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duskholland · 4 years

Text

The Fame Game (Part Nine) - Tom Holland

Summary ↠ Breaking up is hard. But breaking up with your fake boyfriend, with whom you’ve fallen irrevocably and painfully in love with? It’s almost impossible.

Warnings ↠ Angst, Y/N’s being stubborn but can we blame her? Cursing and crying. All the good stuff.

Word count ↠ 5.2k

A/N ↠ This part? Emotional rollercoaster and a half. We’re almost at the end of the story, though! :((( Only part ten and the epilogue to go, and I am not okay. Crazy crazy crazy. Anyway, buckle in and enjoy part nine :)

NINE: Expiration Date (Y)

It’s raining in London. Tracks of grey, miserable water stream down the dirty window, obscuring the view of the city beyond. Your fingers are cold as you hold a mug of stale tea, the liquid pale and long-past its best. You’d poured it an hour ago, intending to throw it back and pull yourself out of your stupor, but you’d failed.

Today is the end of your relationship with Tom - the expiration date, as your team likes to call it. In a move of obscene pathetic fallacy, the weather curled across London seems to emanate your innermost thoughts. It’s cloudy and grey, darkness settled across the sky. In the distance, the clouds grow blacker, and a part of you wonders if it’ll thunder later.

You feel a tear slip from one of your eyes, and the warm line traces down your cheek as you sniffle. With slow movements, you finally put down the mug, crossing your arms over your chest as you continue to stare out of the window, vacantly. You’re in your London flat, your belongings in boxes around you. With the conclusion of a final filming project comes the end of your lease, and when you leave London tonight on a plane, you leave behind your flat, your job, and your boyfriend.

Your boyfriend.

Your fake boyfriend, who sometimes acts like your real boyfriend, but has made it all too clear that he is only, only, only your fake boyfriend.

A scowl springs out across your face, and your fingers curl into fists at your sides.

You thought you’d been hurt by Tom before. For years, you’ve felt anger towards him - resentment, irritation, burning frustration. You’ve cursed him out on countless occasions, publicly denounced him, and watched on as he’s returned every move you’ve made against him with equal ferocity. At almost every given opportunity, Tom has launched blow after blow at you, but you’d taken it. You had accepted that that was just your relationship - that sometimes two people don’t get along, and sometimes they thrive off irritating the other. His insults didn’t touch you - not really, not like this. They’d riled you up and they’d made you seethe, but they were just insults - just empty, irritating insults, which you’d returned with a smile on your face. But now…

For the first time, Tom Holland has actually broken your heart.

It’s painful when you think about him, as you cast your mind back to your last day together. You’d been so excited, so hopeful, when you’d turned up at his place in LA, and as he’d laid you down and you’d held one another, you’d felt the love you have for him grow. Each time he’d kissed you, you felt your love deepen. Each pass of his hands over your skin made your heart race, your mind shake. You’d been waiting on the right time to open your mouth, say the three golden words, and then propose giving your relationship a real shot, only for Tom to jump the gun and tell you that he, in fact, loved you.

To have Tom stand opposite you and tell you that he loves you - only to immediately follow it up with a retraction - has shattered you. You can’t stop thinking about the moment that you’d let yourself believe, for one brief, shocking second, that Tom reciprocated your love - that Tom had softened out, and grown to love you, too. His words had knocked you off-guard, but fuck, if they weren’t the sweetest three words you’d ever heard. You’d been fully prepared to drop everything and jump into his arms, only for him to add--

“No… Wait, no.”

You are upset. You are so fucking angry. You are a whirlwind of tears and clenched fists and stiff jaws. The more you contemplate it, the hollower you feel. You have never known heartbreak as pronounced as this.

You hate the power that you’ve given Tom. Hate that you’d walked straight into this, eyes open. You can’t even blame it on blind infatuation, because you’d been aware at every moment how dangerous your budding feelings were, just you’d chosen to ignore the warning signals, too distracted by Tom’s easy smile and his kisses. You hate that you let him break your heart, hate that he’s emerged from this unscathed when you feel the weakest you’ve ever been.

But above all, you hate that you don’t hate him. It would be so easy to slip back into old habits, to return to that blind, festering hatred that used to roar through your veins at the mere mention of his name. You can’t return to that, and every time you try to drum up some anger towards Tom, you’re instead reminded of how nice, and funny, and sweet he can be.

You release a shaky breath. It’s your expiration date, today. All that’s left of your relationship is a visit to Tom’s house to collect your things, and a few pap photographs of you leaving his place, in pieces. There’s no doubt in your mind that the paparazzi will find it convincing: you’ve been a mess for days, your tears will be real. You’re full of apprehension and rattled nerves about seeing him again, about walking back into his house knowing it’ll be the last time and having to act like he hasn’t reached into your chest and ripped out your heart.

You are an actor, to your core, but your role within this relationship has been your hardest performance to date - and you have the sinking suspicion that not even you can pull off the denouement.

The paparazzi are already outside Tom’s as you walk down his front path, raindrops bouncing off your jacket. The flashes from their cameras illuminate the garden, and your eyes hurt as the light glints off the collection of small garden gnomes Harrison and Tom keep in front of their house. You’re quick to drum your knuckles on the front door, tugging on the chords of your hood and trying to shy away from the yelling journalists.

After what feels an eternity, the door is opened. Tom stares out at you, eyes widening as he takes in the pouring rain.

“Shit, it’s wet today, isn’t it?” He mutters, quickly moving aside. You hurry into the house, sighing contentedly as the warmth envelops you. You kick off your shoes, but your fingers are frozen solid and you can’t quite tug the zip of your coat. “Do you need help?”

You glance up, seeing Tom eyeing your shivering fingers as you try and fail to release the slippery zip. “Yeah,” you mutter, quickly glancing away. It’s not your intention to stay long, but you’re not so inconsiderate that you’d traipse through Tom’s entire house in a dripping jacket.

You stay very still as Tom steps forward, one of his hands holding the bottom of your jacket as the other goes up to the zip. His tongue slips out between his teeth, and a deep crease appears between his eyebrows as he grasps the zip and carefully tugs it down. A smile splits over his face, and you sigh as the coat releases.

“There you go.” Tom doesn’t stop there, though. He goes so far as to help you wiggle out of the jacket, and even hangs it up on the peg for you. The same peg you’d used when you’d stayed with him a few months ago. Your peg. “So.” Tom rocks back on his feet, looking at you through narrowed eyes. “Why haven’t you been answering my texts?”

You clear your throat, crossing your arms over your chest. “What?”

“Y/N.” Tom steps a little closer, his eyes wide with hurt. “My calls, too. I really needed to talk to you.”

“Sorry,” you fib. You’re not sorry, not even one bit. Every time you’d watched your phone go through to answerphone, you’d felt a little stronger. “I’ve been busy.”

“Doing what?”

“Oh, you know. Stuff.”

Tom frowns at you. “Well, I needed to talk to you.”

“Yeah, you said that.” You clear your throat, shaking out your arms as you try to lighten the air between you. You hadn’t meant to come into your last encounter with Tom with so much hostility on your shoulders, but being so close to him again makes your chest ache. “Sorry,” you mutter. “What did you want to talk about?”

Tom nods his head. “Well, it’s… It’s complicated.” Now he’s hesitant, with reluctance clinging to his features. You feel irritation stir inside as you watch him fluster. All you want to do is get this over and done with, so you can leave his house before you start crying again. You don’t want to drag this out.

“Well, can we talk about it as I pack my things?” You ask, your voice clipping a little at the edges.

“Uh, yeah, I guess.” Tom moves out of the way, letting you into the main body of the house. “What do they want us to do, again?”

You bite your lip as you see the photograph that hangs from the wall in the hallway. It’s new, and it shows you, Harrison and Tom, laying out together on one of their sofas. You remember the night well: Harry had taken the picture, teased Tom for the way he’d got you wrapped up in his arms and refused to let go for the duration of the scary film you were all watching. On your other side is Harrison, glaring at you and Tom, mock outrage on his face. It was a good night - near the end of your trip to London, back when things were better.

“Did they send you a box?” You say, voice vacant. You can’t stop looking at the photo, at the way Tom has his face buried in your neck. You look so happy. “They want me to put all my stuff in a box. Apparently, paps just need to see me leaving with all of my things, and then they’ll get the picture.”

“Pretty simple, then?” Tom drops down to his knees, beginning to rummage in the cupboard under the stairs until he procures a big red box. “This is the one they sent.” He passes it up to you. “Will that be big enough?”

“Yeah. I only have a few things here, I think.”

“Cool. Do you want to start upstairs?”

“Why not.”

You feel awkward as you slowly climb the staircase. The air between you is unsettled, and you can tell Tom’s hurt that you’re clearly less than enthused to be here. Part of you wants to soothe him, but the other part wants to run, run, run.

“Harrison not here?” You ask as you walk past his empty bedroom. You enter their spare room, which you’d been crashing in back when you’d stayed, and quickly start pulling out the odd book and bottle you’d left. Management had instructed you to leave a few things back when you’d left, and now you understand why.

“Nah, Liverpool,” Tom says. “It’s just me.” He sits on the edge of the bed, watching as you quickly pile everything into your box. “Look, Y/N, can we please talk?”

“I’m listening.”

“No, no.” Tom stands up, and you freeze as he reaches out for your arm. The second his warm fingers touch your skin, a lump comes to your throat. “I need to- we need to talk.” You stay completely still, closing your eyes as you feel him slide his hand up your arm. His palm rests on your shoulder, weighted and familiar, and the contact makes your heart pang.

“What do you want to talk about, Tom?” You ask, voice hoarse. You keep your eyes shut. The scent of his cologne is so familiar it brings back the tightness in your chest. You aren’t sure if you’re so upset because this is the last time you’ll be together, or if it has more to do with the fact that you can’t look at Tom without being reminded that he doesn’t love you.

“Come and sit down. I can make tea.”

You suck in a deep breath. “You know that I’m walking out of your house in ten minutes and probably never coming back again, yeah?” You mutter. “What’s so important that it deserves a cup of tea?”

Tom only chuckles, not seeming to mind the bitterness of your voice. “I’ll tell you. Over tea.” He squeezes your shoulder, and you finally open your eyes. Your vision swims with tears, but if he notices it, he doesn’t comment on it. “You can pack your stuff up here, and I’ll meet you in the living room. Okay?”

You nod. “Alright.”

You try to delay your conversation for as long as possible, which takes you on a short trip into Tom’s bedroom. In your defence, you don’t mean to snoop - you did, in fact, leave your favourite book on his desk - but you do also take the opportunity to have a little look around.

On Tom’s windowsill is a line of very dead plants, their leaves shrivelled and broken. You roll your eyes as you peer into the empty watering can, chuckling softly. Typical. On his desk is a pile of scripts, dog-eared and stained with the round marks of spilt tea, and crumpled clothes hang everywhere, shoved over various armrests and laying in heaps on the floor. Tom’s entire room is organised chaos.

What catches your eye, though, is the large shelf hammered into the wall. You’ve been in Tom’s room before, hell, you’d spent your last night in London in his bed, but you’d never taken the time to look up and examine this shelf. Settled in the middle of it, gathering dust, is Tom’s BAFTA. You sigh, and instinctively, you reach up and take it.

It’s heavy in your hands. You’ve felt it before, but you’d forgotten the weight of the blue glass trophy. When you’d last touched it, it’d been on the night of the show, and Tom had thrust it into your hands mockingly, making some flippant comment about it being a mark of his success. You’d immediately tossed it back at him, almost dropping it in the process, and shut him down with a snide remark.

Now, you run your thumbs over the award. The curves are smooth beneath your fingertips. You blink a few times, and two tears splash out onto the thing. As you rub them away, you take a deep, shuddering breath.

Pull yourself together, Y/N.

You swallow, and when you release a deep exhalation, you feel steadier. The award goes back to the shelf, and you pick up your box. Just ten more minutes. One conversation, one cup of tea, and ten more minutes. Then you can leave him behind.

How much can change in ten minutes, anyway?

There’s something melancholic about the way you find yourself sitting on Tom’s sofa, facing him again. You’re in the same position that you were in back when you’d customised your shoes together, before everything had gone to shit: you, leaning up against one armrest, Tom against the other, both of you with your legs outstretched and meeting in the middle. Tessa has staked her claim sitting on your feet, and as you sip nervously at your tea, you keep your eyes on her.

“So.” Tom’s fidgeting. If he’s not drumming his fingers over the ceramic of his mug, he’s picking at the strap of his watch. “I need to talk to you.”

You wince a smile. “Yeah, you keep saying that.” You take a sip of your tea. It’s still hot, and it burns the tip of your tongue, but part of you wants to down the whole thing just so you can leave. Being so close to him makes your chest sting.

Tom takes a deep breath. “I said something really stupid the last time we were together. I was… I was just going to leave it, but then I realised that doing that would be even more stupid,” he starts. Immediately, you feel yourself bristle. You can’t have this conversation again.

“We don’t need to talk about it, Tom,” you mutter. “What’s the point? I’m leaving soon.”

“Which is exactly why we need to talk about it, love.” Tom’s eyes are wide, a hint of desperation swirling in them. He sets his tea down on the coffee table and sits up straighter. “I didn’t mean it.”

You sigh, rubbing at your forehead as you feel another stab of pain in your chest. He’s really twisting the knife, now.

“I know,” you remind him. “You’ve already told me that you didn’t mean it.”

“No, no.” Tom shakes his head, running a hand through his curls. “No.” He’s visibly anxious, but you’re too perplexed to consider offering him any comfort. “I mean… I said I didn’t love you. Well, I said I loved you, and then I took it back.”

You release a sound somewhere between a whimper and a groan, and it brings on a fresh set of tears. “Yes, I remember, Tom.”

“Well, I was wrong.”

Very slowly, you look up at him. You put down the tea and bring your knees to your chest, staring at him through hard eyes.

“What?” You say, voice dull.

“I was wrong. I shouldn’t have taken it back.” “Tom.” You’re exasperated and confused. “What are you trying to say?”

“I love you, Y/N. I’m in love with you.”

Your eyebrows pull together. “What?”

“I love you.” Tom’s lips quirk into a soft, warm smile. “And- And I know you probably don’t feel the same way, and you probably don’t want to hear it, but I had to tell you before you leave. You have to know how I actually feel.” He sits forward, and his foot nudges your knee. “I love you. I’m sorry for being a dick, I just… I panicked, I guess.”

Your brain feels like it’s running slow, wading miles behind the rest of you. You’ve spent so many days coming to terms with the fact that Tom doesn’t love you that the evidence for the contrary isn’t sinking in.

“What- but you said that you didn’t love me?” You puzzle.

“I was wrong.”

You look at him. You look at him long and hard. Your eyes dissect the soft smile on Tom’s lips, the eagerness in his eyes, and the blush on his cheeks.

You don’t believe him.

“How can you get something like that wrong?” You ask him, frazzled. “Tom, I- I don’t know if I can trust anything that you say.”

Tom raises an eyebrow. “So you want it to be true?”

“What? Shut up, this isn’t about me.” You have a lump in your throat. “Tom, this is- this is about you, not knowing how you feel.”

“But I do know how I feel. I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you-”

“Stop.”

You can’t take it. With every repetition, it feels like Tom’s rubbing it in your face.

“Y/N?”

You stand up from the sofa, displacing Tessa who whimpers in response.

“You’re so cruel, Tom.”

Tom scrambles to his feet too, hopping as he regains his balance. He stands in front of you. “What? What do you mean?” His eyes are wide with hurt. “I’m being honest, Y/N. How is it cruel to love you?”

Tears form in your eyes.

“You don’t get to take it back. You… First, you said that you loved me. Do you… Do you know how happy that made me?” You screw your hands into fists, voice hoarse. “I thought, for a second, that you loved me. I really, really did. I thought that we could end this stupid thing and just be happy. But then, you turn around, and you take it back. You’re not allowed to take back a declaration of love, Tom. Do you know how- how crushing that was?”

“-But-”

“No, I’m talking.” The end of your nose tingles, and you reach up to brush the wetness from your cheeks. “You… You broke my heart, Tom. Because I-” You break off, and you meet his eyes. You speak directly to him. You finally bare your soul. “I love you, Tom. I fell in love with you, and so for you to turn around and take it back-” You break off, waving a hand through the air. “It broke my heart.”

“I’m sorry.” His voice is raw, and you watch as Tom rubs at his eyes. “I didn’t know, Y/N.”

“How am I supposed to believe you?” You look at the floor, vision blurry. “How am I supposed to believe that you aren’t going to turn around in two minutes and take it back again?” You rub at your arms. “Why do you get all of the power?”

Tom steps closer, but you just move away. “Y/N, please. I don’t want to hurt you. I would never, ever want to hurt you. I was confused, but I know now more than ever how I feel about you.”

“But you have hurt me, Tom,” you say, finally looking back at him. “Our entire relationship has been us hurting each other. Why should it be any different now?”

Tom clasps his hands together, his cheeks red and ruddy. “We both know it’s different now.”

“Is it?” You release a dim laugh. “Because I feel, just now, exactly as horrible as I used to feel when we’d argue, Tom. All we’ve ever done is hurt.”

“That’s the past.” Tom’s voice is picking up now, growing in strength. When he looks at you, you see his jaw flexing. “I’m sorry for the ways I’ve acted, Y/N, but I can’t change it now. All I can tell you is that you’ll be making a bad decision if you walk out of the door.”

“I have to.” It’s too much to process - too much to think about when Tom’s looking at you so desperately. This morning you’d woken up expecting an awkward visit and then a plane ride far, far away from him. This revelation upends all of that.

“No, you don’t.” Finally, you let Tom take your hands. He runs his thumbs over the back of your palms and you whimper. “Stay. Stay here with me. Fuck PR, fuck the paps. We can be together. We can love each other.” He smiles again, softly. “Let me love you. Please.”

It’s very tempting. As Tom holds your hands tightly and stares into your eyes, you want so desperately to cave. You want to throw yourself into his arms and tell him that you love him, that yes, yes, of course you’ll stay with him. But you think back to all the tears that you’ve shed, and you look at his face, and you’re reminded of the night at the BAFTAs when he’d thrust his polished trophy into your face and bragged about it. You think about all of the times he’s made moves against you and tried to trip you up. You think about your last day together, and how easily he’d retracted his statement.

How can he stand here in front of you, and ask you to forget about all of that so easily?

“I can’t.”

You step away from Tom and instead grab your big red box. You walk quickly into the hallway, your eyes full of hot tears. He follows.

“Yes, you can.”

You sit on the stairs and start lacing up your shoes, staring at Tom angrily.

“I can’t.” Your fingers shake as you tie your laces. “I have a flight. I have a life in LA that I need to get back to. This was never part of the plan, Tom. You’re my fake boyfriend. You aren’t supposed to be my real boyfriend.”

