#his willingness to stick by her side and help her find her place even after the shadow curse is lifted baffles her

[vampdinner]

katalinha thorne 　———-«« 　the dark urge

»»———-　 a female barbarian trudges through a forest at night, an axe swung over her shoulder, a wild look in her eyes. wood elves know the forest inside out—it's her second home, yet tonight she breaks into a cold sweat. her hands are clenched into fists so tight, red fingernail marks bloom on the surface of her palms as she searches the shadows in the underbrush to her left and her right, watching small animals skitter away as her footfalls strike the damp earth. her stomach rumbles, she wills it silent. the voices in her head are far more cacophonous; she can't outpace them no matter how hard she tries. the bloodsoaked pitch of repetitive whispers echo in her mind. a crow calls, and in a flurry of wings several shadows take flight, skimming the treeline and disappearing into the moonless sky. it is the nature of the strong to prey on the weak. she shakes her head—no, that's not right. blood drips from the ends of her locs and snakes down her back, charting rivulets of stains along the surface of her shirt. she doesn't remember from whose veins the blood had flowed. her stomach grumbles. a group of crows is called a murder. she stumbles over a smooth-faced stone worn flat by ages of rain, her heart skipping a beat. suddenly, a soft grey rabbit darts out of the leaves in front of her, trembling as it looks up for a brief moment before fleeing across the path into the darkness beyond. her short-term memory arrives through the fog of her clouded mind in short bursts: the bard's name was alfira. murder sounds a little bit like hunger, if you think about it too much. she shakes her head again, a throbbing sensation tugging at the corners of her field of vision. tears prick her eyes as she realizes—she's hungry. she was only so, so hungry. it is a predator's nature to sink into the rabbit's tender jugular. she grits her teeth, blinking the tears away, walking faster. the voices chase after her, whispering; it is only your nature. more crows swoop past her, their calls echoing through the trees. the pang in her gut twists into a lurching pain, and she resists the urge to double over, to submit, to let the hunger win. a strangled cry dislodges from her throat, raw and piercing, cutting through the chilly forest air. in the distance, far beyond her now—behind the tangle of branches and thorns, over grassy hills, and far, far past the quiet clearing of trees where her unsuspecting companions sleep through fitful dreams—a low, booming laugh rises from deep beneath the earth in response; a celebration, a mockery of mirthfulness that makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

note: umm hehe i wanted to make a durge character who's close to nature and tries to defy her fate and suddenly i ended up getting way too attached to her >< here's kat, my first playthru of baldur's gate 3 (i have made other tavs but i'd like to finish the game first b4 i get too invested in them sdkfkdfk) she is dating halsin just bc i thought he was cool at first and now i guess i'm way more insane about them both than i initially intended oops,, i feel like because of her background kat comes off as a frightening force of nature, hard to read and unpredictable (at least until she starts reigning in the Urge), intimidating due to her size and strength, but halsin finding that beautiful kind of in a similar way that you'd admire a lioness or the beauty and strength of a forest's top predator. i'm not great at games tbh but i do love fantasy and writing and drawing oc stuff so i hope to eventually do that in the future yahhh!!!

[inkandpen22]

Permanent Chaos (5/?)

Pairing: MGK x Female!Reader

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: none

Part Summary: Colson and Y/N talk over coffee and Colson shows her a hint of what it’s like to be a part of his world. 

Masterlist

The Starbucks in the courtyard has since emptied out with everyone having to return to work after their breaks. Colson and I are two of the only remaining people inside. My hands are wrapped around cup, it’s nice and warm. I had to remove the lid to cool down the substance. We’ve been going back and forth, sharing facts about ourselves. 

"Have you always wanted to be an actress?” 

Studying the dark brown drink in my cup I recall memories from before I moved here.“No, in all honesty. I never saw myself as an actress.” 

He doesn’t try to hide his surprise. His stunned reaction makes me giggle. 

"If you don’t mind me asking, why do you do it then?” 

I sway my head from side to side. “It sorta just worked out. I was out shopping with my mom one day when I was in high school. Nicole approached us. She was in town on business and encouraged me to at least visit Los Angeles so we could set up a meeting. The next thing I knew I was in auditions and I got my part on The Seasons of Life a few months later.” 

“Wow,” his brows remain raised as he glances down at his drink. “If you weren’t acting what would you be doing?”

Sitting up straight, I remember what I once thought was my dream life. “First I would go to college and…” I wave my hand, dismissing the thought. 

Colson presses for me to say it. “you’d what? Come on!” He chuckles, grinning brightly. 

Rolling my eyes, I tell him. “I’d go to art school.” I bite my lip timidly. “Yeah... that would be nice.” I pick at the cardboard wrap on the cup. 

There’s a comfortable silence between us until I change the subject. “Enough about me! What about you? If you weren’t a singer, where would be right now?” 

He looks over in the distance, almost envisioning where his life would be. “I wouldn’t be anywhere else,” he shrugs but is pleased, “I’ve always loved music. Being in music allows me to do what I love.” 

I nod, almost impervious of him and his contentment. 

“However,” he adds pointing at me. “If it were up to my parents, I would have some office job probably.” 

"Eh, those jobs are so bland. I vote you stick to concerts," I giggle. 

He laughs and it’s contagious. 

My gaze lands on his arm as he reaches for his coffee. His entire arm is covered in ink. I was taught by my parents to despise tattoos. My mom would say, “why would anyone ever be willing to damage their body like that?” Finn jumped on that bandwagon. Whatever Mom says is considered fact to him. For the longest time, I agreed with them. That is until I met Colson. He was made to have tattoos. 

 I’ve seen many people in this city with tattoos but his aren’t just markings for the body, they’re art. 

“Which one are you interested in?” He questions, watching me as I admire them. 

“All of them,” I mumble, examining each one individually in awe. 

Back where I’m from tattoos are frowned upon quite frankly. When you grow up in a place no different than Pleasantville, that’s what you get. Especially, in South Carolina. 

“Do you have any?” He asks with amusement in his voice. 

I shake my head rapidly, “never in a million years!” Comprehending how he could take my response as an insult I’m quick to explain. “I mean, I would never be allowed.” 

His brows scrunch together. "Never been allowed? You’re an adult. Who’s stopping you?” 

I can’t help but snicker a little. If only it was as simple as he makes it sound. “My parents, brother, Nicole, Steph..." 

Colson narrows his eyes at me as he leans forward in his chair. “You’re your own person. You should be able to make your own decisions.” His argument is lacking and quite frankly too optimistic. 

“It’s complicated…” My eyes fall onto my fingers picking at the cardboard rim of my coffee cup. 

“If you say so… except all of them are keeping you from expressing yourself.” 

I roll my eyes as my lips form a smirk. It’s unbelievable, he makes everything sound so black and white. “You’ll never understand,” I conclude. 

“I understand more than you think.” 

Lifting my eyes up, he stares at me with a sincere expression. 

“Prove it,” I challenge him. 

Based on the change of his features, I have given him exactly what he wants.

"If you say so, Princess," he chuckles, rising from his chair. I stare at him in confusion and he offers me his hand. "You coming?" 

I smirk, slipping my hand into his. He grins and bites down on his lower lip. I'm going to regret this. 

_______________________________________________

Driving around with a guy I’m only acquainted to is completely unlike me. Everyone who knows me would be beyond freaked out at the current scene. It's kind of riveting. 

“We’ve been driving for almost an hour," I snicker. 

“It’ll be worth it, trust me!” 

“Where exactly are we going?” 

“The mystery is half the fun!” Colson enjoys the antics. 

I reach forward and change the radio station. Yungblud's "Parents" plays and I leave it. "Love this song," I mumble to myself. 

Colson glances over me, evidently surprised. "You know Dom's music?" 

"What? Just because you view me as a 'goody-two-shoes' doesn't mean I live under a rock." I giggle and hold my finger for him to wait a second. He chuckles. I begin to rap the lyrics from memory. "Yeah, the teacher fucked the preacher. But then he had to leave her. Had to wash away the sins of a male cheerleader. Hi, nice to meet ya, got nothing to believe in. So let me know when my breathing stops!" 

Colson turns up the volume to blasting and we then shout the chores together. I can’t remember the last time I had the chance to drive with the windows down, blasting music, and acting my age. I’ve forgotten what’s it like to just be a young girl, not working all the time. 

Once the song fades out, he turns down the volume. 

"So, she can rap too!" Colson looks at me, rather impressed. 

I dismiss his compliment with a wave of my hand. "Only if I've listened to a song a dozen times." 

"Not gonna lie, that was hot," he chuckles. 

Warmth rushes to my cheeks and I struggle not to smile. My head rests against the window as I watch the ocean become a blur as we drive down the PCH. 

_______________________________________

Colson drives down the road until there’s a dead end. To my surprise and then confusion, he parks the car. 

“We’re here!" He announces before jumping out of the car. 

There’s nothing here. Bushes, sad-looking trees, and dirt. I watch as he walks over to a clearing between some bushes. 

He peers over his shoulder. “You coming?” 

I take a deep breath and swing open the door. Following him to wherever we are, I spot a sign. 

                                   No Trespassing! 

“Hey Colson, that sign said no trespassing. We should go back.” 

He doesn’t even slow down as he walks down a weak path. “I’ve seen it, they never do anything.” 

With every passing moment, this road trip becomes more and more out of my comfort zone. Nicole and my entire team for that matter have guided me to prefer the indoors these past few years. I can’t remember the last time I spent an entire day outside in nature or not following a schedule. 

There’s a light at the end of the tunnel when the brush ends and the path opens up to a clearing. The sound of waves hitting the cliff before us echoes throughout the area. 

I cautiously step closer to the edge and look down to the bottom. “Wow!” I say to myself breathlessly. 

Colson peers down to the shoreline beside me. He then suddenly removes his jacket and moves on to his shirt. 

My jaw drops and I quickly direct my attention to the coastline far from him. I bring my hand to the side of my face shyly, blocking my sight of him undressing. “What the hell are you doing?” 

He chuckles behind me. I’m glad he can find so much amusement in my discomfort. “Cliff diving!” He says a matter of factly. 

“What! No you couldn’t! It’s illegal in these parts! You could get killed!” 

“Or, I’ll jump, have loads of fun and do it again!” He debates. 

I huff, crossing my arms over my chest. “Fine, you live out your death wish. I won’t be participating!” Whipping around and avoiding even sharing a short glance with him, I stomp toward the direction we came. 

He drops his shirt on top of his jacket in the grass and jogs to catch up to me. He squeezes my shoulder, using the other hand to plea with me. I whip my head around to face him. That's when I notice his tattoo-covered chest. 

“Oh let’s do it, Princess!" He encourages. "It’ll be thrilling! An adventure! Reckless! Something different!” 

Did he just call me Princess? No one has ever called me that and he has twice now. 

Colson takes my hand into both of his and I’m thrown off by the action.  “Be spontaneous with me,” he requests softly. 

Currently, I’m debating with myself. The youthful part of me is screaming ‘hell yes! Let’s do this!’ The businesswoman part of me is wiser than to take such a risk. I check over at the edge again. My willingness to do such a rebellious action is new to me. There’s no one here to see us. Paparazzi isn’t around to take pictures. Perhaps the cause of my newfound bravery is because of him. 

I take a deep breath and nod. “Okay, let’s do it.” 

As if he already knew I would eventually accept, his grin only grows. 

“Well then, I suggest you strip unless you prefer to sit around like a wet dog for the hour ride back.” He winks at me, biting his lower lip. 

In a normal case, I would be insulted by such a forward request but considering where we stand I find it humorous. After thoroughly checking the area for any cameras or strangers, I slip my dress over my head then kick off my wedges. An odd feeling stirs in my stomach and my heart is pounding. My comfort zone is shot to hell. 

Tossing my hair up in a ponytail, Colson scans my appearance. 

“Excuse me Mr. Baker, it’s not nice to stare,” I tease, yanking at my finished ponytail to tighten it. 

Unfazed, he snaps out of it and faces the shore. His hair wisps around in the breeze, falling over his face. The perfect strands are just as light as his eyes. His jawline could cut a diamond. His skin, as smooth as porcelain but covered in various tattoos. 

“Excuse me Miss Voss, it’s not nice to stare,” he repeats my words back to me. 

I snap out of my daze. “Wasn’t staring,” I argue, now turning towards the coast. 

“Nothing to be ashamed of, I know I'm hot.” His lips curve into a loose smirk. 

My time with him is often one big eye roll. I slowly approach the edge of the cliff, peering over. 

“Nervous?” He checks, looking down at the water for himself. 

“Nope." I lie. 

“Scared?” 

“No.” 

“Have you jumped from a cliff before?” 

I exhale deeply. “No.” 

He shifts his body to face me and I flicker my eyes to the side to meet his gaze. 

“And you’re not afraid?” He checks. 

“Not at all,” I admit without hesitation. 

He snickers, whether it be because he’s impressed or he doesn’t believe me. “How come?” 

I shrug, a brief hum for an answer escaping me. “The unknown doesn’t scare me, only challenges me… and I love a challenge,” I wink with a sly grin. 

His warm hand interlocks with mine and I nearly yank mine away yet because of the non-threatening look in his eyes, I stay. In fact, a part of me likes the feeling of his large hand in mine. It makes me feel safer than I have in quite some time. 

“On three” he exhales, staring off into the distance. 

I nod. 

“One," he counts. “Two...”

I exhale. I can't believe I'm doing this! 

"Three!" Colson shouts. 

I jump. Out of instinct, I squeeze Colson’s hand tighter. My voice travels in a scream as the two of us fall towards the crystal blue surface. He was right, this is such a rush! We torpedo into the water and the cold temperatures engulf me. Colson and I lose touch at some point then I kick to the surface. Wiping the excess water from my face, Colson pops up from under the water in front of me. Somehow even when wet and disheveled his hair still appears effortlessly pristine. 

“Wasn't that a rush!” His arm snakes around my waist. 

A part of me is begging for me to protest but I suppress that part of me. Instead, I rest my arms over his shoulders. He takes the opportunity to guide my legs around his waist. Shading my eyes from the sun with my hand I measure the height of where we jumped. 

Still struggling to catch my breath, I can’t help but smile widely. “It was a one-time opportunity!” 

“That’s up to you to decide!” he argues wittily. 

I lower my hand and his blue eyes see right through me. My eyes flicker down to his lips and impulsively, I slam my lips to his. I'm not sure what comes over me, but I needed to kiss him. Colson wastes no time, bringing a hand behind my head, deepening the kiss. We break apart only to catch our breath. 

“I believe you’ll prove to be a bad influence,” I say lightheartedly but between the lines with the utmost seriousness. 

“That depends on how you look at it,” he argues, his breathing inconstant.

Hungrily, he brings his lips back to mine and I melt into it. Colson is everything that’s bad for me. He’s an indulgence that’s disguising itself as a need. He’s toxic and I’m ignoring the warnings. The warmth of his palm radiates onto my face as he cups it. 

Against my lips, he grins. “You were spontaneous! Always be spontaneous!” His words, nearly sounding like a beg, settle in me. 

His crystal blues eyes stare into mine and I can’t help but be addicted. I'm falling for a fairytale.

________________________________________

Masterlist

Tags:  @canyoubuymetoast​ @bri-3530 @asil1652 @andstilltryingtofindmyself @nadia2021 @olafsidehoe @mgkobsessed @fairywriting101 @ferrell-cat @naylanae-0308 @tonystarkswife10 @alexsa56 @brocksbabyyy @stormrider505 @magnificenthumancopangel @sarcasticfangirlus @lilramencup95beech @missyviolet123 @skeleton-gxrl @glitterybearllamaflap @margaritaville20 @amoresixx @thysagclub​ @hockeybabe87​

[43sparrows]

satisfied - {Five x Reader AU}

Read Part 1 & Part 2 & Part 3 / Part 3.5 & Part 4

Warning: a rollercoaster from start to end

Word Count: 4,512

Note: Here it is. The final installment. I'm also impressed I've managed to pull off my own little goal which was to make each chapter longer as we go deeper and deeper into this relationship. It was fun to write, and I hope you stick with me for my next series

You've ignored four of his calls.

Well, technically, you've only ignored one, deleting the message from the answering machine after a short but brutal internal war. The other three times he's tried to get in touch with you were on the typical ripped out notes taped to your mirror. Each one was plucked down, scanned for words you didn't really expect to find (sorry, mistake, asshole), and then tossed into the waste bin.

You know that even as fucked up as your last encounter was, he deserves more--an explanation or at least a clean break--but you can't bring yourself to give him either. And you hate that about yourself. You hate it because you know why you can't do it, and the feeling that comes from this fact is worse than any of the ways Five's ever made you feel.

So, you don't call him. Instead, you work to erase the little traces of him you find in your apartment and in your thoughts until at last you're faced with something you can't just stick in the garbage: the man himself.

He's standing at the foot of your bed, hands on his hips and brow knit together. The look stops you dead in your tracks as you enter the room.

"You're avoiding me."

You feel like you're going to throw up. The thought briefly crosses your mind that if you do, you might get out of having this conversation. But instead you take a few more steps into the room and close the door behind you. When you face him again, you find his finger tapping at his waist. Your eyes remain on the finger instead of his face and you stay silent. This isn't an admission of guilt, but he seems to take it as one.

"Why?" he demands.

Objectively, you know the words. You're proficient in more than one language, so frankly you have more than enough words to use. But you can't seem to piece them together quite right, and so, no sound comes out. Instead you turn your gaze to your right and it lands on the candle on your bookshelf. The flame flickers, dancing in a breeze you can't feel yourself. You feel like there's a metaphor somewhere in there.

"Look--"

"Why would you do that to me, Five?" Your voice is soft, but the interruption effectively cuts him off. If you were looking, you'd imagine you'd see his eyes squint at you in frustrated confusion. His mouth would be slightly open, and you'd want to kiss it closed. So you can't face him. Your gaze stays fixated on the candle.

"Do what?"

You wet your lips as if that will help get out what you need to say. It doesn't work, but it does buy you a bit of time and makes the tension in the room that much more palpable. You wonder if that's what's guiding the flame through its movements.

"You brought me to Howl's just to fuck me in front of my ex."

Five's quiet now, and you chance a look at him from the corner of your eye. He doesn't look frustrated, but he does look like he's working a math problem and each time he comes to the end he gets a different solution.

He notices you're looking and tries to catch your eye, so you turn back to watch the candle burn it's way down the wick.

"You said you wanted something to shove in his face."

You don't remember saying that, but it's true. You did want something to shove in his face. But not like this. You shake your head at him.  "Not that." Your voice is both airy and tight, and it's not a good sign. "That wasn't anything worth shoving in his face."

"What?" There's heat in Five's voice now, and you can tell that something you've said has pushed a button. "He's working two jobs so he can get married to some boring elementary school teacher, and you're having mindblowing sex with the closest thing this city has to a goddamn superhero. Who came out on top there?"

"You," you say, simply.

"Me?" he repeats, and you finally find the strength to turn and face him. His eyebrows have shot up so high, you're surprised they're not touching his hairline.

"You're the one who got what they wanted out of that show Five. Because he's still happily getting married having been proven right that I'm nothing more than a call girl dumb enough to work for free."

Five narrows his eyes at you, and there's nothing confused about the look. Instead, he looks downright mean. You realize in that look, that he's missed the point completely. He's not listening to you. He's not seeing you. And you're starting to realize that he may not even want to. The realization hurts. It fucking hurts. Like you're being ripped apart from the inside. And the worst part is that you really should have known this.

Before he can get any words out, you beat him to the punch. It's the only way this argument was ever going to end.   "I can't do this anymore, Five."

The look shifts into one of incredulousness and then disgust and then stoniness. And then, without a word, he vanishes.

You feel like you've collapsed on the inside.

Apparently, you look like it too.

Your boss had taken one look at you and tried to send you back home. You'd told her that you were fine to work and made it half the day before she insisted you looked truly terrible and needed to go home. And maybe see a doctor.

Judging by the look on your roommate's face, you look even worse now that you've made it home.

"Are you alright?" she asks, peering up at you from the couch.

"Got sent home early," you mumble. It's not exactly an answer to her question, but you hope that it gets you out of having to talk anymore. It's not that you don't love your roommate. But you'd rather crawl in bed and stay there for a month if it meant that you didn't have to socialize with any humans in the meantime.

You successfully shuffle all the way into your room and drop your things next to your desk before the TV shuts off. Your roommate's footsteps echo throughout the apartment, and then there's silence and the feeling of someone hovering in the doorway behind you.

"I'm worried," she says, and you sigh, your shoulders dropping as you turn around.

"I'm fine."

She hums a no and gestures at your room.  You've let piles of dirty clothes take over most of the floor. There's about six different cups scattered on different surfaces, all with varying levels of water in them. Only one of the candles is lit. Her eyes find yours again, and you can't help but look away. "You've been locked in here all weekend. And most of last week too. I know he hasn't been by. He hasn't even called. What's up?"

You shrug helplessly, and the same way they do any time you think of Five, your eyes betray you and start to water.

"You don't know?" she presses, and you shake your head, looking off to the side, trying to get yourself under control. She walks into the bedroom then, coming around to sit on the edge of your bed and stare up at you. "Talk to me, Y/N. Seriously, I'm worried about you, and I don't know what to do."

"I--" your voice feels too thick, and you're having a hard time keeping it even as it comes out. "It's over." Your roommate's eyebrows draw down in sympathy as do the corners of her mouth.

"He ended it."

You shake your head and swallow. "I did." The pitch is too high now.

"Why?" your roommate's voice softens in response to yours, and it's then that you break, face crumpling, tears falling, and a broken sob escaping. She doesn't say anything more, instead rising from the bed and wrapping her arms around you from the side, leaning her head against your shoulder.

It takes an embarrassing amount of time to stop crying. Then again, any time spent crying over a boy who you weren't dating and never made any promises in terms of feelings or commitments was embarrassing. But, when you do slow down, you finally find the words to tell her everything. What happened while she was away. Your trip to the bar and what you discovered. Your fight. She listens and doesn't say anything, instead doing the one thing that you need most from her: she doesn't let go.

You look less like shit.

But you still feel awful.

It's been just over a week since your fight with Five, and you feel like you should be over it by now. The disappointment, the embarrassment, the hurt. But you're not. Sure, you don't exactly feel like an open wound anymore. But you feel a bit like someone's just put a single layer of gauze on top, and that's not nearly enough.

So, you decide there's only one course of action that will make you feel better on this Saturday morning: Griddy's Doughnuts.

Just walking into the shop makes you feel lighter. The sweet smell of the different glazes and jellies wafts through the air, and kids are crammed up against the doughnut case and perched on stools with their parents. Walking into the place is like a time warp--it feels exactly the same way it did all those years ago when you were the kid tugging at her mom's hand.

