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bibbityboppitybillyharvgrove · 1 year

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I Find Comfort in You- S.Wilson

Summary: Sam is away on a 2 month long mission where he can’t contact anyone, Y/N struggles without him and he struggles without her. Everything falls into place once they reunite.

Pairings: Sam x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Use of Y/N, mentions of Hydra, female!reader, Bucky is a mean grump, Sam being a sweetie, Y/N was a brainwashed assassin, nightmares/night terrors, making out, gets a little steamy at the end (if I missed any please let me know)

Author’s note: This is my first Sam fic, he deserves a lot more love. This is also the longest fic I have ever written. If you notice any mistakes please feel free to point them out, I edit my own fics, so there is a chance for mistakes or little plot holes here and there. If you have any suggestions feel free to leave them, my asks are open for any suggestions on my writing or any questions you may have.

My full Masterlist

The Avengers were a semi-normal group of people. Some were super soldiers, some were gods, some were experimented on, some were veterans, one turned into a green giant when angered, one was a guy who made himself a suit of iron, one was a robot, but one thing they all had in common was trauma, some more than others. Each of them had their fair share, whether it was from childhood, from the war, from being captured or from a mission gone wrong. There were quite a few people on the team that struggled with nightmares but they had a healthy means of coping with them. But there were also a few people on the team that still struggled with finding a healthy coping mechanism.

They were encouraged to talk to the rest of the team but they didn’t want to burden others with their problems. One of those people being Y/N, she was the one that had the hardest time trying to find a healthy coping mechanism. She usually would talk to Sam who was always willing to lend an ear and a shoulder to cry on, but he had left for a solo mission 2 months ago. She was always happy with him around, no matter how upset she was previously. Since Sam had left, she was struggling and sinking deeper into herself than she ever was. Steve was pushing her and Bucky into talking but neither of them relented.

The group all assumed that she was a little more reserved than usual because she was quickly approaching a year of freedom. Although she was free, she didn’t feel free, the longer that Sam was gone, the less she felt free. Hydra still had her in a chokehold, her nightmares flooding back, her brainwashed memories haunting her every single day.

Steve pushed Bucky to talk to her, telling him that Sam wasn’t here so she had nobody to talk to, nobody that she felt comfortable enough to share what was on her mind constantly. “Look Steve, I get that you’re trying to look out for her but she doesn’t know me and I don’t know her. She knows the Winter Soldier, that is all she will ever know,” Bucky snapped at Steve before leaving the gym. She passed by Bucky as she entered the gym, he slammed his vibranium shoulder into her. She glared at the back of his head before finding her way by Steve. She found his presence comforting but she couldn’t get herself to talk to him.

“You can talk to me, you know? I know I’m not Sam but it’s better if you talk to somebody. You’re quieter than usual.” Steve offered her.

“I’m fine but thank you anyway.” She replied with a smile, of course it was a fake smile but it seemed to relax the blond slightly. With that Steve walked away reluctantly. He knew that she wasn’t fine but he wasn’t going to force anything out of her.

She decided to just run on the treadmill for an hour before making her way to her bedroom. Once she walked in she was immediately overwhelmed. Her room was a disaster, all of the books that were on her bookshelf were scattered all over the room, her bed was unmade, she had dirty clothes all over the floor, her clean clothes piled on a chair in the corner of her room and the only mirror in her bedroom smashed to a million pieces. Instead of staying in her room, she grabbed something to keep her busy and made her way to Sam’s room. He always had his room organized and neat. It was a lot calmer than her room to say the least.

She had hesitated slightly before going in but remembered that Sam was more than okay with her being in his room. She entered the room, immediately getting enveloped with Sam’s comforting scent, and made her way to his bed. She lifted the blanket and got under the covers, snuggling into his warm, soft blankets. She had put on the show New Girl as background noise and pulled out the blanket she was crocheting, she needed to keep her hands busy and her mind stimulated. Crocheting was the one thing that she could do for hours with not a single thought in mind. Eventually she grew tired and dozed off in the middle of a row, her arms falling limp at her sides, her head lulling back onto the headboard. She made a mental note to tend to her room after a quick nap. The fact that Sam was set to return that day completely slipping her mind.

As she peacefully slept in his bed, Sam was finally returning from his 2 month long undercover mission. He couldn’t contact anyone on the team, only Fury, meaning he hadn’t been able to talk to Y/N in 2 months. He was worried about her and that worry only grew when he saw only Steve and Bucky on the roof to greet him. Bucky simply patted Sam on the back and then walked away, leaving just him and Steve.

“Where’s Y/N? Is she doing okay?” Sam asked, he had grown used to seeing her whenever he would return from missions so he was nervous when he hadn’t seen her.

“She hasn’t been doing well since you left,” Steve replied.

“Do you know where she is?”

“I saw her go into her room after working out.” With that, Sam walked off towards her bedroom, thinking that she might be there. Not only was he met with an empty room but a disaster splayed out in front of him. That’s when his worry spiked to an all time high, the last time she did this was when she first got to the compound. “Friday, where’s Y/N?” Sam asked the AI.

“She’s in your bedroom.” With his answer, he practically sprinted to his room, throwing open the door only to find her fast asleep in his bed, her latest crocheting project laying on her lap. He let out an audible sigh of relief when he saw her.

He decided to let her sleep and to get himself cleaned up. While he was in the shower, Y/N had woken up with a start, an old Hydra memory plaguing her mind. When she recognized her surroundings, she relaxed back into Sam’s bed. This time she laid herself down so her head was resting on the pillows, her crochet hook and yarn ball clattering against the hardwood as it fell. That’s when she heard the shower running and Sam’s humming. She perked up a bit, sitting up in the bed and anxiously waited for Sam to get out of the shower. 10 minutes had gone by, the shower finally turning off, then the bathroom door opened a minute later revealing a freshly showered Sam in just his boxers.

“Sammy!” He had turned away from his dresser towards her and opened his arms for a hug, knowing she needed one. She scrambled out of bed and ran straight into his open arms. Y/N was genuinely happy for the first time in two months. “I missed you so much, honey.”

“I missed you too, sugar. So much.” Sam was peppering light kisses wherever he could reach. He didn’t stop until he heard her giggling. He gently grabbed her face and made her look in his eyes, “Steve said you weren’t doing well, you wanna talk?” she knew he was concerned so she nodded.

“Can we cuddle while we talk?”

“Of course we can, let me just put on some clothes.”

Sam had quickly gotten dressed, throwing on a random pair of sweatpants and an Airforce t-shirt before getting into bed next to Y/N. The two of them laid on their sides, facing each other. They talked for literal hours, about anything and everything. She told him how her nightmares were worse than before, that she had a hard time sleeping a full night because of her memories of Hydra. She told him that she didn’t feel free anymore, that she felt like Hydra was still breathing down her neck. He had told her that he felt isolated and incredibly lonely on his mission. That he was physically hurting because he couldn’t contact her or anyone else on the team. He told her that his nightmares about Riley had come back, that he had a hard time sleeping on the bed in the safe house and resorted to the floor again.

They both helped each other through some intense emotions, validated each other’s emotions and feelings, laughed at each other’s jokes and then just enjoyed each other’s company. Sam’s large warm hand found its way to rest on her cheek, his thumb gently stroking her cheekbone, looking right in her eyes, nothing but admiration and adoration for her.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that? Do I have something on my face?” She asked with a nervous giggle.

“No, there’s nothing on your face. I was just admiring what was in front of me,” Sam said, “Can I not admire you?” Her face flushed, pushing her face into his chest.

“You are so annoying,” She whined.

“What? You’ve never admired me before?” He teased her. She lifted her head back up to look at his face again, her head slightly tilted.

“I’ve admired your ass,” She teased back. Sam started to hysterically laugh.

“Wow, I was not expecting that to come out of your mouth. Sugar, you dirty girl!”

“What? You have a nice ass! what do you call it again? The round brown?”

“And I’m the annoying one?” They joked and laughed for a bit longer before finally settling down and relaxing once more. “I’m serious though, I wanted to admire you. I missed you and your beautiful self, it was a long two months.”

She let out a hum of agreement, “I find comfort in you,” she admitted, ��So please stop me if I’m reading this situation wrong,” she whispered. He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. She leaned up, glancing at his lips then back in his eyes. The furrow in Sam’s brow softened, instead of her kissing him, Sam was the one that connected their lips. It was gentle, sleepy and slightly sloppy but neither of them cared. He slowly pulled away causing her to chase his lips. “Why’d you pull away?” She whined.

“I need air, sugar. If you want me to keep kissing you I need to be breathing,” Sam was breathless but he still managed to chuckle. He sat up in the bed, Y/N following him. He pulled her onto his lap, their chests touching, barely any distance between them. She pressed their lips together once again, this time the kiss was much more heated. Teeth clashing, tongues colliding, hands wandering and grabbing whatever they could. The two had their shirts pulled off within minutes, flinging them across the room. As Sam’s hands went for her bra, his door swung open, causing the two to yell out, Sam wrapping a blanket around her to cover her top half.

“Oh God, I am so sorry! I couldn’t find either of you so I came in here. I was not expecting that to happen,” Steve rambled, his face bright red, his hands over his eyes.

“What’s with all the yell-holy shit! Bird brain is getting some!” Tony laughed as he peaked over Steve’s shoulder.

“Oooh, who is it?! Is it that agent that was eyeing him last week?” Natasha’s voice sounded from the hall. Her head soon appeared in the doorway, her face bright red from the hysterical laughter that spilled from her lips. “Y/L/N? I called it months ago!”

“Get out! All of you, get out!” Sam shouted at all of them. “Friday, shut the door and lock it!” The AI did as she was told, the door slamming shut and the lock clicking.

“That was so embarrassing! Why didn’t you lock the door before?” She whined, hiding her face in his shoulder.

“I didn’t think this would happen. The woman of my dreams, half naked in my lap, willingly making out with me? Never expected that one, sugar,” Sam replied, humor laced in his voice.

“The man of my dreams, half naked under me, willingly making out with me? Never expected that one, honey,” She mocked. She slowly trailed kisses from his shoulder, up his neck, across his jaw and back to his lips.

“Now, where were we?” Sam asked against her lips.

“I don’t quite remember, maybe you can jog my memory?” She retorted, planting chaste kisses on his lips between every few words. His hands slid up from her waist to the band of her bra, finally unclasping it and pulling it off.

“It would be my pleasure.”

#sam wilson x reader #sam wilson x fem!reader #sam wilson x female!reader #sam wilson #the falcon x reader #the falcon #marvel #mcu #marvel cinematic universe #Steve Rogers #Bucky Barnes #soft!Sam #grumpy!bucky #bucky x reader #steve rogers x reader

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amrv-5 · 1 year

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sorry this is out of curiousity and you totally can not answer it but what is the long fic you’re writing about

ahh hello!! no problem I’m happy to answer (i love.... talking about writing....i will ALWAYS love talking about writing. it fills me with absolute joy to talk at length about themes ideas motifs etc in my writing. even if they’re just ‘what in god’s name were you thinking’ i will ALWAYS love questions!!)!

in general terms, the as-yet untitled Long Fic is just another post-war fic about Hawk and Beej trying to adjust back to life in the States on their own, and eventually finding their way back to each other again. extremely down-the-line, absolutely no supernatural twists, high realism. It’s only stupid long because I’m trying to give that the space it needs to feel real to me, and that amount of space is turning out to be: A Lot.

a broader series of themes & questions (so far lol) are below the cut for mild thematic spoilers, length, and (sorry) minimizing exposure to pretentiousness purposes:

So You Want to Know What the Long Fic is About: A Condensed Thematic Overview of 158K (For Now) of Straight-Up Realist Historical Fiction Where, No Joke, a Significant Portion of That Length is Dedicated Solely to Guys Thinkin’ Real Hard About Stuff, Guaranteed to Make You Say ‘Holy Fuck, I’m Sorry I Asked, Please Just Shut Up’ With Parker, Your Resident Guy Who is Normal About TV

1. Mis- and non-communication.

What happens when you go from sleeping three feet away from your best friend in the world to living so far away a letter takes two weeks on a round trip? How do your methods of understanding each other (and misunderstanding each other…) change? How does or can one maintain closeness when literal proximity is denied? How does somebody handle abandonment when the abandonment in question was unavoidable (i.e. nobody to blame--the death of a mother, maybe, or the end of a shared living situation)?

2. Justice, suffering, and recompense.

This is where the pretentiousness comes in, I know this makes me sound like an asshole I just care about American case law a lot and it infects all of my writing, etc. etc. Anyway. How do we approach ideas of suffering and justice when they fall outside the jurisdiction of an American view of legal culpability? How does one go about trying to seek justice when they are provably, demonstrably hurt, but there is nowhere to direct the blame? These questions are kind of slippery and weird, so I’ll try to frame it more directly: somebody in this story is going to struggle (as they always do in my work) with despair. It is a serious and life-long struggle. How does a person in that situation move beyond ideas like fairness, justice, and being owed relief, to accepting that ‘fairness’ doesn’t really exist in terms of things like personal neurochemistry? And how, then, does that acceptance hold itself in relation to larger forms of human injustice--how does somebody accept their own ‘unfair’ situation as a reality they must bear while continuing to maintain ideological opposition to injustices that can be changed?

3. Empathy and invisible strife.

A little bit of an overlap with the previous set of ideas, but this one flows out of one of my favorite poems in the world, “Musee des Beaux Arts” by Auden (check it out, if you haven’t read it!). The narrator states:

About suffering they were never wrong, The old Masters: how well they understood Its human position: how it takes place While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along;

And then, later:

In Breughel's Icarus, for instance: how everything turns away Quite leisurely from the disaster; the ploughman may Have heard the splash, the forsaken cry, But for him it was not an important failure; the sun shone As it had to on the white legs disappearing into the green Water, and the expensive delicate ship that must have seen Something amazing, a boy falling out of the sky, Had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly on.

I am compelled by how frequently awareness of strife is set aside in day to day life, especially in American life, and that comes through big time in the Long Fic.

At a psychological level, there’s a certain idea, I think, that it is very evident when people are doing badly; that you will always be able to tell; that the solution is as simple as reaching out, or asking for help. Unfortunately, that is often not the case. Somebody can be having the worst day of their life, be absolutely at the end of their rope, be seconds away from losing it completely, and five feet to the left there could be somebody else making a ham sandwich. So that comes through a lot in the work--this borderline absurdist, tragicomic idea that nobody’s ever really going to know exactly how you feel, and even if they did, they might be too busy doing the crossword to notice.

And at a less granular level, you can apply this (and will see it applied) to the American cultural response to the Korean War, which was incredibly muted. Even though millions of people died, even though the daily suffering of people, especially local civilians, involved was immense, because it was so (to an American domestic point of view) far-off, most people just went on with their lives. People celebrated birthdays, TV shows were produced, city council meetings dragged gaily on.

These things seem inevitable, and the ideas behind them kind of obvious: of course the world keeps turning when bad things happen. People just aren’t built to maintain ceaseless fear, anger, outrage, etc. at tragedy that is not directly affecting them, because they are concerned with the business of being alive. The people that do manage to maintain constant attention to large-scale but abstract or not immediately visible tragedies tend to go crazy, self-immolate, and/or quit their fancy math professorships at Berkeley in order to start direct mail marketing campaigns. Everybody else tends to feel bad about an issue, maybe they’ll see if they can do something small to help, and then they forget about it and keep managing the minutiae of their own lives. Yes, of course this or that issue is tragic--but I’ve got to do my taxes, or I’ve got to hit a deadline, or I’ve got to go to the store. The ploughman keeps working, too busy to investigate the splash. The ship sails on with somewhere to get to.

But then again, even if the logic is sound, from Icarus’s point of view the world has got to seem awfully cold and mean.

#fuck this got long #sorry! hope that explains vaguely what to expect!#and again to clarify: I LOVE QUASTION #never apologize for talking to me about writing i am a little literature freak and i WILL write you an essay about literally anything #in conclusion: it's going to be a weird one but I hope it connects to people #but if you don't have time to read like probably 200K #(and who could blame you)#just read that auden poem and it'll say everything i'm trying to say 10000x faster and better and more beautifully #meta #the long fic #The LitFic Cometh

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justcourttee · 3 years

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Hi I love your fics and maribat. Tall Girl (Netflix) reminds me a lot about Timari. So maybe to something with that. (With Mari thinking that Tim's confessions were all jokes and wanting Ardien who was roped into dating lila and it's the class making fun of mari.)

Oh goodness, this took ages and I both apologize and hope it's what you were looking for! 24 pages and over ten thousand words! For reference, that's 20% of my first multi-part Maribat piece!

Average

In a world where everyone is looking for extraordinary, how do you survive when you’re just average?

I’ve spent my whole life mulling over the thought, trying to find a way to be extraordinary, trying to find a way to be noticed, and constantly failing.

It wasn’t like it was from a lack of effort, I really did give my all to everything I tried, it was just, there was always someone better.

Specifically, one insufferable bitch named Lila Rossi.

Now I know what you’re thinking, ‘Marinette, it’s not fair to call Lila a bitch just because she was better than you,’ and if it were a normal rivalry, I could agree with you. But you simply don’t know Lila Rossi.

Lila has been a thorn in my side since we met on the soccer field at just ten years old. I accidentally bumped into her sending us both tumbling to the ground and she took that personally. Slapping my hand away, she bawled the worst fake tears I had seen in my ten short years until the coach benched me. Can you imagine the embarrassment of being benched in elementary school soccer?

Ever since that day, anytime we were placed together it always ended in disaster, especially for me.

Now, as much as I would love to on about how awful the sausage-haired brat is, I’m sure that’s not what you came here for. So let me break it down for you. If you are looking for your typical girl meets boy, they fall in love and live happily after, you should scroll now. It’s only fair to warn you. After all, I don’t want you to be disappointed when we reach the ending. I’ll give you a second.

Still here?

Well, hold on tight. Because the story I am about to tell you isn’t much to just anyone, but it’s everything to me and my average life.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

It all started on a Tuesday in August when he arrived.

Adrien Agreste.

“Class, I want you to welcome our exchange student, Adrien Agreste! He’s here all the way from Paris, France, and will be finishing the year with us. Adrien, why don’t you tell the class something about yourself?”

I couldn’t even focus on the words that escaped from his precious lips. His voice was so silky, like softened butter on one of Papa’s fresh muffins. Everything about him screamed perfect from his thoughtfully placed hair to his shining green eyes. He was simply-

“-Earth to Mari! You could at least try to hide your drool.”

My eyes snapped shut as I took a deep breath.

“Tim, I am not drooling. And you know I hate it when you whisper in my ear! It tickles!”

Tim rolled his eyes as he sat backward, his eyes narrowing to where Adrien stood in the front of the room, a pristine white smile earning giggles from every female in the class.

“I don’t like him. Something seems off about him. He’s too-too-”

“Perfect?” I chuckled to myself as the heat rose to Tim’s cheeks, his eyebrows settling into their usual aggravated pose. “I don’t know what has your panties in such a twist Wayne, but shouldn’t we try to get to know him first? I think he seems nice.”

Tim huffed under his breath, his cheeks filling with air. It was hard for me to contain my giggles as he mumbled to himself, his pout deepening.

Tim Drake-Wayne. He is my absolute, undeniable, unshakeable best friend. We met back when my parents decided to drag me halfway across the world for a change of pace. I was in the fifth grade when a young irritable boy with a coffee addiction wandered into the bakery alone, demanding a double shot of espresso to deal with the day.

After several visits, we became closer and closer until we were inseparable. Tim’s been through a lot. He was emotionally abused by his parents, forced to mature too quickly. We had just entered the eighth grade when those same parents died and he was adopted by the town’s billionaire, Bruce Wayne. I was sure I would never see him again, but after much convincing (bugging), Bruce decided public school was best for Tim so that he wouldn’t be isolated again.

I adore Tim with my whole heart, really, but there is one thing he does that I absolutely despise.

“After school today, let me take you to the new coffee shop that just opened! It’ll be just like a date.” His wink only strengthened my urge to knock him flat.

“First of all, quit joking about my lack of a love life. I don’t need a pity date from you. Second, how do you switch so easily from grueling to jokes? Don’t you get whiplash or something?”

It’s a daily occurrence. I mention someone I like or that someone is cute and immediately Tim jokes about how it would just be easier if I dated him instead. It’s the only thing he does that has ever truly gotten on my nerves.

My gaze returned to the front of the classroom where Adrien had settled into his new seat. Even the back of his head had every hair perfectly placed. How did he even begin to manage that? I wasn’t sure how long I had stared, but before I knew it the bell had sounded and I was whisked away by Tim before I could even say hi.

The same pattern repeated itself every day for weeks.

Every time I would work up the courage to say something to him, Tim drug me away as fast as he could manage. Although, I can’t place the entire blame on Tim. There was one other factor, one factor worse than Tim.

Lila Rossi.

As student body president, she vowed that it was her duty to show Adrien around the school and around town. I spent every night scrolling through dozens of snapchats and instagram stories filled with her hanging off of his arm.

Even if I could escape Tim’s grasps, there was no way she would let me get in a ten-foot radius of him.

At least, that was what I thought. There was one time during the day that Adrien had a moment to himself. Fifth period when the music room was abandoned and most took off for their internships or club activities.

I discovered him by accident, truly. My club had let out early for the day and while most people would take off to head home or to one of Gotham’s more popular afternoon hangouts, I wanted to wait for Tim.

It was never my plan to corner him, but as I flung open the music room’s door without a second thought, my eyes met startled green and my heart dropped to my stomach.

“I’m so sorry! Usually, the music room is empty right now and I thought I could find some peace, and I didn’t know you were in here and oh my god I’m such a dork.”

I slapped my hand over my mouth before I could spiral any further, his widening eyes sending my heart deeper. This was it. I finally had a chance to introduce myself and I wasted it. If there was any way I could just slink away, crawl into a six-foot hole, and simply wither away in misery, I would take it without hesitation.

“I’m so sorry, I’ll just head out no-” I could feel the heat rising to my face as the most precious sound I ever had the pleasure of experiencing erupted from him. His laugh could literally cure cancer, I was sure of it.

“No, no, you’re fine! Marinette, right?” He knew my name? Adrien Agreste, the most perfect man in the world, no, in the universe, knew who I was?

I could barely find the strength to nod, the heat in my cheeks becoming unbearable. He offered a sheepish smile, rubbing the back of his neck in such a gentle and shy manner. It was too effective. There was no way I wasn’t going to pass out before Tim got out of his AV club.

“I’m sorry, I also didn’t realize that anyone used this room besides me. I’ve spent the past few weeks in here while everyone was in their clubs.”

“You didn’t want to join anything?” Was my voice always this high? I couldn’t remember. To be honest, I was still in a daze from his precious laugh.

“It wasn’t that! It’s just, there’s nothing here that really interests me. I prefer classical things, like the piano and musicals and French theater. Nothing that interests normal kids our age.”

French theater? I knew some from the days I spent with my Grandfather in Paris. He was a sucker for classical things as well.

“I don’t think that those are weird interests. I mean, I prefer to design as my hobby, but I’ve spent quite a few hours watching French musicals with my papy. I am very knowledgable if I do say so myself.”

Adrien’s smile was blinding as he slid over on the piano bench, offering the spot beside him. My heart had finally returned to normal, but just one small motion had sent it into a flurry as it desperately tried to escape my chest.

“Let’s make a bet Marinette.” I found myself nodding before he even finished his sentence, his infectious smile starting to pull a smile of my own. “If you can guess the song and musical, you can ask for anything you want from me.”

“And if I get it wrong?” I was so sure the air was thinner beside him, the glint in his eyes drawing my breath away.

“Then I can ask you for anything I want, deal?” I hesitated for a moment, unable to comprehend that he would even want anything from me to begin with, but seconds later my head began to move, my breathing scarce.

I closed my eyes as his fingers hit the first notes, a beautiful melody following. The song was so familiar, so simple, but it was so hard to focus with him so close by. All too soon, the echoes of the final note rang through the room until a deafening silence settled atop of it.

“So, any guesses?”

I rolled my bottom lip between my teeth, a name settling in the forefront of my mind.

“It’s definitely Sur Deux Notes, but for some reason, I can’t remember the musical”

My eyes flickered open as I resisted the urge to jolt backward. His face was mere centimeters away, everything about him urging me to lean forward, to give in.

“A true tragedy Miss Marinette,” a finger popped up to bop my nose before he slid off the bench, offering his hand to help me stand. “You got it half right! It’s from the musical Les Chansons d'Amour. Which means-”

His pauce was dramatic as I stood, his grip on my hand loose.

“I win! Therefore, I get to ask you for anything correct? That was the deal?” His smirk was so playful, it almost felt dangerous. “So, Ma Dame, what are your plans this weekend?”

“Nothing!” That was definitely too quick, do I look desperate? Honestly, if it meant staring at that smile for a second more, I found myself caring less and less.

“Then, how about I help you refresh your musical knowledge? I believe I can get ahold of a copy of the original Les Chansons d’Amour by Saturday.”

This was a date, right? I wasn’t dreaming, the red throbbing spot on my arm pretty much guaranteed it. Somewhere along the line, I must have nodded, and as he gently released my hand turning to grab his bag, all the warmth left with him. Already, I found myself longing for his touch again.

“I hate to ask, but can you meet me at Wayne Manor? I’m sure Mounseir Bruce would allow me to borrow a car, but I am not quite comfortable asking him for something like that.”

��Sure-” I felt the gears turning in my head until the final one clicked into place. “I’m sorry, did you say Wayne Manor? As in Bruce Thomas Wayne? Gotham’s Favorite Billionaire?”

“Ah yes,” his hand moved to the back of his neck, a sheepish smile replacing his confident one from moments before. “It’s a bit embarrassing, but he was the only one my father would let me stay with. I couldn’t even apply for housing because he already had it set up. Does that make you feel awkward?”

“Oh no, of course not! I’m well acquainted with the Waynes! In fact, there is one that I forgot I was supposed to meet today. Can I give you my number really quick?”

As I handed him his phone and we bid goodbye, I couldn’t even begin to relish in the high I was feeling. No. The only thing I could focus on was how to murder one little Wayne boy.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“Marinette, c’mon! It’s not that serious. So what if I didn’t tell you that Adrien was staying here?”

I tapped my pencil against my forehead, trying to ignore the pestering fly beside me.

The minute I had stepped out of the music room a couple of days before, I encountered two of the biggest thorns in my life. Tim paling at the sight of my rage and one insufferable bitch wearing the ugliest scowl. He ran from me then, he ignored my texts and calls, and I’m assuming once Adrien mentioned our date to Bruce, he decided there was no more avoiding it.

“Besides, he sounds pretty cheap if he’s making you meet him at Bruce’s house. Watching musicals? Like with your grandfather? Is he ancient or something?”

I gritted my teeth, trying to maintain the silence. There were so many things I wanted to say to him at the moment, but seeing him squirm was the best revenge. Tim loved silence unless it was purposely directed at him. His brothers taught me that years ago.

The bell sounded through the room and I quickly darted out before he could attempt another backhanded apology.

These were the days that I missed my Paris friends. Besides Tim, I was utterly alone. I mean, I technically could hang out with Tim’s siblings, but then I’d still have to see him. There was one person that lived outside the Wayne household, yet I wasn’t sure if I was ready to cross that line yet.

I walked home alone again.

Realistically speaking, I needed to at least work up the patience to face him before Saturday. It was almost a guarantee that he would be there. It wasn’t like he would go out on the weekends. But with only two days just seemed too soon.

I had barely walked into the bakery when my mother excitedly waved me down the landline in hand.

“Marinette! A boy from your school is on the line!”

I raised an eyebrow as I accepted the phone, waving her off. There was only one boy that knew the landline number and that was Tim, but if he were on the phone, she would’ve said so.

“Hello?”

The silence was deafening. For a moment, I was sure they had hung up and was about to follow suit when a soft voice sent chills down my spine.

“Marinette? It’s Adrien. I hope I’m not bothering you.”

My breath caught in my throat. Did he ask Tim for my number? But he has my cell? It didn’t matter how he got it or why he was using it, I just needed to respond.

“No-” I cleared my throat trying to find my real voice because it certainly wasn’t how I just spoke. “No, it’s not a bother at all.”

“Great, so, I heard from Lila that there was a homecoming dance coming up. I haven’t been to one before, but I was wondering if I could go with you?”

“Of course I would love-” My heart sank before I could finish my sentence. Laughter cut me off, two distinct laughs that I could pick out from anywhere. “Don’t you ever get tired Lila!”

“Oh my god, you were so excited huh? Pretty pathetic that you think he would fall for you after one conversation Mari dear.”

I didn’t even know how to respond. She wasn’t wrong. We shared one song and haven’t even gone on one date yet, why would I even believe this for one moment?

“Yo Mari, what’s good xinh đẹp?” I felt my hand rising to massage my temples before I could even find the strength to respond.

“Kim, were you trying to call her beautiful, or do you just suck that much at your grandmother’s native language?”

Muffled arguing continued for a few minutes, a few too many for me to question why I still hadn’t hung up. There was a concerning shriek before silence followed.

“I’m surprised you’re still here dumbinette, do you like being degraded by me?” Her laughter sounded like nails on a chalkboard and I could feel the tightness in my chest rising to my throat. “I just wanted to call to make one thing clear. Stay away from Adrien Agreste. I set my sights on him the minute he walked through those doors back in August and I don’t want you to think for even a second in that pitiful brain of yours that you even have a chance, okay?”

I wanted to argue, I wanted to rub it in her face that I had a date this Saturday, one I didn’t have to force upon him like she had the past few weeks. But the tightness had settled, crushing my windpipes. My hand inched down from my temple to my eyes where they were met with a warm wet tear.

“Mmkay, that was all babe! See you at school, hugs and kisses! Mwah!”

The phone stayed pressed to my ear for too long, the dial tone mocking my existence.

It was just two more days till my date, but I felt less confident as the days passed. A single thought passed through my mind, but I quickly dismissed it. No matter how I felt, I couldn’t cave in and call Tim. Yeah, that’s right, I was still mad at him. But was I really?

