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harrylilies · 3 years

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The Royal Series | Pt. VI

The Royal Series Masterlist

"What do you mean I have to take him with me? I'm going on a two- day trip with my friends." You asked your grandmother in shock.

"Which is why it's the perfect way to get to know each other. I know you don't like following the formal way so do it your way." She told you before sipping her tea.

You laughed in disbelief, shaking your head before looking at your grandpapa, Prince Philip, "Please say something."

"Darling," Prince Philip sighed before looking at his wife. "You know how Y/N hardly gets to go on vacation with her friends and this seems like a duty."

You motioned with your hands at him as you looked at her, mouthing an "Exactly.”

"Fred is 26, he will fit in with Y/N and her group of friends."

"Why are you doing this?" You whispered, leaning back on your chair in defeat.

She put her hand on top of yours, looking at you with soft eyes. "It's for the best. For you."

You shook your head, "This isn't what I want. It’s what the government wants. What you think is best."

"It's what you need." She finished for you before standing up, making you stand. "Amsterdam is an exotic place. I expect you to not do anything you might regret, sweetheart." She told you before looking down at one of her corgis, Willow.

"Oh, can I hold Fred's hand? Maybe steal a kiss or two." You said sarcastically, knowing well that you were pushing her buttons, something that made Prince Philip snicker under his breath.

"Y/N," she looked at you, "As long as it's nothing that can be held against you, harm you or downgrade you, you're free to do anything you please."

"Free," you chuckled before nodding. "Yes, Ma'am."

After she left the room, you were left with your granpapa who instantly approached you and put his arm around your shoulders, his sympathetic eyes looking at you. "But you have fun on your trip. I'm sure Fred isn't half bad."

"I know he isn't, Papa." You sigh, feeling him squeeze your shoulder. "I feel so pressured."

"Everything will be alright, darling. You just have fun for me, will you?”

"How was your nap?" You asked Fred politely as you and your friends sat, having breakfast in the hotel.

"Very satisfying," he chuckled, pouring himself a cup of tea. "What about you?"

"Haven't really slept. Nia and I decided to play monopoly instead." You chuckled, adjusting your jacket.

"Hear it from us first, Princess Y/N of the UK breaks royal rule and plays Monopoly. Scandalous!" Fred said in a dramatic reporter voice, making you laugh.

"Come on, you must have broken a lot of rules before."

He nodded, "I don't really go by the rules." He shrugged before chuckling, “Except for that necklace I gifted you, I’m sorry. That was my mother’s doing.”

"How scandalous and vulgar." You joked, putting a hand on your heart dramatically.

"Your Royal Highnesses are needed in our conversation." Your friend, Nia, joked. You and Fred looked at her together, "We were saying we should go canal cruising right away. Although I'm scared to shit."

"Why? Not a fan of water?" Fred asked her.

Nia shook her head, laughing. "I'm a terrible swimmer. Can't rescue myself if I ever fall."

"It's true. She swims like a sad cat." Eddie joked, laughing more when Nia swatted his arm.

"It's alright, we'll all be together so I doubt you won't get rescued if you fall." Fred smiled, putting his loosely crossed arms on the table.

"Are you saying we can fall off?" Emma asked, cocking an eyebrow at him.

Fred instantly straightened his posture and shook his head, looking back and forth between Nia and Emma. "I didn't mean that. Not that way."

Emma laughed, "I'm just joking."

"Oh." He chuckled, scratching the nape of his neck.

"Well, it's comforting knowing that we have a professional swimmer with us. Very assuring." Trevor said before putting his fork down, "Because Y/N here, said she was skipping on this activity."

They all nodded, knowing what you already told them. You gave them a sheepish smile, shrugging, "Sorry."

"Don't apologize. You fucking better make use of these 4 hours we're gone in." Nia pointed at you.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Also send us pictures." Farrah said, elbowing you.

"You're all embarrassing."

"Do I look bizarre?" You ask one of your personal guards, Andrew, motioning to yourself. You had a "Treat People With Kindness" black hoodie, the hood covering your head, black trousers and your black vans on. You had your sunnies on, opting to not get recognized.

Andrew shook his head, "You don't, Your Highness. I don't believe people would notice."

"Told you to call me Y/N, Andy." You chuckled, taking your phone out.

"It's a habit." Your other guard, Sid, said.

You chuckled again as you texted the one person whom you were impatiently waiting for.

I'm outside x

Almost instantly, you received a reply.

I'll let Jeffery come and get you x

You waited for about 3 minutes before the black door in front of you opened and out came a grinning Jeff. "Your Highness, good to see you again."

You smiled, "Just Y/N. And thank you, Jeffrey. It's good to see you, too."

"Just Jeff." He corrected you teasingly as you walked inside and backstage. "Harry has been all over the place since we knew you're coming. Doesn't shut up about you. Don’t tell him I said that though."

You felt your cheeks heat up, only giggling in response. You stopped in front of a brown door that had "DRESSING ROOM" beside it.

"He's inside." Jeff said, knocking. "Harry?"

"Come inside!"

You grinned, glancing at your guards who chuckled and took a step back. "We'll wait here." Sid said.

Jeff opened the door for you, motioning for you to go inside.

You took off your sunnies, holding them in your hands instead as your eyes fell on the man in ruffles in front of you who was looking down, his head snapping up once he noticed your presence.

"Y/N," Harry breathed out softly as his face broke into a grin, taking long strides towards you before wrapping his arms around you, his head buried in your neck as he brought your body closer to his. "I missed you."

Your arms around his shoulders squeezed him tighter, closing your eyes as you let his warmth engulf you. "I missed you, too, H."

At the nickname, Harry felt himself smile. He pulled back, his hands moving to your face as he softly and so gently stroked your cheeks with his thumbs. "H, huh?"

You let out a small nervous chuckle, shrugging as you wrapped your arms around his torso and looked up at him. "It slipped."

"I love it." He confessed quietly.

Your hands moved to his arms that were covered by the silky shirt, feeling so soothing and satisfying under your fingers as you looked at him. "This is the part when you kiss me." You teased him, feeling your faces get closer.

"And this is when you kiss me back."

If you could describe Harry's lips against yours, you'd use the word "melting.”

Melting was what you felt, slowly letting the feeling of his lips on yours let you loose. Melting went your worries and everything around. Melting went all the judgement and overthinking. Harry's lips absolutely melted you.

Pulling away with a smack and smiles, Harry pecked your lips once again softly. "You have very kissable lips."

"Yeah?" You looked up at him.

"Yeah." Harry confirmed, leaning down to steal one more soft and quick kiss.

"I like the ruffles." You said, running your hands through them.

"Jeff says I look like I came from the wrong era." Harry said, looking down at himself.

You laughed, shaking your head. "You look just fine. I told you that you would."

"’Nough about me. Nice sweatshirt." Harry's lips turned to a smug smirk, looking down at you wearing his own merch. "I was so nervous that I got Farrah's address wrong and it wouldn't be delivered there though."

"I told you I can get it online."

"And I told you to consider it as a gift." Harry shrugged. "Can you help me with my hair? It won't-" Harry patted his head, looking up, "It won't sit."

You laughed, taking a hold of his wrist to get it away from his head.

"Sit down." You urged him to the vanity chair, him sitting and giving you a wide toothed comb. You began to softly comb it, enjoying how luscious and soft in felt. "So, are you coming tonight?"

Harry looked at you through the mirror, his eyes focused on how concentrated you looked as you combed his hair gently with a faint smile on his face. "Do you think your friends will like me?"

"You already liked Farrah as far as I know and she liked you. My friends are fun to be around, promise." You nodded, glancing at him through the mirror before looking at his hair.

"What were their names again?"

"Eddie, Nia, Trev and Emma." You replied instantly before your move hitched, pursing your lips. "And-and Fred." "Fred?" Harry repeated, "Don't remember a Fred in the text you sent me a couple of days ago."*

"Yeah, he's just," You gulped, shrugging your shoulders. "He's just a friend of ours that joined last minute."

Harry nodded, his index and thumb moving to graze his bottom lip; something you picked on was a habit of his when he felt nervous or in thought.

"What are you thinking about?" You asked gently, putting the comb down before softly beginning to run your fingers through his hair to fluff it.

Harry sat up straight, lacing his fingers together in his lap as you both looked at each other through the vanity mirror. "You know I don't consider you a fling, don't you?"

"Uh," your eyes moved to look at his hair again instead of him, shaking your head slightly. "I didn't actually."

"So you," Harry paused, stopping your hands from moving by grabbing them and putting them around his shoulders instead. "You think you're a fling?"

You shrugged, feeling his thumbs gently stroke your knuckles. "I don't know, I-" You stopped, "I don't really know what do you consider me, Harry. Whether you see this going anywhere or you're scared. Or if you feel like I'm too much to handle or not. I don't know if you think this is worth it. Or if-if you just think this is adventurous and risky, gives you that thrilling feeling. It happened to me right after uni and I think I stopped understanding people's intentions ever since. When it comes to that I mean." You confessed, giving him a pursed smile after you finished as you looked back at him. "I don't have history, Harry. I don't-" You paused, shaking your head as you let out a low laugh, "I don't know."

"Y/N," Harry said softly, holding your hand and moving you till you were in front of him, letting you stand between his legs as he looked up at you.

His hands moved to hold your waist, looking up at you as you rested your hands on his shoulders. "Then I will tell you what you don't know. What you should know is that I like you. I really do. I don't care about your status or if you have guards around you all the time. Fuck it, I don't even care if I have to wait for you for three hours outside your flat and behind bushes because your grandmother isn't with us being together. I," Harry chuckled, shrugging his shoulders, "Call me a sap, a total cliché tosser but I have never felt like this about anyone before, Y/N. So here I am, an hour before my show begins, with everyone outside and the world oblivious to me having Her Highness Princess Y/N of the United Kingdom in my hold and me only caring about everything that you wish you can show to everyone, including your family, and about being there when you try new takeout," he chuckled,

"And what I'm trying to ask you is, do you want us to be-" Harry stood up, towering over you and wrapping his arms around your waist.

And there you stood; oblivious to his heartbeats that Sarah could probably use instead of her drums, his body hot and his nerves feeling as though they were about to get wrecked.

"Do you want us to be together? Exclusive?" Harry asked, "Do you want to be my girlfriend, Y/N?"

You let out a small laugh of shock, looking up at him before raising your eyebrows. "Are you serious?"

"Dead serious." He nodded.

Instantly, your hands cupped his cheeks and you brought your lips to his in a deep, strong kiss, tilting his head slightly to feel all of it before pulling away. "Are you sure?"

"I can't stop," Harry said, almost heaving, "I can't stop thinking about you," he pecked your lips, "Kissing you," he kissed you again. "Knowing that you're mine. That I'm yours. I can't fucking stop thinking about it, Y/N.” His hands were than tangled in your hair after dropping your hood, his eyes looking into yours. "Fuck," He licked his lips, glancing at yours before looking back into your eyes. "What have you done to me, you minx?”

You giggled, "I haven't done," You shook your head. "Anything.”

"Lies." He joked with a smile drawn on his face.

"Think I just became your girlfriend."

At the confirmation, Harry only pressed his lips to yours.

"What do you mean you didn't tell him about Fred?" Emma asked as you sat on her bed in the hotel, watching as she towel-dried her hair.

"I mean I didn't tell him about Fred. I told him that he's our friend."

"Why did you do that? You're together now, Y/N. He should know." Nia said, plopping beside you on the bed.

"What do I say?!" You groaned, "Hey Harry, by the way, I'm somewhat arranged to marry Prince Fred by my grandmother and the government. Hope it's alright." You sarcastically said.

"Okay, I don't think she should tell him." Nia said, looking at your other friends. You chuckled, shaking your head at how easily convinced she was.

"It sounds bad," Farrah said before turning to look at you as she fixed her hijab, "But put yourself in his shoes. What if he knows about it later when it's already too messy?"

"I won't let it reach that. I'm going to do something about it." You said, glancing at your friends. "It's not like I'm going to allow that marriage."

"Still." Nia said before she popped her newly red-coloured lips.

"If I really did put myself in his shoes and I know that the woman I'm with is basically arranged to marry someone else, I'll probably run off because what's the point of fighting against the queen and the country’s fucking government? I’ll be done for." You opened your arms questioningly.

"Didn't you say that he told you he doesn't care if he hides behind the bushes because your grandma doesn't support you?" Farrah asked, pointing her mascara at you. You nodded. "Then there you have it. A keeper."

You sighed, about to drop on your back when Nia's hand on your back stopped you. "You ironed that suit. Don't mess it up because your life is fucked up."

"Wise words." You mumbled, sitting up. You nodded, standing up and looking at them. "Alright I'll tell him,"

"Yes." They all breathed out, nodding.

"When it's the right time." You continued, hearing them groan in response. "We've just got together today!"

"Look, baby," Emma approached you, putting her hand on your shoulder, "We'll be here for you whenever you decide to do whatever you want. You're a grown woman and you handle complicated shit everyday in your life. We trust you, okay?"

You smiled, nodding. "Thank you, Em."

"I second Em."

"Third her." Farrah smiled at you, blowing you an exaggerated kiss.

"That jumpsuit looks good on you, by the way."

"Speaking of looking good," Nia began, standing up and scrunching her curly hair as she looked in the mirror. "Fred isn't half bad. He's decent."

You, Emma and Farrah looked at each other with surprised smirks before looking at Nia who noticed the change in the room, looking back at you. "What?" She asked, furrowing her eyebrows. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Like what?" Emma challenger her teasingly.

"Like I just told you I want to shove my tongue down his throat." Nia replied.

"Your words, not ours." You teased her, laughing when she gave you a "come on!"

You raised your hands up in surrender, "Just think I should let you know that I'm a taken woman and as far as I know, he's single."

"You three," Nia pointed at you, raising her eyebrows, "Are shit, do you know that?"

"Come on, it's almost 7. We better leave." Farrah said, checking her phone.

Meeting with the guys in the lobby and getting into the cars, you all drove towards the restaurant which Eddie told you was one of the best. Harry had texted you prior, telling you that he was almost there.

"Better early or I won't get the friends approval." He had texted.

Walking behind Trevor who turned to look at you over his shoulder, "Can I give him the if-you-hurt-her-I-hurt-you talk?"

"Absolutely not." You scolded him under your breath before chuckling.

"Geez, fine. Guess I'll stick to the embarrassing stories."

"Trev-" Trevor speeded off while snickering, letting you stop behind Fred.

"You look nice, Y/N." Fred smiled softly at you.

"Thank you, Fred. So do you." You smiled back, nodding your head.

"I was uh," he cleared his throat, looking behind you for a second. "I was meaning to ask you about something."

You nodded, urging him to. "Sure, what is it?"

"Is Nia-" He looked behind you again before lowering his head and voice, "Is she seeing anyone?"

Not knowing how to contain the grin, you glanced behind you at her before looking back at Fred. "She isn't actually. Want me to put in a good word for you?"

"No, no, I-" He shook his head instantly before looking down at you, "Would you? Would you do that?"

You hummed, nodding. "Of course."

He nodded, "Yeah, that would be-that would be nice."

You chuckled before nodding at him and looking in front of you, grinning when your eyes fell on the one person you absolutely wanted to kiss.

"Come on. Let's meet that boyfriend of yours." Emma whispered in your ear as you all walked towards the table where Harry stood, his hands behind his back and a welcoming smile on his face.

You were almost standing in line, watching your friends greet Harry who was grinning, shaking everyone's hand.

"It's nice to finally meet you, Harry." Emma smiled at him before sitting down; not before looking at you and giving you a discreet “ok” hand sign and a thumb up.

You approached him, smiling when he quickly leaned in, greeting you with a peck on your lips. "You look incredible." He whispered.

"You look handsome, too." You replied. Harry pulled your seat out for you, making you sit near him as he sat at the head of the table, you sitting on the first chair to his left.

"Y/N told me you went on a canal cruise, how was it?" Harry asked, smiling as his hand rested on your knee.

And so, the conversation started flowing naturally and easily, filled with laughter and playful banter.

"I saw the video, that one you posted on your Instagram story," Eddie pointed at you before looking back at Harry, "You're bloody talented, mate."

"Right? You have amazing vocals, Harry." Farrah agreed.

You smiled as you looked at Harry, seeing his cheeks slightly turn to faded pink, making you put your hand on his on your knee. "You should hear him live. It's exactly like the studio version." You told them.

"Hey! We should definitely go once." Emma suggested, looking around at everyone on the table who agreed.

"You're welcome to any time." Harry politely said with a sheepish smile.

"Any time isn't convenient to these two royal highnesses." Trevor motioned with his hand at you and Fred, making your smile falter slightly.

Harry's eyebrows raised before looking at Fred, "Oh, excuse me. I wasn't aware that you were-."

You looked down, your ears almost perked at the conversation as the girls eyed you. Fred chuckled, nodding. "Eh, piss off,” he joked, “It doesn't matter. I'm probably going to give it up as soon as I can."

"Oh," Harry almost absentmindedly began rubbing your knee with his thumb, affectionately. "But why? If I may ask so."

"Y/N can tell you about it or she probably already did. Expectations, force, control, all that. No offense to you, darl," Fred looked at you for a second before looking back at Harry. "It's the whole marriage thing that tipped me off." "Marriage?" Harry asked confusingly, seeming interested in the talk.

"You know what? I think royal talk is the last thing we need right now," Nia interrupted them, you releasing a breath. "Harry, where's your next show?"

#the royal series #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles x princess

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blitheringmcgonagall · 3 years

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The Prank

@magic-girl-in-a-muggle-world thanks for tagging me on the 7 sentence WIP tag, this is from a short prequel I’m working on set just before the start of We Can Be Heroes. That story starts off with the aftermath of the Prank, but I had never actually written the incident itself and have been working on it for a while... let me know if you like it...

He stares at the tiny footprints, bunched up, close together, a gnawing, burning feeling in his chest. He doesn’t know what it is. Rage, he imagines. Rage is fine, although he hates himself that it matters to him, when Regulus has made it abundantly clear that he wants nothing to do with him. Rage is nothing like caring. Rage is fine, healthy, even. He tosses the map aside and lies there on his bed, wishing he were different. Peter is also lying on his bed own bed, daydreaming, sucking a lemon sherbet lolly, hand flicking through a Quidditch magazine.

“Can you stop making that infernal noise? It’s driving me insane!” he snaps, causing the blond-haired boy to nearly fall off his bed.

“Sorry,” Peter mutters, sounding a bit peeved.

He goes back to licking the sweet, quieter, but no less infuriating.

“Merlin, fuck!” he hisses under his breath.

He knows that Peter can hear him. The licking stops. He heaves a sigh of relief. He’s such an irritable bastard. He’s quite sure one of these days his friends will lose patience with him and kick him out of the Marauders’ dorm. Kick him out of the Marauders, altogether, if he’s not careful.

He’s never been much good at being careful.

He picks up the map again, on a whim, and glares as he sees the footprints still congregated together – Regulus Black, Severus Snape, Evan Rosier, Hugo Avery. What the ever-living fuck does his little brother want with those bastard wankers from his year? What are they doing to him? What lies are they feeding him? He wants to hurl something across the room, shatter the glass window looking idly out over the grounds, the photograph of the Potters, all three of them looking adoringly into each other’s faces and laughing, carefree. Rip Peter’s muggle poster of Farrah bloody Fawcett into shreds. Throw Remus’ chocolate out of the- no, he would never do that to Remus. Remus has enough shit going on in his life, he doesn’t need a pathetic, rich, pureblood, useless little fuck feeling sorry for himself and making his life any more stressful than it already is.

Selfish, useless, pathetic boy, you’ll end up on your own, nobody’s going to want you.

He hates that he can hear his mother’s cold, vicious tone so clearly in his head, see her face as vividly as though he were watching a muggle film, at the most inconvenient times.

Fuck everything.

Apparently, he said that last bit out loud, as James Potter, who has just walked out of their bathroom looks over at him with a slight frown. He’s wearing a white towel around his waist and vigorously towelling his obnoxious hair with another one. It nearly makes him forget how angry he’s supposed to be in favour of teasing his best friend for having such a bird’s nest on his head.

“Alright, Padfoot?” he says, squinting at Sirius because he’s blind and can see jack shit without his “coke” bottle glasses.

“Spiffing,” he says, putting on his best pureblood sneer.

Unfortunately, that doesn’t seem to have any effect on Prongs, who is obviously as stupid as he is visually challenged. He walks over towards Sirius’ bed, casually, and stops right beside him, towering over him.

“What?” he barks, making his voice as rude and offensive as he can.

James stands there, still towelling his hair, unperturbed, not speaking, probably trying to think of a diplomatic way to find out what’s wrong with him.

“Spit it out, Pads,” he says after a beat.

Diplomatic my arse.

“No,” Sirius replies, moving away from James and scowling as his gaze falls back down to the map lying by his side.