And then you make accidental eye contact, and it all shatters. Because the brown eyes you're staring into belong to none other than Vanya Hargreeves.

You pull over to the side of the line to do the right thing and make brief small talk. If it hadn't been for two occasions where she'd come home sooner than planned, you wouldn't be in this situation. She wouldn't recognize you. But this girl's seen you half naked and spoken to you several times over the phone. She knows more of you than you wish she did. She probably feels the same way. Regardless of the willingness either of you have to engage in this conversation, she's coming over, bag of doughnuts and tray of coffee in hand.

"Y/N, hi," she greets, offering a nervous looking smile.

"Hi," Your own attempt at a smile is disastrous. It's too tight and it doesn't reach your eyes. It hardly even reaches your cheekbones. "Seems like we had the same idea for breakfast."

She nods, looking down at the bag in her hand. "Yeah. We have this family tradition to grab Griddy's whenever one of us--"  she stops then, seeming to remember who she's talking to and restarts with a safer question. "How are you?"

Vanya's voice sounds the way Griddy's smells--like nostalgia and comfort and it makes you ache inside. You want to know how her sentence was going to end, but you want out of this conversation more.

"I'm fine," It comes out more of an exhale than a word, and she seems to see right through it.

She nods, her smile taking on a sad quality. "You and Five both then. Guess we did get the same memo about Griddy's."

A silence seeps in between the two of you, and you hate the way this feels--like you're drowning in the middle of a swimming pool and trying not to call attention to it.

"I don't want to pry--" She must see you go rigid because she seems to decide on a different route. "I don't know what happened, but I'm sorry it didn't work out. I know you guys cared a lot about each other."

You don't know how to respond to that. You're not sure if you want to be the fool who fell in love with her friends with benefits or the slut who was just in it for phenomenal sex or the bitch who points out Vanya's brother is a heartless bastard and doesn't deserve doughnuts because he clearly never gave a damn. She must catch the crease between your eyebrows, your lips instinctively puckering into a qualification, because she saves you from responding.

"Look, I know Five can be...a lot. And I don't know what he did, but I can tell it was big and it wasn't good." She looks like she wants to reach out and touch you, but her hands--thankfully--are full. "But you should know, he checks the answering machine every day."

It stings. He still thinks you'll call.

And you almost have.

You can't look at her open and earnest face any longer, so you look down at the ground and nod dumbly. "Thanks." She stays in front of you, and you can feel that she wants to break the silence again.  You swallow hard and force yourself to meet her gaze once more. "Well, I don't want your coffees to get cold. It was nice to run into you, though, Vanya."

She nods, her mouth settling into a line. "Take care of yourself, ok?" she asks, and you lift your lips into half a smile because it's just about as much as you can manage. She nods once more and then turns and leaves the doughnut shop. You get in line.

Your roommate decides it's time for you to leave the house.

You point out that you leave the house almost every day.

She argues that leaving for work doesn't count. It's been two weeks and you need to have fun.

You insist that if you're going to have fun, it's not going to be on a Tuesday.

She informs you that there will be dollar tacos where she's going.

That's how you end up at Don Pablo's at eight o'clock on a Tuesday night with your roommate and two other friends all crowded around a table. It's hard to say what it is, the dollar tacos, the strong margaritas, the good company or the Spanish covers of pop songs, but whatever the reason, you're feeling lighter than you have. You're even laughing as your friend, Faith, updates you on the latest antics of the passive aggressive post-it queen at her work.

"That is...one hell of a story," someone to the right of your table says, and the eyes of the group look up to a lanky man with shoulder length brown hair. He's wearing a mesh crop top that sparkles a little under the light and leather pants that leave absolutely nothing to the imagination, a fact that's captured Sam's attention.

The man pushes off from where he's leaning against the coat rack, and it's a testament to Faith's storytelling prowess that not a single one of you noticed him lurking there until this point. He motions for Faith to budge over, and the motion is so familiar and friendly that she scoots without protest.

"So," he says, resting his chin in both of his palms. "Which one of you radiant young ladies is Y/N?"

The words are objectively skeevy, but much like his admittance to the table, this earns nothing but a few snorts and smiles. He's also smiling like he's in on the joke, and it's genuine and sparkling rather than leering. You're half tempted to tell him, but your roommate stops you.

"Why?" Nasreen asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Because she's the one person who will save us from my brother's broody pining," he says with a faux pout.

Nasreen's eyebrows lift even higher. "Isn't it a little middle school of your brother to send you over here for him?"

He chuckles and lifts his head, shaking a finger at your roommate. She grins back at him. "Yes, it would be, but he very expressly told me not to come over here. I'm here looking for Y/N of my own free will." He glances around the table and steals a chip out of your basket, dipping it into the salsa. "Technically," he says, crunching down on the chip. "I'm risking my life for this."

Sam laughs and the man grins, reaching for another chip. "It's true. He said, and this is a direct quote, 'Klaus, if you go over there, I will drive this tiny umbrella through your eyeball until it hits that thing you call a brain and puts us all out of our misery.'" He pops the chip into his mouth and gives a dramatic eye roll. "Very eloquent, my brother."

Your friends laugh at this, even Nasreen, but you grow cold. Because you know one person with a brother named Klaus.

"So," Klaus bounces his shoulders once, sitting up straighter. "Who am I sacrificing myself for?" He looks around the table pleasantly just as Sam glances at you. It's a small motion, but Klaus latches onto it. "Ah," Klaus says gesturing toward you. "I'm going to need you to come fuck my brother."

Faith spits out her margarita. Sam barks out a sudden laugh. Nasreen blinks and draws back into the booth.

"I know he's an emotionally stunted little asshole, but he's been even more insufferable than usual, and Vanya says it's because of you." He drops his hand onto the table, relaxing back into the booth. "Obviously, he's the one at fault--you seem like an angel. But it would mean the world if you would come fix our little shitheel."

It's the name Vanya that brings Nasreen up to speed.

"I'm vetoing this right now," your roommate says, shaking her head. Klaus presses his hands together and points them at her.

"Your objection has been heard and noted, but let's hear from Y/N."

All of the eyes on the table are on you, and dollar tacos isn't enough to redeem this moment. You shake your head slowly. "No."

"No," Klaus repeats. He seems surprised.

"No, I'm tired of being fucked over so Five can feel better. No." Your roommate's approval radiates over you, strengthening the feeling. Faith and Sam straighten up at the mention of Five.

Klaus heaves a sigh and leans back to rest his head on the top of the booth's cushion. "I don't blame you, but I don't want to go back over there," he says to the ceiling. "Not only is he going to publicly murder me, but he'll probably drive me up this stucco painted wall with his moodiness before he does it." He lolls his head to turn to Faith. "Can I stay here with you?"

Faith laughs a little, looking at the rest of you.

"Depends," your roommate says, leaning on the table.

"On?" Klaus raises an eyebrow.

"If the next round is on you."

When you stumble into your apartment, it's a little past 1 am, and you're not so much as drunk as you are high on a good time. Allowing Klaus to stay at your table had been the best decision you'd made in the past...month? Maybe longer. Not only had he supplied you with enough good stories to take your mind far away from Five (whose gaze you could feel once you knew it was there) but Klaus had also pulled each of you up to salsa with him despite the fact that it wasn't a dance bar at all. Still, several other couples from different tables had followed his lead, and you'd allowed yourself to be spun and turned about until your legs were ready to collapse.

It's hard to imagine that anything can bring yourself down from this feeling as you place a kiss on your roommate's cheek and thank her for dragging you out.

Then again, you hardly imagined Five would be popping into your bedroom at 1:30 in the morning.

His hair is wild, eyes are hazy, and he looks more disheveled than you've ever seen him. "You were there. You were there and Klaus came over, and what the fuck?"

You've never heard so many nonsensical words come out of his mouth.

"Are you...drunk?" you ask, dumping your clothes at the door to your closet.

"Figured that one out," he says, gesturing flailingly at you.  "I got drunk because that's what you do when the one person in this world who doesn't make your life worse won't even look across a bar at you." He says.

You, for your part, remain silent, head tilted, trying to make sense of what's going on--how much of this is him and how much of it is the alcohol. Because you can't believe he's this upset--Five doesn't seem to do emotions other than stressed, horny, and smug.

He sways a bit. "You were right there. Right there. And you didn't even look at me. Not even when fuckin' Klaus went over."

"I didn't realize you cared that much," you say quietly.

Five scoffs. "Why else would I spend five days hunting down your ex just so you could get your closure."

You blink several times at this fact, but you don't have time to formulate some sort of response before he continues. "Do you know how many Jordan Millers there are in this city?"

"You--what?" The words come out as hardly more than a disbelieving whisper.

"Five days and perfect planning to get you there and have it all work out at just the right moment, only for you to end it. No reason. You just ended it."

You swallow hard and then fix him with a stare. Because he's right--he should at least have a reason. "I didn't end it because of Howl's." You pause, and he takes it as the end of the sentence because he continues on.

"I don't even know what happened. I keep trying to work it out. It's all I can fucking think about, and I can't figure it out. You wanted just sex, so I gave you just sex. You wanted to show up your ex, so I made sure you could show up your ex." His voice takes on a hysterical quality as he starts to pace the room. "What am I missing? Please, enlighten me. Because Vanya and Allison are up my ass about trying to fix things with you, and hell if I know where to begin."

"You can't fix this," you shake your head and then wet your lips, steeling yourself up for the most embarrassing truth. "I ended it because I wanted more, and you didn't."

He pauses and then lets out a manic laugh. "So you left because you wanted to be with me?"

"I left because I thought it was just sex to you, and that's all it would ever be."

"That's all it was supposed to be," he says, not stopping his pacing.  "That's what we both wanted."

"Wanted," you repeat, quietly. "Wants change."

He lets out a manic laugh. "Oh, I know that," he says and stalks closer to you. "Why else would I be here right now, still trying to figure out what you want so I can give it to you instead of fucking any of the girls who came up to me tonight?"

You blink a few times, and this has to be an exhaustion induced delusion, because there's no way he's saying what you think he's saying.

"What are you talking about?" you ask, quietly. He doesn't answer, instead closing the remainder of the distance, pulling your body flush against yours and kissing you.

He tastes like margaritas. His kiss is as intoxicating as the alcohol itself, the sensation rushing through your body and urging you to relax into him. He's only kissed you four times before, and all of those were different. In those kisses his hands ran over your body, pushing at your clothes, his frame walking you back towards the bed. But now he's solid, and his hands are still, a vice keeping you close to him as his lips remain on yours.

It takes an extraordinary strength of will to extract yourself from his kiss. "Don't do this," you whisper, your lips brushing his since he's chased after your kiss.

"Why?" he pulls you even closer, pressing another kiss to your lips.

"Because you don't mean this," you say, bringing your hands in between your bodies to push him away. "You're drunk and you're lonely and…"

"And I want you," he says, not moving, ducking his head to kiss you again.

"No you don't."

The words make him step back angrily. "I don't know how to make it any fucking clearer," he says, raking a hand through his hair. "I want you. I want you Y/N. I wish I didn't. I wish things would go back to being just sex. Because my life was so much easier then. But they can't. Not for you and not for me. You want more. I want you. So why won't you just accept that and let me kiss you?"

As far as romantic speeches go, it's pretty shitty.

"Fine," you say.

It's an equally shitty romantic response.

But then he's kissing you again, and you let yourself lean into the hope that maybe, come morning, he'll still mean what he said.

When you wake up, Five's gone.

The other side of the bed is tucked in tightly, like he was never even there. But you know he was. Because if he wasn't, there's no reason for your whole body to ache inside and out. It's tempting to stay in bed and throw yourself a mix of pity party and roast. After all, last night you exhibited top tier dumbassery.

But you're tired of feeling like shit. So you drag yourself out from under the covers and towards your door, hoping that some coffee and a warm breakfast will help you to feel better.

You pad out the door and down the short hallway to come out to the kitchen where your roommate is pouring herself a cup of coffee.

“My head hurts like a sonofabitch,” she says, reaching into the cabinet to grab down a mug for you. “You?”

You give a rueful smile and head over to stand next to her by the coffeepot. “Surprisingly, I’m ok. Better than yesterday.”

“Good,” she says, filling your mug up.

Your toilet flushes, and both you and your roommate look at each other. The silent question is answered not long after as there, appearing in the doorway, still wearing yesterday’s clothes and looking a bit disheveled, is Five.

It’s the first time your roommate has ever seen him.

“Uh…hello?” your roommate says, and Five nods at her, moving forward to steal your mug of coffee. He lifts it to his lips and takes a long sip.

“You’re…here,” you say dumbly, and he nods, drinking some more coffee.

“It’s where I want to be.”

Your roommate looks between the two of you. “And you are…”

“Five,” he says over his coffee, and your roommate looks between the two of you wildly before finally settling you with a significant look.

“You’re going to have to make more coffee, and explain all of this to me,” she says, circling a finger at Five.

You look at him, a small twist of a smile on your lips. “Fine with me.”

[lazyliars]

The Quackity Meta: Justice without the Blindfold

[Anonymous asks: (DSMP) Somebody talk to me about Quackity and Eret’s character. I wanna talk about what Quackity’s views on power are with what he’s planning to do with Sam along with whatever he saw in the egg. I wanna talk about why Eret thinks reviving Wilbur is the best option for the sever to lead and their views on what a leader should be with them being the king of the Dream SMP. I wanna talk about Quackity planning to create a casino for the server to rise to the top. What does it mean to be king?]

[/rp. All mentions of dream smp members should be assumed as referencing the character, not the cc, unless specifically stated otherwise.]

At the heart of every conflict, if you look closely enough, you will find a similarity. Two contrasting ideals will reveal their own likeness, in the stage they play out their war – they both fight for the same result; to be known and followed and asserted, and in this they are the same. There would be no conflict if both sides shared nothing in common.

Lets talk about Quackity.

We'll gloss over a good deal of Quackity's history to get to the meat of this discussion, which involves Technoblade. But there are a a few lesser known facts about Quackity's early days on the server that are relevant to the discussion, like  that Quackity joined the server because of Tommy.

Namely, he joined for The Cartel, a short-lived organization comprised of him, Tommy, Tubbo and Jack Manifold, and their aims of obtaining power over the entire server by getting a monopoly on one object, the Phantom Membrane.

(Trivia: This is why Technoblade had to strike a deal with Tommy for the membranes – Phantoms are turned off on the Dream SMP now, so their monopoly actually ended up working. (Un)fortunately, Tommy traded nearly his whole supply for the priceless act of... making Techno scream really loud and talk in a funny voice. Worth it.)

However, Tommy's interest in the Cartel waned almost immediately, to Quackity's frustration. Tommy was constantly busy with his Vice Presidential duties in L'manberg. Quackity wasn't entirely left out, and he helped Tommy on multiple occaisions, but this was back in Wilbur's L'manberg, where non-europeans were strictly banned.

Quackity would slowly come to resent Tommy for this over time. He joined the server to be with him, took his side in nearly every conflict, including the ones that were L'manberg-oriented, and yet he wasn't allowed to be a citizen of his friend's own nation.

The resentment would reach a boiling point when Quackity discovered Wilbur's bid to consolidate power by running a sham election – with a one party system. Quackity challenged him, formed Swag 2020, and the rest is history...

The takeaway here is that from the start, Quackity has been shunted aside by people in power – Tommy, Wilbur, and then later, Schlatt. This wouldn't prevent him from executing his own immoral power grabs, but that trait – the distaste for people with power holding it over him, is one that would stick around, and become even more prominent later... Quackity has more reason than most to hate tyranny.

But “Tyranny” Is a word thrown around on the SMP often enough, that it's probably up there with “betrayal” and “pop-off” in total wordcount. But few use it more commonly, or more persuasively, than Quackity and Technoblade.

This begs the question: what is Tyranny in a M/inec/raft role play, and why do Quackity and Technoblade both detest it so much while still hating each other?

Well, after a moderate amount of research, I have discovered the following:

Tyranny is complicated.

Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk.

...No, but really. Tyranny is very old concept. The words originates in, you guessed it, Ancient Greece, but conceptually, the idea goes waaaay back.

Now, that last thing I wanna do is give anyone a history lesson. I'd suck at it and I haven't done that much research. But the takeaway here is that “Tyranny” has come to be defined in fairly vague terms. We'll look at a few different ones in reference to the SMP.

Oxford dictionary defines a Tyrant as: A cruel and oppressive ruler. / a person exercising power or control in a cruel, unreasonable, or arbitrary way. / (especially in ancient Greece) a ruler who seized power without legal right.

Lets look at the first and last definitions:  A cruel and oppressive ruler; (especially in ancient Greece) a ruler who seized power without legal right.

By these definitions, one could call Quackity tyrannical during his term as Tubbo's VP. He exercises the power granted to him as a government official to spearhead an operation to execute a man without trial. He violently invades the home of a citizen and then puts said man on house arrest, and to subdue the target of this operation he threatens a pet (-a vague but ostensibly severe criminal act in the terms of m/inec/raft specifically-) and then reveals to Techno that the reason he's doing this actually has nothing to do with the crime Techno was accused of, and it is instead a ploy to consolidate power.

Quackity is leveraging his position in the government to amass power, and using that power to harm individuals (Philza and Techno,) in process. As an added bonus, his position in that government came from usurping Schlatt, a legitimately elected official. Thus, Quackity is a Tyrant.

But there, in Schlatt's government is where things get complicated.

Quackity had some power in Schlatt's government. Not the same kind as he did in New L'manberg, but arguably a more unrestrained form – Quackity could basically do whatever he wanted, as long as it pleased Schlatt. In New L'manberg, Quackity needed to convince not only Tubbo, but the rest of the cabinet whenever he wanted to initiate a new project. New L'manberg, while still maintaining a ruling class, had a far more equal distribution of power than Manberg did. It was still democratic.

And while we're on the topic of Quackity as Schlatt's VP, Quackity had almost instant regret the day of the election. He was undermining Schlatt from the start, questioning him, trying to stop Tubbo from breaking the signs that read “if you break this sign, you hate your viewers” and freeing Niki when Schlatt trapped her in Jack Manifold's house and then whispering at her to run.

Quackity only fell into step with Schlatt in the aftermath of Election day, when he saw a major desire fulfilled; the tearing down of L'manberg's walls. These walls were a symbol of L'manberg's isolationist roots that prevented Quackity from joining in the first place. It was one of his biggest promises whilst campaigning.

From this point on, up until the festival, Quackity would be in support of Schlatt. The things he did try to push back on would be downplayed and ignored, if not scorned. This period of time is difficult to pick apart where Quackity's personal morals and ideals begin, and Schlatt's influence ends. The steadily worsening abusive dynamic between them doesn't help this vagueness, either.

I point this out because I've seen people conflate Quackity's abuse at the hands of Schlatt, and his willingness to participate in Schlatt's rule as being of the same root; implying that Quackity only followed Schlatt because he was in an abusive relationship with him, when the reality is far more complicated. Yes, their relationship was a major factor in Quackity's actions, but downplaying his ambition and willingness to accept Schlatt's Tyranny when it helped him realize his own goals does a disservice to the nuance of Manberg-era Quackity.

What all of this points to is an individual who has a strong, some might say defining sense of Justice, yet also a susceptibility to Temptation. Quackity’s experiences with disenfranchisement by Wilbur and Tommy, coupled with his Dark horse victory in the election paints him in a sympathetic, even heroic light. But the way he slowly relinquished more and more power to Schlatt, and ended up indulging in the fruits of tyrannical gains when they proved they could get him what he wanted.

...

So, back to the question... Is Quackity a tyrant?

The answer to that question is a solid “mmmmaaaybe??”

It comes back to what you consider Tyranny. Quackity has never held complete power – he has always, always been scrapping and struggling and fighting to get a foothold in the machinations of the truly powerful, like Dream and Wilbur. He's very much an underdog story.

On the other hand, the times that Quackity has held positions of power, he's done some questionable shit. People like to forget that, while he was deeply disturbed by it, he wasn't exactly against Tubbo's execution at the festival. Putting Phil on house arrest and executing Techno without trial also count against him.

Like most things on the SMP, it's just complicated. Quackity's motivations run deep and aren't always obvious. He doesn't seem to want to hurt people just for the sake of hurting them, or use his power in arbitrary ways, but when he can personally justify it, the sacrifice of his moral integrity gets severe sometimes.

What it looks like is that more than anything else, Quackity wants control, and to never, ever lose his own autonomy. That is also why he despises Technoblade.

...And here we are at the Technoblade part of this meta, AKA the MASSIVE BULK OF THIS ANALYSIS. Which you can read HERE, because it’s too long to fit in just this one post.

[dracosaurusrex]

Fireworks (pt. 2)

Summary: The kiss that was supposed to be practice ends up opening your eyes to the feelings that you hold for your best friend, and he for you. Glances, smiles, playful banter--they all change. Suddenly, Draco Malfoy isn’t the same boy you once knew and grew up with.

Genre: Fluff; Childhood friends-to-lovers

Wordcount: 3.5k

A/N: I hope you’re not tired of me posting ahaha. I’ve had this draft laying around all week, but I finally got to it thank to the headcanon requests! I hope you enjoy! Feedback is very much appreciated :)

Part 1

The world suddenly looked different--your world, that is. 

For eleven years, up until now, Draco took up a huge part of your life. Although he was notorious for his obnoxiousness, memories of your childhood were painted with boundless laughter, basking in the warmth of many summer suns, thrills of tomfoolery during lavish events, cozy winter nights with cups of hot chocolate in hand. Even in your most awkward moments, he was there through it all, providing moral support despite his prickly demeanor. 

He was the physical embodiment of a safety net, your safety net, and it remained that way throughout your three (going on to four) years of schooling at Hogwarts.

But now your world looked different. Now your cheeks flared at the sight of silvery eyes. Your heart beats flared with a flash of platinum blonde. The smirk that you were once so confident in returning now left you with a surge of butterflies. With the softness of his lips ingrained in your memory, every glance, every smile, every laugh that you’d share with your best friend ignited a fire within you.

It also didn’t help your cause when you overhear other girls talk about his handsomeness. You weren’t opposed to it before, but now you understood what they meant whenever they gossiped about his broad shoulders, his lean physique, the way the tone of his voice deepened pleasantly--heck, even his hands. All of those things that you never bothered noticing amplified the moment his lips parted from yours, and you didn’t like it one bit.

Draco Malfoy was supposed to be your annoying and slimy best friend—not the person who made your heart race. He was the one to tackle you in the mud—not the one you would ever picture yourself fantasizing about. 

You memorized the gaze the both of you had shared as he parted from your lips slowly, hesitantly. With the foreign expression plastered on his face, you knew from that very moment the boy in front of you wasn’t the same one you grew up with. Moreover, the emotions that arose from the thought of him were very questionable. They felt foreign and weird, and it scared you. Therefore, you did what anybody in denial would do--suppress the rosy palpitations, and carry along with your day.

