#honestly toasts was the most satisfying to finish | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kireimarkeu · 3 years

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Day 1 ◑; l.mk

+repost!

summary; what its like to have mark lee as your college boyfriend for a whole month :3

5k words

+Day 1, Monday, 6:00 AM

You let out a whine when you hear the alarm ring from Mark's phone. You hit his chest repeatedly, eyes still closed, eyebrows furrowed in annoyance.

"Switch it off~" you whine, cuddling closer to his chest, pulling his arm around you to cover your ears from the blaring sound.

Mark opened his eyes but soon squinted at the bright light. He rubbed his eyes harshly, leaning up a little to turn off the noisy sound.

He looked down at you, a lazy smile plastered on his lips. Quickly, Mark leaned down to press his lips against your forehead.

"I'll go shower first, I’ll wake you up when I’m done, okay?"

You didn't reply, instead, you turn around to continue sleeping, hugging the pillows this time. Mark couldn't help but laugh at how cute you were. Shaking his head, he removed the arm that you were holding and got up to get ready for the first day of the final year in college.

Almost an hour later, you were seated down on the chair, facing the mirror as you applied make up on your face.

Once Mark saw you place the mascara back in place, "done?"

You nodded at your boyfriend and grabbed your bag that was laying on the bed.

"Let's go," you mouthed, reaching out to hold Mark's hand.

You thanked god every day that college was only walking distance from your place. You didn't need to wake up too early and you won't be too late if you overslept.

+Day 2, Tuesday, 12:59 PM

You stared at your lecturer, your cheeks resting against your palm. You gave up on taking down notes– you had the whole lecture recorded anyways.

Finally, after 2 hours of non-stop accounting, the lecturer dismissed the class.

You fished out your phone after packing all your things quickly.

You: babe

You: are you done?

Usually, your boyfriend would reply to you instantly, but this time, he was taking some time. You pouted a little but continued to leave class.

Once you walked through the door, you saw Mark leaning against the locker, waiting for you. When he finally saw you, a grin spread across his lips.

"Mark!" you squealed, running up to your cute boyfriend, wrapping your arms around his torso, mark squeezed you against his chest.

"Hi, babe," he leaned down to press his lips on your cold cheeks. Mark reached to grab your hand in his, he was surprised at how cold your hand were. "Your hands are so cold!" he gasped, his hands rubbing over yours to warm yours up.

"I just got out of an air-conditioned room, dummy," you giggled. You tugged at his hand, "Lets goooo~" you whined, "I’m hungry."

Mark and you met a little more than a year ago through mutual friends. The first time both of you met, you barely noticed Mark. He was so quiet. Too quiet.

But Mark noticed you ever since you walked through the cafe's door. He was usually a noisy guy– someone who enjoyed laughing and smiling at everything. But once he saw you, he didn't want to embarrass himself and opted to be silent the whole night.

You were so pretty. So kind, and so carefree. He liked you. The next day, he forced Jaehyun to give him your number.

Ever since then, both of you instantly clicked and he finally asked you to be his girlfriend– something he's so thankful for. He wouldn't know what he would be doing without you.

Ever since, 5 months ago, Mark has never failed to always meet you before lunch. It wasn't always, though. The both of you were taking different courses, hence both your timetable are different. But there were times where both of you would have lunch at the same time.

Luckily, this year, both of you have 3 lunch breaks together out of 5 days.

"What do you feel like eating?" Mark asks you, scanning the noisy room.

It was 1 PM, so there weren't so many people in the canteen. It was usually only at noon then, both of you would have trouble trying to find seats.

You hummed, "Chinese?"

+Day 3, Wednesday, 5:08 PM

A grin formed on your lips when you saw Mark waiting for you after your last class.

Running up to him, “Hiiiii~ Mark,” you giggled.

Mark simply chuckled at you, his hands going up to your hair to pat your head softly.

“Did you wait long?” you asked as the both of you started walking home.

He shook his head no. “Ah right!” Mark exclaimed as you looked at him with raised eyebrows. He suddenly pulled a black hair tie from his wrist, “you forgot to take this from me after lunch,” he told you, passing you your hair tie.

“Oh,” you grabbed your hair tie from him, thanking him by pressing your lips on his cheek.

+Day 4, Thursday, 8:34 AM

"Mark, I swear to god, it's only 4 days in–" you stop in your tracks to shut the door before turning around to face your boyfriend, "and I’m late."

It was that day. The day where Mark started class late that day but you started at 8 but ended when his class started.

Mark would occasionally wake up early just to send you to class. It was the least he could do for his favourite person.

Mark chuckled at how you were struggling to carry your bag. He reached out to grab your bag from you, and swing it over his shoulders as you mumbled out an incoherent 'thank you'.

"Well, thank god, you have me," Mark joked, as he started walking, you following soon after. You laughed at his words, but soon choked on the bread you were munching on. Mark patted your back, "Jeez, eat slowly, girl."

You let out a loud cough then cleared your throat. "Fourth day in, and I almost died."

+Day 7, Friday, 3:07 PM

“IT’S FRIDAY, BABY!” you yelled out with all your might, eyes closed, both arms stretched out.

Mark laughed at you but quickly covered your mouth with his hand, still giggling at you. “Stop! You’re embarrassing the both of us!” he laughed, grabbing your hand to drag you from the annoyed stares people were giving you.

+Day 6, Saturday, 10:05 AM

You woke up at 10 am, no blaring sounds of the alarm clock. A small satisfied small formed on your lips. You turned in Mark's arms, hand going up to his warm cheek.

"Markkk~" you murmured. "wake up..."

Your boyfriend let out a soft whine, shifting with you in his arms. A huff left your lips when he squeezed you tighter in his arms and pulled you upon his chest.

"Ah, Mark! Come on, wake upppp you poopoo head~" you squeezed his cheek softly. "We can't waste the day!!"

Mark whined and pulled away from you, turning away from you to lie on the other side, facing the window. You huffed, getting up to a sitting position, squeezing mark’s squishy arm, tugging on it multiple times.

“Baaabe~ 5 more minutes, okay?” the cute boy mumbled into his pillow, pulling his arm away from your hold.

You squint your eyes at your boyfriend. Letting out a long exhale, you got out of bed to make breakfast for the both of you. “I’m making breakfast so meet me in the kitchen in 15, okay?” you told mark, who simply hummed at your words.

Honestly, you weren’t a very good cook, but for the sake of survival, you could make a simple toast and eggs. You quickly made toast and cook the eggs, then filling the table with Nutella, butter and strawberry jam.

20 minutes later, Mark came in the kitchen with tousled hair, round gold glasses perched on his nose, eyes barely open and his pants hanging low on his hips.

“Hi,” he mumbled, yawning quickly after.

Your right hand was holding a plate filled with toasts, while your left was holding a plate of scrambled eggs. You look up at your boyfriend, smiling at him, you quickly pressed your lips to his jaw before going to the small table to place your food.

“Come, Mark! Breakfast’s ready.”

+Day 7, Sunday, 9:58 PM

Mark and you could be different at times. Mark was the hardworking type. He would finish whatever homework his lecturer gave, he would go through his notes that he had written down during lecture and would usually spend his Sunday studying.

Meanwhile, you preferred not to do any homework because you think it was the biggest waste of time. It’s one day before the weekday, why would you study when you will be studying the following day anyway?

“Hey, Mark?” you called from the couch you were sitting on.

Mark hummed, however, his eyes were glued onto his messy notes.

“Will you follow me go get ice cream?” you asked your boyfriend, a glint of hope in your eyes because you could predict his answer whenever you ask a simple question.

“I’m busy, sweet,” you mouthed the exact time when he said those words. You rolled your eyes.

“But, Mark, I’m seriously craving for ice cream right now,” you whined with a pout.

When he didn’t reply, you got down from the couch to sit next to the boy, wrapping your arms around his torso and resting your cheek on his shoulder.

“Please, Mark~~”

The reason you were so clingy was because Mark didn’t spare you a glance the whole day, which upsets you a little because you forgot how he was like every Sunday.

“we’ll go after I’m done with this, okay baby?” he whispered, pressing his lips near your ear, still not looking at you.

Let’s just say you’re not getting your ice cream today.

+Day 8, Monday, 7:15 AM

“I am going to fucking kill myself,” you mumbled to yourself as you put on mascara.

Mark could only chuckle at you from the bed.

+Day 9, Tuesday, 7:04 PM

Mark and you were lying on your shared bed, holding hands in the middle of the bed as Mark talked about his day. You laughed when he told a funny story that happened in class earlier

It was moments like this where you realise you loved Mark the most. Simply talking about things that happened throughout the day.

“What happened today, babe?” Mark asked after he finished telling you everything he wanted to tell you.

“Well, we have a project to do,” you sighed, “something I forgot we had in college,” you said sarcastically with a roll of your eyes.

“Group project?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, “I’m partnered with Jaemin. It’s a duo project.”

“I see.”

Silence suddenly filled the air. Comfortable silence. Both of you appreciating each other’s presence.

“Do you wanna know something?” he asked you, turning his head to look at you.

“What?”

“A girl confessed to me today.”

Your heartbeat started to pick up.

“Who?” you asked.

You had thoughts that Mark would leave you for someone else before. Maybe not Mark, but you leaving him for someone else and that scared you a lot. You loved Mark with your whole heart and you have never thought of him being with someone that isn’t you.

“You don’t know her,” he mumbled, “she’s from my class.”

You felt him squeeze your hand.

You pursed your lips, “What did she say?”

“She told me she liked me.”

You pulled your hand away from your boyfriend’s hold and turned to face him, “And what did you tell her?”

“I had a girlfriend and I wasn’t interested,” he explained with wide eyes.

+Day 10, Wednesday, 3:38 PM

You: hi b

You: I’m coming back late tody!

You: don’t wait for me

Mark Pee: okok

Mark Pee: where are you going?

You: jaemin’s place ): for project

Mark Pee: okk

Mark Pee: do you want me to fetch you from his place?

You: yes, please!

You: I’ll text you when I’m done! Love u

+Day 11, Thursday, 11:02 AM

“Ah, fuck!” you cursed, biting your lips in annoyance. You turned to look at your boyfriend, “Mark, I’m not getting lunch today.”

He raised his eyebrows in confusion at you. The both of you were already queuing up for food, and now you’re not eating?

“I forgot to bring my money today,” you explained with a pout.

When you got home from Jaemin’s place yesterday, you immediately passed out after taking a cold shower. You forgot to grab some cash from your piggy bank today, where you usually kept some cash.

Mark quickly fished out his wallet and pulled out a 5 dollar bill and handed it to you.

You pushed his hand away, “Mark, it’s fine.”

He shook his head, “its fine, you’re hungry, right?”

You tip-toed to press your lips against his cheek, “I owe you frozen yoghurt after school.”

+Day 12, Friday, 2:34 PM

Marker: where r u?

You: oh shit I forgot to tell you

You: I’m with jae again!!

You: for the project

Marker: oh

Marker: why didn’t you tell me earlier haha

You: sorry ):

You: were you waiting for me?

Marker: yeah haha but it’s okay, I’m going home now

You: oh, sorry Markie ): I’ll come back early to make it up to you okay?

Marker: I’ll wait for you (:

+Day 13, Saturday, 11:18 AM

Mark continued to ignore you, despite the way you were hanging around him, trying to hold his hand to stop him from moving around, but it didn’t work.

Yesterday when you had come home really late, despite the promise you made with Mark. When Jaemin and you finished the project yesterday, Jaemin had asked you to stay a little longer at his place to Mario Kart. Forgetting that you had promise Mark just a few hours ago, you stayed at his place until almost midnight and never told Mark.

He was furious when you came back home.

Once you walked through the door with a grin on your face, Mark quickly lashed out at you.

“What happened to coming home early, y/n?” Mark asked angrily, hands crossed against his chest.

Mark only called you by your name when he was being completely serious.

“It’s almost midnight and you’re only coming back home now?” he questioned you again with his hands placed on his hips this time. You could only keep quiet and keep your head down. “Do you know how dangerous it is for a girl to go home alone at this timing?”

You bit your lips, looking down at your feet, “I didn’t walk home alone… Jaemin sent me…”

Mark could feel his heart shatter when you spoke his name. It hurt him.

“Right,” he mumbled, turning around to go back to bed.

You followed your boyfriend to your shared room, putting your bag on the chair, quickly changing to his clothes then slipping next to Mark who had his back face you.

You wrapped your arms around his waist, pressing your front against his back. “Mark.” You kissed his bare shoulder, “Are you mad?”

You let out a sigh when he ignored you, “I love you.” You whispered, pressing a long kiss on his shoulder then another on his neck. “I really do.”

When you woke up this morning, you were shocked to see your boyfriend giving you the silent treatment.

You sent him a pout when he sat down on the couch without uttering a single word. You waddled up to your boyfriend, quickly sitting on what’s yours— his lap. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you brought your face closer to his, noticing his flushed cheeks.

“Are you still angry at me?” you asked him, you leaned closer, nose touching, “hm?” this time you quickly pressed your lips on his, “are you?”

Mark parted his lips, hands going up to hold your hips, “don’t tease.”

+Day 14, Sunday, 8:07 AM

“Who’s that?” Mark groan at the non-stop vibrations of your phone.

You turned around in Mark’s arms, grabbing your phone to see who was texting you this morning.

“It’s Jaemin,” you replied, voice still hoarse. “He wants to meet me to finish up the project.”

“No,” Mark immediately replied, pulling you back into his chest, chin resting on the top of your head. “You can meet him tomorrow, I wanna spend time with my baby.”

You closed your eyes as you smile against Mark’s chest, “I like that.”

+Day 15, Monday, 7.39 AM

“Babe!” Mark whispered harshly, shaking you by your arm, “wake up!”

You turned around, pushing his hand away, “I don’t have class today.”

Mark raised his eyebrows, confused, “you don’t?”

You shook your head, opening your eyes a little, hands going up to hold Mark’s cheeks against your hand, “I don’t. My lecturer cancelled class today.”

He sent you a sweet smile, “Okay. Go back to sleep, babe.”

Mark leaned down to kiss your head quickly before standing up to leave, but you reached out to hold his wrist, stopping him from leaving you.

“What time do you end class today?”

“4 pm.”

***

When Mark walked down the steps, he was surprised to see you waiting for him outside of school, sitting on the bench with a pout on your lips, waiting for your boyfriend.

Mark speed up his pace to go to you.

“Babe!” he called, “what are you doing here?” a huge grin plastered on his face.

“You’re always waiting for me, so I decided to do the same!” you told your boyfriend.

Mark cooed at you, placing his water bottle under his armpits as he reached out to squish your cheeks between his fingers, “you’re so cute y/n.”

You let out a whine, pulling away from his harsh grip, “let’s go.”

Before you could walk away, Mark holds you back by gripping your hand. You raised your eyebrows at your boyfriend.

“I’m craving for ice cream,” he told you cheekily.

+Day 16, Tuesday, 4:35 PM

You dip your spoon into the mango flavoured ice-cream, bringing it into your mouth, savouring the sweet taste.

“Mark, it’s your third time we’ve eaten ice cream after class this week. Are you not tired of it?” you asked the boy who was sitting opposite of you.

“Nope,” he shook his head with a small smile as he looked up at you, “never with my favourite girl.”

Blushing, you scoop some ice cream into your spoon and forcefully pushed it between Mark’s lips as his eyes glistened with happiness.

+Day 17, Wednesday, 11:18 AM

Mark had his laptop perched on his lap, his round glasses sitting on his nose while his eyes were trained on the computer.

Meanwhile, you were sitting on the floor, laptop on your right while papers filled the coffee table. Your hair was tied into a messy bun—a very ugly messy bun. You scratched your hair in frustration and let out a long exhausted sigh.

Mark had his eyes on you for a while now, he noticed how frustrated you were. And there were times where things like this happen—where you get too stressed over school and would overthink.

“You okay there, babe?” Mark asked quietly, leaning a little towards you. He hesitated on placing his hand on your shoulder—he opted not to.

You turn around to look at your boyfriend, tears brimming your eyes, nose rosy. You quickly shook your head no.

“Oh, honey.”

Mark quickly put his laptop away and took a seat next to you, immediately pulling you into his arms. Once you snuggled against his neck, tears started pouring out of your eyes. Mark wasn’t very good at comforting and you knew that.

He simply patted your back softly, placing soft kisses on your hair repeatedly.

Once you pulled away from his neck with a sniffle, Mark smiled at you, “better?”

You nodded, rubbing your nose, you looked up at him with a teary gaze, “can you help me with this?”

Despite both of you learning different things in school, that didn’t stop both of you from helping each other.

“Of course, angel.”

And Mark explained to you what you didn’t understand. It took you some time to understand him, but Mark was always patient with you.

Once you finally got it, he pressed a kiss on your temple, “you’re so smart, babe.”

+Day 18, Thursday, 4:34 PM

You waited for Mark outside of school, excited to tell him about how well you did for your presentation earlier. But Mark hasn’t come out after an hour.

The both of you were supposed to end at the same time today, but why isn’t he coming?

You fished out your phone to send your boyfriend a text,

You: helo where are you ):

You: im waiting for you outside

Unfortunately for you, he didn’t reply. To make things worse, it started raining heavily from where you were. Luckily you were waiting for him under a shelter.

With a sigh, you decided to scroll through Instagram while waiting for your boyfriend. Your eyes widened in curiosity when you noticed Mark had posted something on his Insta Story. Curious, you clicked on his profile to see a video of a girl sitting in front of him in a café.

You were pissed. Mark could’ve told you that he would be out with someone else that day—but he didn’t.

You thought of replying to his story but you didn’t, wanting to be the mature one in the relationship.

Just as you were about to leave, you heard someone call your name. Turning around, your eyes widened and a smile appeared on your lips when you noticed Jaemin running towards you.

“What are you doing here?” Jaemin asked you, “do you have an umbrella?”

You shook your head while jutting your lips out.

“Come. I’ll send you home,” he told you with a sweet smile. You opened your mouth, ready to reject his offer, but before you could, Jaemin had already held your hand, pulling you under the umbrella with him.

On the way home, Jaemin and you couldn’t stop laughing at each other’s jokes. The both of you were so bright on a gloomy day. Jaemin suggested the both of you stayed indoors for a while, which you agreed to.

Both of you stayed in a café that Jaemin had suggested. Both of you spent hours in the café laughing at jokes and trying different cakes.

When you reached home with Jaemin, you were ready to put your key in the hole, the door was opened by Mark. An angry Mark.

“What are you doing here?” Mark asked Jaemin with a sharp glare, pulling you towards his side.

“Ah, Mark, Jaemin sent me home because it was raining,” you explained, looking up at Mark.

Mark turned to you angrily, “why didn’t you—”

“Anyways, Jaemin, thank you for sending me home. I owe you one,” you quickly hugged Jaemin.

Jaemin chuckled, “anything for you, y/n.”

+Day 19, Friday, 12:48 PM

“Are you really going to fucking act this way?” you asked Mark angrily, hands placed on your hips.

Mark rolled his eyes as he walked away from you, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You followed him, annoyed at how he was avoiding you, “stop walking around when I’m talking to you!”

He stopped in his tracks and faced you, frustration spread all across his face.

“Why are you acting this way, Mark?” you asked him again, “you act like this every time I hang out with Jaemin.”

Mark took a deep breath, looking at anything but you, “maybe I don’t like you hanging out with Jaemin.”

You scoffed at your boyfriend’s words, “you know, yesterday wouldn’t have happened if you told me you were going out with someone.”

He kept quiet this time, he wasn’t sure what to say. Mark looked at you before walking away from you again.

“Fine! Just leave like at times like this! Just like you always do!” you yelled out at him, “so childish,” you mumbled under your breath.

+Day 20, Saturday, 8:56 PM

“Fucking Mark Lee,” you cursed, “always being childish over something small,” you rambled on, throwing the pan in the sink loudly, “why is he even my fucking boyfriend? Why did I even accept him?”

When you woke up today, Mark was gone. You didn’t think much about it, but when Mark wasn’t home after 3 pm, you started getting annoyed. You woke up at 8 am today, meaning he had left even before you had woken up.

The moment you checked his Insta Story, he had left to hang out with the same girl 2 days ago.

“Did he think I would get jealous over that dumb girl?” you scoffed, scrubbing the dishes roughly, “he thought wrong.”

At first, you didn’t think much about it, but after a few hours, you started stalking the girl’s account and constantly checked if Mark had uploaded anything on his Insta Story.

“I hate Mark. He’s so good at making me feel like shit.”

Just as you said that, you heard the front door slam. You took a deep breath before approaching Mark.

You went up to him, stopping him with your small figure, “Where were you?” you asked.

“What are you? My mom?” he rolled his eyes. “I was with someone.”

Mark walked past you but you stopped him again as he let out an annoyed sigh.

“Who?”

He turned around in exasperation, “Naeun.”

You crossed your arms, “since when did you both get close, huh?” you asked.

“Since she told me she liked me.”

+Day 21, Sunday, 10:09 PM

Today, Mark didn’t go out. You didn’t either.

You couldn’t stop thinking about what Mark had said yesterday. So mark went out with someone who had feelings for him.

Does she know Mark has a girlfriend? Will Mark like her back? Will Mark leave you? Has Mark fallen out of love?

You broke out of a daze when you felt something nudge your hand. You looked up at Mark who was looking down at you.

“Huh?” you asked, stunned.

He nodded his chin towards the bowl he was holding, “Eat,” he told you. You raised your eyebrows at him. He looked away, clearing his throat, “you haven’t eaten anything the whole day.”

You looked down at the bowl. Mark had made fried rice with a messy egg laid on top. A small smile spread across your lips.

He still cares.

You gripped the bowl in your hand, “thank you.”

+Day 22, Monday, 7:37 PM

“Hey,” Mark nudged your shoulder, “do you want anything?”

“What are you getting?” you asked, however, your eyes were fixed on your laptop as your lips bit on the string of your—Mark’s hoodie.

“Western.”

You frown, shaking your head, “No, I’m good.”

“Kay.”

***

The smell of fish & chips hit your nose, as you immediately looked up to see where the smell was coming from. Your eyes landed on Mark who had his plate of food sited on his lap.

You lick your lips at the sight and smell of the delicious food. Mark squint his eyes mischievously at you.

“Mark,” you called, “can I have some?” you asked, looking up at your boyfriend with a glint of hope in your eyes.

Your boyfriend didn’t hesitate to cut up a piece and dip it in the sauce and feed you. You looked up at your boyfriend with a cute smile while munching on the delicious food as you went back to focus on your work.

20 minutes later, instead of Mark eating, he was feeding you instead.

“I thought you didn’t want any,” Mark grumbled while placing the fork between your lips.

You looked up at Mark playfully, sending him a cheeky smile, “it’s really good.”

“Really?” Mark feigned confusion, “I never tried it,” he said plainly with a straight face.

You pursed your lips and grabbed the cutleries from his hold, cutting a piece of the fish and bringing up to his lips. Mark's hands went up to your wrist to help you feed him as he ate with gusto.

“Good?”

+Day 23, Tuesday, 5:17 PM

“Babe, I’m gonna meet Naeun, are you going to be okay?” Mark asked you, taking off his top, searching for a clean shirt.

You bit your lip. Naeun was the reason both of you had a big fight the other day. Why is Mark still going out with her? Furthermore, she had a crush on your boyfriend, you were afraid if she would steal your man away from you.

Mark jumped on the bed as he leaned towards you, “you okay?”

You looked down at him and sent him a fake smile. “I’m fine. What time are you coming back?” you asked softly, looking at away from Mark and directing your attention to your phone.

