#like looking at the planes flying by from the gutter

[magalidragon]

paris is always a good idea | a Jonerys Drabble

Thank you @youwerenevermine​ for my wonderful birthday gift, I love it so much and I love Paris so much and Jonerys and you for making this for me so I felt inspired and wrote a quick little drabble thing, lol. It’s only the fourth time I’ve written Jonerys in a modern, non-Westeros world, but it was fun!  And I wanna’ go back so much!  Paris, je t’aime!

They met while in university, oddly enough, as fate would have it, on her birthday.

She had been there to study art, for a year abroad, savoring every last second wandering the wide, arched hallways of the Louvre, staring at grand masters for hours on end, burning the vibrant colors and mesmerizing brushstrokes into her memory, wishing she could be as good as them one day.  One day, someone would have her art in their house, and proudly boast they'd gotten it back when she was but a nobody, painting on the streets or in the grassy parks.  

Since it was her birthday, she decided to treat herself, and instead of heading straight to the university to get some time in the studio, she decided to get an ice cream at Berthillon, heading to the Ile-St-Louis instead of to the metro, taking her time to admire, as she often did, the glory of Notre Dame, it’s gargoyles and buttresses.

At the glacier she took her time selecting a flavor, did not even mind paying the exorbitant price and shouldered through tourists taking refuge from a cold rain that had begun to fall. She savored it, the clean water bouncing off her peat coat and the beanie she’d tugged over her silver hair.

She was about to set off, to eat her ice cream and wander into the Marais, perhaps drop down into the Latin Quarter— maybe take a trip to Chanel or Dior or Celine to admire the creations she couldn’t afford— when her ice cream went flying, straight onto the wet sidewalk. Where a mass of pidgins attacked it with gusto.

“Merde! Faites attention!” she shouted, stomping her Doc Marten on the ground in petulant annoyance.

The man who had bumped her because he’d been roughhousing with another friend had been apologetic.  He bought her another and said his name was Robb Stark. He was from Scotland, was on spring break with his buddies, which she didn’t care about. To apologize he invited her for a drink, especially when the worker who she’d told it was her birthday had commented on it again when she got another ice cream.

She figured why not?  He was attractive, sorry, and nice enough so she agreed, although she had commented his French was terrible best to speak English. “You’re English?” he had teased.

“Half and half,” she answered. English father, French mother.

At the comptoir where she suggested they meet, in Montmartre, she brought her roommate Missandei and Missandei’s boyfriend Grey. It was just a drink and they’d leave and go to the dinner Missandei planned to take her to anyway.

Except that’s where she met him.

The dark, brooding figure at the tiny table in the corner, ignoring Robb and Robb’s friend Theon, and a couple others, favoring silence and his drink. He was in all black, barely acknowledging her and slipped out for a smoke when Robb began to shamelessly flirt. She didn’t care about Robb, she cared about him.

Jon.

She exited, saw him lighting a cigarette against a lap post. She flicked her coat collar up and sidled towards him. “Puis-j’en avoir un?”

“Sorry I don’t speak,” he began, and his eyes— black in the orange lamplight glow— flicking to her. He smiled gently “French.”

She smiled and repeated her question in English.  “Can I have one?  A smoke  that is?”

He stuck the cigarette between his pouty, sinful lips, framed with a cropped dark beard, and reached into his coat pocket, removing a pack. She took one delicately and he lit it, cupping his hands around the tip so the wind didn’t blow it out.

A stream of smoke escaped her nostrils when she puffed and she smiled up at him, hoping he got the hint. “Do you like Paris?”

“Not especially.”

“Aw come on,” she teased. She hummed, closing her eyes and taking in the cold night. The electric buzz is people on the street and at the cafes and bars around them. “Paris is always a good idea.”

“Someone famous said that.”

“Audrey Hepburn.”

He sucked on the cigarette and smiled, a tiny one, the curve of his lip sly rather than shy.  “You aren’t in there with the rest of them.”

“Because it’s my birthday and I want to do what I want to do.”  She stubbed the cigarette out on the post and turned, disposing it in the bin by the door.  A quick text to Missandei: I’m going to skip dinner, I think I have a date, she turned and studied him.  “I’m…”

“Dany,” he said. He shrugged, finishing his smoke. “I remember.”  

Her eyes narrowed. “I didn’t think you were listening when Robb introduced me.”

“I was.”  He pulled the tartan scarf around his neck tighter.  He glanced towards Sacré-Cœur, illuminated white in the lights around its base. He smirked at her.  “You going back in?”

She shook her head. “No,” she drawled. She followed his gaze to Sacré-Cœur. “Have you been up there?”

“No.”

“You should. Some of the best views of Paris.”

He chuckled, voice tight. “You should invite Robb.”

“I think he might be a third wheel.”

It took him a second, the gears in his mind turning, understanding what she was saying. He cocked his head. His black curls were in a mess around his face. A few scattered rain drops landed on them, and he shook it free like a dog. Or a wolf, she thought, noting the animal embroidered on the edge of his scarf.

He narrowed his eyes again. “I told you I don’t really like Paris.”

“Why?”

“It’s loud. Busy. Dirty.”

She laughed. “Every city is like that but in Paris it’s different.”

“Why?”

Her bravado got the better of her and she stepped towards him, linking her arm through his. If he didn’t get it now, he was a stupid fool who deserved it when she kicked him into the gutter. “Because,” she murmured, rising to her toes, trying to gaze as directly as she could into his eyes, which she now saw were actually gray. His breathing quickened. “You’re with me.”

The wolf got the point with that comment. He allowed her to keep her arm around his and lead him towards the cathedral.  They spoke of nothing and anything on the long walk through Montmartre to the highest point in the city.  

He was in Paris for a research trip.  He was studying medieval weapons and was going out to Bayeux to study some relics. His cousin Robb and friends came along for the free trip.  They spoke about being starving artists in their field-- her literally an artist as it were.  They talked about Paris-- how much he disliked it, how much she adored it.  The top of Sacre-Coeur might have changed his mind, but he pretended he still didn’t get the appeal, so she dragged him back down to the streets, to her favorite all-night boulangerie, into the metro and across town to the Eiffel Tower, spinning in circles on the Champs du Mars.  They ran across the Pont-de-la-Concorde and across the Tullieries.  They wandered down the Seine, smoked cigarettes in the doorsteps of old buildings in the Latin Quarter, and drank cheap wine in one of the tourist-cafes near the Jardin du Luxembourg.  

They meandered back through the streets, the city oddly quiet, the rain stopping, and she brought him to her garret studio in the Bastille, up the six flights of stairs to the top of the building, where she shed her coat and boots adn scratched her fat cat Drogon’s ears, leading him to the wrought-iron bars in one of the four windows she had, pushing the window open and crawling out, up onto the roof where she wanted to show him something.  

“Look,” she directed, when he climbed up next to her-- less gracefully-- pointing to the lit-up Eiffel Tower.  

He cursed under his breath.  “It’s gorgeous.”

“It’s my favorite place in Paris.  The rent is steep, but it’s worth it for this.”  She chuckled.  “And it has the best view.”

He whispered.  “Yes, it does.”  

And to her surprise, since she didn’t realize the time, the tower began to twinkle, the 20,000 lights across its metal beams flickering and she glanced sideways; he wasn’t watching the tower, but her face.  She arched her brows.  “You know, the lights twinkle for five minutes every hour, on the hour.”  She smiled and shrugged, whispering.  “It’s a sign that you’re supposed to return to Paris.”

Instead of saying anything, like how silly that was, he leaned in and cupped her face in his wide palm, callused and warm, bringing her face to meet his, kissing gently, in the twinkly glow of the lights.  He pulled back a moment later, breathing, “I think I like Paris.  And you’er right...this place has the best view.”  His eyes were wide on hers, focused.  She chuckled, nodding in agreement, and pulled him back to her for another kiss.

That night she savored every moment with him, as they pulled each other’s clothes off slowly, kissing and touching, every smooth curve and muscle of each other, each hard ridge and plane of his strong, muscular body or her soft, lean one.  He touched her and kissed her and stroked her in ways she’d never experienced, bringing her to heights she’d only dreamed about.  It was intense, the lights behind her closed eyelids when she came, over and over, gripping his shoulders, hair, the bedframe behind her.  He rose up and over her, in and out, their bodies moving as one, thrusting and arching.  

She didn’t know if she’d see him again; if this was a one-time, romantic Parisian adventure, but in the morning when she woke, she found him coming back inside from getting pastries and coffees, the faintest scent of cigarettes and her toothpaste on his lips when he kissed her good morning.  

They exchanged their information, vowing to speak daily, and he would see her when he got back from Bayeux.  She couldn’t believe when he did call and he kept his word.  “When you lie, words lose their meaning,” he’d explained, obviously reading her surprise.  

And when her year ended in Paris, she found herself in London, back at university, dreaming of their magical time there, even when they made time for each other, going back and forth from London to Edinburgh; and he from Edinburgh to Paris during the last couple of months of her year there.  

They made it a priority; every single year they spent time in Paris, like they were students again, on that magical night.  

They grew older, no longer needing to find the cheapest drinks and cigarettes, or staying in studio garrets, eventually able to experience some of the best hotels and restaurants the city had to offer, as he sold books and became a well-known author and professor, and her dream of becoming a famous artist came true, when sure enough, someone bought one of her paintings on the side of the Seine, someone who happened to be an art dealer in New York.  

It was their city, where they met, and where they could remember.  

After they married, about fifteen years after that fateful birthday, they visited again, and spun together on the Pont-Neuf, kissing and murmuring how they loved each other and always would, and he took her back to the tiny studio garret, which was now theirs, and sat on the rooftop and watched the Eiffel Tower sparkle.  

“Paris is always a good idea,” she murmured, head in the crook of his neck, her back to his front, wrapped in a warm blanket, and his arms tight around her middle.  She tilted her face up to his, sated, and still hopelessly in love with him.  “Take me to Paris, Jon.”

He nuzzled his nose into her cheek, whispering.  “You are Paris, Dany.”

As it was the city where they’d met, fallen in love, and found true happiness, she grinned, because that was his way of saying how much he loved her.  She brushed her lips over his, sighing, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”  

And they kissed, as the Eiffel Tower lit up, and she curled up into him, falling asleep in the city of love and lights.

[justforbooks]

No arthouse cinema repertory programme in the 1980s was complete without regular screenings of the chic French thriller Diva (1981). The plot combined opera, murder and corruption, while the visual style had the sort of pizzazz more readily associated with advertising or pop videos. By the end of the same decade, the prospect of a student bedsit that did not have on its walls the poster for the erotic love story Betty Blue (1986) was as unthinkable as one without Pot Noodle and patchouli oil. Both films were directed by Jean-Jacques Beineix, who has died aged 75 after a long illness.

Diva concerns Jules (Frédéric Andréi), a postal worker who makes an illegal bootleg tape of an American opera singer (Wilhelmenia Wiggins Fernandez) famous for refusing to allow her voice to be recorded. This cassette becomes mixed up with one containing testimony incriminating a high-ranking police officer, and soon Jules is being chased by cops and thugs alike.

Fernandez initially rejected the script, which Beineix had adapted with Jean Van Hamme from the novel by Daniel Odier, who published it under the pseudonym Delacorta. “I was reading murder, prostitution and drugs, and I wanted nothing to do with it,” she said in 1983. “Jean-Jacques forced me to read it with him. Then I realised it was actually light, like a Disney treatment of a Hitchcock film.” She was relatively unknown at the time, and the singer’s profile was boosted by her performance, which included a rendition of the aria Ebben? Ne andrò lontana from the opera La Wally.

Diva heralded the arrival of a flashy mode of film-making later termed “cinéma du look”. Reaction to the movie from French critics, however, was hostile. “I thought I had made two films for the price of one,” the director said in 2009. “My first and my last.”

His producers were reluctant to submit Diva to the Toronto film festival, fearing that international exposure would further harm the movie’s reputation. “What damage can we do to this picture?” asked Beineix. “We’re already dead!” Stepping off the plane in Toronto, he went straight to the cinema where he found a standing ovation underway. “I thought, ‘Something’s wrong. I’m in another dimension.’”

The film was acclaimed by international critics. David Denby in New York magazine praised its “rapturous pop beauty” and likened Beineix to Steven Spielberg and Brian De Palma. Still playing in Paris after a year, Diva won four César awards, including the prize for best first film.

The Moon in the Gutter (1983) was a textbook case of the sophomore slump. Adapted by the director and Olivier Mergault from the pulp novel by David Goodis, whose work had previously been filmed by François Truffaut and Sam Fuller, it was a grandiose affair which prioritised slick, post-modern artifice over actors (including Gérard Depardieu and Nastassja Kinski) and made only the feeblest connection with audiences.

Critics scoffed, including Pauline Kael, who had found his debut “genuinely sparkling” but now declared its follow-up “excruciatingly silly.” After the response to Diva, which Beineix called a “wonderful dream, where I was flying on the wings of victory”, he experienced a sudden fall. “Bang, bang, bang: I’m shot down. It was very scary.”

He recovered with Betty Blue, which he adapted from Philippe Djian’s novel 37°2 le matin, about Zorg (Jean-Hugues Anglade), a house-painter and aspiring novelist, and his passionate, volatile girlfriend. The gifted 21-year-old newcomer Béatrice Dalle beat Isabelle Adjani to the title role.

This tale of amour fou opens with an extended sex scene filmed in one take and beginning in wide shot before gradually moving in closer onto the lovers. In the script, the scene had occurred 10 minutes into the movie but Beineix changed his mind in the editing room. “I realised: That’s the base of everything.” He regarded it as “a political statement” but Dalle complained that he had not insisted on a closed set during her nude scenes. “I still have a grudge with Beineix about that,” she said in 2013. “[The crew] all stayed there, like they were on the set of an X-rated movie. Appalling. Horrible.”

Her untamed performance is the highlight of a film which also boasts luminous cinematography by Jean-François Robin. It was he who steered the colour scheme away from the refrigerated blues of Diva and The Moon in the Gutter by pointing out that this was “a sun and sweat story” which might benefit from resembling “Kodachrome slides shot by amateurs. Holiday snapshots, warm and sunny.”

The film takes a rather ugly turn – Zorg’s literary prospects improve only once Betty is in a psychiatric institution, where he finally smothers her with a pillow. It had enough admirers, though, to earn Oscar, Bafta and Golden Globe nominations for best foreign language film, and to warrant the release five years later of a director’s cut extending the running time from two hours to three.

Beineix was born in Paris, the son of Madeleine (nee Maréchal) and Robert Beineix, an insurance salesman. He was educated at the Lycée Carnot and the Lycée Condorcet, both in Paris. He studied medicine, then quit to become an assistant director to film-makers such as Jean Becker, Claude Berri and Claude Zidi. He was second assistant director on Jerry Lewis’s controversial drama The Day the Clown Cried (1972), in which Lewis plays an entertainer leading Jewish children to the Nazi gas chambers; it has never been released, and Lewis stipulated that it cannot be shown until 2024. Beineix’s only directing credit prior to Diva was the short Le Chien de Monsieur Michel (1977).

In the wake of his success with Diva, he was courted by US studios. “At first, Hollywood saw me as some kind of exotic puppet,” he said. A vampire comedy he wrote for Paramount was never made, a contract with the producer Edward R Pressman came to nought, and he declined offers to work as a hired hand. “The privilege of being a French director is that you are basically free to do what you want. The disaster is that you don’t understand that the rest of the world doesn’t work like this.”

After Betty Blue, interest in his films began to wane outside France. Roselyne and the Lions (1989) was a meandering love story about a pair of circus workers. The whimsical IP5 (1992) featured Yves Montand’s final performance. Beineix moved into documentaries, among them Locked-In Syndrome (1997), which told the story of Jean-Dominique Bauby, who suffered a stroke which left him unable to communicate except by blinking one eyelid. Beineix turned down the invitation to make the dramatised version, The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, which was directed in 2007 by Julian Schnabel.

His last fiction film was Mortal Transfer (2001), a macabre farce starring Anglade as a psychoanalyst who must dispose of a patient’s body; Beineix ploughed $2m of his own money into the project. In 2004, he co-wrote the vampire-themed graphic novel L’Affaire Du Siècle; a second instalment arrived in 2006 along with his first volume of memoir, Les Chantiers de la Gloire, which ran to 835 pages. A novel, Toboggan, was published in 2020.

Beineix described himself in 2006 as “arrogant, a provocateur. I must be a little bit in love with failure because I provoke it. It happens that when you are afraid to be loved, you inspire hostility. It’s perverse.”

He is survived by his wife, Agnès, and daughter, Frida.

🔔 Jean-Jacques Beineix, film director, born 8 October 1946; died 13 January 2022

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at http://justforbooks.tumblr.com

[ihearthes]

Quarantine Christmas Part 1

Author: @ihearthes Pairing: Harry x y/n Rating: Fluff/Smut (Smut in Part 2) Word Count: 2826 (Part 1) Fiction Chalenge via @caitlin‘s fiction party via @sweetcreatureinthedark

December 23, 2020

My head spins as I haul my suitcase from the trunk, using two hands due to the heft of the dirty clothes inside. Setting it on the ground, I yank on the handle before grappling with the two shopping bags filled with presents, reaching back for the decorated Christmas tin that is filled with homemade cookies, fudge, and other delicacies baked by my colleagues at Apple Music. 

Wrestling with my hands full, I close the trunk with an elbow, shivering in the chilly LA air. At the front door, I want to cry. Dammit. I could clearly remember that when Glenne had given me the code for the front door and the alarm, I placed them in my phone under her contact information. 

“FUCK!” The primal scream is released from my lungs, likely scaring the neighbors if any of them are outside enjoying Christmas lights or having family celebrations on this Christmas Eve Eve. Balancing the tin of cookies on top of the suitcase, I set down the shopping bags to reach for my phone. My purse slips off my shoulder, knocking the container of sweets, and in the scramble to rescue them, I nearly fall head over heels into the bushes. 

It isn’t until I punch in the numbers and drag my personal effects inside that it occurs to me that the alarm isn’t armed. Had Glenne and Jeffrey forgotten to punch in the code before they left for Palm Springs? Deciding I don’t care, I leave everything by the door as I drag my suitcase to the main floor laundry room, dumping everything in without regard to color or type of clothing. Since we’ve been working remotely the majority of the time for the last fucking nine months, “dressing up” encompasses blue jeans and the occasional blouse, but most of my clothing is sweatpants and t-shirts. Deciding washing the blue jeans and blouses with the sweatpants and t-shirts is the worst idea ever, I fish those out before pouring laundry detergent over the remaining garments and starting the washer. 

Glancing down at the clothing currently on my body, it seems completely reasonable to drop them into the washer too. Stripping the t-shirt from my body, I toss it into the swirling water before adding my bra, socks, and leggings to the murky mix. Wearing only panties in the cool house makes my nipples bead. 

Ha! I’m sure my nips are happy to get any action after almost a year with no dating of any sort because of the fucking pandemic. Which reminds me that I’ve forgotten my vibrator at home. Shit. Of all the things I don’t mind borrowing from Glenne, I do have a line I won’t cross. 

Placing the tin of Christmas yummies on the kitchen counter, I grasp the handles of the two bags of gifts. It might be silly to put them under the tree since I’m the only one in the house, but it will make me feel better. More like I’m at home with my family in Indiana. Less like I’m stuck in quarantine in an empty house for my favorite holiday. Sniffling, I swipe at my nose with the back of my hand as I pad down the two steps into the living room to the tree. 

Kneeling at the fake tree, I reach for the switch to turn on the lights. As the colors begin blinking, I carefully withdraw each present, reading the tag before gently placing the gift under the tree. Even my brother had sent a present through the mail which must mean he misses me his year. Right now, we should be challenging each other to the most ridiculous games to see who is the best. Inevitably, he would win some while I beat him at others until eventually we declare a tie. My mother would chastise us both with a grin on her face, implicitly encouraging us to continue our “reindeer games” as my father called them. 

From behind me, I hear a shuffling sound. Hadn’t they taken Myles with them? No matter. I could use the company a dog would provide. 

“Santa, you’ve changed!” a soft voice exclaims, and I jump, twisting around to find another human wearing sweatpants and a hoodie. 

“It’s you!” Both voices exclaim simultaneously. “What the fuck are you doing here?” We both pause, “Stop saying what I’m saying!” 

Out of breath, I stare at him. The Harry Styles. Fuck. 

His eyes roam over my body, and it finally dawns on me that I’m wearing nothing but my Victoria’s Secret lace panties. Shit. 

Pacing measuredly to the couch without openly cringing, I grasp a wool throw and wrap it around my chest regally like I’ve just exited the pool at some exotic locale near the equator. My shoulders straighten, and I face him openly. 

“Are you joining Glenne and Jeffrey in Palm Springs?” My back is a board, and my tone is barely restrained. 

“Nope.” His nonchalance combined with his truncated answer pisses me off, per usual.

“So you’re flying home, waiting here for your flight tonight?” The hopeful tone is obvious to me and probably to him as well.

“No.” Those green eyes of his rake over my nearly-naked body, and I shiver. From the cold of course. Jesus. Get your heads out of the gutter!