It worked for a while except that in doing so, you had to avoid him. All conversations were kept short and straight to the point, time spent together was limited—it was to no surprise that you became distant.  Draco noticed this, although he tried to use anything but the kiss to justify the lack of interaction. The boy placed you on a pedestal. You were the epitome of dedication in his eyes. Your willingness to commit yourself to hard work was something he admired about you. He took pride in all of your accomplishments, while you in his, and he was eternally grateful that you stuck around despite his shortcomings. 

Perhaps that’s why it shocked him when he came to realize how pretty you’ve become. The baby fat that once occupied your cheeks melted away. Your hair, which was always messy from the frequent play dates, laid straight down your back, tucked neatly behind your ear on one side, while it flowed down naturally on the other. The mischievous glint in your eyes had transformed to one of elegance and poise. Furthermore, the lips that you left slightly chapped before, now took on a soft pink sheen accompanied with a velvety feel when pressed against his own. The kiss merely opened his eyes, to an attraction that budded within. One that, just like you, he was afraid of. 

‘Godric, Malfoy, stop it with the thoughts. Y/N’s your best friend!’ 

And maybe distance was what was needed for you both. ‘This is what’s best for our friendship.’ He’d think as he stared at you from afar. The smile plastered on your face was more than enough to reassure him that everything would be alright. You are Y/N after all.

However, time proved to be against as you began to drift away from one another with every passing week. The boy didn’t come back to your room, leaving you with mixed feelings of relief and disappointment. A part of you longed to feel him again, while another found it to be a disastrous idea. Nevertheless, with emotions of both parties submerged within, you resumed your days flipping through sheets of parchment, while Draco took it upon himself to find ways to get you out of his head. Amongst them all was the companionship of a familiar Pansy Parkinson. She always had feelings for the boy, although the time he spent with you made him oblivious to the fact. It was only until her recent closeness that he began to notice her. Her giddiness contrasted to yours, but the similarity of her character pulled him into her company. Soon enough, the sight of them laughing and conversing became more frequent in the common room, in the Great Hall, even sometimes as you passed them in the hallways. You’d never spare a glance, you wouldn’t allow yourself to. Yet, as your figure made its way to Draco’s eyes, he gazed at you with longing, his heart tightening ever so slightly as you walked by. 

Within your room, in the midst of stacked textbooks, piles of paper, and splattered ink stains, was a pain that seared through your chest. One that you had to keep hidden, merely for the fact that you didn’t know what to do with the feelings you bore inside. Your knee bounced in place while the grip on your quill loosened as Draco entered your thoughts once again. The scenarios playing in your mind grew progressively worse as images of the boy and the raven-haired girl proliferated your surroundings. Before you could wallow in your sadness, the sudden opening of your door startled you.

“Y/N!” A shrill voice occupies your ears as Draco walks into the room, once again, unannounced. It was just like the last time.

“When will you ever learn how to knock, Draco?” You brought your fingers to your temples, massaging them slightly.  “What is it now?” 

The sound of your annoyed voice, oddly enough, brought him a sense of reassurance. It was familiar, and although he wouldn’t admit it, it highlighted how much he missed you.

You turned yourself in your chair to face him as he sat himself on your bed. It was the first time in a long while that you looked at him directly in the eyes, suddenly remembering how silvery they were. You raised your brows towards him, lifting your chin momentarily to urge him to speak.

The words that he had formulated in his mind left him the minute he took in your features. You propped your arms on top of the head rest, fixating your cheek upon it. The action squished your lips into a small pout. The light emitted from the lake above brought a glow to your dark eyes as it pierced into his. You both allow a comfortable silence to situate, amplifying the sound of his heart beat as they chime against his ear. But, within the spur of the moment, he suppresses it once again. Tearing away from his thoughts, he recalls his reason for coming to you in the first place.

“I think I like Pansy Parkinson.” He says. You felt your expression drop slightly before forcing the ends of your lips into a smile.

“R-Really? I’m happy for you. It’s about time, honestly.” Your voice broke mid-sentence, and the lack of excitement didn’t go unnoticed by the boy in front of you. Your body language altered drastically--in one second you gazed at him with doe eyes only to be turned away, orbs glazed with what seemed like sadness, in the next.

“Yeah, thanks. I suppose she’ll be my proper first.” 

You chuckled, “Yeah, I suppose so.”  

“I hope she feels the fireworks.” You say. A brief memory crossed your mind as you looked at the small details of his shoes. You sucked the tears that glossed your vision before redirecting it to him, giving the most genuine smile you could conjure at the moment.The softness laced within your tone poked at the boy’s heart. Within that second, he envisioned the feel of your lips, creating hesitation towards the attraction he felt for Pansy.

“Maybe we could go on a..uh..double date? You can bring someone you’d like.” 

You lifted your hand at the suggestion, which was followed by a breathy laugh. 

“That’s where I have to draw the line, love.” 

He found it confusing, really. Here you were, sat before him, with a smile settling across your lips. Although he came to you to tell you about Pansy, the sight of you initiated flips in his chest. There was something in your aura that wasn’t present before. Not wanting to delve into it, he pushes the idea to the back of his mind for the third time that day.

“Oh, Y/N, don’t worry. You’ll get your real first kiss soon.” He says. It makes you roll your eyes.

“Enough, Draco. Like I said before, I’m not waiting for it.” A small, gentle smirk appears as he reaches out for your arms. With a firm grip, he makes you look at him.

“I never noticed before, but I suppose you’ve become beautiful these past years, Y/N. Any guy would be lucky to-”

“Stop. Stop. Stop.” At this point, heat had risen to your face, your smile suppressed into a firm line. “Really, Draco. I don’t need your pity, or whatever it is you’re doing right now.” 

“Can’t take the truth?”

“Isn’t Pansy waiting for you?” You stood up, and grabbed his arm, leading him to the hallway. It shocked him, but he couldn’t find the means to respond when your head was the only thing sticking out of your door.

“Tell me how the kiss goes, yea?” You threw him one last wink before locking the door behind you. Unbeknownst to the boy on the other side, you slid down, allowing the tears to fall. 

—

Dinner rolls around, followed by the late hours of the evening, early hours of the morning, a whole day, held together in repetition until a week passes since the moment you kicked the boy out of your confines. You cursed yourself for being ahead in your assignments, because now you were stuck with the immense discomfort that your crush had brought you. You never bothered involving anyone in your problems. Instead you opted to take on the burden for yourself, and hoped that the coming days would heal you. As a result, you found yourself walking along empty hallways and corridors with your heart in distraught, your mind lost in thought.

‘Stupid Draco. If only it weren’t for your stupid idea then maybe I wouldn’t grow to care so much.’ Your steps had a little more weight to them as you continued to wander around.

As soon as you were about to turn into another hallway, the sound of two familiar voices drove you to a halt. One belonged to the platinum-haired boy, and the other to Pansy. There were hushed giggles--they almost sounded flirtatious. You quieted your thoughts to listen in.

“You’re quite the charmer, Parkinson.” 

“I suppose I can say the same for you, Malfoy.” The feeling of your heart raging against your chest increased as the silence lingered on.

“Draco?” She asks.

“Yes?”

“Kiss me.” Before you could picture anything more, you walked away, using your hand to cover the gasp that tried to escape from your mouth. Hot tears streamed down your face as the pain from heartbreak coursed through you. You brought this upon yourself. You shouldn’t have said yes.

Oblivious to your presence, Draco kissed Pansy with much confidence in what you had taught him, with much confidence that he’d feel the fireworks. But when he didn’t feel anything, he was brought to a state of confusion. He liked her, right? Right? Yet the feel of her lips wasn’t the same. It was firmer, more stiff, and it lacked the warmth that accompanied yours. 

Yours. 

Yours. 

Yours.

With his eyes still closed, lips parted from the girl’s, he began to envision you. He leaned in once more with your image in mind, capturing her into another kiss. It still didn’t feel the same, but the you in his thoughts elicited the fireworks in his chest. All the memories he spent with you growing up flashed through his conscious until a recent memory of that fateful day resurfaced. He didn’t like Pansy. Sure, he was attracted to her, but she didn’t come close to you. He was sure of that. In that moment, he knew that it was you.

He parted from her abruptly the second time around. His expression was painted with shock as he loosened his grip from the girl’s face. She saw the way his eyes widened--not out of awe, but rather out of realization. It didn’t take her long to realize that the girl that occupied his heart wasn’t her.

“You thought of Y/N, didn’t you?” She said hesitantly. When she didn’t hear an objection coming from him, she flashed a lopsided smile. 

“I-I’m sorry, Pansy.” Draco’s shoulders slumped over. She gripped them in a comforting manner.

“Don’t be, Draco. If it makes you feel any better, this only helped me confirm that I probably don’t like boys in that way.”  She chuckled. The look he gave her only made her shrug before they broke out in laughter.

“Who is it?”

“Luna Lovegood.”

“Oh goodness,” He covered his red-clad face, “What do I do with Y/N?”

“She’s your best friend, right? Do what you normally do.” She pauses as she rubs his back, “If you go now, you might catch her before dinner.” Draco didn’t waste a second to bolt off and find you. It was his sole purpose of his life at that point. He had to tell you. He couldn’t bear to keep it in, pretending that it wasn’t there. He needed to feel you again, to hold you in his arms, to share the laughs, the joy--he needed you by his side.

--

The sun was setting by the time you settled for a seat in the courtyard. Broad rays of gold and orange painted the stone-clad floors as you look at the landscape in the distance. The tears that had streaked your face dried, and your heart rested in ease. There was no denying your feelings anymore. You fell for your best friend, maybe much harder than you had initially thought. 

A sigh escapes you as the scenery brings you peace of mind. Off in a distance, footsteps could be heard, growing louder as they neared you. You felt beats skip once again at the chances that it might be Draco. Instead, you were met with Cedric Diggory. 

A warm, polite smile greeted you, “Mind if I sit here?” He asks. You nod as he settles in the seat beside you.

“A beautiful sunset isn’t it? I always thought Hogwarts looked beautiful in gold.”

“You’re not wrong.” You peeked once more at the sun set before turning your vision towards him. 

“What brings you here Y/L/N?”

“I needed to take my mind off of some things.” Cedric, who was nothing but kind and welcoming, made it easy for you to open up. You didn’t expect to tell him anything, but he proved to be a good listener--offering his say when needed, keeping quiet as you continued to vent. It reminded you of Draco. It reminded you most especially of the times in your life when all you needed was someone to listen, and it was him to fill that role. Every single time. As the conversation drawled on, the platinum-haired boy occupied your thoughts. There was a fine line between the company both had kept, and you missed him.

“You know, Y/N, it’s never good to bottle things in. Especially when it comes to your best friend.”

“I know...I just don’t want to ruin this any more than it already has.”

“Well maybe right now is a good place to start.” You looked at him only to see his line of sight directed forward. You followed it, only to trace it back to a furious-looking Draco Malfoy. Cedric stood up and turned to you.

“I wish you luck.” The sweet smile on his face was capable of fooling the boy standing at a distance. You return your thanks before he steps away, leaving you alone to refocus your attention to your best friend. 

Draco, with his lips pulled into a frown, marched his way to where you are, and harshly pulled you up by the wrist. You didn’t have time to retaliate, giving him the opportunity to drag you into a secluded hallway, away from the eyes of other students.

“Did I just see you flirting with Cedric Diggory?” His tone, cruel and cold, made your blood boil.

“What does it matter to you?” The boy furrowed his brows at you.

“You’re my best friend, of course it matters to me!”

“Well not everything I do is not always your business! In fact, shouldn’t you be with Pansy right now? Stop bugging me, and go to your girlfriend!” You poured out the pain and frustration you kept inside, while Draco absorbed everything you had to offer. This wasn’t exactly how you envisioned the conversation to play out. As the exchange continued to play out, you both unknowingly stepped closer to one another.

“We’re not together!” He shouts, flailing his arms. You staggered back for a second, shocked at his response. 

“I-I thought...But I saw you! She asked you to kiss her!” You pointed an accusatory finger at the boy as he closed his eyes in annoyance. When he opened them, he pulled your wrist, and brought you closer to him. The gaze that he set on you was intense and filled with passion--it was the same look he gave you when you shared your first kiss. 

“I did,” You tried tugging yourself at the sound of his voice, only to make him grip you tighter. “I did, but I didn’t feel the fireworks.”

“What?” Draco let out a smile in response to the awe within your voice.

“It was only when I thought about you that I felt them. I’m stupid, I know--you know.” You softened your eyes.

“What are you trying to say, Draco Malfoy?” Before he responds, he loosens his hold, and intertwines his fingers into yours.

“That day, when we practiced--I felt it then. The fireworks. It was only with you.” Your heart has been through it today, but for the first time it erupts in sheer joy and relief. 

“I felt it too.” The statement you made was quiet, but it was genuine, it was heartfelt, and it was enough for Draco to pull you into a hug.

“I love you, you know that?” He whispers into your ear.  You chuckle, all the tension that has built up is swept away as you gingerly wrap your arms around his waist.

“Because we’re best friends or... as lovers?” He doesn’t respond right away. Instead he caresses your face and sweeps the loose strands of hair to the side. You allow your eyes to flutter closed to relish his gentle touch.

“Both.” Without much left to be said, he presses his lips against yours. The feelings, the fireworks--they’re all exactly like the first, if not even better. However, this time there was something more. With every kiss he plants on your lips is an overflow of emotions you never saw coming. His hands travel up against your sides, settling on the small of your back before flushing your body against his. In turn, you wrap your arms around his neck, allowing the kiss to open up even more. Fingers entangle the hair of each lover as longing flows through the intimate form of communication.

“Draco?” You ask, breaking away slightly. No response. Within the next second, you find your lips to be caught in his again.

“Yes?” The feel of him was so addicting that your question got lost in thought. It was only until you felt his hand going lower, giving your ass a soft squeeze, that you pulled away flustered. With a laugh spilling out of your lips, you send the boy a playful slap on his chest. He brought his hand back up slightly, allowing it to linger just a couple inches above the part of your body he was so tempted to grab. He looked at you with a goofy smile on his face. 

“I can’t believe you’re the boy I grew up with.”

“It is I,” He pecks your lips, “in the flesh.” With a final peck, he leans his forehead against yours. The silence that follows soon after is filled with peace. All the conflicted emotions vanish completely as you find one another in each other’s arms. 

“Y/N, my lovely lovely best friend, will you be my girlfriend?”

“Gladly.”

A/N: Hehe thank you for reading if you made it this far! I hope you have a wonderful day <3 Once again, feedback is very much appreciated!

Tagging:

@beiahadid @hahee154hq @mushi98 @stretchyice @dracosathenaeum @dreaming-about-fanfictions @saby06143 @rottenhexrt @littlethie @amithatemo @drxcomvlfx @svturtles @xoxohollands 

[phantomato]

Five Tom Riddle Crossover Fics to Read

Tom Riddle is a difficult character to ship. For those of us who want to see pairings beyond the Big Two (Tomarry and Tomione), canonical options peter out relatively quickly. Sure, we can invent our own pairings by fleshing out side characters, but sometimes, the itch is best scratched by borrowing from another canon.

And it makes sense for Tom more than nearly anyone else in HP. Tom was born into an era that is the subject of so much literature, so it’s easy to find another person kicking around postwar Europe if that’s your goal. He’s an archetypal character, the villain seeking immortality, and can be matched against other villains with the same aims. Hell, even his quest to recover lost artifacts turns into the basis for two of these works—Tom Riddle has the perfect combination of a recognizable context and character model, plus the ambiguity of his canon timeline, to slot him alongside so many other fictional figures.

I want to pause on some of these themes for a second. Immortality or relationship to age, for one, is something that comes up in three of these pairings: the Darkling and Koschei the Deathless are both immortal characters in their own canons, and Edmund Pevensie is not immortal but has aged and de-aged repeatedly in his travels to and from Narnia. The HP series doesn’t give us nearly this wealth of different perspectives on age and immortality, which is fair—HP makes it clear that immortality is unnatural and undesirable, and Flamel is notably a ‘good person’ because of his willingness to accept his own death—but for a character as obsessed with the idea as Tom, some emotions can only be explored when you match him with another character who has a complicated relationship to aging. Even someone like Indiana Jones, not immortal and not trying to be, has an interesting perspective to bring to a story because he has seen so many other quests for power gone terribly awry.

Of course, the other thing we get from crossover pairings is the ability to match Tom with a villainous character. And whether you’re a fan of conflict at the start of a relationship or not, I think there’s something to be found in putting two villains together: moral arguments, when they exist, are rarely about whether death is necessary but about what kinds of death are best used when; the entire concept of either a redemption arc or a breaking bad arc can be thrown out a window. It’s a space wherein our two villains are allowed to be themselves, and the reveal of the extent of each character’s villainy becomes a strange form of celebration. This is challenging to achieve if one sticks to HP canon alone, whereas crossovers are a fruitful space.

My selection methodology was to read every crossover fic with a clear focus on Tom Riddle or Voldemort on AO3. I found crossover pairings by visiting the meta pages for the Tom Riddle, Voldemort, and Tom Riddle | Voldemort tags—I may have missed some pairings for Tom Riddle, as the character has over 300 child relationship tags and AO3 cuts off at 300 displayed. If you know of any ships I missed and should check out, do tell! I’ll also make a note here that one of these fics is my own—if self-recs bother you, skip Bluebird.

The following five fics are ordered by wordcount. Let me know what you think!

Neurotic Virtuosi, by skazka

Crossover: Hannibal Rising (movie version). The wizarding world exists, and Tom and Hannibal encounter each other in non-magical Eastern Europe.

Summary: Tom and Hannibal ride the same train when Tom is hunting down the diadem. Tom shares an apple and thinks about keeping Hannibal.

Mature, <1k, Graphic Torture Fantasies

Why?: This is one of those pairings that I wouldn’t have thought to do when the characters were both young, but it’s so much better for that choice! The length of this fic means we only get a taste of their interactions, but what a taste it is. Tom’s internal fantasies are horrifying and described in a very erotic way, which fits both characters.

This also serves as an interesting vision of what Tom might have experienced during his world tour to find the diadem, a period we rarely get to see. I particularly like that the author chose to write it as frustrating and mostly fruitless; a Tom who is stymied and unsuccessful is a particular weakness of mine.

Two Sides of the Same Coin, by Anonymous

Crossover: Chronicles of Narnia. Both Hogwarts and Narnia are real, and the characters meet in Britain. The magic isn’t the same, but there’s mutual recognition.

Summary: Tom tries to use sex to seduce secrets out of Edmund. Edmund sees something reminiscent of his younger self, the version of him who could join the White Witch, in Tom Riddle.

Explicit, 2k

Why?: Edmund and Tom are a pairing made in crossover heaven, both boys of a similar age born into war in the same country and whose discoveries of magical worlds help them escape it. Both lust for power and make poor choices; Edmund canonically recovers and finds redemption from his actions, and Tom does not.

This fic wears the hat of something pure smut, starting in the middle of a sex scene and tagged with top/bottom roles, etc., and it is that and does that well. But give it a shot for Edmund’s reflection at the end, his hopeful musings that he can apply the lessons learned from Aslan to help Tom before Tom’s utterly lost. It’s a crossover ship with unbelievable potential for both characters, and this fic makes me want so much more.

Shedding Skin, by electric_typewriter

Crossover: Deathless by Catherynne M. Valente. Both the wizarding world and the magic of Deathless exist.

Summary: Tom meets Koschei before splitting his soul. They keep meeting, and Tom keeps attempting to match Koschei’s immortality.

Not Rated, 2k

Why?: Immortality via relocation or storage of souls is an idea that easily predates Harry Potter as a series, and seeing two different versions of the some core idea interacting with one another is precisely what crossovers exist to enable. Koschei as an immortal being that found his immortality in a way he considers superior is a fascinating concept, because it creates a power imbalance between them that leaves Tom always running to catch up. And Tom, poor Tom, feels like a desperate man, finding sensation only when he’s around Koschei and feeling nothing at any other time.

This reads a bit like you’re dissociating. The author uses descriptive language to keep the reader a little distant from the grounded reality of the events happening, which has the effect of keeping you focused on the metaphysical question of what it means to have part of a soul.

Bluebird, by Phantomato

Crossover: Shadow and Bone. S&B summoning powers instead of HP magic, set in the real world, with characters’ histories preserved.

Summary: Tom is the second sun summoner to exist, born long after the first gave up her powers and lived out her natural life. He tracks down the Darkling, the shadow summoner who never really died.

Explicit, 17k

Why?: Tom is an immortal being for at least part of his life, and his character arc is about pursuit of immortality, but he is fundamentally a young immortal, and is killed before he can graduate to old immortality. Aleksander, the Darkling, is canonically an old immortal, and his character arc is about the burden of living with the knowledge that you will likely always be alone. That loneliness sets the scene for the relationship between Tom and Aleksander, driving Aleksander’s behavior—he fundamentally believes he will always be alone, even an immortal like Tom passes through his life.

There is a high proportion of smut in this, serving in place of the emotional honesty that neither character can muster, and I recommend it for that. But the story also relies on investment in quiet everyday moments shared between the characters. It’s a fic told through behavior because both men are so cautious around one another, where they nevertheless manage to find sympathy for the other.

Riddles of the Dead, by Maeglin_Yedi

Crossover: Indiana Jones. Blends together the wizarding world and the mysticism present in Indiana Jones films.

Summary: Tom Riddle hires an expert archaeologist and gentleman adventurer, Dr. Indiana Jones, to help him pursue an artifact that might grant him immortality. There’s fucking, fighting, magic, snakes, and some difficult choices in store for our leading men.

Explicit, 18k, Angst

Why?: Maeglin Yedi has been a mainstay of the Tom Riddle/Lord Voldemort ficspace for nearly two decades, but an old crossover like this can unfortunately slip through the cracks. It shouldn’t! With an original publishing date in early 2005, this predates the concept of horcruxes, the knowledge of Tom’s early years at Wool’s orphanage, and, well, so much of what we would eventually learn about Tom Riddle as a person. It’s a testament to the author that the story manages to capture Tom’s character in such a way that he’s still fully recognizable to a current-day reader, despite working with so much less canon.

This fic is fun. It’s an adventure, featuring hazards and traps and assassination attempts that you would expect from an Indiana Jones film, but the magic and mystery never overwhelms the relationship at the core of this story. It’s set up beautifully, with a mirrored structure between the front and back halves of the fic that foreshadows the inevitable end of the story. Watching older, confident Indy seduce young, hungry Tom is a delight. One (possible) mark of a great Tom-centric fic, imo, is to be able to portray Tom enjoying the exchange of power, giving it to someone as well as taking it from them, and this Tom is able to revel in giving up some perceived power as he practices being vulnerable with Indy. The romance is quite sweet, especially considering that ‘angst’ tag at the top of the fic!

