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redrebecca · 2 years

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Hawkins Heat & Hypocrites

NO VOL 2 SPOILERS - TAKES PLACE BETWEEN SEASON 3 AND 4

Summary: Its hot in Hawkins and Steve really, really loves you

Word count: 2.8k

A/N: The first fic I've completed in about 2 years and the first one I've written for Steve! I hope you like it :)

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Family video on a Tuesday, a few minutes past one o’clock, in the height of a characteristically hot, humid and sweaty Hawkins summer is understandably not bustling with customers. In fact, not a single customer had entered the store in two hours - the chime of the bell above the door remaining thankfully silent. The usual chatter from Robin was also absent from the heavy air after she had retired to the back room half an hour prior, grumbling and groaning about sore arms, sweat stains and too many tapes to re-shelve.

Family video was deserted, it may as well have been closed.

According to Steve Harrington.

Steve Harrington, who had you perched on the counter, short clad legs spread wide enough for him to slot comfortably between as he pressed doting kisses to your neck, jaw and cheeks, his fingers trailing lightly up and down your thigh and his other hand gentle but firm where it rested under your top, slightly above your hip.

Steve Harrington, who would never admit that he may have been slightly biased.

“Steve you can’t just close the store”

The hand on your hip gave a gentle squeeze as he reluctantly pulled back to look at you, eyes soft whilst harbouring their usual amount of mirth.

“Sure I can, I did it last night. It’s simple really all I have to do is walk up to the door, flip the sign and-“

The corners of his mouth tug upwards when you groan at his antics. He hides his fast approaching grin by returning to his previous position, dragging his nose along the line of your throat, his lips kissing wherever they land despite your previous concerns over the damp layer of sweat and sun cream that had formed on your skin, a gift from the relentless Hawkins heat. Steve had made it very clear he couldn’t care less. A suggestive comment had been made, referencing the many times you’ve broken into a sweat in his company, in his bed to be more specific, with the sole purpose of trying to fluster you. It worked, you rolled your eyes but he hadn’t missed your bashful smile as you tried to turn away. Before you had a chance to fully hide from him he’d cupped your jaw in his hand, ducking down to tell you, “I’ll still have you, slimy or not” before quickly covering your lips with his to quiet your affronted protests.

That's how you ended up in your current position, the skin of your legs sticking uncomfortably to the cold countertop, your boyfriend caging you in.

“No, idiot. I know that you can physically close the store I just mean that you can’t close it now”

“Oh yeah? Says who?”

His words were slightly muffled by your skin, his palms warm and heavy on your hip and thigh and Steve delighted in your small shudder as the tip of his nose brushed over that spot just behind your ear. Much to his enjoyment, you inhaled sharply and swallowed before answering.

“Keith. Probably some of the family video heavy weights too”

“Family video heavy weights”

Steve’s voice was dripping with a combination of amusement and fondness, igniting a familiar heat in your chest. You scratch lightly at the hairs at the back of his neck, squeeze him a bit tighter between your legs.

“You heard me”

“Always do, sweetheart”

There’s a pause in conversation as he continues his loving ministrations, each kiss becoming more and more searing - hot enough to rival the blazing sun. The beams of golden sunlight catch the tendrils of his hair between your gentle fingers, hints of chestnut shining amongst his darker hair.

“I know what you’re doing”

“Oh really?”

As his teeth graze at your neck, you can only hum in agreement knowing a normal-sounding spoken response would be near impossible and the boy does not need any encouragement.

“And what is it that I’m doing?”

When he pulls back and tucks a stray hair behind your ear, fingers trailing along your cheekbone as his eyes follow, you blink. Hard. Hopefully hard enough to tether you back to the front desk at Family video.

“You’re trying to butter me up so I let you close early”

“You’re insane”

“You’re transparent”

He scoffs but doesn’t deny it.

“All I’m saying is we could be at my place in a half hour, I wouldn’t have to wear a vest.. or much, y’know with the heat and all. And, I changed my bedding yesterday. Fresh sheets”

He wiggled his eyebrows and squeezed your hip.

“It’s too hot for that, Steve. I’m not getting heat stroke because you can’t keep it in your pants for a full shift”

He scrunches his face up at that.

“That’s not what this is I- that makes me sound like a creep”

“It’s not happening, Harrington”

He sighs. You think he’s dropped it. You should know better.

“I have AC”

“Great, answer’s still no”

His eyebrows raise

“I have a pool”

Now it's your turn to scrunch your face up.

“The pool where the kids swim? Really, Steve?”

Far too late, you catch the innuendo you’ve let slip. Steve, despite his age, grins. Trying to claw back a bit of control and add some reasoning to your refusal, you continue.

“It’s hot out, the lunch club knows no boundaries. I’m not scarring a group of innocent little teens because of you, hotshot”

“I don’t think they’re that innocent”

You shake your head in frustration, because out of all of your argument that’s his takeaway?

“Steve”

His facial expression morphs into one of exasperation as he defends himself.

“I’m just saying the other week when I was dropping them off I couldn’t look out of my rear view mirror for ten minutes because every time I did, all I saw was El and Mike making out. Ten whole minutes, babe. If you don’t believe me, ask Henderson”

“Dustin was there? Did he not get them to stop? He threw a shoe at you that one time”

He nods, briefly flinching at the memory of when the curly headed boy had hurled his shoe at Steve because he was ‘sucking face’, your face to be specific, in his eyeline which, in the Henderson rule book, is apparently punishable with a shoe to the head. Followed by a lot of high pitched screeching.

“He thought the phone call with Suzie-poo the night before was a more pressing matter”

“Was it?”

“Apparently they’d broken their record for the longest ‘you hang up, no you hang up’”

You snort and despite his previous exasperation, he lets out an amused huff of laughter. Chocolate coloured eyes remain on your face, your soft grin and the way your eyelashes brush against the top of your cheek when you blink. He wants you. He always does, but especially now. So, he prepares his final proposal to get you into his car and back to his house.

“I can lock the gate?”

“We both know that a lock won’t stop Dustin Henderson”

Steve nods begrudgingly and mumbles “Shit head” in agreement. He deflates as his last chance is ripped in front of him all because of a kid that can’t keep his nose out of other people's business, his forehead coming to rest against yours. His hair tickles at your temple but you don’t want to move.

“And anyway, in your family pool? Have a bit of class, Harrington”

And just like that, Steve splutters back to life.

“Class? That’s rich coming from someone who’s been all over me for the past half hour”

You watch him, entirely amused by his theatrics. He’s looking around the store as if to find out where you’d lost your critical thinking ability. However his futile search screeches to a halt when his eyes lock on yours and your giddy smile is returned tenfold. His hand on your hip subconsciously moves higher and squeezes again. You can’t bring yourself to care that you’re grinning like a love sick idiot.

That is, as always, before Steve opens his mouth.

“You know what you are? A hypocrite”

A startled laugh leaves you. Where this accusation has come from, you’re not entirely sure, but you know from the look on his face you’ll find out soon. So for now all you can do is enjoy the moments of silence before he no doubt continues to spout ridiculous allegations.

“You’re groping me at family video of all places and lecturing me about class? Unbelievable, I should kick you out”

“Groping?”

Maybe your voice is higher than usual, but Steve’s rises to reach it, echoing your previous words.

“You heard me”

“Whose hand is under whose shirt?”

You have him there, hook, line and sinker. Steve knows this, but the logical path is not one he tends to follow in your conversations - hence the hypocrite and groping accusations. He doesn’t move his hand.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about”

A pause and a cheeky grin.

Your fingers still in his hair in anticipation for what he’s going to say

“Hypocrite”

He belly laughs as you shove him away from you and jump off the counter. It’s a laugh that’s present in all of your best memories, a familiar sound that always has your heart racing and cheeks burning from smiling too hard for too long. One you would go to great extents for, on nights where the horrors of what you’ve experienced catch up to both of you. The laugh you miss so deeply when those aforementioned horrors appear, a seemingly unending cycle that you can only pray you’ve seen the end of.

Your grin falters and your laugh fades with it.

“Hey”

When you look up, he’s staring at you. His eyes hold the warmth you’ve become so familiar with, but it’s not right. His eyes linger too long, trail across your face one too many times - he’s worried. Immediately, you’re struck with how well he knows you, how he can read the smallest, almost indistinguishable changes in your facial expressions and body language. He’s done it before, he’ll do it again, but the fact that someone loves you so deeply, that Steve Harrington loves you so deeply, is a feeling you will always be stumped by and will always cherish.

“C’mere”

You flash him a playful glare and try to ignore how his shoulders sag slightly in relief or else you’ll run into arms, sob and then maybe later he would have to have you removed from the premises for getting handsy with him in a Family video store.

“Get lost, Harrington”

He grins, hands raised in surrender.

“I won’t try anything I swear, just… can I?”

Maybe you nod your head too quickly, but when Steve Harrington asks nicely with his tone slightly softer than usual, you’re not sure if there’s anything he could ask for that you would say no to. Except from the swimming pool plan because in full seriousness, Dustin Henderson has never been stopped by a lock. And you dread to imagine what he would throw at Steve this time.

You step forward into his waiting arms as he reaches for your necklace, fingers brushing your collar bone as he repositions it around your neck. It doesn’t take long for you to understand what he’s doing, it takes a second longer for you to understand why he’s doing it. But when you realise you feel stupid - the answer is glaringly obvious.

Because he’s Steve.

And you’ve struck gold.

“The clasp was at the front”

He explains it simply, as if he hasn’t left you reeling over such a small gesture. But maybe that’s the beauty of it, he gives so much and so often without realising, without expecting anything in return.

“And whose fault was that?”

The easy grin is back on his face. He takes your wrists into his hands without a second thought, his hands sliding up your arms to hold onto your shoulders, thumbs stroking over exposed skin before they trail back down to intertwine his fingers with yours.

“I was cajoled”

“Sure you were, Stevie”

He lights up at the nickname, the one he claims to hate.

Hypocrite, you think.

Steve’s eyes drift down to your necklace again and suddenly he’s looking all too smug.

“It’s a nice necklace”

You can’t even deny it. He’d bought you it for your last birthday, completely off his own back without any input from you. You’ve worn it every day since, something Steve has noticed but never mentioned, deciding to be quietly proud instead of rubbing it in everyone’s faces despite how much he wants to.

Hell, even Robin was speechless.

“So what did dingus get you?” She’d asked lounging on one of Steve’s couches, a slice of birthday cake in hand and a party hat placed haphazardly on her head. You gestured to your neck and watched as she nodded, approving.

“I’m surprised you remembered which one she wanted”

“Fuck off, Buckley. I picked it out myself”

The girl was stunned, the cake nearly dropped right out of her slackening fingers. She shuffled even closer to you to get a better look, growing even more shocked and, much to her surprise, impressed with Steve.

“Holy shit, Steve”

Meanwhile Max still refused to believe that Steve had actually chosen it.

“It’s a really nice necklace”

Using his hold on your hands he pulls you into him, his hands wrapping around your back as you tuck your face into his shoulder. The name badge attached to his vest presses into you but you don’t care. It’s a small discomfort you quickly forget about as his broad, heavy hands hold you close.

“I wear it everyday”

Steve hugs you even tighter to him, you clutch him even tighter to you.

“I know”

You feel the soft press of a kiss to the top of your head and sigh at the feeling of his hands slowly moving across your back, then to your shoulder, up the back of your neck before your head is gently tilted back. You close your eyes as he pecks your lips. Once, twice, three times before he deepens the kiss, your hands grabbing at his sides as his hands remain sure and unwavering on your cheek and at the back of your neck. It’s hard to think straight when he’s crowding every one of your senses, that’s why it takes you a few seconds to remember where you are. Maybe you allow yourself to indulge in his kisses and caresses for a moment longer, but you enjoy it and you’re certain Steve does too.

“Steve”

He barely pulls away, lips smearing against yours as he speaks.

“That’s it, say my name babe”

“Steven”

He makes a displeased noise.

“Not quite”

Before he can slot his lips against yours, you put a firm hand on his chest. He gets the message and reluctantly stops, moving a hand to rest on the arm between you. His short fingernails scratch lightly up and down the expanse of skin, goosebumps shortly following after.

“Can I stay at yours tonight?”

His nod is quick and hurried.

“Of course you can. Just uh,”

His eyes remain on your arm where your skin is still covered with goosebumps, the corners of his mouth raise and as much as you hate yourself for it, yours do too.

“Don’t forget to bring your swimsuit. Or do forget, I’m sure we’ll find a way around it”

Your bubbly laugh contradicts the eye roll his comment receives and the warmth in your chest is now joined by the giddiness in the pit of your stomach. You shake your head, traitorous bursts of laughter still leaving your lips.

“I’m not coming for whatever you have planned in the swimming pool, Harrington”

“No? What are you coming for then?”

You grin and shrug your shoulders with an air of faux nonchalance.

“You have AC”

Steve’s laughter fills the silent store, the best a Family video has ever sounded in your humble opinion. Your laughter is quick to follow, spurred on by his happiness and his hand that is still on your arm, keeping you close to him. You’re overcome by love, adoration and Steve, and you can’t get your eyes to leave his face. The laughter from your end fades as you continue to gaze at him with an overwhelming amount of fondness and endearment.

He can’t help but notice, suddenly turning sheepish under your unwavering attention.

“What?”

A smitten smile, full of emotion.

“I really love your laugh”

Usually he would joke or tease, but you look absolutely besotted and Steve knows he’s got the same look in his eyes. Also, most importantly, he loves you. He really, really loves you.