“Fuck off,” he adds, in case the idiot hasn’t gotten the message.

James makes a non-committal sound and stays put. He puts on his specs and says nothing. Sirius can’t stand the silence, he knows that James knows this too, that it’s one of James’ favourite tactics to get him to talk and he hates James, hates that can’t cope with the silence, because if he starts talking, he’ll probably tell him everything. And even worse, he might cry. And Sirius has never, ever, not once, in all their years in Hogwarts, ever cried in front of his friends. He may have found himself a disused classroom and cried, after the first time he saw Remus transform and watched him turn back to himself, lying curled up in a ball, hissing with pain when they tried to help him, maintaining he didn’t need any help, that he was fine. But not in front of his mates, never in front of them.

“If you don’t fuck off this instant-“ he growls, his voice trembling so he has to stop mid-sentence.

“Reg, is it?” James says, glancing at the map which he forgot to hide from view.

Fucking hell. He knows from bitter experience that there’s no point trying to beat James when he’s on one of his mother-hen missions.

“Yes, you prick,” he says flatly, folding the map, too late.

James grunts something vague and moves to sit on his bed, opposite SIrius. He’s just come back from a gruelling additional hour of Quidditch practice, which nobody made him do, and he looks healthy and youthful and purposeful and kind. And it annoys seven kinds of shite out of Sirius.

“Mixing with the wrong crowd again?” James says, more a statement than a question.

“Whatever,” Sirius replies, dismissive.

“I’m sorry,” James said, after a pause.

He looks less certain now, his hazel eyes scanning Sirius’ face, wanting to make things better for him. Well, he can’t, Sirius thinking, with vicious smugness. Even the wonderful James Potter can’t solve his problems. Because Sirius himself is his biggest problem.

He laughs. It comes out sounding bitter and too watery for his liking.

“You can’t… if he doesn’t want you to help him, you can’t make him…” James says, running a hand through his hair.

“Never stopped you before,” Sirius says, folding his arms protectively over his chest.

James rolls his eyes at Sirius, but there’s no anger in them.

“Yeah, well, I’m a lost cause,” the messy haired boy replies.

He hates how stubborn, how dogged this boy is. Sometimes he wants to see how far he would have to push him away to lose him altogether.

“I don’t think Reg… I don’t think he’s able to, I don’t think he would be allowed to…” James continues.

“Fucking coward!” Sirius says, wishing he didn’t sound so bloody bothered by it all.

James looks over again, tossing a red t-shirt over his head.

“You’ve got me. I’m your brother now,” James says, quietly, confidently.

Sirius clenches his jaw. He will not cry, Merlin, damn it.

“You’re not my brother, Potter,” he says, derisively, dismissively, coldly.

He watches a flicker of hurt cross James’ face, replaced by something else. He watches as his friend picks up an apple and bites into it, placing a hand behind his head, crossing his long legs.

“I know that,” James says. “But you’re mine.”

#wcbh snippet #wcbh prequel #prongsfoot broTP #sirius black #james potter #regulus balck #the marauders #marauders era #mia writes #the prank

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suepixels · 3 years

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46 | Dinner

35 minutes later.

London: Let’s get a bit on a serious note. Tell me, Vivi, how are you keeping up, girl?

Vivian: Do I feel alright in general? I believe so.

London: You miss her, don’t you?

Vivian: After all, you lost your sister, too. Do you miss Imani? You understand very well how I feel right now.

London: Sadly, we have that in common. I do miss her daily. She always called me bear.

Vivian: Bear, oh? That's a sweet one. Would you mind if I continue that tradition?

London: Really, you would? I don't know it's kind of early for that. Maybe sometimes? Will let you know.

Vivian: Sure. All we can do is keep them in our hearts forever, and we will always love them wherever they may be, won't we?

London: Always loved, never forgotten, and always in our hearts. What would Diosa say if she would know that we dated each other?

Vivian: I guess she would approve. After all, you are a good man. A bit cocky, but your heart is in the right place. What would Imani say?

London: Imani? She would love you. She made me promise to find someone who loves me unconditionally. I should not settle for less. You need to know. Back then, I used to be young and naive. I believed in stuff like fairytales and love. Well, and I used to be madly in love with my ex. After Farrah? I never had a relationship again. It was Imanis' last wish. That I only get involved with someone who also loves me in return. That's that what she told me I deserved.

Vivian: You do deserve love. I wish I had met the shy and charming London. Surely would like him very much. But do you want a relationship at all?

London: Ah yeah? [snickers] Let's say it that way. I would not say no if it feels right. It has to be mutual, you know? How about you?

Vivian: Oh me? Um, I'm just a happy single.

London: Of course! No crazy ex-boyfriends or ex-girlfriends around you? Do you say nobody is haunting you from the past?

Vivian: Obviously, I'm into men! Just one. Pierce Beckett, a basketball player. I caught him in the act with my so-called BFF. As you can imagine, both are history.

London: Wow, that must have been hard.

Vivian: First love. His loss, not mine. She, on the other hand? As it turned out, she wasn't my BFF. Today? I'm sitting here with you. We date.

London: [snickers] We date?

Vivian: You said it's a date, right?

London: Right, the question is: What does it mean for you to be here with me?

Vivian: Well, I would say we have a date.

London: Wonderful, so all is forgiven that happened earlier today? [smirks]

Vivian: If you remember correctly, there is a catch with us, though?

London: [smirks] Hm, what's the catch, darling? Remind me, please.

Vivian: Let's explore who will resist kissing first. Final question would be: Who gets kissed first by whom?

London: [laughs] Tough one. I have to admit, but I'm in. Teasing is allowed, don't you think?

Vivian: [snickers] You only want to provoke me to kiss you first.

London: It's up for a challenge. Let's see who is going to give in first.

Vivian: Alas, sadly, no one is going to be kissed today.

London: Snap, destiny sucks at times. Damn! [chuckles] Vivian: Look at the delicious food we have. Maybe we should eat a bit? London: Good idea, I guess.

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@ellemant 🤔😊 Hope you enjoy!

#thesecretofrain #ts4 story #ts4 simstory #ts4 thriller #london crawford #vivi washington

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elliewritessometimes · 3 years

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IT’S @mattieswheelers BIRTHDAY!!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY LOVELY WE LOVE YOU SO MUCH

beCAUSE of this, myself and @notsomightymightytiger decided to steal tea leaf’s time travelling mattie au and create a whole entire fic with their ideas and also a design that @ari-is-anxious did a while back!! hope you enjoy aaaaaaa <3333 aLSO stabbies try and spot as many starboard references as you can heheheh

this can be read on ao3 here if you prefer the format :)

tw: swearing, murder (it’s minor and resolved tho jsgh), religion (nicco my love read with care), blood, i really hope i haven’t missed anything please do let me know if i missed anything

Mattie had always been able to time travel. For as long as she could remember, her walk-in wardrobe had been lined with silver metal and held no clothes at all. As a child, this made it all the more exciting, though as she grew older and actually started to want to own clothes, it became a little inconvenient. She supposed all great inventions came with some kind of sacrifice.

Her uncle had made the time machine as a gift when Mattie was born. Her parents, like any basic adults, assumed the wardrobe-sized box was simply a toy and had taken no interest in it. Mattie, from the age of about three when her curiosity had really set in, was the one who discovered that the machine was in fact a working portal and not just a children’s toy. Since then, she had been happily travelling time and space during the darkest hours of night.

(You may have entirely valid concerns about a three year old having full access to time travel - luckily, not just for Mattie’s safety but also that of the entire human race, her uncle had set what were effectively child locks on a lot of the controls. These were diminished the day that Mattie turned thirteen. Uncle Calvin had always been a little weird, but he certainly wasn’t heartless.)

Usually, Mattie’s time travel didn’t affect her life. Sure, it made for some pretty awkward conversations as Mattie spurted some knowledge which could never have been explained through a textbook, but those could often be blamed on watching too much Horrible Histories as a child (“Mattie, I swear to God, you’re so bageling British, and yet you’ve never been there, I don’t understand.” “Horrible Histories is a masterpiece! You’re just jealous that you’re too American to have seen it.” “Actual asshole of a child.” “Farrah-!”).

It was going well until Mattie’s freshman year at Giles Corey. And then three of her fellow highschoolers were murdered. And suddenly Mattie had a way to prevent that from happening.

In some stroke of luck, she passed out at the sleepover and didn’t find out about the murders until she was sitting in the back of a cop car, driving to her house to pick up her things. She remembered thinking how weird it was that she wasn’t being taken straight to the station, but brushed that away in favour of ‘going into her wardrobe to change out of her bloody clothes’.

The time machine was cold like it always was and that forced her out of her muddled state quickly enough. She thought back to the victims. Chess. Farrah. Clark. Snapping on her goggles, she pressed a button, whirled backwards through time and space, and appeared at the gate to Riley’s neighbour’s house.

She really wished that she had actually changed her outfit - the damp blood turned cold with the breeze and sent shivers up her spine. The smell perhaps or just her sudden appearance startled the neighbour’s dogs into a frenzy. A figure, Chess, unharmed and merely confused instead of terrified, stood up from Riley’s bench, calling into the darkness. Mattie’s breath caught in her throat. The second figure, knife glinting in the dim streetlight, slipped out of the back door. Their red hair shone in the reflection of the knife with a sick kind of beauty.

Mattie could have stopped them there, taken the knife from the assailant’s grasp, prevented the tragedy of the evening. But she didn’t. She just watched.

Three minutes later, after arriving back in her present time and pressing yet another button on the wall of her closet, she watched the same scene unfold in the bathroom with a much younger victim. Twenty minutes after that, the third attack. This one was different though, an accident.

Still a little desperate and overly conscious of the police officer standing guard outside of her bedroom, she reappeared in her wardrobe, putting on a jumper before turning back time a little further. She appeared in a gymnastics centre as a girl around Mattie’s age did wolf turns on a beam. A coach entered the scene from the sidelines as the girl stopped spinning, her distinctive plait falling still against her back. Something in Mattie ached at the sight of Chess so lively and innocent, willing to give up her life for her dream of succeeding in her sport. As the two wandered into a side room, picking up water with a smile, Mattie edged forwards, collecting soft gym mats as she went. Within minutes, the area surrounding the beam had been double layered with cushioning, and Mattie could only pray that her plan would work. She’d seen enough YouTube videos to know what happened next.

Chess emerged again with her coach, hopping back up onto the beam with practiced ease. Again, Mattie was forced to just watch as she went down into her wolf turn, then rose up, did a split leap across at least half of the beam, and jumped into a twist to land on the floor. It was a messy landing, the gymnast’s ankle caving in on itself, knee twisting unnaturally in the air, before coming down hard onto her side. But, unlike in the previous videos, there wasn’t a resounding crack, only a weak cry of pain as Chess stumbled back to her feet.

Mattie grinned despite herself as snippets of conversation drifted her way.

“-not broken, don’t worry-”

“The Olympics seem out of the picture…”

“Get her a drink to numb the pain! Yes, limeade’s perfect-!”

Mattie arrived in her room again with a whole plethora of new information just inserted into her mind like it had been there all along. There was no longer and never had been a police officer outside her door. Her shirt was clean, her head undamaged. Chess didn’t go to the Olympics, but still did gymnastics in her spare time as her knee made a full and quick recovery. Farrah wasn’t dropped. Riley, in some weird twist of fate, went to the same therapist as Mattie. Life was… good for the Giles Corey Tigers.

Across town, the sleepover was still going ahead as normal. From what weird memories she just gained, Mattie knew that the team was at a rocky patch, their personalities still clashing in any iteration of the evening. But, with some relief, she knew that it would never in this timeline be bad enough for murder to even be considered as an answer. Her phone buzzed. The lies came easily as she covered up her mysterious disappearance from the sleepover she should currently be at.

Reese (school): Where are you???

Mattieeeee: I went home :( not feeling good

Reese (school): :((( that sucks

Mattieeeee: Ikr. I think it was the ice cream.

Reese (school): I told the others

Reese (school): They all say get well soon apart from Kate and Cairo who actually agreed on something for once haha

Mattieeeee: What did they say skjghdjh

Reese (school): “Tolerate the lactose, Wheeler.”

In her short-but-actually-quite-long-given-all-the-time-travel life, Mattie had witnessed a number of key historic events (and had caused about 85% by some small accident, but that’s a story for another time). The one which ended up unveiling her secret to someone in her actual life occurred overnight one February. Or maybe July. Depends. Time is weird.

She stepped into a small room, luckily through the doorway and not awkwardly through the window, as done many times before. A man sat hunched over a desk by the window, dressed in brown and using a pen-but-not-really-a-pen to craft a page of writing. From Mattie’s extensive historical knowledge, it could have been anywhere from 1000 BC to the 16th century.

“Hello, excuse me,” she began, “But I’m a little lost.”

The man startled, his not-really-pen skidding across the page and leaving a trail of thick ink in its wake as he blinked at her in the doorway. “Who are you?” He seemed perplexed as to how a young girl was standing there, in the opening to his room, in clothing not of any time now or before.

Something that Mattie had realised after travelling not only to different times, but also to a vast number of different settings around the world, was that somehow, she was never stumped by a language barrier. Instead she was always able to fluently converse with those she met in what appeared to her as American English. It was really weird; she tried not to think about it too much or it made her head hurt. She’d also learnt that it was best not to explain her full situation to her companions, becoming accustomed to pulling the classic ‘I’m not here, you’re just dreaming’ excuse. So that was exactly the tactic she applied here. “A dream figure. You don’t need to be afraid.”

The man narrowed his eyes, glancing down at the paper and then back up to Mattie’s face. “That’s a good line.” He scribbled her words down onto a scrap piece of papyrus. “Maybe I can use that later.”

Mattie grinned, sensing her chance to fuck up history just a little bit. “What are you writing?”

“How the world came to be,” the man explained. “God.”

“Ah, of course. The Bible, huh?”

“Pardon?” The scribe locked eyes with Mattie for the first time, confusion etched clearly on his face. She shook her head in response, having learnt that it was hopeless trying to explain events of the future to people who could never even begin to imagine the future that she came from. Seemingly satisfied, the man continued. “As the vision you are, I wonder if you’ve been sent to answer my queries.”

“Of course. Go ahead.”

“I’m struggling for a name. Not for the book itself, but just for this chapter.”

Mattie smiled as wisely as she could. “What do you have so far?”

“‘Generational Crisis’. The chapter describes how our world came to be - the creation of natural elements, the first humans, the beginnings of emotion. ‘Generational’ as it shall be carried on for generations, and ‘crisis’ as it’s a huge event, a crisis for the higher powers.”

Mattie choked. Her mind imagined a world where the entry chapter to the Bible was named as so, and it was a world of chaos and highly differing language choices. “That is very wise, sir. I have one suggestion: how about shortening it? Make it snappier, more catchy. I’m thinking…” She paused, feigning deep thought, “‘Genesis.’”

The man gasped, scrawling her word down at the top of the papyrus. “Genius! Thank you, child. I should write your name in my finished book, to show my gratitude for your kindness.”

“Mattie, sir, Mattie Wheeler. It’s been lovely to meet you and see your studies.” Over the centuries, Mattie had learnt to leave those she met with some kind of reassurance as the humane aspect of her hobby. “Before I go, I may be a dream spirit, but I can assure you that the work you have done right now shall be greatly appreciated for thousands of years to come.”

“You really are a wonder, perhaps a child sent from the power above.”

Unthinking, she snorted, replying, “Oh, boy, you are not ready to hear about Jesus.”

“Jesus? You mean my sister’s husband? I do hear some curious rumours about the man…”

Mattie hid her laugh behind a hand. Of course, this was hundreds of years before Jesus Christ came to be thought of. “I know, right? Jesus? More like JeSUS.” The scribe didn’t reply, mind clearly tired of its confusion and instead turning back to something it knew well. He picked up his writing patterns again. Mattie turned away, back to the doorway. “I will leave you to your writing again. Sleep well.” Leaving a small vial of dissolved sleeping pills on the desk, she stepped out of the door.

The only class that Mattie knew she would see Eva in was Religion. They didn’t actually share the class, but Mattie’s Religion teacher was Eva’s form tutor and the older girl often used the classroom as a quieter study area for her free period. Not that Mattie would call a class of thirty sophomores particularly peaceful, but apparently she hadn’t heard the noise of the senior study area, you genuinely don’t understand, last week Jacob Thomas tried to make toast using the sun on a desk and then, bam, the entire of senior year are creating chants about sun bread, it was so weird, Mattie, I transferred to a school of crackheads.

After her travel to the 7th century AD, Mattie sparked a sudden interest in her Religion classes. Eva, being the older sister that she was, watched closely as the sophomore stayed behind after class to search the Bible for something in particular.

“What’re you looking for?”

“Nothing!” Mattie didn’t look up from fervently turning the pages.

“Well, that’s a fucking lie.” Eva perched on the side of a desk, sliding across to snatch the book out of the younger girl’s hands. “Why the hell are you looking at what is essentially the movie credits for the Bible???”

Eva watched as Mattie bit her lip, eyes darting around the empty classroom. She thought for a long moment, visibly debating points in her head, before leaning over the top of the book to run her finger down a list of names. About a third of the way down the page, she stopped. Eva’s eyes followed her finger as it drew a circle around a certain name. Matte Wheyler

“See. I was looking for that.”

Eva didn’t say anything for a while. Mattie waited with baited breath as Eva’s brain tried to make sense of what they saw. “Mattie Wheeler, what the bagel.” It didn’t bother to even be a question.

“It’s a really long story.” Mattie slumped onto the desk as well. “Hey, did you know that ‘Genesis’ would have originally been called ‘Generational Crisis’ if it wasn’t for me?”

After a glance at both of their timetables, they decided that their next lessons (biology and latin respectively) were worth missing. Instead, they stayed seated on a desk in the Religion classroom, as Mattie explained in detail how her name came to be in the Bible. It was refreshing to finally spill her secret after fifteen years of complete silence, and Mattie wondered vaguely in the back of her mind if one day Eva might be able to share in her time travelling adventures. That might take a little more explaining though, because Eva sure did have a lot of questions.

“So, you don’t change anything?”

“Not anything major. Like, I can’t stop Hitler or anything, that would change too big an event. Little things, however, like names and stuff, it’s fun to mess around with. Ever wondered why the Italian city, Pisa, has its name? I delivered pizza to the guys who were kind of like the government at the time of its naming. Hence, the Leaning Tower of Pizza.”

Eva cackled. “Wait, what?! God, dude, that’s nuts. What the fuck.”

“What can I say, all I really want in life is a little bit of chaos and also mozzarella sticks.”

Mattieeeee sent a photo.

evanescence: is that??? abraham lincoln????

Mattieeeee: Abraham Lincoln was an otter.

evanescence: how so?

Mattieeeee: Point one: look at him.

Mattieeeee: Point two: no seriously. Look at him.

evanescence: oh my god

evanescence: i cannot believe you have a literal selfie with abraham lincoln that’s fucking wild

Mattieeeee: Perks of the job :D

evanescence: literally hire me i want a selfie with cleopatra

farrah o’satanic ritual: yall i got out of the shower like an hour ago and i still haven’t changed

Imposter: What can I say, bath robes are in fashion rn

farrah o’satanic ritual: ive told you before clark stop pretending you know how to dress

Mattieeeee: Farrah did you not die in the shower?

katherine: ????mattie???????

farrah o’satanic ritual: no?? i didn’t

SmileyRiley: dang it

katherine: riLEY-

caicrow: riley i thought we’d moved on from murder

Imposter: Plot twist: Mattie was the murderer all along

katherine: CLARK-

Mattieeeee: oops-

It wasn't meant to happen, she swore up and down it was a mistake. A true and honest accident. And it kinda was? I mean Mattie hadn’t intended for the scaffolding on the new tower being constructed in Pisa to wobble, she’d already fucked up Pisa once in her career, but… Well, that's what she got for letting loose Giles and Corey (her occasional time travelling companions, who also happened to be cats) in the middle of a Italian city in 1252. She could have sworn the catnip was safely concealed in one of the pockets inside her jacket (which was filled with all sorts of trinkets from her travels in the space-time continuum), yet somehow the two had still gotten into it. She guessed that's what she got for not hydrating-feel-greating and eating-to-defeating.

An old citizen eyed her suspiciously, taking in her struggle with the two cats. Or maybe she was just more focused on Mattie’s goggles - she doubted anyone in 13th century Pisa had seen such a bold fashion statement before. The tower continued to lean in the background.

Finally, Giles and Corey settled down, each in a pocket of her trench coat. Mattie breathed a sigh of relief, which only got halfway out of her before she was sucking it back in as the old lady from across the street began to approach her.

“Young lady.”

Mattie smiled sheepishly. “Hello, ma’am. Is everything alright?”

