, what she always did when she was nervous. And it was because of you, and you knew it. She looked so fucking sad when she held her phone in her lap, looking at the screen, hoping that you would answer to her. But you couldn’t, and it was completely your own fault. You closed the CCTV and let your mind drift again to that emptiness, what had been your loyal companion always.

-_-_-_-_-_-

You received the next message in the same night, but you weren’t asleep since you never slept. You had only these nightmares what would follow you from dream to dream and sometimes you saw them during the days too.

MC: Don’t you think that I can decide myself what is good for me?

MC: You promised me that you would always be there for me, but there you are; not answering any of my text or calls.

You clenched your fists and saw that she was writing again. No, she was not capable of deciding where she should put herself in danger or not. She let her emotions cloud her judgment, and you had warned her since the beginning of the mission to find Hannah, that there should not be emotions involved because they would just make things harder. She couldn’t see it, but you could. Your pursuers had been on your tails and they were getting closer and closer.

When they had sent you that image, something broke inside of you and you just knew, that this happiness of yours was short-term. You had promised to her that you would always be there, but she forgot the most important promise that you had made to her; you would always protect her. And that was the promise which you were keeping, and you could never forgive yourself if something happened to her. She was dragged in to this involuntary, she hadn’t asked for it. Why should you put your feelings towards her to be more important that her life was?

The message coming from that image that your pursuers had sent you couldn’t be any clearer; it showed her coming out of her apartment door. They knew who she was and where she lived and what she meant to you. In that moment you had realized that she already was in mortal danger and you had put her in this position just simply loving her. It had to be stopped and no one else couldn’t do that for you, so it had to be you. You were going to break her.

MC: I fucking hate you

MC: I loathe you

MC: How can you do this to me?

The texts were coming quickly now, and you could see that she was frustrated and angry. Her words I fucking hate you and I loathe you felt like daggers in your abdomen, but at the same time, you were satisfied. The anger of hers would help her cope losing you and moving on. She deserved someone who could be there for her without putting her at risk, although even the thought of her being with someone else killed you slowly. But this had to be done.

MC: I loved you and I would have given my life for you

MC: And you threw me away like I am garbage

MC: I don’t want to hear from you ever again

Good, you thought, you never will. And with that thought you muted your phone and returned to your computer.

-_-_-_-_--

It had been two months now from the last message of hers and four since you had last met. You could see the sun getting up between the curtains and you switched your screen to her workplace’s system, just for the check up on her, as you did every morning. You searched her name in the list of employees logged on, but you couldn’t find her. You frowned and checked again, but she wasn’t there. With a few buttons you had opened the CCTV and looked at her cubicle, but it was empty.

Where was she?

The cubicle looked plain, and you realized that her plants and pictures were missing too. Personally, you didn’t understand of the concept of having all kind of distracting things on your desk, but considering that she always bought a new plant for substitute of what she had involuntary killed, she seemed to love them. Confused, you rewind the security tape to last day and stopped when she was shown on the tape and looked closely. She had a box with her, and she was picking up all her personal things from her desk and when she was done, she left. You followed her via the cameras of the elevator.

Maybe she got promotion and had gotten herself a new room?

But no, she went with her stuff to the elevator and took the trip down and left the building.

“What the fuck” you muttered and switched to her apartment’s hallway camera. You zoomed in her apartments door and saw that there was apparently a small family moving in. There was no sight of her in the video and her apartment seemed empty. You felt your heartbeat rising and your palms turned sweaty. You tried to log on her phone and use the GPS to track her, but she had turned her phone off.

“FUCK!” you yelled and threw the coffee mug you had, into the wall. Where had she gone?

You logged on her social medias, but she had updated those months ago, so they weren’t helpful. You had promised to her that you wouldn’t read her messages, but she didn’t leave you a choice, you had to know where she was. You saw that she had discussed with her friends, but the topics were daily stuff and chit chat.

You opened up her emails, but they weren’t important, containing only work-related mails and some recommendations from HBO, which suggested that she needed to re-watch Game of Thrones sixtieth time this year. She knew that you would investigate those while looking for you and she was doing her best on covering her tracks.

Few flying coffee cups later and you were shouting from frustration. You breathed heavily and stared the monitors. You had taught her well, but that was the point, you had taught her. You had told her that when she was booking any tickets or making any travel plans, she wasn’t supposed to use her own email as a verification, but spam email you had created to her, which servers were located some tiny island on the Caribbean Sea. You typed the address on your browser, and there it was, ticket confirmation mail.

Thank you for booking your trip to Duskwood from us!

Here are some tips for your journey –

You tried to read the message, but your brains didn’t oblige with you and you just kept looking those letters what didn’t make any sense. No fucking way…

Why was she going to Duskwood?

[dameronology]

sorry seems to be the hardest word {poe x reader}

summary: with the war over, poe has a little too much time to think. more specifically, he has too much time to think about you.

warnings; swearing, angst (but eventual fluff!) 

 i have a lecture at 9am and here i am at 2am, producing this shit content for u all. enjoy xx 

- jazz

You passed each other in the hallway sometimes.

Nobody would have known. Not a single person would have guessed that behind your professional nods and quick glances, that years of history lay untouched between the two of you. Early mornings, filled with rays of pink and yellow sunshine, fingers dancing across bare skin and as you laughed together, revelling in nothing but the highs of pure love. Then there had been the nights; they were undeniably colder, a shadow cast over the galaxy as the darkness forced people to face the horrors of war. You couldn’t see anything, not even a foot in front of you – but you could reach your hand out, and you knew that Poe Dameron would take it.  He was there. He was always there.

And then he wasn’t.

You knew it wasn’t his fault, nor was it yours. The Resistance needed both of you, but he’d been the one to call the shots on your relationship – and it had only been a matter of time, really. It was clear that things were going to come to head eventually and Poe had been the one to pull the trigger. You were important to him – perhaps the most paramount thing in his life – but none of it would have mattered if you lost the war. Secretly, he kind of hoped that he could just put a pin in it for later and win you back when the galaxy wasn’t batshit crazy.

Later was now. Poe was a general – your boss, actually – and you were a commander for one of the New Republic fleets. He saw you ten or twenty times a day in passing, chattering with your squad or delivering mission reports. Everything he loved about you was still there; your poise, your professionalism, your biting tongue and wit. And yet, all he got these days was a curt nod or a hope you’re doing well, general.  

To give credit where credit was due, Poe had tried to get your attention. He’d made many attempts to win you back without ever actually saying it: you were the first person he promoted after the war, and you always got the good missions. He never chased you up for paperwork and surely, you must have noticed that you were always assigned the most high-tech jets. It felt as though he were screaming into the void, throwing out everything he could and hoping that you would get the message.

But you never did. Or, if you did get it, you were ignoring it. Your icy demeanour never changed, nor did your attitude towards him. Poe witnessed you in action every day – in the air and on the ground, with blasters and with words – and with each passing one, he was certain that he was still in love with you. His distance from you was simply a reminder that he’d hurt you, as though to say congrats, you fucked up! Nice one, asshole.  

That brings us to now: specifically, early on a Tuesday morning, outside of your office. Poe, having reached breaking point, finally decided that he was just going to straight up tell you – or maybe he was asking you. Whatever it was, he knew that he had to get his feelings off his chest. If the war had taught him anything, it was that there was no time to roll over and let things pass. Even if you rejected him entirely, at least he could walk away knowing he’d tried.

Taking a deep breath, Poe raised his hand and knocked on your door twice. He knew that your schedule that day was clear – he’d made sure it was. You’d found it a little suspicious that your usual weekly meeting had suddenly been moved but you hadn’t questioned it. You were already running around doing a thousand different things.

‘One second!’ You called. There was a light shuffling sound, and after the fall of your boots against the ground, you swung the door open. ‘Poe – hi! General Dameron, sorry.’

‘I hate when you call me general.’ Poe groaned. (You found that to be quite ironic, because there had been many times when he’d demanded that you call him that – but that probably wasn’t relevant. Moving on.)

‘Right.’ You raised an eyebrow. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘Can we talk?’

‘We’re talking now.’

‘That’s not what I….’ his eyes fell to the floor. For someone who was usually so confident, he’d certainly lost his swagger. ‘Can I just come in?’

You stepped aside, gesturing for Poe to come inside. Your office was quintessentially you; organised, but homely. You had a neat stack of papers on your desk and a few photos lining the walls. Most of them were of you with your friends; you and Rose at Canto Bight, you and Snap beside his X-Wing, you and Leia laughing together. His favourite one, however, was one of you and him with Rey and Finn; it had been taken on Hoth, and you were all bundled up beside Threepio, who was wearing a beanie you had terribly knitted. It had been one of the hardest weeks the Resistance had seen, but you were all stood there with your arms linked, smiling at the camera despite everything.

You were the only thing that had got Poe through the war. He knew it then and he certainly knew it now.

‘You’re in luck.’ You said, dropping into your desk chair. ‘My morning meeting got cancelled.’

‘Yeah, I know.’ Poe sat opposite you. ‘I was the one who moved it.’

You thinned your eyes at him. ‘Why?’

‘Because…look, I’m just gonna give it to you straight.’ He rested his palms on the table in front of you. ‘I’ve been trying for months to get your attention. I’ve been giving you the best missions and the best jets and Finn has been on my ass about it but I was hoping it might get you to look at me.’

‘Poe, I-‘

‘- I know, it’s stupid.’ He continued. He rambled when he was nervous. ‘I thought that it might get you to talk to me again.’

‘I…’ you couldn’t quite find the words. ‘I’m not ignoring you. I’m just treating you like a colleague.’

‘And that’s the worst part!’ Poe shot back. ‘Because…we’re not just colleagues. Every time I look at you, I remember how you used to make me feel and it’s fucking killing me.’

You peered up at him, a small sigh escaping your lips. ‘The promotion.’

‘What?’

‘Was that because I deserved it or because you were trying to win me back?’

‘Shit.’ Poe murmured, heading dropping into his hands.

‘Poe.’ You leant forward, practically growling his name.

‘You know I wouldn’t do that.’ He pushed his hair back, brown eyes finally meeting yours. ‘You deserved that more than anyone.’

‘This is fucking crazy.’ You couldn’t help but laugh in disbelief. ‘You broke my heart six months ago and now you’re here, in my office at 7am, telling me that what I thought was just my good luck has been entirely your doing.’

‘I didn’t know what else to do.’ Poe admitted. ‘I just…I am so fucking in love with you. Hurting you was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.’

You didn’t mean to falter. It was just that you’d been longing to hear him say for it so long and you hadn’t even realised it. In forcing yourself not to think about him, you hadn’t taken a moment to think about the possibility of getting back together. You didn’t want to let your mind wander in that direction, especially after all the hurt you’d felt the first time.

And now, he’d come in all guns blazing. Classic Poe, really.

‘So why did you do it?’ You quietly asked. ‘Why did you end it in the first place if you’re so in love with me?’

‘I was scared.’ Poe admitted. ‘I felt so helpless that ending it myself made me feel like I had some kind of control.’

‘Hey, Poe?’

He looked up, eyes suddenly full of hope. ‘Yeah?’

‘That’s the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.’

And then he deflated.

‘I know.’

You shook your head, giving him a small smile. ‘I’ve missed you.’

‘I’ve missed you too.’ He said. ‘So much. I know I see you every day but…I want to be with you. Those weird nods in the hallway and sideways glances just don’t quite do it for me.’

Your initial reaction had been to jump at the chance – to leap across the table and take your lips in his, making up for months of lost time there and then. On the other hand, you had to be realistic. He’d hurt you before and by taking him back, you were giving the power to do it all over again. That was a level of trust you weren’t sure you were ready for.

But it was Poe. It was your Poe – and you knew that no matter what had happened, his intention had never been to hurt you. Rather, it had been to protect you. It was a decision he’d made in catastrophically poor judgement, but the war had made everyone do stupid things. You hadn’t made it out the other side without your fair share of embarrassing stories.

If you did give him another chance – and if it went well? You could have everything. You’d have Poe by your side again (not that he’d ever really left). The future you used to talk about as a distraction from the war could become a reality. You could have your partner-in-crime back, your ride or die.

All it took was you overlooking the fact he’d hurt you.

Slowly reaching your hand out towards his, you intertwined your fingers with Poe’s. They still fit perfectly; warm and snug, as familiar as though you’d been holding one another just yesterday.

‘Dinner. Tomorrow night.’ You said.

Poe jolted up in his seat. ‘Are you serious?’

‘Dead serious.’ You shot back. ‘I’m…I’m a little hesitant, but I know you didn’t mean to hurt me the way you did.’

‘I could never hurt you intentionally.’ His grip on your hands tightened. ‘That doesn’t change the fact I did but I promise – I swear on everything I have – that this will be worth it.’

You gave him a watery smile. ‘I know.’

link to the discord server

[iwillhaveamoonbase]

Love at First Bite

Rayla is taken by a client to eat at the Italian-Korean fusion place in town and falls in love with the food, and later, the chef.

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

Rayla smiled at her client as they waited for their server to come.  Her boss had told her that they had to keep the contract with the client’s company no matter what, and if that meant going to a Korean-Italian fusion restaurant that would probably be too spicy for Rayla’s Scottish, fried-food-loving taste buds, so be it.  The client, Ms. Danvers, had been hyping the restaurant up all evening.  “You said you like potatoes?  This place as amazing kimchi-style potatoes and potato pancakes.”

Rayla nodded.  “My grandmother is Irish and there are always potatoes cooking in her house.”  Rayla subtly looked around the dining room. The walls were mostly white with a few panels a beautiful red.  There was artwork on the walls, ranging from sceneries to portraits.  They all looked to be done by the same artist but Rayla couldn’t place a name to them.  The air was warm and smelled of spices and herbs and cheese.  Rayla could see a row of cheeses on one of the shelves.  “Do they use a lot of cheese here?”

“Korean food pairs wonderfully with cheese.  There’s a rumor that all the vegetables here are from the local farmer’s market as are most of the cheeses.  It’s fusion, but it’s as domestic as possible, too.”

“You’ve really been talking this place up.”

Ms. Danvers flushed.  “It’s my favorite restaurant.  I come here for lunch once a week and get take-away whenever I’m having a bad day.  This place is known for Korean-Italian fusion, but they make a delicious Thai laksa and a vegetarian Tom Yum that is to die for.”

“Really?”  Rayla didn’t know that much about Asian food, but she knew that Tom Yum was common in Thai eateries.

“The chef is a quarter-Thai and a quarter-Korean, his grandparents being from Thailand and South Korea.  He knows the flavors well and plays with them, but when he goes authentic, he’s the best in town.  He will also make almost any dish vegetarian if you request it.”

“How accommodating.”

A server came up, a smile on their face.  “Good evening and welcome to Sarai’s Place.  Any wine to start this evening?”  Rayla shook her head, surprised when Ms. Danvers asked for Thai iced tea for the both of them.  “And what can I get started for you?”

“Ms. Burrows?”

Rayla looked down at the menu again.  “Hmm.  I’m not sure what to get.  I don’t have a very high spice tolerance.”

The server nodded.  “Scale of 1 to 10?”

“Maybe a three.”

“Do you like kimchi?”

“Never had it.”

“Then I recommend trying the kimchi potatoes, if you like potatoes, or the risotto, which features chopped kimchi, sesame oil, and garlic.  The chef makes two kinds of kimchi, one mild and one spicy, so he’ll use the mild for you.  For the main dish, if you enjoy cheese, a pasta dish that has mussels, a Korean chili paste and tomato sauce, and fresh parmesan.  Everything that can be local, is local and if you eat vegetarian, the mussels will be taken out and instead you will get mushrooms.”

“My grandmother is Irish so I’m very snobbish with my potatoes.”

“I would rate his potato pancakes a ten.  He takes the traditional Korean recipe and adds parmesan cheese and some rosemary and its cooked with the house chili oil, so when you cut into it, it’s cheesy and subtly spicy.  The house chili oil is made with both gochugaru and the type of dried chilis usually used to make olio di peperocino.”

“I’ll go with the pancakes and the mussels pasta you suggested.”

“Excellent choice.  And for you?”

Ms. Danvers smiled.  “Did he make Tom Yum or laksa today?”

“Laksa.”

“I will take a bowl of laksa while Ms. Burrows is eating her pancakes and I will also take the mussels pasta.  Can we also get an order of garlic bread?”

“Of course.  I’ll get your Thai iced teas ready.  Anything else today?”

“What’s the dessert of the week?”

“Since it’s summer, mango pudding, Thai coconut pudding, and strawberry-lime cheesecake.”

“We’ll each take a slice of the strawberry-lime cheesecake.”  The server nodded and walked away after reading back the list.  “I hope you don’t mind me ordering dessert for you, but he only makes that cheesecake when the strawberries are in their peak season and it’s worth it.”

Rayla nodded.  “No problem, Ms. Danvers.  I wouldn’t really know what to order otherwise.”

They chatted while they waited, pausing when the garlic bread came to the table.  Rayla had been expecting the kind of garlic bread Americans seemed to adore, buttery and almost artificially garlic-y.  Instead, they got small, fresh loaves that had pieces of roasted garlic and thyme baked into it, served with the house chili oil and garlic that had been cooked until it spread like butter on the bread.  Rayla was impressed with the flavor and how the pieces of garlic were not overpowering.

When the potato pancakes came, Rayla could smell the spice but trusted the server had not led her astray, eyeing her glass of Thai iced tea just in case.  One bite and she was in heaven.  The cheese and the heat from the chili only enhanced the potato flavor as did the light smattering of soy sauce and vinegar-based sauce.  Rayla almost ignored Ms. Danvers when the pasta came, inhaling the dish.  At the end of the meal, once the excellent cheesecake had been finished, Rayla was in love with the food.  “Well, Ms. Danvers, I suppose I should be thanking you for introducing me to my new favorite restaurant.”

Ms. Danvers chuckled.  “It’s good, isn’t it?”

“I would marry the chef in a heartbeat if I got to eat like this every day for the rest of my life.”

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

Rayla brought all her clients and her coworkers to Sarai’s Place in the following months.  She tried almost everything on the menu, though she was still mildly terrified of the spiciness of the laksa if the smell alone was anything to go by.  Every Monday and Thursday, she got take-away and ordered the dessert whenever she ate in on Saturdays.  She was thankful she was single or else she would have to come here every week with someone and she liked dining alone in the quiet restaurant.

Sometimes, they played classical music, other times K-pop, and Rayla would always remember the night they had played an opera medley when several people with the Katolis Opera Company had dined that night.  The chef seemed keenly aware of who came to his restaurants at what dates and times and played music to fit their tastes but also made sense with the theme.

It was a popular spot with not only Foodies and high school kids, but a lot of Asian-Americans dined there.  Rayla had looked up the reviews and had seen it was highly recommended by the Katolis Korean and Thai communities, the Katolis restaurant circles, and the Commission for the Promotion of Local Ingredients and Farmer’s Markets.  No one said anything bad about Sarai’s Place without at least ten people defending the restaurant’s choices.

And now Rayla was sitting with her boss, Ahling Patel, and having to stop herself from inhaling the food in front of her.  The risotto was so satisfying and paired with chicken breast stuffed with kimchi, perilla, and ricotta.  “What do you think, Mr. Ahling?”

“It’s delicious.  I’ve always felt that fusion was a gimmick, but I’m sold by this young man’s food.  Young lady,” Ahling called the server, smiling good-naturedly when she nodded at him and finished up with her current customer.  When she came up to their table, she greeted them again.  “Is there anyway we can speak to the chef?”

The server blinked before nodding.  “I’m sure I can arrange it.  Dinner service is almost over and there are only you and two other tables.  Can I bring you dessert while I’m talking to him?”

“What do you recommend?”

“Our pastry chef made yakgwa, which are little honey pastries made with pine nuts, ginger, and sesame oil and they also made a yuja polenta cake and a play on Italian lemon cake, but with yuja.”

Rayla ordered the yakgwa and Ahling got the polenta cake and waited for the news.  Rayla couldn’t recall having ever seen the chef even though she came there at least twice a week, closer to three.  She hadn’t seen any pictures of him, either, surprisingly enough.  He was said to keep to himself and shunned the limelight, which is why he never made TV appearances.

A few minutes later, it wasn’t their server, but a man who looked be about 26 arriving with their desserts.  His green eyes were striking, as were his cheekbones and sharp jawline.  He gave them both an awkward smile as Rayla noticed his ring finger was bare and didn’t seem to have a tan line.  Was this the chef?  His coat would seem to say so.  “Nice to meet you both.  I’m Callum Evans, the owner and executive chef here at Sarai’s Place.”

Ahling smiled.  “It’s nice to meet you, young man.  I’m Ahling Patel and this is my employee, Rayla Burrows.”  Rayla nodded her head in acknowledgement.  “Your food is delicious.  How on Earth do you even think of this?”

The young man flushed, looking down at his feet.  “Um, I’m not that special.  Many people before me found that Korean and Italian food go well together.  Most of my recipes are riffs on family recipes and all my Thai dishes are family recipes.  I was originally going to go traditional Korean or Thai but there were no fusion places in the area and I’m part Irish and German on top of being a quarter-Thai and a quarter-Korean.  It felt…right, I guess.  I’m mixed and grew up with a variety of food cultures in my house, so why not do fusion?  Korean and Italian just made the most sense, so…”  He looked embarrassed at the praise, rubbing the back of his neck.

Rayla leaned forward a bit.  “I’ve eaten here at least twice week for the past six months.  I can tell you, without a doubt, it’s my favorite place to eat.”

“Thank you.”

Ahling cleared his throat.  “Are you single, Mr. Evans?”

Callum flushed even deeper.  “Ah.  Yes.  Being a chef requires long hours and running a restraint requires even more.”

“You need a good partner to help you find balance in your life!”

Rayla remained quiet as she watched them talk.  The only thing going through her mind was ‘I’m going to marry this man for his food.  I’ll eat well for the rest of my life.’  She stayed when Ahling said good night and while the restaurant emptied out.  Callum stayed at the table, fidgeting under her gaze.  “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“A date.”

Callum blinked.  “We have a sticky rice made with dates-”

“No.  A romantic excursion.  An outing.”

He gulped, looking her up and down.  “A date?  Really?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I fell in love with your food almost immediately after I tasted it and would like the chance to know the man who cooks it.”

Callum blushed.  “OK.”  They exchanged info and Rayla smirked as she left with his number in her cellphone.  There was no way she would be letting this one go.

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

After four months of dating, Rayla could confidently say that she was now just as in love with Callum the man as she was with his cooking.  Learning that his restaurant was named after his mother who died when he was in high school had endeared him to her, as had the knowledge that all the art on the walls were his paintings.  Was there anything he couldn’t do?

They were currently in Callum’s kitchen, him developing a new recipe while Rayla took down notes for him.  Even on his days off, he was always thinking about what he would do next and Rayla admired his passion to his craft.  When he brought her up to try the dish, she groaned.  “I will marry this man if it’s the last thing I do,” she muttered.

“I can hear you, you know,” Callum chuckled.

Rayla raised a brow.  “Then why haven’t you accepted my proposal?”

“Because you proposed to my food?”

“I hardly see the difference.”  Callum laughed at her, shaking his head.  “Hey, move in with me.”

“We’ve been together for four months.”

“Is that a problem?  Too short?”

Callum stared at her.  “You’re serious.”

“I told you; I fully plan on marrying you to eat your cooking ‘til the day I die.”

“So, it’s my cooking you love?”

“When have I hidden this?”  Rayla reached for his hand, pulling him closer.  “I’m serious.  Move in with me.”

“Why?”

Rayla shrugged.  “I’m happy when we wake up next to each other.  I like the idea of coming home to you or you coming home to me.  I don’t like sleeping alone, and, for the past month, the two of us have been alternating sleeping at each other’s places and it doesn’t make sense to pay rent on two places when we could be happy together?”

“That and I’m the only person willing to put up with your stubborn ass.”

Rayla gave him a mock offended looking, giving his arm a playful smack.  “You love my stubborn ass.”

“I do.”  Callum leaned down and captured her lips, letting her taste the dish he had been working on for the past hour.  When they pulled apart, he looked down into her eyes with his bright green ones.  “I think I love you.”

“That’s good, because I think I love you, too.”

Rayla would take that for now.  And in two years, when she would be standing next to him in front of their new house, matching rings on their fingers, and a very pregnant belly, she would remind him that he had his food to thank for their relationship.  “I fell in love with your food first.”

“I’m glad you did, because you kept coming back.”

“Lucky you.”

“Lucky me.”        

[searchingwardrobes]

Valentine Throwbacks: Day 5

This is another one that was written for the Valentine’s Day Prompts back in 2018. This was for Day One: Secret Admirer. I’m posting it last because it has a part two which I’ll post later.