“That’s strange, I really love yours too”

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fan fic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things x reader

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yourtamaki · 2 years

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monster trio + stroke game

luffy fucks you with all the frantic, joyful energy he puts into all aspects of his life. he beams at you, all bright and toothy, as his blunt head pops in and your cunt sucks him in like it’s missed him almost as much as he’s missed it. his pace is manic from the start but it’s only because he loves you so much and he doesn’t want you to wait even a second longer than you have to before your pleasure comes crashing down on you in waves, sweeping you under the current as luffy pushes your thighs to your chest so he can be as deep and as close as possible. his rhythm is all over the place, hips jerking and stuttering at times, jackrabbiting while you babble his name. but even for how mindless it may seem, luffy is intensely aware of your body language. he knows the exact pitch you make when you want him to slow down, knows that when your nails dig into his biceps it means you’re about to make a mess all over him. he’s always adjusting based on the cues you’re giving him and it leaves you a sweaty, dazed mess beneath him, exactly the way he likes.

zoro always fucks you like it’s the last time you’ll ever let him touch you. he’s as greedy as he generous, a tightrope balance that keeps you breathless and unsure of what’s coming next. it’s just as likely that he’ll manhandle you onto all fours, ass high in the air to rut against you than it is that he’ll kiss your ankle while your legs are on his shoulders and his cock is abusing that wonderful spot inside you. zoro himself is never sure which way he’ll go. the ever-present hunger inside him can never decide if it wants to take and take and take from you until you forget your own name or if it’d rather drown you in pleasure so vast and deep you lose yourself entirely. either way, zoro will make sure you end up pretty and dumb on his cock, the way you’re meant to be. his pace is maddeningly steady through it all, a toe-curling rhythm that lights every nerve on fire. no amount of crying and begging and bucking your hips up into his can change that. zoro wants this to last, wants to steal every moment he can just in case he never gets to experience this bliss again.

sanji is incredibly thoughtful when it comes to you, especially where your pleasure is concerned. unlike luffy who moves with pure instinct, sanji can make you fall apart on his cock because he’s learned how to. every touch is purposeful, aim true and backed by all the time he’s spent worshipping your body and figuring out exactly what makes you tick. trial and error have guided him here, your thighs hiked around his waist and a pillow shoved under your hips so he can watch your fucked-out face nice and close as he explores familiar territory and finds the spot that has you crying like an angel for him. the thumb that rubs circles around your clit is timed with every thrust, just the way he knows you like it. sanji has perfected the art of turning his body into a conduit for your pleasure and he can’t fathom having it any other way. because it’s only when you’re drooling and your eyes turn glassy, when your mind’s been emptied of everything but his name, it’s only then that sanji allows himself to duck his head into the crook of your shoulder and cum, the knowledge that he’s satisfied you better than anyone ever has or ever will hurtling him over the edge.

#luffy smut #zoro smut #sanji smut #one piece smut #one piece x reader #luffy x reader #zoro x reader #sanji x reader #i'm so sick of seeing this in my drafts LMAO

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pookie-and-cereal · 11 months

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PROMPTS OF ALL PROMPTS (Part I)

Fluffy Dialogue Sentence Starters

Warning ⚠️ there’s some mild intamcy at the end

"Is that my shirt?"

"Your cheeks are so cute!"

"Could you hold my hand? It’s for research purposes"

"Your hand is so small/big"

"You smell nice"

"I love you" "You mean it?" "Of course darling, you mean the world to me"

"Can I brush your hair?"

"Could you maybe— help zip up my dress/shirt?"

"I hate the summer! I’m so hot!" "You are— er— it is hot…"

"Don’t forget your coat, it’s cold outside"

"I love the way your hand feels on mine"

"You know you love me~"

"I got this pre ordered just for you"

"You look lovely darling"

"Why are you upset?" "You didn’t give me a kiss" "oh? Then, how about I fulfil that request right now?"

"Why are you looking at me like that?" "You— You just look so amazing, and I look as if I’ve underdressed"

"If I knew you were an amazing kisser, I would’ve asked you out sooner"

"Like it?" "Like it? I love it!"

"Have you been taking my favorite shirts?!" "Uhm. Maybe?"

"Allow me"

"You are just so fine!"

"May I have this first dance?"

"Could you please let me make the first move! Just this once?"

"Oh! Uh— you like the way I kiss you?!"

Drunk Dialogue Sentence Starters

"Well, hello beautiful~"

"Could youuu hold myy duck?" "Do you mean glass—?" "Yes yes, of course, have another glass"

"Get off of me, you reek of alcohol"

"Was your voice alway this angelic?"

"Wanna hear a joke?" "No" "Who’s there?" "What?" "You’re supposed to sayyy knock knock!" "That’s not how it goes!"

"NoOoOoOo! Give me back my glass! I won fair and square!"

"I can handle my liquor" 2 minutes later "Why does my hand taste like chocolateee?"

"You look lonleyyyy~" "Mhm, and I prefer it that way"

"Pour me another glass, Sherman" "No, you’re too drunk! And for GODS SAKE MY NAME’S [ych]!"

I know there aren’t a lot for this prompt, but bare with me 🤡

Confession Dialogue Sentence Starters

"Why are you doing this?" "Because I love you"

"We can’t stay friends, because my feelings for you— they keep growing every single day"

"STOP BEING SO GODDMAN CUTE!" "You think I’m cute—?!" "Goddammit, me and my big mouth"

"Please kiss me," "what—?" "You heard me"

"Will you go out with me?"

"You’re gorgeous"

"Be mine?"

"I know we just did that to make my ex jealous, but uh, hehe, I’ve fallen for you. Literally"

"If you go out with me, I’ll do my best to make every wish of yours come true"

"Go out with me" "for a hundred bucks" *pulls out a hundred bucks*

"Let’s stop pretending we don’t have feelings for each other"

Nsfw Dialogue Sentence Prompts

"You know I like it when you’re on your knees"

"Either I join you, or I watch you"

"We shouldn’t be doing this! Especially since—" "Shh, we’re going to get caught, I suggest you keep those moans inside"

"Stop biting your lip, that’s my role"

"I’ll give you the best night ever, if you make me feel good"

"Were you— touching yourself just now?"

"Once I’m done with you, you won’t even be able to walk tomorrow"

"I’m going to make you forget [name]"

"You like that? Good, now put on a show"

"I can hear your moans from inside the bathroom"

"Awe, I guess you’re really cute when you’re senseless"

"Stop! Please," "Please, what? Please you, prince/princess/your highness?"

"If you keep making those fake moans, In just about a minute we’re going to hear some real ones"

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lookismfanfics · 11 months

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Hii! Hope you're doing okay. May I request some of the characters accidentally hitting their calm maleReader instead of the enemy and now he's getting a huge bruise on where they hit him? thx u

Idk how many characters I'm allowed to choose so I'm just gonna name a few and you can pick..? 😅

Jake / Vasco / Zack / Jace / Vin Jin / Warren / Megumi / Goo

“𝐌𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐝!”

Warnings: Mentions of violence, fluff, not really fluff though, cursing, mentions of balls.

Jake • Vasco • Zack • Jace • Vin • Warren • Megumi • Goo

Hey anon! I’m doing good, thanks for asking! ♡︎ I decided to do everyone you requested because yes 😩 I also changed it up a little with the “enemy” part. Some of them are petty interactions, and others are full-fledged brawls lol.

𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞

𝟑𝐫𝐝 𝐏𝐎𝐕 ✧ He was focusing a little too hard.

✧ The same mantra kept echoing in Jake’s mind, urging him on: “keep fighting.”

✧ He was just a little caught up in everything, that’s all—

✧ He was absorbed in hearing the definitive crack of his opponents nose, feeling the warm spew of blood that followed a hit to the ribs, seeing the trail of bodies that followed his path

✧ These suckers were really something. There were so many of them, and they had been harassing this area for long enough

✧ Jake had called out to Jerry to ask “Where is he?” But hadn’t gotten a response

✧ Then there’s a rustle behind him

✧ A sneak attack.

✧ Instincts go: 📈

✧ He whips around, just barely seeing the glint of purpose in his opponents eyes

✧ “Jake!”

✧ He feels the warm contact of hitting a cheek. But Jake isn’t stupid and realizes his fatal error

✧ I mean… who would’ve guessed that the opponent would duck?

✧ “Sorry (Y/N)! Where’ve you been-?” He pants

✧ Honestly Jake has never been more ashamed. He did hit him, didn’t he?

✧ (Y/N) doesn’t seem fazed, he just keeps up whatever he was doing. “It’s fine… I’ve just been around.”

✧ The man is hardly panting… damn you (Y/N). You’re attractive even when you aren’t trying…

✧ (That’s what Jake thinks anyways)

𝟐𝐧𝐝 𝐏𝐎𝐕 ✧ As soon as the fight is over, Jake runs.

✧ His dress shoes slam against what bare concrete is left, avoiding the piles of unconscious and semi-conscious bodies.

✧ He tries not to panic. He has to play it cool, and not throw a fit.

✧ Eventually, he finds you talking to Brad, nursing your busted fists with your back to him. Jake let’s out a sigh, “Pretty nasty hit you took there.”

✧ A playful smile toys at his lips as he observes you. You turn to him, seemingly unscathed, nodding with a small smile, “Uh, yeah. Nice punch Boss.”

✧ He tries not to let the use of formalities affect him too much. (Inwardly wounded)

✧ “Are you sure you’re okay?” He asks, this time with a note of concern.

✧ “He thinks he has a concussion, boss,” Brad interrupts, just the hint of a smile intermingled with his serious tone.

✧ You ignore Jake’s slacked jaw and bewildered look, eyeing Brad tiredly, “So much for keeping a secret.”

✧ “You shouldn’t keep secrets from the boss- or your boyfr—”

✧ “(Y/N),” Jake drags his finger beneath your chin, prompting you to turn to him. “Is that tr…ue?”

✧ It’s not the thought of a concussion that made Jake stop.

✧ It’s…

✧ 😰

✧ “Your cheek… is this the one I hit?”

✧ You nod.

✧ “Well uh~ not to worry you but… it’s bruising just a little~” “It’s fine Jake-”

✧ Apparently he didn’t think it was “fine”.

✧ Jakes brows furrow together as he examines you. With the way his eyes darken and his smiles fades, He looks beyond apologetic; it’s as if guilt seeps into his every movement.

✧ “You don’t have to worry about it,” you smile. There’s not even the slightest hint of anxiety in your voice, but it does nothing to reassure Number One of Big Deal.

✧ “Yeah but you know I will,” he smirks half-heartedly, quickly reverting back to his worried face.

✧ He’s never letting it go. Every time he sees the splotch of that massive dark bruise, he feels the urge to apologize.

✧ It’s beyond an inside joke too.

✧ Anyone brings it up jokingly, and his head sags and a shadow runs across his face.

✧ “Sorry about that (Y/N).”

✧ “Jake, it healed months ago.”

𝐕𝐚𝐬𝐜𝐨

𝟑𝐫𝐝 𝐏𝐎𝐕 ✧ Fights like these were becoming more often.

✧ Vasco was adjusting to the oncoming rush of bad guys. He was confident in his abilities. Sure of himself; he was bound to crush them all.

✧ But…

✧ “(Y/N)? Are you alright?”

✧ His dark eyes scan the battlefield of boys swinging at each other, searching for one man in particular.

✧ He catches him in his sight. (Y/N).

✧ “Are you almost done—” “Euntae, focus.”

✧ The tone of his voice sends a chill down Vasco’s spine.

✧ The cogs in his brain stop working for a second as he continues fighting on autopilot. He wants to keep an eye on (Y/N). He doesn’t want to loose sight of him.

✧ Vasco feels a harsh smack to his ribs, knocking the wind out of him. What was that? His instincts heighten as his body reacts frantically.

✧ He turns to the guy fighting him, readying one of numerous forbidden moves just for him.

✧ Once he sends the guy flying it’s back to looking for (Y/N)-

✧ “Euntae-!”

✧ Smack.

𝟐𝐧𝐝 𝐏𝐎𝐕

✧ “(Y/N)?! (Y/N) are you okay!? Please wake up!”

✧ Vasco was reduced to a sobbing mess.

✧ You open your eyes, staring at his red face damp with tears. It’s an odd sight- especially since you only fell down a couple of seconds ago.

✧ “Yeah Vasco… I’m fine,” you offer a small smile. Even if it does hurt, you know making a big deal out of nothing would be problematic.

✧ You act calm. Chill. Even a little nonchalant.

✧ Vasco remains crouched on the ground while you dust off your pants, glancing around the parking lot littered with bloodied “bad guys.”

✧ “You’re positive that you’re alright?” He asks slowly, staring at you with concern.

✧ “Yeah. It’ll probably form a bruise at the most,” you reply. You touch your chest, seemingly unfazed.

✧ You feel awful for lying to him. Your chest feels like it’s on fire. It’s sore and laborious to breathe… but you won’t tell him that.

✧ “Sorry.” Vasco says simply.

✧ No one brings it up until you’re undressing at the Burn Knuckles base.

✧ Everyone is slipping out of their jumpsuits and into more comfortable, casual clothes. It smells sweaty and feels humid… but somehow Leon always manages to steal the bathroom before anyone else. (Thankfully)

✧ You listen quietly, offering smiles as Vasco retells a story about him and Jace, obviously awaiting your reaction.

✧ He doesn’t intentionally flaunt his muscles in front of you… but sometimes it seems that way. That’s partially why you like to keep most of your clothes on around him- so he doesn’t start comparing. 😳

✧ “That’s funny~” you reply to one of his stares that begged for your approval. You lift your shirt off over your shoulders, slinging it around your neck as you grab a fresh one.

✧ The room: … You: … You: 🫥

✧ “…What?”

✧ Vasco’s eyes start to gloss over as he frantically grabs your shoulders, examining your bare chest.

✧ “(Y/N)… who hit you?” “I’m sure lots of people did…”

✧ Vasco shakes his head, rubbing his hand across the massive dark splotch that stains your skin. The discolored purple and red resembles a fist… but it doesn’t seem to click to him.

✧ If he means right there… then…. “Probably you.”

✧ You smirk, shaking your head as Vasco stares at you in horror. The bruise doesn’t really bother you- you’re covered in them after today anyway.

✧ Of course you handle his outbursts calmly… reassuring him that you’re not angry.

✧ But he continues, eyes scanning over you for any more bruises that he might’ve given you. “I’m sorry (Y/N)… I didn’t mean for that to happen…”

✧ Vasco: 🥺😰

✧ He apologizes a million times, often quietly and at random. ✧ No- he will not forgive himself.

✧ Yes… he forgets about it for a few weeks before remembering and apologizing all over again.

