#like every single one I’ve seen is a rich blonde white girl

[afro-elf]

fine, i’ll elaborate on my thoughts about tylor sift but they will be disorganized

disclaimer: i know a few people will read this and be like “op is a hozier fan can she really talk about the cultural obsession with mediocre white art?” and the answer is yes because a) i’m black and i have an english degree so can do whatever i fucking want, b) hozier is a better artist than taylor objectively, like his mediocre tracks would be considered her great ones, and c) the comparison of taylor to hozier is part of the problem Genuinely because i don’t even think white people like half the music they listen to, they just don’t wanna be left behind, we’ll get into this later. i’m sorry to everyone who is tired of hearing about him but hozier will be returning later in this post jsfglsjlgldsjlfd

second note: read this

i don’t just dislike taylor because she’s white. i don’t dislike taylor because she’s a woman. i don’t dislike her because she writes mean and petty lyrics about past relationships and people who wronged her. i don’t dislike taylor because her public circle of friends is almost exclusively blonde white celebrities with their own laundry lists of issues that includes ryan reynolds and blake lively who are poster children for white privilege and pseudo-excellence if i’ve ever seen them. i dislike taylor because the amalgamation of all of those things is so exemplary of a huge problem i have with the music industry in general but also like american society

fuck it, numbered list!

1. taylor swift consistently releases the same mediocre album but in different colors. every album is the same lyrically and tonally. her body of work rarely goes very far above “good for taylor swift”. folklore as both title and musical aesthetic is irrelevant to the actual content of the album, which is just every taylor swift album except set to folk pop and with a bit more cussing, congrats for baby’s first swear. i’ve seen folklore compared to much better bodies of work and even propped up by stans as album of the year, a distinction that rina sawayama and chloe x halle will be battling it out for if there is any justice in the world at all. the fact that she is allowed to do this and still be considered great when this is something that even white male artists are butchered critically for... astounds me. like we all know how well received all of coldplay’s similar sounding albums are.... Come on. 

2. i don’t think taylor or her work is particularly feminist and yet for some reason every time she frowns an army of white women brings her kleenex. i’m not saying taylor’s anger has always been unjustified, but her feminism to me has always felt like “i can do whatever a man can do” feminism, which is utterly fucking useless to me as a black woman. it’s only useful to her because as a wealthy, white, straight, cis white woman her ONLY obstacle in life is her gender. and if she just didn’t have that tricky little bitch then maybe people would take her seriously. like, just think about her music video for the man... what was the thesis of that? what was the point of that? with all of her privileges she’d just be gaining a single extra privilege. she’s a blonde blue eyed thin white girl, the world kisses her feet. i have no interest in proving myself any better or any worse than white men, they are not the standard for how a person should be treated, they’re cautionary tales, and white women are too. i think taylor capitalizes off of white woman victimhood, and it’s all over her writing style. even when she’s trying to be empowered, like in mad woman for example, there is this tone to it of victimization, poking the bear, unleashing the beast if you will. she invokes the imagery of salem witches and even more boldly chooses a noose to write about in the song which is..... surely going to be a white tumblr staple for many gifsets to come but holy shit is it hollow. she also tends to come back to teenage memories in her music and she’s thirty. i don’t think about being seventeen unless i’m being held at gunpoint but she seems to think about it All The Time. and part of this is to keep herself young, at least in her music, which only further ingrains this image of fragile teeny bopper taylor into the mind of the listener, fueling her victim image. this imagery and language means nothing because the world always rallies around taylor. even when she was the butt of jokes for not being beyonce (which she is not and never can be) and writing about her exes (which she does), she was largely supported by the industry and by critics. look at how many fucking awards she has!

3. folk and indie and alternative music is in a moment of transition, where musicians of color are getting the chance to really speak about how they’ve been treated in these overwhelmingly white circles and create their own standards and their own voices. and for taylor swift to swoop in with aaron dessner and jack antonoff fantano and almost reassert that mid-2010s indie sound as The Sound of folk pop in the popular consciousness.... it makes me violent! it! makes! me! violent! 

4. back to hozier! finally, i wanna talk about white standom, fandom, bandom, and womandom. i often see these very superficial comparisons between hozier and taylor (and hozier and florence and hozier and stevie nicks and hozier and whatever other white woman in fashion) and they frustrate me for more than one reason. i know that hozier has met taylor and said she’s cool, which is nice of him and he’s a nice man, but i’m not a nice man so i’m going to just say it: none of the people who have made those posts have listened to more than four hozier songs and it shows. the reason why this matters is because these posts catch on and create an image and preconception of hozier’s music that is divorced from reality and divorced from his influences and most importantly divorced from the deliberate and reverent blackness of his musical style. hozier has his white male privilege in the industry for sure but he’s not as towering of a giant as taylor and taylor’s music is an unsalted chicken, plain oatmeal, white paint drying on a white wall, a stick of unflavored gum. her music is so white it told me that its dad is a cop. i am, as a black hozier fan, exhausted with having to share space with white women who don’t know why hozier’s music kicks me in my lungs sometimes and think that taylor mentioning a tree ONCE in her 3 minute acoustic guitar slog about whatever suburb is the same when it simply is not. i swear some of you are pretending to love taylor because your friends love her and you don’t wanna be left out of the hot new musical discourse but she’s only the hot new musical discourse CONSTANTLY because she’s a white woman, she’s almost the Perfect white woman. like if someone asked me to describe a white woman, it would be taylor swift. her position at the top of the musical pyramid among people who eclipse her musically, vocally, and lyrically is only allowed because she’s The Perfect White Woman. she’s an ideal. white girls relate to her immediately because of it and now we have this unshakable mob of unbearable white women who think that the world has wronged someone who literally wrote fanfiction about the rich oil heiress white woman who owned her rhode island mansion before her aklghlghdhlgs it drives me fucking NUTS 

anyway that’s all. if you made it this far, listen to adia victoria, kaia kater, samantha crain, valerie june, kelsey lu, corinne bailey rae, brittany howard, kimya dawson, japanese breakfast, cold specks, left at london, rhiannon giddens, aisha badru, shea diamond, nadine shah, xenia rubinos, karen o, mirel wagner.... Anyone

#me #taylor swift meanie hour #long post

[sondepoch]

Chapter 4

Hearts on Three (Satan x Reader)

The athlete and the nerd. The rich kid and the scholarship student. The girl who will constantly joke about breaking your knee caps and the boy who will actually do it. There are so many ways to describe your relationship with Satan. Too many, if you’re being honest. He’s your best friend. The smartest tutor you’ve ever had. He also spends thousands of dollars for you at the drop of a hat and holds your hand when you’re feeling down. And in the beginning, that's okay. Neither of you let yourselves get bogged down by labels, both of you content to just savor this newfound friendship. But deeper feelings always have a way of complicating things. And for better or for worse, you and Satan are no exception.

01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | ✎

MASTERLIST

“Bro, you good?”

Satan blinks the sleep from his eyes at the feeling of a pencil tapping against his shoulder, groggily turning to face the owner of the voice that tore him from his precious slumber.

“...bwha?” is the educated response Satan can come up with in his sleep-addled mind.

Solomon snorts.

“Dude, this is the third time you’ve fallen asleep in class this week.” The white-haired athlete grins. “Keep this up and I’m gonna score better than you on tomorrow’s test.”

“We have a…”

Satan groans inwardly. He has a test tomorrow? The blonde blinks up at the board. It takes a second for his vision to clear, but then it registers that he’s in math class, and everything else falls into place. A quick scan over the whiteboard confirms that Satan didn’t miss anything important, that the chapter the teacher is covering is something Satan taught himself roughly two years back, but the boy still groans to himself in frustration. He doesn’t like to sleep through class. Ever.

“Thanks for waking me up,” Satan mumbles to his friend when he glances at the clock. It seems that Solomon let him doze for nearly the entire period, opting to wake him up a mere minute before the bell should ring. 

“No problem. But seriously, I’ve never seen you slack this hard. You good?”

“I’m fine. I’m just tired because…” Satan trails off, hesitant to confess that the reason he’s so exhausted is because of you. No doubt, Solomon would read way too deeply into that—nope, wait, it looks like Solomon figured it out on his own from the shit-eating grin he’s now sporting.

“Ah, your future girlfriend, is it?” Solomon leans back in his chair, grinning. “The love life is rough, buddy. Make sure you’re using protection at night, though.”

Satan has never been more relieved to hear a bell ring.

“Would you lower your voice?” He growls when a couple of kids passing by give him weird looks. Satan glares hard at Solomon, but the latter gives a grand total of zero (0) shits.

“Sorry,” Solomon says in a voice that makes it all too clear that he’s not sorry.

Satan has never hated his schedule more than in the next moment when he realizes that Solomon is in his next class and that they can’t split ways. Worse yet, it’s Physical Education—the stupidest course of all time because all it consists of is kids walking in circles for an entire hour and being “encouraged” to run. And somehow, to top it off, Satan always ends up walking with Solomon. 

“We’re not together,” Satan grunts to his friend when they’re outside doing laps around the track. “It’s just that it’s fucking hard to balance club duties, her volleyball schedule, and my own studies.” 

“I totally get it,” Solomon blurts. “But you’ve gotta get used to it, bro. Imagine how much harder it’s gonna be to when the two of you start dating! You’ll have to take her out on dates, and—fuck—have you ever been to one of her games? She has crazy stamina, man. The two of you’ll be at it all night.”

Satan thinks back to freshman orientation, wondering why, of all the places to sit, he chose the seat next to the most annoying person in the entire academy. 

“Solomon, can you shut the fuck up?”

Solomon, unsurprisingly, does not shut the fuck up.

With enough difficulty, Satan does finally manage to steer the topic away from Solomon’s matchmaking attempts and towards more normal topics. Namely, Satan’s matchmaking attempts. Of course, just as Satan places no weight on Solomon’s opinions on his love life, Solomon completely ignores Satan’s advice to stop beating around the bush and just ask Asmo out, the athlete having the nerve to say “I’ll ask Asmo out when you ask our volleyball captain out”—as if you and Satan have a remotely similar history to Asmo and Solomon, who, as now known by the entire campus, are both desperately pining for each other but are too dumb to see it.

Satan sighs, shaking his head.

Idiots, he thinks. I’m surrounded by idiots.

It’s to this thought that Satan hears someone calling his name in the distance: an extremely familiar voice, almost grating on the ears, but a voice he knows he should not be hearing. 

Satan shakes his head, deciding that he’ll clear up his schedule today so he gets a nap in because surely, surely he must be imagining you calling his voice. Surely you’re not actually on this track field. Surely you’re not cutting English, of all courses, a subject that Satan insists you pay extra attention to because it’s the single course you're most likely to fail.

“Bro,” Solomon whispers, eyebrows raised in disbelief.

Satan closes his eyes, trying to see if pretending that he doesn’t hear your footsteps sprinting closer and closer towards him will make it so that they’re not real.

It doesn’t work.

“Satan!” You shriek, now close enough that he can’t pretend you’re a figment of his imagination anymore. “Satan! Satan, Satan, Satan!”

The blonde continues staring resolutely forward, committing himself to the ideology of I do not see it, therefore it is not happening.

Unfortunately, Satan sees it. And so it happens.

Without any warning whatsoever, you lurch forward and grapple on to Satan, wrapping your limbs around him like a literal koala as you yeet yourself onto him with enough force that Satan is just barely able to remain standing when you attach yourself to him while shrieking: ”Satan! Guess what, guess what!”

The blonde is at a loss for words, so dumbfounded and taken aback that it’s all he can do to sputter out a confused “w-what?” 

You grin at him with a smile so wide it looks like it hurts, and Satan can only stare as you reveal what made you so happy.

“I got an 85 on the Shakespeare test!” 

The Shakespeare test, the man thinks, trying to remember.

The Shakespeare test, he repeats in his mind, a vision of you cram-reading the final acts of King Lear flashing through his mind

The Shakespeare test! Satan realizes with a start, suddenly recalling how it was a test he expected you to fail.

Satan’s mouth drops open at that. He had been prepared for you to get a 20, a 30; the highest you told him to expect was a 60, and even that was below the fail margin, but an 85? Holy shit, Satan might cry if he got a grade like that, but for you, it’s a genuine accomplishment, and he’s fucking proud.

“You’re joking,” he blurts, already calculating how this will affect your average and, holy shit, it’s actually going to pull you up to a passing grade.

“I’m not!” you declare with so much happiness that it’s infectious, and then the two of you are hugging and laughing except that Satan’s literally carrying you so it’s awkward, but neither of you care because this is the highest grade you’ve pulled all year, and Satan is finally beginning to feel like the late hours and the sleepless nights are all worth it.

The two of you are grinning and beaming at each other even when you finally de-koala yourself from Satan and land on the ground; and it’s at this precise moment that Satan realizes just how many people are watching. 

The blonde clears his throat awkwardly. 

It felt so natural when you tackled Satan midair, but he’s now beginning to realize just how intimate that whole scene looked to any onlookers. He stiffens, and you seem to notice, your own demeanor turning sheepish in turn.

A low whistle from next to you diffuses the situation.

“An 85, huh?” Solomon slings an arm around your shoulder, sandwiching you between him and Satan as the three of you continue walking along the track field—effectively sending a message to anyone watching that the show is over. “Not bad, Captain, not bad.”

“It’s amazing, Solomon!” you cry out in turn, grinning as you lean into his shoulder. (Satan doesn’t feel weird when he sees that, he swears he doesn’t.) “I haven’t scored this high since, well, I dunno. I don’t really pay attention to the scores I get because they’re always so low!”

Solomon laughs at that, definitely remembering when he was the same way. 

“It’s all thanks to Satan, no?” Solomon prods, and the blonde shoots a sharp look at his friend. He’s up to something. Satan isn’t sure if he wants to know what.

“Oh, definitely! He literally read every single text out loud to me! I left this one book for the very last day, and he actually stayed with me and—”

“You need to get back to class,” Satan swiftly interrupts, his ears turning red. “You did well on one test, but you need to pay attention if you want to continue.”

“Oh, but—”

Satan practically shoves you away, gesturing wildly the whole time with a vigor that has you confused but compliant as you slowly depart, doubtlessly making your way back to the English building as slowly as you possibly can.

When you’re gone, Solomon snorts.

“You read to her?” He asks, expression brimming with mirth.

“It’s not—it’s an effective studying technique that we use to save time—”

“Oh my god,” Solomon mumbles under his breath, wiping a tear of mirth from his eye. “Next thing you know, I’ll find out that she’s sleeping on your shoulder or something. Seriously, Satan, way to make a move early on.”

Satan is incredibly grateful that Solomon doesn’t see how his face changes at that part, a flush rising on his cheeks when he realizes that you’ve fallen asleep on his shoulder not once, now, but several times. 

“Shut up,” Satan grumbles, trying to end the conversation as quickly as possible.

“No way, man!” Solomon cackles with laughter, finding great amusement in his friend’s frustration. “Oh my god, the two of you are so perfect for each other that it hurts! Here, take a look at this—”

Solomon pulls up his phone and opens up his Photo Gallery, swiping twice before handing it over to Satan.

“Just look at that, dude—” he gestures vaguely at the picture. “You two already look like you’re dating.”

Satan stares at the image, his feet slowing down. It’s a picture of you and Satan hugging, taken conveniently when you were still koala-ing Satan with your entire body because of course Solomon was able to get a picture that quickly, and although Satan can’t see either of your faces due to the side angle, even he has to acknowledge that the two of you really do look like a couple.

“It’s not like that,” Satan mumbles, shaking his head as he hands the phone back to Solomon. 

This might be the first time, though, that he actually entertains the thought of what it would be if it was like that.

It’s not a terrible thought.

You hate away-scrimmages for a lot of reasons.

The first reason is that, more often than not, the environment is hostile. The other team is always bound to have more support, more cheering, more motivation powering them forward while yours has nothing more than the girls on the bench and the loud voice of your coach. 

The second reason is that they always feel like a waste of time. Scrimmages, by nature, are meant to be an extension of practice. So what’s the point of a scrimmage if you spend more time driving to the school than you spend playing against the school? It’s totally backwards, in your opinion, and pretty stupid.

The third reason is the most compelling reason, though. And it’s probably because this is the issue you’re dealing with right now: the fact that at away-scrimmages, if there does happen to be someone from your school who puts in the time and effort to come watch, the pressure on your shoulders instantly triples. Scrimmages are supposed to be fun, enjoyable. They’re nothing more than practice matches to collect data and get ready for when you’ll go against the school for real—but when people from your school travel such a long distance to watch you play not even a game but a scrimmage, it feels like you owe it to them to bring home a win, to succeed, to make the match worth their while.

And while Satan doubtlessly had no intentions of adding to your stress when he asked to watch you play at today's scrimmage, that’s exactly what has happened.

“Listen, girls,” your voice is low as your team groups up in what will likely be the last huddle of the match. “I want us to win this. Really badly. Do what it takes, but bring home that victory.” You take a moment to recite the weaknesses of the other team, trying to downplay their skill and build confidence in your own teammates, but ultimately, you all know the truth. “It all comes down to how we play this point, girls, so let’s play our best.”

You glance around at your teammates, stealing a glance at the bleachers where Satan sits, watching the scrimmage.

You want to make him proud.

“Wolves on three: one, two, three—”

“Wolves!” your teammates echo, raising their fists as the lot of you split off into your serve receive positions.

As it stands, match point is weighing against you, and your team is at a heavy disadvantage. From what you’ve gathered on the opposing team, their libero is a literal legend when it comes to front row saves, and they have an amazing right-side hitter, one that easily rivals your own skill. This entire game, their team has been leading, but all your team needs to secure victory is a measly three points, three points that you know you can obtain if you try hard enough.

You crouch low, getting ready for the opposing team’s serve.

The first two points are easy for your team to get: the first point comes when the opposing team’s outside hitter rams the ball into the net, and the second comes when your team's right-side hitter manages a clean hit through a line of defense that jumped a second too late.

The final point, as always, is the hardest to get.

It just so happens that it’s your serve, so you consciously aim at what you think is the weakest link in the opposing team, but they’re able to recover. From then on, it’s an intense volley back and forth until it’s just you versus the right-side hitter, #18, the two of you fighting it out in a rhythmic contest of pass-set-hit that just won’t end.

It’s at this time that you feel the pressure beating down on you heavier than ever before. More than anything, you want to win. Not just because you’re naturally competitive, not just because you really fucking hate #18 right now (seriously, what business does she have being as good as you?), but because you know that Satan is watching. 

You really, really, really want to bring home a win for him.

It’s to this thought that you set the ball over on the first touch, sabotaging the flow of the game and ruining the other team’s momentum. 

It happens in slow motion as the ball falls, slowly, slowly.

The entire room seems to hold its breath as three girls on the opposing team, #18 included, all pancake-dive for the ball. Sensing their success, you bend your knees, preparing for the ball’s return.

It never comes.

The blow of the ref’s whistle is surreal, almost as faraway as the subsequent cheers of your own team, so empty and distant as they instantly group up for a team tackle—but for the first time, you don’t join them. 

Instead, you’re left staring up at Satan who, from his spot on the bleachers, is grinning down at you with a proud look on his face.

You don’t think you’ve ever been so happy to win a scrimmage. 

Everything else passes by in a blur. Your team regroups and changes out of your uniforms, and the lot of you board the bus that’s set to bring you back to the Royal Academy of Barbatos. 

You, however, stay back.

“I’ll get a ride from my tutor,” you tell your coach, bidding farewell to your friends. 

The man arches an eyebrow at you, asking once and then twice if you’re certain you don’t want to stay with the team, but you nod your head. 

Weird, you think as you go to find Satan, who’s waiting for you at his car. This must be the first time I’ve prioritized someone else over the team.

You decide not to dwell on that thought. 

Instead, you choose to think about how sick Satan’s ride is.

“Oh my god,” you mumble, gawking as soon as you see the car. “Satan, I knew you were loaded, but I had no clue you were this loaded.”

Satan laughs at your reaction, grinning when you can do nothing but stand and stare at the sheer beauty of it: a slick, black Bugatti with a single green stripe down the middle. 

“Oh, it’s beautiful,” you coo, marveling at the interior when you slide into the passenger seat and slug your volleyball bag unceremoniously in the back. “Satan, I think I like this car better than I like you.”

The blonde gives a short laugh, rolling his eyes as he gets inside next to you. “I’ll let you drive it someday,” he offers.

You’re quick to decline, shuddering to think about how many more sports scholarships you’d need to ever pay such a thing off if you were to crash it. 

Satan can only smile at that, mumbling something under his breath that you can’t hear.

“Your match was amazing, by the way,” he says before you can probe him about what he said. “It looked really intense. It’s impressive that you were able to keep a level head even at the end.”

You don’t tell Satan that your head wasn’t level, that you were practically dizzy with fear from the possibility of losing in front of him.

“It comes with practice,” you instead choose to say. “Something we’ve gotta do tonight!”

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

You shoot Satan an innocent smile in response.

“Your match lasted a good hour, and I saw you practicing with your team before your bus left.” Satan shakes his head, a frown beginning to spread across his lips. “You’re going to destroy your muscles if you try to do any more. Even you need to rest.”

“Yeah, but resting is boring.” You lean back in your seat and stare at your palms. “Besides, that scrimmage was way too close for comfort. Didn’t you see number eighteen? She was, like, really good. If both our teams make it to the state tournament, we’re going to have a lot of trouble dealing with her unless we practice like crazy until then.”

“Exactly,” Satan says. “Your team needs to practice, not you. The best thing you can do for them is relax and make sure you don’t overexert yourself.”

“But don't you want to reward me for getting a good grade on my Shakespeare test?” A smile curls onto your lips because you know that's something Satan has been thinking about. “Come on, just a few balls? It’ll be quick, I promise. I just want to try a few moves out.”

Satan lets out an exasperated sigh that lets you know he’s agreeing.

“Yes!” You exclaim, resisting the urge to jump out of your seat and hug him because he probably won't be as inclined to help you if you make him crash his car. “Thank you so much, Satan! I won’t be long, I promise!”

The blonde doesn’t say anything to that, sighing softly as he switches his destination from the student parking lot to the on-campus gym you usually conduct your practice sessions in. It takes a while, but when the two of you get there, the spot Satan pulls into is far from the doors. It's a necessity since all the other spots are taken, but it makes you raise an eyebrow because this is the first time you’ve seen this gym even remotely filled up.

You nudge Satan out of his car regardless.

“Alright, so today I want you to make my tosses higher than normal. Number eighteen was taller than me, so I’ll need to increase my jump height if I want to be able to break past her defense.” You pull him to the door, wasting no time to get inside. “And don’t worry if your tosses aren’t perfect! It’ll be good practice for...for when…”

Your train of thought is disrupted when you see how packed the gym is.

“Damn,” Satan mumbles next to you, frowning. 

There must be some kind of athletic event coming up. That's the only explanation you can think of for the picture in front of you. As it stands, there are tons of students inside this gym, everyone practicing their own sport. It’s ridiculous, honestly, because even sports that are traditionally outdoors are practicing inside. You can see Solomon leading his soccer team through a few drills on the far side of the court, taking up one half of one of the six nets set up in the gym.

“They must be here because it’s so muddy outside. All the outdoor sports are practicing inside.” Satan crosses his arms. “Let’s come back tomorrow. You’re not going to be able to get an effective practice in.”

“No!” you immediately exclaim, if only because you see a group of people setting up to leave. “Look, we can take that side of the court. Let’s go! I don’t want someone else to get there first.”

It’s a bit harder to find a spare cart of volleyballs than it was to find a spot to practice, but after checking enough supply rooms, you finally find what you’re looking for. After that, it takes you all of two minutes to wheel the cart over to Satan where you present your findings to him proudly.

“Shouldn’t you stretch first?” He frowns. “I don’t want you to get injured.”

“Come on, Satan. I just came back from a match! My muscles are all loosened up, so let’s get straight into it! The faster we can get this done, the faster we can return to the dorm, so let’s hurry!”

The boy doesn’t look wholly convinced, but he acquiesces to your request nonetheless, throwing you a toss higher than usual as you jump to slam it down.

It’s only once the two of you have returned to your usual rhythm that you begin to feel the stretch in your thighs, and for a moment, you stop to consider the fact that it might have been better if you’d stretched after all, but you ultimately decide that you’ve already started so there’s no point in stopping.

The practice whizzes by, as usual. It's almost pitiful how quickly the end of it nears.

“Three more balls,” Satan says, glancing at the number of balls left in the cart. “Then we go back, alright?”

“Sure thing!” you exclaim with pride, the familiar sense of satisfaction after a practice session well-done setting in.

Satan tosses you the third-last ball, and your feet begin following it as soon as it leaves his fingers. Your feet follow a familiar pattern—left, right, left, jump!—and you force yourself to put in a little bit of extra power to increase the height of your jump, letting your palm collide with the ball just a few inches beneath the peak of the arc to let it slam onto the court at an angle so steep that even a reinforced defense wouldn’t have been able to save it.

“Perfect!” you shout the moment your feet land on the floor. “Two more like that, and we’re set!”

Even Satan can’t hold off a smile at that.

Already in-tune with you, he doesn’t bother asking if you’re ready before throwing the next ball into the air. 

Again, you go through the motions that have been ingrained into your muscle memory since you were eight years old. The sting of pain against your palm is familiar, too familiar, and you’re still high in your jump when the ball spikes down onto the floor.

What isn’t familiar is the immediate calls of concern from across the court.

Everything seems to happen in slow motion.

You turn your head to the source of the noise, the loud group of soccer players who are on the far side of the gym and are all shouting to watch out. You stare at them in confusion for a moment, squinting to look for what they're all pointing at, because right now you don’t see anything to watch out for, and why—

Your eyebrows furrow.

Why are they all looking at you?

That thought is the only warning you get before your feet land—and the first thing you realize is that you landed way too early, that you should have been in the air for longer given the height of your jump. That’s when you realize that you haven’t landed, that your foot is instead twisting on top of a soccer ball that’s rolled directly underneath you.

Your hands go out to catch yourself when you fall, but there’s nothing you can do about the swell of pain that bursts from your ankle when the soccer ball pops out from underneath you.

There’s a moment of trepidation, a single second where your body is completely suspended in the air, and the gym is silent.

In that quiet moment, you hear Satan call out your name in a terrified voice.

Then, the ground collides with you and hard, and there’s nothing you can do as the pain you’d been feeling earlier blossoms out from all parts of your body.

MASTERLIST

01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | ✎

Word count: 4.2k

Notes: ive returneddd :D this chapter is dedicated to the vball captain who, in my freshman year of high school, injured herself. her injury was more dramatic, given that it was way more severe and it was during an important match, but irene, i carry you in my heart <3

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Thank you for reading <3

I do not own the rights to Obey Me! or any of the characters within it.

