#finally finding someone who mirrors these ideals is so mind blowing

[henqtic]

𝘈𝘳𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦 𝘔𝘦 𝘈 𝘋𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦

pairing: draco malfoy x fem!reader 

word count: 2.3k

summary: Draco Malfoy. His name was registered in your mind as your enemy, plain and simple. A platinum blonde idiot who you’d find much more likable if he’s just shut up everyone in a while. But what would happen if your parents arranged for you both to attend the yule ball together- would some hidden feeling shine their way out? 

warnings: mentions of arranged marriages, mentions of feeling anxious, feelings of self doubt, kissing, angry love confession, crying, a little angst, please contact me if theres more !

a/n: Also this is an au where the yuleball is in seventh year and no Voldemort <3

masterlist.  // gif creds // taglist form.

When Dumbledore announced the yule ball to the school in the middle of the dinner, you were a bit excited. Excited at the idea that you’d have the chance to be asked to the dance by some nice boy and that could potentially lead to a relationship.

But being born into a family like yours, you couldn’t hope for much. Not even a week after they got the news, your mother and father made an arrangement with the Malfoy’s that you would have to attend the ball with their son Draco.

You could've sworn they had been trying to set you both up for some kind of arranged marriage. Maybe them pushing you together was a way to soften a blow when it finally happened? But still, out of any one they just had to choose him.

You had grown up with him, Draco, and if you hadn't already known— he was what you called a... bitch boy. He’d tattle about small things, throw a few temper tantrums, and cry to get his way. This is why even though your families had been so closely connected for years, centuries even— he was your enemy and nothing could change that.

That fact wasn’t hidden from your parents, not in the slightest. They saw the numerous dirty looks you’d throw at each other when you thought no one looking, not to mention the childish pulling of hairs and elbowing with shoulders.

But they also saw the good things about your relationship, how'd you do little things for each other that made a bigger impact than you thought, like it was second nature.

Like whenever another dinner party would come up where there were random families of investors, business owners or, just more snooty rich people— Draco would always make sure you were seated right next to him in the case that both of you had to show up.

It honestly wasn’t that much of a big deal from his view point. Only an idiot couldn’t tell that you found yourself uncomfortable around new people and him saving you a seat was just common decency.

And there was always little moments where they’d find you both curled into each other after one of the tense meetings you had to attend seeing as you’d be graduating soon and still had the responsibility of up keeping your family names once you were adults.

Draco would be there tenderly playing with your hands and venting. Because while he did come off as confident about everything in his life, how he had both the Malfoy and Black fortuned to fall back onto, you could tell he was still scared of the future— of growing up.

That fear is also what led to the very rushed apology he had offered to the golden trio for his past behavior. You did have to physically push him into them and he did choke up on the words of kindness that were supposed to make the apology sincere but he still did it.

They hadn't forgiven him of course, they just sort of stared like some one had cast an unforgivable curse on the boy seconds before, but at least they were now, they were civil towards each other.

And even though you did do those things for him, that didn’t stop you from not wanting to do this and neither did it stop you from impatiently waiting outside of the great hall doors.

Your dress was made out of nothing less of the finest fabrics and silks you could get your hands onto. You knew it wouldn't make a single dent into your families Gringotts account but you felt that the purchase would make some sort of statement.

“You’re five minutes late,” you seethed, watching as a head of white-blonde hair finally round the corner. His hands brushed his jacket in a smug manor, getting rid of the invisible dust particles.

It really wasn’t that much time, many other students could still be found wither waiting for their dates or just standing around to show up ‘fashionably late’.

But you knew Draco had spent those minutes staring at himself in the mirror and fixing his oh so perfect hair.

“Some of us like to look good when showing up to these things,” he sneered before eyeing you in disgust.

“Oh please, this dress cost more than the gel you have piled in your hair.” His eyes narrowed at you along with a scrunch of his nose as he offered you the junction between his folded arm to lead you down the steps.  

The night had gone pretty well so far, both of you somehow never finding the right time to leave the others side as you had planned. It seemed as if your friends had all decided to hide themselves away from you both— like they were planning something. Of course, they were.

Blaise fucking Zabini

That idiot talked Professor Flitwick into playing a slow song, one that every couple had to join in on. And while that did sound good at eye view, you had to sign a paper at the begging saying if you coming as a couple or single. And the only people who had signed single to not face embarrassment were the staff—not counting Filch and Mrs. Norris.

Was this real, you being the living cliche of dancing with your enemy?

“If you step on my shoes one more time, I’ll leave you,” he growled into your, tightening his grip on your waist. Yeah, it was.

“What do you think I’ll do? Cry?” You asked in a mocking tone, sticking out your stuck your bottom lip out in a pout to taunt him even further.

Suddenly your front was pressed up against his back— your attention had been else where. Else where being reaching the goal of getting on his last nerve so when a husky voice whispered in your ear, you were shocked.

“Oh don’t act like I haven’t made you cry before.” He turned you back around swiftly, the only thing indicating what had just happened being the proud smirk on his face.

“Says you. Weren’t you the one who cried over a guy asking me out in fifth year?” You challenged, bringing up the incident that happened two years ago.

He hadn’t cried but he might as well have and you just needed something to tick him off for the moment. Whatever he had just did caused something to happened within you, and you weren’t sure if you liked it or not yet.

It was a situation that the blonde deeply wanted to regret—George Weasley asking you out. You and Draco had been finishing up on your work in the courtyard when he had invited himself to sit in between you and Draco and then proceeded to ask you out on a date.

Draco hadn't given you the chance to answer, a new found jealously fueling him to gather both of your things and drag you away from the scene.

He knew the chances were slim that you would reject the boy, and deep down tucked inside of him, Draco knew that the Weasleys were better than him— in some aspects.

Over the years Draco had found himself growing into a separate person from his parents, a person who had could think on their own and didn’t have to rely solely on his parents' truths.

And through that process, he realized that maybe his ideals were not the best out there. Including the way he treated many of his pears even if he was too proud to say it out loud.

That being said, he always stayed up wondering while you stayed. Why’d you even stick with him in the first place. And that’s what Brough him to find out his second greatest fear, loosing you.

Yes, you were insufferable at times, but you were still you. Someone that he liked having around and talking too. And someone that listened to him even if it was something as stupid as why gingers exist and why they shouldn't.

Yes that was an actual conversation that you had. In conclusion, you were a person he loved. But he never did think to tell you that because, why risk losing you over something that was most likely unrequited.

“I was protecting your future y/n. Would you like for your children to come out as gingers,” he spat as if what he had just made complete sense.

“Draco I was fifteen and he was sixteen at the time and we barely ever talked before that because you were always bad-mouthing his family.”

Now that you think of it, he had always been this way about you and boys. It was an ongoing thing where it didn't matter what blood type, what house, which people they associated themselves with, they were always ‘below you and you could find better’.

“Why do you always meddle in my relationships?” You were irritated. Maybe it was the close proximity of your bodies or maybe it was how oblivious he was.

“Meddle? You’ve never even been in a relationship,” he snorted making your point clearer than day.

“Exactly. Why are you so jealous of me wanting to break out of whatever shell we have enclosed over each other? What if I want to branch out and you know, talk to new people?”

Ouch.

It didn’t hurt that you considered him to be somewhat of an enemy, it was your thing—but you didn’t even consider him to be a friend?

“Alright then when about Pansy? I tried to break out of our ‘shell’ as you call it when I started talking to her.”

“Parkinson was not good for you then and now even more. We both know that.”

You weren’t a person who used the word hate. In most times it was used out of anger and would be regretted later on. But Pansy Parkinson? She was very deserving of the title of someone that you hated.

Commenting on someone else’s hair when she had been walking around with a bowl cut for the last last five years? It didn’t make sense to you how she always found a way to put her input in places where it truly wasn’t needed.

“Yeah alright. Then who is good enough for me y/n?”

“Oh I don’t know me,” you mumbled under your breath not expecting him to hear it— but he did.

That’s how you found yourself once again getting dragged away. But this time it was form the great hall to a more private place where none of the ears of Hogwarts could hear you both.

“What do you mean you’re good enough for me?” He asked with more disgust in his tone than wanted, and it crushed you.

You scoffed before going on, “Well I’ve known you since we were in diapers. Would it be so horrible to consider me good enough for you?” You asked watching as some emotion flickered past his eyes.

“I mean I know so many dumb things about you like how you hate the feeling of those sweaters that your mother always buys you and you turn them inside out. And then when she ask if you're wearing them you aren't lying to her face. Do you know how cute that is, that you don’t even harbor the ability to lie to your mum about something as small as that?”

Cute?

“And don’t get me started on how your favorite food is not that ridiculously priced stake that you try convincing people- even me. I know that it’s that tomato soup that your mum makes when you’re sick because it reminds you of being a kid. And guess what? I don’t even let the house elves make it for you when I say that they do—”

“Then who does y/n?” He asked softly while slowly bringing you to be trapped between his arms by one of the thick walls. He always had the suspicion be never thought you’d actually—

“Well I uh- I do it myself because I want it to have the same feeling of home as it always does and I sort of asked your mum the exact details on how to cook it like she does,” you explained peering up to look into his eyes.

“You hate the smell of tomatoes,” he said with a light laugh, it wasn’t out of amusement but pure adoration. Never did he think that you’d actually do that for him— of course, you were there when he was sick but it was more of making fun of his ‘weak immune system’ and throwing tissues at him.

“Well I love you more and don’t pretend like you don’t slip those house elves thank you letter—” You were once again cut off but instead it was by his hand reaching the side of your jaw to look up at him fully.

“Repeat that,” he whispered with a small smirk.

oh no

Tears started to cloud your vision, the realization hitting that you had may just ruin your relationship with your childhood- enemy- friend- frenemy?

“Don’t cry I’m not- I’m not mad at you. I’m happy, unbelievably so. I just need you to repeat exactly what you just said to me,” he said moving both hands to cup your face giving his thumbs access to wipe the liquid from under your eyes.

“I love you Draco and I’m sorry that I ruined this. We could honestly just forget it if you’d like.”

“I don’t want to forget anything. Would it be a surprise if I told you that I loved you back and that I have for a long time?”

Your eyebrows raised in surprise. Was he serious, or was this some sort of sick joke?

Noticing the worries floating around in your head, he gave you a look, one that wordlessly asked that if the next move he was going to make was the right one and that you would both be fine after.

And it was

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[anncanta]

Veduta of Venice

Fandom: Dracula (2020)

Characters: Count Dracula, Zoe Van Helsing, Agatha Van Helsing

Relationship: Dracula/Zoe Van Helsing, Dracula/Agatha Van Helsing

Rating: Explicit

Veduta (Italian veduta - seen, view, picture, point of view) is a genre of Western European painting and graphics, especially popular in Venice of the 18th century.

@alma37 @hopipollahorror @ravenathantum @flutteringphalanges @ladyhaley28​ @dragatha @khyruma​

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Or read below

The hotel was damp and cold, but the view was magnificent. Rising from the chair, Zoe wrapped herself tighter in a wide woolen scarf and went out onto a tiny balcony made of openwork stone.

As far as the eye could see, there was water ahead – pinkish, blue, green. Zoe had never seen so much water before. The water has never been so close. Leaning over the balcony railing, Zoe stared down at the low waves intersecting at odd angles.

Such a strange city. When she bought a tour at the agency, she was offered a choice – Verona or Venice. Zoe rejected Verona at once. And she looked at the glamorous, deliberately beautiful photos of Venice for a long time as if looking for something – either a crack in the ideal porcelain world captured on the image or ugly everyday flaws. In the end, she decided – she has nothing to lose.

The flight never seemed to end. The large iron bird seemed to hang in the sky forever, spreading its immovable wings and holding the half-asleep Zoe either in its paws or in a steel silver beak. When, to her surprise, the bird let her go, Zoe still had to get from mainland Italy deep into the archipelago. So she arrived at the hotel completely exhausted.

She burst into a spacious room that smelled of rain and prickly nights, dropped her suitcase on the floor, and stretched out on an obscenely wide bed.

And when she woke up, the sun, mother-of-pearl gray skies, and water looked out of her windows.

Zoe wasn't going to take a vacation. She worked hard and monotonously, with stubborn, dull dedication, unlike many of her workaholic colleagues – not for the sake of her own reputation and career, and not at all for show. The fact is that there was really nothing more in her life.

Zoe didn’t realize it right away. She just worked, day after day, not even always overtime. Like everyone else, she played bowling on Thursdays and had fun in pubs on Fridays. But when her friends and colleagues hurried home to their families at the end of a stormy evening Zoe, starting her old Renault, every time fought the temptation to return to the laboratory.

This went on for a long time. Months. Years. Until one day, on the eve of her fortieth birthday, Zoe realized that the desire to go back to work after a party with friends was her only temptation.

For some reason, this understanding frightened her so much that the next morning she was already sitting in the office of the head of the medical research center in which she worked, with an application for a vacation, and a week later – on a plane on her way to Italy.

Zoe straightened and looked at the bright scarlet sun sinking into the bay. Self-pity is not the best feeling to approach the second half of your life, she thought. Well, in general, she had nothing to feel sorry for herself. She was lonely – but she always had more or less enough of her own company, with the rare addition of a friend or two to chat with over the weekend. She did not have an impressive career – although many of her colleagues at the center, who discussed at tea the young doctor, who had managed to make several breakthrough discoveries by the age of thirty-five, could argue with this. Success in science is an unpopular success. Nothing to brag about. Zoe chuckled out of the corner of her mouth. And she had absolutely no idea what to do next, and for that matter – why all this was needed.

On the other hand, why not?

Would she have died of some kind of blood cancer, she would have made a sort of a romantic heroine, Zoe thought irritably as she closed the balcony.

At the foot of the building, somewhere far, far away, muddy water was rustling and foaming.

***

Zoe bought a complete tour, which included a full package of services, so she did not choose a hotel. Maybe if she did, she would spend time looking for something more comfortable and not so boring, she mused as she walked down to the restaurant for lunch. During the week and a half that Zoe spent here, nothing happened in the hotel that could conditionally pass for entertainment. Don't consider the other guests as such, she chuckled mentally. On the stairs and in the corridors, there were mostly gloomy gray-haired couples and girls of dubious appearance. Sometimes a jazz band played in the lobby in the evenings.

There wasn`t a soul to be seen in the bright and quiet hall – except for a tall man in black, sitting in the far corner at the piano. Leaning over the keyboard, the man absentmindedly fingered the keys, pulling out the notes one at a time. Zoe smiled at the metaphor that crossed her mind and turned around and headed there instead of the restaurant.

In the niche in which the piano was hidden, only one small lamp burned, giving a soft yellow-orange light. Falling obliquely on the keyboard and the lid, it snatched out of the half-light a man's back and shoulder, tightened in a classic black suit, the outlines of the profile and hands with large fingers.

Approaching, Zoe leaned on the piano and for a while, just stood listening to the music. Now, being near, she could finally understand what was wrong with this music – the stranger played skillfully and cleanly, but the melody, its very fabric, seemed... vulnerable and fragile as if the pianist was painfully remembering it or composing it on the go. Zoe watched as his hands gently touch the keys as if asking about something – and finding no answer.

‘You haven't played for a long time,’ she said softly.

‘Very long,’ he raised his head. For a moment, his face – beautiful, pale, with dark eyes and well-defined lips – remained relaxed. Then he brushed aside a straight strand of black hair that had fallen on his forehead and looked at Zoe. And then a strange expression appeared in his gaze – bewildered, amazed... looking. This happens with those who have met someone whom they have long lost hope of seeing. Zoe could bet that he was about to say something, but at the last moment, he resisted. He turned away again and continued to play.

‘My… teacher was pretty good,’ an ironic note slipped through his low voice, ‘but I'm afraid I’m lacking in practice. What do you think?’ The stranger again raised his eyes to Zoe.

‘I like your manner,’ she said carefully. ‘Have you just arrived?’ she asked for some unknown reason.

‘Yes, yesterday,’ said the man. ‘Always wanted to go to Venice,’ he added slowly. ‘To this... city of dreams.’

Zoe smiled involuntarily. Looking at his hands, which were still on the keyboard, she suddenly imagined with amazing clarity how fingers stroking the keys touch her skin. Imagined how they touch her neck, shoulders, pass along the shoulder blades, move to the waist, barely noticeable, but confidently increasing the pressure. Turning away, Zoe blinked.

The momentary rush of embarrassment, however, disappeared as quickly as it had arisen. What are you here for, Zoe, she asked herself. Not to sit in the room in the evenings with a glass of Tokaj and picture suffering, are you? Take a look at this piece of masculine beauty and make the most of what he promises. If he promises, of course.

‘ – at dinner tonight?’ Zoe woke up and looked at her interlocutor. Judging by his look, he was perfectly aware of what she was thinking and did not seem to mind. ‘If I understood correctly, there will be dances after dinner.’

Zoe nodded.

‘It's always like this here on Fridays. If you're looking for entertainment, there is hardly a better case,’ she said, looking him in the eye. ‘The season has just ended.’

The man silently shook his head.

‘I’ll come,’ he answered, standing up. He bowed graciously, intending to leave, and suddenly turned around. ‘What is your name?’

Again this strange seeking expression, a poignant mixture of despair and hope. And mockery – not at her, at himself.

‘Zoe Van Helsing,’ she said. Amazement flashed in his dark eyes but then disappeared.

‘Count Dracula,’ he said, shaking her outstretched hand. ‘See you at dinner, Zoe Van Helsing.’

***

For the upcoming evening, Zoe prepared carefully. After scrapping several spectacularly low-cut dresses, she settled on blue jeans and a light blue blouse. ‘If he is a real Count,’ her pride chuckled, ‘you will hardly be able to surprise him.’ Well, she didn't intend to.

‘I want to have a good time,’ Zoe muttered, glancing at herself in the mirror of an antique carved dressing table. She washed off the mascara from her eyelashes, which she diligently dyed five minutes ago, then, after short thinking, wiped a thin layer of lipstick from her lips. Zoe used makeup a little and only on special occasions, but it was not a lack of habit or awkwardness that made her get rid of it now. She could not explain to herself why, but she was sure that the best choice for meeting the Count was naturalness.

The hotel restaurant was unusually full: probably dancing inspired not only her, moving to one of the few free tables – at the exit to the terrace – Zoe thought. Sitting at the table and ordering a glass of Chianti, she turned her face to the light wind blowing from the ajar doors.

The bay shone in shades of blue, pink, and dove. Small waves broke up, catching the lighted lanterns. Zoe heard how music was born and tried its power in the hall. The wind became a little cooler. The waiter brought her Chianti.

She could have sat like that all evening, Zoe thought after the third or fifth sip. The music became louder and a little braver. Zoe decided that she might need more wine.

‘You promised me a dance.’

‘When did I?’ Zoe turned around.

Pause.

‘One hundred twenty-three years ago.’

She chuckled.

‘What a precision. And what a tactlessness!’

‘I beg your pardon?’

He was dressed in the same classic black suit as when they first met, and just like when they first met, she wanted this suit off him immediately. Zoe nodded to his questioning glance in the direction of the chair opposite and said, putting down her glass:

‘You just hinted at my age?’

‘No way,’ Dracula responded with mock horror. His eyes flashed with a mixture of irony and melancholy. ‘Never mind, this is... a personal joke.’

The orchestra fell silent behind them. One by one, the instruments stopped playing, as if they were disappearing into the shadows, yielding to the only remaining violin.

Zoe finished her wine. She felt like crying. Determination and frivolity vanished, and anger with herself remained.

‘I –’ she began, but Dracula interrupted her.

‘You promised me a dance.’

She watched him get up and walk over to her. Taking his hand, she rose and allowed him to lead her to a small dance floor in the opposite corner. She saw him making a sign to the musicians, heard the first chords sounded, then he pulled her to him and velvetly ran his hand along her back.

Everything floated somewhere: Venice, the damp smell of canals, a shade of raw plaster, which seemed to cover everything and everyone in this city, a draft coming from everywhere; pink-blue sky. Closed, sharply defined lips and dark, demanding eyes.

Music came from somewhere with dry clicks, crumbling on them beat by beat and measuring their steps. Piano – thunderstorm, monotonous rain, wet asphalt, water on San Marco. Pigeons flutter out from under her feet. Fractional flashes of droplets gather in puddles, a violin steps carefully over them, creeps in, displaces other sounds, and again remains alone. Freezes, kissing her forehead. And everything freezes with it.

...They took the elevator for ages. Squeezing his hand, Zoe watched the numbers change on the scoreboard on the wall. When the number three finally lit upon it, it seemed to her: a little more, and she simply could not stand it. They got to the room, and holding the key card to the door, she was surprised – it does not open until it dawned on her: not her suit. The door opened, closed behind her. Zoe leaned back on it, lifted her head.

Dracula leaned over to her and took her face in his hands. Zoe stood silently, motionless. Closing her eyes, she held her breath, feeling the touch of his lips, then – the tongue. Snuggling up to him, she grabbed him by the neck. He ran his hands over her body, finding, squeezed the nipples through the fabric. He pulled her blouse from the belt and ducked under it with his palm. Exactly how she fantasized... a long time ago... yes, this... afternoon. Twitching impatiently, Zoe swung her hips, her jeans button digging into his stomach. He pulled away, turning her, pressed her to the door again, tore off the button, zipper, and put his hand into her panties. Zoe buried her forehead against the door with a groan. His fingers caressed her harshly and roughly, without ceremony, tormenting her, not allowing her to escape. Zoe finished, breathing out a soundless scream.

Grasping her from behind, Dracula waited until she calmed down, turned her around, ran his fingers over her cheeks, erasing the lines of tears. He pulled her into the room, along with him, to the bed.

Lying on her back, Zoe listened to the disturbed world rebuilding within her body. She smiled at Dracula, who had time to put his clothes somewhere and bent over her. Now his touch was gentle, fleetingly teasing as if he was asking for forgiveness for the recent explosion. Zoe lifted herself up and slid into his arms – and gasped as he rolled onto his back, swapping them.

Zoe loved sex and found partners easily. Many of them were passionate and skillful. But she never really wanted to be on top. She shifted in embarrassment. She wasn't even sure she understood how...

She did not have time to think out the thought: grabbing her by the waist, Dracula slowly lowered her onto himself. And it was so good and... accurately, that Zoe bit her lip with acute pleasure. Dracula waited a couple more moments, lifted her, froze. Zoe frowned in bewilderment. He smiled and moved his hips. Once, twice. The third – slower, then faster, and in the same order – again. Arching, she trembled – and when his fingers found her clitoris, everything became unimportant, there were only moans and sighs in the darkness.

…

‘Would you like some coffee?’ Zoe asked. Dracula, hugging her with both arms and absentmindedly running his fingers over her stomach, shook his head.

‘I don’t drink... coffee,’ he replied, and there was distant anxiety in his voice. Zoe nodded nonchalantly as she climbed out of bed, wrapped her dressing gown, and walked over to the table.

‘It's cold,’ she said, looking into the coffee pot. Well, the coffee was brought in yesterday. She turned to Dracula, who was sitting on the bed. He was disheveled and looked at her in a strange way. ‘I'll order a new one.’ Stepping to the balcony, Zoe opened the glass door and breathed in the morning air.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Dracula get up and approach her.

The sky was still gray, but somewhere in the distance birds were already awakening. Zoe turned to Dracula – and froze, bumping into a sharp, focused gaze.

He stood naked in front of her, and there was something very familiar about it – not because of last night, but different.

‘Sorry.’

He grabbed her with lightning speed, so that she did not have time to recoil or cry out, hugged her again – and something happened.

Zoe felt herself trembling and swaying, slipping and falling into an unknown direction. Everything blurred, and before her eyes flashed pictures – an iron grate, a torch thrown to the ground, the smell of burnt wool, a nun's dress, and blood. Swaying, salty air, captain at the helm, shouts, shadows on the deck, and another fire. An explosion, the smell of fresh gunpowder tickling her nostrils, a man's face distorted by rage bending over her.

Agatha recoiled, gasping for air, and finally screamed when she realized what he was doing.

‘Agatha, it`s over!’ Reality fell on her and struck from all sides at once, stunning. ‘That's all, Agatha!’ Dracula hugged her, holding her. She struggled, trembling, bursting into sobs. ‘Sorry,’ he repeated when she was exhausted and quieted down. ‘Sorry, I had to make sure.’

He let her go, and she, moving away, climbed onto the bed, huddled like a wounded animal. She wrapped herself tighter in her dressing gown, which miraculously still remained on her. She leaned back on the pillow and cried softly. Dracula silently sat down on the other side of the bed.

‘You survived,’ Agatha said without looking at him.

‘I did,’ said Dracula. ‘I just slept for a hundred and twenty years. Then I woke up and saw around... all this. But I liked it, you know.’

Agatha didn't answer. She didn't want details. She wanted to close her eyes and not open them for another hundred years.

‘How many have you eaten?’ she said dismissively.

‘Agatha, you worked at the research medical center,’ Dracula's voice sounded annoyed. ‘Do you know who the donors are? These are special people who donate blood, eggs, and sperm.’ He paused. ‘And there is Tinder, besides.’

Agatha felt her head begin to throb heavily.

‘How is this possible?’ she asked hoarsely. Turning, she looked at Dracula. Dracula didn't answer. ‘It’s the twenty-seventh of October two thousand and twenty,’ Agatha said with an effort. ‘I ate toast for breakfast. My blood type is the first negative. I don't like grapes and I love bananas. Last year I went to Islamabad. I remember the life of Zoe Van Helsing!’ she shouted; her voice rang out again.