I was so sure that I was pissed beyond belief when I had to hear from Adrien that he was staying with him, but that wasn’t something that was completely out of my mind. Tim had done worse things than withhold information about someone I thought was cute.

Slowly, I lowered the phone, my fingers absentmindedly dialing his number, pausing as my finger lingered over call.

No, not tonight. I cleared out the screen before dropping it on the bakery counter, waving off my mother’s concerned look. Nobody could ruin the fact that I had a date on Saturday. Not even my own self-destructive tendencies. Adrien asked me out. He asked me out. That was a fact and no matter what Lila or Tim thought or did, it couldn’t shake that undeniable fact.

There were two days. Plenty of enough time to finish the dress I had been fiddling with the past two weeks. I will show up to this date with my head held high and my hopes higher

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“Oh! Marinette what a fun surprise! You look beautiful!”

I inhaled sharply, ignoring the urge to smack the grin right off of Tim’s face.

“Timothy. Is Adrien home?” His smile faltered for a moment as he stepped out of the way, inviting me inside.

“Is this your new project? You were working on it for so long. It looks stunning!” He stumbled over his meaningless compliments as he led me to the entertainment room, my silence too much for him to bear.

“You don’t have to escort me, Timothy. I have been here a million and one times.”

I reached past Tim to open the doors, ignoring the fact that he refused to move. There was a strong temptation to just slam the door a little harder so that it would reach his nose, but a set of startling green eyes eased the feeling.

“Marinette! Oh mon Dieu, Tim was supposed to let me know when the doorbell rang so that I could greet you. I’m so sorry, I swear I really am a proper gentleman.”

“It’s okay Adrien! Really! I should’ve texted you that I arrived. I’m just so used to letting myself in.”

His smile was full of relief as it sent my heart into a flurry. Was it really possible to sit close to this man without combusting?

“Please, join me! I just figured out how to set everything up.”

Adrien motioned to the seat beside him and as I slid into the couch, I was fully aware of his arm resting behind my head. It felt nearly impossible to focus on the movie in this position. As he pressed play, my eyes glanced between him and the screen, unsure which was more deserving of my attention.

“So my friends, what are we watching?” Adrien’s arm flinched, his elbow knocking the back of my head as we both jumped from the couch.

“Tim, what are you doing here? I thought you weren’t a fan of French musicals?”

Adrien was putting it nicely, something I could admire him for since my thoughts were definitely straying to a much more violent response. Tim took a handful of popcorn, shoving it into his mouth as he slipped into the spot I had been sitting moments before.

“I usually don’t, but I figured I should get to know you both a little better and your culture of course. Don’t mind me, you won’t hear another peep.” He mockingly zipped his lips closed, his sickeningly sweet smile not quite reaching his devilish eyes.

Adrien glanced at me as if he were unsure to argue or not. I suppose he decided it wasn’t quite was worth it as he moved to sit back down, his smile shaky.

With as much might as I could muster, I shimmied in between the two guys, putting as much distance between Tim and me as I could. I felt his glare burning holes into the side of my head, but there was no way I was going to let him ruin my perfect first date with the perfect guy.

Adrien restarted the movie and for exactly five minutes, Tim kept his promise.

“Can we at least turn on the subtitles? My french is a little rusty.”

I gritted my teeth as Adrien nodded, the screen changing to fit in the white words.

“God that’s tiny, is there any way to make them larger?”

“Uhm, I’m not very sure? It took a while to figure out the controls.” A fist shot past my face, spreading in wait. Adrien looked wary as he placed the remote into Tim’s outstretched hand.

“This should do.” What was once manageable small words were now purple and taking up a third of the screen. I could feel Adrien tense up beside me, but he refused to argue.

We continued on like this for the duration of the movie. Tim would find something new to complain about making our date feel less and less romantic and more like amicable divorcees taking their child out.

“Wow, what a beautiful movie!” Tim dabbed at nonexistent tears, his smile irritating me half to death. “What’s next guys?”

“I, uhm, actually have to head back. After all, I told Maman I wouldn’t be out late.”

“Let me walk you home!” The silence was deafening as both boys traded glances with one another, daring the other to speak again.

“Enough Tim! This was my date tonight with Adrien, not you! Quit acting like some jealous boyfriend!” Both sets of eyes turned toward me, one set glowing, the other dull.

Tim closed his slack jaw before he gathered his trash, mumbling under his breath as he left.

I took a minute, watching the door to ensure he wouldn’t turn back with some dumb retort like he always did, but instead, it remained shut. I felt a gentle touch on my shoulder, urging me forward.

“I’ll walk you home Marinette.” I managed a nod as I let Adrien lead me out of the room and out of the manor.

We walked in silence for a while, his gentle touch both calming and warm in the cool October air.

“Marinette, I’m sorry. That wasn’t exactly how I planned for our first date to go. I’m not sure what was up with Tim.”

My laugh was curt as I slowed my pace, the bakery coming into view far too quickly.

“Tim is just lonely. I know that, yet I’ve been ignoring him some time for petty reasons. He just,” I paused, steps away from the windows to avoid any unwanted audiences, “he just can take the jokes too far sometimes and I can’t handle that.”

Adrien nodded as if he sort of understood what I meant, his eyes glancing to the building beside us.

“Is this your house? Do you live above the bakery?”

“Uh, yeah. There’s an apartment above with a side entrance. So I suppose, this would be my stop.” His chuckle echoed as he moved his hand from my back to brushing against my own hanging hand.

“Well, it certainly wasn’t how I imagined it would go, but can I at least end it how I planned?”

My heart was certainly ready to burst as he gently turned me until our noses were mere centimeters apart. He seemed to be waiting, his lips parted ever so slightly. This was my chance, and yet I was too mesmerized by how close he was. Could I at least nod?

Perhaps I did. The confirmation he waited for set him in motion as he closed to the slight distance between us. His lips were warm and soft and I felt as if I could melt into the sidewalk, as happy as could be.

It almost felt life ending when he finally pulled back, his smile sending my head spinning.

“I’ll see you Monday, Marinette. Goodnight.” He lifted my hand, placing a small peck against my knuckles before releasing it, turning to leave me dumbfounded in front of my own house. My eyes trailed after him, only allowing me to step toward my own home once he was just out of sight.

There was literally nothing that could ruin the high that I was on during that very moment. If only I had known what was waiting for me as I turned the knob.

“Welcome home hunny! Look who decided to stop by to see you!”

The color drained from my face as the snarky smile set off every alarm in my mind.

“Long time, no see Dupain-Cheng. I thought the first thing you would do when I got here was come and see me, but I guess that was too much to hope for now wasn’t it.”

“Chloe, you know you’ve been busy, so why are you acting like it’s all my fault?”

Her heavy, dramatic sigh reminded me exactly why I hadn’t reached out. Chloe is one my best friends besides Tim, but she can be a bit much sometimes. Imagine being so average that even when you stand next to a pillar, you make the pillar look more outstanding. Got that picture? Now imagine little old average me standing next to a three times Miss Junior World Wide pageant winner.

See? A bit much for my mental health to hang out in public with her.

“C’mon now, you know that’s not the only thing stopping you from calling. Your mother told me you had a date tonight. You finally give that Wayne boy a chance?”

I rolled my eyes as I slid into the chair across from her, the weight of the night finally hitting.

“You and I both know he’s just messing with me, mocking me if you will.” Chloe shared a look with my mother, both sighing. I knew what they were thinking, but they didn’t know Tim. He was always like that, always will be. “Besides, there was a transfer student. From Paris to be exact.”

I knew I had captured her attention as she leaned forward, her fingers intertwining before resting on the table.

“Maybe you know him. From what I gathered, he and his family are Paris elites. Adrien Agreste-”

“Mhmm, girl, drop him now.”

I paused as I waited to see if she would elaborate, but instead, she just sat back in her chair as if already bored with the conversation.

“Why should I? He’s so handsome and so sweet and we both share similarities. He’s so perfect Chloe.”

“Yeah, no.” She glanced over her pristine nails as if looking for a crack in the polish to punish. “He is a daddy’s boy and you are not his father’s type. His father will insist he marry someone that would be good for business and I’m sorry but you’re not that Marinette.”

“Marriage?” I could feel myself burning red at the implication. “We only went on one date, Chloe!”

“And it should stay that way. Trust me, he and his family are nothing but trouble for you. You should ask out Tim instead.”

“Are you done?” Chloe sighed before nodding, letting her hand fall to hit the table with an exaggerated smack. “I know that he is out of my league. Trust me, for someone so perfect like him, he needs perfect to match. In fact, I was planning on calling you soon anyway, but since you’re here..”

I trailed off, waiting for her to draw her own conclusion.

“Marinette, nobody is perfect. Stop putting him on a pedestal before you hurt yourself.”

If I weren’t mistaken, I would almost think she was concerned for me, but that just wasn’t Chloe’s style.

“So can you do it or not?”

Her sigh was long and drawn out, ending in a slight nod.

“Let’s get to it. We have a lot of work to do before Monday rolls around.”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

You know, I had always wondered how Lila felt walking into school every day knowing that every set of eyes was pinned to her.

Now I knew.

It was revolting. How could she walk so confidently knowing that everyone was gaping at her, certainly waiting for her to mess up? At least, that’s how it felt as people didn’t even bother to hide their broken necks as I whisked past them.

It would be a lie if I didn’t disclose that I practically dove into the safety of my homeroom before I fell into a full-blown panic attack.

“Marinette?” I stiffened as I peaked up at the boy standing in front of my desk. It had been two whole days and Tim hadn’t even messaged me, yet here he was, his mouth hanging as low as everyone else’s. “Are you wearing make-up?”

I nodded as he slipped into his usual seat, his expression shifting from surprise to one of suspicion.

“This has Chloe’s handiwork all over it. Did she stop your house or something this morning?”

“She’s staying for the next couple of weeks to avoid that shady hotel on fifth that her mom booked for her.”

Tim nodded with understanding, but not another word was spoken. It almost felt like a dagger to my heart. Where was the Tim I knew with the backhanded compliments and joke dates? Surely if a makeover couldn’t get a reaction from him, what was I expecting from Adrien?

I let out a sigh as I fell forward, my forehead resting on the cool desk. Where was Adrien anyways? He was always ten minutes early for every class. This was so unlike him.

“Oh my god! There you are Mariboo!” A shiver traveled down my spine jolting me up in my seat. There was only one person with an annoying shrill in their voice that could outmatch Chloe’s.

“Lila? You’re not even in this class. What do you want?”

Her laugh felt like listening to a cat using the blackboard as its new scratching post. I couldn’t help but flinch as she placed a perfectly manicured hand on my shoulder.

“You’re so mean Mariboo! I was coming to make sure that we were still on for lunch today! Adrikins had a photoshoot this morning but he wanted to invite all of us to eat with him on his break!”

Her enthusiasm was sickening.

“But Lila, you don’t like me-”

“Don’t like you? Babe! What is with you today? If my boyfriend asks me to bring you to lunch then that’s all I need to confirm our sisterhood.” Boyfriend. Boyfriend. I couldn’t be bothered to hide my shock as Lila’s fake smile shifted to show her more sinister and true smirk. “Yeah, Boyfriend. We went to dinner last night and he asked me there! So romantic huh? Anyways, I trust I’ll see you later then huh? Okay then! Hugs and Kisses, byee!!”

My eyes narrowed as they shifted to where Tim sat beside me, feigning ignorant to the interaction. Was this his retaliation for what I had blurted out on Saturday? I only called it how I saw it and it was Tim’s fault for pushing me that far! He was being childish at this point.

“Do you think she’s lying about Adrien asking her out?” The silence was deafening as Tim slowly lowered his forehead to the desk, his eyes shut tightly as if trying to imagine he was anywhere else than right beside me. Regardless, I tried to continue. “It has to be a lie, right? I mean Adrien said he liked me, not her! We even kissed.”

Tim’s body stiffened beside me. Of course, that would get a rise out of him, he was always overprotective about those kinds of things. Alas, my excitement was dulled as he returned to his relaxed state once more, his silence continued.

Whatever. I don’t need Tim. I can figure this out for myself. All I had to do was wait till lunch.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“Oh my! You actually came! How exciting.” Lila’s smile was dripping with false elation, a hint of thrill dancing in her eyes as if she couldn’t wait for the drama to unfold in front of her. “Aidrikins, look who it is!”

Adrien wouldn’t even meet my eyes, his arm dangling lifelessly from Lila’s shoulders. If I had to guess, he wanted to be anywhere else at that moment. The thought leaked its way into a small smile.

“Why don’t you take a seat Mariboo? I have someone who wanted to talk to you. Someone who loved your little-” she paused, her nose scrunching up as she searched for the right word,”-transformation?”

I didn’t even have time to question her before I was thrown off balance, an arm forcing me into the chair at the table.

“‘Sup girl? You’re looking fine today.” Instant dread flooded my soul as I was squeezed into a damp t-shirt that I could only assume was sweat-drenched. “You don’t mind if I slide in beside you eh?”

“Kim-Get. Your. Arm. Off. Me. Now.”

“Woah, woah, c’mon little lady. Don’t be like that! You know I’ve always had a soft spot for you Marinette.”

Lila’s smile was infuriating as she watched as Kim pushed me into the open seat, his arm heavy on my shoulders.

“What is the meaning of this Lila?” Her eyes feigned innocence as she cocked her head to the side, her fingers tapping the table.

“Whatever do you mean Marinette? I’m just trying to help you get over your heart break now that Adrikins has chosen me to be his girlfriend. You know the old saying; ‘the best way to get over one is to get under another’.”

I could barely stand to let her finish before I pushed Kim away, taking off ducking so that he couldn’t reach out again. Why did I think for even a second that this would turn out okay? Did I expect Adrien to wrap me up in his warm arms and tell me she was just a joke? How stupid of me.

“Marinette?” I slowed down long enough to catch Tim’s worried gaze, the strength in my legs finally giving out as I slumped to the ground. “Marinette! What happened?”

I tried to speak, but I couldn’t seem to find my voice. I reached up absentmindely to where the warmth in my cheeks sat, recoiling at the dampness I found. Had I started crying? When did that happen?

“Here, take this.” I didn’t even bother to look up as the weight of Tim’s jacket slipped over my shoulders. He gently helped me to my feet, pulling me toward the door that led to the courtyard, a bench in view. “Can you make it to our spot?”

My voice still seemed to fail me, a nod was all I could manage. It was enough for Tim who seemed to understand. The moment the back of my knees hit the cool wood, I buckled. Tim crouched in front of me, reaching out hesitantly to brush some of the leftover tears lingering on my cheek.

“Is this because of Adrien?” The air left my lungs, my body going rigid. “This is what I was worried about Mari. He seems perfect, but the jerk was torn between you or popularity. Anyone who can’t see the right choice there isn’t deserving of you.”

“Torn between me and popularity?” My voice was hoarse, it sounded unfamiliar.

“Yeah. He had the audacity to ask for my advice as to whether or not it was worth it to date you or have friends. Can you believe that? As if Lila’s little group will still want him after his newness has worn off.”

“And what did you tell him?” Tim stiffened as he shifted his eyes away from mine. “Tim, what was your advice to him?”

“He told me to drop you because you only saw your old life in me and that you weren’t as invested in this as I was.” My body felt as stiff as Tim’s looked as we both glanced to where he stood, breathless and red, his own eyes tinging pink as if he were holding back tears himself.

“Stop.” Tim’s voice was a whisper, his hand retracting from where it had been resting on my cheek. Adrien took a step forward, holding his head higher as he looked down on the two of us.

“He told me that you always had short-lived crushes and that you longed for your old life often. So much so that when I showed up, you were more fascinated by what I could offer over who I was.”

“That’s not what I said-”

“It’s exactly what you told me! So imagine my surprise when she showed up at lunch today looking like I had pulled the rug out from under her feet. Marinette, this isn’t what I meant to happen. I like you, alot. And if you like me too, I’d want to give this a shot, truly.”

My brain felt as if it were short-circuiting. Tim had done many things in the past to thwart my crushes but he’d never put me in a situation that would hurt me. Never. Yet, when my eyes met Adrien’s, something sincere stirred, pulling at my heart.

“Tim?” His eyes shifted to mine, tears brimming at the edge threatening to spill at any moment. Was this really the face of a selfish man sabotaging me? “I want to hear it from you, Tim. What was your advice to Adrien?”

“Marinette, I already told you-” Adrien fell silent at the sight of my palm, urging him to stop. It wasn’t a lack of trust in him, it was the fact that I felt too much trust for Tim. I just knew he couldn’t, he wouldn’t, he-

“That’s more or less what I told him,” he was barely audible but I heard every word clearly as they pierced my chest. “But Marinette, I couldn’t watch him string you along anymore. You don’t know the conversations he has at night with Lila, you don’t know-”

I couldn’t imagine the face I was making right now. I couldn’t even begin to fathom a face to make in the first place. Nothing out of Tim’s mouth was making sense. Adrien was telling the truth? Tim really said that about me?

“Marinette, please listen-” my hand moved before I could think, smacking Tim’s as it attempted to rest itself back on my cheek.

“Tim.” He seemed to understand as he stood, taking a step back from where I sat. “Tim, just,-I-”

I didn’t even know what to say. Why did it hurt so bad? What was this gut-wrenching feeling? It wasn’t like this was the first time Tim had sabotaged a crush. But wasn’t it the first that he had gone this far? The first he had said such awful things to me? Right?

“I think you should leave Wayne.” There was a tense moment where the air stood still and the two boys in front of me stared each other down, daring the other to speak again. It was Tim who would inevitably give in, stepping back toward the school building without a glance back. And for some reason, that hurt most of all.

His face, what face was he making right now as he walked away? It’s the only thing I can think about, it’s monopolizing my thoughts. Tim, Tim, Tim-

“Hey, hey, don’t cry. It’s okay.” Adrien pulled me forward until I was pressed into his chest, the dampness of my cheeks finally hitting. When did the tears start? Why did they start? “Marinette, I don’t know what Tim has said about me, but I really do have feelings for you. I never once faltered when it came to that. Is there any way you could give me a second chance?”

His heart was pounding. Was he nervous? I could hear the words coming out of his mouth, but I couldn’t process the meaning behind them. Was he asking me out?

“A second chance? Aren’t you dating Lila?”

“I am, but I’m not. I-I don’t care for her as I do you. It was just that Tim told me you weren’t interested and she has been asking me for weeks now. I’m sorry. I know this doesn’t look good on my part, but I swear Marinette. If you tell me right now that you will accept my request, then I’ll leave her. It’s you that I want Marinette. So what do you say?”

“I-I don’t know what to say. I mean, Adrien it was one date. Are you sure you want to throw away your relationship on one date?”

Adrien pulled back, his eyes shining as elegantly as the first time I saw them.

“I’m sure Marinette. I would be willing to bet anything on you.” Hesitantly, he reached forward, wiping the tear stains from my face, his hand remaining on my cheek. “May I?”

I couldn’t process just what he was asking, my mind still boggled with thoughts of Tim retreating. I could feel my face being pulled forward ever so slowly, his nose nearly tickling my own. Was this okay? Was it okay to allow him to steal yet another kiss? Was Tim right? Did I truly care about Adrien or was he just another crush? He paused, his lips mere centimeters from mine.

“Is this okay Marinette?”

No, Tim was wrong. Adrien was wonderful and caring and I actually liked him. This was something I decided for myself regardless of Tim’s opinions. It was my turn to close the distance between us. His lips were soft and delicate, almost hesitant as he returned the kiss. As he pulled away, my head felt dazed. It was different from the melting sensation I had felt before. This one was gentle, like a promise sealed between the two of us. It was comforting.

"Come with me Saturday,” my voice felt foreign as it slipped out of my mouth, unsure of where this surge of courage came from. “My friend has a fashion show and while it’s not the most exciting thing in the world, I’m sure it would be much better with you there.”

“If it’s with you, I’m sure it will be a blast. I’d love to come, Marinette.”

There was a pause as I registered his words in my head.

“So, like a date..right?”

Adrien’s laugh bellowed through the courtyard as he stood, offering his hand to help me stand as well.

“Exactly like a date.” He pulled my hand forward until his lips brushed over my knuckles, his warmth lingering even after he released his grip. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I need to take care of a certain someone before I can officially call you mine.”

Adrien offered a small wave before turning to jog back inside.

I remained standing, my eyes following his retreating figure. He left through the same door that Tim had, reminding me once again, that I also had someone I should take care of. But was that the case? Tim never explained himself, just upped and left after Adrien suggested he should.

It wasn’t that I couldn’t trust Adrien and what he said, it just felt wrong to watch Tim leave me, to leave my side without a word.

Maybe we both just needed some space. After all, I had no idea what I would do, what I would say if I saw him right now. I would just wait until after Saturday, after my date, after a perfect night out.

Yeah, that would be the best time.

I reached into my pocket, my fingers already dialing before my phone was even in view.

“What do you want Dupain-Cheng? Aren’t you still in class?”

“Well, hello to you too Chloe. I’m doing fine thanks for asking.” There was a deep sigh that resonated through my phone as if she was deciding if I were worth her time. Supposing I was, she clicked her tongue waiting for me to continue. “Adrien agreed to come with me to that show you’re walking in on Saturday.”

“And why would he do that?”

“I would like to assume it’s because he likes me and wants to spend time with me, but that’s just a guess. Who knows for sure?”

Chloe tsked and the line went dead before I could even say another word. I couldn’t help the smile that tugged at my lips. At least the one thing I could count on was for Chloe to remain constant.

Never mind anything else that occurred, the only thing I had to concentrate on was my date. Forget Tim, forget Lila. I had a perfect date on Saturday and that was the only thing that mattered.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“So, enjoying your backstage luxury? Honestly, you’re drooling as if you haven’t eaten in days looking at all these up-and-coming designers.”

I unconsciously wiped the drool that had seeped at the corner of my mouth as I turned in circles taking in the landscape. It wasn’t much. A bunch of thrown-together counter space and curtain dividers, but the hope and exhaustion on everyone’s face as their hard work finally came to light was what made it so fascinating for me..

“I can’t help it, Chloe. I know I told Adrien that it wouldn’t be that exciting, but to be honest, it’s so gratifying watching them. Maybe I’ll take my hobby seriously and find myself here one day. You’ll wear my designs, right Chloe?”

“Mm, you’ll have to prove to me that your designs are worth my time.” She stuck out her tongue, her eyes taunting me to retaliate. “Besides, I know this is all just a deflection Dupain-Cheng. You’re avoiding the original question I asked when you first got here.”

My body stiffened slightly as I shifted my gaze to a nearby model having their make-up fixed. Anywhere but Chloe was a good place to look seeing as the burning sensation in my skull indicated that she was most likely throwing her killer glare in my direction.

“I told you, Chloe, he said he would meet me here and he just hasn’t texted me yet.”

“That sounds like a load of bullshit to me, but whateves.” It was odd that he hadn’t called me or even shot a single text. We were supposed to meet up an hour ago but after thirty minutes of waiting and three missed calls from Chloe, I decided I would wait inside for him to contact me. “The show will be starting soon so you should try and find a decent seat. Maybe lover boy can find the guts to show up before I walk.”

I nodded before edging my way to the curtain separating the audience from the models. Peeking through, my eyes scanned for a certain blonde but alas, he still wasn’t here. I excused myself to the nearest row with two seats left, placing my purse and jacket into the empty one in hopes Adrien would fill it soon.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as the announcer jumped on stage, his enthusiastic voice failing to capture my full attention. When Chloe would ask me later if I liked the show, I couldn’t even begin to tell her what she modeled. My thoughts were elsewhere, wondering just why he never even read a single text.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

I got my answer just hours after returning from Chloe’s show. In reality, I hadn’t moved from my bed, not particularly sad, just mentally exhausted. It was only after I had finally decided to brush it off as a dead battery or some freak accident, I received a text from someone I never imagined.

“Hey xinh đẹp, I know I’m probably the last person you want to hear from, but I just couldn’t let this slide.”

Kim had attached a video, nearly a minute long. My heart jumped as I saw the screen frozen on Adrien’s face surrounded by dozens of people, Lila hanging right off of his arm. Was this why he was late? Did he go to break up with Lila? It would explain why he couldn’t answer me.

With a shaky breath, I pressed play, my heart threatening to drop at any moment.

“The fuck is this?”

“Tim?” His name almost sounded foreign in my mouth. What was Tim doing at Lila’s party?

“Leave it be Wayne.”

“Yeah Timmyboo, just leave it be.” Lila giggled as she brought Adrien’s face to hers, leaving small sloppy kisses all over his face. It almost made me sick to my stomach. That looked nothing close to breaking up.

“You told her that you were leaving this bitch! You lied to Marinette.”

“Oh c’mon Tim. Marinette’s nice and all, but her crush on me was overbearing and what was it going to give me in return? Huh?”

“She would’ve given you the world if you asked! How can you not realize that? When Marinette loves someone, she does it with her whole heart. If I had your chance, you bet your life I would never waste it like this!”

Tim… was serious. All those times, he was serious. I can’t believe I thought it was a joke when Tim was constantly pouring his heart out to me.

“Like she would ever give you a chance Wayne. Not after you made it so easy for me to get her to hate you. I’ll let her know eventually, but in reality, she has nothing. Especially compared to Lila. It’s like father always said, relationships are only good for what they can offer yo-”

Adrien never got to finish his sentence as Tim’s fist connected with his face. I could hear Kim let out a string of cusses as the video cut out. There was nothing I could do as I stared at my phone, still processing what I had seen, what I had heard. I stared until the screen blackened and all that was left was my own shocked expression.

For some reason, it didn’t hurt that bad hearing Adrien’s words. Somewhere deep inside of me must have realized that fascination with someone from where I grew up way outshined the actual connection I had made up.

“Tim,” He tried to protect me. It wasn’t just some jealous ulterior motive; Tim just didn’t want to see me hurt. And speaking of Tim, “my God, I have to find Tim!”

I pushed off my bed, racing down the stairs and out the front of the bakery. Maman glanced sideways at me as I zipped past, but she did nothing to stop me, a seemingly knowing smile plastered on her face. I’m sure I’ll deal with her teasing later, but that wasn’t the important thing at the moment.

No, the only thing that mattered was finding-

“Marinette?” My feet planted themselves, my arms involuntarily shooting out to balance myself. Before I had even turned, my heart was already jumping in my throat. “Marinette, where are you going?”

I couldn’t stop myself as I stumbled forward, my steps clumsy as I made my way to where he stood.

“Marinette? I-oof” I threw myself into Tim, my arms tightening around him in fear that if I let go, he would somehow slip away from me. He hesitated for a moment before I felt his own arms wrap themselves around me.

We stood there as seconds passed, neither speaking, just simply holding on for dear life.

“I love you.” His heart raced, reacting to my words much the same as my own. “I’m sorry for everything Tim. I’m sorry it took me this long to realize you never once were joking about your feelings for me. I’m sorry that I let a stupid boy come between me and my best friend. But most of all, I’m sorry that I never had the courage to say it sooner. I love you, Tim.”

All too quickly he pulled back, his hand rushing to his face in an attempt to cover the spreading red.

“You-ou-you-you can’t just spring that on me! I didn’t have any time to prepare. And you took away my big moment! You have no idea the demons that I literally fought to finally work up the courage to come confess! Marinette!”

I felt the giggle bubbling up as Tim attempted to compose himself, the blush ever-burning as it moved to brush against his neck.

“I guess I should add that to my apology speech too huh?”

“Yes! You should! I want a formal apology later for ruining something that I have been planning for since we were kids.”

“And what about now?” Tim cocked his head as I took a small step forward in an attempt to close the space between us. “If that’s what you want for later, what do you want for now?”

I could practically see the wheels turning in Tim’s head as he tentatively reached out, grasping my face as lightly as he could with both hands. Time seemed to stop as he pulled me forward, his breath quick and uneven, much like my racing heart.

“I want to kiss the woman I love, but only if she wants me to.”

“What a coincidence, I also was thinking that I would love to kiss the man in front of me.”

We both moved forward, our lips and teeth colliding at the same time.

“Ow!” Tim released one hand as he covered his mouth. There was a moment of silence before we both erupted, our laughter mingling as it filled the night air. “Somehow, that felt exactly like us.”

I could only nod as my laughter faded out, an ear-splitting smile taking its place.

“It’s okay though because now we can try again any time.”

Tim smiled as he leaned forward once more. “Good, because I would love to try again right now.”

His lips were soft and his kiss was gentle and described in a single word; perfect. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against my own, his heart practically jumping through his shirt.

“Is this real?”

“It is.”

I shared his sentiment. It didn’t feel real that after all this time, after everything that had happened, we had finally found our way back to each other.

I’m sorry if this wasn’t the happy ending you were waiting for. After all, I did warn you that it wasn’t your typical girl meets boy.

In the end, I never quite figured out my question; how do you survive in an extraordinary world when you’re only average? After everything, I still don’t have anything definite, but I suspect that it becomes infinitely easier when you fall in love with your best friend.

As I met Tim’s eyes in our last moments alone that night, the only thought occupying my mind was that never again would I ever let him go.

I found the person that makes my average life extraordinary and he’s always been right by my side.

“Never leave Tim, okay?” I could feel the warmth from his smile before it even appeared.

“You’re only stuck with me for the rest of your life and any time after that.”

I reached forward, intertwining our fingers, relishing in the perfect fit. This was everything I had been searching for and now it was quite literally in my grasps.

This, well this was only the beginning of our story, but that’s a tale for another time, right?

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#timinette #tall girl au #maribat

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wnnbdarklord · 3 years

Text

EDIT: so I started writing this like a week ago, but honestly the finale killed any desire in me to interact with this show in a fannish way. So have these half assed notes. I think it's obvious where I lost steam. These ideas are free for use for anyone who wants them in fic, have at you. As it is, I don't think I'll interact with this show as a fan any further than this.

How I would write a Loki show in bullet points (and a mishmash of short scenes and dialogue, let's be honest) for my sanity!

Presuming some disney exec came down from on high and forced the inclusion of EG!Loki and the TVA (because otherwise it'd be IW!Loki that survived and it'd be all about him finding his best life away from Earth, Asgard, Thor and the whole Thanos/EG situation. Or if I only had to include the TVA, it'd be IW!Loki dealing with the TVA, not EG!Loki):

Fair warning: this will likely be a mess since I'm not entirely motivated to not have it be so.