“Watering the plants prior to returning to the Soho?”

“Uh uh.”

Delayed dread begins to fill my stomach. “You mean --” I clear my throat -- “you’re staying here?”

“Yep.”

“Shit.” Running my hand through my hair, I ponder the impact and my next steps. 

“You?” He asks politely, even though I know he doesn’t feel solicitude at this moment.

“Glenne told me I could stay here for a few days. I made arrangements for my place to be fumigated while I was in Indiana for Christmas.”

His raised eyebrow mocks me. 

“I’m not going, though. Okay?” 

“Why not?”

“Seriously? Where the fuck have you been, Styles? In case you didn’t know, there’s a global fucking pandemic, and all of Los Angeles is locked down. So no -- I am not getting on a plane with a bunch of potentially infected and contagious --” Emotion overwhelms me, and I have to stop and catch my breath. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I turn away from him so he can’t see the tears that form in my eyes. 

“Whatever, Smith.”

“My name --” I draw myself up and gather my anger around me like a cloak -- “is not Smith.”

“Yeah, right. Which bedroom are you planning to sleep in?”

“Surely you’re not suggesting we both stay here?” Appalled, I stare at him with my mouth open. “I’ll get a hotel room.” When I realize my wardrobe is in the washing machine, I softly say, “As soon as my clothes are dry.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t be ridiculous, Smith. We’ll share the space. It’s only a couple of days.”

“Excuse me!?” Anger wells up. “Only the most important days in the entire year!” Superiority makes me stand up fully to him. “Besides, I’ve been quarantining for months. No way do I want to share germs with you!”

“Oh please! As if you’ve got a monopoly on quarantining! I’m perfectly safe. We get tested every morning before we film. When was the last time you were tested?” 

“Two days ago!” She’s at her boiling point. “Look, if we're both staying here together, then we’re just going to have to avoid each other. It’s a big house. We can do that.”

“Maybe once you put some clothes on,” Harry comments, smirking in that way he has where the left side of his mouth tilts up. 

Mortified, I glance down at myself. Briefly I consider scurrying for Glenne’s closet, but I pause. Why should I rush away? Because he’s male? Because he was here first? Because he’s sexy as fuck and my panties can’t take anymore? 

“Fine,” I respond as I brush past him like the Queen of England. “I’ll find something to wear, and then we can hash out the details.”

“Great plan. I’m ordering something for dinner.”

My stomach growls, and I suddenly feel an irrational hatred for that part of my body. How I long to state that I’ve already eaten or that I plan to cook something! But alas, I’ve brought no food with me, and I’ve no clue what’s in the kitchen. If Glenne and Jeffrey even left anything. 

“Does that mean you’d like some too?” He gloats, and as much as I would like to smack the grin off his face, I’ve not eaten since a quick bite for breakfast hours before. 

Knowing I’m going to have to grovel, I face him. “I’m capable of ordering for myself.”

“Yes, but that’s not necessarily good for the environment, is it? Sending two drivers to the same address from different restaurants?” Pausing, he appears to swallow whatever snarky comment was forthcoming. “Can we agree on this one small thing? I’m thinking poke.”

Shit. Fuck. Goddammit. That’s exactly what I would have ordered. Fuck. 

Casually, I shrug. “Yeah, whatever. I can choke down some poke.” As I saunter away, tucking the ends of the makeshift shroud under my armpits, I call back to him, “Spicy please.”

Quickly I make my way to Glenne’s closet, surveying the items there. Ripping down a pair of joggers and a Full Stop Management hoodie, I drop the covering I’ve been wearing and rapidly draw the clothes over my naked body. Nothing I can do about not having a bra, but the hoodie is roomy so I worry less. 

In the bathroom, I run my fingers through my hair, combing out the curls as best I can in this environment. In no way do I want it to appear that I’m trying to look amazing for Harry. Biting my lip, I admit to myself that the opposite is true. I absolutely want him to fall at my feet. 

Which isn’t going to happen, I remind myself. Give up the ghost of a fantasy. 

Making eye contact in the mirror, I provide a pep talk for myself. “Listen,” I remind my reflection, “this is just one more fucked up situation in 2020. You’ve gotten through worse. It’s truly a giant house, so there’s no reason -- wait. Why is he staying here anyway?” For whatever reason, I had allowed him to dodge that incredibly simple question. 

Tucking my hands into the hoodie’s front pocket, I amble to the kitchen where Harry is just disconnecting his phone. 

“Food will be here in 45 minutes,” he promises. 

“Why are you staying here again? I missed your answer earlier,” I prompt. 

I’m confident I see a flash of embarrassment crossing his face as he lowers his head. “Wine?” He asks, gesturing towards the extensive rack of reds and then the chiller of whites. 

Unsure as to whether I should allow the diversion or press, I examine him. His eyes look tired and sad. His clothes, while comfortable, aren’t upbeat. Nor is his current demeanor. Is he okay? 

Planting his hands in his hoodie in an unconscious mimic of my pose, he glances at me before his eyes stray to the side, examining the marble countertop. That look tells me more than I need to know, and my empath side emerges as I toss him a life preserver. 

“With poke? I think perhaps a Reisling.” 

He nods, bending to look through the wines in the cooler before he extracts one, holding it up for me to inspect the label. My eyes start to widen at the vineyard, assuming the extravagant cost, but I calm my features. “Perf!” I declare. 

Grasping the wine opener from a nearby drawer, Harry removes the cork as I snatch two wine glasses from the cabinet and place them near him. Carefully comparing the amount in each glass, he pours enough before recorking the bottle. Taking my glass, I move into the living room where I can view the tree. It’s Christmas Eve Eve after all, and I refuse to be deterred from watching the lights twinkle and celebrating the season. 

Harry apparently has a similar idea as he fiddles with the sound system before a crackle of ‘Jingle Bell Drunk’ by RaeLynn starts playing which causes me to giggle. 

I settle on one side of the sofa, and Harry plants himself on the other side. Separately, we each take a sip of the riesling. My tongue does a happy dance at the flavor on my tongue. “This sweetness will cut the spicy quite well. Excellent choice.”

“You made the selection,” Harry reminds me, and I cringe. 

“Oh. Yeah.”

Silence descends as the song proclaims “I’ve been naughty. I’ve been nice.” 

“If there was ever a year for this song, this is it.” I announce into the quiet. 

“Yeah. It’s been quite the year.”

Sharply, I glance at him. Perhaps I had missed something? “Excuse me? You’ve had one hell of a year, Styles. Grammy nominations aside, there were how many music videos released during this global disaster? Plus a movie!”

“Agreed.” He’s quiet, his jaw clenched, and suddenly his words burst forth as though a gate at a dam has been opened. “But no tour. And almost no family time.”

Wait. Was this superstar feeling some of my emotions? He’d had a stellar year in anyone’s estimation. Maybe I could be more sympathetic. 

“Yeah. I’m sorry about tour. I had tickets to Vegas and one of the LA shows.”

His head swivels to me more swiftly than an owl focusing on prey. “You had tickets?”

“HAVE.” I swallow. “Thanks for not canceling by the way. I cannot imagine the bloodbath for getting tickets in the future. You’ve become the ‘it celebrity’.”

A blush is followed by a sheepish smile. “You can always get tickets, Smith. Just ask.”

“I don’t do that.” My voice is filled with the prickles that I feel at his words. 

“Do what?” 

“Use my privilege to get tickets to shows.”

“Oh. I…” His words trailed off. 

Suddenly, I feel less uncomfortable around him. Reaching out, I shove at his shoulder. “You’re a giant star, and you have a ton of fans who want to see you. Me? I’m just happy to be a member of the audience.”

“Really?” Incredulous is what I sense in that one word. “Why?”

“Seriously?” I’m appalled. “Do you not know what an amazing entertainer you are, Styles? Fuck. If I hadn’t been able to see your Fine Line show at the Forum last December, I probably would have cried. You know exactly what your audience wants, and you deliver it. Consistently.”

“But --”

“Hush. Don’t you dare negate your talent!” Taking another sip of wine, I reveal unabashedly, “Maybe it’s the wine talking, but I really enjoy your shows.”

“Smith?” He inquires, and my hand stalls with my wine glass halfway to my mouth.

“Yeah?”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you like my shows?”

Stalling, I run a finger through my hair and empty my wine glass before holding it out to him. “More please?”

He rises, but I can read his reluctance. Within moments, Harry is back at my side, handing me a second glass of the riesling. I can’t help but notice that he’s topped his own off too. 

“Answer the question, Smith.”

“My name isn’t Smith. In fact, there’s not a single part of my name that’s related to Smith. Why do you call me that?”

“Tell me why you like my shows, and I’ll reveal the meaning behind the nickname.”

My head feels fuzzy from the wine and the headiness of being near Harry, and I watch the lights flashing on the tree for a few minutes while Meghan Patrick belts out her version of ‘I’ll Be Home for Christmas’ over the sound system. 

“You make your fans feel like they matter.”

“How?” His question comes rapidly, and I have to gather my thoughts. 

“You...talk to them. Listen to them. Watch them. Appreciate them. It’s rare, Harry. I mean, I’m in this business too, you know. Not every artist does what you do.”

“False.”

“I’m fucking serious, you asshole.” I gulp down more of the wine. “You make your audience feel like they’re your closest friends. I wish more artists did that. Specifically the ones I represent.”

“Oh.” His single utterance is enough, and we sit in pure tranquility for several minutes as the lights blink and Ava Max sings “Christmas Without You”. 

“Wanna watch the quintessential holiday movie?” I inquire, looking at him. 

“Which is?”

“Die Hard, of course,” is my response. “What were you thinking?”

“It’s a Wonderful Life.”

“Nope. It’s pretty good. In the top five for sure.”

“Wait. What are your top five?”

“Oh, that’s easy. ‘Die Hard’, ‘Home Alone’, ‘A Christmas Story’, ‘The Santa Clause’, and ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’.

“You’re serious?”

“Deadly?” I giggle at the joke since ‘Die Hard’ is full of death. 

“Fine. But we watch ‘Wonderful Life’ afterwards.”

“Deal.”

Part 2

[hogwartsmarvelmommy]

Fallout of the century 🌑💔

Part 2 🥜

Read part 1 here 🥜

Masterlist

word count: 3.4k

Warnings: Angst & Fighting

My alarm was blaring way too early since it was Saturday. I reached over and clicked it off. “Ugh,” I groaned as I rolled onto my stomach. 

“What are you groaning about?” Harrison opened my door and came and hopped onto the bed next to me. 

“My life,” I mumbled, not moving my face from where it was buried in the bed. 

“Oh come on, it's not that bad,” He said, urging me to cheer up. 

“I told Harry we should date other people last night,” I said as I pushed myself up onto my knees. “It's been six months, we should both try and move on. But I can't help but think that if he goes and starts dating, that he’ll be gone forever,” I sighed. this was giving me a headache.

“Do you want to be with him?” He asked.

“I want to be with my Harry, but he's not my Harry anymore. So no, I don't think so,” I said, confusing even myself. I sat there staring at the wall, waiting for some sort of emotion to surface, but I just felt numb again. “I think my mind is broken Harrison,” I sighed, throwing myself down onto the bed. 

“Then let's go and do something you'll enjoy, try and fix that pretty little mind of yours,” he sounded hopeful that i would agree, and i didn’t have any prior plans, so why not.

“Like what?” I asked curiously.

----------

 The pins smashed down, with the loud noise. “And another strike!” I exclaimed running back to Harrison and Tom. 

“Girls got game, gotta admit it,” Tom said laughing, as Harrison went up to bowl his turn. 

“So, Harry talked to me,” Tom started. I looked at him unsure of what he was talking about. “You know, i never knew if those memories i had were real, or my mind making things up in a drunken haze,” he laughed. He was talking about THAT night. Over five years ago. 

“You remember?” I asked, shocked that he hadn't said anything before. 

“I don't think anyone could forget a night like that,” He chuckled. I reached over and smacked his arm. That night, it had been, well, it had been an experience to say the least. 

“Tom! Eww!” I laughed. 

“No but seriously, why did you never say anything?” He asked me. I watched Harrison throw the ball, going straight in the gutter again and I shrugged. 

“Why didn't you?” I asked. 

“Fair enough,” He said as Harrison walked back over to the table. “What's wrong Hazza? Not winning today?” Tom laughed. Harrison rolled his eyes.

“Oh shut it Thomas, you're not doing much better,” Tom looked up at the scoreboard and saw that Harrison was in fact right, they were both losing miserably. Tom walked over and took the ball, hitting only a few pins after he threw it. The day was good, easy, not full of expectation and worries. 

----------

I climbed into the passenger seat of Harrison’s car as we dropped Tom back at his place. “So,” Harrison began. “Home? Or do you want to go on an adventure?” 

“What kind of adventure?” I asked, looking over to see a smirk on his face. It was a look I was far too familiar with, a devilish look. “Oh no,” I muttered to myself as we pulled away from the driveway and started driving in the opposite direction of home.

We pulled up in front of a hanger with a giant ‘Skydiving’ painted on the side. I laughed as he parked the car. “No, no freaking way am I jumping out of a goddamn plane Harrison Osterfeild” I told him it was completely serious. 

“What are the odds,” He smirked at me. 

“Fine, 1-100,” I said. 

He nodded at me and we both spoke at the same time. “77” 

“Your fucking kidding me Harrison, how did you even know that?” I demanded. He laughed as he got out of the car and walked over to my door, opening it. 

“It's your favorite number,” He said, smiling his cocky smile at me. I shook my head questioning what I had gotten myself into. 

We walked into the place and paid for the life threatening task and then sat through an hour educational video and then were walked through the equipment. We walked over to the area with the suits and were instructed to put them on. 

“I swear to god, Harrison. If I die, I'll haunt you,” I shot him a death glare. 

“You're not going to die,” He laughed. “Hey excuse me, can you take our picture?” Harrison asked a person walking by, who quickly obliged his request. He put his arm around my waist and pulled me close to him, a giant goofy smile spread across his face, I smiled as the phone flashed and the guy brought the phone back to Harrison. He showed me his phone screen. The picture was cute. I can't lie, but I felt a twinge of guilt with how much we looked like a couple, instead of the friends we were. I tried to push the thoughts out of my head, and try to enjoy this crazy ‘Adventure’. 

We got into the harnesses and strapped to the instructors and onto the plane. The plane ride was bumpy and loud, and when it was time to jump, Harrison insisted I go first. I planned on arguing, but the instructor gave me no time before jumping out of the plane. 

I expected to feel like i was plummeting to the ground, but it wasn't like that at all, i felt like i was hovering, staring down at the earth from far above. The wind and air smacked me making my hair fly all around and my mouth open unattractively. We fell for only about 45 seconds before the instructor pulled the chute. We glided down to the designated landing area, and once our feet touched the ground the instructor helped undo the harness. I looked around once the harness was off and found Harrison, whose hair was even crazier than mine. I ran over to him and surprised myself when I practically jumped into his arms. I felt alive for the first time in months. I pulled my face back a bit and found him and smashed my lips into his, kissing him like I had been thinking about it all my life, even though I hadn't. I broke my lips from his as he set my feet back on the ground. 

“That was exhilarating!” I announced.

“I can tell,” He laughed. A man walked up beside us and handed us two disks and a Polaroid picture. I wasn't sure what the disks were but when I saw the picture, I was shocked. It was of the kiss we had just shared. If anyone saw that picture it was sure to be a confusing conversation. “Come on,” Harrison said, grabbing my hand and pulling me back to the hanger to return the suit.

For the first time in a long time, I realized I wasn't dreaming of the past. I wasn't sure if I was happy or sad about that.

The next few weeks were spent like normal. I went to work, I came home, and we ate dinner. I was happier than I was before now though. Things between Harrison and I didn't.. change much, a few stolen glances and smirks every once in a while, but there had been no more kissing. Harry and I hadn't talked, I think we were just trying to give each other space. And I was thankful. 

I stood at my dresser putting on a faint bit of makeup for the game tonight, I was not dreading it, I was actually excited, to be back to normal. There was a knock on my door and Harrison opened it and smiled at me, probably thankful to see me in something other than lazy clothes. I had put on a pair of cute jeans, and a cute blouse. 

“What?” I giggled looking at him through his reflection. 

“I'm just glad you're back to your normal self, is all. The Hollands should be here soon,” he told me before walking away, leaving my door open. I rolled my eyes as I put on a blush nude shade on my lips. 

I walked down the stairs, and into the living room plopping myself down on the chair that was now my spot. There was a knock at the door and then it swung open and all three Holland boys came in, cases of beer in hand. I stood up and hugged Sam and Tom as they went to their seats, Harry stopped in front of me with wide eyes and a partially open mouth. I held my arms out for a hug and he quickly embraced me in his. I felt a surge of electricity shoot through my body as soon as our skin connected. I let him go and he backed away, but not before whispering “You look really good,” In my ear. And from the look on Harrison’s face, I could tell my cheeks had gone a rosy hue showing through the makeup that laid on my skin. 

We all got comfortable as Tuwaine pulled out the board game, a thing Harrison was known for doing. 

“You guys want to see some pictures and videos of when me and Nutty went skydiving?” Harrison asked, pulling out his phone. My stomach tightened hearing his words.

“You went skydiving?” Harry asked me. 

“We did,” Harrison told him, showing him various pictures and videos. Harry's eyes kept switching from Hazzas phone to me, and i wasn't sure if he was hurt, shocked, or both. 

“I had a Polaroid from when we landed too, but I'm not sure exactly where that disappeared to,” Harrison lied. It was pinned to the wall in his room next to a bunch of other pictures of all of us hanging out and doing random things. 

“That picture is cute,” Harry said dryly, and I knew he was talking about the one we took before the jump. He got up and excused himself to go to the bathroom. I waited a minute before making up an excuse to run up to my bedroom. Once I got there I saw Harry sitting on my bed, waiting for me. 

“Harry-” I tried to say but was cut off after he stood up and rushed to me, taking my face in his hands and slamming his lips into mine. There was a distinctive difference between Harry’s and Harrison’s kisses, and that was passion. I found my hands quickly tangled in his curly auburn hair pulling him closer to me, not wanting his lips to leave mine. His hands traveled down my back and to my ass, pushing me into him, with a force I missed. Oh god did I miss this. He grabbed my butt lifting me to him, and my legs went around his waist. He carried me to my bed, throwing me down before attacking my neck with kisses and suckling, surely leaving light purple hickies for everyone to see. 

“I don't want to date other people, I only want you,” he whispered. As he returned his lips to mine. 

“Harry,” I groaned. He lifted his head and stared into my eyes with his soft warm hazel ones. “I don't want to date other people either, but I'm not ready. For this.” I told him gesturing to what we are currently doing.

“That's fine, as long as you're not sleeping with Haz,” He said. I felt my blood boil. 

“What?” I asked, pushing him off. 

“I just don't want you sleeping with him,” He said again. 

“And so what if I was Harry? Do you own me? Are we even together? I’m free to do what ever the hell i please, and if its fucking Haz then that’s what i’m going to do,” i shouted at him. 

“Well is that what you want? To fuck Haz? You want to get back at me for fucking Olivia?” He yelled. 

“Maybe I do,” I said quieter. 

“Then make sure you do it five times so we can really be even,” He sneered as he stormed out of my room. 

“Fuck you Harry Robert Holland,” I yelled after him slamming the door and throwing myself onto my bed. I was shaking i was so mad.

God, I really couldn't catch a break. I pushed myself up and walked to my dresser and looked at my neck, thankful there were no marks to remind me of the things that had just happened. I ripped my shirt off and threw on a plain black hoodie and changed into a pair of sweats. I was not going to let him ruin game night. 

I walked down the stairs to find Tom, Sam, Tuwaine, and Harrison sitting in silence. “What?” I asked. 

“You OK?” Sam asked me first. 

“I'm fine, are we going to play or what?” I asked sitting down. 

“Are you curious where Harry went?” Tuwaine asked.

“Nope, don’t care,” I said coldly.

“He said he was going to-” Tom started but I cut him off. 

“To go sleep with Olivia again, yeah got it. Let's just play the game,” I said, wishing they would drop it. 

“Do you actually want to sleep with Harrison?” Sam asked, probably more out of concern for his twin's feelings than pure curiosity.

“If I chose to sleep with Harrison, it would have nothing to do with Harry, I'm not spiteful.” I said grabbing the golden peanut that Harry had gotten me for Christmas for monopoly. “Are we going to play?” I asked. I felt a rush of emotions as my closest friends stared at me waiting for me to break. “Okay, fine.” I said standing up. “I'll just go to bed,” And with that I stormed off to my bedroom. 

“Y/N!” Harry yelled as he came into the guest room of Harrison's house. “Please just let me explain?” He begged.

“Explain what? I don't want an explanation. I want you to go back in time and not fucking do it!” I yelled between tears. 

“Please? I'll do anything,” he cried. 

“You know, I slept with your brother, about a month before we were together, so just know our whole relationship. I was comparing you to him,” I spat. It was a lie, not the sleeping together part but the comparing part. 

“No you didn't,” he whispered, hurt spreading across his face. 

“It was the night of the Bastille concert,” I said coldly. 