Dracula was silent, and somehow that silence helped calm the storm that was raging inside her. Agatha looked around the room, looked at the bed, and at Dracula. She breathed in without a sound. Her body was still agitated, still keenly aware of what they were doing together. How could she do this – with him?

‘You remember the life of Zoe Van Helsing because you were her,’ she heard Dracula's voice. Agatha looked at him incredulously. ‘Her life was real. From the very first day. And at the same time, from the very first day, it was you.’

Getting up, Agatha walked to the balcony and leaned against the glass of the door. She frowned at Dracula.

‘It is believed that reincarnation,’ he said, ‘is always a new personality. In rebirth, a person begins a completely different life. And in most cases, apparently, it is. But it happens... it happens very rarely that the former personality turns out to be so strong that it displaces or does not let the new one in, and a conflict arises between them. I heard about this maybe two hundred years ago from some Arab doctor.

Agatha listened in silence.

‘The problem is,’ Dracula continued, ‘that two consciousnesses cannot get along in one human body. Such a split cannot last forever.’ He made a pause. ‘Have you ever been diagnosed with... what is it called now... cancer?’

‘Some years ago. I was in the hospital. Suspicion of leukemia,’ Agatha said in surprise. ‘Not confirmed. Zoe... I've seen the tests. But Z... I'm not an oncologist. I figured it was just a mistake. Someone confused the tubes.’

Dracula stared at her wordlessly.

‘Now, yes, that's a mistake,’ he said and stood up. In the split second after his words, something changed in his face and gaze, and in the room. Standing in place, Agatha watched him approach, stretches out his hands to her, opens her dressing gown. Already when he is very close, holding her between himself and the glass, raises her hips, and enters, she remembers that he is still naked.

Looking into her eyes, he pushes into her body, hard, rough, and deep. She has nowhere to go, not to hide, she should be disgusted and ashamed, she should be hurt, in the end, but she only moans and, shuddering, leans back.

The despair in his movements melts, smears out, he gets out of her, carries her to the bed. He enters again, leaning on his hands, continues, at the only point in contact with her. Agatha cums from this alone, and sweet spasms are still poured in her – while he lets her go, while he searches for his things, finds them, while dresses and, buttoned-up, walks to the door.

Agatha is unable to move, she feels at the same time heavy and light, but her thoughts and feelings are more clear than ever. She turns and holds out her hand.

‘Don't go.’

[letterboxd]

A Cinematic Outcoming.

From Istanbul to Chicago, and C.R.A.Z.Y. to Spirited Away, Letterboxd member, writer and film programmer Emre Eminoğlu explores the films that drove his gay awakening.

“I see it as my duty to never shut up about how representation matters.” —Emre Eminoğlu

I was one of the luckiest ones, yet I had no idea how lucky I was. Growing up in Istanbul, Turkey, a predominantly patriarchal, conservative and homophobic society, my luck was being born into an open-minded, secular and loving family.

In this bubble, I was isolated from the struggles of the majority of my people. I was not bullied at school by my peers, I was not forced into being someone else by my family. Yet I still had that voice in my head. As soon as I realized something could be different with me, I became my own bully and forcefully adopted a fictional persona: ‘exceptionally normal’.

Coming out was hard, but coming out to myself was harder. Although I was perfectly aware of my sexual identity, I could not come to terms with the possibility of being ‘abnormal’. Cue cinema. Watching films was a way of escape for high-school Emre—it still is—and it was inevitable that I would come across some LGBTQ+ films. I was not consciously in search of a ‘truth’ about myself but I started seeing my reflection in them, as they slowly disarmed the bully I involuntarily created.

Twenty years later, now, as a 34-year-old gay man professionally writing on cinema and television, I see it as my duty to never shut up about how representation matters. Streaming LGBTQ+ shows on various platforms, seeing widely released, mainstream LGBTQ+ films, listening to the music of openly LGBTQ+ stars, and hearing words of wisdom like “If you can’t love yourself, how in the hell you gonna love somebody else?”, I am confident that the personal, inner bully that I created twenty years ago would not survive a week in today’s world.

‘C.R.A.Z.Y.’ (2005)

Jean-Marc Vallée’s C.R.A.Z.Y. (2005) was definitely not the first LGBTQ+ film I ever watched, but it was an invaluable juncture in my life. It was a hot summer in Istanbul, freshman year of college was over. One of my best friends, who had been accompanying me through most of my cinematic discoveries, told me about a French-Canadian film with this guy on the film poster with David Bowie makeup on his face. We headed to an independent theater in Kadıköy to see it.

Zachary Beaulieu was different. As the lone gay son in a family of five boys, he too was forcefully adopting a fictional persona, and his way of escape was music. He was constantly worried about how to be worthy of his parents’ love, how to realize their ideals of him, and how his difference and truth contradicted all of that. Zac’s 1960s basically mirrored my story in the 2000s. I perfectly muted the life-changing enlightenment I was going through and did not vocalize my inner screams.

In two hours, C.R.A.Z.Y. helped me realize my true self and admit my sexual identity after all those years. It was a personal threshold I had been longing to cross… but there was still a lot to go through.

‘Les Amours Imaginaires’ (Heartbeats, 2010)

Liking someone, falling for someone, being loved, dating someone, sex, refusals, misinterpretations, heartbreaks, break-ups, bad sex. On the other side of the closet, I was being introduced to new, sometimes euphoric, sometimes gut-wrenching experiences. But coming out to my friends was still a challenge. I was feeling so lonely keeping all these wonderful and horrible experiences in my chest.

But I was not alone: LGBTQ+ films were my life’s understudy. The same heartbreaks, worries, and disappointments I was going through were right there on the silver screen. I took note as two best friends, Francis and Marie, fall for the same guy and navigate their friendship in Xavier Dolan’s Les Amours Imaginaires (Heartbeats, 2010). I studied how a popular student, Jarle, falls for the new guy in school, but cannot risk his reputation to be with him in Stian Kristiansen’s Mannen som Elsket Yngve (The Man Who Loved Yngve, 2008) and I watched as close friends Tobi and Achim become lovers, until one’s need to keep everything secret threatens to destroy the relationship in Marco Kreuzpaintner’s Sommersturm (Summer Storm, 2004).

Things were not always accessible via online platforms and the internet, so film festivals were often the only chance to see the latest independent and queer films. Two of the biggest film festivals in Istanbul, thankfully, had LGBTQ+-focused sections; !f’s Gökkuşağı (Rainbow) and Istanbul Film Festival’s Nerdesin aşkım? (Where are you, my love?) felt like home.

‘Tomboy’ (2011)

Being the lone avid cinephile among my friends, I was used to seeing half of my festival picks alone. Even before coming out to myself, my hopes for a romantic relationship included, among other things, having a festival partner. When I, fortunately, found the one, I was delighted to have also found the perfect festival partner. Shortly after our first month together, the first film we saw at a film festival was Céline Sciamma’s Tomboy (2011).

Although I was a 24 year old cis man, I was more than able to empathize with the title character, a ten-year-old trans boy. With his family unaware of his true identity, Mickaël experiences the liberation of a fresh start when ‘mistaken’ for a boy after they move to a new neighborhood—finally able to introduce himself as Mickaël, not Laure.

Changing my career path, a new job in the creative industry, and a stable relationship had similar effects on me. I was still not completely out to my parents, or some of my friends, schoolmates, and acquaintances from my past, but I was freed of the obligation to explain anything to my new friends or colleagues. I would proudly introduce them to my boyfriend, or simply correct people by saying I was attracted to men during a conversation. The perfect festival partner turned out to be a perfect partner as well—over the past ten years, he has helped me grow and be proud of myself.

‘Weekend’ (2011)

We moved in together in the fifth year of our relationship. Right above our bed hangs a poster of Andrew Haigh’s Weekend (2011). At the time we saw it, it was just another film that we watched together and liked—no significance, no symbolism. It is the story of two young men, Russell and Glen, who are fascinated by the connection they find between each other, and are surprised how their one-night-stand evolved into the perfect weekend. When Glen reveals that he will be leaving for another country the very next day, it only makes their connection stronger, and their time together more precious. Being a timid and socially anxious person, none of my romantic relationships or my friendships had formed this organically. Even my first date with my partner was a disaster. We built what we have now over time, slowly and patiently. I did not believe in ‘weekends’.

And yet, one summer night, we met a guy on Grindr, as we occasionally did. What we thought was just another one night stand was in fact a transformative experience for us both. Intense conversation, a triple connection, the drinks we enjoyed instead of hurrying to bed, and the passionate sex turned that casual one-night-stand into a magical reality for us. We realized that we still had feelings and instincts to discover in ourselves and in each other. Over a week-long, unexpected, unpredictable polyamorous fling, we learned to act as one instead of two—only to find out that he was leaving for another country the very next week. This was our ‘weekend’.

‘Hamam’ (Steam: The Turkish Bath, 1997)

Thinking how LGBTQ+ films of other cultures and languages had played a significant role in some precious, threshold-crossing moments of my life, it was alienating not being able to feel embraced and represented openly in Turkish cinema. There were certainly multiple Turkish LGBTQ+ films or characters, but they were in films addressing more urgent issues—right to live, violence against LGBTQ+ individuals, honor murders, trans murders—rather than the nuanced experience of queer love.

Although I discovered it years after it was released, Italian-Turkish director Ferzan Özpetek’s Hamam (Steam: The Turkish Bath, 1997) was a mind-blowing experience for me. The relationship, and the sexual tension, between Francesco, the Italian heir to a building with a Turkish bath in it, and Mehmet, the young son of the family managing the compound, felt much closer to my story and my cultural, familial identity.

Aşk, Büyü vs. (Love, Spells and All That, 2019)

Today, I am glad to see more and more filmmakers finding the courage to maintain the LGBTQ+ narrative in Turkish cinema, despite the oppressive, intolerant and exclusionary policies. Some are telling the youthful, urban stories I was longing for at the time: In Leyla Yılmaz’s Bilmemek (Not Knowing, 2019), Umut, a high-school athlete from a middle-class family in Istanbul, is bullied by his so-called modern and open-minded teammates after not replying to a query about whether he is gay or not. In Ümit Ünal’s Aşk, Büyü vs. (Love, Spells and All That, 2019), Eren and Reyhan, two adult women reunite in the magical atmosphere of The Princes’ Islands on the Istanbul coast, decades after they were forcefully separated by their parents.

The story of me coming out to myself all started with an urge to escape reality through cinema, and on the way, I found films that gave meaning to my muddled existence. When I saw Levan Akin’s And Then We Danced (2019), I smiled as I noticed the Spirited Away poster in Merab’s room; this minor detail another reminder that I was not alone. Merab, a gay dancer who is part of a very traditional and conservative Georgian dance company, was dealing with similar challenges in his life. He was trying to discover his true identity in a society that does not celebrate being different. He was too, finding an escape in cinema.

Coming out was hard. It still is. A recent Instagram post by the 27-year-old actor Connor Jessup, who came out as gay two years ago, reminded me coming out is not a single moment, but a never-ending process, a ‘becoming’. He writes, “When I first came out, a friend wrote to me and said, ‘Now you can really start coming out.’ Start? I thought. I just did it. But he was right. […] I’m going to keep trying. I’m going to keep looking.”

I keep trying, and looking. Learning about myself, my identity, my relationship. And LGBTQ+ films keep helping and inspiring me, just as they did in my journey to accept myself and become the person I am today. This is the power of cinema; unconsciously, you see your past, actuality and possibilities through the stories filmmakers tell. And I am so grateful to these filmmakers.

Related content

The Ten Greatest Turkish Films of All Time, according to the Turkish Film Critics’ Association

Emre’s Favorite LGBTQ+ Films: a personal top 50

Queer Films in Turkish Cinema—a list by Atakan

The Top 100 Turkish Movies of the 21st Century: Emre’s personal favorites

[cargopantsman]

Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here

Trigger warnings: All of them, because I am lazy. Also none of this is sensical.

Utter, hyper-caffeinated brain noise.

The problem with the concept of a "sense of self" is it already tries to concretize an amorphous abstract. It makes us want to point at some thing and say "Well... that's me." Whether it is a set of ideals that we try to live by, a set of activities that brings us a sense of joy or fulfillment, or, gods forbid, and entirely different and other person that "completes us."

I've always had an affinity for trickster figures and shapeshifters. The wearers of masks, the truthful liars, the artisans of duality, yada, yada. Since I was a child my first instinct has always been to blend in. If into the background, great, but if need be, if I needed to blend into the social fabric around me, I could do that too. To throw this into the high school backdrop; I wasn't a social butterfly, I was shy as could be, but I got along with the jocks, the goths, the nerds, the art freaks, the band kids, the preps, the whatever. Where ever I was I could fake that I belonged there. I was comfortable drifting in between worlds. (Looking back, I could have caused a lot more chaos with the information I was privy to at the time...[Oh, there's a constant point. I'm good at keeping secrets, keeping confidence. I'll lie my ass off to keep a secret.]) Does any of that really help drive a sense of self though? When your natural instinct is to mirror, to blend, to fade? When your point of pride is walking into a room unnoticed and, even better, leaving a party unseen? Does being a ghost count as an identity?

"Expression of Will" comes to mind... what does that mean? Ok, so some abstract thing is inside of you and you manifest it objectly outwardly. I was an artist. I made images in my head and "kind of" manifest them on paper. Some times people see that paper...  I was a writer... images in my head "became" words and some people saw that. I combined them into comics. Some people Saw that. Is that a lasting affect? Maybe the fights I've been into?! That time in 2nd grade someone was picking on a friend and I laid them out... the time in 8th grade someone was picking on me and clocked them down. Or in high school when someone decided to start some rumors and I held them up by their throat in the air until they turned blue? That was an inward thing that manifested outwardly. Nevermind good or bad, but was any of that... me?

Hmm. The beast. The primal... come back to that later.

"Expression of Will," "Expression of Will," "Expression of Will" ... What the fuck even is "Will"? Is this why philosophers get their heads so far up their ass? Is it a desire? The will to live.... living requires eating and the amount of times I forget to even do that... Maybe been looking at the phrase all wrong...

Will to Live (noun) It isn't a thing.

Will (verb) to (preposition) Live (verb)

Why does that sound better?

Desire to Live (noun)

Desire (verb) to (preposition) Live (verb)

Okay, that feels better even, but still... Sense of self, will, desire, expressions thereof. Are these just the aimless desires and wills? The fleeting flights of frivolous fancies festering forlornly in frontal cortices?

The self with the will can direct the desires towards living. "Get in the fucking robot Shinji!" "I don't wanna"

The (ghost) with the (strength) can direct the (impulses) towards (being). Getting too close to a concept of a soul on that one huh?

Forget self. It's a useless moniker right now. There is no self. It's just this mind alone for the first time in its entire life. (Not alone alone, there are friends, but they've learned more about me in the past two weeks than the past 6 years so...) "What did they learn?" asked the projection of self that defines itself by interactions with other.

I thought we were forgetting self.... not an option really. Sentience is a bitch like that. But they've learned I'll put up with a lot of bullshit under the guise of strength and integrity when I should've callously called this whole thing ages ago. That I can shut myself down completely in the interest of bodily-self preservation. (Not Self-self preservation, fuck the English language). What did I sacrifice? What did I shut down?

Everything.

That is less than helpful.

The Beast. Vince. Your Shadow.

My Shadow...

What do you desire?

Blood in the cut, tears in their eyes, power over someone that wants that power over them...

Do you want that? I don't want it, I just need it. No... I want it.

Is that all you are? A sadist? An animal?

Maybe... probably not though. A caretaker, and a sparring partner. A trickster and a shapeshifter. A crafter whose tools are destruction.

Next problem, grandeur. Mythologizing everything. But how to see a thing if you don't blow it up/magnify it?

You lack a sense of self because no one ever tested your sense of self. No one actually fought you for who you are. To find out who you are. The ex didn't. An old friend did until she got scared by what she found there.

You don't want to be yourself because it's not nice is it? You were raised to be nice.

College. I controlled the group. Never hit anyone after high school aside from set matches in classes or sparring for funsies. They all saw my eyes and stopped if they were getting out of hand.

The Dom-Friend.

Don't use the d-word on me.

Destroyer? Yeah, that one's fine. That one fits. He says as he carelessly tosses lit matches around his entire life. Can we bring up the phoenix or is that too grandiose? Why shouldn't it be grandiose? We spend every day of our lives going through the same kind of tedious bullshit all the time why not make our inner lives a bit bigger, a bit richer?

A bit darker.

Why do you want them to bleed? Hurt and comfort. That's a big theme, a trope if you will. Why not have both at the same? Why not let her think that I'm about to kill her but let her rest in the trust that I won't? Why not let me think that I'm about to break her while believing she is the most precious thing in the world?

Caretaker. A caretaker kills all the time. Tearing out weeds, uprooting the prized plant to move it to a better place for its growth.

Growth.

The self isn't going to be found just in ones self... not in another either. No, the self has to be found in everything. The things one wants to run to and run from. The soul (oops) is formed by what it crashes into right? The mind recoils from traumas races towards panaceas, why not, if one can, flip the polarity on the two. Bring the darkness screaming into the light so you can see it, bring the light quivering into the darkness so it can loose its terrifying brillance. Balance in all things right?

You're not a very positive person, they say. No... I'm not. It lashes out in bad ways sometimes, sure. Control, control, you must learn control. But being negative isn't bad. Not if you can grow from it. No plant can survive the sun for 24 hours. Trees sleep in the winter. We sleep, we heal, we grow.

Self-Destruction!! That's a fun one... seven fucking months downing a bottle of whisky a night. Whooo boy. Do Not Recommend.

Got a nice stay in the underworld though and trudged up a lot of shit. Now I'm sitting here with my ears ringing because I finally hit the personal limit on Monsters and my brain is overclocked enough I can finally see shit at 4 angles at the same time. I am a god damned quantum supercomputer of emotions right now.

Faith and faithlessness are the same thing. Have faith, trust the future, don't expect anything, don't plan your now for your future. Sounds sadly like live in the moment type bullshit, but life is weird and people are complex. Shifting drifting clueless animals that want to be safe but don't want to get stuck in anothers arms even when there is one whose arms are so safe.

The damage runs deep... and two people with damage running that deep. Hmm. How much healing can falling do? The other just puts a bandage over a puncture wound and both try to ignore it, but then the blood gets pumping, the heart pounds and poisons surge to the surface. It's neither one's fault really. Life is a trial of knives and we don't always have time or concern to tend the wounds properly. There's always something else that needs to be taken care of first.

Divorce is a helluva drug. It is maddening, the freedom to finally to be yourself is line having the lineart stripped off, there is a terrifying infinity in front of you and the only thing to do for awhile is melt. Let the slings and arrows just pierce and sink in. Anyone else tries to push the sludge of you into a shape might get hurt when they find the arrows. I want to go absolutely feral in a way. In a way the whole COVID mess is keeping me under lock and key so I'm just prowling around the empty house like I always have been, but now there's some sense... of purpose.

I'm raging against any depression, the executive dysfunction is going to have a talking to. The sense of self is going to be found in stripping this house down to bare walls and making a blank canvas. Bring everything down, ruin it all, start again.

My self is emptiness, it always has been. I can be anything, but I should be wary of ever wanting to be something. (My career options are AWESOME). But this is a different emptiness than before. Before I pulled the trigger and splattered the brains of the marriage across the floor I was just a void, and inky black pit of nothingness. Somehow, having the Shadow rise up and finally start getting along with the rest of me, the emptiness isn't.... void. It's just nascent possibility and that shouldn't scare me.

It does, of course, terrify me. First time in 40 years being legitimately alone is terrifying, should have done this kinda thing when I was 20, but... I was an idiot back then (60 year old me laughs from the future). But I think I can get a grip on the concept that "I" don't exist, but I'm real... ever changing ever dynamic, not who I was while I was married, but a mix of the me before, a angry beast now, and something yet unseen in the future.

[livesincerely]

dress you up, dress you down ch.1 - dress you up

aka the Tie Fic. Also on Ao3

00000

“So. Davey.”

Davey pauses mid-sip. He looks at Katherine, then down at the cup of coffee in his hand—it’s the expensive kind, the kind that comes with milk and sugar, the kind that Davey would never dare buy for himself—then back up at Katherine, and realizes that he’s been tricked.

He sets his cup down with a heavy sigh. “What is it?”

To her credit, Katherine doesn’t even pretend to misunderstand. “Jack needs new clothes.”

Davey’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Okay...” he says after a moment of consideration. “Why does Jack need new clothes? We got him that art smock so he’d stop getting paint on his selling shirts and I haven’t noticed any rips or tears—“

“No, not his selling clothes,” Katherine interrupts. “I want to get him a few outfits that he can wear for his shifts in the art department. He keeps coming in wearing his Newsies cap and he showed up at my father’s office on Friday with a piece of tie-line holding his pants up instead of a belt.”

“He didn’t,” Davey says, though he doesn’t find it at all hard to believe, torn between laughter and exasperation.

“He really did,” Katherine says, the corners of her eyes crinkling up in amusement. “I’m sure a lot of it is just impertinence for impertinence’s sake—understandable after all that’s happened—and god knows it’s good to have someone around that won’t jump at my father’s every beck and call, but Davey,“ Katherine leans forward, her expression turning serious, “you get why things can’t continue on this way, don’t you?”

Davey takes a long drink of his coffee to give his thoughts a chance to settle. Because the thing is, Davey absolutely understands Katherine’s concern.

Jack’s new position at The World is a fantastic opportunity, especially for someone who wasn’t born with the privileges of a full education, a comfortable home, or family connections to ease his way in life. This job might just be a weekly political cartoon, but it has the potential to one day be so much more: the start of a life-long career, where Jack can do something he loves and get paid a fair wage to do it.

Jack’s hard working and smart and so incredibly talented, but he’s also stubborn as a mule and dead set against submitting to any kind of authority, even over something as simple as an office dress code. Pulitzer and the other managers in the art department might be willing to look over Jack’s apparel for now, but not forever—the last thing Davey wants is for Jack to get passed up for promotions, raises, and projects because he can’t dress the part.

“Yeah,” Davey finally says. “I get it. It’s a good idea, Kath.”

“Great!” Katherine exclaims. “So now we just have to convince Jack to let us pick out some business casual clothes for him; I was thinking we could spend tomorrow uptown, my tailor will be able to see us right away, I’m sure, and we can get Jack’s measurements taken and have him fitted for a few—“

“Wait, hold on,” Davey says, suddenly wrong-footed. “How did I become involved in this? It’s your idea!”

“But it’ll be easier to convince him if he hears it from both of us,” Katherine says. She’s hitting him with the wide-eyed, pouty, please-Davey-do-this-favor-for-me face. Joke’s on her: if Les and Sarah hadn’t already indoctrinated him against that face years ago, the last couple of months spent as the lone voice of reason amongst the chaos that is the Lower Manhattan Newsies would’ve done the trick. “And it would be helpful to have your opinion when he starts trying things on.”

“You mean, it’ll be helpful to have me there to take the fall if Jack hates the idea,” Davey says.

“Oh, sure, like Jack’s gonna be angry with you,” Katherine says, rolling her eyes.

Davey patently ignores this comment. “I mean, you clearly have a handle on the situation,” he continues, fingers drumming against the rim of his coffee cup. “I’m sure you don’t really need me to—“

“If you come with me to pitch this to Jack, I’ll make sure he leaves with a new set of suspenders,” Katherine says.

Davey blinks, his protests thoroughly derailed. Katherine knows him too well.

“I hate you,” he says, blowing out a breath. “Fine, I’ll go. But I’m telling you now, Jack’s not gonna be happy about this.”

“All we have to do is present a united front,” Katherine states with incredible confidence. “He can’t argue if it’s both of us.”

“No. Hell no,” Jack says when they approach him the next day. The two of them have been talking for all of five minutes and Katherine and Jack both look ready to throw punches. Davey’s relatively sure it won’t come to that, though honestly, his money’s on Katherine if it does.

“Jack, would you please just—“ Katherine gets out through clenched teeth.

“I said no, Kath! How many more times do you wanna hear it? No!”

Katherine throws Davey an exasperated look—one that says ‘for the love of God, talk some sense into him.’

“Jack,” Davey starts, taking a step closer to him. “I think you should let Kathy take you shopping for some new clothes.”

Jack whirls around to face him, his eyes dark with irritation. “Dave, just ‘cause  I’m workin’ a desk gig don’t mean I need some fancy geddup to do my damn job—“

“Jack, no one’s saying you need to start showing up to The World dressed to the nines,” Davey says, “but don’t you think having a nice set of office clothes would get the other workers to treat you with more respect?”

“I shouldn’t hafta dress a certain way to get treated decent,” Jack says, and he still looks upset but he’s starting to settle down. “Havin’ money don’t make ya a better worker and being poor don’t make me an idiot.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Davey asks, running a hand soothingly along Jack’s shoulders until the tension there eases. “I’m not saying it’s fair, of course it’s not fair—but stuff like this never is. It’s about knowing the game and learning how to play it. Katherine and I just want to make sure you got a decent shot at it.”

Jack holds Davey’s gaze for a long moment, then the last of the fight drains out of him.

“Fine,” he huffs. “What exactly did the two of ya have in mind?”

