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dini73 · 3 years

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Not Today

It's finally here! Thanks so much @whatsmyline-pb for all your help and all you wonderful people out there who always are such an inspiration and motivation. Anyone who wants to be added to the tag list, please let me know.

Fandom: Vikings Rating: Mature Categories: M/F; M/M Relationships: Ivar/Hvitserk; Ivar/Heahmund; Ivar/Reader Trigger warning for mentioning of past drug abuse, loss of loved one, psychological child abuse; see Ao3 for all tags Words: 3808

Bright sunlight blinded Hvitserk’s eyes when he climbed up higher and higher into the huge oak, closely followed by his little brother.

“Wait for me,” he heard toddler Ivar cheerfully giggle. “I’ll get you, Hvitserk!”

And Hvitserk turned around, looking into Ivar’s shining eyes, light blue like a frozen lake and yet full of life and warmth. Tiny teeth innocently exposed to the sun, a chubby hand reaching out to his older brother who leaned forward to grip it and lift Ivar up to the next branch. But just as their soft hands touched, Ivar slipped and Hvitserk couldn’t do anything but watch in horror as his little brother fell and fell until he landed in the meadow below with a dull thud.

The sound went straight to Hvitserk’s core, pumping adrenaline through his veins and waking him up with a racing heartbeat, breathing hard, bare chest covered in cold sweat.

“Ivar,” he breathed panicked, still trying to fully escape the dream, having already stumbled out of bed and towards the entrance of his apartment. There in a little clay bowl, made by his half-sister Gyda, were the keys to the next-door apartment, which belonged to his younger brother, Ivar.

When Hvitserk arrived in his brother’s pitch-dark bedroom, he was devastated to make out the shadow of Ivar on the floor. That could only mean two things: that his baby brother was deadly drunk…or worse.

Not sure which option he’d have to face, Hvitserk slowly knelt. He stretched his arm out but hesitated to let his hand touch Ivar yet.

“Hey brother? Ivar!” and when he carefully shook his brother’s shoulder and was not yelled at, he started to wish Ivar was drunk. Selfishly, Hvitserk longed for the less painful explanation, knowing what followed would break both their hearts. Again.

He carefully leaned over Ivar and whispered, “It’s okay, I’m here.” Then he stood up, turned back the covers on the bed and waited for his brother to drag himself onto it. The ongoing silence, so unlike his brother, scared Hvitserk. After Ivargot himself up and into bed Hvitserk’s heart felt enormously heavy, and he got to bed as well, lining himself up behind his brother, carefully pushing one of his knees between Ivar’s cold, lifeless legs. Just when he lay his arm around Ivar’s waist, offering his other arm as a pillow, the latter mumbled, barely audible, “I can’t take it anymore.”

Fuck. What is he supposed to say to that? “It’s all going to be okay”? Because how could it? They both knew it would be such a lie.

So instead Hvitserk drew Ivar closer and asked him: “Hear my heartbeat? Just focus on that. Breathe.”

After a few minutes Ivar’s breathing steadied and Hvitserk calmed down a bit himself, only to start wondering what had put Ivar in such a state. His thoughts wandered and Hvitserk didn’t realise that he was slowly drifting back to sleep until a rough voice suddenly mumbled, “I wish I could be just like everyone else. Not standing out. Not in constant pain. And not needing to be looked after.”

And while that should have made Hvitserk’s heart break, it nearly cheered him up; all his brother longed for, was so reasonable. But above all, the bitterness with which he proclaimed his dreams, although only whispered, showed his strength. Yes, he might be in despair, and who wouldn’t? But Ivar would never give up. That was something Hvitserk was so sure of in that moment.

He cleared his throat: “Well my dear brother, if you of all the people would be just like everybody else, this world would be a damn boring place.” And he knew how Ivar smiled in that moment even if he couldn’t see it, and he felt his chest broaden. And he went on: “And -as much as it hurts me to admit - someone so remarkable, like you, will always stand out.” And hey, that even earned him a little huff.

Ivar had taken his brother’s hand and their thumbs brushed over each other’s fingers, just the way they had done when they were kids.

“Regarding the pain, brother; not the one who never fell, but the one who always stood up again is the strongest of them all.”

“That some wisdom of your Buddha, huh?” Ivar teased playfully.

“Fuck you,” Hvitserk smiled and hurried to bury his face in Ivar’s neck. They both knew that these two words were actually saying: “There is nothing in this world I’d rather do than to take care of you. I love you.”

It was silent again. No cars were driving outside yet and Hvitserk couldn’t even hear a bird over the loud pulsing of his blood. It must be between two or three o’clock in the morning.

Ivar’s strong hands clasped close around his brother’s wrist while his right elbow punched Hvitserk playfully in his side.

“Hey,” he complained.

Ivar then twisted his upper body, pushed himself a bit up and turned his face towards his brother. Their lips were just inches apart and Hvitserk felt Ivar’s warm breath on his when he looked him deep in the eyes and then hummed a drowsy, “Good night”.

They must have fallen asleep straight afterwards since Hvitserk couldn’t remember closing his eyes at all, but now, awake again, he heard many birds chirping outside. Once more he was grateful, they had not only found neighbouring apartments, but that they had come with a roof terrace. Not only thecoolest thing for parties but also a great space to grow strawberries in the summer, some herbs, tomatoes lavender and some tiny trees, which attracted a lot of tiny birds. Sometimes Hvitserk was still surprised how much he really liked gardening, but it had helped him a lot during his past struggle. Taking care of something that could grow and prosper under his touch, through his care, proved to him once again that he was needed and able to do good.

It had always been like that though, Hvitserk had always been the one everyone in the family could rely on. He had always gladly helped and still it was just so often overlooked. Being sandwiched between siblings— three older, two elevated by their superior lineage, and the two youngest, so loud and demanding, constantly fighting for their parent’s attention— Hvitserk shared the fate of most middle children; being taken granted for by everyone.

Somehow no one had ever wondered, why it was him who started to get up at night and go over to the room Sigurd and Ivar shared as kids when the latter cried. Hvitserk didn’t blame Sigurd though, who was still so young himself, and he would never blame anyone anyway. Still, sometimes he had wondered why Ubbe never thought it was his duty as the eldest to help their overtired parents by looking after Ivar at night sometimes. After a while Hvitserk’s sleep got so light that Ivar just had to whimper, and his older brother was there to soothe him before his parents even heard anything.

Of course, it was their mom, and only she, who was able to get through to Ivar when he was in really bad pain, when he had another broken bone or had extreme growing pains. And during the days it was Ubbe or their dad who made sure to keep Ivar entertained and occupied as good as possible, as much as Aslaug allowed, to distract Ivar from his chronic pain. But it was always Hvitserk who calmed Ivar when he had a bad dream or was sad and frustrated and couldn’t sleep because the rising pain kept him awake. Then his older brother would carefully cuddle up to him and retell him the stories he himself had just heard from Ubbe. Hvitserk loved Ubbe dearly and his storytelling abilities was only one of the many things Hvitserk admired him for.

Cuddling up to each other became their routine, and then sometimes Hvitserk would stroke his baby brother’s back in calming circles, sometimes he just held his tiny shaking hand, sometimes he’d whisper stories and sometimes it took never-ending assurances of “it will soon be better” before Ivar fell asleep again.

The calming circles was a trick Gyda had shown him; Hvitserk was sure that he would have had no chance of ever looking after Ivar if Gyda and Björn had lived in the same house. But sharing the same property with two main houses was all Lagertha and Aslaug could agree to. The houses had to be in fact the exact replicas, his father grumbling that this made him look like an idiot to the rest of Kattegat, while Aslaug was furious hers wasn’t bigger, as she had given him not only two but four children and one needed special care, while Lagertha always played the “but I was his first wife and gave birth to his first son” card. This bickering had been a constant background noise to them all throughout their childhood.

The kids all got along well. Sometimes it seemed as if they were making up for their parent’s constant fighting. Hvitserk looked up to Ubbe, Ubbe adored Björn, Sigurd was a needy little pest but was always kept in check by their sweet sister Gyda who was the one person all of them always instantly listened to, even though she never raised her voice. And they all loved their baby brother Ivar.

Looking back, Hvitserk thought that never raising her voice had worked wonders for Gyda and had been her superpower in the often so loud household. Wherever she went, Gyda exuded an atmosphere of calm and friendliness.

Hvitserk missed his half-sister, while, lost in thought, he stroked a strand of damp hair from Ivar's forehead. After some time, he carefully made sure that Ivar was still asleep and then snuck out of the bed and back to his own apartment.

These neighbouring apartments had been a gift from the gods, just when both had needed a wink from fate. After Hvitserk got released from rehab Aslaug didn’t want to have him in their house anymore. She was very outspoken about it and about her reason for it: she feared for Ivar. Those words, yelled in a high-pitched voice, made Ivar doubt his mother’s sanity for the second time in his life. Her angry announcement also led to a fierce fight between Ragnar and Athelstan; Athelstan didn’t want to waste a moment before welcoming Hvitserk in the home he and Ragnar shared. But Ragnar proclaimed that it would do Hvitserk no good if he wasn’t forced to stand on his own feet again.

Being of age and with both his parents not wanting him around, Hvitserk was overjoyed that his little brother was finally sick of Aslaug’s suffocating love and was similarly anxious to get out of the toxic household.

It also helped immensely that Ragnar’s guilty consciousness led him to move mountains and loads of money to grant them their neighbouring apartments over the roofs of Copenhagen.

Aslaug had a fit that someone in a wheelchairwould want to move to a roof top loft, but all three men had done their best to just ignore her. The boys would swear they had later heard their dad’s thoughts on exactly where their mom could shove her concerns regarding the roof top, as they argued on the street.

The modern building had an excellent lift, and the character of the loft gave Ivar all the space he needed. Ragnar made sure that his good friend Floki oversaw any needed adjustments in regards of the widths of the doors or the accessibility of the terrace.

Ivar’s apartment also had adjusted furniture throughout all rooms and Floki took pride in designing the kitchen himself.

Now, back in his own apartment, the cold blanket over Hvitserk’s unused bed made him shiver as he wrapped himself in it. He couldn’t fall asleep again. Instead, he lay there, stared at his ceiling, a wave of emotions suddenly clashing over him. The last three years had been such a roller coaster.

Thora.

His fingers clung to the blanket almost painfully.

Hvitserk pressed his eyes together and forced himself to try some steady breaths, just as he had shown to Ivar only a few hours ago. After a few minutes, he breathed out deeply, opened his eyes and mumbled into the darkness: “You did well. You overcame things, Hvits. You did it and you can still do it.” And suddenly, his anxiety switched to a slightly hysterical laughter. “Oh fuck!” he laughed staring at the ceiling again. “I’m such a pathetic loser, mumbling to myself in the dark…”

But his words didn’t contain any heat and a small smile formed on his lips since he knew he wasn’t a pathetic looser. At least definitely not when it came to other people. Hvitserk knew that he was a good brother. Especially to Ivar. Always had, always would be.

Hvitserk relaxed a bit more in his bed and thought back to their childhood again. He had always understood Ivar’s despair, his illness making him incapable to certain aspects of life. Hvitserk had never looked to the side or pretend not to hear when small sniffles filled his brother’s bedroom. Hvitserk could never stand anyone being in pain.

That’s how he and Ivar had become inseparable, even though Hvitserk had never stopped loving spending time with Ubbe. But the nights filled with hidden sobs belonged to him and his baby brother. When they had gotten a bit older and started school, they started to hide their cuddling from the rest, Hvitserk always sneaking back to his bed before anyone woke up. Just as they had done now. But nevertheless, hiding it sometimes didn’t sit well with Hvitserk since they weren’t doing anything wrong. And he often longed for owning up to it.

Especially when the comforting felt so good.

******

The next time Hvitserk woke was thanks to his vibrating phone. With narrowed eyes he tapped around his bed to find it. The sun was already shining brightly into his room, and he wondered what time it was.

With a groan he opened the screen but then smiled.

Ivar had sent a picture of his famous pancakes and the teasing/taunting message, “Liking them cold now?”

Hvitserk answered with the running man emoji and jumped out of bed to get a quick shower.

About 15 minutes and a stack of freshly made pancakes later, Ivar asked, “Good?” with a raised eyebrow, rather amused about the way Hvitserk stuffed the sweets in.

“Sure,” Hvitserk grinned and held his coffee cup up shaking it in the air in silent request.

“Huh! Don’t you have legs, anymore?” Ivar huffed with mocked indignation, nevertheless taking the cup and limping towards his fancy coffee machine.

Those were the good moments. And Ivar had them, and they both loved them, but there was still the underlying question about last night. While Ivar pushed the buttons on the shiny coffee machine to make his brother an Americano, Hvitserk started to play around on his phone.

And there it was, the explanation for last night:

Special needs Ragnarsson to join university of Copenhagen

There are pictures too. They must have caught Ivar yesterday afternoon; looking very grumpy while he had tried to climb the stairs of the university, struggling with his crutches while carrying the registration paperwork under one arm as well.

“Ivar…” he sighed, a dull plain already clenching around his heart.

He could see how Ivar’s back muscles stiffened before he hissed a frustrated: “Don’t.”

Gosh, how Hvitserk hated the paparazzi for what they were constantly doing to them. If it wasn’t him being caught drunk, Björn with some women or Sigurd with some guy, they could always rip on Ivar.

“You could’ve…” he started but got harshly interrupted by his brother.

“No, I can’t always run whining to Ubbe, okay?” He slammed his coffee angrily on the table with such a force, that little droplets of coffee splashed to his plate. “And I won’t! Besides they just caught me off guard,” Ivar hissed through gritted teeth.

They both sat silently for a while, trying to concentrate on their breakfast, which no longer tasted that good, with all the tension in the air.

Ivar knew his brother was just worried about him, but he didn’t need that, well at least he didn’t want it. He wanted to stand up for himself and make his own decisions. And it was probably this thought that made him admit: “I visited mom, afterward.”

He didn’t even have to look over to Hvitserk to know how immediately tense he became. Biting his lower lip, a frown on his forehead Ivar prepared himself to hear a litany of reasons why that had been a fucking stupid idea.

