#and the whole apology for the girl who called name 'mute' felt like an excuse

[pharawee]

I won't leave you. You're not alone, Name. You have me [...].

» BONUS:

Mom. I feel sorry for Name.

[platonic-prompts]

Okay, time for your daily dose of wattpad drama

There was a person who dropped a random spoiler into my comment section. It had nothing to do with the book or fandom. It was a random, unprompted spoiler with the name of the show attached to it. So I was like ‘hey, you know that’s a spoiler right”

And they said yes lol

You do realize you just could have spoiled a show I wanted to watch, right?

“What’s the big deal spoilers are inevitable? Several plot points for the shown are all over articles---” Etc

Anyway, this went on for a while, since I was trying to convince them it was a crappy thing to do, since I have my comments on so I can reply to questions about the story. If they had said, oh, sorry, that would’ve been the end of it. 

But no, no, that couldnt be the end of it. Time went on, and they twisted my words “Go ahead, call me an asshole to my face. I dont care”

Even though I never once called them that, instead referring to a kid I went to school with who spoiled endgame because he’s an asshole. More comments, and more of them acting like they’re not at fault, that people ‘don’t mind spoilers because they enjoy the shows more’ and ‘i didn’t know you watch the show’

I don’t but I was planning to and you spoiled a big plot point.

Anyway, time skip to this morning because I muted them and deleted the comments last night so I wouldn’t have to deal with them anymore. Now this is where the drama comes in. This person has a habit of, if they mute me i make a post about it.

Samples include: This person just came at me all posh and whatever cause I called their portrayal of Zoë Nightshade OOC. She was also OOC for no reason whatsoever. I get it if she's like that because of some background story or smt but not without reason. It just seems like a bad writer to me and they're just coming up with excuses.

So…aparrently I offended someone because of something petty. This Wattpad user muted me cause I did something they didn't like (pretty sure they're a 'she' cause her profile description said 'lesbian' but I'm not assuming). I was reading one of their books and saw something interesting that wasn't canon. Something about demigods having golden specks in their blood. I was confused and curious. So naturally, I asked a question. Then this user who took people questioning them to a whole new level, muted me! (In referral to a person who has stated that they don’t like it when people do so and to please refrain from doing so)

And there’s also another one, but they drop the username of a twelve year old because they muted them for calling what they do annoying. But I’m not showing that one because again, child.

How does this factor in? Well, my dear dear children

Lmao this person petty af. They muted me after I ACCIDENTALLY spoiled something that I didn't even consider as a spoiler since the fanfic was unrelated to what I was talking about. I felt no need to apologise because of this and they acting to serious like I've commited a crime. Just get over it. There are worse problems to deal with than spoilers. Why so triggered?

I was replying back with no emotion whatsoever. It's hilarious at how angry they are and how long their comments were. I didn't even bother reading them.

Let’s break this down piece by piece. It is not an accidental spoiler when you drop a major plot point into an unrelated piece of media along with the name of what its from. They admitted that they put the name in there because people might not understand it, but the people who wouldn’t understand it would be people who haven’t seen the show or aren’t up to that part yet. 

The equivalent to this would be going to a random BnHA fanfic on Ao3 and saying *SPOILER FOR THE BARTIMEUS TRILOGY* I just finished reading Bartimaus being forced out of Nathaniel’s mind so he wouldn’t die too, In Ptolomy’s Gate! and then the (girl’s name) summons him at the end and it was so sad. 

*SPOILER OVER*

Even if it was an accidental spoiler, which  highly highly doubt considering they showed no surprise at it being a spoiler and literally said yes lol, it’s still a crappy thing to do. 

Next point: IT”S STILL A SPOILER EVEN IF ITS NOT RELATED TO THE FANFIC

Next: No need to apologize. Really? I straight up said I was planning to watch the the show and that I had avoided spoilers for years so I could watch it blind. And then they proceed to say ‘I didn’t know you watched the show” which again, i have not and now never will because my enjoyment of closely serialized shows hinges on not knowing what happens next. Soap operas are boring for me, and downright cringe worthy because they repeat the same plot points again and again. But then when they throw in a new plot (Or victor decides to be a good grandparent) I find myself enjoying it. Only for that to be yanked away if someone were to say, oh yeah x goes to jail for murder and then y breaks them out and they go live on an island somewhere. 

Also their reason for not apologizing is because people are still mad at you afterwards, also that it doesn’t change anything, but I share that so first part only. People are no obligated to forgive you just because you apologize. Sorry doesn’t wipe away their emotions and free will. Even if you don’t mean it sorry shows that you recognize you did something wrong. (Although I fall into a pit where my sincere apologies seem insincere which is not fun for me)

Next: As for why I kept replying to them. Because they were acting like they did nothing wrong and pushed the blame onto me. I wasn’t acting like it was a crime, I was saying it was a crappy thing to do and maybe dont do it because you can ruin a piece of media for something. But oh no, now I’m triggered I guess. I guess having concern for other peoples enjoyment is a crime now, take me away officer.

Next point: So, if they didn’t bother reading my comments, how did they know I was ‘angry’ Oh, I know. Because they assumed I was getting upset after they shoved words in my mouth. I don’t really get angry. Upset, sure, but not really angry. And even better? Those long comments? less than 1000 characters. Characters, not words. Just because I’m trying to point out that they did something crappy, I’m an angry person. Also???? Replying with no emotion. No they weren’t. I get that tone doesn’t translate in text, but by god they were one of the most combatant and defensive people I’ve seen on wattpad.

Since I can’t see the activity that led to the other things on their message board i can’t say what happened there, but based off of my own experience with them, I’m assuming they’ve twisted the narrative to suit their own needs. Which by the way, can be insanely damaging

I’ve had enough interaction on my account with people, and enough A/Ns for people to get the general vibe i give off, so this probably won’t be much of a problem for me. But if they had dropped my username and I had like 10 followers? It’s a lot easier to trash a reputation than it is to build on. “Oh hey, I like a book by this person” “that persons a jerk didn’t you see that one post” 

People fall into a false sense of security that wattpad is sunshine and rainbows because its mostly young teens on it, but there are plenty of jerks who will twist your words and reactions to fit their needs.

Sorry for the long post, but I can’t reply to the message on their message board unless I want to implicate myself with either of my accounts. So you get this because otherwise my side of things is unknown to the world.

[ji-sued]

violation: shirt | hjs

When you’re an idiot that protects before thinking, you end up being an even bigger idiot… with Han Jisung’s number.

So, maybe, you’re not an idiot after all.

pairing: han jisung x reader genre: fluff drabble, fansign!au word count: 4k contains: very slight mention of suicide/suicidal thoughts, an unrealistic situation, you = idiot

“What’s your secret confidence-booster?” he read the question aloud and you gave him a big smile at the way he pronounced the last word.

He lifted his eyes, humming in thought, before suddenly waving with his pen as his mouth opened in a child-like grin of excitement.

“Versace Eros,” he winked. Did you hear him wrong? It was kind of loud at the fan sign…

“Huh?” you blinked.

Laughing at your dumbfounded expression, he shook his curly blonde hair away from his eyes. “It’s a perfume. Versace Eros.”

Your mouth formed a circle at his explanation and the 23-year-old man giggled.

Wait, that’s not legal…

“What’s your name?” he asked in English and you smiled, giving him the answer. “That’s a cute name, how long have you had it?”

“I was born with it,” you played along with his joke, but subtly gave him a judgy look that he definitely caught, bursting out into laughter.

After signing your album and an exchange of a few more words, you were waving goodbye to Bang Chan and moving on to the next member.

“Hi!” Seungmin smiled and his teeth nearly blinded you.

“Hi,” you exhaled, still trying to get over how beautiful these men were in real life.

“Where are you from?”

After a very comfortable conversation with Seungmin, you talked to Changbin whom you gave a flower crown you had made with one of your best friends. His grin was so big, your own cheeks started to hurt. For some reason, the time you spent with him was shorter than how long you had been with the past three, so Changbin pouted while holding your hand. You couldn’t help but laugh at his actions. Next was Jeongin, with whom you talked almost completely in Korean, though you made a grammatical mistake in your third sentence at which he proceeded to laugh so hard, Changbin had to ask him if he was alright.

The staff person behind their backs motioned you to move on so you quickly wished Jeongin to stay healthy and happy before moving on to Hyunjin.

He was wearing the cutest puppy ears and after the introductory small talk, you complimented him, saying he looked like his Kkami. He posed for a few moments with a smug pout which rendered you speechless. It was all going so fast that you felt like this was a dream.

“One of your buttons is undone.”

You looked down at your white shirt in panic, whispering a “what” under your breath.

Okay, so it wasn’t a dream.

Turning beet-red, you quickly turned away from a laughing Hyunjin to button the missing bastard and apologized in a high-pitched tone, which Hyunjin just waved away, saying: “No, don’t be sorry. It happens to me all the time. Thankfully, I have Stylist Noona.”

“Of course,” you faced him again, blush still colouring your cheeks. Shaking some hairs from your face, you decided to stop being so shy. This was a one-time experience, after all. You were probably never going to see Stray Kids again. So, you gave him a cheeky wink. “Safety first, right?”

His mouth dropped but he quickly recovered with a silly wink of his own. Pointing finger guns in your direction he responded: “Right.”

After another set of finger guns, you were moving on to Felix.

You two engaged in a very serious conversation.

“No, I’m telling you; Yongbok fits you! It sounds cute and then you look at the meaning, and there’s this dragon there all of a sudden! Like, you get it, you look cute and then you open your mouth and you’re a dragon!”

Open-mouthed, he stared. “Okay, maybe Yongbok isn’t that bad. But I’m Felix. Just Felix.”

“Okay, just Felix. Thanks for that Harry Potter reference.”

“Harry Potter? Do you like the movies?”

“I loved the books first,” you carried on the conversation with ease, finding Felix to be effortless to talk with. Perhaps it was because you were both more comfortable in English. “But yes, I like the movies. Especially the music score; it’s amazing.”

“Oh, really?” his eyes sparkled as you nodded. “I’ll pay more attention next time. Chan Hyung is super big fan, so he’ll probably watch with me.”

The staff ushered you on.

“Thank you so much for everything, Felix. You’re really an admirable human being,” you chuckled as you waved goodbye.

“I thought you were gonna call me Yongbok,” he smiled.

“Not without permission.”

He waved and you turned your attention to the next in line.

Your heart started beating faster. You were so close to meeting him and you were… all sweaty and gross and your hair was probably frizzing up…

“Hi,” Minho spoke in Korean and so you answered back the same, politely passing him the album.

Looking a bit surprised, he complimented your pronunciation and you softly disagreed, explaining that you’ve been studying the language for a year now and still weren’t exactly fluent while he was writing down the answer. Minho said that you were extremely good for someone who was learning for just one year. Asking what your name was, where you were from and other such things, you conversed normally without any slip-ups. Giving Minho a pair of fluffy cat ears, you waved him goodbye with a big grin.

And then it was time for the last member.

Han Jisung.

Except, the girl before you wasn’t moving on, so you stood there awkwardly, waiting for your turn. At first you felt slightly annoyed, but then you saw her practically sob and you reached inside your pocket, bringing out a pack of tissues. Poking her lightly on the shoulder, you waited for her to look up. When she saw you holding out the pack she bowed with you reciprocating the action. The staff finally got her to move away and you sighed, watching her go.

“Hello,” you heard a very familiar voice speak.

You rotated your head towards Jisung so fast, your neck nearly snapped. Bowing in greeting, you hastily put down the album for him to sign. You caught a questioning look in his eyes which made you realize that he spoke in English and you answered in Korean. You winced.

It’s fine. This is fine. Completely fine.

“Oh!” you exclaimed, making him jump a bit. You bit your lip at your sudden social inability and practically whispered the following sentence. “Sorry, I have this letter for you.”

Nodding, wide eyed, he accepted the letter with a polite smile.

You were actually ruining the brief time you had with the person that basically meant the most to you in the whole world out of your family circle.

However awkward that was, as Jisung was furrowing his eyebrows in thought while answering your question, you had a bit of time to take in how beautiful he actually was.

His hair was his natural colour and it just so perfectly contrasted with his warm skin tone. His big eyes were sparkling in the reflective lights and just seeing him mutely wording what he was scribbling was enough to calm down any nerves you had had.

But then it happened.

Just as he finished writing, he clicked his pen and it flew off the table.

Wide eyed you stared as he, instead of standing up and getting the pen, tried to pick it up from where he was sitting.

It only took a second before his chair started toppling over.

Jumping into action, you grasped onto his arm as he screamed. Thankfully, you managed to steady him, but instead of gripping onto his hand, like you intended, your finger pulled on his shirt.

A shredding sound paralyzed you.

Gasping, you looked at the piece of cloth in your left hand, the other hand covering your mouth. Focusing your attention to the man before you who was just as shocked as you were, you immediately bowed. “I am so sorry! I’ll buy you a new shirt!”

“No, no, it’s okay!” he tried calming you down, simultaneously giving the staff and everyone around an okay signal, as the situation had caused everyone in the room to pay attention to the two. Your head was still down when the talking resumed.

Getting an idea, you reached into your bag to pull out a notebook and gave it to Han. “Please, write down your bank account and I’ll transfer you the money. How much was the shirt?”

“Uhh…” he let out a drawl, nervous at your desperation.

Tears filled your eyes.

“Please, I have to repay you, I feel so bad,” and yep, you were crying. This was just the best.

With widened eyes, he grabbed onto your hands and made you look at him. “Don’t cry, please. It’s okay! I don’t even know my bank account number…”

“No, it’s not okay! I ruined your shirt!” you sobbed.

Out of all the things you could’ve been thinking about then it was this: You shouldn’t have given your damn pack of tissues to that girl.

The staff motioned you to move on, but you were still waiting for Jisung to write down the account number. Then, you finally registered what he had mumbled in the end of his sentence. Wait… he didn’t know it?!

“Okay, let’s make a deal,” he spoke in urgency, seeing the panic in your eyes, squeezing your hands. “You stop crying and you can pay me back for my shirt. Okay?”

“Yes!” you nodded quickly, not wanting to prolong this meeting because the girl next in line was now waiting for you.

“Great, let me just give you my number…” The first genuine smile in a while lit up on his face. You saw him remove his hands from yours and begin to write down his number. You blanched. The girl behind you clearly heard him say that, and so did presumably many others…

“Wait!” you stopped him, taking his pen and beginning to write down your number below the one he had started. You saw his shocked expression in the corner of your eye. “It’s safer if I give you my number. What if… uh… I lose yours?”

He observed you silently until you finished writing and you knew he didn’t buy your excuse.

“This is my real number, I promise. Please, please text me the bank account – from whichever number. I won’t sleep before you do,” you fixed him with a stern look before turning to apologize to the girl who was waiting and then also bowing to the worried staff.

“Thank you so much, for everything. And I’m so sorry. Bye!” you waved to the man you loved with all your heart and ran out of the room.

***

It had been two days and you haven’t slept.

You may have dozed off accidentally in the middle of an extremely boring lecture on things you already knew, but that doesn’t count – you were woken up 5 minutes into the nap anyway by one of your friends.

The first day, it was… easy.

The first half of the day you were just crying about how impossible you were at the fan sign and your head kept replaying Jisung’s shocked expressions. And his white shirt. His shredded white shirt. You couldn’t keep count of how many times you screamed into your pillow.

The second day, you were a zombie.

It was a school day and you had three consecutive lectures. The first two, you caffeinated your way through. The third one was pure torture. At least you got those 5 minutes of sleep, though?

Currently, it was 10 pm on the third night and you felt like crying again, but no liquids could come out of your tired eyes.

You had never felt so drained before in your entire life.

But you couldn’t sleep.

You promised.

Falling onto your back, you sighed as your head replayed all the events of the fan sign once more. With an angry growl, you stood up and decided to take a shower. You had to clear your head.

Just before leaving the room you paused, looking at your phone.

Silent and unassuming.

But so are twitter’s most problematic stans in the beginning, you countered yourself.

You grabbed it and brought it with you into the bathroom. Just in case.

Putting it onto the counter, you slipped out of your clothes and let the water wash away your tiredness and worries. You were just stepping out and hugging yourself with a near-by towel when a soft ding! sounded across the room. Your eyes widened.

Trying to calm down your heartbeat, you reasoned with yourself while walking towards your phone’s location. Maybe it was just your friend. Or your mother. Or the telephone company wishing you a Merry Christmas. Except it wasn’t Christmas.

Grabbing the device, you unlocked it to see an actual message from an unknown number.

Letting out a shriek, you pressed on the icon so strongly, you accidentally opened another app. Now getting truly impatient, you exited the app and finally clicked on the right icon, your eyes taking in the text.

1234-4321-1234-4321 [ 22:13, opened ]

Your eyebrows closed together.

That was it? Was that even an actually bank account number? What about the bank this belonged to? Also, how much was the shirt?

Deciding not to prolong your sleep quarantine, you texted back:

Hello? Is this Han Jisung’s bank account? [ 22:15, sent ]

 You shivered and realized you were still just in a towel. Drying yourself off in seconds, you threw on your pyjamas. There may be hope for you to sleep again after all.

When the message alert dinged the second time, you were already there.

Yes. [ 22:19, opened ]

You stared at the message for a moment longer than needed. Yes? That’s it? Seriously? Feeling just a bit agitated, you punched in the answer.

Prove it. [ 22:19, sent ]

You were biting your lip so hard that it started to hurt. Hissing at the pain, you instead began to pace around the bathroom. At one moment you almost slipped and fell into the shower, but your quick reflexes saved you. Deciding the environment wasn’t the safest, you ran back into your bedroom, pacing now barefoot on your soft carpet. Definitely an upgrade from the cold tiles, you thought.

It felt like an eternity had passed before you received the next message. Immediately unlocking the screen, you paled as you registered the written text.

 Was your nearly drowning really an accident? [ 22:31, opened ]

The phone fell out of your hand, but you didn’t even feel it slip.

You forgot you had given him the letter.

Sounds came rushing into your ears, ones of water rippling and ones of screaming, getting louder and harsher, ringing in your head- but then they all faded into nothingness. It was like darkness swallowed all forms of life. A black hole taking away all that was you. Alone, alone, alone-

The ding! brought you out of your mind.

 I’m sorry, that was too personal, wasn’t it? My favourite colour is red? [ 22:37, opened ]

A breathy laugh of disbelief was released before you could even register it.

Trying to recollect yourself, you combed a hand through your hair. Focus, you scolded yourself. The person who you love so much more than yourself is trying to get back what you took from him. Focus!

No, it’s fine. I was the one who overstepped the line with my letter and the shirt situation anyway. I am sorry. I will never do something like that again. [ 22:39, sent ]

What is the name of your bank? [ 22:39, unsent ]

You lied down on the bed, your body comforted by the softness of the mattress. Staring into the screen of the phone, you tried keeping your eyes open, but they were getting heavier and heavier…

No, please do not apologize. Your letter was really beautiful. Don’t tell anyone, but I might have cried. ㅋㅋㅋㅋ I wanted to thank you, actually, for still being here and not giving up. But I’m not that great of a person, you know? I am so grateful that my song helped you, but I wasn’t the only one who made this possible. If it weren’t for Stay, for all of you, I wouldn’t be here either. [ 22:45, unopened ]

I don’t need you to send me the money, I had the shirt repaired for free by Stylist Noona and it looks brand new! What did you mean by “I will never do something like that again”? [ 22:46, unopened ]

Hello? Y/N ssi? [ 22:49, unopened ]

Are you alright?? [ 22:57, unopened ]

There was a melody bursting into sound right by your ear and you jumped on your bed. Completely groggy from the sudden awakening, you took your phone into your hand and swiped to answer, not looking at the caller ID.

“Hello?” you spoke, your voice more a breath than anything else.

“Aa… Y/N ssi? I’m sorry… for… calling?”

Your eyes shot wide open. The deep tone of his voice was frighteningly familiar. Moving the phone away to look at the ID (and after being promptly blinded by the light), you gasped.

“Han Jisung ssi?” you inquired, switching between languages. “What happened? Are you alright?”

A clearing of the throat was heard through the line. “You can speak Korean?”

“Uh, yes. A little.”

“Oh. That’s really impressive!”

“Han Jisung ssi, why are you calling? Is there something wrong?”

A deep breath was released through the other side. “No, nothing’s wrong. I’m sorry for waking you up.”

“I wasn’t aslee-,” you stopped yourself in the middle of the sentence. “Okay, maybe I was sleeping. I haven’t slept in a while, I’m sorry if I haven’t answered your texts.”

“No, it’s fine, I was just worried.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

“Worried?” the word was small.

A silence followed. “Because I mentioned the letter and then… you weren’t responding. I was worried you’d…”

You let the rest float in the air, unspoken.

“I meant what I said in the letter, Jisung ssi. I’m never going to throw my life away. I’m never giving up.”

“Good girl,” you heard his smile through the call. All your nerves dissipated as a deep blush set on your cheeks. “You did well.”

A soft laugh left your mouth.

After a few comfortable moments of nothing, he asked: “Is it okay to talk? I should let you get back to sleeping…”

“No,” you immediately answered, shaking your head although he couldn’t see. “I want to talk to you. I won’t be able to fall asleep now anyway. But is it okay for you?”

The question had double meaning and you were holding your breath to hear how he would take it.

“It’s okay. My members aren’t here anyway and I don’t have anything scheduled for tomorrow. Not that if I had anything, I’d stop the call! I just meant-!”

“I know,” you stopped his rant, smiling. He was so cute.

“Okay!” he spoke out in accented English and it made you burst into laughter. Your heart wouldn’t slow down any time soon.

“Ah, right. How old are you?”

“I was born in 00’. We’re the same age.”

“So, we can speak casually then? Want to be friends?”

“Of course I want to be friends.”

“Okay, then, friend.” You giggled at his emphasis.

“Yes, friend, do you mind telling me the name of your bank now? I still have that shirt to repay.”

“Nope,” the low, soft timbre of his voice suddenly spiked in his attempt to sound cute. He succeeded. “My friends don’t have to repay me for ruining my shirts.”

“Now, that doesn’t sound like a good friend. Jisung-ah, don’t you know you can extort the most amount of money from your friends? So many opportunities for blackmail…”

A sudden silence followed your words and you frowned.

Did you go too far?

“Jisung-ah, is everything alright?”

“Ah! Yes, yes… it’s just, ah, I like how you say my name?”

“Oh- huh?”

He let out a heartfelt laugh and it made you even more of a mess than you already were.

“I’m sorry, your name?”

“Yup, you just have the slightest of accents. It’s cute.”

“What?!” You were shocked. What were you pronouncing wrong? “Where is it weird? Is it in the ‘ji’ or in the ‘sung’ part? Should I just call you Han?”

“No, no!” He was so loud, your ears hurt. He continued in a softer voice: “No, I like the way you say it.”

Cue the blushing.

“Okay,” you smirked. “Jisung-ah.”

“Yah, that’s enough. Stop it; I know what you’re doing.”

“What? I’m just talking, Jisung-ah-,”

“AND we’re changing the subject. What are you doing in Korea?”

You pouted, but decided to stop teasing. You wanted to actually talk to him, anyway. “I’m an exchange student. I’m double majoring in English and Film Studies. I love the different approach to film storytelling that Korea has and so I came to learn more about it. I actually already completed the first year of my English studies in the first semester, so now I have the time to focus on my film studies.”