00000

Katherine doesn’t give Jack the opportunity to reconsider. She drags them uptown to a little tailor’s shop with a neat, simple storefront, but whose glossy windows and brass finishes make it clear that this is a place that caters to the upper class.

The bell above the doorway chimes gently as they enter. The young woman behind the counter looks up from where she’s taking inventory and greets them with a smile; a moment later an older gentleman with a head of salt and pepper hair comes out of a back room, his arms open wide in welcome.

“Miss Katherine,” he exclaims, taking one of Kathy’s hands in his own and kissing the back of it. “How good it is to see you once more! And you have brought friends!”

“Good morning, Giovanni,” Katherine greets warmly. “This is David and this is Jack. Jack’s the latest hire in the art department—he works on political cartoons.”

“Jack… Kelly?” Giovanni asks. “Yes, I have seen your work! I very much enjoyed the cartoon with the little shoe shiner. Was very funny!”

Jack looks a little caught off guard—like he wants to dislike Giovanni on sheer principle, but is finding it difficult in the face of such an honest compliment.

“Uh... nice to meet ya,” Jack says.

“We’re looking to get Jack fitted for a few things,” Katherine explains. “Business casual, office wear. Do you have time to see us now?”

“Of course, Miss Katherine,” Giovanni says. “We will get this taken care of right away. Abigail!” The girl at the front counter scurries over. “Turn the sign on the door—we have a project and must not be disturbed!”

Giovanni has Jack stand on a small footstool towards the back of the store. He makes a slow circle around him—pulling a tape measure out of one of his apron pockets and whipping it to and fro—eyeing Jack critically and muttering rapidly to Abigail, who trails behind him dutifully taking notes.

For his part, Jack looks deeply uncomfortable with having such careful scrutiny trained on him. Davey tries to seem calm and reassuring but he’s not sure how successful he is: he’s feeling a bit out of his depth as well.

Finally, Giovanni steps back. “This is enough to start with,” he says, nodding decisively.

“What options can we look at right now?” Katherine asks, with a kind of intensity that Davey would be hard pressed to muster up over any clothing, no matter its quality. “Ideally we’d like to leave here with at least one full outfit.”

“We keep a selection of our most popular styles on hand for customers to try on before purchase,” Giovanni offers. “Would you like to begin with those? I can think of several that would flatter the young gentleman.”

Katherine smiles. “That sounds perfect.”

The two of them have a quick conversation about colors and cuts and fabrics that goes over Davey’s head, then Giovanni is bustling Jack into a changing area, his arms weighed down with bolts of cloth and a mouthful of stick pins. In the meantime, Abigail ushers Katherine and Davey over to a pair of cushioned stools set up next to a tri-fold mirror, ostensibly so they’ll have the best view from which to offer commentary and cast judgement.

Or, really, for Katherine to cast judgement. Davey suspects his main job will be mediating when the argument between ‘An Actual Heiress’ Kath and ‘the paint stains on this vest match my hat so it’s fine’ Jack inevitably breaks out.

They’ve not been waiting very long when Jack comes out of the fitting room to model the first outfit. Davey glances over when he hears the rustle of the curtain being pushed back and—

Oh.

Oh.

Jack is wearing a navy blue button down with a pair of dark gray slacks and a matching vest. The colors and cuts aren’t that much different than his usual garb, but the way everything fits makes a whole world of difference. Oh good god, does everything fit.

Davey’s eyes bounce here and there, his brain unable to decide which part of the incredible sight to focus on. There’s the strong line of Jack’s shoulders, which look even broader than usual because of how the vest tapers in at the waist. Or how the fabric of the pants drapes nicely around Jack’s thighs, perfectly highlighting the toned muscle underneath.

Jack looks back to ask Giovanni a question. Davey’s eyes trail up the backs of his legs as he turns, then up over the curve of his ass—

Davey ducks his head to hide his burning face. Oh no.

“That looks great, Giovanni,” Katherine says. “How does it feel, Jack?”

“Like it’s too damn expensive,” Jack mutters. He’s standing strangely: holding his arms out from his sides like he’s trying his hardest not to touch the clothes even as he wears them. “I’m still not convinced that all this is necessary.”

“Do not start with me, Jack Kelly,” Katherine says, one eyebrow lifted. “Now honestly, what do you think?”

“Well... it fits,” Jack says lamely. “That’s all that matters, right?”

“Jack,” Katherine starts with a huff.

“I’m serious!” Jack says defensively. “I’m not tryin’ta get on ya nerves, Kath, but I dunno what else there is to say.”

Katherine considers him for a moment, then sighs, disappointed but accepting the answer. “Davey, what do you think.”

Davey’s throat works. He still sort of feels like someone’s hit him over the head, but he manages to say, “The gray is nice. You can match it with a bunch of different colored shirts.”

“Hmm...” Katherine hums, tilting her head to the side. “Simple, versatile... sure, we can make that work.”

“Versatile?” Jack whispers to Davey.

Davey gets caught between not staring at Jack and trying not to look like he’s avoiding staring at Jack; his gaze lands somewhere around Jack’s left ear. “She means colors like black and gray and navy and brown—stuff that goes with everything.”

“Right, okay,” Jack mutters to himself. “That don’t sound too bad.”

Another quick conversation between Giovanni and Katherine, then Jack’s back in the fitting room to try on a second option. As the curtain pulls shut, Davey feels himself let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

Katherine glances over at him and says, “Aren’t you glad you agreed to come with us?”

Davey’s blush had been fading, but it flairs up again with a vengeance. “You are the worst person.”

“I am the best person,” Katherine corrects. “I’m the reason you know what Jack looks like in pants that actually fit his waist—“

“Katherine,” Davey hisses, shoulders hunching in embarrassment.

“—and I saw you staring at his biceps. You’re welcome for that, by the way.”

“Katherine, oh my god—!”

Jack comes out again, this time in a black and white ensemble, and still looking far too handsome for someone who’s been safety pinned into his clothes.

“I like this, but it’s a little... plain.” Katherine says, mercifully distracted from tormenting Davey any further.

“And? What’s wrong with plain?” Jack grumbles. He moves as if to cross his arms across his chest, then seems to remember all the sharp pins sitting very close to his skin. He settles for tucking his hands in his pockets. “Plain works just fine for me.”

“It needs something to finish the look,” Kath muses, ignoring Jack completely. She looks at Giovanni and asks, “What sorts of ties do you have?”

“No. Absolutely not. Ya mighta talked me into a coupla shirts but ya ain’t gonna put me in no tie—“

“We have a fine selection, Miss Katherine,” Giovanni responds, joining Katherine in talking over Jack’s protests. “In fact, we just received a variety of silk ties in a number of colors. I will fetch the display—“

Jack’s eyes bug out a little when he hears the work silk, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly; Davey fairs only slightly better. Katherine and Giovanni don’t pay them any mind—examining the assortment of ties, weighing the pros and cons of each one, occasionally holding one up next to Jack’s face and frowning.

After a few more seconds of spluttering, Jack seems to come to terms with the fact that he’s leaving with a tie. He points at the array Giovanni has brought over and says, “What about that blue one?”

“You and your blue,” Katherine mutters, shaking her head. “How about something different for once? This silver one is nice. Or, how about this one, with the stripes—“

“If you’re gonna make me get a tie, you could at least let me pick it out,” Jack grumbles. “I like the blue one.”

“You can’t only wear blue, Jack,” Katherine says, a little testily. “You need to have different options.”

“Don’t seem so important to me,” Jack says with a shrug. “Blue’s a good color: it don’t stain too easy, it’s versatile.” His eyes dart briefly to Davey, and then away again. “And it’s my favorite.”

“Be that as it may, I still think you should choose something else—“

“Jeeze, why does it matter so much—“

“The red one,” Davey blurts out, and given that he hadn’t meant to say anything at all, it comes out much louder than he’d intended it to.

Katherine and Jack halt their bickering and they all turn to look at him. Davey regrets opening his mouth.

He swallows, then awkwardly continues, “You should try the red one. It looks nice—red is a nice color, I mean. You’d look good in it, or it’d look good on you. Either, really, I guess. And, um... yeah.”

“Uh, okay,” Jack says when Davey trails off. “Sure, let’s try the red one.”

Giovanni slips the tie around Jack’s neck and knots it for him with professional ease. Jack flips his collar back down, then tucks the ends hesitantly under his vest. He stares at himself in the mirror, twisting and turning as he checks himself over from all the different angles.

It looks nice. Better than nice, actually. Maybe even incredible. Davey tugs at the collar of his own shirt, suddenly feeling overheated.

“Yeah, that’s the one,” Katherine declares. She’s not even looking at Jack, instead she’s watching Davey for his reaction. She pins him with a knowing smirk, and Davey blushes even harder, privately wishing for a nice, cozy sinkhole to open up beneath him and put him out of his misery.

“I dunno,” Jack murmurs dubiously, not noticing the exchange. “What do you think, Dave? Does it live up to your expectations?”

Davey really wishes Jack would stop asking for his opinion. He already feels like he’s suffocating—Jack could at least do him the courtesy of letting him die unharassed.

“...I think it looks good,” Davey mutters into the floor.

Jack does another turn. “I still think the blue one woulda been nice...”

“Get the tie,” Katherine orders.

“But—“

“Get the tie before I stab you with these fabric scissors.”

Jack ends up leaving with two vest-and-pants combinations, one in black and one in gray, four dress shirts in various colors, the promised suspenders, a new pair of shoes, and the red silk tie. Katherine leaves with an incredibly satisfied expression and Davey leaves with significantly elevated blood pressure.

As they walk back home, Katherine says, “So do you want me to hold on to everything, or do you want Davey to?”

“What?” Jack asks.

“Who do you want to keep your new clothes, me or Davey?” Katherine repeats.

Jack and Davey stare at her, not grasping her meaning.

“You don’t have anywhere to keep them at the Lodging House, and I would say you could see if Medda would let you keep them at the theater but I know they wouldn’t last the day before they were covered in paint,” Katherine explains. “So? Me or Davey?”

“I guess I’ll have Davey keep ‘em for me, if that’s okay,” Jack decides, glancing at Davey for permission. “Probably easier that way.”

“Um, sure, that’s fine,” Davey says, taking the garment bag when Jack hands it to him. “You can get changed at mine, and we can clean and press them for you too.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Jack agrees. “I’ll just pop over before my shift tomorrow, yeah?”

Davey imagines tomorrow, imagines trying to deal with Jack in a suit and tie first thing in the morning, and can feel his expression start to falter. “Sounds good,” he says weakly.

00000

Chapter two here

[munofsilver]

A New Story

A story I'm writing with my friend @safarichan. Two of her OC with two of mine. Their story along side with the canon one. Kura, Sie and Ocha belong to SafariChan. Calesta and Celeste belong to me. It starts with the Chunin Exams and goes until the end of Shippuden. Ao3 link.

The Chunin Exams are a big moment in every shinobi’s life; rather, it’s watching or entering. It doesn’t matter if it’s their first time or not. The event of the exams will forever hold a place in people’s memories. Not to mention the weight it holds on those taking the exams. It seems that the pressure doesn’t get to them for some, or they don’t show the stress. Then there is Uzumaki Naruto, who is just brushing in the room yelling.

“Who does he think he is?”

“Where does he think he is?”

“Doesn’t he know any manners?”

Are some of the questions being whispered by Kura and Sie. Kura is wearing a grey and black shirt under a red trench coat with black pants. Has short red hair. Sie is wearing a white jacket with sleeves so long they cover her hands and red shorts. Her long brown hair is in twin braids. Next to them is another one wearing an orange, dark yellow dress and white leggings underneath, all tied with a red bow around her waist. Long purple hair up in buns and pigtails. Calesta doesn’t care if this genin is acting like an idiot or not. It seems his team is yelling at him about it anyways. While her teammate stares at the new group walking in and talking, Calesta keeps her eyes forward, waiting for the exams to start.

After a short one-sided fight, the exams started. Kura is sitting in the back behind everyone. Sie is sitting next to her cousin Kiba. Calesta is sitting behind and to the right of the kid, yelling before.

The rules are simple, but the questions on the written test are not. Everyone seems to be freaking out or thinking. After about ten minutes, some figured it out and did what they needed to answer the questions.

Shino sent his bugs to help. Kiba is doing the same thing with Akamaru so is Sie with Ocha. TenTen somehow had mirrors on the ceiling to help her teammate Lee. The two Hyugas use their byakugan. Sasuke with his Sharingan. Desu uses sound to get his answers. Kura might be one of the few to know the answers. He already finished his test and is napping. Gaara uses his third eye while Kankuro asks to use the restroom. Sakura falls like she was hit with a sleeping jutsu. She was hit with a jutsu; it was Ino’s mind transfer jutsu. That’s how Ino and her team got their answers. It seems Sakura knew them like Kura.

While everyone was gathering the information they needed, Calesta was sitting there, arms folded and eyes closed. At least that what it looks like; Calesta’s eyes were open; she was looking down on the person’s paper, to her left then the right. She would look up and around at the ones there to watch for cheaters before writing down the answers. Once done, she would fold her arms and look down again.

Ibiki was true to his words. Around ten minutes left, he asked one final question after adding one more rule. We either give up now or try to answer the question; if you fail, you can’t take the chunin exams ever again.The rule sounds suspicious to Calesta; she stays, her teammate also finding the rule suspicious as well. For a minute there, everyone thought the loud boy in orange was going to quit. Instead, he slams his hand on the table, declaring once again about being Hokage someday. Making others wonder if he ever talks about anything else.

Once the room was emptied a bit due to the people choosing to leave instead of trying to answer the final question, Ibiki speaks again. To everyone’s surprise, there was no question. Everyone in the room passed the first part of the Chunin Exams. Then someone jumps in through the window and makes some flashy moves to put up a banner.

The second half of the Chunin Exams will begin the following day. A test of survival at a nice place called The Forest of Death. The rules are simple: get the other scroll and head to the tower in five days, don’t look at the scrolls until you’re inside the tower. Now everyone except your teammates are enemies. No one knows what scroll each team will have. After signing the release form, the team gets their scroll. Not only does the team get a scroll they also are giving a number. That number tells them what gate entrance they will start.

While waiting for the exams to start, Kura starts to complain, “Five days is way too long. To make it more challenging, they should make it three days.” Sie is petting Ocha. The small little dog is a bit taller than Kiba’s dog Akamaru. White just like him but brown around her ears, eyes, muzzle, paws, and tail tip. No wonder the two dogs look alike; they are from the same litter.

“I just hope I have enough treats for, Ocha,” Sie rubs her dog’s ears.

Ocha gives a little bark of approval, and Sie checks her pockets. She has plenty of treats for her dog. She sighs in relief, making Kura perform his famous eye roll. What Sie likes to call it, ‘The rolling sigh.’ Since he sighs while rolling his eyes.

Like always, Calesta doesn’t speak, staring at the gate, waiting for it to open. She doesn’t care much about anything other than getting this exam done and over with, not even if she becomes a chunin or not; at the same time, she won’t let her teammates down.

The one guarding the gate is looking at his watch. Within a few minutes, he stops looking at his watch, and walks closer to the gate, then looks back at his watch. Not even a minute later, he turns his back towards the team.

“Get ready,” he calls over his shoulder as he unlocks the gate.

With a burst of speed, the three rush through the open gate and into the forest. They don’t slow down even as they take to the trees. While jumping from tree to tree, they make plans for the exam.

“I know it’s a low blow, but I think we should target teams weaker than us,” Kura stated.

“How can we tell if a team is weaker than us?” Sie asks in an acidic tone.

“We find a team and spy on them. Hope they get into a fight,” Kura grins.

He’s quite proud of his plans, even if it’s not the best. He is the type that will go ahead without thinking things through. Once an idea is in his head, he thinks it’s good, and others should join him. Tell him no and he will either complain or throw a tantrum. Good thing his tantrums are short-lived and quiet compared to a child’s.

Sie opens her mouth to speak but is cut off by Kura, “Let’s say we watch them for a bit, like a few hours; if no fight, then we move on.”

“There are parts in your plan that will work, but sadly I don’t agree with everything,” Calesta speaks in a hushed tone.

Both team members look at her. Claesta doesn’t speak much; everyone around her who knows her pays close attention to her words when she does.

“Finding a team we can take would be ideal. You didn’t seem to consider that they may not have the scroll we need. Do you have an idea on how to find out what scroll the other team has?” Calesta’s blank stare is aimed at Kura.

Unlike her teammates, Calesta’s face always remains emotionless. Unless she trusts you, then her face will emote more. Sie is always smiling even when she’s yelling, something that bothers Kura to no end.

“After the fight, if they win, they will have both scrolls. If we think we can take them, we fight. Only take the one we need when we win,” Kura speaks with pride.

Calesta looked forward again. She seems to be satisfied with the answer. For a while, they didn’t talk to each other. Instead scanned the area, keeping an eye out for other teams and anything else the forest may toss at them.

They stopped when Sie and Ocha smelled another team and warned them. Landing on three separate branches of the same tree, the team looks for the other team that was sniffed out. They are right below them, only a few steps to the side with their backs towards them. Ocha whimpered and slid into Sie’s jacket, poking her head out on top. Sie pats the dog’s head.

“According to the headbands, they are from the Hidden Sand Village,” Kura whispers.

“Suna, from Wind country,” Sie also whispers.

Calesta closes her eyes on the team. They aren’t the only ones from Suna, but they stand out more than other Suna teams.

“We should leave. There is no way we can defeat them. If we fight, we shall die,” Calesta whispers.

“I agree,” Sie nods.

“We haven’t even seen them fight. How can you be sure?” Kura whines.

“Suna only cares about strong ninjas. They will only have strong ones here,” Sie answers.

“Then are we to avoid all teams from Suna?” Kura crosses his arms.

“No, only these three,” Calesta opens her eyes.

Outvoted, Kura sighs, and the three move on. Leaving the team below far away behind them. As soon as they took off, one of the sand ninjas looked at the spot they were just at.

“What is it, Gaara?” asked his sister.

“Nothing, let’s go,” Gaara answered.

The other two looked at each other, then the area Gaara was looking at. They shrug and follow their younger brother. Not long until another team was found from Suna again; this time, they watch them for a bit. It seems they have found a team they might be able to beat. They looked tired, maybe they had lost their scroll, or they could have overdone them self. Maybe they were in a fight and won.

“Should we?” Sie asked.

Kura and Sie look at Calesta as she stares at the team that’s currently resting.

“We attack,” Calesta answers.

Both Kura and Sie stare at her with wide eyes.

“I can see an Earth scroll. I hate to attack them while they are in a weakened state. I know how unfair life can be. A lesson all must learn. Today is their turn,” Calesta blinks, “Let’s use the Play Dead technique.”

Sie and Ocha jump down in a bush as Kura jumps across the resting team landing on a tree on the other side. Calesta kneels where she’s at.

“Did you hear that?” One of the team members stands up. He is looking at the bush Sie is now in. The others look at the bush as well.

Out pops Ocha. She is whining and limping, taking a few steps before she collapses on the ground. The only female on the team rushes towards the tiny dog.

“Poor thing is hurt. I didn’t know there were such cute doggies in this forest,” she squeals.

“This dog looks familiar,” said the only sitting team member.

Before he could put his mind on it, Ocha bites the girl petting her. Jumping back, she yelps. That’s the single for the other two to go into action, while Ocha makes a mad dash back to Sie. The team tries to run but is blocked by a wall made of earth. They decided to backtrack to find they couldn’t move and are tied up with thin metal strings. Sie comes out of the bush and casually walks up to them. Searching them all until she finds what they needed.

“Sorry about this. We need this,” she says, taking one of their scrolls.

Checking to make sure it’s the earth one. She smiles and jumps back into the tree with Kura and Calesta. Sie hands Calesta the scroll, and she puts it in her sleeve before they head to the tower.

[salvatuore]

꙳    𝐈    ,    💌  :   ❛❛   i’ll  never  know  if  there’s  danger  in  confession  .  ❜❜

@mrbrwnstone​   /   @giallowoman​​

the  men  were  far  gone  by  now ,  and  so  were  the  boys. francesca’s  youngests  played  by  the  kitchen,  watching  as  eleonora’s  junior - still  considerably  older  than  the  other’s  -  prepared  them  all  warm  milk  to  keep  their  little  minds  still.  it  was  strange,  but  only  when  she  thought  about  it  -   vespasianos  and  castigliones  alike,  sharing  a  table,  a  bed  and  in  the  no  so  distant  future  a  bloodline.  it  was  only  odd  when  the  men  made  it  a  big  deal;   when  politics  were  to  be  brought  up  at  the  table,  or  when  someone  remembered  the  constant  melodrama  of  planning  a  wedding  with  your  family’s  biggest  rival.  when  it  was  only  francesca  and  herself,  eleonora  took  note  of  how  strangely  natural  it  felt.

on  sundays  they’d  all  have  lunch  together, drive  by  the  other’s  house  and  stay  for  the  afternoon.   strange  as  it  was,  a  lunch  prepared  equally  by  one  family  and  the  other  had  recipes  as  well  as  children  from  both  names. the  women  cooked, the  men  laughed, and  then  they  went  off  to  do  their  manly  deeds  -  to  shoot  birds, and  drive  their  cars,  and  smoke  their  cigarettes  outside  of  the  cheapest  bar  they  could  find  open  on  a  sunday  afternoon.  the  children  would  play  outside  -  except  for  that  day,  for  it  was  raining,  and  suddenly  all  the  kids  could  find  interest  in  were  the recipes  unfolding  at  the  kitchen. 

(      nora  didn’t  mind    -    she  wasn’t  much  of  a  cook  herself,  but  francesca  most  certainly  was.  and  so  she’d  offer  her  the  apron  with  the  embroidery  of  the  black  medallion  of  the  vespasianos  and  wash  for  her  the  peaches  before  sitting  by  the  table  and  watching  her  build  that  pie  with  the  precision of  a  sculptor.  she’d  sit  and  watch,  laugh  at  one  of  the woman’s  infants’  remarks  and  rub  off  the  occasional  strand  of  hair  that  fell  from  francesca’s  bun  as  she  poured  her  soul  into  the  making  of  that  dough.  and  while  the  pie  went  into  the  oven  and  the  kids  made  up  fun  ways  to  kill  time,  the  matriarchs  could  find  a  little  peace  by  giorgio’s  office,  where  the  most  quiet  could  be  found.    )

eleonora  opens  the  window,  allows  the  humid  air  to  invade  the  ambient  and  welcomes  francesca  into  the  space.  she  opens  up  the  wooden  box  on  top  of  the  desk  and  after  a  few  moments  of  hovering  a  hand  above  the  cigars,  ends  up  picking  up  a  humble  cigarette  instead. 

          eleonora:     you’ll  forgive  me ,  tatina .

and  lights  up  the  cigarette,  allowing  the  smoke  to  warm  up  her  chest  before  blowing  it  out  the  window.    calmly,  she  finds  comfort  with  the  weight  of her  body  against  the  frame  of  the  casement,  finally  giving  francesca  a  good,  long  glare.

(   she’s  grown  used  to  the  other’s  company,  is  what  any  of  that  means.  never  had  she  picked  up  a  cigarette  in  front  of  her  children,  let  alone  the  husband  that  sees  his  wife  as  the  madonna.  but  francesca,  she  supposed,  saw  her  as  a  person.  not  as  the  purity  of  the  mother,  or  the  idealization  of  the  woman  she  should  be.  and  so,  there  was  no  problem  in  being  as  real  as  that  in  her  presence.   )

it’s  why  she’s  not  particularly  surprised  when  a  remark  such  as  that  sparks up  after  their  long  silences,  or  if  one  of  their  trivial  talks  braids  itself  into  a  question  that  deep.  for  a  woman  who’s  only  ever  seen  talking  about  her  children  and  her  culinary  gifts,  francesca  sure  had  a  mind  full  of  questions  that  even  eleonora  sometimes  found  no  possible  answer  to.  she,  too,  saw  francesca  for  who  she  was :  a  woman  with  thoughts,  and  allowed  to  voice  them  even  if  only  in  the  safety  of  nora’s  presence.

        eleonora:     well ,  i  suppose  that  depends  on  who  you  wish  to  confess  to …  (    a    drag    of    her    cigarette ,    )    but  two  people  are  known  to  never  place  any  judgement  upon  you .

        eleonora:     one  is  god .  we  can’t  be  sure  he’s  even  listening .

a  quiet,  ironic  smile  washes  her  lips  before  indulging  on  her  smoke  again.   eleonora  is  a  catholic  woman,  always  has  been,  and  very  proudly  at  that.  most  if  not  all  of  her  guilt  had  roots  in  the  cross  that  dangles  around  her  neck,  yet  god’s  existence  is  one  to  make  her  secretly  bitter.  what  does  he  know,  is  what  she  means,  quietly  resenting  the  fact  of  having  to  get  down  on  her  knees  and  ask  a  man  for  mercy  on  things  he’d  never  understand.  she  instead  liked  to  plead  before  his  mother,  the  woman  she  should  aspire  to  mirror,  the  one  she’d  disappoint  after  her  own  mother  was  gone  and  no  longer  around  to  disapprove  of  nora’s  decisions.

      eleonora:     the  other  one  is  me .  i’ll  be  listening  alright ,  frances ,  but  you  know  i  won’t  judge  a  bone  in  you .   what  troubles  your  mind ?