[elizabeethan]

Watch The Sunlight Fade: 3 / 18

Emma Swan finds out that her boyfriend has been hiding something from her: he’s in a gang and trying to get out. Reluctantly, she decides to support him, sticking it out with him until they have enough money to flee to Florida. All she has to do is wait and ignore that feeling in her gut that something is seriously wrong. With the help of a kind and handsome stranger, she just might make it out alive.

Or, alternate summary: I’m horrible at summaries, please just read it.

Something of a cross between a What Still Remains AU and a Sons of Anarchy AU.

A/N: You may have noticed a chapter count! It’s subject to change, but I’ve outlined the whole story and have written halfway through chapter 12, so we’re getting there, friends. Reminder to check warnings and tags and message me if you have questions. There will be depictions of violence, domestic violence, very very brief discussions of non-con (kind of) and psychological abuse throughout this story.

Rated M

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Read the Rest

Read my Other Stuff

Read on Ao3

~~~~

The door to his apartment slams behind her as she stumbles in, the alcohol in her veins obviously taking over as he helps to steady her. “Easy,” he warns, hand on her waist as he guides her towards the guest room. 

 “You’re not gonna let me stay in bed with you, big guy?” she slurs, giving him a flirty smile. 

 “No, love,” he answers softly. “You need rest.”

 With a giggle, she answers, “I get paid to have sex with people. Shouldn’t you be flattered that I’m soliciting you?”

 “Tink,” he laughs, “I am very flattered. But you need to go to bed.”

 “I can still give you a good time even though I’m drunk, you know,” she promises, letting her fingers dance along the lapels of his jacket. 

 “I know that, love. I just think… perhaps it’s time to… bring this arrangement to a close.”

She pouts, her bottom lip popping out and her brows furrowing. “Something I said?” she asks. 

 With a slight shake to his head, he smiles shyly down at her and brushes a wayward strand of her honey locks out of her eye. “No, but perhaps we can finish this tomorrow morning when you’re sober?”

 Tink shrugs, letting her heavy kids fall closed and turning around to stumble down the hall. “It’s okay,” she says as she finds the doorknob. “I know it’s that blonde girl.”

 “Liv…” he starts, although he isn’t sure where he’s going as he begins to speak. It’s not the blonde girl, not really. Although he felt a connection to her from the moment he saw her, he also knows that his and Tink’s fling is just that: a fling. It can’t last, and while he likes her well enough, he thinks it unfair to continue on with something to which he isn’t fully dedicated. “It’s not you.” 

 She snorts and nods her head lazily, letting it flop a bit too freely on her neck. “It’s not you, it’s me. I get it.” 

 “Hey,” he tries again, giving her a soft smile as he tucks away the same defiant strand of her hair. “I’ll always be here for you, you know that. I’ll always have love for you.”

 “Yeah,” she smiles with a soft blush, her lids looking heavier and heavier with each passing moment. “I love you, too, bud. It was probably a bad idea to sleep with your best friend anyway.” 

 “I’m not sleeping with Robin,” he deadpans, knowing with certainty that it’ll draw a hearty laugh from her. She pushes against his shoulder with more force that she was likely expecting and turns around to open the door to his guest room. 

 “You dolt.” Once she’s in the room, just as she’s about to shut the door behind her, she spins quickly to face him once more. “By the way, you’re a total idiot if you go after her.” 

 “Bloody hell, not you too,” he complains as he scratches behind his ear. 

 “She belongs to Cassidy and you know it. You know what’ll happen if you pursue her.” 

 “Aye, that’s why I have no intention of doing so. Now, go to bed, Olivia.” 

 “Ooh,” she fakes a shudder, “full name; I must've been naughty.” 

 “Aye, you were. Goodnight, love.” 

 “Night, KJ.” 

 He listens to her giggle as she stumbles through the room, one she’s stayed in countless times before. She’s right; they probably never should’ve started their affair in the first place. Sleeping with your best friend is bound to end badly. But they understand each other, each of them here with hardly a choice on whether they stay or go. It isn’t as if they’re being held against their will, but the implication is that they’ll seriously regret it if they try to leave, one way or another. They simply both took comfort in knowing that someone else felt as they did. 

 He’s about to go to bed himself, ready to rid himself of the guilt that came along with the events of the day, but he pauses as he walks by his front door just in time to hear a resounding thud coming from across the hall. He panics and swings his own door open when he hears the terrified cry in response. He heard something earlier today that sounded exactly like that terrified cry. 

 Rushing over to Neal’s apartment, he places his hand on the knob and presses his ear to the door. He doesn’t want to burst in with haste since he has no idea what he actually heard, and the door must be locked anyway. But he can’t help but recall the image of her pressed to the door looking horrified, two knives on either side of her throat. He can’t get the look in her eyes out of his head. 

 There aren’t anymore sounds resonating from the apartment, silence falling over him as he attempts to listen out for signs of trouble. After a moment, all he hears are soft, painful sobs coming from the other side of the door. 

 ~~~~

 It’s surprisingly even more terrifying to be in the shop during the day than it was at night. At least when she was here last night, the shadows kept the frightening details of the space hidden, but now that the sun is up and streaming through the small basement windows, she’s able to see too much. 

 She can see the aged and worn paint on the walls, giving her an automatic and infallible feeling of unease. She can see the decorative weapons proudly displayed on every inch of every wall. She can see the rugged violence on each of the men’s faces so clearly in the sunlight. Being here terrifies her. 

 “Morning, Miss Swan,” Peter greets as Neal leads her into the large meeting room. He’s already sitting at the table waiting for them, Gold at his right and two empty seats to his left. There are several other members at the table as well, and she can’t help but notice how bright Killian’s eyes look in the sun streaming through the windows. “Welcome to your first real family meeting.” 

 The others around the table laugh, everyone but Jones seeming to find his joke about her near death experience to be funny. “Aren’t you going to say hello?” Neal asks in her ear, his voice low and his teeth clearly clenched. 

 She clears her throat and gives Peter the fakest smile she can muster. “Good morning.”

 “That’s a good lass,” he praises, setting free a flock of anxious butterflies in her stomach. “Come sit. We saved you a seat by Neal.” 

 They sit side by side, and it’s becoming easier and easier to question his ranking within the group of men at the table. She finds it impossible to see him as a simple lackey when his name is carved into the table in intricate lettering in front of his chair, directly to the left of Peter's seat at the head. 

 There are talks of their plans, and she gathers some information easily while they seem to go to great lengths to keep other things hidden from her based on the threatening glances Peter doles out from time to time. There’s a trip coming up, and it’s automatically assumed that Neal will be going with Peter and Gold will be staying behind, as if this arrangement was made and agreed upon a lifetime ago. Once the other attendees are determined, Peter turns to face her and gives her a smile. 

 “Now, a job for you, my dear. Neal tells us you have a talent in finding people.” 

 “She can find anyone,” Neal says proudly, referring to her short stint as a bail bondsperson back when she lived in Boston. When she had met Neal after he witnessed her taking down a skip, he took her under his wing and told her she didn’t have to live such a dangerous lifestyle anymore. “Well, almost anyone.” 

 Her stomach flips at his hint; at his willingness to bring up one of the most painful memories she has. She’s great at finding people, but in 25 years, she still hasn’t been able to find her parents. 

 Pan hums. “We can look past a few failed attempts. What we need from you now, Emma, is your skillset to find a certain someone who deserted our cause.”

 She gulps. “You want me to hunt down someone who doesn’t agree with you?” 

 “No love,” he laughs, and Neal’s grip on her hand tightens just a notch. “I want you to find someone who has valuable information and won’t hesitate to hand it over to a rival.” Emma bites her lip in thought, concern likely colored across her face. She hadn’t considered the existence of a rival gang before this moment, and she becomes frightened to think of there being more than one set of men like them. The thought that another gang is out there and considers themselves rivals to The Lost Boys means she’s potentially putting herself in even more danger by becoming associated with them. What will another gang do to the girlfriend of one of their rival’s members, especially a member whom she suspects is higher up in the rankings than he’s letting on? 

 “It’s not lost on me that you’re feeling uncomfortable here, Emma. The tension between you and Neal is perfectly palpable. But I’d implore you to let go of your fears; no one here will harm you. We’re here to protect you. By simply being associated with Neal, you have the protection of everyone in this club. And I’m sure it makes perfect sense that we would expect something of you in return for our unquestioning devotion to your safety.” 

 Although something about his words makes her suspicious, she suddenly feels a sense of strength at his claim that she’s a part of the group now. It’s as if he’s telling her that her thoughts and opinions matter, so she makes a bold choice and speaks up. “Can I clarify something?” she asks. 

 “Of course.” 

 “What are you protecting me from, exactly?” 

 Peter smirks and shakes his head, giving Neal a look that she can’t quite read. “I suppose Neal hasn’t informed you of how dangerous a place this world can be for a woman like you, Miss Swan. Your love for Neal makes you a target, as does Neal’s love for you. By falling for him, you’ve also fallen into our world. And because we’re so devoted to what you have to offer, we will protect you from everyone who may want to hurt Neal.” 

 “Just because I can find people pretty easily?” she asks doubtfully. His explanation isn’t making any sense to her. She can’t rectify in her head how loving Neal can equate to requiring constant protection, especially based on his claim that he’s going to be leaving soon. 

 “No, Emma,” he laughs condescendingly, as if he were talking to a child who couldn’t handle the truth. She wonders if he’s right. “Worry not; all will make sense to you as time goes by. For now, let's get started with your first assignment. Hook, show the lady to her office.” 

 ~~~~

 “Most sites are blocked here,” he explains as he powers up the old desktop, groaning softly as he stands again. “You’ll likely run into trouble if you try to find him on Facebook or anything.” 

 “Why?” she asks, and although she immediately regrets opening her mouth, the look he gives her feels more amused than anything. 

 “Why?” 

 “Um… why are they blocked?” 

 He breathes out a laugh, shaking his head and looking away from her once he notices that the computer has booted up. “To keep you out of trouble, I suppose.” 

 She bites her bottom lip, squeezing her fists until she feels the sting of her nails digging into her palm. She isn’t sure that, in the last day since she’s come here, she’s been kept out of trouble at all. She’s been in trouble-- in danger-- since she heard those bikes pulling up behind her and Neal. 

 “Right,” she says softly, sarcastically, and again, she kicks herself for opening her mouth. She wonders what would have happened to her by now if she was with anyone but Jones in this moment. 

 “Love,” he starts, his voice soft and tender, and she almost wonders if he intends to step close to her. Perhaps he means to comfort her. “I’m--” he clears his throat, “If you need anything…” 

 Their eyes meet, and it’s like the first time again. His azure stare bores into her in a way that makes her shudder, but not out of fear this time. She feels seen, understood, and while it’s only been a day since her traumatic greeting from the club, it feels like a lifetime since she’s felt a sense of safety. It feels comforting to meet his gaze, and she suddenly lets her breathing steady and her heart rate settle. “Thank you,” she whispers genuinely. She isn’t sure how she could relay it to him if she does need something, but the way he looks at her tells her that he’ll know. 

 For the first time since she’s been here, her safety appears to be a priority to someone. Relief washes over her and she lets it, despite knowing that it will dissipate the moment he walks out the door.

 ~~~~

 “How’s it goin’ in here, my little worker bee?”

 She looks up from the computer she’s been staring at, met by Neal leaning against the door jamb with his arms crossed. The dinosaur she’s working on is hardly functioning, most sites she’s tried blocked and inaccessible and the speed at which it loads each page almost painful. After almost a week of working on the assignment they’ve given her, she’s found almost nothing.

 “Hi,” she mumbles, turning back to the screen. All they had given her was a name and a last known location, and she’s struggling to find more.

 “Doing alright?”

 “I can’t find much,” she says. 

 “You’ll find him; you’re smart. I wonder if that’s genetic,” he says with a laugh and a smirk in her direction. She isn’t sure what he means or how to respond, so she simply smiles somewhat awkwardly and moves on. She refuses to let herself wonder if this is another dig at her for being parentless. 

 “It just feels impossible. This guy, Graham… are you sure he even exists?” she jokes. 

 He laughs, but it’s forced and she doesn't detect a genuine smile. “Are you doubting Peter?” 

 Emma looks up at him, meeting his eyes with confusion colored in her own. “No,” she starts, although she isn’t sure if she’s being truthful in her answer. “It’s just…”

 Neal shoves away from the door and slinks closer to her, bending at his knees and squatting until his eyes meet her level. “Ems,” he starts, his hand landing on hers and applying what she thinks is meant to be a comforting amount of pressure. “Don’t start.” 

 “What…?” 

 He groans and leans away from her. “It's not a damn secret that you aren’t happy to be here. I need you to be better about that.” 

 She lets her jaw hang open for a bit longer than she means to, shock taking over her as he confirms what she’s been suspecting since the meeting she attended. “Neal,” she starts, “you’re the one who said you want to get out. You said we could leave after a few weeks.” 

 “And?” 

 “Uh… and… it’s been a week and you don’t seem like you’re… I mean… it seems like you're happy here.” 

 “So what?” 

 “What do you-- so what? You said we were leaving and now it’s like they're your family!” 

 Neal stands quickly, spinning from her in exasperation as he thrusts his hands into his hair. “You’re being so-- stop judging me! What do you even have to complain about?! They’re being nothing but nice to you. You have a home now, I feed you, I love you, we protect you… I don’t get what your damn problem is!” 

 “The knives, Neal!” she shouts, unable to hold back the emotional response to his nonsensical claims. “You threw knives at my head!” 

 There's a loud smack against the desk she sits at, and she’s brought back to the reality of her experience and out of the false sense of control that she let herself believe she had. She has to force herself to move on from the thought that she and Neal are able to have a conversation. When she looks down to where his hand met the surface, she sees his gun held beneath his palm. She pales. 

 “It’s time to move on,” he hisses quietly, his voice taking over the silence of the room. It’s another threat. Another convenient way to show her that he has power over her. That he can take everything away from her, even her life, in a second if she gives him a reason to. “You weren’t in danger, baby,” he says, his voice more soothing this time, drawing from her that feeling again. The feeling that she’s overreacting. “I had it under control, remember?” he asks, pressing a kiss to her cheek. 

 She sighs heavily at the feeling of his lips tracing along her jaw until he reaches her neck. “You did?” she asks weakly. With his sudden change in demeanor, his obvious desire not to make her feel unsafe anymore, she feels something shift between them. 

 “Of course I did; don’t be stupid. You know I did.” 

 It feels good, she lets herself realize. As her eyes slip closed and a soft breath escapes her lips, she makes herself relax into his touch. With her sense of sight cut off, she feels herself giving in to his touch in favor of feeling some sense of relaxation after a week of hypervigilance. His rough stubble scratches at her skin, something she normally doesn’t like, but right now, she doesn’t think she minds too much. With her eyes shut, the rest of the world closed off from her mind, she thinks she could appreciate some stubble. 

 She feels the smooth leather of his sleeve under her fingertips and she likes it. Sure, she’s always thought the leather jackets were sexy, but here and now, something about him in it becomes more appealing. But when his hand creeps up her waist, his touch a bit too rough, too domineering, she flinches. 

 “Shh,” he hisses softly, attempting to soothe her. “It’s alright.” 

 At the sound of his voice, something snaps within her and she stiffens. It sounds wrong, she realizes. “Wait,” she murmurs as his hand creeps under her shirt. 

 He breathes out a disbelieving laugh. “Seriously?”

 “I just,” she starts, nervous as he pushes away. “We’re… I mean, we’re here.” She gestures around the room, hopeful that her discomfort at the thought of sleeping with him in this office where anyone could walk in is clear. 

 “Right. So when we get home, you’ll be more than willing?” he asks doubtfully, rolling his eyes. 

 “Neal,” she begs softly, unsure of where she went wrong. She’s unsure of how she could have messed this up when she was the one to express her own discomfort. “Please.” 

 “Please,” he mimics, his voice rising in pitch. “I’ll see you in a week.” 

 With that, confusing words exchanged between them, he’s out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him. 

@courtorderedcake​​​​ @kmomof4​​​​ @stahlop​​​​ @klynn-stormz​​​​ @laschatzi​​​​ @emelizabeth88​​​​ @lfh1226-linda​​​​ @kday426​​​​ @elisethewritingbeast @timeless-love-story​​​​ @captain-emmajones​​​​ @gingerpolyglot​​​​​ @ebcaver​​​​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​​​​ @teamhook​​​​​ @superchocovian​​​​​ @itsfabianadocarmo​​​​​ @tiganasummertree​​​​​ @gingerchangeling​​​​​ @jrob64​​​​​ @onceratheart18​​​​​ @xhookswenchx​​​​​ @winterbaby89​​​​​ @swampmedusa​​​​​ @ultraluckycatnd​​​​​ @dancingnancyy​​​​​ @love-with-you-i-have-everything​​​​​ @shireness-says​​​​​ @snowbellewells​​​​​ @hollyethecurious​​​​​ @ouatpost​​​​​ @daxx04​​​​​ @the-darkdragonfly​​​​​ @donteattheappleshook​​​​​ @therooksshiningknight @eeteeaytay​​​​​ @xsajx​​​​​ @itsfridaysomewhere​​​​​ @alexa-fangirl-forever​​​​​ @jonesfandomfanatic​​​​​ @wefoundloveunderthelight​​​​​ @qualitycoffeethings​​​​​ @rapunzelsghosts​​​​​ @spaceconveyor @badcats-andmice​​​​​ @batana54​​​​ @sailtoafarawayland​​ @deckerstarblanche​​ @zaharadessert​​ @xarandomdreamx @pirateprincessofpizza

[becausethathappens]

Will you please write a super angsty fic where Link is freaking out because he thinks the wedding vows he has written aren't good enough and Rhett helps him go over them and make corrections and says they're perfect but also, just says the vows he would say for Link if it was them like it should've been because he's heartbroken and Link can tell but their hands are tied and they don't know what to do so they soldier on without saying a word, but wordlessly communicating lifelong love and misery and everything, maybe comfort as well?

i'm really really sad and i can't shake it off and i really want some good angst and hurt/comfort and i really love you, maura, you're awesome

I don't do unhappy endings, anon. I'm confident you don't either. In fiction or otherwise. So, pardon this if it’s not what you expected.

Please enjoy? This was done a little hastily to share it with you (and I should be writing other things per usual) but I've had a rough week and I want to hopefully make someone smile. (I have way angstier stuff in the drafts and I will be sure to get those out eventually, too.) You’ll feel better soon.  🤞  Thank you! 💞

-———————-

now or forever

4k - Rhett writes Link vows.

If you were my boy, Blue

I’d bathe you in honeys (sp?)

I’d sing write you a love song

I’d shoot you a star**

If you were my boy, Blue

There ain’t nothing in this life I wouldn’t give

From my heart, to my toes, to my fingers, my nose (**)

Whatever it takes just to watch you live 

continue to ‘ ’ grow with you like a vine ‘round a rose 

If you were my boy, Bue

I wouldn’t want you all for myself

There’s no star bright enough to match your lightin’

In sickness, blue, so certainly while we have health

Hand in hand, no longer fightin’

What’s destiny (**)

You and & me

If you were my boy, Blue

I'd marry you

&

Thank God for Rhett. Giving him, delivering him, blessing him with Rhett.

Link is in the middle of a spiral (what he’ll later recognize as a panic attack) when Rhett arrives, the eve of his wedding. Bailing him out of this with pen, paper, and a smile.

Link has always been good at improv.

Though Rhett tended to find the words to start. These were his own vows and Link has been putting time to sit and start them off for weeks. Now that he has to, he’s dumbfounded, despite being deeply in love.

Amidst all the planning and chaos, writing his vows was such a given that Link left it as priority sixty-seven on a list of many more.

Unfortunately, even as busy as they’ve been, that list was shredded with the “who gifted what” tracking sheet (both literally, accidentally, and figuratively) back around the bridal shower and it’s been anarchy ever since.

So he thanks God for Rhett, who’s here, to stop another needless disaster from happening.

That same generous God, however, watches him plagued with thoughts of utter devotion at Rhett’s willingness to drop everything on a weeknight and rush over to help Link find his words.

His lyrics, really, is what Link has in mind. Since they used to write songs together and this felt much the same. He’s been floundering all night and now that Rhett’s here, he knows he’ll at least get what he needs done. Even if it’s not all he wants, right now.

That same God seeks judgment on his every decision or flinch against His will, for any reason, to spite him.

For this reason.

He wants to smush Rhett’s face and kiss him. Deeply. He doesn’t.

Even if there were sometime in the past that he could get away with a platonic smooch, now he can’t. He simply could not prevent that from escalating.

So, he merely tightens his grip on the wrinkled scrap paper in his hand and scrunches his eyes.

“Why can’t it be you up there…” Link bemoans, loudly, in his frustration.

Rhett’s eyes widen, in horror, and Link slams his other hand at his mouth, rolling his eyes. “Not like - I mean - why can’t you go say my lines for me. You’re so much better at this kinda thing.”

“Let me read what you’ve got,” Rhett says.

After some review, Rhett sighs, not unkindly and sits down next to Link. “Let’s just talk through what you’re trying to say because, yeah, this reads like liturgy.”

“Ain’t is supposed to? It’s in a chapel!”

“What do you like about her?” Rhett asks, ignoring his nitpicking. “Christy?” Rhett stares at him, waiting, too upset for Link to chastise but clearly wanting to.

“She’s patient,” Link says, reminded by the similar. Rhett folds over the book to an open page and clicks the pen in his hand, writing that down. “A-And she’s kind. Like considerate, ‘specially with babies and little animals. Sh-She does this thing where she immediately drops to their eye-level to make sure they don’t feel unheard or seen. Probably ‘cause she’s always been so tall…”

Rhett’s still writing.

“Then when I’m sick, she forces me to rest. You know I hate that,” Link says, voice rising a little, at the memory. “But you know I need that. You won’t be the last to make me stop and smell the roses or take a break, once in a while.”

“Her hair, write, her hair - the way it looks in the sunshine. Like warm caramel with flecks of gold. She’s a vision, an angel. Especially when she’s wearing all white, like,” Link says, pausing to point to Rhett’s undershirt and pale grey sweats. “Makes blondes look ethereal-like, always has.”

“Oh, and her voice. Sometimes, the way her accent catches, well, you know she don’t like to sing like us, never has, but when she says certain things, asks a question the right way - it’s music. The way it harmonizes with my answer, reminds me of singing, reminds me of us.”

Rhett keeps writing, quiet, and focused.

After a short time, Link can’t stop and wants to crane over to see what he’s come up with. Rhett hands it over after crossing a final “t” somewhere on the page.