The lady looked mildly amused. “I couldn’t help but notice your two cats going mysteriously close to the tower before it started collapsing. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

“Oh, no, ma’am. My cats are very well behaved.” Giles gave a resounding yelp at exactly the wrong time. A hiss from Corey echoed from the opposite pocket.

“Well,” the lady grinned, “If that’s the case, why don’t you leave the animals with me? You seem fairly preoccupied with the tower - perhaps you can try and assist its reconstruction?” She held out a hand.

Mattie thought for a moment and then handed across the two cats. “Thank you ever so much, ma’am. I’ll try and be quick.” The woman nodded and Mattie sped across the square to the drastically swaying tower.

When she arrived back at the woman’s table, there was a second lady in animated conversation with her. As Mattie approached, she stood up to take her leave, pressing a kiss to the first lady’s hair as she left. Something was definitely fruity there.

“All fixed!”

“I’m glad.” The woman nudged the cats back to their owner, looking intensely over Mattie’s shoulder to the stabilised tower. “It certainly looks sturdier.”

“I should hope so.”

The woman narrowed her eyes. “Sometimes,” she said, staring pointedly at an area on the structure, “I think about crabs.”

“Oh?” Mattie tilted her head. “Do you?”

“Yes. And often when I think about crabs, I think that they shouldn’t be in Pisa, and they most definitely should not be crawling over the tower.”

Mattie gasped and followed her gaze, muttering curses under her breath. “I didn’t realise I’d brought a whole crab with me! I thought I’d taken the sea life off the rocks!”

The woman chuckled. “You seem to be a strange character. Child, where on Earth did you find not only rocks large enough to support a tower, but also a live crab in Pisa?”

Accepting her fate, Mattie decided to tell the truth. “They’re from Egypt.” At the woman’s questioning look, she expanded, “I’m a traveller of sorts.”

“Oh. Well, child, you’re a gift of a traveller. Brightened my day. Italy these days is far too serious. Maybe we should put more crabs on the leaning tower, huh?”

Tucking her cats back into their respective pockets, Mattie allowed herself to laugh. “Maybe we should.” With a nod and a smile, she wandered off, eagerly awaiting her portal.

“Why were you in Egypt anyway?” Eva asked as Mattie recounted yet another of her time-travel-gone-wrong experiences.

“Library of Alexandria.”

“Oh, yeah, because that explains so much.”

“Shut up.” She rolled her eyes. “It was 48 BC, Caesar was burning shit, this random Roman dude set fire to the library.” She pulled a book out of her backpack. “I saved this and stashed away a few of the slabs of rock. And apparently a crab.”

Eva took the book in awe. “Jesus Christ… This thing is, like, thousands of years old…”

“I know, right? Weird.” She watched as Eva flicked through the pages, tracing her finger over certain words or illustrations. “But it was such a beautiful library, I couldn’t let it just burn. So, I retaliated. Burnt the house of the soldier who set the original flame.”

“Mattie!”

She shrugged. “Setting someone’s house on fire is a survival skill.”

“Oh my God.”

“I would have done something more dramatic, but I had to get home. I had a cake which would need to come out of the oven.”

Eva laughed, the sound echoing around the empty classroom. They were skiving class again, this time PE, the one class they had which coincidentally fell at the same time for both year groups. “How are you so normal in school, but so badass when you time travel?”

“I dunno. All I can say is that cake and spite are my only motivators.”

“You’re like a superhero. ‘Time Travelling Mattie: The Only One Who Can Lead A Dual Life Successfully’!!!”

Mattie blushed, shrugging. She definitely needed to take Eva with her one day. A superhero duo. “Okay, that name needs some work. How about: ‘Sanchez And Wheeler, The Ultimate Time Travelling Duo’?”

“I think I like the sound of that.”

“Yeah?”

Eva nodded, shaking her hand like they were signing a business contract. “Yeah.”

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annewritesfic · 3 years

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Happy Endings Don’t Exist

i sat down and worked on this for the last FIVE HOURS y’all better appreciate it

based on chapters 4, 6, 9, and 10 of scarlet by marissa meyer

tw: mentions of gun, knives, blood, attempted murder... i think that’s it but lemme know if i missed anything

word count: 7266

The incarceration of Captain Farrah Thorne had gotten off to a rocky start.

(Farrah was fully aware, of course, that technically she’d been only a cadet when she’d gone on the run, but captain just sounded better.)

After the soap rebellion, Farrah had been put in solitary confinement, but she’d managed to sweet talk one of the guards into giving her their port screen. It was honestly probably because the guard thought Farrah was an idiot and wouldn’t be able to do anything with it, but no matter the reason, Farrah was now sitting cross-legged on her bed, fidgeting with the port screen.

Of course, the guard was right about Farrah not being able to do anything with the port screen.

She’d had it for several hours now and still hadn’t accessed her comms, any news feeds, or anything else useful. Looking up “how to break out of a high-security prison using only a port screen” probably wouldn’t get her anywhere, so now she was just absentmindedly entering the names of people she used to know, wondering where they were now.

The cell was painfully, obviously quiet, but slowly, Farrah noticed the sound of what almost seemed like a drill, coming from the ceiling. She looked up and briefly scanned the room, but there wasn’t much to see - the same plain, shiny white walls. If the prison was remodeling, Farrah hoped her cell was next.

The drill noise suddenly came louder, clearly directly above Farrah’s cell, and she watched curiously as one of the ceiling tiles was removed and someone jumped down, landing in a crouch and facing the wall opposite Farrah. The someone had messy brown hair tied in a ponytail, a crumpled white prison uniform, and one bare foot… and one metal foot. In fact, Farrah realized that the person’s left hand was plated with metal, too, and one finger had a screwdriver sticking out of the tip.

“Hello,” she said pleasantly. The cyborg jumped and slipped, turning to look at Farrah. “It seems you’ve stumbled into the wrong jail cell. Do you need directions to get back to yours?”

The cyborg narrowed her eyes at Farrah. “What…?”

Farrah smiled charmingly.

“These cells aren’t supposed to be occupied,” the cyborg said. Her voice was a little bit hoarse, like they hadn’t spoken in awhile.

“Special circumstances.”

“You’re not a murderer, are you?”

“Stars, no.” Farrah popped her collar proudly. “I started a riot in the yard. We were protesting the soap.”

The cyborg stared at her.

“The soap,” Farrah said again. “It’s way too drying. I have sensitive skin.”

“Huh,” the cyborg said, turning away. They stood up and kicked the fallen floor tile to the side, looking around, then knocked the side of her head with the heel of their human hand. “Stupid, stupid… one room off.”

Farrah watched them press a hand against the wall and blink a few times, like there was something stuck in their eye. “You’re escaping, aren’t you?”

“Not at this very moment, but that is the general idea, yes.” The cyborg sighed frustratedly, then spotted the port screen in Farrah’s hand. “Hey, what model is that?”

“I have absolutely no idea,” Farrah said honestly.

The cyborg crossed the room and snatched it out of her hand. “I need your vid cable.”

“My what?”

“Your vid cable. Mine’s on the fritz.” The cyborg sat cross-legged in the center of the room, port screen in her lap. Farrah realized that the screwdriver in their metal hand was a drill, and she watched curiously as the cyborg used it to remove the back panel and pulled out a yellow wire. She kicked the port screen aside and reached up to the back of their neck, unlatching a panel there. After a moment of fidgeting, the cyborg pulled out a blackened wire and then replaced it with the yellow one from Farrah’s port screen. She tossed the blackened wire aside and sighed, a brief smile crossing their lips. “Ugh, that’s so much better.”

Farrah picked up the port screen, mind whirling. “You have a port screen in your head?”

“Something like that.” The cyborg began running a hand across the wall. Farrah watched her pry one of the panels off the wall, and tried to make small talk, but the cyborg ignored her.

“When they locked you up, didn’t they think that maybe there were some… security weaknesses with you?” Farrah asked.

The cyborg sighed, sitting back on their heels and blowing a strand of hair out of her eyes. “There weren’t. The hand is new.” They stared at the open wall for a moment, thinking.

“You wouldn’t happen to be convicted of breaking and entering?” Farrah said, only half joking.

The cyborg rolled her eyes. “If you really have to know, two counts of treason, resisting arrest, and unlawful use of biolectricity. Oh, and illegal immigration, but I kind of think that’s a little excessive.”

Farrah squinted at her. “How old are you?”

“Sixteen.”

“How the hell-”

“It’s really complicated and I don’t wanna talk about it,” the cyborg snapped.

“O-kay.” Farrah sat back. “By the way, what’s your name?”

No response. The cyborg kept doing… whatever they were doing behind the panel.

“I’m Captain Farrah Thorne,” she said. “Most people call me Thorne, though. Or Captain. Or Captain Thorne-”

“Kate,” the cyborg said. “Just Kate.”

“Wonderful to make your acquaintance!” Farrah smiled brightly. “Are you in need of an accomplice? Because I happen to be a criminal mastermind-”

“Go away.”

“Um.” Farrah looked around the small, one-room cell. “Where?”

Kate closed her eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, then kept working.

“What’s your plan for when you get out?” Farrah asked.

“The most direct route out of the city is north,” Kate muttered. White flecks of plastic from the wall dusted their dark hair, but she didn’t seem to notice.

“Oh, my poor, sweet, naive little convict,” Farrah tutted. “That’s exactly what they’ll be expecting from you!”

“Please stop distracting me.”

“We might be able to help each other!”

“Leave me alone.”

“I have a ship.”

Kate actually looked at her.

“A spaceship,” Farrah said in a sing-song voice.

“A spaceship,” Kate repeated doubtfully.

“Yep!”

The cyborg paused, as if reading something on the wall behind Farrah. “It wouldn’t happen to be a stolen ship from the American Republic?”

“Yeah, how did you…” Farrah trailed off, then grinned and tapped the side of her head. “Port screen in the head?”

“The Republic hasn’t found the ship yet?”

“Nope. At least, I hope not. Stripped the tracking equipment, and it’s hiding in a warehouse over by the plague quarantines.” Farrah raised an eyebrow. “So? Need that accomplice?”

Kate said nothing and turned back to the wall.

“You look exhausted,” Farrah commented. “Need a back rub?”

Kate jolted upwards with a growl and whipped around to face Farrah. “Please, just-- just stop talking. Leave me alone.”

Farrah gasped a little and fell back against the wall, mind whirling. Kate’s image wavered just a bit, like heat in a desert, and Farrah’s heartbeat sped up, her head filling with thoughts of worship and devotion and surrender.

She was beautiful. Divine. Perfect.

“All right,” Farrah said slowly. “Anything you’d like.” She turned to face away from Kate, eyes watering, and the silence settled over both of them. Farrah and the cyborg, prison mate, goddess.

FARRAH THORNE

ID #0082688359

BORN 4 JUNE 106 T.E., AMERICAN REPUBLIC

FF 437 MEDIA HITS, REVERSE CHRON

POSTED 12 JAN 126 T.E.: EX-AIR FORCE CADET, FARRAH THORNE, HAS BEEN CONVICTED AND SENTENCED TO A SIX-YEAR PRISON SENTENCE AT THE END OF A SPEEDY TWO-WEEK TRIAL…

The green text scrolled across Kate’s vision without prompting, showing them a detailed record of the crimes of the annoying convict sitting just ten feet away. Despite only having turned twenty a few months ago, Farrah Thorne was guilty of one count of military desertion, two counts of international theft, one count of attempted theft, six counts of handling stolen goods, and one count of theft of government property.

“Government property” didn’t seem to do justice to the fact that Farrah Thorne had stolen a spaceship from the American Republic military. The spaceship she was so proud of.

She was currently about six months into her six year sentence in the Eastern Commonwealth (for attempted theft of a second-era jade necklace), but she was also wanted in Australia and, of course, America, and after this sentence was completed, would be standing trial and serving time in those countries as well.

Kate didn’t pause their work to think, even though her mind was racing. Escaping from prison was one thing, but could she really aid the escape of this actual, real criminal, in a stolen spaceship?

It’s a whole lot harder to find a criminal in space than on Earth, their mind tempted. Kate scowled and shoved away the thought.

Behind them, Farrah Thorne sat on the little white cot, chin resting in both hands, staring at the wall. Kate only risked half a glance back every few minutes - just looking at her made them feel guilty.

Leave me alone.

The words had tasted like fire, like ashes and burning and smoke. That heat had spread through Kate’s veins again - not as painful as it had been at the ball, but still not comfortable, either. She was pretty sure that using her gift - a genetic trait Lunars were born with that allowed them to sense and manipulate the biolectricity of other living creatures - wasn’t supposed to burn like that, but it was probably just a side effect of using it again for the first time in years. Probably for the first time ever, really. Kate didn’t know much about the Lunar gift, but it seemed unlikely that a three year old would be able to control it, and she’d only lived on Luna until they were that old.

Thirteen years ago, though, Queen Levana had tried to murder Princess Selene.

She’d tried to murder Kate.

By some miracle, Kate had survived and was smuggled down to Earth, and now thirteen years later, the lost Lunar princess was kneeling in a jail cell, white flakes of plastic decorating her white prison jumpsuit, the drill implanted in their metal hand helping her break out of New Beijing prison.

Literally, what the fuck?

Dr Erland had figured it out weeks ago, but had only decided to tell them less than twenty four hours ago, after Levana had recognized them at the annual peace ball and threatened war if Kate wasn’t immediately thrown in jail for being an illegal Lunar emigrant. Dr Erland had decided that was the perfect time to pay Kate a visit, give her a new foot (seeing as theirs had fallen off on the palace steps), a fancy new cyborg hand with the latest attachments, the biggest shock of her entire life, and instructions to meet him in Africa. Right. Easy-peasy. Break out of a high-security prison and meet a crazy doctor in Africa.

Kate risked another glance back at Farrah, still sitting on the cot with that dazed smile. A spaceship would make it easier to get to Africa…

Still, just looking at Farrah brought back that flash of guilt, and Kate had to turn away.

She hadn’t meant to use their gift on Farrah. They were still learning how to use it. It took three tries to convince a guard to move her to a more convenient cell, and shutting Farrah up had been completely on accident - she’d just wanted Farrah to stop talking for ten seconds, and the heat of their gift had surged from the base of her neck and spread to her fingertips and leaked into her voice, prompting Farrah to do…

To do exactly what Kate wanted her to do.

It hadn’t felt good. It made Kate feel awful and guilty and like the worst person on Earth - stars, how could Lunars stand having this gift, let alone love it the way they did?

I don’t want to have this gift. I don’t want to be Lunar.

I just… wanna be the old me again.

Kate pushed away their spiraling thoughts and stood up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Farrah looked up at them with wide eyes, sitting up eagerly.

“I’m sorry I manipulated you,” Kate said, the words coming out a little bit jumbled. They tried again, slower this time. “It was an abuse of power and it wasn’t fair. I’m sorry.”

Farrah frowned. “Are you the same person who was just here?”

“Yeah…?”

“Oh.” Farrah looked her up and down. “You seemed a whole lot prettier before.”

A little bit of Kate’s guilt faded away. “Listen, Cadet-”

“Captain,” Farrah corrected.

“Cadet,” Kate repeated forcefully. “You can come with me if we make it to your ship, and if you try not to talk so much.”

Farrah eagerly stood up, almost losing her balance for a moment. “Sick!”

Kate glanced back at the hole they’d created, having found the entrance to the air ducts. “So this ship of yours is the one you stole from the American Republic, right?”

“I prefer borrowed. They didn’t exactly have proof I wasn’t gonna give it back.”

Kate immediately began to regret this.

“And you’re sure the ship isn’t traceable?” they asked.

“Of course I’m sure.” Farrah tossed her hair over one shoulder. “I told you, I removed all the tracking equipment immediately.”

“Oh, that reminds me.” Kate held up her left hand and ejected the stiletto knife in the thumb. “We need to remove your ID chip. Hope you’re not squeamish.”

Farrah’s eyes widened, but she closed her eyes and held her wrist out. “Please try not to hit anything important, okay?”

Kate quickly removed the ID chip and tossed it aside, then cut a strip of cloth from Farrah’s sleeve for her to wrap around the wound. There was already a scar there, probably from where she’d cut out her ID chip the last time she’d been on the run.

Farrah pressed the cloth against the cut on her wrist and grinned at Kate. “Is it just me, or is this a big moment in our relationship?”

Kate glared at her. “Do not make me regret this.”

The air duct was cramped and hot and uncomfortable. Kate’s metal leg scraped against the bottom of it every time they crawled forward. Farrah, to her credit, stayed quiet, but Kate was so agitated that even just her breathing was annoying. Any sound ran the risk of getting them caught. Honestly, it was a surprise they hadn’t already been caught.

Kate checked the clock in her head. She’d left their cell thirty two minutes ago.

The prison blueprint glowed brightly on the retina display over the dark air duct, a tiny blue dot representing Kate and displaying where exactly they were - and with Farrah in tow.

Stars, Kate had to sneak both of them out safely. This was going to be hard enough on their own, how was she supposed to get both of them out?

You could glamour her.

Kate bit their lip. That was true… she could convince Farrah that she wanted to tell them exactly where her ship was, then make her decide that she didn’t want to come after all. Farrah wouldn’t have a choice but to listen.

“You good?” Farrah asked softly.

Kate shook her head just a tiny bit. No, they wouldn’t glamour her. Not again. She’d made it sixteen years just fine without a Lunar gift, and they’d be fine without it now.

“I’m fine, just… checking the blueprint,” she whispered back to Farrah. “Almost there.”

“Bluepri- ohhh, port screen-”

“In my head, yes.” Kate rounded the corner and saw a grate just a few feet ahead, casting a checkered square of light into the duct. “Okay, that’s it.”

Slowly, carefully, Kate crawled over the grate and then awkwardly turned around so both of them could look down. Below was a loading dock, where food and other supplies were brought in for the prisoners, and almost directly below the grate, a storm drain, exactly where Kate’s blueprint promised it would be. The drop was a full story, and there was concrete below, but besides that, this was almost going to be easy.

“The exit ramp should be that way,” Farrah whispered, pointing.

Kate shook their head. “No, we’ve got to get into that storm drain.”

“We’re going through the sewer?”

“What, did you think we’d just walk to your ship in broad daylight wearing bright white prison uniforms?” Kate rolled their eyes. “The sewer is our only way out.”

Farrah started to reply, but the sound of voices below made both of them duck away from the grate, out of sight.

“I didn’t see her dancing with the cyborg, my sister did. Her dress was soaking wet and wrinkled like a garbage bag.”

“But why would the empress dance with a cyborg? And then for them to go off and attack the Lunar queen like that… no way. Your sister was seeing things. I bet she was just some crazy who wandered in off the street, bitter over some cyborg injustice or whatever.”

The conversation cut off at the sound of a delivery ship. Kate bit their tongue at the voices shit-talking them and dared to peek over the grate again. The delivery ship passed by below, backing towards the loading bay and coming to a stop directly below where Kate and Farrah crouched in the duct. Kate took advantage of the noise and unscrewed the grate’s screws, then Farrah carefully lifted it up and to the side. Kate ignored the way their heart was thundering and carefully moved lower, looking down to get a better view, and saw, just a foot away, a rotating camera.

Kate jerked back up and crouched lower automatically, her retina display recommending deep breaths to calm down. The camera wasn’t facing their direction, thank God, but between the camera and the delivery workers unloading below, there was no way they’d make it to the storm drain undetected. And every second brought the risk of a guard discovering their empty cells - twice as many empty cells as Kate had planned to leave behind.

They made a decision and, without leaving time to question it, slowly and carefully reached their cyborg hand out, palm flat against the ceiling, and felt around for a moment before finding the camera’s lens. The plastic crushed easily in her bionic fist, the crunching noise terrifyingly loud.

“What the hell was that?” Farrah hissed.

“Camera.” Kate listened for a moment, but none of the workers below seemed to have noticed. “Time to go. We probably only have a few seconds before they realize they’re missing a camera.” Kate took a deep breath, pulled herself over the edge, and dropped down onto the roof of the delivery ship. Farrah followed.

Kate’s metal leg clanged loudly against the roof of the ship, and the whole thing shook on both impacts, immediately drawing the attention of all three workers. For a moment, the five of them just stared at each other, but then one of the workers reached for the port screen on his belt.

Kate focused for a moment, and the man’s hand never reached his port screen, hovering in the air just above it instead.

“Don’t,” they hissed, pushing away the guilt. The fire began to spread through her body again, but they ignored it, mind whirling.

Turn around.

They did.

Close your eyes.

They did.

Cover your ears.

They did.

Hum.

They did.

Farrah gaped at Kate. “What are they doing?”

“Obeying,” Kate muttered over the buzz of the humming. Hopefully that would keep them from hearing the storm drain open and realizing where the two escaping convicts had gone, and that was the only thought that kept Kate from releasing them, even as the guilt and the hatred of this stupid goddamn gift began to spread alongside the fire.