[undignifiend]

Some notes about Dezoka’s formative experiences; why she decided to abandon her post as a changeling and join up with the Gumm-Gumms on the frontlines, what she believes is at stake if Gunmar falls, and some speculating on shenanigans during a low-key return to the surface - at least before any world-changing operations.

+As a whelp she had a knack for dodging, climbing, sneaking, and escaping, but she was not at all inclined to fight. It was figured that if she had any use, it would probably be in learning subterfuge and how to blend in with and spy on humans. Not to say that being a changeling is at all easy - it was simply the role that she seemed to have something of a shot at, particularly if she could maintain a low-level information-gathering position. Besides, if she couldn’t manage to sharpen her fangs among fleshbags, she wouldn’t last long anyway.

+In her youth, trolls and humans were constantly fighting over territory and resources. And to her eyes, the Gumm-Gumms were the only ones willing to stand up to the humans while everyone else hid. At the time, she was prone to hiding, too. She didn’t want to get hurt, but the more she thought about it, the more she despised the idea of anyone else getting hurt on her behalf, or just because she was too afraid to stand up. That was a crucial shift for her, and is the core of her idealized vision of the Gumm-Gumms and their Underlord, and why she wants to be one of them. 

+That particular shift happened while witnessing a human raid on a troll village, where a small group of Gumm-Gumms were stuck fighting the humans off. She was already integrated with a human peasant family, and prone to sneaking out to trollish villages, markets, and hideouts. She understood enough to know that she wouldn’t be welcome among trolls, but it was enough to hide nearby and take in familiar sights, sounds, and scents of an older home she couldn’t quite remember. When the raid hit, she knew she might die if she tried to fight, but she also knew that if she just ran, she’d regret it forever. So she made a nuisance of herself, mostly by distracting and disrupting the humans’ tactics; tripping them, stealing their weapons, and switching to human form to avoid death by sunlight while propping up temporary shade for the real fighters. The Gumm-Gumms won that fight just as their reinforcements arrived, and she scampered off as quickly as she could, feeling like her whole world had just opened up. She knew where she wanted to spend her life, and commenced planning to get there.

+She was rather judgmental toward Dwoza for their initial “keep our heads down until this blows over” policy. The humans didn’t seem to care what faction a troll belonged to, they were ready to kill any they found. So it felt to her like Dwoza was using the Gumm-Gumms as a convenient and expendable shield against a common enemy, and she couldn’t pretend she had any respect for (what she saw as) a decision to just stand back and let others take all the risks for them. Dwoza siding with the humans at Killahead surprised and confused the hell out of her for a good long while. She’s had centuries to think (and occasionally rant) about it, and has come to think of Merlin’s Amulet as both a bribe (a powerful weapon to convince Dwoza to side with them) and a Trojan Horse (to make trolls keep themselves in line, prioritizing the wellbeing of humans over themselves). Hearing that it’s most recent champion is human just looks to her like the mask coming off. Trolls may have wielded it for centuries, but it has remained a human weapon all along.

+(Almost) nothing will supersede her loyalty to Gunmar. He’s her king, and her hero, and she believes in his vision for the future.

+The only exception that might contest her loyalty is the safety of her familiar. Dezoka doesn’t like being a changeling, but she has fond memories of her familiar’s family, and loves Danica like a little sister, and has gone to great lengths to hide her, and wants to find some way to give her a good, secure life. 

+Due to her experiences, she is willing to fight and kill humans if she believes it is necessary - especially where the wellbeing of trolls is concerned, and she follows Gunmar’s judgement of that - but she also understands that humans are not so simple as to be easily summed up. If she has a soft spot for them, it’s a small one, tinged with distant memories of songs and stories around fire-pits, careful instruction on how to fell a tree, re-thatch a leaky roof, or weave fibers into cloth, scary and thrilling stories about trolls, and comforting, well-meaning arms when the loneliness of her secret got overwhelming. They’re not evil, and she doesn’t have the luxury of kidding herself. They’re just people. Albeit, people who have a tendency of causing problems for trolls.

+Secretly disinclined to eat human flesh, but not out of any notion that humans are special. If offered (and not pressured into eating it by someone of higher rank, or if not currently starving), she’ll “save it for later” and use it for bartering, bribes, or gifts. Fighting and killing them is one thing, but “cleaning up after” (while practical, especially when food is scarce) often comes with a lot of “this is your place, you arrogant fleshbags” / “we’re superior to you” baggage that ruins her appetite anyway - partly because she knows that’s exactly how she’ll be treated if anyone finds out she’s Impure. And she believes she doesn’t have to think of humans as prey, or reassure herself with stories about natural hierarchy, in order to fight them effectively. And unless it has to do with orders from her king and superiors, or keeping her team functioning well, she doesn’t give a damn about hierarchy or “one’s rightful place” anyway. She made her own.

+Dezoka has heard scary reports of what a trashfire the fleshbags have turned the Surface into while the Gumm-Gumms have been locked away. She’s upset about it, and she believes the Eternal Night is important not just for Trollkind, but for the Surface itself. As she sees it, someone’s gotta get the humans to back off, or they’ll just keep doing more damage (pollution, mass extinction, etc) until they, too, die out, and leave the Surface an even more barren wasteland than the Darklands. And having everyone (regardless of species) retreat to the Darklands just to survive a little longer would be the most tragic failure/death/defeat imaginable, in her mind. She believes that without Gunmar, that would be the way the world ends, so it is absolutely paramount that he survives and succeeds.

+She has a hard time getting close to people. Partly because death is fairly common in the Darklands, and partly because anyone finding out her secret would risk getting both her and her familiar killed, and she wants to limit those chances. She can bundle with others for warmth, tackle someone out of the way of a projectile, or appreciate and crack jokes with her fellows in grim situations, but she doesn’t yet feel comfortable with “unnecessary” physical contact or emotional intimacy. It’s not that she doesn’t like it - she sees it as a luxury she can’t afford.

Potential AU shenanigans where the Gumm-Gumms return to the Surface:

+Loses her composure over the smell of woodsmoke. It’s the detail that cements it for her that they’re finally back on the Surface. Also has a little trouble with the open sky and sometimes loses her balance when she feels like she might fall up. Closing her eyes helps. Needs a bit of an adjustment period at first.

+Due to Dez’s tactical and combat prowess as a Gumm-Gumm captain, her loyalty, and her ability to (reluctantly) disguise as human, Gunmar could (if he saw fit, and before she pulls anymore Danica-transporting shenanigans) assign her to bodyguard individuals beyond a troll’s reach during the day once they return to the Surface - especially ones who are likely to see combat and need backup. She doesn’t have the raw hitting power of a troll, but she has good pain tolerance and reflexes, generally knows what she’s doing, and coordinating with teams is where she really shines. Her usual role against tougher opponents involves knocking them off balance and provoking openings in their defenses for her team to exploit (which she will also exploit whenever she has a sufficiently clear shot). She’s like an aggressive evasion-tank. But in any 1v1, she’ll do her best to strike hard and fast and end it quickly. Slow, horrible, and painful is all well and good, but she’s got work to do.

+Remembers very little about how to blend in with humans, and acts like a Gumm-Gumm even in human form. She wants to do her job well, so she takes any instruction on the modern world very seriously, though she also tends to get frustrated when she’s confused (which is most of the time - being on the Surface again is rather overwhelming at first, and it’s not the Surface she remembers). She’s alert and effective at protecting those she’s assigned to, but also occasionally needs to be stopped from committing theft, assault, drinking perfume, climbing buildings, making cookfires and ‘ghost fences’ wherever she wants, rolling around in dust or mud baths, wearing ash and/or coal-based warpaint, or growling when she’s irritated, confused, excited, or worried. Can be taught to ‘store’ her armor and parlock spear on her trollish form so she won’t be caught unarmed if she needs to change quickly.

+Will also contend with anxiety over taking human form again after she’s worked all her life to deny that it even exists. Won’t like looking at mirrors (will only really do so if she’s checking in on Danica) or her own hands (both pinkies are missing, too), and will be all the more inclined to distract herself with work. Without sufficient distractions, she might turn to substance abuse to ease some of the stress if she thinks she can get away with it and still do her job.

+Likes to rest outside. Very light sleeper. Even cool nights are warm when compared to the Darklands, and she likes to watch the stars and feel the Earth turn. Stargazing is (despite the light pollution) one of the few things left that still feels like the world she remembers.

[treatian]

The Chronicles of the Dark One: Breaking the Curse

Chapter 35: Two Old Friends

"Rumpelstiltskin…what took you so long?"

He felt his stomach drop as he pulled his hand back and stared into the eyes of his former associate, seeing a recognition there he hadn't seen in decades. It had been years since he'd heard his own name spoken out loud. But now it was as if everyone was saying it. First, Regina, now Jefferson. It struck him like a hand across his face.

"You have your memories…"

"Yeah, it's a curse. Literally," he huffed.

Jefferson crossed his arms over his chest almost casually, meanwhile he still felt as though he couldn't breath. Jefferson knew! He had his memories! Why hadn't he known Jefferson would know? Why hadn't ever found it odd that he was the only one who had a name that was unchanged, aside from David of course. He was an idiot. He should have realize the second he saw the town records that Jefferson-

"What do you want?" he spat out quietly, before looking around as if to see if anyone else saw he was there.

His shock faded as he pondered that question for a moment, bringing himself back into the present moment. What did he want from Jefferson? Nothing he wanted to discuss out in the open, no matter how secluded his mansion was.

"May I…?" he motioned to the rest of the home, quietly requesting entrance.

Jefferson hesitated. It covered up the hesitation in his own mind. He hadn't been planning on finding a Jefferson with memories intact. That changed things. He was going to need a new argument if he wished to leave here with Jefferson agreeing to help him.

Finally Jefferson stood aside. Once in the residence he led him through the halls and into a kitchen that he could only describe as "modern". How odd...Storybrooke, buildings and houses alike, had the feeling of a town where time had stopped. Nothing was updated, nothing was new, and if the few television programs he'd watched over the years told him anything, it was that most, if not all of the town would not fit into the world beyond the town line. But Jefferson's home...it was different. It smelled like fresh paint, new tiles, white or bland colored walls with a splash of color here and there. It was all straight lines and right angles, like it had been professionally designed and decorated by an interior decorator. It was as if time moved forward in this house, but in this house only. It was a surreal feeling.

"Still a tea drinker?" Jefferson asked him as he tried to disguise his dis-ease in the house.

"Yes," he lied looking around as he got to work in the kitchen. He didn't drink tea, not much these days anyway. Like so many in this world he'd made the switch to coffee and now tea reminded him of unpleasant memories that made his chest burn. It reminded him of someone. He turned back to Jefferson who stood over the stove before he could think too much of it. Belle couldn't help him now. "I need a favor."

"Sorry, you are fresh out of 'favors'," Jefferson muttered not even bothering to look up at him as he worked. "If you'll recall, you traded them all away when I went to fetch Cruella De Ville from London."

"And then I saved your daughter's life."

Finally he looked up at him. "You didn't do that because I owed you a favor," he argued. His eyes were hard and wearied, so far from the curious and carefree boy he'd once encountered. He was the opposite of that boy now and all at once his mind got over the shock of meeting him again, memories intact, and instead filled with questions. Where had he been? Why did he have his memories? Why was Grace living with a family across town instead of with him?

"When I saved your daughter we made a deal, we-"

"Hadn't yet struck that deal before Belle begged you to help and you couldn't resist being the hero in front of her. I never signed a contract, never gave verbal agreement, not even a physical agreement such as a shake of the hand or a nod of the head. You forget how much you taught me, Rumpelstiltskin."

He was right. And it left him speechless.

It was blow after blow after blow with him it seemed. His old accomplice had grown teeth since he'd last seen him, he knew where to strike and strike hard he had. Because it wasn't the lack of formal deal that had him practically on his knees now, but the mention of Belle. He hadn't been prepared for hearing his name spoken aloud after all these years, hearing Belle's name…it made his chest squeeze dangerously tight. It hurt. Jefferson had spent all of one night in the castle with him and Belle, but he was smart and observant. He'd almost forgotten how he'd picked up on something between them even before they had. Or maybe just before he'd wanted to. So far, he deeply regretted coming to Jefferson. His old associate was far from a friend. Right now he was aiming for pain, aiming for shock and awe. And he was succeeding.

"There's that look," Jefferson muttered as the kettle began to whistle.

"What look?"

"The look of a cursed man who can't have what he wants."

He swallowed as he turned to fetch some teacups. No. He couldn't have what he wanted. He wanted his child and he wanted Belle. One of those things was gone forever, never coming back. And how foolish was he to still want her after all these years, to still feel her loss as though it was an open wound that should have closed years ago. Fucking True Love…

"Belle is dead," he stated as emotionlessly as possible, for Jefferson's benefit as well as his own.

Jefferson's head snapped up in shock from where he poured the tea. A moment of quiet, of total stillness as the words, the truth of it settled over them both. And then the surprise passed, Jefferson blinked and swallowed as time moved forward, and he looked back down at his task, focusing too much on making sure the tea got into the cups.

"You don't say…"

"Yes."

He wanted him to suffer? He wanted him to feel what he'd felt, fine. He could play that game. He could play that game because Belle was dead but Baelfire was still out there. He still had a chance at getting half of what he wanted. Now that he was here and saw the situation he knew it wasn't ideal, but he could still work with it, maybe even more than he could before. He just had to be willing to suffer a bit with the Realm Jumper. Camaraderie. Wasn't that what he'd wanted when they were in the Enchanted Forest and his wife had died?

"You were right all those years ago, I loved her," he admitted as Jefferson brought him a cup with a smell that reminded him of her. "If I could see her again, take it all back…I'd do things differently, but I'm not here for me. I'm here for you."

"You've intrigued me," he stated, taking a seat by the window. "I'm not saying I'm willing to work with you, but I am curious."

"You always were…" he muttered to himself glancing at the other seat. "Very well." He took the seat opposite him and set his cup down, desperate to get the smell away from him. He needed to get a grip. Jefferson had thrown him off balance, he needed to take it back. He had to make a deal. He could focus on that. "You know the look of a cursed man because you see it every morning when you look into the mirror, don't you. Your daughter, Grace…she goes by Paige these days, doesn't she? In the care of a Mr. and Mrs. Grace…ironic, isn't it?"

"What do you want, Rumpelstiltskin?" he snapped, finally sitting forward and setting his own tea down. He wasn't the only one who knew how to touch a nerve.

"I find myself in need of assistance. I had hoped to ask a cursed version of my former associate, but this kind of cursed version works just as well."

"I don't work for you anymore," he stated clearly with bitterness in his voice. "And I've been stuck here for twenty-eight years, long enough to know that you're the boss of your own little mob. They do your dirty work just fine, go ask one of them."

"None of them are in the situation you are. And…they're busy, at least the ones that I trust for this kind of job."

Jefferson slanted his head and stared at him through a careful and curious gaze. "What game are you playing?"

"Isn't it obvious?" he smiled, happy he'd finally asked a question that might help them both. "I'm trying to break the Curse. That's why I can work with you better this way than in a cursed state. Because in this way I can offer you what I know you want…your daughter."

His remark came in loud and clear despite the fact that Jefferson suddenly shot out of his seat and turned away from him, a hand scrubbing over his face. He knew he'd heard him because it was that very concept of getting what he wanted that had elicited the reaction. They knew each other too well, he and Jefferson. He'd always put up a cocky front in the Enchanted Forest, pretending not to give a shit about the fact that he had a daughter. But he'd been proud of him. He'd been disappointed he didn't want to work for him anymore. But as a father he'd known that he'd made the right choices, taken responsibility, loved his child. Love was a weakness. And it was what was going to get him through this plan. The promise of tomorrow…

"The Curse breaks, your daughter remembers who you are…she comes home. It's a win for everyone involved except perhaps, Regina."

"Why?" he choked out, his back still to him grappling with the offer he'd made.

"Because she's the one who-"

"No…why are you doing this?" he asked rounding on him. "I'm not exactly the most brilliant man, especially not after twenty-eight years of stewing in a cursed town without any concept of time, but I'm smart enough to put two and two together! This Curse…this is what you had me searching for all those years ago, this was what you were training Regina for, this is what you wanted! So why the hell do you want to break it now!"

"Buyer's remorse."

"No…you're too smart for that!" he pointed out with a chuckled. "You knew what you were getting yourself into. And I've been watching from the shadows long enough to know that you haven't always had your memories, which means you figured out a way to wake yourself up early. You wanted this. Why would you suddenly unwant it?"

They knew each other well, too well perhaps, which was why he had no intention of telling him "why". Not even after all these years. He hadn't even wanted to tell Belle. The secret of his son would stay with him. Except…they knew each other too well…

"There's something here, isn't there?" Jefferson presumed, lowering himself back into his seat again. "The first time we met you asked if I could bring you here and I said I couldn't. This is how you did it. This is how far you were willing to go to get to this realm! There is something here worth cursing an entire land for! What is here that you needed to reach? What could you possibly want in a land without magic?!"

"You can ask all you like, dearie…but I'm not going to tell you that," he responded as calmly as possible. Shared history, it could be a bitch. "All I will tell you is that you and I are more alike than you know. We're both alone in a world searching for someone to love, someone to love us."

"You think that's here?"

"I know it is."

"What, you know…you know Belle is alive? You think this is the only way to get to her."

"Belle is dead. My happiness lies elsewhere…" he stated, rising out of the seat himself. He cast his gaze out over the view Jefferson had in Storybrooke. Ironic. It was ironic, just like everything about this curse. Once he was a man who valued riches and freedom. Now he had probably one of the most comfortable homes in Storybrooke, a high income. He wanted for nothing…save his daughter. He was trapped in a world of meaningless riches. Just like he was. But out there, beyond the borders of Storybrooke, there was hope. His son was out there. He just had to see this through, he had to get to him. Belle would want that.

"If I agree to help you, and that's a pretty big 'if' from where I'm standing, by the way…what would you need me to do?"

He felt no victory in hearing the question. There was only relief.

"Kathryn Nolan-"

"David's 'wife'?" He turned back to glance at his former associate and raised his eyebrows. How did he know that? Jefferson shrugged at the silent communication. "I took a hint from you, I watch everything. I've had to do something these last twenty-eight years. "

"Yes…" he muttered suddenly noticing the telescopes and the windows in the home as he hadn't before. He probably would have been better at spying than Dove had been, though that was irrelevant now. He had to focus. "Kathryn Nolan went missing last night."

Jefferson snorted. "Tragic, not that you seem torn up about it. I'm going to guess it was Theseus son?"

"Let's just say I know she's in a safe place with someone I trust."

"Of course you do. So…what's this got to do with me?"

"Mary Margaret-"

"The Former Snow White." He nodded and stalked back to take his seat again.

"She'll be charged with her murder soon."

"That could be problematic for the two love birds."

"It could be, but she's not the concern."

"So who is?"

"Her daughter. The Savior," he sighed as he let his cane tap against the floor. "Emma Swan is the Savior, she's the daughter of Prince Charming and Snow White, the product of True Love. The magic she carries with her is unique. She has the power to break the Curse, that's why the clock began to move again the night she decided to stay here. She has power, she just doesn't believe it."

"Her son-"

"Henry tells her all of this…but we both know that adults aren't always likely to believe what their children say. She needs to hear it from someone else."

"And you want that to be me," he assumed correctly.

He nodded. "Mary Margaret will be charged with murder. She'll escape. She'll run. And because Emma loves her, whether she knows of the relationship or not, she will come after her to prevent making the situation worse. I need you to intercept Mary Margaret. I need you to get Emma here, somewhere the Queen can't reach. I need you to make her start asking the right questions; convince her she's special, help her see that Henry's stories might be more than stories."

"Why else would a Mayor want to frame an elementary schoolteacher," Jefferson mumbled, proving he understood the situation in just a few short sentences better than anyone else. "And then I get my Grace back…"

And there was the downside to this plan. He was a patient man, but he'd never known Jefferson to be someone willing to sit on the bench and wait for something to happen. He needed Emma to start believing so the Curse could break. But after this plan it could be a day until the Curse broke, it could be another year. Jefferson wasn't going to be happy.

"This is a delicate process-"

"No."

"It's a long game-"

"No."

"We have to play-"

"NO!" hits hand against the table between them. "No…I'm done playing long games, I'm done with watching my daughter like a stalker through a telescope lens! I want her back! I want my Grace back the way she was! I want you to fix her like you fixed yourself. Wake her up!"

"I don't have that kind of power here!" he shouted back. "Not yet! But if you do this-"

"Why should I?" he screamed getting on his feet again. "Why should I do this for you?"

"Have I ever led you astray?" he asked calmly. "Have I ever lied to you?"

"You weren't there when I needed you," he answered back through gritted teeth. "Why should I be here when you need me?"

This old argument. He knew what he was referring to. He was talking about when his wife died. He'd kept expecting him to come in and visit and then what? They could grab a beer? Weep together over the death of Whatshername? He had feelings for Jefferson, a host of them that he couldn't sort out. As the Dark One, he hadn't seen any benefit to Jefferson's marriage or child, only the fact that they took him away from where he needed him. But as Rumpelstiltskin, as a father and a former husband…he respected the man more than anyone and that included Mr. Gold. He'd felt for him. He'd spent nights regretting not going to his aid, remembering that this was about getting Baelfire back, not making friends with the help. The Dark One had been upset when Jefferson left because talent was wasted. Rumpelstiltskin had been upset because he'd grown fond of him and considered him something of a son. The fact that they'd come to this…he was torn.

"They call me mad…did you know?" Jefferson finally asked. "Do you know why they call me that? Why my daughter isn't with me? Do you know where I was before the Curse hit? Wonderland. I was trapped there. The Evil Queen hired me to retrieve something from that realm for her. I left Grace with some neighbors and the pair of us went to retrieve it because I had no money and she promised to make it worth my while. She didn't tell me that what she wanted me to retrieve was another person, her own damn father!

"The same number of people that go into Wonderland have to come out. Did I ever tell you that? One of the quirks of the land. Regina tricked me. She got her father back, but I…I was left behind. I was a sacrifice to her! And Grace, my Grace…I couldn't get back to her! My hat was gone. I spent…I don't know how much time it was trying to construct another one, trying to find the same power my grandfather had! I spent years waiting for you to come and help me out of there! To use the portal I'd given you to help me! But you never came!

"It felt like forever all that time I spent trying to get back to my daughter! And then the cloud of magic swept over the land and now here she is! She's right in front of me. But she doesn't even know her own name! And you know who helped you do that?! You know who helped you create this Curse, the Curse that gave Regina that power to keep us apart?!

"It was me! I helped you do it! This is all partly my fault because I listened to you! So why should I do it again? Why should I listen to you? So far you've been the worst mistake I've ever made."

"Because you'll tear the world apart to get your child back," he answered softly, trying to dislodge the rock that had formed in his throat. Those were hefty accusations he'd just thrown at him. And they were true. All of them. Every last one. It didn't matter that in the months before Regina cast the Curse he'd been held a prisoner and couldn't save Jefferson. He knew that information would be lost on him, irrelevant. He had to get him to look to the future, not the past. And it all started with something he could do in the present.

"Emma breaks the Curse, I bring magic back…you get your daughter," he explained easily. "Everyone can be reunited with their loved ones, not just you. But this is a crucial piece. And it may take me a while to deliver on my promise, to return the favor, but I've never promised you something and not delivered. This is just how it's done."

Jefferson leaned back against his kitchen counter. He folded his arms over his chest and looked down at his feet, crossed at the ankles. He thought he might have heard him sniff. Finally he raised his eyes and look at him. "I'll do it…" he answered. "I'll do it to get my daughter back, because Grace needs me. And then I never want to see you again, Rumpelstiltskin."

"Is that a formal request?" he asked, trying to find some bit of humor to dispel some of the tension, though he couldn't figure out what that mattered to him. It wasn't a formal request, it was just…it was the end. He'd said things like that to him before but there was a finality in it this time. It felt like a deal was being made. They'd finally arrived at their last deal.

"Can't be…then I'd owe you two favors," Jefferson answered.

"We'll stick with just the one then." He smiled despite the seriousness of it as he recalled the Seer's words. He'll return the favor. Yes. Even if it wasn't formal, something in the magic around them understood a deal was being made. He just didn't know what that final favor would be. He'd have to be surprised. But he found he was remarkably okay with that, for once in his life. "I need to get back to the shop," he muttered quietly, getting to his own feet and leaving his tea untouched. "Things to do, people to see-"

"Plots to hatch…" he finished for him in a sad sort of way. "Why did you do this? Are you really never going to tell me?"

Never…never was a bet he wasn't comfortable making, not with Jefferson, not when he lived forever. But it did seem unfair in a way. After all the work he'd done for him, after what he was about to do.

"Because once I lost someone that I love. And to get them back again…I too would tear the world apart."

"Is that why you went after King Maurice? Moe French?" Jefferson corrected quickly, grabbing hold of the only loss he knew about. He wasn't wrong, not entirely. But he wasn't right either. Not entirely. "I heard what you did to him."

"That was just a man finally receiving his just rewards for his daughter's death."

"Wait, you…you think her father killed her?"

"There is more than one way to be responsible for a person's death, Jefferson. I'll see myself out."

"What if she wasn't?!" Jefferson cried out before he'd taken less than three steps. "Dead, I mean. What if you could get her back? I mean…I assume you want magic for something."

