#ponder about it for the next million years it shall be

[longelk]

between kaycee's avatar constantly wearing the ring and her ebay user being leshys_gurl i have a fierce desire to know if these are intentionally pointing towards leshy and kaycee have feelings for each other yet i would rather explode in the kiln than email the dev a shipping inquiry so here im just sitting here

[stargirlinterludefr]

ENOUGH FOR YOU: former rafe cameron x reader, jj maybank x reader (part 2 of this)

Based off of the song enough for you by Olivia Rodrigo

Synopsis: All you ever wanted was to be enough for Rafe but you realise he could never accept that, someone else can love you the way you deserve though.

TW: mentions of a previous toxic relationship, mentions of drug usage (cocaine), emotional manipulation, angst, fluff, addiction, Rafe being a dick, JJ being his loving self, happy ending (for the reader.)

Word count: Around 3,400

Notes: I’m not as fond as this one but I promised part two and I shall deliver!

I wore makeup when we dated

'Cause I thought you'd like me more

If I looked like the other prom queens

I know that you loved before

The month after you’re split from Rafe was a blur, while you’d felt more freer than you had in over a year you still felt an overwhelming sense of guilt on your shoulders for a reason you couldn’t quite deduce.

However, falling back into stride with the pogues had made things one million times easier. They were like a warm blanket waiting for you after a long day, ready to wrap you up and protect you from the cold. The cold being Rafe.

None of them realised the deep extent to his manipulation of you, the way he’d twisted you into someone so unrecognisable and fragile had them feeling devastatingly remorseful.

Particular everyday instances is where Rafe really shines through in your actions, and the thought had JJ feeling nauseous.

Both you and the Maybank boy are sat on the dock at the Chateau, your legs dangling from the side of the wood as he watches you, his eyes catching onto the hints of makeup lingering on your skin.

“Why’re you wearin’ makeup, mama? It’s like fifty degrees out.” The boy states, his voice airy and joking but it makes your stomach drop slightly as you shrug.

“Force of habit, I guess.” You mumble with a small smile, bringing your knees to your chest as you lay your chin on them.

JJ ponders for a moment, quelling over his previous question and what he would say next to ensure he wouldn’t say the wrong thing. Before Rafe, you hardly wore makeup, you’d wear a small amount sure but it was rarely noticeable and JJ had always thought you looked so entrancing without it but when Rafe cooped you up in his little toxic nest…he doesn’t think he’s seen you go without.

“You know you don’t need it, right? You’re like, the most beautiful girl on the island.” He states, gently nudging your shoulder so you’d look at him “Don’t be tellin’ Kie I said that, she’ll be gettin’ all jealous.” The boy jokes and you give him a gentle smile to which he returns immediately.

Tried so hard to be everything that you liked

Just for you to say you're not the compliment type

One week into your breakup had you looking through old text messages, while you know you shouldn’t, something about looking upon the way Rafe treated you when you were no longer under his thumb gave you a entirely new perspective.

A specific chain of messages has you slowing your scrolling to intently read them.

You: *attached one image*

You: what do you think of this new dress I got?

You let out a scoff at the sight of the dress, mind whirring now at how kooky it looked fitted onto your figure.

Rafe: it’s a dress?

You: that’s it??

Rafe: idk what u expect i don’t do compliments babe

Letting out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding, you place your phone down and stare up at the ceiling of John B’s bedroom.

You remembered wearing that dress to a party the night after showing him it, feeling completely out of place, like a prized calf dressed up for auction.

And he’d still never complimented you, even when you looked like his picture perfect type.

And I knew how you took your coffee

And your favorite songs by heart

I read all of your self-help books

So you'd think that I was smart

Stupid, emotional, obsessive little me

I knew from the start this is exactly how you'd leave

Officially going out into the outer banks after the breakup took additional encouragement from your friends, you’d been to and from homes but you’d not dared to venture into the town.

Somehow, Pope and Kiara had convinced you to accompany them to a cafe near figure eight as they had quote on quote ‘the best coffee on the island’

You hadn’t considered that you might run the risk of falling into old habits as soon as you walked through the doors.

“What’re you guys fancying?” Kiara quotes in a mock english accent, Pope rolling his eyes at the girl as you snort.

“I’m fancying the idea that you never do that again.” Pope quirks back, earning a frown from Kiara who sarcastically placed her hand to her chest.

“Come on guys, it’s on me.” She notes, looking up at the board of differing coffees as you reply.

“Uh, just a black coffee for me.” You say absentmindedly, swinging on your heels, both Pope and Kie’s heads turning to you making you laugh nervously.

“What? Have my tits fallen out or something? Why’re you looking at me like I just committed a hate crime?” You blurt, eyes darting between them both as Kiara’s face twists slightly.

“You hate black coffee.” She says, ensuring to pronunciation the word ‘hate.’

Pope nods in agreement before adding to her statement, “Yeah, I mean, John B and JJ gave you it as a joke once just after you’d woken up and you literally threw the mug at their heads.”

You look to the floor, picking on the skin of your arm slightly as you shrug and before you can even come up with a lie to explain why you’d had a change of heart toward the drink Kiara speaks up again.

“It’s not you that likes it, is it? It’s Rafe.” You don’t notice the way she and Pope lock eyes, a look of pure anger washing over the Heyward boys face.

You feel stupid, stood there ordering Rafe’s order for yourself, if he were here he’d attempt to joke that you were obsessive and proceed to call you emotional when you had the reaction you were having now.

“Screw that asshole, we’re getting you a…Caramel Cappuccino!” She exclaims, linking her arm with yours as she looks up at the board, “And then we’re going to torch everything you still have of Rafe’s.”

You don’t bother to protest with her, a small grateful smile making its way to your lips.

You found someone more exciting

The next second, you were gone

And you left me there cryin', wonderin' what I did wrong

And you always say I'm never satisfied

But I don't think that's true

'Cause all I ever wanted was to be enough for you

And all I ever wanted was to be enough for you

Your phone is blowing up again, a loud groan sounding from beside you as you stare down at the device.

“Is that Rafe again?” JJ grumbled, gesturing for you to show him what Rafe is sending but you hand him your phone instead, the boy immediately begins to shake his head as he reads the chain of messages your ex has sent.

“Can the dude not get a hint?” He mutters, eyes flicking to you as your head falls back onto the sofa.

You zone out for a few moments but your brought back by the sound of JJ’s loud scoff, he’d clearly been reading more of the end laugh gif messages Rafe loved to leave you daily.

“The fuck does he mean you’re never satisfied with what he gave you? That asshole never did shit apart from manipulate and-“ Before he can finish, you’re gently taking the phone from his hold and placing it beside you as you look back to him.

“And that’s what he’s still tryna do, Jay, he says I’m never satisfied but like did he see the amount of chicks he was flirting with at parties? And he has the audacity to say I’m never satisfied?” You ramble, letting out a scoff at the end as JJ stares at you intently and you wait for a moment, for him to interrupt…to tell you to stop yapping, to stop being annoying but he never does so you continue.

And maybe I'm just not as interesting

As the girls you had before

But God, you couldn't have cared less

About someone who loved you more

I'd say you broke my heart

But you broke much more than that

Now I don't want your sympathy

I just want myself back

Walking through figure eight without Rafe feels like an out of body experience for you, as though it wasn’t plausible to actually be without him around here.

Sarah, Cleo and Kiara walk alongside you. The four of you on a small venture to Sarah’s home to get some of her clothes as you’d planned an all girls sleepover at Kiara’s home, allowing the boys to run rampage at the Chateau.

Plus, the girls had been dying to do so ever since you’d officially rekindled with them.

What they didn’t want to do, was to put you through the trauma of seeing Rafe but you’d assured them you were fine going to Tannyhill as long as you were surrounded by them and Sarah had assured you that Rafe was out. He apparently hadn’t been home often since your split.

As you walk through the gate at the front of the mansion, you feel your body riddle itself with anxiety almost immediately making you swallow harshly.

“You okay, girl?” Cleo asks, grasping your hand in her own as Sarah and Kie come to a stop infront of you.

“Yeah I’m good, I just…” you trail off, eyes floating toward Sarah who smiles in understanding.

“You don’t have to come in, me and Kie can just run inside and grab a few things.” She says softly, eyes achingly kind and your mind whirrs back to the conversation you’d had outside of Tannyhill only a few months prior.

You shake you head, “It’s okay, I can just-“ You cut yourself off as your eyes trail upward and to the all too familiar balcony at the front of the mansion where your eyes catch onto a figure.

Rafe is watching the four of your intently, his eyes primarily on you as you freeze up once more with all three girls following your eyeline to spot the Cameron boy.

As expeceted, Sarah is immediately full of apologies.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise he’d be here.” She whispers quickly and you can’t bring yourself to respond, feeling like you’re deep rooted into your spot on the driveway.

Kiara eyes are furious as they look up at your ex, her fist clenching and unclenching as she cocks her head almost challenging him to even acknowledge you.

“That motherfucker better stay where he is or I’ll gut him like a fish.” Cleo states lowly, bringing herself to stand in front of you slightly as Rafe continues to stare.

You snap your gaze away from him, eyes flitting to Sarah who is looking at you with a mass amount of guilt.

“On second thought, I think I’ll stay out here.” You mumble, attempting to have a teasing tone but your voice comes out shaky and vulnerable causing you to curse yourself silently.

Rafe had basically turned you into a frightened child, trembling in her boots at just the sight of him.

“Okay, we’ll be right out.” She says softly, grabbing Kiara’s hand and running inside leaving Cleo to stand infront of you protectively.

“If he even dares to leave that house…” She grumbles, left hand now donning her iconic pocket knife she carried no matter where she went.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket and you slowly withdraw it, knowing exactly who’s messaged you as your eyes scan the text and then dart to where the man himself stands as you slowly hand Cleo the phone so she could read it herself.

“I don’t want your fucking sympathy!” You shout out, voice holding a slight tremble as you stare up at him in fury, your heart pounding wildly in your chest.

Rafe: I never meant for you to be afraid to be around me

Rafe: plz come in so we can talk.

Don't you think I loved you too much to be used and discarded?

Don't you think I loved you too much to think I deserve nothing?

Five months after the split and you’d successfully avoided any interactions with Rafe, sure he’d been in close proximity to you but thanks to your friends he didn’t even get the opportunity to utter one single word to you.

Overcoming the small manipulations he’d implanted in your mind was a milestone you were incredibly proud of, coming to your own realisations at how fucked up he was toward you.

You’d observed over the months how he’d been with other women, well not seeing him with them personally but hearing about such notions from either Sarah or Rafe’s friends. You’d heard how easily he used and discarded them and you followed his distinct patterns to yourself.

While you knew he was with you for a significant period of time that didn’t mean he didn’t not use you, you were the picture perfect girlfriend to parade around to parties and to impress his father.

But he discarded you after every event, made you feel like a disappointment.

And he’d pushed you to believe you deserved nothing.

Despite that being a significant factor of your relationship you struggle to heal from, luckily, you have JJ.

JJ had always been obvious with his feelings toward you, he never bothered to hide them before you’d gotten with Rafe but he respected your decision when you did eventually get together with the Cameron boy and he ensured he was primarily your friend after the split.

But with months of pining and being there for you, and you for him, he’d laid his heart on a silver platter for you.

You didn’t realise you’d been falling for him but you weren’t going to deprive him or yourself of the happiness it would both serve to you.

And when you told him? JJ became the happiest man on the planet.

But don't tell me you're sorry, boy

Feel sorry for yourself

'Cause someday I'll be everything to somebody else

You and JJ had decided to take things slow, he didn’t want you to feel pressured or like he wasn’t valuing you by rushing into things (A notion which made you fall for the blonde haired boy even more.)

You’d been dating for around a month now, JJ not being able to wipe the cheesy grin off of his face whenever he was with you and you’d never felt happier.

The two of you were sat at the boneyard, tipsy off of beer and one another’s presence, as JJ holds you onto his chest.

What you had failed to notice, was Rafe making his way to stand before you and at the sight of him your stomach churns violently with nerves.

“So what? You’re fucking Maybank now?” He says loudly, voice hoarse and at the sight of the boy’s appearance you immediately feel sorry for him.

“Get lost Cameron.” JJ says boredly, not bothering to move from his position holding you as he glares up at Rafe.

“Look, I don’t know how many times I can say I’m sorry! But fucking Maybank is low, I didn’t realise you were so fucking trashy.” Rafe slurs but you don’t find yourself being hurt or even bothered by his words as you simply tilt your head at him.

“Yo! Watch your kook mouth when speaking to my girl!” JJ shouts, voice laced with fury as he goes to rise but you place a hand on his chest to settle him back into place as you snap your head to Rafe.

“I don’t give a shit about your apologies, Rafe, I don’t think it’s me you need to be sorry for.” You state, voice not tethering on anger as you lean into JJ showing your lack of interest toward the Cameron boy. “It’s yourself.”

And they'll think that I am so exciting

You’d heard from Sarah that Rafe had stopped doing cocaine, apparently he’d even gone to a rehab centre on the mainland and you acknowledged that you felt truly happy for him.

But honestly? You couldn’t bring yourself to dwell on the thought of him getting his shit together.

Sure, you cared, a part of you would always hold care for Rafe but you didn’t spend time thinking about the man or what could’ve been if he’d begun healing while you were together or even before.

It’d been 18 months since you’d split from Rafe and you never thought you’d know the happiness that you’d witnessed on John B and Sarah’s faces at that party.

You were wrong, obviously.

You’re walking down the pathway after finishing up work at the small cafe you’d landed a job at in figure eight, Sarah having gotten you the role as it was one of Rose’s friends who owned the business.

JJ was on his was to pick you up, having already told you he’d be slightly delayed as he’d promised to do a small delivery for Pope’s father and you’d assured him you were okay with waiting as he borderline refused to let you walk from figure eight to the cut. The journey being around an hour and he didn’t want his girl getting overheated.

You’re not paying attention as you walk, eyes trained on your phone as you message on the Pogues group chat and due to your distraction, you collide into a chest which leaves you grappling to grasp your phone before it falls.

“Oh my god, i’m so sorry I wasn’t watching where I was going.” You exclaim, blowing out a breath as you look at the person who you’d walked into and your eyes widen slightly at the sight.

Rafe.

Yet, he didn’t look like the Rafe you remembered.

The boy had shaved his head of hair away, now donning a buzz cut and the usual blown pupils that looked upon you in the past were now a normal sizing as he smiles down at you, nervously.

“It’s all good, y/n.” He says softly, not protesting when you take a step backward. “H-how have you been?”

You nod and shrug awkwardly at the same time, “Good, really good actually.”

Rafe smiles, “I’m glad to hear.”

“And you?” You ask, shoving your hands into your shorts that weren’t actually yours but JJ’s.

“I’m getting there, I’m uh three months clean now.” He notes and you feel yourself smile at the mention, not noticing the way his gaze seems to light up at the sight of your smile.

“That’s good, I’m happy for you.” You state, eyes genuine and sincere as you look up at him.

“I know it’s not my business but, how are you and Maybank doing? You guys still together?” He inquires and you want to snap at him for asking but you instead smile wider at the mention of JJ, happy you get to talk about your love.

“Yeah we are, we’ve actually just got our own place together.” You say softly, now fiddling with the promise ring JJ had given you which was placed perfectly on your right hand.

Rafe eyes watch your movements and while you don’t see the regret in his gaze, he feels it immensely.

The boy opens his mouth to respond but the sound of a motorbike whirring has the both of you turning to the source. At the sight of a familiar red bike drawing nearer, you grin.

“That’s Jay.” You mumble to yourself, turning back to Rafe as you smile at him once more, “It was good to see you, I’m real glad you’re doing better.” And while you know it sounds rushed, you can’t bring yourself to care as you turn away and walk down the pathway to where JJ had pulled up.

When you were with Rafe, you’d be expected to just hop onto the bike with no greeting as he’d impatiently tap his fingers on the handles. But JJ isn’t Rafe, not even close.

The blonde haired boy immediately stands off of his bike, propping it up and jogging toward you as he scoops you into his arms to spin you around causing you to squeal in delight.

Rafe watches the interaction, the pure bliss on your face similar to nothing he’d ever seen when the two of you were together and while he’d forever consider you to be the loss of his life he couldn’t find himself being bitter you’d found love with JJ.

Rafe didn’t treat you with the love or excitement you deserved but JJ does, and the Maybank boy will ensure he spends the duration of your lives together proving you deserve such happiness.

[girltalkblog]

#Girl Talk:  March Madness! String of Random Assaults on Women in New York City

(Photo Credit: The Today Show)

-

The internet experienced a wave of shocking and unsavory announcements from multiple women in New York City to round out March this year, so happening to be Women’s History Month. These announcements exposed random attacks the women had endured. More specifically, random women getting punched in the face while walking down the street. Literally, getting punched in the face.

The attacks were not excessively violent and typically did not leave anything more than minor injuries and some tears, but it was staggering and scary news for TikTok users, nonetheless, starting on March 25 when creator Halley McGookin – who goes by “Halley Kate”- posted the first viral video.

“You guys, I was literally just walking, and a man came up and punched me in the face. Oh my god, it hurts so bad, I can’t even talk,” said Kate.

In the post that has since amassed over 50 million views, Kate is seen with a giant welt on her forehead, some commenters speculating that it looked like a hematoma. The influencer is in tears, choking on her words.

Since Kate posted the video, more women have come forward about experiencing similar attacks, all taking place in New York City. Another TikTok creator, Mikayla Toninato, posted a similar video around the same time as Kate’s, immediately after being punched as well. She makes a call to all women of New York to be careful if they are on their phones and walking, as it seemed at the time of her and Kate’s videos that this was the connection between victims:

“I don’t know if this is like, a thing that’s going around, but I guess if you’re in New York right now and you’re walking while looking at your phone maybe don’t do that. Maybe head on a swivel,” said Toninato.

Since more women came forward online and investigations have been done, it seems that walking and being on the phone at the same time did not actually influence whether a woman in New York could get punched, and that the attacks were fully random. The only relation between the victims is that they are all women. Regarding whom is responsible for these attacks, NBC News reported on March 30, that at least three men have been arrested in connection to individual assaults.

Despite rumors going around online speculating whether the responsible party is either a ‘serial puncher’ or a ‘network of incels’ (men that are angry at women because they are unable to get a girlfriend, essentially), it seems that the men do not have any connections to each other, and the first attack started a trend within the city.

While these theories are interesting to ponder, there is one specific man that stands out from the others arrested because of his political background and outlandish social media presence.

Skiboky Stora (@skiboky_stora on Instagram) was arrested on March 27 and faces assault and harassment charges for the attack against Kate, although his social media is currently active. Stora has a history of criminal activity, being arrested this past December for other alleged assault according to CBS News, as well as being somewhat known for his failed attempts at holding local political offices in New York City and being socially deviant online.

Stora’s social media is filled with videos of him self-campaigning under ‘The Freedom Party 2024,’ along with the claim that he is Marcus Garvey’s grandson. While there is no verified truth behind this claim of being related to the controversial political figure of the early 1900’s, it makes sense for the rest of Stora’s online persona as a seemingly deranged grown man. A brief look at his Instagram alone will show multiple videos of him recording police officers, as well as random women in New York.

As quick as TikTok trends come and go, this too shall pass. Especially now that there have been arrests made for some of the attacks against the women, the internet will soon move on to the next hot topic, giving this one a fate of being in a ‘2024 Recap’ video nine months from now. Even though the internet may forget, I thought it was still important to bring up as a women’s issues column topic because everyday women around the world are faced with new as well as age-old challenges specific to their gender. If you think this sounds dramatic, the idea that women must deal with a separate set of problems because of their gender, I suggest that you examine your own prejudices and taught contempt towards the female gender and get over it.

So, with all the happenings in New York this past month involving women’s faces and men’s fists, I present this question to the culture: Can women have anything? Like, genuinely, sincerely and from the bottommost pit of my heart, can men who feel the need to physically assault women please go to therapy, or at least pretend they are grown adults and not 5-year-olds that were told the word “no” for the first time? Do we have to get in a circle holding hands and make up a rhyme about why keeping our hands to ourselves is important for women to be respected?

☆ Originally Published April 16th, 2024

[bjornthorsson20]

As Long as You're by My Side

Ron Weasley was absolutely not having the evening he had planned — why did that sound familiar? He was currently stuck at a party where he didn't feel comfortable at all, and so bored that his brain had turned to mud. He was sitting alone at a table on the back, far away from everyone, sipping on some whiskey — a drink that didn't taste nearly as good as regular firewhiskey.

The suit Hermione had picked for him was starting to feel three sizes too small and he was pretty sure his tie was literally trying to strangle him. He was still assessing his surroundings, pondering how he could sneak out the back, taking Hermione with him so they could go back home and have some actual fun for tonight.

He had strategically positioned himself so she was in his line of sight at all times. At that moment, her back was facing him as she engaged in conversation with people who Ron guessed to be some aunt and uncle. He was content just staying in his corner, silently watching her from the distance. Nobody was paying him any mind, anyway. In fact, he was pretty sure they weren’t even aware of his existence. He could probably dress up in a panda costume or in a bathrobe and stroll around, and they wouldn’t bat an eye. Or maybe a banana costume; or a cowboy; or an astron-

He snapped himself out of his ramblings before he got carried away and started seriously considering following through with it. Instead, his eyes focused again on Hermione, who was now struggling to stop the reason they were here tonight from pulling her hair out.

Rose Granger-Weasley was six months old, having been born August of last year, on the 25th. The day she came into this world had been simultaneously the most nerve-wracking and rewarding one of his life. He chuckled, remembering the way Hermione kept apologizing for all the foul things she had said to him during the whole process and for almost breaking his hand. She had felt awful, even when he’d assured her multiple times that it was just fine, and he’d gladly take a broken hand if it’d mean having that perfect little bundle of ginger hair and pale skin nestled in his arms. When Rose opened her eyes for the first time, and he saw how beautiful they were — the most beautiful he’d ever seen — and how they were the same color as her mother’s, a tear trailed down his cheek. And when she finally looked at him and let out a little toothless smile, he couldn’t stop the overflowing joy that coursed through his body, making him hold her gently closer as he let the tears fall freely, all the while Hermione watched them both with her own watery smile.

Soon after, he’d had to hand Rose over to the rest of the family that were fighting for an armful of the Weasley girl. Mum had been the biggest emotional mess — to no one’s surprise — bawling everytime she looked at the baby. Dad and all of his brothers had congratulated him with several pats on the back of varying force.

“This time I’ll surely be the favorite uncle,” George told him, and at the mention of the word “uncle”, Ron’s thoughts immediately went to Fred. He could see in his brother’s eyes that he was thinking the same, but they both found comfort knowing that, if Fred was watching them, he was probably having a laugh at Ron’s new fatherhood situation, thinking he was a fool for settling down. The git.

Harry and Ginny had brought James and Albus with them, James instantly liking the newborn, with Rose’s response being to grab his hair and not let go of it until Ginny intervened; Ron had to suppress a chuckle. Good girl, Rosie. Like father, like daughter.

Once the new family had gone home, George happily let Ron take an extended leave for as long as he deemed suitable, so he could focus on the newborn. The shop was doing better than ever thanks to Ron’s business tactics and George’s renewed sense of creativity for all sorts of products. But thanks to Lee’s and Verity’s help, Ron could step away for some time without issue.

Over the next couple of months, many friends came to see little Rosie and congratulate them on this next chapter of their lives. Then, one day Hermione received a call from one of her cousins, inviting her to her wedding. Hermione had tried to explain to her that with the new baby girl she would be too busy to attend, but it had backfired when her cousin let out a screech of excitement — that sounded very much like a hippogriff on fire, Ron thought — saying that Hermione had to bring the girl so the family could meet her.

And that was how they got themselves into a muggle wedding reception. Hermione had been happily catching up with all of the relatives she hadn’t seen since the pre-Hogwarts days, letting them fawn over their lovely baby girl. If this had been years ago, Ron would be terrified to be in the muggle world, afraid of being just one step away from screwing everything up by saying the wrong thing. But, after years of Auror missions and visits to his in-laws, he just found himself disinterested with everything, hoping that Hermione would come soon to tell him they could go home.

Finishing his drink, he saw Hermione turn to him and give him a tired smile, as the people she was talking to turned as well and left. He stood up, striding over to her in three long steps, before taking Rose from her arms and giving her a kiss on the temple.

“Shall we go?” he asked, already sensing that she was as sick of this whole thing as he was.

She bit her lip nervously, glancing over to the newlyweds’ table. “I told her we would stay until the cake was served,” she half-whispered, stifling a yawn as her face fell into a grimace, perhaps thinking he would be mad at her for prolonging their stay here.

