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arotechno · 3 years

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Jughead (2015), Issues 9-11: Discussion and Commentary

This brings us to the first arc written by Ryan North, who saw that the aroace Jughead train had left the station and simply could not resist tagging along for the ride. If you’ve followed anything about Jughead as a character at all, then you’ve probably seen many screenshots from these three issues before. It’s the Sabrina arc (that’s right, as in the teenage witch)!

I have a lot of analysis at the end of this one, so buckle up!

The gang ends up at Pop’s, as usual, where Jughead meets the shop’s new mascot, a talking burger lady. Jughead is, unsurprisingly, thrown off his game by this. After all, burgers are his one true love, but girls? He doesn’t really have an interest in them. It’s a confusing moment for him, and when his friends witness this, well… they assume he’s got a crush on her.

This is an iconic page in the “aro Jughead” canon. Here we have Betty trying really hard to be a good friend and doing what in her mind is the best for him, trying to help him through what she and the others perceive as his first crush. Jughead, meanwhile, is diving headfirst into a spiral of confusion (and later, discomfort) at the idea of having any sort of interest in another person.

I want to give my utmost respect to Ryan North for explicitly having Jughead say that he doesn’t get crushes. It’s not the only time that North does this during this arc, and I think it makes all the difference between making this awkward and relatable rather than making it seem like Jughead is being stripped of or “cured” of being aro.

Betty pushes Jughead to talk to Sabrina (the burger lady—it’s Sabrina), and after a while of running into each other day in and day out as Jughead frequents Pop’s on a regular basis, they strike up a friendship. Jughead has gotten what he wanted—to be friends with the cool burger lady—and he seems genuinely satisfied.

…But unfortunately, things do not go as planned for Jughead. The next time they see each other, Sabrina asks Jughead out. And Jughead, in true stereotypical oblivious aro fashion, agrees, without realizing until it is much, much too late that what he has just agreed to is a date. Like, a real date.

If you think about it, Jughead has probably never been asked on a real date before. And this is something I ABSOLUTELY would have done (and may still do today, if I’m completely honest with myself) as a teenager. Jughead’s immediate regret is so palpable here, and so relatable to me as an aromantic.

In his panic, Jughead turns to his friends for help. They are… not helpful. They’re trying to be helpful, sure, but whereas Jughead doesn’t really seem to want to go through with this at all, his friends are more set on giving him romantic advice (with varying degrees of usefulness). Jughead really has to go out of his way to defend himself and insists on multiple occasions that he thinks the girl in the burger costume is cool and interesting, but that he doesn’t like-like her, he doesn’t even really know her!

Unfortunately for Jughead, he ends up going on the date. And who does he call for help? His only other openly queer friend (I say openly because let’s be real with ourselves, none of those kids are cishet), Kevin Keller.

And okay, this scene with Kevin is genuinely kind of funny. You get the impression that Kevin has had a lot of practice dealing with straight bullshit, and that he’s more than a little disappointed that Jughead’s “big emergency” turned out to be something this totally mundane and not worth his time.

Ultimately, Kevin is also super not helpful, even after Jughead steals his phone in an attempt to get him to come to the table and diffuse the awkward situation Jughead has found himself in. So Jughead resorts to what I can only assume is plan Z, which is to call Archie for backup.

Only semi-related, I really love the way Ryan North writes conversations between these two. It just feels really genuine and believable. And anyway, I don’t know what Jughead was expecting, but resident himbo Archie Andrews is of no help to him, and only ends up making things a hell of a lot worse.

This leads to Sabrina rushing off to the bathroom and casting multiple spells to try to get Jughead to at least play along, if not outright fall in love with her, all of which fail spectacularly and only end up making her far angrier with him. I don’t blame her for being upset—the date was a total disaster, and right at the moment Jughead was about to be honest with her, Archie showed up and made things worse. Sabrina storms out, and vows that she’ll get revenge on Jughead for this, somehow.

All of Sabrina’s subsequent spells on Jughead also backfire. She tries to make him fail his classes, and he passes with flying colors; she tries to make him spend the whole day with resident asshole Reggie, but he ends up befriending him against all odds. She even ends up unleashing a giant eldritch horror by accident, and—well, that’s not important.

In the end, Jughead decides to make things right. He never meant to hurt Sabrina, and she seems to be in a tough spot, having just moved to town, so he brings her some food as a peace offering and explains what really happened. And Sabrina is… surprisingly receptive, in fact more receptive than Jughead’s friends were when he came to them for help, despite the fact that this is something they should already understand about him. Being upset with Jughead wasn’t doing her any favors, so Sabrina already seems to be at peace with what happened and is more than willing to forgive him and be his friend despite all that transpired between them.

This is a really great scene. There’s a nuance to it—the way Jughead acted on their date was unfair, both to Sabrina and to himself. He needed to be honest from the beginning, but instead, he just kept trying to escape. At the same time, Sabrina gets it, and it wasn’t very cool of her to try to use magic to get what she wanted, either (not that Jughead knows she did that).

Jughead helps Sabrina re-enroll in her old school and quit her job at Pop’s to move back in with her aunts, so that she can live out the rest of her teenage years the way she’s supposed to. Afterwards, Sabrina and Jughead both seem really happy, and thus volume two ends on a positive, quiet note.

I really like this arc, for the reasons I’ve already stated and more. It’s funny and awkward and endearing (I say that a lot about this series, don’t I?), and it portrays a realistic and relatable aromantic problem without it being aboutaromanticism. It’s more about Jughead being honest about his feelings and making a new friend than about Jughead being aro, even though that contextualizes the situation. A great deal of the series is about that—Jughead being honest with himself and others. In the first arc, it’s Jughead shaking off a persona of apathy. In the second, it’s Jughead being honest with Archie about their friendship and the way Archie’s behavior has been making him feel. Here, it’s about Jughead being honest about who he is at his core, and accepting it about himself—and Sabrina accepts it, too, no questions asked. Even if he never says “I’m aromantic,” the sentiment is there plain as day, and it’s a refreshing beat for the story to land on.

That said, I do have a bone to pick with this arc. There’s a line in the sand here between Zdarsky and North. In the last arc, we saw Zdarsky portray that really subtle but meaningful interaction between Archie and Jughead, in which Archie seems not only keenly aware of Jughead being aromantic—even without the word—but also tacitly supportive of him, such that he knows immediately when he’s crossed a line. Here, we see Ryan North take a bit of a step back from that, such that Archie may be aware of Jughead’s orientation but seems way too quick to assume all that’s changed the moment there’s even a sliver of possibility that Jughead has a crush. That’s the reality of having different writers stepping in to interpret the same characters in loosely connected stories like this, but it still bothers me. I prefer Zdarsky’s style of storytelling in general, but in particular I also prefer his portrayal of Archie, as much as Ryan North’s on-the-nose aro moments and undying love for Reggie make me very happy. As a whole, nobody ever stops to ask Jughead what he wants, they only tell him what they think Sabrina wants. Jughead says so himself:

I suppose one could make the argument that Jughead’s friends, or even Jughead himself, are only really aware of the asexual bit (if at all—for all we know Veronica and Reggie have no idea, for example) and that’s why they don’t only never mention aromanticism but also sometimes seem ignorant of it. It’s possible that the aro side of Jughead’s orientation is still something he doesn’t have the words for, despite it being a truth he knows about himself, and in fact I think that would have been an interesting angle to take, had this series continued beyond 15 issues. But what I have an issue with isn’t so much the fact that Jughead’s friends are unhelpful (because let’s be real, sadly a lot of us have been there), but the fact that never are they asked to apologize for pushing him to do something he so clearly didn’t want to do. Whether he or they know he’s aromantic or not, he was clearly uncomfortable with the idea of going on this date—and not just due to a lack of experience. I would have liked it had Archie, or Betty, or Kevin apologized, or even once asked him what he really wanted. Betty comes the closest, by talking it out with him in the first place, but even she still earnestly pushes him to go through with the date anyway.

Anyway, there are two arcs left for me to discuss, and frankly I’m not as enthused by either of them as I was for these past three, for a variety of reasons. The Ryan North train continues for one more arc, and then it’s on to Mark Waid and Ian Flynn’s big finish. Those two updates might come a little slower. Until then, I was going to include a compilation of Jughead looking uncomfortable, but I've only got one image slot left thanks to tumblr, so instead I leave you with this:

Same, Jughead. Huge same.

#mr. north i promise i respect you #techno's jughead reread #aro #aromantic #aro jughead #ace jughead #aroace jughead #jughead #jughead jones #jughead comics #op #long post

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missymurphy1985 · 3 years

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Reminiscing

Warnings - tooth rotting fluff... And smut. Obvs. Bit of a Daddy Kink thrown in cuz why the hell not?

Taglist (message me to be added!)

@queenshelby @peakyscillian @ntmynouis @margoo0 @janelongxox @being-worthy

You sat in the large armchair, in the big bay window of your Dublin home, blanket over your legs, as you immersed yourself in the latest John Grisham novel. Your husband was out, dropping his sons off back at their mum's after spending the weekend with you. You couldn't help but pinch yourself on a regular basis. Gorgeous husband, amazing young stepsons, even Cillians ex-wife, Lisa, was someone you considered a close friend - the split had been amicable, and she'd encouraged her sons with Cillian to welcome you with open arms. You even met her for lunch a few times a month, much to Cillian's surprise. He was more concerned the two of you were comparing notes than anything else!

Hearing the front door open and close, he smiled as he re-entered the room. Leaning over to kiss your lips, he sank down onto the sofa and picked his own book up from the coffee table.

"How was Lisa?" You asked, taking a sip of your coffee.

"Good - she said she'd call you later, something about a girls night out next week."

"Sounds fun - I'm up for that." You nestled down snug in the chair and continued your chapter. You could feel his eyes looking your way, and smiled internally. You loved the way he just watched you when he thought you couldn't see.

The way your legs hung over the chair, blanket covering your lower half. He smiled, remembering the day you met at the aftershow party for his latest play in Dublin. He was hesitate to go, but the director had convinced him. You were the director, Enda Walsh's niece, and you'd gone along to support your uncle's latest stage production. You knew who Cillian was of course, not that it bothered you. Working as a stagehand part time at the theatre in your teens, you'd met plenty of famous people over the years and frankly most of them were arrogant idiots with egos the size of Jupiter. Cillian was different though. Down to earth, sweet, kind, normal. Neither of you particularly looking for love, but sometimes it happens in the most unlikely of places.

Flashback

"Cillian, this my niece y/n. Y/n, this is Cillian, the star of the show!" Enda introduced the two of you and Cillian smiled, leaning forward to embrace you softly and kiss your cheek.

"I've heard so much about you y/n, nice to put a face to the name." You couldn't help but feel butterflies looking into those blue eyes, and without you realising at the time, Cillian felt exactly the same about yours. You'd spent most of the evening from that point talking about the theatre and what you each loved about it - from the lighting and production side to the audience reactions during the live show itself. You'd seen Cillian in the show three times, you'd been mesmerised by his performance, but this was the first time you'd met him.

The music changed as the night was drawing to a close. A slower number, and the other cast members and production team all took their respective partners to the dance floor. You were both now sat pretty much alone - clearly the only single people in the room!

"Would you like to dance?" Cillian asked, sheepishly. It suddenly felt a little awkward. You looked at him surprised, but found yourself nodding as he offered you his hand and led you to the dance floor. You could feel your uncle's stare as Cillian placed one hand on your waist and took your hand with his other, both of you gently swaying to the music. He was a smooth dancer, never missing a step. No toes clashing together, and the awkwardness melted away as you looked into each others eyes. The rest of the room suddenly becoming an afterthought.

"I've really enjoyed talking to you tonight y/n."

"Me too, you're not like the other actors. You're... Normal!" You giggled lightly.

"I'm boring, you mean?" He laughed in response, you could feel his fingers caressing your waist softly as you continued to sway.

"How'd you feel about dinner one night? We can talk more about how boring we both are?" That smile again.

"You're on. He pulled you a little closer, your cheeks inches apart. He desperately wanted to kiss you there and then but with your uncle a mere few feet away he didn't dare. He knew you were 28 to his 40, and he wasn't sure how his friend would react to it.

"You two seemed to be getting on well?" Enda approached you after the party, and he couldn't help but notice the glow around you after your dance with Cillian. He'd gone to the bathroom.

"He's a nice guy Uncle E, we have a lot in common."

"You know he's 40, and has two kids, right?"

"Uncle -"

"Cillian! So you're taking my niece out for dinner are you?" He returned from the men's room and froze.

"Um.. I..."

"I'm kidding... God you're too easy to wind up!! Have fun!!" Both of you audibly sighed in relief.

"He's an ass..." You smiled as Cillian offered you his arm to link into.

"I have a car outside, I'll drop you home?" You nodded, taking his arm.

You both sat in the back, the driver being given your home address as Cillian pushed the visor up between the driver and you. Privacy. He took your hand, leaning back and kissed the back of it gently. You smiled - your first kiss, but not where you wanted it.

"He can't see us, right?" You asked. He nodded and pulled you closer to him. "So..." Leaning toward you slowly, he gently ran a thumb over your cheek and pressed his lips to yours. You returned the kiss. His mouth opening slightly to gain access to yours, your tongues soon met. It quickly became heated before Cillian pulled away.

"You wanna go home?"

"You want me to go home?"

"Nope."

"Then I'm not going home." Cillian pulled the visor down and told him you were both going back to his house instead before pulling you back against his lips.

****************************************

The memories of that first night were as clear as if it had happened only yesterday, not two years ago. It was so good that you both often got yourselves off to the thought of it when Cillian was away working. Two years on and your lives were simply idyllic.

He made his way over to you in the chair and kneeled down next to you, running a hand under your summer dress and squeezing your thigh.

"You know, I've been thinking..." He leaned closer to your ear, making you squirm. He knew the effect his voice had on you and he played on it daily.

"Dangerous..." You smirked, and he responded by tracing kisses up your back, his hand still teasing under your dress, over your now damp underwear.

"All this house.. and just the two of us.. seems a waste, don't you think?" His fingers gently moving your panties aside and slipping between your folds. Instinctively you opened your legs, granting him access.

"Hmmm....." Your hips rising slightly to meet his fingers. "Are you saying you want a dog, Cillian.."

"Funny, y/n... No.." his fingers were torturing you, caressing everywhere except where you needed him to be.

"Wanna fill me with your baby do you daddy?"

"Hmm.. call me that again..." He smiled, his erection now painfully pushing against his jeans as he dipped a finger inside you.

"Do we have a Daddy Kink, Cillian? Does making me full of your baby turn you on?" You tried to retain composure as a second finger entered you, his hand now pushing them in and out slowly.

"Fuck... Stand up." He ordered and he immediately pulled the dress over your head and your underwear down. Swiftly followed by his own clothing, before he lay you down on the sofa.

"Guess we won't be needing a condom for this then... Fuck me daddy - give me a baby..."

"Coming right up..." He kneeled back down next to you and parted your perfect legs, before sinking two fingers back inside, rubbing your clit with his thumb. It wasn't long before you were writhing under his touch, calling his name as you came hard against his hand. He moved over you, quickly turning you over so your pert behind was up in the air and you were gripping the arm of the sofa in hot anticipation. He pushed inside, feeling you for the first time without a barrier - no other contraception had suited you, so you'd stuck with condoms - and he groaned as he filled you completely.

"Jesus... God yes.. right there Daddy...." He picked up the pace at your words, thrusting into you like a man possessed.

"Fuck this is tight baby... I'm not gonna last long like this..."

"Fill me up Daddy.. make me pregnant.. give me your baby..." He couldn't hold back after that, and came hard, filling you and sending you into your second orgasm. Breathing heavy, he stayed in until he was completely spent - not daring to waste a drop.

"Lay on your back y/n... Legs in the air.." you did as he asked, confused. "Helps the whole process apparently."

"So you meant it then?" You smiled as he knelt beside you again, swirling a hand over your belly.

"What, that I want to see the love of my life's body swell with my baby inside? Damn right I meant it y/n.. nothing would make me happier than a baby with you." You were grinning now, as he leaned in to kiss you.

"Love you Cill."

"Love you more mama." The sound of him calling you that made your heart swell. You couldn't wait to hear your baby call it you too.

#cillian murphy #cillian smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian x smut #cillian x fem!reader #cillian x daddy kink

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milenadaniels · 3 years

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Before the Night Fades, 8.6k - POV Outsider on Buck/Eddie double date shenanigans (AO3)

“I have a bottle of champagne, four champagne flutes, one engagement ring to go into one of those champagne flutes, and a note to deliver it all to table 34 with dessert,” Tomas explains, wide-eyed, throwing his hand back to the prep station where said champagne is waiting on ice next to four flutes and a small ring box.

“Okay?”

“Okay so there’s two men and two women and I have no idea who’s getting proposed to. I’m not even 100% on who came with who."

---

Or, EddieAna and BuckTaylor double date and it ruins everyone's night.

The nearly-post-COVID return to normal rush is going exactly as well as management at the Tilted Cactus expected it would, which is to say it’s going as miserably as the waitstaff at the Tilted Cactus expected it would.

The owners lost a lot of money to lockdowns, diminished capacity and the general (extremely warranted) paranoia of co-mingling in public during an international plague for the sake of overpriced appetizers. And despite accurately predicting the business would boom once the doors re-opened, management didn’t feel the need to account for more staff to serve said business.

So despite owing $34k on her student loans (that’s after a generous gift from both her parents and her maternal grandmother), barely being able to afford rent in LA, and the utter lack of career prospects, Mere is taking a break in the backroom, next to the dirty mop bucket, mentally running through her finances before she officially gives her notice.

She can’t quit, she knows that.

Turns out leaving New Zealand for LA with nothing but a dream and the idea that if Taika could do it so could she was not the most future-proof plan she could have come up with. The starving artist thing was so 2010.

But Mere’s made up her mind. She’s not made for this abuse. This is bullshit. She’s going to pack up, go home, and you know, do...something else. She’ll figure it out.

Mere pulls herself up from her indelicate crouch on some empty crates and goes in search of a piece of paper — or a fucking napkin, who cares — on which to write up her official resignation.

“No, in section 3A,” she hears Tomas fake-whisper. He’s one of the few new hires to grace these hallowed halls and still thinks it’s disrespectful to talk shit about customers even in the backroom. Umida, a five year veteran of this distinguished profession, has been trying to disabuse him of this particular nonsense.

“Where the fuck is section 3A, Tommy? We have sections 1 to 9, we don’t have any letters.”

“The new sidewalk sections have letters, to distinguish them from inside.”

“You mean sections 10 and 11?”

“...Mr. Peters said they’re using letters.”

“Mr. Peters can swallow my entire ass. The sidewalk sections are literally right outside the door from 9, why would they not be called 10 and 11?”

“Or ‘Hell On Earth’ and ‘Kill Me Please’, as we call them colloquially,” Mere offers, startling Tomas as she pushes through the swinging door she’d been hiding behind. Patio dining is highly encouraged and an excellent way to dine if one has patios. The Tilted Cactus does not have patios. It has a temporary license to put tables on the dirty sidewalk outside their restaurant, where waitstaff get to weave around pedestrians, dogs, and carts like they’re completing an obstacle course.

“Yeah, those work,” Umida agrees, emphasizing her point with a dispirited index finger in Mere’s direction.

“Okay, whatever,” Tomas says with a pained eye roll. “Can you please just check it out and let me know?”

“What’s happening?” Mere asks. She’s leaving this popsicle stand (ideally, on fire as she walks away slowly into the night) but she’s also starved of both human attention and the inherent drama of the culinary world so she’ll be damned if she misses out on one final showdown.

Tomas takes a breath to steel himself. “I have a bottle of champagne, four champagne flutes, one engagement ring to go into one of those champagne flutes, and a note to deliver it all to table 34 with dessert,” Tomas explains, wide-eyed, throwing his hand back to the prep station where said champagne is waiting on ice next to four flutes and a small ring box.

“Okay?”

“Okay so there’s two men and two women and I have no idea who’s getting proposed to. I’m not even 100% on who came with who.”

“You don’t have gaydar where you come from?” Umida asks in perfect deadpan.

Tomas glares harder, crosses his arms and juts one hip out. “I come from San Francisco. We invented gaydar. I’m saying I’m pretty sure the guys are together, but I’m also pretty sure they’re each with the women they’re sitting next to. So figure that out.”

“Like a double thruple?” Mere asks, now actually becoming curious.

“Like a ‘I don’t know what y’all are smoking this far north but I don’t understand your weird relationship dynamics and I’m still on probation and I can’t lose this job because I can’t move back in with my brother because I will murder him and I can’t be an only child with aging parents in this economy so can you please just go out there and tell me what the fuck is happening so I can throw this ring at the right person and punch out sometime before I ‘accidentally’ fall on the meat clever downstairs?’ kind of situation.”

Umida and Mere share a glance.

“Okay, well, don’t despair, new guy,” Mere says with a pat on his arm. “Save the meat cleaving for the capitalist elite. We got you. Let the pros handle this.”

“What did the note say?” Umida asks. “One ‘e’ or two? We can at least eliminate half of our options.”

Tomas does not check the note to spot whether the note-taker had written ‘fiancé’ or ‘fiancée’. He stares them down and fips the note in his fingers so the text faces them.

“It says ‘finance’.”

“Ah.”

“We’re going to need a more hands-on investigation, then,” Mere announces.

—————————-

Mere goes first, only because Umida was on her way to swap a side dressing for her table when Tomas intercepted her.

Mere carries a jug of water and makes the rounds of the outdoor tables, trying to hold in her visible distaste for the pseudo-patio vibe the owners tried to make happen out here. There’s a bike stand and a taxi stand two feet from where people are trying to have a romantic dinner. Every now and again, the LA traffic gets rowdy and noisy, completely butchering the atmosphere. There’s a shitty speaker funneling in some Frank Sinatra but it really does nothing to help.

But after this mystery is solved, none of this will be her problem anymore.

Like Tomas said, there are two men and two women sitting like cardinal points around a round table. The women are on the north and east ends, the men on the south and west ones. Two of them are brunets, one a redhead, and one a blond. They’re all disgustingly gorgeous.

And that’s all she’s got.

“The ravioli sounds so good,” the brunette woman says, casting a look at the brunet man to her side.

“Yeah, it does,” he says.

“Mm,” the blond man disagrees. “It’s got feta.”

“What’s wrong with feta?” Asks the redheaded woman.

“Absolutely nothing is wrong with feta,” he responds with a superior smile directed at the man next to him who’s preemptively adopting the look of someone ready to hear some bullshit. “Unless you have an underdeveloped palate and are simply overwhelmed by such strong delicacies as a moderately salty cheese.”

“Okay, don’t talk to me about an underdeveloped palate, Pennsylvania,” the other man responds, posturing despite the softness of his eyes.

“Hey, I said nothing to besmirch the great state of Texas. Texas is a wonder of culinary delight. I’m saying you’re...a simple man.”

“Feta’s disgusting and that’s a hill I’m willing to die on,” the brunet says with smug finality, holding the other man’s eyes until they’re both smirking and looking back at their menus.

Well then.

Mere’s a little bummed as she fills the water at table 36. She’d been hoping the mystery would run longer than 2 whole minutes, but these guys are definitely together. So the mystery will only come down to who’s getting eng—

“Thankfully Chris inherited a more refined palate,” the blond man — Pennsylvania — chirps as the last word.

“He did,” the brunette woman chimes in with a playful smile. “He loves my cooking. You both loved that greek salad I made last week, didn’t you? That had feta in it.”

“It did!” the brunet man replies, slipping his hand overtop hers. “And I loved it. So clearly context is a factor.”

Mere almost spills the rest of the water all over the lady at table 38 as she takes in the man and woman mooning at each other. Though if it’s any consolation, the redheaded woman looks as unimpressed as Mere feels.

“Yeah, I have no idea,” Mere reports back to Tomas.

“The redheads are playing footsie under the table now. That’s one couple at least right?” Tomas asks. The two of them are parked behind the bar where they can see through the window outside but the exterior tint prevents anyone outside from seeing them. The bar is still used for pouring drinks but the stools are gone — can’t maintain 6 feet between them — so the staff pretty much have the run of this corner of the restaurant.

“He’s not a redhead,” Mere mutters, looking out the window to catch the action. “It’s like a dark blond. And I don’t know, I’m pretty sure the two brunets are together, but then blond guy’s foot is way into the other guy’s space.” For a moment she’s distracted by just how damn long his legs are. “That’s certainly...familiar.”

“They’re lesbians,” Umida declares when she returns from dropping off plates at table 32.

“They’re lesbians?” Tomas parrots skeptically. “I did not get that vibe.”

“I could see lesbian for the redhead, I think,” Mere says. “Don’t know about the brunette.”

“Lesbians come in all flavours,” Umida informs them haughtily. It’s the start of Pride month and her hijab is held together by an “Ally” pin. “You can’t tell someone’s orientation just by looking at them.”

“But you’ve declared them lesbians,” Mere points out.

“Because lesbians are approaching their table and only lesbians know other lesbians.”

“That’s definitely not true,” Tomas reproaches.

“No, she’s right, lesbians coming up!” Mere watches as two more unfairly gorgeous women approach with two young boys in tow. Honestly, screw LA and their beauty standards. The parties look surprised to see each other, but they clearly know each other well. One of the boys stays with the women, but the other one breaks off to join the table.

“No, I mean you can know lesbians without being a lesbian.”

Umida and Mere ignore him.

“Okay, that’s one of their kids, right?” Umida asks. “Lesbians babysitting for date night?”

“He’s got Pennsylvania’s curls,” Mere agrees. "That's the blond guy, by the way, I think he’s from there. Brunet guy is Texas for the time being."

The boy reaches the table and is pulled into a strong hug by Texas, who then directs him to a hug with the brunette.

“Oh, unexpected.” Mere would have sworn he was a dead ringer for Pennsylvania. “But okay, that confirms the hand-holding I saw. We have a set of parents. And unless this is a super modern table, I don’t see the parents being here on dates with other people.”

“Mm, I don’t know.” Umida dithers. “That’s like an auntie hug, not a parent hug. Like if she is the mom, the kid is not happy with her.”

“Wait,” Tomas says.

The boy is wiggling out of Brunette’s grasp and rounding the table to Pennsylvania who’s waiting with a wide smile and open arms, and instead of letting go after, the boy finagles his way onto Pennsylvania’s lap to steal a breadstick. Pennsylvania reaches into the basket for another breadstick to pass to the little boy still waiting with his moms and Mere’s heart tugs a little.

Texas watches on from across the table with unrestrained fondness. His leg shifts to press against Pennsylvania’s who looks up with a smile.

“Boom, gay dads!” Tomas crows.

“And lesbians,” Umida adds.

“Redhead definitely has no part of this,” Mere notes. The woman is smiling but it’s polite and practised, not warm or welcoming. “I guess the brunets could be siblings maybe? Really close siblings?”

Finally, the babysitters make to leave so Pennsylvania kisses the boy’s temple and guides him back to his feet. Texas presses his own kiss to the boy’s curls as he passes, saying something they can’t make out from behind the glass. Brunette gets only a wave as he leaves.

“Gays and lesbians,” Umida concludes smugly.

“Okay, good,” Tomas sighs with relief. “So we know who the couples are, now who’s gettin—”

“Um,” Mere interrupts, pointing at the table.

Redhead’s foot is making its way up Pennsylvania’s leg and he shoots her a grin.

“For fuck’s sake,” Tomas spits as he walks away.

“Did you even take their order yet?” Mere calls after him. He doesn’t answer.

———-

Mere gets pulled away because now that she’s not quitting in outrage until this table 34 drama is over, she figures she should actually get back to work. Happily, having not seen her for the last 20 minutes, Mikael figured she had left or died and had taken over her section. She agrees to split half the tips with him and lets herself be pulled back into the tide of madness.

“Got it figured yet, Tim-Tam?” she asks when she passes him near the bathrooms.

“The guys are sharing their orders,” he says despondently.

“That’s not that incriminating. I split my orders with people. I’m not about to pay full price to discover if I like something.”

“No,” Tomas glares before gesturing to the window with disgust. “They’re sharing their orders.”

Tomas stalks away to hopefully take an herbal break to calm down and Mere goes back to the window just in time to catch the insanity. Mere feels Umida come up behind her and tries to suppress her shiver when her “what in all that is holy” skates across her bare shoulder.

Pennsylvania has just finished piling some of his spaghetti on Texas’ plate, which is exceedingly normal. But now Pennsylvania is reaching for Texas' burger.

“He didn’t cut that,” Umida notes.

“No, he did not.”