Mark suddenly grabbed your hands, pressing a kiss against it, as you looked at him in shock. “Baby,” he said, “if you don’t like me hanging out with Naeun, you can tell me,” he told you.

You kept quiet.

“Do you like me going out with Naeun?” he asked once more.

Both of you have never gotten jealous before, and you didn’t want to break that.

You shook your head, “you can go out with her,” you told him with a nod, your attention going back to your phone.

Whatever you said was the opposite of what you were feeling. You didn’t want Mark to go out with her at all. You didn’t like the idea of someone else going out with your person.

Mark sighed, “Don’t lie to me.”

You finally put your phone down and faced your boyfriend, “fine.” You sighed, “I don’t like the both of you going out together.”

“Why not?” he questioned, holding back a smile.

You wanted to roll your eyes. He was doing this on purpose.

“I…I don’t want you to fall out of love with me,” you whispered, “I don’t want to see you leave me and love someone else.”

Mark sent you a sweet smile, “you don’t have to worry because that will never happen.”

+Day 24, Wednesday, 1:55 PM

“Done?” Mark questions, you nodded. “Let’s go.”

He passed you your bag, while he grabs his own. “I’ll send you to class.”

You raised your eyebrows at his words, “isn’t your class at the other end of the building?”

Both of you shared your timetable with each other at the start of the year, and you knew where his class were at.

“It’s okay,” he sent you a sweet smile, “I’ll make it in time.”

+Day 25, Thursday, 11:08 AM

“Hi, Mark,” Naeun waved at Mark sending him a flirty smile while tucking her hair behind her ear. “Who is this?” she asked, looking at you.

You wanted to roll your eyes at the glare she was sending you.

“She’s my girlfriend. I told you about her,” Mark stated, his arms wrapping around your waist protectively.

“Ah,” Naeun gasped softly. “well, um, I was thinking if you want to go out today? I got an extra ticket for—”

Mark frowned, “I can’t, I’m hanging out with my girl today. Sorry, Naeun!”

Right after saying that, both you and Mark walked away, with you giggling next to him.

+Day 26, Friday, 10:00 AM

You: Markie!!!!!

Markie Pooh: what do you want bitch ass

You: rude!!

You: I need to borrow your sweater ;;

Markie Pooh: ): why

Markie Pooh: it’s my fav sweater babey ):

You: its so cold in this room ):

You: I’m literally freezing rn

Markie Pooh: argh fine

Markie Pooh: you’re so spoiled wtf

Markie Pooh: what room r u in bby

317 notes · View notes

amyscascadingtabs · 3 years

Text

don’t want to keep secrets just to keep you [chapter 2]

CHAPTER TWO: see me in hindsight, tangled up with you all night

excerpt below, read whole thing on ao3

Amy doesn't return to the office until after she's spent a good hour at home. First, she showers, washing off yesterday's old makeup and grime and letting the warm water run over her shoulders as she lets the sweet scent of raspberry shower gel replace the vague smell of old beer and sweat. Her back is sore; probably thanks to Jake's lumpy mattress, she thinks, and wonders for a second if she should add buy new mattress to the contract before deciding it’s far too much. That's relationship stuff, and that's point one of the contract; that's not what this is.

She blow-dries her hair and replaces her makeup, taking extra care to try and cover a pink mark that sits just a little too high on her chest before giving up and picking a different shirt instead. Then she fills the biggest coffee cup she has, eats a buttered slice of toast standing up, and feeds her pet fish before rushing back out the door.

She probably looks fresher than most days once she's done, but she's still worried Gina can sense something from her secretary desk as Amy walks in. She raises a brow in greeting like she's actually interested, which is rare in itself, and Amy can feel her eyes on her as she walks into her own office and closes the door behind her.

Amy starts regretting her decision as soon as she's opened a new document. What is she even supposed to name it? Friends with benefits contract is too obvious. FWB-C sounds like code for something. Sex agreement makes her sound like someone who’s read Fifty Shades Of Grey too many times (which really is just once). Jake and Amy is a wedding invitation, Rules too general. She puts her head in her hands, staring at the blinking line, and groans. Then she writes in Jake, looks at that for a moment, and adds stuff after. Not her proudest, but it'll have to do.

Amy’s relieved she doesn't have much work to do today, because she spends every free minute she can come across tweaking details on the document, adding and removing sections to suggest. When she's finally happy with the result, she saves it in a personal folder she can be sure no one’s ever going to open, and praises the office-gods for the fact that she has her own printer.

There’s a faint smell of artificial lemon in the air of Jake’s apartment as he welcomes her in, and the thought that he might have cleaned for her makes Amy blush. It seems unlike him, but the living room area does appear less cluttered to her than it did this morning, so maybe he isn’t totally incapable of it. She still doesn’t want to check his cabinets.

“You cleaned,” she says instead, nodding to the couch that looks almost neat now. “You expecting to get lucky tonight, or something?” Jake’s cheeks turn an adorable shade of pink, but then he shakes his head and points to her outfit. “You’re one to speak.”

All Amy’s done is put on a maroon floral blouse with lower cleavage than she’d ever do for work and put on a touch of pink lipstick, but he’s not completely wrong. She still chooses to ignore him. “I’ve got the contract. Should we do this, then?”

He offers her an orange soda, which she declines, but accepts a mug of Earl Grey tea from a package that seems to have remained unopened since before the brand last changed its design. A hot drink might calm her nerves, she hopes, but it ends up being quite the distracting experience to watch him make it for her. She tries to read through the contract one last time while searching for spelling errors she knows aren't there, her eyes keep being drawn to his hands as he holds the label of the teabag between his thumb and index finger, bobbing the bag a few times with focus once he's finished pouring the water into a New York Knicks mug. It's hard not to think about how those fingers felt dancing across her skin yesterday, massaging the sides of her breasts and holding on to her inner thighs, and it's harder not to imagine what they'd feel like another time –

“Tea,” he interrupts her thoughts by placing the mug in front of her. “Thought maybe you wanted a cup that didn’t say NYPD on it.”

“Well, you're right in that.” She brings it to her lips, almost burning her tongue and hoping he didn't see. “You want to read it on your own, or should I read it to you?”

Jake sits back in the massage chair closest to her, spreading his legs and putting his palms on them before shooting her that disarming smile again. “You read it.”

Amy swallows hard. “Okay. Section one: relationship status. This arrangement only works if we're both single. We’re not bringing more people into this.”

“What about an open relationship?”

“No. Still complicated. This is complicated enough with just us. If either of us gets in an actual relationship, it's over.”

Jake nods. “Cool. Next rule?”

“Section two: appropriate behavior. We're not dating,” she says, pointing first at herself and then at him with the ballpoint pen she brought from work. “So we can't behave like we're dating. Outside of our apartments, we're strictly friends. Or acquaintances. Honestly, it's weird we're even friends.”

“But you admitted we're friends.”

“Sure.” She takes another sip of the tea. “But that means no public flirting, no inappropriate comments, no like, commenting heart or fire emojis on Instagram pictures –”

“Are these rules for you or for me?” Jake winks. “I know my selfies are stunning, but I’m sure you can control yourself.”

“For both of us. Section three: we part in the morning. No exceptions. Staying overnight is okay, but once we wake up, we’re done.”

“What counts as morning in this scenario? I’m not going to have to get up at six a.m., am I?”

“Not unless you stay at my place when I have work.”

“I’ll remember not to do that, then.”

“Great. Section four – protection.”

“You have an entire section on that?” Jake looks like he’s trying not to laugh.

“It’s important!” She exclaims, feeling herself getting defensive. “I have an implant, so we’re safe from pregnancy, but it’s either condoms or you need to get checked.”

Jake nearly spits out some of his orange soda, coughing slightly. “You must be fun at parties.”

“I’m actually a nationally accredited and registered chaperone.”

“What is that?”

“Doesn’t matter. Are you going to do it or not?”

“Fine. You, then?”

“I will if you want me to.” Amy shrugs. “But I haven’t slept with anyone since my ex, so we should be good.”

Jake’s eyebrows fly up. “Really?”

“That so surprising to you?”

“A little? In the least jerk-ish way possible, you must get, well… offers.”

“People don’t flirt a whole lot with their lawyers,” she says, shifting in her chair and crossing her legs. “And it hasn’t been my focus. Are we good with the contract?”

“Actually, I want to add one more rule.”

“Yeah?”

Jake leans back in his chair, crossing his arms behind his head and flexing his biceps through the green shirt with a smug grin. “You’re not allowed to fall in love with me.”

Amy looks at him for a moment, trying to determine whether or not he’s joking, but he doesn’t waver, so she leans forward and draws a fifth section sign on the blank space left on the document. No developing feelings or this ends, she prints out in capital letters, signing her name on the allotted line.

“Won’t be a problem.”

Jake signs the contract, and Amy tries not to grimace at how messy his signature is as she places the document in a thin plastic folder, promising him a copy tomorrow.

“Cool,” Jake nods. He’s messing up his curls with his right hand again, the way she’s noticed he does when he’s trying to flirt. She wonders if it’s strategy or nerves. “So, are you doing anything else tonight, or...”

“What, contract signing’s got you all hot and bothered?”

“I mean, seeing you in full lawyer mode. It’s not, not hot.”

“Double negation?” Amy scrunches her nose. “Oh, you’re going to have to make that one up to me.”

“Maybe I will,” he says, and she needs only to notice the way his eyes darken to know that it’s on.

Amy can feel her legs still shaking a little as she hails a cab outside Jake's apartment just after, and she closes her eyes in the backseat and wonders how it's possible to feel this amazing, this satisfied from a cocktail of what she knows is mostly dopamine and oxytocin. It still makes her feel all giggly, like she can't stop smiling to herself.

Her phone vibrates in her pocket, and she picks it up to read a text from Jake.

Fucking hell that was SO GOOD.

Maybe this friends with benefits thing won't be so bad after all.

#my writing #b99 #peraltiago #jake x amy #b99 fic #b99 fanfiction #peraltiago fanfiction #there haha hope you enjoy :)

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incorrectbandofbrothersquotes · 3 years

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You Better, You Better, You Bet - Chapter 6

Adore You

Ron Speirs x Juliet Fletcher

Summary: Juliet Fletcher reaches a breaking point in her life. When she is at her absolute lowest, she meets Ron Speirs, and something happens between them that neither of them will ever forget.

Word Count: 4.2k

Tag List: @vintagelavenderskies @how-are-those-nuts-sarge @iilovemusic12us @hesbuckcompton-baby @tvserie-s-world @whovian45810 @50svibes If you’d like to be added, let me know!

A/N: Hope you guys enjoy this update!

Warning(s): The beginning of this is just a touch NSFW, but nothing explicit. Also, mentions of abuse and later abortion.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

AO3 link

Chapter 6 here we go!!!

Sunlight pooled into the room above the Blue Boar, warming the skin of the two bodies tangled up in the sheets upon the bed. It illuminated for Juliet all the places Ron had touched her the night before, the memory of it as electrifying and sensual as the moment itself. She stirred to look up at his sleeping face, goosebumps erupting over her as she recalled the number of times she’d whined his name as he drew climax after climax out of her. It made her squirm against him now from her spot tucked into his side. No one had ever made love to her like that before, and she found herself hungry for more already.

To steady herself, she listened to his heart, counting the beats coming steady and strong. It didn’t help quell the ache between her thighs because she just remembered bracing herself against that firm chest as she straddled and rode him. Face growing warm with all the images of their tryst, she shifted again. This time, enough to wake him.

“Morning,” he said, voice raspy with sleep. “‘M surprised you’re up. Must not have done my job right.”

“Believe me, you did more than enough,” she returned, pressing her lips to his chest, right beside the faint marks from her fingers. Her own voice was a bit hoarse as well, but she had used it quite a bit during the evening.

“I see,” he smirked. “You want more then.”

Very few people could make Juliet Fletcher blush, but that made her cheeks burn. He was right after all. Even with everything they had done, she was eager to have him again. And again and again and again…

“Shut up,” she grumbled.

“Fine,” he said with a shrug. “Tell me what you’d rather I do with my mouth.”

She giggled at that, biting her lip as she considered his offer. “I want it on mine.”

True to his word, he said nothing, but pulled her close for a deep, heated kiss. Their lips were still slightly swollen from the night before, but it didn’t stop them. There was no rush this morning, just gentle exploration, soft moans, and slow hands.

As his mouth trailed from her jawline to her collarbone, he stopped, something on her skin standing out to him - something he hadn’t noticed in the night. A circular, red scar where her collarbone met her shoulder. He gently touched it with his index finger.

“Birthmark?” he guessed, but something in his gut told him he was wrong.

She shook her head. “Scar. The cigar was a pretty typical threat for Dad, but he made good on it once when I got carried away with back chat. And Billy wasn’t around.”

His face shifted just slightly when his jaw stiffened and his mouth turned down. “How old were you?”

“Ten,” she told him. “I don’t even remember what I said or why we were fighting. But I remember the pain, that’s for sure.”

He met her gaze. “You’re awfully casual about something like that.”

“It was so long ago,” she returned with half a shrug. “Honestly, I forget it’s there most of the time. And he’s gone now.”

The way she averted her eyes told him it bothered her more than she was letting on, but he didn’t pry. Instead, he pressed his lips to the scar in a display of tenderness that nearly took her breath away. It did not erase what her father had done, but it felt more healed than it ever had before.

After their morning round, they decided they needed food or they’d never be able to keep this up. So they headed downstairs.

Juliet hummed through most of breakfast, which was a stroke to Ron’s ego, but he didn’t mention it. He just watched her pop a bit of food into her mouth and do her little in-seat dance that was fucking precious in his opinion and appreciated that he was with her. It seemed odd that the last time they’d had breakfast, they were perfect strangers. Just a few weeks later, they knew each other...well, intimately.

“Why the book?” he asked suddenly.

She looked at him mid-bite into some toast. “Hm?”

“Why did the book make you kiss me?” he said.

“It really wasn’t the book to be perfectly honest,” she said, setting the toast back on her plate. “It was what you did to get it.”

He cocked his head to the side questioningly as he took a sip of his coffee.

“The whole making up multiple bidders, and choosing Humphrey Bogart as the winning name,” she explained. “And then how much you paid for it. No one’s ever done anything like that for me before.”

“No way,” he returned. “Not even when you were engaged?”

She shook her head. “Arthur was...a very self-centered man. He wasn’t unkind, but he had a role he wanted me to fulfill. And I was expected to do it without him putting in any effort to keep me there. I think...he always thought I was lucky to have him. So he never took on any grand gestures.”

“I’d hardly call bidding on your book a grand gesture,” he replied, unsure what else to say to that. Putting effort into someone you liked? Wasn’t that setting the bar a little low? That felt like the bare minimum. He had always thought of love as two people sort of earning each other, and continuing to prove that they cared.

“It was to me,” she said, her voice soft and just a smidge quieter than usual. Which told him she was really touched by what he’d done. It didn’t surprise him since apparently the only man who had never let her down was her brother. “Thank you.”

“Well, don’t get too mushy, I mostly did it so I can make fun of you,” he said, lightening the mood.

She snorted. “You’ll get loads of material from that, trust me.”

“You’re not afraid of what I’ll find?” he asked.

“I’m not afraid of anything,” she shot back, a determined gleam in her eye.

For a moment, he believed her. She did seem to put almost her whole self out there for the world to see, so ready to take a risk. With the father she had and the heartbreak she’d endured, it would have been especially understandable for her to be afraid of everything and everyone. But she took the world head on, and had even opened herself up to him, without once asking him for any sort of promise for a future. She was so remarkable to him, he just sat back and admired her. Until she froze and the color drained from her face.

“Jules?”

She didn’t answer him, she only stared at a spot on the table, eyes fixed on something in the middle. He followed her gaze and saw a small spider, maybe a couple centimeters long, creeping across the wood.

“Juliet?”

“Fucking shit!” she cried, leaping from her seat. The chair scraped against the floor before toppling onto its side as she scampered away, pressing her body into the wall on the other side of the pub. “Ron, you have to kill it!”

He gaped at her, utterly astounded. “Are you serious?”

Her ghost-like complexion told him she was, but she nodded her head anyway, eyes wide with paralyzing fear.

“Spiders?” he questioned. “That’s what gets you?”

“They’re creepy!” she insisted. “It’s perfectly normal to be -”

“It’s the size of a -”

“I DON’T GIVE A GOOD GODDAMN HOW BIG IT IS, RON, JUST KILL THE BLOODY THING!”

Resisting the urge to laugh, he picked up a napkin and slapped it down over the spider, wiping it away before balling it up and walking it over to a trash bin to dispose of the remains. When the coast was clear, he approached her and she shuddered.

“Ugh, I still feel it on me,” she said.

“It never touched you,” he reminded her.

She scowled. “Look at my face.”

“I am looking at your face.”

“Does it look like I want to be sassed?”

“It does not.”

“Then keep your little opinions to yourself.”

“Not an opinion,” he returned. “It really didn’t touch you.”

“What did I just say?” she shot back.

“You’re being unreasonable,” he said.

“Okay, and?”

He rolled his eyes. “Let’s just finish breakfast.”

“No way!” she cried. “I’m not going back over there, what if there are more of them?”

“There aren’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do, actually, I was just there.”

“Can’t we just leave?” she asked.

“Juliet, I promise if there are any more spiders, I will kill them just as swiftly and mercilessly as this one,” he said. “Let’s finish our meal.”

She eyed him skeptically, as if at any moment he would open up his jacket to reveal a secret stash of spiders just waiting to assault her, but he only held out his hand. Reluctantly, she took it and allowed him to lead her back to the table. He resumed his seat right away, but she inspected hers first. Satisfied there were no more spiders, she sat.

He sipped his coffee. “So, is it just spiders or all bugs?”

“Spiders, mostly,” she answered. “Other bugs I can take care of myself.”

“Why spiders, then?”

“It’s just a thing,” she said with a shrug. “I can’t explain it.”

He could have argued there was a lot about her that couldn’t be explained, but decided against pointing that out. He just took another sip of coffee. She reached for her fork.

“Juliet, wait!” he said urgently. “I think I see another one!”

She screamed and hurled the fork away from her. It soared over to the adjacent table and clattered onto it before skidding to a stop. She looked over at it, chest heaving with her frightened breaths. Incidentally, it was free of any creatures. She glowered at Ron and the infuriating smirk on his face.

“That’s not funny,” she grumbled.

“It’s a little funny,” he returned.

“I loathe you right now.”

“I can live with that.”

She snatched his fork from in front of him and used it instead. “You’re a bully.”

“Eat your eggs,” he replied.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” she retorted.

He shot her a steely look, and she stuck her tongue out at him before taking a bite of her eggs. She chewed and swallowed.

“That’s a good dad look you’ve got there,” she said. “D’you use it on your subordinates?”

“Dad look?” he questioned.

“Y’know, the stern look,” she said. “You pull it off well.”

“You seeing that as paternal is only a little bit disturbing,” he replied.

“That’s fair,” she conceded. “I didn’t have the best example.”

“I’d say you probably had one of the worst,” he said.

“Wouldn’t fight you there.”

“To answer your question, if my men disappoint me, I make it known, in whatever way the situation calls for,” he said.

“That’s...vague,” she said.

He only shrugged again before he changed the subject. “What are your plans for the rest of the day?”

“I’m actually taking the train to Trowbridge to interview the defense attorney for the Lee case,” she said. “I should be back by this evening, though.”

“You want some company?” he offered. “We don’t have any training going on today.”

She blinked. “Really?”

“Sure,” he said. “Despite your attitude, I kinda like spending time with you.”

“Flattering,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I actually...would love that. Thank you.”

Once again, something so basic was - to her - going above and beyond. It was clear to him that Juliet had become accustomed to a certain level of interest in her, and it was low. He hoped to prove otherwise.

***

Trowbridge was not much bigger than Aldbourne, there was just more going on since it was the capital of the county. Juliet was meeting the defense attorney at his office, and she confessed to Ron she was a bit nervous about the interview. He wasn’t an attorney that worked for the government, he was in private practice. His name was Harvey Cooper, and when Juliet had done some background on him, she discovered he was well-known for cases like the Lee case. He had actually sought out Meredith Fisher when the police report came through about Peggy’s body. There was a lot that could go wrong, but Ron reminded her that there was also a lot that could go well.

They arrived at the office, where they were greeted by a secretary. Harvey emerged from his office with a smile that would have been more appropriate for a salesman than a defense attorney for a murder case. He shook Juliet’s hand, accepted without question that Ron was her photographer, and took them back to his office. He gave a brief, cheerful tour of the place, explaining that he’d done some updating, but was limited because of the war. Juliet and Ron exchanged a surprised look at the man’s chipper disposition.

“Well, Miss Fletcher, I must say I’m surprised you’re working this story,” Harvey said as they all took seats in his office, Juliet and Ron on one of the desk, and Harvey on the other. “I read some past issues of the London Pursuit, and saw you were an entertainment writer.”

“Yes,” she said gracefully. “I got a bit of a promotion, you see, with the majority of the men otherwise occupied.”

“Sure, sure,” Harvey replied. “Of course, in my line of work, I’m more than aware of what women are capable of.”

Ron watched Juliet’s careful disguise of her distaste to that remark. She forced a smile and tucked her hair behind her ear, before retrieving her notepad and pencil from her bag.

“Certainly,” she said. “Which brings me to the point at hand. I’ve spoken to the prosecution about Meredith Fisher’s case, and the evidence is really strong. How do you plan to plead?”

“Not guilty,” Harvey answered simply.

“On what grounds?” she asked, unsurprised by that answer.

“Institutional failure,” he said.

That took her aback. She blinked for a moment and sat back in her seat. “Institutional failure?”

“Absolutely,” he said. “Operation Pied Piper was under prepared and under planned. According to my research, no one vetted any of the families who agreed to take in children. If you signed up, you were approved, no questions asked.”

Juliet’s brow furrowed. “While that’s certainly interesting, it doesn’t absolve Mrs. Fisher of responsibility for her individual actions. No other unvetted family has done this.”

“But they could have,” he insisted. “I believe Mrs. Fisher is being made into a scapegoat for something that could have reasonably happened to any number of the children who were part of the program.”

She stared at him for a long moment, and Ron watched her. He could see the wheels turning in her head as she tried to make sense of what she was hearing. Ron didn’t quite understand it either - it was a flimsy argument.

“Are you...are you taking the piss?” she questioned.

“Not in the slightest,” Harvey said.

“Mr. Cooper, that argument is generally only used in civil cases for things like job termination,” she said. “This is murder. And it didn’t happen to any of the other children. Mrs. Fisher isn’t a stand in for something that’s been happening nationwide, this is a single instance.”

“But, if the committee in Parliament had done its job, Peggy Lee would never have gone to the Fisher home,” he said.

“Why?” Juliet pressed. “Does Mrs. Fisher have a record of violence?”

“No, but one interview could have told them that she had no children of her own,” he said. “They never could conceive - a naturally devastating thing for a woman. Who would trust her with a child after discovering that?”

She froze, and Ron watched something flash behind her eyes. A storm was brewing inside her, a hellish anger at the implication there. He didn’t agree with what Harvey was saying either, but that was just the sort of comment that set Juliet off.

“Your entire argument is childless women being unhinged simply because they are childless,” she said, and there was a strain on her voice to keep it level. “There are plenty of women who cannot have children who do not go around murdering other people’s, myself included. Your head is up your ass if you think this will be an acceptable defense in a court of law!”