I really wanted it to be Emma who is the secret admirer because all the fics I've read in this genre has Killian as the secret admirer. So I was going through the Chick-fil-A drive thru, mulling over how closed-off Emma could actually do that, and . . . well, this happened. I didn’t realize when I wrote this that the kind of drive thru at our Chick-fil-A was a prototype and not found anywhere else. Basically, instead of driving up to a window, there’s this open area where they just walk out and give you your food.

**Please note: I have made no attempts to hide that this story takes place at a Chick-fil-A. I have tagged it accordingly here and on Ao3. If you have a problem with Chick-fil-A, please just skip this story.**

Summary: Emma Swan is slightly embarrassed to admit that she sometimes goes through the Chick-fil-A drive thru twice a day. She's even more embarrassed to admit she's leaving anonymous notes for the owner-operator, Killian Jones.

Nominated for Best Captain Swan Modern AU One-Shot in the OUAT Fandom Awards 2018

Rated: G

Words: about 3k

Also on Ao3

Tagging: @snowbellewells​​​​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​​​​ @kmomof4​​​​ @let-it-raines​​​​ @teamhook​​​​ @bethacaciakay​​​​ @xhookswenchx​​​​ @tiganasummertree​​​​ @shireness-says​​​​ @stahlop​​​​ @scientificapricot​​​​ @welllpthisishappening​​​​ @resident-of-storybrooke​​​​ @thislassishooked​​​​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​​​​ @kday426​​​​ @ekr032-blog-blog​​​​ @lfh1226-linda​​​​ @ultraluckycatnd​​​​ @nikkiemms @optomisticgirl​​​​ @profdanglaisstuff​​​​ @carpedzem​​​​ @ohmakemeahercules​​​​ @branlovestowrite​​​​ @superchocovian​​​​ @sherlockwhovian​​​​ @vvbooklady1256​​​​ @hollyethecurious​​​​ @winterbaby89​​​​ @delirious-latenight-laughs​​​​ @jennjenn615​​​​ @snidgetsafan​​​​ @xsajx​​​​​ @itsfabianadocarmo​​​​ @spartanguard​​​​ @hookedonapirate​

Emma Swan was not a people person. It was for this reason that the Chick-fil-A drive-thru wasn’t her sort of thing. You had to talk – face to face – with at least four people just to get your food. And they asked for your name at the beginning of the entire process. Then everyone afterwards actually used it, with a mega-watt smile on their faces. And Emma Swan never would understand the Southern phenomenon of tacking “Miss” on the front of a person’s first name. Miss Swan, she understood. Miss Emma? Not so much.

But she had to hand it to those cheery employees walking up and down the line with their i-Pads. They were efficient. Which was one of the reasons Emma put aside her anti-social ways on her way to work. No matter how much of a hurry she was in, she could count on Chick-fil-A. She could be in and out of that line in five minutes flat.

Then there was the coffee. Sustainably sourced by local farmers. Or something. There was a big poster about it in the lobby. All Emma knew was that it was damn good, especially for a fast food place. And then there were chickin-minis. She had Mary Margaret to blame for getting her hooked on those. Or more accurately, her four year old son Leo. Tiny nuggets wrapped in tiny fluffy biscuits. Where had those been all her life? It was her new favorite food. Okay, breakfast food. Grilled cheese and onion rings still held the one and two spot.

So she gladly put up with the bright smiles and the over-the-top hospitality for a decent breakfast a couple of times a week. Or three. Okay, four max.

But she was not going to be one of those people who had drunk the kool-aid and made odes to how wonderful Chick-fil-A was on You Tube. And then Mary Margaret had to go and introduce her to the sweet iced tea.

“You can’t re-locate to Georgia and not drink sweet tea,” she had argued with Emma while practically shoving the straw in her mouth.

“So what next, MM? I have to start monogramming my towels?”

But she had begrudgingly took a sip anyway, and there was no turning back. Then she discovered the lemonade, and the cookies and cream milk shake. Some days, she was hearing “It’s been a pleasure to serve you, Miss Emma” twice in twelve hours.

She was one “Eat Mor Chikin” cow from making a You Tube video while holding a Styrofoam cup with a red straw.

To make her obsession even more embarrassing, it led – albeit indirectly – to her being an actual- to-God secret admirer. Who left anonymous love notes. Seriously. What had she become?

Killian Jones, according to his name tag, was the owner-operator of Emma’s neighborhood Chick-fil-A. She had figured immediately that he wasn’t just a regular burger- er – chicken sandwich flipper because he was wearing slacks and a navy blue button down shirt – no tie. His chest hair must need plenty of breathing room because he always had at least the first five buttons of his shirt undone (not that she was counting or anything). The first morning they met, he hadn’t started out on the best foot, inadvertently insulting her food preferences.

When he handed Emma her food, Killian Jones had leaned over slightly to glance in her back seat, simultaneously handing her a coupon.

“We’re doing a special promotion today. Would your little one like a gift card for a free cone?”

His words sort of trailed off when he saw that the backseat was empty. Emma had barked out a wry laugh.

“Uh, there’s no kid back there. Sorry.”

“My apologies,” he muttered as he stood quickly, his face flaming and his hand lifting to rest behind his ear, “I just assumed. You ordered the chicken minis, and usually people get those for their kids . . . “

Normally, Emma would have been insulted, but he seemed so genuinely embarrassed, that she simply chuckled. “Well, I have been told that I have the appetite of a twelve year old.”

The smile that he gave her was lopsided and almost sinful. He arched a very expressive brow, and leaned towards her open window with a conspiratorial whisper. “I must admit, I rather fancy them myself. I mean, they’re chicken nuggets in little biscuits. What’s not to love?”

“I know, right? It’s revolutionary.”

They gazed at one another way longer than necessary, threatening to bring imbalance to the well-oiled drive thru machine. Killian blinked, as if suddenly remembering where he was, awkwardly cleared his throat, and then handed Emma her coffee.

“It’s been a pleasure to serve you. God bless.”

In a slight daze, Emma took the coffee, noting the brush of his fingers against hers like she was some fifteen year old with a crush. It wasn’t until she was driving away that his accent registered with hers. Instead of a southern drawl, it had been a lilting Irish accent.

Intriguing.

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

Later that day, Emma’s hand literally shook as she took the Styrofoam cup of lemonade from the drive thru. For a brief moment, she considered chickening out – pun completely intended – but then shook off her fear and resolutely snatched the envelope from the passenger seat of her Bug.

“Could you give this to your owner-operator?”

“Okay,” the girl server said with a smile and a nod as she took the note, “we always like to hear how we can better serve our customers. Is there anything I can do to make your experience here better?”

“Oh,no!” Emma said quickly, making a quick slashing motion with her hand. “It isn’t a complaint. Quite the opposite actually. Just . . . “ she nervously bit her lower lip, “don’t tell him my name or . . . anything. Okay?”

The girl gave a slightly different smile this time as she pocketed the note. “Sure thing, ma’am.”

Emma couldn’t tell if the smile was just relief or a kind of knowing. Maybe the girl thought it was Emma giving her boss her phone number. Maybe women were frequently passing notes to Killian Jones. She wouldn’t be surprised. Emma’s face flamed red as she drove away.

It wasn’t like it was that kind of note. All it said was, “You made a hectic morning bearable. Thank you.” For a company that emphasized customer service so much, it was really just a thumbs up for a job well done. Like a positive review on Amazon. Nothing more.

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

Killian Jones was there again when Emma stopped to get a quick breakfast. This time, he arched a knowing brow when her yellow Bug pulled up to the curb.

“Ah, Miss Emma Swan once again. Your chicken minis, m’lady, and I must say, a fine dining choice for a woman of mature tastes.”

He gave a mock bow as he passed the bag through the window, and Emma was mortified when a giggle made its way past her lips. He waggled his eyebrows at her, to which she rolled her eyes. Yet, he had remembered her.

She cleared her throat as she took the bag, and then asked him, “I was wondering about the accent. Isn’t it the wrong one?”

At first, he furrowed his brow. “The wrong one . . . oh! You mean, as in, why don’t I go around saying mornin’ ma’am, or ya’ll have a good day now?”

Emma giggled again at his horrible impression of a Southern accent and shook her head. “Yeah, that’s what I mean. Your accent is . . . Irish?”

“Aye. And if you’re wondering how I ended up in Atlanta, well, the short version is I came across the pond as a kid.”

Emma nodded. It was about all she was going to get. She was sitting in a drive thru with at least half a dozen other cars behind her. So she simply nodded, tilted her head in a way that was only slightly flirtatious and said, “I like it.”

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

The rest of the day sucked, to put it bluntly. The scumbag she was staking out took hours to show up, she twisted her ankle chasing him down, and she never did get to eat lunch. So today was a cookies and cream milkshake type of day.

And today the note she asked the girl at the drive thru to pass along to Killian Jones said, “I’m glad you moved here. It’s a long way from Ireland, but . . . welcome home – I hope.”

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

“Is that required?”

On this particular morning, it was pretty cold outside, and Killian had kept his banter at a minimum as he handed Emma her order. So maybe she was grasping at straws for a little interaction. Or maybe it was a legitimate question.

“Is what required?” he asked, both eyebrows jumping slightly.

“God bless,” Emma clarified, “everyone here says it. Is it company policy or something?”

Killian shrugged, “Sort of. I mean, not officially. You can’t make someone use religious language, of course. But we’re encouraged to if it’s something we believe in.” He pulled the collection of necklaces he always wore around his neck free from his pea coat and scarf. He grasped a pendant shaped like a cross and waved it at Emma. “And I’m a good Irish Catholic boy.”

The smile he gave her belied his words, especially when his tongue darted out to swipe at his bottom lip. Emma cocked her head to the side and gave him a teasing smile.

“Not so sure you’re always a good boy.”

He leaned down, lowering his voice to a timbre that did something to Emma’s insides. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Emma rolled her eyes as he leaned back with a triumphant grin. Then his features became suddenly sincere.

“However, Swan, I do wish you every blessing. I mean that.”

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

The cold weather made it a “second cup of coffee in the afternoon” sort of day. But she had brought in a skip so easily she could have done it blind-folded, her little nephew Leo stopped by her office with a picture he drew of the two of them in preschool, and Mary Margaret insisted she come over that night for David’s famous chili.

And Killian Jones wished her every blessing.

On today’s note, Emma wrote, “You make me smile. That’s rare. Thank you. (Or should I say, God bless?)”

She had hesitated including that last line. After all, she didn’t want to give herself away. But was there any harm in dropping a hint or two? She shook her head, sealed the envelope, and passed it off to the girl who received all of her notes for Killian. Emma now knew her name – Holly.

And did Holly just wink when she took her note?

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

“Lovely as always, Miss Swan.”

Killian’s hand lingered as he passed Emma her coffee. She blinked and opened her mouth to say something, and –

Jumped a foot in the air when the SUV behind her honked. She and Killian both laughed, and he shuffled backwards, his face turning red. His smile was a broad one that dimpled both cheeks and crinkled the corners of his eyes.

That day, Emma’s note read, “I find myself looking forward to your smiles. You’ve got a great one, but you’ve probably heard that before. Anyway, just wanted to let you know it always brightens my day.”

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

Today it was raining, and yet the employees of Chick-fil-A were still there, bravely traversing the drive-thru line in ponchos, their i-Pads encased in water proof plastic. Killian stood huddled beneath the awning at the service door, in a thick navy blue raincoat. Raindrops had gathered on his eyelashes, making the blue of his eyes sparkle in the gray misty haze of the Georgia rain.

“Wow,” Emma quipped when he handed her the to-go bag, “this is dedication. And still telling me, it’s a pleasure to serve you.”

His eyes seemed to light up even more as he smiled at her. “For you, Swan, it is more than a pleasure.”

That day, her note read, “Your blue eyes make a rainy day a little brighter.”

It was the most blatantly flirtatious note she had left, but she no longer cared.

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

“Your accent is the wrong one too, you know.”

Emma smiled broadly as she leaned against the open window of her Bug. Killian made no move to give her her food, swinging the bag idly in his hand. She shrugged.

“Yeah, I moved around a lot growing up. Minnesota. Portland. I moved here a few months ago. I had been living in Tallahassee, but my foster sister wanted me here to be close to family. There’s way more work here in bail bonds anyway.”

Killian nodded as he handed her the bag of chicken minis and her coffee. “Well, Swan, welcome home . . . I hope.”

He winked before turning his back to receive the next order. Emma’s jaw dropped, but she had the sense to ease out of the line and onto the highway.

Did he know? To test it out, her note to him that day read, “I’ve never really felt at home anywhere. This is getting close. You’ve helped make it feel that way.”

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

Emma was only half listening to Mary Margaret as she set the table in her and David’s eat-in kitchen. Their house was small, but quaint, and was in a great neighborhood. They had been willing to buy a smaller house rather than keep renting in the apartment complex, knowing the back yard and park down the street were better for Leo. It worked out for Emma too, as she spent way more time here than in her lonely one bedroom apartment.

Mary Margaret was lecturing Emma about something – probably about how she ought to be more social – but Emma’s mind was on Killian Jones. Had he gotten her latest note yet? Would he figure out who she was? If so, would he think she was a total stalker?

“ . . . so since you keep giving me excuses, I just decided to ask Killian over for dinner tonight.”

The name tore Emma immediately from her daydreaming. “I’m sorry? What did you say?”

Mary Margaret shook her head at Emma. “I said set one more place because I invited that guy I told you about over for dinner.”

Emma set down the stack of forks she had been laying at each place and waved both hands back and forth. “Whoa, whoa, wait a minute. You said his name was, what?”

Mary Margaret had been going on and on about her and David’s former neighbor at the apartments and how he would be perfect for Emma. But surely that couldn’t be the same Killian as her drive-thru Killian. Could it? Okay, so Killian wasn’t exactly a common name . . .

“Killian Jones,” Mary Margaret answered with an exasperated sigh.

Emma shook her head rapidly. “Killian Jones? What . . . what does he do for a living?”

Mary Margaret grabbed the forks Emma had abandoned. “He’s the owner-operator of the Chick-fil-A near here. I was going to introduce you the day you went with me and Leo, but Killian was at some training thing at corporate.”

Emma grabbed the back of a chair as the room started to spin. Crap. She had to go and open herself up in that damn note today. And Mary Margaret just had to invite him over for dinner, tonight of all nights.

This was going to be interesting.

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

Killian was just as surprised as she was when he arrived at the Nolans. Apparently, Mary Margaret had gushed on about her “sister,” but had failed to mention a name. They told Mary Margaret and David about their interactions in the drive thru, and everyone had a good laugh about it. What a small world! How ironic! That sort of thing. Killian seemed no different than normal. Maybe he hadn’t gotten the note yet?

Emma, on the other hand, was wound tight. Maybe things had been more comfortable between them when there was a car door and a time restraint. Or maybe it was all those stupid notes hanging over Emma’s head. Whatever it was, it made Emma’s face feel like it was stuck in a perpetual blush. She couldn’t think of a damn thing to say, and Mary Margaret and David were not-so-subtly trying to play matchmaker as they attempted to steer the conversation Emma’s way. But all she could do was give one word answers and stare at her plate.

“Well,” Killian said with a satisfied sigh, “I can’t tell you Mary Margaret how delicious this was. Working at a restaurant all day, the last thing I feel like doing when I get home is cook. This was amazing, really.”

Mary Margaret beamed at his compliment. “Well, we are pleased to have you. You should come over more often. We miss you. Right, David?”

“Yeah,” David chuckled, shoving Killian’s shoulder, “I’ve got no one to watch hockey games with anymore. It’s not really a popular sport around here.”

“The notes were from me,” Emma blurted out.

Everyone immediately fell silent at Emma’s completely out of context outburst. Except for Leo, who ran his fork across his plate with a loud screech and demanded to know what was for dessert.

Emma lifted her gaze from her lap to meet Killian’s. “The notes that kept arriving at Chick-fil-A in the afternoons? They were all from me.” She let out a long, shaky breath.

“I know,” was all Killian said in response.

Emma’s eyes widened. “I – I thought you might. When did you figure it out?”

He chuckled as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I suspected, or hoped, it was you from the start. You see, every note corresponded with our morning interactions. But of course, today confirmed it. I was testing you by quoting one of your notes, and then when the note this afternoon was about home . . . “

He trailed off, a grin splitting his face.

“You hoped it was me from the start?”

He nodded, and Emma just sat there grinning right back at him like a fool. Mary Margaret hurriedly jumped from the table, scooping up Leo.

“Hey!” the little boy protested. “What about dessert?”

“We’ll eat cookies in front of the TV,” Mary Margaret muttered in response, “David, now.”

Killian and Emma chuckled as their matchmakers hurried from the kitchen. Emma felt as nervous as she had been back in junior high when she went to her first school dance. Killian rose from his seat across from her and came to take the seat beside her. They both shifted their chairs to be a little closer.

“I felt something between us the moment I first saw you,” Killian said.

“You mean when you offered my non-existent kid a free ice cream cone?”

Killian chuckled and ducked his head. How a man could be so sexy, cocky, and bashful all at the same time was incredibly endearing. He lifted his eyes to meet hers, a silent question passing between them. Emma nodded imperceptibly as they both leaned towards one another. When Killian’s lips met hers, the contact was charged with an intense attraction she had never felt before.

Except when his fingers had brushed hers in the drive thru.

Those fingers now carded through her hair as she tilted her head to deepen the kiss. His lips were soft against hers, but his kisses were firm and passionate. His other hand came up to gently caress her face, his thumb tracing her jaw and coming to rest on her chin. Emma pulled back, giving him a shy smile, which he returned. Then they resumed kissing, their tongues entwined in a dance so perfect, it felt as if they had been molded to fit together. When they finally parted, they were breathing heavily. Emma rested her forehead against his and sighed in complete contentment.

“Emma,” he murmured. God, she loved the way he said her name!

“Yeah,” she mumbled back dreamily.

“It’s definitely been a pleasure to serve you.”

[waywardrose13]

Crimson Leaves- Chapter One: Croatoan

Masterlist // Series Masterlist

Crimson Leaves- Zombie Apocalypse AU mini series

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: The dead have risen. Amid a global pandemic that causes the dead to prowl the Earth, a leader of a small camp in North Carolina fights for survival. Y/N Y/L/N was certain of three things: One, only a bite would turn you. Two, the brain must be destroyed in order to completely kill the thing. Three, trust no one. When a stranger is brought to her camp half alive, Y/N must make the decision to throw him to the walkers, or let the mystery man heal within the gates. As Dean Winchester recovers from a zombie attack, he worms his way into the camp, and eventually into Y/N’s heart. Love is a dangerous game, especially when it’s played with the dead.

Warnings: Angst, language, zombie apocalypse, talk of sex, talk of injuries, zombie attack. Not enough editing to satisfy me. I need a beta lol

Word Count: 4,600 on the dot baby

A/N- Hey, look at that. My first AU series. I hope y’all enjoy! Also written for @spnaubingo​ (Square filled: Free Space) // @spndeanbingo​ (Square filled: Free space)

Tags are still open until next Wednesday before the second chapter is posted (5/27/20 by noon). Send me an ask for a tag:)

The camp was silent.

The sun had not yet risen, the sky still dark and full of stars overhead, everyone still asleep in their tents and cabins. Y/N knew people would be waking soon, the early birds up and ready to go around five thirty. The first of the days’ jobs would begin at six, and soon after, the whole camp would be up and going.

Which is why Y/N left at four.

Before the whole world went to shit and the dead began to rise, she was never a morning person. She loved the late night hours. There was something so calming about the night. Most people were asleep or falling asleep, yet she would be up under the moon. She would sleep late in the day and work well into the night.

That is, until the world went to shit, of course.

At the beginning, most people thought it was some sort of widespread hysteria. Videos began to surge around the internet of people, seemingly dead people, up and walking, half rotting and in decay. It wasn’t until more and more people began to turn did everyone realize it was real.

Once people began to turn, everything went to hell. The internet soon shut down since web servers and power plants were no longer being worked on. Some areas still had electricity through turbines and solar panels, however major cities had gone dark. Whole towns were abandoned, others ridden with the dead. Bottled water was a life source. Unless an area had well pumps. If you were in one place for a while and there was no risk of zoms, boiling water was also a way to get drinking water. But it was tedious to boil and then let it cool before having to move again.

There were three things Y/N was absolutely certain. One, a single bite could turn you. Scratches don’t matter, unless they get infected, because unless you have antibiotics, you’re dead. The only thing that will kill you and inevitably turn you is a bite. Or, if you somehow die after getting scratched, whether it be infection or a fucking bear attack, you’ll turn. 

Two, a shot to the head is the only way to absolutely kill it. Since they’re already dead, any sort of lethal wound or dismemberment won’t kill it. But for some bizarre reason, they still need their rotted brain. So unless you want to turn, a shot to the head will do it.

Finally, number three. Don’t trust anyone. If you were the type of person to not be so trusting before the apocolypse, congragu-fuckin-lations, you’re all set. No one is trustworthy out there. One minute you find a breather, thinking you’ll be working together to stay alive, the next minute they’re stabbing you in the back to steal your supplies. Literally.

It’s survival of the fittest. Risks are the only thing that could both keep you alive or kill you. Unfortunately, anything you do in the apocalypse is a risk. The only way to stay a breather is by sticking to yourself.

Y/N didn’t follow her own rules.

She had been alone for the first two years. She hopped from town to town, hunkering down in abandoned homes, barricading herself in for days. Once the town was ridden with walkers, she’d bounce to another, repeating the cycle over and over. She didn’t know exactly what happened to her family. Her family home was empty except for the few walkers on the property. She had hope that they were alive somewhere, but she knew that wasn’t likely. Still, she kept hope that they were still alive and kicking, maybe in a camp of their own. 

She had barely turned nineteen before the apocalypse. The college she had been attending was a couple hours from home. By the time she made it there, her family was already gone.

Now at twenty-three, Y/N found herself hardened and impermeable. 

She had met a small group of breathers in an empty town down somewhere in North Carolina. They invited her back to their camp. Y/N didn’t trust them of course, but she was starving and on the brink of death. They gave her food, a proper bed, even a damn cold shower. She came to realize the camp was a good one, the people kind and giving, the leaders looking out for their own. So she stayed.

She had quickly become a fond face in the camp. She worked for her spot there, becoming a runner. The runners were the ones who went out for supplies each day. The camp itself was from an old sports sleep-away camp for highschoolers. There weren’t enough cabins for everyone, so the leaders, runners, elders, and families with small children inhabited them. One was only for medical, a makeshift clinic run by an ex veterinarian. The kitchens were in another building near the locker rooms, and the farms were out in the fields. Y/N had been given the rundown after she was taken to the camp. Fences were built by the founders of the camp, traps set all around the perimeter to catch walkers. There was 24 hour surveillance, armed guards standing at posts in the trees all throughout the day, taking shifts.

When Y/N had first arrived, there were only eight people in the camp, including an old acquaintance of hers from college. However, she worked to recruit people, along with the other runners, and after a year of her living at the camp, the number grew to nearly one hundred. She had shown strong leadership skills on the runs, being promoted quickly by the founders to runner one, head of runners. 

The founders had gone out in search of more camps with a few of the other runners one day, and never returned. After a few days, one of the founders was seen out in the woods, an arm missing and intestines pouring from his abdomen.

A unanimous vote was taken and Y/N was elected leader of the entire camp. 

And here she was, sneaking out of the camp at four in the morning in order to go on a supply run. She was no longer runner one, or a runner for that matter, but she still went out in search for supplies. People would give her lists of what they were in dire need of, and she would find it. As leader of the camp, she felt as though it was her duty to still go out and do what needed to be done. Runners would get things that would benefit the camp as a whole, but there were people who needed specific things. A family was nearly out of baby formula. A woman needed a pregnancy test. One man was nearly dead from asthmatic fits. 

Y/N followed the marked trail into town. Small flowers had been plucked from the forest and planted in a way that runners would know where to go. Walkers weren’t common around the camp. Traps kept most of them away and the camp itself was deep in Pisgah National Forest. The city of Brevard was located at the entrance of the forest. It took about ten miles to get there, nearly four hours on foot with the mountainous terrain. However, hidden within the confines of the trees two miles from camp was a Jeep. Runners used the Jeep to get to town quicker, keeping it far enough from camp that if there were any walkers that followed the sound, they’d be caught by the traps set before they could even make it to the Jeep itself.

Although the camp was protected, the occasional walker would still be spotted. The fences kept them out of the grounds, but the rotting hominids would frighten the residents. Guns were only fired in dire situations for two reasons; amount of ammunition and the sound. Guards were armed with both guns and bows. Crossbows were the most resourceful, but harder to find. Longbows were higher in availability. A few compound bows were scored during a couple runs as well. Archery was a needed skill for both guards and runners. There would be the occasional runner who was bitten or an elder who passed simply of old age. Sometimes infection. But it was a rarity in the camp for anyone to pass on. Most people were younger, under the age of fifty, and the elders were all in great shape physically and internally. 