They have pretty messy burgers at Tilted Cactus, ones that are hard to share because if you cut them down the middle they tend to lose structural integrity. Of course, this isn’t a big concern if you’re sharing already-bitten-into burgers. Which these absolute freaks are doing.

“Gays and lesbians,” Umida declares again, the earlier smugness replaced with an air of disgust.

But when Umida walks away, Mere watches Brunette wipe something off Texas’ cheek and frowns. One throuple and redheaded side piece? Maybe?

————

“I’m struggling with lesbians as a theory,” Mere tells Umida the next chance she gets at the pickup counter. “I want to believe, but…”

“Yeah, I’m doubting now too. They’re almost exclusively talking to each other. But then I realized it was more getting-to-know-you conversation and this would be a hell of a weird first date.”

“Huh, so heteros all around?”

“Well, I also caught on that they’re spending all this time talking to each other because the guys are like in their own world. Finishing each others’ —”

“Sandwiches?”

“Exactly,” Umida grins, unexpectedly delighted by the reference. “So I don’t know. I really don’t envy Tommy.”

“Me either.”

“Hey Manish,” Umida yells out to the other side of the pickup window, “I’m picking up for Lenore but she’s got a two-seater, why do I have four dishes here?”

“Because Lenore can’t write for shit,” Mere says, picking up the order slip and squinting at the scrawl. “These are for table 24, not 29. It’s a four-seater.”

“Alright, well I guess you’re helping me, then,” Umida says with a wink.

Umida is fully capable of carrying four dishes on her own but she’s asking Mere to come with her so Mere’s already reaching for the plates, hoping the blush on her cheek can be written off as heat from the kitchen.

————-

During a slow stretch, Mere takes it upon herself to refill water and wine glasses in section 10.

From table 32 she can hear them talking about elementary school workloads.

“Oh, ah, I meant to let you know,” Pennsylvania says to Redhead, sitting up in his seat. “I can’t make it to the movies next Friday, can we move it to the next week? I should know my schedule by Wednesday.”

“Sure,” Redhead says with a hint of bite to her pleasant smile. “But I thought you had Friday off.”

“I do,” Pennsylvania says, his lips curving into a small, excited smile, “but Christopher won his class’ public speaking competition and they’re doing a kind of show of all the winners for the parents, and it’s on Friday.”

Mere moves around table 34 and heads for table 36 next, but catches the looks of discomfort on every face aside from Pennsylvania’s. He doesn’t realize he’s said something wrong, but the rest of them have.

“Isn’t that just during school hours?” Brunette woman asks.

Texas hesitates before saying, “yeah, but we’re taking him to Universal after to celebrate.”

Out of pity, Mere doubles back to table 34 and reaches for his water glass to fill. People tend to keep their drama buckled while the waitstaff is there. And sure enough, Redhead glances up and paints a tense smile on her face.

“Yeah, not a problem. That sounds exciting.”

There’s a bite to her words, and by the way his shoulders tense and his fingers curl more tightly around his fork, Texas seems to have picked up on it.

————-

By the end of the entrees, most of the staff have caught onto Tomas’ predicament and one by one everyone from the table-bussers to the cooks have gone out for a smokeless smoke break to try to be the one to divine what the hell is happening at table 34.

None are successful.

“This isn’t even like a romantic date,” Mani laments. “Like none of them are that dressed up and they’re talking about like natural disasters and shit. I don’t get a proposal vibe from like any of them.”

“Who even goes on a double date to propose? Who does that? It’s so tacky!” Gabby says from behind the bar where she’s helping herself to a quick nip before she heads home.

“Who still thinks the ring in the champagne bit is a good idea, is my question. It’s a choking hazard!” Mere says. “How romantic to start off your engagement with a trip to the ER.”

Tomas ignores them all. He looks about 10 minutes away from saying to hell with his probationary status and drinking the next hour away straight out of the vodka bottle at his elbow. “I know it’s Pride and I should be representing but I could really do with a little heteronormativity right now.”

—————-

Tomas is stalling.

Table 34 asked for dessert, of course, and when he vaguely floated the idea of champagne, Texas had readily agreed, so this is happening. The champagne flutes are lined up on a tray, the champagne in them is warming with every minute that passes, and he is no closer to figuring out what to do.

“What if I put all the glasses in the middle and they have to pick which one they want?”

“Okay but the person getting proposed to tonight likely doesn’t know?” Mikael says.

“What if you pretend you didn’t see the instructions?” Shania pitches. “As if we can ever write stuff down correctly anyway. Just say it said to bring out the champagne but nothing about the ring being in a flute! Just hand it back to the proposer and let them get it done.”

“You think we don’t know who the proposee is but we know who the proposer is?” Tomas bites. “If I knew that, Shania, I could have just called them away with a phone call or something and asked them who to give the flute to.”

“Geez,” Shania exclaims, hopping off the bar counter to walk away. “You try to help…”

“And then there were three,” Mario announces as he comes back from another completely unnecessary round of filling water glasses outside.

Tomas’ head snaps up from where he’d been staring into the countertops. “What?”

They all rush to the window and sure enough: Redhead is gone.

“I didn’t see her come in,” Mere says, almost breathlessly. If she’d come in to use the restroom, they would have seen her.

“No, she’s gone-gone,” Mario supplies. “Said she had to get back to work but I’m pretty sure she just wanted out. That’s the chick from the news, you know?”

“People still watch the news?” Mere wondered aloud.

Tomas tsks. “Redhead was the least probable suspect!”

“Well we can rule out Brunette and Pennsylvania as a couple, right?” Umida asks, waiting briefly for the gathered crowd to nod. “Okay, so we’re down to the brunets together, or Pennsylvania and Texas.”

“Or polyamorous,” Mikael sniffs. Mikael is trying polyamory. He doesn’t know there’s a bet going on how long he’ll last. It’s a fine relationship style to get into but one he and his jealousy and insecurity issues are deeply unsuited for.

“Apologies, Mikael, or polyamorous. So you have...yeah, 3 of 3 options left for that ring,” Umida grimaces.

“Wait!” So-Hee cries. She’s supposed to be hosting at the entrance but COVID-19 protocols mean people don’t show up earlier than 5 minutes before their reservation so the podium isn’t very backed up. “What does the ring look like? That could be a clue, right?”

They look to Tomas, whose face is blank.

“You didn’t look?” Mere accuses him, though to be fair it never occurred to her either.

So-Hee pounces on the deep purple velvet box without waiting for Tomas to answer.

“Please god,” Tomas mumbles, grabbing the box out of her hands and prying it open with almost reckless enthusiasm.

All six members of staff currently on duty at the window crowd around, many heads bumping together to catch a glimpse. The ring nestled in the box has a slim, dainty band with a solitaire diamond jutting out proudly, with filigree details on either side.

“Oh thank sweet baby Jesus, that is a woman’s ring!” Tomas nearly yells.

“It could be a man’s ring,” Umida protests weakly, almost sad to see the drama come to an end.

Mere’s a little put out too if she’s being honest. But even if they couldn’t tell from the design, the sizing is way too small to fit on either of table 34’s men’s fingers, as So-Hee demonstrates by plucking the ring up and sliding it onto her own tiny finger.

“Yeah, get it stuck on your sweaty fingers, So-Hee,” Tomas protests almost hysterically, feeling his win come into danger. He wrestles it back off her finger and shoves it back in the box before taking a deep cleansing breath.

“Okay, I’ve got a dessert course to deliver,” he says, the picture of calm professionalism as if he hasn’t spent the last hour losing his entire shit.

———-

They should disperse then, but like brothers in arms after battle, all of them feel the need to stand guard as Tomas prepares to deliver the goods.

Some of them, like So-Hee, stand because they’ve foolishly become emotionally invested in the upcoming nuptial bliss.

Some of them, like Umida, stand because they fell in love with their version of events and they feel the need to properly mourn for what might have been.

“They’re co-parenting that boy,” Umida grumbles. “We all saw that! They can’t deny that!”

And some of them, like Mere, stand because they really can’t be bothered to get back to work.

But stand together they do as Tomas plops the ring in one flute and carries the tray out.

“Excuse me,” comes a voice off to the side of their group.

So-Hee, ever the consummate people-pleaser, actually turns to take care of the customer. The rest of them stay fixed at the window. “Yes, sir, can I help you?”

“Maybe? I couldn’t help but notice that young man taking some champagne out.”

“Yes, would you like to order a bottle as well?” So-Hee pokes Mikael. “We’d be happy to bring some out to you.”

“Ah, no,” the man says. “Well, yes. But I’ve already ordered some. I called earlier, when I reserved my table.”

Mere stiffens, her sixth sense borne of years of customer service piquing. Beside her, Umida takes note as well.

“I asked that champagne be brought to the table with dessert, and I left a box...one that looks a lot like the one on your counter there. And I’m sure it’s just a coincidence but I couldn’t help but want to make sure it’s not my ring that just went out to that other table.”

Mere’s wide eyes spring to Umida’s.

“Oh my fuck,” Umida whispers.

Then they’re both racing for the door.

“Wrong table, wrong table, wrong table,” Mere mutters under her breath as she dodges a stroller and a dog walker trying to reach Tomas —

“Oh, Edmundo!” Brunette exclaims brightly.

Umida’s hand braces Mere like a soccer mom in a car.

It’s too late now.

There’s nothing they can do but watch this trainwreck happen.

Happily, Redhead vacated the seat nearest to them so they have an unobstructed view of Brunette’s eyes filling with tears, of Texas’ wide eyes, and of Pennsylvania’s face losing all colour.

From context, Texas is the Edmundo Brunette is so pleased with.

But Edmundo is shaking his head, his brow furrowed. “I...wha— ”

Pennsylvania comes back to himself first, though the smile he paints on his face is strained and frail. “Ah, con — congratulations.”

“Wha— Buck, no.”

Pennsylvania — Buck — stands up from the table like a colt learning to walk, his eyes darting across the table without landing anywhere. “I — ah — I should let you guys celebrate.”

“Buck, no, I—” Edmundo’s voice is firmer now, his hand darting out to reach for Buck, and Brunette starts to catch on that nobody’s getting down on one knee with a flowery speech.

“Edmundo?” she calls, her bright smile dimming.

Edmundo looks torn and trapped in equal measure, and Mere wonders for a heartbreaking moment if maybe he’s as confused about his relationships as the Tilted Cactus employees have been tonight.

With a sigh, and a reminder that she’s out of this place like Cinderella at midnight, Mere falls on the proverbial meat cleaver. Stepping around Umida’s still outstretched arm, Mere weaves herself in front of Tomas just in case there’s any physical fallout, and pitches her voice low so the neighbouring tables will have to strain to listen in.

“Excuse me, my name is Mere, I’m the assistant manager. I am so sorry to inform you there’s been a terrible mistake. We’ve delivered a ring to your table that was destined to another this evening. We apologize deeply for any confusion this has caused and we will of course be comping your meals.”

“It—Oh.” Brunette’s eyes land on the ring on her finger, and her remaining excitement implodes into embarrassment so quickly and resoundly that Mere’s surprised it doesn’t produce an audible sound. The fingers of her opposite hand grip the ring and pause for a moment before slipping it off. There’s no box to slip it into so Mere holds out her hand, the other tucked neatly behind her back.

“Thank you,” Mere says quietly. “Please forgive us for the mistake. We will be investigating what happened so it never happens again.”

“Of course,” Brunette says lightly, forcing some life back into her voice. “I’m sure you didn’t mean any harm by it.”

Her eyes lift then and take in the scene across from her. Edmundo and Buck still standing, Edmundo’s hand wrapped round Buck’s wrist to keep him from leaving, and her eyes shutter once more.

“If you’ll excuse me, I need to freshen up,” she says politely, rising from her seat and escaping into the restaurant.

Edmundo watches her go but says nothing, frozen still, holding onto the man beside him.

With all eyes more or less off them now, Mere gathers Tomas and Umida and hauls ass back into the restaurant.

————-

The ring is cleaned and inspected by Gareth, its actual owner, who is amiable enough to not escalate the situation further. His fiancée-to-be is none the wiser on any of these happenings — luckily their table, 29, is indoors — so his proposal is still on for the next course. But, just in case it doesn’t go the way Gareth hopes and he turns on them, Mere preemptively comps their meal too and congratulates him before he’s reseated.

On her way back to the kitchen, she grabs Lenore and uses the last hour of her completely fake authority to formally bar her from ever answering the phone again, or taking notes from the phone, or writing anything anywhere ever again. Lenore, having heard about the drama at table 34 and having seen the crying woman rush to the bathroom just now, accepts with little resistance.

And Mere, heart heavy with the weight of what they’ve done to this poor woman, mentally shakes her fist at her own curiosity and need for schadenfreude. If she’d bailed on this place an hour ago, she wouldn’t be leaving with this heartache by proxy.

As if beckoned by her thoughts, Brunette emerges from the bathroom just as Mere is crossing in front of it. She looks better, her tears packed away, and her cheeks only slightly reddened. Mere is about to offer her something — a glass of water? wine? a whole bottle? — when Edmundo steps into view. Mere doesn’t break stride until she’s behind the protection of the pay terminal privacy partition where she can see them but not be seen.

“Hey,” he says softly, his frame pretty loose and relaxed for a man who looked so troubled moments ago.

“Hey,” she returns with a forced smile.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t know—”

Brunette cuts him off with a hand. “It’s not your fault. They made a mistake. It happens.”

Edmundo nods.

“But…” Brunette continues, fidgeting with the strap of her purse. “For a moment, it didn’t seem far-fetched that it...might be real, you know? I know we’ve been taking things slow, but we have been seeing each other for nearly a year now. And I thought… I don’t know what I thought, but it...it didn’t seem so far-fetched.”

Edmundo’s shoulders have grown tense, and it doesn’t escape Brunette’s notice. She smiles sadly.

“But then I looked up and you weren’t even looking at me. You were looking at Buck. You were so scared he would leave and that — that just doesn’t make sense, does it? I mean, even if the...the ring was a big misunderstanding, wouldn’t it have been better that he leave so we could talk about it privately? But you were scared, because he was upset… And if he was...I don’t know...upset that you hadn’t told him about this, you could have caught up later and discussed it, cleared it up.”

Edmundo says nothing, but he hangs his head and gnaws on his lower lip.

“But you were scared. Scared of him leaving in that moment. Scared...that he’d leave with the wrong idea? That he’d leave thinking you were — we were... ” Brunette sighs sharply. “I think I’ve been a fool.”

“You haven’t—” Edmundo tries to say.

“No, I have. It’s felt so many times like there’s been a third wheel in this relationship, and I genuinely didn’t realize until now that it was me. And maybe I’m naive but I’d like to think you didn’t realize it until today either. That you’re just as big a fool as I am. And maybe Buck is too.”

Edmundo opens his mouth twice to say something but nothing comes out. In the end, he settles on, “Ana, I’m sorry. I...didn’t realize. I don’t even know if I understand what I realize. But I...I know you’re one of the best people I’ve ever met and you didn’t deserve this.”

Brunette — Ana — smiles again sadly, and if a touch bitterly, she’s entitled to it.

“Thank you,” she says softly, before fidgeting with her purse strap again. “I’m going to go. You’ll...say goodbye to Buck for me?” Edmundo nods.

“Goodbye, Edmundo.”

“Take care, Ana,” he responds.

Ana takes a few steps before stopping and turning. “Good luck. I think…” she shakes her head before repeating, “good luck,” and leaving out the side doors.

Mere unglues herself from the privacy wall and slinks sadly back to the bar where she finds Tomas and Umida already halfway through a glass of red each. There’s a third, untouched glass waiting for her.

“We’re horrible people,” Mere decides. “Brunette and Texas just broke up.”

“We didn’t do this,” Umida protests half-heartedly. “Technically, Tomas did.”

“Ugh, you ass,” Tomas sputters. “The note said table 34, you all saw it. It’s Lenore’s fault.”

“It is Lenore’s fault,” Mere agrees before downing half her glass like a shot. Out the window, she can see Pennsyl — Buck — slumped in his chair, staring at the tablecloth. There’s a fresh bottle of wine on the table, two empty glasses at his and Edmundo’s places. Mere raises a glass at Tomas for the gesture.

“If they don’t end up drinking it, I’m taking it home,” Tomas says, “I already wrote it off.”

That’s fair.

Unfortunately for him, when Edmundo gets back to the table, he immediately pours them both a very full glass.

Buck straightens out in his chair, looking concerned and looking around for Ana, who doesn’t materialize. Edmundo says something that has Buck relaxing but looking guilty. Then Edmundo shuffles closer and puts a hand back on Buck’s wrist.

“Okay, back to work,” Mere orders. “We’ve intruded on this drama way too much already.”

When she finds her way back to the bar some twenty minutes later for a totally appropriate reason, table 34 is empty.

————————

A year later, Mere finds herself sitting on the Tilted Cactus bar counter on a Friday night, legs swinging and popping olives like they’re mints. She ended up not quitting her job the night she intended to. Between the excitement, the drama, and the on-duty alcohol, she was feeling pretty chill about sticking it out at the Tilted Cactus a while longer.

But she ended up quitting two days later when the owner found out about how she impersonated an assistant manager and gave her hell for it. She could have stayed, he wasn’t really going to reprimand her. But listening to him talk down at her while her stomach filled with dread at the idea of having to apologize and walk back into that hell hole…nah. Fuck the Tilted Cactus, fuck the owner, and fuck two weeks’ notice. They weren’t getting a minute out of her ever again.

She took the gamble of taking out more student loans and was wrapping up her EMT certification. She’d be in an ambulance soon enough, actually helping people. Not the dream that got her to America, but one that would suffice for now. Make up enough karma to get her feet back under her.

“The lesbians are back,” Umida announces excitedly in a whisper as she fits herself between Mere’s legs against the bar.

“Which lesbians?”

“THEE lesbians,” Umida returns, pointing out the window.

“Those are two guys, babe. Three if you count the kid.”

“They’re lesbians,” Umida insists, waving her hand to dismiss the kid from her labels. “They have strong lesbian energy.”

“You’re claiming them for your people?” Mere grins fondly. It’s the start of Pride again and Umida’s Ally pin has been traded in for a lesbian-flag coloured hijab secured with the updated BIPOC Pride flag pin. She’s very pretty in pink, right down to the lipstick Mere isn’t allowed to kiss off of her until her shift is up.

“I am, they’re mine. I claim them.”

“Wait,” Mere squints, trying to pin down the familiar feeling she’s getting, “are those…”

“The guys! Eddie and Buck. I told you they were semi-regulars now. And we were right, that’s totally their kid. I don’t know how, especially since we know they weren’t together before that night, but he’s their kid. My money’s on one of them being trans because he’s literally their spitting image combined.”

Mere sighs happily and hugs Umida to her. “Well, I’m glad some good came out of that night.”

“Umida?” a young voice asks from across the bar. In the year since the reopening, a slew of new hires have joined the ranks to replace all the veterans leaving and Mere barely recognizes anyone anymore. She saw Mikael (unsurprisingly single again) a couple of weeks ago but he’s clearly on his way out too. Tomas lasted until his probation was over before quitting. Umida, in no small part because she was the longest lasting employee, was rightfully promoted to the role of assistant manager. Mere still hopes she’ll leave this hell hole soon but in the meantime, at least she’s getting paid. And authority looks really good on her.

“What up, Jerome?”

Jerome pushes his dark blue fringe back and holds up a sheet of paper. “I have a note here to deliver a ring to a table with dessert but it doesn’t say who’s supposed to get it.”

“Oh my god, no, no way,” Mere laughs and tries to push Umida away. “Let me out of here.”

Umida’s arms close around her hips, preventing her escape.

“Calm down. I created a form so that night doesn’t happen again. Jerome, did you use the form?”

“Um, yeah.” He shakes the sheet of paper in his hands. “I mean whoever took the call did. They checked off the table number, and it’s a ‘fiancé’ not a ‘fiancée’, but it’s a table with two guys so…”

“Okay, but there’s a field for the name, did they fill it out?”

“How am I supposed to know who they are from a name though?”

“Oh my god, kid, you schmooze,” Umida says. “You roll up to their table, you lay on the customer service thick and introduce yourself and ask their names. People are idiots, they’ll tell you, just like that.”

Jerome cocks his head in contemplation. “Yeah okay, but no, there’s no name. It’s blank.”

“But you made a form,” Mere mock whispers.

Umida turns on her, her eyeshadow catching the bar lights as she narrows her eyes. “This is not the form’s fault, don’t you blame this on the form! The form has a field for a name! The form provides!”

“The form is flawless,” Mere agrees quickly, running her hand down Umida’s arm soothingly. “You can’t account for user error.”

Umida glares harder before looking up to the ceiling in supplication.

Mere, who has never in her life been able to resist picking at a scab, asks, “what table is it?”

Jerome checks the paper. “34.”

“The cursed table. The cursed lesbians!” Mere gasps, squirming out of the way when Umida tries to pinch her side.

“Well it’s not like the kid is a contender, so it’s 50/50,” Umida points out. “Much better odds than last time.”

“And to be fair, if the wrong guy gets the flute, he can just improvise and propose with the ring in hand,” Mere continues. “Overall, much less exciting drama than last time. 3/10 for me.”

“Thank god. Yeah, let’s do that.” Jerome walks away with his marching orders and Umida turns to Mere. “I have to actually go work. You gonna hang out here?” She’s off in a half hour and they have tickets to the back row of the latest Marvel nonsense.

“I got booze, olives, and an unobstructed view of my favourite drama. I’m all set.” In lieu of a proper kiss, Mere lifts Umida’s hand and kisses her wrist, delighting in watching her girlfriend’s eyes soften. She blows Mere a kiss and flits away to put out fires.

Mere is usually on her phone while she waits for Umida but tonight she watches table 34. The guys — Eddie and Buck, Umida reminded her — are across the table from each other, Eddie is relaxed in his chair but Buck is leaning forward, elbows on the table as he tells their son a story that has him cackling in his seat. They’re not holding hands, but anyone looking can see they’re together. They have ridiculous heart eyes for each other, and from her vantage point she can see those long legs intermingling again, one knee occasionally jostling into the other. Little tangible reminders that they’re there and together.

She saw hints of this that night, and to see it have taken hold and blossomed...suddenly she’s really invested in them having a great night. One of them planned this night out, wanted to surprise the other, and she doesn’t want that going to waste because of a blank field on a form.

Mere’s wearing a dark long-sleeve blouse, not too far off the dress code, so slips off the counter, snags the backup apron they always leave behind the bar and ties it around her waist. One of the newbies whose name she doesn’t know watches her from the host pedestal and Mere raises a fierce eyebrow at them until they go back to minding their own business.

She rinses out a jug and fills it with water and ice and slips back into her customer service posture to make the rounds of the tables in section 10.

“Well now, I recognize you handsome folk, don’t I?” she schmoozes when she gets to table 34, picking up Eddie’s glass first to fill.

Eddie doesn’t place her and she doesn’t blame him, he was under a lot of stress that night. It takes Buck a second but he gets it.

“Oh hey, yeah! Weren’t you — “ Buck cuts himself off awkwardly and casts an eye to Eddie and the kid. “You, ah, gave us our meals for free! Because of the, um, mix-up.”

That’s enough for Eddie to place her, and where Buck relaxes back into his chair as she fills his glass, Eddie goes stock still.

Bingo.

“What mix-up?” the kid asks.

“Ah, they put something in our drink by accident,” Buck lies without lying. “Real choking hazard! So they gave us our meals for free.”

“That’s dangerous,” the kid says.

“It was dangerous,” Mere agrees, filling his glass. “Choking hazard was right. Could have turned a really great night all wrong with a trip to the hospital.”

Eddie’s brow furrows slightly and Mere struggles to keep a neutral face.

“It’s never a good idea to hide things in food. I don’t know why people keep trying instead of just calling us for advice. We have tons of ways to help people with surprises.”

“I completely agree,” Buck says. “We’re actually firefighters and you wouldn’t believe how many accidental choking calls we get.”

Eddie swallows, his eyes looking mildly panicked.

“Firefighters!” Mere schmoozes harder, smiling at the kid as he gets excited again. “Well I certainly feel safer then.”

“Ah, you probably shouldn’t. I was actually one of those calls once,” Buck says halfway through a smile and grimace, pointing to his throat where there’s a faint scar. “Emergency tracheotomy on the floor of a restaurant. But that wasn’t a surprise, just, ah, too enthusiastic about the breadsticks.”

Eddie’s looking decidedly gray now, eyes laser focused on the scar.

“Okay, well I’ll just go ahead and clear these,” Mere says, jokingly reaching for the bread basket until Buck laughs back.

“I’m better now, promise! Small bites, chewed thoroughly!”

“Hmm, I don’t know,” she dithers dramatically, nodding to the kid. “If I leave those here, can I trust you to keep an eye on your dad?”

“Yeah!” the kid agrees with a toothy grin.

Buck’s cheeks redden quickly but he’s still smiling, his head ducked shyly in a way Mere doubts is due to her teasing. Eddie, meanwhile, is still looking poleaxed though fondness is fighting its way back in.

“Well, I was just subbing into this section so this will be goodbye for us but it was great to see you guys! Enjoy your evening!”

“Thanks, you too!” Buck says with an easy smile. Eddie manages a “thank you” and Mere has to restrain herself from patting his shoulder as she walks away.

She’s only just returned the apron to the bar when she sees Eddie walk in and head straight for the host before being led to the back.

“Ready to go?” Umida asks, back in her unsensible heels and cross-chest messenger bag.

Mere takes the hand she extends but tugs her closer instead of following her out, before saying the worst thing she’s ever said in her life, “Actually, do you mind if we stick around a little longer?”

“Something good about to happen?” she asks, peeking out the window.

Mere tugs her in closer and leans her chin on her shoulder. “I think so.”

Twenty minutes later, when Jerome passes by with a tray of assorted chocolate treats and two overturned coffee cups, Mere and Umida find themselves bracketed by half the front and back staff. Gossip still spreads like wildfire it seems.

Buck’s overturned coffee cup and plate is the last thing Jerome puts on the table, and as soon as it’s down, he excuses himself. He keeps a professional pace until he’s past the exterior doors and then he’s racing to take a front seat at the bar.

Eddie turns over his cup but doesn’t reach for the carafe, he wipes his hands on his jeans instead.

“Oh my god, he’s so nervous,” Jerome whispers.

“The kid is so in on it,” the host whose name Mere never caught says, and they’re right. Where Eddie’s tensed up, the kid is bouncing in his seat like he knows something’s coming.

“Come on, guy,” a bus boy mutters, checking his watch. His break is almost over.

Mere’s heart is beating hard in sympathy with Eddie’s as they all watch Buck ignore his coffee cup in favor of serving their kid from the tray. Then he signals to Eddie’s plate, who can’t not lift it for the offered chocolate tortes. Finally, there’s chocolate on everyone’s plates and Buck sits back to try a piece of brownie and Eddie can’t take it anymore.

He motions to the carafe and Buck perks up, finally reaching for his cup. But just as his fingers close around it, some idiot’s dog barks on the sideway, calling his attention away. His fingers flip the cup without ever looking at it, or the plate underneath it.

“Oh come on,” Umida moans.

The dog passes with its dumbass owner and Buck puts his cup back down, or tries to, but finds something in the way. He tries again, pushing the intrusion away with the bottom of the cup.

“Oh my god,” is whined in Mere’s left ear and when she turns her head she’s surprised to find not another Tilted Cactus employee but a customer dressed to the nines, pearls and all.

“Ma’am, did you —”

“Shh,” the woman returns, her eyes never moving from the window. Mere turns back too.

Finally, Buck has managed to push the offending items off the plate and settle his cup down and it’s a nail-biting few seconds where it actually looks like he’s going to reach for the carafe and go about his business.

But like a true wingman, the little kid points directly at it, prompting Buck to push the napkin aside and pick up — the ring.

Buck freezes, holding the ring between his thumb and index. His cheeks flush and a smile begins to break over his face before he looks startled and the smile falls abruptly away.

It’s about this time Eddie realizes that proposing by recreating the night they got together was never going to be the best idea when the impetus to their relationship was an engagement ring accidentally sent to the wrong person.

Eddie vaults out of his seat and into the empty one next to Buck, wrapping his hand around the one holding the ring, and bringing his other hand to his cheek to gently turn his head until Buck is looking at him. They can’t tell what he says, but they can watch Buck’s eyes fill with tears, watch as Eddie gestures to their son who’s smiling wide and reaching out for a hand, which Buck instantly provides. His attention comes back to Eddie then, who’s saying something that gets them both looking a little fragile and it’s hard to say if he actually popped the question yet but Buck is surging forward to kiss him hard and fast. Eddie gives as good as he’s getting for a moment before he slows them with small, gentle kisses. And when they finally break apart, Eddie plucks the ring from Buck’s fingers and slides it onto his ring finger as Buck watches, his eyes wide and half incredulous.