“Those’re good, Link, but I think you need to keep closer to what I wrote, leave out the stuff about me.”

“Stuff about you?” Link asks, having spoken in a stream-of-conscious style, Link forgets most of what he even said

Rhett looks away, shakes his head.

Distracted by the desire to read the rest, Link abandons the lingering questions he has about Rhett’s suggestion and response.

“These are great, man, thanks,” Links says, pushing a soft hand into Rhett’s side.

His eyes scan to the bottom where Rhett’s added a few lines about the journey, the marriage, all the ceremonial aspects of the day for him to close with, but then something more.

Something about him.

Rhett catches him catch it and looks further away. “I know Christy pretty well, too, y’know. Y’all are just alike, in that way. She might need some back-up vows, to have and hold.”

Link reads them.

“You know, just in case.”

Link looks up and tries to laugh.

He doesn’t laugh.

He goes back to reading them.

Rhett shifts uncomfortably, touches the back of his neck, and shuts his eyes.

“Rhett, these ’re…”

“I know, bo, you can forget ‘em,” Rhett excuses, still not meeting Link’s gaze. “You want me to… I can rewrite the others on a different - I can turn the page and write ‘em there so you can just…”

“Hey, hey,” Link interrupts him, mad at Rhett putting down his best friend, and eager to explain his actual thoughts. “Rhett, these are perfect. These are… I’m sad I can’t say anything as nice in return to you.”

Rhett finally looks up to acknowledge that and their gaze heats and lingers.

“Not that I…” Link stutters to clarify. “Y-You’d have to be a - if that’s something that was gonna - you know - if that was gonna work…”

His mind does it’s usual jump to a visual for the worst case scenario depicting the implication he stumbled across. Him out eight grand on the wedding. Not to mention a wife, a family, a future, a faith -

a friend -

Link gulps, pushing that back away, pushing them both forward, in his estimation.

It’s too much to bear to think about for another second. When he glances at Rhett, he can’t get a read on his face what he thinks about it, and that’s scary enough for him to want to abandon the concept altogether.

“Christy’s gonna love them.”

It’s enough, saying his fiancée's name, to ground him again. Enough to make it okay for him to grab Rhett’s palm and squeeze it in thanks, between them.

Rhett’s made his choice to give up on film school.

Link’s made his choice to give up on whatever schoolboy obsession he has with monopolizing all of Rhett’s days and nights. 

He’ll stick to the days or every other weekend, however they can still fit time together, is fine by him. This ceremony, tomorrow, feels as much about his graduation from friend to husband, and all that that entails.

They’re adults.

They both know there’s a lot of sacrifices to be made and this feels like the first time he’s really acknowledging how hard they’re going to be to make. He hopes they’ll still see each other.

He hopes their kids will get along.

He has a lot of hopes.

All of them involve Rhett.

There’s a lot he should write down for when Rhett finds his own bride to wed.

Link notices, suddenly, that Rhett is crying. The same part of him that's nearly broken the headwind of these conflicting emotions turns back to comfort him.

“Hey, don’t cry,” Link soothes, realizing he’s also still holding Rhett’s hand.

“‘M sorry,” Rhett intones, the words bubble up and out of him simultaneously, sounding like water draining in a filled sink. “And the night before your wedding, good Heavens.”

“Hey, I’ve been crying all week,” Link says, waving a hand at the stress that planning a wedding has kept put on him. “Nothing I haven’t seen in the mirror.”

Rhett laughs, rubbing a thumb over his own thigh in a way that brushes upwards against the place Link’s clasping his hand. Link nearly pulls his hand back, thinking Rhett’s trying to get him to sense his want for space, but when he meets his eye it’s clear he’d like nothing less.

“I think I’m just -” Rhett starts to say, trailing off. The light from the lamp on the far coffee table is the only thing on in the room. Link drops his gaze a few inches to try and see more of Rhett’s downturned eyes as he hems and haws. He squeezes their hands together, again, this time clasping it more firmly, still pressing Rhett’s large palm down from above. “I think I’m just a li’l jealous, is all.”

It’s the quietest admission he’s heard from Rhett since he told him he failed their chemistry mid-term in eleventh grade.

Link is also so lost at the innocence of the admission that he can only think of follow-up questions. “Of me?”

Rhett looks at him for a long, long minute and finally, when Link’s gaze remains confused for the whole length of the pause, he shakes his head, no.

Then he waits. 

He waits for Link to realize what he means.

But he’s still waiting when Link, oblivious, moves onward trying to comfort Rhett, instead of understanding him fully.

The tension in the room is palpable as Link talks, but only to Rhett, it seems. Only Rhett pictures air bags being deployed in a car safety video as metal hits cinder block. Only Rhett moves his hand, though it’s all it takes to dislodge them from each other completely.

“I know you’re gonna make an amazing husband some day.” Link is saying.

Rhett’s hand aches where cool air now surrounds it.

“I know your wife is gonna get to hear you say such wonderful things about her.”

Rhett wipes his hand of the misunderstanding on the cotton of his pants.

“I know she’s gonna say the same kind of things about you, when it’s your turn up there.”

Rhett mourns the idea that this would ever be requited.

“I know she’s gonna love you, just as much as I do, so she’ll have plenty to say.”

Rhett looks away, wiping the last of his tears from his eyes. 

 “I’ll make sure she has plenty of ideas where to start.”

Rhett pats Link’s leg, in camaraderie, and nods.

And that’s it. They shoot the shit, they make a plan to meet up at a donut place for the groomsmen’s breakfast to thank them for their help, before the ceremony, and they’ll talk things through if Link’s feeling jittery still. Then Rhett’s gone.

It’s not until the next day at eleven on the dot (everyone has an agenda to follow and every moment is accounted for) that Link understands Rhett’s pain.

His mother straightens his tie and flattens the edges of his suit. “You’ll wanna know I heard Christy looks like an angel in her dress, from the girls upstairs.”

“Those actual angels you been talkin’ to, Sue?” Rhett jokes, where he’s twisting his cummerbund around every so often, bored.

“Very funny, honey,” Sue ribs back. “From the cousins, Beth and Hailee Sue. Remember they’re friends with the hairstylist you got to do the curls for Christy’s hair, today? She was over last night getting Christy ready for bed with how to wash and dry it a special kind of way. They were there, too.”

Link starts to tune her out, since there’s a lot on his mind, but then she says more.

“She says the hairstylist was talking about how jealous she was of Christy, all night, getting to marry you,” Sue relays.

“Oh, mama, please,” Link dismisses. The compliments he’s been getting have felt faker than the toupee on his uncle Bruce. That girl has never even met him. “I’m the only person here people should be jealous of, who would be jealous of Christy,” he says, trailing off, muttering his reasoning as he did. “Marrying a trainwreck like me.”

Link looks up in the mirror where some of his friends continue to mingle in various states of undress. Rhett is already dressed, however, and staring straight at Link like he’s been caught with a hand in a cookie jar.

Link’s about to ask what’s wrong when he remembers his words. Then looks again over the planes of Rhett’s face.

Last night’s words slam back into his mind and Link’s mouth drops open.

The church organ belts out an opening flurry of notes before Canon in D begins playing loudly through the sound system built into the rafters above them. Link looks up to see one of the church staff at the door instructing them to join the bridal party to line-up.

Link’s mom dashes off to where she’s paired with her nephew, Link’s favorite cousin, to be escorted down the aisle.

Rhett sees Link’s face rushing through a wash of emotions from a distance, he nods to the staffer in silent understanding that he’ll handle it, and then they’re alone.

He walks up to Link and takes his hand. He squeezes it.

“Hey, you gotta go. We gotta go. It’s showtime,” Rhett insists.

Link looks around like a bomb went off, since in some ways it did, and he doesn’t know what to do.

Rhett seems to pick up on that. He squeezes Link’s hand again.

“I’ll get over it, Link, it’s okay,” Rhett whispers, on the verge of desperation.

That confirmation is enough to fully shatter Link.

Only for a moment. 

The music continues and Rhett keeps his hand hold.

They are adults. They are in love. They have to marry. 

None of these things can be helped.

“I’m gonna be so jealous of Her, too,” Link whispers back. He squeezes Rhett’s hand one last time, as they part.

They leave.

They walk straight.

They part again.

Until later.

They move houses and cities and states.

They move mountains, inside and out.

They move together.

Much later.

They join again.

They run crooked.

They return.

To one another.

Link has spent years worrying a ring that means too much to too few people.

In the beginning, when he cries himself to sleep at what he thinks has been the mistake of a lifetime, it’s His talisman. It reminds him of the expectations upon this life he’s made.

As the years pass, however, the adherence to the bogeymen of their childhood’s rules wears thin. It starts to strictly represent love and patience.

Sacrifice.

It begins to feel like a burden. A representation of what’s been lost, not what’s been found.

He contemplates taking it off, but believes that to be a betrayal of all that it stands for to the people he stands for. 

Then, one day, (surely mid-spin) he hears Rhett tell a story about wanting to change his ring.

He watches the silver twirl as Rhett explains.

He believes he was rushed into a certain type of marriage and a certain type of life by a certain type of person.

It’s a life that he’s grown to love but the ring represents a union forced by custom and not one that’s grown through devotion. 

His ring reminds him of that too often to be good for him.

Link twists his again at the admission.

So, Rhett’s thinking about replacing the ring.

Link returns home that night in a stupor. He’s sure he said one too many things to Rhett to emphasize how wild it felt to hear him talk about changing rings.

Any memories of that day, their wedding, bring up a rush of emotions that he’s never been good at sorting through.

Today’s admission makes him feel the same spur to make use of idle, betrothed hands he feels when he cleans the fridge.

He wants to clean the slate.

He finds an old DVD copy of their wedding ceremony that he paid to have converted from miniDV some years ago. Now he struggles to find a place to watch that DVD. How quickly time has flown by.

Eventually, he ends up in his son’s room - no one’s home for the remainder of the night but he and Christy - now, he’s sitting on a bean bag, squinting at the game console’s controller trying to get the joysticks to move to “play” on screen.

The ceremony bursts to life and, like it was yesterday, Link’s nerves fizzle awake.

About halfway through the video, Christy finds him like that and sits down next to him in a thwump absorbed mostly by the stuffing of the chair.

They watch themselves smile happily at each other and Christy takes his hand.

“Should I be happy or scared to find you alone watching this on a Saturday night?” she asks, wryly, squeezing his palm.

Link doesn’t know what to say. He’s caught up in Rhett’s bygone script being spoken on screen. Words about Christy and about Link that were not their own, declared loudly in front of the congregation.

“I don’t know,” Link admits, shrugging. He doesn’t. He squeezes her hand back.

“You wanna tell me what’s eating you?”

Link hesitates, but relents. He wants that clean slate, after all. “Rhett’s getting his wedding ring replaced.”

“Replaced?” Christy asks, balking.

“Replaced, yeah,” Link responds, sure he didn’t misspeak.

“With what?” she asks.

“Oh, some new one. Fancy thing, very cool, made of trees or something. Honestly he wears the other one, the slick black one more than his wedding band half the time. He says it feels like the old one? It’s the kind of ring you get in a bauble at a vending machine crank. So, he wants a new one.”

“Jeesh,” Christy says, making a face at the screen. The camera catches Rhett stealing glances at the couple, then at the crowd, beaming at all with unbridled pride.

“Wouldn’t you be mad if I did that?” Link inquires, still baffled at the idea.

“Well, no, but don’t you love your ring? Heirloom and all that,” she says.

Link cringes. “Yeah, yeah. Honestly, I do.”

“So?”

“So, I still kind of want to and I’m not sure what that means.”

They watch the screen together.

“Do you wanna stay married?” she asks, in a small voice.

“Yes,” he breathes out.

There’s a long pause.

“To me?” she asks, her voice even smaller.

“Yes,” he breathes in.

She squeezes his hand, her confidence built back up. She begs him to join her.

“And him?” Christy whispers.

They both look the screen, the lens centered on the two of them, but their gaze is mutually torn to where Rhett stands wiping a tear from his eye at Christy reciting the last of the vows that he wrote her. Wrote him. Wrote them both.

She squeezes his hand again.

“Yes,” he breathes out.

She leans her head on his shoulder.

“You should probably get another ring, then,” she jests. “We shouldn’t have to share everything.”

The slate is clean.

There’s a lot he wants to say to Rhett about it, but just as before, he’s relied on Rhett to give him the right words to say. So, instead of words, he starts wearing Rhett’s ring.

Then, a new one, when he realizes he can match him separate from the other, all told. Have something of Rhett’s, all to himself.

In his unspoken push towards something more, their hands now match along with their steps, as they walk forward.

On the last week in July, they get ice cream at the fifth place that month to mistake them for husbands, but the first one he hears Link crow an affirmative in response.

Rhett waits for him while he triple-tips the cashier (for the guess) and pays for their cones.

“Bad joke,” Rhett says, softly, but firm.

“Who’s kidding?” Link parries back, a smirk dancing it’s way across his lips.

Rhett watches him with a wistful look of disbelief.

“Link, we’re married,” Rhett warns him.

Link shrugs. “I know. I’m just waiting for you to figure that out and minding my ice cream here, all right?”

He’s got a mouthful of vanilla bean and extra cookie crumble, the next second, so his vow ends there.

Later, at home, Rhett startles Jessie awake when he fully realizes Link’s words.

He shakes her awake. He shakes them both awake.

“I’m in love with Link,” he says, like it’s a confession.

She kisses him because so is she. So are most people.

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

Rhett repeats himself.

So does she.

They stare at each other under the cover of silk and moonlight.

“We’re married,” Rhett whispers, touching his hand to hers. Their rings clink, new and shiny.

“Yeah, and so are we,” she whispers back.

They fall asleep smiling.

The next day, Rhett sneaks up behind Link while he’s working and causes him to spill his cup of coffee. He gets the stink eye for only a minute because it’s the same length of time he can stand Link’s grumpy mug before he has to swoop down and kiss him on the lips.

“You figured it out,” Link says, grinning.

“I did,” Rhett chirps as he kisses Link more.

They take a car to their house. It’s filled with their love and the history of it; before, during, and after.

“What’s this?” Link asks, dazed in their post-sex glow, naked and alive.

He spots an old chord book of theirs from last time they wrote music.

“Oh,” Rhett says, bashful. “I came looking for you here this morning, hoping you slept over again, but, uh,” Rhett stalls, looks away and tries to take the songbook from Link’s hand. Link pulls it far enough he can’t reach. “You were already at the job.”

“And?” Link asks, using his spry, sinewy body as an advantage to slink away from the bed out of Rhett’s grip. He still has the book in hand.

“Those are your vows,” Rhett explains.

Link looks down and squints, confused. These aren’t the vows that Christy read at their wedding. He’s seen that video only a few months back and is sure of it.

“Our vows,” Rhett whispers, explaining further, at Link’s puzzled look.

“It’s a love song,” Link notes, marveling at the gesture. What it means to a young version of himself that once felt like they had surely cut out and mourned the possibility of this - all of this - ever happening. To have that thought coexist with the image of a nude, hulking tree trunk of a husband laid before him smiling up adoringly felt panoptic.

“So are you.”

Link begins to cry.

“Play it for me.”

Rhett wipes his cheek.

“Get my guitar.”

They sing twice more that night, always in harmony (not always in lyric), then spend the rest of their lives together doing much the same.

[freaoscanlin]

Put It On the List

3283 words, rated PG. Clint/Laura, Laura & Natasha, Natasha & Clint.

A few months before the events of Captain America: Winter Soldier, the spy life interrupts the Barton family on a normal errand. Perhaps bringing the scary ex-Russian spy was a mistake. She thinks so, at any rate.

A/N: I wrote this as something of a prelude to an Endgame fix-it fic in progress. It predates everything in that fic and it's cute, so I'm tossing it up here for now.

“Everybody’s allowed one fun item, too. House rules.”

“Not sure they sell anything I consider fun here,” Natasha said, glancing up at the rafters dubiously, “but I’ll take it under consideration.”

“Dirty,” Clint said, walking by with a green bunch of bananas.

“Sorry we can’t provide more excitement than grocery shopping,” Laura said as she pulled out the stash of reusable bags from the trunk.

“It’s fine.”

Laura was of the opinion that a vacation should be taken somewhere exotic, or at least filled with bottomless alcoholic beverages, especially given as young and unfettered as Natasha was. But the woman who had recently become Captain America’s partner at SHIELD had apparently decided a week off merited a trip to Iowa and she had been absolutely content to tag along on family outings with no apparently sign of boredom at all.

“It’s okay,” Clint said, hopping out from the driver’s seat as Natasha unhooked Lila from her car seat. “Nat’s secretly boring at heart. It’s the best kept secret at SHIELD.”

Natasha gave him a puzzled look. “Now, that can’t be true if even you’ve figured it out.”

“Excellent burn,” Laura said, laughing. “You really should come stay more often.”

“Somebody needs to keep Cap in line, otherwise I would.” Nat easily swung Lila onto her hip, following the other three as Cooper grabbed onto his father’s hand.

Laura had already spent the entire dinner the night before peppering her with questions about working with Steve Rogers, the Captain America from the comments. Clint had mentioned him a few times after that kerfuffle in New York with the Chitauri (“Nice guy, wears khakis.”), but Natasha had the inside scoop. And more willingness to share if he was as attractive in person as he looked on TV in that ridiculous star-striped uniform (“If you like that square-jawed All-American sort of thing, sure.”). Laura had even pointed out that, hey, if he was single...

“Yes, the ex-Russian spy and the American war hero. It sounds too much like a bad eighties movie.” Natasha had helped herself to more creamed corn. “I think I’ll have to find him a girlfriend to avoid ever having to answer that question again.”

“Hey,” Laura had said, protesting.

“Fair,” Clint had agreed.

And now here was the ex-Russian spy herself tagging along at the grocery store, carrying Lila and looking like there wasn’t anyplace else she’d rather be than the big chain grocery store a few towns over because they had a better selection of gluten free snacks than the Shop A Lot back home. She trailed along as Clint took over the cart, Lila kicking her legs happily from the child’s seat atop.

“You’ve got the list?” Laura asked.

“I thought you had it?”

“Clint, I said you need to grab it off the fridge before we left. Weren’t you listening?”

“I always listen to you. But it wasn’t on the fridge, so I thought you had it.”

“That’s ridiculous, I put it there last night and—” Laura turned to see Natasha silently holding it out, eyebrows high. “Oh, that works. Thanks, Natasha.”

A half-shrug. “He would’ve forgotten it.”

“They’re impugning my honor,” Clint told Lila and Cooper, the former of whom giggled back at him. “What’s first? Edible or not edible?”

“Food first. Oh, hey, did you remember to put the popsicle sticks on here? Cooper’s day camp was asking people to donate supplies, and I put us down for those.”

“Yes, I absolutely did that. For no reason whatsoever, may I see the list?” Clint grabbed it away and underhandedly passed it to Natasha. Since Laura caught the move, she figured they weren’t actually trying to hide it.

When the list returned to her, “popsicle sticks” was written on the appropriate line in slightly loopy handwriting. “Cute,” Laura said. “Also, if there’s food you want that we don’t have at the house, make sure you put it in, Nat.”

“I’m fine.”

“Okay. Just keep it in mind.” Laura smirked. “Everybody’s allowed one fun item, too. House rules.”

“Not sure they sell anything I consider fun here,” Natasha said, glancing up at the rafters dubiously, “but I’ll take it under consideration.”

“Dirty,” Clint said, walking by with a green bunch of bananas.

Natasha rolled her eyes at him, but a small smile broke out when Laura laughed. Later, Laura noticed that a small bag of nectarines had been added to the cart.

Normally she did this errand without two spies in tow, which was a matter of getting the groceries as quickly as possible and especially speeding through the aisles with the brightly colored boxes that would make Cooper and now Lila whine. Clint’s paycheck was more than generous enough to cover their expenses, but she liked to keep the sugar down at least a little. Grocery trips could be a nightmare from that alone. But now she could send one of them down the danger aisles, while the other distracted the children.

She could get used to this.

Of course, she could have just sent Clint or even Natasha to do the shopping—or gone herself—and she imagined they’d have it done in less than a fifth of the time it took them to wander the aisles now. But Clint had been called on so many SHIELD missions lately that it was nice to just have some family time together.

She was about to suggest they hit up the putt putt course on the way home when Clint’s body language snapped into readiness. On the other side of the cart, Natasha turned away in what most people would deem a casual fashion, but Laura was surprised to see tension running across the line of her shoulders as well.

Instantly, she began to turn her head, to see what had set them both off.

“Don’t look,” Natasha said, Clint echoing her a split-second later.

Cold panic sprang up, but Laura froze in place. The air conditioning turned abruptly frigid. In the basket, Lila had conked out, wheezing a little, and Laura had never been so grateful for her daughter’s ability to fall asleep anywhere.

“This way,” Clint said in a murmur, scooping up Cooper. To strangers, it would never look out of the ordinary, but Laura knew her husband too well to be fooled. And his partner, too, apparently, for she could sense something amiss as Natasha fell in step behind her. At the end of the aisle, away from the registers and most of the store, Clint began shoving aside various things in the cart to deposit Cooper in there. He glanced at Laura. “It’ll be okay, honey. Nat, are they here for you or me?”

“Me.” The word was flat. “They’re scoping out women.”

“Who? Who’s here for what?”

She’d seen Clint and Natasha’s silent conversations before, usually at holiday dinners, but those were always warm and amused. Now, Laura was treated to the fact that they seemingly had their own entire language—and the ability to hold arguments with little more than a few nods and pointed looks.

“Mom, what’s going on?” Cooper asked. “Dad put the stuff back wrong.”

“I know. It’s okay, though. The store employees will know where to put it back properly.” Her pulse had begun to hammer, but Laura did her best to keep her hands steady as she petted Lila’s bent head.

“Fine, you win,” Natasha said, the first words she’d spoken aloud. “Where?”

“Northeast corner, break room.” Clint collected an oversized bucket of licorice, and as Laura and Cooper gawked at him, popped it open and dumped the individually wrapped candies into the cart.

Natasha dropped her phone into it and grabbed Laura’s purse.

“What? Hey, don’t—”

Natasha pulled out a few items, including Laura’s phone. This she dumped in the bucket. An unfamiliar black box, she tossed to Clint. Laura stared mournfully at the shimmery blue phone case bought off of Etsy only last week as the entire bucket was hidden on a shelf behind a case of gum. Clint tossed his hooded jacket to Natasha, gave Laura one brief, heart-stopping look, tousled Cooper’s hair, kissed Lila on the head, and strode off without looking back.

“We were followed,” Natasha said in an undertone, pulling the hood over her distinctive hair.