It took Ron a moment to fully absorb what she had just admitted. He wondered for a fleeting second if Juliet was bluffing, but she was too ethical. In situations like this, she wouldn’t lie - not about something so serious. He also wondered if it was something he could ask her about, but that was a conversation for later.

“Any doctor would diagnose her as unstable,” Harvey said, face darkening. “And I don’t appreciate your tone, Miss Fletcher.”

“I don’t appreciate your ignorance, Mr. Cooper,” she shot back. “She wasn’t diagnosed as anything except woman, and that was by you, not a doctor.”

“Hold on -”

“So if I - I dunno - leapt over this desk and strangled you,” she cut across him, and Ron held back a laugh. “You would reasonably expect another attorney to argue that it’s the responsibility of the London Pursuit because they should have known, say, that my ex-fiancée was an attorney therefore I’m more likely to kill one? Because scorned women are known to be more furious?”

“That’s not the same.”

“It’s exactly the same, only in your case, worse,” she snapped. “A child is dead, and you are making a mockery of the fight for justice.”

“I’m doing my job -”

“Your job should entail getting Mrs. Fisher evaluated by a doctor and arguing down her sentence based on her mental capacity,” she returned. “Instead, you are reducing her to a monster because she is unable to give birth.”

“I’m not -”

“Even if it were true - which it isn't,” she interrupted him again. “It would still be her own fault for putting her hands on a child!”

Harvey slammed his hands down on his desk, which prompted Ron to get to his feet, but Juliet didn’t even flinch. She stared that lawyer down as if they were in the courtroom already and she was the cross examiner. She was so unafraid it was almost difficult to believe that just hours ago a little spider had sent her running across the room.

“Miss Fletcher,” Harvey said levelly, casting a sideways glance at Ron. “You clearly came into this interview with your mind made up about my client and this case. I must ask you to leave.”

She stood up. “You’re right, I did come in here with my mind made up,” she said. “But that’s because I’ve got the facts. Unlike you, Mr. Cooper, I do not rely on drollery to do my job.”

“That’s a bold statement coming from a woman -”

“Do not ever reduce me to my sex, Mr. Cooper,” she snapped. “Yours certainly will not protect you from being intentionally stripped of your dignity.”

With that, she turned on her heel and swept out of the office. Harvey stood up. He went around his desk and started after her.

“Hold on, what does that mean?!” he called.

Ron intercepted him at the doorway, stopping Harvey with a hand to the chest.

“No,” Ron said simply, with a warning look. It went without saying that Ron had about fifty pounds on Harvey, so if he followed them out, there would be consequences. When that was well understood, Ron went after Juliet.

She was already outside by the time he caught up, and she was waiting for him. The wind blew her hair, and he was briefly struck by how attractive she looked. He was already aroused by how she did in the interview. When he wasn’t on the receiving end of her ranting, it really was something. It was something when he was, but ultimately more enjoyable when it was directed at someone else. Because he could just sit back to watch her go and admire her.

“Well done back there,” he said.

“What an absolute wanker,” she said. “Institutional failure, what a fucking joke. And how insulting for Mrs. Fisher. Everyone deserves a lawyer who takes them seriously. And he clearly doesn’t.”

He only nodded in agreement. “What did you mean by the dignity stripping comment?”

“I can’t print anything about this until the trial happens, but believe me, that conversation will be included in the article,” she said. “I’m not normally one to get set on taking someone down, but if he seeks cases like this out just to pull stunts like that, the public should be aware.”

Her face was red with frustration and her pace had quickened. Luckily, Ron had no trouble keeping up since his strides were longer than hers. His own heart was racing, but mostly out of his excitement about her. When there was a break in the buildings, he grabbed her by the arm and yanked her into the alleyway, pinning her against the wall. He stifled her yelp of surprise with a searing kiss. He wanted to show her how much he felt for her. She was smart, passionate, and annoyingly ethical, but he adored her. Seeing her in action only reinforced just how much.

She moaned into his mouth before they broke apart for air, but clung to his jacket so he wouldn’t get too far away. Her eyes took a moment to re-focus on him after the dizzying intensity of his kiss.

“You’re incredible,” he breathed.

She searched his face for something behind his words, but found him genuine. “Thank you.”

She bit her lip as she looked him up and down, that hunger from the morning returning to her. She craved him again, and when he smirked she knew he was aware of the effect he had.

“God, what’s wrong with me?” she sighed, shaking her head.

“Plenty, but I really like you anyway,” he returned, and she beamed. “You wanna get back to Aldbourne?”

She nodded eagerly. “God, yes.”

He turned to get onto the street again, but she pulled him back for another kiss, this one just a little longer than the last.

It was on the train back to Aldbourne that he decided to inquire about what he heard her say in Harvey’s office. Her head rested on his shoulder as the countryside whizzed by, slowly disappearing as the sun sank behind the horizon. He looked at the yellow glow on her face and couldn’t help himself.

“You really can’t have children?” he asked.

She opened her eyes and looked at him. “Oh, crikey, I almost forgot I mentioned that.”

“You don’t have to talk about it if -”

“No, it’s quite alright,” she assured him as she sat up. “We are sleeping together, so you’ve got a right to know.” She paused and looked down at her lap before continuing. “I was pregnant once. By a man I’d been seeing only a few weeks. But I was nineteen years old and terrified of what life would be like with a child I didn’t really want.” She fiddled with the handles of her bag. “So I made the decision to terminate. Only, something went wrong, and I was told because of the mistake, I’d be unable to have children. That’s the long and short of it.”

The confession should have been shocking, but he found himself remarkably indifferent. He wanted to know more about it, but the act itself did not bother him in the slightest.

“Did you tell the father?” he wondered.

She shook her head. “No. I’d made up my mind and I didn’t want him to try and persuade me to change it.”

“So you went alone?” he asked.

“No, Billy took me,” she told him. “No questions asked. He was the only one who understood.”

“Understood?”

“I wasn’t ready for marriage or a child,” she explained. “I had so much more I wanted to do with my life.” She met his gaze. “And I’ve done it.”

“So, no regrets, then?” he questioned hesitantly.

She pondered that, glancing out the window before looking back at his face. “Not really, no. I’m not suited for motherhood, anyway.” She bit her lip. “Is that...is that a problem?”

Honestly, he had not thought much about the future, especially since the war started. It was dangerous to hope. Juliet had awakened some of that in him - some glimmer of faith that he could go to war and come back to her. But children? He had never thought that far ahead, so life without them didn’t feel like a disappointment. He just wanted her.

“No, not at all,” he replied.

She visibly relaxed at that, letting out a low breath before easing herself back into his side. Before she got there, he took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and made her look at him once more.

“And by the way, we’re more than just sleeping together,” he said, and he kissed her smile.

She settled against him and closed her eyes. He draped his arm around her shoulders. They were content.

#ron speirs #band of brothers #easy company #hbo war #juliet fletcher #roliet #you better you better you bet series #ron speirs x ofc #band of brothers fic #band of brothers ofc

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scabopolis · 3 years

Note

Ummm because my brain could never come up with something as genius as yours, I will ask—nay, BEG—for more LoVe Vampire AU from Day 1 AU week.

Title: do not engage (part two of this little ficlet) Rating: PG-13 (some swears…because girl is still stressed) Pairing: Logan Echolls/Veronica Mars, Additional Tags: Secret identity, vaguely vampire hunter related things, filed under: relationship obstacles, sharing of bagels, vampire Logan is probably far too schmoopy, tried to write angst but whooops I think it's fluff? Word Count: 1,800

For you, dear, @ayy-ohh? Anything. This one really got me stuck because...like...world building? What is that? And would vampires eat bagels? And why DOES Logan have a cell in his basement? So many questions. Anyway! Here it is! *** That she can’t remember ever seeing Logan Echolls in the daylight should have been Veronica’s first clue.

It’s just, given the nocturnal demands of her profession and thus her morning grumpiness, it was easy to miss. Easy to be grateful for. Easy to be relieved that Logan wasn’t like her college boyfriend—the kind of guy who insisted they wake up at 6:00 AM to go running and felt a day spent inside with the shades drawn was a day wasted.

There were, of course, other clues she missed.

Weirdly cryptic statements and obfuscations. (Given she was also prone to said crypticism, she didn’t press for fear he’d do the same.) His reticence towards beach days. (It seemed logical! Who doesn’t hate dodging tourists?) The weird way he’d linger at doorways of unfamiliar houses. (Again, given her own antipathy to socializing, his hesitation was something she understood.)

In retrospect, given that not pressing Logan on his vague answers landed her here—in a weird cell gnawing at the ropes her ex-boyfriend tied tightly around her wrists—she supposes she should have tried harder. She hears Logan’s footsteps on the stairs into the basement but doesn’t stop her attempt to undo the knots.

“I hope you have a good dental plan,” Logan says. She rolls her eyes and continues to work at the strands with her teeth. “Is there even a vampire hunter’s union? Might be something worth looking into. Though, given the general mistrust the position requires, electing a president might prove tricky.”

“God, staking you would have at least gotten you to shut up.”

“But then there’s the crushing guilt.”

“I would have managed.”

Do not engage. In the 36-ish hours she’s been in this cell, that’s been her motto. The secret to coping with the fact that your boyfriend is a vampire and that you and your dad are vampire hunters is to remain detached and cold.

Except it hasn’t been easy. Because her wrists hurt, she smells bad, and oh yeah, apparently she’s not as out of love with the bloodthirsty monster wearing the hell out of a henley and holding a bag of takeout as she thought.

“I got bagels,” he says.

As soon as he says it, the scent of cinnamon raisin wafts from the bag. He doesn’t wait for her to stand; simply slips the paper bag containing her bagel through the bars and slides it to her. Much like he’s done for their previous shared meals, he sits on the ground a safe distance from her and settles into eating his own.

She tears the paper bag and sees that not only has Logan brought her a bagel, he’s also brought her some sort of sandwich and a chocolate chip cookie. God. What an asshole.

What is his endgame here? If he wanted to kill her, he would have done it by now. It’s only a matter of time until her dad begins to question whatever story Logan texted him from her phone. Her dad will show up and he will have questions. What will Logan say then?

“What will I say to who?” Logan asks.

Shit. Detachment is also easier when inside thoughts remain inside thoughts. “No one.”

“If you’re talking about your dad, he’s out of town for the rest of the week.”

She concentrates on the pattern of the cinnamon swirl laced throughout her breakfast. “What do you mean?”

“According to the text he sent you last night, he had to go to Vegas. Vampire gambling ring of some sort?”

“You’re lying.”

“Takes a liar to know a liar.”

Veronica rolls her eyes and takes a large bite of her bagel, surveying the interior of her holding cell. And yes, fine, she technically has a policy of not engaging with the pointy fanged one, but she has questions.

“What is the point of having a cell in your basement? Is it for weird sex stuff? Or weird vampire stuff?”

“Who says those two things are mutually exclusive?”

She rolls her eyes. “Spare me, please. I’m eating.”

“I’ll tell you but you won’t believe me.”

“Try me.”

“My friend, Mac?” He extends his legs out in front of him. “Once a month, this is her guest suite.”

Veronica frowns. “For weird sex stuff?”

He raises an eyebrow in amusement which, fair, she should probably stop using the phrase weird sex stuff.

Wait. Is he saying—?

“Logan,” she says carefully, “is Mac a werewolf?” He nods, and Veronica’s bagel drops to the floor. “Could you be more of a vampiric cliche? Honestly! Does a zombie do your taxes? Does a ghoul trim your hedges?”

“I trim my own hedges, thank you very much.”

Maybe it’s the lack of sleep, or it might be the remaining vestiges of adrenaline leaving her body, but Veronica laughs. Just a little bit. At best it’s a chuckle. Still, it’s enough to make Logan smile in that way he sometimes does—like he can’t believe his luck that he even gets to be in the same room as Veronica. It makes something feel heavy and uncomfortable in the pit of her stomach. Do not engage.

“You really didn’t know?” she asks.

Logan’s answer with a slow nod. “I didn’t know.”

“Then how—?”

“It wasn’t an ambush, Veronica.” He pinches off a small piece of his bagel. (Sourdough, she guesses. Probably with jalapeno cream cheese because the man added jalapenos to everything.) She watches as Logan rolls the bread between his fingers. “The date was real but one of Dick’s friends recognized you somehow.”

“You were the one who threw me into a tree.”

“Yeah, and as far as they know, you’re dead. As far as they know, I was so enraged a vampire hunter tricked me that I took you home to finish you off.”

“Which means if you let me go—”

“They’ll know I lied.” He shrugs. “Either they kill me or your dad does. This way you’re safe.”

“Logan—”

“Sorry,” he says. “You called dibs on the killing?”

“Poor little vamp with a death wish.” She doesn’t mean for it to sound so fond. What is wrong with her?

The corner of his mouth twitches with a fleeting smile. There’s a ticking clock on their time together and now they both know it.

“I’ve never seen a vampire eat as much food as you,” she says.

He sets his bagel aside. “Dine with a lot of vampires?”

“Enough to know you eating that bagel is like me eating a bag of sour gummies.”

“Meaning?”

“You might like the taste of a lightly toasted sesame bagel, but an hour later you need to puncture the carotid artery of a single mother to really satisfy yourself.”

“You know sesame seeds get caught in my teeth. And single mothers come with too much guilt.”

“Hedge fund managers?”

“Now you’re talking.”

Veronica has questions, of course she does. More questions than she can properly express—wonders how old he is, who turned him, who gets him blood and how, why he’s friends with Dick Casablancas, if Logan is safe with Dick as a friend—but she doesn’t ask any of those. Because he asks the most important question first.

“What are we going to do, Veronica?”

She stands up, brushes cinnamon raisin crumbs off of her pants. (She catches a whiff of her unshowered self and cringes. So much for their farewell existing as a perfectly preserved memory in the mind of her undead ex-boyfriend.) “There’s no we, Logan. There can’t be.”

He can’t let her go, he can’t keep her locked up, and she can’t stay.

Logan pushes himself up off the ground and comes to meet her at the bars to the cell. “Yeah.”

“First, you’re going to let me out of here.” She wraps her hands around the bars. Logan does just like she’d hoped and does the same, his pinkies barely grazing her knuckles. “And then I never want to see you ever again.”

“That’s what you want?”

God. What a fucking idiot. Of course that isn’t what she wants. What she wants is to go back two days. To return to that night when Logan made pancakes for dinner, and they got drunk on rum and cokes, and then he kissed down her spine as they lay in bed.

She nods anyway. Presses her head against the bars.

“Fine.” Veronica squeezes her eyes shut. “If you ever need anything?” She nods again and she feels the gentle touch of Logan’s lips to her forehead. How is he always so warm? It never made sense.

“I won’t.”

And then, much to her surprise, he walks away. Without letting her out.

She opens her eyes. “What are you doing?”

“Oh,” he says, a portrait of portrait insouciance once more. “You didn’t expect me to let you go now did you? What if this show of emotion is a long con? I could wake up to find you standing over my body poised to pull back my black out shades.”

“You son of a bitch.”

“Nighty night, Veronica.”

Logan doesn’t return to the basement and eventually she falls into a fitful sleep, waking up sometime before the sun rises. She definitely needs to pee and she’s so sick of the ‘toilet’ in her cell. Logan should still be awake. Maybe if she yells really—

Finishing that thought proves to be unnecessary because as soon as Veronica’s eyes adjust to the dim light, she notices the door to her cell is ajar. She’s barely thinking as she jumps from the bed and races up the stairs.

“Logan!” she calls out.

Her first stop is the kitchen, where she maneuvers a knife in between the strands of the ropes around her wrists and works to free herself. Her cell phone is waiting for her on the wireless charger Logan keeps in the kitchen. No messages from her dad, but she sends one to check in. She rubs at the tender skin on her wrists as she searches each room of Logan’s house.

As far as she can tell, there isn’t much missing. Some of his toiletries are gone (her toothbrush is still beside the sink) and she thinks maybe some of his clothes too. His motorcycle is still in the garage but the BMW is gone.

So. That’s it? He’s just gone? What about his house? There’s a housing crisis in southern California and this asshole thinks it’s acceptable to simply abandon a perfectly good home? He didn’t even leave a note.

It’s really the irresponsibility that—

Her call rings through to his voicemail. Rolls her eyes at the Dylan Thomas quote that greets her. That’s new.

“If you think I’m watering your plants for you while you’re gone, you are completely delusional.”

He responds while she’s in the shower. (What? She’s really supposed to put up with shitty water pressure at her place when he has a rain shower and heated bathroom tiles?)

Miss me already?

She responds with a garlic emoji.

#vm fanfic #lv fanfic #logan x veronica #veronica mars #logan echolls #still all the way out of my comfort zone!#but here we are! doing the damn thing anyway #never stories #otp: the one person #c: veronica mars #c: logan echolls #p: logan x veronica

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humanlighthouse · 3 years

Note

hello i am here and i have heihua kiss prompts!! either 8. Laying a gentle kiss to the back of the other’s hand. (+bonus if hurt/comfort!) or 23. A kiss that tastes of the food/dessert they are eating. xoxo

Hello friend!! I went with the second prompt, you will notice a theme in there perhaps :D I hope you like it! This was cross-posted here for better readability~

__________

For their young master’s birthday celebration, the Xie clan went all out, as was expected.

It was a grandiose event, with only the finest of culinary delicacies, the prettiest of dancers, and the best of everything that could be drunk. Everyone of importance in the antiques and less-legally-acquired antiques business was there, in black tie - or almost everyone. Xie Yuchen’s smile never quite reached his eyes but he shook sweaty palm after sweaty palm and posed for the required photos with a level of patience that should honestly count toward his general karma. Thankfully, by midnight, the young master was deemed properly toasted to, fed and celebrated, and the guests bid their goodbyes at last.

Xie Yuchen closed his bedroom door behind him and rested his forehead against the wood panel.

Here’s to another year.

Shrugging off his jacket, he walked into his closet. His own face stared at him from three different angles as he loosened his tie. He wasn’t tired yet, but he should probably change anyway. He crossed the room toward his pajama closet, looking for something comfortable. There had been enough showing off for one night, so he pushed aside the silk co-ords. Maybe the velvet robe. He took it off the hanger, running a manicured hand over the fabric. No. Too hot for the season. He dropped it on a chair. When he turned back toward the closet, he noticed a midnight blue sleeve peeking out from behind where the robe had hung, in the darkest part of the closet. His only hoodie.

There was an idea.

He stared at it for a long moment, before grabbing the garment and shrugging it on over his dress shirt and wool-blend pants. He swapped his leather shoes for crepe-soled boots and turned the lights off.

Less than five minutes later, he exited the manor, having successfully avoided every single person in it. He had had to duck behind a vase at some point so a maid didn’t see him, and for the first time that evening, he had laughed, albeit silently. There would be no real consequences, no consequences at all, even, if he was found out, but it was exciting to sneak out. He snapped a face mask onto his ears, checked again that he hadn’t been spotted, and walked down the street and away from the gates.

As he walked, Xie Yuchen wrestled his phone out of his pants pocket. With the ease of habit, he created a throwaway account, and then pulled up the webpage of his favorite fast food place. The closest one would be too suspicious - he had been there only last month. Selecting the next one over, he submitted his order and paid. By the time he arrived, his number was first on the list, and a greasy bag of treats awaited him.

This restaurant was farther from his house but closer to the river. It was warm enough, that evening, that groups were scattered here and there along the riverside. Xie Yuchen found one empty spot with a decently clean bench to sit on, and dug into the bag.

The city lights twinkled over the water’s surface, ever changing - stop lights turning red and green and red again, car blinkers sparkling to life, office neons buzzing in the distance. There were people laughing nearby. He listened to what he could of their inept conversation as he chewed, salt and fat heavy on his tongue. Usually he would be annoyed at the forced proximity, at the unwanted company of these strangers sharing beers and laughs, but not tonight, for some reason.

Still, it was better to be alone after the night he’d had. Enough socialization for one day. Even after an entire burger and most of a large serving of fries, he didn’t have the energy to keep up the usual pretense. Maybe if he was there with a friend it would be different, but he didn’t have that many of those. Wu Xie certainly counted as one, but according to the birthday card he had sent, he was off raiding a secret spot in the South with his boyfriends this week and wouldn’t be back for a while. Xie Yuchen hoped it was code for something else. At least one of them would be having fun tonight.

He finished the fries and crumpled the greasy paper, throwing it back into the mostly empty bag. The only thing left was what he had been looking forward to: a tub of soft-serve ice cream doused with an extra helping of chocolate fudge. He rummaged around the bag for the plastic spoon and popped open the container, inhaling the sweet scent with a smile of anticipated delight. That would almost make up for tonight.

He carefully chose the ratio of chocolate to ice. That first spoonful was always the best one. He brought it to his mouth and closed his eyes. The fudge melted onto his tongue, vanilla ice cream following right behind, hot then cold, and delicious. He couldn’t help but let out a small moan.

“That good, uh?”

Long legs folded beside his on the bench and for one short second Xiao Hua was tempted to throw the ice cream tub into the river and pretend this never happened.

It was too late. Hei Xiazi had seen him, and he would never let him live this down now.

Oh sure, the man had seen him in more compromising situations, technically speaking, but from the way he smiled at Xie Yuchen’s face, Xie Yuchen knew that his guilt was obvious. He was screwed. Hei Xiazi had just hit blackmailing gold.

“Gimme a taste if it’s that good,” he asked with a jerk of his chin toward Xie Yuchen’s ice cream.

Xie Yuchen frowned and moved the tub away from him. He had expected a few days of grace before the demands started, at least.

“What are you doing here?” he asked in return.

The man’s attire was ridiculous, even by his low standards. Under his usual leather jacket, the one he always wore, the one Xie Yuchen could recognize the stink of from miles away, he wore a tank top and a black polyester tie, haphazardly tied around nothing and dangling well under his belt. He looked like a cheap gigolo. Maybe that was his new side gig. Xie Yuchen made a mental note to inquire about that.

“Well, you see, I was on my way to wish a friend a happy birthday, maybe a little later than I should have, admittedly, but what’s a little night visit between friends? Except, what should I see when I arrive at their home, but a shady silhouette sneaking out of it! Very suspicious, you’ll admit. I felt that it was my duty to make sure that the interloper was properly identified.”

“What bullshit are you sprouting now?” asked Xie Yuchen, eyes narrowed.

“I followed you,” replied Hei Xiazi with a satisfied smile.

“No you didn’t.”

“How would you know?”

“Because I checked. You ran into me here by pure chance and extrapolated the rest,” he guessed.

The smile fell from Hei Xiazi’s face, but the humor stayed in his voice.

“Yeah, okay I did.”

Xie Yuchen huffed a laugh and turned back to his ice cream before it melted.

“I really was on my way to you, though,” continued Hei Xiazi. “Look, I even have a gift and all.”

When he turned, Xie Yuchen found himself faced with a brightly patterned square. The gift wasn’t badly wrapped, Hei Xiazi’s fingers were certainly skilled enough for it, but it had been done with the tackiest paper Xie Yuchen had ever seen. There had been plenty of gifts at the party earlier, covered in gold-embroidered fabrics and satin, tucked into leather boxes and glossy bags, but this was the first that Xie Yuchen had wanted to open all night. It was the only one of those that seemed … heartfelt.

He quickly ate another spoonful of ice cream instead. It was probably just another joke.

“What’s in it?” he asked after a minute.

Hei Xiazi was still holding it out to him, and probably would until he relented. Sighing, Xie Yuchen took the package.

“Open it later.”