“Why wouldn't you tell me?” he demanded. I shrugged my shoulders, not having an answer. He got up and left. I was sure I would see him again. But at that moment I wished I never would. 

I was only in my room for 15 minutes before there was a knock on the door. 

“Yeah?” I called out.

“It's me,” Harrison said as he came in, shutting the door behind him. “Tom and Sam left because the three of them rode together so they had to go find Harry. So me and Tuwaine decided to just call it. I nodded at him. 

“Sorry about game night,” I muttered. I felt bad, this wasn't the first time me and Harry had ruined game night, just the first time it had come to this extreme.

“No, I'm sorry. I'm pretty sure I instigated it,” He sighed sitting beside me.

“Yeah, what was that about anyway?” I was curious to know what he was thinking.

“When you hugged him, he said something to you. You blushed and I got jealous. I'm not sure why, but I wasn't thinking right,” he was looking down at the floor. 

“He told me I looked good, Harrison,” I laughed. He looked up at me with a dopey look on his face. 

“That's what made you blush?” he asked. I nodded laughing. 

“I didn't mean to shout about sleeping with you. He just accused me of it, and I got so mad,” I groaned, throwing myself back on my bed.

“He accused you of sleeping with me?” He asked. 

“More or less. It was more like ‘I don't want you sleeping with him’ like he just figured that's what I was doing, to get back at him. Cause we all know that's the kind of person I am,” I said sarcastically, rolling my eyes. 

“So you're saying you wouldn't?” he asked quietly. I was not liking the direction this conversation was going in. 

“Wouldn't what?” I asked, knowing full well what he was asking.

“Sleep with me?” I could almost hear pain in his voice. 

“Not to spite Harry.” I told him. Biting my cheek. Great another thing I picked up from harry. 

“But you would, if the time was right?” He asked me. I sat myself up so I could look at him. 

“Harrison, if the time was right, and things felt right, and we both wanted too. Yes I would probably sleep with you,” I told him, as  a sliver of hope sparkling in his eyes.

“How will I know if the time is right?” he wondered. 

“Um instinct? I don't know.” I laughed. He put his hand on my thigh, leaving it gently touching me. Was this the moment? Was I supposed to decide if I was ready to move on or go after Harry right now? I looked up at harrisons sweet face, with his gorgeous blue eyes and perfect blonde waves. “I don't know what to do Haz,” I whispered. He reached up stroking my face. 

“What feels right?” he asked.

I thought about it. What felt right? Did Harry feel right, or was he just safe. We had gotten into such a routine, that there was no wonder with us. The sex was phenomenal, but everyday life was the same day in and day out. Sitting here right now, with Harrison, felt dangerous and scary, but not in a bad way. When we had gone skydiving, that was an out of the normal thing, and it felt invigorating. Maybe all I needed was a lack of routine. Who knows maybe Tuwaine had been right and me and Harry had just been a time filler for what was to come. Maybe I was supposed to love Harry and deal with the fallout of our relationship to teach me a lesson. Maybe I'd sleep with Harrison and wake up a new person, or maybe I'd do it and regret it. It was a whole lot of maybe.

“Honestly, everything feels wrong. The only thing that has felt right in so long was when we went out bowling and then skydiving,” I told him.

“Do you need a little bit of adventure?” He asked. 

“Maybe I do,” I chuckled. 

“Pack a bag, with warm clothes. And a swimsuit.” He told me as he stood up and pulled out his phone. 

“What, why?” I asked, unsure of where he could possibly want to take me. 

“Let's go to Hawaii. Have our own little adventure. Get you out of this god forsaken funk.” He told me, placing a kiss on my forehead and then leaving the room. 

As crazy as the idea was, I did just as he said, I packed a suitcase, with my cutest clothes and packed my swimsuit. This could be an awful idea, to fly to an island with your friend, whom you clearly had some pent up feelings for. Guess we'd find out soon. 

I set my bag by my bedroom door and pulled out my phone. I must have had it on silent cause I had three missed calls from Harry and about a dozen texts. I dialed the number for my voicemail and listened. 

‘OK i know that that was shitty of me. Fuck. I just don't want to lose you, or see you with him,’

I rolled my eyes as it switched to the next message.

‘I know you don't owe me anything, but please, give me one more chance, to make this work,’

I wanted to give him another chance, I did, but not right now, I needed to do something for me. 

‘I love you. I will always love you.’ 

I hung up the phone and dialed his number. 

“Oh thank god, I'm so sorry,” He blurted as soon as he answered. 

“I'm going to go away for a few days. I need to think about what I want and what I'm willing to forgive,” I told him.

“Oh,” he said. 

“I do love you Harry, but we are not getting anywhere. It's like a game of who can hurt who, and neither of us are winning. So let's just call it quits. Take me out for coffee when I get back and hopefully we can start to sort this mess out,” I didn't wait for his response, because I knew if I did, he would change my mind.

part 3

[ironhusband]

5 Times Tony Said I Know A Place  + 1 Time Rhodey Said It

-1-

It started small, which, contrary to popular belief, is something Tony can start with. Maybe only when he was a fifteen year old kid with no experience or confidence, and not the billionaire persona Tony developed, but still. When it first happened, Rhodey and him didn’t know each other very well, but still felt concocted due to their early admissions and having to shout to be heard. But they weren’t best friends who knew each other so intimately back then. They were just roommates slowly going through becoming friends.

So it started with Rhodey frowning at his C.

“What’s the matter, sourpatch?” Tony asked, and unconsciously, Rhodey hid the paper away from his eyes. Tony glanced at the paper Rhodey hid. “You seem… concerned?”

“It’s nothing,” Rhodey dismissed, not wanting to admit to getting a bad mark, “do you want to get take out tonight?”

“It’s not nothing!” Tony ignored his question, “you’re upset!”

Rhodey pursed his lips, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Tony’s shoulders slumped, “oh. Okay.”

Rhodey folded the paper neatly and put it in his drawer, trying to put the mark and conversation behind him, “okay, so do you want take out?”

“Actually, I know a place,” Tony said and then offered him a hand for Rhodey to take, “let’s eat out.”

~~~

In the next half an hour, Tony actually managed to bring a smile to his face, “I can’t believe you took me to Chuck E. Cheese!”

“Hey, say what you want about my methods, but I get results,” Tony grinned back at him, “I-I get to see that beautiful smile.”

Rhodey couldn’t help but have his smile spread at Tony’s downright adorable attempt at flirting. Then his smile dimmed slightly, as he brought his hand to his mouth in curiosity, realizing what that meant, “you did this to cheer me up?”

Tony snorted, “no, this is where I bring all my dates to.”

“Shut up,” Rhodey shoved him but didn’t object to this being called a date, “why here?”

Tony shrugged, “it’s where my butler used to bring me as a kid when I was upset. Always managed to make me forget what made me cry. Thought you could use this place too.”

Rhodey shook his head. It didn’t make sense how Tony managed to effortlessly understand him. Some people might have forced him to talk about what made him upset or took him anywhere else that wasn’t used to cheer a child up. But not Tony. Tony knew just what he needed.

“You’re ridiculous,” is what he told Tony and brought into a one armed hug.

-2-

“Hey, you’re back!” Tony cheered, “how was the test?”

“Good, I think,” Rhodey shrugged, “c’mon, you know me. And it’s physics. I’m good at it.”

Tony stuck his tongue at him, “don’t rub it in.”

Rhodey only smirked in response. “Okay, I'm studying for chem now, so be quiet.”

“What did you just say to me?” Tony gasped.

Rhodey chuckled, “I’ve only got a window for an hour. I gotta use it.”

“You just aced a test and you’re studying again?” Tony shook his head and stood up detremindly, “unacceptable. We, Rhodey Rhodes, are going out to celebrate. And I know just the place.”

“Tony, I can’t-”

Tony put a hand over his mouth, “I won’t hear it.”

Rhodey rolled his eyes but didn’t try objecting again.

~~~

“No, you’re wrong, the pool is way better than the beach!”

“I can’t believe you’re standing in front of this beauty and saying this!”

Rhodey glanced at the beach, “but the water is salty.”

Tony snorted and he sarcastically drawled, “okay, you win.”

“You know, you should be taking my side,” Rhodey pointed out, “out of the two of us you’re more likely to get a visible sunburn.”

Tony bristled, “yeah, but waves.”

“That’s a con.”

“No, it’s not!”

Rhodey smiled at him, “I’m not having a yes no argument with you.”

“Okay, then I win.”

Rhodey laughed. Rhodey went on to ace both of his tests and Tony grinned and said, “I take credit for giving you a much needed break.” Rhodey pinched him playfully but didn’t tell Tony how he was running on only coffee at that point.

-3-

“Honeybear, you’re gonna love me,” Tony announced to him.

“I already love you,” Rhodey told him and showed his point by rubbing his nose against Tony and briefly pressing a kiss to his lips.

Tony giggled, and what a wonderful sound it was. “No, I mean really love me. Like trying out that thing I keep suggesting love me.”

“Impossible,” Rhodey said and dropped what he was doing.

Tony smirked and said, “I got us two tickets to Guns n’ Roses.”

Rhodey gasped, “no!”

“Yes!”

Rhodey lunged at him and cupped Tony’s face in his hands, “oh my God, I do love you.”

Tony pecked him, “told you.”

“But wait,” Rhodey paused, “they’re all sold out. I made my sister camp out. How did you…?”

Tony bit his lip, “yeah, about that...”

Rhodey looked at him suspiciously, “what did you do?”

“Don’t worry, I just know a place.”

~~~

Tony ended up finding them the best car to drive them to the concert almost halfway across the country. He told their teachers they were sick with a high fever. Rhodey chastised him for it, but it was still the best concert he ever went to so it was half hearted. He was forever grateful to Tony for letting him see his favorite band live.

-4-

Rhodey felt like crying his eyes out with frustration. His CO wouldn’t let him do anything important, his CO didn’t believe he could do anything important and most importantly, his CO wasn’t letting him prove he could do anything important. He didn’t know what to do and he felt helpless and at loss. Rhodey hated feeling like that.

He burrowed his face into his boyfriend’s neck, the safest, most comforting place on Earth, “will you still date me if I quit MIT?”

“No actually, I have three other back ups I know won’t flunk,” Tony quipped but at the way Rhodey’s hands tightened around his middle he said, “just kidding, honeybear. You know you’re the only one for me. MIT or no MIT.”

Rhodey hummed, feeling warmer at the praise, “what if I go to CalTech?”

“Don’t even joke, Rhodes,” he rubbed his hands comfortingly around the arms on his waist, “why do you think you’re flunking?”

“I’m not flunking,” Rhodey mumbled, “but my CO sure wants me to.”

Tony groaned, “that guy’s a jerk. He doesn’t know what he has in his hands.”

Rhodey smiled into his neck, but he didn’t feel any less frustrated or any more hopeful.

“Hey, I think I have something that might cheer you up,” Tony said, “I was saving it for your birthday, but I think you might want it now.”

“I’m not in the mood,” Rhodey grumbled.

Tony chuckled, “get your mind out of the gutter. I know a place.”

~~~

Tony took him to a small airport. All through the drive Tony teased him about wearing a blindfold, so to not ruin the surprise, which did not ease Rhodey’s anxiety one bit. But when they got there… Tony showed him the most amazing plane. “It’s your favorite model, right?” Tony asked, “you told me so.”

Rhodey started at him and then at the plane and then back at Tony, “you remembered that?”

“Course I did,” Tony scoffed at him, “I needed something for your birthday. Come, this isn’t all.” Then Tony took him by the hand and introduced him to the pilot, “he’s gonna take you for a spin.”

Rhodey couldn’t believe what Tony was offering him, and it took him a while to recover enough to nod and get into the plane. The pilot flew him, twisting and turning and going upside down with the aircraft, making Rhodey shriek in delight. When they were done, the pilot allowed any and all questions, even letting Rhodey touch the controls to “test fly” the plane while it was turned off.

When he came to land Tony told him, “you’re not going to flunk.” He cupped Rhodey’s face gently, “you’re going to pass ROTC with flying colors, go on to get an amazing position that will make your CO jealous and fly a plane just like this one day. Just you wait.”

Little did Rhodey know by then, but Tony was right.

Rhodey kissed Tony with a smile still stretched on his face, “I don’t think you can find another gift for my birthday to top this.”

-5-

Rhodey was homesick. He hadn’t seen his family in a long time and he was starting to miss them. What put him in an especially sour mood was when his sister got a part in a play she was excited about, and Rhodey couldn’t come and watch it.

“I hate you when you’re in this mood,” Tony complained, “just want to make you feel better.”

Rhodey sighed, “I know this is hard for you to understand because your dad is an asshole. But I don’t know… I just miss them. And Philly too. God, I miss Philly.”

Tony looked thoughtful before a grin showed on his face, “I have an idea.”

“Oh no,” Rhodey teased.

Tony stuck his tongue out at him, “I think I know a place that will cheer you up. You trust me?”