There was a beat of silence on the other side and you panicked.

“I’m so sorry for ranting! I got too excited…”

“No, it’s fine! It’s… so beautiful to hear someone being so passionate about something. I was just stunned. You came to Korea, what, three months ago? And you’re already so good at Korean when it wasn’t even your major?”

“It’s not that… special… I’ve been teaching myself for the past year…”

“Of course it is, you’re really smart.” His praise just made you redder. “What is it about the Korean film that you find interesting?”

“Honestly, so many things,” you sighed, flipping through the images in your head. “First of, the entire understanding of the world is so different from what I’m used to seeing in Western movies. It’s like there, they start to build the same building from the bottom to the top, while here it’s just parts being made separately and then moulded together. Probably not the best example… Point is; the fundamental ideas the stories stand on are different.”

A low hum came to your hearing, signalling that he was still listening.

“Mostly, I am just an enormous fan of Korean horror,” you concluded, too tired to think further on the matter.

“I love horror, too! Not just Korean though, all horror!” He sounded so excited. Then, a second later, you heard a yawn. Laughing at the contrast, you let out a reflexive yawn yourself.

“Same,” you closed your eyes, the feeling of slipping away taking over your limbs. “Maybe we could watch one together, someday…”

You didn’t hear him reply before letting go.

After a soft question of: “Are you asleep?” and hearing nothing but breathing, the boy on the other side on the line smiled.

“Sleep well, Y/N-ah.”

***

BONUS:

WAIT, so you actually didn’t sleep until I messaged you???? [ 00:01, unopened ]

[thiswasinevitableid]

47 for OT4, SFW or NSFW I love your writing! :))

Thank you! I went SFW for this one.

47: you overhear me complaining to my coworker about your ridiculous daily coffee order, whoops

“Oh christ, here he comes.” Duck mutters to Indrid as he pumps hazelnut syrup into a cup, “the one I was tellin you about.”

Indrid, stationed at the counter, tilts his head as he watches the windows, “would he be the one that looks like a lumberjack or the one who looks like a secret agent?”

“The second one. I dunno what it is, but his order drives me fuckin nuts. It’s super specific; dark roast, single origin only, heavy cream until it turns about that color” he points to the wall, “with a half pump of caramel and a half pump of vanilla. You’re gonna be that specific, just make it at home.” He’s busy putting a lid on  the drink and therefore misses Indrid’s hand waving. 

“I do, and it’s not that hard.” A deep voice makes him turn; the lumberjack, looking more amused than annoyed.

“And since you know my order so well already” the other man, smile, tight lipped, at him before turning to Indrid, “one of those and one large, black coffee.”

Duck starts the drink, making it as fast as he can so he can slink off into the back room. Shit, if the guy rats on him he could get in trouble, he’s already on thin ice after throwing out some rich kid for harassing the staff. 

Indrid takes the drinks, mouths, “go” and heads around the counter while Duck makes a bee-line for the supply closet. 

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

Indrid sets the cups down in front of the two men, then slides a plate with a large, hot monster cookie on it between them. 

“On the house, as they say.”

“This an apology cookie or a ‘don’t give us a bad review’ cookie?” The lumberjack smirks.

“Both.” Indrid says mildly, smiling and returning to his post.

 As he walks away he hears the deep voice whisper, “wouldn’t kick that one outta bed for eating crackers.”

A soft laugh, “Agreed. Pity his friend is an ass.”

When Jake and Hollis arrive a few minutes later to take over for him and Duck, he finds his boyfriend clonking his head into the wall by the break room. 

“Don’t worry, love, I smoothed things over.”

“Thanks. Just feel like a dipshit. Both for gettin overheard and complainin in the first place.”

“I assumed it was stress from waiting on interview results.”

“Yeah.” Duck pulls on his jacket, “still feel shitty though.”

“Come, let’s go home. I have some ideas for relaxation.” He purrs, kissing Duck’s cheek. 

“How may of ‘em are fuckin’-based?”

“Half.”

“Good, gives us some variety just in case.”

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

“We’ve paired you with another duo, if that’s okay?”

“Sure” Duck smiles at the Escape Room employee, takes Indrid’s hand as they follow him down the hall, “Aubrey says these are more fun in a group.”

“I look forward to--oh dear.” 

Duck turns to see the pair from the coffee shop last week. The lumberjack looks about the same, but the secret agent is dressed more casually than usual. His black hair is loose rather than slicked back, and he’s in jeans and shirt that reads, “Champ” with a dark outline of sea monster on the front. He almost looks cute.

“You’ve been  trapped in the lair of hostile, highly intelligent space aliens. You have an hour to escape. Good luck” The employee shuts the door, leaving the pairs to stare at each other. 

“Uh, hi. Again.” Duck waves awkwardly

“Hey.” The lumberjack waves back, “so, uh, this is hella awkward, right?”

“Yes.” The other three respond.

“Cool. Look, I dunno about you but I don’t wanna get dissected by aliens. So, bygones?”

The others nods and he smiles, “I’m Barclay, this is Joseph. My, uh, my boyfriend.” It’s distinctly odd watching such a large man blush like a schoolgirl. Joseph smiles, kisses his cheek, then looks around the room.

“Alright, we need to find the four symbol code to enter onto that pad. Spread out and look for places symbols might be hidden.”

They find the first one easily. Indrid’s eye for color and patterns helps them locate the second, and when a clue points to the third being high up, instead of having to construct a makeshift ladder or step-stool, Barclay simply reaches up and grabs it. It does not escape Duck’s notice that both Indrid and Joseph get appreciative looks on their faces when Barclay then moves a “cloning pod” out of the way all by himself. 

“I suspect the last symbol is hidden one something that is in...that hole.” Joseph points to the newly revealed wall lined with several cubbies, one of which has danger signs written all around it.

“Not it. Too close to a garbage disposal, and I have nightmares about putting my hand down that at the wrong time.” Barclay shudders.

“I would also prefer not to be the one to reach in; such elements often have a loud noise gimmick and I do not enjoy that.”

Joseph glances at Duck, blue eyes glinting with a not-entirely-friendly challenge.

“Fuck it, I’ll do it.” Duck steps forward and cautiously slides his hand in. Indrid’s instinct was right, as the whole starts vibrating with a loud, grinding sound. Indrid yelps, grabbing the other two men, who in turn jump and scream  in surprise. Duck grits his teeth, fights the urge to pull back, and finds a smooth tile waiting for him. When he removes his hand the noise stops, and he grins, triumphant, as he shows off the last symbol. 

“WHOO!” Barclay cheers and high-fives Duck  as Joseph punches in the symbols, stopping the timer on the wall, “shit, that was wild man, scared the living hell outta me and I wasn’t even  the one doing it.”

“Mmmm, my brave hero.” Indrid drapes his arms over his shoulder, kissing him.

“Sap.” Duck teases, kissing him back.

“You know, we make a pretty good team.” Joseph brushes stray hair off his face.

“Yeah. Would, um, would you guys like to go grab coffee or something?” Barclay looks genuinely hopeful, which is why, ten minutes later, Duck is sitting across from Joseph in a dark-wood coffee shop. Indrid has excused himself to wash his hands and Barclay is outside taking a phone call from someone named Mama.

Duck sips his coffee (black) as he watches Joseph measure cream into his mug.

“That explains it; guys who drink black coffee are always weird about guys who don’t.”

“Don’t Barclay drink his black?”

“Only when we’re out, when we’re at home he’s always making fancy coffee. Trying out new recipes. It works well. Or, um, mostly well. There was a green tea cherry espresso that was not his finest.”

“Eech. Heh, that reminds me of the time ‘Drid was so groggy he poured strawberry syrup into his coffee instead of caramel. Didn’t phase him one bit, but I felt like I was kissin a berry patch the whole day. Swear the man’s half moth or some shit from how much sugar he drinks.”

Joseph snickers, “sorry, imagining Indrid as a mothman is a funny image.”

Duck pictures it and giggles, which makes Joseph laugh harder. When they recover, he scratches the back of his neck, “Look, I’m sorry I was a dick about your coffee order. Just havin one of those weeks where everythin got on my nerves.”

“It’s alright. I’m not all that bothered by it. Not intellectually, anyway. Being particular or precise is something people have been, um, less than kind to me about in the past.”

“Nothin wrong with knowin what you like.”

Joseph glances out the window at Barclay, “No, no there’s not.”

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

It becomes a weekly arrangement; the four of them meet for some kind of activity, then go to lunch or dinner. Duck learns many things over those weeks; that Barclay can figure out how to reverse engineer Indrid’s favorite cupcakes from a local bakery, that Joseph has a worryingly deep yet very endearing knowledge of bad horror movies. That while Joseph is terrifying during a trivia match, Duck can still wipe the floor with everyone when it comes to the science categories. He learns that Joseph is trans, like him, and that Barclay and Indrid actually went to the same high school but were two years apart and thus didn’t know each other. 

Right now, he’s learning that he’s not as good at laser tag as he thought he was. 

They went during the cheaper hours, mid-afternoon on a Sunday, and while all four of them are on the same team they’ve gotten separated in the neon-tinted darkness. 

He can tell the enemy team has spotted him, and is moving as fast as he can out of range, when a hand reaches out of a darkened turret and pulls him in.

“GAHoh, phew, scared the hell outta me Joe.”

“Sorry, it was safer than calling out.” The space is small, built for kids rather than two twenty-six year olds, and so Joe is pressed right up against him as he watches the door. He might be the only guy Duck knows who wears honest to god cologne, clean and minty smelling, and the scent wraps around him when Joe pulls him back against his chest to hide them from passing opponents. 

“Fuck, that was close.” He whispers.

“Don’t worry” Joe murmurs in his ear, voice huskier than normal, “you’ve got me to look out for you.” He breaks away as if nothing happened, pulls Duck’s body out into the glowing chaos, while his mind stays in the little room, wondering what the fuck that was.

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

 “Can’t believe we got our asses handed to us by a bunch of eleven year olds.” Duck groans as they sit, licking their wounds along with soft-serve from a tiny shack that Barclay swears by.

“That one blonde girl is gonna grow up to be a sniper.” Barclay offers his cone (chocolate and sour cherry) to Joseph, who takes a prim bite.

“It may run in the family; I think her dad was the one with the ‘Go Army’ shirt.” 

“Oh, were we not supposed to be going easy on them?” Indrid cocks his head. The others stare at him in mute shock. 

“I’m kidding; I was utterly outmatched in there.” He grins before dragging his tongue up his cone (pineapple and marshmallow). When he reaches the tip he opens his mouth wider, taking it all in with a satisfied moan. He pulls off, stray ice cream dribbling down his chin until Joe hands him a napkin. Indrid thanks him, then proceeds to do the exact same thing, over and over, and Duck realizes neither of the other men have looked away from his boyfriend. Barclay’s legs are now crossed, and Joe’s cheeks are pink. Duck can’t really blame them--he knows exactly what Indrid can do with that mouth--but what’s stranger is he doesn’t feel jealous or annoyed. He knows Indrid sometimes struggles with looking, in his own words, “offputting.” It’s nice to see two other people catch on to just how hot he is. 

Then again, he kind of wishes Joe would stop staring and eat his own cone; he wants to see what his tongue can do, too.

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

“Watcha drawin’?” Duck slides onto the couch next to Indrid.

“Just random images.”

“That us with Joe and Barclay?”

“I, ah, yes it is.”

“Like it a lot. Christ you’re talented, it’s like how much you like us is comin’ right off the page.”

“Is, ah, is that so? I hadn’t noticed, ah, oh dear, I just remembered I need to go call Jake about covering my shift.”

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

Duck: That new barcade is finally open, wanna come with us on Saturday?

Barclay: Wish we could, but we got a friends birthday that night.

Duck: No big, let us know if you want to catch a flick on Sunday

Barclay sets the phone down, not remembering it’s a group text until Joe pokes his head out of the bedroom.

“Shit, whose birthday is on Saturday? We need to get a gift.”

“Oh, uh, no, no one. Just, uh, didn’t feel like going out but didn’t want them to think I was, like, angry or something. Sorry, shoulda asked if you wanted to go without me, shit, that was rude.”

“It’s alright, I don’t mind time that’s just for us.” He crosses the living room, fiddles with Barclays hair, “but let me know if you want to see a movie Sunday, I’m happy either way.”

“Uhuh, will do.” Barclay nods, not really paying attention, as he imagines silvery hair in the dark theater and holding slender, cool fingers in his own.

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

“Why do I get the feeling you don’t actually have that DVD to loan me?”

“I do” Duck shuts the apartment door behind Joe, “but we got some things to discuss first.” He waits until Joe is sitting next to Barclay (lured here by the promise of cookies) and across from Indrid (lives here, not that hard to lure).

“Look, I don’t think I really gotta point out how weird it is that we went from hangin out every week to not seein’ each other for near a month. But what I do gotta point out is why it’s happenin’.”

“We’ve all been busy?” Joe hazards.

“Yeah, but we all were busy before and we made time for each other. Now we, myself included, are cancelin shit.” He takes a deep breath, “Barclay, Joe, you both got a thing for ‘Drid, don’t you?”

Joe nods while Barclay blushes and mutters, “yeah.”

“And ‘Drid, you got a thing for both of them?”

His boyfriend shifts nervously in his seat, but nods all the same. Barclay looks genuinely surprised. 

“Well, you three ain’t the only ones realizin’ you want more than you got. Joe, I, uh, I really like you. As in wanna date you. So, uh, that’s where we’re at.” He sits down next to Indrid, who instantly takes his hand. 

“That’s...wait, don’t we all want the same thing?” Joe looks between them, puzzled. 

“You’d really be okay with me dating Indrid?” Barclay asks softly. 

“We’d both be dating him. And I’d be dating Duck as well as you two. Assuming that was alright with Indrid?”

“....You know, I think it is.” Indrid squeezes Duck’s hand, “I was afraid to admit how I felt; I didn’t want to come between you and Barclay, because you clearly love each other, and I couldn’t bear the thought of losing Duck. But I’ve also seen how happy he is around you, Joseph; there is no reason we could not all work things out to be happy as a, ah, polycule? Is that the term?”

“Think so.” Barclay relaxes, “fuck, I felt so bad thinking that wanting Indrid would fuck everything up, don’t know what to do with my self now that I’m not stressing about it.”

“I propose we order dinner and just...talk.” Indrid rests his head on Duck’s shoulder, “I think that will help us sort out where to go from here.”

Duck orders takeout from the Chinese place down the block as Indrid and Joe arrange the living room into a place where they can all sit together comfortably and Barclay grab drinks. Soon they’re gathered on the floor, working out logistics and boundaries and hopes and fears between bites of fried rice and chow mein. Joe keeps notes, curling closer to Duck as the evening goes on. 

There’s a part of him that wants to jump straight to sex, to pin Joe to floor and fuck him while his other boyfriends do what they want to him, to Duck, to each other. But this thing between them is a new leaf in spring, vulnerable and just beginning to grow. 

So, after dinner, they cuddle up on the couch and floor to watch the midnight movie on local T.V, hands tentatively finding each other and bodies gradually resting closer together in new configurations. 

He falls asleep on the floor, Indrid spooning him and Joe resting his head on his belly. Wakes up with Joe curled around him and Barclay cuddled up to Indrid, snoring softly. 

Duck slips out of the configuration, pads into the kitchen to start coffee. When Joe sneaks up behind him he gasps, snickers as the taller man kisses him good morning. Then he grabs two mugs, smiling to himself at his luck as he opens the fridge. After all, he already knows just how his new boyfriend likes his coffee. 

[halloweenonthemoon]

Joey Meeting Cas’s Parents.

Time is a thought pattern and measurement made up by the human mind. Sometimes we use it to keep track of important days and events in our lives. Sometimes it seems to take forever, and other days it seems to pass like one is going through a time machine. Just one hour, just 60 minutes, 60 seconds within each one of those individual minutes, is all I have to convince them. These were the thoughts that ran across Cas’s mind as he finished tying his dark ocean blue tie. The blue popped and drew one’s eye away from the rest of the swan white suit. “My Sunday best” Cas signed softly in a mocking tone before nervously picking at the loose ends in the fabric. His bright seafoam eyes darted to the grandfather clock standing in the hallway.

The clock was a gift from this great grandmother on his mother’s side. It stood at a height of 7 feet and was the tallest being in the house. It was made of dark oak wood that could be found in any fairy tale forest. The clock has a man-made touch that ruined its magic. The golden hands shined like the sun on a pleasant summer day and it had a little ticking sound that sounded like a robin’s morning cry to the world. This was what Cas’s parent’s found perfect for their home and their traditions.

If there is one thing to be known about Cas Rare’s family is that traditions are everything to them and they have kept some very old ones alive. There are always the weird ones, like knocking three things before entering the office and the kitchen, and then of course some more serious ones. For example, poor Cas knew this one too well, everyone in his family had married their high school sweetheart without fail. Some are still together though that’s not the case for most of the family. That doesn’t matter to the Rares though, as long as the action happens then to them the tradition is still kept.

Then a loud ringing broke the silence that swallowed the emotionally empty home whole. Cas jumped back towards his old light brown bed with the many shades of green plants surrounding it. “That’s just the doorbell, take a breath you’re okie. Gods, you’re such a nervous wreck don’t let them see into your eyes. Act normal.” His inner voice yelled at him hoping he would understand the importance of this. Cas shook his head to clear any emotion from his face. Even though he’s the master at faking a poker face, the one thing that usually gives him away is his eyes. There’s a saying that the eyes are the window to the soul and with Cas, that statement is most definitely true. He started his journey down the seemingly endless hallway heading to what he considered a death wish though others would just call it a set of stairs.

The old woodland stairs creaked as he made his way down, carefully counting out how many seconds it took him to get to the bottom. “Your girlfriend is late,” a cold and disapproving voice called out from the kitchen. Girlfriend, what an odd word thought Cas. This wasn’t the first time he heard that word in the romantic sense and probably wouldn’t be the last. His parents, teachers, teammates, and even some of the town folks ask him how a young man like him is still single. He’s the captain of the football team, on the student console, and the vice president. He’s a straight-A student and even helps with the school’s volunteering program. They say he’s the faithful son and a model student. They claim Cas is fulfilling the American dream.

Little do they realize that Cas has been hiding a huge secret. A secret he learned to keep from a young age and what happens when you don’t. The sad part is the town may have the occasional jerk but that’s not why Cas guards this secret with his life. How does one explain to the people who claim to love you unconditionally that you’re the thing they hate the most? That no matter what you do you can’t change it. How does one explain to a person with a strong homophobic belief that you’re part of the community?

“I’m sorry sir; she lives across town and most likely lost track of time” Cas called back to his father while straightening his back. “Hmm, that's the disappointing son. A young girl should know to respect others' time.” Mr. Rare called back, his voice holding the same emotion and tone as his words. Cas signed to himself before jogging over to the tall doorway that seems to tower over anyone with an avenger human height. He knew parents hate surprises and they're about to get a big one. Good thing they don’t have any heart issues, he joked softly in his mind.

When he opened the door, he could not believe his eyes. There stood his boyfriend in a black suit with the coat opened to show off a salmon pink shirt. His usual long, wavy light and a slight orangish-brown hair braided showing off his side cut. Of course, he was wearing his tall black boots under his suit and was holding a gift of pretty greens and sunset pink roses. “Wow, those roses do draw your eyes out dear,” Cas smiled at his boyfriend while feeling both jumpy and at peace.“Sorry for being late love!” The short man explained quickly, “I told Jackie I wanted to pick up some flowers for you, and I lost track of time.” Jackie was an older brother figure to Joey Light and had taken him in when he was twelve-thirteen years old. Now being 16 Joey had a sense of getting used to his new life and this town...for the most part at least. Sometimes he forgets about how the locals are stuck in their old ways and the dangers that hold.

“You’re ten mintu-” “Ooo, is she here now?” Mrs. Rare cut off Mr. Rare running from the kitchen to greet who she thought was going to be her future daughter-in-law.

Mrs.Rare is the president of the books for kids program, and many in the town love her for her general kindness to others. If someone needs a helping hand, usually, Mrs.Rare is there. If it wasn't for her the town’s new and improved library wouldn’t exist. Though Mrs.Rare has a darker side to her that not many had seen. She has this undercurrent of believing she was above you and a slight god complex.

“Oh,” She stated gently while her honey-dyed hair swayed from side to side. “Hello, May I ask your name child?” Mrs. Rare hummed, placing her hands on her waist, as a small power move. Joey smiled trying to come off confident stating “Hello Mrs.Rare, my name is Joey” mentally cursing himself for not sounding more “proper” before widening his smile. Joey can feel Mrs.Rare’s eyes judging him while trying to give off the “I’m like second mother” vibes.

“I’m sorry hon, but I’m afraid that Cas is busy tonight. His girlfriend is coming over to finally meet the family!” she says quickly before placing her hand onto Cas’s arm with a small pulling motion. Joey was about to speak up, but Cas conquered him. “Actually mother, Joey is supposed to be over here. I want to explain it to you and father during dinner” his right hand was grabbing his left wrist and rubbing it in circles. Mrs. Rare’s eyes were processing but stopped and went dilated for a minute. They darted from Cas to Joey a few times before saying “Please come in” while rushing to the dining room.

The air in the room seemed to disappear at that moment and Cas felt like he was in outer space. All the noises of the world were muted for the purest minute, and objects were floating. Cas nearly felt like a sleepwalker as Joey seized hold of his hand. He was the sunshine in this world and was a burning candle in this gloomy house. Smiling at his boyfriend, the two of them made their way to the dining room, mentally preparing for whatever battle faced them.

The room was massive with a huge chandelier of shades of white and baby blue hanging down from the ceiling shining all over. There was an extensive dark oak table that usually is only used for meetings and fancy gales. Tonight the table will be a battleground between two opposing sides. Joey recalled how in this situation he felt like a tiny mouse trying to hide from the humans who had enough misfortune to discover him in their kitchen. He tried not to reveal his fear though and puffed out his chest standing next to Cas.

“You’re 11 minutes late, Miss” Mr.Rare called out, entering the dining room with his wife behind him carrying drinks for the small group. Mr. Rare was a tall man with the air of being a naturally born leader. He had these honey brown eyes that always seemed to be looking down at you and a mouth that seems to be just a thin stick. The people voted him for mayor because he reminded them of an old wartime warrior. Tough and gets what needs to be completed. He was surprisingly good with people and especially those of the older generation.

Joey quickly took a step forward trying to seem confident and not like he was wanting to walk straight back out the door. Fear is something he would never let win, and he wasn’t going to start today. He raised his hand and looked Mr. Rare in the eyes. Joey may be short and a tiny guy but he has a lot of guts and attitude to make up for it. “Hello, Mr.Rare. My name is Joey Light, and I deeply apologize for being late. I thought it would be the gentleman thing to get your son some flowers.”

Cas loved and hated when Joey did this. He tried to hide the forming smile on his face while trying not to be petrified that Joey had said that while looking his father dead in the eyes. “Excuse me Father; Joey is my guest tonight, I should have told you early.” Cas quickly explained stepping slightly in between Joey and his father. His father raised one eye to the two men and nodded gently before saying “I see...why don’t we sit down and have some lovely food that your mother made for us?