Ron silently looked at her and their daughter, and he couldn’t help but smile in that silly way he did whenever he was overwhelmed with love for them.

“Hermione, as long as you’re by my side, both of you, I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. I’ve told you, as much as I may be content just by myself, it’s only when I’m with you that I am truly happy. With you I feel loved.”

Hermione’s bottom lip quivered, as she quickly hugged her husband, hiding her face on his shoulder. “There are no words to describe you, Ron Weasley,” she sobbed.

“I could say the same, love. Have I ever told you that I love you?”

“Only about a million times already,” she chuckled.

“Well, make it a million and one, then,” he said, knowing how much she loved when he found a way to tell her that in an indirect way.

“I love you too. Both of you,” she tightened her hold on him as she spoke.

They stood there, holding each other close. Ron realised in that very moment, that no matter where he went, he didn’t care if he didn’t feel welcomed. He would be happy as long as the two people he loved the most would be right there with him. Always.

[forzalando]

The Perfect Arrangement | George Weasley | Pt. 1

Pairing: George Weasley x F!Reader AU: Bridgerton!AU Word Count: 2.1k Warnings: Bridgerton spoilers, mentions of alcohol

Summary: As a woman in the early 19th century, you’ve been told all your life that marriage should be your ultimate goal, however, you do not share that sentiment. When the insufferable George Weasley devises a plan that may solve your problems, how can you say no?

A/N: hi friends! this will be a multipart (probably 3-4 parts) George fic inspired by Bridgerton. i’m so excited for it and i hope you all are too :) thank you for reading!

The start of the social season had been, as you had expected, the topic of conversation around the ton for the past few weeks. It was impossible to go anywhere without hearing whispers of who would snag an engagement in the next few months.

Particularly, people had been interested in who the Queen would declare the “diamond of the season”. Your mother was positively convinced it would be you, but you had other plans in mind for your life other than parties and dresses and loveless marriage. However, when the Queen took one look upon your face, she quickly declared you incomparable, as she had done the same for Daphne Bridgerton, now the Duchess, a few years prior, and your fate was sealed.

As a member of the distinguished and esteemed Y/L/N family, and as the eldest daughter, you had a trivial, yet necessary and important role to play, even if you longed to free yourself from it. Your mother and father, as wonderful as they might be, had high expectations for you, and you would not and could not let them down.

Your mother fluffed your hair and primped your dress in preparation of the Danbury Ball, admiring you fondly and gushing about how beautiful you looked.

“Maybe your luck will be as wonderful as the Duchess, her love match was indeed unprecedented but oh so joyous. Do you think your fortune might align with hers, dear?”

“Mama,” you sighed. “I have no interest in a life like the Duchess’s. All the parties, teas, and properness. Besides, there isn’t another Duke for me to marry.”

“I did not mean that you would have to marry a Duke to share her fate; only that you may marry for love.”

You huffed as you turned away from the mirror. In truth, you had no interest in marrying for love, or marrying at all for that matter, but the duty of an eldest daughter was set in stone.

All too soon, you arrived at the Lady Danbury’s spectacular first ball of the season; the sea of gowns and tailored coats causing a queasy feeling to settle in your stomach, and you wished with all your might that anything at all would ruin the festivities.

A glass of champagne was placed in your grasp and you let your eyes wander around the room; Lady Eloise Bridgerton, a close friend of yours, donned a similar look on her face though her mother enthusiastically tried to get her to waltz across the dance floor.

Glancing to your left, you noticed Lord Farley, a rather grotesque older man, eyeing you up and down; his beady eyes causing the queasy feeling to return and for your feet to take off in what could almost be considered a sprint.

When he was no longer in your line of sight, you began to slow down your gait, but a shoulder roughly bumped into yours and an unattractive yelp escaped your lips.

The unmistakable chuckle that followed your outburst made you groan due to your detestation of the man you knew you had bumped into.

Lord George Weasley; a man, nay, a boy, with hair of fire and a wit to match. You had known him for years as you were the same age and his sister Ginevra was the best of friends with your younger sister.

“I want to believe, Miss Y/L/N, that you would not take such drastic measures to capture my attention, but I must say I am flattered nonetheless,” George teased, his hand reaching out to steady you as you recovered from the collision.

“Mr. Weasley, I believe you to know me better than that,” you spoke with gritted teeth as you swatted his hand away. “Besides, there are plenty of young women here that would kiss the ground you walk on. Might you bother them instead?”

“Ah, but where is the fun in that? I’ve noticed that you still have room on your dance card?”

“I always have room left on my dance card.”

You tried to step around George and escape his company, but his impossible height made it so easy for him to evade your attempts.

“Is that by choice or because you’re just so pleasant to spend time with?” he inquired with a smirk.

“Suppose a bit of both. Now, if you would be so kind, I’m quite parched and would love another glass of champagne.”

“Perfect, I shall accompany you.”

George Weasley, you surmised very early on, was nothing but a flirt. You wouldn’t go so far as to call him a rake, because as far as you knew he was an honorable man, but he was also most intolerable with his boyish charm, sense of humor, beautiful eyes…

Yes, you were quite sure that he was entirely intolerable.

“Have you told your mother you have no interest in procuring a husband, yet?” he mused, breaking you out of your trance as he carefully handed you a glass of champagne.

“Don’t call it procuring as if it’s a transaction. And no, I haven’t. Do you think I’d be standing here alive if I had?”

“Good point,” George hummed as his eyes surveyed the room, no doubt searching for the next woman so unlucky enough to be graced with his presence.

“How is your family?” you asked as you sipped on your flute of bubbling liquid.

“They’re doing well, thank you for asking. Work has been a bit hard on Dad but – ”

Before George could finish, a man approached you and bowed; taking the hand not holding the champagne flute and pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

“Miss Y/L/N, would you like to join me for a dance?”

You noticed George looking on angrily at the sight before him, probably because his ego couldn’t take the interruption.

“I’m flattered, Lord Rainier? I believe?” When you received no objections, you continued. “As I was saying, I’m flattered by your offer but I simply must decline. I am feeling a bit ill and all that spinning might make me sick.”

“Yes, yes, of course, Miss Y/L/N. Perhaps another time?”

You gave him a small, soft smile and let out a sigh of relief when he walked away. Turning back to George, you urged him to continue. While you held him in contempt, or so you told yourself, you did enjoy his family as they were all simply lovely.

“You were saying, George?”

“Right, work has been a bit hard on Dad, after his accident a few months ago. He’s been doing better but Charlie had to take a break from his travels to come home and help out since he’s the eldest. Fred and Angelina are expecting again, if you haven’t heard. They’re hoping for a girl this time.”

“Maybe if you were more like your brother you’d be married and having children by now,” you teased.

He gasped and clutched his hand over his heart, drawing the attention of anyone near.

“You wound me, Y/N.”

Much to your dismay, you laughed at his actions, devastated that you gave him the satisfaction of knowing he was entertaining you. However, the moment was short lived as another man interrupted your conversation.

“Miss Y/N, I must say you are looking exquisite this evening. It would be a shame for your dress not to take a twirl on the dance floor. Might I accompany you?”

You tried not to groan when you noticed a line forming behind the man currently asking for a dance.

“Actually, Lord Beverly, I’m feeling a bit warm. I was just about to go outside for some fresh air.”

“I shall accompany you, then.”

“Without a chaperone? Goodness, no, please find another young lady to dance with. There are certainly many that would be delighted at the chance.”

You looked around Lord Beverly to see at least four other men waiting for their chance to ask you for a dance, and the thought of making up more excuses made your head spin. You graciously bid Lord Beverly a good evening, and turned on your heel towards the nearest exit.

In your haste, you did not notice George following you into the gardens.

“Well, you sure like to let them down easy,” he joked.

“George!” you cried. “We can’t be seen alone, are you daft? Trying to ruin me and my family?”

“Calm yourself, my Mother is just right there.”

You looked a bit to George’s left and saw his wonderful mother keeping a careful eye on the two of you, graciously leaving the attention of her husband to ensure that none would suspect foolery between you and George.

“As I was saying, it’s awfully obvious that you do not want any man to court you. Your mother will realize well and soon enough of your…aversion to marriage.”

“The only reason you know that is because you eavesdropped on a conversation I had with Eloise. But yes, I have no desire to marry, and I’m quite certain I never will. I’ll have to fight off suitors and think of a million excuses until I’m considered a spinster and men no longer want me.”

Silence enveloped you both as a tear slid down your cheek. You hastily wiped it away, hoping that George hadn’t seen, but of course, you were not so lucky.

“Is the idea of marriage really that upsetting to you, Y/N?”

“All those men, all they want is a woman to wear on their arm and to give them children. That’s what a woman’s life is in marriage. A husband doesn’t care about his wife’s passions, desires, intellect, among other things, and I can’t bring myself to entertain the idea of a life that has no room for my happiness.”

George was quiet; pondering your response and your feelings, when he was suddenly struck with the most brilliant of ideas.

You see, Mr. George Weasley was in love with Miss Y/N Y/L/N, has been for several years in fact. He couldn’t tell you exactly when or why, but he knew that the fluttering in his chest and the way his whole world became brighter when she entered a room meant that Y/N was more than just someone to engage in friendly banter with.

“I’ve thought of an idea,” George muttered, piquing your interest.

“Whatever might it be, Mr. Weasley?”

“Your…situation, can only go away if men were to believe you were taken, correct?”

“Yes, I suppose, only I can’t fool them into thinking that. It would become quite suspicious when I’m seen alone everywhere. And, there’s no way I could ever fool my parents.”

“Except you wouldn’t be alone, you’d have me!”

“I don’t believe I’m following your idea, George.”

“Marry me.”

You choked and sputtered on your own spit, unable to take a breath through your coughs and gasps. George’s hands flew to your shoulders to steady you, helping you to breathe easier and calm yourself down.

“George, you must be joking,” you said quietly.

“I am as deadly serious as I could ever be. Not a real marriage, of course. Real in every sense of the word in terms of legality, but not real as in, well, us together. I’ll spend this social season courting you, and at the end of the season I’ll propose. We’ll get married in a few months’ time, and then we can travel the world, doing whatever our hearts desire.”

“Why on earth would you want to marry me?”

“It’s quite simple. You need to get the eligible bachelors of the ton to leave you alone and you never want to marry because your husband would restrict your freedoms. I, as your husband, wouldn’t dare. You’re not entirely awful, I suppose there are far worse people to spend my life with, even if you utterly despise me, and marriage, real marriage, isn’t something I want either.”

You looked at him quizzically, searching for signs that he’d had far too much champagne or had gone completely mad in the head, but he looked right as rain, and your mind was spinning.

“I find it hard to believe you do not want to marry, after all the times you’ve said you cannot wait to marry the woman you love.”

“Honestly, the woman I love is….unattainable, I’ll put it that way. I won’t ever love anyone but her. I’m also waiting for an answer, it’s not every day you have to have a discussion after a proposal.”

“You’re sure this will work, Mr. Weasley?”

“How hard can it be to pretend to be in love with a woman as beautiful as you?”

“I always knew you were a flirt, but God, do you lay it on thick.”

George looked at you expectantly, almost a glimmer of hope is his eye, but as quickly as you thought you’d noticed it, he looked away.

“My answer is yes, George. Let’s fool the ton, our families, court, get married, and then travel the world platonically.”

“That sounds like the perfect arrangement, darling.”

@theweasleyslut @vivacesole @weasleyclaw @nuttytani-reblogs @theweasleysredhair @hufflepuffbaby9 @theboywhocriedlupin @swellwriting @fortisfiliae @thoseofgreatambition @woakiees @wildfire-whizbangs @gcdric

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[yuu-says]

cries this all started because of zhongli’s tattoos- how did i end up with an almost fully structured royalty au for zhongli and xiao pLEASE IM PERISHING 😭😭 might mess around and write a continuation of this one day umu we shall see uwu i say like i don’t have a draft already written oops-

As always, i’ll be cross-posting to my ao3 acc! uwu

Pairing : Zhongli/Reader

Word count : 1002

Summary : In the confines of his room, atop the comforts of his bed, Zhongli indulges himself in the warmth of another - arms wound around their waist as their hands roamed his back, tracing the patterns etched into his skin as he melts into the embrace. He wondered if he could ever experience such a thing again.

Zhongli sighed in content as he felt fingers run across his back, lightly tracing the patterns etched on his skin as he buried his face in the crook of their neck. He inhaled deeply, the scent of soap and herbs filling his senses as their hair lightly tickled his face. The hands stuttered, the person in his arms tensing considerably as their face flushed even further.

When _______ was tasked with looking over the prince’s wounds some weeks ago, they hadn’t expected him to be so… affectionate? Touchy? Demanding…? With them. Royals rarely mixed with the common blood afterall. And certainly not in the way that _____ was now- with their knees planted on either side of the prince, arms wrapped around their midsection to keep them in their place; in his lap, where he felt they belonged.

Flustered, the (h/c) tried to pull back - trembling hands grazing over his skin before it settled lightly on his shoulders. There was a groan of discontent from the man as they pushed him away, their heart pounding a million miles a minute as his amber gold eyes lazily look up at him. His grip on their waist tightened and _____ just about felt their throat constricting due to the action.

“Y-Your highness, I-” their eyes widened as Zhongli tilted his head, the same barely readable expression settling on his face as he patiently waited for them to speak. Meanwhile, ______ was having the time of their life. Dying. They averted their eyes away from him but found they didn’t know where to look - the man was naked from the waist-up afterall!

I was trained to upkeep the castle, not for!! this!!

The prince watched their gaze flitter and flicker about - once settling on his chest before quickly roaming around the room again. They took great care to avoid meeting his eyes - quickly averting their gaze if they so happened to meet his and, finally, they settled upon staring out the nearby window. He watched their jaw tightening as they contemplated their next move, the ever-present flush of their cheeks making him want to press his lips against their skin.

He knew it wasn’t his place.

With the power imbalance between the two, it would be wholly unfair to them if he were to exert his dominance as such.

But he couldn’t help it.

A silent gasp tore itself from their throat as the prince did what he sought to do - pressing his lips on the underside of their jaw as his hands tightened around them. He knew, with his injuries healing, it would only be a matter of time before the young (h/c) was to go about their daily tasks once more; them falling into a routine where Zhongli would seldom see them again.

Just like before.

“M-My prince…!” they all but squeaked, the flush of their cheeks gaining a darker shade as they leaned back - trying to create space between the two without falling off the prince’s lap. They covered the place his lips had touched, their hands visibly trembling at the sudden action.

Cute.

“I… I don’t think it’s appro-!… appropriate for you to be doing this, your highness…!” the words could barely leave their tongue as the (h/c) closed their eyes in embarrassment. Their head spun, trying to process the actions of the regal and silent prince; had he always been like this? None of the castle staff who had interacted with him had ever brought up such tales??? Of course, ______ had seen him during balls and social conducts and such- but those were acts reserved for people of similar standing were they not?!

As they were busy dying inside their brains, the black-haired prince simply stared at him - affection filling his gaze as he smiled softly. He pondered for a moment if he should get strike down again just so he can request his mother to let them be his caretaker again. She had taken it well the first time he’d requested it, maybe she wouldn’t be so suspicious of a second?

“Forgive me,” he chuckled in that deep soothing baritone of his, his thumb drawing patterns on the small of their back as he rested his forehead against their shoulder. He could feel himself trembling slightly at the proximity, a contact he had longed for ever since they had caught his attention all those years ago.

He just didn’t expect his curiousity to lead to affection. And then to deep love.

“If it does not trouble you, please let me stay like this for a while longer. It would please me… if you could humour this one request,” he was so at peace - so, so at peace… and who was ______ to say no? They watched silently as he breathed deeply, shoulders falling as he fell into a state of relaxation with them in his arms.

For a moment, they feared he would hear their heart - beating erratically and painfully against the cage of their chest; unaware that his heart was reacting exactly the same.

Zhongli shuddered, biting back a whimper as he felt their hands grazing across his back once more - hesitant fingers lightly trailing against the patterns on his upper body as another settled upon his shoulder. That, he gripped, lifting his head so that he may make eye contact with them once more as he guided their hand to his cheek, lips brushing against the inside of their palm as he looked at them affectionately. He enjoyed the flush of their cheeks once more, drinking in their appearance and etching it into memory - to remain in his heart until the day he breathed his last.

“Thank you, my gem,”

[ghostlywritten]

If Only I Had Stayed In The Shadows - Chapter Eleven

James Potter x OC

Words: 3,6k

Prologue  Chapter One   Chapter Two  Chapter Three  Chapter Four  Chapter Five  Chapter Six  Chapter Seven  Chapter Eight  Chapter Nine  Chapter Ten

It was a peaceful Saturday, sunny with a light breeze rushing over the Hogwarts grounds. I was sitting against the trunk of a tree close to the lake, enjoying the rays of sunshine on my skin as I lazily skimmed the pages of my Potions book with tired eyes. The end of the year exam for Potions was coming up in two weeks and there was rarely a Sixth Year seen without this book in hand, either studying during breakfast, lunch and dinner or in the library inbetween free periods and after classes. Usually I would be among them, ripping the last few good strands of my hair in stress but today I felt unbelievably lazy, feeling too heavy and tired to do anything. 'Stupid period,' I thought grumpily, tilting my head up to the sky as if the sun could help me feel better. Which it did, until-

"Oi, Cec!" Sirius called out, jogging up towards where I was sat, interrupting the peaceful silence. I briefly thought back on the last time he had interrupted something several days ago and felt myself go red once again.

"Hey Sirius, what's up?" I greeted him, closing my book. He glanced down at it, grimacing. "Potions, eh? What a waste of time."

"Don't you need it to become an Auror?" I asked him amused and he simply waved me off. "Yeah, whatever. You got some time? I wanted to show you something."

I raised an eyebrow. "And what is that exactly?"

"Just come and see?" he nudged my leg with his foot, impatiently.

"The last time you wanted me to see something, a mass of dungbombs exploded on me," I recalled, scrunching my nose. The smell wouldn't get off for a week.

Sirius burst out in laughter, "Merlin, I completely forgot about that! What a brilliant idea!"

"Sure, you call it brilliant," I muttered to myself.

"Oh come on. It was a little fun, admit it," he grinned cheekily and I simply rolled my eyes at him. "You are not really doing yourself a favour right now if you still wanted to show me something."

"Yes, right!" he snapped back to attention, clearing his throat, "I wanna show you something. In fact, it's something really cool that could be useful for you as well."

"And why would you want to show it to me?" I asked, still suspicious.

"Because you're my friend and I wanna share my joy with you?!" As much as the thought of Sirius Black calling me his friend warmed my heart, who - despite his open and social character - rarely considered anyone a friend besides his tight inner circle, I couldn't help but think what a good strategy it would be to trick me.

Sirius sighed, giving in at my silence, "And maybe I want to know your opinion on something, too."

"There is the truth," I said, grinning widely as he gave me an annoyed look. Kneeling down, he tried to widen his eyes in a puppy look, "Are you going to come now?"

I cringed, "Alright, but don't try that look on me again." I got up swiftly, brushing a few strands of grass off my skirt as Sirius sprang up as well with a fist pump in the air. "It siriusly weirded me out."

"Really? Usually it works on the ladies," he pondered before giving me devilish smile, "Don't try to deny it. It did get you to come with me."

"Sure, it did, Sirius," I said, patting his head like a dog, "Sure it did."

We headed into the castle and I prodded him with questions of where we were going the entire way up to the seventh floor but the black-haired boy wouldn't budge until we reached a deserted hallway. I could safely I had never been in this hallway before, seeing as there was nothing but a weird tapestry of a man trying to teach trolls ballet and a vase in a way too big size to be considered normal across from it. And a window.

"So...it's a hallway," I concluded slowly, watching as Sirius traipsed around back and forth, his face set deep in concentration, "You wanted to show me a hallway."

Sirius snorted, stopping his movements as the wall behind was starting to ripple. My eyes widened in astonishment as a door materialised itself where stone had previously been. "No, I wanted to show you this," Sirius replied, smirking at my comically shocked expression. He went to the door, opening it. "My lady." He bowed formally, his smirk giving space for an uptight look and I snorted but eagerly walked over and through the door, curious on what would be behind it. And my jaw promptly dropped down once more.

Inside was a small, cozy room. The walls were completely covered in shelves filled to the brim with books and the floor adorned a thick carpet in a rich burgundy colour with intricate, golden-coloured details woven in. A large fireplace was carved inbetween the shelves in the wall across the door, an inviting fire crackling in it with two, dark green armchairs and a silver side table in front of it.

"Wow," was all I could say, letting Sirius push me inside and staring open-mouthed up at the walls, "This must be heaven for all the bookworms out there."

"Yeah? I thought it would be," Sirius said, a nervous edge on his tone. It broke me out of my stupor and I immediately bombarded him with questions, "How the hell did you find this place? Is this a mini library for nerds? In that case, how come you of all people have found it? And why didn't you show me this earlier, this was a way better place to hide from all the gossiping people than the actual library," I whined at the end. Sirius held up his hands in a placating manner, "Calm down, woman. Take a seat and we shall talk about my awesomeness that made me find this place."

I took the right armchair, relishing in how I sunk a bit into the leather and briefly thought about taking a nap right then and there.

"Chocolate?" Sirius offered, having taken out a bar from his bag. I nodded, catching the half he threw my way and munching on a piece.

"So first of, this place is super duper secret," Sirius started, holding up a finger, "No one that I know of knows about this place besides you now."

"What an honor," I said and it wasn't even sarcasm.

The boy grinned, making himself more comfortable. "As to how I found this place; It was a few years ago where my mates and I had a...a little dispute and weren't on talking terms."

"You guys not talking to each other?" I rose an eyebrow, "That sounds nearly impossible."

"Right?" Sirius grinned, but I could see an underlined pain in his eyes, "However, we did have a fight but got over it." He brushed it off, taking a bite of his chocolate. I cringed, "Can't you break off the pieces like every other sane person?" He looked down at his half of the bar before toothily taking another bite. "Why? Does it bother you?"

"Very."

"Good."

"Ugh, go on."

"Yeah, so anyway. During my dispute with the mates I was very much on my own in setting up pranks and stuff. One night, when I was out after curfew, Filch's blasted cat found me. I didn't have the Invisibility Cloak with me so I had to make a run for it, because wherever the cat is, our dear caretaker is close by as well. I got into this hallway, which was obviously a dead end and whilst I was pacing around thinking about where to hide, this mysterious door suddenly appeared on the blank wall just like it had right now."

"And it brought you to this library?"

"No, it was just a bathroom since I also had to pee very badly." I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion, looking around the room. "How-"

"How is that possible, you ask? Well dear, I was wondering that, too because as soon as I got back out, the door disappeard and I couldn't get back in. So the next day, after I successfully escaped Filch and his cat, I went to this hallway and stood in front of this particular blank wall once more, trying to get back into the bathroom. Only, it wouldn't work. I tried everything, recalling every step I made that made the door appear, thinking I need to find this secret place and boom! The door appeared again!" he threw his arms up in emphasis and I would have laughed at his dramatic antics if I hadn't been so intrigued. No one could say Sirius wasn't a good storyteller. "But, it wasn't the bathroom I had seen last time. It was a much bigger room with millions of things scattered and piled up everywhere."

"What?" I asked, flabbergasted, "The room changed?!"

"The room changed!" he exclaimed, pointing a finger at me with a proud look, "It's a wish room! A room that can transfigure itself in whatever you need it to be." I dropped back against the chair in shock. "That...is...bloody brilliant!" I breathed out, staring once more around the room in amazment.

"It bloody is, right?" Sirius agreed giddily.

"So, if I wanted a place to hide-"

"You get your personal hiding place."

"And if I want a Quidditch field to practice on whilst the other teams are occupying the field outside-"

"You get your personal Quidditch field."

"And if I wanted my own sleeping space to get away from my snoring roommates-"

"You get your own sleeping space to get away from your snoring roomates, when you tell me who it is!"

"This is bloody awesome, Sirius! And no, I won't tell you!"

"Fine, but yes! It bloody is!" I laughed in excitement, thinking about all the great things that this room could be used for. "How come no one knows about this place? James would use it everyday for practicing Quidditch if he knew about it!" My face fell in thought, "Perhaps we shouldn't tell him then. He would train us dead."

Sirius' face also morphed into a somber look. "Yeah, I don't really want him to know or anyone else." I looked him over in surprise, "How come you haven't told him or the others about it? I thought you told each other everything?"