Again, survival of the fittest. Natural selection had taken its course early on.

Once Y/N made it into the Jeep, she fit her arm through the bow and ducked her head through it, allowing it to go cross-body. A pistol sat on her lap and her rifle was slung over her shoulder onto her back. She started the Jeep, wincing as it roared to life, and took off towards town.

It didn’t take her long to get there, and she quickly put the Jeep in park beside the department store she and the runners frequented. The store was picked clean for the most part. Food had been taken immediately, along with toilet paper, paper towels, and basic hygienic necessities. The shelves barely had anything, however the storage in the back of the store was plentiful. Seemed as though even during the apocalypse, people hadn’t thought to go back there. Maybe it was their subconsious morals, or simply were too dumb to think of it. Y/N’s morals had drastically changed during the time of the walkers, and she had a whole camp to think about.

She wondered what the camp would do once the back storage was picked clean as well. She didn’t want to think of that, knowing she’d have to venture further into the city. The first half was relatively empty, the other half, not so much. The retirees and blokes that were unfortunate enough to fail to get out of town continued to inhabit that part of the city. The camp had already lost three runners in their expedition to the “dark side.” She didn’t want to lose anyone else.

She unzipped her backpack and began her search of items. She grabbed a few pregnancy tests, four boxes of formula, and other basic necessities she knew people were starting to run low on. Her bag wasn’t too big, but she was able to fit a good amount of toiletries and the items on her requested list before she made her way to the pharmacy.

Like the rest of the store, the pharmacy had been ransacked. Cold and cough medicines, pain medicines, and anything of the sort was nowhere to be found anymore. However, a couple Albuterol inhalers were found within the mess of pill bottles and medication boxes. Y/N also grabbed a thing of eczema cream she had found. She knew a child in section one began to break out in a bad rash, and a rash of her own had begun to creep up on the backs of Y/N’s knees and the dips of her elbows.

Once her bag was packed to the brim, she zipped it up carefully.

Something crashed somewhere in the store.

Y/N jumped, immediately slinging her bag onto her back and unbuckling the buckle of her gun sash, holding it out in front of her. Her bow was hidden in the seat of the Jeep, and a gun would be easier to use in a store anyway. Walkers were never found inside, nor were people. No one ever came down this way and the doors were barricaded so only people could figure out how to get in.

She heard more clattering in the distance. Y/N slowly began to make her way towards the exit, ears and eyes on alert. She had her knees bent in case she needed to run, gun ready to be cocked and fired. Once she made it to the front of the store, she noticed one of the barricades had been pulled apart but not put back together. Not a runner from camp, however Y/N didn’t think a walker would be smart enough to pull apart a barricade.

She didn’t want to stick around to find out. She needed to get back to camp and begin the days’ duties and scheduling.

Slipping out the door, she rushed to the Jeep, starting it up quickly and peeling out of town and into the forest. She followed the road, turning off it once she reached the two miles till camp mark. She parked and turned off the Jeep a little ways off the main road, reapplying the branches and leaves over the Jeep, before heading deeper into the forest, following the flower marked path.

The gates were opened for her once she got to camp, closed and latched once inside, and she let out a deep breath.

Safe and sound.

By the time she had finished dropping off the requested items and toiletries, it was around seven. Residents of the camp began to wake as the sun rose. The first runners were suiting up and laying out their game plan. Y/N was getting ready for the daily meeting in the compound’s “control center.”

“How’d the run go today, Lord Commander?”

Y/N let out a sigh. She turned around from the map she was currently marking, narrowing her eyes at the man who had just walked in.

“I thought I told you to stop calling me that.”

Luke grinned. “And I thought I told you that it was your own fault for giving me the books in the first place. Now you gotta deal with it.” He reached over to ruffle her hair, eliciting a groan from the woman he was teasing. “Besides, you love it. You just act like you don’t.”

A smile hinted on Y/N’s face. “Okay, yeah I do.”

Luke laughed, taking his seat at the table. “Where’s the rest of the watch?”

Y/N checked the clock hung up on the wall. It was dusty and cracked, but worked just fine with fresh batteries. Batteries weren’t easy to come by, but she had stacks of them in the cabinets within the command center.

“They should start arriving soon. If not, fuck ‘em. We’ll start the meeting without them.”

Luke shrugged, reaching into his jeans pocket for a cigarette. He lit it, took a long drag, and blew the smoke over the map. He held it out to Y/N, who shook her head in decline.

“Mornin’ campers!”

“Hey, Steve.”

A tall man with a long red beard and curly strawberry hair ducked into the cabin. A wide grin was on his face, long arms outstretched. “How are we this fine morning?”

Luke let out another puff of smoke. “Tired and horny.”

Y/N’s face screwed up. “Oh, Luke- come on.”

Steve chuckled. “I heard ya, brother.” 

“What, you and Lana haven’t done anything for awhile?” Luke asked.

“Ran outta condoms,” Steve said. “Medical said that condoms are first come first serve. They’re clean out of them. So uh, Y/N, might wanna talk to your runners about that.”

“They do the best they can,” she said, marking a few things on the map. “Just do it yourself and be done with it.”

“It’s not that simple,” Luke said. “Now I know you don’t get it since you’re the Virgin Mary-”

“Hey!”

“-But sex is different than just whackin’ off,” Luke said. He held his hands up as a, ‘what can I say’ gesture. “Humans are sexual beings. I don’t know how you have gone so long without getting any.”

“I was nineteen when all this shit started and I had never had a boyfriend, and I don’t exactly have time to find a partner now.”

“Uh, hello?” Luke said. He gestured to himself, raising a brow. “Willing participant right here.”

Y/N made a face. “No thank you.”

Luke frowned. “Oh why not? I’m great at sex!”

“No he’s not.”

A new voice chimed in. A pale head of hair ducked into the cabin. Taller than the majority of the men in camp, Alice grinned down at Y/N, giving her a pat on the shoulder as she took a seat at the table beside Luke. He gave her a hurt look.

“I mean, he’s not bad,” Alice said. “But he’s not as good as he says he is.”

“Wow,” Luke said. “I didn’t hear you complaining.”

Alice shrugged. “I wasn’t. I hadn’t gotten any dick in months. You’re good, just not great.”

Luke smirked. “Wanna help me get better?”

Alice raised a brow. “Seriously? You just asked Y/N to bang, now you’re asking me?”

“Smooth, dude,” Steve said, finally taking his seat.

Luke went bright pink, looking at both women sheepishly. “I mean… yeah?”

Alice took a deep breath, staring at him for a moment. “Alright, fine.”

He perked up. “Wait really?”

“Yeah, why not,” she said. She gave Y/N a look, the leader chuckling behind her hand. Steve gave Luke a fist bump, Alice rolling her eyes.

“Where’s Mikela and Richard?” Luke suddenly asked. Mikela, who was now runner one, and Richard, head of medical facilities, were missing from the meeting. Y/N checked the clock again, furrowing her brow.

“I don’t know,” she said. “They’re never late.”

Alice pulled her curls back into a bun. “Maybe someone from the run this morning had an accident?”

Y/N shook her head. “They’re supposed to report to me immediately after getting medical,” she said. “The first runners should’ve returned half an hour ago.”

That’s when the horn blew.

One blow means a runner (or runners) approaching. Two blows means stray breather. And three blows means a walker.

There was one blow, and two blows thirty seconds later. Which meant both runner and breather.

The group within the cabin jogged out to the front gates, wondering what the hell was going on. Not only were the runners extremely late, but they had a newcomer with them. Newcomers were to be inspected of bites and interrogated outside the gates. Mikela was runner one, she knew this, yet she disregarded the rules anyway.

“This better be good,” Alice muttered.

As the group approached the gate, they noticed Mikela, runner three and runner six, Matthew and Gary, carrying in a man half unconscious.

“We could use some help over here!” Mikela barked. Alice and Steve immediately ran over to help the others, Luke staying back with Y/N. 

“What’s going on?” Y/N asked.

“Found a breather outside the warehouse on our run,” Matthew said. “Zoms surrounded ‘im. He was barely fightin’ ‘em off by the time we got to ‘im.” His voice was shaky, his southern accent more prominent when he was anxious. “We loaded ‘im into the Jeep and brought ‘im back here.”

“He’s got a serious gash on his torso,” Mikela said. “If we don’t get it sewn up, he’ll die, and he’ll just be another addition to their fuckin’ army of the dead.”

Y/N let out a deep breath, brows slightly furrowed in thought. “Get Richard to inspect him. Don’t do anything until he does.” She looked pointedly at Richard. “I mean it, Rich. Make sure he’s not bitten.”

“Whada we do if he’s bit?” Matthew asked.

Y/N’s eyes flashed to the Georgian. “Shoot him.”

“Boss-”

“I said shoot him,” Y/N interrupted Gary. “It’s like Mikela said. If he’s bit, he’ll just turn into one of them. So if he’s infected, take him out to the woods and put a bullet in his head.”

Gary swallowed thickly, a solemn silence washing over the group. The ones with the mystery man quickly shuffled to the medic cabin. 

“The rest of you.” Y/N addressed the other runners and guards. A couple of the farmers and cooks watched on. “You know your duties. Get to work.”

Murmurs were heard throughout the small crowd, people scattering to do their daily duties. Luke looked up at Y/N.

“I’ve known you for a long time, Y/N,” he said. “I know that the world has changed you- changed everyone… but you were always so gentle.”

Y/N looked at the ground for a moment, before squinting her eyes up at the sky. “Yeah well. If you wanna survive-” she looked over her shoulder at her comrade “-you’d be more lethal too.”

Without another word, Y/N turned away, trekking back towards the command cabin, wondering just how much she had lost herself.

***

By midday, the sun was hot and blaring. Y/N stood out on the porch of her cabin, arms crossed, leaning against the railing of the steps. She watched as children laughed and played. She watched the farmers tend to the gardens down in the fields. Her eyes wandered up to the guards standing on duty up in the towers. The parents of the children sat outside their cabins, reading, knitting, or simply enjoying the sun. Singles either relaxed in the cool of their tents or tended to their duties for the camp.

It was peaceful. It was the only place she knew was completely safe from zoms, where for a second, she wasn’t Y/N the leader, or runner, or fierce warrior. She was simply Y/N.

“Hey boss.”

Y/N inwardly sighed at the break of peace. It was Matthew, a somber look on his face. 

“What is it?” Y/N asked. The unfolded her arms, stepping down the stairs onto the ground.

“The breather we found- he’s waking up. Bite free,” he told her. “Figured you’d wanna talk to ‘im.”

Y/N gave Matthew a nod, swallowing thickly. “Yeah, lead the way.”

Matthew led Y/N through the camp. People waved and said hello to them both as they passed. It was hot. The days were typically mild during this time of year, however the air had turned a fierce eighty-nine degrees. Save for the fields, the camp was covered in trees, however the mugginess below the leaves still left beads of sweat on Y/N’s brow and covered her skin in a sheer layer of moisture.

Matthew jogged up the steps to the medic cabin, Y/N following suit, ducking inside as he held open the door for her. At the sound of footsteps, the inhabitants of the cabin, save for the man lying on the cot, stood as their leader entered.

“Lord Commander,” Luke murmured. The man on the cot quirked a brow, staring at the woman who had just walked in.

Y/N turned to Richard, the medic taking off a pair of latex gloves.

“Matthew said he was clean,” she stated.

“No bites as far as I can tell,” Richard said. “Dislocated shoulder, bruised ribs, and a deep laceration on his abdomen. If the runners hadn’t gotten him here when they did, he’d be dead.”

“He’s stable? I don’t want him turning in the camp, Rich,” Y/N said. Her voice was low and authoritative. The man on the cot continued to gaze at her.

“He’s stable,” Richard confirmed. “He’ll have to be here for a few days for observation. After that, we can move him to the wing. A week later, he could have a tent.”

Y/N hummed, glancing over at the man. Her breath hitched in her throat as she did. 

He was incredibly handsome, one of the most handsome men she’d ever seen. Green eyes locked with hers, freckles dusting over tanned skin. A beard covered the man’s face, brown with almost a ginger tint to it. His hair was light brown, slightly spiked from sleep. His lips were full and pink, a hint of a smirk gracing them as he noticed her stare.

Snapping herself out of it before anyone else noticed her staring, Y/N gripped the back of a chair, swinging it around to face her, sitting in it with her arms up on the back, facing the newcomer.

“What’s your name?” She asked.

“Dean,” the man answered.

“What’s your full name?” Y/N asked.

“Dean Winchester.”

“You got a camp?”

“Nope. I’m a lone ranger.”

Y/N hummed. “What were you doing out by the warehouse.”

“Scouting,” Dean replied. “Needed some more ammo. Was running low on fresh water and batteries.”

Y/N cocked her head. “Zoms typically aren’t found in that part of town. Did you do something to attract them?”

“May have set off a car alarm trying to hotwire it,” Dean said.

“Moron.” Y/N heard Luke mutter under his breath. She shot him a glare.

“So what, you got what you needed and got jumped on your way out?”

“Yep,” Dean said. “Didn’t notice them at first. Then I was surrounded. Tried shooting at them, but there were too many. By the time your friends got there, I thought I was dead.”

Y/N thought for a moment. “You got a criminal record?”

Dean scoffed. “Few charges but nothing major.”

“Like what?” Gary asked.

Dean shrugged. “Couple of fights in my early twenties. I had a brother who I was very protective over. Got charged but never convicted. So technically yes,” he said. “Like I said, nothing major.”

“Got any other family?”

“Besides my brother, no.” Dean answered. “Don’t know where he is. He could be dead for all I know. I haven’t seen him in years.”

“How old are you?”

“Thirty-three,” Dean said. “How old are you?” He sent Y/N a wink.

“I’ll be asking the questions,” Y/N told him. “If we were to let you stay, would your strengths be better as a runner or a guard?”

Dean thought for a moment. “A guard.”

She sighed. “Look, we’ve got kids and families here. You get violent? You’re out. But we need the extra help. You seem strong. You fought off a pack of zoms and survived. You could be a valuable asset.”

Dean thought for a moment. “Has it occurred to you there may be a reason as to why I was a lone ranger?”

Y/N hummed, standing from her seat. She folded her arms over her chest.

“Far as I can tell, you didn’t fare too well at the end of your solo ride. Way I see it, you need security and you need a team,” she said. “You don’t wanna stay? Fine. As soon as you’re up and running, you can waltz your ass out of camp.”

She took a step toward him. “But if not, I’m Y/N. I’m the leader of the camp. You have any business, take it up with me or Luke, my second in command.” She nodded her head towards the freckled blond behind her. “Once you’re better, you’ll become a guard. You’ll have your own tent and designated locker in the men’s locker rooms near the farm. The locker rooms also have toilet stalls and showers, both with running water. You will get three meals a day and a shower everyday after your shift. If you have any sort of medical conditions, you’ll bring it up with Richard here. He’s in charge of all medications. If anything were to happen to you to impair your health or disable you while you’re on duty, you’ll be relieved of your duties and allowed to live the rest of your days within the camp. However, all incidents will be investigated. If we find you have self sabotaged, you’re out of here, got it?”

Dean gave her a nod. “You got it, Chief. Seems I’ll be sticking around then.”

Y/N smiled at him. “Great. Welcome to Camp Roanoake Dean.”

Chapter Two

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[tog-resources-archive]

Hello fellow fan who has been here since the beginning! I come from the “other side” I suppose, in that I do think the top/bottom discourse is worth talking about. It has to do with the elephant in the room which I haven’t seen anyone touch on – self-identified top!joe fans (in contrast to simply fans who enjoy or prefer content where joe tops). I remember the original top/bottom discourse coming out of a more general conversation about trends in fic (1)

Thank you fan!anon for sending me such a long, detailed message! Never apologize for writing me an essay since I always seem to be writing essays for other people in return lol. Also sorry it took a while to get to! This required a bit of preparation. You’ve given me a lot to respond to. I’m going to be putting the entirety of the ask under the cut and the tl;dr because this one is very, verrrryyyy long. 

Tl;dr- fan!anon talks about the history of top/bottom discourse in TOG and the issues of racism in our fandom. My response: my own feelings on the history of the top/bottom discourse in TOG and the current state of it. General issues I’ve observed in this fandom and the current discourse. Also, we shouldn’t ignore fandom racism, but I don’t think we should be looking at it through the lens of top/bottom, AND I think we should be focusing on misogyny, homophobia, etc. in addition to racism. Not ignore one for the other. 

Bottom line though, don’t harrass people, block people if you need to, focus on what you love, support fan creation and let’s try to be a better fandom. 

Okay, time to dig in!

Hello fellow fan who has been here since the beginning! I come from the “other side” I suppose, in that I do think the top/bottom discourse is worth talking about. It has to do with the elephant in the room which I haven’t seen anyone touch on – self-identified top!joe fans (in contrast to simply fans who enjoy or prefer content where joe tops). I remember the original top/bottom discourse coming out of a more general conversation about trends in fic (1) wherein Joe was more violent, less empathetic, often not religious, more aggressive in sexual scenarios, and also most often topping. People asked the fandom in general to simply consider, if that is how they perceive Joe, to reflect for themselves about implicit biases that could be colouring that interpretation. The self-identified top!joes used that conversation as a starting point to argue that the above interpretation of Joe, (2) and writing/drawing Nicky as smaller, almost twink-like, demure, more feminine (or writing fic where he was de-aged) was justified by canon (if you recall the multi-day argument about the approximately 1 inch height difference between Marwan and Luca) and connecting those ideas to top!joe just “making more sense” to them. In the hands of a good writer (of which we are blessed to have many in this fandom!), which character tops in an explicit fic is of no consequence to me. (3) But the concept of top!joe has, in my mind, become so closely tied with those fans who, a) interpret these characters and actions in a way that seems influenced by racial stereotypes and tropes and b) use that characterization as “justification” for top!joe. All this when I thought we all agreed that position preference has nothing to do with personality? (4) If someone sees Joe as a very masculine, aggressive, dom-type character (which is a bit of a one-note characterization to start, but I digress), that shouldn’t be related to him being a “top”, correct? Yet that is the interpretation and connection that the top!joes themselves make. So that’s why to me, the top/bottom framework continues to have some value, eve though in an ideal world it wouldn’t: (5) because some fans connect what should be a neutral sexual position preference to an interpretation of Joe’s character, an interpretation which I think doesn’t do him justice. I understand if you don’t want to publish this but I’m hesitant to talk off anon due to how heated this whole conversation is. I also don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings or make them feel bad about how they are participating in the fandom, but I do think self-reflection in terms of how we engage is valuable. (6) And just to fully reiterate in case it wasn’t clear, my above points are specifically referring to who I think of as “top!joe only” fans as opposed to fans who enjoy or prefer content in which joe tops – only the former of which I am wary of. Anyways, sorry for this long message, and I hope I've been able to explain my reasoning. If we continue to disagree, thanks for reading this anyways and continuing the dialogue. Thank you also for promoting femslash events and content! (7)

So....I did say in a previous post that I’m not a big fan of hearsay, and I’m sorry but… that’s kind of what you’ve given me. A lot of “this is what Top!Joe Only people have said” and “this is what the rest of the fandom has said back.” I have to ask, who are these “Top!Joe Only” people that are on the other side of this fandom war? Who are the people representing the “rest of the fandom”?  The only names I could really come up with myself are the Top!Joe Server mods as top!Joe only fans, and they haven’t exactly been active recently. Not to mention the Top!Joe server mod @karanoidandroid was the focus of the Art Theft and Bullying debacle a while back (here) which even if you disagree with her… that’s not the way you treat people. Full stop. 

But anyway, to break this down, you’ve said that top!joe only fans wanted to interpret Joe in a way that was “more violent, less empathetic, less religious, more sexually aggressive, and topping (most of the time)” and that Nicky is “smaller, more twink-like, more demure and feminine” and that the hardcore top!joe stans are using this interpretation as a reasoning for liking top!joe explicit fics (and for underage fic?)

Er, honestly, I’ll have to disregard the “less religious” comment in this one. Lucyclairedelune has talked about it very eloquently here. As for the rest, let’s say these opinions were expressed on tumblr in July, just when the fandom was getting started. However, after personally going through all the Explicit July fics, I gotta say, the overwhelming majority of writers are focused on romantic Malta sex vacations lol. 

From my personal observations (I started reading fic on ao3 in August), I’ve seen some stories that cater to very… specific tastes (mostly kinkmeme fics so I’m not going to touch that) and some that have…. been written in poor taste perhaps. But, honestly, the majority of fics (aka G, T, M rated) that I’ve seen? I would say that they were written with care and concern for the character’s portrayal. 

Now, some fans (usually older fans) are very focused on “your kink is not my kink” and other fans feel this is an inappropriate way to view “racist, homophobic, islamophobic, etc” fics. And I agree with that. If people are using kink to excuse racism, homophobia, islamophobia, transphobia, antisemitism, misogyny, etc, in fics: Fuck that. But I think there’s a lot of misunderstanding flying around when people react to ‘ykinmk”. This fandom likes to assume the worst of their fellow fans imo, and I honestly don’t think that when a person defends kink that they’re trying to defend racism. They’re trying to defend their kink community which, historically, has been attacked and misunderstood by the purity police. Look into the Livejournal, ffnet, and even the Tumblr purges if you don’t believe me. 

For the record, I don’t know anyone on tumblr personally. We’re all effectively strangers talking to each other on the internet, so I’m not going to make assumptions about people from stories they’ve posted on AO3 or the kinkmeme. If you want to talk about the issues those fics represent, that’s cool, but don’t harass people whose life stories you don’t know (and don’t vagueblog about them). (This is just a general statement, not saying this about you anon! I feel really strongly about this.)

Now you say, “some fans connect what should be a neutral sexual position preference to an interpretation of Joe’s character” and I hate to say it, but there are ALWAYS going to be some people who have awful opinions. Ones that are either truly terrible, or kind of in poor taste, or maybe you just don’t vibe with them. Personally, I don’t have enough time in the day to address every weird thing that a person spews on the internet. I won’t judge if you want to take them on, but, personally, I haven’t seen any recent militant top!joe only posts that are calling for racist portrayals. I see people referring to past conversations, for sure, but again, I can’t do anything with hearsay. 

And honestly, we keep bringing up the top/bottom discourse of early TOG fandom, and we’re just not the same fandom we were then. SO MANY people have left the fandom in that time-- a lot of big name (or simply well known) fans and a lot of MENA fans. Regardless of what “side” you’re on in this, we all lose by focusing on the positions, by dividing everyone by “top” or “bottom” or “switch” fans, and by bringing up what people said in July, or August, or September.  It’s exhausting, especially because I think a lot of people have done exactly what you said. Many authors HAVE self-reflected, they’ve thought about trends, the implications, and are contributing/interacting with the fandom as best as they can. Do I think we should stop focusing on self-reflection? That we should stop being careful about writing potentially damaging portrayals of our favorite characters? NO. Let’s keep at it! Let’s encourage others to do the same… but not with top/bottom discourse.

Let it be known that I don’t think racism is a topic we should disregard to focus on other things. Honestly, I would be happy if people gave some of the energy they have for “top/bottom” discourse to talk about the portrayal of Nile Freeman or Lykon or Copley or Quynh… the other POC representation in TOG that usually gets ignored. You may interpret this as me going “but what about??” and that’s fair. I just think that we talk about Joe ALL THE TIME in this fandom. There is an avalanche of conversation and content for this man (who I love, don’t get me wrong) and it just feels really disingenuous (to me) to talk ad nauseum about racist portrayals of Joe, but then to ignore Nile Freeman and wlw fics when Nile is the rare Black Female Action Protagonist and Andy/Quynh is an extremely rare interracial canon lesbian couple. And I’ve been trying to use my blog here to bring attention to this, think of me what you will because of that. (Again just a general statement anon! Not directed to you XD)

And from what I’ve seen in this fandom (and many others to be fair) is that we care about racism SO MUCH…but only when talking about how a man has sex.  It speaks of a lack of intersectional understanding of these topics, disregarding the misogyny that IS ALSO inherent in fandom, and disregarding the homophobia of overfocusing on the top/bottom dynamics. BUT I’m not asking you to ignore racism; all I’m asking is for you to focus on the other issues too. 

Bottom line though… the discourse is not what it once was.  A lot of people, on whatever side, have left the fandom, or have taken a break, or are vocally tired of “top/bottom” discourse. Personally, I think we should talk about racism… but not through the lens of explicit mlm fic sex positions. Let’s talk more about race, gender, sex and sexual orientation, but not in a way that divides the fandom, in a way that makes people sick of being here, in a way that kills our content creator’s passion. Honestly, I think it can be done! But only if we work toward that goal together. 