Mrs. Rare quickly set down the glasses on the table and explained that she’ll be right back with some silverware. Mr. Rare took a seat at the usual spot-the head of the table while Cas took out a chair for Joey. The sitting arrangement planned out the week before was Mr.Rare at the head of the table, Mrs.Rare on the right side of him, Cas’s “girlfriend” on the left side of Mr.Rare, and Cas next to his “girlfriend.” Cas knew his father would be annoyed about him changing it up last minute, but he also wanted to keep Joey safe. Even as Mr.Rare was glaring at his son as he sat on the left side of him.

After 5 minutes Mr.Rare appeared with a huge smile on her face that was the opposite of her eyes. “Here’s the silverware” She hummed before taking a seat at her throne and poured some water into everyone’s glass. She looked like a lioness with her curly frame and long face. There was a silence that felt like forever to Cas and he knew his parents wanted an explanation. This was a power game, and he was smart enough to give in first. He made the mental note that he had 39 minutes left to convince his parents not to kick him out of the family.

Clearing his voice, Cas said “Father, Mother, I know you're expecting my girlfriend to come tonight for dinner but-” “Ah yes, I was wondering when she would be here.” his father chimed in looking at him with a confused look. Cas felt like a deer in headlights and felt his heart skip a beat. Joey quickly grabbed Cas’s hand under the table and gave it a comforting squeeze. Cas looked up to a soft smile that he knew was a rare sight.

He took a breath and continued making sure he was strong with his tone “I’m afraid she can’t come tonight because she doesn’t exist.” Cas let his eyes travel to his mother’s face which was the perfect look of surprise and to his father’s- the eyebrow raised again but there’s a fire in his eyes now. No one said anything as there was this moment of silence before Mrs.Rare looked over to Mr.Rare.

“What do you mean she doesn’t exist?” She singed gently while straightening her back. She had that same fire that Cas’s father has, though hers represent more expression. Cas jerked his head and spoke louder hoping it would aid him to sound more sure, “I mean she doesn't exist. Mother, Father, I’m a part of the lgbtq+ community- technically Bi. I would like to introduce you to my boyfriend Joey Light.” Joey smiled at his boyfriend. It was the first time he heard his boyfriend stand up for himself and he was proud. Though he retained enough knowledge to prepare for the fight that was about to go down.

Mr. Rare spat out the water he was drinking before loudly saying “You’re what?!”If it wasn’t for the situation the look on his face would have been comical. His eyes darted between the two boys processing what he just heard. The corners of his mouth twitched into a smile before he started laughing. The laugh was hollow and seemed more than just fake. It scared everyone at the table a little bit.

Mrs. Rare had a better reaction by just sitting there staring down at her food with a slight smirk on her face. Cas didn’t know which reaction was the worst. He knew this was very out of character for his parents.

“Hahaha, you tell the best jokes son” Mr.Rare laughed out before wiping away some of the tears from his eyes “You genuinely had me fooled for a minute.” Cas felt his cheeks turn a rosily pink shade before speaking up again, “I’m not joking Father…”. Now it was his mother that spoke up with that smile; looked smug before explaining to a child why they can’t have a cookie before dinner “Honey you can’t be bi, it’s just so unnatural and a choice. Besides, why would you date a man if you like women?”

“Excuse me?” Joey, who’s been quiet the whole dinner, finally spoke up with his usual amount of sass. “This is why you’re uncomfortable whenever your folks get brought up in the conversion darling?” Joey said promptly, altering his voice into a honey-like texture while turning to face Cas. Cas could merely bob his head and tried to think of a way to quickly diffuse the situation at hand.

Mr. Rare stood up and pointed a finger at Joey getting more and more angry stating “Young man, who do you think you're talking to? She has a very reasonable statement. Thank God he is only Bi, there’s still hope then.” Now he is getting up and walking behind Mrs.Rare’s chair placing his hands on her shoulders.

The room was divided down the middle between the parents and the young boys. One side was the older generation with their traditions and the newer generation with a wave of change. The two were different colors: blue and red, dark and light, the sun and moon...etc.

“Still hope? Sir with all due expectations that is a horrible thing to say. So what if Cas likes girls and guys, he’s still a great person and an amazing friend. ”Joey knew he was taking charge where he shouldn’t, but he didn’t care. The only care on his mind right now was protecting Cas.

“Great Person?” Mrs. Ruth questioned raising her drinking glass to make a toast. Humming, she stared at the young men sitting in front of her deciding her words carefully. “I know what you’re kind does. They think they’re so special and for what? You had a choice to make, and you chose to go against society. Everything could be normal if your generation just followed the guidelines in place!”

Cas looked down at the table with a look of pure rage while his hands were shaking. Emotions that he had been burying were traveling to the surface and threatening to spill over. His voice was barely above a whisper when he made his statement “Choice? Do you think we get a choice? Do you think I would choose to be afraid of telling people who I’m dating? You think it’s a choice to have to hide a part of my identity, so I don’t get jumped? You think I would choose to spend every day being judged by people like you!” His voice was growing in volume and emotions during the whole speech. In the end, Cas felt his cheeks burn from embarrassment and tears stung his eyes.

There was an air of quiet where one can feel the energy in the room through the walls. Both boys were standing by now, Cas trying not to break down and Joey comforting him while shooting dirty looks at Cas’s parents. Mr.Rare was watching with a hateful look at the young boys' interaction, and Mrs.Rare was nearly shaking her head at this display.“You’re being just like your sister. You know why we disowned her.” Mr.Rare coldly stated and started to look at this watch as bored with everything going on.

“Older sister?” Joey questioned and was caught off guard by this statement. He never realized or thought to ask if Cas even had any siblings. He solely thought he was an only child and that’s why Cas’s folks were exceedingly hard on him. Cas shook his head before adding a sign. “At least use his pronouns, he uses him/him” Cas continued looking tired, probably because he had this conservation a million times before about his brother. “What, did you kick his brother out for coming out of the closet?” Joey joked while a smirk on his face until the realization struck him.

“You disowned him? Wow, you’re undoubtedly an unpleasant person. I mean, I encountered some pathetic people but you guys take the cake.” Joey’s voice was harsh like an icy storm while he was leading closer to the parents.“I know you don’t like it, but things are changing. You can’t stop change. You either could change with it or get left in the past.”

Mr. Rare was going to reply when the grandfather could be heard clicking and ticking. He frowned and looked down at his wife who merely smiled back. “Cas we will continue this conversion later, your mother and I have a town meeting.” Mr. Rare called softly before both of the parents walked out of the room. The boys know that this is the first of many fights to come but they're not going to give up. They got each other, and they know they’ll make it just fine. Cas may have not been able to convince his parents in an hour, but it’s a step.

*this copied kinda of weird from my Google Doc, though please enjoy! Feel free to ask questions.*

[etherealwaifgoddess]

Maybe I Am? - Chpt.6

Characters: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Summary: Steve realizes the extent of his screw up and devises a plan to win his man back, even if that means coming out to everyone in his life. Master list HERE.

Content Warning: a really sad Bucky and an even more sad Steve. But (cue Monty Python voice) it gets better! 

Word Count: 3.2k

Author’s Note: Hello lovelies! This is it, last chapter!! I know some of you have been waiting with baited breath since last night's cliffhanger. At least I don't make ya'll wait very long for new chapters! Thank you to every single one of you who has taken the time to like, comment, and reblog. Ya'll make writing such a rewarding experience. I don’t have an epilogue for this fic, but if anyone would like mini head cannons set after the fic shoot me an ask with what you’re looking for and I can write something up just for you. XOXO - Ash

Chapter Six

“Dude, you look like a ghost.” Sam commented when Steve entered the gym the next day. 

Steve shrugged noncommittally. “Didn’t sleep great.” And that was the truth. Sleep had eluded him except for a few brief hours here and there. He hadn’t had the heart to change his sheets, as disgusting as he knew that was. He laid in his bed, trying to catch the faint scent of Bucky on his pillow and sheets. Steve was torturing himself over the break up that he’d known was inevitable. And it wasn’t even a break up, not really. And wasn’t that the bitch of it? He was hurting more now than he had when Peggy had left him and they had been together for over a year, had lived together even. Bucky was a fling, a curiosity that he couldn’t let go. Deep down Steve knew it had been more than that though. It had been everything. 

Sam let Steve throw himself into work, not pushing him to talk until he was ready. But when they were wrapping things up for the day Sam’s patience had run thin. His best friend was in worse shape than he’d ever seen him and he didn’t have a clue as to why. “Get your shit.” Sam ordered gruffly, “We’re gonna go get a beer.” he looked at Steve’s devastated expression, “Or five.” 

Two beers later Steve was peeling the label off of his drink, still avoiding the subject. Sam had been filling the silence with superficial work talk but when Steve lowered his head to his hands with a groan Sam caved. “Was it Peggy?” he ventured a guess. That was the last time he’d seen Steve even close to this rough of shape.

Steve let out a bitter laugh. “Nope. It definitely wasn’t Peggy.”

“Well then what, man? You look like someone’s ripped the life out of you. We used to talk about everything. What’s so bad you can’t even tell me?”

“Bucky.” Steve murmured quietly.

Sam wrinkled his nose trying to make sense of Steve’s answer. “Bucky who?” he said a second before it dawned on him. “Oh shit. Bucky as in WinterBae Bucky?” 

Steve nodded. 

“I didn’t even know you were still talking to him. What the hell happened?” 

“I fucked up, Sam.” Steve choked out as the tears came, fresh and hot down his cheeks. 

The story spilled out of him in fits and sobs as they nursed two more rounds of beers in the dimly lit quietness of the bar. Sam listened patiently, not commenting except for the occasional interjection of a hmph or ah ha to show he was listening. Steve felt raw and empty by the time he was done, finishing with Bucky’s departure the day before.  

Sam sat quietly for a moment, thinking over everything Steve had just dropped on him. When it was clear Steve was done Sam spoke up. “You know you could have told me, right? I was probably a bit of an ass when you told me about Bucky the day you met him, but I just didn’t want you getting yourself worked up over nothing. But this, man, this is something.” 

“I think I loved him.” 

“I think you still do or you wouldn’t be sitting here crying in your beer. So what now?” 

“What do you mean, what now?” 

“How are you going to fix this? No offense, but you definitely were the one who fucked up. So how are you going to go get your boy back?” 

“I don’t even know if he’d take me back. I hurt him Sam. He’s the most amazing, special person I’ve ever met and I made him feel like I was ashamed of him. What kind of person does that?” 

Sam rubbed Steve’s shoulder. “The kind of person who’s scared. You went thirty years thinking of yourself one way only to find out you maybe didn’t have the whole picture. That can be disorienting, but it’s not an excuse to hurt someone you love. You gotta make this right if you still want him in your life.” 

“I don’t know how.” Steve looked utterly defeated. 

“You gotta figure that one out on your own. But regardless if things work out with him or not, you still have to figure your shit out. Otherwise you’ll never have a real chance with any girl, or guy, again.” 

“I don’t want anyone else. I just want him” 

“Then ask yourself the hard questions, man. Are you willing to be honest with him? To really apologize and accept whatever he has to say back? Are you willing to really be with him, out in the open? Because if you couldn’t bring him into the gym and proudly introduce him to all of your friends, then don’t waste your time or his.” 

“I guess I have a lot of thinking to do.” 

“Take a few days off, get your head on straight. And call me if you need to talk.” 

“Thanks, Sammy.” Steve pulled his friend in for a bone crushing hug. It was going to be a long couple of days. 

xxXxx

Bucky knew it was foolish expecting Steve to text or call. But part of him had hoped that Steve had cared enough to at least try to reach out. Bucky chalked it up to one more time he’d had too much faith in Steve. It would be the last time though.

Natasha came over on Wednesday after Bucky had dodged her calls for three days straight. She slipped in with assassin-like stealth, using the spare key he’d given her years ago. Bucky was slumped on the sofa in his fluffiest lavender robe, hair laying stringy and limp around his shoulders, and a bag of gummy bears resting on his stomach. An episode of The Office was playing but he wasn’t really paying attention to it. He glanced over, unsurprised by her presence, and mutely handed her a clear gummy bear - her favorite flavor. She accepted the bear with a nod and settled in next to him. 

The episode ended and Bucky popped the last few pieces of candy in his mouth. “Are you here to yell at me for wallowing?” he asked, breaking the silence.

Natasha raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow at him. “Do you want me to?” 

Bucky shook his head, his composure breaking. “I miss him, ladybug.” he sobbed, turning to cling to his oldest, dearest, friend.

“I’m sorry, Bucky-bear.” Natasha held him tightly while he cried. She fired a quick text off and her phone chirped almost immediately. “Becca will be here by dinner.” 

“Nat, no.” he grumbled pathetically.

“Nat, yes.” she quipped. “Now come on, let’s get you cleaned up before she gets here and thinks I haven’t been looking after you.” 

Bucky grumbled more but complied. The last thing he needed was a Becca lecture. 

Becca arrived with bags of take out and several bottles of wine a little after six o’clock. She and Nat sat and listened while Bucky poured his heart out over the next few hours. They curled up around him on the sofa, letting him mourn and trying to just be there for him. He passed out eventually and Becca looked over his sleeping head at Natasha once his gentle snuffle-snores started. “I want a name and address.” she demanded with a low tone that left no room for disagreement. 

“I’ll text it to you. You go do what you have to do and I’ll keep an eye on our boy.” 

Becca was fuming the entire ride across town. She had been there for the fallout out from Brock, who had been the worst type of prick imaginable, but who Bucky had genuinely loved. And this was a hundred times worse. Becca knew it was stupid and ill advised but she needed to confront the asshole who thought he could just toy with her brother’s emotions like that. She still regretted not punching Brock when she’d had the chance, and she was not going to have that regret this time. 

Steve heard the sharp knock on his door and groaned. He’d already been in bed despite it only being nine thirty and he felt completely exhausted dragging himself to the door. Three days of beating yourself up will do that to a guy. Steve opened the door and his heart stopped. Standing in front of him was a petite woman who reminded him so much of Bucky he thought he was hallucinating. 

“Are you Steve Rogers?” the woman demanded. The grey-blue eyes, so much like Bucky’s, flared with anger.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, clearing his throat, “Who are you?” 

“The woman who’s brother is a fucking wreck right now because of you, you fucking prick.” Becca shoved at him as hard as she could but he barely moved, the damn mountain of a man.

“Bucky?” Steve choked out, his eyes welling up at the name.

“Yeah, Bucky. Or do you do this with all the guys? Poor gorgeous confused guy who just wants to get his rocks off and use people?” Becca was almost shouting, anger radiating off of her in waves. 

“What?!” Steve barked out, shocked, “No! God, no. Bucky was the only guy I ever… I didn’t mean to-” a sob slipped out and he fought for composure, “Is he okay? I… I miss him so much.” Steve broke down, wrapping his arms around himself tightly for the small bit of comfort it gave him.

Becca just stood there speechless for a moment. She had been so ready to deck this guy and chew him out for hurting her brother, but she hadn’t expected Steve to be a mess too. Clearly, things were more complicated than she’d thought. “He’s not, you ass.” she informed him, “And neither are you apparently. Now invite me in and let’s see if we can fix this, yeah?” 

Steve sniffled, nodding and backing out of the doorway so she could come in. Becca followed him to the sofa where he told her how badly he’d fucked up, which she already knew but felt reassured hearing how much it tore Steve up. It was satisfying knowing Steve was beating himself over what had happened and saving her the trouble. She let him finish and get himself under wraps again before she finally spoke up. “I’m not going to help you.” 

Steve visibly deflated. 

“But,” she added, causing him to perk up briefly, “I will get him where he needs to be for you to fix this mess. God knows he’ll be avoiding you like the plague right now. So figure out to make this right and let me know when and where. I’ll make sure he’s there.” Becca stood up, satisfied she was keeping her meddling to a minimum. 

“Thank you.” Steve said right as she reached the door.

She gave him a sharp nod, “But Steve.” she added, her tone like ice, “If you ever hurt my brother again? I’m gonna punch you in the dick so hard it won’t matter what your sexuality is because you won’t have anything left to use.”  And with that warning, she closed the door loudly behind her. 

Steve groaned. He’d spent three days wallowing, now it was time to plan.

xxXxx

The next morning Becca’s phone buzzed in her pocket while she flipped a chocolate chip pancake, adding to the stack she was making for Bucky. 

1pm @ Los Aztecas; the text read, followed by an address. 

She sent back a thumbs up emoji, hoping she wasn’t betraying her brother. Natasha had seemed encouraging when she’d reported back to her the night before and that gave her some reassurance she was doing the right thing. 

Bucky slept late, cuddled up with Natasha in his rumpled bed. The three of them had curled up like they had when they were kids and Becca was happy to rejoin the warmth to wake up her brother and best friend. Bucky was reluctant to get out of bed but after some coaxing, they got him up and dressed. Becca filled Natasha in while Bucky showered and they planned on how they’d get Bucky out of the apartment later. 

It turned out to be easier than either woman expected. Becca claimed to have found a ‘cute little taco’ place online and gave him her best sad face when begging him to go out for lunch. Bucky was weak when Becca begged and they were in a cab on their way across time fifteen minutes earlier than they needed to be. Becca fired off a text to Steve of their ETA and gave Natasha a knowing nod when Bucky wasn’t looking. 

“Becs, no.” Bucky whined when they were dropped off outside the restaurant. 

“What?” Becca played dumb, mentally priding herself on her performance. “Why not?” 

“This is Steve’s taco place.” he swallowed roughly, refusing to cry in public. 

“That asshole doesn’t get to deprive you of tasty tacos.” Natasha interjected, “Besides, what are the odds you’ll even run into him? Come on,” she gave him a push towards the door, “Mama needs tacos.” 

Bucky grumbled but ducked into the little restaurant with them. His eyes adjusted to the low lighting and he missed Steve with an intensity that made him physically ache. He wondered how long it would be until everything stopped making him think of Steve. Hell, even the sound of a guy laughing in the other room reminded him of Steve. As a matter of fact, that laugh really did sound familiar. Too familiar. Shit.

“Hey, Buck.” 

Bucky cringed, glaring daggers at his sister and best friend before turning around. Well, at least he’d put on real clothes before going out. “Hi Steve.” he said as normally as he could. 

Steve was standing in the doorway to the private dining room looking devastatingly handsome in his white and blue checked shirt and khakis. Bucky wished he had been overly generous in remembering how damned attractive Steve was. If it weren’t for the faint bruises of purple under Steve’s bright blue eyes, he would have thought nothing was wrong. 

“Can we talk for a minute?” Steve asked, wringing his hands nervously. 

Bucky turned around to Becca and Natasha, “I hate you both.” he growled. But he nodded to Steve and followed him into the empty dining room.

“What’s this about Steve?” he asked, his voice betraying his exhaustion. 

“You.” Steve said simply, “It’s always gonna be about you.” he cleared his throat, taking a moment to collect his thoughts. “I wanted to say I’m sorry I hurt you. I never meant to but I know I absolutely did. I was a coward and I’m ashamed of how I acted. But I’m not ashamed of us. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me and I want everyone to know it. I needed to sort my shit out, not just for you but for me too. I’m sorry it took me so long to do that. I don’t want to hide you away like some secret. I want to be able to walk down the street holding your hand, kiss you on the corner and not give a shit who sees us. I want you to meet my friends, my coworkers, my family. I want us to take all those silly trips we were planning together. I want you in my life, completely, not just when it’s convenient. Because I love you. I love you so much it terrifies me. And whether you want to give me, us, another try, or if you want to kick me in the balls and never see me again, I just needed to tell you that.” 

Bucky sniffed back the tears that were gathering in the corners of his eyes and took a long breath. “You hurt me.” his voice was steadier than he felt and Bucky was grateful for that. “And you’re never going to do that again. Do you hear me? Never again, Steve. I love you too much to go through this again.” Bucky gave him a soft smile, letting his words sink in.

“You still love me?” Steve whispered hopefully.

“Of course I do, you punk.” 

Steve laughed wetly, pulling Bucky in for a hug. They were still holding each other when Sam popped his head in a few minutes later. “You two ready for the party yet?” Sam called out, startling them both. This time though, Steve took Bucky’s hand in his tightly. 

“Come on in.” Steve waved his hand to his friend. “Sam, I’d like you to meet my boyfriend, Bucky. Bucky, this is my best friend Sam.” 

Bucky was beaming as he extended a hand to shake Sam’s. “Nice to meet you Sam. I’ve heard a lot about you.” 

Sam gave Bucky his brightest gap toothed smile, immensely happy for both of them. “Likewise.” 

Thor was the next to pop his head in, accompanied by his wife Jane and their baby. Becca and Natasha sauntered in with margaritas in hand, twin expressions of smug happiness on their faces. Sam and Steve had closed the gym for the afternoon, enabling everyone to join them for a late lunch. Steve figured funding for an impromptu party for all of his nearest and dearest was a small price to pay to get the love of his life back. 

Bucky stayed glued to Steve’s side for the entire party. Likewise, Steve kept a hand on him at all times, whether it was wrapped around Bucky’s or resting around the other man’s waist, it was like a lifeline tethering them together. There was some gentle ribbing from Pietro and Scott about Steve finally manning up but overall everyone treated Steve’s unofficial coming out party as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Steve was both relieved and a little ashamed he had been so concerned. He loved these guys like family, he should have known they would accept him no matter what. 

As the party died down their assortment of friends trailed off to get about their days. Natasha and Sam had been sitting together at the bar for the better part of an hour, much to Steve and Bucky’s amusement. They were just a hair too close for it to be casual and the faint smile on Natasha’s face cemented Bucky’s assumption that she was smitten. 

“I’ll see you at the apartment later. Or tomorrow.” Becca teased, giving her brother a hug goodbye. “Don’t hurry home for me.” 

“I won’t.” Bucky assured her. He watched her go, leaving just him and Steve left in the room. “You ready to head back to your place?” he asked. 

“Yeah,” Steve looked down at him with a fond smile, “I think I am.” 

Bucky snorted a laugh, “You think so? You really should be more certain about things, Steve. Would’ve saved us a lot of trouble.” 

Steve bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. “Well, I know one thing for sure.”

“Oh really? And what’s that?” Bucky grinned, playing along.

“That I love you.” Steve leaned down to kiss Bucky sweetly. 

“Well then.” Bucky smiled widely against Steve’s mouth, “That’s a really good start.” 

~  The End ~

[devaigh]

The Winner ~Chapter 7

AN: This is currently the longest chapter I’ve ever written. This is now also the longest fic I’ve written and it’s far from over. I just want to say that I’m so super grateful for all the encouragement and everyone who has helped get this into shape. 

Previously || 1 2 3 4 5 6

The air outside was colder than she anticipated. The wind rolling off of the water lifted her hair, bringing the taste of salt to her lips.  She could still hear the sounds of the party behind her, though it felt a world away. Even the muted whispers of other guests around her seemed as though behind a sheet of dimly lit glass. A few stray partygoers milled about on the cobbled stairs leading down to the beach, while others dotted the path leading to a wide sprawling garden just beyond a delicate whitewashed gate. Instinctively, her eyes sought out a hint of red hiding in the shadows. But there was no trace of her daughter… or Jamie.

Claire felt herself start to breathe again. She just needed a moment. She stayed where she was, her eyes slipping shut.  Seeing Jamie here, seeing the way he had looked at her, she couldn’t stop the way her heart raced. It wasn’t fair.

How was he still able to do that?

