#like it's got both their names. it's managing to pun both on tea and coffee and on kofi annan for some reason | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

parkers-gal · 3 years

Text

why T.H.

wc: 6k (angst)

jerk!tom makes an appearance

You were angry, that was for sure. Tom knew why, it was his fault after all, but he'd never admit it. He would never 'man up' to you and just apologize like he should. At least, not when he should, but he would later, when the damage was already done and set in.

Truth be told, you were furious. How could he do that when he promised not to? You were more hurt than angry, if you were being honest. You didn't want to be the 'mother' but quite frankly, you were disappointed too.

It was your dream to own a bakery, but a bakery in London was something to get your hopes up. Dreaming big never ended well for you in the past, but after years of working your ass off, you had managed to achieve something you had wanted since you were young.

Your bakery, Flour Before Frosting, also happened to be where you met Tom, your boyfriend of almost 18 months. He had walked in one day, charming with a dashing smile, and asked for "your best made velvets, frosted with your number." You remember that day vividly, for it was one of the many times Tom would drop by before eventually taking you out and officially making you his girlfriend. Eight months and 17 days later, you moved out of your crappy flat and into his house (though it really just made things easier because you were already over every night).

You were in your shared bedroom, writing down new plans for how to decorate your bakery for the holidays.

"Hey, babe!" Tom called.

"In here, Tom," you yelled back.

"Oh- hey, luv. Got an old friend visiting next week, so I won't be by for our Wednesday lunch plans," he informed you.

"Oh, okay. Do you want some cupcakes and tea? Gonna have a new batch on Tuesday, fresh with new tea that Jackson just got. I think he made it- anyways, he gave me a sample a few weeks and I absolutely loved it. I think you'll like it too, it's just right for you." You rambled, and Tom laughed and shook his head at you.

"Yeah, darling. I'd love some cupcakes for my guest, gonna have to show off your amazing skills, aren't I?"

You blushed, waving your hand in the air as a hint for him to leave so he would stop flustering you. He ran over to kiss your cheek, leaving a Hershey kiss on your desk before yelling out that he'd be at the gym with Harrison for the next two hours.

Wednesday had come by, and you were on a lunch break, leaving Jackson in charge before heading to your favorite café for coffee and some light reading, and maybe even more planning. Heading in, you ordered and sat down in a booth. The door chime rung, making you look up from your papers and notebooks you had spread out to start your organizing. Tom, and what must've been his friend, walked in. You smiled as they went to the side of the restaurant with the small library of old, vintage books. They were facing away from you, sitting side by side in the angled lounge chairs. You were about to go over to and say 'hi' but your waitress came by with your coffee, so you stayed seated and went back to your work.

You saw Tom with the Tupperware box you gave him, enclosed with the small lunch note you always wrote him. He opened the box, giving a cupcake to the man talking to him (you were right in earshot), before reaching in for his, and the note. Before he got the chance to even look at it, his friend spoke up, frosting on his upper lip.

"You said these were made by a friend? This is fucking disgusting. Is it chocolate or..? Damn, ew, is this frosting healthy?" he laughed.

Tom nodded along, "I, uh, honestly couldn't uhm.." he trailed off, his friend looking at him with a confused expression, expectantly thinking for Tom to agree with him. "Yeah, man, I don't really fucking know."

His friend took another small nibble before playfully gagging, and looking at Tom while he bit into it for the first time. Tom reacted in the same way, 'gagging', to agree with his friend, before putting it on the table with his friend's cupcake.

"Who made that? Certainly wasn't Gordon Ramsey."

At this, Tom laughed. Whether he thought it was funny, or if he was just trying to ease the tension, you couldn't tell. You were too busy blinking tears away.

"You said you had tea?" he questioned Tom. Tom nodded. "Good, need something to wash away that disgusting thing people call a cupcake."

You cringed, turning your head to the side with squinted eyes because you truly couldn't sit there and listen to what someone thought was wrong with your life's work.

Tom didn't reply, just getting the tea in the thermoses in his bag, handing one to his friend while opening his. You were contemplating on if his lack of response was a good thing. On one hand, he wasn't completely encouraging the hate you were getting, but on the other hand, he didn't stick up for you either. Right now, that was all you could think about. But then, everything slipped your mind when both boys tried the tea you had specially made (early, for it wasn't to be sold in your shop for about another month) just for them.

Tom opened his thermos, smiling when he took a sniff at it, because you were right. It smelt like something he would love. His friend, however, would not agree. Taking one sip, he was just as rude about it as he was with the cupcake, going as far as spitting it back into the thermos.

He got up, taking both cupcakes with him, and dumped the thermos out in the trash can, the cupcakes following not long after. He sat down next to Tom, shaking his head with a coy grin before speaking.

"Next time, let's get Chinese or something," he laughed, Tom nodding along with him before slipping both thermoses back into his bag, dropping your note in the process. Before he got to pick it up, his friend crumpled it up and threw it towards the trash can, laughing probably a little too loudly about it. You were certain he knew it was a note from Tom's girlfriend.

You were still for five minutes, stunned. Ultimately, you decided to cut your lunch break short, packing up your stuff as quickly as possible, leaving a tip and rushing out, your back to the boys.

You had yet to bring anything up, though you weren't noticeably acting different around Tom. But when he mentioned the next week that his 'old friend' wanted to "eat dinner and get drunk" you were hesitant. You hoped this 'friend' was temporary, because the effects were already starting to show, and you didn't like what they were.

Tom didn't tell you when he'd be out with, Andrew, he said his name was? but you didn't think it would be the immediate week after the cupcake incident.

You were sitting on the kitchen stool, jotting down ideas for your shop when he came in.

"Oh, Y/N! Andrew and I decided to go out this Friday, said something about clubbing or shit. Anyways, he said don't expect me home early, but I might sneak away if he's drunk enough," he said, rather quickly, for while he was talking, he was filling a water bottle and grabbing some fruit.

"Wait, this Friday? I thought we-"

"Thanks, Y/N! Gotta head out," he was practically yelling, running to kiss you on the cheek before racing out and slamming the door shut.

Did he mean this Friday? His only day off for the rest of the month, the one where you two planned a film night, with take away and late night talks and star walks in the park?

It was only eight o'clock on a Wednesday morning, your late opening day, but you decided to head in early. Walking in, Jackson had already opened for you, being the gentleman he is, just setting up for the day, knowing you didn't want to walk in to a store full of customers without being there. He was sitting at a window table with his boyfriend, Jeremy, giggling and eating a muffin. When the door chime rung, he looked up, his boyfriend turning around to smile and wave while Jackson was coming towards you.

"Hey, Y/N! We're a little short on shortbread today," he laughed at his pun, "so I put in a new batch about 20 minutes ago. The chalk board is set up and the cappuccino machine is on-" he was about to turn away before he stopped abruptly. "Oh! And Tom stopped by while I was in the back. Jeremy said that he wanted you to know something about not eating cupcakes for this new diet? I don't know, he mentioned something about Anthony telling him about some diet that would help fo-"

"Andrew!" Jeremy cut in from behind, correcting him.

"Right, Andrew told him it would help for his job. So he said to stop making his weekly order."

"Oh," you weren't quite sure what you could say. Thank you? What the fuck? It was all jumbled into your brain too fast. "Thank you, J. Well, guess we should open shop for the day." With that, you worked until seven-thirty, an hour later than you usually would.

Arriving home, you walked in and set your bag down, heading for the kitchen to get water. Mid-drink, Tom walked in.

"Why are you home so late?"

You swallowed, placing the cup down, "I was working," you deadpanned, maneuvering around him so your shoulder wouldn't hit his on your way out. He followed you into the living room.

"It's almost 8!"

"Yeah? I don't know what you want me to say, Tommy. I'm sorry? I'll tell you what you want to hear, but that doesn't mean I mean it. "

He was silent for a second, laughing slightly, seemingly letting it go. You weren't joking, but you didn't want to argue, yet. "Right," he laughed again, "Sorry. I did want to talk to you though."

"We are talking."

"Smartass," he joked. You giggled slightly. "I've got to go back to press next week. I leave on Tuesday." You stopped laughing.

"For how long?"

"I'm always gonna be away for the same amount of time, Y/N, you know that. I'll be back mid October."

October? It was only the beginning of April.

"Well, I'll be back in London for a few days in July so you'll have that. Press ends around September, but I need to finish up Chaos Walking. I'll be here for Halloween though," he smiled encouragingly.

You nodded. "Okay.. do great things, Tommy," you always told him.

Friday rolled around, and you you were going to close the shop early for your night with Tom, but he was going out, so your plans were out the window. Instead, [your best friend] would be coming over at around eight. Tom would be gone by that time, right?

It didn't matter, because he wasn't even home when you got back from work. It was barely seven, you two usually had dinner together. Well, not this past week because he had plans with Harrison, and his brothers, and Andrew, and Tuwaine...and practically everyone else. Seeing as you had about an hour, you decided to shower, changing into some casual clothes. Tom was going clubbing... he wouldn't be back before 4 A.M., right? You didn't care, [your best friend] would spend the night anyways. You had a feeling it was going to be a long night.

You were wearing a cute tank, your favorite sleepwear, and some loose sweat pants. You were drying your hair with a towel when the doorbell rang. It rang again, so with the towel in your hand you ran down the stairs, yelling, "just a second," but it rang again. You swung the door open, confused, because [your best friend] always came in unannounced because you two were completely comfortable with each other. Instead, you were met with the boy from the cafe, Andrew. You looked around, and saw Tom's car parked by the curb, Tom waiting in the driver's seat while talking to someone in the back.

"Hey, Tom texted you or- whatever. We're going clubbing, can you get his stuff?"

"Uhm.. stuff?"

"Yeah.. he said you'd put his stuff inna backpack so he could get ready at my place," he answered confidently, as if you knew about this.

"I'm- uh, sorry? I don't have anything," you answered.

"What?" his eyes were wide with annoyance and disbelief.

The car honked, and Andrew turned around, shrugging his shoulder and mouthing something to Tom, before Tom came out and up to you.

"Didn't you get my text, Y/N? About the stuff sitting on my dresser?" he asked, straight up without so much as a 'hello' or 'how're you?'.

"No, I- no. No I didn't get your text, Tom."

"Well-"

"Well?" you interrupted.

"Thanks for, nothing I guess," he responded, moving past you and into the house to retrieve his things. Once again, you were left with Andrew on your porch, only this time he was eyeing you up and down, winking at you before yelling to Tom and going back to the car, Tom following not long after. This time, he didn't even bother saying goodbye on his way out. Just as they drove off, [your best friend] walked up.

"What the hell was that?" she shrieked.

"What?"

"That whole, 'thanks for nothing' bullshit. What kind of boyfriend thinks he can say that to his girlfriend?!"

You started heading in, taking one of her bags with you as she followed you inside. Placing her things down, you turned around, giving her a bear hug which she gladly returned.

"It wasn't that bad. Besides, he's been worse this week," you explained.

She was silent for a moment, shaking her head before talking. "Okay, I see why you called for a girl's night on such short notice. C'mon, lets get changed into some pajamas and get the snacks ready. It's been far too long since we've had actual time with each other," she gave you a sentimental smile, soft and sweet. You nodded, already planning on what to get and where to make the fort of blankets you already knew she wanted.

About half an hour later, she was in comfortable clothes, and you were in the kitchen making hot chocolate, getting chips and dip and pretzels and candy and everything in between. You had both decided to use the guest bedroom, which was accompanied with it's own bathroom. The room was probably a little smaller than the master bedroom, which was normal, but the bathroom was more expensive than yours. Plus, this one was used when the boys came over, so the Xbox, all the video games, movies, and the music equipment was here. Even with all this expensive stuff, the room was still as big as ever, so putting a fort in front of the bed barely took up any space.

You had to make at least three trips for all the food and stuff you were bringing, and because this was a guest bedroom, it had a mini refrigerator. Both of you decided to keep it pg-13, no alcohol or rated-R movies. Tonight, it was a Disney marathon with hot cocoa. At around 11:30, you had just finished your third movie, Beauty and the Beast, when [your best friend] stopped the ending credits and turned to you.

"Before we watch anything else," she turned to you while you did the same, "let's talk. We can fall asleep watching Disney, but we can't fall asleep and keep talking," you interrupted her, laughing, before nodding away. "So.. what's going on? With Tom, I mean, because you mentioned that he was worse earlier this week than he was today, and tonight he was pretty nasty so I mean- yeah, what else has he done?"

You paused, looking down and sighing, giving in. "Well, it started with Andrew, some 'old friend' he wanted to catch up with. I gave Tom some cupcakes and tea from the shop to eat with him. I was on my lunch break when the boys came into the same cafe and started eating. They didn't like it and- well.. they sorta threw it out after gagging about it," you said. Her eyes went wide. "I don't know, [best friend's nickname], I mean at first I was stunned, hurt obviously because it seemed to be on purpose because Tom knows I always go to that cafe on my lunch break. Is it a coincidence that he came to the same cafe at the exact same time I have my lunch break?"

You went on to explain how Tom had cancelled two dinner dates and a movie night within the past two weeks, and that he was going clubbing without inviting you, cancelling his weekly cupcake order and calling you clingy after you texted him about making sure he ate dinner. Not to mention he only just mentioned him leaving next week on a press tour, and spending his only day off with Andrew even though you two had planned spending that day together for a month.

By the time you were done listing off all the reasons, you were sobbing into [your best friend's] chest, trying to catch your breath. It was too late though, because Tom wasn't here and the events leading up to an attack like this could have only been noticed by him, seeing as [your best friend] wasn't here to see them herself. You couldn't hear anything, your pounding heart being the only thing filling your ears. [Your best friend's] attempt to calm you down wasn't working, resorting to the breathing exercises which were slowly drowned out. You could't even get a breath in. The realization hit you: if you didn't take control, you would faint. You had never had an attack this intense in at least four months, so everything needed to help you would take too long to get.

You gripped her arm, unable to focus on anything except for the fact that you were going to faint.

"I'm here, Y/N, I'm right here. It's going to be okay, right? We're gonna work things out. Yeah? Everything's gonna be alright. We're gonna be alright. We'll be alright," she cooed.

You blacked out, only for about two minutes, but you did. When you woke, you sobbed again, finding a steady breath before completely crushing [your best friend] with a hug, gripping her tightly.

"Thank you," you whispered.

She got you settled, convincing you to snack lightly before brushing your teeth, making sure you drank water. The fort was ready, untouched since your movie marathon, so you both climbed in and fell asleep watching Disney.

Four hours later, it was four o'clock in the morning, and the front door slammed shut.

"Y/N!" Tom slurred, dragging out the last syllable of your name. "Y/N!" he repeated, the same way but louder. "Where the fu-! OH! OW!" he screamed.

You and [your best friend] were already starting to sit up, confusion spreading across your faces before she got up, following her directly after. She opened the bedroom the door, and you stepped out, making your way down the stairs and seeing Tom sitting on the ground, missing a shoe with a rip on his shirt sleeve.

"There you are! I wus at the club a-and Andrew and I were hanging out and he took home some girl- he said if he was getting laid that I should come home and get laid by my lame-ass girlfriend, so come here! Fuck me!" he slurred, talking too loudly for your liking.

"Did you just call her a lame-"

"Tom, you're drunk. Go to bed," you cut her off, knowing how protective she would get. Honestly, you wanted her to scream and shout and yell at him, and you wanted to join her. But if you were going to, you wanted him to be completely sober so the guilt would really sink in.

"No wonder you're a lame-ass," he muttered.

"What was that?" [your best friend] yelled.

"Nothing! I'm going up to bed, see?" He looked at both of you before running up the stairs like a kid.

You both stood there, a little hesitant, before going up the stairs, talking on your way.

"Y/N, I swear if you hit him, you better knock some sense into him because that boy is so ridiculously stupid and undeserving of your love."

You laughed, growing quiet because you were beginning to think she was right.

The next morning, you and [your best friend] got up at nine to make pancakes and bacon, your usual sleepover breakfast. The speaker was playing One Direction, both of you singing and slightly dancing when Tom came downstairs, disheveled and hungover.

It was Saturday, his last Saturday with you, but it had taken him too long to get interested in hanging out with his girlfriend. "Hey, Y/N. Wanna do something today?" he asked.

[Your best friend] looked at you, but you had already made up your mind. "Sorry, Tom, [your best friend] and I are going shopping together. Next time, though," you said, before putting your dishes in the sink and slipping out of the room, [your best friend] following you out.

That night, you and your best friend departed ways, telling her you'd call and let her know when she could come over again. You got home, and decided to put your new things in the guest bedroom, because your clothes from last night were still there. The mess, luckily, was cleaned up thanks to [your best friend], who convinced you to help with the cleanup.

It was nearly ten-thirty by the time you got situated. You were in a new set of pajamas, sitting in front of the tele in the guest bedroom on the floor, looking at all the new things you bought. You found this super cute sweater, and a pair of jeans [your best friend] insisted on buying for you. You also found a pair of shoes to go with an outfit you had planned in your head; it was perfect. People say your looks shouldn't matter, but you felt good when you looked good, so you loved fashion. Overall, you and [your best friend] must have spent at least $800.

At around 11, you heard footsteps running around the house, before Tom came into the guest bedroom.

"What're you doing in here? Aren't you gonna sleep in our room?" he looked worried.

You lowered the shirt you were looking at, making eye contact. You hesitated, "I- yeah... Yeah I guess."

"You guess?"

You just shook your head, trying to be playful with it, but ending up avoiding his gaze all together and going back to looking at your new things.

"Y/N?"

You looked up, "Yeah?"

He looked -- surprised almost? There seemed to be a glint of hurt in his eyes. "Are you okay?" he asked.

You nodded, getting up and setting the shirt back in its bag, "C'mon, lets just go to bed."

He mumbled an agreement, turning around and walking to your bedroom. You left the guest room, closing the door and going into your room. It was weird-- to even consider it your bedroom, because you hadn't slept in it for about three days. The last time you did, Tom wasn't with you. Was it normal? Did all couples go through things like this? You didn't have much time to dwell on the thought, because you were already under the covers, sleep consuming you before Tom got the chance to talk to you about anything.

It was almost noon when you woke up on Sunday. Rolling over, you felt Tom's side of the bed empty. The feeling of the cold sheets didn't come as a surprise to you, he was gone every time you woke up even though he didn't start filming until around 10 A.M. . It was different this time, because it was your last weekend together. He was always at home on the weekends he wasn't away filming.

You pulled the covers off you, walking downstairs into the kitchen where you were met with Tom and Haz, quietly whispering things to each other. You didn't get to listen long, for both boys shot up and stood straighter, smiling to you. You just looked at them, slightly rolling your eyes before grabbing some juice and heading back into the guest bedroom.

When you came down ten minutes later for breakfast, both boys were talking normally again.

"Just talk to her, alright man?" Haz spoke.

"What am I supposed to say man? I can't just go up to my girlfriend and tell her I'm fucking pissed at how she's been ignoring me. Not gonna be rude like her-"

"Woah- woah woah, Tom. She's not that rude. Just have a civilized conversation with her. It's easy, you're just overthinking it."

"Okay.. okay, yeah- yeah," he stuttered, turning around on his heal but abruptly stopping when he saw you standing in the doorway. His jaw dropped, noticing your anger immediately.

"Maybe I should go-" Harrison started.

"No, no don't bother. I'll go, it's obvious you both want it."

You turned around, going up to Tom's bedroom and getting a change of clothes, immediately putting on your jeans and the rest of your outfit, before Tom came barging in.

"No- Y/N, I'm sorry. Please, let's talk," he begged.

You ignored him, getting some more clothes, enough to last you two days, before going into the bathroom for your makeup bag and some deodorant. Going back into the closet, you grabbed your work backpack, making sure all your notebooks and journals were in it, before shoving the things you had in to join them.

"Y/N, please. I- listen to me, please. I'm sorry, let's just talk. Talk it through, yeah?" he asked.

You looked up, talking rather emotionless. "No. We can talk when we've both thought our shit through, although I thought it was only you who needed to get their shit together, but obviously I was wrong. I'll be back after work on Monday, if you're even here to notice." With that, you moved past him, grabbing your phone and texting [your best friend], picking up your keys from it's hook and heading for the door. Haz was standing in the living room, and when you passed him he gave you a sentimental look, but you payed no mind as you glared him down, opening the door and slamming it in Tom's face, for he was downstairs too late.

About 10 hours had passed since you left, and Tom had only thought about you for two of them. Andrew and 'the gang' had called him, insisting that him and Haz join them for some fun. Tom had reluctantly agreed, much to Harrison's dismay.

At around eleven o'clock, Tom had had enough 'fun'. The guilt in him was killing him, but his anger for you was killing him even more. Telling Haz he'd be heading out, he drove home, getting into bed and thinking about what you'd talk about when you got back.

Monday had passed, and you were doing better than you thought you would be. You opened shop about 30 minutes early that Monday morning, knowing it was better to keep yourself occupied. It was [your best friend's] week off, so she offered to come with you to work, and 'volunteer' almost. She had quite some experience in waitress-ing , so you gave her that job. Around noon, Tom came into the shop, and [your best friend] called out, "Incoming, [your nickname]."

You looked up from the cappuccino machine, turning around to face the door Tom had just entered. The minute you saw him coming towards you, you spoke. Luckily there weren't that many people around who didn't know you, so they didn't react when you yelled at Tom.

"Get out."

"I just wanted to-"

"Get OUT!" you yelled, louder when Tom didn't listen to you.

He moved forward, leaving a Hershey kiss near the cash register, looking to you for your reaction. You picked it up, and threw it to [your best friend], who unwrapped it and ate it herself. He left after she pointed towards the door.

When you closed shop, you decided to head home, seeing as he was leaving tomorrow and you had obviously thought a lot about what to do. The only option, really: talk it out.

Walking in, you placed your bag by the door and went to get some water in the kitchen. Tom was standing there, staring into space. He noticed you come in, and immediately stood up straighter, obviously becoming more aware of his surroundings.

"Are you- are we talking now?"

"I'm here, yeah. Let's talk," you answered setting your cup down.

"What's your problem?" he asked. You looked at him like he was crazy, so he went on. "I mean, these past few weeks, you've completely ignored me. And when you did acknowledge me, it was a rather rude encounter. "

"You think I'm rude?" he nodded, and you scoffed. "Well I'm sorry you think I'm rude. You wanna know what I think is rude?"

"Look, I'm sorry my being honest upset you. But nobody said the truth was nice," he interrupted.

"Tom, what the fuck?"

"I'm just saying! Out of the two of us, you're the one who has more problems!"

"What the hell does that mean?"

"It means that you are always the one who cries over shit, and gets upset at little things," he answered. You looked at him in disbelief. "What I'm saying is you're over-dramatic and too sensitive."

"Oh for fuck's sake," you started. "You just- you just don't know when to quit, do you?"

"You said to talk! I'm talking!"

"You're being completely unreasonable."

"Am I? Because all you've talked about is how you think I'm crazy. Do you even have anything to say?"

"Fine! You want me to talk? I'll talk. I've been rude to you because you are the one who let that man you call a fucking friend insult my life's work. You completely agreed with him, took in my hate and didn't even stand up for me!" You yelled. Tom didn't know you knew about that, and he was about to interject but you kept going, "And to make things worse, you kept seeing him! Every single fucking week, it was 'Andrew said this!' 'Andrew said that!'. You cancelled dates to see him! Call me over-dramatic, but when your boyfriend cancels a date on his only day off, I think most girls would be pretty fucking pissed," you walked out of the kitchen.

Tom was in the living room too, following you. "Yeah, well I'm sorry I cancelled our plans, but we live together. Don't you think we see enough of each other because of that?"

"Wha- what?"

"Think about it! We see each other all time because we live together," he reasoned.

"Yeah, I guess you're right,"

"See-"

"If you were ever around, I would see you a lot. But you're never around, so no, Tom, we don't see each other a lot. I work too, remember!"

"Not like I do," he mumbled.

"What?" you yelled.

"Nothing."

"No, Tommy. If you have something to say, you better fucking say it or so help me-"

"I said 'not like I do'!"

"What? Because I'm not some movie star with his head up his ass, I don't work hard?"

"My head's not in my ass, yours is! All I wanted to do was talk things out, not get fucking blamed for things that aren't my fault!"

"Yeah? Well all I wanted was someone better," you quipped back.

"What?"

"You heard me."

"What have I done wrong! Please, enlighten me! All you've done is complain about the stupidest things!"

"So my feelings are stupid, now?"

"Did I fucking say they were?" he yelled, voice raising as he stepped closer.

"Sounded like it to me!" you yelled, raising your voice to meet his.

"Just tell me! Do you have anything else to say?"

"You- you really are stupid, Tom."

"No, Y/N. I'm not. You are, not even telling me why you're so fucking angry at me."

"I'm angry because I had my first attack in months because of you. You! The person who told me he'd always be there to help me through one, not cause one. I'm angry because you go out without even bothering to ask if I'd like to join you. A-And then you just throw it at me that you're leaving for, what? Seven months?! Not to mention you completely stopped eating things from my shop because of a so-called diet? And you're off with that Andrew guy, who eyed me like a pervert even though he knows I'm taken. You know how uncomfortable I am with that! And don't you dare say you didn't know, when you're the one coming home drunk telling me he's picked up another girl and telling you that you should go home and get laid too. God knows you'd listen to him if he asked you to cheat on me. Not to mention how you called me fucking clingy because I was checking up on you. You want me to stop making sure you're okay? You want me to stop caring?" you screamed. "Because you say the words and I will fucking back off for good. "

He was silent for a second, only missing a beat, contemplating on if he should apologize or keep fighting. Because he didn't want you to be angry, but he wanted to win. He needed to win. "Yeah, I wish you would back the fuck off. You're always on me!" he screamed. "And I get wanting to be affectionate, but you're just fucking sickening. Too much love."

That made you stop. "You think I'm loving you too much?" you asked quietly, and Tom looked at you, really looked at you, after hearing the change in your voice. You were quiet, practically whispering now. It wavered slightly, your eyes were glossy and red.

"I- I didn't-" he started, but it was no use. The damage was done.

He knew better than anyone about your past, which had caused a massive buildup in insecurities that were inevitably killing you. When you met Tom, he had promised to discard each and every one of your insecurities until you loved yourself as much as he did.

"No, you did. And you fucking know it." You were walking upstairs, getting yet another bag ready to last you until Tom left for his press tour.

"No, no Y/N, I'm sorry. Listen to me, baby. I didn't mean it," he begged.

"You wouldn't have said it if you didn't mean it," you said, choosing a few shirts to shove into your backpack. "Your intentions were pretty clear, Tommy. I'll stop caring for you, stop putting in effort for this toxic relationship. I'll stop loving you, because right now, it seems like loving you is the one thing wrong with me," you said, finding some pants and your makeup bag.

You were making your way downstairs now, "Y/N, Y/N please. Please I need you. I can't leave us like this- not when I leave tomorrow."

"What 'us,' Tom? There is no 'us' anymore."

"What're you saying?" he asked, tears finally falling from his face.

"I'm saying it's time I move on from you. Moving on means not having you. So, we're done," you opened the front door.

Tom stood in the doorway while you gripped the handle. "So- we- we're.."

"I'll be out before you come in July," you filled in. With that you slammed the door, driving to [your best friend's] house, while Tom sobbed on the floor in what used to be a home of two people who loved each other.

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland angst #tom holland fic #tom holland fanfic #tom holland imagine #tom holland blurb #tom holland oneshot #tom holland series #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fluff #tom holland angsty fic #tom holland blurbs #tom holland hc #jerk!tom holland #tom holland x reader insert #tom holland x baker!reader #tom holland x chef!reader

472 notes · View notes

jungshook69 · 3 years

Text

Love is a myth :: 01

DISCLAIMER: This doesn’t represent the members’ actions or the army’s actions in any manner it’s pure fiction. This is an original work, do not copy. The taglist is open if you want. Taglist is now closed.

WORD COUNT: 4.1K words

MAIN PAIRING: musician! Yoongi X waitress! female reader

SIDE PAIRING/S: Jungkook X female reader ; Taehyung X female reader

GENRE: FWB! au ; Strangers to lovers! au

WARNINGS: Implied smut (Forgive me cuz I suck at writing it, no puns intended) ; Mentions of alcohol and smoking (I do not condone smoking) ; Profanity ; Mentions of infidelity ; Heavy angst ; Self loathing (Namjoon’s about to wack me in the head with his slipper) ; I apologize in advance if there’s any spelling errors.

SUMMARY: "You covered your bare form with the silk sheets beneath you, as you watched him walk out your door without a word." // "Love is a myth. All that existed between you two was pure lust." // "The last rule was if anyone of the two of you caught feelings for the other, the deal would be off."

SERIES MASTERLIST: Trailer » Meet the cast » Chapter #1 » Chapter #2 » Chapter #3 » Chapter #4

STATUS: Complete

You lay on your bed, chest panting, as you tried to catch your breath. Your hooded eyes fluttered open to meet the familiar sight of a white ceiling fan rotating at a painfully slow speed. Your forehead and bare chest were lined with beads of sweat as you felt the mattress dip beside you. You turned your attention to his presence, as you were met with the sight of his bare back sitting upright, his hands working hard to put his white t-shirt back on. You watched as he pulled on his boxers, followed by his jeans and walked over to your side of the bed.

You covered your bare form with the soft silk sheets underneath you as you watched him come closer to you. No, he did not lean in for a passionate good bye kiss. No, he did not bend over and embrace your petite form against his warm chest, and run his calloused fingers along your naked back. None of that was part of what you both had come to terms with. Your curious eyes followed his movements as he bent down to grab his beanie off of the floor next to your side of the bed.

He slipped on his beanie and his jacket which was strewn across your chair, not moments ago. Without a word, you watch as the man’s dark figure retreated from the shadows of your bedroom. You let out a deep breath you weren’t aware you were holding, as soon as you heard the front door click. Being too tired to get up and wash up, you let your tired eyes take control, as you drifted into a deep slumber.