His chest hurt again. One breath. Then another. He had to stay steady and focused. "Magic can't bring the dead back, I thought you would have learned that from me."

"Hypothetically, then."

"I stand by everything I've said. And more. For those I love I'd tear the world apart with no regrets. I'll see your compensated for your troubles, Mr. Jefferson."

[nite-shay]

A leg to Stand on - Togata Mirio x Reader

AN:

Idea: Character finding out their S/O has a prosthetic limb. (Think automail from full metal alchemist).

Sorry for any misspelling or grammar mistakes. 

Togata Mirio x Reader

He wasn't supposed to find out, at least not like this. 

You were going to tell him, of course. It wasn't something you could hide at least, not for long. A mechanical prosthetic leg wasn't common even in the world of quirks and heroes. While you weren't ashamed of your leg, it wasn't something you flaunted. You were proud of yourself for your body and your accomplishments, but... life felt simpler when people saw you for you, not for what you were missing. 

Your love life, if you could call it that, was proof enough of that. It's incredible how many assholes there are in the world. What was more incredible was how you seemed to attract said assholes and DATE them. 

 One broke up with you after on a treadmill at the gym. Coward did it over a text message. 

Another one though your leg was a weakness and bad for his future image.  

And then there was your most recent ex. While they were accepting of your metal limb, they thought it would be best for you to get out of the ‘hero business.’ They kept saying how dangerous it was for a 'normal' hero, but for someone like you, it was a death sentence. After a few fights, they played their final card; It was either them or the hero's life. 

You could never give up being a hero. 

After that, you swore off dating and decided to just focus on your career.

 Everything was going great for a while. 

Then you met, Togata Mirio, also known as the hero Lemillion. 

The sunshine boy wasn't like anyone else you ever met. You ran into him and your coworker Amajiki at a ramen shop near your work. After a shy introduction from Suneater, Mirio invited you to join them. You two really hit it off and chatted like old friends. Amajiki (per request of Mirio) started inviting you to their outing, and you quickly built a friendly relationship with Amajiki, Mirio, and Hado. You were enjoying your time with them, especially with Mirio, but you never could work up the courage to ask for his number. 

Luckily, Hado shipped the two of you... hard….

Hado blunt comments about how you two would make beautiful babies (she even went as far as finding an app that merges pictures together to show you what your child might look like), along with other playful ‘hint hint’ comments force the blonde in making the first move. Two dates and a couple of weeks later, you two were officially boyfriend and girlfriend. 

Dating.. hell just being around Mirio made you the happiest you had been in a long time...

Maybe that's why you hesitated when you thought about how to bring up your leg. 

It's just… you were nervous. You liked him...alot.. maybe even loved him. Of course, Mirio was a hard man not to fall for. And it went far beyond just his looks. His passion, his personality... ok, his looks. Everything about him radiated positivity and life. Put a half-dead plant near him, and the damn thing will jump back to life. 

If he did have a flaw, it was he was too perfect. You knew in your heart he would be accepting of your leg and your career, but...

 You didn't want to mess anything up, and you really hadn't been dating too long... 

Six months might seem like a long time but, given the fact that you were both heroes. It made your schedules a little... wonky, to say the least. Though six whole months have passed, you've only gotten to spend a month actually together in total. But that was the hero's life for you. 

While it wasn't always ideal, you both understood, and fortunately, you had technology on your side. Texting, emailing, and calling made the time apart more bearable. 

You felt like a giddy school girl as you checked your phone throughout the day. Reading the little message he sent you throughout the day, helped with getting through even the toughest of days. 

 But today was different.

After weeks of planning, both of you finally had a day off together and planned on spending as much time as you could together. 

There was going to be a festival held in a local park nearby that you loved going to every year.

 Mirio was dying to see a new comedy movie that just came out and, of course, no date we complete without a nice dinner at the local ramen house, the one you first met at. 

Your day was set! 

 You had just finished brushing your lush (Y/Hair color) hair when you heard a knock at your door. You quickly check your appearance in the mirror before welcoming the expected visitor at your door. Your outfit was simple, (cute/cool) and appropriate for the adventurous day before you. A pair of your favorite pants and (favorite color) tank top. While it wasn't summertime yet, the day was going to be warm and slightly humid.  

Mirio arrived at your apartment earlier than expected, and he looked amazing. He stood in the doorway, wearing a black t-shirt and tan cargo shorts that fit him too well. Not that you're complaining, you would soon cut your own tongue out before telling him ‘ya know babe, your butt looks too good in those shorts. You should go change.’ 

You haven’t taken that many hits to the head yet. 

Without any hesitation, you stepped into his warm, welcoming embrace. The feel of his arms around you reminded you that it really had been way too long since you’d gotten to see him. So long, in fact, that it took the two of you a little longer to leave than planned when a quick greeting kiss turned into a heated ', I missed you so much' makeout session. The moment your lips touched, the world around faded away, and there was only the two of you. But before things went too far though, one your neighbor, old miss nosy, interrupted. Apparently, neither of you remembered to shut the front door for some privacy. The sharp huff and her snide comment about hormonal young people these days were enough to pull you from your daze. After rearranging your clothes and locking your door, the two of you were off to enjoy your day.

And oh, what a wonderful day it was.

Even with the slight change of plans.  

Aizawa called Mirio around lunchtime and asked him to pick up Eri after school. The UA teacher was being called out to an emergency assignment and wouldn't be back till later that night. Mirio felt bad after telling you over lunch, but you weren't upset. In fact, you were excited to see Eri again and suggested that you include her in your outing. You enjoyed spending time with her. You especially got a kick out watching her and Mirio interact. The brotherly and sisterly bond they shared never failed to bring a smile to your face.  

Everything was perfect…

… until a villain attacked…

The three of you were making your way to the festival. You walked beside Miro while he carried Eri on his shoulders. You'd been in an in-depth conversation with the curious young girl, and before you realized it, you reached a rough part of town. Unfortunately, this was the shortest path to the fairgrounds. But with the two of you being heroes, you weren't too worried.

Oh, how wrong you were…

You should have taken the bus. 

You through as you dodge another attack from the villain in front of you. You had to be mindful with attacks you dodged, Mirio and Eri were crouched on the ground behind you. Mirio took massive damage from the villain's surprise attack. Parts of his face, the exposed skin on his arms and neck were an angry red and blistered. His breathing was harsh and uneven. 

Eri huddled up next to him, was scared but uninjured. Even with Mirio's injuries, he kept himself between the young girl and the man you were fighting. The villain had a dangerous quirk, allowing him to attack with scalding hot steam. Thank goodness for the quick reflexes of your blonde boyfriend. The villain came out of nowhere with a blitz attack aimed right at Eri. With speed only a skilled hero would have, he simultaneously pushed you and Eri out of the way of the blast. But doing so left him completely defenseless, taking the full force of the attack. 

In slow motion, you watched Mirio fall while you were left holding the young girl in your arms. Your fury rose as you eyed your injured lover and grinning villain. Quickly you tell Eri to run before you rushed the attacker in front of you. He was preparing for another attack, but before could, you hit him with a hard left, drawing his attention to you.  

At some point, Eri ran over to check on Mirio.

"Mirio." you dodge another attack " If you can move, get her out of here. I got this guy!" You tried to counter

"I'm not going to leave you!" 

"Just go!" Your quirk was strong, but it wasn't suited to fight the man in front of you. Your best bet was to hold him off until another hero arrived. His steam made it hard to dodge and even harder to get close for a counter. Every dodged, every counter made your skin boil. Finally, after what seemed like forever, you see an opening. 

"Gotcha!" You yell, aiming your fist for the man's face.

The villain grinned as he emitted a burst of steam around his whole body. The skin on your hand and arm were instantly burned by the heated moisture of the air. You couldn't help but shout out in pain as you jump back, cradling your injured arm. 

"(Y/N)!" Eri's voice echoed through the alleyway. 

"You don't stand a chance. So just give me the kid, and I'll let you and your little boyfriend live." He taunted before gesturing over to Eri, who was shaking in Mirio's arms. 

"No way. I won't let you take her…"

"What are you? Some hero wannabes?" He sneered.

"Try the real deal." You scoffed back at him.

"Ahhhh, I thought I recognized you… your (Y/Hero Name), aren't you? And is that Lemillion, behind you?" He laughed. "Oh, this is too perfect! I get to kill off two heroes and rid the world of that demon child too? Today's going to be a good day!" He attacked you again with even more determination than before. You manage to dodge most of his attacks and even land a few blows of your own. However, the little damage you could do was nothing compared to the damage you were receiving.

"Are you blind or stupid? Why are you fighting so hard to protect that little brat?"

"What can I say? I tend to take my work home with me." 

"That's not what I mean. I mean, why would you fight to protect her?" He rolled his eyes. "It's her fault, Lemillion is quirkless."

" Do you really have nothing else better to do than pick on a little kid?" You weren't going to fall for whatever trick the villain was trying to pull, but a slight look of confusion must have shown on your face. 

"You don't know, do you?" He taunted

"That's enough!" Mirio yelled as best he could before he started coughing. 

"What Lemillion? Didn't you tell her what happened to you?" He was now looking passed you to your boyfriend behind you. Eri had started shaking as she tried to bury her face into his chest. Whatever the villain was talking about, was clearing affecting the two behind you. 

"Shut up!" You attack again. You hated seeing Eri so upset. But what scared you was the look on Mirio's face. Typically, he smiled, even in the face of danger. You could count on seeing his dazzling grin to get you out of the toughest of situations. Not this time, though. You could see anger but also a look of sadness as he hugged Eri close to him, whispering something you couldn't quite make out. 

"Let me fill you in little hero. That brat behind you, she's the reason your loverboy back there lost his quirk. It's because of her that he'll never be the hero 'should' have been. All because of her and her damn quirk." He smirked as he continued. "You see, she has the ability to destroy other quirks." You were shocked as you listened to the villain in front of you. You never really asked what Eri's quirk was or how it was they met. Of course, you heard rumors that Mirio was quirkless. You never saw or heard of him using his quirk, so you never really asked about it. Honestly, you really didn't care. He was a damn good hero and an even better person. "Don't you see how dangerous that kid is? She could destroy everyone's quirk! Your's, Mine, Everyone! I'm doing the world a favor by getting rid of her." He chuckled menacingly. "Guess you could call me the hero in this situation!"

"Who the hell do you think you are…" Your teeth ground on each other as your anger rose to a new level.

"What?"

"What gives you the right…" Your voice rose as you took a step towards the villain.

"The right? Honey, I'm a villain. I do what I want when I want." He chuckled. 

"Villian or not. That wasn't your secret to tell…" 

"Huh?" That confused him. 

"WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE TELLING SOMEONE ELSE'S SECRET?!" You launch yourself at the man. "You have no right to do that to someone!" You throw another punch only to meet a wall of steam. It wasn't as hot this time. You must have caught him off guard. That or you were just too mad to feel the pain. "People process things and will let others in at THEIR pace, not yours! People have secrets, and that's fine!

It's also okay for them not to tell anyone, but it's never okay for someone else to tell it FOR them!" You jump back to catch your breath some as you prepare for your next move. You looked back over your shoulder and beamed at the teary-eyed girl and your now smiling boyfriend.

"Mirio… Eri... I understand why you didn't tell me about your quirk or your relationship… I get it... That's a big secret to have. But know this, I will protect you, and I will never see you any different from before. I know what that feels like." You winked. "I have a secret, too, ya know… Something I haven't told either of you yet…" You turn to face the villain who had just gotten his second wind and charging up for the attack. And a powerful one at that. Without any hesitation, you rush the man in front of you.

"(Y/N)! "Eri's fearful voice echoed through the alleyway. 

"This is where you die (Y/Hero Name)!" The man engulfed his body in vapor hotter than before. Without any hesitation, you swing your leg in a high kick at the man's face. The vapor destroyed the material of your pants to reveal shiny metal where soft flesh should have been. While you weren't able to see, you could feel the impact of your attack. The contact you made was sold and amplified by your rage, sent the man flying to the alley wall behind him, knocking him out cold.

Adrenaline still pumping, you run over to check Mirio and Eri. Just as you reach them. Backup finally arrives. A couple of offers and some heroes swarmed the scene. Apparently, someone had called in the fight happening in the alleyway, but with the festival going on, it took longer for them to respond. 

"Mirio! Are you ok?" You crouched down next to him, checking over both him and Eri.

"Yeah, I'm ok… What… about you…. Eri?" His breath was uneven and hard as he spoke. 

"Were ok." You said in unison.

Two EMTs arrived, immediately running over to the three of you. They were more concerned about Mirio and wanted to take him to the hospital. He, of course, fought them, saying how they needed to check you and Eri first. True, the burns on your up arms and hands were severe but weren't life treating. Mirio, on the other hand, had more pressing injuries. The first attack from the villain damaged his throat and lungs. So the paramedics were more focused on getting him to the hospital. 

Without hesitation, you and Eri jump in the back of the ambulance with him. Much to the protest of one of the EMTs who was bandaging your burns. The ride back to the hospital was quiet. Eri didn't look at you the whole time. You felt bad. She was shy and to have someone say all those mean things about her... A kid… made you want to go back and kick that villain one more time for good measure. But Eri's safety and Mirio's health comes first. The doctors quickly got Mirio into a room and hooked up to a line of oxygen. One of the nurses was able to apply some minor healing to make his breathing a little easier. However, he would have to wait a little while before someone with the proper quirk could heal his lungs completely.

So there the three of you were. Eri didn't look up at you for the longest time, and it finally took Mirio talking to her to get her to look at you. The villain's comments really upset Eri, and she thought you now hated her because of what happened to Mirio. After a lot of reassuring, tears (from all three of you) and hugs (lots of hugs), Eri finally smiled at you again.

About that time, Aizawa entered the room. His mission got canceled last minute. He heard what happened and rushed over to check on Eri. After a few more reassuring hugs and promises to see each other later. Aizawa took Eri home, leaving you alone with Mirio. You were quiet for a while as you sat in silence, not sure what to say. Luckily, Mirio being Mirio, knew just what to do. He slowly slid over as much as the small bed would allow and raised one of his arms up. 

"Come here..." He gave you a soft smile, and without hesitation, you climbed into the bed with him. This was something you both need right now. After some careful adjustment due to your injuries, the two of you found a comfortable position. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about my quirk or about Eri."

"It's fine, believe me when I say I know a thing or two about what to bring up and when." You joked as you patted your metal leg. "Some things... aren't first date or even six months of dating conversations." He couldn't help but chuckle before finally getting a good look at your leg. 

"I... didn't know about your leg... What happened?"  

"There was a villain attack when I was a kid..." You whispered as thought back to that day. After telling him the whole story, he couldn't help but hold you tighter to himself. "After that... I decided to be a hero. I'm sorry I didn't tell you soon... and that you had to find out this way... Bet it was a bit of a shock, huh?" You glanced away slightly but stayed in his embrace. You felt bad for not telling him sooner. You mentally scolded yourself as you stare at your exposed metallic leg; if you hadn't been so afraid of telling him, you could have ended the fight sooner. It could have ended better. Mirio knew you were kicking yourself about the attack. He leaned down and gave you a sweet kiss on your lips. The blonde man knew you well, and you leaned into the kiss. True to his nature, the sunshine boy could break through the darkest doubts you had about yourself. 

"A bit but not in a bad way... I was just surprised! But... now that I think about it... it does make sense..." His sheepish expression made you feel better until you fully comprehend his answer. After a kiss like that, you almost forgot you asked a question. 

"Huh?" 

"Well.. you have a little cans of oil in your medicine cabinet, and you have an unusual amount of tools for someone who doesn't have a vehicle... "He quietly reflected before a look of surprise washed over his face. "And on top of that...Tamaki said that Fatgum stepped on your foot last week, and you didn't even flinch!" He examined with his trademark grin.

His expression, along with his remarks through you into a fit of laughter. Hearing your laughter made his heart soar as he joined in. The fit was made worse as you remembered the look on Fatgum’s horrified face when he realized it was your foot and not a bunched up part of the carpet, stepped on. He apologized profusely and was surprised when you brushed off the incident. 

"Poor guy. I thought he was going to cry!" You roared as you both continued to laugh until a coughing fit from Mirio finally claimed you both down. "So…. Do you have any plans tomorrow?"

"Not really. Bubble girl gave me the next few days off to rest up. What about you?"

"Fatgum was upset I got injured. I believe his exact words were, 'now, as much as I love fried chicken, don't bring your extra crispy butt into work for the next few days? Got it chickadee?'" You did your best to imitate the BMI hero's accent, which only causes you to go into another laughing fit.

"How about we hang out at my place tomorrow? What is Hado called? Netflix and chill?"

"I'd like that." You grinned as gently snuggled against Miro's chest.

Thanks for the read! If you want see the other stuff I’ve done, click the link bellow!

MasterList

[mittens-220]

Hataraku Maou-sama! Volume 21 Detailed Chinese Summary Part 5

Detailed preview summary: Read here

Detailed summary part 1: Read here

Detailed summary part 2: Read here

Detailed summary part 3: Read here

Detailed summary part 4: Read here

Demon King and Hero Challenge God

End of July, the distance between the two moons were pretty close, the preparations for battle sped up. The strike team was Maou and Acies, Ashiya and Urushihara, Emi and Alas=Ramus, Lailah and Gabriel, Utsushihara and Amane, as well as Camio and Farfarello. Amane was only in charge of monitoring Utsushihara and would not participate in the fight. They then launched the Demon Fortress to Heaven at a closer distance, Heaven was very quiet, and no one was seen, with no one responding to their intrusion. Maou said, let’s go find the Tree of Life, our goal is not to fight a war but to free the Sephirah, Lucifer objected, saying that the other Sephirah might be like Iron and were being taken care of by Ignora, and asked Gabriel, as a guardian angel, did he know what state the Sephirah were in? Or were there no other guardian angels who I know anymore? Gabriel said that other than who was mentioned before, there was only Malkuth’s guardian angel, known as Sandalphon, he was a rather old angel, because even if they were immortal, they could not reverse age.

Maou asked Gabriel, wasn’t it said that once civilisation matures, there will be no holy magic, why can you still use spells? And why don’t use Gate to return to their home planet? Gabriel said it was because they did not know the exact location of their home planet, normally speaking, they could only go if they have specific coordinates, it was very lucky that you could end up on Earth. As for spells, they could use them when they were born, it might be because their Sephirah did not feel that spells were a power which exceeded the boundaries.

Then Gabriel brought them to the Tree of Life and the Sephirah management area, the Tree of Life was a withered tree in a huge expense of wilderness, with ten shrines surrounding it. He said that Guardian Angel Kamael was appointed by Ignora, Sandalphon and Gabriel volunteered for the position. Maou and Emi transformed in preparation for battle, and were even talking about combining the two swords together (using a common phrase used to describe couples in love), the rest of the group even tsukkomi-ed them.

They entered one of the shrines, something like a drain wrapped around the root on the ground and caused it to curl, Amane said it was like seeing a relative getting tortured and interrogated. Gabriel said that they just needed to destroy the drains, but do not break number 4 (Iron), number 9 (Yesod) and number 10 (Malkuth). Gabriel had never seen Malkuth because Malkuth was being managed by Ignora and Kamael. Then they started breaking things, and no one cared about them after breaking five or six of them, or it was more like they did not see anyone after arriving in Heaven. Gabriel said that the facilities they destroyed were used by Ignora to make people misunderstand the world, and she basically succeeded. After that, they destroyed 10, 5 and 9 in order, there was a huge shock after destroying everything, the Tree of Life bloomed. Utsushihara said that based on the differences in the areas they control, Malkuth would wake up first, next would be Kether, Geburah and Yesod. Ashiya said that they were now in enemy headquarters and they could not leisurely wait for the results of the flowers blooming and should just attack first. Utsushihara agreed and then sighed and said it was troublesome. Lucifer said, you look like me, why do you have the same thought process as me as well. Utsushihara said, could it be that you do not want to fight with your mother? Lucifer said, no, I also have my own goals. So when they reached an agreement, they were about to set off and Kamael’s trident finally burst into the scene

Then they realised that the trident did not belong to Kamael, but Heaven’s troops. Maou commented about finally being able to fight and told Ashiya not to kill them as much as possible, then left him behind to occupy the Heaven troops for as long as possible, the rest followed Gabriel to look for Ignora. As they flew, they reminded each other, even if no one came to stop them from destroying the shrines, they could not let their guard down. In the past, it was Ignora’s battle tactics which defeated Sataniel. For the small number of pursuers they met on the way, they were all defeated, and Maou and Emi worked very well together during this time. Finally they flew to a place where they could see a huge man made building. Lucifer said it was not much different from before, that was basically a dead place. That was a metallic round building which looked like a UFO, and was named “Ship of Hope”, the research base. Maou asked, they were born because someone was play acting as Demon King in this place? Lucifer said, I understand what you feel, my feelings were even more complex, I came to understand my family, and destroy this whole place before Ashiya returns. Utsushihara, who could read minds, even added on that Lucifer was speaking the truth. Only Lailah felt shaken at Lucifer’s murderous words. Maou ignored him and declared battle loudly, asking all of them to come out if they did not want to die! He had come to kill their leader! And in the end, only Kamael came out.

Gabriel tried to address him in a familiar way, but Kamael did not say anything and attacked directly, Maou saved Gabriel and everyone noticed that Kamael’s spear had a layer of golden glow which they had not seen before. Lucifer reminded them about paying attention to fire prevention (due to what happened in vol 8). Maou said to leave it to him, and once he went forward, Kamael started to chant Satan’s name again, then Kamael said Sataniel was a traitor, an uncivilised person who did not understand Ignora’s ideals, and also his wife’s enemy, he would never forget that battle which caused his wife’s body to be left on the red moon. Then he declared that he would not allow them to obstruct Ignora’s path and they started fighting. During the battle, Kamael started to lose, Maou was about to give him a lethal blow when a pair of hands suddenly reached out to block the holy sword. Acies turned back to her human form, and Kamael’s spear turned into a white haired girl around 17 or 18 years of age, yellow and black fringe, it was Malkuth.

Malkuth’s name is Eros and said that she choose Kamael as her Yadorigi, Acies said this group of people destroyed their Sephirah and enslaved us, why did you choose him. Eros said that she knew, not long ago, she did not have such plans, but Daath has already been born. Acies said she knew, he looked exactly the same as Lucifer. Kamael said, this is the result of Daath’s choice. Ignora was waiting for the choice the whole time, it was such a long period of time and she experienced many betrayals, obstructions and setbacks, but after experiencing such a long wait, we finally obtained a place to belong. Maou rebuked, they treated all of like this, how could they talk about a place to belong? Kamael said, the planet this satellite (the moon) belonged to, its chosen human, Daath believed it was the Head of the second generation angels, Lucifer. The race Lucifer belonged to, is the race who should be reigning this planet, the race who should be evolving. Even if you kill me and Ignora here, our victory will not be shaken. Then he smiled in a contempt after saying this.

On the other end, the rest entered the UFO when Maou was holding Kamael back, there was still no one, Lailah said that this place used to be very lively, and Gabriel had only left for half a year, it was not like this in the past. Gabriel was very uneasy and wanted to go with his own Heaven troops to find someone he knew, guaranteeing that he would not betray the Landlady. Lucifer said he would go with him, he could deal with Raguel as well, Gabriel’s Heaven troops would not disobey him, then Utsushihara also followed them. Emi went down another route with Lailah and after they walked for a while, there was an explosion, causing a hole in the wall. Maou and Acies rolled in, they were trashed by Kamael and Eros. Eros was stronger than Yesod, Acies and Eros fought until it was like two large armies fighting against each other, even though it looked like they would not be able to win, Emi and Lailah could only take this chance to continue moving further in. Eros had a lot of leeway when fighting Acies, and it could even be said that she was taking it easy on Acies, telling Acies that all of this was unnecessary, Daath already made his choice, there is no need to go against Ignora anymore. Acies said she did not care, they caused me and Nee-chan to be separated from the others, it’s fine if you do not want to help, at least let me beat them up.

Eros did not let her, and said that Yesod’s characteristics was like a mirror, your eyes have turned red due to demonic magic and negative emotions, other Sephirah have a duty to stop you. Your affinity with that demon is too strong, Yesod, as the source of demonic magic, if it sinks too deep, all the Sephirah would be negatively affected, such that all demons and angels would be destroyed. Then she started to absorb Acies’ power, when she was about to succeed, Maou forcefully merged with Acies, coughed up blood, and said they were so wrong choosing Lucifer, they could actually entrust the future to that kind of HikkiNEET who plays games? Then with a burst of energy, he grabbed Eros and said, what the heck was she talking about, you and us, angels, demons, Demon King and Hero, we are only “humans” who do not need to eat and sleep! Do not look down on humans! As he grabbed Eros, he slammed her into the ground, and after that flew up to get into a fist fight with Kamael, knocking off his helmet, he has silver hair and red eyes and was a burly man, half his face had burn marks. Then Eros also climbed to her feet, Acies was also let out, the two continued to fight.