✧ Jace and the rest of the Burn Knuckles make sure to not ever bring it up again. You also are forced to wear some form of padding under your shirt whenever you get into a fight.

𝐙𝐚𝐜𝐤

✧ Zack isn’t gonna deny it. That guy is getting on his nerves.

✧ This was supposed to be a hang out with him and (Y/N). They were gonna chill and head to the movies. Maybe do some karaoke later.

✧ Just the two of them. Not even Mira was tagging along today.

✧ But then this guy showed up.

✧ Zack feels himself growing more agitated by the minute. He grits his teeth and looks in the opposite direction, willing himself to calm down.

✧ (Y/N) and him are on a park bench… and this idiot decides to stand behind them and catcall.

✧ “You work out bro~?”

✧ Zack is literally seething. (Y/N) has to put his hand on Zack’s leg to keep him from springing up.

✧ “Do you mind reading between the lines?” (Y/N) asks, flashing his three middle fingers before turning to Zack.

✧ “Wanna go to the theatre early? We could walk around-” he whispers, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie.

✧ Zack is still irked. His brows are knitted together tightly, but he simply shrugs and nods: “Whatever. Let’s just get away from this dunce.”

✧ The dunce, however, seems to really like being annoying. “Can I tag along with you two-?”

✧ “F*ck off,” Zack glares. He starts walking ahead, curling his hands into fists but keeping them shoved firmly in the corners of his pockets.

✧ He keeps his gaze trailed on the ground, trying to cool off. He’d hate to ruin this hang out with (Y/N) even more. So he’ll play it cool and be the bigger man- like Mira tells him to be. It’s hotter that way. ((Y/N) will think so too, right?)

✧ The smirk that spread across his lips disappears in a matter of moments.

✧ “Nice ass-!” The creep calls.

✧ And that’s it. The final straw.

✧ Zack is going for a straight jab. He’d be caught dead before he let someone get away catcalling (Y/N) of all people-

✧ He turns and slams his fist, making direct contact. He can hear the definitive clack of teeth, he watches as he stumbles backwards.

✧ But Zack realizes what he’s done…

✧ “S-Sh*t (Y/N)! What were you doing there-?” (Y/N) nurses his jaw tenderly, glaring. He sighs and turns to the guy, telling him to ‘beat it.’

✧ Zack moves to cup (Y/N)’s cheek, looking frantic. He mumbles ‘idiot’ over and over… but more to himself than anyone.

✧ He knows he’s screwed up big time. He’s insistent on helping (Y/N) walk… even though he isn’t dizzy and he claims his cheek isn’t sore.

✧ He tries to forget about it as they watch the movie… but he can’t. As soon as the lights in the cinema flicker on he scans (Y/N) for any bruising.

✧ “I can’t believe it’s so big…” “I already told you it’s fine.” “But- argh I should beat that guy to a pulp- you sure you’re okay?” “Yeah I’m sure, Zack.”

✧ He’s apologetic- but still an angry boy at heart.

𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐞

✧ In his defense- Jace is usually pretty good about “self control” and everything.

✧ He’s also pretty good about it reading the atmosphere. He can tell when the mood has turned sour or hostile.

✧ He’s able to “let it go” when there’s a petty misunderstanding. Most of the time.

✧ But today this one guy (Duri…?) is killing him.

✧ He’s been a nuisance for a few weeks now… but The Burn Knuckles never had the heart to tell him off. Even (Y/N) was pretty chill about the guy- and he was usually more fiery than Jace.

✧ But as of right now, Jace stands idly with Woong and (Y/N), listening to whatever BS that guy, Duri Lee, is spewing out.

✧ Woong and (Y/N) are listening boredly as the one-sided conversation turns from childish comparisons to full-fledged insults.

✧ Duri wraps his arm around (Y/N)’s shoulder, despite (Y/N) having shrugged him off twice already.

✧ Jace feels awful. He reminds himself of how jealous Johan was back during the One Night scandal. It’s embarrassing knowing that he’s feeling jealousy about… this.

✧ He’s not a jealous person… but Duri really gets on his nerves. If he keeps up his stupid act, his stupidity might spread to Jace… and then he’ll do something stupid.

✧ Even as Duri begins to degrade Jace himself, rambling a bunch of nonsense about how he “isn’t as smart as he looks”, Jace manages to keep it together. He feels a twinge of annoyance and glares, but he doesn’t say anything.

✧ The rest of the Burn Knuckles aren’t buying the bs anyway. So it’s fine.

✧ “Know you place, Duri.”

✧ Jace’s gaze snaps over to (Y/N). Did he hear him correctly? Did (Y/N) finally say something? He feels a small smile winding onto his face-

✧ “I know exactly where my place is!” Duri sputters indignantly. His look of shock is short lived and is soon replaced by a smirk. It’s highly probable that he’ll take a pathetic jab at redemption.

✧ Jace hates the way Duri’s eyes roam over (Y/N). He braces himself for what comes next.

✧ “It should be sweating over you, if you know what I mean.”

✧ Great. Gross.

✧ Jace turns to Duri now, scowling at him, “You wanna say that again? The Burn Knuckles don’t hit on each other, so don’t even think-” “Whatever Jace. Me and him were just gonna do some catching up~”

✧ Duri makes a crude gesture with his hands. He keeps his arm wrapped around (Y/N), who rolls his eyes and glares.

✧ (Y/N) sighs, “Or so you think. You do know that me and Jace are-”

✧ One kick- one harsh smack. Jace doesn’t know what he’s doing- but whatever it is lands Duri facedown on the floor.

✧ He’s startled by his own rashness. Stupidity really is contagious. He frowns down at Duri but doesn’t move anymore. “Like I said. Burn Knuckle members like you aren’t allowed to hit on their superiors.”

✧ He turns to embrace the startled and disappointed stares from Woong and (Y/N) (respectively)

✧ But naturally, Duri needs to have the last word. Like all PTJ small fries, he wants to sign his death certificate a little early.

✧ “That stupid hierarchy is never gonna get you laid,” he grumbles.

✧ Jace turns and throws all his weight into the kick-

✧ Blocked.

✧ (Y/N)…?

✧ (Y/N) has his arms outstretched in a block, giving Jace an unreadable stare. He sighs, releasing the second-in-command’s foot.

✧ “(Y/N)-” “That’s gonna leave a bruise.”

———

✧ Jace is sitting with (Y/N) a little latter. He still feels a pang of frustration when he remembers the little situation… as well as guilt for hitting (Y/N).

✧ (Y/N) rolls up his sleeves, looking over his arms quietly. Based on his eerie calmness, Jace can assume that there’s a pretty large bruise forming.

✧ Despite the knowing of guilt, Jace is a tad bit grateful for the intervention. He knows (Y/N) only stopped him for the sake of his dignity.

✧ “You’re not normally so passive-aggressive,” (Y/N) comments nonchalantly.

✧ “I know… I’m sorry.” Jace rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, feeling a touch of color flare in his cheeks.

✧ He promises to help ice it, and assures (Y/N) that he won’t do anything like that again. He just smiles dryly and waves it off.

✧ “You probably won’t have the need to,” he says.

✧ Jace looks up at him, his fingers still gingerly rubbing around the bruise. “Won’t have to… attack Duri?”

✧ (Y/N) nods, “He p*ssed himself, apparently.”

✧ Jace knows it’s wrong… honest to god he feels bad… but he couldn’t help but smirk at the thought.

(I swear I’m sorry this entire thing is a mess. I can’t decide which POV to stick to-)

𝐕𝐢𝐧 𝐉𝐢𝐧

✧ In his defense, Vin had recently gotten his glasses re-tinted… and so he was having some trouble adjusting.

✧ But it would’ve been nice if he didn’t walk by you in some grubby alleyway. What a nuisance. He just wanted to go home, listen to some rap, and eat his onion rings.

✧ But you… of course… found yourself in a predicament. 😔

✧ “You’re just gonna stand there?” You call, back pressed against the wall as you stare lazily past the punks you apparently offended.

✧ They seem ticked that your attention is suddenly elsewhere.

✧ Vin just stares at you, silent for a moment, before shoving his hands into his pockets. “It’s not my problem.”

✧ “They called me a d*ck-” you call. Although the familiarity of the term has nulled any offended emotions, you’re certain Vin has reserved insulting-you-rights for himself.

✧ “Not my problem,” Vin insists, pushing his glasses further up his nose.

✧ The punks continue to close in on you, throwing insults at the two of you- despite Vin being across the alley. You both ignore them.

✧ “Ah- they also called Mary fat.”

✧ “Still not my problem.”

✧ “They said Duke’s music is better than yours-”

✧ “Did not!”

✧ “And they called your sunglasses ‘gaudy’.”

✧ Which is followed by silence as one of the punks lowers a cigarette bud towards your cheek. You don’t flinch, staring past his shoulder at Vin.

✧ You wait in anticipation for Vin to say something. Anything. You’re so intent on seeing his reaction you hardly notice the burning sensation of the cigarette nearing your skin.

✧ “No they didn’t…” Vin mumbles. He adjusts his stance- and now you’re sure he isn’t going to abandon you.

✧ “Would you freaks shut up?!” The punk rolls his eyes in exasperation, pulling the bud away from your face and turning to Vin.

✧ “Or do you have somethin’ you wanna say too?” The delinquent flicks the cigarette to the side, staring your knight-in-shining-armor up and down reproachfully.

✧ You inwardly moan. Vin has lots of things he wants to say. It’s best not to get him started.

✧ “You talk too much,” Vin answers, and begins strutting forward.

✧ You crack your knuckles, relieved you won’t have to take them all on your own.

✧ “Anyway this is a waste of my time- so let’s just go (Y/N).” He shoves his hands deeper into his pockets, not at all prepared for the slap.

✧ Yes. A petty, weak, girlish, slap.

✧ A slap that knocks his sunglasses askew. You freeze.

✧ “Hey,” you call loudly, watching as their heads swivel towards you. “Don’t look at him. Say anything and I-”

✧ The loud noise of bones cracking interrupts you-

✧ Vin goes rampant, giggling and grinning like a school girl. Oh hell. You shrug and get into your own fighting stance. “Well I guess he’ll kick your asses anyways- so nevermind…” you mutter.

✧ Those stupid glasses. Distorting his vision all the time. Even…

✧ In fights.

✧ You feel numbness tingling through your arms as you avoid another swing of your opponents arm. Reaching up with a strike of your own, you manage to punch him in the ribs for a KO.

✧ You’re so focused. Vin is so distracted.

✧ You scan the two other guys already beaten to the ground, and look up to see Vin walking towards you victoriously—

✧ But instead he’s charging you with arms at the ready— “WAIT VIN-!”

✧ He stops mid-swing… but only after he’s felt his skin contact with yours.

✧ The force sends you backwards into the wall. Nausea and dizziness begin bubbling in your body.

✧ You feel your knees buckle and your eyes crossing, and the pounding of your heart is auditable in your ears as you nurse your numb jaw.

✧ Meanwhile Vin just stands there in shock, calling you names while asking insincerely if you’re okay.

✧ “You can’t blame me cuz you were in the way you little sh*t! Ugh… f*ck…” he mutters.

✧ You’re calm while he rambled, but your patience begins to thin as he continues insisting the blame was all on you.

✧ “Vin…” you say calmly. “Would you shut the hell up. If it weren’t for your stupid glasses…”

✧ -He gawks in surprise

✧ “Then I wouldn’t have a concussion. Or a nose bleed,” you snap.

✧ There’s silence. Your face is illuminated by the blue light of your phone as you search for the Urgent Care nearby.

✧ “…That does look pretty bad.” Finally. He has the decency to be a little sincere.

✧ Vin leans in closely, trying to catch your eye. While you avoid eye contact, you are perfectly in tune with his movements.

✧ “I’m taking you to my place,” Vin huffs with a smirk, seemingly trying to redeem himself as he shoves his hands into his pants.

✧ “I thought you didn’t care earlier,” you answer, still scrolling on your phone. Only half-listening.

✧ Then his bulky arm wraps around your torso, and he scoops you over his shoulder.

✧ ‼️

✧ Not good for the nausea or dizziness.

✧ But anyway…he did carry you to the Urgent Care…

✧ Where he blatantly denies bruising you up, and even laughs a little. (Okay- he does feel a little guilty…)

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧

✧ “(Y/N)-” “I’m not closing my eyes.”

✧ There’s no way you’re letting Warren take them all by himself.

✧ It’s just not happening.

✧ He seems to know. He’s fine with you fighting, as long as he isn’t there to worry over you. He can’t get over the urge to intervene and protect you until the fight is over. That’s always been the case.

✧ “You let Eli fight,” you remind him, turning to face away from him and towards the crowd of delinquents. “You’re not (Eli. That’s) different.”

✧ You’re not different than Eli? Well then, you’ll take that as a yes… even if you do inwardly know what he was trying to say.

✧ Your shoes slap against the floor as you walk through puddles of water. The day is overcast, just like Warren’s mood.

✧ Soon enough the blood mixes with the water.

✧ The man spits out a tooth as you throw an elbow into his jaw. Your clenched fists shake like leaves as you deliver a kick into his back.

✧ It’s loud- but you can’t even hear the shouts of grunts of the fight…

✧ Just the ringing in your ears. The adrenaline pump doesn’t help… it just gives you endurance and an animalistic will to withstand the blows. It doesn’t help you make decisions, or strike properly.

✧ “Warren-!” You feel your heart beating in your ears.

✧ Warren is smart in his own way. But once his mind is shrouded with concern, he’ll do anything to plow a path straight to you.

✧ Oh? You were just trying to draw his attention to the guy making a lame attempt at a “sneak attack?”

✧ Nevermind then…

✧ But as it starts winding down and all that’s left are the decently-difficult fighters… Warren feels his heart lurching out of his chest.

✧ “Gotta help (Y/N)…” he thinks to himself. And the thought replays. Over and over. “The mighty Warren Chae won’t let him get hurt...”

✧ (Y/N)…. (Y/N)….

✧ You….

✧ “You-!?” Slam

✧ Warren didn’t mean to loose focus and body slam you into the wall— but he did—

✧ “You’re…(good?I didn’t see you) in the way! (Sorry!)” His words slur thickly and he skips a few while he’s at it.