#Word count: 4.2k #obey me! shall we date? #satan x reader #obey me satan #obey me solomon #reader has personality #volleyball athlete reader #slice of life #friendship #friends to best friends to lovers #human au #high school au #college au #slow burn #extremely slow slow burn #requited feelings #crushes #gonna be *wholesome* #mild swearing

[swifteforeverandalways]

Teach Me to Breathe Again Chapter One: A Reunion

Written with @thatgothicgurl

Chapter One: A Reunion

“Takeda!” Syndel picked up the two year old, holding him close.

“Maybe we can throw him in the trash” Five year old Jade suggested.

“Just because it’s your first day of kindergarten does not mean you can make fun of your little brother, young lady,” Syndel pointed at her daughter.

“But moooom,” Jade whined.

“Don’t you dare!” Syndel warned, already hearing the tantrum Jade was about to throw

“C’mon Jade, let’s go!” Jade’s twin sister, Mileena, piped up. Syndel’s friend May came in and took Takeda away from her. “Thank you for watching him”

“Of course,” May said.

Syndel kissed Takeda on the forehead and smiled as he pulled on her silver hair. Jade huffed and looked around, bored.

“C’mon girls!” Syndel grabbed her keys. “Kenshi is still sleeping from his night shift so give him coffee as soon as he wakes up!” May nodded.

“They’re in that “bully the little brother stage”” May laughed

“Kids will be like that”

Syndel laughed at that, helping her twins into their car seats and driving away. Mileena was bouncing with excitement while Jade seemed close to tears

“Jade, what’s wrong?” Syndel asked.

“I wanna go home!”

“Jade, think about all the friends you’ll make there,” Syndel said soothingly. Jade whimpered. “Mileena will be by your side the entire day” Syndel pulled into the parking lot. Mileena nodded enthusiastically, making Jade giggle.

“Okay,” Jade agreed somewhat reluctantly. Syndel waved to the Rogers and Barnes families, Jade smiling at the familiar faces of her friends. She ran up to them. Mileena stayed by her mom.

“And she wanted to stay home,” Syndel laughed. She looked around when Mileena spotted her friends Rain and Reiko and ran over to them. There was a familiar man, maybe her age, with long white blond hair and looking like he was in pain. Syndel frowned slightly.

“Thranduil?”

The man froze. He turned around as if preparing for something and looked over at her. “Do I know you!” Syndel frowned at him.

“It’s Syndel...”

A brief look flashed across the man’s face before he evened it out.

“Oh!” Thranduil hugged her

“How have you been? It’s been years,” Syndel said, hugging back.

“I’ve been there” Thranduil dodged the question. “Why are you here?”

“I could ask you the same thing”

Thranduil moved his coat to reveal a little boy that was hugging his leg and looked just like him.

“You have a son? What’s his name?” Syndel said.

“Legolas” The boy whispered

“Hi,” Syndel smiled kindly, “How old are you?”

Legolas looked at his father

“He’s five,” Thranduil explained.

“That’s how old my girls are”

“You have kids?” Thranduil said in surprise.

“Jade and Mileena”

“Ada” Legolas tugged on his father’s coat, pointing at his teacher. Thranduil smiled.

“Go on, I’ll be here later” Legolas ran off.

“He’s precious” Syndel said

“Where are your girls?” Thranduil asked. Mileena hugged Syndel at that moment. “Bye mommy!”

“Bye sweetie,” Syndel smiled. Mileena grabbed Jade’s hand and dragged her with

“Twins,” Thranduil said amusedly. Syndel elbowed him. “Do you wanna go out for coffee? Catch up? I haven’t seen you in fifteen years” Thranduil hesitated.

“We can just catch up”

“Sure,” Thranduil reluctantly agreed.

They ended up at a locally owned café run by a friend of Syndel, the pair quickly falling into their normal habits around each other. “So did you ever get into law school?” Thranduil asked

Syndel smiled. “Of course”

“And?” Thranduil pressed. Syndel laughed. “I’m a prosecutor”

“Good for you,” Thranduil said, “Jerrod would be proud”

“Thank you” Syndel grabbed his hand. “What happened to you? You disappear and suddenly you’re back here with a kid”

Thranduil shrugged nonchalantly.

“Is Legolas your son? Because I will arrest you for answers” Thranduil laughed at that. “Yes, he’s mine”

“Who’s his mom, if you don’t mind me asking”

“It doesn’t matter,” Thranduil muttered. “We’re separated”

“Oh,” Syndel nodded. “What about you?” Thranduil asked.

“Married. Three kids. My youngest is at home”

“How old?”

“Two. My Takeda” Syndel beamed, noticing a bruise on Thranduil’s wrist that he covered up. “You and Legolas seem close” She recovered

“We are,” Thranduil said.

“What happened with you and his mother? Sorry, the D.A in me just comes out”

Thranduil shrugged.

‘She cheated on me and when I confronted her about it she hit me’ He thought. “It’s okay, you don’t need to tell me” Syndel rubbed his hand. “I missed you”

“I missed you too.”

“Don’t vanish on me again. Your father wouldn’t even report you missing” Thranduil shrugged before changing the subject. “So how long have you been married?”

“Six years. Jade and Mileena happened on our anniversary”

“What does their father do?”

“He’s a police officer,” Thranduil laughed. “Remember when I flirted with that cop after we got caught trashing my father’s office?”

“I do. That was hilarious”

Thranduil tried to laugh but shuddered

“So how did you meet your husband?” He asked.

“He arrested this creep, something Slade, and asked me out after the trial was over”

Thranduil laughed.

“What about you and your ex?” Thranduil hugged himself. “My father is still controlling every part of my life”

Syndel’s jaw tightened and she nodded.

“He wanted Legolas to be a girl,” Thranduil laughed darkly.

“I’m so sorry,” Syndel said softly.

Thranduil grabbed at her hand. “My wife and I had a fight, I took Legolas and ran back here”

“Thranduil, we can help. My husband and I”

“You can’t! He’s why I ran away. He found me and put me in a mental hospital”

“Thranduil……”

“I’ll be fine”

“Are you still with your father?”

“He doesn’t know I’m here”

“Thranduil……please.”

“I’m not lying about that. I didn’t tell anyone”

“Please, we can help you.”

“There’s nothing to help” Thranduil placed a ten dollar bill on the table. “Thanks for the coffee but I can’t do this”

“Thranduil…..”

He left in a hurry, Syndel sighing, placing another bill on the table

———

“Do you remember Thranduil Oropherion?” Syndel asked May, Kenshi still sleeping

May nodded. “Vaguely, yeah.”

“He’s back.” “Wasn’t his father that rich guy?” May handed Takeda over. Takeda instantly beamed at his mother, grabbing her hair.

“Hi honey” Syndel held him close. “He has a son, Jade and Mileena’s age. Love less marriage. Maybe abusive towards him”

May shook her head.

“I swear I’m not crazy. I’ve seen his behavior too many times”

“I know,” May said softly.

“You’re giving me that look,” May laughed. “It’s just...he wasn’t always that social”

“He was my best friend.”

“Okay” May sat down. “Describe his behavior. Any certain ticks?” Syndel sighed and absently ran a hand through Takeda’s hair.

“Fidgety, looked all around as if he was scared someone would see him”

May frowned, nodding.

“Am I being weird?”

“You care about him, so no.”

Syndel sighed, holding Takeda close.

————

“Ada! Ada!” Legolas jumped on Thranduil to wake him. “Not so loud ion-nin, Ada has a headache”

Legolas frowned. Thranduil hugged him close. “I missed you” Legolas burrowed to his dad.

“Everyone was talking about having an ada and naneth” He muttered. “Don’t call her that. She is not your mother” Legolas frowned up at his dad.

“She hurted you,”

Thranduil sighed and patted his son on the head.

“Your Ada’s been hurt his entire life” Legolas frowned. "But that not nice," Thranduil kissed his head. “That’s not nice”

Legolas hugged his father. “So did you make any friends?” Thranduil asked.

“Uhhh, oh Aragorn! And these girls like look the same”

“What do they look like?”

Legolas tried to think of a way to describe them

“Dark hair! N one has green eyes! The other’s are kinda green but also kinda brown!”

Thranduil sighed and got up, carrying Legolas. Legolas looked up at his dad.

“Ada? Why did we come here?”

Thranduil sighed.

“Your grandfather tried to control every single piece of my life. This is the last place he would find us”

Legolas frowned up at Thranduil.

“Why did he do that?”

“He was a mean, spiteful old man”

“Well I’m glad we’re gone from him!” Legolas tried to look mean. Thranduil laughed softly.

“I’m angry!”

“I know you are,” Thranduil said fondly.

“Rawr!” Legolas yelled. Thranduil hugged his son close.

“I love you”

“I love you too!”

————

Syndel pulled in front of the house, maybe finding where Thranduil lived by guilt tripping Kenshi, She had to check on her friend. She knocked on the door. The door opened.

“Hi!” Legolas was standing there. “Hi honey. Why aren’t you in school?” “Ada’s head hurts so mine does too!”

Syndel knelt down in front of him.

“Can I come in?” “No!” Legolas was grinning. Syndel laughed softly.

“Where is your Ada? I’m an old friend” Legolas glared, though it was too adorable. “You’re not friends with Ororper?”

“Who?”

Legolas stomped his foot. “My Ada’s ada!”

“No, definitely not,” Syndel said quickly.

“Okay!” Legolas let her in. Syndel smiled. “Where is your Ada?”

Legolas grabbed her hand and led her to Thranduil’s room.

“Legolas. You are so lucky I know her” Thranduil muttered. Syndel raised an eyebrow at Thranduil. Legolas snuggled next to his father. “Are you okay”

Thranduil sighed.

“Bad memories”

Syndel nodded sympathetically.

“Your wife...she’s like your father isn’t she!”

Thranduil’s jaw tightened.

“She hit him!” Legolas cried. Syndel swore under her breath.

“I deserved it”

“No! Don’t ever say that!” Syndel says fiercely. Legolas hugged his father as tight as he could. Thranduil looked away.

“Ada! Don’t be sad!”

Thranduil smiled at his son.

“I can help you”

“Syndel,” Thranduil sighed.

“Ada” Legolas held Thranduil’s face. “I don’t want you hurted no more” Syndel looked at Thranduil.

“What would I have to do?” He asked. Syndel smiled softly at him.

“If you want to, press charges against your wife or even your father. At least go to therapy” Thranduil nodded.

“And if you have a migraine, I’ll take this little guy to school” Legolas beamed at Syndel.

“I’m not losing you again”

“You’re pretty!” Legolas told Syndel. Syndel smiled, Thranduil holding him closer

“Come,” she said softly. Legolas grabbed her hand

“Pretty,” he repeated. Syndel smiled. Legolas ran in his room and grabbed an elf plushie

“Your kids got any plushies?” Thranduil asked.

“A cat and a lion”

Thranduil laughed fondly.

“His name is Estel!” Legolas said proudly

“You are just too cute,” Syndel smiled at Legolas. Legolas grinned. Syndel grabbed Thranduil’s hand

“Where are we going?” Legolas asked. Thranduil looked to his friend

“My place,” Syndel said.

“Okay! Ada come on!”

“Are you sure? Won’t your husband mind?” Thranduil asked.

“He can deal with it. It wouldn’t be the first time I hid a vic-...someone who needed help in my house” Thranduil raised an eyebrow at her. Legolas tried to push him of the bed but only succeeded in falling on the bed

“Who else have you hidden?” Thranduil asked, picking up his son.

“Many people who were hurt like you”

“Is that even legal?” Thranduil joked.

“I am a prosecutor” Syndel winked, helping Thranduil up. “Estel!” Legolas yelled. Thranduil picked up the stuffed elf. Legolas hugged it to his chest. “I got it for him after I argued with my father”

“It’s adorable,” Syndel smiled.

“You can’t protect me from him. If he finds me..,”

“I can and I will,” Syndel said fiercely.

#syndel okaia #Thranduil #Teach me to breathe again #my writing

[capaimagines]

lee minhyuk - answer

Pairing: Lee Minhyuk x Reader | Genre: angst | Warnings: none | WC: 2.1k

You held your breath as you stared at the school doors in front of you. You had spent the whole month debating whether of not to attend your high school reunion. It wasn’t that you didn’t have friends or that you weren’t popular, on the contrary. You had a few friends that you still talked to and while you weren’t one of the most popular people or the it girl, you were nice enough and everyone seemed to enjoy you or at least talking to you.

You were mainly hesitant because you knew that he would be there. Him being, Minhyuk, your high school crush that you just never seemed to get over. While your friends had begged and tried to get you to confess your feelings at the time, you just never could. You would get all clammy and too nervous. You two were fairly good friends and enjoyed similar things. You were just always afraid if you confessed, that the relationship would change and that was the last thing you ever wanted.

Did you regret it? Sure, sometimes. Would you go back and change it? Probably not. You two still talked from time to time, even went out for a meal a few times over the years just to catch up on each other’s lives. He was studying hard at college, excited to be graduating soon whilst you had opted not to go to college and were enjoying your quiet life working at a cute café near your apartment. You weren’t rich by any means, but you had enough to live comfortably. School was never really your forte anyways.

That was how you and Minhyuk had first started talking. Your teacher had insisted you get tutoring for your math class and Minhyuk was the lucky pick. He was really helpful and at the time, you found yourself actually understanding the material and passing the tests. You had passed math, thanks to him and the two of you continued to talk afterwards, having mutual friends and all it was hard not too.

You remember the first day you knew you had feelings for him. He was always a social person, liked talking to people and making new friends, regardless of who the person was. The morning you had walked into school and saw him leaning against the lockers, talking to one of the more popular girls, you felt your gut twist. The bright smile on his face and the adoration in his eyes was enough to tell you that he had some type of feeling for the girl other than friendship. 

That’s when you had decided to just keep your feelings to yourself. Never speaking about them again with anyone except the stupid pink diary you had hidden under your pillow at the time. He’d come to you for advice. How he should ask her out, what the perfect first date would be, how to ask her to homecoming and prom. Of course you’d always give him the best advice you could. Letting your heart break, piece-by-piece, every time he went to her. Seeing them hold hands or flirt or looking at each other with so much love in their eyes always broke you a little more inside, but he was your friend and if he was happy. Who were you to take that away?

You sucked in your breath, holding your head up high as you walked through the doors of your old high school. You had made the decision tonight to tell him how you feel about him. You just couldn’t hold onto it anymore and you needed an answer. Whether he returned your feelings or not, you still needed confirmation so that you could properly let yourself move on.

You found your table, heart sinking a little as you noticed you were sat with Sana, the girl you had helped Minhyuk woo during your teenage years. She still looked just as beautiful, but had dyed her hair blonde instead of her usual black.  

“Y/N! It’s so good to see you! It’s been so long,” She said as she wrapped you in a hug to which you responded. She wasn’t ever mean to you and while you wouldn’t go as far to say you were friends, you spoke to each other and were nice.

“Sana, it’s so good to see you. I love your hair, it looks great!” She smiled, thanking you and pulling you to sit down next to her. Catching up on the past years of your lives though she did most of the talking as you just listened. You were always better at listening than talking. Something you had yet to change.  

“How uhm, do you still talk to Minhyuk?” You asked, biting your bottom lip and picking at the skin around your nails under the table.

You saw her smile but she had a sad look in her eyes, “We actually broke up a little bit after we graduated,” Your eyes widened a little and you tried to control the little bubble of hope that made its way into your stomach.  

“Really? What happened? I had no idea!” You really did have no idea. You and Minhyuk were really good about avoiding the topic of your love lives when you did talk. You had just always assumed that they were still together because he had never brought it up. They were the perfect couple after all.

“Well, we were just in different places.” She shrugged and you hummed, “Actually,” She laughed a little, turning to look at you, “He had a crush on you. Even while we were dating. He told me about it one night after he’d gone out drinking at a party with friends,” You were shocked and you knew that showed on your face. Your eyes were wide and your mouth was hanging open a bit.

“That’s not- there’s no way- he didn’t,” Immediately you were feeling guilty that you had been the reason they had broken up. It wasn’t intentional, but you still felt guilty. You knew Sana really did like him and maybe she did love him.  

“I don’t blame you Y/N, and besides, we were going to different schools miles and miles away. It was bound to happen eventually. I always knew it wouldn’t last forever. Part of his heart always belonged to you.”

You honestly had no idea what to say. All these years you had both pined over each other and neither of you said anything! How had you not noticed? Sure, you weren’t the brightest in school but you had a pretty knack for reading people. You had never gotten that impression from him, even a hint.  

“Do you still talk to him?” You blurted out, not sure what else to ask.

“No,” She shook her head, “We lost contact during our first year of college. What about you?”

You told her it was just casually and then you switched the conversation, done talking about Minhyuk for now. You were more determined than ever right now to tell him how you feel, but you had yet to spot him amongst the rest of your old classmates. You enjoyed your dinner and conversation with Sana and the rest of the people you sat with. It was a little nostalgic for you and you secretly hoped that this wouldn’t end even though you knew it would.

“Y/N!  Let’s go dance!” Sana said as she dragged you out to the dance floor. You had tried, desperately, to get out of her grasp but she held firm and before you knew it, you two were in the middle of the dance floor and Sana was swaying her hips. She may have a little too much to drink. Though, you just indulged her for a little bit, dancing badly with her and just enjoying your time left with your old friends.

“I’m gonna go grab us some water!” You shouted to Sana over the music as you fought your way through the crowd and back to the makeshift bar that was set up as you wiped some sweat off your forehead before asking the person for two waters. As you were waiting, you felt someone step beside you. Your heart started beating even harder once he spoke.

“Y/N! I’ve been looking for you everywhere. You look gorgeous, as always,” You were glad your cheeks were already red from how hot you were, but you could feel them heat up even more from his comment.

“Minhyuk! Sorry, I’ve been with Sana most of the night and I couldn’t find you. I’m glad you’re here though,” You smiled and gave each other a quick hug. Your conversation started easily and carried on, “Minhyuk, I actually- I need to tell you something.”

You had placed your hand on his arm and you felt like you wanted to vomit. You kept telling yourself to get a grip; you were an adult now, not some hormonal teenager. It shouldn’t be this hard to tell him how you feel, but the fear of rejection was always lingering in the back of your mind, “I wanted-,”

“Minhyuk! There you are!” Your eyes snapped over to a girl you knew didn’t go to your school. You would have remembered her. She was absolutely gorgeous. White teeth that shined every time she smiled, beautiful brown hair that hung in loose waves over her shoulders, the gold sequined dress she had on made her slightly hazel eyes pop. She was fit and you had to admit she was attractive.  She linked her arm with Minhyuk’s and he smiled down at her.

That’s when you noticed the large diamond on her finger. A very important finger at that. You felt your heart shatter and your eyes burn with tears that you were praying would wait to fall until you could at least get to the bathroom. Minhyuk patted her hand, smiling at her before introducing you.

“Hyejin, this is Y/N, the girl I was telling you about from high school. That I get lunch with from time to time.”

She offered you a bright smile and you did your best to mirror it. You didn’t want to hear what she was to him, you didn’t want to know, but you couldn’t be rude. Yet, your eyes stayed trained on the diamond that adorned her finger. The more you looked at it, the more you felt yourself sinking into that black hole. You wanted nothing more than to just run out, go back home and cry. Cry it all out and then finally just move on.

“Y/N, this is Hyejin, my wife,” He said it so proudly, so prideful and so happily that it made you sick. You hated that it made you sick because again. Who were you to wish that he wasn’t that happy? Who were you to have held on to hope that he was single?  Why didn't you know he’d gotten married? You thought that would be something pretty big to leave out on your lunch meetups.

“You didn’t tell me you were, uhm, married,” You hated how weak your voice sounded and if you were looking at Minhyuk right now, you would have seen the small flash of sadness in his eyes. Sana wasn’t wrong when she said there was always a part of his heart that would belong to you.  

“We never really talked about our love lives,” He said simply and you hummed. Hyejin linked your arms together and started pulling you away. You couldn’t be rude and she just wanted to talk. 

“He’s told me so much about you! He said everything he did to win me over he learned from you during high school. You’re pretty good at that. You should be a matchmaker!” She said to which you offered her a strained chuckled before Minhyuk came up behind her and wrapped an arm around her waist. Hyejin happily stared up at him and you swallowed the bile rising in your throat. 

“It was nice seeing you, Minhyuk. Nice meeting you Hyejin. I have an early day tomorrow, I’m going to head out.”

They said goodbye, Minhyuk offering to drive you home but you politely declined. You turned and walked away and maybe if you were paying attention you would have seen the longing gaze Minhyuk had on you, even just for a split second. You just couldn’t turn around and you didn’t want to look at him right now. Or ever again. 

You finally had your answer, and it wasn’t the one you were expecting.

#monsta x #monsta x au #lee minhyuk #minhyuk #minhyuk scenario #minhyuk imagines #monsta x imagines #monsta x imagine #monsta x scenarios #kpop #kpop au #minhyuk x reader #monsta x angst #monsta x minhyuk #monsta x oneshot #monsta x oneshots #minhyuk oneshot #minhyuk oneshots #minhyuk imagine #imagines #imagine #masterlist

[jlalafics]

Hey can you do an everlark fake dating please🥺🥺

Anon, I’m sure you were looking for something a little more romantic than what I came up with. There is romance, but there’s some other stuff too.

Thank you for inspiring this four-parter. I hope you enjoy!

_____

Summary: Peeta needed a date for his brother’s wedding. His co-worker Katniss was more than willing to play along. Sometimes, simple favors can turn into so much more. A fake dating story done in four parts. Rated E. Definitely NSFW.

A Simple Favor

The Invite

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Peeta gawked at the frilly invitation in his grasp, then at the attached list of activities.

Three days.

Three fucking days of wedding activities to torture him.

“Can we tone down the cursing?” Katniss, his co-worker, sat down at her desk adjacent to his. “This is a place of business.”

“You wouldn’t be saying that if you had to go to this.”

Peeta swiveled his chair, tossing the invitation onto Katniss’ desk. It landed smoothly atop her keyboard and she reached to read the perfect calligraphy print announcing the upcoming nuptials of Rye Mellark to Delly Cartwright.

She turned back to Peeta. “Yeah…so?”

“Look who’s the Maid of Honor.”

Katniss looked to the right part of the invitation which listed the wedding party.

Her grey eyes suddenly shot up at him. “Oh, holy fuck! Is that her?”

“Yeah. It’s hard to look at her name and not still see her sucking off my best friend.”

Katniss snorted. “Yeah—that’s not an image even I would likely forget.” She examined the invitation again. “Gawd, even her name is pretty. Madge Undersee.”

“Don’t remind me,” Peeta growled, yanking the invitation from her grasp. “Who plans three days of pre-wedding activities?”

“Your brother and his affianced, apparently.” Katniss gave him a sympathetic smile. “You think she’ll bring him?”

“According to my brother, they’re officially together now.”

Peeta never used to be this bitter.

However, two years ago, that irrevocably changed when he discovered his then-fiancée on her knees and giving his best friend a blowie—on his bed. Madge had wept, of course, telling him that it had just happened.

And Gale…he had begged for Peeta to understand that it wasn’t just sex…that he felt something more for Madge.

How the hell was he supposed to understand that?

Peeta had packed his things and immediately left the apartment that he and his best friend had been living in—let the fucker deal with the astronomical Bay Area rent on his own.

He then accepted a job at Panem Projects, a Brooklyn based start-up created by tech mogul Haymitch Abernathy. The uber-genius had invented an app that allowed you to search for specific non-profits and charities that one may be interested in contributing to.

On Peeta’s first day, he met Katniss Everdeen, who was part of the QA department he was in. She was a supervisor while he was just one of the lowly engineers.

They had been sitting across from one another ever since.

“That sucks.” Katniss sat back, crossing her legs, as she watched him carefully. “Did you want to get wasted after work?”

++++++

It was at their fifth round of shots that the idea came about.

“I can’t go to this.” Peeta held the invitation, now beer-stained and being used as a coaster for their peanut bowl. “It’s basically a three-day Peeta Mellark roast!”

“Yeah, and a wedding,” Katniss replied. She leaned forward, her cheeks warmed from booze. “You know what you need? A date to this God-awful event. Not just any date, a hot date.”

“Here’s the problem, sweetheart,” he replied. “I’m not dating anyone.”

“It doesn’t have to be a real date,” she reasoned. “Find a great-looking chick who’d be willing to spend three days looking like she worships your cock. Isn’t this what those dating apps are for?”

“I don’t want a stranger around my family!” He reached for the beer bottle in front of him—was this even his? “That’s how those Netflix crime specials come about.”

Katniss chuckled. “Okay. Understandable.” She met his glazed stare. “I’ll do it.”

“What?”

“I said I’ll go with you,” Katniss declared. “I’ll be your hot date.”

Peeta took a long swig. “Uh…no offense Katniss…you’re definitely pretty…but hot?”

“I have been known to dress up once in a while.”

He looked at his friend; her dark hair was in its usual braid and she wore a pair of fitted jeans along with a zip-up with the Panem Projects logo on it—some sort of fiery bird. On her feet were a pair of Converses that had seen better days.

“You’re really know how to make a girl feel desired,” Katniss told him. “I can’t think of any possible reason why Madge would dump you.”

“Hey now! That’s hitting below the belt!”

“Well, you don’t think I can be hot!” she retorted. “Give me your phone!”

Peeta, in fear of his life, pulled out his phone from the pocket of his jeans and handed it to the woman.

Katniss picked up the invitation with her free hand and started to type with the other.

“Katniss…Motherfucking…Everdeen…” She handed the phone back to him. “I’ve RSVP’d for you and added myself as your plus one.”

He looked at the browser window and then back at a smirking Katniss.

“You actually wrote ‘Katniss Motherfucking Everdeen’ as my date’s name.” Peeta had to smile. “My mother is going to love that.”

“She’s going to love me,” Katniss assured him. “She and everyone else at this wedding is going to forget who the hell Madge Undersee is after I’m done with them.”

Peeta had to ask. “Why are you doing this?”

“I know how it feels to be taken by surprise.” She was suddenly staring very hard at the dirty bar table they sat at. “Plus, you’re my friend and we take care of each of other.” Her eyes met his, her own looking like she was on the verge of breaking. “Right?”

Peeta reached over and squeezed her hand. “Right.”

++++++

“Okay, so I have prepared a portfolio of myself.” Katniss presented him with a closed folder. “Childhood photos…likes and dislikes…just some general information that a boyfriend should know.”

“34C?” Peeta eyed her doubtfully, briefly flitting to her white button down. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. You bought me a lovely dark green lingerie set for our last anniversary.” Katniss pulled out a piece of paper. “Here is a little questionnaire that I’ve made for you, just for me to know you a little better.”

Peeta skimmed over the questions. Most of them were pretty general; where he was born, his parents’ and his brother’s name as well as their ages, his favorite foods…then—

“Why do you need to know if I’m circumcised?”

“If we have supposedly been together for about six months, shouldn’t we be having sex by now?” she questioned.

“True.” Peeta looked around the room. “Is it okay that we’re using a meeting room for this?”