Just as Hvitserk opened his mouth, Ivar got ahead of him. Looking out of the huge window, concentrating on the clouds to avoid looking at his brother, he admitted in a low voice:

“I just had to, Hvit. I wanted to show her the stuff from university and just share that with her.” And then he turned around facing his brother, suddenly quite furiously: “Just because you all hate her, I don’t, okay!?”

Hvitserk dropped his fork in resignation. Pancakes or not, it was too early to have this discussion again. And while he wondered how they could have arrived at this argument again, his phone beeped.

Ubbe: Is he okay?

Hvitserk huffed, rolled his eyes, and typed the fitting emoji in the box, adding, “what do you think?” Then added another message: “for even more fun, he went to see mother afterwards…”

Ubbe: ugh, one day I’ll get her a restraining order, I swear!

Hvitserk: only if you want Ivar never to speak to you again…

Unnerved from the typing, Ivar felt he’d lash out on his brother any second when he got a message himself.

The sender startled him, though, and a surprised “Huh” escaped his lips. He was supporting himself with one hand on the kitchen island, staring at his mobile in the other with quite some disbelieve.

“What’s it?”

“It’s from Lagertha,” Ivar frowned.

Abandoning his own mobile and instead reaching for the last pancake – because tension or not, Hvitserk was definitely not wasting any food - he wondered what Lagertha was up to.

They all tried to be civil with her, although being honest and more precise, it was only Ivar and he who needed some effort to behave around her. Ubbe had always adored her, although maybe Ubbe had only always adored Björn and dreamt about having the same mother as his big idol.

And do not get him started on Sigurd. That idiot would write an essay about the hardships of this poor, hard fighting women, who lost her husband to some bitch of a woman. Whose then ex-husband never stop hitting on her and dreaming about the three of them living together before he finally gave up on both and moved on. On to Athelstan, the ex-priest he had fallen in love with on one of his many travels.

It was no wonder Sigurd adored Lagertha as she had never - in contrast to both his biological parents – looked down on his musical aspirations as weak, and even supported him to try turn his passion into a proper job. Nonetheless, Hvitserk never understood why his little brother had come out as bisexual to Lagertha first and not to their father, given his current situation. That was one step too many if you asked Hvitserk. He and all his brothers would have been – well were – supportive of Sigurd. The fact he trusted Lagertha more than them, had driven a wedge between Sigurd and him. It had hurt and confused him, and he didn’t want to dislike Sigurd. And sometimes Hvitserk thought it had just been another way for his younger brother to get attention.

For a very short time Sigurd had been the family’s baby and gotten all their mother’s attention. She was so proud of him when he was born with a sign in his eyes. She had been walking around telling everyone about old sagas and that “Sigurd Snake in the Eye” was born for higher things. And then Ivar was born and all of Aslaug’s attention was drawn to him.

As understandable as it was that Ivar needed more attention than other babies, Aslaug just completely forgot about Sigurd. Forgot about all of them, actually, but Hvitserk and Ubbe had already been at an age where not too much attention from their mother was actually welcomed. Whereas Sigurd was just a toddler himself and didn’t understand what he could have done wrong to be totally wiped from his mother’s plate. Still craving for her love and attention, Sigurd identified Ivar as the cause of his misery and had despised him since then.

It was entirely thanks to Gyda that things between the two youngest never escalated. She had always put so much effort in bringing the two youngest together and creating a mutual understanding for each other’s situations. And while their dad was grateful, in awe of his daughter, both of his ex-wives, at some point, grew weary of Gyda’s efforts. Hvitserk never understood what had happened then and neither Lagertha nor his mother ever cared to explain anything to them. One day, Gyda had simply left. It had taken a whole year for her to reach out to them again.

“What does she want?” Hvitserk sighed, not sure if he really cared. Sometimes Hvitserk just wanted his former, very uncomplicated life back. The life they had, when their parents were still together, the life prior to Sigurd getting caught being fucked up the ass by a slimy music producer or Hvitserk lying in his own vomit after a bad trip. No, don’t think back to the drugs, he instantly told himself. He closed his eyes and wished that Ivar either wouldn’t notice his trembling hand or would think that it was Lagertha stressing him out. After all, he had been clean for nearly two years now.

Luckily Ivar didn’t seem to realise his sudden instability or maybe put it down as him still needing more sugar. He didn’t comment on it, at least, but instead explained:

“She said some guy saw one of my photographs at her home and asked if there was more. He might be interested in buying.”

“Oh. Well, that’d be cool, no?” Hvitserk replied with a full mouth.

Ivar huffed, and then looked at his brother. He had a smirk on his lips and didn’t seem to be angry any longer: “Well, definitely cooler than the guy’s name.”

Hvitserk raised an eyebrow questioningly. And when Ivar read, with exaggerated clarity, “Heahmund” they both started to laugh.

@not-another-viking-fanfic-blog @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @pieces-by-me @punkrocknpearls @vikingstrash

#vikings au #vikings fanfiction #vikings ivar #ivar the boneless #hvitserk #vikings hvitserk #ragnarssons #ragnar lothbrok #heahmund x ivar #ivar x reader #floki #athelstan #lagertha #gyda #vikings #sigurd #vikings ubbe #aslaug #vikings bjorn

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voiceless-terror · 3 years

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Ink (TMA Fanfic)

For TMA Gerry Week 2021 Day One

Pairings: Jonathan Sims/Gerry Keay/Martin Blackwood

Rating: T

Summary: Art’s how Gerry shows his love- a few snippets where he does exactly that. No powers-au, Gerry and Martin own a bookstore. Takes place in this universe but can be read alone!

He’s getting used to having people who want him around.

Gerry’s had friends, sure. Once he left the institute and began working odd jobs, he realized how much he genuinely enjoyed having company. He still isn’t the most social of creatures, but he does enjoy a night out with old coworkers who enjoy his stories and laugh at his jokes. But now, with Jon and Martin, they want him around all the time. Even after they started dating, even after he moved in, he was always waiting for the other shoe to drop. It never does, though. And Gerry, in spite of himself, begins to relax. Begins to feel at home.

He’s laying on the couch, scribbling in his notebook when Martin surprises him with a peck to the top of his head. “Whatcha drawing this time?” He was very excited when he heard Gerry liked to draw, immediately asking to see his notebook or anything he’d done. He’d only recently shown him some of his work; he knows Martin would never make him feel embarrassed, but, well. It’s another part of himself no one’s ever been interested in. Until now.

“Jon,” Gerry responds, leaning into the touch. It’s an amateurish attempt in his opinion, just a rough sketch. But he’s got the proportions down and he never forgets a face. Couldn’t forget, in Jon’s case.

“That’s…” Martin trails off, peering closer at the page. “That’s really good. You’ve even got him smiling!” It’s not that Jon never smiles; he smirks and laughs and snarks. But he’s managed to capture that rare, bright grin that makes Gerry’s heart skip a beat.

“Mhm.” Gerry nods slightly, pen tapping against his sketchpad. He turns around, seeing the naked fondness in Martin’s eyes and has a particularly wicked thought. “Y’know, this is how he looks when he’s watching you.”

Martin sputters, turns a lovely shade of red. “W-What? Really?”

“No,” Gerry smirks. “It’s the way he looks at the Admiral.” A groan and a light smack to the shoulder prove his joke is unappreciated. “Sorry, sorry! I’m sure he also looks at you that way-”

“You’re an ass.” Martin rolls his eyes but oh-so-gently picks up his hand, pausing to inspect the ink-stained fingers. “A very talented ass.” His mind blanks as Martin kisses them one by one.

Thoroughly distracted, he never gets around to finishing that sketch.

_______

Painting, as it turns out, is a lot harder than it looks. Still quite fun, though.

They’ve just found the perfect space- a little out of their price range, but Gerry’s got savings and Jon was willing to part with a bit himself. Martin fretted over his ‘meager contribution,’ as his savings were depleted in the final months of his mother’s care. Ridiculous that he would ever think his contribution meager, considering he’s the one who scouted for locations and did all of the paperwork and stayed up late, agonizing over their finances. Some days, Martin’s the only one keeping them sane. Gerry and Jon are due to remind him of that.

Which is why they’re handling the decorating. Jon claims to have no artistic talent, but he does have a knack for making places seem like home. There are boxes filled with knick knacks and rugs and pictures, all waiting to be hung somewhere once Jon’s finally settled on a layout. Gerry’s left with painting the walls, labeling the different sections in whatever way he sees fit. He’s currently at work on the horror section, painting a stylized eye above the tarp-covered bookshelf when he hears the sound of the bell; Martin must be back from the store. They’d run out of appropriately-sized nails and after a minor freak out, he’d been on his way.

“Find what you were looking for?” he calls, listening as Martin’s footsteps grow closer, the crinkle of bags in his hand. “Here to save the day?”

“I wouldn’t call it saving,” Martin snorted, setting them down on the ground with a thump. “But it’ll certainly help. That looks nice.”

Gerry pauses, considering his work. He really needs a darker green for this. “Thanks. It’s a work in progress.”

“I’m sure it’ll turn out great,” he murmurs distractedly, and Gerry turns to look back at him. The lines of his face are more pronounced than usual, as are the shadows under his eyes. A sure sign that the stress is getting to him. Gerry understands, and he’s not much for being particularly sappy but he does what he can to help.

“Hey,” he calls down to him from his ladder. “C’mere. Need your opinion on something.”

Martin sighs, but heeds the call. “What is it? You know I’m rubbish with this art stuff-”

“It’ll only take a second. Come closer.”

“What am I supposed to be looking at-”

“Closer.”

As Martin huffs and leans towards him, Gerry darts his paintbrush out, drawing the quickest of hearts on Martin’s cheek before he can pull away.

“Gerry!” Martin startles and his hand reaches up to wipe at his cheek.

“Don’t smear it, it’s a heart.” He pauses, going for his gravest voice. “Because I love you so much. I’ll be devastated if you ruin it.”

“I don’t appreciate that.” Martin sighs but drops his hand, his face softening already. Exasperation has never been paired with fondness, not when it’s aimed at Gerry. Another thing he’s starting to get used to.

“Shame. It looks good.”

Martin goes home with a heart on his other cheek as well. He looks ridiculous. Gerry loves it.

_________

When Jon’s particularly stressed, Gerry leaves him post-it notes.

Often he leaves before Gerry even wakes, so he’s got to do them the night before. A little cat here, a little caricature of Bouchard there. He leaves a variety, depending on his mood. Jon always gives him a kiss when he gets home, a soft ‘thank you for the note,’ and that’s all he needs, really, to keep doing it. He likes making Jon smile.

Martin’s gone grocery shopping and Jon’s pulling a late night again, so Gerry’s alone in the flat looking for something to do. There’s nothing on Netflix worth watching (or at least, worth watching by himself) and he’s not in the mood for his latest novel, so he decides he’s going to be productive, make a list of all the things he has to do this week. Jon’s always going on about lists, though he leaves them everywhere and never seems to accomplish everything on them. Maybe it’s the act of making them that’s relaxing. It’s worth a try.

He makes his way over to the second bedroom they (mostly Jon) use as an office. He’s sure Jon’s got a little notepad here that he can use, and he wants it to look as official as possible. He opens the left hand drawer but only finds Martin’s receipts, and on the right he finds a plain-looking notebook, a little worn with use. Maybe that’s what he uses-

Gerry opens it. Pauses. Blinks. Feels something heavy and thick form in his throat.

It’s his notes- his stupid little sketches, his ‘have a good day at work’s, his smiley-faces and little hearts. Each carefully placed on page after page with an accompanying date, neat and tidy, like a little scrapbook. Mum used to throw out his ‘doodles,’ as she called them, told him his time was better spent on actual art, but Jon’s kept all of them. Like they mattered. Like they were important. He sets it back down on the desk and just stands there, heart beating hard in his chest.

Gerry’s tearing up like some sort of moron so he’s distracted and doesn’t hear Jon come home, doesn’t hear his usual grumblings and sighs. Doesn’t hear him until Jon’s right behind him, startling him with a hand on his arm. “Sorry, I was just- Gerry, are you alright?”

Alright. Alright. It’s a word that doesn’t encompass everything he’s feeling. Wanted, embarrassed, a little overwhelmed. And so, so happy.

He turns around and grabs Jon in a fierce hug, overcome with affection and eager to hide his stupid tears as he squeezes Jon to his chest. “You’re adorable, you know that?” he says, peppering kisses to the top of his head despite Jon’s weak protestations. “Real fuckin’ cute.”

Jon melts into his embrace, even as he complains. “I’ve got no idea what you’re on about, Gerry,” he says into his chest, the words muffled. “You’re being absurd.” Jon’s just about the only person he knows that uses ‘absurd’ on a daily basis. It’s insufferable. Gerry loves it.

“Just let me hug you, you little ogre.”

_________

Sometimes, Gerry’s the one who’s got to be up early. Doctors appointments are a bitch, and after a brief scare last year, it’s important that he keep up with them. Martin helps him schedule, marking the appointments on the calendar with a bold black marker that can’t be missed.

This morning’s particularly brutal, with an eight o’clock appointment an hour’s commute away. Jon went to sleep at a reasonable hour last night and he needs the rest; Gerry knows if he wakes Martin, he wakes them both. Jon’s never been good at sleeping alone.

He’s stumbling blearily around the kitchen, about to put the kettle on when he notices it. On the table is a post-it note; he doesn’t remember leaving one for Jon last night, but he’d been rather tired, so who knows? Gerry putters around, fixing his tea and nibbling at toast when he finally spares it a glance.

It’s not for Jon. It’s for him.

Good luck at your appointment! It reads in Martin’s familiar, neat script. Accompanying it is a small doodle that has to be Jon’s; it’s not particularly good, but it clearly shows a little Gerry, makeup and all, with a plaster on his cheek and a heart over his head. It looks like Jon spent time on it. Spent time on some stupid little post it note to make Gerry smile.

He puts it in his pocket. Takes it out a few times in the waiting room, stares at it. Everything looks fine, the doctor says at the end of the appointment. He’s so lucky.

He’s so lucky.

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29635833

#tma #the magnus archives #tmagerryweek2021 #gerry keay #gerard keay #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jongerrymartin #my writing

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ateezmakemeweep · 4 years

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(1/7) gluttony: an inordinate desire to consume more than that which one requires.