Rhodey wanted to say something teasing but what he ended up saying was, “with my life.”

~~~

Tony took him to the Charles Hayden Planetarium because Rhodey once told him it reminded him of the Franklin Institute back at home. They watched the stars together and Rhodey nuzzled his neck and told him, “the stars in your eyes are more beautiful.” By the end of the night, Rhodey still missed home but he felt he was just as lucky to be with his other home, with Tony.

-+1-

Tony wiped the tears from his face, embarrassed that Rhodey saw his outburst of emotional weakness. Voice shaky and watery, Tony looked away from Rhodey’s concerned gaze. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Rhodey didn’t say anything and Tony didn’t watch for his reaction. Eventually, Rhodey sat beside, pressed himself against Tony and nudged him gently. “I think I know a place,” he joked.

Tony laughed quietly, the laugh coming out broken. The line had long since become an inside joke for them, as Tony had a habit of repeating it too much. Rhodey usually wasn’t serious when he said it, but this seemed like more than a joke. He wondered what place Rhodey could be talking about. A burger joint? A robotics lab? Maybe a music store?

But instead, Rhodey brought him to his arms and hugged him tightly, hands on Tony’s back drawing comforting circles.

Tony frowned, confused, “what’s the place?”

Rhodey hugged him tighter, “right here,” he said, kissing the top of Tony’s head, “home.”

[randombtsprincessa]

By the Book

All Rights Reserved. Canon Rights go to @pasteljeon​

Author: Randombtsprincessa

Characters: Venom! Kim Namjoon x Reader (2nd POV)

Words: 3.3k

Genre: Smut and maybe fluffy? Derivative Work for  Shadows by @pasteljeon​! 

Summary: You may have grown as cold as your work environment. Wierdly enough, it takes an Alien Symbiote to thaw you out.

Warning: Venom AU!; Covert Government Labs, Alien Symbiosis, Arson, fire, smoke, alien heat cycles, not too explicit sexual content, basically sex with Venom! Namjoon.

A/N: This is a small birthday present for my beautiful Kura over at @pasteljeon​. She’s amazing and she’s the creator of the Venom AU which is featured in the following work. I’m sorry this took so long love! I hope you like it! Love you!!

The walls were bright white, reflecting lights so harshly you had to squint. The tight lip of your skirt was uncomfortable around your knees and the heels dug into the back of your ankles but you kept on, pushing your body like you had been doing for so long.

The work you were a part of had no room for luxuries such as comfort and while you would sometimes dearly just like to sit, you learned early on that sitters were losers and the ones who were willing to keep walking or even running actually ran the operations.

Of course, nobody really told you that the sitters would be getting most of the credit.

You took a deep breath before you were pushing on the handle of the Experiment Containment chambers. Separated into seven glass enclosed rooms or chambers per se, you found the person you were looking for at the far back, near the youngest experiment.

You slowed, your eyes taking in the posture of your boss.

She was leaning completely over safety railing, something strictly prohibited – even if she was the lead scientist. Her forehead and palm was pressed to the fogged glass and on the other side, a black, glutinous mass attached to where her palm was splayed.

Jungkook…or better known as 19970901…

You knew you weren’t supposed to give the masses of black substance originated in outer space Human names but it seems your boss and the Head couldn’t help herself. She had given the seven surviving subjects humanity, training…names.

She was a mother to them, and to the youngest of the lot…it always seemed to you, she was much more.

You caught the quick jerk of the black substance, an acknowledgement to your presence just as you called for your Head’s attention.

“The next trial begins in ten minutes. Should I bring the volunteer in?” You asked politely.

She glanced back at the mass that had retreated to the far back of the room, motionless before nodding her head, leading you out.

You followed quietly, sounds of your steps already echoing in the room, attracting attention from the ones that were far less shy.

Symbiosis; a little hidden project funded by the government, returning from the outer space with symbiotes that had alien characteristics but would be able to merge with humans and live off them, enhance them.

The government wanted soldiers obviously but as you looked at the very front, trying hard not to feel emotional for the seven last remaining organisms that had survived the failures of establishing symbiosis with various contenders, you knew they were not meant for a life of war.

The mass at the very front, 19940912, sitting in a pool in front of Jane Eyre definitely wasn’t going to be of much help in a battle field.

You had worked in the Symbiosis laboratory for over three years now, your life as much secret to the outside world as the outside world was a secret to them. Which is why, you had made up your mind early on that feeling any form of emotion for the…alien components that resided in the lab would not only be detrimental…it would be disastrous.

Yet, you couldn’t help but follow along with your boss as she cooed and crooned…and you managed a wry smile at each glop of masses that preened to her praise.

You watched 19921204 cook up delicacies that he and your boss indulged in, 19930309 was given sound cancelling headphones that you handpicked because of his…its extra sensitivity. 19940218, 19951013 and 19951230 were the most humane, bouncing around like teenagers on a power boost.

Among them, 19970901 or as your Head liked to call him, Jungkook – was the closest to her…while 19940912 was the most intriguing.

You had brought more books for this one black mass than you had yourself read over your own life of study and research. Dictionaries, Encyclopedias, nonfiction, fiction, and poetry…Namjoon the Symbiote was probably better read than the most accomplished human scholar.

So when your Head called you in to discuss a very sensitive and urgent matter…you weren’t sure if you were more impressed or less surprised.

Your work as a scientists’ assistant had shown you a lot. You had seen men and women painfully contorting their bodies as black shadows wrapped around them before flickering and dying out within the lifeless eyes of the volunteers. You had personally switched on the incinerators in some of these cases but you had never seen human zeal to liberate alien substances.

“With all due respect, ma’am,” You said, “but you cannot be serious.”

Your boss had her hands deep into the pockets of her white coat.

“It’s a failing endeavor because the symbiotes have come to rely on us. We will have to protect them.”

“They are aliens for god’s sake, ma’am. We cannot just break them out just because we don’t approve what use they’re going to be serving.”

She turned at that. “So, you don’t approve as well.” She shot out immediately.

Your eyes widened as she took hurried steps towards you. “I want you to help me, Y/N. Help me break them out. After me, you are the most close to the symbiotes, even if you don’t want to show it. Help me find better substitutes, people who can hide with them, so no one will ever find them.”

Aside from taking them yourselves, you had no other ways to let them go. You said so.

There was a brief crestfallen look to her eyes before she nodded, dismissing you.

Seven years of hard work, labour, putting up with so much crap…all down the gutter. You watched your boss press the emergency button as the arson spread.

Contrary to what you had previously believed and shrieked about…the Head scientist wasn’t responsible for the fire breaking out. Government insurgencies were something you all had been trained for…but to see one in action.

It scared you to bits.

Your secret plan to smuggle the symbiotes out had somehow worked. You had started with Jin...bound to a woman, a chef teacher is a culinary academy. He had seemed happy enough, wrapping around her as you left the chambers to give them privacy.

Yoongi and Hoseok found homes in what they loved. Music and Dance, both of them attaching themselves to a duo who were hard pressed for money. With their talent, intermingling with theirs, you knew they’d make it big.

Jimin and Taehyung were more complicated. Try as you and your boss may, they flat refused to be seperated. You had no choice but to let them go together. It had taken weeks, nearly a month before a woman strong enough had managed to bond with the entwined set successfully. You had been on edge for all the prospects, withdrawing the half bonded twins from the half dead human before sending them to the infirmary to heal. As broody as they had been on the unsuccessful trials, they had been elated to finally find a perfect match.

That left the last two…still holed up in containment…nowhere to go.

You could feel the smoke puncture through your lungs as both you and your boss fumbled through the see through maze. Your hands seperated, your body too heavy to make through as she found what she was looking for…

Jungkook.

You smiled tearily, stumbling to the last cell left…and collapsing right in front of it.

Y/N

You shuddered, unable to lift your head through the fiery ash flying about.

Y/N…wake up

You managed to look at the glob at last, stretched thin, painted across the glass. It had no face, no aspects but the disembodied voice that floated down to you was concerned.

You’re dying.

“Yeah, no shit.” You coughed, managing to rise up to your hands and knees as the black mass pulsated and pricked, trying to get away from the fire. It made you blink.

For a heat sensitive organism, typical to be afraid of even a lick of fire, it had actually reached out towards you, making sure you were ok.

It was strangely touching.

“I’m rescuing you.” You got to your feet shakily. For something that had shown you enough sympathy to fight through what it was afraid of, you could forward the same courtesy.

Fire Y/N, bad for us.

“I won’t let it touch you.”

What about Jungkook?

You tried not to shiver at the way the name came so easily to it. “He’s safe with the boss. Come on!” You yelled finally but it only cowered away from the blistering haze you exposed it to.

I…can’t.

“Namjoon, please.” You whispered at last. The smoke was making it difficult to breathe. Very soon, you’d have no strength at all.

You’re dying. It said again.

You reached out for the mass again, trying to physically pry it off of the glass walls but you had no clue what gesture it would take it for.

19940912 shot towards you, sharp and fast as a cobra. A jagged edge of black gluton curled around your wrist, the outstretched limb running with black veins as it attempted to sink within you. A surprised groan fell from your lips, feeling the symbiote rush up your body, too fast, too sudden. The veins subsided, the tenril of black settling deep within you that thrummed with life, providing clarity.

“What did you do?” You queried, as with renewed vigor, the symbiote used your body to escape from the burning ruins.

We saved each other.

The plane carried you away, far from your life, far from your career. You symbiosis with 19940912, had been painless, but not without it’s complications.

As you lay on the cool grass, the strength of the alien party had withered, flickered and you wondered if the bond was unsuccessful, and if you two were going to die no matter what happened.

It was quick to put you at ease.

Bond seems strong enough. We will be fine once you expel the smoke from your body, it’s making me antsy.

You rolled over, taking in deeper gulps of the cold night air as you grasped what had happened.

You were now a host to an alien symbiote. You had something…living inside of you.

“Um, 1994 -,”

Namjoon

“What?”

Namjoon; that’s my name.

“Right…Namjoon, how do we go about this?”

What do you mean? We’re bonded now, Y/N. we’re one. You can do anything you want. Be anything you want. You’re free.

“What about you?”

We’re one. Where you go, I go. What you’ll be, I’ll be. I’m free too.

You had left it at that, quietly taking the escape route you had planned well ahead. A small trip to a far off place, somewhere rainy…and foggy. It made sense.

Namjoon…added a definite sense of mystery to your life now. You tried to avoid him and leave him to his business as best as you could but well…he’d been right. You were one.

You could feel him moving up organs inside you when you poured over registers as a librarian. He watched through your eyes as you worked as an assisstant to a Vet. He was insanely protective, bubbling up to the surface of your skin if anything irked him. It wasn’t uncommon for people to say something would glitter in your eyes, some sheen to your skin that was worrisome to you. people that Namjoon of course found, not wholesome to be around his host.

He kept you safe just as much as you provided shelter to him. He read through you, he explored through you.

He also explored you but that was a complete different ball game.

You had somehow forgotten about their heat cycles completely. You had woken to a feverish weight upon you, pressing you into the mattress of your bed. The first sudden scare had vanished completely when a groan, in an all too familiar voice echoed through the room.

“1994?”

“Fuck baby, it’s Namjoon,” He whined, his mouth hot against your ear. He had materialized somehow and while black tendrils over lapped his humanoid form, you could still feel him grinding something against your pelvis that was hilariously human.

“Namjoon…what are you doing?” You were alarmed, least of all, finding it curious that he could just hold form outside of your body and then amused when he dug into your pajamas, finding your heat with first his fingers and then those long vines of shadows attached to him.

It was too dark to make him out but you could tell every human feature. Lips, peppering adoration to your exposed skin as he sunk, in more way that one, into you, his new formed hips bucking without any further ado.

Your alien had put you through two orgasms before reaching his own and dissipated, silence falling over the two of you as you panted loudly.

“Heat…damn, I forgot.”

All you got back was a lazy ghostly chuckle from the being which had dissolved into you again, a simple entwining of black around your fingers his only evidence.

Well, that and the thick mass of his pleasure on your skin.

You didn’t know what had persuaded Namjoon to go looking for his own self. He had become your home more than you were – literally – his. Maybe your boss had been right, wherever she and Jungkook were.

It was easy to fall in love with them. It had been slow for you, too taken with your previous aversion to feeling for them but Namjoon had overcome that. He shared his experiences, well, his version of your experiences and most of your pillow talks were about how you could be better in your works, meeting new people…his old friends.

So when he was suddenly not there when you woke up, you nearly shrieked.

Namjoon had felt your discomfort from the next room. A black mass crawled into the room before his voice echoed back, calming you down.

I’m right here. it’s all good. I was just trying new things.

You had been so relieved you didn’t address that he had been in another room – away from you.

“How did you even do that?”

I was reading and I think…with enough nourishment…and of course close proximity to my Host…I could materialize. You know, outside of my heat.

It had been tricky but you and he were both patient. It started with Namjoon knitting strands of his being together as he would during his heat cycles. A tendril always remained at your wrist, holding onto you as he gained form by himself.

It was hard work but it paid off.

2 YEARS LATER

You kept a steady look down at your wrist, watching the second hand tick down to a minute before standing; eyes fixed across the small bedroom to the bathroom, hearing the lock give way.

A man stepped out, tall, broad, with thick limbs and light gold hair that fell right down to his nose. The simple black tee and sweatpants looked big on him somehow as if he wasn’t used to filling them and life yours had been, his eyes were on his feet and hands as well.

You took a careful step forward.

“1994…I mean, Namjoon?” you chanced, your long habit of referring to them by their codenames having faded into the long time you’d been away from your workplace.

The man looked up, blinking and whipping hair out of his face. His head moved too fast, bouncing off of the doorway painfully that cause the man’s form to haze out, come away black for more than a few seconds before freezing and slowly dissolving back into human.

You blew out a huff, taking another step.

“Y/N,” he grated out, voice whispery and hoarse.

“Yes,” You took another step, hand outreached and his fingers moved, clasping around your pulse, physical contact established after ages of experimentation, research and explorations.

Dimples appeared in tanned cheeks as Namjoon gave you a small smile. “I can do it. I can actually hold form outside of my heat.” He whispered.

“That’s great,” you whispered back, looking up at him, not used to actually talking to him while looking at another body.

He let go of your hand, moving further into the room, arms outstretched to catch him if he fell. You followed closely behind.

“I…I’m big, aren’t I?”

Instead of out loud, you heard him inside your head.

“Yes, Namjoon, you’re big. You’re a person now.” You said.

He turned, still slow before impishly moving in to wrap his arms – carefully – around you. “Sex is going to be easier and more fun now.”

This time, he spoke out loud, his voice still scratchy but adorably shy as he leaned in to press small hesitant kisses down your neck. Of course, this time it being the first time he was in a human body of his very own, he had to bend over quite a bit.

You tried not to roll your eyes, barely masking a moan when Namjoon’s tongue lapped across your collarbone.

“Are you sure, you can…?” You lead him to the bed, just in case he fell over in his excitement and took you down with him.

His eyes glazed, he sat down from your touch, looking up at you in confusion before following your gaze to where his legs were gone, replaced with black huge stumps, clawed toes visible. He closed his eyes, the stump reducing back to human nails, wiggling them at you.

I might explode a few times but that just means I’m enjoying it. He leaned in to give you a hearty kiss.

His hands explored, gripping at your breast through the shirt, his fingers reflexively clenching the fabric before going under the skirt, finding the crotch of your panties.

Without his heat, Namjoon was much more controlled and you waiting patiently as he explored you with his own body, letting him familiarize himself with touch and sensation.

Maybe you were selfish, maybe you wanted him to get used to control so he could hold himself in his newly gained human form long enough to blow your mind, but hey, you had seen firsthand what the man who’d attached himself to you could do and you were hopeful.

So you lay back, enjoying Namjoon’s hands, and then his mouth on your skin.

Once attached to you, he didn’t seem to want to let go as he kept kneading at your flesh with his large palms. He found your breasts, freeing them from your shirt and letting his fingers pull at your nipples, all with an expression of curiosity on his face.

All he wanted to see was how far he could push it before he wavered, he told you, and shedding more of his own clothes then yours, staring at your naked, spread form in front of him.

Not akin to his heats, when he pounced ravenously on you, he was slower, gentler. Every stroke of his fingertips was calculated.

It was at the juncture of your thighs, his fingers dipping to find arousal seeping from you when he first moaned…and simultaneously dissolved into a puddle of black.

“Joon,” You called apprehensively before the strands of black were knitting together again, gaining skin, or whatever comprised of their skin before giving you another impish grin.

“Sorry, I can’t help myself anymore.” He revealed, lowering himself, almost reverently into you.

You let him.

Namjoon bucked, huffed; thrust himself into you with iron hold, precise in his movements, losing form only twice, once when he entered you and then when he was close.

Finally when he exploded, there was nothing over you, even as you felt his climax splash across you.

By the time he collected himself again, ready for cuddles, you’d cleaned up and changed the sheets, snuggling closer to him.

“I’ll practice, I promise.” He whispered.

“I believe in you.” You whispered back.

You did, seeing what you’d seen with Namjoon over the years, you knew that going rogue had been the best decision of your life. Maybe you were never meant for something ordinary.

[missfiatlux]

Chapter 5

read on reddit

Down in the Nightlife, Plutonium awoke.

“Sir,” said the messenger who had woken him. “I am sorry to report that instead of the two damned souls we were expecting, we have received 108.”

Plutonium’s face transfigured in wrath. “What the hell? Do these people think the Nightlife is some sort of ultra-adaptable cloud cuckoo land? No! I’ve got a fucking schedule to run, budgets to balance, vendors to pay, and various deities to appease! I’m under immense stress, and these Daylife folks think they can just up and die any fucking time? I’m half a mind to turn them away, but noooo, ‘we can’t let dead people wander around through the Daylife, it’s bad for morale.’ Who the fuck cares about the fucking Daylife? Not me!”

Plutonium repeated this rant nearly every day, only varying where he placed the profanity. As such, it had somewhat lost its scariness.

The messenger began again. “Sir, reports say that the change of plans was caused by a single individual, a boy-vampire named Axel Johnston. He caused his car to briefly grow aerofoils and fly over the Grand Canyon. At the same time he caused a plane carrying 108 passengers to spontaneously detach from its wings and fall into the canyon. That’s where most of the damned are from.”

Here was a problem Plutonium could solve. “Put a bounty on Johnston’s head,” he bellowed. “Five hundred million! Dead or alive!”

“Sir, are you sure? This Johnston character seems awfully powerful. Perhaps he can help you regain favor with the gods.” The messenger felt, for the first time, that he was extremely smart.

Plutonium stroked his chin. “Excellent thinking. Make sure it is clear that the bounty will be awarded only if he is captured hale and hearty.”

The messenger nodded and dashed off. Later on that day, signs went up all over the Nightlife, signs with Axel’s face (a creative rendition by the messenger, replete with horns and a mohawk), and information about how to collect the bounty. The souls of the damned observed these signs with interest. Being dead is not all that gripping, after all.

***

Drip. Drip. Drip. Hubcap listened to the persistent dripping of water out of the gutter, as she gazed at a newly posted sign on the wall. Down in the Nightlife, the air always smelled damp, and frequent fogs rolled through. Hubcap had never seen it rain here, but anything that stayed down here long enough would eventually get soaked by condensation. The sign was already wrinkling in the humidity, as was Hubcap’s white tuxedo. Dew was forming on the hellhounds’ slick black fur.

“FIVE HUNDRED MILLION FOR AXEL JOHNSTON, CAPTURED ALIVE,” read the sign. The picture showed a boy with a mohawk and two horns. Hubcap snorted. This was clearly a creation of someone’s fevered imagination. In her years of experience at bounty hunting for the Nightlife, it was quite common for the pictures on the signs to bear little or no resemblance to the person they were aiming to depict. While this initially caused her great confusion, she had now learned to contact Plutonium himself for the necessary details.

Other details about Axel included that he was a vampire, and extremely dangerous. Apparently, he had killed 108 people in a plane crash. This was either exaggerated or completely misrepresented. Hubcap tore the damp sign off the wall and stuffed it in her pocket. “Let’s go,” she said to her three hellhounds. It was time to find Plutonium.

***

“Hubcap, it is good to see you again,” boomed Plutonium. “Here to talk to a dead relative? Want to know your future? Need a divine favor?”

Plutonium knew it was none of these things. It never was. Hubcap was, for someone who had managed to make their way to the Nightlife, surprisingly pragmatic.

Hubcap smiled. “Oh, no. I am here to inquire about this wanted poster for Axel Johnston. This picture is... not an accurate depiction, is it?” She held up the imaginative poster.

“Your killer instincts are correct,” Plutonium said. “My sources say that Axel Johnston is medium height, his hair is brown, and he has vampire teeth.”

“So where is he now?”

“He’s on the move, but I think he’s somewhere in Utah.”

“Great,” said Hubcap, moving to leave. “By the way, you might think about making your wanted posters more helpful. That way you can save time by simply supplying the relevant information upfront.”

Plutonium looked somewhat hurt. “I didn’t know you disliked talking to me that much!”

Hubcap waved dismissively as she left. This was why Plutonium had lost favor with the other gods. He lost his temper frequently, was inefficient, and acted like an incorrigible flirt. Hubcap would bet all the money of the reward that this bounty had something to do with a plot to regain favor with the powers that be.

Still, obtaining the reward would be no easy feat. Axel sounded wily and smart, especially since he was already on the move. Possibly he knew that he was being pursued. In fact, he probably knew that the Nightlife existed, and could be engaging in his own ploy of trying to obtain whatever it was he wanted.

Hubcap tried to think what vampires usually wanted. A lot of them were trying to reclaim their lost kingdoms. It was kind of romantic, really; lots of kids dreamed of discovering a new land, and the urge to recover a lost kingdom seemed like the same kind of impulse for discovery, but transmogrified into something that usually made Plutonium angry, which is where Hubcap came in. Usually she felt no qualms about her vocation, but this newest case reminded her of fear.

***

A long time ago, Hubcap captured a vampire named Talfie Roskov.