I would like to focus on encouraging events in our community, such as the ongoing Old Guard Big Bang 2021 event and the upcoming Femslash Fortnight Spring Solstice Edition event. If anyone is organizing other events, let me know and I’ll hype you up! But as for the rest, I’m tired, you’re tired, we’re all tired. Let’s try and work harder to be a kinder, more inclusive fandom in the future, for everyone’s sake. 

[poeticandors]

Come What May Part 1

Poe Dameron x F!Reader (Moulin Rouge!AUishhhh?)

Summary: You and Poe are sent undercover in a night club in order to gain information about the First Order and hope to recruit. But what begins to bloom as you and Poe continue to work closer throughout this mission? And, what happens when you happen to catch the eye of one of the most dangerous men?

Warnings this chapter: None really  

A/N: Here I am, with another fic that no one asked for. This is pretty much a Moulin Rouge type au so we’ll go with that from now on.

I do not own GIF!

“This outfit is horrible.”

“It doesn’t look that bad.”

“Speak for yourself, you basically get to wear regular clothes,” you snap at Poe. “I have to wear these damn dresses and… well these other outfits.” 

Poe watches as you twirl unintentionally in the dress you were wearing. He can tell just how uncomfortable you are in it— you’re used to wearing the standard clothes given to you by the Resistance, he’s sure. 

Still, he can’t help but admire the dress. The light blue flows down to your feet like a waterfall on Naboo. The intricate design was… well, beautiful really— the silver stitching along with divine crystals sewn into the dress that reflect any light shining on it.

No one would be able to keep their eyes off of you.

“We have to blend in,” Poe says, simply. “These various outfits will ensure that.”

“Aren’t we supposed to be undercover? Won’t I just… stick out?” 

You were anxious. Poe could see it in your body movements. The way you keep pinching the dress and how you shifted in the heels that were taller than you’re used to. 

This was your first mission with Poe. Your first mission ever. Poe understood why you were nervous, but you had skills that matched even those of the best— though few—Intelligence officers.

That’s why this mission was so important. Not only were you both sent to gain any information you could about the First Order— many of the officers frequented this red-light district and were now your main targets— you were also sent to try and recruit anyone that was deemed fit or were just simply tired of the First Order’s control. The Resistance couldn’t be picky, they needed everyone they could get.

And it made sense why you were paired up with Poe for this mission. Everyone else had their own duties, you were newly recruited and had the skill set necessary, and Poe was experienced. When Leia came up to you, you were apprehensive at first. Why would she ask you— a newly recruited officer— to join one of the most prominent members of the Resistance on a mission like this? 

Poe was kind, he had done well to make sure you were okay with everything that was happening. He made sure you were well briefed on what was going on and the type of place you would be at. He treated you as if he’d known you longer than you really had, even joking here and there while at the same time keeping a tough demeanor and treating you like any other soldier. He made sure to let you know he would be by your side throughout this whole ordeal.

Sighing distressed, you turn to Poe. “I can’t do this.”

“Yes you can.”

“But—“

“We’ll be fine,” Poe steps up to you. “The General wouldn’t have partnered us together if she didn’t think we could do this, Y/N.” 

Your gaze falls, and Poe places his hand on your shoulder, careful not to touch any visible skin not covered from your dress. The contact still makes you shiver.

“You know I’ll be there with you every step of the way. Even if I’m not physically there with you, I’ll be close by watching and making sure nothing happens to you, okay?” 

Looking back up at him, you nod. “...Okay.” 

“This is for the Resistance. Remember that.” 

“For the Resistance.” 

He removes his hand and takes a step back. “Alright, let’s go over this one more time. Tell me who you are.” 

“I’m Kyla Tille, been bounced from planet to planet. The last place I was at, they called me the... Sparkling Kyber and the Untouched One.”

Titles like that were good. While the location was given the name of a simple night spot or cabaret, courtesans were the prime entertainment. You would be now employed as the star courtesan, but your titles insured that no one would be able to touch you unless they gave the highest price. It made sure to keep you safe from others whose prying eyes were on you. All you had to do was keep guests flowing in— flashing smiles and even flirting here and there. Nothing more.

“Perfect. And I’m Tel Dara, the handsome man who has been assigned to guard you since our most recent home,” he grins. 

This pulls a laugh from you, and Poe can see your shoulders are now relaxed. 

“Just remember, don’t give them any reason not to be suspicious,” he says, more seriously. “‘Make sure you really trust someone before trying to send them my way.” 

“Got it.”

“We’ll get through this.”

++++++

The club was still somewhat filled with guests even during the day. A few humanoids and various other species huddled at the front and along the hall as you and Poe walked inside. The main room was dimly lit, and you could smell the smoke lingering in the air. Women in scandalous outfits were scattered around, flirting their way with those sat at the bar or booths, while server droids roamed the area from the bar, serving drinks around and gathering empty glasses. The music playing was soft, almost calming even for a hot spot club. 

But you knew that wouldn’t be the same case at night. 

Everyone glanced at you as you walked by, observing and scanning every inch of you. Your stomach churned, and you felt as if your chest was tightening— from panic or the tightness from the dress laced up on you, you didn’t know. All you wanted to do was hide away where no one could see you. But you made sure to hold your chin up high and take long, slow strides as you both made your way to the main office.

Poe knocks on the door, and you take in his appearance as you both wait. His hair was more tame, combed and slicked back, and he was dressed in a dark suit. He bore a more hardened look, and definitely did not look like the jaunty pilot you’ve come to know. 

The door opens and you glance up, seeing a man grinning down.

“There you are! Welcome, welcome,” he waves you both in. “Well, come in. We’ve been expecting you both.”

Poe places his hand on your back, gently guiding you in as you walk forward. The office was fairly big, a black metal desk with silver lining, shelves along the wall that had really… odd trinkets. Posters promoting the club with bright letters and pictures of all the girls were hung around the room as well— Come to the Crimson Club! Have all your dreams and desires come alive here! Drinks, music, and entertainment all night, every night!

It was definitely not a place you would have gone by choice. 

“Please, sit down.” 

Poe pulls the chair out for you, and you sit cross-legged as Poe stands right behind you. The man smooths his hair down, sitting opposite of you as he looks between you both.

“Thank you for this opportunity, Mr. Dorstar—“

“Oh, please don’t with the formalities,” he chortles. “Call me Boz.”

Poe nods. “Boz…” 

“Thank you, Boz,” you flash a dazzling smile. “I‘ll try not to disappoint you.”

“I doubt that will happen,” Boz’s eyes scan you, nodding in approval. “Gorgeous. So, it seems the stories I was given from your reference were right. A Sparkling Kyber. Isn’t that right, Kyla?”

Your gaze falls to the floor, feigning bashfulness.

“She definitely is just that,” Poe—Tel— walks next to you, and slips his fingers under your chin, lifting your view back up. “Fellas couldn’t get enough of her.”

Poe’s fingers graze your chin as he pulls them away, and you breathe out softly. Boz grins, pulling out his holopad. 

“Well, we all know what her ‘job’ here at the Crimson Club will be. Eye candy, another piece of entertainment. But you, my little kyber, will not be like the other girls.” 

“Meaning?” 

“Keep the customers interested, flirt a little, have a drink with them. Maybe get a little handsy if needed before moving them along to one of my other girls.” 

He leans back in his chair, turning to Poe. “And your job, Tel, is to stay close, but not too close. Only the one making the desired, highest payment will be allowed time here with our Untouched One. Make sure that no one does anything to harm our prized possession here.  Just like you did at your previous club.”

Possession. 

Nails digging into your fists, you try to keep a level head. This whole thing was disgusting, how could you have agreed to this? 

Exhaling slowly through your nose, you tried to calm yourself as to not show any hint of discomfort. This would be over soon, you had to remind yourself. 

It was for the Resistance, for the safety of your friends and newfound family.

“Let me remind you, Boz, that Kyla here is not an object.” 

The tone of Poe’s voice catches your attention. You’ve never heard him talk with that kind of spite before. Looking up at him, you see his jaw tighten as he stares down Boz. 

“Just make sure no one lays a hand on that pretty little head of hers. The previous escort failed to do that and, well, why do you think you’re both here now?” 

You both stay silent, as Boz stands up and claps his hands. “Now, I think we are all in agreement? Let’s show you to your new living stations.” 

Poe holds his hand out, and you place yours in his as you stand up, following Boz out of the office. The three of you make your way down the hallway to an elevator. You were told in the brief that there were no cameras up on the top floor. This was beneficial to both you and Poe, as you would be able to confer with each other about the events happening in the club. 

As the elevator makes its way up to the top floor, you feel Poe’s hand graze against yours— assuring you that you were almost in a safe space. 

This helps you relax a little, and you straighten as the doors slide open.

“This way,” Boz motions down the hallway. “Your room is what we call the Crimson Room. Only you, Tel, and myself are allowed here is that understood?”

“Yes, Boz.”

“And eventually when the lucky one who pays the desired amount of credits, they’ll be allowed up here too,” Boz flashes a smug grin before scanning his key card. 

The doors open with a whoosh and you step inside as you observe the room. It was a fairly large room; walls painted red, a large window with a view to the outside, and a ridiculously huge bed in the center. There was a dresser for you to place your belongings, as well as loveseat along the opposite wall. The small table for you to have your meals was there as well, already placed with bowls of various fruits as well as multiple champagnes, wines, and other liquor if wanted.

It was definitely the biggest room you’ve ever had. 

“Is this to your liking, dear?” Boz asks, watching as you walk towards the window. 

Staring outside, a small ache fills your chest as you realize you’ll be stuck here for an unknown amount of time. You see all of the people walking along the sidewalks, free to walk where they desired. Meanwhile, all you can do for the meantime is live through them every time you glance out the window.

“Kyla?” Poe’s voice pulls you from the window, and you give Boz a small smile.

“Yes, this is magnificent. Thank you.” 

Boz seems pleased with the answer, and smooths his dress shirt down. “Then I’ll let you get settled for tonight. The opening number will pay homage to you, and all you’ll have to do is walk out along the stage so everyone gets the pleasure to see you.”

“Thank you, Boz,” Poe walks him to the door, walking him out. 

Boz stops just before and turns to you, a devilish grin on his face. “Oh, and I’ll have the perfect dress sent up to you, my little kyber.”

He walks out, the doors closing behind him as Poe turns to you. He watches you exhale shakily, before moving to sit on the bed. 

“Good work,” Poe loosens his collar. “He seems to really like you.”

“Wonderful,” you scoff, pulling your heels off to rub your feet.

“Listen…” Poe walks over to you. “I know this isn’t an ideal situation, but if we keep two steps ahead, we can get through this quickly. As long as we’re in this together, okay?” 

You don’t respond, but Poe doesn't push. “I’m going to get our stuff, will you be okay alone?” 

“Yes,” you answer softly, glancing up at Poe.

He watches you for a moment, not quite believing you but nods anyways. 

“I’ll be right back.” 

You watch him leave, and when he is finally gone you fall back against the mattress. Eyes on the ceiling, you grab onto a pillow and hug it close, wishing you were back at the base in your small cot instead.

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Latest update revises dialogue in first few chapters

Earlier today (9 June 2020), there was a version update for the CN server where the writers changed certain dialogue in order to “correct certain mistakes”, portray a more “natural progression of the relationships” and “remove inconsistencies”.

The CN players are currently livid and asking for the original version to be restored. I came across some screenshots of the changes on Weibo, and chose the more significant ones to translate. Just found them interesting and worth sharing! It’s a nice trip down memory lane as well.

Update as of 12 June: The writers decided to undo the changes 😂

1. The way Kiro is Introduced in Chapter 1

[Original]

Kiro: It’s just that... um, I just want to see the prize card inside. It seems a lot of people are collecting them, right?

I hold up the chips and see that there is indeed a notice on the packaging about promotional Batman AR cards.

I think for a moment, tear open the packet, and take the card out.

MC: This is for you.

Kiro: Thank you. If we were in kindergarten, we would definitely be best friends already.

MC: Oh no!

Kiro: What’s wrong?

MC: ...I haven’t paid for it yet.

Kiro: Ah! You’re right.

MC: ...Let’s pay up later... So sorry ma’am, I’ll buy 10 packets of chips later! Sorry!

Kiro: Sorry!

We look at each other and burst out laughing.

[Revised]

Kiro: It’s just that... I just want to collect the prize card. It seems a lot of people are collecting them, right?

I hold up the chips and see that there is indeed a notice on the packaging about promotional Batman AR cards.

It turns out even a major celebrity can have a hobby of collecting cards... I can’t help but view Kiro in a brand new light, and I make a decision in my heart.

[ In the park near the supermarket ]

It is late afternoon, with few people at the park. We are at a corner with not a single soul in sight, and sit down on a bench.

I tear open the packet of chips, take the card out, and give it to him.

MC: This is for you.

Kiro: Thank you!

[Issue(s) with the revised version]

The original is far more endearing and hints towards Kiro’s cheeky personality. Plus the brief mention of kindergarten foreshadows their shared past

The transition to the park is abrupt and comes out of absolutely nowhere

--

2. The way Gavin is Introduced in Chapter 2

[Original]

I turn around to see a tall man in a denim jacket walking over.

[Revised]

I turn around to see a tall man in a denim jacket walking over, casually carrying a police hat in his hand.

[Issue(s) with the revised version]

According to official police regulations (at least in China), officers are not allowed to mix any part of the police uniform, including the police hat, with normal clothing. Furthermore, officers cannot wear the police hat crookedly, much less carry it around like a prop

The revised version gives the impression that our precious Birdcop is a rule breaker and does not take his work seriously. Such blasphemy

--

3. Victor’s reaction to MC dropping a water bottle during a live show

[Original]

While doing a live show, you suddenly drop the water bottle in your hand and it makes a loud noise! Victor looks over towards you, and looks like he is about to say something cynical...

As though nothing happened, Victor casually knocks over his own water bottle and says lightly, “It was an accident.”

[Revised]

While doing a live show, you suddenly drop the water bottle in your hand and it makes a loud noise! Victor looks over towards you, and looks like he is about to say something cynical...

Victor looks at you as though nothing happened and doesn’t say anything.

[Issue(s) with the revised version]

The original version seems to imply that Victor cares enough for MC to cover up her mistake

The revised version just makes him seem callous

--

4. Kiro and MC celebrate

[Original]

Kiro: Cheers to our hard work... Cheers to our rich imagination... Cheers to our turkey barbecue... Cheers to our microwave oven!

[Revised]

Kiro: Come, cheers to our success!

[Issue(s) with the revised version]

Similar to his introduction, people are commenting that the original is more endearing

--

5. Victor at MC’s Company

[Original]

From a distance, I see Victor walking towards me. Without his formal wear, he looks less serious, and looks more refreshing and casual.

MC: Good morning, you look different from usual today.

Victor: What’s the difference?

I don’t respond, leaving his question hanging on purpose.

MC: [suppressing laughter] Please wait over there for a moment, I’ll go through the script for the shoot with you after talking to the photographer.

Victor creases his eyebrows, as though dissatisfied by how I have slighted him.He hesitates for a while, and opens his mouth.

Victor: All right. Here, you have the final say.

Watching the usually cold-faced Victor walk to a corner, secret laughter bubbles in my heart.

[Revised]

There is a shoot involving a PSA by LFG today which requires Victor to make an appearance.

I arrived early to the filming site to prepare, but didn’t expect to see that Victor had arrived even before I did.

Didn’t he sleep very late yesterday because of how busy he was...

MC: I specially told you to come later, so why did you still wake up early?

Victor: Work is work, there’s no need to care so much. I had a good rest, there is no need to worry.

MC: In that case could you wait over here? I need to talk to the photographer before I can go through the script with you.

Victor nods his head lightly.

Victor: Mm, you have the final say here.

I take a few steps to the photographer and start talking to him.

From the corner of my eye, I suddenly see Victor engaged in a conversation with a young actor.

The playful little boy makes a face at Victor. Surprisingly, Victor responds with an even more exaggerated expression.

I rub my eyes, almost believing that there is something wrong with my eyes.

Victor inadvertently looks my way, and I hurry to avert my eyes.

For someone who calls me childish from dawn to dusk, he’s the one who is most childish.

[Issue(s) with the revised version]

The impact of Victor’s “You have the final say here” is dulled in the revised version, because we don’t see Victor feeling disgruntled about being slighted

Maybe it’s just me, but Victor seems out of character in the revised version when he plays with the little boy

--

6. Victor and MC in the car

[Original]

Victor: Sit here and don’t move.

After saying this, Victor rushes into the rain and opens the hood of the car to check the condition of the car.

MC: [rolling down the car window] What’s the situation like?

Completely drenched, Victor helplessly straightens up, pausing for a few seconds before closing the hood and re-entering the car.

Victor: The engine is spoilt. I need to call for a tow truck.

While speaking, he calls for assistance on his phone. Raindrops trail down his hair and face.

MC: You’re completely drenched. Hurry and take off your coat or else you’ll fall ill.

Victor takes off his coat and tosses it onto the backseat. The black shirt he is wearing has also gotten drenched from the rain. 

He lifts his hand to unbutton his shirt, and I awkwardly turn away.

Victor creases his eyebrows and looks at me.

MC: I... I didn’t see anything...

Complete silence fills the car. Victor lightly coughs, breaking the silence.

Victor: I’m done.

I turn around and see that Victor has changed into a new black shirt.

However, several water droplets remain strung on his hair.

MC: For you, tissues...

I hurriedly take out a tissue packet from my bag. Lifting my head, I am met with Victor’s gaze.  

Time stops momentarily, and he looks away hurriedly.

[Revised]

Completely drenched, Victor re-enters the car, shaking his head.

Victor: We can only call for assistance.

MC: Hurry and change before you catch a cold.

Victor takes off his coat and tosses it onto the backseat, at the same time retrieving another clean, dry shirt from his bag.

He unhurriedly lifts his hand, placing it on a button of his shirt, and turns to look at me.

I avert my gaze, turning around slowly so that I no longer face him.

In the quiet, the rustling sound of clothing is amplified multiple times.

After a while, Victor finally laughs lightly.

Victor: All right, you can turn your head back.

[Issue(s) with the revised version]

Players commented that it was a waste to remove that adorable scene of bashful Victor accidentally using his Evol in response to MC’s concern

I completely agree

[the-kiwi-is-not-a-pewee]

Emmy.

This is a callout post about discord user emmy, known for now as @eurydices-flower on tumblr, and her nasty behavior regarding her joining and then leaving a specific Riordanverse fan discord server. I don’t usually make callout posts but this needs to be addressed since she has vagueposted about my friends and been rude to them over DMs. I don’t believe she should be allowed to run around and make accusations, especially with people not able to find part of the story due to it being over private messages. So, with the permission of the friend whom she sent DMs to, I will outline her brief stay in the server and the aftermath.

It’s time you heard our side of the story.

Emmy (which is how I will be referring to her for the duration of this post), joined the Trials of Apollo (ToA) server on July 6th, 2020.

For the sake of chronicling how we know that she is also @eurydices-flower on tumblr, she says as much in her self-introduction in the #introduction channel of the server.

Emmy was in the server for less than 24 hours, before leaving voluntarily with seemingly no explanation. Naturally, we were confused and one of our own reached out to emmy on her tumblr blog to ask why she left. I blacked out the profile picture and url of my friend’s blog for the sake of their own privacy.

Let us go over this, piece by piece.

“yeah i’m alright i just realized constant negativity wasn’t rlly my game at the moment and i don’t necessarily have the headspace to ever deal with that.”

That is fair, she is encouraged to look after herself and her own mental state first. If she felt like leaving was the best course of action to take for the sake of herself, then she should not be judged for that. And it’d be perfectly fine if she left it at that! But, of course, I wouldn’t be making this post if she did.

“everyone’s entitled to be everyones own opinion but to bash other people you don’t even know for having opinions was too much for me to handle. a lot of those blogs are good friends of mine and it truly is disrespectful to harp on anyone for having different opinions but go around and spread negativity when others don’t agree with with that opinion.”

Regarding the first part, “everyone’s entitled to be everyones own opinion but to bash other people you don’t even know for having opinions was too much for me to handle”, there’s nothing wrong with this statement as it is on the surface-level. She is expressing that she personally does not want to partake in that particular kind of discourse. That is fine, she is not obligated to in any way, shape, or form. Though I do have a comment or three about the statement before we move on.

She could have muted the specific channel where that kind of discourse was taking place, which as far as I’m aware she never did. The ToA server has 2 specific channels for pjo discourse because members were uncomfortable with it being spread sporadically throughout the server, thus those two channels were made to contain discourse. If she was truly made uncomfortable by what she stated, she could have rectified that problem herself instead of leaving. But, after all, it was her choice to make in the end.

“but to bash other people you don’t even know for having opinions was too much for me to handle”Uh, welcome to tumblr Emmy? I don’t know if Emmy meticulously vets her tumblr experience so that she literally never encounters people bashing other people they don’t even know for their opinions, but it makes it a rather ironic statement considering tumblr’s reputation and that she has a tumblr blog. Heck, it’s not even unique to tumblr, it’s more of a social media thing. I can only postulate that maybe it made her more uncomfortable in a more confined and private space like a discord server, but I cannot be sure. Given she joined at the height of the Ace! Reyna discourse and the “opinions” she’s referring to are likely the aphobic rhetoric spouted by people who were astonishingly upset that Reyna was not a lesbian, I personally am rather uncomfortable that she dumbed it down as if it were merely “having an opinion” and not an attempt to invalidate ace representation in a mainstream media book series just because they were upset that they hadn’t gotten exactly what they wanted.

She retrospectively made herself a hypocrite. I’ll put a pin in this for now and we’ll come back to it.

“A lot of those blogs are good friends of mine and it truly is disrespectful to harp on anyone for having different opinions but go around and spread negativity when others don’t agree with that opinion.”

There’s quite a bit to unpack here just in this one sentence. First of all, no one in the server knew she was acquainted with any of the blogs we were discoursing about. She never stated such at any point prior to this point. We didn’t know, and thus we could not even consider accommodating her before she left in this regard.

I’ve already expressed my own views on her dumbing down people spouting aphobic rhetoric to them merely having “different opinions”, but the server was not “spreading negativity” unless you define “negativity” as calling out people for their aphobic rhetoric and frankly disrespectful treatment of Reyna as a character as a whole. It’s not as beautiful and simple as “others don’t agree with that opinion” when said opinion promotes aphobia and tries to claim that lesbian Reyna somehow cannot peacefully coexist with asexual Reyna.

“I mean no disrespect to anyone in that server when saying that or this but i just truly hope you all emotionally grow as people one day and learn to be more respectful <3 <3”

This… whole line has the basic energy of “No offense but *proceeds to say something offensive*”. Emmy basically went, “I mean no disrespect but *proceeds to say something disrespectful*”. It’s especially rude that she told us that she hopes we “all emotionally grow as people one day and learn to be more respectful <3 <3” when she was the one that came into the server in the first place. Furthermore none of us owe our respect to the people that got so mad over a fictional character not being exactly what they wanted that they have to belittle and attempt to downplay ace representation. It’s not Emmy’s place to tell us to “emotionally grow” and “learn to be more respectful”, especially when in the aftermath she doesn’t put her money where her mouth is.

“Blacked out user: Ah I see. If I may ask, what differing opinion were you being bashed for?

Emmy: not me personally but to see the rr crit circus chat (Note: one of the discourse channels) filled with other people doing it to people not even IN the chat was what bugged me”

Has emmy never been in a discord server with a discourse channel? This is a legitimate question, because this is not behavior unique to the ToA server. All of the servers I’ve seen with channels specifically for discourse have done this. This isn’t some kind of uniquely shitty thing that the ToA server does that we should be morally ashamed of, especially when something similar goes on with people on tumblr posting screenshots of tweets.

“but also when i entered and said i didn’t have opinions on litpollo or medea and i was immediately kinda made fun of for it didn’t make me feel good, as well as saying i was ace and ppl going “oMG the LESBOPhObIa. again i hope y’all just grow emotionally and mentally <3”

Here’s what happened (different colored bars mean different users):

Now, despite the fact that the “r u human” in response to Emmy saying she doesn’t ship litpollo and the “i bet u r not ace u r just LESBWEEN CODED” are jokes, I do understand why those statements made Emmy uncomfortable. Emmy was a newcomer and not acclimated to the sense of humor of the server and to basically shove her the butt end of it was not fair to her. The latter joke especially would be difficult to swallow if Emmy didn’t know that an inside joke of the server at the time was mocking the people who insisted that making Reyna ace was a lesophobic act on Rick’s part despite Trials of Apollo as a series having three lesbian major characters (Emmie, Jo, and Lavinia). 

In simple terms, I agree with my friend’s reply and the apology they gave on the server’s behalf. Emmy did deserve that apology. Doesn’t make the “i hope y’all just grow emotionally and mentally <3” any less rude or unwarranted though.