“But you love me.” Tom’s blocking your way, his biceps bulging from his black t-shirt as he stands in front of you desperately. “You told me. You said that you love me, Y/N, and I’m telling you that I love you too.”

“Love isn’t always enough, Tom.” It hurts to look at him, to think about how easily and foolishly he’s handled your heart. “Let me go.”

“Love can be enough.” It’s his final attempt; you can see it in his eyes. “Don’t let us end like this, Y/N. Please.” He takes your hand, bringing your knuckles to his lips. His mouth moves over your skin, dropping kisses to your cold skin.

You feel trapped. You know the car is waiting outside, and it’s all come on too fast, too soon.

“Tom,” you say. You pull your hand from his grasp. “Let me go.”

Tom steps aside. He finally slumps against the wall, pressing his head into his hands. “Is this what you really want?” His voice is raw, broken, and his eyes are red.

You tug your soaking jacket from the peg on the wall as you shrug haplessly. “You can’t drop these feelings on me ten minutes before I’m out the door and expect me to change my life for you.” You look at him. “It isn’t fair.”

“Fine.” Tom stands up straighter. “You should take off your hoodie, then. It’s mine. Wouldn’t be the best impression of the paparazzi to be seen wearing my clothes, would it?”

You drop your jacket to the floor and start shuffling out of the pink hoodie. It’s an oversized fit, and it comes off easily, but you chuckle bitterly. Tom’s taken everything from you - your heart, your sanity - even the very clothes from your back. What more could he possibly want to take?

“There.” You shove it into his hands and angrily pull on your coat. The sleeves are cold and damp against your skin, making you shiver. “Happy now?”

Tom looks down at the jumper. “No,” he says, voice soft. His eyes are round again, widening further as you reach for the front door. “Y/N, please.”

Your fingers linger on the doorknob, cold to touch. You hesitate. When you glance back at Tom, your resolve crumbles. As frustrated and bemused as you are, you love him. You love him, and he’s your best friend, and you’re leaving him.

“Tom,” you whimper. You step away from the door, dodging the box, and fold into his arms, crying with your face on his shoulder. Tom’s arms wrap around your back and he pulls you in tightly. “I’m sorry.” You aren’t sure what you’re apologising for - your departure, your broken heart, your tears staining his shirt. You just know you are so overcome with every emotion that it’s overflowing now, leaving your mouth in ugly sobs.

“Shh.” Tom rolls a hand over your back, patting in large circles. Your jacket crinkles at the action, and you think you can feel his chest shake. “It’s okay.”

You stay in his arms, your face buried in his neck until you stop crying. Even then, you feel clogged up and weakened. He’s so warm - his embrace strong, and comfortable. You feel protected, and when you step back, you feel your heart break again.

“I’m sorry, Tom.” You wipe at your eyes and pick up the red box. Tom’s face falls in response. “I just… I need time. I’m not- I’m not saying that we can never be together, I just… I can’t stay just now. It’s too fresh, I don’t...”

“It’s okay.” Tom steps forward. One of his hands goes to the doorknob, the other rests on your shoulder. He’s near to you - so near that you can see the flecks of pain in his eyes and the freckles on his face. His gaze flickers down to your lips. “I can wait.”

You lean in and kiss him, softly. His lips taste of salty peppermint.

“I… I’ll see you later.” You want to say it, want to tell him so desperately that you love him, but the words choke in the back of your throat.

Tom just smiles, the action not stretching to his eyes. He tilts his head towards the door. “Are you ready?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

Tom looks at the box in your hands and reaches up. He tugs up the hood of your jacket and tucks your hair into it carefully. “Safe flight, darling.”

“Thank you.”

He opens the door and steps aside, and then you’re on your own.

London Heathrow Terminal 5 is very empty. You’re sitting alone in the back corner of the waiting room, hood drawn around your face, sunglasses resting heavily over your nose. You haven’t been able to stop shaking since you left Tom’s house. Feeling numb through bag drop, security, and duty-free, it’s a miracle you’ve made it to your gate on time.

You close your eyes, and you see him. You open your eyes, and you expect to see him. He’s everywhere.

Is this what you really want..?

It plays on loop, lilted in his voice. Is this what you really want? To be sat alone, crying in Heathrow airport, when Tom is waiting back at home, finally willing to take you into his arms?

You sniff as you wipe at your eyes, furiously trying to stem the flow of tears. It had all happened so quickly; it felt almost unfair.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket, and you’re grateful for the distraction.

Tom <3: Have a safe flight. I’m sorry for being such a dick. I know you don’t want to hear it, but I love you. I love you and I’ll wait for you. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to figure it out. I love you. Xxxxxxxxxx

You put the phone down, sucking in a deep breath. Your eyes fall to your feet. You notice, for the first time, that you’re wearing your special personalised Converse.

With shaking hands, you pull off your sunglasses and stare at your feet. The ink has run a little, obscured by the pouring London rain, but you can still make out some of the shapes Tom had drawn over them, all those weeks ago. A love heart, a flower, a couple holding hands. The lump in your throat grows bigger.

Is this what you really want..?

“Now boarding, Flight BA0269, London Heathrow to LAX. We now invite our platinum club to board.”

You sigh. You stand up and pull your backpack over your shoulders. You look back at your feet.

The love heart is wobbly and uneven, and you remember the look of concentration on Tom’s face as he’d tried his best to doodle over your shoes. The room had been so warm, back then. Just the two of you, together, finding comfort in one another’s company. It’d been simple, and you can remember looking up at him and feeling warmth for him in your heart.

Is this what you really want..?

No.

Your relationship has felt like a series of rash decisions lately, and you aren’t about to make the final, irreversible choice of leaving London. You can’t leave - not now, with the path finally clear. You can’t leave Tom, who’s finally told you how he feels. He’s messy, and complicated, and being around him makes you feel like your heart is on fire, but you love him. You love him, and maybe he’s right - maybe love is enough.

You know that you have come too far to throw it all away without giving him a chance.

You’ve never been a fan of bold, romantic gestures, but as they call your gate again, you turn off your phone and you turn around. You turn around, and you run. You run back to him.

↠ next part

#sob #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland #tom holland series #crying on main time #y/n #y/n use #self insert #self-insert #tfg #ahhhhHHHHH screaming truly #what am i gonna do with my fridays when im finished with this series!!#:((( anyways #please let me know what you're thinking :)))#almost didn't include the final scene in this part but :)) i thought it deserved to make the final cut

683 notes · View notes

mmmleckerlecker · 3 years

Note

Woo! Another great chapter and so close to the finish line! Gotta say I am so proud and inspired by your motivation and you sticking with this series consistently through the entire run with unfaltering quality. It’s really amazing and I think you deserve a medal (and a vacation of choice) for a job well done!

On another note I don’t know what I’ll do with myself once the series is over. Yes, though I will enjoy sleeping peacefully without worrying about the fate of the beloved characters, but also it just won’t be the same looking forward to each Friday post. Those chapter updates is really what kept me going though the week and looking forward to the weekend. Maybe I will go for a walk and breathe fresh air for once after this is all over. Maybe that would be good. I’m sure you would be enjoying your freedom after this long commitment, so I shouldn’t be one to complain lol. After all this, you deserve a rest.

Oh my god dude t___t im crying real tears in the club tonight. This is literally so nice 🥺🥺🥺🧡🧡🧡 thank you for writing it all out 🙏

It’s really nice to hear that I’ve inspired someone. Literally like… my life goal v___v and to know someone is proud of me.. <33 this is truly great. I will gladly accept that medal and vacation of choice.

But honestly, homie. Idk either what imma do every Friday now!! Like I’ve been sooooo looking forward to the freedom of it all. I’m really proud of myself for being consistent throughout this whole process but god damn! Did I need a break from it yesterday. But like… even then. Release days have always just been really nice days. I love reading people’s reactions and thoughts each week. I’m gonna miss it when this is over with. (Also I just <33 to hear HP helps people get through the week and gives them something to look forward to… my heart is full)

I do definitely have plans for other things to write/post, both HP related and not. So there will definitely still be things to look forward to! (I’ll probably just take a little break before I get around to them.)

Thank you so much for the love and support. It really does mean the world to me <333

#v___v when ppl are kind #when I can give them something good <33 #beautiful #asks #heart pangs

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thoughts-of-the-unheard · 3 years

Text

so my friend died three days ago and ive been having a very hard time with it and i know everyone grieves differently but aside from his roommate who was his best friend from high school and has known him for years, no one seems to be very impacted by it, i have cried in front of them twice now and theyve barely even looked sad like they take a sad tone and everything but my roommate asked me today if i prepared myself for friday bc theres a memorial were going to and i how am i supposed to prepare myself for that girl i cant even prepare myself to walk to class, i was heading to class today just in my own world like i always am when walking and i nearly cried because i remembered him telling me once that he said hi to me inbetween classes but i didnt notice, yesterday an upperclassman asked me how im doing with college so far and if im surviving and i nearly burst into tears, i can barely look at anything in my room without thinking of something he said about it, out of my whole friend group here, what was eleven people, he was the only one who knew im queer, actually until yesterday, he was the only one on campus who knew, the series im reading right now is his favorite and the only one hes reread, on our second night, him, his roommate, and explored a bit and i bought a pint of coffee ice cream because its my favorite and he said it was his too so we split it because i knew i wasnt gonna finish the whole thing, i went to mma yesterday because i cant think about him when im focusing and at the beginning of practice the president brought up his death and mentioned the counseling and mental heath and were a family there and talk to any of us and im already seen as weak for being small and being a girl and i really didnt want to add emotional wreck to that list but i definitely didnt hear the rest of the talk because i was focusing so much on not crying, his bed is on the opposite side of the wall that mine is and we used to knock on the wall all the time just because, the boys would joke about tunneling through that wall under our beds so we could easily go back and forth, half the time i ate on the weekends was because hed ask if i wanted to grab food, i had lunch with him every other week day and i had to sit on the other side of the booth today because i couldnt stand looking at the empty seat, i started crying in the back of my psych class just thinking about lunch without him, last weekend we went to ross and he asked me to hold his stuff when he went to the bathroom and one of his things was a cute purple tshirt and it was a mens but idc so i found one in a medium and i was worried hed be mad if i got it like not mad but idk wanting to make sure we dont wear it on the same day or anything and like not wanting to be associated with me bc thats just my default which ik is problematic but i have other problems to work on first because the last day i saw him he was wearing that shirt and mine was sitting on my desk when he came in and he pointed to it and said we have to match some day and ive never lost someone before that wasnt a distance relative or when i was a kid and cant remember so this is really hard for me and my side of the room is a bit of a big mess because i just dont feel like doing anything about it but i think im going to go to the counseling tomorrow i dont know its on the opposite side of campus and i just dont have much energy to go somewhere unless i have to

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 4 years

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Eccentricity [Chapter 9: Now I Love Your Shadow And I Love Your Curls]

Series Summary: Joe Mazzello is a nice guy with a weird family. A VERY weird family. They have a secret, and you have a choice to make. Potentially a better love story than Twilight.

Chapter Title Is A Lyric From: “Til I Die” by Parsonsfield.

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to sex, violence, and drug use.

Word Count: 7.6k.

Other Chapters (And All My Writing) Available: HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii @bramblesforbreakfast @maggieroseevans @culturefiendtrashqueen @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark @escabell @im-an-adult-ish @queenlover05 @someforeigntragedy @imtheinvisiblequeen @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhyee @deacyblues @tensecondvacation @brianssixpence @some-major-ishues @haileymorelikestupid @youngpastafanmug @simonedk

Field Trip

“You want to go to Chicago with me?”

I coughed, having almost inhaled a chunk of pineapple off my slice of GrubHubbed pizza. We were sitting on the grass outside Forks And Spoons under the shade of the maple trees, which were turning from jade to ruby to amber to fool’s gold, rejoining the earth they once rose from one fallen leaf at a time. It hadn’t rained in almost four days—was that some kind of record?!—and the leaves littering the ground crunched when I stepped on them, which I did purposefully and often. The breeze was soft and whispery and temperate. I could get used to this whole having actual seasons thing. “What, in like a hypothetical, at some point in my life kind of way?”

Joe smiled. His U Chicago hoodie of the day was black. “No, as in this weekend.”

“Really?”

“The Cubs have a game on Saturday, and it’s supposed to be rainy and overcast the whole time, and I just thought...” He shrugged, toying with a piece of pizza crust before tossing it to the squirrels. He’s nervous, I realized. How the hell do I have the ability to make the sexy undead Italian man nervous? “It might be nice for us to be able to get away for a few days. Away from my family. Away from Charlie. Not that I don’t appreciate the ambient noise of his snoring from the living room couch, it’s super endearing, I seriously consider dating him instead of you at least twice a week.”

“Go for it. Charlie could use a rich husband. His pension is pathetic.”

“You wouldn’t miss me?”

“I am not necessarily opposed to clandestinely seducing my sugar daddy stepdad should the occasion arise.”

Joe crossed himself like a nun passing tattooed, cursing, lip-pierced teenagers on the sidewalk. “Lord, protect me from this harlot.”

A weekend away. No Charlie, no constant and chaotic whirlwind of Lees, no Ben. I hadn’t spoken to Ben since our misadventure in the Lee kitchen; if he wasn’t avoiding me of his own volition, he was following orders to stay away. Joe claimed that they’d talked it out. I wasn’t sure if I believed him. “I accept your invitation. Although, truthfully, I’d rather get hit by a bus than watch an entire real-life, no-commercial-breaks baseball game.”

“I accept your acceptance. And I’ll throw in a visit to the Shedd Aquarium, just for you. They have baby sea otters.”

“Sweet.” I checked my iPhone. “I’m gonna be late for Chemistry.”

“Anything fun planned?”

“We’re doing a lab involving hydrochloric acid. I’m highly concerned that Ben will accidentally spill some on himself. The miraculous instantaneous healing thing might raise a few questions.”

“Hm,” Joe replied. But he wasn’t looking at me; he was looking at my bandaged hand. And he wasn’t smiling anymore.

“Joe, I’m fine.”

“Yeah.” He took a preoccupied swig of his Dr. Pepper. Solemnity never seemed right on him; it was like he was wearing somebody else’s skin. “You’ve mentioned that.”

“Hey. Mob guy.”

Now his eyes flicked to mine.

“No more sad spaghetti.”

“Okay.” He surrendered, took my face in his hands, gave me a kiss on each cheek and then one quick parting peck on the forehead. “You win. I’m not sad. I’m ecstatic, actually. I’m gonna be eating my weight in hotdogs and mustard-slathered pretzels on Saturday. What’s there not to be ecstatic about?”

“The fact that your license says you’re only twenty and consequently can’t get a beer?”

Joe blinked, remembering. “Fuck.”

I drained my Diet Coke, flung my pizza crust to the skittering grey squirrels—no eerie albino forest friends today—and pulled on my backpack. “See ya. Have an awesome time in Game Theory.”

“Thanks, I probably won’t!” he chimed, waving, grinning compliantly; and yet did I still sense some lingering menace of disquiet, of fear? I suspected I did. Chicago would cure everything.

Ben tensed when I walked into Professor Belvin’s classroom, ran his fingers through his unruly blond hair, peered fixedly down at his notebook and feigned obliviousness. There was already a metal tray of Erlenmeyer flasks, labeled bottles of solutions, burettes, goggles, gloves, and an unassembled ring stand crowding our small table by the open window. Autumn air poured in like seawater through cracks in the hull of a ship.

“Guess who’s gonna see the Cubs play up close and personal this Saturday?” I announced.

He pretended to have just noticed me. “...You...? But that doesn’t sound like you.”

“It was Joe’s idea. I’m acting like I’m not totally thrilled and freaking out about it, but I am. Don’t tell him.”

Now Ben was the one staring at my bandaged hand. His green eyes were large and unfocused.

“I’m fine,” I insisted.

“Sure,” Ben returned noncommittally.

I started skimming through the packet of lab instructions and setting up our titration experiment as Professor Belvin circulated through the classroom, observing, commenting, offering suggestions and critiques. My wounded hand—still sore in the lull between Advil doses and relatively useless—was quite the embarrassing hinderance; I fumbled with a large glass flask and almost dropped it.

Ben shook his head and reached out to stop me. “Here, oh my god, this is so pitiful, sit down. Please sit down. I’ll set it up. It’s the least I can do.”

“Thanks.” I peeked at his notebook. “Your handwriting is atrocious. Haven’t you had like a century to work on that?”

“Penmanship was never at the top of my to-do list, tragically.”

“What language is that, anyway?” The phrases scrawled in black ink in Ben’s notebook definitely weren’t English. Or Italian. “Elvish? Are you a lowkey Lord Of The Rings fan? Magic and self-sacrifice and nearly insurmountable evil, I could see that being your thing.”

He smirked, struggling with the ring stand. “It’s Welsh.”

“Welsh,” I repeated, perplexed. “Welsh...like how Gwil is Welsh?”

“Precisely.”

Professor Belvin checked in on us, nodded in approval, reminded me that I was always welcome to stop by at bowling league activities, and resumed his wandering.

“Gwil still speaks it,” Ben continued. “The rest of them speak it too. At least enough for basic communication.”

“I didn’t know,” I said, fascinated, examining the long, unfamiliar words riddled with Ls and Ws and Cs. “But that must be very useful.”

“It is. Welsh is nearly a dead language at this point. It’s like talking in code. I always refused to learn it on principle...or maybe I was just being difficult. I would study other languages, Arabic, Japanese...but not Welsh. That was always Gwil’s language. Their language. It was a Lee thing. But now...”

“Now you’re sort of a Lee too,” I finished for him, smiling.

“Whatever,” Ben said, hiding behind his bangs.

I watched him as he at last tamed the ring stand, secured the burette, placed the Erlenmeyer flask. Then he began reading the labels on the solution bottles. “Guess what else.”

“What, Baby Swan?”

I grinned, showing off my unremarkable, entirely benign human teeth. “I’ll bring you back your very own U Chicago hoodie.”

That night, after a pleasantly prosaic dinner with Charlie—burgers, one veggie and one of the conventional variety, and milkshakes at Danny’s Diner—I started packing a small, Arizona-sky-blue suitcase as sparse raindrops pattered against the roof and moonlight streamed in through the open window. Then I ticked off my mental inventory.

“Jeans, sweaters, pajamas, socks...”

I pawed through the top drawer of my old, scratched dresser—the same one that had once upon a time been Renee’s—and contemplated the bra and panty options. Would my theme be comfort and practicality, or feral impenitent seductress? Friday and Saturday in Chicago would be our first nights alone together. That had to be significant, right? After some deliberation, I gathered a handful of lacy, transparent, and/or exceptionally skimpy lingerie from Victoria’s Secret that Jessica had more or less forced upon me during a shopping trip in Port Angeles last month. As I dropped them into the open suitcase, I glanced up to see the albino owl outside my open bedroom window.

“You never know,” I told the owl, shrugging.

It leered judgmentally back at me with those gory red eyes.