The fall into the storm drain was about as far as the fall onto the ship, but this time, Kate almost gagged at the sensation of the oily water against their bare foot. She envied Farrah’s shoes as she landed beside them, replacing the grate, and then they both turned to the round concrete tunnel beside them. It was only waist height and stunk like garbage and mildew, but Kate set their jaw and crawled into it.

“Ew, oh my God, that’s disgusting! Get it off me!”

Kate nearly slipped in their haste to turn around and look back at Farrah, who was jumping and squirming in the cramped tunnel, shrieking. Kate’s embedded flashlight flicked upward to the ceiling, and the cluster of cockroaches made her shudder, but they turned away and kept going.

“A cockroach won’t kill you,” they called.

“It’s in my fucking uniform-”

“Be quiet, there’s a manhole up ahead.”

“And we’re exiting through that manhole, right?”

Kate scoffed.

The idea of a cockroach in their shirt did make her shiver a bit, but Farrah’s squeamishness wasn’t as important as the map of the sewer system overlaid on top of their vision, guiding her to the warehouse where Farrah swore her ship was.

Plus, Kate was walking through ankle-deep sludge with one bare foot. That was easily worse than a thousand cockroaches.

“Wait, what's that noise?” Farrah asked.

“The combined main line,” Kate answered just as the worst stench Kate had ever had the displeasure of experiencing reached them.

“Aces and spades,” Farrah said, choking. “That had better not be what I think it is.”

“We’re not just gonna be walking through surface water runoff soon,” Kate said simply.

“You’re joking. For the love of fuck, tell me you’re joking.”

Despite the stench, Kate smirked.

That smirk didn’t last long as the stink got worse. They both took shallow breaths, but Farrah had her shirt over her nose by the time they reached the sewer connection. Kate’s flashlight washed across the edge of a concrete wall, then against the metal grate on the far edge. It was stable enough for maintenance workers, although unfortunately covered in rat droppings - although the rat droppings were easily preferable to the churning, brown, two-meter river of sludge between them and the grate. Kate hadn’t eaten since before leaving the apartment building before the ball, which was the only reason she didn’t vomit from the stench.

“Alright, ready?” She inched closer to the edge. “The faster we do this, the faster it’s over with.”

“Wait- no, no, what the hell are you doing?”

“What do you think?”

Farrah almost backed up against the wall, but thought better of it when she felt the slime there. “I’m not walking through that. Don’t you have some sort of gadget in that fancy hand of yours that could get us across?”

Kate rolled their eyes and glared. “Oh, wow, thanks for reminding me about my grappling hook.”

The water, thankfully, only went up to their thighs, but Kate still barely managed not to gag as they crossed, the current surprisingly strong against her legs. Something squished under her foot, and Kate almost screamed. Thankful for the weight of her metal leg keeping them from losing her balance, Kate made it to the other side and crawled up onto the grate, still taking shallow breaths even as they began to get light headed.

“Okay,” they shouted across to Farrah. “You either cross, or you can go back and serve the rest of your sentence, but you have to decide right now.”

Farrah gulped, staring at Kate’s legs. They risked a glance down and pushed away the wave of nausea at the way the stark white pants now clung, greenish-brown and sopping wet, to their legs.

“Are you coming?” Kate shouted.

Farrah scrunched her face up and muttered a series of creative curses, then lowered herself into the sewage and trudged across, still muttering curses the entire time. She finally made it to the grate and heaved herself up beside Kate, glaring daggers. “That was the worst thing I’ve ever had to do.”

“That’s what you get for complaining about the soap,” Kate said lightly. “Which way?”

Farrah pressed her lips together, thinking. “It was near the old Beihai Park, whichever way that was.”

“You mean we didn’t have to cross that river?”

Farrah’s eyes widened. “What?”

Kate smirked again. “Only messing with you. C’mon, this way.”

“How long have we been walking?” Farrah asked as they started down the tunnel. “Feels like hours.”

Kate checked her internal clock. “Twelve minutes.”

“Bullshit.”

Kate saved their breath and didn’t answer. To Farrah’s credit, it did sort of feel like they’d been walking for a few lifetimes, hearing the sounds of rats skittering past and water dripping from the ceiling. Kate’s flashlight glistened on the slimy walls, and they passed another manhole before finally making it to the one by Beihai Park.

“We’re about a block away from the park,” Kate said, putting a hand and a foot on the ladder. “Does West Yunxin sound familiar?”

Farrah squinted. “I think?”

Kate rolled their eyes and started to climb. She pushed the manhole cover up and to the side, almost gasping at the sudden gust of fresh air, before a hover glided overhead. Kate ducked down below the manhole, heart pounding at the lights atop the vehicle, but then it turned a corner and the red cross painted on the side revealed itself as a medical hover, not a police one, easing Kate’s fearful vision of androids with cold, emotionless voices and brain-interface-overriding tasers. The old warehouse district was near the plague quarantines, so it made sense that there were medical hovers.

Kate glanced to make sure the road was deserted before pulling themself up and into the sun, uniform glaringly bright against the pavement. Farrah followed and replaced the manhole cover, and Kate crossed her arms, pushing down the worry about being caught. “Okay, which way?”

Farrah squinted. Turned in a circle. Twisted her lips to the side thoughtfully.

Kate resisted the urge to scream.

“You have to recognize something, right?” they asked desperately.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s just been awhile,” Farrah said quickly. She turned to face down the street. “This way!” She walked five steps, then stopped and looked around again. “Or, um… maybe this way?”

“Do you have an address?” Kate demanded.

“A captain always knows where her ship is! It’s like a psychic bond,” Farrah protested.

Kate glared. “If only we had a captain, cadet.”

Farrah rolled her eyes and marched down the street with spectacular confidence, and Kate followed, jumping at every sound and hugging themself nervously. They walked for three blocks without seeing anyone, and Kate started trying to think of a backup plan as Farrah slowed and began scanning the nearby buildings.

“There!” Farrah said, pointing. “That one, I’m sure of it!” She walked up to the warehouse, which looked the same as every other warehouse within a mile, and tried the door. “Goddamnit, it’s locked.”

“D’you have a key?”

Farrah glared at Kate. “Yep, let me just pull it out of my prison issued pocket.”

She’s got your escape ship, Kate reminded themself, teeth grit. You can’t hit her.

They kneeled down besides the ID scanner, examining it. “D’you think it’s alarmed?”

“It had better be! I’ve been paying rent this whole time, and it wasn’t for my darling to be sitting in an unprotected warehouse.”

Kate was beginning to wonder if one punch would really be so bad when the door swung open.

“Thorne!” the strange man said loudly. “I just saw the news, thought you’d be showing up here soon!”

Farrah’s eyes lit up. “Hey, Alak, what’s up? I’m on the news? How do I look?”

Alak’s attention flitted over to Kate, and the smile slipped from his face. Kate kept her expression neutral (mostly, but a glare was part of their resting expression anyways) and took a second to check the newsfeeds. Sure enough: ESCAPED CONVICT. CONSIDERED ARMED AND DANGEROUS. IF SEEN, COMM THIS LINK IMMEDIATELY.

“Saw you on the news, too,” Alak said flatly.

Farrah coughed a little. “Hey, I need to pick up my ship. We’re kind of in a hurry.”

Alak shook his head. “Sorry, Thorne. The feds already watch me close enough. I can always claim ignorance to storing a stolen ship, but assisting a felon, and assisting… one of them-” Kate wondered if he was referring to their Lunar heritage or cyborg limbs- “If they track you here, I’m toast. I won’t tell anyone I saw you, but I can’t let you take your ship ‘till this all blows over. You understand, yeah?”

Farrah made an extremely offended face. “But she’s my ship! I pay you a lot of goddamn money, Alak, you can’t keep her from me!”

“Every man for himself, you know how it is.” Alak looked back at Kate with an expression of revulsion. “If you leave now, I won’t comm the police. And if they show up here, I’ll tell them I haven’t seen you since last year when you dropped off the ship. But if you stay a minute longer, I swear to fuck, I will comm them myself.”

Kate glanced down the street, and their heart leaped into her throat at the sight of an emergency hover without the red cross on the side. “Look, we need that ship. We don’t have anywhere else to go.”

Alak sneered and stepped back into the doorway. “I’m trying to help you out, ‘cause Thorne’s been a good customer for awhile, and I don’t rat out my customers, but it isn’t a favor to you. I wouldn’t blink twice about sending you off to rot. It’s the best you freaks deserve. Now fuck off, before I change my mind.”

Kate clenched her fists, barely containing a cry of pain as the burning returned, white hot as it spread from the base of her neck. They managed to stop the burst of electricity, white spots blinking in their vision, just in time to see Alak’s eyes roll back as he passed out.

Farrah caught him, groaning. “Aces, he weighs a ton!”

Kate fell back against the wall, suddenly dizzy. “He’s not- fuck, he’s not dead, is he?”

“No, I think he’s fine.” Farrah groaned again under the weight. “Ugh, help me, will you?”

Kate reached for Alak’s feet, and they tugged him into the building. The office to the left had two net screens with security footage on one side and a newsfeed on the other.

“He’s a selfish ass, but he’s got good taste in jewelry,” Farrah murmured, holding up his limp wrist with a golden watch.

Kate slapped her hand. “Can you focus?” They both turned and scanned the warehouse, packed with all sorts of ships - cargo ships, podships, personal flyers, raceships, ferries, cruisers-

“Hey, look, there was another jailbreak.”

Kate looked back at the netscreen, reading the words that scrolled across the bottom. LUNAR ESCAPES FROM NEW BEIJING PRISON. CONSIDERED EXTREMELY DANGEROUS. Wonderful.

“This is awesome!” Farrah said with a laugh. “If they’re tracking down a Lunar, they won’t think twice about us!”

Kate pressed her lips together and looked back at the array of ships.

“Wait… you’re Lunar?!”

“Yes, dumbass, I can’t believe you haven’t noticed.” Kate put their hands on their hips and raised an eyebrow, hiding the way she wanted to curl up under the desk and hide until the world forgot Kate Dalton had ever existed. “Which ship is yours?”

“Woah, woah, woah. Assisting a crazy Lunar is a bit out of my league-”

Kate laughed sharply, humorlessly, throwing their hands in the air. “If it wasn’t be me, you’d still be rotting in that fucking jail cell, so you owe me. And you’re already on the news as my accomplice, so it’s a bit too late to go back. You look stupid in that picture, by the way.”

Farrah looked at the screen that showed her own prison picture besides Kate. “I think I look pretty good.”

Kate took a deep, shaky breath. “Farrah, please.”

Farrah thought for a moment, then sighed heavily. “Fine, let’s go.”

Kate managed a sigh of relief and followed Farrah into the mess of ships. “I hope it isn’t one in the middle.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Farrah pointed up. “The roof opens.”

“Huh.” Kate looked where Farrah was pointing, at the seam across the ceiling. “Convenient.”

“Here she is!”

Kate’s retina display automatically began downloading the ship’s information as Farrah proudly pointed to it. It was larger than they’d anticipated - way larger. A 214 Rampion, Class 11.3 cargo ship. Two satellite podships, six crew quarters, a galley and a washroom… definitely enough room to avoid each other.

“You know, there was a time when she housed a crew of twelve men,” Farrah said, patting the side of the ship.

Kate walked around to the main entry hatch, noticing that the seal of the American Republic had been hastily painted over with the silhouette of a lounging woman. “What the hell?”

“Painted it myself,” Farrah said.

Kate sighed.

“Over here!” an unfamiliar voice shouted from across the warehouse. Kate glanced back and saw a man in the uniform of the Eastern Commonwealth’s military crouched over Alak’s unconscious body.

“Shit, fuck, shit,” they muttered and shoved Farrah’s shoulder. “C’mon, time to get out of here, let’s go.”

Farrah turned to the hatch and cleared her throat. “Alright, Rampion. Code word: Captain is queen. Open hatch.”

Nothing happened. The hatch stayed stubbornly closed. Kate started to panic.

“Captain is queen,” Farrah said again. “Captain is queen! Rampion, it’s me! Captain Thorne! What the hell-”

“Shh,” Kate said quickly, pressing up against the hull of the ship. Just on the other side, soldiers with searchlights had begun making their way through the warehouse, combing it for them.

“Maybe the power cell is dead,” Kate thought aloud.

“But it’s just been sitting here-” Farrah cursed. “I left the headlights on, didn’t I?”

Kate ignored their rising panic. “Maybe it’s the auto-control system? I’ve never worked on anything bigger than a podship, but I doubt it’s that different.” They put a hand on Farrah’s shoulder. “Stay here and keep trying to get in, okay?”

“Where are you-”

Kate snuck around the side of the ship, moving as quickly as possible, the blueprint she’d downloaded a few minutes earlier glowing over their vision. She found the access hatch easily and got it open even easier, and crawled into the undercarriage of the ship, barely avoiding the wires that criss-crossed in her way. The second interior door was more of a challenge, but with their flashlight and screwdriver, Kate was in the engine room within a minute.

The engine was bigger than she was, looming against the opposite wall. Kate brushed past it and found the computer motherboard, pulling the universal connector cable from their hand as they went, and snapped it into place. The flashlight dimmed, and Kate turned it off as her power was diverted, reading the pale green text that took over her retina display.

DIAGNOSING COMPUTER SYSTEM. MODEL 135v8.2

5% … 12% … 16% …

Farrah pressed herself behind the landing gear, heart pounding in her ears. “Captain is queen, captain is queen,” she hissed, even though she was pretty sure it was useless.

A subtle hum started up over her head, and she looked up at the running lights flickering on near the ship’s nose with a spark of hope. Gears started to rumble, and Farrah rolled out of the way just in time to avoid being squashed beneath the ramp.

“There!” shouted one of the soldiers.

Farrah swung herself up onto the ramp. “Rampion, close hatch!”

Nothing happened.

A bullet pinged off the overhead light. Farrah swore and ducked behind a plastic crate. “Rampion, I said close hatch!”

“I’m working on it!” said a voice overhead.

Farrah froze and nervously glanced up. “Rampion…?”

No response.

Just before the soldiers could follow Farrah onto the ship, the ramp creaked and began to rise, blocking more and more bullets as it went. Once it was safe, she rushed to the cockpit, keeping her balance with a hand against the wall as she slid into the pilot seat. The windows were filthy, but she didn’t have time to worry about that right now.

“Rampion, ready for liftoff!” she ordered.

The dash lit up - only the most important controls and screens.

That same cold feminine voice rang over the speakers. “Farrah, I can’t set the automatic lift, so you’ll have to take off manually.”

“Why is my ship talking back to me?!” Farrah yelled, panicked.

“It’s me, dumbass!”

Farrah furrowed her eyebrows. “Kate?”

“The auto-control system has a bug, and the power cell is weird, too. I think it’ll make it, but you have to take off without computer assistance.”

Farrah gulped. “Without- are you sure?”

“You know how to fly, right?”

“Y-yeah, of course!” Farrah scanned the controls.

“We’re fucked.”

Farrah reached for the controller on the ceiling and blinked as the warehouse doors opened, smacking her in the face with a bright beam of sunlight. She jabbed at the ignition and engaged hover mode, smoothly easing the ship off the ground with the help of the magnets beneath the city. Farrah’s breathing began to steady.

Then the ship began to tilt to the left.

“Woah- hey, stop that!” Farrah shouted, leveling the ship.

“The power cell is going to die. You’ve got to engage the backup thrusters.”

“The wha- wait, no, I found them.”

The sudden jolt of power made the ship lurch to the right, and Farrah winced as she slammed into the ship beside her. A wave of bullets slammed into the starboard side. Farrah shivered.

“What’s going on? What the hell are you doing?”

“Stop distracting me!” she shouted through gritted teeth. She tried to right the ship, but overcompensated and they tilted too far to the right.

“We’re gonna fucking die.”

“This isn’t as easy as it looks! Normally I have an automated stabilizer to take care of this for me!”

Oddly enough, she received no sarcastic reply.

Another panel lit up to her right. MAGNETIC CONDUCTORS STABILIZING. POWER OUTPUT: 37/63 … 38/62 … 42/58 …

The ship settled and once again began to hover evenly.

Farrah grinned. “Exactly like that!”

The engine roared as the ship soared upwards, a last wave of bullets sending them away as they broke free from the warehouse.

“C’mon, darling,” Farrah said softly, as the ship easily broke through the magnetic field of the city and speared through the clouds of the morning sky. The skyscrapers of New Beijing were only visible for a moment before they dropped away, and then it was just Farrah and the ship and the open starry sky ahead of them.

Farrah’s knuckles were white around the controls until the ship made it to neutral orbit, then she slumped back into the chair, shaking. She forgot to speak for several minutes, her heart too loud to hear anything else, before she said “hey, if you want a permanent position on the crew, you’re hired.”

No response.

“And I don’t mean, like, the lowest rank,” she continued. “First mate? I mean, everything’s available. Mechanic… cook… a pilot would be nice.” She waited. “Kate?”

Nothing.

Farrah sighed and pulled herself to her feet, leaning against the wall as she walked along the hallway that was as familiar to her as her cell in the prison had eventually become, down to the engine room. The screen by the door didn’t say anything about space vacuums, or about a living cyborg inside.

Farrah unlocked the door and shoved it open. The engine room was loud, hot, and stank of melted rubber. It was too dark to see, but Farrah squinted anyway, a bit terrified of what she’d see.

“Cyborg? Are you in there?”

Nothing.

Farrah squeezed her eyes shut. “Lights, on.”

A red emergency light was the only one that turned on, casting a sinister light over the revolving engine and masses of cords.

Farrah spotted something white.

“Kate?” she called again, getting closer. Kate didn’t move. As Farrah got closer, she saw them on their back, dark hair fanned over the steel floor, eyes closed and bionic hand plugged into a computer panel.

“Hey,” Farrah said nervously. She put a hand on Kate’s shoulder and gently shook, but got no response. Farrah pressed an ear against her chest, but the engine was too loud to hear a heartbeat.

Farrah reached and unplugged Kate’s hand from the computer panel, and a robotic voice came overhead, the same one Kate had used to talk to Farrah during takeoff. “Auto-control system disconnected,” it said. “Engaging default system procedures.”

“Cool, you do that,” Farrah said, dragging Kate into the hallway. God, whatever the hell those cyborg limbs were made out of, it was way heavier than a normal human limb.

Farrah propped Kate up against the wall and frowned. At least in this brightness, it was obvious that they were breathing. “Do you have, like, a power button or whatever?”

Her gaze fell to the hand, a cord still dangling from her pinky.

“Aha!” Farrah leaped to her feet and opened the podship dock, then tugged Kate in between the two small podships. She grabbed for the podship’s charging cord from the wall, then paused, looking back and forth between the charging cord and Kate’s cord. Dammit, two males. They’d never connect.

Farrah glanced down and saw the small latch on the back of Kate’s head.

“Aces and spades,” she groaned. “Tell me it’s not…”

But all signs pointed to yes.

Farrah kneeled next to Kate and looked away as she opened the panel, then snuck a glance and breathed a sigh of relief when she realized Kate’s control panel hid any brain tissue from view. The compartment was shallow enough that the ship’s lights were enough to see by, and she quickly spotted a small outlet, the same size as the plugs.

“Gotcha,” she whispered, hoping she wasn’t about to majorly fuck up as she plugged it in and leaned Kate back against the wall.

For a moment, nothing happened, but about a minute later, something hummed inside their skull. It got louder and louder, but then stopped, and Farrah gulped, tucking her knees up to her chest.

Kate’s eyes flew open, and she gasped, looking up at Farrah.

“Kate…?” Farrah said nervously. “Are you dead?”

Kate took a moment to speak, and when they did, the words were slurred. “Auto-control defaults… almost drained my power system…”

“Uh, I think it did.”

Kate stared at her for a moment with a confused expression, but then reached up for the cord still plugged into the back of their head and yanked it out, slamming the panel shut. “You opened my control panel?” they demanded harshly.

“I didn’t want to! And I saved your life!” Farrah pointed out.

Kate paused and thought for a moment.

“Well… I guess that was quick thinking,” Kate finally assented.

Farrah grinned. “Are we having another moment?”

Kate slumped back on the floor. “I guess. If you consider another moment to be me not wanting to strangle you for the first time since we met - although maybe I’m just too exhausted.”

“I’ll take it!” Farrah stretched out on the floor beside Kate, enjoying the coolness of the steel, the humming engine next door, the smell of sewage still wafting from their clothes, and the sensation of freedom.

#we are the tigers #the lunar chronicles #kate dalton #farrah watt #blood tw #gun tw #knife tw #ask to tag #holy shit this took forever #this is probably going to be the longest installment of this whole series #enjoy

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babbushka · 4 years

Note

MaY i amend and resubmit: Flips wife getting possessive and very publicly staking her claim because the new rookie is trying to seduce her husband? Just ignore me if the idea is garage 😂

“Hey Jimmy, Ron!” You greet your friends upon entering the lobby of the station. “You seen my man?”