On the other end, Emi and Lailah finally reached where Ignora was, Ignora calmly greeted them with “Good morning”. Ignora was very thin and her eyes were listless, so it was not known why the other angels would submit to her. Ignora said, that is your daughter next to you, right? It feels nice to be a mother, right? You feel that you can overcome all difficulties, right? So you can also understand, the despair I feel when I lost my son, right? Therefore, when we meet again, I would feel limitless hope and happiness. Without waiting for Lailah to speak, she reached out and Lailah knelt in pain. Emi wanted to help, Ignora said, children should not interrupt when the adults were speaking, then she called for a young girl known as Nuxe to deal with Emi. Nuxe had reddish brown hair, olive fringe, golden eyes and addressed Ignora as Mama. Ignora said she was introducing this person to Alas=Ramus, and after she finished speaking, the two Sephirah children started to fight, Ignora also did not care and disappeared with Lailah.

Nuxe introduced herself as Malkuth, Eros’ younger sister, but Alas=Ramus did not know her and only knew Eros. Nuxe reached out to touch Emi’s evil repelling armour. The evil repelling armour disappeared, becoming Yesod fragments in Nuxe’s hand, Nuxe is that astronaut. Nuxe smiled with soulless eyes and said, Mama was afraid of me coming in contact with bad things outside and had me wear the astronaut suit, can I ask you to return the Yesod fragments? Of course Emi refused, letting out a light explosion shockwave to give Nuxe a concussion, temporarily losing her ability to fight. Alas=Ramus said Nuxe is “outside”. Emi’s understanding was that Nuxe was not merged with anyone, therefore Alas=Ramus dragged Emi along had Nuxe merge with Emi (I’m confused too, please don’t ask me about this). Nuxe’s consciousness struggled in Emi’s mind, and remembering Ignora, Emi tolerated the mental shock of someone arguing in her head and went to find Ignora and Lailah

When Emi stepped into that room, there was already three people inside. Lailah was currently being tortured by Ignora, Ignora asked Gabriel who rushed over why he suddenly betrayed her. Raguel was also inside the room, he was sealed inside a chamber (forced sleep), it was the same for Sandalphon who was mentioned earlier. Gabriel asked Ignora aggressively, why are you treating them like this, Sandalphon had been supporting you the whole time, and Daath chose us after so much effort. It was not known if the person beside Gabriel was Lucifer or Utsushihara. Ignora smiled, finally letting go of Lailah, but grabbed her hair and started dragging her along, saying “what happens if the ‘people who were not chosen’ spread across the world, all of you have seen it, right? All of you hidden too deeply, both of you, and also my husband, there was actually no need for this. All of you let the Theocracy grow to that state, that’s why things became like this. After saying this, she stepped on Lailah’s back, and spoke to someone unknown, “Isn’t that right, child?” That unknown person was expressionless, saying “It might be like that, Mama.”

Time skip to three years later again, Maou, Emi and Chiho received a call from Lucifer at the same time, but he did not pick up when they called back. By the way, Lucifer was using a function mobile phone which Maou bought for him earlier. At that time, Lucifer complained why it was not a smartphone, but Maou felt that Lucifer was a homebody and did not need to contact anyone, so it was fine as long as he could make calls. They felt he might have something urgent going on, but since he did not pick up, they could only send messages over to ask. In the end, it was because Lucifer was dragged out by a group of Sephirah to eat and could not afford the bill. The ones present were Lucifer, Acies, Iron, Nuxe and Eros. These few people probably ate a whole cow and Maou could not afford it as well, so he dragged Lailah and Nord in to pay the bill and emptied their wallets. After they finished eating, they chatted as they walked. Lucifer fit in perfectly with the group of Sephirah and Nuxe addressed Lucifer as onii-chan, and even asked him to treat all the Sephirah fairly and not just favour Yesod alone. Chiho offered to pay but Lucifer said there was no need, these Sephirah are my responsibility as their Management Supervisor, so there is a source of finances. Maou said that if he wanted to claim the bill, then keep the receipt properly, Lucifer happily took out the receipt and played with it on the tip of his fingers, an evil light in his eyes.

Three years later, Gabriel was staying in Room 103, he was the one responsible for giving the finances, but he would not pay for Lucifer’s share. Lucifer said that he only drank tea and that the barbecue meat he was looking forward to was not like this! The young Sephirah were playing loudly and Gabriel said that it looked like Lucifer was already an adult and was like an older brother, he was really happy. Then Maou pointed at the second floor and asked how was the situation, Gabriel said there was not much change and she only promised that she would eat. Maou and Lucifer returned to Room 201, talking about the growth of the Sephirah. It seemed like Sandalphon’s life was saved and Maou even had a coffee machine in his room. Lucifer said taking care of these children is like taking care of a tree and he did not think that the gardening skills described by Suzuno were really interesting, Maou said that Suzuno probably did not think that gardening skills could be used in this aspect. Then the two went to the door of Ignora next door, saying that she was eating a little more now, are you worried? Lucifer said he was a little worried. Maou said that if Nuxe was brought over, she might improve a little. Lucifer said, then he would just send Nuxe back, he keeps feeling that she should not let her recover too quickly, it took him a lot of effort to almost get used to this job, it would be troublesome if she came to criticise this and that. Maou said, are you actually Utsushihara? Lucifer said, who knows, but if I  really am him, then you better not think of bad things, okay? And he was resented by Maou.

[bi-bi-richie]

Meet Me in the Woods (1/4)

In Derry, Maine, most people don’t know about the four spirits that reside there. Of course, everyone has heard of the four elements; Air, Fire, Earth and Water, but they had no idea about the identities behind their abilities.

...

Ao3 - 1 2 3 4

...

In Derry, Maine, most people don’t know about the four spirits that reside there. Of course, everyone has heard of the four elements, Air, Fire, Earth and Water, but they had no idea about the identities behind their abilities. For centuries, the spirits passed between different entities, more often than not, humans. The problem was that almost everybody they passed through had the intention of using their abilities for their own selfish desires. The spirits eventually decided to retire in their own individual humans, starting as infants, and act as the little voice in their head as they grew up to insure that they would be their ideal spirit wielder.

The oldest of these spirits is Air. Air is a spirit that craved freedom, the one that touched the sky and, unlike the others, couldn’t be tied down and controlled. The spirit had hope to find someone like themselves, faster than fear and stronger than any danger. Air knew they had no success in finding somebody like this in grown people, but they believed they could mold the young child into what they need. What the world needs.

The second oldest is earth. Earth is nothing like Air, a polar opposite some would say. Earth was a content spirit, never reaching for what they can’t have because they already had it all. They, like Air, could never find somebody like this, it’s impossible to find a human without desires. Still, Earth was sure that they could teach their human to settle with their ability. Show them that they didn’t need to explore the world, instead they could make it. It’s wishful thinking and Earth would stick to it.

The third and second youngest of these spirits is Water. Such a beautiful yet powerful spirit, Water is definitely one of the most respected spirits out of them all but also the most fun. Water has a playful personality that, surprisingly, complimented their mighty ability well. Water wanted that in their human; fun and free but not afraid to do what’s right, even if it means sacrifice. Though the spirit was a lively one, there was no room for love in their existence.

The final and youngest spirit is Fire. Fierce was the only word anyone who looked at the ability of the spirit could use to describe it. They’re unbelievably powerful, even more dangerous than any other spirit and the most destructive. Fire is fearless, like Air, and never stepped down from a fight. Though Water has tamed them in the past, they always came back with more force than before. Fire knew early on that whoever they picked would have to be strong and won’t be pushed down- ever- even if Fire had to teach them.

…

As a child, Eddie always knew something was different. Most people can’t use the wind to help them run faster or hold them in the air while they read a book... or use the air at all. Eddie first learned that when his dad walked into his room when he was 4 and having a windy day in his room so his cape would flap up and down while he played. His dad, Frank, much calmer than anyone should have been, sat Eddie down and asked him about what he was doing. Eddie, convinced he was now in trouble, just ducked his head and told him that he was just playing and somehow willed it to happen. Frank smiled, called him his little bird, and had Eddie agree that he wouldn’t do it in public. Eddie reluctantly agreed but Frank promised that he would take Eddie out into the forest and they could play with it there.

For a few years, they did. Until one day Frank didn’t come home and the wind howled harder than anyone had ever seen that night.

The other side of all of this was Eddie’s mom, Sonia. She was blissfully unaware of her son’s unique ability his whole life since Frank urged Eddie to keep it away from her considering she might not understand the same way Frank did. Eddie didn’t realize why until he heard a voice in his head.

At ten years old, Eddie had surprisingly kept his secret from his mother pretty well. It wasn’t exactly hard to hide, it could be chalked up to the air conditioner being too high or a window being left open. What almost gave him away was a voice.

Eddie was looking out the window one night and saw his neighbors had a fire going in their backyard. He watched it with a smile, missing the days when him and his dad would do outdoor things together. His smile faded when he saw everyone go inside, leaving the fire to rise in height and nip at the leaves above it.

“Blow it out,” a voice said in his head. Eddie almost fell back from how sudden it was and how close it sounded.

“Hello!?” Eddie called out and frantically looked around his room, but he saw nobody and nothing even capable of making noise.

“Quick,” the voice snapped, “that could spread in no time.”

Eddie’s eyes filled with confused tears, unable to understand what’s going on and afraid of something he didn’t know.

“Edward! You have to stop it! A quick puff could take it out in a mere second!”

Then he couldn’t handle it anymore.

“Mom!!” He screamed out, “mom help me!!”

In no time at all, Sonia was barreling into the room, wild eyes searching frantically for her son and almost fainting at the sight of him sitting by an open window, sobbing his eyes out.

“Edward! Have you lost your mind!? What are you doing by an open window!?”

Eddie could barely see his mother through his tears. “I-“ he hiccuped, “I heard a voice! In my head!”

There was not a collection of words that could’ve scared Sonia more than those. In less than an hour, Eddie was laying in a hospital bed trying not to cry and listening to his mom scream outside his door. Somehow, everyone had ignored the hard push of wind in the hospital as the doctor explained that Eddie probably just heard a voice from the outside, as he seems physically and mentally healthy.

Eddie heard it again while he slept in that uncomfortable bed in a sadly familiar white room. Eddie trembled when he heard it, but something made it a little less scary than before, and a little more welcoming.

“You don’t need to be afraid of me, Edward, your father wasn’t.”

And for a young Eddie Kaspbak, a few years without his father or the freedom to use his abilities, that was enough.

…

Beverly heard her voice many years sooner than Eddie did. Beverly, like Eddie, had a parent who saw their ability and loved it as a part of them. At the time, Beverly and her parents lived in a small house a little further away from Derry but in Derry nonetheless. It was easy to hide Beverly’s more dangerous ability when there was nobody around to see it. As a baby, her crib caught fire more often than could ever be considered normal. The funny thing was that Beverly never got burned once.

Through too much trial and error and excessive lies to Beverly’s father, Alvin, Beverly lived comfortably with her mother, occasionally her father, and her flame.

Unfortunately, it couldn’t last. Beverly’s mother had been deathly ill for a good year in her life and didn’t survive. In her grief, Beverly, now four years old, set their house on fire without realizing she was letting her power escape her. When sheher and her father escaped, he slapped her and blamed her even though he didn’t have evidence and the firefighters couldn’t find a clear cause for the fire. But Beverly took it to heart. He was right. Now Beverly had nothing left of her mother and she took the blame upon herself.

Alvin moved them fully into the town. Kept them cooped up in a tiny, rundown apartment and let his love for Beverly slip with every sip of beer and drag of a cigarette he took.

One night, Beverly, seven years old, watched herself in her bathroom mirror. A fresh bruise was spreading across her cheek and she knew she’d have to cover it up before she went back to school tomorrow. She watched herself and felt tears slowly leak from her eyes. Thoughts of how she despised her appearance, her uncanny resemblance to her mother and how it’s a curse filled her mind. She felt nothing but hatred for it.

“Don’t do that,” a voice lightly scolded. Beverly leaped backward and frantically looked around

With as much bravery as a seven-year-old can muster, she called out, “who’s there? Show yourself!”

The voice let out a quiet, “tsk tsk,” and Beverly slowly started to realize it wasn’t a voice coming from someone in the apartment.

“Shh, you don’t need to fear me.”

Beverly trembled but couldn’t help but feel comforted by the gentle tone. “Who are you?”

The voice shushed her again, “never mind that. All you need to know is that I’m here for you, Beverly. I love you.”

Hearing that, even at seven and not truly understanding the power behind those three words, caused Beverly to collapse and sob. She had been denied love for so long. A caring voice to tell her everything will be okay. That she was loved.

“And don’t say those things about yourself,” the voice scolded again, but gently. “One of the things I love the most about you is your flame.”

…

Mike has...the perfect life for his ability. It’s unbelievably easy for him to hide it, he didn’t even know about it until he was six-years-old. Ever since he was born, the farm had been doing more amazing in their farming than ever. The soil was always perfect, everything grew at its best and there was rarely a spoiled harvest. It was amazing and unlike anything any farmer had ever seen.

When Mike did discover his ability, he was playing outside alone one day. He loved to be outside, to discover new things everyday. Though he was generally allowed to run around wherever he wanted, he still felt there was more to find. His father warned him of a high cliff above a quarry and that it was too dangerous to go alone. For a long time, Mike held onto that rule but the dullness of that day was just too much to bear for a six-year-boy who craved adventure.

It didn’t take long for his imagination to run wild and rationalize his decision to run off. In his mind, he imagined he wouldn’t get too close and he would come back before his dad noticed he was gone. There’s no way his dad just expected him to sit there and be bored all day! So he ran off, pushing tall grass away without touching it and giggling at how it tickled rather than lightly cutting his arms like it would to someone else.

Eventually, the soft dirt under his feet turned into hard stone, letting him know he was mere seconds away from seeing the quarry he had only started thinking about ten minutes earlier. One shove at a branch and suddenly he was greeted with one of the most breathtaking sights he’d ever seen in his life- not that he was really old enough to cherish it.

The quarry was huge, almost like a canyon in Mike’s mind. He thought the drop below had to be at least 200ft.

It didn’t take long for Mike to decide that getting a closer look couldn’t hurt in the slightest. It was in his best interest! Nobody in the whole wide world could just see the quarry and not get closer. So he did.

He inched closer. Then closer. Ever so slightly closer. Okay, a little closer. Maybe a lot closer. So, maybe too close.

What didn’t occur to Mike was that he had hit the natural edge of the quarry a few inches back. The ground beneath him just grew with every step he took. He didn’t take notice and he didn’t look back.

“Michael,” a voice suddenly stopped him.

Mike stopped, but didn’t bother to look around to find the voice. He just kept walking but at a slower pace.

“Michael,” the voice said yet again.

“Yes?” Mike squeaked out, keeping his eyes ahead.

“What are you doing?” The voice asked.

Mike shrugged, assuming whoever was there could see him. “I wan’ see the quarry my daddy always talks about!”

The voice hummed, “but didn’t he say to stay away?”

Mike paused, then he sat down and thought about it. “But I was bored!”

The voice chuckled. “Michael, it’s time to turn back. You know the way very well.”

Mike huffed as he got up and turned around. What he saw made him almost fall right back over. It was a large strip of stone, perfectly matched to Mike’s small width and as long as he had walked.

“What happened!?” Mike gasped out, his shock was quickly replaced with wonder.

“You made it, Michael,” it explained gently.

“Oh,” Mike sniffed, “can I get rid of it? I don’t wan’ my daddy knowing I was here.”

The voice chuckled again and it made Mike smile in response. “Of course, just go back to the edge and I’ll help you with the rest.”

So Mike did. He hopped along the stone right back to the natural edge of the quarry, mostly unaware of the way the stone path crumbled and fell into the water below. When he turned back around, everything was as it was before. He started walking back home where he knew his parents would be making lunch at this point.

…

Even though everybody had heard their voice relatively young, the youngest of them all was Richie.

When Richie was three, well, he couldn’t exactly speak the right way. He knew words, small sentences but his lisp made things hard to say. The strange thing about Richie was that he knew words he had never been taught by his parents. Words like, “spirit,” or “ability.” Things that Wentworth and Maggie, his parents, would never say and especially in front of a three year old.

The even weirder thing about Richie was that he had the most unusual tendency to be wet. As a baby Richie would be found surrounded by a puddle of water, or wake up from a nap soaked to the bone. When he was learning to crawl and walk, Richie couldn’t do it on tile because he always managed to slip on water that seemed to come from nowhere.

For the first few years of his life, his parents had no reasonable explanation for it. Maggie insisted he just sweated. A lot. Wentworth suggested a leaky roof, but how could he be soaked to the bone even when it hasn’t rained in three weeks? Richie was an unsolved case. The strange unknown “phenomenon” kept them hesitant to send Richie to a daycare or preschool despite how social they knew their son was, especially for a toddler. Maggie convinced most people that there was no point,she was a stay-at-home-mom and Richie was still young .In reality, she couldn’t stand the idea of sending Richie away to people who won’t understand him… even though she didn’t understand either.

It wasn’t until he was four when all their questions were answered.

Another quirk of Richie’s, even as a toddler, was that he could never keep a secret. Obviously he wasn’t trusted with big secrets, like what Wentworth bought Maggie for her birthday, but sometimes one of his parents let out a loud “FUCK” from one room and begged Richie to keep it a secret from the other parent. Not because they really wanted it to be, but because they really didn’t want Richie running around the house chirping out “fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!” And, well, that never worked.

Richie was playing in his room that afternoon. Most kids liked to play with actual toys, but Richie liked to play with cups of water. He was the only one who could do it too! He made shapes out of the water, his favorite animal (which changed every week) was a popular choice to play with. Today he made a fox, a playful one (at his spirit’s suggestion) that nipped at Richie’s fingers and ran around his room until Richie decided he wanted to cuddle with it instead.

As he sat on his bed, stroking his water-fox, he rattled off question after question.

“Fox bye bye?” Richie whined.

“I’m afraid so, but one day you can keep him by your side.” Water answered.

“But,” Richie sighed, “I wan’ fox! Can I keeps him?”

Water sighed, “I’m sorry, Richard, but nobody can know about him- or you. You know that.”

“... Not mommy and daddy?”

“Not even them.”

Richie huffed and crossed his arms. “Mommy and daddy no tell.” He sat up from his bed and grumbled, “mommy and daddy tolds me I can tell them a-anything .”

“Richard, let's just play! Make another animal!” Richie sighed, happy that his spirit’s serious tone was gone and rolled off his bed.

“I wan’ cracker.” Then Richie padded off to his bedroom door.

He yanked the heavy door open with all his strength, but he forgot about the fox still running around his room . It let out a loud yip and charged out the door and down the stairs where his parents were watching tv. Richie watched it run down the stairs with wide eyes, ignoring the way Water was screaming in his ear to stop him! Richard, no! But he was paralized.

He heard a shrill scream come from both his parent’s mouths. That’s when he ran downstairs.

…

Despite all the spirits being connected and having similar experiences growing up, they didn’t meet until they were freshmen in high school.

Eddie was homeschooled for a large chunk of his life. He was only allowed to go to school in his last year of middle school, which was probably the most miserable year of his life. Even then, it was a private school. He fought tooth and nail to be allowed into a normal public high school, demanding that his mother gave him a single normal experience. Amazingly, Air didn’t speak once during the fight. Eddie thought that Air would argue against Eddie, considering their belief is that Eddie should be in the forest , perfecting his ability. Eventually, his mother caved, but only because the constant storm patterns scared her into believing that god was angry with her.

Beverly spent elementary and middle school in an all girl’s school. There, she was heavily bullied. Beverly never really understood why, other than the fact that little girls were the biggest assholes in the world. She was miserable every single day of her life as long as she attended there and went home to her father. It was horrible, she couldn’t handle it anymore. Fueled by Fire’s demands to stick up for herself and the anger of being harassed again and again and again, Beverly burned a girl’s cheek. It wasn’t until after what she had done that she realized she didn’t have a lie that could save her secret from being let out. So, she set the school on fire. Lucky for her, nobody could find the source of the Fire. Nobody was going to believe a group of girls, who were notorious for hating Beverly, that it was her fault. Beverly was moved into Derry’s public high school when school started again.

Mike was homeschooled until high school. He begged his family to let him have any other sort of experience, just to be around other kids his age- other people! Despite the constant bitching from Earth in his head that this is perfect for you! A young spirit needs the freedom you have. It was annoying, but Mike didn’t let any of it get to him in the end. Eventually, his parents caved and let him do his last piece of school in a public school with all the other kids.

Then there was Richie. After his parents discovered their son’s unique ability and voice of reason in his head, they had to quickly adapt to accept their son for who he was . They didn’t like the sound of Richie saying that his destiny is to be alone with the water one day- or that’s what Water told him. So Maggie had homeschooled him until middle school. She hated to admit how afraid she was that her son with such a wandering mind would run away with the voice in his head demanding it, or even find out from a teacher that Richie had revealed himself. But she couldn’t contain Richie for long. Richie was allowed to go to a public middle school and high school with the promise that he’d keep his secret safe- no matter how guilty she felt about it.

It had to happen eventually. The four spirits are expected to work in harmony but from a distance. That’s how they worked for years, knowing of each other’s existence but only ever coming together during an important situation. Unfortunately for the spirits, humans don’t work that way. Meeting each other was all the teenagers could dream of when they learned there were others like them. It was going to happen no matter what.

It terrified the spirits.

...

Read the rest on Ao3

[jason-pd]

Miraculous Ladybug: Violet Chrysalis

So I’m posting my first fanfic for Miraculous Ladybug. I don’t really know how good it is but, like any writer I would appreciate any tips and constructive criticism! And of course, please don’t steal!

Description: Hawkmoth’s reign of terror over Paris is over, and a new hero of the Butterfly Miraculous will rise. But can Ladybug and Cat Noir trust someone with the Miraculous that has caused them so much pain?

—————————————————

Chapter 1: Catastrophe

The sudden pulse within the purple gem affixed to his shirt underneath his black scarf was enough to get his heart racing. His heart flashed with a defiance that was not his; clearly there was someone in the city with emotions strong enough to be qualified for akumatisation. He stilled his mind to focus on who it was. Flashes came to him - a boy in a black close-fitting suit. Cat ears. A belt wrapped round his waist to look like a tail. There could be no doubt. Cat Noir.

Vicente quickly stood up from the dinner table, leaving his potato mash abandoned on the plate and dashed to his room. He breathed relief when his parents were still at work on the night shift - he would be undisturbed.

He closed his plain curtains except for a gap to see the trace of the city skyline. A lavender creature, a sprite with wispy butterfly wings flew out from his pocket and floated by his shoulder.

“This is your first akuma, master!” The sprite squeaked nervously.

“Yes, Nooroo, I know.” Vicente turned a slight aside to the lavender sprite. “I just hope he’ll be ready to listen.”

“Then I wish you the best of luck, Master!”

He fiddled with the amethyst brooch pinned to his collar as he reminisced on how he got himself in this situation. Hawkmoth had been terrorising Paris for who knows how long and the news had revealed the Ladybug and Cat Noir has finally defeated him. Yet his Miraculous Jewel, the source of the superpowered people like Ladybug and Cat Noir had vanished in a flash of light. Then seven days later he finds the brooch in a small wooden box in his room surrounded by ethereal butterflies. Nooroo had explained to him that Hawkmoth had used the brooch for evil, and yet despite the terror and wrath he had inflicted on Paris, it seemed that Vicente himself was chosen to be the next user of the Butterfly Miraculous.

Upon his kwami’s words of encouragement, Vicente gave a small smile of thanks, then took a deep breath.

“Nooroo, dark wings, rise!” The moment the words left his lips, he felt the rush of energy.

Nooroo became a swirl of violet light and was sucked into the purple gem. In a glittering flash of amethyst, Vicente’s clothes changed. A velvet suit with coattails like butterfly wings now appeared over where his original clothes were.

He looked at the wardrobe mirror. He had only transformed a few times before to get used to it, but he couldn’t help being self conscious about it. The coattails seemed excessive, but he silently admitted to himself that the dark velvet suit matching his hair was a good touch. The only downside was that the look made his already pale skin seem even paler, but as Nooroo has told him, the suit reflected his subconscious ideal of a “butterfly hero”. His rosewood eyes started back at him before turning his eyes to the violet cane in his hands.

From his cane, a small ethereal white butterfly landed in his open palm. Covering it with his other hand, he concentrated. The little white insect cradled in his hand changed into a black butterfly with a glowing purple pattern on its wings; an akuma - a butterfly infused with the power to transform and manifest the heart.

With a firm tone, he called out after the akuma began flitting out the window.

“Fly away, little akuma, and chrysalise his desperate heart!”

———

Cat Noir couldn’t hold these thugs off for long. He wasn’t going to back down on their threats. He didn’t think stopping an attempted robbery would take so long. Even for their size they were unexpectedly savage. It seemed a miracle that they hadn’t endangered anyone and were just causing a ruckus in the alley after their attempt. It was only then he saw a purple butterfly fly down the alley. His eyes went wide. Hawkmoth? But he was defeated, wasn’t he?

It was to his greatest surprise when the akuma flew right over the criminals and then touched his ring. In that moment, time seemed to slow. A violet butterfly-shaped mask appeared over his eyes. He expected the cold, manipulative voice of Hawkmoth, but was caught by surprise when he heard a younger, quieter, almost soothing male voice speak in his head.

“Hello Cat Noir.”

“Hawkmoth?” His voice betrayed his curiosity and suspicion.

“No, not Hawkmoth. My name is-“

Cat Noir spat back, “No matter who you are, I won’t fall to your schemes or temptations -“

“That’s perfectly understandable.” The voice stated in a matter-of-fact tone, almost seemingly expecting his reaction.