Outside, the nearby tables break out into applause, startling the trio and reminding the two men that they are indeed out in public. Eddie acknowledges the applause with an embarrassed hand and waits until they have a modicum of privacy again before taking Buck’s hand and kissing right near the where the ring now sits. He then reluctantly shuffles back into his seat.

Inside, Mere is hugging Umida to her with a strength buoyed by love. Around them, the staff are starting to disperse, some wiping their eyes, some with goofy grins on their faces.

“Young man,” the lady in the pearls says to Jerome, holding out her credit card, “I want you to charge that family’s meal to my card.”

“Yes, ma’am. That’s very generous of you.”

The woman sniffs delicately and leaves without another word. Hopefully Jerome knows where she was sitting…

“I’m glad she did that,” Mere says into Umida’s shoulder, “I was going to, otherwise, and I’m a broke-ass student.”

“I would have pitched in,” Umida says, her voice soft and pensive. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah,” Mere agrees, sliding off the bar counter for the last time. “Oh, hold on.”

She gets closer to the window and turns the flash off of her camera before taking a pic.

“I think that’s bordering on creepy now,” Umida says without judgement.

“It’s not for me.” Mere sends the pic off with a note and three ring emojis.

They don’t make it out of the restaurant before her phone dings.

“What does Tomas have to say?” Umida asks with a smirk.

Mere pulls up the text and reads, “Gays and lesbians. Both, at the same time. Never doubting Umida’s gaydar again.”

Umida laughs victoriously, which shouldn’t be as sexy as it is, and Mere lets her drag her by the hand down the street, letting the nostalgia from tonight settle in her chest.

If there’s anything she misses from working the restaurant scene, it’s getting this glimpse into people’s lives.

Yeah, most of the work was gross, obnoxious, or mind-numbing. But every now and again, she got to be a part of strangers’ stories. Got to be there for the happiest days like graduations, or bridal showers. And even the sadder stories could be beautiful sometimes, like when she got to be extra kind to the elderly woman coming into the restaurant alone for the first time in ten years, or watch a family have their last supper together before their kid moves away for school. It’s just all so human and some kind of wonderful.

She hopes her career as a paramedic will have just a little bit of that kind of magic.

#911fic #buddie fics #buddie #my fics #okay this is fic 2 of 2 for pov outsider for me!#completely opposite tone of the last one this is just fun and dumb :P #hope y'all like it!#my posts

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kindofwriter · 3 years

Text

I know Alex just intended Wilde’s robes to be ‘gay Shakespeare costume’ but I really love the idea of them being almost like ‘robes of unapologetically being yourself.’ Robes of ‘I’m not afraid to be queer, I’m not afraid to be Irish, I have bardic inspiration and I’m better than you.’ Because even if it means absolutely nothing in RQG universe, I’d like to think that’s a meaningful visual to real people.

Also, hypothetical RQG TV show where Wilde’s VA speaks fluent Irish and all his bardic castings are in Gaeilge? I want that.

Anyway, transcript under the cut:

SEASON 5, EPISODE 204

As the party enter the main room they find the table laid with a mediocre breakfast, however at each place setting there is also a parcel, wrapped in brown paper and with a note card laid on top. WILDE, already sat at the table, has clearly already opened his parcel, then hastily stuffed it back into the wrapping to appear polite. He turns to grin excitedly at HAMID, who shoots him a quizzical look.

WILDE: I think it's our lucky day!

HAMID: Oh?

AZU: Huh?

CEL: Ooh!

HAMID: Well, that's exciting!

CEL: Is that like a thing that we, uh, that, like, we, like- Are all the presents for, for, for us? Uh, do we-

ZOLF steps past HAMID, impatient rather than aggressive. He squeezes WILDE once on the shoulder, then takes a seat beside him. The rest of the party clearly take this as their cues to begin to sit at the parcels with their own name cards.

WILDE: It turns out that Augusta does actually have a role here, beyond just annoyance, which is quartermaster. So, Barret may have been sent out to fetch some things... for us?

HAMID: Oh!

ZOLF: Right.

HAMID: So, not 100% useless, that's nice! C-c-can we open them now?

WILDE shrugs - how should he know? - then makes a gesture of 'yeah, go for it' to the table.

AZU (BEAMING): Let's all open them together!

HAMID: How exciting!

HAMID leans slightly across the table, as if he's about to say something to SKRAAK, but they're already tearing into their present. From his package he removes a sturdy leather belt, studded, and buckled, with adamantine. They immediately put it on.

WILDE takes this to mean it's alright for him to re-open his own gift. He hurriedly shoves off the paper and pulls out a set of glimmering robes. They're an iridescence white, complete with a ruffle around the neck, and entirely covered in shimmering rainbow script. The text shifts, in a way that clearly marks it out as magical.Everyone pauses for a moment to look at WILDE, whose grin could split his face. It's been a while since they've seen him this happy.

HAMID: Oh, Oscar, those are magnificent!

ZOLF (WITH A SMALL, SOFT GRIN): You are gonna look ridiculous, Wilde.

WILDE beams smugly down at ZOLF.

WILDE: I am going to look magnificent.

WILDE shakes the robes out, and a miasma of illusory glitter hits ZOLF in the face. ZOLF scowls dramatically at a laughing WILDE.

Still unfolding the robes, WILDE turns his attention to AZU, whose parcel is by far the largest. She is carefully unfolding it, grinning face barely visible about the huge package. Inside is a golden agile breast plate. As it shimmers in the light it becomes apparent that it is covered in the same kind of shifting magical scrawl as WILDE's robe.

Attached is a note that AZU reads aloud. Despite being busy with their own gifts, everyone turns as she does.

AZU: Whatever you do, don't use this inside.

This receives a round of curious looks from the table. HAMID and CEL lean in to get a better look at the armour.

AZU reaches out to turn the breast plate over in her hands, and as she does the text starts to fill in. Beginning at her hands, the shifting text slowly begins to run through with glowing pink, until the plate is more pink than gold. It's as bright as AZU's armour was on Hades' plane. The pink begins to settle, and as it does the magic text stops shifting. With a soft hum, it settles into Arabic scripture: the fundamental teachings of Aphrodite.

AZU beams with delight.

AZU: Ooh! Do you think- Do you think that don't use it means don't wear it? Or do you think I sh- could put it on but I can't get hit?

HAMID: Oh, it probably has some sort of, um, y'know, activation, like, similar to casting a spell inlaid into it, but I think wearing it you- It won't be a problem.

CEL frowns.

CEL: Yeah, like, um, I'm just, I-I'm a little concerned, it reminds me a little of, um, some of the, the symbols, uh, one learns when, uh, learning, uh, how to, to transmogrify ones shape. So I would just, think maybe, uh-

CEL inspects the armour, head cocked slightly to one side.

CEL: Maybe, uh, a triangle? Or, um, or a square? Maybe a platypus? I-I'm not exactly sure.

HAMID opens his mouth as if to refute them, but then decides to drop it. AZU carefully takes her hands off the armour - it remains pink.

HAMID, next to AZU, unwraps a long metal pole. As soon as he retrieves it from the wrapping paper gold lines begin to emanate from his hand and down the pole. They curl and flicker like flames.

Something alights in HAMID's eyes as he holds it. His hand that clutches the pole begins to sharpen and elongate, twisting into a clawed grasp. The once single point of his ears is now three, giving the impression of a reptilian ruffle. No one, not even HAMID, seems to notice.

CEL unwraps a pair of diamond lenses. They're scuffed around the edges, dusted with the debris of whatever they've been hacked out of.

CEL immediately pulls their alchemists goggles from their head, slips the lenses out, and inserts the new ones. At first it seems as though they won't fit, but as CEL begins to apply pressure they resize and slide in with ease.

ZOLF has been very carefully unwrapping his package - unknotting the string and unfolding the paper. Folded at the centre of his parcel is a thick, smoothly woven, grey cloak.

WILDE watches with curiosity as ZOLF reaches out to touch the fabric. Instantly a small smile toys at the corner of his lips. He glances across the table, making eye contact with HAMID, and widens the smile to a grin. HAMID, though taken off guard, smiles back with slightly sharpened teeth. ZOLF has turned back to the cape before he can notice.

Everyone is now chatting, inaudibly, absorbed in their gifts. CEL and SKRAAK are excitedly showing off their new accessories to each other, AZU runs her fingers over the text on her armour, ZOLF gently unfolds his cloak, WILDE has now donned his robes and is leaning back languidly in his chair. The text has stopped shifting, and has now settled as Gaeilge scripture - WILDE's 'inspire courage' performance, scrawled across his robes in rainbow ink. HAMID looks around at all of them, unable to contain his excitement at seeing all of his friends so happy.

WILDE: Well, it's nice to be appreciated again for a change-

A brief pause and a glance at ZOLF, as if he's expecting a gentle elbow to the ribs, but none comes. ZOLF is too busy smoothing out the cloak, preparing to put it on.

WILDE: Don't know about all of you.

Finally looking away from his gift, ZOLF notices that WILDE's hair is caught in his ruffle. He stands and swings the cloak quickly over his shoulders. Then, with a frustrated grunt of 'c'mere,' he shuffles behind WILDE's seat and begins to gently extract his hair from his collar. He murmurs something inaudible to WILDE, though we assume it's something nice, as it swaps WILDE's smug smile for a genuine one.

HAMID watches, grin now spreading far past the confines of his mouth. All sounds of the room begin to fade out. CEL laughs without sound. AZU pays a silent compliment to SKRAAK. WILDE tips his head back to say something to ZOLF.

Then, with a pained hiss, HAMID collapses forward, clawed hands gripping the edge of the table.

Suddenly the room is LOUD. Cries of 'Hamid!' 'What's wrong?' 'You alright?'

WILDE grips ZOLF's hand to his shoulder, now sitting bolt upright. SKRAAK is already looking round for an enemy. AZU reaches out to place a hand on HAMID's back, but as she does so the fabric of his suit begins to writhe. Two small holes are torn as brassy talons claw their way out of HAMID's back. These are quickly followed by the unfurling of immense, brass dragon's wings.

Breathing heavily, HAMID straightens again, glancing behind him. Everyone else is in utter shock.

HAMID (SOFT, SURPRISED, THOUGH NOT AT ALL DISAPPOINTED): Oh!

#rqg #the rusty quill gaming podcast #zolf smith #azu rqg #hamid saleh haroun al tahan #cel sidebottom #skraak #oscar wilde rqg #zoscar #i just had thoughts ok #ok #so many #i just wanna make tv shows #you know this about me by now

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duuhrayliegh · 3 years

Text

A Friend of Yours - pt. 2

pairing: bucky x reader

summary: reader meets up with Bucky, Sam and Zemo to figure out this Flag Smasher drama

word count: 6386

warnings: canon lvl violence? SPOILERS FOR TFATWS, (it’s the episodes with yn in it, like rlly) language throughout the whole thing, i think that’s it.

a/n: i’m actually really proud of this guys. there is a part three that has WAY more Bucky x YN content that’ll be posted in a few days <3 i hope y’all love this!!

i just want to remind y’all that this started out as a request from @dramaticwittch it won’t let me tag you for some reasons babes :((

be sure to read A Friend of Yours - pt 1

A Friend of Yours - pt. 3 is up too!!!

p.s.: my requests and tag lists are open!!

check out my other writing here!

xoxo ray <3

You had the same contacts as Sharon, so finding the Three Musketeers was no problem. It baffled you that Sharon had access to satellites. Makes you wonder what she was doing during those five years you were gone. When you got to their safehouse, you were impressed to say the least. It was nice, cute little pillars next to the dining area, some couches, just enough to make it livable. One thing that struck you as strange was that it was also empty, they weren’t there.

“Fuck it.” You dropped your bag onto the dining table and walked over to the kitchen area. You opened several cabinets, searching for alcohol that you could drown your frustrations in. You found an unopened wine bottle, releasing a little cheer, you popped the cork and brought the bottle to your nose. A sweet plum scent invaded your senses, grabbing a glass and pouring it full for yourself before re-corking the bottle. You grasped the cup walking to the stained glass windows on the opposite side of the room. You could hear footsteps approaching the doorway, then the door being forced open. Muffled conversations were taking place during their entrance.

“Well, I got nothin��. No one’s talkin’ about Donya.” Bucky said as he waltzed into the room. Sam followed closely behind him, Zemo immediately going to the kitchen.

“Yeah, Karli’s the only one who’s fighting for them.” You said, startling the pair of men who were now lounging on the couches. “Aren’t you supposed to be good at this?” You dropped next to Bucky, offering him a sip of your plum flavored wine.

“She’s not wrong.” Bucky shot Sam a look, questioning his thought process. “Look, for five years these people were welcomed into countries that have kept them out using barbed wire. There were houses and jobs.” Sam sighed, “Folks were happy to have people around to help them rebuild.” You stopped listening halfway through Sam’s speech, thinking of Sharon. You only refocused when Bucky placed his metal hand on your knee, giving you a look, asking if you were okay.

“That little girl. What’d she tell you?” Bucky asked after you nodded at him. His face never left yours, until Zemo approached the three of you on the couch. He was holding a tray with a clear teapot and cups. He placed it on the coffee table, stepping back and clutching a cup for himself.

“The funeral is this afternoon.” Zemo was always one for the dramatics, so you’re sure that he had something else up his sleeve. Bucky squeezed your knee and you knew he was trying to calm himself.

“You know the Dora’s coming for you any minute. In fact, they’re probably lurking outside right now. Keep talking.”

“Leaving you to turn on me once we get to Karli.” He made a noise of acknowledgement, “I prefer to keep my leverage.” Bucky hauled himself off the couch to stand in front of the Baron. You gaze flicked to Sam’s, unsure of what Bucky was going to do. Bucky puffed his chest out, clenching his jaw as he gripped Zemo’s teacup and chunked it at the concrete wall behind him. Zemo flinched as Bucky began talking to him.

“You wanna see what someone can do with leverage?” Sam stood quickly, trying to diffuse the situation before it escalated.

“Take it easy, Buck. Don’t engage him.” You were taking a drink of your wine, as you observed Zemo’s actions.

“Watch out, he’s going to extort you and do that idiotic head tilt thing.” Zemo’s eyes darted to your figure on the couch as he straightened his head. Sam left to make a call, you assumed Sharon and Bucky followed closely behind him. Zemo offered you cherry blossom tea to which you declined by holding up your wine glass. As Bucky left the room, the Baron released a sigh of relief causing you to laugh at his actions.

“You’re really scared of him, aren’t you?” You teased the man who was now glaring at you.

“If you have made him as angry as I have then you would be too.” You shrugged your agreement. You hadn’t made Bucky mad, and you definitely hadn’t been a part of reactivating him as the Winter Soldier to reach your goals.

“Yeah, well you’re a dumbass, so.” You got up and walked to where Bucky and Sam were gathered. Sam’s phone was still pressed to his ear, but you could tell you were catching the tail-end of his conversation. You could hear Sharon’s voice over the phone talking about the Power Broker. In all your years of living and conducting business in Madripoor, you never tangled with the Power Broker. That didn’t mean anything, it was just suspicious because of how successful your operation with Sharon was.

“What’s the plan?” You asked, dumping the rest of your wine in the sink, casting a glance at an appalled Zemo. “It was shit wine.”

“Zemo has a contact that can show us where the funeral is, and that’s all we got.” You nodded before looking at Bucky and Sam.

“Well, what are we waiting for?”

**********************************

You were walking down the cobblestone roadway with the Three Musketeers when a voice shouted at you from the stairway before you. “Karli Morgenthau is too dangerous for you guys to be pulling this shit!” A scruffy looking man approached you. Both him and his partner were clad in tactical gear, the scruffy one’s resembling a Walmart version of Steve’s Cap suit. Bucky spread his arms out.

“How’d you find us now?” The man’s partner responded to Bucky with equal annoyance.

“Come on, man. You really think two Avengers can walk around Latvia without drawing attention?” As he got closer you could read Hoskins on his vest.

“No more keeping us in the dark.” Scruff said before anyone else could fire back. He stopped walking in front of Zemo, effectively stopping your forward motion. “You can start by telling us why you broke him out of prison.” You were walking just behind Bucky to his right and you watched him cock his head back, his voice taking on a sarcastic tone.

“He did that himself, technically.” Scruff’s face contorted as Bucky talked.

“This better be an unbelievable explana--” Scruff’s voice was cut off by Sam’s hand bumping into his chest.

“Hey, take it easy before it gets weird.” Zemo began talking over the group around him, explaining what was going on. You remained quiet, observing the interaction between Scruff and the Three Musketeers. Clearly, the Three Musketeers did not like him and so you assumed he was the ‘new Cap,’ whatever that means. The group began walking again with Zemo leading the pack.

“Alright good, we’ll move in fast. Take her by surprise.”

“No, I wanna talk to her alone.”

“I’m not losing her again.” Scruff was insistent but so was Sam.

“Look, the person closest to her just died, she’s vulnerable.” The group had stopped walking again, focusing on the conversation. You could see the wheels turning in Hoskin’s head as Sam spoke. Scruff was not having any part of what Sam was suggesting.

“What? No. Wait, no! No. Stop. Hold on. Stop, okay?” Scruff ran ahead in front of the others, stopping the forward motion, once again. “I think we’re way past reasoning with her, unless you forgot the fact that she blew up a building with people still in it.” This was news to you, deciding to stay offline in hopes of remaining under the radar. The back and forth continued until Scruff turned to Bucky.

“You gonna let him do this?” Bucky tilted his head at the man. “Are you gonna let your partner walk into a room with a Super Soldier alone?”

“He’s dealt with worse. And he’s not my partner.” You knew Bucky was referring to himself in Winter Soldier mode. Your heart hurt for him to have to go through this again with some clueless nobody.

“And last I checked, he’s a grown ass man who makes his own decisions, Scruff.” Your arms crossed over your chest. This had been the first time you spoke since Scruff and Hoskin’s had arrived.

“Who the hell is this?” Scruff pointed at you. “You break her out of prison too?” Sam interjected before you could sass back.

“I used to counsel soldiers dealing with trauma, okay? This is right in my wheelhouse.” Scruff’s gaze hadn’t left your face. He continued staring at you as he countered Sam’s claim.

“Yeah, I know. And I know those soldiers, which is why I know this is a bad idea.” Hoskin’s hand came up to rest on Scruff’s shoulder.

“Wait, John. If he can talk her down, it might be worth a try.” Scruff was not happy with Hoskin's agreement to the situation. Scruff said something to Zemo, who mostly ignored him, acknowledging the little girl waiting under an archway. The group began moving toward her and you focused on Bucky.

“Hey, you okay?” He just nodded at you, denying you the pleasure of a verbal response. You’ll take what you can get. Bringing up the rear of the group, you entered the factory type building last. The little girl pointed up some stairs, and Zemo translated. Sam walked up behind the girl, making him way up the stairs as Scruff handcuffed Zemo to a metal contraption.

“You got ten minutes. Then we’re doing things my way.” Scruff yelled after Sam, who darted his eyes at you and Bucky, a silent instruction to the both of you. Scruff rested his weight against a table, holding Steve’s shield in front of him. His breathing became increasingly worrisome, an ode to how stable he was in the moment.

“You aren’t looking so hot over there, Scruff.” Bucky shot you a warning look, but it didn’t deter you. “The government is really harping on you to get this shit contained, aren’t they?” Scruff pushed off the table, bringing the shield around his back. You were leaning against a pillar near Zemo and Scruff made his way over to you. His face was about six inches from yours as he spoke.

“Do you know who I am?” He was trying to intimidate you, which clearly wasn’t working.

“Do I look like I give a shit?” Scruff’s eyes darted over your frame, a look of recognition washing over his features.

“I know who you are.” He glanced at the clock across the room before looking back at you. “I could arrest you right now. Enemy of the State, standing before me right here.”

“We’re not in that state, dumbass. Technically, you don’t have jurisdiction.” The corner of your mouth raised in a smirk as Bucky called your name. You pushed off the pillar behind you to stand next to Bucky, who was leaning against the railing of the stairs.

“Don’t antagonize him, Y/N.” Bucky berated you, to which you shrugged a shoulder. Scruff began pacing back and forth, frustration getting the better of him.

“It hasn’t been ten minutes, John. Just sit tight.” Hoskin’s tried to calm Scruff down.

“Don’t do that. Don’t patronize me.” He shot a look at Hoskins, then the clock, then Bucky, making a decision in his head. “I’m goin’ in.” Bucky rose to his full height, not allowing Scruff to get by him. “This is all really easy for you, isn’t it? All that serum runnin’ through your veins.” You watched Bucky’s jaw clench, you could see the anger bottling up. “Barnes, your partner needs backup in there.” Bucky was an immovable fortress of solitude. “Do you really want his blood on your hands?” Oh shit.

You watched as Bucky’s resolve faded, allowing Scruff to step around him. Bucky was tired of being the cause of other people’s deaths. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust that Sam could take care of himself, he just didn’t want the burden any longer. He was finally free of being a murder machine, finally able to rinse his hands clean. Scruff knew just which buttons to push to get what he wanted.

Scruff busted into the memorial site, guns blazing. You trailed behind Bucky who was fighting against Hoskin’s to try to reach Scruff. Karli and Sam were previously engaged in peaceful conversation, until Scruff announced that Karli was under arrest. Betrayal laced her features as she looked at Sam, defending herself against Scruff advances. She threw Scruff’s weight into Sam, launching them both into the table behind. Bucky took off after her, chasing her through the halls. You crouched next to Sam, making sure he was okay.

Sam recovered quickly, racing down a different corridor leading to another stairway. You followed close behind, allowing Sam to attempt to navigate the area around you. The two of you eventually went down enough of the wrong corridors, that you met up with an equally confused Bucky. You head perked up at the sound of gunshots somewhere in the building. Not sure who the culprit was you turned to Bucky and Sam, who looked just as panicked.

The three of you retraced your steps to find Scruff standing over a knocked-out Zemo with crushed vials wetting the floor. Scruff tossed a glance back at Hoskins and then one to the three of you on the staircase landing. “What did we miss?” Sam directed his question at Scruff, who didn’t dignify him with an answer. Scruff nodded to Hoskins before walking away from the rest of you.

“Thanks for your help, asshole!” You shouted after him.

*******************************

Hauling Zemo’s deadweight back to the safehouse was a job that you and Sam decided Bucky was fit for, being a super soldier and all. Through much complaining and whining on Bucky’s part, he did get him to the safehouse relatively injury free, dumping his body on the couch, jostling Zemo just enough to wake him up. Bucky promptly left the apartment after dropping Zemo off, going to clear his head was the explanation you got as he left.

You huffed, discontent with everything that was going on. You walked to the kitchen, wetting a rag and tossing it at Zemo. “For your head, cover your eyes, it’ll help.” You then popped a few cubes of ice in a glass and poured whiskey over it, handing it to Zemo as well, tapping your temple at him. You went back to the kitchen, jumping onto the counter, letting your legs dangle over the edge. Sam had pulled out a laptop and was typing furiously.

“Were you ever offered it?” You knew Zemo wasn’t talking to you, but to Sam, who hadn’t looked up from the laptop screen. You zoned out of their conversation, trying to decide what Sam was sending Sharon now. “Sam, you can’t hold out hope for Karli.” This made Sam pause and turn to face Zemo, who continued talking. “No matter what you saw in her, she’s gone. And we cannot allow that she and her acolytes become yet another faction of gods amongst real people.” Zemo removed the rag from his eyes, locking gazes with Sam. “Super Soldiers cannot be allowed to exist.”

“Isn’t that how god’s talk?” You interjected, then you asked quietly, “And if that’s how you feel, what about Bucky?” It was a valid concern. “Blood isn’t always the solution.” Bucky waltzed into the apartment, stripping his jacket from his shoulders, giving a perfect view of his two contrasting arms.

“Something’s not right about Walker.”

“You don’t say.” Sam quipped, closing his laptop and facing Bucky.

“Well, I know a crazy when I see one. Because I am crazy.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

“Shouldn’t have given him the shield.” Bucky jabbed at Sam, sticking to his guns on this.

“I didn’t give him the shield.” Sam was exasperated in his delivery.

“Well, Steve definitely didn’t.” You turned to Bucky.

“Hey. Back off, Buck.” Bucky was going to say something in reply when the door burst open again. In walked Scruff and Hoskins, all gung-ho about something.

“Alright. That’s it. Let’s go.” He pointed a finger at a now standing Zemo. The whole room began shifting, Sam in front of Scruff, Zemo to the side out of direct view, and Bucky to your other side, glass in hand. “I’m now ordering you to turn him over.” Sam stopped before Scruff, annoyed.

“Let’s be clear, shield or no shield, the only thing you’re runnin’ in here is your mouth.” You added from your spot on the countertop. Scruff pointed his finger at you.

“And I’m taking her too.” Bucky stepped in front of you, blocking Scruff’s view of you. You placed your hand on his left shoulder, letting him know you were still there.

“I had Karli and you overstepped. He’s actually proven himself useful today. We’re gonna need all hands on deck for whatever’s comin’ next.” Scruff puffed out his chest, attempting to intimidate Sam.

“How do you want this conversation to go Sam, huh?” He stepped back slightly, “Should I put down the shield? Make it fair?” Taking on a condescending tone with Sam, making your brows raise. Suddenly a spear lodged itself in the pillar next to Scruff’s face, all eyes darted towards the woman across the room. Two more warriors walked in, holding spears by their sides and Bucky looked resigned. This was new territory for you, who the fuck are these people? One of the women stepped forward near Scruff. She spoke at Bucky in a language that sounded vaguely familiar to you.

“Release him to us now.” Scruff ignored her instruction, deciding to step towards her, holding his hand out for her to shake.

“Hi. John Walker. Captain America.” You scoffed loudly.

“No, you’re not!” You received a look from Sam at your comment.

“Let’s put down the pointy sticks and we can talk through this, huh?” Sam stepped forward, warning Scruff against tangling with the Dora Milaje.

“The Dora Milaje don’t have jurisdiction here.”

“The Dora Milaje have jurisdiction wherever the Dora Milaje find themselves to be.” Your hand balled into a fist, quickly covering your mouth.

“That’s a burn, Scruff!” You yelled like the little shit you are.

“Y/N! Cut it out.” Sam snapped. Scruff, for some reason, thought it was a good idea to place hands on the Dora he was speaking to. She quickly brought her spear up to force his hand off her shoulder, then bringing it downward into the back of his knee and finally bouncing it off of the front of his helmet. She launched her foot into his chest while he was dazed, sending him backward into the spear behind him and face planting on the ground below. Scruff recovered quickly, sliding his arm into the straps of the shield to protect himself from the spear coming at his body.

The three warriors began fighting with Scruff and Hoskins, much to yours and Bucky’s delight. Sam backed up to stand next to Bucky, who crossed his arms over his chest. Sam looked at Bucky.

“We should do something.” You had just barely heard Sam say it when you and Bucky yelled at the same time.

“Looking strong, John!” “You’re doing great, sweetie!” Bucky gave you a look at your term of endearment, not understanding that it was a patronizing use of the word. The warrior battling Scruff was about to drive her spear into him, until Bucky gripped the handle, stopping her attack.

“Ayo!” Bucky yelled at her. “Ayo! Let’s talk about this!” Ayo had effectively yanked Bucky towards her body, then throwing him backwards. Sam stopped another warriors spear before it drove into a downed Hoskins. The last warrior threw her spear at Scruff, trapping the shield against the table. She began her approach to him and Sam yelled your name to help him.

You got down with a groan, unhappy that you had to save this asshat. All movement was stopped when you heard a metallic thud against the floor. Your head snapped to a now one armed Bucky, his vibranium arm laying on the ground. You released an audible gasp as Ayo walked away from Bucky, his blue eyes wide. Everything around you faded as you watched a broken Bucky, kneel to pick up his metal appendage. Your eyes flicked to Sam, who was just as shocked as you.

“Did you know they could do that?” Sam gestured to Bucky’s immobile arm.

“No.” He swung his arm around once to restart the systems. You heard Hoskins checking on Scruff’s wounded ego, but that didn’t matter to you.

“Bucky. Are you okay?” He avoided your question, grabbing his jacket and telling Sam that Zemo had gotten away. You held your arms out in front of you, what the fuck? Are you the enemy now? You followed after them, not sure where you were going. You got closer to Bucky, grabbing his left arm and yanking him back to you, making his attention be on you for a second or two. “I’m talking to you, dickwad.” His eyes hardened as you continued. “I don’t know what the fuck just happened back there, I’m assuming that has to do with you not being the Soldier anymore. I don’t really care. What I care about is if you’re okay or not.” You stopped walking, still holding his arm.