“Oh shut up. How many eggs have you laid in your lifetime, Casper The Unfriendly Ghost? Probably like a bazillion. Freaking feathery trollop.”

The owl had nothing to offer in its own defense.

“Why don’t you ever come around when Joe’s here? I’m sure he’d love to meet you. He’s pale and weird too. Although I like his eyes a little better than yours. No offense, Snowflake.”

The owl blinked, tilted its gaze at me, ruffled its feathers and sent the raindrops that had gathered there flying in every direction.

I slid my iPhone out of my back pocket, spun around, and snapped a quick selfie with the owl in the background. “Say cheese, Marshmallow!”

The owl immediately unfurled its wings and flapped off into the trees, vanishing.

“Huh. I guess homegirl is camera shy.” I texted my selfie to Archer, typing out with my thumbs: I am the Steve Irwin of Forks. Behold, one of my many forest friends.

Archer replied a few minutes later: WOW! Pasty and mildly disturbing. Exactly your type. :)

“Yours too, apparently,” I murmured, smiling in my empty room.

I went to my full-length mirror with the plastic, teal-colored border, briefly appraised my reflection, felt a dull swell of approval for what I saw there. The version of myself that had once been so consumed by fears of inadequacy seemed impossibly far away, maybe even fictitious, a dream so vivid I could mistake it for truth. Three things were taped across the top of the mirror: Joe’s Official Citation!! No More Sad Spaghetti!! post-it, his Official Whatever You Want Pass, and a photo of us dressed up together and standing in front of the limo in the Lees’ driveway just before the Calawah University Homecoming dance. I peeled off the Official Whatever You Want Pass, carefully folded it into a neat little square, and tucked it into my wallet.

When the rain began to pour and thunder rolled in off the Pacific Ocean, I closed my bedroom window; but I remembered to leave it unlocked for Joe.

Departure

“Got your license?”

“Yes, Dad,” Joe sighed.

“Got your airport snacks?”

Joe held up the gallon-sized Ziploc bag filled with pumpkin and white chocolate chip cookies. “We’re ready to rock.”

“Call me when you get there safe,” Mercy fretted, hugging me and then Joe. “And Joseph, sweetheart, you make sure you keep an eye on her. She’s never been to Chicago before, it’s a big city, and O’Hare is an absolute nightmare, it’s so easy to get lost...”

“I don’t think he needs any reminders, love.” Dr. Lee laid a hand on her shoulder, stroked his neatly-trimmed beard with the other, watched us with a vague and wistful smile.

Mercy went back to trimming the flowers she had spread out across the kitchen countertop, white calla lilies that she threaded one by one into a translucent sapphire blue vase. “Now don’t forget to say goodbye to your brother. He’s out back feeding the new ducks. And I expect these ones to stick around for a while, thank you very much.”

“Mom, I don’t need to say goodbye to Rami. I’ll just think it. Really loudly.” Joe rubbed his temples with his fingertips and squeezed his eyes shut. “Peace out, you nosy bastard.”

“Joseph,” Mercy pleaded.

“Okay, okay, I’ll go say goodbye. Don’t get all aggressive. Don’t take it out on the flowers.” Aggressive...what a joke. I doubted that Mercy Eleanor Lee, formerly Martin, had a single aggressive bone in her immortal body; not even the infinitesimal stapes of her inner ears or the sesamoids of her feet.

“They’re calla lilies,” she replied dreamily, tending them like children. “And they symbolize love, and beauty, and fidelity...”

My nostrils itched and burned faintly in dissent. “I think I’m allergic to them.”

“You’re allergic to fidelity?” Joe asked, raising his eyebrows. “That’s it, now you’re definitely not getting my reclaimed virginity. No ma’am. I am not hit-it-and-quit-it material.”

“Oh sweet baby Jesus,” Mercy murmured.

“I’m going,” Joe said, showing his palms in capitulation and disappearing out the back door. I dragged my suitcase to the front one, politely declining Mercy and Gwil’s offers to help.

Lucy—her bleached hair in a high half-ponytail and wearing polka-dotted black tights, combat boots, a plaid miniskirt, and an extremely Octoberish orange sweater—was sitting cross-legged on the roof of Gwil’s Volvo. God, he’s such a dad. “Have a nice time,” she chirped artfully.

I opened the hatch of Joe’s Subaru and threw my suitcase inside. “Why do you sound like you already know I will?”

“I might have some relevant clairvoyant insight.”

“No way.” I stared up at her, stunned, my hands on my waist. “But you can’t see me, right...?”

“True. But this vision wasn’t of you. It was of Joe. You just happened to be there.”

Interesting. Very interesting. “And what transpired in this vision?” A night full of hot, steamy, blissful vampire sex? A girl could dream.

Lucy closed her eyes, recalling it fondly, maybe even cherishing it. “You were sitting in the stands of a professional baseball game. I could hear the crowd roaring, the umpire’s trumpeting interruptions. Blue and white...everyone was wearing blue and white. And you were there together—Joe a vampire, you human, side by side, almost entwined—shouting to each other over the thunderous noise and laughing and pushing nuggets of soft pretzels into each other’s mouths. So happy. I’d never seen Joe so happy.” Her striking pale eyes came open. “And he’s someone who’s already rather prone to happiness, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

“I have,” I agreed.

“He’s never been serious about anybody else. I hope you know that.”

“I know that’s what he tells me.”

“It’s the truth,” Lucy insisted. “I would know if it wasn’t. Rami would know, Ben would know. Joe...he’s kind of the opposite of you. He’s always been the easiest to read. He’s the one Rami hears most loudly, the one who shows up most often in my visions. He’s clear, you know? Uncomplicated. Authentic. And what you mean to him...it’s something everybody sees. It’s a contagious sort of lightness, of joy. So thank you for that.”

And if whatever mysterious genetic switch that renders me immune to your talents wasn’t flipped, I’m pretty sure I’d look the same way. “I should definitely be thanking you,” I said. “You guys have a pretty cool existence going on here. And I’m so grateful to be invited into it.” For however long this lasts, anyway.

“None of us really invited you,” Lucy demurred. “We just let it happen.”

“So everyone knew I was coming? Because you saw it?”

“Everyone but Joe.”

“You never told him?”

“No. Not even now.” Lucy turned sharply towards the trees, as if she heard something in the soaring western hemlocks that swayed drunkenly in the wind. After a moment, she continued. “I’m not sure if I can even explain why. It wasn’t that I feared changing the timeline or something...my visions always come true regardless. Always. But I guess...” She tugged on her short half-ponytail, pondering. “I guess I didn’t want to cloud any of his decision-making, any of his emotions with the specter of the inevitable. I wanted whatever he felt for you to be completely organic. And it is.”

I considered her. “You are extremely thoughtful for someone who spends as much time shopping as you do.”

Lucy laughed in a high-pitched, almost juvenile trill, netting her fingers beneath her chin, her elbows resting on her bent knees. “I do like to shop. I didn’t always though.” She peered off into the trees again, this time pensively. “Did Joe tell you anything about my life before Gwil saved me?”

“Aside from the copious hippie jokes, not really.”

She nodded, her eyes far-away and still lost in the forest. “Gwil and Mercy are inordinately wonderful people. My biological father and mother, unfortunately, were not. And maybe they couldn’t help it, because from what I understand their parents were monsters too. I don’t think of them very often now, not even to resent them. But when I was alive I burned with it, with all that hatred, with all that bitterness. Every bruise was another log on the fire. Every screaming match or hurled plate was a splash of gasoline. So I ran away and found what I fancied to be a new family, and I lived on basement couches and out of vans and in abandoned buildings, and I explored increasingly inventive ways of putting that fire out.”

The October breeze cascaded through the trees, carrying echoes of birdsong and disembodied distant voices and the scent of pine. It reminded me of Joe.

“Chemically speaking,” Lucy said, “that first hit of heroin, that first high...it’s the best you’ll ever feel in your entire life. Nothing else will ever compare. Not skydiving, not backpacking through Southeast Asia on some Pulitzer-prize-winning journey of self-discovery, not winning the lottery, not the births of your children, not falling in love. And once you accept that, what’s the point in stopping? Everything you ever experience will live in the shadow of that needle. You’re twenty-five and you’ve already seen the endgame. You’re born, you suffer, you catch a glimpse of paradise, you pay bills and push shopping carts down the aisles of grocery stores and insipidly smile your way through your husband’s work parties until you die. What’s the fucking point? So I didn’t stop shooting heroin. And the whole time, I knew it was killing me. That’s what they don’t tell kids when they force them to make those idiotic classroom promises to never do drugs. You know it’s killing you, but you don’t care. Because it feels so goddamn good. Because it becomes the only sliver of your existence that doesn’t cut like glass beneath your skin. Sometimes you love things so much you let them kill you, isn’t that ridiculous?”

I wasn’t sure how to answer her; still, I heard my own voice: “Yes, it is.”

“It took dying for me to see that life is worth living. That there’s magic in the mundane and the frivolous. And that there’s beauty everywhere if you bother to look for it.” Lucy uncrossed her trim legs, leapt gracefully off the Volvo, and—with definite but not unkind scrutiny—pulled at the collar of my thrift shop sweater. “Even in your very, very, very misguided fashion preferences.”

The front door of the Lee house swung open, and Joe jogged out, carrying his suitcase. Gwil, Mercy, Scarlett, Rami, and Ben appeared on the porch to wave us off.

“What’d you do?!” Joe demanded, pointing at Lucy.

“Nothing,” she quipped.

“You guys gotta stop doing this!” Joe exclaimed. “You know what you’re doing, you know exactly what you’re doing, you gotta stop cornering people and forcing them to listen to your creepy tragic backstories! Nobody freaking asked!”

Lucy chuckled patiently and stood on her tiptoes to hug him goodbye. “Have fun.”

“You know it.” Joe tossed his suitcase into the Subaru and opened the driver’s door. “Ready, Baby Swan?”

“Almost.”

I walked to the wrap-around porch, climbed the steps, held my hand out to Ben. My stitches had almost completely dissolved over the past week, and the clunky impediment of bandages was no more. Joe crossed his arms and watched from beside the Subaru with an uneasy frown, but he didn’t try to stop me. He nodded to Rami, so subtly I almost didn’t notice. Rami nodded back.

“I will miss your melodramatic brooding immensely,” I told Ben. “Please do some fun family stuff while we’re gone. I’ll see you soon. Dan eich bendith.”

“Dan eich bendith,” he replied, taken aback. And then, after a moment’s hesitation, he ignored my outstretched hand and embraced me, his grasp so strong and yet so careful. His scent like crisp leaves and salted caramel and autumn sieved into a bottle unfolded in my lungs like an opened book.

“I Googled that especially for you,” I whispered. “You’re welcome.”

“I’m in awe.” His words were characteristically sardonic, but I heard warmth in them as well. When Ben pulled away, I saw that everyone else was smiling. Mercy had tears in her eyes.

I retreated back down the porch steps and met Joe by the Subaru. “Okay, mob guy. I’m good.”

He slid on his sunglasses, shook his head, flashed a proud and toothy grin. “You definitely are.”

All the way down Route 101 to the Seattle-Tacoma International Airport, we listened to Joe’s classic rock mixtapes and my NOAA Ocean Podcast episodes, reviewed the weekend itinerary, ran through the bare essentials for me to understand an MLB game (“Which I am totally not excited about whatsoever,” I informed Joe, who knew enough not to believe me).

When the Boeing 747 ascended above the clouds and unimpeded sunlight poured in from the other passengers’ windows, Joe put on a black sleeping mask over his sunglasses and reclined his seat, tried to nap, passed the time until he would be safe beneath the curtains of the sky again.

Somewhere over the Dakotas, as I leafed through a book about the Great Barrier Reef for my Marine Botany class, Joe’s hand bumped mine. “Hey,” he said drowsily, seriously; and I braced myself for some emotional declaration, some dire warning, some grave realization of the futility of what we agreed—almost always wordlessly, and yet unfailingly—was love.

“Yeah?”

“It’s an emergency.”

“Uh oh,” I replied, smiling now.

“Flag down the flight attendant and get some more of those honey roasted peanut packets,” Joe said. “I’m starving myself back to death over here.”

The Windy City

The bat cracked deafeningly against the baseball pitched at nearly a hundred miles per hour. It was a home run. The crowd erupted into mindless, primal shrieks of conquest; and when Joe jumped to his feet, clapping and cheering and nearly spilling his blue-and-white bucket of popcorn, I found that I did as well. I screamed for the team of a city I’d never lived in, sank back into my seat beside Joe, nestled against his chest as his right arm closed around my waist and hauled me in closer, as his left hand teased me with a soft pretzel nugget hovering just out of reach. And in that moment, I felt like Lucy, snatching Polaroids out of the space-time continuum of the present and the future and the past. There was where Joe and I were right now, of course; the day we had met each other in the nonfiction section of the Calawah University library; the dance floor at Homecoming; the first night he snuck soundlessly into my bedroom window; all those years we still had left to spend together. Not forever, but perhaps long enough.

“I like this baseball thing,” I told him over the roar of the crowd, twirling my fingers around the curling locks of dark hair that stuck out from under his Cubs cap. Or maybe I just like you.

“Whew, thank god.” Joe wiped his forehead with the back of his hand in mock relief. “Now I don’t have to break up with you.”

After the game—a 5-3 Cubs victory, close enough to keep the spectators’ blood pumping throughout—we boarded the L, held onto the metal railings as the packed train car bumped and swerved along, and disembarked in Little Italy. Historic brownstones were interrupted by a freckling of pizzerias, Italian ice stands, and sports bars spilling out shouts of triumph and despair. We were staying in the Four Seasons with a view of Lake Michigan; but we had an hour of daylight—albeit chilled, dreary, and forever threatening rain—left in our Saturday. Tomorrow would be the aquarium, and then dinner before catching our flight back to Seattle, back to the greenery and fog and eternal dampness that I was beginning to think of as my home. Had I really only left Phoenix two months ago? Had I ever really lived there at all?

“So,” Joe said as we walked under shedding green ash and black cherry trees, his arm draped across my shoulders. “Guess what the University of Chicago has. In addition to a killer Economics PhD program, which yours truly will be graduating from in approximately 2027, astonishingly aged not a single day. Maybe he’s born with it, maybe it’s Maybelline.”

“Hideous sweatshirts?” I guessed.

“One of the best Marine Biology departments in the world. And the affiliated Marine Biological Laboratory up in Massachusetts, where they send their PhDs to do research.”

“Wait, seriously?” I stopped abruptly, the heels of my boots squealing against the sidewalk. “You mean...for me?”

He rolled his eyes. “No, for my other girlfriend who is also inexplicably super obsessed with the ocean. I clearly have a type.”

“You want me...to come to Chicago...with you...after graduation? For like...a five to seven year commitment?”

“Sure, why not?”

“Well, that just sounds...serious.”

“Huh. What do you know. I guess we’re serious after all.” He took my hand and pulled me gently forward, leading me down West Taylor Street. He seemed to have a destination in mind.

“How is this going to work for you, anyway?” I asked, beaming uncontrollably now, trotting along beside him. “Living in a place that isn’t Washington or Scotland or Alaska?” Chicago was cold and cloudy for a lot of the year, true, but few cities were Forks-level wet and sunless. Forks-level tyrannically depressing, I would have said two months ago.

He shrugged, unphased. “Night classes. Sunglasses. Faking a chronic illness so I don’t have to leave our house. I’m really good at that one. Plus I can get a doctor’s note any time I want one. I’ve got connections, you know.”

Our house. He said OUR house.

Joe came to halt in front of a stately yet plain brownstone which now operated as a trendy bookstore, the kind that sold six dollar lattes and hosted anarchist poetry slams on Friday nights.

“Is this where we’re going to crack hipsters’ kneecaps as a bonding activity?” I asked.

“This is where I grew up.”

I looked again, studying the earth-colored stone quarried over a century ago, the wrought iron railings that framed the front steps, the rectangular windows revealing the illumination and shadows of other families’ lives. “Joe,” I said softly, leaning into him, searching for my words.

“There were eight Mazzello kids: Joseph, Charles, Mimi, Salvador, Donna, Lucia, Bianca, and Giuliano.” He rattled them off like a jingle from a fast food commercial. “And I was the oldest. So when my dad dropped dead of a heart attack in the middle of his shift at the Zenith Radio factory, it was my job to step up and figure out how to keep everyone fed. I was seventeen and completely hopeless at school back then; Sal was always the smart one, the disciplined one, he ended up as a math professor at Loyola University. I was just some directionless, grieving kid who never shut up. But there was a place for boys like me in Chicago in the 1920s. The mob could get you money. The mob could turn that same incessant chatter that got you bruised at school into something useful. And the mob could give you a family.”

Joe watched the brownstone solemnly, meditatively, his hands in his pockets.

“My mom sobbed for an hour the first time I brought home an envelope full of bills with Hamilton’s face on them. She knew how I got it. But how could she say no, how could she tell me to stop? We’d never seen money like that. All my siblings could finish school. My sisters could have new dresses on days that weren’t Christmas and Easter, my brothers new shoes, Sal the glasses he needed so badly. My mother always had something to put in the offering plate at church. And once you were in the mob, it wasn’t exactly easy to leave. But they took care of their own. After I died, they sent my mother money for years, until her own children were established enough to support her. That’s when I learned that money wasn’t just something that put food on the dinner table or kept the lights on. It’s a way of showing loyalty, of giving people peace and comfort and meaningful choices in their lives. It’s how I’ve been taught to give back to the world. So I guess I shouldn’t have disparaged my fellow vampires back in Forks, because there’s a slice of my tragic backstory, Baby Swan. Now you know. And you should know everything, since we’re in this thing together. Or maybe I just want you to.”

I laid my palm against his cool and flawless face, ran my thumb lightly across his cheek. “You really are serious about me.”

“I am alarmingly serious about you.”

“Even though this thing of ours has an expiration date?” Since I can never become a vampire. Since I will never have the distinction of being a permanent fixture of the Lee coven.

“That’s not a problem for today. That’s a problem for ten or fifteen years from now, whenever you decide you want to settle down and have kids and do the whole Great American Dream bit. You’ll be sick of me by then anyway. You’ll be dying to get away from us. Hahaha, get it? It’s a pun. Dying to get away from the vampires.”

I couldn’t imagine ever being sick of Joseph Francis Mazzello. Still, ten or fifteen years felt almost as good as forever to me. Fifteen autumns, fifteen Christmases, fifteen journeys around the sun that he avoided so deftly. “Why me, Joe?” I asked, incredulous. “You could have anyone. Any human, any vampire. Why me?”