Followed could mean anything from evil assassins to space aliens at this point, and both of those options led to nauseating conclusions. But Natasha shot her a look, so Laura nodded and swallowed back any panic. And then she changed again, quicksilver just like Clint, so that she was bright and happy Auntie Natasha once more. She picked up Cooper out of the basket and held onto his hand, swinging it cheerfully. “Time to play a new fun game. It’s called ‘Let’s be invisible.’”

“How do you play?”

“Our job,” and Natasha actually hunkered down so that she was on eye level with Cooper, “is to get all the way there,” she pointed to the back of the store, “as fast as we can without running. Because if we run, we won’t be invisible anymore.”

“This is a silly game, Auntie Nat.”

“That’s half the fun, isn’t it? Shh, come with me.” Natasha rose and made brief eye contact with Laura, then headed down the aisle in the opposite direction from Clint. She walked briskly, but not fast enough to draw attention, and Laura had to follow. “Clint’s scoping things out,” she said in a low voice as Laura caught up with the sleeping Lila. “He’ll be fine. I’m taking you and the kids to hide.”

“Are you going to stay with us?”

“You’ll be safe.”

So that was a no. Because she knew her friend well enough, she knew Natasha was tense and watchful, but not a single thing about her betrayed that fact. Natasha didn’t lead them straight to wherever they were going, either. They crossed the store through random aisles, first through the art department and then sporting goods, and Laura’s heart sank as she noticed they were approaching the toy department. They were never escaping without at least one meltdown.

But Natasha surprised her by leaning down and whispering something to Cooper that had him giggling. And right on through they went without a single problem.

“Shh,” Natasha said to Cooper as she pushed open the door to a break room. She peeked inside, then jerked her head for Laura to follow.

“What are we doing, Auntie Nat?” Cooper asked as Natasha immediately climbed onto a table and reached for the ceiling.

“New part of the game,” Natasha said.

Laura looked at the human-sized trap door she’d opened and thought Oh no.

“You get to go up there,” Natasha said. “And it’ll be like hide and seek.”

Cooper’s expression suddenly shouted that he found the prospect of invisibility much less enchanting now. “It looks scary.”

“I’ll be with you,” Laura said. “The whole time. We’ll be invisible together, okay?”

“You first, and I’ll hand them up,” Natasha said.

Laura clambered gingerly onto the table, wishing she’d worn better shoes for this. She put her foot into Natasha’s cupped hands and hauled herself into a very, very dusty vent. Darkness surrounded her and she thought Oh, no. Cooper needed a nightlight on the best of nights. Her son was far cleverer than most; even with Natasha’s easy cheer, he could clearly tell something was off. And if he began crying, Lila was bound to wake as well. Keeping them both quiet would be beyond impossible.

Natasha passed Lila up first, and the toddler barely even stirred. Before she could lift Cooper, she hopped off the table and down to his level. Laura couldn’t hear what she said, but she saw Cooper nod and hold his arms up, completely trusting.

When Natasha lifted him up into the vent, he had his chubby little fist wrapped around a little flashlight. Laura hadn’t even seen Natasha pull that from the shelf, though she recognized it as being from sporting goods. Cooper waved it about, wildly.

“I couldn’t grab much,” Natasha said, hauling herself up so that she hung half off the trap door. Laura would kill for that kind of core strength. She slid over two coloring books and crayons. “Sorry about that. Stay here until Clint or I come to get you. If somebody comes in, we’re invisible, right?”

“Invisible,” Cooper agreed, scrambling for the coloring books.

“Good man.” Natasha reached up to ruffle his hair like Clint had done. She glanced about the air vent in a distinctly sardonic way. “Cozy.”

“Stay safe.”

“Will do.” She raised an eyebrow at Laura, and disappeared down the hatch. A few seconds later, the trapdoor slid back into place, leaving Laura in a dark vent with her children and no cell phone to keep them company.

She had to remind herself that they were lucky something like this hadn’t happened before, though that felt like cold comfort when everything smelled like dust. She shifted the sleeping Lila in her arms. “Here, set it here,” she said, helping Cooper open the coloring book. “What shall we color first, huh?”

* * * *

Nearly eleven minutes later, Natasha knelt down next to the man she’d cornered in Home and Garden and resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose. “Coincidence.”

“Yup.” Clint sounded close to laughter, the traitor.

“The whole thing. Coincidence.”

“Looks that way.”

Natasha sat down hard on the bottom shelf, which held giant sacks of birdseed. Slamming his head into those rather than the concrete floor was probably the only reason the thug was even still breathing. She’d need to hide the body soon, and alert SHIELD, but she had a few minutes to recover. The cell phone she’d stolen out of his pocket after their fight didn’t show an image of her, as she’d expected, but a completely random woman who looked nothing like Natasha outside of being the same height.

It had definitely been a hit, but she hadn’t been the target.

At least they’d saved some random woman, so there was that.

“We should’ve known they weren’t here for you when there were only two of them,” Clint said over the earpiece. He’d teased her about stashing them in Laura’s purse before they left, the traitor. And look who’d been correct to do so. It had kept them in contact as he’d stalked his own target back to the clearance section in the back. “Mine’s taken care of. You?”

“One minute.” She hauled the man bodily onto the shelf and tossed sacks of birdseed over him.

“I’ll get the phones and swing by to steal the surveillance. You fetch Laura and the kids.”

Natasha winced. The last thing she wanted to do was face Laura after ruining this outing for everybody. “I think they’d rather see their daddy after being stuffed in a dark place out of nowhere.”

“Nah, Auntie Nat is just as good,” Clint said. “Face it, you’re part of the family now, god help you.”

“Yeah, part of the family that can’t even let us go grocery shopping without disaster striking.”

There was a warm laugh from the other side of the comms. “Disaster? This is nothing compared to getting two small children through the cereal aisle without a tantrum, Romanoff.”

Natasha, reaching up to fix the braids that had become disordered during the scuffle, wrinkled her nose. She debated whether or not to swing by the staff restrooms on the way and clean up the lucky hit the thug had landed, but decided it was more important to get la familia Barton out of the vents quickly. The less time the children spent in a dark, scary place, the better.

She resolutely did not think of the absolute darkness of thatshipping container, which unfortunately brought the thoughts closer to the surface than she liked.

But she also didn’t want to scare the children, so she grabbed a hand towel off an endcap as she passed, and dabbed at her face.

Mercifully, the break room remained empty when she stepped in. “All clear,” she said, moving the table back under the trap door. “Invisible game’s over.”

From inside, she heard thumping. “Auntie Nat!”

“Cooper, wait—” was the only warning she had before the trap door opened and Cooper launched himself at her.

She snatched him out of the air, and absolutely did not think about what could have happened if she’d been slower to react. “Whoa, okay. Excited to get out of there, huh?” Laura’s white face appeared over the edge, eyes wide. Natasha mouthed he’s fine back at her. “Here, climb down, let me help your mom and your sister out.”

“I stayed so-o-o-o quiet,” Cooper said. “We colored in a dinosaur for you, but we didn’t know your favorite color so I picked red like your hair. What is your favorite color? There’s another dinosaur on the page, so if it’s not red, I can use that color instead.”

“I do like red a lot.” Natasha thought about it. “Purple, too, maybe.”

“You can’t have purple, that’s Dad’s favorite color.”

“Coop, more than one person can have purple as their favorite color,” Laura said, transferring Lila down to Natasha. Mercifully the baby had slept through all of it. “I like purple, too, remember?”

Cooper wrinkled his nose at that. “Okay, fine. I’ll make it purple.”

“I can’t wait to see it,” Natasha promised. Once the entire family had been retrieved, she pushed the trap door back into place. Of course Clint had scouted this spot months ago. His paranoia remained legendary. “Family’s secure, Barton.”

“Got it,” Clint said. “Heading to the front.”

“Meet you there,” Natasha said. To the others with her, she tilted her head toward the door. “Ready to get out of here?”

Laura looked more or less composed, which Natasha had to credit her for. Civilians rarely handled those kinds of curveballs well, but she’d been married to Clint for a decade. It stood to reason this might not even be the first time something like this had happened. Her grip on the sleeping Lila remained tight. “Coop, hold Auntie Nat’s hand, okay? Humor me.”

“All right, I guess.”

“Everything good?” Laura asked.

“False alarm,” Natasha said.

One eyebrow went up. “A false alarm gave you a split lip?”

Natasha worked at it with her tongue, scrunching her nose at the brief spark of pain. “Just another exciting day in our line of work. It all turned out okay, if you ignore that we were unsuccessful in our primary objective.”

Laura looked blank, so Natasha prompted: “Getting the groceries, Barton.”

“Pfft, whatever. We’ll get takeout. We’ll consider it an adventure, and it won’t even be the first one today. Hopefully there will be less dust this time.” Laura leaned over, conspiratorially. “I am getting my phone back, right? I really like the case, and it’ll take forever to get another one like it.”

Years of espionage training kept Natasha from staring at her like she’d sprouted a second head. Clint had told her years before that his wife was far more pragmatic than either of them, but she’d never had a chance to witness it in action before. She almost wanted to ask if this was some kind of backwoods Midwestern thing, but it seemed better not to do that.

So she settled into a helpless laugh. “Yes, we’ll get your phone back. The case is really cute.”

“Good. I knew you’d agree.” Laura squeezed her shoulder with her free hand, and it felt more like a thank you than Natasha had ever received after years and years on the job.

“One point,” Natasha said, feeling a tiny bit shy as as she pulled out a package she’d swiped on their trip through the store earlier. “We should probably pay for the coloring books. And these.”

Laura looked down at the bag of popsicle sticks and laughed. “You really are a hero.”

FIN

(the target was a leaked witsec hit. Bad timing all around)

[giftwrappingpaper]

wangxian bakery au

prompt: "I'd love to enable a creator to write/draw that self-indulgent niche workplace AU they've always wanted to make."

Lan Zhan finds Wei Ying baking bread in the kitchen of a hole-in-the-wall bakery in Yiling.

-----

A low, all too familiar voice hesitantly calls his name. "Wei Ying?"

No fucking way. Wei Ying looks up, raised eyebrows wrinkling his flour-dusted forehead. Yep, that’s Lan Zhan alright; no matter how many years pass, Wei Ying could recognize that face anywhere. His sharp, meticulously perfect appearance makes him look like a high-fashion magazine model cutout slapped on a stock photo of yellowed plaster and secondhand baking equipment.

“No customers in the back,” Wei Ying advises before returning his attention to the dough in his hands. A picture of informality, with a small smirk playing on his lips — a half-hearted attempt to conceal the shock and surmounting panic bubbling in his gut.

How the hell did he find me? one side of his brain despairs, while the other side reassures that at least it isn’t Jiang Cheng.

Lan Zhan continues his stalwart breach of Burial Bakery’s kitchen. What a rebel. “Wei Ying,” he says again.

“That’s me.”

“You’re here.”

“Uh, yeah?”

“You’re in a...bakery. Baking.”

Wei Ying breathed in the calming smell of fresh sourdough and tangy levain. Thank the heavens he had been able to convince Wen Ning to take a lunch break, leaving Wei Ying to man the kitchen alone. This isn’t going to be pretty.

“That’s kinda what we do here, yeah,” he says, eyes trained on his workbench, crowded with floured bannetons and formless lumps of dough. “A helping hand would be nice. I’d appreciate that much more than the gawking.”

Lan Zhan blinks, jawing clenching and ears flushing. Wei Ying’s smirk lifts into something softer. Even after all this time, it’s still so easy to rile him up.

“How’d you even find me, anyway?” he wonders, stretching his dough flat against the workbench, stopping right when it’s about to rip. Gently, of course. Wouldn’t want to pop the gas built up after hours of proofing.

“The back door is open,” Lan Zhan answers faintly. His expression mirrors the face of a guy after finding a years-long missing sock long since chalked off as having been eaten by the dryer. “I saw you from the counter.”

A quick glance to the entrance confirms this. Wen Ning must’ve forgotten to close the door when he left. Damn, that’s no good. Can’t let the cold air flow in. Might mess with the dough proofing in the walk-in.

“Could you close that for me?” Wei Ying asks, briefly letting go of the dough to rub the back of his neck. When Lan Zhan continues to stand there, motionless like a beautiful, bewildered statue, Wei Ying tsks and says, “I’m not going anywhere, Lan Zhan. Gotta get yesterday's proofed loaves in the oven by the hour.”

Miraculously, Lan Zhan obeys. Wei Ying half expected him not to. He and Lan Zhan have never been the closest of friends; Wei Ying was an annoying student, and Lan Zhan has a zero tolerance for annoying classmates. But people can change, he supposes. It’s been over four years, and neither of them are the same people they were before Wei Ying packed up his things and gave up his cushioned life in the Jiang estate and his scholarship to one of the most prestigious universities in the country to start slumming it with the Wen siblings and A-Yuan in their closet of an apartment.

“Aw, thanks,” Wei Ying says when Lan Zhan returns. He belatedly realizes that he should’ve asked Lan Zhan to close the door behind him as he leaves the kitchen that he, as a non-employee, isn’t supposed to be in. Oh well; Wen Qing can chew him out for all the health codes he’s violating later. Isn’t she supposed to be manning the front? Lan Zhan must have snuck past her to get here, so she’s just as guilty.

“So you’ve been here the whole time?” Lan Zhan says, watching Wei Ying shape the dough. “Since you — left?”

“Basically.” Stitch the dough into itself. Then fold and tuck. Push the dough underneath itself with the palm of your hands to create surface tension, giving the newly formed loaf that tight, professional finish. Took Wei Ying ages to get the method down pat enough to be consistent. “Wanted to get out of the Jiangs’ hair, so I left soon after dropping out of uni.”

Dust the loaf with rice flour. Place it into a banneton, seam side up. Into the rack, then repeat. “A friend of mine had just inherited their family bakery. I volunteered to help out, and it eventually ended up becoming a full-time thing.”

Lan Zhan stands there without a word — not that Wei Ying minds. He hadn’t let himself dream they’d see each other again, hadn’t wanted to get his hopes up that he'd be lucky enough to see a familiar face again after all this time. Damn, he thinks, sneaking glance after glance between the loaves he’s shaping, he’s more handsome now than ever. Who knew the gorgeous teenager he’d harassed throughout two years of university would turn out to become a gorgeous adult who somehow stumbles into Wei Ying’s bakery? Even the unflattering cast of the yellow, flickering overhead light Wen Qing had been meaning to replace can’t wash out how black Lan Zhan’s hair is, how his skin is as smooth as a baby’s. How golden his eyes are, peering at Wei Ying as if he’s the sunrise after a long, cloudy night.

Bah. Where the hell did that come from? Maybe Wei Ying really is as self-centered as Aunt Yu claimed him to be.

“I wasn’t aware of your...baking aspirations,” Lan Zhan says, causing Wei Ying to choke out a laugh. He’d forgotten how funny Lan Zhan could be.

“Me neither,” Wei Ying admits. He sidesteps the kitchen mixer he’d spent the last year fixing up — he’d bought it in a sorry state, but Hobart engines are built to last a lifetime, and he couldn’t pass up the deal he paid for — to place another filled banneton into the rack. “But I’m not too mad at where I’ve ended up. Speaking of. How did you end up here?”

Lan Zhan's shoulders hunch suspiciously, and Wei Ying's eyebrows arch into fucking parabolas. “I wanted bread,” Lan Zhan replies defensively. “So I went to a bakery.”

Wei Ying scoffs, unimpressed. “A bakery all the way in Yiling?”

Lan Zhan glances away. “I travel a lot for work.”

Fine — he’ll let it go for now. “Well, as long as you don’t tell anyone back home about this, I guess it’s fine.” Wei Ying pauses. “You’re not gonna rat me out, are you?”

The thought should scare him, but a traitorously large part of him thrills at it instead. The Jiangs' are a key food supplier for the Lans' hotel chain, so Lan Zhan has to have some form of communication with them. Does Jiejie think about him from time to time? And Jiang Cheng...well. They’re still brothers, aren't they? Surely he must, at some small capacity, miss him.

But no brotherly love, whatever left there may be, could erase this: the cold silence that hung over the Jiang family table whenever Wei Ying would show up for dinner. Aunt Yu’s constant disapproval and Jiang Cheng’s wavering willingness to put up with it. The car ride. The screech of metal. The hospital said their Range Rover flipped four times. Wei Ying must have passed out after the first. But he was lucky: only a broken arm and whiplash. He had lied about being too hurt to attend the funeral.

It had been a good decision to leave. It had to be.

The back of his neck stings; a constant reminder. He hangs his head low as he stitches the dough.

“I’m not going to...rat you out,” Lan Zhan denies. He’s closer than he’d been since the last time Wei Ying looked up, his slack-clad hip brushing against the corner of Wei Ying’s workbench. “Not if you don’t want me to.”

“I don’t. Thanks.” Another banneton in the rack. Slower output than usual. He’s going to have to speed up to reach today’s quota. He gestures to the door. “Now, if you’re not gonna help out…”

Lan Zhan doesn’t take the hint. “You left. Without saying goodbye.”

“Must’ve forgotten to leave a note,” Wei Ying says, nonplussed.

“No one knew where you had gone off to.”

“Kinda preferred it that way.”

“But I didn’t —” Lan Zhan stops. Takes a breath. This is the most emotional Wei Ying has ever seen him, if mildly discomfited could constitute as emotional.

When he meets Wei Ying’s eyes again, his face is in its usual state of aloofness. “I was worried about you,” he tells him. “I wish I had known that you were alright.”

A block of guilt presses on Wei Ying’s shoulders. “Oh,” he says. “Sorry.”

Lan Zhan shakes his head. “Don’t apologize.”

“It’s just — with all that happened with the, the accident, and the handling of the estate —”

“You don’t need to explain anything to me you’re not comfortable with.”

“And my relationship with Jiang Cheng was down the fucking gutter —”

“He misses you.”

“I just felt that it everything would’ve been better off if —”

“I understand.”

“— I just left, y’know?”

At this, Lan Zhan frowns. “I fail to see how your sudden disappearance made anything better,” he says.

“Well, you weren’t there.” Wei Ying sighs, and what little fight he had to defend himself from the past drops to the floor. “I don’t want to argue with you.”

Lan Zhan bristles. “I didn’t mean to — that’s not why I’m here.”

Then why are you here? But Wei Ying is done playing this game. “Look, it’s really nice to see you again. But I kind of have a lot on my plate right now, so if you don’t mind.” This time, his gesture to the door is clear. Leave.

Of course Lan Zhan doesn’t leave; he’s always been so damn stubborn. After a beat, he walks over to the empty sink — Wei Ying prefers to wash the dishes as he goes — and washes his hands. Dries them. Rolls up the sleeves of his button up, revealing forearms Wei Ying can’t help but swallow at. Makes his way to Wei Ying’s side, staring down at the lumps of dough like how a runner glares at the bottom of her shoe after stepping on a pile of dogshit.

“Alright,” he says, “how do I do this?”

Wei Ying blinks. “What?” he asks, like an idiot.

Lan Zhan experimentally cups the nearest dough mound with his palms. It sticks to his hands as he lifts them, streaks of the stuff already clinging to his slender fingers.

“Gross,” he says, monotone, pinching two ends to stretch it; an imitation, Wei Ying realizes, of his own technique.

Wei Ying stares. An incredulous smile spreads across his lips. “You’re —” He laughs. “You’re so weird, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan squints at him, confused, hands still making a mess out of the dough. “You asked for my help.”

Perhaps all those years away from home was enough penance for, at the very least, this. “Yeah," he says, soft. "I guess I did.” Wei Ying sways closer to Lan Zhan’s side. He discreetly sniffs the air in a selfish bid to find...ah, there it is, masked between notes of wheat flour and sourdough starter: sandalwood aftershave, brushing past Wei Ying's nose when Lan Zhan turns to him with an expectant glance.

Wei Ying laughs again. “No, not like that. Like this.”

He lays a floured hand over Lan Zhan’s and, together, they get to work.

-----

also posted on ao3

promo post on twitter

fic commissions

[bestworstcase]

i’ve been thinking about this post from a couple days ago and how i shared my four questions of character development but didn’t actually give an example of what my answers look like and it’s bugging me a bit because it occurs to me that it’s kinda just. lobbing a tool out there without documentation on how to use it properly rip

so uh. further details with examples ft. the bitter snow cast.

#1: what are they looking for?

all characters have an UNFULFILLED DESIRE that motivates them to action. the more central to the story the character is, the harder this must be to attain, as a general rule. this is, ideally, NOT an exterior goal. instead, it is the intrinsic wellspring from which the character’s goals and aspirations emerge.

EXAMPLES:

cassandra: it’s complicated. she is a character defined more by what she lacks than what she wants, per se; she does not feel secure of her place in the world, she craves trust because she feels she is distrusted, she craves respect because she feels she is overlooked, she craves love because she feels unloved. she doesn’t want to be a servant. she is terrified of insignificance, of being forgotten. she does not fit, and this hurts her. she is riddled with self-loathing and self-doubt because of the discrimination she has endured due to her saporian heritage. but if pressed to explain what she wants… she can’t summon a true answer. she doesn’t know what she wants, so what she is looking for fundamentally is to figure that out.

rapunzel: complicated again. she is a character defined in large part by what other people want from her. a people-pleaser who becomes anxious, persistent—even forceful—in her efforts to make everyone happy. she isn’t accustomed to paying attention to her own desires, and tends to neglect them unless she is acutely unhappy. i think she is looking for herself, more than anything.

varian: he is searching for answers. he wants to understand how the world works, to discover what it has to teach him. simple.

caine: she is looking for freedom. her life has been a long succession of horrific losses: her father was brutally taken from her, her mother became horribly ill, poverty and familial obligation robbed her of what remained of her childhood, she became disillusioned with the faith her aunt tried to share with her, her best friend died in her arms. she wants vengeance, and she also wants to stop carrying these ghosts with her, and she also wants to stop looking over her shoulder all the time and waiting for the next loss to catch up with her.

zhan tiri: she is looking for peace. she is the oldest living being in existence, and she came from nothing, and every single significant moment in her unfathomably long life has been soaked in blood and pain and death. her intrinsic nature is to hunger—always needing, always restless, always empty—and more than anything, she longs to break this endless circle of want.

#2: what’s stopping them?

every character must have an OBSTACLE which DISRUPTS their pursuit of what they’re looking for. it is the thing standing in their way. this is NOT the antagonist—it is the reason the character cannot easily overcome the antagonist. ideally it is something intrinsic.