The boy sighed heavily, running a hand through his lucious black hair as he stared into the fire, "I told you, we had a dispute when I discovered the place. I always came here when I needed a bit time for myself to reflect on everything...it was kind of my safe space and also a good sleeping place when the dorm got too suffocating." I bit my lip, seeing the sad expression on his face and wondered just what had been so bad to cause such a bad fight between them. "I always planned to tell them if we were to ever become close again and when we did, it kind of slipped my mind with all the other things that came up. It happened around Fifth Year." I nodded, musing that he probably meant the time he ran away from home. Sirius sighed heavily, "So far, I haven't told them yet because I still sometimes use it as my safe space."

"That's good. You don't need to tell them everything because you are best friends," I said when he almost looked guilty at the prospect of hiding this from his mates.

He looked at me with an almost desperate expression, "Will you not tell anyone about this, please? I don't know how many can occupy this place at the same time since I couldn't test it out yet. And if the mates find out they will know to always look here. And sometimes, I just wanna be alone. You know, when I have to think about stuff they wouldn't understand..."

"It's okay, Sirius," I cut him off with a light laugh and he stared at me with an almost pout, "I won't tell anyone. Of course, I won't if you don't want me to."

He deflated with a relieved sigh before his toothy grin came back up, "I knew I could trust you!" I felt myself go red a bit at this, feeling warmth that he would trust me enough with something he wouldn't even tell his best friends. Come to think of it...

"But why would you tell me about this place anyways?" I wondered, "If you haven't even told James about it...?"

Sirius nodded. "I know, it's confusing. It's just that they - especially James - don't really understand the concept of personal space." I coughed to cover up a laugh, knowing full well what he meant. "I mean, Remus and Peter would actually leave me to myself if I were to ask them but James? Oof, James would immediately cling onto you and ask you what's wrong until you give in."

"I can imagine that all too well," I agreed.

"Right. And don't get me wrong, I love that and I myself am like that, too sometimes."

"Probably all the time."

"Shut it. So, that's why I'm still a bit reluctant to tell them. You, however, know when to drop a topic I don't wanna talk about. You give me the space that I sometimes need from a friend," he stated, growing more serious, "...and you know a lot more about me and a certain brother of mine than the others do." It dawned on me where this conversation was going and my eyes flickered over all the books once more. "I can't really tell the others about Regulus anymore. Ever since I've run away, the others think that the chapter with my family is forever closed and done with. That I'm done with my family. James especially holds quite a grudge against Reggie ever since I told them he said I wasn't his brother anymore. He is determined to fill up that space," Sirius chuckled to himself, "I love that guy." I resisted the urge to scream 'Me, too!'. His smile faded. "I can't give up on Reggie though. Never Reggie. I could never leave him behind, even if I kind of did...," he trailed off, his eyes glassed over as if he were somewhere else with his mind.

"You are trying to rekindle your relationship with him," I decided to speak up when his expression got too pained, assuming he was reliving a bad memory. He broke out of it, shaking his head slightly.

"I am, yes. And this is why we are here." Sirius gestured around the room, "This is my 104th attempt at becoming close to my little brother again. What do you think?"

"You gonna show him this place?"

"Yeah. I figured if we were to spend some time here, undisturbed and away from all the eyes that are preventing Reg from talking to me, we would eventually become close again. And maybe - just maybe - I can finally get him out of our blasted childhood place."

"Well..., I believe this is the perfect place for a bookworm for sure."

Sirius smiled widely, "Then Reggie is going to love it!"

I smiled back at him, "I think, he would love it even if this room turned into that bathroom that you had seen during your first time here." Sirius barked a laugh, "He would be so confused!"

"You might wanna add some snacks though when you meet up with him here. And some tea," I mused, "To make sure you don't get too hungry and have to cut it short."

"Ah, yeah I will have to get that from the kitchen. The room can't produce food." I pouted, "That's too bad." Sirius grinned before it softened into an uncertain smile, "And you really think he is going to like it?"

"With the amount of times we have stalked him in the library compared to any other place, we can safely assume that he feels very comfortable around books at least."

"We weren't stalking! Stop calling it like that!" Sirius complained, cringing. I snickered into my piece of chocolate. The boy relaxed into his seat, shooting me another smile, "Thanks for your help, Cec. I really appreciate it."

I gulped down the chocolate, leaning back against the armchair as well, "You are very welcome, Sirius. When are you going to show him this place?"

Sirius shrugged, trying and failing to appear nonchalant. "Maybe tonight."

I gave him a sympathetic smile. "Good luck. I'm sure it will go well."

"Has anybody seen Padfoot anywhere?" James asked later that night as we lounged around the fireplace in our common room. I smiled a little when everyone declined.

It was the next Friday when the last Quidditch game of the year rolled up: Slythering vs. Hufflepuff. Nearly everyone was there, the last game being the most popular of all since it would determine, who would become first place (either Slytherin or Gryffindor) and who would win third place (Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw). I watched the teams come out of the locker rooms, James booing loudly whilst the members in green were announced by the commentator. I noticed he was especially loud during the announcement of 'Regulus Black' and I nudged him a little. "BOOOO-uff!" Alright, maybe a little hard.

"Sorry, love," I said, rubbing his side soothingly as he complained noisily, "Someone bumped into me."

"S'alright," he mumbled with a pout, pulling me closer and glaring over my shoulder at the non-existent culprit. I shot a wink at Sirius, who was stood next to James, and he smiled gratefully.

"And the game begins! Mulciber has the Quaffle and immediately shoots towards to opponent's goals-!" The game continued with Quaffles and Bludgers being thrown/beaten back and forth between the teams. I watched with rampant attention as the goal difference never seemed to get too high, occasionally glancing at the Seekers to see if they had caught sight of the Snitch. Catching it seemed to be the only way to determine the winner.

"It's to 280 to 270 for Slytherin, ladies and gentlemen, and neither side is showing any sign of fatigue. It's a game of win and lose, of life and death- AND BLACK HAS SPOTTED THE SNITCH!" All eyes snapped towards the small seeker zooming towards the ground near the Hufflepuff's goals, a mere blurred image of green and brown as he flew down in a breakneck speed. I noticed everyone lean forward over the railing to see the exact moment he caught the Snitch, the Hufflepuff seeker being one second too late. "AND BLACK HAS CAUGHT THE SNITCH! SLYTHERIN WINS THE GAME AND THE CUP! OH MY MERLIN!"

The Slytherin stand broke out in an uproar, shooting green and silver lights into the sky as the teams touched down, the green-cladded members jumping on Regulus, who was holding up the Snitch clenched in his fist with a blinding smile. I noticed Sirius biting his lip hard to prevent a wide grin as his grey eyes twinkled with pride whilst James groaned in disappointment but proceeded to clap along with everyone else, knowing they had won fair and square. "Gonna bloody win against them next year," I heard him grumble under his breath and I squeezed his arm with mine as I clapped along, "Definitely." He smiled at me before his eyes flickered towards something over my head. I looked back forwards, sneaking a glance to my side to see Lily and Alice next to Marlene, who was next to me, a pair of green eyes looking in our direction.

My chest constricted once more.

"I'm going to have to schedule more practices," James spoke as we walked back up to the castle after the game, neither of us wanting to stay and see the Slytherins celebrate, no matter how well deserved it was. "Maybe I can even get everyone to train on their own during the summer holidays."

"That's a bit excessive, don't you think?" I remarked, arm hooked around his. All I wanted to do during the holidays was laze around before the N.E.W.T.s came up next year.

"What, you think the Slytherin captain doesn't force his team to?" James pointed out, "And it obviously worked. This way we don't need to get back into the routine after the holidays and can improve our teamwork faster rather than having to train our individual skills back into shape."

"But James, this is our last summer holiday ever. Next year will be our last year in Hogwarts," I pointed out.

"Next year will also be our last chance to impress any recruits that will be there during the last games," James replied and I thought back on the few foreign adults that had occupied some seats in the teacher's stands during this game. The messy-haired grabbed me by the waist, twirling me around as I squealed in surprise. "Think about it, getting recruited by the Chudley Cannons-"

"Montrose Magpies."

"-and becoming the best Chaser and Seeker the Chudley Cannons-"

"Montrose Magpies."

"-ever had in history." He led me down with grin, still holding onto my waist, "We would be the dreamteam." I gazed into his brown eyes that almost had a mahogany hue to it in the current light of the sunset. "Yeah, we probably would..."

"Definitely would!" he exclaimed and I wrapped my arms around his, burying my face in his chest as an uncontrollable smile almost made my cheeks hurt.

I was definitely whipped for this boy. Irrevocably.

Next Chapter

[natromanxoff]

19 - The Dynamic Duo V Montreux

Hello folks. I was sitting around twiddling my thumbs and I thought I would give the old hard drive a clean up, so before I dump a load of rubbish I thought I'd better answer these before I throw everything in the recycle bin. Let's start with a lady from New Jersey who goes by the name of Dorothy who gave me a very interesting offer for the next time I'm in New York. If you're reading this Dorothy, could you send Jacky your email address so I can reply to you. I've just opened up a "secret" Hotmail account so I can send replies without pestering the lovely Mrs Smith all the time, and to test it I went to the guestbook and picked a few names at random. Maybe I should reply to the irate drummer, but if I do that he'll just reply to me and the girls in the office will miss out on laughing at him as well. Staying with the skin bashers for a mo, Ron Hansen in Madison is a drummer, and said he liked my jokes and reckons Mr Irate uses three sticks, two in his hands and one up his arse (his words not mine). Would I be correct in saying your a Zep fan Ron? Today's question is, "What do you get if you cross a drummer with a roadie?" The answer is a stupid roadie.

Moving on, last time around I mentioned a drink which we consumed in Brazil, and the charming Sonia and Dina informed me it was called Caipirinha, and a pleasant little tipple it was to. Somewhere in Australia there is a lady called Karen who is listening to the Offspring CD non-stop, so I'm gonna have to try and answer her question as she has such great musical tastes, even though she wants to know the..........(flashing lights, fireworks, drum roll) Hoover Salesman Story. ARGHHHH. Its actually a very short tale, and I think it's quiet boring but it seems to have grown in stature over the years, and as always I'm gonna drag it out and start from the first skiing expedition that I ventured on with RT.

Having checked my trendy little biog mag, I reckon the year is 1980, and the dynamic duo are in Montreux putting the finishing touches to Fun in Space and we have a few days off before a tour starts in Zurich when Rog says, "Let's go skiing." He had skied a few times before and was ok at it, but I had never put a pair of skis on in my life. I said, "Lets go, but you ski and I'll just get pissed." He then went on about what a buzz it is and how I would love it, etc. As we were touring soon our American crew had to fly out, so I called up Jim Devenney and told him to come over a couple of days earlier cause we were gonna ski. Jim is a great skier and was on the first flight available and I picked him up at Geneva airport ready for some fun. That night we hit the town and have too many drinks and Rog goes off to bed semi early, while Jim and myself sat out on the jetty of Duckingham Palace with a ghetto blaster, Derek and Clive tapes, and a vat of wine singing disgusting songs at full blast, which must have echoed over to France. Suddenly we hear a French voice screaming at us and we have no idea what he was saying so we carried on goofing around, and the next thing I hear is a huge splash as Devenney falls in.

Let me assure you that a drunk trying to get a drunk out of Lake Geneva is not an easy task, but we succeed and head back to DP and retire to our rooms. I'd just got into bed when I hear a crash and go to investigate, only to find JD had gone in the wrong room and was trying to get into a baby's cot, and getting him out of there was harder than getting him of the lake.

Next day Roger, Dave Richards, his wife Collette, Jim and myself set off to Zermatt, and on arrival we stock up on skis, passes and other skiing paraphernalia (big words now!) Dinner, drinks and off to bed. Next morning we're up and ready to go, and thinking I'll never ski again after this I refuse to waste money on a ski suit, so I wear jeans. My second wrong move, the first was agreeing to go. The hotel owner wouldn't let us leave the hotel without first drinking a couple of Sambuccas, not my idea of a good breakfast, eggs, bacon, tea, toast and Italian liqueurs, but who are we to refuse. Next I've got to try and walk in those godamn boots, and we eventually arrive at the top of the Matterhorn.

The OK skiers, RT and Dave set off on their own, Collette begins a very slow trip down while JD tells me he'll stay and teach me. On go the skis, and down I go, flat on my arse. Up I get and I'm off, for all of about 2ft before I'm down again. This is not any fun. After a couple more tumbles my great mate Jim said, "If you're gonna f*** around I'm going." And thats the last I saw of him all day. Thanks pal. I'm standing there watching people ski and think, "It can't be that hard. If you stand like this, lean like that, you can ski." So I stand and lean in the correct positions and I'm away, screeching down a mountain with only one very small problem, I have no idea how to turn or stop, so as I'm flying past Collette, and she reckons I looked very worried, I yelled for some advice and all she said was, "DIVE." Sound advice, so thats what I do, and by now I'm getting wet. I wait for her and then we set off together, the blind leading the blind, with me diving at the slightest bit of speed or bend in the piste. A million years later we eventually reach the bottom of this awful slope and it's finally over. Wrong. Theres a T-bar to get on so we wait in line till it's our turn. You're supposed to put the bar just under your bum and it drags you up, but I'm 6ft and Collettes about 5ft 5in, so the bar was either in the middle of her back or around my knees, and no one told me not to sit on the f***ing thing and we bounced around for a while until we fell off. I'm now getting really pissed off with all this, "Get me a helicopter," I demanded from Collete. She told me they don't just send them, you have to be hurt. I replied with, "I'll break my f***ing arm but I've gotta get off this mountain." Realising I'm not getting a copter I light a ciggie and ponder.

We agree to split up and go with someone our own height, so I ended up with a great German guy who was really helpful. Once on the T-bar I can see that it goes way up and I would have to ski back down to base camp, and in case you've forgotten, I can't ski, so I said that I was gonna bail out, and jumped off. I then head of in a straight line to the cable car, skis on the shoulder and wading through 3ft of snow in a pair of very heavy and very cold jeans. What seemed like hours of wading I make civilisation and head to the bar for a triple strength coffee and a triple scotch while everyone gawked at me cause I looked like I had a shower fully clothed. Yeah, I wanna do this again.

Dinner that night was great fun for the others cause they got to take the piss out of me. Their day will come. The rest of the nights activities shall remain sealed away, but a good time was had by one and all. The tour went smoothly and I try and put Zermatt behind me, except Collette, still to this day, takes great delight in telling everyone about it, and everytime she says it she makes me look more and more pathetic.

The next winter appears and I'm at home and the phone rings, "CT, wanna go skiing?" To which my reply was nothing like, "Oh I'd love to you fabulous little drummer boy." I can't believe he talked me into it again, but this time we were gonna do things correctly and go to Aviemore in Scotland and take lessons, this was the saving factor in his plan. So once again we pile into the Range Rover and aim north. We split the driving (for a change) and had a good journey up through the snow covered mountains till we get to the resort. A usual night was on the cards, dinner, drinks and bed, then up bright and early for some lessons and a good day on the slopes. This time we've both got the correct outfits so we head off to where our little group of idiot skiers are. We're all standing in a line, with Rog and me at the end, and each person gets to snow-plough a few feet. These clowns have less idea than my first try, and it's also incredibly cold and we've now got icicles hanging off our hair. It's our turn and we both look like olympic champions, but the only thing wrong with getting it right the first time is that the instructor then turns his attentions back to the start of the line. Here I am once again standing on the top of a mountain, freezing cold with two 'things' stuck on the end of a pair of stupid boots, and I inform His Royal Highness that the next trip away involves sand and sun, no excuses, end of argument. RT agreed that this wasn't much fun and thought my idea worth considering.

We finally heard the two magic words, "Lunch Break." We're gone in search of some good HOT food and a nice beaujolais, and we found both. We also found that the hotel bar had an amazing selection of whisky, and we had to try as many as possible. We're now semi pissed and decide that as we're warm we might as well go back to this lesson even though we are very late, and the instructor looked at us and said, "Where have you two been?" Rog came back with "Trying lots of your wonderful scotch's." He was fine with that answer and we carried on trying to learn something, and would you believe by the end of the day I could actually turn and stop.

Back to the hotel for a nap before dinner. Over a very nice meal and a couple of little drinkettes we agree that it's far to cold here and we'll clear off the next day, so into the bar we go with our earlier mission of trying all the scotch's. We were sitting at a table chatting away and cracking jokes with each other and end up talking to the couple on the next table, swapping skiing stories, needless to say mine were very short, and having a bit of a laugh, when the woman said, "What do you two do for a living?" God knows why, but I said; "We're Hoover salesmen." At first they didn't believe us but we both started going on about the difference between domestic and industrial cleaners, uprights, backpack types, ones you pull along the floor. We went on about the different wattage, suction power, the amount of pressure on Axminsters and Wilton carpets, even a couple of car expressions like overhead this and thats. What the hell do we know about vacuum cleaners? But boy are we good at this. After about 30 mins of utter bullshit the subject finally changed and they wished us all the best with our door to door salesmanship and off they went to bed. We then had to reassure each other what we actually did for a living, had some more drinks and tried to work out how we knew so much about cleaners as both of us have spent most of our lives trying to stay well away from them. We spent the drive back to London having a good laugh about the one day we spent in a Scottish ski resort.

Well that's it folks, the story of a small company, R & C Taylor,..... Hoover Salesmen. I did learn to ski quite well, and whilst in Gstadd doing the Shove it album Spike flew out cause he fancied learning to ski, and the fool asked me to teach him. I wasn't much help because everytime he fell over I burst out laughing cause I kept seeing myself in Zermatt, and Spike looked just as worried and stupid as I did.

Before I go I noticed that Jacky had to get her boiler fixed and said for me not to make a comment, but little things like that spark me off and I remembered that when we were recording in the Townhouse Studios I had a little, no a big affair with the studio chef. Every three months Virgin would do a magazine for all their staff, written by all the heads of various departments, airlines, studios, video, shops, films, etc. and they would say what was going on with their particular section. Alan Douglas, who was chief engineer of all Virgin studios wrote who was recording where, and he wrote, "Queen are in studio 4, and Crystal, their main man is stoking the kitchen boiler." I thought that was hilarious, but Jane went ballistic. That's it for now.

Loadsa luv Crystal (Carpet cleaner to the stars)

[parkers-gal]

Hi! May I request an imagine where Tom meets an Indian who’s sort of on the path to be a paediatrician?? But she’s like, 3-4 years younger than him?? And like, both of them are attracted to each other n they sort of start dating??

Love your blog! I’ve read pretty much everything you write! Lots of love to you!! 💛💛

requests are open

wc: 1.5k

—

Growing up, you were always lost on what you would do with your life. You’d seen friends and family discover their passions, the very reason they live and exist.. Time and time again, you thought you came close to finding out your own, but each path was a dead end, each lead and false tip. 

That was, until you volunteered at a children’s hospital that one winter break your parents were away on business. A light flicker inside you, and you knew that was what you were meant to do. Leaving the hospital that day, you pulled up your browsers and stayed up in bed until three A.M., researching and reading about all the doctors that helped children. Perhaps it was your fire, burning so bright and passionately, that granted you access, that paved your path to college and a career for life. Or perhaps it was your heart, loving and nurturing and relentless. It never gave up when something it loved came into view. You knew deep down, in your gut, that it was a bit of both. 

But to you, this wasn’t a career. This wasn’t merely just a passion. It was your life for theirs. Your privilege, through the hardships and the struggles and the heaviest tears, it was your brain that was your privilege. But your heart held just as much responsibility as your mind did. 

Tom was no different, at that. Acting started as a job, it started as continuing his love for dance and theater. But as he grew, so did his heart. Acting wasn’t just a task of learning how to control one’s emotions. To him, it was a creative expression. It was perspective on life. It was living a life someone dreamed they could’ve had. And no, not as a celebrity, but as the characters. He often thought about how Peter Parker could have been a figment of Stan Lee’s imagination. That the small, nerdy Parker boy was a life Stan Lee wanted but never truly got. Tom pondered a lot of things, but he never once wished he could have another life. 

College is harsh. Relentless. It’s a true reality of life, and with the pressure of your parents to do well, you could only pray you would do well. You had been studying for weeks now, finals coming closer with every passing day. You were due for a break, and mind release. You had signed up for your yearly volunteer during winter break. Your roommate rolled her eyes when you told her; she was unsurprised. 

Apparently this year, there would be a few special guests. You were happy to share the children, happy the hospital could bring in more people for the kids that deserved the world but could only get a fraction of it. You swore on your life, on your grave, that you’d give them as much of the world as you could. 

**

You were giving the world to them today. Dressing in thick leggings and a sweater, you grabbed your puffer coat as you left campus. The drive to the hospital was short and speedy. You greeted Katherine as you came in, hooking your coat on the coat hanger in the back room. 

“Hey, Y/N. It’s good to see you. How’s college?”

“Stressful,” you chuckled. 

“But worth it?” “Always worth it,” you smiled. 

“The ‘guest stars’ will be here soon,” she moved a few clipboards, taking the papers attached to them. “I think they’re bringing things.”

“Oh that’s awesome,” you exhaled. “We need more presents.”

“More?” Katherine chuckled. “You’ve practically emptied your bank account for them.” 

“Because my parents would totally allow that,” you eyed her. The two of you chuckled together, setting up a few things. 

Katherine was five and a half years older than you. She’d worked at the hospital for awhile though, replacing a nurse who retired. She was young when she started, but the retired nurse had requested her, recommended her, and the hospital didn’t want to waste time on looking for someone else. You’d practically grown up with her; she’d been a volunteer in college while you were finishing high school. 

“They’re here,” Nate popped his head in through the door. You and Katherine exchanged looks before going up front to greet them. 

“Hi, I’m Kevin Fiege, I’m here with the cast of Spider-man Homecoming. We’re here for the meets I emailed about?”

“Yes hi,” Katherine stepped forward while you shied away from a brunette’s glances. His jeans and sweater were on loosely, and you assumed he probably had a costume on under. He was holding a mask. “I’m Katherine, the one you emailed.” They shook hands and smiled politely, the boy’s eyes never leaving sight of your figure. “Shall we get started then?” the man, Kevin as he addressed himself, suggested.

“Yes, of course,” she rushed out, glancing at you with wide eyes before the two of you chuckled. 

A lighter skinned, tall girl stepped forward. You recognized her. “Hi, I’m Zendaya. I play MJ.”

The two of you shook hands, and she did the same thing with Nate and Katherine and a few other nurses. One by one, each cast member introduced themselves before eventually, the brunette came forward. 

“Hi, I’m Tom,” he shook your hand, his fingers lingering against yours. “You are… ?”

“Y/N,” you filled in, biting your bottom lip. 

“That’s really pretty,” he blushed slightly despite being the one who gave the compliment.

“Thank you,” you breathed a laugh, stepping back and in your rightful spot next to Katherine. 

Throughout the day, you noticed Tom through the corner of your eyes, lingering and watching quietly, gazing as if he wanted to say something but didn’t know how, or what. You enjoyed the cast’s company; they were great for the kids. By the end of it, it was nearly eight o’clock, time for ritual medications before bedtime. 

The cast stood in the lobby, Tom in his suit talking to Jacob, Zendaya talking to Nate while Katherine finished up with Kevin. You emerged from the elevator, having just said your goodnights and goodbyes to the children. 

“You gonna head out, Y/N/N?” Katherine stopped talking to Kevin to ask you the query over all the chatter. 

You nodded with a smile, removing the Division 1 Volunteer lanyard from around your neck. “Yeah, I told my mom I’d call her before it gets too late.”

“You and your parents,” she sighed, handing another clipboard over for Kevin to read. “Are you ever gonna let them go?”

You chuckled, “I think the real question is are they ever gonna let me go?” 

“Touche,” she laughed. “Say goodbye on your way out,” she motioned her head towards the cast. You glanced at them, they smiled, and you nodded towards her, grabbing your coat from its hook. 

“It was really nice having you all here,” you smiled. “Thank you so much for coming; it meant a lot to the kids and to me.” 

You saw Tom glancing outside, and without thinking, he stepped forward with a smile. “Let me walk you to your car.”

“Oh, you don’t have to,” you laughed lightly. 

“Please, it’s dark out. It’ll only be a few minutes,” he smiled. “It’s no trouble, really.”

“Tom’s always doing that,” Zendaya rolls her eyes. “He’s that one in a million gentlemen.” Her arms crossed as she laughed. “Just let him take you; he won’t take no for an answer.”

You had a feeling they were talking about something else, but nonetheless, you let him accompany you. You waved to Kath one last time before walking through the doors with Tom by your side. 

“How long have you been volunteering?”

“Since the summer before my junior year of highschool.”

He hummed. “How old are you?”

“I just turned nineteen,” you walked over a puddle. “How old are you?”

“I’m 21.” 

You hummed just as he had. You saw your car near, and you were almost sad your encounter with Tom would end soon. You doubted you’d ever see him again after this, even if he did remember today. 

