#thrilled to be granted entry

[venusdebotticelli]

Just had a realisation thinking about the latest bts and how naturally they just come up with silly little songs on the spot when they're bouncing it off each other. What if this was something they already did during their time together in s1, and Ed composing sad songs in the blanket fort was him trying to recapture some of that magic, and calling Lucius in because doing it alone just doesn't work, it doesn't feel right, but it still wasn't the same as with Stede🥲🫠😭

[naranjapetrificada]

[Queueing this a few days early because I know I'll forget the day of]

According to the depths of my archived emails, it was a year ago today when when I created this account, which wasn't my first tumblr account but even though I didn't know it yet, it was going to be the first account I ever used with any regularity. I only did it because of the stupid thing where you have to log in to actually see shit, which was something I wanted to do because I needed wanted to read OFMD meta so badly. I didn't realize it, but even creating this account was a sign that this show and its fandom were going to Mean Something New to me.

(behold: an overlong post about what OFMD and being in this fandom have meant to me, despite the horrors and The Horrors™)

I'm not a fandom rookie. I've been in and out of fandom spaces since my early teens, which means decades plural, although I'll further date myself by clarifying that those spaces were forums and, more than anything else, back-in-the-day livejournal (qepd). I've had blorbos since long before we called them that, or even called them "babygirl." As soon as we had internet access at home I was googling my shows and my characters to see what people said about them and discovering the magic of reading and writing fanfic.

I started using this account to lurk and take in people's thoughtful meta, and puzzle over what I called in my head "kylo ren disease" before I learned to call those corners of the fandom the canyon. But what got me to finally post for the first time was after reading too many fics that evoked themes in the show (and my life) that I wasn't ready to deal with until I finally granted myself a space to yell into the void about grief (general existential grief, the grief inherent in Stede and Ed finding each other relatively late in life, the grief of not being able to become who you are because society has no room for your authentic self, etc). Seriously, every original post I made for the first several weeks I was here was about grief, to the point of needing a dedicated hashtag.

It took me some time yelling into what turned out to not be a void (because people wanted to hear what I had to say?) before I realized another thing I was grieving: writing. I have tremendous baggage around writing, in ways that other "gifted" kids will immediately understand. But suddenly I could write again, hold shit! I wrote lots of meta, until the feelings I had about everything boiled over into a shortish fic because I literally couldn't find anywhere else to put them.

This was the first time I felt compelled to write my own fic in over a decade, and the first time in around that same amount of time that I could stomach writing fiction at all. Then I wrote another. And another. I often describe these shorter fics as having been written by "the poetry part of my brain," which is shorthand for being centered around an image or two that I couldn't stop thinking about, not really needing plot, and perhaps most importantly, self-contained in a way that allowed me to use them as tools to process an emotion and then put it in a box like season 2 Frenchie.

I love and value those fics, the way you can love and value something that helped you but that you no longer have a strong attachment to. That I can look at them now and see beauty in fiction I wrote without my aforementioned writing baggage causing a problem is a testament to how important they were for me. But then I started thinking I might want to write a longfic, and when the idea didn't go away after a few month I decided fuck, I guess I'm doing it? And I am doing it, and that is huge, and when (not if, when) I finish it will be the longest piece of fiction and one of the longest pieces of writing I've ever completed.

I'm actually writing longform fiction, something I've attempted to do my entire life but that never felt possible. And not only does it feel possible, it feels important (to me at least) and necessary and vital. That's the way writing used to feel before, well, *gestures at previous two decades* and being given that back is truly a kind of gift. And yeah that's a gift that the source material gave me, but it was also a gift from all of you who are out there reading and writing and commenting and painting and literally ever other form of participating in a fandom that it's possible to do. It's a gift that has allowed me to reclaim huge parts of myself and my personal narrative in ways that are truly therapeutic (which my therapist, a former art therapist, has endured me talking about at length). It's a gift I'm going to be grateful for forever, and I'm just so thankful to all of you for it. And I'll even still be thankful for it the next time I'm forced to behold whatever new cursed take has popped up in the tags.

I think. Definitely probably. It's just the cost of doing business.

[hugesigh]

if ed had been in spanish jackie’s when stede came in all “i may be landed gentry but i’m thrilled to be granted entry” he would’ve been the one person to laugh

[queer-cheer]

He may be landed gentry, but he’s thrilled to be granted entry!

[scary-flag]

ok but the difference of how Lucius reacted to the "I may be landed gentry but I'm thrilled to be granted entry" and how officer Hornberry reacted

[apllecrash]

I may be landed gentry, but I’m thrilled to be granted entry!

[whereforarthur]

Love and Hate are Blurred Lines

Pairing: George Clarkey x Reader

Word Count: 3.2K

Category: Smut

*****

I loved her. I still love her, though I curse her in my sleep, so nearly one are love and hate, the two most powerful and devastating emotions that control man, nations, life. - Edgar Rice Bourroughs

“Why are you always so... infuriating?" George Clarkey's voice echoed through the cobblestone streets of London, bouncing off the brick walls of the alleyway where they stood, face to face.

The rain pattered softly against the ground, mingling with the distant sound of the city's heartbeat. The air had the scent of damp earth and the ever-present aroma of tea shops that permeated the neighborhood. Y/n stared back at him, her eyes flashing with a mixture of anger and something else, something deeper. It was a dance they'd performed a hundred times before, each step a silent challenge, each glance a wordless retort.

George's grip tightened on her wrists, his eyes searching hers for a hint of the fire he knew was hidden beneath her defiant exterior. The energy between them was palpable, a taut wire stretched to its breaking point. Every touch, every breath was a spark that could ignite the smoldering embers of their tumultuous relationship. They were two magnets, forever drawn together by an irresistible force, yet forever repelled by their own volatile natures.

Y/n felt a tremor run through her as his warm breath ghosted over her neck, sending shivers down her spine. The rain had matted her hair to her face, but she didn't dare move to brush it away, not with his body pressing so insistently against hers. She knew this game, knew the thrill of the chase and the sweet agony of surrender. Her heart raced, a wild stallion fighting the reins of propriety. She wanted to beg him to stop, but she also wanted him to never let her go.

The words she wanted to scream remained lodged in her throat, transforming into a whimper as his mouth traveled lower, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin above her collarbone. Her body betrayed her, arching into him despite the anger burning in her eyes. It was a dance of dominance and submission, a silent battle they both craved and feared in equal measure.

George felt the shift in her, the moment her resistance crumbled like sand beneath the relentless tide of his passion. He took a step closer, his body a cage around hers, his mouth now a whisper away from hers. "You're mine," he murmured, the words a promise and a threat. Y/n's eyes fluttered shut, and she could almost taste the desperation in her own breath as she responded, "Always."

Their kiss was explosive, a clash of teeth and tongues that left them both gasping for air. His hands moved to her hips, pulling her roughly against him as he ground his erection into her stomach. The world around them faded into a symphony of sensation, the rain a gentle backdrop to the storm raging within them. The alleyway was their sanctuary, their battleground, where the lines between love and hate were so blurred that they were indistinguishable.

George's voice was a dark caress in her ear, detailing his every desire. "I'm going to strip you bare, leave you exposed and trembling before me," he murmured, his breath hot against her skin. "I'll kiss every inch of you, licking away the last of your innocence until you're begging for the relief only I can give." His words were a potent mix of seduction and domination, leaving her knees weak and her mind racing with anticipation.

The cobblestones were cold and rough against her back as he pushed her against the alley wall, his body a solid presence that seemed to swallow hers whole. He kissed her harder, his tongue demanding entry to her mouth, which she granted eagerly. The world around them melted away, leaving only the sound of their ragged breaths and the thump of their racing hearts.