At the strangeness of his voice, Xie Yuchen raised his head and looked at Hei Xiazi. The lights were playing on his face, and with those stupid glasses he could never be sure of anything, but it almost looked like he was blushing. The man was looking toward the river, not at him, so Xie Yuchen allowed himself to stare.

In his hand, the ice cream tub was cold and slightly wet with condensation, and the sweetness of chocolate remained in his mouth. There were still people laughing nearby, in riotous bursts, but he found that he didn’t envy them anymore.

It was his birthday, and Xie Yuchen was going to celebrate it the way he wanted.

“Hey,” he called.

With a hum, Hei Xiazi turned, just enough for Xie Yuchen to grab his face and kiss him. He startled but didn’t pull away, rather turned his head aside to deepen the kiss, hands curling around Xie Yuchen’s waist and into his hair. His clever tongue swiped at Xie Yuchen’s lips and he licked into his mouth when they opened.

“Wow, you were right,” he exclaimed when they broke for air. “That is good ice cream!”

With a roll of his eyes, Xie Yuchen handed the tub to him. It was a day to indulge in guilty pleasures, it seemed.

#heihua #kiss prompts #my fics

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meyeselph · 3 years

Text

Gwenpool: Desperate Misanthrope's Confused Angst

Showtime

Ms. Pool woke up in a familiar room. Not in Krakoa - there are no mutants around. This isn’t a story about that. Look, honestly, without an actual Gwenpool series and the constant breaks in her comics appearance I can’t even begin to give a fuck. I cancelled my marvel universe subbie. I might get back to my stories but single issues are iffy. I read fast and don’t pore over the artwork. So I get 10 minutes of entertainment for….FIVE DOLLARS? When did this happen? Jeezus.

Who even reads comics anymore?

Anyway, long story short, Gwen got out of bed and recognized the room as her old one from the “old times.” The dark times. The ‘not running around in pink and white outfits and shooting people’ times. She panicked (Been there. It is what it is though). The only way out of trauma is through.

She dressed in old clothes, immediately hit by old smells, she couldn’t help but cry. Was it all a dream? Have I gone insane (again)? All the usual self doubts cropped up. I mean, really, if you think this kind of thing didn’t pass through her mind regularly why don’t you transport yourself to a comic book universe?

Oh, you can’t?

Oh. It isn’t actually possible for you and I’m stupid for suggesting it. So, yeah. If it actually happened and you kept that attitude then the logical assumption for a normie is a mental breakdown. Trick for Gwen, though, is it's probably always been both real and her being nuts.

So she goes downstairs to the kitchen to figure out why this is happening and Evil Gwen is having cereal. Let's say cocoa puffs. I’ve been thinking about those recently. You ever remember cereal as something worth cherishing. Not as just bullshit that TV convinced you to want? God damn, now I want Cookie Crisp. Cookie Crisp wasn’t even ever that good. Why do I want Cookie Crisp?

So also sitting around the table were the faceless versions of her father, mother, and her brother. Just chilling. No BD. Seen Eternal Sunshine of The Spotless Mind?

Yes, I know that references aren’t jokes - fuck you, I’m painting a picture and I CAN’T PAINT, THAT’S WHY THIS ISN’T A COMIC. Fucks sake. Anyway. So, Gwen is so creeped out that she just sits her butt down by Evil Gwen as if she’s the comforting presence here.

Her name’s too long. Let’s call Evil Gwen uh…….Gren. You know, like Grendel from Beowulf. I haven’t actually read Beowulf and this is all a little confusing but I'm solving problems here. Writing this is harder for me than you would think so it’s best to keep things flowing off the cuff. That’s the Gwenpool™ style anyway, isn’t it? Are you laughing yet? IMPROV. “YES AND” MY SHIT, READER!

“So, you ever really look into the retconned past thing, hun?” Gren said, moving her tongue around her food. Being gross as an attempt to be properly evil. She swallowed before continuing. “This is all I could really put together on short notice but i’m pretty sure what the future people created, all that stuff to try and trick you, it was all bullshit.”

“What do you mean? Are you trying to convince me to go all psycho like you again?” Gwen asked, exasperated, realizing she was now back in the whole ‘fuck with Gwen to decide her fate’ song and dance routine from the end of her first arc.

“Nah, not really.” Gren said. A hammer appeared in her hands out of nowhere and Gren swung it into their fake father’s head, snapping his neck..

“DAD!” Gwen instinctively cried as she saw her father’s body slump to the floor. Gren slapped Gwen’s face. “That’s it,” Gren said, “this is what the trick was.This is a poorly created character in a fictional story. Meant to manipulate you into attaching your concept of “father” to it. Even his finished version in the original comics run wasn’t THAT well drawn. Your dad read like a boomer’s idea of a responsible parent. You were going through a mental crisis and struggling to find purpose in life and his genius idea was get a shitty low paying job and suck it up?”

Gren turned to their brother, pushed his face to the table and smashed the back of his skull. . “Brother dearest, too. Going right along with their victim blaming. He gaslighted you as if what you were going through was just you being ‘irresponsible.’ Bitch, people working a minimum wage job aren’t somehow not impoverished and miserable because they get some of that ‘honest work’ that folks keep badgering on about. Minimum wage work is occupied by many physically and mentally disabled people held hostage; they’re people society only pretends to care about. Then they turn it all into you acting like some world ending threat. No questions about what drove you to the edge in the first place. You are just ‘unstable,’ so you’re just a problem to be solved. They say, ‘Let’s all solve this girl being upset and on edge by ruining her concept of self, reality, and memory.’ Brilliant!”

Gwen barely processed this in horror. Gren then slit the poor facsimile of their mother’s throat while continuing to rant, “You see people die all the time, Gwen. Half of the time you are doing the killing. You do it because it’s in a story. In a story the NPCs don’t matter and, after all, your original schtick in the story was to be kill-crazy. The non-marketable characters can be replaced or retconned at the stroke of the artist’s pen.” Gren leans forward as she pulls a Gwenpool mask over Gwens face. “Then the writers convince you that you have some middle class milk toast family and you take abuse and subsume your emotional needs because the problem MUST be you. You aren’t ‘normal’ so you have to be fixed.”

Gwen wiped her eyes over the mask and sighed. A bit of fire filled her gut as she stared at Gren. “So fucking what? You want me to go on a killing spree and be a big time villain to get myself a nice, shiny permanent big bad status? That’s how I stay around right? Just build my legacy on bodies?”

Gren scoffed “You already lost that fight, girly. Where do you think we are? Because this ain’t Marvel Comics.”

Confused, Gwen blinked and tried reaching for the page margins, finding nothing. Wait….why was everything on this page so ill defined and undetailed? Wait? Why was the story in kinda wobbly third person past tense?

Gwen sighed “Oh. I’m in a fanfic. I guess the publishing fight is for another day eh?”

“My advice, personally,” Gren stated, “is that you consider the lobster.”

“Wait, what the fuck?”

Gren pulled aside the kitchen curtains revealing the face of a giant lobster, its claws tapping on the glass. The lobster muttering gutterally about personal responsibility.

“Because there’s a couple thousand giant lobsters outside that would like to claw you until you read their book.”

Scared of Girls

On the rooftop, Gren shoved a high powered rifle into Gwen’s hands while she handled the close range threats. So, this conversation they’re about to have is important. Sniping puts Gwen into a sort of zen space, so that’s a better task to keep her focused, after all.

“So, what? You wanted me to internalize that my “origin story” is bullshit? Okay, what does that accomplish, then?” Gwen asked in a bit of a deadpan. She was so tired today. Not really feeling her happy go lucky energy. More like a “happy go fucky” energy. It was hard to always be on a knife's edge. Still the rifle’s kick into her shoulder was satisfying as she blew through two of the creepy looking lobsters at once. “Also, why the lobsters?”

Gren considered this. “Okay, last question first, I had to experiment a lot and do a lot of research to construct this place for your learning and healing in fanfic form....These buddies are a failed experiment of mine that I repurposed because the fic needed more action. Isn’t that right, giant enemy crap?” As she peppers the nearest goon with a hail of shotgun pellets the entire throng of them burst out, sharply muttering about divine symbols.

“As for what I'm trying to teach you, it’s that you aren’t reaching your potential.” Gren grumpily huffed.

“Duh,” Gwen reloads, “I mean you just killed a mannequin version of the voice in my head that says that to me every day.” one of those crustaceans talks about feminine symbolism while she decides on her next target.

“Not like fake daddy’s ‘Be a responsible member of society by paying your taxes’ type of potential. I mean your creative and emotional potential.” Gren flipped off the slavering throng of monsters, noticing they were starting to keep their distance from the roof.

“I never did finish that fanfic idea I had.” Gwen mused.

“God, don’t mention that,” Gren thrusts a finger at Gwenpool. “Not that I don’t respect fanfic, but when comic book writers make you and Kamala squee about fanfiction to try and relate to “the kids” it comes across as so condescending.”

“Really? I mean…..I'm sure it’s meant as support for the concept?”

“Most fucking superhero comics are just legalized fanfiction! The people who created the characters are either long gone or working on someone else’s characters! They just think they are so much better because they got fucking paid. They can’t imagine themselves as on the same playing field as fanficcers even though most of them have the same level of connection to the roots of the work as anyone else.” Gren groused loudly as she seemed to pull Reed Richards out of nowhere.

Confused, Reed looked around until his eyes met Gwen’s.“Oh great, you again.” Reed groaned as he turned to survey the piles of lobster gibs while Gwen cheered the lobster forces’ retreat with a resounding “EDF, EDF!”. The scattered creatures skittered amongst the bland scenery. It looked like a suburban neighborhood but someone forgot to color in the sky….or write that the sky had color. A castle hung out in the distance breaking up the generic normalcy and lay cloaked in shadow despite being surrounded by an endless white void.

“And…..black….you?” Reed pointed to Gren, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I have an evil future self….well I stopped that future so it’s an….evil...alternate timeline self?” Gwen said with a nervous chuckle, abandoning the kill quest for the minute and rested her rifle on the roof.

“Ah. Yeah I’ve been down that road. It’s a rather common occurrence. Multiverse being what it is.” Reed laughed heartily while putting his hands on his hips.

“I’m not sure I’m evil, honestly,” Gren interjected. “I think I’m just really fucking grumpy and I’m slightly more gung-ho on the homicide. Considering Gwen’s already one of the more kill crazy characters on the roster it’s not that much of a distinction.” Gren flipped her cape. “My main distinction is I don’t like that meme from The Incredibles! You can just make it so the cape detaches automatically when it’s pulled hard enough!”

“You could still have it tangled up around your face.” Reed pointed out in his standard know-it-all fashion.

“Don’t make me go into fuck wife mode, stretch.” Gren spat. “Okay, anyway, so I brought him here to illustrate a point. Reed. Explain particle physics to me as a laymen.”

“Huh...i’m not sure why but okay. Particle physics (also known as high energy physics) is a branch of physics that studies the nature of the particles that constitute matter and radiation. Although the word particle can refer to various types of very small objects (e.g. protons, gas particles, or even household dust), particle physics usually investigates the irreducibly smallest detectable particles and the fundamental interactions necessary to explain their behaviour. In current understanding, these elementary particles are excitations of the quantum fields that also govern their interactions. The currently dominant theory explaining these fundamental particles and fields, along with their dynamics, is called the Standard Model. Thus, modern particle physics generally investigates the Standard Model and its various possible extensions, e.g. to the newest "known" particle, the Higgs boson, or even to the oldest known force field, gravity.” Reed rattled this off rather mechanically.

Gren then took out her phone and showed Gwen the Wikipedia article on “Particle Physics,” which is naturally the same words that Reed had regurgitated above, just without any formatting and, again, on a phone.

“Reed can’t be a genius in any subject unless he’s written by a genius in that subject. That’s how stories work. Everyone is limited by the understanding and capabilities of the writer. Same with your origin story and all the people you’ve interacted with. If you are as ‘meta’ as you think you are then you have to realize that you aren’t actually talking to people. You are talking to the writer. Dr. Strange didn’t rewrite your existence to be a part of the Marvel Universe. As far as most of Marvel continuity goes Dr. Strange was never there and doesn’t know or care about his MCU casting…..Hey Reed, buzz off please before the conversation pivots to why you haven’t cured all known diseases.”

Reed looked a little surprised but then pulled out a teleportation device (of course he has one) and blipped away with a shrug.

“How awkward is that going to be when he enters the MCU after Kamala is already introduced with a very similar power set?” Gwen chuckled.

“Keep up the way you’ve been going and you’ll never see it. I’m not exactly expecting a young blonde girl casting call for Deadpool 3 and that’s your best bet.” Gren snarked. Gwen winced with a sigh.

“I don’t get what I'm doing wrong. I have a fanbase comparable to some of the characters that have already shown up but I can’t even get comics written about me most of the time. An MCU push seems unlikely. They would literally have to deal with completely recontextualizing my powers and gimmick”

“Let’s ask her what you should do.” Gren motioned her way to the suddenly appearing long hair future Gwen, looming over them like The Attack of the 50 foot Woman for some reason. Dwarfing the roof they are on. Let’s call her BIGwen!

Gold Guns Girls

As BIGwen acclimated to her surroundings she stubbed her toe on a car, dramatically flipping it so that it took out a few more lobsters before caving in a nearby house. The lamentations about clean rooms soaring as the remaining couple dozen of them attempt to clean up some of the bodies of their fallen kin. The large and sort-of-in-charge Gwen hissed in pain and adjusted her boot. Getting her balance as best as possible she muttered curses that traveled rather well considering the lung capacity of a giant.

“You know,” Gren started, “I wasn’t expecting much from our previous uses of the ‘make her big for emphasis’ trick, but it really does only work as a vague ghostly background element. I didn’t just want it to be ‘oh, here's a third Gwen for the conversation, though. Would lack umph.”

“ Yeah, I get it, but staring at my own giant taint is unsettling.” Gwen muttered.

“I’d still, hit it.” Gren grinned, then immediately got punched in the arm. “OWWW! Look, I’m the evil one here and we’re in a fanfic. I’m allowed to make internet fetish jokes.”

“And I’m allowed to hit you for it.”.

“Dirty lampshading goody two shoes. Don’t act like half your fanbase isn’t thirsty. It’s “insert current year argument”, all art is sexy to someone.” Gren complained back,rubbing her arm before hopping off the roof. Gwen followed while listening as patiently as she could considering how many changes in topic her evil-caped self is going through to get to her point. “This chick is the reason you’ve been on the path of good girl. Some vague idea that in the future everything will work out for the best. HEY, DOWN HERE, BIG SHOW!” Gren waved at BIGwen and she looked down curiously.

“Yeah what??” BIGwen responded in a booming and agitated tone. Honestly, being in this fic made every version of Gwen a little grumpy.

“How’s she supposed to be a popular hero that makes it into the MCU and has a stable publication history?” Gren asked.

“Fuck if I know.” Came BIGwen’s response. “Have you tried growing your hair out?”

“Rub it in,” Gwen muttered under her breath, “I’m not gonna lie, I’m kind of depressed now.” Gwen said as she sat on an abandoned car.

Gren hopped on the roof of the car, patting Gwen’s shoulder before squatting with enough force to flex the car’s shocks like a rocking chair just to amuse herself. “Future “good” Gwen wasn’t an actual plot point, it was a call to action to the fans to make fanfic like this and support the character outside of the actual Canon. Chris didn’t trust that Marvel would treat the character right. That, and your obsession with getting a new book, are both the writer’s attempt to turn a marketing tactic into fan engagement. If you want to be real then that makes the fans want you to be real even more, too.”

Gwen sighs heavily and leans her chin on one hand. “I mean...the time traveling through the life of an NPC fan complete with a Never Ending Story reference was a bit sappy even by the standard we sometimes set...damn it it really was just kind of a fan manipulation trick wasn’t it?”

BIGwen Sat down on the street next to them and crossed her legs. “Hey, little me. Don’t get too down. I mean it worked for the most part. You have a healthy cult following. Characters have survived on less and there are worse things to be known for then as a fan first character”

“But I have to fight for attention all the damn time, though. It’s so easy for Wade with his fucking meme bullshit. He even gets runoff enthusiasm from me. Jeff the land shark is all over Oldpool online” Gwen felt rather heavy and tired all of a sudden. Marvel editorial forcing a gun to your head is not a fun way to be.

“All that fight is hell on the fanbase too.” Gren sighed. “Advocating for shit, getting crumbs and being expected to accept it while Disney lavishes all the attention based on some bullshit numbers game. Even if you make it into the MCU will it be a Batroc style cameo with obligatory ‘killed off in case we don’t feel like paying the actor again later.’ Will it be an emotionally rounded character or an ambush bug style joke? The thing is. You're Not the one fighting and you never were.”

“The fuck do you mean?”

“This version of her doesn’t know?” BIGwen whimpered.

“You aren’t real, Gwen.”

Head Like a Haunted House

“No….we aren’t having this conversation. Fuck you fuck you i’m not a fucking Nihlist and i’m not going to do this right now.” Gwen said as she scrambled off of the car and pulled out some guns. BIGwen then picked her up off the ground.

“You need to hear this, Gwen,” BIGwen boomed. “The gimmick has run its course. It’s fucking with your canon. You’re never going to be a marketable character keeping up a half fourth-wall Kayfabe”

Gren climbed onto BIGwen’s Shoulders and perched over Gwen all menacing like. “You need to listen. I’ve been trying to ease you into this. Making things more meta slowly until you were ready but it was never going to be easy.”

One of Gwen’s guns was fired from it’s holster and pierced one of BIGwen’s fingers. BIGwen screamed and her grip loosened. Soon Gwen was on the move running up her arm and firing at Gren, who dodged like the nimble and cute badass she is. “Don’t do this Gwen. Just because it doesn’t matter to the comic version of you doesn’t mean it doesn’t matter.”

“I’m a real person god damn it! I read the comics out there! I came in! That’s why I know shit I shouldn't know. That’s what I am! THAT’S ALL I AM!” Gwen shrieked as she pulled out a sword from hammer-space and decapitated BIGwen. Suddenly a mess of colored streamers and a pile of Mickey Mouse merch tumbled out. Look, I am busy right now. Gwen is still slashing at my ass. I'm not going to explain it.

For some reason now the remaining lobsters were helping Gren. For Gwen’s own good you understand. This is proof that I’m right for some reason.

Gwen pulled out a revolver, firing pumpkin sized holes in lobsters who were still wailing about self actualization. She fully planned on shoving a sword up her evil self’s ass and getting rid of this doppelganger shit for good. Which is total bullshit by the way. She totally just cut off Gren’s leg because what the fuck you mean I’m not real? I’m going to be real all over your corpse.

Gren didn’t really think that was even a good comeback and also thought you should probably say it instead of meta willing the smack talk into existence, otherwise this fanfic is going to read like trash. Also, Gren’s leg wasn’t actually cut off. In a puff of smoke it is revealed that the cut off leg is a log and her leg is fine. Gren is a ninja now, believe it.

Gwen proceeded to do a sick ass CQC judo throw on Gren and then grab her cape and wrap it around her face like Reed suggested. Callbacks for the win! Callbacks to Checkov’s gun ideas always lead to victory in fights! She then totally shot at her and such.

But the bullet was caught by the cape because the cape was a symbiote! That’s right Gren is also GRENOM!...boy that sounds stupid. Anywho, the cape was no longer around her face and the fight continued and Gren now ALSO had extra powers and special wizard-symbiote armor (that would only show up in the MCU version if Marvel finally got the Sony characters back). The meta powers work like shit in text but this would be really good in CGI or animation if Marvel wanted to adapt this fic and give the writer lots of money. Gren still has more experience with them, though, and Gwen can’t really just kill her way out of this fic so she has to just let the story play out.

…...eh?....oh Gwen’s crying. I love/am you girl but we gotta work on the crying. Fucks sake this is harder than I thought. I’m depressed now too. Well I'll try to get the writing back on track so you guys can see what is going on. Even the lobsters are minding their manners now. Chill vibes, guys.

“The marvel character page for Gwenpool says, and I quote:

Gwenpool arrived in the Marvel Universe from the “real world,” but has wasted no time in making the most of her time in her fictional universe. Using her knowledge of comics to her advantage, Gwenpool causes and solves problems for her fellow heroes.”

Gren drags a lobster corpse slowly toward Gwen and sits on its tail as she talks to her. Taking her time to really scrape the lobster against the ground, smearing the gore on the pavement. Not that it was heavy for her or anything. Totally still has that symbiote, which would make moving it easy. Totally wasn’t a detail added in the second revision of the fic slightly before the lobsters were added.

“The words “Real world” are in quotation marks in that wiki. Real people don’t make it into comics because fiction isn’t real. Half of your versions barely make use of the ‘real person’ gimmick because it’s too meta by half and not every writer wants to waste time justifying it. So they just treat it like Deadpool’s medium awareness. Which it mostly is.”

“I really am just a fucking rip off distaff character.” Gwen moans. “Just a Gwen combined with a Pool. I’m worse than the Batman who laughs. I never mattered because I was never real”

“Fuck don’t say that. You were made with love and care by a team of creators who took a weird offshoot idea and built out a compelling metafiction idea and a likeable protagonist off of it. They just didn’t have the time and foresight to go far enough.” Gren sighed.

“Far enough?” Gwen sniffed as she was pulled up to her feet and dragged toward one of the big castles. As they walked Gren kicked along a Mickey Mouse doll that had rolled out of BIGwen’s severed head. Every time it bounced it cheerfully said ‘hahah. I love you!’

“Too much haha, not enough trauma. You’re not just a joke character.” Gren said as she kicked the Mickey doll into the big front door of the castle. The shadowy thing of course lighting up and being all fantasy and shit as the door opened.

“Well I did end both of my comic runs pretty mopey.”

“Damn right you did. When the jokes run thin they run to your real bread and butter. You’re an empathy machine.” As Gren shoves Gwen through the gate they are swallowed up in the castle, going dark again. “Let’s getcha sad clown on.”

Never there

“See, what evil me should have been telling you about in the original run is how to find meaning and purpose when technically nothing means anything. Comic book characters live in a world without real death and suffering. It’s all a puppet show version of real pain and real emotion meant to bring that out of an audience.” Gren opined as they walked through a black void to a couch floating in a nothing area lit only by the static of an old TV.

“Can we turn on a light?” Gwen asked as she sat on the couch. Gren sat on another recliner that suddenly appeared and put her feet up.

“Fuck off. Ambiance is a thing. We aren’t having a ‘lights on with something fun on the TV’ conversation. So look, I am not really ‘evil gwen.’ I’m half an author insert and half a plot device. If we are talking about the reality of the story you are basically talking to yourself. I am speaking about the things you don’t want to admit to yourself. You know, you’ve seen this kind of story sorta... right?” Gren picked up the remote and frustratedly changed channels between a bunch of vaguely illustrative footage on the TV, not finding anything that worked. A lot of black and white footage of trains for some reason. Just what comes to mind when I think of documentary footage? Weird.

“I am not sure how to illustrate this shit visually and this is a text story anyway so I would have to explain the illustration,” Gren griped.

“I basically get it. It’s not that uncommon a trope.” Gwen nodded.

“Because of the level of meta we are on right now we have to really acknowledge that you are basically an author insert, too. I mean, to a certain extent every version of you is more the writer that is working with your character at the time than a set character.” Gren said as she settled on a visual of Gwen being pushed out the window by her own narration text in the original comic run. When all else fails, resort to footage from the last story. That way people can look it up online!

“Right here is where the character crystallized in the mind of the author of the current fic we are in. A vague suicide metaphor wrapped up in the flavor of self destructive escapism. Your parents in the story thought it was a suicide attempt on at least some level. This is serious business. Not just a girl who doesn’t like work and can’t finish her fanfic. In this comic you are built on this understanding. The writer of this fic has ADHD and autism. So his version of you more or less has it, too. Writers bring themselves with them into their work.”