You awoke to the sound of a woman’s high pitched voice yelling, contrary to most people waking up to the sound of a disturbingly loud alarm. You immediately recognized the voice to be the sound of your neighbors engaged in a routinely loud domestic argument. Maybe this time her husband accidently burned an egg on the stove, or maybe this time her toddler broke a vase, the possibilities were endless. In your time living in your apartment, you had heard your neighbors engage in a variety of arguments. The daily bickering of your neighbors, your parents’ marriage, and a certain someone from your past, were the exact reasons why your take on love was the way it is now.

Was love overrated according to you? Nope, that wasn’t the case. You just didn’t believe love existed at all. You believed that love is a myth.

You had higher priorities in life, like maintaining a proper work ethic, to earn for a living. You were one of the lucky ones whose day didn’t start at 6 in the morning. Instead your job required for you to be present quite later, at around 11 in the morning. But, to be fair, your job extended further into the next day, as far as 2 or 3 in the morning sometimes. But you did prefer your current work schedule better, as you were kind of a night owl.

You freshened up, and had a hearty breakfast composed of a buttered toast and some chai tea. Yes, unlike the people around you, you were one to prefer tea over coffee. You couldn’t count the number of times you’ve had this discussion with your colleagues. You soon got dressed in your uniform consisting of a tight white blouse, a black pencil skirt that hugged your curves, paired with classic black pumps. You didn’t forget to put on your silver ring with a black J carved into it, the one you’d taken off the night before, when you were engaged in a scandalous activity with a certain someone. You grabbed your purse and your warm grey winter coat, as you stepped out the door, ready to start your day.

The bus ride wasn’t too bad, although you wish you had enough strength to pull the window which was stuck, close, to stop the cold winter breeze from grazing your bare calves. But as soon as you entered the warm ambience of your workplace, your coat long forgotten, your mind focused on getting the job done. You walked across the rows and rows of empty tables and chairs, your heels making minimal noise against the rich carpet, as you made your way through a pair of steel doors, tying your apron around your waist. You grabbed a checklist attached onto a clipboard, and detained your responsibilities as the senior head waitress.

“Okay, do we have the 5 kilograms of sundried tomatoes from Tony’s farm?” you’re sharp voice rings through the hustling and bustling of your colleagues. “Yes ma’am!” you here a response over the ruckus of boxes being unloaded. Doing inventory was a hassle, but you were determined to complete the responsibility laid on your shoulders. About an hour of screaming later, you were wiping off the sweat that had accumulated across your forehead. “Good job today guys, we did inventory, 30 minutes early.” You said, a small smile tracing your thin lips. Although you were stern, you knew how to appreciate your colleagues work. They all gave you small smiles as they headed off to freshen themselves up, to get ready for opening up for business in 30 minutes.

You were in the washroom, touching up your deep wine lipstick, when the door flew open, followed by the click of heels against the marble floor. You caught her reflection in the mirror as you turned around and greeted her. “Hey Maria…” you said, not a trace of enthusiasm in your voice. If there was one person who you could stand the least in your workplace, it was Maria. Contrary to you, she was born with a silver spoon. She was the restaurant manager’s niece, and had been given a job here, despite her inexperience. You never had a problem with that, but it’s when she ran against you for the post of senior head waitress, you grew envious. But fortunately, the manager saw beyond just blood relations, and fairly granted you the promotion, as a result of all the blood and sweat you had put into it.

“Hey…” she mumbled, plainly as courtesy, and no real kind intention, as she walked towards the mirror and began brushing through the strands of her short black bob. Unbothered by her presence, you began to tie your long brown locks into a low braided bun and brushed your outfit free from any existing wrinkles. Your eyes drifted to the adjacent female’s form and you couldn’t help but feel a twinge of envy. You were pretty proud of how you looked. It’s just that you failed to be confident about your body, unlike her, who flawlessly flaunted her curves. Before you could overthink you left the washroom.

10 minutes left to opening time, you were setting folded napkins down by the pristine glassware and silverware on a table, when you heard the small bell chime, alerting you of someone entering the restaurant. You look up and immediately lock eyes with a man with deep brown feline eyes, his hair a pale mint green, contrasting with his all-black attire. Min Yoongi. The same man who was hovering over you last night, the same man whose throat was voicing your name out loud, the same man whose teeth had left evident marks on your body, multiple times in the last 2 months. You shifted your gaze onto the butter knife in your hand, and all you could think about was stabbing the man in front of you senseless, and then stabbing yourself, for doing what you did. But then again, lust was a dangerous greed in your mind.

You walked away to a table farther away from the entrance, while your eyes carefully watched as he uncovered his guitar from the case, and began setting up a mic on the center stage, right under the spotlight. “Hey, do you need help setting up?” you heard Maria ask him. You caught from the corner of your eyes, her figure bending over to his seated one on the chair, her hand landing on his shoulder. You were pretty sure his unwavering gaze was fixed down her shirt. “No I’m good.” He huffs and gets back to working on the speaker settings for his performance. You let whatever feeling was building up in the pit of your stomach subside as you left the two, making your way back into the kitchen.

Before you knew it, the whole day had gone by with you running in between tables, jotting down orders on your little notepad, and running back and forth between the loud and chaotic kitchen and the quiet and luxurious ambience of the seating region. This was your life, maintaining a calm composure, fit for a classy 5-star restaurant accompanied by casting several missed glances at a certain musician playing a beautiful rhythm.

You placed a martini at a table with a family of 4. You observed the man to be wearing a rich tuxedo finished with a neatly tucked pocket square, the woman was adorned with elegant pearls and dressed in a midnight blue gown, a small girl, embezzled in what appeared to be her mother’s gold jewelry and dressed in an obnoxious pink frilled dress. A small boy of around the age of 5, who was seated right next to where you were standing, cast you a nasty glance as you watched his hand topple the glass, spilling all the contents onto your skirt. You audibly gasped, but remembered to lower your voice and not make a scene, luckily your skirt was black. The woman at the table said nothing, her eyes fixated upon her rich manicure, while the man glanced your way and muttered a small “sorry”.

You were used to being treated this way. You were used to seeing families like this, all adorned with a picture perfect image on the outside, while you knew that their souls were writhing on the inside. You whispered a small “its okay sir” and worked on cleaning up the mess at the table. The small girl reached out to pick up a napkin and just as she was about to hand it to you, probably to help dry your skirt off, you felt her mother’s cold glare harden on her daughter, as the small child dropped the napkin and sheepishly returned her gaze back onto her lap. You sympathized with this little girl you barely knew, because you too were once in her place.

Your parents were just like the many families you had encountered at your job over the years. They maintained a perfect image on the outside while no one knew the hell they put you and themselves through inside the doors of your home. You remembered every time your mom had scoffed at you for helping someone with a lower status than yours. You remembered those endless nights of bickering when your mom and dad had lectured you on how you couldn’t let your proper image waver when you had told them that you wanted to pursue your true passion of playing the piano. You remembered the night that you watched your father slap your mother across her face in his study, the talk of divorce ensuing. You remembered being frightened and packing your bag, stuffing a roll of cash in it, and jumping out the window and escaping.

You were jolted back to reality as you felt a pair of hands grab your shoulders. Maria’s disgusted face appeared as she whisper-shouted in your ear, “What do you think you’re doing? Stop day dreaming and get back inside the kitchen, I’ll take their order!” You were about to correct her for the manner in which she talked to you, her superior, but decided to do yourself a favor, and leave the room before any more humiliation could follow. Although you remained unaware of a certain pair of eyes sharply watching your movements.

You entered the bathroom and worked on getting the stain off of your skirt. As soon as you were done, you looked at your reflection in the mirror. Your attire still remained remarkably presentable, but the dark circles etched below your eyes, were beginning to uncover from underneath the heavy concealer. Your eyes drifted towards the empty bathroom stall behind you, and you couldn’t help but form a tiny smile. You remembered the time, a week ago, when you and Yoongi had occupied the stall in a very risky endeavor in between his 10 minute break, and had almost been caught by the head chef, who had come in there looking for you.

You knew what you and Yoongi had was toxic, but so was your whole take on love. Everyone from your parents to your neighbors and just about everything in your life had convinced you, that true love didn’t exist. You only believed that a greed called lust existed. And all you thought was that you needed relief for the same. About 2 months ago, when you were getting drunk off your ass for getting promoted, you had run into Yoongi. He had been playing at the restaurant, alternating between piano and guitar, for just as long as you had been working there. He had always caught your eye, and if you were being brutally honest, you loved watching him do something that you couldn’t do, play piano.

No sooner had the words “Wanna get outta here?” been spoken, you had ended up, about 20 minutes later, squirming underneath him, grasping his shoulders and moaning shamelessly, your cries contained inside the walls of his bedroom. What was commendable though was that you both had managed to keep your word so far. You both had devised a set of rules, no cuddling, no sweet goodbye kisses after doing the deed (making out before doing the dirty wasn’t counted), no going on dates, consent was always necessary, no leverage, meaning you both were free to engage in personal affairs with other men/women as long as you promised to remain safe, and the last impending rule being, if anyone of the two of you caught feelings for the other, the deal would be off. You knew these rules sounded ridiculous, like you were writing your own constitution, but it was necessary for a relationship, where you both were doing this purely for relief, for lust.

You shook off your smile, and headed out of the washroom. You continued doing your chores, till it was finally closing time. The rest of the hour until midnight passed by as you and your colleagues worked on going through the gigantic pile of dishes. Of course it wasn’t part of your job but you’d rather spend time here with your colleagues than sit alone in the darkness of your humble abode. You also didn’t want to deal with any sort of unnecessary feelings arising, when you saw Yoongi leaving the room, Maria clinging by his side.

“Hey wanna join us for a beer?” said Mark. He was one of the few kind friends you’d made at this job, along with his girlfriend Jackie, and another girl Maya. “Sure what have I got to lose?” you say, grabbing your coat. Before you knew it, your 3rd beer bottle was hooked to your lips, as you gulped the liquid down, drowning your worries.

“Man, Maria’s a bitch huh?” Jackie spoke up. You loved her spunky personality, and she was straight forward like you. “Yeah lol” you say.

“Don’t be so mean Jackie…” Maya speaks up, only halfway through her first beer bottle. She was shy and timid, contrary to Jackie, but she was too pure for this cruel world.

“You’re just saying that because she’s never been mean to you.” Jackie stated matter-of-factly. “Amen” her boyfriend Mark said clinking his bottle with her’s.

“I never saw her be rude to you though” Maya says innocently. “Does her shoving her chest into my boyfriend’s face on purpose in front of me count?” Jackie says rolling her eyes and scoffing.

“I swear I was so freaked out.” Mark said laughing. “If it weren’t for Jackie ‘accidently’ shoving her face into the cake, I don’t know how far she would’ve gone to seduce me.”

“That was the best day of my life.” I said laughing. “Guys don’t be so loud, she’s right there” Maya whisper-yelled.

Everyone’s eyes turned to follow Maya’s line of sight and the image before you made your heart clench involuntarily. You watched with disgust, as you saw Yoongi’s tongue literally down Maria’s throat, his hands running up and down her form.

“She won’t be able to hear us bitching about her over the loud music anyways so it doesn’t matter…” Jackie said breaking your gaze away from the pair. “By the way, guitar guy is hot innit?”

“Yeah he’s pretty cool, he has good taste in music based off of the songs he plays” Mark says. You were not surprised to see that Mark didn’t get jealous over his girlfriend calling another man hot. You only wish you were so secure about your relationships.

After a moment of silence excluding the loud club music you spoke up, “I think I’m gonna head home now guys” you said looking at your watch. “It’s 2, holy shit!”

“Yeah we should get going too actually…” Mark said, getting ready to lift Jackie up. “Maya how’re you gonna get home?” you ask, genuinely concerned.

“Oh actually… my boyfriend is gonna pick me up…” she said timidly. “You have a boyfriend?” Jackie yelped.

“Yeah… see you guys…” she said rushing out of the place before any questions could follow. You bid Mark and Jackie goodbye, not wanting to wait for the war of tongues that was yet to ensue. You glanced over once again only to find a certain pair missing. You tried to suppress the unbeknownst feeling bubbling inside you, as you headed home with a heavy heart.

You weren’t too drunk as you had a high tolerance for beer. You decided since your apartment was only a few blocks away, you would walk. You were used to walking on the streets alone at night, as your job required for you to stay back quite frequently.

Along with the familiar click of your heels on the concrete, you heard a periodic scruff of shoes on the concrete behind you. You turned around to see a man, head hung low, hood covering his face walking at a pace similar to yours. To be honest, you weren’t afraid of things like these. At least that’s what you told yourself to brace your inner coward self. But living alone all these years, basically living with just scraps from when you were 16 years old and had escaped, had prepared you for a lot of conditions for the best. You decided to walk faster, the streetlights casting a warm yellow light across the two of you, highlighting the game of cat and mouse you were playing.

About a minute later, the steps of your apartment came into view, which gave you some new found confidence. You halted and turned around swiftly and yelled, “You gonna follow me up to my apartment or are you gonna make your move any time soon?”

The man walked a few steps forward and uncovered his hood, revealing his pale face under the moonlight, his shocking green hair catching your eyes. “Min Yoongi…” you said rolling your eyes.

You ignored the man and went up to the steps leading up to your building and took a seat. You watched the man linger not far behind you and finally make it to you, as he stood beside you, laying an arm on the rails. “Why were you following me?” you said, obvious annoyance laced in your voice.

“It’s 2 in the morning… I felt like taking a walk…” he said nonchalantly.

You huffed and fished out a cigarette and a lighter out from your purse. Lighting it, you brought it up to your lips and took in a huff of smoke. You leaned your head back, letting out the puff of smoke into the night sky, your head feeling light. “Seriously why’re you here? Do you want sex?” you said rolling your eyes.

“Not everything is about sex Y/N…” Yoongi spoke up, his deep raspy voice sending an untimely shiver down your spine.

“Between us it is…” you say softly.

“It doesn’t have to be…” Yoongi replies almost too immediately.

“We made the contract mutually you dumb fuck” you say huffing in another breath from the cigarette in your hand.

He walked around you and took a seat next to you on the cold steps his hand extending forward. “Who said we can’t talk like normal friends?” he says as you knowingly pass your cigarette into his willing hand, watching him, as he took a puff too, before crushing it underneath his boot.

“Sure” you say sarcastically rolling your eyes. “I’m sure you have your hands full with a certain friend already” you scoff.

He raised his eyebrow at you only to have you roll your eyes again. “Maria seems like a pretty good friend… ya know how she lets you shove your tongue down her throat, anytime you want.”

“Ahhh… So you were at the bar huh?” he says, although you remain suspicious of the fact that he knew of your presence beforehand.

“Yeah, and I for a fact know, that no one can be friends, without any pure intentions of lust hidden behind it.” You state.

“Then what about Mark?” he says looking at the empty street before you both.

“Yeah he’s the only male friend of mine, without any intentions.” You scoff.

“You never know…” Yoongi murmurs.

“He’s dating Jackie for Christ’s sake!” you say annoyed, clearly understanding his tactic.

“Oh…” he says an unnoticeable trace of guilt hidden in his voice.

“Were you seriously trying to make me jealous by hooking up with Maria in front of me, just because you thought me and Mark had something going on between us?” you ask in disbelief.

His silence confirms your suspicions. “Oh lord! Were you dreaming when Jackie and Mark got caught making out in the store room?”

“Hey, I don’t know what the hell goes on beyond those steel doors okay? I get in, play music, and get out… I don’t have a social life at my job like you do!” he huffs out.

“I’m sorry…” you say, although it hurts your pride.

“I’m sorry too, for the whole Maria thing… call it even?” he says giving you a small smile.

“You don’t have to be sorry… it’s part of the deal… you can engage in personal affairs with anyone else, it’s your choice… I have no say in your life…” you say staring at the ground.

“Well I’m sorry for following you like a creepy stalker… I was just making sure you got home alright… call it even now?” he says a small giggle leaving his throat.

You didn’t try to question why he was worried about you walking home, because you knew that argument wouldn’t lead anywhere sensible. “Call it even.” You respond looking into his eyes, returning his smile.

The gaze grew uncomfortably long before you spoke up, “I should get going…” You stood up brushing your skirt. You didn’t know whose cursed soul possessed you, but your heart took control of your actions before your head could stop you, and your hand landed on his shoulder before you pulled him in for a short kiss. You backed away to meet his wide eyes, which was expected as you, the strict rule enforcer, had gone back on the rule, ‘no sweet goodbye kisses’.

“I-I’m sorry I’m drunk…” you blabbered.

“No it’s okay… I didn’t mind…” he mumbled out the last part, too soft to hear.

You panicked and immediately tried to draw attention away from your actions. “Eeeww I just indirectly kissed Maria.” You whined.

Yoongi broke into a loud laugh “Ayy I made sure to rinse my mouth off before I followed you here”.

“Oh… were you expecting to sleep with me?” you ask confused.

“N-No not at all… I know you’re tired tonight.” Yoongi said rubbing his neck and backing away. “Well I should get going… friend” he said smirking.

“Alright, see ya… friend” you said returning his devious smile with a smirk of your own. With that you went up to your apartment and went to bed with a not as heavy of a heart as you expected.

«Previous :: Masterlist :: Next»

A/N: Don’t forget to follow @jungshook69 for more content:) You can check out more works of mine here. Have a great day:)

TAGLIST: -

30 notes · View notes

yukippe · 3 years

Text

wonder what she thinks of me

for @yuekiweek day 3: reunions | word count: 2.3k | read on ao3

“you need to buy your books suki!!” sokka lectures through the phone. last year suki didn’t buy the books for any of her classes and she was fine. she isn’t actually planning on buying books this year either, except now sokka’s roped her into coming to his book club and she can’t lie and say she doesn’t like to watch sokka rant about something dumb while enjoying the baked goods that sokka will have convinced his gran gran and his parents to make for them.

unfortunatley, this means suki has to brave the bookstore during some fancy author signing to try to buy the book sokka’s demanded everyone read for next week. he’s still talking through the phone, though suki’s mostly tuned him out. she’s normally much better at listening to sokka’s rants, but the bookstore is packed with awkward high school students and suki would rather not, at the moment. she slips around a table of overpriced waterbottles and planners and weaves past a random grandpiano over to one of the computers with the bookstore directory. “sokka,” suki asks as she almost trips over a four year old holding a picture book. “why did you have to send me to this bookstore at this time?”

there’s a huff on the other end of the line and suki sighs deeply, “suki, please you should be thankful! they’re running a special discount if you buy a tote bag to go with the book this weekend!!” well. okay, maybe suki collects tote bags and sokka is probably being a good friend. but suki hasn’t been to this store before, having not bothered with buying her textbooks last year and getting anything for fun as an ebook. but sokka believes in the experience of a physical copy or whatever, so tote bags and author signings it is.

suki puts her phone between her shoulder and ear as she sets her fingers onto the keyboard of the computer directory, “hey, what’s the name of the book again?”

“have you listened to anything i’ve ever said to you?” sokka asks her. suki can picture him in their apartment at his desk, doing something fancy with math as he coaches her through a bookstore, pinching the bridge of his nose out of frustration. suki doesn’t actually need him to tell her the name of the book, she just likes to rile him up sometimes. she types in the title. suki thanks him for his help, asks him if hes found his glasses yet (the same glasses she hid before she left) and hangs up with a smirk.

adaptation by malinda lo. there, young adult section. it’s supposedly sci fi thriller and sokka, though he lacks taste in most things, has always had solid book taste. suki looks around for the sign to section she needs and spots it, tucked behind a tech display and next to the little cafe. suki walks over, eager to grab her book and get out of the shop. she walks through the shelves searching for the author’s with the last name l. malinda lo. there, suki reaches out to pluck the book of the shelf, when the back of her hand brushes against someone else.

suki steps back, book in hand, to look at the girl next to her. she has brown hair in a pretty updo and really cute heart shaped beaded earrings. she looks familiar, but suki isn’t sure where she recognizes her from.

“hi,” the other girl says, her voice sounds like a princess. all bells and whistling wind.

“uh,” suki coughs, smiling crookedly and titling her head. “hi!”

the other girl giggles at her, but her smile is warm and suki finds herself settling. “i’m yue - so adaptation? what made you interested in it?”

“oh, my friend is hosting a book club and this is this months pick,” suki tells her. maybe she should have done a little more research on the book before she’d shown up. she hadn’t really pictured a bookstore as the spot to meet a cute girl.

“oh!” yue says, surprised. “i have the same one assigned for my book club. do you want to grab something to drink and let me tell you about it?”

“sure,” suki says, her smile growing even wider. “that sounds great”

yue winks at her as she grabs the same book of the shelf, “perfect, there’s this bubble tea place a block a way i want to show you.” yue turns on her heel, her hair falling onto her back as yue bounces in her steps. suki checks to make sure her flannel is neat and her docs are tied before hurrying after yue.

the two of them wait in line one behind the other at the register and yue flips through the display before the register of pins and pens and bookmarks. a rainbow lion turtle eraser set catches suki’s eye and she lifts it up to her face to look at it closer. it’s the type of thing aang would like, so suki puts it on top of her book when she gets to the register. after she picks out the simplest canvas tote bad (most of them have obnoxious book puns katara would make fun of her for months about) and pays, suki finds yue waiting by the door peeling a sticker off of a sticker sheet suki remembers seeing on the display.

“so,’ yue asks. “where do you want your sticker?”

suki blinks, “what?”

yue waves the - oh it’s a hello kitty sticker with fairy wings. suki blinks at it, “um. cute?” she gets a smile for her efforts and then yue leans in and grabs her wrist, turning suki’s hand around and carefully placing the sticker onto the back of suki’s right hand.

“so,” yue says, after failing once more to steal a drink of suki’s boba. her mouth is screwed up in a light pout, but it feels teasing. “do you go to ba sing se u?”

only a little while later, they are wandering to nowhere in particular, still holding hands. yue keeps trying to steal a sip of suki’s drink even though when suki ordered yue had made a face at the idea of coffee boba. yue’s own drink is sweet like her. strawberry, reportedly to match yue’s nails which are done up in a neat mimic of the fruit.

suki nods, squeezing yue’s hand and lifting her drink over her head, too high up for yue to reach, though that doesn’t stop yue from playfully batting at it. neither of them caring about what passerby might think as they wobble on the sidewalk smiling at each other full of silliness. “yeah, i’m majoring in gender and women's studies with a minor in literature and art.”

yue lights up, the way she’s done every time suki’s shared a fact with her. suki’s face feels flushed, yue makes her feel like she’s on her first date ever. “oh wow!” yue says. “i’m majoring in four nations politics with a minor in theology and spiritual studies but i would love to see what your classes must be like. i think i could be a student forever, you know?”

and then yue doesn’t let go of suki’s wrist. instead, she links their fingers together and suki watches their hands held together hang between them. she looks up and smiles at yue, stupidly happy for a moment. and really, suki doesn’t even know for sure if yue is into girls even if yue does seem to be flagging. for now, suki just lets yue tug her down the street as her phone buzzes in her new tote bag with texts from sokka she’ll ignore for now.

“hm, not really, i think one degree is enough for me. but academics are cute,” suki says, watching as yue swings their hands back and forth as they walk. they’re both absolutely terrible at walking together, suki’s noticed. they can’t seem to walk in a straight line and suki’s almost fallen off the sidewalk twice already. it’s nice. suki’s finding that yue makes her comfortable everywhere.

“oh?” yue asks, her eyes twinkling. “does that mean you think i’m cute, suki?”

“hmmm,” suki teases out, a trace of laughter in her voice as yue finally manages to dart forward to steal her drink, finally realizing her success would be increased if she let go of suki’s hand. suki doesn’t even mind that much, wow. “well,” suki settles, after a moment of false consideration. “yeah, i think you’re pretty cute.”

yue winks at her, the same way she did in the bookstore, and takes a sip of suki’s bubble tea. then she makes a completely disgusted expression shoving suki’s drink back at her. “suki! that’s so gross, tui and la, how do you drink that?”

suki can’t help the laugh that spills out of her as yue sticks her tongue out and crosses her eyes, making a fuss that shouldn’t be as sweet as it is. well, suki’s always been a sucker for clowns. suki reaches out and links their hands back together and they both sip at their drink as they seem to stop together at the bus.

they make shy eye contact as a bus comes up to the stop. “so,” yue says. “i’ve got to go, i’m meeting up with a friend. but this was really fun, right?”

suki smiles, “yeah, it was really fun.”

“that’s great! i really liked talking with you!” yue informs her. then, yue leans forward and kisses suki’s cheek before turning around, and her earrings sparkle in the sunlight as she jumps onto the bus right before the bus doors close and it pulls away with the rest of the flow of traffic. suki blinks and watches it go, still feeling the soft touch of yue’s lips on her cheek.

when suki pulls her phone out of her bag to video call sokka he immediately points out the lipstick mark on her cheek and she resolves not to give him any details, no matter how much he pesters her

two weeks later, after bemoaning to ty lee about how she was dumb and completley forgot to ask the cute girl she met at the book store for her number, she sees yue again. at sokka’s book club.

the members of the secret book club hadn’t been a surprise for the most part, consisting of sokka (obviously), aang (one of sokka’s only friends who wasn’t a gay girl), azula, mai, ty lee and suki (the gay girls sokka was friends with). sokka’s parents, hakoda, kya and bato, had baked with sokka all last night and prepared a whole table full of snacks that sokka had made her haul over to their apartment. suki thinks it’s a ridiculous amount of food for their handful of friends, and then she and sokka ate a good section of it before their friends even show up.

mai, sokka and azula are arguing over the finer points of the book already even though the meeting has yet to officially start. sokka and azula, to be fair, have actual opinions that they are fiercly defending from their spots on the floor as mai causes problems on purpose on the couch she and ty lee stole as soon as they stepped through the front door.

there was only one person that had yet to arrive, and apparently only aang had met her before. azula had raised an eyebrow at the pronoun and asked sokka if he’d made friends with another gay girl. the answer had been yes, and suki who was looking for another chance at talking to a cute gay girl after flopping earlier in the month and failing at getting yue’s number or social media or anything, was looking forward to meeting the newest cute gay girl sokka was friends with.

sokka had impeccable taste in cute gay girls (besides azula). so really, maybe suki shouldn’t have been so surprised to answer the door when the bell rang to find yue holding a tray of pastries.

yue stands out in the hallway with its broken light, looking as pretty as the moon in the sky. her face breaks into a smile at the sight of suki, and suki’s sure her expression matches. “suki?!” yue asks. “wow, small world huh?”

suki nods back, her cheeks starting to hurt with how big she was beaming. “so,” suki says. “do you think i could make up for last week and get your number?”

laughter comes from behind suki, and suki knows her friends are probably making fun of them right now, but she’s too interested in yue’s answer to pay any attention.

yue rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t stop smiling, “of course suki, now do you want to help me bring these in so i can program it into your phone? no excuses not to call me this time.”

“don’t worry,” suki says as she takes the sweets from yue. “i’ll be sure to blow your phone up more than sokka when he’s trying to prove a point.”

she’s rewarded with another kiss to her cheek (and teasing from her friends at another lipstick stain) and yue’s number in her phone saved as yue🌙💖😘.

yue, through suki’s phone, texts something to herself and suki leans over yue’s shoulder to see what it is.

omg yue you’re so hot please go out with me <3

suki bumps yue’s shoulder as best as she can with her hands full and raises an eyebrow. “so, yue?” suki asks. “will you go out with me?”

yue giggles, her lipgloss sparkles and suki wonders what it tastes like, “of course, suki.”

a few seconds later, suki has her question answered and can confidently report that yue’s lipgloss tastes like mango.

suki passes the tray off to sokka, who was helpfully waiting right behind her with the tried familiar expression of accidentally setting up his exes. then, suki tugs yue into the loveseat, kicking out aang who had been sprawled across it.

book club is much more fun than suki was expecting, though almost all things are improved, suki finds, when she’s hanging out with her friends and eating sweets and practically sitting in the girl she likes lap while yue braids her hair and teases sokka with her. yue winks at her as aang and ty lee stop azula and sokka from getting into a fistfight with mai and sticks another hello kitty sticker onto her cheek. suki leans over and kisses the same spot on yue. fair is fair after all.

#atla #yueki #yue #suki #yuekiweek #r.txt #rey's writering #i love how i post before im finished bc im impatient and then i edit for days/j ;_; /

53 notes · View notes

carrioncrows-readers · 3 years

Link

You may not be good at a lot, but damn if you don't know business and numbers.

Content Warnings: major content warning for sexual harassment, explicit violence

When Jacob first brought you to the brothel, you thought he'd genuinely lost his mind — you made it quite clear you weren't interested in fucking him for money. With his arm around your shoulders, you were prepared to make quite a lot of fuss if he tried anything — but he didn't. Instead, he offered you a bookkeeping job for steady pay, with room to take "freelancing" on commission should you so desire. It was unexpected. It was — nice. The place is nice. A bit gauche, and good lord, those curtains are tacky, but you didn't expect prostitutes to be so…

Well. Nice.

Come to find out, the woman who left a lipstick stain on Jacob's cheek (you aren't jealous; you aren't) is named Jenny. Jenny is in the elected position of being madame (you didn't know madames were elected?) of the establishment. Which also happens to be the name of the brothel itself. The Establishment. Tongue-in-cheek, but effective.

She's full-bodied and impossibly soft, brown hair piled into curls on top of her head. The pearls she wears are gifts from clients, apparently, and it's become so much of a running joke that for her birthday, the girls saved up to get her a new set of pearl earrings for fun. You have no idea why she wears them all at once.

She peers over your shoulder as you scribble in the ledger, writing down dates and numbers, trying not to get a headache putting it all together. Unfortunately, you haven't had time to sharpen up your sums.