“Listen I was wondering,” he spoke as you placed your bag into the backseat of your car — it wasn’t actually your car. It was your mom’s old one, she’d gotten it when she first moved to your childhood home. Convincing her you should have it was a nightmare. You focused on Tom. “If maybe… we could go out sometime? Sorry if this is totally unprofessional and if I’m completely reading this wrong or somethi-”

“No no-!” you cut him off before stopping shortly. “You didn’t. I’d- I’d love to go out with you sometime.”

“Great,” he said softly before repeating it more confidently. He handed you his cell phone gingerly, and you typed away in the bitter cold, smiling as you handed it back. 

“I’ll- I’ll call you tonight. Af- after your parents.” You giggled. “Goodnight Y/N.”

“Goodnight,” you whispered just as he stepped away. You smiled to yourself, opening the car door. 

[the-fiction-witch]

Into Fiction P1

TV SHOW LEWIS COUPLE: ADAM DOUGLAS X READER RATING: SWEET

"Y/n! Y/n!" Called the voice from the bottom of the stairwell, this voicemail caused Y/n herself to stir in her bed contorting the covers as she forced herself awake "Y/n!" The voice called again

"What!" She yelled back 

"We'll be late" the voice answered as footsteps rushed up the stairs and moments later her bedroom door opened revealing the tall thin blonde she knew well "morning"

"Morning Adam." she sighed rubbing her eyes "What do you want?" 

"New car. Sixteen million pounds. Some mental stability." He shrugs "but right now I want hash browns so get out of bed or I will go over there and tickle you. And that is NOT an idal threat Y/n" he warns before he headed back down the stairwell

Y/n sat up rather annoyed by Adam and his threats. She got up out of bed and began to get dressed for the day pondering to herself indeed about Adam.

Adam Douglas. Son of Marcia and Thomas Douglas. Y/n had been best friends with Adam since the two wherein their respective mother's wombs as Marcia and Y/Mothers/ Name were next-door neighbours since their own childhood, going off to school and both meeting their husbands and eventually getting pregnant in the same year Adam was born only a few months before Y/n herself. 

Honest Adam was more of a non-related brother than anything else. And in the longing to escape the shackles of the family homes Y/n and Adam had joined forces to afford to rent a small two-bedroom house together not far from their families.

And today was Friday, a day neither have to go to work so it's a day for fun, shopping and treats avoiding the usual fun times of  Saturday due to… both Y/n and Adam's herbal dislike for people. 

and Sunday because. Well, it's England. Everything is closed on Sundays.

Once dressed into her usually Friday attire; a pair of white knock off converses, a pair of well stretched out black leggings, a long-sleeve white shirt she had rolled to her elbows, a black plaid pinafore dress with two small pockets, her usual locket necklace, bat stud earrings, large purple glasses and a white Alice band to push back her hair. Doing the minimal make-up a day like this would require from her, and She headed downstairs sat on the sofa grabbing the large diet lemonade bottle from the table and taking a prolonged swig as Adam emerged from the kitchen.

"Why are you like this?"

"Like what?"

"How old are you?"

"Seven" she giggled playfully "why?"

"Because you always do this. Dress in your little pinafore with your bow and wonder why when you buy rosé you get IDed" 

"No, it's because I was around with you and you look like seventeen"

"I am trying!" He complained "I'm getting fuzzy now"

"Come bring me your face" she smiled opening her arms he happily went oversupplying her with his face to which she began to let his chin and upper lip "ewwwww! Your all fuzzy and pokey I don't like it" she whines "shave your face"

"Make me, I think I look distinguished and mature. And I shall be batting the ladies odd with a stick" he smirked fixing his hair 

".... perhaps. In a zombie apocalypse."

"Your mean to me" he pouts returning to the kitchen 

"I have to be it builds character" she smiled following him to the kitchen grabbing the notepad from the fridge and a pen from the empty mug full of pens and pencils on the counter "do we need bread?"

"Yep it's mouldy"

"Okay," she nods beginning to make a list up "Do you really think you gonna get a girlfriend with a caterpillar on your lip?"

"I might. Honestly at this point what haven't I tried" 

"I suppose. Whatever happened to Akiko?"

"Who?"

"Akiko? That girl you were digital dating?" 

"Oooh her." He nods "complained."

"How so."

"Let's just say, things came to light that I felt I should have been made aware of, she did not think I should be made aware of them we had an argument and she blocked me" he explained coming to sit on the kitchen chair with a coffee in his mug 

"What was the thing?"

"Akiko used the pronouns She and her. And I made assumptions based on that. One night when we were… yeah. Things went further than usual and I discovered some things. That uhhh Very I am familiar with instead of what I was expecting. I felt I should have been notified about that. She thought it was none of my business. I said okay you may use those pronouns, may identify as whatever you wanna fucking toaster for all I care but you know of we're gonna do stuff like that I'd be nice if you told me" 

"I mean… it would be nice if you got a heads up"

"Yeah, a heads up. That would have been nice. But yeah she blocked me so" he shrugs sipping his mug almost immediately and spitting it back onto the mug "milks gone" 

"Oh. I just thought you were having a bad reaction over your stupid idea"

"It's a great idea"

"Adam you can't just train yourself to like coffee"

"I think to know one likes coffee. Everyone the first time you drink coffee it's gross, but you slowly get a custom to it which is why people like our parents drink like nine cups a day, no one likes coffee it's a sleepy placebo of Stockholm syndrome" 

"Yes, Adam I read your blog" she rolled her eyes "anything else we are out of?"

"Yeah orange juice o had to toss it"

"Why?"

"It was out of date"

"So?"

"When things are out of date you throw them away Y/n"

"Not If there okay"

"This. This is why you have stomach problems" 

"Was it mouldy?"

"No."

"Did it still smell like an orange?"

"Yes."

"Did it taste funny?"

"No, but-"

"Then you threw my juice away for no good reason. You owe me seventy-nine pence"

"Fine" he sighed "come in else we'll never get done today" 

"Alright, shop then home. Then into town. The park then the library?"

"Alright but I get to go wander around in the fancy cake shop while you go buy another six million items of makeup"

"Fine be boring"

"I shall,"

So the two got up, grabbed their bags and wallets and headed out to town.

[themurphyzone]

PatB Oneshot: Every Rose Has Thorns and Petals

Summary: Brain’s plan is simple: create a Valentine card with a message that the world should adore him as their new ruler. But he needs extra help in coming up with a catchy message to rein in the consumers for the outer cover. And who better to help than the expert of all things amour?

AN: I decided to see if I could write a good Suavo. Enjoy! Warning for terribly cheesy flirting. I don’t typically write this genre XD

This borrows from the HC that Pinky can still do the Suavo persona.

Written for Valentine's Day/Suavo Sunday. I regret everything.

AO3 Link

At last, a new plan came to fruition! With Valentine’s Day looming upon them with its chocolate-coated fangs and sickly sweet aroma, people would be flocking to grocery stores everywhere to purchase giant teddy bears they could barely carry around and heart-shaped boxes of gourmet chocolate. But most lucrative of all, they would buy Valentine cards with the most obnoxious lovestruck messages that were far cheesier than Pinky’s cheesecake.

Everything clicked into place. The slightly larger than average dimensions of a Valentine’s card. Various red and pink hues for the envelopes. Colorful images with hearts, roses, and Pinky on the front cover (for Pinky met all of the scientific criteria that triggered one’s protective instincts). And on the inside, an image of Brain standing on the world in royal regalia with a message declaring that all the world shall adore him as their new leader.

But there was a single, glaring flaw to his otherwise brilliant plan.

He could not come up with a ridiculous phrase for the outside cover. It had to be eye-catching, humorous, or corny enough to grab a customer’s attention. He stared at the smiling picture of Pinky for several minutes, then gave in.

Pinky was the expert in all things ridiculous after all.

“Life is the road I wanna keep going! Love is a river and I wanna keep going ooonnnn!” Pinky sang along to his playlist, leading a Barbie doll in a tender waltz.

And it was best to interrupt before Pinky’s playlist reached My Heart Will Go On. That sappy 90s love ballad was on there. He was not striking the King of the World pose until he was actually king of the world, but that assertion hadn’t gotten through Pinky’s cotton-stuffed head yet.

Brain grabbed the prototype card and pencil, marching up to the windowsill where Pinky and Barbie danced under the evening sky. The sun lowered, the moon rose, and the first twinkling stars poked out, signifying the beginning of another night.

The phone was propped against a wall, and Brain smacked the image of Anastasia and Dmitri dancing to stop the song as he passed by. Pinky continued to hum, dipping Barbie low enough that her blonde hair touched the windowsill. His eyes were half-lidded, tail swishing to an invisible beat. Though there was no music, his rhythm was steady and his feet never missed a step.

It was mesmerizing. Pinky danced with all the grace of a professional ballerina.

He pricked his finger on a sharp point of the prototype card, and the poke brought Brain back to reality. Right. No distractions.

“Hiya, Brain! Zort!”

Dear Archimedes there were otherworldly blue eyes right in front of his face.  

Startled, Brain leapt back and swung his pencil defensively. There was a muffled narf as the eraser end went into Pinky’s mouth. Once the initial shock passed, Pinky giggled and nibbled on the eraser, several rubbery shavings poking out between his teeth.  

Brain took a deep breath, trying to calm his too-fast heartbeat.

“Quit slobbering on my erasers, Pinky,” Brain snapped. He removed his pencil from Pinky’s mouth, wrinkling his nose at the saliva-coated eraser. He tossed it aside, and the pencil skittered across the counter and onto the floor.

“But they taste so good!” Pinky licked his lips. “Especially with a pinch of dryer lint. That way you get fluff and chewiness in one single fantastic bite!”

Sometimes he truly worried for the state of Pinky’s digestive tract. For now, it was best to change the topic entirely. “As much as I’d love to debate the intricacies of your exotic cuisine, I require some of your eccentric expertise for my latest plan,” Brain said, setting the prototype card on the counter.

Pinky’s tail and ears perked up. A predictable reaction, but reliable all the same.

While Pinky put Barbie away, Brain retrieved a new pencil. There were few writing utensils that weren’t chewed up by a bored employee or Pinky for fun, and it wouldn’t be long before Brain would have to acquire more.

“I gotta help Brain now, Barbie. Thanks for sharing a dance with me! Those ballroom dance classes are really paying off!” Pinky chirped, waving to the inanimate Barbie, who now sat in a pink plastic convertible next to a shirtless Ken doll. He peeked inside the card and clasped his hands together, holding them against his cheek dreamily. “Awww, Brain! This is gonna be so romantic!”

“The very atmosphere I intend to create with these mass-produced cards, Pinky,” Brain replied. “However, while I have all the elements of your typical Valentine card alongside an additional message that will aid us in our conquest, I haven’t worked out one essential component yet.”

He closed the card and tapped the empty speech bubble next to Pinky’s image.

Pinky tilted his head. “You haven’t figured out how to make single people buy your cards yet?”

Drat. He hadn’t considered those outliers.

“Then we’ll just have to infiltrate the postal service,” Brain said, mentally congratulating himself on correcting that error quickly. “But before we implement the plan, I need a Valentine phrase for this speech bubble. A saying that will entice the average infatuated consumer and hook them into purchasing my cards alone. And since you lean heavily toward the sentimental and saccharine…well, this is where I require your assistance.”

“The sentimental and the saccharine?” Pinky echoed. “I don’t think I’ve heard of that soap opera, Brain. What channel is it on?”

Brain opened his notebook and found an empty page, poised to jot down Pinky’s suggestions. “The real life channel. Don’t be concerned about missing it, Pinky. It’s on 24/7 all year long. But I digress. The sooner I find a phrase, the sooner we’ll have the world!”

Pinky tapped his foot in thought, the tip of his tongue poking out like he truly believed protruding tongues had the power to magically grant ideas. For all Brain knew, Pinky probably believed that.

Then Pinky snapped his fingers. “I got it! How ‘bout ‘be mine, valentine’?”

“Too cliché,” Brain muttered. A million Valentine cards would already have similar phrasing. They didn’t have time to seize control of a greeting card factory. “Not unique enough.”

Although the valentine bit wasn’t particularly directed toward him, his grip on the pencil slackened, the tip leaving a graphite smudge along the margins. He quickly turned the pencil around and erased it, hoping Pinky didn’t catch onto his brief moment of inattention.  

Fortunately, Pinky didn’t notice. “Alrighty then. Hmmm…you’re the sour cream to my cheese-slathered potato?”

“…I’ll save it for a last resort.”

Well, he asked for unique. But sour cream didn’t particularly invoke strong Valentine feelings. Idioms that involved sweet foods with enough sugar to induce diabetes in an elephant would be better, and he made a quick note to the side.

“I turtle-y adore you?” Pinky suggested, his blue eyes sparkling accordingly.

Brain felt a light blush settling over his cheeks, and he rubbed his fur to rid himself of the mortifying feeling. “Doesn’t match your picture. And no animal puns unless they involve mice.”

Pinky rubbed his chin, not one to be easily deterred. “There’s gotta be some good ones on the Internet.”

“Don’t trouble yourself, Pinky,” Brain sighed. He sat cross-legged on the counter, massaging his forehead to intercept any headaches before they began. “Figured we should’ve gone with the photobooth plan. It’s your fault for influencing my subconscious with your caterwauling over The Princess Bride’s movie adaptation.”

“Troz! I’ll have you know Princess Buttercup and Westley have great chemistry!” Pinky pouted.

Brain rolled his eyes. “Please. They’re about as compatible as two noble gases.”

Pinky went quiet after that. Whether he’d gone off into the imaginary world of talking cheeses or taken unusually great offense on the lead couple’s behalf, Brain wasn’t sure. But the silence obliged, and Brain took the opportunity to ponder their next course of action.

Take a risk and use one of Pinky’s earlier suggestions? Scrap the plan entirely and pull one from storage? Seek a second opinion?  

Then Pinky gasped, his tail pointing high in the air like an inverted exclamation point.

“Brain, are you pondering what I’m pondering?” Pinky asked, gripping Brain’s shoulders in excitement.

Brain leaned back, supporting himself on the palms of his hands. “We break out the Feldman disguises and ask Mr. Sultana for his opinion on what a hypothetical Valentine card should say?”

“I’m sure he’s got a bunch of good ones, but that’s not it,” Pinky said. “Actually, I oughta slip into something more…in-character. I’ll be right back!”

Pinky skipped away, humming as he went over to his dress-up box in the corner of their cage. He pulled a divider around himself so that all Brain could see was a shadowy silhouette rummaging through clothing and accessories.

Brain continued to ponder, though no feasible ideas were coming to him. He closed his eyes, shutting out all visual forms of distraction. He listened to Pinky dressing in the cage, but it was more white noise than a true hindrance.

Five minutes later, he still had nothing. But there was something…different.

A tantalizing scent. Not overly sharp, though just light enough that he couldn’t identify it with confidence. And he wanted to know more.

It wasn’t fruit or soap. Nor was it vanilla, like the scented candles Pinky loved so much.

Something smooth snaked its way under his nose, brushing the fur above his lips. The scent was closer now. His nose twitched.

“ACHOO!”

Startled by the force of his sudden sneeze, Brain’s eyes flew open. He rubbed his nose to wipe off the lingering sensation, staring down at Pinky’s long tail, which sat unassumingly in his lap. The tip was wrapped around the stem of a small red rose.

The tail lifted, rubbing against the fur under Brain’s chin. Brain felt his cheeks heat up again, and he quickly batted the offending appendage away.

“Pinky, you’re not helping my state of-“ Brain began, ready to launch into a verbal tirade on how he needed to think and if Pinky wasn’t going to help then he could make like a mitotic cell and split…and then he saw a very familiar, perhaps all too-familiar, lavender tuxedo with an overstuffed dark purple…something underneath.

He couldn’t tell if it was a shirt, vest, or pincushion. A gold button glinted in the middle of Pinky’s chest.

Gulping, Brain knew the mysterious article of clothing was the least of his concerns. He forced himself to look up, gaze raking past the slender neck and toward half-lidded, coy blue eyes. A sophisticated mustache poked out from each side of Pinky’s muzzle. And he was genteel, charismatic…

Suave.  

Pinky’s ability to play a character to perfection never ceased to astound him. He still remembered? Brain had long destroyed the Personalitron and its blueprints, deeming them unnecessary and cumbersome.

“Pardonnez-moi, you with the giant head and marshmallow body are seeking the passionate advice of I, the great Pinky…Suavvvo-“ he drawled every syllable with that odd French accent, r’s rolling off his tongue like smooth butter “-for your…ah, Saint Valentine card, no?”  

Fu—choose your words wisely—I mean, dear name of a historical contributor to the scientific or mathematical field who I can’t identify properly at this time.

“I fail to see how playing dress-up is going to help with this conundrum, Pinky Suavo.” Brain stood up and crossed his arms. He wasn’t about to let the Suavo persona sway him. He was the Brain, and he bowed to no one.

Exert control over the situation. Yes. That’s what he needed.

Suavo plucked the rose from his tail between two practiced fingers, inhaling its scent deeply. Where did he even get that rose from? The lab wasn’t growing flora for any reason, nor did any scientist have the green thumb to care for anything so fragile.

“Oh, but love is always…how did you say, a conundrum, is it not?” he purred, and Brain scowled. But Suavo was unperturbed. “One may pluck the petals from a pretty flower and ask if one loves or loves not, yet how will one know if they ask the flower and not the lover? Oh, I do not know.”

His voice dipped into a lower, softer register, and a strange sensation traveled up Brain’s spine. Though the riddle seemed directed at him, he wasn’t in the mood to unravel any cryptic meanings.

Just like before, Suavo’s magnetism was…hypnotizing. Like he had no choice but to do what Pinky Suavo said. And wasn’t that ironic? He, the Brain, as the hapless follower instead of the commanding leader.

Suavo appeared oblivious to Brain’s internal dilemma. He simply set the rose back into his tail and twirled one curled end of the mustache around his finger, humming a dreamy, sentimental song to himself. He was waiting on Brain in the most irritating fashion possible.

But if he wanted this plan to work, he’d just have to tolerate Pinky’s attempt at resolving his predicament.

“Pinky Suavo,” Brain sighed, forcing all his pride back. Suavo turned to him, his eyes still in that odd half-lidded position. “Is that overstuffed pincushion actually giving you ideas for the card?”

“Of course, mon ami.” Suavo slicked his ears and fur tuft back with a smooth, graceful stroke of his hand. “For it is he, who is I, who is the connoisseur of…ammooooouuuur.”

Brain grabbed his notepad and pencil, his stomach doing odd backflips like butterflies had somehow burrowed their way into his flesh and laid eggs there. He was not paying attention to Suavo’s hand movements. No, the eye was just naturally drawn to movement. That’s how it worked.

Besides, he was looking at the same being who once managed to get all his fingers and tail tangled up in a complicated cat’s cradle.

Suavo clicked his tongue, deftly plucking the items out of Brain’s grip. “No, no, you silly mouse. You cannot experience amour through pen and paper alone. You must feel it, see it, hear it. For it is everywhere and anywhere you search…if only you would use those big ears of yours.”

Brain gritted his teeth and jumped for his supplies, but Suavo simply held them out of reach with one long arm. All Brain could manage was a tiny hop. It wasn’t getting him anywhere.

So he took a deep breath and forced himself to relax.

“I’m listening, Pinky Suavo,” Brain said, hoping he sounded at least a little cordial. “I believe the colloquial is, I’m all ears?”

A pleased smile flitted across Suavo’s face, his arm lowering.

Perfect.

Then Brain threw himself forward, digging his hands and feet into Suavo’s clothing and hauling himself towards the notepad and pencil. Fortunately, it wasn’t hard to grip. Suavo stumbled a bit, but he refused to yield. Brain grabbed a fabric fold on Suavo’s right shoulder. He was so close-

-and a red nose pushed into his own. Warm, mint-scented breath tickled the fur on his face.

“You know, it is more, ah, polite to take a mouse to dinner before you begin climbing him, is it not?” Suavo crooned.

Brain’s ears flopped against his back, a warm sensation sweeping through his body. His clammy paws lost their grip on Suavo’s clothing, and he would’ve fallen entirely if Suavo’s free arm hadn’t wrapped around his waist and secured him with a strong yet gentle grip.

In hindsight, perhaps his attempt at reclaiming his belongings was ill-thought out.

Perhaps it was for the best that the arm was covered by fabric, but at the same time, some irrational thought of wanting Pinky’s fur against his own wormed its way into his mind.  

Suavo set the notepad and pen down with care, dipping Brain in the process. Brain clutched the fabric tightly, but it was unnecessary. Suavo’s embrace was strong enough to prevent him from landing on his head. Then Suavo straightened up, once again plucking the rose from his tail and holding it next to Brain.  

“Oh, now this is…magnifique,” Suavo murmured, his eyes darting from the rose to Brain’s face. Though Brain tried to maintain eye contact to make his displeasure known, his resolve was quickly crumbling away. Surely it was the close proximity, the thumb stroking his fur, that was picking apart all rational thought and leaving some hormone-driven creature behind?

“What?” Brain asked, and he inwardly cringed. His voice wasn’t working properly. He’d meant to sound more demanding than that pathetic excuse of a question.

“Your eyes, mon ami, are just a few shades lighter this rose,” Suavo said. Brain stared at him in disbelief. Comparing eyes to flowers, or worse, gemstones, was just ridiculous.

And your comparison of Pinky’s aesthetically pleasing eyes to the wild blue yonder above isn’t?

Brain ignored the contemptuous voice. That was completely different. The sky was neither a flower nor a gemstone, and therefore it wasn’t off-limits. Besides, it was a thought for him and him alone. It’s not like anyone else was going to hear it.

“You are but a deer mouse in the headlights. Yet there is no need to hide under a thorny layer,” Suavo hummed, tilting his head curiously. Deliberately. How strange. Even the slightest movement was mesmerizing. His fingers traveled up the flower stem, until his hand rested underneath the petals, supporting the tiny rose in the palm of his hand. “A rosebush may scratch and prick, yet the great Pinky Suavo cannot be swayed. For there’s a pretty bloom hidden in the darkness, and he is who moi shall…shall…NARF!”

Shocked by the return of the nonsensical exclamation, Brain lost his hold on Pinky Suavo’s clothing. He fell onto the counter surface with a pained groan. The hard material wasn’t doing wonders for the bends in his tail.

Something fluttered against his nose, causing Brain to sneeze again. He removed the offending object, and found himself staring down at the rose he’d been teased with. If he ignored the heavy-handed rose imagery Suavo kept spouting, it was rather adequate for a specimen.

“Narf! Zort! Poit! Egad!” Pinky laughed uncontrollably between his usual tics, uttering them at such a fast rate that they started to blend together like a tongue twister. “Ooh, I haven’t—troz! Haven’t said narf in a long time! But it’s poit—it’s okay cause you needed my help!”

Idiot.

Brain sighed and pushed himself to a standing position, then placed the rose on his notepad so Pinky could reclaim it later.

Now that he thought about it, Pinky hadn’t said any of his favorite syllables in his Suavo persona. Of course, they’d been replaced by stupid love poetry and gratuitous French, but the narfs and poits and zorts were rather refreshing.

Odd. He never thought he’d actually miss Pinky’s…unique diction.

“Pinky, were you actively suppressing your usual speech patterns in your strange form of assistance?” Brain asked. He couldn’t help his curiosity.

“Zort! Oh Brain, I’m not nearly as good as suppressing things like you are!” Pinky’s chortles continued as Brain grabbed his wrist and led him straight to the water bottle in their cage. “Besides—narf! Besides, I had to stay in character!”

“Remind me to never have you play a villain for any future plans revolving around cinema,” Brain grumbled.

Pinky’s tail happily flicked against Brain’s own. Though the imbecile was just swishing it around mindlessly, the brief physical contact suddenly brought back that very odd, warm sensation.

Curse this heightened sensitivity! It’s only a principle of thermodynamics and heat transfer!  

“Brain, are you okay? Poit,” Pinky asked as Brain made him sit down in front of the water bottle. “You’re all woozy and whirlywindy. And white and red all over like a newspaper!”

“I’m f-fine,” Brain said. He was absolutely not relying on Pinky for balance. “Just drink, Pinky. And take off those silly clothes when you’re done.”

Pinky stared, not comprehending anything Brain said, but that was normal for him. Then he started to laugh, and only then did Brain realize he needed to watch his word choice, especially around a certain someone, because of course his fluff-filled mind would misconstrue it.

“Not like that!” Brain spat.

Pinky tipped onto his back, legs kicking upwards as his high-pitched laughter continued to assault Brain’s ears.

For the sake of his own sanity, he left Pinky to his own devices and stormed over to the nearest sink. He pushed on the tap for cold water until he’d created his own miniature waterfall, then hopped right in. He welcomed the cascade over his body.