(envy) (gluttony) (greed) (lust) (pride) (sloth) (wrath)

hongjoong x reader

word count: 3k

angst (warning: alcohol abuse)

it was the 7th night in three months you were woken by the sound of your phone blaring, a number you were coming to recognize making your stomach sink.

you knew what you were gonna hear.

hongjoong’s drunken voice slurring that he needed you to pick him up. that he hadn’t been doing anything but got busted by the police and needed to pay yet another fine.

it was the same thing you’d heard every other time you talked to him at five o’clock in the morning. charged with disorderly conduct as he paraded around the city a drunken disaster.

he was always a happy drunk, the life of the party who made everyone laugh and made alcohol look as if it was a mood booster; but more often than not, it would quickly turn sour.

he would mouth off to the wrong people but be able to dip before a fight broke out. he would conceal his alcohol in a brown paper bag, him and his rowdy friends passing the judgmental gazes of families and couples.

he would ignore your texts and calls pleading with him to be careful and to come home at a reasonable hour.

but you never ignored him.

no matter how mad and upset and frustrated he made you, you never ignored him. you got out of the bed, threw on a pair of shoes and made your way to the police station the same way you’re doing right now.

you watch your boyfriend in defeat as he walks out of the police station, opening your car door and plopping down in the seat wordlessly.

you make no move to leave yet, silence lingering between the both of you. you’re waiting for an apology or an explanation or something, anything, even though it’s things you’ve heard a thousand times before.

that he hadn’t meant to drink that much.

that shots were on wooyoung that night so he couldn’t turn it down.

that he’ll stop drinking all together because he can’t keep paying these fines and being brought in.

“hongjoong,” you say quietly but he only groans, rolling his head back onto the seat like you’ve screamed at him.

“i know, y/n,” he says, annoyance in his tone like he has any right to feel that way. like he was the one disturbed in the middle of his sleep and had to drive to the police station again to pick up his significant other of three years.

“i don’t think you do. this is the 7th time i’m picking you up hongjoong. it’s starting to-”

“baby, my head is fuckin’ killing me and i just wanna sleep. can we talk about this later?”

he meets your gaze full of concern and disappointment but it’s like it doesn’t even phase him.

like he doesn’t care how much pain and devastation his drinking brings you. how much he’s missed out on and made you miss out on with his addiction (something he refuses to admit is, in fact, an addiction) within these past three years.

unsurprisingly, you first met him at a bar.

you were drawn to him immediately, his handsome face and electric energy that had you guys leaving together just hours later.

but opposed to how most bar meetings go, you hadn’t had sex. you talked all night in his small apartment, the one you moved into only four months after dating.

you guys had such a natural chemistry and connection, the good times of going on dates and cuddling on the couch and hanging out with his friends really good.

but then the bad times got bad when you saw just how much he drank.

how you’d get home from school or work sometimes and see he’d already had a 12 pack of beers before five o’clock. how he went out almost every single weekend and got completely shit faced.

like the first time he met your parents, promising to meet you guys for dinner at the nicest restaurant in town.

you told them the second you sat down how great he was, how funny and kind and great he treated you; but the more time ticked on, the more they doubted you.

because not only did he stumble in almost an hour late, he was drunk.

a slur to his words and a stagger in his step as he sat down and ordered another beer. but he was happy, at least, he talked with your dad and laughed with your mom and you figured, okay, it could’ve gone worse.

this could’ve been way worse.

but then it was worse on your birthday, when all your old friends surprised you at the party hongjoong had thrown you.

as the night went on, though, your boyfriend celebrated your birthday like it was his own. downing shots and buying shots and cheering shots in a way you still can’t believe he lived through.

you begged him toward the second half of the night to stop, to just drink some water and leave the bartender alone for a little bit. but he only rolled his eyes and told you to loosen up, that the least you could do on your birthday was to stop being such a stiff.

hurt not by his words but by the way he continued to get obliterated, tears pricked your eyes and one of your best friends put his arm around you to comfort you.

he wiped your eyes and begged you not to cry on your birthday, to not let your asshole boyfriend upset you on your day.

but hongjoong only saw the boy’s arm on your shoulder and stumbled over with all his liquid courage, pushing him away before punching him square in the face.

it hadn’t left a lot of damage due to his state but it was enough to cause alarm, the first time he’d gotten violent the first time you told him you thought he had a problem and needed to go to rehab.

he laughed at you like you’d said the funniest thing in the world, insisting he didn’t have a problem and definitely didn’t need to go to rehab.

and even when he missed your graduation because he’d been hungover, he still didn’t believe you.

you went back home after the ceremony with a lump in your throat, your cap and gown still on as you quietly asked him if he still wanted to come to your celebration dinner.

his eyes popped open and you saw the sadness and guilt in them immediately, his arm wrapping around you and pulling your body into his. he kissed your head and apologized for over sleeping, the scent of alcohol still on his breath making your eyes prick with tears.

he tried to get up and change but ended up vomiting on the floor, your head shaking frantically as you told him to not worry about it. that you’d bring him home food and you guys could do something another day.

your parents and friends weren’t surprised when you told them hongjoong was sick and couldn’t make it, knowing looks and sympathetic gazes that made your heart start to sink.

because you knew he had a problem and knew he needed help but what else could you do?

you tried to talk to him and asked him to go but he’s not admitting that he has a problem; you can’t help someone who doesn’t wanna be helped.

you told yourself you’re just gonna wait for that moment. wait until he’s so low and broken that he comes to you and says he needs to go to rehab or aa.

but that time never came.

he’s missed your promotion dinners, he’s missed your birthday celebrations, he’s forgotten your anniversary, all because he was too busy going out at night.

he was the boyfriend you knew and loved during the week, kissing you softly and hugging you and telling you how much he loved you every hour of the day.

but then the weekend would come and that hongjoong was gone.

you were lucky if you were able to have a 30 minute conversation with him, usually sleeping the day away before he came out to peck your head and tell you he’d be back home later.

in the beginning you would pout cutely and ask him to stay or if you could join him.

but he always said you wouldn’t wanna come with them, that they got too crazy and he didn’t want you in that kind of environment. he told you he’d try to be back before you fell asleep only to wake you up stumbling in at four in the morning.

but when the problem became more persistent and when the arrests started happening, that’s when you really knew you needed to talk to him. really needed to get to the root of his problem and beg him as someone who loves him to get help.

“i don’t need help and i don’t have a problem,” he always said, “we can talk about it later.”

and that’s exactly what he was saying now, looking at you pleadingly because you know he just wanted to collapse into bed and sleep until nightfall.

with a defeated sigh and not another wasted word, you drove him home.

he took your hand and walked with you upstairs before diving into bed, dragging your body down with him as he nuzzled into your neck.

“i missed you,” he mumbled into your skin before his breaths turned even and he fell asleep with his arms around you.

you slipped away from him after a few moments, the smell of alcohol and sweat making tears prick your eyes.

you don’t wanna give up on him but you can’t do this much longer. you can’t keep wondering where he is at night and plagued with fear about what he’s doing.

about how many shots or how many beers he had.

most people are scared that their boyfriend is gonna go out and cheat on them when they’re drunk off their ass.

but you’re scared that the next shot is gonna be the one that kills him, that he’s gonna stumble into the street and get hit by car or mouth off to the wrong person and get his ass handed to him.

these thoughts run in your mind all day, trying to distract yourself by cleaning and reading and watching tv.

none of that works.

nothing works because you just wanna sit with him and talk to him. show him how much he’s been hurting you and beg him to stop.

you hear his feet pad out of the bedroom at around five in the evening, turning around to see his hair a mess and eyes hazy. he plops down on the couch and pulls you into him, kissing your forehead as he asks how your day was.

you bite the inside of your cheek so you don’t cry or scream, your teary eyes trained on the television before he pulls your face away and looks over you with concern.

“hey,” he says softly, in the tone you’ve come to love and miss so much these days. “what’s wrong?”

and that’s when the tears come to the surface, a look you haven’t seen in his eyes for so long completely breaking you. you miss him, you miss him being here for you and holding you and acting like the man you fell in love with.

“are you really asking me that?” you cry out quietly. “i...i can’t keep doing this hongjoong.”

“doing what?” he asks, his thumb trailing over your face gently; and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he really didn’t know. really had no idea that seeing him drink and destroy his body has been draining the life out of you.

“you have a problem, hongjoong, and you need to get help,” you tell him, your eyes meeting his and already seeing the objection in them; but your own are teary and sad and defeated and it’s something he’s not ignorant to.

“i can’t keep wondering every night if you’re fucking dead just for me to pick you up at the police station.”

“it’s only been a few times, baby, and i’m sorry. you just know how crazy wooyoung can-”

“i’m not talking about wooyoung!” you snap, “i’m not dating wooyoung and i’m not crying over wooyoung. i haven’t picked wooyoung up seven times for disorderly conduct just for him to do the same shit over and over again.”

he’s angry at the way you’re calling him out but he can’t find it in himself to fight back, the brokenness in your tone and tears on your face making his stomach twist in disgust; he did this and it’s his fault that you’re this sad right now.

“it’s so draining, hongjoong,” you say, voice barely above a shaky whisper.

“i can’t keep watching you do this, okay? and i need you to please, please stop. if you need help, i will help you. we can look at programs together or look for meetings or do anything you want to. but please, i can’t keep thinking that this is gonna fucking kill y-” your voice breaks as a sob leaves your mouth and he immediately pulls you into him, his hand moving to the back of your head to stroke your hair. he feels tears sting the back of his eyes at hearing your muffled cries in his shirt, rocking you back and forth as he shushes you.

he tells you right there that he’ll stop.

that from this day on, he won’t ever drink again. for real this time. that he’s gonna do it for you, cold turkey without the help of rehabs or meetings.

“it’s better to get real help, hongjoong, it’s an addiction,” you tell him.

maybe because a part of you knew he wasn’t gonna be able to do this for you or anyone else. that he had to stop because he saw the issues and error in his ways and didn’t wanna feel like this anymore.

but he kisses your face and holds you tight and assures you that he’s not gonna do it again. that he loves you more than alcohol and is sorry he made you feel this way.

and when one weekend passes, you stupidly think maybe he was right.

you couldn’t remember the last full saturday you had with him, a picnic date during the day followed by a romantic dinner at night and movie at home. it had been just like when you first started dating, when everything was pure and sweet and you guys had nothing to worry about.

but then next weekend, when you were out for your friend’s birthday, you had a bad feeling in your gut.

you told hongjoong you wouldn’t go if he was gonna be too tempted but he only scoffed and told you absolutely not, that san and mingi were just gonna come over and play video games.

“i told you, baby, i’m done,” he reassured, pecking a kiss to your cheek and smiling sweetly at you. “i love you, okay? have fun.”

when you stumbled in a little past one o’clock, with no sight of him in the dark apartment, you knew right there that you two were done. tears pricked your eyes and you slid down the wall as you hid your face in your hands and cried.

cried because you couldn’t stop him and you were silly to think you could.

cried for him and whatever demons he had that made him go out and drown his sorrows away. that he didn’t feel like he could come to you or anyone else in his life besides a bottle of liquor.

you laid awake until suddenly you weren’t.

until that familiar ringing of your phone ripped you conscious, the first words in your ear a lowly spoken “i’m sorry.”

you took your usual route to the police station and watched him walk toward the car with his head hung, plopping down next to you and looking at you with sadness in his eyes.

“y/n, i’m sorry...i...we...we only meant to get one drink but-”

“stop,” you begged quietly, pulling back out into the street as you made your way back to his house. you walked him up, crossing your arms over your chest so he didn’t try to hold your hand before watching him flop down onto the bed.

you just watched him lay there, his hands holding his head like he was in a grave amount of pain. you thought for sure he was sleeping before he looked up, his eyes hazy and pale face looking at you with a mix of guilt and sorrow.

“baby, i’m sorry. you have every right to not believe me and to be mad at me, but i promise, that was the last time. i-i even told the guys that i can’t anymore and they said-”

his head lolls to the side before his eyes close and for a split second you think he’s dead.

but then the rise and fall of his chest a few seconds later relaxes you, allowing the tears to stream down your face again before you make your way to the closet.

you quietly pack your clothes and shoes into a suitcase, texting your parents and asking if it’s okay that you stay with them for a little. when a hanger flies from out of the closet and hits the floor with a loud crash, your head snaps up to see if it’s woken your...hongjoong.

but the boy doesn’t even flinch, his eyes closed and mouth open as his body recovers from all the damage he’s done. you linger at his bedside before kneeling down, feeling sobs threatening to leave you as your hand gently runs through his hair.

you don’t know how long you sit there and watch him sleep but it’s enough time for your mom to frantically call you and ask what happened, simply telling her that you’re leaving now and will be there in a little to explain.

you take your bags out into the hallway and fill up a glass of water, leaving it at his bedside as you look down at him one last time.

you hope that when he wakes, your absence will be something productive.

not that he’s gonna go into more of a downward spiral because you left him but show him that if he had just gotten help, this would’ve worked out.

that people are so desperate to help him but also can’t watch him get worse and worse.

“i’m sorry,” you say to the sleeping boy quietly.

because you wanted to help him so badly. you really wanted to be by his side during this and show him that you were a person who was gonna stick by him no matter what.

somehow your lowly spoken words make his eyes flutter open, looking at you in a sleepy daze before a small smile quirks at his lips.

“hi, baby,” he mumbles lowly, his eyelids heavy as sleep starts to consume him again. “i missed you.”

you feel your eyes gloss over and wait a few seconds for him to fully fall back asleep before getting up and walking out into the hallway.

you wipe at your tears and tell yourself you can’t go back in there no matter how much you want to - that, for both of you, this needs to happen.

you hope that he finds it in himself to get help one day.

you hope that this all didn’t happen for nothing and that one day, he’ll be able to fight whatever’s inside of him that causes him to do this.

and when the boy wakes up at night time, the apartment dark and empty and eerily quiet, it’s like a part of him already knows you’re gone.

he can’t say he really blames you either, he’d almost been waiting for this moment he knew was gonna come.

when you woke up one day and realized that he was never gonna get better.

that the only thing he can do is drown his demons and sorrows with a bottle and hope that someone will be dumb enough to stick around and beg him to stop something he can’t.