Jamie had always been able to steal her breath, to make her want nothing more than his body next to hers. She felt whole when he was near. Until she didn’t.

After he had left, she had never found that again. 

Claire had to admit to herself, she had never really looked. What she had shared with Jamie had been the best part of her. When she had lost him, her grief had nearly consumed her. When Brianna had arrived, Claire hung on to the hope that Jamie might still be alive. He would come home, and take them both away.

But her dreams had been cut short.

She had seen the notice. The letters spelling but his name, his picture staring back at her from the newspaper she held. She knew.

He was gone.

She was alone.

She had broken an entire set of dishes. The lamp in the hall had shattered when it hit the wall. Frank had been furious. The worst part was she couldn’t explain. She didn’t want to see the self-satisfied smirk on his face.  

Claire opened her eyes, steadying herself. Whatever Jamie was doing here, she wasn’t going to get involved. She couldn’t. Her heart couldn’t go through that again. 

*  *  *  *  *  * 

His damn phone buzzed again.

Jamie swore.

“Not now!” he muttered under his breath. He dug his phone back out of his pocket preparing to turn the blasted thing off when the name that flashed across the screen caught his eye.

Willie

Christ. He stood, answering quickly as he made his way to the nearest exit.

Willie?

Where are you?

“I’m in France mo mhac.”

“Oh. Right. That’s this weekend. I forgot.”

“Dinna fash lad,  Tell me what’s wrong? Are ye okay?”

“Yeah.. but there’s a problem. I didn't remember you were gone, and then she showed up to my practice today and..

“Hold on lad, start at the beginning. Now, what’s going on?” 

* * * * * * * 

“That was a wonderful speech, Dr. Randall.”

Claire turned around and smiled when she saw the person standing behind her.

‘’John!”

“In the flesh. I do apologize my dear, for not having found you before dinner. I arrived later than I originally anticipated.”

“Oh...no. that's quite all right. It's been a rather busy day. I hope you had time to settle in.”

“I did indeed. You really didn’t need to go through all that trouble.” He laughed as she reached his side “How are you, my dear?”  Her hands were chilled, he noticed as she touched his arm. “You look wonderful.”  

“I’m doing as well as can be expected, I suppose.  It has already been a crazy month, but this weekend seems to have its own surprises in store for me.”  Claire laughed,  “My wedding was nothing compared to this one. “

“Well I imagine you made a most lovely bride yourself.”

Claire shrugged.  “It was a civil marriage. We went to the courthouse. There wasn’t any pomp or circumstance at all. Granted, it was only a few months after Brianna was born”.

John smiled, “I understand completely.” He offered her his arm. “Would you care to walk with me?  I was quite enjoying the lovely view you have here. How did you decide on the venue?”

“Brianna actually. It was her idea.”  Claire wove her arm through his, smiling up at him. “I used to come here often when I was a girl. It’s nice to come back. I’ve missed it”  She shook her head. “But enough about me.  How are you?”

John sighed. “All things considered, I am well, my dear.”

Claire raised one eyebrow. “And Hal?”

“My brother has recovered well. “ He stopped, turning to face her, his tone serious. “Our family is in great debt to you.  He has regained his energy and has become is old self.  There is joy again. Something I never thought I would see again in Minnie’s eyes.”

Claire nodded. “I’m glad then.  I have been thinking about all of you.”

“And we are truly grateful for it.” He smiled. “You have been a blessing to us all.”

“I’m glad I was able to help”

“Oh my dear, you don’t understand. You did far more for us than help. You saved my brother. You returned him to his family. We are eternally grateful to you.”

“I know.” Claire said, patting his hand. “But It’s what I do. I’m just glad I was there.”

“So am I.” 

* * * * * * * 

She felt the touch of his hand on her waist. A smile bloomed across her face as the warmth of Roger’s body touched her bare back. Turning, she met his eyes.

“Hi.”

“Hello.”

Their lips met in a gentle kiss and Brianna licked the taste of wine from his lips. A deep rumbling laugh vibrated through her and she pulled away, grinning.

“What’s so funny?”

“Ye seem rather eager, Bree.”

She rolled her eyes. “Why, are you?”

“Aye.  I’m verra eager to call ye mine.” His arms pulled her closer, her own wrapping around his shoulders.

“I thought I was already.”

“Ye are. But I canna wait until ye have my name.” He said, pressing his forehead against hers. “I dinna think I can wait much longer.”

Brianna pulled back, punching him lightly in the shoulder. “It’s only two more days, Roger.  We’ve waited this long. Surely you can wait for two more days.”

Roger sighed.  “I know I can. I just dinna want to.”

“Well, that’s too bad, because …

A sudden movement caught her eye and Brianna turned just in time to see Jamie make his way into the room, his brow drawn tight. His eyes scanned the room, landing on her.   He stood just inside the room, still partially hidden in the dim light from the hall. She felt herself freeze at the expression on his face. His eyes were troubled and one hand rested against his thigh, where she could just see a small flurry of movement from his hand.   

“Bree?”

“What?” she said shaking herself out of her stupor.  She blinked several times, before looking back up at Roger. He looked concerned.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I asked who that was.” He motioned towards where Jamie stood. Roger’s eyes narrowed as he tried to see in the dim light. “Is he a friend of your mother's?”

“Oh. Um. He’s… hes just a guest.”  She bit her lip. “Will you excuse me?”

Before he could answer, Brianna had already left him standing there. 

* * * * * * * 

Jamie saw Brianna make her way towards him. This was it. His finger s drummed against his thigh as he waited. She had barely reached his side before he reached out, lightly touching her shoulder.

“Da?” She frowned, speaking quietly. “Is everything okay?”

Jamie shook his head.  “There’s something  I need to tell ye.” He pulled her to the side, as he glanced around. He frowned for a moment before he spoke, keeping his voice low.

“There's no easy way to tell ye this a nighean.” he said. “But I may need to leave.”

“What? Why? Is something wrong?”

Jamie shook his head. “Tis nothing I couldn't handle, lass but I just got a call from my son and..”

“Your son?” Brianna's eyes went wide. “I have a brother?”

“Aye. Ye do. A brother. Cousins, and..well..” he waved his hand, changing the subject. “I ran into yer Mam.”

“Mama?”

“Aye. She seemed rather upset with me being here. I remember ye telling me that she didna ken I was here, but… Well I think it's best I leave.”

“No!” Brianna tugged on his arm. “You can’t! Please! I just found you, and I really want you at my wedding.”

“I ken that lass, and I'd love to stay, but there's Willie-”

“He can come too!. There's still two days before the wedding. Call him and tell him to get on a plane.” She bit her lip. “I'll pay for the ticket, it's no-”

“I would, a leanan. But I dinna think yer Mam would take it well-”

“I'll talk to her. Please, please don’t go. I..I've never had a father. I don't know what it's like. And now that you're here, I.. I'm afraid if you leave I'll never see you again.”

Jamie held his daughters gaze, seeing the desperation and heartache contained within. His own heart was at war with his mind trying to remember all the reasons why he should go.

But he couldn't.

He felt it then. The tiny snap of his resolve. The last of the wall he had tried to build crumbled around him. He could not deny her.

His lips turned up in a smile as he saw the same reflected back at him. A silent conversation with the child of his blood.

“Ye will no get rid of me that easily lass.” He laughed, the sound rich and full as it rumbled through his chest. “Even if I were to leave, I still mean to know ye. Yer still my bairn, married woman or no.” Jamie reached out and cupped her cheek, his smile growing when she leaned into his palm. “I think we have gone long enough without the knowing of each other, ye ken?”

Brianna nodded, her eyes swelling with tears. “Yeah. Besides..” she grinned. “I still need to meet my brother.”

* * * * * * * 

After dinner, when most of the guests had gone their separate ways, Claire found herself still restless. Feeling trapped, she decided on a walk to soothe her frazzled nerves. Her hair hung loose across her shoulders, blowing gently in the breeze coming from her window. The moon hung low in the sky, carving a wide path across the smooth hardwood under her feet. Wrapping a silk shawl across her shoulders, she turned, heading back downstairs towards the doors leading out to the wide terrace. The sound of the ocean was calling out to her, beckoning her with the gentle crashing of waves against the sand.

At the edge of the courtyard that framed the villa, the large, rounded stones still warm from the heat of the day's sun, Claire shed her sandals. She hadn't intended on going far but  she wasn't surprised when she found herself at the water's edge, letting the water lap at her toes. She stood there for a long time still wrestling with her thoughts. Memories swirled around in her mind, distant echoes of things far beyond her reach.  

What did surprise her though was the sound of his voice from behind her.

“Sassenach.”

“What do you want?” Damn him. She thought. He had always had the ability to sneak up on her, a trait she found rather irritating.

“I want to talk.”

“I have nothing to say to you, Jamie.”

A Scottish noise sounded behind her, and she rolled her eyes. “What?”

“I need to explain.”

“Well I don't want to hear it.” She half turned her head, not meeting his eyes, but she could feel his presence edge closer.

“I ken ye think the worst of me, Sassenach, but there are thing ye need to hear.”

“No.”

“Claire-”

She whipped around. “You had almost 20 years James Fraser. You show up at MY daughter's wedding-”

“She's my daughter too, Claire.”

“MY daughter.” she huffed, her brown eyes glowing like like coals. “You didn't want us, and all of a sudden you-”

“I DIDN'T KNOW SHE EXISTED, CLAIRE!” his voice echoed between them. Jamie could have sworn he had seen her since. “How could ye say that I did a want my own bairn?”

“Well it became painfully obvious you didn't care about her. Or me.” Claire bit off, grateful for the darkness that his the blush staring her cheeks.

She was framed in the moonlight that shown behind her, bathing her ivory skin in the silvery light like a ethereal creature. Her soft curls shone, floating around her head like a crown of clouds, loose strands twisting together in the wind rolling off the water.

She had never looked lovelier.

“I ken,” Jamie said, trying desperately to keep his voice even. “That ye have every reason to hate me. But I promise ye Sassenach, it wasn't my fault.”

The bitter laugh that escaped from her lips twisted his insides. Her eyes locked on his.

“Not your fault that you chose HER.”

“I didn't remember.”

Whatever she was expecting, it clearly wasn't that.

“What?”

“I didn't remember.”

Crossing her arms, she turned, facing him. Her amber eyes flashing as they met his, Claire bit down on the inside of her cheek. “What do you mean you didn't remember? You didn't remember what”

“Anything.”

[the-magnus-archives-archiver]

Anatomy Class

Case: 0161207

Name: Lionel Elliott Subject: A series of events that took place during his class, Introduction to Human Anatomy and Physiology, at King’s College, London, in early 2016.  Date: July 12th, 2016 Recorded by: direct from Dr. Lionel Elliott, under the supervision of Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London

[Archivist (John): Apologies for the somewhat archaic—

Dr. Elliott: No need to worry, I understand. Some things you just can’t trust to computers. It’s like I always say about those robotic surgery machines. It’s just not the same. If I’m going to be operating on a man’s pancreas, I want to feel that pancreas. Fiddling with a joystick just won’t cut it. As it were.

Archivist: I didn’t think you still performed surgery?

Dr. Elliott: I keep up with the developments. And I remember the feel of a pancreas.

Archivist: Well... quite. Now, if you’d be so good as to—

Dr. Elliott: You know you have an infestation, don’t you?

Archivist: Excuse me? I’m not sure—

Dr. Elliott:  Yes, little, grey, maggot things. I saw a few on the way in. Don’t recognise the species, but I’d say you need to get the exterminators in here. Gas the little blighters.

Archivist: You saw them? You weren’t bitten were you?

Dr. Elliott: Bitten? They’re worms. Still, I’ll admit I didn’t like the look of them. I reckon the sooner you get someone in to kill them dead, the better.

Archivist: We’ve tried, believe me. Now, shall we?

Dr. Elliott: Oh, certainly. Where do want me to start? The bones? The blood? The... uh... the fruit?

Archivist: Right from the beginning. One second. Statement of Dr. Lionel Elliott, regarding a series of events that took place during his class...

Dr. Elliott: Introduction to Human Anatomy and Physiology

Archivist: At King’s College, London, in early 2016. Statement recorded direct from subject 12th July 2016.

Statement begins.

Dr. Elliott: Now?

Archivist: Yes, just start from the beginning.]

Right. Well, I shouldn’t even have been teaching the class, really. As far as I knew, I wasn’t going to be needed for any teaching on the Biomedical Engineering course this year. I can’t say I was particularly upset. The Human Anatomy module is where a lot of the engineers discover just how messy the human body is, and while the human heart is a phenomenal piece of machinery in terms of design and function, most of the students would be more comfortable holding a transistor. Not to put too fine a point on it, I get tired of... squeamish students, and was glad that I could avoid it this year. 

You can perhaps imagine, then, that I was not best pleased when Elena Bower, the admissions officer, emailed me last November to say that there had been a mistake, and I was needed to take a ‘spillover class’. Apparently the system had accepted more students for the course than there were places, and they were trying to organise an additional class for the seven who were unassigned. It didn’t make a lot of sense to me, Anatomy class wasn’t until the second term, so surely this mistake should have emerged earlier, but Elena just kept saying she didn’t know, she just had seven students who needed tutorials. I won’t pretend I took the news gracefully. I have a lot of research due shortly and, well, you know academia – never enough hours in the day. Still, I was the only staff member both qualified to teach the class and technically free when it had to be scheduled. So I agreed, although that really makes it sound like I had more of a choice than I actually did.

I didn’t meet the students until the module started this January. I wasn’t responsible for any of the lectures, so the first time I saw them was in our initial class tutorial. They all sat there, all seven, staring at me, and I felt... oddly uncomfortable. There, there was nothing wrong with them, of course, nothing strange to see or to look at, just... well, this is going to sound stupid to say out loud, but I don’t remember what they look like. Any of them. I remember that each wore blue jeans and a white shirt, though they were all different makes and styles; I think one of the girls had a skirt, instead. I must have noticed that they were wearing the same outfits, but it didn’t strike me as odd. They all just looked so... normal. Unremarkable. I remember their names, though, from the register. They stuck with me – maybe because they were such an international group. There was Erika Mustermann, Jan Novak, Piotr and Pavel Petrov, who I think were brothers, maybe twins, John Doe, Fulan al-Fulani and Juan Pérez.

I greeted them when I entered the room, and was met with silence. Not a malicious or angry silence, just silence. I’ve never been self-conscious when teaching, but walking to my seat with those fourteen eyes just... watching me... it made ever so slightly uncomfortable. I got the oddest feeling they were judging my walk. 

[NERVOUS LAUGH]

The class began, and we started going over some of the basics of anatomy and how the body works. They started to talk then, and some of my unease left me. I don’t remember exactly what was said, after doing it long enough most tutorials just kind of blur together a bit, but I recall being struck by just how basic some of their questions were. The composition of blood, where in the body the various organs sat, the sort of thing that anyone who’s done a science GCSE should know. I was almost tempted to ask where they went to school. At the time, I didn’t question the fact that they must have all gone to the same school.

Aside from that it was mostly normal, except... about halfway through the tutorial, we discussed the lungs and respiration. Inhalation, alveoli, et cetera. As I said, basic stuff, but I paused afterwards, just to have a think about where to go next, and I heard the sound of them breathing. That’s not abnormal, I know, but it seemed to fill the silence so suddenly, and all at once. I could... I could have sworn that I didn’t actually hear it before that moment. Like they’d only just then started breathing. [Nervous laugh] Which is, which is absurd, obviously. I was probably just listening out for it because we’d been discussing the lungs. Even so, it was disconcerting, and I don’t mind telling you that I breathed quite a sigh of relief myself when the tutorial was over and I could get out of there.

Now, I consider myself a conscientious worker, and in all my years at King’s I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve called in sick, but when the time came for the next tutorial with this class, I had to stay home with a migraine. It wasn’t a lie, exactly, the thought of sitting there for another two hours with those staring, placid eyes gave me such a spell of anxiety that my brain felt like it was being stabbed with a shard of ice. I did have to teach them eventually, of course. I couldn’t avoid it forever. Re-entering that room, though... All of them were sat in the exact same positions, in the exact same clothes, their breathing deliberate and almost pointed. When Erika Mustermann – or was it Jan Novak? – said ‘Good morning’, the others followed suit, one by one, and I had to fight the urge to run. It struck me then that, despite how diverse their names were, none of them seemed to have any noticeable accent. Not that it did anything to reassure me.

There was no-one else who could take the tutorials. Believe me, I did everything I could to try and find a replacement. Still, once I got used to their stares, their silence, and the fact that their questions were both specific and oddly basic – one of the Petrovs once asked me “How sharp are the knees meant to be” – I swear, it was just about tolerable. I’m a bit ashamed to admit it, but I came to terms with the fact that I didn’t care if they passed any exams, and that actually made the whole affair more manageable. I just did my best to stop caring.

And then came our first of two sessions in the dissection room. We were looking at the skeleton. I had been dreading this. Given exactly how creepy and unsettling the students were just sat in a classroom, the idea of what they could do when given access to human remains made me feel quite nauseous. But I couldn’t bring myself to leave them there alone, so I went.

It was even worse than I’d feared, seeing them stood there over the bits of cadaver. Their faces, normally so neutral, were alive with... what was it I saw? Excitement? Curiosity? Hunger? Whatever it was, it didn’t reach their eyes, still staring and blank. I went through the procedures with them and tried my best to keep the trembling out of my voice. When Fulan reached for a scalpel and started cutting into our samples, I felt faint.

I was trying to keep an eye on everyone, but the dissection tables were arranged in a semi-circle around the lab, and each time I turned to face one of the students, I began to hear this cracking sound from whichever tables I wasn’t looking at. Like a snapping bone, or a ribcage being forced open. I’d turn back and see nothing untoward, just John or Erika or Juan or whoever it was, looking at me quizzically over distinctly unbroken bones. But it kept happening. Whenever I wasn’t looking, I heard the crunch and the crack of bone. I couldn’t ask about it. I knew the dead-eyed, mute stare they’d give me if I did, and I just couldn’t face that.

Finally, I managed to position myself so that I could see what was happening behind me in the reflective edge of the metal table. It wasn’t much, but I could see a slightly warped image. It was Pavel, in this case. I saw him pick up a bone – a radius I believe, from the forearm. He held it up next to his own arm, and then there came that snapping, crunching noise. I swear I saw his arm distend itself, the skin shifting as something inside changed and rearranged, until it matched the length of bone he was holding up to it.

I tried not to react, not to make a noise at this mad impossibility that I saw. I couldn’t help it, though, and my legs gave out. I collapsed on the floor with a whimpering cry. None of them looked at me, none of them offered to help me up, none of them gave any reaction at all. I shut my eyes tight as that cracking sound began to come from every direction, as all seven of them began to change themselves. It went on for almost half an hour, until our allotted time in the lab ended. And then they left, walking past me, still sat helpless on the floor. As they did, each of them thanked me for the lesson as though nothing had happened. And I swear that every single one of them was taller than when they started.

I started taking more sick leave after that. I avoided their tutorials as often as possible, and when I did go we largely just sat there in silence until one of them asked a question about human anatomy, which I would reluctantly answer. I know I should have just abandoned them entirely. If they were going to complain to anyone they would have done it already. But even then I was worried my colleagues might notice, and I really didn’t want to get a reputation as some absentee tutor. It didn’t help that a colleague of mine, Dr Laura Gill, once expressed surprise on learning I’d been absent the day before, as apparently she’d passed by my teaching room and my anatomy class had just been sat there, waiting quietly. The thought of them politely filing into every tutorial, just sat there, blank and staring, whether I was there or not, just waiting... To be quite frank I think that bothered me almost more than being sat there with them.

Still, I managed to largely avoid them until the 21st of March, when they had their second lab dissection. Hearts. I’m not an idiot. I was well aware of the sort of sinister nonsense that was likely to happen if I went, but I also knew by now that they would attend whether or not I was there. And to leave them in the lab unsupervised would be the sort of thing that would get me actually fired from my position.

It was a rainy morning. I remember that, because I deliberately didn’t put up an umbrella. Something inside me was so dreading what was going to happen that the very act of opening umbrellas seemed pointless, as though my being dry couldn’t stop what was coming, then there was no reason not to get soaked. So I was dripping wet when I entered the lab, and my glasses had steamed up to the point where I could no longer see through them. When I wiped them clean, they revealed those seven blank faces, utterly unconcerned with my sodden state. Each had somehow got the heart laid out in from them on the dissection tray. I decided not to prolong it, and waved them to start.

I don’t know what I expected. Maybe I thought they’d descend into some sort of feeding frenzy, but they didn’t. They just began to dissect the hearts, as any other class would, occasionally asking me polite questions. I was so taken aback at how normal the whole situation seemed to be that it took me some time to actually answer them. I did, though, and the first hour of the class almost put me at least a little bit at ease. The more I thought about it, the more it made sense. Maybe they were doing weird things to their insides, but if it was the heart, then I couldn’t see it and I couldn’t hear it. And I’d long since decided with this class, that if I couldn’t see or hear it, I didn’t care. 

Then Erika Mustermann held up her heart and looked at me. I began to get that sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach as she asked me “How does the heart pump blood?” I started to explain the biological mechanisms of the heart pumping, when she shook her head slowly and said, “What does it look like?” And then, when I didn’t answer, “Is it like this?” 

The heart in her hand began to spasm. Not like the regular, rhythmic pulse of a heartbeat, but like a balloon being rapidly squeezed at one end. Bits of it swelled and stretched and distorted seemingly at random, and blood began to flow haphazardly from the ventricles, dripping down Erika’s forearm and dribbling onto the floor.

I stood there speechless, staring at this horrible miracle, from when behind her I see Fulan raise his heart, saying, “That’s not what it’s like.” And blood starts to gush from all over his heart in tiny geysers, shooting in every direction. Soon each of them is holding a heart up, each pumping and throbbing differently, blood leaking, spurting out of them in a different way, a different nightmare. They wanted me to tell them which was right. 

[NERVOUS LAUGH] 

I don’t know how long I stared before I finally raised my hand to point at Jan Novak, who seemed to have the closest to an accurate impression of a regular human heartbeat. Then I turned and walked out of the lab.

I spent the rest of the day sat in the staffroom, waiting for someone to come running in, screaming about the lab being full of blood. I expected questions I couldn’t answer and immediate termination. But nothing happened. No-one came. When I returned to the lab several hours later, there was no sign of any blood, except for the tiniest speck, dried into a tile crack in the corner. Unless that, that had been there before? I don’t know. My shoes were still speckled with blood, though, so I know I wasn’t hallucinating it. I checked with Dr. Gill, who confirmed that she could see the spots, though I neglected to tell her it was blood. I had no intention of inviting further questions.

I missed the next three tutorials. I just stayed at home. But something wouldn’t let me just simply let it go. Finally, I made a decision. I wanted to see where they lived. I felt like I needed to, for some reason. Needed to see if they existed outside of my class, outside of my mind. I asked Elena and, irregular as it was, she gave me the address. It didn’t surprise me to find out they all lived in the same place. A semi-detached house on Kingsland Road in Newham. I’m afraid I don’t remember the number, and the details have disappeared from the college systems.

The house itself was run down, as might have been expected, and I must have spent a good fifteen minutes just stood in front of it, waiting for the courage to approach. Finally, I knocked on the door. The wood was old and dry, and some flaked off under my knuckles. It opened immediately, and there stood Jan Novak. When she saw me, her mouth twisted into something I think was meant to be a smile.