[cut for length]

Ep1:

- Loki escapes to Nidavelir and uses the tools there to get rid of the chains and muzzle. A CONTROLLED use of the Tesseract, thankyouverymuch

- the TVA comes for him and Loki is wary and on the alert, exhausted from the whole Avengers thing so he immediately makes a clone to interact with the TVA and observes from afar

- the TVA fall for it when they try to bitchslap him like in the show, but immediately regroup when it goes through the illusion and start a search pattern. Their tech can scan for his temporal aura and they close in on Loki quickly (show the TVA as at least somewhat competent or they're shit antagonists for Loki)

- Loki, who still has hold of the Tesseract, portals out of there

- what follows is a quick chase scene across multiple planets and realms, but the TVA are always on his heels. The longest time they take to find him is during an ongoing apocalypse on a random planet that's enough for Loki to get a quick breather. but you know, disaster's on the horizon, so he has to leave eventually. but this is the first clue both we as an audience and Loki get about potential hiding places.

- when an exhausted Loki finally turns to fight, he manages to take several minutemen out (justifying B-15's hate on for him) before one of them gets in a lucky shot and freezes him

- "Who are you people?" [short flash of Loki's eyes flashing green and the entire scene getting a strange cast, floating energy swirling around everything. It's beautiful, but the TVA people's energy is out of sync, out of touch and strangely jagged compared to their surroundings]

- they slap the collar on him and march him into the TVA

- Loki immediately tries to pull the same illusion trick but it doesn't work cause no magic in the TVA (maybe some visual indication of what he's trying to do, but it doesn't go past his skin. You know, like Sylvie managed in ep 3 -.-)

- he doesn't wildly panic, but we see his breathing speed up and he immediately looks at his left hand and relaxes when he sees it isn't turning blue.

- okay so the TVA have caught him, he's on their shit list, no magic, exhausted, no idea what's going on, who these people are or how powerful they are - he chooses to play nice for now and bide his time

- the whole intake process is spent in quiet observation mode, only speaking when spoken to

- discomfort at being out of his clothes, but maybe only a wry joke about them wanting to strip him naked (making him a participant in all the thirst jokes)

- he doesn't ask if a lot of people don't know they're robots like a child wanting validation and he's not visibly afraid. Instead, we see him look at his hand again and try for wry humor when asking. But he steps into the device without much hesitation. It's death vs certainty and we already know he's chosen death once before.

- the propaganda cartoon is much shorter and plays in the background so we can see Loki's incredulous eyebrow raise at it. the ticket thing gets an eyeroll, but ready compliance since it's not worth it to argue

- when he sees the other guy get "pruned", he immediately reaches for the ticket to reassure himself it's there, but doesn't wave it around triumphantly, just sighs in relief

- trial can stay mostly unchanged, just no stupid magic attempt in the middle

"It's not your story, Mr. Laufeyson, it never was" (AND THIS SHALL BE PROVEN FALSE, you know, unlike in the show where it turned out to be their fucking mission statement) also, Loki gives her murder eyes for calling him that

- in fact, instead of trying magic, Loki holds up the controller he stole from B-15 as she was escorting him to the trial and waves as he disappears through a door backwards

After that scene is the church scene with bodies, establishing Mobius as a hunter of dangerous variants. Someone is killing TVA officers

Mobius gets called back as in canon, but arrives too late to stop our Loki from leaving

Sidenote: Loki still has the tesseract since it was in his pocket dimension during the fight the TVA nabbed him in

Ep 2:

- it's now a few days/weeks later. Loki is back in his own clothes, a simpler outfit not geared for war. He's in the biggest library in the universe, the depository of almost all knowledge, looking for information about the TVA. there is Nothing, suspiciously so

- once again, the TVA shows up and he has to run yet again. maybe he kills this team too, to buy himself more time. he steals a melt stick and more time pads and reset charges

- he needs more information and the only place he'll get it is at the TVA it seems, so he shapeshifts into his female form, dressed as one of the many paperpushers at the TVA and we see her being relieved that the spelled clothing is holding once she passes through the time door

(another aside, but ideally the female form is more like Eva Green or Katie McGrath. AND NOT BLONDE)

- acting like she belongs, Loki effortlessly manages to snoop around the TVA for a few hours

- there's only one close call with C-20, but Loki manages to deflect suspicion by parroting the motto at her, which Loki reads from a nearby propaganda poster (cause Loki is good at lying, manipulation and flying by the seat of their pants)

- eventually, she ends up at the archive area and begins researching. We see that Loki is competent at this and is quick to pick up the filing system. the variant number from the papers she signed the episode before becomes relevant to finding the appropriate files

- before she can dig too deep into her own life story as laid out by these people, just as she finds the Ragnarok Report, Mobius finds her (maybe there was a silent alarm triggered by unauthorized access or something. Slightly more competent TVA)

- there is a scene where Mobius and Loki play a game of chicken and manipulation, wordplay and lying until it becomes clear Mobius knows who Loki is (actually establishing some camaraderie)

- Loki gets a little hoisted by their own petard since they're enjoying the banter so much, the backup Mobius called for catches them a little off guard, collared again

- since info gathering is still the name of the game, Loki doesn't try to get away just yet

(during this entire scene, Mobius is the same offhandedly condescending prick he is in canon, but it's very obviously framed that way)

(also featuring confirmation of the genderfluidity thing because fuck you disney)

M: "Nice disguise. Really had me fooled for a second there."

L: "It's hardly a disguise. I am always myself."

[Loki shifts back to male, though the clothes remain the same (shifting =/= magic)]

M: "Yeah, well, next time you want to go undercover at the TVA, maybe don't choose a face we already have from several other of your variants."

[Loki twitches a little, since that wasn't a form he openly wore a lot (even when he wanted to) cause Asgard is a dick about shifting genders]

L: "And how does that work exactly?"

M: "Got your entire life on file, buddy. But you know, sometimes Asgard isn't a complete stick in the mud the day you gather enough courage to show up to dinner in a dress. We usually have to prune those timelines quickly."

[Loki's grin is more like a snarl, frozen on his face, since he picks up the implications loud and clear (the implication being that him being too happy is not allowed in the Sacred Timeline)]

M: [picks up the files Loki was looking at] "Come on, I've got something to show you."

-cue time theater scene

-that little scene of looking out at the TVA does not feature Loki being impressed or awed at the TVA's tech. It features him being scared/uneasy because the TVA is completely dead to his senses. Loki's eyes do the same flash as before, but everything is completely dull, no energy anywhere. He can barely see some swirls on his own arms]

-Loki asks why this charade, Mobius tells him the TVA is willing to come to an agreement with Loki for his help

"You're not the only one running around messing up the Sacred Timeline. Come on, job interview time."

(it's really really not)

- Mobius tries the same schtick as before, but it's both less and more effective. Less cause Loki has had a bit more time to collect himself since the invasion, more cause he's more aware of the TVA's power and has been chased by them for a while now

- we see Loki being affected by the Frigga thing BUT he also picks up how edited the reel is

- still, he lets Mobius do the "only thing you're good for" bit until we see him look up with murder in his eyes, even through the tears

- "I am going to burn this place to the ground and I am going to start with you. That is my bargain."

"Yeah, cause your "bargains" [Mobius full on air quotes here] work out so well for you," he says, offering Loki a hand up

-cue alarm and Mobius rushing out

-Loki grabs the files Mobius left behind, and also the tape in the hologram projector and escapes

- no infinity stones scene, cause Loki still has the Tesseract and doesn't go to look for more

- cut to the TVA running around in a panic, multiple branches forming on the displays. It's the same bombing plot as in the show, but now serving as a distraction for Loki to get away

- when they figure this out, Ravonna: "You should have just pruned him when you found him. There's a reason we don't reset Loki variants. Our luck always runs out eventually with them. Fix this, Mobius. Or you'll have to answer to the TimeKeepers."

- back to Loki, he steps out into chaos as something explodes behind him. He's in another apocalypse. During his running from the TVA, he noticed it takes them longer to find him whenever there's a lot of chaos around him, death and destruction. He finds a still intact building, seems high tech. Everyone else has already evacuated

- he takes the Tesseract out and blue and green energy surges around him and engulfs the building. It's suddenly quiet and we see outside the windows are pitch black

- Loki quickly looks away

"Finally, some peace and quiet."

He slumps down to the floor, files scattered around him, tesseract nearby and curls up, dejected and exhausted

Side note: Loki doesn't need to worry about recharging tempads since he has the tesseract, which was established in Avengers as able to provide infinite energy

Ep 3:

- he finds out about the variants in this episode, maybe goes looking for other variants before the TVA finds them

-how Loki finds out the TVA are all variants: he'd knocked out B-15 for a bit to interrogate her

-they're found by another team of minutemen, led by B-16, who is wearing B-15's face. Several of the other minutemen we've seen Loki kill in earlier episodes as well. They attack *both* of them cause they assume B-15 is compromised. Loki and B-15 work together and kill the whole lot, staring at each other incredulously

"You're Variants! You're all Variants!"

[B-15 collapses to her knees in shock]

End episode

EDIT: My basic idea for episodes 4 & 5 were Loki and B-15 working together and travelling through various timelines trying to get to the TimeKeepers, but realizing something was wrong the further they went. Time begins breaking down, paradoxes are all over the place and the TVA keeps pruning some specific place so much that sometimes two teams are on top of each other. Stuff like that.

I also had a few scenes where Loki meets other variants (that aren't him), but who actually like and even love him. Men, women, variations thereupon, and one or two who would mistake Loki for their Loki. So we get bi confirmation without actually including romance in the show itself, because 6 episodes isn't enough to develop that along with everything else that's going on.

Vaguely outlined here:

My "how to include the bi thing without the main story being a romance and also indicating that Loki is able to be liked and loved by people who aren't just variants of himself, please and thank you":

(note to self, rewrite this so it makes sense lol EDIT: lol, don't feel like it so this is all you get, folks!)

a variant significant other, male: kisses Loki

Loki: You are clearly my type, but I'm sorry. I'm not him.

[heartbroken expression on the variant]

from another timeline Loki visits:

woman holding a sword to his head after looking at him suspiciously: Change back!

Loki: Into who?!

woman: Her!

[Loki shapeshifts into his female self]

woman lets go of the sword

"You escaped! When Odin took you away, I thought he would kill you. Why did you never come back to me, my love?"

EDIT: My "twist" ending was that the Time Keepers were dead, not that they never existed. Some sort of mcguffin exists to just break the whole TVA and free the timelines. Idk, maybe the TVA was just a test to see if it'd work, but the system just kept perpetuating itself after the power hungry losers kept it going beyond the bounds of the experiment. Either way:

villain plot twist: the time keepers are long dead. the TVA is a terrible system that perpetuated itself on its own, only a few judges were aware that the timekeepers had ever died. The entire System Has To Go (lol like disney would ever go there)

The system is literally Killing the Universe, since the universe's natural state of being is a multiverse. But the system don't care, system don't give a shit. System only exists to perpetuate itself, system's survival is the most important, catastrophic universal failure need not apply

(this is way too on the nose for disney, but since this rewrite's motto is Fuck Disney, it shall stay)

EDIT: this was how I imagined the climax of the series.

Mobius or Ravonna (i never decided): "All the chaos, all the possibilities? How can you stand the uncertainty? How can you believe the world will be any better than it is now?"

Loki: "Because it has to be!" [smashy smashy TVA]

series ends with the timeline breaking free

we see various scenes of the variants in their former lives, happy

and AU scenes of the previous movies:

Loki gets pulled up on the bridge

Loki accepts Thor's offer during the Avengers

Loki gets up on Svartalfheim, bleeding heavily, but doesn't go to Asgard but to Thor

Loki tricks Thanos during IW

Loki as an Avenger

Loki as a kid

Loki as a girl

Loki on jotunheim, fully jotun

Loki on Asgard, jotun

faster and faster, all sorts of different AU scenes until the screen goes dark and we see our Loki, smirking

"But...well, those are stories for another time."

and he steps back into the shadows.

#loki series spoilers #loki series negativity #loki series #fanfic #sort of #loki #half assed rewrite #half assed meta #my stuff

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gumnut-logic · 3 years

Text

The Painting

This was started from a challenge I stumbled across what seems like ages ago.

The word was ‘blushing’ and can be found in a prompt list from @creativepromptsforwriting - here.

But anyway, have over 3000 words of frustrated Virgil, worried Scott and concerns over the possibility of Virgil/Kayo.

Warnings: Yep, this is the Virgil/Kayo fic I was babbling on about a while back. Not Warm Rain, but completely new.

I hope you enjoy it.

-o-o-o-

Virgil Tracy was a seasoned emergency responder. Scott had seen him rescue people in front of entire crowds, seen him speak to police, and even the press. Hell, there was the time Scott had been caught up on the other side of the planet and Virgil had rescued the President of the United States, for crying out loud. It was on film, recorded for history and no doubt would end up in their future grandchildren’s school textbooks.

At no point had his brother ever looked fazed at any of the PR tasks required of him.

Sure, he wasn’t as smooth at it as Scott and if he had a choice, he would avoid it and handball it off to his big brother. But that was more a case of Virgil thinking he had better things to do.

He’d refused the award offered by the President for that reason. Saw no need for accolades for just doing his job - Scott had tried to talk him into that one, but no, Virgil just didn’t seem to care.

So there was no warning, no real indicator that this was going to happen.

Looking back with the benefit of hindsight, Scott had to admit that perhaps that was a lie.

Virgil had been edgy from the first mention of this project. It was Penny’s fault, of course, but it was Gordon who had egged her on when Virgil said no initially.

Penny had succeeded with John in the past, so why not tackle another Tracy brother? And it wasn’t like Virgil was socially shy like their astronaut. The man had stripped naked and posed for life drawing classes on multiple occasions and as previously noted, had no trouble with the PR tasks required of him.

Virgil was the cool, calm and sensible Tracy brother.

Who was now standing in front of the podium bright red and frozen solid as holocam lights buzzed about him.

The press was a mass of voices they hadn’t really expected on opening night, and had Kayo in a furious mood, her satin green dress spinning as she strode over to possibly throttle one of her security contingent. He must keep an eye on that.

Virgil had only meant to welcome everyone to the gallery with a short speech, but the questions about his artworks had begun firing the moment he stood up there and apparently displaying his art was not as easy as Scott thought it would be.

He regretted encouraging this exhibition when he had known Virgil hadn’t been confident. But he had thought it was just nerves and his brother had only needed a little push.

He would never have thought Virgil could freeze like that.

Scott stepped up to the podium beside his arty brother. Virgil blinked at him, more fear in his eyes than Scott had seen since the time Scott had fallen into an ice crevasse and his heavy lifting brother had jumped in after him, only barely managing to grab him before certain death.

Apparently, Virgil needed saving this time.

Scott eyed the crowd and in particular the person responsible for the question.

His eyes narrowed in on Kat Kavanaugh. He let out a breath. “Now, now, Kat, when I said you could ask questions, that did not include my brothers’ sex lives.”

Kat smirked up at him. “Fair’s fair, Scott Tracy. He did paint that, after all.” She gestured towards the most popular painting in the gallery. There had been an argument earlier over who could purchase it. An informal auction managed by Penny had sprouted up and the sum it finally went for would fund Tracy Industries’ charity line for some time to come.

Virgil’s eyes had been saucer-wide at that news.

But the painting itself was a mystery. Scott had no idea what it represented other than it was all flesh coloured curves, greens, reds, blues and greys. It obviously meant something to Virgil, but it might as well have been spilt paint to Scott with the minor exception of maybe one eye and a flower. He much preferred the aerial dogfight painting he had nabbed off his brother before he could assign it to the exhibition - Virgil frowned at him and squawked a bunch of art jargon that translated as ‘Virgil hated it’. But Scott liked it and had hung it in his rooms.

Virgil glared at it every time he saw it.

But this one, this Picasso jigsaw puzzle, meant something to Virgil. Yet for some reason he had thrown it into the exhibition anyway.

And now it meant something to a bunch of people? It had prompted so many questions, most inappropriate, and now looking at it Scott could see vaguely where they were coming from, but really?

But Virgil had flushed red and frozen, giving credit to the question of who had broken his heart.

Scott hadn’t noticed anything. Virgil had never brought the topic up.

And this was definitely not the place.

“This is an art exhibition, Ms Kavanaugh. Please keep your question to the subject at hand.”

“I could argue that what is on these walls is exactly the subject at hand, Mr Tracy. Your brother has painted with his heart and now it is up for sale.”

The whole gallery fell completely silent as the centre of Scott’s cardiovascular system fell into his boots.

When he didn’t answer immediately, she took it upon herself to fill the silence. “In fact, one of the biggest questions on everyone’s lips is why only one out of four of the most eligible bachelors on the planet has a romantic interest. These paintings prove he is not alone, but apparently Virgil is not as lucky.”

Scott stared at her. it would have helped if he knew what she was talking about. Virgil hadn’t mentioned anything...

Scott held back the urge to look at his brother and instead bore a hole into Kat Kavanaugh’s head with his glare. “I repeat, my brother’s personal lives are not up for discussion.” Holocams stared at him.

“And what about yours, Mr Tracy? Are you still dating that pilot?”

“You know what? This is an art exhibition to raise money for victims of disaster, for the people International Rescue couldn’t save. How about you focus on that.” She opened her mouth again. “Because if you don’t, I will have you and anyone else inclined to discuss our private business, escorted from the building.” He put every ounce of commander he had into his words.

She stopped talking, but the smirk on her face that replaced her vocalisations set Scott’s blood boiling anyway.

He clamped down on the emotion. “Now, regarding the artworks. All of them are painted by my talented brother Virgil, as you know. He has kindly donated them to raise money for those affected by disaster. So, please reach into your pockets and donate for those who need it most. Thank you.”

He turned away from the podium as the silence dissolved into chatter, mostly likely with nothing to do with artworks at all.

Finally he was able to catch Virgil’s eye and non-verbally direct him to follow.

The acquiescence in Virgil’s expression hurt Scott even more.

He led his artistic brother past a concerned-looking Gordon who was helping Penelope manage the crowd.

Alan was frowning fit to burst a blood vessel, but Gordon grabbed him and pulled him away.

John knew enough to only catch Scott’s eye with an expression of ‘here if you need me’ as he stood off to one side talking to Brains. The fact both were half-hidden by a promotional banner was no doubt no error on their part.

Both had declared they would attend in support of Virgil. Didn’t mean they had to like it.

Scott pulled Virgil into a backroom, shut the door and turned to face his brother.

Virgil was looking down at his hands.

“I know I’m clueless on the art front, but apparently the crowd out there isn’t. Is there something you haven’t told me?” He drew in a breath in an attempt to calm himself.

Virgil glanced up at him with such sadness in his eyes, Scott’s widened and he put both hands on his brother’s shoulders. “What is it?”

It was Virgil’s turn to let out a sigh. It appeared to come from somewhere ever so deep as it visibly deflated him. “It was nothing.” And he looked away.

“Doesn’t look like ‘nothing’.” He squeezed those hunched shoulders gently. A nudge of his head in the direction of the crowd outside the door. “They don’t think it is ‘nothing’.”

Virgil looked up. “Well, it is nothing. That’s why that painting is out there. Nothing has happened. Nothing is going to happen.”

“But you wanted something to happen?” It was like bobbing for apples, but painful. He had never seen Virgil so unsure of himself. “Can I ask who?”

Virgil opened his mouth, but closed it before he could say anything.

Scott hesitated. “You know you can tell me anything. That I’m here for you.”

Again Virgil opened his mouth, but again something stopped him from saying anything. He only nodded, blinking.

Scott’s heart lurched. What couldn’t Virgil tell him? They shared everything. How could his brother been hurting this much and Scott not know anything about it?

But then did he know?

He scoured his memory for indicators.

Virgil straightened suddenly. “It doesn’t matter. Nothing is going to happen. That...that ship has sailed.”

Who had Virgil fixated on? He ran through their list of friends, acquaintances and came up blank regarding any extra regard his brother might have shown anyone.

Of course, Virgil was kind to everyone they knew, polite beyond reason sometimes, well known for putting others above himself.

Hell, just last week he had flown Kayo halfway across the planet in Tracy Two while he was supposed to be on vacation and resting. Shadow was out of commission at the time and Kayo needed to be in London with Penelope and Rigby. She had protested, but even Scott knew Virgil had a soft spot for his sister and would do...anything for her.

He stared at his brother.

No...really?

Scott blinked as his brain pulled up all the most obvious indicators. Virgil always hovered when their sister was in action. Scott knew he hated it. It was one of the reasons Scott reprimanded Kayo for straying beyond IR’s mandate. The family worried about her, but, in particular, Virgil fretted when his...sister...was in danger.

Aw, hell. Looking back, it was now obvious. Damn, how had he missed it?

Again, Virgil cared for everyone, it was in his nature.

Shit.

Scott must have let something of his thoughts into his expression because Virgil looked up at him and his eyes widened. “Scott-“

“It’s Kayo, isn’t it.” It wasn’t a question.

“No, I...no, it’s nothing...I-“ Virgil was obviously scrambling to deny everything.

“She’s a good choice.”

Virgil froze, staring at him.

“What are you afraid of?”

Virgil spun out of his grip and turned away. “It doesn’t matter what I think. She’s not interested.”

“How do you know?”

Brown, hurting eyes glared at him. “What? You haven’t noticed Captain Wayne Rigby?”

Scott blinked. The GDF officer was definitely on his radar, but more on a professional level, IR Commander to GDF representative. He frowned as he assessed what he had seen of the man’s conduct towards Kayo, his big brother priorities coming into play.

Sure, he could look at their relationship that way. Kayo didn’t seem to mind spending time with the man, but only as the mission required?

That question mark only emphasised the fact he needed to spend more time with his family where an emergency situation was not involved. He was clearly out of the loop on too many things.

Virgil wandered over to a lounge in the corner and sat down, his suit immediately rumpling as he dropped his head into his hands.

Scott shoved his own failures in this matter to one side and tackled the immediate issue - his upset brother.

“Have you spoken to her?”

The strangled scoff of a laugh was muffled by his brother’s hands.

Scott took that as a ‘no’.

“Why not?”

That at least got Virgil looking at him again. “Oh, sure, It comes up in conversation all the time. ‘Hi, Kayo, great to see you. By the way, I’ve fallen in love with you. Is that okay?’” His brother’s eyebrows crushed together and he looked down, his voice dropping to a whisper. “It could destroy so much.”

“I really think she would love you either way, Virgil.” And he was back to scouring his brain for indications of Kayo returning Virgil’s regard.

“What? You don’t find it weird that I’m in love with my sister? It’s a breach of trust.”

“Virgil, she grew up with us. She is a beautiful, smart woman. No one could be faulted for finding her attractive. Hell, I will admit that I can see why you would be interested.”

That had Virgil staring at him again.

Scott held up his hands. “Hey, I’m happy with pilot lady.”

That stare boggled a bit. “‘Pilot lady?’ Don’t you even know her name?”

“Thank you for giving me zero credit. Of course I know her name. She just likes me calling her ‘pilot lady’.” Scott grinned strategically.

“Oh god, TMI. Ugh.”

Scott chuckled as his brother groaned. Mostly because he was happy to have achieved his target of lightening Virgil’s mood at least a little.

“You should talk to her.”

“Why? She’s obviously gone on Rigby.” The name was said with as close to a snarl as Scott had ever heard his brother make outside of a rescue. “You want me to ruin what relationship we already have trying to pursue something she doesn’t want?”

“How do you know that?” He stepped closer to his brother. “You haven’t given her a chance.”

“She’s known me for years.”

“I’ve known you since you were born and I didn’t know you had a thing for her. How the hell do you expect her to know?”

Virgil leapt off the couch. “I don’t want her to know!”

“Why not?”

“Because...”

“Because you could get hurt? I never figured you were one for backing away because of that. I’ve seen you risk death to save lives, including mine. Why deny yourself the chance for happiness? Her the chance?”

“Because I love her too much to ruin it!” Scott’s eyes widened as Virgil literally exploded in front of him. “How could our relationship recover from that? How could she bear to look at me if she didn’t...care for me the same way in return? How could I? No, she likes Rigby. She will be happy with him. That’s it. The boat has sailed. And I wish I had burnt that damned painting.”

Scott swallowed. “I’m glad you didn’t.”

Virgil’s derisive scoff said everything. “I’ve got to get back out there before they start thinking I’m ready to kill myself due to unrequited love.” He strode towards the door.

“Virgil-“

His brother held up a hand. “I’m fine. I’ll handle it. Just let me get through the night so I can go home.” And with that, he threw open the door and stormed out into the noise.

Damn. Scott thumbed his collar. “Gordon?”

“Yes, oh great leader?”

Scott rolled his eyes. “Run interference for Virgil, please.”

“FAB.”

Gordon and Penelope would do what was necessary to get the press off Virgil’s back. Scott sighed as he strode towards the door Virgil had almost slammed behind him and threw himself out into the crowd after his brother.

-o-o-o-

Cartwheels across the gallery floor hadn’t quite been what Scott had in mind, but if he was honest with himself, it worked. Gordon already had a reputation of being the ‘fun’ Tracy and the press ate it up.

The fact Gordon could do a backflip midair and land on his feet wasn’t really that surprising to Scott, but the media loved it. The reports switched from lovelorn Virgil to crazy Gordon and that was pretty much that.

Penelope was ever so tolerant.

Scott didn’t let Virgil out of his sight the rest of the night. His artistic brother put up a great front and only the fact Scott was his big brother allowed him to see that touch of hesitancy in his handshakes and the fakery of his smiles.

What Scott did do was surreptitiously get a good look at the painting responsible for this mess.

It was a Picasso-esque mishmash of flesh, colour and bone. On one hand it could be considered creepy, but there was something about that one single green eye staring out from its midst that said something. Something painful.

The white daisy in the bottom left corner was a familiar motif in Virgil’s paintings. Mom’s favourite flower often turned up when his brother dove deep into his art. But that eye...

Realisation set in like a lightning strike. It was Kayo’s eye. The only part of the painting recognisable, if only for its colour and intensity. Like Kat had said, all the pieces fell into place once that eye belonged to someone. The painting screamed desolation and loneliness.

Aw, hell.

Virgil was on the far side of the room glaring at Gordon, most likely for the acrobatics. The media were still babbling beyond the security Kayo had deployed. Scott had no doubt Virgil knew exactly what Gordon was doing, but that wouldn’t stop the lecture.

Scott owed Gordon for this one.

“Permission to expel the media?”

Scott jumped. Kayo had appeared out of nowhere.

Her smile was an amused one.

He glared at her momentarily before letting his shoulders drop. “I wish.”

“How is Virgil?”

His gaze flickered to her, abruptly realising his brother’s secret was now his to conceal as well. “Getting there. You know how sensitive he is about his art.” That’s it, cover it up with artistic sensibility.

She arched an eyebrow. “I was surprised he consented to the exhibition.”

“Me, too. But Penelope pulled out the charity big guns and you know how Virgil just wants to help people...”

Kayo smiled. “Genetic trait.”

His grunt was non-committal.

“Well, it certainly has been a successful exercise. I think just about everything has been sold, even beyond the star of the exhibition.” She gestured at the painting responsible for so much.

Scott swallowed. “Yeah, Penelope will be happy.”

“What about Virgil?”

“Yeah, he’ll be happy, too. He’s helping a lot a of people.” Scott mentally considered whether whisky on the balcony and some one-on-one commiseration time might help his brother relax.

“Oh, you should know that while you were talking to Virgil earlier, I had to remove Kat Kavanaugh from the building.”

Scott blinked, suddenly realising the absence of the woman. It was a sign of his distraction that he hadn’t realised she was missing. “Why?”

Kayo’s lips twisted. “Well, aside from harassing Virgil,” she said it with gritted teeth and obviously hidden expletives, “I caught her eavesdropping on your conversation, outside the door.”

He straightened in alarm.

“Don’t worry, I nabbed her before she could discover anything...important.”

Scott stared at her.

“She and I had some...polite words, and I doubt we will be seeing her again.”

“Kayo-“

Green flickered up at him. “Just doing my job, Scott.” She lent in a little closer. “You don’t have to worry.”

“I...”

But Kayo smiled. “So can I expel the rest of them? I think they’ve had a fair enough go, don’t you?”

Another blink and he nodded.

Her hand brushed his arm and squeezed ever so gently. “Don’t worry. Everything is under control.”

Didn’t feel that way. Across the room Virgil was gesticulating wildly at their fish brother, very adamant about something.

“Kayo?” She looked up at him. “Take it easy.”

Her lips curled into a small smile. “FAB.”

She walked into the crowd, green dress sparkling in the lights, as she spoke into her comms and gestured to her team. He was left wondering what the hell had happened, what she knew and what she was going to do.

But then the feeling was familiar around his sister, so he shouldn’t be surprised.

Gordon stopped their engineer brother’s tirade by grabbing him into a hug mid-rant.

A perfect tactic to derail Virgil that had worked many a time before.

As predicted, their brother couldn’t resist and gruffly returned Gordon’s embrace.

The fish certainly had his ways.

The crowd volume increased as reporters started protesting security herding them out of the building. He watched as his sister worked, her team as smooth and as capable as she.

And then he watched Virgil watching her, too.

Scott grabbed a champagne flute off a nearby server and sculled it. Whisky on the balcony was looking more attractive by the moment.

He needed one.

-o-o-o-

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Virgil Tracy #Scott Tracy #kayo kyrano #Gordon Tracy #Penelope Creighton Ward #virgil/kayo #gordon/penelope #Pen and Ink #nuttyfic #creativepromptsforwriting

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loopy777 · 3 years

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RE: WIPs game: Actress Mai. what is she acting in? besides her ongoing starring role as Repressed Perfect Child?

Ah, "Actress Mai." This is a headcanon I keep chipping away at in the hopes that I'll eventually have something I want to publish. I have a whole host of little ideas and scene concepts, but only one actual WIP.