Y/n's legs wrapped around George's waist, her heels digging into his back as she pulled him closer, urging him to consume her. The rain soaked through her dress, plastering it to her body, revealing every curve and contour. He groaned, his eyes raking over her with a hunger that was almost feral.

His hands found the zipper of her dress, and with one swift motion, it was pooling around her ankles, leaving her in nothing but her sodden underwear. He took a step back, admiring the beauty of her form, the way the rain painted her body, making her seem almost ethereal. She shivered, not from the cold, but from the intensity of his gaze.

He slid his hand into her panties, his fingers finding her slick heat. A gasp tore from her chest as he began to explore her, his touch sure and confident. The alley was theirs, a hidden stage for their carnally charged dance. The grime and the grit of the city only served to heighten the illicitness of their encounter, the stark contrast between the cold, hard stones and the warm, soft flesh of their bodies.

Her hips rolled against his hand, seeking more friction, more pleasure. His thumb found her clit, stroking it in slow, torturous circles that had her biting her lip to keep from screaming out. "You're so wet," he murmured, his voice a dark symphony in her ear. "So fucking wet for me."

The words were like gasoline on a flame, igniting a fire within her that threatened to consume her whole. She bucked against his hand, desperation seeping into her movements. The alley was a blur of shadow and light, the only real thing in her world the feeling of him touching her, owning her, making her feel alive in a way she never had before.

"Beg for it," he whispered, his voice a dark command that sent a shiver down her spine. "Beg me to make you come."

Her eyes snapped open, meeting his intense gaze. "Please," she rasped, her voice barely audible over the hammering of her heart. "Please, George, make me come."

He leaned in, his teeth grazing her neck as he picked up the pace, his fingers working her with a skill that left her trembling. The alley was a cocoon of desire, the world outside forgotten as she focused solely on the sensations he was pulling from her. Her breath grew shallower, her moans growing louder with each stroke.

"You're so close," he murmured, his own breath hot and ragged. "Let go for me, baby."

And with those words, she did. Her orgasm crashed over her like a wave, stealing the breath from her lungs and leaving her a trembling mess in his arms. He didn't stop, though, his fingers relentless as he pushed her through the peak and into the blissful oblivion beyond. The alley was a canvas for their passion, painted with the vibrant colors of lust and need.

As the tremors subsided, y/n leaned her head against the cool brick wall, panting heavily. George's grip on her wrists loosened, his touch turning gentle as he traced the red marks he'd left. "You're mine," he said, his voice thick with desire. "Mine to ruin."

Her eyes fluttered open, meeting his once more. The hunger in his gaze was unmistakable, and she knew that this was only the beginning. With a nod, she whispered, "Yes, I'm yours."

They were lost in a world of their own making, a world where only the two of them existed. The rain fell harder, a physical manifestation of their tumultuous emotions.

As George's mouth found hers again, y/n could feel the beginnings of something she hadn't expected, something that scared her more than his dominance ever had. Love. It was a feeling she'd buried deep, a treasure she'd kept hidden from the pirate who'd stolen her heart. But now, as he claimed her body with a ferocity that bordered on obsession, she realized she could no longer deny it.

Their bodies moved in perfect harmony, a silent confession of the love and hate that had twisted and tangled them together. The sounds of the city were muted by the rhythm of their breaths and the slap of skin on skin. In that moment, they were the only two people in the world, their hearts beating in sync like a drum that sang the story of their tumultuous love.

He leaned in, capturing her mouth in another bruising kiss, his hand still buried in her pants, her legs wrapped around his waist. The cobblestones dug into her back, but she didn't care. All that mattered was the feel of him, the taste of him, the promise of what was to come.

For a moment, they just stood there, wrapped in each other's arms, the thunder a mournful lullaby to their shattered hearts. And then, as if on cue, George's grip loosened, and he took a step back, breaking the spell. Y/n felt the cold seep into her bones as the reality of what they'd just done set in.

They were two people who'd danced on the edge of a volcano for too long, and now they were teetering on the brink of an eruption. The lines between love and hate had become so indistinguishable that it was impossible to tell where one began and the other ended.

"Look what you've done," George murmured, his voice thick with a mix of satisfaction and disbelief as he stepped back to survey the wreckage of their clothing and the battleground of their desires. Rain dripped from his eyelashes, painting a stark contrast against the fiery need in his eyes.

Y/n shivered, not from the cold, but from the stark reality of their situation. She had never felt so exposed, so vulnerable. "It's what we both wanted," she whispered, her voice barely audible above the patter of rain. The words hung in the air, a feeble attempt to justify the tumultuous maelstrom of emotions that swirled within her.

He reached out, brushing a wet lock of hair from her face, his thumb tracing the curve of her cheekbone with a tenderness that seemed out of place in the harshness of the alley. "We're a disaster waiting to happen," he said, his voice filled with a sadness that made her chest ache. "But I can't stay away from you."

The rain had soaked through her underwear, leaving her trembling not just from the cold but from the intensity of their encounter. George noticed and his eyes darkened, his gaze dropping to her trembling body. Without a word, he scooped her up into his arms, cradling her against his warmth as he carried her out of the alley and into the relative shelter of a nearby doorway.

There, out of the rain, he set her down, his hands lingering on her waist. The intimacy of the moment washed over her like a wave, crashing down the barriers she had built to keep him at bay. "We're not good for each other," she whispered, her voice cracking with the effort it took to form the words.

"But we're so good together," he countered, his breath warm against her ear. His hand slid up her back, his fingers tangling in her hair as he pulled her in for another kiss, one that was softer, slower, more deliberate than the ones that had come before. It was a kiss that spoke of love and regret, of passion and pain.

The rain continued to fall around them, a silent chorus to their unspoken confessions. They were a mess of tangled limbs and emotions, their hearts beating together like two wild animals caught in a hunter's snare. And as the storm raged on, they realized that their love was the eye of the hurricane, a calm yet destructive force that had the power to consume them both.

Their breaths mingled in the damp air, each one a silent promise of what was to come. The tension between them was a living entity, pulsing and growing with every second that ticked by. They knew they couldn't sustain this tempestuous dance forever, but for now, they were content to be lost in the storm, two souls forever entwined in a passion that was as fiery as it was destructive.

George's eyes searched hers, a tempest of emotions swirling within their depths. "You drive me mad," he whispered, his voice a hoarse growl that sent shivers down her spine. "But without you, I'm nothing." His thumb traced the line of her jaw, a gentle caress that belied the strength of his grip on her hips.

Y/n leaned into his touch, her body craving the warmth and the pain that came with it. "And you're my addiction," she admitted, her voice barely above a murmur. "One I can't seem to quit." The words hung in the air, a stark confession that seemed to echo the very essence of their tumultuous relationship.

The rain fell harder, a relentless symphony that mirrored the intensity of their feelings. They were two halves of the same coin, forever spinning towards each other, forever repelling at the last second. The lines between love and hate were so blurred that they could no longer tell where one began and the other ended. It was a dance of desire and anger, a dance that had no clear beginning or end.

Their kisses grew more desperate, as if trying to fill the void that threatened to swallow them whole. Each touch was a declaration of war, each caress a silent apology. They were two people caught in the crossfire of their own emotions, their hearts a battleground where love and hate waged a never-ending war.

The alley was their sanctuary, their prison, a place where they could let go of the facades they wore for the world outside. Here, in the shadows, they were free to be the monsters that lurked within them, free to embrace the chaos that defined their bond.