Talfie was on Plutonium’s radar because she kept trying to strike deals with him to “liberate” a certain soul from the Nightlife. She brought him valuable objects and offered various services in exchange for one of the damned. Things were a lot more complicated than Talfie seemed to assume, however. First, the damned didn’t have bodies. If they were to be brought back to the Daylife, they would have to be bound to some object or person. Second, all the gods agreed that death was sacrosanct and not to be trifled with. Plutonium, forever trying to curry favor among them, was thus reluctant to help Talfie, no matter how noble her cause seemed to be.

The biggest consideration, however, was that there was no compelling reason to bring any of the damned back to the Daylife. You’d either have to exchange your own soul for their soul (hence becoming one of the damned yourself) or find someone else who was willing to exchange their soul (hence, you losing a dear friend, for who else but a dear friend would give their very soul?) Alternately, you could bind the soul to some inanimate object, but this presented the issue that inanimate objects cannot communicate, and are unsatisfying as companions.

Given these limitations, Talfie was either wholly illogical, or completely misunderstood. It was possible that her reasons for bringing back the dead were far different from what they appeared. When she first heard of the story, Hubcap thought that it was kind of like the classic tale of Orpheus and Eurydice, but what if Talfie, like Hubcap, was just a mercenary?

It didn’t really matter. Talfie eventually got tired of fruitless negotiations, and she snuck in a pack of playing cards. She found the soul that she was looking for, and she performed some rite to bind it to her deck of cards. By the time Plutonium found out, Talfie was long gone.

Chasing Talfie was the thrill of Hubcap’s life. The hellhounds ran, and sniffed, and howled, covering tens of miles of ground a day; Hubcap camped outside, sleeping in shifts with the hounds. At the end of the fifth day of hunting, Hubcap had Talfie cornered in a shabby, abandoned barn.

Hubcap was quite curious what a deck of cards with a soul looked like. So while she cuffed Talfie, she asked to see them.

Wind whistled through the cracked slats of the barn. “You’d know it as soon as you saw it,” said Talfie. “The cards are always warm. They’re ornate, you might think they’re tarot, but they’re not. Some of them have foil on their faces. I don’t know how to describe them, but they look like they’re all from some different, alternate universe, clinging to each other tightly so as not to be alone in a strange land, if you know what I mean. I lost it a long time ago.”

Hubcap shivered, then snapped the handcuffs closed. “Sorry to hear that.” She felt like a cat with a dead bird in her mouth.

***

After taking Talfie to Plutonium, Hubcap went back to her hotel room and dumped a pile of chicken entrails in the bathtub for the hellhounds to eat. She took off her dirty tuxedo jacket and sat on the bed. The excitement of the hunt was quickly dissipating, replaced with a strange, morose drowsiness.

Hubcap had seen Talfie’s deck of cards before. She had, in her own way, unintentionally asked it for a favor. And this favor had been granted. It was to this deck of cards that she owed her hellhounds. Plutonium had never asked her how she’d gotten to the Nightlife, and she hoped he never would. Otherwise she would have to make up a lie… but she was too tired for that now…

***

Hopefully Axel was one of the delusory vampires, the ones whose greatest ambition was a very, very small one, a desire to reclaim rather than make new. If not, well, Hubcap would do her very, very best to avoid getting mixed up with it. She was only into magic for the money.

[greatshell-rider]

21. walking barefoot on sidewalk (sensory prompts)

Jerry knows this is a dream.

Not because anything feels wrong. There isn’t any fuzzy confusion or strange twisted logic or a slight uncanniness to the scene. It feels real. And that’s what tipped him off.

The prickly smooth cement under his bare feet.

The cool still air of evening, just minutes after sunset.

A dandelion growing in a crack in the tar-patched road beside him.

Yesteryear’s leaves layered over a grated drain in the gutter.

Down the street, streetlights blinking to wakefulness, haloing the sloped driveways that border lumpy squares of weeds in front of small crumpled homes.

A distant dog’s incessant barking.

The pale sliver of the moon hanging in a sky too light-polluted to unveil the stars burning in galaxies both near and far.

The hoodie he’s wearing, soft and faded and pilled. It smells like it. Home.

It’s a summer night and Jerry’s standing in the streets of his childhood, of his native ’scape—planet, he means. Earth, he means.

He’s on Earth.

And that is how he knows he’s dreaming. He hasn’t been on Earth in . . . a long time. He knows that much, even if he can’t calculate the exact number of years on Earth’s clock and calendar.

He sets off down the sidewalk, shoving his hands in the hoodie’s front pocket. His bare feet slap against the cement and he doesn’t bother trying to walk quietly. No windows of any of the houses are lit, and there’s no people outside—no one playing with dogs in their yards or working on cars or going out for a jog. Not anyone. It’s very quiet. No wind, just that dog’s far-off bark. The blinking light on the horizon could be a plane though, so maybe it’ll pass overhead and he’ll hear the roar of its engines.

Imagine that, he thinks. Hearing the roar of a flying machine, not dragons. And that was normal once.

He comes to a signpost but when he stops to look at it, he doesn’t recognize the street names. Not a big surprise, not knowing where he is, where these streets lead, why the houses have similar but different numbers. If this dream is structured around his own memories, as he suspects, then it makes sense that a picture so aching familiar feels so alien. He was very young when they were taken away.

He starts walking again but there’s a new urgency to his step. A quickness in his blood that makes him move faster, fleeing from lamppost to lamppost as the night grows darker and the shapes around him become more and more like a stranger. The scene blurs as he runs—whether from the dream’s coding malfunctioning or the tears in his eyes, he doesn’t know—and the ground falls away, the slap of his bare feet on the sidewalk disappearing, the scent of his hoodie fading, the sound of that stupid dog buzzing into nothingness as he just runs—

And runs into something.

A very solid something.

Jerry bounces off it and lands hard on his rear, skinning his elbow on the sidewalk. He grabs it with the opposite hand and begins to wail.

“Oh my!” the something says, and Jerry’s dimly aware of them going down on one knee in front of him. A large hand, palm up, is proffered to him. “May I see, kiddo?”

Jerry clutches his elbow to his chest and shakes his head fervidly. “It hurts!”

“Mmm, I bet you’re right. Let’s see if I have a . . .” The hand retreats and Jerry watches through blurry tears as it slips into the person’s jeans back pocket. it remerges with a folded brown leather wallet, from which they pull out a band-aid. “How about this? Do you think this will help make it feel better?”

Jerry hesitates, then gingerly nods.

The person removes the plastic wrapping and holds out their hand again. “Okay. Should we try it?”

Cautiously, Jerry holds out his arm. He reluctantly loosens his fingers so the person can see the red scratches on his skin. The person extends the band-aid, and, suddenly scared, Jerry jerks his arm back again. “What if it hurts!”

The band-aid draws back. Jerry peers up to see a pair of brown eyes regard him in gentle seriousness. “I promise that it won’t. I will be very careful and make sure it doesn’t, okay?”

Jerry doesn’t think he believes them, but . . . “Okay,” he whispers.

Moving slowly, the person again brings the band-aid in close. Jerry wants to look away but can’t; his free hand flies to his mouth and he bites at his nails as one sticky side of the band-aid touches his skin, then the middle part covers the blood—he gasps, but it doesn’t hurt—and finally the other sticky part is smoothed down by a careful finger.

“There!” the person says, leaning back. “All done!”

Jerry examines his elbow closely and is amazed to find that he can’t see the scratches at all.

“Does it still hurt?”

He frowns and nods. “A—a little less.” He sniffles, then rubs the tears and snot on his face with the back of his fist, trying to get it off. He only smears it around, though. At least Lani isn’t around to see.

“Well, we should make sure it doesn’t hurt at all, shouldn’t we? You know how we can do that?”

Jerry looks up, a little less uncertain now. “How?”

“We get you back to your family! Here, let’s get you stood up—” they lift Jerry up to his feet— “and can you tell me if you have a parent or sibling who can help?”

Jerry scuffs the ground with his foot, not meeting their eyes, but reluctantly nods.

“Do you know where they are?”

He looks uncertainly over his shoulder. “Um . . .” Suddenly Jerry realizes he has no idea where he is and starts to panic, tears welling up in his eyes again.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, it’s okay, buddy, we’ll figure it out, I promise. Uh.” They run a hand through their hair. “Hmm. What do I . . . Well. You were running from over there, right?” They point behind Jerry.

He hesitantly nods.

“Do you want to walk with me back over there? We’ll play a game and try to figure out which house is yours, okay?”

Jerry chews at a fingernail. “Okay.”

The person stands up—they are very, very tall—and offers their hand to him. He slips his much smaller one into theirs and they walk side by side back down the sidewalk, the person pointing out different houses as they pass and asking what looks familiar.

A door painted yellow?

Flowerpots lined up on the porch railing?

Pink curtains in the window?

An abandoned hose snaking through dead grass?

Hopscotch chalk scrawled across the driveway?

A bush with purple-red leaves?

The chainlink fence with a broken gate?

Do you remember? Is any of this familiar? Why can’t you remember your own home, Jerry? Shouldn’t you know it better than anything? If you want to return here so badly, why can’t you even recognize it? How can you expect to call somewhere a home if you don’t know it? Why go back? Why go back? No one you love remains on Earth, why do want to ret—

Jerry wakes up.

He’s swinging in his hammock, deep within the belly of the mechbeast, staring up at dull grease-stained bronze. The hilt of his sword digs uncomfortably into his side, so he shifts, pulling the sheathed blade out from under him and laying it across his stomach, fingers tapping on the battered leather.

How much of that dream was from real memories, he wonders, and how much of it was simply a nightmare? He doesn’t remember running from home and hurting his elbow, or a tall kind stranger, but that isn’t to say much. He can’t remember . . . most things about Earth. It’s been . . . Yeah, it’s been a long while.

Jerry folds one arm behind his head, tapping fingers against his neck. “Just little kids,” he mumbles, to no one. It’s just him in this big hollow contraption. Him and the glues.

Speaking of. Jerry reaches out to the side and digs his fingers into the metal wall, finding a tiny hatch and pulling on it until a square of the bronze slides to the side, creating a tiny porthole in the side of the mechbeast. In pours a dim beam of sunlight. When Jerry squints he can see that no, the landscape has not changed, just the same empty flat plains, dusty and desolate. The setting sun lights the horizon aglow in rich purples and glimmering silvers, making Jerry’s eyes water when he stares at it too long. The glues will be coming for him soon, but until then—

Leaving the outlet open in case a cool breeze happens to blow in, Jerry rolls over, holding his sword so it doesn’t fall out the hammock, and buries his face into his arm. Until they come, he’ll try to get a little more sleep.

[akaghost78]

ONE OF MY FAVOURITE TUNES

Chris brown - deuces remix lyrics

All that bullshit's for the birds, you ain't nothing but a vulture (Oh, oh, oh)

Always hoping for the worst, waiting for me to fuck up

You'll regret the day when I find another girl, yeah

Who knows just what I need, she knows just what I mean when I tell her keep it drama free

Woah-woah-woah-woah-woah-woah-woah

Chu-chuckin' up them deuces

Woah-woah-woah-woah-woah-woah-woah (Yeah, yeah)

Told you that I'm leaving, deuces

Woah-woah-woah-woah-woah-woah-woah (Woah, woah)

I know you're mad, but so what? I wish you best of luck

And now I'm finna throw them deuces up

[Verse 2: Drake]

What you mean I ain't call you? I hit you when I landed

I'm waitin' in my hotel room

Seems like we're arguin' more and it's gettin' less romantic

Yeah, I think she'll be able to tell soon

But I'll fuck you right, I will, I fuck you right, I will

I'll fuck you like no one has ever, ever made you feel

I mean, this part of our relationship's amazin' still

I might just put up with the arguin' and stay, for real

You lookin' bad, girl, for goodness sakes

You with all those curves, and me without no brakes, ooh

I'm willin' to work it out however long it takes you

You feel like you miss those happy days

Well, girl, that makes two of us, our timing is wrong

Your friends always tyin' up every line on your phone

Yeah, but tell them bitches that you'll always be my missus

And the hardest part about the fuckin' business

Is mindin' your own, uh, and every time I try and break it off

We just yell until we tired, then I break you off

It's useless, all this fightin', let's get past it now

Even when I throw them deuces, you just send it back around

Verse 3: T.I.]

Your wrist and fingers glisten, ice cold like Michigan

Ayy, look at what we livin' in, here we go with this again

I just keep on talkin', but I guess that you ain't listenin'

Rather run around with them nothin'-ass bitches then

Go on, got me hot, smokin' like a chimney

We used to be best friends, now it seems we finna be enemies

Deep inside it’s killin' me, but soon it's gon' be killin' you

To see her in that two-seater, know that's gon' hurt your feelings, boo

Ah ha, didn’t you think you would be over me by now?

So you go sleepin' with them clowns, they are no relief

She spoke her piece, I know, capisce

So love must be let go, released, into the wind

Again, again, and deuces I must throw ya, peace

[Verse 4: Kanye West]

You know what, yo? You a bitch

You should have a travel agent, ‘cause you a trip

You should make your own toilet tissue since you the shit

But all you got is some fuckin' issues, you fuckin' bitch

I hate niggas, but I love your mom

Give her a kiss for me, her second son

Get your mind right, baby, or get your shit together

You gonna be hot a little while, I'ma be rich forever

Girl seducers, they come in deuces

But when I cut 'em off they always become a nuisance

Niggas take my old flows and they take my old swag

He just took my old bitch and turned it to his new bitch (Haha)

I'm stupid, but I won't get my drama on

What I'm dealin' with is too real for me to comment on

Jay finally got it through my head not to run my mouth

So when you talk 'bout “you know who”

I don't know who you talkin' 'bout

Verse 5: Fabolous]

According to my old bish, I be on some new ish

She was on some oldish, now I got a new bish

Think I give two-ish? You ain't gonna do ish

Meet my two fingers, intro-deuces

If you knew better, you'd do better

Wanna get the middle finger, but I got two better

[Interlude: Chris Brown & Drake]

So you gonna diss me

Even though you know it’s wrong

Know you gon' miss me a little when I’m gone

[Verse 6: Fabolous]

Drizzy voice

Now I'm ghost, baby, four-door Rizzy Royce

Tryna work it out might be a bad business choice

I'm 'bout my business, boys, plus I make paper

Come on, that's old news, yesterday's paper (Nice)

Oh, you talkin', what about?

If it ain't how I kept you studded out

You might as well shut your mouth

You'll never score another me, I'll shut it out

Act like there's gum in your hair, girl, cut it out!

[Verse 7: Rick Ross]

Got a pocket full of hundreds, she the only one that's missin'

Got a bucket full of ice, and a watch to go with it (Ugh!)

Got a racin' Lamborghini, have my homies scared to drive

Haters better put their head down, they know that boy be fly

All the charter planes, now I’m talkin' ballers slang

R.O.Z.A.Y. on that wall in that Hall of Fame (Ugh!)

I let my denim sag, red Louis belt

How can you love me, baby? First, you gotta love yourself

Verse 8: Andre 3000]

The farewell email from a female

But I’m a playa, ain't gonna tell you all the details

What it entails is hard to say, like sellin' seashells

By the seashore, but she’s not a bore

But neither a whore who needs to know more

The kind you can’t ignore but want to open the door for

Or run in your favorite store, and leave with all them shopping bags and half of it ain't yours

I did things for her; ain't rich, ain't poor

I wanted to do more, but hell, I just ain't know her

Well enough to know if this is all she came for

But enough to know tonight excited she came four

Times to my cousin house to see if I was there

Get your minds out the gutter, man

We out here tryna have a good time

And here I am, all heavy with the words where

Somebody that's a nerd, likely fast forward

But, shit, they asked for it

It’s hard to throw up them deuces

‘Cause when you know it’s juicy

You start to sound like Confucius when makin' up excuses

Chase Cabooses until the track gone

I gotta find me a new locomotive, stop makin' sad songs

[Chorus: Chris Brown & Kevin McCall]

I'm on some new shit

I'm chucking my deuces up to her (Deuces)

I'm moving on to something better, better, better

No more tryna make it work (Deuces)

You made me wanna say bye bye

Say bye bye, say bye bye to her (Deuces)

You made me wanna say bye bye

Say bye bye, say bye bye to her

[doggernaut]

For end of year fanfic asks: 23. fics you wanted to write but didn’t.

Hmm. So, a few months ago, when I was in the midst of writing my OMGCP Big Bang fic, I got this idea for a fic about Bitty and Jack meeting after both had gone through messy divorces. One of the subplots was of Bitty learning to co-parent with his ex and his ex’s new partner, and the new partner being much better at pretending everything is perfect on social media than Bitty is.

I didn’t really have time to write it, and then my sister unexpectedly asked her husband for a divorce, and even though the circumstances were very different in my fic than what her family was going through, it felt too close to really write about. I’d still like to return to it at some point.

I also started a kind of long and formless thing about Bitty and Jack on vacation after Jack’s retirement. It didn’t really go anywhere so I put it aside. There are actually two versions of it: One is more of a ficlet, the other was heading more toward a long, multi-chaptered thing about getting older and dealing with aging parents and career changes and what love looks like in middle age. Here’s an excerpt from the latter version:

It starts, like so many mundane things, with a phone call.

Who even calls people these days, when it’s so much easier to text? Suzanne Bittle, that’s who. Every Sunday after church so she can feed Bitty the latest gossip. He hasn’t talked to some of those people in years but he knows that Karen Novak’s youngest who nearly flunked out of high school is headed to medical school in the fall, and that Big Ross and Jessica Howard just bought a vacation home in the Floria Keys. He knows the new pastor is “still getting used to the way we do things around here” and that his wife, who grew up in Boston and went to school in Chicago, doesn’t quite fit in with the rest of the women. All this, doled out in small doses every Sunday afternoon.

It’s Tuesday morning.

“Your daddy fell off the roof,” Mama says without preamble. 

“Oh lord! Mama, what —“ 

“He was cleaning the gutters and slipped,” Mama continues, cutting off any questions Bitty might have at the pass. “I told him to hire someone but he said he’s done it all these years, he’s not going to pay somebody to do something he’s been doing since he was fifteen.”

“Is he—” Bitty tries again. Mama sounds calm, so that’s probably a good sign.

“He’s got a broken leg and a few cracked ribs. A pretty good concussion, too. He’ll be in the hospital for a few days, and off of work for the rest of the semester, I suspect.”

“I’ll fly out today,” Bitty says before she can ask. He mentally recalibrates the next few hours, days, weeks. This evening he’s supposed to fly out to New York, the first stop on a small tour to promote the relaunch of his blog (which, in turn, is to promote his upcoming book, still in the editing stages). Nothing major, just local morning and afternoon show appearances up and down the East Coast. Nothing that can’t be rescheduled.

“Can you?” Mama breathes a sigh of relief. “You know I hate to ask.”

“Yes, of course. Let me make some calls and I’ll get back to you.”

Bitty calls his agent, who agrees that the regional appearance can wait and says she’ll take care of rescheduling. He calls his assistant, who quickly books a plane ticket and blocks out his calendar for the next few weeks.

Jack is in the middle of an early-season series of games on the West Coast. Bitty waits until he lands in Atlanta to call him with the news. There’s no point in interrupting him in the middle of a pre-game workout when there’s nothing he can do about it right now, anyway.

[sasorikigai]

❛ what are you smiling at ? ❜ ( for Modern Hanzo from his soft inquisitive husband )

𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐖 & 𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 || @sonxflight || accepting

💥 || He knows how the sun gets up so damningly early and stand tall, even in his lowest moments. Be the source of heat that melts the ice in the absence of love. Hanzo was more like the moon, illuminating the dark, giving light to the weakest and when he is full and reach fullness, he will see through the gleaming reflection of the world that he will be more waxing than waning. His stubborn resilience and endurance were like birds. He would feel the wind in his hands as they do in their wings, fly freely for the pleasure of doing it, and sing while he can to break the silence of those who live in utter desolation and despair. Even his mind dwelled in the gutter, he would be more like the flowers; in love with the sun, friends with the quenching, moist rain, faithful to their roots and whatever happens, Hanzo Hasashi will keep blooming while he lives in the garden of the Earth. For he will continue to look ahead in a single direction, with one-track mind, avoiding every obstacle, never navigating against the current of life, as he would let it flow in the right direction and know his destination at the end of the road. 

The heated seat of his motorcycle against the dip of his spine, one leg crossed over another with the half-empty whiskey bottle in his hand, the Commander of the law drums his fingertips against the glass surface, with an unguarded, eased smile plastered upon his face. This particularly trance-like unfurled world was an enormous, dreamy concept, dripping in saccharine caress of the smoldering sunlight and the gravel of the metal rock and sticky sweat, agleam over his temples. No longer, his family crawls through the quasi-dreamscape of his mind and shatters his world with sharp edges and blasting, deafening roar and blazing splatters of red on white. No longer, it raises unthinkable hell in the deepest parts of his soul. It just wants to make him question the validity of all this; for his patterns and behaviors were all the same, but healing, becomes no longer the process that hurts. It encompasses him with splendor of light. 

A comfortable silence after a long exchange of brimmed amber to another set of eyes consisting of depth and poignancy, Hanzo staggers visibly, his arm hooking around Ryou’s waist. He allows himself to trace the contour of Ryou’s body, from the toned planes of the abdomen, to the supple V of his hips over the thin sweater. How he’d want to expose as he would wind and twist and splinter all the known coordinates of ridges and dips, confirming the testament of what he knows, in such coordinated intimacy. “Do you want the short or the long version?” The husky drawl of his voice lengthens, due to the effects of the alcohol. Another hand rests over the ridge of Ryou’s shoulder blade, calloused fingers, and roughened knuckles with numerous scars caressing Ryou’s cheek thereafter. “All the thorns of my grief decided to give me a fucking, well-earned break. The wounds have been welded shut, and I’m bloody fucking happy, because I could have never imagined that I deserved this kind of love. In spite of everything... You fucking enveloped all of me when most didn’t give a flying shit.” 💥 || 

[officialleehadan]

Flags and Black Stone Walls

Hello darlings! Guess what?! There's going to be a lot of new storylines launching soon, and this is one of them! Many of you know about my books, Return Again and Leap back (books 1 and 2 of the Sunborn series) and have wondered what happened before Riah came to the magical world!

(Return Again)

(Leap Back)

I am pleased to introduce By Way of the Wolf Star, which will follow Zan's story before his appearance in Return Again!

This series is also accompanied by an announcement! Book 3 of the Sunborn will be launching December of this year! Look for that and the two prequels on Amazon!

+++

Zan ducked around a corner, gave his gloves a good pull to make sure they were tight, and turned to the stone wall at his back. The walls of Darkhame Fortress were old and crumbling. It was no difficulty to find handholds.

After all, humans rarely remembered to look up, and wouldn’t expect him to waste time climbing when he could be running.

They always forgot that the point of this exercise wasn’t to escape, it was to claim the enemy’s flag.

Unfortunately, the rest of his team tended to forget that in the heat of their training battles, and now Zan’s options were decidedly limited.

But the rules, such as they were, were simple.

There were four teams besides his own.

To win, he would have to get the flags of the other teams and make it back to the instructors.

Without losing his own.