As far as any of us were aware, this was the end of it. Emmy was a bit rude but we had our closure and as far as any of us knew the ToA server and Emmy had parted ways. And then this happened.

This post has since been deleted by Emmy herself, but before it disappeared it was archived by myself and other friends reblogging to respond to it.

It doesn’t name myself or any of my friends directly, but since we were quite vocal about calling people out for their aphobia when Reyna was revealed to be ace, it is assumed we were the target of the post or are at least part of the group that is the target for the post. If it is indeed the former it seems Emmy is vagueposting about us. Even if it’s not specifically about us, it’s not a good look for Emmy. Let’s parse this apart.

“funny how the people yelling aphobia when it came to Reyna were dead silent today when Rick went on twitter and was blatantly racist and disrespectful”

There’s several reasons why people weren’t addressing Rick’s tweets that day. Some of us don’t use twitter/don’t follow Rick on twitter. Some of us don’t check the #rickriordan tag or other tags like it. Some of us have other main fandoms that are not pjo. Some of us don’t follow blogs that reblogged the tweets and the responses to the tweets, or hadn’t reblogged them yet. Some of us might want to first watch the responses to the tweets because we are not Cherokee, Muslim, or educated enough about those topics beforehand and not dig ourselves into a hole. Just saying, just because we didn’t give an immediate response doesn’t mean we didn’t care.

“funny how they only care about representation when it applies to them and them alone”

Does Emmy know that plenty of non-ace people were defending ace Reyna? If she wants an example, I’m a bisexual woman and I’ve been vocal in my defense of ace Reyna. So her logic that “they only cared when the rep applied to them and them alone” falls apart.

“funny how they only cared Reyna was ace because it gave them the opportunity to harrass the lesbians who were hurting”

I don’t condone harassment but calling them out for their aphobic behavior was not harassment. They couldn’t express their hurt without belittling asexual representation and lacking so much self-awareness that they couldn’t realize how aphobic they were being. I’m sorry that they don’t have my respect for that- actually, you know what, I’m not sorry for it. They literally chained themselves to the concept of Lesbian Reyna and would not accept anything else, that’s their own fault. Just because you’re hurt doesn’t give you the excuse to be an asshole to other LGBTQ+ people that did get representation.

"it’s almost,,, almost like you don’t actually care about these characters or color! that you just want the opportunity to clown and be bullies and abusive”

This is a very rich statement considering those “hurting lesbians” she referred to didn’t care about Reyna as a character. They only cared about Lesbian Reyna and nothing else. Some of them mixed up ace and aro showing stunning ignorance on the difference between asexuality and aromance. And now they’re playing victim because they got called out.

“if you want marginalized groups like asexuals to be represented, where’s your energy for pipers representation and characterization? samirah? where’d it go?”

Heroes of Olympus has been out for years. There have already been posts on tumblr before detailing the flaws in how Rick wrote Samirah and Piper, it’s not a new phenomenon. It just had a resurgence recently. Heroes of Olympus is old news so it’s not as fresh and hot as it was when it first came out so of course while discussions over the representation in it are still going on it has mostly calmed down until recently.

“i see you. i’m watching you. you said nothing. not a single word. not even a messy reblog of one (1) post about piper or sam. dead. Silence.”

Emmy gets a little creepy here and slightly stalkery. She doesn’t like us yet she’s watching our blogs? I guess the Blog Police is here. If you don’t reblog discourse posts about how Samirah and Piper were represented you’ll be arrested and pegged as a racist.

No one is obligated to reblog posts about Samirah and Piper. It’s not reflective of their feelings towards Piper and Sam. it’s THEIR blog and they are not obligated to reblog what others want them to. I hate to break it to Emmy but she can’t force people to reblog the stuff she wants to see.

“i don’t care if you think you ‘shouldn’t have a voice in this’ bc ur white or smth. there’s a difference between spreading posts about this terrible situation and trying to butt in with ‘i’m white but here’s my opinion’“

And here we finally circle back to the retroactive hypocrite point I put a pin in earlier. Here’s a refresher: “everyone’s entitled to be everyones own opinion but to bash other people you don’t even know for having opinions was too much for me to handle. a lot of those blogs are good friends of mine and it truly is disrespectful to harp on anyone for having different opinions but go around and spread negativity when others don’t agree with with that opinion.”

And yet she bashes people she doesn’t know and spreads negativity for… possibly having a different opinion than the ones going around right now or not interacting with it for their own personal reasons. Also not everyone who didn’t immediately jump on the Samirah/Piper rep analysis reblogs were white. Assuming people are white will eventually bite you on the ass.

After that post, she continued vagueposting on her own blog.

I seriously doubt she was sent an anonymous death threat because a friend of mine checked her account earlier that same morning she made that post and the Anon feature was turned off. Then, in the evening, she posted about having an Anonymous death threat sent to her without any proof. I’m not saying it’s not possible nor do I condone death threats, but I do have reason to disbelieve her.

IF she is still referring to her brief stay in the ToA server as that “scenario”, then she neglects to say that she did not tell anyone that she was uncomfortable until after she left. We are not mindreaders, we cannot tell when every single person we talk to is uncomfortable. So it can at least partially be held against you, Emmy, for a failure to communicate with us.

And finally, the straw that broke the camel’s back for me.

This DM was sent to a friend of mine, the same friend that reached out to Emmy following her departure from the ToA server. I can only assume that the post she is referring to is the one I covered earlier, prior to the “anon death threat” post. Let’s parse through this again.

“hi love! i noticed you unfollowed me around the time i made my post calling you and other’s silence on piper and samirahs blatant mistreatment today.”

Wow, you know what, scratch what I said earlier about assuming that the post was directed at me and my friends, Emmy basically confirmed it from her own mouth. Nice to get the ambiguity out of the way right off the bat. Also she’s seriously DMing my friend just because they unfollowed her? And assuming it was because of the post? She can’t definitively connect the two dots but if that was indeed the reason my friend unfollowed her I certainly can’t blame them. Especially given that this was Emmy’s response.

“i hope you realize you’re blatantly racist and just all around a terrible person for harping on the wlw community for being upset about their bad representationk because you had ace representation but don’t use the same energy for the people hurting that they don’t have native or muslim representation.”

It’s spelled “representation”, Emmy. Also the pjo wlw community was upset that REYNA was NOT a LESBIAN, not that they had bad representation. That was their whole salt. As a wlw myself, being upset about bad representation doesn’t give you an excuse to put down ace representation which a lot of them were doing. They have THREE lesbian characters in Rick’s books so far.

Also I thought the issue Emmy took with us was that we weren’t reblogging posts breaking down Rick’s tweets or pointing out the flaws in Samirah and Piper’s portrayal in the books. And now she’s talking about posting about people hurting because they don’t have Native American or Muslim representation? Which is it Emmy, you are sending mixed signals.

“i hope you educate yourself and realize you and the entire community that kept their silence are truly acting terrible right now. thank you.”

This is… extremely rich coming from the asexual who implied she has aphobic friends. I hope she educates her friends and realizes her and the entire community who bashed the choice to make Reyna asexual are truly acting terrible right now. Though given how she put the wlw on a pedestal and turned a blind eye to how aphobic they were acting I don’t have hope. The hypocrisy when she says that my friend is “truly acting terrible right now” when my friend dared to just unfollow her.

And that is how I will close this. She is still posting about the server on her own blog but that is everything major that has happened so far. On behalf of my friend, don’t harass emmy or send her death threats. I may not respect her, but I certainly don’t condone harassment or death threats. 

She is only 15, according to her own blog, but it does not excuse her behavior towards my friends. Being a minor doesn’t exclude you from being a shitty person.

[cilldaracailin]

Crazy Little Thing Called Love

Hello my Tumblr Lovelys!

Yeah I haven’t posted twice in a row in a very long time, but I missed posting one of the days this week so I am making up for that.

Thank you as always for all the wonderful comments, love, likes and reads. They are all so very much appreciated!

Hope you all enjoy this one too.

Suze xx :)

5

“That's the problem with best friends. Sometimes they know you better than you know yourself.”

His nap was perfect and when he woke up, he was curled up against Robyn, his head on her lap as she sat on the corner of the couch, her legs stretched out in front of her. Her hand was curled around his waist and he could feel the tight grip with which she held him and he had no complaints about it at all. He could feel his cheeks tint a little when he felt his new sleeping position on her, realising he must have moved in his sleep and his left arm was now across her legs, his hand flat on her upper thigh under her skirt. It was just a little bit overly intimate for him and he moved his hand in what he was hoped was a not too obvious speed, using a long stretch and yawn as an excuse to move fully from her, a light groan coming from him as his body woke up.

“It will take more than a three-hour nap for you to look any less tired.” Robyn commented as he ran his hands over his face as he settled to sit beside her.

“Robyn this is a look you are going to have to get used to seeing over the next two months and I know you don’t like it but unfortunately it’s gonna be my face for a while.”

“I like your face I just don’t like these.” She reached over and traced the dark circles under his eyes.

“They come with my face and my face has to go on tour with me so it is just the way it has to be. Please be forewarned that at the premier, I am going to be tired. London is the last one and last part of the promotion so I will hit a wall quickly once the after party is done.” He smiled at her frown. “Just the…”

“Way it is, yeah I know.” She sighed. “Well at least you can sleep all day Saturday.”

“I am not going to lie, it is probably what I am going to do. The Monday after, I am straight into filming for the new movie.”

“You never stop do you.”

“Not really no.”

Robyn sighed again. “Do you know where you are filming yet?”

“Matthew has some people out scouting locations at the moment but right now I have no idea where we are going to end up.”

“It’s very selfish of me to say, but I hope it’s not too far away from Kilcreen.”

“So not America.”

She shook her head. “No not America. I still want to be able to come and see you.”

“Well I shall have a word with Matthew for you.”

“Thanks Taron and we are going to have to get you a new shamrock for your cheek.” She dragged a finger down the tear stained shamrock on his cheek.

“You too.”

“So shall we go and do that and get ready to go for dinner?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Once they had freshened up and tattoos had been replaced, they left Robyn’s home, Taron with his flag around his shoulders again, and walked towards the small gap in the hedge to get into Kilcreen GAA grounds. Robyn said hello to the people she knew as she walked by, Taron keeping close to her nodding to those Robyn greeted. Kilcreen GAA club house was almost heaving with excited punters, enjoying their national holiday. Thankfully though, even with the larger crowd, Robyn and Taron had no problems finding a table in the lounge, Taron quite relieved it was a table for two right at the back in a little corner and he sat in beside Robyn on the soft furnishings so he could watch everything going on around him. He still felt comfortable and not worried about being overly noticed and as always he felt safe with Robyn. He picked up the menu from the table and scanned over the options, feeling his stomach grumbling. It had been a long time since his breakfast of Irish pancakes and he was ready to for some food.

“So, what is good here.” He asked her.

“Everything.”

“That’s not helpful Robyn.”

“Well because it is St Patrick’s Day and as you want to have a thorough Irish experience, you should get the bacon and cabbage. Proper Irish food though the…”

“Sold. Bacon and cabbage it is.” Taron put his menu back down.

“That easy huh?”

“Yep. So what are you going to have?”

Robyn scanned the menu. “Think I am going to have the lasagne.”

“That is Italian food not Irish food.”

“Taron, I can have bacon and cabbage whenever I want. I just need to go home to my mam’s house and volá, Irish dinner.”

“Lasagne is not Irish food though.”

The server came over and once they had ordered, Taron making sure to get his drink of choice in too, they sat back against the seat, close together watching the customers in front of them enjoying the evening out.

“So I gave you some warning about my friends, do I need something similar?”

“Well you already met Claire.”

“Aww yes Claire. She liked to smell my hoodie.” He replied with a grin.

Robyn didn’t answer straight away as the server came back with Robyn’s glass of water and bottle of cider and Taron’s Guinness.

“All of the rules have been covered now chicken.” Taron took a drink from his glass. “I wore green, I didn’t say any stereotypical catchphrases and I got my Guinness.”

“And you had a duck in the race.”

“And won!”

“And won.” Robyn repeated as she took a drink from her own glass. Every time they saw each other, they went on a serious emotional roller coaster. One minute they were laughing with each other and the next one of them either cried or needed a serious hug and pep talk and Robyn was finding it hard to keep up with it all but she was so thankful for him. She couldn’t have asked for a better supportive reaction from him once he had learnt about her failed relationship and as he sat right beside her, his left leg was snug against her right and she didn’t know if it was because he felt a little nervous being so out in the open in a very busy pub or because he wanted to just keep her close to him and whichever reason it was, she was glad for the closeness. She had said it to herself so many times but the man sitting beside her was becoming a tidal wave in her life and every moment she spent with him, she was willing to have him wash over her and she was feeling still a little emotional charged so slipped her hand into his under the table, smiling at the squeeze he gave her.

“So I am already on my guard about Claire possibly smelling my shirt, anyone else I should be wary of?”

“You have already met Emma.”

“Briefly.”

“Well Emma will be there and her husband Tommy. I don’t think you need to be worried about her. She forgave me for going to see you in New York.” Robyn took a quick intake of breath when she realised what she had said and grimaced as she took in his face of surprise. “Ahh shit.”

“Ahh shit? What have you been keeping from me?” He felt her reach over and used her free hand to encase his hand that she was already holding and rubbed over his knuckles using her thumbs. “And hand massages are not going to distract me. Robyn, tell me because if Emma is going to look at me weird for the whole evening I should probably know why.”

“I told Emma I was sick and at home in bed when I was actually getting on a plane to go and see you in New York and obviously because she is Emma and my manager, she found out. Wasn’t super happy with me.”

“Is that why one of the terms and conditions on my voucher book was to make sure I gave you enough notice so you could take time off work if we did something together?”

“Pretty much.”

“Robyn…”

“You don’t have to say anything Taron. Emma said enough and she is not going to look at you weird. It was a lecture I was given the next day in the office and it wasn’t mentioned again. Emma knows all about you and me and what happened between us and she understood why I did what I did and was a supportive friend but as a manager, she had to have her say too. There is going to be no weirdness at the céilí, I promise and I have been the best employee since.”

Taron didn’t look too convinced but he nodded. “Ok so two more women I need to look out for.” Robyn frowned at him and he smiled at her. “So Claire, Emma and Tommy. Anyone else?”

“Shane and Darragh.” She heard him repeat the two names. “Shane is a childhood friend of mine and Claire’s and Darragh is his husband. Such a gorgeous couple. Good fun and always up for a laugh. I think you will get on well with them.”

“Ok Shane and Darragh.”

“And then there is Nick, who is Claire’s current crush.” A wonderful wicked smile filled Taron’s face. “And I am so glad you are on the same page as me with this one. She is disgusted at me that I asked him to come along but I know I am going to enjoy the evening a lot.”

“Oh me too Robyn and you know Nick how?”

“He’s in the gospel choir. He’s a good friend of mine.”

“Are you up to some match making this evening?” Grinned Taron.

“Maybe a little bit. Hoping you might help me.”

“With pleasure.”

“I am sure just like your friends, there is going to be that teasing element at the beginning and a few smart remarks thrown in for good measure too but they are a good group of friends and have been good to me over the last few years.”

“I have some comebacks in my back pocket for when I need them. Now we need to talk about the dancing.”

“The dancing.”

“I am not a great dancer.”

“Do I really need to go back to the Rocketman movie to prove you wrong? Or mention New Year’s?”

“That was scripted and taught dancing and New Year’s was just dancing. I am not a great dancer.”

“You don’t need to be.”

“Robyn you are bringing me to a céilí which is a very specific kind of dance.”

“It is so easy Taron. All the dances are based on a four four timing and it’s just a lot of spinning and crossing places and moving in circles and don’t look at me like that. I know you understand what four four timing is.”

“Yeah that’s the part I understood. The rest I am a bit unsure of.”

“Not every Irish person comes out of the womb with the ability to Irish dance. Most of the people going will never have been to a céilí before and there will be instructions for each dance too. You won’t be expected to stand up and know what to do. Even I don’t know what to do.”

“You are a bad liar.”

“There is one go to céilí dance that every Irish person has an idea of but honestly, I haven’t a clue otherwise. I just know it’s going to be a whole load of fun and very Irish and I intend to fully deliver on my promise of a thorough Irish day and experience for you.”

Taron was ready to respond and tell her she had most definitely so far fulfilled the brief of being Irish for the day but the server came over to their table with their meals and he was completely distracted as his food was placed in front of him.

“Need anything Robyn?”

“No thanks Sally. We are all good.”

“Well enjoy your meal.”

“Do you know everyone in this town?” Asked Taron as he unfolded his knife and fork.

“It’s a small town.”

“But yet everyone is so respectful.”

“What do you mean?” She asked him as she shook some salt over the chips that came with her meal, pushing them between herself and Taron knowing he was going to want some.

“I haven’t missed the looks I have been getting.”

“Looks?”

“A lot of people either know who I am or just find you with a man very interesting.”

“I am going to go with that second option. Like I said small town. Kinda hard to keep your private business that private but then again, I have already told you that the Irish are very civil towards celebrities. Wouldn’t normally go up to them.”

“I like it here.” Taron tried some of his dinner. “And oh my goodness this is delicious.”

“As I told you earlier Taron. Kilcreen is your little bubble.”

She only saw Taron nod from the corner of her eye and concentrated on tucking into her own dinner. She was so glad she came from a small town and that she could give Taron complete peace of mind when he came to see her, knowing that he was safe from prying eyes and those who did question it, kept it to themselves and if they did recognise him, didn’t take it any further than knowing who he was and leaving it at that. It was something she had always wanted for Taron and knew although he might not say it out loud, very much appreciated the freedom he had with her just to be himself and not worry about being approached.

Just before nine, Taron was happily finishing off his second glass of Guinness and waiting for Robyn to return from the bathroom. The lounge had emptied a little, a lot of the customers heading to the céilí but the tables were still pretty full, the chat loud and happy around him. Apart from being home in Aberystwyth or a private event, sitting comfortably in a pub was not something he got to experience so peacefully very often and he was very much taking in the easy-going atmosphere and mood. He saw Robyn heading back his way but she was stopped at a table three down from where they were sitting to talk to the people sitting at it. He watched her interaction with them, her face in a smile, then a grin and then a full laugh and it made him smile. He liked it when she was happy.

“What are you grinning at?” She asked him as she walked over to the table.

“You.” He answered honestly.

“Me?”

“Yep.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“Nope.”

Robyn raised an eyebrow at him and watched as he drained the last of his drink. “Ok well are you ready to get those dancing feet going?”

“As I will ever be.” Taron shuffled out of the seat bringing their jackets and his flag with him. “Just need to pay for dinner.”

“Already done.”

“Robyn.” She heard the warning tone in his voice.

“I used the money from the duck race.”

She took his hand on her left shoulder as she walked through the lounge as a sign of agreement and made her way to the double doors and out into the hallway before taking a right turn towards the gymnasium. Once out of the lounge, Taron had let go of her shoulder and walked beside her, both stopping at the table in the hallway.

“Hey Robyn.” Greeted the man at the table.

“Hey Ray.”

“Two?”

“Already have my tickets.” Robyn routed the green tickets from her bag and handed them over. “Here ya go.”

“Perfect.” He stamped the inside of their wrists with a little green shamrock stamp, Robyn watching from the corner of her eyes at how Taron’s face lit up at the stamp. “Just so you can come and go as you please. Sit where you want, though I am sure I have already seen Claire inside.”

“Thanks Ray.”

Taron opened the door for her, letting her into the gymnasium of the club house first. “Seriously Robyn. You know everyone in this town.”

She just smiled at him as she walked by and once they were inside the large gym, she could hear the chuckle come from him. The white awning that was used for parties and wedding receptions had been set up and green lights flooded the place, making the white glow bright green. Irish flags and bunting covered the uppermost edge of the awning and that traditional Irish music was playing through the speakers. The tables were arranged all around the walls so there was a large space in the middle of the floor for the céilí to take place and each table had a centre piece with an Irish flag and green, white and orange helium balloons.

“Well I have stepped into every stereotypical Irish movie ever!” He grinned. “So now I get to use all those phrases!”

“Absolutely not!” She replied. “Only the Irish can get away with this, otherwise we take full offense.”

“Well me and my flag fit right in!”

With a shake of her head, she took his hand and led him around and through tables and over towards where she had caught a glimpse of Claire. The table her friend had picked was at the back on the left hand-side, a snug little table set up for eight people, just as Robyn had asked her to do, wanting to make sure that if he needed, Taron could have a table away from the dance floor and crowds.

“Robyn!” Claire cried getting up with her arms out ready to hug her friend. It was a tight little hug and her friend kept her mouth close to her ear so she could whisper to her. “He actually came?”

“Of course he did.”

“How is he?”

“Tired.”

“And…”

“And he learnt about Keith this evening.” Claire let go of Robyn and stared at her, her mouth dropping open. “And that is a wonderful impression of a fish there Claire.” Robyn turned a little and reached for Taron’s hand and he came to stand beside her. “You already know Claire.”

“Well hello again.”

“Hello to you too. So, we have moved on from flour to an all green look?” Questioned Claire, dropping the sudden news Robyn had just given her, knowing she would have to wait until she was alone with her friend to talk to her about it.

“It’s St Patrick’s Day.” He answered simply.

“Do you have any control over him?” Claire asked her friend.

“None what so ever and moving on.”

Robyn walked Taron around Claire so they could stand at the table of people who were waiting their turn for an introduction. “And this is Emma who you have already met and her husband Tommy.”

“Hi Emma.” Taron moved over to her and leaning forward took her in for a quick hug and kiss on her cheek. “Sorry about New York.” He whispered into her ear. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“You too Taron.” Emma didn’t reply to his whisper but lingered with a return kiss to his cheek instead, glad when he was giving a smile as their hug ended.

“Tommy.”  Taron reached over to shake his hand.

“And then on the opposite side, Shane and Darragh.” Robyn had her male friends warned to keep their hands to themselves and as Taron walked around to greet them, she gave Shane a look that screamed behave and she frowned at the wink he gave back to her.

“Nice to meet you both too.” Taron wasn’t really surprised by the hugs and kiss on his cheek he got from them and was sure Shane’s hands were lower than was needed for an initial meet but he let it slide.

“And then there is Nick.”

It was a more manly handshake he got from the last person at the table. “I saw you in the crowd earlier when the choir was preforming.”

“Yeah I was there. You did a wonderful version of Tiny Dancer.”

“Thanks so much. Not too sure if it compares to yours though.”

“Thanks Nick but really not much of a comparison. Two different takes on the song.”

Robyn came to stand beside him. “And that is everyone.”

“Well this was a much more civil introduction compared to when you met my friends.” He said as he put their coats on the back of one of the chairs, folding the flag over them.

“Oh just give it time Taron.”

As Taron took a seat next to Nick, Claire decided it was the perfect time to drag Robyn away, using the excuse of needing to get a round of drinks in at the bar.

“Just let me make sure he is…”

“He is grand Robyn. Shane will look after him.”

“Jesus Claire, did you see how low his hand went on Taron’s back?” Robyn had no choice but to be pulled along by her friend, taking a glance back to Taron who smiled at her and nodded, turning his attention back to Nick who had sprung up a conversation with him.

“Oh I saw but what I need to know is, how low have your hands have gone.”

“Fuck’s sake Claire, are you really asking me that?” Robyn stopped on the middle of the dance floor so she could glare at her friend.

“Friends share.” Claire grabbed her hand once more and they made their way to the bar.

“And my hands have not touched that man.” Robyn and Claire stood stopped to stand in the line waiting to get to the bar. “Well actually that’s not entirely true.”

Claire turned so suddenly; Robyn had to grab her shoulders to stop her friend from falling over on her heels. “Robyn Quinn, you give me more details now or I go back there and grill him about everything.”

Robyn chuckled but also knew her friend was serious. “I gave him a shoulder massage in London last month. He had a bad fall on set a few days before and was a little tender.” Robyn had filled her friend in on most of the details with her weekend with Taron but had left some out.

“You gave him a massage!”

Robyn gave her friend a little push as the line for the bar moved. “He brought a voucher with him.”

Claire grinned. “Oh, so he is using that book to his full advantage. I need more details Robyn. What does his skin feel like?”

“Claire…” Robyn’s tone was playful but she knew where her friend was quickly going with her questions.

“Get a new blusher?” Claire asked her grinning. “Your cheeks a little pinker than normal.”

“Soft and warm.” Robyn said quickly and then she sighed. “And oh Claire… I could feel the tightness of his muscles under my hands, the strength in his shoulders and arms and every now and again he would make this sound when I rubbed a particularly tender spot.”

“Keep talking.”

“Then I pulled his body back to me so he could just lean against me and I got to his head again.”

“You and his bloody head and hair.”

“Not just his head. Forehead, eyebrows, nose and cheeks.”

“Jesus Robyn, I want one of those.”