✧ Your vision feels fuzzy. Your body feels hot as he presses his rough hands against your neck. But as your heartbeat slows back to normal, and the adrenaline boost wears off, you come to face reality.

✧ The fight isn’t over.

✧ “I’m fine Warren,” you assure him calmly. “But don’t get distracted-”

✧ “Then listen to me,” he says firmly. Ignoring the oncoming kick directed at him, he leans (down/up) towards you. “Close your eyes.”

✧ He forces your body into a sitting position on the ground. Your hands shake slightly as you hold your sore shoulder. Your eyes are squeezed shut.

✧ You keep quiet and try to block out the disturbing noises. Shouts of agony, the snapping of bones. It doesn’t bother you as much when you’re fighting together… but knowing Warren is going rampant makes you uneasy.

✧ “Okay… open your (eyes).”

✧ Warren is already kneeling beside you, brushing his calloused hands around your torso to (take off your jacket and) lift off your shirt.

✧ You feel the cold slap of breeze against your skin 💨 👋

✧ Warren’s droopy eyes look a mixture of sad-dog and irritated-cat. How could he mistake you for the enemy?

✧ Guilty… frustrated… concerned.

✧ He rubs his rough palm against your shoulder. His thumb pad traces circles around the large bruise that’s forming.

✧ The longer you sit there, the darker the bruise seems. And it’s making Warren a little paranoid.

✧ “It’s getting worse-” he mumbles.

✧ “I’ll be fine.”

✧ “I’ll treat it back home.”

✧ “Alright… take me to bed I guess.”

✧ “…”

✧ A pause.

✧ “Bed rest. I meant. Not really like that.”

✧ “…I was gonna say. I’m not sure if you’re up for that.”

✧ Yeah. It’s time to shut up.

✧ Is Warren sad? Yes. Guilty? Yup. Frustrated? Very. It’s never happening again. You’ll probably never be allowed throw a punch in his presence ever again.

𝐌𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐢

✧ Magami curls his toes into the sticky martial arts mats that line the floor. Even though it’s night outside, the training room is still illuminated by tube lights overhead.

✧ Practicing his karate, even when the room is empty and less stuffy, still feels constructing in the mask. It’s still not as bad as it is in the arena.

✧ He practices the fluid motion of his kick again.

✧ Then the movement of his strike.

✧ He hears the door creak open. Kenta swears that if Nomen tries to interrupt him with some annoying sh-

✧ A best of silence passes as he distances himself from the sandbag. Maybe it wasn’t Nomen after all.

✧ But then there’s a voice that sounds out-

✧ Magami feels the blood rushing to his face- and without thinking he swings his leg for an ushiro geri-

✧ Slam.

✧ He feels his foot connect with wood, snapping through the barriers and splitting the cypress in half. His pulse remains sickeningly fast as he straightens and turns to face the back.

✧ He was right. It wasn’t Nomen…

✧ Instead, Tanuki - you - stands rigidly behind him, cupping your face and the shattered splinters of wood.

✧ He broke your mask.

✧ “It’s just me, Daruma…” you say quietly, still standing stiff and in shock. You stare at him with half of your face naked and exposed while dragging your finger across your damp cheek. Blood. You’re bleeding…

✧ “Don’t get in my way again.” That’s his reply.

✧ His voice is deep and muffled. A better mask for his emotions that’s the actual mask that he wears. You can tell, out of perceptiveness, that he’s a bit flustered.

✧ His brows are drawn together tightly and his lips purse from behind his disguise. He feels his heart hammering in his chest. Why Tanuki…? Of all people.

✧ You tuck your free hand into your pocket, removing the remains of your mask with the other with calm precision, nodding understandingly.

✧ “I was coming to tell you how late it was,” you drawl.

✧ This is why Kenta thinks you can be an annoying prick. You stand there in such a relaxed pose, voice drawing reactions out of Kenta he has no control over.

✧ His eyes are wandering. Tanuki (you) was always more appealing to Kenta than the others, to an extent.

✧ “How late is it?” He asks.

✧Tanuki wasn’t as annoying as Nomen, and he carried a conversation better than Hyottoko. Hanyya was always accompanied by Nomen, so that was a no-go. And Tanuki was much less obnoxious than Shiba Inu.

✧ “The circus is starting in an hour. It’s that late.”

✧ His eyes wandered up from your dress shoes, your suit pants… and flickered over that iconic, unmistakable bulge that earned you the Tanuki alias; across his chest and up to your cheek.

✧ Kenta’s attention was fixated on your cheek. With the mask no longer covering your face, he could see your features for the - third time?

✧ And your cheek, he notices, is bleeding.

✧ “You’re gonna form a bad bruise if you don’t ice that,” he remarks all of a sudden.

✧ He moves to unbutton his suit and change into the convict clothes. Keeping his focus away from you.

✧ “Oh…” you murmur from behind him. Even without looking, Kenta knows you’ve begun touching your cheek gingerly again. “Well it doesn’t matter. It’s always covered up anyway.”

✧ Kenta doesn’t feel as guilty about it as he does embarrassed. And it’s not really- embarrassment… just- he just feels flustered. Actually, at this point he isn’t sure how he feels.

✧ “Ice it.” This time it’s not a warning, but a command.

✧ “I will… I will. Afterwards. You need help-?”

✧ At this point, Magami is convinced Tanuki could pull off any pose and turn him on. He feels riled up and agitated as you lean to help unfasten a particularly stubborn button.

✧ “…Don’t be a d*ck, Tanuki.”

✧ “‘No thanks’ would’ve sufficed.”

✧ You proceed to unfasten his shirt anyway. Kenta’s face remains impassive, but he won’t deny his gratitude for the mask policy right now 🫣.

✧ He stares at the bloody, darkening splotch on your cheek. Unmistakably the result of his kick. He also notes that you look good without the mask.

✧ Once he slides out of his shirt and into the bright orange one, he brings up his finger to tap harshly against your face.

✧ “Well, ice it soon.”

✧ He starts unfastening his pants. As he bends down, he can’t help but sneak glances at your limp bulge tucked away in your own slacks. He really disgusts himself sometimes. But you’re so damnably attractive, it’s almost annoying.

✧ Rephrase: it is annoying.

✧ You adjust your stance, shifting your weight from leg to leg and crossing your arms. Damn you. Kenta almost chokes.

✧ “Will do,” you chuckle.

✧ “Don’t make me kick you again.”

✧ “Daruma…”

Cough- cough… ☞︎ ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

𝐆𝐨𝐨

✧ “Don’t wander off too far boo~”

✧ “Goo…”

✧ You feel a little exasperated. As Goo Kim’s secret friend, you’d think he’d treat you more like an equal. Or at least have confidence in your capabilities.

✧ And how did you end up being singled out as his ‘dearly beloved’ anyway?

✧ As you land another hit on some poor punk’s ribs, you feel your promise ring scrape his skin and draw blood.

✧ So… seeing as you’re wearing that ridiculous price of jewelry… you sort of already know how that story ended.

✧ But it doesn’t matter. You’re tying to stay level-headed as you fight, and your ‘future spouse’ being obnoxious isn’t soothing your nerves.

✧ In fact, you can’t recall a single time fighting with Goo was therapeutic. So I guess this isn’t anything different from the norm.

✧ “What’s for dinner?” You ask boredly. You sink into your toes and dodge a wild swing, kicking the kid in the gut.

✧ “Whatever you feel like babe!” Goo replies energetically as he finishes bashing in some heads.

✧ “I could go for some bird meat,” you muse quietly as a new onrush of guys heads your way. It’s a wonder than Goo hears you.

✧ “Ooh- okay! How about chicken?”

✧ “Pass. Turkey?”

✧ Goo swings a crowbar around expertly, a more focused expression on his features. He takes a moment to reply. “Nah… I hate the flavor.”

✧ “Okay, how about-”

✧ “Duck!”

✧ Whack.

✧ “…Or just… embrace it I guess. You look hot either way, babe.”

✧ “Kim… remember our conversation about clear communication?”

✧ “Uh huh? But I did warn ya!” “We were literally talking about birds.”

✧ You snap a guys wrist without even looking, glaring (up/down) at Goo.

✧ The rest of the fight you ignore him. Your expression remains neutral afterwards as he takes you to the urgent care.

✧ “At least it hit you in the shoulder!”

✧ “Yeah- I wonder where it would’ve hit me if I had ducked.”

✧ “Stop being all calm and angry at me boo! It’s creepy!”

✧ “…Alright. Whatever Goo.”

389 notes · View notes

sl-ut · 1 year

Text

sweet cliches

THE BEGINNING

pairing: college!abby anderson x fem!preppy!reader

description: just some hcs about the early stages of abby’s relationship with preppy!reader

warnings: swearing, mentions of drinking, probably a lot of grammar/spelling mistakes (i was really high when i wrote this)

date posted: 29/03/23

series masterlist

abby is a senior when they start dating, y/n is a sophomore

during abby’s freshman year, she became a star athlete so she was very popular by the time that y/n came into the picture

i hc that she plays either hockey or lacrosse (but that's probably just the canadian in me)

for the sake of the plot, let’s go with lacrosse

y/n doesn’t even appear on abby’s radar until the start of her senior year

they met through a mutual friend

y/n would know nora through a shared class or maybe work and got invited to some team party

she’s probably also on the cheer team, so they’ve been running in the same circles, just haven’t interacted much until this point

nora introduced her to the team at the party and abby wasn’t immediately interested

her sports career is her priority, so her dating history isn’t very long, but it didn’t mean that she didn’t get around a bit. bc of

this, i feel like her usual type would be people similar to herself, and y/n did not fit that archetype

y/n had thought abby was attractive right off the bat. after the party she asked their mutual friends about her

she was disappointed when she was told that she wasn’t really abby’s type but pushed it to the back of her mind

abby caught interest when they bumped into each other at the campus coffee shop

she had noticed y/n standing in line behind her and started a friendly conversation, not expecting much

abby got the vibe that y/n may have been someone who was a bit full of themselves, and was genuinely surprised at the cramp that appeared from her stomach from laughing

the next time they talked was at another party, only she made an effort to talk to y/n for a bit before ducking out early

she gives me the vibe that she didn’t party very hard–she watched the amount of alcohol she consumed to keep herself in peak physical condition, and she needed to perform drug tests every once and a while to stay on the team

however, i think that she definitely still makes an effort to attend parties for the social aspect, and probably heads out around midnight every time

after winning a tournament or championship, however, abby is swimming in celebratory drinks and will definitely be a few sips past tipsy

y/n almost fainted the next day when nora told her that abby had asked her for y/n snapchat

from then on, y/n noticed how much more often she and abby would run into each other on campus, and began to wonder if it had been purposeful on abby’s part

abby finally made a move a few weeks later after she another rather casual date, probably just grabbing a coffee, going to a movie, or just hanging out at her apartment

it took her a few weeks to finally ask y/n to be her girlfriend

it was definitely asked in passing

like they went to a coffee shop or the library to study together quietly, abby was just watching y/n quietly and just asked.

y/n smiled at her and nodded, and reached to hold her hand over the table for the rest of the time that they were there

#lesbian #abby anderson #abby anderson x you #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson imagine #reader insert #x reader #imagines #tlou2 #gay #lgbtq #wlw

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tendergraphite · 9 months

Text

The Secret History Isn't purposely Queer.

(Richard Is Still Gay though, Here's Why!)

First of—I know Donna Tartt has explicitly stated The Secret History is not a love story, and well that's quite obvious isn't it? We may scrounge like the rats we are all we want for crumbs, but Donna chose to make her protagonist male on purpose—She feared the story wouldn't be taken for what it was, instead being buried under the sexist stereotype The Hunger Games sadly got dished under of "....The world's ending, but which boy am I going to kiss?''

There was also the fact these characters wouldn't have been so brutal around Richard if he'd been a woman—And Donna wanted the truest faces of these characters to be shown.

But well, that's never stopped us has it? The Manic Maenads. Who cares that this book brinks on plain psychological horror—Most of us here have watched Hannibal, we know what's up; We're queer, we're here, and so now we must get this damned show on the road.

[ Follow the links if you are confused on any of my statements ]

Now, I'm going to disprove my entire above statement. It will and does still hold true, as somehow—As human nature itself seems to instigate—both ideas are simultaneously true in my skull.

Richard hasn't shown the thinnest bit of admiration for the female form; As a woman lover myself, I find that appalling. Outside of Camilla (Charles stand in) Every other woman Richard encounters he presents as frustratingly annoying: Bunny's girlfriend Marion, who did nothing wrong; His ex-girlfriend back in California, never so much as named; And even Judy Poovey, who we all adore till this day.

John Richard Papen, ISN'T A LADY LIKER! He latches onto the basic ideals of what feminine beauty is for other men—And like every closeted gay man; clings onto them for dear life. It isn't natural, and it goes beyond sexism, he straight isn't straight, he doesn't like women, he likes men.

Richard wants to fuck Francis, marry Charles, and is truly, madly, deeply, inlove with Henry Winter.

Richard wants to fuck Francis—With literally no other character does he act this way. He focuses on Francis's ankles like a Victorian man seeing a lady's nude form for the first time. And that obsession with the crow jacket, good lord Richard, Majestic? You called it MAJESTIC? Are we never going to discus how Richard would duck into other hallways due to an ''inexplicit anxiety''? Acting like some blushing school girl whenever Francis brushed past his shoulder in the College hallway?!

Like, let me get this straight—The two go out on a nice evening on the gentle river, and when he leans in for a kiss... Richard instead of reacting with a startle, or even disgust, becomes flustered—He blushes. I could throttle him!

And then there's the elephant in the room—The two almost fucking. Now sadly, I cannot say this is proof of Richards gay man status, as that scene most definitely was attempted assault. It was just an example of how Francis tries to justify himself in taking advantage of pretty men. So we are skipping past that scene entirely! What more so I found intriguing was Richards reaction of embarrassment instead of betrayal towards Francis after the incident when he was sober.