Katniss shrugged. “The guys in IT use this room to play Pokémon every Friday.”

“Also, when are you going to do something about…” He waved his hand out at today’s outfit: a pair of black slacks, a white button down, and brown loafers. “…that.”

“Don’t you worry your perfect little blond self.” Katniss playfully ruffled his hair. “I didn’t realize that you were so fixated on looks.”

“You were the one who suggested ‘hot’,” he pointed out. “However, my parents, who are generally good people, can sometimes be judgmental. So besides being very smart and extremely accomplished—we’re going to have to show them how great you are on the outside.”

“Peeta, do my looks matter to you?” she suddenly asked. “I mean, do you think that I’m pretty?”

Katniss wasn’t what people would call conventionally beautiful.

Her hair was a single shade of black which could be a bit-frizzy on humid days, and her complexion was sun-kissed with a sprinkle of freckles on her cheeks. However, Peeta saw deep grey eyes that sparkled when she was particularly excited about something (pushing a new feature on their app, for example) and full rose-colored lips that needed no lipstick.

And when she smiled, everything about her just lit up.

“I think you’re beautiful,” he said truthfully. “I do worry that the people at this wedding won’t see you the way I see you.”

“Then that’s their fucking problem, isn’t it?” Katniss smiled gently. “We just have to make this look real. I think we can do this.” She pushed a pen towards him. “Now, fill your questionnaire out, okay?”

“Alright.” He reached for the pen and his eyes went to her. “Katniss?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

++++++

Two Weeks Later…

“Sister—Primrose…24…a nurse in Seattle…Mom…Kate…former teacher…Dad…Marcus…former General in the Army….”

As he waited for Katniss’ Uber to arrive, Peeta went through the flashcards that he and Katniss had created in order to get through the three days leading up to his brother’s wedding.

They had everything from their first date (a Harry Potter trivia night at a bar close to their office) to any distinguishable body marks (him—a scar on his knee from falling off his bike at 12 and her—surprisingly, a scar just above her left butt cheek from a tattoo removal procedure, though she wouldn’t tell him what the tattoo was).

“Peeta?”

He had been so distracted that he didn’t even hear the car pull up.

“Sorry.” He tucked the cards in his back pocket and lifted his eyes to greet her. “Hey…holy shit.”

This was not Katniss Everdeen.

Katniss Everdeen didn’t wear her dark hair down in smooth waves that framed a perfect heart-shaped face. She didn’t wear sleeveless black jumpsuits that revealed rich olive skin and plush breasts (she was definitely a 34C).

“You like?”

She did a little twirl for him, graceful despite the stilettos she wore.

And, Katniss definitely didn’t have an ass that made his mouth water.

The unbidden thought of biting into one of those full globes caused his cock to twitch in his now too tight jeans.

“I like.” Peeta gave her a smile. “Maybe a little too much.”

She looked triumphant. “Give you a boner?”

“Fuck yeah,” he replied, a tad breathless.

“Then I’ve done my job.” Katniss wrapped her arms around his neck. “Hello boyfriend.”

Her mouth covered his own and his arms encircled her waist, pulling her tightly against his body. She teased, nipping at his bottom lip, her tongue skimming his lips before pulling away. Something surged inside him and his tongue invaded her mouth, sweeping in to taste sweetness.

Katniss growled against him, her center pressing into his now definitely hard cock.

Reluctantly—because they had to either breathe or die during the world’s hottest kiss—they pulled apart.

“Why did you do that?” he asked, gasping for breath.

“Because we’re supposed to be in love.” Her chest heaved, her eyes just cooling down from their kiss. “And couples in love kiss like that.”

“I know no couples who kiss like that,” he told her, a smile unexpectedly forming on his lips. “But feel free to kiss me like that whenever you see fit.”

++++++

During their five-hour flight, they went over the wedding itinerary.

“I’ve had a stylist pull looks for us for all the fancier events,” Katniss explained. “Don’t worry, nothing looks like we’re trying too hard. We’ll be more complimentary to one another.”

“What would trying too hard look like?” Peeta asked curiously.

“Well, if your tie matched my dress for example.”

A flight attendant stopped in front of their seats. “What can I get you both?”

Katniss smiled, placing a hand on his shoulder. “He will have…” Her fingers brushed against his ear lobe and he couldn’t help but shiver in pleasure. “…a cup of chamomile tea. I will have a coffee—”

“With milk and two sugars,” he breathed out, trying to smile up at the attendant.

“Thanks baby,” Katniss cooed at him, her hand brushing through his hair affectionately.

The woman quickly fixed their drinks, handing their cups to them one by one.

“Can I just say that you too are extremely adorable?” the flight attendant remarked.

Katniss put a hand to her chest.

“Thank you!” She looked to Peeta; her expression full of affection. “He’s just so easy to love.”

Peeta smiled tightly. “This is my dream girl…” He patted Katniss’ hand. “…right here.”

The flight attendant practically squealed before going to the next seats.

“You really could be a little bit more convincing,” Katniss remarked. “Maybe act like my touch doesn’t repulse you.”

“You don’t!” He shifted towards her. “In fact, it’s really the opposite.”

Katniss rested back against her seat. “Really?” She crossed her arms. “Convince me.”

Peeta unbuckled his seatbelt. Pressing the release button of the armrest, he pushed it up so there was no divider between them.

Katniss waited, obviously interested in what he was up to. He realized that their tray tables covered anything below the waist and his mouth widened in a grin.

“Tell me.” His hand went to her thigh. “What exactly are you wearing under this?” The fabric beneath his palm was smooth and he could feel a full firm thigh. He continued upwards towards the cleft between her thighs. “Are you even wearing underwear?”

Katniss’ arms fell to her side and she swallowed thickly. “I am.”

“And, if my hand found its way between your thighs—” His hand stopped just about an inch from her center and she let out a labored breath. “—if my fingers brushed against this practically non-existent cloth, would I find you wet?”

“Maybe,” she whispered.

Peeta leaned forward, his mouth going to her ear.

“Would you let me put my fingers to your clit? Let me rub you until you came all over this seat?” His pressed his mouth to the spot behind her ear and she shivered. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You’d happily fill this cabin with the smell of sex if I fingered you into completion—”

“Stop—” Katniss gasped out, her hand covering the hand on her thigh. “I’m convinced.”

“Good.”

Peeta moved his hand away—but not before quickly brushing the tips of his fingers at her center. The feeling of heat had him hard immediately.

“You’re far from repulsive, Katniss.” He met her heated stare. “I’ve always thought that.”

Katniss snorted. “Yeah, right.”

Peeta took her hand, placing it to where his erection demanded to be freed.

“Believe me,” he demanded, and her fingers moved against the rough fabric of his jeans. “This is because of you. Yeah, it’s extremely hot to see you in this get-up, but what makes me hard is that look in your eyes.”

Katniss licked her lips. “What look?”

“That fire,” he told her, his thumb caressing the top of her hand. “That fire in those grey eyes will always get me, if you’re in this black jumpsuit—” Her fingers enclosed along his cock, gripping him firmly. “—or if you’re wearing that ugly zip-up sweater that HR gave you for your work anniversary.”

“Excuse me?” They both jumped at the voice and looked to see the flight attendant. “We’ve just been notified that we’ll be landing a little sooner than we announced. So, if you could finish your drinks in the next few minutes—”

“Of course,” Katniss said quickly, her free hand reaching for her cup. “We’ll be done soon.”

The woman gave them a smile and moved on to the next row.

Katniss sat back, the hand on him quickly disappearing.

“You’re going to be more problematic than I thought,” she said, her eyes dark.

“Trust me.” Peeta let out a breath. “The feeling is mutual.”

++++++

“I never asked, but you and Rye are pretty close, right?”

Peeta nodded, pushing the cart with their luggage down the corridor as they left baggage claim.

“We’re probably just as close as you and Prim are,” he told her. “And Delly is great. Horrendous taste in friends, but she’s really a sweet person.”

“Do you suspect that Rye will see through all of this?” Katniss questioned.

Peeta shook his head. “We’ve done our research.” He stopped, reaching for her hand. “I also always thought that you and I had great chemistry…in the workplace. I think it transfers easily into whatever we’re trying to pull off.”

Katniss smiled. “I feel the exact same way.”

“Peeta!”

They turned to see a couple, running toward them excitedly.

Rye rushed over, pulling him into a tight hug and practically lifting him off the ground. His brother was a broad fellow; muscular from years of playing football throughout high school and college. However, Rye was as gentle as they came when it came to his younger brother and the lovely woman that he would soon be marrying.

“I’ve missed you, little brother!” Rye said affectionately. “Welcome home!”

They drew apart, just as Delly pulled away from hugging Katniss.

He reached over to quickly kiss Delly on the cheek. “Hello soon-to-be big sister.”

“Hello, my sweet little brother,” Delly greeted in return.

“Rye, Delly—” Katniss beamed at him and his heart leapt at the affectionate gesture. Taking her hand, he presented her proudly to the couple. “—this lovely woman is my girlfriend, Katniss Everdeen.”

Delly grinned at his expression. “I can already tell that she’s going to be a perfect addition to our family.”

Rye took Katniss’ hand, leaning and giving her a kiss on the cheek.

“I welcome anyone who makes my baby brother smile this brightly,” he told her. “Welcome to San Francisco. Have you ever been here?”

Katniss shook her head. “This is my first time. Congratulations, by the way.”

“Thanks!” Delly glowed in excitement. “I can’t wait for all the festivities—” She whipped around to her fiancé. “—and for us to be married, of course!” They all chuckled at her exuberance.

Rye led them out into where the town cars were stationed; a man in a black suit immediately took the cart and headed to the trunk of the black Sedan in front of them.

“A driver?” Peeta asked.

“Mom and Dad insisted,” Rye responded with a grimace. “You know them.”

They all slid into the wide back seats, Rye closing the door behind him.

Delly immediately pounced. “So, how did you two meet?”

“We’ve been working together for the last two years at Panem Projects,” Katniss told her easily. “I’ve always liked Peeta and we became friends right away.”

“However, a little over six months ago, I finally got the balls to ask her out on an actual date,” Peeta finished for her. His hand found hers, their fingers entwining easily, and he met Katniss’ eyes. “And, wonderful woman that she was, she accepted. We’ve been together ever since.”

“I love it,” Delly said sincerely. “And you look so beautiful together. The children are going to be gorgeous.”

Rye smiled affectionately at his fiancée. “Don’t scare Katniss off, love.”

“I don’t know,” Katniss said, eyeing Peeta playfully. Her free hand reached to push his hair away from his face. “I’ve always loved blue-eyed children.”

“And, the children would look particularly lovely if they had Katniss’ hair,” he added, his hand reaching to the tuck a tendril of her hair behind her ear.

How did he never notice what was in front of him?

“Oh man,” Rye said, looking between them. He smirked at his brother. “You are so fucked.”

++++++

“It’s so wonderful to have you here, Katniss,” his mother said. “We’ve never had Peeta bring a girl home. You know, except for Mad—" She waved her hand, rolling her eyes. “Anyway, you are most welcome.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Mellark,” Katniss replied graciously.

“Call me Janice, my dear.”

Behind her, Peeta followed along with his father carrying their bags up the stairs.

“She seems like a lovely girl,” his father told him.

“I care for her a great deal,” Peeta said as he watched his mother and Katniss chat easily. “I don’t know how I even got her.”

“Trust me, son.” He gave Peeta an affectionate smile. “I think she feels the same way. I can tell just by the way she keeps looking over for you—like she can’t believe that you’re together.”

They stopped at the door to his childhood room.

“Well, we put some extra towels in your bedroom,” his mother told them. “And, Mags—” Peeta had introduced Katniss to the head of the household when they first entered his childhood home. “—made sure that fresh sheets have been put on the bed and she’s aired out the room as well.”

“Okay, but where will Katniss be staying?” he asked.

“We’re not so old to not know that you aren’t sleeping together,” his mother said. “So, we just set up your room for the both of you.”

“That’s perfect,” Katniss told his parents. She looked to him boldly. “Show me your room. I’m dying to see those little league trophies of yours.”

“We know that you must be exhausted,” his father told them. “So, we’ll just have dinner sent up and we can rendezvous for brunch tomorrow in the main dining room.”

“Thank you, Marshall,” Katniss said as Peeta opened the door for them. “Thank you as well, Janice.”

“Of course, dear.” His mother gave them a jaunty wink. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

Entering the room, Peeta placed their bags at the end of his bed.

“What kind of life did you leave when you came to work at Panem Projects?” Katniss stared up at the high ceiling of the room, her eyes traveling to the four-post bed, and then to the floor-to-ceiling windows. She went to one immediately. “Oh my God! You can see everything from up here!”

“A house on Twin Peaks affords that kind of view. However, it’s not so great on foggy days,” he told her, watching as she examined every bit of his room from the bathroom (“A clawfoot tub!”) to the walk-in closet (This is practically the size of my studio!).

Taking off her shoes, Katniss leapt onto his bed. “Holy shit! This is heavenly!”

Peeta went to her, toeing off his own shoes before joining her.

They laid side by side, hands immediately reaching for one another.

He turned to her. “Did I ever say thank you for being here?”

“It’s all worth it to stay in this sweet room,” Katniss replied, her grey eyes dancing.

“So, you’re just here for the room?”

She smirked. “Well, I did also find out that you have a huge cock—so that’s a bonus.”

“Katniss!” Her laughter filled the room and his stomach tumbled in pleasure hearing it. He suddenly flipped, his chest over hers and the giggles fell from her lips. Peeta stared down at her, her grey eyes suddenly darkening as he examined her. “You’re something special.”

“I’m nothing.” Her chest rose and Katniss let out a shaky breath. “I just want to be here for you.”

“I want to kiss you,” he suddenly said, his hand reaching to trace her jawline. “Would you allow it?”

“Are you doing it because you want to thank me?” she asked tightly. “Or because you want to explore what is obviously between us?”

“Both, I think.” Peeta had never felt this exhilarated or this flustered by someone. Just a touch from Katniss and he was in a whirlwind, happy to be caught in it. “I just think you deserve someone less broken than I am.”

“We’re both broken.” Her hand reached for the nape of his neck, drawing him down until their lips were brushing. “I don’t know if we can fix that, but we can help each other mend.” She smiled against him. “Let’s see where this weekend takes us, and we can go from there. For now, I’m allowing you to kiss me. So, make it a good one.”

Peeta dipped his mouth into hers, sampling just a bit, and it was like he could breathe again. Immediately, his lips sought hers, his tongue sweeping into her mouth and swirling against her own. Katniss moaned and his heart rose in triumph as she pressed herself to him eagerly.

His hand reached to cradle her head, his fingers entwining in soft waves and he plunged into her mouth once more, exploring her in their kiss.

Katniss ripped her mouth off his, a string of saliva still connecting them.

“Fuck!” Her eyes were frenzied. “What the hell are you doing to me?”

He grinned. “I’m just exploring.”

Despite his attempt to remain cool, his own heart raced; the feel of her mouth…and her tongue undoing him.

This wasn’t the plan, but it felt right.

“This whole game we’re playing,” she said, her eyes full of hunger. “I’m going to crash and burn, aren’t I?”

“If you burn—” Peeta kissed her tenderly. “—then I burn with you.”

END OF PART ONE

#anon #request #fakedating!Everlark #Everlark #Everlark Fanfiction #1 of 4

[sailorsunspot]

I found this reinako drabble i wrote 5 years ago while i was looking back through my old google docs, and i liked it so i finished it up! Not too much, just about 1600 words of fluff.

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

Rei pressed the doorbell to Minako’s house before fishing her phone out of her pocket and glancing over the glowing display. 7:10. She told Minako she would arrive around 7:25, but knowing the vivacious blonde’s precarious relationship with scheduling, she had opted to show up just a little bit earlier. Her disapproving scowl was usually enough to stir up some sense of urgency into the blonde - and if the stars were aligned, they would - somehow - be ready for when Haruka swung over to pick them up.

She wasn’t holding her breath.

After a few minutes had passed, she found herself depressing the doorbell yet again. Her impatience proved fruitful as she heard the faint strains of a voice through the construct that separated them.

“Just a minute!”

Rei’s arms crossed over her chest by their own accord, a scowl settling on her features. But the rustling on the other end of the door was growing louder, and before she could grow impatient enough to test the doorbell once more, the fine white surface swung open to reveal a grinning Minako.

It only took Minako half of a second to drop the grin in favor of unenthusiastic disbelief as blue eyes raked over Rei’s form.

“Uhm, what are you wearing?”

“...What? Clothes.”

Before she could protest further, lithe fingers had wrapped around her wrist, tugging her into the home.

---

The first thing one noticed when they walked into Minako’s room was how reflective it was. There was a mirror on every wall, providing every possible angle a girl could dream of inspecting. And, more specifically, there was a single spot near the middle of the room that allowed one the privilege of looking themselves over without strain.

And it was the exact spot Rei found herself corralled into occupying.

With a scowl and a subtle flush of her cheeks, Rei turned to glower at the blonde. “This is stupid. I look fine.”

Minako was appraising her critically, her hand cupping her chin in an almost academic manner. “Yes, you look like you’re about to give a presentation to the board of directors about the state of finances last quarter. We’re going to a party, Rei - not a corporate merger.” She was so flippant and confident with her dismissal that Rei couldn’t help but peek back to the mirror, half-convinced she had missed something while dressing this afternoon. But the longer she inspected herself, the more convinced she was in her own righteousness.

She wore a rich burgundy turtleneck that clung in a shapely manner to her skin and complimented her naturally pale complexion and raven hair. Her dark skinny jeans were similarly tight, especially when paired with the high heels that did wonders to her already impressively long legs. The silver belt that dangled loosely around her waist offered her an understated flair. She didn’t look prudish or professional - she looked refined. Mature. Elegant. Words that - of course - would mean absolutely nothing to Mina.

“You’re crazy. I look good.”

“Sure Jan.” Minako drawled out, already digging through her rather expansive walk-in closet. Articles of brightly colored clothing flew around as she inspected and vetted each individual item, without a care for the mess that was progressively growing in the previously semi-clean room. “No but really; I get that you’re not into men, but does that mean we all must suffer?”

“Does it look like I care about you suffer- wait, what?” There was abject shock written on Rei’s features as her brain caught up with what Minako had just said, the makings of a blush crowning on the Senshi of Flame’s cheeks.

This was not something Rei was used to - or even comfortable with - thinking about, nevermind discussing. When they were younger, she had been among the leaders of the pack when it came to chasing boys. Her beauty and type-A personality had worked as a shining beacon for the opposite sex, but she found the thrill not in their attention, but in the reflection of her friends who marveled at her master with men. She did not date often - once in a while, and only with those individuals deemed truly impressive and desirable. But every time, the experience was regretfully lacking, until she came to terms with the fact that she simply had no interest in men.

They were an entirely non-sexual, non-appealing entity to her. When they weren’t actively offending her sensibilities, she felt entirely apathetic to their existence, the same way she might feel towards a floor lamp in the corner of the room.

But whereas she had acknowledged and accepted this fact privately, she certainly didn’t make it known to her friends. For this exact reason.

Minako stopped emptying out her closet in favor of poking her head out to look and laugh at Rei. “Hello! Goddess of Love here! You haven’t gone out with anyone in like, three years Reiko-”

“Don’t call me that.”

“- and you don’t even bat an eye when we did that university tour with all those hunky college dudes. That track and field team, with their short short short short-”

“Minako.”

“- short shorts. Hey, it’s okay Rei! Different strokes for different folks, you know? Besides, more for me!” The blonde ducked back into the closet and Rei was left with nothing but the shuffling in the background to occupy her mind. She considered denying what Minako had professed - for she didn’t have to be a psychic to know that no good would come out of Minako knowing this - but what good would that do her in the long run? The blonde dolt rarely let something as trivial as reality get in the way of her fun, so why should she even bother?

The answer came to her as she strode out of the closet, carrying what looked to be a flimsy shirt of a shimmering violet, which she threw triumphantly in Rei’s direction. “Okay, lesbo, try this on!”

Rei didn’t even bother to try and catch it. She had vague suspicions that she had turned as red as her shirt, but she couldn’t tell if it was due to mortification or indignation “WHAT?”

“My sweet summer child, it’s okay! This is a safe place!” She slide up beside Rei, clasping her hands on Rei’s shoulders, an earnest expression on her face that was undercut by shining eyes. “If you’re worried about the coming out process, don’t be - trust me, we all know. I can have Haruka whip you up a handy pamphlet or something, she loves that kind of stuff.”

Rei scowled, wrenching herself from Minako’s grasp and turning so she could focus the full extent of her most formidable glare on her. “What makes you think I’m like her?”

Minako wasn’t at all phased, the smile etched on her features wide and mischievous. She was the very definition of smug, a fact which grated at Rei’s already frayed patience. “I’ve seen the way you look at me, Reiko.”

“Shut up.”

“I mean, who could really blame you. I’m like a ten. I know. Now, c’mon! We don’t have much time!” There was a distinctive whine in Minako’s voice as she ignored the tensed, irritated body language Rei was presenting in favor of moving to tug Rei’s sweater off of her. She had always been an unreasonably brave girl.

Rei reacted the only way she could; with ferocious resistance. “Oh my God, get off of me!” She twisted away, stepping back, only to realize that Mina was particularly determined. As the two struggled over the cotton pull-over the strains of the battle could be heard in the form of growling profanities and high-pitched giggling. They were caught up in their own dance, wildly flailing limbs somehow managing to arc in near-perfect synchronicity.

Until they didn’t.

---

The rich leather upholstery of Haruka’s latest sports car was cold against her skin. The top Minako had picked out for her barely covered her stomach, and left little to the imagination otherwise. Self-consciously, she tugged at the front of it, before deciding on crossing her arms over her chest and scowling out of the window.

“Oh, man. I can’t believe you wore that.”

As the red violently erupted on her cheeks, Rei turned her sharp gaze to Minako, fueled by the righteousness of her fury. Minako grinned back, somehow managing to look cheeky and insufferable even with the wicked black eye she was now sporting. As Rei looked over the swollen purpling that surrounded her left eye, she felt her anger drain from her body in favor of something slightly more amenable.

She let out a half-hearted harrumph, turning her eyes to the front of the vehicle. She did not move when she felt the soft, gentle touch to her thigh.

“You look really nice.”

Rei blushed right to her toes. And this time, even Rei couldn’t keep the smile from creeping onto her face. After a moment, Rei allowed her arms to unravel, doing her best to ignore the steady beating of her heart as she rested her hand atop of the troublesome girl’s tentatively. Minako laced her fingers between Rei’s.

“But I bet you’d look even nicer with all those clothes taken off.”

“Don’t push it.”

#reinako #minako aino #rei hino #sailor mars #sailor venus #sailor moon #fanfiction #ren writes #im trying to get back into the habit of writing and maybe even posting what i write publically #so hopefull this'll encourage me to keep at it! #otp tho

[thejudgingtrash]

hello mel i Love You

HELLO DIL I LOVE YOU EVEN MORE!!!

You had me SCREAMING! Criminal genius/Detective Annabeth is my new hyper fixation, I fucking swear T_T

My brain went OVERBOARD with this! It’s super long! Please enjoy!!

(I’ve withheld this story due to the current political climate and I still feel sorta a way. But if reading about the p*lice triggers you or makes you feel uncomfortable, I wholeheartedly understand if you want to skip this one. Also... the story has some... a little bit of heat in it. Not much, it’s SFW. But it’s there <.<)

And: law enforcement, medical and science side of the pjo fandom, I doubt that this will make any sense :D

Also thanks again Torie @percyheartsannabeth for being an amazing beta!!

The Golden Age (WC: 9,5k)

i.

“Absolutely not,” Detective Annabeth Chase crossed her arms and shook violently her head. The blonde curls nearly escaped her bun. Her partner Detective Luke Castellan was surprised. He had never seen Annabeth reject a direct command.

“We need his statement, Chase,” said Sergeant Charles Beckendorf. “It’s his M.O. The drugs, the paintings. Either he’s operating from prison again or someone’s copying him. We need to put a stop to this nonsense once and for all!”

“Even so, we’re busy with the robberies in Chelsea.” Annabeth didn’t want to pick this case up again. The case that made her famous, the case that changed her life forever. For the worse.

“Stoll will take over that with his younger brother. Chase, you don’t have a choice. You will talk to Perseus Jackson. That’s an order,” Captain Dougenis commanded. He had the final say. Luke nodded, Annabeth did nothing.

“Don’t you think we haven’t tried to get him to cooperate earlier? He said he only wants to talk to you. The person that put him behind bars,” Beckendorf explained.

Fuck Annabeth thought. She did not want to face Perseus Jackson again. She wanted to forget him and move on. The looks from her two superiors said that they would deny her wish. Jackson was a cunning manipulator. She knew how he worked and what he was. A criminal. A thief. A criminal.

“When will I speak with him?” she sighed. A battle that was lost quickly.

“In two days. Should give you enough time to study the case files,” Dougenis said.

Off to a great start. The sound of footsteps echoing in the hallway muffled as the prisoner was placed into the interview room two days later. He sat down and the cuffs fell from his hands. He rubbed his wrists. A little bit of freedom regained. Orange was a hideous color, but he actually managed to make it look good on him.

He and Annabeth were separated by the thin layer of the one-way-mirror. His sea green eyes scanned the plain fake wall in front of him. They tried to find her as he knew he was being watched. The piercing stare actually caught her eye directly. Annabeth sighed. He couldn’t hear her, but a smirk found its way onto his lips regardless. He knew her.

“You’ll be fine in there?” asked Luke who would stay outside of the interview room. He had been a part in arresting that monster. The condition that Jackson gave them was that he wanted to speak with Annabeth – alone. Annabeth nodded. Then she stepped into the small room. Tension laid in the air.

Four years had passed since he had been locked up. Perseus looked good. His hair was grayer, the beard had been trimmed recently. He looked like he exercised on a regular basis. Annabeth’s eyes spent two seconds engraving the picture of his brown biceps into her memory.

“Perseus Jackson, 38, born in New York City, arrested due to art theft and extortion. Twelve years. You’ve managed roughly a third so far.” Despite her marvelous work, they never were able to charge him for drug trafficking directly. The witnesses had remained silent. Annabeth took a seat in front of him.

“Annabeth, you know me,” Perseus pouted. A contrast to his deep voice. “Call me Percy,” he winked.

Her neck felt hot. “It’s Detective Chase for you!” she hissed. Amusement sparked through his eyes.

“Okay, Detective Chase.” How was he able to make her name sound so… dirty? So profligate?

“The woman that I have to thank for my new cozy home needs my help now all of a sudden. The tables have turned. I like that.” And Annabeth did not like one bit how his mocking tone sent shivers down her spine. The way his tongue flicked. The urge of standing up and fleeing the room was prominent, but she was a professional and had a job to do:

Make Perseus Jackson sing.

“I need information.” Annabeth’s mouth was pressed to a thin line.