EXAMPLES:

cassandra: she has, again, a complicated answer—because the very thing she is looking for is the same thing that stands in her way. how can she discover her basic, most primal want if she can’t even articulate her goals? she wants, at the beginning of the story, to join the watch—but not because she wants to join the watch, so much as joining the watch is a proxy for cassandra assimilating fully, for being coronan through and through, for scrubbing herself clean of the stain of her parents’ legacy—and that proxy is itself merely a proxy for her desire to belong—and her desire to belong is, in turn, a proxy for the agony of not knowing herself. she is piling bandaids on top of bandaids on top of bandaids on top of hemorrhages.

rapunzel: she is trapped in her own story. an evil witch kidnapped the magical lost princess, who escaped and came home; a miracle. the sundrop gifted its power to the lost princess; destiny. she a peacemaker and a mediator; it is her job to fix problems. narratives piled on narratives and she’s lost—or rather, never had—the insight to recognize that there is more to her than the stories people tell about her.

varian: his crushing need for approval is the key thing standing in his way. it isn’t just that his father’s disappointment or his village’s distrust make him warier of free experimentation; it is also, and perhaps even more so, that he is afraid of finding the wrong answers. answers that won’t help people. answers that his friends and allies won’t like. answers that change his basic view of the world in ways that feel antithetical to who he is. this fear holds him back from pursuing the truth.

caine: she is looking in the wrong direction; she is trying to not care, as if by not caring she can trick the universe into not taking anything else away. she is someone who cares so deeply trying to sever herself from everything she cares about without actually letting it go, which is of course an exercise in futility.

zhan tiri: what she wants is, quite simply, impossible. this is not a human answer because she is not human. contentment is and will always be something she is not capable of feeling, and chasing it is nothing but another exercise in insatiable hunger.

#3: what are they going to do about it?

this is about ACTION. it is not an option for a character to do nothing; the nature of the unfulfilled desire is that they are COMPELLED to seek it, somehow, by some means. if the answer to this question does not involve the character DOING SOMETHING, you need to return to question number one and fix the answer there.

EXAMPLES:

cassandra: she is going to fling herself headlong and without hesitation after whatever concrete goals feel like they might “fix” the lack she feels. even if a short term goal (like helping rapunzel sneak out) clashes or is contradictory with a longer term goal (like joining the watch). even if it is an obviously stupid idea (like her secret correspondence with rosalia morcant). even if it is an impulse with little if any rational basis (like fixating on finding varian, or joining the fight in socona). she is, essentially, throwing stuff at the wall to see what sticks, because without knowing what she wants, she can’t form a coherent “quest” for herself.

rapunzel: she is going to follow the path of least resistance with whatever narrative feels the least restrictive to her at any given time. when she is fresh out of the tower, reconnecting with her real family and throwing herself into becoming a princess is that narrative. later, taking adira’s and xavier’s advice to pursue her destiny by questing for the moonstone replaces that narrative. since none of these narratives fully suit her—they are all boxes she tries to fit into—she will eventually grow discontent and cast them aside to try something new, until she finally breaks this cycle.

varian: he is going to fall into a cycle of hesitant side-stepping leading to crisis leading to frantic charge forward until he identifies this pattern and chooses to step calmly but courageously into unknown territory. his instinct is to try to go around, to find an oblique solution, but to get what he wants he will ultimately need to just face his fear head on—and deep down he is willing to do that.

caine: she is going to run, and fight, and keep running and fighting until her legs give out beneath her. vengeance appeals to her, and she’s going to chase it with everything she’s got while trying to protect what she has; her intense drive is tempered by caution, which manifests in a pragmatic approach to pursuit of her exterior goals.

zhan tiri: she is going to continuously and experimentally refine and broaden her definition of “hunger” with the aim of hitting on something that allows her to feel satiated. she is going to line up goals and systematically chew threw them until there’s nothing left. she is, eventually, going to devour the whole cosmos and then probably die.

#4: who do they think they are?

this is a question about the character’s SELF-IDENTIFICATION. how do they PERCEIVE themselves? how do they choose to DEFINE themselves? what do they see when they look in the mirror?

EXAMPLES:

cassandra: she is untrustworthy. she is ignored. she is likable but not lovable. she doesn’t fit anywhere. she’s empty. she’s unsure. she’s drowning in doubt. she is insignificant, unimportant. she has been wronged, somehow. she wants to be a hero. she is someone who wants to do the right thing. she never stops trying. she’s stupid and reckless and incapable and doesn’t deserve any of the things she wants. she probably cares too much.

rapunzel: she is good. she is kind. (she is better than other people, in some small way. she sees the potential for goodness that other people can’t, or won’t.) she is worthless. she exists to make the world a better place. she is a princess, so she has to lead. she is the sundrop, so she has to heal. she is strong. (she is weak.) her determination to be kind and willingness to trust are her best qualities.

varian: he’s probably a lot smarter than most people he knows. he doesn’t know anything, but he wants to. he’s reckless. he’s not good enough. he can’t replace his mom. he’s accident prone. he’s a disappointment. he moves too fast. he thinks too fast. he doesn’t really need to sleep. he’s better with chemicals and formulas and machines than people. he’s not someone people want to be friends with. he could do great things if people—especially his dad—would just believe in him for once.

caine: she is an asshole and there is nothing wrong with her. she’s callous. she’s selfish. she’s out for her own interest first. she’s fine. (it was her fault cornaīn died. it’ll be her fault if her mom dies, or if neasa dies, or if any more of her crew dies, or if cassandra dies.) she isn’t afraid, she isn’t hurt, she’s angry. the only person she can rely on is herself, and the only person she wants to rely on is herself. she’s not anxious, she’s being smart.

zhan tiri: she loves, and it hurts, and she loves anyway. there is a way to break the circle and she is going to find it; it isn’t over until the end; but nothing lasts but hunger. she has done nothing wrong, ever, in her life. she has so many regrets she could drown in them if she weren’t immortal. she is beautiful, stop screaming.

…and that’s the bedrock of a character. 

every individual action, every specific goal, every thought and feeling, is ultimately guided by the clash between this internal core with the realities of the setting, plot, and choices of other characters. cognitive dissonance between answers #1-3 and answer #4 is a breeding ground for inner conflict, and answers #1-3 are the raw material from which the spine of the character’s arc is sculpted.

[bonus round: this method comes from a scene in the pre-broadway houston run of the musical wonderland, wherein a character poses these questions to alice; her answers are:

#1: “i’m looking for my lost child.*”

*this being both literally her child who is lost but also metaphorically her own sense of wonder and discovery, which she has lost touch with.

#2: “i do! i keep getting in my own way, it’s all i do!”

#3: “i’m trying to figure that out!”

#4: “i’m chloe’s mother. i’m married to jack. these people are my friends. i’m a writer. i’m a teacher. i’m the dreamer of this dream. i’m lots of things; i’m my own invention!”

and when i first listened to this audio i was blown away by just how perfectly this distilled the character of alice down to her purest essentials so i immediately adopted it for character building purposes and i have never looked back because it is simple and it works.

in this scene there is also a fifth question, “what are you afraid of?” (paraphrasing: “losing the people i love”) which i have over time sort of just lumped in with how i answer the other four, because i find it to be less evocative on its own. however, it is useful information to know about a character and i recommend keeping it in mind when answering the other four.]

[miggydiaz]

For the salty ask 1, 4, 5, 6, 9, 10, 14, 16, 20, 22, 23 and 26 for cobra kai pretty please

My answers are so long, so I am putting this under the cut @wonderwolfballoon! Also I just noticed your Daniel icon I SWEAR I’M NOT DRAGGING HIM TO BE MEAN!!!

1. What OTPs in your fandom(s) do you just not get?* My biggest IDGI ships for CK are probably Elimetri or Kiaz. I’m not here to yuck other people’s yums or anything, but I do think there is something to the idea that Migueli isn’t popular because it’s a ship predicated on mutual respect for one another. Kiaz has the obvious enemies to lovers vibe and I just generally don’t sail those ships. Elimetri has... its problems, IMO, most especially around the idea that Demetri has to like... save Hawk from himself? Idk. I just like romances that I feel are based on love and mutual respect and not ...tropes.

 I am also not a Lawrusso shipper although I have a lot of those on my dash and you all are great! Again, not yucking yums! Daniel just makes me want to head butt him too much to pair him romantically with anyone 😂 I don’t even want his wife with him. He needs to self reflect~ 

4. Do you have a NoTP in your fandom? Are they a popular OTP?* 

I once saw someone ship Amanda and Anoush and I noped out of that so fucking fast I almost tripped over myself. I’m not sure if they’re popular. I just think some people feel the need to get Amanda out of the way to sail their ship and stuck her with Anoush which... no. Just no. Let Amanda be a messy single queen with a martini hobby, thanks! 

5. Has fandom ever ruined a pairing for you?* 

Not in CK. I’m lucky because I pretty much stick to my little Migueli bubble and I’m okay with that? Lmao lord knows the Squad on my dash is all about the DISCOURSE™️ so idk if I just don’t feel the need to get sucked into the wider ship wars because we have good healthy debates, but so far, so good. 

6. Has fandom ever made you enjoy a pairing you previously hated?* 

I never hated it... I just didn’t have many feelings on shipping with this show in general at first. Then I was in the CK tag one day and I saw Migueli fan art. Then I discovered @afurioushawk‘s falconry series and it was all over for me after that! So fandom DID make me love a ship, just not one I hated.

9. Most disliked character(s)? Why? Oh boy. How much time do you have? In some instances, it’s a good thing season 3 happened because otherwise, this would be a multi-page essay on the problems with race and class privilege as it pertains to Sam LaRusso and just some... generally not nice comments about Demetri that I’m conflicted about because I’m not sure if the writers are intentionally trying to write him a specific way and it’s just not translating to me or what. But season 3 revamped both of their images with me a lot. I’m way more flexible in terms of Demetri, but lmao I was the number one Sam LaRusso hater for a minute there (or maybe number 2, I can think of at least 1 other person who was in that boat with me back in like... August/September, but I won’t call them out because I don’t want them to get hate...) However, I have grown a bit in my opinions of Sam, and even though I still think she’s responsible  for a lot of shit she NEVER gets held accountable for, I also think that’s a reflection of the adults around her too, and this includes my otherwise unproblematic queen, Amanda.

But honestly, my most hated character (other than the obvious villain that is Kreese) is Daniel. No matter how handsome Ralph Macchio looks in cable-knits, because Daniel has always been a sanctimonious, shit starting drama king and I say that about KK Daniel too. I’m not saying Daniel was the ~true villain~ or anything, or that Johnny was innocent -- I can only drink so much Red and Yellow Kool-Aid -- but Daniel’s always been annoying to me as a protagonist, and turning him into a smarmy wealthy car salesman who is also a class traitor did not do him any favors in my book. I will say, I also like Daniel more in season 3 than I have in previous season, but since he is the adult, I will be mad at him longer than I will be at the kids, ya feel?

10. Most disliked arc? Why?

 Johnny’s entire season 3 storyline. The sheer level of REGRESSION at every turn drives me bonkers. It’s like watching him go through all of the stumbling blocks of season 1 all over again, but without the “he’s learning! He’s going to make mistakes!” free pass that I was willing to give him the first time around. He regularly jeopardizes Miguel’s recovery and it’s played for laughs. He fucks up on every level with Robby. He spends most of his time running away when things get hard or too real. He drops the ball completely with Hawk, and like, not to put too fine a point on it, but a lot of Hawk’s issues are because Johnny put Hawk on this ‘flip the script and be a badass’ path and then offered him no guidance for how to walk that path and instead left him in the hands of Kreese. And then he has the nerve to go to Hawk and basically be like “I made you what you are!” lmao yeah Johnny, you sure did, that’s why he’s breaking peoples arms, hoss. And then all of the nonsense with Ali and Carmen, like... if you were planning on teasing KK fans with Ali and him getting back together, why write her as married in the first place? Why even tease the idea of Carmen and Johnny until after you were sure what you were going to do with Ali as a character? Instead, they do what they did in season 3 and it makes him look like a colossal jerk. So yeah. Literally every choice they made with Johnny this season, I hated.

14. Unpopular opinion about your fandom? People who hate Tory are not valid, sorry not sorry.

16. If you could change anything in the show, what would you change? I would have kept Miguel entirely out of Tory and Sam’s beef. Or at least not directly inserted him into it like he was with the kiss. I know the writers thought it was necessary to push Tory to the point of inciting a fight at school, but I am just so exhausted over girls being unable to fight about anything but boys. Also I would bring Aisha back.

20. What is the purest ship in the fandom? 

I am probably biased, but I still maintain it’s Migueli. Look, Miguel stood up to Kyler for Eli and Demetri both. Hawk joined CK because he saw what it could do for some skinny nerd who was getting his ass kicked. And he took to CK, really took to it! Even flourished before he started getting mixed messages. And he and Miguel were pretty much inseparable after that. They coordinated their wardrobes ffs. Hawk dubbed him El Serpiente and no one else calls him that — it’s Hawk’s nickname for him. Miguel confides in Hawk only secondary to Johnny, who is like a father to him. The entire Coyote Creek exchange shows they can fight and disagree but... well, to use the cliche, they don’t go to bed angry, you know? They’re square the very next day. Hawk is the first person at Miguel’s side when he gets kicked over the balcony and the LOOK he gives the second floor where Robby is? That boy is out for blood immediately to avenge Miguel. So much of his s3 behavior is fueled by that need for vengeance because MD is wholly responsible for what happened to Miguel. And Miguel is so confused and betrayed by Hawk’s shift in behavior, and yet still holds out hope that Hawk will see through Kreese’s BS and come with him to The Dojo I Refuse to Name. And when Hawk does make that deflection finally, he shows up at MD with Miguel. There’s so much more that I know I’m missing but whether someone ships them or not, that is a tried and true love and respect for one another, a willingness to fight for and defend one another that you don’t often see in TV friendships... or even in most tv relationships. And I just think that’s the best ❤️

22. Popular character you hate?

 Daniel, hands down. I mean... I don’t even necessarily hate Daniel, you know? I just think it’s really, pardon the pun, rich that a guy of immense wealth and privilege can’t get a therapist or turn to his far too patient wife for help with his existential crisis over his high school bully opening up a karate dojo to make some money and help a kid who is getting the crap kicked out of him. I get that Daniel’s narrative is necessary for the rivalry, but it does nothing to make him sympathetic as a character.

23. Unpopular character you love?

 Tory, definitely! Everyone hates her and then there’s me and the Squad over here banging away on our Coors Banquet cans yelling TORY RIGHTS! Seriously she catches so much flack for a teenage girl who is... the sole income provider for her family? At 17? While caring for a sick mom and a little brother? And fending off a creepy landlord? Tory has it so rough and then she meets a cool girl at her dojo who asks her to hang out at some fancy ass country club which is probably the nicest place Tory has ever been in, and then she gets talked down to and accused of being a thief and has another girl lay hands on her, only to find out that same girl is her new boyfriend’s ex and... ugh. I HATE that Tory gets shit all over when Tory and Sam wouldn’t even have beef if Sam had apologized to Tory as she SHOULD have. Tory isn’t innocent, but damn, I’d be pressed too.

 My other unpopular character I love? Nathaniel. Seriously that kid is THE best. He’s a literal child but is out there like I WILL FUCK YOU UP, even though he’s MD. Honestly, his Cobra Kai energy is so ferocious I won’t be surprised if he moves back to CK eventually. Anyway, I love him.


26. Most shippable character?

 Miguel, hands down. It’s because he’s so affable and sweet overall. And because his hair is so fluffy and pettable that no one can resist touching it. I like to imagine that one day he and Hawk are talking about their hair and Hawk makes a joke about how Miguel’s mane is getting so long that it’s going to be bigger than his own, and then he reaches out to ruffle it and internally has a bisexual meltdown because oh no IT’S SO SOFT AND NICE. But uh... anyway, yes. Definitely Miguel.

[absentcaryatid]

A Date With Wooyoung

An ATEEZ fanfic with Wooyoung and Yunho by AbsentCaryatid

Takes place in JC world sometime after Chapter 6 and references it several times.

Much to the surprise of Yunho, the asexual reader enlists Wooyoung to help her learn about sex.

Fluff, a bit of longing, and some awkwardness, all talk and no action. 1.8K words and marginally NSFW.

~

Today you felt an unusual nervousness when sounding the buzzer at the familiar door. You stopped by the ATEEZ dorm all the time as their fried chicken delivery person and over the visits you had even become a trusted friend to all the residents. Still, this day was different, something new.

Greeting you warmly, Yunho welcomed you inside. Seeing you out of work clothes he casually asked, “Social visit this time? Some of us are going on a bike ride today. Want to join in?” His attempts to entice you concluded with a basket held aloft. “We have a picnic packed.”

“Food on a bike is a bit of a busman’s holiday for me as a takeout driver but an afternoon with you that way would be very enjoyable at another time. I am sorry to miss the opportunity but I already have a date with Wooyoung.”

“A date, really? That is a change!” The way his face lit up hopefully you realized too late the poor phrasing on your part. “I had no idea you were now open to that sort of thing.” Pausing briefly, Yunho took a hesitant gulp. “If you and Wooyoung are not exclusive… may I schedule our picnic and bike ride another day as a real date? I have wished I could take you out for some time now. It is just after our earlier conversation I never thought it was an option. The reason you would not reveal then must have changed and I am so glad.”

Ouch. This was difficult. Body frozen, your mind raced with regret. “I should not have called today a date.” Who would not want a date with a charmer like Yunho? Unfortunately for him, even perfect as he was, the answer was you. It was hard to find the right words and you hoped the let down you managed was gentle enough. “You are sweet to ask but no, romance is still not my thing, even though lots of asexuals do date looking for a partner. This is just learning about sex.”

“Ah.” Taking the decline relatively well, Yunho’s face fell but recovered quickly. “Oh! So you are going to have sex as an ace for the experience. I thought you complained he was too sexy when all you would be looking for is training wheels and all that. Of course, what you and Wooyoung get up to is your business but you once said I would be your first choice for that kind of friend.” He joked a little wistfully, “Have I missed my chance?”

You both smiled recalling that frank and humorous conversation. “No, no, no, it is not like that at all. The hands-on approach that shows up so often as a fanfic plot device is not the only way to learn about sex. And by the way, it turns out you were quite mistaken that day when you tried to pimp Wooyoung out as a learning buddy for me. He overheard the whole thing and wanted to correct the record afterward. Apparently when he told you he had helped a friend get over being a virgin it meant talking about it as a social construct. Wooyoung was a peer counselor in high school.”

“Wow, I really had the wrong end of the stick.”

“Yeah. He knows a lot and still dabbles in sex ed. We got to talking and he has some reputable web resources to recommend along with a willingness to answer any questions about what my searches turn up. So, here I am with my laptop for a study date, not a date date. Reading fanfiction has left me confused by a lot of things people get up to sexually and he thought it best to share some reliable ways to get answers.”

“Hunh, we could all probably use a dose of trustworthy information from time to time. Good to know he is someone to go to. Well, have a fun time learning.”

“Thanks, I am sure we will.”

At Wooyoung’s appearance, you settled side by side at the dorm’s dining table with the computer between you. “You are about to live on your own in college so I can skip my usual opening about learning to browse privately. Not every family approves of sex education but the consequences of not having guidance while being sexually active are too great. It is not just pregnancy and STI risks but also general healthy relationship skills so I like to encourage everyone to access information even if their family is not supportive.”

Moving on, he patiently listened to your questions fanfic brought up. Wondering if stomach bulges really happened, actual pull out method efficacy rates, and the judgmental use of ‘clean’ as an STI term were topics on your mind. What he could not say with certainty he browsed his favorite sites to answer.

“Let me leave you with some places to read on your own. For me Scarleteen is the gold standard of comprehensive sex ed with solid knowledge and written by staff from communities under discussion. I think you will really like the asexual, genderqueer, and autistic content there among other inclusive subjects. There are also chats and a message board to help find the answers you need. It is a great site aimed at ages 15 and up but useful to everyone. Let’s also put Pussypedia and Planned Parenthood into your bookmarks.”

Admiring his comfort as a sex educator, you complimented your guide. “You are very good at this, Wooyoung. You are completely at ease despite the topic. I bet you helped a lot of classmates in high school.”

A look of pride crossed his face. “I feel I did and the work was rewarding. If the idol thing had not panned out I probably would have pursued a career as a teacher, therapist, or even advice columnist. It is a good reminder to myself that I am so much more than a pretty face and hot body that can dance and sing even though that is where the praise comes from these days.”

“Don’t forget the excellent cooking. You are remembered for that now too, and as a writer though that is less known. I made sure to read through your masterlist when you sent me the link to your secret fic Tumblr. Those Jimin stories are almost as educational as our time today. Even years later I see they still gain notes and new fans. You are a man of many talents, Wooyoung.”

“Thank you, it feels good to have them recognized.”  Thinking for a moment he added, “You know, I can relax around you in a way I don’t for most other people. While I love the attention I can get for being sexy I try to turn it off around you since you are ace and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“It is appreciated.”

“Instead you remind me I am a cook, a reader and writer, and a dancer with moves beyond sexiness. I mean it, the chance to remember other aspects of my personality is a good one.”

“And you are funny. You have a great sense of humor and your banter with Yeosang is particularly good.”

“Yes, that aspect of our friendship is fun too.”

“I hope you have more people you can be fully yourself around.”

“All the guys are good for me that way, especially San, but even with him I feel the need to tone myself down at times. Somehow I don’t get that hyper around you. Being in your presence is calming the way you are so low-key.”

“Thank you for such a kind compliment, Wooyoung. The benefit goes both ways, I want you to know. Even in your subdued state I find you energizing, but even more so seeing you with the others.”

He nodded, pleased. “I am afraid that has to be it for today unless you want to ride along to my hair appointment.”

“New color?”

“Just a cut this time.”

“Oh well, the wild colors are my favorite so I will head home but I really appreciate your assistance today.” You closed the laptop and fit it into the messenger bag for bike travel.

“Anytime, you can even ask questions to my Tumblr if there is something else confusing in a story.”

“Well…, I do have a relationship question if you want to flex your advice columnist muscles.”

“Go on,” he prodded gently.

“I think one of my friends likes me at least a little.”

“I should think all your friends like you,” he quipped. “I do, a lot, for one.”

Miming hitting his shoulder, you clarified, “No, you know what I mean, romantically that is.”

Wooyoung nodded knowing about Yunho, but it would not surprise him if there were others and his advice would be the same no matter the person. “I have to say, they have good taste.”

“Thanks Wooyoung, but I do not need the buttering. You can turn off the flirtiness.”

He put his hands up. “Got it, but keep that in mind for how you treat others. Too much praise might be what is helping someone fall for you.” After the recent discussion of which member you would theoretically go to for sexual experience with a friend Yunho had gushed for days quoting the many compliments you had given him to anyone who would listen. San had mentioned seeing his roommate carefully recording the conversation as best as it could be remembered into his journal which he revisited frequently. Wooyoung judiciously decided not to share any of that information out of respect for his friend’s privacy.