“What do you want from me, Y/N?” Bucky inquired.

“I want you to fucking talk to me. I’m here for you to unload on.” His brows scrunched and you realized what you said. “Oh my god, not like that, sicko. Well, I mean--”

“Y/N.” Bucky smiled at your humor.

“There, see? How hard was it for you to smile. Just talk to me. I’m making sure you’re okay. Don’t shut down, I hate it when people do that.” Bucky went to say something else when the both of your attentions shifted to a concerned Sam.

“She said what?” A pause, “Right. Hold on, hold on. I know, I know.” He sighed loudly, “Listen, pack an overnight bag and take the boys.” He tried to calm the other person down. You began walking again, Bucky asking quietly.

“What happened?” Sam dropped the phone to his collarbone.

“Karli called Sarah. She threatened my nephews.” Bringing it back up to his ear, he continued. “Go somewhere safe. Only pay cash, alright? Let me know when you get there.” You turned your attention to your surroundings. The bland streets offered little to no security, but they did give too many vantage points to count. “She wants me to come alone.”

“I’m coming with you.” Bucky fired back, not changing his mind about this one.

“Yay, more friends. She’ll love that. Where we going now?”

*********************************************

You’ve never seen Sam as mad as he was when he walked into that building. Although you weren’t sure if it was anger or if it was betrayal that he was displaying as he climbed the stairs to the second floor. “You called my sister? That’s how we’re gonna play this?”

“Sam, I would never hurt her. I just wanted to understand you better.” Her accent shone through with every word. You could tell that she didn’t want to hurt you. Her demeanor was relaxed, her guard was up, but she was being civil, almost like a politician. You were good at analyzing the people around you, so when Karli mentioned Sam and Bucky just being tools she really meant it. She wasn’t interested in hurting people she deemed innocent.

“Hey, Sam, new Cap is moving, looks like he’s found them, or maybe they found him.” Sharon’s voice snapped you back to reality. The two of you hadn’t spoken since you left Madripoor.

“Scruff’s coming, guys and you know it’s not going to be pretty when he does.” Bucky jumped over the ledge and Karli followed suit. Jumping into Bucky, slamming his body into the post. You ran alongside Bucky to the location Sam had sent to your phone. By the time that you had gotten to the building where Scruff was, you had lost Bucky. Taking an entrance that was already knocked open you heard gunshots from a few floors above you. With your gun raised, you scanned the room for any friendlies.

“Y/N, you’re about to come up on Hoskins. He’s not moving, may need an assist.” Your brows furrowed as you entered the room cautiously.

“How the hell do you know that, Shar? How did you get access to satellites?” You questioned as you approached a tied-up Hoskins. “Need some help, Battlestar?”

“I totally had that.” He said as your knife snapped the zip tie around his wrists.

“Yeah, yeah.” You held your hand out, hauling him to his feet. “It’s okay to be the damsel, ya know?” He shook his head at you, not engaging in your hilarious banter. “Jeez, who pissed in your Cheerios.” You shoved your knife back into your thigh holster, leading the way to where the others were.

When you walked in, Bucky had just caught a knife that Scruff had so deflected. He twirled the object in his right hand, ready to defend against the Flag Smasher attacking him. Their fight was quick and ended with the Smasher on their back, the knife Bucky was holding embedded in the floor inches away from their face. You jumped in, helping Sam fend off another Smasher when suddenly Bucky’s fist flew by your face.

“You’re welcome.” He darted off to deal with the others. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Scruff being held by a Smasher and Karli coming with a knife in hand. You started towards her to stop her, until you saw Hoskins attack from her other side. He tackled her to the ground, Karli bounced back quicker than Hoskins, allowing her to throw a punch at Hoskins. Your jaw dropped as you watched his body fly into the concrete mainstay behind him. His whole body slackened and Karli stood in shock.

Scruff was struggling in his captors hold, thrashing about to get to Hoskins. Once he was free, he shook Hoskins and pushed his fingers against his neck, checking for a pulse. “Hey, hey. Hey. Lemar!” You stood silent in between Bucky and Sam, unsure of what to do. It wasn’t until Scruff stood again that you knew what he was going to do. He had a half-second head start, but it was long enough that he was able to reach the Samsher that was holding him back before you could reach Scruff.

You had to push through the crowd to see what was happening. The Smasher had his hands protecting his face against the slam of the Captain America shield that was being hammered into him. You gasped and had to turn your face into Bucky’s shoulder. This is not happening, but it was.

And the whole world saw it too.

***********************************

The next time you saw Scruff was in an abandoned warehouse. He was talking to himself, yelling about different things. If you weren’t sure before, you definitely were now. John Walker had taken the serum and it was enhancing all the wrong things. Scruff was kneeling, resting his hands on the bloodied shield before him. You were on Sam’s right when Scruff walked up to you.

“You guys should see a medic. You don’t look too good.” He paced in front of the three of you. “You saw what happened. You know what I had to do. I killed him because I had to! He killed Lemar!”

“He didn’t kill Lemar, John.” Bucky’s voice remained calm. “Don’t go down that road. Believe me, it doesn’t end well.” Scruff sent Bucky a disgusted look.

“I’m not like you.”

“You convincing yourself or us, Scruff?” You recognize that this probably isn’t the time to pull his strings but he wasn’t thinking clearly anyway.

“Listen, it was the heat of battle. Okay? If you explain what happened, they may consider your record. We don’t want anyone else to get hurt.” Scruff never stopped pacing, his hand flexing in the shield.

“You gotta give Sam the shield, Scruff.” He stopped pacing and turned to you, getting a little close for comfort.

“Oh, so that’s what this is.” He leaned forward, “You almost got me.” His index finger jabbed into your chest then rested there as he spoke. “You don’t wanna do this.”

“Yeah, we do.” Came Bucky’s reply before all hell broke loose. Bucky and Sam rushed Scruff, fighting for a way to get the shield from him. Scruff sent Sam flying backwards with a swift kick to the stomach. This gave you the room you needed to launch yourself onto his shoulders, attempting to flip him using his own body weight and your momentum. Your move distracted him enough that Bucky got a few decent hits in, but it really just served to piss him off further. He whipped one arm around, gripping the waistband of your jeans and dumping your weight off his shoulders. He threw you into a wooden shipping container, knocking all of the air out of your lungs.

You watch, as you lay there gasping, Bucky get beat to his knees by Scruff and Scruff’s attention is turned by Sam flipping in the air, kicking the shield to the side. You rose to your feet, readying yourself for the opportune moment. Once you found it, you flung yourself at Scruff, sending the both of you to the ground and the shield away from the both of you. You resituated yourself to straddle his stomach, this position didn’t last long because he flipped the both of you. Slamming your back against the ground, he gripped your wrists, yanking them way up high causing you to groan out at the stretch. He released you but not before delivering a swift punch to your cheek.

Your vision blurred, but you could make out Bucky going head to head with Scruff again. Scruff threw the shield at Bucky after kicking him into a lift. Luckily, Bucky was able to catch the shield and shift it to his own arm before Scruff attacked him again. Scruff pressed the shield tight against Bucky’s body, then began speaking to him.

“Why are you making me do this?” You and Sam shared a look then watched as Scruff tossed Bucky clear across the room into an electrical outlet, short circuiting his arm. Sam flew at Scruff, trying to catch him off guard. He was unsuccessful in his efforts, ending with Sam facing Scruff as you crouched in Scruff’s six.

“This isn’t you, John.” Sam began trying to reason with him. He is who is way past reasoning, not Karli. Scruff’s head tilted as he spoke in that condescending tone again.

“We could’ve been a team.” Sam didn’t say anything. He deployed his wings, flying past Scruff and sending a small grappling hook to try and take the shield. Scruff flipped through the air, then braced himself against one of the lifts. You came up from behind him and tackled him off the lift, sending Sam to the ground as well. As you landed, you hit your head on a piece of broken concrete, disorienting you. The shield was out of Scruff’s hands, and he wasn’t happy about that. They both dove for the shield but Scruff managed to get to Sam first, landing on top of Sam.

“I am Captain America.” Scruff grunted out as he ripped Sam’s wings from his suit. You watch in horror as Scruff holds the shield, ready to give Sam a face lift. Bucky knocked Scruff off just before he could land his hit. Scruff had pinned Bucky to the ground after driving Bucky’s head into the side of the shield. You hauled yourself to your feet again, wrapping your arm around Scruff’s neck, hindering his movement. Sam came from the front, delivering a harsh blow to Scruff’s face. You continued to hold your chokehold as Bucky and Sam pried the shield off his arm. You heard a sickening crack as Sam withdrew from the hoe down. Bucky rose to his feet and spit out the blood collecting in his mouth, reaching out his hand for you to take.

You walked over to Sam, you hoped that would be the end of it all. Lo and behold though, Scruff got up yet again. “It’s mine.” He growled possessively, starting towards Bucky again. Bucky ducked lifting Scruff over his shoulder and Sam threw his whole body weight into Scruff who was dangling off to the side of Bucky. The three of them laid on the floor, bloodied and sweaty as you stood over them.

Bucky rose to his knees, the shield in front of him and he used the leverage of it to stand fully. He dropped it next to Sam, pausing for a few seconds and then walking away completely. You stood next to Scruff, in disbelief. “This just got a whole lot more complicated didn’t it, Sam?” He didn’t reply to you, but you watched as he tried to wipe the blood off the outer rings of the shield.

***********************************

You stood outside the building where Donya’s funeral was held, listening to Sam talk to someone else named Torres. Bucky had walked right past you, not a word said. He was shutting down and running away, at least that’s what it looked like. You wouldn’t know because the whore wouldn’t talk to you. You sat down on the stairs, head in your hands frustrated about what was going on. Your phone began buzzing in your pocket, so you took it out ready to deny the call, until you saw who it was.

“Shar.” You sighed into the phone speaker.

“Y/N. How’s it going?” You could hear the smugness lacing her tone.

“Alright, just get it over with. Tell me that you told me so, just make it quick.” She scoffed.

“I mean, I did tell you so, but now I don’t want to tell you that I did.” You laughed at her.

“You realize you just did, though?” You sense that she was smiling.

“What happened?” Her tone switched into a serious one on a dime.

“Walker took the serum, went batshit, killed a Flag Smasher, and then beat the shit out of Sam, Bucky and me in order to keep his precious shield because he ‘is Captain America.’” Your voice morphed to imitate Scruff.

“Well, that was bound to happen sometime. He’s all over the place.” You nodded, pulling the phone away from your ear and switching to speakerphone so you could talk and scroll through Twitter.

“He’s already trending. Captain America Kills Innocent Man, what a great headline. You know the worst part about all of this, Shar?” You switched the speakerphone off, bringing it back to your ear. “I don’t even think that Karli is in the wrong here. She’s doing what she’s doing for good reason, she’s just doing a shit job of getting her point across.”

“Yeah, well she’s becoming a pain in everyone’s asses, so that puts her on everyone’s shit list.” Sharon took a deep breath before continuing. “You need to get out of there. I know you’re not technically in the States, or alive, but you know how the government is. They’ll find a way to get you, if they want you.” She was lecturing you out of love, you knew, but it was frustrating for you still.

“Can you not trust that I know what I’m doing?” A grunt released from her end of the phone. “No, seriously Shar. We grew up the same, went through all the same training, what makes you know so much better than me?” Deep down, you knew that wasn’t what she meant, but you had always felt second best when it came to Sharon.

“It’s not that you don’t know what you’re doing.” She sighed heavily. “It’s that you were gone for five years and things have changed. Governments have become stricter and you don’t understand that they aren’t the same as they were.” You remained quiet, expecting her to say something else. “That’s why it’s good you have me because I know how they work.”

“You know how they work, do you?” You were fed up with her. “Then explain to me how you have access to satellites, Sharon. That’s not something that you just happen upon.” Your tone was accusatory. “Are you working for the Power Broker behind my back?” You heard a sharp intake of air on her end. “I swear to God, Sharon. We promised each other we wouldn’t work for that asswipe. He’s involved in too much bad shit. If the US government were to ever find out that we were working for the Power Broker, they wouldn’t grant us pardons, Shar. Did you fuck this up for us?”

“I didn’t fuck anything up and you need to check your tone when you’re talking to me.” Your brows shot to your hairline.

“The fuck did you just say to me?”

“You heard me. We need to work this shit out. I didn’t fuck anything up and neither will you if you come back to Madripoor right now.” You were shocked, Sharon had never talked like this to you.

“I really don’t think I would be comfortable being somewhere that I’m clearly not welcome anymore, so I’m going to stick with what I know.” Sharon began backtracking as you resigned yourself to being on your own for the first time in forever. “Goodbye, Sharon.” You ended the call and shoved your phone into the pocket of your jeans.

You dropped your head into your hands in defeat. Being on your own was daunting and you weren’t sure how Sharon survived without you well enough to grow your business all on her own. You tried to think of your next move, deciding that sticking with Sam would be your best bet. He’s the easiest to guess where he’s going since Bucky has been mentally MIA towards you.

You recalled Sam mentioning his sister and nephews, thinking he would go there to check on them. You hauled yourself out of your slump and to Zemo’s apartment to collect your things before going. You were going all in if you were going to do this, so why the fuck not?

*************************

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pregnant-piggy · 4 years

Text

Snow

Remus Lupin x reader part of the dad!marauders series

Words: 6.5k

A/N: this is the most fluffy thing i have ever written. I am so happy with this. Also, re-introducing Olivia in this fic, whom we have seen before in Butterflies. She’s back because i absolutely love her and y’know for the sake of the story... Anyway, I hope you like it! Comments much appreciated! Love ya

Dinner was silent without you. The table set for two instead of three made the air in the room miss some of that cosiness you always brought along. The small light from the lamp over the dining table was reflected on the silver forks and knives that lied on the table. Two glasses with water stood next to the white plates, waiting to be emptied.

You were gone for the weekend with your mother. Your father had gotten sick a few months ago and now he was finally better, you had wanted your mother to be able to take her mind off things. You had taken her to a spa, something she always enjoyed.

This morning you had left and Olivia had been in a sad mood ever since you had stepped foot out the door. Though she went to play and acted like everything was fine, Remus could see that she wasn’t really. He was surprised with how well she could keep up that happy mask; she was only four years old after all.

Olivia sat in her own chair, that her grandpa had made specially for her. She stared at the back of her dad in the kitchen, her eyes focused on his shoulders and the way they moved to the music he had put on. She played with the stuffed wolf in her hand, the animal that had been with her since she was one year old. The colours had faded lightly in the past three years as if it had lied in the sun for a while. The grey was no longer the dark grey it used to be and the softness was now gone. But Olivia had it with her at all times.

‘Five more minutes, darling,’ Remus said and he sat down at the table in front of his daughter.

Olivia continued to play with her wolf and Remus felt a familiar, warm feeling spreading in his body. You had given the stuffed animal to her on her first birthday. Though your daughter didn’t know the real reason behind the gift, Remus did and his heart softened every time he saw Olivia play with it.

The oven pinged and Remus shot up from his chair. He was hungry; he had worked later than usual forgetting that you weren’t around to remind him to make dinner. It had been Olivia who had opened the door of his library and asked him when dinner was going to be ready.

A frozen pizza, that Remus had found at the bottom of the freezer, had been put in the oven quickly.

Olivia was quiet during dinner. She stared at her plate and picked the mushrooms of her pizza with her little fingers. The little ring that used to be yours glimmered in the light. She always wore that even when she was asleep. Sometimes Remus worried that it could hurt her in her sleep, but you always reassured him that nothing could happen.

‘Don’t you like the pizza?’ Remus asked carefully, knowing the littlest thing could upset his daughter; something she had gotten from you.

‘I do,’ Olivia sighed and dropped her slice of pizza on her plate.

‘What’s wrong, baby?’

‘I miss mommy,’ Olivia said, her voice soft and the tears threatening to fall from her eyes.

Remus got up from his chair and kneeled down next to Olivia. He put both his arms around her and allowed her to rest her head on his shoulder. His big hand rubbed her warm back and he felt a few tears through his shirt.

‘Oh, Liv,’ Remus spoke softly. ‘Mommy will be home Sunday. Don’t you want to tell her how much fun you have had with daddy?’

Olivia snuffed into Remus’ shoulder and nodded. She lifted her head from his neck and looked at him. He wiped the tears off her cheeks with his thumbs and placed a kiss on her forehead, like he used to do to you when you were sad. Olivia smiled and she turned back to her plate, eating the pizza with a small grin, while she talked to the stuffed animal that sat next to her on a chair.

Remus sat back in his chair and watched his daughter. She truly was the light in his life. He could not imagine a life without her, without her bubbly presence and her cute smiles or her giggles.

The rest of the night Olivia wasn’t sad anymore. It was Friday night so that meant that she could stay up a little later than usual. While she sat in Remus’ lap, her eyes were glued to the TV. A lousy talent show played on the screen, while Remus read his book and tried to answer Olivia’s questions at the same time.

It was nice to have some alone time with his daughter. Though it happened enough that he was alone with her, it rarely was a whole weekend. Usually it was you who was alone with Olivia, whenever Remus was away at the full moon.

Remus knew Olivia’s personality through and through; he had had years of practice with you. Your daughter was the exact copy of you to Remus. She had Remus’ eyes and hair, but the rest of her was just like you. The same nose, the same lips and the same way you smacked them when you didn’t like something. You both could act crazy in the same way and Olivia’s laugh was the same as yours.

‘Daddy?’ Olivia asked and Remus looked up from his book. Olivia had turned around between his legs and was looking at him with her big eyes. ‘What are you reading?’

Remus opened his arm so Olivia could rest against his chest and started to talk about the book he was reading, glad that it wasn’t such a complicated book. Olivia listened with interest and asked more questions. You always said that Olivia was just as a nerd as Remus and though Remus always debated the term ‘nerd’, he knew that you were right. His daughter was a smart little girl and she was interested in a great deal of things.

It wasn’t until Olivia yawned that Remus realised how late it was. He quickly closed his book and placed it on the couch while he took Olivia in his arms. He walked with her through the cold hallway and up the stairs, wondering why it was suddenly so cold.

While Olivia attempted to brush her own teeth, Remus looked for her pyjamas. He found them on her pillow neatly folded and a little note from you with a heart on it on top of them. He took the clothes and placed the note back on the pillow. With the pyjamas in his arms he walked to the bathroom, where he found Olivia on the floor with her toothbrush in her mouth, while she brushed the mouth of her stuffed wolf with another toothbrush, luckily without toothpaste.

Remus chuckled and sat down next to her. He took her small face on one hand and asked her to open her mouth so he could brush her teeth with the other hand. Olivia sang the how to brush your teeth song and Remus laughed when she accidentally bit on the toothbrush.

When he was done he helped her rinse her mouth and then he helped her into her pyjamas. Olivia shivered when her warm sweater was pulled over her head and she was left in her underwear. She crossed her arms over her body and Remus didn’t fail to notice the goose bumps all over her skin. He quickly warmed the pyjamas with a quick wave of his wand and Olivia stared at the wooden stick with her big eyes. Magic wasn’t new to her at all, you and Remus had both agreed to let your daughter get used to it while also fitting in with the muggle world, but every time she saw it her eyes lit up. She seemed to have forgotten about the cold as she asked Remus to do something.

‘Do the bubbles!’ she exclaimed and she clapped her hands in excitement as Remus casted bubbles to fly around in the small bathroom.

Once Olivia lied in bed and Remus had read her a bedtime story, she closed her eyes and fell asleep promptly. It had been a long day for her; this morning she had woken up early and it was late at night now.

Remus pressed a kiss to her head and tucked her in once again, making sure she would not get cold. Not that it would help, his daughter turned so much in her sleep that it was inevitable that the sheets would lose their embrace around her.

- - - - -

The cold night even reached to Remus when he lied in bed. He had his sweater on and even woollen socks, but his toes were still cold and he couldn't suppress a shiver every time he moved under the duvet. He couldn’t fall asleep. He didn’t know that was because it was cold or because you weren’t next to him. He had gotten so used to falling asleep with your arms around him, that it was hard to do so when you weren’t around. No matter how tired he was, he just couldn’t catch any sleep.

So instead he just lied with his eyes closed in his bed, the sheets pulled up to under his chin. It had been cold this winter, but not this cold yet. With a little luck there would maybe even be some snow tomorrow. Then he would have something to do with Olivia.

The little girl loved the snow. It didn’t happen very often that there was snow, the last time had been last year and then it was only for two days. It might have been the happiest days of Olivia’s winter. The big smile that was on her face, Remus could clearly remember.

He didn’t when he had started to drift off, but he was woken roughly by a tug on his duvet. He turned his head to see what was going on and he was faced with Olivia’s teared eyes. Immediately he sat up in his bed and pulled his daughter against his chest. She sobbed lightly in his sweater. He wrapped his arms around her and hid her cold feet under the blanket after feeling they were like ice.

‘What is wrong, love?’ Remus whispered as he placed a kiss on the top of Olivia’s head.

‘I miss mommy so bad,’ she said with a trembling voice and she hugged her wolf closer to her little chest. ‘And I’m cold.’

‘Oh, sweetheart,’ Remus mumbled. He lied back down and placed Olivia next to him. He pulled the sheets up to her chin and he wrapped his arm around her. She crawled closer to his chest and lied her head next to him on his pillow.

They lied in silence for a while, the only sound the soft sobs of Olivia, that calmed down more and more. Remus wiped away the tears from her face and rubbed her back, hoping to warm her up a little. He felt the fatigue taking over him, but he had to stay awake at least until Olivia had fallen asleep.

But Olivia did not seem to have any plans to fall asleep soon. She stared with her big eyes at Remus, who had more trouble to keep his eyes open with the minute.

‘Go to sleep, Liv,’ he mumbled and stroke his big hand over her face so she would close her eyes.

But she opened them again and now started to play with the neck of Remus’ sweater. Her little fingers ran up and down over the hem and tucked on it ever so often. Remus chuckled lightly and took her hand in his. She looked up to him and he closed his eyes for a second.

‘Close your eyes, love,’ Remus tried again and now Olivia closed her eyes, but she opened one slightly and looked at Remus. A giggle escaped her mouth as Remus sighed and shook his head. ‘Come on, Olivia! If you go to sleep now we can play in the snow tomorrow.’

Remus had said the magic words. Olivia’s eyes widened and she stared at Remus.

‘Snow? Is there snow?’ she asked excitedly.

‘There will be if you go to sleep now,’ Remus said placing a kiss on Olivia’s forehead.

She closed her eyes and soon she drifted off to sleep. Her steady breaths filled the cold bedroom and Remus finally let the sleep take over him. He knew he should carry Olivia to her own bed, but he was too tired to do so. So instead he fell asleep with his daughter hugging onto his chest, listening to his heartbeat as she dreamt of the snow.

- - - - -

As the morning sun shone through the crack between the curtains, Remus woke up with two small hands hugging his waist. He carefully removed the two hands and placed them on the stuffed wolf that lied at Olivia’s feet. He lifted the duvet a little, enough so he could slip from it and tucked it around his daughter’s small figure. He walked out of the bedroom and went to the kitchen, hoping that pancakes would make Olivia forget that her mother wasn’t around.

Soft music played through the kitchen as Remus began to make the pancakes. He was stirring the bowl when he heard soft footsteps into the kitchen. He turned around and smiled at Olivia, who stood in the doorframe clinging onto her stuffed wolf as she watched Remus with her big eyes. She slowly made her way over to her chair and as she climbed into it and dropped the wolf, she sighed dramatically. Remus couldn’t keep from chuckling, but quickly turned around and stopped as she saw the glare his daughter was giving him.

‘Do you want pancakes, Liv?’ Remus asked over his shoulder when Olivia had climbed into her chair.

Remus couldn’t see her face, since he was still bowed over the kitchen counter with his back to his daughter, but when she spoke he heard that there was a small smile on her pretty face.

‘Yes, daddy.’

Olivia climbed off her chair and ran towards Remus, hugging her arms around his legs. Remus had to hold onto the counter to not fall over at the sudden weight and he laughed softly, stroking his hand over Olivia’s head. She looked up to him with her big golden eyes and her precious smile. The smile that could make Remus do anything.

‘Here,’ Remus said and he gave to plates to Olivia. ‘Bring these to the table, while I make the pancakes.’

Olivia wobbled on her feet under the weight of the heavy plates. She placed the plates, what was for her, carefully on the table and then returned to Remus for a next task. Keeping one eye on the pancakes in the pan and the other on Olivia as she was setting the table, breakfast was soon finished.

Olivia was sitting in her chair, her knife and fork in her hands and the wolf on the chair next to her, like it had been at dinner last night. She was talking enthusiastically to it as Remus placed a platter with pancakes in between them. Olivia stopped talking as the scent of food reached her nose and a big smile appeared on her sleepy face when she saw the pancakes.

‘What do you want to do today?’ Remus asked in between bites.

‘Play in the snow!’ Olivia exclaimed and she looked over her shoulder through the window.

It had indeed snowed last night, just as Remus had thought. The street was hidden under a blanket of snow and the light blue sky that stretched out over the neighbour houses, made it seem like a little fairy tale and not the street they were living in. The edges of the window were frozen, little ice crystals making their way up to the middle of the glass.

Olivia kept staring outside, the piece of pancake on her fork staying in front of her mouth. She watched the old man that lived two houses away walk through the snow with his dog. The small animal jumped in the snow, barking happily when his legs disappeared in the snow. Olivia laughed happily and only turned back when the dog and owner had disappeared. Her pancakes had turned cold, but it didn’t seem to bother her. She wolfed the rest of her breakfast in and then looked up to her dad.

‘Done,’ she said, with her mouth full of food. She went to grab her glass with orange juice, while Remus took the last pancake on the plate. Olivia chewed fast on the pancake in her mouth, her hands clasped around the glass. She swallowed her last bite and drank her juice quickly.

‘Not too fast, you’ll get stomach ache,’ Remus said, looking at how the orange juice rapidly disappeared in his daughter’s mouth.

‘No, I won’t,’ Olivia said with her mouth still in her glass, shaking her head.

Remus sighed; he would never win this battle. Olivia was just as stubborn as you, though you always said that she had that from Remus. Maybe that said enough.

Olivia placed her glass back on the table and looked at Remus. He chuckled at the juice-moustache that had formed above her upper lip and reached over the table to wipe it away with his thumb.

‘Why don’t you pick out clothes, while daddy cleans up?’ Remus said, licking the orange juice off his finger.

Olivia fled quickly from the kitchen and Remus heard her stamping on the stairs. He collected the plates and glasses and put them in the sink, doubting whether he should do the dishes now or later. Later would be fine, he decided and left the kitchen, following his daughter’s tracks on the stairs.

- - - - -

‘Daddy look what I can do!’

Remus looked up from the bench at the front door. Olivia and him had gone outside now two hours ago and while Remus was more than done with the cold, he didn’t want to cut the fun Olivia was having. Remus hadn’t seen her this exited in a while and it warmed his heart to see his daughter with such a big smile on her face. She was jumping up and down, making snow angels in the snow and with the help of Remus she had made a snowman, who currently stood watching Olivia collect snow with her small hands and throw little snowballs at the tree in the front yard.

‘Good job!’ Remus said and he waved at Olivia as she hit the tree with her snowball.

Remus’ hands slowly had lost any feeling and the same was about to happen to his feet. He was sitting in his thickest coat on the wooden bench near the front door, a book in his hand that was long forgotten as he had noticed that Olivia was quite clumsy when it came to snow. She had fallen at least twelve times now and though it wasn’t like she had hurt herself, Remus was worried that one time she would. Besides, his fingers were too cold to even turn the pages.

After another half hour Remus thought that it had been enough. With any luck the snow would still be there tomorrow and then Olivia could play outside again. But right now Remus felt like he was made of ice and he knew that Olivia was cold too; in the small minutes that she had come to Remus to tell him something he had seen that her cheeks were getting more red and her lips more purple.

She didn’t even complain when Remus suggested they went inside for lunch and hot chocolate. She followed him back inside the warm house and sighed when the door was closed.

‘What is the matter?’ Remus asked as he took off his coat and then helped Olivia with hers.

‘Who is watching Mr. Snowman now?’ she pouted as Remus unzipped her dark blue winter coat.

‘Maybe you can look at him from the window in the living room,’ Remus said as he took of her mittens. Olivia jumped and nearly hit Remus in his face with her hands. He chuckled and bowed forward so she could lean on him while he took off her boots. Her cold hand grabbed the fabric on Remus’ sweater and the other was placed on his head when she lost her balance.