“Because you’re you,” he said simply. And his mystified dark eyes added: What kind of a question is that? “You’re smart and you’re hilarious and you actually care about the world, about where it came from, about where it’s going, about people and places and animals that you’ll never meet. You’re indomitable. You’re fearless almost to the point of recklessness. And yet you’re so kind. You’re even nice to Ben, and humans are never nice to him...they’re either horrified or confused, or they’re too busy fantasizing about him to remember that he’s a real fucking person. But you’ve always tried to see the good in him. Even when he didn’t deserve it.” Joe shook his head, marveling. “And yeah, I’ve...I’ve screwed around, full disclosure. I’ve done the hookup thing. And it was great for what it was. But I never wanted more. I never felt some gnawing, sentimental, Hallmark-channel need for connection, to understand who they were as people. And then I met you, and...I want to know every single goddamn thing about you. I want to know your favorite color, what books you read, what the hell is so appealing about pineapple pizza, what you dream of. I feel like I could never get tired of trying to understand you.”

A refrain circled through my mind like a whirlpool, dragging every other thought down into oblivion: I love him, I love him, I love him. “Blue,” I said at last.

“What?”

“Turquoise blue, like the sky in Arizona. That’s my favorite color.”

The smile, slow and wonderous, rippled across his face. He took my hand again. “Come on.”

Joe led me onwards, down a few blocks and around a corner, as the muted sun receded from the sky and the first stars took its place, pinpricks of celestial light in a blanket of violet, azure, amber, rust. He stopped in front of the Church of Saint Lawrence, established in 1902 according to the sign mounted on the brick wall that faced the street, perhaps the same church that he had once visited with his family as an impatient child, snickering with his brothers and sisters and kicking the back of the pew in front of him with shoes that never fit quite right. There was a fountain bubbling with transparent water, a statue of the Virgin Mary at the center, coins made of copper and nickel and zinc glinting through the water under corridors of silvery luminance cast by the streetlights.

“I lied about not having my own superpower,” Joe informed me mischievously, not at all serious.

“Oh, did you now?”

“Absolutely.” He opened his wallet, rooted around, pulled out a penny and handed it to me. “I can make wishes come true. So go ahead.” He nodded towards the fountain. “Make your wish.”

The penny was worn and nearly indecipherable, but I was just barely able to read that it had been minted in 1928. The same year Joe was turned. “Joe...I can’t just throw this away!”

“You’re not throwing it away. You’re exchanging it for a wish. Now wish.”

I closed my eyes, chose my wish, tossed the penny into the fountain. The plink it made when it hit the water was bright and yet mournful somehow, like windchimes, like flickering candlelight.

“Outstanding job,” Joe complimented.

He was so visibly proud, so content, so faultless. The streetlights threw shadows across the sidewalk, the fountain, the whole world it seemed. I laced my fingers behind his neck, gazing up at him. “What are we doing tonight, mob guy?”

“I’m so glad you asked. You see, we have options.”

“Let’s hear them.”

“Door Number One,” Joe began. “It’s been a long day, and you’re exhausted from the illustrious honor of witnessing a Cubs victory firsthand. So we go back to the hotel, find some shark documentary on tv, order room service, shower, and drift off into a peaceful slumber. Just like last night.”

“Not bad. How about Door Number Two?”

“Door Number Two. You’re tired, but not that tired. We go back to the hotel, find that same aforementioned shark documentary, but totally ignore it and make out instead. Maybe we even round second base, in the spirit of the Cubs. Whatever you’re up for. Then we shower and drift off into a peaceful slumber.”

“Even better,” I said, and I meant it. “And what’s Door Number Three?”

Now Joe became jittery; his eyes darted to the fountain, the church, the cars that rolled lazily by. He was so desperate to conceal his hope, to not impose any undue influence upon me. I felt infinitesimal, almost weightless drops of rain against my cheeks, my collarbones, the downy undersides of my arms. “Well, uh, Door Number Three is...it’s...well...uh...it’s...”

Door Number Three is a home fucking run. “I want Door Number Three.”

“Really? Because you don’t have to say that, you can say no, that’s completely fine, it’s more than fine actually, it’s awesome, it’s totally cool, I’m seriously fine either way, and you can obviously change your mind whenever—”

“Wait.” I broke away from him, yanked my own wallet out of my purse, found the Official Whatever You Want Pass, hastily unfolded it, and presented it to Joe. “I want Door Number Three.”

He barked out a shocked laugh, accepted the pass, studied it in disbelief. “You are full of surprises, ma’am. It took me a hundred years to find a woman like you. And I don’t think I ever will again. Makes one wonder if this whole eternity thing is all it’s cracked up to be.” He tucked the pass into his pocket and kissed me beneath the streetlights, beneath the stars. “So there’s one tiny caveat to my wish-granting superpower.”

“Yeah?”

He smiled impishly, nudging the tip of my nose with his. “You have to tell me what you wished for.” He was joking, as he almost always was; I didn’t have to tell him anything. He wouldn’t press the issue. I doubted that he was really expecting me to answer at all. And yet I wanted to tell Joe; I yearned, for once, to be as clear as Lucy had said he was.

“For you and me,” I replied in little more than a whisper. “And for forever.”

Home

The only thing that startled me was how profoundly unstartling it all was, how wholly uncomplicated, how effortless.

I didn’t feel like a different person afterwards. I didn’t feel that some latent spark of lust, of carnality had been ignited, had singed through me, had left me forever marked like the heights of children ticked off on a doorframe over decades; I felt neither ruined nor awakened, no wiser, no older, no more enlightened as to the incalculable eccentricities of the vast and enigmatic universe. I felt only happiness, and exhausted satisfaction, and a deep, dreamless peace that engulfed me like frothy fingertips of waves dragging pebbles and shells back into the sea. I felt only a homecoming that was measured not in miles but in soul.

We slept in as the morning sun rose over Lake Michigan, bought Ben a hoodie (black, of course, per his usual aesthetic) from the University of Chicago gift shop, strolled unhurriedly through the dimly-lit, relentlessly blue pathways of the Shedd Aquarium. As I stood in the glass tunnel and watched sawfish and blacktip reef sharks soar by overhead, Joe linked his arms around my waist, tucked his chin into the dip of my collarbone, kissed the slope of my jaw.

“What do you think?” he asked, perhaps a touch apprehensively. “Could you get used to the Chicago life for a few years?”

“I would be tempted to kidnap some of these guys and bring them home to live in our bathtub. But yes.”

And Joe murmured, smiling, his lips to my temple: “That’s illegal, ma’am.”

Our flight back to the West Coast took off after dusk, and there was no blinding sunlight for Joe to avoid; only immense glooms of clouds and gleaming distant stars and the unfathomable void of space, cursed with crushing pressure and darkness like the cervices of the ocean floor.

Fifteen years might not be enough, I thought, resting my forehead against the cold airplane window as the city lights died behind us, as Joe’s hand weaved through mine on the armrest. But forever sounds just about right.

Larkin

There once was a boy born in a stone cottage with a dirt floor in a vanishingly inconsequential village just west of Clifden, Ireland. It was February 9th, 1672, bitterly cold, miserably wet, and the sea was murderous with storms. His mother was illiterate, as her mother had been, and as her mother had been as well, all the way back to people who painted mammoths on cave walls with their fingers; she was thirty-three and already exhausted with living, her seven children forever underfoot, her full and ruddy cheeks perpetually smudged with dirt from the field and ashes from the fire. Her husband was a failure and a drunk, but half a day’s worth of work once or twice a week was better than none at all; and as much as she never would have admitted it, he was a tether for her in a world that was often, as she had learned, both lonely and cruel.

She gave the baby boy a name—a strong Irish name, none of that audacious English rubbish—that meant rough or fierce, just like the sea that rose and ruptured against the rocky cliffs outside. He would need to be rough to survive in this world. He would need to be fierce.

He began like all the other children had been: sweet and yet anonymous, yielding, needful, worryingly small. She rocked him absently with one arm as she stirred the stew pot with the other. She sang to him, told him stories long before he could comprehend them, tales of the Lord and the saints and all their malevolent adversaries: serpents, pestilence, demons, dragons. She tossed stray sticks to him so he could carve pictures into the dirt floor and keep out of the way as she labored with the laundry or the sewing. And he grew, and he grew; and there was nothing remarkable about him at all, that boy speckled with mud and soot and the perpetual bruises of children mostly left to their own devices, that boy with pallid skin like his mother’s and black hair like his father’s and eyes so light and vibrant a brown they were nearly gold.

The boy was a baby, and then a child, and then a young man. And his mother realized one day—all at once, as a mother does when their attention is divided among so many other lives, when the children’s analogous faces bleed into each other and even their names sometimes escape her, even those names that she had chosen herself from the stories her own mother once passed to her through threadbare whispers—that people had a habit of following him, of listening to him. That there was an ether of allure that hovered around him like the mists that clung to the precarious, crumbling cliffs that touched the sea; that there was something like what the heathens called magic. And when the war came, that boy who was no longer a boy left his mother’s stone cottage and enlisted in Clifden, lied about his age, signed his name with an X because that was all he knew how to spell. But he was sure to tell the man who handled the ledger that he did have a real name, a good Irish name, a name apt for a soldier, a name that his mother had told him meant rough or fierce: Larkin.

There are men who join wars out of loyalty, principle, love for their homes; and then there are men who join to escape their homes, perhaps to forget them entirely. If you were to consult that ledger signed in a pub in Clifden, Ireland in 1688, you would read that I fought for Ireland, for the Catholics, for Christ the Lord and all his saints. But what I really fought for was my own resurrection: to take that boy stained with dirt and ignorance, drown him in the blood of other mothers’ trivial sons, and dredge up some greater version of myself that I had always known existed, that was hidden somewhere in the netlike darkness of the marrow of my bones.

People follow me, and they always have. I couldn’t tell you why. When I called them to enlist, when I thrusted swords and pikes into their calloused farmers’ fists, when I told them they could fight and live to see their wretched homes again, they believed me. I climbed the ranks like a ladder, like a mountain made of bones. And all those other mothers’ sons laid down for me so I could walk across the bridge of their spines to what I mistakenly assumed was invincibility.

At the Battle Of The Boyne, my horse was shot out from under me. A Williamite caught me beneath the ribs with his dagger. And as I bled out, staring up at the sky and impatiently waiting for the pain to vanish as my consciousness withdrew like low tide, I became aware that someone was lifting me, holding me, spiriting me through the battlefield and then the wilderness; and that my pain, in a disconcerting turn of events, had swelled to a vicious and unrelenting inferno.

Three days later, I woke to find that I was resurrected again, this time as something more than human. The man who turned me was blond-haired, light-eyed, agile and yet gentle, ancient and yet ever-changing.

“I thought you’d survive,” Nikolai said in a thick Slavic accent, standing over me with a kind smile. Then he helped me to my feet. “You have greatness in you. It sweats out of your pores, it’s in every word you speak. What a shame it would be for all of that to go to waste.”

He taught me everything: how to read and write, how to hunt, how to dodge the sunlight, how to survive an existence that was both theoretically endless and yet forever on the precipice of being cut short. He introduced me to the Draghi, to vampires who were remarkable for their ferocity, or their creativity, or their curiosity, or their cleverness, or all those things at once: Victorien, Honora, Elizabeth, Kestrel, Zhang, Sergei, Ana, Gwilym. And most crucially, Nikolai showed me that my human talents were magnified several times over, that his own followers were not immune to them, that there was power in collecting exceptional individuals like pieces of china stacked in a locked cabinet; and that if I could learn to climb immortal bones, the ladder never needed to end.

You never quite get used to the power, to the invincibility, to the promise of eternity. You never take it for granted. It hits you, again and again, in ceaseless and victorious waves. Once I was a barefoot toddler who sketched dragons and Catholic saints from the stories my mother told me into the dirt floor of our drafty stone cottage. Now I live in palaces with marble floors, with spiral staircases and libraries and gold-dripping ballrooms, with unobstructed views of any sea I choose. Now I am the dragon.

My phone rang, and I checked the name on the screen. Then I answered. “Hello, beauty. How’s the other side of the Pacific treating you?”

And Liesl answered, in a soft and astonished voice: “I don’t think Lucy can read her. I don’t think any of them can.”

I could feel it again. Another wave, crashing through me like the ocean, like the unstoppable rolling of time: power and insatiability and exhilaration. I smiled in my twilight-lit study as long-dead stars rose outside and the wind howled like wolves over the East Sea. “You know what to do.”

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littlespaceporgs · 4 years

Text

The Clone Wars Reacts - Part 5

Or Leah loses her shit at Jar Jar, thirsts for Aayla Secura for an episode and a half, and then swoons for Riyo Chuchi.

Welcome once more to the Reacts series! I’m a busy woman for now but I am setting up a schedule for this series which will be

Today we’re covering episodes 12, 13, 14 and BONUS! 15. This is because I got super bored during episode 14 and basically didnt write anything so, here you go! As per usual, major spoiler alert for season 1 of the clone wars! If you haven’t read the previous parts to this series, I suggest you do so that you can follow along!

Part 1 - Episodes 1 and 2 Part 2 - Episodes 3, 4 and 5 Part 3 - Episodes 6, 7 and 8 Part 4 - Episodes 9, 10 and 11

Tags (if you want to join, my taglist can be found on my page!): @likeshootingstarsinthenightsky @girlvader @simping-for-fives @littlevodika @hounding-around @pro-fangirls-unsocial-life @onabouteverything @acciokenobi @catsnkooks @captainrexstan @roseofalderaan @fractiouskat

We’re well past the half-way point, so there is 2 parts left of season 1, and then onto season 2! So lets get into it!

Episode 12: The Gungan General

> heheheheheheheh jar jar I am KEEN

> I get hondo and jar jar in one episode

>> this’ll be funny

>>> actually no scratch that, this is gonna be hilarious

> oh and they woke up in a cell this will be fun

> HAHAHAHHAHAHAHA AND THEYRE BOUND TO DOOKU

> DISASTER I TELL YOU

> “if I keep my mouth shut you’ll devise a plan so get off the god forsaken planet?” “YES”

> this dude seems traitorous as fuck (im referring to one of the pirates, not dooku shockingly)

> I wish Ahsoka and Yoda were in this too, I want more disaster lineage

> ah he is indeed a traitor

> “HEIDY HO CHANCELLOR”

> JAR JAR WHOO

> “stop messing around, we’re landing. Secure yourself” “MESA TRYING ITS STUCK”

> promptly followed by jar jar falling everywhere

> oh and now he’s in the cockpit

> oh shit that senator guy is definitely dead right?

> “do control tour protégées insolence” “anakin, control your insolence, the count is concentrating”

> “do we know where we’re going?” “Ssh anakin” “DO we know where we’re going?”

> is it safe? Of course it i- riiiiiight

>> I forgot this was the clone wars for a second, this is gold

> FRIENDS DONT DRUG FRIENDS HONDO

> y’know, dooku’s quite amusing when he’s not trying to kill my favourite characters

> “are you now in command” “uh no, binks is the highest ranking” ooooohhhh boy

> ooooooohhhh and some mind tricks too, nice

> I hate to say this, but jar jar is actually smart

> holy shit

> beasties are nearby too, we’ll be fine. they run, we run

>> Dayum jar jar actually making good decisions?

> I present a real and accurate image of my reaction to this statement

> Mesa be having an idea oooohhh booooyyy

> obi wan that is no way to speak to your grandmaster

> be patient master the count is elderly and doesn’t move like he used to

> I would kill you both now if I didn’t have to drag your bodies

>> HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH this is the only reaction I’ll accept

> then falling all over each other is the only thing I’ve ever needed to see

> “ this is not going well” no shit

> my question is why did obi wan not drop Dooku?? Does he actually still care about this man?

> you’re right, I don’t think youre going to be friends 🤦‍♀️😂

> sneaky lying snake

> bruh they don’t even know you’ve got the Jedi captive??????????

>> so how does that work you dumbass

> no shit, you will look like fools obi wan

> “there be some bombad clankers” 😂😂

>> “huh YOURE right, bombad clankers” I love the shock

> YOURE RIGHT HE IS SMARTER THAN HE LOOKS, GIVE JARJAR SOME CREDIT

> oh boy anakin, just keep your mouth shut genius

> man electrocution doesn’t look like fun

> HAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAH

> The next few lines of confused joy are me reacting to jar jar somehow single handedly taking out 3 tanks

> what the fuck

> JarJar I I’m what-

> JUST DID A GOOD THING, I DONT REGERT THIS THING AT ALLLLLLLL

> fuckin JarJar was great

> “KILL HIM HES NOT A REPRESENTATIVE, HES A PLAGUE” I’m ded 💀😢💀

> serves you right you snake, now dooku gonna choke your ass

> oooohhhhh that’s how these two twits (hondo and obi-wan) became friends

> “and... he knows where you live” Oof the subtle threat is real

> hem I love obi wan very much and his sarcasm

Episode 13: Jedi crash

> I JUST SAW AAYLA I AM EXCITED I AM ALSO ATTRACTED TO HER VERY MUCH

> SHES HOT

> I LOVE HER

> AND HER VOICE JUST MAKES ME ☺️☺️☺️☺️☺️☺️

> I wish I was bly, not gonna lie

> I have a quick question - the 501st colour is blue right? Then why do they have a gold squad, doesn’t the extra colours just confuse things?

> I love seeing anakin and Ahsoka in action coolest thing to watch

> And anakin

>> I am also quite attracted to him

>>> imagine dragging your hands through that hair as he- wait no I have minors in my followers not gonna finish that

> Uh oh

>> Oh anakin you twit

>>> HE LOCKED HOMSELF IN WITH AN EXPLOSION JDGKJDJFKFKFKFKFF

> HES INSANE

> Are all Jedi so reckless? Just the good ones - love this by the way

> Oooohh shit for a STAR

> I mean like? I know anakin doesn’t die, but this shit is concerning

> Perfected the art of destroying ships and getting master almost killed? Sounds familiar

> I hate it when they just call them “padawan “ it just feels very impersonal like bleh

> Like I love aayla but god the Jedi preach some bullshit

>> God forbid someone raises a child and gets attached to it

>>> Like for fucks sake

>>>> Can you tell this is something I’m passionate about?

> Anyway, moving on

> Oh hi anakin! You’re alive!

> That bird lookin thing is tryna eat my boy 😤

> Oop - well that dudes dead

> Aawwwwwww aayla looks so sad, this makes me sad too

> Can we just appreciate this?

> Well these little critters are cute

> Ooooohhh I think I agree with this little dude

> You can skip the paragraph if you like, its just me going off about ‘peacekeeping’

> Alright gonna get mildly into it for a second, the clone wars really gets into it with episodes like this, displaying how the entire galaxy was starting to lose faith in the Jedi and their peacekeeping ways, in the movies we just got that people just started hating the Jedi because they became part of the war, but this really fleshes it out and shows just how slowly and gradually the loss of faith is. Because he’s right, the Jedi aren’t peacekeepers anymore, they bring as much destruction with them that the separatists do and have become symbols of war. They’re fighting for a good reason yes, but they can no longer claim that they are peacekeepers or that they played no role in this war.