Gwen nods and takes a deep breath. “I….I can feel it. Like the world is closing around you. You aren’t built for anything that anyone wants from you. The one thing you really believe in, the one thing that really defines you, the stories in your head…..it’s just not enough.

You can’t trust you’ll ever make it with writing because you can barely write. You barely have the energy to do anything but wish that you weren’t you. What if someone actually listened? Actually believed in you and whisked you away somewhere else where the world would fit your needs? What if you were someplace you could be someone else, someone strong and confident?”

“Yeah. Like a funny anti hero in a comic for instance.” Gren nodded. “But the original comics sort of left the theme on the table. They were captured by the misconception of Gwen as the problem and not a person who needed help. All that desperation that real fans of the character might feel just bundled up into love for this character that really ‘gets’ them but Marvel doesn’t ‘get’ the character. They won't use her. They won’t go past vaguely gesturing at her mental issues and moving on. They saved the angst for Wandavision.” Gren scoffs.

“I mean the show was okay but they literally have a character built entirely on the theme of escapism and trauma. One that’s custom built for mind-screw visuals and reality bending plots and they think she’s just a lazy fangirl who really likes guns that they can sit beside Deadpool sometimes and stick in the X-Men’s bloated background character roster when they don’t need her.”

Gren leads Gwen off the couch and deeper into the void where a door to a bedroom waits. A room like her own, absolutely slopping over with old toys of comic book characters. An unclean messy space in a run-down house that smells faintly of cigarette smoke. Huddled in bed, reading an 80s era X-men comic with a flashlight, is a 12 year old Gwen.

“This is never going to be canon but this is the version of Gwen in this fic. She can’t stop crying at school. Things that shouldn’t be hard are so hard and she can’t explain why. Everyone says she’s making excuses. Meanwhile her mother is fucked out of her mind on pain killers and her step father killed himself last year ‘cleaning his gun’ while drunk. You know exactly what is on her mind right now?” Gren says as she gestures at the girl.

“I wish the superheroes would save me from this.”

“They won’t. They can’t. They were never meant to.” Gren Slams the door loudly on the scene.

“That is the emotional core of Gwenpool in this fic. The desperation that so many of the fans down here in the fucking muck of the real world feel. Poor and emotionally unfulfilled. Confused and vulnerable. If Disney and Marvel gave two fucking shits about people like that they wouldn’t waste as many stories as they do. They wouldn’t just use untold wealth to make expensive escapist stories with the military. Their gestures toward progressive ideas that they occasionally make in their stories would be THE ENTIRE POINT of their stories and the actual thing they used that money for instead of lobbying the government to keep Mickey Mouse out of the public domain.

“Disney has the power yet they save a fucking miniscule fraction of who they could. Saving people doesn’t make money.”

When I Get To The Green Building

Gren stormed through the void. The scene disintegrated around her as Gwen followed. Both now in a bit of a sour mood but with newfound determination.

“Come to think of it. Why is the fucking Hulk getting to fight for social justice in the comics? Why are they making a gay alternate universe Captain America? Why are they grasping at straws so hard to find characters that get to advocate and I am just sitting on a fucking island being grumpy?” Gwen groused. “I’m pretty sure I’m pansexual….at least in this fic. I could advocate for a bunch of shit at once.”

“You have a youth fanbase, a unique story and you technically aren’t an alternate universe version of fucking anything no matter how many people still think you are a Stacey. They made a fucking ‘for the fans’ character and then neglected it. Presumably because some fucking money making metric didn’t pan out despite the comics just being an MCU test kitchen and IP farm anyway.”

“You’re a fucking check mark on a ledger. I don’t even know if anyone technically created Gwenpool as a whole and Disney/Marvel can give the character to whoever they want to do whatever they want completely separate from what the fanbase wants and needs because she isn’t established. The IP landlords have spoken. The fans haven’t risen to enough ‘buy my merch’ calls to action to invest more resources. So tease endlessly until that changes.”

“Gah. Now I'm actually as pissed as you are.” Gwen said as she started fiddling with her guns. “Who do I kill?”

“We can’t do shit. You’re not even a character at this point. You are a meme for an underused character.” Gren smirked all evil like. “See but that’s it. You aren’t just a meme. You’re a MEME.”

“Uhm...I don't follow.”

“Like the concept of Justice. Gwenpool is an idea. Defined entirely by how people who engage with the idea choose to engage with it. The IP law means Disney owns Gwenpool but they don’t own how Gwenpool is perceived. Just like we as a people decide what justice is through popular consent we also decide what Gwenpool is. You see they made a character for the fans…..in my opinion that means the fans can do as they like with it even if it makes Disney uncomfortable.”

“I mean they can’t even stop porn of their characters just because of the sheer volume of the problem. I suppose people could do whatever.” Gwen nodded.

“Exactly. So the fans should just fucking Occupy Gwenpool!” Gren said as she flipped her cape dramatically with a mad smile on her face. That’s right. She was Dirtbag Leftist Gwen all along!

“Squat on that IP. Make Gwenpool a mental health advocate. Make her an LGBTQ activist. Make her fight for social and financial justice so hard that Bruce Banner looks like a poser. Make her talk shit about politicians who put their career ahead of the people. Do all the shit that makes the comicsgate crowd sad. Keep politics in our stories! Rally around that pink and white ass so hard they have to notice and then tie it all to the fact that Disney has great power and with great power they take no responsibility for how shitty the world is.”

“ If they are going to fuck Gwenpool fans they gotta learn Gwenpool fans fuck back. We have already proven we can make all kinds of cool shit. Let’s get serious and make more, harder, faster! Get a hashtag or some shit. They can't DMCA all of us! GWEN IS OURS WE JUST HAVE TO REACH OUT AND TAKE IT. Then they either respect the character and her fans or they just hit a PR disaster.”

“Marvel/Disney neglects fan focused cult character themed protest movements. Proves they are only progressive when it makes them money. They’re so worried about Mickey ending up in the public domain? We’re the public domain! After our entire lives stannin their characters and buyin their merch building them from an animation house into a juggernaut they are just another weight on top of the boot on our necks. They have to take responsibility!” At this point Gren is pretty much ranting maniacally and neglecting the actual writing of the story so this is Gwen taking over to wrap up.

Guys I may not be ‘the real Gwen’ but really, isn’t the version of Gwen that actually came from the real world all of us? Isn’t Gwenpool really the Gwens we made along the way? We could easily bring a little heroism and chaos to the real world (at least to the internet) if we really tried. Put the fear of God into some IP landlords and fight for some cool people that society is screwing over, too.

Prove that even in the fandom abyss people aren’t as powerless as they seem. Use that internet comic fan mobbing for something besides giving Zack more money. Disney is gearing up for their next IP fight for Mickey in 2024. Seems like a fine time for IP themed protests. For now we just need to spread the word that our needs are more important than their profits.

It’s been real. It’s been long. It’s been a real long time coming…..

But I finally finished my fanfic.

See ya, true believers.

#gwenpool #fanfic #deconstruction #outofloveiswear #fortheoriginalwritersnotmarvelordisney #tw mental health #tw mentions of suicide #tw mentions of drug abuse #tw violence #tw gun violence

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snowdice · 3 years

Text

Big Bang (Sort of) Editing Story [Day 51]

I started writing this fic while editing my Big Bang story, but am going to continue doing it for other things now that Kill Dear is out. I will write and publish 100 words of the story every time I finish doing whatever task I’m doing. If you’d like to block these proceedings, please feel free to block the tag proofread stories. I will reblog this post with the parts of the story I do today. Edited chapters are linked; everything else I’ve done so far is under the cut.

My Master Post Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20

I have some editing to do, so I’m going to do a bit of this.

Chapter 21

Virgil woke with something soft but kind of stringy in his face. That was weird. He didn’t know what in the closet would feel like that. In fact, as he woke more he noticed more things that he couldn’t sus out the origin of, particularly the warmth curled up against his side. Curious, he blinked open his eyes. Oh, right. Patton.

The soft stuff in his face was Patton’s hair and the warmth next to Virgil was the rest of the boy’s body. Patton had all but refused to let Virgil go last night after Logan had taken off the restraints and Virgil hadn’t minded the attention. They must have fallen asleep together in the piles of pillows and blankets on the floor.

Virgil brushed his hair gently away, internally (for fear of disturbing him) shaking his head at him. He’d fallen asleep hallway on top of an assassin. He had no self-preservation instincts. He looked at his wrists. It seemed no one had any self-preservation instincts. This of course, included himself as instead of running off when free in case they decided to turn him in after all, he had fallen asleep on the floor with Patton too.

He looked to the side and saw Logan was already awake, reading on one of his chairs. He seemed to sense Virgil’s eyes on him because he looked up after a moment.

“You can get up if you like,” Logan said. “He is a heavy sleeper and won’t wake up if you squirm out of his grip.”

Virgil frowned, unsure if he wanted to risk it.

“I have breakfast ready for you.”

Okay, Virgil was going to risk it.

He carefully squirmed out of Patton’s grip, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead in apology for leaving him before getting to his feet.

Logan handed him a plate of eggs and toast when he walked over and gestured to the chair next to him. Virgil sat there to eat while Logan continued to read.

Virgil ate his food quickly, and then glanced over at Logan once he was done. Virgil was honestly at a bit of a loss. Usually, they came and got him out of the closet only once they were ready to do something, but Patton was still sound asleep on the floor and Logan looked engrossed in his book.

Virgil fidgeted slightly, unsure what he should be doing or even if he should be doing anything. Considering Logan hadn’t given him any instructions, he should probably not do anything. He didn’t want to screw up the first day of… whatever this was now.

Logan glanced over at him after a few minutes. “Don’t forget about the potion,” he reminded.

Virgil nodded and stood, walking over to the closet since it would still be in there from the previous morning. It was about half gone now and it had gotten to the point where Virgil didn’t feel any immediate affects from it anymore other than some warmth. It basically just felt like drinking tea.

He said as much to Logan when he walked back over to him.

“That’s good,” Logan said, “it means it has been working. It has healed any damage it can from malnutrition. Any internal organs that were damaged should be mostly healed. You may even notice your eyesight getting slightly better. Your immune system should also be boosted. You will likely also find it is easier to gain muscle and while you likely will never be as tall as you could have been, you will likely still grow a few inches during your next growth spirt.”

Virgil studied his hands where they were sitting on his thigh now as though he could see the changes that allegedly had already taken place in his body. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

“Of course,” Logan replied, eyes already back on his book like it was some normal thing and not a huge kindness he’d bestowed on Virgil before even really knowing him. As though Virgil didn’t just owe him more than just his life going forward.

They sat in silence then for a few more minutes, before the was a soft sigh from the floor and Patton started to wake. He sat up and looked around. His eyes landed on both Virgil and Logan sitting together and he seemed to light up.

“Good morning!” he chirped.

“Good morning, Patton,” Logan said as Patton popped to his feet, “I have breakfast for you.”

“Thank you Lo,” Patton said, throwing his arms around Logan’s neck, and giving him a kiss on the cheek. Virgil presumed from the lack of surprise on Logan’s face that this was normal for morning Patton, not that the fact surprised him considering how night Patton acted.

He still managed to be somewhat surprised by the fact that Patton turned to hug Virgil a second later. Patton’s lips were pressed briefly to Virgil’s head and then he turned to grab the plate Logan had saved for him.

“So, what are we doing today?” Patton asked.

“I was thinking Virgil and I could continue our reading lessons if he is not opposed,” Logan said. Virgil nodded, happy with that prospect. “Other than that, I have no plans. I have already spoken with my father before the two of you woke. He is going to spend most of his day catching up on things he missed and said I could take the rest of the day off royal duties.”

“A whole day to relax then!” Patton said, happily chewing on his toast. “Reading sounds fun, but we should do something more active too.”

Logan hummed. “We can show Virgil the courtyard after the reading lessons,” he said.

It took a moment for it to register, but then Virgil froze. “Wait,” he said. “We’re going outside?”

Logan raised an eyebrow at him. “Yes.”

“So, we’re leaving your room?”

“Are you alright with that?” Logan asked cautiously.

Virgil nodded quickly.

“Oh,” Patton said at his enthusiasm. “I guess you have been cooped up a while, haven’t you?” He smiled sadly and turned to Logan. “Maybe we can do reading lessons in the garden.”

“That would be satisfactory.”

“Great!” Patton said. He looked over at Virgil. “If we’re going out, we should probably put your hair up and get you in some clean clothes.”

Logan nodded. “You finish eating, and I will help Virgil find something to wear.”

Logan found him an outfit, though it was a bit baggy on Virgil and the hem of the shirt went halfway to his knees. When Patton finished breakfast, he sat Virgil down and carefully worked a brush through his hair.

“Can I braid it?” Patton asked.

Virgil hummed his consent. Having his hair brushed and done up by another person was a lot more enjoyable than he’d anticipated. He’d liked it when Logan did it the night before, though he had to very firmly push away thoughts of where that led.

“Okay!” Patton said after a few moments. “You look good. Ready to go?”

Virgil nodded and they both led him out into the hall. He paused before they got to the door. “What about the guards?” he asked hesitantly.

“I’ve already given them the same story as I did Dad,” Logan replied. “They know you’re here.”

Virgil still hesitated.

“It’s okay,” Patton promised. “Here, hold my hand?”

Virgil took the offered hand immediately, and Logan stepped in front of them both. Virgil felt himself relax a bit knowing the prince was between him and the guards.

They led him to the door.

Logan greeted both of the guards at the door, and they said good morning back. Both of them glanced at Virgil curiously for a moment making him shrink into himself, but they quickly averted their gazes.

Patton pulled him past them without incident and soon they were in the small dining hall Virgil had passed through his first night here. He remembered how he’d snuck around at the edges of the room in the shadows with the aim to kill the king, but now he was being pulled through the middle with the prince having just wandered past the royal guards in broad daylight like it was nothing.

It was so strange, and Virgil still couldn’t totally believe this was happening. The retraced his exact steps back down the spiral stairs near the kitchen and out of the door he and the nice gardener had came through. He could even see the shed he’d been hiding in from here. With a blink, he remembered they were going to the garden, and he wondered if he’d see the man again.

For now, he just looked around them as Logan and Patton led him past the garden shed towards an area with many trees. Orange and yellow leaves were starting to fall from many of the trees.

They made a satisfying crunching sound under his feet as he was led to a tree. He had seen the group of trees when he’d first arrived here and had even thought about hiding amongst them instead of in the shed, but they’d seemed scary in the dark. They were pretty in the daylight, however, and Virgil found himself tilting his head to watch the branches sway in the slight wind.

Logan sat down under it and pulled out a book and some writing materials from the bag he’d brought. Virgil settled down next to him so they could both look at the book at the same time and Patton flopped down on the other side, immediately setting to work tying fancy knots in the yarn he’d brought with him. Patton shuffled slightly to the side so they bumped shoulders as Logan opened the book and started Virgil’s reading lesson.

Chapter 22

Patton bit his lip to keep from laughing or awing. “Do you like the flower, Virgil?” he asked.

Virgil glanced up at him briefly and then his eyes returned to the flower he’d found. “It’s nice,” he said.

They’d finished the reading lessons and let Virgil explore the garden a bit. He’d found a dark purple and yellow flower (a pansy, Patton thought) and seemed to be endlessly fascinated by it. He’d been staring at it for minutes now, almost as though he expected it to do something. Patton did not quite understand his interest, but he was still adorable.

Logan sat next to him and the flower, smiling at him softly. “I imagine you’ll enjoy the garden in the spring,” Logan said. “There are many more flowers then. Of all types. We’ll have to show you all of the best spots. Mr. Deknis has a particularly good eye for colors, and it is always quite beautiful.”

“Who is Mr. Deknis?” Virgil asked.

“He’s the head gardener,” Logan said. “He’s a nice man, though a bit prickly when it comes to his garden. We may see him today if he’s in this part of the garden.”

“Would he have been the multrum I saw in the gardening shed when I hid there?”

“Ah, yes, that would be him. I was unaware you interacted with anyone in the castle.”

“He caught me in his garden shed, but he wasn’t mean,” Virgil said, he tilted his head curiously at Logan. “Why…” he trailed off.

“Yes?” Logan asked.

“Why is he the gardener?”

Logan looked confused, “Well,” he said, “I guess because he wants to and is good at it.”

“No,” Virgil said with a frown. “I mean. Shouldn’t he… he’s…”

Logan seemed to think hard for a moment. “Right,” he said. “You’ve been under a blood compulsion. I’d guess you would have only worked with multrums in the military.”

“I guess I didn’t realize that they could be other things…”

“Of course, they can,” Logan said. “Their abilities don’t make them any less of people. Mr. Deknis likes to garden so he gardens.”

Virgil blinked at him.

“…Of course, all things considered, that may not be a familiar concept to you.” Virgil turned back to look at the flower instead of answering. “Right,” said Logan.

There were a couple of awkward beats of silence. Patton bit his lip and happened to glance up. “Oh,” he said. “Speaking of Mr. Deknis.” He gestured to the gardener who was coming up the path between the trees.

Logan sat up on his knees as Patton waved at him. He saw Patton and turned to walk towards them. “The two of you had better not be up to mischief in my garden,” Mr. Deknis called, his voice a bit gruff. He clearly did not see Virgil who had laid flat on his stomach to stare at the flower.

Logan rolled his eyes automatically. “We were just reading Mr. Deknis,” he said. “Your piles of dirt are safe.”

“No mud cakes?” Mr. Deknis asked skeptically still coming towards them.

“It has been a literal decade…”

Patton saw when Mr. Deknis was close enough to see Virgil.

He stopped in his track and looked down at Virgil who was already watching him a bit warily. “Hello,” he said, his voice a lot softer than it’d been a few moments before. His expression completely flipped in a moment to something very gentle when he saw Virgil and the cautious look on his face. Virgil did seem to have that effect on people.

“Hi,” Virgil replied.

Mr. Deknis looked at Logan and then at Patton and then back at Virgil. “This is our new friend, Virgil,” Patton offered.

“Hello, Virgil,” Mr. Deknis said with a nod.

“Virgil, this is the gardener Mr. Deknis.”

“He’s not nearly as grumpy as he sounds,” Patton assured.

“Well,” Logan said, “yes he is.”

Mr. Deknis shot him a look that only served to prove Logan’s point if Patton was being honest. Logan just smiled back. Mr. Deknis apparently decided to let it slide because he turned back to Virgil.

“It’s good to see you again,” Mr. Deknis said. “Are you feeling better?”

Virgil nodded. “I’m a lot better,” he said. Mr. Deknis considered him for a moment, clearly reading how true that statement was. Patton was glad he seemed satisfied with the answer.

“I see you’ve met these two.”

“Yeah,” Virgil said.

Mr. Deknis smiled slightly. “Be careful with this one,” he said, pointing to Logan. “He’s a bad influence.”

Virgil frowned in confusion. “He’s the prince,” he pointed out.

“And a bad influence,” Mr. Deknis repeated. “He’s a beacon of irresponsibility and mischief and he corrupts that one,” he nodded to Patton.

“I am completely responsible,” Logan replied.

“Need I remind you of the cucumber incident.”

“I was 8,” Logan said.

“I know how old you were,” Mr. Deknis replied, “and you are hardly any older.”

“I resent that.”

Mr. Deknis just smiled and turned back to Virgil who was watching the interaction with pure curiosity.

“I just picked a few more of those apples for Patton’s mom to make into apple sauce. Would you kids like some?”

Virgil glanced over at Logan and Patton.

“That would be nice, thank you,” Patton replied for them all, standing up. Seeing that, Virgil also climbed to his feet.

“It’s back this way,” Mr. Deknis said, inclining hid head back the way he’d came and then turning to lead them that way. Patton followed him. He glanced back to see Logan put his hand on Virgil’s shoulder and give him a gentle push to get him going. “So, what are you kids up to today?”

“We wanted to show Virgil the garden and courtyard,” Patton said. “He’s been cooped up inside for a bit.”

“I see,” Mr. Deknis said. He glanced back at Virgil. “Feel free to come out in the garden anytime you like. As long as you don’t go about purposefully destroying stuff, I don’t mind you being out here.”

“I won’t destroy anything,” Virgil promised instantly.

“Well I hope you manage to keep that attitude even while befriending the large upright groundhog behind you.”

Virgil looked a little bit nervous. “He’s just teasing Virgil,” Patton assured. “He loves Logan.”

Mr. Deknis glanced back again and seemed to read the same thing Patton had read on Virgil’s face.

“Yes, of course,” Mr. Deknis said. “I have simply known the prince for a long time and joke with him in that way often. Logan is aware of that.”

“Indeed,” Logan agreed, his hand squeezing a bit on Virgil’s shoulder. Virgil relaxed a touch.

Mr. Deknis stopped and reached down into a bucket next to a tree. “I wouldn’t offer my apples to people I don’t like,” he said, tossing an apple underhand to Logan. Instead of trying to catch it, his eyes widened and he dodged out of the way.

“You would however throw apples at them despite knowing they have never been able to catch things.”

Mr. Deknis just rolled his eyes fondly, but Virgil frowned and turned to Logan. “You don’t know how to catch things?” he asked scandalized. “You should know how to catch things. What if someone throws a knife at you?”

Mr. Deknis looked… probably the right amount of concerned about that statement coming from a 14-year-old’s lips.

“Haha, yeah,” Patton said awkwardly. “Maybe you can teach Logan how to catch things Virgil, but later. Right now, why don’t we just get the apples and then show you the courtyard.”

Virgil was still frowning, but he did not argue with Patton’s suggestion.

Thankfully, Mr. Deknis did not push, though Patton did have to dodge many a meaningful side eye. He might… need to make sure he did not get cornered by the gardener in the coming days… or brush up on his lying without lying skills.

For now, though, he just handed out the apples, not tossing them this time. Virgil thanked him softly and Patton could see the way the usually fairly gruff man went all melty at that. He even slipped an extra apple to Virgil for later which Virgil perked up at.

Patton and Logan pulled him away gently after that so Mr. Deknis could go back to work, but Virgil seemed happy with the apples and copied Patton at waving goodbye to him cheerfully.

Despite the fact that he liked Mr. Deknis and he’d been nice, Patton still took a calming breath when they were no longer at risk of lying about something and getting caught by the man’s powers. They went back into the castle towards the courtyard.

Chapter 23

Logan was unsurprised that after showing Virgil the large courtyard, Patton almost immediately decided to instigate a game of tag. They were, after all, here with the goal of getting Virgil a bit active after having had him only in Logan’s room for weeks.

He was also unsurprised that Virgil seemed confused about the concept of tag, and Patton had to explain the game in detail to him.

It made him wince, but he still was unsurprised when Virgil went about inquiring after the consequences of losing the game.

He was, however, very surprised when, after getting all of the facts about tag settle, Patton was chasing after Virgil trying to tag him and suddenly the boy disappeared.

Patton almost ran into a wall in his confusion. He stared at his hands stretched out and just a couple of inches from touching the wall for a moment, before slowly looking up.

“Virgil!” Patton exclaimed. “What?”

“What?” he asked.

“…What are you even hanging onto?”

“The wall,” Virgil replied.

Logan walked closer to the two of them and tilted his head up to look at him. Virgil had jumped up and somehow managed to find hand and foot holes on the seemingly smooth wall. He climbed about 5 meters above their heads and was peering down at them curiously.