‘Left foot,’ Remus said and Olivia lifted her foot. He took off the boot and sock, that was completely wet. ‘Right foot.’ The other foot followed and the same happened. The bottom of Olivia’s leggings was wet too and Remus ordered her to take them off.

‘I’ll get you warm, dry clothes,’ he said, pulling a weird face as he smelled the sock, making Olivia laugh. ‘You go into the living room and see if Mr. Snowman is still there.’

Olivia ran off to the living room in her pink underwear and sweater and Remus quickly returned with warm pants and two different socks. Olivia was stuck at the window, her eyes focused on the snowman outside and she waved at it as if to say goodbye when Remus walked into the room.

‘I don’t know what mommy does with your socks, but I can’t find two the same,’ Remus sighed and he sat down next to Olivia on the couch. ‘Elephant on right or left?’

The girl put out her right foot and Remus put the sock on. The sock with the giraffe followed on her other foot and when the pants were put on Olivia ran back to the window, this time taking her wolf with her. Remus watched his daughter talk to her stuffed animal and admired how happy she looked. He never could have imagined to have a wife that loved him unconditionally let alone a daughter that was just as dear to him. Sometimes he wondered why he deserved it all, how could someone like him have such a happy bubble around him?

‘Do you want hot chocolate?’ Remus asked and Olivia turned around and cheered as she ran to the kitchen.

Remus followed her quickly and was surprised to find Olivia looking in the right cabinet. As she pulled out the cocoa and stood on her toes to place it on the counter, she started to babble to Remus about how you always made hot chocolate on the nights Remus was away.

- - - - -

The afternoon was filled with merry. Olivia played on her own for a while, until she wanted to know what Remus was reading. He took her in his lap and together they read a for a while. Though Olivia didn’t quite understood what the book was about, her reading was definitely improving.

Though Olivia would go to Hogwarts when she was older, Remus and you had wanted her to learn the basics, just like you two had done. You as a muggleborn and Remus as half-blood had both enjoyed the education of primary school. You wanted the same for your daughter. She was keen to learn and home school was discussed, but both you and Remus had a job and the option of going to a muggle school seemed the easier option. Plus, in that way Olivia could make friends better than when she was at home all day.

She was only four and would turn five in May, so she would not go to school until after the upcoming summer, but Remus had taken the job to teach her how to read. Luckily Olivia was a smart student and the reading went easily on her. It wasn’t much that she knew, she was yet so young, but Remus thought that every little bit would help her. And so, once a day, mostly before bed, he would read with her. It didn’t have to be long, just a page of her favourite book was enough.

After the reading, Olivia watched a film while Remus concentrated on the newspapers of this day, for which he hadn’t got the time to read yet. He was deep in an article about Gringotts new policy, when the phone ringed. Olivia was so concentrated on the talking bees from the movie that she didn’t hear it.

‘Remus here,’ Remus said and he walked to the kitchen, not wanting to disturb his daughter.

‘Hey Rem!’ your voice sounded back and Remus smiled.

‘Hey love. How is it going? Are you having fun?’

‘So much. Mom and I went to get massages this morning and we did face masks this afternoon. Oh, it is so nice here, Rem. We even have access to mimosas throughout the whole day!’ you giggled.

In the background Remus could hear your mother giggle along with you and he sniffed happily in the phone. ‘How many did you have?’

‘Just a couple,’ you said back, Remus hearing by your voice that it was definitely more than a couple. ‘How is it going at home? I heard it snowed.’

‘It did,’ Remus answered. ‘I spent the entire morning outside with Olivia and now she is watching a film. She did miss you last night, however.’

‘I miss her too. And you. I couldn’t sleep last night, though the mimosas did help a bit.’

‘I couldn’t sleep either. But we’ll see you tomorrow! Don’t worry about us, we are having fun, love,’ Remus said and he looked up when Olivia entered the kitchen. She stood hesitantly at in the doorway, her small hand resting on the door frame.

‘Who is that?’ she asked curious and tilted her head a little.

‘It’s mommy,’ Remus answered. ‘Do you want to talk to her?’

‘Mommy!’ Olivia yelled and she ran over to the phone. Remus put Olivia on the chair with the phone in her hand and then turned to the kitchen to make dinner. He listened to Olivia talk about the snowman she had made and the snowballs she had thrown at the tree.

After a while, Olivia gave the phone back to Remus after giving kisses to it. She ran back to the living room, probably to continue her film. Remus took back the phone and pressed it between his ear and his shoulder.

‘She seems to be having fun,’ you said and Remus could hear your smile through the phone.

‘I know that it isn’t how our weekends usually go, but she missed you and I couldn’t stand to see her sad.’

‘Don’t worry, dear, it’s fine.’

‘Listen, I have to finish dinner and you have to get back to your mom,’ Remus said and he put down the knife so he could take the phone in his hand. ‘I will see you tomorrow, don’t rush.’

‘Okay, I love you,’ you said.

‘I love you too.’

- - - - -

Olivia stood on a stool at the sink in the bathroom, watching herself in the mirror as she brushed her teeth. Remus stood behind her, brushing her wet hair. He had taken her in bath, hoping it would tire her a bit so she would fall asleep fast. And when he looked at her and saw her tired eyes, he realised that it had helped.

He put the brush aside and helped her brushing her teeth. She opened her mouth, but it closed more and more the longer it took and Remus had to ask her to open her mouth every time. She giggled when Remus reached the back of her mouth and the toothbrush tickled the back of her tongue. Her eyes squeezed shut and stayed there more a moment before she opened them again. Remus took the brush from her mouth and declared that it was enough for now.

In her room, Remus helped her into her warmest pyjamas, hoping that this time she wouldn’t wake up from the cold. In her pink with crocodiles pyjamas, Olivia pressed a wet kiss to Remus’ cheek and then lied down in her bed. He tucked her in tightly and her eyes closed as soon as the blankets were put over her. Remus brushed the hair out of her face and kissed her softly on her forehead. Olivia’s eyes fluttered open and she smiled at her father.

‘I love you, daddy,’ she mumbled.

‘I love you too, sweetheart,’ Remus whispered back.

Olivia put out her arms to take Remus in a hug and he leaned forward, his knees on the floor. Olivia’s small arms were wrapped around his neck and he felt her hot breath on his neck. He pulled back and placed a quick kiss on her nose. She giggled at the feeling and wiped her nose with her sleeve. Remus brushed his hand through her hair one more time and smiled at his daughter.

‘Goodnight, Olivia.’

Olivia closed her eyes and Remus left her room, keeping the door ajar so he could hear when she called for him. He went downstairs and looked at the mess in the living room. The worst part was that it was mostly his mess. Olivia had put her toys away in her toy box in the corner of the room. It was Remus’ mess that made the room look terrible. Two coffee mugs on the table, next to a few parchments and a book. On the couch lied the newspapers that he still hadn’t finished and pair of socks. The TV was still on and a dim light flickered into the room. On the desk in the corner of the room, was an even bigger mess. But Remus’ workspace was always a mess and no matter how often you asked him to clean it, he never did, knowing that it would be the same mess the minute he would start working.

So instead of being bothered by his desk, Remus cleared out the coffee table, turned off the TV and took his newspaper. He reread the article about Gringotts, since he had already forgotten what it was about, and realised that the rest of the paper was rather a lack of information.

Remus sat down at his desk, hoping to maybe get some work done. But his paper stayed empty, his mind was too tired to come up with a review now. The book he had to review lied in front of him and Remus studied the cover.

After fifteen minutes he gave up and placed himself with a cup of tea on the couch, zapping through the channels. He found a film and soon was involved in a plot of a murder, flight and criminals. The sounds of fighting sounded through the living room as Remus’ eyes were glued to the TV. Though Remus wasn’t a particular big fan of thriller movies, sometimes he could enjoy them. It was a hour or two of not thinking and just watching.

It was past midnight when the film finished with the ‘good guy’ killing the ‘bad guy’. Since the ‘bad guy’ only had killed one man, Remus wondered how good the ‘good guy’ was. He turned off the TV, turned down the lights and went upstairs.

He checked Olivia’s room and found his daughter fast asleep, her stuffed wolf in her hand and her hair around her like a halo. This was one of Remus’ favourite views. There was something so peaceful and innocent about his daughter in her sleep. It reminded him of you, the way she grabbed onto the sheets and the pucker on her lips.

Soon Remus lied in his own bed, looking through the crack between the curtains at the dark sky. It was clouded; the dark grey clouds hid the dark blue sky filled with stars. This was Remus favourite time of the month. The full moon had been two weeks ago, meaning he had yet two weeks before the next one would come. It also meant that at this moment there was no moon at all in the sky and something about that thought comforted Remus.

With his mind running off to the dark blue heavens, Remus fell asleep quickly, not bothered by the cold or your absence this night.

- - - - -

Sunday morning was spent in Remus’ bed. Olivia had crawled into your spot and she talked with her dad about what she had dreamt. Then she proceeded to wonder about Mr. Snowman and how he had slept. Remus chuckled as the listened to his daughter’s imaginary stories and closed his eyes for a moment.

‘Daddy, you’re not listening!’ Olivia cried out and she dropped her body on Remus’ chest to get him to open his eyes.

‘I am, Olivia, I am!’ he sputtered and he pushed Olivia off him.

‘Why were your eyes closed?’

‘I can listen and close my eyes at the same time,’ Remus defended himself.

Olivia sat cross-legged on the bed and shook her head with a serious look on her face. ‘Mommy says that when you close your eyes you’re not listening.’

Remus raised his eyebrow at his daughter and then burst out into laughter. He took Olivia in his arms and peppered her face with kisses. She started to giggle and tried to free herself from his grip. She squirmed in his arms and after a while Remus lessened his grip and she crawled away from him. Panting and laughing she sat at your pillow, staring at Remus with sparkly eyes.

‘Did it snow?’ she asked.

‘I don’t know,’ Remus answered; he hadn’t left his bed yet.

‘Can’t you look?’

‘I can look, but so can you.’

‘But I’m too small!’ Olivia exclaimed and a smirk crossed on her face.

Remus shook his head chuckling and he pulled the sheets of his body. Immediately the cold found its way to his warm body and he shivered. Quickly he put on his sweatpants and a different sweater. He helped Olivia off the bed and lifter her on his hip. She pulled the curtains aside and looked outside.

‘Snow!’ she exclaimed happily when she saw the white backyard. She pressed her nose to the glass and looked at the snow.

Remus put her down again and she ran to her room, taking the same clothes as yesterday and throwing them on Remus’ bed. She pulled her pyjamas over her head and struggled to put the sweater on herself. Remus sat down on his knees in front of her and guided her head through the hole. An enthusiastic head popped out from the neck of the sweater and Remus laughed before pressing a kiss to Olivia’s forehead.

‘Can I play outside? Please?’ she asked.

‘You can, but first we need to eat breakfast, darling,’ Remus said as he helped Olivia into her leggings.

She didn’t waste a minute and as soon as her sock were on, she rushed downstairs to the kitchen. Remus followed her and found her in the kitchen with the box of cereal in her hands. He took it from her and placed it on the table.

‘Go sit down.’

Olivia followed his order and sat down in her chair, for once haven forgotten her stuffed animal. She waited patiently for Remus to put down two bowls and give her a spoon. He put the cereal in her bowl and the milk followed after. She dove into her breakfast and spilled some milk on the table in doing so. Remus cleaned it with a flick of his wand and Olivia looked amazed at the now clean spot.

After breakfast Olivia ran outside and Remus had to call her back to put on her coat and mittens. As he zipped up the coat while Olivia was jumping up and down in her excitement to go outside, he said: ‘I am going to do the dishes, will you be careful?’

Olivia nodded and captured her dad’s mouth with a quick kiss before she hurried outside. Remus stood in the door and watched for a moment as Olivia started to dance around the snowman. After making sure nothing could happen to her, Remus turned back inside and put on the kettle as he charmed the dishes to do themselves. He glanced at today’s newspaper and then decided to take it outside.

With his tea in one hand and the newspaper under his arm, Remus sat down on the bench again, making a promise with himself not to stay out so long as yesterday. But his promise was soon forgotten as he watched Olivia play. He charmed his tea to stay warm so his fingers wouldn’t freeze this time.

Time passed quickly. Olivia was making snow angels in the snow and decorating them with things she found in the garden and Remus was reading the newspaper, that just like yesterday, had not much in it. His attention was pulled away from an article about illegal transport across the Atlantic Ocean by a creak of the fence. He looked up and was surprised to see you.

‘Mommy!’ Olivia cheered when she noticed her mother. She got up from her spot, where she had been on her knees drawing faces in her snow angel, and jumped in your arms. You dropped your bag and caught Olivia.

‘Liv, be careful with your mom,’ Remus said as he came closer.

You shifted Olivia over to the side and kissed Remus. He took your bag and brought you inside. Olivia was talking happily about what she had done this weekend and didn’t stop when you put her down and took off your coat.

‘Come on, darling, give mommy some time,’ Remus chuckled as he took of Olivia’s coat. ‘Why don’t you go to the kitchen and grab the things we need for the hot chocolate?’

Olivia smiled and ran to the kitchen, nearly slipping on her wet socks. Remus hung up her coat and then turned to you. He wrapped arms around you and you buried your face in his sweater.

‘I didn’t expect you so early,’ Remus said as you pulled away and took off your shoes.

‘It was this train or one later at night and actually we were both a bit done at the spa. So we decided to take the early train. I dropped mom off at home,’ you said as you walked with Remus to the kitchen.

There you found Olivia proudly standing in front of the counter. She had the cocoa in her hands and was waiting for Remus to help her. He lifted her and placed her on the counter. Together they made the hot cocoa while you sat at the dining table and talked about your trip.

When the hot chocolate was done and all three of you were sitting at the table, Olivia continued to talk about her weekend. Remus smiled at her and nodded along. He looked at you and you glanced back with a smile on your face. It was good to be home.

- - - - -

taglists:

dad!marauders: @wassup-peoples @iamak20

Remus: @racerparker @susceptible-but-siriusexual

marauders: @secretsthathauntus @ronniethelost @sognatrice-as-a-hobby @hxrgreeves @wecouldbreakthedistance @valentina-007

general HP: @kitkatkl @girllety @yuptha-tsme @sleep-i-ness @iamak20 @thefuturelawyer @weasleydream @missmulti @deafgirltingz @moonstarrnghtsky @bloodblossom73 @mytreec @lilulo-12fanfiction @emmaloo21 @kashishwrites @ananad1

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MASTERLIST

#dad!marauders #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin #remus x reader #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin x you #marauders imagine #marauders x reader #marauders #harry potter #harry potter imagine #harry potter x reader #dad!remus lupin #remus lupin x y/n

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honeyheartsandkisses · 3 years

Text

A million times yes

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

One Shot!

Summary: You and Fred have always been really close. After a bad day, he tries to cheer you up and you accidentally confess. (You are in the same year as the weasley twins, one year above the golden trio.)

Warnings: Kissing, and maybe even a little grinding but no smut.

Word count: 2.6k

Sitting here in your potions lesson, you couldn't help but let your mind wander off. Professor Snape's voice droning on in the backgroun about the different kinds of spider venom and what they can be used for. The mildly pleasant smell of bubbling potions and the dim candles illuminating the dungeon all melded together, casting a drowsy spell on you.

"Miss y/l/n!" Snape's nasally voice pierced through your lazy state. You jumped to sit up straight, finding Professor Snape standing right in front of your desk. His face twisted into a nasty scowl.

He starts circling your desk like a vulture circling it's prey. You knew you were in deep trouble. "I suppose you find all this information boring Miss y/l/n?"

"No sir." You said. Staring down at the opened textbook on your desk. Snape always had a thing for torturing gryffindors.

"Humor me this, can you tell me the ingredients for a forgetfulness potion?"

"Umm... no sir."

"Not so smart now are we?" Snape grins, his long crooked nose twisting to make him look truly frightening. "Tell me the ingredients for a truth potion then."

You look up from your desk, and make eye contact with your best friends Fred and George Weasley. The red-haired twins who were seated just a table in front of you had turned around (just like the rest of the class) helplessly watching Snape humiliate you. A few slytherins were snickering, completely enjoying the show.

Feeling defiant, you wink at your two best friends before looking up to face Professor Snape. "With all due respect sir, you never taught us those two potions. How am I supposed to know what's in it?"

Your two best friends start cackling with laughter, clearly impressed by your sudden burst of confidence. A few gryffindors flashed you thumbs up signs, stifling their laughter.

"SILENCE!" Snape stops circling you and look down at you, administering a death-like glare. It instantly made you regret your decision from just five seconds ago. "Miss y/l/n. Very brave for an orphan." The word orphan struck a nerve. Your parents were muggles and at the age of 11, they passed away in a car crash. You were the only one who survived that night. Everytime someone brought it up you would relive it. The heavy snow, the thick ice, the feeling of the car skidding on the ice, and worst of all, your mother's screams.

"Perhaps they never got the chance to teach you classroom manners?" Snape continues in his low nasally voice. Your blood boiled. How dare he bring up your painful past.

"They must be disappointed to learn that their very own daughter turned out to be a failure." This makes your hands clench into tight fists.

You slam the table, standing up from your seat. "I am NOT a failure."

Professor Snape looked almost slightly surprised at your outburst. But within a second he restores his emotionless front. "Six hours of detention Miss y/l/n. Tonight. You will polish all the trophies in the trophy room, without the help of your wand. Be there immediately after dinner or it'll be eight hours. Do you understand?"

Still trembling with rage, you sit back down. "Yes Professor."

The moment Snape goes back to teaching, George quickly slips you a note. You felt slightly better knowing that your friends had your back. Holding the small piece of parchment under the table, you unfold it to see two familiar handwritings.

One of the handwritings had more rounded letters. You easily identified it to be George's.

It wrote: Wow six hours is going to be tough. I'm sorry he said those thing to you but i loved that you stood up for yourself.

The other handwriting was slightly crooked, and this belonged to Fred.

It simply wrote: Are you alright?

Your heart skipped a beat. It definitely was not out of the norm for the boys to show concern but everything Fred said and did made you want to scream. Your heart did backflips whenever you saw him. The way his messy red hair always seemed to fall perfectly into place when he ran his fingers though it, the way he always had a pleasant woody scent on him from all his quidditch practices, everything made you fall in love with him.

You flip the small piece of parchment around and write on the other side and write: I’ll be okay. Before handing it back to the twins.

You manage to stay out of trouble the rest of the lesson, and when Snape finally dismisses everyone, you scoop your heavy textbook into your arms and the three of you head toward the great hall for dinner.

“Maybe we should leave an exploding chocolate bomb on his table.” George says, holding the classroom door open for you.

You laugh, walking through the door with Fred following closely behind you. “Don’t be silly George. Snape’ll figure it out right away.”

“Still worth a shot don’t you think?” Fred says, winking at you.

You quickly shake your head. “I mean it boys. Don’t. Do. It.”

“Alright alright fine.” George says, while Fred swiftly grabs your textbook from your arms, carrying it for you the rest of the way.

“Actually we know a trick or two when it comes to cleaning the trophy room.” Fred says, looking down at you. Him being a whole head taller than you, he towered over you. It made you feel safe. “You could always bewitch a few sponges to self-clean. Sneak them in under your cloak.”

“Snape said no wands but he didn't say you couldn't do with a little... lets call it special equipment.” George adds.

You decide to take their advice, and before reporting to the trophy room after dinner, the three of you stop by a supply closet to bewitch a few sponges before they walked you to the trophy room where Snape was already waiting.

Professor Snape eyes you suspiciously before scowling. “Your little friends cannot stay with you y/l/n.”

Slightly annoyed, you snapped back. “Yes I'm well aware. They were just leaving.” The twins each give you a small pat on the back before hurrying off, leaving you with Snape.

“You will polish and shine all the trophies in this room.” Snape says in his nasally voice that always left you nauseous. Only when he steps aside do you see how massive the room was. With shelves extending from the ground up to the ceiling, each one of them crowded with trophies of all shapes and sizes. Some looked like regular muggle trophies but some seemed to be able to move. Some had faces on them whereas others were shaped like mystical animals.

“Maybe this will teach you not to disrespect a teacher.” Snape says, the corner of his lips turned upwards, clearly delighted to see you in misery. “I will be back every hour or so to check on you. If you’re not here, it’s another two hours of detention and fifty points from Gryffindor. Your wand will be confiscated until all these trophies are polished.” You reluctantly hand over your wand, wishing you could hex the professor. “Get started.” With that, he turns around and walks off, shoes clicking down the dimly lit corridor.

Cursing under your breath, you retrieved your earlier bewitched sponges from the supply closet, along with a couple other polishing solutions. To your surprise, they worked brilliantly. The small sponges scrubbed every inch of each trophy leaving it spic and span, before automatically moving on the next. While the sponges were busy at work, you headed over to a corner of the room and sat down. Just when you were about to doze off, a familiar voice jolted you awake.

“Tired already? It hasn't even been an hour.”

You look up to face it’s owner, coming face to face with Fred Weasley. Your heart swelled. Quickly rubbing the seep from your eyes, you laugh and pat the ground next to you, asking him to sit and he complies.

“What are you doing here?” “Wanted to say hi to Professor Snape.” Fred says, gleaming mischievously at you. Under the dim light, his brown eyes looked like honey and the smell of his freshly shampooed hair gave you the urge to pull him into a hug.

You roll your eyes. “Ha-ha. Very funny Weasley.”

“Are you really alright?” He suddenly says, catching you off guard.

You smile, hugging your knees. “Yeah I told you I’ll be fine.”

“But you’re not...” He looks down at you, almost like he could see right through you. “When Snape mentioned your parents earlier, you looked so incredibly sad. Like nothing could ever make you happy again.”

“I know...” you let out a big sigh. ��Everytime someone mentions my parents I re-live that night. Id be lying if I said it wasn't terrifying. But this is something I have to deal with on my own. It’s not anyone’s job to fix me.” Before you know it, a tear escapes the rim of your eye, rolling down your cheek.

Fred puts an arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer to him. “I understand. I just wanted you to know there's nothing I wouldn't do for you. So don’t be afraid to let me know if you’re struggling.”

You snuggle closer to his chest, his arm still tightly wrapped around you. Feeling a warmness wash over you, your mood changed for the better. You tilt your head upwards, looking at him. He senses your movement and looked down at you with concern. Your face merely inches away from his, you fought the urge to kiss him. His eyes travel down your face, staring at your lips before looking into your eyes again. “Y/n I...” But before he could say anything else, you press a kiss to his lips, quickly pulling back to observe his reaction. He looked confused and flustered, making your heart sink. You just made a huge mistake.

“I'm sorry I didn't mean to... I just...” You stumbled over your words trying to find the right thing to say. You felt embarrassed and humiliated. Did you just singlehandedly ruin your friendship with the Weasley twins?

But all of a sudden, Fred stops you from freaking out. “Shut up.” He sounded urgent and needy. He crashed his lips with yours, and you could feel his passion and urgency. Like he needed this for a long time. Like he never wanted to stop kissing you. His hands cup your face, deepening the kiss, while you move to sit on his lap. A growing heat in your lower belly started to take over and you rocked your hips forward, grinding on him. He snakes one arm around your waist, pulling you closer while you kiss his neck.

Suddenly, you hear the sound of shoes clicking against the hollow corridor and you pull away from Fred in a hurry. “It’s Snape!” you whisper urgently. “You need to go now! He’ll punish you!”

“But-” Fred tried to protest, but you move off of him, quickly standing up.

“Please Fred I wouldn't want you getting into trouble because of me. You need to hurry!”

He gives you a reluctant pout, but finally agrees. “I’ll see you later.” He kisses your forehead before hurrying off.

Shortly, Snape arrives to see you hard at work polishing the trophies. He mumbles something about you having a bad attitude before leaving, and once again you’re left alone.

You sit back down in the corner, going over the past few minutes. Fred Weasley kissed you. The boy you’ve had a crush on since your second year in Hogwarts. He liked you. Being held by him was the most amazing feeling in the world. Kissing him made your head spin.

Time flew by and before you know it, Your six hours of detention had passed. It was now 1am and the bewitched sponges had obediently dropped to the ground lifelessly after polishing the last trophy. As if on cue, Snape returns, walking up and down the trophy cases.

“Very well y/l/n. You may leave.” He hands you your wand.

“Thank you Professor. Always a pleasure.” You say sarcastically, bolting out the door before he could lecture you again. When you made it up to the common room, you expected it to be completely empty. After all, it was 1am. But to your surprise, Fred was fast asleep on the sofa in front of the fire, his chest rising and falling in sync with his breathing. He had waited for you to come back. You couldn't help but giggle. Grabbing a blanket from a nearby cupboard, you lay it over him and kiss his forehead.

Just as you were about to tip toe over to the stairs to make your way up to the girl’s dormitories, he stirs from his sleep.

“y/n? Is that you?”

You make your way back to him, sitting down on the sofa. “Hey, what are you doing here silly? Shouldn't you be in bed?”

He sits up, pulling the blanket off him. “I wanted to be here when you got back.”

“Well? I’m here now. Whats the matter?”

Without saying another word, a mischievous smile spreads across his face. Reaching under the sofa, he pulls out his quidditch broomstick. “Let me take you on a flight?”

Your eyes lit up. For years you've been begging the twins to let you use their broomstick. Theirs was always better than yours because you weren't on the quidditch team. But they guarded that thing with their life. Not once did they allow you near it.

“Really?” Fred stands, holding his broom in one hand with the other hand outstretched towards you. “Milady?”

You laugh, taking his hand. Just like that the two of you sneaked out of the Gryffindor common room, creeping past Mrs Norris and Filtch’s office. After a few long corridors and several flights of staircases, the two of you finally reach the main door. He pushes it open, and you step out into the cold night. It’s so dark, it could be impossible for anyone to see the two of you zooming around in the air.

“It’s a little chilly tonight. Here hold this.” Fred hands you his broom before taking off his coat and handing it to you. He takes the broom from you again and says “Put It on. Wouldn't want you catching a cold.” You pull it on, thanking the heavens that its dark out. This way he couldn't see how much you were blushing.

He straddles the broom before lowing the back end. “You ready?”

“Just one question.” You say, stepping closer to him so your bodies were slightly pressed together. “Why’d you bring me out here?”

“I wanted to cheer you up of course.” He says, pressing a soft kiss on your forehead. “Wait... is it alright I did that?”

“Well, that depends.” You lean over his shoulder and whisper in his ear. “Are you my friend or are you my boyfriend?”

“Boyfriend.” he blurts out immediately. “If that's what you want of course.” he adds, looking rather embarrassed at his quick answer.

You giggle at his adorable display. “Fred Weasley are you flustered? For the first time in your life?” “Shut it y/l/n.” he laughs, “Come on, you know you're gorgeous, and funny, and kind and you have a cute butt. Now tell me, will you or will you not be my girlfriend?” Despite the nonchalance of his tone, you could tell he was nervous. His eyes gave it away.

“A million times yes.” Putting your arms around his neck, you pull him in for a long kiss. It was head spinning and life changing. The two of you only pull away when there was not enough air left. You think I have a cute butt?” You ask, smirking at him.

He smiles, rolls eyes eyes and simply says “Hop on princess.”

You climb onto the back of his broomstick, wrapping your arms around his torso tightly before the two of you take off into the night.

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hauntedbythefanficsofmypast · 4 years

Text

When you need a Superfriend

By Nach0Ava

On Archive of Our Own

Tumblr user: @nach0ava

So I have not really watched Supergirl however when I read the first chapter I had to share this with you all! This is the first chapter by Nach0Ava. (Second chapter is on its way as well!) Marinette gets sent away by her parents to America! Please go read Nach0Ava's story!

Summary:

When Tom and Sabine believe Lila's lies, they send Marinette off to live with an old family friend in National City. When living with a government agent and a physiologist, how long is it until she gets figured out?

Chapter 1:

“I don’t understand! Why are you sending me away?”

Marinette looked up at her parents in disbelief. They had just told her that she was going to be sent to live with a family friend. In America! Sure, she could speak fairly good English, but it still didn’t make sense!

“Your recent behaviour has led us to think that the change could be good for you. Kelly and her girlfriend Alex are lovely people, and they might be better equipped to deal with you than we are.”

As her mother spoke, Marinette felt a bitterness rise in her. Of course. Lila. She had made good on her threat, managing to turn even her parents against her. Claiming that she was involved in a gang, she had an older boyfriend, she did drugs, the list went on. And when Tom and Sabine had caught Marinette out past curfew one too many times, they took it as the truth. She couldn’t tell them that she was Ladybug, so all she had was half-hearted excuses. Still, she needed a way to stay in Paris, as she couldn’t be Ladybug somewhere else, and if there was no Ladybug, there was no-one to catch the akuma, and no-one to cast the cure, never mind all her guardian duties…

She was getting off track. She had a goal and she needed to accomplish it. Just like taking down an akuma. Except she couldn’t hit this problem really hard for it to go away.