"Ms. Jenny," you glance at her from the corner of your eye, looking for a way to fill the silence since no one is murdering the pianoforte, "can I ask why you haven't done the bookkeeping yourself?" She hums and smiles at you. You notice dimples in the roundness of her cheeks, like craters on the moon.

"Well, dearie, it's because I can nary read nor write. Neither can any of the others — been meaning to hire a bookkeeper for a bit, just never got 'round to it, I suppose." Suddenly and for, of course, no reason at all, you want to disappear into the floor. You should have guessed. Now you feel awful.

You look at your notes. You had all the girls tell you a rough estimate of their earnings for the past six months; some were more accurate than others, but you get the feeling that Jacob just wanted to find you something to do. He doesn't take a massive percentage anyways; usually, it fluctuates depending on how much they've earned that month. Always enough for a comfortable living after expenses, always favorable towards the brothel residents. You've no idea why, just that he somehow manages to supplement his own income enough that it doesn't put him in the red.

"I see," you say, pausing to add up all the earnings for July, minus overhead. Jenny leans in with her eyes narrowed and pokes your side, making you jump so high your ass almost hits the ceiling.

"You're a right hard one to read you are; what's that supposed to mean? Hm?" She pokes you again, and you feel your cheeks burn bright red.

"Nothing! Nothing, I just — felt terrible for asking, I suppose. Ow." You rub your side — does the woman have knives for fingers, or is your skin just made of paper? She pokes your arm — definitely knife fingers.

"Well, no harm done."

You sit quietly, shuffling papers in the ledger until everything is tight and up to date — it's not doing too terribly for a Whitechapel brothel. Still, there are some improvements to be made — namely, the settlement of customer debts.

How ironic that you have become the creditor now.

You set your pen down and lean against your steepled fingers, a plot crawling up the back of your mind and settling in. You ask Ms. Jenny, since she is much more familiar with the Rooks than you, to find you a few burly men. And to tell them to bring weapons. Blunt ones.

This is your job now — you'll be damned if you're not going to do it well. Besides, this isn't something you should bother Jacob with.

It isn't tricky to track down your debtors; one look at you smiling in your silks and velveteens, a train of rugged brutes behind you, and people scrape the ground to tell you where your targets live. They know what's coming, and they're not eager to try and quell the storm. You knock very politely on the door to an apartment in a run-down shack of a building, watching it crack open a hair's breadth. That is all the opening your boys need — they muscle in and push Mr. Curtis to the ground. You ignore him swearing to shut the door, folding your hands in front of your stomach.

"Mr. Curtis! I believe we have business."

"I don't know what you're fucking talkin' about," he spits. A simple nod of your head is all the excuse one of your enforcers needs to start walloping Mr. Curtis about the head until he begs you to stop him. You do, the smile on your face ever so slowly becoming a genuine manic grin.

"You owe my employer quite a bit of money. Do you have a wife, Mr. Curtis? I assume not if you visit brothels so often, but I wouldn't put it past you to cheat, either." Curtis rolls onto his side and covers his weeping nose, and you're fascinated by the slow drip-drip-drip of red into a puddle on the floor. "You have one month, which I find very generous. Can you read?" You don't receive an answer, just a low groan of pain that sends a tingle up your toes; you pull a piece of paper out of your pocket, the ink already dry as you sit it on a side table. On it is a sum of money, a date, and Curtis' name.

You leave him to lick his wounds, damn near skipping out into the darkened street. You visit three more houses in short order before returning to the brothel to see Jacob leaned over the intake desk, talking with Jenny. They both have lit cigars between their fingers. You had no idea Jacob smoked. He turns his head, and you suddenly feel self-conscious of where you've been.

"Done terrorizing the whole of Whitechapel?" He asks, but he doesn't sound unangry. Not that it doesn't stop you from worrying that he's simply putting on an air of calm. You quail and fiddle with the ends of your gloves, staring at your shoes.

"I apologize-"

"Think nothing of it," he says and comes over to pat your shoulder. "Debts need to be paid, and I appreciate you looking after my people. Your people now, too, I guess." Your people. You stare at Jacob and his toothy smile around his cigar, his hand still settled on your shoulder like it belongs there. You clear your throat and shrug it off, hurrying to the desk to note down when your debtors are supposed to send in their payments. It's mostly just to keep your hands busy.

Your people.

You've never really belonged to a group before. You exist in the gray strata between the middle class and the aristocracy, scathingly referred to as the nouveau riche by your would-be peers and mistrust by the working people of London, you belong nowhere. Unwelcome in the clubs and symposiums of the genteel, nor the pubs and coffeehouses of the mercantile caste. You didn't even have that many friends among the newly rich, either. Even for them, you were too… off. Violet Morvell was someone who tolerated you enough to call you acquaintance. Or so you thought.

The idea of having people is foreign and exciting, and terrifying all at once.

***

Your time at the brothel is well-spent. You buy yourself a math primer with the salary you get and brush up on your sums. With that knowledge in hand, you are brutally efficient with the finances of The Establishment. You set up a sign-in sheet and record every name that comes through the door, much to the patrons' shock and chagrin. The burly doorman you recently hired on is insistence enough they give you their real names, which in and of themselves are insurance. Occasionally he has to throw out a tirading customer, but they usually come back for their fix of unfortunate women. Sex, you suppose, is at the root of most vices.

At the end of the month, all four of your debtors turn their money into your capable (you hope) hands. You didn't have to visit them a second time — they either respect Jacob Frye too much, or they're too terrified of him to keep skimping on his money.

You begin educating a few of the girls on manners, etiquette, and how to properly play a pianoforte without sounding like they're torturing a cow. When you suggest that the brothel start serving tea and coffee to waiting customers, Ms. Jenny happily converts one of the rooms into a small kitchen. It makes more overhead, but in the end, the payout is astounding — it makes the patrons feel special, and men who feel special are pleasantly inclined to give more in terms of tips. Pun intended. Jacob would be proud of that one, you think.

It also attracts wealthier clientele, whom you are more than happy to charge extra for the pleasure of pretty company. The Establishment prospers with you holding the purse strings; you almost dare yourself to feel proud. The Rooks have taken to calling you bookie, of all things. Sometimes they even invite you out for drinks.

You've never had a nickname before. You think you might like it.

The English winter drudges on and turns into an English spring, and you settle into a rhythm. You moved into an apartment in Whitechapel, a nicer one (in comparison — it's still poverty when set beside how you used to live, but you think you're slowly acclimating to it) closer to work. You spend most of your time with Ms. Jenny and the girls anyway — most nights, you find yourself passed out at your desk until Ms. Jenny shoos you to a couch in a dark corner by the stairs. She begins to insist that you call her Jenny, just Jenny — but that seems like a breach to you, a line you're just not ready to cross yet, no matter how many times she covers you with a blanket and lets you sleep in the receiving room.

At the end of every month, you meet Jacob in a pub to hand over his cut and go over the ledger. He always lingers to talk with you after, and you've gotten to know him, you think. As much as you can know someone who somehow manages to head both a crime syndicate and an alleged, shady reactionary freedom movement. At least that's what you can glean from the whispered conversations he's had with you when you ask after it.

"I think I know that look," he says, pointing his glass at you, "what are you thinking about?"

Damn him and his sharp eyes — you really must be more careful about your expressions.

"I realize that I don't actually know you at all," you say, swirling your glass around in your hand to slosh the wine inside. Frye's response is a dry chuckle and little more than that, grabbing the bottle of wine and refilling his own cup. You know he's not partial to wine. You know he prefers milds to bitters and finds that lager doesn't have the malty taste he enjoys, but he drinks it when he goes to Evie and Jayadeep's. But beyond that? He may as well be a ghost to you.

"Perhaps that's for the best," he says. You watch him chug half his cup before he sits it down again, wipes his mouth, and clears his throat. You sit your glass down, a companion piece. You'd threaten to kick him over not savoring it, but the wine they serve here isn't worth savoring.

"Do you have any hobbies?"

"Hobbies?" He seems utterly baffled by the idea.

"You know — things you enjoy. That you do on your off time."

"I think it's so incredibly, endearingly bold of you to assume I have off time." He smiles and then leans his chin on the heel of his hand and makes a show of thinking. "I do enjoy a good game of cards."

"Does that count as a hobby?"

"Why wouldn't it? Not everyone can afford to learn croquet or whatever they teach at Fancy Lads and Lasses School for Fancy Lads and Lasses." That stings — you take a drink of wine to lessen the bruise that puts on your ego, and Jacob visibly softens with an apologetic smile. "Sorry. That was unkind of me."

"No — no, you're right." You look down at your hands, smooth and uncalloused, and rub your thumb against your palm to keep them busy. "I'm coming to learn that the world is very different from what I thought."

You don't know why you said it. Or why Jacob Frye touches his fingertips to yours after a long, pregnant pause. You startle, and you look up to see him with that softened smile.

"It's a lot to take in." He pulls his hand away; you find yourself missing the brush of it. Your fingers curl into your palms of their own accord.

"When did you first learn about all this Assassin and Templar business?" You ask.

"About four minutes after Evie, right out of the womb. We were raised in it. Our parents were both Assassins, so were our grandparents, probably their grandparents too. It's a good thing we keep dying young; otherwise, we'd be twice as inbred as Her Majesty and company." You gasp.

"That is the queen you're insulting!"

"She's a right shit old bird, is what she is," he plants a hand on his chest, looking wounded. "She almost took Evie's knighthood! Because we dared ask politely for her not to steamroll over all India and probably gleefully kick puppies in the process."

"Evie was knighted?"

"Henry and I too, but I didn't want the damn thing."

"You're a knight?" He curls his lip, topping up your glass and sighing. He nods his head as though it's a burden, and you snort into your wine glass. The dismay strangely suits him — he doesn't seem the type to want or even know what to do with a knighthood. You can't imagine him in a suit and medal either, no matter how hard you try.

You're about to ask him what his parents thought about him being here when someone grabs a chair and muscles their way to your table. You're pushed damn near into the wall, scowling and moving if only to keep your wine from spilling. You recognize the idiot who stuck his nose in — his name is Smith, and he's a bastard.

You've had to throw him out of The Establishment more than once; you'd entertain the idea that he has some sort of vendetta against you, but he's not worth the effort of thinking about. He downs his bottle of lager and sits it down onto the table, swaying in his seat. His eyes are bloodshot under the greasy, unwashed blond mop of his hair. He grins at Jacob with all his teeth after he greets him warmly. Loudly.

You cow in the corner as the whole bar turns to look at your table, trying to hide in your skin. For the most part, Jacob seems annoyed. Still, he greets Smith with the impatient smile of a father whose child interrupted an important meeting. You can see a muscle twitch in his cheek when Smith leans on you, his hand wrapping like an uncomfortable snake around your waist.

Your heart freezes, and every muscle you own goes rigid like stone as he spreads his palm over your hip.

"Didn't know you visited the Judies, boss! How much does ol' bookie go for these days? Gold or silver?" You grip your wine glass until your knuckles threaten to split, hot behind the ears as he leans in. His breath smells like a month's worth of stale beer. You fix him with your eye and pull your lip away from your teeth, speaking through a tight jaw. Usually, that is enough to get the handsy ones to back off; not tonight, apparently.

"You know very well that I work the desk. Nothing more, Mr. Smith."

"Yeah, with that stick up your arse, I bet you don't get many Johns. No room." He winks at Jacob, who simply sits and lets you wallow in your misery, the smile gone from his face. You look at him, pleading, as Smith leans even further in and plucks your wine glass out of your hands. You can't move. You can't stop him.

"Aw, c'mon, poppet! Give us a smile." Jacob grits his teeth until his jaw is white, a warning snarl curling his lip away from his teeth.

"That is enough, Smith."

"What? Boss, I'm jus' havin' a little fun. Hazin' the greenies, you know how it is." Smith turns back to you, leering ever closer, the rank of his breath falling across your cheek. "You're having fun, aren't you, darling?" The world melts away, candle wax as his hand travels down to rest on the outside of your thigh. You can only think of Thomas Fucking Morvell. His hand around your waist. It feels so suffocatingly like he's there instead of Smith, and something-

Something in you.

Snaps.

You think you might be seeing yourself outside your body, your hand wrapped around the neck of the beer bottle as you slam the motherfucker into his big mouth. It explodes in a haze of glass. The force pushes him backward, out of the booth, onto the floor, and he covers his bleeding face with his hands and screams, screams, screams.

"You stupid fucking cunt!" Smith wails more obscenities at you, but you aren't listening. Your ears ring. The bottle feels oh-so-right in your hands, perfect. Jacob stands when you do, eyes wide and eyebrows high, but he's not quick enough to stop you from straddling Smith's chest and grabbing his lacerated jaw with your hand. Glass cuts into your fingers. He stares up with one eye swollen shut with blood and the other ballooned in horror. You raise the shattered, razor-sharp bottleneck over your head. You feel like an animal.

You wish you could say something clever — but your teeth are pressed so tightly that your words wither and die at the pass. Smith shrieks when your arm falls towards his eyes in a violent arch.

Aren't you having fun, poppet? Gimme a smile.

Something firm and solid stops your arm and wrenches you up with so much force you spin, and the bestial part of you uses the momentum to try to punch out at whatever's caught you. You've never thrown a punch in your life, but by God, are you going to throw one now. Something grabs that arm too.

You force yourself to refocus, panting hard and covered in blood from a million tiny cuts, splattered in Smith's gore and stale beer.

Jacob is staring at you, holding your wrists tight and firm to keep you from hurting someone else — or yourself. Then, finally, the horror dawns on you that the bar — the entire bar — is staring at you. You drop the bloodied bottleneck; your chest feels like it's going to implode. And yet Jacob keeps staring.

"You," he says, more to himself than you, "are full of so many interesting surprises."

***

You are cleaned up, bandaged, and taken to a private room above the bar. You spend minutes (hours, feels like) pacing. Back, forth — back, forth. You chew at your bandages and lament that your nails are covered, gnashing like a beast to try and bite them to the quick.

When Jacob opens the door, you want to throw yourself at his feet.

"Jacob," your voice wobbles, your breath coming out in short gasps, "I am so, so sorry-" He cuts you off with a raised hand.

"No, I'm sorry."

...What?

Whatever for?

You stare in stunned silence while he rubs the back of his neck. "You were obviously uncomfortable, and he just — kept touching you. And I didn't stop him. I'm sorry."

"You — You told him to stop." You want to laugh. This is a trick — this has to be a trick.

"That is not enough." He sighs. "Considering I know what it feels like." He grimaces at the floor, arms crossed, and you collapse back to sit on the bare mattress, hearing the frame creak its protest under your weight. The two of you exist in oppressive quiet until Jacob pipes up from the door.

"But — that was impressive, back there. And you've shown a lot of initiative and drive these past few months. I think you should join us — the Creed." It sounds like a speech he's rehearsed for months, shocked into pulling it out now at the most inopportune of times. It's damn-near comical, but you can't bring yourself to laugh.

"Again, with your crazy cult of conspiracy theorists." You sag, running a hand over your face. "Fine. I'll join you. What else do I have to lose?" The silence that follows is awkward and strange, so you try to fill it with conversation. "What did you mean when you said you knew what it felt like?" Jacob leans against the wall, watching a patch of the floor behind you with great interest. It takes him a moment to speak, but he sounds distant. Weather vaned to a place in history far away.

"His name was Maxwell Roth."

"The old leader of the Blighters? The one that set fire to the Alhambra?"

"The very same." You try to conjure him in your mind from what you remember. You come up with a shadowed figure in a mask and a cruel grin; you only know that he was much older than the two of you. You pull your knee to your chest and block out the thoughts as Roth slowly mutates into a figure you know far, far too well, and hate far, far too much.

"I'm sorry," you mumble.

"Don't be — it was a lifetime ago."

"A year," you smile; it doesn't reach your eyes. "But those can feel like lifetimes, can't they?"

"Sure as the sun shits gold, are you right." He moves to sit beside you, his hands folded between his knees, back bent. "He — I loved him. At least I think I did, afterward. After he died. He'd call me darling and my dear, and he made me feel so — so damn good about myself — all the things I'd accomplished like I was special. But I think we both loved a man who was," he trails off, trying so hard to find the words. You finish for him, hauntingly familiar with the feeling.

"Different from who the real man was," you say. "You loved the image you had in your head." And afterward, Jacob fell in love with the nostalgia.

"Right." He pauses and then coughs, the tips of his ears red. "We never had sex. I mean, afterward, shit — yeah, there were men. But for Roth and me — he was just touchy-feely. I thought I didn't mind then, but looking back on it now…" You feel nausea coil in your stomach; it's like looking in a mirror.

You never would have known. Or maybe he's just not as broken as you.

But to hear that you're not alone — you can find some measure of comfort in that, even if you're horrified to see your doppelganger sitting by you. You ask Jacob if Evie knows — she doesn't. She never will, if he has anything to say about it; all she knows is that something changed when he killed Roth, maybe for better or maybe for worse.

You don't know what to do — so you hesitantly lean against him, hoping that you're a comforting weight. He lets you. You stare straight ahead to keep from crumpling like a paper crane.

"I'm glad you said yes," he says. "This isn't — it's not a life I ask you to join lightly."

"What do I have to lose?" You repeat yourself, finally feeling brave enough to glance up, watching Jacob light a match and catch fire to the end of a cigar — the same one he's been smoking for a week, you realize. He must be saving it. "Does your mother know you smoke those things?" Not that it'd make much of a stir — they're meant to be healthy for the lungs anyhow. It's just unfortunate about the smell.

"Didn't know her," he says, almost as a throwaway comment as he takes a deep drag of smoke. You jolt, the shock of it filling your bones. "What?"

"Nothing," you say, fiddling with the selvage of your bandages. "I simply realized that we have much more in common than I thought."

#dig yourself a hole #ac syndicate #jacob frye #m #general #multichapter #i will say. you DO get to hit someone in the face with a beer bottle in this one #catharsis <3

7 notes · View notes

miraculousmarifan · 3 years

Text

Felinette Month 2020 - Day 8: Blind Date

A prompt from @felinettenovember

Part of me imagined a reversed version of the art for this prompt by @emzurl, where they’re leaning together in interest instead! Check that out if you have time!

Aged up AU, I’m picturing early 20s.

Chat!Felix, and Felix is completely unrelated to the Agrestes, just friends with Adrien.

Around 1500 words

Felix was always early to events and a blind date was no exception. He couldn't believe that Adrien wouldn't even tell him the girl's name, let alone see a picture. "It'll feel more like a natural meeting if you don't know anything beforehand!" and "Isn't it more romantic if all you know is she's wearing a red top and black scarf?" Right Adrien. Because that makes a blind date sooooo much more natural. I would never take a girl to this nice of a restaurant for a first date either. It's obviously better to do something like tea or coffee so we can part quickly if needed.

Felix’s brain stopped so suddenly when he entered the restaurant that he nearly fell as his body ground to a halt. A few tables behind the host stand, near a window, was a lovely woman in a red dress with a black scarf. She had an open book and a flower with her, looking very much like she was waiting for someone before ordering food. He had shown up 15 minutes before the agreed on time to give him time to settle in before she got there. She appeared to have been here for a few minutes already, drink in hand (is that a teacup?) and looking out the window. He had brought a flower for her, to make a good impression, and it happened to be the same kind. Had Adrien told her all about me to make her first impression better?

With a quick word to the host that he believed he saw his date, he began walking towards her chosen table. As he approached, he realized the book was actually a sketchbook. An artist… interesting…

"Hello. I'm supposed to be meeting someone here for a blind date. You wouldn't happen to be waiting as well, would you?" Felix tried to smile warmly, hoping that he hadn't just interrupted a random woman for no reason as he stood across the table from her, one hand on the chair back. She looked over him critically, processing how his green tie fit with the rest of his black and white ensemble, then eying the flower in his hand before answering him.

"I am waiting for someone. Were you given a name for your date?" She cocked her head, smiling gently at him. Felix flushed. Had Adrien given her his name and not vice versa? What about the romance of it? His empty hand reached up to rub the back of his neck in embarrassment.

"Actually the friend that set this up didn't tell me her name. He said it would be more like a natural meeting if I didn't know anything about her coming in…" he stared down at the chair in front of him. He could feel the warmth radiating from his face as his smile turned uncomfortable. She laughed. A beautiful sound that drew his eyes up to her face.

"I actually don't know my date's name either! My friend thought it would be more romantic if we just met and connected 'naturally,' even if it was staged! I'm so glad to know we’re in the same boat," she giggled out, a bright genuine smile and a small flush in her cheeks. Felix relaxed, coming to the same conclusion. "I'm sure there wouldn't be two blind dates set up here with almost no information given about the other person! I will admit though that I managed to pry out that you were blond so I could at least rule out anyone with darker hair."

Felix pulled out the chair and sat down across from her, setting the flower on the table between them and leaning on his elbows. Then he thought better of it and held out a hand, "I'm Felix."

"Marinette," her small hand settled into his for a small shake. Felix felt like he could soak up these smiles forever. Oh goodness, I'm already being as sappy as Adrien. The blush in her face increased slightly as Felix held her hand a little too long, still thinking about her smiles. He snapped back to attention and released it, pulling his hand all the way back to his chest and looking away to clear his throat.

"So you're an artist of some type?" Felix hated the awkwardness in his voice but needed to distract from his embarrassment somehow. She appeared startled at his question.

"Yes… sort of… how did you… oh. Ha. The sketchbook on the table. Yes, I'm a fashion designer, or at least I'm training to become one," she smiled softly again, gently closing her sketchbook and setting it down in her purse before turning her full attention back, elbows resting on the table. "By the way, I like your choice in tie. Themed for our local heroes, I presume?"

She was definitely referring to the small cat prints along one edge of the otherwise plain green tie. It was a gift from Ladybug some time back and the only green tie he owned. Since his date was expecting green and it was fairly subtle unless specifically looked for, he thought it would be appropriate to wear this rather than buy a new one. If he had anticipated a fashion designer, he probably would have bought a new tie…

"It is actually. A friend made it for me and I thought it might bring me some luck today," Felix smoothly replied, hoping it would appease her critical eye. She grinned slyly, as though she had an inside joke.

"I'm sure your friend would be happy to lend you some luck. And I imagine Chat Noir would be pleased to be represented too," Marinette’s smile deepened and Felix began to feel like a mouse being toyed with by a cat…

"I'm sure he'd be paws-itively tickled," he hoped the joke would turn her attention away. This felt a little too close to home, even if she couldn't possibly know who made this.

"Did you just make a pun?" She looked shocked. Felix laughed at her expression and the waiter interrupted to inquire about food orders. After placing their orders, the two fell back into easy conversation.

Engaged as they were with the other's company, both missed the entrance of a blond man carrying a large bouquet of flowers. He checked his watch before looking around the room. Not seeing a woman waiting alone with flowers, he was seated at a table further in the dining area, adjacent to the pair.

The entrance of a young woman in a red blouse with a skirt and small black scarf was also missed by the pair five minutes after the originally agreed upon meeting time, however her scan of the dining room had different results than the man's. She swiftly approached the table where Felix and Marinette were talking and holding a single hand across the table.

"Felix! I'm sorry you had to wait for me! I hope you weren't here long! Who is your friend?" The new woman placed her hand on his arm, scrutinizing Marinette. Marinette studied the two with evident confusion. Felix shot an annoyed scowl at the interloper, then slowly removed her hand from his arm. It didn't take him long to put two and two together.

"I'm sorry but I think you have the wrong person. My name isn't Felix," he responded quickly, schooling his expression into a more neutral (though still annoyed) expression. She blinked a few times. Marinette’s confusion turned to suspicion. Hopefully Adrien doesn't kill me for this… "My name is Claude and I'm currently having a phenomenal time with my date so if you wouldn't mind going away, it'd be appreciated."

"Oh… Really? I'm sorry! I mistook you for someone else!" She turned and walked back up to the host stand to ask about another blond man wearing a green tie. Figures that he'd send me out with one of his gullible coworkers. Felix turned his attention back to Marinette with a satisfied grin.

"Claude huh?" Marinette had an eyebrow raised at him, clearly noticing that his story didn't add up.

"I am definitely having too good of a time with you to cut this off and go eat with a random woman I've never met before. Would you rather I rectify this and go on a date with her so you can find your rightful man?" He put as much bravado into his tone as manageable but his eyes were glued to her, anticipating her answer. If she wanted him to leave so she could find her original date, he would. He would hate it but for her, he'd do it.

"No. I prefer this. If I had to guess, that guy over there--" Marinette subtly gestured to bouquet man "-- was probably supposed to be mine and you seem much more interesting. You definitely have better taste in clothes." She delivered this with a wink that made Felix’s heart skip a beat.

"Can I get your phone number too then?" he blurted out and blushed. He wanted to see her again, possibly every day. Marinette leaned forward with a devilish smile.

"Is Felix your real name?" He gulped as he saw how close she was. She's dangerous… I might just get addicted to her teasing…

"Of course…" his mouth was so dry that the words were just above a whisper. She smiled and put a hand out for his phone. Dangerous isn’t a strong enough word for her...

#felinette month #chat!felix #felinette month 2020 #felinette #miraculous ladybug

26 notes · View notes

ughgclden · 3 years

Note

bee, love, i am so happy you had a good first day, you deserve calm and loving days, and you deserve people, deserve friends. i’m so happy for you.

as for apologising, i’m a terrible hypocrite every time i tell you not to worry about it, as i also apologise for anything, most notably existing, but i want you to know you don’t have to apologise to me, i understand the impulse but there’s no obligation or anything.

i’m glad you’re feeling better, and that it was just a little ick, well not glad that you were ick but glad it wasn’t too bad.

when it comes to being in welton, i fantasise a lot about these things, i think something especially about boarding schools is appealing to me. being away. that’s why my plans are new york or wales or if my friend is to be believed, quebec. sometimes though, those realities all feel more and more like tissue paper soaked in water, just waiting for a reason to fall apart

i read really quickly, it’s probably an issue, i read red white and royal blue in about an hour and fifteen minutes. neil and i. kindred spirits. today at lunch i watched the last thirty minutes of dead poets society, going back to rewatch “i was good, i was really good.” like ten times.

imposter syndrome is slowly getting the better of me.

i actually dressed up as leia for the midnight premiere of the force awakens. i’m that person. if i’d been with you in the cinema i would have cried too, you’re not alone there, i cried watching it on the floor.

i don’t deserve the nice words you give me, but i’m happy i make you feel comfy and cosy, and ironically enough, writing with a quill or fountain pen never ends in pristine and unsmudged ink, you can thank my being left handed for that. i think there’s something nice about writing with fancy pens, maybe that makes me seem pretentious as well. oh well.

as for dps tattoos, if i can ever get any tattoos, i want the neil crown, “i was good, i was really good.” somewhere, probably my wrist who knows, and some art that alludes to the first unmanned flying desk set. among others. the “and still we sleep” thought, and the outline of meeks and pitts both sound so lovely. so so lovely. i really hope you can get every tattoo you wish. although your bank account may hate me for saying so /j i want more piercings, mainly on my ears, i have something of an earring addiction, my favourite pair at the moment is probably my howl drop earrings that look like howls from howls moving castle.

honestly the outfit/hair colour distraction rule is dumb. it’s dumb. i just don’t get it. abuse of power ig. and yeah. we were like hugging and sorta just leaning on each other while talking and the administrator got angry, for whatever reason. the straight couple making out behind us, she didn’t seem to mind, however. it’s dumb, and im glad i don’t go there anymore.

im clearly very articulate today (sarcasm) my mind is ehhhhhhhhhhh and feels like a squirrel laying on its stomach.

maybe i will call you ramona flowers, bee /j did you know the original name for pac man was puck man… /j hiding in the back of the music room to avoid a maths test sounds like something i would do. i say this, knowing full well that i’m such a neil kinnie that i end up feeling like a teachers pet because i want to do well, both for myself and simply to avoid trouble with my mum.

a new york times best seller, huh? well if i ever publish anything i’ll dedicate it to you, both for being the only person who thought i could be a storyteller, but also for being a lovely person in general.

sometimes one day after another feels impossible. tomorrow feels impossible. but oh well. i think younger me would be disappointed, to some degree. on the other hand, i think they’d think it’s cool how much i know. if nothing else, they’d love that i have a typewriter. also, i’m sure young you would be proud of you, i am. i’m so proud of you.

i mean bee, i could teach you to shoot a bow /hj YOU CAN WIELD A SWORD????? here i was thinking you could not possibly get cooler or hotter omg i’m in love /hj

thank you for being proud of me, really bee, thank you. and thank you for being the only one. i’m hardly changing the world, but i guess if i don’t burn out and lose this fight, changing a few points of views in the process of growing wouldn’t be terrible.

p.s. it’s certainly something, i feel bad because i always pull away from people when i get numb and it’s so new that me doing that could be detrimental to everything, but me forcing myself not to could have a bad effect on me. who knows what’ll happen. i’m just gonna try and keep them happy no matter what.

p. p. s. bee you brought this upon yourself /lh

all my love, bee, and that pun was the out of this world part of that sentence. you’re so cute omg.

that quote is beautiful, and since i, once again, had to translate french and smile about it, i’ll leave you with this

no importa que nos separe la distancia, siempre habrá un mismo cielo que nos una.

p.p.p.s. thank you for saying what you do, and i know that i don’t owe you anything, but writing to you is easy, and makes me happy, when i manage to get myself to sit down and think about it. i’m sending you back hugs, gentle forehead kisses and mugs of tea, a soft blanket and a narnia movie marathon, where we argue about how i am definitely not better than susan pevensie, but you almost certainly might be.

i’m so happy uni is going well thus far, love. and i hope you love your classes. learning.

thank you for everything bee.

yours, always,

star✨

star sweetheart, thank you so so much, honestly. i can't tell you how much that means - i know you said not to apologise, but an apology seems in order for the lateness of this message- im terrible i know /lh thank you sm though.

i'm writing this whilst listening to one of my favourite albums (hypersonic missiles by sam fender, if you were curious) and curled up in bed, so this really adds to the comforting vibes.

i'm with you on that, boarding schools do have a certain something about them, don't they? i hope you can get to one or all of these places in your life - i can speak from experience wales is especially beautiful, but i can really see you in new york, too. wherever you end up star, i truly hope you're happy there.

an hour and fifteen mins?!!? the fastest i've read something was a clockwork orange in two and a half hours or so- you are so strong star, i've watched that film 20+ times and only watched the last half an hour maybe 4 /lh

that is SO CUTE oh my god- i will admit, for it chapter two i did channel my inner bill denbrough and wore some flannel (i luv that limbo <3)

you deserve all of these words and more, i promise you. you deserve something a lot less clumsy, but i offer you my best. left handed.. you rly are neil huh? /j

all of those ideas; absolutely lovely. the i was good tattoo breaks my heart in the best way possible. im hoping you get all of these tattoos, love. you'd suit them more than anyone, i'm sure. those earrings sound like the coolest fucking things ever? i did have a pair that had a little vodka bottle on, but i lost one in a club and haven't gotten round to replacing them. i definitely want more piercings too,, my conch is looking pretty bare as of late...

that is just. so disgusting? im so- god that makes me so angry i can't even explain. i think i should punch all homophobes straight in the mouth, actually /hj

love, i bet younger you would be so so proud of all you've achieved. from only what you've told me, i am. they'd be over the moon at how intellectual, kind and strong you are, i know it.