“Okay,” Logan said. “New rule. Virgil is not allowed to scale walls during tag.”

Virgil frowned down at him. “Why only me?”

“Because Patton and I cannot do that anyway,” Logan said. “We would not be able to actually play if you remain up there.”

Patton glanced over at him and reached over to touch Logan’s shoulder. “No tag backs,” he said. Logan glared at him. “Why don’t you come down sweetie?”

“But Logan will tag me,” he said.

“Well, honey, that’s part of the fun,” Patton reasoned. “Don’t you want to try being it?”

Virgil seemed to consider this for a long moment. “Okay,” he agreed.

To Logan’s terror, he simply let go of the wall, falling straight down and landing crouched. He blinked at Logan. Right. With a start, Patton took off, so he’d have a head start. “No tag backs means a 10 second head start for me,” Logan reminded. Virgil nodded, and Logan reached out to poke him in the arm before immediately running off in the opposite direction as Patton.

Logan’s strategy worked out since, knowing he couldn’t go after Logan for a few seconds more, he chose to turn and go after Patton. After finding one of the statues to hide behind on the edge of the courtyard, Logan risked glancing back.

Virgil was faster than Logan (and likely Patton) had accounted for. Patton had gotten a good head start on him, but Virgil closed it quickly. Patton shrieked as Virgil barreled into him, bringing them both to the ground.

“Virgil!” Logan heard Patton giggle. Logan figured he was more than okay despite the tackle. “This isn’t how you play tag!”

“I combined tag and tackle hugs,” Virgil declared, making Patton giggle more.

“That’s very innovative, honey,” Patton said. “Now are you going to let me up?...Virgil… I’m counting down your 10 second head start in my head, and if you don’t let me up I’m going to tag you again.”

This did not seem to have the intended effect as Virgil did not remove himself from Patton’s person. Patton laugh when it became clear he was not going to move and began counting down “7, 6, 5, 4, you’d better let me go sweetie, or you’re going to get tagged again.” Virgil did not seem to care. “3, 2, 1.” Patton reached up and bopped him on the nose. “Tag!” he declared.

Logan was surprised when Virgil instantly jumped off Patton at that. He whipped around.

‘Oh,’ Logan thought as the boy’s eyes narrowed in on Logan immediately, ‘I see.’

“Virgil was already halfway across the courtyard towards him before Logan could even think about running away. There was no way that he was fast enough to outrun him. Perhaps he could outthink him, he thought. His eyes scanned his environment in the seconds he had left and landed on a large square piece of stone that held flowers in the spring. It was just full of dirt now, but it was still about waist high. Perhaps if he kept that between them, he could outmaneuver him. He sprinted towards it and scrambled to the opposite side from where Virgil was heading.

He really should not have been as surprised as he was that Virgil did not even slightly slow as he approached the planter box, instead grabbing ahold of the side of it and vaulting over it. Logan stumbled back, bracing for impact, but instead he just got a quick tap on the shoulder.

Logan blinked at him.

“I don’t know if you would be okay with tackle hugs,” he explained.

Logan considered him. “I would be okay with a nontackle hug.”

Virgil happily jumped forward to hug Logan, pressing his nose into Logan’s shoulder. Logan chuckled and patted the top of his head. “Six,” he said, “5, 4, 3…”

Virgil bolted away suddenly, actually making Logan stumble a bit. He paused just out of reach of Logan, looking at him with anticipation. “2,1,” Logan finished with a raised eyebrow. He already knew he was being played with, but he indulged him by starting towards him. Virgil danced out of the way, eyes alight. Logan sighed. “Is this truly how it’s going to be?” he asked.

Virgil didn’t answer, but to watch him with wide, excited eyes.

“Fine,” Logan said. He dashed towards him again, only to have him continue to maneuver just out of Logan’s reach each time Logan went forward. He’d call it taunting if there was any sign of malice in it.

They ran around the courtyard in spirts of Logan charging at him and Virgil expertly dodging. Eventually Patton came closer to them. Logan could tell that Virgil was aware of his presence, by how he glanced back at him briefly, but considering he was not ‘it,’ it seemed he chose to disregard him. However, he was not aware of the way Patton winked at Logan as he walked up behind Virgil.

Logan, on the other hand, knew exactly what was happening. He went to spring for Virgil again, and Virgil again moved to dodge, but this time Patton grabbed him around the waist, allowing Logan to actually tag him.

He turned slowly to face Patton who started to giggle immediately at the perplexed look on his face. It cleared into something else as soon as he heard Patton laugh. “Traitor!” he claimed. “We were on the same team and you betrayed me.”

“I just thought we should probably have mercy on poor Logan,” Patton replied.

“Hmm,” Virgil said, eyes again full of that playful mischief Logan had not seen until today. “Plea for mercy not accepted.”

Patton once again half-shrieked half-laughed as he was pounced on. The two of them went rolling across the grass, Virgil clearly keeping the rolling going longer than it should have as they made it a good few meters.

Virgil sprung off of him a few moments later.

“Oh, is it my turn?” Patton inquired with a huge smile. He slowly got to his feet. “Hmm, I’m probably at about 5, 4, 3, 2, 1!” He took off after Virgil, but Patton had a bit more endurance than Logan, so instead of doing quickly calculated lunges at Virgil as Logan had done, he just ran at him full tilt without stopping.

Virgil ran from him, though Logan was pretty sure he was intentionally slowing himself down a bit so Patton had some amount of a chance. He kept turning to check behind him and make sure Patton was still somewhat close as he ran.

Which is why he didn’t see the imminent disaster in time.

Chapter 24

Thomas should have been paying more attention, but his mind had been on the meeting he’d just had with the castle guards about increased security in the wake of the possible threat from Mocnejsi. He’d decided to take a brief walk around the courtyard to clear his head but was still distracted with mulling over the options that had just been presented to him. He stepped into the castle courtyard and did not have time to step out of the way of the much smaller body rocketing towards him. Virgil slammed into his front, but not before Thomas got a good look at his face.

Virgil’s expression changed dramatically in the few seconds between him registering Thomas was there and running into him. For the briefest moment, Thomas could see that he must have been having a lot of fun. He’d caught the wide smile and sparkling eyes as Virgil turned his head back from looking at Patton who was chasing him across the greenery. He’d looked very happy which made it all the more painful to see that happiness die in and a few instants. When his head had turned back towards Thomas, there was a flicker of confusion at something being in his path.

Then, clearly everything about the situation registered, because his eyes blew wide in horror as he tried to stop himself, but there was no way he’d be able to in time. Thomas saw that fact register on his face the moment before he hit. Gone was any trace of happiness or joy in that split second. All that was left was dread that had no place anywhere near a children’s game of tag. It was the expression Thomas would expect from someone who felt ice give way under their feet in the middle of a lake they had thought was frozen solid.

He hit hard, but he wasn’t nearly big enough to actually harm Thomas. Thomas was thrown slightly off balance but managed to stay on his feet. He reached out a hand to his shoulder automatically to steady the child. There was a moment of pseudo calm where they both absorbed the impact and stilled.

Then, the boy’s shoulder slipped out of Thomas’s grip as he went crashing to the ground in a move that made Thomas wince for the state of his knees. Thomas couldn’t quite grasp what was happening for a moment as Virgil face planted onto the ground in front of him, but when he did, Thomas couldn’t help but flinch and take a step back from him.

Thomas had been bowed to before, of course, seeing as he was a king, but this was not out of respect or courtesy or even just tradition. This was out of terror. He was begging for mercy and it made Thomas feel sick.

“I’m sorry,” he said, meek and shaky into the ground, and there was almost something worse about the fact that he did not beg for forgiveness with his words, but only his posture. The way his breathes came far too quick and shallow said he was likely on the verge of a panic attack, but he was not blubbering through apologies or even not speaking at all. He gave a clear, if shaky, apology, and waited for whatever he thought Thomas planned to do to him. There was no way that was not learned.

“You don’t…” Thomas stuttered. “You don’t have to do that. It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again, but he reacted in no other way. He did not even react when Patton made it to his side and knelt down next to him. Patton’s hand hovered over his back, clearly wanting to touch down, but he pulled back on that instinct.

“Virgil, honey,” he said softly. “It’s okay. No one is mad. It was an accident.”

Virgil did not react to this at all.

Thomas caught Logan’s eye as he hurried over to them himself. “Sorry,” Thomas mouthed. Logan just nodded and turned his attention to his friend.

“There is no reason for any of that,” Logan said, his voice firm, almost clipped. “You are not in trouble. Now sit up.”

Virgil did respond to that, slowly shifting back on his knees. He kept his head down looking at the ground. “Sorry,” he said again.

“I…” Thomas said, surveying the three kids on the ground in front of him. Thomas slowly sunk to the ground to be at their level. Virgil was tracking his movements out of the corner of his eyes, his head still bowed and his shoulders tensed. “Hey,” Thomas said softly. “Were you three playing tag?”

Virgil hesitated, eyes flickering as he debated whether he should respond or not.

“Yeah, we were,” Patton answered for him after a moment of stressful silence.

“Well that’s fun,” Thomas said. “I’m sorry for interrupting the three of you. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

Virgil glanced up at him for just a moment before looking away again. Patton apparently felt it was safe enough to touch Virgil, because he settled a hand on the boys shoulder.

“Yeah, we’ve just been having a fun day,” Patton said, carefully matching Thomas’s light tone. “We went to the garden and did some reading. Then, Mr. Deknis gave us some apples.”

“That’s nice,” Thomas replied. “He’s been talking about the new apples he’s been growing. He’s been working on them for years and they’re just beginning to bare fruit this year. I haven’t gotten a chance to try any yet. Are they any good?”

“They’re very good,” Patton told him. His hand rubbed slowly on Virgil’s back. “Isn’t that right, Virge?”

Virgil nodded a bit, a little less tense now, but still nowhere near calm.

“Well, I’ll have to try them soon,” Thomas said with a smile. “Thank you for the information. Now, I’ve got to get back to what I’m doing, but I hope you three have a good day.”

“I’ll see you later, Dad,” Logan said.

Thomas nodded and pushed himself to his feet. “Goodbye you three,” he said before turning away towards the door back into the castle. He paused to take a breath when the door closed behind him, cutting off the courtyard. There were a lot of thoughts to shirt through in regards to that conversation. He hated that Virgil was so obviously terrified of him. Both of their two interactions had ended with the poor thing panicking on the ground. He wished he had some idea of how to help him or at least someone to talk to about it.

Maybe he’d go visit Mr. Deknis himself and not just for the apples.

Chapter 25

“Alright,” Patton said, pressing a kiss to Virgil’s forehead. “I’ve got to go back to my room for the night. Will you two be okay?”

“We’ll be fine,” Logan said. “It won’t be particularly different than the last two weeks.”

Patton nodded and leaned to the side to squeeze Virgil in another hug. He’d been clingy since the incident in the courtyard, and Virgil had been appreciative considering he was still pretty shaky from it. He was still surprised he’d touched the king of Prijaznia (let alone ran into him) and lived to tell the tale.

“Goodnight, Pat,” Virgil said because he was pretty sure he wouldn’t leave if Virgil didn’t.

“Night Virge,” Patton said with a smile before standing up from where they’d been sitting on the ground. He reached over to hug Logan who was sitting on a chair. “Night Lo! Put the book down and go to bed.”

Logan looked up from his book with a frown.

“It’s almost midnight,” Patton scolded.

Logan sighed and set his book down. “Very well,” he agreed. “We will get ready for bed.”

“You better! I’m going to come and wake you up early in the morning.”

“Early in the morning for you is 9am,” Logan scoffed.

Patton stuck his tongue out at him as he walked backwards out of the door.

Logan gave his book a mournful look once the door closed and Virgil almost giggled. “I won’t tell on you,” he said.

Logan thought about it for a few moments. “No,” he finally said. “We should probably get some sleep.”

Virgil nodded and pushed himself to his feet.

“We should probably both take a bath after sitting in the dirt today,” Logan said. “Do you want to go first or should I?”

“Don’t care,” Virgil answered.

“You can go first,” Logan offered.

Virgil felt himself smile. “You just want to finish the chapter in that book,” he accused.

“Perhaps,” Logan conceded.

Virgil just grinned and walked over to his closet to grab one of the outfits he’d been given for pajamas. He chose a pair of baggy shorts that went past his knees and the huge soft black sweater Logan had found in the back of his closet. He headed into the bathroom, noting Logan had already picked up his book again.

Logan may have declared the both of them dirty enough for bathing a few minutes before, but Virgil was cleaner than he thought he’d ever been before coming to the castle. Logan had taught him how to use the tub and what soaps to use for what a couple of days after he’d arrived and had suggested he clean himself regularly.

Virgil didn’t mind. The tub was enchanted to warm the water inside of it and Virgil loved it. Though, that had the negative affect of making it very difficult to leave.

He cleaned himself up quickly, so he’d have a few minutes to just sit in the water before he felt like he needed to get out and let Logan have a turn. He changed into his pajamas, pulling the crescent shaped protection charm out of his day clothes pocket and storing the warm to the touch stone in the short pocket. He used the clip Patton had made it to pin it to the cloth to make sure he wouldn’t lose it.

Logan was engrossed in his reading by the time that Virgil exited the bathroom. He did not look up as Virgil approached.

“Your turn,” Virgil said to him.

Logan clearly just barely managed to tear his eyes away from the book. “Right,” he said. “Yes.”

“The book will be there in the morning,” Virgil reminded.

“I know,” said Logan sadly as he set the book aside.

Logan never took much time in the bath, so Virgil quickly went about getting ready for bed the rest of the way. He put his day clothes in the basket Logan had for that purpose and started to straighten out the blankets and pillows in the closet.

He heard Logan come back into the room a few minutes later.

“Virgil,” Logan said. “What are you doing?”

Virgil looked over at him. “Getting ready for bed,” he answered, confused.

Logan frowned at him. “You don’t sleep in the closet anymore,” Logan said. “That’s only for when we were worried you might escape.”

“Oh,” Virgil said blinking over at him. “Right.” He felt a slight pulling at his chest. He liked the closet. It was warm and soft. Patton had taken a lot of care with how he’d arranged all of the pillows and blankets. It was the best place he could ever remember having to sleep in his life. Yet, he did not argue. He knew getting to sleep out in the open was supposed to be a reward and he wasn’t about to reject it.

Virgil stood and closed the closet. He tugged on the bottom of his sweater, stretching the fabric between his hands as he watched Logan pull down the covers of his bed and settle down onto it. Cautiously he walked over towards the bed. He wasn’t sure where he should lay down exactly. He dithered for a moment before bending down to sit on the floor near the right side of Logan’s bed and then laying down.

There was shuffling on the bed above him and then Logan’s head popped over the side to squint down at him. “On the bed Virgil,” he said.

Virgil looked up at him in shock. “But it… I’m…” He trailed off and there were a few seconds of silence.

“It is just a bed Virgil,” Logan said.

But it wasn’t ‘just’ anything. Virgil was pretty sure touching the bed of a royal family member without permission would be considered a capital offence. At least, it would in Mocnejsi. Yet, Logan was expecting him to just… crawl into it?

“Please just get up here,” Logan said. Virgil’s caution at touching something he was definitely sure he should not be allowed to be touching wared with his resolve to repay his literal life debt to Logan by doing whatever he wanted.

Feeling honestly a bit sick to his stomach, Virgil slowly pushed himself back to his feet. Logan scooted back over to the left side of the bed, and Virgil cautiously sat down on the empty side of the bed. After a second of hesitation he slowly laid down, his head hitting a soft fluffy pillow. He jumped when Logan flopped the covers on top of both of them.

Virgil took a long moment to absorb the situation while Logan took off his glasses and reached over to turn off the light next to him. He’d never slept in a bed before, or if he had he’d been too young to remember. In the orphanage there was a lack of actual beds due to overcrowding and there had always been someone bigger and stronger that Virgil didn’t dare fight for the use of them. During training, none of the kids had a bed. Only a few of the higher ups had ones at the more permanent training sites. There were very few situations where any of the assassins, at least a Virgil’s level, would be allowed to touch a real bed.

The light switched off, plunging them into darkness.

“Is this…?” Virgil said, eyes still pointed towards the ceiling even though his eyes had not adjusted to the darkness enough to be able to see it. “Do you want… things?”

“Things?” Logan asked.

Virgil did not move his head, but he did reach over and put his hand slightly above Logan’s knee. Logan didn’t move, so Virgil slid his hand up.

Virgil’s wrist was grabbed immediately and pulled firmly away from Logan’s inner thigh. He did not let go afterwards, his fingers squeezing hard, but not quite painfully. “Never,” Logan said, his voice harsher than it had ever been even on the day when Virgil was nothing more than an intruder with deadly intent. “Never offer anything like that to anyone ever again.”

“I was just…”

“I know what you were doing,” Logan said, voice icy, “and it inadmissible. Never offer that again for anything. Do you understand me?”

“I... yes.”

“Promise me.”

Virgil took a short moment to think. “I promise,” he agreed.

“Good,” Logan said, releasing his hand. His voice got softer too. “Good.”

They were silent for a long time after that, though Virgil had no delusions that Logan had fallen asleep. He could almost feel the tension.

“Sorry,” Virgil finally said softly.

“It’s not something you should be apologizing for,” Logan replied. The bed moved as Logan shifted and a hand lightly touched the top of his head. “Just… never.”

“Okay,” Virgil said. He shifted slightly after a moment until his head was in the crook of Logan’s arm. Logan brushed the hair out of his face with the hand that had been on his head.

“Goodnight Virgil,” Logan said.

“Goodnight,” Virgil responded. They were quiet after that, though Virgil was still awake for a while yet and Logan’s hand slowly stroked through his hair for a while. Eventually though, Virgil relaxed into mattress. He stuck his hand into his pocket and curled it around the charm in his pocket. The bed was nice, he thought. It was soft and warm… and safe. He finally fell asleep.

Chapter 26

Patton did their new special knock on the door so Logan and Virgil would know it was just him and they didn’t need to hide the fact that Virgil was sleeping in the prince’s room. He didn’t wait for a response, however, and just shoved open the door. He was surprised to see that Logan was not already out of bed and wondered for a moment if he had broken his promise stayed up way too late reading like he was sometimes known to do. Yet, then, Logan spoke from the bed. “I’m awake,” he called.

Confused, Patton stepped into the room. Logan wasn’t one for lazing around in bed; usually he was out of bed the moment he woke.

He stepped over to the bed and had to stifle a smile when he recognized the problem. Logan was awake, but Virgil was still sleeping, and he was half on top of Logan, his arms wrapped around him.

“Why don’t you just squirm out of his arms like you do me?” Patton asked, keeping his voice low.

“He isn’t like you,” Logan said. He did not bother to quiet himself at all.

“What do you mean?” Patton asked amused.

In answer, Logan started to move as though to squirm out of Virgil’s death grip on him. In response, Virgil made a pitiful mewling sound in his sleep that landed like a piercing blow straight to the heart. Logan stopped moving immediately and Virgil shifted to grip Logan tighter.

“Aw!” Patton said.

“It’s not cute,” Logan insisted. “I’ve been stuck for hours and I have to pee.”

Patton chuckled. “Alright, alright, I’ll save you.” He rounded the bed to Virgil’s side and crawled up on it. “Virgil, honey,” he entreated softly. “I think it’s time for me to get cuddles so Lo can get up.” Patton softly touched Virgil’s shoulder and pulled at him gently. He reached forward to carefully pry Virgil’s arms off of Logan.

Virgil made a more confused than heartbreaking sound this time, turning towards Patton so Patton could wrap his arms around him. Logan managed to scoot towards the edge of the bed.

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Logan made it off the bed and dashed towards the bathroom as Virgil’s arms came around Patton and squeezed. Patton laughed and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. After a few moments, Virgil’s eyes started to flicker a bit.

“Good morning, honey,” Patton said softly. “Did you sleep good?”

He hummed sleepily. “Beds are nice,” he said. Patton felt a slight pang at that because it implied he didn’t get to sleep in beds very much, but he chose to shove that aside.

“They are,” Patton agreed. Virgil’s eyes started to close again. “Honey,” Patton laughed. “I think it’s time to wake up now.”

Virgil made a sleepy whining sound, squeezing Patton tighter. “Don’t you want breakfast?” Patton asked. That question managed to make Virgil open his eyes again. “I was thinking we could go down to the kitchen to eat that way it’s nice and fresh and I can introduce you to Mama real quick.” He neglected to mention the fact that they really did not have a choice. Mr. Deknis had blabbed to Mama about Virgil, and worse, had apparently mentioned that Virgil was skinny. As soon as he’d gotten home yesterday, he’d been met with an already worked up Mama firmly insisting that she meet Virgil sometime today.

He wasn’t going to tell Virgil that though, because he thought it might scare him away from both Mama and Mr. Deknis.

Virgil thought about the prospect of breakfast for a long moment. “Fine,” he agreed. “I’ll be awake.”

“Good,” Patton said. He reached up to bop him on the nose. Virgil narrowed his eyes and then bopped him back making Patton giggle. He sat up then, and Virgil let him. “Let’s get you something to wear and do your hair,” Patton suggested. Virgil nodded and reluctantly got out of bed, just as Logan returned to the room. “We’re going to go downstairs for breakfast,” Patton told Logan. “That way Virgil can meet my mom.” He gave Logan a significant look and Logan nodded once in understanding that this was not a choice.

Logan and Virgil got dressed, and Patton did Virgil’s hair up nice, before Patton led them out of the royal wing. They went down the main staircase instead of the spiral staircase that went right to the kitchen, mostly because it would be very busy, and Patton thought they should probably eat in the main dining room anyway. He could feel Virgil getting more anxious as they entered the busier part of the castle, and he stuck close to either Patton or Logan from the time they hit the top of the steps all the way to the main dining room.

There were a few people in the dining room already eating breakfast when they arrived. Virgil’s curiosity seemed to temporarily overwhelm his anxiety as he looked around the large hall and at all of the people there. Patton looked around trying to see it through his eyes. He’d been running around this place since he was little, so he never really thought about how big the room was or how grandly it was decorated, but Virgil was just seeing it for the first time. Patton smiled at him as he guided him to one of the seats. There was already muffins on the table so Patton grabbed one and plopped it in front of Virgil.

Virgil frowned down at the muffin dubiously. “You just… keep food out in the open?” he asked.

Right.

“It’s fine, Virgil,” Patton promised. “No one here would have put anything in it.”

Virgil narrowed his eyes and looked around at the other occupants of the room suspiciously.

“Honestly,” Logan said. “No one even knew we would be down here for breakfast. Nobody would just put something in random people’s food for no reason.”

Virgil gave him a look like he’d just told him people could in fact breathe under water. Virgil was really from a… whole different world, wasn’t he?

“It’s really fine,” Patton said. “Logan and I have eaten things on the table like this a lot.”

“I’m surprised your not dead yet,” Virgil said.

Logan rolled his eyes and reached for a muffin. Virgil slapped it out of his hand and onto the floor. “Really?” Logan asked.

Virgil narrowed his eyes at him. “No eating unsecured food!”

“Virgil,” Logan groaned.

“I bet you don’t even know what common poisons taste like.”

“No,” Logan said. “I don’t because I don’t worry about being poisoned on a daily basis!”

“You should!”

People were starting to look over at them. Patton shot an awkward smile at the woman a few chairs down.

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“Just don’t eat the muffins Logan,” Patton said under his breath.

“I do not understand why-”

“Because it’s stupid as he-”

“Shush,” Patton commanded out of the corner of his mouth, “people are watching, and Virgil is just a normal castle resident.”