“That is something to think about. I appreciate you pointing that possibility out. Back to my question though. For a few reasons I do not want to date anyone, especially in your group, but dating would make him happy. It feels bad not to want to do something so simple for his sake.”

“I think you already know the answer. You are familiar with the phrase ‘leading someone on?’ Giving whoever it is the false hope it could be real interest in dating is not a kindness. Besides, if he really respects you he would want you to listen to your own needs.”

Wooyoung sagely continued, “For most dating activities you could just do the same things together as friends, with others along if it would make it seem less like a romantic date. If he enjoys your company he will like spending time with you honestly in friendship unless he is so smitten that being around each other as friends only would be painful. Let him be the judge of that.”

You nodded in agreement at Wooyoung’s good counsel. While you loved pining in fic you did not want to see it play out in real life, especially if you were unintentionally the cause.

“If he is someone in our group he is an adult and can watch out for his own feelings, you stay true to yours.”

“Thanks, Wooyoung.”

~

Masterlist

[ffangirlingsince2001]

End of the Tunnel: X

Description: It’s almost been a year since Fred Weasley was lost to the Battle of Hogwarts, and for George Weasley it might as well be an eternity. He is lost in the dark, no color to be found. Until suddenly there might be a light at the end of the tunnel.

Warnings: fluff (are they solving problems? hell yeah!)

MASTERLIST

***

Not much changed for about a week.

George barely left his bed and Ron did his best to force feed him when the hours got to far in between.

Hannah didn’t fare much better. Hermione dropped off a meal once a day and tried to stick around. Eventually the older girl dragged herself from her bed all on her own, and when Hermione returned one Friday evening, Hannah was standing behind the bar, not a tear to be seen.

“Hannah!”

“Oh, Hermione, I’m sorry I should have let you know,” she said, noting the carefully prepared meal,” It totally slipped my mind.”

“No worries, I’m just glad to see you out of bed.”

“Yeah, I mean I stayed in bed for less time after I was attacked by evil wizards. I love George, but if he thinks that poorly of me then I need to…” she trailed off as she choked on whatever she had planned on saying. It was clear she wasn’t planning to move on anytime soon as she wistfully wiped away the bar.

“He’ll come around.”

“What?” she asked, eyes snapped up from her daydream.

“Nothing, do you need any help?”

“No, Draco’s still around. Do you want a drink?”

“Um, no thank you, I actually have to get back, but I’m glad you’re feeling better,” she said, sliding the meal into her hands before hurrying out the door.

After making sure no muggles were around she quickly apparated to George’s small apartment. The owner of the flat was still lying in bed, not coping nearly as well as the offended.

“Get up,” Hermione snapped, but neither brother reacted. “I swear you Weasley boys, I said, get up,” she snapped again, this time whipping her wand, yanking sheets from beneath George and tipping Ron’s chair forward.

“Come off it, Hermione. The man’s suffering,” Ron mumbled, fighting with the still tipped chair.

“So is the woman, and yet she thinks you’re never coming back, so you are going to shower, shave, put on her favorite suit and march yourself over to her and beg for her forgiveness.” George stared at her, shifting uncomfortably.

“I can’t.”

“You can and you will.”

“Hermione, you don’t understand what I said to her, I can’t.”

“I do know what you said, and I know what I’m saying, get up.” She yanked on his arm as he dropped back to the bed and dragged him towards the bathroom. “She’s practically crying at the very mention of your name, and yet she’s up, she’s alive, and she wants nothing more than you, George Weasley.” His eyes were wide, standing in the threshold of the bathroom. “You heard me, get in the shower before I force you in there with my bare hands.” With a wave of her wand the door slammed in his face and the faucet turned on, steam quickly creeping beneath the door.

When she was satisfied the man was doing as he was told she turned to Ron, wand still raised.

“And you Ronald Weasley, will not enable him. No more making excuses.”

“But ‘mione-.”

“No buts, I will not allow self-deprecation to ruin the best thing that has ever happened to him since the war. He loves her and the only thing holding him back is himself, and your willingness to let him drown in his own mistakes.”

“What are you going to do if she doesn’t take him back?”

“She will.”

“How do you know?”

“Because she forgave him the moment, he said it.” Ron didn’t know what to say. It had never occurred to him that she had forgiven him, he figured he would simply be cleaning up tears, not helping his brother back to the girl he had wounded. “They always forgive, you should know that better than anyone,” Hermione whispered, glancing down at the ring on her finger. They hadn’t had a chance to tell anyone yet, but it didn’t seem to matter when others were in shambles. He grinned sheepishly and opened his mouth to retort, but George threw open the door, saving him from something he was sure to regret later.

The older man looked different than he had minutes ago. The stubble across his chin had vanished and his hair had been combed. He had put on the suit Hermione had forcefully suggested. The only thing that looked out of place was the misery and shame that lingered in his eyes.

“It’s not going to work.”

“George, it’s going to work.” She reached out her hand to both boys and as they took them, she apparated them out of the front of the bar.

George instantly regretted letting her convince him to leave the house. He was standing on the very street that had led him to such happiness and then to such sorrow, staring at the very sign that had once welcomed him in.

Now it only seemed full of scorn.

“I can’t.”

“You can, and you will.”

“Hermione-.”

“Find that Gryffindor courage and get in there,” she ordered, thrusting him through the front door. She stepped back to Ron’s side and linked their fingers together. “He’ll be fine,” she whispered, not sure who she was trying to convince.

As George stepped into the bar, he felt anything but fine. He was taken aback by the fact that it was still warm. He thought she would have withdrawn it from him, that somehow the warm glow of the fire wouldn’t reach him. It was surprisingly busy, but then it could have been Boxing Day for all he knew. The door banged shut behind him, the bell he had once been so familiar with, announcing his arrival.

The absolute beauty behind the bar turned, dropped the glass she was holding at the sight of him. He didn’t know what to say, or what to do, because over the week she seemed to have grown only more beautiful. He didn’t know that was possible.

“Draco,” she called, and George almost ran out right then. She had already replaced him with the man he had been worried about all along. But then the blond popped out from the backroom, “Can you take over for a moment?”

Draco looked ready to argue, to offer his opinion on Hannah disappearing anywhere with the man who had destroyed her, but he stayed silent, pulling out the broom to sweep up the glass. All he said was with a sharp dirty look sent across the bar, and it said it all it needed to.

‘I’ve killed for her before.’

She almost rushed over to him and led him through the crowds into the backroom. His heart soared to have her hand in his, and everything vile he had thought since he entered the bar was sucked out of him like a vacuum. The moment the crowd was gone he urgency disappeared and she looked just as nervous as he felt.

“Draco and I never-.”

“I know.”

“And I’m not trying to be Fred, I just-.”

“I know.”

“And I just want you to forgive me, and I want you to hold me, but if you’re here to say goodbye, please make it quick, because I-.”

“Hannah,” he interrupted pulling her into his arms. She melted instantly. “I know, I know it all, and I’m so very sorry, I didn’t mean it, I just let Ron get to me, you’re more than enough, you’re more than I could ever ask for, you’re the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me. None of this is your fault, I was stupid and spiteful.” She was crying now. “I’ve been a mess every moment you’ve been gone, and if you’re willing, come back, please come back.” She nodded quickly, wiping away tears.

He kissed her and it was like all the clouds had suddenly vanished. She wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him back with the same starvation. It had been so long, too long, and he never wanted her gone from his side ever again. It was true what they say about not knowing what you have until you lose it. He had lost her, and before this very moment, he was sure it was forever.

Now that she was back in his arms, he was never going to let her go again, not when she fit so perfectly.

[wexhappyxfew]

i’ve been meaning to do this for quite some time now and the time hit me later this evening and bam! this is for @mercurygray ‘s challenge she had set for valentine’s day and the time never really came for me during that portion of the month and so i decided to do it a bit later on and yay the time finally arrived lol! so, this is my take on a new oc + a blind date idea with my favorite boy! :) enjoy!!

introducing minnie thomas of whitley, england!

The Primrose by the Riverbed

London, England - December, 1943

London had always been her dream as a child.

To walk the cobblestone streets, sit on the wooden benches of the parks, feed the birds that flew through the sky, and visit the pubs late into the night.

Yet dreams were always fleeting in her time.

Living in the town of Whitley, she spent her days in the fields by the South Brook, picking flowers from the ground and running up the mud covered banks, while racing through fields of soft, sun-kissed grass; her youth had been bred for her there.

But with the food shortages and the high unemployment rates, dinner some nights had been nothing more than bread that had to be portioned out throughout the week for a family of 6, and a stick of weekly butter that had to spare the family for just long enough.

Of course, they had the two cows in the wooden farm on the plot of land her father had in his family for generations, and they provided just a meager amount of milk for breakfast in the morning. The chickens didn't produce enough eggs anymore, but Minnie almost always forgave the little things, they were old girls anyway - she didn't blame them. When the war had come, the war effort picked up, stock increased, the factories were moving ahead in production well enough, and suddenly there was an air of a willingness to fight, to continue to grow as a nation and unite, and finally come together as one.

That's when Harvey and Chester had been drafted for the war and communication had dwindled to letters that drew even more rare as the modern slew of war took its affect.

Little Vivian had watched them go off, and her optimism had stayed for a few days before disappearing when she realized her brothers might never come home.

And so Minnie did what she could for her younger sister along with her parents - working odd jobs throughout the day, traveling to surrounding towns at night to work jobs at the local pubs, just to bring in a spare bit of money to place in the jar on the wooden counter by the kitchen sink window.

London became a reality once she had taken a chance at singing in Swindon in early 1941 on a cold evening in March.

The Old Thameside Inn had been her residence for that evening in December, sitting at the bar, drumming her fingers against the glass of water in front of her, listening to the gentle thrum of one of the singers, sing the sad, soulful tune, which squeezed just a bit tighter at her heart than normal.

The chatter amongst the crowd in the pub danced through the ear drums and the sweet scent of perfumes and flowers that dusted the tables settled about the place.

The jingle of the bell that rung at the entrance where little off-white lights were currently lit, dinged a little tune and Minnie glanced over her shoulder the slightest bit to find a group of American men sauntering in.

They seemed to swagger, moving from side to side, their voices breaking through the low chatter of the London townsfolk. Minnie curiously tilted her head to the side and watched them, if what she could suggest was, playfully smack the other with a brother-like affection, before sharing the cigarette rolled in between their finger tips.

Minnie turned around again, snuggling a bit into her pale green dress, the Mary-Janes strapped to her feet with the little white-lace socks, hanging just above the ground. It was quiet again.

" Hey there." a voice said from her left and Minnie felt her cheeks warm the slightest bit as she, quite innocently, glanced to her left, peaking a brow upwards towards whoever was now seated beside her.

They were American and their accent, though not terribly thick, she could tell they were American. His hair was quite gelled, hanging in his eyes a little bit, but they were bright, the soft brown glowing in the irises, and a boyish smile drawn on his lips. His uniform was a little disheveled but if anything, it made the dimple in her cheek appear from the nervous smile that had appeared on her lips.

" Hello." she said quietly, nervously tapping the side of the glass of water in front of her. Minnie watched the man smile at the sound of her voice and sat upright quite proudly beside her.


" All alone?" Minnie watched him - quite the greeting, she suspected it were an American thing - and as if in a joking tone, mimicked him in sitting upright beside him. She watched him smirk.

" Maybe." she said, attempting to elegantly shrug her shoulders, smiling again beside him as she looked upwards towards him. The man beside her let out a chuckle, which made her stomach flip a bit inside, like a rupture of butterflies had been let go.

" Any suggestions then?" the man asked her," For a good drink?" Minnie let out a small laugh, feeling a soft glow of pink dust upon her cheeks as she met his gaze.

" Well...I've heard they have fantastic fresh-brewed beer." she said, nodding up towards him with a wide smile," Some of the best in all of London." The soldier smiled a gentle smile.

" You seem to know the place well then." he said and she smiled, before shyly looking towards him.

" Minnie Thomas." she said, holding her hand out towards him. The man smirked gently before bringing his hand forward to shake her own.


" Joe Liebgott," he said, before leaning forward a bit, “ Joseph - if we wanna get fancy." Minnie laughed at his teasing tone as they retracted hands and returned to occupying their individual pub seats.

" It's nice to meet you then, Joseph Liebgott." she said and Joe chuckled as he glanced at her.

" The pleasure's mine, Minnie Thomas." he said and Minnie grinned, before clearing her throat.


" What brings you to London?" she asked quietly, tapping her fingers against the edge of her glass of water," Besides the war." Joe smiled.

" A few of my buddies and I wanted some time out here before training really picked up here. Don over there thought this was the place to be. Saw it in a paper." Joe explained and Minnie couldn't help but feel a smile grow on her face at the thought of the little Inn where her first gig had been, finally growing.

" Then I welcome you to London." Minnie said, sitting up straight again, a little mimic of the man," Just outside you have the Thames River, London Bridge just beyond that and King's College just a bit deeper inward, shops along the side, parks residing on many corners and newspaper shops just nearby. And a few secret pubs that I could possibly gain you access to if you are so inclined." She smiled wide towards him as she sipped her water, watching a chuckle arise again.

" You grew up here then?" Minnie felt her shoulders drop a bit as she clasped her hands together in front of her.

" It was always my dream." she said, smiling softly towards him as a round of cheers for the singer on the stage finished their song. Joe glanced over her shoulder, but then softly found her eyes again.

" You didn't...?" Minnie giggled, shaking her head.

" I'm afraid not." she said as Joe laughed.

" Man, who would've thought, you know the place so well." he said and Minnie laughed lightly.

" Whitley was my home and I feel it always will be." she said, smiling at the thought of the little home by the South Brook with the wildflowers and the rocks and the mudbanks. She smiled wider again and looked towards him.

" It was beautiful. Just a cottage, by a brook, 2 cows, a few chickens. It was....peaceful. Somedays, especially today I just wish I could just go back, forget the war, forget it all." Minnie said, and Joe grinned.


" Peace sounds nice." he said and Minnie giggled at his slightly nervous laughter that emitted in his words," Maybe that's a dream that'll come true too." Minnie glanced at him softly, watching him in the soft light of the pub, his dark eyes watching her form, such a gentle aura radiating from his being as he said there watching her.

" For both of us." she said quietly and Joe watched her, leaned up against the pub table quietly, with his gaze resting on hers.

“ I hope you get that some day, Joe.” she said quietly to him, gently reaching her hands forward to take one of his warm hands in her own, his soft skin, paired with his calloused palms clasped in her own as he softly glanced up towards her, feeling as she cradled his hand so carefully within her own.

Joe watched her softly, this young woman who could’ve been no older than 20, stand there as if she were some sort of primrose by the river, an ethereal being or even a gentle doe in the mist of an early morn where the sun rays were nearly blinding but to the point where it was a soft comfort in those hours.

Joe took her hands this time within his own and held them, watching them softly, feeling the want to just hold them and never let go. Yet, in this sleepy pub by the London Bridge and the Thames river, it was almost as if on a whim the two knew they’d never cross paths again. Maybe in another life where young love rekindled the tiny spark that was made this cold December eve, maybe a time where war and an ocean didn’t separate the two souls alike, and there wasn’t an enemy in their path.

Maybe.

Brushing his lips against the tender skin of her sweet-smelling hands, like a hint of rosemary almost, he pressed a soft kiss there. As if a hope that she’d find the peace she had always wanted and that he would someday do the same. Maybe not tonight but in the future that called their name.

Minnie watched Joe as he softly pulled back and held her hands in his own for a fleeting moment after.

Just a boy and a girl, sat in the dimly lit pub that smelled of winter air and the sad, soulful song of the singer on stage, warped by war and an ocean apart, yet held together by that string of hope for a possible sprinkle of peace in both their futures.

Just maybe.

[theobligatedklutz]

ray falling head over heals for rose when he went to one of their shows to support his cousin nayelis, drummer of rose & the petal pushers. she played piano and guitar and he was awe struck by the sheer joy she had playing and interacting with the crowd; it was infectious. his palms were sweaty when nayelis tugged his arm and shoved him in rose's direction. rose looked so self assured. (he finds out later, she was nervous, too. nayelis told her about ray, she thought they would be a 1/2

ANON, YOUR MIND. 

So I'm going to cry. But I am also going to take your hcs and run with them:

Nayelis is 15 when she meets Rose. She is this confident, beautiful woman and she works the room with an unimaginable charm so naturally, she and Nayelis become best friends in a span of a day. Their love of music is what really brings them together. Rose shreds on the keyboard and guitar. She is incredible. They end up writing a ton of songs together and Rose quickly learns that Nayelis is soft inside but rough around the edges, poetry epitomized.

Rose introduces Nayelis to her childhood friends, Kiera and Ashlyn. And the four of them can't seem to get enough of each other. Kiera is chaotic, can chug seven sodas in a matter of minutes (three minutes is her best record) and it's literally never a dull day with her in sight. Ashlyn is the one who gets them out of trouble most of the time - and they get into trouble a lot - and is perpetually tired of their shenanigans but lets it slide because she secretly loves them too much.  

And so forms Rose and the Petal Pushers with Rose as lead singer and guitarist, Nayelis as drummer, Kiera on the keyboard and Ashlyn on the bass.

At 17, she meets Sunset Curve working the Orpheum Theatre. They are up and coming, they sound fantastic and their music touches Rose's soul. The lyrics to Now or Never seem to resonate with her at a deeper level than most songs that bounce around the walls of the theatre. She is absolutely digging their vibe even after Reggie, their bassist, tries terribly to flirt with her- I mean “size beautiful” come on now. But Bobby is the dorkiest, attempting to nervously ask her out after his other band mates go out for hot dogs. That whole incident sours drastically when the news of Luke, Reggie and Alex's death reach them.

Bobby and Rose end up somehow getting closer after the tragedy, they go on a few dates too but it doesn’t stick. It just never becomes romantic between them so they end up being good friends.

At 21, Rose and the Petal Pushers get a lot of gigs because Rose has an "in" with most of the cafes and clubs around town. Since 16, she's bounced from job to job waitressing and bartending so of course she does. And they are popular amongst the teens like no other. They rise even higher when they produce a demo, get even more gigs and it's at their set at the Oracle Theatre that everything falls into place. Rose is swaying to the music, feeling like the strings of her guitar have become part of her, her limbs, everything is so natural and every beat sounds like the badum badum badum of their hearts, it all feels like a dream and Rose realizes this is what she is destined for when she hears the roar of the crowd as she sings the chorus and she can't help but laugh into the lyrics just a little. The crowd takes it all in like they're in desperate need of her infectious joy.

Nayelis introduces Rose to her cousin, Ray, afterwards. She's mentioned him before, how he was a really amazing photographer and he could really do a rad album cover for them. But she had also mentioned Ray was totally her type and "are you trying to set me up with your cousin?" "So what if I am, Ro, music has been your life pretty much all your life. Live a little." "I'm fine, thank you very much." But Nayelis had failed to mention that Ray is adorable.

He's fidgeting and she can't help get nervous because he's cute. There's this shine in his grey? green? eyes like he knows Rose, like they've connected somehow. There's a raspyness to his voice, like he's a little out of breath, as he tells Rose she was fantastic up there. And Rose tries to be smooth, she really does but Ray is still looking at her like that and of course, she gets more nervous but she's got practice being something she's not: confident.

They dance around each other like the dumbasses they are. Nayelis can't stand it, it's so painful to watch. Somehow they've ended up friends, really good friends. Ray is willing to pluck the bright hot stars right out of the night sky for Rose and Rose has Ray withdrawals whenever he's not around. They seem to fit together like a puzzle, Rose's rambunctiousness and Ray's softspokenness.

He brings Dahlias for her whenever he shows up to "hangout" and one day, Nayelis just about loses it when he shows up at band practice- they are practicing for the Orpheum, it's their big night in two days and Ray is here and Nayelis knows that if she wants Rose to bring lovejoylife into their performance, she needs Rose and Ray to get their shit together so she gives fate one last chance before she'll butt in and do it herself.

She drags Ashlyn and Kiera out the door, tells Rose they're going to take a small break and leaves her cousin and best friend alone in the garage. And Rose doesn't waste any time dragging Ray over to the piano - "I wrote a little thing for you, I wanna show you" -, they sit down, sides pressed together and shoulders brushing and she starts delicately playing a soft tune on the piano. Her voice comes in after a little while into the music and it is so beautiful, so angelic, Ray feels light. And the song is about seeing so many faces but not recognizing a single soul, not until you came into my life and then everything turned sharp and full and vivid and colored. Her nimble fingers move against the keys in a graceful dance. Her side profile is lit up by the sunlight filtering through the windows and with that voice, she seems like she doesn't belong on earth, she looks otherworldly. Ray knows she's singing about him and it makes him giddy, he feels like he's going to float off into space. Rose stops suddenly then and turns her face towards him and he freezes. They are so close, there's merely an inch between them. And she kisses him, soft and slow, much like her fingers against the piano and her silky voice. And he kisses back like he's been waiting for a lifetime and honestly, he has.

Kiera, Ashlyn and Nayelis watch from the garage window with goofy smiles plastered on their faces. They play the best show known to man at the Orpheum that Friday.

It's nearly July in 2021 when Julie finds a fraying fading photograph cleaning her dad's folders off the dinner table. It falls out from one of his many work binders and Julie picks it up slowly and carefully. Julie's mouth falls open. There are four girls in the photo, they are standing in a garage much like the one they have. The girl with the wild curls is definitely her mother, unmistakably so by that bright smile on her face. She's wearing a guitar against her hip and has the rock-on fingers up. And Julie takes a minute to take in the other women and then recognition dawns, there's the drummer, Aunt Nayelis Molina, her faded brown hair longer and tucked into a pony tail. There's Kiera Simmons, Flynn's mother, she looks the same as she does now - and Julie is shocked because how does she still look so young??- her braids flailing about as she pretends to play the keyboard. And then there's Ashlyn Wilson. Same features except her hair is shorter and dyed pink at the tips, she's wearing more leather and has a bass against her side. And oh my god, it all makes sense. These are Flynn and Carrie's moms standing together on a stage next to her mom and Aunt Nayelis. They were in a band together. Rose and the Petal Pushers is the name written on the drumset- the same name on the ticket in her mom's clothing chest. And it all makes sense! How Carrie and Flynn had always been by her side, how she has known these girls since she was old enough to remember.

Something else dawns on her, she understands now why she felt such automatic attraction to Luke on stage. She brushes a finger against the guitar settled on Rose Molina's hip. Guitar. Luke somehow unknowingly reminded her of the same energy her mother had when she played the guitar on stage and for her in the studio. The same connection to the audience. The same willingness to leaves pieces of themselves with the crowd. The same love for music and mayhem. And Julie stands there in silence because this world is too small, time is too short and too grand simultaneously, there are all these webbed connections she didn't even know about and it should be overwhelming but it all slots together perfectly.