It’s lunch time at the station for Flip, or at least, coming up on the end of lunch time. Normally you’re there at the top of the hour, but there’s only twenty minutes left on his break and you’re looking around the bullpen to see if you can find him loitering around, waiting for you near the lobby in that way he sometimes does.

You’ve got the baby on your hip, who is entirely still snuggly and yawning from just having woken up from his nap, and your bag over your shoulder which holds the lunches you packed so lovingly for Flip, lunch that he’s now going to have to scarf down if he doesn’t want to get in trouble.

Jimmy comes over to you and happily takes the kid from your arms and kisses you on the cheek, letting you stretch your muscles out and re-adjust the strap of the bag over your shoulder. The baby fusses for all of two seconds at the shift from being in your arms to his, but then once he recognizes Jimmy and Ron he’s all smiles.

“Hi sweetheart, hey bud!” He’s very sweet in the way he talks to your baby, always so eager to be the best uncle he can be, before walking with you to the detective units, which operate out of a separate office in the station than the main bullpen. “He’s getting mic’d up in one of the back rooms.”

“You’re not doing it?” You ask the boys with a quirked eyebrow.

Jimmy and Flip and Ron were the three musketeers around the station, ever since the Klan case went so well. They all usually stuck together and worked together on cases, including doing all the set-up. You frowned for a moment, because you didn’t know that Flip was planning on going undercover today at all, and he’s pretty good about mentioning that.

“It’s not for real, we got a new recruit and the rookie’s gotta learn how to do it, that’s all.” Ron catches the look on your face and explains after he too kisses your cheek in greeting, making you feel ten times better.

“Oh good for him.” You smile, glad that Flip is being a good detective and being a helper.

“Her.” Ron corrects you, making your eyebrows shoot up.

“Her?” You ask in disbelief, shocked and proud in an excited way, a very happy way. The station was slowly but surely catching up with the times, and it was about fucking time that a woman was hired in a capacity other than a secretary. You wanted to take credit for it, being so annoying and badgering Bridges about pushing for more equality, but you knew this was something bigger than yourself.

Still you were smiling so wide, enough that the baby was making little happy noises and reaching for you to share in the excitement.

“Her.” Jimmy nods, patting the baby on the back and getting him to not be such a wiggle worm.

“Good for her!” You want to go meet her, want to congratulate her for being the first woman in the narcotics unit, but Ron puts a hand on your arm to stop you for a moment.

“There’s a bit of a problem though.” He says, and you frown.

“Oh yeah, what’s that?” You ask, curious.

Jimmy and Ron exchange a glance, a silent debate of who is going to be the one to tell you, when finally Ron gives in since he was the one who brought it up in the first place.

“She doesn’t seem to be able to take a hint.” He says, clearing his voice, and your good spirits drop into aggravation.

“Which back room?” You ask, already forming a little plan.

She’s a pretty young thing, you’re annoyed to see. Long red hair feathered out like Farrah Fawcett that she keeps tossing out of her face in an attempt to catch your husband’s attention. You watch for a little while through the strip of window in the door of one of the back interrogation rooms where the detectives like to change into their undercover outfits, and your blood would be boiling.

It would be, if Flip were any level of interested at all, which bless him, he isn’t. He’s not even looking at her, he’s reaching over to fiddle with some of the tape, not making eye contact and certainly not indulging in her conversation.

You open the door quietly, hanging in the frame of it for a moment.

“Jesus you’re fit.” She says, her voice breathy and performative as she takes the tape from Flip’s reluctant hands, and presses the small mic to his chest, “You must work out like, what? Twice a week? Three times?”

“Something like that.” Your husband mutters, and you smirk because you can swear you see him rolling his eyes.

“Make sure the tape doesn’t cover the mic otherwise there’s no point.” You speak up, startling the two of them.

The rookie is defensive, and she crosses her arms, sour that you’ve interrupted the moment that will never happen.

“Who are you?” She snaps, before getting mildly pushed aside by your over-eager husband, who stands up from where he’s sitting on the table to get his arms around you.

“Hi ketsl.” He gives you a shy smile, ducks down to kiss your cheeks nose chin face.

“How’s my man?” You laugh, cupping his cheeks in your own hands, pulling him in for a proper smooch right on the lips, right in front of this girl.

“Better now that you’re here.” He hums, leaning down for another one, and another one, and another one, his hands smoothing down your back, roaming down down down to your ass to give it a good squeeze and make you giggle against his lips.

You’re both being a little mean, you know, putting on this show right in front of this girl. But Flip was your husband, and he was clearly uncomfortable by these advances, advances that she should know better – for a lot of reasons – than to try and push.

So with Flip practically glued to you and your arms looped around his neck, you spare her a glance.

“You have to go check to make sure the mic is working.” You say, and you could practically see the embarrassment and realization in her face from how she screwed up.

“How do I do that?” She asks, her arms still crossed, although now she knows better than to be so snippy with you.

“There’s a pair of headphones set up to a tape recorder, go find it and listen in. Jimmy will help you with the signal.” You answer her, returning your attention back to Flip, back to his soft brown eyes and his big nose that’s rubbing against your cheek, coaxing a dimple out of your smile.

She doesn’t say anything on her way out, and you should stop there, but you find that you don’t actually want to. Flip knows exactly what you’re doing, and he plays into it too – although he’s entirely genuine when he steadies your face in his hands and presses his forehead against yours.

“I missed you.” He says, grouchy at the time. With this additional delay, there really wasn’t much time for anything, and you wondered if you could sweet-talk Bridges into giving him an extended lunch, or at least into letting you stay for a while if you’re not too much of a distraction.

Everyone always liked to joke how it was such a wonder that you and Flip ever got anything done, with how fucking sappy and horny you are for each other, but the reality of it was that your man was much more productive when you were around because he’s a total show-off and wants to impress you with all the cool things he does at the station.

“I know, I’m sorry honey I would have come sooner but the baby went down for his nap late.” You explain, and he nods in understanding.

“You’re here now though.” He says, like this is some great relief on his tired bones, like you are the balm that soothes his soul, and you are. You know you are.

“I am here.” You nod, walking him back towards the steel table of the interrogation room. You sit on the table and spread your legs so he can step between them, knowing fully well that the rookie must be listening in now You lower your voice and spread your palms over Flip’s muscular chest, “And I am in sore need of a kiss.”

“Just a kiss?” He asks, devious, as his hands work their way into your blouse, cupping one of your breasts and making you sigh.

No one would see, if the two of you got up to anything in here. There was the window on the door yes, but no one comes back this way, and besides, everyone’s on lunch still for another couple minutes.

It wasn’t a long time, but it was enough time to indulge in one another a little bit – and to prove a point.

“Oh Flip,” You sigh, not entirely dramatically, as you push your chest into his palm more fully, expanding your rib cage with your deep breaths, “I’m so glad you’re mine.”

“All yours ketsl, only for you.” He nods, and you smile shyly at him because you can tell in his voice that’s not something he’s saying just because, that’s something he’s saying because he means it.

You kiss him then, because you have to. You simply have to kiss him and hold him close and let yourself get lost in his embrace. His tongue slides against yours slowly, purposefully, thoughtfully. He knows how to suck just enough on your lips and how to run his teeth along the edge of your kiss-swollen mouth, knows how to grip your jaw just so, how to squeeze and pinch at your tits enough to make you moan for him.

And you do, you do moan for him. Soft sounds in the back of your throat are the only things that cut through the noise of panting breaths from both your lungs, breathing into one another’s mouths making yourselves dizzy dizzy dizzy. You smile against him, can’t get enough of him, can’t stop making out with him.

His hands are busy with your body and yours wind into his hair, comb it carefully into place where you blow-dried it only a few hours ago. You could understand why this girl was fawning all over him – he’s so fucking handsome. Too handsome for his own good sometimes, you think as you chuckle to yourself and kiss him back, passionate and hot and heavy.

The firmness, the solidness of his body is so appealing. His white undershirt is just the right amount of tight to show off how sturdy he is, how his pecs are so broad and his neck is so thick. His thumb brushes over your nipple again and you gasp, the two of you chuckling against each other’s lips until he pulls his hand away, knowing that if he gets you any more worked up he’ll probably wind up fucking you right there – and that isn’t part of the free show that this girl gets.

Speaking of, the two of you slow things down, until your breathing is even once again and he’s buttoning up your blouse at the same time that you fix the buttons on his flannel. You’re both flushed and in good moods once again, and he helps you hop off the table, kisses you once more for good measure.

“How’s that signal rookie?” Flip asks right into the mic, and you bite your smile to keep from laughing right in her ear.

And when the poor girl squeaks out an, it’s good, from the other side of the thick metal door, Flip takes off the mic and unclips it from the battery pack in his pocket, and the two of you can’t help but grin at one another.

“Let’s have some lunch.” You offer, not wanting to forget about the bag left on his desk or your friends entertaining the baby.

He nods and opens the door for you, the two of you a perfect picture of composure. You pass the girl on your way to his desk, and she ducks her head in embarrassment. You don’t think you’ll be bothered with her again, hopefully now she’ll learn how to take a hint.

#flip zimmerman x reader #flip x reader #flip zimmerman #blackkklansman #lmao oopz #dont mess with my man please #thank u #Anonymous #cowboy answers

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the-creative-lie · 4 years

Text

Friday Nights

pairings: steve harrington x reader

genre/warnings: friends to lovers. idiots in love. some curse words?

word count: 2k

summary: every friday night Y/N helps steve get ready for his dates. what are you talking about of course she’s not jealous

notes: just a small cute fic for my man steve

You watch amused as Steve fidgets with his clothes, his hair, everything. He keeps his gaze fixed on the reflection in the big mirror in the hall, and you can help but wonder how many days could he go without looking at himself. Maybe you should turn that into a bet. “Can I ask, once more, why am I here?” you let your head hit the pillow, dropping yourself unceremoniously on his bed and grabbing an old magazine from his nightstand. He turns to you and scoffs when he notices you’re not paying him attention. “Because,” he sprays some more Farrah Fawcett around, making you cough, “you’re supposed to be helping me get ready for my date with Allison.” “I still can’t believe you’re going out with Allison Daniels. She 's so boring.” “She’s not boring. She’s nice,” he complains, the bed dipping down when he sits next to you. He starts putting on his sneakers, the nice ones. “I’m not saying she’s not nice. But last time I tried talking to her in Math it was like speaking with a piece of wet cardboard.I asked her what kind of music she liked and she said she doesn’t like music. Like, in general. She only listens to the radio because of the weather. The weather, Steve.”

“Whatever. At least I have plans. What are you gonna do on this lovely Friday evening, huh?” he finishes tying up his shoes and gives you a pointed look. “I’m, huh. I’m hanging out with the kids.” You lied. Well, he kinda had a point but he didn’t need to know that. Steve gets cocky when he knows he’s right. Because it never happens. “Liar.” Oh, no. Busted. “I know that’s not true because Henderson told me they're busy with some nerdy science project tonight.” “Yeah, I’m helping them.” “Y/N, you don’t know jack shit about science.” You grunt, covering your face with the magazine. “Ugh, fine. I’m staying in, okay?” You wish you could punch that stupid smile off his face. He stands up, doing a ridiculous little twirl like he’s in the middle of a fashion show and poses with his hands on his hips. “How do I look?” he asks you, flashing a smile and popping up the collar of his denim jacket. Good, you want to say. Oh, so good. Forget-about-your-date-and-take-me-right-here-on-your-bed good. “You look like shit.” He lets his hands fall at his sides and glares at you. You laugh, wondering if you should end his misery. “You look great, Harrington. She won’t know what hit her.” You put the magazine down and start putting on your jacket. You know this routine like the back of your hand, because it’s been going on for a couple of months now. First, Steve calls you saying he needs your help getting ready. He doesn't. Usually you just lay on his bed shit talking whoever it is he has decided to take to the movies or to a diner or whatever his plans are for the night. Meanwhile, he gets his hair puffed and tries to argue with you. He asks you how he looks. You tell him he’s good. And now, he’s gonna offer to drive you home, because hey, he has to pick up Allison or Megan or whoever anyway, and it’s not like it’s out of his way. And then you’re going to say no, thank you. And walk home. By yourself. “Hey, you want me to drop you off? It’s on the way.” So predictable, dear Steve. You shake your head. “I’m good, thanks. It’s a short walk.” You’re not lying. You only live a couple of blocks away. And usually walking by yourself helps you get rid of all the thoughts that plague your mind every friday night after leaving his house. Listen, it’s not like you were jealous. You’re not Steve’s girlfriend. You’re just, well, his girl-friend. And it’s not like anything will ever happen between the two of you. He sees you as one of the gang, one of the kids even, despite being the same age as him. Steve is protective and he has a big hero complex, you know that. After everything that happened at Starcourt, and that other time with the demodogs, there’s no way he’ll see you as anything else than just someone he has to protect. You must admit though, that you have kicked your fair amount of butt, so you think you can defend yourself, thank you very much. You wave at Steve as he gets in his car and watch as he drives away, to Allison’s house. You start walking home, turning on your walkman and placing your headphones in your ears. When his hair and his laugh and his face, his stupid face, don’t leave your mind, you have to concede to yourself that, hey, maybe you are a little bit jealous. You often find yourself imagining what it would be like if, just once, you were the girl Steve’s getting ready for, the girl he picks up on his shiny car, the one he takes to the movies. But you’re not the kind of girl Steve is looking for. You’re just his friend. In front of you, he can be gross and stupid. And you can be the same in front of him. Why would he want to date you when he’s seen you put chopsticks up your nose? You’ve seen the girls he takes on dates. They all look like something the printer would spit out if you were trying to clone Nancy Wheeler and it ran out of ink. You got home, noticing your dad’s car gone from the driveway. Your parents must have gone out for dinner. They left you a twenty on the counter for some pizza underneath a note with a smiley face. “Dirty Dancing it is.” **** Across town, in what's basically Hawkins only slightly fancy restaurant (in reality, an old italian place with shitty lighting and very uncomfortable chairs), Steve is trying his best not to fall asleep. Allison has been going on and on about something for the last twenty minutes, but his mind is elsewhere.

"So I ended up buying the same shirt in three different colors." God, she really is boring. He should have listened to Y/N. Y/N is somehow always right about the girls he dates. It would piss him off, but honestly it's a bit impressive.

"Huh. Smart." He spots Y/N's parents a couple of tables over and waves back at them with a smile. At least someone in this god forsaken restaurant looks like they're having fun. Steve perks up a little and nods at whatever Allison is saying. How is it every word that comes out of her mouth just sounds beige?

"This pasta is really good. I'm glad I could order it with no sauce, it upsets my stomach, you know?"

Wait a minute. If Y/N's parents are here, then that means she's spending friday night by herself. Again. Locked inside, watching some movie. Probably Dirty Dancing. He rolls his eyes at the thought.

"Have you seen any good movies lately?" he asks, in a last desperate attempt to salvage the wreckage that is this date.

"Hm, I don't really watch movies. I did see a commercial while I was waiting in line at the farmacy the other day. I guess it was funny."

Oh. My. God. Steve just wants to hit his head against the table. Curse the moment he decided to do this. Oh, how he wishes he was just hanging out with Y/N and the kids now. Or maybe just Y/N, if the little shits are too busy with school. He can't wait until he gets home so he can call her and tell her everything about this new disaster, just like every friday night. Of course he can already hear her smug "I told you so" in his head, and he knows he has a full week of jokes at his expense waiting for him.

Maybe if the date doesn't drag on for too long he can stop by Y/N's house with some ice cream or some snacks. Give her parents some more alone time. They don't mind him staying over, really. Y/N 's parents adore Steve. That's part of why he loves spending time at her place.

"Hmm, Steve?" he suddenly snaps back to reality and stares back blankly to Allison, who doesn't look too happy, "Are you okay? You're very quiet."

"Uh, yeah, yeah. Sorry, you were saying?"

"Listen, I don't think this is going to work out," she says, standing up. He blinks up at her, dumbfounded.

"It's just that...you're a little bit boring. Sorry. Thanks for dinner, though. And the ride. Don't worry, I'll just get a cab home." With that, she places the napkin back on the table, grabs her purse and her jacket and leaves. Steve just sits in silence, confused.

Oh, Y/N's definitely going to laugh at him so much after this.

Something suddenly clicks in his brain. Y/N. Oh Lord, he's so stupid. How could he be so stupid?

He throws some money on the table, waves at Y/N's parents and practically bolts out of the door and into his car.

***

The doorbell rings one, two, three times. Gee, when did the pizza delivery boy get so insistent?

You open the door to find a very upset looking Steve Harrington. And by upset, you mean angry.

"Steve, what the hell are you doing here? What happened to your date?" you ask, moving out of the way when he comes inside and drops his car keys on the side table with a loud bang.

"You ruined it."

"Excuse me?" you furrow your brows, confused.

"You heard me. You ruined my date," he waves his hands through his hair nervously a couple of times, all messy and sticking out, long gone the perfectly curated Fawcett hairdo.

"How exactly did I ruin your date all the way from my couch, Harrington?" you ask, getting angry yourself. This is definitely the last thing you needed tonight.

"I didn't listen to a thing Allison said."

"That's hardly my fault, she has the charm of an expired vinegar bottle."

"I didn't listen to a thing she said because I was thinking about you! I was too distracted thinking about you, and your stupid laugh, and your...your…" he freaks out, pointing at the tv, "your stupid movies. I knew you'd be watching Dirty Dancing! Why do you like that movie so damn much!?"

"I'm sorry, did you come all the way here to insult Patrick Swayze to my face?"

"And then she walked out on me. She walked out on me, Y/N."

"Woah, bruised your ego a bit?"

"I'm not joking around, Y/N!"

You blink and raise your hands in surrender. Gee, someone's touchy.

"I just don't know why you're here, Steve."

"Don't you get it, Y/N? It's you. It was always you." He takes a few steps forward, dangerously close now. Your breath hitches a little bit, and your mouth refuses to speak. "I am so stupid. I can't believe I didn't realize it until now. Every night I was out there, the only thing I could think of was going back home, picking up the phone and calling you to tell you all about it. You get me, Y/N. And I get you. And I understand if you don't feel the same way but I think we make sense, this makes sense. Of course it's you, and your dumb jokes and that laugh of yours that breaks me every time I hear it."

You're nearly touching now, and all it would take is one more movement. One more step and then-

"Steve." He closes his eyes, anticipating the worst. He doesn't know. Of course he doesn't know. "You really are stupid. I've been in love with you ever since we met."

His eyes open in surprise, shocked but delighted, and they close again when you crash your lips against his and he melts into the kiss. You grab him by his t-shirt and pull him down, your heart beating faster and faster.

When you finally pull away, you're both out of breath and smiling like idiots. You punch him in the shoulder and laugh. "So, Harrington, where are you taking me next friday night?"

#steve harrington x reader #stranger things x reader #one shot #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #friends to lovers

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nerdforestgirl · 4 years

Text

Note: This might be the last year that I do this, but for now I have a tradition to continue.

Amy's birthday was coming up, and it was always among her favorite days of the year. Sheldon always made a fuss. Her friends too. It felt good to be celebrated for just existing. Sure, Amy was a Nobel winning scientist, but to her husband and friends, she was so much more than that. To them, she was Amy Farrah Fowler. That was the long and short of it. She was her, and that was all she needed to be to them.

Amy had never been one of those birthday week or month people. The single day or maybe an extra weekend day if that fit everyone's schedule better was all she needed, but it felt good to be unabashedly loved by her friends. Especially when she grew up with so many birthdays where all she did was spend the day with her parents. If she even got that. Her 15th birthday had involved spending the whole day completely forgotten about and stuck in the rain.

“I was thinking that this year for my birthday, I'd love it if we all dressed up and went out to dinner. My and Sheldon's treat of course. I love an excuse to dress up, and Sheldon looks hot in a suit,” Amy told Bernadette while they sat in Bernadette's kitchen one afternoon.

“Aren't you a little old for all of this?” Bernadette snapped. It was a hassle to fit both Amy's birthday in on the same day as Halley's. Halley was a little kid, so obviously her birthday could be a big deal. Amy was in her 40s. She was an adult, and Bernadette didn't really have time to hear about Amy's plan to have everyone out for a nice dinner.

“Uh. Yeah. I guess I am,” Amy said. She didn't think she was, but she was taken aback by both Bernadette's tone and words. “I just forgot that Sheldon wanted a ride to the train store. I'll see you later,” Amy added before a couple tears could start making their way down her face. Then she got up and left Bernadette's house.

Amy cried for the whole drive home. If she was going to cry, she usually tried to do it in her car. No one liked it when she cried, so she tried to spare anyone she could. When it wouldn't stop, Amy stopped at a coffee shop and picked up a hot beverage in the drive thru. The sugar from the hot chocolate and the warmth would help calm her down.