#hongjoong #hongjoong angst #ateez #ateez angst #hongjoong imagines #hongjoong scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #seven deadly sins au

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allthatglittersisnotgoldrush · 3 years

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for the analysis of a scene- the passage in Dust, Lit Like Stars, where Caranthir tries desperately to make a stew for the fam, but it fails. I felt like there was so much unseen symbolism in that, and was wondering if he too shares Mae's foresight, or at least just a little, and unknown?

Hello!!! Oh I am so glad you asked about this fic, thank you! (All anyone has to do is display positive interest in our Caranthir and they are IMMEDIATELY on my good side lol)

[note: there is a rambling commentary below, but if you are pressed for time and want only the funny part of the story skip till the very end]

I wouldn’t say that Caranthir has any significant piece of Mae’s kind of foresight, as he is a boy who cherishes the good things of the past and who is very practically concerned with the present and the immediate future. Looking far ahead or trying to guess the meaning of a flash of foresight is not really his thing, so even if he has a little in him through his bloodline, I don't believe he would even realize the presence of such a gift (or curse). This dream is mostly just the ill result of poor Caranthir being written by yours truly. I often have vivid dreams myself, so my son has to suffer the consequences. But hey, at least I let him cook? One of his favorite pastimes that also has great meaning for him because his mom taught him?

I know, I know, it’s not a particularly happy dream. Caranthir, especially these days in Mithrim, is so focused on holding the remnants of his family together that it just makes sense for him to have a dream about his struggle to do so. Unfortunately for him, even in his dreams his efforts have hardly any effect, and all his brothers leave him except for Mae.

(Sorry Caranthir, I feel bad that you made that stew like 10 times in your dream and in the end it didn’t even matter *cue Linkin Park music*. You tried so hard. I just needed you to be as stressed out as I used to get when I would have dreams where I try to warn family of some impending danger and they just won’t listen, and instead do something like calmly continue to eat dinner when I KNOW the house will burn down at 7 o’clock. Someone needs to teach you how to take control of your dreams.)

Anyway, I had a lot of fun coming up with the dream elements that make a regular scene somewhat weird. For example, Caranthir notices the blue cornflower bowl, which he thought his mom left in Formenos—and so she had. But I had just mentioned the bowl in the fic “trinity knot” and I wanted to bring it into this one just to flavor continuity. Also, in the dream, Caranthir actually cracks the bowl because he is being too forceful in dredging the meat. If this was his real life, Caranthir would be devastated that he broke a favorite thing of his mother’s, and would probably have immediately gone and placed a piece of it in his treasure box, but here he just is like what the heck there I go again. (Perhaps subconsciously he knew that this was a dream?)

Sorry I am sort of rambling and am on so little sleep that I cannot think to make any of the promised puns but this is my commentary so whatever I can do what I want.

I love getting Maedhros and Caranthir in the same room together, even if it is just a paragraph or two in a dream. Way, way back, in “a certain slant of light (where the meanings are)”, Mae saved young Caranthir from having to eat the nasty turnips Feanor had made, even though he ended up vomiting later because of it. I think this scene was and is so important to the brothers’ relationship because, if Caranthir did not already hero-worship his Maitimo in the way that younger brothers often do to their cool older brothers, he did after that. (I say younger brothers, but, fam, you don’t know how much I admired MY cool older brother, and still do.)

Anyway, I think that earlier scene just really cemented Caranthir’s love for and loyalty to Mae, and ever since, he has been looking for ways to repay Mae’s attentive love, even down to cooking stew for him in a dream, or snatching away a match before he burns himself. Caranthir really should stay by Mae’s side forever!

Agh it is midnight I am sleep deprived and also have to get up early, I have got to stop rambling. However, let me tell you one last thing! I was like, Maglor should come in while Caranthir is making the stew, and suddenly, for no good reason, like, I have NO idea where this came from, I thought of the maid Amelia Bedelia.

Amelia Bedelia was a character in kids’ books who took EVERYTHING literally, and she would always come this close to losing her job in a wealthy household because of her numerous ridiculous mistakes. (Her saving grace was the fact that she made excellent cherry tarts or something like that.) Anyway, in one story, the employer asks her to make a date cake. So what does Amelia do but take a calendar and cut out the dates to put in her batter! The memory of that story cracked me up so much I immediately had dream Maglor cut up his music into Caranthir’s stew. It seemed about the silly dramatic sort of thing he would do! In a dream of course, never in real life. Probably. Well. :/

Thanks for the ask, hope you enjoyed this commentary, provided to you by Victoryindeath2!

#gold rush au fic commentary #cite a gold rush fic or send in a scene from one and we will provide commentary and behind the scenes about the writing of it!#caranthir in dust lit like stars #silmarillion fanfic #please pretend that I am saying all this in voice-over as an episode of the gold rush tv series plays #goodness i need to go to bed #victoryindeath2 fic commentary

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andawaywego · 4 years

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👋 Your fic is soooo good!!! I’d love to see one where Jamie acts a little jealous of Dani’s past relationship with Eddie which leads to a big conversation about how Dani was never into him ‘like that’ but she tried because heteronormativity.

you are so sweet! here you go! i hope it lives up to what you wanted. thanks for the prompt! i love writing for these two.

...

It doesn’t seem right, how heavy the frame is in her hand. It should be lighter, somehow. But instead, it weighs heavily on her wrist, makes the muscles ache from the strain of it. Jamie wonders if it has nothing to do with the picture’s physical state at all, and all to do with how absolutely fucking devastating and important it is.

And it’s early, still. Not even 8 o’clock, really, and Dani is in the kitchen ruining two mugs of tea for them both while Jamie starts on some of the boxes that make up the maze they’ve been stumbling through for the last week—since they signed the year-long lease on the studio apartment above the shop.

There hadn’t been any rhyme or reason to picking this box. It was just the nearest one, on the top of the pile by their new mattress. And now she’s sort of wishing she’d picked another.

It’s one of the ones Dani’s mother sent from home—full of things from Dani’s old apartment that she’d left behind when she moved to England—and, really, it’s Dani’s job to be going through this.

Jamie really should have saved herself the effort.

The frame is covered in dust. Jamie runs her thumb along the glass and reveals Dani’s smiling face first, and then Edmund’s. He looks different than how Jamie has been picturing him since she first learned of his existence.

Dani was so torn up, so ashamed about the whole thing—with the added bonus of seeing him around every goddamn corner—that Jamie hadn’t been expecting him to have such kind eyes. Happy and bright behind his glasses. Messy hair and a turtleneck as he and Dani sit on the grass of what looks like a university quad. One of his arms is slung around Dani’s shoulders, pulling her close, and she clutches him just as tightly, that same brilliant gladness reflected in her own expression as in his.

“Okay, I only did two minutes this time, so maybe it won’t taste as burnt,” Dani says as she weaves her way over, two steaming mugs held in her hands. She offers one to Jamie, who finally looks up from the photo to take it.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” she teases, speaking past that sharp wedge of something that’s in her lungs. When she blinks, the happy white of Edmund’s smile flashes in the darkness behind her eyelids.

Dani glances down at the photograph and they’re so close—their arms brushing—that Jamie can feel it when everything inside of Dani stops. Her breathing changes.

Jamie winces and sets the photo back in the box with Dani’s old yearbooks and records. “I’m sorry,” she says softly. “Your mom sent it.”

She can see the way Dani’s throat bobs as she swallows, then shakes her head. “No, it’s okay,” she says. “You’d think I’d be better at this by now.”

Jamie shakes her head. “Hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to be. Things like these don’t get a quick fix, no matter how much we want one.”

Dani nods, breathing in shakily, and sets her mug down on the nearest tower of boxes so she can rub her face with her hands. Jamie sets her own mug down and wraps her hands around Dani’s upper arms, rubbing the smooth skin revealed by the tank top she’s wearing.

“You look happy in it,” Jamie says, and she hopes like hell that whatever bitter twinge might be in her voice goes unnoticed.

She knows what that emotion is, digging its claws into her veins, and she tries to blink it away. Even though she’s solved the mystery of Dani’s difficult romantic history, it takes a lot of willpower to look emotionless and steady. The last thing she wants is to take over Dani’s necessary grief and turn it sour by her own unmitigated envy.

Because there’s nothing to be jealous of. Not really. Edmund was someone Dani grew up with, was friends with, and loved in her own right. And now he’s gone and it isn’t as if it’s not possible to love again after something like that.

She spent the night before with Dani’s mouth against her neck, hand between her legs, and she has for the past three weeks—since they left Bly—and so there’s nothing to envy or long for. She has it already.

But, as she has every time he’s come up in the conversation, the reminder that Dani was once engaged to someone else—something that Jamie can never really give her—has left her feeling unbalanced and more than a little unsure.

“We were,” Dani whispers, leaning her forehead against Jamie’s, her eyes closed.

“I’m so sorry, Dani,” Jamie says, just as softly. “I didn’t mean to...I know you loved him. Love him, maybe. I didn’t want to upset you.”

With her arms wrapped tightly around the other woman, Jamie looks out at the window behind her, out to the bright-sky morning, and the clouds scattered across it. The studio is bathed in clear, white light, plants Jamie’s collected on their slow journey to America displayed on the counter by the stove, hung from a hook in the ceiling, gathering light and shifting and swaying as the oscillating fan in the kitchen clicks back and forth, waving cool air over Jamie’s suddenly-fevered skin.

Dani pulls away, reaches out for the picture and pulls it back out of the box. Looks down at it. Wistfully. Guiltily. She runs her finger—the pale tip of her forefinger, her rounded and trimmed nail—across where Jamie knows is Edmund’s face. They’re still pressed together, and Jamie can feel the warm and soft heat of Dani against her; can smell the floral shampoo she bought at that supermarket in Maine two weeks back on her hair. It’s in Jamie’s hair, too, she knows, but there is something to the clean scent of Dani’s skin. Jamie remembers the taste of it on her tongue and, for a moment, entertains the idea of leaning forward and kissing Dani right there, in the curve of her neck.

“I did love him,” says Dani. Jamie tilts her head, trying to get a look at the picture again. Her eyes trace the handsome lines of Edmund’s face with a guilty twist in her stomach. “Not the way he wanted me too. But...love all the same.”

Jamie isn’t sure what she’s supposed to say to that. She settles on, “Oh.”

Dani looks up at her, eyes filled with tears that Jamie knows won’t fall. Not right now. “But he was my best friend and I thought—” She swallows, shakes her head, and fixes her eyes on a point over Jamie’s shoulder. “I thought that there was something wrong with me. That I would...grow into feeling…that way about him. Loving him the right way.”

Jamie frowns, taking in Dani’s expression. Reaching up, she cups Dani’s jaw and Dani leans into the touch. And Dani meets her eyes—oh, there it is, there’s her girl—and her expression is so much softer than it was just seconds before.

“But...I didn’t,” she admits. “As happy as I was when we were around each other, when were...being best friends...it doesn’t even begin to compare to how I feel when I’m with you.”

She says this and Jamie’s eyes feel hot and itchy, so she blinks. Swallows. Tries to think of a good response to that but—Dani pulls back a little and kisses her forehead. She can hear the frame drop back into the box, but she can’t see it because she’s too busy fisting the material of Dani’s tank top in her hands and pulling her closer.

“And maybe I should feel...guilty about that,” Dani says next, her lips moving against Jamie’s skin where they’re still pressed. “But it’s hard to feel anything but crazy about you these days.”

She shifts a little and Jamie pulls back just long enough to lean in and press a hard kiss to Dani’s surprised, pursed lips.

And, the thing is—

There’s no hesitation. Dani’s hands grip at Jamie’s hips, pulling her in and making Jamie’s heart feel like it’s been turned inside out—like there is nothing beyond the two of them—right now, right here, for as long as they can be which is—

“I’m pretty crazy about you too, Poppins,” Jamie whispers against the line of Dani’s laugh. And then she kisses her again and Dani kisses her back and—

They lose a good portion of the morning after that, tangled up on their mattress together, reassuring one another with each touch, each kiss, each sigh, that they’re both here. All in.

In the end, the photograph goes in a different box—a shoe box, at the back of the closet in their bedroom. Not forgotten, no, but secured and remembered.

Jamie can live with that. As it turns out—with Dani around—she can live with a lot of things.

#the haunting of bly manor #jamie/dani #dani/jamie #jamie and dani #andawaywego fanfic #send me prompts lads!#prompt #damie prompt

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sunshinesukuna · 4 years

Text

codename: agent k

✯ pairing: spy!kuroo x reader

✯ genre: flangst

✯ tw: guns, mentions of assassination and organized crime.

✯ summary: you’re a spy trying to capture a mysterious person by the identity of “agent k.” who would’ve thought you’d be catching feelings instead?

✯ inspired by: 特務J (Agent J) - jolin tsai, goodnight n go - ariana grande, my oh my - camilla cabello

✯ nnyeyeahahldalsalsa i feel like a british royal after writing this omggg. and hey, crossover pt. 2! worked really hard on this, so i hope you like it!

Venice, 22:16 CET (GMT+2)

The stench of the rich was never as pungent as this moment right now. Wine glasses caught the twinkling shine of the diamond chandelier above as the people below mingled with one another. Ornate masks decorated with all manner of feathers and rhinestones obscured the identities of the rich elite atendees.

You had to give it to the organizer, the party was sort of fun. You would have definitely joined in, if you hadn’t had a job to do. By the grace of the government’s connections, you had managed to score an invitation. Not without intention of course. You weren’t here to get drunk and bathe in jewels, no.

The Fukurodani Syndicate was a group of organized crime groups that converged into one, taking the name of the original syndicate. They consisted of Nekoma, Fukurodani, and Karasuno. With new leads coming in over the course of several months, the government had reason to believe that one of the leaders of the Syndicate would be here. His name was Agent K, and he would be your target tonight.

“Ah! Marie!” a voice called out from behind you. You did a double take. But you remembered that you were not (Y/N), you were a woman named Marie Sourice.

The invitation you had obtained was addressed to a French businesswoman named Marie Sourice. The real Marie would have no clue that she was invited to the event, much less that someone had gone in her stead.

So you turned around and smiled graciously. The organizer of the event was a stout old man that had a taste for the Venetian arts of mask making. Thus the masquerade theme. Despite all the obscured identities, the man was easily recognizable through his booming voice and his name tag that read “Giovanni.”

“Giovanni!” you called out, doing your best to match a French accent. Giovanni gave you two kisses on the cheek.