As long as it pushed his homeostasis in the opposite direction, he was fine with resembling a drowned rat for now.

o-o-o-o-o

The plan failed before it ever took off. Brain had been so distracted that he’d failed to notice the lab was completely out of colored ink, rendering the copy machines completely useless.

He’d gone with the ‘you’re the sour cream to my potatoes’ message for the front cover, formatting it into the speech bubble in an elegant cursive font. Though it wasn’t conventional by any means, he simply considered it again since no other suggestions were forthcoming.

But at the same time, part of him wasn’t keen on allowing the masses to lay eyes on the Valentine card.

It seemed special. Unexplainably so.

“Brain?” Pinky called. His verbal tics had long gone back to their normal frequency. “Aren’t we taking over the world tonight?”

Brain shook his head, relieved that he finally had control over his body again. “Not tonight, Pinky. I’m afraid I’ve been prematurely thwarted by the lack of inventory in this lab.”

“Oh, you don’t have to be afraid, Brain,” Pinky said. Gone were Suavo’s clothing and mustache, and Pinky’s lean, muscular arms were on full display as he folded them across his chest. “I’ll protect you from Tory.”

It was an unnecessary gesture, but Brain couldn’t help but be touched by the admission all the same. Brain made a show of carefully placing the card into storage, just so he could distract himself momentarily.  

When he finished his task, he found Pinky holding an elegant paper rose, crafted meticulously with purple tissue paper. A light blush settled over Brain’s cheeks as he accepted the gift from Pinky, whose blue eyes shone brightly as Brain ran his fingers over the soft petals.

“Thank you, Pinky,” Brain said gratefully, and he resisted the urge to rush off immediately and place the paper rose with his globe keychain, another gift from his dearest friend.

“You’re welcome!” Pinky smiled, and Brain’s heart beat faster. Then Pinky’s gaze flicked to the TV screen, and Brain figured he was about to be roped into watching a cheesy love story unfold. “Brain, can we watch Beauty and the Beast please? With those special Valentine M&M’s and chocolate-coated popcorn? I saw a whole bunch in the kitchen! Narf!”  

Well…he could’ve suggested worse. At least this one was tolerable.

And it’s been a while since they’d watched a movie together.  

“Get everything set up, Pinky,” Brain ordered. “I’ll join you when I’m finished with my own tasks.”

Pinky saluted and scampered into the kitchen, grabbing the rose he’d held in his Suavo persona along the way. He sang at the top of his lungs, though he’d forgotten most of the actual words and replaced them with a series of narfs and portmanteaus. Once Pinky was sufficiently distracted, Brain moved his notepad and pen over to the TV, then laid the paper rose over it.

He heard the crinkle of a bag followed by the sound of M&M’s being poured into a bowl. Pinky would be back any minute.

Brain knocked his head against the side of a wall.

Calm yourself. Pinky believes pebbles are precious gifts. You’ll be fine. Probably.

Slowly, he approached the drawer where he’d kept his hidden present. Sifting through several sheets of paper covered with complex formulas he’d deliberately placed in there to ward off Pinky, he found the sunflower pen he’d carefully hidden towards the back.

It wasn’t exactly…traditional for a Valentine’s gift. Simple blue ink with a green body and tipped with a bright yellow sunflower.

But it was bright. And colorful. Like Pinky.

More importantly, it was practical.

Brain’s ears twitched, and he heard the whirring of the VCR as Pinky popped in the movie. Brain debated leaving the pen and presenting it after the movie, but he didn’t want to procrastinate either. Otherwise it would be impossible to enjoy their activity.

Well, he could just drop it in Pinky’s lap. And snatch up some popcorn so his actions wouldn’t be too conspicuous. He climbed out of the drawer, holding the pen behind his back.

A preview for The Little Mermaid began to play. Pinky was enraptured by the animated marine animals. He seemed so happy.

Maybe he should reconsider. Valentine items would be discounted next week. He could just hold off and give a belated…what was he thinking? Valentine’s was just another day to turn profit!

The paper rose was sitting right there. No…Valentine’s meant something to Pinky. Like Christmas.

“Goody, you’re back, Brain!” Pinky cheered, stuffing two pink M&M’s into his mouth. The large bowl beside him was overflowing with chocolate. “It’s not raining inside, but I love your parasol! Where’d you buy it?”

A parasol?

He glanced up at the sunflower. Oh. So there was a resemblance to a parasol, he supposed. If one viewed it at a certain angle, that is.

“It’s a pen. Not a parasol. Take it,” Brain said, holding out the sunflower pen.

Pinky didn’t take it.

Instead, he made a joyful noise and crushed Brain with a flying embrace. Brain dropped the pen in surprise as Pinky’s entire body curled around him, feet off the ground. Brain had to support all his weight, Pinky’s warm fur brushing against his own.

“I love it! Loveitloveitloveit! Thanks, Brain!” Pinky squealed, happy tears forming at the corners of his eyes. “Happy Valentine’s Day!”

“You’re welcome, Pinky,” Brain murmured as Pinky nuzzled his cheek. “Now get off. I require my lungs. And heart. And my digestive system.”

Pinky didn’t get off until the Disney fanfare to herald the beginning of the movie began to play. Then he quieted down immediately, rolling the sunflower pen so that it rested across his lap.

“…happy Valentine’s Day,” Brain whispered, nibbling on a red M&M.

Pinky smiled back, teeth flecked with bits of chocolate. He shushed Brain, not wanting him to interrupt the opening narration.

As the enchanted rose appeared onscreen, Brain stroked the soft tissue paper of Pinky’s beautiful creation. Then he set it aside and reached for some popcorn.

His world was here. And there was nothing more he wanted.

Fun fact: the original name for this fic was going to be Suavo Valentino, but the current title was a last minute change cause somehow I just wrote a lot about roses.

Another change: The Princess Bride bit was originally a dig at High School Musical and how Disney Channel has bad romance in general, but since that was mid 2000s I changed it so this story could reasonably fit in the 90s.

Suavo’s lines...were interesting. I couldn’t stop laughing at how dumb some of them were though.

Brain’s got it bad here. Save him.

Are the roses corny? Yes. Do I care? Not really. Maybe. Possibly.

[itstheendofthegoddamnworld]

Golden Prince Naga Boyfriend (Shesmetet) 2

1 [NSFW]  -  3  -  4  -  5 (FINALE)

Divine Worship Part 2

“The prince’s betrothed is said to be coming today, from the Garnet Court,” Kira told you in the early hours, her voice chipper for the dawn still rising, “Princess Iseka is said to have the title of Rising Sun, like her mother.”

“I heard she liked to bathe in her handmaiden’s blood, to keep her skin youthful; a sorceress if you ask me.” Thaile: younger than you and waifish in size added behind you, brushing your hair with little consideration to get the tangles out. 

“You be careful with that tongue of yours, the Emperor could have it.” Kira hissed, a warning for the younger as she quietened for a moment. “I’m just saying.”

“The Prince won’t like to hear you speak so lowly of his wife-to-be, nor will they allow us to whisper secrets and gossip of her when she arrives at court for the fortnight. Once their vows are said, there will be no hiding from her.” Kira sighed, continuing to bead the headdress for the crown princess; glowing like gilded armour.

If only they knew what the Prince had said to me. A small smile appeared on your face: reminiscing over the Jade Prince’s words. His heat cycle had lasted for the week since you had been bedded to him; surprising to you that he had kept you coming to his chambers in the evenings to help him be rid of it.

You didn’t know how well you would be able to hide it from Princess Amvalma, for your nightly disappearances weren’t asked of or questioned when you had prepared her for sleep.

You weren’t even sure if her brother had been the one to brag to her about being able to bring you to his bed, but you were certain it would’ve taken long before the news would arrive for her to hear. She’s smart, her other handmaidens and ladies-in-waiting aren’t, the news will come swiftly with the wind.

Kira had been asking day in and out about what you got up to with Prince Shesmetet, and although it left you red in the face in sparing the details, she was still fascinated to hear it from you.

‘He seems smitten,’ She smiled to you, a frown forming at her next words, ‘but how long will it go on for?’

Not for so long, but you had been told not to feel disheartened by his lack of visits from you, promising you that final night that he would see you once more. ‘Little one,’ Shesmetet had you curled into his chest, tenderly stroking at the side of your face as your eyes grew tired for slumber, ‘rest assured, I have enjoyed your time too much to see you away so soon.’

But had he been lying? The Jade Court's living family line and its descendants were known for being sly around other nobles - to prosper and be the most known and richest to all the other empires - but he had been so kind to you, enamoured of you that it hurt to not spend evenings with him; held in his arms so lovingly.

It didn’t take long for his passion and physical affections for you to fester and make you feel so very fond of him.

“When will they marry?” You had asked the two, ignoring their talk.

“Before the season of the harvest, his Grace has proclaimed this before Prince Shesmetet’s anniversary of his two-hundred-and-eightieth year,” Kira said.

There was no denying there was a prang in your chest for the information you heard, and although you were simply one of Princess Amvalma’s favoured handmaidens, you yearned for a life where you could simply be more than that; especially in the eyes of the Jade Prince.

-

The Jade and glittering court had been packed to the brim with staff, lords and ladies alike, both human and Nagas, watching in wonder as they stared to the mighty Emperor, Eirgotzo on his gilded throne of heavy gold, the old emperor was the same colouring as his children, with streaks of grey in his hair for his much longer life; his eyes gold speckled with green, fitting for his title.

His two children stood on the side of him on the steps, dressed in their colours of gold and blacks: you had helped Princess Amvalma dress in an elegant jade with slits on each side of her long onyx tail, the beaded headdress atop her smooth long black hair like millions of glistening teardrops, her mouth always in a relaxed position to laugh.

Her brother was whom you had your eyes on for this time, for he was wearing a rapier attached to his hip for his grandeur, dressed in the familiar shades of gold and blacks with a shimmering sash wrapped around his waist and broad collar in the colours of topaz and gold, his arms crossed over his chest. Compared to in size of his sister, he was taller in height, by only a fraction.

The Rising Sun was as beautiful as she had been described: her tail colour of a flickering flame, her skin was a faded copper, similar to the fiery locks she had braided back behind her ears, and when she moved, you noted the jingles of small gold bells braided through; jingling gleefully.

It didn’t take long for it to annoy you.

The Princess Iseka had reached the steps below the throne, her shimmering bronzed eyes fluttering with the sharp smile she had on her lips, her attention falling to the Jade Prince. “Your Grace, it is an honour to be in your court, I have heard many stories since I was young of how fantastic your empire was.”

“The Rising Sun has a fitting title,” Emperor Eirgotzo replied down to her, smiling but not through his eyes, “We welcome you to the Jade Court.” He gestured to his children to his right. 

“My heir and beautiful daughter, the future Jade Empress, Star of the Sea, Princess Amvalma, and my son, The Young Flame and your husband-to-be, Prince Shesmetet.”

“Your Grace, Your Grace,” She sang when she looked especially towards Shesmetet, “I am honoured to finally meet you and to be your wife.”    

Reminded of his customs and manners in front of the entirety of court, Shesmetet slithered down to stand just on the step above Iseka, and dutifully taking her clawed hand into his own, kissing at her knuckles. “The pleasure is mine, Princess.”

Your temper would’ve boiled over there and then at the sight, but you had to remember that for foremost, she was to be his wife, and therefore, you would have to still respect her no matter what. As long as I remain the Star of the Sea’s handmaiden, I only abide by the court of the Jade Empire.

From the tops of the stairs, Shesmetet seemed to almost be scouting for someone amongst the large crowds, and almost out of sense, he had found you; scattered you didn’t think you would be found from the millions of faces. 

Your heart nearly sprang out of your chest when you swore he had winked at you; before returning to his place beside his sister as if nothing had happened, his father continued on with addressing his court.

-

The Star of the Sea had asked her ladies-in-waiting and yourself to draw her a bath that evening, using the scents that had been given to her as a gift from her future sister-in-law’s family. The scents of jasmine and lemon, drops of petals scattered on the surface of the water; a hint of sweetness that was needed for such a long day.

“Dear, stay with me, you can brush out my hair.” Amvalma had addressed to you with a warm smile, dipping her nude body into the heated water as she relaxed. Her bath and most of the baths were deep enough for all nagas to properly bathe in, the bath at least bigger than the ones you had been situated in that same evening you were to be in Shesmetet’s bed.

“At once, your Grace.” You bowed, gathering the items you needed as the Jade Princess dismissed her ladies, leaving you two alone in her bathhouse, situating yourself behind her as you took the hairbrush to detangle out her long locks.

You were more mindful of how you brushed out her hair compared to Thaile, who if given the job would’ve given the Princess a bald spot. Your gentle hands separated each section, starting from the ends and working upwards.

Amvalma hummed to herself, closing her eyes as you worked behind her, gently massaging her scalp the higher you worked. 

“What did you think of the Princess Iseka, your Grace?” You found your voice, knowing full-well that you were allowed to speak in front of the Princess no matter the question. You bite your lip, deciding how to question the Prince’s betrothed. “Her title is matching of her looks.”

“The Rising Sun, a fitting title for her late mother,” Hummed Amvalma, “but you would have to be blind to look at Iseka.”

You accidentally snorted, almost choking on your own saliva, urging the Princess to look back on you, her face warm with a large grin, knowing all too well that you were thinking the same. “Really? You don’t think she is becoming?”

Amvalma chortled through her flat nose, swatting the air as she cleaned herself nonchalantly. “My brother’s betrothed looks more like a black sun in a cold winter than one that is Rising,” she was sniggering to herself, “and she bores me exceedingly.” 

You had to control your laughter, making sure her ladies didn’t hear your responses to use against you, so you had to resort to chuckling quietly. “Alas, my old father thinks that she is a good match for him, but I think he could do better in his arrangements. Thousands of others would agree to themselves to have Shesmetet’s hand.”

“The ones he has bedded?” You asked.

“Precisely,” Amvalma began, her words made the hairs on your arms raise, “My brother has been with everyone who has caught his eye, but no-one who he has been arranged into marrying.” She shook her head at the thought, ink-black hair shaking around her, her locks beautiful. “It shall be a disaster.”

You remembered your fears for if she knew of what had happened between the two of you, now if she were to catch on that you had slept with Shesmetet, it too, would be a disaster.

“Has anyone caught the Prince’s eye so far?” You lamented, trying to suppress your sadness, not wanting her to know. “Perhaps,” Amvalma hummed in thought, “but he is rather secretive about it all as if he is trying to hide something not just from father, but from me.”

There it was: the pondering, the queries and theories, but you knew you wouldn’t come of this alive. Amvalma turned herself around to face you properly now, her golden eyes glinting in the candlelight of the room. 

“You know, you can tell me anything, I have no judgement nor shall you fear me, dear.” She reassured you, the smile dropping slightly on her face. “But, is there anything you wish to tell me?”

“Your Grace-- I-” You blubbered, finally feeling the idea that this would all go horribly wrong. The Jade Princess placed a warm tender hand on your arm, squeezing it carefully. “You can tell me anything.”

You could’ve jumped out the open balcony right there and then, fearing for everything, running out and fleeing before, starting a new life outside of the palace. You knew it was best, to tell the truth, it was better than for if it were to come out badly.

You took a deep exhale out from your nose, setting the hairbrush down. “Your Grace, the Prince-”

“Your Magnificence! Imported wine, a gift from The Rising Sun!” the figures emerged, the one who had come in first oblivious to the quietness of the bathhouse, the other ladies of Princess Amvalma coming in like an awaiting crowd.

Amvalma smiled respectfully, turning from you to look at the ladies waiting with a golden chalice with similar snake hilts curved around it. She settled their chatter as she thanked them, taking a glass as she was poured some.

She turned back to you, watching your sunken face as you finally had her eyes off of her for a moment, savouring in not having to spit out what had been chewing at your insides for ages. “Dear, are you unwell? Your face is pale.”

Your eyes flickered back up to meet golden ones, your eyes darting apprehensively, trying to form a smile back onto your features. “At the moment, yes, Your Grace, may I be pardoned?” You lied, taking the oils and scents as you were dismissed, wishing the Princess a good night, as you raced back to your own chambers, making sure to avoid anyone or anything.

- 

“His Grace, the Jade Prince is celebrating during the midday sun in celebration of the arrival of his wife-to-be. I heard the Rising Sun shall be wearing their engagement ring.” Thaile grinned from ear to ear, helping you sort through arranging the fruit; peeling mangoes and oranges into a large bowl for the guests to share amongst one another. 

“His Grace, the Emperor is pleased with the arrangement, wishing his daughter-in-law a prosperous marriage.”

You couldn’t help the smile that graced your face, reminiscing over Amvalma’s words, ‘It shall be a disaster’. You could only hope that this was true, that Shesmetet’s infidelity continued.

“Princess Amvalma gave Iseka her blessings, kissing both her cheeks, I saw it, I was there. It was beautiful.” The young girl swooned with naivety. If you knew one thing, lying was the best way to improve your situation, building you up on the scale; another chess piece that could win.

“If the harvest this year flourishes, it shall mean a bountiful marriage.” You stated, simply slicing the apple slices and throwing away the cores, “It has so far been dry.”

“You cannot say that! By the moon goddess, the harvest shall thrive, just you wait!” Thaile protested against your words, pouting her bottom lip as she sighed to her work so far. “We shall be needing another bowl from the kitchen, can you bring another?”

“Sure.” Just to get away from you, of course. You stood, putting your knife down and took away the heavy bowl full of fruit that could be sent to those who were placing food on the tables for the guests, leaving you to wander from the small courtyard back into the empty court, sticking to the walls and columns, hiding in the shadows as you walked up the stairs on the closed-off balcony. 

You could hear voices as you grew close, hushed voices, one more frustrated than the other. You came just close enough to hear a female voice hiss in wrath through the vacant hall.

“How dare you.” She hissed so low, you had thought they had been behind you. You stopped still in your tracks, pausing to listen in closely. “You may be offended, but you know she is important to me.” Another voice was followed, male and a velvety timbre, more smooth and calm in their tone as they spoke back.

“She is my handmaiden - a girl who came to me when she was ten!” She retorted back, her voice rising and never falling from her anger. “You never think, do you? I would be more than surprised if you had any sense in that thick head of yours, I think you share it with your cock.”

“You think this is some game?” She seethed, “You could’ve gotten her pregnant. What then? You would want your wife to be happy about you having a bastard with a lowborn? The bitch of a wife could have her killed.”

“Let you believe and think over these predictions, sister, you’re just like father, thinking over things that have rare chances of happening.”

Sister? Your eyes widened in realisation: it was Shesmetet, and so he was speaking with Amvalma. Oh, Gods, they could’ve been talking about someone you knew, or even-

“Do not bring her into this! She doesn’t deserve the heartache, the humiliation or even something much worse if Iseka finds out.” Amvalma warned. 

“I don’t care about my betrothed, her duty is for marriage, and there is nothing I find from the situation or her joyful.” Shesmetet heeded, “I do not care anymore, nor should I have the one I love taken from me for some other.”

You neared to the gap between the columns, trying your best to keep quiet and be unseen. “What are you trying to say, you blind fool? You love her?” The Star of The Sea had squinted her golden eyes towards her brother. 

“I’ve had enough time to spend with her through my evenings to know that she is unlike any other human I’ve met before, and I have chosen what I must do, regardless of what the consequences. I’m going to tell father, I’m calling off my marriage to Iseka personally.”

The bowl in your grip felt heavy like iron, your grip loses the grip of the bowl and soon you were squeezing your eyes shut at the loud clatter that crashed and echoed all along the walls of the golden hall, the two siblings head darting to the commotion, finding you there among the columns, a timid look in your eyes.

“Forgive me, I-I.” You flustered, trying to gather the broken pieces, failing at doing so, and hoping that if you were quick enough you could flee and get out before they could catch up to you. Your body moved to race down the stairs, but Shesmetet was there to move to the bottom of them to approach you, murmuring your name ever so softly along his lips.

“You realise father will have your head?” Amvalma remained in her spot, watching the scene unfold. The Jade Prince came to hold out his large hand, and gingerly you took it, meeting his strong arms as he embraced you, capturing your lips to his in a passionate kiss.

“I don’t care, I only care for one person, one who made me change my mind on humans because there is one good one in the world.” Shesmetet smiled, pressing his forehead against yours.

“Father will denounce you of your titles.” Scoffed Amvalma, crossing her arms, “You need to think this through.”

“I denounce them all then,” Shesmetet declared, to you in fact, still he stared down at you like a cheerful boy who was given the best gift in the entire world. “I would rather live in the ends of the earth with this one than to live as a chest pawn.”      

“Think this through,” You brought his attention back him, stroking up his smooth bare arm, “you will be letting go of everything you have and own.”

“I know, but as long as I get to spend a lifetime with you,” he grinned, kissing your forehead with ease due to his height, “that is all that will matter.”

[natrogersfics]

After All - Chapter 4/5

Cover art by @faith2nyc​ Read on AO3

The clock on her nightstand is a minute short from ringing, but Natasha is already leaning over to kill the alarm. With a sigh, she rolls onto her back. The first vestiges of morning light stream through the liminal space between the curtains, filling the room, but unlike most days, the brightness does not bother her – she’d woken up long before these signs of the new day. It’s the height of irony that on one of the few occasions where Isabel had slept through the night, she’s the one who had restlessly stared into the dark. But as she’s reminded of the thoughts that kept her up all night, she’s not sure if sleeping was ever really in the cards.

Back when she was pregnant with Isabel and things between her and Steve seemed like it was heading in the right direction, she had let herself envision what their days as a family might be like. They’d do the most mundane of things, but they’d end up becoming extraordinary memories anyway because they’d laugh and have a wonderful time doing them. Yesterday had felt exactly like that. From decorating Christmas cookies to watching Isabel giggle and run around the park, it’s as if the day had been pulled directly from her dreams, and it was one she never wanted to wake up from. For there, in the tiny seat in front of the workstation in Hela’s Cookie Boutique, with Steve next to her and their daughter on cloud nine as she dipped their cookies in sprinkles of every color imaginable, she’d never felt so whole.

But it’s not the perfection of yesterday or even the fact that it hadn’t lasted that kept her up all night. It’s that at some point, she thought that perhaps she wasn’t the only one wishing that it wouldn’t end. She can’t pinpoint the exact moment she began to think it, it might have been as she and Steve worked to rid Isabel’s face of all the icing without having to say a word, or maybe as they realized on that park bench that they were both head over heels for the wonderful human being they had brought to life together. It might have even been on the cab ride back home to her flat where their hands had met and neither of them had bothered to let go, their fingers intertwining like two pieces built for the other. Either way, as the three of them walked up the steps to her front door, there was a part of her that was starting to believe that maybe she had read everything that had happened between her and Steve in the last couple of years all wrong.

Of course, the possibility that she was the only one caught up in yesterday’s glimpse of what could be is completely plausible – it certainly wouldn’t be the first time. But if she’s certain of one thing, it’s that something definitely changed. Sometime after their cab ride, the smile on Steve’s face had fallen, and it’s as if the progress they’d made since he arrived had all been erased as he reneged on her dinner invitation. What had catalyzed it, she couldn’t tell, and it’s that question that had prevented her from falling asleep. He had mentioned something about ironing out an issue with the gallery, but for the life of her, there wasn’t a fiber in her being that bought it. And though she knew she could have easily gotten confirmation with a single text to Pepper, she just couldn’t bring herself to pick up her phone. 

Before she can begin to ponder the reason, though, the real signal to the start of her day comes through the baby monitor as she hears Isabel whimper, and with a sigh, she throws the comforter off of her as she rises to her feet.

By the time she’s had coffee and she and Isabel are seated on the living room floor putting the finishing touches on some stockings, she makes a resolution not to jump to any conclusions. When Steve had texted her weeks ago asking if they could talk, she had panicked, and it turned out to be for nothing. Maybe this time, she’d ought not to fret before there’s a reason to. If Steve said that he had a work problem, then perhaps that’s really all there is to it.

“Izzie,” she says, reaching for a blank stocking and the bag filled with felt letters just as Isabel turns to her. “Come help me decorate this one.”

The doorbell rings later that afternoon just as she fastens the brooch on her hair, and with a final glance at the mirror, she makes her way towards the front door. She pulls it open, finding Steve standing on the other side, his eyes on the phone in his hand. “Hey.”

Steve looks up at her greeting, his brow ticking up when he sees her. “Hey,” he echoes back, putting his phone away. “You, um… you look nice.”

“Oh,” she says, tucking a loose tendril of hair behind her ear as she gives the creme colored cocktail dress she had selected for the day a once-over. “Thanks.” She opens the door wider to let him in, calling out to Isabel over her shoulder before turning back to him. “Everything sorted out with the gallery?” 