“Straight to the point, Detective, huh?” The attractive man leaned forward. “And what information do I supposedly have?”

“Your family never stopped your business,” Annabeth spat. Perseus shrugged and his fingers tapped on the desk. An annoying habit.

“Someone is operating with the same methods as you. Art gets stolen and drugs follow the leads. Either you’re behind it or someone else has been recruited to fill your place. We need to find that someone.” She opened the case files and showed him pictures of missing paintings and locations as well as new collecting points for drugs on a map.

“Oh?” Jackson made and tilted his head. He faked interest and glanced lazily over the pictures.

“I’m pretty sure that I don’t have the time in my precious little cell to run all of the things that you’ve been accusing me of. Everything comes at a price, Detective,” he then smiled.

Sea green met light gray. Annabeth swallowed. Memories came back.

ii.

Two years. Annabeth had spent two years on that fucking case and barely made any progress. The smuggling of paintings to cover up or be used as payment for drug operations just didn’t make any sense. Her partner Luke got undercover into the business as a small middle man, but the rules were different for women. Sexism ruled yet once again. Detective work had narrowed the window down and came to one person: Perseus Jackson. He was invisible. He was a phantom. He had been swallowed by mother earth, never to be seen again.

He was part of the Greek syndicate that ruled with an iron fist over the East Coast. Not even the Italians, Chinese, Egyptians or Russians had that much power. Chrýseon Genos. The Golden Age. A fitting name for a bunch of pieces of shit that found joy in ruining people’s lives and making New York unsafe each and every single day. Everything was coded and followed the basic principles of Greek mythology. After Konstantinos Olympianidikis, otherwise known as Kronos, died in the 1970s due to a raging war with his own brothers, his three sons split the legacy and entire empire into three sections:

Adrian Olympianidikis. Hades. Racketeering and money laundering.

Petros Olympianidikis. Poseidon. Theft and drug trafficking.

Zacharias Olympianidikis. Zeus. Prostitution and human trafficking.

All these crimes were tied to the Golden Age and the police forces couldn’t do anything. Witnesses vanished or remained silent. The little evidence they had left was either compromised or disappeared. Everyone in the Golden Age had their little specialty. Everyone passed missions and power onto the next family member in the hierarchy. So did Petros aka Poseidon do the same thing with his sons. One of those sons was Paris. His youngest. The only pieces of information that Annabeth had of him were a 17-year-old picture that showed Paris shoplifting with some of his cousins and a diploma that showed that he had studied art history. A picture of him as a boy and proof that he had a college degree. Wow. Compelling evidence.

Annabeth took one final look of the teenage boy. The picture had been taken in the year 2000 hence the quality of the security camera of Macy’s being complete shit. Despite seeing a long mop on his head and awfully baggy clothes there was next to nothing that was useful for Annabeth in the year 2017. Hell. Who knew what Jackson looked like now as a grown man? The probability of him running around like in the early 2000s was next to none.

“And?” Annabeth asked Luke as he returned from a meeting in the syndicate.

“Poseidon is willing to speak to you,” her blond colleague nodded. The scar under his eye had proved his loyalty. A near fight for life and death. The other person had remained in the hospital for a while but was fine and dandy by now according to Luke.

“Okay.”

“Only you. Not anyone else. I’ll drive you.” Annabeth nodded.

The townhouse in the Meatpacking District did not look much like most of the houses in the area. The real luxury laid within. The house was filled with two kinds of people: security guards and young models. Annabeth felt uncomfortable and underdressed as she was following a young girl’s lead. Barely a woman. Not only did Poseidon enjoy his life at the fullest, no, he was also rich as fuck. Young women served drinks and cooked in the kitchen. Bikinis, shorts and cocktail dresses so short that they nearly gave Annabeth whiplash. A young thing named Lacy brought Annabeth to the garden where a mini pool party was going on at its fullest.

Despite being in his 80s, Poseidon looked good. He looked young and was full of life. He looked like he was in his solid early 50s. The hair and the bushy beard were so white that it seemed to have been dyed. The tanned skin was healthy. A friendly face. The only indication of his age were the neck and his hands. Had Annabeth been into older men, she had to admit that she wouldn’t have said no to Poseidon from the visuals alone.

Poseidon enjoyed his book and the giggling girls in the background as Lacy caught his attention with the new arrival. “Ah!” he said, and his eyes twinkled as he put the sunglasses away. Girls were swimming in the pool or playing volleyball, music was blasting, and food was served.

“Detective Chase!” Poseidon stood up and shook her hand. A firm grip. He spoke with a soft Greek accent.

“What can I do for you?” he asked friendly.

“More like how can you help me speak to one of your sons?” Annabeth smiled.

Poseidon laughed. “Which one? I have many.”

Yes, you do you horny bastard the blonde thought. Poseidon had twelve sons in total. Or twelve sons that he publicly claimed. All by different mothers of course. All of them had joined the family business and most have paid the price with their lives.

Proteus. Triton. Khrysomallos. Pegasus. Arion. Polyphemus. Bellerophon. Theseus. Orion. Sciron. Chrysaor. Paris. More than half of them were dead, less than half of them were alive. Tryfon aka Triton, the son Poseidon had when he was 19, had been killed by his cousin Iraklis also known as Hercules in 1974. Orion had been twelve when he had been shot in the street by Antonios and Phoebe aka the twins Apollon and Artemis in 1986. Assassinated by his own cousins. The trend of getting killed by your own family members was fairly present in the Golden Age.

“The youngest,” Annabeth answered which made Poseidon laugh.

“Ah, my boy Paris. What did he do?” Curiosity swung in the words of the old man that referred to his son in his codename.

“Sorry, confidential,” Annabeth deflected and pouted.

“Of course, of course. Ah the police. Friend and helper. As you can see-” Poseidon pointed to the precious gardens. “My son isn’t here.”

Annabeth nodded. “Well, if you happen to see him, tell him to give me a call.”

She gave him her card. Poseidon studied it. “Of course, I will Miss Chase.” Another friendly smile.

The blonde nodded and then left. The smile of the old man vanished for a split second only to appear as one of his young helpers gave him one of the many burner phones of the house.

“Thank you, Drew!” he said before pressing a number into the small device.

“Yes?” asked the tired voice of a man on the other side.

“Can you explain to me why a certain Detective Chase from the NYPD came to my home to talk about you?” The old man sounded cold and amused at the same time.

“What?” Now he was wide awake.

“I thought the woman would introduce herself as your fiancé! Something that would actually make me proud,” complained the old man and nodded to another young thing that handed him a drink.

“I will take care of it.”

“Yes, you will.”

The line was dead.

And Annabeth continued to work for another two weeks without any other results. Her shift came to an end but at least the desk was clean. She didn’t drown in mountains of paperwork like Castellan did.

“See you tomorrow!” said Connor Stoll as she crossed ways with him in the hallway.

“See you!” Her mood had reached its lowest so far. It was time to visit her best friend since childhood and his bar The Grove. As soon as Annabeth stepped out of the police department, it started to rain.

“Great.” Her steps got faster.

Fortunately for her, The Grove was within walking distance. The pouring sky distracted Annabeth so much that she didn’t realize neither a black Lexus parking around the corner nor the footsteps that had been following her. The leather jacket and the blonde curls were wet but nothing that would worry bartender and owner Grover Underwood all too much. He had seen her in fairly worse states.

“What can I do for you, Annabeth? An Old Fashioned like usual?” His friend nodded.

“Have you eaten something?” The dark-skinned man knew Annabeth and her habits. Overworking herself and forgetting to eat lunch were her favorite deadly combinations.

“Well, I wouldn’t mind something to snack on,” she confessed.

Grover only shook his head but gave her a glass full of pretzel sticks. A delicious Old Fashioned stood on the counter a few moments later. The door behind her opened and closed.

“What can I do for you, sir?” asked Grover and looked to the door.

“Whiskey. Double.” A rich baritone. Pleasant to the ears.

Annabeth heard the squeaking of the barstool next to her. She turned her head to the right and nearly fell to the ground. A man sat next to her that was a younger copy of Poseidon. Paris Olympianikidis also known as Perseus Jackson, son of Poseidon. The man she had been searching for since forever randomly decided to appear. Her talk with Poseidon must have sparked something and Annabeth hated the stupid rule about women not being in the family business unless they had been born into it even more. Precious time that could have been used for undercover operations had been wasted.

Perseus looked… good. Good didn’t even describe it. His salt and pepper hair had the same streaks in the beard. He had a chiseled face with a straight nose. Wrinkles around the eyes showed that he loved to laugh and smile. He seemed to enjoy his regular exercise; the way his shirt shifted whenever he moved a muscle made it seem like it was about to tear apart. His skin was of a rich brown, and his lips were curled into a devilish smirk. The sea green eyes were a direct copy of his father’s. He had won the genetic lottery. He had nothing in common with the shoplifting boy from the year 2000.

“A little bird told me you were looking for me,” he winked.

Why did her chest feel so heavy? Why weren’t her lungs functioning normally?

Percy had to admit. His father had been right. Annabeth Chase was his type. Her body had a beautiful shape from what he had observed in the past few days. A firm ass that did Pilates on a regular basis in a class not far from her shithole of an apartment. A heart shaped face and a slight tooth gap that made her look only more adorable. Blonde princess curls that seemed to be fairly taken care of with expensive products. But her eyes… an interesting gray that told him one thing: she had a flaming spirit that was blessed with intelligence. Or was it cursed by its burden?

“Your father,” she commented.

The whiskey was served, and Percy took a swig. He was pleased.

“Do you mind?” the handsome man asked as he grabbed a smoke. Annabeth turned to Grover who ignored the antics of the new customer. The bartender placed an ashtray in front of him instead. What in the fuck is going on?

“I usually don’t smoke,” he confessed and lit the cigarette regardless. Annabeth pulled a face. Where was the logic in that?

“And you do now because…?” The interest was honest.

“I only smoke when I’m having a good drink-” He raised the glass to Grover who nodded and appreciated the compliment. “And am sitting next to a beautiful woman,” Perseus winked.

Annabeth didn’t know whether she wanted to blush or strangle him. She was 29 and acted like an insecure school girl for fucks sake! She nearly laughed.

“So, I have the honor of finally meeting you, Annabeth.” The way he said her name. So smoky and dark. He belonged in prison for that.

“It’s Detective Chase for you!” she hissed. The criminal next to her only raised an eyebrow.

“Bossy. Kinky. I like it,” he smirked and enjoyed the redness of her face as he pulled from the cigarette and blew the smoke.

Grover in the corner tried to hide his laughter with a cough. Annabeth turned to her best friend with a murderous rage. “Annabeth and kinky. Yeah right.”

“Grover, shut up!” she commanded. Jackson next to her was more than just amused.

“Now I’m interested.” He tapped some of the ashes off.

“You really want to know the details of her love life?” Grover asked.

“Oh, I definitely bite,” Percy smiled. Yes please. Annabeth wanted to smack herself.

“Could we come to the more pressing matters?” the woman groaned.

“Sure,” Jackson shrugged.

He lifted his drink, she lifted hers. They met in the middle and both felt a spark immediately.

“I need information.” Chase cutting the chase.

Percy smiled. “Everything comes at a price.”

The fact that Annabeth had spent another hour next to him and had let him pay for all of her drinks made her stomach churn in hindsight. He even insisted on paying for the Uber that picked her up.

As Annabeth returned to her apartment, she started searching through it high and low in her semi drunken state. The stupid Greek syndicate had to have bugged her. Her already chaotic apartment was even more disheveled. At least she would be forced to properly clean up once the weekend hit. The worst part was that she found absolutely nothing.

What’s worse? Being wrong or being crazy?

iii.

“I’m pretty sure you got the wrong person,” Percy said and grabbed the glass of water in front of him. The interview room looked sad. “I know nothing.”

“I’m pretty sure we’ve got the right person,” Annabeth retorted and leaned forward. Her hand grabbed the edge table so tightly that the vessels nearly popped. He had to give her something.

“You’re the key. You were the blueprint and now someone’s running off with your legacy. And you’re more than okay with that?!”

“Mmhh,” Percy made. As if he had seen the most delicious thing in his life. The fact that he didn’t lick his lips was a wonder. Annabeth’s eyes followed his gaze right into her cleavage. Two buttons of her blouse that had been left open. Boys will be boys.

“Are you fucking serious, Jackson?” she spat.

The prisoner leaned backwards into his chair with a grin that quickly vanished. “It stinks in here,” he sighed.

Annabeth halted her movement. Her eyes widened in shock.

“No,” she whispered.

His beautiful sea green eyes told her one thing. Yes.

iv.

“Is this really necessary?” Annabeth questioned Beckendorf’s decision behind his back.

A visit to an art gallery. Perseus Jackson decided to become visible to the public eye all of a sudden and started to work as an art collector and conservator. He had meetings with clients, he had visitors in his studio and seemed to actually use his degree for something. Whether it was for the good or not was a matter of perspective. The criminal went to the gym daily; he even bought his own fucking groceries. Observing him had been nerve wrecking. Especially since probably he knew that he was being watched and therefore enjoyed every second of Annabeth’s annoyance. The detective felt like a true voyeur. He hadn’t done anything suspicious unless being a little piece of shit counted. Jackson didn’t separate his waste for an instance. Prick.

When Luke told her that Jackson had planned the opening of a gallery and proposed that they should go, the blonde almost laughed. A public event where no invitation was needed. A ballsy move. It seemed like Jackson really gave no fucks. Unfortunately, Beckendorf caught wind of it and now she was forced to go.

“I’m afraid so,” Luke said as he rubbed his temples. He really wasn’t in the mood for a fight with Annabeth. She was an opponent that just maimed you with arguments.

“What’s going on, Annabeth?” her colleague asked. “You wanted to find Jackson the entire time. You’ve worked for years on this and now you’re basically backpedaling. This is so not you.”

For better or for worse, Annabeth didn’t talk about Luke with her meeting with Jackson at The Grove. Something told her that she should hold onto the information.

“I don’t know. Just a bad feeling I guess,” she confessed. Annabeth didn’t know what would happen once Jackson was aware of her presence. And he would definitely see her.

“You’re not alone.” Luke patted her shoulder. “Grace, Beauregard and hell even that di Angelo informant guy said they would be present. Jackson must have pulled a big gig if even the Italians are interested in his shitty joint. Nothing will happen to you.”

I’m not so sure about that, Annabeth thought, but the only thing she did was nod.

A month had passed, and the day of the gallery opening was finally there. Annabeth stood in front of the building where soft string music could be heard from the outside and guests flooded in. Annabeth saw how undercover cop Jason Grace entered. He quickly glanced in her direction but turned around. Annabeth understood; he was a valuable asset who could not let his cover get blown over.

The blue dress that she wore hugged her curves tightly and the high heels that she chose made the detective regret every life decision that led up to that exact moment. Her soles would be burning the next day and it wasn’t like in the movies. An attempt to run in those things would be a one-way ticket to the ER. The wire in the dress didn’t make the discomfort any better.

“Chase, everything's fine?” asked Beckendorf in her ear. Of course, she had been bugged.

“Yes, everything is good. I’m moving,” she said.

Annabeth mingled with the crowd and entered. The blonde actually stood in awe and registered all the modern pieces. Pop art, minimal art, abstract expressionism, all sorts of different post-modern works that fought for space but harmonized wonderfully together in the rooms. How the fuck was that criminal scum be able to display works from Andy Warhol, Helen Frankenthaler or Jackson Pollock?

They had to be either stolen, bought for a large sum, rented, which was not the style of the Greek syndicate or, something that was Jackson’s supposed specialty, be forged. A waiter offered her champagne which she politely declined. As much as Annabeth would love to cloud her mind, she could not afford it on that evening. She had to look out for Jackson. The blonde made her first round at a slow speed.

“Can you see him yet?”

“No, not yet. Oh, there he is! With Chiara Benvenuti!” A known mafia bride. Chiara was surrounded by her bodyguards like always as she pointed towards a picture.

“Good,” Beckendorf breathed into her ear. “Perhaps we can finally raid this place.”

The painting was an abstract piece with lots of red elements. Blood that was spilled on the dance floor. Something fitting for a coldhearted villain.

“Of course, painting it was a task, but I thoroughly enjoyed it,” Annabeth heard Jackson say. The way Benvenuti laughed made her rage. Jackson joining her, didn’t make it any better. The fact that Benvenuti stared at his tanned chest as he had left some of the buttons of his shirt open, pissed the detective even more off.

Jackson’s sea green eyes shifted to the right and caught her staring at him. A pleased expression rested on his face and the smile could almost be considered to be honest. Embarrassed, Annabeth turned around and immediately left the corner. Fuck that mission. Fuck everything. Fuck that man in particular and the uneasy feeling that rested inside her heart. She saw Luke mingling with two people in black suits, they looked like they would fit the description of some of the Golden Age’s lackeys. Luke was irritated but there was no time for explanation. Annabeth needed alcohol, she needed it badly.

“Chase, what’s going on dammit?” hissed Beckendorf as he heard her frantic steps. She was glad he was unable to see her in that pathetic state.

“Nothing,” Annabeth lied. “Don’t want to blow cover.”

Fortunately, another waitress was making her rounds and Annabeth grabbed a glass which she nearly inhaled. She was wandering through the gallery and tried to figure out her next steps. Too little, too late.

“You left me waiting. Good evening, Detective.”

Annabeth almost let the glass fall as she heard his deep voice behind her and felt his large hand around her waist. A scent of musk and fresh sea breeze crawled into her nose. The grip wasn’t extremely tight, but it was clear that Perseus Jackson had no intention of letting her go.

“Fuck!” hissed Beckendorf into her ear. It was too early to storm the place. They had nothing in their hands against Jackson.

“You have quite the collection,” Annabeth complimented him.

“Thank you, love.” She punished him with a sour look that made his grin only widen.

“Interested in buying?”

“If it’s real perhaps.”

“Oh, my dear Annabeth, everything is real.” The warmth of his hand spread throughout her entire body. Her glass was empty, and he gave it to one of the lackeys.

“Mister Olympianidikis,” the boy nodded and ran off with it immediately. Oh, the power of someone in the higher hierarchical position of a crime syndicate.

Jackson accompanied her through the gallery and showed her his favorite pieces.

Annabeth could picture Beckendorf walking up and down in the small van, nearly losing his shit at the man babbling about oil colors or frameworks that he or other painters used. Jackson was hindering them on purpose. Something was going on.

“There’s something I want to show you. Follow me.” He took her hand and walked to a hidden niche. Jason Grace who stood in the corner and spoke to a woman eyed them with suspicion.

A white door was there with the words Emergency Exit engraved on it. A cold and naked hallway was in front of them. Lights were off and the moon was the only orb that illuminated the place. They were alone.

“And what are you supposed to show-” Jackson cut her off. With a brutal kiss.

A spark that set the entire place in flames. Annabeth did the one thing she was not supposed to: not use her intelligence. Her arms automatically wrapped themselves around his neck as she fiercely kissed him back. Their lips fought a battle against their lungs, and they dived into each other again and again. Taste. That was all they thought.

Percy pulled away from Annabeth. She was beautiful. Her citric smell was divine. The delicate updo was no more. The lipstick was smeared. Her lips trembled and there was something else written in her eyes. Lust. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. A wild look was on his face. He kissed her again. He held her close to his body and pressed her against the wall.

Annabeth felt how one of his hands slid underneath the dress. Did Annabeth exchange the boy shorts for a thong in the last minute? Yes, she did. Did she regret that decision? No, she did not. But his hands had a different goal in mind. The yanking made her shriek into his mouth. A solid welcome for his tongue. The wire underneath her dress was no more. Only then did he place his tight grip on her ass.

Oh, two can play this game Annabeth thought and grabbed the wire that stuck out of his collar.

“Guess that no one’s listening in on us anymore,” Percy commentated.

“It seems like it,” Annabeth agreed. A calm before the storm. A storm that broke loose as they kissed each other again. Percy’s lips wandered.

“Who told you to waltz in this place with this fucking dress?” He claimed her neck with kisses. His beard tickled her. “You look perfect!”

Annabeth wished she could retaliate the compliment. Percy looked fairly handsome in the beige suit, but her brain was short circuiting and only focused on not moaning too loudly and enjoying the feeling of being pressed against him. The probability of her colleagues rushing in that compromising situation was way too high.

Percy broke the kiss off for good. He made a move towards the staircase. A foot was set to the lower step. “Come with me!” His hands reached out for her.

Annabeth was panting. Heart or sanity who would win? Annabeth made one decision that would seal her fate forever. She took his hand and the unlikely pair fled out of the building.

As soon as they opened the backdoor, Annabeth heard a frantic scream for her name. There was no turning back now. A black car was waiting for them in the hidden alley. It looked like Castellan didn’t do his homework properly and had received the wrong plans of the building to study.

Percy held the door open for her and she slipped into the limousine. Percy followed. “Leo!” he barked. The vehicle moved with screeching tires and drove through a garage which led to a tunnel that Annabeth had never seen. She stopped paying attention to it as Percy claimed her lips yet again.

The car ride was a blurry memory. They entered another garage which was when the car stopped. “We’ve arrived,” announced the chauffeur.

Percy nodded to the front and then exited the car. He reached out for Annabeth and helped her out of the car. “Where are we?” she asked as they entered an elevator.

Percy pressed a key card against the board. “My home.”

There was no time left for sightseeing. They immediately entered the bedroom. His jacket was tossed aside, her dress slid to the floor. Both of them fell to the bed. Both of them never wanted to leave the bed.

Annabeth woke up to the wonderful smell of coffee. Her eyes fluttered and the memories hit her. The wonderful night she had shared with a wanted criminal. Her naked body was wrapped in satin sheets. The blonde sat up. Her pale body was sore and ached but in the best way. She didn’t remember the last time she had sex with anyone; work had been way too busy. She didn’t want to remember. What Perseus Jackson did to her would be fairly impossible to top.

Said Perseus Jackson entered the bedroom in nothing but sweatpants and two mugs. Oh yes, he did enjoy his daily workouts. “Morning,” he smiled.

“Morning,” she replied and thanked him for the cup. A delicious aroma took over the room. Annabeth took a sip.

“Mmhh,” she delightfully sighed. Two pumps of hazelnut and heavy cream, just the way she liked it.

“Yes, I did do my homework,” he laughed and drank his tea. “You aren’t the only people that study others. Was seeing me work out at least fun?”

“Shut up, Jackson,” Annabeth blushed. He laughed.

The cop finished her cup and Percy put it on a nightstand. “And what do you want to do now?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Something’s coming to my mind.” His light eyes darkened, and he cupped her face. Annabeth pushed the blanket aside, revealing her perfect self.

“That insatiable?” she laughed but didn’t receive an answer as she felt his lips on hers again. Her hand went on to grasp his black curls.

“Very,” he said as his hands roamed over her very naked body.

Putting the blue dress on again felt wrong. Percy wouldn’t have minded for Annabeth to stay the entire day at his apartment, but he knew she had a point when she said that her colleagues would searchthe entire city for her. Turning brick by brick if they must.

“I honestly can’t come up with a good excuse for my boss. You didn’t think this through.” Annabeth wandered through the modern apartment. It was bathed in light and had window fronts that showed her the entirety of Manhattan and the green of the Central Park. A dream apartment. The Golden Age had money, no doubt in that.

“Well… I actually have an idea,” Percy started. Annabeth turned to him with one cocked eyebrow and her hands on her hips.

“That sounds like I won’t like it,” she predicted.

He opened a cabinet and showed her the bottle.

“Are you fucking serious?!”

“Well as you’ve said. I didn’t think it through,” he shrugged with a goofy grin. It made him look adorable. Stop Annabeth. No time for that. Percy grabbed a cloth as well.

“Let’s just say that I never had the honor of being treated that way,” Annabeth muttered. But she agreed with him. It would make the lies that were about to come out of her mouth easier.

Percy kissed Annabeth one last time and brushed a lock out of her beautiful face. “Sweet dreams, Annabeth,” he wished her.

Then he pressed the drenched cloth over her nose and mouth. Her eyes rolled back, and she was embraced by darkness. Annabeth slumped down but Percy caught her.

Four hours later, Luke Castellan and Jason Grace made their way to Annabeth’s apartment, looking for possible clues. Both of them were fucking pissed. At Jackson, at Annabeth, at the entire fucking operation. The police force was frantically looking  for her. They got Paris Olympianidikis for kidnapping at least. If they would catch him.

Luke had a key to Annabeth’s apartment because they were  close friends. Annabeth had actually defied orders, nearly ruined a mission and drove him to the hospital as his wife gave birth three years ago. He had to find her. Not to make it even, but to know that his friend was safe.

“Look for anything useful,” Luke commanded. Jason nodded.

Luke entered the living room and Jason worked through the bathroom which was followed by the bedroom. He nearly slipped to the floor.

And there she was, sleeping like a princess.

“Annabeth?! Annabeth! Luke, she’s here!”

The next thing Annabeth remembered was waking up in the hospital. She knew that everyone was pissed at her. But Castellan had defended her for the stupid act of following a criminal to nowhere. Jason had seen where they left, and Annabeth thought the Sergeant could hear important information. Who would have guessed that the wiring would be cut off?

Examinations. DNA samples were taken to get a hold of Jackson. Questions. So many questions. A knock. Yet another person that wanted to annoy her. “Yes?” Annabeth sighed.

“Annabeth,” Beckendorf entered the hospital room. Annabeth felt patronized but of course her hands were tied. She refused to speak with her boss about a certain criminal. She covered up the truth and enjoyed living her life in lies. The young detective had no family who anyone could call. That made Beckendorf extremely worried about her.

The tall man took a seat next to her bed. “I’m not here to tear you apart, pretty sure Captain Dougenis had the pleasure.” Yes, he had. “I want to hear from you what happened.”

The blonde retold her vision of events. “I don’t know,” she sighed. “It was a trap. I can’t remember how I ended up in my apartment.” Annabeth spoke a little truth in her web of lies.

“The way our connection cut off as soon as you left the exhibition… I thought it was static. Then you were gone.” Oh no, he heard us making out Annabeth thought. She tried to suppress the panic that was bubbling up in her and was glad that Percy had discarded the wires. The technicians at the police department would have immediately figured out that there had been no static. She remembered almost everything. The staircases. The car. The apartment. The way he felt between her legs. The way she straddled him. The way he grabbed her throat. The pleasures and the cries.

Beckendorf looked deeply into her eyes. He knew that she had something to hide but was wise enough not to ask. The old man was one of the few people that blindly trusted her instincts in the department.

“Okay,” was all that he said. “I’m trusting your judgement.” She nodded. He was a kind soul.

“Take the next week off. You need the rest.” Beckendorf stood up.

v.

Percy saw how her delicate fingers grabbed the folder and closed it. The shiny object fell into his vision.

“I like your ring.” His sea green eyes shot up to her face. He saw a slight blush on her cheeks.

“Thank you,” she nearly whispered and played with the small white band.