“’Ow ‘ave you been, my old friend?” you asked. Giovanni replied with a bubble of laughter and something that couldn’t register in your ear because you were transfixed with the tall figure next to him.

“Meet the son of a good friend of mine.” The figure came to a halt right next to Giovanni. “His name is—”

“Mr. Bakugou Katsuki.” The figure’s voice was deep with a ringing timbre that would suit an opera singer. You eyed his wild black hair. Was this Agent K? Agent K was never really one to disguise himself in any of his little encounters. But the mask and the lavish clothes made it hard to tell. Something warm landed on your hand. This man was kissing your hand.

“Mademoiselle,” he said. Mysterious ebullience danced in his eyes. Perhaps there was more emotion in his face, but his bejeweled mask hid it all. Secrets danced in between the garnets like they did in a sinning man’s heart.

“He works in the IT industry,” Giovanni said. “Who knows, maybe you two could strike up a deal, grow your companies,” he cupped his hands around his lips, “light a new flame.” Giovanni’s show whispering was awkward at best. You flashed both of them a reluctant smile.

Giovanni took a look at his sparkling golden watch that did not go with that mask of his. “Look at the time! My other guests shall be arriving soon.” He turned over to Bakugou.

“Shall I leave you two alone? The music will start at twelve o’clock. I assure you, no Cinderellas will be here.”

“Of course, sir,” Bakugou said.

This man is Agent K, a voice speaks in the back of your mind. But the others tamper it down as reason takes over. Agent K was a fast worker, and any objective of his should be in the process of being fulfilled, or is already fulfilled by now. Was this man just having fun with you? Or was he part of a larger plan?

But time only confirmed your suspicions. He talked exactly like Agent K, he moved exactly like Agent K, he even smelled like Agent K. The same poison that laced Agent K’s words dripped off the ones from this man.

“Miss Sourice?” he asked.

“Yes, Mr. Bakugou?”

“Have you ever experienced a first love?”

“I—” You catch yourself as you are about to answer. “Yes.”

“Care to elaborate?” Amusement crawls up his face, but there are hints of longing, and perhaps... mourning?

“It was... unlike anything you could ever imagine.”

Your job as a spy was to lie, lie, lie all the way through. But your words dripped in pure candor as old memories came flooding back.

Tokyo, 13:00 JST (GMT+9) 9 years prior

The air was rich with the scent of chocolate and sugar. He set his bag down near the couch and followed the source of the scent to the kitchen. You were stooped over the counter. A tray was set over to the side filled with chocolate covered strawberries drizzled in more chocolate.

“Are you going to eat that?” he asks. He swoops in for the catch, to find himself firmly rebuffed by a swat on the wrist.

“Hands. Off! I. Put. My. Blood. Sweat. And. Tears. Into—” Each word is followed by a fist on his back. He shields his body with his arms from the raining torrent of ruthless punches.

“Ow! Ow! Stop it, you violent woman!” You don’t stop. With each playful punch, you corner him over to the couch, where he collapses in defeat. You sit down next to him and take off your apron.

“You started it!” you said.

“Didn’t I earn it?” Before you know it, he’s suddenly on top of you. His warm breath, mixed with the heating inside the house. draws sweat from your skin. He cocks his head to the side, as if challenging you. Your shoulders rise up from the couch at the provocation, but he pushes them back down to the soft leather ever so easily.

“Miss Second Place,” he whispers, lips oh so close to your ears. You gasp at the reminder of your devastating defeat to him last week during finals. That’s enough. You raise your hips up from under him. But he’s faster and stronger than you. As your knee rises up to kick him, he shoves them down with immense force. He reasserts his position above you.

“Besides, it’s Valentine’s tomorrow,” he says. You sigh. Even if you gave him just one, there would be no guarantee that he would stop at just one.

“One. Just one.” you say. He pulls himself off of you and sashays over to the kitchen. Keeping an eye on him is pointless, but you do have to finish decorating the rest of the strawberries anyways. He makes it a point to exaggerate his gestures and facial expressions. You want to slap him all the same.

He notices your irritated face. “I wasn’t going to give any of them to you,” you say.

“Oh? Then who are they for?”

“People that are not you.” He lets out a groan and puts a hand over his heart.

“I’m hurt,” he complains. You roll your eyes as he buckles to the ground in pain, holding his crotch.

Osaka, 21:00 JST (GMT+9) 8 years prior

The dingy motel’s lights blinked from inside your room. Water dripped down onto the tiled floors as you closed the door. The roar of the torrents of rain enveloped Osaka. Which is what led you to take shelter in this motel for the night.

It seemed a little shady, since the only room you both had been able to get was one with a small queen bed. And that was ok, actually. There was a whimsical feeling about running through the streets in heavy rain, troubles washed away like dirt on the road. What you weren’t keen on was the person that you would be sharing that bed with.

“I call dibs!” he shouted. He dropped his luggage to the ground as you collapsed on the couch. Your wet hair was splayed out on the couch, turning it soggy. Sighing, you got up and decided to make yourself comfortable.

He didn’t take long to shower. Steam came out of the bathroom, shrouding the shirtless figure that walked out of it. A soft white towel rested around his neck, and another sat on his hips.

Six years of volleyball could do wonders to a man’s body. Muscles cultivated from the sport finally found their place in the limelight of your eyes. You could feel your mouth water a bit. A sheen of sweat started forming on your temples.

He saw your reflection in the mirror in front of the bed. “Like what you see?” he asked.

You scoff and roll your eyes as you continue taking your stuff out of the luggage. The bed groans under his weight as he sits down.

“I’ve seen you shirtless a lot of times before,” you said. At least that was true. You think back to bathing together as kids, putting gauze on his chest when he got into a fight. “I’m okay with it, why shouldn’t I be? It doesn’t gross me out.”

There is a loud bang, and now your body is sandwiched between the wall and his body, still dripping with water from the shower. He doesn’t smell any different than usual, but your nose cannot help but pick up the soft tangs that make up his scent. Sweat. Grilled salted mackerel pike that he loved so much. The orange flavored hotel soap.

Common sense is screaming for you to keep your eyes on his, but the wonder that is his body after puberty lures you in deeply. His smoldering gaze locks you in place in between his arms.

“Do you not see me as a man?”

The question is short, but it encapsulates everything going on between you two. “Am i still the kid that pushed you off your bike back in 2nd grade? You still see me as a kid?”

Did you? A small inkling inside of you said yes — the same part that would cry when pushed over the edge and still couldn’t fend for herself. He would forever be the bumbling kid that knew no better to that part of you. The other voice said the opposite. You could only stare blankly at him as your heartbeat got faster every second.

“Would you like for me to see you as a man?” you asked. He cocked his head to the side.

“Yes.” No one dared move an inch. The atmosphere was Pandora’s box, ready to be opened and the evil inside unleashed.

He lowered his head so that his lips were on the same level as yours. His breath tickled your nose. “May I?” he asked.

Without giving him an answer, you pressed your lips onto his.

Venice, 23:34 CET (GMT+2)

“Shall we dance?” he asks.

He’s cunning, not even giving you anytime to think. He’s pinched you in between the incoming stream of guests. Either you’re forced to carry out this twisted dance with him, or risk losing all your leads on him.

“Why of course, I love to dance!” You swear your brain is on autopilot right now. His hands are suddenly on your waist and shoulder. The music starts.

The light of the chandelier reflects red figures on his face from the garnets on his mask. His smile and eyes are the only windows to his mind, and even those are kept shut with a lock of mischievousness.

The conductor raises his baton. Like a well-oiled machine, the dance floor becomes alive. It’s a dizzying array of whisks, twists, and turns. Fortunately, this Kozume man has enough grace to keep both of you on your feet.

“And who is this acquaintance, lucky enough to grace the heart of a man like you?”

“Her name is (Y/N) (L/N).”

That was all it took for you to confirm everything about this man. It was Agent K in the flesh, no doubt. He flashes you a smile from under his mask. To the sane person, it would simply look like a normal smile, but after years of running after Agent K.... you were sure that debonair smile belonged to him.

Making you feel like you have him cornered, then disappearing again. It’s a reiterating game of cat and mouse. You swore to yourself that you would end it tonight.

The music’s tempo changes. You’re suddenly thrust into the arms of another man in a mask. Agent K is just a few feet away from you, a new woman in his grasp. He shoots you a glance before continuing his dance.

But the trills of a flute breaks the silence, and he’s disappeared from the room. Classic Agent K. The woman that was his dance partner also looks around in confusion, but she is quickly distracted by what seems to be her third bottle of wine of the night. You swear you spot Agent K’s garnet encrusted mask on the other side of the room. But the cellos play their euphony again, and Agent K is gone.

You mutter a few apologies to your dance partner and stalk off. Agent K’s coattails flap in the wind as he turns a corner. His footsteps reverb against the wooden walls. They turn silent as he treads over the velvet carpets.

No one is in vicinity by now. The cheerful chatter was left behind in the ballroom, as your target leads you up a winding staircase. Whistling noises come from several flights above you. He knows you are here.

Paintings on the wall stare at you accusingly. Their eyes on you only accentuate the adrenaline that is building up in your bloodstream. You pay them no mind and fix your eyes on Agent K’s ascending figure.

The creak of a door alerts you to his sudden movement. Is he escaping into a room? But a gust of cold wind and the sounds of the city welcome you to the rooftop of the building.

The only source of light was a dingy bulb covered by moth eggs. You could barely make out his figure in the dark, but his spiky black hair meant that that was definitely Agent K.

No one was on the rooftop at this time of night. It was just you and him then. This was your chance.

The original plan was to slip something in his drink, but you knew from experience that he would never fall for that. You glance at the city, sound asleep below. Traffic lights blink here and there. The perfect opportunity. A simple push from this height would do it.

“So we meet again,” he said. You take the high heels off your feet and stalk over towards him. He’s leaning over the railing, head on the edge like he’s tired but still wants to enjoy the scenery. He makes no sudden moves of attack. You assume the same position, cupping your head in your hands.

“What does Bokuto want from me this time?” Bokuto was one of the leaders of the Fukurodani Syndicate, and a childhood friend of Agent K. The one that created it all. And the one you would have to take out after you took Agent K out.

“Must we burden our enemies every time we meet?” Agent K turned around to meet your eyes. His fingers ran over the smooth stone of the railing. “That crazy owl doesn’t want anything this time. He just wants me to get to you before Ushiwaka or Oikawa do.”

You raised an eyebrow before rolling your eyes. “Pssh. Hurry up and kill me.” To emphasize your point, you put your hands up in mock surrender.

Agent K smirked before moving closer to you. The lock of hair in your eyes, brought there by the wind, was moved to the side by his gloved fingers. The garnet mask that was the only barrier between a huge lead and potential failure stood tantalizingly before you. You had half a heart to tear it off his face. No. You needed to draw this out.

“Not before I indulge in a conversation with the subject of my affections.” Classic Agent K. Agent of Mischief both in and out of the bedroom, they said. You tilted your head to the side.

“Quite the suave man, aren’t you?”

His laughter was a boyish chuckle that did wonders to his usually intimidating face. He had a dimple on his left side, you noticed. What fun were you having, fraternizing with the enemy. But you couldn’t seem to pull away from him.

“I do enjoy thinking of my self as such, my lady,” he replied. You folded your hands over your chest.

“How many women have snuggled their way into your bed with that silver tongue of yours?”

It was an open secret that he was a ladies man, the rumors only being more and more obvious as he was spotted at the many red light districts he was spotted at.

“None.” Well that was new. He could be lying, though.

“Then... how many women do you intend to court with your smooth words?”

“Just one, sweetheart.” The words rolled off his tongue like they were made to be said by him, and only him.

“And who might that be?”

“You. Miss (Y/N) (L/N)” You scoff. No way were you about to be put on that long list of women. You walked closer to him.

“As if. When you manage to kill me, and thwart the—” Agent K was chuckling as you rambled on, trying to prolong the interaction. He put a finger over your lips.

“That is merely a misbegotten attempt to humiliate the both of us. Does it really look like that from the sidelines?”

What? This was Agent K. Known for his ability in twisting, turning, and confusing the hell out of his enemies. You furrowed your eyebrows.

“Humiliate? I— what else would it be?”

“Well,” he peeled his mask back, “being sent out to eliminate your first love isn’t quite a job for the lily-livered, isn’t it?”

Under the mask, there was the familiar mischievous smile, the observant eyes, and the same smirk from years ago. He discarded the garnet mask over the railing.

“Kuroo?” The sheer shock at his revelation was enough to send you stumbling back. “You’re... Agent K?”

"I wouldn’t be anyone else, darling.”

Hands reach out from behind you to find something to hold on to. The knot in your stomach has only gotten tighter and tighter since this whole ordeal started. You don’t know how to process the feelings racing through your heart right now. How could he? Leave you all those years, then come back to you like this? How dare he? But the sounds of the party are coming closer and closer to the rooftop, and a police siren is wailing down below. Kuroo notices it too.

“I do hope that we can meet again, under, ah,” he adjusted his gloves, “more appropriate circumstances.”

“Until then,” he said. He inched his body closer to yours. The scent of old wine and cologne clung to his body. Kuroo pressed his lips onto your forehead. “goodnight, little angel.”

He tips his lanky body ever so close to the edge of the building, before succumbing to the effects of gravity. Strangely enough, you find yourself reaching out to him. His name on the tip of your tongue, threatening to spill out.

The wind whips through his hair as he falls through the night air. Then suddenly, he’s not there anymore. The roar of a helicopter from above indicates Kuroo’s savior has come. Kuroo’s suit clad figure hangs from a dangling ladder below the aircraft. He catches your eye for a moment. A gallant smile graces his lips, but it strikes you as rather...disingenuous.

Kuroo climbs up the ladder and disappears inside the helicopter. The blinking lights fade into the stars above as the wind leaves your lungs. Damn you, Kuroo, you curse in your mind. The fresh air does little to clear the haze in your mind at the situation that just unfolded. Several minutes pass by, with you trying to take deep breaths. You pick up your discarded mask and put it back on. As you leave the roof, you swear his cologne still lingers in your nose.

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midnighttmarauder · 4 years

Text

Double Date

Pairing: Sirius Black x reader

Summary: Reader and Sirius end up on a horrible double date and realize that the person they’re meant to be with has been in front of them all along.