“Is there any way I could stay in Paris? I’ll switch schools, I’ll go live with grandpa Roland, I’ll do anything!”

Tom and Sabine exchanged a look. They didn’t want to believe it, but they had to make sure.

“Honey, calm down, aren’t you worried about an akuma?”

Marinette started pacing as she rambled, mostly to herself.

“Right, I’ll get upset, then you guys will get mad at me, and then one or both of you will be akumatised and then I’ll have that whole mess to deal with.”

Tom reached out a hand to her shoulder to stop her pacing.

“You aren’t worried about you getting akumatised?”

Marinette shook her head.

“No no, I’ll be fine.”

A slight push from her bag and the looks from her parents made her backtrack.

“I mean, I’m really good at calming down before they get to me, I mean, it’s worked so far right?”

She let out a nervous chuckle while her parents stared at her.

“Marinette… Are you working with Hawkmoth?”

Marinette looked for the start of a smile from her mum, the laughter in her dad’s eyes, anything to say they were joking. When the just kept staring she burst into laughter.

“Haha, you guys… You guys really thought… Haha, that’s hilarious!”

Her parents failed to see the humour and gave her thatlook.

“Remember all those times I’ve been attacked? Reflekta, Horificator, pretty much any akuma that clones or traps people I’ve gotten tangled up in.”

Not technically a lie, she never said she got hitspecifically, but she definitely got attacked.

“Well, maybe you should get out of Paris anyway. It’s clearly not safe here, and maybe it’s best for you to leave. You’ll like it in National City, they even have their own superheros!”

Great. A reminder of what I have to give up because of Lila. She was about to keep protesting, but she felt three quick pushed on her side by Tikki. We need to talk.Her argument died on her tongue and she sighed.

“When am I meant to leave?”

Her parents exchanged relived looks.

“The plane is booked for next Friday. That gives you about a week to pack up. We could mail over a box with all of your sewing things once you get settled, if Kelly and Alex are ok with it of course.”

Marinette fought the eyebrow that was threating to raise. A week? I was hoping for some more time to test and train a new guardian, and a new holder for Tikki. It would be a rush, and there weren’t many people she trusted anymore. Still, there was work to be done, so she had to get started.

“I guess I’ll go start packing then. Can I be un-grounded so I can spend my final week saying goodbye and sorting things out?”

Her parents nodded, glad she was taking this so well.

“Of course honey, just not tonight ok? It’s getting rather late.”

Marinette nodded and ran up to her room, shutting the trapdoor quickly. She went up onto her bed and starting crying into her pillow, feeling the weight of all the kwami comforting her. Eventually she rolled on to her back, drying her tears.

“I’m sorry Tikki, you said you wanted to talk?”

She looked at her expectantly. Marinette already knew what Tikki wanted. She needed to find a new wielder and Guardian, and she shouldn’t have been putting it off, but sometimes it felt good to cry. Tikki came to settle on her lap and patted her leg comfortingly.

“Marinette I know what you’re thinking, and you don’t have to give up being Ladybug or being Guardian. So you better stop that train of thought right now missy.”

Marinette sat up, blinking. How could she… Oh.

“I’m an idiot.”

Tikki giggled while she flew up and booped her nose, while Kaalki sniffed from the corner.

“I can’t believe you forgot about me Guardian. You’ve given me out before!”

Marinette giggled at the kwami’s haughty attitude.

“Sorry Kaalki, I got a bit too emotional to think clearly.”

Kaalki just grabbed a sugar cube with a huff and flew off. Marinette climbed off her bed and grabbed her bright pink suitcase.

“So who wants to help me pack?”

~~<3~~

Chloe, Kagami, Luka and Marinette were all sitting at a table at a café during their lunch break. Luka had graduated already, so he was usually free to hang out. Chloe had come up to Marinette not too long after Lila’s takeover with an apology. Marinette had been wary at first, but Chloe was actually really nice when she wasn’t putting up an act. She had soon proven herself and had been given another chance at being a hero, under the new name Honeybee. Kagami had approached her after Adrien had asked for advice on the Lila situation. She had hated his passive approach, and when she had tried to talk to him about it, he just refused her help, ignoring the fact that he had asked for her help. Kagami had come to offer her help, and they become friends soon after. She had re-claimed the dragon, under the new name Tempête. Luka had heard Lila’s heart song and immediately knew that was someone that he didn’t want to hang around. He had tried warning Juleka and the rest of Kitty Section, but Lila had told them that having an older singer wasn’t a good look. He had been kicked out, and Marinette had been there to comfort him with pastries and musicals. After she had introduced everyone to each other, they had become a tightly knit group. So, as one could imagine, they weren’t taking this well.

“They gave you a week? That’s ridiculous, utterly ridiculous!”

Kagami made a noise of displeasure as well.

“Sending you to America seems a bit extreme, what reason did they give again?”

Marinette scoffed.

“My ‘recent behaviour’ or something like that. Also known as, Lila. Oh, that’s not even the best part.”

Marinette gave out a dry chuckle and everyone looked on in interest.

“Apparently, I’m working with Hawkmoth.”

Luka plucked a string on his guitar, sending out a loud note. Chloe just stared in disbelief, and Kagami made for her foil.

“I’m going to run them through with my sword.”

Kagami gripped it tightly, ready to get up and make good on her threat, but Marinette grabbed it from her, unbothered by the fencer’s unimpressed glare.

“No-one is stabbing anyone. I don’t really have a choice, so I just have to suck it up and deal with it. Besides, it could be good to get away from Lila.”

Chloe was the first to get up to give her a hug, followed by Luka, and then by Kagami, who Marinette wasn’t completely sure that she wasn’t just trying to get her sword back.

“It’ll be ok guys, we can still video chat through Skype or something. I won’t be able to text, because I’ll be on an American phone plan, but we can figure something out!”

Chloe pulled away and took out her phone, tapping away immediately.

“I’m going to get you an amazing phone plan, with unlimited overseas. Same for the rest of you. That way, we can all talk and not worry about the fact that there’ll be an ocean dividing us.”

Marinette slowly took the phone and added it to her slowly growing pile, pointedly ignoring the glare Chloe shot her.

“I’m sure there are other, free, ways to contact each other. I think there’s an online service, what’s the name in English? Chaos or something like that?”

Luka strummed at his guitar in thought before pulling up an app on his phone.

“Is this the one you were thinking of?”

He had opened Discord, in dark mode of course, and had his profile open.

“Yeah, that’s the one! We can talk on there, and it has the bonus of being accessible from computers! So, no reason to go overboard, ok Chloe?”

Chloe humped and opened up the app store, downloading Discord. Kagami noticed what she was doing and mirrored her. They all took a few minutes to make accounts and become friends, before Luka, the one with the most experience, had set up a server for them all. Quickly choosing nicknames, Marinette pocketed her phone with a grin.

“Now that that’s done, anyone want to come help me pick some things to take?”

~~<3~~

It felt like the week passed quickly, lessons passing by in a blur. She didn’t pay much attention, just enough to keep Mrs Bustier satisfied. She didn’t bother alerting anyone in the class (outside of Chloe) that she was leaving, ignoring their taunts and insults. Chloe and Kagami had been big helps in learning how to ignore them, so now they rolled off her like water on a duck. She made sure not to bring anything valuable, most of her stuff was in a suitcase anyway. On her final day, she only had her schoolbooks, the school assigned tablet, and three neatly wrapped gifts. As she was packing up to go meet her friends for a final goodbye, she was stopped by Alya.

“I need you to make a dress for the upcoming school dance.”

Marinette briefly noted that this was a demand, rather than a request, but she just started her usual commission speech with a sigh.

“Depending on the materials used and the time it takes to make, the dress could cost anywhere from €300 to €500. There will also be shipping costs, plus the fact I’m not taking commissions right now, so it will probably be a few weeks before I might be able to get started on it.”

Alya was staring at Marinette like she had grown another head.

“€300, what are you talking about? I’m not paying youfor a dress, and you make mine every year, so what’s the problem? I can’t wait a few weeks, the dance is next weekend!”

Marinette sighed and pushed past the taller girl.

“The problem is that I don’t have time, materials are expensive, and I made you those dresses when we were friends. But we’re not now. So, leave me alone. Goodbye Alya.”

She walked out to meet her friends, leaving Alya behind, too stunned to talk. When she snapped out of it, she grumbled to herself.

“She’ll see reason on Monday. She has no right to refuse after all she’s done to Lila! Maybe if she makes Lila’s dress too, she’ll forgive her! Lila’s nice like that, Marinette will come around after making up for everything she’s done!”

Alya walked away, satisfied, planning her new dress in her mind.

Marinette ran up to her friends, engulfing them in hugs. They all hugged right back, sad to see her go. Marinette suddenly pulled away from the hug, and grabbed three parcels out of her bag. She handed them all out, urging them to open them. Luka opened his first, finding a beanie that perfectly matched his hair, with a teal snake pattern around the rim. Chloe went next, her patience not holding any longer. She got a headband with tiny bees embroidered all along it. Kagami received a red handkerchief, with an elemental dragon on one side, and a storm cloud on the other, a lightning strike going all the way across. They all started to thank her at once, with Marinette just blushing sheepishly.

“I just took note of all your favourite heroes, and added them to a design. It’s not that big of a deal.”

They all hugged again, before the clock chimed behind them, making Marinette jump.

“I have to go! I’ll send you all a message when I land, but you better not stay up for it if it’s late here!”

A chorus of “No promises!” filled her ears as she ran home, taking in the sights one more time. She burst into the bakery to find her mum still working the counter, and her dad busy baking. Not thinking much of it, she went up to her room to grab her belongings. After some quick cuddles from the kwami, she had everything she needed. Most flew into the suitcase, comfy in the hidden area Marinette had made, lined with a soft faux fur. Only Tikki and Kaalki flew into her jacket, ready to transform if need be. They had assured her they wouldn’t show up on the x-ray, so she was fine with having them in there. As she lifted her suitcase and went downstairs, her strength from being Ladybug shining through, she was surprised to see her parents still busy at work.

“Maman, Papa, I thought we were going to the airport now?”

Her parent’s exchanged looks before Tom stopped his baking and walked over.

“Honey, we can’t afford to come with you, we need to keep the bakery open. There’s an Uber outside for you, but you’ll have to go on your own. I’m sorry.”

He pulled her into a hug, one she half-heartedly returned. She walked over to hug her mum as well, and went outside with her suitcase.

This was it.

She was really being sent away.

All because of some dumb liar.

With a comforting press coming from inside her jacket, she got in the Uber, prepared to start her new life.

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous marinette #marinette dupen chang #miraculous au #miraculous fandom #miraculoustalesofladybugandcatnoir #ml salt fic #superfamily #supergirl #arrowverse #kelly olsen #alex danvers #lila bashing #lila salt #class salt #alya+salt #chloe sugar

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secretkeeper13 · 3 years

Text

Secure

This fic is inspired by and a continuation of sorts to my Christmas fic, Wish. The fic contains some of my head-canon about what happened to Ginny in the Chamber before Harry arrived. In an abundance of caution, please note a potential TW for verbal abuse, similar to Ron and the locket Riddle in DH (but there is no physical or sexual abuse of any kind).

Also, this is the first time I’ve written full out smut without a fade to black, which was both difficult and intimidating! Thank you to @thedistantdusk for reading it and for your encouragement :)

Read the first part below, or the whole fic on Ao3.

The invitation surprised her a bit. They’d been sitting in the garden after her birthday dinner, still at the table, sipping their drinks and watching the sunset. The sky was ablaze with swirls of burnished red and bright orange, casting a warm glow across the garden. Harry was next to her, his arm draped across the back of her chair, his hand resting on her shoulder, her hand resting on the top of his thigh. Hermione was talking to them from across the table about the short holiday she and Ron were taking with her parents to the Lakes over the weekend.

“They’re really looking forward to it. I think they missed England this past year. And I wanted to do something with them before we go back to Hogwarts in a few weeks.”

At the mention of Hogwarts, Ginny felt a flare of anxiety. It’s still weeks away, she told herself firmly, trying to ignore the pit that had developed in her stomach.

“It’ll be nice to get away for a bit,” Harry said to Hermione, breaking Ginny from her thoughts. She could detect a hint of wistfulness in his tone. She knew how hard he’d been working lately with the Death Eater trials. He’d had to testify in nearly all of them. She gave his leg a slight squeeze with her hand, and he smiled at her.

“‘Arry and Ginny, you should come visit us at ‘ze cottage this weekend.”

Surprised, she looked up at Fleur, who was sitting next to Hermione.

“The weather has been beautiful, and a weekend by the sea would do nicely for you both, I think,” Fleur continued, confidence radiating from her tone, as always.

Ginny looked at Harry to see his reaction to the invitation. He raised an eyebrow and shrugged his shoulder almost imperceptibly, which she understood to mean why not?

“Thank you, Fleur; we’d like that. I’ll let Mum and Dad know.”

“Let me know what?” Her mother appeared behind Fleur as suddenly as if she’d apparated.

“Fleur invited Harry and I to stay with them at the cottage this weekend, Mum.”

“Oh how lovely, dear. It’ll be beautiful there this time of year.”

She turned to Harry as her Mum bustled back off to the kitchen with an empty platter. “Pack your trunks then, yeah?”

Three days later, they stood at the hearth in the Burrow, Harry holding their overnight bags, and Ginny holding a tin of biscuits she’d made with Mum earlier.

“Enjoy yourselves now,” her Mum said, hugging them both.

Ginny stepped into the green flames and re-emerged into the whitewashed walls of the sitting room of Shell Cottage, Harry following at her heels. She cast cleansing charms to remove the soot as Fleur and Bill entered from the kitchen.

Fleur embraced them both, kissing them on each cheek. Ginny hugged Bill and handed him the tin of biscuits.

“It’s nice being able to use magic out of school now, isn’t it?” Bill said, his arm still around Ginny.

“Well, it’s nice to be able to do it legally at least,” Ginny replied with a wink.

Bill laughed. “Not much for rules in this family, are we?”

“No,” Harry chimed in. “But I suppose that’s why I get on so well with you lot.” Bill chuckled and ruffled Ginny’s hair.

“Let me take you upstairs so you can put away your things,” Fleur said, ushering them to the narrow stairwell as Bill took the biscuits into the kitchen.

They climbed the steep stairs until they reached the landing. Fleur opened the furthest door to the right, revealing a small room with whitewashed walls and a window that looked out over the cliff onto the sea. The window was framed by airy light blue drapes. A double bed with a fluffy, white duvet was in the middle of the wall next to the window.

“I think you will be comfortable in ‘zis room. The view is very nice.” Fleur said holding the door open for them.

I take back every time I called her Phlegm, Ginny thought, surprised and overjoyed at the prospect of getting to sleep in the same room as Harry for the weekend without the usual sneaking around.

Harry looked over at her with a confused expression, clearly unsure as to whether they were meant to stay in the room together.

“Thank you Fleur, this is lovely. Harry, can you bring in the bags please,” Ginny said, trying to give Harry a hint.

Harry stood in the doorway, still looking puzzled. “Erm, are we both staying in this room?”

Fleur raised her eyebrow. “Unless you would prefer separate rooms?”

Ginny flashed Harry a look that indicated he’d better not be a noble idiot by passing up a weekend together in a shared bedroom.

“Oh, erm, no, I wouldn’t… I just wanted to make sure it was alright with you and Bill if we stay in the same.”

“You are both of age now, non? Don’t worry about Bill. He owes Ginny a favor anyhow.” Fleur smiled at her. “I did not forget ‘zat Christmas morning Ginny. What you did was very kind.”

Ginny felt slightly guilty, as she’d gotten five galleons from Bill in exchange for letting him and Fleur have a private moment in her room Christmas morning before last, but she certainly wasn’t going to mention that to Fleur now.

“I must go finish dinner,” Fleur said. “Come downstairs when you ‘ave unpacked.” She left the room and shut the door.

Ginny wrapped her arms around Harry, who still looked a bit stunned. “This is a nice surprise, isn’t it?” she murmured into his chest. “For a moment, I thought your stupid nobility was going to ruin it.”

Harry smiled. “It’s got limits. A weekend in a room alone with you....” he said wryly, and then a look of nervousness crossed his face. “But I hope it won’t be awkward with Bill. I don’t want to throw it in your family’s face that we’re… you know.”

Ginny snorted. He was adorably thick sometimes. “Harry, you do realize everyone in the family probably knows we’re shagging, right?”

“What?” Harry said, looking panicked. “We’ve been so careful. They’ve never caught either of us out of bed.”

“It doesn’t exactly take loads of N.E.W.T.s to figure it out, love. We told them we got together my fifth year, we’ve been inseparable since the war ended, they all know about your near-death experience-“

“Actual death experience,” he interrupted.

“Please don’t remind me. And to top it all off, you’re smiling and looking far too pleased with yourself most mornings. I don’t know if you remember, but you used to look like this,” she screwed up her face into what she thought was a spot-on impression of sulking, broody Harry.

He laughed. “Well, I’ve tried to be discreet, at least.”

“And we have, I’m just telling you, they probably all know.”

He sighed. “Well, hopefully it’s not too awkward with Bill.”

“It’ll be fine. And like Fleur said, Bill owes me one. Let’s go to dinner.”

They had a pleasant dinner. Ginny, somewhat apprehensively, tried the Bouillabaisse that Fleur made, but found that she actually quite liked it. Bill and Fleur told them about their trip to France to visit Fleur’s family, and then the conversation turned to Harry’s first Auror mission, which was starting in a few weeks.

At the mention of summer’s end, a pit formed in Ginny’s stomach, and her mind wandered as Harry spoke. She dreaded leaving him to return to Hogwarts. Last year was miserable, of course, and for reasons far worse than just missing Harry. She tried to tell herself it would be easier this year- they could write to each other, he could visit her on Hogsmeade weekends, and they’d see each other over Christmas- but it didn’t change the fact that they’d be apart again. And this time, Harry would be working at the Ministry, surrounded by throngs of witches who would undoubtedly throw themselves at him, and he would no longer be distracted by fighting a homicidal maniac who wanted to kill him. Meanwhile, she’d be a schoolgirl stuck at Hogwarts- little Ginny, always the youngest- always the one left behind.

She knew that Harry loved her. She knew that he would never mess her about. But she couldn’t help the fears that crept in the corners of her mind- the fear that another year away from each other would be too difficult, the fear that being apart would result in growing apart. And her darkest fear of all, the one that hid and scuttled in the most shadowed corner of her mind, planted years ago by a silky-voiced stranger who she thought was her friend, was that Harry would realize that in his new, grown-up life, he could do anything he wanted, have any witch he wanted, and decide that he didn’t want her.

“What do you think, Gin?” Harry’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts.

“Oh um...” She flushed. “What were you saying? I’m sorry, I got distracted by the view.” She motioned to the window by the sink, which looked out over the sea.

Harry grinned at her. “I was saying I’d like to try to go down to the beach tomorrow at low tide.”

She smiled back. “I’d like that.”

They finished dinner and then went into the sitting room. Bill poured them wine, and Fleur brought out a tray of cheeses and the biscuits Mum had made. They ate and drank as they chatted and listened to the wireless. At some point, Bill produced an Exploding Snap deck, and they took turns playing against one another, laughing at the explosions and goading the loser to finish their drink.

Some time later, she sat cross legged on the rug next to the hearth, midway through a game of Exploding Snap with Harry, feeling slightly tipsy and pleasantly warm from the combination of the heat from the fire and the wine, when Bill approached and knelt down next to them on the rug.

“Alright, you two?”

“Fine thanks, just kicking Harry’s arse.” Bill chuckled as Harry shook his head playfully.

“We’re going to head up to bed. The windows are charmed so you can leave them open but nothing can get inside, so no need to worry there. Knock on our door if you need anything, alright?”

“Thanks Bill. Goodnight,” Harry replied.

“Night,” Ginny said, as she kissed Bill on the cheek.

When he was gone, Ginny looked at Harry from over the cards. “Your move, Potter.”

He smirked at her. “Potter now, is it?”

“I take thrashing you at Exploding Snap seriously, what can I say?”

She gazed at him over the cards. The rippling flames from the firelight reflected in his eyes, which were darker than usual.

“I think I should make my next move upstairs,” he said, his voice low, desire evident in his tone. Her stomach fluttered, and she bit her bottom lip. With a swish of her wand, she sent the cards flying neatly back into the box. With a flick of his, he extinguished the fire.

They climbed the stairs to their room, being careful to tread quietly on the landing. The second the door closed behind them, she heard the click of the locking charm.

“Muffliato?” she reminded him.

“Already done,” he said.

He leaned down and crashed his lips to hers, kissing her passionately, one hand winding into her hair, the other caressing low on her back. He slowly walked her backward until her legs reached the bed, and she lay back, pulling him towards her.

She reached for the hem of his shirt, but he held her wrist to still her hand. “Wait,” he said.

She looked at him quizzically, one brow raised, unsure as to why he was stopping her. His cheeks flushed. “It’s just, erm, we’ve got the night…”

She understood him perfectly. “We’ve never had all night together before, have we?”

He leaned down and kissed her neck, then moved his lips to the shell of her ear and whispered, “No. And I’d planned on taking my time.”

Read parts ii and iii (NSFW) on Ao3.

#hinny go to shell cottage #angst and smut #fluff too #hinny fanfic

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simplyclockwork · 3 years

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If you are still taking prompts I’d love a fic where Sherlock is in handcuffs for some (not sex related reason). Either he has been arrested, or Lestrade or John or Mycroft are trying to keep him out of trouble, or he put them on for an experiment and can’t get them off. Whatever you wish. The point being he is outraged to be in handcuffs, unable to get out of them. I’m over 18, though I’m not seeing this as a smutty piece. Thank you.

Sorry for the wait, anon! I've finally filled your prompt, which you can read below the page break, or on Ao3 here!

Thank you for the prompt and please feel free to send more in the future if you're okay with waiting a bit for it to be filled :)

The great Sherlock Holmes had landed himself in a rather interesting situation, all through his own fault and an unfortunate misjudgement. Typically, Sherlock knew, he could intellectualize his way out of most close calls and mishaps. But not today.

Today, Sherlock Holmes was stuck in a pair of handcuffs. Not only was he stuck in said handcuffs, but he’d had the not-so-brilliant idea of cuffing himself to the towel rack in the bathroom. There was a purpose to it, as there always was when he conducted an experiment. An old cold case, a dead man discovered handcuffed to a towel rack in a bathroom, keys nowhere in sight. No sign of foul play or anyone having been in the house when the man’s unfortunate handcuffing occurred. Sherlock, intrigued, had worked to recreate the case using himself as a subject. In preparation, he had reinforced the towel rack, lifted a pair of proper cuffs from Lestrade’s utility belt at their last case, and locked himself in place in a mimicry of the unfortunate soul.

He then promptly dropped the key on the floor and kicked it — quite accidentally — far out of range beneath the claw-foot tub. That had been four hours ago, and Sherlock had been standing awkwardly between toilet and sink with his wrists locked over his head at an uncomfortable angle. His arms grew numb within the first half-hour, feeling lost within a half-hour after that, and now ached terribly. His legs were cramping, the discomfort alleviated only by Sherlock twisting his body in an awkward bend to sit on the toilet seat. And while that position rested his legs, it placed a terrible strain upon his shoulders, forcing him to revert to standing within five minutes.

He was, to put it mildly, furious. Also, just a touch embarrassed, not that he would admit that to anyone but himself.

All in all, the experiment was proving to be a dismal failure. Although, Sherlock was beginning to understand how the man might have died, seeing as he had locked himself in the bathroom while living alone, his family miles away out of the city, with no one expected at the flat for several days. It was now painfully — in a very literal sense — easy to see just how and why the man had died. The man’s motive for handcuffing himself in the first place was harder to understand. Unless he’d been aiming for a slow, awful death, in which case he’d clearly succeeded, judging by the pain radiating through Sherlock’s body.

As luck would have it, Sherlock did have a flatmate. A man who would, eventually, have to use the loo and would hopefully come to Sherlock’s rescue. But John was working today and wasn’t due home for another three hours.

With a bone-deep sigh and a wince for his aching body, Sherlock rested his forehead against the wall and settled in for a wait.

It was going to be a long day.

------------

It had been a long day.

Numerous staffing sick calls and several crotchety patients with rather awful, infectious symptoms had run John ragged throughout his shift at the clinic. His feet were dragging, his head pounding, when he finally dragged himself home and up the seventeen stairs to the flat where he lived with Sherlock. He wanted nothing more than to crack open a beer, order some takeaway, and plunk himself on the couch until he could take himself off to bed.

But first, John knew he would have to deal with whatever chaos Sherlock had enacted while John was at work. They had no case on, and Sherlock had been a whirlwind of boredom and frustration for the past several days. The night before, he had taken to a stack of cold cases dropped off by Lestrade as a blessing in disguise. John had gone to bed with Sherlock spreading case files all over the living room and muttering to himself, and he’d woken to more of the same. So it wasn’t entirely out of order for him to anticipate a similar tableau when he stepped through the entryway and into the sitting room.

The space did look much the same, festooned with a chaotic mess of papers and manila folders, grisly photographs spread over the walls, sofa, and coffee table. While all this was familiar, there was the apparent absence of one neurotic detective flatmate, missing among the mess.

John glanced at the coatrack, saw Sherlock’s familiar Belstaff and his scarf, both still hanging in their respective places. So he hadn’t gone out. There was no sign of a struggle, no sound of clinking laboratory glass in the kitchen, no surge of running water clanking through the flat’s old pipes. It was almost dangerously quiet, a kind of quiet John had begun to think of as ‘the calm before the storm.’

“Sherlock?” He closed the door behind him and moving deeper into the sitting room. There was no reply. Brow furrowed, John peered into the kitchen and confirmed that it was indeed empty. He called again, “Sherlock?”

Nothing.

With a rising sense of concern, John trotted down the hallway and peered into Sherlock’s room. It, too, was empty. The bed was perfectly made, the sheets unmarred since Sherlock had spent the night pacing the sitting room instead of sleeping.

John was beginning to wonder if something had happened to Sherlock. Could he have been taken? Forced away and whisked off to who knew where? He reached for his phone before his eyes landed on the fogged glass door beside the bed, the one that led to the bathroom. John paused, frowning. He hesitated for a moment before stepping closer and pressing his ear to the door, feeling a flicker of discomfort before he realized he heard nothing.

Or, wait… What was that? The sound wasn’t that of a running shower or the splash of a bath, nor was it the sound of teeth brushing, face washing, or bodily functions. It was, to John’s alarm, a low groan, one of discomfort, and not one he believed to be related to… well. Bathroom things.

John grabbed the doorknob, glad to find it unlocked, and swung into the bathroom after another brief hesitation. “Sherlock, are—” The words died on his lips as John froze, taking in the sight.

Said sight was Sherlock himself, handcuffed by the wrists to a fearfully strong towel rack, hanging limply with his sweat-soaked curls dangling in his face. He looked pale and pained, his face twisted by discomfort, half-awake and bent into an awkward position between toilet and sink.

“What in the bloody hell?” John managed once the initial shock had worn off. He started forward, frowning as Sherlock lifted his head and blinked blearily at him.

“Ah, John,” he said in a voice closer to a croak than his usual rumble, “there you are.”

“Yep, here I am,” John replied in disbelief, eyes moving rapidly over Sherlock as he tried to assess his condition. The red marks on Sherlock’s wrists and the pale, blueish hue of his fingers were concerning. “What happened? Did someone attack you?” He cast back over his memory of the sitting room. “Were we robbed?”

Sherlock shook his head and grimaced. He straightened with a groan, his features twisting with evident pain. “Not robbed,” he rasped, looking suddenly abashed.

“Then who did this to you?” John demanded.

Sherlock’s expression turned sheepish. “I did it to myself.”

The confession froze John in place, poised as he was to reach up and test the circulation in Sherlock’s fingers. He turned his head, coming face-to-face with Sherlock, inches apart, and blinked. “What?” When no answer was forthcoming, he asked, “Why? Is this some kind of kink? No judgement, but this doesn’t seem like it was meant to go this way.”

“It was for an experiment,” Sherlock replied in a clipped voice, avoiding John’s eyes before tilting his chin toward the tub. “The keys are under there.”