> ANYWAY BACK TO REACTS

> AH MY TWO FAVOURITE WOMEN AND A PRETTY BACKGROUND AGAIN!! They really do be doing me a great service

Part 14: Defenders of Peace

> I’m really not into this episode, just saying it now

> Anakins just as bad as obi wan, like honestly just chill bro, fucking REST

>> MY BOYS DESERVE SOME GODDAMN REST AND I WILL DIE ON THIS HILL OK-

> Okay but is it taking a life if it’s a droid?

> Ugh this dudes ugly as fuck

> What did you think was gonna happen?? Of course your village was going to be ransacked

> I could go on forever about the pointlessness of this war like it just makes me mad palpatine you slimy git-

> My reacts this episode are really boring huh, I’m not into it 😭

*fully I didn’t write anything for about 10 minutes here because it’s just a little boring*

> HOLY SHIT NOW THATS A FUCKING WEAPON

> Yep sorry that’s it for this ep, I’m so bored 😂

>> Anyway, bonus episode because that one was short!

Part 15: Trespass

> YES OBIWAN WOHOOOOOOOOOOOOO

> AND IS THAT RIYO CHUCHI I SPY?????

> Hahahahahahahhahahaha it’s not tatooine, you got that right

> Oh god this dude already sounds like a dick (its the chancellor dude but not palpatine)

> Why’s he so defensive over it?

> Oh yikes, that does not look good

> Seppies don’t do that though - this is... odd

> Ah and the same thing has been done to the droids

> Off topic, but I think I’m going to make a clone wars drinking game that I can do while I do my reacts, so I’m going to make that this week, send me your ideas in the comments or dm me!

> Back to ep - pfffffffttt obi wans little taps and then anakin really goes WHACK

> Anyway I’m going to do this in the next couple days and then every Friday night I’ll watch a few eps and drink away

> Alright back to the episode once more

> Abominable snowman????

>> Definitely

> This is gonna go well isn’t it?

> “Well? Say something”

>> “Just shut up” *visible eye roll*

> What the fuck is their mouth

> Okay really obi wan, I think it’s pretty clear they don’t speak basic

> YEEEEEEAAAHHH THATS MY BOI ANAKIN

> Awwwwwwww that shits cute, fucking bear huugggg I want to be hugged like that

> I’m not fussed if it’s anakin, obi wan or kit fisto but please someone love me

>> Preferably kit fisto

> Anyway this dudes a dick (again, its the chancellor dude)

> They obviously have intelligence, and this dude has issues

>> I’m thinking he’s trying to compensate for something 👀

> Oof you really gonna tell a Jedi what to do?

> HAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHA the other people’s were there already

> Ugh he reminds me of my very racist grandparents oh boy

> You’ve been told like 4 times that it is not your jurisdiction anymore and you still can’t take it?

>> BRUH

> She’s so tiny and adorable and her voice is just 🥰🥰🥰🥰

>> Oh no

>>> I’m simping for another character

> Surely this guy dies

> HAHAHAHAHAH HE JUST GOT SPEARED SERVES YOU RIGHT MOTHERFUCKER

> What a dick, he shall not be missed

> She’s just, so pretty??? And smart????

>> FUCK MY BISEXUAL ASS CANT HANDLE THIS

> he’s seriously not dead yet?

> AAAHH RIYO YOU SMART GIRL YEEEEESSSS NEGOTIATE THAT PEEEEAAACCEEEE

> THATS MY GIRL SENATOR CHUCHI YEEEESSS

Welp that’s it for today folks, it was lovely, see y’all at some point this week where I say the drinking game rules and then next drunken Friday (even though these are gonna be released on saturdays but I write them on fridays?)

#the clone wars #tcw #the clone wars reacts #reacts series #star wars ahsoka #anakin skywalker #ahsoka tano #obi wan kenobi #kit fisto #riyo chuchi #jar jar binks #basically a leah simp fest #fucking sigh #it took one (1) ep for me to simp

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courtesanofdeath · 3 years

Note

I am still waiting for the day that we get a few panels of all of the magic knight captains and their squads going out to a Black Clover equivalent of a Karaoke Bar and we get to see the captains get up on stage together all singing blank.

__________________________

So I Challenge YOU to BLACK CLOVER KARAOKE

__________________________

Finish this by filling in the following:

(AND THE CATCH?… classic karaoke songs 60s - 00s or Disney soundtracks are your only options)

(If you can, provide gifs or headcanons of at least some of the characters in each scenario to prove why this would work or be utterly hilarious)

What song would Julius and all the captains sing together on stage?

What song would the The Golden Dawn all sing together on stage?

What song would the The Black Bulls all sing together on stage?

What song would the The Silver Eagles all sing together on stage?

What song would the The Blue Rose Knights all sing together on stage?

What song would the The Crimson Lion Kings all sing together on stage?

What song would the The Green Praying Mantises all sing together on stage?

What song would the The Coral Peacocks all sing together on stage?

What song would the The Purple Orcas all sing together on stage?

What song would the The Aqua Deer all sing together on stage?

__________________________

After answering this, please copy and pass along to your favorite BC blogs and let’s see what we come up with (if you choose to add other side characters and what they would sing, that’s fine as well btw) and please sound off in the comments if you wish to play along

#BlackCloverKaraoke

anon you really got my brain working here and i got a little carried away lmao so sorry it's pretty long. it's full of headcanons! thanks for this, it was very fun!

1. Captains

ok so everyone would have different song choices

julius wanted to do what's this from the nightmare before christmas

rill wants to do we're all in this together from hsm

dorothy suggested supercalifragilisticexpialidocious and everyone was like ??????

nozel just wanted to get tf outta there but is being forced to join

so at the end marx told them to sing don't stop believing by journey bc it's a safe and fun choice for squad captains

in the middle of the performance he be like "julius you're doing amazing sweetie" just because the wizard babie boy actually stayed still for three mins

2. Golden Dawn

stayin alive

david suggested walking on sunshine and immediately gets bonked by langris

patri: let's do a circle of life because reincarnation arc -

william: patri nO

they decided to do bohemian rhapsody by queen because it's the ultimate karaoke song and they are the ~ ultimate brigade ~

3. Black Bull

100% gonna do a rock/punk song

killing in the name by rage against the machine

the lyrics + overall sound is perfect for them

it'll be magna's idea. with nacht going 'you're all gonna sound like shit but i guESS' but he's secretly happy bc he most defintely sang that song in his bedroom when he was 15

featuring a very drunk yami and vanessa

canonically, noelle, magna and asta are 3/5 of the worst singers in the series so it's gonna be really funny

luck: open up the fucking pit !!!!

*cricket noises*

4. Silver Eagle

this one's hard bc nozel doing karaoke is wild to imagine. to convince him to go you'd have to either blackmail him or be noelle

nebra jokingly suggested under the sea from the little mermaid and everyone just agreed

so like they do it very reluctantly with only nebra and solid knowing all the words

nozel is dying on the inside while singing

5. Blue Rose

just a girl by no doubt

song choice by sol, who I headcanon as a pop punk kinda lady

charlotte had to take some shots (like one and half so she's still conscious) before partaking

6. Crimson Lion King

"LET'S GET DOWN TO BUSINESS !! TO DEFEAT !! THE HUNS !! "

i'll make a man out of you from mulan, mereo's song choice (she sings it every time they go training)

even though fuego and leo wanted to do hakuna matata

7. Green Praying Mantis

hungry like the wolf by duran duran

it's very jack-like, i think

sekke would probably wanna do something like take on me by a-ha but jack'll threaten him to go with his song choice

8. Coral Peacock

originally dorothy wanted to do sweet dreams (are made of this) by eurythmics but she ended up falling asleep before karaoke night so

kirsch decided to make everyone do mamma mia by abba

he just seems like the type to like abba lmao

9. Purple Orca

they're pretty chill so something like africa by toto

10 . Aqua Deer

friday im in love by the cure (if that counts as a classic karaoke song)

chosen by rill, dedicated to that one mysterious dark haired woman ✨

#i've imagined a black bulls karaoke night before so i was prepared lol #black clover #asks

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bard-llama · 4 years

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WiP List

This is gonna be looooong (like, REALLY long), so I’mma go ahead and give you a cut here. But if you’re interested in what i’m working on, take a look!

Order purely based on the order my tabs are in. I’m only counting WiPs that actually have more than a paragraph written, because if I didn’t, this list would be even longer. Also, pls don’t judge me but what I name my WiPs 😂

Post-Coital Smoke

Kinda what it sounds like tbh. I just wanted Iorveth getting high and admiring Roche’s body and then Roche decided to be a tease. At some point, I assume there will be sex.

Angst: Sex object Roche

Iorveth’s POV of realizing that Roche hurts himself whenever he flirts at Iorveth. Premise is that Roche has been groomed (intentionally or not) by Foltest to be his. So when he feels attraction towards Iorveth, he needs to be punished. And obviously Iorveth helps him learn that no, that’s not okay and idk recovery???

Midwinter Feast

This idea was 100% spawned by me trying to write holiday fics, but Foltest hosts a Midwinter Feast where they close the city for 12 days, leaving Roche to get along with the Nonhuman/Scoia’tael(ish) delegation during that time. Also, Foltest might be using the feast as a delaying tactic to resupply his army. I legit have no idea where this is going, I just thought the idea of Roche and Iorveth stuck at a feast for 12 days was funny.

Solstice Feast aka To Birth a Verdant Future

This was actually an xmas gift for @lutes-and-dandelions, but I havent finished it yet 😓 But the premise is similar to the former in that it’s another solstice feast. But it’s set post-W3 with Emhyr as Emperor throwing a party in the new conquered capital of Vizima. Roche broods a lot about Foltest’s memory and how he hates Emhyr and decides to distract himself by hanging out with Iorveth and suggesting they follow an old elven tradition. And that’s all I’ll say. XD

Next Year (Solstice Feast sequel)

Literally set the next year. This time they merge their lives by merging their people’s traditions.

Lily Preserved in Amber

Okay, haven’t gotten very far in this, but I decided it was an elven rite of passage to go searching through the forest for a sign of your future. And Iorveth finds a piece of amber with a lily preserved inside. I haven’t decided if it purely means Roche or if it means his whole family with Roche and Boussy and Anais and all. So far, he hasn’t even found the amber yet lmao. But he did just discover music!

Character taking control of the other and Character B just letting go and enjoying themselves

Under the subheading “Porn Snips”, so uh, yeah. Starts with Roche and Iorveth fighting to decide who gets to top, involves Roche getting choked, and Iorveth ripping Roche’s pants off. Oh, also, they’re currently at a fancy party hiding somewhere in the garden lmao

Based on @moonlights-ordinance‘s art

Moonlight’s working on an adorable piece where Roche leans his forehead against Iorveth’s back between his shoulderblades. I decided to make it post-W3 with both of them working as paper pushers/administrators under Emhyr’s Temeria. And Nilfgaard does not believe in chairs with backs (or, really, Emhyr wanted to see how long Roche’s pride would make him suffer. It’s a long time). The idea is to show development over time as they slowly get more comfortable with touch and start using each other as backrests. And then the sweet scene Moonlight is drawing.

Eliza for @useless-empty-brain aka Can’t We All Just Get Oolong?

Next is Iorveth’s POV, but I legit cannot figure out where to start. But we’re gonna see some of his thoughts (like how Eliza volunteered him to stay in Vizima for an unspecified period of time and he said yes even though he can’t and now has to commute regularly because he doesn’t want to miss tea with Roche but also doesn’t want Roche’s spies to catch on lmao) and his curiosity about Roche and Foltest and what Roche’s mission is (which I... totally know.)

Roche’s Scars

@moonlights-ordinance sent me a great pic of a mod for Roche where he had some pretty vicious scarring/mutilation. So of course I decided I needed to tell the story of each one. But really, it’s a story about the stages of acceptance with scars. Both Iorveth and Roche start out hiding theirs, but eventually come to reveal them comfortably in public.

Vernon Roche of the Scoia’tael aka The Value of a Man

Does my title give it away? Oops? So, this is a found family fic where Roche is captured by the Scoia’tael and the elves and dwarves slowly come to see him as - well, I was gonna say human, but as a person, I guess. And start feeling really, really guilty, especially when some not great things happen to Roche.

Oh also, Foltest is a giant dick and uh, SPOILERS he does not try to get Roche back. Which leads to a whole subplot that will end with a found family for EVERYONE, because they all deserve to be happy dammit.

All of that was just one document lmao. I have 24 documents, some of which have quite a few WiPs in them. 😱

Kiss Prompts

24. Deep kisses where they have their hands tangled in each other’s hair to pull them closer. AKA How to Fluster an Elf

When I got the idea for How to Fluster an Elf, I decided it was gonna fill the prompt dammit. And then it really, really expanded on me.

33. An unexpected kiss that shocks the one receiving it.

Roche dreams occasionally that Iorveth visits him and watches over him and sometimes speaks, but he can’t understand Elder Speech, so he assumes it’s all gibberish.

Then he finds out it’s not and suddenly he’s not so certain it’s a dream

16. One person pouting, only to have it removed by a kiss from the other person.

Okay, I literally just need to buckle down and write some good kissing. This is set in (Im)Perfect Strangers and Iorveth is pouting about them leaving the gardens, so Roche makes it up to him.

25. Wet kisses after finding refuge from the rain.

This one won’t actually be published with the kisses ‘cause it’s porn and the rest are T-rated lol. Buuuut Roche and Iorveth are trying to have a secret liaison in the forest when the rain starts. Featuring nature magic, tentacles, and Iorveth getting filled.

Scenes from Another World (aka AU premise)

Old Men in Vergen

Set during Witcher 3, but with an established relationship. Roche comes to visit Iorveth in Vergen to ask for advice on leading an insurgency. Iorveth just wants to feed Roche while he can now that he’s not the one starving in the woods.

Language Aphasia/Deal with the Devil

I wanted to write Gaunter! So I decided that Gaunter is in a mood for some mischief (he calls it being generous) and comes upon a traveling Vernon Roche who wishes that he could be understand Iorveth. Then Iorveth’s Scoia’tael find a passed out Roche in the woods and bring him to Iorveth for judgement. Only somehow, Roche only understands Elder Speech now. He can’t understand Common at all. The Scoia’tael find this very offensive and Iorveth is mostly freaked out that someone who can do THAT was wandering around his forest.

Bunk Beds: The Portrait of Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon

Based on a silly comic, Ciri convinces Iorveth and Roche to try to help her destroy the portrait. Geralt gets pissed and sends them to Bunk Bed Exile. Shenanigans ensue and somehow they start to get along.

Iorveth’s Scoia’tael Giving Him Shit For His Taste in Men aka The Lovestruck Fox

Right now, working on a piece from the POV of a new Scoia’tael recruit who is discovering that Iorveth’s Scoia’tael roast the fuck out of him over his crush on Roche.

Speaking of, anyone have suggestions on prime roast material? I am not this creative.

Let’s Torture Roche!

No, really. This one is pretty dark. And told in kind of a different style than my usual, because I felt like it. So, premise is that Iorveth and Roche were a thing in the past, but then Roche was recalled to Foltest’s side and he went. So Iorveth is understandably pretty hurt and pissed (this was decided for a prompt of someone breaking down as soon as they’re behind closed doors). Buuut what he doesn’t know is that Roche is not with Foltest of his own volition. Hostages, blackmail, and torture are all involved and Foltest is a pretty horrible guy. But of course we need a happy ending, so eventually, Iorveth will rescue Roche and they get to recover together.

Life Debt aka Iorveth is an Asshole

The concept for this was that Roche saved Iorveth’s life and now that they were no longer enemies (set during Witcher 3), his honor demands that he follow Roche around until he can repay the favor. Featuring Iorveth being a trolling asshole, correcting the new Temerian Loyalist’s fighting abilities, and Roche being very, very tired.

In application, it’s mostly angst so far, ‘cause I had to set up HOW Roche saved Iorveth’s life. And then I decided to really hurt Iorveth. But tbh I will probably skip ahead after establishing this stuff, because I just want shenanigans.

King and Country

I’ve got several WiPs for this one, including the Stripes’ recruitment, their decision to change sides, the Stripes being double agents, and of course, Iorveth and Roche’s developing relationship. But hey, I’ve skipped ahead to writing their wedding already, so... you know it ends happily ever after?

Friday Fight Night for Jan 29 (which I did not make oops)

So, this actually turned into a long piece that’s gonna be part of my Chronic Pain series. Basically, King Foltest is treating with the leaders of the Scoia’tael in Temeria and Iorveth is one of them. Unfortunately, he’s having a REALLY BAD pain day, but he’s also determined to be there to represent his people. Roche helps him see sense. Possibly forcefully.

Exhaustion Prompts

“If we’re both in this state, we both really screwed up somewhere huh?”

Iorveth and Roche are trapped in a dream and I got a little stuck creating the creature that trapped them there. But pretty sure Saskia is gonna interrupt their flirting by saving them.

“You were almost dead from pushing it too far!”

In which Roche has a heart attack from too much coffee. Yeah. He’s okay, though! But PT is about to blow a gasket and coffee will very much be disallowed.

Found Family Prompts

Taking Out the Trash for @useless-empty-brain

Literally a story about taking out the trash lmao. We’re gonna see if I can make this intersting.

Touch Starved for @mochii-girl

Honestly, haven’t gotten much done on this yet, but I’m thinking puppy pile cuddles in Corvo Bianco

Coffeeshop AU aka Brewing Romance and Dissent

Ooof I’ve got a lot of bits and pieces of this written, but nothing quite finished, except for the moment when things change from “we flirt as I order coffee” to “I make you special drinks and invite you to come visit me after hours”. Writing a canon coffeeshop au when I know shit all about coffee is HARD.

Curse Breaking

Omg this is one of the first WiPs I started for Iorveth/Roche, no joke. STILL WORKING ON IT! The premise is that Roche finds a feverish and dying Iorveth in an empty Scoia’tael camp, saves him with the power of True Love’s Kiss The Power of Strong Emotions, Like That Which You Might Have For Your Enemy. Then they team up to go save Iorveth’s Scoia’tael from a big bad mage and Roche invites Triss along for the ride, which totally doesn’t make Iorveth jealous. I kinda stalled out at the part where they reach the mage’s hideout and see the results of the mages failed experiments. On Iorveth’s people. It’s gonna hurt. A lot. But afterwards, there might be makeouts. And some sort of implication that they’re all down to do this (minus the horrible, traumatic parts) again.

Roche POV bloodplay

Roche’s POV starting from before his first encounter with Iorveth. Then he has a weirdly sexually arousing encounter with the elf, and tbh, that’s as far as I got. But Iorveth draws blood from Roche’s neck, presses his thumb to it, and then licks it off his thumb. Next, Iorveth was gonna be the one getting Uncomfortably Aroused, but I haven’t gotten that far. No idea where this is going overall.