Or getting killed, literally or metaphorically.

The shouts of his pursuit were closing in, and he did his best to tune them out. The wall was a familiar climb, and he preferred to gain altitude whenever he could. With any luck, they would forget that. Or, even if they didn’t forget, it might buy him enough time to double back on his own trail.

This would be so much easier if he had at least one ally.

The blackened stones were slick with the rain that was still falling lightly. Zan blessed it, for all that it made the climb more difficult. The sound of rainfall muffled hisi own slight sound, and if he thought the climb was difficult, so would the full-blood humans behind him.

Once in a rare while, his elvish heritage, the gift of his half-elvish mother, was more use than it was hindrance. He would never have the muscle of a human, but sometimes his speed and weight worked in his favor.

As it happened, now was one of those times.

The stone crumbled under his hands as he climbed faster, but that was familiar too. Darkhame Fortress was cursed to ever fall into ruin, and it spent a lot of time doing exactly that. The stones rotted magically fast, and had to be rebuilt constantly.

Shouts below told him that the team behind him had discovered his disappearance. Zan hauled himself over a ledge and rolled out of sight just in time.

They couldn’t climb as quickly as him, but there were two mages and an archer in their group.

And it wasn’t against the rules to murder the competition if you could pull it off before the instructors noticed. There were plenty of people desperate to join up with the Cult of the Dark Master. Losing a few in training was no particular problem. It just meant they weren’t good enough to serve.

Zan dragged his thoughts back to the task at hand, and focused all his skill on moving silently. The ledge was narrow, but not impossible, even slick with slime and rain. Zan picked his way back across the fortress, grateful for his black clothing and the hood his mother sent him with her last letter. It had a mask that fastened inside the hood on clever clasps, and hid the pale of his skin against Darkhame’s dark stone.

If he was clever, the teams below him would think he was just a gargoyle.

If he was lucky, he could get to one of the other teams’ flags before they figured out where he went.

Of course, they would also have to figure out where his flag was. He managed to grab it as the rest of his team ‘died’ and were sent to the sidelines in shame.

Speaking of…

He reached inside his tunic for the scrap of bright yellow fabric. There were no rules saying that it had to stay on his person, and they couldn’t ‘win’ without it. It might be spiteful, but he could ‘die’ knowing they would still have to search all of Darkhame before the instructors would let them inside. He stuffed the yellow flag under a gargoyle and continued on his way, pausing only when he saw another of the trainees. So far, none of them were looking up, and that would be their undoing.

The rain got heavier, and Zan used it to his advantage as he slid down the sharp roof of the main keep and caught himself on a gutter before he could fly off into nothing. Like the climb before, this too was familiar, and he tossed his thin climbing rope around a steel beam that provided the support for a piece of the roof that was being rebuilt. If it was any older, he wouldn’t trust it to hold his weight, but that beam was lifted into place only a few days ago, and the curse, potent though it would, still needed time to act on new material.

His line caught and Zan swung himself around the side of the keep. They weren’t allowed to go inside, but that was just as well. The soldiers were inside, and they hated the assassin trainees. He would be lucky to escape with a beating if they managed to corner him.

Far below, he caught a glimpse of brilliant green. The flag of one of the other teams.

It was guarded. He caught the glimmer of a mage going around a corner. He didn’t have any magic of his own, didn’t have the magesight that would tell him what the magic was, but Star Elves could see magic sometimes, and that was a secret he guarded carefully.

So far, none of the mages had caught on, and he meant to keep it that way.

He took the slide down th next rooftop faster than he liked, but fast was better than getting spotted. The edge of the roof cut off sharply and he threw himself into the open air at the last moment.

The stable had a thatch roof over wooden beams, and it hurt when he hit it at speed. He held still, barely breathing as he listened for any sign that someone heard him.

A dozen breaths later, he dragged himself to his knees. The flag was hanging from the rafters, in plane sight, but he had a trick, planned out when he saw the five flags.

As long as there was still a scrap of green hanging from that rafter, they wouldn’t notice the real flag was gone.

Zan crawled on his belly across the roof until he could reach the flag, and pulled his decoy, a handkerchief lifted off one of the stable hands on his way past, out of his pocket. In moments he had the flag in his hands, and the kerchief in its’ place.

Getting off the roof was significantly more complicated, but not actually hard.

He took a flying leap off the roof, hit the roof of the smithy running and took off back towards the keep.

Shouts below told him that he had been spotted, and he made it to the wall just in time. An arrow rattled off the stones above his hands, but he didn’t slow as he grabbed for the rope he left on his way down, looped the end through his belt to take it up with him, and scrambled for safety.

Unless they could climb like he could, they would have to take the long way around. By then, he could be hidden again.

Another arrow hit the stones, closer this time.

That would be Sheena. She was the best shot of all the trainees, but he wasn’t an easy target, climbing fast and hard to see against the black stone.

Of course, she also used live arrows in these training games. Probably she would shoot to wound; they weren’t enemies and were sometimes allies, but the prize for winning this game was a hot bath and a good meal for the whole winning team. If she got a chance to drop him, she would do it.

When he risked a look, he spotted Red team, Blue team, and White team below him. Green team was swarming around their flag. As he watched, a fight broke out, and someone from Blue team appeared on the roof, grabbed Zan’s decoy, and took off with it.

The brawl that broke out in response was a thing of beauty, and Zan smiled under his mask as he kept climbing until he was well out of arrow-shot.

On his way past, he paused to collect his flag and stuffed it into his shirt, while leaving another decoy, difficult to see but visible, in its’ place.  

Three to go.

He skirted his original path over the keep. It had been Green team chasing him before, and he would bet that there were still at least four of their original dozen who hadn’t noticed the melee in the courtyard.

That was alright though. It gave him time to thin the herd a little.

No point in leaving enemies behind him, after all.

As it turned out, he was right, and there were two were still climbing up th slick roof.

All the better.

This time when he slid down th roof, he pulled both of his training knives, the edges lined in brilliant yellow paint. It was magical, of course, impossible to wipe away without the proper solution, which only the instructors had.

Before they even noticed him, he was on them. His knives left lines across the inner thigh of one, a killing blow in moments, and across the throat of another before he was past them, still sliding, this time all the way to the ground.

Two dead.

Before the living two could turn on him, he pulled a leather ball out of his pouch and threw it at the ground between them. As it was meant to, it exploded into bright yellow and left them both coated. It was meant to mimic a fireburst-potion. At such close range, they were both ‘dead’.

Of course, that wouldn’t stop them form killing him for real if they caught him, so Zan bolted again.

The inner wall of Darkhame was in decent condition, and hard to climb anyway, so Zan took the stairs two at a time. He was pretty sure he knew where Red team’s flag was, but they would be looking for him as soon as they saw the four dead from Green.

Fortunately, Red was mostly made up of fighters who should really be in with the soldiers. Purple hit them early and took out both their mages and their only archer. The rest of Zan’s own Yellow died to bring down the rest.

As it turned out, Blue had the same idea.

Zan dropped down behind a crumbling statue as the Blue team swarmed the few remaining Reds, tore through them leaving injuries both glowing blue with magic and dripping red with real blood. The Blues took injuries, but no deaths as they claimed Red’s flag from the last Red to go down.

Well, alright. Fewer enemies for him to kill.

By the time he circled around again, this time over the roofs of the outbuildings, Blue had already displayed Red’s flag alongside their own.

White was nowhere to be seen. That was concerning. White had the only two trainees that Zan was truly concerned about. Grenden Bakersson had magic, and Tever Mo’tan could sling a throwing dart through the eye of a sparrow on the wing. Either of them alone was a challenge Zan didn’t want to fight, but together they could bring him down.

He stayed flat on his protected roof as Blue milled around, came together in a huddle, and scattered out. Shouting broke out around the corner of the keep. He could see two of the instructors over by the training yard, with everyone who was ‘dead’ seated in the mud beside them. They always knew when someone took a killing blow, although Zan wasn’t sure how it worked. It did help to cut down on cheating, at least.

After a while, the last of Green came around the corner, ushered by another of the instructors. Their clothes and skin were marked with white paint.

Zan watched as they joined the rest. He recognized those precise swipes.

Grenden Bakersson didn’t have much in the way of magic, but what he had was devious. He would never throw magical bolts, or fight as a mage, but he could vanish, completely and absolutely. Even the greatest of the Cult’s mages couldn’t find him once he chose to hide.

It made him a difficult, dangerous opponent.

Apparently Green had forgotten that little fact. All to the better.

Best of all, most of White came too.

Zan had to look twice when he saw them marked with the white of their own blades. Friendly fire wasn’t against the rules, but no one had ever taken that particular route before. It was foolish to go after the flags alone. Zan was only doing it himself because the rest of his team was already ‘dead’ and out of the game.

And because he was pretty sure most of Blue would actually kill him if they got the chance. He did not want a knife in the rubs, thank you very much.

As he thought it, a blade whispered up against his throat.

“Got you.”

Zan stilled. He didn’t feel the wet of paint on his skin yet, which was… interesting. Grenden’s voice was low, and it was Grenden. No one else could sneak up on him while he was on battle-alert.

“Get it over with,” he murmured back and wondered if he could get at his own knife fast enough to take Grenden down before the other assassin cut his throat. “You got me.”

“What fun would that be?” Grenden asked, a smile in his voice, and suddenly the knife was gone. “Want to team up?”

“We’re on different teams,” Zan pointed out, intrigued as Grenden settled beside him, eyes on the melee below. “Did you do for White?”

“Most of them,” Grenden admitted, and flashed a wry grin over at Zan. His blonde hair was dark with rain, and he had a white streak of paint across his cheek. It wasn’t a kill-blow, but it shimmered in the gloom. “Tever is around here somewhere. Tried to get him, but he’s quick.”

“He’s a hard fight. He give you that cut?”

“Yes, but it doesn’t matter. I have our flag. Trade you one for one.”

Well. That was even more interesting. Zan watched as Blue pulled in around their flags after doing a quick headcount of the ‘fallen’ and coming up with how many were left. Not many. With Red, green, and Yellow entirely out of the fight, there were only three opponents left.

Of course, Blue, which had the most mages of everyone, knew perfectly well who was still ‘alive’. They wouldn’t take any of their few opponents lightly.

Zan considered his odds, realized that they had three our of five flags between them, and considered his odds if he was they instead.

He pulled his yellow flag out and proffered it. Grenden flashed him a roguish grin and passed his own flag over in return. Zan checked to make sure it wasn’t a decoy, was surprised to discover that it wasn’t, and stuffed it into his pocket.

“I can get to their flag,” Grenden said when they looked down again. There were a couple Blues around the Keep, searching for them, no doubt, but most of them were clustered around their flag and Red’s. “But I can’t grab it without getting caught.”

Zan looked down at the flags. Blue had their flags tied to a poll in the middle of the courtyard. Nowhere to jump from. No easy way to get at it without cutting through them.

But maybe there was another option.

“I can get them away from their flags,” he said finally, and wondered if he was being a fool. There was nothing in the rules about teaming up, but he didn’t know if they could win together. “If you can get there, and be ready, I can get them clear for you. Signal me when you’re by the flags.”

The punishment for failure was two lashes and three days of hard labor. Zan did not want to lose, but he also didn’t think he could win alone.

“Don’t betray me, Pretty,” Grenden winked, and vanished without another word. His voice whispered out of nowhere just behind Zan’s ear and Zan barely kept from stabbing him on reflex. “I’ll meet you back here.”

Zan didn’t hear him go, but he expected that. No one ever saw Grenden when he didn’t want to be seen.

For a while he counted his own heartbeats and hoped he wouldn’t be spotted. His hiding spot was a good one, but Blue knew he was still out here somewhere. One of the Blues appeared around the corner, Zan’s green decoy in his hands, and a fight broke out almost immediately when they looked closer and realized it was a fake.

All the real flags had the Master’s symbol and a swipe of glowing paint on them in their color. Zan’s decoy was green, and had enough paint to look right at a glance, but it wouldn’t pass up to more than a passing glance.

As the Blues argued, Zan watched the flags. If he hadn’t been looking so closely, he might have missed the faint swipe of white-glowing paint that appeared on the edge of the blue flag.

Grenden was in place.

Zan stood and took a running leap off the roof, rolled, and came to his feet still running. Rather than go for the flags, he cut through the Blues around the flak, leaving splashes of yellow paint in his wake.

Three dead.

He didn’t slow, and ran for another of his preferred routes up the walls. Magic flared at his back, and he dove around the corner just in time to take Tever clean off his feet.

For a breath, they stared, choosing whether or not to fight it out.

Blues swarmed around the corner and the choice to fight was taken for them. Tever swore viciously, and Zan didn’t stick around to find out what happened next. He swept Tever’s legs out from under him, slashed blindly with his knife, and ran.

Fortunately, they were far more interested in Tever than they were in Zan at the moment, and Zan went from walls to tree to roof with the help of his light climbing line.

When he looked down into the courtyard, the two flags were gone.

“Trade you one for one.”

Zan stifled a yelp, nearly fell off the roof, and was only saved by Grenden grabbing him before he could actually fall.

The older assassin was grinning. A gleam of blue showed along his arm, and again on the same wrist, but he pulled out the two remaining flags.

“I assume you have Green,” Grenden continued as Blues, down several and marked with white, circled back from where Zan left Tever.

Tever himself was down by the instructors, glaring about him and about ready to murder his way out. His clothes and body were covered in blue. The Blues had taken no chances. Tever was very thoroughly dead.

“Let’s get to the instructors,” Zan decided as Blue noticed their missing flags and began fighting again. “You going to stab me in the back, Bakersson?”

“And ruin my chances of being your special friend?” Grenden said with a grin. “Not today, Pretty.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“I’ll stop when I come up with something better.”

“Maybe I should stab you after all.”

The banter took them all the way back to the wall, and Zan boosted Grenden up before scrambling up himself. When he slipped, the rain now falling in heavy sheets, Grenden caught him and hauled him up to solid stone.

“Ready?” he asked when they were on the roof directly above the instructors. Grenden nodded. “Go.”

As one, they dropped down to the muddy training field.

Instructor Torbu stared at them, and Zan stifled a twist of satisfaction. It was hard to sneak up on the instructors.

Shouts told him that the Blues noticed their appearance. Before they could be swarmed, he pulled out the green flag, and Grenden’s white one even as Grenden produced Red, Blue, and yellow.

Torbu looked between them, and cracked a gap-toothed grin that showed gold  here and there.

“And here we thought none of you idiots would ever realize you could work together,” he roared with laughter and held up a hand to stop the Blues. “Hot baths and hot food for the both of you. The rest of you, remember that Warriors of the Sun work as a team, and you will never take them down working alone. Now get out of my sight. Your punishment duty starts in the morning.”

+++

By Way of the Wolf Star:

The name of Wraith the Assassin is known throughout the land. Where he goes, only ghosts remain. If you see him at all, you may assume he has not come for you, for if he had, you would know he was there only when his blade found your throat.

But he was not always Wraith the Assassin, and Zandithas has a long way to go before he becomes the living nightmare of the known world.

Flags and Black Stone Walls

[holdyourbreathuntilyouseelight]

The Bodyguard - Chapter 7

Summary: Magnus is a dancing popstar sensation whose popularity continues to climb. Alec, an ex-Secret Service agent, is hired on as a professional bodyguard in charge of Mr. Bane’s personal security by insistence of Magnus’ manager. Despite their initial differences, Magnus finds himself falling for Alec the more time they spend getting to know each other and relies on him for more than physical security as his safety gets threatened. Loosely based on the 1992 film The Bodyguard.

Rating: M

Genre: AU, Everyone is Human AU, Celebrity!Magnus, Bodyguard!Alec, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Friendship, Romance, Eventual Smut, Mutual Pining

Author: holdyourbreathuntilyouseelight

A/N:You all are so kind and lovely - thank you so much for sticking with me and this story! I adore each of you and appreciate your support more than I can say. We are almost at the 'official' Malec, my friends! Hang in there! 

Click here to read on AO3.

Previous chapters on tumblr: Prologue // Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3 // Chapter 4 // Chapter 5 // Chapter 6

Alec thought it was strange that, for all the anxious texts he got overnight from both of his siblings, they weren't so responsive once he got back to them.

He knew they lived busy lives, like any young adult trying to make it in the world, but he tried not to feel slighted that they weren't as eager to talk to him now that the drama had passed.

He probably wouldn't have noticed so much, if he wasn't holed up alone in his room trying to entertain himself. He didn't want to invade Magnus' time with Catarina, as he knew, if anyone, she would be the one he opened up to about his trauma the night before. They hadn't seen each other since before the tour started, and Alec knew himself how tough being away from family could be.

Still, crappy hotel TV could only amuse him for so long.

A rapid knock sounded on the door and Alec heaved himself out of his bed to go tell off yet another member of Magnus' team.

"I think that's for you." Magnus called from his spot on the couch, him and Cat having relocated to the main living space.

Alec's face screwed up in confusion. Who the hell would be asking for him specifically? And how would Magnus know?

Shaking his head, figuring he wouldn't know until he answered, he opened the door.

His jaw dropped at the sight before him.

"Surprise!" Izzy squealed, throwing her arms around his neck.

He squeezed her back on reflex, barely registering the motion as he stared in shock at the two people before him.

"Hey, man. Nice perks you get these days, huh?" Jace teased, pulling him into a hug once Izzy released him.

"What… how… what are you guys doing here?" Alec finally managed to ask, releasing Jace to look back and forth between them for answers.

"The 'how' would be my doing." Magnus' teasing voice came, and the siblings all turned to look at him as he made his way over to the trio. "After chatting with your sister so much lately, and the fact that we had a planned few days off between dates, I figured you could use some family time. And I had to meet the famous Isabelle."

Izzy went over and hugged him just as tightly as she had hugged her brother. "It's amazing to meet you, Magnus. Thank you for doing this."

"My pleasure." he promised, moving to greet Jace.

Alec was shaking his head in disbelief. "Magnus. You didn't have to do this."

Magnus moved to his side. "Alexander, I rarely do things I don't want to do." he said, patting his chest affectionately while smiling up at him.

Alec couldn't help but return it warmly, his heart swelling in appreciation and a little something else.

"And they're only here for 24 hours… so let's go make them count, shall we?" Magnus headed back towards the living area. "Cat? You coming?"

Jace turned to Alec and mouthed 'Alexander?'.

Alec pointedly ignored him.

Magnus took the group to an intimate restaurant with an extensive bar where they all shared a booth.

They ordered drinks and appetizers to share and fell into easy conversation.

Magnus and Izzy were chatting animatedly about the outfit she was sporting, to no one's surprise. Catarina excused herself to the ladies' room after the food was cleared away, so Jace took the distractions as an opportunity to turn to Alec, a sly smirk forming on his face.

"Don't start." Alec said before he could even open his mouth, and Jace laughed.

"Don't start what, Alexander?" Jace teased.

Alec rolled his eyes. "Trust me, I tried to convince him otherwise, but the argument got old. The more I corrected him, the more he did it, so I finally gave up."

"Fair enough. How did your talk about last night go?"

"Well, we really didn't delve into too much. Ended up doing other stuff."

"Other stuff?" Jace said, eyebrows in his hairline, and Alec glanced at Magnus and Izzy, who were entirely unaware there was anyone else at the table.

"Not that. Get your mind out of the gutter. We just watched ridiculous YouTube videos and talked about lighter stuff." Alec explained.

Jace let his eyes flicker over to Magnus before settling back on his brother. "So, are you planning on telling him you're in love with him?"

"Jace!" Alec hissed, kicking him under the table, eyes wild as he checked to make sure the other two hadn't overheard even though they were speaking quietly and the other two were very clearly invested in discussion about Izzy's accessories.

"What? It's a valid question. I'm your best friend and brother, Alec. I know you. I see the way you look at him."

"Look, it's not… Just, drop it, please?"

Before Jace could argue, Catarina returned to the table.

She took a long drink from her glass and grimaced. "Ugh. Anyone else's drink weak as hell?"

"Now, Catarina, we don't want to get sloppy this early in the night, do we?" Magnus said, finally pulling himself out of his conversation with Izzy.

"Speak for yourself." she replied with a grin.

He chuckled. "Our drunken adventures are always something to remember… or not remember."

"I'm up for hearing about the ones you do remember." Jace interjected, taking a swig of his beer.

"I second that." Izzy said.

"Don't you two go getting ideas." Alec groaned. "I am too old to be your chaperone anymore."

"You literally get paid to be a chaperone for a living!" Jace teased.

"Touché." he grumbled in return. "Does that mean you two will finally pay me for my services?"

"Not if it means I have to give you up. I'm not very good at sharing." Magnus said, locking eyes with Alec as he smirked slyly.

Alec chewed his tongue, trying to contain the smile threatening to cover his face. He didn't want to give Magnus the satisfaction of seeing his amusement.

"I'm sure there's enough of me to go around."

"Oh I don't doubt it. You certainly appear sizeable to me."

Alec rubbed his forehead. "Magnus…"

"Don't worry, Alec. I'm used to him." Catarina said supportively, patting his hand.

"Well these two aren't." Alec said, jerking his head to indicate his siblings.

Magnus laughed. "I'll admit – I'm an acquired taste."

"Alec seems to like the taste of you just fine." Izzy piped up with a devilish grin, and Alec nearly slammed his head on the table.

"Isabelle."

"You should've known getting the two of them together would be dangerous." Jace added helpfully.

"But oh so much fun for us." Magnus teased, clinking his glass with Izzy's as Alec silently begged the floor to swallow him whole.

Magnus managed to convince Catarina to go dance with him by the stereo system, despite no one else getting up or there being an actual designated dance floor. It was an attest to Magnus' power of persuasion that she followed his lead and danced alongside him.

Alec was happy to see him enjoying himself with his best friend, but the immediate mischievous look in his sister's big eyes made him regret their departure.

"So Alec…"

Alec sighed. "Not you too, Iz."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "I should be automatically given a pass to tease when you kept it under wraps that you had feelings for him. I asked you before if you did and you said no!"

"No, you asked me if there was anything going on and I said no, because there wasn't. Isn't." he corrected quickly.

"But you want there to be?" Jace prodded.