Still struggling to process Sherlock’s words, John automatically bent and felt beneath the tub, grabbing as his fingers encountered metal. He straightened up slowly, still bemused, the keys in hand. “What kind of experiment requires you to handcuff yourself to a towel rack?” John asked, reaching up to unlock Sherlock’s wrists and knowing the answer would likely be beyond him. No doubt, it would all be due to some inane reason John would never understand.

As Sherlock began to babble about the unsolved case — now solved at the expense of Sherlock’s circulation — John saw that he was right.

“So, let me get this straight,” he began, as Sherlock let out a grateful groan and began to rub at his freed wrists with clumsy fingers. “A man died handcuffed to his towel rack, and you thought it would be a brilliant idea to re-enact said scenario even though everything pointed to the man dying from said cuffing?”

Sherlock was silent for so long that John didn’t think he would answer. Then, slowly, he nodded. “Yes.”

John pressed a hand to his forehead, closing his eyes as he prayed for patience. “I will never understand you,” he said in an exhausted voice, suddenly wishing he’d had that beer before he bothered to look for his mad flatmate.

There was a smug edge to Sherlock’s voice as he replied, “I should hope not, John. The day you understand me will be the day there are no more mysteries to solve in the universe.”

Rolling his eyes, John snagged Sherlock’s elbow and steered him toward the kitchen. “God forbid,” he replied, trying and failing to keep a hold on his amusement. “Now, shut up and let me see to these wrists.”

Sherlock let John shove him into a chair with an indulgent smile. “Of course, Doctor Watson.”

#sherlock #prompt #prompt fill #humour #cracky #crack #simplyclockwork

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chalkrevelations · 3 years

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And finally, here we are, Episode 36 of Word of Honor, and I have some FEELINGS. Let me show you them.

There also will be Episode 37 here, btw, because I’m not gonna do a separate reaction for a three-minute episode, no matter how grateful I am that we got it.

(Spoilers, so if that’s not what you want right now, scroll on by and come back after you’ve watched it. Them.)

Let’s get to the meat of the episode right away: THE HAIRPIN. And Wen Kexing knowing Zhou Zishu would have it, because he’d definitely take it with him if he was going on a suicide mission! Y’all. I really have to yell about this for a minute: That’s how secure WKX has become in his knowledge of what he means to ZZS! After all that time angsting and hiding the truth of his identity and worrying that he’s not worthy of ZZS and that he’d be rejected if ZZS knew the truth about him! But now, WKX has finally reached a point where he understands and knows (zhiji, the one I know) he’s so important to ZZS that ZZS would never ever go off to die without taking his most precious possession, the hairpin that his husband gave him! I can’t. My heart. This is like a declaration, after all that time saying they were zhiji, that WKX finally is able to truly see ZZS as that, to know him in his bones, and all of this is also delivered in the middle of WKX in a strop, irritably chastising his husband as an evil brat for running away from home to get himself killed, with Gong Jun’s little >:( face in full effect, and I am so filled with love for this show and this couple at this point that I have to pause Youtube just so I can roll around on the sofa, clutching at my chest and scaring the cats with my inarticulate noises. This is so good, y’all. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted. Also, now you know how it feels, WKX, you asshole. Which I suppose is why you even confess that it will would be more painful for the one who survives when if the other dies. And you were prepared to do that to him a second time? I cannot believe you, you asshole. You get to sleep on the ice couch for a month.

And then there’s some Six Cultivation Power mind-melding and what looks to be an INCREDIBLY STUPID and HEARTBREAKING ending that would leave us Burying One of Our Gays, so it’s a good thing Episode 37 (all three minutes of it) exists. It would be nice, though, if the connective tissue from 36 to 37 made any sense. Or existed whatsoever. Just, like, throw me a bone, here, show. Some kind of explicit hand-waviness that actually gets mentioned for why Ye Baiyi apparently was not as smart as he thought he was and didn’t really know what he was talking about when he was doomsaying about how one of the pair will surely, oh surely perish. None of this “Sooooo, they managed to figure out the technique and master it?” from some random shidi who never actually gets an answer. I mean, the door was left open for fanwankery on this one, with what looks to be a very last-minute conceit of all this being a story told by grown-up Chengling to his disciples, which begs the question of how much of what he’s telling them is totally accurate, given any number of issues, including the spottiness of human recall, the possibility (based on the fact they’re still on the mountain in Ep 37) that Chengling never actually saw either of them again to get the full story, and the way Gao Xiaolian basically calls bs on the whole thing. But this is still a gossamer-thin thread on which to hang Ep 37. Ep 37 basically functions as reassurance because of the mere fact of its existence, because they’re clearly both alive, right there in front of your face, regardless of the other fact that it doesn’t actually make any sense, based on Ep 36. It ultimately doesn’t matter if there is no Step 2, because Step 3: Profit! is … right there. In evidence. Happening. On your screen. No matter how vaguely unsatisfying the lack of Step 2 may be.

I do feel like there’s an interesting meta thing going on here, in that the entire show has been about – let’s be honest, it was never really about the plot - queer-coding this couple in ways that supposedly fly just enough under the radar that people can handwave them as Just Good Friends and Brothers (I mean, I guess) with a Bury Your Gays tragic ending (ugh) for good measure. And Chengling is telling a story in-universe that seems to conform to some of this same formula. And yet, we all know well and good that these guys were husbands. (I mean, barring anything else, they’re a couple in the original source material, so checkmate, censorship.) So, are we supposed to carry the same assurance out of the show, on a meta level, that what appears to be happening at the end of Ep 36 - what we discover we’re learning through Chengling’s story-telling - isn’t really the truth? Just, look: While we’re getting the Good Friends and Brothers push, there’s stuff like obvious voice-over work that doesn’t match the much more queer version of what the actors actually said, which is apparently blazingly clear to any viewers who know Mandarin and can manage to lip-read. The show has literally put de-queered words into these characters’ mouths. You can’t trust what you hear. But apparently the show has also made this obvious enough that, if you’re a good enough speaker of the language the show is being told in, and you have a good enough eye, you can see what is actually going on. Are we being taught to trust our eyes more than our ears, are we being told that what we’re being told - by the end of Ep 36 on a meta level, by Ye Baiyi-through-Chengling’s-story on an in-universe level, and by what we learn about what happened from Chengling’s story, itself, also on an in-universe level - is inherently untrustworthy, but that if we “speak the language” of this show well enough, and have a good enough eye, we can decode it and see what “actually” happened and is later made explicit in Ep 37? Is Ep 37 canon? Does it matter, when “what is canon” is already so slippery on this show, where you can apparently lip-read something that’s different than what you’re hearing, and it functions as canon because of the mere fact of its existence, because it’s clearly … right there. In evidence. Happening. On your screen.

Anyway, just some thoughts on all that, which I guess is my own fanwankery work to join up the end of Ep 36 with Ep 37, which was, of course, delightful. No matter how much I might bemoan the lack of Step 2, I had a stupid, dopey grin on my face all the way through Ep 37 and might have even teared up a tiny bit at the very end. You can’t prove anything. Lemme tell you, though, it’s a good idea to have 37 on hand when you run into the brick wall of the end of 36, because while WKX’s willingness to sacrifice himself for love is theoretically great, it is not something I actually want to see come to fruition, given the pall it would cast over the entire joyous experience that the ZZS/WKX relationship is throughout the rest of the show. Sure, there’s always fic, but there’s a heaviness that hangs over the Bury Your Gays trope, and it’s retroactively ruined shows for me before. So THANK YOU, to those of you who hooked me up so I could immediately move on to Ep 37.

What else? Other things:

OK, so, first, I have to get this out of the way: Did we actually already see all of those “flashbacks” we get in the first part of the ep, during the conversation between Zhou Zishu and Jing Beiyuan, when all the political stuff is supposed to be finally falling together to give us the big picture? I would have to go back and scrummage through those eps to be sure, and I’m not going to spend time doing that (yet) when I still need to do some keysmashing about Zhou Zishu and Wen Kexing OH MY GOD, but I do feel like some of this was new information, not just stuff that I’d glossed over because it didn’t seem important at the time? If so, not on, show. I will be keeping an eye out for that on re-watch. I am, however, perfectly willing to accept – if it turns out to be true – that you utterly distracted me with the failboats-in-love storyline, to the detriment of my focus on, you know, plot or whatever. It’s happened before. (It’s one of the reasons I need to go back and watch The Untamed again, at some point.)

OMG FAKE KEY! And as ZZS points out, this has been foreshadowed for us from early on, with WKX’s fake Glazed Armors plot. :bangs table with fist: YES. This show is going to reward re-watching SO MUCH.

Duan Pengju, oh my god, this asshole. The look on his face when the Armory didn’t open was so gratifying. Also, ha. I wondered when ZZS was finally going to be done with his shit. In fact, so much gratification in this whole scene. Xie Wang’s face when he realizes WKX double-crossed him – what, did you think you were the only tricksy one in that little alliance, Xie’er? And, holy shit – I cannot believe that Xie’er actually words this as WKX failing him, taking us back around to this theme one more time again. I would maybe feel a little worse for you if you hadn’t been a hairsbreadth away from killing him before ZZS stopped you in the last ep, Xie’er. Also if you hadn’t helped get A-Xiang killed. So I think the fail in this relationship is going both ways. Unfortunately, it doesn’t look like you’re going to get the time WKX had to start untangling yourself from the ways your abuser has fucked you up and over.

It once again becomes blindingly clear why ZZS has been my ride-or-die during this whole thing: Under the grumpy, irritable, day-drinking yet somehow eminently practical exterior, he’s actually an idealistic do-gooder who just wants to make the world a better place for people and sacrifice himself for great justice. Never let it be said that I don’t have a type. Also, I mean. Zhang Zhehan’s FACE. Let’s don’t discount the power of that.

Final word: Don’t miss Ep 37. All three minutes of it. They are perhaps the most important three minutes of the entire show.

(I mean, not FINAL final word. I expect to be going back for a re-watch and posting more things, particularly on eps from before I started typing up 1000K-word reactions this first time around.)

#zhou zishu #wen kexing #zhang chengling #ye baiyi?#sure why not #ye baiyi #xie wang #duan pengju #word of honor #word of honor episode reax

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thatgirlwritingficsatnight · 3 years

Text

Odi et Amo I

Odi et amo. Quare id faciam fortasse requiris? nescio, sed fieri sentio et excrucior

Catullus, 85

After a few years of working in the USA for Disney and playing the role of The White Fox in Marvel Cinematic Universe you came back to your motherland - Korea only to be greeted with hatred and contempt. To make things harder for you the universe sends you the most irritating neighbour ™. Will you be able to find your happiness and accomplish your dream of becoming loved actress in Korea without complying with standards of patriarchal society?

pairing: Park Jinyoung x reader

genre: actor au

warnings: angst, foul language (please don’t read it if you’re not old enough)

words: 5582

A/N: Hi this is my first fanfic ever, and so there are few things I have to say before you hopefully enjoy reading it. 1. English is not my first language so there may be some grammatical errors. I’m sorry, perhaps in the future there will be someone to proofread my works. 2. I’m terribly sorry for my interpunction :( for some reason they don’t teach it here and so it may be terrible. I am reading about it more but it’s not easy for me as I haven’t practiced enough. I’m really sorry if it’s awkward. 3. This was supposed to be long oneshot, but I was told not all people enjoy long reads on tumblr like I do, so I decided to make a miniseries out of it. Let me know if you enjoyed it and if you want me to write some scenarios, or post more of my works (i have a lot of them in the depths of my drive lol). Love, thatgirlwritingficsatnight.

***

You sat in spacious sofa in your old apartment in Korea. A sigh leaving your lips as you looked through the headlines.

"The black sheep of Korean show biz comes back after four years in USA"

"Whose heart will she eat now? National heartbreaker came back to Korea"

"Go back to USA you wh*re! - internet went wild over L/N Y/N"

"L/N Y/N comes back in outrageous style"

Most of them were a summary or perhaps a reminder for k-netizens why they should hate you; it's because you dated who you wanted to and for how long you wanted to, it's because this one time in the talk show you told off male host when he kept asking about your private life and because the other time you told another one to stop giving you all the questions about clothes and make up while your male co-star got to answer some deep questions about character development and that's to name the few reasons that came instantly to your mind. Of course some articles had to focus on your airport fashion too. The conservative Korean society had a problem with your bra, or rather a lack of thereof under your designer t-shirt. You left out an irritated groan as you scrolled to the comments. They were vicious and vulgar, you don't know what else did you expect honestly. You tossed the phone and buried your face in your hands fighting the urge to tweet something about the nasty people and how they should keep their antediluvian opinions to themselves. You sighed again perhaps if you were in a different country you'd do that, but here with systematic misogyny, where women were supposed to always smile and nod their heads, here where they got paid 60% of men's pay... you'd most likely be crucified. Then again who if not you would come to your defense? You knew the answer — no one, that realization was enough to anger you even more. The blood was boiling inside you as you snatched your phone back and went into Twitter silently mouthing apologies to your manager who'd be blowing your phone in just a few minutes.

"Yes, I don't wear bras. No, it's not a topic for your article nor your problem. I also know it may shock some people but my dating life is not a topic for your entertainment either."

"It baffles me how Korean society thinks its country is in the group of one of the most civilized ones but still treats women as if we were stuck in 50s."

Your phone was already blowing with notifications, you could see some new articles already popping and soon after that it buzzed as your manager tried to reach you. You silenced your phone and left it on the coffee table while you moved to the kitchen. You got yourself a lamp of wine and watched always busy streets of Seoul from a window. It was already dark and it looked like rivers of light with cars and street lights constantly illuminating them. You were deep in your thoughts as you pondered if you made a good decision. You had a good life in California. You had your best friend there, a house with a pool and many good opportunities for roles you declined. In those four years you became an international star after your role as Marvel's White Fox — a gumiho superhero. You knew in a year or two Disney would ask you to come back to make more movies and most likely you would but you couldn't stay in the USA any longer. Somehow, even though it seemed illogical considering the warm welcome you've got, you still missed your home. You missed Korea the country that loved to hate you. You weren't exaggerating when you said they loved to hate you, for instance you always played villains in Korean films and dramas and the Korean audience loved it. They loved to hate your characters and so every time you tried to audition for a role that would be first or second lead you'd always be cast as the villain. The very first time you played a good character was when you portrayed the White Fox for Marvel, they chose you because you were half American (on your father's side) and because you used to play femme fatales and that was kinda the character. You accepted the role secretly hoping that it would change the way Korea has seen you. It didn't. They said you were too Westernised and that you weren't true Korean and had their own perfect casting with actresses that weren't as scandalous as you. Well, at least the rest of the world loved you. Nonetheless, you came back. You still weren't sure if it was a good idea or for how long, or even if you'd work here or just relax; you were just happy you could eat unhealthy convenience store food whenever you felt like and that kimchi was a standard and not something you'd only find in specific shops. Speaking of, you craved some ramyun with cheese and perhaps some yakult as well. You changed your clothes into a pair of black sweats and a black hoodie and chose to wear a black cap and face mask as well. You checked yourself in a huge mirror in the corridor. Your outfit screamed two things: first was "I am a crazy murderer from drama" and and second "look at me I'm a celebrity". You sighed. Honestly what else could you wear? You decided not to change and went out to the nearest convenience store.

You walked slowly taking your time to get to the store while listening to Def Soul hoping lazy beats would calm your nerves. You bopped your head to the rhythm as you entered the store and went straight into ramyun section. You picked your favourite spicy one and grabbed some cheese, yakult and cherry coke. The girl working there seemed really young and you caught her yawning. She apologized and you smiled warmly although she probably couldn't see it through the mask.

"Don't worry about it I'm tired today as well." you said, and she smiled. You paid with a card and regretted not withdrawing any money so that you could tip her. You remember when you were just a bit younger than her, working in similar way but back in the USA; she’d appreciate extra cash. You took the ramyun to prepare it and hummed as you waited for the noodles to get soft. Food always got you to feel better. You were spreading cheese on your noodles when middle-aged men entered the shop. Soon you'd believe it's not your night or perhaps that you got some bad karma, or that you were just cursed. The men came up to the cashier and asked for a pack of cigarettes. You were about to slurp the first noodles when he spoke.

"When will you finish your shift cutie maybe I can pick you up?" He chuckled and the girl tried to smile politely although anyone with eyes could see how uncomfortable she felt. She tried to decline his advances with a small scared voice clearly she was too young to feel comfortable enough to just curse him out.

"You sluts are always the same. You smile at me flirt with me and then act all fucking.."

"Aish!" you didn't let him finish. And he turned your way surprised someone else was in the store. "I lost all appetite," you dropped the chopsticks next to the bowl and moved your gaze at the male: disgust was rolling off from you in waves, and he flinched upon meeting your eyes, "then again who wouldn't if they had to eat in the presence of trash?" You watched as his face got all red and furious, it seemed almost twisted now. "How dare you speak like that to me, you bi..." once again he couldn't finish his sentence this time you silenced him with your swift actions. You closed the distance between the two of you and grabbed his hand firmly. Then you put it behind his back and twisted it painfully enough for him to groan.

"Call me a bitch, I dare you." you said quietly, but he didn't respond, he just jerked trying to escape your hold. He smelled like tobacco, digested alcohol and grease. You scrunched your nose and took him out of the store. You pushed him lightly, and yet he still lost balance and fell. He shot you a glare full of hate and fury while you tried to remain calm. Truth to be told you were scared, yes you jumped in to help the girl, and successfully silenced him, but that was most likely only because he wasn't sober. You were silently asking universe to help you out as you mustered your courage and played your part of "fearless Y/N”.

"Leave or I'll call the police and tell them you harassed both me and the girl." He stood up and spit under your legs before he left. You sighed, a tight knot unravelling itself finally in your belly, adrenaline that was brought up with the surge of fury disappearing now, leaving you bit wobbly. You made mental note to thank the director of The White Fox for making you take those material arts classes, they came in handy. You came back to the store, you didn’t pay attention to the girl that watched you in awe. You just wanted to enjoy your noodles. Finally, able to take the bite you let out disgusted groan they got too soft. Letting out resigned sigh you opened the yakult.

"Miss Y/N.." small voice started next to you. The girl was blushing and smiling. She was cute, had long brown hair and a mole just under her left eye. You smiled back and it seemed to encourage her. "Thank you. You are like the coolest unnie ever. I will always support you and fight anyone that calls you names and.." You chuckled at her eagerness and sudden flood of words. "Thanks kid. What's your name? "Kim Seoyun." "Nice to meet you Kim Seoyun. I'm L/N Y/N." you said with a smile, and she blushed even more. You looked through the window and bit the inside of your cheek. What if he comes back when you're gone, you couldn’t risk it. "Tell me Seoyun when do you end your shift?" She took out a phone from her pocket. "Oh, in ten minutes." "Great I'll wait for you and order you a taxi." "Ah, unnie you don't have to… you already helped me enough and.." "Nonsense", you cut her off "he may come back and I'll sleep better knowing you are safe at home."

She nodded and came back to work. Leaving you with your soggy and lukewarm noodles. You thought about throwing it out but you hated wasting food and so you made yourself eat at least a bit although now it was cold and awfully soft. Ten minutes passed rather quickly and soon you found yourself standing next to the taxi with Seoyun. You gestured her to get in, but she stood in front of you and suddenly bowed deeply while extending her hands in front of you. Much to your surprise she was giving you a popsicle.

"Y/N-unnie I know it's not much but I wanted to thank you..."

You grinned at her while taking the gift. You quickly unwrapped it and tried it, it was strawberry flavoured.

"Thank you. It's the best popsicle I've ever had." You said honestly. Seoyun blushed and entered the car but before the taxi took off she lowered the car window and screamed.

"Y/N-unnie from today I'm your biggest fan! Unnie fighting!" You laughed.

"Mmm. Thank you!" After that car took off and you happily walked back home. Earphones in, phone in your hand as you decided to order some food since the ramyun sadly haven't been quite satisfying. You slurped at the popsicle even though it was the time of year when nights got colder. The taste of strawberries melted on your tongue. It was the first time someone in Korea told you they were your fan, it was also the first time a Korean fan gave you a gift. Despite the chilly air, and cold ice against your lips you felt warmth spreading from your chest. Grinning to yourself, you scrolled through different restaurants still thinking of what should you eat and then you bumped into someone or rather someone bumped into you. Popsicle fell to the ground and so did your phone with earphones brutally torn out from your ears. The man who bumped into you was in a very similar attire as your own he even wore a mask and a cap. You frowned upon realizing the gift from your first Korean fan was melting next to you. You were however about to apologize before he spoke in irritated tone while collecting some boxes scattered around you two.

"Next time watch where you're going." The blood inside you boiled the third time this evening and you snapped back at him before he could add anything else.

"Maybe you should watch where you're going." your tone was so aggressive it was clear all of the frustrations from today's evening build up in you. You gathered your things quickly.

"Excuse me..." he said straightening as he glared at you. His tone was promising a fight or a lecture at least. You didn't feel like any of that so once again today you didn't let someone finish their sentence, a habit of yours as it seems.

"Apologies accepted, asshole." you said fiercely and left him standing there with his stupid boxes in a state of shock. You got into the elevator and decided not to pay anyone any more of your thoughts tonight. You smiled at wooden popsicle stick and quickly forgot about the man downstairs.

Jinyoung was still shocked but also amused by your witty comeback. He knew he reacted upon his emotions when he was rude to you. He was just angry that he had to move the second time in the last two months. Sasaengs somehow found out about his last apartment in which he lived for only two weeks and just started feeling at home. Few days ago they found him, and he was harassed once again. Tired and angry he acted without thinking when you bumped into him and his belongings scattered. He wanted to apologize right away but you growled back at him, and he got irritated, so he wanted to lecture you or at least tell you not to interrupt other people when they are speaking, but you did just that and in very smart matter at that as well. Now Jinyoung was riding an elevator trying to pinpoint your face, he was sure he had seen you somewhere already. He entered his flat and sighed as he realized he had to unpack once again. He decided it could wait till morning.

You were woken up by both pounding and drilling in the wall behind your head. With long groan you pulled a pillow over your head but it didn't help much. You checked the time on your phone. It was seven thirty in the morning and you couldn't fall asleep till three - courtesy of your jet lag. You tried to ignore it hoping that you were sleepy and tired enough to fall asleep, unfortunately to no avail.

"Who the hell does the renovation on Saturday morning?" you asked your own walls with furious tone. You left the bed deciding to speak with the person next door. You didn't even bother to change from your PJ or brush your teeth, or hair, or even to throw something over yourself. You left your apartment in your bunny pyjama set, a gift from your best friend. Soon you were pounding angrily at the door. It took quite some time before the drilling inside stopped and someone opened the door. The man who opened seized you up and down with his eyes and coughed in his fist diverting his gaze somewhere else.

"Can I help you?" he asked his voice was a bit distressed. "I sure hope you can. It's Saturday seven in the morning." you were fuming, and he finally looked at you although he kept his eyes stuck to your face. "Ah... thank you for informing me. Are you working as personal calendar and clock for all of your neighbours or am I on some special treatment?" he asked sarcastically and smirked which made you: first bewildered and second even more mad if that's possible. "Let me rephrase that for you: it's Saturday, early morning and you are drilling in a wall." "Well, technically it was Mr Ahn who was drilling, I was enjoying myself with a book." He clearly enjoyed teasing you, there was this gleam in his eyes. "Don't you think that's a bit too early for a renovation?" your voice was seething with venom although you tried to keep your cool. "Quite contrary. I checked with the building manager, and I am only supposed to keep quiet between ten p.m and seven a.m. as you can see I even waited thirty minutes." He smiled at you and in that second you hated him, his stupid brown hair, strangely symmetrical face, weirdly tight cardigan and the fact that you couldn't do much since he was in the right. You just turned on your heels ready to storm off back to your flat when he spoke again. "Ah, and might I add I just love your fashion sense." he raised one brow and his eyes once again travelled through your body. "Excuse me?"

"Apologies accepted." Your face went from frowned and angry to shocked in a second, and he laughed at your reaction before closing the doors and leaving you cursing yourself, your luck and your best friend who thought it would be cute to buy you pyjama set which contained of hoodie with ears and a bunny tail and some shorts.

You entered your apartment, deep red setted on your face from both anger and embarrassment. As soon as you closed the doors the drilling continued. You cursed under the breath and went to shower. You stood long under the stream letting the water wash away both dirt and emotions. Once you were clean and ready for the day you’ve decided to ditch your flat for now since it was too loud for you anyway. This time you went for less sporty look but still all black. It was a turtleneck, slacks, martens and a beret. Chic and comfortable. You did your makeup and hair and went out for breakfast. The car was already waiting for you when you got downstairs. You pulled a black mask over your face and greeted the driver who didn't talk much and so you didn't have to worry about the small talk. You scrolled through your phone checking the messages you got from your manager — there was about twenty of them and somehow each was written with different emotion: rage, irritation, sadness, hopelessness and so on. You sighed knowing that you should probably apologize for the troubles you caused him. Then again what were you supposed to do, not react when half of this country is calling you names? You signed back in your Twitter only to be greeted by thousands of notifications. Most of which were trolls and haters commenting on your tweets with occasional death threats in your DMs. You tried your very best not to read each and every comment knowing that even though you were strong it still affected you. You were; however, positively surprised when you found some supporting voices. There was your best friend (obviously) who fiercely defended you and called out everyone on their bull, he even threatened legal action and you smiled brightly at his tweets, but there were also few Korean celebrities who took your side and defended you as well. Most importantly there were few normal people, fans perhaps, who applauded you and thanked for speaking out. You smiled when you saw user "Y/NUnnieFandomPresidentSeoyun" somewhere in your notifications. Somehow traffic was still bad even on weekend and it took you forty minutes to get to the café you had in mind. Once you got there however you didn't regret time spend on travel. It was café in quiet part of town, it wasn't very popular since it wasn't in Gangnam but because of that it was one of your favourites. No paparazzi, no dispatch, no other celebrities.

The place itself wasn't very big but it had huge windows and was located in front of the park so you could easily grab a coffee and go for a walk or just stay inside and watch people and kids spending their time at the park. The interior wasn't anything special either, it wasn't one of those Instagram worthy cafés. It had simple modern style. You came in and ordered coffee and some toasts and sat in front of the window. There were few people inside so you sat without your mask freely and wondered if your friend was already sleeping. It was around nine here so in Los Angeles it was probably midnight. You texted him asking if he's sleeping, and he just responded by facetiming you right away. His black hair was still wet from shower, and he wasn't wearing any shirt.

"Yah! Y/N-ah!" he scolded you immediately. "How dare you not text or call your best friend for over a day. Do you know how worried I was?" You rolled your eyes at him.

"It's not like you contacted me either. And put some clothes on Tuan."

"Never. I know you secretly love watching my chest."

"Gross. Anyway.. I haven't called because I was tired yesterday, you know jet lag and all of that, so don't get mad at me."

"How are you now?" His playfulness was replaced by concern and it was clear he wasn't really asking about the quality of your sleep which was in fact terrible thanks to your lovely neighbour.

"I'm fine." He gave you the look. "Really. Honestly I didn't expect anything better from what I got, so I'm fine Mark."

"I shouldn't have let you go. You know what? Those people don't deserve you. Come back to the USA and let's live together again I'll even cook. Or I can come to you I'll fight them and keep you company. I'm can easily stream from there.." You giggled at him and he grinned. "You know I'm serious though you can come back I already miss you anyway. God, I should have married you maybe you wouldn't leave me Y/N-ah..." he was whiny again and you laughed. It was an inside joke between you. Both yours and his parents would always tell you to just marry already but neither of you felt anything romantic towards the other one. You'd known each other since you were two and both of you had treated each other like siblings ever since.

"You should have and now it's too late. I'll find myself new victim and feast on their heart like a true gumiho I am." you said in theatrical manner while munching on your toast.

"Honestly who the fuck writes those articles?"

"I don't know but I'm pretty sure... Oh my god. You've got to be kidding me." you said and tried to lower your face down so that the person passing in front of the window you've been sitting by couldn't see you.

"What? What? Is that paparazzi? Your ex? Is that paparazzi rented by your ex?" You frowned at your friend.

"What? No? It's my asshole neighbour." "Never heard of him. Why are we hiding anyway? You can just tell him to back off. Last time I checked you were great at that." He showed you two thumbs up and smiled broadly. "I'm hiding because I'm embarrassed and I don't want to talk to him." "Why?" he laughed. "What did you do?" "I didn't do anything it was that stupid PJ you got me..." you whispered at him while trying to make yourself as small as possible. "Oh my god. One day in Korea and you already got yourself a one-night stand. This is not how I raised you. What would your mother say?" he teased you and giggled. "For the love of... it's not like that." you said angrily a bit too loud perhaps since the men in question who was just ordering by the counter turned around and looked you dead in the eyes. His neutral expression changing to surprised before it transformed to smirk. You cursed yourself and Mark and bowed your head slightly and awkwardly before you turned around to face your now laughing friend.