I CAN!!! ITS ONE OF MY MOST ESTEEMED TALENTS!!! lets make a deal. you teach me to shoot a bow, i teach you to wield a sword.. we're giving very narnia power couple if i may say.. /hj

i will always be proud of you star, for even the smallest of things you achieve. you're actively making a difference and a change, take bringing this positivity into my life for example. you've got this, star. i know you have.

ps; im wishing you all the best my love, seriously. take every day as it comes, and listen to your mind and wellbeing. im sending you so much love

pps; that quote. is so fucking cute. god im breaking down,, its so pretty and so DHJHFJKNFKKN yeah.

this is me, making you a cup of coffee and your favourite comfort meal, with a kiss on the top of the head. we will have this argument - as much as i love susan, she's no match for you <33

all of my love and happiness, star. you truly are one of a kind.

if i may, i'd like to leave you with an excerpt from a poem i saw earlier that i fell in love with;

"and you laugh. / loudly- / head tipping back. / and while your eyes / are on the ceiling, / i am mouthing / something too heavy even / for this steady night to shoulder. / "this is not a joke." i mouth. / "love me. love me." - letters from medea, salma deera

#asks <3 #anon asks!#star anon #long post

1 note · View note

nightklok · 4 years

Note

28 Chickles?

76 Kiss Prompts [Open]

Is it cheating if I use an old prompt meme to complete today’s prompt? Probably but I had a majority of this written out so might as well finish it! Thank you for requesting this and sorry it’s a bit late! :O

Kloktober Prompt: Day 14-Preklok Whumptober Prompt: No 27-Power Outage

28. First kiss

It was the first band Pickles joined a few years after Snakes N’ Barrels disbanded. It was a band that would disband not long after being signed and before they could even produce their first album. The genre didn’t felt like it belonged to him compared to his previous band’s genre and it felt more like a job than anything else. However, it paid the bills and got him to at least work with music once again. Even if it felt like he was once again working from the bottom up, at least he wasn’t entirely lost and was knowledgeable on how the music industry was. He hadn’t really tried to get back into making music after Snakes N’ Barrels disbanded. Despite the offers from various groups, he had ignored them all without even giving a response. He ended up shifting from a music-related job to a non-music related job and dealing with the horrible addictions that never left his side. As if by fate, it took one DUI related charge to end up having Charles Foster Offdensen, a freshly graduated law student, to take his case. Somehow, he ended up winning that trial and Charles asked for no money but simply to be his manager and lawyer. It was honestly laughable. He hadn’t worked with bands or even gone solo so how could someone even want to risk their career by being associated with him? He was serious and spoke in a way that meant he looked at every outcome and wanted it regardless. It took a few days of convincing and Pickles agreed even though he was sure he was a lost cause (pun intended). His new manager proved his worth and got him band auditions fairly quickly as a lead singer. As quickly as they happened, they quickly ended successfully with tons of accepted phone calls. Pickles never really did felt like he fit in with any of them, however. There was no spark he felt playing with them like with his previous band and he was wondering if it was worth straggling in some newly licensed lawyer to his troubles. Charles never did judge him though unlike his previous managers. He listened to his complaints and how he felt with an open mind and tried to adjust the best he could. However, he had a feeling that most likely the ‘heavy’ sound Pickles was looking for wouldn’t be available or at least for the moment. At the advice given, he had accepted the offer from the next band he passed the audition for. It was a rock band that was a bit heavier sounding but it was better than the other bands, and he tried to make his peace with that. It didn’t take long for them to record a single, send it to record labels, and soon get signed. He thought he would be happy that a record label signed onto their band so quickly but he found himself not feeling that euphoria once felt when his first band was signed. The moment he signed his name on that contract, it felt like he was just signing up for a job above all else. The fear that perhaps he just simply overstayed his welcome and would never be able to make music again was running through his head. If not music, then what else was there for him? As the other band members began pestering the poor secretary for directions to the nearest bar, Charles trailed behind to keep up with Pickles. He wanted to say something; he could tell he didn’t seem happy but the only words that came out of his mouth were, “Well, ah, how about I buy you a drink? To celebrate?” That seemed to be enough for Pickles as he turned to look at him with a small smile, “A free drink and getting signed? Sounds like a good day to me.” ____ If Pickles had to be reminded further that the band most likely had the same behaviors as his previous one, it was their excessive drinking and somehow finding someone to buy coke off before the drinks even arrived. Within minutes, they were already high, and trying to out drink the other. Even for Pickles’ standards, they weren’t worth trying to keep up with. Pickles sat alongside him, taking advantage of the free nuts that were provided as he drank his beer. He was surprisingly quiet for once; he barely spoke a word since they arrived and mainly just asked the bartender for more drinks. Charles didn’t say anything either. Not that he didn’t want to but what could be said when he’s forced to watch his new clients already drink their first potential paycheck away? Like watching the same movie for the umpteenth time, unsurprisingly came the women and men. He found himself not even surprised when one by one his new bandmates began leaving with said people. They were either making out with them, taking them to one of the bathrooms, or leaving the bar altogether to some nearby hotel or something. That didn’t mean he wasn’t asked to go along. An occasional bandmate would remember he existed or one of the people drunkenly recognized him and asked him to join. He was reminded way too much of the nights spent in shitty hotels with people whose faces he’d barely even remember. It felt like as he aged those memories became less and less positively memorable and only left a bad taste in his mouth. He politely declined and watched his last bandmate leave the bar with some girl close by him. He was ready to leave to go home himself, “I guess we should call it a night,” He finished his beer quickly, ready to pull out his wallet. “I did say I would be paying,” Charles answered as he pulled out his own wallet, “And if you’d like, we can go to my place. It’s quieter and we can discuss a bit about the meeting with the record execs tomorrow.” “You did say it was for only my drink. Not the rest of the guys,” He grinned at him as if having won some game of thinking one step ahead, “But sure, could use some company.” There was a slight back and forth over who was paying the tab but eventually settled on a compromise that they would pay for half of it as they both knew the other bandmates would never pay them back. Hopefully, the revenue from the new album would be more than enough to cover that expensive tab. The two walked out of the bar and into the pouring rain that almost came out of nowhere. And unfortunately, Charles’ car was parked at least four blocks from the bar. Even though he had offered to make the run himself and drive back to get him, Pickles went with him. He hadn’t drunk himself to oblivion and at least didn’t slip on the mud or complain about getting wet. By the time they reached his car, they were soaked to the point where air-drying wasn’t much of an option. Charles had to turn on the AC to prevent the windows from fogging up. The cool air, even if it was as low and away from them as much as possible, did nothing to help relieve them from being soaking wet and cold. He didn’t have a blanket or anything with him, so he had to hope for the best that a near-half-hour drive wouldn’t result in them getting sick, “Sorry, I have to keep the AC on for a while.” “It’s fine. Do you have clothes I can borrow when we get to your place?” “Of course.” Between the sound of rain hitting against the car, the windshield wipers, and some Creedence Clearwater Revival song playing from the radio, it filled the silence when they didn’t talk. What they did talk about was trivial things or light jokes about getting sick. It had eventually died down when Pickles quietly dozed off. They reached the apartment a bit longer than usual because of the rain and sudden heavy traffic. Pickles had woken up just as Charles was beginning to park his car in the lot. He stretched as he got out of the car, adjusting his wet clothes that must’ve stuck to his skin like glue. To say he was cold was an understatement but the beers he drank thankfully didn’t keep him from freezing. The elevator was working this time and there was no one else there or when they reached his floor. It was as silent and eerie as walking into some unfamiliar hallway at night could be. The sound of wet shoes and socks against the floor was audibly heard, squeaking against the floor but was muffled by the bolt of lightning that came by. Even though it wouldn’t make much of a difference aside from mud, Charles told him to take off his shoes and leave it by the doorway when he unlocked the door to his apartment and let him in. As directed, he took off his shoes and left it to the side as the other did the same. His apartment was as ordinary as it looked for a lawyer just starting out. Nicely put together furniture and decorations that did make the place look a bit more put together. Maybe it was all Ikea furniture or something, Pickles wasn’t really one to keep track of furniture brands and shit. Either way, it looked nice and inviting to him compared to his own shitty studio apartment. He followed him to his bedroom where he had shown him a drawer that was full of warmer clothes. He found an old college sweatshirt and pants to go with. It’d probably be loose on him but anything was better than the wet clothing that was only reminding him further of how cold he was. Charles showed him where the bathroom was to change, “You can leave the clothes by the sink, I’ll throw them in the wash. Make yourself at home,” He told him before he went to his room to change. He put on whatever casual clothing he had and towel-dried his hair as much as he could. It was still damp to the touch, but he could live with that. He did see the bathroom was open when he stepped out, grabbing his clothes and putting them in the hamper. He’d take them to the washing machines downstairs when he got the chance. He went to the kitchen, grabbing two glasses, and poured brandy in both of them. Coffee or tea was his usual go-to when he had guests over but he knew Pickles enough on what he would prefer, and that was neither most of the time. He found Pickles in the living room, staring at the collection of law textbooks and framed awards that were either in the bookcase or framed near it. “You did fencing in college?” He asked as he looked at one of the plaques on the wall. He took the brandy Charles offered with a quick ‘thanks’. “Yes, actually. I was president there for the last, ah, two, or three years of college.” “Wow. You’re really full of surprises.” He laughed. “How so?” “Well, you’re some lawyer who wants to be a manager and for a has-been like me. That’s gotta be costing you more than if you just stayed as a lawyer. Recording that single must’ve not been cheap. And that bar tab either. ” “I’ll admit these expenses weren’t cheap but I have had money put aside for it. We’re signed now, so I’ll be getting that money back soon.” He answered. “You’re a little too optimistic about this, chief. You’ll be lucky if we even get a hit single.” “Well, it’s a risk, isn’t it? Working at an industry like this is a risk and I’m well aware of that. I might get that money back. I might not. We’ll see.” He answered, “but I suppose that’s where you come in if you want me to get my money back.” Maybe, it was the beer, brandy, and the eventual sickness looming over but it was hard to take him seriously, “You’re really putting so much confidence in me that it’s funny, really. Y’know there are people I know that do what you’re doing and before you know it, they’re stuck working at 9 to 5 jobs down at Santa Monica instead of retiring. At least you’re...like the same age as me? I won’t fuck your life up that much.” “You’re not gonna fuck up my life. I have a plan for this, Pickles. If the next band doesn’t work out, we can try another. You still have a name-” “A name?” He laughed bitterly, “What name, Charles? The one where the news talk about me with a DUI charge? Or a drug overdose? Or the one who sang for some stupid band with a stupid genre that’s clearly a joke now! Hair metal. that’s what they call it now! What kinda person would take someone who sang for hair metal seriously?” Charles knew he was right. His name in headlines was almost never for anything good. But all it took was one look in him to see that he still had...something. Something that not a lot of musicians had and something he’s probably yet to discover himself, “But you still have a chance, don’t you? You still have a voice to sing with and that should be more than enough to make a new name for yourself. The only person isn’t really believing this is you.” “What do I have to believe in myself for, Charles?” He shook his head as if he had mentally answered his own question, “God, I’m such a fucking idiot. I shouldn’t have let you get dragged with me. I should just go and quit or something. I’ll be saving you a lot more time and money if I just-” The lights flickered for just a moment but a clap of thunder quickly shut them off. Charles cursed under his breath as he went over to one of the switches to flick them on and off. It was completely off, “Guess we’re stuck like this for a while.” “Just fantastic,” Pickles muttered. He finished the rest of his brandy, “Look, I’ll just go. Save yourself the trouble-” “It’s literally pouring out and you’re drunk. I’m not letting you leave,” He answered. He watched his expression and sighed, “But clearly...there are things that you need to talk about, right? I mean...if you really did want to quit music altogether, why did you say yes when I asked to work for you?” He wanted to say it was just because he wanted to humor him. But even then, was it really the answer? He looked down as he shrugged, running his hand through his hair, "I dunno. I guess I thought I was getting a second chance. Some good job I’m doing at keeping that second chance, aren’t I?"

“I think you’re doing well with what you can do. It’s just hard to find a good band to blend with nowadays I suppose,” Charles said. He approached him closer. He wanted to help him but he was scared of having him run off when he was so close to having him open up to him, “But you still have the same potential as you did when you started in the band.” But you clearly need to work out whatever you’re going through just let me help you-

Pickles at least didn’t try to leave and instead agreed to coffee. He sat in the kitchen chair as Charles boiled water on the gas stove. There was a comfortable silence between them as they didn’t say anything and only listened to the relentless rain hitting against the window and the thunder that occasionally sounded. He poured the water and instant coffee to two mugs, letting him use the milk and sugar to his liking which was borderline sweet.

Charles used the rest of the milk for his coffee and threw the carton out. He sat in the chair opposite him, taking a sip of his coffee that quickly warmed him up. Pickles didn’t say anything and he didn’t want to pry so he didn’t say anything either.

“Can I ask you something?” Pickles asked as he stared at the mug. He couldn’t meet his gaze.

“Sure.”

“Why did you wanna work for me? Any other band or celebrity with a cleaner record could easily take you in.”

It was a question that Charles knew would come up inevitably and he had prepared for it in advanced. Prepared professional and cordial sentences that might not mean much but would at least mean something meaningful to Pickles. Though, that was with the implication that they would’ve been in some professional setting. Not in his apartment with Pickles wearing his old clothes and after he had probably poured out more of his feelings than he had intended to. It was only fair he did the same, “Well, to put it bluntly, your music saved my life and I only wanted to return the favor I suppose.”

Whatever Pickles had expected, definitely wasn’t that. He looked up to meet his eyes, green eyes somehow illuminated by whatever light the window gave. “What do you mean by that?”

“I was a teen too when you started with the band. Probably just as angry and misunderstood as you were. Didn’t have a family or really anybody to turn to or much hope for my future. I just never understood when people said that music saved their life. Until I came across that first album and I really understood the feeling. It was made me decide to go into music business though I honestly admit I didn’t expect to ever be working with you until I was assigned your case.”

“And I’m guessing you took it as a sign or something?”

“Something like that. I mean, I would’ve been working for someone who basically shaped my career. It would be ironic, wouldn’t it be?”

Pickles was silent afterwords for a good while. Most likely to take the words in and realize just how much Charles meant it when he promised him he would find him a band and get his career started again. Charles was legit. Charles wasn’t saying this to get something out of him. He was being genuine and it brought in a whole new swarm of thoughts he hadn’t thought of in a long time. He looked at him with a sad smile that told a thousand words even if he said only ten, “I wish we met earlier. We could’ve had fun together,”

He must’ve been lonely, Charles quickly realized. And it was for good reason too; his band members were nearly a decade or so older than him and he most likely never talked with people around his age. As fun as it must’ve been getting to feel like an adult talking with adults, it could get tiring too and sometimes makes one wish they spoke about bullshit to someone their age. He knew that all too well, “Me too. But, at least we know each other now and I promise that it’s only going to get better from here.”

“You really believe in me, don’t you?” Pickles asked.

If the months and money and time Charles did wasn’t enough, he didn’t know what would. He knew that sometimes words just confirmed the actions so he nodded, “Of course I do. I wouldn’t be taking such a risk if I didn’t.”

What he didn’t expect to happen though was for Pickles to being to cry. He had his hands on his face, elbows on the table, and tried not to show he was crying. But his sniffles and tears seeping through his hands easily gave it away. The tears weren’t of sadness and Charles knew that well enough. It was enough though for him to still go over to him and hold onto him tightly. He felt him wrap his arms tightly around him as the cries turned to sobs as he let however many years of pent up feelings and loneliness finally resurface and wash away like the rain.

Eventually, they pulled away. There were no other words that really needed to be said. It was just one look that said what they wanted to say but neither had the words to say it. It was Pickles that kissed Charles. It wasn’t those kisses that were meaningless and full of absolute desperation and hastily made to get on to the point. It was full of a tenderness and warmth that neither hadn’t felt before or for a long way. It was warm and against the coldness of the apartment from the rain and darkness, it was enough.

____

They lied down in Charles’ bed with a blanket covering them. Even if the room was a bit chilly, the warmth from the blanket and each other was more than enough.

“You could always go solo.” Charles said as he stared up at the ceiling.

“I guess...but I’m kinda tired of being in the spotlight. I mean, I like it and all but being at the center of it? Gets exhausting.” “Hm, there’s guitar auditions you can always do. You can always do that,” Charles pointed out.

They know it’s not gonna last. The band, that is. Most likely the band would fizzle out into obscurity and never be remembered within a month.

“True. Probably still have my Les Paul in my apartment somewhere.”

Charles honestly wished he could make him actually be happy. He did know that this was a problem he couldn’t exactly fix. As much as he wished he could be, there was a limit and he was sure he already was nearing it. He could only help as much as he could and be content with it; convincing Pickles to get back into music and letting him take direction in how he wanted to pursue music was one of the only things he could do. Being there for him, not as a manager/lawyer, but as someone who cared for him on a personal level also was something he could do. And he could do both; he was great at multitasking. “For the next band, I wanna play drums. I wanna be in the background this time,” Pickles murmured sleepily as he wrapped an arm around him.

“I’ll look into drum auditions tomorrow,” Charles answered. He would’ve protested at them breaking boundaries, it certainly wasn’t professional, but who conducted meetings in bed anyway? He held onto him, feeling the slight dampness of his dreads that were still not completely dry but didn’t care. Mentally, he reminded himself to find that newspaper he looked at the other day. He vaguely remembered an ad trying to find a drummer for some metal band. Hopefully, they wouldn’t be too late and that they would need a lawyer or manager as well.

The rain was still pouring and the power wouldn’t come back on until just a few hours later. But for at the moment, neither of those things really did matter. They held each other in silence, listening to the rain as eventually they fell asleep.

#kloktober #Caffeinated Insomniac Writings #chickles #metalocalypse fics #Thanks again for requesting this!!!#whumptober #fic #I will post this to AO3 later for now I write something else-#wumbo-calling #pickles the drummer #I had to rewrite some scenes because I completely forgot about the first kiss holy shit how stupid am i #I will refix this in AO3 but for now just enjoy the hastily added paragraph

22 notes · View notes

d20owlbear-deactivated · 4 years

Text

Daffodalia [1]

(This fic actually took some inspiration, at least looks and height wise, from @10yrsyart Book Omens character designs. Though they’re not described explicitly so they can be hc in any way you like!)

Summary: Written for Book Omens Week.

Crowley and Aziraphale drink quite a bit, this time for pleasure rather than for the stress, and fall asleep on the sofa in the back room of the bookshop.

They wake up with terrible hangovers. ---

[1] Daffodils, or Narcissus flowers, mean “Egotism, Formality” in the language of flowers, but are also closely related to a Greek word meaning “intoxication” (which is narcotic). Dalia is a name that in Arabic stems from the word for grapevine and in Hebrew from the word for [tip of a] branch, especially that of a grapevine or an olive tree.

Aziraphale smiled, eyes closed, and cuddled up against Crowley on the couch he’d been previously sure was too small for the both of them to comfortably fit on. He was inordinately pleased with the couch for not being so, and the couch was rather chuffed at the silent, but still angelic, praise being thought about it. Crowley had threatened it telepathically and was rather glad it didn’t fight back against any Entirely Reasonable Expectations TM and had, in fact, gathered it’s couch-y wits about it and widened accordingly. That being said, the couch, and their positions, were exceedingly comfortable.

Both the angel and demon had been drinking. It wasn’t for any particular reason so much as they enjoyed being in each other’s company but hadn’t quite gotten into the habit of not needing excuses for it even after being so thoroughly ignored by their respective sides— after hundreds of years, learning not to look over one’s shoulders was quite difficult indeed. So they drank and shared stories about the couple of weeks[2] they’d been apart, taking inventories and passing out miracles of both hellish and heavenly origins now that they no longer had quotas to meet or budgets to stick to.[3]

[2] Since they are rather immortal—not the unkillable kind, of course, just the long-lived kind— they have a somewhat shaky grasp of how much Time is considered long.

For the best comparison, it’s easiest to assume they tend to think of a Standard Human Year in the same way a Human might think of half a week. That is to say, not very long and not entirely unreasonable to not see someone for if you know they’ve been busy, but certainly long enough to start pining again if you’re in love. This, however, also means that Crowley is 100% a flash bastard with a hot new hobby or wardrobe every weekend to all the other immortals in his acquaintance.

[3] Crowley had quite a few quotas to meet that he often found difficult to reach with how humanity rarely needed much of a push in the first place (hence the reasons he took credit for them nonetheless, but the paperwork for the actual Demonic Intervention Miracles, or DIM, was Hellish. [3.1]). His budget for DIMs was approved ad infinitum in part because it was the only thing he’d asked for in recognition for his work Up Top with the Tree Debacle and also because Dagon decided not to bother dealing with requisition forms every 12 days on the dot for miracles to keep him from discorporation. Truly it was more work to give him a new corporation to his specifications than it was to keep him from coming back to Hell whining and complaining.

Aziraphale, on the other hand, was constrained in the other direction. He had quotas to meet and rarely had trouble with them as he was, in fact, a divine being of Love who liked to spread that Love as much as possible. He did, of course, have a bit of a terrible habit of tending towards unnecessary expenditures of Heavenly Ordained Enterprises, or HOE, like an extra marshmallow [3.2] or pulling a street urchin out of the way of a run-away cart without putting himself in self-sacrificing harm’s way.

[3.1] Pun intended, of course, because puns were the lowest form a wit. So low, one might say it was from Be-Low

[3.2] Gabriel had always given him a pass on re-warming his hot chocolate, though not tea or even coffee, as the word ‘hot’ was in the very name, and therefore must be kept that way, per Her will. Even if he didn’t quite know what chocolate was or why Aziraphale seemed to be around it so often to keep it warm.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale murmured, voice light and pleasant, as he dragged his fingertips through the lanky demon’s hair and down the back of his neck, “Have you heard about bees? They've got dances for maps. ”

Crowley snorted in response, shifted a little, but otherwise doesn’t move in Aziraphale’s arms. He was far too comfortable wrapped up in the warmth of an angel’s embrace and far too lazy besides. They were both also far too drunk to manage to untangle themselves from one another with any level of coordination. Best just stay like this, simpler that way, of course.

“Bees?” Crowley grinned. His voice canted up in mock incredulousness, nuzzling his face against Aziraphale’s chest, thoroughly sozzled. “ ‘Ve heard abou’ ‘em, yeah. S’what’s– what’s to do?”

Aziraphale blinked, a little slow and confused. “What’s about them, m’ dear? They're indoub– indo– very much needed! For grapes! And fruits, and pears.” Aziraphale’s face turned morose and tears gathered in his eyes. “A–and they’re dying !” He hiccuped a sob in the way drunk people do, sad enough to sound upset but not quite fully capable of processing most things, let alone complex emotions, to start crying in earnest about it.

“Shh!” Crowley shushed, startled by the sob, and clumsily patted at Aziraphale’s face with his free hand. It was more of a light smack really. The other was trapped underneath Aziraphale’s back, so, while rather useless in this instance, he wasn’t entirely inclined to be upset about it since it meant their chests were pressed together by necessity.

“S’ok! S’ok, Angel! Adam's set it to rights–a bit–and you can use you’re miracles or somethin’, jus’ yanno, maybe make some more flowers and clovers. No one c’n be mad at you fer that, yeah?” Crowley panicked while attempting to sound calm.[4]

Aziraphale just hiccuped a few more sobs, face still dry even though his eyes were a bit on the blurry side. “Flowers? You know them?”

“Yeah, s’fine, Angel, shh. I’ll get you flowers, yeah? With bees in ‘em.”

“You– you will?” Aziraphale gasped, pulling Crowley into an even tighter embrace,[5] which he happily melted into.

“Mhm, should do,” Crowley muttered, breathing in deeply once Aziraphale’s arms relaxed around him again and closing his eyes. His mouth opened to take in the scent he was surrounded by, smelling of Aziraphale’s old barbershop cologne, wine and old books, and something that was uniquely Aziraphale.[6]

[4] He was rather terrible at that. Rarely did one meet someone who was more obviously panicked than Crowley, who sometimes looked panicked even when he was, in all actuality, entirely fine. Must be his face.

[5] It really was for the best Crowley didn’t need to breathe, even if he liked to. And that he had enough ribs and vertebrae to displace all the excess force in Aziraphale’s arms. The angel had been a Guardian for a reason, no matter how much he liked to play at being soft and harmless. Crowley never forgot, least of all like this, and even though as a demon he should be frightened by it, Aziraphale’s strength had always felt like a warm promise at his back, something that felt like safety.

[6] He smelt like light, pure and unexplainable, he also smelled like comfort, which was just as unexplainable as smelling like light but it felt quite a lot like Love. Which Crowley might admit to, one day, but only if he was cornered and only ever to Aziraphale himself. But then again, Crowley could be biased, and simply thought that Love smelled a lot like Aziraphale, instead of the reverse. He’d also be hard-pressed to ever admit that thought either.

[[Full Story]]

#BookOmensWeek #Book Omens Week #good omens #AziraCrow #Book Canon #Help I've fallen into Good Omens and I can't get out #Daffodalia #Chapter 1 #of 2 #Good Omens Crowley #My writing #help i'm lost in good omens and can't get out #good omens fanfic #good omens fic #crowley #Crowley and Aziraphale #aziraphale/crowley #crowley good omens #Aziraphale

174 notes · View notes

shut-up-its-funny · 4 years

Text

On The Sidelines Ch.One

Wordcount: 2821

Pairings: Roman/Remus, Virgil/Logan, Remy/Patton, Janus/Thomas

AO3

Roman and Remus were separated at fourteen and reunited eleven years later when Roman's band starts renting out the space downstairs from Remus' apartment.

Roman has talked about Remus to his friends as his childhood sweetheart, Remus is unaware of that.

One early morning he meets their blind manager and is recruited to be the new drummer.

Remus was jostled from the brink of sleep by a loud guitar strum, it wasn’t in his apartment, Jan and Virge don’t have guitars and it sounded like it came from downstairs.

Not to mention, they weren’t even home.

So Remus flops himself off of the couch, groggily swaying in place for a few seconds before walking towards the kitchen window when another loud strum is made along with the sounds of other instruments being tuned.

The place downstairs from his apartment was recently rented out to a club of sorts, maybe a band.

He gets to the window and leans out of it, there’s a van parked up near the entrance of the downstairs doorway, a man is facing the trunk mumbling to himself.

He bends into the back of the van to grab something, Remus isn’t gonna lie, he’s checking out this hotty who might be in a band.

“Hey handsome” he calls out “mind keeping the noise down a bit I haven’t slept in more than thirty six hours and the noise aint helping much.”

The man stiffens and scoffs “well’ he turns around “it’s noon so I think we ca-“ he stops and his eyes widen when he looks to Remus –“Remus?” his tone is incredulous.

Remus goes still, he blinks a couple of times, maybe he’s so tired he’s imagining it.

“Ro…man?” he splutters.

“Holy shit” Roman breathes “Holy shit!” He exclaims in excitement.

“Number six come up!” Remus says.

Roman looks to the open door and then back up at Remus, contemplating.

“Sure, the guys won’t mind me not helping for a little while.”

Roman closes the vans door to walk to the other side of the building, well more like sprint.

This is insane, Roman is here. Holy shit Roman is here.

They haven’t seen each other since they were separated at fourteen.

He doesn’t have time to worry about what’s going to happen cause a rapid knocking sounds out through his apartment.

Well, here goes nothing huh?

He opens the door and there Roman stands, rigid and jittery.

Here they face each other for the first time in eleven years, Remus can’t help himself; he pulls Roman in for a tight hug.

Roman instantly relaxes, squeezing Remus back.

Remus backs them into the living room, which is right next to the door; he’s still holding on to Roman and when they stumble, both boys laugh.

Roman chuckles “Remus, we can’t walk like this.”

“Says you” Remus smiles, he toddles them to the couch and flops them down.

It’s like they never really left each other.

Or that’s what Remus would like to think, so he’s just going to act like it.

They sit in silence; Roman moves his leg off of Remus’ lap, the silence that settles over them is splitting.

“So, the tuning noises, what’s going on with that?” Remus asks.

“Oh! I’m in a band; we’re renting out the space downstairs for our rehearsals.”

“Cool cool cool, what do ya play?”

“I’m” Roman says proudly with his hand fanned out to his chest “the lead singer.”

“Of course you are” Remus smiles fondly.

And more quiet.

Roman’s phone starts chiming with a cheery tune.