Iorveth Investigates Roche

This kinda isn’t a real WiP in that idk if I’ll ever finish it. I mostly started it to do some worldbuilding about what public information there would be about Roche.

Voyeurism AKA Eye on You

Yeah, I don’t have much for the next chapter yet, tbh. So premise is that Iorveth accidentally ends up watching Roche get off at the brothel and finds it really, really hot. Hot enough to get curious and go back for more. Next one is going to involve thigh fucking and Iorveth might possibly get pegged by Daph??? idk

Fake Relationship

Poor @lutes-and-dandelions has been waiting forever for this one and I can’t even find a place to end the scene and post what I have so far. Premise is that Iorveth and Roche are both investigating their missing men and the trail takes them to the Murivel Resort for Couples. So they go undercover. Featuring Roche’s POV of being doubtful, Iorveth using the excuse to flirt outrageously, strip gwent, and a magic amulet that hids Iorveth’s scar and that Roche hates.

Competitive Makeouts AKA The Chase

This was kissing practice and it turned into a casefic! Which is awesome because I love casefics even though I haven’t published any yet. So in this one, as Iorveth and Roche sneak off to makeout, they also end up investigating a conspiracy in the Temerian military.

Iorveth/Roche(/Kayran) + Roche/Foltest aka Every Kiss Begins with Kayran

In which Roche accidentally walks in on Iorveth’s monthly fuck date with the Kayran and gets invited to join in. Then, somehow, it starts to turn into a relationship. With an elf and a tentacle monster. And yet, somehow, this relationship is healthier than the one with Foltest. The contrast opens Roche’s eyes.

Pining and Poignards

In which Iorveth stabs Roche with his favorite knife and wants it back and is also maybe pining a lil bit. Meanwhile Roche is rather pissed, but also curious and begins to teach himself Elder Speech to try to read the inscription on Iorveth’s knife. I stalled out in the scene where Iorveth accidentally watches Roche masturbate in the bath.

Iorveth tittyfucking Roche

Look, it’s what it says on the tin. Roche’s POV of Iorveth’s fascination with his chest and how it makes him feel and then there is sex.

Dirty Gremlin Man

Iorveth gets off on Roche being a sweaty, stinky human. Roche pins Iorveth in a fight and Iorveth gets very distracted watching a drop of sweat trail down Roche’s face. So distracted, in fact, that he doesn’t think twice before stretching out his neck and licking it. Then, of course, he remembers where he is. Featuring a very confused Roche, a smidge of jealousy, and Iorveth stealing Roche’s sweaty clothing to do unspeakable things to it. And somehow they get together.

Want me to sit in your lap?

Geralt LEGIT says this to Roche like 5 mins into the Witcher 2 and it’s GREAT. So of course, I had to write a scene where he actually got to. This is set post Witcher 2 while Geralt, Triss, Roche, and Ves are headed back to Temeria. Triss offers Geralt a little stress relief - which involves warming Roche’s cock and watching Triss and Ves get to know one another.

Red is the Rose

So, Chapter 4 is set post-Witcher 2 and Iorveth is obsessing over the fact that the Rose of Remembrance still has not wilted. He wonders what might be possible, so when he hears a rumor that a certain Temerian Commander was taken captive by Dethmold...

Dethmold most definitely dies. But unfortunately, that doesn’t save Roche from the curses he cast. So they go looking for Geralt to find out how to fix it.

This has only been 9 of my documents, y’all. I think I have a problem.

De-Aged Fic aka The language of friendship is not words but meanings

Ugh, I lost my momentum on this one, which sucks, ‘cause the next chapter is so close to done. Iorveth just needs to do a little freaking out first. But then they will both be back to adults and have to DEAL with the fact that they made good friends and would kinda like that again. I think this fic is gonna be purely friendship for them, but they’re gonna get there.

Glory Hole

A fic for the @sugar-and-spice-witcher-bingo where Roche hears a rumor that some Scoia’tael go to this brothel on the outskirts of town and hey, he may as well check it out, right? By going undercover and working the glory hole, of course. He never ACTUALLY expected Iorveth would come, but his legendary mouth was enticing enough to draw the Scoia’tael commander out.

Snuggling

Thirteen “accidentally” handcuffs Iorveth and Roche together when they capture Iorveth. This leads to them lying on the cot in the Stripes’ holding cell, spooning. There is banter and tickling and escapes not attempted and also maybe some sex with Inexperience Iorveth (i say maybe because I already started the sex, but idk if it will fit in).

Petals and Stripes

A weed is but an unloved flower

Okay, the Stripes are going to attempt to woo Iorveth during a battle. Also, there is a stabbing. And then a kidnapping. And then, miracle of miracles, someone actually tries talking!

One person's weed is another person's wildflower

Ves’s POV! She cleans up the mess her idiots make and terrifies the life out of one elven suitor, but first she’s gotta deal with her own conflicted feelings about her Boss, the guy she relies on to show her the shades of grey in the world, loving the elf she’s supposed to kill.

After that, I’ve got 2 more fics planned in this ‘verse. One is gonna be a fluffy and/or sexy date after Iorveth and Roche have gotten together. The other is a Scoia’tael side story, featuring lots of gossip about the humans sending their Commander love letters.

Love Shack

The Better Part of Valor

Ugh, I’m stuck on the sex again. Roche is having a really shitty day, so he goes to the cabin and signals Iorveth that he wants a round. Iorveth offers gentle (for them) sex and praise. And at the end, there’s a very significant scene where Iorveth removes his bandana. Roche buries his fingers in Iorveth’s hair, but doesn’t actually see his face, as he’s laying on his stomach with Iorveth on top of him.

Medicine

The morning after! Roche wakes up to find Iorveth in the bath, facing away from him, and notices a new scar. Iorveth has to deal with actually revealing his scars in daylight and they discuss the significant differences in elven and human medicine. Hint: I turned my own medical procedures into elven medicine, so it’s pretty fucking good.

PWP Ovi

Set ambiguously late, maybe after Thou Art More Lovely and More Temperate. Iorveth and Roche explore what Roche can take. We start with overstimulation, go into consensual somnophilia, come inflation, breeding kink, and oviposition. Because elves reproduce by laying eggs, which is not at all the case purely because I started this WiP ages ago and was horny.

The Picture Says It All

There’s going to be 5 more pictures that Rinn draws for Iorveth. Next is Roche hard at work, hunched over a desk. Then we’re getting some shirtless Roche, for “research”, of course. Then Roche cuddling with PT and the rest of the team, about which Iorveth is not at all jealous. Then a face study of Roche during a fight and uh, Iorveth is uncomfortably turned on. And finally, a drawing of their cabin with a silhouette in the window. She knows.

Roche & Rinn: The Haunting of Barrack 8B

Oh man, I really want to finish the next chapter, because I already have the one after that done. But first, we get introduced to Adda! This ‘verse is going to feature Adda the White a lot more than any of my others have done so far and I’m very excited. Also, Silas continues to be terrified of the ghost and the ghost and Adda become girlfriends buddies.

Roche builds Iorveth a home

Set late in the ‘verse, after Roche knows his feelings, but they haven’t said them yet (not out loud, anyway). Iorveth takes a trip to go meet Saskia do things off screen and Roche ends up turning to his old hobby, carpentry, to keep himself from pining too obviously. So obviously he ends up builing Iorveth a solarium. And a pillow nest. And a scaffold so that flowers that blossom in the moonlight cover the glass and give them privacy.

I got stuck here because Rinn needs to give Roche a hint to get him to build the pillow nest, but I hadn’t developed Rinn and Roche’s relationship yet, so had to go back and do that. But eventually Iorveth returns and they have wonderful I’m-not-saying-it-but-i-love-you sex in the new pillow nest.

Foltest (WiP): Long Live the King

This is actually the last fic in the ‘verse, so I don’t want to give too much away. But actually, I haven’t figured out what the next chapter is, BUT I have the chapter after that started and it is GOOD, just you wait!! I’m very excited.

Don’t Cry For Me, Temeria

This ‘verse alone, I have 14 WiPs and a dozen more unwritten ideas.

(Im)Perfect Strangers

I am frustratingly stuck on this chapter. Theoreatically, we are going to have a check in on how the mountain and the rest of our cast is doing and then Roche launches his Wooing TM plan (aka dinner, gift, and dancing).

Between Two Fools

Yeah, Roche and Iorveth have very different understandings of what their gifts represent. There is some soft happiness and then a swift rug pulled out from under Iorveth��s feet, I’m afraid. BUT we are almost to the part where the two idiots sit down and actually talk properly.

Unlucky Number Thirteen

Not only do I have more of Thirteen’s story planned, but I have ideas for ALL the Stripes to have stories. We’ll see how that goes. But for now, Thirteen starts spying for Roche. A lot of still-nebulous stuff happens, including Thirteen’s first time, for which he asks Roche to help. Additionally, once we reach the (Im)Perfect Strangers timeline, Thirteen has a special story all his own. It involves learning to read and a secret I shall not yet reveal.

Silas

Like I said, all the Stripes are hopefully getting stories. But Silas’s is coming along nicely. He starts a new life as “Silas”, as a man, and joins the army. Boot camp is rough and awful and he’s not very good at any of it, but one day, Roche comes looking for a recruit. He needs a codebreaker to decipher Thirteen’s scouting reports (another one for pictures). So Silas joins the Stripes, but he’s still terrified that they’ll fnd out and think he’s been lying to them. Fortunately, they’ll be putting his fears to rest.

Stripes Sex aka Earning Your Stripes: The First Time

PT’s POV! The Stripes (pre-Silas) are all still getting comfortable with each other as a team. But Thirteen has known Roche the longest and in a specific capacity. So one evening when he needs to get out of his head, Thirteen asks Roche to dom him. PT is confused and scandalized and then jealous, but he gets to join in soon too. Meanwhile, Finch and Ves have fun with their bratty arsonist and Fenn is loving it.

break (v /brāk/): to destroy someone's resistance

This is very long and entirely build up to porn. And then lots of porn. A question during a random conversation leads Roche to make Iorveth ask him to take Iorveth utterly apart in a consensual non-consent fantasy set when they were still enemies in the forest.

Bath House

This was supposed to be a simple PWP where Roche talks dirty to Iorveth under his breath while the two of them are at the bathhouse with Boussy (who LOVES baths and brought them to the fancy bath house), Anais, and Thirteen (who HATE baths and react to water much like a cat). They kinda took over the story and there has been no dirty talk yet oops.

Iorveth POV: Tutti

Iorveth begins to reclaim his love for music and lets himself improvise and compose again. And he ends up writing a song that is the story of his and Roche’s romance.

Daggers, Dumplings, and Dresses

The Elihal/Hattori side story! Though we haven’t actually met Hattori yet. So far, Elihal is expounding on his past and his relationship with Iorveth (he used to make all of Iorveth’s fancy gowns for concerts). Elihal and Hattori won’t play a HUGE role in (Im)Perfect Strangers, but they will be appearing!

Ves and Ciaran aka The First Rule of Fight Club

Ves is stuck walking a very long way back to Vergen with the memory of Ciaran’s skin against her teeth. And even though elves lie like breathing, she can’t help thinking about what he said about Roche not being worth her loyalty. Slowly, she begins to work some things out.

Sex with Saskia/Dragonfucking

Yeah, it’s what it sounds like. Iorveth tells Roche that Saskia agreed to a threesome and where to meet, but he neglected to mention the rather large dragon that was currently rimming his ass. Roche gets distracted from his confusion by the hotness and watches Iorveth get fucked by a dragon (with 2 dicks to fit 2 holes, of course).

Come Inflation + Piss Play

Um. Yeah, it’s a PWP where Roche asks Triss for a potion that will make him come a lot. And then Iorveth wants more. No idea where it’s going, tbh.

Stripes vs Scoia’tael: Water Balloon Fight

Literally a water balloon fight. For morale.

Baby Mama

Uh, the title is a bit telling here oops. But let’s just say Iorveth and Roche go on vacation to the cabin on top of the mountain again when Iorveth is hit with the sudden extreme urge to breed. Roche is down, but at some point, they do actually need to talk.

King Roche aka fics where Roche is in charge and hates it. Some are more in line with this than others.

Post W3 Becoming Terrorists Together

Ah yes, the murder husbands fic. Literally, Roche gets stuck leading Temeria under Emhyr’s orders and he’s good at it, but he HATES it. Enter Iorveth, who both points out security flaws, joins Roche for a surprisingly unawkward bath, and proposes that they go hunting down war criminals on their own time. How can Roche say no?

Pre-W2 Ambassadorial AU

Different first meeting AU! In this one, Iorveth is sent as the elven ambassador to Temeria and it’s about as much fun as one might expect. Triss and Roche, the other outcasts amongst Temerian court, decide to befriend him. Well, try to anyway. idk where this is going, but it’s been fun. Also, Iorveth wears a fancy braid over his eye, because I said so. Also, I might be planning an OT3 porn scene at some point, because it turns out, elves are VERY sensitive to magic XD

Leap of Faith

Okay, yeah, this has nothing to do with King Roche, but it’s the doc I was working in when I got the idea. In this one, a mage captures Iorveth for Foltest and starts torturing him. Roche, without really thinking about it, decides the mage goes too far, so he kills them. Leaving him with an elven prisoner and a castle full of people who will consider him a traitor for that. They escape the city, but now Iorveth has gotta convince Roche that no, the King really won’t forget that whole murder and prisoner escape thing.

The whole point of this fic was for me to write them jumping off a cliff lmao. When am I gonna get to that? Probably like last or second to last chapter, tbh. Which should be... after the next one? No, I lied, it’s next chapter! I need to get on that!

An ill-favour’d thing, sir, but mine own aka Possessive Sex

Piss Fic

Um. Yeah. Roche is really horny when Iorveth gets home and is on him immediately, which is great, but Iorveth has gotta piss. Which becomes less urgent as Roche is determined to have his face fucks, but after he comes all over Roche’s face, it’s VERY urgent and Roche is a fucking brat and won’t move out of the way. So obviously the response to this is to piss on Roche’s crotch - which Roche is apparently more than okay with.

Cum Dumpster Roche

Yeah, this one doesn’t have much yet, I literally just wanted Roche getting railed and claimed and L O V I N G it.

Possessiveness

Iorveth spends a lot of time thinking about his enemy, his nemesis. He’s researched Roche extensively, spent hours thinking up tactics and strategies to outwit his nemesis. He literally knows what Roche named his stupid weapons, but he’s never actually met Roche.

But he’s dreamt about it. The Roche in reality doesn’t look like the assumptions he made in his dreams, but who cares about looks? Because Roche is his, and certainly not some dh’oine king’s.

Tentacles + Breeding

Gods, this one is SO CLOSE to being done dammit, I just gotta finish it!! But it’s a fun one. Iorveth and Roche are fighting, when Iorveth suddenly starts fighting plants, which are fighting back. Then the plants notice Roche and suddenly he’s tied up with vines and his clothes are getting torn off and uh, he’s not supposed to find this hot, is he? But he really kinda does. And then Iorveth goes and claims him and tries to protect him from a nearly-extinct non-sentient plant that sensed a warm spot to lay its eggs until someone else could come along and fertilize them. Iorveth is delighted to be that person.

Dream: Pleasure Slave

Yeah, Roche really likes getting claimed in these. In this one, he has a favorite dream setting where Iorveth rules some grand elven kingdom and Roche’s only role is to bring him pleasure. Not to deal with politics or nobles or policy, but just to make Iorveth feel good. So far, this features cock warming, come inflation, a leather cock cage (so to speak), prostate milking, and a very nice silver chalice that Iorveth expects Roche to fill before they’re done.

Roche wears a collar

This was gonna be a simple lil thing based on me creating Roche in heroforge and giving him a lil hidden collar. But then Iorveth decided to get really sappy and had to design and create the perfect collar for his enemy. And then, much to his surprise, he gets the opportunity to PUT his collar on Roche. Which is great, except the sight distracts him so much that Roche manages to escape.

But the next time they meet, Roche is still wearing that collar, hidden under his chaperon and armor. Iorveth has feelings about that.

Standalone

Crones fic aka And Ghosts Did Shriek and Shrill

So this is the angsty fic that started from a crack premise. Er, one of them. I seem to do that a lot. But in this one, Roche goes to the Ladies of the Woods and asks for his men back. The Ladies agree, in exchange for 6 lifetimes of service. But no creature can reverse death. Which leads to the Stripes coming back to “life” as ghosts - only Roche is the only one who can see them. Ves can’t (not at first).

Believe it or not, the whole idea behind this was the Stripes roasting Roche as he tries to flirt (terribly) with Iorveth. But uh... somehow it turned pretty dark. Like, it’ll have a happy ending for sure, but it’s gonna be a lot about processing trauma and grief and building families and also curing a plague, because that’s the first assignment from the Ladies.

Stripes fics

Cuddles with the Commander

This is intended to be a sequel to The Pride of Temeria, but I kinda got stuck figuring out exactly how Roche should react. Tbh, I don’t have much of this written yet, but the goal is for Roche to approve cuddles with everyone lmao.

Fire Breating

Okay, this one started as crack purely because I love fire, but it’s actually been really fun. So, Iorveth and Roche are established and Iorveth has been invited to a family night with the Stripes, which is kinda a lil awkward. So they decide to showcase some of their talents - which includes Roche singing musicals and PT breathing fire.

Iorveth is horrified that humans have harnessed this skill.

Iorveth’s missing eye

This is really short and idk if I’ll continue it, but the idea was for Roche to really wonder what was up with the bandana over half of Iorveth’s face was about. And then, of course, to find out.

Iorveth Gangbang

Why is this under Stripes fics, you might ask? Well, I have great news for you. Guess who the gang is?

In which Iorveth and Roche are in an established relationship and Iorveth gets tied up in the middle of the Stripes’ camp while Roche orders his men to take him apart. Iorveth very much enjoys himself, and then when the Stripes are tapped out, Roche shows ‘em how it’s done.

Kink Bingo fics aka that event that I totally failed, but hey, prompts are prompts.

Age Kink

In this fic, Iorveth and Roche both end up captured by unknown forces and end up imprisoned together. I think the Stripes and Scoia’tael are probably working together to find them and save them, but in the meantime, Iorveth and Roche decide to get to know each other a bit better. Featuring muscle spasms, blow jobs, and pain kink.

Eskel/Lambert (okay, a little out of place here, but eh, it’s in the doc and I am still working on it)

Started for a prompt on tumblr, Eskel and Lambert end up fighting and, trying to keep the peace, Eskel casts axii on Lambert. Which leads to Lambert confessing that he bit Eskel because it’s the only way he could get his mouth on him. This leads to some dodged confessions, some frottage, and some snarky banter, because of course it does.

Tempt Not a Desperate Man aka the Fuck or Die series that started with Devour What’s Truly Yours

Fisting

The next part of the series, where Roche struggles with the fact that he’s been high key horny ever since the encounter in the woods with Iorveth and nothing is satisfying him. Iorveth, on the other hand, is jealous and annoyed that Roche keeps going to the whorehouse.