The thunder crashed overhead, a fitting soundtrack to the tumultuous scene playing out between them. Y/n's hands clawed at George's back, her nails leaving trails of red on his skin. He didn't flinch, instead, he reveled in the pain, feeding off of it like it was the air he breathed. It was a twisted symphony of love and aggression, a dance that could only end in one way.

Her legs wrapped around his waist as he pushed her against the cold brick wall, his hips grinding into hers with a desperation that was almost palpable. She could feel him, hard and insistent, the evidence of his need pressing into her stomach. The rain soaked through her clothes, making her shiver, but it was his touch that set her alight, turning her tremors into a bonfire of passion.

Their movements grew more frantic, each touch a declaration of war, each kiss a silent surrender. It was a dance of dominance and submission, a battle of wills that had no clear victor. They were two lost souls, forever caught in the hurricane of their own making, destined to either destroy each other or be destroyed by the very love that bound them together.

And as the thunder roared and the lightning illuminated the alley in stark white flashes, they gave themselves over to the storm, letting it consume them, letting it tear them apart. The rain fell in sheets, a curtain that shielded them from the prying eyes of the world, allowing them to be nothing more than two bodies, two hearts, two souls intertwined in a passion that defied logic and reason.

In that moment, as the storm raged on, they were free. Free from the constraints of society, free from the expectations of their peers, free from the very essence of who they were supposed to be. They were simply George and y/n, two people who had found refuge in the chaos of their love.

The alley was their battleground, their lovers' lane, a place where the lines between love and hate blurred into something so potent, so all-consuming, that it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. It was a love that could either save them or destroy them, and as they stood there, drenched and trembling, they knew that they would never truly escape the storm that was their love.

George's hands roamed over her body, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Each touch was a silent apology, each kiss a promise of more pain to come. Y/n's breath hitched as his fingers danced over her skin, her body a canvas for his artistry of passion and aggression. She could feel the blurred lines of their emotions coiling around them, tightening with every beat of their hearts.

Their eyes met, and in that moment, she saw the love and the hate, the desire and the anger, the tenderness and the brutality. It was a toxic cocktail that had them both in its thrall, a dance that could only end in ruin. But even as she knew this, she couldn't help but lean into his embrace, craving the feel of his body against hers, the taste of his kiss.

The rain fell harder, a blessed relief against the heat of their bodies. The cold water washed away the tears that had mingled with the sweat on her face, a silent confession of the turmoil within her. Her hands gripped his shirt, pulling him closer, as if she could somehow absorb his very essence into her own being.

Their breaths grew ragged, their movements more frantic as they sought to claim each other completely. The thunder rumbled above them, a bass line to their passionate symphony, as if the heavens themselves were applauding their tumultuous love.

Their kisses grew deeper, more demanding, as if they could drown in each other's mouths and never come up for air. The rain fell in a torrent, a mirror to the emotions that surged through them. It was a dance of dominance and submission, a battle of wills that had no clear winner.

Y/n felt herself slipping, losing herself in the chaos of their love. Her body arched against his, her legs tightening around his waist as he pinned her against the wall. The world outside was a distant memory, replaced by the pounding of their hearts and the slickness of their skin.

The lightning flashed, illuminating their love in stark relief. For a moment, they were gods, writhing in the throes of passion amidst the fury of the storm. And then, as quickly as it had come, the moment passed, leaving them gasping and trembling in the aftermath.

The rain had turned their love into something wild, something untamed. It was a love that could not be contained, a love that could not be controlled. It was a love that could only be felt in the throes of a tempest, a love that could only be expressed in the language of the storm.

Their eyes searched each other's, looking for answers, for a way out of the madness that had overtaken them. But all they found was the reflection of their own desires, their own needs, their own darkness. They were two lost souls, forever tangled in the web of their love-hate.

And as the storm outside began to abate, they knew that the storm within them had only just begun. They were two people, forever bound by the blurred lines that separated love from hate, forever destined to dance in the eye of the hurricane.

*****

Taglist~

@gvf23

@xxkatxgracexx

[mxmollusca]

[venusdebotticelli]

Okay so, I think it's very likely that after Stede and Ed have had their first reunion they're gonna be separated again soon after. Probably because Ed's gonna be like "I'm totally over you actually and don't wanna see your stupid face ever again" and run away from Stede just because of how absolutely tooooootally over him he is, right? So Stede will probably be aboard the Revenge while Ed is elsewhere having his Live Laugh Love spiritual journey of Finding Himself and all that.

Now imagine Stede all bummed out because he's just having the full realisation of exactly how much he hurt Ed, and there's no hope, he absolutely blew it, Ed obviously wants nothing to do with him ever again! Despair! So he goes to mope to the Captain's quarters, wallows in the tragic state of them a bit while missing Ed terribly, and his eyes catch on a funky little skeleton dressed up all in black on a familiar spot on a particular shelf...

And he finds not only all of his auxiliary clothes intact, but also a nest in the middle of the room with two little figurines in it that have a very particular look to them!

Cue "Hello, Edward!" and "shipmates" and chasing Ed all over the place while Ed is like "who are you again?" and "I don't need you at all, look how I'm thriving all by myself and I definitely don't miss you, not even a little bit!", y'know, like a liar. And maybe they're having messy sex throughout all of this or maybe they're not, but either way, Stede knows! He knows! He saw the proof of Ed's heart carefully hidden away where only Stede could find it! He can fix this! He's gonna put his all into earning that trust back! Because he knows there's hope! ;U;

And yeah, this is more of a headcanon than actual speculation, but it's eating me alive, so I had to inflict it on you all as wel! 🔥🙌🔥

[corrodedcoffinfest]

Data Nerds: Stats & Charts

I love to keep data for things, so just for fun I've kept track of several markers in my spreadsheet for the event. These numbers also include the three warm-up events from earlier in the summer

There were 274 unique submissions. We averaged 8.45 entries per day. Be sure to check out the full masterlist to see all the entries you may have missed!

First up, the most important stat:

What is Freak's Name?

So, the leader was Not in Work, lol.

But for an actual name, Grant has came out as the winner, with 55 entries taking up 20.5% of the total entries having used that name for our dearest Freak.

He needed a name, and I was thrilled to see you all giving him one!

Ratings of Works

The teen rating was vastly more popular than any other rating for this event. (Note: I did choose teen for anything that wasn't rated by the submitter, but most were rated upon submission.)

POVs of Works

The most popular point of view to write from was Eddie, as he emerged as the clear frontrunner. (Note: Multiple also covered anything that was omniscient storytelling.)

Entries by User

We had 24 unique participants over the event and the warm-up rounds! We even had a new submitter on the very last day!

There were 6 users that submitted for each day of the month-long event: @jo-harrington, @the-unforgivenn, @munson-blurbs, & @corroded-hellfire.

That also includes @steddieas-shegoes & @thisapplepielife who not only submitted for every day of the month, but also submitted for all the warm-up rounds, too!

I know how big of an undertaking that is - you all rock!

Every single person that submitted something to Corroded Coffin Fest really helped make this event a success and I cannot thank you enough.

Having 274 entries submitted is absolutely amazing! You guys really turned out and I couldn't be happier. Thank you! ❤️

Type of Entry

As for type of entry, fics were far and away the most submitted type. The average word count for the fics submitted was 870.

Entries by Week

While week #2 had the highest number of entries, if you look at the daily average, Week #1 had the most entries, seeing 9.83 submissions per day.

Prompt #1 - Firsts was the most submitted for, with 15 entries.

The next closest was Prompt #23 - Up and Coming with 11 entries.