“Yes,” he says, slipping his hands into his pockets as he makes it a few steps into her foyer.

“Good, that’s good,” she says a beat later when he does not elaborate further, letting her lips quirk as she adds, “they’re lucky you used to be a tactician, huh?”

He only shrugs at her quip, and she tries not to grimace as she watches him look everywhere but at her, the feeling of unease that had fallen over them last night returning. But before she can say anything more, they hear the pitter pattering of feet against the hardwood, and she catches the way Steve’s entire demeanor shifts as he bends down, his face breaking out into a smile.

“Dada!” Isabel squeals.

Steve feigns a groan as Isabel all but launches herself into his arms, giggling as he lifts her up. “Hi fig,” he says, kissing Isabel’s cheek and eyeing the item between her hands. “What do we have here?”

Isabel pushes the stocking towards him. “Yours!”

From where she stands leaning against the doorknob, she watches as Steve takes the stocking with his free hand, his eyes scanning over the letters spelling out his name that she had stitched onto the front. She grins. “We thought since you’re spending Christmas here, you should have a stocking on the mantel, too.”

“Look, Dada!” Isabel says, pointing to the bright yellow sequins that she had insisted on adding. “Spaw-kles!”

“Obviously, the sparkles were her idea,” she explains, catching the way Steve’s lips pull up in a smile.

“I love it,” he tells Isabel, who proceeds to wrap her arms around his neck. “Thank you for the sparkles.” He dusts a kiss to Isabel’s temple before looking her way. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” she says softly, mustering a smile.

Silence falls over them for a moment before he clears his throat. “I’m sorry,” he says, his eyes falling to her ensemble. “I don’t think I ever got around to asking where you were going.”

“Oh,” she says, shifting on her feet. “Actually, I’m-”

“Look at you!”

Upon hearing the expression, she looks behind her to see Loki, dressed sharply in a navy suit and a baby blue button-up, walking up the steps to her front door. “Oh, hey.”

“You look beautiful, darling,” Loki says, smiling as he leans down to kiss her cheek.

She blinks up at him. “You’re early.”

“I realize that, but I thought maybe you- oh.” As Loki’s gaze falls behind her, his expression fills with genuine surprise. “Oh, pardon me,” Loki says, stepping inside to offer Steve his hand and Isabel a wave. “Pleasure to see you again, Steve. All is well with work, I hope?”

“It is,” Steve says, shaking Loki’s hand.

“I’m sorry for interrupting,” Loki says. “I thought maybe Natasha might need help getting Isabel’s shoes on. It’s been quite a struggle recently.”

“I was able to bribe her with a cookie,” she finds herself saying, and though she’s not sure why, her voice comes out barely above a whisper.

“You weren’t,” Steve says as if she hadn’t uttered a word, his eyes on Loki. “We were actually just about to leave.” He sets Isabel down on her feet. “Why don’t you say bye to momma?”

As Isabel walks over to her, she bends down to wrap her arms around her. “Have fun, baby girl,” she says, squeezing Isabel tightly. “I love you.” 

Steve already has the baby bag slung over his shoulder and the folded stroller in hand by the time she lets Isabel go. “Let me know if you need me to keep her out a few extra hours,” he says, gesturing for Isabel to take his other hand.

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” she says, her eyebrows furrowing.

“Well, if that changes, just let me know,” he says, his gaze going from her and then to Loki before she can get another word in. “Have a nice time.” 

“Thank you,” Loki says, nodding politely.

She follows Steve and Isabel out the door, stopping at the top of the stairs as she watches them carefully make it down one step at a time. “Take care,” she murmurs as they begin to walk down the block, smiling as Isabel looks back to wave at her. 

Loki’s lips tug up as she walks back inside. “Shall we?”

“Sure,” she says, “let me just get my purse.” She makes her way over to the credenza on her right, reaching out to retrieve her clutch, only for her hand to freeze midway at the sight of Steve’s stocking lying face down next to it.

“Natasha?” she hears a beat later, and she looks back to see Loki’s head cocked to the side, his eyes filled with concern as he stares at her. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” she says, blinking once before more convincingly adding, “yes.” She quickly reaches for her clutch before smiling. “Let’s go.”

The streets blur by her window as she sits in the passenger seat of Loki’s car, her thoughts a million miles away. This morning, she had told herself that she was overthinking last night’s events. But after seeing how clipped Steve had been in her foyer only moments ago, she knows now that her worries are not unfounded. She knows Steve, knows that his mood just doesn’t swing that quickly, and she wishes desperately that she could know what’s causing it. But, more importantly, it hurts her to know that she’s lost the ability to read him. How she yearns for the days where he was an open book to her, and now she can’t even tell which way the wind blows with him.

“Thank you for accompanying me,” Loki says, breaking her out of her reverie as he reaches over to put a hand on her knee.

“Of course,” she says, watching the way a smile forms on his lips as he keeps his eyes on the road. “I promised you I would, didn’t I?”

“You did,” he confirms. “But I know these charity events can get quite perfunctory, which is why I promise you can get anything you’d like at the bar.”

She chuckles, placing a hand on top of his. “It’s for a good cause,” she says, to which he nods in agreement. “Though I won’t say no to free drinks.”  

The cocktails she had at the gala are still buzzing faintly in her veins when she walks into her flat later that night with her heels in hand. While Loki was right in predicting that such events could get dull and repetitive, it’s still far from the worst afternoon she’s had. In fact, she has to admit that she enjoyed the last few hours. She didn’t care much for the people flashing their checkbooks, waiting for applause as they flaunted their allegedly innate philanthropy, but knowing that the money raised is being put towards research that could save lives is plenty comforting.

So, too, was seeing Loki in his element. While she’s dropped by the hospital once or twice to grab lunch with him, she’s never actually seen him in action. But with some of his patients in attendance today, she was able to see firsthand how caring he is towards them. She didn’t keep count, but she’s certain that not only did he know each and every one of their names off the top of his head, but also those of their parents. Further sweetening the deal was the fact that his colleagues are a kind and lively group, reminding her so much of the dynamic she had back when she worked with her friends at The Daily. But while Loki and his team could definitely throw down on the dance floor, she doubts they could dethrone a certain bunch somewhere in Midtown Manhattan. She smiles at the thought, and in spite of the nostalgia this day invoked in her, she’s grateful that she had decided to come along.

A door clicks closed just as she pads into her living room, and she looks to the side in time to see Steve emerge from the hallway. “Hey,” he says when he sees her, walking over to the lounger to pick up his coat. “You just missed her.”

“I’ll kiss her goodnight in a bit,” she says. “Did you two have a nice day?”

He nods, slipping his arms into the sleeves of his coat. “You?”

“I did,” she says. “It was nice to get a glimpse of what Loki does.” She smiles softly. “He and his coworkers… they reminded me of when we used to work at The Daily.”

“When you used to work at The Daily, you mean,” he says, his tone wry. “Because I still do.”

Her expression falls. “Okay, what is your problem?” she says, the words coming out more hotly than she’d intended, but what remorse she felt is immediately erased when he responds with a scoff. “You know what? Ever since yesterday you’ve been acting mercurial. If I did something, just tell me, because I haven’t a clue-”

“Oh, you haven’t a clue?” he spits out, chuckling humorlessly and prompting her to glare at him. “Sure, okay.”

“I haven’t!” she says, louder this time, and she pauses to collect herself as they both glance towards the hallway to make sure her outburst hadn’t roused Isabel. When they don’t hear anything, she turns back to him, her voice an octave lower. “But obviously you do, so why don’t you enlighten me?”

If the incredulous stare he gives her is supposed to be a clue, it goes right over her head, only bringing her frustration to a rolling boil. As she lets out an exasperated sigh, he shakes his head. “You know what? Forget it. I never should have come.”

“Are you kidding me?” she says as she follows him down the foyer. “You’re the one who asked to come here in the first place!”

“And now I’m saying it was a mistake,” he says, turning back to her. She takes a step back at that, her eyes narrowing. He sighs. “I’ll drop off Izzie’s gifts tomorrow so she can open it on Christmas morning… But the next time I’ll be back is to take her home to New York with me like we agreed in our contract.”

Her shoulders coil at his words, but as she looks at him to see his jaw set and his eyes anywhere else but on her, she can only give him a curt nod. “I think that’s for the best,” she says, her voice dangerously low.

Wordlessly, he turns away, making it out the door without another glance back at her. She watches as the door swings shut behind him, exhaling at the resounding click that follows as she stands frozen in place. It’s only when her vision blurs that she realizes her eyes have filled with tears, leaving a warm stream down her cheeks as they fall. 

The scotch burns a hot stripe down Steve’s throat as he takes a generous sip and settles back against the couch, tipping his head back with a sigh. The mini bar had been the first place he had gone to when he arrived back at his hotel suite, hoping that what liquor he could find would distract him from his racing thoughts. And yet, in spite of the warmth he feels rushing to his cheeks, the reprieve he craves feels far from his grasp.

He messed up, that much he knows for certain. The words that had left his mouth as he stood in Natasha’s foyer were hurtful and unwarranted, and he’s felt ashamed of them from the moment the door slammed shut behind him. The pain that had flashed in her eyes when he had brought up their custody agreement – implying that their relationship was nothing more than a means to satisfy a legal document – haunts him, the image playing in his head on loop. He hadn’t meant to say it, hadn’t meant to treat her that way. But when she had brought up missing The Daily, as if she wasn’t the one who packed up and left, what little restraint he’d been holding onto since the previous night had dissipated faster than a candle burning in the wind.

Frustration overcomes him at the thought, and he brings a hand up to pinch to pinch the bridge of his nose as he mutters a curse. When he had arrived in London, he had been steadfast in his belief that what feelings he had for Natasha were long buried. That, the friendship they had built over the years was enough to get them through one Christmas together as co-parents. And for the most part, he thought he had been right. The days they spent together roaming the aquarium and decorating cookies were eerily reminiscent of the times they’d go from one gallery to another, exploring the boroughs as they went. But so, too, was the ease with which they just seemed to work effortlessly together, he realizes. When Isabel needed consoling, they didn’t need to utter a word to each other to know that whoever was not picking her up would be the one to run a comforting hand through her hair. Nor did they have to gesture for the other to grab the stroller when Isabel ran off or even ask the other what they wanted before they ordered drinks at a café. They just did it, without much thought, because on some innate level, they already knew.

He lets out a deep sigh as the problem dawns on him. Somewhere between them taking in the scenery and shaking their heads in amusement at their daughter’s antics, Natasha’s laugh had become music to his ears once again. The way her green eyes lit up with happiness as they recounted memories made his heart flip in ways it hadn’t in some time, and the content he felt when he had his arms around her at the bakery was something he hadn’t experienced since she and Isabel had moved away. Everything was all too familiar, and in just a few short days, all the work he had put into convincing himself that he was over her had been erased. But if he knows one thing about history, it’s that it can be a vicious cycle doomed to repeat itself, and as they made it back to Natasha’s flat yesterday, the man standing in her kitchen – buying her groceries and dotting on his daughter – was a reminder that once again, how he felt didn’t matter. 

His heart clenches in his chest, and he nearly misses the coffee table as he sits up and all but slams his tumbler down on the glass. He reaches for his phone in his pocket, checking the time. It’s a little after eight in the evening in New York, and he pauses to cycle through the options in his contacts. He could call Sarah or Wanda, but he’s not certain he can handle hearing their disappointment right now. Tony would do, but knowing him, he’s probably holed up in his lab at this time, so he settles on the only other person he knows would never miss out on an opportunity to set him straight.

“Bucky’s Crisis Hotline,” Bucky says, picking up after the first two rings. “How may I divert your life catastrophe this evening?”

Despite his foul mood, Bucky’s greeting manages to elicit a dry chuckle from him. “Can’t someone just call his friend without needing help these days?”

“Cut the crap, punk,” Bucky says with a scoff. “You text me, sure. But when you call it’s usually because I need to bail you out of some dumbass decision you made. So, cut to the chase already because I’m making Chili.”

“At eight in the evening?” he challenges, letting out another chuckle when Bucky only reiterates the need to get on with it. Bucky could be brash, but he knows his best friend will never sugarcoat his words, which is why he’s seeking his counsel in this moment in the first place. As he sits up straighter, he begins to catch Bucky up on everything that has happened since he arrived and the facts that had dawned on him only moments ago. When he finishes retelling his fight with Natasha earlier this evening, he lets out a long and winded sigh. “I don’t know what to do, Buck.”

“Well, for starters, you can grow a pair and apologize to her,” Bucky says, plain and simple. “I mean, where do you get off saying things like that? You’re the one who asked to visit, remember? And from what I gather, you’re also the one that asked her to spend time with you and Izzie.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” he snaps, running a hand through his hair. “I messed up, Buck. I know that. But everything just happened so fast.”

“I get that,” Bucky says. “And I recognize how much that sucks. But Steve, the answer to your predicament isn’t acting like you’re a five-year-old who can’t use his words and then snapping at her all of a sudden because she can’t read your mind.”

His eyes fall shut. “I know,” he whispers. “Fuck, I know.” 

“Natasha, the mother of your child and the woman you love, deserves better.”

“I never said love,” he says, swallowing the tightness in his throat.

“You didn’t have to, Captain Obvious,” Bucky says indignantly. “You know what? Hold up.” The line cuts off, but just as he pulls the phone away from his ear to see what had caused it, Bucky’s face flashes on his screen with an incoming FaceTime call. He taps the green button, and without missing a beat, Bucky goes on. “Can we just cut the bull here and now? All this time, I’ve held my tongue because I didn’t want to get all up on your business, but this is getting ridiculous.” Bucky lifts a brow at him. “You still love her. Hell, there was no amount of work you could have thrown yourself into these last couple of years that was going to change that.” Bucky narrows his eyes at him. “Tell me I’m wrong.” When he doesn’t respond, Bucky scoffs. “That’s what I thought. Steve, stop this pity party already and call her. Now. Apologize, and while you’re at it, fucking tell her the truth already so she knows you didn’t just lose your goddamn mind!”

“Why?” he presses. “What’s that going to do but make things worse? She’s moved on, and as much as I hate to say it, he seems like a really good guy.” He reaches for his tumbler to take another sip, his tone as bitter as the liquid he’s just swallowed down as he adds, “God knows my daughter just adores him.” As he looks back at the screen, he shakes his head. “It’s too late, Buck.” 

“You know, for someone so smart, sometimes…” Bucky sighs, looking off to the side. “Look, if there’s anything you should have learned by now it’s that withholding the truth doesn’t make things better. If anything, it just festers until all you’re left with is resentment over what could have been.” He turns back to him, his expression serious. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe it is too late. But at the very least, you can give her all the facts and let her decide.”

Bucky’s words cause him to look down at his feet, his stomach twisting with dread as he’s reminded of another poignant time Natasha had made a decision. He remembers the morning so vividly, and as he thinks back to it, it really was the moment things began to go wrong. They’d been living together for weeks at that point, and it was the day after Natasha’s pregnancy was deemed no longer in peril. He recalls the smell of her shampoo as he woke up with his arms around her, and how bright her eyes were as she sneakily goaded him into making her waffles. As he made breakfast, it was as if his lips were permanently etched into a smile. Then and there, he had decided that this would be the day he would tell Natasha all he’d been waiting to say – how it stopped being about some contract they signed long ago, how much he wanted them to be a family, and most importantly, how much he loved her.

But then Sharon had showed up at his front door, and before he knew it, the sight of his ex-fiancée was all the motivation Natasha needed to decide that she no longer wanted him. It was that morning that cemented the idea that his feelings were a one-way street, further perpetuated by the custody agreement she’d served him shortly afterwards.

His voice is low as he looks back at Bucky. “What if I can’t?”

Bucky sighs just as a timer goes off behind him. “I have to go,” he says, his tone the softest it’s been since they began talking. “But Steve… the pain you’re feeling now? The pain you’ve been living with these past few years? It exists because you lost something that matters. But believe me when I say that nothing worth having ever comes easy. You want something, you’ll have to fight for it.” He shrugs. “But if you’re too afraid to do that, then… maybe it’s time to let her go.”

The words knock the breath right out of his lungs, but he manages a single nod. “Thanks, Buck.”

Another sigh escapes him as the video cuts off and he clutches his phone in one hand. Let her go. Those three little words echo in his mind as he bows his head. He thought he had. But here they are – him helplessly in love with her and her already moving on – and if this were a movie, he feels as if he’s already seen the ending. Back then, he had been too haunted by the emotional destruction of his past experiences that when things began to go South with him and Natasha, he couldn’t muster the courage to fight for her in fear of getting his heart decimated again. And now, with the possibility of that happening before him once more, he’s still uncertain if he can risk opening himself up to that pain.

Mindlessly, he begins to swipe through his camera feed and smiles when he passes a picture of Isabel beaming from ear to ear at the aquarium. As he thumbs over to the next one, he pauses. It’s the one their guide had taken of the three of them, and as his eyes scan over their matching smiles, he cannot help but note how happy they all look. In fact, he can’t remember the last time he himself looked this happy. It’s with that thought that he lets his mind wander back to the last few days. If he had to think of a recurring theme – from sharing a beer with Natasha to riding in the back of the cab back to her flat – it’s that it just simply felt right. In spite of all the time that had passed and all the circumstances that had led them there, nothing has ever felt more fitting than the three of them together, as a family.

Family.

The word hits him like a freight train, bringing with it a sobering clarity. Perhaps this is what Bucky meant about the things that matter having the highest stakes. The thought is downright terrifying, putting all the defense and coping mechanisms he’s built to avoid this exact hurt on edge. But regardless, it occurs to him that if there’s anything worth sticking his neck out for, if there’s one thing he should risk yet another broken heart for, it’s for Natasha and Isabel – his family.

Before he can give it another thought, his fingers are already scrolling through his contacts again, searching for Natasha’s name. He taps down on it, bringing his phone to his ear and holding his breath as it rings once, twice.

“Hello?” he hears Natasha say, her voice raspy.

“Hi,” he says, and as he catches sight of the clock on the bedside table, he silently chastises himself when the numbers read two a.m. “Sorry I woke you up.”

“You didn’t,” she says, but in spite of that information, he finds that it doesn’t bring him any absolution. Moments pass – seconds, maybe more – but eventually, she lets out a sigh. “I don’t want to fight, Steve.”

“Neither do I,” he assures her. “I called because I couldn’t wait ‘til morning to apologize. I’m so sorry, Nat. I was a jerk. I didn’t mean a single word I said. Not one.”

“Then what did you mean?” she asks, not a trace of malice in her tone.

“I… there’s so much I want to say,” he admits. “So much I have to say. And I know I owe you an explanation right now, but this isn’t something I want to say over the phone.” He sighs. “Is there… is there any way I can come by tomorrow morning? Can we talk then?”

“I have to prepare for Christmas Eve,” she says, but just as his shoulders begin to sag with disappointment, she adds, “but maybe you can come by the party and we can talk after?”

He blinks, confused. “Nat, I- I was so terrible to you.”

“You were,” she says, and he notes that those two words hurt more than anything he’s heard tonight. “But I’m choosing to believe that underneath everything that’s going on… the man I know is still in there somewhere.”

His eyes close at that, and he takes in a breath. “He is, Nat,” he says. “He is. I promise.”

“Good,” she says, her tone more buoyant this time. “So, I’ll see you tomorrow?” 

“Okay,” he says, his chest feeling the lightest it’s been in days. “Thank you, Nat.”

“Goodnight, Steve.”    

“Isabel.”

At the pointed mention of her name, Isabel looks back, an innocent smile tugging at her lips. “Kenny cane!”

“You’re right,” Steve says, rising from his seat and walking to where she’s standing on the couch with a hand still extended towards the ornaments hanging higher up on the Christmas tree. “That is a candy cane.” In spite of the little whine Isabel lets out as he lifts her up, he collects her into his arms, setting her on his hip. “But you can’t be climbing up the couch, sweetheart. You could hurt yourself.”

Isabel only stares up at him from underneath the fan of her lashes, jutting her bottom lip out in a pout. “Pwease?”

He lets out a chuckle. Trying to feign adamancy when she’s dressed like The Elf on the Shelf is truly a losing battle – but even so, he stands his ground. “Nice try,” he says, kissing her temple, “but safety first.”

“Now that’s an ironclad will if I ever saw one,” he hears someone say, and he turns to see T’Challa smiling at them from his seat at the dining table.

“To be honest, we weren’t sure you were going to survive the puppy dog eyes,” Nakia adds from where she sits next to T’Challa. “But the pout, too? Bravo, Dad.”

“I’m not going to lie,” he says as he makes his way back to them, “I thought I was a goner, too.” He returns to his vacated seat, situating Isabel, who goes back to the crayons she abandoned in lieu of sneaking off to the tree, in his lap. “But unless you never want to have furniture over a foot high ever again, sometimes you’re going to have to make the sacrifice play no matter how cute the distraction techniques get.” He nods towards Nakia’s protruding belly, smiling when T’Challa reaches over to put a hand over her bump. “You’ll find out soon enough.” 

“Don’t give him too much credit though,” Natasha chimes in from across the table, a smirk on her face as she shoots him a knowing look. “Sometimes all she needs to do is bat her eyelashes to get her way with him.”

“Oh, cut the man some slack,” Loki says, his fingers around the stem of his Martini glass. “Those baby blues of hers are plenty compelling and you know it. If none of us stand a chance against her charms, what more her own father?”

“Thank you,” he says, grinning smugly at Natasha when Loki tips his glass towards him in response.

To say that he was thrilled when he arrived at Natasha’s flat this evening to see Loki already there helping her in the kitchen would be a flat out lie. In fact, there was a part of him that felt a touch blindsided in spite of Natasha telling him that she was having a few people over. But as a symbol of his contrition for his actions the previous day, he’d decided to put his feelings aside as he accepted Loki’s offer for a beer. And while conversing with Loki was low on the list of things he wanted to do, he has to admit that the more he’s learned about him, the harder he is to dislike. The man is well-spoken, insightful, and even shares his love for art history. He saves children for a living but isn’t boastful about it, and, though it pains him to accept it, he really does seem to care about Natasha and Isabel.

The same goes for T’Challa and Nakia, both of whom he’s found to be extremely kind, and their dedication to shedding light on global injustices through their work with Natasha at The Pioneer truly inspirational. He’s enjoyed getting to know them this evening, and it’s easy to see why Natasha is drawn to them. For all his worries about spending Christmas Eve here, he notes that he’s glad he’s met the people who have become Natasha’s support system since moving to London.

The sound of Natasha’s laughter prompts him to look her way, and he nuzzles the top of Isabel’s head to hide his smile when he catches her with a hand over her chest as she and Nakia poke fun at T’Challa. Her hair’s the longest he’s ever seen it, cascading down her shoulders in soft, scarlet waves, and he realizes that in the last few days, he’s been so caught up in finding things about her that have remained the same over the last six months that he’s overlooked everything new. More than her hair, there’s her festively decorated flat, and as he looks around the room to see the garlands and the ribbons and the holly scattered around – providing pops of green, gold, and red everywhere – he’s stunned at how far a cry it is from the spartan apartment she had when they first met. But such is the case, he supposes, when you have a daughter to indoctrinate into the holiday festivities and when your home becomes more than just a place to crash between travel assignments as a young journalist.

There’s also the fact that she’s cooking. She had hated the task so much in the past that he was certain it was her mission to order from every restaurant in Manhattan just to avoid it. And now, not only is she cooking up a storm, but such is her confidence that she’s sitting back enjoying a glass of wine while the feast she’s prepared finishes up in the oven. He’s not sure what had led to these changes, but if the sparkle in her eyes is anything to go by, he has to say he’s rather thankful for it. There are many things they are yet to discuss, and though he does not know how their talk might end later, one thing he knows is that he wants nothing more than for her to remain as happy as she looks in this moment.

A timer buzzes, and he blinks to see Natasha pushing her chair back. “That’ll be the roast.”

“Do you need help?” he asks, looking hopefully up at her.

“No, we’ve got it,” she says, smiling at him just as Loki rises next to her. “Just sit back and relax.” 

“Oh, okay,” he says, watching the both of them walk away and finding himself thankful when Isabel tugs on the sleeve of his sweater, seeking attention and successfully making him look away from the hand Loki has on the small of Natasha’s back.

When he had learned that Natasha had taken up cooking the other day at the park, he was surprised, but that’s nothing compared to the awe he feels now as he stares at the elaborate spread on the table before him. Between the perfectly cooked Prime Rib and the plethora of scrumptious sides, it’s clear that not only has she learned her way around the kitchen, but that she’s also become some sort of master chef in her own right. And, judging by the delighted faces around the table, he knows he’s not the only one who thinks so.