It started with the idea that Zuko and Ursa are theater snobs. Sure, Ursa apparently attended Ember Island Player performances, which Zuko disdained, but my thought is that she took what she could get in terms of live theater with her family even if she agreed with his criticisms. However, I like to headcanon that Mai loves the Ember Island Players, hates classical theater, and generally is the type of person who thinks that Michael Bay movies are great and more people should just turn off their brains and allow themselves to be entertained.

Why?

Well, because character conflict is what makes stories interesting. Zuko gritting his teeth through Mai's praise of how the EIPs finally made "Love Amongst the Dragons" interesting? Gold! Ursa and Mai getting into heated drunken arguments about theater styles? Gold! Mai convincing Kiyi of the good points of the controversial 'Love Amongst the Dragons II: Love Harder' (which is canon to at least two of my Maiko fics) while Zuko and Ursa grit their teeth? Solid gold!

This fun little conflict turned into something more, though. If Ursa and Mai are dark mirrors of each other in terms of theater tastes, then it felt like Mai needed a little acting history to parallel Ursa's own. But Ursa could be a publicly known actress because she was a peasant; such a profession was okay for her. Mai is a noble, though, and an acting job would be seen as beneath her, especially as a woman, as Polite Fire Society knows (or thinks it knows) that 'actress' is really just a polite term for prostitute. This is a takeoff from some real-life history stuff that I first learned of through Sherlock Holmes stories. Apparently, Irene Adler being an 'opera singer' was a thing British readers would recognize as being of a sordid nature.

So I decided that Mai did some secret, illicit acting anonymously during her childhood and teenage years. She stumbled across an opportunity, gave it a try, and found it fulfilling despite the social stigma. She liked being able to project emotions of all kinds in public, while at the same time shielded by masks or makeup or costumes or whatever. She liked being other people, people who find love with their heroes or die tragically to teach everyone a point or villainously ruin everything around them as a force of vengeful nature. It was the only opportunity for expression that she had, as well as a quiet form of rebellion. So for years she snuck out of the capital, down to Harbor City, and acted in all kinds of plays for a troupe that accepted not paying her as a fair trade for keeping her anonymous.

Naturally, moving to Omashu put a crimp on that, and so it ended.

So the idea is that Ursa eventually learns this about Mai after years of their butting heads over theater opinions, sees the parallels and perpendiculars in their lives, and grudgingly comes to respect Mai's completely wrong opinions about theater as at least being informed. And Mai, who is good at acting and does know the classics and would be wasted in the Ember Island Players, helps Ursa out with some plays she writes (still anonymous, although Zuko and Ursa know) even though Mai privately thinks the dialogue is too stilted and the stories kind of cliched.

But I have had trouble beating all of this into a proper story. I want to do flashbacks to Mai on stage, I want to show her conflict with Ursa, I want to reveal how Ty Lee found out and used that to get Mai to accept running away to the circus, I want Zuko's reaction to finding that his wife can recite soliloquies from all the major classics, I want Kiyi becoming an Ember Island Players groupie, etc. It's just missing a plot to hang it all on.

So here's a snippet of one of my attempts to construct something:

Noren grimaced. "Honestly, I was impressed we got enough people to fill out all the parts, never mind understudies. This play-"

"-is important," Ursa finished for him.

He hesitated just a moment before nodding. "And it's important for the same reasons that it was tough to get actors. I'm sure once Zuko sees it and can give it his official approval-"

"But he can't see anything without a Rinzen." Ursa thought about her son out there in the audience, anonymous amidst the 'peasants' of Hira'a. Zuko didn't mind mixing with his people, despite being their Lord, but the only reason he was here, tonight, was because Ursa herself had written the play, and he was a good son who would always support his mother.

Zuko had even brought his friends, including the Avatar. Aang was a delightful young man, and always very nice to Ursa, but she couldn't help but feel trepidation at his presence. After all, Avatar Roku, Ursa's grandfather and Aang's previous life, was a major character in this play, and while the story was based on real events, it was Ursa's hand that had shaped his dialogue and actions. She was putting her thoughts and philosophies, her very heart, out on the stage for public assessment, and this was tricky material. Would it do right by history?

Plus the lead actress was sick, and going by her complaints and the smell of the privy, perhaps dying.

Ursa had to tell herself that her audience, her friends and family and neighbors, wouldn't enjoy this play becoming a disaster. None of them were that bad. This wasn't the Capital. And she wasn't a princess. Not anymore.

So why had she taken it on herself to write this play, to positively dramatize a story of an ancestor who a few years ago was considered a heretic and traitor, to will into being a performance right here in the Fire Nation of a play that featured a heroic Air Nomad character whose actress was currently trapped in the privy?

Because her nation had hurt the world, and she wouldn't leave it to her son alone to do all the work of helping to fix that. That's why.

"Maybe," she ventured, "I could play the part."

Noren frowned. "You? But you're playing the Lady of Glass, and the characters share several scenes."

But Ursa was already analyzing the copy of the script that existed in her mind. "Rinzen has a lot more lines than the glass spirit, and I'm the only one who knows them. And playing a spirit is a lot easier than playing an Air Nomad. A spirit is just a voice, a costume, and some special effects. An Air Nomad character is a performance, and we're fresh out of actresses."

Noren's head tilted from side to side. "We could ask Kiyi. She knows the play by heart. She's a bit young for the part, yes, but-"

"No," Ursa cut him off. "She'd say yes if we asked her, but she hates being on stage. I'm not going to do that to her. I'd rather call off the play and see if our Rinzen is feeling better tomorrow."

Noren blanched at the very thought and made a gesture of good luck. "Well, maybe we can find a new Lady of Glass. And adjust the Rinzen costume. So are you thinking we'll just go on stage and ask the crowd who wants to join the cast, or maybe-"

And then there was a shift behind Noren, the red curtain over the office's doorway being pulled aside to reveal a living shadow. It seemed to Ursa that a chill had entered the room.

Lady Mai, Intended to Fire Lord Zuko, had arrived.

Ursa stiffened as Mai stepped into the office and let the curtain fall back into place. Time and familiarity had not made it any easier to be in a room with her son's lover. She had no real doubts about Mai, no resentment over the early difficulties Zuko that had apparently been overcome, but it was hard to reconcile Azula's shy and dour childhood companion with what existed now. Mai walked around covered with knives, watching everything; she never spoke unless there was an explicit need, but her gaze was always focused and her eyes missed nothing.

And it was in Mai's kind of silent, watchful abyss that Judgement grew. Ursa did not have a good feeling about how Mai likely judged her. How could a child of the Fire Nation's capital, someone who had become strong alongside Azula, a world-class warrior whose last stand for the life of her lover was already the subject of at least one popular poem, have any empathy for Ursa's life or the mistakes she had made?

Mai looked at her with dull eyes. "Is everything okay? The crowd is getting restless, and Zuko was worried. I told him I'd check on things so that he wouldn't miss the beginning of the play."

Ursa hesitated against that flat, low voice, and Noren stepped in to answer, "Our lead actress is sick. Ursa and I were just discussing options. There- uh, there aren't a lot of them."

Mai might as well have been told that dinner was planned to include green sprouts, but they were all out and so the yellow ones would be substituted. "Which part?"

Ursa swallowed. "The Air Nomad girl, Rinzen."

Mai quirked an eyebrow. "The heroine." She was still and silent for a long moment, and then sighed. "Zuko's really been looking forward to this. I guess I can help out. All right, I'll be your Rinzen."

Ursa wasn't quite sure she had heard that right. "You- you want to take the part? But-" Her voice faltered, as all the possible objections swirled through her mind. Mai was, to put it simply, completely lacking in charisma and non-threatening presence. She spoke without emotion. She moved so efficiently that no one in the back of the audience would even notice her. And she was so disinterested in everything that she'd probably nod off in the middle of the performance.

Noren offered a troubled smile. "Thank you for the offer, but acting is harder than it looks. It's not just about going on stage and reciting lines. An actress needs-"

"It's Nomad part, right?" Mai shrugged. "So we want a high, bright voice. Circular gestures. A bounce in all the movements. Here, like this." She stretched out her arms, shook her head, and then-

-and then-

-and then Mai was no longer there. The woman in red and black looked like her, but there was a wide mischievous smile on her face, and her eyes were big and bright. She stepped towards Ursa- no, they weren't mere steps. She kicked her heels high with each one, and the way she shifted her weight flirted with almost being a dance. She held her arms up at her side as she moved, and then when she reached Ursa, swung them dramatically to bring her hands together into a sign of respect.

She bowed, and in a voice that positively rang and filled the room, said, "Are you not the Firebender Avatar, Roku? What a fortunate wind blows to lay my path upon your own!" She rose again, and trotted in a circle around Ursa. "I say, you are taller than I expected, and must be quite heavy. Are you sure you're keeping up with your Airbending, young Avatar?" She raised a hand and held it out to the side.

Noren recovered before Ursa did, realizing what was going on, and quickly found a rag and placed in the waiting hand.

Mai's eyes never left Ursa the whole time, and as soon as the rag was in her grip, she moved again, taking a stance that had clearly been modeled on Avatar Aang's own style, and held the rag out in front of her, dangling it from her fingers and bouncing it in the air.

Mai gave a laugh that was echoed through the little room. "Your beard flutters in my breeze! Come, young Avatar, let's have a spar!"

There was a beat, and Ursa was tempted to deliver Roku's next line in response, but then all at once the younger woman slumped, letting the grandness leak out of her limbs. When she straightened, Mai was back, standing like a blade made of shadow, her face blank and her eyes dull.

Ursa blinked. What had she just witnessed? So many questions swirled in her mind, and she decided to ask the most important of them: "You know all the lines?"

#avatar mai #mai #ursa #avatar ursa

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duskholland · 4 years

Text

Places We Won’t Walk | Peter Parker

summary ↠ superhero!y/n au: when you have superpowers thrust upon you, sacrifices have to be made. some more willingly than others.

wc ↠ 4.5k

warnings ↠ depictions of character injury and death. angsty as fuck. there are a few swear words too but honestly they’re the least of your problems lmao

a/n ↠ recently I’ve found myself reflecting on the amount of loss Peter has experienced. loss of innocence, loss of childhood, loss of loved ones... this guy is a teenager and yet he is constantly forced into being an adult and it !! is not fair !! I wanted to play around with this sense of loss, and this fic gave me the perfect opportunity to do that. it made me cry lmao. *there’s a lil bit of a pov switch near the end, but it’s intentional*

↠ this is my submission for @mischiefandi‘s writing challenge. it’s based off the song, Places We Won’t Walk by Bruno Major. I made it a superhero au to fit my guideline! thanks so much for the challenge, V, I had a lot of fun with this <3

“You ever wish you weren’t a hero?”

The words fall past your lips before you can stop yourself. There’s a silence. Then a presence appears beside you, and you feel Peter wrap his hand in yours as he joins you by the window.

“What do you mean?” He asks, voice soft, questioning.

You tilt your head at the scene beneath the window. Central Park sprawls out in front of you, the lush green trees and speckled flowers brightening up the centre of New York City. The windows are shut, but you can imagine the sounds drifting up from the park: children laughing, lovers embracing, friends chatting. A sense of bitter jealousy sours your mouth as you force your gaze away from the park, the pain in your heart twisting angrily.

“We’re up here, working,” you start, picking your words carefully. “The world goes by below us. People- they fall in love, yeah? They hang out with their friends, they live their lives and they’re happy. Meanwhile, we stay up here, working alone, sacrificing everything.” You can’t help the bitterness that sweeps into your voice. You glance tentatively to Peter, who’s gripping your fingers a little harder now, his face pinched in an expression of anguish as his soft brown eyes flicker over the park.

After a moment, he sighs. “No one said life was going to be fair, Y/N.”

You’re disarmed by the bluntness in your boyfriend’s voice, and find your eyebrows raising reflectively. He finally tears his eyes from the park and brings his gaze to your face, his arms pulling around you as he takes in your expression. You bury your face in his shoulder and try not to cry as you think about the people down in the park, laughing and carefree, all because you’re up here, protecting them and their city.

It’s not fair. It will never be fair. But there’s nothing you can do about that. Because leaving the job would be siding with the enemy, and you could never do that.

“One day we’ll get out of here,” Peter murmurs, hands in your hair. His sweet peppermint scent swept over you as he holds you tight. “One day, we’ll take some time off, yeah? Go to the beach, have a vacation. Just...not yet.” And his voice sounds so false that water burns your eyes as you blink furiously.

“You think Tony will ever let us both leave the city?” When he stills, you catch your lower lip beneath your teeth and sigh guiltily. Pulling yourself back from his grip, you nudge your mouth against his cheek in a quick, chaste kiss. “Sorry,” you murmur. “It’s just hard, sometimes.”

Peter, only eighteen, but looking so much older with worried creases scrunched between his eyebrows, shrugs his shoulders. But he has an image of understanding on his face and a soft, sad smile spread across his lips, and it makes you feel a little less lonely to know you aren’t the only one chained to responsibility.

“We’ll get through it,” he promises. “They need us.”

And then you’re both looking back at the images of happy people playing in the park, and the silence returns again.

[——]

It’s Christmas Eve and you’re stumbling around on top of a rooftop, exchanging blows with a masked figure. In one hand he clutches a bag full of looted money, and in the other, he holds a knife. To say he’s built stockily, with wide shoulders and a tall, looming figure, he’s incredibly nimble on his feet. You’re breathless as you parry his strikes, your aching body already exhausted from taking on the rest of his goonies.

Peter’s somewhere below you, swinging around the city. You’d been relaxing beneath the Christmas tree in your apartment when his ears had pricked and you’d got a brief text from Stark HQ, and now you’re here, your evening plans of a festive gathering sacrificed for the greater good. Back in your lonely, dark kitchen lays a spread of cold festive treats you’d intended to serve to your friends and family, and you know you’ll stumble back to your empty place in a few hours and collapse on your sofa in tears.

It’s not that you don’t like your job. There’s nothing more gratifying and fulfilling than spending your hours saving lives. But it is a full-time job, and you never signed up for it. It wasn’t your fault that you were involved in a lab disaster when you were thirteen. You never volunteered to be Tony Stark’s newest project. And yet here you are, your body bruised and throbbing on Christmas Eve, exchanging blows with a thug instead of taking part in festive celebrations like the rest of the city. It’s hard not to be bitter.

“Ow!” You exclaim, your lack of concentration allowing the man in front of you to get a swipe at you. Your arm aches as the knife slices across your bicep, and you try not to look at the way your blood drips down onto the stony slabs of the rooftop. You deliver a swift kick to his chest and watch as he goes tumbling down, crumping in a heap on the ground. You tie his hands together and get ready to call for a lift back when there’s another blow delivered to the back of your head and you go spinning. You’re on the ground now, your vision blurring as you stare up at another of the men who must’ve sneaked up behind you as you dealt with the other. “Don’t you guys ever give up?”

He just snarls at you, lunging towards you with a larger knife than the other. You roll and spring to your feet, but now you’re lethargic and your arm has started to really hurt. Cursing lowly, you mutter into the com piece in your ear, “Pete? I’m gonna need some help up here,” the sense of guilt multiplying in your chest as you realise you’re pulling him away from the streets below, where he’s most likely helping civilians.

But you don’t regret it when the man gets a kick in at your stomach, and you end up on the ground again. Your head rattles against the stone and you can’t even manage to clamber to your feet as the guy approaches you, kneeling at your side so he can dig the point of the knife in at your neck. It’s cold and sharp, and you find yourself staring at the night sky, wondering if this is finally it. You can’t even see the stars through the air pollution, and your eyes glass over with tears as you realise you’re too exhausted to move your body.

You truly think it’s the end. But then there’s a loud crash, and the figure above you goes flying across the rooftop and crumples in a heap on the other side. With the pressure gone from your neck, you gasp a breath, a couple of hot tears falling down your cheeks.

“Y/N? Y/N, what’s wrong? Oh, shit, baby-” Peter’s hands go to your arm and you yelp as he pulls back the sleeve of your shirt, exposing the large laceration. Your eyes are screwed shut as you feel a cold pressure, and you know from experience that he’s using some special healing spray he’d had put in his suit for occasions such as this. His other hand goes to your face and you can feel his fingertips tremble as he caresses your cheek gently. “Hold on,” he murmurs. “Almost done.”

The throbbing dies down in your arm as Peter stops working on it. He helps you up to your feet, but you’re a little dizzy and stumble into him, your head aching and your stomach burning.

“I feel like I was just eaten by a wood chipper,” you manage, your fingers clinging to Peter’s shoulder for dear life. His laugh is low and weak as he helps you towards the edge of the building. You hear him mutter something through his earpiece to HQ about needing a cleanup crew, and then he wraps his arms around you.

“Let’s get out of here?”

“Take me home.”

He swings across the city with his arms wrapped around you, and you cling to your boyfriend weakly. When you’re back to your apartment, he helps you into some pyjamas and tucks you up in bed with a bunch of painkillers. You know you haven’t sustained any serious damage, but that doesn’t stop you from feeling like you’ve been hit by a truck.

“You scared me there, for a minute,” Peter murmurs. He’s stood at the end of the bed, the mask gone from his face, but his body still wearing the rest of his suit. His brown hair stands up messily, and your heart throbs weakly as you see the dark bags hanging beneath his eyes. He steps a bit closer, eyes casting down guiltily. “Sorry it took me a while to get up to you.”

You hold out your hand and he takes it, his grip firm but somehow still delicate. “It’s not your fault,” you say. “None of this is your fault.” You trail off for a breath moment, but then a weak laugh slips out. “When do we ever just get a quiet night in?”

His face twists almost painfully, but then he nods. “I’ll be back in a few hours.” His hand slips from yours and you realise with a pang that he isn’t done yet.

“Oh…”

His lips find your forehead, and they linger there for a few moments. Unspoken words and mutual understanding flow through the contact and you sigh softly as you know he couldn’t possibly stay. Just because you’re out of action, it doesn’t mean he is, and crime doesn't take a day off just because it’s a holiday.

“See you later,” you say, voice quiet. He looks into your eyes for a few seconds, an expression of regret briefly flickering over his face before he steps back and pulls his face mask on again.

“I love you,” he reminds you, voice a little squeaky.

You do your best to smile comfortingly as you watch him jerk up your bedroom window and clamber out. You don’t manage to say it back before he’s gone, disappeared off into the chilly night sky with a swing of his wrists.

With a sigh, you turn off the light and bed down beneath your duvet. You don’t even bother trying to sleep: you know you won’t be able to until he comes back and shows you that he’s safe. So instead, you stare vacantly up at the ceiling, every inch of your body hurting with a dull ache, and you listen to the noises of the city as they stream through your open window. A few sad tears soak into your pillowcase as you hear the dull pulse of Christmas songs and distant laughter, and there’s even a faint scent of gingerbread coming out from one of your neighbours’ apartments. And it hurts - it hurts like there’s a thorn piercing your heart that scratches deeper every time you breathe - but there’s nothing you can do apart from lay there numbly and stare into the darkness, knowing that nothing will ever change, and this will be your life forever.

[——]

Undercover missions are always your favourite.

It’s something about the way you get to don a disguise and slip into another persona for the night that thrills you. You get a break from your life, and though the missions are never straightforward, that brief release from your superhero duties is always welcome. They’re also some of the few occasions that you get to stroll around, arm in arm with your lovely boyfriend, and he’s able to look exactly like himself; not Spider-man, with that daunting, blue and red suit, but he’s Peter. He’s Peter and he’s eighteen and he looks so dashing all wrapped up in a neat black suit that it draws a smile to your face.

The function room you’re currently pacing is full of New York’s elite. Dazzling diamonds and rich rosy scents flood your senses, and it seems everywhere you look, you’re surrounded by pretentious wealth. It’s hard not to let your eyes bulge as everywhere you look you see perfectly curled hair, long legs with tall heels, and expensive-looking leather watches. But it’s thrilling, too, and for a few moments, you find yourself lost in it.

“Did I mention how stunning you look tonight?” Peter whispers into your ear. Your cheeks warm as you use your free hand to dust down your dress.

“Oh, this old thing?” You joke. “It only cost about $2500.” And you hadn’t had to pay a single penny, thank god. It all comes under ‘business expenses’ - one of the few perks you get when you devote yourself to a life of service.

Peter gulps, his eyes softening when they meet yours. Adoration fills you as you look at your boyfriend, and you tighten your grip on his hand as you lean in to steal a quick, tender kiss.

“The most beautiful woman in the room,” he says firmly. He joins your other hand with his, and the rest of the room seems to fall away, leaving just you, and him, holding one another tightly. “I’m so lucky.”

“I’m lucky,” you correct, ignoring the way he opens his mouth to dispute the fact. “No one understands me like you, Peter.” Your breath catches as he rubs his thumb over the back of your hand. “I can’t imagine living in a world without you.”

“A world without you is one I wouldn’t want to be in,” he affirms. He drags one of your hands to his mouth and presses a soft kiss to the skin there. “I wish we could stay like this forever.”

But you can’t, and no sooner do the words come out of his mouth are you being interrupted by an elderly socialite. She’s wearing a glittery shawl and her pale blue eyes seem to dig into your soul as you make contact with her.

“Pardon the interruption,” she drawls, Southern accent twinkling lightly, “I just wanted to say how dashing you both look. What an adorable couple,” she compliments. Her gaze drifts down to your empty left hand. “Are you two getting married?” She says anyway, effectively driving a hard dagger into your chest.

Your eyes flutter shut as the pain that gripes at your chest stings your eyes. You can’t help yourself imagining the scene. You’re only eighteen, but you’ve known Peter since you were both fifteen and have been dating almost that long, so you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t imagined what it’d be like for him to fall to his knees in front of you. You know he’d be nervous - all flushed, and bumbling, and nervously shaking - but you’ve always found that endearing, and you know with certainty that you wouldn’t feel anything other than pure, sweet adoration as he asked you to marry him. It’d be a yes - of course it would be - and then you’d tumble into his arms and live out the rest of your life peacefully.

But it’s just a fantasy. An idea that you cling to every night you’re out fighting on the streets, everything hurting. It’s almost pitiful how much you find yourself yearning for it to happen, your mind fabricating a reality where you aren’t tied down to your job, and can instead live peacefully with the man you love.

When you’re silent, Peter speaks for you, laughing nervously. “Oh, uh, thank you, ma’am,” he flounders, his cheeks a bright red. “We’re just dating.”

“Oh, what a shame!” She exclaims. Then she steps nearer and grips your arm, and you feel dread replace your awkwardness as you remember your mission objective. Her fingers dig into your skin as her mouth finds your ear, and she hisses a low, threatening, “I know you’re here to ruin this deal, but I’m afraid I’m not going to let that happen, sugar. You’re surrounded.”

And you know Peter’s amplified hearing has picked it up, and you pull back to look at him, a dull look in your eyes. Of course it was too good to be true. God forbid you get to spend even five minutes with your boyfriend without someone stepping in and ruining it.

He shares your disgruntled expression as he flicks his wrists and his web-shooters appear. “Y’know, lady, I really thought you were nice,” he mutters. Then he blasts her with his webs, and the room becomes a war-zone, and you’re dragged back to your day job with a bitter taste in your mouth. This always happens, and at this point, you should be used to it, but that doesn’t mean it hurts any less to come to terms with the fact that this is your reality: closeness with your boyfriend only when you’re on the battlefield, fighting back to back. No engagement, no wedding, no happily ever afters. Just fights, and pain, and work. And it’s heartbreaking.

[——]

Peter knows how much of a toll this life takes on you. He’s watched as the fifteen-year-old girl he used to joke around with started to shrink and wither. He’s been there as you’ve grown older and your heart has grown heavier, and he’s been with you as you’ve taken lives, saved people, lost people - the whole works. And he understands how difficult it can be, because he goes through it too, but he knows it’s worse for you.

Neither of you ever chose this life. For you it was a lab explosion, for him it was a spider. You aren’t like Tony Stark who engineered his way to the top, or Captain America, who chose to take on that super serum. You didn’t willingly surrender your freedom for the greater good - it was taken from you, ripped out of your cold, aching hands, and he’s watched as that theft has slowly worn you down.

You’re still the same girl he’d fallen for, three years ago. You can still be found humming along to your favourite songs as you bake in the kitchen, and you still greet him with a kiss every time he climbs through your window. But you’re also sadder, and he can sense the weight that hangs in your heart and the longing that you feel when you look around at the world and see only what you can’t have. Because you’re a good person - and that’s the main reason Peter found himself being gravitated towards you in the first place. And that means that you won’t ever leave this life and this city, even if it’s slowly suffocating you.

He’s tried all he can to help. He lets you cry on his shoulder and rubs your back and promises he’ll get you out of here one day. But they’re empty words and he hates to lie to you, but deep down you both know that it’ll never happen. Even if Tony let you have a week off, Peter knows that neither of you would feel content leaving the city in the hands of others.

You’re both tied to your jobs like a ball on a chain, and try as he might, Peter hasn’t been able to loosen the shackles. Not even a little bit. And one day, it all falls apart, and it’s only then that he realises how blind he’d been to the truth.

You’ve both been sent out of the city for a drugs bust involving a gang of vibranium scrappers. They’re in possession of some seriously dangerous weapons, so you’ve got a team of agents with you to help neutralise the threat. The warehouse they’re staked out in looks cold and uninviting, and as he approaches the metal box, Peter grabs your hand desperately.

“Promise me you’ll be safe,” he says hurriedly. He looks at you and the determined grin branded to your lips and his heart skips a beat. You are the most beautiful person he’s ever seen. When you let out a small giggle, it sounds like a thousand gentle wind chimes floating through his ears.

“I can’t promise that,” you tease, nudging his side. “How about you promise to save me if I get stabbed again?”

Peter’s heart falls as he remembers the time on the rooftop on Christmas Eve, all those months ago. When he’d swung up and seen you laying limp on the ground, close to death, he’d never felt as panicked in his life. It was as if his life had flashed before his eyes, but there was an empty space just beside him where you were supposed to be - his best friend, his partner in crime, the love of his life. He shudders as you drop his hand.

“I’ll always save you,” he promises. He’s got his mask in his hands and before he can stop himself, he gives you a quick, deep kiss. He feels your surprise, but then you grin into him and kiss him back strongly, your lips warm and soft and perfect.

“I love you,” you remind him. You give him another short kiss. “Let’s go get these bad guys!”

It goes well at first.

Peter had formulated a plan and the team had followed it precisely. Whilst he worked with you to take out the gang leaders, the backup you’d brought scurried around, securing the precious vibranium and neutralising as many weapons as they could. The warehouse was stuffed with personnel, yet slowly and surely, the gang is broken down.

He can’t help but become a little distracted as he webs up a few men. He can’t stop looking at you. The way your face is pulled into a magnificent expression of determination as you kick and punch and dodge and defend. Your hair goes flying in arcs around your figure and your movements are so fluid and powerful that it’s like you were born to do this. He’s left awestruck as an overwhelming feeling of love floods his system, and in that moment, Peter knows he’d follow you to the end of the earth if he could.

But his soft expression of adoration drains away as he watches the unthinkable happen. You’ve just punched a man in the gut when another approaches you from the side, and in a sickening manoeuvre, he stabs you in the side with a long, poisoned dagger. Immediately you go down, the material of your suit darkening as you yelp. The sound sends a blast of hot, white rage through Peter.

He loses it. When the man over you pulls out the dagger and allows a hot rush of blood to leave your side, Peter’s vision burns red. He’s shooting webs in every direction and manages to take down all the remaining targets in about two seconds, and then he’s stumbling to the ground, all the colour drained from his face.

Your face is flushed and your forehead is sticky, and as Peter pressed the flat of his hand into your side to stem the blood, you manage a scattered yelp. Your eyes are wide and terrified.

“Karen, run diagnostics,” he manages.

“Wound is deep. Poison is lethal. Two minutes until it overwhelms her system.”

Peter chokes back a sob and pulls off his mask. Two minutes. Even if you’d brought paramedics, he knows it would be a lost cause.

You’re gazing vacantly at the metal warehouse ceiling as he uses his free hand to shakily cup your face. “Hold on, okay,” he stammers. “Y/N, it’s going to be okay.”

Even in the face of death, you manage to smile weakly. “Take me outside,” you beg, voice shaky. “I want to see the stars.”

Peter scoops you up in his arms and manages to apply pressure to your side with one hand as the other swings the both of you out of the warehouse. Luckily you’re quite far out of down, and after using a few trees to gain momentum, Peter finds the rise of a hill and settles you both there. His hands shake and his lungs heave as he gently lies you down in the cool grass, and something a little like peace travels across your face. But it soon vanishes as you shudder, and then you’re grabbing at his arm and squeezing so tightly it feels like you’re ripping his arm from his socket.

One minute.

“Peter,” you manage, your voice quivering. Peter leans over you, kneeling desperately by your face, his eyes skittering over every line of your familiar skin. He takes in everything: the way your hair is soft and supple and smells of fresh strawberries, the way your eyes are sparkling and seem to draw him in, the way your nose curves perfectly and the deep smile lines that he can imagine forming by your mouth. His heart shatters as he brings his hand to your face and cups your cheek delicately. “Peter.”

“I’m here,” he mumbles. You clench your finger around his arm as your breathing eases.

“Get out of this,” you plead. “I- I’m begging you. Find… Find a nice girl, okay? And go to college with her. Maybe get married. Have some kids, even. Go on holidays.” You break off as a torrent of hot tears run down your face. “Live your life.”

Peter thinks about all the times he’d soothed your worries away. All the times he’d said you’d get some time off together eventually. When he’d said you could both go to college. When he’d promised one day you’d be able to settle down and live happily together. And he thinks about how they were just all big, ugly lies.

“You are my life,” is all he can manage. He smooths his hand through your wet hair as he cries too, eyes stinging.

“Do it for me.”

Your breathing is slower now, more pained. Peter presses a scattering of kisses to the side of your face and nods his head at the night sky.

“The stars are pretty tonight,” he manages. You gaze up and as the twinkling lights of the stars dance in your eyes, he knows you’re almost gone. He kisses your cheek again, his shaking lips lingering by your ear as he whispers, “I love you, brave girl. You can let go now. Go join the stars.”

And your lips let out a final, shuddering breath as your eyelids close, the light draining from your face. And Peter folds over on himself, an awful, twisted anguished groan filling the air.