And that's a wrap on the first Corroded Coffin Fest! Be sure to check out the big masterlist to see all the entries!

Thank you all! 🦇

[boxboxlewis]

The tourist was clearly Outwith, with a sleek and vaguely prosperous air that spoke to an upbringing on some privileged planet with plentiful gravity and natural starlight. He reminded Max of his sister’s fat babies: all placid and innocent. He was going to get eaten alive on Bas Station, but that wasn’t Max’s problem.

“...I have paid already, to have my authorization expedited,” the tourist said. The slight pause before he spoke gave away that he was using a translation implant; his fluency showed it was an expensive one. Max, Inwith from birth, who spoke three languages the old-fashioned way and tended to view neural implants as cheating, rolled his eyes internally.

“I doubt that, if this is your first time on-Station,” he said. “Show me this authorization, please.” He watched as the tourist fumbled around in a metal-plated rucksack of the sort that was marketed to worried idiots as “theft-proof."

At last the tourist withdrew a holochip, and held it up, evidently relieved he hadn’t lost it. “...Here it is.”

Max scanned the holochip and words in High Bas appeared, floating in the air. By the order of the Commission for Bas, LANDO NORRIS is granted entry to Bas Station and all rights, moreover, to conduct business without taxation or onerous duty, heretofore. Signed, DANIEL RICCIARDO, COMMISSIONER. 

He sighed, and looked at the tourist’s face. “Lando.”

“...Yes?”

“You’ve been scammed.”

Lando’s face literally drained of colour, which was kind of cool because previously Max had thought that that metaphor was exaggerated. “...But I paid him. I paid the man, I gave him money—”

“Yes, usually that is how scams work.”

“...But—”

“This man, Daniel Ricciardo? He is not a commissioner of anything. He's a con man. Does your translation software have that word? He is a crook. A bandit. A felon.”

Lando was gawping at Max unattractively, mouth hanging open. Max sighed. “Let me guess. You met him at some backwater waystation between your planet and Bas. He knocked into you on the concourse, maybe, and said he wanted to buy you a drink to make up for it. You started chatting, and he told you he was a commissioner on Bas. What a surprise, you are on your way to do business on Bas! So he offered to help you out. He implied that, for a price, he could save you all of our annoying intake fees. He showed you a very official-looking ID.”

Lando looked like he was maybe about to cry. He said, “...How do you know this? Do you know this man? If you know this why hasn’t he been arrested? I want the police, I want to make an official report—”

“Well, of course you can try.” Max let himself sound slightly dubious. “But you maybe do not want to start your business dealings on Bas by announcing to everyone that you have been scammed. And Daniel has many friends. Even on the police. Even here, among the border guard, there are those who protect him. I doubt you will have much luck if you go through official channels.” He hesitated, and Lando, predictably, lunged for the bait.

“...But there is something I could do? Unofficially?”

“Well. I of course do not like it when this criminal makes a mockery of us.” Max looked down at his hands, and then back up through his lashes. Time to let Lando feel like a big man. “There are… some people I could call. To have him taught a lesson. It wouldn’t be cheap—and their fee would be in addition to the authorization costs you still need to pay, naturally—but it would perhaps be… enjoyable. For you to know that justice had been served.”

Lando set his jaw. “...Yes. Yes, but this time I want proof. I want photos to my implant chip after it’s done, all right? …Or I’m going to the police, and I’m reporting you too.” He was posturing, full of bluster: that was fine. The main thing was, he was going to pay. Max felt a vicious thrill of satisfaction, which he was careful to keep off his face. 

“You’ll get your photos, don’t worry.” 

Lando, still pale and sweating, jutted his chin down, as if nodding firmly was going to let him reclaim control of the situation—nice try, Lando—and then it was just a matter of sorting out details. 

In the end Lando paid 500 credits for the privilege of having Daniel Ricciardo beaten up: more than Max's salary for three Standard Bas Months. They were unmarked credits, too, which meant no taxes, and no awkward questions from his bankchain. Max was whistling as he made his way home after work.

Daniel was there already in the double-occupancy pod they shared, looking blue and ethereal under the anti-jaundice lighting. “Maxy! Fuck, it’s good to see you. Good day?”

Max leapt onto the sleeping bench and crawled his way up Daniel’s body, slotting his arms under Daniel’s arms, nuzzling his face into Daniel’s neck: making his way back home. “I hooked that tourist you hustled on Barathar waystation. The baby business idiot you sold the fake entry authorisation to? I told him it was a scam and he gave me 500 credits to have you beaten up.”

Daniel’s body shook as he started laughing, sending warm tremors all through Max’s body. “Are you fucking serious? Max, you’re a legend. It’s an honour to know you. Five hundred credits?!” He crooked his knee up between Max’s thighs, rocked his hips up. “With that and the 300 credits I already got from him… feels like it just might be time to put a downpayment on that flyer for you. Get you back on the racing circuit.”

Max hummed and pressed his own hips down. “Hmm, well. The thing is I have already spent the money, actually.”

Daniel went very still but his voice was still warm when he said, “Oh, yeah? Major shopping spree at the arcade, huh?” So he maybe thought Max was joking.

Max had not been joking. He tried to make his voice casual as he said, “That hydroponic allotment you wanted? To grow grapes, so you can make wine like they did on Earth? I’ve leased it. For twelve Standard months, it’s all yours.”

And then he didn’t say anything more, because Daniel had rolled them over, and was kissing him.

thank you to @magicalrocketships for reading this over!!

[beeesworld]

Lucius: Hear ye, hear ye! Oh fuck (whispered). Please join me in the welcoming for his regional debut... The Brigand of Barbados... The Cream of the Caribbean... The Gentleman Pirate.

Bonnet: Hi, all! Nice to be here. I may be landed gentry, but I'm thrilled to be granted entry.

[bijouxcarys]

𝑻𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑩𝒊𝒏𝒅 (𝑹𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝑹𝒆𝒊𝒈𝒏𝒔 𝒙 𝑶𝑪) - 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑺𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏

Masterlist

Character Profiles/Face Claims

Playlist

A/N: Okay, I'm super happy with how this one turned out, so my Satanist ass is praying y'all enjoy this one gahhh. And thank you for the kind words thus far. It means a lot that people are enjoying this since it's wayyyy out of my comfort zone and I've never written anything like it before!

Tags: @trippinsorrows @empressdede @thetribalqueen @heauxvibez @bigsimperika

@cyberdejos2 @keyaho @headoftheetable @jstarr86 @southerngirl41

@tshepisho @cry1nwhileimcumm1n @maeb99 @thedesireds @dzdndcnfsd

@expert-texpert @niknakbucks92 @sillyteecup @trentybenty

(let me know if you want to be tagged in future Roman fics)

January 3, 2014

SoHo turned into a mess tonight. Nate and Lana thought they could slip into one of those flashy clubs, but of course, someone recognised Nate. The bouncers gave the excuse that she’s underage—technically true at 18—but that’s not the whole story, is it?

Dimitri… God, his anger was something fierce. He ripped into her the moment she stepped through the door, calling her an embarrassment. Modern music, parties—he sees them as distractions, as if he’s forgotten what it’s like to be young and reckless.

But Nate isn’t a child anymore. She’s growing into her own, and it’s painful watching him treat her the same as he does Katya. Nate’s got that fire. That untamed spirit that’s as thrilling as it is dangerous. I worry where it will lead her.

I’m scared for them, for both my girls. Dimitri’s world is too dark, too consuming. I can only hope that they find a way out—a path that’s not as suffocating as the one I ended up on.

But hope feels like such a fragile thing these days.