“Someone very important gave it to me a long time ago. Someone dear to my heart.”

He blinked twice. She blinked twice.

A devilish smirk rested on his face.

vi.

Their affair lasted an entire year. The fact that it came to an end was saddening. But it was predictable. Star-crossed lovers from two entirely different universes that weren’t meant to be. Otherwise the balance of both of their worlds would crash, burn, and fall.

Annabeth had insight into the police work and Percy had insight into the Golden Age. That was the sole reason they barely saw each other in a work related context. They actually managed to live a fairly happy life outside of the working hours. They went on secret dates, they visited museums after they had been closed and reopened only for the powerful son of Poseidon, they watched movies together, they even flew out to visit his Hawaiian mother Sally who adored Annabeth. And the sex was amazing. A welcoming bonus. Both felt happiness for the very first time. Both felt love for the very first time.

The secret studio in his art gallery was one of the few places where they could be free.

“And here’s the Mona Lisa,” Percy grabbed the painting out of the box. He showed Annabeth some of his latest pieces that were part of his collection or creations. Real paintings and forged ones.

“Wow, that looks so real. An incredible copy.” Annabeth had visited France in her college days.

“The thing that’s hanging in the Louvre?” he winked.

“Tell me you’re joking.” The corners of his lips pointing up was all she got.

Annabeth laid next to him a week later. They were inside of her shitty apartment. Percy had surprised her because of course he could cook as well. To the question “Is there something you can’t do?” Percy only answered, “Change a tire and board planes because I hate heights.”

He might have been joking, he might have been serious. Annabeth did not care. She had returned from yet another demanding shift. This time her task force had hunted down one of Zeus’ kids. Aristidis also known as Ares. Despite being in his late 40s he was an annoying little piece of shit. The fat fuck tried to sell child slaves on the dark web and barely managed to escape them.

As Annabeth had entered her apartment, she was greeted by the delicious smell of parmesan that melted over fresh pasta. Seeing houseman Percy cook was not only a picture for the gods but something she could get used to. Annabeth placed her bag on the sofa and ran to the kitchen to greet Percy with a kiss. A passionate kiss.

“Aren’t-” kiss. “You-” kiss. “Hungry?” he asked between their kisses.

“Well, I think we can eat later.”

“Grover is right, you’re a terrible liar when it comes to food,” he joked. The Grove was another spot for them together. Once the customers left, the three would sit together and joke. Mostly at Annabeth’s expense.

Annabeth pouted and then kissed him again. The only thing that broke her silence was her stomach grumbling.

Percy broke off from her with a roaring laughter. “Eat first. Then we can come to the more fun activities.”

Annabeth pouted but Percy unfortunately had a point.

Now she was fighting against falling asleep as she laid on his chest and he played with her hair. He inhaled her smell. Raindrops were racing on the window as gravity pulled them down. The shower on the outside calmed them. “There’s a good reason why you never found me. Why no one found me,” Percy started.

Her tiredness was gone. Curiosity won. “The fact that my father uses me as his master forger is abundantly clear, right?”

Annabeth nodded. They didn’t talk much about his business ventures in the Golden Age, but she had pieced large chunks of the puzzle together.

“I want to leave my family,” he confessed.

“What?” That came as a surprise to Annabeth. Percy seemed fairly content with his life in the family business. He joked about it and enjoyed the high standards of life that came with the fruits. Then again, Annabeth had seen the dark shadows that followed the Golden Age everywhere they went. Blood, bodies, chaos, destruction.

“A rule that my father engraved into my brain was to be invisible. Live like there’s no tomorrow, but don’t forget to clean the remains of yesterday. The day me and my cousin Ethan were caught shoplifting seventeen years ago changed me. It changed us all. We were so naive, and felt so invincible. For normal parents that would have been a tirade and grounding. Our parents think differently. For Ethan, whose idea it was to begin with, it cost him his eye.”

Annabeth’s eyes widened. The cruelty of parents. The fact that the Golden Age had no problem with hunting their own down was still sickening to her.

“It didn’t matter. Four months in and he had been shot by the Russians, the Bratva. Nearly started an entire fucking war,” he sighed.

“Percy, that’s horrible.” Annabeth tried to see if there was any emotion left in his eyes. There was none. His eyes were dull from the wars he had seen. Percy was blind and used to the cruelty of the survival of the fittest.

“Annabeth, I’ve witnessed my first murder as a thirteen-year-old. At least I haven’t pulled the trigger myself yet. Not in a deadly way.” He stared at the white ceiling.

Her heart broke for the boy that lost his honest smile. “That doesn’t make it any better.”

“No, it doesn’t. It really doesn’t.” Percy hugged her tightly. “I want to be free. Die as a free man. Live in the sunlight and not in the shadows. Not in fear of getting gunned down by a crazy family member. My father spoke with my uncles. They gave me an impossible task. Once I solve it, I’m a free man.”

“Who are you? John Wick?” she joked. She wasn’t in the mood for cracking stupid jokes, but she had to uplift the situation or else the mental image of Percy losing his innocence as a child would forever haunt her.

“That guy is amazing; I’m not going to lie.” Percy managed to crack a crooked smile.

“And the task?”

Percy sighed. He wouldn’t have minded a smoke. “It stinks in here, the three of them had said. ”He turned to Annabeth. “There’s a rat.”

A rat? she thought. “Someone that betrays my family. They mix up our business and create chaos from within as if they want us to implode. I have to find and either obtain or eliminate them.”

Someone that betrayed the Golden Age? Whoever they were, they were crazy and suicidal.

“And what do you want to do once you’re free?”

“Move to Hawaii. Be reunited with my mother again. Find a woman,” he looked at her and grinned. “Marry her, pop out a kid or three. Be an artist.”

Silence. Annabeth was speechless. “I wouldn’t mind seeing that and being a part of that,” she whispered.

Percy only kissed her.

Another month later. The fact that Percy disappeared around her birthday upset her, but that was life. He had been in Los Angeles for a gig. Which gig exactly she did not ask. Was it a legal gig? Highly debatable. It had something to do with the rat. That was all that he told her.

A small package got sent to her and she was curious to see what it was. No sender. Carefully she opened it. A small ring box was in there. Tiffany’s & Co.

A card was attached to the box. Happy Birthday, Princess – P.

“Oh no…” Annabeth opened the little box. The ring had a small silver band that was covered in small diamonds. Her jaw dropped. The ring was beautiful. And it was meant to be for her?

Annabeth put it on. It sat perfectly on her ring finger. Annabeth looked at the box again. It had a code on it. The detective grabbed her phone and searched for the ring.

“WHAT THE-”

Perseus had spent fifteen thousand dollars for that little piece of jewelry.

“No…” she cried. How could he have spent so much money on her?

Annabeth ran into her bathroom and shoved a loose tile aside. She used that little space to hide something. That something was the burner phone that Percy had given her so that they could always stay in contact. Annabeth called him.

“And?” he asked.

“PERSEUS JACKSON!” she yelled.

“HAVE YOU LOST YOUR FUCKING MIND?!”

“Why? Don’t you like the ring?”

“That’s not what I’m saying. I love it. We have to talk about the price.” Her left hand already played with the beautiful ring.

“Why? Do you want a more expensive one? Let me know which one, I’ll buy it,” he stated.

“What?! No! You’ve spent way too much on that ring! I can’t accept this!”

Percy laughed. “You can and you will. It is my gift for you. Happy birthday, Annabeth.”

Annabeth wanted to scream. Denying his gift felt so wrong, but it was the right choice she made.

“Once you’re here we’re going to have a talk. We have to return this!”

Annabeth could practically hear how he shook his head. “You’re going to like the ring and you’re going to keep it.”

“Fine,” she huffed. Annabeth accepted her fate and waited until the days of solitude would be over. Until she was reunited with her Percy again.

The year had passed. Then it happened. The day Paris Olympianidikis would fall.

vii.

“Cooperate with me, Jackson,” Annabeth sounded soft. He merely raised an eyebrow.

“Cooperate and we can make a deal. Better conditions in prison, a reduced sentence perhaps and-”

“I want out,” he boldly stated.

Annabeth stared at him blankly. “Pardon me?”

“You said cooperate and we can make a deal. That’s my end of the line.” Jackson leaned back into his chair again.

Annabeth was speechless. He had beaten her with her own game. She closed her eyes for a second before focusing on him again. Don’t let him get the best out of you.

“I’ll see what I can do.” He smirked as he loved to hear that answer. Then she remembered what he had said.

“You said it stinks in here?” she repeated. Annabeth eyed him suspiciously.

“Yes, Detective,” he truthfully answered.

“What does it smell like?”

“Colors, Detective.”

“Why?”

“You should be able to see it for yourself.” He scratched his temples.

viii.

They got him. They didn’t get him with drugs or anything else that would give him a long sentence. But they got him with one of his forges. The good old Al Capone method. If you don’t get him with the big guns, try to stick to the petty crimes. Criminals get sloppy. Especially criminals that do way too much in too many places. The meeting was over, and everyone cheered. Everyone but Annabeth.

“Shouldn’t you be happy? Hell, Annabeth. You’ve spent more than three years on this case.” asked Travis Stoll.

“It’s just…unbelievable. The fact that everything comes to an end. Goal completed and all,” she smiled sadly.

Annabeth dreaded her seeing Percy again. He was waiting in her apartment and probably preparing food for them. The sight of her apartment complex made her heart sink. Where once was joy, ruled depression.

“Annabeth, what happened?” Percy ran to the door as he saw her in her desolate state. The door closed and she told him what would happen in the next sixteen hours.

“I’m so sorry,” she cried. Percy just held her and hugged her tightly as the tears blinded her. He fought his own tears that threatened to rise. Their future, destroyed.

“It was bound to end like this,” he said. Sadness rested in his voice. But also, tranquility.

“No.” Annabeth shook her head and buried her face into his strong chest.

“Whatever happens. I’ll be fine. Most of the prisons and the judges are smeared.” He kissed her head.

“Of course, they are,” she laughed darkly. Knowing that he wouldn’t be subjected to fights in prison didn’t do much to calm her down. She’d rather have him next to her.

“Annabeth. I want you to arrest me.”

“No. Never.” She violently shook her head again and slapped his shoulder.

“I mean I’m already used to your cuffs, now’s the chance to make it official,” he grinned.

“Percy! Now is not the time to joke about our sex life.” They shared a laugh anyway.

“I have another wish. Move on, Annabeth. Live life to the fullest,” he whispered.

“Everything but that.” She refused to move on. How could she?

“Find an idiot, marry him, have kids and live happily with him. Do that for me. Please,” he continued.

“I want you to be that idiot,” she pressed and looked deep into his eyes. “I don’t care how long it’ll take. I’ll wait for you.”

He kissed her. Don’t do this Annabeth. Don’t give me hope he thought.

The unlikely couple hugged each other tightly as they went to bed. One last time. It didn’t come to Annabeth as a surprise to find his side of the bed cold and empty. His side. His side was no more, it was only her side.

Perseus spent the night and morning hours in the art gallery. He had one final piece to finish. He drank and smoked and cursed. The bottle of cheap whiskey nearly fell to the ground, but he managed to catch it.

The oil painting was a self-portrait. An anchor to the last few moments of his life as a free man that hid in the shadows.

The task force broke into his gallery. He had a cigarette in his mouth and put the paintbrush down as his lover approached him. He had a sarcastic smile on his lips which vanished as he registered the pain in her eyes.

“Perseus Jackson, you are under arrest,” spoke Annabeth with a commanding tone.

She put him into cuffs and read him his rights. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you in court... A glance at the painting he had been working on ever since he left the apartment.

Annabeth knew immediately that it was them. Percy in the painting hugged her but their faces had been cut off. She saw the birthmarks on her back and the accuracy of how he portrayed his hands on her hip. Percy’s final act of love to her for all of them to see. Unfortunately, all of them were blind to it. All of them but Annabeth.

The moment she was at home she ran to the bathroom and emptied her stomach. Gush after gush came out of her. Her mouth felt sour and dry, the teeth hurt and had an ugly yellow color, the tears that blinded her ran towards her nose. “What have I done?” she cried and looked at her pathetic self in the bathroom mirror.

Judgement day came eight painful months later. The judge slammed the hammer and sealed his fate.

Twelve years. Twelve years was the sentence. Perseus lost his coolness for one second. Annabeth’s heart broke in two. Poseidon who sat on the other side of the room looked like he wanted to shoot the judge right then and here and Annabeth would have gladly joined him.

They were robbed of twelve years together. Percy was put into handcuffs. His sea green eyes searched through the ranks until they found her gray ones. He blinked twice. I love you. She blinked twice. I love you too. The police officers around her almost cheered.

They complimented her for the worst decision of her life. An act that had destroyed her life. Her lover was gone. And a free rat was still out there.

The trail of memories stopped. Annabeth knew that Luke was restless behind the one-way-mirror. The talk had stretched into eternity and gave little information to the hidden detective, but so much to Annabeth. Percy had been right. He was roaming freely in prison. He was able to talk with his family day in and day out. And most importantly. He knew of operations. And he knew of his own operations the best.

Finally. There was movement in the gallery. Whoever was decided to continue the work of Percy Jackson was stupid enough to revisit the place where it all began. The rat would be caught in a trap.

“NYPD PUT YOUR - no.” Annabeth had the gun pointed at him. But she couldn’t believe it. The rat. The rat that had cost her four years of their life.

“I’m sorry, Annabeth,” he sadly smiled. Then he pointed his gun at her.

A shot.

Annabeth had closed her eyes. The bullet didn’t hit her. It had hit him as Luke Castellan had fired a warning shot into the abdomen. The detectives moved to him.

“Call an ambulance!” yelled Annabeth to the cops that flooded the place. He laughed on the floor as he bled.

Jason Grace. Secret son of Zacharias Olympianidikis also known as Zeus. He not only wanted to act in revenge as Percy’s brother Sciron had killed his older sister Thalia. He wanted to spite him and take over his businesses as well. The money and the gold. The cars and fame. In his twisted mind he was able to run the syndicate and destroy it at the same time. It was over.

Annabeth saw as the ambulance drove off. Percy scratching his temples as an indication for the glasses and his talk about colors to point to the gallery would be his ticket to freedom. Hopefully.

ix.

It was the first time that Percy had seen the sun as a free man again. He left prison with the clothes he entered. The deal with the district attorney went smoothly although the old man would have rather wrung the half-Greek’s neck.

A black car drove up to the prison. Two people exited the car.

“Mom? Dad?”

Sally and Poseidon hugged their free son tightly.

“You are stupid!” cried Sally. “Both of you!”

Father and son winced. That was Sally Jackson for them.

x.

Quitting her job had been freeing. She had made the decision about half a year ago. Annabeth wanted to see something new. Experience something new. She was on the way to the small airport. The day was sunny and warm. A new day to start a new chapter in her life.

Annabeth arrived. “You can stop hiding, we aren’t being followed,” she laughed.

Percy yawned in the backseat. “I was sleeping,” he excused himself.

“Of course, you were.” She rolled her eyes and smiled into his reflection in the rearview mirror.

Her colleagues were upset, especially Luke, but it had to be. She had to quit for her own sanity. Beckendorf would check up on her and then see who she was with and connect the dots. But he would be wise enough not to contact her, not to rat her out. He would be happy about the fact that she had found love.

They would live with Sally and her little family for a while before they would buy their own house. The private jet that Zeus had given them would bring them to Hawaii undetected. A small sorry as the son of Zeus had caused a lot of trouble in the family. At least Jason was still alive.

Annabeth stopped the car and turned to Percy.

“I love you,” he said.

“I love you too,” she grinned. A delicate kiss was shared.

A golden age was truly upon them.

The End

Ummm... I... I think this might be a poppin feature fic? I have still many ideas and many things could be fleshed out...? Help?

BUT THANK YOU AGAIN FOR THE SUGGESTION DIL OMFG ILY!

All Cookout Fics

Cute/Cursed Cookout Writing Prompts

#pjo #Percy Jackson #annabeth chase #mel's little cookout #percabeth #percabeth fanfiction #pjo fanfic #percy jackson fanfiction #percy jackson and the olympians #tw: police #tw: violence #mel writes #the golden age

[brelione]

Neon (Sarah Cameron x Reader)

This Is That Good Gay Shit Right Here

It had been study period.You sat across the table from Sarah at the library in the large kook school.You werent really a kook,you just had the money of one.You acted and dressed like a pogue and your friends were pogues as well.You didnt wear your school uniform.Instead you wore JJ Maybanks shirt and a bracelet that Pope had made you.You hung out around the boys a lot,every single day.You’d go surfing with them and drink cheap beer.You wore John B’s socks and the boys would often tease you about the school you went to full of rich princesses.Sarah watched everything you did.You did the same thing every single study period.You’d take out the same notebook every time and sketch lines out with a pencil.When there was two minutes left of the period she watched as you’d grab a neon marker and swipe strokes across the paper precisely.The things she’d do to know what you spent so much time drawing.She never got any studying done during study period,she was too busy watching you.She watched as your nose would scrunch up when you messed up a line or how you would throw your hair back aggressively when it got in your way.She was just so fascinated by you.

It had been a bad morning for Sarah.She hadnt been able to get a good breakfast or do her hair properly or even have a nice cup of coffee.She was at her locker,chatting with Kiara when she saw you.You were wearing some rather short shorts and a neon blue striped shirt.She couldnt help but stare at you.You looked amazing,hair up in a messy bun,a generous amount of bracelets on your wrist that you had collected over the years and that neon shirt.You were so effortlessly gorgeous she just couldnt wrap her head around it. “What are you looking at?”Kiara asked.Sarah laughed it off,saying she zoned out but couldnt help but stare at you out of the corner of her eye.She knew you and Kiara were close friends in the eighth grade but had drifted a bit.She looked you up and down multiple times,eyes falling to a mark on your jaw.She couldnt quite tell what it was but she knew it wasnt a birth mark.She had looked over your face so many times she could probably draw it from memory.

Neon streaks covered your hair.Pink,green and blue.The morning had been a rather chilly one.You wore a thin brown leather jacket over a white crop top,not that the crop top could be seen due to your arms and jacket covering your torso.Sarah knew it was fake leather.She had heard you talking about your love and appreciation for cows so she knew that you’d never wear something made out of their skin.She stared at the neon streaks in your hair,the way the light reflected off of the colorful streaks and how two neon yellow pieces of hair framed your face.Only you could pull off that look,she thought.She had never actually spoken to you but she felt that she knew you so well.Noone hated you,no one even disliked you.You didnt fit in in any way shape or form but there was something about you that just dragged everyone in.Every night before she went to bed Sarah would scroll through your instragram.It was a public account because clearly you didnt really care about who followed you and who saw you.Her thumb would hover over the follow button but she never pressed it.

Neon pink was the color of the bikini you were wearing when she saw you on the beach.The bottoms were high waisted,your hair up in a bun and she couldnt help but think about how brilliant your boobs looked in that top.You were sitting next to JJ Maybank,giggling about something as you talked to him.She wanted to be the one to make you giggle like that.JJ said something to you and you nodded before he ran off.You rolled your eyes,continuing to walk by the water.Sarah watched as you bent over to pick something up.She watched as your face of happiness became one of worry.She watched as you ran to find a stick and a leaf.She watched as you got a small creature onto the leaf and ran down to the water,placing the leaf down.She grinned as you were smiling again,scooting the creature along.She took a deep breath,walking down the sandy hills towards you. “Hi, (Y/N),right?”She asked.She didnt have to ask.She knew your first,middle and last name.She knew your siblings names,your pets names,your parents names,your cousins names.She knew your favorite foods,your zodiac sign and your favorite animal.She had spent hours stalking your instagram and going through the people you followed to find your mother.Once she found your moms instagram she found her facebook and that lead to Sarah learning many details about your life.You nodded,turning to see the blonde. “Sarah Cameron.”You nodded.She blushed.She never knew her name would sound so good coming from you. “So,what brings you to the beach on this lovely morning?”You asked.SHe shrugged. “Just...hanging out.”She replied.You nodded. “You want me to hang out with you?”You smirked.She blushed. “Sure,umm do you maybe wanna come to my house?”

Neon green was the color you painted you painted your nails while the two of you were hanging out at her house a week later. “Hey (Y/N)?”Sarah asked as she held a pillow to her chest,wresting her chin on it. “Yeah?”You asked.Sarah blushed,squealing into her pillow.That caused you to look at her with furrowed eyebrows.The boys never acted like this.Sarah was really quite different from the guys.She was stunning and giggled a lot and made your heart thump. “So like-do you like anyone right now?”She asked.You sighed.Why?Why that question?What the hell were you supposed to say?You just shrugged. “Oh my god!You’re blushing!Who is it?”Sarah faked enthusiasm.She wanted to frown and roll her eyes but that would definitely give it away. “God,Sarah.You ask so many questions.Why dont you just guess?”You asked.She bit her lip,staring at your bright finger nails. “Well...where do those little marks on your jaw come from?”She asked.You laughed. “You can say the word hickey,Sarah.”You grinned.You and JJ had a sort of friends with benefits thing going on.It wasnt exclusive or anything,just something to do when you were bored or horny or whenever you were mad.

He had always had the biggest smirk on his face afterwards.He’d ask you who you had thought about during it.You never told him. “Just because I have hickeys doesnt mean I like someone.”You replied.She frowned. “How can you do that?Like do someone and then not have any thoughts or feelings afterwards?”She asked.You smiled,blowing on your fingernails. “I just think of someone else.”You shrugged.She gasped. “So you do like someone!”She exclaimed. “Whats the first letter of his name?”She asked.You rolled your eyes,butterflies building in your stomach. “S.”You repled.She bit her cheek. “Seth?”She asked.You shook your head. “Whats the next letter?”She asked.You bit the inside of your cheek. “A.”You told her.She’d have to catch up eventually.Her eyebrows furrowed. “Uh...Sam?”She asked.You shook your head with a big grin. “The next letter is R.”You told her.She’d have to get it eventually.Her heart thumped a bit and she tried not to blush.

She was getting really excited at the possibility that it could be her.No boys name had those three letters in a row. “Next letter please.”She pouted.You blushed,looking away from her. “A.”You told her.She raised her eyebrows,eyes darting around the room. “Is it a girl?”She asked.You nodded,nervous for her reaction.She could have squealed in that moment. “Im Bi,Sarah.”You told her.She held her head in her hands. “Same.”She replied.You gasped quietly. “Shut up!”You exclaimed.She giggled. “Wait-is it Sarah Carpenter?Shes kind of a bitch,dont you think?”She asked.You bit on your lip. “Sarah,its you.”You avoided her gaze.You didnt even notice her lunging forward and wrapping her arms around you tightly and kissing your forehead. “This is really embarrassing-but ive liked you since the beginning of ninth grade.”She grinned.You giggled,kissing her nose. “Are you serious right now?”You asked.She nodded. “Dead serious.”She replied.

 “Why didnt you talk to me or something?”You asked.She bit her lip. “I didnt know that you were into girls!”She exclaimed.You rolled your eyes,sure that your face couldnt be any more red. “Sarah,I have dyed hair,short nails and I cuff my jeans.It couldnt be any more obvious.”You kissed her cheek.She looked down at her lips,pecking them gently.There was a knock at the door.You pulled away from eachother. “So yeah,grilled cheese sandwiches are so much better than tuna and if-Oh,hey rafe.”You greeted the tall boy standing at the door. “dinner.”He said quietly,winking at you before leaving.You and Sarah laughed,going downstairs.

Neon pink was the color of the beaded bracelet Sarah had made for you.That bracelet was tied to your wrist as you stared at Sarah.Her white dress,the diamond crown on her head as she held your hands. “You may kiss your bride.”Pope read off.You kissed Sarah gently,holding onto her waist.You rested your head on her shoulder as you hugged,JJ and Kiara screaming from the crowd and clapping loudly.Dear god youd think they would be the ones getting married with how excited they were.Sarah sung the words to We Fell In Love In October into your ear as you danced together.She kissed your cheek,your temple and your collarbone as she giggled.You had never loved anyone more,nor had you ever been happier.JJ had literally tackled you after the ceremony,spinning you around. “YOU GOT THE GIRL,BITCH!”He shouted.You laughed,punching him lightly on the shoulder.Kiara hugged you as well. “I’ve gotta get married next now,dont I?”She asked,glancing over at Pope.You nodded. “Hell yeah.”You replied,slapping her arm in excitement. “This is some great ass cake.Why the neon frosting though?”Rafe asked,poking at the frosting with his fork.He had somehow gotten off the drugs and stopped being such an asshole...most of the time.Sarah laughed,shrugging. “My baby loves neon.”She replied,watching in awe as you danced around with your cousin,dress twirling at your feet.

#sarah cameron #sarah cameron x reader #madelyn cline #jj maybank #sarah cameron imagine #girl in red #kiara carrera #pope heyward #rafe cameron #sarah cameron x you #outer banks #obx kiara #obx #obx sarah

[occasionalfics]

touch every star (1)

main masterlist | thor masterlist | ao3 | next

Pairing: Thor X Cinderella!Reader AU

A/N: So for whatever reason, I kind of finished this fic and then never ever shared it? Apparently I started writing this in November and never did anything with it, which is a shame because I actually really like it? So now I’m just going through, rereading to edit, and I’m giving y’all a treat since I can’t really remember the last time I actually posted a fic. Hope everyone likes it!

And seeing as how this is the first fic I’ve posted in a LONG time, I’m still not keeping up a taglist. I believe there’s a way for you to get notified when I post, should you want to do that.

Warnings: Lots of angst, a really, really shitty boss, but overall this is probably the most pure fic I’ve ever written?

Words: 2,960

//

She couldn’t believe she’d done it. After a full day of itemized lists of tasks way out of her paygrade, she’d finally finished them all. The blisters on her heels from her uncomfortable but required shoes would serve as a reminder that, for once, she’d managed to meet her boss’s ridiculous standards to a T.

Mr. Sitwell, the head of Accounting, was a ruthless, selfish man that everyone had warned Y/N about before she’d taken the job, but it paid more than the entry level HR job she’d taken when she’d first started. Four months later and, for the first time, she’d finally finished a list Sitwell had given her during work hours.

Only, when she looked at the clock on her desk, she realized that it definitely was not work hours. Well past 8pm. The office was dark and deserted except for her and the rustling of paperwork on her desk - her secretarial desk - was the only noise now that she stood still.

“Fuck,” she muttered, shutting her eyes. “God- Fuck that guy.”

When she opened her eyes, she looked up at Sitwell’s office. The door was closed, the lights shut off, even his computer was off for the night. Y/N was the last one in the office and she hadn’t even noticed. Three hours had gone by since she’d spoken to a human. Three hours of time she was sure Sitwell was going to dock her for.

She’d started working at Stark Industries because she’d heard Mr. Stark offered great benefits to his employees, and while she was technically one of them, Jasper Sitwell was directly above her. He was the worst kind of middleman, and to add insult to injury, he was the worst kind of boss.