“Natasha, this meal is out of this world,” Nakia says, to which everyone hums in agreement.

“It’s absolutely delightful,” Loki concurs.

Natasha beams shyly, wiping the corner of her mouth with a napkin. “Well, thank you,” she says. “Admittedly, you guys are my guinea pigs tonight since this is the first full meal I’ve prepared for a group.” Everyone sings her their praises, and it’s not until she’s playfully pointing her knife at him that he realizes he’s grinning. “Not a peep, Rogers.”

“I haven’t said a thing!” he says, chuckling.

“But you were thinking it,” she challenges with a smile before addressing the confused looks around them. “Before I moved here, my cooking repertoire consisted of toast and scrambled eggs. But even then, there were some mishaps.”

“And what say you of her culinary prowess now, Steve?” T’Challa asks, arching a teasing brow at him.

“It’s great,” he says, his eyes never leaving Natasha’s as he shrugs a shoulder. “But so is everything she puts her mind to, so I shouldn’t really be surprised.” 

Slowly, Natasha’s lips quirk up. “Does that mean my gravy is better than yours?”

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far…” he says, causing her to narrow her eyes at him and he just laughs as he goes back to trying to feed Isabel a forkful of mashed potatoes.

“Let’s not start a gravy war on Christmas Eve, yes?” Nakia says, eliciting laughter from around the table. “Steve, Natasha mentioned that you were working on a gallery extension in California. How’s that coming along?”  

“It’s progressing, finally,” he says, sighing when Isabel turns her head, muttering a no for the third time in a row. He turns apologetically to Nakia, who only shoots him an understanding smile. “Sorry-”

“Let me try,” Natasha interjects softly from across the table, gesturing to Isabel to come over.

With a nod, he puts Isabel down, keeping an eye on her as she walks to the other side of the table. “As I was saying, it’s finally progressing in that we’ve gotten around the red tape and the building is ours for Tony to reconstruct as he pleases. Pepper’s really worked her magic at greasing the wheels of bureaucracy.”

“Is there a thing Pepper Potts can’t pull off?” he hears T’Challa ask, a hint of pride in his voice.

“There really isn’t,” Natasha chimes in with a chuckle, but he’s only partly listening as he watches Isabel walk over to Loki instead. Natasha turns to Isabel, sighing. “Izzie, no. Don’t disturb Loki while he’s eating.”

“That’s alright,” Loki tells Natasha as he picks Isabel up and places her on his lap. “Come here, angel.”

“Steve?”

“Hmm?” he says, turning to see Nakia looking expectantly at him. He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, can you repeat that?”

Nakia smiles. “I was just asking if you think the new gallery will be open in the next few months.”

“Oh, uh…” he says, his gaze falling to Loki and Isabel once more just as Loki successfully gets Isabel to take a bite from his fork. He looks back at Nakia. “We um… we already finished signing all the artists we discovered to contracts granting us exclusive rights to showcase their work, so I believe we will be open soon. March at the latest if the construction goes as planned.”

“Oh, how wonderful,” Nakia says.

T’Challa turns to her. “Perhaps we’ll be able to visit before you’re no longer able to fly, my love.”

“Maybe we can all plan a trip,” Loki adds, causing his eyes to dart to him in time to see Isabel move off his lap. Loki turns to Natasha, smiling. “We do enjoy roaming around galleries, don’t we, Nat?”

If Natasha had said anything in response, he doesn’t hear it as the words tumble out of his mouth before he can give them much thought. “Galleries were our thing.”

Natasha’s eyes are wide as she looks his way, her lips parting, but before she can utter a word, she’s interrupted by a crash. Her head whips in the direction of the living room. “Izzie!”

Isabel’s subsequent wail has him pushing his chair back in an instant, and as he follows Natasha, they rush into the living room and towards the Christmas tree. Natasha is the first to get to Isabel, who’s still crying on the ground with the candy cane ornament clutched in her hand, and his heart drops when he sees the blood gushing from her brow.

“Izzie, baby,” he says, kneeling next to Natasha, who reaches for the box of tissues on the coffee table. “It’s gonna be okay, fig. Momma and Daddy are here.”

“Use this instead,” Loki says, suddenly appearing between him and Natasha and handing Natasha a gauze pad. “Just keep applying pressure.” Loki shifts, turning to him as he tries to get more space to get closer to Isabel. “Move aside, please.”

“I’ve got this,” he says through gritted teeth, refusing to budge.

Loki’s brows furrow. “Steve-”

“I said I’ve got this!” he repeats more forcefully this time. Vaguely, he hears Natasha call out his name in admonishment, but he ignores her as he glares at Loki. “I’m her father, not you.”

“And between the both of us, I’m the one with the M.D.,” Loki retorts heatedly. “So, we can either sit here and argue or you can move aside and let me treat your daughter.” He juts his chin out. “Your call, dad.”

Perhaps it’s the way Loki’s eyes flash with urgency, or the way Isabel’s cries only seem to intensify with every passing second. But before he knows it, he’s moving aside, defeated.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 5

[k7l4d4]

Midnight Striga: Fairy Tail/Owl House Cross Fic Episode 5 Part 10

Hello, and once again, I welcome you to Midnight Striga. Please, enjoy.

Perry Porter strode into the Covention Center, eyes easily panning across and compartmentalizing the tragic sights around him, a skill he picked up by virtue of sheer experience. Clinically, he noted the amount of bodies present, living and dead, as well as the brow-raising sight of what could only be human corpses, if the ears were any indicator. He felt a sinking sensation within his stomach; whatever had occurred today would rock the Isles to its core, of that he had no doubt.

Shaking his head, Perry scanned the crowd again, eyes widening at the sight of a hand waving him over. Rushing over, he slid to a stop in front of his son, Augustus; his silly, energetic, passionate, brilliant son, Augustus, alive and well. “This is Perry Porter, on the scene saying,” He started, before pulling Gus into a hug. “I am so happy you’re alright.” He sighed, relieved, feeling Gus relax into his grip.

“I-I am really glad you got here so quickly dad.” Gus choked out, a light sprinkling of tears in his eyes. “A lot’s happened, and I really, really want to talk with you about it, but something more important came up, and I think you can help out, you know?” He put on his bravest smile, trying to hold in the scream that was building ever since he had managed to process that yes, everything that had happened to today was all but over.

“I really think it would be best that I try and talk with you about what happened here,” Perry began, before noticing the stubborn expression on his son’s face, “But I can see that you won’t budge on this. So, shall we?” He calmly asked, gesturing for his son to lead the way, which he did with a beaming smile.

As they walked through the clinic, Perry idly noted the general behaviors of the people around him; there was his son’s friend, Willow Park, tearfully talking with her parents, a relieved smile on her face. There were the Blight Children, the two eldest tightly squeezing themselves around their younger sister, a baffled look on her face. He saw the crowds of crying, pleading, nervous faces all around. As his son led him into a backroom of the small clinic that had been established, Perry came face to face with three figures; the Emperor’s Coven Head Lilith Clawthorne, Eda the Owl Lady, and a human girl, all seated around a central table, gesturing for him to sit. As his son quickly saw himself out of the room, Perry had the sinking suspicion he was in a bit over his head.

After they explained the situation, as much as they could at least, Perry took a deep breath, holding in a sigh. They wanted his help to spread this information, which he could see the basis behind it- a group that invested this much effort into an attack wasn’t going to just stop and people needed to know about them- but the sheer depth of this reveal would completely change the social landscape of Bonesburough. “Very well, I agree to help with this. Do you have a plan for how we go about this?” He asked Lilith, who seemed to be trying a bit too hard to hold authority over this meeting, despite the lack of resistance from the other two.

Lilith nodded. “We have two real options at this point.” She said, holding up two fingers for emphasis. “We can either do multiple takes and present them later, or we can have this meeting broadcast live as breaking news.” She ticked off the options on her fingers, a grave look of contemplation upon her face. Lilith pursed her lips. “Personally, I favor the second option.”

That caught the group by surprise. “Huh, I honestly thought you’d prefer to get this all perfect and have it presented later.” Eda commented, arching a brow.

Lilith snorted. “Please, sister, give me some credit. The longer we go without addressing this, the more severe public unrest and hysteria will become. While the release of this information will certainly have its own consequences, those are still preferable to the people being left in the dark, and drawing more unsavory conclusions.” Lilith calmly stated, gaining impressed looks from the others.

Perry calmly assembled the equipment he would need, adding in his own take on the situation. “While an official report would normally be prepared by the Emperor’s Coven,” He carefully ignored Eda’s derisive snort, “that would be contingent on them possessing factual information to present. Without it, anything they provided would be woefully inadequate for informing the people. While a Live Report of this interview will most certainly cause a stir, it will ultimately be a mere fraction of what would result if the Emperor’s Coven issued a report that ultimately proved to be false in some capacity.” The group blinked, but, after mulling it over, agreed with what he said; it made sense, if people placed trust in an organization and it failed them, whether as a result of malice or otherwise, there would be backlash.

Perry clapped his hands. “So! Let’s begin, shall we?” They all shared a look, and nodded.

As they gathered around the table, Lilith leaned forward. “Now then, human, it’s time for you to answer my questions. The People of the Isles are dying to hear what you have to say.”

Luz gave a challenging grin. “Ask away. I’m all ears.”

Taking that as his cue, Perry started up the broadcast. Turning the camera to himself, he began, voice grave. “To all the citizens of the Boiling Isles, this is Breaking News, Live from the Covention. I am Perry Porter, reporting on behalf of Emperor’s Coven Head Lilith Clawthorne.” He paused, allowing the prepared footage to play across the crystal balls of all watching; the broken walls and shattered stands, the caged prisoners held under guard, and the bodies of all those who’d died, some gathered together for examination, others… not so much. He continued. “Today, tragedy has struck. For the first time since Emperor Belos’ ascendancy, an organized attack on our people has been committed. Of the over 2000 attendees, approximately half have been slain, and a third of the remainder have sustained moderate to severe injuries. Many of them were children. Of the 300 Coven Guards assigned to the Covention, over half of them have died, with all but a quarter sporting severe injuries.”

“What is most shocking, however, is that those claiming responsibility, a group known as the Black Dog Squadron, working on behalf of a group or individual known as Oroboros, are humans. That’s right, humans!!” Perry exclaimed, milking the drama a bit more than he liked, but needing to keep the audience invested; tragedy could only captivate for so long. “During the attack, all displayed some form of magic, but none, bar a handful who commanded Plant Magic, utilized any of the Nine Magics. How is this possible? Why did this happen? What will we, as a society, do next? To help answer these questions, Lilith Clawthorne has initiated an interview with a human who fought on behalf of our people, one Luz Noceda.” He knew that the girl’s image was now emblazoned across every crystal ball on the Isles at this very moment, leading further weight to his broadcast, in theory at least. “I am here with Coven Head Lilith herself,” He indicated the prominent Witch, who raised her hand to the audience. “To broadcast the interview to you all. Please be advised, some of what may be discussed may be shocking to some viewers.” With his part finished for the moment, Perry fell silent, allowing the broadcast to focus on the interview, more of an interrogation really, going on in the room.

“To ensure that what you say is true,” Lilith began, cutting right to the chase. “I must insist that you swear an Unbreakable Vow to that effect. This way, none can claim you are attempting to deceive us. Is that acceptable?” She asked, holding her hand out to begin forming the spell.

Luz raised an eyebrow, but saw no problem with the spell. She shrugged. “Sounds fine to me.” She said bluntly, prompting a nod from Lilith as she formed the spell. When the circle was completed, the two shook hands through it, sealing the oath. Luz was blissfully unaware of the shock rippling through the Isles, as now none would be able to refute or deny her words without looking insane or foolish. She had effectively solidified her legitimacy irrefutably in a single instant.

“Excellent.” Lilith replied, a grim smile playing across her face. She began. “First of all, I must ask, for how long have humans been capable of magic?”

Luz gave a shrug. “I can’t give you an exact figure, but at least 700 years, most likely more.” She said, unaware and uncaring of the shock that erupted at her statement. Even Lilith wasn’t totally immune, managing to school her features, expertly concealing the bewildered shock at the girl’s reply.

Lilith cleared her throat, forcing her instinctive urge to dive into the historical implications of that statement. As calmly as she could, she continued. “I see. How is magic utilized in Human Society?”

Luz tilted her head a bit. “You’re gonna have to be a bit more specific than that. There are a lot of Human Societies, all of whom have magic capable individuals, and all have their own ways of doing things. A benefit of being the dominant species in our world, is that we can afford to divide ourselves into a LOT of individual cultures and communities.”

Lilith paled at that, unable to stop the question that bubbled up in response. “Just… how many humans are in existence, exactly?”

Luz pondered that for a moment before replying. “I can’t give you an exact number, but I’d say there’s about several hundred million of us. Our world is big, and there are very few places we can’t survive on it.”

Internally shaking her head, and forcing herself not to focus on all the implications that came to mind, Lilith continued with her questions. “What is this Oroboros that the attackers claimed to be working for?”

Luz’s eyes sharpened, a burning hate filling her eyes, enough that even those watching at home suddenly felt very unsafe at the moment. “Oroboros is a criminal organization; specifically, they are the single largest Dark Guild active in the world right now. Oroboros prides itself on its ability to seize control and orchestrate things to its own benefit, without any regard for the harm and chaos that erupts in their wake. Cruelty and brutality are prized and cultivated among their members, almost as much as magical power is. No crime is too heinous, no line too sacred for them to cross.” She hissed out, the pure malicious hate coloring her tone forcing Lilith to gulp in nervousness.

“I see.” And Lilith did see. She had personally borne witness to the aftermath of that cruelty and indifference; however, Luz’s response brought another question to mind, one she felt she needed an answer to. She narrowed her eyes. “Edalyn told me you would be an excellent source of information for this. So far, you have proven to be so, even if my questions have not been exacting enough to gain satisfactory answers as of yet. But that response of yours has me thinking. How do you know about Oroboros, Miss Noceda?” Lilith inquired, eyes focused.

Luz raised an eyebrow, stood up, and turned around. After ensuring her back was presented to the broadcast, she reached back, and pulled down at the back of her outfit. Seared into her flesh lay a symbol, a serpent arranged into a Sideways eight, biting its own tail. “I used to be a member.” Luz said, voice dead and hollow. She turned a heartbreakingly sad smile towards Lilith. “Specifically, I was a member under protest.”

“Elaborate.” Lilith ordered, voice hard and unrelenting. She could feel the urge to bring out her staff and blast this child into oblivion, but tamped it down. She didn’t have all the information yet.

Luz gave a chuckle, bitter and full of the kind of spite that made people glad for what they had. “Oroboros has no limits to what they are willing to do, and that extends to what lengths they are willing to go to for recruits. Whenever someone with a useful skill or magic appears in their information network, they send out recruiters. For those with a few too many morals, such as myself, they like to employ a more… decisive argument.” She turned an empty smile upwards, oblivious to the daggers Lilith was glaring her way. “Oroboros kidnapped my sister, and used her as a hostage to keep me in line.” Lilith froze, unblinking.

Luz continued, oblivious. “Whenever I talked back, Vee was beaten. Whenever I failed an assignment, she had a bone broken. Whenever I completed a job, she got a good meal, after having been starved and deprived of water to just short of death that is.” She smirked, an angry, tired thing. “I hated myself. I wanted to die. I only kept living for her. And then she died; one of her guards decided they wanted to have a little fun with her, and the next anyone knew, the guard was dead, and my sister had a knife in her liver. I was free in the worst way possible.”

Stunned silence rang throughout the Isles, such that even Lilith herself was rendered speechless. Forcing herself to speak, Lilith asked the next question on her mind, one she felt the Isles would wish to know. “Should we consider this an act of War from the Human Realm?”

Luz blinked. Then, she laughed; a deep, cackling laugh filled with so much loathing and misery it was genuinely astonishing a living being could make such a sound. “No. Or at least, not the way you’re thinking. Oroboros is in no way affiliated with any form of Government or Ruling power. It’s a criminal organization that supports itself alone.” She gave a poisonous smile. “While I have no way of knowing if any Human Governments know about the Isles, I can assure you that none of them were involved in this.”

“Well, that’s something good at least.” Lilith said dryly. “What can you tell us about Oroboros in regards to how it is structured?”

Luz leaned back, gathering her memories on the subject. “Oroboros originally began as a Dark Guild that took jobs that other Dark Guilds shied away from, stuff that was extremely messed up and depraved in what was involved to go about them. When the big three Dark Guilds were dismantled, Oroboros clawed its way to the top of the heap after all the infighting died down. After that, they started breaking down and assimilating other Dark Guilds that they thought might be useful. You actually met one of them out there.” Luz offhandedly mentioned.

“Truly?” Lilith broached.

“Yup.” Luz nodded. “Before they became the Black Dog Squadron, the Squad was originally a guild in its own right, Barghast. Barghast was a mercenary guild at first, selling the services of its members as soldiers and fighters to the highest bidder, with an emphasis on fighting in wars. But when the local groups started fighting less, Barghast decided it would be better to start the wars they fought, and sell their services to both sides to keep the conflict going longer.” Luz smiled at that. It was not a nice smile. “When their little scheme came to light, they were branded a Dark Guild and went on the run, before being absorbed into Oroboros.”

Luz leaned forward. “Oroboros likes to present itself as one big unit, and while it can act like one in the field, Oroboros is full of splintered factions and units. The Black Dog Squadron is one of the neutral factions, actually; they don’t care which faction is using them, just as long as they can cause as much suffering and bloodshed as possible. I was an unaligned member, mostly because none of the Squadrons trusted a conscript like me not to stab them in the back, so I didn’t really work with any of the Factions or Squads outside of being paired with them for missions. My jobs were assassinations, thefts, and… less savory things.” Luz admitted, eyes downcast. Tears pooled in her eyes, dripping onto the table.

Lilith pursed her lips, feeling unwilling to judge the girl for compromising herself in the name of her loved ones; if anything, she was impressed the girl had the sense of self not to justify the atrocities she had done as anything other than what they were, a means of sparing the life of her loved one at the expense of others, and felt remorse over having done so. Still, she had two pressing questions to ask. “I must ask, you keep referencing Oroboros as a Dark Guild. Just what is a Guild?”

Luz slumped, feeling spent from the roller-coaster of loathing that always came when she thought about… all she had done. “Guilds are the Human Version of your Coven System, if far less restrictive. I won’t go too far into it, that would take way too much time, but Dark Guilds are essentially guilds that flout the laws that govern what Guilds can and cannot do, and actively have their members engage in crimes. If I had to give a close equivalent, Dark Guilds are basically for us what an Assassin Coven or Thief Coven would be for you. An organized effort to commit crime with little to no regard for who would be hurt as a result.”

Lilith felt a chill run up her spine at the thought. The idea of the Coven System being twisted like that, perverted into a warped, criminal mirror of itself, made her shudder; the implications of what such a thing could do, producing criminals whose magic was specialized to enabling criminal acts… it was a horrifying thought. Lilith swallowed, before jumping into her last question. “I thank you for agreeing to this; some of what you’ve revealed could not have been easy for you. But… I must ask you this; can we count on you to aid us against Oroboros?” She peered forth, unknowingly mimicking the apprehension of many of the citizens watching.

Luz gave her a smoldering glare. “You don’t have anything to worry about. I’ve already seen enough misery because of Oroboros. I won’t let them do as they please anymore, not while I can do something about it.” Luz paused, a thought coming to mind. “Huh, this reminds me of something my teacher said while I was training.”

Lilith raised any eyebrow. “Oh?”

Luz gave Lilith a soft, tired smile. “Yeah.” She reached up, rolling back her sleeve; Lilith recoiled at the sight. From her elbow to her shoulder, Luz’s arm was a maze of scar tissue, deep gouges and rents woven through the veil of poorly healed flesh; the fact she could use her arm without issue was awe-inspiring, when one considered the pain she must feel every day from such an injury. “I got this when I first tried using my Magic in a combat situation. I was fighting a monster that was bothering some of the fields near the village I was staying at during my training. I had barely been training for a week, having only just barely made a proper spell for the first time less than a day ago. The monster dashed me against a cliff, driving my arm so deep against the stone that it started scraping bone. If my teacher hadn’t intervened, it would’ve eaten me.” She turned to Lilith, sober eyes burning with shame. “I was an idiot. My teacher made sure I remembered that. What they said to me that day, I’ll never forget.” Luz leaned back, before reciting something with the air of quotation. “‘Magic is an unreasonable force. It is wondrous and horrific. It cares nothing for good or evil, or the intentions of those who use it. If you wish to put your skills to such a task as fighting for truth and justice, grow strong. Otherwise, you’ll never be anything more than prey for those with less moral compunctions than you.’” Luz gazed fondly at the ceiling, tears pooling at the memory. “Ever since that day, I swore I would never let myself be too weak to stand up for myself, or what I believe in. I would be strong enough that I could protect others, but also to protect myself.” She gave a chuckle. “Things didn’t work out too well for that promise.”

Lilith just looked on with pity, before turning to Perry. “I think that would be a good point to end the interview. At least for today.”

“Indeed.” Perry nodded. “Well then, you heard it here first, Citizens.-”

“What are you doing?” Lilith queried.

Perry blinked. “I’m… ending the broadcast.”

Lilith shook her head. “Not yet. I still have one thing left to do.” She beckoned her sister forth, who had been silently looking on as the interview went on. Eda’s mind was brimming with questions for Luz, but she was willing to put it aside for when they got back home. For now, she had her sister to deal with. Lilith gazed upon her sister, an unreadable look in her eye. “Earlier, when you defeated me in a Witch’s Duel, your request for your win was that I would tell the truth about your curse to the public, dispelling the official story. We even swore an unbreakable vow over it.” She held up her arm for emphasis, her arm flashing with a white ring. An ominous smile graced her features. “Well, I do believe a live broadcast all across the Isles is certainly public, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yeah, it is. And I’m glad you’re not putting it off, I am! But… are you feeling okay sis? You seem a little out of it.” Eda asked, genuine concern coloring her voice. The hysterical laugh Lilith gave just added to that concern.

“Oh Edalyn, if you only knew.” She said, wiping away a tear from her outburst, before sobering. “But then, I suppose you will in a moment.” Turning to the broadcast, Lilith braced herself, fully willing to bear the backlash her actions would cause against herself and the Coven from this. “Citizens of the Isles, I, Coven Head Lilith Clawthorne, stand before you to reveal a bitter truth. For years, the story of the Owl Lady has been told, how her defiance and dismissal of the Coven System was punished by the Titan. That story… it is a lie.” She bluntly stated, almost feeling the gasps rippling through the Isles. “The Emperor’s Coven itself has no knowledge of how Edalyn was cursed, but it was most certainly no work of the Titan, or its will.” A mysterious smile, almost beatific were it not so filled with pain, crossed her features. “The one responsible for Eda Clawthorne’s curse was a witch. Specifically… the one responsible was myself.” Lilith felt more than saw Eda freeze up beside her. She could see it now on Perry’s own face, the look of horror, accusation, dumbfounded shock. 

Lilith turned to Eda, feeling an almost spiteful glee at the look of horror, denial, and hurt that crossed her features. “Y-your lying, Lily. You-” Eda stuttered (Edalyn stuttered!), denial and shock filling her voice. Lilith slowly stroked Eda’s cheek, an almost tender gesture.

“Edalyn, we both know that, for all your hatred of the rules and authority, you are far smarter than this. You know I can’t be lying.” Lilith said, just barely loud enough for the broadcast to pick up. “Think about it, you’ve surely pieced it together after all this time. Who else could’ve gotten into your room to curse you? Who else would’ve had reason to curse you?” Eda shook her head, denial still burned across her features, backing away from Lilith.

“Why?” Eda hissed out, forcing it through the denial. “Why would you do this!? To me!? TO YOUR FAMILY!?!?” She screamed, hurt and rage finally making themselves known in full.

Lilith chuckled, the same bitter, empty laugh Luz herself had used previously when discussing her failings. “Because you were going to win, dear sister!” Lilith cried, almost relishing the horror on Eda’s face, were it not for how sick she felt at it all. “We were set to fight for a place in the Emperor’s Coven, and you would win!! I knew you would!! You were the prodigy, the gifted genius that everything came so easily to when you bothered to try, the powerhouse who could already level buildings at the age of TWELVE!!!” Lilith felt the tears coming, the bitter, hot tears of her own weakness surging forth. “I was the one who wanted to serve the Isles, I was the one who wanted to help people!!!! You only cared about joining the Coven so you wouldn’t have to give up any magic! So why should I have given up my dream, my future, for you!?”

“I ONLY WANTED TO BE PART OF THE COVEN TO SUPPORT YOU!!!” Eda cried, her own angry, hurt-filled tears flowing. “All I wanted was to support you, to give you the future you deserved!!” She shook her head, anger and shame filling her heart.