Nate ran her hand through her hair, gripping it at the roots as she finished reading the same journal entry for the 5th time. She wasn’t sure why she was obsessing over it—probably something to do with the fact it was the only one she could find in her family’s library. Stuffed away in a drawer. 

It wasn’t even like it was that out of the ordinary, either. Nate was always aware of her mother’s reluctance when it came to family business. Which begged the question for her as to why she married her dad in the first place. Maybe he was different back then… Maybe he wasn’t always a stubborn, heartless, iceberg of a human being. 

Nate would begrudgingly gamble on her mother being beside herself, if she was to see how things were now. How her oldest was slowly morphing into her husband each passing day. Nate didn’t like it either, let’s get that straight. But when you grow up and remain in the presence of a parent, the chances are you’ll end up just like them.

And that was… terrifying as a concept.

Granted, Nate had a good 30-something years to go before she reached his age. But even so, if she were to travel back in time and come face-to-face with the 19-year-old version of herself, she wouldn’t recognise herself. In fact, she looked back on that time of her life like a stranger watching a soap opera. Memories were scattered, robotic, surreal. And she couldn’t pinpoint when the change happened.

Maybe it was the sick reality of losing her mother to such a tragedy, or the disillusionment of justice not being served. 

Or maybe there was simply a switch, hiding behind layers and layers of resilience, bullets, and blood, that remained in a permanent state of off when it came to facing the fact that her mother would hate the person she’d become.

The thought made her skin crawl. She pushed the piece of paper away, as if distance could somehow sever the connection between her and the woman who had given her life. But the truth was, no matter how far she ran, she couldn’t escape the blood that ran through her veins.

Nate rubbed her temples, trying to ward off the headache that was beginning to form. She needed to get out of her own head, to focus on something tangible, something she could control. Her mother’s death had been a tragedy—one that had left scars too deep to heal. But this… this was something else entirely. This was a reckoning.

And if there was one thing Nate Volkov knew how to do, it was to survive a reckoning.

Even if it meant momentarily blocking it all out and pretending like it wasn’t happening.

So, she did the only thing she could think of to bring her out of the slump. She whipped out her phone and sent a not-so-cryptic message to the only girl on the planet who knew how to throw life out the window, even for 12 measly hours.

Nate: my lovely lana babe…😁

Lana: My gorgeous Natalka

Nate: how do we feel about X tonight??

Lana: …😏

Lana: Do you even need to ask?

Nate: 🥂🥳

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

Roman was mid-rep, the barbell hovering above his chest, when the familiar sound of the FaceTime ringtone cut through the steady rhythm of his workout. He paused, muscles tense, debating whether to finish the set or take the call. But as the ringtone persisted, and he cast a subtle glance over at the contact number, he sighed, carefully racking the weights before grabbing a towel to wipe the sweat from his face.

With one last deep breath, he grabbed his phone and hit “accept” to Maria’s call, but the sight of Ava’s beaming face and gap-toothed grin instantly brightened his mood.

“Hey, baby girl,” he greeted.

“Hi, Daddy!” Ava’s enthusiasm was potent, the excitement in her voice nearly bursting through the screen.

“Whatchu doin’?” he asked with a paternal smile, pulling up a chair and sitting down.

“Me and Mommy made pancakes.” Her chestnut curls bounced around her head as she practically vibrated with energy. It was obvious she was experiencing some kind of pancake-induced sugar rush, and the idea warmed Roman’s heart somewhat. He was just glad that she seemed to be enjoying her childhood whenever he spoke to her. The last thing he wanted was for her to be in an environment that felt unsafe, or made her feel the slightest bit uncomfortable. 

“Oh, Daddy, guess what I did today!”

Roman chuckled. “What’s that, Princess?”

“Italian! Mommy got me a teacher. She’s a nice lady!” Ava looked over at Maria, who was busying herself with some dishes in the background, before focusing back on the call. “I learned so many new words! Wanna hear?”

“Of course, I do,” Roman said, leaning in and giving her his full, undivided attention. “Lay it on me, girl.”

Ava straightened up, her little face scrunched in concentration. “Ciao, papá! Come stai?” she announced proudly, her pronunciation careful and slightly off, as one would expect for someone her age.

Roman grinned. “Molto bene, grazie! E tu?”

The small child giggled, clearly pleased with herself. “Bene! Bene!” she echoed, clapping her hands.

“That’s great, Ava,” Roman praised, his heart swelling with pride. “You’re getting really good at this.”

“Mommy says I’m a… na… na-tu-ral…natural,” she added, glancing back at her mother in confirmation, as though asking if she’d said the word correctly. Roman saw Maria smile, but she didn’t look up from what she was doing.

“You know,” he continued, his demeanour thoughtful. “Maybe next time I see you, I could teach you some Samoan.”

Maria’s subtle scoff in the background didn’t go unnoticed by Roman, and it thankfully went straight over Ava’s head, but he ignored it, focusing on his daughter’s wide-eyed curiosity.

“What’s that mean? Samoan?”

“Samoan is my family’s language. It’s part of your DNA, baby, that means it’s in your blood. Who you are.” His voice remained gentle and calm.

Ava tilted her head, still trying to grasp the concept and wrap it around her developing brain. “What’s DNA?”

He smiled, choosing his words carefully. “DNA is what makes you… you. It’s like a recipe, like with the pancakes you made with Mommy. It says you’re my daughter, and Mommy’s daughter too. Half of you is from your mom, and the other half is from me. That’s why you’re so special, baby girl. You got two strong families in you.”

“So…” her face scrunched up in thought. “I’m half Samoan?”

“That’s right,” Roman affirmed tenderly. “And that means you’re strong, just like all the Samoans before you. You got heart, soul, and a lotta courage. Never forget that.”

“But I thought Nonna was Italian?”

“She is. Which means…” a playful smirk spread across Roman’s face, “I’m also half Samoan, half Italian,” he added with an exaggerated whisper.

Ava gasped, her little face lighting up at the mere thought. “I’m just like you, Daddy!” she squealed.

Roman half-expected Maria to come out with some sarcastic comment, but even she knew it was wise to keep her mouth shut in front of their baby girl. It still gave him some sick kind of satisfaction, knowing she couldn’t say a word to their daughter’s excitement over being more like her Daddy than she initially thought.

“I wanna learn Samoan too, Daddy!”

“I promise you, you will, baby. But for now, let’s start with this… Oute alofa ia oe.”

It took Ava multiple tries to get a hang of the pronunciation, and she still wasn’t grasping where to correctly emphasise syllables. But as she managed to repeat those words back to her father, he, for the first time in years, felt that strange tickle you get in the back of your throat that usually precedes tears.

He wasn’t prepared for how extraordinary it was to hear his little girl speak Samoan.

“What does that mean, Daddy?” she asked with an innocent tilt of the head.

“It means I love you… And I never ever want you to think I don’t.” Even though the weight of Roman’s words were too hefty to be considered by such a young human, he still felt the need to proclaim them. At any chance he could, he’d always remind Ava of how much her daddy loves her. Because he never knew if he’d still be here tomorrow.

“Keep practising your Italian, baby. You keep it up, and soon you’ll be able to talk to everyone in Italy.”

Ava’s eyes widened in amazement, as if the idea of speaking fluent Italian to an entire country was the most exciting thing in the world. “Really?”

“Really,” Roman confirmed with a chuckle. He glanced away for a moment, checking the time at the top of his phone screen and the smile on his face faltered a fraction. “Uh, listen, Ava, Daddy’s gotta go…” His heart broke at the saddened expression on his daughter’s face. “I’ll call you tomorrow, I pro–”

“Oh, you can’t call her tomorrow, Roman,” Maria finally interjected, taking control of her phone and picking it up, subsequently removing Ava from the picture. “She’s at school a little longer, and then she’s got dance class until 8. She might be able to say goodnight, but that’s it.”