His words echoed in her head as she thought about going higher, letting someone from her old department about his mistreatment.

I might not be Stark rich, but I have money. I have power. I have more here than you’ll ever have. I’d watch who you speak to if I were you.

Maybe she didn’t have an amazing job or a high position, but she had money she needed to support herself. She couldn’t do anything, at that moment, to risk the job and lose her income.

She was not going to move back home.

And rent was so god damn expensive.

Pursing her lips, she sighed to herself before gathering the papers on her desk into one pile. None of it was going home with her, now that she’d finished it all. She’d divy it up in the morning and give it to the right people when she could think straight again.

She pulled the strap of her purse up onto her shoulder and left the office, making sure to put in Sitwell’s code to lock it up.

The building was eerily silent around her. There were hundreds of offices from lobby to penthouse, and yet, the loudest sounds Y/N picked up on all came from outside. She was left with the horns of cars on the crowded New York streets and not much else as she waited for the elevator.

It wasn’t the first time she’d stayed this late. Just the first time she’d finished the whole list. Hopefully that would mean Sitwell would leave her alone first thing tomorrow morning, or at least acknowledge that she’d done every little thing he’d asked. Not likely, but she could hope anyway.

Somewhere down the hallway, someone moved. Their shadow followed them under the LED lights lining the hallway. Stark Tower wasn’t like most other office buildings she’d been in - instead of harsh fluorescents, every room was lit with either natural light during the day or LED bulbs after the sun went down. Normally, most people were gone before the lights went on.

Not Y/N. Not tonight.

And, apparently, not the person approaching her from down the hall.

They stopped beside her just before the elevator made it to their floor. She looked at them through the corner of her vision.

He was tall. Taller than she was, even in her heels. Taller than Sitwell for sure. And where her boss was bald and wore glasses, this man had perfectly styled dirty blonde hair and small but expressive eyes. She couldn’t see their hue from her position.

“Late night?” she heard herself asking the man. She hadn’t even known she’d had it in her to talk to a stranger after work hours, but apparently, him working on the same floor as her was enough to bridge whatever gap was between them.

He nodded as the elevator doors opened, then he held out an arm to signal he wanted her to go in before him. “Unfortunately, yes,” he said.

His voice was deep, a little tired, but not impolite. He sounded as attractive as he looked, and now that he was coming toward her, she got a better idea of just how handsome he was.

He was...like a God. Gorgeous. Sculpted. In a tan suit just a few shades darker than his golden skin. Eyes as blue as lightning, offset by a crisp white t-shirt under the blazer.

“Me too,” she whispered when he turned to stand next to her. The doors shut and the elevator descended.

They’d gone down a few floors before he turned to face her and asked, “If it’s alright, why’re you here so late?”

She hesitated, mostly because she couldn’t think of a reason as to why it wouldn’t be okay for him to ask. Other than him being a total stranger, of course.

But he was a Stark employee. A high ranking one if she was guessing based on his suit and shoes. He had to be safe, right? At least for a brief elevator ride?

“My boss left me a list of things he needed done today or else,” she said. Anything more might be...too much for tonight. “He’s very particular.”

The man nodded. “Sounds to me like he’s got a stick up his arse.”

She couldn’t not laugh at that, the sound reverberating around the elevator. He smiled, too, as if in reaction to her.

“You’re not wrong,” she told him, fighting not to roll her eyes. When she shifted her bag a bit, she stood taller and said, “It’s only fair that if you got to ask, I do too.”

The dinging of the passing floors was only a mild distraction while the man rolled his neck, stretching his arms up so they didn’t collide with her. “My boss is also a stickler for finishing tasks, it seems. But he, at least, still hasn’t left the building.” He chuckled at that, like she was supposed to be in on some kind of joke at his boss’s expense.

All she did was smile, since she didn’t know who his boss was.

“Bosses suck,” she offered.

He nodded again. “That they do.”

Neither of them thought of anything else to say, apparently. The elevator counted down each floor, and they both stared ahead at the doors, as if they were both suddenly desperate to get out.

She couldn’t say what had shifted between them, but now she felt it was too late to start up another conversation. She could have asked him his name or what office he actually worked in, but something in her head stopped her.

Something like the voice of the narrator on one of those late night crime shows her roommate Nat liked to watch. Some irrational fear that, suddenly, this man would hurt her because the sun was down and she was a lone woman in the great, big world. The voice in her head made her clutch her purse tighter, even though she’d only just been talking to that man like they’d known one another already.

When the elevator came to the lobby, she hurried off first, not even stopping to see if he’d made the same motion he’d made when they’d gotten on. Out of nowhere, her mind was on a single track: to get to the subway and make it home in one piece. The closer she got to the front of the building, the more fidgety she became, which totally prevented her from hearing the man call out to her however he could.

She hadn’t even given him her name. He hadn’t given his, either. And now she was leaving, and sure, maybe they worked on the same floor but he could be anyone. He could work in one of at least fifteen different offices on her floor, and with how much work Sitwell gave her every single day, the chances of finding him again were slim to none.

It didn’t matter, and she knew that. She was no one. She was a secretary, some girl from upstate who’d run away from home and stumbled into something so much bigger than herself. And she was alone that night, so her one-track mind was focused on preservation and survival. The map in her head led to one place: home.

---

Thor had never seen that woman before. He was sure of it. All the balls and galas and S.I. events he’d been to and he had never seen her before. He would’ve remembered her face if he had.

He watched the doors as she scurried out, immediate regret sitting heavy in his stomach. He hadn’t gotten her name, didn’t know who her boss was, hadn’t even seen which office she’d come out of.

He knew what his brother would say: She’s just a girl you met on an elevator. Don’t be a fool.

But Loki wasn’t here. And he wasn’t a fool. There was just...something about this girl. Their conversation had been brief, to say the least, but he liked what he’d gotten. And he wanted more.

He made to follow her out the door, but when he stepped onto the still busy street, she was gone. Gone home on a random Wednesday night, no doubt. It was the normal thing to do.

He headed for the subway, taking the stairs slowly into the belly of the city. The early fall air was cool but not cold - not yet - and down here, it was muggy still. Thor pulled his phone and headphones out of his pocket, tuning into a podcast about old dead Pantheons just because he found it interesting. This was one of Loki’s recommendations, and the reminder always made him smile.

Maybe he and his brother didn’t always get along, but when they did, it was usually over shared knowledge.

His train ride lasted only a few minutes, and he was grateful there were no stops tonight. He’d had a 13 hour workday; one “emergency” went off after another. As the director of Stark security, Thor had to be present for every one of them, despite most of them not being actual emergencies. But he’d handled them all, paperwork and the like included, with as much patience and strength as he could.

Up until the clock had struck a certain time and he’d realized he’d been working for way too long, was way too hungry, and just happened to be the last person in the office. It had been at that exact moment that the weight of the day had fallen on his shoulders, nearly smothering him against his desk in surprise.

So he’d cleaned up and left and...run into that woman. Stunning, she was. A little easy to spook, maybe, which was only confirmed when she’d stopped talking to him and nearly sprinted out of the building; but otherwise, she was lovely and nice. He could hear his mother’s voice in his head, badgering him because he hadn’t even gotten her name, let alone her contact information.

He trudged up the steps to his street with the thought that he might actually never see that girl again. Stark had way too many employees to go off her physical appearance alone, even if she did work on his floor.

As if she knew she’d been thought of at some point that night, his mother rang him the second he walked through his apartment door. Thor couldn’t help but roll his eyes lightly as he answered the call.

“Hello Mother,” he said, turning on a lamp beside his couch. He went right into the kitchen and opened the fridge, leaning down to glance inside.

“Hello my love,” Frigga said back, just like she always did. “It’s been too long since you last called so I figured I’d check in with you.”

Thor nodded, despite being physically alone. He picked up a package of Havarti cheese that was almost empty and said, “I’m sorry, Mom. Work’s been hectic and-”

“That’s what you always say,” she sighed. “I’d say you’re chock full of excuses but you’ve only got the one. At least your brother gets creative from time to time.”

He could hear the smile in her voice, the teasing she usually laid on him coming on thicker than normal. But he knew Loki was closer to their mother than their father, so he knew the dynamic was different and that Frigga would always comment on that, no matter what. It was her duty and her right, she’d say.

“How is Loki, by the way?” Thor asked her, attempting a subject change.

But he knew, as well as anyone that knew Frigga Odinson, that she would not stand for that.

He pulled out a baggie full of whatever leftover cold cuts he had. Knowing he had to use them soon, before they went bad, he put the cheese and meat on the counter, shut the fridge, and got to work on a basic sandwich.

“Absent at the moment,” she answered shortly. “But I called to talk about you. If you want to know more about your brother, call him.”

Again, he chuckled to himself. Her stern but sticky-sweet tone was to be expected.

“Are you just getting home now, dear?” she asked.

“Yes, unfortunately. You called at the perfect time.”

He could hear the smirk in her voice as she said, “Good. As always.” And then he imagined the smirk falling, because her tone took a sharp turn. “You need to take better care of yourself. How do you ever expect to find a wife if you’re so busy at work all the time?”

“Well, the thing is, Mom-”

“Don’t go giving me the ‘I’m not ready’ speech, dear. You tried that already. Seven years ago. Didn’t work then, won’t work now. You’re the director of that office, you should hire a deputy to take some of the load off of your shoulders!”

He’d love to say he was surprised at her interjecting, but he truly, truly wasn’t. Frigga had practically run a part of her husband’s own company, before he’d sold it and gone into retirement, neither of his sons having been deemed worthy to pass it down to.

Not that Loki or Thor were complaining about that. Thor quite liked the job he’d chosen, thank you very much.

He took a bite out of the hastily made sandwich before saying, “I’d have to have time to go through applications and interviews for that, Mom.”

“Oh, nonsense. Tony Stark hired you and he can hire a deputy to work with you even if you’re unable to attend the interviews.”

Thor sighed. This wasn’t a normal conversation with his mother, but she wasn’t aware of every detail on how he’d gotten his position, and he was too tired to get into it. But he did tell her, “Tony and I are old friends. He had an opening for a position I was qualified for - I barely interviewed because he was aware of my credentials. That doesn’t just happen for everyone.”

“You’d be surprised by how aware of that I am, dear,” his mother said, passive aggressive sarcasm dripping from every syllable. She was growing tired of waiting for grandchildren, and even more so as the seconds of this conversation ticked by. “I’m sure there’s someone that could help you, directly or otherwise. You need some time for yourself, or you’re going to end up alone, unhappy, and unfulfilled like your aunt Freyja.”

On a good day, Frigga wasn’t judgmental like that. Apparently, this was not a good day.

“I’d hardly say Freyja’s unfulfilled, Mom. She owns her own company-”

“She makes lingerie for her Instagram store. I wouldn’t call that fabulously successful.”

Thor had nothing else to say. He wasn’t about to get into an argument with his mother, especially not when she was being rather unreasonable. Maybe she was just having an off night, or perhaps she was feeling a particularly nasty bout of Empty Nesters Syndrome - even after more than a decade of living in a house without her children. Either way, he was not about to let her blame him for whatever it was, but he also wasn’t going to tell her off.

He sighed, finishing off his sandwich easily. “I’m sorry, Mom, but I’m really exhausted. If I promise to revisit the deputy idea in the near future, could I possibly say goodnight and talk to you later?”

She hrumphed, but ultimately ceded. “Yes, of course dear. I love you very much.”

“Love you too, Mom.”

She hung up first, as she always did. Thor locked his phone, put what was left of his sandwich supplies away, and headed for his bedroom.

He stripped down, brushed his teeth, and set an alarm for the morning, ignoring the reminder in his head that he didn’t even get that girl’s name before she’d disappeared into New York City. He was in bed before he knew it, and when he shut his eyes, all he saw was her.

#thor fanfic #thor x reader #thor odinson x reader

[modestroad]

x. ice

LUTHOR MANOR is not a manor at all, but the Luthors love to be dramatic. Lena openesthe windows because the cottage smells like dust since the place was empthy the last, what, five years? Last time  Lena have been here she was a teen and this was her getaway from boarding school (and Lex's drama).

“Okay,” Lena's voice comes muffling from next room and Kara stops what she's doing to go see. She finds Lena head inside the fireplace.

“Lena?” Madra's ears perks, but doesn't move from where he is, near Lena. Always near Lena.

“Kara, hey, the fireplace needs cleaning,” she says, head still in the fireplace. “Do you think you can-”

Kara's already on the roof and back before Lena can finish.

“Yes, okay, good.” She claps her hands to clean them. “Once we start a fire this place will warm up in no time.”

“What can I do?”” Kara asks and waits and frowns. She knows that look.

“Start the fire, I'll bring the food.”

Food turns out to be bread and stew and chedar cheese and Kara's about to cry when Lena laughs and is that a Big Mac?

“When? How? Lena!” She grabs the burger, afraid that it will disappear. Madra takes a few steps towards her and Kara's not proud, she's not, but she snaps at him. “No!”

“Jesus, Kara,” Lena laughs, but goes to comfort the pup. “He's just a wee boy, no need to eat the head off of him.”

“I'm sorry,” she is. “I'm so sorry, Madra, but...burger.”

Lena laughs again and hides her face to Madra's fur, whispering sweet noghtings to his ear until his tail is up and wagging, then she's kissing him softly, making Kara's heart beat faster inside her chest.

“He can have some,” she says weakly because she doesn't want to share her precious burger, but Lena loves Madra and Kara loves Lena so...

“I didn't bought just one burger,” Lena's voice comes muffled, face still hidden in Madra's fur and Kara is, maybe, a little jealous. “I know how much you love food, but Kara, you need to do something with your obsession over burgers. Every other corner is a Burger King or a McDonald and you're behaving as if you haven't seen a burger in ages.”

She's mocking her. Lena is moching her, Kara can hear the smile in her words, but she pouts (even if Lena can't see her) and says, “What can I say? I'm just a simple American girl.”

“Yeah, a simple American girl from Krypton,” Lena mocks yet again, but Kara is more than glad to note that there is not a single hint of anger in her voice. The last few months were hard, especially to Lena, but it seems that they are finally moving forward.

Much, much later, the sun is long gone and the fireplace warms and lights the room, Kara thinks that perhaps she shouldn't had that sixth burger because she feels heavy and lazy and nostalgic. This is nice, being with Lena alone in a cottage in the middle of nowhere in Ireland is nice, but she misses Alex and her apartment.

She miss flying.

Saving people.

(This is a dream and dreams don't last forever.)

“Do you think I should grow my bangs?”

“Yes.”

“Wow, you don't even think of it.”

“Kara,” Lena says from the opposite corner of the couch, “People change their hair when they want to make a change in their lives and after the year you had I don't blame you.”

“What 'bout you?”

Silence. Then, “I'm leaning towards a mohawk.”

“Don't you dare!”

They both laugh and after a while they fell in a comfortable silence, enough that food drunk Kara starts to doze off when she hears Lena stand up, almost falls asleep again when the sound of a bottle opening and the smell of whiskey hits her nose and sleep is the last thing on her mind.

“Lena,” she's alert now, more alert that she's been in the fight with Leviathans, ready to fight whatever demons torture Lena.

Lena pours two fingers of whiskey in a glass full with ice (Kara has seen Lena drink enough times to know that her friend likes her whiskey straight), “I'm grand, Kara. I'm in a good place.”

Kara swallows hard; she's worried as hell, but she also has to start trust Lena. Lena is a Luthor and Luthors, like it or not, like their secrets. Kara had as a hard time to accept that as Lena had a hard time to accept that her best friend is Supergirl. Lena takes a sip, walks back to the couch, looks her spot and then sits next to Kara.

She sits right next to Kara.

She sits so close to Kara that her thighs touch.

“You don't have to worry about me.”

Kara, who has come to hate the smell of whiskey on Lena's breath, shakes her head. Not worrying about Lena? Imposible.

“My father was an alcoholic,” Lena confess looking at the fireplace, avoiding Kara's eyes and Kara lets her. “He could be a violent drunk and he could be a lovely drunk, and after a while we learned – Lex and I- which drunk we would face.”

Kara stares at her, the need to hug Lena and never let her go stronger than ever, but she can hear the steady beat of her heart and knows that Lena don't need to be saved, not today. Today she's her own heroine.

“I really love the taste of whiskey,” she looks at Kara and nods in emphasis. “And I admit that I sometimes...most of the times, I abuse it instead of use it, especially the months after, you know.”

Yes, Kara does know.  “You scared me.”

“I know,” she says soft enough that if Kara didn't had powers she wouldn't hear her. Lena takes a big breath, exhales. “Okay, since you're awake now and I'm bored, how about a game of chess?”

“How about no? I've seen your trophies, nuh uh.”

“And I've seen the Fortress of Solitude, Kryptonian, don't play dump with me.”

And that's how Kara ends up opposite side of Lena taking whites.

“You're blonde, I'm brunette, you play whites.” Lena commands and Kara obeays.

It takes Kara five minutes to make a move and somehow Lena manages to keep a straight face while she waits. Five minutes and three seconds later is Kara's turn again.

“You're overthinking it,” Lena accuse.

“You're like a grandmaster that can see five moves ahead, sorry if I want to think my moves first.”

Lena laughs and takes a sip from her watered down whiskey.

“You're cruel, Luthor, making fun of me.”

“Stop whinning, Kryptonian, and make a damn move.”

Thirty minutes later, Kara asks, “In how many moves do I lose?”

And Lena answers, “Ten if you move your knight, twelve if you take my rook with your bishop.”

“Well, shoot,” Kara bites her lip. “If only Lex and Clark played a game then maybe we would had avoid so much drama.”

Lena laughs again, deep and rich, and Kara loves that sounds.

She loves it!

“I'm a mess, Kara,” Lena says when she sobers. “I have so many issues I need to work through, but I really want to kiss you.”

“Oh.”

“I know it's not fair. I know. I took you away from your friends and fam-”

Kara doesn't let her finish.

In the blink of an eye she's there, inches away from Lena, and she hopes she didn't scare Lena, but all thoughts are gone because Lena is kissing her and she just melts into the kiss. They kiss until Lena gasps for breath, lips wet and a little swollen, cheeks red and eyes dark with hunger.

“Your move, Kryptonian.”

#supercorptober2020 #supercorp #lena luthor #kara danvers #madra the wee dog #unbeta'd #I was homeless for a while and without internet access #but now I'm back #and I'll finish the prompts #no matter how late I am #tw: drinking #tw: alcholism

[bubblybubbubs]

Bland (1)

Draco Malfoy x Reader

Royalty AU

Summary: Draco Malfoy is the Prince of Ebery and hates being a royal so when he meets you he calls himself a different name to hide his royal status.

Warning: Cursing

AN: hope you guys like this i definitely have an idea to make this a series <3 also this was very roughly inspired by the barbie princess and the pauper movie . had to repost because it wasn’t showing up in tags the first time?

btw a governess according to google is like a royal nanny.

Draco Malfoy lead a bland life. He knew he was lucky to have the riches he had, to be born a prince of Ebery, but he truly had hated his life. He had hated waking up everyday to please everyone other than himself with the same court niceties.

It was selfish of him but he wanted to just be Draco, not ‘Your Highness’ or ‘Prince Draco’. The formalities were just a reminder of how his life had been decided for him the minute he was born.

He only had two real friends Blaise Zabini and Daphne Greengrass, the only two tolerable members of the court.

Anyone else was ancient or insufferable, such as Vincent Crabbe his cousin who he could not stand. Crabbe was almost an exact opposite of Draco, which was interesting considering they had been raised by the same governess.

Crabbe was all too eager to jump at any chance of power, there were countless times he had told his grandfather how unfit Draco was to be King. There was little Crabbe wouldn’t do for the crown, Draco was lucky it wasn’t passed down or Crabbe might have killed to get his hands on it.

In Ebery the monarch would chose any one from his lineage to rule after his/her passing, this was always announced the day after the Monarch’s death which left a lot of animosity between the possible heirs.

Draco didn’t want the crown and he was pretty sure he wouldn’t get it even if he did, Abraxos Malfoy wasn’t exactly his biggest fan. He didn’t remember a single conversation they had, they usually ended abruptly when the King decided he had enough family bonding time.

He hadn’t cared about the royal life or the crown. he had planned on leaving his dreadful life to a place where no one would know about Ebery and he would’ve done it, had it not been for y/n.

He met Y/N Y/L/N when he was disguised as a commoner with Blaise, and they both decided to go out on the town.

“Here put this hat on it’ll hide your hair.” Blaise said pushing a hat towards him. It was a big fedora that was an ugly shade of yellow, it looked about as old as him.

“It’s hideous, where did you even find this.” Draco groaned.

“It was all I could find with the short notice, we can go back to the castle if you’d like.” Before Blaise could continue Draco put on the huge hat making sure to hide his hair before they entered the pub.

“That girl is totally checking you out.” Blaise whispered when they sat down. Draco peered behind him to see a girl staring at him who had smiled when they made eye contact.

“Do you think she recognizes me.”

“I don’t know, go ask her.” Blaise said encouraging Draco to go talk to her. Draco straightened the smock he wore before going up to her.

“I was hoping you’d come talk to me.” She said grinning up from her drink.

“Really how come.” He said talking a seat next to her.

“A guy with a hat like that is bound to be intresting.” She chuckled.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“I haven’t seen you around here, what’s your name.”

“Um my name is Julian and that’s my friend uh Norman.”

“I’m Y/N”

-

Draco had made a point to visit her as much as he could, he grew fond of her.

“In my bakery again Julian, one would think you like me.” The girl said as she stepped towards the counter to greet him.

“Maybe I do Y/N.” Draco said leaning against the counter . He definitely did, Blaise claimed it was obvious but if Y/N noticed she didn’t show it.

“I’m taking a break.” The girl yelled out towards the kitchen before grabbing Draco and heading to the streets quickly ditching her apron and hat.

“What’s with you and hats, every time I see you you’re wearing one. Are you bald?.” She said as they walked through the shops motioning to the flat cap he wore today.

Draco tensed. his hair would be a dead give away of who he was, almost every king in the Malfoy line had the same almost white hair . He knew it was inevitable she find out who he was but he liked the friendship they had and wanted to keep it that away as long as possible. Maybe he should go bald.

“I have a weirdly shaped head.” He stammered. He wanted to kick himself, was that really the best he could come up with. She still laughed.

“You’re strange Julian.” She said sorting through a box of junk a vendor was selling.

”Tell me something about yourself. I feel like you know everything about me but I know nothing about you.” She said walking towards a tree and plopping down.

“There’s not much to know.” He said sitting next to her.

“I doubt that.”

“Well im an only child-

“None of that boring stuff. What do you want to do with your life, what are your goals.” She said cutting him off.

Draco was quiet for a second, no one ever asked him what his goals were. Everyone just assumed he wanted to be King.

“I’m not sure, I’ve never really thought about it.” He said.

“What about you.”

“I want to travel the world and see everything and when I come back I’m going to be rich and take care of everyone who helped me when I was young.” He wasn’t surprised, from the little time they had known each other he could tell she had a fiery spirit with a big heart.

“Wait so you don’t want to be a baker?” He said feigning shock.

“A girl can only have so much bread in her life.”

“Can I come?” He asked facing you.

“huh?”

“When you travel the world, can i go with you?” His heart sped up, that was a stupid question they only had known each other for a month and there he was asking if they could travel together.

“I wouldn't have it any other way.” She said laying on his chest. He would do it, right there under that tree he promised himself he would go to the ends of the earth with her.

He imagined it, life with just the two of them traveling the world. No crown, no titles just the two of them.

“Do you have to go back to work.”

“My Dad will live if I skip one day of work.” She said grinning at him.

“Follow me then.” He said grabbing her by the hand.

“where are we going.” She asked.

“You’ll see.” Draco led Y/N through the streets swifting past the crowd of people in the streets and into the trees. The whole time she couldnt take his eyes off him, had she been less awestruck by him she would have noticed the Malfoy blonde hair his falling hood flashed.

“We’re almost there, close your eyes.” She did and let Draco lead her further she felt the floor under her get rockier.

“Careful.” He said holding her tighter by the hand.

She felt a cold breeze on her face. “We’re here, you can open your eyes.” She opened her eyes and she was standing on a small cliff that stood over a beautiful lake that shimmered almost magically.

He watched for her reaction carefully. This had been his favorite spot in all of Ebery growing up, whenever his mother hadn’t been busy she would take him here and they would swim together, then they would watch the sunset .

“Where are we.” She said furrowing her brow.

“Do you like it?”

“Of course I like it, it’s beautiful.”

“It’s not that well known, I was thinking it could be our little place.” She smiled widely, Draco never wanted to forget what she looked like that day so happy and carefree.

“I’d like that.” She then noticed the castle that stood tall above the trees across the lake. “Is that the castle.” He nodded.

“I’ve always wanted to go to the castle it’s beautiful.”

“You’re beautiful.” He said turning her to face him. He had known it the day he first saw her, the smile she had sent his way had knocked the wind out of him.

She blushed “I really like you Julian.” Draco was stricken by guilt and he really did want to tell her truth but how could he when things were so good. So he kissed her and just like that Draco’s life seemed a lot less bland.

——————————————-

lil extra

“Norman, why does my name have to be fucking norman.”

“I was nervous, and your dumb hat didnt make it any easier.”

#harry potter #harry potter x reader #Draco #draco malfoy x reader #royalty au #blaise zabini #daphne greengrass #second try #slytherin #draco malfoy #hp

[extremelyblackandwhite]

lover series - daylight

Pairing: Carter Baizen x Reader

Warnings: none

A/N: this is what happens when i mention carter baizen more than once a day. also daylight just fits him as a person??? if you wanna listen to daylight while reading this, here. this was inspired by an ask i got in this blog, thank you for the idea 💕

My love was as cruel as the cities I lived in Everyone looked worse in the light There are so many lines that I've crossed, unforgiven I'll tell you truth, but never, "Goodbye"

   - Get out. 

   - What? - Carter looked at the blonde sat next to him whose eyes seemed to wander to everyone but to him. - Don’t be like this. You’re just nervous about meeting your dad.

   - I don’t need your help anymore or ever again. I should have done this on my own from the start.

  - Fine, if that’s what you want. - he opened the door of the limousine, climbing off the comfortable warmth of their vehicle to be greeted with the darkness and coldness of New York during the warmth. Serena, without as much as looking back at the man who had spent a full year helping her find her father, ordered the driver to keep going. Well, he should’ve known better but once again, his judgement tended to be clouded whenever dealing with pretty women. 

Once again he was all alone again, nowhere to go, no one to talk to. He could just fell his parents awaiting for him to return to them on his knees begging to be taken back but at this point there was too much damage done and Carter was much to prideful to return to them. In all honesty, Carter was much to prideful to even stay with New York. After the mess that had been his relationship with Serena, no doubt the rest of the Upper East Side was gonna go after him with every single little dark secret he had, and he had plenty of those. 