“Hello,” she said, “have you come to give us more lessons? We would like to learn about the liver.” Her eyes locked onto my abdomen. 

I was about to reply when a muffled scream of pain came from somewhere deep inside the house. It sounded ragged, like whoever was crying out had been gagged. I looked to Jan Novak, who showed no indication she had heard it, still staring at where I had taught her my liver would be. I ran, and she watched me go without moving.

I did call the police, but they just told me that the house was currently unoccupied, and they’d found no evidence that there had been anyone present. I took great pains never to see the class again. I avoided all tutorials, and simply waited until the end of term. I haven’t seen them since.

[Archivist: That’s it?

Dr. Elliott: Not quite. There was one other thing. When I went to the classroom shortly after what should have been their final tutorial, I found something on the desk. It was an apple. Next to it was a handwritten note that said “Thank you for teaching us the insides”. I burned the note, just in case.

Archivist: And the apple, did you... eat it?

Dr. Elliott: Do I look like an idiot? Of course not! I cut it in half, first, to check if it was... off.

Archivist: And?

Dr. Elliott: Human teeth. Inside were human teeth arranged in a smile. Here, I brought you the two halvesto see for yourselves.

Archivist: Oh good lord! That’s...

Dr. Elliott: Deeply unpleasant, yes. You can keep it, if you want. As proof.

Archivist: We do not want it. I’m afraid it isn’t really proof. Someone could have stuck those teeth in after the apple had been cut.

Dr. Elliott: [Somewhat distressed] You think I would do that?!

Archivist: I didn’t say you would, I just said it was enough of a possibility that I don’t think your... tooth apple has a place in our artefact storage. Also, it is technically medical waste.

Dr. Elliott: Fine. I’ll dispose of it myself. Now, is there anything else you want me?

Archivist: No, this should do. We’ll investigate and get back to you if we find anything.

Statement ends.]

Archivist Notes:

The first thing about this statement that makes me dubious is that it comes from a fellow academic. Historic and prestigious as the Magnus Institute is, there are still many within the sphere of higher education that do not grant it the respect it deserves, and some have been known to make false statements as ill-conceived jokes.

Another mark against the veracity of the statement is the names of the students. A quick Internet search reveals ‘Erika Mustermann’ as the official German placeholder name, similar to the English, well, the English name ‘John Doe’. The same is true the other names, ‘Juan Pérez’ is the generic name of choice in most Spanish speaking countries, ‘Fulan al-Fulani’ in the Middle East, et cetera. It seems strange to me that Dr. Elliott would fail to take note of this.

Still, Tim made contact with Elena Bower in the King’s administration office, and while she couldn’t find any actual records of them in the system, she does remember them being there, and confirms that she assigned them to Dr. Elliott last year. She could be in on it, of course, but Tim seems to believe her.

There’s also the matter of the teeth. I stand by my assessment that there is no evidence they were placed there by supernatural means, but it does seem an awfully long way to go for a bad joke. In the end we did send them off to a dental specialist, but they weren’t able to tell us much beyond the fact that they all seemed like healthy adult teeth, and most of them appeared to come from different people.

There’s not much more we can do to follow this up, without dedicating additional time we can’t afford. The only other lead was Sasha’s discovery that, early last year, Dr. Rashid Sadana took his own life. There’s no direct connection, except that he taught the Anatomy, Physiology and Pathology for Complementary Therapies course at St Mary’s University, and the only note found near the body simply read “NOT TO BE USED FOR TEACHING”.

[lazy-crow-writingblog]

Publicity

Promt: "So you don't mind going public?"

Word Count: 1,874

Paring: Tony Stark/Stephen Strange

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

Tony was in the middle of brewing himself a new pot of coffee when FRIDAY gave him the news.

"Boss, there's something you need to see. It's about you and Doctor Strange." She said.

Tony heart jumped into his throat and he began to sweat.

"Show it to me baby girl." He said walking over to his flat screen completely forgetting about the coffee.

FRIDAY turned on the t.v. and changed the channel to the news and lo and behold his hisand Stephen's faces are the first thing he sees. Stephen kissing his cheek of all things.

"It appears Tony Stark has got himself some new eye-candy. Is this playboy back to his old ways?" A lady newsreporter said, sitting at a table.

"Sure looks that way Kacey, and with a man. That was a surprise non of us were expecting. He's always been a ladies man when we saw him in galas and events now here he is with what appears to be the so called "missing" neurosurgeon Dr. Stephen Strange." The guy said with an almost painful looking fake smile.

"It would appear that the Doctor didn't actually go anywhere Dave, well, unless you count a billionaire's bedsheets somewhere." Kacey said followed with ooh's from her coworkers.

The showed the picture again and, if this was a different situation, Tony would find the picture cute. Tony had his cheek puffed out and a frown on his face like he was angry. He wasn't angry, the picture was from yesterday, Stephen had bested him in wit and he was just being petty he lost. So he kissed his face because he was apparently cute when grumpy like that. The action made his heart swoon and picture would've done the same, but at the current moment he felt like he was going to pass out. His phone began vibrating like crazy. He looked at it and it was Twitter. He was getting tagged out the ass, a lot of what he could make out was about the picture, of course, and how cute it was. Others were either surprised that Stephen Strange, was indeed, not dead and surprised that Tony had a thing for men. His hands were shaking, he was shaking. What if Stephen saw this? They never really discussed the topic of coming out to the public, it wasn't that he didn't want to tell the whole world he loved this man, it just never came up. What if he gets angry? What if he wants to leave him because of this? Tony couldn't handle that, his heart would shatter.

"Boss?" FRIDAY's voice came in braking Tony from his thoughts.

"Y-Yeah?" He was stuttering. He was a mess.

"Doctor Strange is calling."

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit, shit!

Fuck!

'Calm yourself Tony. Maybe he hasn't seen it yet. He probably had his head burried in a book doing research or something. Yeah, yeah that's it.' Tony thought to himself.

He needed to calm down. If Stephen thought something was wrong or that he was upset he'd drop everything he was doing and rush over. Tony knows he will, he's done it before.

"Okay, FRI. Mute the t.v."

As she did that Tony answered his cell and sure enough it was Stephen.

"Hello sweetheart, honey, the love of my life." He said all a little to fast.

'Smooth. Like sandpaper.'

There was silence on the other end, like Tony accidentally hung on him.

"Hello, Stephen?"

[I]"What did you do?"

"Huh? What do you mean?"

[I]"You get excessive with the pet names when you did something."

"I do not."

[I]"Or want something."

"Rude."

He heard Stephen chuckle and it was light and breathy. Cute.

[I]"Anyway, Wong wants to ask you a scientific question and refuses to let me know what it is."

[I]"You wouldn't be able to answer it!"

[I]"Excuse me!?"

[I]"Give me the phone!"

There's some shuffling over the phone before Tony hears someone huff into the phone. Then he hears Wong yell at Stephen to go into a different room and tells him not to use magic to spy on him like last time followed by a unintelligible groan from the other man. After a few more seconds of silence Wong finally spoke.

[I]"Hello Tony."

"Hey Wong, what's up?" He asked trying to sound as much of himself as possible.

[I]"Apparently Stephen's fan base."

Wong said and Tony could hear the amusement in his voice.

"So you've seen it."

[I]"In the press's defense it is a cute picture of you two."

"Thanks Wong." Tony groaned to himself. He needes to sit down, this much strees is not good for his heart or his pressure.

[I]"You don't sound to happy about it. Did you not want to go public?"

"Yes, I mean no, I mean... Yes?" Tony was fumbling with his words and it's embarrassing. Especially since Wong has not shown a ounce of judgement in his voice and is waiting patiently for Tony get himself together.

"Yes, I did, but on our terms. Not abruptly because of some snoopy photographer. I wouldn't care if it wasn't for the fact that it's Stephen. I don't want to drive him away."

[I]"I can assure you that his sudden return to the living in media isn't going to drive him away. He does care for you and he's incredibly stubborn."

Tony know how stubborn he is and it's infuriating at times, only Tony is just as stubborn and the fact that they work the way they do is baffling.

"Thanks Wong." Tony said. He was genuinely greatful for him.

[I]"Don't thank me for stating facts Tony. Thank me for what I'm doing next."

"Wait, what?"

Tony heard a click on the other end and his phone hanging up. Did Wong just hang up on him? Not even a minute later a golden circle formed behind the couch and out came Stephen looking worried.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Wong said it sounded like you were having a panic attack."

"No." I was but not anymore.

Stephen turned and glared at Wong through the portal. Wong's solution to that? Close it. Stephen sighed and shook his head.

"If he wanted to get rid of me he could just said get out." Stephen said in a somewhat annoyed tone.

When he turned to face Tony his eyes looked up and an eyebrow lifted up. Tony was confused until he remembered the t.v. was on. And that he was on a news channel. He completely forgot he had it on mute. Stephen's eyes landed back on him and Tony swore his heart leaped into his throat.

"I can explain." Tony began, figuring he was fucked.

"Okay." Was all he said.

"I was going to tell you, but I just found out and I wasn't sure what to say or how to react or if you'd seen it yourself so I was kinda worried and I'm sorry I should have been more careful I swear I didn't do this on purpose and-"

"Tony calm down, breath." Stephen hands were on Tony's shoulder doing his best to stop his shaking and steady him.

Tony hadn't realized he was saying everything in one breath. Took a deep breath in and let it out, he could feel the tears welling up in the corners of his eyes. Stephen pulled him up against his chest and allowed Tony to bury his face in the fabric. They stood like that for a minute before realizing that it wasn't the most comfortable position. Stephen standing behind the couch and Tony leaning over the back of it made for a very awkward hug. The Cloak, the very helpful artifact it is, lifted Stephen, and essentially Tony as well since he refuse to let go, high enough so that he could get over the couch and sit on the cushion. Stephen pulled Tony into his lap, readjusting the hug so now Tony's face was in his neck, and they sat like that for some time. FRIDAY pausing the t.v. just in case it was distracting. Stephen rubbed smoothing circles in the smaller part of the small man's back. Tony was the first to break the silence.

"I'm sorry." He said, barley audible. If it wasn't for his mouth being so close to his ear Stephen wouldn't have heard it.

"Why are you apologizing?"

"For making you worry. For dragging into my mess. For this." Tony points to the t.v. screen where the damn picture was there.

Tony slumps in Stephen's holds, looking miserably.

"Okay 1. I'm going to worry about you Tony. It can't be helped. 2. You didn't drag me into anything. I have, will continue, to help you clean up your quote unquote "mess" and 3. That" Stephen said, motioning to the screen. "is a reality I accepted when I said I'd date you. It's a given to have your life put out there when dating the great Tony Stark."

"So, you're not mad?" Tony asked looking up from where his head lay on the Sorcerer's shoulder.

"No, of course not. It's going to take a lot, and I do mean a lot, of things to even make me think of leaving you." Stephen finished his sentence with a smile and it made Tony smile.

Maybe he over-thought how Stephen would take it. He's usually level-headed about most things.

"Plus I've already seen it." Stephen added.

"Who told you?"

"No one. I snuck up on Wong while he was watching it. He still has no idea I know."

Tony chuckled at that.

"What surprises me is that apparently people missed me."

"Hm?"

"I wasn't all that famous outside of the medical field. Plus I was an ass-"

"You're still an ass." Tony added in.

"And you love it. The fact that anyone would miss me is a surprise in of itself."

"Well no, not really. You we're talked about when you went missing."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, most were just trying to figure out if you kicked the bucket after accident. If they found out about your magical abilities they'd either shit their pants or call you a complete nut."

"Really? Wanna test that theory?"

Tony lifted his head up off of Stephen's shoulder and gave him a confused look. Stephen moved Tony off his lap and stood up, with a wave of his fingers his sorcerer clothes were changed into a blue long sleeve sweater, black jeans and a red scarf, the Cloak of Levitation he presumes, opens a portal to outside and held his hand out for Tony to take.

"Come one, I'll allow you to parade me around this once."

Tony face lit up with a bright smile. He hopped off the couch with a little bounce. Cute. He takes his lover's hand and they walked through the golden ring. They end up in front of a little coffee and tea shop and sure enough not even 10 seconds after the portal closed paparazzi were taking pictures of them and Stephen simply responded by putting his arm around Tony's waist. Tony leaned into the touch and they both smile. Maybe this won't be so bad after all.

[artificialqueens]

Échappé / Chapter 4 (Branjie) - DenDenMonMon

A/N: Thank you so much for all the love and support you have been giving to this story. I don’t wanna say anything else in fear of spoiling the chapter. This is one of svpermodel’s favorite chapters so that should say something xP since she’s the one that asked me to write the story lol Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

- Monkey.

AO3 Link

Chapter 4

We need to talk about this.

Vanessa read the message on her lockscreen and rolled her eyes. It was no different from the ever flowing string of texts sitting unread on her phone. She pressed the side button to turn the screen black, and put the device face down on the table.

She looked at herself in the mirror, half way through her makeup process, and sighed heavily.

Life had never been easy for her, and she had a special talent to make everything a lot more complicated than it should be. She wished to blame it all on destiny, or fate, or whoever was above that liked to mess with her. She couldn’t. She knew that la virgencita had a lot more issues to worry about than a Puertorican stripper trying to make a life for herself in Los Angeles.

It wasn’t that bad, really. She liked her friends, she liked her job, and she liked her tiny apartment. She liked her life. She knew she wasn’t dumb, but she kept making stupid decisions. That was on her.

The phone vibrated again. The sudden flash made her close her eyes, the black pencil left a trail of eyeliner on her temple to the movement.

Shit.

She looked around but couldn’t find her makeup wipes. Everything looked messy, everything was messy. The table in front of her was as cluttered as her own head. It felt like a never ending jungle of ideas up in there, tangled together and clouding any rational thinking. If her thought process had ever been rational, that was. Sure, her mind usually ran fast, leaving her a very small chance to catch up. She was aware of that. Her mouth was even faster, not waiting for her brain to approve the thought before it was already being pronounced. It got her into trouble constantly, but she liked it like that. It was fun, it was entertaining.

If she had to choose, she would pick her chaotic life a million times over a boring one. That didn’t mean that she didn’t need a break from time to time. She could use one right that instant.

A Kleenex, being waved in front of her face, landed her back into reality.

With her eyes, she followed the arm holding the tissue to find Yvie smiling nervously at her.

She twisted her lips, her own smile even less convincing than her friend’s. “Thanks.”

Yvie’s eyes rolled in annoyance.

Vanessa managed to catch it, that was enough to make her snap. “What you rolling your eyes for?”

Her voice was harsh, she could hear it herself, but there was no stopping now. She had all this frustration inside of her, and there was no available outlet. Better yet, she didn’t have the guts to go and tell how she felt to the right person. If she wanted to pick up a fight, just for the sake of getting the anger out, she knew exactly whose buttons to push.

“You can’t stay mad at me forever,” Yvie retorted.

“Just watch me, bitch.”

“Seriously?” Yvie spoke to her through the mirror. “You are still gonna be pressed about this shit? I already apologized, told you how things happened, and you said you forgave me. What’s all this attitude for?”

Vanessa’s hand went up in the air, waving away Yvie’s comment. “I ain’t giving you no attitude, so don’t get me started on that.”

The huff that left Yvie’s nose was filled with frustration. “I’m gonna be forward about how I feel, because you know that’s the only way I know how to go about things.”

“Fierce. Work,” Vanessa let out sarcastically, her eyes on the vanity in front of her, looking for something, she had already forgotten what it was.

“I’m not gonna come here with excuses. We screwed up, but it wasn’t intentional. We didn’t know. I’m gonna be real with you: not knowing the rules doesn’t condone us breaking them, but you are being too hard on us.”

For a moment, they almost forgot there was someone else in the room, until Trixie spoke. “Okay, so my dance knowledge may extend to, like, Dance Moms and a bunch of Abby Lee memes but, what exactly happened?” She walked to stand between them, makeup brush in hand, successfully creating a physical barrier in the battlefield that had been preparing. “Isn’t there like an age restriction for these things? Why were you able to dance but not them?”

Both Vanessa and Yvie looked at each other, silently pondering who should give the explanation, even when Trixie pronounced the question directly to Vanessa.

With a sigh, Vanessa turned around on her seat, facing them for the first time. “Okay, so like, yeah. Not the group challenges. There was no age limita… limi-lim… there was no age limit, okay?” She hated when that happened, when being bilingual became zerolingual and she was unable to speak either language properly. She continued either way, like she always did. “We just had to turn in a list of all the dancers’ names for the Dance Off, so they knew, you know, who was participating and shit. We could only bring those five, and there was no changing them. Any last minute change had to be approved by the judges.”

Trixie nodded her head, finally understanding the disqualification.

Yvie looked at the ground for a minute, before complementing the clarification. “We didn’t know, or I didn’t, I don’t know about Brooke. If she did, I think she was too into the moment to remember.”

“Don’t worry,” Trixie said, her voice softer than usual. “We will get the money somehow. I mean, if this was Brooke’s fault maybe she can put in the money we lost because of her.” She laughed at her own words, oblivious to the fact that Brooke had already offered, many, many times.

Vanessa sat back down, planning to return her attention to the task at hand. “Whatever. I’m not talking to that hoe no more.”

The seat next to her was occupied by Yvie, her long fingers started applying foundation directly from the container. “I know Brooke has been texting you,” she spoke carefully. “You haven’t replied or taken any of her calls. What’s the deal with that?”

“It don’t fucking matter now,” Vanessa tried to close the subject.

Of course, Yvie wouldn’t be her true self if she didn’t push the subject, any subject. “What do you mean it doesn’t matter? Of course it does. She’s been miserable this whole week and you won’t even give her the chance to apologize. You just keep pushing her away.”

Vanessa whipped her head to look at her, her hair flying to rest on her opposite shoulder. “What good is it to ya, bitch?” She was raising her voice again, but Yvie had taunted her. “What do you care so much about this whole mess? This ain’t your motherfucking business, so don’t act like you know what you are talking about.”

“I say the truth.” Yvie matched her tone of voice. “I call bitches out, you know that. So don’t come for me as if this is some new shit. You are always pushing people away. Here you have an amazing person, willing to help you, willing to help the cause, but you have your head way up your ass and can’t see it. It’s fucking selfish.”

“Oh, is that how you really feel? I’m selfish now, okay. What happened to all the wooty-wooty-woot you was crying to me about the other night? About you being my sis and us kicking it and shit?”

She wasn’t going to start a fight again, Yvie took a deep breath and calmed herself down. “That was real, girl. I’m saying you are selfish with yourself. Give yourself a chance to open up. Nobody achieves anything alone, we all need help from time to time, and it’s okay to accept it.”

The room fell quiet, because Yvie was right. Trixie knew it, even Vanessa knew it herself. There was no way she would give her the satisfaction to know that, though. She was ready to fight back, her feisty side was coming up with a million and one responses to her friend’s allegations. Maybe it was anger, maybe it was some actual self restriction, but words wouldn’t come out of her mouth. Her mind was yelling at her, telling her to attack, to go for the jugular, to defend herself, but nothing came out. She simply sat there, eyeshadow pallet up in the air, lips mutely parted in shock.

“Are you ready for a show?”

The sultry voice called everybody’s attention away from the uncomfortable stare battle. They turned around just to see Katya dramatically pressing herself against the doorframe.

The first one to react was Trixie, who screamed in delight and motioned her to come in. Katya did as she was told, moving around as if she had known that dressing room her entire life. She found her rightful place on Trixie’s lap, her legs swinging in between Trixie’s opened ones.

“Ew.” She shuddered dramatically. “What is all this tension? Jesus.” Her hands swatted the air, as if she were trying to keep flies away from her face.

Trixie hid her face in Katya’s neck before pointed at the pair. “They are fighting over Brooke.”

“Brooke?” Katya asked surprised. “Did you finally talk to her?”

“No!” Yvie answered for Vanessa. “That’s what has her so upset, because she’s too stubborn to listen and try to fix things.”

A small fuck you sounded under her breath, but Vanessa didn’t say anything to deny the statement. It wasn’t that she didn’t have much to say. Nobody really knew what had indeed happened, nobody understood her relationship with Brooke. Hell, even she was unsure if there even was one. Brooke was always so poised and distant. She acted so professional that it was hard to understand if she really cared or if the whole situation had been a business venture for her.

It was while trying to unravel that mystery that something Katya said called her attention. “You know, I was probably her first charity case, a long-long time ago.”

Vanessa spun around to see Katya. “What you talking about?”

Katya twisted in Trixie’s lap, unable to separate from her for one second, and faced Vanessa. “Oh, Momma, I was a mess. I had these massive episodes of anxiety. They kept me from… doing anything, really. I couldn’t keep a job, almost dropped out of school. The whole shit show.” There was a nervous smile playing on her lips. “I was really good at hiding how horrible things were, like, mad good. Brooke noticed I was acting differently when she came home during a tour break. She helped me through community college, and gave me a job as soon as I was out. Haven’t left each other’s side since then.”

“You’ve known each other for a long time, then?” Yvie asked, curiosity lacing her voice.

“Oh, we go way back. I hated Canada when my dad was first transferred. Hated it! Brooke lived next door to us in this Godforsaken neighborhood. Brooke told me about this gymnastics class they had at the same community center where she took ballet. We–”

“Community center?” Vanessa interrupted her.

“Yes, bitch!” Katya replied, exasperated. “Why do you think her bony ass is set to save yours? She knows how important they are for the kids. It reminds her of where we grew up. That’s when her dancing career started. It’s a really big deal for her.”

It felt like a bucket of cold water had fallen on top of Vanessa. She had no idea Brooke had gone through any of that.

“Of course you didn’t.” It looked like she said those words out loud, because Katya was responding to her very thoughts. “She doesn’t like to talk about that, about how stinking poor we were. We made it out, that’s all that matters, I guess,” she said with the shrug of one shoulder. “She worked so hard and became this amazing woman who gives back as much as she can. I’m so proud of her.”

The words resounded in Vanessa’s ears. This was a whole new side of Brooke that she didn’t even know existed. It was unimaginable that the picture perfect Brooke she knew had, at some point of her life, had literally nothing. Of course it wasn’t a nice feeling to learn about another person’s pain and suffering, but a new level of humanity had been revealed and Vanessa was struggling to comprehend what it meant.

Thoughts of a young Brooke, having the mere minimum to survive, ran across her head as she finished her makeup. She didn’t know shit about Canada, but she knew hardship, and she knew it well. Vanessa pictured Brooke going to bed without dinner, curling up in a ball, and begging sleep to distract her from the hunger. Because that was what Vanessa had done. The same scene she remembered from her own childhood played in her head, but in Brooke’s there was snow. She did know Canada had snow.

Mental images took her away from the conversation around her, until she was done getting ready. A few minutes before their show started, Silky walked into the room, which forced Katya to say her goodbyes.

“So, will I see you guys at the gala tomorrow?” She asked, swinging in Trixie’s arms, who held her from behind.

The girls agreed in unison, but Vanessa had no idea what they were talking about.

“Wha-what gala?”

“This is our last week here, we always have a big charity event before the closing night,” Katya explained. “I gave Trixie the tickets. You should all come. It’s super fun. There are auctions that go insane. Rich people get so competitive and bid on, like, eccentric trips to Europe and stuff, and all goes to charity. I’m offering a private gymnastic class.”