Warnings: none

Tags: @evyiione @quokkatrash @accio-rogers

***

The Black family had been friends with yours for generations, and you were grateful that you had Sirius to grow up with. Despite being fed the beliefs that were common amongst old pureblood families as children, you and Sirius despised them. You couldn’t count how many times you had rolled your eyes at each other over dinner when your parents began talking about muggles and bloodlines. Sirius was your only solace in a world you felt you really didn’t belong in, and you were his.

Mrs. Black was adamant that you two would be married. To keep our bloodlines pure, she had said. Your mother had loved the idea, but your father hadn’t. He thought you were both too young to make such an important decision, let along be promised to each other. He somehow managed to convince Sirius’ parents to let you both be children for a while longer and wait until you had graduated from Hogwarts to make a decision. While you and Sirius flirted and loved each other, nothing had ever happened between you because you were both oblivious to your feelings. Sirius tried to convince himself that he saw you as a sister, and you constantly reminded everyone that he was just your best friend. Your friends saw right through you both.

“So, Y/N, who was that?” Lily asked as she slid onto the bench beside you at dinner.

“A Hufflepuff in my potions class. He asked me on a date,” you replied.

“Did you say yes?” she asked. You saw Sirius sneaking glances at you as he poked at his food.

“I said I’d think about it. What do you think I should do, Sirius?” you said. He put his fork down and leaned a hand on his chin.

“D’you like him?” he asked.

“I don’t really know him that well. I mean, he seems nice and I guess he’s kinda cute,” you replied, glancing over your shoulder to look at the boy again. He had pretty eyes, but Sirius’ had more of a mischievous gleam to them. And his smile was nice, but Sirius’ was contagious and his teeth were whiter and—You shook your head to clear it.

“I say go for it. You don’t have to go on another date with him if you don’t like him. Maybe this’ll get our parents off our backs about marrying each other,” Sirius said. He forced a laugh and returned to picking at his plate.

“I don’t think you should,” Lily muttered.

“Why not?” you asked.

“Because he’s not Sirius,” she whispered. You smacked the back of her head and risked a glance at Sirius, but he didn’t seem to have heard.

***

You felt absolutely ridiculous. You had gotten all dolled up for your date, only for him to show up wearing jeans and a t-shirt. It didn’t look like he had even bothered to comb his hair. You thanked him as he opened the door to the Three Broomsticks for you, and immediately bumped into someone. You muttered an apology as she turned around and glared at you.

“It’s a little full in here,” your date said. You nodded and looked around the pub. Every table appeared to be taken, until someone waved at you. Sirius. You smiled and made your way over, nearly forgetting about your date who pushed his way through the crowd behind you.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” you asked. It wasn’t until you looked at who he was sitting with that you realized. You felt even more ridiculous as Marlene McKinnon smiled up at you.

“Marlene invited me to have some butterbeer with her,” Sirius replied, holding up his glass. “You look great, by the way.”

“Thanks. Tonight’s my date with…” Merlin, this couldn’t be happening. You had forgotten his name.

“Thomas,” your date supplied.

“Yes, Thomas,” you mumbled.

“Oh, that’s right, it’s tonight. Tough luck that it’s so busy, eh?” Sirius said.

“I know. Maybe we should go somewhere else,” you replied, turning to look up at Thomas.

“Madam Puddifoot’s didn’t look too crowded,” he suggested. You couldn’t help but wince.

“No, no, we have room here! Why don’t you sit with us?” Sirius asked. He was well aware of your hatred of Madam Puddifoot’s and wouldn’t have you subjected to even one minute of sitting in that awful tea shop.

“Are you sure? We don’t want to ruin your night,” you said.

“Of course. It’s not a problem, is it, Marlene?” Sirius asked.

“No, not at all. It’ll be like a double date. I’ve been meaning to catch up with you, Y/N,” she replied. You smiled and sank into the chair beside her as Thomas sat beside Sirius. You all sat in awkward silence for a few moments before you cleared your throat.

“So, Thomas, do you have any siblings?” you asked.

“No,” he replied. You waited for him to say something else, but he just kept looking at you.

“Oh. I don’t either. Sirius has a younger brother though, and Marlene, you have a sister, right?” you said.

“Yes, she’s older than us by two years. Already graduated,” Marlene replied. The table again descended into silence, and Sirius hid his smirk in his butterbeer.

“Slughorn was in a mood yesterday, eh? I’ve never seen him turn so red,” you said.

“How bad was it?” Sirius asked. He glanced over at Thomas, who was smiling at another girl across the pub. The girl turned away in disgust.

“His face matched my tie. I swear James is gonna be the death of him. He set off his potion by accident and covered us all in goo,” you replied.

“By accident? I think it was because he was too busy staring at Lily,” Marlene said.

“He needs to learn how to be more subtle. The entire school knows he’s in love with her, Slughorn included,” Sirius said.

“Lily’s pretty hot,” Thomas mumbled. Your eye twitched as you turned to look at him.

“What did you say?” you asked. Sirius kicked him under the table.

“Sorry, mate. My leg fell asleep,” he said, giving Thomas a meaningful look.

“I said I’m pretty hungry,” Thomas replied, already walking up to the bar to order. Sirius coughed as you hid your face in your hands.

“A real chatterbox that one,” he muttered.

“Y/N, do you want a butterbeer? I’m going to get a refill and I can get one for you since your date was so rude and didn’t offer,” Marlene said. It was clear why Sirius liked her.

“That would be great, thanks,” you replied. She smiled and left you and Sirius at the table.

“If you need me to save you, now’s the time to tell me,” he said. You laughed and rubbed at your temples.

“I think I’m just gonna go. I feel so stupid,” you muttered.

“You’re not stupid. You gave the bloke a chance and he blew it. In record time, I might add,” Sirius replied.

“When he comes back, tell him I was sick or something,” you said. You began to stand, but Sirius reached across the table and grabbed your hands.

“Stay,” he blurted.

“What? No, you’re on your date with Marlene,” you said.

“It’s not really a date,” Sirius replied.

“Oh, so her inviting you for drinks and showing up looking like that isn’t a date?” you asked.

“Maybe it is to her, but…it’s not a date to me,” Sirius said. Something unfamiliar fluttered in your chest.

“Why not?” you asked.

“Because I don’t like her like that. She’s just my friend,” Sirius replied.

“Sirius, that’s mean,” you muttered.

“It’s not mean! She didn’t say it was a date,” he said.

“You know it’s a date,” you insisted. Sirius sighed and clenched his jaw.

“Fine, I knew she liked me. But I was giving her a chance, just like you are!” he reasoned.

“And what do you think so far?” you asked.

“She’s nice, but I don’t think she’s the girl for me,” Sirius replied.

“Why not? Look at her, she’s beautiful and nice and smart,” you said.

“She is, but there’s something missing. It’s like she’s not-” Sirius sucked in a breath and pulled his hands back.

“What?” you asked.

“Let’s get out of here,” he muttered.

“No, Sirius, that’s rude!” you said.

“C’mon. I’ll make something up to tell Marlene. Just meet me outside, please,” Sirius replied.

“Okay,” you mumbled. Sirius got up and walked over to Marlene at the bar. She batted her eyelashes up at him, but he didn’t seem to care. He explained something to her animatedly and you watched her face fall. You took that as your cue to slip out before Thomas could see you, and you took a grateful breath of fresh air.

You leaned back against the wall of the pub and watched couples walk by hand-in-hand, some with their arms linked. You smiled softly as a nearby couple burst into laughter, leaning into each other as they stumbled back towards the castle. That could’ve been you and Thomas, you thought, if he hadn’t been such a prat. Or maybe-

You sucked in a breath. How could you have been so blind all these years? You had wondered why the relationships that you had in the past had never worked out. There was always something that didn’t work: they had a weird laugh, were too clingy, had a purple pygmy puff named Petal that they seemed to like more than you. But they were all missing one fundamental thing—they weren’t Sirius.

He smiled at you as he walked out of the Three Broomsticks and leaned against the wall beside you.

“Is she devastated?” you asked.

“A bit. Probably because I said I had to meet someone back at school,” Sirius replied.

“She probably thinks you have another date,” you said, swatting at his chest.

“I told her it was tutoring,” Sirius mumbled.

“Sirius Black getting tutored? At nine o’clock on a Friday? You’re a horrible liar,” you said.

“I panicked! She looked like she was gonna cry, so I had to say something!” Sirius reasoned.

“You could’ve said you were going over quidditch strategies with James, or literally anything else,” you replied. Sirius sighed and slung his arm over your shoulders, leading you back towards Hogwarts.

“This is why you’re the brains of this friendship,” he said.

“And what does that make you? The brawn?” you asked.

“No, the beauty,” Sirius teased. You pushed him away with a laugh, but he came right back and pulled you into his side. “I’m kidding. You’re the beauty and the brains. I’m the…something else that starts with ‘b’. But I’ll settle for brawn.”

“How much butterbeer did you have?” you asked.

“Not nearly enough for what I’m about to say,” Sirius replied.

He pulled you off the path and underneath a towering oak tree. You leaned against the trunk as he paced in front of you, one hand in his pocket and the other tugging at his hair.

“What’s going on?” you mumbled.

“I just realized something when we were in the pub. Something that I think I’ve known all along but been ignoring. I want to marry you, Y/N,” Sirius said. Your breath caught in your throat as your stomach jolted. He had never looked so vulnerable.

“We’re just kids, Sirius, I-”

“Not now. Not for a few years after we graduate. I know that this is what our parents have always wanted, but this is what I want. I’ve been in love with you for years, Y/N, but I’ve been ignoring it because I didn’t want to screw up what we have. You were the one good thing I had growing up, the only person I trusted and wanted to be with. I never want to know life without you,” Sirius said.

“I love you, too. I don’t know why it’s taken so long to realize it, but I do,” you replied. Sirius let out a breathless laugh and took your hands in his.

“Call me crazy, but I feel like we were made for each other,” he muttered.

“You’re not crazy,” you whispered. Sirius leaned down and pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose.

“I love you,” he said, his lips brushing against your mouth.

“I love you,” you replied. You surged up and crashed your lips against his. Sirius sighed into your mouth and pressed you back into the tree as he wrapped you in his arms. The sounds of couples giggling in the distance faded until your every sense was enveloped by Sirius. The butterbeer on his tongue, the way his body fit against yours, his cologne mixed with the leather of his jacket, the low sound he made in the back of his throat as he pulled away to catch his breath.

“Promise me something,” he muttered.

“Anything,” you said.

“Promise me we’ll never have to go on another double date,” he said. You laughed and leaned your forehead against his shoulder.

“Only if it’s with Lily and James when they finally get together,” you replied. You felt more than you heard him chuckle.

“If they ever get together. Ten galleons says James never plucks up the courage to actually ask her out,” Sirius replied.

“You’re on. How many bets do you think people had on us?” you asked. Sirius squeezed your side and reached down to entwine your fingers.

“I think Lily’s about to get a lot richer.”

#sirius black x reader #sirius x reader #sirius black imagine #marauders imagine #marauders era imagine

266 notes · View notes

doubleattitude · 3 years

Text

24/7 Dance Convention, Seattle, WA: RESULTS

High Scores by Age:

Sidekick Solo

1st: Ruby Kramer-’Let’s Hear It For The Boy’

2nd: Maylin Munos-’A Million Dreams’

3rd: Mila Dixon-’Lose You’

4th: Ella Gordon-’Bigger Is Better’

5th: Kendall Rafish-’Bigger is Better’

6th: Bria Woodhouse-’Big Noise’

6th: Kaiden Koths-’You’ve Gotta Friend In Me’

7th: Livi Hindmarsh-’Rainbow’

Mini Solo

1st: Finley Ashfield-’My Girl’

2nd: Tiara Sherman-’Cielo’

3rd: Reegan Francis-’Just A Girl’

3rd: Elliana Anbardan-’Runway Walk’

3rd: Keelyn Jones-’Slowly Fading’

4th: Jayden Van-’Champion’

4th: Grace McShane-’Forgive Me’

4th: Peyton Szuberla-’Glacier’

5th: Zaylee Watson-’Primadonna’

6th: Sophia Kim-’Hidden Within’

6th: Daphne Braun-’Solace’

6th: Lucy Cowan-’Viva La Swing’

6th: Cora Woodhouse-’Pulling On a Thread’

7th: Kendall Pearson-’Groove Is In The Heart’

7th: Oliviana Mancini-’The Phoenix’

8th: Piper Perusse-’Shake It Out’

9th: Ava Otto-’Light Sorrounds Me’

10th: Mariel Napenias-’Basic Space’

10th: Eden Utley-’If I Could’

10th: Briella Kapp-’Upside’

Junior Solo

1st: Brynn Kostka-’Answer’

2nd: Lexi Godwin-’Wave’

3rd: Olivia Shelton-’Ahead’

3rd: Kendall Jundt-’Awakening’

3rd: Riley Zeitler-’Breathe’

3rd: Brooke Toro-’From Within’

3rd: Anabel Alexander-’Plans We Made’

4th: Abbi Francis-’Feel It Still’

4th: Maya Loureiro-’Rise’

4th: Ava Rothmund-’Solitude’

4th: Ava Munos-’Still’

4th: Leighton Werner-’The Rose’

5th: London Barron-’Bones’

5th: Aurora Matsudaira-’Brotsjur’

5th: Lucy Cavender-’Formed from Static’

5th: Dakota Frederick-’When You’re Good To Mama’

6th: Malia Williams-’Nature Boy’

6th: Issac Diaz-’This Is A War’

7th: Harlow Pike-’Locomotion’

7th: Tori Chun-’Until The Ice Cracks

8th: Arin Lee-’Amazing Mayzie’

8th: Sophia McKay-’Bang Bang’

9th: Kayla Diaz-’Carry You’

9th: Chloe Alejo-’My Coppelia’

9th: Brooklyn Campbell-’Safe and Sound’

9th: Emme O’Neill-’Through The Eyes of A Child’

10th: Griffin Abrahamse-’Come Around’

10th: Claire Scott-’Found’

10th: Isaac Hsu-Kwan-’Sideways’

10th: Camdon Partney-’Young’

Teen Solo

1st: Hailey Bills-’It’s New York’

2nd: Avery Hall-’If I Think’

2nd: Sami Sonder-’The Practice of Surrender’