With that in mind Carter decided to do what he always did; start again. That’s what he always did when things went south or when the world became too suffocating. However, after doing humanitarian work and a documentary, he wondered what he could do next. Lost in how to reboot his life for what seemed like the millionth time in his young years, a little fall of rain from the sky started to wet his cashmere black trench coat. He bite his lip out of frustration. Of fucking course, that was just what he needed right now. Before he could let out all his frustrations by kicking a nearby bin, drops of water stopped falling on his coat and instead sounded like they were falling onto plastic. 

    - Are you alright, sir? - a melodic, magical-like voice broke through his mind and his eyes travelled to a woman standing next to him. She was holding a plastic umbrella over him which kept both of them dry and away from the rain. Unlike him, she was dressed in a lesser quality fabric, using what looked like a blue waitress dress and some off brand white sneakers with her hair pushed into a ponytail, everything merely covered by a worn out black cotton trench coat. - Sir? 

I don't wanna look at anything else now that I saw you I don't wanna think of anything else now that I thought of you I've been sleepin' so long in a twenty-year dark night And now I see daylight, I only see daylight

Suddenly, he remembered a faithful sentence from one of the movies he had seen during his youth, finally understanding its meaning. They say when you meet the love of your life, time stops. It was true, time did stopped, everything seemed to move in incredibly slow motion, he could see every single blink of the most gorgeous pair of eyes he’d ever met, hear every drop of rain hitting the plastic of the umbrella. However, the later part of the sentence was also true, once time starts again it moves extra fast, and none was that true as a honking bus drove through a puddle of water, waking them both from a dream-like trance. 

     - I saw you being kicked off a car from my diner. You look like you needed help. - she pushed a few of the fly away hairs of her ponytail held together by a blue scrunchie behind her ear. Unlike the girls of Upper East, they weren’t adorned with pearls or heavy jewelled earrings. - Do you wanna come in for a bit, just while the rain doesn’t calm down?

Carter still found himself still staring at her. God, where had she been hiding his whole life? Did she just decide to pop up now that he had been truly humiliated by Serena. Serena, who was even Serena? He didn’t think he’d ever want to think about Serena, Blair, Beth. Who were any of them compared to that woman holding an off brand umbrella over his head as if he wasn’t one of the most hated people in the Upper East. In normal circumstances, he wouldn’t enter any lower ranked places but her smile and comforting aura just made him want to follow her anywhere she went. And so, with a nod, he followed her inside a small diner just in front o the place he had been so unceremoniously dumped. The place was small and empty seemingly with her being probably the last employee before closing time. Nevertheless, there was some charm on the beat up, too used black board by the kitchen window with various pie names written in beautiful chalk calligraphy. 

    - Do you want to eat anything? My treat. - he wondered why she wasn’t charging, why a woman who clearly was much lower than him status wise and could clearly see he was rich offer him something. Normally people would try to quickly rip him off. - I bake them all myself. A new one every single morning. 

   - You bake a new pie every single morning? - he took a seat on one of the red leathered stools by the main table. - Is this your place?

   - No, I just work here but one day I’m gonna have my own place, my own pie shop and people are gonna come from all over the world to try my pies. - she seemed to get lost in her own fantasy before opening the lid of one of the various glass pies stands to take what looked like a wild berry pie slice, serving it perfectly on a freshly washed plate. - A little wild, wild, berry pie. 

  - Pardon? - he asked as she slide the plate towards him, handing him a fork at the same time. 

  - The pie. - she pointed at the board. - It’s the title. Cream patisserie with some berries on traditional pie crust. I got the idea while watching a particularly steamy scene on Sex and the City. 

  - You created the recipe?

  - Where do you think recipes come from? - she smirked at him. - Come on, I promise it’s not poisoned. 

Carter gave her a coyly smile before sinking in his fork in the beautiful berry coloured desert, taking a piece before bring it up to his mouth. As the sweet touched his tongue, he swore like he melted away from his whole body. The taste was fantastic and Carter was certain he had never tasted anything better than that small piece of pie.

   - God, this is fantastic.

   - Thank you, I try my best. - she smiled. - I’m Y/N, by the way. 

   - Carter Baizen. 

Luck of the draw only draws the unlucky And so I became the butt of the joke I wounded the good and I trusted the wicked Clearin' the air, I breathed in the smoke maybe you ran with the wolves and refused to settle down Maybe I've stormed out of every single room in this town Threw out our cloaks and our daggers because it's morning now It's brighter now, now

  - Olivia? - Carter mockingly called out, looking around his hotel suit as he wrapped a burgundy red tie around his pristine white shirt. A small high pitched giggle came from behind the leather coach. With a coy smile, Carter slowly moved towards the couch. - Oh, where could my Libbie be?

Another high pitched came from behind the coach and before the three year old could realise what was happening, Carter had already grabbed her by the waist, throwing her to the ceiling before catching her in a fit of giggles, her inherited curly brown hair stuck in front of the same eyes she had definitely gotten from her mother. The little girl giggled once more, tiny arms coming to wrap themselves around her father’s neck. 

  - What are you two doing? - Y/N came out from her bedroom due to all the giggling. Noticing her daughter in her father’s arms she merely rolled her eyes with a smile on her face. - I thought you were supposed to be in bed.

  - We’re just playing hide and seek. - she replied, hiding behind her father’s neck. She surely knew how to avoid confrontation. Y/N merely laughed, walking up to her husband and daughter. - Do you really need to go, mummy?

  - It’s just for a few hours. We’ll be here when you wake up. - Y/N pulled some of her daughter’s hair away from her round, chubby baby face. 

  - Why can’t I go? - she pouted. 

  - You wouldn’t like it, baby. - Carter kissed her cheek before handing her to the nanny who they had hired specifically for tonight. Usually Y/N and Carter didn’t hire nannies as they would rather spend time with their daughter rather than having a complete stranger. Most of the times, Olivia would either be at the pie shop with Y/N or at Carter’s firm office. However, tonight specifically both Carter and Y/N needed to attend a donators gala hosted by none other than Carter’s old fling Serena van der Woodsen. Initially, Carter had been firm on his decision not go, much too uninterested in ever speaking to her or any of her friends ever again. However, after some convincing on Y/N’s part and how he shouldn’t really care about other’s opinion and just enjoy a nice night out, he had caved in. - Trust me, daddy won’t like it either. 

  - Tuck me in? 

  - Okay, baby. - Y/N took over from the nanny, picking her daughter up against her hip before walking away from the main room and into the bedroom of the hotel suit. Carter took to pushing the sheets away from the mattress as Y/N laid her daughter in, puffing her pillows just the way she liked it and pulling the duvet up to her neck. - Now you be a brave good girl for mummy and daddy, okay?

  - Okay. - she nodded, holding onto one of her many stuffed animals. - Night, mummy. Night, daddy. 

 - Goodnight, ladybug. - Carter placed a kiss on his daughter’s forehead before getting up and following his wife out of the hotel room before he could change his mind. His life had gone a completely one eighty every since seeing the group of people he used to hang out with during his youth. He had gotten married to the love of his life who was fiercely by his side no matter what happened, had started his own firm finally riding himself of his parents name, and had brought in the most precious daughter to the world. Whatever happened in the Upper East Side was no longer something that interested him even if he was one of the most wealthy men in New York. He didn’t want Y/N or Olivia to frequent those rotten and cruel places. They were happy in their own little bubble however, sometimes, like tonight, he had to confront the rest of the whole who seemingly still had his eyes on him.

Noticing his tenseness, Y/N intertwined her hand with his, giving him a soft and understanding smile followed by a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

 - You’re gonna be fine, you’ve done way better than everyone in that room. You didn’t inherit what you have, you built it and you should be proud of that, Car. 

  - Well, you have to say that, you’re my wife. - he moved his face slightly so he could kiss her properly. - I can’t believe you’re my wife. 

  - You asked me on a good day. - she looked at the engagement band stacked with her wedding band, simple in silver, nothing too big or too lavish, just something small that both of them liked. 

They were both escorted into the limo with Y/N immediately cuddling up next to her husband unlike so many of his girlfriends before. In all honesty, Carter sometimes thought he was dreaming. He just couldn’t believe he was married to her and if he had told a younger self he would marry someone outside the Upper East circle he wouldn’t have believed it, yet here he was. She was a magnetic, kind, determined woman who had managed to get him out of a rut and push him to his full potential while still living her own dreams. He thought he couldn’t be more in love with her and then she gave him Olivia. He still remembered that faithful New Year’s Eve when she handed him a pregnancy test or when they had to rush out of one of his dinners because she had begun labour. There was nothing in this world that mattered more to Carter Baizen than his girls, something the rest of the Upper East didn’t really understand. However, he was happy, he was happily married, happy with his career and happy with his little ladybug. 

  - Car, are you coming? - Y/N snapped him out of his daze as they reached the gala’s location. Pushing away all the insecurities he had, he pridefully walked down the stairs with Y/N by his side, catching the attention of every single person who stopped their chat to look at the “disgraced” Carter Baizen and the so called “pie girl” he had married.

  - Should we dance? - he gave her grin, offering her his hand eloquently much to her enjoyment. - I wish to dance with the prettiest lady in this room. 

  - Prettiest girl in the room? - she giggled, taking in his hand while the other one held her waist. - Should I ask how many girls in this room you’ve used that line with?

  - Well, Mrs. Baizen, you’re definitely the only one I’ve used that on.

  - You better not be lying to me, Mr. Baizen. 

  - I love you so much, Y/N. - he leaned down to peck her lips, not caring who was watching. 

  - I love you too, Car.

I once believe love would be burning red but it’s golden like daylight

#sebastian stan #carter baizen #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x y/n #carter baizen x you #carter baizen x y/n #carter baizen x reader #carter baizen imagine #carter baizen drabble #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan drabble

[revengeoftheantichrist]

What Kind of Man

Warnings: Arranged Marriage, Creepy behaviour

AO3  <<<Previous

Chapter 2: Home Sweet Home

You were jolted awake by a dip in the road, causing you to smack your head on the side of the window where you were leaning. You heard a snickering from below you and felt something on your lap. You looked down to see Michael looking up at you, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Sleep well my dear? you looked so comfortable, so I thought I’d rest my head.”

“We’re almost here” Michael said, as he got up from your lap to the other side of the carriage.

You looked out of the window, expecting to see some sort of manor house. However, you were met with the sight of a large castle. You rubbed the sleep out of your eyes to get a better look; it was as if something from your childhood fairy-tales had come to life. Yet, in the gloom of the morning clouds it looked more ominous.

The carriage came to stop at the entrance of the castle. Michael helped you out of the carriage and lead you up to the door, “Welcome to your new home, our sanctuary”. You felt the first of the northern chill, the temperature causing you to shiver. “Come along now, it’s warmer inside,” Michael said as the door opened with a loud creek. You went to step into the castle, when you were stopped by Michael picking you up and carrying you over the threshold. You gave out a squeak as he put you down. Michael lifted your veil for the second time, giving out a chuckle at your red face underneath. “I’m glad you’re enjoying this,” you huffed.

“Oh, I am,” he replied.

Before you could go any further you were interrupted by a woman with short black hair and an aged faced.

“My Lord, I’m glad you’ve come back to us safe and sound,” greeted the women.

“Yes, thank you Mrs. Mead, the journey was quite comfortable”, he replied. “Mrs Mead, may I introduce you to my beautiful bride, the new countess Y/N”. You smiled and nodded at her. “Y/N, this is Mrs. Mead, the head of staff here and one of my closest confidants, should any major problems arise, please speak to her first.”

“A pleasure to finally meet you my Lady, we’ve been eagerly anticipating your arrival. As my Lord mentioned, I am here to make you as comfortable as possible,” she smiled at you. “Please, do come along now, breakfast is prepared, and we don’t want it to get cold now do we?”

Michael held his arm out for you to hold, and you did so, following his lead to the dining room. You looked at your surroundings in awe, you hadn’t seen churches as richly decorated as this castle, one could mistake Michael for a French king with his taste in décor.

You both arrived at the dining room, the table set for two; although, the food presented to you could easily feed five. You began to learn your husband liked to eat; he thoroughly enjoyed his food. Your own appetite, however, was still being supressed by your nerves. Only picking a little at a time.

As breakfast ended, Mrs. Mead whispered something in Michaels ear; he wiped his mouth and stood to leave. “Unfortunately, some important business has come up, I leave you with your hand maid Medina to take you to freshen up and get ready for the day ahead”

He left you there at the breakfast table, while quietly whispering with his head of staff.  A blonde girl that looked to be about 17 introduced herself, “Good morning my Lady, my name is Medina and I will be your handmaid, I’ve been instructed to give you a quick tour and then help you get dressed,” she said.

“it’s very nice to meet you Medina, I do hope I can meet the expectations of the people in this home and this county,” you replied.

“Oh, my Lady your beauty and manners have already exceeded our expectations,” she smiled at you.

Your eyes widened and you started to blush at her words, not expecting them. You got up from the table after wiping your lip, and Medina led you out of the dining room.

////

You finally arrived to your room after your quick tour of the house, you knew you would get lost in the large maze that was now your home, so you’d have to keep someone close by until you got used to it.

The room itself was grander than the rest of the house if it was even possible. You had never seen a fourposter bed that big and you were sure the sheets were custom made. You husband spared no expense in any aspect of his life, not even where he slept. Medina took you over to the dressing table, a rich mahogany with gold detailing. You sat down on the stool and finally removed your white lace gloves, your hands feeling a little cold in this weather. You begin to unpin your veil and hair and Medina noticed you shiver a little. “I am so sorry my lady, I’ll go get the materials to start the fire, all the fireplaces were cleaned yesterday so we haven’t stocked up on firewood yet,” she said and quickly left the room.

You stood to look at yourself in the full-length mirror nearby. This was the last time you would wear white, and you were surprised at how much you liked the dress, fabric handpicked by your husband and handmade by you and your mother. Every detail so meticulously placed. Your thoughts started to go somewhere morbid, the next time anyone would see this dress, it would be dyed black. You shook your head to stop the thoughts of your new husbands’ death, not a place for a new bride’s mind to wander. Your corset suddenly felt so tight and you attempted to unlace it. Lost in the struggle of untying the knot, you didn’t notice Michael enter the room, startled when his gloved hands touched yours.

“Here, let me help you my little dove,” he said. You tried not to make eye contact with him in the mirror as he slowly unlaced you, exposing the skin on your back to the chill of the room. He finally caught your gaze, smirking at you. At last, the only thing keeping you from fully exposing yourself was your arms tightly holding up the front of the dress.

“You look beautiful in white,” he began, moving your hair over one shoulder, giving him a full view of your soft skin. Then running his gloved hand down your spine. You gasped at his actions, the intimate touch of another so foreign to you. The leather of his gloves made your Goosebumps rise even further. He then began to run his fingers along the indents left by your corset, the skin a little tender in those areas, being soothed by the coolness of his touch. His hand finally stopped at the small of your back, his fingers rubbing circles into the skin. He brought his nose the back of your neck, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply, “you smell so sweet, it’s driving me mad,” his words making you flush even more than you thought possible. He placed one single kiss on your nape, making you almost moan out at the sensation. Then, as if he were burned, he suddenly pulls back.

“I hope this room is to your liking, Medina will help you with the rest,” he turned and abruptly left, without so much as sparing you a glance, leaving you standing there in awe.

Medina came into the room, out of breath and carrying the wood to start the fire. “are you okay My Lady, you look a little flush,” she asked.

“oh yes I’m fine I think its just the temperature change.”

“Let’s get you warmed up, we don’t want you getting sick,” she said as she started the fire.

She then helped you to undress, pulling out a periwinkle blue dress.

“Mrs Venebale, the seamstress, will be arriving on Wednesday to measure you properly and discuss preferences with you, for now the Count has selected a few dresses.” She said as she finished lacing you up. You looked at yourself in the mirror and Medina started on your hair, you were happy to do it yourself, but she insisted. You would have to get used to all this extra help.

“Is there anything in particular you want to see my Lady?” Medina asked as she place the last pin.

“I’d like to go to the library if you don’t mind,” you replied, pulling on you matching blue gloves.

////

The Library of the castle was as grand as its surrounding, the thought of so many books for you to occupy your time with brought a smile to your face. The room had shelves going right up to the ceiling, two floors and various moving ladders to reach the highest shelves. This was a dream come true; You wouldn’t be limited to what your family allowed you to read. The sun had started to peak through the clouds a little, illuminating the gold embossing on the spines, the books calling out to you. You selected a book and sat down by the fire, feeling at peace for the first time in a while.

////

When Medina came to get you for dinner, the sun had set. You were lost in your book, not noticing the passage of time. As you arrived in the dining room, you noticed that the table was only set for one.

“will the count be joining me tonight?” you asked.

“Unfortunately, he has important business to attend to, he’ll be served in his study,” replied Mrs Mead.

You sat at the table by yourself, a little lonely without his company already. Yet the feeling of being watched started to creep up on you, persisting throughout your meal.

////

You made your way back to your room, finding that Medina had set up a bath for you.

“Would you like any assistance my Lady,” Medina asked.

“No thank you, I’d like a moment to myself if that’s alright with you,” you smiled. You were not a child, the least you could to is bathe yourself.

You sank into the lavender scented water, relaxing instantly. All the tension caused by your new Husband seemed to melt away. He was a strange man, and you knew he would continue to vex you, so you would need to make the most of your time alone.

As you sunk further into the water, you heard the door creak. When you looked no one was there, when you called out there was no reply. You tried to tell yourself that Medina may have left the door open, but that feeling of being watched from earlier, stared to creep up again.

You got out the bath, quickly drying yourself off and putting your night gown on. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation getting to you that was making you paranoid. You blew out all your candles, leaving the fireplace as the only light in the large room. For the first time since you were a child you wish your mother was here with you, to comfort you and sing you to sleep. You fell into a restless sleep that night, dreaming of strange things.

Dreaming of sharp teeth.

Of cold hands.

Of blood.

And of coal black eyes and pale skin.

Next>>>

#my writing #michael langdon #michael langdon x reader #WKM2

[penny-beee]

Lady Wendy

REWRITE (1/?)

Summary. Lady Wendy is an Eternal Elemental and heart broken, Loki the God Mischief is very much alive after Thanos.

Description. LokixReader(Provided Name)

Word Count. 2300

AN. I have a board for a story inspo if you want me to post it (:

Shouts from the castle help shattered and tore at my heart as they ran after me - the skirt of my dress held between my arms as I ran for my life. The people I had grown up with, the kind people that raised me and took care of me now viewing me as a monster. A witch. The one time I slip up of course being in front of the entire royal court.

I had held my power in for so long - only my mother and sister knowing of my impurities. We were sitting in the garden, watching the men play croquette (as we did every Saturday) together. Mother was sitting besides me, my head resting gently on her lap as she fondled with pieces of my hair. The relaxation soothed me - broke down the walls I had built for so long. I hadn’t realized I was making little tornados with my pointer fingers. Mother’s gaze being elsewhere but Queen Elizabeth’s being very present, the look of horror unknown until she stood from her seat.

“Witch.” The Queens voice just higher than a shout - pure hatred poured from the corner of her mouth, eyebrows furrowed and nose scrunched up high.

Instantly, I jumped from my mother’s lap. The word I dreaded to be called - shook me from my peaceful afternoon. I looked at my surroundings- the men had started to close in on me. One last gaze over to my mother - she mouthed the word ‘run’ silently. With a quick flick of my hands - I sent the men flying backwards to give me a head start. Running from a dozen men in a 40 pound dress was not going to be successful but I would die trying.

I trudged through the lawn - the sacred forest just a few feet ahead. One way or another I would make it through this trial. I peered over my shoulder one last time as I stopped at the edge of the forest. The crowd of angry people halting as well - I could hear the last piece of my heart shatter as they taunted me. A single salty tear crawled through my parted lips and into my dry mouth.

I turned on my heel and entered the abyss of mystery. No one had ever made it out of the forest alive - many men would go in looking for treasures beyond riches and never be seen again. Women would tell stories that the men disappeared simply to get out of their marriages. Men spoke stories of a ghost that lingered over it as if it was possessed. I however believed the forest could breathe. From my room in the castle - you could see the forest. The trees shifted in the breeze - when I would go near the tree line I could hear the groaning of the earth stretching with every breath. Nature is more than dirt and rock - its the way of life - it is life. The creator of all. In conclusion - the forest never scared me, only peaked my curiosity.

The wooden beasts surrounding the forest were dark - blackened. Grass dead and crisp under my steps - a warning sign for intruders to ‘beware’. A scent of green apple and pine carried through the air - kissing the inside of my freckled nose. A feeling of warmth caressed the places of bare skin on my figure. A strange feeling for a feared and uncharted place. The feeling was familiar though - father was similar. A knight - he towered over everyone and was a forced to be reckoned with. Father was a cold man - never showing emotion on his scared up face unless drunk off mead. I never understood how mother could do it for all those years.

A loud crunch of a twig tore me from my thoughts - my head whipped towards the location of the sound. Nothing in sight but trees. A soft airy giggle in the form of a breeze caught my eyes. Little pieces of leaf floated through it. Another wind bender? I wiped the few tears from my heated cheeks and stepped deeper into the forest - following the sweet sound. My dress ripped and shredded from the thorns - sleeves falling apart and hair going back to its natural wavy form. My feet bruised in the uncomfortable pointy shoes I had been expected to wear.

Just as the giggling stopped - a curtain of ivy shielded my vision in front of me. Curiosity took over my body, a soft grin of hope grew on my face as I pulled the ivy to the side. Bewildered at the beauty - I took every inch of the sight before me in.

The sun shown brightly - casting a slight yellow haze on the bright green and huge pine trees. Birds flew so carelessly up above my head. Wild flowers from Cornflower to Chicory adorned the ground - the grass now healthy and perfectly kept. A single white tailed Eagle in a tree across the field. The bird watched my every move, his eyes bore into my soul. I slipped the pointy shoes off my roughed up feet and shed the first layer of my dress off. The weight lightening quickly and sending a happy shiver up my spine. I stepped out into the light - the wind coming back to guide my attention to the eagle. He fluttered down - shifting into a human form effortlessly. Something I’d only heard in stories - a prince many years ago casted out just as I had been today for being a shape shifter. That was him, Prince Carter. My mouth fell open - leaving room for a little fly to crawl in if it felt fit. The Prince was as described in all the stories; pale blonde hair, almost white, pale skin with red freckles, tall and lengthy. I stood frozen for a moment before his hand on my shoulder awoke me.

“Lady Wendy, I’ve been waiting for you.” He confessed smoothly - his voice of honey in a warm black tea.

“For me? Why is that?” My voice cracked at the odd statement.

“My dear girl, you’re the protector of these woods - the winds - the animals. You’re our voice.”

“You’re our voice.” Rang in my ears for the millionth time today. Over the course of these 200 something years - I never forgot what Carter had said. I protected these woods - any soul for seen to have ill-will on my beloved home was rid of before they could step foot inside. I had grown - my powers more than a gust of wind or a tornado in my palms - I connected with the animals and plants. The persuasion of my tongue helped guide the plants in times of battle. The time of war, destruction and chaos was past us now. My home hadn’t been touched in over two decades - something I was proud of.

My hair grew out to my bum, the waves of chocolate brown would fall over my shoulders every now and again when I’d crouch down. A wooden crown adorned my head every so often - maybe a flower crown of daisies as well. I grew to love armored dresses and long simple gowns - my all time favorite being my emerald green cape and maroon red leather suit I mended ages ago. My face never fell with age - hair never grew grey - a few would come in every 15 years but nothing crazy. My hands stayed soft, a quality I never found imperfections in.

Carter had led me to a cottage one day - I had grown tired of sleeping under a willow tree. A woman with almost the most purest of intentions was allowed in the woods and had stayed in a stone lined cottage just a little deeper into the trees. I trudged barefoot through the wilted leaves and freshly watered grass. The cottage was buried under some trees, big flower bushes hiding most of the sides of it. A cozy and delicate home - something very different from what I had grown up in.

I couldn’t help but feel a tug at my heart strings, excitement filled my body. It was so incredibly adorable and it was all mine. I looked up at Carter - his almost black eyes staring back down at me. He was proud, the goofy grin gave it all away.

I grinned softly at the wholesome memory of my old friend. Oh how I miss that crazy bird. I sighed as I stood up to make my way inside - the sun was to set soon. I made my way to my little kitchen - a few dishes stacked up in my ancient sink. A task as simple as dishes - kept me level headed and humble.

Although, Carter explained many times my purpose and who I was. I never thought of myself as a “God” or Deity. I had met other benders throughout the years - some stuck in eternity with me and some down the path to die a humanly death. One of closest friends Aura was of the water element - she could feel every emotion of every wave - the heart and soul of every animal. Aura is an Eternal Elemental as I am. Cursed to protect our element(s) until another comes around to fill our shoes. The thought of death was something light to me - I had seen it so often in my animals and plants. It was peaceful, no pain came after just silence.

I sighed in content as I started washing the few dishes - times like this I wished for someone to come keep me company. I loved my animals and the earth around me but the lack of human connection killed my morale. I finished the little chore and sauntered over to my fluffy bed - over the years I realized if I didn’t have a man in my life a handful of pillows was going to come in handy. I chuckled at the thought of any man sharing my sleeping chambers - I shook the thought away and ruffled my hair up. Slipping out of my leathers and into a cotton sleeping gown. My limbs dove under the sheets - letting the warmth take over. I closed my hazel green eyes to only be consumed by rest.

I awoke the next morning just as the sun rose - my eyes fluttered open, my nose sniffing the at the familiar scent of morning dew. A personal favorite. Today felt good - my body was rested, my heart full of happiness and mind clear of any negativity. A day for dressing up. I squealed goofily as I made my way over to my closet of dresses. A newly mended gown sat in front of my pale face. That one it is. The beige gown kissed the floor and laid gently behind me - bronze metal embroidery outlined my bust and torso - creating a little corset. The sleeves were skin tight - little bronze cuffs keeping my wrists safe in a time of battle. I smiled at the beauty I felt but something was missing - my head felt too light. Cockily, I smirked at myself in the mirror. A crown. I grabbed my bronze and ruby crown - placing it perfectly upon my wavy locks.

Happily, I made my way out of my cottage and down to the meadow. A tall walking stick helped me trudge through the path. A few deer/doe laid in the grass peacefully - babies jumping around them. A few tweety birds flew besides my head - saying hello sweetly. A somber moment of pure joy - happiness from every creature I could feel the emotions of every animal and every plant - something I often casted away after the disappearances five years ago.

Suddenly, the ground shook. Nothing of my doing - I searched around the field to spot, scanning through every hint of darkness, nothing. The tree-line. A quick whistle escaped my peach lips as I summoned Clay my White Tailed Eagle to my side. I darted quickly over to the area of possible intrusion. There sat just a few feet away from the entrance, a black jet. I didn’t emerge, not yet. If they were a threat I couldn’t show my face just yet - I watched as three men stomped out of the back. A man of metal, a one eyed man and a man of mystery. My eyes furrowed as I watched them make their way towards me, my hand stiffened around my walking stick.