“I KNOW!!” Lilith shrieked. “I Knew it then, and I know it now!!” The tears were like waterfalls now, bitter pain coating her every word. “But I couldn’t accept it, the idea that you, someone who so effortlessly and deliberately flouted the rules, would have what I wanted, what I dreamed of! How could I have known that you would forfeit, how could anyone!? A position in the most prestigious and influential of covens, and you throwing it away for me!?” She shook her head. “No. I didn’t believe you could be that selfless.”

Eda gave a bitter snort. “And I didn’t believe you could be that selfish. I guess we were both surprised.” Not staying to hear another word, Eda grabbed Luz, who wordlessly followed her, and stormed off. Luz shot Lilith a look of empty disappointment. It was exactly what Lilith deserved.

Lilith turned to the still running broadcast, a blank smile on her face. “And you’ve heard it here first, folks.” Lilith mockingly imitated the standard reporter line. “The Enforcer of the Emperor’s Will is a cheat, scum who would betray her own family, and a fraud. What a shocking revelation, is it not?” She wandered off, tears still streaming. Perry wordlessly cut the broadcast. He suddenly felt the need to give his son the biggest hug of all time.

All across the Isles, people were reacting to the horrifying news. Some focusing on some parts over others, of course, but none could deny that the Special Report was on everyone’s minds.

“This is unacceptable!!” Kikimora cried, frantically pacing in front of the Emperor’s Throne, heedless of her standard deference. “How could Coven Head Clawthorne reveal such sensitive information through a broadcast of all things!? Your Highness, this mutiny cannot stand!!” Normally, Kikimora would never be so blatant and emotional in front of her lord, but she felt now, of all times, was the best moment to voice her worries.

“Hmm… it seems I must adjust some of my plans.” Belos murmured. While Lilith publicly revealing the secret she so fervently guarded was certainly a surprise, if anything the revelation of her obsession should make her even more fervent in her future attempts to apprehend her sister. The revelations of Human Realm Magic now infesting his realm… oh he would definitely need to broach this carefully, but his ultimate goal remained unchanged. Wild Magic would be PURGED from the Titan, that was non-negotiable. But the revelation of Human Magic would certainly prove a useful tool for later…

“My lord!?” Kikimora frantically pleaded.

Hunter contemplated the revelations he had just witnessed. Humans were capable of magic, something deemed impossible. If it was possible for them… could it prove possible for himself? Something to think about for later. Right now, he had to attend to his Emperor. He owed the man everything, and this did not change that fact. He would probably have to keep a closer eye on Lilith though,

Alador calmly adjusted the latest adaptation to the Abomiton project, carefully tuning out his wife’s frantic screams and rage. She would burn herself down, if not out, in a little while, and then he would intercede. For the moment, he needed to properly calibrate the Coiled Composition System, truly a marvel really; if it worked properly, even the lowest quality of Abomitons would be a force to be reckoned with.

Odalia slammed herself down across from Alador with a huff, blistering rage burning in her eyes. “Well, at least now we know who our mysterious clients are.” She bit out, forcing herself to calm down with a cup of tea. Alador merely raised an eyebrow. He would see what she said in full, before replying. Odalia chuckled, a nasty, angry sounding thing. “It truly makes sense, you know. Such mysterious customers, wanting such a variety of goods and supplies! And they turned out to be murderous criminals. Fitting.”

“Will we stop supplying them, then?” Alador faux-absentmindedly asked. He had a feeling as to what she would say, but it was still imperative he hear it in truth first.

Odalia snorted. “No. We’ll keep selling to them. We’ll just covertly sabotage the goods we grant them, and use our dealings to pump them for information. Once we’ve gained everything we can, we use the resources we’ve acquired in our dealings to crush them.” Her eyes sharpened. “They endangered our children. Our FAMILY. They will not be allowed to survive for this offense.” Alador gravely nodded. Oroboros had made a crucial mistake already. They’d tried to challenge the Blight family, and harm their children. There would be a reckoning for this sin, of that neither Blight had any doubts.

Raine Whispers was conflicted. On the one hand, they now knew who had cursed Eda, and their heart went out to their old flame about what she must be going through. On the other, more clinically minded hand, the revelation that Humans could wield magic was in itself a massive blow to Belos’ authority, particularly in regards to his edicts on magic and the Titan. It was certainly something to explore for the future. For the moment, they had to get to their meeting. If all went well, they would finally, finally have prospective members willing to step out of the shadows with them. To be honest, that Katya girl had seemed almost too eager to join up, but they would at least give her a chance to step back and explain before making… hasty judgments.

Eda slammed the bottle of Appleblood back, her tears pouring down as fast as the heavy beverage went down her throat. It still hurt. Luz cuddled up to her, lending a comforting presence, King sitting on her lap. Words could wait. The three of them had enough pain to work through. Eda allowed a small smile to cross her features. At least they had each other to share the burden.

[finallyaniguana]

[27] get to the point and fast (but not fast enough)

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masterpost        ao3

[26]         [28]

After that whole show in the LG, Marinette was tense and on edge. She didn't appreciate the flippant way they spoke about him. Maybe they were right, but she felt a surge of possessive protectiveness she couldn't cut down. So, stiff she sat all through free time and the subsequent dinner, choosing to skip the spar between her and Adrien after. Her platonic soulmate simply brushed it off, attributing the snub to the bad mood she had picked up during the club meeting.

She ignored most of her friend's attempts to start a conversation, giving only short, stilted answers. Her friends, bless them, weren't getting mad at her for this, picking up on the fact that something is bothering her. Adrien elected to bring it up later,when she was ready to talk.

"Hey, Mari?"

She turned away from her door, hand pulling away from the handle.

"I was wondering if you'd still be okay with sharing a room with me? I don't think I can stand this for two more weeks," Alya grimaced.

A tiny bit of tension melted off Marinette's shoulders. Managing a smile, she nodded.

"Of course, Alya. We'll talk to Mlle. Bustier tomorrow and get all your stuff moved after school. How about that?"

Alya perked up.

"Hell yeah, girl! I can't wait to be your roommate!"

Alya turned away to enter the room she unfortunately shared with Lila, still smiling.

'Another thing I'll have to tell Robin about.'

The first thing she did when she got into her room and shut the door was to throw open one curtain. Just the one over the window where Robin would enter. She then cracked the window slightly, so he could easily open it from the outside. Once she was satisfied with her work there, she dug around in her carry on bag for the cookie stash she had brought just for Tikki. She  passed one to the Kwamii, who happily accepted it.

"You can't let it get to you," she whispered.

Tikki looked over to her chosen, who now stood in front of the bathroom mirror but stared down into the sink. She flew over to her, resting lightly on her shoulder.

"What's wrong?"

Marinette heaved a great sigh before walking back out into the bedroom.

"It's just... the things those students were saying about him, you know? They all made him out to be this... I don't know, what's the best word? Mean? Mean person, and I just... i don't know, Tikki."

Tikki nodded sagely, surely about to pull on some timeless and encouraging knowledge from like.. a million years ago.

"You'll just have to form your own opinion about him and disregard everyone else. He can't be all bad!"

'Okay, so not nearly as.. encouraging as I hoped for,' she pouted.

Another benefit to having the window slightly open (other than the obvious soulmate entry point), was the fact that Tikki would know exactly when to hide. It was the telltale sound of metal cord in track, the same sound her yo-yo makes when she's zipping between buildings. Or any of the bats' grappling hooks to be perfectly technical. The next sound being a window sliding open. Quickly, she schooled her expression and went to face her soulmate.

As soon as his boots hit the floor, she started to relax a little. Neither of them could quite put their finger on it, but they felt... comfortable.

"Robin," she smiled.

He inclined his head in response, which Marinette could only assume was his version of a warm greeting. He was certainly one of the most difficult people to read she'd ever met. Over time, she'd have to really work at learning and understanding his body language if she really wanted to know her soulmate.

Robin got to work at pulling the arm chair over to where it was only just in view of Red Robin, today's chaperone. It was all he could do to avoid his brother's interested gaze. Once settled, Marinette cross legged on the end of her bed, Robin opened his mouth to say something. Whatever it is seemed to have dissipated into the air because he immediately closed his mouth again.

"What can you tell me about yourself?" Marinette threw out there.

He pondered for a moment what was safe to say.

"I'm a vegetarian."

That seemed innocent enough. Could be anybody under that mask. Yes, very convincing.

"Oh, fun! Have you always been or is it recent...?" she trailed off a little.

"A few years now."

Due to the mask, Marinette unfortunately was unable to see Damian wrestling with whether or not he can say what he's about to say. Ultimately, he bites the bullet and just says it.

"Your parents are bakers?"

Nevermind the fact that he probably shouldn't know that yet. Marinette knew that the Bats were supposed to be detectives. She was far from stupid. It was completely expected that he would do as much research as he could on her going into it, especially given that some random stranger had now seen the inside of the Batcave and had no idea what Nightwing had said while he was away. So, him knowing things? Not worrying.

"Yes! They are."

It was the things he didn't know about that Marinette was worried about.

"What would you say makes your bakery unique among all the others in Paris?"

Alright, cool and collected. Questions clearly planned in advance. She could work with that.

"Hmm, I would probably say our mixture of both my mother and father's technique. For example, rice flour in the bread, instead of just regular flour like my dad had always been taught, gives it a much lighter texture," she answered.

He nodded thoughtfully, but his visible face revealed nothing. Meanwhile, Marinette was starting to get antsy that he hadn't said anything about Adrien. He has to know. His friend had to have told him. Unless he wasn't a friend and just a person that sits with him and he was just asking for no reason other than curiosity and oh no! Now she's about to drop this bomb on him that he wasn't prepared for and he's gonna be really mad and-

'FOCUS, WOMAN.'

"I have a platonic soulmate."

'AND FULL SEND IT IS. CONGRATULATIONS!'

Her normal inner monologue was clearly returning the more time she spent with him. If Damian could only hear it... oof. He'd wonder how the Universe came to this match when looking over all the people of the world (and off world).

The conversation plans he had (but clearly had no idea how to execute) were derailed with this sudden admittance. But, finally he showed a visible emotion. Surprise wasn't really the one she would have gone for but beggars can't be choosers. He didn't respond right away so she kept going.

"His name is Adrien, and he's one of my best friends. It's the glowy kind where when you touch your skin glows. so, it doesn’t show up all the time. It's kinda cool. And it's totally platonic! We are just friends!"

He nodded slowly. He spent a few seconds cramming down any negative feelings towards this guy he'd never even met... well he had, but not as himself so it didn't count. And he knew this was coming, he just didn't realize she'd be so blatant. It was... rather refreshing that she didn't try to hide it. She didn't really know about his track record of jealousy (Lord knows Tim certainly does), so she didn't feel afraid sharing that other connection with him. It was, simply put, nice.

"Okay," was all he said, though, deciding to sort through the more complicated feelings later.

Normally he would have argued with.. well not her. It’s not her fault. But her wide eyes and earnest expression begged him to be okay with this.

“Okay,” he said again.

She seemed positively relieved. Somehow she understood what that okay conveyed - at least in part.

Let’s change the subject, shall we?

"So, since you are a vegetarian, what are your favorite recipes?"

And the conversation went on. For a good bit. Food is a lovely common ground between people trying to get to know each other. The conversation tapered off naturally, having went into the logistics of cooking meat replacements things, which, Marinette frankly knew nothing about.

Both vigilante and civilian were sitting relaxed in their respective spots, a comfortable silence all around them. They hadn't yet been able to just take in their soulmate yet, having the secret identities, sneaking in the window, and a liar knocking on the door to deal with. The next night, Alya would be moving into this room, unable to stand Lila anymore, especially after hearing the full extent of her best friend's rivalry with the girl. Marinette had to be sure to tell Robin that they would have to figure something else out the subsequent nights she would be in Gotham.

It was Marinette that eventually broke the easy silence. She'd managed to get the platonic soulmate situation off her chest, but one, that may be far more pressing, remained.

"Lying by omission is still lying, non?"

He thought for a moment before answering.

"Most people would say that, yes."

Nodding thoughtfully, Marinette gently folded her hands in her lap, taking a second to gather her words before speaking. She was fairly confident she had his identity figured out. By her logic, and his if he considered himself "most people", not telling him what she knew was the same as deceiving him, and that was the last thing she wanted to do.

"I hate lying. I'm awful at it, too."

His usually straight expression twitched slightly, probably at the thought of the girl in front of him trying to tell a lie.

"And this is why you do not like Lila Rossi?" he supplied.

Marinette took his slight derailment in stride.

"Among other reasons, but that's not exactly where I'm going with this," she said.

The slight lift of the mask suggested he was raising his eyebrows.

"What is it, then?"

Marinette took in a breath and prayed he wouldn't be too upset.

A quiet but urgent beep interrupted her train of thought. Robin frowned and reached down to look at the offending communicator.

He let out a sound of intense frustration, before looking across to where Red Robin was currently standing, waving him over.

"I'm afraid I must cut this short, Marinette. I am required elsewhere."

He started towards the window.

"Okay, but-"

He looked back, expectant but tense. She backpedaled. She wouldn't be able to function on a mission if someone were to drop an identity compromising anvil on her head, so she wouldn't do it to him either.

"It can wait."

Nodding he said, "See you tomorrow."

And he swung away. She watched as he landed alongside Red Robin, who hardly waited for him to catch his balance before dashing off into the distance. As soon as the two were out of her range of vision, Tikki appeared by her head.

Marinette looked like a thousand pounds had just been added to her shoulders. She threw up her arms in a silent freakout, trying not to alert her room neighbors of her recent strife. Tikki simply shook her head.

"Don't worry, Marinette," she said at her holder's expression. "You'll get another chance tomorrow."

'Tomorrow. Tom- TOMORROW?!'

"Tikki!"

All the blood fell out of her face.

"Alya is moving in here tomorrow after school!" she screeched as loud as she dared. "I cannot believe I forgot to tell him that very vital detail!"

She dropped her face into her hands. Her head popped back up quite fast, Tikki was sure she hurt her neck, and began pacing.

"I have to figure out how to tell him..." she muttered. "Maybe I could leave a note in the window- no, Alya might see it..."

"Marinette."

She kept on mumbling, going over as many options as she could think of to solve this.

"Marinette!"

The kwamii finally got the girl's attention and smiled to soothe her.

"You go to school with him. You'll just have to send the message that way."

"... yes! Okay, okay, so tomorrow after class I will go find Alya - she's in his class right? - and I ask her about moving in... yeah! That'll work! Thank you, Tikki, you're a lifesaver."

She collapsed on the bed, suddenly drained after her panic.

"Okay. I have a plan. Everything will be fine."

***

Okay unlike the last few times, i kinda have most of the next chapter written already so the wait shouldnt be nearly as long

Thank you all for the continued feedback and support! I really appreciate all of you ❤

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Collateral Damage

Via Lottie (klarolineagainnaturally):

Random thought: I would have loved an in depth talk between Klaus and Caroline in which she talked about him biting her both times and then she went into all the trauma she had suffered from all the other shit people put her through and he would be just absolutely horrified and angry that someone would do those things to her but also horrified and angry at himself. TVD really just did not give two fucks about exploring the trauma in its female characters and it shows

A/N: I know, I know. I’ve got some prompt requests I’m still working through. But Lottie (@klarolineagainnaturally) wrote the above post and it WOULD NOT leave my head until I sat down and wrote it out. So here you go, darling! I hope you enjoy this! AU canon-divergent from TVD episode 4x13 Into the Wild, after Klaus bites Caroline. I’ve adapted the dialogue because I didn’t feel like going back to re-watch the scene.

Trigger warning(s): mentions and discussions of rape and torture.

Collateral Damage

“If you don’t heal me, I’m going to die.” Her voice is oddly calm despite the panic coursing through her veins.

He looks at her, regret briefly flickering through his eyes, and then he shrugs, turning away from her as he murmurs, “Then Tyler will have learned a lesson.”

Angry tears form at the corners of her eyes, hot and wet and heavy.

“Then you’re just like the rest of them,” she says bitterly, mimicking his tone. But she’s unable to help the emotion seeping into her voice as she lashes out, “You say you’re different, but in the end you’re all the same. None of you give a damn about me as long as you get what you want. None of you give a shit about who hurts me or what happens to me as long as you have your precious Elena.”

Then, she turns away from him, curling up on the couch.

“I’m not going to beg you for anything. But you’re going to get to watch me die, and I hope you’re happy with yourself.”

XXXXX

True to her word, she stays silent, and he’s left to ponder over her words. The accusation in her voice, the hurt that she can’t quite hide, and the implications of her words.

“You’re just like the rest of them.”

He thinks over everything he knows about the baby vampire that’s caught his interest. Truth be told, he didn’t do much research on her prior to coming to Mystic Falls. All he knew was that she was a baby vampire, a friend of the doppelganger, and dating the Lockwood boy. He doesn’t know what happened to her prior to her becoming a vampire.

“None of you give a damn about me as long as you get what you want.”

He is starting to believe that this was a slight error on his part. Klaus knows that many think of him as a monster of legends, but there are lines that even he draws. The wheels start to turn in his head as he thinks about the people she associates with. The doppelganger, the Bennett witch, the Lockwood boy, and… the Salvatore brothers.

“None of you give a shit about who hurts me or what happens to me.”

He pauses on the last. She seems rather friendly with all of them… save for Damon Salvatore. Even if it’s never been said, he has noticed Caroline’s silent disdain towards the older Salvatore.

Not to mention, the falling out she’s had with Tyler.

And then there’s the relationship (or rather, lack of) with her often-absent mother.

His conclusions lead him to believe that not just one terrible thing has happened to this baby vampire, but several. And they make him furious.

And after pondering on these possibilities, each scenario he envisions worse than the next, he finally pulls himself out of his thoughts and turns his attention back to the object of his affections.

“Just what,” he finally responds after a couple hours, “did you mean by that, sweetheart?”

She’s quiet in response, unmoving.

For a moment, he thinks that she’s going to continue to give him the cold shoulder.

But finally, she says, her voice so low that only his hybrid hearing picked it up, “Why do you care?” She sounds tired and weary, and he can’t quite help the wave of guilt that crashes into him.

He’s seen his fair share of victims. Normally, he’s fine leaving them up to their fate. Survival of the fittest and all. But there’s something so utterly vulnerable about Caroline Forbes in this moment.

And then she says, “I’m so tired of it all.”

Like she’s giving up.

It’s such a stark contrast to the feisty, intelligent, clever, beautiful baby vampire he’s come to known. And that, Klaus thinks, is unacceptable.

He meant every single word he said to her – she’s beautiful, intelligent, full of light. But obviously she’s experienced something terrible if she’s not scared of him the way others normally are.

And if he’s going to get some answers, he can’t have her dying on him, now can he?

His mind made up, he strides forward, unaware of his own eyes flashing amber as he forcefully turns her over to face him. Caroline is far too pale for his liking, unresponsive to his touch. Without hesitation, he rips his fangs into his wrist, making sure his blood is running before pressing it to her lips.

He doesn’t let go until she’s drinking, and as he watches the color return to her cheeks, the thought occurs to him that she’s the only one he’s saved. And not just once, but twice.

Klaus would not consider himself a patient man, but he still gives the baby vampire a moment of grace to recollect herself before he sits back, letting the full weight of his gaze fall on her.

“Now,” he says, his voice booking no room for argument, “let’s chat, shall we?”

XXXXX

Caroline frowns. “Why do you care?”

“Humor me.” He says.

It’s the wrong response, because she shakes her head, scoffing as she turns away from him.

“I could compel you,” he says carefully, watching her face for her response.

And just as he suspects, she flinches, seeming to curl into herself as she presses against the couch. “Don’t you dare,” she snarls, not quite able to hide her growing fear.

“I won’t have to if you tell me,” he responds.

Caroline eyes him suspiciously, looking towards him but directly meeting his gaze. Clever girl, he thinks fondly.

But he braces himself, trying to keep the expression on his face calm as he prepares for he response.

The baby vampire seems to contemplate his words for a moment, deciding what to do.

She’s quiet for so long that Klaus begins to wonder if she’s going to clam up and refuse to speak to him for the next couple days.

But then she tells him.

Everything.

About Damon.

About the werewolves. Both times.

About her dad.

She refuses to look at him as she does so, instead burying her face into her knees as she wraps her arms around her legs, drawing them up. Her words are hollow, almost mechanical, as if she’s dissociating herself while she summarizes each event. And even though she leaves out some details, Klaus can very easily fill in the blanks for himself while soaking in her words.

She doesn’t see the growing horror on his face, the way his eyes widen, the way his throat turns dry.

Caroline has been tortured not once, but four times. Once while she was human. Three when she was a new vampire. And she’s only been a vampire for a couple years.

She doesn’t see the growing fury, the way his eyes flash golden, the way the veins on his face blacken.

Her so-called friends all knew about the compulsion and rape she suffered at Damon’s hands. And they didn’t care. Her so-called boyfriend knew about the torture she suffered at the hands of the werewolves, and he allowed it to happen. And being tortured by her own father for being a vampire…

She doesn’t see the tears that spring to the corners of his eyes as he watches her fall apart in front of him.

But what she does see, when she finally stops talking and dares to look up, is him. Sitting in front of her, on his knees, his hands carefully braced on either side of her, close but not touching.

He swallows and finally says, “I’m so sorry for everything you’ve suffered, sweetheart.”

The expression that crosses her face is equal parts confusion and equal parts suspicious. “But why?” Her voice is a little hoarse after talking for over an hour, her eyes red-rimmed, her face wet with tears both shed and unshed.

And in that moment, Klaus can’t help but think she’s the most beautiful being he’s ever met in his entire life. And that he’ll never meet another person like her in a million lifetimes.

“Because you didn’t deserve any of it.” His response is simple, honest, and unrestrained.

“Why?” There’s growing bewilderment in her voice now.

He pauses, thinking over his response before he decides to go with, “Is it really so hard to believe that for all my… faults, that there are some lines that even I don’t cross?”

Caroline stares at him for a long moment, and Klaus fidgets uncomfortably under the weight of her gaze. It feels like she’s looking into his soul and judging him, and he’s not quite sure how to feel about it. Finally, she says, “I think I believe you. But… why do you care? I’m nobody special or important. I’m just… a baby vampire. Shit happens.” Her words are slightly bitter, as if she’s repeating something she’s been told.

Klaus swallows, partially wanting to laugh at the absurdity of her words, of the reality of how she sees herself. He wants to shake the gods, because this baby vampire who has upturned his world cannot see herself the way he sees her.

He settles for shaking his head as he says, “You’re wrong. I once told you, you’re beautiful, strong, full of light. I fancy you. That hasn’t changed. You’re so strong after everything you’ve been through.”

Caroline looks at him, really looks at him this time. There’s an odd look on her face, and she says quietly, “I want to believe you. But I’m tired of being collateral damage, Klaus. When shit happens, I always get hurt. And no one ever cares to pick up the pieces. They expect me to just get over it and move on. And one day, things are going to get real bad, and I’ll probably die.”

An uncomfortable feeling overcomes him at her words, a strange clawing sensation in his chest, and before he can stop himself, he snarls, “I would never let that happen.”

She shakes her head, a sad smile on her lips as she says, “Don’t make promises you don’t intend to keep, Klaus. You might feel it in this moment, but I’m not going to hold you to it.”

This time, Klaus shakes his head in response as he says, “I can’t go back and change the things that you’ve endured, Caroline. But I can do everything in my power to make sure it doesn’t happen again. Tyler might be your first love... but I intend to be your last.”

When Caroline opens her mouth to respond, he vows, “However long it takes.”

And he means it.

He doesn’t expect a response from her anytime soon, but by the contemplative expression that overcomes her…

He thinks that he just might have a chance.

Caroline’s quiet afterwards, eventually falling into a light slumber after the emotionally drainng ordeal she’s had, and he’s content to enjoy the silence while he plots.

The first thing he’s going to do when the Bennett witch’s spell fades is to hunt down and kill Silas.

Then, it looks like he’ll be having a chat with the rest of the Mystic Falls gang, starting with the werewolf boy and the older Salvatore.

And finally... he intends to continue the conversations started with his baby vampire. It’s clear to him that Caroline has suffered from the trauma she’s endured, and he’s going to show her that she can lean on him. She’s obviously mistrustful of him, for good reasons, but she has shown that she’s been willing to trust him on occasion.

It’s a start, and he will make the most of it.

(Starting with apologizing for the two times he’s bitten her.)

Caroline Forbes entered his life and turned it upside down, and if there’s anything Klaus is good at, it’s playing the long game.

And he plays for keeps.

XXXXX

FIN.