“Ah, that would be our bass player I should answer” he shimmies his phone out of his pocket and answers it. “Hey Pattycake, is anything wrong?”

Pattycake, well that sounds cutesy. Couple cutesy.

He knew things were gonna be different, they haven’t seen each other in eleven years, and they’ve only had minimal contact through email a couple of times.

It’s hard to stay in touch when their parents were dead set on them not ever seeing each other again. And sure, they could have done something more about that when they turned eighteen and were out from their parents thumb, but by that time both twins didn’t know how to approach the other anymore, and so time went on, they both got their own thing and even though they always thought about it they weren’t able to bring themselves to reach out.

And that brings us here, the awkward silence and Roman’s boyfriend.

It might be the lack of sleep, but Remus doesn’t feel too good.

He knows that he shouldn’t feel this way, Roman is obviously over it, he probably doesn’t even want it to be brought up.

Remus isn’t the type of person to keep things to himself, but for Roman he’ll keep all of his thoughts and feelings bottled up, he’s happy enough to have Roman back and he doesn’t wanna ruin it.

“Rem? Remus?” Roman shakes his shoulder.

Remus looks up at Roman, when did he stand up? “Hm?”

“I, have to go back down if I’m gone any longer Patton will drag me down himself” Roman chuckles “hey, do you wanna come down and meet the band?”

He really doesn’t want to do that.

“Nah” he waves off “I need to sleep, meeting new people wouldn’t be the best idea right now, you know me and spouting out whatever comes into my head.”

“Right, right of course thirty six hours awake” he sounds kind of, relieved?

Ouch.

“I should go” he gestures to the door “you know where to find me” and then he leaves.

Remus plops down sideways and sighs, he’ll feel better when he gets some sleep so he curls up and tries to stop thinking.

~~~

“Ro!” Patton chirps as he walks into their club “you said you had news?”

“I do indeed Pop Star, I was with Remus.”

Both of his band mates gasp, Patton more dramatically than Logan but Roman is glad he even got a gasp out of them.

“Holy moly, that’s great news right?” Patton asks, not sure on what kind of emotion to have for this information.

“Yes, of course it’s great news, I’ve missed him so much, but I get the feeling he doesn’t forgive me.”

“What did he do when he saw you?” Logan asks.

“Well, he hugged me and wouldn’t let go until we stumbled down.”

Patton and Logan share a look, Logan clears their throat.

“Roman, I may not be good with emotions but I am pretty sure that that is the opposite of not forgiving you, he seemed very happy to see you.”

“Did’ja ask him to come over?” Patton asks.

“I did yes” and he doesn’t know why he did, he’s not ready to explain that one.

That one being that his band mates don’t know Remus as his twin but as his childhood sweetheart, so when they do inevitably see him they’ll know and well, Roman doesn’t want to deal with that.

“And, he was too busy to come?” Patton hopes that’s the reason.

“Well, kind of. He was sleep deprived so he wanted to sleep, oh he asked if we can be quiet so he actually can sleep.”

“What does that mean?” Patton cocks his head.

“What do you mean what do- oh I forgot to mention that he lives upstairs didn’t I?”

“Oh my gosh! What an amazing coincidence” Patton gushes.

“Truly is, isn’t it” Roman laughs out a bit nervously.

“What’chu bitches talking about?” the voice of their manager Remy (co manager actually, Logan does the numbers stuff while Remy does the people stuff) chimes from the clubs door, he saunters in with a cup holder with four coffees on it and his seeing eye husky at his side.

“Oh Rem, you’ll never guess” Patton bounces as he takes his whipped cream topped ice cap.

“Mmhm, give me a little context before I blindly guess babe” he leans into Patton, who giggles at his boyfriends pun.

“Our prince has met with his long lost love, who get this: lives upstairs” Patton says excitedly.

“I wanted a sample not the entire pot of tea hon” Remy says with affection “but damn, that is some hot news Ro.”

Roman shrugs “I suppose so.”

“So, what are you gonna do about this?” Remy asks.

“Do about what? There’s nothing to do anything about.”

Remy raises an eyebrow, Roman can just imagine the look he’s receiving under those aviators.

“There’s an obvious course of action you can pursue here Roman, there are several but we all know the one you want to take so just do it and spare yourself some trouble” Logan says.

“It’s” Roman huffs “it’s not that easy guys.”

“Oh, do tell how seeing your first and only love again, whom may I remind you was happy to see you is not easy, just talk about your situation like adults and you’ll do perfectly fine” Logan informs.

“You realise who’re talking about don’t you Lo?” Remy stage whispers.

“Hm, you’re right. Roman can’t be in a serious adult conversation” Logan smirks.

“Oh ha ha. Good for me then cause Remus can’t either” Roman sticks his tongue out.

“Seems like you two were made for each other then.”

“Let’s just finish moving in huh, I don’t wanna continue this conversation right now” he’s scared of slipping up or not having an answer for something that he should have an answer for.

~~~

He wakes up extra groggy and it’s dark out and he’s still on the couch; he’s not sure if Jan and Vee got back yet, but he supposes if they have that they’re sleeping.

He scrabbles for his phone that is sitting on the coffee table, the light blinds him for a second before he can see the time.

Almost four am, okay well that’s a good enough time to get up, he’s been sleeping for about sixteen hours now.

He trudges his way through his apartment to get to the kitchen to get some water.

There’s light coming in through the window more than usual, are they still doing things downstairs?

Walking over to lean out the window he notices a man he’s never seen sitting on the stairs under the doors light; he’s throwing a stick for a large husky.

“Hey” he calls out, the man startles slightly.

“Roman?” He asks.

What? They don’t sound that much alike do they?

“Uhh, no. Remus actually” he responds.

“Ohhoh, Remus you say, well babe nice to finally meet you.”

Finally? Does Roman talk about him a lot to his band mates?

Is he part of the band?

“Are you part of the band?”

“Yeep, I’m the manager, names Remy.”

“Cool cool cool, cute dog.”

“I’ll have to take yours and everybody else’s word for it” he drawls, looking up towards Remus.

Remus sees the sunglasses that he didn’t notice when Remy was looking forwards.

“What are you doin up at four am?” Remus asks.

“What’re you doin up at four am?” Remy shoots back.

Well, they’ll get along just fine.

“Jus woke up” he slurs out “hey uh, is Ro there still?”

“Nope, left with Logan hours ago, just me an Pat now.”

Pat? Like Patton, who Remus assumed was Roman’s boyfriend Patton?

“O-oh yea Ro mentioned a Patton, the bassist right?” okay with the small talk Remus, just end the conversation now.

“Mmhm, exactly. Hey, do you know any drummers, we’re lookin for one.”

“I drum” he blurts. Why did he say that? Roman probably doesn’t want him around that much.

“Oh, interesting, wanna show me some stuff, we have a set down here.”

“Yea sure, no problem I’ll be right down” he walks away from the window “no problem at all yep, this is fine.”

He doesn’t bother putting shoes on or locking the door.

The husky makes a small noise as Remus walks towards Remy, Remy in turn makes a hand motion, the dog stops and sits next to its owner.

“How long have you been drumming for?” Remy asks as he stands up.

“About ten years, I don’t do it professionally though.”

“Well we won’t have any competition to get you in the band then, come on in” He gestures to the general area of the door then pats his thigh, the dog is instantly at Remy’s side and they’re walking in.

Why did he agree to this? He knows he’s a good drummer and this would be fun if he didn’t think Roman hated him.

Is it too late to back out? Probably. Just, flub the audition, there problem solved.

Remy stops them in what looks like the main room of the club area, there’s a singular couch (at least it’s one of those large L shaped ones) facing what can only be their playing area.

The lead singer’s mic is gold and under it is a red guitar.

To its left is an indigo guitar and its right is a light blue bass littered with stickers.

The drum set at the back is black and it is magnificent looking.

The set he’s had since uncle Thomas bought it for him at sixteen is a garish green and it’s all scratched and broken in places, Remus absolutely loves it, but he’s excited to use this beast of a drum set.

Near the drums sits a piano key board.

Farther into the room is a small bar area and the door behind the bar looks to go off into more rooms that he assumes are personal quarters.

Remy sits on the couch and leans back, he waves towards the instruments.

“Alright hot stuff, show me what’cha got hm?”

Okay, just have to mess up enough for him to not want you on the band. Easy right?

He sits himself at the drum set and picks up the sticks.

Well, here goes nothing.

He starts off by just banging around blindly, he eyes Remy to see if there’s any indication of being stopped but Remy has the best poker face Remus has ever seen.

Remus finishes his ‘audition’, Remy raises an eyebrow.

“Okay cool stuff babes, but like maybe actually play now.”

“Wha”-

“What are ya doin in here Rem?” A sleepy voice sounds from the door behind the bar.

Remus stares at the man who’s rubbing sleep from his eyes, presumably Patton squints at Remus then turns his head to Remy on the couch.

“Ro, when did you get back? Also, stop trying to play the drums, you know how much it frustrates you when you can’t play” he giggles then yawns, trudging up to Remy and plopping down next to him to sleepily lean into the blind man.

Remy kisses the top of Patton’s head.

“Oh babe, that’s not Roman.”

“Oh, oops I don’t have my glasses on right now, sorry mystery drumming person.”

Second time tonight someone mistook him for Roman.

“Not a mystery, this is Remus” Remy says like he’s talking about a celebrity.

Patton jumps up “ohmygosh! It’s so nice to meet you! Even if I can’t really see you that well right now, oh this is exciting! Are you trying out to be our drummer? Oh Roman is going to be so happy!”

Nice energy from this one.

“I am, but I’m”-

“Fuckin around your audition?” Remy asks in a tone that suggests that he’s not really asking.

“Not where I was going with that, but” he shrugs “ya caught me?”

“I’m not going to ask why you were trying to sabotage yourself, you could have just said you didn’t want to be here and it would have sufficed.”

Blunt, to the point and can sniff out bullshit, no wonder he’s the manager.

“Fuck” Remus sighs out “fine fine, I’ll play for real.”

He takes a deep breath and plays.

This set feels different from his own but he doesn’t fuck up once, his performance is flawless and he’s completely in the zone, he doesn’t notice the stars in Patton’s eyes or the impressed air coming off of Remy, he’s fully in his own world right now.

Drumming is very cathartic for Remus, letting all his worries out on the beat of his own imagination onto the drums makes him deal with the pent up emotion stirring within.

Patton is on his feet clapping for Remus when he ends, Remy too is clapping.

“That was so amazing! You have to be in the band! Remy, tell him” Patton shakes him.

“That was hella lit an all, and yea he would be a great addition, but it’s ultimately up to him.”

Patton looks at Remus with puppy dog eyes.

“I don’t think Ro”-

“Roman would be super duper happy if you join! I know this for a fact” Patton stops Remus’ thought.

For a fact? Is he supposed to believe that? Sure, Roman ran up to his apartment earlier and sounded genuinely excited when they saw each other, but he was also relived that Remus didn’t come down to meet his friends.

One way to find out.

“When’s practise start?”

Patton squees.

“Be here at one, Roman and Logan should be here around then too” Remy informs, he gets up to hold out his hand, Remus scrabbles over to shake it.

“Welcome to The Sidelines hon.”

#remrom #romrem #onthesidelines #creatnativity #sonnywrites

25 notes · View notes

emospritelet · 4 years

Text

Twisted Fate - chapter 16

22: “Have you lost your damn mind?”

[AO3 link]

After Belle had gone to bed, Gold stayed awake, drinking coffee and scouring websites for disability aids that he thought might be helpful. Having made his purchases, he checked his emails, finding one from Ella reminding him that they were supposed to be meeting at some point to sign the remaining paperwork for the transfer of the apartment and the agreement between he and Belle. He sent off a quick reply, explaining what had happened and suggesting that the meeting be postponed for a week or so.

He was surprised to find that he felt a little better for telling Belle about Bae. It had been years since he had spoken his name aloud, since he had discussed his existence with another person, and there was a certain catharsis in telling Belle about him. It didn’t make his loss any less painful, of course, but sharing his pain reminded him that Bae was alive, and out there in the world, and that someday, against all the odds, he might just find him.

By the time he had finished with his emails, it was approaching eight. The sun was up, although hidden by iron-grey clouds, and he put on some coffee as he watched rainwater streak down the windows. His eyes were grainy with tiredness, and although he figured he could use some sleep, there was too much he wanted to do before he could rest. He decided to plan what he would cook over the next few days, and went to the fridge to go through the contents again. Belle would want something she could eat one-handed, of course, so he began flicking through his mental file of dishes to make up some meal plans. Once he was done with the fridge, he inspected the contents of the cupboards, making a list of anything further he needed to pick up. Belle would be alright for an hour or so while he went grocery shopping.

It was strange, having someone to care for, and if he thought about it too much it made him nervous. He hadn’t had to look after anyone but himself in decades, not since he had lost Bae, and he wasn’t sure how much Belle would want him to do for her. No doubt she would tell him if he overstepped, but in the meantime he would carry on with preparing food, cleaning up after himself and being as useful as possible.

A knock at the apartment door made him glance around, and he hurried over, casting a glance towards Belle’s bedroom as he passed. There was no sound from within, and he presumed she was still sleeping. He opened the door to find Emma on the other side with her fist raised, prepared to knock again, and she rocked back on her heels, eyes widening.

“Uh - hey,” she said.

“Good morning,” he said, and she looked him up and down, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m - not disturbing you guys, am I?”

“Belle’s still in bed,” he said, jerking his head in the direction of the bedrooms. “I’m just thinking about making a start on breakfast. You can join us, if you like.”

“Oh, I don’t want to push in if she’s still - uh - sleeping,” she said hastily, and Gold shook his head.

“She asked me to wake her at ten if she wasn’t up,” he said. “Come on in, have some coffee. I’m making French toast.”

“Oh, well in that case…”

She winked at him, stepping through, and he shut the door behind her.

“How’s she doing?” she asked, and Gold pulled a face.

“She was up around five, but went back to bed again once I’d made her some tea,” he said. “Still in a lot of pain, obviously.”

“I bet.”

Gold gestured towards the kitchen, and Emma walked ahead of him, shrugging out of her coat. She draped it over the back of one of the kitchen chairs, and he poured the coffee, setting a cup down for her and receiving a nod of thanks. He took a small jug of cream from the fridge, putting it down on the table next to her cup.

“It’s good of you to come over,” he said. “I’m sure Belle will be pleased to see you.”

“I figured she could use a hand, if you’ll excuse the obvious pun,” she said, reaching for the cream. “Didn’t realise you’d be here.”

“Yes.” He poured coffee for himself, and leaned back against the counter. “She’s asked me to move in temporarily to help her out.”

“That right?” Emma took a slow sip of her coffee, eyeing him. “Well. I guess she’ll need all hands on deck when the baby gets here.”

“Precisely.”

There was silence for a moment. Gold could sense that she had something to say, and suspected that she wasn’t the sort of woman to hold onto her opinions. He was proven correct when Emma put down her coffee cup and put her fists on her hips, raising her chin.

“You know she’s my best friend, right?” she said.

“I know,” he said dryly. “Is this where you make some subtle threat to my physical safety if I ever hurt her?”

“Pretty much,” she said. “Except for the subtle part. Break her heart and I’ll punch you so hard in the dick you’ll need scaffolding to get it up again.”

Gold’s eyebrows shot up, and he could feel amusement bubble up within him, his mouth twitching as he tried not to smile.

“That’s very - visual.”

“You think I’m kidding?”

“Oh, I believe you,” he said.

“Good.”

“Belle is fortunate to have such a good friend,” he added. “I assure you I have no intention of hurting her.”

“Intentions don’t mean shit, excuse my French.”

She tossed back her hair, looking at him defiantly, and Gold nodded.

“You’re right,” he said. “I’m aware that I’ve behaved appallingly where Belle is concerned, and you have every right not to trust me.”

“But?”

“But,” he went on. “We’re to have a child together, and I want us to have a good relationship. I promise you that I’ll do what I can to make that work.”

“Yeah, well, given that the first time I met her, she was crouched in a toilet stall crying her eyes out over you, I’m not holding my breath,” she said flatly, and Gold gave her a thin smile.

“Then I suppose we’ll have to take things one day at a time, won’t we?” he said, in the overly-pleasant tone he reserved for his most irritating tenants, and she nodded, reaching for her coffee.

“Thanks for giving me your coat yesterday, by the way,” she said. “I think I’d have frozen to death otherwise.”

Gold nodded, recognising the drop in hostilities now that she had made her stance clear.

“It was good of you to spend so long at the hospital,” he said. “I hope Henry wasn’t too put out.”

“Neal gave him dinner and put him to bed,” she said. “We kind of take it in turns, depending on how work and study evens out.”

“Sounds like you make a good team.”

“Yeah, well, we met when we were kids,” she said. “Had to look out for each other, so I guess we’re used to it.”

“Does that mean you’ll be able to keep Belle company when I’m not here?” he asked, and she shrugged.

“Depends when that’s gonna be. I thought you said you were moving in.”

“Yes, but I have business in Storybrooke, and I’ll have to go back once a week to tend to that,” he said. “Specifically Friday. I have an appointment to keep, and I may as well do some errands while I’m there.”

“So you’ll be gone the whole day, I guess.”

“I’ll leave early and return in the evening,” he agreed. “Can’t promise what time I’ll be back, but it won’t run into Saturday.”

“In that case, I can look in on her at lunchtime, and spend a few hours after class in the evening,” she said, and he nodded.

“Thank you.”

“Not a problem. We usually get together on Fridays anyhow.”

“Good.” He sipped at his coffee. “The Fridays in Maine are probably going to be a regular thing, and it would put my mind at rest if I know you’re going to be able to come over for at least part of the day.”

“What about when the baby’s born?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “We haven’t technically agreed anything yet.”

There was a thump from Belle’s bedroom, and a muffled curse, making them both look round.

“I’ll go,” said Emma, putting down her cup. “Sounds like she’s awake.”

“I’ll make a start on breakfast, in that case.”

“Okay,” she said, heading for the bedroom. “I’m holding you to that French toast suggestion, by the way.”

Belle had been awake for a little while, groggy and pain-ridden and wishing she could get more than an hour’s sleep at a time. She could hear voices in the apartment: Gold’s low murmur and a higher, female tone which she thought was Emma’s. It was probably time to get up. She struggled out of bed, scowling at her cast as it got in the way for what felt like the thousandth time. Getting dressed for bed had been tricky with only one arm, but she had managed to put on a nightdress with only a little difficulty, and she thought she could manage to get her robe on over the cast. She knocked a book onto the floor with a loud thud and swore under her breath, mouth twisting in vexation as she realised that even turning the pages was going to be difficult with only one hand.

“Hey.” Emma put her head around the door. “Can I come in?”

Belle smiled, still struggling with the robe.

“I thought I heard your voice,” she said.

“Uh-huh.” Emma was looking her over. “God, you look terrible!”

“Thanks,” said Belle, in a wry tone.

“Sorry, I just mean you’re covered in bruises.”

“Yeah, I noticed every time I tried to roll over.” She winced, arm flapping in the sleeve of the robe, and Emma started forward.

“Here, let me.”

Between them, they managed to get the robe on Belle and tied at the waist, and she flopped onto the bed with a sigh of relief. Emma sat down next to her.

“Bad night?” she asked sympathetically.

“I got a little sleep,” said Belle. “Wouldn’t say no to more, though.”

“How’s your arm?”

“Doesn’t seem to hurt as much as the bruises do, which is weird,” said Belle. “It’s more the fact that I can’t even dress myself that’s getting to me right now.”

“There’s a silver fox in silk PJs making you breakfast,” said Emma. “Could be worse.”

“Want me to tell Alex you called him a silver fox?” teased Belle, and Emma winced.

“If you do, it’ll really take the sting out of my threat to punch him in the dick,” she said. “So no.”

Belle giggled.

“Please don’t punch him in the dick.”

“What’s the matter, did you call dibs on it or something?”

“No no,” said Belle hastily. “I just meant that if he’s going to help me out around here, it would probably help if he could walk.”

“Uh-huh.” Emma tilted her head, looking curious. “So. You asked him to move in.”

“Yeah.” Belle fidgeted a little. “Well, it seemed to make sense. I can’t expect to rely on you and Neal to be around to help out twenty-four-seven. Especially when the baby gets here.”

“I guess,” said Emma. “He’s asked me if I can come over Friday, though. I said no problem, so it looks as though we’re on for girls’ night. Or at least girls’ after-class hangout.”

“He can’t do Friday?” said Belle. “How come?”

“Said he had to go back to Maine,” said Emma. “Oh, but he’ll be back in the evening,”

“I suppose he has business stuff to attend to,” said Belle absently. “Friday afternoon girly hangout sounds good.”

“Play your cards right and there’ll be brownies,” said Emma, and Belle smiled.

“Sounds great.”

There was a moment of silence, and Emma nudged her gently.

“How are things going between you two?”

Belle hesitated. She badly wanted to tell Emma how Gold had started to open up a little, but she wasn’t sure she was comfortable revealing the secret pain he had carried with him for decades, and certainly didn’t think she had the right to share the details of that pain with Emma. His confession had left her with a myriad of conflicting thoughts and emotions that she wasn’t ready to process on so little sleep and whilst doped up on painkillers.

“Fine,” she said, instead. “He’s been very - attentive.”

“That a euphemism?”

Emma was grinning, and Belle sent her a flat look.

“I did not have sex with him.”

“Never said you did.”

“You thought it.”

“Oh, like you didn’t?”

“No!” insisted Belle. “Have you lost your damn mind? We’re still only barely on speaking terms!”

“You don’t need to talk to have sex.”

“I did not have sex with him!”

“I know that,” Emma assured her.

“Good.”

“Although it’s pretty obvious you want to.”

“I do not!” Belle objected.

“Lies.”

“Emma!”

“Fine, but five bucks says he goes down on you for some apology oral at least once in the next fortnight.”

“Oh my God…”

Belle pushed to her feet with a huff and stomped off towards the kitchen, leaving Emma chuckling behind her.

Emma stayed long enough to eat breakfast and help Belle change into something other than a nightdress and bathrobe, then left for college with a cheerful goodbye and a promise to return the next day. Belle spent the rest of the morning alternating between calls to the university to explain her situation, arranging an extension on a piece of work that was almost due, and muttering under her breath about the whole thing. Gold had been cleaning up, and came through to the lounge drying his hands on a towel as she was whispering curse words and trying to type one-handed.

“If you wanted to dictate the paper to me, I don’t mind typing it for you,” he said, and Belle sat back with a sigh.

“I’m not sure my brain works that way,” she said. “Typing helps me think. Writing even more so, but that’s definitely out.”

“The offer’s there, nonetheless.”

“Thank you.” She smiled to show him that she meant it. “What are you planning on doing for the rest of the day?”

“Is there anything you need?”

“Not right now,” she said. “And you don’t have to spend all your time looking after me, you know. You have your own life to lead.”

“And right now I choose to spend it looking after you,” he said. “Although I might go and do some grocery shopping. There are some ingredients I need to get if I’m to make the dishes I want.”

“I’m not expecting gourmet meals every night,” she warned, and he showed his teeth.

“Well, that’s unfortunate.”

Belle tapped the fingers of her good hand on the keyboard, secretly amused.

“I think you and Dr Jekyll arranged all this so you could feed me up,” she said, and Gold sucked his breath in over his teeth.

“You caught me.”

“In that case, you’d better go out and get your ingredients, hadn’t you?” she said, and his grin widened.

“I’ll be back in an hour.”

While he was out, Belle shuffled to the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea, still swearing under her breath about the difficulties having only one arm was causing. It seemed to take her at least twice as long to do things, if she could do them at all. The university had been understanding and an extension agreed for her paper, but she could still foresee difficulties in getting it completed to a standard she would be happy with. She was debating whether to put everything on hold until after the baby was born and her arm was healed, and decided to delay making a decision on that front for a day or two. Perhaps she’d get used to typing with one hand.

Looking in the mirror made her wince. Her bruises had turned a deep shade of purple, and there was swelling on her cheek where it had hit the corner of a step. She supposed she was lucky not to have knocked a tooth out. At least the baby was fine; fear over hurting it had consumed her thoughts until she had been given the all-clear. But she had seen it on the scan, safe inside, tiny fingers twitching. Gold’s reaction to feeling it kick had perhaps been the most emotion she had seen from him since their break-up. It made her more certain that he would love their child, however differently he might choose to show it. However he might feel about her.

Once Gold returned, he made her another cup of tea, served up with a crisp, buttery cinnamon pastry which made her mouth water. She nibbled at it, curled in her chair and licking crumbs from her fingers as she listened to him clattering about in the kitchen. Soon the air was filled with delicious scents, and she tried to guess what he was making. Something with garlic, she knew that.

Having finished her pastry, she got up to take her plate back to the kitchen. Gold had rolled up his shirtsleeves and put on one of her aprons, and was stirring a thick, glossy white sauce. Another pan held a rich, dark stew that bubbled gently, and Belle felt her stomach growl in anticipation.

“Smells good,” she said. “What are you making?”

Gold looked around, smiling a little.

“Beef in red wine there,” he said, gesturing at the pan. “And this is a cheese sauce for a pasta dish I’m planning. I thought if I portioned up things you can eat with one hand, it would be easier for you to heat them through and feed yourself when I’m not around.”

“Are you going away?” she asked, Emma’s casual mention of his going to Storybrooke coming back to her.

“I’m spending Friday in Storybrooke,” he said, looking back at the sauce he was stirring. “I’ll be back in the evening, but I can’t say what time, which is why I thought I’d make something for you to heat through.”

“Well, Emma’s gonna come over,” she said. “I guess I’ll have something to feed her.”

“Is there anything else you want me to make?” he asked. “I could bake some cookies or something?”

“You don’t have to spend all your time in the kitchen,” she said, and he shrugged.

“I like cooking,” he said. “It’s actually nice to have someone to cook for.”

“That’s great, but - but don’t feel that you can’t do your own thing,” she said, feeling awkward. “I know I asked you to move in to help me out, but I’m not expecting you to be there around the clock.”

Gold gave the sauce a final stir, and turned off the heat beneath it, wiping his hands on a dishtowel and turning to face her.

“Do you want me to leave you alone?” he asked quietly. “Is this - too much?”

Belle hesitated.

“No,” she said. “No, it’s not that.”

“It’s just that you said it was hard,” he reminded her. “Having me around.”

“I know.” She shifted a little. “I know what I said.”

“So - so if you need me to leave you alone,” he added. “I can do that.”

“No,” she said. “No, I don’t need you to leave me alone. I’ll get used to it.”

“Oh,” he said. “Right.”

“It’s getting easier,” she added. “Having you around.”

He smiled slightly.

“Good.”

“In fact,” she said. “It would be great if you could help me out with something.”

“Name it.”

“I really want to take a bath,” she said. “I feel all icky after lying around in hospital, and I can’t really wash my hair one-handed.”

“I can wash your hair, no problem.”

“Good,” she said. “Are you free now?”

“Let me just clean up in here a little.”

“Okay, I’ll go and turn on the water,” she said. “Is there something we can wrap around my cast? I’m not supposed to get it wet.”

“I’m sure we can work something out,” he said. “Do you want me to wash your hair before or after the bath?”

“I was thinking during would be the obvious choice,” she said, and he blinked at her.

“You want me to wash your hair while you’re in the bath?”

“Yes…” she said slowly. “The place where we have easy access to hot water and shampoo does seem logical.”

“But you’ll be in the bath,” he said, as though the reason for his objection was obvious. Belle raised an eyebrow.

“Would that make you uncomfortable?”

“I thought it would make you uncomfortable.”

Belle sighed.

“I asked you to take off my bra last night.”

“Yes, well, that was just undoing the clasp, that wasn’t me seeing you completely naked.”

“Alex,” she said patiently. “You must have seen me naked a hundred times, why would I care?”

“Yes, but we weren’t - like this - then,” he said, gesturing between them.

“So it would make you uncomfortable.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You do realise you’re gonna see a lot more than my boobs when we’re in the delivery room, right?” she said flatly. “I’m reconciled to the fact that I’m gonna be lying with my legs spread probably for hours in front of you and a bunch of strangers while I push out a new human.”

His mouth opened and closed, as though he was trying to think of a response, and Belle sighed again.

“Okay,” she said. “Just - just close your eyes until I get in, in that case. The bubbles should cover everything, right?”

His eyes flicked from left to right, as though he was trying to see a handy escape chute out of the apartment, but he nodded.

“Alright.”

“I’ll go change into my robe,” she said. “Can you find something to cover my cast?”

Gold swallowed.

“Alright.”

“Five minutes, then.”

Gold watched her wander off towards the bathroom, and stood for a moment, thinking. Belle didn’t seem to care that she was about to be naked in front of him, and he couldn’t tell if he was relieved or not. She was right about one thing; if he was to be with her in the delivery room, there was no need to be weird over helping her bathe. He told himself to get a bloody grip. Admittedly it would be the first time seeing her naked since their break-up, but there was no reason that should bother him if it didn’t bother her. Besides, she needed his help, so his own discomfort would have to wait.

Hunting around in the kitchen drawers, he found a plastic bag which he thought would keep her cast dry. He took off the apron he had been wearing, tossing it onto the table, and removed his tie. The waistcoat went next; he figured that the less he was wearing, the less that would get wet. He could the bath water running, and headed for the bathroom, heart thumping behind his ribs.

Belle wasn’t there when he opened the door, but he could hear her moving around in her bedroom. Hot water was running, sending up the scent of rose and geranium from the bath foam she had added. He looked around for a moment, trying to work out the best and most comfortable way to undertake hair-washing. If he brought in a chair and sat at the head of the bath, he should be able to get it done without too much difficulty.

By the time Belle entered, snug in her bathrobe, he thought he was ready. The water was steaming gently, a froth of fragrant bubbles lying thick on its surface, and he had brought a chair from the kitchen and set out bottles of shampoo and conditioner alongside a wide-toothed comb, each equidistant from the other. Belle stuck a hand into the bathwater, and nodded.