Do it for me, your voice seems to echo through his mind. And Peter cries until his mouth is dry and his lungs burn and he’s heaving, and all he can think about are the empty promises he’d whispered to you, and all the places you won’t walk together. And how that life you’d described - of him, with a nice girl, building a life together - is never going to happen, because you were the love of his life, and now you’re gone. And for the first time in his life, Peter knows he’s truly alone.

[——]

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dewitty1 · 4 years

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Fic Recs Wrap Up - October 2020 (੭ˊ͈ ꒵ˋ͈)･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*☆

Mental by sara_holmes @captn-sara-holmes

Harry has had quite enough of sharing his mind with someone else, thankyouverymuch. A miscast Legilimency spell says otherwise. Rec Post

Changing of the Guard by Lomonaaeren

Need a perfect stranger? Ask Metamorphosis. Harry Potter runs the business secretly and becomes whoever’s needed for each occasion. He’s not sure whether he should be more surprised, worried, or amused when Draco Malfoy comes to Metamorphosis and requests an actor who can play his boyfriend so that his parents will disown him. Yet Harry has even more dangerous choices after he creates Brian, Draco’s “perfect” boyfriend. Draco doesn’t know who Brian is, but he’s trying to find out—and now so is Harry. Rec Post

Going Once, Going Twice by VivacissimoVoce

Draco Malfoy has been missing for two years. Now the Malfoy estate is going up for auction, and Harry decides it’s time to find out what happened to his former school rival. Rec Post

Oath Breaker by GoblinCatKC @kc-anathema

At the start of seventh year, the Malfoys perform a dramatic double-cross against the dark lord and Draco educates Harry in an old school of magic. With a wild dragon chase, narrow escapes and an unlikely romance as Draco is forced to reveal to a hostile wizarding world that the Malfoy family is dark. Rec Post.

Tea and No Sympathy by who_la_hoop

It's Potter's fault, of course, that Draco finds himself trapped in the same twenty-four-hour period, repeating itself over and over again. It's been nearly a year since the unpleasant business at Hogwarts, and Draco's getting on with his life quite nicely, thank you, until Harry sodding Potter steps in and ruins it all, just like always. At first, though, the time loop seems liberating. For the first time in his life, he can do anything, say anything, be anything, without consequence. But the more Draco repeats the day, the more he realises the uncomfortable truth: he's falling head over heels for the speccy git. And suddenly, the time loop feels like a trap. For how can he ever get Harry to love him back when time is, quite literally, against him? Rec Post

Never the Same Again by frances potter

The war is over ... in fact it never really got started because the Dark Lord proved to be the more powerful. Now five years after Dumbledore's death, Draco Malfoy has something else to worry about besides being a spy. Rec Post

Starts With a Spin by Maxine @serasarahhhh

It started with the spin of a bottle, and now Harry and Draco have gotten themselves so far into their own game there's almost no way out again. Except to keep playing. Rec Post

Saving Draco Malfoy by Dayspring

While the Wizarding world waits for Harry Potter to save them, Draco Malfoy decides to save himself. Rec Post

We Are Young (I'll Carry You Home Tonight) by Femme (femmequixotic) @femmequixotic

Harry and Draco have been falling into bed on and off again since the last election five years ago, much to the amusement--and financial gain--of their circle of friends. But when Harry agrees to work with Draco to put Kingsley Shacklebolt into the Minister's office, they can't work side-by-side again every day and sleep together; that would be courting disaster. Wouldn't it? Rec Post

₍՞◌′ᵕ‵ू◌₎♡ Here are some other fics you might enjoy-

On the Last Day by trishjames @thusspoketrish

Draco is still mourning the recent loss of his mother when the Wizarding World is struck with the tragic news of Harry Potter’s untimely death. It’s just his luck that Potter not only comes back as a ghost, but seems intent on haunting Draco as he’s the only one that can see him. It’s a race against time to retrace the last few days of Potter’s life in order to find his body before he’s lost to the living or spiritual realm forever. On their journey, they’ll uncover secrets, betrayals, and a horrific truth that will disrupt both the living and the dead. Fic Claim Post, Art Post 1, 2, 3 ( art by @eromnid )

Scenes of Surrender by Rasborealis

Draco just wants to keep his head down and finish his last year at Hogwarts. He's not supposed to let his mask slip, and Harry isn't supposed to care. Art post

You Don't Know Me (Like You Used To) by Anonymous for @hd-fan-fair

"Buy me a drink as compensation for maiming me?" he asks.

"And why the hell would I do that?" It’s a perfectly valid question. A drink invitation from Harry Potter is about as likely of a scenario as me streaking down Piccadilly in broad daylight. Consider me completely thrown off.

Sometimes it only takes a week to change everything. The story of how twenty-five-year-old Draco Malfoy hit one Harry Potter with a door and knocked both of their lives into somewhere entirely new. Rec post

True Children Still by Anonymous for @hd-fan-fair

After years of dancing around each other, Draco and Harry have finally begun to date, though they're taking things slow. They've got enough to figure out as it is, and the last thing Harry needs is an unexpected introduction to desires he's not quite ready to face. (please heed the tags!) Rec post

Asking For A Friend? by Anonymous for @hd-fan-fair

Asking for a friend? Don't be shy! I'm Genna Russ with advice!

Draco Malfoy, drag queen and agony aunt for the Daily Prophet, is very happy with his life. He loves his job. He loves his drag queen persona. And he loves the fact that the wider Wizarding world doesn't know who is offering them sassy advice with their morning news.

When he starts receiving letters from one Harry Potter – letters that are too racy to publish – he does the only thing he can do: he replies. His carefully constructed secret life is at risk of being blown wide open, but he just can't help himself. Draco never did have any self-control where the Prat Who Lived was concerned. Rec Post

Take My Wonder by Anonymous for @hd-fan-fair

Harry Potter is the author of very well-written children's text books. Joshua Starkweather is the author of not-so-well-written erotic fiction. Only one person knows that they are one and the same. Rec post

Starkissed by Anonymous for @hd-fan-fair

“Your tattoos!” The intruder says, boldly stepping over Ron’s chaise and crossing in front of Hermione to get to Harry, eyes wide and hungry. Harry immediately sits up, pulling the towel draped across the back of his chair down over his shoulders.

“No! Don’t cover them. They’re beautiful.”

Harry hopes an indulgent trip abroad will help shake him out of the doldrums of his life. What he finds once he gets to Venice is more than he ever expected. Rec Post

If an Injury Is to Be Inflicted by shealwaysreads (onereader) @shealwaysreads

If an injury has to be done to a man it should be so severe that his vengeance need not be feared.

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Three years later, Draco indulges himself and attends his first Dog Fight—the infamous underground fights with no rules, no referee, and no points system bar blood on the floor. The game was simple: you win, or you die.

A glint of green amidst the blood-red changes everything. Fic Claim/RecPost

♡✧( ु•⌄• ) I hope you enjoy these as much as I have!

As always, thank you so much for following, reading, and reblogging! Your support means so much to me!

xoxo Carey ₍՞◌′ᵕ‵ू◌₎♡💜💙💚💛❤💗💕💖

#Fic Rec Wrap up October 2020 #Fic rec wrap ups #Drarry fic recs #fic recs #Drarry #Drarry fanfiction #My recs #Harry Potter #Draco Malfoy #Drarry Smut #Drarry Squad #Carey's Bookmark Fic Recs #Carey's Personal Bookmarks

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umbry-fic · 3 years

Text

kakurenbo

Summary:

"How do you always find me?" Colette would ask every time, pouting.

"Because I'm the best seeker around for miles!" Lloyd would declare, grinning.

Their disastrous first game of hide-and-seek, and a promise made between children.

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia Characters: Colette Brunel, Lloyd Irving, Genis Sage Relationships: Colette Brunel & Lloyd Irving, Colette Brunel & Lloyd Irving & Genis Sage Rating: G Word Count: 2565 Mirror Link: AO3 Original Post Date: 27/09/2021

Notes: A short fluffy fic about hide-and-seek, featuring a lot of kids being kids!

~~~

Their first game of hide-and-seek, when Colette was eleven, was… something of a disaster. Even that was something of an understatement, considering the situation she found herself in now - shivering and alone.

Lloyd was the one to introduce it, like always, this game where one person covered their eyes and everyone else ran around like headless chickens. He was the one that coaxed her and Genis into trying out the games that they were all no stranger to - having spent many years peering out the window at the other children, caught in the middle of merriment - but had never experienced for themselves. He would clamour on about whatever exciting game had caught his interest at the moment, gesturing wildly, infectious energy spreading from him. So much, that even Genis couldn’t help but succumb, leading the three of them to make plans in hushed whispers during class, always in danger of getting an earful from Professor Raine but revelling in the thrill of it.

And then they would carry out their plans, clumsily, but always with childish exuberance flooding the air. Giggles bubbling from her chest while Lloyd grinned, Genis letting out a laugh of his own. It would end in disaster half the time - things just had a tendency to go awry when it was the three of them - sometimes burying them head-to-toe in mud, sometimes completely drenching them, and sometimes leaving them covered in tiny scratches and bruises, though they were never happier.

They never learned their lesson. Because they did it, over and over again, her and Genis always following Lloyd’s lead. It was so easy to fall into step behind him, to trust in him to bring them on fantastical adventures full of joy and wonder, that they had once barely known. Like he was a captain, leading his measly, but very enthusiastic crew, onwards with large, confident steps.

Which led to them starting an ill-advised game of hide-and-seek in front of Dirk’s house in the late afternoon after school, each one of them raring to win. Even the usually reserved Genis was bouncing on the balls of his feet, a competitive fire burning in his eyes. The matter of setting boundaries, one of the most important parts of hide-and-seek, had slipped their minds completely. Or perhaps it had never occurred to them at all, three children utterly lost in the heat of the moment.

The games their classmates played were always confined to the school grounds, the insistent ringing of the bell by Professor Raine a sign to stop or face her wrath.

Out here, there was no indicator for the game to end, no barrier as to how far they could wander. They could go on forever if they wished to, until they disappeared beyond the edge of the forest, perhaps even past the edge of the world.

And that was how Colette came to be sitting here, in this log that acted as her hiding spot, for the past two hours.

She’d been confident that no one would find her here - this massive log hollowed out by rot that she had only found by complete accident, tripping and tumbling head-first into this space on one of the days that she’d wandered into the fringes of the forest to get away from everything. She’d sat up rubbing her head, hoping there wouldn’t be a bump arising in the next few hours - only to find that she couldn’t see past the entrance of the log, wreathed in deep green, the overgrown leaves hiding her away from the world. Crawling out had revealed that the entrance was completely obscured, nigh invisible to someone who didn’t already know it was there.

It had become her go-to spot, when she just needed to be alone, to bury her face in her knees, let the weight of everything press down fully and leave her in the form of sobs that wracked her shoulders, her back trembling, here where no one could hear her.

Past the river, turning right at the stone that resembled Noishe, pushing past the branches that scratched at her skin.

The same path she had followed as Lloyd had bellowed out the countdown, hands cupped over his mouth and voice audible even through the denseness of the forest.

She’d sat here, relaxed with her legs stretched out before her, feeling ever so proud of herself. Her first game of hide-and-seek, and she would be clinching the victory!

That certainty had given way to doubt as time continued its inexorable march, each second almost tangible as Colette struggled to keep track of them. It felt like they were all piling atop each other, her mind sluggish as her eyelids grew heavy. The cold wasn’t helping matters - the morning had certainly started off more chilly than usual, but it hadn’t been this bad. The temperature must have plunged since she’d gotten here, and it was enough to make her huddle her knees close to her chest, rubbing her hands together as she shivered.

She knew she’d been here for too long, but she didn’t want to leave, an uncharacteristic stubbornness gripping her. It wasn’t fair that she was the one who had to leave and risk getting tagged! That would mean immediate defeat!

It wasn't fair... But nothing was fair...

No, she would stay here, she decided, clinging on to the idea of victory, of winning the bet that she’d made with Lloyd. She would be the one to snack on the last of Grandma’s odd number of baked cookies! No more would she have to duel Lloyd for the rights to it, a duel that usually ended with the two of them rolling across the ground, each aiming to subdue the other with tickles. The victorious would get to experience a delightful sweetness that melted in the mouth, while the loser had to watch the final mouth-watering cookie disappear.

She would spare herself the trouble this weekend by deciding things, here and now.

The heaviness continued to press on her, however, no amount of painting imaginary scenes of playful dogs on the walls keeping it away. The darkness claimed her not soon after, head falling slack against the wood behind her.

~~~

She awoke with a violent sneeze, the shivers returning in full force as she wrapped her arms around herself.

She registered a thudding sound overhead, and glanced up with bleary eyes. It appeared that sometime during her sleep, the heavens had opened up. It would certainly explain why it was so cold.

The roof appeared to be leak-free, thankfully, though there was a shallow layer of water filling the bottom of the log, even more slowly seeping in through the entrance. The bottom of her white robes was submerged, and she knew they’d be heavy if she attempted to stand, water falling off her in rivulets.

Colette had to concede by now that staying in here wasn't as comfortable as she'd once thought it would be, her legs starting to cramp from being squeezed in this position for so long.

Where were Genis and Lloyd? Was Genis still hiding, or had he been found? And what about Lloyd? Was he still running around everywhere, poking his head in every nook and cranny, peeking around every corner, trying his very best to find her?

Or had he given up entirely?

That last thought sent something dark crawling into her heart. And no matter how much she told herself that it was just a stupid fear her tired mind was conjuring up, for she knew she wouldn't be stuck in here forever, knew that she would most certainly be seeing her friends again... It was futile. The cold could only spread, a cold deeper than the shivers she currently felt.

She was alone here. Alone, in a way she hadn't been for a long time. She hadn't realised, just how much she would miss the company of her friends when they weren't by her side.

Was this what it would feel like, once she left everyone behind? She would be all alone then too. Where no one could see her, or hear her, or even know where she was... Where the only thing she knew would be silence, eating away at her...

She buried her face in her knees, but there were no tears this time. She was too tired to move, and it felt like she was gradually becoming as motionless as the wood that surrounded her.

Slowly rotting…

The rustling of leaves at the entrance gained her attention, her head raising as she realised that the thudding had grown significantly softer in the time that had passed.

She watched, as slowly, a hand poked through the curtain of green, followed by a familiar head of brown hair, and then the entire body of a boy, tumbling to a stop before her. It was almost strange to gaze upon a human again after not seeing one in so long, but it was just Lloyd. Familiar old Lloyd, if a very drenched Lloyd, hair falling into his eyes and clothes two shades darker than usual.

"I finally found you! Wow, this is a good hiding spot," Lloyd said in a whisper as he picked himself off the floor, unwilling to talk loudly in the sacred confines of the log. Only to bang his head against the top of it, letting out a little squeak as he quickly sat down, rubbing his head sheepishly.

"It's my private little spot," she whispered back, smiling at Lloyd’s antics. The words felt a little foreign in her ears after such a long period of silence, but it felt good, to finally say something. To hear her voice again.

"Oh! Sorry for intruding..." The tip of Lloyd’s ears flushed a little red, his expression shifting minutely. Why, she didn’t know.

She only knew that it made giggles burst out of her, the strange misery that had been filling her chest vacating instantly like it had never been there, the hole it left behind filled with that bright happiness she always felt in Lloyd's presence. "Don't be silly, Lloyd. I'm glad you found me.”

I was starting to think you never would…

"I'm glad I found you too! I promise, I'll always find you!" Lloyd declared with a confident grin, his hand grabbing hers. And despite the droplets of water rolling down his hand - for he must have been looking for her even in the heavy rain - his fingers were so, so warm. She couldn’t help but grip onto his hand tightly, letting the ever-present warmth he exuded chase away the cold biting into her bones, let it stop the shivers, even if for just this moment.

“Now, let’s go home,” he said gently, leading her out into the open, the word “home” echoing in her heart. Always leading her, with her hand in his. It was how she knew she was safe.

In the outside that she’d nearly forgotten existed, rainwater dripped from leaves, creating an almost mini-shower that landed on her face and made her blink.

“Where’s Genis?”

“Oh, he was hiding by the riverside. I found him pretty quickly! He’s gone home. But, uh,” Lloyd muttered, averting his gaze. “Your father’s here. You’ve been gone for quite a while.”

“I see…” she murmured, head bowing.

Father would no doubt scold her harshly once she got home. The Chosen wasn’t supposed to partake in such frivolous activities, not least ones that endangered her. Such irresponsible behaviour wouldn’t be easily forgiven by the Church.

“It is my fault for not setting a time limit! Dad’s hammered that into my head already, so I can just tell your father that!”

“No, it’s fine,” Colette replied, shaking her head. “Thank you, but I was the one who decided to stay in there for so long.” She couldn’t even explain it now, why the need to do so had been so strong, so insistent. It had been a foolish thing to do.

Some strange act of defiance, nothing more than a childish impulse - the kind not allowed of the Chosen.

“Hey, it’s not that serious!” Lloyd retorted, chasing away her thoughts as the two of them fell into a playful argument that lasted until they left the darkness of the forest and stepped back into the dim light of the evening, washing the world in a coat of warm orange and pink.

Most people would label this a terrible experience. One that ended in Father berating her, and both her and Lloyd falling victim to a terrible cold, as Genis lamented having gone along with everything.

Yet she cherished it anyway. The aftermath wasn’t all bad, after all. Lloyd had recovered first, and spent the days where she remained on bedrest sitting by her bedside, feeding her cookie after cookie, taking none for himself. “A treat,” he exclaimed, waving another cookie in the air and dropping crumbs everywhere as she alternated between sneezing and laughing so hard her stomach hurt.

And she couldn’t help but paint the promise Lloyd had made into vivid memory, memorise the warmth of his hand.

Though she never did figure out how he found her.

The answer to that question continued to elude her in future hide-and-seek games, where Lloyd never failed to sniff out her hiding place, no matter how hard she tried. Scarily fast too. Maybe he just possessed a good eye?

In response to her grumbling and pouting, he would only grin. And declare, “Because I'm the best seeker around for miles!"

He never made mention of the promise he’d made her. To him, surely it must have been nothing more than a trivial turn of phrase, not to be taken seriously and easily forgotten.