“Lady Wendy, we are here on good intentions. My name is Tony Stark, we met about five years ago when we came to recruit you.” The familiar voice boomed.

“You decided against me - do you remember that?” I sneered, the awkward memory of their director rejecting me because of my lack of motivation to help.

“Well we were hoping the motivation had changed after the disappearances.”

I stepped from behind the trees - my dress flowing behind my body. Clay perched himself on my shoulder and watched the scene unfold with me.

Amused - I stepped just in front of the three men. “What makes you think you can bring him back?” My poor Carter one of the vanished. My heart ached for him - he was kind and good. A man I could proudly call my brother.

“We think we found a way to get the stones together one last time.” The man I presumed to be Thor spoke up.

“And if this doesn’t work out?”

“Then we die.” The mysterious man stated - no feeling in his voice.

I sighed teetering over the weight of the two options, gazing over at Clay. Clay was only bird - I could feel like approval radiate from his feathers. Clay and Carter were my best friends - the two I could count on forever.

Finally, “You’re in charge.” I whispered to the bird before I brought Clay to my wrist and sent him off back into the woods.

“Alright, let’s get Carter back.”

#imagine #spotify #loki odinson #loki #loki x reader #loki odinson imagines #tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddleston #avengers #avengers imagines

[theemptyquarto]

Abandoned WIP

This is a melancholy little entry that I stopped working on back in 2015, apparently, since Mary and John’s daughter is an “Amelia” rather than a “Rosie,” and Mary’s real name is “Angela” not “Rosamund”  During the period in which I was writing it they announced, filmed, and released the film “Mr. Holmes” which deals with some similar subjects but which I did NOT rip off. I ripped off a Mitchell and Webb sketch:)

Age, eventually, makes mockeries of all of us.  When I was in my sixties and seventies, I discovered that I did in fact have a heart. And a pancreas.  And many joints, none of which seemed to want to work together properly anymore.  And several other failing body parts that required me to take a dozen pills every single day of my life.

None of this happened to Sherlock.  He remained more or less exactly as he’d always been, just craggier.  He kept his hair, and when it changed color it started in elegant wings over his temples then became a flattering overall silver. Meanwhile I discovered that even once I gave up on blonde, I would have to keep coloring my hair, since it was an unattractive yellowish grey when left to its own devices.

Despite my array of minor ailments, our life together was… good.  We split our time between the Sussex downs, where his bees were, and London, where our grandchildren were.  He took cases, but only the most interesting ones.  I wrote my novels, but only every three years, instead of the annual volumes I’d churned out in my prime.  Sherlock wrote a practical handbook on beekeeping and was furious that nobody wished to buy it.

It was a snowy winter afternoon in Baker Street, and he’d just come in from the cold.  He was flushed and excited to tell me all about what he’d been up to since he’d been gone for a week: a commonplace-seeming garroting that had led to the discovery of an active human-sacrifice cult with multiple sites across Europe.  I vaguely considered putting it into a story but decided it was so wildly implausible that even my extremely patient readers wouldn’t believe it.

“Oh, you should have seen it, Mary!” he exclaimed, “There I was, tied to the altar below the statue of Czernobog, and the priest was saying the chant and holding the rope over my head, when all at once the door burst open and-“

He paused, then, and said, “Oh, hell.  What’s his name?  The detective inspector?  Amelia’s boss?  Black, muscular, gay?”

“Ted Gregson.”

“Yes.  Right.  Him.”

He didn’t continue on, but flung himself into chair and stared into the fireplace.  I prodded, “So then what happened?”

“I believe something’s gone wrong with my mind, Mary.”

I rolled my eyes at that. For someone who was always as healthy as a horse he was a terrible hypochondriac.

“You had a senior moment. Anyway you never used to remember Greg’s name either… you may have some sort of block for DIs.”

“No.  This is something different.  And it’s been going on for a while.”

Sherlock was right. He mostly was.  Like a lot of intelligent people, he’d been able to compensate for the earliest stages, but he was right.  After that, the progression seemed terribly fast.  We spent several months in a haze of scans and therapy, and he accumulated enough prescription bottles to rival my own collection.  Some of them were highly experimental and provided by his brother’s network of mysterious scientists.  None of them really seemed to do much.

Amelia, being the dear that she is, volunteered to take us in when it all started getting too much for me to handle by myself.  But she had three young children and a husband to look after, a hugely busy career with the Met, plus far too many stairs for me to manage every day.  Therefore I sold the house at Baker Street for an obscene amount of money to a city stockbroker, and we moved out to the downs for what I knew would be the last time.

I’ve spent my life moving on and leaving things behind me.  I’d dropped the original version of myself with no real regrets.  I’d quit my first two careers, both of which I’d been proud of and enjoyed.  I’d managed to get through the death of a husband who I had loved so much that even thirty years later it still hurt to think of him.  So it’s silly how many tears I shed over that dingy Georgian money pit.  

But the cash I got for the place was very helpful.  Despite the continuing success of the Jim Winston novels and the fact that Sherlock had softened up on taking dull cases for money as he aged, we weren’t exactly rich. Then, too, we had new expenses.  I had to hire a nice young woman to help me look after the house, and a large young man to keep an eye on Sherlock in the evenings, since he tended to want to wander after dark.

Then I had to hire another nice young woman because Sherlock had deduced that the original one was unfaithful to her husband, and had of course done it to her face.  Then another large young man since Sherlock, who took a while to experience any of the physical debility that comes with Alzheimer’s, got confused and shoulder-threw the first one across the lounge one evening. At a certain point I arranged for a local hippie couple to come by and look after the bees in exchange for the honey.

We carried on for a few years.  He had his good days and his bad ones.  On his good days he’d still consult, by email, since he had a rock-hard certainty that England couldn’t get by without him.  I published “The Mountain of Fear,” which sold as well as any of my books but as always was savaged by the critics for popularist dreck.  

I started work on my next novel and got about a quarter of the way through it.  Then one day I realized that it was likely that it would be the last one I ever had time to write, and that after it was done, there would be no more Jim Winston stories.  I could face not writing it, but I couldn’t face a world where John, even a fictionalized and imaginary John, wasn’t around, and so I put the MS in a drawer in my desk and turned the key.  “Caught in transition from imagination to life” was the best epitaph I could have written for him, with my limited abilities.

We had fewer and fewer good days.

On a brilliant indian summer day, I went to London to have a new and complicated type of bone scan that couldn’t be done locally.  This was mostly uneventful, although we incidentally discovered that I had finally shrunk to the point where I was less than five feet tall.  The nurse said the radiologist would look over the films and be in touch in the next few weeks.  I took Amelia to lunch and we talked about the grandchildren, mostly, and she promised to bring them out for a visit at the weekend.  Then I took the train back home- I still drove, but didn’t care to do it in the city any more.  

When I got back from the station, there was a long black town car parked on the gravel drive in front of our house.  The driver, a lovely young woman and obviously a Secret Service agent, was leaning on the hood smoking a cigarette.  She nodded politely to me as I passed by.  I therefore was not surprised to see Sherlock’s brother sitting in the kitchen, drinking tea.  He shared the Holmes tendency for turning up where he wasn’t expected.  

Or wanted.  

Like his brother, he was well-preserved physically, though in the case of Mycroft the adjective “mummified” always seemed more appropriate.  He had to be nearly ninety but his eyes were as bright and judgmental as they ever had been.  He nodded to me as Vithnya, the second housekeeper, helped me out of my coat.  

“Mycroft.”

“Mary.”

We weren’t ever particularly friendly.  He’d never trusted me, and had verbally disapproved of my relationship with Sherlock until it was so well-established that it had become a pointless gesture on his part.  For my part, I despised the constant needling that was his preferred method of interaction with his younger brother.  To the best of my knowledge he and Sherlock hadn’t met in person for nearly three years.

Even with all that, it was oddly relaxing to talk to him.  We were both such skilled and professional liars that we never bothered trying it out with one another.

“How’s he done since I was out?” I asked Vithnya.

“Pretty well.  He had a nice chat with Mr. Holmes – with Mr. Mycroft Holmes, that is - and now he’s out with his bees.  But he was a little agitated this morning.  He kept walking around looking for someone called Angela.”

I could feel Mycroft’s eyes boring in to me over the rim of his teacup.  I smiled at the girl and said, “He was looking for me.  It’s an old joke we used to have.”

She giggled, and I realized abruptly that she was relieved, that she’d worried I’d be hurt that my husband, in his confusion, wanted to see another woman.  This was a thought that was so ridiculous on so many levels that I could have giggled myself.

Vithnya grinned, white teeth in her red lips, and said, “I don’t know about that.  This Angela sounds like a most desperate character!”

“I was quite the firecracker when I was younger, my girl.  Can you keep an eye on him while I chat with Mycroft, please?”

She poured me a cup of tea of my own and went off to do just that.

Mycroft said, “You don’t seem at all nervous of discovery now that Sherlock has lost what - minimal filters - he ever had.”

“I’m not.”

“No statute of limitations on murder.”

I rolled my eyes at him. He was the one, after all, who had replaced my rather half-assed false identity with something that could stand up to any scrutiny.

“She won’t think about it for more than thirty seconds after leaving this room.  I am a little old lady.  In the mind of a twenty-two year old, not only am I obviously harmless now but it is inconceivable I ever would have been otherwise.  You ought to consider hiring some of us on at MI-6. We’re practically invisible.”

“Perhaps I ought.”

I took a biscuit, damn my blood sugar, and dunked it into my tea.  

“Did you and Sherlock have a nice chat?” I asked.

He didn’t answer right away.

“We did,” he said, eventually, “For seventy-eight minutes.  Not once in that period did he recognize me.  I could tell he was making his best deductions.  Sometimes he thought I was John Watson.  Sometimes Greg Lestrade, sometimes Victor Trevor.  I didn’t realize-”

“Didn’t realize what?”

“That he had become so debilitated.  That he was so far gone.”

I sighed.  

“He’s dying, Mycroft. What did you think it would be like?”

He took another biscuit from the packet on the table and put it into his mouth.  Chewed.

“I never thought that he would be the first to go.  I always assumed that I wouldn’t be the one left standing.  When he’s gone-”

He trailed off.  But I could read his thoughts as clearly as if they’d been my own.  When Sherlock was gone there would be no one left with the same sort of mind that Mycroft had… except the departure had already happened, and he’d missed it.

I had some sympathetic pangs – for Mycroft Holmes, of all people – and I said, “He generally perks up a bit in the evenings.  I’m happy to put you up, if you’d like.  Perhaps you could… try again?”

The British Government responded as I should have expected.  He rose, brushed nonexistent crumbs off his lapels, and took up his hat and umbrella.  

“I think that my presence is of no help to him any longer, Mary.  I expect that I will see you again.  At least once.”

He actually bowed to me on his way out.

I finished my tea, and looked out of the window.  Vithnya was sitting in the grass, folding a basket of laundry.  Sherlock was sitting on the bench that looked out over the garden. Both of them seemed contented, at least as far as one could tell from that distance.  The sun was at a deep angle, and so I picked up a blanket and left for the outdoors.

I was glad I had done, as it was starting to get chilly outside and he was in shirtsleeves.  Had I married any other man but this one I would have thought that his indifference to the elements was a sign of his decay, but frankly he’d done the exact same thing when he was forty.  “Just transport,” is the motto he maintained, in far worse weather than this.

At some point in his life someone, presumably his mother, drilled some basic forms of politeness into Sherlock Holmes.  He was terrifyingly, frankly rude in ordinary conversation but when you handed him a cup of tea or tucked a blanket around his body you would inevitably receive a gracious, “Ah, thank you.”  It’d be in the tone of a king addressing his subjects, but you’d get it.  I got just that as I settled the afghan around his knees, and sat down next to him to look over the hives.  

“I’m expecting John and Mary to turn up.  Have you seen them?” he asked me.

When he’d first become ill, he’d asked me to always correct him when he had his lapses.  I’d agreed, but, again, I was such a natural liar that it didn’t much trouble me to say now that, “I believe they’ll be along shortly.” Awful, I know, but sometimes I just wanted not to see him upset.

“Ah,” he replied.

A drone, a late survivor of the autumnal purges, buzzed up and landed on the blanket over his knee. He gently nudged it onto his hand and raised it to eye level before setting it down on the ground.

“I’m a bit worried,” he said, conversationally.

“About what?” I asked.

“Occasionally John’s wife lets me shag her.  And I’m not sure that’s right.”

I blinked. Occasionally?  Thirty-odd years, and I’m not going to go into details about our sex life but it was really very acceptable, and occasionally is what he remembered?  And that I ‘let him’?   But all I said was, “I’m sure Mary wouldn’t do that if John objected. So it’s all right.”

“Ah, good.  You know Mary, then?”

“I do, yes.”

He squinted at me, which, Gawd-help-us, was still terribly cute.

“You’re… one of her relatives,” he said, hesitantly.

I smiled.  “I am,” I said, “How did you know that?”

He grinned at me.  No matter what he’d ever said or how much he’d griped about the unobservant nature of most people, I knew that he loved to explain his deductions.  

“It’s the ears,” he said, setting the pads of his fingers on my chin and turning my face to the side, “Not quite as uniquely identifying as a fingerprint but with a strong genetic component.  The pendulosity of the lobes, the position of the pinnae… clearly you and Mary are closely connected.  You’re too old to be the younger sister, and the mother is dead, but..”

He took hold of my hand and looked at my fingers.  “There’s other things.  You and Mary both have a minor congenital deformity of the smallest finger.  It angles slightly outward.  Not enough to disable either of you, but distinctive, and…”

He turned my hands in his. I have nearly perfectly matched scars on my palms… on my right hand, the souvenir of a Caracas knife fight when I was twenty-seven.  On my left, the souvenir of reaching into a sink filled with dishwater and one broken glass when I was forty.  

And then he stopped, still staring at my hands, and said, “Oh.  Oh Mary.  How could I have forgotten you?  I had you off by heart.”

I lifted a hand and stroked his grizzled chin.  

“It’s fine,” I said, “You have me back.”

He just tangled his fingers in mine and stared.

“That’s my mother’s ring,” he said.  “Did I give that to you?”

I looked at the amethyst on my right ring finger and said, “Yes.  When we got married.”

“I remember that.  You were beautiful in your dress.”

I laughed, unwittingly. “That was my first wedding.  You and I just went to a registry office at two in the afternoon on a Tuesday.”

“Really?”

“We did. There wasn’t much time to plan a wedding.  The exact words of your proposal were, “If I have to be Sir Sherlock you can damn well be Lady Mary.”  It was the day before you got your KCBE.”

“By God.  What a rubbish proposal.”

I smiled.

“Unconventional, definitely.  But I wouldn’t have had you any other way.”

#quarto's fics #Marylock #retirementlock #Major character death #it's john #and in this story it happened decades ago

[stressedlady]

2,5k of god knows how to call this Enjoltaire fic...

The Portrait

He didn't want to be there. The light, the colorful dresses the ladies around him wore, the alcohol he had been practically forced to drink...he felt dizzy and slightly confused.

However, the blond wasn't going back home by any means. He had had a fight with his father and was not willing to give that bastard the satisfaction of thinking that he was dependent of him in any way.

How had Enjolras ended in that famous brothel? Well, in the second he told Courfeyrac that he couldnt return home for the night his friend dragged him and  Combeferre to the Moulin Rouge. They stared  for a while at the beautiful ladies dancing for a while, both of his friends were quite interested but Enjolras face expressed nothing more than indifference, deep resignation and anger.

"This is inmoral." declared the blond.

"That's what a priest would say, and you hate the clergy..."  replied Courfeyrac with a wide smile.

"Well, my arguments are quite different, this poor girls are treated like objects to play with by those rich men because they need their dirty money to survive in this society who shames them as if they criminals. Some of them are probably being forced to work here and have to give the most of their earnings to someone else"  He sighed. "And we are just contributing this injustice by coming to this place."

"Hell, now I feel guilty" snorted Courfeyrac, considering his friend’s words. But seconds later a man who was about their age approached them.  

"Goodnight, Monsieur Courfeyrac" said the man with bright blue eyes and curly black hair. "I just came to say hello before leaving, I see you are in company, I don't want to bother you."

Saying this, his eyes went in a fast gaze from the lad he already knew to the one wearing glasses and to the blond. He smirked at Enjolras' serius face before turning his eyes back to Courfeyrac.

"Grantaire! Goodnight my friend. Don't leave yet, it's uncommon to see you out of your study, and sober..."

"Well, I wanted to take a break from all the comissions and projects, leave the oil paints aside for a couple of hours." He sighed. "But it seems that I've grown used to be alone or with very little company and now this much people and noise is overwhelming."

"Do not lie, you've never been a friend of crowds." He said with a grin. "Let me introduce you to my friends: Monsieur Combeferre, Monsieur Enjolras, this is Grantaire, one of the most brilliant artists of Paris."

Grantaire laughed "Oh, you are the one who lies to them. I don't even reach the rating of artist. Now I should leave to home and get drunk, nice to meet you..."

"Wait!" exclaimed Courfeyrac. "Would you mind to take my friend, Enjolras, with you?" The artist raised his eyebrows, and the blond one frowned. "He wants to do the morally right thing and leave this place but of he is left alone in the streets he will probably get killed by some robber, you are leaving and if you are not in company, you'll probably drink youself to death. Am I wrong?"

Grantaire looked at Enjolras again, trying to scrutinise his beautiful features with the dim light of the place. Then answered smiling "Not at all."

"Then it's done, Enjolras, you may go with Monsieur Grantaire." he said, practically pushing Enjolras off of his chair. "Wait, what?" sputtered Enjolras out of confusion.

"Just follow me, unless you want to stay here." Indicated the artist, with a smirk.

The atmosphere into the Moulin Rouge was really heavy, people flooded every single room and it was so warm that it was hard not to feel dizy. But the two young men went through and, when they crossed the main entrance and stepped into the cold empty streets, they sighed of relief.

  "Would you want me to scort you home? This streets are dangerous at night and, without any intention of offending you, sir, you don't seem very able to defending yourself..."

"Being true, going home is the last thing I'd like to do tonight and, trust me" the blond boy raised slightly the lap of his jacket, showing the artist a small revolver he had in a inside pocket, his face turning serious "I'm not as naïve and helpless as I may seem."

"Good" replied Grantaire quite surpraised "Then, may I invite you to spend the night at my apartment? I mean, chatting and that stuff..."

"Won't I bother you?" Asked Enjolras a bit concerned. "You said you had work to do and, well, you look pretty tired."

"If I go back home alone I'll probably get drunk and stay awake until the alcohol beats me down which may happen around four in the morning...so I would be rather pleased to have company.” he smirked. “And more if it's company of a man who wanted to get out of a brothel because he thought it was inmoral." They had already headed to the artist's flat. "And, don't take me wrong but I'm dying in desires to paint you a portrait, you are really beautiful."  

Enjolras blushed slightly but remained composed. “It’s okay for me...”

Grantaire’s flat wasn't the most luxurious or tidy place he had ever been into but, Enjolras thought, was much better than to stay at the Moulin Rouge. The flat was composed by two big rooms. The first one, in which you entered from the front door, was a kind of small and pretty precarious kitchen. There were a small table with two chairs, a wooden old cupboard in a corner and a firewood kitchen, everything surprisingly clean if you let the five empty wine bottles on the table go unnoticed. Grantaire guided Enjolras to the next chamber and inmediately mumbled something like "Sorry for the mess, I wasn't specting any visit tonight..."

That room was a bedroom, livingroom and studio all together. The funiture was composed by a single person bed in a corner in front of one of the big windows which pierced two of the walls, a desk which filled the space next to the bed and in another corner there was a old wardrobe.  The rest of the stuff were basicaly art supplies. Big white canvases and stands were splayed across the place, paintbrushes of every sizes and textures and a lot paint could be found everywhere in that chamber. Some finished portraits and paintings rested in a corner against the wall and some others, unfinished, filled the stands.

Enjolras entered in the room, followed by his host, and after looking at the composition the previous elements formed, he drived his attention to the finished and ongoing paintings. Portraits of some men who, by the way they looked, would pass as what his father would call a 'respetable gentleman' and he would define as an 'elitist bastard', some still alives and one or two religion themed paintings.

"These are really good." said the guest as Grantaire setled the necesary material to paint the blond boy.

"Thank you, but those are mostly commisions, I actuallyi hate them. They are unoriginal, and ordinary, but is what rich people like to put in their walls covered with silk... and a man needs to eat."  he sighed with a resignated smile, staring at Enjolras who had turned to him. He set a wooden stool which Enjolras had not even seen and approached the blond to take his jacket and hat and put them aside. But first he pointed at the jacket, smirking.

"Your weapon is still here, are you sure you trust me enough to stay unarmed?" Enjolras giggled in a way that made the other man grin sweetly.

"Keep that thing away from me, please. I would hate to fire that crap if is not for a really good reason."

"Okay, then I won’t give you any good reasons." said the artist with a smirk and pointed the stool. “Could you, please, sit here however you like and talk as much as you want?”

“Of course.” Enjolras hummed, doing as he was told, a bit confused but smiling pleasantly and watching the artist disappear behind a canvas of 1m x  50 cm "And what would you like to paint then?" The answer was simple, "Whatever the hell I want and however the hell I want. For example, now I want to paint you like the fine marble you seem to be combined with the impression I get of you as you talk."

" ...great" said Enjolras. The man of dark curls had awaken his curiosity.

"So, l'm curious, why would you think going to the Moulin Rouge is immoral, if I may ask?"

"Well, first of all..." he described a long list of reasons which could perfectly answered Grantaire's question: the public shaming and the terrible treatment fo the costumers to the women who worked there, the miserable pay they had, how ephemeral was their work and so on. He went on his ranting for a half an hour or so, the artist painting his features serious and quite focused. Was surprised that the boy was aware of the injustices of the world surrounding him and was not afraid to put them down in words. However, a sudden doubt crossed his mind.

"Okay, I understand, our society is hypocritical and unfair but..." he lifted his eyes from the canvas and set them on the boy's bright blue eyes. "why the hell should you care at all? "

Enjolras' expression turned serious, but not of anger or anoyance, but with the severity of a man who speaks of his beliefs. His blue eyes seemed to be filled with passion, and so did his voice. "Because I am unable to turn my back to the misery in which a big part of the french citizens is living,  I can't spend a hundred francs in a coat while there are families starving in the streets of Paris, and will never think myself or anyone better or supperior because of how rich or powerful they are."  His words were frivolous and he knew it, but were as honest as a drunk man's. Later he smiled, looking into the artist's eyes. "I believe that all men and women on earth are created equal and shall live in freedom, and I will fight for it."

Grantaires eyes were wide open, staring at the man in front of him. Enjolras wasn't a god or an angel like he had thought at first, he was something he felt more distant and foreign, an idealist with the will to change the world, to make it better.

"Yours is a lost cause, my friend." The artist finally said, hiding himself back again behind the canvas, sighing. "You know it, don't you?"

"Probably, but I don't care, I will defend it with my life." he replied. 'You'll die young, then.' Grantaire thought to himself, feeling a sharp sting in his heart.

The conversation went on quite normal, Enjolras told Grantaire why he didn't want to go home and why he had argued with his dad. The artist told him about the pedant rich old men, their arrogant wives and even more arrogant descendency who commisioned him and how much he hated them. He also talked about his younger sister and how smart she was. They enjoyed their time together and around six in the morning, when the sun had just started rising, painting the sky of beautiful yellow, orange and pink-ish colours and filling the room in which both young men were with a warm light, the portrait was finished.

"Done, come and see."

Enjolras stood up and walked next to the artist.

He looked at the painting and his eyes sparkled like stars, but remained silent.  "Well, do you like it?"

In the painting, his clothes were quite different. He wasn't wearing a white shirt and an expensive vest, made with the finest fabrics, but some more modest, a plane white shirt with puffed sleeves and a red vest. There was a detail Enjolras loved and which made him smile warmly: in his chest there was pinned a cockade with the colours of the French flag.  This was a common accessory for French revolutionaries and rebels, who Enjolras admired and respected. In the portrait he looked quite calm, with a smile, but his eyes sparkled with passion and decission. His blond curls and pale skin seemed to have their own light because around him, over the dark background, a light like the ones around gods and angels had in classicist paintings surrounded him.

"I love it, it's...perfect." Enjolras said out of pure joy. Grantaire observed him tenderly and  felt his heart pounding in his chest when Enjolras set a hand on his shoulder  "You are a really good artist, Grantaire." 

"Thanks, and you a really good model." Answered his compliment. Both of them were slightly blushing, staring at each other. When he noticed this,  Enjolras' cheeks turned completely pink and turned his sight to the canvas again.

 "And how much will it be?" asked suddenly the blond.

"How much will it be, what?" Grantaire looked confused.

"The portrait..."

"Oh, you don't have to pay me."

Enjolras jumped in the place "No way, I can't have you up this late, painting me  and later giving you nothing in return!"

"Of course you can, I'm doing this mostly for fun, and you have stayed there, awake, as I painted. I am not rich but I can afford to paint with no ecconomical profit in return."

"I don't care, I want to pay you." answered Enjolras stubbonrly.

"I won't take any money or anything material." said the artist with a smirk . "I swear the is no need to pay me, Enjolras."

"But-"

"Look, just come back, that will be enough. Come back, pose for me again... I don't know if you can tell but I'm a pretty lonely man and some company won't make me any bad. Only if you want, I mean." he looked quite nervous and embarassed by his own request. "You can't take your portrait with you yet, the oil paint takes a week or so to get dry, you should come to pick it next Sunday."

"I can come earlier if you'd like..." said Enjolras tentatively as he took his jacket and was scolted by Grantaire to the front door.

"Whenever you want, I'm always here."

"Is tomorrow okay? I have some work to do today but I'll be free tomorrow."

Grantaire smiled widely, noticing that the boy had liked him a bit.

"Yes, tomorrow will do."

Enjolras reached out to give the artist the traditional French kiss-on-each-cheek, which took Grantaire quite out of guard. "See you tomorrow, then." and he left. 

Grantaire sighed, walked back to his bedroom and turned stood in front of the finished portrait, wondering if such a beautiful creature was real or that boy was just fruit of his imagination and the last hours had been a dream or a illusion. Maybe he had met an angel or a god, a son of Apollo, or Apollo himself, perhaps.

He put his hands into his pockets, before empty, and hummed when he felt four small heavy objects inside his left pocket. Grantaire took them and couldn't help feeling surprised as he looked at the four 20 franc gold coins on his hand. He rapidly deduced that Enjolras had put them there while giving him the two kisses. He smirked.

"That little motherf-"

#les mis #enjolras #grantaire #enjoltaire #exr #enjoltaire fic #exr fic #1900 AU (? #fanfiction #I mentioned this idea in another post... #les miserables