The voice continued, “But I am giving you the opportunity you need. Catastrophe, in your fight for justice, I am unshackling you from the chains of your inexperience. I am giving you the ability to use your Cataclysm power as many times as you desire.”

Wait, what? Why would Hawkmoth empower him, of all people?

“And just what do you want in return?” His voice was low and measured.

“Nothing, other than the defeat of these criminals and that you put a stop to their chaos.”

The silence between them was deafening.

“Do you accept?”

The fact the he was asked permission caught him off guard. He thought, he would deal with the consequences later.

He sighed with resignation; he knew Ladybug would chew him out for this. “Fine, I accept.”

His previous fatigue vanished and felt purple and black smoke swirl around him. When the smoke cleared, time seemed to wind up to normal.

His head was clear and he felt the surging of his Cataclysm power like never before. With a small smile, he leapt towards the thugs.

Blow after blow he endured them, dodging them with ease. Every weapon flung at him crumbled to dust in the grip of his Cataclysm. And he could summon another Cataclysm whenever he wanted again and again! He was stronger, faster, like he could face the world and turn it upside down. It was-

“Be careful, Cat Noir; you risk becoming too overconfident, and overconfidence leads to danger.”

“Wow, giving me advice? You really are different,” he quipped.

He wasn’t sure, but perhaps the presence of this new Butterfly Miraculous hero helped calm him down.

With a deep breath, he shook off the high of his newfound abilities and focused.

Even deprived of all their weapons, they were still strong and savage, working in perfect unison. It really was unnatural, unless...

The new Hawkmoth’s voice rung in his head as if in cue.

“If you think I’m responsible for this, remember that I can only akumatise one person at a time. Besides, if they really were to be superheroes - or villains, in this case, I seriously would’ve given them better fashion sense.”

Cat Noir chuckled at his ally’s commentary, and decided to finish this once and for all.

———

With the group knocked unconscious and left at the front of the police station, he got the text on his Cat Baton. Right on cue, a small swarm of glittering ladybugs flew through the streets and swept through the alley in which he’d fought the crooks, reversing the damage caused by the criminals. With a nod of satisfaction, he catapulted toward a high building where he could converse alone with this new hero.

Once at the top, he could sense it. Like a door open in his head, he could feel the presence of thoughts coming through to his consciousness.

“How did it feel, Catastrophe?”

“So that’s what you named me? Not exactly original, huh?”

“Forgive me, I’m a fan of puns, Catastrophe.”

Cat Noir chuckled at that. It seemed he had found at least one similarity to this new ally.

“So, you’re the new Hawkmoth?”

“I prefer not to be known as the previous tragedy who misused this Miraculous. Please, call me... Papillion.”

“Papillion?”

“That’s right.”

“You certainly seem... kinder than Hawkmoth.”

“I try to be. I get the feeling that Ladybug will doubt your story once you tell her.”

“Wha-How did you know I would tell her?”

On the other side of the telepathic connection, resting in his room, Vicente smiled. Cat Noir’s reaction to his train of thought being interrupted was cute... Vicente shook his head at those thoughts and resumed communication.

“She’s your partner, isn’t she? Of course you’ll tell her that there is a new hero using the Butterfly Miraculous.”

Vicente took a deep breath and considered the situation. Communicating with Cat Noir was...interesting. Underneath his mask, Vicente could feel his curiosity, his apprehension and wonder of this new person who helped him. As fun as it was to talk to a superhero he always admired, he had to keep his own budding curiosity to know more under control.

“Alas, Catastrophe, it’s time for me to return my gift.”

“What?”

“Relieve you of my akuma. After all, if you keep it, how can I help anyone else?”

Cat Noir was quite surprised at Duskwing’s earnestness.

“Alright then. I guess I’ll see you around?”

“Maybe, Cat Noir. Maybe.”

With a small smile, Vicente held out his hand and snapped his fingers.

Cat Noir shuddered at the curious feeling of the akuma leaving his ring. The purple smoke that coalesced around his ring felt like a lace drape being pulled away and an ethereal white butterfly flitted away. It hung in the air for a few seconds before fading away into thin air.

Back in his room, Vicente felt a wave of accomplishment for his first successful and cooperative akumatisation.

“Nooroo, dark wings fall!”

In a flash of light, his superhero outfit vanished and he appeared in his normal clothes again, with Nooroo flying out of the Butterfly Brooch. As the brooch camouflaged itself as a crystalline amethyst lapel pin, Nooroo spoke up again.

“Congratulations on your first akumatisation, master!”

“Thank you, Nooroo. Your energy’s depleted, isn’t it? I prepared this earlier for you, just in case!”

Vicente handed out a plate with a spoonful of honey.

“Butterflies eat nectar, don’t they?”

“I’m not a butterfly, master, but I do love honey!” Nooroo squeaked.

Vicente smiled as the little Kwami flew happily over to the plate and began feeding on the honey with contentment.

He was happy that Cat Noir was open to accepting him, but he couldn’t help but wonder if his partner, the saviour of Paris, Ladybug, would be willing to accept his help. For now, as Papillion, he would wait until Ladybug would have no choice but to listen, especially once Cat Noir had vouched for him.

......

Back at the police station, the crooks lay unconscious. If only Cat Noir had not been so hasty to converse with Papillion, had he only supervised the crooks for a few more minutes, he might’ve seen a curious mask of blue light appear over the five crooks. He might’ve seen a little opulent blue feather fly out of their leader’s watch and dissolve away into thin air.

To be continued...

[ladyandtheghost]

The code word is “family”: A recap of 8x02

The Red Queen and the White Queen: 

If I’m delusional at this point, then so be it, but if I still needed convincing of Political!Jon, this scene convinced me. Because Sansa figured it out. Oh my God, she figure it out! You can see the exact moment of it on Sophie’s face. After all the talk and demonstration of Sansa’s intelligence last episode, it made all the sense in the world that Sansa would work it out herself what Jon is actually doing. And it almost makes you feel a bit sorry for Dani when she opens her heart and says kind of jokingly “Tell me who manipulated whom?” and the penny drops for Sansa. You can see it in her eyes, her weird giddiness. Sansa does not like this woman, why on earth would she smile and laugh if not a new realization that is playing out in her head?

It was also interesting how Dani tried to become all sisterly, thinking she could bond with Sansa over “boy talk” - and Sansa laughs but then drops the act and talks “real politics” - which not only shows that Sansa is a strategist and future-oriented, but she also just called out Dani on her argument that they are both women in politics who want to be taken seriously. 

This is your family, Theon: 

I don’t know how Sophie does it, but every reunion that Sansa has with literally any character that Sansa cares about is a 100% tear-jerker. And this was no exception: it was emotional and beautiful and pure. 

I can totally see people shipping them and it’s not an outlandish idea or notp for me or anything, but I felt the background of the scene was not so nuch meant to launch a romantic ship, it was actually far more powerful than that...

Because it was about family and about politics at the same time (the two things Sansa excels in). 

The entire set up of the scene was perfection: The red queen and the white queen, both emerging from the library after their tense conversation and at this moment - and omg this is so fantastic - we see the exact difference in how the two women/queens are being shown as opposites: 

Theon dutifully kneels in front of “his queen”, the gesture that she always demands from all her subjects, the gesture that she has burned people for refusing to perform - but Theon’s heart is not in it. 

Then he ignores Dani and addresses Sansa, asks to fight “for Winterfell”, for House Stark and they embrace and he is so happy to be “home” and “safe” and “loved” and “missed” and this is his family. 

It’s like a mother welcoming her lost child back home in her arms: essentially what a “beloved queen” is seen as - a mother to her people. “Mhysa” failed at that. Sansa is the queen and ruler beloved by her people.

And Dani notices. She sees “her” bannerman’s loyalty to another powerful woman and she is not pleased...

Theon wanting to fight ”for Winterfell“ - after the convo about the North two minutes earlier -  this is another blow for Dani, who made a pact with the Greyjoys to fight for her, and “for the throne“

Theon and Sansa represent the ideal ruler/bannerman situation: the bannermann comes before you, pledges themself to you, asking “if you'll have me“ because they love and respect and want to serve you - which is the complete opposite of how it works for Dani.

This is a bond that lasts. Sansa will never fear betrayal from someone who asked to serve her. 

Their shared trauma and Sansa being Theon’s redeption has forged this beautiful and strong bond. It has no sexual undertones imo (though people who ship it might disagree which is of course understandable) 

Rather it’s a mirror opposite of the strong bond Sansa has with Jon which is charged with UST and “subtext” 

Theon also represents the brother Sansa needs, with Robb gone, Bran “gone” and replaced by the 3ER and things being all “complicated” and tense with Jon...

Jon is also somewhat “gone” in this episode, though neither Sansa nor Dani understand why. 

And they are not stopping at that: where do we find Sansa during the last hours before the battle? Not drinking and warming her butt in front of the roaring fire like the others - nope, Sansa is outside in the cold with her people, eating the stuff that everyone else eats, spending time with the one “brother” she has left who came back for her and it’s yet another indicator that Sansa would be a ruler “for the people”

RMS Gendrya sailing strong: 

Arya “perving” on Gendry first half of the episode, effectively reversing the “male gaze” and her taking charge in their relationship was great.  The only thing is - now I’m scared, like really scared one of them will die. Or both? Urgh I’m getting Tonks/Lupin flashbacks - it’s never good for people to be happily in love before a battle. But I also loved how Gendry worried about her, literally pissed off that she would put herself in danger. And in going with the theme of family for this episode, one of the iconic moments of this couple was when Arya told Gendry: “I could be your family.” and Gendry was right, he is not her family, she is his “lady” and he is her lover...

The Hound and his pup: 

...however Arya did seek out someone who sees her as his family. The only thing that really comes to mind re: Sandor is that this sealed the deal on San*san happening or not. I had a feeling they would not let Sansa and him interact and rather choose the less squicky, more popular relationship of Sandor and Arya shine through. Arya *is* the Hound’s redeption arc. Just like Sansa is Theon’s. 

That super *awkward* family reunion: 

Dani’s reaction was SO predictable, it’s amazing. People actually fantasized that Dani would not mind so much, that she would actually be happy to have her “family” and another Targ by her side. Yeah, fat chance. The only thing on her mind now is that that Jon has the higher claim. 

Also: Jon spending his last night down in the crypts with his mother is so poignant it hurts. He always wanted to know her, he always wanted to see her face, so he stands there just looking at it the night before he might be taken from this world again. Somehow this was also an interesting parallel to Sansa and Theon and about being accepted as family. He told Dani about his mother, then it was revealed that she is his aunt, his closest(!) living (female) relative. 

Jaime, Braime (plus Tormund):

I knew Jaime would be accepted by Sansa - because of Brienne - and just like Theon, Jaime is another addition to Sansa’s Queen’s Watch. Dani looking pissed about it was literally channeling Cersei (if only she knew). 

Poor Tormund, he is so gone on her and he just wanted to be around her. Again, I’m scared shitless for every single character in that room around that fire and if the “knighting” scene is the best we will get from Braime, I will riot. 

A Bear Island family reunion: 

We finally got some Mormonts reunited. Jorah worrying about his little cousin but also respecting her for fighting and Lyanna wishing him good fortune and owning him as “cousin” was also a nice touch. Jorah still has a home in the North and a family. Sam reminded him of that when he spoke of Jeor and gave him his own father’s sword. They both lost their fathers before they could make them proud or forgive them/or be forgiven. 

Alys Karstark - everywhere!:  

Yes, I’m back on my bullshit. But seriously, they were parading her around all episode. They placed her here, places her there, always somewhere in camera frames or shots, Why? She doesn’t speak, her presence doesn’t serve any purpose. Unless we should just get a good look of that “other” red-headed girl, aka Fake!Sansa. 

Davos and Shireen's little girl (ghost):

That little girl with the scarred face killed me - just like she killed Davos. I'm tearing up just thinking of her. And Gilly was so sweet, so instinctively maternal, and Davos looked like he's slowly dying inside. Perhaps we were meant to read this as somehow Shireen's spirit could be felt through this girl and she was there to tell Davos that she will be ok. Idk but I'm crying...Shireen was Davos’ beloved child, his family after he lost his son, and nothing will ever change that! 

Jon’s other family (no, not the dragon one): 

There was even less “action” in this episode, but a lot of emotion. Except from one quarter: Jon, who completely isolated himself from his family - but found solace with his other family, i.e. his “brothers” - Sam, Edd, Tormund. And they recalled Grenn, their lost brother. 

On the whole, the episode is a prime example of the calm before the storm...next time, shit’s going down. 

[bangtan-sonyeonddaeng]

Taehyung Scenario: I’ll see you in my dreams

You woke up covered in sweat and gasping for air. You felt like you had been holding your breath for too long and just broke the surface of the water before your lungs gave out. Your blanket was thrown onto the floor and your pillows were haphazardly spread out all over the bed. You sat up and placed a hand over your chest trying to calm your racing heart beat. 

It was that dream again. The same one you had at least once a week for the past 2 months. Your dream is in black and white, as with all soul dreams. Before you meet your soulmate, your dreams are in black and white and you can’t talk to them. It is said that after you lock eyes with your soulmate, your dreams will be in color and you will be able to communicate with your soulmate in order to help you find each other. 

In your dream, you are sitting on the floor. You legs feel like they weigh a ton and you can’t move them. You can’t move your body at all. You just sit there and wait until you see the door handle turning. Sometimes you wait for what feels like an hour. Other times you are the one opening the door and at this time you can move. You are always met with the sight of a dark, shadowy figure. You can’t make out what the person looks like but you know it’s your soulmate. Your heart feels warm and you feel a spark of electricity whenever you walk into the room. Sometimes you wave at your soulmate, or they wave at you if you are the one frozen who cannot move. Sometimes they give you a finger heart, making you wonder if your soulmate is Korean or if they are a Kpop fan like you. Even though all you know about your soulmate is their wave and their kind gestures towards you, you feel so much love in your heart for them already. 

This dream was different however. Your soulmate was waving at your frantically and ran to you to try and touch you. Right before their hands met your own you were startled out of your sleep. You had never felt such intense emotions as you did right now. Sadness, longing, lonliness. It was hard to tell how much of these were your own emotions and which were your soulmates’. Sometimes their emotions can transfer through dreams and this seems to be one of those occasions.

After processing your dream you get out of bed to grab a glass of water. You check the time on the clock and see that it is 6 o’ clock in the morning. You are right in the middle of taking a sip of water when you realize what day it is and you nearly choke. It’s the day you are finally going to see BTS live in concert. Your earlier sadness is long forgotten as you dance around the kitchen singing Boy With Luv and happily thinking about the fact that in just a few more hours, you will be front row at their show. The Universe must have been on your side to help you score that front row seat. You couldn’t believe you were going to be able to see them up close. Especially the performance of Singularity.

Taehyung was your bias. You absolutely adored everything about him. From his soulful, perfect vocals, to his kind and caring personality. What wasn’t there to love about him? Too excited to fall back asleep, you decide you might as well get up and shower and get ready for the day. You made sure you pack your army bomb in your bag so you wouldn’t forget, and put on your Tata headband to support the character your bias had created. You wore shorts and tennis shoes and one of your many BTS shirts. Giving yourself a once over in the mirror, you were satisfied with how you looked and looked at the clock.

You couldn’t help but continue glancing at the clock. Letting out a huff of annoyance when only 15 minutes had gone by. Eventually you got impatient and tired of waiting and decided if nothing else you can wait in the mile long merch line and hopefully get something you wanted before they sold out. When you arrived you were a little overwhelmed by the sheer amount of people at the show. You had never been to a concert this big before and were honestly a little nervous. You went to the merch line and were surprised that you were actually able to get the shirt you wanted in your size. You took this as a good sign for the rest of the show. Before too long they had started letting people into the venue. Once you go through the chaos of the bag check and security you made your way to your seat and glanced around the stadium. You couldn’t help but tear up and feel so incredibly proud that they had went from having almost nothing to selling out stadiums all over the world.

Before the show started they were playing their music videos on the screen. Hearing ARMY sing along to their songs and the excited chatter of people around you made you even more excited for their show to begin. Seeing their entrance and opening song Dionysus was unlike anything you had ever seen at a concert before. Everyone was going crazy for them, yourself included. As the show went on it just got better and better. The stage effects and choreography absolutely blowing you away. You don’t know how you survived Taehyung’s solo. You found yourself screaming so loud you thought your voice was going to give out. 

When it came time for Anpanman Taehyung had made his way over to your side of the stage. He saw your headband and smiled at you, your eyes locked for a moment and you felt like you had been struck by lightning. You didn’t think anything of it, he was your bias, he was Kim Freaking Taehyung of course you would have that reaction when he noticed you. However he faltered in his singing and that made you wonder if he felt something too.

He couldn’t be.. could he? He’s staring at you intently before Namjoon comes up and places an arm around his shoulder distracting him. He carries on with the show and you can’t shake the odd feeling in the pit of your stomach.

They close out the show with Mikrokosmos and as you watch the firework display you can’t help but get emotional. You were sad to have to say goodbye, but so incredibly happy and proud of how much they have achieved. You went home that night, hoping to get a peaceful nights sleep until your dreams were interrupted yet again.

It was different this time. You were the first one in the room but there were splashes of color all over the walls. You were able to get up and walk around. You put your hand on the doorknob and tried to open it, only to find it locked. You sighed and paced around the room, waiting for your soulmate to arrive. When the door opens you are surprised that your soulmate is still blocked out.

“Ah, Damnit I was hoping to finally be able to see you now.” You were almost knocked off your feet, taken aback with how deep your soulmate’s voice was. Well now you at least knew he was a male. That narrowed it down to half the population. And it was someone who must have been at the concert. You tried to remember if you had locked eyes with any guys that were at the show but none came to mind, except Taehyung. You shake your head and quickly throw the thought away scolding yourself. There was no way he was your soulmate.

“I was hoping I would get to see you too. But at least we can talk now. It’ll be easier for us to find each other.” 

“You think I can touch you now? I don’t want to be ripped away from you like last night. That actually physically hurt.” You notice he has an accent, and can’t help but think he sound exactly  like Taehyung. Suddenly the possibility of him being your soulmate didn’t seem too crazy to you after all.

“We can try it?” You hold out your hand and when his fingers intertwine with yours you couldn't stop yourself from giggling with sheer happiness.

“Can I hug you, please?” You don’t give him an answer, just wrap your arms around his waist and hug him so tightly to you. You feel his arms snake around your shoulders and a kiss placed to the top of your head.

“This just feels right. Being here with you in my arms. I don’t ever want it to stop.” You stay like that for a few moments before pulling away.

“What’s your name?”

“It’s Taehyung. What about you?”

“I’m sorry did you just say Taehyung?”

“Yeah, oh. Shoot do you know who I am? You must have been at that concert.. There’s no other explanation for why suddenly I am dreaming in color. Wait are you the one with the Tata headband?! I thought I felt something weird when I looked at you!” You can’t help but giggle at his ramblings.

“Yes, that was me. My name is y/n.”

“Nice to finally meet you. Oh gosh I was hoping it was you. You were so incredibly cute Namjoon had to snap me out of my thoughts otherwise I probably would have just kept staring at you like an idiot.”

“You think I am cute?!”

“Yes, very cute and very beautiful… If you have time tomorrow can we meet somewhere before our second show? We have to rehearse later in the afternoon but, maybe we can grab breakfast somewhere?”

“I would love that Taehyung.”

“Great! Uhh.. I kinda can’t leave the hotel or I’ll be recognized do you mind coming here? I know room service probably isn’t an ideal fist date but.. I just have to see you. Please?”

“Tae you don’t have to be so nervous. I would love to have room service breakfast with you.” Even though you can’t see him you know he’s probably smiling at you with that signature boxy smile that you adore so much.

“Okay!” He proceeds to tell you the address of the hotel and you commit it to memory.

“I’ll see you soon Tae.”

“See you soon y/n.” 

When you arrive at the hotel you aren’t really sure how to get upstairs to see him. You stop at the front desk and they tell you there is no one staying here by the name of Taehyung. You sigh heavily and try to think of something when a man who appears to be a body guard approaches you.

“Excuse me, are you y/n?” 

“Yes that’s me.” He makes a motion for you to follow him and you head up to the top floor. You see there are security swarming the floor. It seems a bit much but it honestly makes you happy knowing that the boys are so well protected. You step off the elevator and before you can even take one step off of it you are tugged into Taehyung’s arms. 

“Y/n! You came! I’m so happy to finally meet you in person.” You hug him back with as much strength as you can muster. When you pull away he’s absolutely beaming at you. 

“Let’s go eat breakfast.” It doesn’t sneak past your notice that he was already taken to holding your head and is leading you to his room. He opens the door for you and before you can sit down in the chair you are enveloped in another tight hug.

“Sorry. I’m just really happy to finally meet my soulmate. It’s the moment I have been so excited and waiting for my whole life.” You lean up and press a kiss to his cheek and his smile grows impossibly wider.

“I am really happy to finally meet you too, Tae. This honestly still feels like I am dreaming.”

“Me too, except you’re note a black shadow anymore and I can actually feel your warmth so strongly.” He finally releases his hands from your waist and you two sit down and eat together. You spend the morning talking and getting to know each other. You have a surprising amount of things in common. Before you know it an hour has gone by and there is knocking at the hotel door. He opens it and Namjoon is standing in the doorway.

“Tae we have to leave for rehearsal soon. I’m sorry to interrupt I know how excited you were to be spending time with y/n..” 

“It’s okay hyung I’ll be out in a minute.” He turns back to you and sees you fidgeting with your hands in your lap.

“Are you okay y/n?”

“I just.. I wonder where are we going to go from here? You play your last show in my country tonight and then you’re going to be gone for the rest of your tour for a few months and I don’t know when we will see each other again.”

“Well, we don’t have to put a lable on what we are right now. We are still getting to know each other and just because we are soulmates doesn’t mean we have to rush anything.” He sits on the bed and motions for you to sit next to him. The second you get close he pulls you into his lap and presses a kiss to your lips.

“Sorry I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.” You are left breathless just from one kiss and your heart absolutely sores. 

“I’m going to miss you Tae..”

“All you have to do is go to sleep baby. I’ll be with you every night in your dreams. Since we will be in different time zones it may take me a while to get there but.. wait for me?” 

“Of course Tae. I’ll wait for you. As long as it takes.”

[sunrisespidey]

ceo!tom

pairing: tom holland x reader

summary: ceo!tom falls in love with smoothie-loving intern, y/n

word count: 5.9k im sorry 

a/n: i’m literally never writing shit like this again wtf?? the ending is so rushed and i’m rlly sorry but i got so bored of this i just wanted it out and done with. it was 14 pages on google docs bye 

it’s a different style that i usually write in, but i wanted to branch out so idk let me know what you thought about it?

PLEASE DON’T LET THIS FLOP! I WORKED ON THIS FOR LIKE A WEEK

warnings: swearing, long read, and unedited

masterlist ♡

Y/N’s made a mistake.

Or at least, that’s what she thinks, staring up at the daunting skyscraper that towered before her, with the large Holland and Co. sign glinting under the bright glare of the sun. How had she ended up here? Her, a struggling college student, and yet here she was, interning at one of the biggest business firms in England. It really didn’t add up. It’s all been a blur. She remembers getting the phone call, being told to arrive at, and she quotes, “7AM on the dot, tardiness will not be tolerated”, and it’s almost as though she’s reliving high school all over again, only this time around, her future is actually on the line.

Which is probably why she’d dragged herself out of bed at 4 in the morning, and then proceeded to spend an hour pep talking herself in the mirror. Was it too late to back out now?  She figures if she turns back and leaves, she can probably make it back to her apartment in 20 minutes flat, and then she can call in faking an illness or whatnot. After that, she can stay in, snuggled up to her cat, Dusty, and stay curled up in front of her tv with a warm mug of hot cocoa in her hands and an episode of The Office playing quietly in the background. (This, she decides, smiling internally, is her ideal day.) She’s almost ready to give in, leaning back to book it, the idea of leaving almost too enticing. Instead, she finds herself placing one foot in front of the other. Y/N doesn’t even know what motivates her to take that step forward, the step that began to lead her to those terrifying glass doors, but she’s managed to take a second step, then a third, a fourth, and—

A rush of warmth surrounds her, sending a shiver through her body, and she immediately misses the cold outdoor winds that previously nipped at her ears. Y/N doesn’t think she’s ever wanted to venture back out into the cold winter as much as she does at this moment. Her eyes stay trained on the ground, and she dreads the moment she’ll have to inevitably look up, so she doesn’t. Instead, she studies the marble floors (they’re really nice, she should consider investing in something similar, she thinks), until she hears a voice, practically coated with sugar, pipe up.

“Excuse me, Miss?” Her head whips up, swallowing nervously, and she’s greeted by a lady who looks to be in her mid-twenties with a sickly sweet smile plastered on her face (fake, no doubt, but really, who was she to judge?), head tilted in concern. “Are you lost?”

She considers saying no just to turn back around rather than face the fire, but she steels her nerves and sends her an abashed smile. “Yeah, I am. Would you mind helping me?” And Y/N nearly cringes at her attempts to be polite but continues anyways. “I’m an intern, Y/N Y/L/N?”