That was alright. It was enough for only her to remember, and to continue having fun with her friends, in the time she still had left.

~~~

"Thank you," she whispered, wrapping her arms around Lloyd, glad to feel his warmth again after weeks of empty coldness. "For... finding me."

How strange of her, to put it that way. What Lloyd had done was tirelessly work to restore her soul, to let her take control of her body again instead of being locked behind a thousand chains. But it truly felt like he had reached into the darkness and found her, pulled her out into the light.

Just as he’d done when they were little children still filled with naive hope, in the hollow of a log. And countless times after. Always leading her, back into safety, back into the world, back home. Sometimes playfully, sometimes desperately, but always, always ensuring he never let go.

She felt Lloyd's laughter reverberate through her, shaky but full of joy.

"I promised, didn't I? That I would always find you."

How silly, she thought, burying her face in his chest as laughter shook her shoulders as well. How silly that he would still remember such a trivial little promise. How silly of the both of them. Like it meant the world to him in the same way it did to her.

His hands resting on her back, he pulled her closer, and she could not be any more at peace.

Here, where she was safe in his arms. Here, where hope still shined strong, and childish joy still thrived.

Here, where she never needed to hide, and so would never be lost again.

#fanfiction #one shot #tales of symphonia #colette brunel #lloyd irving #genis sage #yeah this is a lot of posts at once #but today has been emotionally draining #and this is just something nice to do

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darriness · 3 years

Text

Klaine Fic - Season of Happiness

Author: darriness

Rating: Explicit

Category: AU

Word Count: 11,172

Summary: A Christmas with the Anderson’s - what could possibly go wrong?

Author’s Note: So I started watching Happiest Season the other day and got inspired! I have only watched an hour of the movie though so far. Once it sparked this fic idea, I wanted to run with it without having to think about how closely it aligned with the movie. So any similarities, especially near the end, are coincidental. That being said, there are two lines from the movie I used in my fic word for word because I loved them so much (if you want to know which they are just ask and I'll tell you - I take no credit for them). As always this fic was beta'd by the lovely @darrenismydarcy but any left over errors are completely my fault! Enjoy and Happy Holidays!

AO3 Link

“There it is. There it is.” Blaine Anderson pants as he rocks his hips. Kurt Hummel, the man currently on the receiving end of Blaine’s thrusting hips, puts his hands into his hair as his noises become more desperate. He is so. Close. And Blaine knows it.

“Oh God, Blaine.” Kurt moans.

“Come on. Come. Come around my cock.” It’s those growled words that do it. Kurt feels everything in him tighten before it releases in blinding light and sparks.

He is aware of Blaine’s almost pained groan above him and after the initial wave of sensation is over, Kurt makes the concerted effort to squeeze his muscles as Blaine continues to thrust.

“Coming.” Blaine announces in a strained voice as he stills and Kurt hums at the pulsing sensation deep inside.

They are still but for their panting breath for several moments afterwards. Kurt is enjoying the little sparks of sensation still zinging all over his body and he has a feeling Blaine is about five seconds away from collapsing on top of him.

4, 3, 2, 1…

Blaine lets out a huff and his arms collapse under him so he’s lying on Kurt’s chest. Kurt smirks - he knows his boyfriend. Kurt brings his hands up to run them absently along Blaine’s sweaty back as the other man rests his cheek on Kurt’s sternum. He knows sooner rather than later Blaine will have to get up to dispose of the condom, but for now he’s going to wait until he can feel his extremities a little more and just enjoy this moment.

Six months in and it seems to only get better.

He met Blaine in a coffee shop, of all cliche places. Witty banter and flirty, coy smiles were exchanged and just like that Kurt had himself a date for the evening. Six months later finds the twenty-four year old men living together in Kurt’s small but impressively decorated one bedroom apartment in Brooklyn and more in love than either can really comprehend.

Kurt is forever thankful that he decided to stop at that particular coffee shop before work all those months ago.

Blaine brings him back to the present with a groan as he pushes off Kurt to quickly dispose of the condom before pulling the blanket up to cover them both and snuggling back in beside Kurt.

“Love you.” Blaine whispers.

Kurt turns with a smile, enjoying the way the passing lights from the street outside cause the light to play on Blaine’s beautiful face, “Love you, too.” He answers back.

Blaine gives a small smile, “And thanks for letting me do that.”

The comment makes Kurt actually laugh out loud, which makes Blaine’s smile grow bigger.

“You say that like it never happens.” Kurt says after he’s done laughing, “I’ve let you fuck me quite a few times.”

Blaine shrugs, “Yeah, but you much prefer to fuck me.”

It’s Kurt’s turn to shrug, “Fair point. But it’s not like I only let you top on your birthday and Christmas or anything. And don’t pretend you don’t prefer it the other way.”

Blaine smirks, “You are very talented with your hips.” He concedes which does wonders for Kurt’s ego, “But it’s close enough to Christmas so the whole ‘only let me fuck you on Christmas’ thing could hold water.”

Kurt snorts and rolls his eyes before looking back at Blaine who suddenly has a serious expression on his face.

“Speaking of Christmas…” Blaine starts and Kurt’s eyes widen slightly.

It’s not like he hadn’t been expecting this conversation. They’ve been dating for six months and living together for one. It’s the middle of December. He’s actually surprised the topic of their first Christmas together hadn’t come up sooner.

“Yes.” Kurt says, slowly.

Blaine bites his lip, “I was wondering if you’d...come to my parents place for the holiday.”

Something in Kurt’s chest instinctively tightens. Meeting the parents. For Christmas. It’s a lot.

It’s not like Kurt’s never met a boyfriend’s parents. He’s had two major relationships in his twenty-four years, both lasting two years, and he met the parents both times. It’s just that...the meeting hadn’t gone overly well either time. In fact, the disaster that was meeting Ethan’s parents was what had caused him and Kurt to break up.

It’s not that Kurt doesn’t want to meet Blaine’s parents - he and Blaine are serious enough to warrant a meeting for sure - he had just been hoping to avoid it a little bit longer.

He must not be answering quickly enough because Blaine picks his head up from where it had been resting on Kurt’s chest with a furrowed brow, “If you don’t want to, that’s okay. I know it’s a big step.”

Looking into Blaine’s round, large, hazel eyes, Kurt finds his heart melting and he smiles despite his misgivings, “I would love to spend Christmas with your family.” He says and the bright smile Blaine gives him is enough to know he’s made the right decision.

-- -- --

“No, Dad, I already told you. Blaine’s parents live in Westerville. We’ll spend Christmas Eve and Christmas morning with them and then we’ll drive to Lima and spend Christmas afternoon and the twenty-sixth with you and Carole.” Kurt is saying to his dad as he finishes packing his bag.

It’s not the first conversation he’s had with his father about the subject. This won’t be the first Christmas Kurt has had to divide his time, but it’s definitely not the norm, and Burt Hummel is having a difficult time with it.

His father coughs before grumbling, “Couldn’t it be the other way around?”

Kurt sighs and pauses in his packing, “Dad,” He says, “I already told you this, too. Blaine’s parents and brother are flying out to LA on Christmas Day.”

Burt sighs, “I know you told me, I just...want you here.”

Kurt pouts a little, “I know, Dad. But it’s the only way to make it work without Blaine and I spending Christmas apart. And it’s just easier to get both ‘meeting the parent’ moments out of the way.”

Burt huffs, “So now I’m something to be gotten ‘out of the way’?”

Kurt looks up at the ceiling, “Daaaaad.” He all but whines and this time Burt laughs.

“I’m just joking about that last one.” He says and Kurt feels some of the tension leave him, “Promise me you’ll FaceTime me on Christmas Eve at some point?” Burt asks.

Kurt nods, “Of course. Will Finn be around to help you figure out how to work FaceTime?” He asks.

“Hey now…” Burt says in warning and then the father and son are laughing.

“I’d better go, Dad.” Kurt says, “But I’ll see you in a few days.”

-- -- --

Kurt drums his fingers on the window ledge of the car as he looks out at the trees passing them by. They’ve been on the road for a few hours and while Kurt doesn’t necessarily want to speed up the time it takes to get to Blaine’s house and the meeting of his parents, he also wouldn’t mind if this car ride was shorter.

For whatever reason, Blaine has been tense the entire time. He’s kept both of his hands on the wheel, even going so far as to pull his hand back when Kurt had gone to grab it and bring it into his own lap, and he hasn’t said more than a single sentence in the last hour. Kurt has tried to ask if everything is okay but he just gets a nod and tight smile in return.

This can’t be a good start to this whole thing.

He figures Blaine is just nervous as well though, and decides not to push. He hums along with the radio and watches the scenery pass them by.

His phone rings in his pocket at one point and Kurt pulls it out to see his best friend Elliot’s name on the screen. He smiles as he turns the radio down and answers the call.

“Hey! Settling in okay?” He asks. He notices Blaine’s eyes flick from the road over to Kurt briefly before returning to look straight ahead.

“Definitely. Your place is amazing.” Elliot says. Kurt had asked Elliot to house sit while they were gone. It may only be four days, but Kurt wanted someone there in case something went wrong. Elliot would be staying in New York for the holidays and Kurt and Blaine’s apartment is only ten minutes from Elliot’s parents house. It worked perfectly, “But please tell me you changed your sheets before you left.”

Kurt lets out a laugh and lays his head back on the headrest, “Yes, we changed the sheets before we left.” He looks over to see Blaine smirk slightly.

“Excellent.” Elliot says, “So, on a scale of one to ten, how nervous are you right now?”

Kurt sighs and looks over at Blaine again who hasn’t looked away from the road but seems to be even more tense than before, “Like eleven.” Kurt confesses, “But I gotta go, El. We’ll talk soon.”

“Okay, but just do me one favour?” Elliot says.

“What’s that?” Kurt asks.

“Don’t pass up the opportunity to fuck that boy in his Star Wars sheets.”

Kurt can’t help but laugh out loud which draws Blaine’s attention, “Bye Elliot!” Kurt sings into the phone before hanging up on his laughing friend. He smiles down at the phone before turning to find Blaine’s eyes still on him. When their eyes connect, Blaine looks away and back to the road.

Kurt lays his head on the headrest, “Do you...have Star Wars sheets in your childhood bedroom?” He asks.

Blaine’s face scrunches in confusion before he shakes his head, “No. They’re green and burgundy.” He says.

“Damn.” Kurt whispers with a smirk.

“Why?” Blaine asks.

Kurt shakes his head, “Never mind.” Blaine isn’t in the mood for jokes right now Kurt can tell. He sighs and looks out the window, setting himself up for another few hours of silence.

A few moments later, Blaine sighs roughly, “Kurt...I have to tell you something.”

Kurt looks over at him in concern, “What’s up?” He asks.

Blaine presses his lips together and shakes his head before he sighs again, “I figured I should let you know, before we get to my parents place that….they don’t know we’re a couple.”

Kurt’s face pulls together in confusion, “What? They don’t? You haven’t told them we’re together?”

Blaine shakes his head, “No.”

Kurt immediately gets a bad feeling but he pushes it aside. Their romance has been a bit of a whirlwind and Blaine doesn’t really talk to his family so maybe he’s just waiting to tell them when they get there?

“So they’re going to find out we’re a couple when we get there?” Kurt clarifies.

Blaine swallows, “Not...exactly.”

Kurt begins to panic just a little, “Okay...you need to start saying more words.”

Blaine sighs and brings one hand from the wheel to rub his eyes, “I haven’t told my parents we’re together because...I haven’t told my parents I’m gay.”

Kurt feels all the air around him leave the car. He feels a tightness in his chest that makes him want to bring a hand up to massage it away.

He’s about to go into a home where not only does no one know he and Blaine are a couple but where no one knows Blaine is even gay. What in God’s name did he get himself into here?

He tries to tamp down his feeling of panic, considering the look of absolute nausea on Blaine’s face. He loves this man. There has to be a reason.

He swallows and shakes his head to clear it before turning to Blaine, “So...who do they think I am to you?”

Blaine looks over at him and squints, “You don’t want to know why my family doesn’t know I’m gay?”

“Oh, we’ll get to that.” Kurt says and Blaine winces, “But I need time to process what they think I am to you.”

Blaine shrugs, “They think you’re my roommate. That I moved in six months ago to help with the expenses.”

“Moved into my one bedroom apartment?” Kurt asks, incredulously.

Blaine winces again, “They don’t know it’s a one bedroom.”

Kurt sighs, “So, they’re just okay with your gay roommate crashing their Christmas?” Kurt is really getting tired of Blaine’s winces, “What?” He asks, annoyed.

“They...think you’re straight.” Blaine says.

Kurt just stares at him for a moment before huffing and gesturing to himself, “Oh yeah, you know everyone always tells me how much of a straight man I come across as!”

“Kurt, I didn’t know what to do! I was going to tell them before I brought you, but then my dad has this really important investor meeting tomorrow and I didn’t want to rock any boats before that. It’s important.” Blaine argues.

“And I’m not?” Kurt asks, hurt. He’s hurt. That’s the emotion he’s settled on. He’s hurt that Blaine didn’t feel enough about their relationship to tell his parents.

Blaine sighs and suddenly he’s pulling the car over. He puts them in park when he’s reached the shoulder and turns so his hand is resting on Kurt’s headrest and one of his knees is pulled up onto the seat.

“Kurt, you are the most important thing to me.” Blaine says and Kurt can’t deny the sincerity in his eyes, “It’s just, my family is...complicated. I’ve known I was gay since I was fourteen and yet I’ve never felt like I could be open and honest with them. But you...you make me want that. You make me want to tell them everything and to finally come out to them and live as authentically in their presence as I do everywhere else.”

Kurt crosses his arms and pouts but...Blaine’s got a point. It’s not like Blaine’s in the closet. Far from it. Their life in New York is as out as it can be, and for the most part they enjoy the same life any other couple does. There has to be a good reason why Blaine isn’t out to his family and Kurt doesn’t have the right to judge him for that.

He also gets a warm feeling in his stomach at Blaine’s words. Their relationship is making Blaine want to be open with his parents!

Kurt rolls his head on the headrest to look at Blaine, “I understand.” He says and he can see Blaine relax a little in relief, “But,” Kurt starts and Blaine looks back at him, “and not to sound at all like a bad teen movie or like I’m pressuring you at all, when were you planning on telling them?”

Blaine smiles even as he swallows nervously, “Christmas Eve. After my Dad’s dinner.”

Kurt looks at Blaine, the man he’s come to love over the past six months, and smiles, “Okay. I can play your straight roommate for one day.”

Blaine laughs and lets his head drop in seeming relief before smiling up at Kurt, “You are my favourite person.” He says, crossing the divide of the centre console to kiss Kurt.

Kurt kisses him back before pulling back to say, “I expect so much sex to make up for this though.”

Blaine laughs and lets his head drop on Kurt’s shoulder. After a moment, he picks it up to glance at the road around them. He seems to be considering something before he shrugs and smirks at Kurt, “Might as well start now.” He says, reaching for Kurt’s fly and lowering his head.

Kurt thinks about protesting but...they’re on a fairly deserted stretch of highway and, Oh God, Blaine’s mouth is magnificent.

-- -- --

“Blaine!” Mrs. Anderson shrieks as she pulls open the door Kurt and Blaine stand in front of. She’s a small woman, shorter than Blaine, with dark brown hair pulled back into a bun. She’s dressed immaculately for being home at 1 pm and Kurt can respect her for that.

She pulls Blaine into a hug and kisses both of his cheeks before pulling back and turning to Kurt, “You must be Kurt!” She says, reaching her hand out.

Kurt takes it, noting its delicacy, before smiling shyly, “I am. Thank you so much for having me, Mrs. Anderson.”

Mrs. Anderson waves a hand and laughs, “It’s no trouble. We couldn’t very well let you spend Christmas on your own!”

Kurt turns to Blaine, wondering what story Blaine had given his parents that he hadn’t filled Kurt in on. Blaine shrugs and smiles a little. Kurt will have to ask him later. He also notes that unlike his father, who had told all of Kurt’s friends and boyfriends to call him Burt, Mrs. Anderson hadn’t extended the same offer.

“Come in boys! You can get settled into your rooms before your dad gets home from work and Cooper, Amelia, and the kids get in.” Mrs. Anderson says, gesturing them into the house.

The outside of the house is nothing compared to the inside and the outside was quite spectacular. It’s more an estate then a simple house and Kurt had lost his breath for a second at the sheer size of the exterior. Inside, the house is perfectly and elegantly decorated. Kurt takes in the fine fabrics, crystal adornments, and beautiful artwork. It’s a show piece of a house, that’s for sure.

It’s after Kurt’s initial overview of the front rooms he can see that something Mrs. Anderson said catches his attention. Rooms. More than one. He and Blaine won’t be sleeping in the same room. It’s not something that had occurred to him until this moment. Even after Blaine had confessed in the car and then given Kurt the most amazing road head, Kurt had been too floaty to consider that for the next two nights he would be sleeping away from Blaine.

Blaine gives him an apologetic shrug as they are led up the stairs and down the hall. Mrs. Anderson opens a door on the right of the hallway and gestures inside, “Blaine, I washed your sheets so you’re good to go.”

“Thanks Mom.” Blaine says as he, Kurt, and Mrs. Anderson enter the room. It’s not really at all like Kurt had imagined it. It looks less like a teenage boy’s room and more what a design catalogue would tell you a teenage boy’s room should look like. He knows Blaine hasn’t lived in this room for many years, but something tells him not much has changed.

“And Kurt, you’ll be across the hall.” Mrs. Anderson says, gesturing for him to follow.

Kurt does and, indeed, just across the hall from Blaine’s room is a generic guest room. It actually doesn’t look much different from Blaine’s room except it’s lacking in the few personal touches he caught in Blaine’s - no pictures with friends, sports memorabilia, and if Kurt wasn’t mistaken, boxing gloves. The guest room is similar in colour to Blaine’s but it just has a bed, a dresser, and a window seat.

“Looks lovely.” Kurt says with a smile.

Mrs. Anderson smiles and runs a hand along the duvet as Blaine joins them, “Well, I’ll let you boys get settled in and then meet me in the kitchen. I’ve been baking and if you want the chance to decorate anything you might want to do that before Cooper and the kids get here!”

She leaves Kurt and Blaine alone in the guest room and Kurt drops his bag on the bed before turning to Blaine, “We haven’t slept apart in months.” He says.

Blaine puts his hands in his pockets and shrugs, “I know. I’m sorry.”

Kurt puckers his lips in thought, “However...you are just across the hall. I could always,” He starts, sidling up in front of Blaine and grabbing fistfuls of his sweater, “sneak in in the middle of the night.”

Blaine blushes and gulps but is prevented from answering when a loud crash sounds from downstairs followed by a booming voice, “I’m home!”

Blaine looks over his shoulder, “That would be my brother.” He says.

Kurt nods, dropping his hands and stepping back, “Well, then, let’s go say hello.”

-- -- --

Cooper Anderson, as Kurt is discovering after one afternoon in his presence, is just as handsome as his brother but so much more egotistical. Kurt hasn’t been able to finish a sentence while they decorate cookies without Cooper interrupting and providing a personal anecdote.

Blaine spends most of the afternoon rolling his eyes at his brother’s shenanigans while simultaneously playing footsies with Kurt under the table.

Cooper’s kids seem sweet enough. He’s got a five-year-old son named Dylan and an eight-year-old daughter named Ella. They laugh at Kurt’s jokes and politely ask for icing or candies to put on their cookies. Kurt counts those as wins. Cooper’s wife, Amelia, is quiet but pleasant.

Overall, it’s not a horribly spent afternoon.

Kurt does have to stop himself from reaching over for Blaine’s hand, or pressing a kiss to Blaine’s temple when he passes him something though. All the little things that have become commonplace in their interactions are now things he has to stop himself from doing. He’s never had to think this hard about how he interacts with Blaine, or anyone for that matter.

Blaine’s father comes home around 6 pm and their interaction is brief, void of emotion, but not hostile.

“Blaine, glad you’re home.” Mr. Anderson says, patting his son on the back after hugging Cooper, the kids, and Amelia.

Blaine nods, “Good to be home, Dad.” He says before gesturing to Kurt, “Dad, meet Kurt. My...roommate. Kurt, this is my dad, Bill Anderson.” Kurt is sure he’s the only one who catches the hesitation before ‘roommate’.

Mr. Anderson smiles benignly and reaches a hand forward, “Good to meet you, Kurt.” He says.

Kurt smiles, “Thank you for having me, Mr. Anderson.”

Mr. Anderson nods and then he’s gone. To his office Blaine informs Kurt. Kurt is fine with that. He felt a little as if he had just met a politician - all show but no substance.

Dinner that evening is a quiet affair. They order pizza which bemuses Kurt considering the posh surroundings he finds himself in, but he’s glad for the more relaxed meal.

When it’s time to get ready for bed, he and Blaine stand at the sinks in one of the upstairs washrooms brushing their teeth.

“So, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Blaine asks after he spits.

Kurt finishes a swipe of his toothbrush and spits himself before wiping his mouth with a towel and smiling, “Your family is really nice.” He says.

Blaine shrugs, “I mean, I know Cooper is a bit self-centred but he means well for the most part.”

Kurt nods as he inspects his skin in the mirror, “I can see that.”

Blaine sighs and places both hands on the vanity, “Why do I feel like we’re fighting?”

Kurt’s eyes widen and he turns to look at Blaine in alarm, “We’re fighting?” He asks.

Blaine’s eyes widen incredulously, “All day, since I told you about my family not knowing, I feel like you’ve been distant with me. And I thought you were okay with everything but now I’m not sure and just...tell me if we’re fighting.”

Kurt’s brow pinches, “I’ve been distant?” He asks and Blaine nods, “Well, of course I have! If I’m not distant then I kiss you randomly in the middle of cookie decorating, or drag you onto the first horizontal surface when you start playing footsies with me. I am fighting my every instinct right now so...yeah, maybe I seem a little distant. But I’m not mad at you. I’m trying to follow your wishes.”

Blaine looks at Kurt through the mirror with a pout on his face before he sighs and turns to pull Kurt to him. He buries his face in Kurt’s chest and wraps his arms around his waist. Kurt sighs and wraps his own arms around Blaine’s neck.

“I’m sorry. I’m just…” He pauses.

“Nervous?” Kurt asks.

Blaine nods into his chest before pulling back to look at him, “You make me want to be brave, Kurt. You make me want them to know about me. About us. But I’m also scared shitless of how they’re going to react.”

Kurt runs his fingers along Blaine’s hairline before smiling softly, “Can you do me a favour?” He asks.

Blaine nods, “Anything.”

“Don’t...tell them for me.” Blaine’s brow furrows in confusion and Kurt goes on, “Tell them because you want them to know you better. Don’t tell them because you want to prove something to me, or because you think I want you to. Do I love the fact that we’re both basically in the closet this weekend? Absolutely not.” Blaine blushes, “But,” Kurt continues, “Coming out shouldn’t be something you do on anyone’s timeline but your own, or for anyone else but yourself. I’ll still be here. Our life in New York will still be there.”

Blaine is nodding and Kurt can see tears forming in his eyes, “I love you so much.” Blaine whispers.

Kurt smiles, “I love you, too.” He says softly, “Now, let’s go to bed. Because the sooner everyone else is asleep the sooner I can sneak into your room.”

Blaine’s laugh makes Kurt’s heart feel lighter.

-- -- --

“Wait, you’re telling me Blaine’s still in the closet?” Elliot asks later that night. Kurt lies in the comfortable enough but nothing like his and Blaine’s own bed with his phone to his ear. He’s waiting for an appropriate time to sneak across the hall. He figures sometimes around 1 am should be sufficient.

Kurt sighs, “With his family, yeah.” He says, “He’s scared how they will react.”

“So, who do they think you are?” Elliot asks.

“His straight roommate.” Kurt whispers.

There’s silence on the other end of the line before Elliot coughs, “His family has met gay people before, right? Because, I love you honey, but passing...you are not.”

Kurt rolls his eyes, “They’ve known a gay person for twenty-four years and had no idea. I don’t think their gaydar is functioning properly. And I resent the insinuation that I can’t pass!”

Elliot chuckles, “I’m not saying you’re inability to pass is a bad thing! I admire you! I just can’t imagine how repressed these people are to look at you and think ‘Yes, I can believe this man has vaginal intercourse on the regular.’”

Kurt grimaces at the turn of phrase.

“You just grimaced at my use of the words ‘vaginal intercourse’, didn’t you?” Elliot says, knowingly.

Kurt sighs, “He’s just not ready to come out to his family.”

“I’m sorry, Kurt, but that’s a giant red flag.” Elliot says, but before Kurt can argue Elliot continues, “Look, I know coming out is a person’s own journey, but for him to be out in every other way other than his family? Something weird has to be going on. Do you really want to be in the middle of all that drama?”

It’s not like Kurt hasn’t thought of that. No matter the reason, Blaine’s family finding out he’s gay after all these years is bound to cause some drama. Does Kurt really want to be in the middle of it when it happens?

“I love him, Elliot.” Kurt answers and to him, that’s all the answer he needs to give, “And besides,” Kurt says with a shrug, “it’s kind of fun ‘sneaking’ around. There’s a delicious, albeit frustrating, tension.”

Elliot hums, “Well, you know there is nothing more erotic than concealing your authentic selves.”

“Elliot…” Kurt grumbles.

“All right, all right. That’s my last comment for the night. You know I always support you, right?” Elliot asks.

Kurt smiles, “I do. And that’s why I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Elliot says, “And your apartment. Have I mentioned how much I love your apartment?”

Kurt laughs, “Once or twice.” He glances at the clock, “Oooh! I should go. Blaine’s family should be asleep by now. I’m going to go get lucky.”

Elliot chuckles, “Enjoy!”

After Kurt hangs up, he sits on the bed without moving, listening intently to the sounds of the house around him. All is quiet so he very quietly gets out of bed and tip toes across the hall. He can honestly say this is the first time he’s had to sneak into a boyfriend’s bedroom. He figured at twenty-four the chance for that experience had passed him by. Obviously he’d been mistaken.

He eases Blaine’s door open and peaks inside. For all he knows, Blaine’s asleep himself.

He’s not though and Kurt smiles as he sees Blaine sitting up against the headboard of his childhood bed. His feet shuffle happily beneath the sheets when he sees Kurt and with the almost innocent smile on his face, Kurt has a flash of what it may have been like to know Blaine when they were sixteen and doing this exact same thing back then.

“You came!” Blaine enthuses quietly.

Kurt chuckles as he eases into the room and closes the door behind him, “You are too adorable.”

Blaine shrugs a coy shoulder and looks up at Kurt through his lashes, “Adorable or sexy?”

Kurt smirks, “Adorable.” He says, “But that doesn’t mean I’m not also going to come over there and devour you.”

Blaine’s mouth pouts around a smile, “Well, what are you waiting for?”

Nothing, Kurt thinks. I’m waiting for nothing.

He stalks to the bed and crawls up to kiss Blaine. Blaine sucks in a breath and cups his hands under Kurt’s jaw as he kisses back. It’s heated from the very start and Kurt’s hands smooth down Blaine’s sides as he straddles Blaine’s legs.

“I have been wanting to do that all day.” Kurt says when they pull back.

Blaine smirks, “I’m pretty sure even if my family knew about me, and us, you wouldn’t have been able to do THAT in front of them.”

Kurt rolls his eyes, “Can we not talk about your family when I’m trying to turn you on?”

Blaine sits up slightly and brings his mouth close to Kurt’s. He doesn’t kiss him but lets warm air puff across his lips, “You don’t have to try. I’ve been turned on all day.”

Kurt groans and presses their lips together while simultaneously grabbing the bottom of his shirt and pulling it over his head. Their lips barely disengage during the act and even more impressively they somehow find their way to a horizontal position without stopping the kiss either.

Kurt lines up their hips and presses down slightly into the hardening flesh he feels below him. Blaine lets out a stuttering moan before bracing his feet flat on the bed and returning the thrust.

Kurt hasn’t engaged in clothed frottage since college, and the dirty innocence of the act causes a shiver to run up his spine in the most delicious way. Everything about Blaine turns him on.

He’s just considering how best to get Blaine naked without stopping the delicious grind when somehow, over the noise of their breath, he hears a tap at the door.

He sits up like a shot and his eyes widen down at Blaine. Blaine for his part, pushes up onto his elbows with a disgruntled look on his face.

“Why’d you…” Kurt shushes him with a finger to his mouth and jerks a thumb over his shoulder to the door.

There’s another tap on the door and this time Blaine’s eyes widen.

“Blaine?” It’s Blaine’s father. Coming to his door at 1 a.m. and Kurt is currently straddling his son. His straight son for all Mr. Anderson knows.

Kurt and Blaine stare at each other, both trying to figure out what to do. Kurt’s not sure if Mr. Anderson will just walk in if Blaine doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t want to take the chance.

He quickly gets up from the bed and looks around the room. He notices Blaine’s closet and without thinking much he quietly makes his way over and into the smaller enclosure.

In the next moment, Kurt hears Blaine’s door open and thank God he’d thought to hide. He wishes he could see what is happening, but instead he sits on the ground, pulls his knees up to his chest, leans his cheek on his knee and listens.

“Hey, I was hoping you’d still be up.” Mr. Anderson says.

Blaine coughs and Kurt can hear the shuffling of sheets, “Yeah. Couldn’t sleep.” Blaine answers. Kurt can hear a breathy quality to his voice that he hopes Mr. Anderson doesn’t.

“Oh, well, I was just finishing up some work in the office and thought I’d see if you were awake because I wanted to run something by you.” Mr. Anderson says.

“Oh. Sure.” Blaine says.

Mr. Anderson sighs, “You know how important tomorrow’s dinner is to my work, right?” Kurt assumes Blaine just nods because Mr. Anderson continues, “I need these investors and nothing can go wrong.”

“I get that.” Blaine answers and Kurt can hear a bit of confusion in his voice.

“Merrick Clark, one of the investors tomorrow, has a daughter about your age.” Mr. Anderson says and Kurt’s stomach instantly drops to the floor. Certainly Mr. Anderson isn’t about to propose what Kurt thinks he’s about to propose, “She’s just recently out of a very bad relationship and when her dad heard that you’d be home for Christmas…”

“Dad, I don’t think…” Blaine starts but Mr. Anderson cuts him off.

“I need to keep these people happy, Blaine. And I would really appreciate it if you could do your part.” Mr. Anderson says sternly.

Kurt’s heart breaks in the silence that follows. His mind is screaming for Blaine to just tell his father the truth. Tell him that he can’t date this random girl because he doesn’t like girls in that way and that he’s in love with the boy that’s across the hall (or so Mr. Anderson thinks). But this isn’t a movie, despite the comical timing of Mr. Anderson’s entrance tonight, so Kurt’s heart breaks a little more when Blaine answers.

“Yeah. Sure. Of course, Dad.” He says.

“Fantastic.” Mr. Anderson says and then there is silence for a moment before Mr. Anderson says something else, but this time his voice is further away, as if he’s at the door, “Good night, Blaine. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Night Dad.” Blaine whispers and then Kurt hears the door to Blaine’s room open and close.

He stays in his place in the closet (the irony of his position not lost on him) for a moment. He tells himself he’s waiting until Blaine’s father is officially out of hearing distance but really his brain is trying to process the last few minutes. Somehow, not only does he have to be in the metaphorical closet for the next day, he has to watch his boyfriend play nice with the investor’s daughter. He feels sick to his stomach.

Soft light floods the closet as the door opens and Kurt looks up to see Blaine looking down at him and for as nauseous as Kurt feels, Blaine LOOKS even more sick.

“Kurt…” He says in a pained whisper.

Kurt reaches for one of Blaine’s hands and pulls the smaller man down to him. Blaine crumples to the floor to sit between Kurt’s legs and lean against his chest, his breathing erratic and he’s trembling slightly.

“Shhhh, it’s okay.” Kurt soothes, rubbing Blaine’s back.

Blaine shakes his head against Kurt’s chest and Kurt understands - it’s not okay. None of this is okay.

-- -- --

“So, let me get this straight.” Elliot says the next day over the phone. Kurt’s outside, sitting on one of the Anderson’s outdoor couches. He’s wrapped up in his coat and shivering but he didn’t want to have this conversation where he could be overheard, “Oh, sorry, should I not use the word ‘straight’?” Elliot asks.

Kurt huffs and rolls his eyes, “Be serious, please.” He says.

Elliot sighs, “I’m just saying, you have moved from having to play the straight roommate for two days to having to play that role while your boyfriend is set up on a date with a woman!” Kurt sighs as well, he’s aware of the situation, “You know what I’m going to say. I would have been out after the first injustice, but now?”

Kurt huffs again and watches as his breath puffs out in front of him, “Elliot, are you done shaming me now? Can we move onto the actual advice-giving?”

“I’m not shaming you,” Elliot defends, “I just think the choice you’re making is dumb and you should feel bad about it and yourself.”

“Elliot!” Kurt exclaims as his friend laughs.

“Sorry. Just trying to lighten the mood.” Elliot says but when he speaks again he sounds serious, “Look, I love you, Kurt. And a big, very big, part of me just wants to tell you to get out of there. Is a six month relationship with a guy really worth all this?” Kurt goes to answer but Elliot continues before he can, “But I know what you’re going to say and so my advice to you is to just ride it out. Blaine said he’s going to tell his father after the dinner? Give him that chance. If he doesn’t, then you can reevaluate.”

Kurt nods, “You’re right.” He says.

“I usually am.” Elliot jokes and this time Kurt chuckles at the joke, “Now I’m going to go and sit on your extremely comfortable couch and watch a movie before going to my parents where their couches are decidedly less comfy.”

“Enjoy.” Kurt says, echoing Elliot from the night before and he hangs up. He sighs as he lets his phone drop into his lap. He knows Elliot has a point. Six months is not that long a time and Blaine has given him enough red flags just in the last day to make staying with him questionable but...there is just something that Kurt can’t walk away from.

“Hey.” Kurt jumps slightly and turns to find Blaine walking toward him. He’s all bundled up in his winter wear and Kurt’s not sure how long he’s been outside but Blaine’s nose and cheeks are adorably pink from the cold. Kurt’s breath catches at the sight.

“Hey.” Kurt says as Blaine comes to sit next to him on the couch.

“You okay?” Blaine asks.

They haven’t really talked all morning. Kurt had stayed in Blaine’s room last night, getting up to go back to his own around 5 am, but it had not been the sexy romp he’d been hoping for. They’d snuggled and slept. Very little had even been said after exiting Blaine’s closet and Blaine had been busy all morning helping his mom with the evening’s meal.

Kurt nods and then shrugs, “Yeah. I guess.”

Blaine sighs and reaches for Kurt’s gloved hands in his own. Kurt allows him to pull his hand into his lap and Blaine plays with his fingers as he talks, “You know that...no matter what happens tonight, it doesn’t change how I feel about you, right?”