Roman’s brows narrowed in confusion. “Why she at school longer?”

“Because,” Maria huffed, “I have things to do, Romano, doing some work on the house, and she’s gotta stay a couple hours with some other kids. Va bene per te?”

Roman closed his eyes momentarily and slowly ran a large hand over his beard, the disdain for Maria’s clipped tone laying dormant in the pit of his stomach. 

“Lemme say goodnight to her,” he deviated before he said something that landed him further in the shit with his ex-wife than he already was. Maria didn’t argue, for once, and tilted the phone so Roman could see Ava.

“Night night, Daddy!” she reached up to wave at him the best she could. “I love you!”

“Love you too, Princess. G’night–”

“Gotta go, bye, Roman,” Maria interjected, and before Roman could process what was happening, the call ended.

He stared at the blank screen for a moment, letting out a long breath. He knew he should have been thinking about planning his next visit to Florida. Ava needed to see him in person. If there was one thing Maria was right about, it was that, at least…

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

Roman headed back upstairs, his body still buzzing from the workout. He could hear the faint hum of conversation as he approached the living room, and as he stepped inside, he spotted Naomi lounging on the couch, her legs tucked under her. She looked up from her phone and smiled when she saw him.

“Hey, big man,” she greeted warmly.

“Trin,” Roman acknowledged her with her middle name and a nod, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, before looking over at the two over-grown kids that seem to squat in his house on occasion. “You two ready?”

“Almost,” Jimmy replied, a grin spreading across his face. He was leaning against the arm of the couch, looking relaxed but with that familiar spark in his eyes. Jey was pacing the room, clearly itching to get out and get the night started.

“Y’all actin’ like it’s the first time you’ve been to a club,” Naomi teased, rolling her eyes playfully.

“Just tryin’ to keep up with you, girl,” Jey shot back, his grin widening. “You know I’m gonna need some pointers on how to get these girls to notice me.”

Naomi laughed, shaking her head. “Please, the only thing you need to do is enter. Trust me, they’ll see you.”

Roman headed towards the stairs, chuckling to himself. “You might want to tone it down a notch, Jey. Don’t need you scarin’ off every girl in the place.”

Jey smirked, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Who said anything about scaring them off? I’m just lookin’ to bring one home tonight. Maybe two if I’m lucky.”

“Boy, you wild,” Jimmy chimed in, cackling. “Just remember, you ain’t got Roman’s kinda pull. Don’t get in over your head.”

“Trust me, Uce,” Jey gave his brother a pointed look. “I got this.”

Before he could continue his ascension up the stairs, Roman paused and looked back at him. “Just finish gettin’ ready, man, we’re hittin’ X, of all places. I don’t want any bullshit. We’re there to scope it out, not to start a fight.” 

Naomi raised an eyebrow. “That place? You really think it’s worth the hassle?”

“More than you know,” he replied without looking back. “But let’s not make it obvious. We’re just there to have a good time.”

“Right,” Naomi said, though there was a knowing look in her eyes. She knew better than to question Roman’s judgement, especially when it came to business.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

The plan was to hit up Madame X, a well-known nightclub in SoHo, where the Volkovs had their dirty little fingers in the pie. It was more than just a night out; it was a recon mission, though Roman had made it clear they could have a bit of fun too—within reason.

He wiped the condensation from the mirror, studying his reflection, determined to unwind—at least outwardly.

He stepped into the master bedroom, heading straight for his walk-in closet. He wasn’t in the mood for the full suit treatment tonight. This was SoHo, not a boardroom, and they needed to blend in while still looking like they belonged there.

Shifting through his clothes, he eventually settled on a pair of dark jeans that fit him just right—snug enough to show he had some muscle packed under there. He pulled on a black Henley shirt that clung to his broad chest and shoulders, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, showing off a little bit of the tattoo on his arm. Over that, he grabbed a leather jacket, adding just enough… edge to the look. 

He wasn’t dressing to impress anyone, but he wasn’t going to look like shit, either.

He paused at the mirror for a minute, running a hand through his hair, pushing it back off his face with a healthy accompaniment of leave-in conditioner. Satisfied, he headed back downstairs.

“Damn, Uce,” Jey whistled as Roman made his presence known back in the living room. “You lookin’ to break some hearts tonight?”

“Nah, that’s your job, remember?” Roman teased with a side glance.

“Y’all already know I ain’t goin’ home empty-handed…” he trailed off, his words translating in a kind of sing-song cadence. 

“Please don’t get us thrown out,” Naomi sighed exaggeratedly, standing from her position on the couch and brushing herself down. Outfit on point, as always, reminding Jimmy that he was one lucky son of a bitch.

“Alright, let’s roll out,” Roman clapped, grabbing his keys. “Remember, we’re there to keep an eye on things. No wild shit, ua maua?”

Throwing his arm around his cousin’s shoulder as they walked out, Jey grinned. “You know me, Uce. I’m just there to enjoy the view… maybe get a lil’ closer to it, if you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Roman muttered, though there was still a hint of a smile there. Somewhere. “Just don’t bring any trouble back to my place. I’m serious.”

“I hear you, big dog,” Jey replied, but the smile on his face said otherwise.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

Roman pushed through the entrance of Madame X, the low, steady beat of the music vibrating through his chest as they stepped into the club. The space was a mix of modern sleekness and old-school decadence, with plush velvet booths and chandeliers casting a warm, intimate glow over everything. The walls were adorned with dark wood panelling, and the air was thick with the scent of expensive liquor and perfume.

His eyes swept over the room, taking in the scene—the couples huddled close in booths, the groups at the bar laughing too loudly, the women dancing with an effortless grace under the dim, red lights. It was a place that exuded a certain kind of danger, the kind that made people feel alive.

No wonder the Volkovs had shares in the place.

The Head of the Table’s presence didn’t go unnoticed. As they moved further into the club, he could feel the eyes on him—some curious, some appreciative, and some just plain hungry. He had a magnetic pull, the kind of energy that practically ordered you to stop and stare. It was a part of who he was, and he had learned long ago how to wield it to his advantage.

The group approached the bar, Roman taking the lead with Jey by his side. Behind them, Naomi and Jimmy stayed close together as a way of making a statement. Together, they exuded a commanding presence in its own right. She had a way of holding her own in any room, and Jimmy was… well, he was Jimmy. Charming, funny, and relentlessly protective over his woman.

Roman leaned against the bar, his eyes catching the gaze of a brunette a few stools down. She was gorgeous, with dark, wavy hair that framed her face perfectly, and lips that curved into a knowing smile as she met his stare. He felt that familiar rush of adrenaline, the one that always came when he was out in the wild, playing the game.

Before he could consider making a move, the bartender came over. “What’ll it be?”

“Whiskey, neat,” Roman replied, his voice low but clear as sin over the music. “Macallan, if you’ve got it.”

The bartender nodded and moved to get the drink, and Roman turned his attention back to the brunette. But before he could say anything, Naomi nudged him with her elbow, smirking as she and Jimmy leaned against the bar themselves.

“Eyes on the prize, Roman,” she jested just loud enough for him to hear. “You’re supposed to be scoping the place, not the women.”

“Can’t blame a man for appreciating the scenery…”

Naomi laughed softly. “Just don’t get too distracted, big man.”