3rd: AvaRose Campbell-’All of the Lights’

3rd: Kayla Harrison-’Crumbling’

3rd: Drew Rosen-’Deconstruct Composition’

3rd: Ava Lynn-’Heart Undone’

3rd: Dayanara Vega-’Shrine Tooth’

3rd: Riley Platenberg-’Talking Points’

3rd: Chloe Ohira-’The Rope’

4th: Francesca Ammari-’Escaping Into The Bliss’

4th: Ava Arnold-’Flying and Flocking’

4th: Felix Fulton-’Rome’

5th: Audrey Francis-’Sugar’

5th: Zuzu Duchon-’Twelfth of Never’

6th: Landon Spurbeck-’Enemy’

6th: CJ Hankins-’Save The Last Dance’

6th: Tessa Cosper-’Solo’

7th: Lily Godwin-’Ode to Divorce’

7th: Sydney Tam-’Touch’

7th: Ainsley Ercanbrack-’Unravel’

8th: Auden Gwilliam-’Unwinding’

9th: Tatiyana Cooper-’Beautiful’

9th: Cierra Zoller-’Memoria’

10th: Ava Thorp-’Blue Notebook’

10th: Clara Ricciardi-’Gladiatrix’

10th: Milana Zamora-’Hypnosis’

10th: Sebastian Hsu-Kwan-’My Identity’

Senior Solo

1st: Nathan Allen-’Gole Bi Goldoon’

2nd: Makaila Teagle-’He Needs Me’

3rd: Genevieve Antonetty-’Bird on a Wire’

3rd: Phoebe Campbell-’Me’

3rd: Charlotte Foldes-’You Forget Everything’

4th: Kaili Tam-’Me Museum’

4th: Sophia Sucevich-’Paint It Black’

4th: Brie Laia-’Savage’

4th: Avery Zerr-Them Changes’

4th: Maquinna Wahlberg-’Undan’

5th: Moriah Smith-’Dream’

5th: Abigail Osterink-’Mothership’

5th: Dahlie Levine-’Oh Dear’

6th: Yana Sologub-’A New Day’

6th: Abbie McDaniel-’No Ordinary’

7th: Taylor Lang-’Devastation’

7th: Nicole Lang-’Hypnotic’

7th: Jonah Ledvina-’Luving U’

8th: Margot Johnson-’Black Raven’

8th: Lily Lambert-’Funny’

8th: Amanda Ueltschi-’Il Finale’

8th: McKenna Tester-’I Remember’

9th: Maddie Fleener-’Angel’

9th: Hannah Averbuck-’Got2BReal’

9th: Ava Maciulewski-’More Than You’ll Ever Know’

9th: Raegan Stuller-’Pale Yellow’

9th: Naleah Peerson-’Rain’

9th: Nyah Garcia-’We’ll Be Fine’

10th: Abby Viola-’Cannonball’

10th: Shay Zimmerman-’Madness’

10th: Rennie Jane Dupar-’Medicine’

10th: Emerson Howard-’Ne Me Quitte Pas’

Sidekick Duo/Trio

1st: Freedom Dance Center-’By Night’

2nd: Academy of Dance-’Space Between’

3rd: Freedom Dance Center-’Supermodel’

Mini Duo/Trio

1st: Danceology-’Cars That Go Boom’

2nd: Premiere Dance Center-’Fabulous Swing Kids’

3rd: Premiere Dance Center-’Sign of The Times’

Junior Duo/Trio

1st: Bobbie’s School of Performing Arts-’This Is Me, Sincerely’

2nd: Accolades Movement Project-’Caught In A Bad Dream’

3rd: Elite Dance Studio-’New Dorp New York’

Teen Duo/Trio

1st: Accolades Movement Project-’I Remember Her’

2nd: Academy of Dance-’Before You Go’

3rd: Grand Finale Dance Studio-’Jailhouse Rock’

Senior Duo/Trio

1st: Bobbie’s School of Performing Arts-’Refuse’

2nd: Northwest Dance and Acro-’Dangerous’

3rd: Westlake Dance Center-’Cola’

Sidekick Group

1st: The Company Space-’Signed, Sealed, Delivered’

Mini Group

1st: The Company Space-’Dumb, Crazy, Stupid Love’

2nd: Premiere Dance Center-’Ballroom Blitz’

3rd: The Company Space-’Addicted’

Junior Group

1st: The Company Space-’Maneater’

2nd: The Company Space-’Cardigan’

3rd: Accolades Movement Project-’His Daughter’

Teen Group

1st: The Company Space-’Extraordinary Life’

2nd: The Company Space-’Hold On’

3rd: Premiere Dance Center-’Believer’

3rd: Accolades Movement Project-’Nothing’

Senior Group

1st: Westlake Dance Center-’Sad Day’

1st: Allegro Performing Arts Academy-’The Dance’

2nd: Westlake Dance Center-’Headspace’

3rd: Allegro Performing Arts Academy-’Unity’

Sidekick Line

1st: The Company Space-’Besties’

Mini Line

1st: The Company Space-’The Life of the Party’

2nd: The Company Space-’Objection’

Junior Line

1st: The Company Space-’Work Song’

2nd: Harbor Dance and Performance Center-’Almost’

Teen Line

1st: Performing Arts Academy of Marin-’Lifeboat’

2nd: Performing Arts Academy of Marin-’Hold On’

3rd: The Company Space-’Hey Big Spender’

Teen Extended Line

1st: The Company Space-’Gimme Some’

2nd: The Company Space-’Dog Days Are Over’

High Scores by Performance Division:

Sidekick Jazz

1st: The Company Space-’Signed, Sealed, Delivered’

Sidekick Hip-Hop

1st: The Company Space-’Besties’

Mini Jazz

1st: Premiere Dance Center-’Ballroom Blitz’ 2nd: The Company Space-’Hit The Road Jack’ 3rd: The Company Space-’Objection’

Mini Ballet

1st: Premiere Dance Center-’En Depit de Tout’ 2nd: Premiere Dance Center-’En Vue’

Mini Hip-Hop

1st: Westside Academy-’Pop Star’ 2nd: Harbor Dance and Performance Center-’Rich Girls’

Mini Tap

1st: The Company Space-’Dumb, Crazy, Stupid Love’ 2nd: The Company Space-’Swing Batta, Swing’

Mini Contemporary

1st: Premiere Dance Center-’On The Radio’

Mini Lyrical

1st: The Company Space-’Goodbye Yellow Brick Road’ 2nd: Performing Arts Academy of Marin-’Small World’

Mini Musical Theatre

1st: The Company Space-’The Life of the Party’

Mini Specialty

1st: The Company Space-’Addicted’

Junior Jazz

1st: The Company Space-’Maneater’ 2nd: Performing Arts Academy of Marin-’Hot Note’ 3rd: Accolades Movement Project-’Poor Unfortunate Soul’

Junior Hip-Hop

1st: Harbor Dance and Performance Center-’Get Like Me’

Junior Tap

1st: Harbor Dance and Performance Center-’Rock This Joint’ 2nd: Harbor Dance and Performance Center-’Karma Chameleon’

Junior Contemporary

1st: The Company Space-’Cardigan’ 2nd: Accolades Movement Project-’Dark Dreams’ 3rd: Performing Arts Academy of Marin-’Plans We Made’

Junior Lyrical

1st: The Company Space-’Work Song’ 2nd: Accolades Movement Project-’His Daughter’ 3rd: Performing Arts Academy of Marin-’Corals Under The Sun’

Junior Specialty

1st: Harbor Dance and Performance Center-’Starlit Afternoon’ 2nd: Harbor Dance and Performance Center-’Almost’

Teen Jazz

1st: The Company Space-’Gimme Some’ 2nd: ENCORE Performing Arts Center-’Feel Love’ 3rd: Accolades Movement Project-’Maybe We’ll See’

Teen Ballet

1st: Harbor Dance and Performance Center-’I Feel Pretty’ 2nd: Harbor Dance and Performance Center-’Tea Time’ 3rd: Harbor Dance and Performance Center-’Midnight Waltz’

Teen Hip-Hop

1st: Accolades Movement Project-’Gurlz’ 2nd: Grand Finale Dance Studio-’Cash Flow’ 3rd: Harbor Dance and Performance Center-’Girls Just Wanna Have Fun’

Teen Tap

1st: Premiere Dance Center-’Believer’ 2nd: The Company Space-’Electric’ 3rd: Harbor Dance and Performance Center-’Fever’ 3rd: Grand Finale Dance Studio-’Pirates’

Teen Contemporary

1st: The Company Space-’Extraordinary Life’ 2nd: The Company Space-’Hold On’ 3rd: Accolades Movement Project-’Nothing’

Teen Lyrical

1st: Performing Arts Academy of Marin-’Lifeboat’ 2nd: The Company Space-’1 + 1′ 3rd: Accolades Movement Project-’For Sally’

Teen Musical Theatre

1st: The Company Space-’Hey Big Spender’ 2nd: Allegro Performing Arts Academy-’Not At All In Love’ 3rd: Performing Arts Academy of Marin -’Juggernaut’

Teen Ballroom

1st: Accolades Movement Project-’Life Is A Dancefloor’

Teen Specialty

1st: The Company Space-’Like That’ 2nd: Harbor Dance and Performance Center-’Switch Out’

Senior Jazz

1st: Westlake Dance Center-’Love So Soft’ 2nd: Allegro Performing Arts Academy-’Indestructible’

Senior Ballet

1st: Allegro Performing Arts Academy-’Unity’

Senior Tap

1st: The Company Space-’Make Me’

Senior Contemporary

1st: Allegro Performing Arts Academy-’The Dance’ 2nd: Westlake Dance Center-’Headspace’ 3rd: Allegro Performing Arts Academy-’Don’t Speak’

Senior Lyrical

1st: Allegro Performing Arts Academy-’Chasing’ 2nd: Westlake Dance Center-’The Storm, It’s Coming’

Senior Musical Theatre

1st: Westlake Dance Center-’All That Jazz’ 2nd: The Company Space-’You’ll Be Back’

Senior Specialty

1st: Westlake Dance Center-’Sad Day’ 2nd: Allegro Performing Arts Academy-’New York New York’

11 O’Clock:

Sidekick

The Company Space-’Signed, Sealed, Delivered’

Mini

The Company Space-’The Life of the Party’

Premiere Dance Center-’Ballroom Blitz’

Junior

Harbor Dance and Performance Center-’Rock This Joint’

Accolades Movement Project-’His Daughter’

The Company Space-’Work Song’

Performing Arts Academy of Marin-’Hot Note’

Teen

The Company Space-’Gimme Some’

Premiere Dance Center-’Believer’

ENCORE Performing Arts Center-’Feel Love’

Performing Arts Academy of Marin-’Lifeboat’

Accolades Movement Project-’Nothing’

Senior

Allegro Performing Arts Academy-’The Dance’

Westlake Dance Center-’Sad Day’

The Company Space-’Make Me’

Studio Showcase:

The Company Space-’Gimme Some’

Premiere Dance Center-’Believer’

Performing Arts Academy of Marin-’Lifeboat’

Harbor Dance and Performance Center-’Fever’

Allegro Performing Arts Academy-’The Dance’

Accolades Movement Project-’Nothing’

#2021 #24/7 #seattle #washington #dance

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abuttoncalledsmalls · 4 years

Text

Take A Giant Step - Chapter 8

Warnings: Alcohol, Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Medication, Language, Mention of Death, and Panic Attack (sort of)

Pairings: Frankie Morales x f!OC

Word Count: 2.0K

A/N: Here is Chapter 8! If you would like to be tagged (or un-tagged) in upcoming chapters, please don’t hesitate to let me know. Shout out, as always, to the AMAZINGLY LOVELY @yespolkadotkitty for beta-ing this and for my banner! Please enjoy. <3

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

“Please print,” I mumbled to myself as I clicked the command screen on my computer. I was at the Gallaway working on last minute pre-production tasks for our next show Measure for Measure. By the first rehearsal I needed to have contracts drawn up for the entire company, designer budgets finalized, scripts obtained, and parking passes ready to go. Thankfully, it was Wednesday afternoon and I had until Friday to make sure everything was taken care of.

I was just the production manager this time around. It would be a lie if I didn’t say that I was relieved. I wouldn’t have to attend every single rehearsal, schedule said rehearsals, schedule fittings, and be accessible 24/7 for actors. I only needed to be physically present for production meetings and tech week. Which meant that I was able to take off that weekend and miss the first rehearsal that was scheduled for Sunday.

Frankie and I had planned to drive up to Jefferson State Park and go camping for the weekend. He wanted to take me camping - especially when he found out that I had never been before. The trip was all he could talk about for the past week and a half. His eyes lit up every single time he spoke about hitting the trails. He’d get a dreamy look on his face talking about building a campfire. The moment that he was the most excited for was us sleeping under the open night sky. Together. Whenever he talked about that particular topic, he made sure to wrap his arms around my middle, pull me in close, and whisper “under the stars together” in my ear. The opportunity to share one of his favorite hobbies with me made him absolutely glow.

As I was drifting off into a daydream where Frankie and I were sharing a sleeping bag, my phone’s text alert went off. I looked down to see that Jeff had sent me a message. It wasn’t unusual for him to send me text messages or emails from his office. He was a big proponent of energy conservation. In his mind that consisted of sending me texts instead of walking 20 feet to my office to talk. I opened the message and read “Please come into my office”.

Those five words seldomly were followed by good news. Especially from Jeffery Rogers. The last time he said that phrase, the two of us had to confront and terminate a box office associate for stealing from the cashbox. I rose from my chair and made the short trek to Jeff’s office. As I entered the space, he asked me to close the door in a soft voice. I did so and in the process noticed that his “emergency whiskey” bottle was out. Opened and obviously drunk from. This clearly was not a Gallaway related situation and not a good one.

“Hey Jeff. What’s up?” He looked up at me with puffy red eyes. It was evident that he had been crying.

“Do you remember my nephew, Jack?”

“Tall, skinny, and with a mass of wild curls? Yeah.”

“My mother just called to let me know that he passed away this morning. Lately he was having complications related to a seizure disorder he had. The issues were getting progressively worse and he was having to go into the hospital more frequently. He just couldn’t make it through this last time.” Jeff started to tear up again.

“Jeff, I am so sorry. How’s your family?”