“Feels great,” she said. “Did you find anything to cover my cast?”

“Oh, right.”

Getting the plastic bag over the cast meant that she had to shrug out of one sleeve of her robe, and he caught glimpses of her body, full breasts and rounded belly. It was impossible to get the bloody thing on without seeing her, but he tried to work as quickly as possible, tucking the plastic around the cast and tying it loosely to stop it falling off.

“Should be okay as long as we don’t go crazy with the shower head,” he said, and Belle nodded.

“Well, you’re in charge of that,” she said. “I’m getting in.”

He closed his eyes, holding out a hand for her to take, and listened to the sound of her taking off her robe, the soft rustle of clothing and the tiny sigh of frustration she let out as she struggled with it. Eventually there was a low thump of cloth hitting the floor, and he flinched a little as Belle grasped his hand. There was a light splashing noise, the sound of water rippling, and the gentle squeak of skin against porcelain. She let go of his hand.

“Okay, I’m in,” she said.

Gold opened his eyes, feeling them dart around rather than fix on Belle. She was sitting up, propped against the back of the bath with the bubbles just below her breasts, watching him curiously, and he moved out of her line of sight, hearing the splash of water as she settled down with a sigh.

“Feels like ages since I took a bath,” she said. “This is nice. Relaxing.”

Speak for yourself.

“Can you wash my back after you’ve done my hair?”

“Alright.” He ran a hand through his hair, feeling awkward, eyes flicking from the shampoo bottles to the shower head on its woven chrome cord and back again.

“This could get messy,” he said. “Do you mind if I take my shirt off?”

“I’m naked.”

“I know, but - oh, never mind.”

Gold plucked at the buttons of his shirt with hands that shook a little. It was strange; being unclothed never usually fazed him, and being half-naked certainly shouldn’t, but it was somehow different now, with Belle. He had turned his back, but he was facing the mirror, steam starting to condense on it and blur their reflections. He watched her free hand scoop up water and let it run over pale, bare shoulders. Her eyes were closed, her lips a little parted, and he swallowed hard as the water washed away the bubbles that coated her left breast, exposing the deep pink nipple. He had tried not to notice the way her body had changed with pregnancy, her breasts larger, her belly full and heavy with his child. She had always been beautiful, but now she was breathtaking. He realised he was staring, and hastily looked down at his shirt buttons, getting the last of them open and shrugging out of his shirt.

“You don’t need too much shampoo,” she said, making him jump.

“Right.”

Calling himself the biggest of morons, he took a seat on the chair behind her and snatched up the shower head. Getting her hair wet was the first step, and he concentrated on separating the dark curls with his fingers, saturating every strand. Copper tints showed through as it wrapped around his fingers, and he turned off the water.

“Shampoo,” he said thickly.

He began working the shampoo into a lather, and Belle let out a sigh, letting her head roll back as his fingers kneaded her curls, thick white foam running over his fingers.

“That feels good,” she whispered. “God, I needed this.”

Gold stayed silent, concentrating on the push and pull of his hands in her hair, trying to ignore the way she moved, wet thighs rubbing together, bubbles coursing over hot skin. His mind scurried away to a time when they had shared a bath at his house, Belle lying back against his chest in the hot water. He had kissed her bare shoulders, one hand sliding down beneath the water to reach between her legs. Belle let out a tiny moan, bringing him back to the present, and he swallowed hard, feeling his cock begin to swell in his pants.

“Shower head,” he said, his voice sounding a little hoarse, and Belle passed it back to him, sitting forward so that he could rinse the shampoo from her hair.

Working in the conditioner did nothing to quell his rising lust, the liquid slippery on his fingers, Belle making low, contented sounds as he massaged her scalp. He had worried about hurting her, his fingers finding a bruise he couldn’t see, and so he had felt his way gradually, fingertips sliding over her skin, listening carefully for any indication that he should stop. Belle moaned, rolling her shoulders and relaxing into his touch. His heart was thumping hard, the heat and dampness of the room sinking into him, and he pulled back and snatched up the comb, fumbling and almost dropping it. Belle sat forward again, and he carefully combed the hair, working out tiny knots and tangles until it spread down her back in wet, glossy tendrils.

“Uh - how long do you leave this in?” he asked, wishing he didn’t feel as though his tongue was too big for his mouth.

“Couple of minutes,” she said. “Can you wash my back and my arm?”

He swept the hair over her shoulder, reaching silently for the sponge she gave him and dipping it in the bathwater. He gave her back a gentle scrub, rose-scented bubbles slipping slowly down to mingle with those in the water. Belle held up her free arm, and he stood, working the sponge down her arm to the ends of her fingers. The bubbles were disappearing rapidly, and the curve of her belly was visible. God, she was incredible! Lush and beautiful as a goddess, and just as indifferent to his presence.

“I can do the rest.”

Gold almost dropped the sponge, pulling back a little. Belle was looking at him with a steady gaze, and he licked his lips nervously. She had turned her hand, palm upward, and he pressed the sponge into it, water running over their fingers.

“Right,” he said. “Uh - I’ll rinse your hair.”

He returned to his chair, his breathing unsteady, and sat down with a thump, reaching for the shower head again. Rinsing out the conditioner gave him something to concentrate on other than how good she looked and his now painfully insistent erection, and he took deep, even breaths as he raked the water through her hair. Belle was using the sponge on her breasts and belly, and he kept his eyes fixed on what he was doing. It was important to do the job properly, after all.

“I - uh - I think I’m done,” he said, and Belle glanced over her shoulder.

“Thank you,” she said. “That felt amazing. Could you wrap it in a towel?”

He moved wordlessly, snatching a towel from the heated rail and wrapping it around her head, tucking the ends in before standing back with his eyes averted. The bubbles were almost completely gone, a thin layer of foam on top of the water, and Belle was using the sponge to wet her shoulders again. He moved around to the side, where he could see less of her, and she glanced at him, eyes wide and a warm smile curving her mouth.

“You want to get out?” he asked, and she shook her head.

“Could you give me five minutes? I just want to soak for a little while.”

“Of course,” he said. “Um - call when you need me. I’ll make some tea.”

“Sounds perfect.”

Gold nodded, and Belle’s smile widened.

“Thank you,” she added. “I could never have managed that myself.”

“My pleasure.” He wanted to bite his tongue. Pleasure? That was fucking excruciating, you moron!

“Excuse me,” he muttered, and snatched up his shirt, striding from the room as quickly as his ruined leg and his straining cock would allow. Five minutes? Five minutes would be enough.

#fic: twisted fate #rumbelle fic #rumbelle #my fic

63 notes · View notes

angelicspaceprince · 4 years

Text

Random Beetlejuice HCs.

Random Beetlejuice headcanons (there are some sad ones about how he died at the end of the SFT stuff, soz all). Also there is some stuff that is AFAB but not AMAB, I’ll work on that later. TW: Suicide, depression, self-harm talk.

SFT:

Is a hand holder. He needs to hold your hand whenever people are around to centre himself but also to show the world that you’re his and to just know that he is loved and to make sure you know you are loved

Really bad social skills and a horrid sense of personal space

Is a literal ball of anxiety and is a stimmer

Rocks in a ball when things ever overwhelming and flaps his hands when nervous

You get him a fidget toy that he uses so much it breaks within a month, so you have a steady supply at hand that he keeps in his pocket always

Is meh on the coffee thing, isn’t a massive tea fan, hot chocolate is where it’s at!

Actually a really good cook? He watches a ton of cooking Youtube videos when you’re away at work or at friends and ends up taking it up as a hobby

Legit cries when you give him his first gift ever because he’s never received a gift before

The first time you go to family Christmas and they give him a present he has to excuse himself because he just starts crying because these people don’t even know him and they got him a present? What the fuck?

Much to your surprise, he takes up knitting?

It’s a nice way to cool his brain and keep focused without disassociating (which he does often) and the bonus is he gets cute socks out of it?

In his mind, it’s a win win situation

Also he can knit dicks to throw at people, that’s just extra awesome

Can play guitar, piano and saxophone. Often likes to sing to you but the content matter of the songs aren’t always loving (mostly about how he wants to pound you)

Actually not a massive fan of horror movies, they’re so unrealistic that it bugs him

Will make sure that you can’t leave his grasp if he needs a cuddle session on the couch because he needs that contact time

Is really sensitive but will make a joke out of it, so half the time you don’t know if he isn’t offended or if he is and he’s just hiding it

You come home one day and suddenly there is just….a dog in your house?

“His name is Sandy, he is a black Labrador and he is our son now.”

Absolutely shocking handwriting. Just. Abysmal. You can’t make it out, so now its just become some weird game of Pictionary whenever he leaves a note for you that isn’t the phrase ‘I love you’.

Is super messy (obviously) but if you tell him to clean up, he will

If you do the dishes together (the only way you can get him to help clean up after cooking), he does the drying up because he does not want to shove his hands into hot soapy water, no thank you

When he dances, its not the timid, shy dancing you see when people aren’t dancing in a group. Its full on, full body, the entire house is his stage kinda dancing. And its arguably pretty good

Even when he gets you to dance what clearly isn’t a proper tango, but it’s fun none the less.

Really sensitive about suicide and self-harm, because he’s been there

Think about it, he was Juno’s assistant (movie, not musical, I know) which means he was a public servant which means he committed suicide

Given the way that everyone who has died carries on how they died into the afterlife through their looks from the moment they died, we can reason that Beetlejuice looks exactly like how he did when he died

The moss and hair and mildew and just the general damp look he seems to carry makes me think that he was either drunk, fell over and drowned in a puddle or lake or it was a calculated move and he killed himself to get away from his mother or just general demons

So yeah, if you self-harm or talk about killing yourself, he takes that very personally because you deserve better than that, and he’ll be damned if you kill yourself on his watch

It takes him a while to admit to you what happened and how he died, and it most definitely happens when you’re both drunk, but you remember what he says and whenever he talks about his childhood because its horrible and always ends with you holding him close because he clearly needs that shit

NSFT

Our boy here is such a switch

There are days where he needs to absolutely dominate the shit out of you, controlling every aspect of what happens, including when, where and how you cum

But sometimes he just needs to be taken care of and to obey every order you give him

Has tried every single kink and only a few of them are a hard no in his books

But if he had to limit it to his top 5-10 they’d be: Mommy/Daddy Kink, Puppy Kink, Cum Inflation (or anything to do with cum really), edge play, cock warming, anything that ends with either of you having a tummy bulge due to a toy, cock or just the sheer amount of cum that’s in you, humiliation, public sex, impact play and adduction/consensual non-consensual play

Rarely asks for you to be a sub for 24 hours, but he’s happy to be in puppy space or in sub space for days or even weeks if you so want or if he needs

Can give himself blowjobs

Also enjoys having his clones get in on the fun and to mess with you throughout the day if he knows he can get away with it

So. Many. Dick. Pics.

Just. Constantly sending you photos of his junk because he can

Sex is rarely serious unless you’re in a scene where that is required. If you two are just fooling around, it’s full of puns and laughter

Wearing stripes turns him on, wearing his clothes even more so

Lingerie to him is wearing his oversized hoodies and a pair of striped panties

Really good at shibari

If you’re in public and aren’t paying attention to him, he will slide a hand up towards your crotch and just push his way inside and start fingering you until you cum as quietly as you possibly can before sucking his fingers clean with a grin because ‘you should have been paying attention’

Massive case filled with toys that seem endless, almost like the perverted version of Mary Poppins’ bag

Likes to put toys in you when he’s in dom mode and make you wear them in public all day whilst he’s at home controlling the vibrator settings, just to see how much you can take

He. Will. Eat. You. Out. And is the king of it. And is proud of that fact

Aftercare is a must between the two of you, and due to his abandonment issues you can’t leave during aftercare time. You can during a scene if you tell him where you’re going and why but afterwards, he needs you there without interruption until he’s fully recovered. Both in dom and sub mode

Safe word is bath, for obvious reasons

You managed to get him in the shower once to tell him it’s a kink of yours to fuck in the shower and he was down for that. Didn’t work a second time, but he got the picture. BATHE

Has, on more than one occasion, made his dick stripy to surprise you and it always ends with you going no. Just no.

Produces an extreme amount of cum, it should be illegal and inhuman, which incidentally, he is

Can make his cock grow, swell, shrink, whatever you need on his command and he loves when he’s being cockwarmed to make his cock grow whenever you shift or move as punishment

Sometimes, in sub space, if he’s feeling needy and you need to work, you get him to sit in your chair and you sit on him. If he moves without warning, you make it to leave but he whines and promises to be good. If he says ‘I just need to adjust’ or whatever, then you won’t move if he starts to shift

IS. INTO. PRAISE. KINK

PRAISE THIS BOY

SO MUCH!

If you praise him well enough in sub space, he will cum without being touched and that, at the end of the day, is the goal

Really fucking low refectory period, like we are talking seconds

He’s not a one go type of guy, if you guys be fucken, you guys be fucken for hours

Has done stretches before sex to make you laugh and roll your eyes

Bought glow in the dark condoms once and surprised you with it

Most of the time, he will hold hands with you in some way as you fuck

Falls asleep within seconds of finishing and holds onto you so tight you can’t escape to pee or do whatever you need to do

Favourite positions: Doggy style, you riding his face or him or up a wall/on a counter

Claims you’re his favourite meal and that he has saved the best seat in the house which is his lap or his face

Most DEFINITELY as left you tied up in a room with a vibe pressed firmly on your clit to see how many times you can cum. He’s just outside the door, you both just like it when he acts as if he has left you alone to ‘suffer’

#ama writes #ama's stuff #Beetlejuice the Musical #Beetlejuice #Beetlejuice The Animated Series #Beetlejuice (1988)#Betelgeuse #Beetlejuice headcanons #beetlejuice the musical headcanons #headcanons #betelgeuse headcanons #beetlejuice x reader #beetlejuice/reader #betelgeuse/reader #betelgeuse x reader #beetlejuice x reader headcanons #beetlejuice/reader headcanons

176 notes · View notes

mrneighbourlove · 4 years

Text

Scarlet Contract: Part 1

The fresh cool air of Duskar blew through the window. Another cool day ahead of them. Scarlet, being the first to get up from bed, looked down at a sleeping Rat and Borghild. Putting her clothing on, she walked to the living room to see her two youngest already up. Good. Breakfast first. Then she’d get set to work. Peeling oranges, the Gerudo set to work quickly on delivering food for her kids.

Rat woke not too long after Scarlet. He carefully wedged himself away from Borghild, who always slept like the dead, and stretched. He was old now, sixty years of age. Gray had riddled his hair and he had the slightest tint of winkles forming. Scars were thicker, more noticeable then usual. While he could still do his daily chores and manage work, it was getting harder. There were deep pains that haunted his body. Sometimes, the aches disturbed his focus. Yet, he put on a smile and always managed to play with the younger tykes.

The ex-pirate thought back over the years of when he held his firstborn. Revy was grown and spending more time with Seija now. The two were lovebirds, no pun intended. Trygve had grown into a huge warrior, taller and bulkier than him. The young man could transform into a fearsome into a grizzly just as fierce as his mother. Volcana was as sneaky as Bomba, and he was so glad that the little girl grew up to be just as lovely as Scarlet and as funny as Bomba. He could see more and more of Bomba in her everyday. He sincerely wished Bomba could see her now. And since Scarlet wanted to try for another child, it seemed they had more pitter patter of little feet in the house. Yet, he did not count on getting Scarlet and Borgie both pregnant at the same time. So now, there were two more daughters running around the house.

Putting out plates of breakfast, Scarlet whistled for her daughters to gather around. Although Volcana was a teenager, and quite independent, she still lived under Scarlet’s roof. “Girls. Breakfast.”

Lovisa and Greta were the same age and were as close as sisters should be. The two did everything together and refused to be without the other. Of course, this mean the two were twice as likely to cause trouble as well. Everything was completed in grins and giggles with a steady case of denial. As the two rushed to the breakfast table, they climbed into their chairs and settled in beside Volcana. Borghild grumbled when she heard the whistle and rose partway off the bed, her hair a mess.

"Am I going to have to snog her to get her to stop doing that horrid noise so early in the morning?" The mama bear grumbled. "So. Loud."

"Aye, perhaps so." Rat got off the bed and went to put on a fresh set of clothes. His back was hurting today from that fight with Onslaught all those years ago. When the dragon knocked him overboard, he managed to hit the ledge of the ship before the water. It had hurt him all these years, but was an old injury. "Borgie, me back is ach'n something a-fierce today. You rub it later for me?"

"As long as you rub mine." Borghild growled at him in a suggestive manner.

Scarlet took a crunch out of her apple. A sense of nostalgia filled her as she looked at her girls. She felt it was time. “Greta. Lovisa. I think it’s time you two learned a way around a ship. Volcania, you’ll be joining us too.”

Greta frowned, taking a bite of orange. “Must we mother? I wanted to play at the ranch.”

"I thought we were going to wrestle today?" Lovisa asked Scarlet as she munched on her fruit. "Mama said it's important to properly learn how to wrestle in order to win a fight. Besides, I'm the better wrestler."

"You're only the better wrestler cause you're a bear like your mother." Volcana rolled her eyes. "Anyone could tell you that, it's logic."

"So? Greta shoots better than you."

"And I ride horses better than you both."

"Okay, ya two, stop a-bickering so early." Rat walked into the dining area and kissed Scarlet on the cheek. "Borgie requests the cease of the a-whistling in the morn. She's a grumpy bear."

Scarlet guzzled down her drink, always enjoying a clear smooth taste of water down her throat. “And now, you will learn how to sail a ship. It’s in your blood.”

"Uncle Corsaire says sailing a ship is like handling a fine lady. What does that mean, Daddy?"

Rat nearly choked on his coffee. "Me will tell ya when ya older."

"Daaaaaaadddddd!" The girls protested in unison.

“It means that you put your soul into a ship like the one you will love.” Scarlet went to get her boots on. “All of your hurry up and finish your food. You’ll need the strength.”

"MMmhorn'n..." Borghild walked into the room half asleep. She had to have a little tea or coffee or even juice to wake her up. Being a grizzly bear, she valued her sleep. She kissed Scarlet and then Rat, and sat at the table. "Going off so soon?"

"Scarlet wants to teach the girls how to run a ship."

"She already runs a tight ship."

"A real ship, Borgie."

Scarlet put her light coat on and opened the door. “The seaside is beautiful today Borghild. Should join me.”

"Hrm," Borgie looked out the window. "Looks like a nice day for a long nap."

"Borgie, come now, let's entertain the girls and Scarlet for a while."

"Very well, but you two are cuddling with me when I nap."

“Always dear.” Scarlet kissed her wife’s forehead, then ushered the kids out when they were ready. “Come. We can go to Commodore Liz’s boats.”

Once at the ship, Rat felt that familiar wave of sadness wash over him. The sea always reminded him of the old days with the crew. He recalled Mojo and Juju loving the play darts at the bars in various port stops. Now, they were at home, enjoying the company of family. There was Acrobat, who could fly with the help of rope despite his legs. Then, when Asakonigei made him a pair of braces so he could walk normally, he found out that Acrobat loved to play music, particularly the fiddle. He worked in Hyrule at a bar, playing music for everyone. Pockets was as gentle as men could come and adored animals. Orana had been kind enough to let him take over the animal sanctuary when she was called away from diplomatic issues. Seer was here in Uskar, living out his days as a happy husband and grandfather. He still cooked for the king and queen, always enjoying the kitchen. If only Bomba could be here... what would he say now?

"The ladies can't resist me!"

"Whatever tis is, me didn't do it."

"Whale farts make tsunamis and fish makes great sushi, I love barmaid titties and shiny old rupees!"

He could almost hear him. Even if he was forgetting how he sounded at times.

Scarlet pressed on the wood boarding beneath her feet before turning to her girls. “All right children. Who knows how to lower and raise a sail?”

Lovisa and Great both pinched Volcana's backside so she would jolt and move forward. "Hey!"

“Alright Volcana. Get on the deck. Show me the ropes.”

The family spent the morning learning how to run the ship. It was a surprisingly fun activity for all of them. Rat felt like he was a young man again, hoisting the sails with Corsaire. He missed his captain, his brothers in arms, but was very glad that all of them were happy in life. Even Borghild tried to learn a few things from Scarlet, but the bear was more interested in the anchor staying exactly where it was. The last thing she wanted to do was to go out on the sea when she could smell a storm coming.

Scarlet showed the girls around the ship. They learned section names of the boat, how to steer a boat, load a cannon, and raise sails. At lunch, Scarlet let the dock master know they were going to sail about the lagoon.

"Nooo, no, no, a storm is coming, I'm telling you, I can smell it!" Borghild insisted, her hair almost standing up on end. She did not like flying, she could tolerate ships, but preferred land because it was not going anywhere. "We need to go back in."

"Mama, it's just a quick trip around the lagoon."

"Mom wouldn't take us out if she knew it would be bad."

Greta walked up to Scarlet, pulling on her mother’s shirt. “Momma. Why were you and papa pirates?”

Scarlet patted her head. “Circumstance my little Greta.”

"Yer Momma and me came from different backgrounds, my dear lassie." Rat reminded the girls. "Your Uncle Corsaire saved me life. Your Momma ran with her girls. All of the stories we told you were true."

“Why did you have Adda as your captain?”

The innocent question of a child could strike the deepest at times. Volcania was old enough to be weary of the name Adda. Scarlet held onto the wheel, deep in thought. “Because she was a sister, and the best suited to lead.”

"A bad sister at that." Rat told Greta and Lovisa. "Let's not bring up Adda around Momma, all right? We don't need to focus on bad memories, let's just focus on making the a-good ones."

“Rat. I don’t mind talking about the subject. Really.”

"... tis up to you, darling. I just don't like seeing you sad." Rat admitted to his lover.

"How did you... meet Adda?" Lovisa asked her question slowly.

“Rat. Drop the anchor.”

Once the anchor was dropped, the ship gently floated on the surface of the lagoon.

"Alright girls. Where to begin. Well, I met Adda when I was only eleven years old. Like all of us, she was taken aboard at a young age to serve the mast. Most of us willingly did so because our childhoods before them could be monstrous. Not too much younger than me, she quickly grew adjusted to life under Captain. We looked out for one another so that we might survive the brutal living conditions thrust upon us a times. When we were teenagers, I even saved her life.

________________________________________________________________

Crossover with @ridersoftheapocalypse

Next Part:

#Late Night Upload #Crossover #ridersoftheapocalypse #Scarlet #Captain Adda #Bonegrinder

4 notes · View notes

nijiirorhyme · 4 years

Text

NaruMitsu/WrightWorth Fic: Lights, Camera, Action! Chapter 3

NaruMitsu/WrightWorth Fic: Lights, Camera, Action!

Fandom: Ace Attorney

Ship: Mitsurugi Reiji | Miles Edgeworth/Naruhodou Ryuuichi | Phoenix Wright, Ayasato Mayoi | Maya Fey/Karuma Mei | Franziska von Karma

Warnings: None

Tags:Alternate Universe - Actors, Other Additional Tags to be Added, More characters to be added

Description: Rookie actor Phoenix Wright can not believe his luck as he scores his first major acting role in one of the most anticipated movies of the year. But, what was better than starring in one of the most anticipated films of the year? Starring in one of the most anticipated films of this year with famous actor Miles Edgeworth.

A Wrightworth acting au where two dorks (eventually) fall in love!

Chapter 3/?

Alternatively, it can be read here!

Text below cut!

October 5th 1:05pm

Cafe Aroma

It finally made sense to Phoenix. As he was staring at the two of them chatting in their own little world along with the light blush that appeared on Franziska’s face, the strings that Maya pulled were actually the heart strings of the young manager.

‘Who would have thought…’ Phoenix brought his hot cup of coffee to his mouth, gingerly taking a sip before setting it back down. Phoenix casted his gaze at the man that sat across from him. He wished that the two of them could talk as animatedly as the other pair did.

The cafe Maya chose for the four of them to meet at was one she often frequented, Cafe Aroma. In fact, she went there so often that the majority of the employees would recognize Maya’s vibrant voice the moment she walked through the door with the little jingle of the overhead bell. It was a short distance away from the studio-- about a ten minute walk from the front gate. And it was because of this distance that it would be no uncommon feat if one saw a celebrity here. The first thing one would notice when opening the door was the warm and rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafting through the air. The entire cafe gave off a very intimate atmosphere, further accentuated by the warm, cozy array of colours that painted the entire place; the dark cocoa brown wooden panels that hugged the bottom portion of the walls paired with a lighter-- almost beige shade that filled in the space above it. Above each black stained table with the exception of the widow seats that faced outward towards the street, several abstract paintings aligned the walls, most of them too abstract for Phoenix to even tell what they were. From the dim lighting, to the warm comforting atmosphere, one could stay here for hours while listening to the soft piano they played over the speakers.

All of that was nice and all, but what really got Phoenix’s attention were their cinnamon sugar donuts. Seriously, paired with their signature blend, they were amazing.

Taking a bite of the fried pastry, Phoenix dusted his crumbs off on his pants before trying to engage in small talk with the man. “So,” he awkwardly laughed, scratching the back of his head like he usually did when he was nervous. “This cafe’s nice, isn’t it?”

“Quite.” Edgeworth responded in a deadpanned tone, taking a sip from his own mug, one filled with tea instead of coffee.

Phoenix took another sip in hopes that it would dispel the awkward atmosphere from the two before attempting to strike up a conversation once more, “So… How long have you been acting?” He asked, which he instantly regretted right after because he already knew the answer. He inwardly cringed at himself, ‘Nice going, Phoenix. You just had to ask.’

Edgeworth paused momentarily, giving his answer a thought before he spoke. “I can’t quite remember, but I started sometime when I was six.”

Phoenix was pleasantly surprised at the honest response. It seemed that Edgeworth truly had a passion for the art that he put the majority of his life into. He couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes softened as it looked like he was reminiscing upon the several memories he had created throughout his career. Phoenix made a mental note, talking about acting was the way to get Edgeworth to speak to him. After all, they both had it in common seeing how it was both of their livelihoods (though one was more successful than the other).

“Wow, you must’ve acted in a lot of movies, huh…” Phoenix trailed off, when suddenly another question popped into his head. He wanted to keep the conversation going as much as he could, even if it meant he sounded a little bit like an interviewer. “What was your favourite movie to work on?”

A pause once more, followed by an answer. “There are several movies that I’ve enjoyed working on, but the one I particularly liked working on was The School of Dreams.”

“Oh! That’s one of my favourite movies! An oldie, but a classic. But funny you should say that because…” Phoenix stroked his chin. “I don’t remember you being in it…”

Edgeworth paused mid-motion as he was taking a sip from his mug. He set it down, pointing his eyes into one of the glares he had shot at Phoenix the moment they first met. Phoenix seemed to have offended him. “I was one of the main characters, Wright.”

Suddenly, it all came back to him. The grey hair, those stone grey eyes… How did he blank on such an important detail? It was one of the first movies he ever remembered watching. In fact, he could even recall the exact time in his life he watched it…

It was a Saturday afternoon in his sophomore year of high school. A sleepy Phoenix who had not a single clue what he was going to do after high school found himself alone at home that day. Sitting on the couch as he cradled a bowl of cereal and milk with one arm and held the TV remote in his other hand, he flipped it to any random channel he found, stopping when he saw the title of the movie pop up on the screen. Sure, he missed the opening of the movie, but there was at least the rest of the movie to enjoy-- and enjoy he did. As a young Phoenix continued to watch, he couldn’t help but notice how phenomenal the actor who looked to be the same age as him was. His eyes gravitated towards him, as if the young man on the screen shined the brightest in the movie. He knew nothing about acting and once it was done, all he could do was remain awestruck.

This movie revolved around a delinquent—played by the young Miles Edgeworth—who continues to get mixed up with the wrong crowds at school. Without telling his parents anything, he continues to live a life where he receives blow by blow and delivers blow by blow to those who seek to challenge him until he is the most feared high schooler among his peers. One day, he meets a boy who transfers into his class and changes his life for the better. By the end of the movie, the two of them are the best friends and plan on attending the same university together. Not only did the transfer student teach the delinquent boy how warm it was to have a friend that understands you, but more importantly, the feeling of belonging he had always dreamed of having with someone. It was a beautiful and touching story of how the two helped each other grow individually, as well as together.

Phoenix recalled trying to blink the tears that pricked his eyes away. He had never felt so moved by a movie before. At that moment, something in his soul had ignited, as if he had finally found what he truly wanted to do. So, he wanted to follow the footsteps of the young man portraying the delinquent and become an actor of the same caliber.

‘Who would have thought that same actor that inspired you would become your co-worker…’ He was a bit shocked at how fate had a funny way of playing tricks on people.

It took a moment for him to recollect his thoughts before he spoke again, “Oh… That’s right that’s right-- heh, no pun intended. How could I have forgotten?” He let out an awkward chuckle to mask the heat he felt creeping up onto his face, dusting his cheeks a rosy pink. It would feel a bit embarrassing to admit that watching a movie that Edgeworth starred in when he was younger was the reason as to why he became an actor after that blunder, so he decided it was best to stay quiet on the matter.

He saw Edgeworth roll his eyes at the pun he made with his own last name. Get it, “right”, “Wright”? It was the oldest joke in Phoenix’s book. Usually, this elicited two reactions from the people he told it to: they either chuckled a little bit because the realization dawned upon them that they sounded the same, or they awkwardly chuckled alongside him in order not to make him feel bad at such a lousy pun. This man surely was neither of those people.

“Though honestly, I don’t know how you do it,” Phoenix looked down at the table at his hands clasped together. He was about to say something sort of embarrassing, but he might as well. It wasn’t like he didn’t make himself look out to be a fool already or anything. “You’ve brought so many characters to life over the years, but I’m still having trouble trying to figure out what I should do to make Ruth Liss believable.”