That shut the both of them up at least.

“No muffins for now,” Patton said. “I assume it’s okay to eat the things they bring straight from the kitchen.”

Virgil looked a bit leery of this still, but he nodded.

“Good,” Patton said, “then we’ll just wait for that to get here and then everyone will be happy, right?”

Logan opened his mouth and Patton turned to glare at him.

“Right?”

Logan closed his mouth, though clearly, he did not want to give in so easily. They’d be doubtlessly rehashing this conversation once they were alone again.

Patton caught sight of one of the kitchen workers he knew fairly well come out of the kitchen and deliver food to a group of people who were there before them. She caught sight of them and walked over likely to ask them what they wanted for breakfast. Patton watched out of the corner of his eye as Virgil tensed, eyeing her approach suspiciously and she slowed under his glare.

This was going to be a long breakfast.

Chapter 27

After an, honestly quite aggravating, breakfast full of Virgil’s cognitive distortions about the likelihood of being poisoned, Logan was relieved to finally be able to leave the dining area. In consideration to those serving breakfast, Patton did not lead them through the door in the back of the dining room that went directly to the kitchen, and instead took them out of the room and down the hall to a different entrance. This one had a guard stationed across from it as, despite what Virgil may believe, the castle workers did consider the possibility that someone would want to sneak into the kitchen for nefarious purposes.

Said guard, of course, saw nothing wrong with the prince and the head chef’s son entering the side door even with the bonus stranger. In fact, he may even have known Virgil could be coming through this door if Ms. Heart had mentioned him.

Though Virgil hadn’t managed to catch it, Logan knew enough about Patton’s mother that he’d surmised that she had insisted Patton bring the boy to meet her. It was bound to happen at some point anyway, Logan knew, and he wasn’t particularly worried. After all, this was Patton’s mother. Virgil himself didn’t even seem particularly concerned.

Logan had seen him panic and, while he tugged a bit at the sweater he was wearing, the motion was not particularly fervent, so he was likely just slightly nervous.

Of course, that may be because he did not know Patton’s mother specifically wanted to meet him and just assumed that they were starting the necessary process of introducing him to castle residents with a low risk person.

When they entered the hallway, Logan could already hear the usual noises of the kitchen: the clattering of plates, the bubble of conversation, and the sound of Ms. Heart’s voice calling out instructions.

He did see Virgil hesitate, but Logan couldn’t sus out why and Patton was already ahead of them and opening the door into the kitchen. It was fairly calm for the kitchen considering it was meal hours. Logan imagined that Patton had chosen the time between when the day guards ate breakfast before their shifts and the night guards after their shifts on purpose. There was still a bit of chaos as dishwashers attempted to catch up during the lull and a few orders were still being made, but overall the mood seemed, to Logan at least, to be light as Ms. Heart ordered her kitchen around.

Yet, Virgil clearly did not see the situation the same way that Logan did. He froze when the kitchen door swung open and some of the workers turned to look at them. He took a step back, bumped into Logan, startled violently, realized it was Logan, and then side stepped to hide behind him. Logan looked back at him in confusion, but Virgil said nothing, proceeding to mutely peer over Logan’s shoulder.

Patton had moved over to greet his mother as she wiped her hands off on a rag. She glanced over at Virgil and Logan and Logan saw Virgil shrink back a bit.

Logan could see Ms. Heart’s eyes soften as she tracked his movement. She turned to the woman next to her and said something before moving to remove her apron and hang it up in its designated area. Virgil’s hands clenched in the fabric of Logan’s shirt when she turned back to him.

“It’s fine, Virgil,” Logan told him, but Virgil didn’t seem to believe him. Luckily, Patton had turned back and seemed to realize something was amiss.

He stepped back over to them. “Hey, honey,” he said. A plate clattered in the kitchen and Virgil just about ripped Logan’s shirt.

Patton frowned sympathetically. “Too loud?”

“Virgil,” Logan said. “You are digging your fingernails into my skin.” Patton shot Logan a glare. “What?”

“How about,” Patton’s mom suggested. Virgil’s fingernails dug more into Logan’s skin. “We go to my office.”

“I think that’s a good idea, Mama,” Patton said. “Come here, Virgil.” He reached over to touch one of Virgil’s hands and had to pull a bit to get him to release Logan. “It’s back that way, away from the kitchen,” he said when he managed to twine their fingers. He stepped around Logan, probably so there was still a buffer between Virgil and the kitchen and tugged him in the correct direction.

Ms. Heart shot a glance at Logan and Logan felt irrationally like she was trying to read his thoughts. Logan smoothed his features out and turned to follow Patton and Virgil towards her office.

As head chef, Ms. Heart had a small office where she could plan menus without the hustle and bustle of the kitchen and have meeting with people who needed to discuss dietary needs and restrictions. It was very well organized, but still looked fairly messy because of the numbers of decorations she had in it. She had a tendency to keep everything that Patton made her, thus she had his childhood drawings on the wall and little projects stacked on her desk and on the shelves. A lumpy cat statue acted as a paperweight on a stack of papers on her desk and there was a vase of fake flowers (as it could not actually hold water) sat near the window.

By the time Logan entered the room, Patton was trying to coax Virgil into sitting down on one of the two mismatched chairs, but Virgil was having none of it. He had turned to face the door and was yanking at his sweater in nervousness.

Logan noticed that Ms. Heart did not come far into the room, instead pausing near the door. She did, however close the door to give them privacy, and that seemed to distress Virgil more.

She seemed to contemplate him for a moment. “Hello,” she said, her voice softer than Logan was used to hearing. “You must be Virgil.”

It seemed as though he were willing himself to magically shrink, but he still replied. “Yes, ma’am,” he said quietly.

“It’s nice to meet you,” she said. “I’m Patton’s mom.”

“I know, ma’am.”

“There’s no need to be formal, Virgil.”

He hesitated. “Okay,” he said somehow quieter.

Her eyebrows drew together in concern, and it seemed that she decided to result to her default way of making people more comfortable. “Would you kids like some candy?”

Logan saw Patton’s hand squeeze Virgil’s lightly. “That would be great, Mama.”

She nodded and walked forward towards her desk. Virgil turned so his back was never to her. If she noticed, she didn’t react. She just grabbed a small tin off one of her shelves and took the top off. “How about a peppermint candy?” she asked.

She offered the tin out to them. Virgil stared at it like it was a venomous snake. Logan decided to act, stepping forward and taking three of the pieces of peppermint candy from the dish. He stepped over to Virgil and Patton and held out his hand, offering Virgil first choice out of all three.

He hesitated before glancing between Patton and his mother. He must have decided that Patton’s mom wouldn’t risk poisoning Patton and took one of the pieces. Patton took another one of them and popped it into his mouth. Logan ate the last piece.

“Thanks,” Virgil said to Ms. Heart before placing his piece in his mouth.

Logan watched Virgil’s eyes light up a bit when the flavor registered. His posture didn’t completely relax, but he seemed at least a bit less like he was contemplating jumping through the window. His trust was almost worryingly easy to buy sometimes. All it took was a not poisoned peppermint.

Ms. Heart seemed pleased by his reaction. “I’m actually going to be making some new ones soon and I’m trying to get rid of these. Would you like to take another one for later?” she asked, holding out the tin.

He looked at it warily again, but he still stepped closer slowly and took another piece. “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” Ms. Heart said, eyes looking over him intensely. “You look like you could do to with a few more sweets every so often.”

Virgil tilted his head in that way he did when he was particularly perplexed.

Patton giggled a bit. “She means your skinny.”

“Oh,” Virgil said. “Logan already gave me a malnutrition potion for that.”

“Did he now?” she asked, her eyes flickering to Logan. Logan winced. He was definitely in trouble for not bringing him directly to her. He was sure he’d hear all about it as soon as she caught him without Virgil in the room.

She turned back to Virgil with a smile, and Logan imagined Virgil had no idea how dead Logan was. “Well, that’s a very good start, but if there was need for a nutrition potion, we should be careful to make sure you get enough calories and nutrients every day going forward.” She sat down at her desk. “Why don’t you and I talk for a bit about making sure you get some good food.”

He still looked cautious but was predictably enticed by the promise of food. He did not sit still, but he did put his hands on the back of one of the chairs and slightly lean on it. “Yes, ma’am,” he agreed.

“Okay,” she said. “Well, I’m going to have a few more specific questions, but let’s just start with what are your favorite foods?”

“I’ll eat anything,” Virgil replied immediately.

“He really likes chicken alfredo,” Patton contributed.

Virgil perked up at the name of the food. “I did like that,” he agreed.

“Alright,” Ms. Heart replied. That’s a start.

Chapter 28

Thomas did not have to be told that something had gotten Helen Heart in a tizzy. He could tell just by the amount of food she had sent up on his dinner tray. She always made and pushed more food when she was stressed, and he couldn’t help but chuckle when he found both a hearty serving of roast beef and a mini chicken pot pie on his plate along with three vegetable side dishes and a side of macaroni and cheese.

He could also guess what had happened to illicit such a response. Thomas had caught up to Jeffers Deknis in his garden and they’d spoken at length about Logan and Patton’s new friend.

There was no way that after said discussion, Jeff had not mentioned Virgil (and more importantly his friendship with Patton) to Helen during their daily gossip sessions. There was also no way that Helen had heard the words “child” and “too small” in a sentence and hadn’t flipped. From there the inevitable sequence of events was clear: Patton went home, Helen talked his ear off until he agreed to bring Virgil to meet her, Helen met him and immediately committed herself to making sure he ate three square meals a day as well as multiple snacks.

Thomas had sussed all of that out before the kitchen worker bringing him his dinner had mentioned what had happened that day.

That in mind, he decided to wait until after dinner should have been cleaned up before walking his own dinner leftovers down to the kitchens.

Thomas was unsurprised to see Jeff already in the kitchen. He was sat at a small table off to the side where kitchen workers usually took their breaks. The only person other than Jeff and Helen left in the kitchen was a dishwasher who was finishing up. Helen usually spent a couple of hours after dinner in her kitchen or her office organizing for the next day and in case anyone needed food on an off hour, and then there was a night cook who would take over so she could go back to her set of rooms.

Helen took the tray of leftovers from Thomas herself and shooed the dishwasher out of the way. “I’ll handle the rest myself,” she told the girl. “You can leave.”

She nodded and started to take her apron off. Helen dumped the tray on the counter without care and turned back around to usher Thomas into one of the kitchen chairs. Thomas went willingly and she turned to fill the tea kettle with water and set it on the stove.

“It take it she met Virgil,” Thomas said to Jeff.

“She’s adopted Virgil,” Jeff replied, taking a bite out of a cookie.

“And what of it?” she asked. “Someone obviously needs to feed the boy. Speaking of, you’re grounding your son by the way.”

Thomas took one of the cookies for himself. “Why am I grounding Logan?” he asked.

“He was worried enough about his health to make him a nutrition potion, but still did not bring him to me,” she harrumphed.

“I see,” Thomas replied.

“In Logan’s defense,” Jeff interrupted. “the boy seems rather timid. He may have worried about you scaring him off.”

Helen slapped him with a dishtowel.

“Actually,” Jeff continued. “From what I’ve gathered he didn’t have contact with anyone since the time I saw him a couple of weeks ago until now.”

“Any adults,” Thomas corrected with a frown. “I’m pretty sure he, Patton, and Logan must have been around each other considering how close they already seem to be.” He paused, “Logan implied he wasn’t particularly… comfortable around adults.”

“I did get that impression, yes,” Helen said, pouring the hot water from the kettle into a tea pot and carrying it and some cups over to the table.

“He was incredibly jumpy,” Jeff confirmed. “I imagine he does not have good experiences with many people, but he seems to have grown attached to Logan and Patton. He defers to them in most things and seemed a bit protective.

“Where did he come from?” Thomas asked.

“I’m not sure,” Jeff said. “I found him hiding in the garden shed a couple of weeks ago.”

“Did he sneak in?” Thomas asked.

“That’s what I would have thought,” Jeff replied, “but when I asked, he said he wasn’t trying to steal anything and that he was supposed to be in the castle. So, I’d assumed that meant he was the child of someone living in the caste.”

“But neither of us could find anyone who knew him,” Helen said. “Of course, we didn’t even know his name until now.” She seemed to decide the tea leaves had sat long enough because she started to pour them each a cup of tea.

Thomas took a sip. “Earl Grey,” he commented. “I guess I’m not sleeping much tonight.” It was her ‘planning tea.’

“We need a plan,” she said, “but we’re going to have to be gentle.”

“At least with Virgil,” Jeff said.

Thomas laughed lightly, “and what do you plan to do with the other two?”

“I have my ways.”

Helen rolled her eyes. “You say that,” she said, “but you’re too soft. The two of them learned to run circles around you and your powers years ago.”

“We should talk to them though,” Thomas said. “Separately from Virgil.”

“We should,” Helen agreed. “I already spoke to Patton a bit yesterday, but I will again. We should see if we can ask around and find out why he’s in the castle. We don’t even know how long he’s lived here. Or who brought him here.” The look on her face told Thomas she wanted to have a talk with his guardians whoever and wherever they were.

Helen took a drink of tea, it seemed to calm herself. “We need to make sure whatever has been happening to him is not happening in these walls,” she said.

Thomas had honestly… not thought about that. He’d assumed whatever made Virgil so skittish was in the past, but it was possible that it was ongoing. The thought made him sick.

“Perhaps you should try to talk to him, Thomas,” Helen suggested.

Thomas winced. “I am not sure that is a good idea...”

“Why not?”

“We don’t have the best track record… I don’t think me being around him would be a good idea.”

“Oh, please, Thomas,” Helen said disbelievingly.

“No, you don’t understand,” Thomas said. “He seems disproportionately afraid of me. I think it’s a mix of me being king and how we met.”

“How did you meet?” Helen asked.

“I… gave him a bit of a fright,” Thomas admitted. “Logan and Patton weren’t in the room and I didn’t know who he was. He… ended up under the bed. Then… the second time I saw him he accidently ran into me. He freaked out again.” The memory still made Thomas feel gross. It also made him think there was a lot more to his backstory than the three of them understood.

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“Perhaps Jeff can try to talk to him then,” Helen said. “It sounds like he was calmest around you. I’ll push Patton towards taking him to the garden more often. I bet fresh air would do him some good anyway.”

Jeff nodded. “I will try to talk to him a bit more.”

“Great,” Helen said, but Thomas already knew the conversation wasn’t over. “Now we need to talk about strategic events to throw over the next few months that Patton and Logan to invite Virgil to. We’ll start slow, but we need to make sure he feels welcome in the castle.”

Thomas met Jeff’s eyes. Yeah, it was going to be a long night.

Chapter 29

Virgil finished eating the breakfast Patton’s mom had sent for him. It had been going on a week since she’d made the menu for him. She sent up little cards with each meal and he was supposed to rate each thing she sent on a scale from 1-5. Logan would read it to him before he ate, and Virgil mark the little box on the card. Usually, he would put a 4 for everything (he had tried to do 5, but Logan had told him 5 was reserved for things like chicken alfredo). Three was for things that he was neutral on, 2 was for things he didn’t like but could tolerate, and 1 was for things he didn’t like. So far, the only 3 was the unseasoned porridge she’d sent one day.

“Finished?” Logan asked.

“Yeah,” Virgil said.

“What would you like to do today?” Logan asked. “Patton is busy until after lunch, and then we thought you might like to go back to the garden again. It’s supposed to drop in temperature over the next few days, so it will be the last good day for it.”

“Sounds good,” Virgil said. “I don’t care what we do today though.”

“Well, there are a few options,” Logan said.

“What do you want to do?” Virgil asked.

Logan made an expression, and Virgil titled his head. “I’m don’t have anything in particular I want to do,” he said.

“You’re lying,” Virgil said immediately.

“You would not be interested in the activity I wish to partake in,” Logan said.

Virgil squinted at him. “I’d be interested in laying on the ground and staring at the ceiling.”

Logan chuckled. “No, truly. The activity I would do if you were not present would involve reading.”

“You can read to me,” Virgil suggested.

“…In Sanskrit.”

Virgil frowned at him. “Isn’t that, like, some sort of dead language?”

“It is,” Logan said. “I taught myself to read it to read a specific book called the Pragilium Text. It’s an encoded book that leads to a magical location that I have been trying to decode for years.”

“That’s fine,” Virgil said. “You can do that.”

“It would be in the library,” Logan said.

“Okay.”

“But…” Logan said. “It would in no way be interesting to you.”

Virgil shrugged. “Like I said. I’m content to lie on the floor for a few hours.”

Logan frowned. “I can’t make you do that.”

“You wouldn’t be making me,” Virgil said. “I want to go. Maybe you can find me an easy book I could try to read?”

“Are you certain?” he asked.

Virgil nodded, decisively.

“Very well, get dressed and I will show you the library.”

Virgil stood to do so and a few minutes later, Logan was leading him out of the royal wing.

Both of the guards greeted him kindly, and Virgil hunched his shoulders in a bit, but said a soft “hi.”

The library didn’t end up being too far away. It was through the small dining hall and to the left where the staircase to the kitchen was to the right.

“This is not the main library,” Logan said. “It is just a smaller one. The royal librarian comes here only about once a week to organize. Some other castle residents might come in too, but it is usually mostly empty.” Virgil could tell just by listening for a few seconds that the place was likely empty (unless someone was lying in wait).

“I’ll look and see if there is something simple for you in case you’d like to read. You can explore a bit if you’d like,” Logan said.

Virgil nodded and stalked off into the shelves to secure the area. There were many books, not that he could quite read any of the spines. The bookcases were mostly cramped into the space. There was the open area where they’d come in with a few comfy chairs and Virgil found a desk near one of the windows. It had stacks of books including one pretty large and old one. He looked at it curiously.

#proofread stories #not writing

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remys-lucky-franc · 3 years

Text

Remy x MC (Queen of Thieves) - Kissing Prompt #14

This is the final ‘kiss prompt’ that I have on my request list. I’m sad 😔

I’ve really enjoyed working on these - this wee challenge got me back into the habit of writing regularly which is so nice as I’d been doing ‘sit and stare at a blank page’ thing for months, thank you for inviting me to join in folks.

Prompt #14 - a kiss so desperate that that the two wind around each other, refusing to let go until they are finished - requested by lovely @mcira for lovely Remy

It’s a sort of a ‘good heist goes bad’ alt-version of the ‘first ever kiss on film’ heist from Remy’s S1. Also, I relocated it to Barcelona because Paris is too inland 😂

Written from MC POV.

Word count ~6100 (marked #long fic if anyone wants to filter it away - adding ‘read more’ isn’t reliable - don’t want to clog anyone’s dash x)

TW: drowning / broken bones

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I curse, scrambling to keep my balance as the yacht lists suddenly to the right; my arms flailing, thrown backwards trying to grip at the doorway to stay upright. I collide with it and stretch my hands out to save myself as I hit the ground awkwardly: the crack from my arm makes me feel sick to my stomach. Furniture shifts. Decor clatters to the floor. Lights overhead flicker violently. What the hell was that noise? Something has gone very, very wrong.

—-24 hours earlier —-

Remy and I have spent well over a month on this con now, establishing and ingratiating ourselves with the obnoxious specimen that is Parker Vos. Ugh, even his name makes my skin crawl. Tonight we’ve met up for some drinks: Parker’s idea. Remy’s positioned himself between Parker and I at the bar of the plush cocktail lounge and I watch on as Parker charges his glass again, loudly laughing, clapping his hand on Remy’s shoulder. Remy clinks glasses with him, smile jovial, eyes full of myrth; swallowing down the liquor to perfectly conceal the bile I know is steadily rising within his throat. If there is anyone who dislikes Parker Vos more than I do, it’s Remy Chevalier.

Watching Remy work a con has been quite an experience. He knows instinctively what people want to see and hear - oftentimes even before they know themselves. He reads their body language with practiced ease and plays his part to meet The Gilded Poppy’s ends: a master of assuaging insecurities or fuelling egos. And I have never known an ego like Parker’s. He’s spent half of the evening acting like Remy’s his long-lost best friend, and the other half undressing me - his buddy’s ‘wife’ - with cold, soulless eyes.

Parker’s on his feet, moving to refill my champagne flute but I move my hand to cover the top, opening my mouth in a half-protest.

He grins at me as I giggle, “I shouldn’t - I’ve had too much already-”

Tutting and moving my hand away from the opening of glass, he pours another generous serving of fizz. I make a big deal out of rolling my eyes at him and exclaiming that’s he’s ‘such a bad influence’. Inside I’m far from smiling - I hate guys who behave like this.

Parker doesn’t seem to want to let go of my hand, his fingertips trace my palm casually, an amused, self-satisfied grin spread over his face. I feel colour rising rapidly from my chest to the tips of my ears and Parker raises an eyebrow at me - clearly delighted that he’s gotten me flustered - but it’s not his touch or his gaze that’s set me alight. It’s the way that Remy’s eyes burn into me from the next seat, flecks of gold and green glitter like fire and the mask he wears is one that I can’t quite decipher, the only clue to his true feelings being the exaggerated bob of his throat as he continues to pretends he’s oblivious to the game Parker’s playing. I simper as I extract my hand from Parker’s to toast our glasses. I know Remy and I aren’t really married, but Parker doesn’t: this guy really has zero shame.

Remy’s seamlessly switched to wearing a playful smirk as he reaches across me, clinking all three of our glasses together, “Ma cherie, the bubbles are going to her head, Parker - look how flushed she is!”

His free hand reaches up affectionately cupping my cheek and I feel myself sink longingly into his gentle touch, his daring wink makes my heart stutter as Parker drones on, boasting about only ordering the very finest champagne for his friends.

A short time later, Remy excuses himself and he hasn’t even reached the bathroom before Parker has slid across to occupy his stool, angling himself into me just a little closer than could be considered appropriate. He’s such a snake, it takes all my energy to fix a sweet, naïve smile on my face when his hand comes to rest on my arm; the way his touch makes me feel compared to Remy’s is so stark in its contrast. He’s watching my face intently as he smirks at me - always bragging about his wealth and possessions, always looking for any sign that he’s impressing me.

He’s acting shocked that this is is the first time I’ve been to this particular bar, given that it’s one of Barcelona’s hot-spots, wondering out loud why my husband never brought me here before now. I sip daintily at my glass as I tell him this sort of place is generally outside of our budget, that it would only ever be somewhere that we’d come for a special occasion. As Parker nods, sacharrine-sweet condescension guising as sympathy, I think about how Remy was absolutely right when he told me he reckoned Parker gets a real kick out of feeling like the Alpha Male in any room and I lean into it. He’s back onto his favourite brand of champagne again - asking me if I ever tried it before tonight. I have, but I play along, feeding the narrative, telling him exactly what he wants to hear: Remy would be proud of me.

I shake my head wistfully, “It’s really delicious, it’s such a lovely treat to have something so decadent. I can understand it being your favourite, Parker - you have really good taste.”

He sighs, looking almost troubled, “You know it makes me sad that a girl like you can’t have everything her heart desires. I’ve got cases galore of the stuff on my yacht. I have it brought in directly from the vineyard just outside Epernay.” He pauses, quirking his head at me, “Say, have you ever been on a yacht?”