Robyn smiled. “It’s his favourite thing in the whole world and I love giving them to him because I can just see him visibly relax under my hands.” Robyn bit her lip and looked to her friend. Claire had been her best friend since they were kids and they told each other everything, the brunette being a huge crutch for her over the last few years. She knew she could trust her with the most personal details of her time with Taron. “He just happened to be shirtless during that head massage and I might have run my hands down his chest too a few times.”

It took Claire a few seconds to answer her. “Did he say anything to you?”

“Nope. Let me do it.”

“You know he is absolutely crazy about you Robyn.”

“He let me do it because he knows it’s where my hands were last year when I gave him the CPR.”

“And?”

“And?”

“Details!” Claire said excitedly.

Robyn slightly rolled her eyes at her friend. “I just like feeling his heart beat under my hands.”

“Yeah and touching his body.”

Robyn could feel the heat in her cheeks. “Fine and touching his body. You know what his outfit on New Year’s Eve did to me. That boy knows how to dress but Claire, even the skin on his chest is soft and warm. The whole man is just like a soft and warm blanket.”

“And the chest hair?”

Robyn didn’t answer Claire and avoided her eyes for a few seconds, stepping around her as the line for the bar moved again.

“I will get an answer from you eventually about that chest hair Robyn. You know I will.” Claire came to stand beside her friend. “So, has he enjoyed his day?”

“Fucking won the duck race!” Robyn groaned, making Claire laugh. “And yeah I think so. He is just knackered.”

“He looks it and I heard about the duck race. I met Jane down the town. She was a little excited to have and I quote her ‘met that sex God that is utterly in love with Robyn’.”

“I am so glad I dragged Taron away from her.” Robyn said, ignoring the second half of Claire’s sentence.

“So, you told him about Keith then.” The two girls were three customers away from the bar and Claire couldn’t hold the topic in any more. She had to know.

“That was my mother, not me.”

“Called him a fucker?” Asked Claire.

“Yep.”

“How did he take it?”

“Pretty well actually but at the same time Claire it was horrible and not because Taron wasn’t disgusted at Keith. Believe me he was but because he felt so guilty for what happened with the media and me going to New York and was so worried that his actions had opened up healed feelings for me. He was so upset. He is still carrying so much guilt over it all but we talked it through again and I think at last we have put it behind us.”

“Not something he was expecting to hear. Keith the fucking gobshite.” Fumed Claire.

“No I think not and although I saw the flare of anger in his eyes, it honestly did not last long at all. That man is still traumatised by what happened in New York.

“Robyn you flew to his set and confronted him, yelling at him. Of course he is.”

Robyn cringed. “I don’t want him to feel like that anymore. I have told him so and we have done so much together since New York, I thought he had put it behind him. I pray he listened to me this time. I really don’t want to see those puppy dog eyes from him again or the tears in them.”

“Tears?”

“He’s wears his emotions on his sleeve with those he fully trusts and to be honest I think he is just so exhausted that he couldn’t help himself. I would say on another day, the anger would have come to the forefront but instead today it was him going over how much he had hurt me.”

“Have I told you yet that he loves you?”

“He does not.”

“Yes, he does. He put his anger for what that bastard did to the side and instead concentrated on how his reaction to the media hurt you and when he heard about Keith it just pushed him over the edge a little and he became concerned that he had further upset and hurt you.”

“A little concerned.”

“And he loves you.” Claire frowned as the blonde scoffed at her. “Robyn that man hasn’t taken his eyes off you since we joined this queue. I can see him from here looking at you. You pulled out the short skirt and cropped top for him?”

“It’s my St Patrick’s Day skirt. It’s green.”

“I have never seen you in this skirt before. I don’t even think I have seen this skirt before and you in a crop top? With a pair of high waisted jeans, sure but with some skin on show? You Robyn Quinn are as head over heels in love with that man as much as he is with you and don’t shake your head at me. Robyn, he came over to see you for two nights! You went to him for New Year’s Eve and you kissed him!”

“He kissed me.”

“No, you kissed him.”

“In Aber yeah but he kissed me this evening.”

Claire stood staring at her friend. “So, what is that four now?”

“Five.” Robyn whispered quietly.

“Please explain to me once again about his kisses. Let me live vicariously through you.”

Robyn automatically bit her bottom lip, her hands running through hair. “So soft, very quick and almost reluctant and even his lips are warm.”

Claire dramatically placed her arm on her forehead. “Oh, dear God you are killing me.” Claire took her arm away from her forehead and looked to her friend very seriously. “If you don’t go over there, sit on his on lap, grab him by his collar and kiss him hard, while dragging your hands through his hair, I am going to scream at you. That man needs to be kissed stupid and you need to be the one to do it.”

“Claire…”

“Oh, don’t Claire me! Blah blah blah, we are friend’s blah blah blah. Shut the fuck up Robyn. I know you and I know you are so guarded when it comes to the opposite sex but Taron, he is someone you can absolutely trust.”

“I do trust him.”

“Then fucking go and kiss him!” Claire’s voice was a little louder than she intended and Robyn groaned, praying her words didn’t carry to Taron. “Forget about the distance, forget about his job and media and think about him and what he deserves and needs and what you absolutely need. I just want you to be happy.” Claire threw her arm around Robyn, giving her a squeeze. “He would make you so happy Robyn.”

“He does.”

“And it could be so much more.” Robyn sighed against her friend. “He is going home tomorrow.”

“Yep.”

“When do you get to see him again?”

“He is coming to see me in RENT and then he invited me to go to his premier for Kingsman yesterday. That’s the end of April.”

Claire let her friend go and grinned. “Fucking hell that man is keen. Another fancy dress with a low neck line?” She winked laughing as Robyn rolled her eyes. “Hey you told me he was the one who picked that dress for you and you wore it.”

“And he has been warned. Stella, his stylist will be helping him.”

Claire shook her head but smiled at her. “Life of luxury now Robyn.”

“It is not about that.” Robyn replied a little sternly.

“I know that Robyn and I know you would never take advantage of him. You have done nothing but look after him and he had better be doing the same for you.”

“He does. It just so happens that his life is a little more extravagant than mine in some ways but Taron loves nothing more than a cuddle on the couch.”

Claire chuckled. “Had your cuddle yet today?” She asked as they reached the bar.

“In fact, I did. Taron had a little nap before we came out for dinner.”

“And where did his head end up?”

Robyn didn’t answer her friend but gave her order of drinks to the barman, ordering a bottle of corona for Taron, a cider for her and two pint glasses of water. Despite her teasing, Robyn knew Claire only wanted the best for her and always had her best interests at heart and as she spoke jokingly about Taron, she had the upmost respect for him and as she felt Claire hug her from behind, she knew it was just a bit of banter between them.

“You deserve a man who will love everything about you and Taron is that man. I can see it. I just want you to be ridiculously happy and if that sex God can do it, then I am routing for you both.”

Robyn took Claire’s hands away from her waist and turned to look at her. “I know Claire and thank you but please don’t call him a sex God to his face.”

“Even if you are thinking it.” She winked.

“And while we are on the topic of sex God’s, how’s Nick?”

“I am still pissed at your for inviting him but he is so gorgeous in his green shirt and jeans and he has his hair in that sideways part and…”

“And you need to go and sit on his lap and kiss him stupid.” Laughed Robyn. “You know I have the inside scoop Claire. Maybe he might be feeling the same.”

“Don’t you even tempt faith.”

“Only returning the advice.” Robyn said handing her money over to the barman as he brought back her drinks. “Hey Claire. Speaking of faith and ya know the good old tradition of Irish slagging, can you go easy on Taron please? Normally he would be up for a good laugh but he is so tired and running on empty let’s take it down a notch ok? I already have to be on my guard with Shane, I need you helping me. I actually want him to come back for a visit, not run for the hills.”

Seeing the slight begging in her eyes and knowing Robyn was prepared for some teasing over Taron, Claire nodded. “Sure. I’ll tone it down.”

“Right down Claire. I happily would have left him sleeping but neither him or you would have agreed to that.”

“I promise Robyn. I know how much he means to you and I can see it on his face that he is tired.”

“Thanks Claire.”

“But…”

“No buts. I have a Nick to threaten you with.”

Claire’s eyes opened wide. “Ok so I have your back with Taron then.”

“Thank you. Claire you do realise you and Nick are going to have to be partners for the dancing right? I mean Emma has Tommy, Shane has been giggly with excitement since we got the tickets to dance with Darragh and well Taron is with me, so that only leaves Nick for you.”

With a wink to her friend who only then realised the position she was in, Robyn picked up her four glasses and made her way back to the table, a small smile on her face as she walked thinking over Claire’s words, happy she was going to give the teasing and slagging a rest. It meant she really only had to keep a closer eye on Shane throughout the night, knowing he was going to come out with all guns blazing, having just the smallest crush on Taron, despite being married to the love of his life for the last three years.

[noboo98]

http://www.madamepickwickartblog.com/2011/08/smile-happy-days-were-once-again/

THIS logo was used on a very popular little (3/4″) button that was a very trendy item worn in the punk scene in seattle. it gradually was lifted and used on a tshirt for the band nirvana, around the time of the release of their record ‘bleach’. i remember watching lisa orth paste it together in the production room at the rocket, where she had just quit as the art director. i’m not sure who picked the image – the band or lisa. i’m not even sure whether they altered the image or not. but, it was classic ‘sub pop’ marketing move of the time – appropriate an interesting piece of local weirdness and then exploit the hell out of it. that image became synonymous with nirvana and was a huge hit . they probably sold a million of those tshirts alone. who knows what else it was used on. AC:...haven't really looked at that nirvana logo in over a decade or more. i remember discussion about using the logo straight across and the risk of lawsuit. so, lisa may have altered it to avoid that. but the lusty lady logo was the idea. that's undeniably the case. i was there. the result is that most people around the world think of this blissed-out happy face as the ‘nirvana’ logo. go figger. in reality it was a promotional branding icon thingie used to promote the notorious ‘lusty lady’ strip club on seattle’s first avenue. every cool punky hipster in seattle wore one of these things as a sort of ironic joke. the popular story of the lusty lady is as peculiar as their logo’s morph into pop celebrity. as the story goes, the place existed as an act of defiance by the owner of the building (situated directly across the street from the glamorous new robert venturi-designed seattle art museum main entrance). in an attempt to expand the area into a yuppie upscale fern bar sort of neighborhood the city supposedly attempted to use “emminent domian” laws to acquire the building (condmnation) for development. the owner fought them hand and foot and eventually won. so the story goes, the landlord, in an act of apparent retaliation, began to rent out the space in the building to the sleaziest worst tenants he could find. the basement was rented to the First Avenue Service Center – that charity who tended the needs of the street homeless with food, medical, counceling and even shelter. the main first avenue street level was leased to the lusty lady ‘exotic private dance’ club (aka – strip joint front for everything imaginable). the top stories were apparently left vacant and were notorious ‘shooting galleries.” so, the building was a huge festering eyesore int he middle of the seattle power structure’s attempt to railroad the downtown into microyuppiedom. the lusty lady maintained this attitude for years by boldly placing clever off-color slogans and jokes on their reader boards poking their filthy finger into the eye of the seattle art/downtown/political power structure. (i wish i could remember some of them, but they were so wink wink naughty naughty that they often get displayed in the local news. anybody out there remember any of the slogans?) this button (later nirvana logo) was just one of their many many PR campaigns to stay as public and visible as possible in the battle against the city. everybody loved it! in fact, when the lusty lady announced they were finally closing down (after a couple of decades of this) the entire city seemed to mourn the loss. but, the lusty lady also has another rather sordid chapter to add in the unwritten history of seattle underground culture. for one thing, the lusty lady seemed to maintain a lot of goodwill among the hipster bohemian community because it was ‘women owned’. all that means in my book is that there was a female face on the front of the power structure – a “front” for much darker ownership. but, the hipsters thought that it meant it was some feminist defiant re-interpretation of ‘the oldest profession’. so, it became a badge of honor to actually dance there (believe it or not). many women in the scene proudly let i be known that’s where they worked. everybody was usually dully impressed. one seattle documentarian photographer even did a well-received book about the club that resulted in an exhibit inside the seattle art museum itself (the across the street enemy of the club). many of the ‘girls’ working there behind the scenes and the ‘art of erotic dancing’ became synonymous with ‘outsider’ art (or something.) at any rate, the result was a sort of “acceptance’ of the lusty lady as a sort of ‘outsider art palace.” pretty strange. but it was thought of as as ‘cool’, where every other dance club in town was ‘sleazy.’ the truth was, that the place (like most of these places) was a front for extensive prostitution and drug-abuse lifestyles. it was as bad (or maybe even worse) than any strip club. turning tricks was the unspoken part of the duties there. ‘wom wned’ and ‘art museumed’ or not, it was the same old shit. so it goes. the other little dirty secret of the seattle rock scene is that many of the bands (some of whom went on to stardom) were supported by girlfriends who “danced” there. it was so common to have a girlfriend dancing at the lusty lady associated with a band and financially helping to support them that it was almost a standard accessory. hooker money helped feed and house and clothe man many ‘grunge rockers’ over the years. without the girlfriends’ selling their bodies, the rock stars boyfriends would have had to get jobs and sacrifice their futures (as they hopefully imagined them). so, the loving gal pals hit the streets to support the rock star redemption fantasies that kept them going in the form of their personal rock god boyfriend. it’s a sad dirty little ignored fact that never seems to make it into the pop history books. most of those rock stars never were, they never made it. most of those girl friends became professional sex workers for their entire short lives. most of those dreams of salvation never materialized. the bottom line is that every time time i see that nirvana tshirt with that blissed-out happy face logo, i think about those pathetic little girls turning tricks to keep their rock star boy friends in cigarettes and beer. i think of the amazing amount of damage the rocknroll fantasy has done to everybody. sometimes i think poor little curt did, too. ADDENDUM: AC:i remember back in the mid-80’s, interviewing a guy while i was working on that old “instant litter ‘ book i did about seattle punk posters. this guy was a fixture as a manager of several dozen rock bands over the years. the whole time i interviewed him, there were rock stars hanging out around his house and these beautiful scantily clad young women cruising about. he kept interrupting the interview – which consisted primarily of me holding a poster and asking, “who did this?” and him answering, oh, i dod that. turns out, he never designed a poster in his life. – to answer this portable phone (it was a briefcase phone, no less! just like maxwell smart.) he’d mumble into the phone and he’d point at a girl and give her a slip of paper and she’d leave. he was running an ‘escort’ service to support all the bands. i guess the ‘guys’ got ‘bennies’, too. apparently, eh was also the first local pimp to utilize early computer online services to run hi biz, too. he’d get busted and the cops would take his portable phone and his computer and then try to find names. they couldn’t because they had no idea how the internet worked. the pimp would just get a new phone, contact his server and be back in biz. it took the cops a few years to figure out his game. i guess he went tot the big house,eventually. all those bands collapsed in flames. so, this was not a new phenom in the scene. it may be a part of every rock scene that ever existed. there would be a greta book about this stuff you could write…. Related Posts in the name of love… some kind of wonderful? history is written by the whiners This entry was posted in Feature Article, Ideas/Opinion, Marketing/Advertising/Media, Modern Arts/Craft and tagged art chantry, Courtney Love, Curt Cobain, lisa orth, lusty lady, lusty lady seattle, Nirvana, nirvana bleach. Bookmark the permalink.

[reeesea]

Something Sweet: Part Two

~sweet lotus~

one ~ two ~ three ~ four ~ five ~ six ~ seven ~ eight ~ nine

pairing: minsung, jisung/minho

warning: mentions of alcohol I guess...

words: 5k ish

summary: Jisung gets side tracked and ends up following Minho into a host club/bar. That's it really :)

a/n: I’m cross posting this on ao3 but don't know how links work so I hope you enjoy if you do happen to stumble upon this. <3

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Jisung’s been busy. Well, kind of. 

Jisung, along with the other two sleep deprived zombies that make up 3racha, have once again barricaded themselves in their shared apartment. The trio has been working nonstop to prepare for their next performance. Their recently hired manager, Sana, had notified them that the venue that they were playing was actually twice as large as their last. The boys had been trying to flesh out a few new songs/covers to play and hopefully win over the crowd.

Busy wouldn’t really describe the boys. Yes, they were working hard producing more and more, but the lulls of writer’s block and exhaustion would set in eventually. Each time would leave them to fend for themselves by staring mindlessly at the ceiling, or collapsing into an unplanned 4 hour nap, or just plain gorging themselves on the various carry outs of the day. 

Changbin, who surprisingly was able to work remotely for his producing job at JJP Ent., was juggling his work for them and his work for 3racha. Bin would sneak out of his studio/bedroom whenever the lull in creativity set in, or the anticipation of their Friday night show started creeping up on him. Almost every time this led to Chan or Jisung playing some of what they were working on and then the realization that the third rapper had joined them, neglecting his paid work, would set in commencing the throwing of shoes and a chorus of animated yells from all parties to arise. One way or another, always returning a reluctant Changbin back to his, as Jisung put it, “big boy work” and the other two back to their respective laptops and keyboards. 

Chan was probably the most focused of the three. His ability to juggle multiple projects at the same time was practically god-like and occasionally left the other two producers completely clueless as to which project he was actually working on. When the exhaustion had finally caught up with him, Chan could be found by the other boys asleep sitting in front of his laptop. Changbin and Jisung had worked out a little system to keep the older in check, taking turns moving an unconscious Bang Chan to the couch and making sure he had eaten before returning to their own assignments. The leader would wake up a few hours later feeling confused, but thankful for the other two's efforts to keep him on his feet. 

Jisung, the ever all-rounder of the group, usually was the one busy writing, composing, producing, and doing anything he could get his hands on. But this time, the main reason Jisung never quite felt busy was because no matter how hard he tried, sometimes he just couldn't quite find the words for his verses. The new addition to their set list actually didn't take much time to make, production wise, but writing his verse always turns out to be a challenge when the writer’s block sets in. Even with days straight of thinking about what he wanted to say on his part, no progress meant no work had been done, which to Jisung meant he had not been busy. It was a slippery slope that all of them had experienced before, but this time Jisung’s descent down that slope came in the form of trashing pages of lyrics and stanzas immediately after spending hours on them, and distracting himself in piles of blankets while scrolling forums, SNS, and internet videos for inspiration. From which the cycle continued. The concept of just freestyling it completely on Friday was starting to sound better and better.

Sana would occasionally come by (daily? None of them really knew what day it was, only that it wasn’t Friday yet), opening up the black-out curtains that lined the floor to ceiling windows of the apartment, always followed by at least one audible groan from one of the members. During one of the many occasions of Jisung staring blankly at the ceiling in the dark, Sana had entered the apartment and practically tripped over Jisung from where he was curled up on the floor in a blanket chimichanga, “Jisung-ssi, why are you on the floor, again. Its literally 3pm.”

Jisung liked to call them chimichangas, mostly because he really liked that it was a four syllable word, but it also described him best when he was in a blanket burrito feeling especially fried from exhaustion.

After tripping over Jisung for maybe the third time that week, Sana had left the apartment telling them to be sure to be ready for their performance tomorrow at five pm, when she would meet them at the venue. Although Jisung was the one currently rolled up on the floor, the other boys had somehow looked even more exhausted on the couch with emptied coffee cups in their hands and obvious dark circles under their eyes. They had finished in the early morning as always, trying their best to prepare for their performance, that apparently was tomorrow. That was news to Jisung, and still nothing written for his verse.

“You guys look so dead, how are you even awake right now” Jisung mused from his bundle on the floor. 

“I honestly don't know. Do you think I could just go to sleep until our performance tomorrow?” Chan chuckled at the realization that their call time wasn't more than 17 hrs away. 

“Honestly you need it, with how much you got done this week. You finished almost all the tracks for the album, right?” Changbin asked from his spot on the couch. Chan nods vaguely at the question . 

“Yeah out of the songs we chose, I was able to brush them up, and fixed the beat on a few. We can look at them closer after Friday.”

“This week didn't seem real. The last thing I remember was dragging Chan’s unconscious body down the hallway after we got back from Menu 98.” Jisung was gesturing wildly beneath the blanket he was under, but the other two didn't have to even look at him to know he was being dramatic. “Bin-hyung it took you like 3 whole minutes to put the right key in the door. I'm glad your attempts with the bottle opener didn’t end up damaging the lock.” 

That one earned Jisung a pillow to the face. 

“Well hopefully this Friday we won't end up in the same condition. Wine hangovers are the fucking worst,” Changbin held his head in remembrance of the pain but a smile was starting to sneak out on to his face. “But guys, since we’re finally officially signed with a company, I wouldn't mind getting to celebrate again this weekend.” 

His smile only grew as the other two joined in the grinning from their respective spots in the living room. It was true, they finally signed with a company. JJP Entertainment had reached out to them after having seen them perform one of their shows. Changbin had submitted a producer application to the company earlier that year, and seemingly as soon as they had seen the three in action all of them were accepted and got to sign with the agency. Changbin had begun working as a producer about a month ago while the other two had just recently been officially signed into the company as group members. To all of them it still seemed like it was too good to be true, but a week into it they were all just excited to be calling themselves recording artists and to have consistent pay for their professional work. 

Their manager Sana was a result of the company beginning to help promote 3racha as a group. Chan had mentioned that they weren’t going to be officially announced as a part of the company until they could properly debut with their album. Jisung wasn't going to complain though, he was just happy to feel like the dreams they’ve had since their underground highschool rapper days were finally being realized. 

All three of them, grinning wildly, were already feeling antsy to be on stage again. The hours until they could step onstage couldn't move fast enough.  

---

Minho had a busy fucking week.

 He had picked up two extra closing shifts that he usually would have days off on, but the reward of a bigger paycheck pulled his leg into accepting to take them. The bright side, he supposed, was that his coworker had taken his Friday shift and he was able to have a night off. His original plan to spend the entire night in the studio was pretty much shattered when his annoyingly loving roommates had scolded him when he had told them his plans. During morning rehearsal the group was able to get a lot done, and had polished their performance piece they had planned for a showcase in the coming week.

Minho told himself that he would have still stayed after practice if it wasn't for Hyunjin’s nagging to visit him at work that night, but he was packing his bag just as soon as the others once they were finished.The truth being that going to Hyunjin’s work almost always included free drinks and good company, and Minho felt like it would be the perfect way to relax his nerves after the week of productive practice, and painful working shifts. 

Hyunjin worked at the host club and bar a couple streets away from their apartment. The establishment was mostly known for the beautiful and handsome hosts and hostesses that worked there who served up drinks and polite conversation. In the more recent years, the place was becoming popularly known as being just a normal service bar that just had beautiful servers and bartenders. Many tourists and locals came to the bar in hopes of seeing and meeting these beautiful people, while also obtaining their weekend quota of alcohol. Of course as Hyunjin could attest to the host club wasnt without clients, as his boss asked him multiple times if he wanted to switch positions from bartender to host due to all the patrons asking if he was available.

“Come on Hyung! You can come and meet my new coworkers. Also you promised to visit Momo-noona last time and she’s still pissed you haven’t been back in like a month. Honestly at this point she wont stop worrying that you aren’t coming back to see her, and keeps asking me like-” 

“Okay, okay Hyunjin I’ll come with you, just stop rambling,” Minho giggled at the younger antics and his tendency to ramble to himself aloud, while in a conversation. It was reasons like this that made Minho glad the boy was only a bartender and not a host. Although, he would probably pay himself just to see the young 21-year-old try and make coherent conversation with a client. Hyunjin was beyond just beautiful, but when it came to conversing with strangers past their drink order, he was quite a bit less than suave. 

Hyunjin cheered as he skipped out the studio doors, joining arms with Felix as they made their way toward their shared apartment. 

---

Jisung left their flat early in hopes of being able to find the venue on his own, but still allow himself time to properly get lost. Surprisingly enough he was able to find the venue on the other side of town without much trouble and with Google Maps opened on his phone. One of the  reasons why it was so easy to find, was that the venue was huge. Among the lavish entrance, and its multicolored lighting, it had a large marquee with “3racha” shown in bold as the night's act. It was still the early evening and the district’s businesses were just starting to show signs of preparation for the night's patrons and customers. There were food stalls setting up, readily pre-cooking the batches of street food for those who would be passing by throughout the night. Clubs were just beginning to open their doors and prepare for the crowd that always came to dance away the start of the weekend. The bars were beginning to gather their additional servers and bartenders, from the looks of the various uniformed strangers on the street entering their respective places of employment. There were a few barhopping adults and students littering the streets with excited chatter and giggles of anticipation. 

Jisung can’t say he ever went out with friends much other than when the group would perform at bars and clubs right out of high school. He never had experienced the “wild night out with your friends” trope that he secretly loved watching in dramas and tv shows. There was just something watching a group of friends all going and enjoying a night together that made Jisung’s heart smile. Looking around again and escaping his thoughts, he spots a familiar face in the distance. 