“Business and pleasure, though right?” Jimmy chimed in. “Doesn’t hurt to mix the two.” He poked at Naomi’s ribs, encouraging a jolt and a swat on the arm from the woman in question.

Roman’s drink finally arrived, and he lifted it in a casual salute to his family. “Have a good night, but do not forget why we’re here.”

Jey received his own drink, and he turned to his cousin with the same playful glint in his eye. “You sayin’ we should keep it low-key, but I’m pretty sure if we wanted to, we could own this place tonight.”

Roman sipped his whiskey, letting the smooth burn slide down his throat. “Let’s not go that far. We don’t need the attention.”

“How ‘bout you focus on findin’ a girl who won’t run for the hills when they find out you’re still living off Roman’s coattails?” Jimmy swatted his brother away so he could order his own drink.

“Fuck off, Jimmy. Just ‘cus you married to ol’ Naomi here, don’t mean I gotta be tied down.”

Pushing himself up from the bar, drink in hand, Roman glanced over at the brunette once more, firmly deciding to shoot his shot. He rarely failed, anyways. But he didn’t leave without one last word to his cousins.

“Don’t do anythin’ that’s gonna make me have to bail your dumbass out later.” He turned to Naomi. “I am putting my trust in you. You have my full permission to whoop asses if they ain’t behavin’, a’ight?”

“You got it, Chief,” Naomi playfully saluted up at Roman, but she knew to take the request as seriously as anything.

Once again, Roman’s eyes locked onto the brunette a little further down the bar. He could feel the pull between them as her eyes met his, and she tightened the way her leg crossed over the other in the figure-hugging dress that drew more than his gaze. With a confident stride, he made his way over to her.

“Buy you a drink?” he offered lowly, carrying the weight of someone used to getting what they wanted. 

She looked up at him, a playful smile curving her lips. “Depends. What’s a girl like me gotta do to deserve a drink from a guy like you?”

Roman leaned in slightly, closing the distance between them. “You’ve already done enough, just by comin’ here.”

Her laugh was soft, provocative. “Is that your best line?”

He shrugged, allowing a grin to overtake his features. “Maybe. But I’m more about actions than words.”

“Is that so?” Her voice held a challenge, and Roman knew he had her hooked.

He ordered her a martini, sliding the drink her way. Their fingers brushed briefly, the contact sending a jolt through him.

“You don’t seem like the type who needs to chase,” she said, keeping her focus solely on him as she sipped her drink.

“I don’t,” he replied smoothly, “But sometimes, it’s about findin’ someone worth chasin’.”

Her breath hitched, the chemistry between them bubbling to the surface. He was allowing himself to get drawn in, and the possibility of taking her home became more prevalent with every second.

But just as the conversation was heating up, the music abruptly shifted. The pounding bass of an obscure European—Roman guessed Russian by the few words on the track—filled the room, pulling him completely from his focus.

“How you go from radio pop to this?” he muttered, not entirely impressed with the choice of music.

The brunette chuckled, taking another sip from her drink. “They take requests sometimes… depends if someone important enough requests it.”

Roman glanced around, spotting Jey shooting his shot with a couple of girls over at the booths, and Jimmy glued to Naomi on the dancefloor. But one little shift of his eyes, slightly to the left, allowed him to spot a familiar figure that he really wasn’t looking to encounter tonight.

Natalka Volkov, of all people, stood on a table at the other end of the room, her drink raised in the air. She was dressed in a sapphire blue dress that gripped onto her body in a way that made it impossible to ignore. Her usually composed demeanour was gone, replaced by a carefree, almost wild energy as she danced to the beat, clearly drunk but still wearily in control of her actions.

Next to her, a blonde woman—her friend, Roman guessed—cheered her on. The sight of her like this, so uninhibited, twisted something in his gut. She was a complication he didn’t need, didn’t want, tonight, yet here she was, intruding on his thoughts once again.

The brunette noticed his distraction. “Something wrong?” she asked, tilting her head curiously.

Roman forced a smile, shaking his head. “Just saw someone I didn’t expect.”

But even as he tried to focus back on the brunette, his mind was still on Nate. She looked like she was in her element, completely at ease in the chaos of the club, and Roman found the image burning into his mind. His frustration continued to simmer beneath the surface, her wild dance moves and carefree attitude completely throwing off the sexual charge he’d been building with the brunette. The heat from the club, combined with the tension thrumming through his body, made him crave an outlet for all the energy she’d so unwittingly disrupted.

An idea struck him, though: Nate was drunk, maybe too drunk to maintain the fierce walls she always put up. This could be his chance to get some answers. If she was this loose with herself, maybe she’d be loose with… information, too. The thought of outsmarting her, of getting the upper hand, spurred him on.

And when she finally hopped off of the table, damn near exposing herself in the process, that was when Roman made the decision to follow her toward the club’s dimly lit side area. Her movements were less calculated, swaying slightly with the alcohol coursing through her. This was his chance.

Turning around, Nate’s eyes clocked him approaching her and her expression swiftly shifted from carefree to guarded. And perhaps a hint of recognition, curiosity… interest?

“Volkov,” Roman called, pitched just enough to be heard over the music. “Didn’t expect to find you here.”

Nate raised an eyebrow, glancing to the side as she swayed on her heels. “What, you following women to the bathroom, now?”

He smirked, stepping forward to allow a few girls to pass them by, the proximity between the two decreasing. So close to each other that he could smell the scent of her perfume mixed with the alcohol on her breath. “Just curious what brings you to somewhere like this. You don’t strike me as the party type, Princess.”

Rolling her eyes, Nate took a sip of the drink that remained in her perfectly manicured hand—a vodka tonic, from the looks of it. “And you don’t strike me as someone who cares.”

“Maybe I’m just tryna figure out why you’re so dead set on blaming my family for somethin’ we ain’t done,” Roman shot back, clipping his tone at sharp. He impatiently waited as she took yet another sip from her drink, faced with the image of her plump lips curving around the edge of the glass and leaving a slight lipstick stain in its wake.

Nate’s eyes flashed with irritation. “Oh, so now you’re the victim?” She leaned up a little, her voice a bit slurred but still carrying that edge of defiance as she spat her words venomously. “You and your family have always taken what you wanted, so why should this be any different?” She let the question hang in the air, resting the weight of her body back against the wall.

Roman chuckled, running his tongue over his teeth before exhaling with an air of irritation. “Why don’t you tell me,” he started, opting to rest his hand on the wall beside her head, “just why is your Daddy so convinced it was us?” He didn’t even care that his way of wording his inquiry lacked his usual sophistication—he did have a level of leniency with her less-than-sober state.

She giggled, a rare sound that came across surprisingly light and entirely too blithe. “You think I’d spill all that just because I’m a little tipsy?”

Then, in a complete and utter moment of indiscretion, her hand brushed against his chest, pointer finger gently jabbing  just where the last button of his Henley sat. He tensed, entirely unhappy with the reaction her touch elicited. The warmth of her fingers burned through his shirt, searing into his skin. She was so close to him, too close—closer than sober her ever allowed herself to be. And he had to remind himself that this was an opportunity, not a distraction.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he pressed, lowering his voice further, and boldly dropping his head just so he could be within inches of her ear. “Why not just give me a lil’ somethin’? You know I’ll figure it out eventually.”

Nate bit softly on her lower up, craning her neck upwards to look at him with an almost childish expression. “You’re so confident, Reigns. Always so sure of yourself…” she taunted through a sigh, but there was that underlying truth to them that caught Roman off-guard.

Before he could respond, Nate’s hand slid further up his chest, up to his neck, where her thumb brushed against his thick beard. Her lips pursed, almost as if she were cooing at him like a toddler. “You think you’re so smart… but you don’t know half of what’s really going on, do you?”