Edgeworth cleared his throat, “Well, it certainly isn’t an easy task, Wright. After all, there are a lot of eyes on us to make sure we do it right.”

“Yeah, there are.” Phoenix agreed. In the end, that was the goal for all actors once they picked up a script. It was their job to bring a character to life. But that was something he definitely needed to work on. Just then, an idea popped into his mind. What Phoenix was about to say was indeed, a long shot, but at least he could say he tried. “So… since you know all the ropes… I was wondering if you could, you know… give me some advice maybe? Or maybe we could practice together some time?”

Ever so slightly, Edgeworth’s eyes widened. He seemed taken aback, which made Phoenix nervous. Would he decline? Accept? The man looked as if he had the response on the tip of his tongue, when an oddly familiar ringtone sounded from across the table.

Maya gasped, “Is that the Steel Samurai opening?!”

Then, the most unexpected thing happened. He witnessed Edgeworth fish his phone out from his pants pocket, then after checking the caller id with a tsk, set the phone on the table, completely disregarding the call he received on his personal cell phone a few seconds ago. The ringtone went silent, leaving Maya’s voice to be the only thing ringing in Phoenix’s ears.

“Mr. Edgeworth, you’re a Steel Samurai fan too?!” Maya’s eyes were practically sparkling. One glimpse at her could tell Phoenix that she was ecstatic.

‘Here we go again…’ Every time Maya happened to meet another fellow Steel Samurai fan, she would lock them into conversing with her about it. This was not a hard task though, as Maya was the one who tended to carry the conversation when speaking about her favourite show. Usually when this occurred, Phoenix would be waiting for at least half an hour.

“Perhaps a little…” Edgeworth mumbled. Was it Phoenix, or did he look slightly embarrassed?

“A little?!” Maya scooted her chair closer to Phoenix, their shoulders touching as she reached over to point at the dangling charm that was attached to his cellphone. “You even have the limited edition steel Steel Samurai phone strap?! How did you even get one of those?! I tried to have Nick get me one, but they sold out just as he was about to get to the front of the line.” She looked at him, her eyebrows furrowed and cheeks puffed up.

“Hey, it wasn’t my fault someone couldn’t leave the house on time.” Phoenix retaliated.

“Yeah, it was you!” Maya accused. “You couldn’t find where you put your house keys!”

Phoenix paused, that was right. He was the one at fault. “... Oh, you’re right. Sorry, Maya.”

She crossed her arms, “When they release the steeler Steel Samurai limited edition keychain, you owe me one.”

‘... How could something be “steeler than steel”?!’

Phoenix sighed, “Alright, alright, I do. Next time, I’ll just ask Will instead.” Since he was close enough to the man at this point, he could at least ask him to do him a solid.

“So, Mr. Edgeworth, you like the Steel Samurai too?” Maya turned the conversation back to him with absolute delight evident on her face.

“It’s not like that-”

“Indeed he does.” Franziska interjected, cutting Edgeworth off. Her usual smug smirk remained plastered on her face as she rested her chin in her hand, the index finger on her other hand wagging pointedly. “Let’s not forget about the Steel Samurai statue that you have in your office-”

“Enough, Franziska.” Edgeworth snapped back, his face gradually turning redder and redder as the conversation continued.

Taking this new information into account, an idea popped into Phoenix’s mind. If he knew Will Powers, the man who played the Steel Samurai himself, then perhaps he could strike a deal… “Edgeworth, if I got you a Steel Samurai autograph, would you practice together with me?”

Not a single second passed when, “I don’t suppose I have a reason to refuse such an offer.” He answered, a bit too eagerly. “Franziska and Ms. Maya can work out the details later, but I believe I should have some time next week.”

“Great, I’ll see you then,” Phoenix couldn’t help the smile that seeped out onto his face from the satisfaction of success he felt on the inside. He outstretched his hand again. This was the ticket, the way he could finally get some hands-on experience. With Edgeworth’s guidance, he was going to make Ruth Liss the most nefarious man to exist.

Much to Phoenix’s surprise, he felt a warm, but firm hand grasp his own. “I, as well.”

As the conversation concluded, Franziska pushed herself up from her chair, “Well, our business here is done. Come now, we have a photoshoot to attend to. That foolish fool will be here any minute with the car.”

“Aw, leaving so soon, Franny?” Maya pouted.

“Unfortunately, I must. But next time, I will try to stay longer.” Franziska gave the girl a small, but gentle smile. “Oh, and Phoenix Wright…”

Phoenix’s ears picked up on his name being called. “Hm? Ow! Ouch! What was that for?!” A cool, leather whip thrashed at him, causing the skin underneath his suit to sting. He had just gotten a thrashing from Franziska’s whip and for no reason he could think of, at that.

“Just because you sport the face of a fool who deserves it. Now, the two of us will be off.” Grabbing her binder off the table, the two took their leave, leaving a satisfied Phoenix, and a satisfied Maya to their own devices.

“Well, what did you think, Nick? Isn’t Franny just the nicest person in the world?” She asked, her voice as sweet as honey. Phoenix could practically see the hearts in her eyes; she seemed quite smitten with one Franziska von Karma.

‘Nicest?! She just whipped me!’ “She was… something to say the least.” He opted to say instead. He downed the rest of his coffee, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. For some reason, this conversation renewed his spirits, his motivation to get better replenishing by the second.

‘A week from now. I have a week to show him what I’ve got!’

October 5th, 11:00pm

Edgeworth’s Penthouse

Miles Edgeworth was something of a busy man. No matter how many times his schedule had been packed to the brim, the tiredness he would feel after a day’s work was something that he would never get used to.

He unlocked the door to his place, greeted by the energetic dog he had meticulously raised since he had found the time to do so.

“Pess, it’s late. Why aren’t you asleep? Were you waiting for me?” Looking down at the dog with loving affection softening all of his facial features, a tender smile graced his face as he reached down to pet the pomeranian nuzzling against his leg. Edgeworth’s heart practically melted when he heard him bark back in response.

He set down his keys and scooped him up in his arms, to which he took the opportunity to lap at his face. He chuckled, “What did I do to deserve such a loyal dog?”

Miles gently set Pess back onto the floor, who darted from the front door to the slightly ajar bedroom door. He turned to look back at Miles, which Miles perceived to be his dog’s own way of telling him, “come here”.

Miles’ smile widened, “Alright, alright. I guess it’s time to get ready for bed.”

11:25PM

Miles slipped off his slippers and settled into bed, pulling the covers up over his entire body. At night right before he fell asleep, this was the time his brain was the most alert. Most of the nights where he had trouble falling asleep, for he was afraid of the nightmares that would plague his dreams, he would reflect on the day’s events, this one being no exception. All in all, talking to the man wasn’t such a bad experience in itself. Surely, he was a bit clumsy and awkward and just a little bit of an idiot, but what today’s conversation showed Miles was how dedicated he was. It truly seemed as if Wright wanted to improve and it made him feel a bit guilty for treating him so coldly the first time he met him. It had been a while since he had interacted with someone as inexperienced as Phoenix. After all, he had been taught that people of his stature shouldn’t interact with people like him.

“You don’t need to talk to any of these nobodies; you are leagues above them. Friends? Forget about such a notion. In this industry, you can never trust a single soul.” The words of his late mentor echoed in his mind.

He exhaled at the memory. Hopefully in a week from now, Miles could bestow upon him the advice he had been given throughout his years of being an actor. Would Wright succeed with his help? Miles wasn’t so sure, but did he want that Steel Samurai autograph?

Of course.

Hopefully, just hopefully, next week will be a good one.

#ace attorney #naruhodo ryuichi #mitsurugi reiji #phoenix wright #miles edgeworth #wrightworth #narumitsu #i tried #my fic

9 notes · View notes

spacehologramcollection · 5 years

Text

The Kombat Krew with their S/O during pregnancy;

A carry on from the pregnancy post. Link is in my masterlist! I swear I’m working on some NSFW stuff, it’s just not coming along quickly. Pun not intended. So, have some fluff. I love fluff deep down in my Goblin encrusted heart. GIFS do not belong to me/ I did not make them, they belong to their creators! More content under the cut, it was a long arse post!

Kabal;

· This man is excited, whether it be pre or post burns. You are literally carrying his child. Fuck, women are strong. How are you doing it? Like he is obsessed with you.

· He starts to lend you his flannel jackets/ shirts for night time, because your clothes are struggling to fit over the bump.

· Speaking of the bump, he will talk to it, have his hand on it constantly and generally be cute as fuck around it.

· He will stop anyone from swearing around it, once he finds out they develop ears. Only for himself to end up swearing ‘Will you stop fucking swearing… I mean shit, fuck no. FUCK!”

· Saying that, he will, whilst you’re sleeping, put headphones over your bump, and play some of his horrific music taste. Preparing them for dad embarrassment really.

· He’s at every appointment with you. He’s not the best at understanding at first. Like, when he hears the whole birthing process, he kind of drops whatever he’s holding.

· He’s really supportive though, he’s totally helping with the birthing plan. He knows exactly which route to take to the hospital.

· At night when you can’t sleep, he can’t sleep. He’ll try easing your pain, rubbing your back and holding you tightly. Whispering how he can’t wait to spend the rest of his life with the two of you.

· He wonders if they’ll develop his powers, like, could they? Imagine that.

· Scan. Fucking. Photos. Everywhere. Proud dad already.

· He’ll insist on helping decorate the nursery. He has no idea what he’s doing but he does manage to assemble stuff. He wants you to take it easy, so you’re left putting the wooden sticks into the holes.

· He’s really patient with you, helps with your cravings. You want chicken nuggets and its like 4 in the morning. He’ll go down and get you some, he can’t promise he’ll be fully dressed when doing it.

· God its cold, he feels his nipples will freeze off; but he reminds himself, you’re literally carrying a growing human inside of you.

· He’ll hold your hair back when you throw up, he’ll also apologise, because he did this to you almost.

· He’ll be always texting you potential names as well. Like Oh, message from Kabal… and it’s how you should name your kid Buddy.

· Speaking of names. He’d want either some classic names or maybe something a bit cooler. Archer and Hunter are on his list. But he’s also got names like Karlito (The K is important remember that) and Diego on there. For girls’ names, he’d lean towards Kallisto (remember the K) and Lucia. And for none-conventual names, he leans towards nerdier names.

· Post-Burn; He’s nervous, what are they going to think about him? Will they be scared of him? When you get him to place his hands on your bump and talk; the moment they kick, he feels at peace. They do know its him and he’s going to make an excellent dad.

· When Kano suggests the name ‘Kano Jr.’ Kabal launches his hot coffee at him.

· God forbid anyone looks at you wrong. Hooksword to the arse.

· He debates going straight, finding a better and legal job. He wants to set a good example for his future kid.

· His new motivation is what’s best for the baby. He doesn’t want to risk not been there, watching them grow up and being able to be a dad. Something he’s always wanted.

Sub Zero (Kuai Liang);

· Can’t sugar coat this one. But you’ve literally a Cryomancer growing inside you. Kuai doesn’t sugar coat it either.

· Prepare to have your bodily senses clash. Because you’re one minute too cold, so you try to warm up, only to then be too hot.

· Kuai. Feels. Fucking. Terrible. He’s excited to be a father, but he doesn’t like seeing you in pain.

· He’s extremely supportive though. He’s giving you back rubs, helping to ease the discomfort.

· He’ll offer to help teach you some meditation techniques, to try and help distract you from the pain.

· One thing that gets to you, the baby will react to his power. And he’s developed a habit of placing his hand on your bump, whilst you’re asleep. So yeah. Prepare for a night of being kicked in the ribs.

· It’s cute it knows who his dad is. But you just want some sleep.

· If you fall asleep, you fall asleep. He isn’t going to wake you. He’ll drape a blanket over you and keep checking on you.

· When you wake up, you’ve usually a note with a list of potential names.

· Don’t let him pain the nursery. He can’t paint, and all his stars look weird.

· He will read every parenting book available, he’ll ask advice off anyone. Poor Hanzo, is being bombarded with questions.

· When he sees a scan photo for the first time, you swear you see him tear up a little. Of course, he’ll go get mushy in private. But he carries the scan photo with him everywhere.

· He will make you tea when you need it.

· Is supportive and is encouraging.

· Is protective, like he’s not going to want to go far and leave you. Bi-Han insists he can look after you, yeah, that’s not good enough.

· He also doesn’t want you to over-exert yourself, so he wishes you’d rest more.

· If Smoke isn’t being left to look after you, what fucking chance does his brother have?

· He’s so organised, everything is on time, everything is ready, he’s got all your appointments down. So, fucking organised.

Scorpion (Hanzo Hasashi);

· He’s been through this once. So, he thought, this time, he’d be prepared. How fucking wrong he was.

· He’s more prepared than the others, but still, he panics a little.

· He doesn’t want you over-exerting yourself at all. He can decorate and do everything. Just please relax.

· If anyone swears, they are getting a death glare. They can hear, and he’ll be damned if his kids first word is, “Shit”

· Takeda has to put up with it all. Poor bastard.

· He’ll get you whatever you want. He’s so soft around you. He’ll literally go from shouting at someone, to asking is his precious beansprout is fine.

· He can actually paint so the nursery decorating is in good hands. He’s calm and collect mostly. He does panic a little when he has to leave. It more nerves.

· He becomes very over-protective, which is understandable, since you know, what happened to him.

· He re-reads a lot of the parenting books. He’ll love to read them, whilst you’re laid next to him, fast asleep. He’s holding the book with one hand and rubbing your bump with the other.

· If you have aches (I headcanon he’s got overly warm hands) he’ll use his hands to try and ease the discomfort. King of getting knots out of your back.

· You’re too tired to walk? He’ll either get you what you want, or he’ll carry you back to bed.

· He’ll lay awake with you if you can’t sleep. You’ll both talk about potential names, he’ll lean more towards traditional, but he’s not afraid of modern ones either.

· He’ll always have an arm around your waist, his hand on your bump. It’s not PDA, he’s protecting the two things he loves the most.

· Will get very emotional when he feels the baby move/kick.

· The guilt is subdued, feelings of pride and joy wash over him. He’s so excited to get a second chance at this. He wells up a lot. He’s completely in love with the both of you.

Bi-Han;

· He’s so organised. He’s got a calendar, dedicated specifically to your pregnancy. He’s counting down the days, hours and minutes, till their born.

· He’s got the names sorted, their training schedule sorted, but not the Nursery.

· Everything is blue. Fucking everything. The walls, the clothes, the crib. Everything needs to be blue.

· He’s very supportive, and he wants to spend all of his time with you. Every moment is vital.

· You’re also carrying a Cryomancer, so he wants to be there to help. He remembers how sick his mother got when carrying Kuai.

· He’s prepared, he’s got special tea, herbs and anything that maybe able to quell the discomfort.

· He knows the road is going to be hard, so it’s why he wants to be prepared.

· He’ll love to have you sit on his knee, whilst he’s lounging, gently rubbing your back and bump. In an attempt to ease any knots/discomfort.

· He’ll insist on you taking it easy, he doesn’t want anything to stress you out. You need to remain calm.

· Like Kuai, the baby would react to his power, so would move around a lot more.

· As much as he likes traditional names, he wasn’t always one to be traditional, so he’s open to other suggestions. Just nothing too ridiculous.

· Will not let you name the baby Snow, or anything ice related, it’s too fucking obvious… they can have it as a code name when their older. Like Tundra was Kuai’s name growing up.

· He will stay awake with you when you cannot sleep. Will offer to read to you or use his voice to soothe you back to sleep.

· He’s proud of you and will compliment you none stop. You’re doing something amazing, and something he could never do.

Erron Black;

· Whilst your pregnant, he changes a lot. He’s no longer driven and focused by wealth, he does what he thinks is right for the baby. Much like Kabal.

· He stops accepting jobs that will take him far away. He wants to spend the next eight or so months with you.

· The further on you go, he’ll stop taking jobs that take him too far, he wants to be within running distance.

· He calls in every favour under the sun. Someone owes him a debt? They better get their arse over to him now.

· He’s got Kabal painting the nursery and assembling furniture. Kano is being forced to do heavy lifting. Why are they doing it? Because Erron stated he could probably shoot their balls off; no one wants to test their might/luck against his sharpshooting.

· He’s obsessed with your bump. Like you hardly see him smile, but this pregnancy is bringing out another side of him. A more gentle and funnier one.

· Every kick brings about a smile, small movements make him stare down at it in awe.

· You’ve caught him talking to the bump at night when he thinks you’re asleep.

· He’s whispering about how he thinks the name ‘Jessie’ is a good name, queue the kick, which validates his point.

· Speaking of names; Jessie, Cassidy, Flynn, Morgan, Wyatt, Arthur, Cash. Annie, Pearl, Rose, Belle, Adelaide, Bonnie. They are his top picks. He’s put a lot of thought into them actually.

· Is very supportive. He’ll still talk you up and charm you, because he thinks you’re still as beautiful as the day you met.

· He’ll also help you as much as possible. He feels to blame when he watches you struggle to stand, because your ankles are swelling.

· He’ll fetch you whatever your heart desires, you want something that can only be found in Outworld? Then he’s going back to call in a favour with his favourite Kahn.

· Would prefer it if you gave birth in a Hospital. Medicine has really come along, and he doesn’t want any risks.

· Has already bought a matching hat for them.

Raiden;

· He always said he liked learning about mortals. Well, here is his fucking learning curve. The Human body is fucking weird. We cannot deny this.

· He is horrified learning about human pregnancy/ the whole birthing process. What. The. Actual. Fuck?

· He cannot believe he’s going to be the root cause, essentially, of the worst pain of your life.

· He does however, think you can handle it. You’re a strong person and he will support you through it all.

· You literally went to sleep the night after telling him and woke up, to see he’d read a lot of parenting books.

· He’s already mapped out a plan and he’s already started packing the over night bag… that you won’t need for like seven months?

· Because this is all new to him, he will let you take charge. You’re the one who’s carrying his child, whatever you says, goes. Unless, it puts either of you in harms way. Then he’ll intervene.

· He never thought he’d be a parent, so names aren’t something he’s thought of massively. He’ll let you decide but will throw in the odd suggestion.

· He’s actually got a steady hand, so you leave him to paint and decorate the nursery.

· He does doodle a little lightening bolt and a cloud; representing him and Fujin. We all know Fujin would be one of the godparents. Literally.

· He knows his child will be well protected. I mean, he’s got you as a mother, a God as a father, a few shaolin monks, a few Kahns, a bunch of Special Forces members, two grandmasters and another god to help out.

· Because he’s unsure of human pregnancy/the whole process, he lets you lead, so he won’t be going overboard. He’s the right balance and follows your lead.

· He’s very receptive to your needs. So, he’ll fetch you tea, food and hot water bottles.

· He loves to have a hand on your bump, feeling the baby kick, it reminds him and grounds him almost. He’s helped to create this, and he’s finally got a little slice of happiness. The man deserves it.

890 notes · View notes

lovelylogans · 4 years

Text

love light gleams

previous chapter | chapter three | next chapter

part of the wyliwf verse.

the sideshire files | read my other fics | coffee?

warnings: food mentions, complicated parental relationships, teenage emancipation, emotional abuse, mentions of being disowned, mentions of transphobia and homophobia, classism, mentions of past underage drinking, crying, religious content (church, going to confession), remus cameo, mentions of choking/killing someone, something similar to the canon “have you thought about killing your brother?” monologue, please let me know if i’ve missed anything!

pairings: gen

words: 57,686

"patton,” meredith says warmly, “and logan, too! come in, come in, let’s get you both out of the cold.”

“hi,” patton says, and shuffles into the diner. “um—sorry i’m late, but, you know. babies.”

“oh, they’ll need something right at the moment that’s most inconvenient, won’t they?” meredith says. “and no worries, the time’s really more a suggestion anyway—most of the rest of the kids aren’t here, but let me introduce you to my son, wyatt—”

mark, who’s sitting at the counter, looks like the man at the counter copy-pasted, except mark’s aged about twenty more years and is a bit softer around the belly. wyatt sets aside his fork and turns to more fully face him—the only difference, other than age, are the perfectly circular glasses that wyatt’s wearing, making his brown eyes overly large, like he’s looking through two magnifying glasses.

“hi,” patton says. “i’m patton, this is logan.”

“hello, patton,” he says, and, equally seriously, “hello, logan. may i hold him?”

“oh! sure,” patton says and passes him over.

wyatt holds logan a little far away from his body, surveying him. logan surveys him back. wyatt tilts his head for a moment.

“he’ll suffice,” wyatt says decisively, hands logan back, and turns back to his breakfast.

“um,” patton says, juggling logan in his arms so that he’s comfortable. “thanks, i think?”

“you’re quite welcome,” wyatt says. he continues to eat his eggs.

“hey, patton,” virgil says. “merry christmas eve.”

“merry christmas eve,” patton says.

“can i get you anything?”

patton chews at his lip, and says, “hot cocoa/coffee?”

“you know the whole spiel, i’ll spare you,” virgil says.

“it’s a christmas miracle,” patton says.

“yeah, yeah,” virgil mutters, and pours him a mug.

“thanks,” patton says, accepting it. “is there a plan for the day?”

“cook a lot,” virgil says vaguely, “which we’ll eat throughout the day. um, christmas cookies, at some point.”

“oh, sugar, before i forget, you should bring in the movies from the car, so we can start the marathon,” meredith says.

“after breakfast?” wyatt says.

meredith pauses, sighs, and says, “all right, after breakfast.”

mark says, “patton, would you like some pancakes? i’m thinking of making some and only meredith’s taken me up on it.”

“oh, i’ll eat anything,” patton says quickly. “pancakes sound great, thank you.”

“but, yeah,” virgil says and shrugs. “christmases are pretty relaxed, around here. we tend to work for half the day in the diner, but since the vast majority of my family are no longer child laborers—”

“hey,” meredith says, jokingly indignant.

“—it’s probably mostly going to be me, down here, but who knows,” virgil says. “maybe nostalgia will work in my favor, and i’ll get some unpaid laborers, and i will be shot when the revolution comes, rightfully destroyed under the hammer and sickle. anyway, we close after lunch so we can do a big dinner, we open one present of our choosing before bed. not much else goes on, for christmas eve.”

patton thinks of his past christmas eves, crammed with making appearances at holiday parties and going to church and sitting through teas and brunches and cocktail parties with business partners of his father’s, women in the same societies as his mother.

you know what? he can take a lazy day and good food and christmas movies. that isn’t strenuous at all. he shouldn’t miss the rush of small talk that felt more like an invasive interview than anything—he’d hated it then, why is he missing it now?

“it’s the first christmas eve without a house here, though,” meredith says, cutting in, “so i’m afraid you’ll have to suffer through our various experiments on how to make all of us fit into virgil’s apartment with some degree of comfort.”

“oh, hey, speaking of comfort,” virgil says, and digs out the baby carrier, which meredith picks up before patton can even try to adjust logan to reach for it himself.

“thanks,” patton says, and carefully settles logan into the carrier. logan babbles his thanks, and patton digs around for the new pacifier he’s just gotten him, one of logan’s admittedly few christmas gifts—logan’s old one met a bit of a dismal end in the inn’s garbage disposal—and pops it into logan’s mouth.

for the first time since coming to sideshire, patton’s facing two days off work, and responsibilities, other than logan. it’s probably a good thing that he’s got built-in plans, because if he didn’t, he’d be sleeping for two straight days, only waking up for logan’s crying and maybe food, like, a hastily made peanut-butter-and-jelly or just whatever bag of junk food’s cheapest and closest.

and now, he’s got a freshly-made stack of pancakes (from scratch, no less) and people to fawn over his baby and, apparently, christmas movies to watch.

oh, huh. he hadn’t even thought about it just now—when was the last time he’d watched tv? when was the last time he’d lounged on the couch, and snacked on food, and watched tv? certainly not since logan was born. probably not even before that—patton had spent a lot of time in his room, during his pregnancy. it felt like whenever he ventured out to sit in the living room all he got were disappointed looks and irritated snaps.

months, patton decides. it had been months. maybe even a year.

so, with that strange feeling sitting heavy on his chest, he digs into his pancakes with maybe a bit more aggressive fervor than he usually does.

“thank you, mr. danes, this is delicious,” patton says, by rote, after he eats one bite. he’s still going to be polite, even if he feels funny about thinking about what he’s lost—even little things, like tv.

losing bigger things, like his parents, potentially for forever, make him feel things a lot worse than funny.

but he’s not going to think about that today or tomorrow, he tells himself firmly. after christmas, he’ll have six days between christmas and the new year. he’ll think about it and make a decision then, even if the thought roils his stomach and makes the pancakes a little more difficult to swallow down than usual.

“mark, please,” mark says, looking pleased with himself.

“good luck with that,” virgil says dryly. “i think the only reason i’m not mr. danes is because you didn’t find out my last name until a couple weeks after we met.”

“it’s polite.”

“it’s not a sin to call people by their first names,” virgil counters.

“it’s a sign of respect to call people by their title,” patton counters. “you know, for my elders.”

“ elders!” virgil squawks indignantly. “i’m not an elder, i’m twenty-three!”

“and i’m sixteen! therefore, you’re an elder.”

virgil mutters something along the lines of when you’re twenty-three i’m reminding you of this conversation, which is an absolutely mind-boggling concept. twenty-three. that had never sounded like a year patton would make it to. even seventeen seems practically insurmountable.

patton manages to say something along the lines of “yeah and when i’m twenty-three, you’ll still be my elder,” even while he’s thinking about it. twenty-three. logan would be… six, seven . walking, talking, reading, writing. in school. he’d know what foods he’d like and hate and have favorite subjects and least favorite subjects and if he preferred math to english or science to history and he’d have friends and maybe even a crush.

logan growing up— that’s what’s insurmountable. not this tiny little baby who, currently, seems to be estimating how far he can throw his pacifier and if papa will go and get it for him, pulling it up out of nowhere. patton would know if logan’s eyes, now that shade of brown that matches his, will have stuck around, if logan will favor him or christopher or both or maybe even neither. if he’ll be tall or short, athletic or academic. if he’ll grow up with or without grandparents.

logan can stay a baby for quite a while longer.

patton is saved from this particular line of thinking when freddie arrives and immediately pounces onto wyatt’s back with a holler of delight, which wyatt tolerates with what patton’s starting to think is his typical placidity.

freddie then proceeds to pepper him with questions, hiking up the leg of her jeans to proudly display a massive bruise on her knee that her parents exclaim over.

“can you check it?” she asks, but wyatt’s already patiently taking her knee between both hands, adjusting his glasses.

“does it hurt very badly when i do this?” wyatt says, pressing his fingers to it lightly.

“no.”

“how about now?”

“other than it just being more pressure? no.”

wyatt looks at her over his glasses, unamused. “you’re just doing this to see if, in my medical opinion, this might possibly be the biggest bruise i’ve ever seen, aren’t you.”

freddie grins at him beatifically.

“a choreographer wanted to do a number where i never touch the ground and they just hurl me in the air the whole time, from person to person,” freddie says. “i’ve got tons.”

wyatt sighs. “i anticipate more demonstrations forthwith.”

“no showing off battle wounds in my diner!” virgil shouts from the kitchen.

freddie pouts.

“my apartment,” virgil says, emerging, “is right there. do your weird world-record-seeking stuff away from the food.”

“world record?” patton asks.

“it’s freddie’s not-so-secret ambition to do a world record, of some kind,” virgil says. “i’m not even sure if she cares what it is.”

“preferably something with acrobatics, but i’m flexible—“

“no physical puns!”

“you never let me have fun!” freddie sulks, but she is lowering her arms from where she’d been about to interlock them behind her back, to do something incredibly weird with her body because her bones seem like they’re made of rubber, patton’s guessing.

“do you need ice?” mark asks freddie, frowning at her in concern and passing a hand over her hair. “you’ve been icing and bandaging everything properly, right?”

“...yep,” freddie says.

“winifred,” wyatt says, handily polishing off his eggs, “i will offer you an escape from parental smothering by means of asking if you would like to help me carry in christmas movies from my car.”

“oh, thank god,” freddie says.

“my name is wyatt,” he says. patton isn’t fully sure if he’s kidding.

“i know, big guy,” freddie says fondly, and meredith rolls her eyes even as her children both make their getaways.

“what on earth are we going to do with that girl,” she comments to mark.

“she’s run away to the circus, dear,” mark says, “i don’t think there’s much else for us to do.”

a pause.

“i’m going to send her back with a care package of ice packs and ace bandages, though,” mark decides. “just to be safe. it never hurts to have them.”

meredith smiles and rubs his arm. “that’s a good plan.”

parenting, patton thinks. just to be safe seems like a pretty integral part of parenting, planning too. it’s good advice, even if they didn’t mean for it to be advice. the danes’ seem like a good example to follow.

logan bops at his pacifier hard enough that it falls out of his mouth and onto the counter, with a delighted babble at the demonstration of gravity.

he guesses he’s got a while to go before he has to worry about all that, though.

patton has never seen the diner so crowded.

he and annabelle have managed to lay claim to one of the tiny tables in the corner—well, “lay claim,” they were there before any of these people—and patton watches.

they were going to watch a movie, but after all the siblings got there meredith ended up helping out a waitress who looked ready to tip over under the weight of all the plates she’d been carrying, and then one thing led to another, and now patton and annabelle were watching the danes family at work, like none of them had ever left.

meredith and freddie are a rapid-fire chatty team at the counter, with frequent gales of laughter from their customers.

essie and wyatt flit around the diner, taking orders and making well-timed quips (essie) or observations (wyatt.) wyatt doesn’t even need a pen—he just remembers everyone’s orders, down to the condiments.

silas, who is apparently much stronger than he looks, is toting the weight of two fully-loaded trays at any given time for the elder two siblings.

virgil and mark occasionally emerge from the kitchen, but patton can hear sizzling and knives chopping and the smell speaks for itself—spices and sugar and so much good food that patton’s considering—

“brunch?” annabelle asks.