When the very same attempt happened to Bunny for instance, he reacted very realistically. He distanced himself, was not comfortable being around Francis alone afterwards—Set clear "What the fuck is wrong with you?'' Boundaries. But instead, Richard felt his straight man status threatened; His main concern hadn't been that his friend just attempted to assault him, but that he'd think he was gay because of it.

He wants to Marry Charles; we all already know that anything he said about Camilla had in fact been about Charles in reality—We as a fandom, have accepted this as just being the simple truth.

Despite the moodboards, and the artworks, Camilla is boyish. She isn't a pretty girl girl, she looks like her brother and wears his clothes—It's why Richard feels safe being attracted to her, he in full essence is the following meme: [I couldn't find the original, so here's my re-enactment.] ''I like girls that look like boys, dress like boys, sound like boys, and are boys.''

Richard cherished Charles as if he were a newborn puppy, and considering he had taken his side instead of Camilla's during the last half of the book should be telling. Richard had been under Henrys thumb, manipulated beyond belief and yet he couldn't bring himself to betray Charles until his hand had been forced in the matter.

And after it all, he had professed his love for Camilla—Begged her to marry him before she used her dead boyfriend as an out, because come on we all knew he didn't want Camilla, he wanted Charles. He'd been the focus right before the proposal, like the shadow left behind from a neculer explosion.

Baby faced Charles, sweet kind gentle Charles who was kind to everyone; Who felt grief for the farmer he hadn't even known and Bunny who he couldn't prevent the death of. If Richard could've, he would've coddled Charles until their death beds.

Richard is inlove with Henry—It's not Francis nor Charles he has longing dreams about, years later—now is it? He didn't find Henry to be attractive at first, he mentioned how he would be handsome but if only his features were not so set. But that's the thing about love, it truly is blind.

It's harder to notice with Henry, because Charles and Francis had been so blatantly obvious to just about anyone—But the progression between these two had been slower. The smell of Henry's smoke, the setting of his jaw whenever he was stressed; The way he had told Richard he hid his past abuse so well. He slowly became a comfort, and once he rescued Richard he became indebted to him.

When he began to withdraw from Richard, we as an audience felt that as much as he did—And I remember pondering if Richard felt jealous at the fact Henry had run off with Camilla.

At the end of it all, Richard became an empty man without Henry—The worst part of it all was Richard believed that was his destiny, as being a Californian at birth he felt it was his true nature. He associated Hampton—Henry—with beauty, and California—Himself—With ugliness. Without the love of his life, he was a shell.

youtube

''Those are the two great things; Love and Death''

Of course when it comes to analysing any literature however, it's time period needs to be taken into account—Donna published the book in 1992, which was over 30 years ago. In interview, Donna stated although not now, she wished to write a love story in the future—That of course being The Goldfinch. The thing is, Donna didn't know how to write a love story because she didn't understand love as a whole quite yet, which is why she had not: And I believe that is why we find queer elements in The Secret History.

Beauty is Terror, whatever we call beautiful we quiver before.

At the end of the day, this story is about the relationships between the characters; Humans are fluid, so it only goes to say their relationships between one another would be too. Who cares if it's queer or not, at the end of the day their relationships hung heavy as Anubis scales between Richards shoulder blades.

The Goldfinch was the first book I read, so when I approached The Secret History I came at it with the lens the later published book had set for me; So personally, I can say with full confidence that I saw themes reappearing between the two—The first being unintentional and unrefined—And the later, refined and purposeful.

Like any writer she would've written from what she knew and understood at the time, so I feel a lot of queer elements unintentionally leaked threw whether she had meant it or not. Often writing takes on a whole life of it's own once it touches the public, and when it comes to the queer reading of the book I can see how that's happened.

By the way, this is Another analytical post inspired by something @bandaiddd said!

#the secret history #henry winter #richard papen #charles macaulay #dark academia #francis abernathy #Youtube #no one ever sees my posts because I keep creating them at the witching hour :/

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theflyindutchwoman · 9 months

Text

Hey, Chen. Yeah? Save me a dance.

| ANATOMY OF A SCENE - CHENFORD EDITION 3.14 - Threshold

That tension between Tim and Lucy during this scene… It was positively sizzling. It helped that they had barely interacted with one another since her graduation, giving them the opportunity to really miss the other, allowing Lucy to grow into her own with her undercover mission… and apparently fuel that fire. It makes that gravitational pull feel even more like an inevitability.

And the fact that they missed each other is so blatant, they're not even trying to be suble about it. It's no coincidence that Lucy finds Tim in the garden at the same time that she catches his eye, as if he can sense her gaze on him… and at the exact moment she admits missing patrol. I'm not sure who she's trying to fool, but the way she keeps looking in his direction, going as far as practically contorting herself so she can see him, in front of their watch commander, couldn't be any less discreet. Grey's and Nyla's reactions when Lucy leaves them abruptly to join him are priceless. Not that Tim fares any better… He is completely unabashed in his perusal - also in front of a colleague. His elevator eyes… His smile… He's not trying to hide anything… And with the way she ducks her head and blushes a little, it's clear that she is affected. The little detail of having Lucy compliments him while he lets his eyes do all the talking is perfect. This is intrinsically them. So is the way they immediately fall back to their teasing… and flirting. This isn't the first time they flirt with each other, but what's different here is that they're both aware of it and doing it on purpose, using her undercover persona as a cover, an excuse to be so open about it. Nova would be impressed.

It also gives Tim the perfect opportunity to commend her on her success. It's really interesting how she reacts differently when he's the one praising her : with Grey and Nyla, it was more the fact that they had entrusted her with a solo mission that touched her, whereas with Tim, it's more about how proud he is of her. And that makes sense. It goes back to what Nyla told her during her very first op : it's natural to want his approval considering everything they went through together… and after he negatively reacted at first. She needed to hear those words from him and it means a lot to her that he's being supportive despite his personal hang-ups. Even more so since her fight with her mother is still fresh. She looks so bashful and glowing for a short while, before the tension comes back in force. They both seem lost in the moment, as if they can feel that something is changing but they don't know how to address it or what to do. There's this new tentativeness between them, when Lucy is about to leave and Tim is debating with himself… You can see how he has to take a deep breath before asking her for a dance. And turning away after asking her, not even waiting for a real response. He manages to exude this combination of shyness and confidence, trying to remain nonchalant… like he didn't just drop a bomb. Like he didn't take Lucy aback. Her reaction is utterly precious though. She looks enchanted. And while there may not have been any dancing that day, I love that they both remembered this promise... and eventually got there...

#the rookie #chenford #chenfordedit #lucy chen #tim bradford #3.14 #Anatomy of a scene - Chenford Edition

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mnoxsk · 2 years

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Hi Can I Ask Uzui, Giyuu and Rengoku in Love with a Single Father S/o who has a Child

Ofc! And sorry I took a large break I've honestly been playing alot of videogames lol

Genre: Fluff/Scenario/Headcannons

Summary: How he reacts when you have a child, How he treats them, How he is with you being a single father

- Man is lowkey surprised because when you would suddenly disappear multiple time when you’re in his home and his wives said you had some business you needed to do he really thought you didn’t really want to spend time with him! The only time he really did find out was when you brought your kid to his house!

- Would honestly spoil your kid! And the kid honestly likes Tengen because his looks are honestly pleasing to look at! There may really be a few times he gets pissed off with them but learning from his own past family circumstances he gives them proper life lessons and verbal communication of what they should and shouldn’t do! His punishments toward your child are non-existent. It’s all through communication.

As you watch Tengen with your child, you can help but be amazed of how he’s teaching your child. “That wasn’t very nice of you to purposely do that.” Says Tengen as he’s sitting down with your child, looking at the broken vase. “Was there a reason you did that?” “I wanted your attention since you were busy with Da-da but lost balance...I’m sorry.” As your child plays with their hands, feeling guilty, they’re soon embraced in a hug by Tengen. “I’m glad you apologized but please be more careful, you might hurt yourself.” “O-okay Papa!”

-Man honestly is the same person but more kid friendly near your child. He really doesn’t change at all! He wants to make out with you but your child is watching? Cover that boy’s eyes, easy. He seriously has little to no filter when he’s with you- The only thing that may change is his bed because he often would sleep with you and his wives on a already big bed but with your slightly clingy child, HE NEEDS A DAMN WIDE WIDE BED!

-Giyuu is flabbergasted. Never expected it. He was just too busy about you and really didn’t care if you suddenly went away! Giyuu loves you alot to not care if you were gone for a bit but to realize you had a kid made him VERY NERVOUS.

-He doesn’t know anything about taking care of kids. Man honestly blankly stares at your kids and does the same. And your kid is easily influenced and surprisingly easily won over him! Honestly tries to buy everything he thinks a child would like based off what any vendor would claim! However one time he had a misunderstanding with a toy of a “different” use and honestly ALMOST showed it to your kid (however quickly stopped him ‘:)).

Giyuu gives your child a bunch of toys as he’s sat down with them. As he grabs one of them, being a duck, he starts making duck sounds however with just his normal voice and no proper voice-tone impression. Surprisingly with your child doing the same but with a train. “Quack. Quack” “Choo choo.” “Quack.” “Choo choo.” What has gotten into them..?

-Giyuu will do EVERYTHING he would want to do with you in private! He wants to kiss you? In private. Holding hands? In private! Of course he won’t decline you doing it in front of your child however will make sure he isn’t looking! He’ll purposely point something out to your child, making them look away before you kiss him! AND HE’LL DO ALL THIS BECAUSE HE THINKS ITS INAPPROPRIATE FOR THE CHILD!

- Rengoku is honestly ecstatic! Rengoku is already good with kids but for his fiance to have one makes him happy to raise your child with you! He is one of the best hashira for taking care of kids and you CANNOT convince me otherwise!

-He’s very gentle and smiley with your child! Will commit to anything that your child asks him to do and will to it with the best of his ability! If your child wants something HE’LL HAVE IT THE SAME DAY THEY ASKED! ESPECIALLY IF THEY LIKE FOOD LIKE HIM! If your child has the same hair color, eyebrows, or similar personality like him HE WILL MELT. Will honestly be weak at the knees because he cares so much and loves your child because it’s yours!

“Let me pour some tea into your cup Papa!” As your child emptyly pours imaginary tea into his cup he smiles warmly at them. “Thank you starlight.” “Let us have a toast, to us!” “To us!” As you all say together you “drink” your tea and Rengoku doing so aswell however ecstatically. “Delicious!”

-He’ll still kiss and hold hands with your child watching however of course with more serious things like making-out he will most definitely prefer doing in private! He’ll also choose to have a big bed for you and your child! He doesn’t want them to feel left out and have any achievement they’ve made to be underlooked!

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majortomyourcurcuitsdead · 7 months

Text

Some S2 E2 thoughts

Just rewatched a second episode of a second season; what a good one it is.

I wanted to write out some thoughts I had about Aziraphale’s and Crowley’s dynamic while watching it; this may have been discussed already in one way or another, but I think this aspect is so omnipresent within the series that it can sort of be taken of granted, and possibly overlooked. I also like analysing out loud, or, like here, by writing it out (it's good for my as I like to call it my acting brain).

So, my main point being is (and it can divulge into a different one in a bit cause I am sleepy yet passionate about this)- Both of them see through each other, like no one else they know does.

Crowley’s “I want to destroy children of Job” ? (Naah, Aziraphale doesn’t buy it)

Aziraphale’s responses to Crowley ~ - Whose side are you on? - God’s of course. - Oh, really? The same God that wants me to whack the kids? - Yes… (Crowley’s like lmao angel welcome to the club I guess)

And please, this is so important to support this whole point - can we talk about Crowley’s

“What do you know about what I want” bit

The facial expression, tone of voice and the eyes which we luckily have a quick glimpse of in this scene (and I have a suspicion that it was done on purpose so they are visible here), they scream “I see and understand that you know me, but it’s too dangerous for me to just be who I am. So let’s continue, at least for now, to play this game and let me create the illusion that I am a demon that I am, they need to see it. Not because I sincerely want to actually be one, fuck that to be honest; I just don’t want to die. Am I angry at this? Do I even feel a certain contempt, actually directed at myself for where I am at? Yes. Can it be better? No”.

But I also think that this is buried quite deep in the case of Crowley; you could say it’s subconscious (but most likely with time and at some point comes more to the light). I also realised with rewatching and reading other’s thoughts about this, this I-want-to-destroy-children-of-job-and-stuff “shield” for his own survival has actually grown thicker with time. (And what I want to add, not deep enough to actually sincerely want to be evil, that wouldn’t be the character we have; at least in a canon way we have now).

It’s interesting because Aziraphale is not quite the same [yet], in regards to a stance with his respective “offices”; so they are not fully mirroring each other in this aspect [again, and hopefully yet]. (As an additional note, the most similar Aziraphale was to Crowley in this regard was right after the failed Armageddon, but as we know at the end of Season 2 he returned to Heaven with a newfound hope to make it better).

Yes, Aziraphale sees through Crowley and Crowley sees through Aziraphale. But it’s only Aziraphale who actually wants to be a part of Heaven. And more precisely, he stands for what Heaven is on paper (love light peace etc), which is in fact very obviously very questionable in practice. And excuse me, Crowley? The Shuhite Crowley who in the end saves children (and also later down the line is concerned about feeding ducks with bread? Pure evil incarnate yes). Definitely a very loyal servant of Hell.

Crowley is obviously way ahead in his journey of being the odd one out, and this episode beautifully shows a muuuchh slower downhill route of a similar nature for Aziraphale (“You’re going to fast for me Crowley” much?) But that being sad, Crowley assists him on his journey when he feels is a right moment to do so, by nudging him in a direction of questioning Heaven (cause he sees his Angel is deep down in his propaganda sh*t and Crowley just wants him out of there), but also just by being there where Aziraphale is in distress without making uncomfortable moments more uncomfortable for him (I remember specifically this being pointed out by someone already, I will make sure to link the post once I find it). So as mentioned, both of them see through each other, like no one else they know does, right? Imagine how the will see through each other even more clearly after both of them are on the same page in this regard.