Roman felt his pulse quicken, not from the fact that Natalka Volkov, of all people, had her hand on him, but from the way she seemed to be teetering on the edge of saying… too much.

He needed to keep her talking.

“Enlighten me then, Princess.”

Nate’s eyes fluttered, half-lidded as she took a deep breath, the action only emphasising her chest to him. God, that dress… looks too damn good on someone so scheming.

“You think I’ll spill everything… about my dad,” she smirked, “When you know just as much as I do.” Her eyes locked onto his, the subdued lighting causing a menacing shadow to cast under his eyebrows and shield half of his eyes. 

“I might… despise my father,” she recklessly, and finally, admitted. “But even if I did know every little thing about whatever it is you’re trying to uncover…”

She attempted to push herself up from the wall, but only succeeded in anchoring her lower half forwards, causing one of her bare legs to brush up against Roman’s jeans. It shouldn’t have caused his arm to give out, even slightly, but it did.

“I still wouldn’t give anything like that,” she hummed, “To a man like you.”

Roman pulled back slightly, looking down at her straight-on. There was something in her expression, something that told him she wasn’t bluffing. He thought he’d gathered everything he needed on the Volkovs themselves. He thought he knew their dynamics, that the reason for their almost immortal, untouchable status in New York City was down to the very core of their operations: an unbreakable familial bond.

But this was one of those rare moments where Roman Reigns could definitively, and humbly, admit that he was wrong.

And in this situation, that made her either the most dangerous individual out there… or the most valuable.

Without breaking eye contact, Roman reached into his pocket, fumbling for anything he could write on. He pulled out an old receipt, ripping off a scrap and pulling a pen from his jacket. He quickly scribbled down his number, not wanting to think too much into his decision, and then looked at her with a hint of a smirk.

“Call me when you’re sober,” he said, holding the piece of paper between his fingers. Then, with calculated boldness, he slipped it down the front of her dress, making sure to tuck it right between her cleavage, the act intimate yet authoritative.

Nate’s breath caught in her throat, her eyes widening slightly at the cold touch of her enemy’s fingers, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she watched him with a mixture of surprise and amusement. “You Samoans love playing with fire, don’t you?”

“I know,” he replied, before lowering his head one more time, his whisper close enough to allow Nate to embrace the heat of his breath, the combination of whiskey and mint potent. “Almost as much as the Russians, baby girl.”

With that, he clicked his tongue twice and winked, before pulling back. He gave her a once over and turned on his heel, hands making their way into his jean’s back pockets as he headed back to the crowd. But even as he walked away, he could still feel her eyes on him, the knowledge that she had just unintentionally given her family’s number one on their hitlist, priceless information.

But she’d figure that out soon enough.

[bahbahhh]

fic masterlist

currents the true story of mipha's grace. NPC POV (Mipha) | BotW | multichapter | rated T | incomplete - on hiatus

A thematic successor to "desire path" and "thank you for listening" in which we are getting zelink from a NPC POV as well as a metaphor through nature. I wanted to give Mipha some love because I often seen (and have done this myself) her placed in a negative or shallow light with respect to Link and Zelda's relationship in botw. I also believe deeply you can love someone completely and not be meant for each other and that is okay. Follows Mipha's diary entries/Champions' Ballad.

begin again - also posted on tumblr A story for @zelinkcommunity zelink week 2023 set between BotW and Totk. A stab at explaining lots of the changes seen in TotK, specifically what happens to the Sheikah Technology. Zelda POV | pre -TotK | multichapter | rated T | complete!

The Calamity is gone. The remaining leaders of Hyrule gather for a Summit to determine the future of the kingdom, starting with how to repurpose all the Sheikah Technology. Zelda is among them, and while everyone still calls her Princess, she’s not sure she wants to lay claim to an old throne. What she really wants is to move on. She wants to continue her research, to prove her worth beyond her bloodline, and to spend as much time with Link as she can…which sounds an awful lot like what she wanted a hundred years ago…

desire path for @zelinktines24 2023 for the prompt “Oh no” NPC POV (Impa) | pre-BotW | rated G | oneshot - complete!

Impa is given a secret assignment from the King just before she is to escort Zelda and Link back to Kakariko Village for the festival of Sahasra’s Pass: make sure their arrangement is not creating “unnecessary distractions.” It seems silly for the King to be so concerned about such an implausible matter. Anyone with two eyes can see they clearly despise each other. Impa forgets she has three.

✨ amazing fanart from @marimbles

✨amazing fanart from @pitchblackespresso like someone would for @zelinkcommunity Zelink week 2022 for the prompt "statue" A love letter to side quests. Link POV | BotW | rated M | multichapter | complete!

Her voice is the string of reassurances and warnings whispered in his ear from the moment he opened his eyes. She calls out for your help. So he goes, underprepared and overconfident, in the opposite direction of Kakariko Village because a hundred years is long enough and a princess needs his help and he was someone once. (Or, Link realizes destiny is awfully hard thing to shake.)

thank you for listening NPC POV (Kass) | post BotW |rated G | short and sweet | complete!

The ancient songs collected, his teacher’s last ballad complete, and still Kass can’t help but miss the thrill of the strange Hylian’s company.  With his ever patient ear, often turned deliberately toward the accordion with his eyes closed, it was like the melody was more than just a pleasant tune. Like Kass was offering a prayer and Link was waiting for an answer.

windows for @zelinkcommunity opposites attract community event. In collaboration with @aheavenscorner who made this AMAZING artwork. ✨ Link and Zelda POV | post BotW | rated T | oneshot- complete!

Twelve years after the events of Tears of the Kingdom, the Master Sword tells Link it is finally time to put it back.

The Killing Moon BotW 1.5 before we got TotK so it's one giant guessing game leading up to what we see in the trailers. Also features my guess at the title, which I'll pat myself on the back, was pretty damn close. Heavy angst, deep dive into PTSD/trauma* Link POV | BotW 1.5 | rated E | multichapter | complete!

She asks if he remembers her. He doesn’t answer. There is quiet longing between them in moments when they are alone that Link still cannot place. He thinks he needs time but Hyrule won’t grant them peace. Especially not when there is a kingdom to rebuild and the Blood Moon still rises. But Link doesn’t want to rebuild, he just wants-

✨author's notes

all I can think about is The best comment I’ve got of this fic remains “Sexy yet depressing?” Zelda POV| pre-totk | rated E NSFW* | must have ao3 to read | oneshot- complete!

drabbles and other smaller one shots

distraction and the distracted Link POV | pre-botw| zelinkweek 2022 | oneshot- complete! almost beautiful Link POV | pre-botw| zelinkweek 2022 | oneshot- complete! Kass and his daughters   NPC POV | post- botw| tumblr drabble | oneshot- complete! Zelda illness Zelda POV | post- botw| tumblr drabble | oneshot- complete! Angsty Paya NPC POV | botw| tumblr drabble | oneshot- complete! Terrako catches Link and Zelda Link POV | AoC | tumblr drabble | oneshot- complete! OoT Zelink written for @zeldaelmo for her fic Someone I Used To Know Zelda POV | OoT older | tumblr drabble | oneshot- complete! Patricia POV NPC POV- Patricia the Sand Seal | botw| tumblr drabble | oneshot- complete!

[last updated 11/1/2023]

[goodoldfashionednerd]

Round 2

I'm so sorry about this one, guys

Ed

I like the name Jeff and accounting sounds fancy as fuck

Stede

I may be landed gentry, but I'm thrilled to be granted entry