In front of him is his cute server from last week, Minho, walking down the street not even 50ft away. Granted Jisung had honestly forgotten about the man after that night, as the dull ache of a hangover had occupied his mind the morning after. Jisung never thought he would actually see the man again outside the confines of the restaurant that he worked at. And maybe because this coincidence felt more like fate, and maybe because Jisung is the kind of guy to believe in fate, or maybe because Minho had smiled and from 50 ft away it still took Jisung’s breath away, Jisung found himself stumbling forward to follow the man into the bar he had just entered. 

--- 

Minho had walked into the familiar establishment and immediately went and found his place on a barstool. 

“You didn't have to come this early.” Hyunjin was all dressed up in his collared shirt and vest, with his name tag reflecting the dim lights from above his heart. The completed uniform of all the bartenders and servers at Sweet Lotus, of course, made Hyunjin look even more like a prince than usual. 

It was barely 15 minutes after the bar had opened for the night when Minho’s leather pants and silk shirt wearing ass had entered. 

“Well, it's not like I had any other plans tonight. Felix had left for work and it was too lonely in the apartment to wait for the bar hopping crowd to pass through, so I thought I would just beat them instead.” 

“I knew you missed me.” Hyunjin made a kissy face toward Minho that was met with a gentle face slap by the hand of the older. 

“Please, I only came to get an early start on the night. Maybe try and beat the in house record for free drinks.”

“Oh please you already know you still hold the record, don't act cocky” Hyunjin rolled his eyes, and earned a giggle from the other. There was a running competition between the off duty servers and hosts of who could get the most free drinks from strangers in a night. It was a vanity competition as much as it was a ploy for the employees to boost the bar's sales when off shift. 

Minho thrived off of it, when he had worked as a host for the club. He had been in the highest demand on and off duty, gathering a total 19 drinks paid for by strangers within a single night. Even after Minho had left the club, his record still held. Hyunjin would sometimes come home updating Minho on how close some of his new coworkers had gotten to the record, well aware of how much the title inflated the man’s ego. 

Before Minho had the chance to respond a tuft of brown hair tripped into the bar entrance. A familiar looking boy with big shining eyes, searched the room until making eye contact with Minho. The determined look in the boy’s eyes was completely contrasted by the soft smile starting to appear on his lips as he approached the bar. 

Recognition flooded his memory as Minho looked back at the cute boy that had given him his number on a receipt the previous weekend. The boy struggled slightly at getting atop the stool next to Minho, earning him a slight snicker from the bartender as he watched the scenario play out in front of him. Hyunjin just watched his cocky ass roommate be made speechless by the entrance of a cute high school looking kid dressed in street clothes, there was no way he wasn't going to hound Minho when they got home. 

“Hi.” The younger looking boy smiled again fully creating a heart with his lips, and Minho couldn't help but smile back. That seemed to only make the younger grin wider if that was possible and his eyes sparkled with content. “I don’t know if you remember me, but I met you last week, I mean kind of. You were my server on Friday night, and you recommended a drink and a dish for me, and I’m pretty sure it was the best thing I had ever tasted before. And now that may seem like a completely crazy reason to low key follow you into a bar after seeing you on the street, but for some reason I feel indebted to you for giving me the best thing I’ve ever tasted also I’m pretty sure I was embarrass-”

“Hi Jisung,” Minho didn't know anyone else could ramble even more than Hyunjin, but here he was, Han Jisung, the cute boy in the pink hoodie who had given him his number and a tip that was quite a bit more than his 20% usual. In full honestly Minho had found the receipt a few times during the week in his work pants pocket, but had always returned it before considering actually dialling the number scrawled on it. 

“You don’t have to feel indebted to me, that’s all apart of my job…” A wave of guilt weighed on Minho as he made eye contact with Jisung again. “Also I apologize for never messaging you. I know you left me your number on Friday, and I usually don’t pay too much mind when customers give me their numbers, but for some reason I still kept yours.” Jisung’s eyes widened at that and his expression looked as if he had just realized something. 

Minho just continued, “To be completely honest, I didn't think I would see you again, especially outside of my work.” 

“I didn’t either,” Jisung quickly interjected. “And to also be totally honest, I completely forgot that I gave you my number. Tipsy me can be a little more bold than I thought.” He chuckled inwardly at himself. Looking at Minho now, Jisung had no idea how even tipsy he had found the balls to do something like that. In casual clothes, Minho looked god-like to Jisung, and something about the change in atmosphere made Customer Service Minho almost non-existent. Being able to look at Minho, his glittering sharp eyes, his perfectly styled hair, and breathtaking smile without any filters, and something about it made Jisung’s heart beat even louder. There was a slight pause as Jisung had stopped speaking and had got distracted with staring at all of Minho’s features. “Uh..um… anyway damn now I feel bad. Can I like buy you a drink or something to make up for it?” Jisung barely managed to stutter that out. 

“Hey Min-hyung, that's your first for the night, and it's not even five yet. Damn maybe you will break your record,” Jisung looked over to the voice's owner and seemed to have just acknowledged the presence of the bartender after entering.

“Shut up Jinnie, I don’t wanna make him pay for my drink, the sun’s not even set” 

“That hasn't stopped you before” 

“No I really mean it, I'll pay for your drink if you'll let me. Not really sure what you two are discussing but I don't have a problem paying, even just to mend my consciousness” Jisung pleaded. 

“You sure talk a lot with your wallet there, Han.” Hearing Minho using his last name to address him wasn't lost on Jisung. If anything Jisung was starting to take it as a challenge. 

“Well, let me buy you a drink and we can talk now because we didn't get the chance over the phone.” Jisung really wasn’t sure where that confidence came from but it diminished quickly as he held his breath waiting for Minho to respond.

Minho smirked and nodded agreement, ordering his drink. “What about for you?” the bartender asked Jisung as he was taking out his card to pay for said drink. 

“Oh nothing for me I have to get ready for a show soon,” squinting to read the man’s name tag “Hyunjin-ssi.” 

Minho's curiosities from the previous weekends returned, and he found himself jumping on the opportunity to learn more about the boy. They were just curiosities. Han Jisung was just a curiosity. “What is it you do exactly?” 

“Oh I’m a rapper in a group, with the two other guys you saw. Together were super cool rap trio 3racha~” Jisung put an emphasis on the name with excessive hand gestures. Minho thought they were cute. “And we're actually playing at the venue not too far from here. We’re on at 9 if you want to come watch.” Jisung smiles widely at that, cocking an eyebrow as if that was persuasion enough to get Minho to come. 

It was. “Maybe I’ll stop by then. I can’t say I’m not curious.” Minho tries his best to feign disinterest, but his roommate’s smirk from across the bar meant that he wasn’t completely successful. 

Minho glares at the bartender while Jisung continues the conversation. “So what was it that you were talking about? The record and all that, did I miss something?”

Hyunjin giggles at the question and puts on a dramatic voice, “Well, here at the Sweet Lotus even our employees will come on their off days and breaks to enjoy the bar and club as patrons, but of course flirting with coworkers is generally frowned upon, so we made up a fun little competition.” Hyunjin continues to explain what the casual competition entitles. Minho shifts to watching Jisung instead. Seeing the boy again had been somewhat of a shock, and now actually looking at him, something about Jisung made Minho’s heartbeat a little quicker. Probably just the beginning effects of the sip of alcohol he had yet to consume. Or it could be the way Minho kept thinking about how soft the boy looked, his cheeks, his hair, his smile. Jisung was cute. A cute curiosity

“So what’s the record then? The highest number of free drinks?” Jisung was asking both of them but had turned toward MInho to meet his eyes. They were full of stars, even when the rest of the place was dimly lit. 

“19 drinks in a single night, held by our very own Lee Minho. Making him the hottest guy to ever grace our establishment, at least by the objective body count” Hyunjin dramatically bows to him. 

“Hey I got 17 once” yelled the other bartender from further down the bar. 

“I better keep coming back then, so you can’t take my spot San-ah.” Minho responded and sent him a cheeky smirk. The other bartender responded with a pouty face and a groan, before turning back to another customer. “But technically I’m not an employee anymore, so I think that takes me out of the running,” Minho continues.

“Still, I don’t think you’d ever lose that title… n-no offense to any of the other employees. I mean I only just got here and have only seen a few of you, but you are all respectively very attractive, and-” 

“Jisung stop rambling.” Minho giggled at seeing how flustered he could make the other. “Plus I doubt I’d lose my spot if you have anything to do with it, Mr. rich boy rapstar.” Minho takes a sip of his drink as the other sputters once again into a bumbling mess, blushing even harder. 

“What noooo! Not me pshhhhhh. I am but a lowly underground rapper. Please my heart’s too fragile to handle being called a rapstar by you this early in the night, also I swear I’m not a rich boy! Not yet at least, I haven't even gotten my first paycheck, paycheck, you know?”

“Your tipping habits say otherwise” 

Jisung grumbles under his breath something that sounds like ‘damn it drunk jisungie you did it again’

Before the conversation could continue, Jisung's phone rings from his jacket pocket. “Hello?... AH Sana-noona please don't yell.... Yes I know what time it is. It is-” Jisung checks the clock on his phone “Five-Thirty! Fuck, I’m on the way” Jisung looks apologetically at Minho and Hyunjin and does a few hand gestures that indicate he has to go. “I'll be there in like 30 seconds, I swear!!!” 

Jisung hangs up and hops off his stool, “As you can see I am being forcefully summoned by my manager, I do hope you’ll come to the show later? Thanks for uh- I don’t know, why am I thanking you. But uh..Thanks anyway though, and I-uh hope we can do this again sometime… yeah, bye Minho.” Jisung smiles wide again and scurries out the door, almost at a full sprint. 

Minho really likes his cute smile, and tries to commit the heart shape to memory.

“Hyung, he’s sooo your type it practically hurts.” Hyunjin forms a cheeky look on his face.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Minho retorts, taking another sip of the drink Jisung bought him. 

“Come on, cute, low-key a mess, big eyes, whipped as soon as he saw you. Don't even lie, you love the ones that just fall for you as soon as you smile at them. Practically all your clients were like that, and they all followed you to the restaurant” 

“That’s not true,” Minho denied. 

“It's true our numbers dropped when you left. We had to hire three new guys to make up the loss,” San added, now suddenly a part of the conversation.

“Well now I feel bad,” he did kind of, but it also was a huge ego boost for Minho.

“Don't. You know Momo would let you pick up a shift if you ever needed” San now joining Hyunjin in leaning on the counter. 

“Maybe I don’t know, I'll just boost her drink sales tonight insead to make up for it.” They laugh, and Minho’s cocky smirk returns as more patrons enter the bar, and the two bartenders return to their positions for the night 

-----

Jisung sprinted right into hair and makeup, finding his group mates already being dressed and powdered when he got there. He was able to just barely avoid a scolding from Sana as he ducked into a changing room instead. Switching from his streetwear into something that made him look more like his stage personality ‘J.One’.

By the time it was up for them to perform all three of them shared knowing glances and charged on the stage as their loud and overpowering bass beats flooded the speakers and the entire venue. The venue itself held a couple hundred people and the cheers and energy from the crowd only fueled the rappers as they began their opening song. For the three of them being on stage was like getting a high. 

Jisung felt like he had taken 3 shots at the bar before the performance. He felt drunk on the adrenaline and his ad libs and verses all came out even more powerful than usual. Chan and Changbin took his energetic aura in stride and fed off him to energize their own performances for the whole show. 

When their new track finally starts playing, the verse that Jisung had been agonizing all week appeared in his head as if it had always been there, and he knew that this verse was going to go down as one of his best freestyles yet. Jisung closed out the song with an electric verse that flowed and hit the rhythm in ways he had never thought he could before, and after the last beat echoed throughout the room, the entire venue filled with cheers and screams from the audience. 

Minho watched from the back of the venue witnessing the three boys on stage completely dominate the stage and steal every heart from the audience. He never thought that the big eyed clutz from a few hours ago would be the man he saw on stage. On stage, Jisung practically oozed with charisma, demanding the attention of all those who would listen. At the end of the show the last verse he spit out was so intensely captivating, that it guaranteed that everyone in the audience was now in love with Han Jisung. There was no way anyone would be able to deny it. Not even Minho, even though he would definitely try. 

“I’m CB97” “This has been SpearB” “and I’ve been J.One” 

“and together we are 3racha! See you next time”

---

That night as soon as Minho got home he searched his closet for the only connection he had with the supposed rapstar. Digging into the pockets of his work pants, he pulls out the paper with the boys number and immediately adds in to his contacts before texting him:

[Rich Boy Han Jisung]

This is Lee Minho  

I saw your performance 

at least I think that was you

If it wasn't some rapstar named J.One may be your twin 

Im sure hear you this all the time

But your performance was amazing. Good job Han :)

---

one ~ two ~ three ~ four ~ five ~ six ~ seven ~ eight ~ nine

[polar-stars]

Greetings @wishingforatypewriter ! If I’m not mistaken...today’s your birthday right? At least you told the Birthday Bot in the SoRina discord server that it’s the 15th of February and today is the 15th of February! 

So, I drew you a little something for this occasion 🎉 You’re without a doubt one of my favorite writers within the SNS-community and I really enjoy your work and also connect some really fond & strong memories to a few particular ones. (Remember “Cherry Red and Green with Envy”? Yeah, I read that in a lovely summer night in Italy, on a balcony. And gosh, the sheer joy I felt that day. I send the thing to my best friend instantly and kept gushing about the work through multiple audios shdfhf And well, that’s just one examplel) Generally speaking, it’s always interesting to hear your headcanons or learn more about your characters!

By all means, if you ever publish that novel you occasionally mentioned...Please tell us the title of it. I will order it all the way from the US, shipping costs be damned!

Furthermore, I’m not the only one who drew you something. @takoyakitenchou also has a treat ready for you! She also brought up the idea to collaborate on a small fic as well & what it would be about. I’m going to post the first part of it right here and she will be posting the 2nd part a little later. 

All in all, I hope you’re going to have a really good day ahead of you ☺️ And now, after all of my rambling (I just had to get some stuff out shdh), here’s Pt. 1 of the tenchou & Lea adventures, a little fictional verse where there’s no pandemic and only good vibes:

誕生日おめでとう (part 1) 

in which tenchou has no regard for time zones but birthdays must still be celebrated

8:00 PM EST, February 13th (2 AM CET, February 14th) If the takoyaki store manager had had enough brain cells to promote Germany to the forefront of her nonexistent timezone awareness, she most likely would not have called Lea at two in the morning central European time. Lea picked up with a weary “Hallo?” and was all the more confused as she got an English reply back. She reached out a hand to the nightstand and the lamp that could be activated with just a touch, hoping that the light would bring more clarity to her tired mind. But instead, she just blinded herself. Completely oblivious to Lea’s predicament, the tenchou said cheerfully, “I got you a plane ticket.”

“Sorry?” “A plane ticket,” she repeated as if she were talking about the weather. “From Brandenburg Airport to JFK. It leaves in two hours. Unless I did the math wrong, you’ll be in New York by nine in the morning eastern on… the 14th. I hope.”  “Was zum Teufel?” Lea choked out. The tenchou paused for a split second. “Is this not a good time for you? I can call you back.” “Reina, it is two in the morning over here.” “I think you’ll live,” she replied, and Lea could clearly visualize the offhand wave on the other end of the line. “Three coffees should do the trick. You might wanna start packing, though.” Lea sat up in bed and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. It seemed she wasn’t getting out of this anytime soon. “You know how deranged you sound right now?” “I know, it’s crazy! I live in California but we’re meeting in New York.” Lea briefly debated telling the tenchou that her present location was not, in fact, the point, but she did not currently have the mental capacity to do so. She settled with a long sigh. “What’s this for?” A moment and a half later, the tenchou said, “You know whose birthday is coming up on the 15th?” “Yeah, of course.” “Do I need to explain further?” “Ohhh,” Lea said, finally understanding. “See you soon.” Reina grinned. “I sent the plane and hotel info via Discord. Have a safe flight.” Then she hung up. It was going to be an interesting weekend.

9:30 AM EST, February 14th By the time Lea arrived at JFK’s international terminal, Reina was waiting with a triumphant, very poorly spaced welcome to fuckin ny scrawled on a massive sign. It was pretty obvious that the tenchou was still slightly out of it from jello shots with her Juilliard homies the night prior, but there was business to be tended to. “What are we doing?” Lea asked as the tenchou took her carry-on. “I was thinking we’d collaborate on a gift.” “Art? Or… a fic?” “Either. Both. What if I started a takoyaki store in NYC and gave her exclusive access?” “That seems nice,” Lea said agreeably, noting not for the first time that the store manager was probably missing a few brain cells. “But maybe not a good idea.” “Oh, you’re right. I’d have to get a building and everything.” Reina gave a lopsided smile. “Maybe we’ll do that next year. So… art and a fic it is, then.”

10:00 AM EST, February 14th “You need a coffee,” Lea decided once they were sitting at a local cafe. “Let me buy,” Reina said quickly. “It’s the least I can do after dragging you here from Germany. What do you want?” Fair enough. Lea nodded as a sign of gratitude and replied, “Latte macchiato, please.” Five minutes later, Reina brought eleven coffees to the table. Lea gawked at the tenchou. “Are you…” she trailed off. “Insane? No. Caffeine dependent? Very.” She passed Lea the latte and organized the ten iced coffees in two neat rows in front of them. “I’ve been trying to lower my consumption this week. Normally I’d get a dozen double espressos, so this is actually pretty major progress for me.” “Subtracting two cups doesn’t seem like progress,” Lea said dryly. “These are all americanos,” Reina explained defensively, like that solved everything. Lea gave a doubtful eyebrow raise. “Oh? How many espresso shots in each?” Resenting the fact that she’d hit home so accurately, Reina muttered, “Three.” Lea decided not to press the matter further — the tenchou was pissy enough as is — and instead watched with mild concern as the tenchou proceeded to chug the first five coffees without so much as a breath in between. “Now that I’m partially functional, you wanna get started?” Reina asked. “You and I can both do an art piece and we’ll collaborate on a fic together.” “Hmhm.” Lea reflected on the offer in her head. For a short moment she considered asking if she could take just about 10 writing courses beforehand, half-joking and half-serious. But she decided against it. With a brief look at the clock and the knowledge that it once took her an entire year to update a two-part fanfiction, she knew that if they needed it done by tomorrow they’d have to get started soon. “Interesting idea,” she therefore said. “But what would the fic be about? I have the writing pace of a turtle, so it might be better if we come up with something real quick.” Reina finished her sixth cup of coffee before raising an eyebrow at Lea. “By the way, when are you gonna update—” “Not even God knows when I will update anything,” Lea sighed. “But I’ll give Tuesday or Wednesday a try. Right now, I have to focus on the collab instead. So, do you have any ideas already?” “So… Tuesday as in this coming Tuesday? Or next year Tuesday?” Lea politely declined to comment. “I wrote part of the fic while I was in line for the coffees,” Reina said, pulling out her laptop. “Want me to share a Google Doc or—” “Google Doc,” Lea cut in. She had heard many times of the tenchou’s wackass habit of writing all her fics in direct messages with fellow writers and then copy pasting them onto whatever platform was most accessible at the time. “Discord is more convenient,” Reina deadpanned, her mouth on the rim of her seventh americano. “But alright. Google Docs it is.”

[themusicplayedherlife]

Some Sugar

Part 2: I wanna hold hands with you

pairing: sugar daddy!steve rogers x reader characters: reader, steve rogers, cassandra jones (oc), selena (oc), others word count: 6k+ warnings: angst, family issues, money problems, cursing, talks of sex summary: sometimes, all we need is a someone to take our hand and help us a/n: the chapters might be getting longer than i anticipated and i might be cutting them up (had to take out Steve’s pov because wow), but it’ll really depend on the flow of the story

prev || all || next

It’s been about a week since you gave your number to Steve. 

You had known not to get your hopes up, but after seeing the shy smile that appeared on his handsome face and how kind he sounded when he asked if he could call, it was hard not to get your hopes up! 

Why ask for your number and then ask for permission if he’s not going to call?! Who even does that anyway? No one does! 

And then leaving you a $100 tip for three beers? What the actual fuck? Not that you didn’t appreciate it but who leaves that kind of tip for three beers? Cassandra had practically hounded you after they left, thinking that you personally knew Captain America, the Falcon, and the Winter Soldier. Fuck, you hadn’t even recognized them when they walked in, so the answer was obviously not! She didn’t believe you--”or else why would Captain America have followed after you?” You rolled your eyes at the suggestive wiggle of her eyebrows and ignored her for the rest of closing.

Because of her teasing, you didn’t mention him asking for your number.

The table in front of you squeaks with your rough wiping—ugh, you have more important things to worry about than a boy—man, person, soldier, or whatever!

A sharp call of your last name causes your body to react violently, jerking your body straight and for the rag in your hand to drop to the floor. 

Your boss wears a scowl, thin lips practically disappearing and gums appearing against stark yellow teeth. His beady eyes take you in and you can practically feel the heat of his glare on your face. “Be careful! If you scratch--”

“I know, I know,” you start offhandedly, reaching for the rag you dropped, “it’ll come out of my pay.” Not like you could actually scratch the glass table with a cotton rag, but whatever.

He humphs, shooting you another glare before disappearing into the back. Sighing when the door closes behind him, you share exasperated smiles with your coworkers. Your boss isn’t usually such a dick, but with the holidays coming up and the Italian restaurant getting an abundance of catering orders, he’s been a little off-kilter.

Which reminds you, you were hoping to ask him about this years Christmas bonus and if you could get it in advance, but if his little show just a couple of minutes ago are of any indication, he might not be so willing to be so kind (even if you’ve picked up more shifts this month). 

There’s still so much that needs to be done. 

You have to check with the bank to see if you’re eligible for another loan—this time to pay back your aunt—as your last resort.

You need to check in with Selena and her progress on the agreement she and her coworkers are working on.

You have to schedule an appointment with Esme’s academic advisor, who’ll most likely suggest that Esme join more after school activities to help her future chances with universities or to beg you to convince your sister to reconsider her decision about cheer. She’s already far behind financially that she needs to make up for it with her grades and extracurricular.

You need to deal with your phone bill, might even have to switch plans or call to ask if they have any promotions to help lower your payment for the next month, or else you and Esme will be without a way to communicate when you’re going to be home late and she’s home alone.

God, why is there so much to do?

“Why don’t you go for your ten?” your coworker Irene suggests, holding a clipboard with all of your coworker’s names and their allotted work schedule. “It’s going to get busy as soon as we open.” And you look like shit, is probably what she’s thinking.

You nod and she smiles as you make your way over to the break room. The cooks usually spend their break in the kitchen, hunched over in a corner to eat, so you and the rest of the servers have made the break-room your little reprieve. It’s small, practically non existent, really, but you and your coworkers make it work. You maneuver around the young chefs and head chef, greeting them as you go, and they return it a little distracted, prepping for today’s menu.

Your boss is in his office, fingers in his disheveled hair with piles of paperwork surrounding him. You pay him no mind as you pass by it.

The break room is empty, devoid of any life other than you.

The lockers your coworkers and you stuff your belongings in is against the right wall, next to the small microwave your boss had installed after some of you complained that you couldn’t use the kitchen to warm up your food in fear of getting in the way of the chefs. 

You enter your combination, pulling out your bag to look for your old modeled phone. It sits at the bottom, under your change of clothes. The screen is black, and as you wait for it to turn on, you put everything back and close the locker.

You sit on one of the wooden stools brought in by a coworker, having grown annoyed that there were no seats in the break room. The screen illuminates your face as you wait, until finally your lock screen appears and so does a text message from Cassandra asking if you saw the show she’s been recommending and another from Selena giving you an update on the agreement she was working on, and a missed call from an unknown number who left a voicemail. Your heart leaps to your throat, anticipation growing in your stomach. Could it be…?

You quickly unlock your phone, swiping to open the voicemail. Pressing play, you press your phone to your ear and find yourself biting the skin of your thumb.

“Uh, hello—“ you hate that your heart flutters at the nervous mention of your name. He says it so carefully, gently, as if testing out the waters. “This is Steve. Steve Rogers.” He clears his throat. “I’m sorry I haven’t called. A mission we were sent on lasted longer than we anticipated.” He sighs deeply, sounding a bit tired and you grow worried. “I hope you didn’t think I wouldn’t call or that I asked for your number to mess with you.” The nerves melt into a puddle of goo as your head fills with heat, embarrassment licking your skin at having been guessed so easily. “I, um, I was hoping we could meet up soon? For coffee? Or lunch? Whatever you’re comfortable with.” He pauses and the line grows quiet. “There’s something I want to ask you, but I, uh—it might be better if I ask you in person? Call me back when you get the chance. This is my personal number, by the way. Right, then… Have a good day? Shit. Didn’t mean that as a question! I hope you do have a good day—you know what, I’m just going to hang up now.”