At first, Amy didn't know why she was crying. Her birthday wasn't all that important to her. Neither was the idea of a dinner with her friends. They did that stuff all the time. Sure, she wanted to go out to a restaurant instead of just eating at Leonard and Penny's, but it wasn't all that different. Then it hit Amy. She wanted to matter. She wanted to matter to her six best friends enough that they would take the time to have dinner with her. She wanted to be worth three hours of their time. And suddenly she didn't think she was was worth even that to them.

“I've won a Nobel. I have my own Wikipedia page. I matter,” Amy muttered to herself as she sipped her hot chocolate. It didn't make her feel any better. Sure, asymmetry was groundbreaking. People were already expanding on her work in so many ways. But if the people closest to her didn't have time for her, what did all that matter?

Amy kept crying alone in her car until she got a text from Sheldon.

“My phone says you are here, but you are not home or at Leonard and Penny's. Did I forget about the finals of our hide and seek competition? I thought they were next week.”

“I'm in my car. I'll be up in a minute,” Amy wrote back.

After a few minutes, Amy knew she really needed to get upstairs before Sheldon got too worried about her. Still she didn't. She stayed in her car and finished her hot chocolate.

Amy jumped when there were suddenly three knocks on her car window followed by her name. Amy rolled down the window and looked at her husband.

“Why are you still in your car? And why are you crying?” Sheldon asked Amy. Then he opened the door and climbed in next to her.

“Could you do me a favor and tell me that you love me?” Amy asked Sheldon.

“I love you,” Sheldon said without any hesitation. He didn't even ask why Amy would ask for such a thing. She knew he loved her, and it wasn't like he neglected to tell her that on a regular basis. He usually told her at least once a day, but often more than that.

“And I'm not a burden?” Amy tried.

“You are not a burden,” Sheldon repeated. He was the annoying burden out the of the two of them. They both knew that too. Of course she was annoying sometimes, but so was everyone. “Why do I need to say it?”

“Bernadette said that she didn't have time to celebrate my birthday this year. She said that I was too old to still care about my birthday,” Amy explained.

Sheldon knew that Amy hadn't had fun birthdays growing up. He didn't mind celebrating with her. She was his favorite person, so even if she wasn't making up for lost time, he loved celebrating her existence. He was beyond thrilled that she existed. Just like when he loved celebrating the day she became his wife.

“Fine. Bernadette can't come. Wolowitz either. Just because he's annoying. We'll still have your birthday dinner. Now, come inside. It's getting dark out here,” Sheldon told Amy. There would soon be shifty people and loose dogs about.

“But I'm crying,” Amy explained.

“You may cry inside. It's silly to just sit out here in the car just to cry,” Sheldon told her.

“You don't like it when I cry,” Amy told him.

“Of course I don't like it when you cry. I don't like it when you are hurt either. Well, except when you slipped on the last step last week and fell on your butt. That was hilarious,” Sheldon reminded her. He chuckled at the memory because it really was one of the funniest things he had seen all week and no permanent damage was done. “It doesn't mean you are not allowed to cry.”

“When did you get so smart?” Amy asked as she opened the door to go upstairs with Sheldon. She felt better already. Sheldon wasn't usually great at emotions, but he completely validated her emotions. It wasn't something he was usually great at.

“I've always been smart,” Sheldon said.

The pair went up to their apartment. Amy decided to climb into a nice hot bath and relax for a while. Sheldon was going to just order them a pizza because Amy didn't feel like cooking even though she normally did.

Then when Sheldon was alone, he found Amy's photo album. From there he took pictures of several of the photos in them before sending them to Bernadette.

“Did you know that Amy didn't have a birthday that included a single friend until after she met us?” Sheldon asked Bernadette in a message along with the photos of Amy all alone on her childhood birthdays.

“Was she upset that I said she shouldn't make such a big deal out of her birthdays? I knew I was being a jerk. I should apologize,” Bernadette wrote back immediately. She had had a feeling that Amy was upset when she left. Bernadette didn't think she was wrong exactly, but she could see that she had hurt Amy's feelings. Sometimes Bernie forgot how sensitive Amy could be under the surface.

“She was crying when she got home. She was worried that no one loved her and that she's a burden,” Sheldon wrote back. He wouldn't have known that if she hadn't outright said it, but he did know. He thought he would pass it along since he always could use the help on knowing how people felt.

“I will call and apologize right now,” Bernadette promised.

“She is in the bath and I do not allow electronics so close to the bathtub. I will text you when she is available again,” Sheldon explained.

Amy got out of the bath when the pizza came, and she started to serve herself a couple slices when her phone rang. It was Bernadette. She wasn't sure she wanted to answer it, but Sheldon looked at her expectedly. Amy grabbed the call.

“Hello?” Amy said.

“Hi. You left abruptly. Did you get to the train store?” Bernadette asked, playing dumb.

“Yeah. Sheldon got the new train car he needed,” Amy lied. She mouthed “sorry” to Sheldon because she knew it bothered him to be involved in a lie even if it didn't remotely matter.

“Good. Um. I wanted to say that I'm sorry about earlier. I have been stressed out at work and about Halley's birthday party, but I want you to know that I am happy you are my friend. I really want to go to dinner with you for your birthday. Getting dressed up sounds really nice,” Bernadette told Amy.

“Oh. It's not a big deal,” Amy lied again.

“It is to me. I like having you in my life, Amy. I love you and I want to celebrate you. I'm sorry that I made it sound like it didn't matter when you were over earlier. Howard and I will both be there,” Bernadette explained.

“Thank you, Bernadette,” Amy said earnestly. She was nearly crying again, but this time because she felt loved by her friend.

“What was that about?” Sheldon asked as if he had no idea what had just transpired.

“Bernadette apologized to me for saying I was too old to care about my birthday,” Amy told him. Then she finally took a big bite of the pizza in front of her.

“Good. Though, we can still leave Wolowitz off the guest list if you would like,” Sheldon joked.

“No. I want everyone to be there. They all love me and I them,” Amy told him.

#NFG fan fiction #this was maybe inspired by the fact that i was told that birthdays don't matter #but my friends all told me i overreacted when i got upset #but amy's friends do love her and think she matters

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artificialqueens · 4 years

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Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor, 8 (Branjie) (and background everyone) - Ortega

a/n: ayo fam!!!! thank u so so sososo much for reading and sending love, it makes my heart HAPPY! i apologise in advance for this chapter…….a Lot goes on. wouldn’t be much of a rollercoaster if it was flat would it!! hope u will all still like me afterwards xoxo

fic summary: Strictly Come Dancing enters its 18th series and its producers, after being goaded by a rival dance show on its inclusivity, commission it to be an all-female cast. Unlike Akeria who’s just here to bone her potential dance partner, dancer Vanessa is ready to act like a professional.

And then TV presenter Brooke Lynn walks into the rehearsal room.

***

31st October 2020

“Ready, baby?”

“Always.”

Vanessa smiles at Brooke from her position on the platform she’s standing on. Brooke has an identical one beside her, a huge purple structure with a phone box drilled into it that’s strong and has definitely been checked by the health and safety experts at least six times. Looking down, the ballroom floor looks ever so slightly too far away, but Vanessa knows that’s just her eyes playing tricks on her. She knows that when the music starts and the time comes, she’ll jump off it without any problems. As the band continue to set up she picks at her skirt, all messy netting and tulle. Vanessa supposes she’s never seen a fashionable zombie.

Halloween week has crept up on her- she’s honestly been too wrapped up in her own thoughts to notice the passage of time. Instead of seconds, minutes and hours her days are now measured in dance steps, quick glugs of her water bottle in rehearsals, how many times Brooke flirts with her that day. Ever since last week they haven’t seemed to be able to stop flirting. They always seem to be laughing or smiling at each other, casually hugging or holding hands mid-rehearsal like it’s natural. It’s not, though, and Vanessa knows it’s only a matter of time before her feelings become unravelled. She can’t figure Brooke out yet, and she knows that there’s a chance she’s acting this way because she’s more comfortable with Vanessa, maybe that’s how she acts around all her friends. But still…she doesn’t know. She knows she’s not going to risk ruining anything, though, and she’s definitely not going to risk anything going wrong with their partnership after they scored 32 on Saturday for their Salsa, favourable comments pouring out of the judges’ mouths like water out of a jug. Laganja had stood up from her seat at the table and actually screamed when Michelle asked her what she’d thought, babbling about how hot and sizzling and perfect it all was.

“At one point I thought you two were gonna kiss!” she’d screeched, and the audience had all laughed. Vanessa had wanted to tell her that she hadn’t been that far from the truth.

Their Salsa actually got higher marks than Jan and Jackie’s, which had put a spring in Vanessa’s step. The goal had been to showcase her and Brooke’s chemistry, and Vanessa feels like they definitely did that. It gets harder not to compare themselves to other couples though, especially when there’s only nine of them left now. Aja and Farrah are out of the competition after a dance-off with Willam and Phi Phi last week, so now that the strong have well and truly been separated from the weak things are coming very much down to the wire. Even Heidi and Vixen and Shea and Peppermint’s scores haven’t been all that favourable lately. Vanessa shifts on top of the platform. Dress rehearsal is usually fun but she’s overthinking things now and making herself nervous. She gives herself a little shake, looks at Brooke for a reassuring smile she knows will come. She can’t let Brooke know she’s feeling anxious. Their dance is, overall, quite an easy one- it’s their couples choice week, so naturally Vanessa has chosen Commercial as their genre, never one to shy away from the chance to behave like she’s in a music video. She knows it still needs to be sharp and synchronised, neither of them missing a beat. They’ve done similar in their Jive, so all they really need to do is transfer the same skills into this dance.

“Ready to go in three!” a producer shouts. Vanessa takes a deep breath and steadies herself, taking her position inside the phone box. From across the ballroom floor she can see Brooke doing the same.

A hush falls over the girls that are watching in the audience, the drumsticks click, and the song begins.

“Calling all the monsters, calling all the monsters…”

Vanessa pops her hip as she acts out a conversation with Brooke, putting the phone down and stepping out of the booth as soon as the beat kicks in. She puts her hands to her heart and pulses them, getting ready to launch herself off the platform the moment she hears her cue.

“Heart thumps and you jump…”

Vanessa jumps, flying through the air-

And the moment she hits the ground she knows something’s not right. She feels her leg give out, a pop, and searing pain shooting through her calf. She’s fallen to the floor and every fibre of her body is screaming at her to get up; she’s the professional, and what kind of professional is she if she can’t carry on after a small mistake? The music is still going so she drags herself onto her knees, attempts to stand up. The whole dance is thrown off now. Fuck. When she puts her foot on the floor and tries to stand it’s too painful- she can’t do it. She can see some of the girls in the audience standing up, yelling, gesturing to producers and runners.

Brooke runs over to her and the music stops. Vanessa’s on her back and she’s drawn her leg up to her chest. She can hear Brooke asking if she’s okay and the concern in her voice, can feel her stroking her hair and holding her hand, and usually this would’ve warmed her heart and made her feel all soft inside but the pain is overwhelming and it’s all she can focus on. She’s embarrassed and aware of how weak she must look in front of the other girls- she’ll have just landed on her ankle funny, there won’t be any more to it than that.

“I’m fine…it’s fine…” Vanessa protests, embarrassed at the amount of people now surrounding her. She’s got Brooke, a runner, a producer, and now someone from first aid. She tries to stand up again and is annoyed when everyone reacts much the same as if she’s pointed a gun at them, telling her to lie back down and fussing over her. All Vanessa can do is stare up at the ceiling and look at the rigging while the woman from first aid pokes and prods and massages her calf, the filters and lights all bright and overwhelming above her. Her gaze snaps away from the ceiling to rest on Brooke’s face. She’s wearing a troubled expression, little lines deep set into her forehead and her bottom lip trapped between her teeth. Vanessa hates seeing her look this worried and she’s horrified that it’s she herself that’s made her feel this way.

“Brookie, don’t worry,” Vanessa musters up a smile for her. Brooke blinks, and when she looks at her again Vanessa can see tears in her eyes. Vanessa carries on, squeezes her hand. “They’ll stick a bit of ice on this an’ then I’ll be ready to dance with you tonight, you’ll see.”

She watches Brooke take a deep breath, nod at her supportively. Vanessa isn’t lying- she truly believes in what she’s saying. She’ll be fine. It’ll just be a rolled ankle, nothing too serious. She panics, though, when she sees two runners with the studio’s stretcher, moving through the audience seating.

“That ain’t for me. Surely not.”

The producer is telling her it’s just a precaution, but it’s a precaution that’s made Vanessa’s worry spike. They roll her onto it, and Brooke doesn’t let go of her hand. The first aid woman is telling her she can’t go with them. Vanessa scowls, feels the anger build in her gut.

“But I want her there. She’s my partner,” she snaps. She’s never mean to anyone she works with, always goes out of her way to be kind, reassuring and understanding, but all she wants is to have Brooke by her side because everything is starting to sink in now and she’s scared. First aid insists there’s no way, and Vanessa lets out a frustrated sigh that’s too close to a growl.

“What should I do?” Brooke asks her, worry etched on her face. Vanessa gives her hand one last squeeze before the stretcher is hoisted off the ground.

“Practise. Just practise. Make sure you’re ready for me,” Vanessa winks at Brooke in a vague attempt at reassurance then suddenly she’s being carried away from her, away from the ballroom and the glitter and colour and into an off-white room with strobe lights and a brown examination bed. She’s transferred onto the bed and left there for a small while, the silence in the room almost crushing her.

What the fuck has she managed to do?

It’s crazy, but her only thought is Brooke. What will happen to her? Will she get given a bye, will she be taken out of the competition? Will she get a new partner? The thought creeps into Vanessa’s brain and lodges itself there like a tick. Vanessa wants to shake it out but it won’t budge. If her first year competing with a celebrity is ruined by her stupid fucking leg…

She squeezes her eyes tight shut. Maybe this is all a dream. It wouldn’t be the first time. When she opens her eyes she is still in the same room as before. Fuck. She looks down at her calf and mutters the same word as she sees how much it has swollen up underneath the grey tights she’s got on.

Soon enough, a producer enters the room with someone Vanessa doesn’t recognise. It turns out they’ve called in a doctor. Her dance shoes and tights are peeled off and after much poking and prodding, the doctor steps away and fixes Vanessa with a sympathetic smile.

“Okay, my love, I’d usually take you in for an ultrasound but from what I can see I’m confident that what this looks like is a grade two level torn calf muscle.”

Vanessa wants to be sick.

“What that means is that you’re going to need lots of rest, lots of ice and compression. Try to elevate it wherever possible. The producers are going to make sure you get a follow-up appointment to get it looked at so you know when you’ll be able to get back to dancing.”

Vanessa frowns. She refuses to believe it. They’ve not come out and said she can’t dance. Maybe if she does the dance just once tonight she can rest it next week. “But I’m dancing tonight, I…Brooke needs me-”

The doctor is smiling at her like she’s a child and it does nothing for Vanessa’s blood pressure. “I’m really sorry, love, there’s no way you can dance on this. For at least a week, but that’s in the best case. Sometimes torn muscles can take six weeks to-”

“No. No, no, no, no,” Vanessa blurts out. She can feel the tears in her eyes; they’ve sprung up out of nowhere but all she can hear ringing in her ears is six weeks. The final is six weeks away. She needs to be better. It can’t take that long. “I need to be here, I can’t withdraw, I need to…Brooke Lynn…”

She is reduced to crying on an examination table with a doctor and one of the producers simply watching her. The doctor hands her a tissue, clearly feeling guilty. “Look, it really just depends on how well you look after it. It would probably take six weeks if you were trying to dance on it immediately again! As long as you’re sensible and take care, your recovery time will be much less.”

This does nothing to reassure her. Vanessa fixes her eyes on the producer. “What’s gonna happen?”

He scratches his neck and shrugs. “Well, we’ll offer Brooke a bye for this week. We’ll need to give her a new partner though. Just temporarily, until you’re better.”

Vanessa pouts, feels herself whine like a baby. “This is so unfair.”

“I know. I’m sorry. S’pose this comes with the territory, though, doesn’t it? Injuries…dancing,” he rambles on. Vanessa wants him to leave. Vanessa wants them both to leave. She wants to be on her own. She just wants a big, therapeutic cry with nobody there to watch her. Vanessa communicates this to the two of them and they both nod understandingly before leaving. A runner comes in with some ice for Vanessa’s leg and some pillows to elevate it, and they disappear equally rapidly.

Vanessa tries to think rationally, but no rational thought comes. All she can keep thinking is six weeks, six weeks, six weeks. It feels like her Strictly journey is over already. She knows she’s being selfish, knows that it’s Brooke’s journey. She should be happy for her- she’ll still get a partner, she’ll still get to continue and succeed.

But it should have been her.

The tears are still streaming down Vanessa’s face when there’s a shy knock at the door. It’s Brooke Lynn, and she’s still in costume but she’s had her hair and makeup done as well. There’s prosthetic chunks of blood and gore all over her and her skin is painted all grey and decaying, but Brooke still looks beautiful to her.

“Hey, boo,” Vanessa gives her a soft smile, frantically wipes the tears away from her face. She feels silly. “Get it? ‘Cuz it’s Halloween.”

Brooke laughs a little, entering the room and coming straight over to the bed to give Vanessa a hug. Vanessa can’t describe how much better she feels in Brooke’s arms, how much easier everything suddenly is.

“How are you, baby?” Brooke asks her mid-hug, and Vanessa can feel her murmur against her neck. It’s nice.

“I tore my calf…they told me I gotta rest up, it might take six weeks to heal…fuck, Brooke, I’m so sorry…”

Vanessa feels herself start to cry again as she clings onto Brooke like a koala, and Brooke hugs her even tighter in response. “Don’t be ridiculous! It won’t take that long at all. Torn muscles are so common, think about how many people must tear things in dancing! You’ll be fine. Hey. No more crying.”

Vanessa obediently wipes the tears away from under her eyes as she pulls away and gives Brooke a smile. Brooke meets and mirrors it, then leans in and kisses Vanessa gently on the forehead. When she pulls away again she seems shy as she laces their hands together. Vanessa is gazing gently at her. She’s never been closer to telling Brooke…

And then it sinks in all over again that Brooke is in full costume. And she’s had her makeup and hair done. Why would that have happened if she had taken the bye this week?

Vanessa frowns a little, confused. “So, uh. They give you a bye?”

Brooke nods. “They offered me one. Or they said I could dance it but with one of the other pros, so I said I’d just do that.”

“Oh,” Vanessa says before she can stop herself. Brooke’s words manage to hurt her even more than her leg already is.

“What’s wrong?”

“No, nothing. Of course you wanna dance it. You need to, you worked so hard on it,” Vanessa says quickly. Of course Brooke wants to do the dance. She’s on a competitive TV dancing show, what the hell else was she going to do? Did Vanessa really think she was going to turn around and say no? She tries to squash the feeling of being slowly eaten up inside. “So, uh. You’re dancing it. Who with?”

Vanessa’s heart sinks. Please don’t be-

“Plastique. She’s in makeup now. She was literally the first pro the producers grabbed; she walked past as we were having the conversation and they just asked her if she would do it. Had to teach her the whole thing in like, 45 minutes. You would’ve been proud of me.”

Of fucking course she’s dancing with her. Of course. Vanessa can still remember the way Plastique had looked at Brooke across the room on induction day, all interested and intrigued. Vanessa doesn’t want to be dramatic but this has to be up there with one of the worst days of her life. She can see Brooke looking at her and waiting for a response, so Vanessa just smiles tightly. She doesn’t trust herself to speak; she’ll either say something she’ll regret or she’ll simply cry.

“I know you probably just want to get home, but you could stay and watch in the green room? Blair and Scarlet have come to visit to watch Toni and Yvie. You could sit with them!” Brooke encourages her. Vanessa wants to say no- there is nothing she wants less than to watch Brooke dancing with someone else, especially if that someone else is Plastique, but Brooke’s expression is so hopeful and pleading that Vanessa just quietly nods.

“Amazing! I promise I won’t let you down,” she beams at her. There’s a producer shouting for her in the corridor so with that, Brooke gives Vanessa another hug and Vanessa wishes her good luck.

She’s gone, and so is a part of Vanessa.

But she’s said she’ll stay and watch her so Vanessa takes her ice and pillows and hobbles through to the green room, finds Blair and Scarlet sitting on the big sofa in front of the TV screen. They’re equal parts excited and sad to see Vanessa, fussing over her and her leg and distracting her with stories about life post-Strictly. Blair has been contacted by some up-and-coming makeup company looking to make her the face of their brand, and Scarlet’s been filming in between meeting up with Yvie for dates. It turns out the both of them had made connections with some of the girls, as Blair’s here for Vixen who she’s been texting non-stop since she left the show. Vanessa finds it odd the amount of things that have managed to go on right under her nose only for her not to notice, but she supposes she isn’t surprised given how up in the clouds her head’s been over Brooke.