Then Roche decides to make a potentially suicidal move and enters the forest to try to find the clearing from last time. And, as you might guess from my heading, fisting will be happening.

Iorveth POV: The Chaperon

Okay, I don’t actually have much of this written, but it’s really cute so - Roche keeps using his chaperon as a cum rag, so Iorveth knits and/or sews him a new one.

“Human Bootlicker”

PWP where Iorveth jokingly suggestions Roche should surrender on his knees - and then Roche does. And asks Iorveth to take his prize. Featuring Roche coming all over Iorveth’s boots from getting his face fucked, then leaning down and licking up the mess while Iorveth watches and then comes over his face.

One Accidental Proposal and Five Attempts At Accepting

So one of the themes of this ‘verse is gonna be the Elven Baths where the Roses of Remembrance grow. As in, they decide to make the elven baths a place they meet up. This is the first time Iorveth takes Roche there, and Roche does not know what significance the roses have. But he DOES know that Iorveth blushes cutely when he tucks a rose behind Iorveth’s ear, so...

Iorveth would like to accept, only Roche doesn’t know WHAT he’s trying to accept.

The Legend

So in the game, there is a legend around the statue of elven lovers above the elven baths. “Legend has it the lover’s sighs are enchanted within these very stones, though only those in love can hear them.”

Iorveth overhears his Scoia’tael gossiping about the legend and comes to an abrupt realization that Roche and him were the ones they were hearing. Oops?

Standalone Fics

Letters

This is kind of a bittersweet WiP that I mostly wrote in one go and then went to sleep and kinda lost the will for it. BUT the premise is that post-Witcher 3 Roche is in charge of Temeria and his brooding is interrupted when he receives a letter sealed with a forget me not pressed into wax. Iorveth continues to send letters describing his life as a “civilian” in Nilfgaard and how much he hates it and Roche relates a little bit too much. Then Iorveth decides to run away and live on the streets as a musician and he might inspire Roche to start learning the cello and presumably at some point, they meet.

Identity Porn

Iorveth and Roche have a meet cute in Flotsam’s tavern while the elf is listening in for local gossip and Roche is passing through on his way to meet with the other northern kings to get support in fighting against the new emerging threat of the Scoia’tael. Neither knows who the other is, but that doesn’t stop them from starting a relationship where they meet every time Roche passes through Flotsam. But their house of cards can only last so long, and at some point, they will meet as enemies. Who knows what happens then? idk, not me.

Gwent pinup calendar aka Cards Out for Your Country

Hahaha, so I started this series in response to some WONDERFUL art of Roche with his Tits Out For Temeria. And obviously we need more of that, so I created a list of 24 characters who are asked to pose for some pinup art, all in the name of Gwent. So far, I’ve only finished Dandelion’s pose/the introduction, but I do plan to do as many of them as I physically can.

Gwent Game in Corvo Bianco

Wow, I didn’t even remember this WiP, so uh... clearly I haven’t worked on it in a while. But it’s Iorveth’s POV of how surprisingly comfortable he is in Corvo Bianco and Iorveth and Geralt get drunk and play gwent.

Zoltan/Jaskier/Priscilla

A giftfic for Wibbly that involves Zoltan being sappy about his bards and then Priscilla dominates them. Featuring all my headcanons about dwarven genitalia (two holes, one with a retractible dick).

Dijkstra fics

Noticing Roche’s Fucked Up Relationship

Anyone else randomly finding themselves shipping Dijkstra/Roche? No? Ah well. For this one Dijkstra observes Roche and sees a few too many reminders of himself with Vizimir, except Foltest is no Vizimir, and Roche clearly hasn’t learned to set up boundaries. Dijkstra feels weirdly compelled to help him figure that out before Foltest destroys him.

Developing Respect Fic

Also known as “let’s torture Roche 1.0!” This fic switches between the present, where Roche has woken up in a cell somewhere unknown and it brings back far too many memories for him to be entirely sure of what is happening when. In the past, he was captured by Redania while on a mission for Foltest, long before he was anyone notable. Dijkstra comes to visit, curious about this prisoner who refuses to break, to even tell them his name or confirm his country (but he has a Temerian tramp stamp, so they know lmao). So Dijkstra decides that this is not a man who will be broken through torture and decides to try conversation instead. The idea is to show them slowly gaining respect for each other, but like, obviously Roche is still a prisoner. Eventually, he’s returned to Temeria in a prisoner exchange, but meanwhile, in the present, Roche is all alone, with not even guards around and no way to free himself.

and that’s all!! I am... legitimately scared to count, tbh. This post is so fucking long, the number cannot be good for my heart. But, that said, please come talk to me about any ideas you find interesting!! Or anything you have questions about!

And if you made it this far down the list... wow. Thank you, you rock.

#rorveth #iorveth x roche #the witcher #don't cry for me temeria #wip wednesday #my fics #WiPs #yeah it's not wednesday but whatever i finished the list

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irontinystar · 4 years

Note

im aware that i just sent one in but your writing is so cute and amazing to read so hope you don't mind - what about a duo? 31 and 39?

I’m so grateful you like my writing enough to ask me another prompt, it’s literally so heartwarming to hear!!

Thank you so much, I hope you like this as well!!

prompts 31 and 39 from this list

Near, far, wherever you are

Stevetony, established relationship, fluff, emotional hurt/comfort, 2k words

For their anniversary that night, Tony has prepared the best of dates. He’s gonna cook all afternoon, so that when Steve is gonna come home that evening after a tiring day, he’s going to find a delicious dinner.

Then, after they’ve eaten, they’re gonna watch a movie Steve has never seen and that Tony still can’t wrap his head around the fact he hasn’t.

So Tony comes home early after a series of SI meetings. He has spent the whole conference thinking about what he’s gonna prepare for his husband, not really paying attention to the discussion. He drops the jacket as soon as he gets to the door, unknots his tie and rolls up his sleeves.

“FRIDAY, darling, put on some music” he asks loudly, and his AI complies right away, playing smooth jazz in the background.

Tony smiles by himself, before approaching the kitchen and putting on an apron with the writing ’kiss the cook’ in a fancy font on the front. He meddles around with pots and ladles, trying to follow an old recipe he has found out Steve loves. It’s a little difficult, and he’s not that good of a cook himself. Usually, he just gives up and orders take away, but tonight he has decided he’s going to do his best to make it.

Plus, he’s enjoying his time, so that’s really not a problem. He swings around the kitchen singing out loud along Frank Sinatra, pretending to hold a mic instead of a wooden spoon, but he suddenly curses under his breath when he realises the flame under the pot is maybe a little too high for the pasta he’s cooking.

He grunts but manages to fix the thing before it can become a mess.

“FRI, maybe you should tone the music down a little” he calls, frowning. It’s better if he focuses on the recipe instead of his singing skills.

He’s fixing the last details when he hears the door clicking open and loud steps coming in. He smiles again; even though they’re married for five years, it’s always exciting to see his husband after a long day.

Tony steps out of the kitchen to welcome Steve, and he grins even more when he sees him all ruffled from his rough day.

“Hi husband” Tony greets with a smirk.

Steve turns up his head to fix his eyes on Tony. He beams. “Back at you” he teases, before getting closer.

Tony smiles again, can’t help smiling, and when Steve wraps his arms around him, he leans into his broad chest almost melting. “You should go wash your hands” he warns. “Dinner’s ready.”

He loops his arms around Steve’s neck and mindlessly plays with his hair.

Steve frowns. “First I want a kiss” he complains, and Tony rolls his eyes.

“Na-ha” he denies with a resolute expression. “It’s gonna cool down.”

“But I’m legitimately obligated to kiss you” Steve claps back, even more resolute than Tony, and his eyes fall on his apron.

Tony follows his eyes and looks at the piece of clothing too, chuckling lightly. “You’re a shrewd man, Rogers” he jokes. “One only” he then states, leaning into Steve and leaving a light peck on his mouth, so quickly that Steve can’t even reply to it, before dodging away from his embrace.

“Hey!” Steve calls, but Tony is already heading to the dining room. “That wasn’t a kiss!” he moans, followed by Tony’s laughter.

“First, dinner. Then, kisses” he orders, and Steve rolls his eyes with a fond smile.

They eat chatting about this and that, joking and laughing like they always do, and Tony finds himself grinning again, at the thought that it’s always been the same between he and Steve, every moment seems like their first date, like their going out before they even were a thing, every time they’re at ease and just so in love it doesn’t look like a single day has passed.

“What are you smiling for?” Steve asks stuffing his mouth with food, a wondering expression on his face, and Tony giggles a little embarrassed.

He shrugs, feeling his neck blushing. They’re married, for god’s sake, he shouldn’t blush at that.

“Because I love you” he lets out earnestly, and Steve smiles too, his face softening right away.

“I love you too, baby” he assures with an adoring voice, reaching out with his hand to take Tony’s one resting on the table. He strokes his fingers before entangling them with his own. “Forever, right?” he asks brushing at the gold ring around Tony’s finger.

Tony smiles and cocks his head. “Forever” he grants in reply.

Once they’ve finished eating, Tony pushes Steve to the living room, too excited for the rest of the evening.

“I’m not gonna watch The empire strikes back again, I’m telling you” Steve states, letting Tony lead him to the couch. “I mean, I love you to pieces, but not to the point of watching that movie another time.”

Tony laughs heartily. “No, honey, I promise it’s not Star Wars.” He props up a dvd case to show it to him.

Steve frowns. “Titanic?” he asks dubiously.

“Titanic!” Tony repeats but with a loud voice. “You still haven’t seen it and it’s unacceptable” he scoffs.

Steve rolls his eyes. “There are a lot of things I still haven’t seen” he points out taking a seat on the couch. He raises one arm so that Tony can crawl next to him, before putting his hand on his opposite shoulder.

Tony looks up at him. “I know, and we’re going to fix it” he assures nodding.

Steve leaves a kiss on the tip of his nose, making Tony scrunch it. “Alright, I’m in your hands” he concedes.

Smirking, Tony giggles. “You sure are.”

He puts on the dvd and the movie starts playing. Tony shifts a little on the couch, so to rest his head on Steve’s chest more comfortably, before beginning to comment out loud some scenes here and there. It is something that their other teammates had always hated during movie night. Tony still remembers the glares Clint would direct at him when he complained about the inaccuracies in the movies, but Steve once told him he loved to hear his opinions, so Tony never stopped doing it.

And now that it’s just the two of them, he comments loudly without holding back his thoughts.

Steve hums along him, asking some questions when he doesn’t really get what’s going on, and Tony is more than glad to explain it to him. It gives him such a bust of pride to be of Steve’s help.

“You might want to try this sometime” he teases when the scene of Jack drawing a naked Rose comes on. He turns up his head just in time to see Steve blushing all over.

“Shut up” he scoffs embarrassed, and Tony grins.

For the rest of the movie he can see Steve is really entertained. His eyes never leave the screen, and his lips are slightly parted in the way he always does when he’s focused on what he’s watching. Tony steals glances of him and feels his chest growing bigger with fondness.

He almost startles when he hears a couple of muffled gulps over his head. He frowns in confusion and looks up to see Steve tearing up. Slow tears are running down his cheeks, while he tries to avoid it by sniffling.

Tony’s immediate concern softens: on the screen Rose, laying on the relict of a door in the middle of the ocean, is trying to wake up a frozen Jack. That scene would always make him cry too when he was younger, but he has to admit he’s seen the movie like a dozen times, so now his chest just tightens without him tearing up.

Apparently, Steve really has a soft heart, what will all this young desperate lovers have to part because one of the two has frozen to death.

Tony suddenly stills in mild panic.

Shit. He has forgotten.

He has totally forgotten about Steve’s past. Oh god, how could he have been so dumb? Of course Steve is crying his heart out- he literally lost Peggy in an accident just as soon as they had professed their love for each other, and good god, he literally fell into the ocean and froze to death.

“Steve-“ he tries, brushing his fingers on Steve’s hand around his waist.

Steve sniffs. “Don’t worry about me” he bubbles with thick voice, but Tony has already stopped the movie.

“Hey” he calls again, looking up at him with concern. “Don’t cry” he whispers. He reaches up with his hand and settles it on Steve’s jaw, and the man leans into it.

“I’m sorry” Tony murmurs. “I really am.”

Steve shakes his head firmly. “Don’t worry” he repeats, but when he threatens to cry again, Tony shifts their positions, making Steve lay down with his head in his lap.

“Shh” he hums cradling his head. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, I’m so sorry. We can change movie.” He damns himself. This had to be a perfect night and here he goes ruining it because he’s inconsiderate and can’t even remember such an important thing as Steve’s past.

He trails his fingers through Steve’s hair, and the man sniffs another time.

“It’s really not a problem” he reassures, but he curls up on Tony’s lap, nosing into his stomach.

“I should have known this could trigger you” Tony murmurs, and it’s not even a justification, but mostly a reproach against himself, how terrible of an husband he actually is.

Steve looks at him from under his wet eyelashes. He frowns. “What?” he asks in confusion.

Tony’s jaw twitches, as he keeps on stroking his thumb on Steve’s scalp. “Yeah, making you relive the freezing thing- I should have thought about it” he makes his eyes wander around, not really able to look at Steve, seeing on his face the evidence of his disappointment, but Steve frowns even more.

“Tony, no” he calls. “That’s not- I didn’t cry because of that” he states, and Tony gets even more confused at the blush on his cheeks.

“Even though it actually seems a more appropriate reason” Steve bubbles turning down his eyes.

“Then what is it?” Tony asks with concern, his fingers lifting Steve’s chin to make him look at him.

The other man smiles sheepishly, his eyes still veiled with tears. “I just-“ he trails. “I can’t lose you, Tony” he admits.

His hand comes up too, covering Tony’s still resting on his face. Steve brushes his ring like he did during dinner. “I love you so dearly” he confesses. “Whenever we part for a meeting, or we have a mission- I’m always afraid I’m gonna come back home without you- it scares me so much, the thought of losing you.”

His fingers keep on mindlessly caressing the metal band on Tony’s hand, his smile faltering on his forlorn face.

“Hey” Tony calls again softly, raising his chin another time. “You won’t lose me” he states.

Steve smiles, but it’s a sad smile. “You know you cannot promise that” he claps back. “You may not leave me willingly, but with the lives we live-“

“Then I can promise you that I’ll do my best not to make it happen” Tony blurts out boldly. Deep in his heart, he knows Steve is right, he cannot promise that, but that doesn’t mean he’s not going to try it anyway.

Steve smiles once again, and this time it’s a little more hopeful. “Okay” he whispers. He grabs Tony’s hand and brings it in front of his lips, before leaving a kiss on the ring. “I promise that too” he affirms with a steadier voice.

Tony lets himself linger in the moment, until he feels like he could cry too, so he clears his throat.

“Well, then we can finish to watch the movie, what do you think?” he asks.

Steve gets more comfortable in his position, but keeps his head in Tony’s lap anyway.

“Alright” he concedes, and Tony reaches for the remote. “But once it ends, you have to let me try the naked-drawing scene.”

Tony chuckles loudly, and even though Steve has turned to face the tv, he can spot a grin on his face.

“Whatever you want” he says fondly.

#okay i really hope i didnt do too many mistakes😭😭#im sorry my english was acting up today and i couldnt remember some expressions GOD #bilingual problems :/#i write things #stevetony #stony #tony stark #steve rogers #iron man #captain america #stevextony #superhusbands #stony fanfiction #stony fic #stevetony fanfiction #stevetony fic #stony fluff #stevetony fluff

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janusthesneakysnakeboi · 5 years

Text

Moments from the new Sanders ASides video that had me screaming (or really, me screaming about the new video)

“RAIIIIID”

*Raid Thomas sounding like Roman/Remus*

“You bet your shiny metal AX”

“MASCULINITY IS A PRISON”

“Why do I pay for a membership if I still gotta watch the ads?”

THE FACT THAT THEY ALL ARE WEARING ONESIES EXCEPT THOMAS AND LOGAN BECAUSE LOGAN IS SERIOUS BOI AND THOMAS WELL,,, IS THOMAS

Also ROMAN CANONICALLY HAS LEGS***

ROMAN HAS ALL THE PILLOWS

VIRGIL IS SITTING ON A SURFACE THAT ISN’T MEANT TO BE SAT ON BUT IS SO RELATABLE BECAUSE I DO THAT EXACT THING WHAT

“Unless our problem is a hungry alligator-” “A remote possibility for a Florida dwelling man who never leaves his house”

Roman rigging the votes so it’s just Frozen and Patton is okay with that (WAIT BUT WHY IS PATTON CHILL (pun not intended) WITH IT???)

LOGAN HAD A CASUAL FALSEHOOD????

WAIT WHAT DID THE SIDES VOTE FOR??

“Thomas is in a bad place-” *camera pans to VIRGIL*

Roman calling Thomas a special snowflake

“Something good” *Frozen shows* “,,, or neutral”

“And from this point on, NO MORE NORDIC INSPIRED NUMBERS”

Virgil keep going back to the actual problem while Roman and Patton just like 90% forget the problem and Logan talks to and tries to calm Virgil

“I ALSO LOVE YOU OLAF”

“Cuties, I’m gonna keep you” “Ah you’re joking right? No you’re mine now”

“The heart is not so easily changed” “No it isn’t” *confused Patton noises*

“But, the head can be persuaded” “Can it though?” THAT SHADE AT LOGAN HOLY MOTHER OF FUCK

“Fear will be your enemy” *gay emo panic*

“So you’re saying lock her away because she’s dangerous” GOING BACK TO VIRGIL??? UH????

“JOAN!!!” They definitely wrote that line

Virgil’s mini existential crisis

Remus just yeeted up from behind the couch shirtless oh god was he jacking off to Frozen wtf

REMUS GETTING SO EXCITED ABOUT THE PARENTS DYING IS HONESTLY SO PURE EVEN THOUGH IT’S NOT AT ALL

“I SLEEP IN THE B U F F”

“Did I screw everything up?” “No I threw out your vote so you wouldn’t do that” ROMAN WHAT

Roman: *calls Frozen a Classic* Also Roman: *Makes fun of the entire movie and demands a rewrite*

“How are you telling me to settle into something right now when you’ve taken your sweet time to settle into things that you were uncomfortable with in the past” THAT SHADE!! THAT TEA!! I WANT TO KNOW MORE ABOUT THESE *THINGS* PLEASE????