Ok I will be going to sleep .. soonish cause if I said "now" that would be lying tbf I just take tooo long to prepare for sleep

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens meta #good omens theory #good omens thoughts #crowley #demon crowley #aziraphale #angel aziraphale #ineffable lovers #ineffable boyfriends #ineffable spouses #ineffable idiots #ineffable partners #good omens posting

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darubyprincx · 6 months

Text

A 33-year-old woman walks into the forest near midnight during autumn. She is clutching a lantern and covered basket tightly and her poise is tense, but she walks steadily and with clear purpose.

Squinting ahead into a clearing lit by a half-moon, she steps over a log, walks into the deathly quiet clearing, kneels and carefully sets down her lantern outside of a ring of perfectly preserved stumps, and uncovers her basket. From within, she takes out a small slip of paper and a child's toy and places it in the center. On the second finger of her right hand is a ring of some sort of silvery metal which appears unremarkable in the moonlight, but the way in which she takes a deep breath and hesitates before taking it off her finger and adding it to the objects within the ring of stumps indicates that it has clear value to her. She bows her head. She waits.

A gust of wind buffets her short-cropped hair and her cloak. From in front of her, or perhaps behind her, she can hear the rustle of fabric, but she does not look up.

"You come on the night when the souls of the dead are closest to the world of the living," says a husky and raspy voice, deep but still androgynous in a markedly nonhuman way. It is not a question. It is a statement.

The woman nods, still not taking her eyes from the grass crushed underneath her folded legs. "Yes."

"I cannot bring the dead back from their graves, no matter what offerings you give up as payment," says the voice. "And I cannot bring their souls back either for any period of time, mortal."

"I know," says the woman in a low undertone.

"Then why are you here?"

The woman opens her mouth as if to speak, then closes it and glances slightly up. A white cloak, not stirred by the wind blowing around it, meets her. Beside her, her lantern has gone out. Hearing no rebuke, she looks up.

The entity's face is obscured by a deep shadow cast by their hood, which she is glad of. She thinks she can make out the glint of eyes, but she's not sure, and she knows well enough to not pry. She opens her mouth to try again. "Because there is a life that I would like to put to death," she says.

The entity does not move, but it tone shifts to being maybe confused, maybe condescending. "I am not a mercenary. I do not preside over the dead. Your own kind is best for this sort of work. If you are... mourning," it forms the word slowly, as if it's unnatural to its mouth, if it even has a mouth, "then I cannot help you. Our kind do not know death, nor do we touch Her realm."

"Not someone else's life," the woman says, somewhat hastily. "My own." She pauses. "Not wholly, but- you are in the business of acquiring names, yes?"

The entity is silent a moment before responding. "It is not our specialty. We have... cousins who are more closely aligned to that line of work, but it may be done for a price."

"Then I humbly ask a favour of you," says the woman. "My payment is in the circle. Is it enough to have my name replaced?"

The entity turns and kneels, one long, bony arm reaching out to take and inspect the items placed. The hood turns towards her. "Yes, although it is a bit strange."

The woman nods. "Strange, yes, but all very dear to me. The toy belonged to me when I was young. The paper is my proof of birth, and has my given name inscribed on it. The ring..." She chokes up a little, but continues. "The ring is proof of my marriage to my wife of many years."

The entity hums. "Does she know that you are here?"

"She does not."

The entity stands, and beckons the woman to stand as well. She leaves her lantern and the basket on the ground.

"Those who come to replace their names, mortal, and it is very few who end up here on purpose, are often running from their pasts. Has your wife been disloyal to you? Have you been disloyal to her?"

"She has been nothing but loving and faithful my entire life," the woman says, ducking her head to wipe a tear from her eye. "Our child- he is currently asleep in his bed. I do not wish any harm to come to them. But I have been lying to them for years and I cannot face them anymore. My love thought that she married a man. My son knows me only as his father. If I disappear now, they will be hurt and betrayed, but less than if they knew."

The entity considers this for a moment. "What is your given name?"

"Joseph."

"And what do you wish your new name to be?"

"Esmeralda."

"You have clearly put much thought into this, mortal," says the entity. "But know this. When your family means to speak your old name, your new one will drop from their mouth instead, and this will go for everyone who has ever known you. They will know, but they will not know what happened. Are you sure?"

The woman hesitates, then nods. "I love them enough to do this," she says. "I do not want to hurt them."

"You say you love them," says the entity thoughtfully, "and you say they are faithful to you, and yet you are sure that when you receive your new name they will shun you."

"It just is not done," says the woman, slightly desperately. "I'm not sure they'll understand."

The entity tilts its head at her. "If your son came up to you tomorrow and told you that he wanted to change his name as well, would you love him still?"

"Yes," says the woman immediately. "I promised when he was born to love and protect him no matter what, as did my wife. If he were to turn into a mindless monster, I would harbor him still."

The entity nods sagely and bends to take all three items in its hands. It hands the woman's wedding ring back to her. "Then have faith," it says. "Are you sure?"

Joseph nods, tears streaming down her face. "I am terrified. But yes."

The entity looks down at the paper and snaps its fingers over it. The children's toy turns to dust, and the woman chokes back a sob. For a moment, everything is utterly, inexorably still, and then the world breathes again.

"It has been done," says the entity, holding the paper out.

"Thank you," whispers Esmeralda. She takes the paper, notes almost detachedly that her name on it has been changed, almost appearing seared into the paper, and folds it and puts it into her pocket.

"My business is done," says the entity. "Go back to your home."

"What will I tell my wife?" asks the woman.

"I do not know," says the entity. "I cannot predict the future. But you are braver than most. I believe that whatever you say will be right."

The woman nods and bows. When she stands up again, the entity is gone, her lantern is lit again, and there is no indication that any foot has ever touched the grass within the circle. Outside the ring, the imprints where she knelt still lingers.

-<|>-

The next morning, the woman's wife wakes to find herself alone in the bed. She walks into the kitchen, where her wife sits alone at the table, staring into the grain, hands folded as if she is deep in thought.

"You're up early, Esmeralda," she says, then pauses. Esmeralda looks up, face stricken, and the wife sighs and walks over to take her lover's hands. "I am not angry," she says gently. "I would just like to know why, and how."

"I went to the woods last night," says Esmeralda in a low, almost shattered voice. "I made a deal with some... thing to change my name. I gave my birth paper, my wedding ring, my favorite childhood toy, and my old name as payment. It was changed, and I came back here. Alia, I am sorry."

"How long ago did you make up your mind?" asks Alia in a gentle voice.

Esmeralda looks down. "Years ago. I've been lying to you and David this whole time. I- I have been an unfaithful partner." She takes off her ring and places it on the table between her and her wife. "If you want me to leave-"

"No," says Alia gently but firmly, gently sliding the wedding ring back onto Esmeralda's hand. "I promised you when we married that I would love you no matter what you were, and if what you are is a woman, then I will love you like that also."

"How will we tell David?" asks Esmeralda in a low, worried tone.

"I will tell him," says Alia. "You go back to bed. You've been up late, and you look like the rear end of a fireworks cart."

Esmeralda hesitates but smiles, looking up with hope in her eyes. Alia returns the smile and kisses her gently, helping her up. "I'm not kidding. Go."

"Before I go," says Esmeralda, hesitating.

"Do I have to poke you into bed?" asks Alia with an exasperated sigh.

"No, no," says Esmeralda quickly. "I just wanted to tell you that I love you."

Alia smiles and leans over to give her wife a peck on the mouth. "I love you too. Now go before I beat you into there with a broom."

#ray's tag #writing #so uh this came out of nowhere #keys' art #have. story #no idea how many words this is but its original writing!!! from us??? crazy!!!!!!#its autumn ok i had to write SOME sort of queer. something. that fit the vibes #i wrote this in an hour while in my bathrobe lying on my bed its 9pm im getting into pajamas now byeeee #queer #queer writing #writeblr #original story #keys' writing #trans #transgender

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mysticwolfshadows · 10 days

Text

Taken - Zutara

Pt 1, Pt 2 (here), Pt 3, Pt 4, Pt 5, Pt 6

It's towards the end of her second year in the Fire Nation that things take a turn for the worst.

First, Lu Ten falls during the Siege of Ba Sing Se. Then, Azulon passes, and it is Ozai that ends up on the throne. Iroh concedes the throne, and leaves the palace. And somewhere, in all that mess, Ursa vanishes.

Zuko is, of course, upset and distraught, and he lashes out. Katara, who had been in her care, is not left to the whims of Ozai. The new Fire Lord, as cruel as he may be, is not an idiot. He knows that a water bending healer is valuable. He saw what a barely trained one could do. So, rather suddenly, Katara is shoved into the role of apprentice under the Palace physician.

Katara, only 10, is pushed to her limits day in and day out. She heals generals and governors, the physician constantly testing how fast, how successful, how great her healing skills are. At night, when she can finally rest, Katara finds herself barely able to sleep, and trains in combat under the moon.

It only takes a few months before the stress becomes to much. Her body, young and still growing, becomes weak and feeble, unable to handle the strain. The physician finds it fascinating. Ozai is only enraged.

"I keep you only for your usefulness to me," Ozai tells her from behind his wall of flame, when he has her limp body dragged in by guards. "You will work, or you will have outlived your purpose. Think carefully about what you decide to do next."

Its that night, as Katara stares blankly up at her ceiling, to weak to stay awake but to pained to sleep, that she contemplates just... giving up. She could let go. There was nothing holding her in the Fire Nation. She couldn't go home, Ilah was gone, Ursa was nowhere to be found, and Zuko wasn't speaking to her. There was nothing to stop her from giving up.

That is, until she heard the door open. She had been moved from her private little room to the physician's office, to be on call at all hours. Even now, so close to the brink, she remained there. While anyone could enter, very few ever showed themselves at night. Was it a soldier, injured and needing healing she could not provide? A governor, demanding healing for something nonsensical? Or, perhaps, an assassin sent by Fire Lord Ozai?

It turns out, it is none of the above. It is Zuko, nervous and awkward, peering at her from the door.

"Katara? Are you... awake?"

She thinks about not saying anything. After all, he had ignored her first. But there was the smallest bit of her that could not ignore him. "Yes..."

Her voice was so weak, somehow smaller than when she had arrived in the Fire Nation and first spoke since being taken. Zuko moved closer, concern on his features. He came forward, standing almost anxiously next to her bedside.

"I'm sorry," he eventually says. "I... I'm sorry I..." He can't seem to find the words, and ducks his head. not looking at her.

She can't help it. She smiles. "Did you practice that before you came here?"

His cheeks flame red, and Katara almost thought he was about to bend. Instead, he inhales sharp and deep.

"You just need to rest," he says instead, as if he were in any position to give that kind of order. "You're going to be okay. I still need to take you home, remember? So... Just rest."

That little bit of her that couldn't ignore him grew, ever so slightly. She watched him, cautious. Curious. "Will you be here when I wake up?"

Zuko's eyes darted up to meet hers, and there was a rare fire in them. She'd seem it only a few times, before it had been squashed by someone. She had seen it when he had been proud of finally mastering a firebending more he had been working so hard on, only for that spark to vanish when Azula announced she'd mastered that years ago. It had been in his eyes when he spoke of how deeply he wanted his parents approval, only for a scowl from Ozai to douse it. And now, it was there, dancing for her.

"Yes," he said, voice more determined than she had ever heard. "I will be here."

Closing her eyes, Katara lets out a slow and calm breath. "Than I will rest."

#fanfic idea #atla #avatar the last airbender #fanfic #zuko #zutara #katara

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live-the-fangirl-life · 8 months

Text

Timeless [Immortals]

Aelin Galathynius x Rowan Whitethorn

The world is large and time may be endless, but it's all an exciting adventure with the right person beside you. Inspired in part by Timeless by Taylor Swift, Immortals by Fall Out Boy, and by my own historical research fixations. Also a tiny bit of Istanbul by They Might be Giants

A/N: I will say I wanted to flesh this out a bit more and had a whole plan on how to, but I started a new job recently and I haven't had the energy to keep writing during my free time, so I edited what I had and have it here for you to enjoy. I also wanted to write for a bunch of Rowaelin month days but I think this is all I have in me for now.

Finally, I just have a fair warning: I got really into slang words in this. i had way too much fun with them, so hopefully its understandable lol

Masterlist | Rowaelin Month | Read on Ao3

6494 words

Written for Rowaelin Month 2023 - Day 1: SongFic

*******

Morning light peeked through the curtains fluttering around the open window of their living room. She could faintly hear the sounds of the neighborhood filtering through – cars cruising by, a riding lawnmower cutting clean lines into the grass, a couple of kids out riding their bicycles, and the steadily growing music of an ice cream truck.

“Rowan, have you seen the…” Aelin trailed off as she realized her husband wasn’t in the room with her anymore.

He chose to go by his given name nowadays, reminding her again of their youth and all the best parts about learning how to grow up before the reality of time set in.

She was sitting cross-legged on the plush rug, combing through a box of mementos she’d found tucked away between stacks of old books.

She must’ve been more distracted by them than she had thought because when she looked at the clock, nearly two hours had gone by and Rowan, who had been sitting in the armchair across from her, wasn’t there anymore. She did have a vague memory of a kiss being pressed to her forehead and hearing his muffled voice but she’d been too distracted.

Aelin gathered the things she’d been picking out and put all the photographs, letters, and trinkets back in their box, before getting up and carefully carrying it with her as she went looking for Rowan.

It didn’t take long. The man was out on their back porch, sitting on the wooden swing and using one leg to slowly rock himself back and forth. He wasn’t looking at her but she saw the smile on his face as she approached. He always knew she was there; he could always sense her. Aelin walked towards him and grinned against his mouth when she ducked down to kiss him, before unceremoniously dropping down onto the swing beside him. His rocking didn’t falter a second.

“Is that what’s taken your attention today?” He asked, nodding at the large, well-loved box she placed on the floor in front of them.

“Have you looked through this recently?” She let his question float away and started pulling out some of the forgotten treasures they’d accumulated.

Shrugging, Rowan leaned forward to get a better look and fondly bumped his shoulder against hers.

“Don’t think so,” he rubbed at the stubble shadowing his face as he thought about it. “Probably not since we moved in.”