The show begins. They prerecorded the pro dance this week, and it’s weird for Vanessa to watch herself dance across the screen. The whole thing is weird, really. She shouldn’t be watching the show at all. She should be on it, she should be there, live, dancing. The pro dance ends and Michelle comes out to introduce the judges and the couples. Before they all come down the stairs, she explains why Vanessa won’t be on the show that night. Hearing her say that she won’t be dancing makes her tear up all over again. Blair pats her shoulder and Scarlet squeezes her hand in support. Vanessa thinks she might cut off Scarlet’s blood circulation the moment she sees Brooke descend the stairs with Plastique, the two of them holding hands, waving to the audience and smiling at each other gently.

Vanessa’s got ages to wait until she can see Brooke dance and she spends every second stressing and fretting and worrying. She wants to be at home, to just go to sleep and wake up when her leg’s better and she can go back to dancing with her beautiful celebrity partner. Instead she’s here in a green room with a melting bag of ice under her leg watching Willam struggle through a Paso Doble, with a girl on either side of her wittering on about the object of their affections. So when it cuts to a VT that the editors have obviously hastily scraped together of Plastique gushing about how much she’s looking forward to dancing with Brooke and Brooke talking about how she’s nervous to dance with somebody new, Vanessa sits up straight on the sofa.

“Dancing the Creepy Commercial for their couples’ choice…Brooke Lynn Bites, and Plast-eek Tiara!”

Normally she’d crack at least a small smile at the ridiculous puns that get used for Halloween week, but Vanessa can’t draw her eyes away from the screen. There’s the both of them, and Plastique on her plinth, bevelling in her phone booth, about to dance with her partner.

The dance begins and Vanessa is on tenterhooks. The pair of them spring off their plinths, land perfectly and continue with the dance. Brooke is hitting every beat so well and it makes Vanessa proud, but there’s a point where Plastique freaks out beside her, doing something that entirely wasn’t choreographed. She’s obviously forgotten the dance. Vanessa bites her nails as she watches Brooke gently guide her into the next section and they pick it up from there. When the dance finishes, the audience lets out rapturous applause. Three of the judges are on their feet.

Vanessa feels like crying all over again.

The only saving grace is that Brooke hasn’t given Plastique the same kiss she normally reserves for Vanessa. She can hear Plastique apologising to her as they hug, and Vanessa grows irritated. This doesn’t ease up when they receive their comments and the judges give the pair of them glowing praise. And then they get their scores.

“Seven!”

“Nine!”

They’re the highest scores Brooke’s ever received, and she got them while dancing with Plastique.

Vanessa feels like storming off home but she can’t, not with her damn leg being the way it is, so she goes to chill in makeup for a while. The team there are nice- they’ll chat to her, take her mind off things, and they certainly won’t be as loved-up as Scarlet and Blair seem to be. She needs to not be around loved-up people right now. So it’s fitting, so fitting for the day she’s having, that the moment she walks into makeup there’s Jan sitting getting her foundation re-applied after her Jive with Jackie, who’s sitting on one of the couches having already finished her touch-ups. The pair of them are singing along to the song playing softly over the speakers, and neither of them notice her at first until she gives a hiss of pain, her knee not liking all the movement.

“Oh! Vanessa!” Jackie exclaims, sympathy in her kind eyes. “How’re you doing, babe?”

Vanessa doesn’t miss the way Jan’s eyes snap open involuntarily at the pet name, the makeup artists cursing and the eyeshadow brush creating a white glitter spot against Jan’s orbital bone. The cogs turn quickly in her brain- if Plastique and Brooke have just finished their dance, it’s likely they’ll be heading to makeup soon too. Vanessa’s not petty, but she’s only human; Brooke has made her jealous, and it wouldn’t be fair if she didn’t return the favour.

“Not great,” Vanessa pouts, sitting on the sofa beside her. “It’s really fuckin’ sore. Great job out there, though. You both killed it.”

“We did our best,” Jackie shrugs bashfully. Their Jive was a little undermarked this week- they’re all at the stage where anything under 30 is disappointing- so Vanessa knows a good tactic to get Jackie onside is to stroke her ego.

“Well, your best was amazing. Don’t beat yourself up,” she smiles at her, resting her hand on top of hers and patting it. She thinks Jackie might be blushing, but she’s honestly not sure (the green paint she’s got on in her witch costume makes it impossible to tell). Vanessa hams it up, hisses excessively in pain and grabs her calf. Jackie’s face twists into a concerned frown.

“Hey, have you ever had Reiki done before?” she asks. Vanessa shakes her head. Jackie perks up, clearly excited about whatever the fuck Reiki is. “I’m trained in it! I used to get it done so often and I loved it, so then I took a course and it’s what I did before I got into journalism. My parents said it wasn’t a real job, but…whatever, basically it’s energy healing transferred through palms. It can help with mental health or physical health. I could do some for you now, if you want! It might help things.”

Vanessa raises her eyebrows, nods a little. “Yeah, that sounds good. I’ll try anything at this point, they’re sayin’ this bitch could take up to six weeks to heal.”

Jackie tuts and motions for Vanesssa to put her leg up onto her lap. “Six weeks? No way. We’ve got to get you better for Brooke Lynn! Where’s it sore?”

Vanessa rubs the offending area on her calf and Jackie nods understandingly. She rubs her palms together to warm them up, places them both lightly against Vanessa’s bare calf. She leaves them there for a few moments before turning to Vanessa questioningly. “Any better?”

“A little, yeah!” Vanessa lies. Jan’s almost finished up in the makeup chair now and she can see her looking at the pair of them suspiciously.

“Jacks!” she calls over to her. Jackie looks up, smiles expectantly. She doesn’t take her hands off Vanessa’s leg. “Did costume not want to see you about that hem?”

“Oh shit, of course! Thanks, baby,” Jackie beams at her, then smiles apologetically at Vanessa. “Sorry, ‘Ness. I hope that helped, anyway! If you ever want more done, just hit me up anytime!”

“I will. Thanks, Jackie,” she smiles back. She’s a little annoyed that Brooke didn’t even come into makeup when her impromptu jealousy plan was put into place. Vanessa doesn’t have too much time to think about that, though, as Jan’s approaching her from the other side of the room, a fake smile on her face.

“Hey, Jan.”

“Hey, V!” she begins, the cheer injected into her tone but not quite meeting her eyes. “Uh…what was that all about?”

“What was what? Oh, that?” Vanessa frowns, looking at the doorway Jackie’s just disappeared out of. “Yeah, Jackie does Reiki apparently. Fuck knows what it is, but she wanted to try it out on me, so…”

“Um, cool!” Jan smiles, fiddling with the hem of her fluffy white dress a little awkwardly. “Hey would you mind, um…I mean…it was just kind of weird. That’s all. I don’t really appreciate you doing all that in front of me, you know?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Vanessa snorts a laugh. Then the penny well and truly drops- obviously the rumours about Jan and Jackie aren’t rumours at all. They’re facts. Jan rolls her eyes at her, laughs sardonically.

“Oh my God, have you been living under a rock? I thought me and Jackie were like, the worst kept secret of the season,” she gestures, as if everything had been so obvious. Vanessa supposes it was obvious, but she kind of has been living under a rock. Jan’s face drops in response to her blank expression. “Oh. You really didn’t know.”

“No.”

“Right.”

“Well, uh…” Vanessa begins. She shrugs. “Sorry, I guess.”

“No, it’s fine!” Jan backtracks kindly, visibly relieved. “I was just worried, you know, and obviously with you and Brooke Lynn…”

Vanessa screws her face up, confused. “Wait, what?”

Jan mirrors her facial expression. “Are you two not…?”

Vanessa puts two and two together and gets one million. She blushes furiously, can already feel her face hot. “Oh, uh…no. No we’re not…there’s nothing happening there.”

“Fuck, I am so sorry,” Jan grimaces, embarrassed. “I just assumed- you’re so close, and you’re always flirting, and near each other, and…”

Vanessa watches as Jan trails off. They’ve both managed to completely embarrass themselves, and Vanessa is about to open her mouth and mercifully end the conversation for the pair of them but Jan gets there first. “Guess I should go make sure Jackie isn’t Reiki-ing half of the damn costume department, huh?”

She gives a weak laugh which Vanessa politely joins in with. Before she leaves, she flashes her a smile.

“For the record, though-” Jan leans down to squeeze her hand, winks at her. “- you two would make an awesome couple.”

Jan’s turned her back and is leaving before Vanessa can even respond. She doesn’t even know what she’d say, truth be told. Her head is too packed, and she’s full of too many emotions. Vanessa decides she’s had enough of Elstree for one night, and she hobbles out of makeup and orders an Uber to take her home.

She’s half-asleep and tossing and turning in bed with her leg propped up on too many cushions when Brooke texts at roughly one in the morning.

B: Hey omg so sorry I didn’t text til now, tonight was just crazy! So sorry I never got to see you before you left but totally understandable, hope you’re feeling better? Idk if you got to see our dance or not but we got 34!!! Highest ever!!! Wish I could’ve been doing it with you but hope I made you proud. Sending loads of love xxx

The text should make Vanessa happy, make her feel reassured and warm and cared for, but all she can take from it is that Brooke had been too busy with Plastique to text her earlier, she hadn’t come to seek Vanessa out after her dance, and those high scores just twist the knife. Vanessa knows Brooke won’t have meant it like that but she’s still down about it, and she turns her phone over without replying and tries to get some sleep.

A new week comes after a day spent with her leg in a bucket of icy water, and Vanessa spends it sitting on the studio floor with her leg elevated and wondering why she’s there. Saturday night brought a shock of a dance-off- Yvie and Jaida against Shea and Peppermint- and in the end it had been the latter of the two couples that had to bow out when everyone was least expecting it. As a result, everyone is working even harder to make their dances perfect and stay in the competition. Vanessa watches Brooke rehearse with Plastique, watches them laugh together and hold each other and smile at each other. It’s been agreed that Plastique would choreograph their dance this week and Vanessa would attend rehearsals in case she was better and ready to dance it by Saturday. But she’s not taking any of it in, none of the steps, none of the twirls, because of course it’s their Viennese Waltz week and of course Plastique has picked the most emotional, heart-wrenching song to do it do, and as the pair of them glide across the floor with their bodies pressed together in hold Vanessa closes her eyes and listens to the lyrics and feels the tears bubble up under her eyelids with very little reason behind them.

“So it goes…one foot after the other, til black and white begins to colour in…”

But there is a reason. The reason is that Vanessa has connected with Brooke Lynn more than she’s connected with anyone else since Kameron, she knows her body without them even having so much as kissed, her heart lights up whenever Brooke smiles at her or flirts with her or even so much as texts her and she likes her, really fucking likes her, but now that’s all been thrown into a tailspin and as Brooke and Plastique gaze at each other while they dance, and as the music continues to play Vanessa feels as if her heart’s being ripped in two. She’s been distant with Brooke this week, damage limitation. Instead of laughing uproariously at her jokes she gives a small smile, instead of launching enthusiastically into conversation with her if she asks her a question she keeps her answers to a sentence and doesn’t follow up. There haven’t been any moments where it’s been just the two of them this week and she feels worse off for it. At times she can see Brooke looking at her with concern in her eyes, wondering if there’s something wrong, wondering if she’s done something to hurt or offend her.

She hasn’t, and that’s the worst part.

It gets to Saturday night again and Vanessa stays home to watch the show. She could’ve gone into the studios and sat in the audience, should’ve done so, but she couldn’t bring herself to see everything being danced out live in front of her and not be able to join in. She’s also seen Plastique and Brooke dance through their Viennese so often together that she doesn’t think she can face it live, in their dresses and full makeup and hair with the lighting and the band. She doesn’t know what she was expecting but watching them dance it on screen hurts equally as much, the camera focusing on the soft gazes they give each other and the way Brooke holds Plastique tight.

“I’ll bow out of place, to save you some space…for somebody new…”

Vanessa would’ve laughed at the irony of it all if she wasn’t so upset. She’s only got herself to blame. The fact she’s developed feelings for Brooke is ridiculous; she’s a walking cliché, developing a crush on your partner is like the Strictly equivalent of crushing on your roommate- it’s such a massive don’t, one that’ll only end in tears. When Vanessa thinks of all the couples that’ve come from the show, though- Shea and Sasha, one of the old dancers, Roberta, and that newsreader Alexis- it makes her feel a little bit bitter that she and Brooke didn’t work out. She supposes she’s giving up before she starts. She doesn’t really know her chance with Brooke is over, she shouldn’t give up, but as the judges’ comments drift into her stream of consciousness and she hears Kennedy complimenting Brooke and Plastique on “what amazing chemistry you both have together, so obvious and heartwarming!” she nearly throws the remote through the TV. She sends a text to the group chat she shares with Akeria and Monique, even though she knows they won’t receive it til after the show. Vanessa is sure they’re both fed up of hearing her mope about Brooke Lynn (they’ve had to put up with sad texts all week), but they’re cheaper than a therapist, so Vanessa hits send anyway.

V: this is so UNFAIR why do i need to watch Kennedy telling B and Plastique that they’re basically meant to be together???? :(((((((

A reply comes back from Akeria instantly. Vanessa supposes she’s just danced, having gone before the pair of them, and has got her phone while she gets her makeup retouched.

A: stop wallowing and just tell her how you feel already xo

But there’s no way Vanessa’s going to do that, not after the week she’s had and certainly not as she watches the TV and realises that Brooke and Plastique’s Viennese Waltz has earned them a score of 35. Brooke’s scores keep improving with Plastique as her partner. Maybe she’s just a better teacher than she is. She’s about to switch the TV off and have a self-indulgent cry (even though she should really keep the TV on so she can watch Monique’s dance and be a good friend) when her name makes her shoot her eyes up from her phone to the TV screen. Brooke’s looking into the camera.

“Vanessa, babe- I know she’s watching at home- that one was for you! Get better soon so we can dance together again, okay?”

Vanessa’s heart instantly jackknifes into the air. Brooke was dancing that for her, she wants to dance with her again, she called her babe on national television and oh my God the papers will have a field day with that but Vanessa doesn’t even care. She needed that validation and reassurance so badly. Looking down at her phone again, she opens up her messages with Brooke and is typing before she knows it.

V: dedicating that dance to me was real sweet of you. you did so well, i’m so proud of you, you’re killing it. seeing doctor tomorrow so will let you know how I get on. sorry i’ve been a lil distant this week xxx

When Vanessa wakes up the next day the reply is simply a series of love heart emojis, which both lifts her spirits and disappoints her. She can’t overthink for too long, though, as she’s got two messages from Monique that’re sitting unread as well.

M: fyi- Willam and Heidi danceoff, Heidi left xx

Vanessa frowns, disappointed. She got on really well with Heidi in her time on the show, and she kept everyone in stitches in dress rehearsals by whistling through her teeth (which drove the producers mad). Vanessa will miss her. She turns her attention to the next message, which has a blue link pasted into it.

M: also ur bae’s caused quite the stir with that cute lil pet name she used last night 👀

Vanessa frowns, feels herself blush as she clicks the link. It opens up on a Daily Mail article with the title, “Strictly 2020 star Brooke Lynn Hytes causes Strictly curse speculation” and Vanessa feels her stomach give a dip. The article talks about the shoutout Brooke gave her last night, the selfies and videos they both have posted on Instagram of their rehearsals. It also recaps the entire Kameron situation, at which point Vanessa clicks off the article. She texts Monique back and tells her to shut up, but the article has done nothing to lower the hopes she’s already got raised so high.

Vanessa tries to put all that out of her mind as she makes her way to her doctor’s appointment in the late November afternoon. The weather is cold and drizzly, and it’s dark outside even though it’s only four o’clock. She’s nervous and she’s desperately hoping they’ll tell her she can dance again. Vanessa has hardly moved all week, her calf resembles a vacuum-packed piece of meat with the compression bandages she’s used, and she’s sure that her leg is still so numb from the constant ice that she could get a six-inch needle shoved into her leg and wouldn’t feel a single thing. Her heart is in her mouth as the doctor rubs gel on her leg and runs the ultrasound scanner over it. The smile she gets in return sends her pulse racing in anticipation and hope.

“Well, it’s good news! You’re healing really well. This is the quickest I’ve seen a tear like this heal in a while, you must’ve done everything by the book!”

Vanessa wants to laugh. Her doctor doesn’t know the half of it. “So am I good to dance again?”

The doctor gives her another smile. “Since these pictures are looking so promising, I’m going to say yes.”

Vanessa wants to scream and cry all at the same time. It’s the happiest she’s been all week.

“But don’t overdo it! You don’t want to go flying back to square one. Take it easy for as long as you can. Don’t go high-kicking into any splits or whatever you dancers do.”

Vanessa frantically promises her doctor that she’ll take it as easy as is physically possible, promises herself internally that she’ll just mark everything for the majority of the week because she’ll take what she can get.

Six weeks? Kiss my ass.

She would’ve skipped out of the doctor’s surgery but that would’ve broken every promise she’s just made, so instead she walks calmly as she makes her way to the pro rehearsal and texts Brooke frantically.

V: i got the all clear to dance again!!!!!! see ya Monday!!!! Xxx

A reply comes back almost instantly that makes Vanessa way too happy.

B: !!!!!!!!!!!! The BEST news!!!!! So excited to see you xxx

It’s embarrassing but Vanessa almost wants to hold her phone to her chest like a lovestruck idiot. She is a lovestruck idiot. Her good mood is made even better by the cheer she gets when she arrives at rehearsal, the dancers all running to hug her and welcome her back. As Vanessa gently warms up and joins in with learning the group dance (marking it all and resolving to only perform it properly on Saturday), she can almost feel her heart singing. The only thing she’s missed more than Brooke is the dancing, and she’s so glad she gets to do what she loves best in the world again.

She doesn’t think her day can get any better, that is until rehearsal ends.

Jan and Jaida are the first girls to leave and they open the door, greet somebody, then turn immediately back into the room, their faces scheming.

“Vanessa?” Jaida shouts over to her, a little twinkle in her eye. “You gotta visitor.”

Vanessa’s confused and she’s pulling her jumper over her head so she can’t really see. It’s only when the other girls file out of the room and it’s completely empty that the visitor in question comes in, and Vanessa’s heart stops at what she sees.

It’s Brooke, and she’s holding a huge bouquet of flowers. Vanessa doesn’t quite know how to react- she knows she’s gone shy and red, and she doesn’t even want to assume the flowers are for her because that would really Mean Something if they were and God, the way Brooke is smiling at her, all nervous and reserved, is giving her way too many butterflies.

“Hey,” Brooke greets her, her voice all quiet. Vanessa laughs out of sheer relief of just being able to have her all to herself again, and she rushes forward to hug her. Brooke accepts gladly, and the two of them stand with their arms around each other and Vanessa holds her tightly as if to convey how much she’s missed her. They break the hug but they don’t let go, and they stay in each others’ arms as they talk.

“How come you’re here?” Vanessa asks her, her smile entirely too big and too happy but she can’t in any way help it. Brooke tucks some hair behind her ear then returns her hand to her waist.

“I wanted to see you,” Brooke shrugs. Vanessa’s heart inflates so much it almost pops, an overfilled helium balloon that’s soaring up to the ceiling. Brooke removes her arms from Vanessa’s sides and holds out the flowers to her. “For a few reasons, really. The first one was to give you these- congratulations on getting better!”

Vanessa laughs, thanks her as she accepts the flowers. They’re beautiful- clusters of tiny purple flowers arranged amongst tall stems with yellow-orange petals wrapped in florist’s paper and a lilac ribbon. Brooke’s still talking to her as she’s examining them.

“And second of all-” Brooke holds up her phone. “I was wondering if you wanted to dance with me.”

Vanessa gives Brooke a funny look, still unable to stifle her smile. “I mean, sure, but you know we got rehearsal tomorrow?”

Brooke grins, crosses over to where Vanessa’s speakers are still plugged in and connects her phone. “Yeah, but…I never got to dance the Viennese with you, and I want to.”

Vanessa can feel tiny fireworks going off in her nerve endings. Or perhaps that’s just her pulse thudding through her veins with alarming intensity. Either way it’s intoxicating.

“Alright,” Vanessa shrugs, pretending it’s the most normal thing in the world. “I guess I could dance with you. Since, y’know, you came all this way.”

She sticks her tongue out and Brooke laughs, although even though she’s acting carefree Vanessa’s stomach is fluttering with nervousness as Brooke hits play on the song and the piano introduction rings out into the echoey silence of the room. She doesn’t know why she’s nervous, it’s just dancing- scratch that, she knows exactly why she’s nervous, and when Brooke stands ready to hold her Vanessa gives her a shy smile

“Just follow my lead.”

Vanessa snorts quietly. “Hark at Miss Celebrity.”

“Shush.”

Brooke leads her effortlessly and it only makes Vanessa’s sense of complete, all-consuming longing worse. She twirls under Brooke’s arm, marvelling in the way the girl makes her feel like a princess in a pair of sweatpants and a baggy gym top. She’s so infatuated and it’s dangerous, but Vanessa doesn’t care.