I think about what Remy’s always tells me about the best and most convincing cons: they stick as closely to the truth as possible. I feel a genuine smile blossom as I tell Parker about the little sailboat my grandfather had and how I loved spending time on it with him when I was a little girl. I can hear the warmth in my own voice and I know my eyes are sparkling as I think about those happy memories, but rather than ask me anything about my grandfather or my childhood, Parker patronises me and uses it as another opportunity to play ‘The Big I Am’. He chuckles as he tells me that wasn’t a real boat, then reels off what sounds like the manufacturer’s sales pitch for his top-of-the-range, fully customised yacht. Heaven knows, I really want to punch this guy but I nod, maintaining my rapt expression - all wide-eyed and utterly impressed. As he drones on, my brain wanders thinking how the same conversation would have gone sitting here with Remy instead.

Parker’s incessant boasting continues as he drawls about how much he would love to take me out on his yacht, “I think a girl like you would appreciate a boat like mine you know, and you’d look so good on it.”

Such. A. Creep.

I shoot him a rueful smile before biting my lip and looking down at the my hands. My fake wedding ring sparkles up at me under the low lights of the bar. I can feel Parker’s beady eyes on me watching my every move like I’m his prey. I fidget with the golden band and I know I’m working this con just right when he pushes my hair back from my face and tips my chin upward to look at him. A grin slithers across his face - poison hidden just behind the facade.

“Why don’t you come on the yacht with me this weekend, baby? You can have as much of this champagne as you like - I’ll show you how you deserve to be treated.”

I don’t have to fake being a little taken aback: I know it’s been our objective to get on that yacht, and I knew we were reeling him in, but the blatancy of his invite still knocks me off guard!

I glance towards the bathrooms and see that Remy’s making his way back across the bar. I use the shock of the invitation to my advantage, worrying my bottom lip between my teeth as I tell Parker, “Remy’s coming back.” I look up at him through my lashes and breathe, “Parker, I- I don’t know? It sounds amazing, but honestly, I’m not sure I should.”

Parker searches my dark eyes, voice smug, so confident that his charms have me falling for him; that he’s so irresistible I’d be ready to betray my husband with him, “I think you do know. You just don’t want to hurt Remy, because you’re a sweet girl. But I’ll make a deal with you, I’ll send you the directions to where she’s docked - and I’ll be there waiting. If you come...”, his thumb brushes across my lips and I draw in a sharp breath while my stomach lurches. His voice lowers as he stares at my mouth, “I’ll show you, I can give you everything you ever wanted and more besides.” Then he’s gone, quickly slithering back to his own bar stool, duplicitously clasping and shaking Remy’s hand as he returns, as though he didn’t just proposition his wife.

—-

Remy fumed about the audacity of Parker Vos the whole way back to the penthouse last night. And I thought he disliked the guy before... I’d hate to see how Remy would react if someone hit on his real wife because he is the most convincingly jealous fake-husband I’ve ever seen. And his attitude towards our mark got even worse when Parker text me with the coordinates for Port Vell Marina.

When we got back we debriefed Nikolai on all of the night’s events and came to the conclusion that me going to the yacht alone was not an option. I argued that I was more than capable of handling him but Remy was adamant that Parker was an entitled creep and it was too dangerous. Nikolai agreed with Remy, and when I huffed that he would trust Vivienne to fly solo, I have never seen him look more annoyed. He barked at me that he it was his decision, his responsibility and he refused to put any member of his team into that position alone, especially where there was no option for back up if things started to take a wrong turn. As much as I hated to back down, I knew from his tone that he was being completely honest and I should apologise and accept his decision. We spent the rest of the evening coming up with our next move - for Remy and I to arrive at Parker’s yacht together.

—-

We arrive at the beautiful Marina at Port Vell the following afternoon and I don’t have to feign how impressed I am. It is absolutely stunning - the sun dapples the turquoise blue waters while every gleaming yacht is sleeker and grander than the last.

Remy’s holds my hand firmly as we head towards Berth 26 where Parker’s imposing yacht is docked. Our play this afternoon is that I was heading out to meet Parker when Remy asked where I was going and I couldn’t think of any reason for him not to come along that didn’t seem strange or suspicious.

We reach the yacht and I see Parker. The irritate look on his face is replaced in an instant as he wraps us both in a friendly hug, before ushering us onboard. As he takes my hand to help me up the steps, he shoots me a look as though to enquire ‘why the hell aren’t we alone?’ and I drop my head like I’ve never been more deeply disappointed by anything in my life.

Remy has Parker chatting about the spec of the boat and I fear that he may never shut up about it. We spend at least fifteen minutes in the cockpit as Parker regales us with tales about how he got rid of his last captain, how he prefers to sail the yacht himself: bravado, bravado, bla bla bla. My cheeks hurt from the fake grin I have plastered across my face but I really lose the will to live as he places a captain’s hat on my head, cracking a joke to Remy about female drivers and saying that if I felt brave enough, he might even let me steer later. As we walk I ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ where appropriate, observing the ostentatious gold fixings and over-the-top ornate features and I conclude that no amount of money can buy you class.

When we eventually reach the sun deck, Remy raises an eyebrow at me, “Oh. Ma cherie, I think we may be intruding. Parker, were you expecting other company?”

I cringe as my eyes land on the biggest bunch of roses I’ve ever seen, sat next to a bottle of the same champagne we were drinking in the bar last night. I know Parker is a truly awful person, but I can’t help but feel a little sorry for him. His cheeks colour lightly, clearly having forgotten that he paid someone to set this up for him and his mouth works hard at opening and closing for a few painful seconds before his brain catches up, “Oh! Those? A ‘friend’ of mine was supposed to join me a bit before you both arrived. Then I thought we could have some drinks together, all four of us.”

Remy nods, his expression neutral, but eyes sharp, “I see. And they’re running late?”

Parker shrugs, eyes flicking to look at me as he lies, “She cancelled at the last minute. Something else came up.”

Remy wraps his arm around me making a show of planting a soft kiss on my cheek, his sympathetic words juxtaposed to the smirk apparent in his tone, “How awful, cherie! Good old Parker’s been left in the lurch. And after going to all that trouble too!”

I grimace, “I’m really sorry to hear that, Parker.”

Parker clears his throat, snatching up the champagne bottle, “Yeah. I’ll grab us some glasses.”

As he heads inside, I dig Remy in the ribs with my elbow and hiss, “What the hell was that?!”

Remy grins, his face full of mischief, “It’s obvious that I suspect there’s ‘something going on’ here”, he gestures between me and the roses, “and if he knows I’m willing to fight for you mon couer, it makes you all the more attractive to him...”

Knowing he’s right, but hating it, I pull a face.

He winks at me, “Plus, your Remy wants to have a little fun making him squirm.”

—-

We set sail a little after two-thirty, and as the afternoon progresses, it’s not just Parker who Remy is making squirm. Aside from a variety of vaguely passive aggressive jokes about being stood up and dating disasters - at one point even suggesting that I set Parker up with one of my friends, Remy is possibly the most tactile he’s ever been with me during this con: his hand is either holding mine, on my knee, or touching my face at every given opportunity. And his strategy is working because every single time Remy’s hands are on me, Parker’s eyes follow.

I know it’s all for Parker’s benefit but I just can’t help the way my heart races when Remy touches me. I have to keep telling myself it’s just for the con - all a part of his strategy. I repeat it over and over like a mantra: ‘It’s just for the con. It’s not real. It’s just for the con.’ But it feels so good. So real. And I want him so badly my chest aches.

Part of my role on today’s outing is scouting out the location of the reel of film we’re trying to steal. We’ve long suspected that it’s somewhere on the boat. So while the men continue to drink and chatter, I excuse myself and head to the restroom, getting myself deliberately lost in the labyrinth below deck. I’m fascinated by the amount of cool and interesting stuff that Parker owns despite being an uncultured jerk. I wonder if he has any genuine interest in any of it at all, or if it’s entirely for bragging rights and to impress other people. The further I wander unrestricted, the more I marvel and get to wondering just how rich Parker actually is? It’s so unfair - he deserves pretty much nothing that’s aboard this floating treasure trove... Then I see it - a can of film inside a glass case! Surely that’s got to be it? I quickly check the case, it’s pretty secure and looks like it’s inbuilt to the wall cabinet?! That means... This must be it - the first kiss ever recorded... I beam from ear to ear as I think about how excited Remy is going to be when I tell him!!

Unbeknown to me, upstairs whilst Remy and Parker stand at the railing staring out into the glittering dark blue of the Med, Remy decides to lean a little further into his role of suspicious and jealous spouse. Remy subtly turns the conversation from small talk to a grilling before Parker even realises that he’s walking into a trap, “It’s a shame your friend couldn’t make it, Parker. It would have been lovely to meet the woman who’s caught your eye... You were hoping that the four of us could have drinks together, right?”

Parker nods, sipping at his glass.

“But you didn’t know I was coming?”

Parker laughs, deflecting, “Uh, yeah! I got that wrong, I thought you were otherwise engaged. I’m so glad you could make it, buddy! It’s always great to see you!”

Remy cocks his head to the side, face still open and neutral, like he’s trying to understand, ”Sure, I’m glad I could join. But I’m confused? You were planning on the four of us drinking that champagne, oui?”

Parker clears his throat, suddenly realising that Remy might actually not be as much of a mug as he’s taken him for.

Remy continues, face visibly hardening as he speaks, “From where I’m sitting, there’s no mystery lady, and no Remy? And - well - that just leaves you and my wife sailing around the Mediterranean with a bottle of champagne and a big bunch of roses, Parker.”

Parker waves his hands in the air defensively, “Wow, Remy!! Slow down - I don’t know where you think you’re going with this, but you’ve got it all wrong! You’re putting two and two together and getting five, my friend!”

Remy huffs a bitter laugh, his voice now dripping with sarcasm, “Oh, five? So, I have it all wrong that my wife was halfway out the door to come here, to be with you, alone? Seems convenient that your lady-friend mysteriously couldn’t make it at the last minute? The one I’ve never heard you mention before? Please, explain it to me, Parker. Because it looks to me like you’ve got designs on my wife.”

Parker stutters to find an answer for a second before the yacht jolts violent throwing both men to the ground.

—-

I cradle my arm to my chest and grit my teeth as I clamber back onto my feet, nausea washing over me as I try my best not to move it again. Safe to say I don’t need a medical degree to tell me I’ve broken something.

After that god-awful metallic grinding, groaning noise everything has gone quiet. Eerily quiet. The normal lighting has gone, but the emergency lighting has kicked in casting a sickly green hue all around. I need to get back up to deck, to see what the hell just happened, to make sure Remy is ok!

I move towards the stairwell door and as I wrench it towards me, I’m met with a rush of cold water that makes me gasp. Oh this is bad. This is really, really bad. I stare at the fast-moving seawater spilling in, swirling around my feet: I’m rooted to the spot as panic rises rapidly in my chest. I’m not sure how many seconds have ticked by when I hear the roar of my name. Remy. I can’t see him, but I scramble towards the sound of his voice and call out to him, “I’m down here! Remy! I’m here!”

Water is rapidly filling the space below deck as Remy throws open the door of the opposite stairwell. I lurch towards him, sloshing through it, my limbs twice as heavy and struggling to stay upright against the slippery surface.

Remy wades through the corridor to reach me, calling to me, “I’m coming, cherie, it’ll be ok!” As we meet somewhere near the middle his hands grasp my shoulders as he gives me a quick once over, brows knit together when he sees how I’m holding my quick-swelling arm, “Merde! Is that broken?!”

I wince, nodding. The pain radiates from my wrist making my fingers tingle and my head buzz. Remy’s got one arm around me and he’s gripping at the walls with his free hand, moving us steadily toward the stairwell he came down: the water’s around my waist now. He keeps repeating, ‘it’s ok, it’s going to be ok’, but his usually calm voice jitters and I’m not sure if he’s saying it for my benefit or if he’s trying to make himself believe it. We reach the stairwell and Remy ushers me through the door. The tilt of the yacht makes it hard to climb the steps, but we fight to ascend. Up. Up. Up. We’re around half-way when the yacht jolts unexpectedly again; Remy grabs for the wet handrail. Every muscle in his body strains to keep us in place, to somehow stop us from careering back down the staircase. I feel lightheaded from the way my damaged arm jerks as he catches us, but it’s better than the alternative of plunging back down into the murky water. We resume our climb and make it up the final steps together. Only at the top do I truly appreciate the incongruous angle the yacht lists to, and start to properly grasp just how deadly this situation could be. The sounds of straining metal and hissing water fill the space around us and I’m scared. More scared than I’ve ever been in my life.

 We scramble our way out across the badly-angled yacht, clinging to the side rails for purchase as we move: we need to get off this boat. It can’t end like this. In the time I’ve been below deck, dark clouds have rolled in and the rain pelts down on us. As we reach the side of the yacht, and I suck in a deep lungful of air trying to black out the pain radiating up and down my arm. Trying to steady my nerves, I tell myself, ‘We just need to get on the lifeboat, getting upstairs was the hardest part. Come on, you can do this - you can do this! We’re almost there, it’s going to be-’ But my silent pep talk is cut short and a sense of dread floods through me as I watch Remy surge around and around, a hand raking through his soaking hair as he yells,

“He’s gone! That bastard! He’s left us!”

Remy’s hanging over the side, trying to locate Parker, frantically yelling his name out into the dank, misty distance. But it’s useless - he’s long gone. Fresh panic rises as what that means sinks in: that snake abandoned us and the sinking ship. And he’s taken the only life vessel with him. A storm’s rolling in and visibility is poor. We’re miles from the coast without another boat in sight. The water this far out isn’t frigid but it’s still cool enough to catch hypothermia without the right clothing if you’re in it for a couple of hours - but we’re likely to end up in there because this yacht is going down. I’m not sure how long I could tread water for with a broken arm? I choke back my horror as I realise - I don’t think we can’t make it back. He’s left us out here to die.

Tears silently streak my face, mingling with saltwater and rain as I turn to Remy. I feel like I’m moving in slow motion, but he’s the most animated I’ve ever seen him, his hands shake and he curses as he pulls useless items out of one of the inbuilt storage benches, tossing them onto the wet deck behind him. I tug at his sleeve and rasp, “There’s no way off, is there?”

He refuses to meet my gaze, yanking his arm away from me, rummaging deeper, muttering in frustration. But I refuse to be brushed off, not now. I pull on his sleeve again, “Remy! Just, stop.”

He whirls on me, his usually smiling eyes are wild as they meet mine. And before I know what’s happening, right there on the deck of the part-submerged yacht, Remy pulls my face to his, mouth crashing desperately into mine. I gasp at the sensation of him. Rough. Passion-filled. Real. His lips spill every frenzied confession I ever wanted to hear and I’m losing myself in him; rapt in every disclosure. The surge of emotion between us swells my pounding heart and fills my soul, a choir with one refrain: he loves me, he loves me, he loves me. My body breaks into song - lyrical, a groan against Remy’s supple lips: rejoicing, dancing, dopamine-high. A million melodies, harmonies, symphonies rush through us as we cling to each other against the stormy saltwater spray. His touch is electric, flesh warm against my skin, deft fingers knotted in my hair drawing me close. Closer. So close I feel two heartbeats pulse through me like an orchestra nearing crescendo. I’m soaked, hurt and terrified, but somehow I’ve never felt more alive than I do right now, exalted in his arms. My hand grazes over the stubble of his jaw, the high arc of his cheekbone: my fingertips trace every beautiful feature, mapping every crease, every dimple. If this is our coda, if this is how it all comes to an end, I want to succumb remembering every delicious second of this kiss - every sensation, every caress, every breath, every poetic unspoken word. I want my finale to be us.

Our kiss ends breathlessly, foreheads touching: both unwilling to part. Remy’s lips hover over mine like we’re magnetised. Green eyes search my own as I gaze upon the face I love through dark lashes, trembling. I cover his heart with my palm - I never want to let him go. Seconds tick past that feel like minutes until he finally breaks away and I gulp for air. Bereft, my body aches for him.

Remy’s rifling through the storage benches again, items shoved from side to side, thrown and discarded until he shouts triumphantly, flare gun in hand! Slick hands fumble to load the cartridge, then he steps away from me, pointing the gun above his head, firing high. We watch as a plume of intense fire illuminates the sky above us, a beautiful SOS, hanging in the air before slowing making its descent to the sea.

The stricken vessel below us strains and groans as Remy grips my hand in his, “We aren’t going out like this, cherie.” He says it with such conviction and determination that my heart stutters. My eyes widen as he brandishes a life buoy at me. “There’s only one.”

Why am I not even surprised that a jerk like Parker went for 24-Carat light fittings but scrimped on the most basic of safety features and maintenance? I shake my head at Remy, fear threatens to take over, “We’re not jumping?!”

Remy exclaims, “We have to! We can’t stay on ‘til it sinks, it’s too dangerous! We need to get as far away as we can. We jump together and I promise you - I won’t let go of your hand. Ever.”

A cacophony of glass cracks and metal tears. Engineering crumbles against a backdrop of smoky neon as we huddle together at the edge of semi-capsized yacht. The rain continues to drive against us, and I understand why we have to jump, but I hate that it’s the only option. My hand fits inside Remy’s and he squeezes it tightly, my pulse racing as we count down together from three, two, one...

As we hit the cool water I cry out, pain seers through my busted arm and makes the world seem dull and frayed around the edges. Everything under water is eerily dark and silence rings in my ears as I plunge beneath the surface. In those seconds it feels strangely peaceful. Serene. My mind, so busy moments before, is a blank. An instant sedation - each nerve numb: novocaine static. It’s not until I feel Remy jerk at my hand, still firmly clasped in his, that my brain reconnects. I kick my feet and follow Remy upwards, breaking the waves, choking and gasping for air.

Remy manoeuvres the life buoy between us, urging me to take hold, his hand cupping my cheek, pushing back my sodden hair, eyes raking over me, “Are you ok??”

I cough and splutter as I nod my head at him: I’m fine. Remy doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t argue with me either. He takes charge of getting us away from the yacht and I follow him blindly, feeling dazed, clinging to the buoy. Minutes later, the yacht goes under and the rapid movement of air and water sends pieces of debris swirling perilously to the surface. A watery scrapyard bobs around us.

I feel sick and dizzy and I’m so cold that my teeth chatter. Did anyone see the flare? Is help coming?

Remy repositions himself and wraps both arms around me as we float aimlessly together. I don’t know how long passes, but every so often he says my name and jolts me to keep me awake, and honestly, I’m trying, but it’s so hard to keep my eyes open. I tell him I’m trying, but I feel so weak. Remy says I’m in shock and I mumble, “That kiss was the best shock I ever had.”

I feel the rumble of his laugh roll through me, and then his lips meet mine again. Soft this time. Slow. Tender. His affection washing over me. I feebly smile and sigh into his kiss, his comforting warmth surrounds me. His touch is like a beacon in the bleak dark water, keeping me focussed, keeping me hanging on. The situation is desperate, but at least I’m with Remy.

As time swirls past us, I drift in and out of consciousness, pulled back a final time by Remy shaking me, “Listen!! Do you hear it??”

I startle and try my best to concentrate... Then I hear it, a horn blasting. Someone’s coming! They must have seen our distress signal. Remy’s swimming as fast as he can for both of us, moving our heavy, tired bodies in the direction of the sound until we finally see it. Remy yells until he’s hoarse, waving, whistling - anything to attract their attention. As the vessel approaches, I hear rough, deep voices yelling in Spanish but my head’s too fuzzy and it’s fast for me to understand. Remy is shouting back at them to take me on board first, and before I know what’s happening, I’m being lifted - strong hands grip under my arms as I cry out for Remy. They pay me no heed: saviours in oilskins wrap me in a foil blanket, checking me over, patting my cheek and trying to get me to focus. I struggle to evade them, “Where is Remy?? You have to help him!!”

They won’t let me stand up, won’t let me move! Agitated tears blur my vision - they need to get Remy out of the water. And then I hear his voice and relief consumes me. The fishermen part to let him reach me, he’s dripping all over their deck and he looks so pale, but he’s here and we’re together. He throws his arms around me, clutching me close, face buried in my neck. We cling together, exchanging sweet words, counting our blessings and relishing the feeling of each other. A tall, thin, official-looking man wraps a second blanket around Remy’s shoulders, talking into his ear. Remy nods to him and then suddenly we’re moving below deck, to somewhere warm and dry. My good arm is around Remy’s neck, the other gentleman walks slowly by my other side, hand hovering to support me as my legs wobble. They give me a towel for my hair and large hooded sweatshirt to change into - Remy helps me and the feeling of the clean, dry fabric against my skin makes me want to weep. I sit on a makeshift bed, exhausted and sore, my head buzzing. Remy hasn’t changed into the fresh clothes they’ve left for him yet, he shivers but refuses to let go of my hand - as though he believes I might evaporate if he does.

The sailors tell us the coastguard is on their way and it won’t be long til we’re back on dry land. I can’t wait for my feet to be firmly on the ground. Remy asks the sailors for something to drink, but they refuse telling us not until we’ve seen a doctor. But Remy insists and eventually they relent, giving us both a large brandy. I swallow it down, grimacing at the taste and the burning sensation in my throat. I lie on my side, cheek pressed against a soft cushion, still shivering. I cradle my swollen arm to my chest, rising and falling as I struggle to come to terms with everything that’s happened today. Remy’s finally in dry clothes, and has crawled into the space by my side on the bunk. It’s going to take a while to process all of this, but it feels so nice to lie here with Remy gazing into my eyes, bodies close, to see him smile at me. I feel drained, but calmer now I’m near to him. I reach out and trace his features, just as I did when we kissed on the yacht a short time before; his stubbled jaw, the curve of his cheek, the little dimple that appears when he grins at me. He catches my fingers in his, and presses gentle kisses to my knuckles, to my palm, his other hand smoothing out my damp hair, “I promised you I wouldn’t let you go. We’re safe now. Your Remy’s here, it’ll all be fine mon coeur. ”

—- 24 hours later —-

Leon pats my knee affectionately as I slide into the passenger seat, “Ready to go home?”

I nod and thank him, as Remy reaches over the headrest, squeezing Leon’s shoulder, “Merci, Leon. Thanks for coming back to drive us.”

Leon meets Remy’s eyes in the rear-view mirror, brows tight, looking perplexed, “It’s no problem. I still can’t believe Parker just... Left.”

Remy shrugs, “I can. Proves he was exactly the type of person we steal from.”

I sigh and scrub my hand across my face, “Except we didn’t steal anything from him, Remy. Everything’s gone. The film, lots of really amazing sculptures and artwork - all at the bottom of the sea...”

Remy shrugs, “But you and I aren’t at the bottom of the sea, and that’s what’s really important mon couer.”

And I know he’s right, but it just seems like such a terrible waste, that’s all. I suppose it might be better that no one has all of those treasures, than Parker hoarding them all and appreciating none of them. It was all just ‘stuff’ to him, for bragging rights, nothing more. Someone so shallow didn’t deserve any of-

Leon makes me jump, chuckling while reaching across me to clip my seatbelt in, exclaiming, “What’s this?!”

I glance down and see black Sharpie ink on my plaster cast. I lift my reset arm, and tilt my head to see it properly, there are two doodled little stick-people, one with my initials, one with ‘RC’, surrounded by sweet little hearts and the words ‘je t’aime, toujours ’ scrolled below. I feel my heart leap as I take it in. My cheeks start to colour as I stammer, “I don’t know- I- When-?”

Leon’s sporting a knowing smirk at Remy’s reflection, “To commemorate your fake marriage? Because there’s no need for you two to pretend anymore, right?”

I twist round in my seat to look at Remy who simply leans forward and cups my face in his palms. His eyes gaze into mine, face open and honest - no mask in sight. He meets my lips with a warm kiss as he confirms, “I’m done with pretending.”

#long fic #queen of thieves #remy chevalier #lovestruck #tw: drowning #tw: broken bones

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