She isn’t really listening when the receptionist lady answers, and she knows she should’ve, but she listens to the lady drone on, the same smile that didn’t seem to reach her eyes glued to her face, and Y/N wonders what kind of toothpaste she uses to whiten. Somehow, Y/N finds herself being whisked away and up into the elevator, where she finally starts paying attention long enough to meet a kind woman who she remembers is named Nadine and would be her shadow for her time at Holland and Co.

She listens attentively (or at least she tries), as Nadine gives her a tour of the floor, and she can’t help but wish that she brought along a strawberry smoothie. She ends up so lost in thought that she nearly stumbles into Nadine after she stops abruptly, and Y/N peeks around her to see what’s happened. She’s startled when the noise reaches her ears, and she realizes that it’s a grown man backing away slowly from an office, pleading for someone to rethink their decision.

“Please, Mr. Holland, I’ll do better next time, please—” Y/N hears the slam before she sees it, yelping quietly at the shock of it, the noise still reverberating through the office. Her eyes blow wide, mouth gaping. She hopes she never comes in contact with this Mr. Holland.

Y/N finds that the tour ends quickly after that.

-

It’s not that Tom’s a cruel person.

He doesn’t jerk off to the thought of firing employees — he’s most certainly not a masochist — it’s just that he works with absolute morons. So really, what’s he supposed to do when some twat from accounting screws up some simple numbers that cost his company 10,000 pounds? (it’s not like his company can’t afford it, but the thought still makes a scowl form on his face) The only reasonable choice he can make is to fire the man, and it certainly isn’t his fault if the twit stumbles out of his office blubbering about how he’ll do better. And it definitely isn’t his fault if a cute, smoothie-loving intern witnesses the whole thing, because why does it matter if a bloody intern is afraid of him? (at least, that’s what he tries to convince himself)

(spoiler alert: it doesn’t work)

-

It’s day two, and Y/N thinks she’s made some friends.

She’s promised to bring each of them a smoothie (“They’re the light of my life,” she’d said, “can’t live without ‘em.”), which explains why she’s currently juggling four smoothies, one for herself and each of her new friends and, Sarah, Jacqueline, and Mike, while arriving at work at 6:50 in the morning. She’s so focused on carrying the drinks, eyeing each one with a careful precision that she fails to see the man donning a crisp suit (expensive. Gucci, maybe?), and a stern expression on his face, walking in front of her. She doesn’t realize that he’s been eyeing her the entire time, face softened into an unusual smile, rarely seen around the office. And she definitely doesn’t notice when he stops walking — at least, not until it was too late.

It all happens in slow motion to Y/N. She watches, helpless, as the smoothies in her hand tipped, and as Tom Holland, CEO of Holland and Co., turned around to be met with not one, nor two, nor three, but four strawberry smoothies. His mouth gapes, and hers does too, a quiet but sharp “oh fuck,” spilling from her lips. She stands, motionless, for less than a second before she’s sprung in motion, leaping for the nearest towels, endless apologies spewing from her lips.

This is it. Months of effort to even be considered for this position, and she’s fucked it up on the second day.

Y/N waits, eyes closed, preparing for the inevitable blow of being fired, the humiliation she’d face (god knows the entire floor was already staring at them wide-eyed), but to her surprise, it never comes. Instead, the towels are plucked from her hands, and her eyes snap open to be met with the prettiest face she thinks she’s ever come across, amusement flitting through their eyes.

“Don’t do that again, yeah, love?” And he’s gone, strolling away from her stunned form, so casually that Y/N wonders how he can ignore the smoothie dripping off his suit so easily. The rest of the floor stare after him as well, each of them with eyes blown wide and mouths hanging open.

-

Tom has no idea what just happened.

He’s got smoothie dripping from his suit that — mind you — was quite possibly one of his most expensive clothing investments, and he’s not even that angry about it. He isn’t really sure what had happened. He remembers looking over at the intern, Y/N, he remembers (and god, was she adorable), and then suddenly being drenched in a thick, gooey substance that suspiciously smelled like strawberries. Had it been anybody else, Tom’s sure they’d be out of his company faster than they could blink. But there was something about Y/N that captivated him, and he isn’t sure he’d be able to handle firing her over such a trivial mistake (of course, he’s fired employees over less, but he dismisses that thought). So instead, he’d strolled away as casually and as quickly as he possibly could force himself to act, trying to disguise the red blush that would’ve surely risen to his cheeks and turned his ears a bright, piercing red. His heart had pounded in his chest, so loud he wonders if Y/N had heard it, and as soon as he was out of sight, he’d darted into his office and shut the door.

His heart is still pounding in his chest, and he has no idea how some intern he’s never even said more than three sentences to can have such an impact on him. (Tom almost considers turning to Harrison for advice, but he would prefer not to be called a sap for the rest of his life) So, he strips himself of his smoothie-soaked suit jacket and prays to avoid any future interaction with Y/N.

-

Of course, Tom’s wish refused to come true, because the next morning, walking into the building, he bumps into her again.

Well, not literally. He’s strolling leisurely into the warm building, shooting a tight-lipped smile to the receptionist who always seemed to be showing a ridiculous amount of cleavage whenever he came around when he hears his name being called and the sound of approaching footsteps. Turning around, he crosses his fingers desperately, hoping that it was some other employee — preferably one that didn’t make his heart skip a beat at the mere thought of them.

But he’s still met with the sight of Y/N running through the doors of the building, regardless of his desperate wishes. It only takes a few seconds for her to catch up to his still figure, and when she does, she bends over, panting with her hands resting on her knees.

“Holy fu— sorry, language. M’so out of shape,” Y/N heaves, straightening up and wiping at her head, “you’re so fast, wow—” Tom finds himself unable to respond, head dizzy from her presence. He’s pretty sure if she knew he was taking such deep breaths because she smelled so oddly intoxicating, she’d call him a creep and run away and never speak to him ever again. He thinks she smells like vanilla, which is so common that he wonders how she can make it work so well, and—

“Mr. Holland?” Y/N’s hand waves in front of his face, and Tom snaps out of his daydream to muster up a charming smile for her. “Were you listening?”

Tom hums, nodding his head to show he was interested — a common courtesy. She shot him a suspicious glance but returned his smile nonetheless. “Well,” she started, clapping her hands together, “I brought you something — to say sorry for spilling my smoothies on you yesterday.” Tom doesn’t really know what to expect, but as she reaches into her purse, he’s definitely not expecting her to pull out a small pastry wrapped in a Greggs wrapper, neatly folded into a small rectangle.

“It’s a sausage roll,” Y/N explains, pushing it into his hands, “from Greggs. I just love their sausage rolls, and I just passed one as I was pulling into work, so I thought I’d buy you one as an apology.” At this point, he’s working overtime to not consciously drool over the sausage roll in his hands, because he’s sure that Y/N would run for the hills if she saw him so unprofessional.

So, he musters up a polite nod, a smile, and a: “Thank you, love.” And she takes that as her cue to scurry off, with a wave to the receptionist who’s not so inconspicuously scowling at her, and she’s out of Tom’s sight.

He stares after her until she’s completely out of his sight, and when she’s gone, he breathes a sigh of relief.

He’s got an issue on his hands.

---

When Y/N tells her new friends about the traumatic incident that had occurred the previous day, she finds that they’ve taken to staring at her in awe, because holy shit, you’ve spilt four smoothies on the most temperamental CEO in the business and yet you’re still here. (how reassuring. mind the sarcasm.)

“Are you joking?” Mike stares at Y/N, mouth open so wide that Y/N’s curious if his jaw is achy yet. “If that were me, I would’ve been fired quicker than I could’ve said sorry. And he called you ‘love’ too? Man, you’ve got him wrapped around your little pinky finger.” (Y/N’s sure they’re just saying this to make her feel better — after all, it’s not every day you spill four smoothies on a multi-millionaire CEO)

“I bet Mr. Holland’s got the hots for you,” Sarah whispers, turning her head to make sure nobody important is in earshot (because anything can set Mr. Holland off, really), “you could probably bust up all of his cars and he’d smile at you, babe.”

“Yeah,” Jacqueline butts in, and Y/N sends her a frown because this entire time they’d been talking, Jacqueline had been quietly filing papers (or at least that’s what Y/N thought), only to realize she’d actually been listening in the entire time, “Mr. Holland likes you— like, like likes you.”

Y/N snorts, sending Jacqueline an unamused stare. “What is this, middle school? M’sure he’s just being nice, s’all.”

Sarah scoffs, raising her eyebrows disbelievingly. “Yeah, right, and I’m a millionaire,” she jokes sarcastically, glancing at Y/N with a lopsided grin on her face. “Trust me. Mr. Holland is anything but nice.”

But Y/N can’t seem to believe that. Surely, he wasn’t that horrible, right?

-

Days pass and Tom hasn’t seen Y/N in a while, and although he has to admit that popping out a stiffy in the middle of a business proposal at the thought of her isn’t the most enticing, he’s starting to miss her. (of course, the only interaction he’s truly had with her is the disaster that cost him a fortune at the dry cleaners, but he still admires her from afar in the least stalker-y way possible)

Most employees would find it beneficial to have the least contact with Tom as possible. It’s been a bit of a known fact that when called into his office, chances are, they’d be leaving with their belongings in a box. So when Nadine, her supervisor, tells Y/N that he’d like to see her in his office, (and in a very loud tone, at that, so now she’s got the whole office staring after her as she shamefully trudges to Tom’s office) she’s quite terrified. She’d only heard horror stories about what went on in his office, and she’s really come to love the company and crosses her fingers and toes that he isn’t going to terminate her internship. (maybe, Y/N thinks, Tom changed his mind about the smoothie incident. Or even worse, he hated the sausage rolls)

So needless to say, Y/N is just about ready to piss herself pushing open the door to his office, because she remembers what happened on her first day and she has no desire to receive the same treatment. As soon as she sees Tom, sitting in his office chair sorting a few papers, she’s already immediately blurting out a plea.

“If you’re going to fire me, please just make it quick.” Tom’s face twists into one of confusion, and he chuckles. (my god, was she dense.)

“Fire you?” He laughed, placing the papers to the side. “The opposite, actually. When your internship finishes, I was going to offer you a permanent job here at Holland and Co. Unless you don’t want it?” The grin that he offers her is so cheeky that Y/N considers saying no just to wipe the smile off his face for scaring the shit out of her like that, but she isn’t nearly rich or petty enough to refuse such a huge proposal. So instead, she nods eagerly, holding in a squeal that threatens to burst out of her throat, and thanks him profusely. What Tom doesn’t expect is for her to pull him into a tight hug, and he’s floored. (he realizes that he really enjoys her hugs.) When she’s pulled back, her face has contorted into one of embarrassment, and she mumbles an awkward apology before she escorts herself out of the door.

(Tom’s grateful, because maybe then, she wouldn’t have seen the blush that tinted his tan cheeks a rosy red.)

-

Tom has a problem.

He’s found that he’s got a crush on one of his company’s interns, Y/N. A real, massive, red-faced, crush on her. In fact, he’s found himself looking forward to seeing her when he can — even though he only sees her a handful of times in a month — and yet, he feels an oddly joyful twisting in his gut when she directs that brilliant smile of hers towards him. He’s realized that she’s weaseled her way into his heart and life, and truth be told, he really has no problem with it. Even embraces it, at that.

So yes, he’s got a problem.

-

Tom is absolutely fucking exhausted.

He’s just about ready to go home, make himself a cuppa, and crash in his obnoxiously soft bed. He’s sure that the company is empty by now because it’s well over the time they get dismissed, so he stumbles out of his office before closing and locking the door. Tom scans the room a final time, ready to leave, but his eyes catch a dim light left on in the back, and he rolls his eyes to go check, annoyed at whichever wanker decided to leave the lights on before they left. So he’s certainly caught off guard when he comes across Y/N tapping away at her computer, sat in her little cubicle.

“Y/N?” Tom asks cautiously, brows furrowed. He has no idea what she’s still doing here, especially since she was supposed to leave at five and the sky outside has already darkened drastically.

“Holy fucking shit—” she screeches, her arms jerking up to cover her mouth, “oh my God, Mr. Holland, you scared the shit outta me.” He finds it quite adorable that she’s sitting there, eyes wide, a hand placed on her heaving chest.

“What’re you still doing here?” Tom questions, because he hasn’t known a single person who would stay past the time they were supposed to return home, and he wasn’t expecting an intern of all people to do so at all.

“I was gonna leave soon, promise, s’just that I almost had this done, so I just wanted to stay to finish it.” Tom nods thoughtfully, switching his briefcase from his right hand to his left, and beckons her to follow him to the parking garage.

“Well come on then, I’ll walk you to your car.” And although Y/N appreciates the thought, (a foolish one, to be honest, because what university student can afford a bloody car?) she shakes her head.

“Well, I was just planning on walking home, because it’s not too far, y’know, and—“

“No way you’re walking home at — 9 at night!” Tom scoffs, checking his watch. He’s gotten way too attached to her to let her put herself in any sort of danger, so he proposes the only idea he could think of in the spur of the moment— “I’ll drive you home, darling.”

“I couldn’t ask you to do that, Mr. Holland,” she protests, shaking her head wildly, “besides, I’m sure it’s not even on the route, so—“ He interrupts her yet again, (a repeating occurrence, she realizes) shaking his head.

“Nonsense. Come on, now. The sooner we get you back, the better.” And with that, Y/N watches him turn around, followed by her trailing behind him like some sort of lost puppy.

It’s not long until they arrive in the parking garage, but Y/N sees a stunning Rolls Royce and gushes over it internally. She’s ready to pass it by, wave goodbye at it, (call her dramatic, but it isn’t every day you can admire a sleek red Rolls Royce in person) but instead, they stop in front of it.

Y/N, who experiences an odd sense of deja vu, crashes into his sturdy back in response. Tom raises an eyebrow, amused, and shoots his hand out to steady her. “Thank god you didn’t have any smoothies this time, hm?” Y/N watches as he moves to the driver’s seat, opening the door, but pauses when he catches sight of her frozen figure.

“What’s the matter, love?” He grins, his hand resting lazily on the open door. Y/N stays where she stood, too terrified to even approach the vehicle (because let’s be real, if she fucked anything up, she’d have to sell every single one of her internal organs to pay it back).

“Oh—Oh fuck— sorry, but shit, Mr. Holland, there’s no way you can expect me to get in that car,” she swallows, backing up slightly, “that’s gotta cost more than I would if I sold myself on the black market.”

Tom simply chuckles, and Y/N’s heart sort of bursts at the sound since it’d been her first time hearing the joyous sound. He ducks his head to crawl into the luxurious car with a simple, “Alright, doll, just get in,” and she practically scrambles to the passenger seat. (as reluctant as she was, she wasn’t thrilled to walk the long trek home in the slightest.)

She’s barely halfway inside the car before she’s already cramping herself to occupy a smaller area of space despite the spacious interior. Tom notices at the same time, tilting his head as he watches her cautiously press the seatbelt into its buckle as if she’d shatter the buckle with too much pressure.

“You look like I‘ve just forced you into an airtight box, love.” He mutters casually, placing a hand on the back of her seat to reverse out of the garage, “Loosen up for me, alright? Where am I dropping you off?”

She gives him an address, and he programs it into his phone. “Well, look at that, darling, you’re right on my route home.” (he’s lying, but she really doesn’t need to know that they essentially live on opposing sides of London, because the last thing he wants her to do is to leave and walk home) He can see her exhale a sigh of relief and grin, and that alone is enough for Tom not to feel an ounce of regret about his choice.

-

In hindsight, this was a great idea.

Now, Tom’s not too sure, because she’s got the radio on now, and she’s singing like nobody’s there and it makes Tom’s heart grow three sizes too big. If he’s being honest with himself, he’s starting to fall for her, further than any point of return, and if anyone saw them in that car in that very moment, they’d see him staring at her with the softest gaze anyone had ever seen on the seemingly apathetic CEO in a long time.

It’s when they approach Y/N’s apartment building that something happens. Y/N whispers out a thank you, and she’s almost out of his car, that Tom catches a glimpse of her phone wedged in the cup holders, and he reaches out for her wrist, calling out for her to wait. He doesn’t expect her to unceremoniously tumble back into his car and lap with a squawk from the sudden tug on her wrist.

“S—Sorry!” Tom yelps, a flush crawling up his neck, and it’s then that he realizes how close their faces were. If he were to lean down in the slightest, their lips would meet and— “Your phone! You forgot your phone!”

Y/N never really had the ability to think rationally in unforeseen situations. Which is maybe why she can’t help but lean up and press a quick kiss to his lips, stunning into silence, but it’s not even her fault, truthfully! (it is, but she tries to give herself the benefit of the doubt) She’d never seen him so uncomposed and flustered, and it was honestly the most adorable thing she’d ever seen.

Her eyes blink at her sudden bold attitude, and then she’s scrambling out the car, maneuvering herself in a way that she wouldn’t headbutt Tom, and she’s gone, running into the building with a loud stuttered “sorry!” Tom loses sight of her, still staring after her, dazed, one singular thought running through his head.

Holy fuck.

-

Tom calls Harrison as soon as he gets home. Harrison arrives in ten minutes flat. (“God, you’re such a drama queen. I’m on my way.”)

“C’mon, mate, don’t just stand there and call me a sap, what do I do?” Tom groans, throwing a toy to Tessa who lay on the couch beside his body, staring at him with a peculiarly knowing look, and Tom groans again because even his damn dog knew about his dilemma.

“She probably likes you, you div,” Harrison grins, raising his voice to imitate Y/N. “Mr. Holland is just… so hot! I dream about kissing him every night!”

“Oi, come off it, you dickhead, she doesn’t even sound like that,” Tom mutters, shoving Harrison to the side. “Probably didn’t even mean shit to her, just like, a friendly kiss or summat.” Tom knows it was more than that. If the amorous gazes and gestures were anything to go by, it would be easy to mistake them as head over heels for one other (unfortunately for them, it’s not exactly a mistake to assume they’re goners for each other, because it’s absolutely true).

Harrison shoots him a look. “Yeah, mate, I kiss all my friends too. S’just a normal friend thing, innit? Now c’mon, gimme a nice smooch.” Harrison teases, puckering his lips to make obnoxious smacking noises towards Tom. He’s met with a pillow to the face, and he laughs, throwing his head back. “You’re so whipped, mate.”

Maybe just a little, Tom thinks.

-

The next morning, Tom’s prepared to man up and do something about his hopeless crush on Y/N. He’s got his entire speech planned out, in fact.

He’ll start it off by handing her a muffin. Chocolate chip, to be specific. And then, he’ll woo her with a romantic speech, as follows: “Y/N, I think I’ve liked you ever since you spilled those drinks on me. I’ve been wanting to ask you to dinner for a while now, and the kiss we shared last night was amazing. So, will you go out with me?” (it sounds better in his head, it really does)

But none of that happens, because when he catches her eye, he beelines for her and they both let out a rush of words at once.

“I brought you something—“

“Last night was a mistake—“

Tom stops, mouth drying at her words. “Sorry, what?”

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Holland, that was so unprofessional of me to kiss you. We can just forget it ever happened if that’s alright.” And Tom’s mouth snaps shut, his hopeful words dying on his tongue before they could escape. Y/N stood in front of him, wringing her hands, a smoothie by her side. “I brought you a smoothie to apologize — you seemed like a Berry Blast kind of guy. Hope that’s alright.” She hands him the smoothie, unaware of Tom’s internal battle because damn it all to hell, he so desperately wanted that kiss to mean something to her and no, he never wanted to forget about it. He sends her a pained, restrained smile, accepting the smoothie she holds as a peace offering and tries to retreat to his office.

“Wait, Mr. Holland!” Y/N cries out, running to tap his shoulder, “What were you saying? I cut you off earlier.”

Tom carefully hides the chocolate chip muffin behind his back, shaking his head. “It was nothing, you took the words right out of my mouth.” Tom laughs, and yet the sound is so forced it almost makes him wince. Y/N’s smile drops for the slightest moment before it’s up on her face again.

“Oh, alright then!” She smiles, waving her hand towards him, “Have a nice day then!”

Tom decides he most certainly will not.

-

“You guys are such bloody wankers!” Y/N cries as soon as she reaches her cubicle, “Y’said he liked me! And just now, he told me that he wanted to forget about the kiss too. God, I’m so humiliated! I might as well just go on and die from humiliation now—“

“Okay, babe, chill,” Sarah tries, but to no avail.

“—I can see the headlines already! ‘Intern kisses boss, gets rejected and dies.’ Fuckin’ hell—“ Y/N’s mini-rant is cut off by Sarah’s hand coming to clamp over her mouth, muffling any sound, but quickly yanks her hand back at the feeling of Y/N’s tongue licking a stripe across her palm.

“I’m sure everything’ll be fine, no harm done. He’ll forget about it in two days flat, promise.” Sarah reassures her, patting her back awkwardly.

-

“For fuck’s sake, mate,” Tom grumbles, head in his hands, “you said she was into me!” Tom’s in shambles because as far as he knows, he’s just humiliated himself in front of the girl he’s taken a liking to.

Harrison laughs at his distressed state teasingly, tossing a pen in the air and catching it to cease his boredom. “M’sure she was just doing what she thought you’d want — hope you realize you aren’t the most approachable guy.”

“Fuck off, you div,” Tom mutters, tossing a highlighter at Harrison’s head, “I resent that, mate.”

-

The next time Tom interacts with her, it’s not for at least a month. (he needed the time to shake off his humiliation.)

It’s so similar to the previous time that it makes Tom’s heart clench at the memory of her soft lips on his. This time though, it’s because the weather outside was pouring buckets that flooded the streets and soaked everything in contact. So it’s not even a question of ‘maybe’ before Tom’s already insisting on driving her home.

“Love, there’s no way in hell that I’m letting you walk through that rain,” Tom tells her, already pulling on his jacket. “Now c’mon, what kind of boss would I be if I didn’t drive you home?”

Y/N reluctantly agrees, shutting down her computer and picking her purse up from under her desk. “Alright. But you’ve got to promise me that I’m not a bother, Mr. Holland.”

“Never,” Tom promises, placing a hand on her arm to gently guide her to the exit. “D’you want me to pull the car up? I know it’s raining pretty hard out there, don’t want you to get wet or summat.” He picks up on his unintentional innuendo too late, his cheeks and ears flushing a thorough red blush. “Not—not like that, I mean like—”

“No, no, it’s alright, I can survive a little rain.” Tom’s never been more grateful for Y/N ignoring his slip-up, because he’s sure that if she’d acknowledged it, Tom would’ve stayed red for the next century or so. (get it together, he tells himself, she’s just a girl, and you’re not a virgin, you moron,)

The drive to her place is quiet apart from her loud singing, but the real dilemma comes when they pull up to the door.

“For fuck’s sake, I—ugh.” Y/N groans, hand leaving her purse dejectedly. “I’ve locked myself out. Don’t even have a spare key.” Tom’s headgears are already turning before she can finish her sentence. “S’alright, I’ll just call my landlord and sleep with a neighbour or something.”

“Why don’t you come sleep at my house?” Tom offers, and Y/N is quick to refuse, insisting that she’s already a bother, and she wouldn’t force him to deal with her presence any longer. “I already promised you weren’t a bother, darling.”

When Y/N buckles up her seatbelt again, she’s expecting Tom to just continue down the road, but instead he makes a swift u-turn and drives back down the same road the came from.

“Mr. Holland! You told me my apartment was on route to yours — why’ve we turned ‘round?” She gapes, head spinning to look back through the window towards her flat. Tom gives her a cheeky shrug, flicking his windshield wipers to a higher speed as the rain came down harder and obstructed his view of the road.

“Must’ve slipped my mind,” he mutters, sending her a smile. “Plus, that’s Tom to you outside of work — Mr. Holland is my dad, love.”

-

Tom doesn’t know how he’s gotten into this position.

He’s got Y/N in his arms, sound asleep, wearing his shirt, sleeping on his bare chest, and his mind is still hazy from the kisses they shared that night. He remembers how they walked into his penthouse, and Y/N had gushed over everything inside, (“holy shit, Mr—Tom, you have a fucking fluffy bath mat? I’ve always wanted one!”) and awed over his dog Tessa, (“ohmigod, you have a bloody dog too? You’re like… the perfect man!” and Tom has to admit that he took this in a different way, because he would love to be Y/N’s perfect man.) Tom had set up his Netflix for her to browse as he prepared them both a warm cuppa, and he’d returned to see Y/N and Tessa cuddled up in a blanket he’d brought for her. The sight tightened his chest, and really, everything from there is a blur.

The main part that he remembers is that they kissed. (and oh, did they kiss)

“You’ve driven me bloody insane, darling,” Tom admitted, pulling her in for a kiss that frazzled her nerves and curled her toes. Y/N’d pulled away, gasping for air, and Tom trailed light kisses down the length of her neck, his arms wrapping themselves around her waist.

“What’re we doing, Tom?” She’d asked between kisses that he’d pressed to her face.

“What I’ve been wanting for a long while, love.”

And here he was, her head heavy on his chest, nose tucked into the crook of his neck, and Tom’s never felt more at peace. Y/N blinks awake, yawning softly and blinking blearily before she readjusts herself, pulling her body to lay on top of his.

“You’re my… my pillow now, m’kay?” She murmurs, reaching up to press a kiss to his jaw.

Tom smiles, tightening his hold on the sleepy girl, humming. He’s pushing her hair back to kiss her forehead, and Tom decides that he’s never been happier.

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