Aelin hummed in answer and quickly picked through the papers. “I forgot we had all of this stuff.” She paused, thinking, and dove back into the box, this time with purpose. “Do you know where the portraits are?”

A light breeze blew a strand of blonde hair into her face and Rowan reached out to tuck it behind her ear.

“Which portraits?”

“You know,” she waved irreverently, “the ones done by…what’s his name?”

“Oh of course,” he amended seriously. “Those portraits.”

Huffing a laugh, Aelin fell back against the swing and swatted his shoulder as he chuckled. “You know who I’m talking about,” she insisted.

Truth be told, they’d had so many pictures taken and portraits painted that he didn’t know where to start with his guessing. His wife could be referring to anything.

“Leo?”

“No,” she shook her head.

“Johannes?”

“No, that’s not it.”

“Vincent?”

“Ugh,” she groaned, rubbing her hand down her face, “this is going to bug me all day.” A second later she popped back up and turned towards him with wide eyes, “Oh! You know what I really wish we still had?” she asked.

He wished they could have saved all their keepsakes, but that would’ve been impossible. “Not a clue.”

“Those busts we had back in Ἀθῆναι,” She said, her eyes growing distant as she fell back into a memory from their younger years.

He hummed, knowingly. “Those were nice. But I doubt they’re in Athens anymore.”

“No, I know that.” She said sitting back and leaning into him, getting closer as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “I think the last time I saw them was in Constantinople.”

“Istanbul,” Rowan corrected.

“What?” she turned her face to see him from where she’d tucked herself into his side.

“It’s Istanbul.” He said again.

She blinked and then rolled her eyes as she understood what he was saying. “Well, it was Constantinople.”

“And now,” he poked her, earning himself a startled laugh, “It’s Istanbul.”

“Whatever,” Aelin snorted. “I still miss those statues.”

Rowan kicked one leg out and began rocking them again, careful not to overturn the box. “You know where they are,” he reminded her, “we could always go see them.”

She scrunched her nose up. “Yeah, but I don’t like paying an entry fee to see myself.”

The breeze picked up and the pair enjoyed a few minutes of quiet, broken only by the faint creaking of the swing and the birds and insects outside. She absentmindedly took his other hand in hers and couldn’t help but think back –

Back to when they were young and naïve and had no idea what sort of life they would have ahead of them.

Back to their beginning.

The land of their childhoods was rich, and their life a simple one. Most everyone around them were farmers or fishermen, soldiers or tradesmen. There were scholars, artists, and builders.

Aelin learned stories of gods and heroes and gave tribute to Athena, the patron goddess of her home. She learned how to weave from her mother, and waited for the day she was set to marry the son from a family her father wanted ties with.

Rowan worked and studied and then became a soldier, fighting in bloody battles across the city-states before he returned to wed.

The two had always known they would be married. Their families arranged it long before either Aelin or Rowan were old enough to offer their thoughts. But they were happy. It was well.

For a while, their life was as ordinary as any others in their Polis.

It wasn’t until the two of them had watched their families grow old that they realized their own lives were different. Unchanging. Everlasting.

They learned how to adapt.

The armor Rowan wore became stronger; the language of the orders being shouted changed; Democracy, philosophy, and art flourished. Wars raged. The land they lived on changed names and changed again.

Sometimes years passed when Aelin and Rowan were apart, separated for one reason or another. Other times, decades went by without notice, time losing the meaning it once had. But they always gravitated back to each other.

They met as Aelin Galathynius and Rowan Whitethorn.

They reunited as Aeliana Galanis and Romulus Whitheia.

As Eleyn Galliano and Rowland Whitton.

As Astrid and Warin.

As Alana and Royce.

There were some names they liked better than others.

They saw empires rise and fall. A world they once called home became ancient.

And as the world became more complicated – as royalty and religion shaped the nations, conquering and separating territories, as battles waged and revolutions erupted, as explorers flung themselves to the far reaches of the earth – Aelin and Rowan found their lives drifting apart from one another until they only had their memories and a knowing sense that someday they would find each other again.

"Whiskey. Neat." He drawled, dropping his dusty hat onto the bar top. The wood was scratched up from too many glasses missing their mark. And sticky, too. Not that he'd say so. He was a smart enough man not to complain to the lady behind the bar. Even it meant swallowing back a grimace at the thought of putting that hat back on his head. "Ma'am."

The woman was already halfway finished pouring the bottle. She had known it was him before he’d opened his mouth; but she smiled when his voice hit her, having recognized the sound of him walking ‘cross those old floorboards and taking a seat at his usual stool – the one right in front of her.

She’d had lifetimes to recognize him.

Still turned away, she shelved the dark bottle of booze back where it belonged.

For a moment, it reminded him of the day he found her here.

He’d been up in Oregon near the California border, following a late wave of gold seekers when he caught whispers of a town a few days south of him, where a woman was holding down a claim to the saloon. A real Calamity Jane if there ever was one.

He knew she was somewhere out here, that she’d ventured west at the call of adventure. Hell, he’d braved across the frontier too, slowly working his way from ranch to ranch and crossing lands that didn’t exist on the maps he’d once held.

But knowing there was a chance of finding her again, and actually hitting pay dirt were two very different things. He had ridden into town knowing not to get his hopes up, but when he stepped into that saloon, heavenly shaded and cool from the high-noon sun, he knew it was her.

She’d been standing behind the bar with her hair woven into a loose braid tossed over one shoulder. Her well-worn clothes somehow suited her just as well as laced-up gowns, pirate’s trousers, or peploi of their youth. Her skirts were long but didn’t look heavy and she had pushed the sleeves of her blouse up to combat the heat. Around her waist, she wore a holster which didn’t surprise him one bit and he supposed running a saloon warranted the pistol that she’d slotted in there.

He was walking towards the bar before he knew what he was doing, and when she lifted her arm to count the bottles she’d lined up on the shelves, he caught sight of the small scar on her forearm. If he still had any doubts, seeing that blew them all to the wind. He could recall with deafening detail the day she’d gotten that scar, the spatha blade that gave it to her, and the Roman general he’d killed for it.

Her back was still turned towards him when he slowly sat down on the stool across from her.

“Aelin.”

In an instant, she went completely and utterly still.

She would know his voice anywhere. Know him anywhere. And even if she hadn’t, there was only one person who would ever call her by that name.

Lifetimes worth of memories flashed behind her eyes as her heart began pounding a thunderous beat. She felt like all the wind had been knocked from her, yet also it was the first time she could breathe in years. She wasn’t sure how that was possible. But then, she’d long since given up deciding what was possible and impossible when it came to him.

And her mind was putting in the licks like a six-shooter horse; like she was electrified.

Carefully setting the bottle in her hand back down on the countertop, slowly, so slowly, she turned to face him.

As they locked eyes a million different emotions flew across her face and he was sure as a gun his was looking the same.

She smiled, wide and bright, and her eyes lined themselves with silver.

“Linny,” she breathed, her first word to him in over half a century. “It’s Linn, actually, but everyone ‘round here calls me Linny.”

Her voice was dipped in that sweet, honeyed drawl they’d been surrounded by. And he laughed, feeling like the years just melted away because she did too. The kind of laugh that said more than words ever could.

A few men at a nearby table looked over to see what all the fuss was about, but it was a joke that only the two of them knew the punchline to.

And then, having been reminded that they had eyes on them, she was reaching across the old wood bar holding out her hand. “Linny,” she said again, still beaming at him, “Linny Gale. It’s a pleasure to meet you…” she trailed off with a knowing smirk.

He remembered every instance in which she had looked at him with those same twinkling eyes, and by the growing elation of her face, so could she. He cleared his throat and took her hand in his, smiling even broader when his roughened skin met hers. “Roe Wyatt.” Her smile softened into something special. “At your service, ma’am.”

Roe hadn’t known what came next for him, but what he did know was that she was here – staying. So, he stayed, too.

As she set the glass of whiskey in front of him, that day from almost a decade prior faded away and she brought him back with the small curve of her lips as she greeted him, “Sheriff.”

At least here, in this dusty town on the far side of the world, filled with desert rats still scrounging for that elusive gold, and where he's wearing the badge instead of running from it...at least here he gets to see her face every day.

*****

Life out here was tough, Linny knew that, but she liked it. And she liked it much more now that Roe was back in her life. Point is, she knew folks made their money any way they could, especially the women.

She’d seen enough life to know what it’s like when you don’t have the resources you need. So for every working woman who found herself under Linny’s roof, she’d be offered a spot as a barmaid, pulling in the pieces so they wouldn’t feel like they needed to work upstairs. But if they did, they wanted to - and for that, all the power to ‘em. Everyone who frequented her saloon knew that if they misbehaved themselves with those women, they’d be looking down the barrel of her shotgun.

The first - and last - unlucky man who mistook her for a painted lady didn't make it back out that door.

Linny knew her way around a broken bottle well enough that the Sheriff ordered another round and watched two of the regular old boys clean up the mess. Most of it, anyway. He knew there was still a spot near the end of the bar where the wood’s stained darker than the rest. She thanked him mighty finely for turning a blind eye, too. She was sweet on him like that.

To everyone else in town, it was a mystery why they ain't gotten hitched yet. They all saw the knowing glances and conversations with so many in-jokes it sounded like they were speaking a different language. She never accepted any other man’s courtin’ and folks from around these parts knew not to try anymore, especially when the Sheriff only ever had eyes for her.

They knew not to mess with Linny Gale, too, because if she didn’t get you first, the Sheriff would make sure you never stepped foot in town again; and if some Hay Seed thought he was quicker to the draw than Roe Wyatt, he either ended up food for the buzzards with a lead plumb between his eyes or was found crawling out the back of the saloon while the arsenic-flavored whiskey he got served hit its mark.

To everyone else, his calling on her was moving slower than molasses in January.

They didn’t know the half of it.

*****

“Howdy, Miss Linny. Sheriff.”

She half smiled at the old man taking a seat on a bar stool two over from Roe. She was already grabbing a glass and pouring as she asked, “What can I get’cha for?”

He chuckled when he saw she’d already poured his whiskey. “You know me too well.”

“And whose fault is that y’old honeysop,“ she laughed.

He’d gulped down half the drink and the skin at his eyes crinkled. “My mammy used to say that…honeysop…I ain’t heard no soul say that since ‘fore I could look over the dinner table.”

Her small smile was wistful as she wiped down the countertop and grabbed another glass, using a different rag she’d slung over her shoulder to give it a good wiping down.

“I’m an old soul.”

He chuckled; eyes distant, lost in a memory. “Yeah, m’ mammy was too.” He looked up and smiled the way he did at his little grandbabies, “A sweet thing like you is too young for that.”

Linny kept wiping down glasses sharing an automatic glance with Roe. A small smile graced her face as easily concealed mirth danced across his.

Setting the last glass down, she tossed the towel back over her shoulder and leaned closer to the older man. “Sweet talking me ain’t gonna pay off your tab, Rolph.”

“Always gotta try, ma’am,” he huffed a laugh and stood, finishing the last of the amber liquid.

Linny shook her head fondly and Roe lifted his hand in a wave. “This is the last one, ya hear?” The old coot held his hand over his heart and smiled before walking out into the blaring sun.

“How many last ones ‘ve you given him?” Roe asked, still nursing the drink she’d poured him a while ago.

A huff of air blew a stray blonde lock out of her face. “A few.”

“You’ll run this place out of business ‘f you keep doing that.”

“He’s sweet,” she rested her elbows on the bar and leaned in, “He’s been taking wildflowers up to Madam Briar’s twice a week. Sometimes I see them ambling together down by the general store.

“He don’t mean no harm. He calls me young and sweet; I like it.” She laughed and he smiled. “And don’t you be worrying about this place. She ain’t in trouble yet. I always overcharge those rowdy boys that breeze in from the next town over. Don’t know why they keep coming back, sure as hell not for my welcoming, not after one couldn’t hold his booze and was sick as a horse all over my floor.” She huffed indignantly but then shrugged. “But I’m keeping my shutters painted and bottles full ‘cause of them so they ain’t so bad.”

Most days were right as rain. Linny handled her saloon with little trouble, but if there was any left after she was done, Roe used his badge to finish it.

So, when some fella too big for his breeches moseyed on in, you could cut the tension with a knife.

The saloon fell silent, something Linny might’ve marveled at if it weren’t for the no-good Saddle Stiff who’d sauntered in looking for hell to pay. The man took one long look around the room until his eyes landed on Roe and the star-shaped badge on his chest.

“You the gunslinger ‘round these parts?” His voice was rough and hard when he stepped in front of the Sheriff.

Barely blinking, he eyed the newcomer up and down, then he took a long sip of his drink and looked him square in the eye before gesturing with his half-empty glass to Linny. “You best be taking that up with her.”

Scoffing, the man didn’t even look at her. “You that cowardly a Sheriff you’ll let some hussy take your beatin’?”

Any lingering whispers went completely quiet as Roe slowly stood from his stool. He had a few inches on the man and didn’t bother fighting off a smirk when the newcomer tried squaring his shoulders to look as big as him. The Sheriff held the man’s gaze as he finished the rest of his whiskey before stepping closer and looking down at the lunkhead.

“First off, partner,” Roe drawled in a low voice. “I don’t let her do anything. Second,” he stepped closer, forcing the other man to falter before regaining the ridiculous bravado he walked in with. “You come in here, rilin’ everybody up, hollerin’ for the man in charge, I’ll tell you this – you’re in this town, in this saloon – she’s in charge. And she don’t take well to outsiders walking in here acting like they know their ups from downs.

“Finally,” Roe took another step into the man’s space and shoved his chest with one hand before gripping the material in his fist and hauling him up. “You ever call her that again, you’ll really have to deal with me, and you don’t want to deal with me after spitting on this here lady.” He leaned closer and practically growled, “You won’t be walkin’ ‘way from that.”

Roe let the man drop back down flat-footed and watched as he stumbled but looked between the Sheriff and Linny who’d been watching the scene. He made some sort of decision and went to open his mouth trying to say shit nobody wanted to hear but before he could get two words past his gullet, Linny reached into her skirts, pulled out a loaded pistol, and aimed it straight between his eyes.