Patton: Let’s relax!! :) Virgil: Bruh I legit AM Anxiety that’s not in my job description

“How many times has our response to a difficult decision been half committing to one option and subsequently panicking about whether that option is our best option until it’s too late for Thomas to change his mind?” “7,430″ MOOD

“Why have a ballroom with no balls?” *Trash boi snickers at the dick joke that wasn’t there until then* "Nope, I’m an adult” (me me big boy-)

ROMAN’S IMPERSONATION OF HIS “EVIL PLOTTING FACE” HAS BE DEAD ON THE FLOOR

“AW MAN YEAH I’M LIKE SO FUCKED UP ON CHOCOLATE FONDUE I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT I’M SAYING RIGHT NOW” *Patton looks over, concerned* *Virgil looks over, annoyed* *Thomas glances over, lowkey amused* *Logan doesn’t even look at him and just grabs his tea*

NO TURN OFF LOVE IS AN OPEN DOOR IT’S MAKING PATTON SAD (ALSO IS HIS CONNECTION PROJECTING? AND IS ROMAN’S RESPONSE A L S O ACCURATE?)

“There’s no way she’s coming out of this situation without trust issues” honestly though yeah

“Not a footprint to be seen” “Except for the footprints behind you” “hEy YeAh” KEEP IT UP LOGAN YOU’RE DOING GREAT SWEETIE

Virgil: *Serious comment* Patton: “Don’t let them in, don’t let them see...” (did he sing the rest of the song or did he specifically choose these lines because if it’s the second one THAT CAN BE A WHOLE LOT OF ANGST AND I’M HERE FOR IT)

Logan canonically criticizes the movie at movie nights

ALSO GUYS THE VIDEO CAME OUT ON A FRIDAY SO FRIDAY NIGHT MOVIE NIGHTS ARE CANON

“Do you think this ice castle has a lavatory?” “ICE TOILET” “Or a bed?” “ICE BED” “This place sounds awful”

“HE DEFINITELY FUCKS THE REINDEER” “ew”

“You meddled with the vote to ensure that we would watch this and yet you’re the one constantly making fun of it” FACTS LOGAN

“This [^] is how I show my love” WAIT A MINUTE *Looks back at the entire series* HE MADE FUN OF VIRGIL SO MUCH SO WAIT PRINXIETY??? LAMP?? DR LAMP?? (is that the ship name because that’s this video basically*

Nobody: Not a soul: Roman: OLAF’S CONTRIBUTION SHOULD HAVE COUNTED AND SAVED HER

“Like... bruh” mood

“Take care of my sister” “You’ve already done a good job of that yourself Elsa” *hood falls off*

“Ah, we’re all gossipy bitches sometimes” “nO-” (also Roman channeled so much Remy energy right there headcanon they hang out all the time change my mind)

“Oh sweet Frank Iero” I’m using that now

“Just think about it” “LIKE I HAVE A CHOICE”

“Attacking a person for opinions they don’t have doesn’t really do anybody any good” Me: BECAUSE IT DOESN’T WORK!! AYYY YOU LISTENED TO AND ARE REFERENCING LOGAN IN LAST EPISODE??? OR AM I JUST TRASH??

“Oh yeah like me kissing a man is unacceptable?” What a power move though

“AAAAALSJDFOAGHOKLNOIATYRGH” Mood

Ok but also like Virgil basically rapped like that rapid talking was as fast as a bunch of rappers and even faster than some

Logan using the grounding method that my therapist suggested gave me life

Most of Virgil’s grounding answers were existential and oof

“A sour taste in my mouth probably left over from those reheated thai noodle leftovers” *Confused faces*

“FIGURATIVELY” *DWIT has entered the chat*

“Thank you Logan” “No problem, just your cool teacher being his cool self” *sips tea* Felt that. Also I have a new reaction image now XD

“Take it from Frozen’s most inspirational song” Let it Go? “Fixer Upper” Oh but ya know what valid

“Throw a little love their way” Virgil *confused smile?? I think that’s what that is??*

“Elsa, we the villagers have thought it over and with no discussion whatsoever we’ve decided we’re not scared anymore and ice magic is actually cool as hell!!” YEAH WAIT A MINUTE OMG

Logan: *Lists all of Elsa’s powers, reading from a notebook (meaning he took notes while watching the movie which is so in character omg) and implying that there is no way any of that makes sense* Patton: Sounds okay that makes sense

“With Elsa’s seemingly unstoppable “ice powers” I’d imagine Arendelle becomes a global superpower. No military force of that time could ever stand a chance against her never ending army of ice golems”

Nobody: Not a soul: Patton: “True love is a closed door that is eventually opened up to you!”

“What if your soulmate was there” “OH SHIT” I love Roman that was all it took huh

*Deceit has entered the chat* “HISS”

“Don’t touch my shit”

I wish we got to see Deceit’s face there but I get it we couldn’t see him without his hat (except for in the bloopers videos but those don’t count) (Also they probably just didn’t wanna do the makeup for him because it’s a lot and it might’ve been a split second decision and someone else might’ve played him with Thomas just voice recording over it especially considering there’s overlap so they wouldn’t have just been able to split screen it)

“I was gonna rig the vote anyway”

“I don’t know what you’re asking”

Roman is the source of SFW fanfic and Remus is the source of NSFW fanfic and Virgil is the source of angsty fanfic

“I’m going to bed. IN THE B U F F”

THE NEW SWEATERS IM BROKE SO IF SOMEONE WANTS TO GET ME ALL OF THEM (at least just Virgil’s even though I love like all of them)

WAIT THERE’S SCARVES TOO OMG I ALSO WANT ALL OF THEM (or at least,,, nope all of them)

“We were trying to make a slightly simpler video” Video: *is longer than most of season 1′s episodes* *has full body shots of almost all the characters* *has like 5 way split scenes* *uses every side*

WAIT LOGAN BROUGHT BACK OUT HIS ONESIE I LOVE HIM and he’s still got his necktie on just underneath it amazing

This video was just LAMP and potentially DLAMP and maybe DR LAMP if that’s the ship name. There were also a bunch of really good Prinxiety, Royality, Analogical, and Roceit moments in this one so I’m expecting fanfic hella soon

Also as of right now (I finished writing this at like 4am ET) we are still #1 on trending on Tumblr

***We never see Remus’s legs in the video so my theory of there is only one set of legs for the creativitwins still stands and is valid

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numba99 · 5 years

Text

Fatal Attraction

Summary: When a mysterious man shows up at your job, you find yourself inexplicably drawn to him - and him to you. But behind the beautiful face is the dark lifestyle of a man who has made his wealth through becoming the most powerful drug dealer in the city. Word count: 2.7k

Song (new thing I wanna try for this series first song is the general ~vibe~ im going for with this) Him & I by Halsey and G-eazy

Warnings: OKAY SO this is gonna be a long one. Obviously this whole fic is going to have drug mentions in it. I want to be clear that I am not trying to glamorize/condone drug usage. We are all adults and can make decisions on how we feel about that kind of stuff on our own. This is merely a work of fiction and I completely respect you choosing not to read it for whatever reason. I am not 100% sure what’s going to come out as a I write this but I imagine there will be mentions of violence (though I have no plans nor interests in writing about violence explicitly), smut, weapons, etc. I will put more specific warnings on each part, but I wanted to give a general idea so you don’t start something you wouldn’t be comfortable finishing. okay thats enough of that, let’s get to the good stuff.

It was a Friday night like any other. You stepped out on to your personal stage for the night, wrapping you hand around the silver pole in the center. It was cold and familiar, the sensation always flipped a switch in you. It was time to work. A slow, sexy R&B song spilled out of the speakers as you began a sultry walk around the pole. You noted the faces in the crowd, painted blue by the clubs low, mood lighting. They all melted together, a sea of desperate men with fantasies playing in their heads. Then you spotted him.

He showed up a little over a month ago, and since then has came in week after week. He always sat in the back, always by your stage. You had some frequent flyers, but no one like this, no one like him. He didn’t so much as look at any of the other dancers. He was there for you, you could feel that even from across the room.

And yet, you never felt uncomfortable by his presence. In fact, you looked forward to it. You couldn’t be certain, but you thought he was keeping at an eye out for you. You noticed he was always with another man, who was suited and stood behind him. If a patron got too in your face, he’d whisper to the man he was with, who’d then pull aside whoever was bothering you. Without fail they scampered away every time. You never heard what was said, but the look on the other guys face told you it wasn’t very kind.

He tipped handsomely as well, though he never put the money on you. While the other men would clamor to slide single dollar bills in your lingerie, he’d have his “sidekick,” as you dubbed him, lay a single hundred dollar bill stage after every song... and then drop off a few hundreds before he left for the night. Some nights he'd tip you more than you could make in a week.

Though his presence seemed benevolent enough, you were a bit cautious of him. You wondered what this mystery man wanted, why he was watching you. In this industry, you learn to become suspicious of men that pay too much attention to you. You’ve dealt with many creeps in your time stripping, and you wondered if he was just rich and shy, waiting to build up the nerve to make a move on you and hoping the money he was dropping would soften you up.

As fate would have it, tonight would be the night you’d get your answer.

Your club’s manager Rick, who was as sleazy as sleazy gets called you off the stage for a private room booking. When you were lucky, or unlucky depending on how you looked at it, a man would book you for some time in one of the private areas. During this time you were either giving him a lap dance, or worse, acting like his therapist. You lost count of the amount of times you got alone with a man and he just broke down crying about his wife or shitty life or something you didn’t care about. It was a 50/50, but you put up with because they made you good money.

“Who’s the lucky man?” you deadpanned.

“The dude back there,” Rick replied, nodded to your mystery man. You cocked a brow, shocked that he was requesting alone time with you when he hasn’t so much as sat front row for one of your dances. You had no idea what to expect, but you had a strange feeling growing in your stomach that there was more than meets the eye with this man. You never really got nervous for these things anymore, it was just part of the job, but something about finally being face to face with him was making your heart thud.

“Put on a good show for him would ya? Man spends a lot when he is here. Don’t need you fucking it up,” Rick said as he chomped on a stale-smelling sandwich.

“What room?” you asked, ignoring his stupid comments.

“Three. Get naked if he wants, I want that money y/n,” Rick replied. You turned around flipping him the middle finger as you walked away. It was supposed to be club rules that your bottoms always stay on... and it was also supposed to be club rules that guys weren’t allowed to touch you outside the private rooms. However, Rick could turn a blind eye if money was being made for him.

You knew you were at the right room, the sidekick was standing outside like a guard. He stepped aside for you without word, allowing you inside. Odd, but you’ve seen enough weird shit here that it didn't phase you. The door clicked shut and you spun around, finding the mystery man alone on the cushioned booth. The lights were low, but you could see him so much better now. His hair was slicked back into a low bun, face framed by a well taken care of beard. You couldn’t tell the exact color of his eyes in the lighting, but they were mesmerizing even from a distance.

“Sit,” he said softly, patting the spot next to him. You approached cautiously, keeping your eyes on him the entire time. It always raised your suspicion when a man didn’t ask you get on top of him right away.

“Please don’t tell me you’re one of those dudes who’s going to tell me I’m too good for this and you want to save my soul,” you said as you sat next to them. You’ve gotten a few of those holier-than-thou types in your time here. It was funny how when you told them you were not interested in being “saved” they still wanted a lap dance.

“I don’t think you’re someone who needs to be saved,” the stranger replied simply. Interesting.

“What do you want then?” you questioned.

“I’d love to know your name,” he replied, “ Your real name.”

You weren’t supposed to give out your real name at the club, but Rick never followed his own rules, why should you. Besides, he did say to give him what he wants.“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

He cocked a grin, laughing lightly. “I’m Mika.”

“Mika,” you repeated, your voice just above a whisper. You weren’t sure why, but it felt like such a victory to know this man’s name.

“Sounds a lot prettier coming from you,” He commented, “And yours?” He tilted his head slightly as he looked at you, sending your stomach to your feet. Closer up you could see his eyes were a rich hazel. They seemed to pierce through you; you felt exposed under his gaze... and not just because you were in lingerie and he was fully dressed. You almost felt as if he knew what you were going to say before you could get the words out.

“Y/n,” you told him.

“Beautiful name,” he replied, “Fitting.” Mika had an innate charm to him, making all his words sound so much sweeter. His comment was simple, cliché really, yet it brought a blush to your cheeks.

“Is there something I can do for you?” you asked, trying to remember why you were here.

“I’d like to take you out,” Mika replied, “If you’d like of course.”

Of course you would, but it wasn’t that easy. “I’m on shift for another couple hours,” you told him.

“Let me see what I can do,” Mika replied. Before you had a chance to ask what he meant by that, he called in his sidekick, who’s name you learned was Chris. Mika whispered something in his ear, handing him a thick wad of cash. Chris walked away without a word and Mika smiled at you. “Give it a minute.”

You weren’t sure what to make of all this, but you didn't really have time to process it. Just moments later Chris was back. “You're free to go whenever you want y/n,” Chris informed you. Of course, Rick never met a pile of cash he didn’t like.

“So what do you say?” Mika asked, flashing a warm smile. How could say no?

“Let me get changed,” You replied, standing up, “But just so you know, this club is filled with cameras. If you’re planning to take me somewhere and kill me or something, everyone is going to know it was you so don’t bother.” Felt like good measure to add that in.

Mika chuckled, “You’re smart, I like that. But don’t worry y/n, you’re safe with me.” You had no reason to believe him, but for some reason you did. He told you he’d be waiting outside his car for you, and with that you went back to the dressing room. You wished you had worn something nicer than just a pair of jeans and an old tee, but nothing you could do about that now.

You hurried out, not wanting to bump into Rick and deal with any of his stupidity. You were giddy as you stepped out on to the street, feeling like you were playing hooky in high school. Mika was right where he said he would be, leaning against a blacked out SUV. It looked sleek and expensive, much like him.

“Uber black?” You questioned.

Mika chuckled, “No, it’s mine.” Damn, who the hell had room for a car like this in the city? Mika helped you into the back of the car, the front occupied by the driver and Chris.

“Do you always travel with a pose?” you asked.

Mika pressed a button in side panel of the door and a divider went up, separating the two of you from the pair in the front. “Now it’s just me and you.”

“Still doesn’t answer my question,” you noted.

“Fair enough,” Mika replied with a hint of a smirk, “Typically Chris is always with me and the driver comes with the car so if you consider that a pose, then yes.”

“More people than I travel with,” you replied, “And who is Chris to you?”

“A friend,” he replied simply. Right, because everyone’s friends follow them around like a guard dog, you thought. You didn't want to push him too much, he was still a stranger after all.

“You’re good at not answering questions,” you noted, looking out the window. “Do I at least get to know where we are going?”

“Well the only places open right now are-”

“Bars and strip clubs,” you answered for him.

“Right,” Mika nodded.

“Well if it doesn’t make a difference to you I’d prefer a bar,” you replied.

“I had a feeling you were going to say that,” Mika smiled, “How about one drink at the next bar we pass? I don’t want to keep you too late.”

“I’m good with that,” you nodded. Being that it was New York, the next bar popped up right away. Mika had the driver pull over and let told him to wait here as he helped you out of the car. Chris asked if he should come in with you guys, which you thought was a bit strange, but thankfully Mika told him he’d be fine on his own.

The bar was a small, a real hole-the-wall type place. The guests didn’t look too savory, but they were all far into their drinks to notice you. Mika sat you down at the furthest end of the bar, away from everyone else. The bar tendered begrudgingly asked what you two wanted, though you didn’t blame him for the attitude. You guessed you met similar people in your lines of work, so you totally understood.

“Just a vodka soda with extra lime, please,” you told him.

“Have you a got a vodka preference?” Mika asked.

You let out a short laugh, “Whatever’s cheapest.”

Mika bit back a smile, turning back to the bartender, “Whiskey neat for me. Give us whatever the best stuff on your top shelf is.” He tossed down a hundred on the bar top. That changed the guy’s mood.

“Of course, sir,” he scooped up the bill and scurried off.

“You toss around hundreds like they’re single dollar bills,” you said.

Mika shrugged, “I like to be generous.”

“A generous man with a great job,” you replied as the bartender placed the drinks in front of you two.

Mika smirked as his lips touched the glass, as if you’d shared some inside joke. “You could say that.”

“So what is it then? What do you do?” you asked, sipping your drink. You knew you were supposed to think it was so much better because it was the fancy stuff but to you vodka was well... vodka.

“I’m in business,” he replied simply.

“Oh come on,” you rolled your eyes, “That’s like me just saying I dance.”

“Does the distinction really matter?” Mika asked.

“Yeah, because people might assume I’m a Rockette meanwhile I’m just a stripper in a shitty club,” you replied before taking another long sip. Okay maybe there was something to this fancy shit.

“But either way you are still a dancer, so the statement isn’t false. Why not let people believe what they want?” Mika replied.

You let out a groan, “You’re impossible. But you are good at that thing you’re doing.”

“What thing I’m doing?” Mikas asked laughing lightly.

“The whole dodging questions with other questions thing,” you replied taking a swig of your drink. You were almost done with it; it went down smooth despite the familiar burn.

“But not good enough for you not to notice,” Mika pointed out.

“Definitely not,” you shook your head, “Nothing gets past me.”

“We’ll see about that,” Mika mumbled into his glass.

“Will we?”

“Maybe,” Mika replied, “If you go out with me again.”

“So I have to go out with you to get answers?” you questioned.

“You don’t have to do anything,” Mika replied, “But if you want to get to know me more, a second date would be a good place to start. That’s typically how these things work.” He added the last part in with a teasing grin.

“Touché,” you replied, “I’ll go out with you again.” Not just because you wanted to know more about what he does, though that was a motivator, you were just so intrigued by him.

“Lucky me,” he smiled. With that you both finished up and Mika left another generous tip. As you walked out of the bar, his hand found your lower back. You could feel the warmth through your shirt; it spread through your body weakening you in the knees.

He settled next to you in the car, closer than he had before. You suddenly caught a whiff of his scent, an intoxicating mix of earthy-warmth with just the slightest hint of sweetness. You found yourself staring at his neck, wishing you could burry your face into it and drink in the scent as you kissed at his skin.

“Your number?” You shook yourself back to reality, realizing Mika had been speaking to you. The way he looked at you made you feel like he knew exactly what you were thinking.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, a blush rising to your cheeks as you took the phone from his hands. You tapped in your name and number before handing it back to him, resolving to not let yourself get so wrapped up in him like that. At least not while he was there to witness it.

“Well it was nice to finally meet you,” Mika said as the car came to a stop outside your apartment.

“Likewise,” you replied, hopping out. You turned around, allowing yourself one last look at him.

“I’ll be in touch about our date. Have a nice night y/n,” Mika replied.

“You too, Mika.”

You let out a long sigh as you made your way up to your place. You felt like you needed a drink more now than you did before that date. There was something about Mika that you couldn’t quite put your finger on that felt dangerous. Not that you ever felt unsafe with him, it was the opposite actually, but being with him felt like an adrenaline rush almost. Like you were doing something you weren't supposed to. Whatever it was, you knew there was more to this man than meets the eye. And you were determined to find out exactly what that was.

#fatal attraction #mika zibanejad imagine #mika zibanejad smut #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagines #new york rangers imagine #new york rangers smut #m zibanejad

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