"I… Look, he's my client. No matter what I feel, I can't go there. Plus he's a famous celebrity – I doubt he wants to slum it with me."

"Alec."

"No, I mean it. He can have anybody he wants. People throw themselves at his feet on a regular basis. He has much better options, trust me. We may be becoming friends but he's not going to see me that way."

Izzy reached across the table to squeeze his hand. "Alec, I think he already does. He talks to me about you all the time, and I don't think it's just because you're common ground between us. You don't see the way he looks at you when you're not paying attention."

"You're seeing things."

Before the pair of siblings could continue trying to convince his denial away, the other two came back over.

Magnus slid into the seat next to Alec. "I just ordered a double round of shots, so get ready. Time to make some new memories."

"What happened to not wanting to get sloppy?" Jace asked amusedly.

"I have to catch the red eye tonight and I don't want to be anywhere near sober for that. I hate flying. I wish I could teleport." Catarina said.

"Our flight isn't until morning but I'm good with sleeping a hangover off on the plane." Izzy said, accepting the shot glass from the tray as the server came around.

"Alec, don't be shy." Magnus said, passing him one when he didn't immediately reach for the drink.

Alec took it from him and knocked back the liquid in one gulp. It didn't burn like he expected it to – it was actually quite smooth.

"I love a man who swallows." Magnus flirted without missing a beat.

Alec flushed, wishing it was warmer in the restaurant so he could blame it on that, while Magnus laughed and rubbed his back comfortingly.

"I'd say I'm only teasing, but, to be fair, it was a true statement. But I do promise I'm not trying to embarrass you." Magnus told him quietly.

Alec unconsciously leaned into his touch, and Magnus left his hand rubbing circles at the bottom of his spine.

"If it wasn't you, it'd be Izzy. I'm fine." he promised.

"Good. Are you having a good time?" Magnus asked while the others got lost in their own conversation about terrible flight stories.

"Definitely. What about you? After everything last night—"

Magnus put a hand up to stop him. "It's just what I need. A positive distraction. The timing couldn't have been more perfect. I had planned this with Izzy weeks ago, knowing this would be a proper day off after the benefit was done, but I hadn't had any clue then that last night would turn out the way it did."

"And you kept your plans from me all that time?"

Magnus smiled smugly, obviously pleased with himself for his power of secret keeping. "Well, I figured I owed you. About time I did something for you."

"Magnus, you do not owe me for doing my job. I'm only doing what I was hired to do." Alec reminded him.

"You know you've gone above and beyond for me, especially the last few days alone. I know I put up a fuss at first, but I do feel much safer knowing I have you."

Alec smiled, reaching over to squeeze Magnus' hand. "I was so reluctant to take this job in the beginning but now, well, there's nowhere I'd rather be."

Magnus' brilliant returning smile made his stomach flip.

Magnus looked away for a moment to grab another two shots off the table, and he passed one to Alec.

"To overcoming adversities?" Alec prompted, holding his glass out.

Magnus clinked his against it. "To us." he corrected before tossing it back.

Alec could barely contain a smile as he followed suit and swallowed the drink in full.

Magnus' eyes scanned the room and widened in excitement.

"Alexander. Fancy a game of pool?"

Alec glanced at his siblings but they were engrossed in Catarina's retelling of ridiculous horror stories from the ER, so he felt they wouldn't be missed.

"Let's do it."

Magnus led the way, passing Alec a pool cue then racking up the balls in the center of the table.

"Do you want to break?"

Alec chalked up the end of his cue.

"Nah, you go ahead."

Magnus clacked the balls together with a good level of strength, sending them apart in various directions.

He lined up his cue and knocked two solids into holes before getting one just shy of a corner pocket. He nodded to Alec to indicate it was his turn.

Alec stepped up to the table and proceeded to pocket four balls in succession without batting an eye.

Magnus' jaw dropped. "Alec, are you hustling me?"

Alec grinned, shrugging innocently.

Jace walked by at that point, heading to the bar for a refill, and snickered at the incredulous look on Magnus' face.

"I see Alec failed to mention he used to make money playing pool."

"Oddly, yes." Magnus said, shooting daggers at Alec while he laughed and lined up another shot.

Jace chuckled. "A way of making extra cash in college. He's always been good at angles and precision. He probably never told you he's a national champion at archery. Started in boarding school. Got first in every competition then took it further until he was winning trophies left and right."

"Okay, Jace, that's enough of a history lesson." Alec told him.

Jace grinned at him. "Gotta share my brotherly pride with anyone who will listen."

Alec shoved him playfully on his way, grinning at him in return, before turning back to their game.

Magnus sunk two more balls during his turn and grumbled when he missed the third.

"You're good, you know. Not as good as me but…" Alec said teasingly, knowing full well how competitive Magnus was.

Sure enough, he took the bait immediately.

"If you're so talented, why don't you come over here and show me how it's done?" Magnus asked, fire in his eyes.

Alec swallowed and came around to his side of the table. He was competitive too—he wasn't going to back down from a direct challenge.

"Line up your shot. Try to think ahead of what exact path you want the ball to follow, keeping in mind that where the second set of balls hit together should be equal in strength to if you were hitting it with your cue alone." Alec told him, his voice huskier than he planned.

Magnus seemed to notice, if the darkening of his eyes was any indicator.

Alec moved behind him, draping his body over his in order to mirror Magnus' position. He placed a hand on Magnus' hip and his other arm slid to cover his up to his wrist. He adjusted the angle of his arm slightly, slipping back to change the cue's position, and pressed his front flat against Magnus' back in order to see his line of sight to the best of his ability.

"Now. Not too hard. You want to pull back but pour your strength into the jab at the end, not the full motion." Alec instructed, breath hitting the back of his ear as he whispered. He imitated the motion, always stopping right before the cue made contact, and it forced him to press even closer to see the stretched position through.

Magnus shivered in his hold, and Alec tried not to feel triumphant.

He finally moved Magnus' cue with him, cracking the ball against the stick with measured strength and it bounced off one and then another, both rolling into their designated holes.

"Perfect." Alec murmured, finally releasing him and stepping back.

Magnus turned to look at him, licking his lips. "You're a good teacher."

Alec noted his voice was lower too.

His eyes watched Magnus' tongue's movement, wishing it was his own getting to explore the softness.

"We should… we should get back to the others." Alec finally said, knowing if they didn't get themselves around witnesses soon, he was going to do something stupid like pin Magnus to the table and kiss the breath from his mouth.

"Good idea." Magnus said, his playful gaze indicating he knew exactly where Alec's mind went.

Alec followed him back to the table, hoping his indecent thoughts were at least hidden from their company.

The rest of the night went well, ending much later than Alec had originally anticipated.

He was definitely the soberest of the four as they walked through downtown LA. Catarina had to leave earlier than the rest to catch her flight, and all of them had been sad to see her go.

Naturally, Magnus was the drunkest even when Catarina was in the running, so Alec had his arm around his waist to keep him walking in as straight of a line as an attached duo could move.

"Alexander, will you carry me like you did the other night? I'm so tired." Magnus whined.

Alec pointedly ignored his siblings' gazes as he scooped Magnus up bridal-style without a word.

Magnus immediately clung to him, snuggling into his chest. "You smell so good."

Alec could hear Jace and Izzy giggling to themselves a few paces back, and he knew from many years of experience that it was at his expense. He wasn't helping dispute their delusions about Magnus' feelings for him by having the drunk man in his arms in such a traditionally romantic way.

"Boys, I have an idea. Rather than waste money on an extra room when we get back to the hotel… you two have a double bedroom in your suite, right? There's no reason we can't all take advantage of the beautiful suite you have."

"But Iz, how would we divide up the beds? All three of us can't fit in one." Jace asked in painfully fake curiosity, and if Magnus wasn't super drunk, Alec knew he would've been able to read the extremely poor acting on his brother's part for pretending like that thought had just occurred to him.

"Well, I figure you and I can share… and Alec and Magnus! After all, the closer Alec is to Magnus, the better. For safety." Izzy said mischievously.

Alec glared at her over his shoulder.

"Sounds perfect to me." Magnus mumbled. "I like sleeping in your arms."

Alec felt his skin redden for the second time that night, and he tried not to panic at how Magnus would know that. Was the reason he was instinctively searching for Magnus in bed that morning because they somehow ended up spooning? Did his heart rule his body when he was sleeping?

He was grateful that Magnus spoke softly enough that the other two hadn't overheard that last bit.

Once they got to the hotel, Alec shifted Magnus in his arms to hit the elevator button.

"Is he asleep?" Jace asked amusedly.

Alec looked down and saw that Magnus' eyes were closed and his chest was rising and falling in even breaths.

A tender smile slipped out without him meaning to.

"So it seems. He's never this quiet otherwise."

Izzy was smiling knowingly at him when he looked up, and he rolled his eyes at her in response. He was not going to bite at her teasing for her satisfaction.

They got back to their hotel suite and separated so Jace and Izzy could grab their luggage from the living room and Alec could place Magnus on the bed.

He came back out to make sure the other two didn't need anything further.

"Smart – taking the bigger bed. You might need that extra space." Izzy teased, ruffling Alec's hair before slipping into the bedroom that usually would be Alec's. "Jace, I know I signed up for this, but you better have cut your toenails this time!"

"Hey! You better keep your kicks to yourself or you're sleeping on the floor!" Jace argued back.

He chanced a glance at Alec and then moved to close the door until it was just about shut.

"Hey. If this is too much, I can sleep on the couch and you can share with Izzy."

Alec forced a smile. "Thanks, Jace. It's all right. We're just going to sleep."

"All right. You know where I am if you change your mind." Jace said, clapping him on the shoulder before heading into his assigned room.

Alec slipped into the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth. Seeing Magnus' makeup wipes, he sighed and gathered what he needed before returning to his now-shared room with Magnus.

Magnus was still sleeping, hugging a pillow to his chest now, and Alec felt bad waking him. But he knew that Magnus would regret not taking his makeup off in the morning.

He nudged Magnus gently, pulling the pillow away, and Magnus grumbled.

"I'm sleepy." he pouted.

"I know. But I need to get your makeup off. Can you just tilt your face up for me? Please?"

Magnus acquiesced, blinking up at him, eyebrows furrowing. Alec got to work wiping away the colours, Magnus closing his eyes so he could take off his eyeliner and shadow. Thankfully, it only took a couple minutes and then he was clean.

"I know you're tired, but do you want to go to the bathroom or anything before sleeping?"

"Mm… maybe."

Alec chuckled. "All right. Come on. Let's go."

He guided Magnus to the bathroom, arm wound around his waist, and left him to do his thing. The bathroom was en-suite so if Magnus needed him, all he had to do was shout.

Alec undressed until he was in just his boxers and a t-shirt and he jumped in surprise when he turned around to find Magnus standing there staring at him.

"You're so hot."

Alec's usual porcelain skin flushed a bright red once again, and he cursed his reactive blood vessels.

"Uh, are-are you ready for bed?"

"Mm, yeah. Just gotta change."

"Okay, should I—"

Before he could finish his sentence, Magnus had started unbuttoning his pants and kicked them off his legs. He tried to undo his dress shirt but the buttons were too numerous and complicated for his uncoordinated fingers so Alec crossed the room to help him.

Magnus' eyes never left Alec's deft fingers as they unlooped the buttons from their fabric prisons.

Once unbuttoned, Alec pushed the fabric off of his shoulders and let it drop to the floor.

He had to swallow. Magnus was currently wearing very little clothing and was standing very close to him.

Magnus reached up to stroke a hand down Alec's chest, watching its movement. "Thank you for your help, Alexander."

Alec nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He took Magnus' wandering hand and led him to bed, helping him climb under the covers on his side before moving to his own and climbing in.

Magnus immediately scooted over and cuddled up to his side, tucking his head into Alec's shoulder and throwing a leg over Alec's thigh to slip between his.

"Uh, what are you… is this comfortable for you?" Alec asked instead.

Magnus sighed happily, nuzzling his cheek against Alec's pec. "Very. This okay?"

"Uh, yeah, yes. All good."

Alec felt Magnus' smile against his skin, and his hand automatically moved to stroke through his hair. He expected to be met with a lot of product but it was actually quite soft and flitted through his fingers easily.

Magnus fell back to sleep quickly, but Alec lay awake, wondering if he wasn't wrong to hope his siblings were right about the two of them. Because one thing was for sure—Alec was falling hard and fast for Magnus Bane.

* * * * *

Continue to Chapter 8

[mrs-hollandstan]

Hi! What about Ceo!Haz who's on holiday so he goes out for a stroll with his little twins, boy and girl?

Yessssss.

[[MORE]]

Harrison is never out of a suit. No matter what time if the day it is, no matter if he's off the clock, or on, he's in a suit with no jacket most time, sleeves rolled up which is how you ended up with the twins honestly. But when Haz is home, Scarlet and Sawyer stick to him like magnets on metal. And you can't really blame them when your husband spends twelve hours in the office daily with a rare day off. So for the first time, almost since you got married, he comes downstairs in jeans and a sweater with your kiddos in their respective winter wear.

"Hey you three. Where is my gorgeous family off to?" Harrison smiles, leaning in to kiss your cheek,

"Just goin out for a walk. You're invited if you'd like." You click your tongue and shake your head,

"I've got some stuff to do around here. You have fun with your babies." He smiles and nods,

"Got it." Backing from the kitchen, he ushers Scarlet and Sawyer out into the chilly air, chuckling as Scarlet pulls her scarf up over her mouth and nose,

"The longer we're out here Scar, the warmer you'll be." He fixes her beanie, offering up his hand to her when she reaches for it. She holds his middle and ring finger, staring down at the ground as Sawyer finds leaves and rocks to show his father, Harrison crouching to give Sawyer the attention he needs.

"Daddy?" Scarlet asks as Harrison sits on a curb beside a bus stop bench, attempting to stay level with the three year olds,

"Yes love?" She cocks her head, leaning against one of his shoulders,

"Mumma says you work so much cause you love us." Harrison smiles, brushing a curl from her face,

"I do. I have a picture of the four of us on my desk and whenever I feel overwhelmed, I look at it and remember that I do it for you." She glances up at him with her soft eyes as Sawyer jumps playfully in the gutter, standing just before his father who reaches out to make sure he doesn't jump into oncoming traffic,

"But why? Why can't you work at home?" Scarlet asks. Harrison holds Sawyer around the waist, looking back to Scarlet. He sighs, pulling Sawyer between his legs and throwing an arm over Scarlet's shoulders, holding her into his side,

"I work so your mummy doesn't have to. She can focus on shaping you two to be amazing people that can change the world. Be respectful, good humans." He looks between the matching eyes of his son and daughter,

"Mumma does an amazing job and if I, as your father, can support the family, which I do, I will. So... working so that you can go to a nice school soon, and have all the toys you do and for us to go on vacation, is what I have to do. But... I'm hoping to take more time off soon-"

"So you and mumma can have another baby?" Sawyer asks, leaning into Harrison. His held open mouth closes,

"Oh... uhm... i-is that what mummy t-told you?" Sawyer shrugs,

"She said something about it." Harrison nods,

"Well... that's for mummy and I to discuss I guess. Didn't know that." Harrison looks down at Scarlet again,

"But I wanna take you guys on another vacation. Maybe to see Uncle Tom in New York?" He looks between the twins who both perk up and nod at the mention of Tom. Harrison smiles, rubbing the both of them in love and to keep them warm,

"Gotta talk your mumma into it though. We know how she doesn't like to fly huh?" Scarlet nods,

"But we can distract her." She replies softly with a smile. Harrison stares at her face for a moment, seeing all the features he fell in love with on you, in her. He returns the smile, nodding,

"Yeah... yeah, we can." Scooping both babes up, he chuckles when Scarlet squeals, throwing her arms around her father's neck. He kisses her cheek, leaning in to do the same to Sawyer as he walks back home. Ducking into the warm house, he finds you in the kitchen still, smiling at the rosey faces of your husband and children,

"Better?" Harrison gives a half nod before shrugging,

"Always with these two. They always let in on secrets told by mum." You look up again,

"Oh yeah, what's that?" He sets both kids down before leaning against the counter, Scarlet holding his leg as you and Harrison stare at each other,

"Likeeeee wanting another little monster." Glancing down at Scarlet, you shrug,

"I've mentioned it in passing but... you know that until we talk about it, it's not happening." He nods, crossing his arms. Sighing, he watches Sawyer play in the living room,

"So... maybe we should. Talk about expanding the family, talk about this new trip I wanna plan, all that." You smile, glancing out the window before you,

"Oh yeah, you gonna guilt trip me into getting in a plane?" He smiles, holding his arm out which you walk under, holding his torso,

"Nope, we're in desperate need of a getaway. Just the four of us." You nod against him,

"Definitely. Lemme guess... New York?" He smiles once more, looking down at you,

"Its like you're in my head." You giggle, kissing his jaw,

"I get you Osterfield. I've always gotten you." He stares into your eyes, before leaning down to kiss you softly,

"And that is why I married you. Thank you for putting up with me." Leaning your head against him, you place your hand over his heart,

"Always."

[neverwatchedonepiece]

648-649: "Making a Sortie! The Legendary Hero Usoland!" and "The Fierce Battle Coming to the End! Lucy vs Chinjao!"

*looks into the camera like in The Office*

The fight between Luffy and Don Chinjao is finally over! I think after what happened, Luffy might have found a new friend. Law also made a stressful phone call to The Krusty Krab Sunny and ordered delivery of one ship to Green Bit.

Zoro and Franky have teamed up with Sol at Resistance HQ in Flower Field, and if Usopp keeps perpetuating his fantastic bullshit, the entire Strawhat crew will be elevated to God status in the Tontatta tribe.

Slightly worried about Law and the Strawhats stuck on Sunny but I’m seventy percent certain they will pull through and won’t be captured by any Donquixote family affiliates. (The thirty percent left over remains a huge, nagging doubt.)

Luffy’s Tough Love Fight Therapy

The Colosseum showdown between Luffy and Don Chinjao picked up at the start of episode 649.

The action was fast and furious. Luffy pulled out all his quick moves: jet pistol, jet gatling, jet stamp gatling. All defended against by Chinjao. The crowd went wild. It was one of the greatest matches the Colosseum had ever seen! Some cheered for Lucy. Others cheered for Chinjao. The atmosphere was electric.

“You’re quite a fighter,” Don Chinjao said.

“Yeah, you’re strong too, as I thought,” Luffy answered. You know. Being honest as he is.

Don Chinjao totally overreacted. “WHAT U SAY? STRONG? U TRYIN TO INSULT MEH??”

Luffy was, quite rightly, bewildered. “Wtf, all I said was that you’re strong?”

Apparently, this was a grave insult to Don Chinjao. A huge kick in the ego. Chinjao had been much stronger before.

“I’m no better than a wolf without its fangs now. A skin-headed man without his drill. A brat like you can’t understand how miserable I feel living my life like this. I’m frustrated, disappointed and sad. But you can never understand.”

I laughed when Luffy yelled, “How can I understand? You keep messing with me without explaining anything!” (He’s just saying what we were all thinking, right?)

“You really want to know why I’ve become like this?”

“No, I’m not that interested.” (Lmao! We meet again, harsh Luffy.)

“Well, I’ll tell you before you die, since you insist.” 

Don Chinjao is one of those old dudes that is TELLING you that long and rambling story even though you have showed zero interest and have been glancing at your watch for the past half hour.

Suddenly, Luffy the Fight Therapist was unwilling and open for business.

According to Chinjao, Garp punched his head in thirty years ago. Literally. As in Don Chinjao once looked like Dan Akroyd from 90s sci-fi comedy, Coneheads. 

That was until his resplendent, pointy napper met Garp’s fist.

The whole flashback was hilariously weird. Turns out Chinjao’s drill-like bonce was the only means to access his remote family treasure vault under an ice sheet. Once Garp took away the key, Chinjao fell into a deep depression. Heartbroken, he retired from piracy, a lifeless shell, just idling away time.

That was kind of sad. I felt for Chinjao then. He’s like the model of the old, proud working man who suffers a physical injury, can no longer work and slips into anger and depression. Since Chinjao knows and values nothing but strength, wealth and power, he cannot and will not see another way forward. Unlike Luffy, Don Chinjao got his ass beat and never found the strength to crawl out of the gutter and retrain.

Instead, he decided to lay the blame for his misfortune squarely at Luffy’s feet.

Luffy, naturally, was outraged. “Wtf are you talking about? Grandpa and I are different people. Look, mate. I’m busy. I’m gonna win Ace’s fruit at any cost and become the Pirate King. I have no time to be your therapist.”

Then Chinjao made two Big Mistakes.

Wow, Chinjao has Really Specific Taste

Mistake #1?

Chinjao laughed off Luffy’s chances at becoming Pirate King. The reason was typical crotchety old man talk: “the media lionised you worst generation squirts and it emboldened you. But none of you are strong enough to sail across the sea *we* fought on. After Whitebeard’s death, I ain’t expecting much. The only guy who looks good is Blackbeard Teach.”

At the mere mention of Teach, Luffy’s eyes became two circles.

“If I had to pick one, it’s him. But anyway, if you’re only good enough to compete against me, just give up!”

Oh, Chinjao, I thought. Ohhhhhhhh, you just goofed. You goofed big time. You do not mention Teach in a positive light within Luffy’s earshot. You just do not. Teach was the asshole who captured Ace and handed him to the Marines. He shares Public Enemy Number One status with Akainu. Tell Luffy you believe Teach will become Pirate King and your fate is sealed.

Mistake #2?

Chinjao’s fighting style is kinda lame. People who spin during fights in shounen anime are always fodder (the one that sticks out is that spinning top guy in the HxH Heaven’s Arena arc.) This was not his mistake. It’s just a side thought.

The Teach comment pushed Luffy’s buttons. But what Chinjao said next was even worse.

“You’re not too bad but if a guy like Rayleigh chose a brat at this level as the flag bearer for this generation, he’s not as smart as he used to be. The Marines were smart when they squelched the most evil one of the lot: Ace. That man had demon’s blood in his veins. Do you think you can beat the Marine admirals, the Yonkou and surpass Roger? That’s impossible!”

Demon’s blood? Most evil one of the lot?

*cue Kill Bill red-mist music*

“Stop whining over one punch!” Luffy yelled, as he wound up a Thor Elephant Gun attack. “I can’t count how many times I got punched by Grandpa!”

When the attack connected and that spike popped back out of Chinjao’s head, I laughed like a drain. Luffy hit Chinjao so hard, he turned the clock back thirty years.

I’m sure Chinjao will be ecstatic. Take the L with good grace, mate. Your conehead is back! Go and wreak havoc on the high seas again. Recoup that treasure. The world is your oyster!

Up on the balcony, Bartolomeo still has not revealed his connection with Luffy. Cavendish is still throwing a strop. Bellamy is lurking in the shadows, clearly in two minds about his new assassination mission. And Burgess, thanks to Cavendish and his big mouth, knows that Luffy is Lucy.

Thanks, Cavendish.

(And Burgess really does walk around chortling and flexing all the time. He’s like an evil All Might.)

Thus the Legendary Heroes of Green Bit were Born

This cast reunion based on Usopp’s total bullshit was so much fun.

I loved Usopp and Robin’s expressions when the Tontatta took them to their airport. They were starry-eyed. And so they should’ve been. It was a miniature version of a proper, fully-equipped modern airport. I wouldn’t be surprised if the place had Duty Free, passport control and Starbucks concessions.