“Get your lousy ass outta my establishment.” She cocked the gun, not batting an eye. “Or I’m ‘bout to have another dead body on my premises. That ain’t gonna look so good to the Sheriff.”

Said Sheriff caught the bead of sweat finally dripping down the man’s face and shrugged. “Don’t know nothing ‘bout no body.”

Linny smirked and flashed him a wink before refocusing on the man standing on the other side of the bar. “Now, you gonna get back on that ruddy horse of yours that’s scaring all the fillies outside?” she asked. “Or are you gonna make me get my floors dirty?”

Having no sense of what he’d walked himself into, the man looked her up and down holding that pistol with a steady hand, and scoffed. “That supposed to scare me, Calico Queen?”

Roe slammed his fist on the bar and gripped the man’s shirt again, but Linny’s brows just shot up.

“Oh, you ain’t scared of this old thing?” she asked airily. One second the pistol was pointed at him, the next the flickering gas lamp in the corner of the saloon shattered in a rain of broken glass as a bullet lodged itself in the wood directly behind it. “That was giving me a damn headache anyway. What about this one?” she set the pistol on the bar and reached below it, pulling out a long shotgun.

The front doors came swinging in hard enough to crash against the walls as they pivoted on rusted hinges. Another man, a local who helped tend the horses, ran in breathless unaware of what he’d walked himself into.

“Sheriff!” he panted. “Need your help breaking up a brawl out front.”

Roe looked at Linny who had the situation very much in hand and let go of the scamp who wouldn’t be breathing much longer. Adjusting his hat, Roe nodded to her. “Duty calls, ma’am. For both our sakes, when you pull that here trigger, at least corral him outside will ya?”

“Fine by me, poppet. Less mess in here for me to clean up.” She smiled at him. “That’d be all yours to handle, Sheriff.”

And it was.

And they stayed in that town until they couldn’t.

And then they left. Together.

“Where do you want it, Ace?”

Annie – Ace – pulled out her deck of luckies and lit up a butt, inhaling and blowing the smoke out in a practiced ring. The alley she was standing in was blocked off from the main road and, for extra precaution, always had a protective pair of eyes on the entrance; not that anyone would notice the guards, she was too smart to orchestrate anything so obvious.

Keeping her face neutral, she surveyed the haul of smuggled liquor brought to her by one of the active bootleggers in their employ. The two men behind her stayed quiet; stoic, as she blew another smoke ring. She spotted in a second that the poorly concealed unease radiating off the man wasn’t because of the loaded weapons either of her boys was carrying. She looked the bottles over once, twice –

“You’re just the bees’ knees, Cal. Always bringing me the best.” She indulged him a bit, pulling the cigarette from her mouth, and watched the tension ease out of his shoulders.

“Anything for you,” he grinned shakily and kept fidgeting. The damn sap was sweating bullets. He tried making small talk and she let him think he was getting away with it for another minute before she stopped him from lamming off.

“One thing, you old Mug,” her voice dropped all sweetness, and as she stared him down, all the blood drained from his face.

Jerking her head at one of the trouble boys behind her, he wasted no time in pulling out a gat and pointing it at the idiot who thought he could fool her.

“Do you take me for a Dumb Dora? A patsy?” She asked steadily, smirking when she heard the trigger being cocked. “I wasn’t born yesterday. I know the fucking difference between profitable giggle juice and piss-poor hooch.”

The man was shaking now but she had no patience for disrespect. Not here.

“I—I don’t, I don’t know what you’re spittin’ about, Ace.” He stammered.

“That’s Mrs. Thorne to you.” She corrected him, arching a brow. Turning on her heel she ignored Mr. Weston’s pleading and said to her trigger man, “Don’t make a mess. This damn alley smells bad enough.”

The other man who’d been standing behind her reached for the door holding it open for her without a word. She flashed him a smile and walked back into the speakeasy. Annie was immediately surrounded by raucous laughter and brassy jazz music, it was just enough to drown out the shot fired behind her and the thud of a body hitting the ground.

*****

Owen loved the sound of the big band. It never got old, no matter how many nights he spent sitting in this drum, putting down glasses of champagne. He liked even better, that no one bothered him at his table in the corner – no one he didn’t want bothering him, that is.

He especially liked it because he had a clear sight of both doors, the stage, and the bar. Not to mention he never had a problem picking his Ace out of the crowd. The club may have been bedecked in lights and gold, but his wife always shined brighter.

Tonight, he spotted her standing next to a young doll who looked scared enough just to be standing in a juice joint, let alone able to enjoy herself. But the longer he watched them, the more at ease the girl looked in Ace’s company.

“Don’t be getting the jitters, now,” Annie rubbed a comforting hand down the girl’s arm. She couldn’t have been older than twenty, and it was obvious she’d never been in a place like this before. “You see those fellas in the corner there?” she nodded towards a pair of men halfway through a bottle of gin, each with a fine damp on their laps. “Those boys are coppers.”

When the young girl looked back, startled, the blonde laughed and gave her shoulders a squeeze. “Lose those heebie-jeebies. You’re safe here.”

Annie looked over the girl’s head and saw that her man was already looking at her. Like always. She gave him a subtle nod, which he immediately returned, setting down his glass and gesturing to one of the men standing to the side of his table. Ace didn’t need to hear him to know what her husband was ordering.

“No one in this joint is a danger to you, you have my word.” At the girl’s still skeptical look, Ace smiled conspiratorially at her. “Take another look around, you see that handsome guy sitting there – no don’t stare – people in here listen to him. And he listens to me.” She leaned in closer and the girl finally smiled, making Ace’s smile wider. “He is absolutely dizzy with me. Now, let's get you a delicious glass of bubbly,” She snapped at one of the nearby waiters who came by and handed the girl some champagne. “Relax here at the bar and listen to our sweet canary sing. I heard her practicing her verses earlier and she's lovely.”

Leaving the girl in good hands, Annie snagged her own glass of champagne off a passing waiter and strutted across the dancefloor towards Owen. Her dress shimmered under the lights as she flounced to her husband’s table which was now occupied with a couple familiar faces. He didn’t falter in his conversation as she gracefully draped herself across his lap and wrapped an arm around his neck, carding her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Ace,” he squeezed her hip in greeting, “you remember Lore and Fen.”

“Ain’t you a looker,” Fen winked, and Annie smirked, feeling her husband’s grip on her hip tighten.

“Down boy,” she chuckled, crossing one leg over the other and subtly leaning closer into Owen’s embrace.

“They were just telling me,” he explained to her, “that our buddy at the station got word some Dry folks want to take matters into their own hands.”

“They don’t think the coppers are doing their job,” Fen leaned back, smirking. “Not finding and shuttin’ down all those corrupted, underground joints.”

Annie snorted and turned over her shoulder to look at the two Johns drinking away with badges hidden somewhere in their jackets. “I think they’re doing a swell job.”

Her laughter was echoed by Owen and Fen, but Lore just rolled his eyes at her flippancy.

“Those damn teetotalers think they’re so high and mighty,” The man gritted out, glaring daggers at the policemen in the corner – darkly enough Annie was surprised the boys didn’t drop dead on the spot.

“Cut it out, Salterre,” Annie chastised. He redirected his glare to her and even though she felt Owen stiffen, she merely smirked at the glowering man. “If you keep up looking so sore, people are bound to notice, and then those fellas will get made. It won’t take a genius to figure out why a man sitting comfortably at this here table is looking to pop one of them off.”

“I don’t think Salterre has ever sat comfortably.”

None of them paid Fen’s comment any head, but Annie’s smirk widened just a fraction.

“Yeah?” Lore goaded, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it between his teeth. “And why would that be so bad?”

Before she could answer, Owen beat her to it.

“What, you killing them? Or someone noticing you want to?”

“Both?” The dark-haired man asked, unconcerned. “Either? No one’s gonna be crying over a couple less coppers.”

“Get your head out of your ass, Salterre.” Annie snapped, staring hard at him. “You kill them? That comes back to bite us. I wouldn’t go so far as to say you’re smart, but I know you have eyes.” She ignored his sneer. “Look around and tell me how many people are in the club? Tell me how many people would be able to say that they saw those boys here.”

“So? That’s bad for them, not us.” He shrugged dismissively.

Annie downed the rest of her champagne and wished for strength. “No one in here but a few of us,” she looked pointedly around the small circle, “know they’re coppers. Anyone else would just know that they recognized those two goddamn faces in here before you supposedly cut ‘em down. That leads questions coming back here, to our establishment, to you, to us. That is not what we fucking want. It's the whole fucking reason we pay those boys off in the first place – so that they won’t be bringing questions around here. We help them, they help us. That’s how this works, rattlecap.”

Annie snapped her fingers and a fresh glass of champagne found itself in her hand. She took a long sip before threatening, “If you think you’re above all that, then I’ll be handling you myself.”

Lore didn’t say anything when she raised her brows at him, he just shifted his gaze to her husband as if he would contradict or chastise her. Owen leaned back in his seat, pulling her with him as they settled into the plush cushion.

“You heard the lady,” Owen simply said, instead.

And with that, Fen started snickering and Lore stretched his arms out on the edge of the booth as he silently seethed. The band picked up the first notes of a new song that had Annie twisting on her husband's lap to listen to the music.

When she rested her head against Owen’s he squeezed her hip again and fondly muttered, “Ace.” Some days it was her sweet nickname, on others it was a curse, and sometimes, like right now and said in a way that made her turn to press a red-lipped kiss to his cheek, it was a prayer.

*****

The wind roared around them as their car sped down the road. Owen was driving with one hand on the wheel and the other half-hanging out the window. Annie smiled as the scenery flew by in a blur. Tall buildings and crowded streets gave way to green foliage and open land.

The engine purred and she couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face. She’d seen a lot of discoveries and creations, and she always wondered how they could ever get better, but they usually did - things always evolved and spurred the invention of new things. She remembered the journeys in horse-drawn carriages and knew that back then she wouldn’t have been able to dream of a day like today, flying down the roads in a beautiful car, the engine powering them to its limits.

Getting close to the house, Owen pulled off the main motorway and took a winding, private road that wound them beneath blooming trees, their canopies painting the pavement in shade.

The house wasn’t extravagant; in fact, it was incredibly modest. It was something her husband had built in his early days on this continent. Long before the Great War, before the Gold Rush, before the Civil War, and revolutionary battles. Back when they both were searching for something new and took those leaps, journeying across the ocean.

Their lives sometimes felt like swinging pendulums, positioned closely enough to intertwine, drawing them together indistinguishably, but angled just so and pulling them apart when they least expected.

As she reached for Owen’s hands and intertwined their fingers, squeezing once, she vowed to never let that happen again.

It wasn’t long before they’d brought their bags in and decided to take a walk along one of the trails beyond the house.

“Do you think we have to worry about Lore going rogue?” She asked quietly, leaning into Owen’s arm.

“No, I don’t think so,” he shook his head, carding one hand through his un-slicked back hair. “He has a temper but he’s smart. Worst he’ll do is give ‘em some words, but he wouldn’t do worse than that. He knows it’ll only go bad.”

“I think you give him too much credit.”

“I think you give yourself too little,” he countered, and at her raised brow he chuckled. “He’ll put up a fight, but he won’t cross you.”

Annie hummed. “As far as he’s concerned, you’re the one he should be holding back for.”

Owen barked a laugh. “If you honestly think that he doesn’t know who is really calling the shots then you are severely underestimating him.”

“I’m not underestimating his intelligence. I’m insulting his lack of tact.” She told him as they kept walking. “You know we work together; I know we work together; they know we work together; but most of the fellas packing heat and doing the work still think you have the final word. And that works because it allows me to do things I need to do without as sharp an eye watching my moves.

“And if Salterre keeps pushing, then it won’t be long before everyone knows exactly how I can handle things – and that will be bad for both of us.” She pulled back and smirked up at his amused expression. “How do you think our supply is the best in town? Because I go out and make friends with all those grimy bootlegger’s dames; and between us ladies, things get done, arrangements get made, deals get sorted. And then, without watchful eyes on our lovely, delicate selves, we get our fellas to follow through with those deals…and the world goes round.”

“Okay, okay,” he laughed, agreeing. “Enough about that. I’ll make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”

“Good.”

“And, Ace?” he laughed again, “You and I both know that every son of a bitch who works with us knows damn well that you’re packing as much heat as any one of them.”

They fell into companionable silence. There was no one in the world she felt as comfortable around.

“Do you remember when we got married?” She asked him suddenly.

“Of course, I do, Ace. It wasn’t that long ago.”

Her dress brushed against her legs as the breeze picked up.

“No, not this time,” she said. “I mean the time during the revolution.”

They kept walking steadily as he thought. “Which one?”

“The European one,” she elaborated.

He glanced down at her again. “Which one?”

“Oh, stop you sap,” she nudged his rib fondly. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“Yes, I know what you’re talking about.” He stopped them and turned her to face him. “I remember every wedding I’ve had with you. I remember every ceremony and every dress. Every officiant. Every wedding night. And the only – only – thing that is good about the years when we’ve been apart is that every time we were, I knew I had one thing to look forward to: finding you again and getting to learn who you’ve become.”

“Ἀγαπῶ σὲ,” Annie whispered, silver-lined eyes staring up into his deep green ones.

“Te amo.”

“Ti amo.”

“Je t’aime.”

“I love you.”

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

Sitting on their aging porch swing, Aelin found herself sorting through faded pictures. There was one of them in a poodle skirt and leather, of flared bell bottoms and disco lights, of wild hair and rock concerts they still sing along to. There was one of them from New Year’s Eve, bedecked in glitter and tassels that had been shot off the moment that the millennium ended. And another one, taken a few seconds later – thank you Polaroid technology – of Rowan dipping Aelin, his arms wrapped around her as they both smiled too hard to really keep up their kiss, as they welcomed a new day, a new year, a new century and millennium. Giddy about what was to come.

“I think that’s enough reminiscing,” she finally whispered, reorganizing the images and replacing the lid on the box.

“Yeah?” Rowan asked, just as quietly.

Aelin smiled, pressed a kiss to his lips, intertwined their fingers so their wedding bands glinted in the fading light, and answered, “Yeah. For now.”

*******

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