Kurt swallows. He wants to believe that so badly. Instead of answering verbally, he nods.

Blaine gives a small smile, “This dinner is really important to my dad.” He continues. Kurt is pretty sure he’s heard that sentence more than ‘I love you’ from Blaine over the past day. He holds back the urge to roll his eyes and stays quiet as Blaine continues, “I know it’s not how you would want to spend Christmas Eve but I promise, once we get through the meal I’ll...I’ll tell my parents.”

Kurt sighs, “Is it okay if I ask now why you haven’t told them in ten years?”

Blaine’s eyes widen but he nods, “Of course. You have a right to know.” Kurt’s not sure that’s true but he appreciates that Blaine is willing to tell him. Blaine shrugs and looks out over the backyard, “It’s not an overly complicated story though. My parents have always made their views on gay people very clear. They don’t hate them, but would almost rather pretend like they don’t exist. They’re deeply Republican and are very into appearances. A gay son doesn’t really fit into the world they’ve created for themselves. I was terrified of the way they would react and didn’t want anything to jeopardize the relationship we had.”

“What about Cooper?” Kurt whispers.

Blaine shrugs again, “Cooper is just too much of a wild card. We’re eight years apart in age. We’ve never been overly close but we struck up a sort of tentative relationship after I turned sixteen. I know Cooper has no problem with gay people, I just don’t know where his allegiances would lie if my parents reacted poorly. I didn’t want whatever relationship we have to disappear if he chooses my parents over me.”

Kurt’s heart breaks once again for the man in front of him. At the moment, Blaine looks like a frightened little boy, and in a lot of ways he is. He has come a long way to accept himself but when it comes to his family he might as well be that fourteen year old boy discovering his sexuality for the first time.

Kurt squeezes Blaine’s fingers, “No matter how they react, I’ll be here.” He whispers.

Blaine looks up at Kurt with wide wet eyes and takes a deep breath. He doesn’t say ‘I love you’ but Kurt can see it and feel it when Blaine brings his lips to Kurt’s in a kiss. Is it the smartest thing to kiss in the backyard? Probably not, but Kurt isn’t going to turn Blaine away especially when he can feel Blaine relax the more they kiss.

-- -- --

“Okay, you’re going to have to change.” Kurt turns from where he’s inspecting his outfit in the full length mirror in the guest room to find Blaine standing in the doorway to the room. His boyfriend leans back to check both ways down the hallway before continuing, “Because if you don’t change I’m going to spend the whole night fighting an erection and the urge to drag you into a closet.”

Kurt smirks, turning back to the mirror and straightening his tie, “And how would we explain that to your family. Just bros helping bros?”

Blaine chuckles as he walks into the room and closes the door behind him. He walks up behind Kurt and wraps his arms around Kurt’s waist before hooking his chin on Kurt’s shoulder. Kurt smirks again because he knows the position means that Blaine is standing at least partially on his tip toes.

“You’re picking up on my ‘fratty talk’.” Blaine whispers into his ear and Kurt groans as he laughs. Blaine is the one who tends to pull out phrases that only a frat boy would say. No wonder his parents believe he’s straight. Kurt immediately banishes the negative thought, though, as Blaine begins to kiss along his neck. He leans his head away to give him more room, “I’m rubbing off on you.”

Another laugh is punched out of Kurt’s lungs as Blaine’s phrase is simultaneously accompanied by Blaine rubbing his hardening cock against Kurt’s ass. Blaine bites his neck softly, “Don’t laugh when I’m trying to seduce you.” He says.

Kurt groans as Blaine’s hand moves down to cup him through his pants. They don’t have the time, or the privacy, for this at the moment. Kurt’s look took him nearly an hour and if Blaine’s going to mess it up by having sex then he’ll be late to the dinner. While not an overly horrible thing in Kurt’s mind, any excuse to miss his boyfriend playing nice with a woman his parents are trying to set him up with, he knows how rude it would look.

“We don’t have time.” Kurt whispers, “This look took me an hour.”

Blaine sighs and Kurt shivers at the feeling of his breath across his neck before the shorter man drops down from his toes and backs away, “You’re right. I would hate to mess up perfection for a quick orgasm.” Blaine agrees, “And besides, soon enough we’ll have the time to take things slow.”

He’s referring to when they leave Blaine’s parents house tomorrow morning. Kurt mentally scrolls through what they have to get through in order to make it to that, and his brain hurts to do so.

He turns to take Blaine in properly and smiles, “Gorgeous.” He says.

Blaine strikes a mini pose that causes Kurt to laugh, “Why, thank you, kind sir.” Blaine says before offering his arm, “Shall we?”

Kurt takes in a deep breath and then takes Blaine’s offered arm. They only hold on until they get to the door and then separate once Blaine opens it. Kurt has no idea what this dinner will hold, but he knows the sooner it starts the sooner it will be over for better or worse.

-- -- --

“Ah and here he is now!” Kurt and Blaine hear as they make their way into the Anderson’s living room. It’s Mr. Anderson that speaks and he gestures Blaine forward into the mini circle he and two other people have made. Kurt threads his fingers together in front of him and waits a little further back.

“Merrick, I’d like you to meet my youngest, Blaine.” Mr. Anderson says, speaking to an older gentleman to his left, “Blaine this is Merrick Clark. He owns one of the most successful real estate companies in the midwest.”

Blaine smiles and extends a hand, “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Clark.”

Merrick Clark lets out a booming laugh and grasps Blaine’s hand in a mighty shake, “Please, son, call me Merrick!”

Kurt tenses at ‘son’ even though he intellectually knows that’s how a lot of older men address younger men. Blaine nods as his hand is released. Kurt wonders if anyone else notices how uncomfortable Blaine is at the moment or if it’s only Kurt.

“And this,” Mr. Anderson says gesturing to the woman beside Merrick, “is Tamara Clark. Merrick’s lovely daughter.”

Tamara is objectively beautiful but Kurt is immediately put off by how fake she seems. Everything about her - from her face, to her hair, to even her breasts - screams FAKE! to Kurt and the smile she gives Blaine is one of the most predatory looks Kurt has ever seen.

She extends a hand in the way some women do when they don’t seem to know how to shake hands or want to touch you as little as possible and all Blaine can do is grasp her fingers and shake them awkwardly, “Bill, you didn’t tell me your son was so gorgeous!” Tamara enthuses and Kurt immediately hates her voice. Like nails on a chalkboard.

Blaine blushes at the compliment and Kurt knows that blush. He’s made Blaine blush that way, a lot. His hackles rise to think of this fake woman eliciting that reaction from HIS boyfriend.

Blaine coughs as if he, too, realizes what his reaction was before he turns and smiles at Kurt, “I’d like you to meet my roommate, Kurt.”

Kurt bristles at ‘roommate’ but is pleased that Blaine wants to introduce him. All eyes swing to him and Mr. Anderson coughs, “Ah, yes. Kurt. Blaine’s friend who is here for the holidays.”

Kurt just barely catches himself before he glares. With that one sentence, Mr. Anderson has made his feelings toward Kurt very clear and they aren’t favourable. Considering he and Kurt have exchanged all of ten words since they’ve met, and Mr. Anderson knows next to nothing about him, Kurt finds this disdain strange. Though he guesses he’s done the same thing with Tamara, but it’s not like Kurt’s trying to sleep with Mrs. Anderson.

“Nice to meet you.” Kurt says with a small wave.

There’s a beat of silence before Merrick nods, “Right. Well, Bill why don’t we leave these two to chat?” He says, gesturing to Blaine and Tamara.

Mr. Anderson nods, “Of course. Why don’t we go talk a little shop before dinner?”

The pair leaves the living room which leaves just Kurt, Blaine, Tamara. Kurt’s not sure where Tamara’s mother or Cooper and his family are but he suddenly feels like a giant third wheel.

He shifts in the silence and when he looks at Tamara she is glaring daggers at him. Kurt lifts an eyebrow. So this is how it’s going to be?

“Blaine,” Tamara says, “Can you show me where the little girl’s room is?”

Blaine nods and gestures down the hall, “It’s just down the hall…” He starts but Tamara interrupts him by laying a hand on his arm. Kurt’s eyes zero in on the contact. So do Blaine’s.

“I’d really rather if you’d show me.” She says with a coy smile.

Blaine coughs, lets his eyes dart to Kurt, before he nods, “Sure. I’ll...be right back, Kurt.”

As they leave, Tamara threads her arm through Blaine’s just like Kurt had done upstairs. Kurt sighs. It’s going to be a long night.

-- -- --

“So Kirk!” Merrick booms a half hour later as everyone sits at the dinner table. Merrick isn’t that far down the table from Kurt but his voice cuts through every conversation and suddenly all eyes are on Kurt.

“Kurt.” Kurt corrects with a patient smile.

Merrick nods and takes a drink of his wine, “Right. Kurt. I knew that.” He says, “So, what brings you to your roommates house for Christmas?”

Kurt shifts in his chair and tries to avoid looking across the table at Blaine. He’s actually tried to look at Blaine as little as possible since he and Tamara had left him in the living room earlier. He feels like there are too many landmines there considering the situation, and he also has no interest in watching a woman, who seems not at all shy with physical touch, be around his boyfriend.

“Um my dad is working tonight so Blaine offered to have me spend Christmas Eve with him. I’ll be driving home tomorrow afternoon to see my family.” Kurt answers. Burt Hummel is definitely not working tonight but no other untrue story could explain his presence here tonight.

Merrick nods again, “Very kind of him.” Kurt nods and dares a quick smile in Blaine’s direction. He wishes he hadn’t when he sees Tamara’s hand on Blaine’s shoulder. Is she cutting her turkey with one hand?

“No girlfriend to spend the holidays with?” Clara Clark asks from beside her husband. She was introduced to Kurt drunk and hasn’t stopped drinking since.

Kurt presses his lips together in a pained smile and shakes his head.

“No?” Merrick booms, “Why not? A youngu, virile looking young man like yourself? No woman to speak of?”

Kurt’s not sure where to start. Why is this man commenting on his apparent virility and why is him not having a girlfriend such a travesty to a man he just met?

Before Kurt can answer though, a tiny voice pipes up from down the table, “Kurt and Uncle Blaine kiss each other.”

The entire table becomes so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Kurt feels his stomach sink as he looks down to find little five-year-old Dylan Anderson happily eating his mashed potatoes, seemingly unaware of the bomb he just dropped. All eyes swing from Dylan to Kurt and Blaine, and now Kurt has a very, very small window to figure out how to react to this.

His body reacts for him and suddenly he’s laughing. All eyes swivel to him as he laughs in his chair, and he has the forethought to keep from breaking into hysterical laughter because he’s already probably coming across as not very mentally stable.

“Dylan.” Mr. Anderson finally says as Kurt’s laughter calms, “Why would you say that? You know, it’s not good to spread lies.”

Dylan shrugs as he picks up some cranberry sauce on his fork, “I saw them outside.” He says, still unaware of how his words are affecting the table.

With this new information, Kurt finally looks across the table at Blaine. His boyfriend is staring at his plate like it holds the answers to the universe and is as still as a statue. Tamara still has a hand on his shoulder and she’s staring at Kurt with a quirked eyebrow.

“Blaine,” Mr. Anderson says, once again breaking the silence, “Is this true?”

Kurt watches as Blaine begins to shake and Kurt holds his breath as he waits for the answer. He hates that this is the way Blaine has to come out to his family, feels sick to his stomach about it actually, but a small part of him is relieved.

Blaine swallows down at his plate before picking his head up, catching Kurt’s eyes for a brief moment before turning to his father. He laughs, the sounds almost robotic to Kurt’s ears, “Of course not.” He says.

For the second time, Kurt feels his stomach drop but this time his heart goes with it. What…?

Tamara laughs beside Blaine, “Maybe Dylan saw Kirk outside with one of his boy toys. Because if he’s straight? Then I’m Kim Kardashian.”

Kurt feels his ears go hot as the entire table turns to look at him. Everyone except Blaine, who’s head whips in Tamara’s direction. Tamara for her part just smirks with a shrug.

Before Kurt can comprehend what his mind and body are doing, he’s on his feet. His chair scrapes against the floor in the silence and he stands frozen for a moment, staring at Blaine and Tamara across the table.

He points across the table at the bottle blonde, “You’re right. I am gay. And proud of it. I wouldn’t want to be anything else. But I’m sure you’re happy I’m not straight because then you’d have to explain why your flat ass is no match for Kim’s beautiful butt.”

Tamara’s mouth opens as if she’s offended but Kurt pays her no more attention as he turns to look at Mr. and Mrs. Anderson, “Thank you for having me last night but I think we can all agree that I’ll see myself out now.”

He doesn’t wait for them to answer, but does spare one more look at Blaine’s conflicted face before he stalks out of the room and up the stairs.

As he packs he keeps expecting, or rather hoping, that Blaine will come upstairs and beg him to stay. That he’ll apologize for denying them as a couple and say to hell with his family and that Kurt is more important.

That doesn’t happen though, not that Kurt actually expected it to, and ten minutes after leaving the dining room Kurt is packed and down the stairs. He can hear voices from the dining room but keeps going out the door and to the car he and Blaine rented. He’s not sure what Blaine is going to do for a ride the next day, but at the moment he doesn’t care. He just needs to get out of here before he starts crying.

He almost succeeds.

He’s at the bottom of the driveway before the first tears fall and he’s on the highway before he’s full on sobbing.

-- -- --

Kurt wakes up slowly the next morning. He blinks his swollen eyes into the early morning sunlight streaming in through the window and has a moment of confusion. Where is he?

He hears pots clanging somewhere in the house and when his eyes finally adjust he sees the familiar surroundings of his bedroom at his Dad’s house. Oh right, he’s with his family. And his eyes are swollen because he spent the entire drive here crying and then proceeded to cry himself to sleep after crying on his dad’s shoulder for a few hours.

He’s not sure what time it is, but he knows he hasn’t gotten enough sleep. That being said, the comforting presence of his father is too much to ignore so he slowly rises into a sitting position before pushing to stand and shuffle out of the room.

When he gets to the kitchen he finds his dad and his wife, Carole, moving around the room with practiced ease, while Finn, Kurt’s step brother, sits at the kitchen table, most likely after being told to stay out of the way. Kurt smiles at the scene as much as he can before his Dad notices him in the doorway.

“Hey bud.” Burt sighs as he leans back against the counter.

“Wow, Kurt, you must be feeling bad.” Finn pipes in, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so...messy.”

Kurt rolls his eyes at Finn’s bluntness but it’s Carole who answers, “Finn!” She admonishes her son, “Maybe go take a shower before breakfast and presents.”

Finn, who looks confused why he’s being sent away, does so without comment, leaving just Kurt, Burt, and Carole in the kitchen.

“I’m,” Carole starts, handing the spatula in her hand to Burt, “going to check on the presents.” She says and then she, too, is gone.

“Subtle.” Kurt sighs as he lowers himself into a chair.

Burt chuckles softly, “They’re worried about you.”

Kurt quirks an eyebrow, “Even Finn?”

Burt inclines his head, “In his own way, yes.” Kurt ‘aha’s sarcastically but he does, in fact, believe that both Carole and Finn care about him and are worried about him. He may not have felt that way when they entered the Hummel family eight years ago after it just being Kurt and Burt for years after Kurt’s mom had died, but every year the ‘step’ gets less and less important.

“How ya doing?” Burt asks, flipping a pancake before taking the pan off the heat and lowering himself into a chair next to Kurt.

Kurt shrugs, “Like I did a lot of drinking last night...after getting my heart broken.”

Burt pouts slightly before sighing, “I can’t believe that’s how it all went down yesterday.”

Kurt nods, “Me either. But it did. Now it’s just me having to get over it.”

Burt tilts his head, “What are you going to do about the fact that you share an apartment with this man?”

Kurt sighs and shrugs again, “I don’t know. That’s a New York Kurt problem. Lima Kurt just wants to eat carbs, open presents with his family, and forget yesterday even happened.”

Burt nods just as there is a knock on the front door. Father and son turn toward the sound in confusion. Who would be coming to call at 6 am on Christmas morning?

“Kurt?” Carole calls from the front hallway where she had presumably answered the door.

Kurt’s brow furrows as he looks at his dad. The older man just shrugs and gestures toward the door. Kurt shrugs and gets up to see who it could possibly be.

He rounds the corner into the front hall and stops short.

It’s Blaine.

Blaine is standing on his front doorstep, winter hat being wrung between his gloved fingers and biting his lip with a guilty look on his face. Kurt hates how adorable he looks.

Carole is standing at the door with a look of worry on her face. She seems conflicted.

“It’s...okay, Carole.” Kurt says and the older woman nods before making her way past Kurt. She reaches a hand out to squeeze his arm as she passes.

When it’s just Kurt and Blaine, they stand in silence for a long time. Kurt doesn’t even invite the other man in. He just stares as Blaine shifts back and forth on his feet.

“Why are you here?” Kurt finally asks.

Blaine jolts like he hadn’t realized Kurt was still there or he’d been so lost in his own head that he hadn’t anticipated Kurt speaking first. He looks up at Kurt with wide eyes before looking back down at the carpet at his feet.

“I told them.” He whispers.

There’s silence again as Kurt processes this information. Eventually, he slowly reaches to grab his jacket off the hook and puts it on. He heads to the door and steps out, causing Blaine to take a step back, and closes the door behind him so the pair is now standing on the porch.

He gestures to the porch swing and he and Blaine sit next to each other.

“I’m listening.” Kurt says, softly. He’ll give Blaine that much. He’ll listen.

Blaine sighs roughly, “As soon as you left I wanted to go after you. But I knew that would just make things worse. I needed to deal with things with my family before I could come to you. Hell, as soon as those words were out of my mouth I wanted them back.”

Kurt knows what words Blaine is talking about. He’s heard ‘Of course not’ repeated in his head over and over since they left Blaine’s mouth.

Blaine shakes his head, “And I wanted to slap Tamara for what she said but,” and at this Blaine smirks a little, “you kind of verbally slapped her for me.”

Kurt feels the corner of his mouth twitch upward but he’s still too wary to really find humour or compliment in Blaine’s words.

“After you left, my dad started making this big speech about how wrong it was to have a gay person try to hide who they were and ‘sneak’ into his house. How he felt violated.” Kurt’s stomach starts to turn sour. Blaine huffs and his breath comes out in a puff of steam, “And he’s going on and on about how you deceived me and the family and I just kept getting angrier and angrier until eventually I just exploded.

“I told him that if he felt deceived by the two days he didn’t know about you then he was in for a doozy because I’ve been ‘deceiving’ him for ten years. That shut him up real quick.” Blaine laughs humourlessly, “And everyone just stared at me. I told them that I was gay and in love with an amazing man and that if they couldn’t handle that then they needed to check their priorities.”

Blaine falls silent and Kurt’s eyes widen expectantly, “And?” He asks breathlessly.

Blaine sighs and looks out across the front lawn, “And then my dad told me that if that’s the way I felt I could get the hell out of his house.”

Kurt gulps.

Blaine is quiet as he looks out over the lawn before he turns to Kurt, “And you know how I feel now?” Kurt shakes his head and slowly a smile blooms on Blaine’s face, “I feel relief. I am so relieved to no longer have this hanging over my head. In the end, I couldn’t care less about how they reacted, I just needed to say it.”

Kurt gives a small smile, “Well, then I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks.” Blaine breathes and then he shifts and Kurt thinks it looks like he goes to reach for Kurt’s hand but then at the last moment thinks better of it and retracts his hands into his own lap again, “Look, I know just because I came out to them doesn’t erase the fact that I forced you into a closet and then lied about you point blank. I get that.” He nods, almost resignedly, “But,” He says, looking up at Kurt with wide eyes, “I love you so much, Kurt. And if you can somehow find a way to forgive me, I promise that I will NEVER do anything like that again. You weren’t the reason I decided to come out to my family but your love made me feel like I’d have a soft place to land no matter what.” He grimaces, “And I fucked that up.”

Kurt is quiet as he looks at the man in front of him. He’s only known Blaine for six months but from the very beginning it’s felt like he’s known Blaine his entire life. They zinged in a way he never has with anyone else. They’re love was real and deep and something worth fighting for.

Is.

Is something worth fighting for.

Kurt reaches across the divide and grabs Blaine’s hand. Blaine inhales sharply and he looks down at their hands and then up at Kurt. Kurt smiles and squeezes the hand in his own.

“It’s still a soft place to land.” He whispers and Blaine all but melts against him. Blaine’s lips are on his and Kurt’s still warm enough from the house to get a small jolt from the coldness of Blaine’s lips. He silently vows to keep kissing until their lips are the same temperature.

“Woooohoooo!”

The exclamation makes the pair pull apart much too soon for Kurt’s liking and he turns toward the sound in alarm.

Standing beside a blue SUV on the street is none other than Cooper Anderson. He’s got his arms in the air and a bright smile on his face.

Kurt laughs in disbelief as he turns to Blaine who is smiling sheepishly, “What…?” Kurt trails off.

Blaine’s smile grows, “Turns out when push comes to shove...Cooper’s allegiance is to me.” He says it with a little bit of disbelief and Kurt can see his eyes twinkle with the beginning of tears.

“I told you he’d forgive you!” Cooper exclaims, loud enough for the whole street to hear and then he bends to high-five a bouncing Dylan who Kurt just realizes is next to him.

Kurt and Blaine laugh, “Coop! You’ll wake the neighbours!” Blaine admonishes.

Cooper shrugs, “Well, I haven’t heard Kurt extend an invite for Christmas morning breakfast yet!”

Kurt laughs as he tugs Blaine up to stand with him and gestures Cooper and Dylan forward, “My dad and stepmom are making pancakes. Would you like to join us?”

He directs his question to all three Anderson’s as Cooper and Dylan comes closer but he’s only got eyes for Blaine.

Cooper and Dylan slide past them and he enters the house without further comment but Kurt and Blaine hear him bellow, “Good morning Kurt’s family! I’m Cooper, Blaine’s brother. This is my son, Dylan. And we were told there were pancakes!”

Kurt and Blaine laugh again as they hold hands facing each other on the porch, “I guess we should go explain.” Kurt says, tilting his head toward the door.

“One more kiss.” Blaine says and Kurt smiles as he indulges him. He bends down and presses his lips to Blaine for a moment before pulling back.

“We can kiss inside where it’s warm, too.” Kurt says.

Blaine smiles, “Yeah, but if we do it inside Cooper will make inappropriately lewd comments.”

Kurt smirks, “Actually, my step brother Finn probably will, too.”

“They’ll probably get along famously.” Blaine comments.

“Probably.” Kurt whispers before kissing Blaine one more time, “Merry Christmas, Blaine.”

“Merry Christmas, Kurt.” Blaine whispers before the pair link fingers and enter the house together.

#klaine #klaine fanfiction #klaine fanfic #my loves #my stuff #season of happiness

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thiswasinevitableid · 4 years

Note

Have you seen the post going around about the zoom class with one guy and his full streamer setup vs the guy whose just in the middle of the woods? I know you have a prompt list rn but I’m just saying there’s a sternclay fic in there somewhere...

It is! Here you go!

Life is better with order. Or, at the very least, with some attempt at patterns, organization, or consistency.

Which is why Stern has carefully arranged his desk, his chair, and his equipment in the background. Streaming as a hobby and a side hustle means he has some (okay, a lot) of practice making his digital self look just right. He needs to make a good impression on the first day of the semester.

Unlike some people.

“Holy shit man, are you in the woods?” Duck, the guy in a “Monongahela National Forest” shirt, grins as he asks this of another student whose screen consists of a forest clearing, a log, and the name “Barclay.”

“Yeah. Hang on, lemme finish getting the phone balanced.”

“Dude, that’s like, way better than my background” this comes from Jake, in front of a poorly rendered half-pipe.

“Can’t really take credit for it, just where I ended up.” Barclay sits down, and Stern gets his first look at a man so tall he barely fits in the frame, with a short, coppery beard and an honest-to-god man-bun.

Damn west coast schools.

“How is your battery going to last long enough for class?” Stern leans back in his chair, certain Barclay will have “battery trouble” halfway through as an excuse to cut out early.

Barclay smiles, lifting up a small green and black rectangle, “solar battery. Not everyone needs fancy gadgets for school.” He aims a pointed stare at Sterns set-up.

“It’s important to have the right equipment.”

“Whatever you say, man.” He lifts a cup of iced coffee into the frame, sipping it through a straw. It’s the picture of relaxation, as if nothing is wrong in the world. As if this is all totally normal.

Stern wants to reach through the screen and slap some sense into him. Preferably while he’s shirtless.

He chalks that thought up to not having gotten laid since last December and pulls up his note taking software as Professor Chicane enters the room.

------------------------------------

Private Chat 9/20/20

Duck (he/him): I timed it, we’re already at ten minutes of arguing.

Indrid (he/him): I know Ned enjoys their demonstrating the different modes of rhetoric, but this is a bit extreme.

Duck: To be fair, Joe does seem kinda uptight.

Indrid: Yes, but Barclay should know by now that zeroing in on him during our practice debates only results in this.

Duck: Yeah. Oh shit, are they for real wrapping up you think?

Indrid: We can only hope. Skype me tonight?

Duck: Of course, sugar.

--------------------------------------

What is Joseph’s problem? He’s got a set-up that would make a pro-vlogger jealous, what looks to be a well-lit apartment with some houseplants and the kind of coffee-cups that are weirdly lacking in personality. His clothes are immaculate, his hair slicked back as if he;s in a business meeting rather than an online class in the midst of a chaotic world. So why is he acting like everything is terrible? And why is he always arguing with Barclay, when there are plenty of other people in the class to disagree with?

“Now” Mr. Chicane’s voice booms through the tiny speaker on his phone, “if you all had a chance to read over the instructions, we will begin the first mock debate. Do we have any volunteers?”

He and Joe raise their hands at the same time. Mr. Chicane raises an eyebrow.

“While I appreciate your eagerness, gentlemen, I would like two other volunteers this time.”

That’s fine by him. It’s not like he likes listening to Joseph get all wound up and passionate, making everyone on the call sit up and take notice of him. It’s not as if he enjoys being the center of his focus.

Nope, not at all.

-----------------------------

Private chat 10/11/20

Jake (he/him): Dudes, did you see who got paired up on the final project?

Aubrey (she/her): Chicane must be getting them back for all the times they’ve hijacked discussions.

Duck (he/him): Man, for their sake I hope it works out.

Indrid (he/him): This is going to be a disaster.

--------------------------------------

“Are you out of your mind!” Stern is talking before Barclay’s video is fully on.

“Nope. And you don’t have to yell, my speaker works just fine.”

“You’re outside, for all I know there’s a ton of ambient noise.”

Barclay, phone obviously in his hand as he walks through the trees, groans.

“And don’t try to derail this; how can you possibly suggest I come out there so we can do the project in person? We’re supposed to be limiting travel and gatherings.”

“Look, Joseph, we both agree that trying to generate our own cryptid hoax is the best way to demonstrate all the techniques Ned wants us too, right?”

“Yes” he hides his answer behind the rim of his coffee mug.

“We’ll do a way better job if we work in the same space. And if it makes you feel any better, I haven’t had any human contact in three weeks; all quarantined up, unlike whatever you’ve been doing in the city.”

He sets the mug down with a thunk, “I haven’t been out in a month. And before that was only for one grocery run and a hospital visit.”

“Uhhh-”

“I cut my hand cooking. So. Yeah.”

Literal crickets chirp, courtesy of Barclay’s end of the line, as the silence stretches on.

“If it helps, it’s real easy to stay isolated here, and I’ve still got utilities and everything.”

“And you’re not subsisting only on MREs or granola or something?”

A deep chuckle, the kind that makes his skin prickle, “Nope. That much I can promise.”

Stern glances around the studio apartment, clean and empty.

“What’s your address?”

------------------------------------

Look, all Stern is going to say is that he’s seen and read plenty of stories that start with a cabin in the woods and none of them end well. Which is why he’s still sitting in his car, parked beside a beat-up Subaru, rather than knocking on the door.

Breathe in, five counts. Out for four. Repeat four times.

Waiting for him on the door is a note.

Joseph,

Key under mat, make yourself at home.

Barclay.

He brings in his bags (a matching set of three, a gift from his aunt last year), placing them in the tiny guest room. It’s not much more than a bed, a dresser, and a tiny table. But there’s a heating unit below the window looking out into the woods, which is pretty pleasant. He’ll be keeping the blinds closed at night, though; he hates the thought of something being able to look in.

Stern’s busy evaluating the laundry closet when the front door opens.

“Hey, glad you found the place okay.”

Barclay stands in the doorway, a basket full of fruit in one hand. He’s remarkably kempt for a man living in the woods and that, combined with the deep voice being even richer in person and the fact Stern has to actually look up to meet his eyes, has him stumbling for words.

“Your directions were very thorough. Thank you. Um. I put my things in there, should I, um-”

“I can give you the grand tour.” The taller man sets the basket on the dining table, notices Sterns puzzled expression “there’s a piece of property about a mile thataway that has orchards they don’t really use. They let me come and pick whenever i want, less for them to clean up.”

Barclay keeps up a steady monologue as he shows him the cabin. The lower level is the living room and dining area, a kitchen which leads onto the back deck, Sterns room, and a bathroom. As the cabin is A-frame, the upstairs is Barclay’s room, all dark wood and pine colored plaid. It’s as Barclay is telling him about the woodpecker that sometimes nests in the eaves that he realizes why he’s talking so much.

He’s nervous.

Neither of their nerves improve when he gets to his last point of order.

“Uh, so, the bathroom downstairs is only a half-bath.”

“So...if I want to shower, which I do, I have to come up here.”

“Yeah.” Barclay scratches the back of his neck, “sorry. I don’t, like, sleep naked or anything so we should be fine.”

“Disappointing.” Stern sighs, only to sail past sarcastic and land face first in sincere.

Barclay blushes, then shrugs, “Trust me, after the first night, you’ll see why.”

Stern does. He’s warm as long as he’s in bed, but the moment he ventures into the bathroom in the middle of the night he’s cocooned in cold.

The morning brings cinnamon and coffee on the draft coming under the door. He plods into the kitchen in search of caffeine, finds Barclay in an pron, the counter covered in trays of dough.

“Morning!”

“Morning. Coffee-”

“Right there, sugar and stuff’s in the cabinet above it, cream and such is in the fridge.”

Blessedly, there’s heavy cream to be found, and soon he’s sipping from an enamel mug emblazoned with a UFO made of veggies.

“Is this all for your job?” Barclay mentioned he was a cook during an icebreaker.

“Yep. Way it works is I bust my ass baking once or twice a day, and Thacker, who works with Mama at the Lodge in town, comes and takes them over there. Normally I’d just be there but, well, y’know.”

“Everything is on fire? Figuratively, I mean.”

“Sometimes literally too, but yeah.”

As he’s turning to grab his clothes and head showerward, Barclay adds, “You a scone man, coffecake man, or a cinnamon roll man?”

“Coffeecake?” It comes out hesitant.

“There’s no right answer, man.” Barclay sounds amused, “what do you want?”

“Cake, definitely.”

“Cool. I’ll save you a slice.”

Once he’s showered and on the wi-fi, his day runs like normal; one lecture, reading, a research paper, his initial half of their project, and working either his copy-editing or transcription job in between, and planning his next stream. Barclay comes and goes, stops now and then to see if he needs anything, leaves a sandwich in front of him around dinner time. Then it’s time to crawl under the covers and dream of a less-stressful world.

The next day, just before one, Barclay taps him on the shoulder.

“Ready for class?”

“Yes…” He gestures to his laptop and notebook.

“C’mon, join me out here, it’s way nicer, and we can share the phone.”

“Barclay, it’s a nonsensical way to attend class, just stay in here with me! Even this set-up has to be better than the woods.”

“This set up. You mean my house?” All the friendliness leaves hi voice.

“Yes. Look, I agreed to come out because you’re right, if we want to ace this thing that’s worth sixty percent of our grade, this is the place to do it; I don’t have to go along with the whole self-sufficient woodsman aesthetic while I’m here. “

“Yeah, I’d say you’re pretty far from self-sufficient. See you in class.”

Stern stews through the entire session, but where he’d usually find something Barclay says to latch onto, he instead gnaws on himself. Why didn’t he just go with him? Why snap at someone who’s been nothing but nice since he got here?

Whatever the answer, how can he fix it?

---------------------------------------

Barclay tromps back through the twilight, done with his second class of the day. If Joseph is in the main house, he plans to ignore him until tomorrow morning. That all goes out the window with the clank of dishes from the kitchen.

Peering in reveals the other man bent over, pulling a casserole from the oven. He waits to announce his presence until Joseph is out of the danger zone, enjoying the view as he does.

“Smells good.”

Blue eyes flick over to him as Joseph opens drawers, “it’s mostly cheese and chips, so I’m not surprised.”

“Servers are in that one.”

“Thank you. Nacho pie?” He scoops some into a bowl, holding it out.

“Sure. Uh, look, Joseph I-”

Joseph holds up the server, “Wait. Before you apologize I, um, I wanted to say I’m sorry for my comments. And for being so...me-ish.” He sighs, staring at the utensil in his grip, “I’ve always been a little bit tense, tried to be polite and effective and friendly in spite of it. The last six months made that harder to do. I don’t love it when I can’t be organized, when normal systems go out of place. But that’s no excuse for being rude to you, even before you invited me here. You’re just so...you’re always so calm and relaxed, like nothing was wrong and I just honed in on that way more than made sense. I’m sorry.”

“If it makes you feel better, I kinda did the same thing. You’re always so put together, it looked like you had this organized life in the midst of this whole shitstorm. I feel lik everything is slipping away, like my world is just this cabin. I mean, I assumed you were seeing friends in the city, while I haven’t seen Mama in person since April. So” he sets the bowl down, rests his hand on Joseph’s shoulder, “I’m sorry too.”

Joseph laughs, softly, “turns out we both had failures of imagination, huh?”

“Yeah” he runs a hand over Joseph's back, “now come on, this dinner’s not gonna eat itself.”

-----------------------------------

“You sure you don’t wanna wear the bigfoot costume?”

“Positive. Besides, it suits you.” Joseph finishes styling the fur on the head of the costume to look more realistic, “I just hope we get this done before that storm comes in; as mush as the rain would add to the mood of the scene, that’ll be hell to dry and you’ll be miserable. So, go lurk over there while I finish up getting the camera settings where they need to be.”