“I signed up for a night out and dance,” Trixie intervened.

“Yeah, and I’m emptying my savings account ‘cause you ain’t dancing for anybody else, Barbara.” Katya spun in Trixie’s arms and planted a kiss on her cheek.

“Ew! Go away. You are leaving red lipstick on my face!”

Katya lifted an eyebrow but did nothing to move. “I don’t remember you complaining about my lipstick last night.” The tone of her voice left nothing to imagination.

Trixie screamed in surprise. “I don’t remember your lips being on my face, though.”

That was all Silky could take. “Alright, girl, you need to take your nasty ass out of here, right now!”

Between laughs and giggles was that Katya stepped out of the room. Her words still going round and round in Vanessa’s head. All the information she had just acquired made it hard to concentrate. Her set was more or less okay, even if it wasn’t up to her own standards. She did make some money that night, but it wasn’t much.

There was no way she was going to be able to save the center, not in the two weeks they had left before the demolition. As much money as she could put in from her tips, there was simply not enough to spare. So, as she was counting dollar bills in the dressing room, like she did after every show, an idea hit her.

She found Trixie and explained she wanted to sign up for the charity event as well. She could do the dinner and dance thing, just like her.

A quick phone call to Katya arranged everything and they were given all the necessary information.

Vanessa learned that she needed to wear a gown, it was a gala after all. Her picture was going to be taken upon arrival. That picture with her name, along with the cause she was supporting, were going to be displayed during the cocktail hour. Once the auction started, she was going to be pulled up to the front. By then, a list of what the night out would entail should have already been given to her. The bidding would be live, and the highest offer would win.

Katya promised no funny business should be involved, unless both parties agreed to it. But Vanessa was sure that was more of a reminder for Trixie than her.

It sounded simple, really. Yet, when they arrived at the event, Vanessa couldn’t help but feel anxious.

She had heard about the Beverly Hilton before. She had known of fancy events taking place there. She never, not in a million years, imagined she was going to be an actual guest at that venue. There were people tending to her every need, helping her down from the car, taking her coat, walking her inside, and showing her to her table.

For what it was worth, she liked to think that she was a really good actress. She thanked people as if she were used to that type of treatment, and moved around the place with a confidence she didn’t have. She could only hope her acting was believable enough to make her look like she belonged, or at least to make her look less stupid than her friends.

Trixie, Yvie and Silky walked behind her, excitingly whispering and pointing at every single thing that called their attention.

When they reached their table, another wave of insecurity washed over Vanessa. They had been told how to dress, but their most elegant gowns were nothing in comparison to the ladies around them. Vanessa’s group clearly stood out from the crowd of fancy dark-colored dresses, with sparkling embellishments that clearly weren’t rhinestones.

She wore a short red dress that fell over one shoulder, every inch of exposed skin had been covered with glitter. She needed to look expensive, so shining like gold had sounded like a good idea. Yvie wore a green gown, it seemed pretty normal if nobody looked at the train, where a small Hot Wheels car had been attached to it. Trixie was living her Barbie Doll fantasy in a puffy pink dress and a bow that was probably as big as her head. The cherry on top was Silky, who wasn’t really that far off from the dress code, but had her fake church lady voice on as she talked to the other guests.

It became too much. Vanessa excused herself and made her way to the bathroom. Even that space was fancy as shit. At the entrance, there was a small corridor with mirrors all around her. Vanessa analyzed herself from every possible angle before stepping inside the restroom. There were two paths after the second door, one led to a room with at least five vanity desks. Each space had a mirror with big fat light bulbs around it. There was a stack of towels on one side of the table, and a blowdryer and a flat iron rested on the other end.

The other hallway led to the stalls, and that was where Vanessa walked to. She opened the water tap, just to give herself something to do. She read the labels on the many bottles in front of her as she wetted her hands. The cold water worked to calm her nerves down. She didn’t know what she was doing there. Whoever thought it was a good idea to show up at that place, with it’s fancy people, overly nice waiters, and expensive towels, had been crazy. Shaking her head she reminded herself the true reason why she was there. She needed the money.

A door behind her opened. That was when she saw her. Brooke walked out of the stall. She had her blonde hair pulled back as always, as the ballerina that she was. A blue velvet dress hugged every single curve of one side of her body, while the other half gave a nude illusion, an intricate flower design covered her most intimate areas. She looked good. Really good.

“Hi,” she spoke to Vanessa through the mirror. “Katya told me you were coming.”

It took a moment for Vanessa to reply, her eyes lingering in the placement of certain petals. “Yeah, well, she told us some big pockets were gonna be around. We had to try our luck, you know?”

Brooke smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Hey, umm, I’m sorry. I…” she trailed off, her voice getting caught in her throat.

Before she could say anything, Vanessa shook her hand in the air. “No. Don’t worry about it. I get it. I’m the one that’s sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry,” she insisted.

Vanessa chuckled. “Is this gonna be one of those ‘no, you hang up’ kinda bullshit?”

This time the smile lit up Brooke’s face completely. “Not necessarily, but I do need you to know that I can’t apologize enough. I called everyone I knew. I tried to fix this. I tried, Vanessa, I really did.”

Her voice told her that she was being honest. Vanessa believed her. She was just about to tell her that when Trixie came running through the maze of hallways.

“There you are, bitch! C’mon. Katya needs us.”

She looked at Brooke for a moment, not really knowing what to say but not wanting the conversation to end like that. “Listen, I…”

“You have to go,” Brooke finished for her. “It’s fine. We can talk later.”

By the time she was done pronouncing the sentence, Trixie was already dragging Vanessa by the wrist.

They reached the main stage just in time to see how a ceramic plate was sold for eight thousand dollars.

“Now for the next item, we have a pleasant night out, including dinner and dancing with Miss Vanessa Mateo.” She stepped into the center of the stage as the auctioneer read her qualities as if she were a car on sale. “Originally from Puerto Rico, Miss Mateo is a twenty-four year old dance teacher, who’s donation will go to…”

Vanessa tuned out after that. She played the part, smiling, walking around, and fluttering her eyelashes like it was her trademark move. But she had never in her life felt more exposed; and she danced naked around a pole for a living. It made her feel cheap but, when she saw the first paddle being lifted, she realized there was nothing cheap about the situation.

“A thousand,” yelled a man on the front table.

Another paddle was lifted. “Two thousand.”

“I have three thousand on the phone,” said an operator to their side.

Vanessa stood still as the bids went up one thousand at the time. She could only see numbers on white pieces of cardboard as a man offered more than the previous one. The auctioneer spoke fast, and the paddles move faster. Before she knew it, someone was offering ten thousand dollars to take her out for dinner.

Then a voice came from the far end of the room. “Twenty thousand dollars,” the woman said, her tone firm and inflexible.

“Twenty thousand going once, going twice…” There was an unnecessary pause, nobody was going to top that bidding. “Sold to buyer number five.”

Vanessa looked around, spotting the number on the paddle first, and Brooke’s smile second.

[songficsbyrissi]

Feel Love (Erik Killmonger x Reader)

“I’d swore I’d never fall, but I fell Run and tell all my old hoes Erase my number, my photos Uh, baby girl pardon me but Don’t text, stop calling me I ain't your nigga, don’t bother me Fuck your Twitter, don’t follow me My new girl too thorough Believe it or not, man, she’s all I need” - Sean Garrett feat. J. Cole

********************* N’Jadaka Udaku, best known as Erik Stevens, was in love. Shit. He had no idea when it happened but it did. He wasn’t supposed to fall in love with you but he fucked around and did.

He first met you at your college library where every table was taken by one cramming college student. Once you saw there were no available tables, you sucked your teeth hard because you despised sharing a table but you really needed the library. Your annoying ass roommates were being obnoxious as fuck and you needed a quiet area to study. A lot of students had a whole set up on their table so you looked for the one who didn’t have a full table. That happened to be Erik’s table.

You tapped his shoulder to get his attention and whispered. “Do you mind if I sit here?” Erik failed to spare you a glance and mumbled. “Do what you want. I don’t care.” You found that rude but whatever. You came to study, not make friends. You sat in front of him, placing your laptop on the table and plugging it in to charge. As you continued setting up, Erik continued his activity of bumping music through his headphones and tapping through a PowerPoint of notes. You could hear the music he was listening to through his headphones. You tried to ignore it but it became unbearable and you leaned over to tap his shoulder again. “Hey. Your music is a little too loud. You mind turning it down a bit?” He still refused to make eye contact with you. “It ain’t bothering nobody else here so nah.” You were taken aback. Excuse you? You were trying to be nice but he wanna keep being rude. You clenched your fist to prevent yourself from snuffing him. “Please can you just turn it down a little bit? I asked nicely and I-“ “Listen, sweetheart, if it’s so much of an issue, why don’t you move to another table? I was here first so I’ll do what I like.” He cut you off still refusing to have the respect to look at you. Punk ass nigga got you livid now and you snatched his phone, unplugging it from his headphones. Erik was pissed and finally glanced up at your equally pissed face. He was lowkey stunned. The annoying ass broad that decided to interrupt his peace was gorgeous beyond words. A black goddess at the predominantly white college. Your curly fro was out as you sat there dressed in your college hoodie and matching sweats. Bare faced and looking better than the hoes he was currently entertaining. He came back to reality when you spoke up. “No, you listen, dipshit! I tried my hardest to be polite to your rude ass but that’s not working so I guess I gotta get ignant. Turn your damn music down. You don’t own the fucking library and not even this fucking table. So if I want to sit at this table, I’m going to fucking sit here because I pay my tuition just like everybody in this bitch and I shouldn’t have to ask you to be a decent human being. Cut that rude shit out because I’m not the one, negro.” Even though Erik found you hot, he didn’t take kindly to some female, a random female at that, coming at him sideways. “Babygirl, you got the wrong one to be giving that attitude to. You do know I’m Erik Stevens, right? If you know what’s good for you, you will give me my phone back.” You laughed sardonically. “I don’t give two shits if you were the fucking Pope, nigga. I’m not giving respect to some wack ass, rude ass, hood wannabe, mediocre dread head ass nigga. Especially when he is being disrespectful first!” He stood up and you did the same standing menacingly. “Give me my phone back.” “No.” Erik furrow his eyebrows irritated. “The fuck you mean, “no?” Bitch, you don’t pay my phone bill!” “I’m not giving you your bitchass phone until you apologize, dickhead!” You two began to argue until the librarian came over and requested for you two to leave. When both of your hardheaded asses argued with her, security escorted both of you out. “This is some bullshit! The only black people in the damn library got escorted out!” You huffed stomping away. Erik chuckled following you. “Aww poor princess. I guess “getting ignant” didn’t work out how you planned, huh?” You turned around glaring up at him. You were furious. Not only because he was an asshole, but you were ashamed to admit that you found the asshole cute since you first saw him. “Oh shut up. I hate niggas like you! Y’all think just because you’re cute, you can do and get whatever the fuck you want!” “Well I hate bitches like you! Y’all think just because you’re hot, you can talk to anyone any type of way and be hardheaded as fuck! Annoying ass!” Erik countered walking past you then stopped turning around. “Wait, did you just call me cute?” You folded your arms and raised an eyebrow. “Did you just call me hot?” Erik shrugged walking slowly up to you. “I mean, yeah. You fine as hell. Annoying but fine as hell.” Your cheeks heated up at his confession and glanced at anything but him. “Then yes. I think you’re very cute. Even though you were a complete dipshit.” Erik let out a chuckle that made you smile immediately and scratched the back of his neck. Watching him lift up his arm made you see how huge his bicep was. “I was. I’m sorry about all that, man. You’re right. I was acting like a bitch nigga and that’s not me.” You nodded in forgiveness. “I’m sorry for going off on you like that even though you did deserve it.” You stuck out your hand. “We cool?” He smirked shaking your hand. “On one condition.” You tilted your head. “Tell me your name and when I can see your annoying ass again.” You giggled taking out his phone and putting in your number. “And I’ll tell you all that on one condition.” “What’s that?” You placed the phone in his open hand and closed it. “You promise to hit my line later.” Erik shook his head in confusion and then remembered you had taken his phone in the library. How’d he forget? He glanced down at the phone seeing your contact. “Y/N.” He made eye contact with you and his dimples made an appearance. “I’ll definitely be hitting your line later.” You beamed at his statement and went on your way when he realized something. “Wait. How’d you get into my phone?” “0000 is the most basic passcode, Stevens.” You sang giving him a quick glance and continued walking away. Since that day, you two began texting each other regularly and hanging out in the recreational centers, student lounges, dining halls, and your own dorms. You two got to know each other and got closer overtime. He was starting to catch feelings for you which was pissing him off because he swore he wouldn’t “love these hoes”. He didn’t want to be tied down while he’s supposed to be single, free, and doing whatever the hell he wanted in college. He started denying how he felt about you, still hitting up the hoes on his phone for a quick nut. However after meeting you, Erik realized casual sex wasn’t as great as it used to be. He was still in denial about how he felt about you. Until the day he kissed you. You two were having a lively discussion about how Malcolm X’s famous speech “Who taught you to hate yourself” and your experiences with hating all your black features and how you embraced them now. While you were talking, he couldn’t help it. He had to lean in and kiss you. “Erik....” you were surprised at his sudden actions. “I like you, Y/N. I really like you. I couldn’t help it. I’ve thought about kissing you for the longest.” Erik expected you to kick him out of your place but instead, you smiled wide wrapping your arms around his neck. “If you thought about it, what the hell took you so long? I like you too, dummy.” He grinned pulling you in for another kiss. Now you two were officially dating but no labels on it. You weren’t really calling Erik your boyfriend and he wasn’t calling you his girlfriend. You guys were chilling for now. You knew you liked each other, would make out, go out, but didn’t call it a relationship. You wanted it to be a relationship but you were too scared to say anything. You would see texts from different girls popping up on his phone. Unknown to you, when Erik confessed his feelings, he stopped giving those girls the time of day. He lost interest in them. Overtime, Erik realized all they could offer was sex and he wanted more than that. He needed more than that. You had so much more to offer. He began to fall harder and harder for you. His friends saw it and clowned him because they used to play girls together now this nigga over here wanna fall in love. Even though it was obvious to everyone but you, Erik Stevens was in love and he was still in denial. Until he almost lost you. Your roommates were gone for the weekend and Erik came to your dorm to hang out but you were acting cold and distant towards him and he couldn’t understand why. “Y/N? Did I do something?” He finally addressed the elephant in the room. You swallowed hard closing your eyes to prevent yourself from crying. “Erik, I really, really care about you but if you’re here to waste my time, just stop it. Find some other girl. I’m tired.” He was puzzled at your words and before he could ask more, you stood up from your bed turning away from him. “Leave now.” Your voice was stern. “I don’t date to pass time. I want something real. I want a relationship. I want a commitment. If you can’t give that to me, just leave. Spare me the heartache. LEAVE!” “I’m not leaving!” Erik snapped standing up and turning you around to face him. You had tears in your eyes and you pushed him away. “And why the fuck not?!” “Because I love you, damn it!” Erik yelled and you became mute, anger dissolving. He observed your stunned expression and sighed deeply. “I love you and that scares the shit out of me. But I needed to tell you that because losing you scares me even more.” You were a blubbering mess at this point yet was able to crack a smile through your tears. “I love you too, Erik.” Erik grabbed your face and passionately kissed you. This time, it did not lead to a make out session. This time, it led to lovemaking. You were not really experienced when it came to sex but Erik got you. You allowed him to take all of you as you took all of him. He put in a couple different positions making sure you were ok with everything. With all those girls, Erik didn’t care too much about them, to be honest. As long as he got his nut, he was satisfied. He fucked them but made sweet love to you. This was the first time he was having sex with a woman he loved and it was simply amazing. When you finally tired out, you rested your head on the pillow cuddling Erik’s bare torso and let sleep overtake you. Erik watched you sleep as you let out loud snores that made him want to laugh but he didn’t want to wake you up. You were glowing with a slight smile on your face as you slept. You confessing your love replayed in his head and he felt overjoyed. Erik Stevens was in love and he had to let everyone know this. “The fuck you staring at?” You spoke suddenly with your eyes still closed and still somewhat asleep. Erik began to snicker and you smirked in response. “What you about to say? You trying to be Nicholas Sparks or some shit? “You look so beautiful when you sleep” Headass.” “Nah I was thinking, “Damn, you aggravating as hell.” Erik turned to you as you snorted. “But I love your annoying ass. I really do.” Still half asleep, you continue to smirk until you felt his weight off your bed. You peeked to see your boyfriend dressing. “Where you going? I wanna cuddle.” “I’ll be back. There’s something important I really gotta do.” Erik leaned over to kiss your forehead. You fell back asleep and he walked out making his first stop, the dining hall where he met up with his boys. “Wait my nigga, you in love? Deadass?” One of them asked as the rest stared at him, waiting for an answer. Erik chuckled rubbing his head and made eye contact. “I’m deadass. I deadass love this girl. I really love her. I’m done with fucking around.” They all laughed, pushing their smitten friend around. “Ahhhhhhh this nigga is in love!” They sang mockingly even though they were genuinely happy for him. The next stop was the student lounge where the girls Erik used to mess with sat. They didn’t know of each other so they were busy on their phones but all perked up seeing the man who called them all there. “Hi Erik.” They said in unison then stared at each other. “Wait, how do you know Erik? Because he’s my man!” They looked towards him and he cleared his throat. “Listen, ladies, first of all, I was not any of y’all’s man. I was single and all of y’all were throwing the coochie at me so I caught it. But I’m done catching it.” “What the fuck are you trying to say, Erik?” One of the girls folded her arms in anger. “I’m telling y’all I’m done messing with y’all. Stop texting me, stop calling me, delete my number or anything y’all have of me. You got me on social media? Unfollow me, unfriend me. I don’t want y’all anymore. A nigga is done. “Why are you suddenly done?” Another girl snapped. Erik chuckled slightly looking up at all of them. “Because I’m in love so y’all gotta go.” The girls were a mix of shock and anger but Erik didn’t care. He wanted to cut all ties. He wanted to get rid of anything that threatened his relationship with you. When Erik finished getting cursed out and made sure all of the girls were not plotting to kill him, he made his last stop to his dorm where he FaceTimed his family in Wakanda from his MacBook. On his screen, his cousins T’Challa and Shuri appeared with his aunt Ramonda. Since Erik’s parents died, this was the only family he had. Ramonda was like a second mother and his cousins were the siblings he never had. “You’re in love, N’Jadaka?! I’m so proud of you!” Ramonda gushed almost on the verge of tears. “We must meet her!” “Yes, we must. If she loves you, I have to examine her head to see what went wrong.” Shuri stated with a laugh. Her mother responded by pinching her and Shuri grabbed her arm. “Ow! I was just kidding!” T’Challa gave him a small smile shaking his head. “This is a good thing, N’Jadaka. It’s about time. I am happy for you, cousin. Do not mess this up.” “Thank you, cousin and I’m not. Believe it or not, man. She’s all I need.” After finishing his call, Erik made his way back over to your dorm and knocked on the door. You opened it dressed in your fuzzy PJ pants and tank top. He stepped inside closing the door behind him. You two crawled into bed and spooned, him being the big spoon, of course. “Who would’ve thought the dipshit Erik Stevens was a cuddler?” You snickered and Erik pinched your butt causing you to yelp. “I’m just saying!” He cuddled you closer and planted kisses on your face. “Mad annoying.”

Tags:  @lifelover4u @dessianna1 @brattywriters-anonymous @marvelpotterlove @purple-apricots @blackpinup22 @ljstraightchaser @slimmiyagi @cancerianprincess @iamrheaspeaks @blowmymbackout @vibranium-chakra @nerd-lovely @chaneajoyyy @ohliyaxoxo @chefjessypooh @yourfavoritefavorite @airis-paris14 @ljstraightnochaser @quietstorm-73 @msincognito67 @sociallyawkward18 @mychemicalimagines @nerd-lovely @marvelpotterlove   @destinio1 @madamslayyy @thehomierobbstark

[vetivrr]

Mafia au Willdip

AN: my excuse is I’m bored and haven’t slept in twenty seven hrs. ok

Will had refused, as soon as he’d grown old enough, to be a part of the Mafia.

He’d known he wasn’t cut out for it, and his family had known too, despite the blood of so many murderers running through his veins the younger of the Cipher twins had never ever claimed to be anything other than peaceable, a quality that wasn’t welcome in the not-so-subtle underworld of the huge city he called home.

At some point it had been decided that Will was untrainable and needed to be removed from the equation, and yet the natural ties of affection that might run through even the bloodiest of families had spared his life, and he’d been given a small business in a nice section of the city and told to make do.

And he did, and not only that but thrived. William loved the little flower shop he headed, doted over each and every aspect of the job with a tender devotedness that he never would have found in the morally questionable life of a mafioso.

Baby’s breath and roses were far less likely to kill him, after all.

Oh, it wasn’t to say he wasn’t touched by the whole organization, nobody in the city and probably elsewhere was, but he’d been lucky enough to witness only one or two of the gruesome things that resulted from the greed of his species, the rumors and names that flew about in hushed tones in side-rooms and speakeasies- names of some who’d died and some who’d killed, and he’d heard, more often than not, the name Cipher listed among the latter two…and in later years, another, the Gleefuls.

He’d heard his brother speak once or twice of the family as they’d risen to power from seemingly nowhere, and it had never been good. Cowards, he’d called them, a bunch of fake-ritzy bluenoses hiding behind silver gilt gates of the east end. Ignoring, of course, the fact that Bill had quite a high social status himself- at least on papers.

Bill tended to exaggerate his stories a little, but his brother had learned to watch out for the name anyway, though he was lucky enough not to run into anyone of the powerful family himself.

It hadn’t ever really been something he’d concerned himself with, though. Will was perfectly content to work his little flower shop, and while he loved seeing his brother, he could never really seem to relax when Bill showed up with his odd looking packages and stacks of sealed papers and talk of underground war, often only needing a place to lay low for a while until he could get back to ‘work’.

And for at least a few days after every visit, he couldn’t help but be a little nervous, watching the street-sides as he walked and carefully scrutinizing the faces of each new customer that opened the shop’s front door to look for any trace of ill-will or worse, recognition. He tried, hard, to be careful.

So it really shouldn’t have come as such a surprise when he finally was confronted– but then, Will was never on his alert this early in the morning, still busy tending the rows of bright, cheery blossoms and humming a little tune to himself as he worked, still a little sleepy from post-wake up haze, and he didn’t turn around immediately when the door opened behind him.

That was a mistake, because if he had he might have had a chance to realize what was going on before there was a gun pointed into his face.

“Good morning! I’m gonna need you to stick 'em up, sweetheart,” He heard the almost sickly sweet voice, turning his head slightly with a soft smile already in place- that froze when he saw the bright silver revolver, and the intimidating bunch who had crowded into his store with frighteningly silent rapidity.

Will let out an ungainly, high pitched squeak in response, stumbling backwards a bit, flinching as he knocked over a pot and it crashed to the floor behind him- to say he was surprised would have been a gross understatement, he was positively petrified.

But the owner of the voice, a finely dressed young lady, only laughed. The weapon in her hand was unwavering as she advanced on him, “Why so startled, darling? You really should have seen this coming, ya know,” She chirped out, “Now do what I said 'less you want some daylight through the skull. Now be a dear and get behind the counter.”