“You can have Manhattan, the one we used to share…the one where we were laughing, and drunk on just being there…”

The choreography falls away and they slip into just swaying, Vanessa resting her head against Brooke’s chest. The chords of the song reverberate off the walls of the rehearsal room and Vanessa doesn’t know why, but tears start forming in her eyes. Maybe it’s the relief of everything being back to normal again, maybe it’s the sadness of the song, maybe it’s the happiness of Brooke doing all these sweet things for her. The tears roll down her face silently as she clings to Brooke, and Brooke doesn’t notice she’s even upset until presumably she feels her tears begin to seep through the black t-shirt she’s wearing. She steps out of hold and Vanessa looks to the floor, can’t bear to face her with tears in her eyes.

“Hey, hey, hey. What’s wrong?”

Brooke gently tilts Vanessa’s chin up with her fingers so that their eyes are level. Her gaze is gentle and kind and all at once the safest place Vanessa has known. Quickly and suddenly Vanessa leans in and bridges the gap between them, and before she can overthink things she’s meeting Brooke’s lips with her own just like she’s wanted to all these weeks. She’s got a hand on either side of Brooke’s face, her touch urgent just like her kiss, and as good as her lips feel it hits Vanessa with a sobering clarity that Brooke isn’t kissing back oh God why isn’t she kissing back-

And it’s just as this thought hits her that Brooke gently tugs herself away, frowns at Vanessa with concern and sweeps away a tear from under her eyelid. “Vanessa…”

Vanessa feels sick. So many thoughts are running around her mind, but in her vast panic she immediately latches onto three of them.

1: Brooke didn’t kiss her back.

2: Brooke broke away from the kiss.

3: She needs to get out of this room before she humiliates herself any further.

Brooke hasn’t stopped holding her which she supposes is a good sign but she can’t focus on that now. She wriggles out of Brooke’s arms, ignoring her protestations and blindly snatching up the flowers Brooke gave her (she’ll later realise she forgot both her speakers and her jumper). Trying to stop the tears of embarrassment that are now streaming down her face, she dashes quickly to the door.

“Fuck…V, wait-” Brooke urges, but Vanessa doesn’t. Brooke doesn’t follow her and she’s glad of it as she bursts out of the studio and down the corridor towards the exit.

The closing chords of the song that’s still playing ring in her ears in harmony with Brooke’s pleas, and it’s the worst kind of music Vanessa has ever heard.

#rpdr fanfiction #ortega #bet you look good on the dancefloor #strictly au #lesbian au #branjie #vanessa vanjie mateo #brooke lynn hytes #plastique tiara #jan sport #jackie cox #monique heart #akeria davenport #jaida essence hall #background jankie

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waeadexz · 3 years

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less--beans · 3 years

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so i might need a little time before i heal

despite having writer’s block for literally the last 3 months, i’ve written like 3 watt fics in the past week. here’s one that i wrote tonight!

word count: 2039

summary: Cairo's headed back to school for the first time since the infamous second sleepover. Kate finds her in the bathroom crying.

Cairo lets out a deep breath. The school looms ahead of her, students milling around in front of it, laughing and talking with their friends.

She automatically looks for the cheer team, knowing that Riley prefers them to hang out before school, no matter how quiet and awkward it is. She sees a flash of red hair and starts to head for it-

No.

She stops, remembering. She won’t see Riley smiling, beckoning her over. She won’t sit on the stairs with her, watching the team sit awkwardly around and listening to her best friend talk. She won’t see Chess laugh at some dumb sarcastic comment Kate muttered under her breath. She won’t see Farrah try to sneak a swig of something from a flask, hiding from Annleigh’s disapproving glare. She’ll never see any of that again, because Chess and Farrah are dead. And Riley is in prison for their murder.

Cairo falters, not knowing where to go, when her name is called. She looks over, surprised, and it turns out to be Reese who is now calling her over. She hesitantly walks in the direction, silently sending up a thanks to whoever is listening that it’s on the opposite side of campus than their normal spot. As she gets closer she realizes the rest of the team is there too, sprawled out on a staircase. It seems as if they decided to keep hanging out in the morning, even in their captain’s- former captain’s absence.

“Good morning Cairo! Come sit with us,” Reese says with a smile. Cairo decides to try to ignore the obvious pity and hesitance in the expression and just comply. She sits on the bottom of the steps and figures she’s not going to even try and pay attention to whatever the girl is going on about. Instead, she surveys the remaining members of the team.

Kate sits at the top of the stairs alone. She doesn’t seem to be listening either, staring off across campus with an empty expression. There is an obvious gap between her and the rest of the team, as if someone were sitting there, a painful reminder of a time when someone did. Annleigh is a sharp contrast, paying too much attention. She is grinning widely, though it seems to be physically hurting her, and she’s nodding as Reese speaks. Mattie seems scared, and Cairo wonders if she feels worse for the girl they wrongfully imprisoned or the girls who lost people to whom they rightfully imprisoned. Someone drops something metal across the campus, and Mattie flinches, drawing into herself with a haunted expression on her face. Eva looks unsure of what to do, standing awkwardly. She’d never gotten to know the team before the drama of that night. Cairo almost smiles. What a wonderful first impression they’d made.

The bell rings, loud and jarring, and Cairo startles. She hasn’t even noticed the time passing, too busy trying to adjust to the changes. She gets up and walks away without a second glance, not bothering to try and make conversation with any of the other girls as they all headed to class. There was only one person she wanted to talk to, and she’d never be able to again.

---------------------

The bell signals the end of class, and Cairo drags herself to her feet. The two classes she’d had so far seemed to go by in a blur, but they also seemed to last forever. The colors and noises ran together, and for most of the classes she’d been left staring at the empty desk beside her.

She makes it to her locker, trying her best not to look at the pictures she’d had hanging up in it. She is just starting to think that maybe she’ll get through the day intact when she overhears a conversation from across the hall.

“Can you believe that we had our very own Death Of A Cheerleader right here in this town?” Cairo stiffens. She can’t believe her luck. Of all the things for the girls to be gossiping about, it has to be this?

“I just wonder what caused that girl to snap. I mean, everyone knew that team was the worst, but murder?” Riley’s comment about being “the worst team ever” plays through Cairo’s mind, and she thinks she’s going to throw up.

“She killed only the drunk and the junkie though. Oh, and that cute boy- I wonder what she was thinking,” one girl comments thoughtfully. The other girl laughs scornfully.

“She wasn’t. She’s, like, insane. Didn’t you hear? She had a whole breakdown-” and that’s all Cairo can stand before she’s pushing through the crowd towards the bathroom.

She manages to make it to a stall before she throws up. It’s the little things, she thinks cynically, slumping to the floor and leaning against the wall. She realizes she’s crying with some surprise as the tears roll off her face. She wonders for a second if the splotches the tears are leaving on her jeans match the splotches the blood would’ve made and has to stop as she feels bile rising in her throat again.

The door opens and for a second the loudness of the hallway is all she can hear before the door swings back shut and the silence returns. The girl who entered shuffles on her feet awkwardly and Cairo waits for her to go into a stall so she can leave without having to interact. Instead, the girl speaks.

“Cairo?” With a jolt of surprise, Cairo recognizes the voice as Kate’s. Despite Cairo’s lack of response, she continues hesitantly anyway. “Cairo, I know you’re in here.”

Cairo briefly considers pretending she’s not there before realizing she’s visible from underneath the stall. She sniffs, wipes her face, and stands up, unlocking the door.

Kate takes one look at her and makes a move as if to hug her, but clearly thinks better of it. “The bathroom isn’t really a good place to sit. Germs on the floor.”

Cairo looks at her. “Yeah, I guess.”

“So let’s go outside.” Cairo thinks she must have lost her mind.

“We have class,” she points out. “We can’t skip.”

“Sure we can,” Kate says, shrugging. “Come on, follow me.” Well, why not, she figures.

Cairo doesn’t really remember how they got outside. The bell must have rung, because the halls are empty, but she can’t recall hearing it. All she knows is that Kate dragged her through the building and now they’re sitting in a hidden spot in the courtyard, a place known among the students as a good place to skip class, seeing as none of the teachers know of its existence. Surprisingly, there are no other people in sight.

“Why are we out here?” Cairo says, breaking the silence.

Kate sighs, still not looking at her. “Like I said, the bathroom is dirty. Not a great place to sit. No one will bother us here either.”

“Yeah, but why do you care?” It isn’t a secret that Kate and Cairo have never really liked each other. Riley used to complain after practices that half Cairo’s attention was always on the other girl, not on the routines. Something about the other girl just rubbed her the wrong way, though.

Kate finally faced her. “Because I wasn’t going to leave you sobbing your eyes out on a dirty bathroom floor.”

Cairo scowls, opens her mouth to say something about the fact that she was not sobbing her eyes out, and closes it as she realizes that she kind of was. Kate raises an eyebrow at her, and her scowl deepens. “I would’ve left you.”

“I know,” Kate says simply. “And I almost left you. But… I know what it’s like to lose your best friend. And it sucks. It really, really sucks. And sometimes you end up crying in a bathroom stall. And the one person who would’ve noticed you were gone and come to find you and comfort you is the one you’re missing most of all. So I wasn’t going to leave you there alone, not when she already did.”

Cairo’s crying again. She hates crying, especially in front of Kate of all people, but she can’t help it. “You’re not supposed to be this nice.” Kate looks confused again, and she opens her mouth to say something, but Cairo cuts her off. “You’re supposed to hate me. You do hate me. And we’ve hated each other for years. I bullied you for no reason, I mocked you when Chess… when Chess died, and here you are, comforting me. And over Riley! She killed Chess! My best friend killed your best friend, and you’re comforting me for missing her.”

She finally looks at Kate, ready for Kate to realize she’s right and yell at her before leaving, but instead Kate’s crying. “Yeah, your best friend sucks,” she admits, and Cairo lets out a surprised little choked half-laugh, and then they’re both crying harder and somehow laughing through it. Once she’s calmed down, Kate continues, “Just because we don’t often get along doesn’t mean that I’m just going to leave you crying in the bathroom alone. And I don’t think you would’ve left me either, not when it actually comes down to it. And,” she turns to Cairo, her eyes fierce and watery, “you can’t blame yourself for what Riley did. That’s not anywhere near your fault. No one could’ve seen it coming, not even you.”

“Thanks,” Cairo says, her voice coming out as a whisper. Kate offers her a gentle smile before facing forward again. They sit quietly for a while. It feels… surprisingly nice. Cairo hadn’t realized how much she needed to vent, and now that she has, it feels like a little bit of the weight she’s been carrying has been lifted. She’s not sure how much she believes Kate, but just hearing what the other girl had said has helped her come a little closer to accepting it.

“The bell’s going to ring soon,” Kate said after some time. “We should head back in a few minutes.” Cairo nods.

“How’s Annleigh holding up?” Cairo asks, thinking of the other girl who’d lost people that night.

“She’s- well, she’s not fine. But she’s getting there. We Skype pretty often, usually in the middle of the night, and we talk about them. Do you want to join the calls?” Kate offers.

Cairo shakes her head. “No. No, I’m alright. But…” she hesitates. At Kate’s encouraging nod, she continues, “Can we do this again sometimes? It helped to talk.”

“Yeah, we can. Just let me know when, alright?” Kate passed her phone over. “Put your number in and just shoot me a text.”

“I already have your number, remember? Team captain and all that,” Cairo reminds her, handing the phone back.

“Oh yeah! You’re the new team captain. I’d forgotten about that. How are you holding up with it?” Kate asks.

“I’m worried about it. I’m not really a people person, that was always her job. I don’t think I’ll be anywhere near as good,” Cairo admits. It’s funny, she thinks. Before today she never would’ve told Kate of all people this. But there’s something about crying your eyes out with a person over your dead or imprisoned best friends that really lets you open up easily.

“Hey, the bar’s pretty low on this one. Just don’t murder and you’ll already be doing better than she ever was,” Kate points out with a wry smile on her face.

Cairo chuckles a bit and looks down. “Yeah, I guess.”

“You’ll do fine. Trust me.” Before Cairo has a chance to dispute this, Kate is checking her watch and standing up. “The bell is about to ring. Come on, let’s head in.”

Cairo takes the hand offered to her and stands up as well. “Thanks again for this.”

Kate smiles at her. “Much better than a dirty bathroom stall, isn’t it?”

Cairo laughs and smiles back. “Very much so, yes.”

The bell rings, and the halls fill with students as they sneak back in. Cairo waves to Kate and heads to her next class. The seat next to her doesn’t feel quite so empty, and she thinks that maybe, just maybe, she’ll be alright.

#we are the tigers #watt #kate dalton #cairo watt #healing #comfort #grief

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harrylilies · 3 years

Text

The Royal Series | Pt. V

The Royal Series Masterlist

"Think I should get my own flat." You said as you lied on Farrah's bed, looking at her ceiling that had scattered glow-in-dark stars.

"Like in secret? Out of the palace?" She asked, glancing at you then looking back at her laptop.

You hummed in confirmation. "Think I can do that?"

"If it were hypothetical, yes,” Farrah answered, looking at you. "It's unsafe given your status, no matter how much you deny it so if your family knows, it won't be pretty, and I know for sure it’s not easy.” "What if-" You sat up quickly, crossing your legs and looking at her with mischievous wide eyes. "What if I give it all up?"

"Give what up?" She asked slowly, looking at you warily.

"The status. What if I give up on royalty? Step down and live as some normal girl who's good in her work and owns her own flat? I don't have to marry F-"

"Y/N, you really need to sleep." She sighed, closing her laptop and putting it on her bedside table.

You sighed, lying on your back and pulling the cover closer to your chin. "I hope that's the case."

"Anyway, whatever you do, you know I'll support you, even if you end up living with me."

You smiled, snuggling into Farrah's cover, "You're an alright best friend."

"And you're a bitch. Goodnight, your Highness." She chuckled before rolling over and letting her back face you.

"Goodnight, peasant."

"Em, call them and tell them that we'll do what we talked about in the meeting and have their social media specialist start tomorrow. Has David called?" You asked your assistant as you both walk in a fast pace inside the palace, Kensington.

"He did. He said that we raised 2 million, we exceeded the target." She informed you.

You nodded, stopping in front of your flat door. "Good. Can you please schedule a meeting for tomorrow with Healing for The Future? We need to discuss the plan and start working as soon as possible."

She nodded, writing on her iPhone as you talked. "Consider it done."

"Thank you, Em. And sorry for keeping you busy till now," you smiled at her gratefully before checking your watch, "It's almost 11."

"It's my job. It's not like I don't enjoy it." Emelie assured you with a smile of hers. "Now you have a goodnight. You've been awake since 4 in the morning."

You nodded, both of you leaning to kiss each other's cheek. "Goodnight, Em."

Emelie walked off, making you turn and enter your quiet flat. You nodded at the two guards standing on your door before going inside, smiling and wishing them a goodnight.

Right as you were about to take off your shoes, a knock on your door made your move halt for a second before you granted permission to whoever was on the other side. In came one of the ladies-in-waiting, Pattie. "Your Highness?"

"Yes, Pattie? Is everything alright?"

She nodded, "Her Majesty is in His Highness Prince William's flat and requested to see you."

"Oh, she's here?" You furrow your eyebrows before standing. "Okay. Thank you, Pattie. You can sleep or do whatever you want. It's a quiet night for me." You smiled at her.

Pattie smiled back, bending her knees in a slight curtsy, "Thank you, Your Highness."

Walking to your brother's flat, you greeted the guards at the door before a maid informed you that “they were all in the drawing room.” Thinking nothing of it, you pulled out your phone as you walked towards it, opening yours and your siblings’ group chat.

Henry💂🏻‍♂️: why on earth is he here? Wills👴🏻: I honestly don't know... Wills👴🏻: Y/N, I'd advise you to not come before 11

It was too late.

Your eyebrows which were furrowed in confusion at the texts and the frown fell once you walked inside the drawing room and looked up, seeming as if the air had been knocked out of you.

"Y/N, you're here! Fred was just telling us about his last polo match." Your grandmother smiled, patting the spot next to her.

You glanced at your siblings, Kate, and your grandfather who gave you sympathetic looks before your eyes moved to the moving man who was approaching you with a smile on his face.

"It's incredible to see you, Your Highness." Fred said gently, offering his hand.

You snapped out of it and put your hand in his, watching as he kissed it, "Lovely to see you, too.”

Fred motioned for you to walk inside, walking behind you as you sat on the sofa beside your grandmother, deeply breathing as you tried to remain calm.

"Prince Fred has a gift for you, Y/N."

"Ah, yes!" He chuckled nervously, holding a rectangular velvet green box from the table before approaching you. "I know you love emerald," he spoke gently, opening the box for you.

Your eyebrows were furrowed and a frown was set on your face as you stared at the necklace with an emerald gemstone. "Uh," you let out a small chuckle before looking at him. "May I ask what's the occasion?"

"Just a kickstart for what's there to come."

You nodded slowly, straightening your posture as your eyes went back to his face, "That's a lot for just a kickstart."

You heard your brothers snicker from behind Fred, watching as he gave you a small shrug. "It's okay if you don't want to accept it. I'd understand. I asked my mother and she told me it'd be a good idea, honestly." Fred chuckled, glancing from you to the necklace in his hands, almost as if he'd never seen it.

You glanced at your grandmother who gave you a pointed look, almost as if she was holding back a scream that said "take it!"

You stood up, taking a breath and reluctantly nodded, "It's okay, I-," You gulped, an uneasy smile coming to your face, "I'll take it. Thank you."

Fred smiled, "Want help wearin-"

"No!" You instantly replied, hand coming up to graze the teardrop pendant of your necklace around your neck. "I mean," you looked at him, slightly wide eyed, "I'm going to sleep now so it's not really a convenient time to wear it."

He cleared his throat and nodded, stepping back with an arm behind his back, "I understand."

“Y/N, you said you're going to sleep. Can I come with you for a second? I left Louis' bib at your flat the last time." William said, standing up.

Despite knowing that he was coming up with an excuse for you to leave, you went along. "Oh, right. I was meaning to get it but I forgot. Anyway," With the green box in your hand, you walked towards the door with your brother following you before you turned to look at the rest, "Have a goodnight." And with that, you and William were out of the door and walking towards your own flat.

"Show me." He opened his palm, making you rest the box there. "Not bad, huh?"

"Poor lad looked like he was forced to do this." You spoke your mind, hand finding its way to your hair.

"Just like you felt you were forced to accept it?" Will replied almost instantly.

You shrugged, "It'd be very rude of me to just not accept it. He'd look like a fool."

"And why do you care?"

"Because just because I don't see myself with him, doesn't mean I'll make him feel less about himself and treat him like a doormat. I have a feeling he's forced into this like I am." You sighed, walking down the stairs.

"When did you become so wise?" Will chuckled, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. "How's Romeo?"

You chuckled, rolling your eyes. "He's fine. He's in Berlin."

"Busy lad, huh?"

You nodded, "Very. Makes time to call me though."

Will smiled, giving your shoulder a squeeze. "That's good to hear."

As you reached your flat and opened the door, you turned to look at your brother, "You can stay for some tea." You suggested.

"No, it's alright. I'll head back to them. You have a good night sleep, alright?" He leaned down pressing peck to your forehead.

You nodded, smiling sleepily at him. "Goodnight, Wills."

Getting into your bed after a long day was what you looked forward on busy days, and it was the reason behind the sigh that left your lips as you had gotten under the covers.

Right as you were about to lock your phone, the screen changed from your wallpaper of you, Charlotte and George lying on the grass as you laughed – a picture Kate had taken from above months ago and it had been your favourite – to an incoming call from none other than the man who gave you zoos erupting in your stomach; Harry.

You smiled, accepting it. "Hello?"

"Hey, love," His voice alone was enough to have you already blushing. "Are you done with the day?"

You hummed, "It was a long, tiring day."

"Want to tell me about it?"

And so, you did. You told him all about your day, meetings and your scheduled plans, leaving out the part where you saw Fred.

And he told you about his show and how he was on his way to travel to Amsterdam.

"Did you wear that suit you showed me?" You asked him, lying on your back.

"Yeah, I did," He replied, "I'm going to send you two suits for tomorrow's show, choose one of them for me, please?"

You grinned, "Of course."

"Alright, I'm going to let you sleep now. Uh, Y/N?"

You hummed.

Harry chuckled slightly and almost nervously before it got quiet for a second. "I miss you,"

You grinned to yourself, feeling your heart thump in your chest at the simple 3 words.

"Feel like I want to see you already. Think-" He stopped, "Think it's your kisses. You're very, very...kissable."

You let out a small laugh, one hand moving to cover your face as the other clutched the phone tightly to your ear. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, I miss you, too."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

#the royal series #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles au

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