“Yes sir” Barclay pops the head on, leaves crunching as moves to his appointed tree. He smiles as he watches Joseph fiddle with the camera; things have been so much better between them these last two weeks. They trade off cooking dinner, study side by side, and watch movies or play games in the warmth of the heater. They have a similar sense of humor and taste in books, and are tidy to boot. Joseph’s even come with him to listen to lectures in the woods, the pair sharing a thermos of coffee under the astonished gaze of their classmates. There’s just one problem.

Barclay’s buried crush is now blooming in every direction. Animated, argumentative Joseph was attractive. Joseph, in all his moods and mannerisms, is devastatingly enchanting. He’s come close to telling him this, but the other man is his guest and also only here for another two and a half weeks, so a confession is setting himself up for heartbreak at worst and awkwardness at best.

He almost blew it last night when they were washing dishes (Joseph scrubs, Barclay dries and puts away).

“Last one.”

“Thanks, blue eyes.”

“What was that?”

“Uh, blue eyes? Like a, uh, a nickname?”

Joseph laughs, “Sounds like something from a Raymond Chandler book. I like it.”

On the plus side, if Joseph thinks it’s just a nickname and not a pet name, maybe Barclay can keep using it.

“Are you ready?’

He sticks up a hairy thumb and calls, “you know it, blue eyes.”

That same laugh as Joseph takes up his position. Maybe it’s the weird film over the costume’s eyes, but Barclay swears he sees a blush.

-------------------------

Stern trawls through the search results. Their video is getting some traction, with two cryptid hunter sites claiming it’s credible footage. He’s making note of how the information spread, which threads lead to belief and which to doubt, when Barclay calls from upstairs.

“Joseph? Little help?”

The other man is in the bathroom, and when Stern knocks he says, “Think the pilot light on the water heater went out again, all I’m getting is cold water. Can you go relight it?”

“Sure.” He gets to the stairs then, stops, “where’s the key to that closet?”

“Huh? Oh, shit, right, hang on” Barclay says at the same time as Stern’s “don’t worry, I can find it.”

Which is why the instant he turns back into the bedroom is the same instant Barclay steps out of the bathroom, blue towel around his waist.

Any blood that doesn’t head south goes instantly to Stern’s cheeks.

“You okay there, blue-eyes?”

“It’s completely unfair how good you look without a shirt.”

He clamps a hand over his mouth.

“Idn’t ean to ay at out oud” The mumbled explanation makes Barclay smirk.

“You like this, should see what’s under the towel.”

The unusually bold statement from Barclay kindles his own confidence.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, big guy.”

“Who says I won’t.” Barclay sits down on the edge of the bed, nonchalant and leaning back on his hands, “got plenty of time to make good on them.”

“We literally don’t. I go back in a week and two days.”

Barclay toys with the lint on the towel, “you could stay. Through break, through next semester, for however long you wanted.”

“Do you mean that?”

A shy nod, “I like having you around, Joseph. Even beyond the huge fucking crush I have on you I...everything is a little better when you’re around.”

“I, um, I guess it could work. We know next semester is online too, and so is work, so…” there must be variables missing, something he’s not seeing, some reason this is too good to be true.

“You want some space away from shirtless me to think about it?”

“That’d be great.”

Barclay stands, hesitates, then plants a quick kiss on his forehead, “take all the time you need, blue eyes.”

------------------------------

Private Chat log 1/11/2021

Barclay (he/him): Did you see the look on Duck’s face when we turned up in frame together.

Joseph (he/him): Yes. Pretty sure Aubrey yelled something about him needing to pay up. I wonder what the bet was.

Barclay (he/him): Whatever it was, pretty sure I came out the biggest winner.

Stern snorts, trying not to blush on camera, and leans over to kiss his boyfriend on the cheek.

#agent stern/barclay #sternclay #taz amnesty #college AU

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gameofdrarry · 3 years

Text

Wizards Hearts Recs: Potions Master!Draco

Wizards Hearts was a four-month-long Drarry reading fest. Players were given a playing deck of 52 tropes, and were asked to find 52 different fics to read and comment on to fill their decks. To prevent the same few fics from being read, fics were restricted to only being used for the game three times before being considered ineligible for further points. The tropes and submissions list can be found here.

Check out the masterlist of fics for this trope below the cut!

📜 esto quod es, fortis et liber by DragonGirl87 Rated: Explicit Words: 29,453 Tags: Animagus, Wolves, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content Summary: One fateful late-night run ruined Harry Potter's life...or did it? When the wolf in him threatens to turn life as he knows it upside down, he's left with no choice but turn to Draco Malfoy for help. Can his former Hogwarts nemesis fix his problem? And more importantly, will they be able to keep their hands and paws off each other? ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love by aibidil Rated: Explicit Words: 80466 Tags: Auror Harry Potter, Potions Master Draco Malfoy, Politician Hermione Granger, WWW Owner Ron Weasley, Case Fic, Potions, Potions Theory, Amortentia, Love Potion/Spell, Lust Potion/Spell, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Pensieves, Consent, Consent Issues, Enthusiastic Consent, Sexual Assault, Sexual Harassment, Wizarding Literature, Legal Drama, Courtroom Drama, Wizengamot, Wizarding Politics, Wizarding Law, Wizarding Traditions, Potions Attack, Politics, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Feminism, Men's Rights Movement, magical university, Magical Internet, Science, Chemistry, Communication, Soul Bond, Sexual Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Pining, Mutual Pining, Getting Together, Explicit Sexual Content, Explicit Language, Post-Hogwarts, HP: EWE, Dildos, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Oral Sex, Falling In Love, Patronus Summary: In which a group of wizards' rights activists goes on the offensive after a prohibition against love potions, forcing the magical world to confront the horror of magic's role in sexual assault and the murky legal nature of consent. Ron, Hermione, Harry, and Draco are swept together to solve the case, and in the process they're made to confront their own love and lust—with and without potions. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Cup of Tea by undercoverwarlock Rated: Teen and Up Words: 18976 Tags: Professor Harry Potter, Professor Draco Malfoy, Potions Master Draco Malfoy, Ten Years Later, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Minor Character Death, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Harry Potter Has PTSD, Complete Summary: Professor Harry Potter knew Draco Malfoy had changed in the ten years since the war. He was only beginning to find out just how much. A multi-chapter fic of tea dates, comfort and finding each other after years of being alone. Complete work as of 17 August 2020. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 The Dragon's Arms by ani_mage Rated: Explicit Words: 22650 Tags: Post-War, PTSD, odd jobs!Harry, Potioneer!Draco, tattooed!Harry, Trans Character, Clubbing, Grimmauld Place, Secrets, references to canonical child abuse, Angst, Happy Ending, Coming Out, Face-Fucking, Rimming Summary: Since the war, Harry’s been living on the fringes of the Muggle world and alienated from the Wizarding world. Draco’s struggled his whole life to satisfy his father’s idea of what it means to be a “Malfoy Man” in the Wizarding world, never comfortable in the role. Can they help each other find a place where they feel at home? ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 what the body wants is coolness by lastontheboat Rated: Teen and Up Words: 13428 Tags: Day At The Beach, Established Relationship, First Time in Public, draco overthinks things, harry is affectionate, Beach Quidditch, no smut just fade to black, HP Drizzle Fest 2020, Community: hp_drizzle, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE Summary: "Are you done primping yourself yet?" Draco asked, feeling mulish. "We can still meet your friends on time if we leave now, but we'll have to walk quickly." Harry rolled his eyes. "It's a beach day, Draco," he said patiently. "Not a pureblood society event." "Yes, well, not all of us have the goodwill of the rest of the wizarding world to fall back on when we commit acts of social barbarism." ~~~ Draco and Harry have been seeing each other for months, and Harry decides the best way to tell their friends is to bring Draco to a group beach outing. Draco's given up enumerating all the ways this plan could go wrong. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 The Fountain of Youth by nebulyre Rated: Explicit Words: 85912 Tags: Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogwarts Professors, Potions Master Draco Malfoy, Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor Harry Potter, For Science!, Potions Accident, Explicit Sexual Content, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Idiots in Love ,Humor, Romance, Happy Ending Summary: Fifteen years after he left, Draco Malfoy returns to Hogwarts as a Potions Master for one purpose: to find an ancient potion rumoured to be the Fountain of Youth. Everything is fine. ...Until he meets the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, and some odd potions experiments keep throwing them together in compromising situations. "Draco’s heart had skipped a beat. Despite the mess, and the dirt, and the sweat, and the tatters, Potter still looked...good. He wasn’t supposed to look good. He was supposed to be covered in warts and boils and missing all of his teeth and turning into a troll and...not this. Lean and muscled and delicious and fucking devouring Draco with his eyes. Merlin. Had he been looking at Potter like that too?" ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Of Green Eyes and Namesakes by glitteringvoid Rated: Teen and Up Words: 10639 Tags: Potioneer Draco Malfoy, Angst, Panic Attacks, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Hurt/Comfort, Animagus Harry Potter, Happy Ending, Getting Together, Oblivious Draco Malfoy, Pining Draco Malfoy, Cats, H/D Fan Fair 2019, Secondary Theme: Pet Fair Summary: Who would have thought that Draco Malfoy could grow to like having a cat around, especially an obnoxious one with eerily familiar green eyes? ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 We Take Care of Each Other by keyflight790 Rated: Explicit Words: 54308 Tags: BDSM, bdsm club, Dom Neville Longbottom, Dom Draco Malfoy, Top Draco Malfoy, Top Neville Longbottom, Bottom Harry Potter, although it might seem like hes a dom at first, Sub Harry Potter, Teddy Lupin makes an appearance, as does Luna and Rolf, but not...sexually, Set in 2009, So Teddy is turning 11, just for context, Draco is the only one who penetrates Harry though, in case you were concerned, but Neville is there.. a lot, Flogging, Rimming, Will tag all of these in chap notes as well, for squicks and such, this is pretty indulgent, For the Writer, learn all of keyflights kinks, by reading this fic, note: every BDSM club is slightly different, so if this isnt your experience, no problemo, but please don't judge the writer on their experiences, and notes and research, More tags to follow, dom/sub dynamics, Safewords, Sex Toys, past trauma discussions, TW: Panic Attacks, Panic Attacks, draco is a bit of a switch, but he doms in this fic, Spanking, Daddy Kink, TW: spousal abuse (Narcissa and Lucius mentioned in chap 10), TW: Breakdowns, daddy Neville Longbottom, Little Theodore Nott, Anal Sex, Praise Kink, Choking, Masturbation, self love, did i mention theres spanking?, theres spanking, harry gets spanked by, Daddy Dom Neville Longbottom, Talks of Death, Suicidal Thoughts, discussions of dying, Harry talks about his canon death and rebirth Summary: Draco has been having panic attacks for years, until his best friend, Pansy, welcomes him into a whole new world. And he thought being a wizard was neat. Being a dom was even better. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Hello, Hogwarts too? by countingcr0ws Rated: Teen and Up Words: 12988 Tags: Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Professor Harry Potter, Professor Draco Malfoy, Post-Hogwarts, Hogwarts Professors, Auror Harry Potter, Curse Breaker Draco Malfoy, Potions Master Draco Malfoy, Good Narcissa Black Malfoy, Obsessive Harry Potter, Obsessive Draco Malfoy, Banter, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Romantic Soulmates, Epistolary, Snarky Draco Malfoy, Snarky Harry Potter, Sexual Humor, Undercover Missions, Harry Potter is Obsessed with Draco Malfoy, Humor, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Smitten Harry Potter Summary: "Hello, Hogwarts too?" Harry is stumped by his first words soulmark. If they don't recognise him, surely they're not from the UK? So he packs up and goes searching. Two jobs and a recurring injury later, he decides to settle down. Working through his jealousy of his friends, he also reunites with Malfoy, who is now teaching seventh year Potions in Hogwarts. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 his hand (in mine) by musingsofaretiredunicorn Rated: General Words: 1126 Tags: Humor, Secret Santa, Hands, this turned into so much hands oh god, Hand Massage, Smart Harry, who is Aware of what Draco is doing, but does not mind it one bit ;), draco is a bit of a disaster, but he gets it together eventually, Professor Draco Malfoy, Draco teaches potions, of course, Professor Harry Potter, Flying Instructor Harry Potter, he also does tutoring sessions for the smol children who struggle w flying Summary: Draco makes an attempt at Secret Santa. He’s not quite clear on the details. Aiming for nonchalance, Draco says, “Oh, look. You’ve finally got something to help those dreadfully chapped hands.” He wants to feel good about that delivery, but he doesn’t. Harry squints at him. “Yes, Malfoy, thank you, Malfoy, I’m forever in your debt, Malfoy.” ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 It's Been Draco For Awhile by oceaxe Rated: Explicit Words: 15562 Tags: Mutual Pining, auror!Harry, Potions Expert!Draco, Partially Epistolary-ish, "Love Potion", Friends to Lovers, oh my god they were roommates, Second person POV Summary: What harm can a love potion do if you're already in love? In which Harry finds out that it's not a love potion but it can do quite a lot of harm, and Draco finds out how fiendishly difficult it is to fend off his flatmate's advances when all he wants is to give in to them. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 the best kind of bad by M0stlyVoid Rated: Mature Words: 3040 Tags: Drarry Discord Writers Corner Drabble Challenge, Secret Relationship, Kinda, Morally Ambiguous Character, Case Fic, Auror Harry Potter, Potions Master Draco Malfoy, Fire, Crimes & Criminals, References to Drugs Summary: Neither of us were known for our ability to be subtle, and it wasn’t long before the Deputy Head Auror’s relationship with the department’s primary Potions consultant was a universally known, if politely unacknowledged, truth in the whole of the Ministry. Hermione shook her head at me but said I looked happier than I’d been in a long time. I was. It wasn’t until Draco’s biggest rival in the Healing Potions sphere went up in flames that I began to wonder at our recent string of luck. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Teenage Wasteland by GallaPlacidia Rated: Mature Words: 51212 Tags: Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Post-Hogwarts, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Child Sexual Abuse, Werewolf Harry Potter, Down and Out Draco Malfoy, fear of Hell, Veritaserum, H/D Erised 2020, Hurt/Comfort, Domestic abuse (not between drarry!), mild Church of England conversion, alcoholism of an oc character, look I know the tags are scary but I promise it's not as dark as you're thinking, srsly it's actually quite uplifting by the end, Harry Potter plays the Piano freakishly well, potions master draco, Feminist Draco, a decent amount of teenage girl angst, prolonged and continual jokes about the 2000 classic film Coyote Ugly Summary: Draco never thought he’d end up as the sole guardian of a troubled teenage girl. Harry never thought he’d end up a werewolf. Being twenty-two is hard. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 An Everlasting Rain by triggerlil Rated: Teen and Up Words: 1410 Tags: Amortentia, Potions, Potions Master Draco Malfoy, Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor Harry Potter, Professor Draco Malfoy, Professor Harry Potter, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Tumblr Prompt, Getting Together, Friends to Lovers, POV Draco Malfoy Summary: Soon the potion had turned a pearlescent white, and as steam rose from the cauldron, he waited—slowly, as if with tender trepidation, the potion unfurled. Or the story in which everything comes together accidentally, slowly, and then suddenly, all at once. ❤️ Read on AO3

#potions master draco #drarry #drarry recs #game of drarry #wizards hearts #wh masterlist

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passivenovember · 4 years

Text

The Skull on the Shelf that Bares My Name

This is my first time posting a fic on tumblr, so. Here goes nothing

Billy was like an oil painting that had been around for a thousand years. Pretty in the right lighting, hideous in the swell of nightfall. All rough edges and smeared color, full of broken things inside that cut through the air and rattled around like shattered glass whenever anyone got too close, bristling and blowing with the 75mph wind that tumbled through his soul.

Billy thought it was breathtaking.

Thought he was breathtaking with split knuckles and broken ribs. Matted hair tangled with dried blood. Busted lips painted red, color spilling down his chin when he smiled too wide at his reflection.

He liked it messy and hideous.

Did everything he could to destroy the precious image, the golden boy.

He had always been pretty. Like a girl; sparkly eyes and curly hair. Neil had always old him someone would come along and color outside the lines, scribble over the image his mother had left behind and Billy had always been so breakable in the face of adversity.

Flinching against hurt and agony until it became commonplace. Until he grew tired of gluing himself back together every night under the light of the moon.

His face was beautiful like a sculpture carved from stone, or a window into the face of his mother and her mother, but.

Billy himself was like a cardboard box full of glass.

The Billy on the inside was sharp.

And crude.

And violent, when the mood struck him. Ask anyone and they'd tell you; guy's like a train barreling through an apartment building.

And he was.

A glorious, terrible, beautiful, ravenous storm brewing in the open sea.

Billy hadn't known girls could be hazardous.

He knew they were soft. Pretty, delicate and sometimes tough when they had to be. His mother had been like that--brazen. Flighty and aggressive in a different way, like when the sun emerges from the clouds and shines too brightly.

She was warm and loving.

Perfect in her femininity. Billy looked nothing like his mother because she dressed like a wood nymph, all sheer fabric and dresses that defied gravity. Her hair was blonde and curly, always pinned back with clips and beautiful scarves and Billy wanted desperately to look like her.

Film star beauty.

Painted lips, soft hands. When she threw herself off the bridge he brushed his fingertips over the fabric in her closet and tried to imagine what it would feel like to have the world at your feet.

She was so beautiful it felt like swallowing tar.

Hot and boiling on a summer's day.

Billy pulled something from the rack, ran his fingers around the liquid soft fabric of his mother's favorite dress; the white one with the pearl neckline that felt like water settling around his shoulders. They said she was going to be buried in this one and Billy hated it.

Hated that something so beautiful, so delicate would rot away in the cool, damp earth.

He sat in front of her vanity and watched the light twinkle against the jewels that littered the countertop; rubies, emeralds, opal stone cut into neat shapes. When he was a child Billy's mother would let him play with her rings because they made good skipping stones in the pond out back.

We'll always find more, his mother would say, and it was true. Neil spared no expense in making her shine like a million stars as if she didn't already steal the air from every room.

Pocket it in her velvet handbags for safekeeping.

Billy put a ring on each finger and studied his reflection in the pristine vintage mirror.

He looked like a rat.

A rat in a pretty dress, playing pretend for a day.

The front door slammed open and Billy put the dress back on the hanger.

The girl on the T.V. wasn't like his mother at all.

Not soft or feminine, but smoldering. Alight with power and freedom as she strutted around the stage. She looked like her eyes were swimming in water; thick black makeup smudged around green orbs, hair messy and tangled, legs littered bruises that peaked through the holes in her stockings as the lights threw her into disarray.

Slut kiss girls won't you promise her smack

is she ugly on the inside

is she ugly from the back...

The woman was a disaster packaged in something almost pretty but not quite. Like a beauty queen moments after winning the crown fair and square, tear stained makeup and fleeting promises of eternal beauty. She flung herself around the stage, dress ripped to shreds as the hands of the audience tried to tear away pieces of her flesh.

Her fingers were bruised and bloody as she wailed away on the guitar. Nails cracked and worn with the weight of her vengeance. With each press of her lips against the microphone the color oozed outside the lines of her mouth until she looked like a living dead girl and Billy.

He had never seen someone so beautiful.

The first time he put on a dress for real it had been an homage to his silver screen queen.

Black shift dress. Baby doll sleeves. Torn stockings and barrettes in his hair.

Kinderwhore they called it.

Billy stood awkwardly in front of the mirror in the bathroom and tried to make sense of the princess seam that came to an unsteady rest just above the line of his ribs. The clinging fabric felt nothing like the one his mother had been buried in it felt.

Dirty.

Sinful. Instantly cloaked in assumptions; he does heroin. He's a a bum and a loser in search of something the music can't give him so he searches for it in the sting of a needle. Billy bit down on his lips until they bled.

The color ran thick like maple syrup over the skin of his face, bringing out the blue in his eyes as it ran down his chin. As it caught in the stubble-rough landing of his jawline.

Billy looked like a mess.

Instantly, he was addicted. The first time Billy saw her he knew; that was his own image reflected back at him from the fifteen inch screen.

He began looking for inspiration wherever he could find it.

Debbie Harry, Freddie Mercury, Joan Jett, David Bowie. Women and men. Gods. His heroes. Feminine and masculine and dirty.

Courtney Love was always his favorite.

Filthy. Absolutely gut wrenching. Every time he saw her perform it was like his spleen was being ripped out and Billy couldn't escape the way he saw so much of himself reflected in her. All his rage and discomfort, his fury amplified by a million.

So he tried to emulate it.

Billy shopped around local thrift stores to find leopard print jackets and peasant tops. Dresses that hung wide or snuggled against the swell of his hips, kitten heels that brought much needed length to his hamburger legs and when he brought them home, always through the backdoor and stuffed carefully into a trash bag, Neil would raise an eyebrow.

Playing dress up?

Billy would grimace. Max is lookin' to be a Debbie Harry for Halloween. 'M helpin' her find the prefect dress.

And Neil drank like the answers sawm in a bottle of gin, so.

He would raise a fist at that. Never fully convinced but satiated, content with Billy playing the perfect older brother. His nose would bleed on the nights when Neil couldn't shake the impression that his son was a faggot but that was as far as it went.

Max never asked questions and Billy never told her the truth; that he felt more like himself when Courtney Love stared back at him in the mirror.

She sat with him sometimes.

Watched him apply his mother's lipstick, carefully at first and then all at once when the music carried him down.

Black lung coat and your little crown That's the crown that you get for falling down Hey baby, let me look in your eyes I see you standing in a weird red light...

"Why do you listen to this shit?" Max wrinkled her nose. Like a freckled bunny rabbit, it was kind of ridiculous. "She screams so fuckin' loud, you can't even understand what she's--"

"Mascara."

"Why? I know girls who would kill for your eyelashes."

Billy snapped his fingers. Max handed over the little black tube with a trademark eye roll, resting her chin in her hands as Billy repeated the process of careful application and then careless destruction of his hard work.

"Look prettier when you keep it nice," She snapped.

And Billy just chuckled. "I don't wanna look nice."

Max stared at him, popping a jaw breaker into her mouth. "Why not? Isn't that the whole point of makeup, to look pretty?"

Billy scrubbed at his eyes, warmth flooding his stomach again at the way the blue stood out against the black ring around his eyes. Like carefully crafted bruises, nothing like the ones Neil gave him. He shrugged his shoulders.

"That's so fuckin' predictable." He sat on the bed, pushing the hem of his skirt to roll the nylon against his legs.

"Using makeup and clothes to look worse, fuckin' idiotic." Max grumbled, but she watched with glowing eyes as Billy began scraping his nails down the length, creating runs in the delicate fabric.

"You gonna sit there yapping or are you gonna help?" He bitched.

Max slid to her knees in front of him, getting to work tearing holes into the stockings the way she knew Billy liked.

It was therapeutic, almost, having the help.

"I like when you do Blondie." She said after a while. "Fuck ton less work and Courtney makes you aggressive. She's got the energy of a horny dude, it's fucked up."

Billy smirked.

It was always more fun to play pretend with Max and her bitchy voice tethering him to the ground. He feared that, without it, he'd get lost in the feeling of freedom. Fly too close to the sun or something, catch on fire when he inevitably missed the tell-tale creek of the floorboards that meant Neil was listening in.

Max annoyed the hell out of him, but.

She kept him safe. Why, he didn't know.

Maybe she really was interested in the whole thing, electing to believe that every boy wanted to be a girl because the alternative meant her brother was sick in a way that couldn't be cured.

Billy stood, slipping on the kitten heels while Max held his hand.

He admired his handiwork.

"Gotta hand it you," Max whistled, low like a wolf. "Gets shittier every time we do it."

"Shut up, brat." But Billy was grinning.

For Max, that was a compliment.

Don't blush when I rip you open Hey baby, let me look in your eyes As you go off into your weird red light...

He ran his hands down the soft fabric, relishing the way the hem tickled the sensitive skin of his thighs.

He was pretty.

Not like his mother, not like Courtney Love, but.

Uniquely himself.

Max cocked her head to the side. "Don't you get tired of getting all dressed up with nowhere to go?"

Billy bristled. "Oh yeah? And where could I go in San Fran that wouldn't skin me on the spot for dressing like a bitch?"

"Castro." The gay area.

Billy felt his cheeks darken. He thought about it for a second; the lights, the thralls of people just letting the light in. Being themselves.

He shook his head, turning back to the mirror with a glare. "Yeah, okay. I'll get right on that."

"Cool, I'll just fetch my coat." Max turned to leave, chucking when Billy trapped her with an iron grip. "Relax, spaz. Neil would kill us both if he saw you looking like that."

And.

She was right. Billy had thought about it countless times before, what would happen if he threw a jacket over his baby doll dress and slipped out the back door one night. How the cool air would feel on the bare skin of his thighs, but. That's all it ever was. Just speculation.

Only dreams.

Knowing his luck he'd catch Neil in the hallway after his midnight piss and that'd be it. They'd never get the blood out of the wallpaper.

"Looks like we're stuck playing pretend." Billy patted absently at his spring of messy curls, refusing to let the sadness seep through but Max noticed immediately. Perceptive little shit.

She held up a finger, disappearing through the crack in the door. A second later she was back with her polaroid camera.

"Smile."

"No fuckin' way," Billy snarled. He could already imagine it; Neil digging through his sock drawer to find the pot he was always accusing Billy of smoking, only to stumble across something else.

Something worse.

Billy's ribs began to ache with the phantom memory of those fists planting like flower bulbs in fresh soil. He bruised easily, like an overripe peach.

Not everyone knew that about him, but. He did.

Max frowned. "Come on, we could send them to Courtney's P.O. box, I'm sure she'd be flattered."

Billy shook his head, tears swamping his vision as Max lifted the camera. The flash was blinding. Billy lunged for it, swearing as Max slipped past his grip. She took another picture.

And another.

And then another, until polaroid's littered the floor like fallen leaves on the dirty ground. Billy had tears rolling down his cheeks, ruining his makeup by the time she finally stopped. He held out his hand. "Max, just. Give that fuckin' thing to me. Now, we gotta burn this shit, alright? We gotta--"

But she wasn't listening, she was staring at the first image she had taken, when Billy was caught off guard. Max was absorbed in it, eyes glittering with something Billy had never seen before.

He snatched the picture from her hands and lifted it up to his face, brow wrinkled in disgust until--

This wasn't anything like staring in the mirror.

It felt more immediate, more real as Billy examined the image of a flawless stranger. Of a woman.

Of Courtney Love.

"Pretty," Max said.

And.

Yeah. He was.

They started taking pictures every time Billy got dressed up.

Max would help him get ready and then they'd do little photoshoots in his bedroom. He was a reluctant subject at first, awkward in his own skin until she suggested they smoke a joint before each session.

"To loosen you up a little, dick wad."

"What kinda brother would I be if I let my kid sister smoke pot?" Billy shook his head. "Absolutely not, Max."

She shrugged. "Then you do it."

So, he did.

And it helped. They switched up the music, finding it easiest to shoot to The Smashing Pumpkins, played with lighting and mood until she was satisfied with the "vibe," made immortal on film.

The images Max captured were like moments in time, archived in the shoebox under his bed. Billy looked like a rock star in every one--Debbie Harry on some days, Courtney on others; hair messy, cigarette trapped between his fingers, stockings ripped to shreds.

Max admitted that Courtney was her favorite, after a while, so that's the one that stuck.

And Billy loved every picture she took. Loved her artistic eye, obvious in the way she moved his lamp around the room to capture his features just so. Every session was serious like she was the photographer at Rolling Stone and he was her subject for the week.

It was addictive.

They had been taking pictures every night for a month when Neil caught them in the act.

The first punch felt like a bomb had gone off in his head, and Billy hit the floor without so much as a fight.

He remembers blood on the carpet.

Blood in his hair. On the walls. A splitting pain in his ribs and between his legs.

Keep digging your own grave, William.

Max patched him up after Neil's car tore out of the driveway.

"I'm sorry Billy." He hadn't realised she was crying. He ran his fingers over her cheek. "It's all my fault, I didn't mean--"

"I felt pretty." He said.

They stopped taking pictures after that.

Moving to Hawkins, Indiana was like stepping off the Earth and floating through space.

Billy felt weightless.

Every mistake, every hidden secret cloaked in baby doll dresses and leopard print coats had been left in San Francisco where they belonged. Stuffed in the back of his closet with the polaroid's they were able to tape back together.

He tried to forget the way it made him feel.

"You're the prettiest boy I've ever seen."

It wasn't meant to be a compliment. Billy could tell that from the way Steve's lips curled into a snarl.

He pushed his way into Billy's space, clearly drunk and high off something that made his pupils swallow the milky brown of his eyes.

Steve looked like he was swimming.

There were track marks in his arm. "You're like a vision," He reached out to touch, to feel, flinching back when Billy slapped his hand away.

"I don't know what the fuck you think you're doing, Harrington--"

"I think I'm in love with you."

And Billy had thought the same thing, the first time they ran into each other at the gay bar in Indianapolis, but. People talked.

Hawkins talked, like the city itself was an entity with a pulse and conscience that had been shot to shit in the eighties. Billy did his best to glare. "You don't love me, pretty boy."

"No, I." Steve grinned. He was high as a fucking kite. "I do. You're my guardian angel." He laughed hysterically, in a way that made Billy's skin crawl.

"What, your dealer tell you that?" He huffed.

And it was mean.

So fucking mean. If Steve was a junkie his skin wouldn't be so clear, so smooth. Like black cherries in milk, goddammit. Billy wanted to lap at the skin on his neck, taste the salt of his skin.

He wondered distantly if he'd be able to get high from it.

Probably. Steve smiled anyway. "Let me take you home."

"Such a fuckin' line," Billy said.

But he was already tugging pretty boy through the crowd.

Billy kept his dresses in the back of his closet where he kept his mother's suicide letters.

She had written more than one, consumed by her sadness in a way Billy had never understood until he had taken the fairy light inside him and smothered it.

Every once in a while, when Neil was out of the house and Max was at school or something, He'd take one out just to feel the weightlessness of the fabric settle against his skin.

Like little paper angels.

Like the whisper of something like hope but not quite, just out of reach.

He never did the full look anymore. Never put his heart and soul into it the way he had before, when Max was there to keep him from floating away, but.

Gradually he felt himself catch fire.

They had been together for three months when Steve peeled back the layers.

Neil was away on business, so Steve was sleeping over. Needed a shirt or sweats or to sleep in, catching sight of something bright red and shiny as he shifted the leather jackets at Greatful Dead t-shirts to the side to expose a stash of beautiful gowns that shone like an open sore against the soft light in Billy's bedroom.

Billy came through the open door, words dying on his lips as the bong in his hand shattered on the floor.

Steve held the dress up against the light, tongue poking out of his mouth in consideration.

"Max wants to be Debbie Harry for Halloween," Billy fished for his old excuse, eyes welling up with tears when Steve's jaw set in a firm line. "I'm helping her find the perfect dress, I--"

"Bill's--"

"That's not mine, Steve, I swear." Billy dropped to the floor.

Got on his fucking knees, hands level with his face in a silent prayer as he tripped over himself to rebuild the walls that had kept him safe. He was talking, spewing bullshit as Steve stood motionless against the closet door. Billy flung his arms around Steve's legs. Buried his face in his thighs, because.

He couldn't go through it again.

Wouldn't survive it.

"I never even seen that before, Stevie, please."

"Get up." Pretty boy commanded.

And.

Billy blinked teary, soulful eyes at him. "Huh?"

Steve shook his head. "I said stand up, baby. Get off the fucking floor."

Billy did. Steve watched him for a moment, expression unreadable. Billy prepared himself for the gut punch, the harsh word, the look of disgust in those eyes that had never shown anything but reverence for Billy, but it never came. In a single, syrupy slow motion Steve held the dress to Billy's throat, scanning him up and down in a way that left Bill naked and squirming.

He couldn't breathe. Couldn't think, as Steve smiled softly.

"Wanna see you." He said.

And. "What?"

"Can you put it on for me?" Steve asked. "Bet you look gorgeous. Like an angel, or a model or something--"

Billy let out a thick, wet sound. "I look like a beast, I'm--"

"No." Billy jumped when Steve nuzzled against his neck, the dress trapped like a gossamer curtain between them. "Bet you look like a deity. A goddess of rock n' roll. Like Courtney Love, right?"

And Billy had done a lot of things in his life. He was a builder of fortresses, a hider, an adventurer when the mood struck him. Billy protected himself and Max and his mother for as long as he could remember, carrying things that were too heavy for those with weaker shoulders, but.

He had never shown himself to someone he loved. No sugar, no cream, just.

Completely himself.

Billy took the dress and opened the safe in the corner. Pulled out his mother's makeup and painted himself into a masterpiece as Steve watched, motionless on the bed.

When he was done Billy was afraid to look in the mirror.

Terrified of what he'd see but Steve took him in his arms, peppering gentle kisses all along his face until Billy had built up enough courage.

"Ready? Steve whispered.

Billy let himself be turned around. Situated under the heavy sling of Steve's arm, until--

"Pretty."

Steve nodded. "Beautiful."

#harringrove #idk if this is how you do it but thats showbiz baybee #thanks for making it to the bottom lol

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