But it was not a holiday destination Usopp and Robin were flying out to. The entire airport had been overtaken by a military operation. Cub, the yellow bee squad leader, and Bian, the pink bee squad leader, reported for duty. Usopp picked up the bee planes and kept saying, “I wanna show this to Luffy.” (They are such good pals, it warms my heart.)

Unfortunately, Usopp and Robin were too big to travel by bee plane, so they had to take the local number 20 bus to Dressrosa. The buses were cute, vulpix-like foxes with huge, fluffy tails you can sink right into for a comfortable ride.

While they made their way through the tunnel, Master Roshi - the pervy little Tontatta chief - emerged from Robin’s cleavage. He bore dire warnings. “I should tell you because you will risk your lives for our cause.”

Usopp was thinking, “I ain’t gonna die for you but go on...”

“Doflamingo has been causing our tribe a lot of pain recently, but our connection with him goes way back before the last decade. Nine hundred years ago!”

Then the narrator interrupted and I was like, “So you’re just going to leave it there when I was about to get Doflamingo family history? I am not at all mad about this. No, sir. Not one bit.”

The action cut to Flower Field, where Franky and Sol descended a secret stairwell. Said stairwell led to the Resistance Army HQ! Some soldiers ran up to Sol and addressed him as “Captain”, so Sol is a Big Deal in the Resistance.

Franky was like, “Why are all these small people swarming me?”

Sol explained. The Tontatta people were called fairies in town, how they moved faster than the human eye could detect and how they were immensely strong. Franky put two and two together and realised one of them stole Zoro’s sword!

And guess who reached Flower Field before Franky? Before any of the other Strawhats!

That’s right. It’s our boy Zoro. (So proud he learned to follow directions.)

Zoro, hilariously, had made himself at home and was watching Luffy vs Chinjao on the big screen TV. He was absolutely fuming. Why hadn’t Luffy told him there was a fighting competition? THE BETRAYAL. Will he get over it? Probably.

He must’ve been distracted by the fight, as he completely forgot 

Then some intelligence scouts ran up. They had a report for Sol. “We already know what our enemies and Sugar are doing!” (Sugar? Who dat?) “And with the battle close at hand, some legendary heroes have appeared at Tontatta: Usoland and Robiland. They have brought with them Luffyland, Zoroland, Namiland, Sanland, Chopperland, Fraland and Boneland.”

Franky and Zoro exchanged a Look. They knew instantly Usopp was on the bullshit wagon again.

“Um, I think I’m Zoroland,” Zoro said. (Lmao, better get into character quick.)

“And I’m Fraland. Nice to meet you!” Franky added.

It was round about then that Zoro remembered that Nami, Chopper and Brook were in serious trouble back on Sunny. He now wants to skip the battle (he doesn’t yet know about) and rescue the other Strawhats.

I wonder how this will go? Wicka did say she would let Zoro go back to Sunny once he’d taken her back to Resistance HQ. But Leo and the others back on Green Bit were suspicious of Robin and Usopp escaping. Will they let Zoro go or will he have to fight the battle first? Hmmm... I’m fifty/fifty about this.

God damn it, Caesar

*curb your enthusiasm music kicks in*

Meanwhile, back on Green Bit, Law was under heavy bombardment. Fujitora took a step back in this episode and Doflamingo stole the limelight. The cool music from Enies Lobby (as I call it in my head. I have no idea what the real title is) played as Doflamingo pursued Law. 

As Doflamingo was about to land a finishing blow, Caesar shrieked, “OI, JOKER! Before you kill Law, I need you to take something back for me. Law took my heart and I don’t know what he’s gonna do with it!”

Doflamingo looked round like, “Wtf... are you talking about?” And while he was distracted, Law shambled his way out of trouble.

Doflamingo was furious. FFS, CAESAR. I bet he wanted to say that but couldn’t. Gotta keep your cash cow scientist happy..

Please send help. Our art teacher has locked us in class.

Unfortunately, Law didn’t have time for a breather. He had an urgent phone call to make.

While Nami, Chopper and Brook were brought up to speed on the Humans Turning Into Toys situation by Giolla, the ship’s DDM rang. Chopper hilariously ignored Giolla and answered the call (she was maaaaad).

It was Law. He said, “Is that Nami-san?”

To my disappointment, Chopper did not answer, “No, this is Patrick.”

“I don’t care what’s going on over there,” Law said. “Listen carefully. I need you to sail Sunny to Green Bit right now. I wanna leave Caesar with you guys. No time to explain. Bye!”

Okay, so I added in the “bye” part. Law abruptly hung up.

I like how he has faith that Nami, Chopper and Brook will be able to handle the situation, but their weapons have been rendered usless by Giolla’s Art Art Fruit power. I have no idea how they’re going to get out of this one (and I’m keen to see Oda’s creative solution).

The shitshow that is Law’s current existence continued once he hung up. Doflamingo is Doflamingo. He caught up with Law again near the end of episode 648. With that slasher smile, he shot Law with a string bullet and demanded to know who Law had called for help.

Doflamingo must be confident he has Law where he wants him because he spilled the beans on his diabolical plan to snare Luffy. “Give me back Caesar’s heart already. It’s so meaningless for you to keep hanging on here. Strawhat has already walked into the trap I set. He’s fighting in the gladiatorial contest at the Colosseum. Tough contenders from all over the world come to fight in it. Outlaws only. It’s a deadly competition. When someone loses, it’s a one way ticket to hell! He will never come out of the Colosseum alive! It’s the end of your alliance, Law. Just give up!”

I wonder if Law will use the heart as leverage. Maybe he’ll give up Caesar’s heart to escape, regroup and stop Doflamingo the old-fashioned way: with Tontatta military might. (Doflamingo better not kill him off...)

Don’t worry, Chinjao. Luffy will beat you until you feel better! :D

[ruinedthatfriendship]

Heart Attack

A/N: I fully acknowledge that this is kind of dumb but oh well. I promised to post my old fanfics, I did not promise that they would be good. 

In which Demi writes a song, Simon has feelings, and it gets very fluffy. 

“Demi! Demi!” Marissa was holding her phone up, clearly taking a video as she tried to get her best friend’s attention. “Are you excited to get back to the X Factor?”

Demi rolled her eyes, lying down across her bed with her head propped on one hand. “No,” she returned, turning her face into a pillow to muffle a theatrical screech.

Marissa laughed and ended the video, both of the girls falling silent for several minutes as they focused on their respective phones. They’d decided to spend the day together before Demi caught a flight out to do some pre-taping for the new X Factor season. Auditions wouldn’t start for a few more months, but it was time to get things started.

Demi scrolled through her Twitter absently, noting first the number of random tweets at her about how hot she looked, and then one from Simon Cowell a few weeks ago, a picture of her sticking her tongue out in the dressing rooms captioned, “Brat”. She’d considered replying, but then thought better of it.

“It’s not fair,” she pouted, not really noticing that she’d spoken aloud.

“What’s not?” Marissa asked, sitting up fully to look at her.

Demi rolled her eyes. “I haven’t washed my hair in...like a week. I’m wearing a sweatshirt that I’m pretty sure used to be Mom’s, which she probably stole from Eddie. But I bet I could walk outside right now and get some guy to give me his number.”

Marissa huffed teasingly. “Yeah, Demi, I get it. You’re gorgeous.”

Demi lunged forward and smacked her with a pillow, earning a loud peal of laughter. “Shut up! The point is,” she emphasized with mock annoyance, “that’s all fine if I want some lame guy I don’t care about. But you put me in a room with someone I actually like and I completely turn into…” she trailed off and stuck her tongue out with a gagging noise, using her hand gesture to illustrate her brain turning to mush. “It’s pathetic!”

Marissa looked at her strangely for a few seconds. “Does this have anything to do with Simon Cowell?”

Demi’s reaction might have been comical, if she wasn’t suddenly panicked. She scrambled upright chaotically, sitting up in bed and shoving a pillow out of her way. “What?”

Marissa just shrugged. “I did watch the season, Demi. I would hope you’re aware that you definitely act a little stupid around him sometimes.”

“Jesus Christ!” Demi almost shouted. “That was not--I wasn’t talking about anyone specific! He’s an old man, Marissa! And anyway I’d like to see you do the...stupid auditions cycle and not get stupid after a while.”

Marissa was just watching her with a vaguely amused expression on her face. “Uh huh. Yep, okay, whatever you say, Dems.”

Demi laughed incredulously, hoping the heat she felt in her face wasn’t showing. “What?” she demanded, and shook her head. Nope, nope, nope. “It was a general statement, get your mind out of the gutter!”

Marissa arched a challenging eyebrow. “Sure,” she said disbelievingly, but, mercifully, dropped the subject.

It didn’t matter that her friend was right. It didn’t matter that Simon did make her stupid, that she was forever looking at him and hearing things fall out of her own mouth that she hadn’t given permission. That she’d never much felt a need to dress up for Wilmer unless they went out, but he could make her go through four or five outfits in her dressing room before shows.

It didn’t matter. Nothing could ever happen, not least because he certainly didn’t think much of her. She was a younger sibling, a daughter or niece, a pest bothering him and boosting ratings with her antics. Little brat. And he was so much older than she was. Which Demi didn’t mind whatsoever; age was just a number. But the world would flip, both of their careers could go down in flames, all for the sake of something that would probably never last. Would never start, she reminded herself firmly.

No, when it came to Simon Cowell, her walls would stay firmly up.

Demi quickly forced her brain into professional mode as her phone rang, and she stood up as she answered, walking over to her desk and looking through papers for a list she’d written a few days ago.

“Hello, Demi. Just wanted to check in,” Her producer. She was set to drop a new album soon, and they were just putting the finishing touches on the final songs. “I wanted to confirm that you’re on board with Neon Lights as the first track on the album. I know we’d talked about it, but I don’t know that we got to a consensus?”

Demi sighed, biting her bottom lip as she considered. It was a fine song, there was nothing wrong with setting it to open the album. But something about it didn’t sit right. “I am so sorry,” she sighed into the phone. “I’m gonna be a complete brat right now,” and damn Simon for creeping into her speech patterns, “but I think it needs to go farther down the track list.”

“So what do you want to start with? That’s going to be the first single we release, most likely, so…”

“Ask me tomorrow.” Demi said breathlessly, struck by a sudden inspiration.

“What? Why? If you need some time, that’s fine…”

“I’m going to write it tomorrow,” she replied with conviction that scared even her. “I’m going to write it tomorrow and record it for you when I fly back. Trust me.”

“Demi, I’m not going to say you’re not a brilliant artist, but--”

“Just let me try this! Trust me. If it doesn’t work out, you can put Made In The USA at the top, okay?”

When she got off of the phone, making a face at herself as she hung up, Marissa was staring at her. “Demi, what did you just do?”

“Something stupid,” the singer sighed, blowing a strand of hair out of her face. And maybe it was, but she didn’t like any of her other options. She liked all of the other songs set for the album, but not enough. And she knew she could do this; more than half of them had already been written on her notepad at the judges’ table. Something about the atmosphere was...inspiring. Or someone, her brain whispered helpfully, in a voice that sounded suspiciously like Marissa’s. 

***

Demi had no intention of breaking the promise she’d made to her team, but it was proving harder than she’d initially thought. Sure, she had plenty of down time on the plane, and in the makeup chair in her dressing room before she was due on the X Factor set, but her brain was stubbornly refusing to get into a song-writing headspace. She’d much rather laugh with Kelly and her makeup artist, scrolling through her phone. She liked Kelly, it was going to be a fun season sitting with her on the panel. But nothing was going to be much fun if she couldn’t figure this out.

It was like a school project, procrastinated on for too long and now with a fearsome deadline looming. She was chewing on the inside of her lip when she finally made it to the set for sound checks, taking her seat next to Simon with a pouting expression. They’d be doing a few promo shots at the judges’ desk, as well as individual backstage interviews, so they had to be lined up and in position.

“What’s wrong, brat?” he asked immediately, noticing her face.

Demi shook her head quickly. “Nothing, I’m just stuck.”

“Stuck?” he queried back, arching an eyebrow in her direction. “What on earth are you talking about?”

She shrugged back, turning away from him as a producer called her name. “Songwriting,” she hissed under her breath as one last explanation before testing out her mic for the video.

She felt Simon lean over, his arm on the back of her chair as usual, and pinch her nose with his other hand. Demi scowled at him, turning the sentence for her sound check into a nasally, “Damn it, Simon!”

She shook her head at him, taking advantage of the lack of cameras and audience watching them to jokingly flip him off. How she’d managed to survive an entire season next to this idiot, she had no idea. And now she was going to do it again.

He was kind of her best friend, sure. And they made fun of one another constantly, always in a contest to one-up the other. But she loved his stupid jokes all the same, his frankly obsessive need to touch her, the warmth of his hugs. The way he always seemed to understand her better than anyone else. She loved him, but there was no way she’d ever tell him that. They flirted, sure, and they’d had their moments, enough that her tape at the finals last year was a compilation of the two of them, but it meant nothing. Walls up, Demi.

She turned her chair slightly, looking at him. Damn it.

He chose that moment to notice her gaze, turning to look at her with an amused expression. “What?” When she didn’t immediately reply, he smirked. “You’re staring, darling.”

Demi smacked his chest, laughing, and made a point of redirecting her attention. Still, she felt a pang. I don’t want to fall for you. I don’t want to fall in love,  she thought wildly, and then, too late.

This was just a fast track to a broken heart and she knew it. I don’t need this right now.

But he was right there, whether she wanted him to be or not, and they were about to do this whole thing again for a new season. There would be no escaping, she’d definitely be sitting right up next to him again after the ratings of the past season, and some dramatic part of her wondered if her heart could take it.

Because she was Simon’s best friend, too, she was pretty sure. He had an awful habit of treating her like a sort of ‘guy best friend’, frequently regaling her with stories of his latest womanizing escapades and occasionally poking at her for advice. It made her want to scream, sometimes. I don’t want to tell you how to make that skinny, beautiful blonde fall in love with you. I want it to be me. But it’s never going to be me.

At some point, Simon had stood up and wandered off to chat with the producers, leaving Demi at the desk lost in her thoughts and Paulina on the end, similarly quiet. Demi was tracing her finger absently across her notepad, her thoughts flitting wildly between the pressure she’d put on herself to write a number-one single by tonight, and Simon. He was always in the back of her brain, and sometimes she hated him for it. Hated herself, for not being able to put up an effective wall. Or maybe it was just that nothing worked on him. He could always strip away whatever she tried to use for a front, in every situation.

You make me stupid, she thought, remembering Marissa’s words. I don’t want to fall in love with you. But he killed her every time he took her hand. Gave her some unidentified ‘glow’ her sisters had even commented on, though they hadn’t named him as a cause. Demi knew.

Why am I not good enough? I’m right in front of you…

“Demi!” A pair of familiar hands landed on her shoulders, shaking her, and Demi jumped wildly in her seat, yelping, as Simon burst out laughing behind her.

“Oh my god!”

“I’m sorry,” he chuckled, not sounding very sorry at all. “But you looked so focused while I was coming back over here...I couldn’t help it.” He subsided into laughter again.

Demi’s heart was still racing from the adrenaline, but she still couldn’t silence the track in the back of her brain, quietly pointing out that she loved seeing him laughing. “Damn it, Simon, you almost gave me a heart attack.” Gave me a heart attack. I’m going to have a heart attack. Heart attack.

“Demi? Demi?”

Demi blinked, shaking herself back into the present. “What?”

Simon smirked at her, turning his chair to face her on the panel. “Look, I know I’m gorgeous, but you were staring again, brat.”

Demi blinked at him, still not really listening. He’d just given her the perfect metaphor.  “Uh-huh. Hey, give me that pen!”

Startled by the non sequitur, Simon allowed her to pull the pen he was holding away from him. He watched as she uncapped it hastily and started writing something on her pad, the scrawl messy and frenzied. Putting my defense...he made out before she squealed and covered it with her hand.

“No!”

“What are you doing, brat?”

She shrugged. “Writing.”

Simon made a dive for the pad, only for her to yank it to her chest, squeaking her protests.

“Simon! Stop! It’s not ready yet.”

“What do you mean, not ready?” he demanded, laughing at her.

Her dark eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint. “Wait and see! It’ll be released soon, anyway.”

She wasn’t sure if she’d imagined Simon’s eyes lighting up. “New song?” he asked her, relaxing back into his seat. “Okay, brat, I can be patient. For you.”

***

Written in one night and recorded in one take, the song dropped as a single just before they were set to start the first round of auditions. Of course, episodes wouldn’t start airing until later, and Demi imagined there would be some mention of her new album made when they cut together the packages to introduce the judges. For now, though, she was just in her dressing room backstage, getting the finishing touches to her makeup put on. Brand new season, clean slate. New talent, new groupings, and this time she wouldn’t be the first mentor out of the competition.

There was still almost a half hour before they needed to be on the set, so Demi buckled on her shoes and walked out into the hallway, finding first Kelly, and then Paulina in the green room. They made small talk for a little while to kill the time, Demi becoming more and more comfortable with the women. It was going to be fun working with them, she thought. They’d certainly make for an exciting panel.

“Where’s Simon?” Kelly asked suddenly. “He should be here.”

“In his dressing room, I think,” Paulina replied in her accented voice. “I can--”

“I’ll go get him,” Demi offered quickly, not entirely sure why she’d just spoken. Barriers, Demi. Or not.

She didn’t notice the look her two fellow judges shared as she stood and made her way out of the green room, involuntarily smoothing imaginary lint off of her dress. She knocked a few times on his door, getting no response. She could hear something getting knocked over inside, though, and figured she may as well let herself in.

Simon didn’t notice her at first. His back was to her, righting a water bottle on his desk, and he was wearing a pair of headphones.

“Simon!” she called loudly, finally forcing him to turn around. Laughing at him a little, she pointed to his phone. “What were you listening to?” Her eyebrows waggled, suggestively teasing. 

“Nothing,” he returned quickly, sliding the headphones off and standing, a bit hastily, Demi thought. “What do you need, brat?”

Demi pouted at him. “Now you have to tell me!”

“No,” Simon returned briskly. “Now--Demi!”

She made a dive toward him for his phone, still laughing, and pouted helplessly when he held it above her head. “But Simon, I’m short.”

“Precisely.” He said dryly. “And nosy. And gobby. And--”

She jumped, grabbing at his arm and stealing the phone before he could react.

“Demi!” he groaned in dismay, his hand dropping to his side as he watched her with his cell phone in her hands. 

She turned it on, suddenly not quite sure what to do with the information confronting her. Simon stood in front of her almost awkwardly, crossing his arms over his chest, while she blinked rapidly at his phone in her hands. “Aw, Simon. You were listening to my music?”

He shrugged, holding his hand out for the phone. “That’s your new single, isn’t it? I do have to keep on top of these things.”

“Uh-huh.” Demi nodded, relinquishing the phone back to him. “Well? Worth the wait?”

He looked puzzled for a moment, before his expression cleared. “Oh, was that what you were writing at the promo taping? After…” he trailed off suddenly.

“After what?” Demi prompted, curious again. “After what, Simon?”

“Nothing,” he shook his head abruptly.

“Simon,” Demi countered sternly. “Come on, tell me!”

He narrowed his eyes, studying her, almost calculating. She shifted nervously under his gaze, trying to guess at what he was thinking. He looked like he was debating something, mixed with a glimmer of...hope? Demi wondered suddenly if he’d managed to arrive at the conclusion that she’d written it about him, nerves twisting her stomach. God, she hoped not. The inevitable polite rejection would be horrifyingly awkward.

“After I scared you,” he murmured, looking suddenly uncertain and somehow smaller than the Simon Cowell she was familiar with. “And you said…”

She could hear her own voice echoing in her head, sounding far-off like an old playback tape. Damn it, Simon, you almost gave me a heart attack! Demi raised an eyebrow. She should have known he’d figure her out. Still, she wasn’t going to help him toward the painful conclusion.

“This is stupid,” Simon muttered suddenly, turning away from her with his hands on his hips. “Was someone looking for me? Is that why you came in here?”

Demi blinked. That wasn’t exactly the reaction she’d been expecting. And he sounded hurt, somehow, and it was breaking her heart. And even if she was about to help him break it further, she couldn’t let it go. Not now. “What’s stupid? I don’t know what you mean.”

Simon huffed and rolled his eyes, walking to the door. “Forget about it, brat.”

“No!” she burst out, planting her feet and standing obstinately in the middle of his dressing room. “You can’t just leave. Come on, Simon, tell me what you were going to say!”

“Actually I can, darling,” he returned, amused. “It’s my dressing room.” And with that, the obstinate British judge left her standing alone in the middle of the room.

***

“Do you live alone?” Simon was asking an unfortunately tone deaf contestant. “No one around to tell you to stop?”

“Simon!” Demi hissed in reprimand, but it was half hearted. Not only was he right, but she was preoccupied. She wasn’t going to let him get away with just shutting her out, and if she had to revert to elementary school note passing, so be it.

She slipped a sheet of her notepad under the edge of his hand, meeting his eyes with a shrug while the contestant slinked off in defeat. What were you going to say????

“Never you mind, brat,” he muttered back.

She turned her chair to face him, stubbornly staring at him. “I’m not going to let it go, Simon, you know that. I will make your life hell until you just tell me… oh, seriously, Simon! It’s obviously bothering you, come on, talk to me!”

“Fine,” he said briskly, turning back to her with a completely closed off expression. “Here you go, Demi: what inspired you to write that song? And now will you forget about it?”

Insecurity. All at once, she had a name for the unreadable expression that was always flashing across his face. Doubt, like he didn’t know what she was doing with him any more than she knew why he bothered with her.

And it gave her enough of a fool’s hope to lean over toward him again while they waited for the next contestant to enter the stage. Beside her, Kelly was giving her a strange look, but Demi ignored her. She had her hands braced, one on the desk and one on the back of Simon’s chair, and put her lips next to his ear. “I wrote it for you,” she whispered, feeling her heart racing in her throat as she made her confession.

Her own insecurities were wiped away in an instant, Simon turning to face her so quickly that he almost hit her head. He was wearing one of the brightest smiles she’d ever seen on his face, and she gave up on nervously biting her lips to return the gesture. “Really?” he whispered back to her, completely ignoring the woman on stage answering Paulina’s questions.

Demi gestured pointedly with her head to the stage once, but nodded at him once more before refocusing her attentions, still wearing a brilliant smile. Nothing was properly set yet, but it was a start. And when Simon carefully took her hand under the table, carrying on his critiques smoothly all the while, she knew her split-second decision to rewrite the single had been worth it.

And when she opened her phone later to a text from Marissa, it was a link to a slightly-blurry photo of the two of them, smiling at each other stupidly, making very obvious heart eyes at one another. Girl, what did you do?????????

Damn. She’d completely forgotten how many eyes, and cell phone cameras, would have been on them all day. .

Sitting on the couch in Simon’s dressing room, heels kicked off and waiting for him so they could leave together, she smiled again. Something stupid, she texted back first, as per the old joke. Then, but worth it.