“oh, thank god,” patton says, “it smells so good in here, i was getting hungry again.”

“do you wanna each get something and split it?” annabelle says. “just so we have some options.”

“that sounds great,” patton says. “um, is there any food you don’t want to get? like, allergies, personal preferences, that kind of thing? that seems like the easiest place to start.”

he and annabelle slowly whittle down the menu—it turns out annabelle’s very open to just about every food option—and annabelle waves enthusiastically to essie, who perks up and prances over to their table.

“hey,” she says brightly.

“hey,” annabelle says, smiling, and accepts the kiss that essie presses to her cheek.

“you guys doing okay?” essie asks, sticking her pen into the knot of brown hair piled on top of her head. “i kind of got sucked back in, sorry.”

“i’ve got patton to keep me company, we’re okay,” annabelle says, smiling.

“oh, right, good,” essie says. “patton, this exact thing happened last year and i felt so bad, annabelle was just sitting alone in a corner for half the day, but—“

“hey, it’s cool,” annabelle says. “i had a book to read.”

essie frowns. “still—”

“you’re spending time with your family,” annabelle says. “go fetch us some french toast and waffles and caffeine, and i’ll consider forgiving you.”

she’s clearly joking, and essie smiles, relieved.

“love you,” essie says.

“i love you too, babe,” annabelle says, and essie’s smile widens before she practically floats back to the counter to turn in their order.

“how long have you two been together?” patton asks annabelle.

“oh, years,” annabelle says. “seven or eight, give or take.”

“wow,” patton says softly.

“yeah,” annabelle says, and a goofy kind of grin spreads across her face. “she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, i can handle a morning watching her have fun with her family, y’know? it makes her happy. plus, i’d be useless doing anything with... that.”

“me, too,” patton says.

“and, i mean, now you’re here,” annabelle says. “so i’ve got someone to chat with, which is good, because i forgot to pack a book this year.”

patton laughs, mostly to be polite, and says, “i guess that is good, yeah. um, so, how did you and essie meet?”

“college,” annabelle says. “we were roommates, and then, well. one thing led to another. best random assignment i could have gotten.”

“that’s really awesome,” patton says sincerely, and that sets annabelle off on a “I Love My Fiancée” tangent which patton is really happy to listen to. essie is, according to annabelle, the sweetest, most thoughtful, caring, wonderful person that she’s ever met, and she’s so excited to spend the rest of her life with her, and she can only hope that she will stack up so that she’ll be able to deserve her, and when essie is approaching to drop off their food, she’s blushing, so she must have overheard, and annabelle grins.

“you really don’t need to be so shy,” annabelle quips, and essie blushes a little more.

“well, you don’t have to be so loudly happy about it,” essie mumbles.

“of course i’m going to be happy about you, why wouldn’t i be happy about you?” annabelle counters. “you’re going to be my wife.”

essie beams at the very idea, and, with another kiss on the cheek, she floats back toward the counter, where freddie clearly begins teasing her, complete with heart-clutching and dramatic fake swooning.

“so,” annabelle says, after patton takes a forkful of french toast, “what’s your story? virgil hasn’t really told any of us much.”

patton slows his chewing as much as he can, trying to formulate an answer. well, see, i got pregnant and ran away from home and now i’m torn between breaking my parents’ hearts or mine, depending on the choice i make?

“well,” patton begins cautiously. “i’m, um, it’s—well, i, um. it’s.”

“complicated?” annabelle asks. “i mean, it’s—y’know. me too.”

patton blinks.

“i’m from texas,” annabelle elaborates. “small-town texas. um. you can probably fill in the stereotypes from there. i fully cut off contact with my parents about four years ago.”

“oh,” patton says, and it’s like the word is punched out of him. “i—i’m really sorry.”

annabelle shrugs. “it is what it is,” she says. “anyway. the danes’ have been great. i’ve been coming to holidays with them since i graduated college and, you know. came out to my parents.”

patton chews his lip, and admits, “mine’s not quite the same situation, but—but close.”

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

he isn’t sure if he should say more—he has a vague feeling he should probably elaborate, but the idea of having a breakdown in the diner again is. not his idea of a fun christmas eve morning.

“that’s rough, dude,” annabelle says. “um, esther’s the emotionally capable one, so, sorry, but. you want some waffles?”

patton snorts.

“yeah,” he says. “okay, sure. i’ll have some waffles.”

⁂

"okay, so, you wanna pick, lo?” patton says to logan, holding up the cookie cutters in front of logan, but far enough away that he won’t grab at it. “stars or angels.”

logan considers his options. then, making a cooing noise, he very clearly reaches for the shiny silver star cookie-cutter.

“good choice!” patton cheers, and leans in to kiss logan on the forehead. “stars it is. it’s a shame you don’t have teeth to eat these with.”

he puts his finger in logan’s hand, so he has something to grab at, and sets the cookie cutter out of sight. logan then proceeds to drag patton’s finger toward his mouth, just to chew at it. as patton expected.

“oh, that’s a good idea,” meredith says, and then holds up a christmas tree and a reindeer cookie cutter in logan’s line of sight. with his free hand that isn’t currently holding patton’s finger to his mouth, he reaches for the tree.

and so begins a parade of people consulting the baby on cookie shape choices. granted, sometimes logan doesn’t always make a choice—at silas, logan makes a disdainful noise and starts chewing on patton’s finger with even more fervor, seeming to glower at him—but he does reach for quite a few choices, with no pattern that patton can decipher.

at one point, he gets a bit frustrated that he can’t hold any of the things that are being held in front of him, so virgil digs up two blunt, plastic cookie cutters, which means patton is free to wash his hands as logan starts mouthing at a snowflake-shaped cookie cutter, the mitten-shaped one cast aside.

now that the lunch rush is done, the diner’s officially closed for christmas eve and christmas, which means that it’s time for the danes’ to start making christmas cookies. they’re like a well-oiled machine—there’s tons of home-made sugar cookie and gingerbread dough, with essie and freddie making frosting together, freddie occasionally flicking dyed frosting toward her siblings, and essie would only sometimes catch her wrist with a kind of scolding laugh.

virgil, with a streak of purple across his cheek and a clump in his hair, helps patton and annabelle figure out how to best utilize the dough they have, so that they’ll have maximum cookie and minimum scraps.

all the while, christmas music plays, filling up any noise that isn’t taken over by conversations amongst the danes’. and there are conversations. listen, patton’s used to a lot of conversations echoing around a room, but he’s used to people in his parents’ world with their quiet, politely pitched voices, so that their gossip and snide commentary wouldn’t carry to their targets.

the danes’ have no such concerns.

their loud, booming laughs and indignant squawks and clamorous chatter and roaring responses and impassioned, ranting interruptions could maybe be heard from outside, let alone within the same room. it’s cacophonous, rowdy chaos.

any unwritten, strict rules of conversation that patton’s been preached to have been cheerfully thrown out the window. he can jump from conversation to conversation as he pleases, and no one seems to mind that he does because everyone’s doing the same thing. he can join mark and meredith’s debate over what constitutes a good christmas cookie, then chime in on his opinion on a book that he, annabelle, and wyatt have all read, and back up virgil when freddie pokes fun at him.

even virgil and silas, whose argument patton remembers vividly, are bumping elbows, and silas tousles virgil’s hair as he traps him under his arm, but it’s less like a dangerous, harmful thing and more like sibling squabbling, especially considering freddie joins right in by leaping on silas and yelling “YOUNGEST SIBLINGS ALLIANCE!” and essie trying to yank her off while proclaiming about the twinly treaty, while wyatt watches calmly from the sidelines and mark and meredith break them up with the weary, well-meaning tones of parents who have done this a million times before.

patton’s never seen anything so different; he’s an only child, from such a different world, and chris, his closest friend, is an only child, too. siblings are so strange. there are no manners. there aren’t any lingering hurt feelings. it’s almost like family time out of a movie, except it’s so much more chaotic and messy.

patton loves it.

as the cookies bake, the entire family works together to start decorating the tree, placed proudly in the center of the diner. none of the matchy-matchy, expensive, fancy ornaments that patton was never allowed to touch. cardboard boxes full of past childhood ornaments made during school, which erupt into various stories and reminiscing about the sideshire schoolteachers, cheesy souvenir ornaments from the various travels of every danes, including some new ones that mean lots of questions about what they’d been doing there, a popcorn-and-cranberry garland that essie, annabelle, and silas are still making even as wyatt drapes it round and round the tree.

somehow, the whole gaudy thing works; glinting with glittery ornaments and two strands of lights, it’s visible from the outside, when patton obligingly steps out to check and see. he helps everyone stack their presents under the tree—it turns out, the danes' have some color-coding going for their gifts. gold wrapping paper means they're presents for mrs. danes, silver for mr. danes, green for wyatt, red for essie, pink for annabelle, black for silas, yellow for freddie, purple for virgil. so patton ends up kind of organizing the presents so it's like a color wheel around the tree; everyone's presents, all together so they can just go to their color instead of hunt every present ringing the tree.

even as disorganized as they seem, it’s clear that the danes’ are a well-oiled machine, because by the time everyone decrees the tree satisfactory the cookies are cooled enough to decorate.

“i’ve never actually decorated cookies like this before,” patton says, as virgil passes him a piping bag full of icing—they’re splitting up all the icing into tiny bowls and piping bags, so everyone’s got their own little icing station. everyone's already wearing an old meredith's branded apron, from before virgil took over the diner.

“what, with a piping bag?” virgil asks. "it's pretty easy, once you get the hang of it, you can practice on some of that wax paper if you want—"

"no, i mean," patton says, "we usually order christmas cookies to send to people. like, caterers or bakeries usually take care of it. i've never actually gotten to make my own christmas cookies."

there is dead silence around the prepping station in the diner's kitchen. then:

" what," freddie breathes out, disbelievingly. "never? never ever?!"

"never ever," patton agrees. "i mean, maybe when i was really tiny, but—"

"you've never even made a ginger you?" essie says, incredulous. "or—a gingerbread house? not even one of the ones that come in kits?"

patton briefly imagines his mom's reaction if he brought in some cheap, pre-made gingerbread house to assemble. to make a mess, in her kitchen? even if she never actually used the kitchen, it’s still hers, and—

patton shakes his head, and there's an explosion of questions— have you never decorated a cookie EVER, do you even eat gingerbread, do you bake stuff usually—?

"well, i've baked stuff before, but," patton says, and swats at virgil when he snorts.

"you burned 'em, didn't you?"

patton huffs, but doesn't deny it. because, well. he did. it's really probably for the best that the professionals were in charge of these christmas cookies, because he definitely would have messed them up somehow.

"what do you eat on christmas?" silas demands.

"um," patton says, scratching at his temple, "whatever catering that people have got, on christmas eve, and my parents usually have a party on christmas that has these amazing apple tarts, i swear they're the best part of christmas—"

"well, at least there's some kind of traditional dessert," meredith says.

"not all families are so food-centric, dear," mark says.

"well, i know, but." meredith says. " still. no christmas cookies, ever?"

"well, that does it, then," freddie says decisively. "you get first pick."

there's a rush of agreement from everyone—well, silas is silent, but he doesn't disagree—and patton tilts his head quizzically.

"get a dozen of these, whichever ones you want," virgil says, gesturing to the huge amount of cookies on the cooling rack.

"surely you're going to make a gingerbread self," wyatt says, and there's a burst of recommendations of what cookies he should get, pointing to the best specimens of each cookie shape, and patton just kind of ends up going for a little bit of everything—stars, trees, a reindeer, an angel, an ornament, a snowman, a bell, and yes, a gingerbread man—and stares, bemused, at the tools virgil sets in front of him.

"um," patton says, and virgil laughs—not in a mean way, but still enough to make patton flush a little.

"okay," he says. "so, when you hold a piping bag, there are a couple grips you can go with, and it mostly depends on the kind of decoration you're doing... "

and so begins patton's lessons in frosting christmas cookies.

mark shows him how to best ensure that there aren't any air bubbles in the icing.

meredith tells him about how to mix together icing on wax paper to get the exact color he wants, like he's a painter or something.

wyatt, with his steady surgeon's hands, shows him how to ice beautiful, delicate-looking flowers.

essie shows him how to best press down sprinkles without getting stray bits stuck where he doesn't want them.

annabelle, laughingly, demonstrates the best way to push his hair out of his eyes without accidentally smearing pastel blue frosting across his forehead.

freddie demonstrates how to throw cookies like ninja-style throwing stars, but that's less a decoration lesson and more of a way to directly target someone who teases her about her messy cookies.

even silas shows him how to use a toothpick to get even, straight lines.

and virgil helps him fix his mistakes, and helps him move things when his hands are too sticky to move anything without getting it messy too, and even helps break down a cookie so he can make a little gingerbread baby, for logan.

and even if patton's icing jobs look messy in comparison to mark's practiced work, or wyatt's even, steady lines, they fit right in with freddie's colorful, smudged ones, and annabelle's, which she mostly requests essie's help with.

"it's really more about the fun of the thing," meredith says, when she sees him looking between wyatt's and his own. "did you have fun?"

patton grins and nods, and she gives him a thumbs up.

"well then," she says decisively. "i mean, they're all going to have the same thing happen to them. and even if they're messy, i promise you they'll taste just as good. go on."

so patton picks up a star, the first one he'd iced—with shaky little blue swirls and silver glitter—and crunches into it.

it's just crisp enough on the outside and soft on the inside, with sugary, yummy icing, and, well. even if patton's icing might be a bit ugly, he can't deny that meredith's right.

so he picks up a blank star, and he starts icing again.

⁂

“logan,” patton says, around a mouthful of gingersnap cookie, “it seriously is a shame that you don’t have teeth to eat these.”

logan, who’s fixated on the television—virgil guesses all the colors and sounds must be super interesting, to a baby—doesn’t seem to care very much.

"these are the best christmas cookies i’ve ever had, ever,” patton says sincerely. “thank you.”

“you’ve said that a million times,” meredith says, amused. “you’re welcome.”

she passes him another as she speaks. honestly, virgil would kind of start interceding, but his mom has the same “must feed” gene that he does, except she doesn’t pay as much attention to things like nutritional value. he doesn’t blame her; patton’s wearing an old sweater that’s been handed down to him, and it's big enough that it makes him look pretty scrawny.

some danes’ (silas, mark, and wyatt) are in the kitchen, making an endless parade of appetizers and snacky-type things that are fighting for space on virgil's coffee table, shoved to the side of the room, whereas others (meredith, freddie, essie, and annabelle) are parked in virgil’s living room with him and patton to watch the collection of christmas movies wyatt had lugged in from his car.

currently, ralphie is fantasizing about going blind from soap poisoning as freddie mouths dramatically along with his parents’ wailing, she and virgil parked beside each other on the ground. freddie doesn’t move too much, though, because she’d loudly complained at essie until she’d started playing with her hair. so essie had obliged, one hand poking out from the blanket she's tangled under with annabelle, brushing her fingers absently through freddie’s hair.

his mom’s in an armchair, which leaves patton lying down on the loveseat so that logan can get some tummy time, heads turned so that they can watch tv. patton keeps absently running his hand up and down logan’s back—well, admittedly, there isn’t much to run his hand up and down, he’s a baby, and a somewhat small baby for his age, at that—and virgil can see logan’s eyes, reflecting the light of the tv.

virgil notices out of the corner of his eyes that he’s seeing less and less of patton’s eyes. they go half-lidded, then closing before occasionally opening, and then—

“patton,” he says softly, just as an experiment, and patton doesn’t so much as stir. it does, however, draw his mother’s attention.

“oh, poor thing’s all tuckered out, isn’t he?” his mom comments, in a suitable undertone.

“yeah, he’s been pretty strung-out lately,” virgil murmurs, and, hesitantly, gets to his feet, hunting for a blanket he’s got stashed somewhere. and then a little odd dance ensues; he puts the blanket over patton without covering logan up too much, and then, carefully, ever so carefully, he lifts logan from patton’s chest and secures him in his arms.

“i didn’t want him to fall,” he explains to his mom, as he tugs the blanket the rest of the way up, to cover patton.

“probably a smart choice,” his mom says. “i could take him, if—“

“no, that’s okay,” virgil says, looking down at logan as he adjusts his hold; logan seems to cuddle closer, and virgil stares as logan lets out a squeaky, strange little yawn.

“you’re sleepy too, huh?” he asks, and logan’s tongue pokes out, just a little, just enough that something in virgil’s heart feels like it’s swelling from the sheer adorableness of it.

so virgil settles on the ground in front of the loveseat, and keeps his hold on logan, watching as his eyes slide shut, too.

“strung out?” his mom asks, and virgil would shrug, if he wasn’t holding a baby that’s slowly falling asleep.

“logan’s got colic,” virgil explains in an undertone, “which we’ll probably hear, soon enough, and he’s been working a lot.” a beat, and then, “i think he’s having trouble sleeping too.”

honestly, virgil’s pretty relieved that he’s fallen asleep; the bags under his eyes have been growing deeper and deeper, and his requests for caffeine have started to slide from jokingly desperate to actually desperate.

his mother tsks and murmurs “poor thing” and virgil can practically see her plotting before his very eyes. you know what? not the worst thing in the world. patton could afford some motherly spoiling during his first christmas away from his family.

hadn’t that kind of been the intention when he’d asked patton and logan to join the family christmas, anyway?

and so his mother plots, and logan snoozes, and essie and annabelle snuggle, and freddie acts along, and patton sleeps.

and keeps sleeping.

the fact that danes’ and colicky logan keep quiet for as long as they do is a miracle. they ensue in furiously silent rock-paper-scissors matches to see whose movie of choice is played next, and when they do speak, it’s in whispers. and logan—honestly, virgil’s not sure if he’s ever been so quiet for such a long stretch of time in his whole life. he’s quiet during the grinch that stole christmas, and love actually, and it happened on fifth avenue, and he fusses a little during the santa clause, but it’s easily enough fixed. well. with his dad’s help.

but patton’s nap is starting to move into full day’s sleep by the time his dad is loading in home alone, and logan lets out a piteous wail, and patton starts awake, hand going to where logan was lying on his chest, and virgil quickly turns so that patton can see logan in his arms.

“oh, hey,” patton mumbles, reaches for logan, and gets to his feet. “hey, hey, hey, you feeling okay?”

“we changed him, earlier,” virgil says, and then patton seems to notice that the sun has set, and he startles again.

“i,” he says, and shakes himself. “sorry, virgil, i can’t remember where your bathroom is—?”

virgil points, and patton goes.

“after this one, i think it’ll be dinnertime,” his dad says thoughtfully.

“finally, i’m starving,” silas says. “did we have to delay it for so long?”

“don’t be mean, silas,” essie chides gently. “we’ve waited while you took naps.”

“yeah, when we were four,” silas says.

“silas matthew,” their father scolds wearily, and silas scowls, fixating his stare on the tv screen, effectively ignoring the rest of them. but he doesn’t shift away when essie nudges him, then puts a hand on his arm, as if to keep him on her left side, annabelle to her right.

well, essie’s always been able to get through to silas when none of them ever have. virgil guesses it’s the twin thing.

if silas stops being an asshole for one day, it’ll be a christmas miracle.

⁂

patton feels... fuzzy.

that’s the best way he knows how to put it, or, at least, it’s the best way he can come up with right now. he isn’t sure how long he’d slept—it had to have been hours—but such a huge amount of sleep at an unexpected time has patton feeling slow, and dazed, and stupid, but that that last bit isn’t too unusual.

the danes’ have kindly—what else is new, they’ve been nothing but kind—been politely quiet about how long it takes patton to catch up to their conversations, or understand their jokes, or tune in to their requests to pass coasters or if he wants a bite of the appetizers they’re snacking on as they wind down home alone.

patton’s claimed the floor. they’d tried to get him to stay on the loveseat, when he came back from feeding logan, but he’d refused. he’d monopolized it all day, and really, if he fell asleep again then patton would be kissing goodbye to any ragged semblance of a sleep schedule that he still had.

so patton’s on the floor, and mr. and mrs. danes have taken over the loveseat, with virgil beside him on the ground and annabelle in the armchair and wyatt examining freddie’s ankle flexibility, or something, on the couch, freddie peppering him with questions all the while.

essie and silas... huh. patton actually has no idea where essie and silas have got off to. last patton knew, essie had gone back to help silas make some adult-only drinks (”absolutely none for either of you!” meredith had said, clearly not aware of patton’s history with drinking adult drinks since he was about thirteen) about... well, half an hour ago, maybe, and they haven’t been back since.

it’s been easy to be distracted, though, because he’s pretty sure that mrs. danes’ favorite drink is apparently spiked eggnog, and she’s certainly had enough to show it, a pretty pink blush high in her pale cheeks. she’s leaning over, again, cooing softly at logan, who babbles gleefully and reaches for her understated, dully glinting jewelry.

“little hands,” she coos, poking him in the midst of his chubby little palms, and logan babbles, smiling, as she squishes her hands gently between her fingers.

“little feets! itty bitty baby feets!”

logan squeals as she squishes his feet much in the same way, kicking, and patton doesn’t even realize he’s beaming wide until meredith reaches over to gently squish his cheek between her fingers, too, in a move that’s so thoughtlessly, habitually maternal, so casual in its kindness and affection, it strikes patton dumb.

affection’s been hard to come by, for a lot of his life. affection gives without expectation or later price to pay has been even rarer, maybe even nonexistent. even after his time in sideshire, where it seems to overflow, it overwhelms him.

“and,” she says, turning her attention back to the baby, “a... little... noooose!”

logan proceeds making delightful baby noises, and even tries for a few claps of his hands, the way patton’s been showing him, and patton leans in to gently clap above him again, just to show him.

“yay, logan!” he cheers quietly. “yay! can you say yay?”

he knows it’s too early to except logan to talk, but really, yay isn’t that complicated of a word. it’s just one syllable, and really, logan’s babbling in semi-recognizable syllables now anyway.

“how about a laugh?” patton prods. “you’re so close, can i get a laugh?”

logan’s gotten so close to laughing, and he’s on track to laugh, even if it’d be early it’s not unheard of early, so maybe this’ll do it. he’d love it if he heard his son’s first laugh tonight.

he’s such a smart baby, patton thinks, swelling with pride. really, logan might just be the smartest baby that’s ever lived. he’s pretty sure that every parent thinks that, but really, patton’s pretty sure that he’s the right one here.

patton, so overcome by paternal happiness, sweeps logan up into his arms and waltzes his way to his feet, spinning, as he presses noisy kisses into logan’s cheeks, mwahmwahmwahmwahmwah! as logan shrieks and squeals and patton spins, so full of love for him, and—

and in the midst of his spin, he looks at just the right time, he glimpses a clear shot to virgil’s balcony.

well, it’s really too teeny to be a full balcony, like his balcony back at his parents’ house, so it’s really only enough space for two-ish people and a near-indestructible potted fern. it’s more of a mezzanine, or whatever the mini-version of a balcony is called.

and there are two people clustered together. silas, his arms wrapped around his stomach, and even in the low light and the distance patton can see that his face is achingly vulnerable, as he bows his head, and essie, equally obviously, empathetic, reaches out her hands to put on his shoulders, and patton just barely sees a snatch of essie pulling her brother into a hug, holding him tight, and that’s it, that’s all patton sees before he continues twirling with his son.

he doesn’t look again. it’s what he’d want, if he was silas. besides, that seems like a pretty private family thing.

⁂

patton’s sure he’s never had such a well-fed, delicious christmas eve in his life, and he hasn’t even eaten dinner yet .

everything looks absolutely mouthwatering—it’s the traditional kind of christmas day meal that he usually has at his parents’, turkey and mashed potatoes and rolls and that kind of thing, except the danes version has clear deviations: green bean casserole, which he’s never had, he doesn’t think, sweet potato casserole with brown sugar and pecans on top, fresh cranberry sauce instead of canned, homemade gravy instead of store-bought, corn made off the cob instead of canned.

they’d dragged together some tables in the diner rather than attempt to engineer virgil’s tiny table to get nine people (plus a baby) to fit, so they're all seated beside the christmas tree. he’s got his back to the doorway leading to virgil’s apartment, so he’d be able to steal away and tend to logan faster without disturbing anyone, if logan needed it, and he probably would. he’d been so quiet when patton had napped, he’s sure that his schedule’s gotten pretty messed up, too. logan is parked in the carrier, on a booth table, clearly visible to everyone at the table.

well, really, it's mostly for patton's benefit, he's pretty sure, because once he looks away from his son to start paying attention to the conversations around him, he looks back right in time to see meredith looking at him knowingly.

patton smiles, sheepishly, and she nods, as if to say i get it. well, she's had five kids. she probably gets it more than he does. actually, she definitely gets it more than he does. patton's absolutely clueless.

but before either of them can say anything, mark gently taps a spoon against his plastic cup—it doesn't provide as clear a ting-ting-ting as the crystal-cut glasses his parents would use—and everyone quiets down.

mark lifts his cup.

"another year gone," he says. "it's been wonderful to see you all in town again. now that we're all getting older, it hits me each and every year how precious this time is. of course, i'm proud of you— all of you—are going out there and making your own life, but i can't help but think about how bittersweet it is that family time is getting fewer and far between."

"aw, dad," freddie mumbles.

" but, " mark continues. "again. i am very proud. of all of you."

he meets eyes with everyone at the table, and, after he's inclined his head ever so slightly at patton, patton stares down at his empty plate.

not you, he scolds himself. of course he's not proud of you, he's barely known you for six days and honestly, what have you done to make anyone proud of you?

it doesn't stop the rebellious little flare of warmth that he feels, though.

"the past few days have been wonderful. i have cherished this time together. i love being your dad—" annabelle looks choked up—"whether you're with me or if you're out making your own life. so," he says, and lifts a glass. "i'll keep the sappy stuff short, as we have this fantastic meal laid out before us. so. merry christmas and a happy new year, everyone."

"merry christmas," everyone rumbles, lifting their glass, and patton belatedly does so too. mark lifts up the platter of cut turkey, and meredith helps herself, before doing the same for him, and the passing of food begins.

patton's plate just about overflows.

"you know you can get seconds," virgil says to him an undertone, amused, and patton flushes as he attempts to stack his rolls back from where they've toppled off his plate.

"everything looks so good," he says defensively.

"again," virgil says, who really has no room to talk, his food's about to spill over the edges of his plate too, "seconds."

patton decides to do the mature thing: he sticks out his tongue at virgil, shoves one of his rolls into his mouth practically whole, and then tries not to choke on his overlarge mouthful.

virgil stifles his laughter into his glass of wine.

patton's right to have so much on his plate, because everything is amazing. patton's world full of fiddly food, more about the aesthetic and the finery than the actual taste, would have never dreamed of having food like this, but honestly, everyone might have been a bit more cheerful if they'd stooped to eating food that was prepared in a diner.

if he'd had these warm, fluffy dinner rolls. if he'd had the fragrant, fruity, frankly yummy fresh cranberry sauce he gets to smear over his rolls. if he'd had these buttery, yummy mashed potatoes with a pool of gravy that he can soak up with his bread. if he'd had the opportunity to try green bean casserole with the crumbly little french onion bits on top. if he'd had sweet potato casserole, which patton goes back for seconds before he's even finished his first serving. if he'd had this moist, good turkey, rather than the tradition of his father having first carve and then it being ferried away for the servants to do the actual carving.

if he'd had people who, even as they gently teased him about taking more food, loaded more on his plate when he was looking away, if he'd had people who were earnest about wanting to know what he'd thought, if he'd had people who were as welcoming of him being the way he is, if he'd had people who were less critical and more accepting, then maybe he would...

patton firmly redirects his thoughts. i'm deciding after christmas. after christmas. pay attention to what's happening now.

and, in what patton's starting to think is typical of danes style, there's a lot to pay attention to; granted, there aren't a ton of conversations happening because of the spectacular, delicious food, but there are still a couple peppering the table that jump freely from topic to topic. there's also a lot of wordless gestures for certain foods (the rolls make quite a few rotations around the table) and salt and pepper and so on, and every once in a while someone will get up to refill their drink and will be met with a flurry of requests, but for the most part, it's... quiet. easy.

warm, patton thinks. it's warm. not just temperature-wise—it is nice and toasty in the diner—but it's warm in the sense of how the danes' interact with each other. there are a lot of smiles and compliments on the food and conversation, and... and at this point on a typical holiday, patton's shoulders would be tensed up, waiting for some kind of comment, except he's never made it this far into the holiday without that kind of comment and stop stop stop.

there is one thing, without fail, that makes patton feel better. so patton gets to his feet and shuffles over to check on logan, who looks close to falling asleep, pacifier solidly in his mouth, and patton reaches out to run a thumb gently down his cheek.

"you okay?" he asks him softly, and logan blinks at him slowly once, twice, and patton feels the corner of his lip quirk up.

"yeah, you're okay," he says, in the same soft tone, relieved. and you will be okay, i promise. no matter what happens, i'll make sure you're okay.

"is he good?" comes from behind him, making patton jump. he turns back to virgil, who's looking at him quizzically, still seated at the table.

"yeah, he's good," patton says, and smiles wryly at him. "i mean, no telling how long it'll last, but—"

"yeah, he's good," virgil says, and cocks his head. "he looks ready to fall asleep, doesn't he?"

"yeah," patton says, and takes a breath. he'd been right, seeing logan does make him feel better. "i should probably leave him to it."

"he'll need you, soon enough," virgil says, so patton goes and sits back down at his spot at the table.

it has calmed him down—it's like just taking a second with logan has provided the same effect of a whole, calming day at his parents', not just a few seconds.

so patton throws himself back into the conversation, and keeps glancing over at logan, who even offers him a wave or a noise every once in a while, and it feels... right. it just feels right .

#my post #text #the sideshire files #my fic #my fanfic #sanders sides #love light gleams

9 notes · View notes