“Really, Maggie? A twenty-two year old with his whole life in front of him died. How the fuck do you think they are?”

“You’re right. I’m sorry. That was a stupid question.” I went over to hug him and he fell apart. He shared with me about the time that he first held his nephew. How he swore that Jack looked up and smiled at him. He then talked about how Jack was the best man at his wedding. As each memory came out, he cried harder. The only time I had seen Jeff in this much pain was during his divorce which took place the year before.

“The funeral is this weekend. I know that the first rehearsal for Measure is on Sunday. I also know that I need to be there and do the schmaltzy thing. I can’t miss this though. My sister and niece are devastated. We all are. We need to be together right now.” I nodded my head. He picked up the bottle and took a giant swig of whiskey.

“Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll stick around this weekend. I’ll be on-call on Saturday in case anything goes wrong. On Sunday, I’ll give the whole Gallaway welcome speech and let them know about the gala. I’ll also stick around for the reading. Just concentrate on you and your family.”

“Thank you, Mags. I think it may be best if I left for the day.”

“I would agree. Go home and rest up. I’ll call an Uber for you.”

“One last thing - you could please not tell anyone about this? I don’t need people getting worried and asking questions.”

“You have my word.”

****

Once Jeff was picked up by his Uber, I pulled out my phone. I wasn’t looking forward to telling Frankie that I was going to have to cancel our trip. He was going to be so upset. On the other hand, he was a reasonable man. He would understand that things come up and sometimes plans have to change.

“Hey babe. What’s up?” I texted. He responded quickly.

“Not much. Thinking about you. You?”

“I’m gonna have to bow out of the camping trip this weekend.”

“What?”

“An emergency came up at work and I need to stay in town this weekend. I’m really sorry.”

My phone began to ring and I picked up. It was Frankie.

“We’ve had this planned for almost two weeks, Maggie. Can’t you get Jeff or Alexis to cover for you?”

“I wish I could, honey. That’s just not possible for this situation. Someone from staff needs to be there. Jeff is unavailable.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Frankie. You know that if I could get out of this, I would.” A brief silence took hold.

“Fine. You can’t go camping this weekend.” The disappointment dripped from his voice.

“I promise that I’ll make it up to you. We can go next weekend.”

“Okay. I’ve gotta go. I’ll talk with you later.”

He hung up. My instinct was to text him right back and to continue the conversation, but I didn’t. Whenever I let someone down, my compulsion was to fix it at that moment. That response had been hardwired into my brain since childhood. I felt that if I didn’t make things right at that exact moment then the person I let down would write me off forever. The very real fear that Frankie would be angry and leave me began to turn into a serpent of anxiety. I fished for my bottle of Xanax in my grey backpack. Opening the amber prescription bottle, I took one pill out, placed it on the back of my tongue, and washed it down with a drink of water.

****

I got home around four-thirty. I checked my phone for what felt like the seventeenth time to see if Frankie called or texted. He didn’t. I decided that I’d call him around seven. Every weeknight he would watch reruns of Cheers from seven to eight o’clock on the local CW station. I knew that he would be home then - sitting on his couch with an open beer, laughing at the shenanigans of Sam and Diane.

The next two and half hours were agonizing. I tried to read, but I couldn’t concentrate on the words in front of me. I was too wound up to nap and too unfocused to listen to the radio. The best thing I could think to do was to take a walk. I got changed into my black shorts and threw on an old grey shirt that read CAT HAIR IS LONELY PEOPLE GLITTER. I put on my sneakers, put in my earbuds, and headed off.

I walked around my subdivision for an hour. I would stop every now and then to look at my neighbors’ blooming flowers. After stealing a sniff or two, I would continue on my way. Although the beautiful and hot afternoon was helping ease some of my anxiety, Frankie was still on my mind. I hadn’t figured out what I was going to say to him exactly. The only thing I knew for certain that I was going to tell him was that I was sorry. That I didn’t mean to hurt him. I turned onto my street. As I got closer, I saw what I thought was Frankie’s truck in the parking lot. I walked over to the truck to inspect it. It was indeed Frankie’s, but it was empty. He wouldn’t just leave his truck in a random parking lot.

I pulled up his number on my phone and tapped it. The phone rang, but there was no pick up. I figured that I would return to my townhouse, take a shower, and then try to call him again. Walking up to my stoop, I was surprised to see Frankie sitting there. He was looking down at his hands.

“Hey.” He looked up and gave me a small smile.

I walked over to him. “Hi.”

“I just tried to call you. I saw your truck but no you. I got worried that someone may have taken it for a joyride.”

“No joyride. I didn’t want to talk on the phone. I wanted to see you.”

I felt my stomach drop. Was this it? Was he going to break-up with me? Why else would someone want to see me after I disappointed them?

I braced myself for his goodbye and started to tear up. “I’msosorryaboutthetrip!Ididn’tmeantomakeyouupset.Nowyou’regonnahatemeandleave.” I couldn’t contain my tears anymore. They came pouring out with my jumbled words. Frankie had a confused look on his face.

“Huh? Baby, I don’t hate you. I could never hate you. You’re my Maggie May. I’m not going anywhere. Where did you get an idea like that?” He pulled me onto his lap and kissed the side of my head. He held me close.

“Because I had to cancel the trip this weekend and you were upset. You sounded really bothered on the phone. I have to stay in town this weekend. There was a death in Jeff’s family. So I am stepping in and doing some things for him over the next few days while he goes back home. He asked me not to share what was going on. I’m really sorry and I promise that I’ll make it up to you. I know that you were really excited.”

Frankie nodded. “I was a little let down, but that’s no reason to throw away a relationship. Remember when you told me that you were in this for the long haul? I am too. I care about you too much to let you go without a fight.” He kissed me and gently rubbed his thumb over my cheek. “I came over because I wanted to talk to you about an idea I had.”

“Okay.”

“You have a backyard. It’s not the great outdoors, but we could set up the camping equipment out there. We’d still be able to grill, make s’mores, and sleep under the stars.”

“Together..?” I coyly asked.

“The only way I’d want it.”

“That sounds like the best way to spend a Friday night.” I gave him a long and tender kiss. Any and all fear that I had vanished instantly. I reveled in the security of our relationship as I ran my fingertips over his whiskers. When I arrived at one of the bare patches in his beard, I lightly grazed the area with the pad of my finger.

He let out a contented sigh. “We’re good then? I’m not upset with you, I’m not going anywhere, you can do your work thing, and we still get to spend time together.”

“Mmm-hmmm. Francisco?”

“Yeah?”

“I know Cheers starts in like an hour and a half. Could I persuade you though to stay for dinner? I’m thinking pizza with copious amounts of making out?”

“I’d love that.”

-----------------------------

TAGS:

@larakasser

@absurdthirst

@yespolkadotkitty

@fioccodineveautunnale

@wickedfrsgrl

@agirllovespasta

@ah-callie

#frankie catfish morales #frankie x oc #catfish x oc #Francisco Morales #Frankie Morales #Triple Frontier #catfish morales #catfish morales fic #frankie morales fanfic #francisco catfish morales #abuttoncalledsmalls #take a giant step #takeagiantstep

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bebewheezy · 4 years

Text

Vice Kings

It’s Always Been You- Part 1

Notes: hi guys! my friend eesha has an obsession with gangs & mafias & calum hood so this series is dedicated to her :)

word count: 1591

TW: mentions of sex, violence, blood

part two

“Hey what about that guy you were talking to at the party yesterday?” Rosalie shifted our conversation despite my dismay as we gossiped on the plush couch in the living room of our safe house.

“I wasn’t talking to him, he was an assassin and he mistakenly thought I was his target,” I snarkily replied and smacked the leg resting on mine.

“Still cute though,” She laughed back and threw a pillow at my face.

“Oh yeah, almost being shot in the fucking head really makes me want to sleep with a guy,” I began to laugh with her. “Would you please stop trying to set me up? You’re awful at it.”

“I am not! You’re just too picky with men.”

Right when Rosie finished speaking, in walked Spencer, our head assassin. Her bleach blonde hair was pulled into a loose braid on her head, and her soft features look tired. Rosie and I hadn’t been initiated into the Vice Kings yet, and Spencer was handing a majority of our arrangements, along with the handful of other bright-eyed and innocent teens looking for a family they never had. I wasn’t exactly the most innocent of the new recruits, I’d been around gangs and violence before I even went through puberty, but I was still scared beyond belief.

Rosie and I were really the only family either of us had anymore. My mom had died while I was still in diapers, shot by an MS-13 member wanting revenge on my dad, and he abandoned my elder sister and me the minute she was able to get a job. We bounced around living with relatives for a few months before finally settling with our grandma. While I tried to start doing better in school and focus on my future, my sister couldn’t get out of the horrible violent scene she was dragged into by our father.

The guys she dated in high school were all gang members, or were somehow associated with one, and it wasn’t much of a surprise to me when she joined Calle 18 straight after graduation. Our grandma on the other hand, was devastated. She witnessed first hand what being in a gang did to our father, and our family, but my sister felt like she had no other option besides joining, her grades were shit and she didn’t have a stable job. I haven’t spoken to her in almost three years, and as I sat on the maroon fluffy couch with my only friend, I couldn’t help but think of her and how my life got to this point.

“The last few guys that were out on an assignment are going to be back sometime today, that means all members will be present and tomorrow is the first initiation. Are you two ready?” Spencer said to us as she sat down on the chair ahead of us.

“I think so, yeah,” Rosie said in a delicate voice as her green eyes looked to our mentor of sorts.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” I sighed.

“There’s no going back after this, so I want you both to spend the rest of the night relaxing so you don’t break down tomorrow in front of everyone. You’ll be given two options: jump-in or sexed-in. Jumped-in is exactly what it sounds like, you’ll be beaten by as many members who chose to beat you, for around fifteen minutes, if you survive then the initiation process will be continued. Sexed-in means you chose to have fuck one of the higher ranking men instead of being kicked in the stomach a multitude of times, but it can sometimes lead to the men here not respecting you,” Spencer explained to us. I knew what being jumped-in looked like, and I didn’t have any plans on dying just for protection from a group of criminals I had little to no respect for.

“Which did you choose?” I asked.

“Considering I have the rank that I am today, I was jumped-in. I joined when I was sixteen and I hadn’t even kissed a boy yet, but I had been in enough fights to know that I could handle a beating,” She smugly commented.

The front door adjacent to us burst open, and four large men walked in, soaked to the bone due to the raging thunderstorm going on, followed by some of the guys who were being initiated with Rosie and myself tomorrow.

“Jesus fuck, what took you so long to get back, Calum?” Spencer’s head whipped around to glare at them. I didn’t recognize any of them, but then again there were a lot of members I hadn’t met or even seen before.

“We’re starting initiations tonight,” He spoke bluntly while he tore off his wet leather jacket. “Tell the kids to meet in the front courtyard by ten o’clock sharp.”

“Initiations start tomorrow, Sniper. Half of them are already in bed, I’m not waking them up just because you have a craving for blood at the moment. It can wait until tomorrow,” Spencer rose from her seat in the chair in front of us, seemingly done with the conversation.

“These are direct orders from Vice, not just my urge to kill someone,” Calum snapped as a sly smirk crept its way to his face.

“Fine, but you have to help me wake all the fucking recruits up.”

*****

I stood next to Rosie outside the massive safe house in our poor excuse for rain gear as it continued to storm. I currently hated our gang leader who we knew as Vice, and the mountain of a man named Calum who seemed to be leading the initiations tonight. It had to be at most fifty-five degrees and I was beginning to shiver, even huddled against Rosie and a handful of other girls.

“Alright, tonight we’re starting with the boys,” Calum yelled over the sound of the storm. “Since they don’t get a choice of initiation, and tomorrow we’ll take care of the girls. You’ve lucked out tonight, due to the rain we only have four members who are partaking in the rite, so hopefully most of you pussies will survive it. Those of you who pass, will continue tomorrow with the formalities and getting your streaks. Ashton, Byron, Adryan and I will be jumping you in. First group, you’re up, proceed to the square.”

I could hardly make out “the square” Calum was referring to in the rain. I wasn’t looking forward to watching seven guys get their shit handed to them without any way to stop it or fight back, they had to lie on the ground for fifteen minutes and take any hits that the four grown men deemed necessary for initiation. I didn’t understand why members volunteered to do this, it seemed sociopathic to me. Spencer guided my small group more towards the awning closest to us to shield from the cold rain, but it wasn’t the wind that was chilling me to my bones, it was the scene that had just broken out in front of me.

Ashton threw the first punch, hitting the tallest kid right on his cheekbone and knocking him backwards. I figured with four against seven, it would be difficult for the official members to properly jump them all, but I couldn’t be more wrong. Calum and Ashton were working almost as a tag team, one would throw some punches at one boy, then they would switch. Byron and Adryan had two already hunched over and bleeding on the slate tiles of the driveway, and went to help make the others fall.

The bloody beating continued on for what felt like an eternity, I eventually couldn’t stomach to watch any longer, and squeezed my eyes as tight as they could go. I wasn’t sure how long it had been, until I felt a tight grip on my jaw yanking my head up. I opened my eyes only to meet the deep chocolate ones of one of the men I feared the most in that moment, Calum. They were filled with fire, adrenaline and what I thought to be a slight hint of lust, but I pushed the thoughts of him getting off seeing others in pain, pain that he caused, to the back of my mind.

“Keep your eyes open, princess, if you can’t handle seeing a little blood you won’t make it past tomorrow alive,” He snarled in my face as hot tears mixed with the rain on my cheeks. “Group two, you’re up.”

My jaw was tainted in blood from where his warm hand held it. I couldn’t stop the tears from rolling down my face, but at this point I didn’t want to. As I knelt on the ground trying to regain my composure, I could only think of one thing: I was not choosing to get jumped tomorrow, which only gave me one other choice. I was going to have to have sex with one of the men I could barely gain enough courage to look at. My tears quickly turned into sobs, and Rosalie crouched down beside me to try and calm the crying.

“Spencer, I don’t think Y/N is doing very well, can I take her inside?” She asked.

“Yeah, just do it quickly so Calum or Ashton don’t see. If they do, she’ll be thrown in there and they won’t care if that’s how she wanted to be initiated or not.”

Rosie pulled me off the tile and was escorting me inside as fast as her little body could carry me.

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