Will was hardly able to hear the order through the rushing in his ears, but he took the cue and did as told, slipping behind the shop’s little service counter and keeping his trembling hands raised a little.

There were five of them, he counted, his assailant and three other obviously armed men in pinstripe and bowlers, and a respectable looking young man who seemed almost out of place in the bunch, though it was made less so by the resemblance and similar navy blue garb he shared with the female ne'er do well. Cyan eyes seemed to follow every move Will made, though nothing else in his appearance would suggest hostility as he simply watched.

The Cipher had other things to worry about at the moment, however, and his eyes snapped back to the woman as she spoke smilingly, at a terrifying ease with one finger tightening against the trigger, “I won’t waste your time. You know what we want. Where is it.”

Will shook his head quickly, besides very much not knowing what she was talking about, he was just beginning to gain his voice back, “What are you doing–!?” He managed, the soft, panicked whisper only to elicit another laugh.

“You really wanna play this game with me, sweetie? Look, I don’t got a lot of patience to go round, so unless you really want me to pull the trigger…”

Will hardly dared move, hardly dared breathe, through his hands were already trembling violently as he tore his gaze away from the glinting metal barrel of the gun, up to its smug looking owner. He shook his head mutely, tears pricking the corners of his eyes.

“That’s what I thought. Now where’s the back door? I think we’ll just take a look around here.”

He felt as if he was going to faint, numb with shock, mind barely processing the question until the girl leaned forwards with a suddenly dangerous expression, “Hey! Patience ain’t my strong suit, mister. I asked you a question.”

Will’s whimper was barely audible, feeling the cold steel muzzle to his forehead and the faint, harsh smell of gunpowder clouding his senses. He just barely remembered not to flinch away and pointed a shaking finger in the direction of his apartment door, sucking in a gasp of relief when the gun was removed from his line of sight.

“Swell,” The young woman purred, giving a few signals, and turning away. “I’ll be back in a few, then!”

Will watched helplessly as she disappeared down the aisle, followed by one or two of the group’s men, but he forced himself to calm at least a little, sucking in a few deep breaths.

He glanced back to the other ones, who had been left to watch him, no doubt. Or more specifically, the gentlemanly one, the woman’s brother, he assumed if appearance was anything to go by. The man was still staring at him.

He couldn’t think too much of that, though, preoccupied with worrying over what might be going on upstairs. Were they going to ruin his cozy little apartment? What did they want, what could he possibly have that they would want??

What if Bill had hidden something here without telling him, Will almost felt sick to wonder? He wouldn’t doubt for a second it was something his hot-blooded twin would pull.

“You would do well to keep your hands where I can see them.”

Will startled at the glint of silver that showed as the man’s caplet parted for a few seconds, realizing he’d let his hands drop to his sides. He raised them again quickly, “S-sorry,” He muttered, noticing immediately the cultured accent to his words, and watching wide eyed as the other moved forwards, until he was stopped by the wooden barrier.

“You can rest them on the counter,” The brunette added flatly, and Will was quick to comply, something in the tone and glint in bright blue eyes telling him it was not a suggestion or a relent.

He was too frightened to speak and so he didn’t, eyes locked with the other’s until he couldn’t bear it anymore and looked away.

“Apologies for my sister- I told her it would be best to take a more subtle approach. You have a nice shop.”

“What?” Will glanced up with a disbelieving look. Had this mafioso just apologized for robbing him? And then given him a compliment??

“You’re welcome. Quite a lovely assortment of flowers, especially for this time of year,” The man continued, gesturing around him with a tiny smile. “What’s your name?”

Will was silent, at a loss for how to respond, brain stuttering from stress and everything he had to process, and he finally managed out, “Ph..philip. Garcia…a-and you are?”

It was what Bill had told him to say, the pseudonym that would keep him safe from getting caught up in the danger of the Mafia- the name he ran his shop under, though he’d ever enjoyed that.

A flash of amusement ran through the other’s features, “Hmm…call me Dipper.”

He let it fall into silence, staring at the shorter male until Will seemed inclined to speak again, “Why are you introducing yourself??”

Will waited for an answer, growing more uneasy the longer he didn’t get one, “Wh-hy are you here? What are you trying to do…you c-can’t get away with this- you won’t.”

Dipper chuckled, “Are you really sure of that? I wouldn’t be, were I you.”

Will gulped slightly, “Th-the police-”

“Are conveniently busy elsewhere and will not be at your disposal for some time,” The criminal interjected smoothly, but through the lighthearted tone, the first signs of hostility showed. “Do you really think they’ll be any help to you at all? You don’t recognize us, then?”

Will swallowed thickly, glancing out the store windows as if searching for help that wasn’t there. “No, why would I…” He muttered quietly, scrambling for words that wouldn’t betray his fear, “B-but others will help me. I-I have friends-”

“Really? That’s quite interesting to hear. Friends in the mafia, no doubt,” Dipper finally glanced away, eyes sweeping over the lovingly arranged displays and briefly to the windows, “Where you you get your stock from, I must wonder? They must have been grown indoors to even be in bloom.”

“I…I-I don’t…” He trailed off, brows knitting together in utter confusion, resisting the urge to reach out and protest as the man took a single sprig of coltsfoot from a larger bouquet, the tiny yellow petals gleaming gold against the silk navy vest, twirling the stem gently between his fingers as he glanced back at the other.

The mirth dropped out of the man’s face and he stepped off to the side as if about to come behind the counter, adding out of the blue, “You’re not used to lying, are you, Mr. Cipher?”

Will blanched, forgetting to try and look brave as he took a tiny step back, “I-I’m not—how-”

“Deduction,” Dipper said simply, “I know what I see and I know what I know. And I know that you look very much like someone I’ve had the displeasure of meeting already.”

Will found he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from cursing aloud- what had Bill done?

“I’m not him,” Will blurted out, “I’m not wh-who you’re looking for…”

“Wrong. You’re exactly who I’m looking for.”

“Wh-what?”

But he had little time to puzzle, jumping as the unnamed girl reappeared, looking, if it were at all possible, even more smug than she had before.

“It was in his bathroom. Quite cleverly hidden, actually,” She grinned, sending a malicious giggle his way as she addressed the other brunet.

And suddenly it seemed to Will that he wasn’t in as much danger, as they appeared to be preparing to leave. A hand gesture had the rest of the men filing out of his door, and he watched, expression still mildly stunned.

Dipper nodded, “Very good- I thought you would be able…” The mafioso’s voice was neutral, even as he lauded his sister, “I’ve spoken with him. He’s a bystander, as I suspected. No need for extra measures.”

“Good. He won’t be a problem, then?”

The woman’s eyes narrowed at the neutral response she gained, and she turned of the other again, filling Will with dread again as she pointed her pistol, “You. Tell the cops if ya want, but don’t you go and be surprised if it doesn’t help. And if anyone else comes asking questions, we didn’t take anything. Understand?”

“Y-yes…” Will nodded quickly, well aware that he wasn’t really in a position to argue, and relaxed a little when she seemed satisfied, turning away to the door.

“Good, cause we’d know either way, bet on it,” The girl chuckled grimly, door creaking as she opened it- but didn’t pass through. She was waiting for Dipper, the man having reached into his trouser pocket.

A small card emerged along with his hand, and Will watched with a cautious curiosity as it was slipped onto the counter.

“Be careful with that. If anyone does come poking around, it would be in both our best interests for you to ring. Trust me.”

No further explanation was given, only the same lingering stare, before Dipper turned away, letting his sister slip her arm into his and pull him out the door without a backwards glance, the two briefly visible in the display windows before they disappeared from sight.

Will was still for a full minute after that, staring after them and glancing around his little store once or twice as if he wanted to make sure everyone was really gone. He pulled in a huge breath of relief and reached for the card, grabbing it and sliding to the floor to calm his frayed nerves.

The back of the card was what he saw first, and it was a telephone address, a single line of numbers written in small, neat hand. He turned it over and let his eyes grow round.

'Gleeful Enterprises’, embossed with silver into the rich blue paper, with the family’s crest stamped into it, off to one side.

Will bit his lip and stood back up, then stumbled out from behind the counter to race upstairs.

He had a horrible feeling that this wasn’t nearly the end of the matter.