"You should see your face."

"Shut up. I hate you."

"You love me."

"What a surprise." Third voice spoke up by your side and you cringed a little before you put on your cold mask on.

"A surprise indeed." You said, your neighbour moved his eyes from your face to the screen of your phone carefully placed against the glass. Mark was still there, still half naked and smirking at you.

"Am I interrupting something?"

"Yes."

"No." you and Mark said at the same time and you send him death glare regretting that you couldn't kick him right now. "I was about to go to sleep anyway. Love you."

He disappeared without waiting for your response. You let out soft sigh and reach out for phone.

"Do you mind if I join you?" The man was already sitting next to you. He was smiling at you and perhaps any other person would say it was a warm type of smile but you felt like he was mocking you. Constantly. You straightened up in your seat and eyed him closely. He was wearing the same tight cardigan, it was accentuating his broad frame and muscles hidden underneath soft, brown cashmere and simple but well fitted blue jeans. You had to admit he was handsome and had somehow angelic face which only made you cringe once you compared it to his personality or at least to what he showed you already. "I don't think that's a good idea." You said after a pause, his expression didn't change for a second, and he sipped on coffee that blushing waitress brought a few seconds ago. "How so?" His voice was sweet and melodic, it irritated you even more. "I am a celebrity, there might be an article about me having coffee with you tomorrow." You kept your tone intentionally bored as you played with the spoon. He laughed and you changed your mind his speaking voice couldn't be called melodic when his laughter sounded so beautifully.

"That's funny. I'm celebrity as well I think I'll survive." It wasn't surprising at all, he was too good-looking to not be an idol, a model or an actor perhaps. You held back another sigh. You could already see the headlines "Y/N attacks again will this man keep up with her appetite" or perhaps "One day in Korea, and she already dates — check out Y/N and her new boy toy". "Yeah I doubt it." you said but quickly added. "Weren't you supposed to renovate your apartment anyway?" "I left it to Mr Ahn it got too loud for me to read in peace."

"I can imagine." Sarcasm was basically dripping from your tongue which only seemed to amuse him even more. His eyes were now twinkling and you thought that he must be a devil in disguise. "I must say it's very lucky that I met you here. What are the odds, right?" "Ah I wouldn't call it lucky, that's for sure." You were currently planning how to escape from this conversation. "So how about we get to know each other a bit better?" He proposed with a warm smile. "I don't think so. I don't even know you." "Oh. That's harsh you do know me. I'm your neighbour and this is our third meeting." He placed a hand over his heart and frowned in pain and you wondered how can one still look handsome while frowning before he continued. "Besides I can fix that. I'm Park Jinyoung nice to meet you. See now we know each other." You fought and urge to roll your eyes and you summoned the most polite looking smile you had in your arsenal. Your phone rang before you could say anything and you've never been more happy to see your manager's face appearing on your screen.

"I'm sorry I have to take it." you said politely, and he just nodded. "Oh I wasn't expecting you to pick up." "Ah manager-nim don't be like that I haven't been picking up only for one day." "Why are you so polite are you with someone?" "Yes." You glared at Jinyoung, he was watching you with a smile with coffee in his hand. "Ok, I can call later." "No!" you almost screamed and cleared your throat trying to remain composure. "No, it's fine." "O-ok. Do you have time today? We should meet and talk I just got something that may interest you. It's really nice drama. I know you said you don't want to play in any of those romantic stories but hear me out this one is..." you'd roll your eyes if not for your neighbour's curious eyes. "Of course when and where will we meet?" You decided to cut off his rumbling. "Really? Before departure, you said you won't play in any stupid drama again." "Ah, I see. I did say that. We should meet today, text me the address then." Hanging up on him, you hoped he got the brains to follow up with text. He thankfully did and your phone barked. Jinyoung laughed again and you gave him confused look. "Did your phone just bark at you?" You blushed against yourself. Was it so weird to have a dog's bark as your message sound? "Ah... yes. I like dogs." You cringed on yourself. Somehow today in front of this man you were constantly losing your cool. He either irritated you or made you flustered enough to forget any eloquent comebacks or eloquence at all. "Anyway it was nice meeting you Jinyoung-ssi but I have to meet up with my manager."

"Oh you're leaving without even properly introducing yourself?" He cocked a brow on you and smirked. You stood up and looked at him coldly. "I'm sorry I don't feel the need." You were about to leave before he spoke again. "Ah… running already... startled... like a true bunny. Come to think of it... it does have a nice ring into it, doesn't it? Bunny. It suits you and you even have a costume already." His voice was so extremely mocking that you felt the irritation buzzing in you like electricity. Not to mention he spoke so loudly the waitress that was blushing at him before now listened carefully. You groaned internally. What if she writes about it somewhere. Media won't let you live especially that he is your neighbour they'd say he is already in love with you. And "bunny" was such a couple pet name. You were in the midst of your internal crisis before he decided to speak again.

"Have nice day bun.." You reacted before you thought, your hand slapped against his mouth before he could say anything more. His eyes got bigger, he was clearly shocked that you were so close to him, that you touched him and that you didn't really care about your language. You on the other had were fuming. You've met your fair share of fuckboys, assholes and idiots but not one of them that had similar status to yours acted with such insolence in public where other people could see you. Well, almost none, perhaps your ex was the only one. You kept your voice quiet, loud enough only for him to hear.

"Shut up. And watch your tongue before I pull it out because the universe be my witness I will and I'll do it with pleasure. My name is not kitten, bunny or any other pet name your buffoon head comes up with. It's Y/N. My name is bloody Y/N." You hissed out and his hand reach out to yours. It was hot from coffee and soft even though his grasp was firm. He took your hand of his mouth and smiled.

"Nice to meet you."

You took a step back and send him the look that must have looked like you were trying to shoot daggers at him.

"I'm sure it is. Now if you excuse me. I don't want to be late."

You rushed to counter to pay only to find out it was already taken care of by Jinyoung. You furrowed your brows and wanted to give him his money back instantly but your phone buzzed and it was your cue to leave. The driver was here.

To Mark 🐰 💙 : One day Tuan... you'll pay for this betrayal

From Mark 🐰 💙 : ILY 2 good night. P.S. He seemed hot 👀

You rolled your eyes how hot was he didn't matter if his sole personality drove you crazy only after three brief meetings. You sighed. This was not how you wanted to spend this day: enraged twice and on your way to see your manager.

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buck-nialled · 4 years

Note

Hi! Can you write a Niall Imagine:) where Niall is dealing with you his OCD life and he gets frustrated cause some people he knows doesn’t understand what’s its like to have OCD.An Y/n comforts Niall cause she understands him💘🥺Y/n shows to Niall that no matter what Niall’s condition is, she will always be there for him🥺And Niall will be like : 🥺I don’t deserve you🥺 fluffy and cute tbh🥺💖 Thank you!💖🦋

NOTE: leaving a WARNING here, as this imagine discusses OCD (Obsessive-compulsive disorder) AND COMPULSIVE TENDENCIES/ANXIETY and might make some readers uncomfortable. Please read at your own risk.

A Real Hit - N. Horan Imagine

“Niall, I saw you lock the car before we came in, I’m pos—”

“Please, can we just go double-check it?” Niall’s pleading pools cast up to meet your eyes. After conceding with a nod, you and Niall abandon the booth inside of the restaurant which you had just taken a seat in moments prior. Neither of you had been waited on yet, so now was the best opportunity to check that Niall had indeed, locked his vehicle.

“We will be only a minute sir; you do not need to leave.” The manager desperately informs, afraid that a customer of such high status would besmirch their name upon exiting. Niall’s hasty footsteps come to a quick halt as he pivots to face the man. His thumb begins frantically tapping the back of your hand while he begins to speak.

“Huh?” He pipes up. “Oh, no you are all fine. I just need to check something—ch-check something.” Niall repeats, voice becoming firmer towards the end. The manager spares a nod and understanding smile before Niall was bustling out of the building once more with your concerning form in tow. The parking lot was a small walk, yet it left Niall panting as he arrived at his car he was careful to park further away from all of the others. Tentatively, his hand reached forward to take the door handle in his grasp and gently pulled. The door did not budge.

Meaning Niall did lock his car, as you mentioned to him before.

“Oh,” he murmurs in surprise, turning to look at you. “Guess I did lock it.” He chuckles. The corners of your lips quirk up in a trying smile, but this was not something you were going to brush off. As far as Niall knew, this was the first time you had caught him doing this.

But it wasn’t. A few weeks prior, you decided to visit your boyfriend at the studio with Nando’s sitting in your passenger’s seat, the smell of chicken invading your car and nostrils. Amidst searching for a spot to park, you caught Niall’s figure through your windshield, running towards his car. His violent, zippy steps left you puzzled, as he was always in an easy-going mood whenever you were present. You were left even more befuddled when he tugged against the handle of the driver's side door and allowed his chest to heave as he let out a large sigh. You figured he must have left something in the car or was in a rush to leave, until he spun around to enter the building in a drastically slower pace, car keys shimmering in his hand’s clutch.

You eyed those same keys as he fidgeted with them with his free hand. “I’m sorry ‘bout that.” He murmurs, keeping the light-hearted tone.

“That’s okay. Better safe than sorry, right?” He smiles at your reply and sends a nod before déjà vu struck you on your casual stroll back into the restaurant. The conversation was hard to focus on throughout dinner because your thoughts kept becoming swamped by Niall’s recent increase of doubts and anxiety. By this point, the car woes were the most prominent.

Later that night, however, you found Niall doing the same thing with the lock on his front door. Every time he excused himself from your side on the couch (to retrieve food, use the restroom, etc.) he also used as an opportunity to re-lock the door, put his eye against the peephole, and stare at his security pad a few seconds longer than normal. It had you crossing your legs and folding your arms over your chest in discomfort the fourth time he did it.

“Are you expecting anybody?” You finally squeak. He whirls away from the entryway and retreats to your awaiting figure.

Eyebrows raised; he hums, “no,” and is back by your side in an instant. “Are you okay?” He stares deep into your eyes as if he would find a juxtaposition to your reply that you were doing fine. He was also checking up on you a lot more than usual and had lost all subtlety in doing it, to the point where you would stare at yourself in any reflective surface you would come across and ask the same thing. You appeared the same as you always did, though.

Another week dragged on and the next time you visited Niall at the studio, he was alone. None of his writers, mixers, or producers were found in the small room with him when you dropped by to see him on your work break. Though you wish his team was there, to console your racing thoughts as to why there were nearly six empty bottles of beer and a bottle of Jack Daniel’s whiskey nearly gone on the table Niall was sat beside. His notebook was sat across his lap, guitar on its stand nearby as he kept scribbling and crossing out various words on the pages, only to rewrite them.

“Hey,” you greet quietly as to not startle him in his silence. “Is it just you in here?”

“Yeah. Thought coming in and writing alone would help. Too many…too many voices lately, ya know?” His hands—adorned with a few rings he had purchased on a whim one day—flew up to swirl and gesticulate around his cranium. You nod, inviting yourself further into the room to take a seat beside him on the couch and lay a comforting hand on one of his upper arms.

“I know.” You reply, looking into his eyes with your mind screaming to just let himself fall apart into your arms already. Niall knew—he knew very well—that you would always be there to pick him up and aid him when it all becomes too much for him to handle. But for some unknown reason, it was becoming particularly difficult to do so now. “I love you…you know, that right?”

Niall’s breathing becomes shaky as he bobs his head up and down. “I know, I-I love you…I love you too, I love…” His voice drops low and wavers. “I don’t deserve you.” It finally breaks into a sob as he takes your hand laid on his bicep into both of his shaky hands and brings it up against his tearful eyes. “I don’t deserve you, Y/N.” He repeats, sniffling against your warm hand. Your mouth was agape for a few moments as you sat, drinking in the sight of the man you loved crumbling right before you. This was not where you imagined the conversation would go.

“Niall,” you begin, allowing your free hand to tangle itself in his mess of dark hair. You brushed the flat locks away from his forehead, damp with perspiration before he buried his head into your shoulder. “That’s not true. Don’t think so little of yourself.” You shake your head back and forth in refusal at his words.

“But it is true! I’ve just been…I’ve been a mess lately. I can’t think straight, and I feel like I’m going crazy. Everybody keeps acting like I’m insane because I keep playing the same fuckin’ note ten times over or keep checking the damn car’s locked. I’m losing my mind and you’re here…you don’t say a word. Why haven’t you said anything?”

“I was waiting for you to say something.” You answer. Silence follows before you request Niall to look at you. Upon lifting his head, you find his eyes bloodshot and see his leg bouncing from the corner of your eye. “Niall, I love you and all your little tics. I know it’s stressful to deal with sometimes but I’m not going to treat you any different or let it drive me away.” Your hand comes out to rest gently on his jittery leg but stays light in its pressure to let his keep bouncing it. “It hurts to see you like this, but this is how you cope. I’m not going to stop it unless it reaches a certain point…like this.” You say, reaching around him to grab the near-empty bottle of whiskey.

“That was to try and get me to calm down,” Niall murmurs, letting out a sniffle. “Clearly it didn’t do much.”

“Obviously not, your body’s practically built to withstand it by this point.” You retort through a small laugh. “Niall, I’m not leaving you. I’m going to be with you through everything, even the bad stuff, okay?” Niall nods, sending you a grateful smile. You spare a cursory glance down to his lap, where the journal was still balancing. Carefully, your hand plucks it up and you observe all of the stress-induced scribbles and lines of random words cloaking the pages. Niall bites his lip as he catches you reading his blurred ideas with an approving smile. His fingers begin reaching to play with the rings embracing his knuckles until your voice has his eyes peeking up at you again.

“Now…why don’t you play me this song you’ve been working so hard on? Looks like it could be a real hit.”

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bosspigeon · 3 years

Text

the idealistic things i believed

Pairing: M!Detective/Adam du Mortain

Words: 2723

Summary: After misplacing their detective on one of his rare days off, Unit Bravo track him down to the local park, where they find him engaging in an unexpected activity.

And Adam just finds him engaging ;3c

I will not apologize for that dumb joke. TL;DR I just wanted to write about my big sad goth boy and also Adam’s Intense Denial. EXTREMELY last minute title from “No Sunlight” by Death Cab For Cutie

(Note: in my first post, tumblr seems to have shuffled some paragraphs, so i’m reposting to fix it!!! Love this Fully Functional Website!!!)

“You know, Adam, if you ever leave the Agency, you could probably get a job as a private investigator. Maybe even a bloodhound! Just something to think about.”

When Adam actually deigns to look at him, Felix is grinning, hands tucked into his pockets and chin tipped up. Adam rolls his eyes and sighs heavily.

Nate stifles a chuckle under his humming along to the music drifting from the nearby pavilion, where they now know Detective Priestley to be, thanks to Adam tracking him down.

After‌ ‌working with Arlo (the detective, he forcefully amends) ‌for‌ ‌so‌ ‌many‌ ‌months,‌ ‌Adam‌ ‌is‌ ‌deeply‌ ‌attuned‌ ‌to‌ ‌the‌ ‌scent‌ ‌of‌ ‌him.‌ ‌It‌ ‌is‌ ‌easy‌ ‌enough‌ ‌to‌ ‌find‌ ‌his‌ ‌trail‌ ‌and‌ ‌follow‌ ‌it,‌ ‌which,‌ ‌contrary‌ ‌to‌ ‌Felix’s‌ ‌snide‌ ‌comment,‌ ‌is‌ ‌not‌ ‌unusual‌ ‌in‌ ‌their‌ ‌line‌ ‌of‌ ‌work.‌ ‌Relying‌ ‌on‌ ‌their‌ ‌senses‌ ‌has‌ ‌helped‌ ‌them‌ ‌track‌ ‌down‌ ‌many‌ ‌targets‌ ‌in‌ ‌their‌ ‌time‌ ‌as‌ ‌a‌ ‌unit, so Adam does not see the need for Felix to single him out. If anything, Mason would have fared better, seeing as his senses were the strongest of them all. But Mason’s aversion to sunlight, as well as the sounds and smells of a busy weekend at Wayhaven’s Municipal Gardens had proven to be difficult to manage, so Adam took over.

This all could have been avoided had Detective Priestley simply told them he wouldn’t be at home today. Even Agent Priestley had been confused, as her son tended to prefer staying at home on his rare off days.

But, no, he left without telling anyone, and with the recent increase in trapper activity, his mother was keen for at least one of them to keep an eye on him. As the rest of them were unoccupied, Nate was happy to turn it into a “day out.”

At least he seems pleased.

The pavilion is partially screened by a line of tall, tidy, flowering hedges, and the scent of them is thick on the gentle breeze that carries the detective’s low, gentle voice, accompanied by airy instrumental music, as well as a chorus of smaller voices, high-pitched with youthful enthusiasm. The four of them skirt the hedges to find the pavilion’s entrance, and stop to take in the odd sight.

Detective Priestley stands tall and proud at the front of a staggered group of small children, none of whom reach higher than his waist. He is simply dressed in a loose tank top and joggers, his hair braided back to keep it out of his face and a pair of thick-framed glasses perched on his strong nose. The children mimic his posture to varying degrees of success, most of them dressed in similar loose athletic clothing, some in frilly tutus. On a table behind him, his phone is hooked up to a set of speakers that play light, upbeat classical music that Nate obviously not only recognizes, but approves of, as he hums happily and waggles his fingers as if he is directing the symphony.

“Alright,” the detective says, his voice clear and strong, but endlessly gentle, “is everyone ready?”

A chorus of little voices call out an enthusiastic “Yes!”

“Good! First position?” Arlo waits, watching the children quickly position their feet, some of them looking down to make very sure they’re correctly placed. Once the majority of them are in position, he takes the position himself, easily and confidently. The few of them who struggled at first quickly mimic him, and he beams, a strange expression to see on the normally reserved man. “Perfect! Now… second position?”

He repeats the process, waiting for most of them to take the position before he does himself, and allows the rest of them to adjust.

As he guides them through the next, and the next, Nate swats at Mason’s arm and hisses at him to put out his cigarette, which he does with a hearty eye roll. Felix has begun attempting the positions himself, grinning all the while, and Adam is watching the spectacle with his head cocked.

The detective puts them through their paces with a quiet, confident patience, and the children are not only delighted, but clearly well-practiced, even as young as they are. They are also all clearly familiar and comfortable with Detective Priestley, which indicates they are used to being in his care. Once he’s finished with the warm-up routine, he takes a few long steps back, and squares his broad shoulders, falling almost instinctively into what he displayed for the children as third position.

“Alright, so we’re going to go over some things that I taught you last time. I’m going to show you the moves, and we’re going to see if you can tell me what they’re called. Does that sound good?”

There is an exuberant cry of agreement that makes Mason wince, and he stalks away to stand in the shade of a copse of trees, re-lighting the cigarette Nate had him put out.

The detective rises easily onto his toes on one foot, lifting the opposite leg and raising one arm skyward. The motion is effortlessly graceful in a way that is surprising of a man so tall. Adam is entirely entranced, frozen until Arlo drops the pose and smiles at his little class. “Alright, who can tell me what that was?”

The children clamor to answer, hands shooting into the air and waving furiously, with little shouts of “Oh, me! Pick me, Arlo!”

He points to one little girl with her bright ginger hair in braids. “Maisie?” he asks.

“An arabesque!” she practically shouts, loud enough to make Felix grin. The detective laughs warmly, and something strange settles deep into Adam’s gut.

“Good!” the detective says. “Alright, we’ll try a harder one this time, since you’re all so sharp.”

A few of the little ones giggle delightedly and cover their faces, murmuring together and beaming.

He falls into position again, breathing deeply, walking across the pavilion. As he passes the entrance, his eyes catch Adam’s over the heads of his class, and they widen briefly. He pauses, almost stumbling, for just a split second, his ears going faintly red. Adam can hear the sound of his heart, the rush of his blood, even from several feet away. But he breaks eye contact, shakes his head, straightens his posture, and spins to face the far railing, standing parallel to the group of children watching him with rapt attention. And then he rushes forward and leaps into the air, arms raised and long legs outstretched, practically floating across the pavilion, and when he lands, it is on one foot with an assured lightness that hardly makes a sound on the hardwood floor. He spins to face the children, and pointedly does not look at the three vampires blinking at him in stunned silence. His chest is rising and falling a bit more quickly than it was before, his freckled cheeks flushed, but otherwise he looks at ease.

“How about that one?” he asks, smiling.

The children seem less assured of this one, whispering amongst themselves before a little boy with his spiraling curls held out of his face with a colorful strip of cloth calls, “A real big jump!”

A tiny girl with huge dark eyes raises her hand and tremulously asks, “Mister Arlo, are you an angel? ‘Cause you just flew!”

He laughs, sharp and startled and louder than Adam’s ever heard him, beaming so wide his cheeks must surely ache with it. “No, I’m not, but thank you for the compliment,” he chuckles, pale eyes twinkling. “And, actually, Jacobe, you’re not far off. That was called a grand jeté. It means big throw.”

“‘Cause you throw yourself into the air?” the dark-eyed girl asks, still gawking at him like she doesn’t quite believe his not being an angel. Adam thinks, quite without his permission, that he is not entirely convinced himself.

Arlo smiles wider. “Not quite. It’s because you throw one leg out in a certain direction while keeping the other in a particular position when you land.” He does a smaller leap as an example, one that he easily segues into another leg of the lesson, and he leads them all in a quick practice run of several beginner’s forms and moves, letting them prance and bounce and spin across the pavilion, all the while guiding them with the same moves, but on a wider, more sweeping scale with his much larger frame. He looks rather like a lean, graceful bird followed by an eager flock of awkward, but enthusiastic, fledglings, and he effusively praises and gently corrects them, occasionally taking one aside to ease them through moves they struggle with. Each and every one looks up at him as if he hung the moon and stars, sweetly awed by this gentle giant of a human, and when he finally pulls away from them, he leaves an older boy who looks to be around ten to oversee their practice.

He hurries towards Unit Bravo, and his posture immediately changes when he is out of line of sight of his little class, from strong and tall and carefully poised, to hunching, sheepish, and fidgety. “What are you all doing here?” he hisses, glancing over Adam’s head to, presumably, catch sight of Mason lurking under the trees a ways away.

“You’re a ballerina?” Felix blurts, and a vivid red crawls up the detective’s chest and neck to stain his ears and cheeks. The warm rush of it almost makes Adam dizzy.

“No,” he blurts, casting a quick look over his shoulder to make sure he hasn’t interrupted his students. “I was a dancer. A long time ago.”

“Since when?” Felix presses, practically bouncing with the excitement of discovery.

“I went to art school!” he blurts, dragging a hand down his face. “It wasn’t my major or anything, but...” He twitches under the attention, and the flush to his skin clings stubbornly. Prettily.

“Well, you’re clearly very talented,” Nate offers, smiling reassuringly.

“You did not tell Agent Priestley you wouldn’t be home,” Adam finally manages to interject, finding his voice and almost instantly regretting it when the man flinches at his sharp tone. “You should not have left without letting one of us know.”

Arlo rubs anxiously at one arm, the dark band of black ink twisting around his bicep, looking away and down towards his feet. Adam follows his gaze, down to his clearly worn but well taken care of black leather flats. “I’m sorry, I forgot. It’s been a while since I’ve been able to hold a lesson, and the kids were starting to get antsy about it. I was getting a lot of calls, and I figured since things had settled down a bit, I could get back to it.”

Nate quickly interjects before Adam can say anything, putting a hand on his shoulder to stop whatever words (almost certain to be abrasive, even Adam can admit) are about to come. “Of course, perfectly understandable! We wouldn’t want to get in the way of your plans, we just need to know where you are with things still so,” he pinches his lips shut, glancing towards the dancing children, “precarious.”

“It’s usually Sundays, if I can swing it,” Arlo offers sheepishly. “They have a regular teacher, Mrs. Golightly, but sometimes she asks me to fill in because the kids like me. They’ve missed me.” He smiles, tense and strained. “And, I mean, I’ve missed them a lot too. It’s nice to focus on something that’s not, y’know…” He rubs at the side of his neck, thumbing habitually over faint, raised white lines.

Adam clenches his jaw, remembering Arlo, weak and bleeding, dropping to his knees like a hanged man after the rope’s been cut, Murphy biting into his neck and tearing it open--

Nate’s hand squeezes his shoulder just this side of too hard to ground him, and he lets out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding in one tremulous exhale.

“I just wanted some of my old normal back,” Arlo says softly. “I like working with you all, I want to protect this town, but sometimes I just… I really don’t want to think about the fact that there are people out there who want to sell me to the highest bidder so they can bleed me dry. Just want to think about teaching some little ones to pirouette.” He huffs out a weak little laugh, and looks back towards the class, who are following along with their substitute’s instructions like a tiny, well-oiled machine. “That’s Marco,” he explains, gesturing to the older boy confidently leading the lesson. “He’s really good. Thinking about going pro someday.”

“Did you ever think about going pro?” Felix asks.

Arlo squirms and hesitates to answer, though he does still look relieved by the subject change. “Sort of? When I was younger.” He sighs. “It was never going to happen, though. So I mostly just stuck to the hobbyist side of it. Small time school shows and the like.”

“Why wouldn’t it happen?” Adam asks, brows furrowing. Arlo looks up at him, as if surprised it was Adam to speak.

“I’m too bloody tall,” he laughs weakly. “The professional dance world is really competitive, yeah, but it’s also very, ah, particular. You’ve got to look a certain way, fit a certain mold. I could practice all day every day, perfect every technique, but I’m still not going to have a chance when I’m seven inches taller than the tallest guy in any company. There’s technique arguments, too, about what sort of things you can’t do as well as someone smaller, but it usually comes down to looks.” He shrugs his broad shoulders, shoving his hands into the loose pockets of his joggers. “It’s not a big deal. There’s a one in a million chance I’d have made it professionally anyway. And it’s tough on the body, too. Pro careers run short. I like doing it on the side without worrying how long I’ve got left.” He smiles thinly.

Adam’s not sure what he’s going to say to that, lips parting to offer something, but he doesn’t get the chance, because the music suddenly changes from some sweet and tinkling piano to a harsh battery of electric guitar, bass, and drums. Arlo flinches away from him, turning towards the group of children now jumping up and down around the speakers and squealing along to the harsh, growling vocals. He laughs breathlessly.

“Guess the dance playlist ran out,” he says, before hurrying back to tend to the children. Several of them have taken out their ribbons and headbands and are tossing their hair around and miming playing guitar, sticking out their tongues and making odd hand gestures.

Felix cackles, and then runs over to join the fun, leaving Adam and Nate looking on, Nate chortling softly to himself.

“He’s full of surprises, our Arlo,” he says. Adam pulls his gaze away from the detective, bending over to pull off one of his shoes at the insistence of that dark-eyed little girl, to see him smiling that gently knowing smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Quiet,” Adam growls.

“I didn’t say anything,” Nate protests, but he turns back to watch the spectacle that is the detective sitting on the floor while the children pass around his ballet flat so they can compare it to their own. The size difference is comical, and sends the group into paroxysms of laughter. Even Felix, who seems to have ingratiated himself to the class easily enough, offers up his own shoe, and sticks it into the flat. Even Arlo laughs at that, a husky rumble that has Adam pressing a hand to his chest as if to stop the way his heart reacts. Nate raises his eyebrows, and Adam glowers at him, dropping the hand to his side and clenching his fingers hard. “I didn’t say anything,” Nate repeats, “but I do think it’s nice to know something about the detective’s day-to-day life, when he’s not with us, don’t you? Becoming more familiar with his habits. As a friend and not just an obligation?”

“It is useful to know his daily comings and goings to continue to protect him,” Adam allows.

Nate sighs. “It’s a start, certainly,” he says, and Adam refuses to ask what he means by that.

#pidge writes #the wayhaven chronicles #adam/m!detective #adam du mortain #wayhaven fanfic #DO NOT JUDGE MY PERFUNCTORY GOOGLE SEARCH BALLET KNOWLEDGE #I KNOW NOTHING #SUSPEND YOUR DISBELIEF I JUST WANTED TO BE GAY #anyway arlo went to art school #he is also 6'7"#big boy #soft goth man #the working title of this was big goth baby ballet so i hope u enjoy that #also the baby mosh pit i mentioned at one point #yeehaw #THIS IS A REPOST BECAUSE I HAD TO FIX TUMBLR'S FUCKUP IM SORRY #IT WAS GOING TO DRIVE ME CRAZY #happy valentine's day i guess!!!!#oc: arlo priestley

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