The voice mail ends and you pull your phone away, staring at the number on the screen, a small laugh escaping you.

He called you! Steve Rogers really called you! And with his personal number too! God, what kind of messed up dream are you in?

Your bottom lip becomes a chew toy—should you call back? Should you not? You should, right? You were disappointed that he hadn’t called, and now that he has, you should. ...Right?

You let out a loud groan and throw your head back into the empty space. What would Selena and Cassandra say if they were here? You snort. Wow, that was a dumb question. You know exactly what they would say—call him, you idiot.

Before you can let your nerves take over, you quickly press the callback button. It rings, and you swear to god your heart speeds up, a buzzing gathering around in your head as you wait for his answering machine. But that doesn’t happen.

“Hello?”

Your heart that had been lodged in your throat drops to your stomach, and you find your throat growing dry. “Steve?”

He says your name just as he had when he left the voicemail. “Hey. You heard my voicemail.” He sounds almost happy? Excited, maybe?

“I did, yeah.” You curl a strand of hair behind your ear. “You said you wanted to meet up?”

“Yes!” he suddenly squeaks. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, no. I don’t.” At all. Okay. Maybe a little? Not because you don’t want to talk to him or meet up with him. But because you’re nervous now and you don’t know what to do. “When did you want to meet up?” 

“Today? If you have time?”

You frown, eyes drifting to the clock on the wall, just on top of the lockers. Your ten minutes are almost up. “I don’t know if I can,” you admit. “I’m at work until 4 and then I have to head to my shift at the bar right after.”

“Oh,” he says, a little disappointed. You don’t know why, but you quickly rack your brain to try and ease his disappointment.

“Maybe during a lunch break? At either job.”

“Oh,” his voice lightens, and your chest soars at having not disappointed Captain America. “What time do you have your lunch break?”

“For my current job?”

“Yes,” he answers, papers shuffling in his end.

“Uh, usually around 2 in the afternoon?”

“Then do you want to get lunch together for your break? We don’t have to go far.”

“Okay.” Your inner Selena and Cassandra squeal with delight. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

“Mind sending me the address?”

“I’ll send it to you right now.”

“Okay.” There’s a tilt to his voice and you picture him smiling, your own lips lifting. “Then... I’ll see you soon?”

“Yes, see you soon.”

Work drags on, and you’re impatient, occasionally tapping your foot and staring out the door, waiting for familiar blue eyes and blonde hair to burst through it at any moment.

“And I’ll have the fig and salami pizza,” a man with a too large nose, bleached blonde hair and dull blue eyes orders. “Make sure that the chef doesn’t add garlic. I hate garlic.” You nod, about to ask if he needed anything else, but he beats you to it. “Oh, and make sure that the dough is perfectly cooked. I like it to snap.”

You nod with a patient smile. “Anything else, sir?”

He shakes his head and waves you away from him and his date.

You sigh when you reach the kitchen, giving your order to the head chef and leave as he reads out the order—making sure not to bump into anyone. Just as you step out, a coworker stops you, his face still new and his name yet unlearned.

“Irene told me to tell you someone is looking for you,” he says before entering the kitchen.

Your heart leaps, and although you know who it might be, you can’t help but ask, “Did she mention a name?”

He shakes his head and the kitchen door closes behind him.

Your feet carry you to the main station where Irene is usually positioned, and unfortunately, she isn’t with the man you were hoping to see. 

It’s someone else. A stranger.

He’s tall, handsome, and rugged in a grey suit. Dark hair styled back and dark beard pristine and well groomed. He’s sporting a charming smile, eyes crinkling amicably.

Irene is blushing, cheeks red and eyes wide as they stare up at him. For a moment, she looks away from him and your eyes connect. Her brown eyes light up and she says something to him that has him looking over his shoulder.

Your feet falter, hesitating when you make eye contact with the male. Something in his gaze shifts, eyes narrowing, nothing friendly remaining on his face—it’s calculating and cold.

He fully turns to you and behind him is Irene mouthing something at you and pointing at him. You’re pretty sure she’s saying, “Who is this hottie?” 

You have no idea.

“You asked for me?” You direct towards her, hoping there’s been some kind of mistake.

“Yes,” the male answers instead, and there’s a hint of an accent to his voice. It’s unfamiliar to you, just like his face. “We have some things to discuss.”

You want to ask if you know him, but before you can, his gaze returns to Irene.

“You don’t mind if I steal her for a moment?”

“Of course not,” she says. “You came right on time, anyway. I was just about to send her on her lunch break.”

Great. He could be a murderer for fucksake and she could be sending you to your deathbed without knowing!

“Perfect,” he says, eyes returning to you. He roughly grabs your arm and leans down to whisper in your ear, masking it with a jovial smile and pretending he was just moving you away from an incoming co-worker carrying plates. “If you don’t want to lose your job, I suggest you come with me.”

He doesn’t sound like he’s joking.

You muster a glare, twisting your arm out of his hold before addressing Irene. “I’ll be right back.” Removing your black waist apron, you hand it to her before following the strange male out to the front of the restaurant. She’s none the wiser, smiling brightly and giving you two thumbs up.

You stop a little off to the side, making sure to not block the way of people leaving or entering the restaurant, or strolling by. Waiting for a couple to pass you both, your eyes try not to waver as they harden. “Who are you?”

He stands straight, head held high and looking down at you—he’s trying to intimidate you, that much is obvious by his stance and the way his eyes stay narrowed. It’s working. But you’re not about to let him know that.

He reaches into his suit jacket and pulls out an envelope, a familiar seal—belonging to the note that had been slipped under your door—greeting you. “Madame Magdalena—“ Madame? What the fuck? First Tia, and now Madame? Is that woman obsessed with titles? “Sends another message.”

You have got to be shitting me!

You ignore your shaking hands and rip the envelope from his hands, opening it without care; and just as you had suspected, it’s another note with the remaining amount and the due date. “She’s threatening me at my job now? Seriously?”

The male remains stoic. “She is growing impatient.”

It hasn’t even been a month since she stopped by the apartment! Hell, it hasn’t even been three weeks!

“Yeah?” You rip up the paper along with the envelope in half. “Well, tell my aunt that if she continues to threaten me, I’m going to the police!”

The man’s eye twitches, but other than that, his expression doesn’t change. 

A familiar voice calls your name as a hand settles on your shoulder, guiding you back a step. “Is everything all right?”

“Steve?” you drawl, wide eyes falling on the man you had been waiting for. He smiles down at you, baseball cap barely hovering over his eyes and squeezing your shoulder gently before hardening his gaze at the male in front of you.

“I am only the messenger,” the man says, a little deflated and unsure of the newcomer.

You don’t blame him. His size could be used to intimidate you, but not Steve. Steve is taller by a couple of inches and thicker in muscles, and there’s this air of authoritativeness surrounding him that is hard to ignore. And if the man recognizes who he is, he definitely doesn’t want to mess with an Avenger.

“Then be my messenger and tell her to stop,” you snarl, grabbing the hem of Steve’s denim jacket as a foothold.

The man nods stiffly and turns on his heels. “Excuse me.”

Steve and you watch in silence, neither of you paying any mind to the bustling streets or cars. A man shouts somewhere in the distance and music is playing from the bookstore next door.

It’s not until he’s out of your sight that you take a deep breath, easing your grip on Steve’s jacket and growing lax as the nerves and tenseness leave your body.

“You okay?” he asks, and Steve’s eyes are full of concern.

You manage a smile. “I think so.”

He scans the area, face serious and devoid of any emotions. Is he checking if you’re both being watched? His expression relaxes after doing a quick sweep. “Do you want to reschedule lunch?”

You quickly shake your head. “No, no. You’d be a welcome distraction from what happened, honestly.” Your eyes automatically follow the route the stranger took. “Besides, I don’t think this’ll be the last time this happens,” you admit, trying to keep the wariness and defeat from your voice. “Anyway, lunch?”

Steve doesn’t try to hide his unease with your admission, and you’re almost positive he wants to ask you more questions, but he holds them back. “My friend mentioned there was a good bistro around here. Want to go there?”

“That’d be great,” you say, following after him, but not before throwing the ripped up note into a nearby trash can.

The bistro Steve takes you to is small, almost empty, but it has a cute rustic charm to it—all wooden, open brick, and green plants. You occupy a round table that only fits two people, choosing to sit by the back where the lighting is a little darker and the window is facing away from a main street. 

You order a fruit tea, foregoing your usual heavy coffee because a nervous you and coffee don’t mix well.

Steve orders a black tea and two breakfast sandwiches, one which he pushes your way when they arrive. When you give him a bewildered look, he says, “You need to eat something.”

He’s sweet.

“Thank you.”

He just smiles, but something keeps him on edge—eyes moving from you to the door, hand wrapped around his drink but never actually drinking from it.

You sigh, placing your sandwich back on the small plate. “He’s not coming back, Steve.”

He rips his gaze from the door and blinks. “What?” 

“The man from earlier?” You meet his gaze, trying to smile. “He’s not coming back. Not today, anyway,” you mutter to yourself.

Deep lines make themselves a home on his forehead and there’s an urge deep in your gut wanting you to reach out and wipe them away. “If he comes back, make sure to call me.”

“He’s not going to hurt me. My aunt wouldn’t let him hurt me just—“ your throat grows dry and his eyes narrow. “I mean—“

“Is she—did she send him to threaten you?”

You can’t bring yourself to say anything.

His face softens, trying to make himself seem more friendly and approachable—seeming like he cares. Especially when he says your name so carefully and slowly, like some kind of treasure. “You can tell me.”

You swallow the lump forming in your throat. “Why?” He doesn’t answer. “Why do you—you don’t even know me.”

He frowns, debating with himself until settling on, “I don’t need to know you to care.”

You retract, leaning back into your chair. That’s not good enough, even if butterflies are beginning to sprout their wings in your stomach. God, have you really been deprived of male attention for so long that you react like this at the first man that shows he cares?

“I… I overheard your conversation that night. Heard you were having trouble and…”

Of course he heard. Of course he fucking did. Fuck. “It doesn’t concern you,” you state coldly, ignoring the humming in your ear. You really don’t want his pity.

His lips purse together and his eyes lower, dark lashes curtaining over blue eyes. You worry your bottom lip, an unsettling feeling stirring in your stomach—guilt. You’re about to open your mouth to apologize but he beats you to it.

 “I want to help you.” He licks his lips, meeting your gaze with determination. There’s something so intense and fiery in his eyes that your heart jumpstarts and your breath gets caught in your throat. “And I think… I think we can help each other.”

Against your better judgement, you ask, “How?”

“I can…” he swallows, nail dragging back and forth on the table. “I can provide you money, help you with your bills and your needs, and in return you give me… company.”

“Are you asking me to be your personal prostitute?” He flounders and your eyes narrow. “Because it sounds like you’re asking for sex in return for money.”

“No! No—There was a term—” He tilts his head, thinking deeply about something before shaking his head. “What I meant was that I—I sometimes have events to attend and if I don’t take a date, women at these things tend to…”

Your nerves begin to ease, amusement taking over at the sight of a flustered Steve. “Throw themselves at you?”

“Yes!” He nods vigorously before mellowing out, eyes dropping to the tea that is no longer steaming. “Yes, they tend to throw themselves at me and it”—he winces, most likely remembering an instance— “it can be too much sometimes.”

“So… you want me to be a sort of barrier between you and these women?”

He sighs in relief that you understand. “Not just that. I meant when I said I wanted company, someone I can have a genuine conversation with.” He exhales through his nose. “Being who I am doesn’t exactly give me time to… meet people.”

Your jaw slackens as it clicks in your head: he wants a sugar baby. He’s asking you of all people to be his sugar baby! “What about the women throwing themselves at you?”

He snorts, lips turning into a self deprecating smile. “Most of them are just interested in what I am. Not who I am.”

You frown. Is he sure about that? 

“I just want someone to care about, someone who’ll let me take care of them, protect them and who is willing to get to know me as Steve Rogers, not Captain America.”

You mull over his words, the soft music drifting through the wooden beams of the bistro and the low chattering from the other customers suddenly seeming louder as you think. “Why me? You don’t exactly know me.”

He smiles, all soft and sweet eyes drifting over your face. “Why not you?”

That’s not exactly the answer you were expecting to hear, but you still find yourself relaxing in your seat. “How would this work?”

“Sharon”—Sharon? As in the famed Sharon Carter? Weren’t they rumored to be dating at some point?—“mentioned something about coming up with our terms and agreeing on them together. Maybe we can start there? After you have time to think about accepting my offer or not, of course.”

Your eyebrows furrow and you tuck your bottom lip between your teeth. “Okay.”

“You’ve got to be pulling my leg!” Selena practically yells from the other line, and you pull your phone away from your ear, wincing. “Captain fucking America is asking to be your Sugar Daddy?”

You curl under your bed sheets, trying to be quiet and not wake up Esme in the other twin bed. “I know, I’m just as in shock as you are.”

“I’m not in shock. I’m excited for you!” She gushes sleepily. “Please tell me you’re going to say yes! Because if you aren’t, I’m booking a flight to New York right now to slap some sense into you.”

You laugh, voice bubbling with mild glee and nerves. “I would be lying if I said I wasn’t thinking about it.”

“Good! This is good for you! You deserve someone looking after you. You’ve done enough looking after.”

You shiver from the cold air seeping into the apartment, watching Esme closely—if she shivers too there’s another blanket in the closet you can put on her. “If I do say yes, it’ll be because I’ll have the ability to look after Esme and my mom, Sel.”

“And that’s fine! Not saying that shouldn’t be your driving force. But it’s about time someone looks after you, too. I mean, I know Esme and your mother do, and I know Cassandra does too, and I obviously do,” she says with a playful scoff and you chuckle softly. “But we can't look after you like Steve would. Whoa, can I call him Steve? Or is that only reserved for you?”

You roll your eyes and lift your blanket over your face, covering your cold nose. Rambling Selena is always fun. “Really?”

“Right, silly question. Of course I can, I’m your best friend.” You snort. “As I was saying. Steve can offer the attention and care we can’t, in more ways than one.” She giggles salaciously and you groan into the fabric of your blanket. “What? Is sex off the table or something?”

You breathe deeply, turning on your back. “I don’t know? Maybe? Maybe not?”

“Would sleeping with Captain America be the worst thing to happen to you?” Would it? There’s no denying that you are definitely attracted to Steve, but it’s one thing to fantasize and another to have the ability to make that fantasy come true. And what if he doesn’t want to have sex with you? She sighs, as if reading your thoughts. “Talk to him about it. He did say you could come up with your own terms, right?”

“Yeah.”

She hums thoughtfully. “I say you throw sex on the list, but add that you’ll only have sex if you feel comfortable enough to. And if he forces sex on you, fuck Captain America, not physically, but like, you know cursing him out. Or we could always curse him too, I made friends with some wicc—“

You laugh, knowing her rambling is only going to get worse as she gets sleepier, it’s the only way to stay awake for your sake. She may be three hours behind you, but she’s always been an early sleeper. “I think you and I need some sleep.”

She sighs dramatically. “You’re right. Let’s talk more about this when I’m less… delirious. This deserves our full attention, so you better call me when you’re free, you hear?”

“I promise I will.”

Cassandra’s eyes are hot on your side profile. It makes you regret asking Steve to meet you at the bar during your break this time around, but he was too busy to meet you earlier, and you were busy, too. You had a ten hour shift at the restaurant and during your break you visited your mom; and before heading for your shift at the bar you met with Esmeralda’s academic counselor, who indeed told you that Esme should think about joining more clubs and doing more activities—like cheer.

It solidified your decision on Steve’s proposal.

He takes a tentative sip of his beer, blue eyes bright even in the warm lighting of the bar—blue hydrangeas on the table pale in comparison. 

You take out a folded piece of paper from the pocket of your jeans. “I’ve never actually done this, so, um they might be a little juvenile…”

His pretty eyes scan your messy and unsure writing as he drinks in your words; your fingers rubbing hastily at a spot on the table. You mentally recite your terms, helped by Selena, but mostly written by you because she was going over the top with her suggestions (e.g. a gift delivered to your door every week, must cost over $100; roses sent to your work or home every week; a gift to my best friend every month unless she says she doesn’t need one; and so on—“What? He has money!” she said after you called her out for her ridiculous suggestions. “Isn’t the whole point of this him spending money on you?”):

Clear communication about what we want going forward in this arrangement.

Treat each other with respect.

Must get to know each other.

Affection, whether public or private, is okay, as long as it’s not manhandling.

Sex is also okay, as long as we’re both comfortable with one another.

A smile blooms on his face and he chuckles, only making your face heat up. You knew it! They are juvenile! Or was it sex? Maybe he wasn’t interested in sex with you? You don’t know whether to feel disappointed or relieved.  “I could—I could rewrite them?”

His eyes snap to yours and his laughter subsides, but not the amusement in his eyes, they’re clear as day. “No—no, they’re fine, it’s just,” he pauses to reach into his own pocket to pull out his own paper. He offers it to you and you take it tentatively.

You eye him and he gives you a small nod, smile curving his lips. You unfold it and as your eyes scan his simple terms that are an exact replica of yours (just with minor word differences) with no mention of sex in his. Your eyebrows furrow and when you look up his eyes are still on you, warmth—that you’ve come to associate with him—in his gaze. His hand reaches for yours and he coaxes your fingers to let go of the paper to take your hand in his—your heart picking up at the rough ends of his fingers smoothing over your palm. 

“Just that,” he continues, eyes falling to his fingers caressing your skin, a small frown appearing on his lips, “I thought you wouldn’t be comfortable with sex being part of our agreement.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Should someone touching you as simple as this really feel this good? Are you really that touch starved?

He shrugs, still focused on memorizing the lines of your palm. “You didn’t want money in return for sex, remember?” It’s teasing the way he says it, looking up at you through his thick lashes, too long and beautiful for your liking (fuck, how can a man be so beautiful?) and a small tilt to his pink lips.

You snort, propping your chin on your hand that he isn’t touching, elbow placed firmly on the wooden table and written agreements momentarily forgotten and placed aside. “In my defense, it sounded like you were propositioning me. You could’ve just said you wanted a Sugar Baby from the start, Steve.”

He huffs a laugh, fingers dragging over your skin as he pulls away and you find yourself missing his touch. You have to stop yourself from chasing his warmth. “Believe it or not, I was too nervous to remember anything. Had a hard time forming sentences, too.”

You blink before a smile blooms on your face. “Does that mean we have an agreement?”

Blue eyes once more stare at you—no, into you. There’s concern and excitement whirling around, swimming against the currents they’ve both created around one another.  “Have you really thought this through?” he asks, his voice barely heard over the music playing.

“What? This... arrangement or sex?” Because you have. You’ve probably annoyed Selena with all of your questions and concerns too.

He nods, not specifying which.

Your fingers reach for his hand resting on the table, but you hesitate before you can touch him and pull away. He frowns.

You can’t bring yourself to touch him, not yet. You focus on the LED candle lit on the table, avoiding his gaze. “Of course I have, Steve. I wouldn’t be here or have written it down if I hadn’t.” And if you’re being honest, you need this. You need the money and… and you need the affection and intimacy he could give you.

“It won’t be easy,” he tells you softly. “People are going to be prying everywhere we go—like now.” Your eyes follow his quick tilt of his head and your eyes meet the warm glow of Cassandra’s brown eyes. They widen and she quickly turns away, pretending to be cleaning the bar-top that she’s been cleaning excessively since Steve arrived. 

You shake your head and smile at your boss as she looks up again and returns your smile with a sheepish one.

“She won’t be the only one wondering what’s going on between us.”

“She’s harmless.”

He sighs, both hands wrapping around the body of his bottle. “I know. But that doesn’t mean the others will be.”

“Are you trying to scare me away? Plant doubts into my mind, because—“ because you already had those before Selena managed to chase them away; Steve bringing them up will only make you anxious again.

He rests his hand back onto the table, between you and him, just out of reach. “No, that’s the farthest thing from what I want.”

“Then…”

 “What I want is for you to be certain.” His eyes soften. “Because if you are, I promise you I will do everything in my power to protect you and your family, to keep you and them safe.”

A lump forms in your throat.

This time you don’t hesitate, your fingers brush against his before you’re pressing your palm against his, fingers slipping between his with such an ease that it almost scares you. But you’re not scared. How can you be scared when Steve is staring at you so tenderly? When he sounds so confident unlike when he brought up this arrangement? When he’s not only just thinking about you, but your family as well? When his fingers and yours fall into place so easily? 

Yes, it might be hard, you’re aware of that, and he is too. However, if it means helping your family out of this situation, giving Esme a better chance in the future and being able to help your mom, you’re willing to try. “I’m sure, Steve.”

He squeezes your hand, a smile wiping away any visible concern on his handsome face. “Okay,” he says before repeating it again with a firm nod. His eyes move to the clock hanging next to the entrance to the kitchen and back room—your beak is almost over. “What time do you get off work? Let me take you home.”

“You don’t have to do that,” you assure him, trying desperately to keep your nerves down. You really don’t want to show him where you live, it’s not exactly the best place and if Esme’s home, you really don’t want her asking questions until you’re ready. “Cassandra usually gives me a ride home after work.”

“I want to give you a ride,” he says, face becoming serious. “We still have some things to discuss… like your aunt,” his voice lowers at the end, a brief flash of anger in his eyes, not directed at you, but at the woman who has been tormenting you, even if he doesn’t know all the details.

You gnaw the inside of your cheek and then sigh gently. “I help close, so I’m usually out by two, depending on how many are closing with us.”

He nods. “You don’t mind if I wait here?”

“I don’t, but are you sure you’re okay, waiting?” You check the clock and you frown—10:36 pm. He’ll be waiting for some time. “I won’t be out for a while.” 

“I don’t mind,” he reassures you, squeezing your hand once more.

You return to work, a little reluctant to leave Steve by himself, but he keeps himself occupied by using his phone and occasionally, you find him staring at you every once in a while, flashing you a small smile.

“You don’t know Captain America, huh?” Cassandra teases, elbowing you gently on your side as you make a drink.

“I didn’t,” you tell her, shifting on your feet to move away from her prodding. 

Her eyebrows wiggle suggestively, her eyes shining with mirth. “And now you do?”

You roll your eyes, trying to hide your smile, but she knows you well enough to know that twitch and roll of your lips. “I guess so.”

She laughs and bumps your hip with hers. “Rooting for you, honey!”

If only she knew.

You’re busy the rest of the night. The bar is starting to gain some popularity again, and that means having to work even faster and harder. Steve at some point moves to the bar, leaving the booth that had been occupied by you and him earlier, but you prefer him being at the bar. It means he’s closer to you and it also means having his back turned to people who could possibly recognize him.

He’s not exactly wearing a disguise, baseball cap covering golden hair and being the only thing keeping people from recognizing him, but if he turns around and someone sober had already been looking at him, they’d know exactly who he is. His handsome face is unmistakable.

He smiles at you when he catches you staring at him and you return it bashfully before sliding another beer to him, his fifth one that night. Apparently with his super soldier metabolism, he doesn’t get drunk. Or hangovers.

Lucky bastard.

It’s not until half an hour before closing time that the bar starts to clear out, making it easy for you and the rest of your coworkers to clean up empty glasses and wipe sticky tables. Your feet are aching, but not enough to bother you for too long.

You’re carrying a tray of drinks to the back when Cassandra plucks it from your hands and grins at you. Your eyes widen and you stare at her with surprise.

“Go,” she says, motioning to Steve at the bar nursing a glass of water. 

As if knowing you’re talking about him, he lifts his gaze from his phone and flashes you a half smile that you return with heated cheeks.

“But I’m closing tonight.” It’s more of a question than a factual statement at this point.

“It’s fine. We’ve got things handled. Go! Don’t keep Captain America waiting,” she gushes with a wink.

You playfully groan and nudge her with your shoulder as you both slip into the back. “Will you stop?”

“Only if you leave!” she exclaims jovially, leaving the tray of glasses on top of the counter space of the small kitchen. She turns to you with a hand on her hip and leans against the counter. “Well? You gettin’ outta here or should I ask tall, blonde, and handsome to take me home, instead?”

“It’s not what you think, Cass,” you tell her as you open your locker.

“Uh-huh, sure it isn’t.”

“It’s not. We’re just getting to know each other.” Which isn’t a complete lie.

“Well, that intense hand holding didn’t seem like you’re just getting to know each other.” She’s only teasing, but something about her words have you pausing.

He might not have mentioned it, but it was kind of implied that people shouldn’t know about the kind of relationship (if you could even call it that) you and Steve have now. So it’s good that she thinks you’re together, right?

Cassandra calls your name and you turn to look at her, her brown eyes full of concern and you smile at her to ease that worry away. 

“We’re just testing out the waters.”