But for now, he needed to find Bill.

~~~~~

The twins were silent as they headed back to their car, eyes sharp and on the watch for enemies until they were safely inside, and the vehicle was pulling away from the curb.

“Well, that went absolutely wonderful.”

Mabel was, as usual, the one to strike up conversation as they settled down into the leather-lined cab. Dipper only glanced at her, eyes mostly still fastened onto the shop’s front door until it was far behind them.

“You were marvellous, sister dear,” He praised, with an approving smile as his sister produced a small parcel of letters tied with a string, “Mm-hm,” Mabel grinned triumphantly, handing it over the Gleeful boy, who slipped it into his pocket without looking through it.

“Now I get the rest of the day off- celebrate with me?” Her question was halfway a taunt, because she already knew the answer, and smirked as it was spoken,

“I don’t think I’ll have time,” Dipper’s nose wrinkled at the thought of spending a night in one of the speakeasy’s his sister was fond of attending, “Uncle asked me to take care of an employee who’s been asking questions.”

Mabel gave a light huff, “When do you, gotta ask? You’re telling me you’ll spend the entire night working on that? Pull the trigger and they’re out, problem solved.”

“I’ll have a bit of research to conduct as well. You should know I’ll be setting a few boys on the florist’s place.”

Mabel turned in her seat, regarding her brother with inquisitive skepticism, “Why?”

“Did you think I would have suspected that shop without a reason? Think back to his features and tell me who he reminds you o-”

“Golly,” Mabel breathed, eyes widening for a moment before a smooth smirk slid into her expression, “Now that you mention it…”

“I want to watch him. Closely,” Dipper explained, with an air of industrial indifference.

He didn’t think he would have minded telling her there were other reasons, he’d learned to bear Mabel’s merciless teasing after so long, and she no doubt would have been thrilled to know that she wasn’t the only alone in her legally questionable romantic tendencies…

But he wanted Will to himself for a while, wanted to see what the little florist was made of and what made him special.

“He could be useful to us.”

“I’ll bet. What a patsy,” Mabel snickered a little, “Big brother probably doesn’t tell him a whole lot about the family business, though.”

Dipper hummed, and turned his eyes to the road ahead, sharp eyes flicking over the crowds of people on the street sides, in the cars, bustling in and out of shops or enjoying midday coffee and the editorials- ever alert for the enemy.

“We’ll see.”

[bartok-not-bartalk]

“Bless you, Damn you”

Based on the prompt: “You are a demon in disguise, faking a cold near a church so a pastor will bless you.”

Nona walked faster, wiping her nose on her coat sleeve and pulling her hat lower on her forehead.  The church was right around the corner, and the preacher would be standing out front as he always did, welcoming the patrons of the church and heralding them into the cathedral for Sunday mass.  She glanced behind her uneasily, shivering in the cold January air.  They would catch onto her plan soon enough, but it would be too late by then.  She internally smacked herself for not thinking of this ages ago.  It would be so easy!   Nona rounded the corner, head down, and in her hurry, ran into one of the men standing outside of the church.   “Bishop Micheals!” a male voice cried, concerned, and Nona recognized it as the priest’s. “I’m quite all right,” an older voice replied, and Nona realized that the man she had run into hadn’t been the priest, but a visiting Bishop.  The white-haired man helped Nona up carefully. “Are you okay, miss?” he asked, smiling down at her. “I.. uhm…” Nona felt herself about to sneeze.  She ducked her head into her elbow and sneezed quite forcefully, her whole body seeming to shake. “Bless you.” both holy men replied automatically. Nona had to hide her smile behind her scarf as they apologized, quite unnecessarily, for her fall. “Why don’t you join us for the mass and some tea afterwards to help that nasty cough?” The Bishop asked her kindly.   Again, Nona hid her growing glee behind the flustered act of the young college student she was acting.  She nodded mutely, pretending to have lost her voice, and allowed the younger priest to usher her inside.  She barely hesitated on the threshold of the building, but then she took a deep breath and stepped in, and to her relief, nothing happened.  Nona kept her eyes down, smiled under her scarf, and slipped into the church to take a seat in the pew in the back row, next to a mother and her two young sons, who ignored her.   Throughout the mass, her mind was racing as she mouthed the words of the holy verses and hummed the hymns amicably.  She was safe among these hallowed halls and under the protection of the two priests.  She’d been blessed by a priest and a Bishop! And given a personal invitation into a catholic church.  It really must be her lucky day.  Lyana and her brainless minions couldn’t follow her here, not without exposing themselves and going through some serious pain.  As long as Nona kept her hat on and didn’t look anyone directly in the eye, she’d be safe, at least until the mass ended and she was forced to seek shelter elsewhere.  She could always play the homeless card… No, she was dressed too nicely.   Nona’s thoughts wandered aimlessly as the mass drew towards it’s conclusion and the procession of acolytes brought the Host up to the front of the church for the Holy Communion.  Absently, she noticed that one of the acolytes had dark silver hair and holes in her ears where multiple piercings would fit perfectly.  She snickered.  The church didn’t generally allow its acolytes such privileges as died hair and so many piercings.  Her snicker died as she noticed that the girl’s hair wasn’t died.  Nona’s eyes narrowed. Nephilium. The train of acolytes reached the front of the church and presented the host to the priests before fanning out behind them to face the parishioners. Nona stiffened.  The girl was looking right at her.  Even at the distance, Nona could see her eyes: One a dark brown that seemed almost black, fitting in perfectly with her tan skin.  The other was a bright, polished gold, silvery in the middle and leaning towards bronze on the outer edges of the iris.  The same hue as Nona’s, lacking the slit pupils and black outer rims that corrupted the edges of Nona’s own irises.  The girl’s eye served as a brutal reminder to Nona.  What she once was, and what she could never be again.  The girl continued to stare until her duties pulled her away to start distributing the holy communion.  Nona stared back, unafraid.  No one could see her eyes in detail at such a distance, and the girl couldn’t possibly know who she was.   She followed the mother and her boys up to receive holy communion when it was time, but couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that came with the vision of that girl’s left eye.  Anticipation and anxiety grew with every step she took.  Would she be able to receive the communion after so long? What affect would it have on her?  She swallowed these as she approached the alter.  Nona knelt, stretching out her hands on the bar, even as they shook like autumn leaves.   An acolyte walked up on the other side of the bar. “This is the body of Christ, given for us. Take it in the remembrance of He.” The acolyte pressed the host into Nona’s outstretched hands, and if he noticed her nervousness, he didn’t let on, simply moved on to the next person without a second glance. A perfect servant of the catholic church. She thought cynically.  The acolyte bearing the chalice moved forward.  It was her. Nona fought the instinct to bear her teeth and hiss as the acolytes mismatched eyes met Nona’s gold ones, and lingered more than they should have, a spark of anger present on her face.  Finally, she held out the cup and recited the verse, sounding more robotic than even the boy who had bestowed upon Nona the host. “This is the blood of Christ, drink it in remembrance of He.” She thrust the cup into Nona’s hands, like she was doing so against her better judgement. Nona hid a smile.  The kid had better instincts than she probably knew.  She wondered who the angelic side of the girl’s parents was as she took the cup so hastily given to her and took a good, long draught, savoring the feel of the symbolic wine losing its alcoholic qualities and taking on a richer, coppery taste.  She couldn’t resist the urge to run her tongue over bloodstained teeth in full view of the acolyte as she handed the cup yet.  The girl’s eyes widened and then narrowed before she snatched the chalice out of Nona’s hands and swiftly moved onto the next patron of the church. Nona stood up slowly, and carefully picked her way back to her spot in the back, where she sat and pondered the girl as the mass finished and the patrons began to filter towards the stairs to the second floor of the church, where Nona presumed there was a community room where soup and drinks would be served.   She could feel the host renewing her, waking up old parts of her being that hadn’t been stirred in centuries. She was sure that if one looked into her eyes, they’d be a lot brighter gold than they usually were.  She pondered going out, but then Lyana would be on her like a fox on a rabbit, and Nona didn’t want to deal with her today. Finally, once everyone was gone, she got up and walked over and up herself, pausing on the edge of the room before making a beeline to the coffee pot.  Half way there, she was assaulted by a tall girl wearing all black, which in itself was odd in a church, that, and the girl’s hair was silver.  Dammit. Nona thought to herself as the girl grabbed her shoulder and tried to turn Nona to face her.  Nona didn’t budge for a long enough moment to make sure the girl knew she wouldn’t be able to move her, before turning to face her. “What can I help you with, Mortal?” She asked sarcastically, finding that sarcastic truths were often more effective than sincere lies.  The girl sputtered before jabbing a finger at Nona. “You’re not human!” She spat, before crossing her arms. Nona noticed with distaste that the girl was a fair six inches taller than she was. “I’m what?” Nona asked, raising an eyebrow and willing her pupils to dilate so that they would pass as circular. “You’re a demon!” The girl insisted, grabbing the collar of Nona’s coat.  Nona sighed. “I’m a law student.  Some people say that we mustn’t be human, but that’s rather rude.  Now.  Please release me.” She said, pushing the slightest bit of influence into her words.  She must have gone a tad heavy-handed though, because the girl looked rather dazed as she released Nona.  She shook her head, confused, before the clarity snapped back into her eyes with a click that was almost audible. “You used Influence.” She hissed, eyes narrowed. Nona smiled, taunting the girl with a flash of sharp canines and contracted snake-like pupils. “Of course I have influence, that’s part of the curriculum. If you’d excuse me, I’d like a cup of coffee.”  She laced her words with an infinitesimal amount of latent power, and the girl stumbled back a step without meaning to.  Nona pushed past her and walked swiftly to the coffee machine, where she poured herself a cup and looked around for an empty table.  She was just scouting one out next to a window when the someone who could only be the acolyte kneed her in the back of the leg from behind.  Nona’s knee buckled, and she sidestepped and turned to face her, eyes flashing.   “Who are you?” The acolyte asked. “Stop following me.” “What is your name, demon.” “Names have power, darling, if I told you mine, your brain would drip out your ears and your little heart would burst into flames hot enough to incinerate you before you could scream,” Nona snapped her fingers and leaned back on the counter holding the coffee machine. “You may call me Nona.” She was serious again in a second. “Now, tell me who you are, angel-face.” She said, amusing herself by the double meaning traced with accusation that resided in the term of endearment and wrapping her words in influence.  The girl’s eyes widened and glazed, her fists clenching at her sides as if she were physically trying to prevent herself from spitting it out. “I am Heloise Minerva Giornello, daughter of the archangel Michael and Marie Anne Giornello. My Name is Lux, Thirteenth daughter of Michael.” “The light?” Nona asked curiously, Jesus, who named you?” She asked rhetorically. “Well in any case, that explains it,” Nona said to herself as the influence wore off Hel and the girl started yelling obscenities at Nona.  It lasted about thirty seconds before the door to the priests office slammed open and the pastor stepped out after what Nona could only assume was a hasty apology to the Bishop, who sat in a chair, peering out of the small office. “Heloise!” The priest snapped, “What have I told you about disrespecting guests?!” The man walked over and grabbed Hel by the scruff of her shirt before turning to Nona. “I must apologize for her miss…” “DeNocte.” “Miss DeNocte.” He grabbed Hel’s wrist and started to pull her away, “I am really sorry for her behavior, Hel! Apologize.” He said with the air of a very tired parent who had done this more than a few times.  One of the church patrons who was watching the scene shook his head.   “Really, Father, It’s no trouble.  I still can’t thank you enough for you blessing and the coffee, I’ve just had such an awful cold. “Miss DeNocte, really, she should apologize,” He said warmly before turning to Hel, “Heloise. Apologize, now.” Hel looked up from the floor and made eye contact with Nona before smirking.  She pursed her lips and sneered before spitting out: “Damn you!” Nona’s eyes bugged out before she collapsed, dropping the coffee cup on the way down, invisible flames licking her spine, eyes fixed on Hel’s obnoxious smile as they fluttered shut, missing the concerned priest, the gasps from the patrons, and the thundering footsteps as the pastor carried her downstairs and out the front door, the bishop close behind him, calling 911. As the ambulance came to take Nona away, she regained consciousness as they loaded her onto the stretcher.  The Bishop insisted on coming to the ER with her, as much as she resisted.  An EMT put the mask on her face, and just before she was shut into the ambulance, he leaned over her and snarled, the cold rasp sounding foreign in his gentle voice. “It’s been a long time, Ira Deutus.” Nona’s eyes went wide.  It had been a long time since she had heard that name. “It has, Morning Star.” She said, using one of the more humorous translations of his ancient name into the language they were both speaking. Then, he snapped his fingers, and she blacked out, the pain of the Damning fading with her awareness.

[messrprongs]

Golden Slipper (AU: Lily and James)

Based on the prompt: “Looks like we’ll be trapped for a while…” Also, loosely inspired by Cinderella. 

James looked over the brunette's shoulder as casually as he could, looking for any signs of a familiar face. All he wanted for his birthday was to spend it with his mates at a bar somewhere getting drunk into oblivion, or perhaps eating the greasiest, saltiest meal he could think of, one that would make his coach purple in the face with rage. The last thing he wanted was a posh nightmare of a party (using the term loosely) where he failed to recognize any of the guests. Even the electronic music, so upbeat and thunderous that it clashed with the elegant atmosphere of the hotel’s terrace, failed to make the evening somewhat enjoyable.

 He was going to murder Sirius.

His eyes returned to the pretty brunette he had been talking to for the past few minutes, doing his best to feign interest. James swirled the contents of his drink passively, only stopping when the liquid sloshed over the rim onto his wrist. Again, his eyes wandered to the crowd of partygoers behind her as she talked about her job. Or perhaps her school? Her family?

 When his eyes landed on her again, he had decided he couldn't pretend to be interested a minute longer. She was far from unattractive, but the exchange— from the forced conversation to her coy gestures— felt artificial in a way that was too familiar to him.

 “It's really amazing that they've signed you on for the national team, though,” she was saying loudly over the music, swaying her weight onto her right hip. James tried with all his might not to stare, but he could have sworn the neckline of her dress had dipped lower in the time he had looked away from her.

 “Thanks,” James replied just as loudly, and before she could continue, he added, “Right, it was nice meeting you,” he deliberately avoided saying a name because he could not remember what she said it was. “If you'll excuse me, I have to go find my girlfriend.”

 The brunette looked crestfallen at that.

 It occurred to him within seconds that she, just like the vast majority of the people there, was perhaps better informed about his love life than his actual mates because of what Rita Skeeter and other tabloid writers published on a weekly basis. Giving her no time to respond, James walked past her, putting his acting skills to the test and pretending as though he was looking for someone in the sea of strangers. The feat, he recognized immediately with distaste, was not a difficult one. Not even a minute had passed and he was desperate to find a familiar face, someone he could truly be genuine with. He had no bloody clue where Sirius, Remus and Peter had gone to.

 Several people nodded at him in acknowledgement as he passed, or at least smiled in recognition. Groups of girls giggled at the sight of him, their eyes bright with the effects of alcohol and with the prospect of chatting up, and possibly sleeping with, internationally renowned football star James Potter.

 Despite his best efforts to avoid eye-contact and inadvertently invite more flirtatious banter, a sequin-clad blonde caught his eye for a second, excitement glistening in her dark eyes. James, however, did not look at her for long, his eyes moving instead over her shoulder and landing on the service staircase leading to the roof floor. There was something glittering gold atop it, the multi colored lights from the party reflecting off its surface and making it indistinguishable. Only a few seconds later did he realize what it was.

 It was a shoe.

 No, it was one of those impossibly high heels girls wore. He blinked, trying his best to place the unusual sight. Before he knew it, he was walking toward it and picking it up, examining it. It was encrusted with so much gold glitter that a good amount rubbed off on his fingers. He glanced up, expecting to see its owner sitting atop the service staircase, but all he could see was the roof access door. With a brief glance back at the party he was not eager to rejoin, he took the stairs two at a time and pushed the door open, fleetingly noting its weight.

 He didn't have to look around much before he saw her. At least, he could tell the figure in the distance was female, standing off balance on just one heel, the missing pair of the one in his hand. Her back was to him and she hugged her arms around herself in lonesome contemplation.

 He cleared his throat to make his presence known and she swiveled, long, dark hair dancing around her as she did.

“Is this your—”

 “Don’t let the door—” she started, already moving toward him. But as the door slammed behind him, she halted, shoulders dropping. “—close,” she finished anticlimactically.

 James paused, realizing his mistake immediately. “Fuck,” he muttered as he helplessly pulled on the handle of the locked door. He felt heat creep up his neck as he turned to face her. It was lucky she had buried her face in her hands and was unable to see the idiotic, sheepish look on his.

 There was a long, heavy silence, filled only with the muffled sound of the party below. Finally, she raised her face from her hands with another sharp, defeated exhale.

 In the bright, golden light of the uncovered light bulb by the door, James could see that she looked very flustered, brows knit and cheeks alight in frustration but despite that, she was quite pretty. Her long hair, which he now realized was auburn, fell in waves down her front, shining vividly against the black of her dress. Even with the lopsided height wearing only one heel afforded her, he could tell she was a whole head shorter than he was. A light cluster of freckles dusted her face and neck, disappearing under the modest neckline of her dress. The most skin she revealed, he noted, was her shapely legs, which he tried his best not to state at. He was failing miserably.

 Luckily for him, she was looking at the door as though to verify that it had indeed shut behind him.

 “Fuck, I’m sorry,” he said weakly.

 Her eyes met his and he was instantly struck by how he had never seen others quite like them—bright, emerald green and almond shaped. They softened at his apology.

 “It’s fine,” she said dismissively. “I am probably meant to die up here.”

 James grinned, unable to help it.

 There was another pause, this time the noise of the party mixed with the sound of the bustle of the street several feet below them. There was a slight breeze, but she did not shiver despite her exposed legs. In the brief silence, James noticed she, too, had been scrutinizing him. But her expression betrayed no signs of recognition, no faux flirtatious gestures at the realization of who he was.

 He felt his shoulders relax.

 “How long have you been—­­” he started asking before realizing he was still holding her shoe in his hand. Just as fast, a thought came to him. “Wait, were you trying to use this as a doorstop?”

 She bit her lower lip, dropping her eyes to the floor momentarily. A bloom of color appeared on her cheeks and James bit his own lip to stop himself from laughing. “Yes,” she admitted hesitantly. She met his eye and opened her mouth defensively when she caught his taunting smile. “I really thought it would work,” she explained, straightening her spine. “And I didn’t have anything else.”

 He was fully laughing now.

 “You’re the one who let the door go,” she added with dignity, only succeeding in increasing his amusement.

 “Right,” he responded without missing a beat, despite his laughter. “But I didn’t have to put any thought or effort into my daft mistake.”

 “So you were just being effortlessly stupid?” she returned at once. “Is that what you’re admitting to?”

 James laughed again, almost caught off-guard by her quick replies. “Even in my inherent stupidity, I would never dream that this—” he held up the heel, “—would be strong enough to hold a metal door.”

 “Well,” she said at once, though he could see she paused briefly for something else to say. “We’re both idiots, then.”

 James laughed in agreement.

 Distant cheers erupted from the crowd below as the muted notes of a new song began to play.

 His attention back on the door, James gave it a last, futile tug. With a resigned sigh, he informed her, “Looks like we’ll be trapped for a while…" He walked over to the ledge of the building, peering down at the street fifteen stories below. He flashed a grin at her. “Unless you want to jump?”

 “Don’t think I haven’t considered it,” she said.

 He grinned. “Why were you up here anyway?” he asked, turning to press his back against the cold bricks of the ledge.

 The redhead mirrored this movement, taking her phone out from a small purse at her side. “I needed to make a phone call, but reception was rubbish everywhere,” she said, looking at her screen and huffing in frustration. “It’s so much worse up here,” she added.

 She wrinkled her nose at him, storing the useless phone away. He remembered he had left his own phone in his jacket, long ago discarded somewhere downstairs. There was a slight breeze that fluttered a wayward lock of auburn hair to her face and James was struck again by just how pretty she was.

 “Ah,” he said with a nod. “Can’t stay away from the boyfriend long enough to enjoy the party?” He inwardly flinched at his own words. They had sounded superiorly better in his head somehow.

 She snorted. “God,” she said.

 “What?”

 “That was so rubbish,” she told him without restraint. “You're worse than the blokes downstairs.”

 James couldn't help the grin that pulled at his mouth. He was convinced that if she knew who he was and if she was like any of the girls downstairs, she wouldn't have commented on how pathetic the words were. Instead, she would’ve followed his lead without shame.

 She was laughing as she said, “You’re lucky you’re so good-looking or else you wouldn’t have any luck finding dates.”

 James doesn’t correct that statement, privately enjoying her compliment instead.

 “I don’t have a boyfriend,” she said in response to his atrocious attempt to casually ask if she was single. “I was hailing my mate for help.”

 He raised his eyebrows at that.

 “I want to get as far away from this party as humanly possible,” she explained, earning another laugh from him. He had forgotten the last time he had genuinely laughed like that with someone other than Sirius, Remus, and Peter.

 “How did you get yourself in this predicament?” he asked her.

 “Which part?” she returned. “Being stuck on a rooftop with a stranger? Or attending an obnoxious party?”

 “I think we covered your being stuck with the damnably handsome stranger,” he said with a wink that earned him an eye roll and a hint of a smile. “I meant the party.”

 “My friend Marlene dragged me here,” she said. “She works in fashion design so she scored an invite.” She said the word “scored” with utmost sarcasm.

 “I’m not even entirely sure what we’re supposed to be celebrating,” she continued, wrapping her arms around herself as another breeze swept by, much stronger this time. James wished he was wearing a jacket to offer her.

 “Some bloke’s birthday,” he said, feigning doubtfulness.

 She made a face. “What a snob,” she observed. “Who throws themselves a needlessly lavish party like this?”

 He chuckled. “Maybe someone else threw it for him?” he suggested.

 “That's still ridiculous,” she noted and inwardly, he agreed. He had said the very thing to Sirius when he proposed it.

 She shook her head. “Imagine having so much money that you can just—” she gestured her arms toward the locked door that led to the festivities, “—do that for a friend.” There was a bitter edge to her voice. She glanced at him briefly, perhaps hearing it too. A small laugh escaped her but James noted it is a humorless sort of sound. “Sorry, I just—can't wrap my head around spending money so frivolously.”

 “What would you spend all this money on, then?” he asked, hoping he didn't sound as if he was challenging her. He was genuinely curious.

 She didn't reply right away.

 “You'll laugh,” she finally said.

 He did chuckle, but only at the confidence with which she said that. That and the way she bit her lip slightly, the sight catching his eye for longer than it should have. Perhaps the small laugh was a nervous reaction. Maybe she unnerved him in ways he was just beginning to realize.

 “Sorry,” he said, clearing his throat. “I swear I won't laugh.”

 Her green eyes searched his face briefly. When she decided he was being honest, she shrugged and said, “I dunno. I just— I think the money would be better spent on people who need it.”

 She looked at him again, slightly anxious this time, as though she expected him to mock her for the words.

 “Like charity?”

 “Yes,” she agreed slowly. She allowed the briefest of silences before rushing to add, “I know you're probably thinking that's really naive of me. And that it's easy for me to say since I don't have all that money in the first place—”

 But James was shaking his head. “I don't think it's naive,” he assured her.

 He saw her shoulders relax slightly. “I dunno,” she said again with another small shrug. “It just seems like a waste. I can think of many people off the top of my head who would benefit from this money.”

 As if on queue, the shouting downstairs grew louder.

 “Like who?”

 She bit the inside of her cheek but aside from the gesture, she did not hesitate in answering. “My students,” she said simply. At the sight of his momentary confusion, she explained, “I'm a teacher and every day I have to see some of my students come to class hungry and tired from helping around the house in the absence of parents who are working long hours.” She expelled a sigh. “Or there is always the student who is forced to wear secondhand clothes and gets picked on for it. It kills me to know that all of that is because of money.” She halted her speech after that, looking down at her bare foot. Softer, she added, “It kills me I can't do anything to help.”

 It occurred to James that he still held her heel in his hand. He raised it, ready to offer it back but she opened her mouth to speak again.

 “Sorry,” she said. “I always get carried away when I talk about my students.” She looked up from her foot, giving him a small smile. “My friends hate it sometimes.”

 James shook his head briefly. “Don't apologize,” he said. “I think it's sweet. They're lucky to have a teacher that cares this much about them.”

 He meant the words. They weren't just filler statements people sometimes made when they had nothing else to say. Suddenly, he wished he could tell her just that.

 But she smiled then, a true, heartfelt smile that made his stomach swoop. “What about you?” she asked quietly, watching him so intently that he almost believed she had somehow seen his reaction.

 “Hmm?”

 She grinned, making him even more convinced she was aware of her effect. “What would you spend this kind of money on if you had it?”

 James considered this, not bringing himself to tell her that he did have that kind of money. Before she had asked the question, he had never considered it. All of the money he had made from football had gone to less than charitable exploits— cars, trips, and sometimes even girls. And even when all those things became so meaningless to him, he had never considered just giving the money to people who needed it more than him. It made all the sense in the world. He felt the worst kind of selfish for not thinking about it before she asked.

 Before he could answer, however, the shouting downstairs thundered above the music. James had a second to register that it sounded aggressive and panicked before the metal door swung open.

 Rolanda Hooch, his manager, glanced around until her hawk-like eyes landed on them.

 “There you are,” she said to James, her relief visible on her features. “We have to go.”

 The urgency in her voice made James push himself from the ledge. “Did something happen?”

 “Some idiots started a fight,” she explained in a rush.“We need to get you out of here before the police arrives and this becomes a bigger scandal.”

 But James did not move. Beside him, the redhead straightened up too. “Don't let go of the door,” he warned instead. “It'll lock behind you.”

 Hooch threw him an impatient glare. “We need to move, Potter,” she urged. “Some of the guys from the other clubs were using all kinds of drugs. We can't let you get mixed up with that now that you've made the national team. It could be disastrous.”

 Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw her head snap up to him. “National team?” she asked him. “You're a football player?”

 Hooch eyed her irritably. “You can't be serious,” she said. “He plays for Chelsea?” she prompted as though speaking to a toddler. James could see the redhead switch her eyes to the manager. “Just made the English national team? You can't tell me you didn't know who you were seducing.” Her eyes feel to his companion’s legs, as though her attire supported this claim. “No one is thick enough not to recognize him, especially when it's his party.”

 “I—what?” she said, her rising indignation stumped by bewilderment. He could feel her looking at him now.

 There was a long silence in which James could feel her eyes remain on the side of his face. He waited five full heartbeats before looking at her. Surprise was still evident on her lovely face, but her eyes searched him, as though struggling to recognize him.

 Absurdly, he hoped she would never realize who he was.

 “Potter, let’s go,” Hooch all but screeched from the doorway. “The Manchester boys brought all that coke and I don’t want you anywhere near here if they get caught.”

 The redhead’s attention snapped back to Hooch. “The Manchester team?” she asked anxiously.  “Shit,” she said before the other could give her another annoyed reply. Looking absolutely panicked by now, she started toward the door.

 James reached out for her, his fingers enclosed around her delicate wrist before he realized what he was doing. He felt a lurch in the pit of his stomach, unwilling to accept that their time together had come to a close. “Wait,” he said with urgency.

 She turned to look down at his hand. “I’ve got to go—my friend was with one of those blokes—”

 “Potter.”

 More yelling from downstairs, louder now through the open door.

 She managed to set her hand free from his hold, leaving his fingers prickling. “I have to go find her,” she said, her voice slightly louder than a whisper. With one last rueful look at him, she hurried toward the door.

 James moved with her, his feet following her as if on their own accord. There was something about her that made his impulses even more unrestrained than normal. It was magnetic. It unnerved him entirely.

 She was not making much progress, wearing only one shoe. In one swift motion, she bent down to slip it off and the difference it made was instantaneous. She was at the door and past Hooch in moments.

 “Wait,” he called again, raising the heel he still held in his hand. “Your shoe.”

 But she did not stop and James was unsure if she had hear him at all. She hurried off without a single glance back.

 James reached the door, too, determined to follow her, but Hooch placed to firm hands against his chest to stop him. “We’re going to have to get you out through the service elevator,” she was already saying. “There were a lot of paparazzi downstairs already. I’m sure they already heard about the brawl up here so they’ll be insatiable if they get a glimpse of you.”

 James was only half-listening, his eyes on the redhead’s retreating form as she hurried down the staircase. He opened his mouth to call after her but, with a sinking feeling, he realized he never even learned her name.

 He watched her disappear in the chaos of the party below, the shoe in his hand the only indication that he had not imagined her.

A/N: Eeeeep! Thank you, as always, for reading this!

 I hope to write a sequel too because I had already imagined one but this was sooo long. 

Also, for other fics, click here. 

[calamity-writes]

Glory & Gore - 02

[ part 1 ]

After a week on the ship with only limited exercise, Rahlen's whole body ached. When they'd marched the 'cargo' above decks and onto the docks, Rahlen's bad leg had flared in such a knot that he'd nearly fallen onto Hanin. He hadn't been the only one struggling, the prince had realised.

One of the Avaar men fainted in the heat mid-march through the city. His tribesmen were made to carry the unconscious man until the lot of them arrived at the main city square. A wooden platform was erected along one side of the square, while stalls selling food, clothing and more filled much of the remainder. A crowd of well dressed Tevinter men and women waited by the platform, many with servants fanning them to keep cool in the oppressive heat. 

Rahlen found himself wishing that his education on Tevinter went beyond the First Enchanter's contempt for magisters, and included geographical study so he could figure out where the hell he was. Rahlen squinted up at the bright-stone buildings around him, but something deep in his gut kept pulling his attention to the wooden platform the slavers were leading them towards.

It was a permanent fixture. In Ferelden, Orlais, this might have been a stage for travelling plays, or musicians come to entertain for solstice. Here...

It was a slave market, and the platform where slaves were auctioned off... was permanent. Rahlen felt a little ill at the realisation. There were elves in the crowd, but each wore a collar. Some gilded, some battered and heavy, but every elf in the Square was a slave.

"Take the Princeling elf and the Ferelden giant off the line," the Templar slaver said. Favus, the man's name was Favus. Rahlen had listened and learned quite a bit on the travel to here. Wherever here was. "Master Polonius has a special buyer for those two. Sell the rest as usual."

Surprised, but wary, Rahlen glanced over at the 'princeling elf'. Hanin had grown quiet over the last week, but it was a seething sort of quiet. Anger was good, it would keep the elf from giving up. And who knew, maybe the Inquisition was already riding north on Tevinter to find the heir. Maybe the Hero of Ferelden was calling on Grey Warden allies to find where her own son had disappeared to.

That sick feeling returned as Rahlen watched a guard undo Rahlen's shackles from the line of chain. Who was riding to Fenlin's rescue? Was she just gone? Disappeared into Tevinter like any of the Imperium's countless elven slaves? That wasn't right. It wasn't fair, that she'd saved his life, brought him somewhere that was supposed to be safe, and now because of him, she was somewhere in this Maker-forsaken place. Who knew if he'd be able to find her again?

But he had to. She'd saved him, he wasn't about to abandon her when she needed help in return.

"Follow me," one of the guards said. The other stood behind them, sword drawn. Rahlen nodded. He glanced at Hanin, trying to warn the elf not to try anything. As much as Rahlen wanted to break free of the Maker damned shackles and make a run for it, his leg would hardly let him do so. Better to wait, find a more opportune-

"Magister Bastards," Hanin leapt at the nearest guard, fingers glowing with the start of a spell. Rahlen winced as a clap of thunder and flash of bright light lit up Hanin's Collar. The elf fell to the cobblestone ground, his entire body flexed tight as the collar delivered it's painful shock.

"Had enough, slave?" the guard Hanin had leapt at sneered. "Get on your feet, if you can't walk, Master Polonius sees no reason to keep you and you'll get sold to the cheap fleshhouses."

The collar spat a last few sparks before it returned to it's dormant state. Rahlen held his palms up to the guard when the Tevinter man's gaze swung to him. They'd enchanted the collars then, to discharge an electric shock when the wearer tried to cast a spell. Good information to know, even if it was at Hanin's expense.

"Fuck you," Hanin spat, voice hoarse. The crowd glanced over, but already some were back to bidding on the Avaar. As though this scene was routine, not even worth a second glance.

"C'mon, let's just go see what this Polonius wants. Hopefully it's to apologize and give us access to a bath and a razor." Rahlen held out a hand to Hanin, trying not to think about how itchy his chin was. He had a week's worth of growth on his face. It was... itchy.

"Listen to your friend, elf," the guard said. "This is better than you deserve." 

Rahlen helped Hanin back to his feet, and brushed off some pebbles that had stuck to his shoulder. 

"Maybe we should do what they say?" Rahlen said, the look he gave the elf was pointed. Later, they could figure a way to undo the collars, and get away. But Right now, neither of them was in shape to put up a fight.

**

Fenlin doubled over, resting her fists against her thighs. In each hand was a dagger, blades weighted wood to build up strength. Across from her, the trainer Polonius had brought her to, sneered down at her. Tall, muscular, the Tevene woman stood at least half a foot taller than the elf did.

"What do you think, Cresca?" Polonius asked, standing in the shade, sipping on a glass of wine. 

"I think your fondness for knife ears is showing," the woman said. "But this one does know how to fight," she added reluctantly. "Though it is clear she has not had to for some time. Not successfully, at any rate." The woman looked pointedly at the scar along Fen's side, bared in the... excuse of an outfit that Polonius had given her. Mostly straps and cloth, it bared her entire torso, offering only 'strategic' hardened leather as bracers and greaves. They'd also stuck one of those damn orlesian masques on her. It only covered the top half of her face, but it made the heat worse.

"Do you think she'll be ready in time for the festival next week? I would love to have something unique to show the crowd, and perhaps impress the visiting Houses."

Fenlin listened, but kept her eyes on the woman, in case she came at her again with that damn sword and shield. 

"That's in less than a week," Cresca said, turning to look at Polonius with a frown. 

"It is, but I have some motivation arriving shortly," Polonius said. "Her friends. One needs healing before we can begin training and the other might not be suited for anything other than dying, but if she fails to impress at the festival, I'll sell both to the Seheron front."

Fenlin finally looked directly at Polonius, eyes widening. Even she knew what Seheron was. The main battleground between the Qun and Tevinter. Although smaller fronts had opened over the years, the main force, and the main bloodshed was on that blasted island.

Fenlin shook her head firmly. She straightened and tapped her fist against her chest. She would do everything she could to keep the prince and heir alive. She had somehow risked Rahlen again, failed in stopping them from being caught. It was her fault they were here, and she would find a way to get them all out. She just needed to keep them, and herself, alive.

"Fine," Cresca said, scowling. "Come at me again girl, and see if you can't actually score a hit this time."

**

Athim sat among the other gladiators in the shaded mess area, watching two humans argue about which had a better chance of fighting as the headliner in the coming festival against Athim. If he had to pick, it would have been the lighter one, slightly smaller, faster, but the crowd liked the larger one's showmanship. It would be up to Polonius and the trainers to decide.

Speaking of training, Athim sighed and leaned back against the cool limestone wall, peering at the hedge that hid his view of the main practice yard. He'd much rather be out there, practicing, but Polonius had kicked them out for the newest arrival's assessment and initial training.  

"I bet it's a Qunari, one of them Tal Vashoth," a Rivani corsair said between bites of bread. Mute, don't speak to no one." 

Rumours had started running wild when the gladiators realised that the only voices heard were Cresca's and Polonius's. The new slave, whoever they were, hadn't made a single sound. No shouting, no arguing, no grumts of pain.

"Nah, it's a golem. Control rods keep the things from talking," one of the dwarves said. The other one glared at the first, then shook her head. 

"You'd have felt the golem coming you idiot," she said. "They shake the ground when they walk."

"Oh, righ-"

The iron door to the barracks opened with a clang. Two guards dragged a struggling elf through the doorway and threw him to the ground. he'd been dressed in the same linen trousers they all wore, though his hair had been left longer than the other gladiators'. 

Athim watched as the elf shoved himself up to his feet, and tried to jump towards the guards. He received the butt of a spear to his abdomen for his attempt, and the clang of the door as the guards retreated behind it, back into the barracks.

"Not a Qunari," the Rivani said sadly. "Damnit."

Athim stood, brushing sand from his hands, and walked over to greet the new comer who was now pounding a fist on the door.

"You'll get bored of that pretty quick," Athim said, crossing his arms and leaning one shoulder against the doorjamb. "There's not much point."

The white haired elf, skin pink and angry from Tevinter's harsh sun, looked at him, blue eyes swollen and red. 

"They don't know who I am!" he said, teeth bared. "They're treating me like some kind of-"

"Slave?" Athim said with a wink. "Because you are mate, we all are." He gestured at the rest of the gladiators in the mess.  "But we're a bit luckier than the run of the mill slaves, I guess."

"I'm not a slave," Hanin said, scowling. "I'm the son of the Inquisitor."

"I'm the hero of Ferelden!" piped up one of the dwarves. 

"Aye, I'm th' prince of Starkhaven himself," the Rivani added, and the gladiators burst into laughter. 

"They don't care," Athim said, patting the elf on the shoulder kindly. "I'm Athim. Do you have an actual name? Or just go by 'the son of the inquisitor'?" 

"Hanin," the man said with a wince as Athim patted his sunburn. "Just... Hanin. I came here with another man, Rahlen, but he's hurt. They are'nt going to..." he trailed off.

Aw, Athim thought. He'd come with his lover. That was sweet.

"No, Polonius patches us up pretty well, he prefers to have us in fighting form. If your man was hurt, the Master's probably patching him up before he starts training."

Hanin looked around at the others, possibly for the first time.

"Training for what?" He asked. 

"Fighting," Athim said with a grin. "You're at a Gladiator school. Of course, you don't get to graduate, you either win enough to earn freedom or you die, but," he shrugged.

"A-" Hanin said, staring at Athim. "You die?"

"Not him," the Rivani said, walking over and clapping a hand on Athim's shoulder. "He's the star. Vints love them some elf. You, if you can fight, maybe you'll be the one to kill him, yeah?" the corsair grinned, showing off a few 'golden' teeth. 

"I know how to fight," Hanin said, squaring his shoulders. 

"Which is why you lost a fight against two guards just now, right?" Athim said with a dry laugh. "Come on, you should eat, and drink. Training's going to start this evening. Maybe your friend will be healed by then."